Marion Grey: ‘No.’
The Coroner: ‘You live in a flat in Maudslay Road?’
Marion Grey: ‘Yes.’
The Coroner: ‘You have lived there ever since your marriage?’
Marion Grey: ‘Yes.’
The Coroner: ‘It is not a large flat?’
Marion Grey: ‘No, quite small – four rooms.’
The Coroner: ‘If the pistol had been there, you would have seen it?’
Marion Grey: ‘It couldn’t possibly have been there without my seeing it.’
The Coroner: ‘There were no locked cupboards or boxes?’
Marion Grey: ‘No.’
The Coroner: ‘And you did not see the pistol at all?’
Marion Grey: ‘I have never seen it before – anywhere.’
The Coroner let her go after that.
Hilary turned a page.
CHAPTER FIVE
Bertie Everton was called.
The Coroner: ‘You are Bertram Everton?’
Bertram Everton: ‘Oh, yes, certainly.’
The Coroner: ‘You are a nephew of the deceased?’
Bertram Everton: ‘Oh, yes.’
The Coroner: ‘When did you see him last?’
Bertram Everton: ‘Well, you know, I dined with him the very night before it happened. Most extraordinary thing, you know, because we weren’t in the way of seeing one another what you might call constantly. But there it is – ’
The Coroner: ‘Do you mean that you were not on good terms with your uncle?’
Bertram Everton: ‘Oh, well, I don’t know that I should go as far as that, you know. Just happier apart and all that sort of thing.’
The Coroner: ‘Was there any quarrel between you?’
Bertram Everton: ‘Not at all. I don’t quarrel with people, you know.’
The Coroner: ‘You disagreed perhaps?’
Bertram Everton: ‘Just about life and that sort of thing. My uncle was a business man. Earnest, hard-working fellows business men. Personally I collect china. We didn’t see eye to eye about it at all.’
The Coroner: ‘But you dined with him on the evening of Monday the fifteenth?’
Bertram Everton: ‘Yes – as I told you.’
The Coroner: ‘You had been staying in Scotland?’
Bertram Everton: ‘In Edinburgh.’
The Coroner: ‘You came all the way down from Scotland to dine with an uncle with whom you were not on particularly friendly terms?’
Bertram Everton: ‘Oh, come -that’s a bit rough! It wasn’t quite like that.’
The Coroner: ‘Perhaps you will tell us what it was like, Mr. Everton.’
Bertram Everton: ‘Well, it was this way. I collect china, and when I’m in a place like Edinburgh I go nosing about, you know. You don’t always find anything, but sometimes you do, and you might find something, and you never know, don’t you know? Well, I didn’t find anything I wanted for myself, but there’s a fellow I know in town who collects jugs -name of White.’
The Coroner: ‘Is this relevant, Mr. Everton?’
Bertram Everton: ‘Well, I shouldn’t have said it was, but you seemed to want to know, don’t you know.’
The Coroner: ‘Perhaps you will tell us as shortly as possible why you came down from Edinburgh to see your uncle.’
Bertram Everton: ‘Well, that’s just the point, you know – I didn’t really come down to see my uncle. I came down to see this fellow who collects jugs -did I tell you his name was White? – because, you see, I’d come across a set of jugs in the Toby style featuring all the generals in what’s usually called the World War, don’t you know -the only set ever made, and very interesting and all that if that’s the sort of thing you’re interested in, don’t you know? And the fellow that’s got them wants to sell them to the Castle Museum, so I thought my fellow had better get an offer in quickly, you know, and I came down to see him, don’t you know?’
The Coroner: ‘And did you see him?’’
Bertram Everton: ‘Well, I didn’t, don’t you know. He’d flown over to Paris, on the spur of the moment, as you might say, so I rang up Uncle James and suggested dining with him.’
The Coroner: ‘You said just now you were better apart. What made you suggest dining with him on this occasion?’
Bertram Everton: ‘Well, there I was, at a loose end as you might say. A free meal, a little family chit-chat, and all that sort of thing, don’t you know.’
The Coroner: ‘Had you any special business that you wished to discuss with the deceased?’
Bertram Everton: ‘Well, there was the matter of my brother’s allowance, don’t you know. He was by way of giving him an allowance, and there seemed to be a sort of idea that it would brighten the landscape if he could be induced to make it a bit larger, so I said I would see what could be done – if I got a chance and all that sort of thing.’
The Coroner: ‘Well, you dined with your uncle. Did you discuss the question of your brother’s allowance with him?’
Bertram Everton: ‘Well, it wasn’t what I should have called a discussion. I said, “In the matter of old Frank’s allowance, Uncle James – ” And he said – I suppose I’ve got to repeat all this?’
The Coroner: ‘If it has any bearing on the question of why he altered his will.’
Bertram Everton: ‘Well, I suppose you might say that it had, because he damned poor old Frank to me, don’t you know, and said he’d better hurry up and find himself a job, because if anything happened to him – that’s my uncle – poor old Frank would find he’d been left without a penny, because he – my uncle, you know – was damn well going to alter his will and cut out all the damned sucking-up hypocrites who thought they were going to make a good thing out of him and were going to find out their mistake before they were twenty-four hours older. Well, that did take me a bit aback, don’t you know, and I said, “Draw it mild, Uncle! Poor old Frank’s worst enemy couldn’t say he was a hypocrite.” And he gave me a most unpleasant sort of look and said, “I wasn’t talking about your brother Frank.” ’
The Coroner: ‘In fact he told you he was going to alter his will?’
Bertram Everton: ‘Well, it seemed to kind of point that way, don’t you know?’
The Coroner: ‘Did he tell you he was going to alter it in your favour?
The witness hesitated.
The Coroner: ‘I must ask you to answer that question.’
Bertram Everton: ‘Well, it’s really very awkward answering that sort of question, don’t you know.’
The Coroner: ‘I am afraid I must ask you to answer it. Did he tell you he was making a will in your favour?’
Bertram Everton: ‘Well, not exactly, don’t you know.’
The Coroner: ‘What did he say?’
Bertram Everton: ‘Well, if you really want to know, he said that if he’d got to choose between a smoothtongued hypocrite and a damned tomfool, he’d choose the fool, don’t you know.’
(Laughter in the Court.)
The Coroner: ‘And you took that reference to yourself?’
Bertram Everton: ‘Well, it seemed to point that way, don’t you know.’
The Coroner: ‘You took him to mean that he was about to execute a will in your favour?’
Bertram Everton: ‘Well, I didn’t think he’d do it, don’t you know. I just thought he’d had a row with Geoffrey.’
The Coroner: ‘Did he tell you so?’
Bertram Everton: ‘No – I just got the impression, don’t you know.’
Hilary’s cheeks burned with anger. If it had been a proper trial, he wouldn’t have been allowed to say those things. You can say anything in a Coroner’s court, and this Bertie creature had got across with his suggestion of a quarrel between Geoff and his uncle. From first to last there was never a shred of evidence that there had ever been such a quarrel, but from first to last the suggestion was believed by the public. They read Bertie Everton’s evidence at the inquest, and they believed that Geoffrey Grey had quarrelled with his uncle -that James Everton had found him out in something discreditable, and that that was why he had altered his will. And the jury which afterwards tried Geoffrey Grey for his uncle’s murder was drawn from that same public. Once a suggestion has entered the general atmosphere of human thought, it is very difficult to neutralise it. Bertie Everton’s unsubstantiated suggestion of a quarrel undoubtedly helped to set the black cap on the judge’s head.