“Yes – that is not in question. You must not feel that there is any slur upon this poor girl’s character. She was a good girl, and she was unhappy. We have evidence on both these points. The questions I am asking you are directed to finding out the degree of her unhappiness, and whether she showed any sign of lack of mental balance. Did she show any such sign?”

“Oh, no, sir.”

“And you say that she did not at any time threaten to take her life?”

“No, sir.”

“Or say that she wished she was dead?”

“No, sir.”

William next, uplifted, perspiring, scarlet to the tips of his large ears. He took the oath in a completely inaudible mumble, caught the eye of Ellen Flagg’s father amongst the jury, and became convinced that he had done something wrong and would probably be indicted for perjury. He wondered if Ellen was there, gave his evidence in agonised gasps, and retired thankfully to the back of the hall, having established the facts that Cissie Cole had come to see Mrs. Jerningham at about twenty minutes to nine, had left again as near as possible to nine o’clock, and had gone away “quite cheerful like”. Bad evidence for Pell.

Mrs. Dale Jerningham next.

Miss Silver watched her with interest and attention. She took the oath in a faint but perfectly distinct voice, and gave her evidence with great simplicity – the interview with Cissie – the brief exchange of words – the gift of the coat – Cissie’s undoubted pleasure.

Everyone was looking at the coat. It lay folded in a brown paper wrapping upon one of the small tables which were used when a whist drive was held in the hall. The paper covered it so that only a small piece showed where the young constable had turned it back. Why was it covered like that? Because of stains too horrible to be seen? The thought was in every mind.

Miss Silver watched the faces, all turned in one direction except her own – interested, frightened, horrified, gloating. Everyone except herself stared at the hands-breadth of woollen stuff showing between the folds of brown paper – a broad green stripe shading into cream, narrow lines of red and yellow crossing the green. Her own eyes rested upon the face of Mr. Rafe Jerningham.

Like everyone else, he was looking at the coat in which Cissie had fallen to her death – Mrs. Dale Jerningham’s coat. He looked at the coat, and then he looked at Mrs. Dale Jerningham. In both looks there was a momentary flash of something. Was it horror? Miss Silver was not sure. The rest of the face was bleakly inexpressive. She felt as if in passing a curtained window she had caught a glimpse of something strange, not meant to be seen by anyone at all – a chink in the curtain, a single fleeting glimpse of what lay behind, seen and gone again in a flash.

There was no interval before the Coroner said,

“Is this the coat, Mrs. Jerningham?”

One would not have said that she could be any paler, but she did turn paler as she bent shrinking eyes upon it and said,

“Yes.”

She went back to her seat.

Dale Jerningham next – very upright, very audible, very straightforward in his plain answers. He and his cousin Lady Steyne had walked up on to Tane Head to see the sunset. They had been for a drive first. He could not be certain of the time, but it would be somewhere about twenty to ten. There was still a good deal of light in the sky – a broad belt of gold where the sun had set.

The Coroner: “The sun had actually set at 9. 2, summer time. You were not on the headland then?”

“Oh, no – we were driving. But we saw the light in the sky, and my cousin suggested going up to look at it from the cliff.”

“Did you see anyone else on the headland?”

Dale Jerningham hesitated, dropped his gaze, and said in a much lower voice,

“I saw Pell.”

“Where did you see him?”

“He was running down the track from the cliff.”

“Will you tell us just what happened.”

Dale seemed puzzled and distressed.

“Nothing happened, sir. He came rushing down the track and got on his motor-bicycle and rode away. I don’t think he saw us.”

Miss Silver looked at Pell. His hand still gripped the bench. His face showed nothing. Sweat glistened on his forehead. A lock of black hair fell greasy and unkempt across it. His eyes never shifted from a ragged knot-hole in the boarded floor at a distance of about two yards from his own feet and in a direct line with them.

Dale Jerningham finished his evidence and sat down.

Lady Steyne gave hers. She had been with her cousin. They had seen Pell. She sat down.

Whilst she was giving her evidence. Miss Silver was looking at Mr. Rafe Jerningham, who was looking at Lady Steyne. His expression interested her very much indeed. It betrayed admiration, with a kind of mocking sparkle on it which reminded her of the sparkle on some kinds of wine – champagne, or moselle. To a less acute observer it would not perhaps have betrayed anything at all. The village was much too used to Mr. Rafe not to take him for granted.

The name of Mary Crisp was called. From the second row of chairs there emerged a thin, lank child with a cropped brown head and a knee-length frock of pink and white cotton. She hung her head and looked shyly at the Coroner as he asked her how old she was.

“Fourteen, sir.”

It didn’t seem possible. Miss Silver had taken her for no more than ten.

There was a pause, a whispered consultation resulting in the production of Mrs. Ernest Crisp.

“Oh, yes, she’s fourteen, sir – that’s right enough.”

Mary continued to hang her head. Only as her mother sat down she darted a bright elfish look at Pell, who had not moved. When the Coroner spoke to her she looked down again, her little brown face quite without expression.

“You were in Berry Lane on Wednesday evening, Mary?”

An only just audible whisper said “Yes.”

“With your little brother John aged seven?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see anyone go up the track on to Tane Head?”

A pair of bright dark eyes looked up, and down again. The little cropped head was nodded vigorously.

“Who did you see?”

A small, thin finger pointed at Pell.

“Him.”

“Was there anyone with him?”

“Yes – Cissie Cole.”

“Will you tell us what they did?”

Mary found a shrill, piping voice.

“Rode his motor-bike up on to the track, he did, with Cissie on behind an’ they got off an’ walked up on to the cliff.”

“Did you see anyone else?”

“Mr. Jerningham – an’ Lady Steyne. They went up the same way.”

“Did you see Pell and Cissie again?”

She shook her head.

“We come home. It was time Johnny was in.”

“Now, Mary – are you sure it was Cissie Cole you saw?”

A vigorous nod.

“It was light enough for you to see her quite plainly?”

“Yes, sir. It wasn’t only twenty past nine, and Mum said to be in by ha’ past, and we was.”

From her seat Mrs. Ernest Crisp said, “That’s right.”