The coroner said, ‘I see. Very distressing for you, Miss Meade. Did you touch anything – move anything?’

Still in that very low voice she said, ‘I took his hand. Mr Bush held the torch, and we saw that he was dead.’

‘His hand was cold?’

‘Yes, quite cold.’

‘Did you see the pistol?’

‘Yes.’

‘How was it lying?’

‘About six inches from his right hand.’

‘Did either of you touch it?’

‘Oh, no.’

‘Miss Meade – you said at the beginning of your evidence that you had a long talk with Mr Harsch. Did he seem depressed?’

She hesitated for a moment, and then said, ‘No – I don’t think so.’

‘You said that he had just finished some work upon which he had been engaged for a long time. Did he say anything to the effect that his work was done – anything that could bear that construction?’

‘No – not like that. He said it was like having a child – you brought it into the world, and then you had to let other people bring it up.’

‘He did say that?’

‘Yes.’

‘And then you talked about his daughter who had died in tragic circumstances?’

Janice lifted her head.

‘Yes. But he didn’t talk about the sad part. He said that was all gone and not to be remembered any more.’

The slightly foreign turn of the sentence gave it the effect of a quotation.

The coroner leaned forward.

‘Did it occur to you at the time, or has it occurred to you since, that Mr Harsch had any thought of taking his own life?’

A bright colour came into Janice’s face. She said very clearly indeed, ‘Oh, no – he wouldn’t!’

‘Have you any reason for saying that?’

‘Yes. He talked of working with Mr Madoc – he asked me if I would help him if he decided to do that. And he rang up to make an appointment for next day with a very busy man. He was very punctilious, and considerate for other people’s time and – and feelings. He would never have made that appointment if he hadn’t been meaning to keep it.’

The coroner looked at her for a moment. Then he said, ‘The pistol you found lying beside Mr Harsch – had you ever seen it before?’

‘Oh, no.’

‘Did you know that he possessed a pistol?’

‘No.’

‘You never saw one in his possession?’

‘No.’

‘Or in the house?’

‘Oh, no.’

‘Thank you, Miss Meade.’ He sat back in his chair and said, ‘Call Mr Madoc!’

Janice went back to her seat. This time she did not have to brush past the professor, because he was already striding up the aisle. By the time she was facing the platform once more Mr Madoc was refusing to be sworn. The coroner was looking at him in a detached manner but with a certain interest, and the village was frankly agog.

‘You are an agnostic?’

No question could have led more perfectly into Mr Madoc’s hand. In his best lecturing voice he replied ‘Certainly not. I read my Bible. If you were to read yours you would be aware that the taking of an oath is forbidden – “Let your communication be yea, yea, and nay, nay. Whatsoever is more cometh of evil” – Matthew, verse 37’

There was one of those pauses. The coroner coughed, and said rather drily, ‘You may affirm, if you wish it.’

Evan Madoc’s chin went up.

‘I have no desire to participate in any of these perfectly meaningless forms. Do you suppose they would prevent me from perjuring myself if I had made up my mind to do so?’

The coroner straightened up.

‘Am I to understand that you have some objection to answering truthfully the questions which will be put to you?’

‘Certainly not. I am a truthful man – my yea is yea, and my nay nay. They will be neither more nor less so because I have or have not recited any of this gabble.’

‘Mr Madoc, I must ask you to respect the court.’

‘I respect what is worthy of respect. I respect justice. Honour to whom honour is due. I have made my protest, and am now willing to affirm.’

The village listened spellbound whilst he did so. Gwen Madoc said, ‘Oh, dear!’ under her breath.

Having completed the meaningless form, Mr Madoc flung himself into the chair set for Janice, thrust his hands into his pockets, and leaned back. This attitude presented him in profile to the hall – black hair, nobby brow, jutting chin, and one light baleful eye. To questions as to Mr Harsch’s position in the household he replied briefly that he had lodged at Prior’s End for four years. He was on the footing of a friend, but he paid his way. They met at meals, and occasionally spent the evening together. Their work was widely different, and each had his own laboratory.

This information was flung out in short, abrupt sentences, and with an air of complete indifference. He was then asked whether there had been any change in Mr Harsch’s manner on the Tuesday evening, to which he replied with the utmost brevity, ‘No.’

‘He was just as usual?’

‘Certainly.’

‘He was in the habit of going for a walk after supper?’

‘He was.’

‘Did he say in your hearing that he was going to play the organ?’

‘I believe he mentioned it.’

‘He was in the habit of playing the organ?’

‘I don’t know what you call a habit. He liked playing. He was a musician. He played when he had time.’

The coroner took up one of the papers before him.

‘Did Mr Harsch possess a pistol?’

Evan Madoc took his right hand out of his pocket and hitched the arm over the back of his chair. He said with a kind of angry force, ‘I haven’t the slightest idea!’

‘You never saw one in his possession?’

‘Certainly not!’

‘He might easily have had one without your knowing it?’

There was an offensive edge on Madoc’s voice as he replied.

‘He might have had a dozen. I am not in the habit of rummaging in other people’s boxes.’

A constable laid something down upon the table and removed a paper wrapper.

‘This is the pistol, Mr Madoc. Have you ever seen it before?’

‘I have not.’

‘Do you know what make it is?’

‘German, I should say.’

‘You know something about firearms?’

‘I disapprove of them. I am a pacifist. I spent some time in Germany a few years ago. I have seen pistols of this make there.’

‘Mr Harsch might have possessed such a pistol?’

‘Anyone who had been in Germany might have possessed one. As to whether Michael Harsch did or did not, your guess is as good as mine.’

He was again called to order, and appeared to consider himself dismissed. His chair made a rasping noise as he pushed it back and got to his feet. The coroner stopped him.

‘I have not finished with you, Mr Madoc. What were your relations with Mr Harsch?’

A curious flicker passed over the crooked face. It might have been a nervous twitch, it might have been a smile. He said jerkily but without anger, ‘Host and guest – fellow scientists.’

‘You were on friendly terms?’

Evan Madoc straightened up. He said, ‘Friendship is a big word. I do not use it lightly.’

The coroner rapped sharply on the table.

‘You are begging the question, sir. I must ask you to answer it. Was there any quarrel between you and Mr Harsch?’

‘There was no quarrel.’ The words dropped slowly, almost mournfully into the silence.

‘You were on friendly terms?’

Again that curious flicker, as swift and elusive as a shadow passing over water. It came, and it was gone again. Evan Madoc said, ‘He was my friend.’