“A minute?” “I couldn’t really say, sir. It was so quick.” “Were you still in the hall?” “Oh, no, sir. I was just outside Mrs. Stevens’ room. The housekeeper, sir.” “You didn’t think of going back to the hall to see what had happened?” “Oh, no, sir. I just went in to Mrs. Stevens, and she said, ‘Oh, what was that?’ frightened-like. And I said, ‘That was in the house, Mrs. Stevens, that was.’ Just like something going off, it was.” “Thank you,” said the Coroner. There was another emotional disturbance in the room as Cayley went into the witness-box; not “_Sensation_” this time, but an eager and, as it seemed to Antony, sympathetic interest. Now they were getting to grips with the drama. He gave his evidence carefully, unemotionally—the lies with the same slow deliberation as the truth. Antony watched him intently, wondering what it was about him which had this odd sort of attractiveness. For Antony, who knew that he was lying, and lying (as he believed) not for Mark’s sake but his own, yet could not help sharing some of that general sympathy with him. “Was Mark ever in possession of a revolver?” asked the Coroner. “Not to my knowledge. I think I should have known if he had been.” “You were alone with him all that morning. Did he talk about this visit of Robert’s at all?” “I didn’t see very much of him in the morning. I was at work in my room, and outside, and so on. We lunched together and he talked of it then a little.” “In what terms?” “Well—” he hesitated, and then went on. “I can’t think of a better word than ‘peevishly.’ Occasionally he said, ‘What do you think he wants?’ or ‘Why couldn’t he have stayed where he was?’ or ‘I don’t like the tone of his letter. Do you think he means trouble?’ He talked rather in that kind of way.” “Did he express his surprise that his brother should be in England?” “I think he was always afraid that he would turn up one day.” “Yes.... You didn’t hear any conversation between the brothers when they were in the office together?” “No. I happened to go into the library just after Mark had gone in, and I was there all the time.” “Was the library door open?” “Oh, yes.” “Did you see or hear the last witness at all?” “No.” “If anybody had come out of the office while you were in the library, would you have heard it?” “I think so. Unless they had come out very quietly on purpose.” “Would you call Mark a hasty-tempered man?” Cayley considered this carefully before answering. “Hasty-tempered, yes,” he said. “But not violent-tempered.” “Was he fairly athletic? Active and quick?” “Active and quick, yes. Not particularly strong.” “Yes.... One question more. Was Mark in the habit of carrying any considerable sum of money about with him?” “Yes. He always had one £100 note on him, and perhaps ten or twenty pounds as well.” “Thank you, Mr. Cayley.” Cayley went back heavily to his seat. “Damn it,” said Antony to himself, “why do I like the fellow?” “Antony Gillingham!”