The coroner's inquest increased the tension of the situation. Ella Gunthar had spoken urgently to Vance as soon as she arrived at the Manor that morning. She was fully cognizant of the time and place of the inquest and determined to be there. Vance sought to dissuade her, but finally abandoned the effort. He realized there was some deeper reason than mere curiosity, and arranged to take her with us in O'Leary's car.

    At the bend in the roadway where it joined the main highway O'Leary signaled sharply on his horn. The sound found a prolonged echo in the archaic midday siren reverberating over the estate and weirdly following us like a mechanical nemesis as we drove on. The Lieutenant offered assurances to Vance's unvoiced concern.

    "It won't take us more than ten minutes to get there. Brander'll wait for us."

    The small room in the Town Hall at Winewood was well filled with townspeople and workers from the Rexon estate; but there were no guests from the Manor itself.

    At one end of the room on a low platform was a long table at which a heavy-set, red-faced man with blinking eyes presided.

    "That's John Brander," whispered O'Leary. "A reasonable man. Local real-estate lawyer."

    At the left of the table, partitioned off by a railing, sat the jury, simple and honest men of the conventional type one would expect to find in a country town. A constable, with an ineffectual air of importance, stood beside the witness stand.

    Eric Gunthar was called first. He explained briefly how he had come upon Lief Wallen's body on his way to work, and had returned to the Gulch with Old Jed, Darrup and Vance. Under adroit questioning, his trip to the summit of the cliff with Vance was brought out; but when Gunthar became too voluble regarding the blood spot, he was somewhat abruptly dismissed, and Darrup was called. He appeared cowed and had little to add to Gunthar's testimony. Old Jed proved a somewhat pathetic figure on the witness stand, and Brander wasted no time on him.

    Vance was called next. Brander's questions elicited largely repetitions of the testimony already given; and despite the coroner's obvious attempt at caution, the blood stain by the scrub oak on the cliff was necessarily gone into at considerable length. Brander seemed to attach no particular importance to it and contrived a subtle suggestion that the blood might have been other than human blood. I myself was conscious of a fleeting mental image of some boy or amateur huntsman shooting a rabbit scurrying over the snow.

    "Were there footprints anywhere near the spot?" Brander asked.

    "No. No footprints," Vance answered. "There were, however, vague impressions in the snow."

    "Anything definite?"

    "No." And Vance was permitted to step down.

    Doctor Quayne was then sworn in. His dignity and soft manner were impressive. The jury listened with patent respect. The doctor's testimony was perfunctory and technical. He told of the condition of the body when he first saw it; estimated the time of death; and hastened over the findings of the autopsy. He emphasized, however, the peculiar skull wound over Wallen's right ear.

    "Now, this skull wound, doctor," the coroner interposed. "Just what was peculiar about it?"

    "It was somewhat sharply outlined and depressed, running from the right ear for about four inches toward the temple—not exactly what one would expect from even violent contact with a flat surface."

    "There was snow where Wallen struck?"

    "About an inch, I should say."

    "Did you examine the ground under the snow for a possible projection?"

    "No. It would have been visible had it been there."

    "But there are projecting rocks on the cliff between the upper ledge and the ground, aren't there?"

    "Slight ones. Yes."

    "Is it not possible, then, Wallen's head glanced one of these rocks in falling?"

    Doctor Quayne pursed his lips. He expressed considerable doubt.

    "However," persisted Brander, "you couldn't say definitely—could you, doctor—that this particular injury was wholly incompatible with the fall?"

    "No. I couldn't say that definitely. I merely state that the injury seemed strange in the circumstances; one hardly to be expected."

    "But still,"—Brander leaned forward with marked courtesy—"you'll pardon me, doctor, if I insist on the point. Such an injury would have been possible in an accidental fall from the cliff?"

    "Yes,"—Doctor Quayne's tone showed annoyance—"it would have been possible."

    "That will be all, doctor. Thank you for your clarity and help."

    O'Leary was then called. His testimony, brief and businesslike, served merely to corroborate that of preceding witnesses. As he stepped down there came an unexpected and dramatic interlude. Guy Darrup suddenly leaped to his feet.

    "You ain't doin' fair to Lief Wallen, Mr. Brander," he shouted righteously. "You ain't askin' for the things where truth lies. I could tell you—"

    Brander struck the table with his gavel. "If you have evidence to give," he said with acerbity, "you should have stated it when you were on the stand."

    "You didn't ask me the right questions, you didn't, Mr. Brander. I know plenty about poor Lief."

    "Swear him in again, Constable."

    "Not comfortin' for us," whispered Vance to O'Leary.

    "Brander has no choice." O'Leary, too, was apprehensive.

    Darrup took the oath a second time.

    "Now give us your withheld evidence, Darrup." Brander's biting tone was wasted.

    "Maybe you don't know, Mr. Brander, the queer wrong things that goes on over there at the Squire's." Darrup spoke like a zealot aroused. "Mr. Gunthar's always a-bullyin'. An' he drinks too much to suit the Squire. He's been warned, he has. An' it was Lief Wallen that was gonna step in his boots—just like he stepped in Old Jed's boots. An' Lief wanted to marry that pretty girl of his—the one down there who looks after Miss Joan." Ella Gunthar drew back as he pointed. "Lief had a right. He'da made her a good honest husband. But Mr. Gunthar didn't want it. I guess he's got his own ideas." Darrup contorted his lips into a shrewd smile. "An' the girl didn't want it neither. She thinks she's better than us. An' there's been plenty o' trouble about it all—Lief wasn't a boy who'd give up easy..."

    Darrup breathed noisily, and hurried on.

    "But that ain't all, Mr. Brander—not by a long ways. Nothing's right up there at the Squire's. There's funny things goin' on. Deep, dark things—things you ain't taught about in the Bible. What's the girl doin' down in the Green Glen at night times, I'd like to know? I've seen her sneakin' to Old Jed's hut. There's plottin'. Everybody's lyin'. Everybody's hatin'. An' Old Jed's queer. He don't talk to nobody. But he's up to something, always lookin' up at the trees, an' lettin' the stream water run through his fingers, like a kid. An' then, just when young Lief's about to step into Mr. Gunthar's job, he goes an' falls off the cliff. Lief knew his way about the grounds better'n to do that. Anyway, what's he doin' up there that time o' night when he's supposed to be watchin' round the Manor?"

    Brander's patience gave out. His gavel smashed down.

    "Did you come here to vent your hates, man? That's not evidence. That's old women's talk."

    "Not evidence!" shrieked Darrup. "Then ask Mr. Gunthar's girl why she was runnin' down the slope from the cliff at twelve o'clock that night when Lief fell over!"

    "What's that?"

    "You heard me, you did, Mr. Brander. I was workin' late in the pavilion, fixin' things for the Squire's party. An' here she comes runnin' down the slope an' turned right by the pavilion. An' she was cryin', too."

    I looked at Ella Gunthar. Her face was white, her lips trembled. There was a subdued commotion in the room. Brander hesitated, looked uneasy. He rustled through some papers before him. Then he looked angrily at Darrup.

    "Your statements are irrelevant." He paused. "Unless, perhaps,"— there was jocularity in his tone—"you're accusing a mere girl of hurling a big fellow like Wallen over the cliff. Is that what you mean?"

    "No, Mr. Brander." Darrup lapsed again into sullenness. "It wasn't her as could've done it. I'm only tellin' you—"

    Again the gavel descended. "That's enough! This inquest is not for the purpose of injuring a young woman's reputation. It is merely to establish by what means Wallen came to his death, and, if by criminal means, at whose hand. Your speculations are, therefore, not helpful to this investigation. Step down, Darrup." Darrup obeyed, and Brander turned quickly to O'Leary. "Any more witnesses; Lieutenant?"

    O'Leary shook his head.

    "That's all then." Brander spoke briefly to the jury. They filed out. In less than half an hour their verdict was announced:

    "We find that Lief Walton met his death by an accidental fall, under suspicious circumstances."

    Brander was startled. He opened his mouth, was about to speak, but said nothing. The inquest was over.

    "There's a verdict!" O'Leary scoffed to Vance as we drove back to the Manor. "No sense whatever. But Brander did his best."

    "Yes—oh, yes. Not strictly legal, perhaps. Could have been worse. However..."

    Ella Gunthar sat in the corner of the back seat beside me, a handkerchief pressed to her mouth, staring, unseeing, over the quiet winter landscape.

    Vance took her gently in hand when we arrived. "Was Darrup telling the truth, my dear?" he asked.

    "I don't know what you mean..."

    "Were you running down the slope that night?"

    "I—No. Of course not." She raised her chin defiantly. "I was at home at midnight. I didn't hear anything..."

    "Why are you fibbing?" he asked sternly. She compressed her lips and said nothing. Vance went on with tenderness. "Maybe I know. You're a brave little soldier. But very foolish. Nothing's going to hurt you. I want you to trust me." He held out his hand.

    Her eyes searched his face a moment. A faint smile showed on her lips. Then she placed her hand confidently in his.

    "Now run along to Joan—and let that smile come all the way out."