Eleanor could not understand why she had been formally notified to attend the coroner's inquest till the drift of the questions began to indicate that this investigation like many another was not an investigation to find out but an investigation to hush up, not a following of the clues of evidence but a deliberate attempt to throw pursuit off on false clues. In fact, there were many things about that inquest which Eleanor could not fathom. Why, for instance was the local district attorney not present? Why had the Smelter Coking Company a special pleader present? Why was the great Federal Government not represented by an attorney of equal ability, instead of this downy-lipped silent and incredibly ignorant youth? Why was the first session of the inquest adjourned till the burial of her father? Why did the sheriff act as a mentor at the ear of the chief coroner? Why did the justice of the peace acting as coroner listen to all suggestions from the Smelter Company's attorney and the Sheriff, and reject all suggestions from her father's friends? Why was the stenographer instructed to erase some evidence and preserve other? What was the ground of discrimination? If you doubt whether these things are ever done, dear reader; then, peruse with close scrutiny the first criminal trial that comes under your notice; and see if you think that the term of the Old Dispensation 'wresting the judgment' has become obsolete? You don't suppose those long-whiskered old patriarchs openly took the bribe in hand and right before the claimants, tucked the loose shekels into the wide phalacteries of holy skirts—do you?
Yet, there were certain features of that inquest which awakened strange hope in her breast. It was held in the county court room; and the crowd gathering to listen and hear somehow gave her a different impression from the unwashed rabble that usually infests public courts to feast on the carrion of criminal proceedings. Men predominated, of course; but they were decent men, men of standing, not idlers and blacklegs. As she passed up the aisle with Matthews and Mrs. Williams to the front row of chairs where the news editor and Wayland and Brydges and the youth from Washington were already seated, she heard a man's voice say, "They've gone too far this time, by Jingo! It will take more than wind-jamming to win next fall's elections with this against them."
"You bet there's an awakening," returned another voice. "The-dyed-in-the-woollies don't realize yet; but they will waken up after election day!"
The news editor had only finished giving evidence; on the whole immaterial testimony; for suspicions do not pass with juries and coroners.
"How was it you attended the examination of this mine?" was the last question asked him.
Considering the Smelter City lots, for which the news editor had yet to pay and the "kiddies" which he had to support, it would have been an easy matter for him 'to slink' that question. "A newspaper man's pursuit of a good story" would have been answer enough to satisfy any coroner; but the news editor did not give that answer. He took off his glasses and polished the lenses with his handkerchief. Then, he put them back on his nose and looked straight at the gentleman presiding.
"May I answer that question in my own way, taking plenty of time?" he asked. "I take it this inquest is being held to get at the real truth."
The coroner said, "Go ahead!"
The attorney for the Smelter City Coking Company sat up and whispered something to Brydges. The handy man turned lazily round. "Yes," he said, "one of our staff."
The news editor cleared his throat, and a little sharp intersection of lines bridged above his nose.