A. What you might call fast—hurrying.
Q. Didn’t it strike you as odd, then, that it should take it a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes to cover that short distance between the spot where you saw it and your inn?
A. No, it didn’t. I didn’t think about it. Mr. Cleghorn, he might have stopped to rest himself, or to tie a bootlace, or anything.
Q. After seeing the figure did you return to the bar?
A. No. I went into the parlour to make tea.
Q. And remained there till Mr. Cleghorn entered?
A. That’s it.
Counsel nodded across at the detective, as if to say, “Here’s possible matter for you, Sergeant,” and with that he closed the examination, and told the witness he might stand down.
Samuel Cleghorn, butler to Sir Calvin, was then called to give evidence. Witness appeared as a substantial, well-nourished man of forty, with a full, rather unexpressive face, a fixed eye (literally), and a large bald tonsure—not at all the sort of figure one would associate with a romantic story of passion and mystery. He admitted his quarrel with the prisoner, pleading excessive provocation, and that he had followed him out on the fatal afternoon with the intention actually suggested by the witness Ketchlove. He had failed, however, to discover him, or the direction in which he had gone, and had ultimately, after some desultory prying about the grounds, withdrawn himself to the upper kitchen gardens, where he had taken refuge in a tool-shed, and there remained, nursing his sorrow, until 3.30 or thereabouts, when, feeling still very overcome, he had decided to go up to the Red Deer for a little refreshment, which he had done, afterwards returning straight to the house.
Q. How did you leave the kitchen garden?