“Well, sir, I don’t attach too much weight to coroners’ verdicts, but this seems reasonable enough. There’s the fact of the prisoner’s presence on the scene, and the revolver with his name engraved on it being found near the body.”
“That’s very bad,” remarked Bartley Bradstone.
“Yes, sir, very bad, as you say,” assented Mr. McAndrew; “but I’m not quite satisfied yet. I’ve seen the prisoner, and watched him through the inquest. And—I’ve had a good deal of experience, Mr. Vanley—he doesn’t look guilty.”
“He is not guilty!” said the squire, earnestly.
Mr. McAndrew nodded respectfully.
“He’s a friend of yours, sir?”
“He is,” assented the squire; “a very dear friend.”
Bartley Bradstone shot a glance of jealousy at the sad, worn face.
“Just so, sir; then you can tell me something about him—who he is and so on.”
The squire passed his hand across his brow.