“Now is the time, Doc,” said the inspector, all his detective instincts aroused. “We’ll see what the boy says and then, if it throws suspicion on him, we can see how deep is the affection of Piggy Bill’s sweetie.”
In the girl, the inspector, looking for important revelations, saw now, not a pretty girl, but the possible accomplice of Piggy Bill Hovey in some foul deed.
“Swear Ross Craighead,” said the coroner, who did not know whether he was to be bored with a lot of insurance statistics or was to face a drama not yet unfolded.
The buzz of conversation in the courtroom ceased as Ross took the stand. No one knew in what direction the inquest was tending. Even to the coroner this long rehearsal of symptoms without any avowed purpose seemed unnecessarily delayed. Inspector Craven’s presence puzzled him. He did not especially relish having the police oversee his conduct of an inquest. He asked rather curtly that the proceedings be hastened.
“Mr. Craighead,” began the lawyer, “were you with your father in his last hours?”
“I was,” answered Ross, sadly.
“Did you purchase the medicines administered to him?”
“No, sir,” was the reply. “He was very querulous if I left his side. When I dozed off, he often called me just to talk. He felt the loss of his activity so much it was pitiful. Miss Prettyman, who loved him almost as much as I did, for we were always together, never minded going out for whatever he wanted, day or night.”
“I should say not,” muttered the inspector grimly to Doctor Jarvis.
“Now,” pursued the lawyer, obedient to the doctor’s prompting, “how did your father die? I do not want to deepen your pain, but we must get at some understanding of the exact cause of your father’s death.”