"At Westhaven? I will, sir. And I'll see about the Sunday school too. He'd be known to the teachers."
Mrs. Merry snorted. "That's another lie. I don't believe the brat has anything to do with Sunday schools, begging your pardon, Mr. Shakerley. He's a liar, and I don't believe his name's Butsey at all."
"Well, well," said the coroner impatiently, "let us get on with the inquest. What further evidence have you, inspector?"
"I have to speak," said Mr. Mask rising and looking more yellow and prim than ever as he took the oath. "I am Mr. Strode's legal adviser. He came to see me two or three times while he was in town. He stated that he was going down to Wargrove."
"On what day did he say?"
"On no particular day. He said he would be going down some time, but he was in no hurry."
"Didn't he tell you he was going down on Thursday?"
"No. He never named the day."
"Had he any idea of meeting with a violent death?"
"If he had, he certainly would not have come," said Mask grimly; "my late client had a very good idea of looking after his own skin. But he certainly hinted that he was in danger."