The Black Diamond

by Francis Brett Young

No. As he had explained, he was busy with the October accounts.

‘You consider your daughter a fit person to be in charge of a crowded bar?’

Yes. His daughter was quite competent and used to keeping order.

‘How old is she?’

She was twenty years of age. Messrs Astill, he persisted, always expected the accounts to be ready by the end of the month, and he had happened to be a little behind with them. Messrs Astill would speak for him.

‘You consider that you performed your duty as licensee of this inn?’

Yes. Certainly he considered he had done his duty. He had sent for the doctor at once.

‘You really expect me and the jury to believe that a girl of twenty is a fit person to be left in charge of a bar full of those rough men? Very well. . . . You can stand down.’

Susan Hind, twenty, said she was daughter of the previous witness. She did not know deceased, though he was in the habit of looking in of nights. She had never served him in the bar. On the night in question there was nothing unusual. There were near about twenty men in the bar. Mr Badger was sitting alone over in the corner. He was not drunk. Fellows was not drunk. She didn’t think that Connor was drunk. She ought to know when a fellow was drunk! There was no special rule as to when they should be served or not. Yes, that was it, she used her discretion. Certainly Connor was excitable. He had had two or three quarts. No, that was nothing for Connor. He was always quick with his tongue, and the others were laughing at him. She agreed with her father that she could manage men if any one could. She had been used to it for years . . . ever since she was sixteen. She hadn’t noticed anything until Badger dropped his glass on the floor and came over to Connor. She supposed Connor had riled him, but she hadn’t been listening. Connor always went on at people. She saw Badger give Fellows a hit in the face and then the two of them went down. She called her father, and while her back was turned Bastard must have come in. She saw him try to pull Fellows off Badger. She saw Malpas take Bastard by the arm. He didn’t use no violence that she saw. Bastard tried to fix Malpas’s arms. She saw the two of them swaying about together. They must have tripped over something, they went down so sudden. Bastard did not cry out. She remembered nothing more, she was that scared. Malpas had not been drinking. He had had one drink: a small whisky. Of course she couldn’t say if he had got drink anywhere else. In her opinion he was sober. The only man in the room that was drunk was Atwell. She had gone on serving him because she knew by experience that he could behave decent with it. He was like that most nights.

Atwell, who had smiled at this tribute to his powers, was called next. He didn’t remember nothing. He couldn’t say if he was drunk because he didn’t remember. Asked if he wasn’t ashamed of himself, he had nothing to say.