“Mr. Matthewson,” said Trafford seriously, “it is not pleasant to have to play hide and seek with you. I’ve had to remind you once before that the inquest is public. If I have this question asked there, you’ll have to answer or——”
“Go to jail,” Matthewson said, completing the sentence. “I know. I’ve thought of that. I shouldn’t answer.”
Matthewson drummed on the table and looked at his companion. Even his political power could not shield him from the consequence of a refusal to answer a question put to him at the inquest on such a murder as this. Surely the cause must be a serious one that induced him even to think of such an act. Trafford took up another line:
“Have you thought that if you were summoned and refused to testify, it would be necessary for the government to supply as best it could the want of your testimony. Have you thought that in doing so, it could not be dainty as to means, and that it would not be impossible in such an event that it might stumble on the story that Cranston tried to sell you to-day?”
“In other words, you would become the pedlar of scandal,” sneered Matthewson.
“In other words, that justice might not fail, I’d get at the facts, even if they involved my own—brother. Don’t you see, Mr. Matthewson, I’m giving you a chance? If, with a knowledge of all the facts, I can bring this crime home to the murderer without bringing you into it, I’ll do so. If I can’t, I simply know in advance what all the world is bound to know finally. You’ve your chance. You can take it or leave it.”
“You’re pressing your advantage. I’m to tell, or you’ll find out. Let me suggest you’ve been on the case some time and the sum of your finding is not large.”
“So large, Mr. Matthewson, that I can make my arrest within twenty-four hours and, I’m certain, convict my man.”
Matthewson started. There was no mistaking the tone. Still he would not yield.