Davidson had served him four years, he said. He frequently went round the woods at night, and had of late suspected that poachers had been at work about the fir spinny. So far as he knew, and he had made inquiries, nobody but Bernard Appleby, a relation of his own, and a young man of unimpeachable character, had gone out of his house on the night in question. Appleby had spent fourteen days at the hall and it was at least twelve months since he had stayed there before. It appeared unlikely that he should have intended to meet Davidson.
Palliser was followed by a teamster, whose evidence made an impression. “I came out of the ‘Black Bull’ with Davidson at ten minutes to eleven,” he said. “He wasn’t exactly what one would call sober, though a man who didn’t know him wouldn’t have noticed it. He told me he was going round by the fir spinny to see if he could catch somebody who’d been laying snares. I told him to be careful he didn’t pitch over the footbridge.”
Most of those present were sensible of a little relief. Nothing unpleasant could, it seemed, transpire now, and the jury, who waited for Appleby to inform them that he had seen nothing of Davidson during his stroll, began to see what their verdict would be. There was also no great show of interest when the coroner asked for Bernard Appleby.
He asked twice, however, and there was no answer, while the jury exchanged significant glances when five minutes passed and the witness did not appear. Then there was a curious silence as Sergeant Stitt, flushed with haste, came in.
“Mr. Appleby was duly summoned, sir,” he said. “I have just received this telegram from the solicitors he is engaged with.”
Nobody moved while the coroner opened the message, and there was deep stillness as he read aloud: “In reply to inquiry Appleby has not resumed his duties here as expected. Have no clue to his whereabouts. Anxious for information.”
“It will be the duty of the police to discover them as soon as possible,” he said. “Have you any notion, Sergeant Stitt?”
Stitt led in a young man whom everybody recognized as the booking clerk from the station four miles away. “Mr. Appleby bought a ticket for Liverpool just in time to catch the train on the evening Davidson’s body was found,” he said. “He came into the office and sat down about a minute. I noticed he turned up the steamer sailings in the paper he borrowed.”
“A mail-boat left for New York the following afternoon,” said Sergeant Stitt.
The effect was evident. Men looked at one another with suspicion in their eyes, the coroner sent for Palliser and conferred with him and Stitt, while the heavy stillness the murmur of their voices emphasized was curiously significant. Hitherto nobody had seriously thought of connecting Appleby with Davidson’s death, but it now appeared that there could be only one meaning to the fact that he had sought safety in flight. Then the coroner stood up.