"I was," admitted Reggie, shrugging his shoulders.
"In the company of a young lady?"
"Yes," with a scowl for the friendly titter that ran round the room.
"As a gentleman, I abstain from pressing for the lady's name, though doubtless it can be guessed by many in this assemblage," proceeded Lowch pompously. "Let me ask if you and your companion heard a scream on the marsh that night?"
"I am glad you labour the point of your being a gentleman," said Reggie sweetly. "Yes, we heard some kind of a cry. I thought it was a sea-bird, or possibly a snared rabbit."
"Then why did you not come forward when you knew that a murder had been committed and inform the police of what you had heard?" came the supplementary query.
Mr. Mallory's wise old head was cocked a little on one side to catch the answer. From his attitude he seemed to set considerable store by it.
"Because," said Reggie slowly, "I didn't think that the cry necessarily had anything to do with the case. I know from experience that there are all sorts of queer noises on the marsh after dark—hooting owls, barking foxes, and a hundred things."
Lazarus Lowch subsided suddenly into his seat with an air of great achievement, and Reggie, perceiving that he had exhausted his capacity for making himself disagreeable, turned with an engaging smile to the coroner. "I hope I have done nothing serious, sir," he said cheerily. "This person seems to accuse me of some terrible misdemeanour, but you will understand that unless one's evidence is really vital to the issue one doesn't want to be needlessly dragged into these little turn-ups."
The coroner, a good fellow with a taste for saltwater "breeziness," smiled in friendly fashion, and promptly adjourned the Court.