“Stop a bit, if you please,” interrupted the Coroner. “This is likely to be a very important point. Now, do you know—precisely—what time this was, Grimsdale?”
“Yes, sir! I looked at the clock on the mantelpiece—an uncommon good timekeeper, sir—as I rose from my chair to pull aside the blind and look out of the window. It was precisely seventeen minutes past three.”
“That,” observed the Coroner, with a glance at the jury, “is about an hour and a half before sunrise. Now, Grimsdale, how could you see at that time of the early morning?”
“Well, sir, it was a clear night, there was a bit of a moon, and altogether it was a good night for seeing—grey light, you might term it. I could see our stables on the other side of the road clear enough, and the trees round about there, and the road. And I saw those three gentlemen—their figures, I mean—plainly.”
“What were they doing?”
“Walking slowly away from the Sceptre up the road towards Greycloister and Mitbourne, sir.”
“Could you distinguish them, one from the other?”
“Yes, sir. I knew which was Mr. Guy, and which was the first man who came to the Sceptre. Mr. Guy was walking in the middle; the gentleman who came at nine o’clock was on his left-hand side; the third man was on his right.”
“What sort of man was he?”
“A tall man, sir—a good six foot.”