"Do you wish to ask this witness any questions?" he enquired.
Lauriston rose to his feet.
"No!" he replied. "What he says is quite correct. That is, as regards myself."
The Coroner hesitated a moment; then he motioned to Hollinshaw to leave the box, and once more turned to Lauriston.
"We will have your evidence now," he said. "And—let me warn you that there is no obligation on you to say anything which would seem to incriminate you."
CHAPTER NINE
WHOSE WERE THOSE RINGS?
Paying no attention to another attempted murmur of advice from Melky, who seemed to be on pins and needles, Lauriston at once jumped to his feet and strode to the witness-box. The women in the public seats glanced at him with admiring interest—such a fine-looking young fellow, whispered one sentimental lady to another, to have set about a poor old gentleman like Mr. Multenius! And everybody else, from the Coroner to the newspaper reporter—who was beginning to think he would get some good copy, after all, that morning—regarded him with attention. Here, at any rate, was the one witness who had actually found the pawnbroker's dead body.
Lauriston, his colour heightened a little under all this attention, answered the preliminary questions readily enough. His name was Andrew Carruthers Lauriston. His age—nearly twenty-two. He was a native of Peebles, in Scotland—the only son of the late Andrew Lauriston. His father was a minister of the Free Church. His mother was dead, too. He himself had come to London about two years ago—just after his mother's death. For the past few weeks he had lodged with Mrs. Flitwick, in Star Street—that was his present address. He was a writer of fiction—stories and novels. He had heard all the evidence already given, including that of the last witness, Hollinshaw. All that Hollinshaw had said was quite true. It was quite true that he had gone to Multenius's pawnshop about five-thirty of the previous afternoon, on his own business. He had looked in through both doors and window before entering the side-door: he wanted to know who was in the shop—whether it was Mr. Multenius, or his grand-daughter. He wanted to know that for a simple reason—he had never done business with Mr. Multenius, never even seen him that he remembered, but he had had one transaction with Miss Wildrose, and he wished, if possible, to do his business with her. As a matter of fact he saw nobody inside the shop when he looked in through the front door and the window—so he went round to the side-entrance.
All this had come in answer to questions put by the Coroner—who now paused and looked at Lauriston not unkindly.