"Guess I'd better tell that suspicious deputy where I'm stopping," Seymour remarked when duly posted.
Brewster laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "Don't mind Sam Hardley, stranger. By now his mind is loping along some other line of suspicion. Better come to the inquest, though. With Hardley in the coroner's seat it will be better than vaudeville."
The sergeant did attend the inquest in the unroofed bank building, where the workmen had "laid off" for the "event." That he did not find it as amusing as Brewster had promised was not entirely due to the queer feeling that came with every mention of his name as that of the central figure. He writhed at the official flounderings of Hardley, who made an exhibition of a jury which, under sensible direction, would have proved competent.
Seymour had heard strange coroners' verdicts before, but that which this fat deputy sponsored was a prize-winning oddity. Hardley read it aloud:
"We, the jury in this murder case duly impaneled, do and now hereby report that Staff-Sergeant Russell Seymour of the Royal Mounted Canadian Police, in the pursuit of duty in the proximity of Gold, B.C., did come to an untimely death to the regret of this afflicted law-abiding community.
"We, the jury, etc., do find and hereby report further that the aforesaid lamented Seymour was murdered by a rifle bullet fired by the man who held up the B.C.X. stage and killed Ben Tabor, driver thereof and subject of the last preceding inquest of this court, both being foul and fatal murders.
"We, the jury, etc., do find and hereby report still further, that Deputy Coroner Samuel Hardley, Esq., reached the scene of the tragedy with commendable promptitude. We direct him to draw such posse as he finds necessary from amongst the citizens of Gold and run to earth the perpetrator of these dastardly crimes; and, furthermore, we express our confidence that he will leave no stone unturned to justify his reputation as a fearless officer with the encomiums of a successful capture dead or alive."
Hardley's shrill voice was softened by the huskiness of proudful emotion as he finished the reading. From his seat on an empty packing box in the front row of spectators, Phil Brewster uttered a fervent "A-men!" then, catching the eye of Seymour who stood along the wall, he winked sardonically.
"Needless to say, fellow citizens of Gold," Hardley shrilled on after having cleared his throat, "your officer appreciates the confidence of which this jury of his peers has so fitly delivered itself. He will leave no stone unturned to bring to a rope's end the foul fiend guilty of sending to perdition these two men, one a brave officer of the law and the other a worthy driver of the B.C.X. mules. He would respectfully suggest that before you leave this temporary temple of justice, so kindly loaned for the occasion by the public-spirited manager of the First Bank of Gold, each and every one of you look for the last time on one who gave his life that this should be a more decent and law-loving mining camp."
For this last suggestion, Seymour could forgive Hardley's astonishing lack of modesty, even his consigning to "perdition" the two casualties. Although the fat deputy could not have imagined it, he had done the sergeant a pronounced favor.