"The coroner's inquest, sir. It is to be held to-morrow in the great dining-room. Sir Oswald died so suddenly, you see, sir, that it's only natural there should be an inquest. I'm sorry to say there's a talk about his having committed suicide, poor gentleman!"
"Suicide—yes—yes—that is possible; he may have committed suicide," murmured Reginald.
"It's very dreadful, isn't it, sir? The two doctors and Mr. Dalton, the lawyer, are together in the library. The body has been moved into the state bed-room."
The lawyer emerged from the library at this moment, and approached
Reginald.
"Can I speak with you for a few minutes, Mr. Eversleigh?" he asked.
"Certainly."
He went into the library, where he found the two doctors, and another person, whom he had not expected to see.
This was a country gentleman—a wealthy landed squire and magistrate—whom Reginald Eversleigh had known from his boyhood. His name was Gilbert Ashburne; and he was an individual of considerable importance in the neighbourhood of Raynham, near which village he had a fine estate.
Mr. Ashburne was standing with his back to the empty fireplace, in conversation with one of the medical men, when Reginald entered the room. He advanced a few paces, to shake hands with the young man, and then resumed his favourite magisterial attitude, leaning against the chimney-piece, with his hands in his trousers' pockets.
"My dear Eversleigh," he said, "this is a very terrible affair—very terrible!"