Amidst startling commotion, an inquest was called. Of course the question now was, how he got down there: a question that puzzled his friends and the world in general. For it was a well-known fact that Bell gave way to superstitious fancies, and would not be likely to approach the shaft alone at night.
But no evidence came forward that could throw light on the mystery. Those who had seen him last in life—the pitmen with whom he had been drinking at the Golden Shaft, and his wife at home, who had been the last person, so far as was known, to exchange a word with him—told what they had to tell. Their testimony amounted to nothing. Neither, for that matter, did Mr. Blase Pellet's. Very much to his dismay, Mr. Pellet was summoned as a witness, and was sharply questioned by the coroner about his dream.
And Blase, in sheer helplessness and some terror, took up the dream again; the dream which he had been trying lately to repudiate. No other course than to take it up seemed open to him, now that matters had come to this pass and Bell had been actually found. If he disowned the dream, the next inquiry would be, How then did you come to know anything of the matter: what told you that the man was lying there? So, with clouded face and uneasy voice, Mr. Blase gave the history of his dream: and when asked by a juryman why he had gone about lately protesting that he was sure he had not had any dream, he replied that, seeing the public were growing so excited, he had deemed it better to disavow it, thinking it might calm them down again. The coroner, who seemed to be unfortunately sceptical as to dreams in general, eyed the witness keenly, and made him repeat the dream—at least what he remembered of it—three times over. Blase declared he had never been able to recollect much of it, except the fact that he had seen Bell lying at the foot of the pit, dead. And then he had awakened in a state of inconceivable fright.
"Had you any animosity against the deceased during his life?" questioned the coroner, still regarding the witness intently.
"Oh dear, no, sir," returned Blase. "We were always the best of friends. He was a sort of relation of mine. At least his wife is."
That no animosity had existed between them could be testified to by the community in general, as the coroner found. He was looking at Blase still.
"And you positively state, young man, that you had no grounds whatever, except this dream, for suspecting or knowing that the deceased was down the shaft?"
Blase coughed. "None."
"You do not know how he got down?"
"Good gracious I know! Not I, sir."