"Call Cyril Thornycroft," said the coroner.
The calling of Cyril Thornycroft was a mere form, as the coroner was aware. He had learnt all the unpleasant rumours and suspicions attaching to Cyril's absence; had no doubt formed his own opinion on the point. But he was careful not to avow that opinion; perhaps also not to press for any evidence that might tend to confirm it, out of regard to his old friend, Justice Thornycroft.
"Have you any suggestion to offer as to your son's absence?" he asked in a considerate tone of the magistrate.
Mr. Thornycroft stood up to answer. His countenance was clear and open, his fine upright form raised to its full height: evidently he attached no suspicion to his son's non-return.
"I think it will be found that he has only gone to see some friends who live at a distance, and that a few days will bring him home again. My reasons for this belief are good, though I would rather not state them publicly; they are conclusive to my own mind, and to the minds of my two elder sons. And I beg to say that I affirm this in all honour, as a magistrate and a gentleman."
Again the coroner paused. "Do you consider, Mr. Thornycroft, that your son premeditated this visit?"
"No; or he would have spoken of it. I think that circumstances must have caused him to depart on it suddenly."
Mr. Thornycroft was thinking of one class of "circumstances," the coroner and jury of another. They could only connect any circumstances, causing sudden departure, with the tragedy of the night, with a sense of guilt. Mr. Thornycroft knew of another outlet.
"Is it usual for him to leave his watch and purse on the drawers, sir?" asked a juror.
"It is not unusual. He does so sometimes when changing his coat and waistcoat for dinner: not intentionally, but from forgetfulness. He is absentminded at the best of times: not at all practical as his brothers are."