“And what brought on the temper?” asked Pen-field patiently.
“I don’t know, sir.” Herman paused, then added: “He found fault with the cooking, with the way the car was running, with the postman because he was late, with Miss Lucille and Miss Anne because they kept him waiting. Oh, he blessed us all out this week, sir.”
“And you say he was a kind master?” remarked Penfield dryly.
“A kind and generous master,” replied Herman stubbornly. “He always had his hand in his pocket to help some one.”
“Did you ever hear Mr. Meredith express enmity against any one?” questioned the coroner, then noting Herman’s blank expression, he asked: “Did he ever say he hated any person in particular?”
Again Herman fingered his side-whiskers. In his appearance and deportment he resembled a model English manservant.
“I can’t exactly say, sir,” he replied evasively.
“I must have a direct answer.” Penfield’s voice deepened and Herman glanced at him under half-closed lids.
“Yes, sir, certainly; but as one of the family, so to speak,” he coughed deprecatingly. “Twenty years service, come this Christmas; I dislike to—to tell tales, sir. But if you insist,” observing Penfield’s impatient expression, “why, sir, I heard Mr. Meredith, sir, speak very harshly, sir, to some—some female, last night, sir, as I was on my way to bed.”
“And who was the female? Come,” as Herman again hesitated. “You are unnecessarily taking up the time of this court. Answer more quickly.”