“Well, what then?” prompted Coroner Black.
“I picked up Mr. Brainard; no easy matter, sir, for he was a dead weight”—the footman was not to be hurried—“and I carried him in here, sir, plumped him down in that chair and gave him a drink of cognac.”
“What appeared to be the matter with him?”
“He said he was dizzy like, and that everything swam before him,” explained Murray, with careful attention to detail. “He was very red in the face and shook all over; but the cognac brought him around after a bit, and, asking me to say nothing of his little upset, he went on into the drawing-room.”
“Was he in evening clothes?” The foreman of the jury spoke for the first time and looked somewhat alarmed at the sound of his own voice.
“Surely, sir; it was shortly before dinner was announced. Mr. Brainard motored out and reached here about half past six.”
“When was dinner served?” inquired Black.
“Eight o’clock, sir.”
“Humph!” The coroner jotted down the figures in his notebook. “Was Mr. Brainard a frequent caller here?”
“He was, sir, last year, but not recently, sir.” The footman paused thoughtfully, and then added: “Not since Dr. Noyes has been here.”