“Were you and Mr. Brainard old friends, Mr. Wyndham?”
“We have known each other for over a year, but were acquaintances rather than friends,” replied Wyndham, flicking a white thread from his coat sleeve.
Black shot a questioning look at him. “Do I understand that you were not friends?” he asked.
“Oh, we were friendly enough on the few occasions that we met, but our professions gave us very few opportunities to become better acquainted.”
“What was Mr. Brainard’s occupation?”
“He was a mining engineer.”
The coroner leaned over and consulted Dr. McPherson’s notes, then, sitting back in his chair, asked: “Did Mr. Brainard complain of feeling ill before dinner last night?”
“No, except to tell Captain Willert and myself that the climate in South America had played the devil with him.”
“Were you present at the dinner table when he was taken ill last night?”
“Yes. Dr. Noyes said that he was suffering from vertigo, and Mrs. Porter suggested that we take him upstairs and put him to bed.”