Wallingford winced as if he had had his ears cuffed. In a moment, his insolence evaporated and I could see his hands shaking as he, evidently, cudgelled his brains for a reply. Suddenly he seemed to have struck an idea.
“Shopping of various kinds,” said he; “for instance, there were the candles for deceased. His lamp was of German make and English lamp-candles wouldn’t fit it. So I used to have to go to a German shop at Sparrow Corner by the Tower, to get packets of Schneider’s stearine candles. That took about half a day.”
The coroner, stolidly and without comment, wrote down the answer, but my experience as a counsel told me that it had been a dummy question, asked to distract the witness’s attention and cover a more significant one that was to follow. For that question I waited expectantly, and when it came my surmise was confirmed.
“And Dr. Dimsdale? What did you have to do for him?”
“I used to help him with his books sometimes when he hadn’t got a dispenser. I am a pretty good accountant and he isn’t.”
“Where does Dr. Dimsdale do his bookkeeping?”
“At the desk in the surgery.”
“And is that where you used to work?”
“Yes.”
“Used Dr. Dimsdale to work with you or did you do the books by yourself?”