"I see," he said--"I see. Supposing Mrs. Davenport is willing I should appear for her, I think all will be right. Of course, it would be nonsense to pretend to believe that a thing of this kind is agreeable. It is not. Things of this kind are awkward and painful; but that is all. I feel fully persuaded, beyond the inconvenience of appearing as a witness, Mrs. Davenport will suffer none. Your doctor must be mad, I should say, Mr. Paulton. You don't think he could be induced to certify?"
"I am perfectly sure he won't. I have known him some years, and he is a man of great determination," said Paulton.
"Well, we must only try and do the best we can. Has the deceased any relatives--blood relatives, I mean?"
"I don't know," said Paulton.
"Yes, he has a brother, who lives in the south of Ireland," answered O'Brien. "Mr. Davenport was somewhat peculiar in his thoughts and habits, but his brother is an oddity."
"Ah, that is not fortunate. No doubt he will want to know all about this unlucky affair.
"And now, O'Brien, it is your turn. I want you to tell me all you know about this other man, Blake."
"Well, I'll tell you all I know about the whole thing," said Jerry O'Brien.
"Ay, do," said the solicitor, settling himself comfortably in his elbow chair.
"The man who is dead, Louis Davenport, was a native of the south of Ireland, County Waterford, to be exact. His wife is about thirty-four, and he must have been about sixty when he died. She, too, is Irish; her maiden name was Butler. She comes of a good Cork family--the Butlers of Scrouthea. They were as poor as church mice. Davenport was rich, and had money, not land; and Marion Butler was a beauty, as my friend Paulton has told you.