Whereupon, to his great amazement and satisfaction, Master Bobbie Lancaster found himself passed along through the thick crowd of matrons to the swing doors of the public-house; the importance of his mission being added to by every lady, so that when at last he reached the two policemen guarding the stairs he was introduced to them as a boy who saw the accident; could identify the driver, could, in short, clear up everything. Bobbie, accordingly, after being cuffed by the two policemen (more from force of habit than any desire to treat him harshly), was shot up the staircase past a window where, glancing aside, he saw the bunches of excited interested faces below; past a landing, and, the door being left momentarily unattended, he slipped into the room. He gave up instantly his newly gained character and crouched modestly in a corner behind the thirty members of the general public and kept his head well down.
“Now, now, now! Do let ’s proceed in order. Is there any other witness who can throw any light on the affair? What?”
The club room of the public-house, with cider and whiskey advertisements on its brown papered walls, was long and narrow, and the stout genial man seated at the end of the table had command of the room from his position. He gave his orders to a bare-headed sergeant who hunted for witnesses and submitted the results at the other end of the long table; he smiled when he turned to the twelve moody gentlemen at the side of the table; to one, at the extreme end, who had a carpenter’s rule in his breast pocket he was especially courteous. The carpenter made laborious notes with a flat lead pencil on a slip of blue paper, a proceeding at which the other members of the jury grunted disdainfully. Bobbie Lancaster, between the arms of two men in front of him, caught sight momentarily of the woman whom the sergeant had caught and who was now kissing the Testament. He recognised her as a neighbour.
“What does she say her name is, sergeant?”
“Mary Jane Rastin, sir.”
“Mary Jane Rastin.” The coroner wrote the name. “Very good! Now, Mrs. Rastin—”
“’Alf a minute,” interrupted the carpenter. “Let me get this down right. W—r—a—”
“W be blowed,” said the blowsy woman at the end of the table indignantly. “Don’t you know how to spell a simple name like Rastin? Very clear you was before the days of the School Board.”
“I have it down,” said the coroner, suavely, “R—a—s—t—i—n.”
“Ah,” said Mrs. Rastin, in complimentary tones, “you’re a gentleman, sir. You’ve had an education. You ain’t been dragged up like—”