“The young Earl of Brockelsby had made this somewhat lengthy, perfectly voluntary explanation of the state of affairs in a calm, quiet voice, with much dignity and perfect simplicity, but the coroner did not seem impressed by it, for he asked very drily:
“ ‘Did you part good friends?’
“ ‘On my side absolutely so.’
“ ‘But not on his?’ insisted the coroner.
“ ‘I think he felt naturally annoyed that he had been so ill-advised by his solicitors.’
“ ‘And you made no attempt later on in the day to adjust any ill-feeling that may have existed between you and him?’ asked the coroner, marking with strange, earnest emphasis every word he uttered.
“ ‘If you mean did I go and see my brother again that day—no, I did not.’
“ ‘And your lordship can give us no further information which might throw some light upon the mystery which surrounds the Hon. Robert de Genneville’s death?’ still persisted the coroner.
“ ‘I am sorry to say I cannot,’ replied the Earl of Brockelsby with firm decision.
“The coroner still looked puzzled and thoughtful. It seemed at first as if he wished to press his point further; everyone felt that some deep import had lain behind his examination of the witness, and all were on tenterhooks as to what the next evidence might bring forth. The Earl of Brockelsby had waited a minute or two, then, at a sign from the coroner, had left the witness-box in order to have a talk with his solicitor.
“At first he paid no attention to the depositions of the cashier and hall porter of the Castle Hotel, but gradually it seemed to strike him that curious statements were being made by these witnesses, and a frown of anxious wonder settled between his brows, whilst his young face lost some of its florid hue.
“Mr. Tremlett, the cashier at the hotel, had been holding the attention of the court. He stated that the Hon. Robert Ingram de Genneville had arrived at the hotel at eight o’clock on the morning of the 13th; he had the room which he usually occupied when he came to the Castle, namely, No. 21, and he went up to it immediately on his arrival, ordering some breakfast to be brought up to him.
“At eleven o’clock the Earl of Brockelsby called to see his brother and remained with him until about twelve. In the afternoon the deceased went out, and returned for his dinner at seven o’clock in company with a gentleman whom the cashier knew well by sight, Mr. Timothy Beddingfield, the lawyer, of Paradise Street. The gentlemen had their dinner downstairs, and after that they went up to the Hon. Mr. de Genneville’s room for coffee and cigars.
“ ‘I could not say at what time Mr. Beddingfield left,’ continued the cashier, ‘but I rather fancy I saw him in the hall at about 9:15 p.m. He was wearing an Inverness cape over his dress clothes and a Glengarry cap. It was just at the hour when the visitors who had come down for the night from London were arriving thick and fast; the hall was very full, and there was a large party of Americans monopolising most of our personnel, so I could not swear positively whether I did see Mr. Beddingfield or not then, though I am quite sure that it was Mr. Timothy Beddingfield who dined and spent the evening with the Hon. Mr. de Genneville, as I know him quite well by sight. At ten o’clock I am off duty, and the night porter remains alone in the hall.’
“Mr. Tremlett’s evidence was corroborated in most respects by a waiter and by the hall porter. They had both seen the deceased come in at seven o’clock in company with a gentleman, and their description of the latter coincided with that of the appearance of Mr. Timothy Beddingfield, whom, however, they did not actually know.
“At this point of the proceedings the foreman of the jury wished to know why Mr. Timothy Beddingfield’s evidence had not been obtained, and was informed by the detective-inspector in charge of the case that that gentleman had seemingly left Birmingham, but was expected home shortly. The coroner suggested an adjournment pending Mr. Beddingfield’s appearance, but at the earnest request of the detective he consented to hear the evidence of Peter Tyrrell, the night porter at the Castle Hotel, who, if you remember the case at all, succeeded in creating the biggest sensation of any which had been made through this extraordinary and weirdly gruesome case.
“ ‘It was the first time I had been on duty at The Castle,’ he said, ‘for I used to be night porter at Bright’s, in Wolverhampton, but just after I had come on duty at ten o’clock a gentleman came and asked if he could see the Hon. Robert de Genneville. I said that I thought he was in, but would send up and see. The gentleman said: “It doesn’t matter. Don’t trouble; I know his room. Twenty-one, isn’t it?” And up he went before I could say another word.’
“ ‘Did he give you any name?’ asked the coroner.
“ ‘No, sir.’
“ ‘What was he like?’
“ ‘A young gentleman, sir, as far as I can remember, in an Inverness cape and Glengarry cap, but I could not see his face very well as he stood with his back to the light, and the cap shaded his eyes, and he only spoke to me for a minute.’
“ ‘Look all round you,’ said the coroner quietly. ‘Is there anyone in this court at all like the gentleman you speak of?’
“An awed hush fell over the many spectators there present as Peter Tyrrell, the night porter of the Castle Hotel, turned his head towards the body of the court and slowly scanned the many faces there present; for a moment he seemed to hesitate—only for a moment though,
