“Are we to understand that you would disagree with that verdict, Mr Templar?” Luker inquired suavely.
He was the only one who had remained immune to that involuntary stiffening. But he had had a chance to measure the Saint before—when, for one intangible moment, they had crossed swords in the garden during the fire.
Simon’s gaze sought him out with a sparkle of wicked sapphire.
“Simon Templar is the full name,” he said deliberately. “While you were finding out who I was, you should have talked to one of the policemen. He could have refreshed your memory. When you’ve read about me in the papers, I’ve usually been called the Saint.”
He might have dropped a bomb under their feet with a short fuse sizzling. There were times when the effects of revealing his identity gave him an indescribable delight, and this was one of them.
Lady Valerie Woodchester let out a little squeal. Lady Sangore’s mouth opened, and then closed like a trap. The General’s florid face added a tint of bright magenta to its varied hues. Fairweather dropped his hat, and it settled on the floor with an ear-splitting ploff. Only Luker remained motionless, with his dark sunken eyes riveted on the Saint…
And the Saint went on smiling.
There was a general eddy towards the entrance of the courtroom, and a red-faced constable took up his position beside the doors and began to intone self-consciously from a tattered piece of paper.
“Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! All manner of persons having anything to do at this court, before the King’s Coroner for this county, touching the death of John Kennet, draw near and give your attendance, and if anyone can give evidence on behalf of our Sovereign Lord the King, when, how, and by what means John Kennet came to his death, let him come forward and he shall be heard, and you good men of this county summoned to appear here this day to enquire for our Sovereign Lord the King, when, how, and by what means John Kennet came to his death, answer to your names as they shall be called, every man at first call, on the pains and penalties that may fail thereon. God save the King!”
4
The courtroom was not crowded, in perceptible contrast with the encouraging throng of gapers that Simon, had seen outside, so that he knew at once that some steps must have been taken to discourage the influx of the vulgar mob. Those of the public who had been able to gain admittance were accommodated in rows of hard wooden chairs set across the room with an aisle down the centre. Simon located Peter and Patricia among them, but he took a seat by himself on the other side of the gangway. His eyes met Patricia’s for a moment of elusive mockery, and then went on to take in the rest of his bearings.
The first two rows on the right were occupied by the party from Whiteways, the Sangores, Luker, Fairweather, and Lady Valerie, mingled with a few other people of the same obvious class who all seemed to know each other. They had an air of being apart from the remainder of the public, among them, but not of them, a small party of gentlefolk, self-contained and self-sufficient, only vaguely conscious that there were other people present.
The first two rows on the left had been reserved for the Press, and there was not a vacant chair among them. In front of them, and at right angles to the general public, sat the Coroner’s jury, five good men of the county and two women. There was an attitude of respectful decorum about them, as if they had been in church. The Saint sized them up as being a representative panel of local shop-keepers. Only one of them was markedly different from the others—a little black-bearded man who seemed to resent being in court at all.
The Coroner was a well-fed, well-scrubbed looking man with close-cropped grey hair and a close-cropped grey moustache. He wore a dark suit, with a stiff white collar and a blue bow tie with small white spots on it. While the jury was being sworn, he shuffled over a small batch of papers on his table, which occupied the centre of a dais at the very end of the room.
When the jury were seated again, he cleared his throat noisily and addressed them.
“We are here to inquire into the circumstances attending the death of the late John Kennet. It is your duty to listen carefully to the evidence which will be put before you, and to return a verdict in accordance with that evidence. The facts concerning which evidence will be given as follows. On the night of the seventeenth, the house known as Whiteways, the property of Mr Fairweather, was burnt to the ground. Various people were in the house when the fire started, including Mr Fairweather himself, General Sir Robert Sangore and Lady Sangore, Mr Kane Luker, Lady Valerie Woodchester, Captain Donald Knightley, and the deceased. All of them except Captain Knightley are in court today. They will tell you that after they had left the building they discovered that John Kennet was missing. An attempt to reach his room was unsuccessful owing to the rapid spread of the fire, and on the following day his charred remains were found in the wreckage of the house.”
His manner was brusque and important; quite plainly, nobody could tell him anything about how to run an inquest, and equally plainly he regarded a jury as nothing but a necessary evil, to be kept firmly in its place.
“If you wish to do so you are entitled to view the body. Do you wish to view the body?” He paused perhaps long enough to take another breath, and said, “Very well, then. We shall proceed to hear evidence of how the body was found. Call the first witness.”
The sergeant standing beside him consulted a list of names and called out, “Theodore Bream.”
A man who looked rather like a retired carthorse lumbered up on to the dais, sweating profusely, and took the oath. The Coroner leaned back in his chair and looked him over like a schoolmaster inspecting a new pupil.
“You are the captain of the Anford Fire Brigade?”
“Yessir.”
“On the morning of the eighteenth you examined the ruins of Whiteways.”
“Yessir.”
“What did you find?”
“In the ruins of the library, among a lot of daybree, I found the body of the deceased.”
“Did you find anything else?”
“Yessir. I found bits of a burned-up bedstead—coil springs and suchlike.”
“What deductions did you make from the position of the body and the burned fragments of the bedstead?”
“Well, sir, I come to the conclusion that they’d dropped through the ceiling from one of the rooms above.”
The Coroner rubbed his chin.
“I see. You came to the conclusion that the bed, with the deceased in it, had dropped through the ceiling from one of the rooms above the library when the floor collapsed in the fire.”
“Yessir.”
“That seems quite plain. Did you find anything to suggest what might have been the cause of the fire?”
“No, sir. It might’ve bin anything. The place was burned out so bad, there wasn’t enough left to show how it started.”
The Coroner turned to the jury.
“Have you any questions to ask this witness?”
Hardly giving them any time to answer, he turned again to the sergeant.
“Next witness, please.”
“Algernon Sidney Fairweather.”
Fairweather went up on to the platform and took the oath. The Coroner’s manner became less peremptory. He clearly regarded it as a pleasant relief to be able to examine a witness of his own class.
“You are the owner of Whiteways, Mr Fairweather?”
“I am.”
“The deceased was a guest in your house on the night of the seventeenth.”
“He was.”
“Which room was he occupying?”
“The end bedroom in the west wing, directly above the library.”
“So that in the event of the collapse of the floor of his rooms his bed would fall through into the library.”
“It would.”
The Coroner glanced at the jury triumphantly, as much as to say, “There you are, you see.” Then he turned back to Fairweather even more deferentially.
“Would you give us your account of what occurred on the night of the
fire, Mr Fairweather?”
Fairweather clasped his hands in front of him, frowning seriously with the expression of a man who is carefully and conscientiously marshalling his memories.
“We had dinner a little early that night—at about seven o’clock—because Captain Knightley and Lady Valerie were going to the cinema. They left immediately after dinner, and shortly afterwards Lady Sangore went to her room to write some letters. The rest of us sat and talked in the library until about half past ten, when Kennet went to bed. That was the last time any of us saw him. At about a quarter past eleven Captain Knightley and Lady Valerie returned, and I should think we stayed up for not more than another quarter of an hour. Then we all went to bed.
“Some time later—I should imagine it was about half past twelve—I was awakened by the clanging of the fire alarms. I put on a pair of trousers and left my room. At once it became obvious to me that the fire was serious. There was a great deal of smoke on the stairs, and from the sound of the flames and the light they gave I could see that the fire must have taken a firm hold on the ground floor.
“You must understand that I had just been suddenly woken up, and I was somewhat bewildered. As I hesitated, I saw Captain Knightley come along the passage carrying Lady Valerie. Then I heard General Sangore’s voice outside, shouting ‘Hurry up and get out, everybody!’ I started to follow Captain Knightley, and I was half-way down the stairs when I met Mr Luker coming up. He said, ‘Oh, that’s all right—I was afraid you hadn’t heard. The others are all out.’ ”
“And then?”
“I ran out into the garden with him. That’s about all I can remember. It all happened so quickly that my recollections are a trifle hazy. I still don’t know how we came to forget Kennet until it was too late, but I can only imagine that in the excitement Mr Luker and myself mutually misunderstood each other to have accounted for the people we had not seen. It was a tragic mistake which has haunted me ever since.”
The Coroner wagged his head sympathetically, as if he could feel everything that Fairweather must have suffered.
“I’m sure that we all appreciate your feelings,” he said. He turned to the papers on his table, and went on, as though apologising for bringing back any more painful memories: “Have you any idea as to how the fire could have started?”
“None. It may have been a faulty piece of electric wiring, or a cigarette end carelessly dropped somewhere. It must have been something like that.”
“Thank you, Mr Fairweather,” said the Coroner. “Next witness, please.”
There was an interruption. Before the sergeant could call out the next name, the little black-bearded juryman opened his mouth.
“ ’Arf a mo,” he said. “I’ve got some questions I’d like to ask.”
The Coroner stared at him as if he had been guilty of some indecency. He seemed to find it extraordinary that a member of the jury should wish to ask a question.
The little juryman returned his stare defiantly. He had the air of Ajax defying the lightning.
“And what is your question?” asked the Coroner, in a supercilious patronising tone.
“Didn’t the witness ’ave no servants?”
“Er…several,” Fairweather said mildly. “But I had given them all leave to attend a dance in Reading, and they did not get back until the fire was practically over. The only one left was my chauffeur, who lives in the lodge, about three hundred yards away from the main building.”
“Didn’t nobody try to put the fire out?”
“It was hardly possible. It spread too rapidly, and we had nothing to tackle it with.”
“Thank you,” said the Coroner. “Next witness, please.”
He contrived to be mildly apologetic and contemptuously crushing at the same time. He seemed to apologise to Fairweather for the trouble and distress he had been caused in answering two altogether ridiculous and irrelevant questions, and simultaneously to point out the little juryman as a pest and a nuisance who would be well advised to shut up and behave himself.
“Kane Luker,” called the sergeant.
Luker gave his evidence in a quiet precise voice. He had been sitting up reading when he heard the fire alarm. He left his room and went downstairs, where he discovered that the fire appeared to have started in the library, but it was already too fierce for him to be able to get near it. He opened the front door, and while he was doing so Sir Robert and Lady Sangore came downstairs. He told them to get outside and shout up at the bedroom windows. He started to go down to the lodge to telephone for the Fire Brigade. He met the chauffeur on the way and sent him back to make the call, and himself returned to the house. As he reached it, Knightley carried Lady Valerie out. He went in and started to climb the stairs, where he met Fairweather. He was sure that everyone must have heard the alarms.
“I said, ‘Do you know if the others are all out?’ and I thought he gave some affirmative answer. It’s only since then that I’ve realised that he must have missed my first words, and thought that I said, ‘The others are all out.’ But I agree with him that it will be hard for us to forgive ourselves for the tragic results of our misunderstanding.”
“I don’t think that any blame can be attached to you,” observed the Coroner benignly. “All of us have made similar mistakes even in normal circumstances, and in a moment of excitement like that they are still more understandable. The tragic results of the mistake were due to a combination of causes for which you and Mr Fairweather can scarcely be held responsible.”
He turned pointedly and challengingly towards the jury.
“Any questions?” he barked.
He seemed to be daring them to ask any questions.
“Yus,” said the black-bearded little man.
The Coroner discovered him again with fresh evidence of distaste. His brows drew together ominously, as if it had just occurred to him to wonder who had been responsible for including such an impossible person in the quorum, and as if he was making a mental note to issue a severe reprimand to the party concerned. He tapped impatiently on the table with his fingertips.
“Well?”
“I suppose you all ’ad wine with your dinner, and when you went into the libry you ’ad more drinks,” said the little juryman. “ ’Ow many drinks did you ’ave and ’ow many did Mr Kennet ’ave?”
Luker shrugged.
“Some of us had a little wine with dinner, certainly, and after dinner there was whisky and soda in the library. I can’t say exactly how much we had, but it was certainly a very moderate amount.”
“Kennet wasn’t drunk, was ’e?”
“Certainly not.”
“Then why didn’t ’e ’ear the alarm?”
Luker looked appealingly at the Coroner, who said, “That is hardly a question which the witness can be expected to answer.”
He looked at the jury as if inviting them to dissociate themselves from their one discreditable member, and the foreman, a smeary individual with a lock of hair plastered down over his forehead, said ingratiatingly, “He might’ve been a heavy sleeper.”
“From the evidence, it seems to be the only reasonable explanation,” said the Coroner firmly. “Thank you, Mr Luker.”
General Sangore and his wife briefly corroborated what had been told before. They had been wakened by the fire alarms, they left the house, and it was not until later that they realised that Kennet was missing. Lady Valerie gave evidence of being rescued by Captain Knightley, and of being the first to notice that Kennet was not outside. The chauffeur gave evidence of having met Luker on the drive, and of having gone back to call the Fire Brigade. He had had a lot of difficulty in getting through, and consequently had been detained too long to see much of what went on at the house.
None of these witnesses were questioned. The black-bearded juryman, temporarily discouraged, had relapsed into frustrated scowling.
The Coroner shuffled his papers again with an air of returning equanimity. No doubt he was feeling that he had now got the situati
on well in hand.
“Next witness, please.”
“Simon Templar,” called the sergeant.
CHAPTER THREE:
HOW SIMON TEMPLAR DROVE TO LONDON AND GENERAL SANGORE EXPERIENCED AN IMPEDIMENT IN HIS SPEECH
1
There was a stir of excitement in the Press seats as Simon Templar walked up on to the platform and took the oath. Even if the party from Whiteways had failed to recognise his name, there was no such obtuseness among the reporters. The Saint had provided them with too many good stories in the past for them to forget him, and their air of professional boredom gave way to a sudden and unexpected alertness. A subdued hum of speculation swept over them, and spread to one or two other parts of the room where the name had also revived recollections. The black-bearded little juryman sat forward and stared.
While Simon was taking the oath, he noticed that the Coroner was pouring intently over a scrap of paper which had somehow come into his hands. When he raised his eyes from it, they came to rest on the Saint with a new wariness. He folded the note and tucked it away in his breast pocket without shifting his gaze, and his manner became very brisk again.
“I understand, Mr Templar, that you arrived on the scene of the fire sometime after it had started.”
“I have no idea,” said the Saint carefully. “I only saw it a very short time before I got there. And I was there in time to hear Lady Valerie say that Kennet was missing.”
The Coroner rubbed his chin. He seemed to be weighing his words with particular circumspection.
“Then you went into the house to try to get him out.”
“Yes.”
“In what condition was the house when you entered it? I mean, how far had the fire progressed?”
The Saint Plays with Fire (The Saint Series) Page 6
