There is no
need for his presence--he has no evidence to give."
"If you don't have Mr. Greyle down here at once," said Petherton,
quietly, "this inquest will have to be adjourned for his attendance.
You had better send for him--or I'll get the authorities to do so. In
the meantime, we '11 call one or two witnesses,--Daniel Ewbank!--to
begin with."
There was a brief and evidently anxious consultation between Greyle's
solicitor and the coroner; there were dark looks at Petherton and his
companions. Then the foreman of the jury spoke, sullenly.
"We don't want to hear no Ewbanks!" he said. "We're quite satisfied, us
as sits here. Our verdict is--"
"You'll have to bear Ewbank and anybody I like to call, my good sir,"
retorted Petherton quietly. "I am better acquainted with the law than you
are." He turned to the coroner's officer. "I warned you this morning to
produce Ewbank," he said. "Now, where is he?"
Out of a deep silence a shrill voice came from the rear of the crowd.
"Knows better than to be here, does Dan'l Ewbank, mister! He's off!"
"Very good--or bad--for somebody," remarked Petherton, quietly.
"Then--until Mr. Marston Greyle comes--we will call Zachary Spurge."
The assemblage, jurymen included, broke into derisive laughter as Spurge
suddenly appeared from the most densely packed corner of the room, and it
was at once evident to Copplestone that whatever the poacher might say,
no one there would attach any importance to it.
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