His thoughts were with Merriton,
shut away there in the village prison to await this day of reckoning,
with, if the word should go against him, a still further day of reckoning
ahead. A day when the cleverest brains of the law schools would be
arrayed against him, and he would have to go through the awful tragedy
of a trial in open court. What was a mere coroner's jury to that
possibility?
Then too, perhaps in spite of evidence, they might let the boy off. There
was a chance in that matter of the I.O.U., which he himself had found in
the pocket of the dead man, and which was signed in the name of Lester
Stark. Stark was due at the inquest to-day, to give his side of the
affair. There was a possible loophole of escape. Would Nigel be able
to get through it? That was the question.
The inquest was set for two o'clock. From eleven onward the great house
began to fill with expectant and curious visitors. Reporters from local
papers, and one or two who represented the London press, turned up, their
press-cards as tickets of admittance.
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