"Were you still in the hall?"
"Oh, no, sir. I was just outside Mrs. Stevens' room. The housekeeper, sir."
"You didn't think of going back to the hall to see what had happened?"
"Oh, no, sir. I just went in to Mrs. Stevens, and she said, 'Oh, what was that?' frightened-like. And I said, 'That was in the house, Mrs. Stevens, that was.' Just like something going off, it was."
"Thank you," said the Coroner.
There was another emotional disturbance in the room as Cayley went into the witness-box; not "Sensation" this time, but an eager and, as it seemed to Antony, sympathetic interest. Now they were getting to grips with the drama.
He gave his evidence carefully, unemotionally—the lies with the same slow deliberation as the truth. Antony watched him intently, wondering what it was about him which had this odd sort of attractiveness. For Antony, who knew that he was lying, and lying (as he believed) not for Mark's sake but his own, yet could not help sharing some of that general sympathy with him.
"Was Mark ever in possession of a revolver?" asked the Coroner.
"Not to my knowledge. I think I should have known if he had been."
"You were alone with him all that morning. Did he talk about this visit of Robert's at all?"
"I didn't see very much of him in the morning.
