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"He appears, then, to have been going round examining the parish registers we must get more evidence of that later, for I'm convinced it has a bearing on the subject of this present inquiry. But a question or two more, Mr. Ridley. There are stipulated fees for searching the registers, I believe. Did Gilverthwaite pay them in your case?" Mr. Ridley smiled.
I had determined what to do as I sat waiting him; and now that he had bidden me to speak, I told him the whole story from start to finish, beginning with Gilverthwaite and ending with Crone, and sparing no detail or explanation of my own conduct.
"I'm thinking there's more than meets the eye," he answered. "Bloody murder we know there is maybe there'll be more, or maybe there has been more already. What was that deep old fish Gilverthwaite after? What took place between Phillips's walking out of that inn at Coldstream Bridge and your finding of his body? Who met Phillips? Who did him to his death?
And I appoint the said Sarah Ellen Hanson, or in the case of her death, her eldest child, the executor of this my will; and I revoke all former wills. Dated this twenty-seventh day of August, 1904. James Gilverthwaite. Signed by the testator in the presence of us " Mr. Lindsey suddenly broke off. And I, looking at him, saw his eyes screw themselves up with sheer wonder at something he saw.
"You heard what the witness Hugh Moneylaws said? that Gilverthwaite mentioned on his coming to Berwick that he had kinsfolk buried in the neighbourhood? You did? Well, Mr. Ridley, do you know if there are people of that name buried in your churchyard?" "There are not," replied Mr. Ridley promptly. "What is more, the name Gilverthwaite does not occur in our parish registers.
"Private, my lad!" he whispered hoarsely. "There's a word I have for you in private!" Before he said a word more, I knew that Mr. Gilverthwaite was very ill much worse, I fancied, than my mother had any notion of. It was evidently hard work for him to get his breath, and the veins in his temples and forehead swelled out, big and black, with the effort of talking.
"Just tell us, in your own way, what they were," said the coroner. "And, of course, when they took place." "Gilverthwaite," said Mr. Ridley, "came to me, at my vicarage, about a month or five weeks ago. I had previously seen him about the church and churchyard.
"Do you see that?" said he. "It's the man's will!" The endorsement was plain enough My will: James Gilverthwaite. And beneath it was a date, 27-8-1904. There was a dead silence amongst the four of us my mother had been with us all the time as Mr. Lindsey unfolded the paper a thick, half-sheet of foolscap, and read what was written on it.
And from cursing him, I fell to cursing myself, that I hadn't told at once of my seeing him at those crossroads on the night I went the errand for Gilverthwaite. It had been late when Smeaton and I had got to Mr. Lindsey's, and the night was now fallen on the town a black, sultry night, with great clouds overhead that threatened a thunderstorm.
"I've allowed this evidence about the man Gilverthwaite, gentlemen," he said, "because it's very evident that Gilverthwaite came to this neighbourhood for some special purpose and wanted to get some particular information; and it's more than probable that the man into the circumstances of whose death we're inquiring was concerned with him in his purpose.
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