Cyril Hare - Untimely Death aka He Should Have Died Hereafter

The coroner looked hopelessly out of his depth.

“I don’t think I need go into all that now,” he said. “You had no occasion to see him since?”

“I had occasion all right, when Gilbert was took so ill on Sunday. I sent for him then, but the caravan was empty and the bed not slept in.”

“And that surprised you?”

Louisa shrugged her shoulders.

A voice from the back of the hall broke in on the colloquy between coroner and witness.

“There was lots of beds Jack liked a heap better’n his own,” it said. ”

The audience roared its appreciation of the simple joke. Only Louisa and the coroner, for once united, disapproved.

“That’s quite enough from you, Jim Cantle,” shouted Louisa. “When I get you outside, I’ll-”

The coroner rapped his desk. “If there is any further disturbance I shall clear the court,” he said. “Are there any questions you want to ask this witness, members of the jury?” Without waiting for their reply, he went on rapidly, “No? Thank you, madam, you may stand down. Call the next witness, please. John Mainprice.”

John Mainprice proved to be an embarrassed young hiker who had stumbled on Jack Gorman’s body on Tuesday morning just off the road across Bolter’s Tussock. He was soon disposed of, and the coroner passed on to the medical evidence.

Medicine, like law, has an esoteric vocabulary of its own, not to be comprehended by the vulgar. Medical men at least can, if they choose, put their opinions into perfectly intelligible language. This particular medical man-a cocksure young fellow with an aggravating air of omniscience-did not so choose. His evidence was couched in a technical jargon which delighted the coroner-who himself had medical qualifications-and mystified his hearers. Mallett, with the experience of countless homicidal enquiries behind him, was able to follow well enough. Jack Gorman had died from shock following multiple injuries. Of these injuries the gravest were concentrated in one area of the body. Three broken ribs-extensive bruising-gross injury to the internal organs, all described with loving anatomical particularity by the witness. The minor injuries could have been caused by falling on a hard surface, or, he added as an afterthought, being run over by the vehicle that had knocked him down. No, he did not state as a fact that the deceased had been knocked down by a motor vehicle. Any other moving object sufficiently hard and weighty could have had the same effect. Personally, he could not think of one offhand likely to be met with at this particular place. The injuries were consistent with being knocked down by a motor vehicle-perhaps that was the fairer way to put it. Death had occurred in the early hours of Tuesday morning or late on Monday night. He gathered up his papers and withdrew, exuding self-satisfaction from every pore.

The evidence of Detective Inspector Parkinson wound up the proceedings. Like that of the last witness it was technical, but it was easy enough to understand. He described in careful detail the position of the body, illustrating what he said from photographs. He had found it at a spot in the heather some three yards distant from the road itself, but less than a yard from the nearest point to which a motor car could drive. In fact, tracks showed clearly that a number of vehicles had pulled off the road at this place, one of the few level strips of roadside on the Tussock. It was a favourite spot for picnickers. Indeed, he had found beneath the body the remains of a picnic meal, wrapped in a portion of a Sunday newspaper-last Sunday’s newspaper, he added significantly. There were clear indications that the deceased had been placed in the position where he was found after death, or, at all events, after the injuries had been inflicted. Further enquiries were proceeding on the assumption that this had been done by the driver of the motor vehicle concerned. Traffic over the Tussock was particularly heavy at holiday periods, and there were a great many more investigations to be made. He respectfully asked the coroner for an adjournment sine die.

And on this inconclusive note the proceedings proper ended. To the great delight of the assembled company, however, they were succeeded by what might be fairly called proceedings improper.

A stalwart young man with a round red face arose from the middle of the hall, and said, “Mr. Coroner! Is that there all the evidence we’re going to have?”

The coroner pecked at him sharply.

“That is all the evidence that will be called to-day. You heard what the police officer said; there are further enquiries to be made.”

“Will he be enquiring where Jack was Saturday and Sunday?”

“If you have any information, Mr.-”

“Gorman, the name is. Richard Gorman, Beechanger Farm. They call me Dick.”

“If you have any information, have a talk to the Inspector, and tell him anything you know about this matter. Now, members of the jury-”

“It’s not for me to tell him anything. I don’t know anything. But I know a fiddle when I see one, and that’s what there’s been yere-a fair fiddle!”

He stalked from the room. In the momentary confusion that followed, Mallett noticed Tom Gorman, who had been sitting just behind Louisa, get up and follow him. He waited, himself, until the proceedings had been formally adjourned and then went out with the rest into the soft, damp Exmoor afternoon.

Pushing his way through the crowd, Mallett avoided various acquaintances who showed signs of wishing to speak to him. He wanted rather badly to be alone, to think over what he had seen and heard. But he was to be disappointed. As he turned into the Inn yard where he had left his car, he almost walked into Tom and Dick Gorman, deep in conversation. At the sight of him, Dick turned, and edging him into the wall, fairly forced him to a standstill.

“Ah!” said Dick. “Just the man we want, isn’t he, Tom?”

Tom said nothing, but he stood with his arms akimbo in a position to cut off Mallett’s retreat. He was a large man-not so large as Mallett by a good way, but at least thirty years younger. Dick was smaller, but compact and muscular. Mallett did not want a rough house, in any event. He said mildly,

“What can I do for you?”

“There’s a man who said he saw Jack on the Tussock on Saturday-I hear he’s staying with you,” said Dick truculently. “What’s his name, Tom?”

“Betty something,” said Tom. “Funny name for a man, but that’s what it sounded like.”

“I have some visitors,” said Mallett cautiously. “A Mr. and Mrs. Pettigrew.”

“What I want to know is,” Dick persisted, “did he see Jack or not?”

“It’s no use asking me that,” said Mallett firmly. “In any case,” he turned to Tom, “you should know the answer as well as I do. You were with him on Saturday,

I understand. If your brother-”

“Not my brother,” said Tom. “Second cousin, isn’t it, Dick?”

“That’s right. And brother-in-law. I married his sister and he married mine.”

Mallett sighed. He had long since ceased trying to chart the ramifications of the Gorman clan.

“If he really believes it, why doesn’t he talk to the Inspector, as the coroner said?”

“It’s Tom ought to talk to the Inspector, not me,” Dick broke in. “He was there.”

“I didn’t see anything,” said Tom. “There wasn’t anything to see. Mr. Olding will tell you that.”

“But you don’t believe Jack was killed on Monday night, do you?” Dick’s voice had an urgency of appeal in it that astonished Mallett.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “Even supposing it did turn out that Jack Gorman died on Saturday instead of Monday, what earthly difference is that going to make to either of you?”