Mr. Thipps clung to a chair-back for support, and said, “No,” in a voice barely audible.
“It is incredible,” said the Coroner, “that so-called educated people should be so ignorant of the legal procedure of their own country. This places us in a very awkward position. I doubt, Inspector, whether I should permit the prisoner—Mr. Thipps—to give evidence at all. It is a delicate position.”
The perspiration stood on Mrs. Thipps’s forehead.
“Save us from our friends,” whispered the Duchess to Parker. “If that cough-drop-devouring creature had openly instructed those fourteen people—and what unfinished-looking faces they have—so characteristic, I always think, of the lower middle-class, rather like sheep, or calves’ head (boiled, I mean), to bring in wilful murder against the poor little man, he couldn’t have made himself plainer.”
“He can’t let him incriminate himself, you know,” said Parker.
“Stuff!” said the Duchess. “How could the man incriminate himself when he never did anything in his life? You men never think of anything but your red tape.”
Meanwhile Mr. Thipps, wiping his brow with a handkerchief, had summoned up courage. He stood up with a kind of weak dignity, like a small white rabbit brought to bay.
“I would rather tell you,” he said, “though it’s reelly very unpleasant for a man in my position. But I reelly couldn’t have it thought for a moment that I’d committed this dreadful crime. I assure you, gentlemen, I _couldn’t bear_ that. No. I’d rather tell you the truth, though I’m afraid it places me in rather a—well, I’ll tell you.”
“You fully understand the gravity of making such a statement, Mr. Thipps,” said the Coroner.
“Quite,” said Mr. Thipps. “It’s all right—I—might I have a drink of water?”
“Take your time,” said the Coroner, at the same time robbing his remark of all conviction by an impatient glance at his watch.
“Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Thipps. “Well, then, it’s true I got to St. Pancras at ten. But there was a man in the carriage with me. He’d got in at Leicester. I didn’t recognise him at first, but he turned out to be an old school-fellow of mine.”
“What was this gentleman’s name?” inquired the Coroner, his pencil poised.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,” he said. “You see—that is, you _will_ see—it would get him into trouble, and I couldn’t do that—no, I reelly couldn’t do that, not if my life depended on it. No!” he added, as the ominous pertinence of the last phrase smote upon him, “I’m sure I couldn’t do that.”