The Maze. Julian Symons
Mr Harrison, I wish you would get it into your head that this is a court of inquiry. The object of the inquiry is to ascertain how Mr Maxwell Brunton met his death. Petty private feelings and even the ordinary social shibboleths are out of place. When, as a witness, you are asked a question, it is your duty to answer that question as succinctly as you can. I will repeat it in another form: When you knocked on the study door because you thought Mr Maxwell Brunton was ‘engaged,’ did any thought cross your mind as to the sex of his possible companion? Now, please, Mr Harrison, we don’t want your opinion; we want your answer.
Yes, Mr Coroner. I thought that Mr Brunton might have—might have—er—a lady with him.
What lady? Mrs Brunton? Please confine yourself solely to answering my question.
No, not Mrs Brunton. Mrs Brunton is—er—Mrs Brunton hardly ever went into the study.
Who then?
I cannot say, Mr Coroner.
Do you mean ‘can not’ or ‘will not’?
I am not in the habit, Mr Coroner, of using a word in its wrong place. If I say ‘cannot,’ I mean I am unable.
So you intend to inform the Court, first, that you did not think this possible visitor of Mr Brunton’s could be Mrs Brunton, and, second, that it might be any other person of the female sex?
. . . . . .
Come, come, Mr Harrison! Please give us your answer!
As you insist, Mr Coroner, yes.
Do you mean to tell the Court that you thought it possible that a woman other than one of those in the house could be with Mr Brunton?
Good heavens, no! What are you suggesting?
Please spare us your indignation, Mr Harrison. If you did not think, then, that this possible visitor could be a woman from outside, and yet you thought that it was a woman, will you please tell the Court which female member of the household you thought most likely—
Really, Mr Coroner, I cannot—
Please, Mr Harrison! You must remember, sir, if you are at all uncomfortable, that, really, you have brought this upon yourself. Please give an answer to my question. I gather from the general trend of your evidence that the possible woman was not Mrs Brunton nor Mrs Bayford. That leaves us, I think, with Miss Lamort and the servants, Mrs Jennings, Jeannette Bokay, and Violet Burrage—
Really, Mr Coroner! I must emphatically state at this point that any conjectures I may have had on the subject did not go so far as the identity of the possible person.
You are certain of that, Mr Harrison?
Positive, sir! Positive!
Very well, Mr Harrison. We will now cease, I hope, to embarrass you. You were Mr Brunton’s confidential secretary. You must therefore have had manifold opportunities for observing Mr Brunton’s temperament, character, and ways. That is so?
Obviously, sir.
Very well, then! Perhaps you would tell the Court whether you had noticed anything unusual in Mr Maxwell Brunton’s demeanour at any time, say, within the month preceding his death.
Emphatically, no, Mr Coroner. Mr Brunton was always a volatile personality. He was, if you take my meaning, gay one moment and dour the next. But I knew him very well, and a more generous, more understanding or more considerate employer one could not wish for. I was with Mr Brunton for a considerable period …
Yes, yes! Please will you confine yourself to answering the question? Are we to understand that you had noticed nothing unusual in Mr Brunton’s behaviour at any time immediately prior to his death?
You are, sir.
There was no depression, then? No fear, no private or public trouble which Mr Brunton told you about or which you got to know of in any way?
Until the day of his death, no, sir. And, I suppose, really nothing outstanding upon that day. You have cautioned me, Mr Coroner, because you appear to think that I give unduly long and inapposite answers, and therefore I had better perhaps confine myself to stating that—
Come, come! Please! Are we to gather that there was some unusual depression on the part of Mr Brunton on the day of his death, or some unusual and unpleasant happening?
I was striving, Mr Coroner, to answer your question to the best of my ability. I do not want to exaggerate any of the matters or to minimise them. I simply seek to do my duty. On the day of his death Mr Brunton was worried. I am afraid that I am cognisant of the cause of this worry—perhaps I should use the plural because it was worries and not worry. On that day it came to my knowledge that Mr Brunton had various—er—how shall I put it?—disagreements with members of his family. Nothing serious, of course, and really, if you had not asked such specific questions, I should not have thought these things worth mentioning.
With whom were these disagreements, Mr Harrison?
Perhaps, Mr Coroner, ‘disagreements’ was too strong a word, and really, you know, I cannot see that mere family breezes, shall I say, can have—
Mr Harrison! What you can or cannot see is no doubt interesting. The Court, however, merely wishes for facts. With whom, to your knowledge, did Mr Brunton, upon the day preceding the morning of his death, have these disagreements?
There was one small disagreement, Mr Coroner, with Mrs Brunton, and another with Mr Adrian Brunton.
When did the disagreement with Mrs Brunton take place?
It was hardly a disagreement—I beg your pardon, Mr Coroner—I will confine myself to facts. At about eleven o’clock in the morning Mrs Brunton—a most unusual thing for her—came to the study. She stated that she wished to speak to Mr Brunton privately, and of course I immediately left the room. As I did so Mr Brunton called after me, ‘We must get that McGuinness affair settled, Harrison. Come back in ten minutes.’ I returned after ten minutes. Mrs Brunton, as I got to the door, was just coming out of it. I noticed that she had—that she had been shedding a few tears. Mr Brunton was walking up and down with his hands behind his back. He was—a trick of his when disturbed—muttering indistinguishably to himself. However, immediately he caught sight of me he became his old self, and we proceeded with our work.
That was the first little affair. The second—Mr Adrian Brunton’s—took place in the afternoon. I had been out for my constitutional, and I came back as usual about three-thirty. I had understood that Mr Brunton was not to be at home that afternoon, and naturally I went, after I had put up my hat and stick, straight to the study. As I drew near the door I became aware that Mr Brunton had not gone out after all. I heard his voice raised, apparently in anger. I hesitated a moment, not quite knowing whether I should go forward or tactfully retire. As I was, in fact, retiring, I heard another voice which I knew for Mr Adrian Brunton’s. That, too, was raised. It was even louder than Mr Brunton’s. It was uttering violent remarks of some description. Of course, I beat a very hasty retreat in order that I should not even inadvertently overhear anything not intended for my ears.
I see. Then you can give the Court no idea, Mr Harrison, of what either of the disputants were saying?
No idea whatever, Mr Coroner. As I came to the door and heard Mr Maxwell Brunton speaking, I did catch the words ‘not if you and your mother and that little—er, ahem!—bitch came to me on your bended knees,’ and then, as I was hastily retiring, I caught one or two words of Mr Adrian Brunton. He seemed to be—he is, I fear, as excitable or even more so than his father—using many violent epithets. The only remark of his which I clearly caught—you must remember, sir, that I was endeavouring not to hear, rather than to hear—the only remark which I clearly caught was something like ‘Bloody nice sort of father!