I came down here, and put up at a pub just outside Kerrith.
I got in touch with Mrs Danvers.
She told me then that the body in the cabin was Rebecca's.
Even so I thought like everyone else that the first body was a mistake and Rebecca had somehow got shut in the cabin when she went to fetch a coat.
Well, I attended that inquest today, as you know.
And everything went smoothly, didn't it, until Tabb gave his evidence? But after that?
Well, Max, old man, what have you got to say about those holes in the floorboards, and those seacocks turned full on?'
'Do you think,' said Maxim slowly, 'that after those hours of talk this afternoon I am going into it again — with you?
You heard the evidence, and you heard the verdict.
It satisfied the Coroner, and it must satisfy you.'
'Suicide, eh?' said Favell.
'Rebecca committing suicide.
The sort of thing she would do, wasn't it?
Listen; you never knew I had this note, did you?
I kept it, because it was the last thing she ever wrote to me.
I'll read it to you.
I think it will interest you.'
He took a piece of paper out of his pocket.
I recognised that thin, pointed, slanting hand.
I tried to ring you from the flat, but could get no answer [he read].
I'm going down to Manders right away.
I shall be at the cottage this evening, and if you get this in time will you get the car and follow me.
I'll spend the night at the cottage, and leave the door open for you.
I've got something to tell you and I want to see you as soon as possible.
Rebecca.
He put the note back in his pocket.
"That's not the sort of note you write when you're going to commit suicide, is it?' he said.
'It was waiting for me at my flat when I got back about four in the morning.
I had no idea Rebecca was to be in London that day or I should have got in touch with her.
It happened, by a vile stroke of fortune, I was on a party that night.
When I read the note at four in the morning I decided it was too late to go crashing down on a six-hour run to Manderley.
I went to bed, determined to put a call through later in the day.
I did.
About twelve o'clock.
And I heard Rebecca had been drowned!'
He sat there, staring at Maxim.
None of us spoke.
'Supposing the Coroner this afternoon had read that note, it would have made it a little bit more tricky for you, wouldn't it, Max, old man?' said Favell.
'Well,' said Maxim, 'why didn't you get up and give it to him?'
'Steady, old boy, steady.
No need to get rattled.
I don't want to smash you, Max.
God knows you've never been a friend to me, but I don't bear malice about it.
All married men with lovely wives are jealous, aren't they?
And some of 'em just can't help playing Othello.
They're made that way.
I don't blame them.
I'm sorry for them.
I'm a bit of a Socialist in my way, you know, and I can't think why fellows can't share their women instead of killing them.
What difference does it make?