The Coroner: "I cannot allow the proceedings to be interrupted by any of the spectators, and I must request the person who spoke to preserve silence."
The Lady (rising): "My name is Lady Wharton, and I know what I am saying. It is not in the nature of things to be silent when so monstrous a statement as that is made. I say again, it is impossible."
The Coroner: "The witness has given his impression----"
Lady Wharton: "He cannot be in his right senses, or he must have some motive----"
The Coroner: "You are impeaching the witness and delaying the proceedings. Unless you resume your seat it will be my duty to have you removed----"
Lady Wharton (indignantly): "Have me removed! Is this a court of justice?"
The Corner: "I hope so. Kindly resume your seat."
Lady Wharton: "I insist upon being heard."
The Coroner: "You compel me to do what will be disagreeable to you." (To a Constable.) "Officer----"
Mr. Finnis, Q.C.: "One moment, I beg." (To Lady Wharton.) "Please observe the Coroner's directions. At present you can be heard only through me." (Lady Wharton, who was accompanied by her brother, Lord Fairfax, resumed her seat in great agitation.)
Mr. Finnis: "It is a point of vital importance, and I ask the witness--upon whom neither Lady Wharton nor I cast any imputation--whether he positively swears that the body is that of Mr. Samuel Boyd?"
The Coroner (to the witness): "Do not reply to any question except those put to you by me or the jury."
Mr. Finnis: "You will understand, Mr. Coroner, when Lady Wharton is examined, why the statement of the witness appears to her incredible. Our desire is to prevent a miscarriage of justice."
The Coroner: "It is the desire of all of us."
A Juror: "There can be no harm in asking the question again. With your permission, Mr. Coroner, I will put it. Inspector Robson, do you positively swear that the body you saw is that of Mr. Samuel Boyd?"
Inspector Robson: "So far as a human being can be positive, I swear it."
"And that you formed the idea that he had been dead several days?"
"That is certainly my impression."
The Coroner (after listening to a whispered communication from the juror): "It has been suggested to me to ask whether you have any personal interest in the death of Mr. Samuel Boyd?"
Inspector Robson (with warmth): "I do not understand you."
The Coroner: "We are aware, Inspector Robson, of the high character you bear, and of the deserved estimation in which you are held. It is probable that in the course of this inquiry questions may be asked which may not seem to have any direct bearing upon the investigation, but which may eventually lead to issues of more or less importance."
Inspector Robson: "I am giving my evidence as inspector of police."
The Coroner: "Not entirely. You are a witness in this case, and are here both as an official and a private citizen. If you have an objection to answer the question I will not press it; but I would point out to you that your refusal may leave an unfavourable impression on the minds of the jury."
Inspector Robson (after a pause): "Will you put the question in more direct terms, Mr. Coroner? I would prefer my private affairs not being imported into this case, but I should be sorry to lay myself open to misconstruction."
The Coroner: "In plainer terms, then, is there any relationship between you and the deceased?"
Inspector Robson: "He is my son-in-law's father."
The Coroner: "You were, of course, aware of this when Mrs. Abel Death reported the disappearance of her husband?"
Inspector Robson: "No, Mr. Coroner, I was not aware of it."
The Coroner: "Was the marriage between your daughter and Mr. Reginald Boyd quite recent?"
Inspector Robson (with evident reluctance): "No, they have been married two months."
The Coroner: "There is a strange discrepancy here. How could you have been ignorant of the relationship when Mrs. Death came to the Bishop Street Police Station?"
Inspector Robson: "At that time I did not know that my daughter was married. As what passes in this court will be reported in the newspapers, I wish to add that no blame attaches either to her or her husband, for whom my wife and myself have the highest regard."
The Juror: "He is the only son of the deceased?"
Inspector Robson: "Yes."
The Juror: "In point of fact the heir-at-law, unless he is dispossessed by will?"
Inspector Robson: "Yes."
The Juror: "Has any will been found?"
Inspector Robson: "Not to my knowledge."
The Juror: "Has search been made for it?"
Inspector Robson: "It is now being made."
The Juror: "By whom?"
Inspector Robson: "By my son-in-law's attorney, Mr. Richard Remington."
The Juror: "Your nephew?"
"Yes."
The Juror (to the Coroner): "Will Mr. Reginald Boyd be called?"
The Coroner: "Not to-day. It appears, from a letter I have here, which is accompanied by a doctor's certificate, that he went yesterday to his father's house in Catchpole Square to identify the body, that he has been very ill, and that the exertion was too much for him. It is hoped that on Wednesday, to which day the inquiry will be adjourned, he will be well enough to give his evidence."
The Juror: "How long has he been ill?"
Inspector Robson: "Since last Saturday week."
The Juror: "The day following that on which Mr. Abel Death disappeared?"
Inspector Robson: "Yes."
The Juror: "Can you inform us whether Mr. Reginald Boyd was on good terms with his father?"
Inspector Robson: "I do not think it is a question I should be called upon to answer."
The Juror: "Very well, Inspector Robson."
The next witness was Mr. Richard Remington, who gave his answers generally with rapidity; but occasionally there was a slight hesitancy before he replied, as though he were considering the form of words in which he should reply. Asked if Inspector Robson was his uncle, he answered that he was proud to own it. Asked if he followed any occupation, he described himself as a Jack of all trades. "And master of none?" queried a juror jocosely. "I won't say that," replied the witness, quickly. "There are some things I can do thoroughly."
"You accompanied Inspector Robson when he entered the house of the deceased on Saturday?"
"I did."
"You saw the body?"
"Yes. It is the body of Mr. Samuel Boyd."
"You were acquainted with him?"
"Intimately. I was in his service nearly three months, and saw him daily."
"So that you can speak with confidence on the point?"
"With perfect confidence."
"Can you inform us whether the room in which the body was found was Mr. Boyd's regular bedroom?"
"It was. He always slept there."
The Juror: "Is it the only bedroom in the house?"
"No; there is another bedroom on the second floor."
The Juror: "Occupied by any person?"
"By no person during my service with the deceased."
The Juror: "But at some time or other occupied by another person?"
"I believe by Mr. Reginald Boyd when he lived in the house."
The Juror: "Under what circumstances did he leave his father's house?"
"It is hardly a question that should be put to me."
The Juror: "You think it would be better to ask Mr. Reginald Boyd?"
"That is for you to decide."
The Coroner: "You were in the house yesterday?"
"Yes."
"We understand you are searching for a will?"
"Yes."
"And have found none?"
"None."
The Coroner: "I am now going to put a question to you which I put to Inspector Robson. When you saw the body did you receive any impression as to the length of time Mr. Boyd had been dead?"
"Yes. He must have been dead four or five days at least."
Lady Wharton: "They are stark staring mad!"
The Coroner: "I assure Lady Wharton that if she persists in these interruptions she cannot be allowed to remain in Court."
The evidence of Constable Applebee, who was the next witness, was then taken. Catchpole Square is within the radius of his beat, and not a week passed without his seeing Mr. Samuel Boyd two or three times. He was positive that the body was that of Samuel Boyd, and he would not admit the possibility of his being mistaken.
"Did you see any suspicious persons about on the night of the 1st?"
The witness answered "No," and happened to glance in the direction of Lady Wharton, upon which another scene occurred. Her ladyship exclaimed, "Gracious Powers! I am in a hornet's nest! Does the man suspectme?" It was with difficulty that she was calmed, and it was only upon her giving her promise that she would not speak again that an order for her removal was not carried out.
Mr. Finnis: "Her ladyship visited Mr. Samuel Boyd on the night of the 1st upon a matter of business, and the witness probably saw her."
The Coroner: "That is no excuse for these interruptions, Mr. Finnis." (To the witness.) "On any subsequent occasion did you see any suspicious persons about?"
"Yes, on the night of the great fog something occurred. The fog was so thick that I missed my way, and by accident I stumbled upon Constable Pond, whose beat joins mine. We were close by Catchpole Square, and we went into it. As we were moving away I saw a woman trying to steal from the Square into Deadman's Court. I ran and caught the person by the arm, but somehow or other she slipped through my hands and escaped."
"Did you see her face?"
"No, she was too quick for me."
"At what time did this take place?"
"I can't say exactly, but it was past midnight."
"Is it usual for people to be in the Square so late?"
"Quite unusual."
"That is all you can tell us?"
"That's all, except----" Here the witness hesitated.
"Except what?"
"Well, it has nothing to do with the case, but it come into my mind that two nights last week I met Mr. Richard Remington near the Square."
"You must have met many persons. What is there special in your meeting Mr. Remington?"
"Only that both times it was two or three o'clock in the morning. It isn't worth mentioning."
"The smallest incident in connection with a case of this description is worth mentioning. Did you have any conversation with him?"
"Oh, yes. The first time we had a long talk together."
"Did he say what brought him out so late!"
"Well, he said he was looking for a lodging."
"What! At two or three in the morning?"
"Yes, that is what he said."
"It sounds like a joke; he can hardly have been serious."
A Juror: "Perhaps Mr. Remington would like to explain."
Mr. Richard Remington (from the body of the Court): "I am quite ready to explain."
The Coroner (to Constable Applebee): "We have nothing further to ask you."
Mr. Richard Remington was recalled.
"You have heard what the last witness said in reference to yourself?"
"Yes; he spoke the truth. I met him on two occasions last week, in the middle of the night, and we had a chat. Of course it is absurd to suppose I was looking for lodgings at that time, but I intended to do so next morning, and I mentioned it to Constable Applebee, thinking it likely he might know of a place to suit me. In point of fact he did know, and it was upon his introduction that I took a room next day in the house of Constable Pond in Paradise Row. You might like to hear why I went in the direction of Catchpole Square on the night of the fog. Well, I was in the Bishop Street Station at about midnight when Mrs. Abel Death reported the disappearance of her husband and asked the assistance of the police. As I had been in the employ of Mr. Samuel Boyd I took an interest in her story, and, my time being my own, I thought I would have a look at the old house."
The Coroner: "Thank you, Mr. Remington."
The last witness called was Mrs. Jewel, a charwoman, whose evidence was mainly interesting from the insight it afforded of the singular domestic habits of the deceased. She was the only female servant employed by Mr. Boyd, and her services were not requisitioned for more than two half-days every week. The witness described the deceased as the hardest master she ever had. When she swept out a room or made a bed he grumbled at the way it was done, and made it an excuse for beating her down to the last farthing. She did no cooking for him; he took his dinner at some cheap eating house, and prepared his own breakfast and tea. "He'd skin a flint," the witness remarked. The value of Mrs. Jewel's evidence lay in her intimate familiarity with the personal appearance of the deceased. She swore positively to the body, and laughed at the idea of her being mistaken. Some amusement was caused by her being hard of hearing, and she resented this by giving short snappy replies to the questions put to her, and declining to be moved by so much as a hair's breadth from any statement she made. The last of these questions were put by the juror who had taken so prominent a part in the proceedings, and who resisted every effort made by the Coroner to abbreviate his inquiries.
The Juror: "You worked for the deceased during the time his son, Mr. Reginald Boyd, lived in the house?"
Mrs. Jewel: "Of course I did, and Mr. Reginald's a gentleman."
"Were they on good terms with each other?"
"No," she answered, "old Mr. Boyd was always quarrelling with Mr. Reginald. He stormed a lot, but Mr. Reginald was very quiet, and hardly answered his father. At last he went away, and I don't blame him."
Nothing further was elicited from the witness, and the inquiry was adjourned till Wednesday, when, the Coroner said, important evidence would be laid before the jury.
"There's trouble coming, there's trouble coming." This was the dominant thought in Dick's mind as he emerged from the court. Reporters, hurriedly gathering their sheets of notes and sketches, were hastening to their respective offices, and persons who had been unable to obtain admission were eagerly asking for news of what had taken place. The jurymen filed out, with a judicial weight on their brows, and the man who had put and prompted so many questions gave Dick a searching look as he passed. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Remington," said a cheery interviewer, "I belong to 'The Hourly Inquirer,' and if you would give me a few minutes----" "No time for interviewing--nothing to say," interrupted Dick, and hurried on. Of which the interviewer made a quarter of a column. Dick was not in the mood to impart information or impressions; he had more serious matters to think of. It seemed to him as though sinister forces were at work inimical to Florence and Reginald. "I wonder," he thought, "what kind of evidence Lady Wharton has to give--she seems terribly in earnest."
Clear of the crowd he felt a light touch upon his arm; looking down he saw it was Florence.
"Reginald sent me," she said; "he is very anxious. Is it over?"
"Not by a long way," he replied. "People are staring at us. Let us walk on."
"What has been done, Dick?"
"Evidence of identification has been taken, and a lot of stupid and unnecessary questions asked. You will read all about it in the papers, one part true, and three parts fiction." He spoke with a light air to relieve her mind. "Reporters make the most of everything; it is their business to lay on colour pretty thickly. There is one rather vexatious thing--your visit to Catchpole Square on the night of the fog."
"Has my name been mentioned?" asked Florence, in alarm.
"No, but it may be, and we must consider what we ought to do. Don't look distressed; a straightforward explanation will set it right. Docs Uncle Rob know you went there?"
"No."
"Aunt Rob?"
"No. There was no harm in my going----"
"None whatever, dear."
"And none in my not speaking of it. There has been so much else to think of."
"Indeed there has, and you have done everything for the best; but in this unfortunate matter Uncle Rob is very delicately and peculiarly placed; he is not only privately but officially connected with it. You see that, don't you?"
"Yes, Dick."
"People are so uncharitable that a false step, though taken quite innocently, may lead to trouble. I am afraid you will read many unpleasant thing in the papers, and I want you to be prepared for them." She gave him a startled look. "You must have courage, Florence."
"I will."
"That's right. Now go home and tell them about your visit to Catchpole Square, and why you went. I will be there in an hour or so. And don't for one moment lose heart. There are some unhappy days before us, but before long the clouds will clear, and all will be well."
She left him at the entrance to Deadman's Court, and he gave her a bright smile to cheer her; but when she was out of sight he murmured again, "There's trouble coming, there's trouble coming." He feared he knew not what; every hidden danger seemed to grow, and the dark clouds to deepen. How to ward this danger from Florence? This was his aim and hope, and to this end he was continually nerving himself.
Up to the present nothing but perplexity and mystery had attended his search in the house of the murdered man. There were the bottles of wine. On the first occasion he had mechanically counted seventy-six bottles, on the second occasion seventy-five, and now there were but seventy-four. "Either I am out of my senses," he thought, "or some person has been twice in the house since I forced an entrance into it." Wildly improbable as was the suggestion he found it impossible to reject it. True, he was not the only person who had been there these last two days. Scotland Yard was astir, and had sent detectives and policemen, to whom free access was granted by Dick. These officials made themselves very busy, but for the most part kept a still tongue. Plans of the room were drawn, and every inch of the walls and floors and staircases was examined. When it was proposed to photograph the blood-stained footprints made by Dick, he looked on calmly, and assisted in the preparations.
On this Monday afternoon the undertaker's men were waiting for Dick in the Square, and they followed him upstairs with the coffin. It had been a gruesome task, and he felt as if he could not breathe freely till the body was taken to its last resting place.
Then there was the safe, of which he had found the key. During his service with Samuel Boyd this safe had been the receptacle of all the documents of value and of all the record books belonging to the dead man--bank book, bill book, ledger, mortgage deeds, undue bills, etc.; he expected to see these articles in the safe, but to his astonishment it contained only a few unimportant papers.
At five o'clock the undertaker's men had departed, and Dick with a last look around also took his departure. As he pulled the street door behind him he heard a familiar cough, and a little hand was slid into his. Gracie's hand.
"Oh, I'm so glad to see you, Dick," she said, clinging to him. "I've been everywhere to find you."
"Has your father come back?" he asked, in sudden expectation that she brought him news of the missing man.
"No such luck. You didn't come to see us yesterday."
"I was too busy, Gracie. Are you any better?"
"Ever so much." Her pallid face and the sunken rims round her large black eyes did not confirm the statement. "I can't rest, Dick, I can't rest. Is he caught?"
"Who, Gracie?"
"The man that murdered Mr. Boyd?"
"No; and God knows when he will be."
"If God don't catch him," said Gracie, slowly, "and you don't,Iwill. You just see if I don't. I've got to, because of what they're saying of father. Dick, if I was a man I'd tear 'em to pieces. Poor father! It's too bad, ain't it?"
"Altogether too bad."
"There's mother fretting herself to skin and bone. She gets up in the night, and goes down to the Mews, and when she thinks nobody sees her she cries and cries fit to break her heart; butIsee her, and I feel like killing somebody!"
Not a trace of emotion in her dark little face; no kindling light in her eyes; no tremor in her voice. The passion which agitated her was expressed only in the clinging of her fingers to the hand of the friend in whom she trusted and believed.
"I dreamt of father last night, Dick," she continued. "He was running as hard as he could, and there was a mob of people after him. I kept 'em back. 'If you dare,' I cried, 'if you dare!' So we got away together, and where do you think we got to?"
"Couldn't say for my life, Gracie, dreams are such funny things."
"Yes, they are, ain't they? We got into Mr. Boyd's house in Catchpole Square, and we went all over it, into every room, creeping up and down the stairs, looking for the murderer. 'You didn't do it, father?' I said. He swore a big oath that he was innocent, and he cried to me to save him and catch the murderer. I'm going to. I promised I would, and I'm going to."
"It was only a dream, Gracie."
"It was real. I can hear him now, I can see him now. I've promised to catch the murderer, and I'm going to."
They had reached Aunt Rob's house, and Dick stopped.
"I must leave you now, Gracie. My friends live here."
"You won't throw us over, will you? You'll come and see us?"
"Yes, I will come."
She raised her face; he stooped and kissed her and she went away with a lighter heart.
When the jury re-assembled on Wednesday the excitement created by the mystery had reached fever heat, and long before the Court was opened a crowd of people had gathered round the doors. Numbers of influential persons had applied for admission, and as many of these were accommodated as the limited space at the disposal of the Coroner would permit. The first day's proceedings had whetted curiosity, and many members of the aristocracy were present to hear the evidence which Lady Wharton was to give, the nature of which had been kept a profound secret. The learned professions were adequately represented; the stage sent some of its best actors and actresses, and literature some of its most famous authors. Never in the history of crime had a gathering so notable assembled at the initial inquiry into the circumstances of a mystery murder.
The murdered man had been buried the previous day, and a vast concourse of people had attended the funeral. Reginald--still very weak--and Florence were the chief mourners, and in their carriage were Inspector Robson and his wife. There was but one other mourning carriage, and this was occupied by Dick and the poor charwoman who had been fitfully employed domestically by the deceased. The newspapers devoted columns to descriptions of the funeral and to those pictorial sketches of personages and incidents which have become almost a craze in up-to-date journalism. Standing by the grave, Dick, looking over the heads of the people, saw Gracie and her mother and Dr. Vinsen, side by side. Mrs. Death was in tears, Gracie wore her accustomed impassive expression, and Dr. Vinsen bared his halo to the skies.
"My young friend, my dear young friend," he said, sidling up to Dick, "this is the end of a crafty life, but let us extend our pity--ex-tend our pi-ty. The grave, like charity, covereth a multitude of sins. We will be clement; we will soften our judgment; it is the least we can do in the presence of death, in the solemn presence of death. If it teaches us a lesson, Mr. Samuel Boyd will not have lived in vain."
"What lesson?" asked Dick, half angrily; the voice, the manner, jarred upon him.
"The lesson of humility, of charity--sweet charity--of justice."
"You call the life that ends here," said Dick, pointing to the grave, "a crafty life. Where does justice come in?"
"Ah, my young friend," responded Dr. Vinsen, shaking his head remonstrantly, "ah, my dear young friend!"
"Meaning--what?" demanded Dick.
"Meaning that you are young, that you have much to learn, much to unlearn."
"You speak in enigmas," said Dick. "Good day."
"Not in anger," said Dr. Vinsen, gently, "not in anger, my dear young friend, lest the dead rise to reproach you."
"He is better where he is," said Dick, cynically. "I knew him--did you?"
"I had not the privilege. In life we never met."
"But you take it very much to heart. Why?"
"My heart is large; it bleeds for all." He laid his hand upon the shoulder of Mrs. Death, and repeated, "It bleeds for all."
"More enigmas--more platitudes," said Dick, scornfully.
Dr. Vinsen looked at him with a pitying smile. "I fear I do not find favour in your eyes."
"To speak plainly, you do not."
"To speak plainly is commendable. But give a reason for it."
"I cannot. You have a scientist for a friend."
"Dr. Pye? Yes."
"He will tell you that there are certain chemicals that will not mix."
"I do not need to be told. I know it."
"Well, then, Dr. Vinsen,wedon't mix; and there's an end of it."
"No, my young friend, not an end of it. The end is there, for him, for you, for all. Better for some of us if we were in our graves." There was no change in his voice; it was mild, benignant, reproachful. "Better, far better, for some of us if we were in our graves. Come, Mrs. Death; come, Gracie, my child."
They turned away, but not before Gracie had taken Dick's hand and kissed it.
And now, on Wednesday morning, the Coroner took his place, and addressed the jury in the following terms:
"Upon the opening of this inquiry I advised you to keep an open mind respecting it, and to turn a deaf ear to the strange rumours and reports which were in circulation. I feel it necessary to repeat this caution. The extraordinary statements which have appeared in the public press may or may not have a foundation of fact, but with these statements we have nothing to do, and I beg you to dismiss them. You are here to give your verdict in accordance with the evidence which will be presented to you, and not in accordance with unauthorised and unverified rumour. If you do this without fear or favour you will have performed your duty. Before medical evidence is taken Inspector Robson has requested permission to make a statement, to which, as he is an important witness in the case, I see no objection."
Inspector Robson was then called.
The Coroner: "Does the statement you wish to make, Inspector Robson, relate to the present inquiry?"
Inspector Robson: "It does, Mr. Coroner, though it has no direct bearing upon it. A matter has come to my knowledge since Monday which, although it is purely of a private nature, I consider it my duty to make public. Constable Applebee, in his evidence on that day, mentioned that on the night of the 5th, when he was in Catchpole Square, he saw a woman there whom he challenged, and who escaped from him. The incident was reported at the Bishop Street Station, and note was taken of it. I wish to state that the lady he challenged is my daughter."
"You were not aware of the fact when Constable Applebee was under examination?"
"I was not. My daughter, hearing on Monday that the incident had been mentioned in court, informed me that it was she who had visited Catchpole Square on the night in question."
"Is there any special reason why she did not inform you of it before?"
"None. Had the matter been of importance she would have spoken of it earlier."
"Perhaps we had better hear from her own lips the reason of her visit. Is she in court?"
"She is."
"Let her be called."
Florence came forward. She was sitting between Reginald and her mother, who gave her an encouraging smile as she left them.
The Coroner: "You have heard what your father has said. There is no obligation upon you to state why you went to Catchpole Square at such an hour on such a night; but we are ready to listen to any explanation you may desire to make."
Florence: "I will answer any questions you ask."
"Previous to your visit where were you on that night?"
"At my husband's lodgings in Park Street, Islington. He was very ill, and I was nursing him."
"Did he send you for his father?"
"No, he was delirious. He spoke of his father several times, and it appeared to me to be my duty to make him acquainted with his son's dangerous condition. There was no one else to go but myself, and I went to Catchpole Square because I considered it right to do so."
The Juror (who had taken so conspicuous a part in Monday's proceedings): "When he spoke of his father, what were his precise words?"
The Coroner: "I do not think the witness should be asked that question."
Florence: "Oh, yes, there is nothing to conceal. He simply said, 'My father, my father!' and I gathered from that that he wished to see him. It was natural that I should think so."
The Coroner: "Quite natural. You arrived at Catchpole Square, and knocked at the door of the deceased?"
"Yes, I knocked a good many times, but no one answered me. As I was about to leave the square I heard voices, and saw, very dimly, two men very close to me. I did not know they were policemen, and one of them called out to me to stop, and caught hold of me. I was so frightened that I tore myself away, and ran out of the Square as quickly as I could."
The Juror: "Did you know at that time that your husband was not on good terms with his father?"
The Coroner: "You need not answer that question."
"I wish to answer every question. I did know it, and I knew that there was no fault on my husband's part. It was my hope that his illness would lead to a reconciliation between them. I thank God that my husband is spared to me, but if he had died I should never have forgiven myself if I had not made the attempt to bring his father to him."
"Thank you, Mrs. Boyd; that is all we have to ask."
A buzz of admiration ran through the court as Florence returned to her seat by Reginald's side.
Dr. Talbot Rowbottom, of Harley Street, a member of the Royal College of Surgeons and a doctor of medicine, was then called.
"You examined the body of the deceased?"
"Yes, on Sunday, at the request of Mr. Reginald Boyd, who wrote me a note to that effect. I had read of the discovery of the body in the newspapers, and, anticipating an inquest, I called first upon you, as coroner of the district, and received your permission to make the examination."
"Did the deceased die a natural death?"
"No. He met his death by strangulation."
"You have no doubt upon the subject?"
"Not the slightest."
"He could not have strangled himself?"
"From the condition of the body that is impossible."
"Does your examination of the body warrant you in saying that there was resistance on the part of the deceased?"
"Great resistance. There is every indication of a violent struggle having taken place."
"So that the orderly state of the bed and bedclothes was unnatural?"
"Most unnatural. After the deed was done singular care must have been taken to compose the limbs and arrange the bedclothes."
"Do you consider it likely that, during the struggle, the deceased succeeded in getting out of bed?"
"More than likely. I observed upon the body traces of bruises which could not have been produced had the deceased remained in bed. There was a bruise upon the shin of the right leg, another on the head, and another on the right shoulder. These must have been caused by the deceased coming into violent contact with heavy pieces of furniture. Above the left eye there was an abrasion from a similar cause."
"Was there any wound on the body such as might have been caused by a knife or a pistol?"
"No."
"Is the furniture in the bedroom of a sufficiently heavy character to cause the wounds and abrasions you spoke of?"
"There is no heavy furniture in the bedroom. My impression is that the deceased was first attacked in his sleep, that he awoke, that in the course of the struggle he succeeded in getting out of bed, and dragged, or was dragged by his assailant or assailants, into the adjoining apartment, where the furniture is of a much more substantial description."
"Do you consider it likely that the deceased could have called for help during the struggle?"
"Not to any appreciable extent. The compression of the windpipe was remarkable, and under such compression the capacity of the vocal chords must have been considerably weakened. Even had he succeeded in releasing himself for a few moments he could not in that brief time have regained control of his voice. The exhaustion would have been too great."
"Now, Dr. Rowbottom, you examined the body on Sunday, the l0th. Can you state with some degree of precision on what approximate date the deceased met his death?"
"He must have been dead at least eight days."
"That takes us back to Sunday, the 3rd?"
"Yes. And it is probable that he died the day before, on the Saturday."
At these words, which were uttered with decision, there was a commotion in the part of the court in which Lady Wharton was sitting, but the Coroner looking with some severity in that direction, her ladyship, who had risen to her feet, obeyed the injunction of her counsel not to speak. She sank back in her seat, and evinced her agitation by a vigorous fluttering of her fan. When the excitement caused by this interruption had subsided, the Coroner continued.
"The deceased being in his night attire, we may take it that he died either on the night of Friday, the 1st of March, or on the night of Saturday, the 2nd?"
"Certainly on one of those nights."
"Absolutely certain?"
"Absolutely certain."
Dr. John Webster, of Canonbury Square, and Dr. Lipman, of Wimpole Street, who were next examined, corroborated in every respect the evidence of Dr. Rowbottom, and agreed with the conclusions at which he had arrived. They spoke positively to the fact that the deceased had been brutally murdered, and to the presumption that the murder had taken place either on the Friday or the Saturday night.
At this stage of the inquiry Mr. Finnis, Q.C., requested the Coroner to take Lady Wharton as the next witness. Her ladyship, he said, had evidence of an extraordinary nature to give which would throw an entirely new light upon the inquiry, and it was most important that there should be as little delay as possible in hearing what she had to say.
The Coroner: "Before Lady Wharton is examined there is official information to lay before the jury. An officer from the detective department in Scotland Yard is present, and we will hear him first. He has duties elsewhere, and is anxious to be relieved from a longer attendance in this court than is absolutely necessary. His evidence will open up matter which may have a bearing on the verdict. Call Mr. Lambert."
This gentleman, whose name is well known in association with many celebrated criminal cases, stepped forward and was sworn.
"You are a detective in official service?"
"I am."
"You have visited the house of the deceased in Catchpole Square?"
"On three occasions. The first on Sunday, the second on Monday, the third yesterday."
"Whom did you find in charge there?"
"Mr. Richard Remington, who gave me every facility for a thorough examination of the premises."
"Describe what steps you took, and their result."
"I first examined the bedroom and the adjoining office. On the floor of both rooms I observed the marks of a man's footsteps, with stains of blood which had been trodden upon. In three places the footmarks were partially outlined in these stains, and I took photographs of them."
"Are these the photographs?"
"Yes."
The Coroner passed the photographs to the jury.
"How do you form the conclusion that they are the footsteps of a man?"
"The boots are those of a man, and the size, No. 8, is an unusual size for a woman."
"Were there marks of other footsteps?"
"None."
"Could these footsteps have been made by the deceased?"
"No. The deceased was flat-footed; the man who wore the boots had a defined arch in his soles. Here are photographs of the soles of deceased's boots; you will see a marked difference in the size and shape."
The photographs were produced, and examined by the Coroner and the jury.
"After searching the bedroom and the adjoining office you proceeded to another part of the premises."
"With your permission I will first finish with these two rooms."
"Very well. Proceed."
"The walls of the office are partially hung with old tapestry, and I observed in one place that a hand had clutched it. The finger marks are still discernible, and the tapestry has not returned to its original folds. This indicates that, during a struggle, one of the men had caught hold of it. Upon parts of the wall not covered with tapestry are scratches which seem to have been made by finger nails."
"Recent scratches?"
"Made within the last two or three weeks."
"Do you consider it certain that there was a struggle between the deceased and his assailant?"
"I am positive there was."
"In that case would there not have been, in addition to the defined blood stains of footmarks, smears of blood upon the floor?"
"I was coming to that. There is no doubt that a prolonged struggle took place, but the absence of blood-smears, such as would have been caused by the naked feet of the deceased, proves that the wound from which the blood proceeded could not have been inflicted during the struggle."
"Before or after?"
"After. If blood had dropped upon the floor before the struggle it would have taken some time to dry, and signs of dragging feet would have been observable. Besides, there would have been blood-stains on the naked feet of the deceased. There were none. Examining farther I discovered a bullet in the wall, which I extracted, and which must have been fired within the last two or three weeks. The bore is .320, the barrel of the pistol, four inch. The weapon used was probably a Colt's ejector revolver."
"Probably, you say. Did you not find the pistol?"
"No. I inquired of Mr. Remington whether he had found one. He had not."
"So that you cannot say whether the shot was fired by the deceased or his assailant?"
"I cannot say."
"Was that the only bullet you found?"
"The only one. My examination of these two rooms concluded, I turned my attention to other parts of the house. On the stairs leading from the street door to the bedroom I picked up two pieces of brown paper, with small pieces of wax adhering to them."
"Did you examine the back of the premises?"
"Yes. Over the basement rooms, which had not been used for a considerable time, was a window which had been broken from without, and broken by an unskilled hand."
"How do you arrive at the conclusion that the window was broken from without?"
"By the splinters of glass on the floor of the room, and by the broken pieces remaining in the panes, the jagged edges of which are a verification of my statement."
"We should like to hear your reason for saying that the hand that broke the window was unskilled?"
"A regular burglar would have been provided with tools which would have enabled him to cut the glass without running the risk of personal injury."
"But might not such a man have adopted these rougher means for the purpose of averting suspicion?"
"I have never known it done by a skilled burglar. It was through this window that the man effected an entrance. Continuing my investigation I came to the wall which surrounds the back of the house, and there I received confirmation of the theory I had formed. The man had brought with him a rope to which a grapnel was attached. This rope he had thrown up from the outside until the grapnel caught in the mortar at the top of the wall. Then he climbed up; the rest was easy. The marks of the grapnel are plainly discernible, and the freshness of the loosened mortar proves that but a short time has elapsed since he paid his last visit."
"Is it your opinion that there was more than one visit?"
"As to that I have formed no opinion."
"All this must have taken some time?"
"Yes, and was done at night when there were few people about. The street on which the dead wall abuts is but little frequented. The movements of the policeman on the beat were doubtless carefully noted."
"Should you say that robbery was the object of this burglarious entrance?"
"It is a fair presumption."
"Did you search the clothes of the deceased?"
"Yes. Mr. Remington had gone through the pockets before I came, and had replaced what he found in them."
The Juror who had asked previous questions: "How do you know that?"
"He told me so. The watch and chain had not been taken, and there was money in his purse, a £5 note and some gold and silver, £9 18s. in all. I opened the safe; there were no articles of value in it. If there had been any before the death of the deceased they had been removed, and the key put back in its original place."
"You found no burglars' tools about?"
"None."
"Nor tools of any kind?"
"No."
"There were desks and drawers in the room adjoining the bedroom. Did any of the locks appear to have been forced?"
"No."
"I have no further questions to ask you, Mr. Lambert. Call Lady Wharton."
Expectation ran high at this summons. The scenes in Court in which her ladyship had played a principal part, and her excited comments upon a vital point in the inquiry, had caused her evidence to be looked forward to with intense interest.
The Coroner: "We understand that you have a communication of importance to make to the jury, and we are now prepared to hear what you have to say. You were acquainted with the deceased?"
Lady Wharton: "Whom do you mean by the deceased?"
The Coroner: "You are here to answer questions, Lady Wharton, not to ask them."
Lady Wharton: "But I do ask them. I want to know whom you mean by the deceased."
The Coroner: "Mr. Samuel Boyd, of course. You were acquainted with him?"
"I was very slightly acquainted with him. As a matter of fact I saw him only twice in my life. The first time was on the evening of Friday, the 1st of March. Lord Wharton had entered into certain financial transactions with Mr. Boyd, which did not come to my knowledge till a week or two before that date. Some settlement had to be made respecting these transactions, and Lord Wharton being ill, I undertook the business, having also a little business of my own to do with him. So far as I am aware there was no person in the house except Mr. Boyd when I called upon him in Catchpole Square. The business being of a private nature I entered alone, and ordered my servant to wait outside for me in the Square."
"At what hour was this visit paid?"
"At eight o'clock, and I remained with him thirty or forty minutes. I had brought with me some bills signed by Lord Wharton and endorsed by my brother, Lord Fairfax. In return for these bills I should have received bills not then due. It slipped my mind at the time, and I wrote to him about them, and about another matter as well. In his reply he promised to bring the old bills to our place in Bournemouth on Thursday night, the 7th."
"A moment if you please. Do you say that you received a letter from the deceased on a date subsequent to Friday, the 1st of March?"
"I say that I received a letter from Mr. Samuel Boyd on the 6th of March, and that I saw him on the night of the 7th."
So great was the commotion in the Court at this statement that it was two or three minutes before order was restored.
The Coroner: "Do you seriously assert this, Lady Wharton, in the teeth of the medical evidence that Mr. Samuel Boyd met his death on the night of the 1st or the 2nd of March?"
Lady Wharton: "A fig for the medical evidence! Mr. Samuel Boyd was alive last Thursday night, and it is my belief that he is alive at this moment!"
The Coroner: "Surely, surely, Lady Wharton----"
Lady Wharton (interrupting excitedly): "And surely, surely, Mr. Coroner! Am I to believe the evidence of my senses? I tell you I saw the man last Thursday night, and had a conversation with him; and as his body has not been found, Mr. Samuel Boyd is alive now, and is keeping out of the way, like the thief and scoundrel he is, for the purpose of robbing me!"