THE INQUEST
There was great excitement when the inquest was held on the remains
of Mr. Strode. Although he belonged to the old family of the
neighbourhood, and should have lived in the manor as the lord of the
village, he had been absent from Wargrove for so long, that few
people were well acquainted with him. Some ancient villagers
remembered him as a gay, sky-larking young man, when with Mr. Hill
the two had played pranks during vacation. Then came the death of the
old squire and the sale of the manor by his son. At times Strode had
come to Wargrove with his wife, and at Misery Castle Eva had been
born. But he usually stopped only a short time, as the slow life of
the country wearied his restless spirit. But always, when he came to
his old haunts, he went to look at the home of his race. Every one
knew that it was his desire to be Strode of Wargrove again, in fact
as well as in name.
Many people remembered him when he came to Wargrove for the last time,
to place his wife and daughter under the roof of Mrs. Merry. Strode
had always been stiff and cold in manner, but, being of the old stock,
this behaviour was esteemed right, as no lord of the soil should be
too familiar, the wiseacres thought. "A proud, haughty gentleman,"
said some, "but then he's a right to be proud. Ain't the Strodes been
here since the Conquest? 'Tis a wonder he took up with that Mr. Hill,
whose father was but a stockbroker."
So it will be guessed that Strode's return to his native place to meet
with a violent death at unknown hands, created much excitement. The
jury surveyed the body in Misery Castle, and then went to the one inn
of the village to hear the evidence. A few people were in the
coffee-room where the proceedings took place, but Inspector Garrit
gave orders that the crowd should be kept out. The street therefore
was filled with people talking of Strode and of his terrible end. One
old man, who had seen eighty summers, gave it as his opinion, that it
was no wonder Mr. Strode had died so.
"And what do you mean by that?" asked Wasp, who, full of importance,
was making things unpleasant with over-zeal.
The ancient pulled his cap to the majesty of the law. "Whoy," said
he, chewing a straw, "Muster Robert--by which I means Muster
Strode--was a powerful angery gent surely. He gied I a clip on th'
'ead when I was old enough to be his father, though to be sure
'twas in his colleging days. Ah, I mind them two well!"
"What two?" asked Wasp, on the alert to pick up evidence.
"Muster Strode as was, an' Muster Hill as is. They be very
hoity-toity in them days, not as 'twasn't right fur Muster Robert, he
being lard an' master of the village. But Muster Hill"--the ancient
spat out the straw to show his contempt--"Lard, he be nothin'!"
"He's very rich, Granfer."
"What's money to blood? Muster Strode shouldn't ha' taken him up, and
given he upsettin' notions. He an' Giles Merry, as run away from his
wife, and Muster Strode, ah--them did make things lively-like."
"I don't see what this has to do with the death," said Wasp
snappishly.
"Never you mind," said Granfer, valiant through over-much beer. "I
knows what I knows. Muster Robert--'twas a word an' a blow with him,
and when he clips me on the 'ead, I ses, 'Sir, 'tis a red end as
you'll come to,' and my words have come true. He've bin shot."
"And who shot him?" asked the blacksmith.
"One of 'em as he clipped on the 'ead same as he did me," said
Granfer.
Wasp dismissed this piece of gossip with contempt, and entered the
coffee-room to watch proceedings. The little policeman was very
anxious to bring the murderer to justice, in the hopes that he would
be rewarded for his zeal by a post at Westhaven. Hitherto he had
found nothing likely to lead to any discovery, and Inspector Garrit
had not been communicative. So, standing stiffly at the lower end of
the room, Wasp listened with all his red ears to the evidence, to see
what he could gain therefrom likely to set him on the track. A chance
like this was not to be wasted, and Wasp's family was very large,
with individual appetites to correspond.
Eva was present, with Allen on one side of her, and Mrs. Palmer on
the other. Behind sat Mrs. Merry, sniffing because Mrs. Palmer was
offering Eva her smelling-bottle. The widow was blonde and lively,
well dressed, and of a most cheerful disposition. Her father
certainly had been a chemist, but he had left her money. Her husband
undoubtedly had been an egg and butter merchant, but he also had left
her well off. Mrs. Palmer had been born and brought up in Shanton,
and her late husband's shop had been in Westhaven. Therefore she
lived at neither place now that she was free and rich, but fixed her
abode at Wargrove, midway between the two towns. She went out a good
deal, and spent her money freely. But she never could get amongst the
county families as was her ambition. Perhaps her liking for Eva
Strode was connected with the fact that the girl was of aristocratic
birth. With the Lord of the Manor--as he should have been--for a
father, and an Earl's daughter for a mother, Eva was as well-born as
any one in the county. But apart from her birth, Mrs. Palmer kindly
and genial, really liked the girl for her own sake. And Eva also was
fond of the merry, pretty widow, although Mrs. Merry quite
disapproved of the friendship.
Inspector Garrit was present, and beside him sat a lean, yellow-faced
man, who looked like a lawyer and was one. He had presented himself at
the cottage that very morning as Mr. Mask, the solicitor of the
deceased, and had been brought down by Garrit to give evidence as to
the movements of Mr. Strode in town, since his arrival from Africa.
Eva had asked him about her future, but he declined to say anything
until the verdict of the jury was given. When this matter was settled,
and when Strode was laid in the family vault beside his neglected
wife, Mask said that he would call at Misery Castle and explain.
The case was opened by Garrit, who detailed the facts and what
evidence he had gathered to support them. "The deceased gentleman,"
said Garrit, who was stout and short of breath, "came to Southampton
from South Africa at the beginning of August, a little over a week
ago. He had been in South Africa for five years. After stopping two
days at Southampton at the Ship Inn, the deceased had come to London
and had taken up his quarters in the Guelph Hotel, Jermyn Street. He
went to the theatres, paid visits to his tailors for a new outfit, and
called also on his lawyer, Mr. Mask, who would give evidence. On
Wednesday last, the deceased wired from London that he would be down
at eight o'clock on Thursday evening. The wire was sent to Miss
Strode, and was taken from the hotel by the porter who sent it, from
the St. James's telegraph office."
"Why are you so precise about this telegram?" asked the coroner.
"I shall explain later, sir," panted Garrit, wiping his face, for it
was hot in the coffee room. "Well then, gentlemen of the jury, the
deceased changed his mind, as I learned from inquiries at the hotel.
He came down on Wednesday evening instead of Thursday, and arrived at
the Westhaven station at six-thirty."
"That was the train he intended to come by on Thursday?" asked a
juryman.
"Certainly. He changed the day but not the train."
"Didn't he send another wire to Miss Strode notifying his change of
plan?"
"No. He sent no wire saying he would be down on Wednesday. Perhaps
he desired to give Miss Strode a pleasant surprise. At all
events, Miss Strode did not expect him till Thursday night at
eight. She will give evidence to that effect. Well, gentlemen of
the jury, the deceased arrived at Westhaven by the six-thirty
train on Wednesday, consequent on his change of plan. He left the
greater part of his luggage at the Guelph Hotel, and came only
with a small bag, from which it would seem that he intended to
stop only for the night. As the bag was easily carried, Mr.
Strode decided to walk over----"
"But if he arrived by the six-thirty he would not get to the
cottage at eight," said a juryman.
"No. I can't say why he walked--it's ten miles. A quick walker
could do the distance in two hours, but Mr. Strode not being so
young as he was, was not a quick walker. At all events, he
walked. A porter who offered to take his bag, and was snubbed,
was the last person who saw him."
"Didn't any one see him on the road to Wargrove?"
"I can't say. As yet I have found no one who saw him. Besides,
Mr. Strode did not keep to the road all the time. He walked
along it for some distance and then struck across Chilvers
Common, to go to the Red Deeps. Whether he intended to go
there," added the Inspector, wiping his face again, "I can't
say. But he was found there dead on Thursday night by three men,
Arnold, Jacobs, and Wake. These found a card in the pocket
giving the name of the deceased, and one of them, Jacobs, then
recognised the body as that of Mr. Strode whom he had seen five
years previous. The men took the body to the cottage and then
went home."
"Why didn't they inform the police?" asked the coroner.
Garrit stole a glance at Wasp and suppressed a smile. "They will
tell you that themselves, sir," he said; "however, Mrs. Merry found
the policeman Jackson on his rounds, late at night, and he went to
tell Mr. Wasp, a most zealous officer. I came over next morning. The
doctor had examined the body, and will now give his evidence."
After this witness retired, Dr. Grace appeared, and deposed that he
had been called in to examine the body of the deceased. The
unfortunate gentleman had been shot through the heart, and must have
been killed instantaneously. There was also a flesh wound on the upper
part of the right arm; here the doctor produced a bullet: "This I
extracted from the body, gentlemen, but the other bullet cannot be
found. It must have merely ripped the flesh of the arm, and then have
buried itself in the trees."
"This bullet caused the death?" asked the coroner.
"Certainly. It passed through the heart. I expect the assassin fired
twice, and missing his victim at the first shot fired again with a
surer aim. From the nature of the wound in the arm, gentlemen," added
Grace, "I am inclined to think that the deceased had his back to the
assassin. The first bullet--the lost one, mind--skimmed along the
flesh of the arm. The pain would make the deceased turn sharply to
face the assassin, whereupon the second shot was fired and passed
through the heart. I think, from the condition of the body, that the
murder was committed at nine o'clock on Wednesday night. Mr. Strode
may have gone to the Red Deeps to meet the assassin and thus
have----"
"This isn't evidence," interrupted the coroner abruptly; "you can sit
down, Dr. Grace."
This the doctor did, rather annoyed, for he was fond of hearing
himself chatter. The three labourers, Arnold, Wake, and Jacobs,
followed, and stated that they went to the Red Deeps to get a drink
from the spring. It was about half-past ten when they found the body.
It was lying near the spring, face downwards. They took it up and
from a card learned it was that of Mr. Strode. Then they took it to
the cottage and went home.
"Why didn't you inform the police?" a juryman asked Jacobs.
The big man scratched his head and looked sheepish. "Well, you see,
sir, policeman Wasp's a sharp one, he is, and like as not he'd have
thought we'd killed the gent. We all three thought as we'd wait till
we could see some other gentleman like yourself."
There was a smile at this, and Wasp grew redder than he was. "A trifle
too much zeal on the part of policeman Wasp," said the coroner drily,
"but you should have given notice. You carried the body home between
you, I suppose?"
"Yes. There was Arnold, myself, and Wake--then there was the boy,"
added the witness with hesitation.
"Boy?" questioned the coroner sharply, "what boy?"
Jacobs scratched his head again. "I dunno, sir. A boy joined us on the
edge of the common near Wargrove, and, boy-like, when he saw we'd a
corpse he follered. When we dropped the body at the door of Misery
Castle"--the name of Mrs. Merry's abode provoked a smile--"the boy
said as he'd knock. He knocked five times."
"Why five times?" questioned a juryman, while Eva started.
"I can't say, sir. But knock five times he did, and then ran away."
"What kind of a boy was he?"
"Just an ordinary boy, sir," grunted the witness, save that he seemed
sharp. "He'd a white face and a lot of red hair----"
"Lor!" cried Mrs. Merry, interrupting the proceedings, "it's Butsey."
"Do you know the boy?" asked the coroner. "Come and give your
evidence, Mrs. Merry."
The old woman, much excited, kissed the book. "Know the boy?" she
said in her doleful voice. "Lord bless you, Mr. Shakerley, that being
your name, sir, I don't know the boy from a partridge. But on Friday
morning he came to me, and told me as Cain--my boy, gentlemen, and a
wicked boy at that--would come and see me Saturday. As Cain was in
the house, gentlemen, leastways as I'd sent him for a glove for the
wooden hand of the corp, the boy--Butsey, he said his name was--told
a lie, which don't astonish me, seeing what boys are. I think he was
a London boy, being sharp and ragged. But he just told the lie, and
before I could clout his head for falsehoods, he skipped away."
"Have you seen him since?"
"No, I ain't," said Mrs. Merry, "and when I do I'll clout him, I will."
"Does your son know him?"
"That he don't. For I asked Cain why he told the boy to speak such a
falsehood seeing there was no need. But Cain said he'd told no one to
say as he was coming, and that he intended to see me Friday and not
Saturday, as that lying boy spoke."
Here Inspector Garrit rose, and begged that Miss Strode might be
called, as she could tell something, bearing on the boy. Eva looked
somewhat astonished, as she had not seen Butsey. However, she was
sworn and duly gave her evidence.
"My father came home from South Africa over a week ago in the _Dunoon
Castle_. He wrote to me from Southampton saying he would be down. He
then went to London and stopped there a week. He did not write from
London, but sent two telegrams."
"Two telegrams," said the coroner. "One on Wednesday----"
"Yes," said the witness, "and one on Thursday night."
"But that's impossible. He was dead then, according to the medical
evidence."
"That's what I cannot understand," said Eva, glancing at the
Inspector. "I expected him on Thursday night at eight and had dinner
ready for him. After waiting till after nine I was about to go to bed
when a telegraph messenger arrived. He gave me the wire and said it
arrived at four, and should have been sent then. It was from my
father, saying he had postponed his departure till the next day,
Friday. I thought it was all right and went to bed. About twelve I
was awakened by the five knocks of my dream----"
"What do you mean by your dream, Miss Strode?"
Eva related her dream, which caused much excitement. "And the five
knocks came. Four soft and one hard," she went on. "I sprang out
of bed, and ran into the passage. Mrs. Merry met me with the news that
my father had been brought home dead. Then I attended to the body,
while Mrs. Merry told Jackson, who went to see Mr. Wasp."
"What did you do with the wire?" asked the coroner, looking perplexed
at this strange contradictory evidence, as he well might.
"I gave it to Inspector Garrit."
"Here it is," said the inspector producing it; "when I was in town, I
went to the office whence this had been sent. It was the St. James's
Street office where the other wire had been sent from. I learnt from
a smart operator that the telegram had been brought in by a ragged,
red-haired boy----"
"Butsey," cried Mrs. Merry, folding her shawl tightly round her lean
form.
"Yes," said Garrit, nodding, "apparently it is the same boy who joined
the three men when they carried the body home, and knocked five
times."
"And the same boy as told me a lie about Cain," cried Mrs. Merry;
"what do you make of it all, gentlemen?"
Mrs. Merry was rebuked, but the jury and coroner looked puzzled. They
could make nothing of it. Inquiry showed that Butsey had vanished
from the neighbourhood. Wasp deposed to having seen the lad. "Ragged
and white-faced and red-haired he was," said Wasp, "with a wicked
eye----"
"Wicked eyes," corrected the coroner.
"Eye," snapped Wasp respectfully, "he'd only one eye, but 'twas bright
and wicked enough to be two. I asked him--on the Westhaven road--what
he was doing there, as we didn't like vagrants. He said he'd come from
London to Westhaven with a Sunday school treat. I gave him a talking
to, and he ran away in the direction of Westhaven. Oh, sir," added
Wasp, obviously annoyed, "if I'd only known about the knocking, and
the lying to Mrs. Merry, and the telegram, I'd have taken him in
charge."
"Well, you couldn't help it, knowing no reason why the lad should be
detained," said the coroner; "but search for him, Wasp."
"At Westhaven? I will, sir. And I'll see about the Sunday school too.
He'd be known to the teachers."
Mrs. Merry snorted. "That's another lie. I don't believe the brat has
anything to do with Sunday schools, begging your pardon, Mr.
Shakerley. He's a liar, and I don't believe his name's Butsey at
all."
"Well, well," said the coroner impatiently, "let us get on with the
inquest. What further evidence have you, inspector?"
"I have to speak," said Mr. Mask rising and looking more yellow and
prim than ever as he took the oath. "I am Mr. Strode's legal adviser.
He came to see me two or three times while he was in town. He stated
that he was going down to Wargrove."
"On what day did he say?"
"On no particular day. He said he would be going down some time, but
he was in no hurry."
"Didn't he tell you he was going down on Thursday?"
"No. He never named the day."
"Had he any idea of meeting with a violent death?"
"If he had, he certainly would not have come," said Mask grimly; "my
late client had a very good idea of looking after his own skin. But he
certainly hinted that he was in danger."
"Explain yourself."
"He said that if he couldn't come himself to see me again he would
send his wooden hand."
The coroner looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"Mr. Strode," said Mask primly, "talked to me about some money he
wished to place in my keeping. I was to give it back to him
personally, or when he sent the wooden hand. I understood from what
he hinted that there was a chance he might get into trouble. But he
explained nothing. He always spoke little and to the point."
"And have you got this money?"
"No. Mr. Strode didn't leave it with me."
"Then why did he remark about his wooden hand?"
"I expect he intended to leave the money with me when he returned from
Wargrove. So it would seem that he did not expect anything to happen
to him on his visit to his native place. If he had expected a tragedy,
he would have left the money; and the wooden hand would have been the
token for me to give it."
"To whom, sir?"
"To the person who brought the wooden hand."
"And has it been brought?"
"No. But I understand from Inspector Garrit that the hand has been
stolen."
"Dear me--dear me." Mr. Shakerley rubbed his bald head irritably.
"This case is most perplexing. Who stole the hand?"
Mr. Hill came forward at this point and related how he had gone into
the death chamber to find the hand gone. Eva detailed how she had
seen the hand still attached to the arm at dawn, and Mrs. Merry
deposed that she saw the hand with the body at nine o'clock. These
witnesses were exhaustively examined, but nothing further could be
learned. Mr. Strode had been shot through the heart, and the wooden
hand had been stolen. But who had shot him, or who had stolen the
hand, could not be discovered.
The coroner did his best to bring out further evidence: but neither
Wasp nor Garrit could supply any more witnesses. The further the case
was gone into, the more mysterious did it seem. The money of the
deceased was untouched, so robbery could not have been the motive for
the commission of the crime. Finally, after a vain endeavour to
penetrate the mystery, the jury brought in a verdict of "Wilful murder
against some person or persons unknown."