WHAT THE INQUEST REVEALED.
"An inquest was held yesterday at the Hare and Hounds on the body of
Beatrice Lockyer, a young lady residing with her stepfather at 79
Lamb's Terrace, who met her death by suffocation. The coroner said
this was a sad case, the deceased being young and apparently in good
health on the night of the occurrence. The facts appeared to be very
simple, and the jury would have little difficulty in arriving at a
verdict. The first witness called was Mr. Nisbet, the deceased's
stepfather, who gave his evidence with manifest distress.
"'What is your name?'
"'Oliver Nisbet.'
"'Profession?'
"'None. I live on my means.'
"'What relation do you bear to the deceased?'
"'She was my stepdaughter.'
"'Her age?'
"'Twenty last birthday.'
"'Is her mother living?'
"'No, she died four years ago.'
"'How long were you married?'
"'A few months only.'
"'At the time of her mother's death the deceased was sixteen years
old?'
"'Yes.'
"'Did her death affect the deceased in any particular way?'
"'She was deeply grieved at the loss, but apart from this natural
feeling there was no change in her.'
"'Have you observed any change in her during the last few days or
weeks?'
"'No; we had had domestic worries with servants, such as happen to
most housekeepers in London, but they had passed away, and as we had
determined to reside abroad we regarded them rather with amusement. We
looked forward to an easier life in a foreign country.'
"'On the night of your stepdaughter's death, at what hour did she
retire to her room?'
"'At a little after ten.'
"'Who was in the house besides yourselves?'
"'No one.'
"'You had a servant left. What became of her?'
"'It was arranged that she should remain in our service on the
Continent, and we sent her on before us.'
"'Where to?'
"'To Lucerne. I had taken a châlet in Vitznau, and she was to proceed
there to see to the rooms, and to await our arrival.'
"'How is it that you and the deceased remained in the house when there
were no servants in it?'
"'It was against my desire. I wished my daughter to go to a hotel, but
she refused. She said we could manage very well at home. She had an
aversion to English hotels, and was never happy in one. As we were to
leave London the next day, I humored her.'
"'Can you give us any explanation of the cause of her aversion to our
hotels?'
"'She was in the habit of saying that they were so different to
Continental hotels--so stiff and formal. But I do not think that was
quite the reason. She was nervously distrustful of herself in the
society of strangers, and was, I regret to say, of a melancholy
disposition.'
"'Had this been always the case with her?'
"'From her childhood, her mother used to tell me. For years past I
have endeavored to bring her to a more cheerful frame of mind by
travel and constant change of scene, but I fear my efforts were
wasted.'
"'Was her mother of a similar disposition?'
"'Yes. It is a natural inference that it was inherited.'
"'How did you pass the day before her death?'
"'We breakfasted together in the morning--a simple breakfast, which
she herself got ready--and then I went into the city to complete the
arrangements for our journey, and to settle my monetary affairs. This
occupied several hours. At six o'clock I returned home, with the
intention of taking her out to dinner; but she had a little dinner
prepared for us, and said she would enjoy it much more than dining
out. After dinner we chatted, and she played upon her zither.'
"'Cheerful airs?'
"'No; but she was a very sweet player, and whether her music was sad
or bright, it was a pleasure to listen to it.'
"'Have you at any time observed a disposition in her to commit
suicide?'
"'Never; and I never heard her utter a word to indicate that she was
tired of life.'
"'Was her general health good?'
"'Yes, fairly good; she suffered a little from headaches, but she has
had no serious illness in my experience of her.'
"'Describe your movements on the morning of her death.'
"'I rose at about eight o'clock, and employed an hour in packing my
bags. We were to leave the house for the station at half-past ten. At
nine o'clock I listened, and did not hear her move. I was not
surprised at this, because she was a late riser and frequently
overslept herself. During our travels we have lost trains from this
cause. I went to her room, and knocked and called, and, receiving no
answer, opened the door, and was immediately driven back by the fumes
of gas. Dreading a calamity, I rushed in and threw the window open;
then I saw my dear daughter lying motionless upon her bed. I was
educated in the medical profession, though I do not follow it. I made
a hasty examination of her condition and, fearing the worst, I ran for
Dr. Cooper. He accompanied me back to the house, and confirmed my
fears.'
"'Her bedroom door was unlocked?'
"'It was; she would never lock it, being, I think, afraid of fire. It
was hard to reason her out of any of her fancies. I frequently
expostulated with her upon her dislike to fresh air. I tried to induce
her to keep her bedroom window open a little from the top, but I could
not persuade her that it was unhealthy to sleep in a close room.'
"'That is all the information you can give us?'
"'I know nothing further.'
"Dr. Cooper's evidence tallied with that already given. He had been
called to the deceased by Mr. Nisbet, who had come to him in a state
of great agitation, and whom he had accompanied immediately to Lamb's
Terrace, arriving at the house too late to be of any service. The
unfortunate young lady had been dead for hours, and the cause of death
was indisputable.
"There were no other witness and after a brief summing up a verdict
was returned of death by misadventure."
I gathered from the account that the case had excited very little
interest and attention, and was soon over and forgotten.
This is all I learned from the report of Mr. Dickson and the account
of the inquest.
The bare facts were clear enough to the ordinary mind, that is to say,
to the mind that had no profound motive to urge it to look beneath the
surface. They were clear enough to me, but not in any sense
satisfactory. It appeared to my judgment that the inquest was hurried
over, that statements had been accepted which should have been the
subject of more searching examination, and that any person deeply
interested in the case would have asked questions which did not seem
to have occurred to coroner and jury. My own experience had led me to
the conclusion that at these hasty inquests many important matters of
detail which might have a vital bearing on the verdict are altogether
overlooked. The coroners have too much to do, too many inquiries to
make in the course of a few hours; the jury, dragged from their
occupations without adequate remuneration, are only anxious to get the
matter over and return to their businesses and homes. There should be
some better method of procedure in these important investigations if
it is desired that justice shall be properly served, and for my part I
was stirred by an uneasy consciousness that in this instance justice
had been hoodwinked. How, indeed, could I have felt differently with
the specter cat lying at my feet, and looking up into my face?
The silent monitor was an irresistible force. Although the death of
Beatrice Lockyer did not personally concern me, and I had no direct
interest in discovering whether she died by fair means or foul, I was
impelled onward by the conviction that I should never be freed from
this supernatural visitation until the truth was brought to light.
It was evening when I received and read the report of the inquiry
agent and the account of the inquest, and I had made no appointment to
meet Bob. On the chance of finding him at home, I took the train to
Canonbury, leaving a message with Maria that if he called during my
absence he was to remain till I returned. Accompanied by my spectral
companion, I mounted Bob's staircase, and he, hearing my footsteps,
received me on the landing.
"I half expected you," he said, casting his eyes downward.
"It is with me, Bob," I said, answering the look. "Have you seen your
nephew to-day?"
"No," he replied. "I should not be surprised if he pops in to-night.
You have some news?"
"Mr. Dickson has sent me certain particulars relating to the death of
the young lady, whose name, as you will see, is Beatrice Lockyer. I
should like to go through them with you, and to hear what strikes you
as having a suspicious bearing on the case."
I handed him the papers I had brought with me, and he read them
carefully.
"I doubt," he said, when he had finished, "whether Ronald knows to
this day that Beatrice was not Mr. Nisbet's daughter."
"Would he not have read the account of the inquest?" I inquired.
"He could not read it himself; he was blind at the time, recollect;
and I know no one who would have inflicted upon him the pain of making
him acquainted with the sorrowful details. I am convinced that these
published particulars have not come to his knowledge."
"Point out weak and suspicious points, Bob."
"She was not his daughter," said Bob.
"Exactly. And therefore there was no reason why he should have had any
strong affection for her."
"I suppose," said Bob, "that we had best take the worst view of
anything that suggests itself."
"I don't intend to soften anything down," I replied. "At present we
are doing no one an injustice, and I am inclined to accept the most
terrible suggestion without shrinking. We need not give it a name,
Bob. If it is in your mind as it is in mine, let it rest there till
the time arrives to proclaim it aloud."
Bob nodded and said, "There was a large fortune. £60,000 is a tempting
bait."
"Observe," I remarked, "that at the inquest no allusion is made to the
fact that Mr. Nisbet would so largely benefit by the death of his
stepdaughter."
"It is singular, Ned. Could it have been willfully suppressed?"
"If so it was suppressed by only one man--the man who has obtained
possession of the fortune. Who else at the inquest could have known
anything about it? Not the coroner, certainly, or it would have been
mentioned; certainly not the jury, to whom the unfortunate young lady
and her stepfather were absolute strangers. Mr. Nisbet, as it appears
to me, had the game entirely in his hands, and could play it as served
him best. There was no one to question him or his motives, not a soul
to come forward to verify or falsify anything he cared to say. He and
Beatrice were alone together in this great city, cut off, as it were,
from all mankind. There is no mention of the name of a single friend.
On the night of her death only he and she were in the house, in that
lonely, wretched house which my stupid wife had set her heart upon."
"It must have been in a better state then than it is now."
"Granted; but there are large grounds attached to the house, and there
was not even a fitful gardener employed to keep it in order, who could
come forward and say, 'I will tell you what I know.'"
"Are you sure of that, Ned?" asked Bob.
"Ah! It is a suggestion that must not be lost sight of. There is the
value of talking a thing over in an open way. At all events, no such
man makes his appearance. Now, does it stand to reason that a lady and
gentleman of ample means would willingly bury themselves in such a
place? If the man had been straight minded and right minded, would he
not have insisted on taking a young lady whom he calls his daughter
into more comfortable quarters? He is her guardian, her protector, she
has no one else to depend upon, she has no friend in whom she can
confide. Although, as you say, the house must have been in a better
condition then than it is now, is it at all likely that, without some
sinister motive, Mr. Nisbet should have deliberately selected a
residence in so cheerless a locality? He says she was averse to
society. We have only his word for that. From the little concerning
her which Ronald Elsdale has imparted to you it does not appear that
she was disinclined to make pleasant acquaintances. Why did not her
stepfather give her opportunities of doing so? On the contrary, he
regards with aversion even the slight advances which a gentleman like
Ronald, with everything in his favor, pays her on a legitimate
occasion. Is that in his favor?"
"It tells against him distinctly."
"Your nephew describes her as a young lady of singular attractions.
What does such a lady naturally look forward to? Would it not be to
marriage, to a home of her own? But, that accomplished, all chance of
Mr. Nisbet coming into a fortune of £60,000 would be lost? Here we
find the motive spring of his actions. It was for this, probably, that
he married the mother. So dark are the thoughts that keep cropping up
in my mind that I ask myself, 'How did the mother meet her death?'"
I had worked myself into a state of great excitement, and I was now
restlessly pacing Bob's little room.
"Even without this evidence," I continued, pointing to the apparition
of the cat, "I should suspect his motives. With such evidence I am
almost ready to condemn him unheard. The arguments I bring forward
seem to me reasonable and conclusive, and so far as lies in my power I
will bring the matter to its rightful issue."
"I cannot blame you," said Bob, "and, as I have already told you, I
will assist you if I can. The difficulty is, where to commence. You
have no starting point."
"I have. The house in Lamb's Terrace. I shall put your courage to the
test before I leave you to-night; but I will speak of that presently.
There is another circumstance I wish to refer to with respect to Mr.
Nisbet's evidence at the inquest. He speaks of the one domestic who
remained in their service after the others had left, or had been
discharged."
"Why do you say discharged?"
"It has only at this moment occurred to me. Things suggest themselves
as I ventilate the subject which I did not think of at first. We may
be able to find one of these servants who left of their own accord, or
were turned away. Keeping to this one domestic who remained faithful
to them, the probability is that it was an English girl of humble
origin. This being so, it is still more probable that she knew nothing
of foreign countries and foreign travel; and that she could speak no
language but her own."
"Well?"
"Mr. Nesbit says he sent her on to Lucerne before the day on which he
intended to start with Beatrice, and that she was to proceed to
Vitznau from Lucerne to attend to the rooms he had taken there. Was
that not a curious thing to do, and was it likely that an ignorant
London domestic could be expected to reach the place without mishap."
"It was a strange proceeding."
"It is more than strange. If we could lay hands upon that girl we
might learn something useful. If we can find her people----" I paused;
there were footsteps on the stairs, and I knew, from the care that was
being taken in ascending, that it was Ronald Elsdale who was coming
up. I opened the door for him, and gave him good-evening. I observed
again the look of discomposure on his face as he entered the room;
again I saw him turn his eyes downward to the spot upon which the cat
was lying. He made no reference, however, to the fancy which oppressed
him, but brushed his hand across his forehead, as he had done before.
"I am glad you are here, Mr. Emery," he said. "I wished to ask you
something. Why did you want to know where the young lady lived whom,
but for my blindness, I should have asked to be my wife?"
I paused a moment before I spoke. I felt that the time had not arrived
to take him fully into my confidence.
"I beg you will not press me," I said; "I had a reason, but I cannot
disclose it at present."
"You will some day?"
"Yes, I promise you."
"Thank you. I have been thinking of it a great deal, and I felt that
you did not ask the question out of idle curiosity."
"I did not. And now, if you will deal more generously to me than it
may appear I am dealing to you, I should like to ask another question
or two concerning her--if," I added, "the subject is not too painful
to you."
He turned to his uncle, who said, "Yes, answer the questions, Ronald."
"I will do so freely," he said.
"I assure you," I commenced, "that I am impelled by a strong and
earnest motive, and that before long you shall know all that is
passing in my mind. When you met her on the Continent, did she give
you the impression that she was of a morbid or melancholy
temperament?"
"Not at all. She was always cheerful and animated."
"Was she averse to society? Did she show that it was distasteful to
her?"
"Oh, no. With modesty and discretion she seemed glad to converse with
people whose manners were agreeable and becoming."
"She had a favorite instrument, had she not, upon which she was fond
of playing?"
"You seem to know a great deal about her, Mr. Emery. Her favorite
instrument was the zither."
"Have you heard her play upon it?"
"Yes, and her touch was sweet and beautiful."
"Would you say that her inclination was to play sorrowful or somber
airs?"
"By no means. The zither does not lend itself to boisterous music,
there is a tenderness in the instrument which goes to the heart. Her
taste lay in the direction of sweetness; but there was nothing
sorrowful or somber in her playing."
These questions answered, I succeeded in changing the subject of
conversation, and Ronald stopped with us an hour, and then took his
departure, saying before he left, "I rely on your promise, Mr. Emery."
When he was gone I said to Bob, "False in one thing, false in all. Mr.
Nisbet's evidence at the inquest was a tissue of fabrications. Now,
Bob, I am going to put you to the test. The house in Lamb's Terrace is
mine for three months. Will you spend a night or two with me there?"
He looked up, rather startled at the proposition; but any uneasiness
he may have felt passed away almost immediately.
"Yes," he replied. "When?"
"Not to-morrow night. It would not be fair. You have to get to the
office on the following morning, and a night of unrest may interfere
with your duties. Your Sundays are free. Let us fix Saturday night."
"Very well, Ned. What explanation will you give to your wife?"
"I shall exercise a pardonable deceit upon her. On Saturday afternoon
you and I will be supposed to be going to Brighton for a blow. She
will raise no objection and we may depend upon her not disturbing us.
Untold gold would not tempt her into that house again."
"I will join you," said Bob, in a serious tone. "I should not like you
to be alone there."
So it was arranged, and I bade him good-night.