“And then, Mr. French?”
“Then, sir, I returned to the gentleman’s cottage and made a further
investigation. Eventually I found traces of yellow clay lying about.
All the soil in the district is dark, but at the grave I had noticed
that a layer of dark soil covered a bed of similar yellow clay. So I
dug a hole and found, as I expected, that this bed of clay extended
under the moor also. It therefore seemed certain that some one had dug
a hole in the vicinity, and on searching the moor I found the place. I
took Sergeant Kent and a constable out, and the three of us re-opened
the hole and found the body just as these gentlemen”—indicating the
jury with a gesture—“have seen it.”
The police made no attempt to subdue the buzz of repressed though
excited conversation which arose as French ceased speaking. The
coroner was still laboriously writing down French’s statement, but he
soon laid his pen down and spoke.
“You have made such a complete statement, Mr. French, that I have but
little to ask you. There are just one or two small points upon which I
should like further information,” and he went on to put his questions.
The coroner was a clever man and he played up well to the request of
the police. To the public he continued to give the impression of a
careful, painstaking official, laboriously trying to obtain all the
facts in a difficult and complicated matter; in reality his questions
were futile in every respect except that they directed attention away
from the features of the case which the authorities wished kept
secret. The result was that when he had finished and asked if any one
else desired to put a question, all were convinced that there was no
more to be learnt and embarrassing topics were avoided.
“Dr. Reginald Lingard!”
The tall, thin, ascetic looking man seated beside Philpot rose and
went into the box. He deposed that he practised at Hellifield and was
the police surgeon for the district.
“Now, Dr. Lingard,” began the coroner, “at the request of the
authorities did you make a post-mortem examination of the remains of
the late Mr. Markham Giles, upon which this inquest is being held?”
“That is so.”
“And did you ascertain the cause of death?”
“I did.”
“Will you tell the jury what that was.”
“The man died from shock following a large injection of cocaine.”
“But an injection of cocaine is surely not fatal?”
“Not under ordinary circumstances. But to a person suffering from
myocarditis a large injection is inevitably so.”
Though the evidence of French ought to have prepared every one for
such a _dénouement_, there was a gasp of surprise at this cold,
precise statement. It was only a few minutes since Dr. Emerson had
been heard to testify that he had given a certificate of death from
heart disease without mention of cocaine, and that he had no doubt as
to the correctness of his diagnosis. What, every one wondered, would
Emerson say to this?
“I suppose, doctor, you have no doubt as to your conclusion?”
“None whatever.”
“Could this cocaine have been self administered?”
“Undoubtedly it could.”
“With what object?”
Dr. Lingard gave a slight shrug.
“It is universal knowledge that many persons are addicted to the drug.
They take it because of its enjoyable temporary effects. It might have
been taken with that motive in this instance, or it might have been
taken with the knowledge that it would cause death.”
“You mean that Mr. Giles might have committed suicide?”
“From the medical point of view, yes.”
“Might it also have been administered by some other person?”
“Unquestionably.”
“With what object, Dr. Lingard?”
“It is not easy to say. Possibly in ignorance or through error or with
a mistaken desire to give the patient ease, or possibly with the
object of causing his death.”
“You mean that the action might have been wilful murder?”
“Yes, that is what I mean.”
Again a movement ran through the tense audience. The coroner frowned
and paused for a moment, then resumed:—
“Do you know of any legitimate object—any legitimate object
whatever—for which the cocaine might have been administered? Could it,
for example, have been intended as a medicine or restorative?”
“I do not think so. In my opinion the drug could only have been
administered in error, or with intent to kill.”
“Do you consider that the deadly nature of cocaine is known to the
public? I mean, is that knowledge not confined to those with some
medical training?”
“I think the danger to a weak or diseased heart is pretty generally
known. Most people are aware that deaths have occurred by its use, for
example, by dentists, and that for this reason it is now seldom
employed as an anesthetic.”
The coroner slowly blotted his manuscript.
“Now, Dr. Lingard, injections are administered with a hypodermic
syringe, are they not?”
“That is so.”
“Is there any other way in which they can be given?”
“No.”
“Was such a syringe found in the present instance?”
Dr. Lingard did not know. He had examined the body only, not the house
in which the death had occurred. The coroner turned to another point.
“Did the body show any sign of the injection having been forcibly
administered?”
“No, but force sufficient to leave traces would not have been
necessary.”
“Would death from this cause leave traces other than those
ascertainable from a post-mortem?”
Dr. Lingard hesitated very slightly.
“I do not think so,” he answered. “If it did they would be very faint
and it would be easy to overlook them.”
“Was Dr. Emerson at the post-mortem?”
“He was.”
“Have you anything else to tell us, anything which you think might
throw further light on this extraordinary affair?”
No, Dr. Lingard had nothing, and Dr. Emerson was recalled. He declared
emphatically that he had never had any suspicion that the deceased
might have been addicted to the cocaine habit.
“You have heard the evidence the previous witness gave as to the cause
of the deceased’s death. Do you from your present knowledge agree with
his conclusions?”
“Completely,” Dr. Emerson answered. The man looked harassed and
careworn, but his bearing remained dignified.
“Then how do you account for your certificate that death occurred from
natural causes?”
Dr. Emerson made a gesture of helplessness.
“How can I account for it except in the one way?” he replied. “I was
misled by the facts. I admit being in error, but I do not think that
under the circumstances any doctor in the world would have acted
otherwise than as I did.”
“Now, Dr. Emerson,” the coroner leaned forward and looked keenly at
his witness, “tell me this. Did you really examine the body at all
after death?”
“I certainly examined it. And I examined it with reasonable care, and
neither then nor at any time since until I heard of this extraordinary
development had I the slightest doubt that my certificate was
incorrect.” He paused, then, as the coroner did not speak, went on
again. “You will admit that under the circumstances the idea of murder
was the last that would occur to any one. Five days earlier Dr.
Philpot had seen the man: he was then at the point of death. He told
me he expected to hear of his death at any moment. When I heard of it
I went out and examined the body. It had all the appearance of death
from myocarditis. Only a post-mortem could have told the difference:
only a post-mortem did tell the difference. As you know a post-mortem
is seldom held unless there is suspicion of foul play. In this case
there was none. I deeply regret that I was misled, but I believe in
all honesty that there is no one who would not have acted as I did
under similar circumstances.”
The coroner bowed and turned to the jury.
“As Dr. Emerson has spoken so fully and frankly on this matter, I do
not think that I am called upon to refer to it further. He no doubt
realises how regrettable it was, for if suspicion had been aroused at
the time instead of nine weeks later it might have made all the
difference in capturing the criminal. In saying this I am not
suggesting that blame attaches to him. Would any one like to ask Dr.
Emerson any further question before he stands down?”
No one responded to the invitation, and Dr. Philpot was recalled. He
deposed that he had never seen any indications of the cocaine habit
about deceased, and he did not believe that considering the state of
his heart he could have used it.
Sergeant Kent was then sworn. He said that on learning the result of
the post-mortem he had proceeded to the deceased’s cottage and had
there made a detailed search for cocaine or a hypodermic syringe, but
without finding traces of either. The undertaker’s men, recalled, also
declared that they had seen nothing of the kind while attending to the
body.
There being no further witnesses the coroner made a short businesslike
statement summing up the evidence. As to the cause of death, he said,
there could be no doubt. The medical evidence was complete and
undisputed. Deceased had died as the result of an injection of
cocaine, which his diseased heart was unable to stand. That injection
might or might not have been self-administered. The evidence of both
doctors was that in their opinion the deceased was not a victim of the
cocaine habit, and it was for the jury to consider the probability of
his having used it in this instance. He would direct their attention
to another point. Had the fatal dose been self-administered, the
syringe must have remained on or beside the bed. It had not been
found. Who then had removed it and why? On the other hand if the jury
considered the dose had been given by some other person or persons,
they must consider with what motive this had been done. If they
believed a genuine error had been made they would return a verdict of
death from misadventure, but if upon weighing all the circumstances
they rejected the possibility of error they would return a verdict of
wilful murder.
For nearly an hour the jury deliberated, and then they brought in the
expected verdict of wilful murder against some person or persons
unknown.
“You did that quite well,” Major Valentine assured French as the two
men walked to the former’s car after the inquiry. “If Roper is alive
and reads your evidence—and he is certain to do that if he is in the
country—he will think he is safe and may start changing the notes. By
the way, are you sure that Tarkington and that clerk of his won’t give
you away about the numbers of the notes? Your evidence must have
sounded peculiar to them.”
“I thought of that,” French answered, “and I saw them both and warned
them. They’ll hold their tongues.”
“I suppose no one has been trying to get just that information out of
them?”
“No, sir. I asked them that first thing, but no one had.”
Before Major Valentine left he discussed with French the steps that he
would take to try to find out whether any one had disappeared at the
time of the fire. The inquiry had already been made, but this time it
was to be pressed much more energetically. At the same time the watch
for the stolen notes was to be redoubled, and French undertook to
arrange that a general memorandum on the subject would be sent to all
the banks in the country.
A third line of research was suggested by the medical evidence, and
this French and the major agreed to work jointly. The most searching
inquiries were to be made for any one who had obtained or tried to
obtain cocaine or a hypodermic syringe during a period of several
weeks prior to the tragedy.
In addition to these three there was, of course, the most important
and hopeful line of all, a direct search for Roper. French undertook
to organise this with as little delay as possible.
After discussing the situation for nearly two hours the two men
parted, hopeful that their several efforts would before long place the
key of the mystery in their hands.