Three days went by, days full of wonder and anxiety.
Many were the discussions between Patterson, Dick and myself regarding
the extraordinary development of the mystery which had now resolved
itself into as complete a puzzle as ever occupied the attention of
Scotland Yard. In Ebury Street and at Hampton most careful observation
was being carried on night and day, but according to Boyd absolutely
nothing suspicious could be discovered. Lady Glaslyn was, according to
Debrett, widow of a Sir Henry Glaslyn, a Scotch baronet who had died
several years before, leaving no heir to continue the title, and only
one daughter, Eva.
In the meantime the bodies of the man and the woman had been removed to
the mortuary secretly in the early hours of the morning in order not to
arouse the suspicion of the neighbours, and a post-mortem had been held
by two local doctors, with the result that it was found possible to hold
the inquest on the afternoon of the third day. The Coroner held his
inquiry in a small back room in the Kensington Town Hall, not far from
the scene of the tragedy, and, in opening, made a short address to the
jury, pointing out the necessity for preserving the utmost secrecy in
the matter, and expressing a hope that no one present would defeat the
ends of justice by giving any facts to the newspapers.
"Pardon me, sir," exclaimed the tradesman who had been elected foreman,
"but I see two gentlemen of the Press present."
"Both have assisted us in our inquiries," Patterson briefly explained to
the Coroner.
"Of course," the Coroner answered, "this is a public court, and
therefore we cannot exclude any one. Yet I am confident the reporters
will respect my wishes."
This we both promised to do, Cleugh, well-known to the Coroner, speaking
first.
The Coroner, when the jury had returned from viewing the bodies, made a
few further observations, pointing out to the jury that although the
affair was one of the most mysterious and inexplicable that had ever come
beneath his notice in the course of his twenty years' experience as a
London coroner, yet they were there to try and decide the cause of death
alone. They had no concern with any other facts except the cause of
death, and he trusted they would give the matter their undivided
attention.
Patterson was the first witness. In terse language he gave an account
of his discovery and of his second visit to the house in my company.
Then, when he had concluded, I was called and bore out his statement,
relating how we had entered the laboratory and found the marvellous
scientific apparatus, and how in the pocket of the dead man I had found
a penny wrapped in paper. The cards with the strange devices which had
been beneath the plates on the dining-table were handed round to the
jury for their inspection, and then a statement which I made startled
even the Coroner. It was how the body of the woman at present in the
mortuary was not the same as the one we had at first discovered.
"Impossible!" exclaimed the Coroner, while the twelve jurymen stood
aghast at my statement.
"That is quite true, sir," exclaimed Patterson, rising from his seat.
"The lady we first discovered was younger, with fair hair."
"Then there must have been a triple tragedy," observed the Coroner,
astounded. "This is most extraordinary."
I was about to explain how I had recognised in the girl I met in St.
James's Park the identical woman whom we had discovered lifeless, but a
sharp look from the inspector silenced me.
"We are making diligent inquiries," the officer went on, "and we have
reason to believe that we shall be able to make a further statement
later--at the adjourned inquiry."