"Of course, gentlemen, it would not be wise at this stage for the police
to disclose any of the information in their possession. Their success
in such matters as this mainly depends upon secrecy. I think we may
now, perhaps, hear the medical evidence."
The jury stirred uneasily and settled themselves to listen intently as
Dr. Lees Knowles, the police divisional surgeon, stepped forward and was
sworn.
"I was called by the police to the house," he said, "and found there two
deceased persons, a man and a woman, in the drawing-room on the first
floor. The attire of the man was rather disarranged, as the police had
already searched him, but there were no signs whatever of a struggle."
"You made a cursory examination, of course," suggested the Coroner.
"Yes. Life had been extinct sometime, and _rigor mortis_ had commenced.
There was, however, no external sign of foul play."
"And the post-rnortem?"
The Court was silent in anxious anticipation of the doctor's response.
"Assisted by Doctor Lynes I made a post-mortem, but found absolutely
nothing to account for death. There was no mark of violence on either
of the bodies, and no physical defect or slightest trace of disease.
Nevertheless, the position of the bodies when found makes it evident
that both persons died with great suddenness, and without being able to
obtain assistance."
"Was there nothing whatever to give any clue to the cause of death?"
asked the Coroner, himself a medical man.
"Nothing," responded the surgeon. "One thing, however, struck us as
peculiar. On the inside of the right forearm of both the man and the
woman were identical tattoo marks. The device, nearly an inch in
diameter, represented a serpent with its tail in its mouth, the ancient
emblem of eternity. The mark on the man had evidently been traced
several years ago, but that on the woman is comparatively fresh, and
could not have completely healed over more than a month ago. It is as
though the mark on the man has been copied upon the woman."
"And what do you think is the signification of this mark?" inquired the
Coroner, looking up from the blue foolscap whereon he had been writing
down the depositions.
"I'm utterly at a loss to know," the doctor answered. "Yet it is very
curious that upon one of these cards we found beneath the plates there
is a circle drawn, while it also seemed that snakes were kept in the
house as pets. To my mind all three circumstances have some connecting
significance."
The jury bent together and conversed in whispers. This theory of the
doctor's seemed to possess a good deal of truth, even though the mystery
was increased rather than diminished.
Many more questions were put to the doctor, after which his colleague,
Dr. Lynes, was called, and corroborated the police surgeon's evidence.
He, too, was utterly unable to ascribe any fatal cause. The tattoo
marks had puzzled him, but he suggested that the man and woman might be
husband and wife, and that in a freak of caprice, to which women of some
temperaments are subject, she had caused the device on her husband's arm
to be copied upon her own. Opinions were, however, divided as to
whether the pair were husband and wife. For my own part I did not
regard his theory as a sound one.
"You did not overlook the contents of the stomach, of course?" the
Coroner exclaimed.
"No, we sent them in sealed bottles to Dr. Marston, the analyst of the
Home Office."
"And have we his report?" inquired the Coroner.
"Dr. Marston is here himself, sir. He has come to give evidence,"
Patterson answered from the back of the room, while at the same time an
old grey-haired gentleman in gold-rimmed spectacles rose, and walking
forward took the oath.
"You received from the previous witnesses two bottles?" suggested the
Coroner. "Will you please tell us the result of your analysis?"
"I tested carefully with group reagents for every known poison, and also
for ptomaine," he said, "but all the solvents--alcohol, benzol, naphtha,
ammonia and so forth--failed. I tested for the alkaloids, such as
strychnine, digitalin, and cantharidin, and used hydrochloric acid to
find either silver, mercury or lead, and also ammonia in an endeavour to
trace tin, cadmium or arsenic. To none of the known groups does the
poison--if poison there be--belong. Therefore I have been utterly
unable to arrive at any definite conclusion."
"Is there no direct trace of any poison?"
"None," was the answer. "Yet from the result of certain group reagents
it would appear that death was due to the virulence of some azotic
substance."
"You cannot, we take it, decide what that substance was?"
"Unfortunately, no," the renowned analyst answered, apparently annoyed
at having to thus publicly acknowledge his failure. "The state of the
stomach of either person was not such as might cause death. Indeed,
there was only a secondary and most faint trace of the unknown substance
to which I have referred."
"Then, to put it quite plainly," said the Coroner, "it is your opinion
that they were poisoned?"
"I can scarcely go so far as that," the witness responded. "All I can
say in evidence is that I found a slight trace of some deleterious
substance which all tests refused to clearly reveal. Whether it were an
actual poison which resulted in death I hesitate to say, as the result
of my analysis is not sufficiently clear to warrant any direct
allegation."
"Do you suggest that this substance, whatever it was, must have been
baneful and injurious to the human system?"
"I think so. Even that, however, is not absolutely certain. As you
know, certain poisons in infinitesimal quantities are exceedingly
beneficial."
"Then we must take it that, presuming these two persons actually died of
poison, it must have been by a poison unknown in toxicology?" observed
the Coroner.
"Exactly," the analyst responded, standing with his hands behind his
back and peering through his spectacles at the expectant jury.
The Coroner invited the jury to ask any questions of the analyst, but
the twelve Kensington tradesmen feared to put any query to the man who
had the science of poisoning thus at his fingers' ends, and whose
analyses were always thorough and absolutely beyond dispute. He was the
greatest authority on poisons, and they could think of nothing further
to ask him. Therefore the Coroner politely invited him to sign his
depositions.
After he had withdrawn, the Coroner, placing down his pen, sighed,
leaned back in his chair with a puzzled expression, and once more
addressed the twelve men who had been "summoned and warned" before him.
They had heard the evidence, he said, and it was now for them to decide
whether the two persons had died from natural causes, or whether they
had met with foul play. In the circumstances he acknowledged that a
decision was extremely difficult on account of the many mysterious side
issues connected with the affair, yet he pointed out that if they were
in real doubt whether to return a verdict of natural death or of wilful
murder, there was still a third course, namely, to return an open
verdict of "Found dead," and thus leave the matter in the hands of the
police. He was ready, of course, to adjourn the inquiry, but from what
he knew of the matter, together with the evidence which had just been
given, it was his honest opinion that no object could be obtained in an
adjournment, and further by closing the inquest at once they would
prevent any inexpedient facts leaking out to the newspapers.
The jury retired to consult in an adjoining room, and in ten minutes
returned, giving an open verdict of "Found dead." Thus ended the
inquiry, and while the law had been complied with, public curiosity
remained unaroused, and the police were enabled to work on in secret.
With Cleugh I lingered behind, chatting with Patterson and Boyd.
"We're keeping observation at Upper Phillimore Place," Boyd explained,
in response to my inquiry. "Funny thing that nobody else calls there,
and that the servants have never come back."
"Have you found the snake that was in the garden?" Cleugh asked of
Patterson, with a significant glance at me.
"No," he responded, rather confused. "You see any search there might
arouse suspicion. Therefore we are compelled to be content with
watching for the return of any one to the house."
"But you haven't yet succeeded in establishing the identity of the
pair," Dick observed.
"No. That's the queerest part of it," Boyd exclaimed. "The owner of
the house, a builder who has an office in Church Street, close by, says
that the place was taken furnished by a Mrs. Blain, who gave her address
at Harwell, near Didcot. She paid six months' rent in advance."
"Harwell!" echoed Cleugh, turning to me. "Isn't that your home, Urwin?"
"Yes," I gasped. The name of Blain caused me to stand immovable.
"Why," Dick exclaimed, noticing my agitation, "what's the matter, old
fellow? Do you know the Blains?"
"Yes," I managed to reply. "They must be the Blains of Shenley Court.
If so, they are friends of my family."
I had never told my companion of my bygone love affair, because it had
been a thing of the past before we had gone into diggings together.
"Who are they?" inquired Boyd quickly. "Tell me all you know concerning
them, as we are about to prosecute inquiries in their direction."
"First, tell me the statement of the house owner," I said.
"Well, he describes Mrs. Blain as a middle-aged, rather pleasant lady,
who came to his office about a year ago in response to an advertisement
in the _Morning Post_. She appeared most anxious to have the house, and
one fact which appears to strike the old fellow as peculiar is that she
took it and paid a ten-pound note as deposit without ever seeing the
interior of the premises. She told him that it was for some friends of
hers from abroad, and that they not having arrived she would sign the
agreement and accept all responsibility."
"Anything else?"
"Yes," the detective replied. "She was accompanied by a young lady,
whom old Tritton, the landlord, took to be her daughter. Now, tell me
what you know."
I paused, looking at him fixedly. The disclosure that Mrs. Blain was
the actual holder of that house of mystery was certainly startling. It
was remarkable, too, that on the very night of the crime I should
receive a letter from Mary, the woman who had so long lingered in my
memory. Was that, I wondered, anything more than a mere coincidence?
"I don't know that I can tell you very much about the family," I
answered, determined to put him off the scent and make inquiries myself.
"They were much respected when at Shenley, where they kept up a fine
country house, and entertained a great deal. They were parishioners of
my father, therefore I went there very often."
"Do you know Mrs. Blain well?"
"Quite well."
"And her daughter?" suggested Dick, much interested. "What's she like?
Pretty?"
"Passable," I answered, with affected indifference.
"Then they are not a shady family at all?" suggested the detective.
"Not in the least. That is why the fact of Mrs. Blain having taken the
house is so surprising."
"It may have been sub-let," Cleugh observed. "Her friends from abroad
may not have arrived after all, and she might have re-let it, a
circumstance which seems most likely, as no one appears to have seen her
enter the place."
"At any rate it's most extraordinary," I said. Then, turning to Boyd, I
asked, "Why not leave the inquiry in that quarter to me? Knowing her, I
can obtain information far more easily than you can."
"Yes," Cleugh urged. "It would be a better course--much better."
"Very well," answered the detective, not, however, without some
hesitation. "But be careful not to disclose too much. Try and find out
one fact only--the reason she took the house. Leave all the rest to
us."
I promised, and after drinking together over in the refreshment bar at
High Street Station we parted, and Cleugh and I took a bus back to our
chambers.
He stopped in Holborn to buy some last editions of the papers, while I
hurried on, for, being terribly hungry, I wished to give old Mrs. Joad
early intimation of our readiness for the diurnal steak.
With my latch-key I entered our chambers. The succulent scent of
grilled meat greeted my nostrils, and I strode eagerly forward shouting
for the Hag.
As I entered the sitting-room I started and drew back. A quick word of
apology died from my lips, for out of our single armchair there arose a
tall female dark, well-fitting dress, bowing with a grace that was
charming.
I saw before me, half concealed beneath a thin black veil, a smiling
face eminently pretty, a tiny mouth parted to show an even row of pearly
teeth, a countenance that was handsome in every feature.
That pair of eyes peering forth at me held me motionless, dumb. I stood
before my visitor, confused and speechless.