WHAT REALLY HAPPENED AT THE FEN INN.
"You see, I was right," said Merrick, when I met him at the station.
"You have been right in every instance," I answered; "the inspector,
here, quite agrees with me that you should be a detective. Where are
your prisoners?"
"No, no! Not prisoners!" replied Merrick, shocked at the word. "They
are my guests, traveling companions, what you will, but not
prisoners."
"Still, I see my detective attends on them both," said I, as Strent
and Rose Gernon came along the platform.
"It is as well to take all precautions. How is Francis Briarfield?"
"Rather downcast. He is afraid of being arrested for the murder."
"No fear of that," answered Merrick, casting a glance at Strent; "this
gentleman's evidence will exonerate him fully."
Strent, smooth and unctuous as ever, rubbed his hands and bowed, but
Rose Gernon turned her back on him with a gesture of disgust.
Evidently she had not forgiven his hurried departure from the inn.
"What are we waiting for?" she said sharply. "Let us go on to the
inquest. I wish to get it over as soon as possible and return to
town."
We took the hint, and walked along to a room adjoining the morgue,
where the inquest was being held. I introduced Merrick to the
inspector, and after a short conversation they went into the morgue to
examine the body. Not caring to see so ghastly a sight, I remained
outside with Francis. In a quarter of an hour the doctor and the
inspector returned, the former rubbing his hands with a well-pleased
expression, the latter looking somewhat astonished. What had passed in
the morgue I know not, as Merrick refused to gratify my curiosity.
"Wait till you hear the evidence of Strent," he said significantly.
The jury was made up of well-to-do Marshminster tradesmen, who took a
profound interest in the proceedings, as the dead man was the brother
of Miss Bellin's future husband. The Bellins were the great people of
the neighborhood, and the tradesmen hoped to serve the Hall when Mr.
and Mrs. Briarfield settled there. They were, therefore, excessively
polite to Francis, but their frequent marks of attention only drew
from him a bitter smile.
"Would they treat me in this way if they knew all?" he whispered to
me.
"They will never know all," I answered in the same tone.
I had spoken to the inspector, and he in his turn had talked seriously
with the coroner. The latter had been told the whole story, and,
though astonished at the folly of Francis, yet found it in his heart
to be sorry for the young man. He said he would not question Francis
more than was necessary, and we hoped to carry through the inquest
without exposing the underlying romance.
The first witness called was a local doctor, who deposed to having
examined the body of Felix. He gave it as his opinion that the young
man had died of poison, and explained the state of the blood with a
lot of medical technicalities which none of the jury understood. It
was, said the doctor, a case of blood poisoning, and the deceased had
been wounded in the hand by some sharp instrument which had been
steeped in poison.
I came next, and narrated how I had stayed at the Fen Inn on that
night, and had met there Francis Briarfield, who was waiting there for
his brother. Then I told of the discovery of the corpse, and the
finding of the arrowhead in the fireplace. I said nothing about my
tracking the trail to the pool, and if possible we wished that portion
of the evidence to be passed over in silence. Fortunately the jury
were a dull-headed lot, and submitted quietly to the guidance of the
coroner. He only asked questions pertinent to the death without going
too deeply into the subject. At this point I produced the arrowhead.
Francis explained that he had arrived from Chili on the 6th of June
and had gone at once to the Fen Inn at the request of his brother
Felix. His brother had not arrived on that night, and he had gone to
bed. He was unable to say how his brother had come by his tragic end.
Then came the critical point which we wished passed over in silence.
"Did you see your brother at the Fen Inn, Mr. Briarfield?" asked the
coroner.
"I did not see my brother alive," was the evasive answer.
"Perhaps the body had been put in the pool by the murderer," said one
of the jurymen, "in which case Mr. Briarfield would not see him."
"I did not go to the pool on that night," replied Francis, adroitly
evading the remark; "it was later on that I learned my brother's body
was there, and at once gave instructions that the pool was to be
dragged."
At this point Mr. Briarfield was asked to stand down, and the
inspector's evidence was taken. He deposed to the fact that Mr.
Briarfield had instructed him to drag the pool for the body, and that
it was found there.
This piece of evidence quite put the jury off the scent, as if Francis
had placed the body in the pool, he would not have told the inspector
where to find it. The critical point was thus glided gently over, and
the coroner called Rose Gernon. Once the jury knew how the crime had
been committed, they would forget all about the hiding of the body in
the pool, so that the folly of Francis would not be made public.
I must say that Rose Gernon gave her evidence very clearly. She said
she was an intimate friend of Felix Briarfield's, a statement which
rather shocked the moral tradesmen of Marshminster. Felix asked her to
go down to the inn, as he had prepared it for his brother, and wished
to see him there about a family matter.
"But the inn was a ruin," interrupted a juryman.
Miss Gernon said that was very true. Still it was habitable, and Mr.
Felix Briarfield had sent on fuel and provisions. As the former
proprietor had left all the furniture, the rooms were fairly
comfortable. She could not say why Felix did all this, unless it was
that he wanted to see his brother privately.
Such talk was very weak, and the jurymen looked significantly at one
another. They knew the Fen Inn, and could not conceive that anyone
could be so mad as to dwell in it even for a night. It was said to be
haunted, and though such a superstition might be scoffed at, yet not
one of those present would have passed twelve hours of darkness in
that ill-omened place.
"Were you not afraid when you saw the Lone Inn?" asked a juryman.
Rose shrugged her shoulders and laughed contemptuously.
"I am afraid of nothing," she said coolly; "there are no such things
as ghosts. Besides, I had my brother with me."
"Your brother!"
"Yes, Edward Strent."
The inspector gave a low whistle, and, catching my eye, nodded
significantly. He remembered what I had said on the previous night,
and now agreed with my theory that the secret of the committal of the
crime lay in the relationship existing between Rose and Strent. They
were, it appeared, brother and sister. I saw all kinds of
possibilities now that such a tie was made clear. Meanwhile Rose
proceeded with her evidence.
"Mr. Felix Briarfield came to the inn," she said, "after his brother
had gone to rest. I saw and spoke with him, and afterward went to bed
myself. I understood that he was going to stay all night and see his
brother in the morning."
"Was he alone in the room when you left him?"
"No; he was with Strent. An hour or so after I retired Strent came to
my door and asked me to go downstairs. I did so, and found Felix lying
dead on the floor. My brother had left the room, and on going; out at
the back of the house I found him mounting the horse of Mr. Francis
Briarfield. I asked him what had happened, and he just said Felix was
dead, and advised me to fly lest I should be accused of the murder."
"That, I suppose, was also the reason of his flight?"
"So he told me when I saw him in London, but he then declared himself
innocent of the crime. I was afraid I would be accused of the crime,
so took the horse and gig in which we had come to the Fen Inn, and
drove to Marshminster. From there I returned to London.
"Why did you not give the alarm?"
"I was afraid of being accused of the murder."
Here the inspector whispered something in the ear of the coroner. He
nodded, and again spoke to Rose Gernon.
"Why did you not tell Mr. Denham where to find Strent when he was
apparently guilty?"
"Strent is my brother," said Rose quietly, "and as he told me he was
innocent, I did not wish him to be arrested for the crime. But that he
visited me yesterday, and was seen by the men set to watch me, he
would never have been caught."
Her examination lasted some considerable time, but the coroner did not
succeed in eliciting anything new from her. She persistently held to
the same story, so in despair the examiner desisted, and she was told
to stand down. In her place Edward Strent was called, and then for me
began the most interesting part of the case. I knew all that had been
said hitherto, but I did not know how the crime had been committed,
and waited to hear what Strent had to say. I quite believed him to be
guilty, yet hardly thought he would accuse himself of the crime.
He first corroborated the story of Rose as to going to the inn, and
narrated all that had occurred up to the time when he was left alone
in the room with Felix.
"When I found myself alone with Briarfield," he proceeded, "I had a
quarrel with him."
"About what?"
"About my sister. He had promised to marry her, yet, as I well knew,
was paying attentions to Miss Bellin."
"But Miss Bellin was engaged to his brother," remarked a juryman.
"I know that. It was about Miss Bellin he wished to see his brother. I
insisted that he should marry my sister, and he refused. We had hot
words. He was on one side of the table, I on the other. Between us lay
the arrowhead, which he had brought in his pocket."
"Why had he brought the arrowhead there?"
"I don't know," replied Strent, lying with the utmost promptitude. "He
took the arrowhead out of his pocket, said it was poisoned, and laid
it down on the table."
"Do you think he intended to kill his brother because he stood in his
way with Miss Bellin?" asked an inquisitive juryman of a romantic turn
of mind.
"I really don't know, sir," replied Strent, looking the juryman
straight in the face. "He said nothing to me. We were quarreling over
the shabby way in which he had treated my sister, and the arrowhead
was on the table between us."
"What was the position of the arrowhead?" asked the coroner prompted
by Merrick.
"It was leaning against a book which was on the table, and the point
was uppermost. I said to Mr. Briarfield: 'Will you marry my sister?'
and he said: 'No; I'm ---- if I will.' While saying this, he brought
down the open palm of his hand on the arrowhead, and gave a cry of
pain. When he lifted his hand, it had a ragged wound across it from
the thumb to the little finger. I wished to bind it up, but he pushed
me away, crying out he was a dead man. In three minutes he was lying
dead on the floor. I threw the arrowhead into the fireplace, and tried
to revive him, but it was no use. He was dead!"
"And you?"
"I was afraid I would be accused of the death, as Mr. Denham or Mr.
Francis might have heard us quarreling together. I lost my head
altogether, and only thought of flight. I ran up to my sister's room,
and told her Felix was dead. Then I saddled the horse. When she came
to the door, I was mounting. I told her to take the gig and fly to
Marshminster, and that I would explain all in London."
"You fled like a coward!"
"I suppose I did," said the man sullenly, "but I was beside myself
with terror. I rode to Starby, and gave the horse back to the
livery-stable keeper. Then I went to London and saw my sister. She
agreed with me that it was best to keep quiet, so I did not come
forward to give evidence. Had it not been for that detective who
watched my sister, I should not be here now."
This evidence practically ended the inquest. Merrick was called to
prove that the wound in the hand was such a one as might have been
made by the downward stroke of the hand on a sharp point. This
evidence was substantiated by the local practitioner, who had
examined the body with Dr. Merrick. There was no doubt that the affair
had happened as Strent said. Felix Briarfield had slapped his open
hand on the table to emphasize his refusal to marry Rose Gernon.
Unfortunately, it came in contact with the poisoned arrowhead. The
flint had an edge like a razor, and, being steeped in virulent poison,
acted like a snakebite on the unfortunate young man. Felix had not
been murdered, but died by misadventure.
This was the verdict brought in by the jury, and so the whole of this
strange affair came to an end. Thanks to the astuteness of the
inspector, and the delicacy of the coroner, the jury were quite
unaware of what had happened between the death of Felix and the
inquest. The reporters of the Marshminster Gazette merely put in a
short statement of the affair, and in a few days people ceased to take
any interest in the Fen Inn crime. It was a lucky escape for Francis,
but I don't think the lesson was thrown away on him.
Rose Gernon and her brother went back to town the same evening. I
never saw Strent again, but frequently had the pleasure of seeing his
sister performing on the stage. She is now engaged to be married, but
with the knowledge of her actions at the Fen Inn I cannot say I envy
the bridegroom.
After the burial of Felix I went abroad with Francis, whose health was
quite broken down by the strain put on it during the last few weeks.
He returned in six months, and married Olivia. She was told all that
had taken place in the Lone Inn, but kept the information to herself.
Mrs. Bellin never knew that Felix had substituted himself for Francis.
I was best man at the wedding by particular request, and saw the happy
pair start for their honeymoon. I hope they will be happy, and am sure
they deserve to be, seeing through what tribulations they have passed.
"What has become of the Fen Inn?" asked Dr. Merrick, one day, when we
were talking over the case.
"Oh, the Fen Inn is pulled down, I believe," was my reply. "There will
be no more tragedies there."
"A fit end for such a shambles," said Merrick; and I think he was
about right.
THE END.