THE INQUEST
Mr. Horran was as dead as a door nail. There could be no doubt about
that. While Chalks shivered and wrung his hands in the middle of the
room, demoralised and helpless, Clarice bent over the bed, in a dazed
manner. She could scarcely grasp the situation, notwithstanding that
it had been foreshadowed--as it were--by the mystery of the grey man.
Without doubt, he was the assassin. The sinister omen of the Purple
Fern had been fulfilled. An eighth victim had been struck down, and
his forehead bore the infernal trade-mark of the triumvirate, which no
longer existed. One of the members had been hanged; another had died
from natural causes; but the survivor, Alfred Osip, of Rough Lane,
Stepney, had accomplished alone the accursed work which the three had
undertaken.
"I was sent away," explained the valet, with chattering teeth, "by
master at eleven o'clock, as he would not let me sit up with him. I
came into the room, as usual, about seven o'clock--a few minutes ago,
Miss--to see if master wanted me. Then I saw that"--he pointed to the
bed--"and this!"--he picked up an assegai, which was lying near the
escritoire. "Look at the blood on it, Miss, and look at the cruel
wound in master's breast."
The bedclothes were perfectly smooth, and turned down to the dead
man's waist in an orderly manner. The jacket of his pyjamas was open,
and the breast revealed a ragged wound, upon which the blood had
congealed. Apparently, the assassin, Osip, had found the unfortunate
man sound asleep, and, having taken the assegai from the collection of
barbaric weapons on the wall, had turned down the clothes to stab his
victim with a surer aim. There was no sign of a struggle, and even
Clarice's untutored senses told her that Henry Horran had been
foully murdered in his sleep. But how had the assassin entered? The
window--she wheeled round with a set face, and stretched out an arm.
"The window is open," she said, in a dry cracking voice.
"Yes, Miss," whispered Chalks. "Dr. Wentworth saw master, after Dr.
Jerce went away, and opened the window, as usual."
"You fool!" cried Clarice, furiously, and recollecting Jerce's
precautions, in the face of the warning, "you have made two mistakes.
You should have obeyed Dr. Jerce in sitting up all night with Mr.
Horran; and the window, according to his directions, should have been
closed."
"I told you about the window before, Miss," said Chalks, doggedly. "I
let them doctors do what they liked, as it ain't my place to advise
medical men. As to sitting up, Dr. Jerce told me to do so, but master
insisted that I should leave about eleven, as usual. How can I obey
them all?" asked the little man, tearfully. "I ask you that, Miss."
"But you knew the danger, and----"
"What danger, Miss? Master has slept with that window open, off and
on, for three years--ever since Dr. Wentworth came to look after him.
He said it was to be open, and Dr. Jerce always wanted it to be shut.
I let them do what they liked."
"You should have remained all night with Mr. Horran," said Clarice,
remembering that Chalks knew nothing about the warning of the Purple
Fern, or the need of especial supervision.
"With a royal Bengal tiger, Miss?" wailed Chalks, "for that was what
master was last night. I never saw him so cross--never. He seemed to
have something on his mind, and went on awful."
"What did he say?" asked Miss Baird, thinking Horran's utterances
might shed a light on the darkness.
"I can't tell you Miss. It was swearing for the most part. But he made
me go to bed, and laughed when I declared that Dr. Jerce told me to
sit up with him."
"How did you leave him?"
"Sitting up in bed, swearing."
"With that window open?"
"It was ajar, as Dr. Wentworth left it," explained the valet,
cautiously. "Dr. Jerce closed it in the day, and Dr. Wentworth opened
it, when he left, about eight o'clock, last night."
"Did you hear any noise in the room during the night?"
"Now, how could I, Miss?" complained the little man, in an injured
tone, "seeing that my bedroom is at the back of the house, and that I
sleep like a top, through being worn out with master's tempers. I left
at eleven last night, and came again at seven; but what happened
between them hours, I know no more than you do."
"I know what happened," said Clarice, with a shudder, and looking at
the still figure on the bed. "Murder happened--as you see."
"But why should it happen, Miss? Master had his tempers, but he would
not have harmed a fly."
"I can't tell you the reason, Chalks; but, doubtless, Osip intended to
murder Mr. Horran for some wicked purpose of his own."
"Osip!" echoed the valet, starting. "Why, that is the man who was
going to stop at Mrs. Dumps' Savoy Hotel a few days ago, and didn't."
"What day was that?" asked Clarice, quickly.
Chalks searched his memory, and mentioned the very evening, when Dr.
Jerce had been searched on the terrace. There was no longer any doubt
in Clarice's mind but what Horran had been killed by Osip; but why so
inoffensive a man should be thus cruelly put out of the way she could
not conjecture. However, theorising would not help, so she moved away
from the bed with a sigh, and tried to recover her composure.
"You had better go at once for the police, Chalks," she said, rapidly.
"Meanwhile, I'll rouse up my brother and the servants."
"They are already up, Miss."
"Do they know?"
"No, Miss. I just cast one glance, and then flew up to you, Miss."
"Why not to Master Ferdinand?"
"Because, Miss, we always look to you for orders," said the valet,
respectfully; "and about the body, Miss?"
"Don't touch it--don't touch anything," said Clarice, warningly. "It
is necessary that the police should see the room as it is; and on your
way to the Police Station, Chalks, send a telegram to Captain Ackworth
at Gattlinsands."
"And to Dr. Jerce, in London, Miss?"
"There is no need; Dr. Jerce is coming down to-day, as usual."
Clarice went to see Mrs. Rebson, and communicated the dreadful news of
the crime. In a few minutes, the other servants were also informed,
and everyone was horrified that such a tragedy had taken place in the
quiet house. Mr. Horran had little enough to do with the domestics,
seeing that he usually kept to his room; but he was sufficiently well
liked to make one and all regret that he had come to so terrible an
end. And Mrs. Rebson's expressions of sorrow were mingled with
congratulatory comments on the triumph of The Domestic Prophet.
"Didn't I tell you, miss!" she said, nodding convincedly; "didn't I
tell you that trouble and death and disgrace would come; and you
laughed at me--what do you think of the Prophet now?"
Miss Baird shook her head, being too stunned by the catastrophe to
express her wonder or her reasons for disbelief. She went to her own
room to dress, and Mrs. Rebson sailed down to the kitchen with the
Domestic Prophet in her hand, ready to partake of a cup of tea, and to
expatiate on the wonderful manner in which the seer's chance shot had
hit the bull's-eye of the future.
Having completed a hasty toilet, Clarice took the key of Ferdy's
bedroom from her toilette-table, and went to release him. As might be
expected, seeing that the hour was early, Ferdy was still in bed, and
fast asleep. When his sister shook him, he rolled over, and muttered
something uncomplimentary. His debauch of the previous night had left
him somewhat haggard; but the night's rest had, to a great extent,
smoothed away the lines of dissipation from his handsome face.
"Get up, Ferdy," said Clarice, harshly. "Uncle Henry is dead."
The word--so terribly significant--penetrated even to Ferdy's shallow,
sleepy brain, and he sat up with widely-opened, horrified brown eyes.
"Uncle Henry!" he gasped. "Dead!"
"Murdered!" whispered his sister, grey and shaken.
"Wh-a-a-at!" Ferdy sprang out of bed, and his pink pyjamas formed a
strange contrast to his white, horrified face. "Clarry,
you--you--must--you must be mistaken!"
"I have just seen his body, with a wound in the breast, and with the
mark of the Purple Fern on the forehead."
"Clarry!" Ferdinand caught her by the hand. "What I overheard
yesterday in the drawing-room--what you and Ackworth and Jerce--?"
"Yes, yes," she said impatiently, and wrenched herself free.
"Everything is plain. This man Osip murdered Uncle Henry last night. I
have sent for the police. Dress yourself quickly, Ferdy, and come down
to see them with me. I expect the Inspector will come, and I have also
sent for Anthony."
Ferdy caught her by the dress, as she moved towards the door. "But,
Clarry, Clarry, why has Uncle Henry been killed?"
"I know no more than you do. We must find out. It is something that we
know the name of the murderer."
Ferdy gasped. "And--and--do you?" he stuttered.
"Of course. That man Osip is----"
"Oh!" Ferdy wiped his face. "Osip,--of course--the Purple Fern man.
But how can you be certain he is guilty?"
"He put his trade-mark on Uncle Henry's forehead," said Clarice, and
left the bedroom, after a second command to Ferdy that he should dress
quickly, and come on the scene of action.
"Osip! Osip!" said Ferdy to himself, stripping for his bath; "that's
the man in grey, Jerce talked of--the man who called on old Mother
Dumps and paid her for a bed he did not use. I wonder if he really is
guilty. At all events," murmured Ferdy, thankfully, and splashing in
his tub, "as Clarry locked me in last night, they can't say that I
have anything to do with it. Poor Uncle Henry!--but," cheerfully, "now
I'll get my money, and can marry Prudence; if," ruefully, "if Sally
Dumps will let me."
Meanwhile Clarice, downstairs, was talking to Inspector Tick, who was
in charge of the Crumel police, and who had come with two constables
to see about the tragedy. Miss Baird told him all that had happened
since Jerce had been searched on the terrace by the man in grey, who
had given the name of Osip to Mrs. Dumps. Then she conducted Tick to
the death-chamber, and left him to examine Chalks and the body. Later
Wentworth arrived, and two hours afterwards Captain Ackworth appeared
on the scene. Both were horrified.
"Didn't you hear a cry, Clarice?" asked Anthony, when in possession of
the facts.
"I heard nothing," she replied, "nor did Chalks. But that is not to be
wondered at, since Chalks sleeps at the back of the house, and is far
away from Uncle Henry's room."
"Did Ferdy hear anything?"
"I don't think so, though I haven't asked him. He came home drunk last
night, shortly after ten o'clock, so I locked him in his room. And, in
any case, Anthony, I don't think a cry was uttered, for Uncle Henry
must have been stabbed by the assegai, in his sleep."
"The window was open?" questioned Ackworth, thoughtfully. "Why?"
Clarice explained the contention between the two doctors, as regards
fresh air, and how the local practitioner, being the last to see the
patient, had left the fatal window ajar. "There's nothing to be
learned from that," ended Clarice, with a shrug. "I expect this Osip
man was haunting the house to kill Uncle Henry, and the open window
gave him his chance."
"Humph!" said Anthony, meditatively; "there is one peculiar
circumstance. If Osip is guilty, he would have brought a weapon with
him. Why, then, should he take an assegai from the wall? Such a clumsy
article, too."
"I don't know," answered Clarice, "but I expect we'll learn all that
is to be learned, at the inquest. It will take place to-morrow."
For the whole of the morning, Inspector Tick was busy making notes and
asking questions. He examined Wentworth about the window; Clarice,
again, as to the finding of the gold box; Ferdinand about the presence
of Osip at the Savoy Hotel; and then, after a word or two with Chalks
on the same subject, went off to see Mrs. Dumps. In the midst of all
this excitement, Dr. Jerce arrived. He looked much distressed, as he
had heard the truth at the station.
"My dear Miss Baird," he exclaimed, when he learned all that she knew.
"How terrible. My oldest and best friend. Dear, dear!--and just when I
had arranged that the matter of Osip should be inquired into."
"Have you seen the Scotland Yard authorities?" asked Ackworth,
suddenly.
"Yes, last night. I handed over the gold box, and explained. They said
they would send down a detective to-day, and, on hearing the news at
the station, I sent a wire to expedite his arrival. Then we shall get
at the truth."
"It seems to me that we know the truth," said Clarice, quickly. "Osip
killed Uncle Henry, and took advantage of the open window to do so."
"Ah!" said Jerce, bitterly, "if my directions had only been attended
to, the assassin would not have been able to enter the house. I look
upon Wentworth as responsible in some measure for the crime."
"Oh, no! no!" expostulated Anthony. "Wentworth did not know that
Horran's life was threatened. We ought to have told him all."
Jerce shook his head, and still condemned Wentworth. When that doctor
appeared out of the death-chamber, where he had been examining the
body, he and Jerce had a wordy argument. Jerce blamed Wentworth for
not leaving the window closed, as Jerce had left it; and Wentworth
complained that Jerce should have told him that the dead man's life
was in danger. "Had I known that," said Wentworth, "I should have left
the window closed."
"According to the etiquette of our profession," said Jerce, stiffly,
"my treatment took precedence of yours. I closed the window yesterday
before I went, and you should have left it closed."
"I believe in fresh air," snapped Wentworth, holding to his point.
"And in this disease I believe in warmth for the patient," retorted
the more famous doctor. "Do you set your opinion against mine?"
"I have my own views about this disease," said Wentworth.
"You don't know what it is, sir!"
"Neither do you, if it comes to that, Dr. Jerce."
"I am just about to find out," said the great man, and stalked from
the drawing-room, followed by the humbler member of the profession,
who was still bent upon asserting his dignity.
It was a sad Christmas Eve for Clarice. Anthony stopped as long as he
could, but had to return to his duties early in the evening. Ferdy
behaved much better than his sister expected him to, since he remained
at home, and did his best to comfort her. After dinner, the Vicar
looked in, and talked religion; but Clarice, knowing what a weak man
the parson was, did not find much encouragement in his ministrations.
The kitchen was much livelier than the drawing-room, for there Mrs.
Rebson was enthroned with the Domestic Prophet in her lap, recounting
over and over again what the book had said, and how she had applied it
to Mr. Horran.
The next day being Christmas, the inquest could not be held, but on
Boxing Day the jury and the local Coroner arrived to inspect the body
and to hold an inquiry. Already the London papers had heard of the
murder, and, as it was the eighth of the Purple Fern series, a number
of reporters came from the Metropolis to take notes. Never before was
the quiet little town so lively, for cheap trippers took advantage of
cheap fares to come and view the scene of the latest crime. Many even
preferred this new excitement to the well-worn amusements of Southend,
which was not very far distant. Mrs. Dumps especially did a roaring
trade, being particularly popular, from having conversed with the
murderer. The shrewd little woman made the best of the notoriety,
which had so suddenly rendered her famous.
"I'm sure," she cackled a dozen times in the course of the day, "you
could have knocked me down with a feather when I heard that such a
nice man as Mr. Osip was nothing but a cut-throat assassin. And he
wanted to take poor Mr. Horran's house, too--just like his artfulness,
when he intended murder and sudden death, as the Prayer Book says. Oh,
that Dumps were alive to support me, for my limbs is giving with
horror at the thought that I might likewise be cut off in the prime of
my youth and beauty. Lydia, beer to that gentleman over there! And now
I'll have to get ready for the inquest, my evidence being required to
hang the assassin. Though assassin he didn't look like, I can tell
you, gentleman. As nice a spoken man as I ever listened to, which
shows how careful we ought to be, seeing that in the middle of life we
are in our grave, as the Bible says." After which and a few other
incoherent speeches, the little woman arrayed herself in her smartest
frock and took her way to the house of death.
Here the Coroner presided in the drawing-room over twelve good and
lawful men. There was no mystery about the murder, as everyone was
perfectly satisfied that Alfred Osip was guilty. But it was necessary
to collect all evidence to reveal how Osip had committed the crime,
and to gather any clues together which might lead to his capture. The
two Bairds were present with Ackworth and Dr. Jerce. Before the
proceedings began, Clarice took the opportunity to ask the latter if
he had discovered the reason for Horran's mysterious disease, which
had baffled him and everyone else for so many years.
"Yes," whispered Jerce, calmly, but with a look of triumph in his eye,
"and I was right in my surmise, as to what was the matter. My poor
friend would have died of the disease had he not been murdered."
"What was the disease?" asked Clarice, curiously.
"You would not understand if I explained," said Jerce, shrugging; "the
description would be too technical."
"But I want to know."
"Well," said the great physician, "when I removed the skull-cap, I
found a cyst had formed under the membranes and was pressing on the
brain. The probable cause of the cyst was cystic degeneration of an
old blood-clot, the result of intracranial hæmorrhage."
Clarice shook her head. The death by the assegai was easier to
understand.