Emily’s first day in the City library proved to be a day wasted.
She began reading the back numbers of the newspaper at haphazard,
without any definite idea of what she was looking for. Conscious of the
error into which her own impatience had led her, she was at a loss
how to retrace the false step that she had taken. But two alternatives
presented themselves: either to abandon the hope of making any
discovery--or to attempt to penetrate Alban ‘s motives by means of pure
guesswork, pursued in the dark.
How was the problem to be solved? This serious question troubled her all
through the evening, and kept her awake when she went to bed. In despair
of her capacity to remove the obstacle that stood in her way, she
decided on resuming her regular work at the Museum--turned her pillow to
get at the cool side of it--and made up her mind to go asleep.
In the case of the wiser animals, the Person submits to Sleep. It is
only the superior human being who tries the hopeless experiment of
making Sleep submit to the Person. Wakeful on the warm side of the
pillow, Emily remained wakeful on the cool side--thinking again and
again of the interview with Alban which had ended so strangely.
Little by little, her mind passed the limits which had restrained it
thus far. Alban’s conduct in keeping his secret, in the matter of
the newspapers, now began to associate itself with Alban’s conduct in
keeping that other secret, which concealed from her his suspicions of
Mrs. Rook.
She started up in bed as the next possibility occurred to her.
In speaking of the disaster which had compelled Mr. and Mrs. Rook to
close the inn, Cecilia had alluded to an inquest held on the body of the
murdered man. Had the inquest been mentioned in the newspapers, at the
time? And had Alban seen something in the report, which concerned Mrs.
Rook?
Led by the new light that had fallen on her, Emily returned to the
library the next morning with a definite idea of what she had to look
for. Incapable of giving exact dates, Cecilia had informed her that the
crime was committed “in the autumn.” The month to choose, in beginning
her examination, was therefore the month of August.
No discovery rewarded her. She tried September, next--with the same
unsatisfactory results. On Monday the first of October she met with some
encouragement at last. At the top of a column appeared a telegraphic
summary of all that was then known of the crime. In the number for the
Wednesday following, she found a full report of the proceedings at the
inquest.
Passing over the preliminary remarks, Emily read the evidence with the
closest attention.
-------------
The jury having viewed the body, and having visited an outhouse in which
the murder had been committed, the first witness called was Mr. Benjamin
Rook, landlord of the Hand-in-Hand inn.
On the evening of Sunday, September 30th, 1877, two gentlemen presented
themselves at Mr. Rook’s house, under circumstances which especially
excited his attention.
The youngest of the two was short, and of fair complexion. He carried a
knapsack, like a gentleman on a pedestrian excursion; his manners were
pleasant; and he was decidedly good-looking. His companion, older,
taller, and darker--and a finer man altogether--leaned on his arm and
seemed to be exhausted. In every respect they were singularly unlike
each other. The younger stranger (excepting little half-whiskers) was
clean shaved. The elder wore his whole beard. Not knowing their names,
the landlord distinguished them, at the coroner’s suggestion, as the
fair gentleman, and the dark gentleman.
It was raining when the two arrived at the inn. There were signs in the
heavens of a stormy night.
On accosting the landlord, the fair gentleman volunteered the following
statement:
Approaching the village, he had been startled by seeing the dark
gentleman (a total stranger to him) stretched prostrate on the grass at
the roadside--so far as he could judge, in a swoon. Having a flask with
brandy in it, he revived the fainting man, and led him to the inn.
This statement was confirmed by a laborer, who was on his way to the
village at the time.
The dark gentleman endeavored to explain what had happened to him. He
had, as he supposed, allowed too long a time to pass (after an early
breakfast that morning), without taking food: he could only attribute
the fainting fit to that cause. He was not liable to fainting fits. What
purpose (if any) had brought him into the neighborhood of Zeeland, he
did not state. He had no intention of remaining at the inn, except for
refreshment; and he asked for a carriage to take him to the railway
station.
The fair gentleman, seeing the signs of bad weather, desired to remain
in Mr. Rook’s house for the night, and proposed to resume his walking
tour the next day.
Excepting the case of supper, which could be easily provided, the
landlord had no choice but to disappoint both his guests. In his small
way of business, none of his customers wanted to hire a carriage--even
if he could have afforded to keep one. As for beds, the few rooms which
the inn contained were all engaged; including even the room occupied by
himself and his wife. An exhibition of agricultural implements had
been opened in the neighborhood, only two days since; and a public
competition between rival machines was to be decided on the coming
Monday. Not only was the Hand-in-Hand inn crowded, but even the
accommodation offered by the nearest town had proved barely sufficient
to meet the public demand.
The gentlemen looked at each other and agreed that there was no help for
it but to hurry the supper, and walk to the railway station--a distance
of between five and six miles--in time to catch the last train.
While the meal was being prepared, the rain held off for a while. The
dark man asked his way to the post-office and went out by himself.
He came back in about ten minutes, and sat down afterward to supper with
his companion. Neither the landlord, nor any other person in the public
room, noticed any change in him on his return. He was a grave, quiet
sort of person, and (unlike the other one) not much of a talker.
As the darkness came on, the rain fell again heavily; and the heavens
were black.
A flash of lightning startled the gentlemen when they went to the window
to look out: the thunderstorm began. It was simply impossible that
two strangers to the neighborhood could find their way to the station,
through storm and darkness, in time to catch the train. With or without
bedrooms, they must remain at the inn for the night. Having already
given up their own room to their lodgers, the landlord and landlady had
no other place to sleep in than the kitchen. Next to the kitchen, and
communicating with it by a door, was an outhouse; used, partly as a
scullery, partly as a lumber-room. There was an old truckle-bed among
the lumber, on which one of the gentlemen might rest. A mattress on the
floor could be provided for the other. After adding a table and a basin,
for the purposes of the toilet, the accommodation which Mr. Rook was
able to offer came to an end.
The travelers agreed to occupy this makeshift bed-chamber.
The thunderstorm passed away; but the rain continued to fall heavily.
Soon after eleven the guests at the inn retired for the night. There was
some little discussion between the two travelers, as to which of them
should take possession of the truckle-bed. It was put an end to by the
fair gentleman, in his own pleasant way. He proposed to “toss up
for it”--and he lost. The dark gentleman went to bed first; the fair
gentleman followed, after waiting a while. Mr. Rook took his knapsack
into the outhouse; and arranged on the table his appliances for the
toilet--contained in a leather roll, and including a razor--ready for
use in the morning.
Having previously barred the second door of the outhouse, which led into
the yard, Mr. Rook fastened the other door, the lock and bolts of which
were on the side of the kitchen. He then secured the house door, and the
shutters over the lower windows. Returning to the kitchen, he noticed
that the time was ten minutes short of midnight. Soon afterward, he and
his wife went to bed.
Nothing happened to disturb Mr. and Mrs. Rook during the night.
At a quarter to seven the next morning, he got up; his wife being still
asleep. He had been instructed to wake the gentlemen early; and he
knocked at their door. Receiving no answer, after repeatedly knocking,
he opened the door and stepped into the outhouse.
At this point in his evidence, the witness’s recollections appeared to
overpower him. “Give me a moment, gentlemen,” he said to the jury. “I
have had a dreadful fright; and I don’t believe I shall get over it for
the rest of my life.”
The coroner helped him by a question: “What did you see when you opened
the door?”
Mr. Rook answered: “I saw the dark man stretched out on his bed--dead,
with a frightful wound in his throat. I saw an open razor, stained with
smears of blood, at his side.”
“Did you notice the door, leading into the yard?”
“It was wide open, sir. When I was able to look round me, the other
traveler--I mean the man with the fair complexion, who carried the
knapsack--was nowhere to be seen.”
“What did you do, after making these discoveries?”
“I closed the yard door. Then I locked the other door, and put the
key in my pocket. After that I roused the servant, and sent him to the
constable--who lived near to us--while I ran for the doctor, whose
house was at the other end of our village. The doctor sent his groom, on
horseback, to the police-office in the town. When I returned to the
inn, the constable was there--and he and the police took the matter into
their own hands.”
“You have nothing more to tell us?”
“Nothing more.”