The tragedy caused the greatest excitement in the neighbourhood.
Journalistic artists, those industrious gentlemen who produce such
terribly distorted portraits, came from London and sketched the spot in
Cross Lane and the exterior of Captain Brooker's house. One had the
audacity to call and request him to lend them a photograph of the
murdered girl. This he declined, with a few remarks more forcible than
polite, for he had been greatly annoyed by the continual stream of
interviewers, who continually rang his bell. Hundreds of persons walked
or drove over from Reading to view the spot where Nelly had been found,
and in addition to the local detectives, Inspector Swayne, a well-known
officer from Scotland Yard, had been sent down to direct the inquiries.
At the inquest, held at the King's Head, two days later, it was expected
by everybody that some interesting facts would be brought to light.
Erle Brooker had never troubled to earn the good will of his neighbours,
therefore they were now spitefully eager for any scandal that might be
elicited, and long before the hour for which the jury had been summoned,
congregated around the village inn. It was known that on the day
following the tragedy the Captain had paid a mysterious visit to London,
and the object of this trip had been a subject of much discussion
everywhere. The murder of his adopted daughter had been a terrible blow
to him, and when seen on his way to the station it was noticed that his
face, usually smiling and good-humoured, wore a heavy, preoccupied look.
As he walked with Liane from his cottage to the inn, the crowd, gaping
and hushed, opened a way for them to pass in; then, when they had
entered, there was an outburst of sympathy and sneers, many of the
latter reaching the ears of George Stratfield when, a few moments later,
he followed them.
After a long wait, the Coroner at length took his seat, the jury were
duly sworn, and the witnesses, ordered out of the crowded room, were
ushered into a small ante-room, the table of which had recently been
polished with stale beer. Here Liane introduced her lover to her
father, and the men exchanged greetings. George, however, did not fail
to notice the rustiness of the Captain's shabby frock-coat, nor the fact
that his black trousers were shiny at the knees; yet as they grasped
hands, the ring of genuine bonhomie about his voice favourably impressed
him. By his tone and manner George instinctively knew that Erle
Brooker, the man against whom his dead father entertained such an
intense dislike, was a gentleman.
"Our meeting is in very tragic circumstances, Mr Stratfield," the
Captain observed huskily, his grave face unusually pale. "They told me
that you had discovered poor Nelly, but I had not the pleasure of your
acquaintance, although I had, of course, heard of you often from the
villagers."
Liane and George looked at one another significantly.
"I must regret your sad bereavement, and both you and Liane have my
sincerest sympathy," the young man answered.
The Captain glanced quickly at the Baronet's son with a strange, puzzled
expression. He had spoken of his daughter familiarly by her Christian
name, and evidently knew her well. He had not before suspected this.
At that moment, however, the door opened, and a constable putting his
head inside called his name. In obedience to the policeman's request he
rose and followed him into the room wherein the court of inquiry had
assembled. Having advanced to the table and been sworn, the Coroner
addressing him, said,--
"Your name is Captain Erle Brooker, late of the Guards, I believe?"
"Yes."
"And you identify the body of the deceased. Who was she?"
"Helen Mary Bridson, daughter of a brother officer, Captain Bridson.
She was left an orphan eleven years ago, and I brought her up."
"Did her father die in London?"
"No, on the Continent."
"Had she no relatives on her mother's side?"
The Captain slowly stroked his moustache, then answered.
"I knew of none."
"Were you acquainted with her mother?"
"No, I was not," he replied after a moment's reflection.
"And you have no suggestion to make, I suppose, regarding any person who
might have entertained ill-will towards the unfortunate girl?" inquired
the grey-haired Coroner.
"None whatever."
"When did you last see her alive?"
"On Monday evening, when she accompanied a visitor to the station to see
him off on his return to London. She rode her cycle, and announced her
intention of going on to Burghfield to make a purchase. She was found
later on," he added, hoarsely.
"Who was this visitor? What was his name?"
"He was a friend, but I decline to give his name publicly," the Captain
replied firmly. "I will, however, write it for your information, if you
desire," and taking a pencil from his pocket he wrote the name of Prince
Zertho d'Auzac and handed it to the Coroner.
The eager onlookers were disappointed. They had expected some
sensational developments, but it seemed as though the crime was too
enshrouded in mystery to prove of any very real interest. They did not,
however, fail to notice that when the Coroner read what the Captain had
written, an expression of astonishment crossed his face.
"Are you certain that the--this gentleman--left by the train he went to
catch?" he asked.
"Quite," answered Brooker. "Not only have the police made inquiry at my
instigation, but I have also accompanied a detective to London, where we
found my visitor. Inspector Swayne, as a result of his investigations,
was entirely satisfied."
"Had the unfortunate young lady any admirer?"
"I think not."
"Then you can tell us absolutely nothing further?" observed the Coroner,
toying with his quill.
"Unfortunately I cannot."
The Captain, after signing his depositions, was directed to one of a row
of empty chairs near the Coroner's table, and his daughter was called.
Liane, pale and nervous, neatly dressed in black, entered quietly,
removed her right glove, and took the oath. Having given her name, the
Coroner asked,--
"When did you last see the deceased, Miss Brooker?"
"When she set out to go to the railway station," she answered, in a low
faltering voice.
"Have you any idea why she should have gone to Cross Lane? It was
entirely out of her way home from Burghfield to Stratfield Mortimer, was
it not?"
"I cannot tell," Liane replied. "We went along that road on our cycles
only on one occasion, and found it so rough that we agreed never to
attempt it again."
"I presume, Miss Brooker, that the deceased was your most intimate
friend?" observed the Coroner. "She would therefore be likely to tell
you if she had a lover. Were you aware of the existence of any such
person?"
"No," she replied, flushing slightly and glancing slowly around the hot,
crowded room.
"You had a visitor whose name your father has just given me upon this
paper," observed the Coroner. "Was that visitor known to the deceased?"
The eyes of the father and daughter met for a single instant as she
glanced around upon the long lines of expectant countenances.
"Oh, yes," she replied. "The gentleman who came unexpectedly to see us
has been known to us all for fully five or six years."
"And has always been very friendly towards the unfortunate girl?"
"Always."
"The only thing taken from the young lady appears to have been a diamond
brooch. Do you know anything of it?"
"Of what?" gasped Liane nervously, her face paling almost imperceptibly
behind her black veil.
"Of the brooch, of course."
"I only know that she prized it very much, as it was a present from a
gentleman she had met while on the Riviera eighteen months ago."
"He was not her lover?" inquired the grave-faced man, without looking up
from the sheet of blue foolscap whereon he was writing her statement.
"Not exactly. I have no knowledge of her possessing any admirer."
The Coroner at last paused and put down his quill. "And this miniature,
which was discovered beside the body, have you ever before seen it in
the possession of the deceased?" he asked, holding it up to her gaze.
"No," she answered. "Never."
The jury not desiring to ask any questions, Liane was then allowed to
retire to a chair next her father, and the doctor was called.
"Will you kindly tell us the result of the _post mortem_, Dr Lewis?" the
Coroner requested, when the medical man had been sworn.
At once the doctor explained in technical language the injuries he had
discovered, and described the exact position in which he had found the
body when he reached the spot.
"And what, in your opinion, was the cause of death?" asked the Coroner
in dry, business-like tones.
"She was shot at close quarters while ascending the incline leading from
the railway arch towards Stratfield Mortimer. The weapon used was an
Army revolver. I produce the bullet I have extracted," he answered,
taking it from his vest-pocket and handing it across the table. "The
deceased's assailant stood on her left-hand side, and must have shot her
as she rode along. She evidently mounted her cycle at the commencement
of the incline, and having run down swiftly and passed beneath the arch,
was again descending when the shot was fired."
"Was death instantaneous?" inquired the foreman of the jury.
"Scarcely," answered the doctor. "Such a wound must, however, cause
death. Immediate attention could not have saved her."
A thrill of horror ran through the crowded court. Nearly everyone
present had seen Nelly Bridson, with her smiling happy face, riding
about the village and roads in the vicinity, and the knowledge that she
had met with an end so terrible yet mysterious, appalled them.
Some further questions were put to the doctor, after which George
Stratfield entered. As he raised the greasy copy of Holy Writ to his
lips, his eyes fell upon Liane. She was sitting, pale and rigid, with a
strange haggard expression upon her beautiful countenance such as he had
never before beheld. He gazed upon her in alarm and surprise.
The Coroner's questions, however, compelled him to turn towards the
jury, and in reply he explained how, on that fateful evening after his
father's death, he was riding along Cross Lane, and was horrified by
discovering the body of Nelly Bridson. In detail he described every
incident, how he had lifted her up, and finding her quite dead, had
ridden on into the village to obtain assistance.
Liane listened to his story open-mouthed. Her hands were closed
tightly, and once or twice, when questions were put to him by Coroner or
jury, she held her breath until he had answered. She was as one
paralysed by some unknown fear. Their gaze met more than once, and on
each occasion he fancied he detected, even through her veil, that her
eyes were dark and haggard, like one consumed by some terrible dread.
"You have, I believe, some knowledge of this miniature," the Coroner
observed, again taking the small oval bejewelled portrait in his hand.
"Yes," he answered. "It is undoubtedly the one which has been missing
from my late father's collection for more than twenty years. It was
supposed to have been stolen, but by whom could never be ascertained.
My father had several times offered handsome rewards for its recovery,
as it is a family portrait."
"You have no idea, I suppose, by what means it could have come into the
unfortunate girl's possession?"
"None whatever. The unexpected discovery amazed me."
"You have not told us what caused you to ride along Cross Lane on that
evening," the foreman of the jury observed presently.
Again Liane held her breath.
"I had an appointment," he answered, not without considerable
hesitation, "and was proceeding to keep it."
"Did you know Miss Bridson?"
"We had met on several occasions."
The detective from Scotland Yard bent across the table and uttered some
words, after which the Coroner, addressing George, said,--
"Inspector Swayne desires to ascertain whether it was with the deceased
you had an appointment?"
"No," he replied promptly.
Again the Coroner and the inspector exchanged some hurried words.
"Who was the person you intended to meet?" the Coroner asked, looking
inquiringly at the witness.
"A lady."
"Am I right in presuming that it was Miss Brooker?"
George paused for an instant, bit his lip in displeasure at being thus
compelled to publicly acknowledge his clandestine meetings with Liane,
and then nodded in the affirmative.
"Then you were about to meet Miss Brooker, but instead, found Miss
Bridson lying in the roadway dead?" the Coroner observed.
"I did."
"Are you aware that Miss Brooker wrote to you expressing her inability
to keep the appointment?" the Coroner asked.
"She has told me so," he answered. "The letter was given, I believe, to
the unfortunate young lady to post, but I have not received it."
"There appears to be some mystery about that letter," the Coroner said,
turning to the jury. "I have it here. It was discovered in fragments
yesterday by the police, thrown into a ditch at the roadside not far
from where the body was found;" and taking from among his papers a sheet
of foolscap whereon the pieces of Liane's letter had been pasted
together, he handed it to the jury for their inspection.
At that instant a sudden thought occurred to George. This last fact
pointed alone to one conclusion, namely, that Nelly being given the
letter by Liane, and knowing its contents, kept the appointment herself,
desiring to speak to him alone upon some subject the nature of which he
could not, of course, guess. This would not only account for her
presence at the spot where he found her, but also for her dismounting
and resting at the gateway where they had discovered the curious marks
in the dust, and for the fragments of the letter being recovered near.
A similar theory appeared to suggest itself to the minds of the jury,
for a moment later the foreman asked--
"Would the deceased have any definite object in seeking an interview
with you?"
"None whatever," he promptly replied, puzzled nevertheless that the
remains of Liane's note should have been recovered in Cross Lane.
"You assisted the police to search the road for any traces of the
assassin, I believe, Mr Stratfield," continued the Coroner. "Did you
discover anything?"
George raised his eyes and met the curious gaze of the woman he loved.
At that moment her veil failed to hide the strange look of dread and
apprehension in her face, so intense it was. Her lips, slightly parted,
quivered, the pallor of her cheeks was deathlike, and her whole attitude
was that of one who feared the revelation of some terrible truth.
"During my search I discovered a lady's hairpin lying in the grass at
the roadside," George replied, after a silence, brief but complete. He
was not thinking of the question, but was sorely puzzled at the
extraordinary change in the woman who had promised to become his wife.
The transformation was amazing.
"That pin is here," the Coroner explained to the jury, passing it across
for their inspection. "I will call Henry Fawcett, hairdresser, of
Reading, who will give evidence regarding it."
The man referred to was called in, and in reply to a formal question,
took the hairpin in his hand, saying,--
"I have, at the instigation of the police, minutely compared this pin
with those worn by the young lady at the time of her death, and also
those found upon her dressing-table. I find that although apparently
the same make it is nevertheless entirely different. Some of them found
upon her dressing-table were of similar length and size, but while the
pins she used were of the ordinary kind, such as may be purchased at any
draper's, this one is of very superior quality. By the shape of its
points, together with its curve, I can distinguish that this is the pin
manufactured solely by Clark and Lister, of Birmingham, and sold by
first-class hairdressers."
"Your theory is that this pin was never worn by the deceased?" the
Coroner said, thoughtfully stroking his grey beard.
"I feel confident it never was, for the pin is quite new, and they are
sold in large boxes," was the reply.
"In that case it seems probable that another woman was with her
immediately before her death," observed the foreman to his brother
jurors.
George looked again at Liane. Her eyes were still staring into space,
her lips were trembling, her face was ashen pale. She started at the
ominous words which fell upon her ear, then feigned to busy herself in
re-buttoning the black glove she had removed before taking the oath.
"It, of course, remains for the police to prosecute further inquiries
and to discover the owner of that hairpin," the Coroner said. "Most of
us are aware that ladies frequently use various kinds of pins in
dressing their hair, but in this case not a single one of the peculiar
sort found on the spot was discovered in the deceased's possession; and
this fact in itself certainly lends colour to a suggestion that
immediately prior to the tragedy Miss Bridson was not alone."
George having concluded his evidence, had taken a seat beside his
well-beloved. Only once she glanced at him, then evaded his gaze, for
in her grey eyes was an expression as though she were still haunted by
some unknown yet terrible dread. His statement regarding the hairpin
had unnerved her. Did she, he wondered, wear similar pins in her own
dark, deftly-coiled tresses?
Instantly, however, he laughed the wild, absurd idea to scorn. That she
feared lest some startling truth should be elucidated was apparent; but
the suspicion that a pin from her own hair had fallen unheeded upon the
grass he dismissed as utterly preposterous. Was she not his
enchantress? Surely he had no right to suspect her of all women, for he
loved her with all his soul. Yet neither police, jury, nor he himself
had inquired where she had been at the hour the tragedy was enacted.
The thought held him appalled.
While these and similar reflections passed through his mind some words
of the Coroner suddenly arrested his attention. The court was at once
hushed in expectation, every word being listened to with eager
attention.
"In the dress-pocket of the deceased has been found this letter, of a
somewhat extraordinary character. As it is written in French it may be
best if I read an English translation," he said, spreading out the
missive before him. "It is on superior note-paper of English make,
bears traces of having been written by an educated person, and was sent
to the post office, Stratfield Mortimer, where the police have
ascertained that the deceased called for it about ten days ago. No
address is given, and the envelope is missing, but the communication is
to the following effect:--`Dear Nelly,--The cord is now drawn so tight
that it must snap ere long. England is safer than the south, no doubt,
but it will not be so much longer. Therefore I remain here, but
fortunately not "en convalescence." Do not tell Liane anything, but
remember that the matter must be kept a profound secret, or one or other
of us must pay the penalty. That would mean the end. For myself, I do
not care, but for you it is, of course, entirely different. We are
widely separated, yet our interests are entirely identical. Remember
me, and be always on your guard against any surprise. Au revoir.' It
will be noticed, gentlemen, by those of you who know French," the
Coroner added, "that the words `en convalescence' occur here in a rather
curious sense. It is, in fact, nothing less than thieves' argot,
meaning under police surveillance; and it is strange that it should be
written by one who otherwise writes well and grammatically. The name of
the dead girl's mysterious correspondent is a rather uncommon one--
Mariette Lepage."
"Mariette Lepage!" George cried aloud in a tone of dismay, causing not
a little consternation among those assembled.
The strange-sounding foreign name was only too deeply impressed upon his
memory. The writer of that curious letter, with its well-guarded
expression in the argot of the Paris slums, was the unknown woman to
whom, under his father's will, he was compelled to offer marriage.