THE INQUEST
Tunks lost no time in delivering his gruesome message and in spreading
the news of the death. While the village policeman telegraphed to his
superior officer at Pierside, the handy-man of the late Captain Huxham
adopted the public-house as a kind of St. Paul's Cross, whence to
promulgate the grim intelligence. Here he passed a happy and exciting
hour detailing all that had happened, to an awe-stricken crowd, members
of which supplied him with free drinks. The marsh-folk were a dull,
peaceful, law-abiding people, and it was rarely that crimes were
committed in the district. Hence the news of the murder caused a
tremendous sensation.
Captain Jabez Huxham was well known, and his eccentricity in the matter
of planting Bleacres with yearly corn had been much commented upon. In
Napoleonic times the fertile marsh farms had been golden with grain, but
of late years, owing to Russian and American competition, little had
been sown. Huxham, as the rustics argued, could not have got even
moderate prices for its crops, so it puzzled one and all why he
persisted in his unprofitable venture. But there would be no more sowing
at Bleacres now, for the captain himself was about to be put under the
earth. "And a grand funeral he'll have," said the rustics, morbidly
alive to the importance of the grim event. For thirty years no crime of
this magnitude had been committed in the neighbourhood, and the violent
death of Huxham provided these bovine creatures with a new thrill.
Meanwhile the policeman, Dutton by name, had proceeded to Bleacres,
followed--when the news became more widely known--by a large and curious
throng. For that day and for the following days, until Huxham's body was
buried, Bleacres could no longer be called the solitary farm, in one
sense of the word. But the inherent respect of the agriculturist for
growing crops kept the individual members of the crowd, male and female,
to the narrow path which led from the boundary channel to the front door
of the Manor-house. When Inspector Inglis arrived with three or four
policemen from Pierside, he excluded the public from the grounds, but
the curious still hovered in the distance--beyond Jordan as it
were--with inquisitive eyes fastened on the quaint old mansion. To them,
one and all, it now assumed portentous proportions as the abode of
terror.
Inspector Inglis was a very quiet man, who said little, but who kept his
eyes on the alert. He inspected the body of the dead man, and then sent
for a doctor, who delivered his report in due course. The study was
examined thoroughly, and the entire house was searched from cellar to
garret. Then Bella and her aunt were questioned, and Tunks was also put
in the witness box. But in spite of all official curiosity, backed by
official power on the part of Inglis, he convened the jury of the
inquest, as ignorant of the truth as when he had begun his search. He
certainly found a blood-stained dagger behind the massive mahogany desk,
with which undoubtedly the crime had been committed; but he could
discover no trace of the assassin, and three or four days later, when
the inquest took place in the Manor-house, the mystery of the murder was
still unsolved. Nor, on the evidence procurable, did there seem to be
any chance of solution.
During the early part of the inquiry, Mrs. Coppersley had told Inglis
how her late brother had sent her with a note to Marshely asking Silas
Pence to call. When questioned, the preacher, not without agitation and
dismay, stated that he had been absent from his lodgings until eleven
o'clock on the fatal evening, and had not obeyed the summons of the
deceased. Certainly on his return he had found and read the note asking
him to call, but as the hour was late, he had deferred the visit until
the next morning. Then, of course, the news of the murder had been made
public, and Pence had said nothing until questioned by the Inspector.
But he was quite frank and open in his replies, and Inglis was satisfied
that the young preacher knew nothing about the matter.
From the moment when informed by Mrs. Coppersley of the crime until the
inquest, Bella suffered greatly. At her request, Dr. Ward--the medical
man who had reported on the time and manner of Huxham's death--had
examined the dregs of the tea-cup. Beyond doubt, as he discovered,
laudanum had been poured into the tea, and so largely, that it was
little wonder she had slept so soundly. Even had there been a struggle,
as Ward assured her, she would not have heard the commotion. And, as the
state of the study showed that the murderer had taken his victim
unawares, it was little to be wondered at that Bella woke in ignorance
of what had taken place during the night. She was thankful to have the
testimony of the young physician as to the drugging, since thereby she
was entirely exonerated from complicity in the crime. For, dreadful as
it may seem, there were those evil-seekers who hinted that Huxham's
daughter, having been alone in the house, must be aware of the truth, if
not actually guilty herself. But Bella knew that the evidence of Dr.
Ward and Mrs. Coppersley as to the drugging and the locking of the
bedroom door would clear her character.
It was therefore not on this account that she suffered, but because of
the inexplicable absence of Cyril Lister. Since she had seen him enter
the house shortly after eight o'clock on the fatal night she had not set
eyes on him, nor had she received any communication. At a time when she
needed him so greatly, it seemed strange that her lover should be
absent, since the fact of the murder, now being known all over England,
it appeared incredible that he alone should be ignorant. In spite of her
desire to believe him guiltless, this conduct looked decidedly
suspicious. If nothing serious had taken place between Cyril and her
father on the night in question, why had Lister gone away? At least she
surmised that he had gone away, as he did not appear to be in the
village, and she heard no mention of his name from the many people who
haunted the house. Try as she might, Bella, dearly as she loved the
young man, could not rid herself of the frightful belief that he had
struck the blow. Considering the circumstances, which she alone knew
fully, he had every reason to commit the crime. Yet in the face of the
strongest circumstantial evidence, Bella could not bring herself to
credit Cyril's guilt. Day after day, like sister Anne, she climbed to
the quarter-deck to see if he was coming. But the day of the inquest
came in due course, and even then he had not put in an appearance.
The Coroner was a grim, snappy old doctor, who set forth the object of
the inquest gruffly and tersely. The jury under his direction inspected
the body and then gathered in the large and stately dining-room of the
Manor-house to consider the evidence. Inspector Inglis confessed that he
had few witnesses, and that there was nothing in the evidence likely to
lead to the arrest of the murderer. Robbery, said the officer, was
undoubtedly the cause of the crime, since the desk had been rifled, and
the safe had been forced open. Mrs. Coppersley, the sister of the
deceased, he went on to say, could state that she knew her brother kept
at least one hundred pounds in gold in the safe. This was missing, so
probably----
"We'll take things in order, if you please," snapped the gruff Coroner
at this point of the Inspector's speech. "Call your witnesses."
Inglis was only too willing, and Dr. Ward gave his evidence, which
proved that in his opinion, after an examination of the body, the
deceased had been stabbed to the heart between the hours of eight and
eleven on the night in question. Witness could not be more precise, he
said, a confession which brought a grunt from the Coroner. The old
doctor lifted his eye-brows to intimate that the young doctor did not
know his business over well, else he would have been more explicit. But
Dr. Ward avoided an argument by hurriedly stating that, according to his
opinion--another grunt from the snappy Coroner--the wound had been
inflicted with the dagger found behind the mahogany desk.
This remark led to the production of the dagger, a foot-long steel,
broad towards the hilt and tapering to a sharp point. This was set in a
handle of jet-black wood, carved into the semblance of an ugly negro.
And the odd part about the blade was that the middle portion of the
steel was perforated with queer letters of the cuneiform type, and
filled in with copper. The Coroner frowned when he examined this strange
weapon, and he looked inquiringly at Mrs. Coppersley.
"Does this belong to your late brother?" he asked jerkily.
Mrs. Coppersley looked at the knife. "Jabez, being a sailor, had all
manner of queer things," she said hesitatingly, "but I never set my eyes
on that. He wasn't one to show what he had, sir."
"Was your brother ever in Africa on the West Coast?"
"He was all over the world, but I can't rightly say where, sir. Why?"
"This," the gruff Coroner shook the weapon, "is an African sacrificial
knife in use on the West Coast. From the way in which the copper is
welded into the steel, I fancy some Nigerian tribe possessed it. The
members of tribes thereabouts are clever metal-workers. The handle and
the lettering also remind me of something," mused the doctor, "for I was
a long time out in Senegal and Sierra Leone and saw--and saw--but that's
no matter. How comes an African sacrificial knife here?"
"I'm sure I don't know, sir," said Mrs. Coppersley promptly. "Jabez, as
I say, had all manner of queer things which he didn't show me."
"You can't say if this knife belonged to him?"
"No, sir, I can't. The murderer may have brought it."
"You are not here to give opinions," growled the doctor, throwing the
ugly-looking weapon on the table. "Are you sure," he added to Ward,
"that the wound was made with this knife?"
"Yes, I'm sure," replied the young practitioner, tartly, for the
Coroner's attitude annoyed him. "The weapon is sharp pointed and fits
the wound. Also the deceased wore a thick pea-jacket and only such a
knife could have penetrated the cloth."
"If the blow were struck with sufficient force," snapped the Coroner.
"It was," rejoined the witness. "Have you any more questions to ask me?"
The Coroner nodded, and Ward gave surgical details to prove that death
must have taken place almost instantaneously, since Huxham had been
stabbed to the heart. "Apparently deceased heard a noise, and rose
suddenly from his chair at the desk to face round in self-defence. But
the assassin was too quick for him, and struck the knife to deceased's
heart with great force as is apparent from----"
"That's all supposition," contradicted the Coroner rudely. "Stick to
facts."
Boiling with rage, the young doctor confined himself forthwith to a bald
statement of what he had discovered and then was curtly dismissed to
give place to Mrs. Coppersley.
That lady was voluble and sharp-tongued, so that the Coroner quite met
with his match, much to the delight of Dr. Ward, smarting under much
discourtesy. Mrs. Coppersley deposed that she had left the house at
seven o'clock, by the back door, with a note for Mr. Silas Pence from
her brother, asking him to call at the Manor-house. She left the note at
Mr. Pence's lodgings and then went on to the grocery shop to make some
purchases and to see Mrs. Vand and her son Henry. There she remained
until a quarter to ten o'clock and afterwards returned to the
Manor-house. Mr. Vand saw her as far as the boundary channel and then
went home.
"What time was that?" asked the Coroner, making notes.
"Just at ten," replied witness, flushing at the smile on the faces of
those who knew of the love romance. "The clock struck ten while I was
speaking to Henry--I mean to Mr. Vand--and not knowing that it was so
late I feared lest my brother should be angry. Jabez was always very
particular as to the house being locked up, so I thought he might shut
me out. I went in by the back door, having the key, and retired at once
to bed."
"Did you not see your brother?" asked the Coroner.
"No, sir. Knowing Jabez's violent temper I had no wish to see him, lest
there should be trouble. I went on tip-toe to bed, after locking the
back door."
"Did you hear Mr. Huxham moving about," questioned a juryman, timidly.
"No, Mr. Tatters, I didn't. Everything was quiet as I passed the door of
the study, and it was closed."
"Did you see a light in the window of the study when at the boundary
channel with Mr. Vand?" asked the Coroner.
"No; I looked too," said the witness, "for if Jabez had been up, there
would have been trouble owing to my being late. But there was no light
in the window, so I fancied Jabez might have gone to bed and have locked
me out. But he hadn't guessed I was absent, and so----"
"Did you see a light under the study door when passing through the
hall?"
"No, and that made me believe that Jabez had gone to bed. But I didn't
think of looking into the study; if I had," witness shuddered, "oh dear
me, how very dreadful it all is. Well, then I went to bed, and next
morning came down early to clean the study. When I entered I saw my
brother dead in his gore, whereupon I ran up stairs and got Bella to
come down. Then we sent for the police, and that's all I know."
The Coroner looked towards Ward. "This evidence takes an hour off your
time of death, doctor," he said sourly. "You say that the man was
murdered after eight and before eleven. Well then, as this witness
reached the house just after ten and saw no light in the study the
deceased must have been dead when she passed through the hall on her way
to bed."
"Oh," groaned Mrs. Coppersley, with her handkerchief to her lips. "How
dreadful if I'd looked in to see Jabez weltering in his gore."
"It's a pity you didn't," rejoined the Coroner sharply, "for then you
could have given the alarm and the assassin might have been arrested."
"Yes," cried Mrs. Coppersley violently, "and the assassin might have
been in the house at the moment, with only two women, mind, and one of
them drugged. I should have been killed myself had I given the alarm, so
I'm glad I didn't."
"Drugged! Drugged! What do you mean by drugged?"
"Ask Bella," retorted Mrs. Coppersley. "I've told all I'm going to
tell."
"Not all," said the Coroner, "was the front door locked?"
"I didn't notice at the time, being anxious to escape Jabez and get to
bed."
"Did you notice if it was locked in the morning?"
"Yes, when I opened it for Tunks to go for the police."
"It _was_ locked," said Bella, rising at this juncture, "but Tunks
opened it while I was talking with my aunt in the hall."
"You can give your evidence when I ask you," snapped the Coroner rudely.
"Humph! So the front door was locked and the back door also. How did the
assassin escape? He couldn't have gone by the front door after
committing the crime, since the key was in the inside, and you locked
the back door coming and going, Mrs. Coppersley."
"The murdering beast," said the witness melodramatically, "might have
got out of the study window."
"Then he must be a very small man," retorted the Coroner, "for only a
small man could scramble through the window. I examined it an hour ago."
"Please yourself," said Mrs. Coppersley, with an air of indifference,
"all I know is, that I'm glad I didn't discover Jabez in his gore on
that night and at that hour. If I had, you'd be holding an inquest on
me."
"Possibly. If the assassin was in the study when you passed through the
hall, Mrs. Coppersley."
"Ugh," shivered the witness, "and that's just where he was, depend upon
it, sir, getting through the window, when he'd dropped the knife behind
the desk. Oh, what an escape I've had," wept Mrs. Coppersley.
"There, there, don't bellow," said the Coroner, testily, "get down and
let the witness, Luke Tunks, be called."
The Bleacres handy-man had very little to say, but gave his evidence in
a straightforward manner. He had left the house with Mrs. Coppersley at
seven and had gone straight home to bed, as he was tired. His
grandmother could depose to the fact that he was in bed until the
morning. Then he came as usual to the Manor-house, and found that his
master was dead. He admitted that he had quarrelled with his master over
a possible curtailment of wages, and they had not parted in a very
friendly spirit. "But you can't say as I did for him," ended the witness
defiantly.
"No one suggests such a thing," snapped the Coroner. "Had you any reason
to believe that deceased expected to be murdered?"
Tunks scratched his head, "I have and I haven't," he said at length;
"master did seem afraid of someone, as he was always looking over his
shoulder. He said that he planted the corn so that there should be only
one path up to the house. Then he rigged up that out-look round the
chimney there," witness jerked his head towards the ceiling, "and he's
got a search-light there also, which he turned on at times."
The Coroner nodded. The late Captain's search-light was well-known, but
it was only put down as another freak on the part of a freakish man. But
the remark of the witness about the corn was new. "Do you mean to say
that the deceased planted the corn as a protection against some one
coming on him unawares?"
"Yes, I do," said Tunks, sturdily, "corn don't pay, and there was always
only one pathway left. Now my idea is----"
"We don't want to hear your ideas," said the Coroner; "get down. Silas
Pence."
The young preacher's examination occupied only a few minutes. He said
that he was absent from his lodgings until eleven, and then returned to
find the note. As it was late he did not call, and went to bed, as his
landlady could prove. He had no reason to believe that Captain Huxham
expected to be murdered, and considered that the old sailor was more
than capable of looking after himself. Witness was very friendly with
the Captain and wished to marry Miss Huxham, an arrangement to which the
Captain was quite agreeable. Witness presumed that Huxham wished to see
him about the projected marriage when he wrote the note asking witness
to call. Next morning when about to pay the visit, witness heard of the
murder.
Bella was the final witness, and stepped before the Coroner and the
inquisitive jurymen, looking pale, but composed. She gave her evidence
carefully, as she made up her mind to say nothing about Cyril's visit on
the fatal night. Also she was grateful that in his statement Pence had
said nothing of Lister's rivalry. She noted also that Pence had kept
quiet about the offer of her hand as a reward for the death of Cyril
made by her father to the preacher. More than ever she believed this
wild declaration to be due to imagination on the young man's part.
"What have you to say about this matter, Miss Huxham?" asked the coroner
in his usual gruff way.
"Nothing at all," she replied.
"Nothing at all," he echoed, and the jurymen looked at one another.
"No. I had quarrelled with my father on the afternoon of the night when
he met with his terrible death. He refused to let me come to supper, so
I retired to my room. Mrs. Coppersley brought me up tea and toast and
then locked me in my room."
"By her father's orders," cried Mrs. Coppersley, rising.
"Silence," said the Coroner scowling; "but surely, Miss Huxham, you
could have heard if----"
"I heard nothing," interrupted Bella, straightening her slim figure,
"for I was drugged."
"H'm!" The Coroner looked at her shrewdly. "Mrs. Coppersley said
something of that. Why were you drugged? Who drugged you?"
"My father drugged the cup of tea, brought by my aunt, with laudanum,"
said Bella bravely, determined to speak out, yet conscious of the
curious faces.
"Yes, he did," cried Mrs. Coppersley. "I brought the tea to the study
and then went to get the toast. Jabez had poured out the tea when I came
back, and giving me a cup told me to take it to Bella. I never knew
myself that it was drugged."
"But I can state that it was," said Dr. Ward, rising. "Miss Huxham gave
me the dregs to examine. I can prove----"
The Coroner intervened testily. "All this is very much out of order," he
said. "Let us proceed with caution. Miss Huxham, tell your story, and
then we can hear Dr. Ward and Mrs. Coppersley."
"I have scarcely any story to tell," said Bella, still apprehensive, yet
still brave and discreet. "I am engaged to be married, but my father did
not approve of my choice. He interrupted my meeting with my future
husband----"
"Who is he, if I may ask?"
"Mr. Lister. He is a gentleman who has been stopping here----"
"Yes, yes, I know;" and the Coroner did know, for his wife was a great
gossip and collected all the scandal for miles around. In fact he had
heard something of the philandering of Lister after Miss Huxham. "Go
on."
Bella proceeded. "My father would not allow me to come to supper, and
sent up my aunt with tea and toast to lock me in my room. She did so. I
did not eat the toast, but I drank the tea, and then fell asleep half on
the floor and half on my bed. My aunt awoke me in the morning with the
news of what had happened."
"And you heard nothing?"
"How could she," growled Ward, "when she was drugged."
"Silence there," said the Coroner sharply. "What time did you fall under
the influence of the opiate, Miss Huxham?"
"Shortly after eight, so far as I can recollect."
"Did you know that the tea was drugged?"
"If I had I should not have drunk it," retorted the witness. "It was
only next morning that I guessed the truth, and then I kept the dregs
for Dr. Ward to examine. He says----"
"He can give his evidence himself," interrupted the Coroner. "Why did
your father drug you?"
"I can't say, sir, unless he feared lest I should elope with Mr.
Lister."
"Had you any such intention?"
"No, I had not."
The Coroner looked at her earnestly and pinched his lip, apparently
nonplussed. The whole affair struck him as strange, and he
cross-examined the girl carefully. When he examined Mrs. Coppersley and
Ward, both of them bore out the improbable story--in the Coroner's
opinion--told by the girl. Finally the old doctor accepted the testimony
and dismissed the witnesses.
"I can't compliment you on the conduct of this case, Inspector Inglis,"
he said, when informed that no more witnesses were forthcoming. "You
have collected nothing likely to solve the mystery."
"I cannot manufacture evidence, sir," said Inglis stiffly.
The Coroner grunted and made an acid speech in which he pointed out that
the evidence laid before him and the jury amounted to absolutely
nothing. Only one verdict could be brought in--"Wilful murder against
some person or persons unknown." This was accordingly done, and the
assembly dispersed. Only the Coroner remained to state sourly to Inglis
that he considered the police in general to be fools, and the Pierside
inspector to be the king of them.