The inquest was conducted with extreme care, but soon Miss Farnham's
presence was found necessary, and her absence commented upon. I saw
Carleton start when her name was mentioned, and a look of extreme
distress filled his eyes.
"I will go and find her," said Mrs. Brabazon, leaving the room.
She returned in a moment to say that Miss Farnham was not in her room,
and that no one seemed to know anything about her.
"I have sent several servants into the grounds to look for her," she
said.
As Miss Farnham was an important witness, having spent almost the
entire day previous to his death with poor Randall, proceedings were
delayed during her absence.
The case, however, seemed as black as could be against Carleton, and I
had not the least doubt that the coroner would order a warrant to be
issued for his arrest on suspicion.
My one last hope now hung on Miss Farnham's being able to find the
missing letter, and then on the letter containing evidence which would
give a medical cause for poor Randall's extraordinary death.
I seldom found myself in a more torturing position than during the
time of this inquest. Relief, however, was at hand. I heard the sound
of light and quickly moving feet in the hall. The door of the library
was opened, not softly and with reverent hush, but with the eager,
impetuous movement of someone in hot haste. Miss Farnham came into the
room with a wild colour in her cheeks and a wild, bright light in her
eyes. Her skirts were draggled and wet, her hair was loosened and fell
over her shoulders--she had cast away both hat and shawl.
[Illustration: "I CLIMBED THE CLIFF AND GOT THE PAPER."]
"There," she said, going straight up to Lady Hartmore; "there's your
letter--the last letter your son ever wrote to you. It was lost, or
supposed to be lost, but I found it. I walked along the cliff, close to
the edge--very close. There is a part where the cliff is undermined. I
lay on my face and hands and looked over. I saw, far below me, a tiny
ledge of rock: there was a bush growing there, and, sticking in the
bush, something white--it might be a useless rag or a piece of torn
paper, or it might be a letter of importance. The tide was coming in
fast; still, I thought that I had time. I put wings to my feet and
rushed down a narrow path which led to the beach below. The tide had
already come up and was wetting the base of the rock above which the
bush which contained the white paper stood.
"I waded through the water and climbed the cliff and got the paper. I
scrambled down again. When I came back the water was up to my knees.
I crossed it safely, and mounted to the higher cliff again. Then, for
the first time, I examined my prize. Yes, it was a letter--it was
open. I don't know what had become of its covering. I sat on the grass
and I read it--yes, I read every word. Here it is now, and you can
read it. Read it aloud, please, for it is important--it explains, it
saves! Ronald, it saves you!" Here the excited girl paused in her eager
narrative, and turned her full gaze upon Carleton, who was bending
forward to listen to her. "It saves you," she repeated; "it exonerates
you completely!"
The commotion and interest which Miss Farnham's words and manner
excited can be better felt than described. Lady Hartmore stood up and
confronted the breathless girl. She held out her hand and clutched the
letter, which was torn and dirty from its long exposure to wind and
weather. She held it close and looked at it. It was in the beloved
writing of the dead. The dead man was her only son--the letter was
addressed to her, his mother. It contained a last message from the
brain now silent--from the heart now still.
Tears filled her eyes.
"I must read this letter in private," she faltered. "This last letter
of my boy's is too sacred for anyone but his mother to hear--I must
read it alone."
"No," interrupted Miss Farnham, "it contains important information. I
will call upon the coroner to insist on its being read aloud. I risked
my life to get it. Another life hangs upon the information it contains.
Dr. Halifax, you are a medical man--will you insist on this letter
being read aloud?"
I went up to Lady Hartmore and said something to her in a low voice.
She listened attentively--she considered my words. After a pause she
put the letter into my hands.
"If it must be, it must," she said. "This is the last drop in the
bitterness of my cup."
She sat down, and flinging out her two arms, stretched them over the
body of the dead man. Once more her attitude and manner reminded me of
Rispah.
Miss Farnham stood close to Lady Hartmore. She forgot her dishevelled
hair, her disordered appearance. All her soul filled the eyes which she
raised expectantly to my face.