Norman de Vere looked eagerly into the beautiful, startled face before
him. It was ashen pale, and the hazel eyes were dilated with terror.
“Camille, try to be calm. No one accuses you of knowing anything about
it, but the coroner wishes to ask you a few questions--that is all,” he
said, reassuringly.
She tried to subdue her traitor nerves--to appear calm and disdainful.
“I--I refuse to appear before a vulgar crowd like that. How dare they
summon me?” she panted.
“Sit down, Camille, and I will tell you the truth. Your name has most
unfortunately been connected with this affair, because Lord Stuart
swears that the last time he saw his poor devil of a valet alive was
yesterday at twilight, when he sent him to Verelands to bring you some
flowers.”
“Flowers--to me! Oh, there is some mistake! I never received them. The
man did not come to Verelands.”
“Yes, the man came to Verelands, Camille. Two of our servants, to my
great surprise, were present at the inquest. They identified the corpse
as a man who came to Verelands yesterday at twilight with flowers for
you. He refused to give them into any hands but yours, and when they
told him you were walking in the grounds, he went in search of you. No
one ever saw him alive afterward unless you did.”
“Good heavens, Norman! I never saw the man in my life, either alive or
dead. Do they think I murdered him?”
“Certainly not, Camille. Pray do not get so excited. Then you did not
meet Robert Lacy anywhere in the grounds?”
“No, I did not. I only stayed out a few minutes. I came in and went to
reading. You know I told you, Norman, how interested I was in my book
last night.”
“Yes, I remember,” he said, in a strained voice.
She noticed it with a throb of fear at her heart. Why did he look at
her so strangely?
“I suppose I need not really go. You can tell them that I never saw the
man, can’t you, dear?” she pleaded, laying an entreating hand on his
coat-sleeve; but he answered almost impatiently:
“I’m afraid you must come with me, Camille, or they will send an
officer of the law for you. I promised I would bring you. You need not
feel so nervous over it. They will only ask you a few questions. Of
course, no one has any thought that you harmed the man. They are only
trying to find out who saw him last in life.”
With bitter reluctance she went with him, trying to steel her nerves to
the cruel ordeal.
Were they going to make her look upon the face of the dead man and
swear that he was unknown to her--that she had never seen him before?
Must she add perjury to the list of her sins?
When it was all over she wondered at the calmness with which she had
gone through it all. How had she ever done it. How had she borne so
unflinchingly the keen questions, the suspicious looks, and beaten down
all with that air of complete innocence? If for a moment her heart had
trembled within her on looking at the dead and ghastly face of the man
she had slain, there was no one to know. She took credit to herself
afterward for the hardihood with which she had denied everything,
making so strong an impression on the coroner’s jury that, after a very
brief deliberation, they brought in a verdict that Robert Lacy had
compassed his own death, first by stabbing with a knife, which Lord
Stuart affirmed he habitually carried on his person, and had made sure
of his work by casting himself into the river. Suicide, not a doubt of
it.