"There is foul play somewhere," I said, in conclusion. "I have been
dragged into this thing almost against my will, and now I am determined
to see it through."
Mackenzie flung up his hands.
"I don't pretend to doubt your wisdom," he said; "but to ask me gravely
to assist you to exhume the body of a man who died of consumption six
months ago, is enough to take my breath away. What reason can you
possibly give to the authorities for such an action?"
"That I have strong grounds for believing that the death never took
place at all," I replied. "Now, will you co-operate with me in this
matter, or not?"
"Oh, of course, I'll co-operate with you," he answered. "But I don't
pretend to say that I like the business."
We walked together to his house, talking over the necessary steps which
must be taken to get an order for exhumation. Mackenzie promised to
telegraph to me as soon as ever this was obtained, and I was obliged to
hurry off to attend to my own duties. As I was stepping into my hansom
I turned to ask the doctor one more question.
"Have you any reason to suppose that Heathcote was heavily insured?" I
asked.
"No, I don't know anything about it," he answered.
"You are quite sure there were no money troubles anywhere?"
"I do not know of any; but that fact amounts to nothing, for I was not
really intimate with the family, and, as I said yesterday evening,
never entered the house until last night from the day of the funeral. I
have never _heard_ of money troubles; but, of course, they might have
existed."
"As soon as ever I hear from you, I will make an arrangement to meet
you at Kensal Green," I replied, and then I jumped into the hansom and
drove away.
In the course of the day I got a telegram acquainting me with Mrs.
Heathcote's condition. It still remained absolutely unchanged, and
there was, in Mackenzie's opinion, no necessity for me to pay her
another visit. Early the next morning, the required order came from the
coroner. Mackenzie wired to apprise me of the fact, and I telegraphed
back, making an appointment to meet him at Kensal Green on the
following morning.
I shall not soon forget that day. It was one of those blustering and
intensely cold days which come oftener in March than any other time
of the year. The cemetery looked as dismal as such a place would on
the occasion. The few wreaths of flowers which were scattered here
and there on newly-made graves were sodden and deprived of all their
frail beauty. The wind blew in great gusts, which were about every ten
minutes accompanied by showers of sleet. There was a hollow moaning
noise distinctly audible in the intervals of the storm.
I found, on my arrival, that Mackenzie was there before me. He was
accompanied by one of the coroner's men and a police-constable. Two
men who worked in the cemetery also came forward to assist. No one
expressed the least surprise at our strange errand. Around Mackenzie's
lips, alone, I read an expression of disapproval.
Kensal Green is one of the oldest cemeteries which surround our vast
Metropolis, and the Heathcotes' burying-place was quite in the oldest
portion of this God's acre. It was one of the hideous, ancient,
rapidly-going-out-of-date vaults. A huge brick erection was placed over
it, at one side of which was the door of entrance.
The earth was removed, the door of the vault opened, and some of the
men went down the steps, one of them holding a torch, in order to
identify the coffin. In a couple of minutes' time it was borne into the
light of day. When I saw it I remembered poor Mrs. Heathcote's wild
ravings.
"A good, strong oak coffin, which wears well," she had exclaimed.
Mackenzie and I, accompanied by the police-constable and the coroner's
man, followed the bearers of the coffin to the mortuary.
As we were going there, I turned to ask Mackenzie how his patient was.
He shook his head as he answered me.
"I fear the worst," he replied. "Mrs. Heathcote is very ill indeed. The
fever rages high and is like a consuming fire. Her temperature was a
hundred and five this morning."
"I should recommend packing her in sheets wrung out of cold water," I
answered. "Poor woman!--how do you account for this sudden illness,
Mackenzie?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Shock of some sort," he answered. Then he continued: "If she really
knew of this day's work, it would kill her off pretty quickly. Poor
soul," he added, "I hope it may never reach her ears."
[Illustration: "THEY UNSCREWED THE LID."]
We had now reached the mortuary. The men who had borne the coffin on
their shoulders lowered it on to a pair of trestles. They then took
turn-screws out of their pockets, and in a business-like and callous
manner unscrewed the lid. After doing this they left the mortuary,
closing the door behind them.
The moment we found ourselves alone, I said a word to the
police-constable, and then going quickly up to the coffin, lifted the
lid. Under ordinary circumstances, such a proceeding would be followed
by appalling results, which need not here be described. Mackenzie,
whose face was very white, stood near me. I looked at him for a moment,
and then flung aside the pall which was meant to conceal the face of
the dead.
The dead truly! Here was death, which had never, in any sense, known
life like ours. Mackenzie uttered a loud exclamation. The constable and
the coroner's man came close. I lifted a bag of flour out of the coffin!
There were many similar bags there. It had been closely packed, and
evidently with a view to counterfeit the exact weight of the dead man.
Poor Mackenzie was absolutely speechless. The coroner's man began to
take copious notes; the police-constable gravely did the same.
Mackenzie at last found his tongue.
"I never felt more stunned in my life," he said. "In very truth, I
all but saw the man die. Where is he? In the name of Heaven, what has
become of him? This is the most monstrous thing I have ever heard of in
the whole course of my life, and--and I attended the funeral of those
_bags of flour_! No wonder that woman never cared to see me inside the
house again. But what puzzles me," he continued, "is the motive--what
_can_ the motive be?"
"Perhaps one of the insurance companies can tell us that," said
the police-officer. "It is my duty to report this thing, sir," he
continued, turning to me. "I have not the least doubt that the Crown
will prosecute."
"I cannot at all prevent your taking what steps you think proper," I
replied, "only pray understand that the poor lady who is the principal
perpetrator in this fraud lies at the present moment at death's door."
"We must get the man himself," murmured the police-officer. "If he is
alive we shall soon find him."
Half an hour later, Mackenzie and I had left the dismal cemetery.
I had to hurry back to Harley Street to attend to some important
duties, but I arranged to meet Mackenzie that evening at the
Heathcotes' house. I need not say that my thoughts were much occupied
with Mrs. Heathcote and her miserable story. What a life that wretched
Heathcote must have led during the last six months. No wonder he looked
cadaverous as the moonlight fell over his gaunt figure. No ghost truly
was he, but a man of like flesh and blood to ourselves--a man who was
supposed to be buried in Kensal Green, but who yet walked the earth.
It was about eight o'clock when I reached the Heathcotes' house.
Mackenzie had already arrived--he came into the hall to meet me.
"Where is Miss Gabrielle?" I asked at once.
"Poor child," he replied; "I have begged of her to stay in her room.
She knows nothing of what took place this morning, but is in a
terrible state of grief about her mother. That unfortunate woman's
hours are numbered. She is sinking fast. Will you come to her at once,
Halifax--she has asked for you several times."
Accompanied by Mackenzie, I mounted the stairs and entered the sick
room. One glance at the patient's face showed me all too plainly that I
was in the chamber of death. Mrs. Heathcote lay perfectly motionless.
Her bright hair, still the hair of quite a young woman, was flung back
over the pillow. Her pale face was wet with perspiration. Her eyes,
solemn, dark, and awful in expression, turned and fixed themselves on
me as I approached the bedside. Something like the ghost of a smile
quivered round her lips. She made an effort to stretch out a shadowy
hand to grasp mine.
"Don't stir," I said to her. "Perhaps you want to say something? I will
stoop down to listen to you. I have very good hearing, so you can speak
as low as you please."
She smiled again with a sort of pleasure at my understanding her.
"I have something to confess," she said, in a hollow whisper. "Send the
nurse and--and Dr. Mackenzie out of the room."
I was obliged to explain the dying woman's wishes to my brother
physician. He called to the nurse to follow him, and they immediately
left the room.
As soon as they had done so, I bent my head and took one of Mrs.
Heathcote's hands in mine.
"Now," I said, "take comfort--God can forgive sin. You have sinned?"
"Oh, yes, yes; but how can you possibly know?"
"Never mind. I am a good judge of character. If telling me will relieve
your conscience, speak."
"My husband is alive," she murmured.
"Yes," I said, "I guessed as much."
"He had insured his life," she continued, "for--for about fifteen
thousand pounds. The money was wanted to--to save us from dishonour. We
managed to counterfeit--death."
She stopped, as if unable to proceed any further. "A week ago,"
she continued, "I--I saw the man who is supposed to be dead. He is
really dying now. The strain of knowing that I could do nothing for
him--nothing to comfort his last moments--was too horrible. I felt that
I could not live without him. On the day of my illness I took--poison,
a preparation of Indian hemp. I meant to kill myself. I did not know
that my object would be effected in so terrible a manner."
Here she looked towards the door. A great change came over her face.
Her eyes shone with sudden brightness. A look of awful joy filled them.
She made a frantic effort to raise herself in bed.
I followed the direction of her eyes, and then, indeed, a startled
exclamation passed my lips.
Gabrielle, with her cheeks crimson, her lips tremulous, her hair tossed
wildly about her head and shoulders, was advancing into the room,
leading a cadaverous, ghastly-looking man by the hand. In other words,
Heathcote himself in the flesh had come into his wife's dying chamber.
"Oh, Horace!" she exclaimed; "Horace--to die in your arms--to know that
you will soon join me. This is too much bliss--this is too great joy!"
The man knelt by her, put his dying arms round her, and she laid her
head on his worn breast.
"We will leave them together," I said to Gabrielle.
[Illustration: "LEADING A CADAVEROUS, GHASTLY-LOOKING MAN BY THE HAND."]