THE INQUEST
"You must be mistaken," stammered the doctor, staring, as well he
might, considering the astounding news which he had heard.
"I don't make mistakes either in or out of business," replied Mr.
Ritson haughtily. "Last week I drew up Sir Simon's will, which was
short and to the point. In it he disinherited Maud Tedder and left all
his money and property to his nephew, Angus Herries."
"Good Lord." Browne collapsed into a chair near the desk. He found it
difficult to believe that Herries the outcast was now Herries the
millionaire. "Fifty thousand a year," gasped the doctor, his red hair
almost standing on end. "What will he do with it?"
"Buy his freedom, I expect," said Ritson grimly.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well," the lawyer took up a quill pen, and began to play with it.
"Mr. Herries is certainly entitled to fifty thousand a year, but he
has to do something to earn it."
"Do what?" asked Browne more and more perplexed.
Ritson bent forward.
"He has to find out who killed Sir Simon, and thereby earn his
freedom, and the money."
"I am still in the dark. Will you explain?"
"I have told you enough."
"You will have to tell me more," said Browne, determinedly.
"My duty to my dead client----"
"See here," the little doctor jumped up, and slapped his hand down on
the desk, "there was no need for you to have told me anything, so it
is too late to talk of your duty to your dead client; but as you have
told me so much, you must tell me everything."
"Yes," Ritson nodded his silvery-white head, "you are right. I have
committed a breach of legal etiquette. Miss Tedder should have been
the first to hear the will, which has to be read after the funeral at
'The Moated Hall.' But then Mr. Herries, who inherits, should also be
present, and he is accused of the crime."
"He has escaped the immediate consequences," said Browne, meaningly.
"Do you know where he is?"
"Good Lord, how should I know?" cried Browne explosively. He was not
quite sure as to the truth of Ritson's statement, and thought that it
might be a trap to lure Herries from his hiding-place.
"You are a friend of Mr. Herries, and you went to Desleigh, as
Inspector Trent told me."
"Quite so. But I was with Inspector Trent at the time Herries escaped
out of the window of his bedroom."
"Then you do not know where he is?"
"No!" said the doctor, lying manfully.
Ritson looked depressed.
"That is a pity," he muttered, "for unless I can see him, I don't know
how to put things right."
"Explain them to me."
The lawyer turned on his visitor in the twinkling of an eye.
"You do not know where he is?"
Browne was not at all disconcerted, having had one moment in which to
think of a plausible answer.
"If Herries communicates with anyone it will be with me," he said,
quietly, "as he knows that I am his firm friend, and believe in his
innocence."
"You do,--you really do?"
"Certainly. Herries did not even know that his uncle was in the inn,
and certainly could not have known that he was the heir."
"No, No," Ritson rapped his teeth with the feathered end of the
quill-pen, "yet the evidence is dead against him."
"I am with you there. All the same," here Browne shamelessly pilfered
Kyles' ideas, "the evidence is so clear that I believe my friend to be
innocent."
"Hum! Hum! Hum!" Ritson cleared his throat, and settled his
old-fashioned black satin scarf, "quite so,--quite so. Then you think,
doctor," he leaned forward, confidentially, "that this very clear
evidence was got together to implicate Mr. Herries in a crime of which
he has no knowledge?"
"I am sure of it. Inspector Trent has given his version, which is
coloured by the belief that Herries is guilty. Let me tell you the
other side, Mr. Ritson."
"I am all attention," said the lawyer, placing the tips of his fingers
together, and looking up at the ceiling. Browne thereupon detailed all
that he had heard, and seen at the inn. But he did not yet trust
Ritson so far as to relate how Herries had found a refuge in Kind's
caravan, nor did he state that Kind himself was an ex-detective, sworn
to assist the accused man, out of gratitude.
Ritson listened in profound silence, and when the recital was finished
he did not commit himself to a statement. On the contrary, he again
began his game of chess with the sealing-wax, pens and paperweights,
and asked an irrelevant question.
"And you saw Miss Tedder?"
"Yes. She believes, on Trent's authority, that her cousin is guilty."
"Consequently, she is much disturbed," suggested the lawyer.
Browne smiled cynically.
"You place too much faith in human nature, Mr. Ritson. Miss Tedder
seems most anxious to get her cousin hanged."
"Hey, hey," Ritson sat bolt-upright with his hands on the arms of his
chair, "say that again, my good sir."
Browne did say it again, and said more. He gave a detailed version of
the interview, of the coming of the telegram announcing the finding of
Armour in the ditch, and of the opinion of Captain Bruce Kyles, which
was so much at variance with Miss Tedder's. Ritson stared hard at the
little doctor, as he told his tale dramatically, and when it was ended
he rose and went to look out of the window.
"This is very remarkable," said Ritson, turning from looking at the
busy High Street to look at Dr. Browne.
"Very!" assented the medical man, saying as little as he could.
"And what is your opinion?" asked Ritson, returning to his seat.
"I have none, save that Herries is innocent."
"Then you don't think," said the lawyer, again playing chess, "that
Miss Tedder in some way has heard of the will which disinherits her,
and is anxious to have her cousin hanged so that she may get back the
money."
"Will she get back the money if he is hanged?" asked Browne artfully.
"Why, yes. I pleaded for the girl. It seems that Maud--I have known
her from a baby, so I can call her by her Christian name--well then,
it seems that Maud insisted on marrying Captain Kyles, a man of whom
Sir Simon did not approve."
"I don't wonder at that; the man is an adventurer."
"So Sir Simon thought. However, his looks--the scamp is certainly
handsome--captured the affections of Miss Maud, and she declared that
she would marry him. Sir Simon told her that if she did, he would
disinherit her. He carried out his threat by leaving all his money to
the nephew whom he treated so badly. But I pointed out that Maud ought
to have enough to live on. Sir Simon disagreed, and said that Maud
should have everything or nothing. Finally, he yielded,--in a way!"
"In what way?"
"He left the money to Herries for life and afterward to Maud. Meantime
she gets one thousand a year."
"I see. Then you think that Maud wishes to see her cousin hanged so
that she may inherit the money at once."
Ritson did not reply at once to this question.
"It is difficult to say," he observed, at length. "I cannot make up my
own mind, and that is why I have consulted you,--why I have violated
the confidence of my client. It is enough to get me struck off the
Rolls, and very rightly too."
"Anything you say is safe with me," said Browne, sympathising with the
lawyer's desire to act rightly.
"You see," continued Ritson, still defending himself, "as the
circumstances of the case are so dreadful, time is of every value,
therefore, I thought it best to anticipate, in confidence, of course,
the reading of the will. What do you advise?"
"Ah, I don't know all the circumstances of the case," said Browne
cautiously. "What, for example, do you mean by saying that Herries
would have to buy his freedom with his money?"
"Well," said Ritson, nursing his chin, "if he is guilty----"
"He is not!"
"We will presume for the sake of argument that he is," pursued the
solicitor. "Well, then, if Mr. Herries is guilty, he will have to
use his money to get the best lawyer in England to defend him, or
else----" Ritson hesitated. "I am aware that I am suggesting the
compounding of a felony," he said nervously, "but Mr. Herries might
employ this money to escape,--that is, he might bribe people to hold
their tongues until he is beyond pursuit."
"I don't think Herries would do that," said Browne vigorously; "he
knows that he is innocent, and will prove his innocence in some way.
He is not the man to lie idle under such a stigma."
"He is unlucky."
"Very unlucky,--a perfect Jonah, as he is fond of calling himself."
"Well, his luck has turned, seeing he has inherited the money."
"I don't agree with you, Mr. Ritson. He has to remain in hiding,
because he is accused wrongfully of murder, and again, you told me
that he does not get the money until he has found out who killed his
miserable uncle."
"Quite so, but if he does, he will at once prove his entire innocence,
and gain a fortune. That is good luck."
"Luck which is yet to come. Why did Sir Simon make it a proviso that
Herries should seek for his assassin? Did he then expect to be
murdered?"
"Yes, and for that reason, along with the other--Maud's love for
Captain Kyles--he made the will."
"Did he tell you whom he expected would kill him?"
"No! I asked him, as the proviso was so strange: but he told me as
little as possible."
"You gained no clue to a possible assassin."
"I did not."
"Is there anything in his past life which made you guess that----?"
Ritson interrupted.
"There is nothing. So far as I know Sir Simon was perfectly safe, and
there was no reason to think that his life was threatened by anyone.
Apparently it was, however, since he made such a will. And it is
stranger still," added the lawyer meditating, "that he should have
made me write a letter setting forth the fact that he had left the
money to Herries."
Browne jumped up so quickly that he overturned the chair.
"What?"
"It is as I told you," said Ritson, composedly. "When the will was
signed and witnessed, he asked me to write a letter."
"Have you a copy?"
"Certainly. I insisted on keeping a copy, although Sir Simon was none
too pleased. But I refused to sign my name to a letter unless I had a
copy, especially," added Ritson slowly, "as I did not know to whom the
letter was written."
"You should not have written it then," snapped Browne, annoyed at
seeing his hopes of clearing Herries dashed to the ground.
Ritson touched the bell, and when the clerk appeared gave him
instructions to bring in the letter book. While the boy was absent he
turned again to Browne.
"You don't know how determined Sir Simon was," he said quietly, "and
moreover, when you read the letter you will see that there is no
reason why I should not have written it. He asked for an envelope, and
addressed the letter himself. My clerk copied it, and brought it in.
Sir Simon slipped it into an envelope--the one he had directed
secretly--and went away. That was several days ago, and I have never
seen Sir Simon since. I never even heard of him until Inspector Trent,
knowing that I was his lawyer, called to inform me of his lamented
death, and to invite me, as the late knight's legal adviser, to attend
the inquest."
"You did not see the address?"
"No. I caught sight of one word however,--quite by accident."
"What was the word?"
"Well," hesitated Ritson fidgetting, "it certainly might throw some
light on the mystery of his death, although I scarcely think so. But
to betray a client's business relations is----"
"The affair is too serious to admit of a tender conscience," said
Browne, imperiously. "Herries is in danger of his life, and I believe
Maud Tedder knows much more than she chooses to tell. Seeing what her
attitude is, I am determined to save Herries and prevent her getting
the money."
"Surely you don't think that Maud knows who killed her father, and is
deliberately sacrificing her cousin?"
"I don't know what to think," answered Browne impatiently. "We can
talk of that later. Tell me what word you saw."
"Tarabacca!"
"What does that mean?" asked Browne puzzled.
"I can't tell you. But the word I saw was certainly something like
that. I can't be sure of the spelling, but it conveyed something like
tobacco to my mind. Tarabacca," repeated the lawyer, as his clerk
entered with the letter-book, "it was certainly a name like that."
"Perhaps the name of a town. It sounds like a foreign name."
"It certainly is not the name of any English town," retorted Ritson
opening the book. "Here you are,--a short letter as you can see."
The little doctor advanced to the desk, and ran his eye over the few
blotted lines almost illegible on the tissue paper used for copying.
"Dear Sir," he read aloud, "this is to inform you that my client Sir
Simon Tedder has left all he possesses to his nephew Angus Herries,
and that he has formally disinherited his daughter Maud Tedder of
everything save one thousand a year.--Yours obediently, J. Ritson."
"Well," said Ritson, when Browne closed the book. The doctor shook his
head.
"I cannot understand," he said, helplessly.
"Nor I. What is to be done?"
"There is nothing to be done save to wait. My advice to you, Mr.
Ritson, is to be silent until the inquest is over. When Herries hears
of his good fortune, he may give himself up."
"You advise him to do that?" asked Ritson anxiously.
"I certainly do. Good-day. We will meet at the inquest," and Browne,
in a state of great perplexity left the office.
He certainly was perplexed, as he had never before had such mystery to
deal with. Browne was a straightforward man, and liked everything to
be done openly. But the underhand dealings connected with this death
puzzled him sorely. He could not see his way to any solution, and went
home to pass a restless night. Again and again did he ask himself
whether Maud Tedder had anything to do with the crime, and again and
again did he mutter to himself the strange word "Tarabacca." But to
neither question did he obtain any answer. When he rose next morning
to go to Desleigh he looked very weary and red-eyed.
But Browne was not fated to be present at the inquest, for just as he
was starting he received a message from a very wealthy patient saying
that she was dangerously ill, and insisting that he should come to her
at once. The patient was too rich to lose, and moreover was extremely
irascible, so Browne went to her house, and as she proved really to be
dangerously ill, he was forced to remain there for the greater part of
the day. It was quite three o'clock when he found himself leaving the
Desleigh station to walk along the straight, muddy road which led to
the now celebrated village.
The weather was much better, for although the sky was still grey and
sunless, the mists had vanished. Browne, walking smartly towards his
goal, cast a musing eye on the dismal flats and wide marshy lands
which environed the village. He wondered how anyone could live in such
a place, and wondered still more why Sir Simon had come to so dreary a
locality to meet with his terrible death. As he drew near Desleigh, he
met an outcoming throng of human beings, of motor cars and bicycles,
and carts and horses coming towards the station. Apparently the
inquest was over, and the reporters, and those morbid people attracted
towards the inn by curiosity, were returning to the railway, that they
might be taken to their various destinations. A close carriage, with
the arms of Sir Simon on the panels, drove past at full speed, and
Browne had no doubt that Maud and her chaperon, along with Captain
Kyles, were within. He felt sorry that the blinds were down, as he
wanted to see how Maud looked, and whether her expression was one of
triumph. He guessed that it was, as he felt pretty certain that the
verdict of the jury had ticketed Angus Herries as a criminal of the
worst type. Strange to say, he was so sure of what the verdict was,
that he did not stop any of the hurrying people to ask questions.
At the entrance to the village, he perceived the sloppy meadow wherein
stood the gaily coloured caravan of Sweetlips Kind, and he smiled to
himself to think of what would be said did anyone know that the
accused man was snugly ensconced under the flooring of the vehicle. He
then recognised how true it was what Kind had said regarding the
safety of the hiding-place. No one, much less Trent, suspicious as he
was, would credit Herries with being such a fool as to remain so near
the scene of his supposed crime. And therein lay the man's safety. As
Browne sent a second stealthy glance in the direction of that refuge
for innocence, he stumbled against a woman who was coming swiftly
along the road with her shawl up to her eyes. In her blindness, she
had run up against him.
"Where are you going?--oh it's you, Elspeth."
It was indeed Elspeth. She had run out of the inn, with a shawl over
her head, and a fringe of this was pressed to her tearful eyes. As the
doctor spoke, she let the shawl drop, and he saw that her eyes were
red with weeping, and that her small white face looked smaller and
whiter than ever.
"Yes, it's me," she said nervously, glancing at the many men and women
who were hurrying past to the station. "I am going to see Rachel, who
is still ill. She is alone," this with a meaning glance at the doctor,
and apparently uttered for the benefit of the public. "Sweetlips is
drinking at the inn."
"What is the verdict?" asked Browne eagerly, although he knew very
well what answer he would get.
"The only one that could be given," said Elspeth, leaning against a
barbed wire fence on the side of the road. "The jury say that Mr.
Herries murdered Sir Simon. There is a reward offered."
"By Miss Tedder?"
"Yes. She offers five hundred pounds."
"Oh," said Browne, biting his nether lip. He saw in this increase of
the reward a fresh proof of Maud's vindictive feelings towards her
cousin. Apparently she was determined to leave him no chance of
escape, and again Browne wondered, as he had wondered through the long
night, if Maud Tedder was cognizant of the assassination of her
father.
"Inspector Trent has been congratulated on the evidence he has
collected," sobbed Elspeth, "and also he has been blamed for letting
Mr. Herries escape."
"I don't wonder at it," said Browne, "the wonder is that he should
have been congratulated at all. I never knew of such a bungling piece
of work. Herries has not been caught yet?"
"No," neither of them looked toward the caravan as they spoke, "but
many people intend to stop here, and search the district. There are
three detectives,--one of them knew Sweetlips."
"Do these detectives believe Herries to be guilty?"
"Oh yes, and they each intend to search for Mr. Herries."
"What do they think of Kind's opinion?"
"He told them that he thought Mr. Herries was guilty," said Elspeth,
in a meaning tone.
Browne quite understood her. Sweetlips was posing as an enemy to
Herries, so as to save his life.
"And Kind is also going to try for the reward," said Elspeth with a
glimmering smile on her lips.
The doctor rubbed his hands and laughed. There was a suggestion of
comedy in Sweetlips Kind's attitude, notwithstanding that he was
playing with the issues of life and death. However, he had learned all
that he wished to learn, since he now knew that the verdict had been
given adverse to Herries, that the reward had been increased, and that
the accused man himself was still safe in his hiding-place.
The stream of people and vehicles grew thinner, and it would seem that
very shortly the village would again be left to its desolation, now
that the sensation was at an end. Elspeth supplied the doctor with
more information.
"Sir Simon's body is to be taken to Tarhaven to-night," she said, "and
he is to be buried in three days. Miss Tedder agrees to give one
hundred pounds to Mrs. Narby, for the damage done to the inn by the
murder having been committed there."
The doctor smiled inwardly, thinking of his interview with Ritson, and
of the small chance Maud Tedder had of paying six hundred pounds.
However, he did not wish to complicate matters further, by explaining
the disappointment awaiting the presumed heiress, and merely answered
the question in the same vein.
"I should think that the crime had increased the popularity of the
'Marsh Inn,'" said he with some grimness. "Probably Mrs. Narby has
never had such good customers since she took up the trade. It's an ill
wind that blows no one any good, Elspeth."
"She has sold out nearly all her liquor," the girl informed him. "And
as there was scarcely anything to do, she allowed me to come away and
visit Mrs. Kind. I wish you would come also, doctor. Rachel is still
weak."
"I'll come," replied Browne, mechanically, as he was keeping his eye
on a tri-car--Lagonda make--which was slowly surging past them. The
next minute he swore loudly, for, although there was ample room, the
chauffeur insisted on crushing both himself and Elspeth against the
barbed wire fence, with painful results. "Here, confound you," cried
the doctor irritably. "Look out where you are going."
The occupant--the sole one besides the chauffeur--was a
dark-complexioned woman in the prime of life, with a haughty face, and
quite an aristocratic air. She was richly and fashionably dressed in
some lustreless black material, which she wore with infinite grace.
From her large, melting, dark eyes, and her olive complexion, together
with the strange fact that she was smoking a cigarette in public,
Browne thought that she was a Spaniard--a foreigner at least. But she
appeared to understand English, for on hearing his none too gentle
language, she turned her proud face in his direction, and taking the
cigarette from between her full red lips, flung it fairly in his face.
Then at a word from her--a foreign word--the car shot forward down the
road, leaving a vile smell behind. In another minute, the Lagonda was
speeding towards the station, so rapidly that Browne was unable to
follow, much as he wanted to. However, he shook his fist, and picked
up the stump of the cigarette, which had fallen at his feet.
"I wish I had caught sight of the number of that beastly machine,"
snapped the irascible little man. "I'd bring that woman into court and
have her fined. Good Lord, to think that this--this," he shook the
cigarette stump in Elspeth's face,--"should be thrown at me. I wish I
could,--hullo!" he stopped and examined the cigarette earnestly.
"Tangerian! Tangerian, as I'm a sinner."
"What do you mean?" asked Elspeth, astonished at his expression.
"Mean!" bellowed the doctor, seeing that no one was within earshot,
"why, I mean that this is a foreign cigarette, unknown in England."
"Well?"
"Well! Kind picked up a similarly marked cigarette stump in Herries'
bedroom, and it was dropped there by the murderer. That woman is,--she
is,--I say,--stop,--stop!" and Dr. Browne, brandishing his umbrella,
ran in a wild manner after the vanishing tri-car, shouting like a Red
Indian on the warpath.