The inquest was held in the little town-hall in the market-place,
and the ugly whispers which were afloat concerning Jem Stickels’s
death brought together such a gathering that the meager accommodation
provided by the old building was taxed to the utmost.
It was evident from the outset that this was no ordinary case of a
drunken man found dead in a ditch, with nothing about him to tell
how he came by his death. From the very first moment when the doors
were opened, and the crowd rushed in and filled in a moment the space
allotted to the public, there were murmurs and whispers flying from
mouth to mouth, indicative of the general belief that some person or
persons of a higher social position than the dead fisherman, and more
generally interesting than he, would be implicated in the course of the
proceedings. The questions: “Where’s the young lady?” And “Won’t the
gentleman be well enough to come?” were often but never satisfactorily
answered. The witnesses in the case were in the magistrate’s room, so
rumor said, and were to be brought out one by one as they were wanted.
That part of the court usually occupied by the officials alone held on
this occasion a good many curious ones drawn thither by the open secret
of the romantic interest attached to the case. A few portly wives of
local tradesmen, sandwiched in among the members of the sterner sex,
lent their presence to the scene. There was a hum and a buzz from end
to end of the tightly-packed court as the jurymen filed in, and taking
their places on the oaken seats, black with age, which were already old
when Charles the First was king, were sworn one by one, duly charged by
the coroner.
After the lull in the court caused by these proceedings, there was a
loud buzz of talk when the jury filed out again to view the body. The
policemen, little used to such a scene of excitement in their quiet,
little town, roared themselves hoarse in their endeavor to maintain
silence on the part of everybody but themselves.
When the jurymen returned the interesting part of the proceedings
began. The first witness called was the boy, Charles Wallett, who had
found the body. His evidence did not take many minutes, and consisted
merely of the information he had given at the Bell Inn the evening
before. He had seen the body lying by the roadside, had called to the
man, had touched him; and being unable to detect a movement or to
obtain an answer, he had concluded that the man was dead, and had run
with all speed to give information of his discovery.
The second witness was the detective, Hemming. He admitted the open
secret that he was a private inquiry agent, and that he was staying
at Stroan on business. He had been the first to reach the body after
Wallett’s discovery of it, and he had been one of those to identify the
deceased as Jem Stickels, the fisherman. The man was quite dead when he
found him, but the body was still quite warm.
“At what time was it that you first saw the body?” asked the coroner.
“I heard it chime the half-hour past eight by St. Martin’s Church clock
when I was about halfway between Stroan bridge and the place where we
discovered the body.”
“Was there anything about the position in which the body lay, or
anything else, in fact, to enable you to form an opinion as to the
cause of death?”
“Nothing whatever, sir,” answered Hemming, who gave his evidence in the
clear voice and confident manner of the old policeman, who feels that
the court is his own theatre, where he is bound to get a hearing and
deserve it.
“Was the body lying face downward, in such a position that the man may
have been too drunk to rise, and have been suffocated in the grass and
mud?”
“He was lying face downward, as I have said, sir. But his mouth was not
close to the ground. I don’t think it is possible that he could have
been suffocated. His clothes were quite loose about his neck also.”
“Then you formed no opinion as to the cause of death?”
“Well, sir, I had heard something; and it made me jump to a conclusion
as I should not otherwise have done. With your permission, sir, I would
rather not say at the present stage what that conclusion was. It was
formed from nothing I saw about the body.”
There were whispers in the court. The people in the crowd looked at
one another, and intimated that there wasn’t much worth knowing that
the London chap didn’t know. They all felt kindly toward Hemming for
speaking out so that they could hear him, an accomplishment in which
the non-professional witness is so lamentably deficient.
This was the gist of Hemming’s evidence, the few further questions
which he was asked producing unimportant answers. Each witness had to
put up with a trivial question or two from the members of the jury, who
all wished to make the evidence given bear more weight than the giver
intended.
The third witness called was Lucas Mann, in whose house the deceased
man had been a lodger at the time of his death.
Mann deposed that Stickels was brought home by two men at a time which
he fixed as between a quarter and half-past six. Stickels, who was in a
half-dazed condition when he arrived, came to himself entirely within
a few minutes and told him a story as to how he came to be stunned.
Stickels had then seemed quite well, had had a cup of tea by the fire,
and had expressed his intention of walking to Stroan that night. Then
there had been a knock at the door. Stickels himself had opened it, and
after a conversation with two ladies who had come to see him, he had
gone out by the back door abruptly. The next thing Mann had heard of
him was that he had been found dead on the road.
The next two witnesses were the men who had picked Jem Stickels up
from the ground, at the back of the Blue Lion, after his encounter
with Clifford. These both deposed that the man was unconscious when
they picked him up, that he began to recover almost immediately, and
that they did not have to carry him to the cottage where he lodged,
but only to support him a little, as he complained of feeling “a bit
giddy-like.” They said that he seemed to be quite himself before they
left him at the cottage.
There was a buzz of excitement in court when Miss Bostal was called.
With the feminine witnesses began the real interest of the case. Enough
had leaked out by this time for every gossip in Stroan to be aware that
the quarrel between the gentleman, Clifford King, and the fisherman,
Jem Stickels, had been on Nell Claris’s account; and everybody knew,
also, that Miss Bostal had espoused the cause of Jem Stickels, and
so had brought herself prominently forward into the romantic story.
Although Jem Stickels had not borne the best of characters, it was
natural that after his sudden and mysterious death there should be a
strong revulsion of popular feeling in his favor.
“Poor chap!” they said to one another. “It was clear he was awful
fond of the girl, and, to be sure, she must have given him some
encouragement for him to have made bold to go for her fine gentleman
lover.”
The feminine portion of the population was strongly antagonistic to
Nell on account of her undoubted claims to beauty; and the strong
feeling against her was undoubtedly the result of simple jealousy
rather than a solid opinion founded upon her own conduct. The male
portion of the populace, on the other hand, while less virulent
than the women, were not inclined to warm partisanship on behalf of
the girl, who had always displayed a marked indifference to their
attentions. There was many a young man in the crowded court that day
who found a secret salve for his wounded vanity in the thought that the
girl who would not vouchsafe him so much as a look had come to grief
between two admirers, one of whom was not a lover to be proud of, while
the other had brought himself into a dangerous position.
On the whole, therefore, it was Miss Bostal rather than Nell who
carried the sympathy of the ordeal. When the little, thin lady, with
the pinched face and the faded hair, stepped into the witness-box
and kissed the book with grave and dignified reverence, there was
little or no laughter at her odd costume of fifteen years before, at
the “girl-of-the-period” short jacket, bunched-up gown and Tyrolese
hat, which, once so “smart” and up-to-date, had now become such a
quaint relic of the past. People pardoned her eccentric dress, her
prim little manners, in consideration of the goodness of heart which
had caused the little lady to hold out a helping hand to the poor
scapegrace and to champion the cause of the man of the people against
the gentleman.
Every ear in the court was strained to catch her words, but the little
woman spoke out well, in a thin, almost shrill voice, indeed, but with
a distinct utterance which made every word carry from end to end of the
hall.
“I understand, madam, that you were the last person who is known to
have spoken to Jem Stickels before his death?” said the coroner.
“Yes, sir,” answered Miss Theodora. “I went to the cottage where he
lodged as soon as I heard of his accident, to learn how he was.”
“He opened the door to you himself, I believe?”
“Yes, sir; he did.”
“And he was very surly to you, I believe?”
“Yes, sir, he was rather. He was much excited, and said that we should
have to answer some questions to-morrow morning.”
At these words every man and woman in the court felt stirred to a
deeper interest. They were touching the edge of the mystery at last.
“He said you would be asked some questions? What did you suppose him to
mean by that?”
“I hardly thought about it. He spoke in a wild way. He was very angry
and excited. All I thought about was trying to pacify him.”
“Did it occur to you at all that he had any idea of making away with
himself?”
This question evidently took the witness by surprise. Miss Bostal
stared at the coroner in frank perplexity. It was clear that the notion
was new to her.
“No, sir, I certainly did not think that.”
“You had no idea what he meant?”
“Well, sir, I thought he meant to refer to the story that has been
about--the story of some robberies not far from where he lived. He
often used to say he knew who the thief was.”
At this ingenuous reply, which slipped out of the witness’s mouth
without her having any idea of the bombshell she was throwing down, a
great sensation shook the listening crowd, and called forth cries of
silence from the police.
“He was much excited, you say? Did he seem otherwise in his usual
state? I mean, did he speak as a man speaks who is in perfect health,
in perfect command of himself?” asked the coroner, much to the
disappointment of the listeners, who were more interested in the
mystery lying underneath the story than in the death of Jem Stickels.
“Oh, yes! He seemed quite himself. We were surprised to find him like
that.”
“And--was he sober?”
“Quite sober, I should say.”
“Did he say anything about the blow he had received? Did he make any
complaint?”
“None while I was there.”
“And now, madam, I must ask you another question. How far is it from
your house to the spot where the deceased was found?”
Miss Bostal considered.
“If you go by the fields, it must be about a mile and a half. By the
road, I should think nearly two miles.”
At this point the superintendent of police nodded to the coroner, to
express his assent to this calculation.
“And now tell me, if you please, what time it was when you left the
cottage, when you saw the last of the deceased, that is to say?”
“It was about ten minutes past seven.”
“How did you fix the time?”
“I looked at my watch when we got back home again, to see if it was
time to light the fire in the dining-room for my father’s return home.
And it was then five-and-twenty minutes past seven.”
“Then you reckon that you did the walk in a quarter of an hour?”
“Yes. It is about three-quarters of a mile, by the way we came over the
fields.”
There was a short pause, and the listening crowd, now more on the alert
than ever, waited breathlessly for the coroner’s next question. It came
in a rather surprising form.
“Can you tell me, Miss Bostal, whether you and Miss Claris remained
in each other’s company from the moment you returned home until your
father’s return?”
Miss Bostal reflected.
“Not quite all the time,” she answered, after a moment’s thought. “I
tore my dress on a nail as I came through the back door, and I asked
Miss Claris to make the tea while I ran up to my room and mended it.”
“And how long were you upstairs?”
“About ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, I should think.”
“You have no way of fixing the time?”
“I had no reason to take particular note of the time; but I think I
remember seeing that it was between twenty minutes and a quarter to
eight when I went down into the dining-room and lit the fire.”
“Was Miss Claris there?”
“No. She came in with the tea not long afterward.”
“And what time was that?”
“I cannot tell exactly. But I think it was soon after eight.”
“And during that time that you were in the dining-room by yourself, did
you hear her moving about in the kitchen?”
“I don’t remember noticing. I was thinking of the fire. It would not
burn up.”
“Altogether, then, I gather from what you have said, quite
three-quarters of an hour elapsed between the time you left Miss Claris
at the back door and the time she brought in the tea?”
“About that, I should think.”
“You did not see her or remember hearing her during that time?”
“I certainly did not see her. I don’t remember hearing her.”
There was another intent pause.
“When you did see her next--when she brought in the tea, that is to
say--did she seem agitated, or was she calm?”
“She was very much agitated. She had been crying all the time, I think
she told me.”
“I must thank you for the clear way in which you have given your
evidence. Only one more question. Would it be possible, do you think,
for a person to get, say, to the place where the body was discovered
and back again in three-quarters of an hour or a little more?”
The crowd in the court seemed to draw a deep breath of unanimous
consternation. Only the witness seemed to ignore the drift of the
question.
“It would be absolutely impossible, I am sure,” she answered in
surprise.
“And you are sure the time was no more than three-quarters of an hour?”
“As sure as I can be, considering that I took no particular note of the
time.”
“Thank you. That is all I have to ask you at present, though it is
possible we may have to recall you. Gentlemen,” he went on, turning to
the jury, who were already springing up with their questions, “I think
it will be better for you to hear the evidence of the doctors before
you ask this witness any further questions.”
They sat down again, and again there was a buzz and a hum of excitement
in the court, and people looked at one another and began to ask one
another whether it was true that Nell Claris had been brought from the
station, and whether she would be called as a witness. The story was
growing more mysterious.
The buzz subsided as the doctor who saw the body before it was moved
took the oath and gave his evidence.
He had noticed nothing to give him a clue as to the cause of death in
the first cursory examination he was able to make out of doors.
“You afterward, with the assistance of Doctor Clarges, made a thorough
examination of the body?”
“I did.”
“And were you then able to come to some definite conclusion?”
“I was. In the right side of the head I found a small wound, and, after
probing for some time, I found a bullet imbedded in the cerebellum.”