THE CAT IN THE BAG
But as the day of the adjourned inquest drew near Brent became aware
that there were rumours in the air--rumours of some sensational
development, the particulars of which were either non-obtainable or
utterly vague. He heard of them from Peppermore, whose journalistic
itching for news had so far gone unrelieved; Peppermore himself knew no
more than that rumour was busy, and secret.
"Can't make out for the life of me what it is, Mr. Brent!" said
Peppermore, calling upon Brent at the _Chancellor_ on the eve of the
inquiry. "But there's something, sir, something! You know that boy of
mine--young Pryder?"
"Smart youth!" replied Brent.
"As they make 'em, sir," agreed Peppermore. "That boy, Mr. Brent, will
go far in the profession of which you're a shining and I'm a dim
light!--he's got what the French, I believe, sir, call a _flair_ for
news. Took to our line like a duck to water, Mr. Brent! Well, now, young
Pryder's father is a policeman--sergeant in the Borough Constabulary,
and naturally he's opportunities of knowing. And when he knows he
talks--in the home circle, Mr. Brent."
"Been talking?" asked Brent.
"Guardedly, sir, guardedly!" replied Peppermore. "Young Pryder, he told
me this afternoon that his father, when he came home to dinner to-day,
said to him and his mother that when the inquest's reopened to-morrow
there's be something to talk about--somebody, said Sergeant Pryder,
would have something to talk of before the day was over. So--there you
are!"
"I suppose old Pryder didn't tell young Pryder any more than that?"
suggested Brent.
"He did not, sir," said Peppermore. "Had he done so, Jimmy Pryder would
have made half a column, big type, leaded, out of it. No; nothing more.
There are men in this world, Mr. Brent, as you have doubtless observed,
who are given to throwing out mere hints--sort of men who always look at
you as much as to say, 'Ah, I could tell a lot if I would!' I guess
Sergeant Pryder's one of 'em."
"Whatever Sergeant Pryder knows he's got from Hawthwaite, of course,"
remarked Brent.
"To be sure, sir!" agreed Peppermore. "Hawthwaite's been up to
something--I've felt that for some days. I imagine there'll be new
witnesses to-morrow, but who they'll be I can't think."
Brent could not think, either, nor did he understand Hawthwaite's
reserve. But he wasted no time in speculation: he had already made up
his mind that unless something definite arose at the resumed inquiry he
would employ professional detective assistance and get to work on lines
of his own. He had already seen enough of Hathelsborough ways and
Hathelsborough folk to feel convinced that if this affair of his
cousin's murder could be hushed up it would be hushed up--the Simon
Crood gang, he was persuaded, would move heaven and earth to smooth
things over and consign the entire episode to oblivion. Against that
process he meant to labour: in his opinion the stirring up of strong
public interest was the line to take, and he was fully determined that
if the Coroner and his twelve good men and true could not sift the
problem of this inquiry to the bottom he would.
That public feeling and curiosity--mainly curiosity--were still strong
enough, and were lasting well over the proverbial nine days, Brent saw
as soon as he quitted the hall door of the _Chancellor_ next morning.
The open space between High Cross and the Moot Hall was packed with
people, eager to enter the big court room as soon as the doors were
thrown open. Conscious that he himself would get a seat whoever else did
not, Brent remained standing on the steps of the hotel, lazily watching
the gossiping crowd. And suddenly Mrs. Saumarez, once more attired in the
semi-mourning which she had affected at the earlier proceedings, and
attended by the same companion, came along the market-place in his
direction. Brent went down and joined her.
"Pretty stiff crowd!" he remarked laconically. "I'm afraid you'll find
it a bit of a crush this time. I suppose you'll not let that stop you,
though?"
He noticed then that Mrs. Saumarez was looking anxious, perhaps a little
distressed, and certainly not too well pleased. She gave him a glance
which began at himself and ended at a folded paper which she carried in
her well-gloved hand.
"I've got to go!" she murmured. "Got to--whether I like it or not!
They've served me with a summons, as a witness. Ridiculous! What do I
know about it? All that I do know is--private."
Brent stared at the bit of paper. He, too, was wondering what the
Coroner wanted with Mrs. Saumarez.
"I'm afraid they haven't much respect for privacy in these affairs," he
remarked. "Odd, though, that if they want you now they didn't want you
at the first sitting!"
"Do you think they'll ask questions that are--private?" she suggested
half-timidly.
"Can't say," replied Brent. "You'd better be prepared for anything. You
know best, after all, what they can ask you. I reckon the best thing, in
these affairs, is just to answer plainly, and be done with it."
"There are certain things one doesn't want raking up," she murmured.
"For instance--do you think you'll have to give evidence again?"
"Maybe," said Brent.
She gave him a meaning look and lowered her voice.
"Well," she whispered, "if you have to, don't let anything come out
about--about those letters. You know what I mean--the letters you got
for me from his rooms? I--I don't want it to be known, in the town, that
he and I corresponded as much as all that. After all, there are some
things----"
Just then, and while Brent was beginning to speculate on this
suddenly-revealed desire for secrecy, a movement in the crowd ahead of
them showed that the doors of the Moot Hall had been thrown open; he,
too, moved forward, drawing his companion with him.
"You'll not forget that?" said Mrs. Saumarez insistently. "It's--those
letters, I mean--they're nothing to do with this, of course--nothing!
Don't let it out that----"
"I shan't volunteer any evidence of any sort," responded Brent. "If I'm
confronted with a direct question which necessitates a direct answer,
that's another matter. But I don't think you've anything to worry
about--I should say that what they want you for is to ask a question or
two as to my cousin's movements that night, didn't he call at your house
on his way to the Mayor's Parlour? Yes, why that'll be about it!"
"I hope so!" said Mrs. Saumarez, with a sigh of relief. "But--that
witness-box, and before all these people--I don't like it."
"Got to be done," observed Brent. "Soon over, though. Now let's get in."
He piloted Mrs. Saumarez and her companion into the borough Court,
handed over to the Coroner for the special purposes of his inquest,
found them seats in a reserved part, and leaving them went over to the
solicitor's table, where he took a place by the side of Tansley, already
settled there with his notes and papers. Tansley gave him a significant
glance, nodding his head sideways at other men near them.
"Going to be a more serious affair, this, than the first was, Brent," he
whispered. "These police chaps have either got something up their
sleeves or Hawthwaite's got some bee in his bonnet! Anyway, there's a
barrister in the case on their behalf--that little, keen-eyed chap at
the far end of the table on your left; that's Meeking, one of the
sharpest criminal barristers going--and I hear they're meaning to call a
lot of new witnesses. But what it's all about, I don't know."
Brent looked up and down the table at which they were sitting. There
were men there--legal-looking men--whom he had not seen at the opening
day's proceedings.
"Who are these other fellows?" he asked.
"Oh, well, Crood's got a man representing his interests," replied
Tansley. "And there's another solicitor watching the case on behalf of
the Corporation. And I rather fancy that that chap at the extreme end of
the table is representing the Treasury--which may mean that this affair
is going to be taken up at Head-quarters. But we know nothing till the
cards are on the board! Hawthwaite looks important enough this morning
to hold all the aces!"
Brent glanced at the superintendent, who was exchanging whispers with
the Coroner's officer, and from him to the crowded seats that ran round
three sides of the court. All the notabilities of Hathelsborough were
there again, in full force: Simon Crood, in a seat of honour, as
befitted his new dignity of Mayor; Mallett; Coppinger, anybody and
everybody of consequence. And there, too, was Krevin Crood, and Queenie,
and, just behind Mrs. Saumarez, Dr. Wellesley, looking distinctly bored,
and his assistant, Dr. Carstairs, a young Scotsman, and near them
another medical man, Dr. Barber; and near the witness-box were several
men whom Brent knew by sight as townsmen and who were obviously
expecting to be called for testimony. He turned away wondering what was
to come out of all this.
Once more the Coroner, precise and formal as ever, took his seat; once
more the twelve jurymen settled in their places. And while Brent was
speculating on the first order of procedure he was startled by the
sharp, official voice of the Coroner's officer.
"Mrs. Anita Saumarez!"
Brent heard Tansley smother an exclamation of surprise; a murmur that
was not smothered ran round the crowded benches behind him. There was
something dramatic in the sudden calling of the pretty young widow,
whose personality was still more or less of a mystery to Hathelsborough
folk, and something curiosity-raising in the mere fact that she was
called. All eyes were on her as, showing traces of confusion and
dislike, she made her way to the witness-box. There was delay then; Mrs.
Saumarez had to be instructed to lift her veil and remove her right-hand
glove; this gave the crowd abundant opportunity for observing that her
usually bright complexion had paled and that she was obviously ill at
ease. It was with much embarrassment and in a very low voice that she
replied to the preliminary questions. Anita Saumarez. Widow of the late
Captain Roderick Francis Saumarez. Has been resident at the Abbey House,
Hathelsborough, for about two years. "Doesn't like this job!" whispered
Tansley to Brent. "Queer! From what bit I've seen of her, I should have
said she'd make a very good and self-possessed witness. But she's
nervous! Old Seagrave'll have to tackle her gently."
The Coroner evidently realized this as much as Tansley did. He leaned
forward confidentially from his desk, toying with his spectacles, and
regarded the witness with an encouraging and paternal smile.
"Mrs. Saumarez," he began, "we want to ask you a few
questions--questions your replies to which may perhaps give us a little
light on this very sad matter. I believe I am right in thinking that you
and the late Mr. Wallingford were personal friends?"
Mrs. Saumarez's answer came in low tones--and in one word:
"Yes."
"Very close friends, I believe?"
"Yes."
"He used to visit at your house a great deal?"
"Yes."
"Dine with you, I think, once or twice a week?"
"At one time--yes."
"You say at one time? When was that period, now?"
Mrs. Saumarez, who up to this had kept her eyes on the ledge of the
witness-box, began to take courage. She lifted them towards the Coroner
and, encountering his placidly benevolent gaze, let them remain there.
"Well," she replied, "from about the time he became Mayor until the time
of his death."
"Regularly?"
"Yes--regularly."
"We may take it, then, that you were fond of each other's society?"
Mrs. Saumarez hesitated.
"He was a very interesting man," she said at last. "I liked to talk to
him."
The Coroner bent a little nearer.
"Well, now, a more personal question," he said suavely. "You will see
the importance of it. Mr. Wallingford was constantly visiting you. I
want a plain answer to what I am going to ask you. Was he a suitor for
your hand?"
Mrs. Saumarez's cheeks flushed, and she looked down at the ungloved hand
which rested, pressed on its gloved fellow, on the ledge before her.
"He certainly asked me to marry him," she murmured.
"When was that?"
"Not--not long before his death."
"And--I'm afraid I must ask you--what was your answer?"
"I refused his offer."
"Did that make any difference to your friendship?"
"It hadn't done up to the time of his death."
"He still visited you?"
"Yes, just as often."
The Coroner remained silent for a moment, glancing at his notes. When he
looked towards the witness again he was blander than ever.
"Now I shall have to ask you still more personal questions," he said.
"It is, as you must be aware, Mrs. Saumarez, well known in the town that
on your first coming here as a resident you became on terms of great
friendship with Dr. Wellesley. Do you agree to that?"
"Yes, I suppose so."
"You used to go out a great deal with Dr. Wellesley--driving, and so
on?"
"Yes."
"In fact, Dr. Wellesley at that time paid you great attention?"
"Yes."
"Did those attentions cease about the time that you became so friendly
with Mr. Wallingford?"
"Well, they didn't altogether cease."
"But, shall we say, fell off?"
Mrs. Saumarez hesitated, obviously disliking the question.
"I have always been friends with Dr. Wellesley," she said eventually.
"All the same, has your friendship with him been quite what it was
originally, since you became so very friendly with the late Mayor?"
"Well, perhaps not."
"Will you give me a plain answer to this question? Was there any
jealousy aroused between Dr. Wellesley and Mr. Wallingford because of
you?"
This time Mrs. Saumarez took a long time to answer. She seemed to be
thinking, reflecting. And when she replied it was only to question the
Coroner:
"Am I obliged to answer that?" she asked.
"I am afraid I must press for an answer," said the Coroner, "it is
important."
"I think there was jealousy," she replied in a low voice.
"On whose part?"
"Dr. Wellesley thought I had thrown him over for Mr. Wallingford."
"Had Dr. Wellesley ever asked you to marry him?"
Mrs. Saumarez's answer came with unexpected swiftness.
"Oh, yes! two or three times!"
"Had you refused him also, then?"
Mrs Saumarez paused. Her cheeks flushed a deeper red.
"The fact was--I didn't want to marry anybody--just then anyway," she
answered. "They--both asked me--several times. I--if you please, will
you not ask me any more about my private affairs?--they've nothing to do
with this! It wasn't my fault that those two were jealous of each other,
and----"
"She's let the cat out of the bag now!" whispered Tansley to Brent.
"Gad! I see how this thing's going to develop! Whew! Well, there she
goes!"
For the Coroner had politely motioned Mrs. Saumarez away from the box,
and the next instant the official voice rapped out another name:
"Dr. Rutherford Carstairs!"