THE POLICE ARE AT FAULT.
Ambler Jevons read the letter, then handed it to me without comment.
It was written upon the note-paper I knew so well, stamped with the
neat address "Neneford," in black, but bearing no date. What I read
was as follows:--
_"Sir,--I fail to comprehend the meaning of your words when
you followed me into the train at Huntingdon last night. I
am in no fear of any catastrophe; therefore I can only take
your offer of assistance as an attempt to obtain money from
me. If you presume to address me again I shall have no other
course than to acquaint the police._
"_Yours truly_
"MARY COURTENAY."
"Ah!" I exclaimed. "Then he warned her, and she misunderstood his
intention."
"Without a doubt," said Ambler, taking the letter from my hand. "This
was written probably only a few days before her death. That man," and
he glanced at the prostrate body, "was the only one who could give us
the clue by which to unravel the mystery."
But the dead man's lips had closed, and his secret was held for ever.
Only those letters remained to connect him with the river tragedy; or
rather to show that he had communicated with the unfortunate Mrs.
Courtenay.
In company we walked to Leman Street Police Station, one of the chief
centres of the Metropolitan Police in the East End, and there, in an
upper office, Ambler had a long consultation with the sergeant of the
Criminal Investigation Department.
I described the appearance of the body, and stated my suspicions of
poisoning, all of which the detective carefully noted before going
forth to make his own examination. My address was taken, so that I
might assist at the post-mortem, and then, shortly after midnight I
drove back westward through the City with Ambler at my side.
He spoke little, and when in Oxford Street, just at the corner of
Newman Street, he descended, wished me a hurried good-night, and
disappeared into the darkness. He was often given to strange vagaries
of erratic movement. It was as though some thought had suddenly
occurred to him, and he acted at once upon it.
That night I scarcely closed my eyes. My brain was awhirl with
thoughts of all the curious events of the past few months--the
inexplicable presence of old Mr. Courtenay, and the subsequent death
of Mary and of the only man who, according to Ambler, knew the
remarkable secret.
Ethelwynn's strange words worried me. What could she mean? What did
she know? Surely hers could not be a guilty conscience. Yet, in her
words and actions I had detected that cowardice which a heavy
conscience always engenders. One by one I dissected and analysed the
Seven Secrets, but not in one single instance could I obtain a gleam
of the truth.
While at the hospital next day I was served with a notice to assist at
the post-mortem of the unfortunate Lane, whose body was lying in the
Shadwell mortuary; and that same afternoon I met by appointment Doctor
Tatham, of the London Hospital, who, as is well known, is an expert
toxicologist.
To describe in technical detail the examination we made would not
interest the general reader of this strange narrative. The average man
or woman knows nothing or cares less for the duodenum or the pylorus;
therefore it is not my intention to go into long and wearying detail.
Suffice it to say that we preserved certain portions of the body for
subsequent examination, and together were engaged the whole evening in
the laboratory of the hospital. Tatham was well skilled in the minutiae
of the tests. The exact determination of the cause of death in cases
of poisoning always depends partly on the symptoms noted before death,
and partly on the appearances found after death. Regarding the former,
neither of us knew anything; hence our difficulties were greatly
increased. The object of the analyst is to obtain the substances which
he has to examine chemically in as pure a condition as possible, so
that there may be no doubt about the results of his tests; also, of
course, to separate active substances from those that are inert, all
being mixed together in the stomach and alimentary canal. Again, in
dealing with such fluids as the blood, or the tissues of the body,
their natural constituents must be got rid of before the foreign and
poisonous body can be reached. There is this difficulty further to
contend with: that some of the most poisonous of substances are of
unstable composition and are readily altered by chemical reagents; to
this group belong many vegetable and most animal poisons. These,
therefore, must be treated differently from the more stable inorganic
compounds. With an inorganic poison we may destroy all organic
materials mixed with it, trusting to find the poison still
recognisable after this process. Not so with an organic substance;
that must be separated by other than destructive means.
Through the whole evening we tested for the various groups of
poisons--corrosives, simple irritants, specific irritants and
neurotics. It was a long and scientific search.
Some of the tests with which I was not acquainted I watched with the
keenest interest, for, of all the medical men in London, Tatham was
the most up to date in such analyses.
At length, after much work with acids, filtration, and distillation,
we determined that a neurotic had been employed, and that its action
on the vasomotor system of the nerves was very similar, if not
identical, with nitrate of amyl.
Further than that, even Tatham, expert in such matters, could not
proceed. Hours of hard work resulted in that conclusion, and with it
we were compelled to be satisfied.
In due course the inquest was held at Shadwell, and with Ambler I
attended as a witness. The reporters, of course, expected a sensation;
but, on the contrary, our evidence went to show that, as the poisonous
substance was found in the "quartern" bottle on deceased's table,
death was in all probability due to suicide.
Some members of the jury took an opposite view. Then the letters we
had found concealed were produced by the police, and, of course,
created a certain amount of interest. But to the readers of newspapers
the poisoning of a costermonger at Shadwell is of little interest as
compared with a similar catastrophe in that quarter of London vaguely
known as "the West End." The letters were suspicious, and both coroner
and jury accepted them as evidence that Lane was engaged upon an
elaborate scheme of blackmail.
"Who is this Mary Courtenay, who writes to him from Neneford?"
inquired the coroner of the inspector.
"Well, sir," the latter responded, "the writer herself is dead. She
was found drowned a few days ago near her home under suspicious
circumstances."
Then the reporters commenced to realize that something extraordinary
was underlying the inquiry.
"Ah!" remarked the coroner, one of the most acute officials of his
class. "Then, in face of this, her letter seems to be more than
curious. For aught we know the tragedy at Neneford may have been
wilful murder; and we have now the suicide of the assassin?"
"That, sir, is the police theory," replied the inspector.
"Police theory be hanged!" ejaculated Ambler, almost loud enough to be
heard. "The police know nothing of the case, and will never learn
anything. If the jury are content to accept such an explanation, and
brand poor Lane as a murderer, they must be allowed to do so."
I knew Jevons held coroners' juries in the most supreme contempt;
sometimes rather unreasonably so, I thought.
"Well," the coroner said, "this is certainly remarkable evidence," and
he turned the dead woman's letter over in his hand. "It is quite plain
that the deceased approached the lady ostensibly to give her warning
of some danger, but really to blackmail her; for what reason does not
at present appear. He may have feared her threat to give information
to the police; hence his crime, and subsequent suicide."
"Listen!" exclaimed Jevons in my ear. "They are actually trying the
dead man for a crime he could not possibly have committed! They've got
hold of the wrong end of the stick, as usual. Why don't they give a
verdict of suicide and have done with it. We can't afford to waste a
whole day explaining theories to a set of uneducated gentlemen of the
Whitechapel Road. The English law is utterly ridiculous where
coroners' juries are concerned."
The coroner heard his whispering, and looked towards us severely.
"We have not had sufficient time to investigate the whole of the facts
connected with Mrs. Courtenay's mysterious death," the inspector went
on. "You will probably recollect, sir, a mystery down at Kew some
little time ago. It was fully reported in the papers, and created
considerable sensation--an old gentleman was murdered under remarkable
circumstances. Well, sir, the gentleman in question was Mrs.
Courtenay's husband."
The coroner sat back in his chair and stared at the officer who had
spoken, while in the court a great sensation was caused. Mention of
the Kew Mystery brought its details vividly back to the minds of
everyone. Yes. After all, the death of that poor costermonger, Lanky
Lane, was of greater public interest than the representatives of the
Press anticipated.
"Are you quite certain of this?" the coroner queried.
"Yes, sir. I am here by the direction of the Chief Inspector of
Scotland Yard to give evidence. I was engaged upon the case at Kew,
and have also made inquiries into the mystery at Neneford."
"Then you have suspicion that the deceased was--well, a person of bad
character?"
"We have."
"Fools!" growled Ambler. "Lane was a policeman's 'nose,' and often
obtained payment from Scotland Yard for information regarding the
doings of a certain gang of thieves. And yet they actually declare him
to be a bad character. Preposterous!"
"Do you apply for an adjournment?"
"No, sir. We anticipate that the verdict will be suicide--the only one
possible in face of the evidence."
And then, as though the jury were compelled to act upon the
inspector's suggestion, they returned a simple verdict. "That the
deceased committed suicide by poisoning while of unsound mind."