I cannot quite decide whether it was the preparations and natural
excitement consequent on my marriage, or whether much success had made
me careless, but certain it was that I conducted my campaign against
Lord Gascoyne, the most delicate affair of all, with a lack of
forethought which candour compels me to admit has very justly brought
me to this place.
I believe it would have been better if I had dealt with him some time
before. Now I come to think the matter over, it would obviously have
been better to leave the Reverend Henry alive, and to have waited my
opportunity in the case of Lord Hammerton. I should then have appeared
so much further from the succession that suspicion would not have been
aroused.
In the first place, I was much too hasty in deciding on the means by
which I intended to remove Lord Gascoyne. To have decided on vulgar,
common-place poison at such a crisis was an error in judgment for
which there is really no excuse.
Miss Gascoyne and I were to spend a few days at Hammerton at the
conclusion of our honeymoon, and I chose that occasion for the
completion of my task. It would then be practically finished, for I
had no intention of getting rid of Mr. Gascoyne. A natural feeling of
gratitude towards so excellent a man was my first objection, and I did
not think there would be any necessity. I should not, I imagined, have
long to wait, and a few years in the position of heir would be by no
means unpleasant.
I was obliged to ask Lionel and Sibella to my wedding, but Sibella, I
was glad to find, had not the least intention of being present. She
made herself perfectly ill about it, and my one prayer was that she
might not become hysterical. Women in a state of hysteria do such
extraordinary things.
We were married somewhat quietly, considering all things. I don’t
think my wife ever looked more beautiful. Hers was too deep a nature
not to take so serious a thing as marriage somewhat sadly. The
service, to my mind, was a little cold. My taste for ritual was
Oriental, and I could have wished that my wife-elect had belonged to
the Roman communion in order that there might have been more
splendour. I should have been quite prepared to become a nominal child
of Rome had it been necessary.
We spent our somewhat short honeymoon at a place called the Green
Manor, a small country-house belonging to Lord and Lady Gascoyne, a
fact which quite placed us as a married couple.
I had manœuvred so that our honeymoon should be a short one, giving as
a plea that Mr. Gascoyne’s health was far from good, and that I did
not care to neglect the business. My wife at once fell in with the
idea. The truth of the matter was that I was anxious for our visit to
Hammerton to take place as soon as possible. With my marriage,
however, there came a new terror into my life. I was full of fear that
I might say something in my sleep which might give a clue to my
secret. A chance word might do it. Still, it was a risk I was obliged
to take. If I had been in love with my wife to a certain extent before
marriage, I cannot say that my passion lasted very long. I fancy she
brought to what I had always looked upon as a delirious relaxation too
strenuous an ideal. With her it could not have been otherwise. I
managed to conceal the fact from her with considerable success, but
the truth was that she got on my nerves. She was a great creature, but
she was on a different plane from myself, and it made things very
difficult. A good woman, however, being without experience, is always
more easily deceived. If this were not so the artificial arrangements
which are supposed to safeguard society would have disappeared long
ago.
The life she was always sketching out for us, to her so beautiful and
noble, was to me excessively dreary. Doing good appeared to be its
chief entertainment. We were apparently to spend our money—all too
little for the wants of a young couple who wished to make a decent
figure in society—on other people. I foresaw a very speedy parting of
our ways. I was strong, and she was strong, and it was impossible that
either should impose views on the other. She was one of those women
who are perfectly prepared to follow love to heaven, but who have not
the least intention of being led in the contrary direction. Conscience
with her was supreme. I was determined, however, that nothing should
appear at all wrong during Mr. Gascoyne’s lifetime, or until I was in
safe possession of Hammerton and the title. Mr. Gascoyne’s fortune
amounted to close on a hundred thousand pounds. This would, I knew,
come to my wife and myself, and if I suffered defeat, it would be a
very pleasant addition to our own capital; and though I did not think
that, except in extreme circumstances, Mr. Gascoyne was likely to
leave his money away from us, it was possible that if he had an idea
that I was not making quite the husband he expected he might settle it
somewhat too exclusively on Edith.
I set myself, therefore, to study the art of concealing from her that
her ideals bored me, and that her outlook on life was too serious. At
the same time I bantered her a little, and tried to bring her into an
atmosphere of gaiety. She was ready to attempt a greater levity of
manner to please me. The effort was somewhat of a failure, for saints
off their pedestals never present an absolutely dignified appearance.
Our honeymoon was a success, however. A man of taste and imagination
can never be quite dull when in possession of a beautiful woman, not,
at any rate, until the novelty has worn off. Serious though Edith was,
she did not exhaust herself in a fortnight.
We arrived at Hammerton in due course, to find Mr. and Mrs. Gascoyne
of the party. The reception that Lord and Lady Gascoyne gave us was
quite feudal and eminently flattering. I inwardly promised his
lordship that if it were in my power he should have a magnificent
funeral.
It was quite a family gathering. Naturally, we had not expected many
people to be asked to meet us, as they were still in deep mourning. It
had been very nice of them to ask us at all, considering the
circumstances. I had grown so accustomed to pose as one of the
mourners at a tragedy of my own making that the situation had ceased
even to possess weirdness.
It was a little awkward that my wife took an immediate fancy to Esther
Lane. It was surely against all the laws of human nature that Esther
Lane should reciprocate the liking.
It seemed to me that from the moment she met my wife her whole manner
towards me changed.
I think she began instinctively to distrust a man who could behave so
badly—from her point of view—to a woman like Edith. I don’t think she
entirely believed all I had said about my marriage being one of mere
convenience. Before I had had an opportunity of seeing her alone, in
the course of a few remarks which we hurriedly interchanged while we
were looking over some songs after dinner, she told me that she could
not understand any man not loving a woman so beautiful and good. I
could see that without saying as much she was a little surprised that
Edith and I should have come together. She had a fine instinct and
perhaps realised how unsuited we must be.
I was anxious to have a private conversation with her, but she
declared that it was quite impossible, that she was not so depraved as
I imagined her to be.
When I did manage to get a few words with her alone I found that she
was adamant. It was certain that she had changed to an extraordinary
degree, and somehow she gave me an uncomfortable and somewhat sinister
impression of being a possible danger. She did not deny that she still
loved me a great deal too much for her own peace of mind, and I have
no doubt that if I had had a free hand as to the time I could spend
with her I might have had my own way, but I was occupied with other
things, and in particular I was occupied with Lord Gascoyne.
I had decided that after dinner, whilst Lord Gascoyne and I were
sitting over our wine I would try, if possible, to carry out the
finishing stroke of my policy.
Evening after evening I sat within arm’s length of him without the
desired opportunity occurring.
Lord Gascoyne was in the habit of drinking claret after dinner. His
cellar of this wine was quite remarkable. He was, however, a moderate
drinker, and I do not think that beyond a couple of glasses after
dinner he ever took anything at all. Sometimes he drank
whisky-and-soda in the smoking-room, but very rarely. Indeed, we were
a most abstemious couple.
It was towards the end of my visit when the opportunity occurred. One
evening as we were sitting over our wine a servant came in and
announced that there was a fellow-magistrate in the justice-room who
wished to see him, if only for two minutes.
He left the room, saying that he would not be long, and with the usual
conventional admonition to help myself. Now was my chance. My courage
failed me for a few minutes, and then I made the greatest mistake I
could have done. His glass was empty, and so I poisoned what remained
in the bottle. As I had the bottle in my hand a servant entered in
search of Lord Gascoyne’s eyeglasses. He saw me with the bottle in my
hand, and noticing that my glass was empty, and knowing I drank port,
filled it. As I was wondering what I should do, Lord Gascoyne
re-entered and seated himself.
I gazed at the bottle before him, fascinated. I would have given
worlds to get rid of it. Just as I was thinking of doing something to
upset it, he poured out a glass and began to drink it. I saw at once
the whole chain of mistakes. I was the only person in the room. I had
been seen with the bottle in my hand. It would be next to impossible
to destroy the bottle with its damning evidence. I had also obtained
the arsenic from a chemist in the ordinary way. I had signed the wrong
name, and if I were recognised that would make the matter worse. I had
every motive for the crime—a motive which would stand out with
startling clearness after Lord Gascoyne’s death. I had felt nervous
before. Now I experienced a sensation of acute terror. I must have
shown it to some extent, for I turned pale, and Lord Gascoyne asked me
whether I was ill. I declared I felt quite well, although at the
moment he was taking another glass of claret.
I realised with an extraordinary feeling of depression that I was a
clumsy murderer walking about like any ordinary criminal with
blood-red hands, and trusting that nobody would notice their colour.
I watched Lord Gascoyne drinking his claret with sinking spirits, and
could only pray that he might be one of those people who possess an
inexplicable immunity to the poison I had used. It was not our custom
to remain long over our wine, and in about a quarter of an hour we
joined the three women in a small octagonal room off the
picture-gallery. As Lord Gascoyne and I walked along the dimly-lighted
picture-gallery towards the little room at the end I felt as if I were
in a dream. It seemed as if the presage of a Nemesis, tardy but
terrible, were upon me. The dark figures on the canvas stared down
upon him as he passed, claiming him as one of their ghostly company;
and I almost thought that his own picture, high above the great
mantelpiece carved in hundreds of twisted forms by Grinling Gibbons,
shivered as he walked below it. I expected every moment a cry of pain
or the first moan of faintness. I had to pull myself together, and by
the time we reached the others I had regained complete control. Lord
Gascoyne always drank tea instead of coffee after dinner, and on
occasions like this there were no servants, and it was made in a
delightfully informal way by Esther Lane. She asked me to carry Lord
Gascoyne’s cup to him, which I did and he took it from me with
murmured thanks.
I must still have shown traces of my recent agitation, for my wife
drew the attention of the others to my pallor. She had hardly done so
when Lord Gascoyne’s cup fell with a crash to the ground, and he sank
back into his chair in a dead faint.
The others went towards him at once, as I did also after the first
moment.
Lady Gascoyne said something about brandy, and Esther hurried from the
room to obtain it. Lord Gascoyne had somewhat recovered by the time
she returned, but very shortly relapsed into another faint. I saw that
my purpose was accomplished, and that before morning only Mr. Gascoyne
would stand between myself and all I coveted. Lord Gascoyne retired in
indescribable pain to his bedroom, and a groom was despatched for the
doctor. As for myself, I hurried to the dining-room in the hope of
being able to do away with the decanter of claret containing the
evidence of guilt. If the decanter were discovered, I should
immediately fall under suspicion. It could not be otherwise. Well, I
must be as calm as possible. On entering the dining-room I saw at once
that the decanter had been removed. My opportunity of destroying all
chance of detection was over. In reality it was here that I made the
fatal mistake, for I should have obtained possession of the decanter
at all costs and destroyed it, or at least have cleansed it. I should
have invented some excuse, seeing its paramount importance to me. I
was, however, too nervous of arousing suspicion. In fact, I had lost
my nerve for the time being without realising it. It is certain that
had I been as cool and self-possessed as I am now I should not be
here. I allowed the golden opportunity to slip. There was some excuse.
Lord Gascoyne was momentarily growing worse. Everyone in the castle
was in a state of alarm. I was seldom alone, for my wife hardly left
me except when she could be of use. I cursed myself for my stupidity
in not choosing a more rapid poison. I might at least have given the
foolish doctors an opportunity of declaring death to be due to natural
causes. The learned fellows require so little encouragement to commit
blunders.
I remember well the electric shock I received when, towards the
morning, one of the doctors stopped me in the corridor and said
something about its looking very much as if Lord Gascoyne had been
poisoned.
“Poisoned?” I asked in surprise.
“Yes; he must have eaten something which was poisoned. One never knows
in these days of food adulteration. One is safe nowhere—not even at
the best tables.”
I felt almost inclined to say that doctors themselves were curiously
lax on the subject, but I was too much alarmed at his having put his
finger on the spot at once to enter into an abstract discussion on the
ethics of the medical profession.
I was drawing him out in order to see how much he had guessed, when
his colleague came out of Lord Gascoyne’s apartment and called him in.
Coming along the corridor I met Esther Lane, seeking for news. I went
towards her. Was it my fancy, or did she shrink from me? It seemed to
me that she did, but I was in a weak, morbid state of mind, in which I
was a prey to fears of my own shadow. It was a dreary trio that met
round the breakfast-table. Lady Gascoyne did not appear, and Esther
always took her meals with her charge, except when she was specially
asked by Lady Gascoyne to join herself and her friends.
One of the doctors came in, but brought only bad news. In answer to
Mrs. Gascoyne’s inquiries he threw up his hands.
“We do not know what to make of it, and——”
He paused, as if afraid to go on.
“Please tell us,” said my wife anxiously.
“Well, of course, while there is life there is hope, but——”
“You don’t think——”
“I am afraid we must prepare for the worst.”
There was a long pause. The two women were horrified. I rose and went
to the window, as I knew not what guilt my face might betray.
Suddenly the end came. A wail shivered down the corridors, and then,
from where I was watching the bedroom door, I saw Lady Gascoyne led
out by Edith. After a few minutes the two doctors came out, and in
answer to my question, explained that all was over. I carried the news
to Mrs. Gascoyne. She was terribly distressed, and asked me to wire
for her husband, which of course I did. It suddenly struck me that it
might be possible to obtain the decanter that evening at dinner. I
supposed there would be dinner. There usually is, even at moments of
the greatest stress. Curiously enough, the whole thing once over, I
began to recover my nerve rapidly, and by the time Mr. Gascoyne had
arrived I was quite myself. I did not know that, even at that moment,
the junior doctor was conducting an examination into what Lord
Gascoyne had eaten and drunk the evening before, and giving orders
that everything which had been left was to remain untouched.
I think such a knowledge would have tempted me to buy some means of
retiring from the scene on an emergency. I had not even a loaded
revolver. It was evident I was not the clever person I had imagined
myself to be.
Mr. Gascoyne could hardly believe the news.
“Israel, it is terrible. There seems to be a curse on the family.” He
was silent for a few moments, and then continued thoughtfully:
“Israel, has it struck you what this means to you? Failing male heirs,
the title descends through a woman. Your grandfather would have been
the last male heir, therefore your mother would have succeeded as his
heiress, and then you.”
We had talked this over before, but I pretended to think of it deeply,
as if it now presented itself to me seriously for the first time.
“Of course, it has struck me, but the possibilities seemed so remote.”
“They are close enough now. It would seem as if Fate had been on your
side.”
I certainly hoped that it was. He little knew that that fate in its
concrete form was sitting opposite to him.
“What do you think was the cause of death, Israel?”
“Nobody seems quite to know.”
“He looked just that sinewy, tough sort of man who was likely to live
for ever.”
I was silent.
“There must have been something organically wrong,” Mr. Gascoyne
continued.
I was still silent, meditating whether I should tell him what the
doctor had hinted at as regards poison. I decided that it would be
better to do so. It would look very strange if he should discover that
the doctor had already suggested such a thing to me, and that I had
ignored the fact.
“Dr. Phillimore thinks that death must have been caused by some
violent poison.”
“Poison? Impossible!”
“So I said. I don’t suppose he meant for one moment that anybody had
poisoned him.”
I regretted this remark. It might rouse suspicions in his brain. The
nervous analysis of everything I said was becoming automatic.
“He was taken ill directly after dinner, you say?”
“When we left the dining-room.”
“If it had been anything he had eaten you would all have been taken
ill as well.”
“It would seem so. At least, I don’t know. There may have been some
dish which we others did not touch.”
“It is all very mysterious, but it is quite possible that the doctors
may be wrong.”
“Oh, quite,” I said dryly.
The rest of the drive he spent in asking after Lady Gascoyne, and for
other details of the affair.
As we entered the great hall I saw the two doctors at a distant window
in earnest consultation.
They came forward and greeted Mr. Gascoyne as the Earl.
They had evidently been waiting for him. Dr. Phillimore, the younger
of the two, who had been called in in consultation, said at once:
“Dr. Grange is anxious for a private interview with you when you are
at liberty.”
I had from the first felt nervous of Dr. Phillimore. He was evidently
a man of exceptional intellectual power. He had a massive, square
forehead, and a strong resolute face with an expression of great
alertness. Even now, although he had had no rest for twenty-four
hours, he showed few traces of fatigue. Dr. Grange, on the other hand,
looked worn and jaded to a degree, and would, I am sure, had he been
left to himself, have retired to rest before taking any further steps
in the matter. I did not know that, whilst I had been out, Dr.
Phillimore had been making extensive inquiries, and that he had
already placed under lock and key everything which had been on the
table the night before.
It appeared that he had once before been concerned in a poisoning
case. Decidedly my good fortune had been on the wane without my
knowing it. I think his previous experience had somewhat obsessed him
with the idea that poisoners were everywhere. Only in this way can I
account for the unerring ability with which he followed up every clue.
I was beginning to feel more and more uncomfortable, and when Mr.
Gascoyne and the two doctors disappeared into the library—I had not
been invited to be present—I felt much like the criminal who in a
moment of panic betrays his guilt by flight.
My wife came to me once or twice; but she was a great deal with Lady
Gascoyne, or rather stayed just within call, for Lady Gascoyne was a
proud woman, and preferred to suffer in solitude.
Whilst the consultation was proceeding in the library, I remained in
the corridor outside, controlling my agitation with really wonderful
success. As I stood in the dusk looking out through the open window,
round which climbed June roses and clematis, Esther Lane stole up to
me.
So ghostlike and silent had been her approach that I gave a cry as her
eyes met mine. On further recollection, the sound I made was a
smothered yell. It was a sound which now seems to me to have been full
of a confession of guilt.
For a moment she did not even say she was sorry she had startled me.
She was evidently too amazed at my display of nerves. I even think
that a faintly defined ghost of suspicion floated through her mind. At
any rate, the incident seemed to widen the gulf between us.
“This is terrible, is it not?” she said.
“It is terrible.”
“And but for me Lady Gascoyne would have had her child to console
her.” She covered her face with her hands.
“I do not think you ought to put it like that,” I said gently.
“The doctors say he was poisoned. It is strange, is it not?”
“It is strange,” I answered.
The sunset hour, the knowledge that the three men in the library were
hovering over an undetected crime, invested the situation with a deep
gloom. The ghostlike figure of Esther at my side, from whom remorse
and suffering had taken something of her bloom, seemed to me made for
suffering. I felt that Fate had marked her out for some terrible
experiment in sorrow; that grief had chosen her for its own, and that
I ought to have foreseen it.
I had made the cardinal error of allying myself with a soul that was
moving in a cycle of sorrows. It was curious that I should not have
detected a fact now so apparent. One should always seek the
companionship of the joyous. To walk with those who are wedded by Fate
to grief is to play with fire. It is to step within influences that
may destroy us. So much of the mystical I can infer. There is hidden
meaning in the phrase, ‘Let the dead bury their dead.’ She seemed to
be afraid of her own company, and I think sought mine out of pure
loneliness. I was too absorbed, however, in my own danger to comfort
her. What had she to fear compared to me? She had lost something which
was of purely conventional value, whilst I might be in danger of
losing the essentials, life and liberty.
“I am very unhappy,” she said, in her low, musical voice, with the
curious thrilling vibration that had given it such an appeal for me.
“I feel as if somehow I had meant nothing but sorrow and grief to this
place, as if I were of ill omen. Of course, it is presumptuous of me
to even think of myself as being of so much importance.”
“You seem to think very little of me now,” I murmured. It seemed
unchivalrous not to render her some comfort of the heart.
She was silent for a moment, and then pulled herself together.
“I am afraid I think of you too much.”
Even at that moment I was moved in my essential sex vanity, and was
prepared to play the lover if it were worth while.
“You have been very unkind lately, Esther.”
I touched her lightly with my hand. She drew away from me.
“I think you are wicked, and I know that what has been must be
expiated. That is an inevitable law.”
I shivered. There was a stern intensity in her voice despite its
music.
“Yes,” she continued, “I love you still, but I have no joy in doing
so. If by dying I could make you better, I would willingly die, but I
could never again——”
She broke off abruptly, but I knew what she had intended saying, and I
also knew that she meant it.
She moved away, and left me peering out into the dark, mechanically
trying to distinguish the features of the landscape as they became
more and more blurred by the gathering dusk.
Finally, I heard the library door open behind me, but pretended not to
have done so. I started with feigned surprise when Mr. Gascoyne
touched me on the arm. The little piece of acting was quite unneeded,
but it denoted the nervous necessity that I felt for dissimulation.
One glance at his face, even in the dusk, reassured me that, so far, I
was not in any way an object of suspicion.
“There will have to be an inquest, Israel. Phillimore is convinced
that Gascoyne was poisoned. I think his insistence on the point rather
annoys Dr. Grange.”
“I concluded that an inquest would be necessary. When is it to be
held?”
“Phillimore has wired to London for a specialist in poisons, and the
post-mortem will take place directly he arrives. It appears that
Phillimore was mixed up in the Greybridge poisoning case, and knows a
good deal about these things. Not,” he added hastily, “that there is
the least suspicion of foul play.”
Phillimore was evidently a highly unpleasant fellow, and I would
willingly have pushed him over the battlements if occasion had
offered. I made myself very civil to him, however. I was told that he
had gone into the kitchen and superintended the cooking of everything
which was sent upstairs. This had the effect of frightening all the
servants into fits, and half of them were already complaining of
imaginary internal aches and pains.
I saw the humour of the situation, notwithstanding my alarm, but the
others did not. They sat round the table with the conventional
Christian look of gloom which is considered suitable when a brother
Christian has, presumably, entered into a state of bliss.
After dinner I went and sat with my wife and Mrs. Gascoyne. They
informed me that Lady Gascoyne, thoroughly worn out, had fallen
asleep.
“I am afraid the most terrible moment of all for her will be when she
wakes up to find that it is not a dream but a reality.”
Frankly, I thought worse sorrows might have befallen a woman with
three-quarters of a million of her own, who still retained youth and
beauty, not to speak of being a dowager Countess. No, it was
impossible to feel very sorry for Lady Gascoyne. Nobody realises the
tragedies of love better than I do, but at the same time one cannot
forget that lovers for the beautiful and rich are to be found every
hour of the day. She had bought a title and a lover once. She might
conceivably do so again.
Of course, grief is always terrible, but the most terrible thing in
the whole world is poverty. I do not deny that it may be a vice to
attach the importance to wealth that I have done. I have never
concealed from myself the fact that my mind is glamoured and decadent.
Poverty, it is true, is comparative, but to have to endure that which
is relative poverty is a slow torture which has no equal.
The conversation at the dinner-table had dwelt with a mournful decency
on the probable cause of death.
“It must have been something in the food,” held Dr. Phillimore.
“If that is so, why is no one else ill?” And Dr. Grange looked as if
he had effectually crushed his colleague.
“It may have been something of which the others did not partake. I
have had all saucepans, cooking-utensils, food, dishes, and wine used
last night isolated and locked away.”
I stared at him, petrified. It was the first time I had been brought
face to face with the hard fact that the claret decanter would be
thoroughly examined. I passed a gruesome ten minutes, but managed to
maintain my composure and take my share of the conversation.
“Dr. Grange thinks the cause of death may be something quite different
from poison,” explained Dr. Phillimore, turning to the rest of the
company.
I think Mr. Gascoyne, whose instinct for character was not his strong
point, also felt that Dr. Phillimore was somewhat premature in his
conclusions, that, in fact, he was rather officious and inclined to
treat us all like children. With my special knowledge I was, of
course, able to appreciate his real value, though, even had I been a
mere spectator, I think I should have set him down at a glance as a
man of first-class brain-power.
The great specialist arrived whilst we were at dinner. He was a man of
opulent, indeed quite princely demeanour. Unlike Phillimore, whose
exterior bore a certain ruggedness, his power was concealed by an
outward courtliness that might have deceived the unwary. Personally, I
felt it at once.
He went into consultation with his brethren, and I learned afterwards
that he speedily came to the opinion that Lord Gascoyne had died of a
violent irritant poison.
All these details were kept from Lady Gascoyne as much as possible,
and it was not till after the post-mortem that she learned what had
taken place. I saw by the look of perplexity in the faces of the three
doctors that they were puzzled at what they had found. I had already
resigned myself to the fact that the poison would be found in the
bottle of claret. The wretched thing, with other food which was to be
examined, was locked up in a strong room, of which Dr. Grange held the
key. Figuratively, I was before that strong room every precious hour
that passed, wondering how it might be opened. How wretchedly I had
overreached myself! However, it was done. It was of no use to whine. I
must fight until the whole thing was decided against me.
The doctors were quite secret over what they had discovered, but I
kept Dr. Phillimore well under observation. He left the house soon
after the post-mortem, and drove off in the direction of Gaythorpe, a
town about five miles away. I knew what he had done. He had written
his telegram before leaving the house, and I read it on the
blotting-paper by means of a looking-glass. It was as I thought. The
message was a telegram to Scotland Yard asking for a detective. While
he was doing this, the poison expert was examining the food.
I tramped the battlements for one hour making up my mind as to what I
should do in case the charge should be made against me.
I did not make the mistake of dwelling on those points of the case
which were in my favour. I kept my attention fixed on those that
seemed most damning. My own guilt, viewing it as I did from the
inside, seemed easily susceptible of proof, but I had to remember that
a detective, however expert, would approach the matter from a totally
different standpoint. He was, after all, an outsider, and I must try
and put myself in his position if possible.
It took me a long time to decide my course of action should suspicion
fall upon me. I also began to grow uneasy as to whether I had left
anything in my house at Clapham which might furnish a clue to my
movements during my former operations. I was sorry I had concealed the
existence of the house.
If I were arrested the grief of Mr. Gascoyne and my wife would be
rather trying, but I had counted the cost of discovery when I
originally set out on my adventures.
Mr. Gascoyne was busily occupied in arranging for the funeral.
I was very anxious to discover whether there was any likelihood of a
posthumous heir.
I noticed that Mr. Gascoyne did not so far permit himself to be
addressed as the Earl.
The inquest was held the next day. The detective, I knew, had arrived
the night before, and was making inquiries. In the morning he was
standing in the hall as I passed towards the breakfast-room. I knew
perfectly well he was waiting to see me, and the swift glance I took
at his face convinced me that he was on the right track.
I felt a terrible shock, notwithstanding the fact that I had been
steeling myself ever since Lord Gascoyne’s death to meet such a
situation.
The specialist was the only occupant of the breakfast-room when I
entered. I had not seen him or his brethren since early the evening
before.
“Have you arrived at the cause of Lord Gascoyne’s death?” I asked.
“Poison,” he said shortly.
I started, as if immensely surprised.
“Then Dr. Phillimore was right. Something in the food, I suppose?”
He hesitated.
“We don’t quite know. We have not finished our investigation yet.”
This I knew was not true. The detective had evidently asked him, if
his own discretion had not prompted him, to hold his tongue.
The specialist volunteered no more information, and in a few minutes
my wife and Mrs. Gascoyne joined us.