The inquest took place in the justice-room.
It was not deemed probable that it would be necessary to summon Lady
Gascoyne as witness. The evidence of the others who had been in the
room at the time when Lord Gascoyne was taken ill was considered
sufficient. The statement I had already made to the coroner’s officer
was quite simple. I declared that I had not noticed any signs of
illness on the part of Lord Gascoyne till we reached the room where
the ladies were. There had certainly been nothing to arouse anxiety
before we left the table.
The depositions of myself, Mrs. Gascoyne, my wife, and Miss Lane were
taken first, and they then passed on to the medical evidence.
Dr. Grange was the first to be examined. He stated that on reaching
the castle he found Lord Gascoyne in such a serious state that he
immediately sent for the assistance of Dr. Phillimore. The latter
seemed to think that Lord Gascoyne was suffering from poisoning, an
opinion which he had not at first shared. At the post-mortem, however,
a sufficient amount of arsenic was found in the body to have caused
death.
Dr. Phillimore’s evidence was identical, but it was easy to see that
it was he who had guided Dr. Grange’s opinion.
Finally, the expert was called, and the detective glanced at me to see
what effect his appearance would have. I am glad to say that I gave
him no satisfaction. I do not believe that I changed colour or moved a
muscle. Indeed, I believe he has had the fairness to say that he never
came across a criminal who had such complete self-control, and that it
seemed incredible that a criminal so self-possessed should not have
found means to get rid of the claret in the decanter. He afterwards
declared that he had at one time hoped to trace more than one of the
Gascoyne mysteries to me, but in that he failed.
The expert corroborated the evidence of the other doctors, and then
stated that he had made an examination of the food.
“I naturally selected the one thing which was most particular to Lord
Gascoyne,” he said, “and I began, principally for the sake of
simplicity and so as to clear the way, on the claret.”
I found myself breathing hard. It was a moment of supreme test. Many
things convinced me that there was at least some suspicion attaching
to me. The detective imagined that I was not looking at him, whereas I
was conscious of his least movement. It is indeed a pity that what
ought to be a particularly brilliant profession is left to the lower
middle classes. It accounts for the comparative lack of scandal in the
higher ranks of life, for a gentleman does not find it difficult to
hide his crimes and vices from those reared in perhaps the most obtuse
section of society.
It was also easy to see that the servant Waters had been questioned
about me, for directly the bottle of claret was mentioned he cast a
furtive glance in my direction.
“I found this bottle,” continued the specialist, “to be full of
arsenic—so full, that it would have been impossible to drink any of
the contents without succumbing to its effects. To be brief, I found
no traces of arsenic in any other bottle of claret taken from the same
bin or in any of the other food.”
“You are quite sure of that?”
“Yes. The claret was a brand of which there was barely a dozen left. I
believe Lord Gascoyne had been heard to regret that there was so
little remaining.”
After the expert’s evidence there was a pause.
Mr. Gascoyne looked terribly worried. He had evidently not imagined
that the matter was likely to become so serious and complicated.
The next witness was Gorby, the butler. He deposed to having fetched
the wine from the cellar. No one had access to the wine-cellar but
himself. He kept the keys. He had been in the family for forty years.
In reply to the coroner, he said that he himself placed the wine on
the sideboard, and that it was his duty to pour out his lordship’s
first glass before withdrawing.
No one drank claret after dinner but his lordship. Mr. Rank usually
drank one glass of port, sometimes he drank nothing, but certainly
never more than one glass.
“And on this particular evening?”
“Mr. Rank took port, sir.”
The coroner leaned forward and put the next question impressively.
“Was it possible for the arsenic to have been put into the decanter
between your placing it on the sideboard and the arrival of the
company for dinner?”
“I don’t think so, sir. I was late with some of the wine, and did not
leave the dining-room at all till the company arrived.”
“It was possible, however, for anyone to reach the wine while you were
out of the room?” persisted the coroner.
“It was possible; but the servants were very busy.”
“How many servants were there in the room besides yourself?”
“Two.”
“You yourself poured out the claret which Lord Gascoyne drank?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What did you do with the decanter?”
“As usual, I placed it in front of his lordship.”
“And then you left the room?”
“Yes.”
“And the other servants also, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir.”
There was a pause. An unaccountable whimsicality made me think of the
game which children play, and which consists in sending someone out of
the room and then hiding an article which the absent one is to find on
his return. I felt almost inclined to cry hot and cold to the coroner
as he hovered over the evidence. Not that I felt callous as to what
might be going to occur. I had enjoyed life far too much. On the other
hand, I had always reckoned the cost, and had never counted my
chickens before they were hatched.
Mr. Gascoyne crossed over to me in the interval, and said in an
undertone:
“What does it all mean?”
“I really do not know,” I said.
“Surely they are not trying to prove that his own servants poisoned
him?”
“The poison must have come from somewhere.”
“Yes; that is obvious.”
He looked at me in some surprise. I noticed his almost startled
expression, and began to analyse the remark I had made. Was it what I
should have said had I been guiltless? If it had been, Mr. Gascoyne
would not have displayed such discomfort—a vague discomfort, true, but
an evidently indefinable sensation that something was wrong. He was
from that moment uneasy about me, and yet almost unconscious of any
uneasiness.
The other servants were recalled, and declared that neither of them
had touched the wine. It would have been such an unusual thing that
the one who had done so would have been noticed by the other. The
claret was in a very peculiarly shaped flagon. By no possibility of
means could anyone have mistaken it for the claret which was offered
during the meal.
Evidence then followed as to all the wine which was handed round
during the dinner. There was champagne, said Waters, but only Mrs.
Gascoyne took any. Neither Lady Gascoyne nor Mrs. Rank drank anything.
Lord Gascoyne drank nothing but claret—the claret—at the end of the
meal. Mr. Rank drank port at the end of the meal.
The coroner persisted. I was thankful to him. His continued
examination might make one of the witnesses nervous. The sleek Waters
might contradict himself. The other two servants might relapse into a
hopeless confusion of ideas as to what they had done and what they had
seen.
It was a delusive hope. All three adhered strictly to their
statements, and finally there was another pause.
Everyone appeared to wonder what was going to happen next. I thought I
could guess the direction the proceedings would take. I was not
mistaken. The detective passed a piece of paper to the coroner. The
latter looked at it, and an expression of surprise crossed his face.
He mentioned me by name almost with a suggestion of apology, as if he
were deprecating the official side of him which insisted on a course
of action repugnant to his more social and well-bred half.
I did not look at Mr. Gascoyne, but I felt him stir in his chair
uneasily as I rose to my feet. I moved to the foot of the table where
the witnesses had stood during their examination.
“You were left alone with Lord Gascoyne after the ladies had
withdrawn?”
“That is so.”
“Can you recollect his lordship making any remark as to a curious
taste in the wine?”
“No.”
“He made no remark?”
“None at all.”
The coroner paused, and then said:
“Recall Richard Waters.”
Richard Waters stepped into my place. For one moment I felt dizzy. A
curious unreality seemed to surround the scene and its actors. I saw
things through an ecstasy which seemed to remove me afar off.
Everybody in the room bore a strange profile expression like great
gaunt marionettes. After a few minutes the sensation passed, and I
felt myself growing abnormally tense and keen; in fact, the acuteness
of intelligence which I felt was in proportion to the recession from
realities which had just possessed me. It had been an unconscious
recoil, but my perception advanced with greater force because of it.
“You came into the room when Lord Gascoyne and Mr. Rank were alone, I
believe, to tell his lordship that Colonel Markham wished to see him
in the library?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You then returned to the dining-room?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What for?”
“His lordship told me to bring him his eye-glasses, which he had left
on the table.”
“What did you see?”
“Mr. Rank had the decanter of claret in his hand.”
“What did you do?”
“I thought he had mistaken the decanter of claret for port, and I took
it from him and helped him to port.”
“But you say that the claret and port were in two totally different
decanters. The claret was in a flagon?”
“Yes, sir.”
The port decanter and the flagon were here produced. No one could have
imagined that the claret flagon held port; at least, so I thought, but
it may have been my guilty conscience.
The coroner continued his examination.
“Please be very careful in your answers.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When you took the flagon from Mr. Rank, where was the stopper?”
“On the table.”
“You are quite sure?”
“Quite.”
“Why are you so positive?”
“I cannot say, but I am quite sure.”
“That will do.”
The coroner looked perplexed. The jurymen gazed at him as if for
inspiration. The detective made no sign.
The coroner rose and announced that the inquiry was adjourned.
I realised the grim meaning of his laconic announcement.
It was apparent to everyone that the case had assumed an ugly
complexion, and that there was a so far unspoken suspicion of foul
play in men’s minds. Such a suspicion was not likely to remain
unexpressed very long, and it soon rose from a whisper to a crescendo
of excitement. Lord Gascoyne had been murdered, so everyone said, and
the London papers that came down by the evening train already had the
announcement in large letters. They hinted at a mystery, and declared
that sensational developments might be expected at the adjourned
inquest.
Mr. Gascoyne was in a state of the greatest nervous agitation. He took
every care, however, that no suspicion of the dark things which were
being said should reach any of the women, and the papers were
carefully kept out of their way.
Worried as he was, I do not think that he in any way anticipated the
blow which was about to fall.
Edith asked me one or two questions after the inquest as to what had
taken place, but it was quite evident that she had not the least
suspicion of what had occurred.
Mrs. Gascoyne, on the other hand, who had lived in the world, and had
been brought up in a commercial family, had her eyes fairly wide open.
I could see when we met at dinner that she was very uneasy.
It was a dismal meal. Lady Gascoyne did not, of course, appear. My
wife was sad and preoccupied. Mrs. Gascoyne, with, I am sure, a full
premonition of impending disaster, strove to be cheerful, but to
little purpose. Mr. Gascoyne hardly spoke a word. When we were left
alone he drew his chair nearer to me, evidently prepared for a long
conversation.
It would have been amusing, had the subject not possessed such grim
significance for me, to notice how very deprecatingly the servants
offered us wine.
The castle cellar itself had, of course, been placed under lock and
key, and the detective seemed to have disappeared from the premises.
“Israel,” said Mr. Gascoyne seriously, “if poison was found in that
bottle, someone must have put it there.”
“That seems very obvious.”
“I could have understood it had there only been a very little arsenic
in the bottle, but that it should have contained the quantity it did
is amazing.”
Why Mr. Gascoyne should have understood it better had there not been
so much arsenic in the bottle was not very apparent, but he was in the
sort of mood in which people are apt to talk nonsense.
“Have you the least suspicion as to who might have put the poison in
the bottle, Israel?”
He looked at me furtively.
“They might say that it was I, sir.”
I fancy that he gave almost a sigh of relief. He would never have
dared to make such a suggestion himself, and I could see that he was
thankful to me for giving him an opening.
“To tell you the truth, Israel, it has struck me that in the absence
of anyone else being open to suspicion they might hint at such an
absurdity.”
I laughed, a highly successful laugh.
“You see, sir, in my case there is motive.”
“I am almost afraid, Israel, that people may say unpleasant things.
Reading the bare evidence, they may be tempted to come to ridiculous
conclusions.”
I saw that it was time to affect a serious view of the matter. I kept
a close watch on my tone of voice, however, and was most careful as to
the light and shade of any expressions I used.
“You don’t mean to say, sir, that you seriously think anybody would
connect me with the crime?”
“Seriously, no; but I think irresponsible gossip might make things
very unpleasant.”
“It certainly would be unpleasant.”
“You are my heir, Israel. Failing me, the title passes on to the
branch of Lord George Gascoyne, whose heir you are through your
mother.”
“Exactly, sir; as I said, in my case there is motive.” I looked a
little grave, and continued slowly:
“Someone must have put the poison in the bottle.” I was deliberately
allowing my gravity to increase in order to emphasise my growing
apprehension.
“I notice the detective has left the house,” I said.
“Detective!” echoed Mr. Gascoyne in amazement.
“Surely, sir, you knew that there was a detective in the house?”
“My dear Israel, I knew nothing of the kind.”
He thought for a moment, and then added: “I think I ought to have been
told.”
“I thought you knew, sir.”
“Are you sure it was a detective?”
“Quite sure.”
But even as I spoke I remembered that I only had my own deductions to
guide me. No one had told me he was a detective. I searched swiftly in
my brain for some excuse, but could think of none.
“How did you know he was a detective?”
“I heard him questioning one of the servants.”
“Which servant?”
“Waters.”
“What about?”
“I did not quite catch what he said, but it was quite easy to see what
he was.”
“He may have been gathering evidence for the inquest.”
“That is what I suggest.”
“Oh! I beg your pardon.”
He was evidently a little puzzled.
The next day Lord Gascoyne was buried. It was a beautiful sunlit
morning, and as we crossed the courtyard following the coffin in
procession I glanced up towards the windows of Lady Gascoyne’s
apartment. I could see a white hand slightly drawing apart the closed
curtains. I was sorry for her, but as matters were going I was a good
deal more sorry for myself.
The affair had already attained the dignity of a first-class mystery
in the London press, and as the victim was a Lord the sensation was
twice what it would otherwise have been.
Most of them frankly admitted that as far as they knew there was no
clue. But one halfpenny daily with an enormous circulation, whose
consistent unveracity seemed a matter of supreme indifference to its
readers, declared that there was a clue, and stated that someone had
come forward to show that Lord Gascoyne had been in the habit of
purchasing arsenic, that he was a confirmed arsenic eater, and that
everything he ate was impregnated with it.
It was very unpleasant to have the searchlight of the entire press
turned on the case so soon. It would put Scotland Yard on its mettle,
and detective forces are apt to strain matters somewhat when their
credit is publicly involved.
That evening I was walking up and down the terrace smoking a cigar
with no very comfortable feelings, when I caught sight of the gleam of
a white dress in the shadow of the battlements some way off. I guessed
at once who it was. Esther Lane was watching me.
Why was she doing so? Was it possible that some suspicion of the truth
had entered her brain? It dawned on me that, creature of instinct as
she was, she might have arrived at the truth by the clear light of
intuition.
I went swiftly towards her.
There was no time for her to evade me, but she shrank back into the
shadow as I approached her.
“Why are you watching me?” I said as gently as I could, putting out my
hands nervously.
She shrank back, thrusting me from her.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me.”
Her voice was low, tense with a latent hysteria, which must have
caused her an immense effort to control.
“Why are you watching me?” I asked again.
She looked at me silently, the terror in her eyes growing.
She began to give me a strangely uneasy feeling.
“Oh, it’s horrible, horrible,” she murmured, and then stole away,
moving along the parapet like a ghost.
I was afraid of her, and of what she might do. She was evidently
losing her self-control fast. That she had guessed the truth was
obvious.
I went towards her rooms. They were dark. Perhaps she was still
wandering on the battlements with her unquiet thoughts.
I found my wife sitting up when I returned. She had been with Lady
Gascoyne.
“Such an utter loneliness, Israel. It is terrible. She seems to have
lost all interest in life. I have never seen such desolation.”
People have a way of being superlative when talking of those in grief.
I, too, was very sorry for Lady Gascoyne, but though she had no
children, she had everything else in the world to console her.
I comforted my wife and took her in my arms, wondering curiously
whether this would be the last night we should spend together, which,
indeed, it turned out to be.
The next day the inquest was resumed. None of the ladies of the castle
were present. Mr. Gascoyne—or Lord Gascoyne, as he was now
called—looked haggard and worn, and, as I thought, avoided my eye. His
manner, however, was extraordinarily kindly.
The servants were recalled and closely re-examined. They were still
quite consistent.
The bottle of claret had been opened and decanted by Waters. He had
placed it on the sideboard. No one else had touched it. The servants
were all devoted to their master. There was not the slightest reason
or motive for foul play on their part.
I noticed the detective sitting with the representatives of the county
police, the chief constable himself being present. I smiled grimly as
I surveyed all the materials for a very dramatic arrest.
The coroner then called me.
“After the ladies had withdrawn from the dinner-table on the evening
in question you were left alone with Lord Gascoyne?”
“That is so.”
“He was called out of the room and a servant entered whilst he was
away?”
“Yes.”
“Who declares that you had in your hand the claret decanter from which
Lord Gascoyne had been drinking.”
“I don’t remember. The servant took the decanter from me and poured
out some port.”
It was just as well I admitted this, for the servant’s statement
received curious corroboration.
“That will do.”
The next two witnesses were disconcerting. They were the chemist from
whom I had bought the arsenic and his assistant. I was confronted with
every proof of my folly.
I shall never forget the awful grayness which came over Lord
Gascoyne’s face when these witnesses gave their evidence. I noticed
that when they had finished everyone avoided looking at me. They
seemed afraid. The case appeared so simple that at first it also
appeared incredible. Those around hardly grasped it.
The coroner asked me if I would like to explain why I had bought the
arsenic.
Perhaps I made a mistake in saying that I used it as a tonic.
“Had I been in the habit of doing so?” was the next question.
“Yes, I had done so before.”
“Have you ever bought arsenic from that chemist before?”
“No.”
Here the family lawyer interposed, advising me to be very careful of
my answers. I was not obliged to reply to anything which might
incriminate me.
There was nothing more to be done. Towards the end of the inquest the
chief constable crossed to my side, and, sitting down in quite a
friendly manner, asked me to accompany him after the inquest into the
next room.
The jury, evidently taking into consideration the fact that I was the
next heir, that I had arsenic in my possession, that there was every
motive, and that I was the only person who could have done it,
returned a verdict of ‘Wilful murder’ against me. In my own eyes I
stood convicted as the veriest bungler who ever danced at the end of a
few yards of rope.
Lord Gascoyne was inexpressibly horrified, and there was a something
in his face which I had not seen before. Was it suspicion? Perhaps he
was thinking of the occasion when he learned that I was in the
Lowhaven hotel at the time of his son’s death. Truly I had made some
inexcusable mistakes.
If nothing succeeds like success, it is also true that nothing fails
like failure.
I found it somewhat difficult to play a sentimental role which should
be convincing. I felt that I ought to take a dramatic farewell of my
wife. Scenes of this sort, however, were distasteful to me. I asked
Lord Gascoyne to go and explain the situation to her, and when she
arrived I received her with a manner which entirely forbade any
outward expression of anguish. To do her justice, she was not the kind
of woman who was likely to make a scene. She displayed the most
perfect self-control, although I could see that she was suffering
acutely. It came as a terrible blow to her. No suspicion, I am sure,
of the possibility of such a thing had before entered her mind. I
don’t think anybody really thought me guilty, which was, to say the
least of it, peculiar, for it seemed to me as though the evidence were
plain enough. From his manner the chief constable might have been
driving me over to his place to stay for a day or two, and the first
intimation I received of the unpleasant reality of the situation was
the passing under the great gates of the county prison and the
knowledge that for the future I was not free to go where I liked.