CHAPTER V.
THE INQUEST.
It was six o'clock, and already quite dark, when, as Lieutenant Gulstonwas writing in his cabin, his servant told him that Dr. Mackenzie hadjust come off from the shore, and would be glad if he could spare him afew minutes' conversation.
"Tell him I will be on the quarter-deck in a minute." He added a fewlines to the letter he was writing, put it in an envelope, and, takinghis cap, went out, dropping the letter into the post-bag that hung nearhis cabin, and then went on to the quarter-deck. He was rather pleasedwith the doctor's summons, for he highly esteemed him, and regretted theslight estrangement which had arisen between them.
"Well, doctor," he asked, cheerily, "have some of the men been gettinginto mischief ashore?"
"No, lad, no," the doctor replied, and the first-lieutenant felt thatsomething more serious was the matter, for since he had obtained hisrank of first-lieutenant the doctor had dropped his former habit ofcalling him lad. "No, I have heard some news ashore that will affect youseriously. I am sorry, dear lad, very sorry. I may have thought that youwere foolish, but that will make no difference now."
"What is it, doctor?" Lieutenant Gulston asked, with a vague alarm atthe gravity of the doctor's manner of treating him.
"The evening papers came out with an early edition, Gulston, and theboys are shouting out the news of a terrible affair, a most terribleaffair at your friends the Carnes'. Be steady, lad, be steady. It's aheavy blow for a man to have to bear. Miss Carne is dead."
"Dead! Margaret dead!" the lieutenant repeated, incredulously. "What areyou saying, doctor? There must be some mistake. She was well yesterday,for I was over there in the evening and did not leave until nineo'clock. It can't be true."
"It is true, lad, unhappily; there is no mistake. She was found dead inher bed this morning."
The lieutenant was almost stunned by the blow.
"Good God!" he murmured. "It seems impossible."
The doctor walked away and left him for a minute or two to himself. "Ihave not told you all as yet, lad," he went on, when he returned; "itmakes no difference to her, poor girl--none. She passed out of life, itseems, painlessly and instantly, but it is worse for those who areleft."
He paused a moment. "She was found stabbed to the heart by a midnightrobber."
An exclamation of horror broke from the sailor. "Murdered? GoodHeavens!"
"Ay, lad, it is true. It seems to have been done in her sleep, and deathwas instantaneous. There, I will leave you for a while, now. I will putthe paper in your cabin, so that when you feel equal to reading thedetails you can do so. Try and think it is all for the best, lad. No oneknows what trouble might have darkened her life and yours had this thingnot happened. I know you will not be able to think so now, but you willfeel it so some day."
An hour later Lieutenant Gulston entered the doctor's cabin. There was alook of anger as well as of grief on his face that the doctor did notunderstand.
"Doctor, I believe this is no murder by a wandering tramp, as the papersays. I believe it was done from revenge, and that the things werestolen simply to throw people off the scent. I will tell you what tookplace yesterday. I drove up as far as the gate in the garden; there oneroad sweeps round in front of the house, the other goes straight to thestables; so I got down, and told the man he might as well drive straightin, while I walked up to the house. The road follows close under thedrawing-room windows, and, one of these being open, as I passed I hearda man's voice raised loud in anger, so loudly and so passionately,indeed, that I involuntarily stopped. His words were, as nearly as I canrecollect, 'You have fooled me and spoilt my life, but you shall regretit. You think after all these years I am to be thrown off like an oldglove. No, by Heaven; you may throw me over, but I swear you shall nevermarry this sailor or anybody else, whatever I may have to do to preventit. You say I have the curse of the Carnes in my blood! You are right,and you shall have cause to regret it.' The voice was so loud andpassionate that I believed the speaker was about to do some injury toMargaret, for I did not doubt that it was to her he was speaking, and Iran round through the hall-door to the door of the room; but I foundCarne himself standing there. He, too, I suppose, when he had been aboutto enter, had heard the words. He said, 'Don't go in just at present,Margaret and her cousin are having a quarrel, but I think it's overnow.' Seeing that he was there at hand I went away for a bit, and foundafterwards that Mervyn had jumped from the window, gone to the stableand ridden straight off. Margaret didn't come down to dinner, making anexcuse that she was unwell. Now, what do you think of that, doctor? Youknow that Mervyn's mother was a Carne, and that he has this mad bloodthat you warned me against in his veins. There is his threat, given inwhat was an almost mad outburst of passion. She is found dead thismorning; what do you think of it?"
"I don't know what to think of it, Gulston; I know but little of Mervynmyself, but I have heard men in his regiment say that he was a queerfellow, and though generally a most cheery and pleasant companion, hehas at times fits of silence and moroseness similar, I should say, tothose of his cousin, Reginald Carne. It is possible, lad, though I don'tlike to think so. When there is madness in the blood no one can say whenit may blaze out, or what course it can take. The idea is a terribleone, and yet it is possible; it may indeed be so, for the madness in thefamily has twice before led to murder. The presumption is certainly agrave one, for although his messmates may consider Mervyn to be, as theysay, a queer fellow, I do not think you would find any of them to say hewas mad, or anything like it. Remember, Gulston, this would be aterrible accusation to bring against any man, even if he can prove--asprobably he can prove--that he was at home, or here in Plymouth, at thetime of the murder. The charge that he is mad, and the notoriety such acharge would obtain, is enough to ruin a man for life."
"I can't help that," the lieutenant said, gloomily. "I heard himthreaten Margaret, and I shall say so at the coroner's inquestto-morrow. If a man is such a coward as to threaten a woman he must putup with any consequences that may happen to befall him."
The coroner and jury met in the dining-room at The Hold; they were allCarnesford men. Hiram Powlett, Jacob Carey, and the landlord of the"Carne's Arms" were upon it, for the summoning officer had been carefulto choose on such an important occasion the leading men of the village.After having gone upstairs to view the body, the coroner opened theproceedings. The room was crowded. Many of the gentry of theneighbourhood were present. Lieutenant Gulston, with a hard set lookupon his face, stood in a corner of the room with the doctor beside him.Ronald Mervyn, looking, as some of the Carnesford people remarked in awhisper, ten years older than he did when he drove through the village afew days before, stood on the other side of the table talking in lowtones to some of his neighbours.
"We shall first, gentlemen," the coroner said, "hear evidence as to thefinding of the body. Ruth Powlett, the maid of the deceased lady, is thefirst witness."
A minute later there was a stir at the door, and Ruth was led in by aconstable. She was evidently so weak and unhinged that the coroner toldher to take a chair.
"Now, Miss Powlett, tell us what you saw when you entered yourmistress's room."
"Upon opening the door," Ruth said, in a calmer and more steady voicethan was expected from her appearance, "I saw that the window was openand the blind up. I was surprised at this, for Miss Carne did not sleepwith her window open in winter, and the blind was always down. I walkedstraight to the washstand and placed the can of hot water there; then Iturned round to wake Miss Carne, and I saw her lying there with a greatpatch of blood on her nightdress, and I knew by her face that she wasdead. Then I fainted. I do not know how long I lay there. When I came tomyself I got up and went to the door, and went downstairs to the kitchenand gave the alarm."
"You did not notice that any of Miss Carne's things had been taken fromthe table?" the coroner asked.
"No, sir."
"Were there any signs of a struggle having taken place?"
"No, sir, I did n
ot see any. Miss Carne lay as if she was sleepingquietly. She was lying on her side."
"The bedclothes were not disarranged?"
"No, sir, except that the clothes were turned down a short distance."
"You were greatly attached to your mistress, Miss Powlett?"
"Yes, sir."
"She was generally liked--was she not?"
"Yes, sir. Every one who knew Miss Carne was fond of her."
"Have any of you any further questions to ask?" the coroner asked thejury.
There was no reply.
"Thank you, Miss Powlett. I will not trouble you further at present."
The cook then gave her testimony, and Dr. Arrowsmith was next called. Hetestified to the effect that upon his arrival he found that the room hadnot been disturbed in any way; no one had entered it with the exception,as he understood, of Miss Carne's maid, the cook, and Mr. Carne. Thedoor was locked. When he went in, he found the deceased was dead, and itwas his opinion, from the coldness and rigidity of the body, that shemust have been dead seven or eight hours. It was just nine o'clock whenhe arrived. He should think, therefore, that death had taken placebetween one and half-past two in the morning. Death had been caused by astab given either with a knife or dagger. The blow was exactly over theheart, and extended down into the substance of the heart itself. Deathmust have been absolutely instantaneous. Deceased lay in a naturalposition, as if asleep. The clothes had been turned down about a foot,just low enough to uncover the region of the heart.
After making an examination of the body, he examined the room with theconstable, and found that a jewel-box on the table was open and itscontents gone. The watch and chain of the deceased had also disappeared.He looked out of the window, and saw that it could be entered by anactive man by climbing up a thick stem of ivy that grew close by. Heobserved several leaves lying on the ground, and was of the opinion thatthe assassin entered there.
"From what you say, Dr. Arrowsmith, it is your opinion that no struggletook place?"
"I am sure that there was no struggle," the doctor replied. "I have noquestion that Miss Carne was murdered in her sleep. I should say thatthe bedclothes were drawn down so lightly that she was not disturbed."
"Does it not appear an extraordinary thing to you, Dr. Arrowsmith, thatif, as it seems, Miss Carne did not awake, the murderer should havetaken her life?"
"Very extraordinary," the doctor said, emphatically. "I am wholly unableto account for it. I can understand that had she woke and sat up, aburglar might have killed her to secure his own safety, but that heshould have quietly and deliberately set himself to murder her in hersleep is to me most extraordinary."
"You will note this circumstance, gentlemen," the coroner said to thejury. "It is quite contrary to one's usual experiences in these cases.As a rule, thieves are not murderers. To secure their own safety theymay take life, but as a rule they avoid running the risk of capitalpunishment, and their object is to effect robbery without rousing theinmates of the house. At present the evidence certainly points topremeditated murder rather than to murder arising out of robbery. It istrue that robbery has taken place, but this might be merely a blind."
"You know of no one, Dr. Arrowsmith, who would have been likely toentertain any feeling of hostility against Miss Carne?"
"Certainly not, sir. She was, I should say, universally popular, andcertainly among the people of Carnesford she was regarded with greataffection, for she was continually doing good among them."
"I am prepared to give evidence on that point," a voice said from thecorner of the room, and there was a general movement of surprise asevery one turned round to look at the speaker.
"Then perhaps, sir, we may as well hear your evidence next," the coronersaid, "because it may throw some light upon the matter and enable us toask questions to the point of further witnesses."
The lieutenant moved forward to the table: "My name is Charles Gulston.I am first-lieutenant of the _Tenebreuse_, the flagship at Plymouth. Ihad the honour of the acquaintance of Mr. and Miss Carne, and have spenta day or two here on several occasions. I may say that I was deeplyattached to Miss Carne, and had hoped some day to make her my wife. Theday before yesterday I came over here upon Mr. Carne's invitation todine and spend the night. His dogcart met me at the station. As we droveup to the last gate--that leading into the garden--I alighted from thetrap and told the man to drive it straight to the stable, while I walkedacross the lawn to the house. The drawing-room window was open, and as Ipassed I heard the voice of a man raised in tones of extreme passion, somuch so that I stopped involuntarily. His words were:
"'You have fooled me and spoilt my life, but you shall regret it. Youthink that after all these years I am to be thrown off like an oldglove. No, by Heaven! You may throw me over, but I vow that you shallnever marry this sailor, or any one else, whatever I may have to do toprevent it. You say I have the curse of the Carnes in my blood. You areright, and you shall have cause to regret it.'
"The words were so loud and the tone so threatening that I ran roundinto the house and to the door, and should have entered it had not Mr.Carne, who was standing there, having apparently just come up, begged menot to do so, saying that his sister and cousin were having a quarrel,but that it was over now. As he was there I went away for a few minutes,and when I returned I found that Miss Carne had gone upstairs, and thather cousin had left, having, as Mr. Carne told me, left by the openwindow."
While Lieutenant Gulston was speaking a deep silence reigned in theroom, and as he mentioned what Reginald Carne had said, every eye turnedtowards Ronald Mervyn, who stood with face as white as death, and onearm with clenched hand across his breast, glaring at the speaker.
"Do you mean, sir----?" he burst out as the lieutenant ceased; but thecoroner at once intervened.
"I must pray you to keep silent for the present, Captain Mervyn. Youwill have every opportunity of speaking presently.
"As to these words that you overheard, Mr. Gulston, did you recognisethe speaker of them before you heard from Mr. Carne who was with hissister in the drawing-room?"
"Certainly. I recognised the voice at once as that of Captain Mervyn,whom I have met on several occasions."
"Were you impressed with his words, or did they strike you as a mereoutburst of temper?"
"I was so impressed with the tone in which they were spoken that I ranround to the drawing-room to protect Miss Carne from violence."
"Was it your impression, upon thinking of them afterwards, that thewords were meant as a menace to Miss Carne?"
"No, sir. The impression left upon my mind was that Captain Mervynintended to fix some quarrel on me, as I had no doubt whatever that itwas to me he alluded in his threats. The matter dwelt in my mind all theevening, for naturally nothing could have been more unpleasant than apublic quarrel with a near relative of a lady to whom one is attached."
There was a long silence. Then the coroner asked the usual question ofthe jurymen.
None of them had a question to ask; indeed, all were so confounded bythis new light thrown upon the matter that they had no power of framinga question.
Job Harpur was then called. He testified to entering the bedroom of thedeceased with Dr. Arrowsmith, and to the examination he had made of it.There he had found the jewel-box opened, its contents abstracted, andthe watch gone. He could find nothing else disarranged in the room, orany trace whatever that would give a clue as to the identity of themurderer. He then looked out of the window with Dr. Arrowsmith, and sawby a few leaves lying on the ground, and by marks upon the bark of theivy, that some one had got up or down.
Dr. Arrowsmith had suggested that he should take up his post there, andnot allow any one to approach, as a careful search might show footstepsor other marks that would be obliterated were people allowed to approachthe window. When Captain Hendricks came they examined the groundtogether. They could find no signs of footsteps, but at a distance ofsome ten yards, at the foot of the wall, they found a torn glove, andthis he produced.
r /> "You have no reason in connecting this with the case in any way, Isuppose, constable?" the coroner asked as the glove was laid on thetable before him. "It might have been lying there for some time, Isuppose."
"It might, sir."
It was a dog-skin glove stitched with red, with three lines of black andred stitching down the back. While the glove was produced and examinedby the jury, Ronald Mervyn was talking in whispers to some friendsstanding round him.
"I wish to draw your attention," Lieutenant Gulston said in a low toneto Captain Hendricks, "that Captain Mervyn is at this moment holding inhis hand a glove that in point of colour exactly matches that on thetable; they are both a brighter yellow than usual." The Chief Constableglanced at the gloves and then whispered to the coroner. The latterstarted, and then said, "Captain Mervyn, would you kindly hand me theglove you have in your hand. It is suggested to me that its colourclosely resembles that of the glove on the table." Mervyn, who had notbeen listening to the last part of the constable's evidence, turnedround upon being spoken to.
"My glove, yes, here it is. What do you want it for?" The coroner tookthe glove and laid it by the other. Colour and stitching matchedexactly; there could be no doubt but that they were a pair. A smotheredexclamation broke from almost every man in the room.
"What is it?" Ronald Mervyn asked.
"The constable has just testified, Captain Mervyn, that he found thisglove a few feet from the window of the deceased. No doubt you canaccount for its being there, but until the matter is explained it has,of course, a somewhat serious aspect, coupled with the evidence ofLieutenant Gulston."
Again Ronald Mervyn whitened to the hair.
"Do I understand, sir," he said in a low voice, "that I am accused of themurder of my cousin?"
"No one is at present accused," the coroner said, quietly. "We are onlytaking the evidence of all who know anything about this matter. I haveno doubt whatever that you will be able to explain the matter perfectly,and to prove that it was physically impossible that you could have hadany connection whatever with it."
Ronald Mervyn passed his hand across his forehead.
"Perhaps," the coroner continued, "if you have the fellow of the glovenow handed to me in your pocket, you will kindly produce it, as thatwill, of course, put an end to this part of the subject."
"I cannot," Ronald Mervyn answered. "I found as I was starting to comeout this morning that one of my gloves was missing, and I may say atonce that I have no doubt that the other glove is the one I lost; thoughhow it can have got near the place where it was found I cannot explain."
The men standing near fell back a little. The evidence given by Mr.Gulston had surprised them, but had scarcely affected their opinion oftheir neighbour, but this strong piece of confirmatory evidence gave aterrible shock to their confidence in him.
Mr. Carne was next called. He testified to being summoned while dressingby the cries of the servants, and to having found his sister lying dead.
"Now, Mr. Carne," the coroner said, "you have heard the evidence ofLieutenant Gulston as to a quarrel that appears to have taken place onthe afternoon of this sad event, between your sister and Captain Mervyn.It seems from what he said that you also overheard a portion of it."
"I beg to state that I attach no importance to this," Reginald Carnesaid, "and I absolutely refuse to give any credence to the suppositionthat my cousin, Captain Mervyn, was in any way instrumental in the deathof my sister."
"We all think that, Mr. Carne, but at the same time I must beg you tosay what you know about the matter."
"I know very little about it," Reginald Carne said, quietly. "I wasabout to enter the drawing-room, where I knew my cousin and my sisterwere, and I certainly heard his voice raised loudly. I opened the doorquietly, as is my way, and was about to enter, when I heard words thatshowed me that the quarrel was somewhat serious. I felt that I hadbetter leave them alone, and therefore quietly closed the door again. Afew seconds later Lieutenant Gulston rushed in from the front door, andwas about to enter when I stopped him. Seeing that it was a mere familywrangle, it was better that no third person should interfere in it,especially as I myself was at hand, ready to do so if necessary, which Iwas sure it was not."
"But what were the words that you overheard, Mr. Carne?"
Reginald Carne hesitated. "I do not think they were of any consequence"he said. "I am sure they were spoken on the heat of the moment, andmeant nothing."
"That is for us to judge, Mr. Carne. I must thank you to give them us asnearly as you can recollect."
"He said then," Reginald Carne said, reluctantly, "'I swear you shallnever marry this sailor or any one else, whatever I may have to do toprevent it.' That was all I heard."
"Do you suppose the allusion was to Lieutenant Gulston?"
"I thought so at the time, and that was one of the reasons why I did notwish him to enter. I thought by my cousin's tone that did LieutenantGulston enter at that moment an assault might take place."
"What happened after the lieutenant, in compliance with your request,left you?"
"I waited a minute or two and then went in. My sister was alone. She wasnaturally much vexed at what had taken place."
"Will you tell me exactly what she said?"
Again Reginald Carne hesitated.
"I really don't think," he said after a pause, "that my sister meantwhat she said. She was indignant and excited, and I don't think that herwords could be taken as evidence."
"The jury will make all allowances, Mr. Carne. I have to ask you to tellthem the words."
"I cannot tell you the precise words," he said, "for she spoke for somelittle time. She began by saying that she had been grossly insulted byher cousin, and that she must insist that he did not enter the houseagain, for if he did she would certainly leave it. She said he was madwith passion; that he was in such a state that she did not feel her lifewas safe with him. I am sure, gentlemen, she did not at all mean whatshe said, but she was in a passion herself and would, I am sure, whenshe was cool, have spoken very differently."
There was a deep silence in the room. At last the coroner said:
"Just two more questions, Mr. Carne, and then we have done. CaptainMervyn, you say, had left the room when you entered it. Is there anyother door to the drawing-room than that at which you were standing?"
"No, sir, there is no other door; the window was wide open, and as it isonly three feet from the ground I have no doubt he went out that way. Iheard him gallop off a minute or two later, so that he must have runstraight round to the stables."
"In going from the drawing-room window to the stables, would he passunder the window of your sister's room?"
"No," Reginald replied. "That is quite the other side of the house."
"Then, in fact, the glove that was found there could not have beenaccidentally dropped on his way from the drawing-room to the stable?"
"It could not," Reginald Carne admitted, reluctantly.
"Thank you; if none of the jury wish to ask you any question, that isall we shall require at present."
The jury shook their heads. They were altogether too horrified at theturn matters were taking to think of any questions to the point. TheChief Constable then called the gardener, who testified that he hadswept the lawn on the afternoon of the day the murder was committed, andthat had a glove been lying at that time on the spot where it wasdiscovered he must have noticed it.
When the man had done, Captain Hendricks intimated that that was all theevidence that he had at present to call.
"Now, Captain Mervyn," the coroner said, "you will have an opportunityof explaining this matter, and, no doubt, will be able to tell us whereyou were at the time Miss Carne met her death, and to produce witnesseswho will at once set this mysterious affair, as far as you areconcerned, at rest."
Ronald Mervyn made a step forward. He was still very pale, but the lookof anger with which he had first heard the evidence against him hadpassed, and his face was grave and quiet.
"I admit, sir," he began in a steady voice, "the whole facts that havebeen testified. I acknowledge that on that afternoon I had a seriousquarrel with my cousin, Margaret Carne. The subject is a painful one totouch upon, but I am compelled to do so. I had almost from boyhoodregarded her as my future wife. There was a boy and girl understandingbetween us to that effect, and although no formal engagement had takenplace, she had never said anything to lead me to believe that she hadchanged her mind on the subject; and I think I may say that in both ofour families it was considered probable that at some time or other weshould be married.
"On that afternoon I spoke sharply to her--I admit that--as to herreceiving the attentions of another man; and upon her denying altogethermy right to speak to her on such a subject, and repudiating the idea ofany engagement between us, I certainly, I admit it with the greatestgrief, lost my temper. Unfortunately I have been from a child given tooccasional fits of passion. It is long since I have done so, but uponthis occasion the suddenness of the shock, and the bitterness of mydisappointment, carried me beyond myself, and I admit that I used thewords that Lieutenant Gulston has repeated to you. But I declare that Ihad no idea whatever, even at that moment, of making any personal threatagainst her. What was in my mind was to endeavour in some way or otherto prevent her marrying another man."
Here he paused for a minute. So far the effect of his words had beenmost favourable, and as he stopped, his friends breathed more easily,and the jury furtively nodded to each other with an air of relief.
"As to the glove," Ronald Mervyn went on, deliberately, "I cannotaccount for its being in the place where it was found. I certainly hadboth gloves on when I rode over here; how I lost it, or where I lost it,I am wholly unable to say. I may also add that I admit that I wentdirect from the drawing-room to the stable, and did not pass round theside of the house where the glove was found." He again paused. "As towhere I was between one o'clock and half-past two the next morning, Ican give you no evidence whatever." A gasp of dismay broke from almostevery one in the room.
"It was becoming dark when I mounted my horse," he said, "and I rodestraight away; it is my custom, as my fellow-officers will tell you,when I am out of spirits, or anything has upset me, to ride away forhours until the fit has left me, and I have sometimes been out allnight. It was so on this occasion. I mounted and rode away. I cannot saywhich road I took, for when I ride upon such occasions, I am absorbed inmy thoughts and my horse goes where he will. Of myself, I do not knowexactly at what hour I got home, but I asked the stableman, who took myhorse, next morning, and he said the clock over the stable-gate had juststruck half-past three when I rode in. I do not know that I haveanything more to say."
The silence was almost oppressive for a minute or two after he hadfinished, and then the coroner said: "The room will now be cleared ofall except the jury."
The public trooped out in silence. Each man looked in his neighbour'sface to see what he thought, but no one ventured upon a word until theyhad gone through the hall and out into the garden. Then they broke up inlittle knots, and began in low tones to discuss the scene in thedining-room. The shock given by the news of the murder of Miss Carne wasscarcely greater than that which had now been caused by the proceedingsbefore the coroner. A greater part of those present at the inquest werepersonal friends of the Carnes, together with three or four farmershaving large holdings under them. Very few of the villagers werepresent, it being felt that although, no doubt, every one had a right toadmission to the inquest, it was not for folks at Carnesford to thrustthemselves into the affairs of the family at The Hold.
Ronald Mervyn had, like the rest, left the room when it was cleared. Ashe went out into the garden, two or three of his friends were about tospeak to him, but he turned off with a wave of the hand, and paced upand down the front of the house, walking slowly, with his head bent.
"This is a horribly awkward business for Mervyn," one of the young men,who would have spoken to him, said. "Of course Mervyn is innocent; stillit is most unfortunate that he can't prove where he was."
"Most unfortunate," another repeated. "Then there's that affair of theglove and the quarrel. Things look very awkward, I must say. Of course,I don't believe for a moment Mervyn did it, because we know him, but Idon't know what view a jury of strangers might take of it."
Two or three of the others were silent. There was present in their mindsthe story of The Hold, and the admitted fact of insanity in the familyof Ronald Mervyn, which was in close connection with the Carnes. Had itbeen any one else they, too, would have disbelieved the possibility ofRonald Mervyn having murdered Margaret Carne. As it was, they doubted:there had been other murders in the history of the Carnes. But no onegave utterance to these thoughts, they were all friends or acquaintancesof the Mervyn family. Ronald might yet be able to clear himselfcompletely. At any rate, at present no one was inclined to admit thatthere could be any doubt of his innocence.
"Well, what do you think, doctor, now?" Lieutenant Gulston asked hisfriend, as separated from the rest they strolled across the garden.
"I don't quite know what to think," Dr. Mackenzie said, after a pause.
"No?" Gulston said in surprise. "Why it seems to me as clear as the sunat noon-day. What I heard seemed pretty conclusive. Now there is theconfirmation of the finding of the glove, and this cock and bull storyof his riding about for hours and not knowing where he was."
"Yes, I give due weight to these things," the doctor said, after anotherpause, "and admit that they constitute formidable circumstantialevidence. I can't account for the glove being found there. I admit thatis certainly an awkward fact to get over. The ride I regard asunfortunate rather than damnatory, especially if, as he says, his fellowofficers can prove that at times, when upset, he was in the habit ofgoing off for hours on horseback."
"But who else could have done it, Mackenzie? You see the evidence of thedoctor went to show that she was murdered when asleep; no common burglarwould have taken life needlessly, and have run the risk of hanging; thewhole thing points to the fact that it was done out of revenge or out ofill-feeling of some sort, and has it not been shown that there is not asoul in the world except Mervyn who had a shadow of ill-feeling againsther?"
"No, that has not been shown," the doctor said, quietly. "No one was herenemy, so far as the witnesses who were asked knew; but that is a verydifferent thing; it's a very difficult thing to prove that any one inthe world has no enemies. Miss Carne may have had some; some servant mayhave been discharged upon her complaint, she may have given deep offenceto some one or other. There is never any saying."
"Of course that is possible," said the lieutenant again, "but theevidence all goes against one man, who is known to have an enmityagainst her, and who has, to say the least of it, a taint of insanity inhis blood. What are the grounds on which you doubt?"
"Principally on his own statement, Gulston. I watched him narrowly fromthe time that you gave your evidence, and I own that my impression isthat he is innocent. I give every weight to your evidence and thatafforded by the glove, and to his being unable to prove where he was;and yet, alike from his face, his manner, and the tone of his voice, Ido not think that he is capable of murder."
No other words were spoken for some time, then the lieutenant asked:
"Do you think that an insane person could commit a crime of this kindand have no memory of it in their saner moments?"
"That is a difficult question, Gulston. I do believe that a person in asudden paroxysm of madness might commit a murder, and upon his recoverybe perfectly unconscious of it; but I do not for a moment believe that amadman sufficiently sane to act with the cunning here shown in the modeof obtaining access, by the quiet stealthiness in which the victim waskilled whilst in her sleep, and by the attempt to divert suspicion bythe abstraction of the trinkets, would lose all memory of his actionsafterwards. If Captain Mervyn did this thing, I am sure he would beconscious of it, and I am convinced, as I said, that he is notconscious."
"What will the jury thin
k?" the lieutenant asked after a long pause.
"I think they are sure to return a verdict against him. A coroner's juryare not supposed to go to the bottom of a matter; they are simply todeclare whether there is _prima facie_ evidence connecting any one witha crime; such evidence as is sufficient to justify them in coming to aconclusion that it should at any rate be further examined into. It's avery different thing with a jury at a trial; they have the whole of theevidence that can be obtained before them. They have all the light thatcan be thrown on the question by the counsel on both sides, and theassistance of the summing-up of the judge, and have then to decide ifthe guilt of the man is absolutely proven. A coroner's jury is notsupposed to go into the whole merits of the case, and their findingmeans no more than the decision of a magistrate to commit a prisoner fortrial. I think the coroner will tell the jury that in this case suchevidence as there is before them points to the fact that Captain Mervyncommitted this murder, and that it will be their duty to find such averdict as will ensure the case being further gone into."
"Most of the jury are tenants of the Carnes," Gulston said; "two orthree of them I know are, for I met them at the inn when I was over herefishing. They will scarcely like to find against a relation of thefamily."
"I don't suppose they will," the doctor argued, "but at the same timethe coroner will not improbably point out to them that their verdictwill simply lead to further investigation of the case, and that even forCaptain Mervyn's own sake it is desirable that this should take place,for that the matter could not possibly rest here. Were they to acquithim, I imagine the Chief Constable would at once arrest him and bringhim before a magistrate, who, upon hearing a repetition of the evidencegiven to-day, would have no choice but to commit him for trial."
"I suppose he would do that, anyhow?" Lieutenant Gulston said.
"Not necessarily. I fancy a man can be tried upon the finding of acoroner's jury as well as upon that of a magistrate. Perhaps, however,if the coroner's jury finds against him he may be formally brought upbefore the magistrates, and a portion of the evidence heard, sufficientto justify them in committing him for trial. See, people are going intothe house again. Probably they have thrown the door open, and the juryare going to give their finding. I don't think we need go in."