CHAPTER X
"HANGING EVIDENCE"
Isobel came into the room and approached the chair from which I hadarisen. In her plain morning frock, with the sun bringing out thosewonderful russet tints in her hair, but having that frightened lookstill in her eyes, she had never seemed more beautiful. Yet I saw as Irose to greet her that she was laboring under the influence ofdangerous nervous excitement.
"You are worried about Eric?" I said, when we had exchanged thoserather formal greetings in which I think we took mutual shelter.Certainly I did, and later I was to know that Isobel did so, too.
"Every day seems to make the case grow blacker against him," shereplied, sinking down upon the settee beside me.
And indeed the shadow which had fallen upon all of us seemed at thatmoment almost palpable--a thing to be felt like the darkness of Egyptand not to be dispelled even by the brightness of the morning.
"When did you last see Coverly?"
Isobel raised her head wearily.
"Last night, and he seemed to think that some one was following him--adetective."
I noticed that Isobel spoke of Eric Coverly with a certain manner ofrestraint for which I could not account. Yet perhaps it was onlynatural that she should do so, but at the time I was foolishly blindto the opposing emotions which fought and conflicted within her.
"He still refused to explain his movements on the night of themurder?" I asked.
"Yes, he persisted in his extraordinary silence," said Isobel.
The look of trouble in her eyes grew more acute.
"What I cannot understand is a sort of attitude of resentment which hehas lately adopted."
"Of resentment? Towards whom?"
"Towards _me_."
"But--"
"Oh, it's quite incomprehensible, Jack, and it is making me horriblyunhappy. He complained so bitterly too about this police surveillanceto which he is subjected. He realizes that the coroner is almostcertain to put a wrong construction on his silence, but instead ofbeing frank about it he adopts, even when alone with me, thisincomprehensible attitude of resentment. In fact his behavior almostsuggests that _I_ am responsible for his present misfortunes."
"He must be mad," I said, and I expect I spoke bitterly, for Isobellowered her eyes and her face flushed with embarrassment.
"Don't think that I condemn him," I added hastily, "but really injustice to you, if not in order to clear his own good name, he shouldspeak out at once. Are you expecting to see him to-day?"
Isobel nodded.
"I am expecting him at almost any moment," she replied; then glancingaside at a number of daily papers which lay littered upon the floorbeside the settee: "Of course you have seen what the press has to sayabout it?" she added.
I nodded.
"What can you expect?" said I. "It is one of those cases in whichpractically all the evidence, although it is of a purelycircumstantial nature, points to an innocent man as the culprit. Ifeel very keenly annoyed with Coverly, for not only is he involvingboth of you in a most unsavory case but he is also hindering the workof justice. In fact by his inexplicable silence he is, although nodoubt unconsciously, affording the murderer time to elude the law."
Even as I spoke the words I heard a cab draw up in the street below,and glancing out of the window, I saw Coverly alight from the cab, paythe man and enter the doorway. His bearing was oddly furtive, that, asI thought with a sudden pang, of a fugitive. A few moments later hecame into the room and his expression when he found me there was oneof marked hostility.
Eric Coverly bore no resemblance whatever to the deceased baronet fromwhom he inherited the title, belonging as he did to quite anotherbranch of the family. Whereas Sir Marcus had been of a dark and sallowtype, Eric Coverly was one of those fair, fresh-colored, open-airEnglish types, handsome in an undistinguished way, and as a rule of alight and careless disposition. There had never been any very closesympathy between us, for the studies to which I devoted so much timewere by him regarded as frankly laughable absurdities. Although wellenough informed, he was typical of his class, and no one could justlyhave catalogued him as an intellectual.
"Good morning, Addison," he said, having greeted Isobel in aperfunctory fashion which I assumed to be accounted for by myunwelcome presence. "The men of your Fleet Street tribe have conspiredto hang me, I see."
"Don't talk nonsense, Coverly," I said bruskly; "this misapprehensionis bound to arise if you decline to give any account of yourmovements."
"But it is an outrage!" cried Coverly hotly. "What the devil do _I_know about Marcus's death?"
"I am perfectly convinced that you know nothing whatever; but then Ihave known you for many years. The 'Fleet Street tribe' to whom yourefer merely regard you as a unit of our rather large population. In acase of this kind, Coverly, all men are equal."
Whilst I had been delivering myself of this somewhat priggishspeech--designed, I may add, in self-defense, to spur Coverly to arejoinder which might throw some light upon the mystery--he hadregarded me with an expression of ever increasing dislike. I notedthat there were shadows under his eyes, and that he was in a highlynervous and excited condition. He had slept but little I judged duringthe last forty-eight hours and had possibly had recourse to stimulantsto enable him to face the new trials which arose with every day.
"I don't feel called upon," he said angrily, "to give an account of mymovements to every policeman who cares to inquire. I know nothingwhatever about the matter. I have said so, and I am not accustomed tohave my word doubted."
"My dear Coverly," said I, "you must be perfectly well aware thatsooner or later you will have to relinquish this heroic pose. Will youallow no one to advise you? You will have to answer the coroner, andif you persist in this extraordinary refusal to give a simple answerto a simple question, surely you realize that the matter will betransferred to a higher tribunal?"
"Oh, I told you that they had hanged me in Fleet Street already,Isobel!" cried Coverly, with a burst of unmirthful laughter.
But (and no man could have construed the thing favorably to Coverly)to my anger and amazement he added:
"Let them do it! I'll speak if I choose, but not otherwise!"
That I was annoyed with the young fool already, my remarks to him,which had transgressed every code of good taste, must sufficientlyhave shown. But I had hoped to provoke him to a declaration whichwould clear his name from the shadow which was settling darkly uponit, and which would raise that shadow from the girl who stood besidehim, watching me with a sort of reproachful look in her dark eyes.
Now I recognized that I could remain no longer and keep the peace,therefore:
"Perhaps it is time that I went about my own business," I said,conjuring up a smile, although it must have been a dreary one, "andceased to interfere with the affairs of other people. Good-by, Isobel.Anything I can do, you know you may command. Good-by, Coverly. I amdeeply sorry about this business."
He barely touched my extended hand, but instantly turned and walked tothe bay window. Descending to the street, I had immediate confirmationof Coverly's statement that his movements were watched.
In the porch below a man stood talking to the hall-porter. As Iappeared he immediately averted his face and began to light acigarette. Nevertheless I had had time to recognize him as the man whohad brought Gatton news of Marie's detention.
It was in a truly perturbed frame of mind that I proceeded on my wayto the _Planet_ offices. I would have sacrificed much to have beenafforded means to comfort Isobel; a furious anger towards the man whothus deliberately had brought doubt and unhappiness upon her had takenup permanent quarters in my mind. I counted Coverly's declination toclear himself little better than the attitude of a cad.
I read religiously through a pile of cuttings bearing upon the case,and found the unmistakable trend of opinion to be directed towardsCoverly as the culprit. The use made of Isobel's name enraged me toboiling point and I presently took up the entire bundle of cuttingsand crammed them into a waste-paper bas
ket. I was engaged in stampingthem down with my foot when I was called to the telephone.
Inspector Gatton was speaking from New Scotland Yard; and his voicewas very grave.
"Can you possibly come along at once?" he asked. "There is a newdevelopment; a most unpleasant one."
He would say no more over the telephone. Therefore I hurried out towhere Coates was waiting, and in ten minutes found myself in one ofthose bare, comfortless apartments which characterize the headquartersof the Metropolitan Police Force.
With his hat off Gatton looked more like a seaman than ever, for hehad short, crisply curly hair and that kind of bull-dog line ofcranium which one associates with members of the senior service. Upona chair set in a recess formed by one of the lofty windows a leathergrip rested. It was wet and stained, and had palpably been recoveredbut recently from the water. Seeing my glance straying towards thisobject at the moment of my entrance, the Inspector nodded.
"Yes," said he, "it has just come in."
"What is it?"
"Well," replied Gatton, sitting upon a corner of the table and foldinghis arms, "it is a piece of evidence sufficient to hang the mostinnocent man breathing."
He eyed me in a significant manner and I felt my heart beginning tobeat more rapidly.
"May I know the particulars?"
"Certainly. I asked you to come along for the purpose of telling you.Sir Eric Coverly's refusal to answer the questions put to him hadnecessitated his being watched, as you know. I mean to say, it'ssheerly automatic; the Commissioner himself couldn't make anexception. Well, last night he left his chambers and started for MissMerlin's flat. He came out of a back door and went along a narrowpassage, instead of going out at the front. He evidently thought hehad got away unobserved. He was carrying--that."
"Good heavens!" I said. "The young fool seems determined to put a ropearound his own neck."
"As a matter of fact," continued Gatton, "he was _not_ unobserved. Hewas followed right across St. James's Park. By the lake he lingeredfor some time; and the man tracking him kept carefully out of sight,of course. There was nobody else about at the moment, and presently,thinking himself safe, Coverly dropped his bag in the water!Immediately he set off walking rapidly again, and he was followedright to Miss Merlin's door. But the spot where he had dropped the baghad been marked, of course, and when I came in here to-day it had beenfished, up--and placed there for my inspection."
With ever-growing misgivings:
"What does it contain?" I asked.
Inspector Gatton walked across to the chair and threw the bag open.First he took out several lumps of wet coal.
"To weight it, of course," he said.
Then one by one he withdrew from the clammy interior a series ofragged garments, the garments of a tramp. A pair of heavy boots therewere, a pair of patched trousers and an old shabby coat, a greasy cap,and finally a threadbare red muffler!
Gatton looked hard at me.
"He will have to break his obstinate silence now," he said. "Failingour discovery of new clews pointing in another direction, this ishanging evidence!"
"It is maddening!" I cried. "Can nothing be done, Gatton? Is there nopossible line of inquiry hitherto neglected which might lead to thediscovery of the truth? For whatever your own ideas may be, personallyI am certain that Coverly is innocent."
Gatton replaced the sodden garments one by one in the bag, frowning ashe did so, and:
"It occurred to me this morning," he replied, "that there _is_ oneinquiry which in justice to the suspected man and in order to roundoff the investigation, should be instituted. I'm afraid Coverly willhave a bad time in the Coroner's court, but it is even possible thatsomething might be done before the inquest. Now--"
He looked at me quizzically, and:
"Knowing your keen personal interest in the case, I am going to make asuggestion. It is probably going outside the intentions of the chiefin regard to your share of the inquiry, but I'll risk that. Istipulate, however, that anything you learn is to be communicateddirect to me, not to the _Planet_. Is this arrangement consistent withyour journalistic conscience?"
"Quite," I said eagerly; "my contributions to the _Planet_ are alwayssubject, of course, to your censorship. What is it that you propose Ishould do?"
"This," said Gatton tersely; "I should like to know under whatcircumstances Mr. Roger Coverly died."
"Roger Coverly?" I echoed.
"The son of Sir Burnham Coverly," continued Gatton, "and therefore thedirect heir to the title. He died somewhere abroad about five or sixyears ago, and as a result the late Sir Marcus inherited the baronetcyon the death of his uncle, Sir Burnham. You will remember that theman, Morris, spoke of the ill-feeling existing between Lady BurnhamCoverly and Sir Marcus, because of the premature death of her own son,of course."
"I follow you," I said eagerly. "You suggest that I should go down toFriar's Park and interview Lady Burnham Coverly?"
"Exactly," replied Gatton. "It's very irregular, of course, but I knowyou well enough to take my chance of a carpeting. I may send a C.I.D.man down as well. I've too much to do in town to think of goingmyself; but I will advise you of any such step."
The motive underlying Inspector Gatton's suggestion was perfectlyevident to me and I experienced a feeling of gratitude for thehumanity which directed it. I held out my hand, and:
"Thanks, Gatton," I said; "you can leave the matter in my care withevery confidence. I will start for Friar's Park to-day."
"Good," replied Gatton. "Let me give you a hint. Take a good pistolwith you!"