CHAPTER XIX
It seemed to Mrs. Bunting that she had been sitting there a longtime--it was really about a quarter of an hour--when her officialfriend came back.
"Better come along now," he whispered; "it'll begin soon."
She followed him out into a passage, up a row of steep stone steps,and so into the Coroner's Court.
The court was big, well-lighted room, in some ways not unlike achapel, the more so that a kind of gallery ran half-way round, agallery evidently set aside for the general public, for it was nowcrammed to its utmost capacity.
Mrs. Bunting glanced timidly towards the serried row of faces. Hadit not been for her good fortune in meeting the man she was nowfollowing, it was there that she would have had to try and make herway. And she would have failed. Those people had rushed in themoment the doors were opened, pushing, fighting their way in a wayshe could never have pushed or fought.
There were just a few women among them, set, determined-lookingwomen, belonging to every class, but made one by their love ofsensation and their power of forcing their way in where they wantedto be. But the women were few; the great majority of those standingthere were men--men who were also representative of every class ofLondoner.
The centre of the court was like an arena; it was sunk two or threesteps below the surrounding gallery. Just now it was comparativelyclear of people, save for the benches on which sat the men who wereto compose the jury. Some way from these men, huddled together ina kind of big pew, stood seven people--three women and four men.
"D'you see the witnesses?" whispered the inspector, pointing theseout to her. He supposed her to know one of them with familiarknowledge, but, if that were so, she made no sign.
Between the windows, facing the whole room, was a kind of littleplatform, on which stood a desk and an arm-chair. Mrs. Buntingguessed rightly that it was there the coroner would sit. And tothe left of the platform was the witness-stand, also raisedconsiderably above the jury.
Amazingly different, and far, far more grim and awe-inspiring thanthe scene of the inquest which had taken place so long ago, on thatbright April day, in the village inn. There the coroner had sat onthe same level as the jury, and the witnesses had simply steppedforward one by one, and taken their place before him.
Looking round her fearfully, Mrs. Bunting thought she would surelydie if ever she were exposed to the ordeal of standing in thatcurious box-like stand, and she stared across at the bench where satthe seven witnesses with a feeling of sincere pity in her heart.
But even she soon realised that her pity was wasted. Each womanwitness looked eager, excited, and animated; well pleased to be thecentre of attention and attraction to the general public. It wasplain each was enjoying her part of important, if humble, actressin the thrilling drama which was now absorbing the attention of allLondon--it might almost be said of the whole world.
Looking at these women, Mrs. Bunting wondered vaguely which waswhich. Was it that rather draggle-tailed-looking young person whohad certainly, or almost certainly, seen The Avenger within tenseconds of the double crime being committed? The woman who, arousedby one of his victims' cry of terror, had rushed to her window andseen the murderer's shadowy form pass swiftly by in the fog?
Yet another woman, so Mrs. Bunting now remembered, had given a mostcircumstantial account of what The Avenger looked like, for he, itwas supposed, had actually brushed by her as he passed.
Those two women now before her had been interrogated andcross-examined again and again, not only by the police, but byrepresentatives of every newspaper in London. It was from what theyhad both said--unluckily their accounts materially differed--thatthat official description of The Avenger had been worked up--thatwhich described him as being a good-looking, respectable young fellowof twenty-eight, carrying a newspaper parcel.
As for the third woman, she was doubtless an acquaintance, a booncompanion of the dead.
Mrs. Bunting looked away from the witnesses, and focused her gazeon another unfamiliar sight. Specially prominent, running indeedthrough the whole length of the shut-in space, that is, from thecoroner's high dais right across to the opening in the wooden barrier,was an ink-splashed table at which, when she had first taken herplace, there had been sitting three men busily sketching; but nowevery seat at the table was occupied by tired, intelligent-lookingmen, each with a notebook, or with some loose sheets of paper,before him.
"Them's the reporters," whispered her friend. "They don't likecoming till the last minute, for they has to be the last to go.At an ordinary inquest there are only two--maybe three--attending,but now every paper in the kingdom has pretty well applied for apass to that reporters' table."
He looked consideringly down into the well of the court. "Now letme see what I can do for you--"
Then he beckoned to the coroner's officer: "Perhaps you could putthis lady just over there, in a corner by herself? Related to arelation of the deceased, but doesn't want to be--" He whispereda word or two, and the other nodded sympathetically, and looked atMrs. Bunting with interest. "I'll put her just here," he muttered."There's no one coming there to-day. You see, there are only sevenwitnesses--sometimes we have a lot more than that."
And he kindly put her on a now empty bench opposite to where theseven witnesses stood and sat with their eager, set faces, ready--aye, more than ready--to play their part.
For a moment every eye in the court was focused on Mrs. Bunting, butsoon those who had stared so hungrily, so intently, at her, realisedthat she had nothing to do with the case. She was evidently thereas a spectator, and, more fortunate than most, she had a "friend atcourt," and so was able to sit comfortably, instead of having tostand in the crowd.
But she was not long left in isolation. Very soon some of theimportant-looking gentlemen she had seen downstairs came into thecourt, and were ushered over to her seat while two or three amongthem, including the famous writer whose face was so familiar thatit almost seemed to Mrs. Bunting like that of a kindly acquaintance,were accommodated at the reporters' table.
"Gentlemen, the Coroner."
The jury stood up, shuffling their feet, and then sat down again;over the spectators there fell a sudden silence.
And then what immediately followed recalled to Mrs. Bunting, for thefirst time, that informal little country inquest of long ago.
First came the "Oyez! Oyez!" the old Norman-French summons to allwhose business it is to attend a solemn inquiry into the death--sudden, unexplained, terrible--of a fellow-being.
The jury--there were fourteen of them--all stood up again. Theyraised their hands and solemnly chanted together the curious wordsof their oath.
Then came a quick, informal exchange of sentences 'twixt the coronerand his officer.
Yes, everything was in order. The jury had viewed the bodies--hequickly corrected himself--the body, for, technically speaking, theinquest just about to be held only concerned one body.
And then, amid a silence so absolute that the slightest rustle couldbe heard through the court, the coroner--a clever-looking gentleman,though not so old as Mrs. Bunting thought he ought to have been tooccupy so important a position on so important a day--gave a littlehistory, as it were, of the terrible and mysterious Avenger crimes.
He spoke very clearly, warming to his work as he went on.
He told them that he had been present at the inquest held on one ofThe Avenger's former victims. "I only went through professionalcuriosity," he threw in by way of parenthesis, "little thinking,gentlemen, that the inquest on one of these unhappy creatures wouldever be held in my court."
On and on, he went, though he had, in truth, but little to say, andthough that little was known to every one of his listeners.
Mrs. Bunting heard one of the older gentlemen sitting near herwhisper to another: "Drawing it out all he can; that's what he'sdoing. Having the time of his life, evidently!" And then the otherwhispered back, so low that she could only just catch the words,"Aye, aye. But he's a good chap--I knew his father; we were at
school together. Takes his job very seriously, you know--he doesto-day, at any rate."
******
She was listening intently, waiting for a word, a sentence, whichwould relieve her hidden terrors, or, on the other hand, confirmthem. But the word, the sentence, was never uttered.
And yet, at the very end of his long peroration, the coroner didthrow out a hint which might mean anything--or nothing.
"I am glad to say that we hope to obtain such evidence to-day aswill in time lead to the apprehension of the miscreant who hascommitted, and is still committing, these terrible crimes."
Mrs. Bunting stared uneasily up into the coroner's firm,determined-looking face. What did he mean by that? Was there anynew evidence--evidence of which Joe Chandler, for instance, wasignorant? And, as if in answer to the unspoken question, her heartgave a sudden leap, for a big, burly man had taken his place in thewitness-box--a policeman who had not been sitting with the otherwitnesses.
But soon her uneasy terror became stilled. This witness was simplythe constable who had found the first body. In quick, business-liketones he described exactly what had happened to him on that cold,foggy morning ten days ago. He was shown a plan, and he marked itslowly, carefully, with a thick finger. That was the exact place--no, he was making a mistake--that was the place where the otherbody had lain. He explained apologetically that he had got rathermixed up between the two bodies--that of Johanna Cobbett and SophyHurtle.
And then the coroner intervened authoritatively: "For the purposeof this inquiry," he said, "we must, I think, for a moment considerthe two murders together."
After that, the witness went on far more comfortably; and as heproceeded, in a quick monotone, the full and deadly horror ofThe Avenger's acts came over Mrs. Bunting in a great seething floodof sick fear and--and, yes, remorse.
Up to now she had given very little thought--if, indeed, any thought--to the drink-sodden victims of The Avenger. It was he who hadfilled her thoughts,--he and those who were trying to track him down.But now? Now she felt sick and sorry she had come here to-day. Shewondered if she would ever be able to get the vision the policeman'swords had conjured up out of her mind--out of her memory.
And then there came an eager stir of excitement and of attentionthroughout the whole court, for the policeman had stepped down out ofthe witness-box, and one of the women witnesses was being conducted tohis place.
Mrs. Bunting looked with interest and sympathy at the woman,remembering how she herself had trembled with fear, trembled as thatpoor, bedraggled, common-looking person was trembling now. The womanhad looked so cheerful, so--so well pleased with herself till aminute ago, but now she had become very pale, and she looked roundher as a hunted animal might have done.
But the coroner was very kind, very soothing and gentle in hismanner, just as that other coroner had been when dealing with EllenGreen at the inquest on that poor drowned girl.
After the witness had repeated in a toneless voice the solemn wordsof the oath, she began to be taken, step by step, though her story.At once Mrs. Bunting realised that this was the woman who claimedto have seen The Avenger from her bedroom window. Gaining confidence,as she went on, the witness described how she had heard a long-drawn,stifled screech, and, aroused from deep sleep, had instinctivelyjumped out of bed and rushed to her window.
The coroner looked down at something lying on his desk. "Let mesee! Here is the plan. Yes--I think I understand that the housein which you are lodging exactly faces the alley where the two crimeswere committed?"
And there arose a quick, futile discussion. The house did not facethe alley, but the window of the witness's bedroom faced the alley.
"A distinction without a difference," said the coroner testily."And now tell us as clearly and quickly as you can what you saw whenyou looked out."
There fell a dead silence on the crowded court. And then the womanbroke out, speaking more volubly and firmly than she had yet done."I saw 'im!" she cried. "I shall never forget it--no, not till mydying day!" And she looked round defiantly.
Mrs. Bunting suddenly remembered a chat one of the newspaper men hadhad with a person who slept under this woman's room. That personhad unkindly said she felt sure that Lizzie Cole had not got up thatnight--that she had made up the whole story. She, the speaker, sleptlightly, and that night had been tending a sick child. Accordingly,she would have heard if there had been either the scream describedby Lizzie Cole, or the sound of Lizzie Cole jumping out of bed.
"We quite understand that you think you saw the"--the coronerhesitated--"the individual who had just perpetrated these terriblecrimes. But what we want to have from you is a description of him.In spite of the foggy atmosphere about which all are agreed, yousay you saw him distinctly, walking along for some yards below yourwindow. Now, please, try and tell us what he was like."
The woman began twisting and untwisting the corner of a colouredhandkerchief she held in her hand.
"Let us begin at the beginning," said the coroner patiently. "Whatsort of a hat was this man wearing when you saw him hurrying fromthe passage?"
"It was just a black 'at" said the witness at last, in a husky,rather anxious tone.
"Yes--just a black hat. And a coat--were you able to see whatsort of a coat he was wearing?"
"'E 'adn't got no coat" she said decidedly. "No coat at all! Iremembers that very perticulerly. I thought it queer, as it wasso cold--everybody as can wears some sort o' coat this weather!"
A juryman who had been looking at a strip of newspaper, andapparently not attending at all to what the witness was saying, herejumped up and put out his hand.
"Yes?" the coroner turned to him.
"I just want to say that this 'ere witness--if her name is LizzieCole, began by saying The Avenger was wearing a coat--a big, heavycoat. I've got it here, in this bit of paper."
"I never said so!" cried the woman passionately. "I was made tosay all those things by the young man what came to me from theEvening Sun. Just put in what 'e liked in 'is paper, 'e did--notwhat I said at all!"
At this there was some laughter, quickly suppressed.
"In future," said the coroner severely, addressing the juryman, whohad now sat down again, "you must ask any question you wish to askthrough your foreman, and please wait till I have concluded myexamination of the witness."
But this interruption, this--this accusation, had utterly upsetthe witness. She began contradicting herself hopelessly. The manshe had seen hurrying by in the semi-darkness below was tall--no,he was short. He was thin--no, he was a stoutish young man. Andas to whether he was carrying anything, there was quite anacrimonious discussion.
Most positively, most confidently, the witness declared that she hadseen a newspaper parcel under his arm; it had bulged out at the back--so she declared. But it was proved, very gently and firmly, thatshe had said nothing of the kind to the gentleman from Scotland Yardwho had taken down her first account--in fact, to him she haddeclared confidently that the man had carried nothing--nothing atall; that she had seen his arms swinging up and down.
One fact--if fact it could be called--the coroner did elicit.Lizzie Cole suddenly volunteered the statement that as he had passedher window he had looked up at her. This was quite a new statement.
"He looked up at you?" repeated the coroner. "You said nothing ofthat in your examination."
"I said nothink because I was scared--nigh scared to death!"
"If you could really see his countenance, for we know the night wasdark and foggy, will you please tell me what he was like?"
But the coroner was speaking casually, his hand straying over hisdesk; not a creature in that court now believed the woman's story.
"Dark!" she answered dramatically. "Dark, almost black! If you cantake my meaning, with a sort of nigger look."
And then there was a titter. Even the jury smiled. And sharply thecoroner bade Lizzie Cole stand down.
Far more credence was given to the evidence of the next witness.
This was an ol
der, quieter-looking woman, decently dressed in black.Being the wife of a night watchman whose work lay in a big warehousesituated about a hundred yards from the alley or passage where thecrimes had taken place, she had gone out to take her husband somefood he always had at one in the morning. And a man had passed her,breathing hard and walking very quickly. Her attention had beendrawn to him because she very seldom met anyone at that hour, andbecause he had such an odd, peculiar look and manner.
Mrs. Bunting, listening attentively, realised that it was very muchfrom what this witness had said that the official description of TheAvenger had been composed--that description which had brought suchcomfort to her, Ellen Bunting's, soul.
This witness spoke quietly, confidently, and her account of thenewspaper parcel the man was carrying was perfectly clear andpositive.
"It was a neat parcel," she said, "done up with string."
She had thought it an odd thing for a respectably dressed young manto carry such a parcel--that was what had made her notice it. Butwhen pressed, she had to admit that it had been a very foggy night--so foggy that she herself had been afraid of losing her way,though every step was familiar.
When the third woman went into the box, and with sighs and tearstold of her acquaintance with one of the deceased, with JohannaCobbett, there was a stir of sympathetic attention. But she hadnothing to say throwing any light on the investigation, save thatshe admitted reluctantly that "Anny" would have been such a nice,respectable young woman if it hadn't been for the drink.
Her examination was shortened as much as possible; and so was thatof the next witness, the husband of Johanna Cobbett. He was a veryrespectable-looking man, a foreman in a big business house at Croydon.He seemed to feel his position most acutely. He hadn't seen hiswife for two years; he hadn't had news of her for six months. Beforeshe took to drink she had been an admirable wife, and--and yes,mother.
Yet another painful few minutes, to anyone who had a heart, orimagination to understand, was spent when the father of the murderedwoman was in the box. He had had later news of his unfortunatedaughter than her husband had had, but of course he could throw nolight at all on her murder or murderer.
A barman, who had served both the women with drink just before thepublic-house closed for the night, was handled rather roughly. Hehad stepped with a jaunty air into the box, and came out of itlooking cast down, uneasy.
And then there took place a very dramatic, because an utterlyunexpected, incident. It was one of which the evening papers madethe utmost much to Mrs. Bunting's indignation. But neither coronernor jury--and they, after all, were the people who mattered--thought a great deal of it.
There had come a pause in the proceedings. All seven witnesses hadbeen heard, and a gentleman near Mrs. Bunting whispered, "They arenow going to call Dr. Gaunt. He's been in every big murder case forthe last thirty years. He's sure to have something interesting tosay. It was really to hear him I came."
But before Dr. Gaunt had time even to get up from the seat withwhich he had been accommodated close to the coroner, there came astir among the general public, or, rather, among those spectatorswho stood near the low wooden door which separated the officialpart of the court from the gallery.
The coroner's officer, with an apologetic air, approached thecoroner, and handed him up an envelope. And again in an instant,there fell absolute silence on the court.
Looking rather annoyed, the coroner opened the envelope. He glanceddown the sheet of notepaper it contained. Then he looked up.
"Mr.--" then he glanced down again. "Mr.--ah--Mr.--is it Cannot?"he said doubtfully, "may come forward."
There ran a titter though the spectators, and the coroner frowned.
A neat, jaunty-looking old gentleman, in a nice fur-lined overcoat,with a fresh, red face and white side-whiskers, was conducted fromthe place where he had been standing among the general public, tothe witness-box.
"This is somewhat out of order, Mr.--er--Cannot," said thecoroner severely. "You should have sent me this note before theproceedings began. This gentleman," he said, addressing the jury,"informs me that he has something of the utmost importance toreveal in connection with our investigation."
"I have remained silent--I have locked what I knew within my ownbreast"--began Mr. Cannot in a quavering voice, "because I am soafraid of the Press! I knew if I said anything, even to the police,that my house would be besieged by reporters and newspaper men. . . .I have a delicate wife, Mr. Coroner. Such a state of things--thestate of things I imagine--might cause her death--indeed, I hopeshe will never read a report of these proceedings. Fortunately, shehas an excellent trained nurse--"
"You will now take the oath," said the coroner sharply. He alreadyregretted having allowed this absurd person to have his say.
Mr. Cannot took the oath with a gravity and decorum which had beenlacking in most of those who had preceded him.
"I will address myself to the jury," he began.
"You will do nothing of the sort," broke in the coroner. "Now,please attend to me. You assert in your letter that you know whois the--the--"
"The Avenger," put in Mr. Cannot promptly.
"The perpetrator of these crimes. You further declare that you methim on the very night he committed the murder we are nowinvestigating?"
"I do so declare," said Mr. Cannot confidently. "Though in the bestof health myself,"--he beamed round the court, a now amused,attentive court--"it is my fate to be surrounded by sick people, tohave only ailing friends. I have to trouble you with my privateaffairs, Mr. Coroner, in order to explain why I happened to be outat so undue an hour as one o'clock in the morning--"
Again a titter ran through the court. Even the jury broke intobroad smiles.
"Yes," went on the witness solemnly, "I was with a sick friend--infact, I may say a dying friend, for since then he has passed away.I will not reveal my exact dwelling-place; you, sir, have it on mynotepaper. It is not necessary to reveal it, but you will understandme when I say that in order to come home I had to pass through aportion of the Regent's Park; and it was there--to be exact, aboutthe middle of Prince's Terrace--when a very peculiar-lookingindividual stopped and accosted me."
Mrs. Bunting's hand shot up to her breast. A feeling of deadly feartook possession of her.
"I mustn't faint," she said to herself hurriedly. "I mustn't faint!Whatever's the matter with me?" She took out her bottle ofsmelling-salts, and gave it a good, long sniff.
"He was a grim, gaunt man, was this stranger, Mr. Coroner, with avery odd-looking face. I should say an educated man--in commonparlance, a gentleman. What drew my special attention to him wasthat he was talking aloud to himself--in fact, he seemed to berepeating poetry. I give you my word, I had no thought of TheAvenger, no thought at all. To tell you the truth, I thought thisgentleman was a poor escaped lunatic, a man who'd got away from hiskeeper. The Regent's Park, sir, as I need hardly tell you, is amost quiet and soothing neighbourhood--"
And then a member of the general public gave a loud guffaw.
"I appeal to you; sir," the old gentleman suddenly cried out "toprotect me from this unseemly levity! I have not come here withany other object than that of doing my duty as a citizen!"
"I must ask you to keep to what is strictly relevant," said thecoroner stiffly. "Time is going on, and I have another importantwitness to call--a medical witness. Kindly tell me, as shortly aspossible, what made you suppose that this stranger could possiblybe--" with an effort he brought out for the first time since theproceedings began, the words, "The Avenger?"
"I am coming to that!" said Mr. Cannot hastily. "I am coming tothat! Bear with me a little longer, Mr. Coroner. It was a foggynight, but not as foggy as it became later. And just when we werepassing one another, I and this man, who was talking aloud tohimself--he, instead of going on, stopped and turned towardsme. That made me feel queer and uncomfortable, the more so thatthere was a very wild, mad look on his face. I said to him, assoothingly as possible, 'A very foggy night, sir.' And he said,'Yes-
-yes, it is a foggy night, a night fit for the commission ofdark and salutary deeds.' A very strange phrase, sir, that--'darkand salutary deeds.'" He looked at the coroner expectantly--
"Well? Well, Mr. Cannot? Was that all? Did you see this persongo off in the direction of--of King's Cross, for instance?"
"No." Mr. Cannot reluctantly shook his head. "No, I must honestlysay I did not. He walked along a certain way by my side, and thenhe crossed the road and was lost in the fog."
"That will do," said the coroner. He spoke more kindly. "I thankyou, Mr. Cannot, for coming here and giving us what you evidentlyconsider important information."
Mr. Cannot bowed, a funny, little, old-fashioned bow, and again someof those present tittered rather foolishly.
As he was stepping down from the witness-box, he turned and lookedup at the coroner, opening his lips as he did so. There was amurmur of talking going on, but Mrs. Bunting, at any rate, heardquite distinctly what it was that he said:
"One thing I have forgotten, sir, which may be of importance. Theman carried a bag--a rather light-coloured leather bag, in his lefthand. It was such a bag, sir, as might well contain a long-handledknife."
Mrs. Bunting looked at the reporters' table. She remembered suddenlythat she had told Bunting about the disappearance of Mr. Sleuth's bag.And then a feeling of intense thankfulness came over her; not asingle reporter at the long, ink-stained table had put down that lastremark of Mr. Cannot. In fact, not one of them had heard it.
Again the last witness put up his hand to command attention. Andthen silence did fall on the court.
"One word more," he said in a quavering voice. "May I ask to beaccommodated with a seat for the rest of the proceedings? I seethere is some room left on the witnesses' bench." And, withoutwaiting for permission, he nimbly stepped across and sat down.
Mrs. Bunting looked up, startled. Her friend, the inspector, wasbending over her.
"Perhaps you'd like to come along now," he said urgently.--"Idon't suppose you want to hear the medical evidence. It's alwayspainful for a female to hear that. And there'll be an awful rushwhen the inquest's over. I could get you away quietly now."
She rose, and, pulling her veil down over her pale face, followedhim obediently.
Down the stone staircase they went, and through the big, now empty,room downstairs.
"I'll let you out the back way," he said. "I expect you're tired,ma'am, and will like to get home to a cup o' tea."
"I don't know how to thank you!" There were tears in her eyes.She was trembling with excitement and emotion. "You have been goodto me."
"Oh, that's nothing," he said a little awkwardly. "I expect youwent though a pretty bad time, didn't you?"
"Will they be having that old gentleman again?" she spoke in awhisper, and looked up at him with a pleading, agonised look.
"Good Lord, no! Crazy old fool! We're troubled with a lot ofthose sort of people, you know, ma'am, and they often do have funnynames, too. You see, that sort is busy all their lives in the City,or what not; then they retires when they gets about sixty, andthey're fit to hang themselves with dulness. Why, there's hundredsof lunies of the sort to be met in London. You can't go about atnight and not meet 'em. Plenty of 'em!"
"Then you don't think there was anything in what he said?" sheventured.
"In what that old gent said? Goodness--no!" he laughedgood-naturedly. "But I'll tell you what I do think. If it wasn'tfor the time that had gone by, I should believe that the secondwitness had seen that crafty devil--" he lowered his voice. "But,there, Dr. Gaunt declares most positively--so did two other medicalgentlemen--that the poor creatures had been dead hours when theywas found. Medical gentlemen are always very positive about theirevidence. They have to be--otherwise who'd believe 'em? If we'dtime I could tell you of a case in which--well, 'twas all becauseof Dr. Gaunt that the murderer escaped. We all knew perfectly wellthe man we caught did it, but he was able to prove an alibi as tothe time Dr. Gaunt said the poor soul was killed."