that its young masterhad died of natural causes.
I was present, and heard a solicitor representing the relatives put aquery to the Coroner regarding that cry in the night. But the officialcoldly declared that the jury were there only to decide the cause ofdeath, and that, whatever the circumstances might be, they could onlyweigh the medical evidence.
Doctor Petherbridge, of Northampton, assisted by the county analyst,had, it seemed, examined the contents of the stomach and made theDragendorff test for strychnine, applied the Stas process for alkaloidsand the Pettenkofer test for mineral acid, as well as searching forarsenic with the Marsh apparatus. The result in all cases had beennegative. Mr Guy Nicholson had certainly not died of poison.
After the verdict of "death from natural causes," I drove Shaw, who hadalso been present, back to Lydford, and there saw poor Asta, looking wanand pale in her deep mourning. She was seated in a low chair in her ownpretty room, full of books and flowers--an artistic, cosy littleapartment leading from the big drawing-room and upholstered in paleblue.
The blind was down, for the sun was blazing-hot outside. But as shetook my hand I saw that her eyes had dark rings around them, and thatshe had recently been crying.
I hardly know what words of sympathy and condolence I uttered as I heldher small hand in mine. Her heart, however, was too full for words, andshe burst into a flood of tears.
Shaw, unable to bear the sight of her grief, placed his hand tenderlyupon her shoulder and urged her to bear up; but she only shook her headsadly in her profound sorrow.
I stood there, not knowing what to say; but a few moments later, whenShaw had left the room and we were alone, I too placed my hand upon hershoulder and strove to calm her.
"You have all my most heartfelt sympathy, Miss Seymour," I said. "Ihave ventured to come here to-day to see if I could be of any service toyou."
"Ah, what service can you render me, Mr Kemball, now that poor Guy is,alas! dead--dead!" she cried hoarsely, staring straight before her."The inquest was held to-day. What have they decided?"
"That the poor fellow died of natural causes. He suffered from anunsuspected disease of the brain."
"Ah, yes," she sighed. "I expected they would say something like that.But--" and she broke off short without concluding her sentence.
"You dined with him only a few hours before," I remarked; for I had gonethere on purpose to question her, and I hardly knew how to commence,fearing lest, in my anxiety, I might blunder.
"Yes. Who would have thought that when I parted from him I should neversee him again?"
"You left before the Vanes, did you not?"
"Yes. My father, just before eleven, told me that he was not feelingvery well, so I ordered the car, and we came home, after a mostdelightful evening. The weather was bright, and everything had beendone to perfection. On the way home Dad complained of bad pains in hishead, and I became alarmed. Indeed, when we got here he seemed so veryqueer that I tried to persuade him to let me telephone for DoctorRedwood. But he would not hear of it. He begged me to go to bed, but Iremained with him in the smoking-room until nearly three o'clock."
"Until three o'clock?" I echoed. "And you did not leave him at all?"
"No. Because he seemed so very queer. I mixed him some brandy andwater several times, and he tried to smoke, but could not."
"What was his objection against summoning the doctor?"
"Oh, he said that he would be all right presently, and that it was onlya bad headache. Long ago, when he was abroad, he had been subject tosuch attacks, he said. But he had not had one for years past."
"And after three o'clock you retired to bed?"
"It was half-past three, and getting quite light, when I saw him as faras his room. He looked fearfully pale and worn--quite unlike his usualself. He said he had fits of extreme nervousness, and I noticed that attimes his limbs were trembling. I remarked upon it, but my commentsseemed to irritate him. So I said nothing further. At nine o'clocknext morning he came down to breakfast quite well. Then--then--justafter ten o'clock last night--Captain Cardew telephoned to him tellinghim of the--the awful discovery at Titmarsh?"
Her story made one fact entirely plain--namely, that Shaw, whatever hemight be, was perfectly free from suspicion.
"Is it not curious that your father was taken ill?" I asked. "Did henot tell the doctors?"
"No. Because long ago, when he was in South America, he was subject tosuch attacks, and his illness could not have had any connection withpoor Guy's death, he said."
She spoke very gravely, her sad, tearful eyes fixed upon the bluecarpet. A slim, pathetic little figure she presented in her deep black,which, however, only served to heighten her wonderful beauty.
I questioned her further regarding the events of that fatal night, andconvinced myself that Shaw had had no opportunity of returning toTitmarsh Court after he had once bade good-night to poor Nicholson.
Any suspicions I had entertained had now been swept away. Herstatement, plain and straightforward, showed how solicitous she was ofthe welfare of the man whom she had always looked upon as her father.She had taken me into her confidence on the first day we had met, andshe was certainly not deceiving me.
As I stood near, watching her, I became bewildered by the strangecircumstances of the death of the man who had promised to come to me,and in confidence make certain revelations. My feelings towards Shawhad been mixed ones. He had been open and straightforward with me, andhad told me that he was leading a double life. Asta had treated me as afriend; therefore I had intended to protect their secret from Nicholsonas far as possible. Nevertheless, I had been consumed by curiosity toknow what he had actually discovered--how far he had ascertained thetruth.
His meaning words to Cardew on the night of his death showed that, owingto his discovery, he hesitated to ask Asta to become his wife. He lovedher most passionately; and when a man loves as he did, then it must be avery serious bar which prevents him throwing prudence to the winds andmarrying the girl of his choice.
Shaw re-entered the room presently, asking me to stay to luncheon, whichI did. But the meal was, alas! a very dismal one. Asta, full ofthoughts of her dead lover, hardly spoke a word, while Shaw himselfseemed preoccupied and thoughtful.
"The Coroner was an idiot," I declared in the course of our discussionof the events of the morning. "He would scarcely allow any mention ofpoor Guy's cry of horror heard by Cardew."
"Ah, my dear Kemball," my friend replied, "in many cases inquests areworse than useless. Coroners so often override the jury and instructthem as to what verdict they should return. In almost every case youwill find that the jury, ignorant for the most part, though perfectlyhonest in their meaning, return a verdict in accordance with theevidence of the local doctor, who, in so many cases, happens to be theman who attends themselves and their families. If they are ill, theycall him in and accept his dictum. They do just the same at a Coroner'sinquest. They never analyse or weigh the facts for themselves."
"Asta has just been telling me that you too were very unwell thatnight," I said suddenly; and I noticed that, on hearing my words, heglanced across at the girl in annoyance.
"Yes," he said, with a light laugh. "I didn't feel over grand--a badheadache, just as I used to have years ago. But it was nothing. Itdidn't arise from anything I ate or drank. I knew that, and for thatreason did not 'phone to Redwood. Yes," he added, "I spent a ratherpoor night. Asta became quite alarmed."
"Well," I exclaimed, "what is your theory regarding the poor fellow'sdeath?"
"Theory! Well, after the medical evidence and the verdict of the jury,what can one think?" he asked. "There are certainly many curious pointsin the affair, and the chief one, to my mind, is the fact that he wasfound locked in the room."
"That's just my point. He could not have locked himself in."
"Yet, remember that we only have the evidence of the girl Hayes that hewas locked in. In her hurry to enter the room she seems to have fumbled
at the lock, and, of course, in her alarm at the discovery, may havebeen deceived, and thought the key had been turned."
I had not before regarded her statement from that point of view, and hissuggestion caused me to ponder. But next second I asked--
"If the door was not locked, then why should he have hammered to getout?"
"But did he hammer?" queried Shaw. "Sounds in the night are alwaysdistorted, remember."
"Please don't discuss the horrible affair further, Dad," cried Asta,appealingly.
"My dear, I beg your pardon," he exclaimed, turning to her hastily. "Iknow I ought not to have mentioned the matter. Both Kemball and myselfdeeply condole with you in your grief.