CHAPTER XIX
THE TWIN SCARVES
To say that the village went mad with excitement when the bodies of thetwo victims, man and woman, were laid side by side in the great ballroomof Cheyne Court was to underestimate the case altogether. The villagerswere literally crazed for the time being, and when news reached them, assuch news will, that an inquest was to be held in that identical spot ina day or two, daft was no name for their condition at all.
Cleek himself would have smiled at the rumours which were rife.
So a revolver had been found beside the body of the murdered man who hadso successfully impersonated the Honourable Miss Cheyne herself, had it?And--what? No, it couldn't be possible! Mrs. So-and-So had whisperedthat that identical revolver was the property of Sir Edgar himself! Itwas too much to believe; too horrible to think about! That little MasterEdgar whom they had watched grow up from a toddling babe of two,prattling to his nurse on their walks through the village, and winningtheir hearts with the sweetness of his manner, that that child shouldhave grown up and become a _murderer_. The thought was impossible.
When the day of the inquest finally arrived, all Hampton turned out andput in an appearance at Cheyne Court.
To tell the exact truth, Cleek's own mind was suffused for the timebeing with something that closely resembled doubt as regards Sir Edgar'sinnocence in the whole awful affair. Circumstantial evidence he hadalways regarded as a spider's web of coincidence to be brushed asidewith the broom of a man's reason. But, somehow, this was different.
He took his stand at the back of the great ballroom, and watched withkeen eyes and saddened heart, while the coroner put forth the case inall its bald appallingness.
In a sort of dream he heard that gentleman impart to the jury gatheredthere for the purposes of justice the colossal fact that they were mettogether to inquire primarily into the death of an unknown man, whoseidentification, up to the present, they had wholly failed to establish.
Cleek shifted upon his feet and cast a quick glance over to the otherside of the room, where Bobby Wynne and his sister Jennifer stoodtogether, listening with unveiled interest. If they were in no wayconnected with it, their morbid curiosity in the affair sickened him.But if they _were_----
Watching the scene, as a mere spectator (he had particularly requestedMr. Narkom to make arrangements that he should not be called in anyofficial capacity) Cleek felt that he could more clearly review thesituation.
Constable Roberts was the first witness to be called. He told, briefly,of his encounter with the young "military gent," who had fetched him ina car at 10 o'clock on March 11th, and dragged him forth upon whatproved eventually to be nothing more than a wild-goose chase. The ladywhom the young gent had said was lying dead was alive, "and very muchalive, sir!" added the constable with some conviction, "and 'e was astook in as wot I was meself."
Cleek nodded at this, and the little one-sided smile slid slowly up hisface at this unconscious admission.
The coroner also nodded.
"Indeed," he said, in proper judicial manner, "and did you meet no onethen upon the return journey, Mr. Roberts?"
"Er--er----" Roberts began, staring confusedly round the room, andturning red, "that is, no one as is any bearings upon the case, so tospeak--not suspicious at all wasn't, sir, and--and----"
But the Coroner's voice broke in upon his flounderings with sharpincisiveness.
"That isn't altogether your affair, Mr. Roberts," he said, concisely,"the meting out of justice lies in other hands, and whether he was asuspicious character or not remains, of course, to be seen. The pointis, who was it?"
A sort of grayness dropped down like a veil over the policeman's ruddycountenance, he drew in his breath with a little gasp, and passed a handover his perspiring forehead.
"The gentleman wot I saw was Sir Edgar Brenton," he said, suddenly, in astrangled voice, "but what 'e 'as to do with it, beats me. For 'e wascoming back from the station----"
"How do you know that?"
"Because 'e said so," responded the constable, decisively.
The simplicity of the statement, and the utter belief in the man'svoice, brought a sudden look of sympathy flashing across Cleek'scountenance. It was the finest tribute to the character of the young manthat he could receive. The Coroner's voice broke in upon Cleek'sthoughts.
"You may stand down," he said. And the Constable stood down with a lookof relief upon his countenance.
The second witness was Dr. Verrall, pale-faced and calm, but with an oddlook in his eyes that caused Cleek to watch him closely. Right throughhis evidence he gave the impression of saying only just as much as wasabsolutely necessary, and of keeping something back. But upon one pointhe was clear.
"Your first belief, then," the Coroner said, quietly, "was that thedeceased was shot by the revolver at his side?"
"Yes."
"And afterward?"
"Afterward, unmistakable traces were pointed out by Inspector Headlandwho was on the scene when I arrived, and I came to the conclusion thathe had undoubtedly been poisoned by prussic acid compressed into atabloid by the use of magnesia."
A quiver of interest swept over the assembled audience. Poisoned! Thenperhaps Sir Edgar----
"Was it possible for the man to have taken it himself; committedsuicide, in fact?" put in the Coroner, breaking in upon the thought thatwas in every heart.
"No. There were finger-marks upon his neck showing that he had beenseized, and the poisoned pellet pushed forcibly down his throat. Deathmust have taken place almost immediately."
The Coroner cleared his throat.
"Would it be possible to identify the finger-prints, Dr. Verrall?" heasked. For the fraction of a second there was no reply. The doctorhesitated, coughed affectedly, and passed his hand across his mouth.Then:
"Hardly," he responded in a cool, clear voice. "Death had taken placefully an hour or so before. They were evidently long, slender fingers,but that was all that could be gathered."
"H'mn! Slender, eh? A woman's possibly?"
Something like fear came into the doctor's face, and was gone again in atwinkling.
"Certainly not!" he snapped back with a sudden show of vehemence. "Theywere decidedly those of a man. Besides, there were the marks of a heavyseal ring upon the throat."
A seal ring? Like a flash the thought telegraphed itself over the long,crowded room. Cleek gave a hasty glance backward over his shoulder, andencountered the eye of Sir Edgar Brenton standing near the doorway, withhis pale-faced mother beside him.
But other eyes than Cleek's were looking in his direction now. A sealring? And Sir Edgar's seal had been upon his finger ever since heattained his majority! Every member of the village community recollectedhis delighted pleasure when that day came round.... And there were marksof a seal ring upon the murdered man's throat.
"And where was the revolver found?" the Coroner inquired.
"Close by the dead man's side. He had been dead quite a long time beforehe was shot, and rigour mortis was already setting in. Whoever fired theshot sent it into a dead man's breast."
"Quite so.... And I understand that this is the revolver in question."He held up a little dark metal object that caught the light in one vividbar along its slim barrel.
Dr. Verrall bowed his head.
"That is so," he said, calmly.
"And do you know to whom it belongs?"
"I cannot say."
There was a hushed silence fraught with a sort of stalking terror thatsent every heart beating and every pulse drumming with the awful thoughtof what _might_ be.
Then:
"That will do for the present, Dr. Verrall. Thank you very much," camein the same clear tones and the crowd heaved a sigh of relief. Whowould be the next to be called?
The next to be called proved to be no less a person than Mr. MaverickNarkom himself, who in his concise fashion related for the edificationof all present how he and his colleague, Mr. George Headland, ofScotland Yard, had together discovered the
body.
"Were there any signs of a struggle?" asked the Coroner, quietly, with alittle added show of respect for the dignity of his witness's position.
"Yes," responded Mr. Narkom, excitedly. "Decidedly there were. That wasevidenced by the scrap of torn lace found in the dead man's hand,and----"
"Torn lace?" echoed someone involuntarily aloud. Then there _was_ awoman in it, after all!
Mr. Narkom mopped his forehead with a handkerchief and glanced abouthim.
"Yes, torn lace, gold lace," he reiterated.
"Can you identify it?"
There was a momentary hesitation; meanwhile, Cleek's eyes sought his andCleek's lips seemed to say: "Be careful. Keep Lady Margaret out of it ifyou can," and Mr. Narkom responded to that appeal with surprisingalacrity.
"I can't say that I can," he said with a slight smile and a shake of thehead.
But the Coroner had not done with the subject yet. He held the littlefragment of gold high above his head, and then handed it round thetable.
"Can any one identify it?" he asked, and all eyes went instantly in itsdirection. There was no response, only, as Cleek looked, a queer,shocked sort of expression came over Sir Edgar's countenance.
Just as Cleek's face dropped into lines of concentrated thought therecame the sound of a voice somewhat high-pitched and clear, with thecarefully accurate accent of a foreigner. Cleek whipped round to see theslim, turbaned figure of Gunga Dall standing far back in the room.
"If I may be so permitted," he said in the bland, smooth fashion of his,as the crowd instinctively parted and made way for him to come to thefront, "I should like to identify that scrap of gold lace."
_Identify it?_ The hush that came over the room could almost be _felt_,it was so intense, so absolute.
"We shall be pleased to receive your evidence," broke in the Coroner,shortly; he, like Sir Edgar, had no partiality for "niggers."
There was a sort of polite regret upon Gunga Dall's dark features. Heshrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands, with a little pucker ofthe lips that bespoke dislike of the task he had in hand.
"I am sorry to say that it is the property of Lady Margaret Cheyne," hesaid, serenely.
There was a moment of tense silence. You could have heard a pin drop inthe ballroom.
Cleek sucked in his breath and stood a moment eyeing the Hindoo. If thatwere so--but the thought was too utterly horrible to be longerentertained.
There followed the sound of a little cry echoing across the crowdedroom. Cleek's eyes went in the direction of it, and saw that LadyBrenton had gone dead white, and that her lips were pinched and blue.Sir Edgar, in a sort of mad abandonment, was pushing his way up throughthe audience, his eyes flashing, his fists clenched, the red bloodflaring in his face, and all his virile young manhood up in defence ofthe woman he loved.
"Say that again, you damned liar, and I'll thrash you within an inch ofyour precious life!" he shouted. "You can't prove it--you absolutely_can't_, I say! It isn't her scarf at all----"
"And I say it _is_!" responded Gunga Dall with an unpleasant littlelaugh. "Because I happened to have given it to her myself and----"
"You take care what you're saying," returned Sir Edgar in a passion ofwhite heat. "You dare to suggest that you've given her presents."
The Coroner's upraised hand silenced him.
"If you please," he began, "permit Mr. Dall to continue with hisevidence without interruption. This is hardly the time or the place, SirEdgar, for the airing of one's particular--er--differences. You say thescarf belongs to Lady Margaret Cheyne, Mr. Dall?"
"I do. For I myself gave it to her. I met her on the journey over fromBoulogne to Folkestone, and I happened to show the scarf to her. Sheadmired it, and on the impulse of the moment I pressed her to accept it.It was one of a pair."
Of a pair, eh? So there was the loophole of escape for Lady Margaretafter all. Cleek's head went up.
The coroner leant a little forward in his seat and stared up into theHindoo's impassive countenance.
"And where, may I ask, is the other?" he inquired.
The blow fell unexpectedly, but with more force in consequence.
For even as Gunga Dall commenced to speak there followed a littlecommotion at the back of the room. Someone had fainted, there was ahushed call for smelling salts and brandy.
"The other scarf is, or was," said the Hindoo, quietly, "in thepossession of Lady Brenton, to whom I gave it last week!"
It was like a thunderbolt in the quiet room. Cleek snatched up his hatand ran over to where Mr. Narkom stood.
"You've got to close this inquiry before it goes any further," hewhispered, hurriedly. "We've got to make more investigations before thatnigger's assertion is allowed to carry any weight with the evidence.We've got to close this inquiry at once, my friend!"
Mr. Narkom nodded, then crossed over to the Coroner and spoke to him ina low, hurried voice.
That gentleman seemed to acquiesce in whatever statement theSuperintendent made, and shortly afterward declared the case postponed.
Slowly the people began to file out of the room in twos and threes, buteven as they did so came the sound of a terrible moaning, the sound thatCleek had heard so many times before, but from whence it issued, wasimpossible to tell. Long drawn out and wailing as a dog's death-howl, itfloated over the room, striking fear into every heart by its veryghastliness. What was it? What _could it be_?
Horrified, the listeners looked at one another in blank dismay. Even Mr.Narkom's usually ruddy countenance had undergone a change as the soundcame to his ears. Supernatural or not it acted like a charm, for inanother minute the room was cleared and Cleek, Mr. Narkom and theCoroner stood alone.
"Strange thing, isn't it?" said that gentleman, as he fetched his hatand moved over toward the door in the act of following upon the heelsof his jury-men.
Mr. Narkom nodded.
"Very. Coming along, Headland?"
"No, not just for a moment or two. I want to look round for myself ifyou don't mind. Just an odd fancy, don't you know! But don't wait forme, Mr. Narkom. I'll see you later on."
Even as they left, once again there sounded that uncanny wail, seemingto come from the very depths of the earth. Cleek felt that he was alonein a haunted house.