Part 17 (1/2)

Thursday dawned in a blaze of suns.h.i.+ne, and after the bleak promise of the day before the sky was a clear, sapphire-blue.

”What a day! And what a mission to waste it on!” sighed Cleek next morning, as he finished breakfast and took a turn to the front door, smoking his cigarette. ”Here's murder at the very door of this ill-fated place. And we've got to see the thing out!”

He spun upon his heel and went back again into the gloomy hall, as though the sight of the suns.h.i.+ne sickened him. His thoughts were with Merriton, shut away there in the village prison to await this day of reckoning, with, if the word should go against him, a still further day of reckoning ahead. A day when the cleverest brains of the law schools would be arrayed against him, and he would have to go through the awful tragedy of a trial in open court. What was a mere coroner's jury to that possibility?

Then too, perhaps in spite of evidence, they might let the boy off. There was a chance in that matter of the I.O.U., which he himself had found in the pocket of the dead man, and which was signed in the name of Lester Stark. Stark was due at the inquest to-day, to give his side of the affair. There was a possible loophole of escape. Would Nigel be able to get through it? That was the question.

The inquest was set for two o'clock. From eleven onward the great house began to fill with expectant and curious visitors. Reporters from local papers, and one or two who represented the London press, turned up, their press-cards as tickets of admittance. Petrie was stationed at the door to waylay casual strangers, but any who offered possible light upon the matter, eye-witnesses or otherwise, were allowed to enter. It was astonis.h.i.+ng how many people there were who confessed to having ”seen things” connected with the whole distressing affair. By one o'clock almost everyone was in place. At a quarter past, 'Toinette Brellier arrived, dressed in black and with a heavy veil shrouding her pallor. She was accompanied by her uncle.

Cleek met them in the hall. Upon sight of him 'Toinette ran up and caught him by the arm.

”You are Mr. Headland, are you not?” she stated rather than asked, her voice full of agitation, her whole figure trembling. ”My name is Brellier, Antoinette Brellier. You have heard of me from Nigel, Mr. Headland. I am-engaged to be married to him. This is my uncle, with whom I live. Mr. Headland-Mr. Brellier.”

She made the introduction in a distrait manner, and the two men bowed.

”I am pleased to meet you, sir,” said Brellier, in his stilted English, ”but I could wish it were under happier circ.u.mstances.”

”And I,” murmured Cleek, taking in the trim contour and the keen eyes of this man who was to have been Merriton's father-in-law-if things had turned out differently. He found he rather liked his looks.

”There is nothing-one can do?” Brellier's voice was politely anxious, and he spread out his hands in true French fas.h.i.+on then tugged at his closely clipped iron-gray beard.

”Anything that you know, Mr. Brellier, that would perhaps be of help, you can say-in the witness box. We are looking for people who know anything of the whole distressing tragedy. You can help that way, and that way alone. For myself,” he shrugged his shoulders, ”I don't for an instant believe Sir Nigel to be guilty. I can't, somehow. And yet-if you knew the evidence against him-!”

A sob came suddenly from 'Toinette, and Brellier gently led her away. It was a terrible ordeal for her, but she had insisted on coming-fearing, hoping that she might be of use to Nigel in the witness box. By the time they reached the great, crowded room, with its table set at the far end, its empty chairs, and the platform upon which the two bodies lay shrouded in their black coverings, she was crying, though plainly struggling for self possession.

Brellier found her a chair at the farther side of the room, and stood beside her, while near by Cleek saw the figure of Borkins, clad in ordinary clothes. He tipped one respectful finger as Brellier pa.s.sed him, and greeted him with a half-smile, as one of whom he thoroughly approved.

Then there was a little murmur of expectancy, as the group about the doorway parted to admit the prisoner.

He came between two policemen, very pale, very haggard, greatly aged by the few days of his ordeal. There were lines about his mouth and eyes that were not good to see. He was thinner, older. Already the gray showed in the hair about his temples. He walked stiffly, looking neither to right nor left, his head up, his hands handcuffed before him; calm, dignified, a trifle grimly amused at the whole affair-though what this att.i.tude cost him to keep up no one ever knew.

'Toinette uttered a cry at sight of him, and then shut her handkerchief against her mouth. His face quivered as he recognized her voice, then, looking across the crowded room, he saw her-and smiled....

The jury filed in one after the other, twelve stout, hardy specimens of the country tradesman, with a local doctor and a farmer or two sprinkled among the lump to leaven it. The coroner followed, having driven up in the latest thing in motor cars (for he was going to do the thing properly, as it was at the country's expense). Then the horrible proceedings began.

After the preliminaries, which followed the usual custom (for the coroner seemed singularly devoid of originality) the bodies were uncovered, and a murmur of excited expectancy ran through the crowd. With morbid curiosity they pressed forward. The reporters started to scribble in their note-books, a little pale and perturbed, for all their experience of such affairs. One or two of the crowd gasped, and then shut their eyes. Brellier exclaimed aloud in French, and for a moment covered his face with his hands; but 'Toinette made no murmur. For she had not looked, would not look upon the grim terrors that lay there. There was no need for that.

The coroner spoke, attacking the matter in a business-like fas.h.i.+on, and leaning down from his slightly elevated position upon the platform, pointed a finger at the singed and blackened puncture upon the temple of the thing that was once Dacre Wynne. He pointed also to the wound in the head of Collins.

”It is apparent to all present,” he began in his flat voice, ”that death has been caused in each case by a shot in the head. That the two men were killed similarly is something in the nature of a coincidence. The revolver that killed them was not the same in both cases. In that of Mr. Wynne we have a bullet wound of an extremely small calibre. We have, indeed, the actual bullet. We also have, so we think, the revolver that fired the shot. In the case of James Collins there has been no proof and no evidence of any one whom we know being concerned. Therefore we will take the case of the man Dacre Wynne first. He was killed by a revolver-shot in the temple, and death was-or should have been-instantaneous. We will call the prisoner to speak first.”

He lifted a revolver from the table and held it in the hollow of his big palm.

”This revolver is yours?” he said, peering up under his s.h.a.ggy eyebrows into Merriton's face.

”It is.”

”Very good. There has been, as you see, one shot fired from it. Of the six chambers one is empty.” He reached down and picked up a small something and held it in the hollow of the other hand, balancing one against the other as he talked. ”Sir Nigel, I ask you. This we recognize as a bullet which belongs to this same revolver, the revolver which you have recognized and claimed as your own. It is identical with those that are used in the cartridges of your revolver, is it not?”

Merriton bent his head. His eyes had a dumb, hurt look, but over the crowded room his voice sounded firm and steady.