The Seven Secrets

by William Le Queux

  CHAPTER X.

  WHICH PUZZLES THE DOCTORS.

  At the inquest held in the big upstair room of the Star and GarterHotel at Kew Bridge there was a crowded attendance. By this time thepublic excitement had risen to fever-heat. It had by someunaccountable means leaked out that at the post-mortem we had beenpuzzled; therefore the mystery was much increased, and the papers thatmorning without exception gave prominence to the startling affair.

  The coroner, seated at the table at the head of the room, took theusual formal evidence of identification, writing down the depositionsupon separate sheets of blue foolscap.

  Samuel Short was the first witness of importance, and those in theroom listened breathlessly to the story of how his alarum clock hadawakened him at two o'clock; how he had risen as usual and gone to hismaster's room, only to discover him dead.

  "You noticed no sign of a struggle?" inquired the coroner, lookingsharply up at the witness.

  "None, sir. My master was lying on his side, and except for the stainof blood which attracted my attention it looked as though he had diedin his sleep."

  "And what did you do?"

  "I raised the alarm," answered Short; and then he went on to describehow he switched on the electric light, rushed downstairs, seized theknife hanging in the hall, opened one of the back doors and rushedoutside.

  "And why did you do that, pray?" asked the coroner, looking at himfixedly.

  "I thought that someone might be lurking in the garden," the manresponded, a trifle lamely.

  The solicitor of Mrs. Courtenay's family, to whom she had sent askinghim to be present on her behalf, rose at this juncture and addressingthe coroner, said:

  "I should like to put a question to the witness, sir. I represent thedeceased's family."

  "As you wish," replied the coroner. "But do you consider such a coursewise at this stage of the inquiry? There must be an adjournment."

  He understood the coroner's objection and, acquiescing, sat down.

  Nurse Kate and the cook were called, and afterwards Ethelwynn, who,dressed in black and wearing a veil, looked pale and fragile as shedrew off her glove in order to take the oath.

  As she stood there our eyes met for an instant; then she turnedtowards her questioner, bracing herself for the ordeal.

  "When did you last see the deceased alive?" asked the coroner, afterthe usual formal inquiry as to her name and connection with thefamily.

  "At ten o'clock in the evening. Dr. Boyd visited him, and found himmuch better. After the doctor had gone I went upstairs and found thenurse with him, giving him his medicine. He was still sitting beforethe fire."

  "Was he in his usual spirits?"

  "Quite."

  "What was the character of your conversation with him? I understandthat Mrs. Courtenay, your sister, was out at the time. Did he remarkupon her absence?"

  "Yes. He said it was a wet night, and he hoped she would not takecold, for she was so careless of herself."

  The coroner bent to his paper and wrote down her reply.

  "And you did not see him alive again."

  "No."

  "You entered the room after he was dead, I presume?"

  "No. I--I hadn't the courage," she faltered. "They told me that he wasdead--that he had been stabbed to the heart."

  Again the coroner bent to his writing. What, I wondered, would thosepresent think if I produced the little piece of stained chenille whichI kept wrapped in tissue paper and hidden in my fusee-box?

  To them it, of course, seemed quite natural that a delicate womanshould hesitate to view a murdered man. But if they knew of mydiscovery they would detect that she was an admirable actress--thather horror of the dead was feigned, and that she was not telling thetruth. I, who knew her countenance so well, saw even through her veilhow agitated she was, and with what desperate resolve she wasconcealing the awful anxiety consuming her.

  "One witness has told us that the deceased was very much afraid ofburglars," observed the coroner. "Had he ever spoken to you on thesubject?"

  "Often. At his country house some years ago a burglary was committed,and one of the burglars fired at him but missed. I think that unnervedhim, for he always kept a loaded revolver in the drawer of a tablebeside his bed. In addition to this he had electrical contrivancesattached to the windows, so as to ring an alarm."

  "But it appears they did not ring," said the coroner, quickly.

  "They were out of order, the servants tell me. The bells had beensilent for a fortnight or so."

  "It seems probable, then, that the murderer knew of that," remarkedDr. Diplock, again writing with his scratchy quill. Turning to thesolicitor, he asked, "Have you any questions to put to the witness?"

  "None," was the response.

  And then the woman whom I had loved so fervently and well, turned andre-seated herself. She glanced across at me. Did she read my thoughts?

  Her glance was a glance of triumph.

  Medical evidence was next taken, Sir Bernard Eyton being the firstwitness. He gave his opinion in his habitual sharp, snappy voice,terse and to the point.

  In technical language he explained the disease from which his patienthad been suffering, and then proceeded to describe the result of thepost-mortem, how the wound inside was eight times larger than theexterior incision.

  "That seems very remarkable!" exclaimed the coroner, himself a surgeonof no mean repute, laying down his pen and regarding the physicianwith interest suddenly aroused. "Have you ever seen a similar wound inyour experience, Sir Bernard?"

  "Never!" was the reply. "My friends, Doctor Boyd and Doctor Farmer,were with me, and we are agreed that it is utterly impossible that thecardiac injuries I have described could have been caused by theexternal wound."

  "Then how were they caused?" asked the coroner.

  "I cannot tell."

  There was no cross-examination. I followed, merely corroborating whatmy chief had said. Then, after the police surgeon had given hisevidence, Dr. Diplock turned to the twelve Kew tradesmen who had been"summoned and sworn" as jurymen, and addressing them said:

  "I think, gentlemen, you have heard sufficient to show you that thisis a more than usually serious case. There are certain elements bothextraordinary and mysterious, and that being so I would suggest anadjournment, in order that the police should be enabled to makefurther enquiries into the matter. The deceased was a gentleman whosephilanthropy was probably well known to you all, and we must alltherefore regret that he should have come to such a sudden and tragicend. You may, of course, come to a verdict to-day if you wish, but Iwould strongly urge an adjournment--until, say, this day week."

  The jury conferred for a few moments, and after some whispering theforeman, a grocer at Kew Bridge, announced that his fellow jurymenacquiesced in the coroner's suggestion, and the public rose and slowlyleft, more puzzled than ever.

  Ambler Jevons had been present, sitting at the back of the room, andin order to avoid the others we lunched together at an obscurepublic-house in Brentford, on the opposite side of the Thames to KewGardens. It was the only place we could discover, save the hotel wherethe inquest had been held, and we had no desire to be interrupted, forduring the inquiry he had passed me a scrap of paper upon which he hadwritten an earnest request to see me alone afterwards.

  Therefore when I had put Ethelwynn into a cab, and had bade farewellto Sir Bernard and received certain private instructions from him, wewalked together into the narrow, rather dirty High Street ofBrentford, the county town of Middlesex.

  The inn we entered was close to a soap works, the odour from which wasnot conducive to a good appetite, but we obtained a room to ourselvesand ate our meal of cold beef almost in silence.

  "I was up early this morning," Ambler observed at last. "I was at Kewat eight o'clock."

  "Why?"

  "In the night an idea struck me, and when such ideas occur I alwaysseek to put them promptly into action."

  "What was the idea?" I asked.

  "I thought about
that safe in the old man's bedroom," he replied,laying down his knife and fork and looking at me.

  "What about it? There's surely nothing extraordinary in a man having asafe in his room?"

  "No. But there's something extraordinary in the key of that safe beingmissing," he said. "Thorpe has apparently overlooked the point;therefore this morning I went down to Kew, and finding only aconstable in charge, I made a thorough search through the place. Inthe dead man's room I naturally expected to find it, and after nearlya couple of hours searching in every nook and every crack I succeeded.It was hidden in the mould of a small pot-fern, standing in thecorridor outside the room."

  "You examined the safe, then?"

  "No, I didn't. There might be money and valuables within, and I had noright to open it without the presence of a witness. I've waited foryou to accompany me. We'll go there after luncheon and examine itscontents."

  "But the executors might have something to say regarding such anaction," I remarked.

  "Executors be hanged! I saw them this morning, a couple of dry-as-dustold fossils--city men, I believe, who only think of house propertyand dividends. Our duty is to solve this mystery. The executors canhave their turn, old chap, when we've finished. At present theyhaven't the key, or any notion where it is. One of them mentioned it,and said he supposed it was in the widow's possession."

  "Well," I remarked, "I must say that I don't half like the idea ofturning out a safe without the presence of the executors."

  "Police enquiries come before executors' inventories," he replied."They'll get their innings all in good time. The house is, at present,in the occupation of the police, and nobody therefore can disturb us."

  "Have you told Thorpe?"

  "No. He's gone up to Scotland Yard to make his report. He'll probablybe down again this afternoon. Let's finish, and take the ferryacross."

  Thus persuaded I drained my ale, and together we went down to theferry, landing at Kew Gardens, and crossing them until we emerged bythe Unicorn Gate, almost opposite the house.

  There were loiterers still outside, men, women, and children, wholounged in the vicinity, staring blankly up at the drawn blinds. Aconstable in uniform admitted us. He had his lunch, a pot of beer andsome bread and cheese which his wife had probably brought him, on thedining-room table, and we had disturbed him with his mouth full.

  He was the same man whom Ambler Jevons had seen in the morning, and aswe entered he saluted, saying:

  "Inspector Thorpe has left a message for you, sir. He'll be back fromthe Yard about half-past three, and would very much like to see you."

  "Do you know why he wants to see me?"

  "It appears, sir, that one of the witnesses who gave evidence thismorning is missing."

  "Missing!" he cried, pricking up his ears. "Who's missing?"

  "The manservant, sir. My sergeant told me an hour ago that as soon asthe man had given evidence he went out, and was seen hurrying towardsGunnersbury Station. They believe he's absconded."

  I exchanged significant glances with my companion, but neither of usuttered a word. Ambler gave vent to his habitual grunt ofdissatisfaction, and then led the way upstairs.

  The body had been removed from the room in which it had been found,and the bed was dismantled. When inside the apartment, he turned to mecalmly, saying:

  "There seems something in Thorpe's theory regarding that fellow Short,after all."

  "If he has really absconded, it is an admission of guilt," I remarked.

  "Most certainly," he replied. "It's a suspicious circumstance, in anycase, that he did not remain until the conclusion of the inquiry."

  We pulled the chest of drawers, a beautiful piece of old Sheraton,away from the door of the safe, and before placing the key in the lockmy companion examined the exterior minutely. The key was partlyrusted, and appeared as though it had not been used for many months.

  Could it be that the assassin was in search of that key and had beenunsuccessful?

  He showed me the artful manner in which it had been concealed. Thesmall hardy fern had been rooted up and stuck back again heedlesslyinto its pot. Certainly no one would ever have thought to search for asafe-key there. The dampness of the mould had caused the rust, hencebefore we could open the iron door we were compelled to oil the keywith some brilliantine which was discovered on the dead man's dressingtable.

  The interior, we found, was a kind of small strong-room--built offire-brick, and lined with steel. It was filled with papers of allkinds neatly arranged.

  We drew up a table, and the first packet my friend handed out was asubstantial one of five pound notes, secured by an elastic band,beneath which was a slip on which the amount was pencilled. Securitiesof various sorts followed, and then large packets of parchment deedswhich, on examination, we found related to his Devonshire property andhis farms in Canada.

  "Here's something!" cried Ambler at length, tossing across to me asmall packet methodically tied with pink tape. "The old boy'slove-letters--by the look of them."

  I undid the loop eagerly, and opened the first letter. It was in afeminine hand, and proved a curious, almost unintelligiblecommunication.

  I glanced at the signature. My heart ceased its beating, and a suddencry involuntarily escaped me, although next moment I saw that by it Ihad betrayed myself, for Ambler Jevons sprang to my side in aninstant.

  But next instant I covered the signature with my hand, grasped thepacket swift as thought, and turned upon him defiantly, withoututtering a word.