The Seven Secrets Part 11

In a word, our conclusions were that the murdered man could easily have lived another year or more. The disease was not so advanced as we had believed. Sir Bernard had a patient to see in Grosvenor Square; therefore he left at about four o'clock, regretting that he had not time to call round at the neighbour's and express his sympathy with the widow.

"Give her all my sympathies, poor young lady," he said to me. "And tell her that I will call upon her to-morrow." Then, after promising to attend the inquest and give evidence regarding the post-mortem, he shook hands with us both and left.

At eight o'clock that evening I was back in my own rooms in Harley Place, eating my dinner alone, when Ambler Jevons entered.

He was not as cheery as usual. He did not exclaim, as was his habit, "Well, my boy, how goes it? Whom have you killed to-day?" or some such grim pleasantry.

On the contrary, he came in with scarcely a word, threw his hat upon a side table, and sank into his usual arm chair with scarcely a word, save the question uttered in almost a growl:

"May I smoke?"

"Of course," I said, continuing my meal. "Where have you been?"

"I left while you were cutting up the body," he said. "I've been about a lot since then, and I'm a bit tired."

"You look it. Have a drink?"

"No," he responded, shaking his head. "I don't drink when I'm bothered. This case is an absolute mystery." And striking a match he lit his foul pipe and puffed away vigorously, staring straight into the fire the while.

"Well," I asked, after a long silence. "What's your opinion now?"

"I've none," he answered, gloomily. "What's yours?"

"Mine is that the mystery increases hourly."

"What did you find at the cutting-up?"

In a few words I explained the unaccountable nature of the wound, drawing for him a rough diagram on the back of an old envelope, which I tossed over to where he sat.

He looked at it for a long time without speaking, then observed:

"H'm! Just as I thought. The police theory regarding that fellow Short and the knife is all a confounded myth. Depend upon it, Boyd, old chap, that gentleman is no fool. He's tricked Thorpe finely--and with a motive, too."

"What motive do you suspect?" I inquired, eagerly, for this was an entirely fresh theory.

"One that you'd call absurd if I were to tell it to you now. I'll explain later on, when my suspicions are confirmed--as I feel sure they will be before long."

"You're mysterious, Ambler," I said, surprised. "Why?"

"I have a reason, my dear chap," was all the reply he vouchsafed. Then he puffed again vigorously at his pipe, and filled the room with clouds of choking smoke of a not particularly good brand of tobacco.

CHAPTER X.

WHICH PUZZLES THE DOCTORS.

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

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

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

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

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

"And what did you do?"

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

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

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

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

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

"As you wish," replied the coroner. "But do you consider such a course wise 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 she drew off her glove in order to take the oath.

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

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

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

"Was he in his usual spirits?"

"Quite."

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

"Yes. He said it was a wet night, and he hoped she would not take cold, 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?"