<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></SPAN>CHAPTER XII.</h2>
<h3>I RECEIVE A VISITOR.</h3>
<p>The adjourned inquest was resumed on the day appointed in the big room
at the Star and Garter at Kew, and the public, eager as ever for
sensational details, overflowed through the bar and out into the
street, until the police were compelled to disperse the crowd. The
evening papers had worked up all kinds of theories, some worthy of
attention, others ridiculous; hence the excitement and interest had
become intense.</p>
<p>The extraordinary nature of the wound which caused Mr. Courtenay’s
death was the chief element of mystery. Our medical evidence had
produced a sensation, for we had been agreed that to inflict such a
wound with any instrument which could pass through the exterior
orifice was an absolute impossibility. Sir Bernard and myself were
still both bewildered. In the consulting room at Harley Street we had
discussed it a dozen times, but could arrive at no definite conclusion
as to how such a terrible wound could possibly have been caused.</p>
<p>I noticed a change in Sir Bernard. He seemed mopish, thoughtful, and
somewhat despondent. Usually he was a busy, bustling man, whose manner
with his patients was rather brusque, and who, unlike the majority of
my own profession, went to the point <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_110" id="Page_110"></SPAN></span>at once. There is no profession
in which one is compelled to exercise so much affected patience and
courtesy as in the profession of medicine. Patients will bore you to
death with long and tedious histories of all their ailments since the
days when they chewed a gutta-percha teething-ring, and to appear
impatient is to court a reputation for flippancy and want of
attention. Great men may hold up their hands and cry “Enough!” But
small men must sit with pencil poised, apparently intensely
interested, and listen through until the patient has exhausted his
long-winded recollections of all his ills.</p>
<p>Contrary to his usual custom, Sir Bernard did not now return to Hove
each evening, but remained at Harley Street—dining alone off a chop
or a steak, and going out afterwards, probably to his club. His change
of manner surprised me. I noticed in him distinct signs of nervous
disorder; and on several afternoons he sent round to me at the
Hospital, saying that he could not see his patients, and asking me to
run back to Harley Street and take his place.</p>
<p>On the evening before the adjourned inquest I remarked to him that he
did not appear very well, and his reply, in a strained, desponding
voice, was:</p>
<p>“Poor Courtenay has gone. He was my best friend.”</p>
<p>Yes, it was as I expected, he was sorrowing over his friend.</p>
<p>When we had re-assembled at the Star and Garter, he entered quietly
and took a seat beside me just before the commencement of the
proceedings.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_111" id="Page_111"></SPAN></span>The Coroner, having read over all the depositions taken on the first
occasion, asked the police if they had any further evidence to offer,
whereupon the local inspector of the T Division answered with an air
of mystery:</p>
<p>“We have nothing, sir, which we can make public. Active inquiries are
still in progress.”</p>
<p>“No further medical evidence?” asked the coroner.</p>
<p>I turned towards Sir Bernard inquiringly, and as I did so my eye
caught a face hidden by a black veil, seated among the public at the
far side of the room. It was Ethelwynn herself—come there to watch
the proceedings and hear with her own ears whether the police had
obtained traces of the assassin!</p>
<p>Her anxious countenance shone through her veil haggard and white; her
eyes were fixed upon the Coroner. She hung breathlessly upon his every
word.</p>
<p>“We have no further evidence,” replied the inspector.</p>
<p>There was a pause. The public who were there in search of some
solution of the bewildering mystery which had been published in every
paper through the land, were disappointed. They had expected at least
to hear some expert evidence—which, if not always reliable, is always
interesting. But there seemed an inclination on the part of the police
to maintain a silence which increased rather than lessened the
mystery.</p>
<p>“Well, gentlemen,” exclaimed Dr. Diplock, turning at last to the
twelve local tradesmen who formed the jury, “you have heard the
evidence in this curious <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_112" id="Page_112"></SPAN></span>case, and your duty is to decide in what
manner the deceased came by his death, whether by accidental means, or
by foul play. I think in the circumstances you will have very little
difficulty in deciding. The case is a mysterious one—a very
mysterious one. The deceased was a gentleman of means who was
suffering from a malignant disease, and that disease must have proved
fatal within a short time. Now this fact appears to have been well
known to himself, to the members of his household, and probably to
most of his friends. Nevertheless, he was found dead in circumstances
which point most strongly to wilful murder. If he was actually
murdered, the assassin, whoever he was, had some very strong incentive
in killing him at once, because he might well have waited another few
months for the fatal termination of the disease. That fact, however,
is not for you to consider, gentlemen. You are here for the sole
purpose of deciding whether or not this case is one of murder. If, in
your opinion it is, then it becomes your duty to return a verdict to
that effect and leave it to the police to discover the assassin. To
comment at length on the many mysterious circumstances surrounding the
tragedy is, I think, needless. The depositions I have just read are
sufficiently full and explanatory, especially the evidence of Sir
Bernard Eyton and of Doctor Boyd, both of whom, besides being
well-known in the profession, were personal friends of the deceased.
In considering your verdict I would further beg of you not to heed any
theories you may have read in the <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_113" id="Page_113"></SPAN></span>newspapers, but adjudge the matter
from a fair and impartial standpoint, and give your verdict as you
honestly believe the truth to be.”</p>
<p>The dead silence which had prevailed during the Coroner’s address was
at once broken by the uneasy moving of the crowd. I glanced across at
Ethelwynn, and saw her sitting immovable, breathless, statuesque.</p>
<p>She watched the foreman of the jury whispering to two or three of his
colleagues in the immediate vicinity. The twelve tradesmen consulted
together in an undertone, while the reporters at the table conversed
audibly. They, too, were disappointed at being unable to obtain any
sensational “copy.”</p>
<p>“If you wish to retire in order to consider your verdict, gentlemen,
you are quite at liberty to do so,” remarked the coroner.</p>
<p>“That is unnecessary,” replied the foreman. “We are agreed
unanimously.”</p>
<p>“Upon what?”</p>
<p>“Our verdict is that the deceased was wilfully murdered by some person
or persons unknown.”</p>
<p>“Very well, gentlemen. Of course in my position I am not permitted to
give you advice, but I think that you could have arrived at no other
verdict. The police will use every endeavour to discover the identity
of the assassin.”</p>
<p>I glanced at Ethelwynn, and at that instant she turned her head, and
her eyes met mine. She started quickly, her face blanched to the lips;
then she rose unsteadily, and with the crowd went slowly out.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_114" id="Page_114"></SPAN></span>Ambler Jevons, who had been seated at the opposite side of the room,
got up and rushed away; therefore I had no chance to get a word with
him. He had glanced at me significantly, and I knew well what passed
through his mind. Like myself, he was thinking of that strange letter
we had found among the dead man’s effects and had agreed to destroy.</p>
<p>About nine o’clock that same night I had left Sir Bernard’s and was
strolling slowly round to my rooms, when my friend’s cheery voice
sounded behind me. He was on his way to have a smoke with me as usual,
he explained. So we entered together, and after I had turned up the
light and brought out the drinks he flung himself into his habitual
chair, and stretching himself wearily said—</p>
<p>“The affair becomes more mysterious hourly.”</p>
<p>“How?” I inquired quickly.</p>
<p>“I’ve been down to Kew this afternoon,” was his rather ambiguous
response. “I had to go to my office directly after the inquest, but I
returned at once.”</p>
<p>“And what have you discovered? Anything fresh?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” he responded slowly. “A fresh fact or two—facts that still
increase the mystery.”</p>
<p>“What are they? Tell me,” I urged.</p>
<p>“No, Ralph, old chap. When I am certain of their true importance I’ll
explain them to you. At present I desire to pursue my own methods
until I arrive at some clear conclusion.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_115" id="Page_115"></SPAN></span>This disinclination to tell me the truth was annoying. He had always
been quite frank and open, explaining all his theories, and showing to
me any weak points in the circumstantial evidence. Yet suddenly, as it
seemed to me, he had become filled with a strange mistrust. Why, I
could not conceive.</p>
<p>“But surely you can tell me the nature of your discoveries?” I said.
“There need be no secrets between us in this affair.”</p>
<p>“No, Ralph. But I’m superstitious enough to believe that ill-luck
follows a premature exposure of one’s plans,” he said.</p>
<p>His excuse was a lame one—a very lame one. I smiled—in order to show
him that I read through such a transparent attempt to mislead me.</p>
<p>“I might have refused to show you that letter of Ethelwynn’s,” I
protested. “Yet our interests being mutual I handed it to you.”</p>
<p>“And it is well that you did.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>“Because knowledge of it has changed the whole course of my
inquiries.”</p>
<p>“Changed them from one direction to another?”</p>
<p>He nodded.</p>
<p>“And you are now prosecuting them in the direction of Ethelwynn?”</p>
<p>“No,” he answered. “Not exactly.”</p>
<p>I looked at his face, and saw upon it an expression of profound
mysteriousness. His dark, well-marked countenance was a complex one
always, but at that moment I was utterly unable to discern whether he
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_116" id="Page_116"></SPAN></span>spoke the truth, or whether he only wished to mislead my suspicions
into a different channel. That he was the acme of shrewdness, that his
powers of deduction were extraordinary, and that his patience in
unravelling a secret was almost beyond comprehension I knew well. Even
those great trackers of criminals, Shaw and Maddox, of New Scotland
Yard, held him in respect, and admired his acute intelligence and
marvellous power of perception.</p>
<p>Yet his attempt to evade a question which so closely concerned my own
peace of mind and future happiness tried my patience. If he had really
discovered some fresh facts I considered it but right that I should be
acquainted with them.</p>
<p>“Has your opinion changed as to the identity of the person who
committed the crime?” I asked him, rather abruptly.</p>
<p>“Not in the least,” he responded, slowly lighting his foul pipe. “How
can it, in the face of the letter we burnt?”</p>
<p>“Then you think that jealousy was the cause of the tragedy? That
she——”</p>
<p>“No, not jealousy,” he interrupted, speaking quite calmly. “The facts
I have discovered go to show that the motive was not jealousy.”</p>
<p>“Hatred, then?”</p>
<p>“No, not hatred.”</p>
<p>“Then what?”</p>
<p>“That’s just where I fail to form a theory,” he answered, after a
brief silence, during which he watched the blue smoke curl upward to
the sombre <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_117" id="Page_117"></SPAN></span>ceiling of my room. “In a few days I hope to discover the
motive.”</p>
<p>“You will let me assist you?” I urged, eagerly. “I am at your disposal
at any hour.”</p>
<p>“No,” he answered, decisively. “You are prejudiced, Ralph. You
unfortunately still love that woman.”</p>
<p>A sigh escaped me. What he said was, alas! too true. I had adored her
through those happy months prior to the tragedy. She had come into my
lonely bachelor life as the one ray of sunlight that gave me hope and
happiness, and I had lived for her alone. Because of her I had striven
to rise in the profession, and had laboured hard so that in a little
while I might be in a position to marry and buy that quiet country
practice that was my ideal existence. And even now, with my idol
broken by the knowledge of her previous engagement to the man now
dead, I confess that I nevertheless still entertained a strong
affection for her. The memory of a past love is often more sweet than
the love itself—and to men it is so very often fatal.</p>
<p>I had risen to pour out some whiskey for my companion when, of a
sudden, my man opened the door and announced:</p>
<p>“There’s a lady to see you, sir.”</p>
<p>“A lady?” we both exclaimed, with one voice.</p>
<p>“Yes, sir,” and he handed me a card.</p>
<p>I glanced at it. My visitor was the very last person I desired to meet
at that moment, for she was none other than Ethelwynn herself.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_118" id="Page_118"></SPAN></span>“I’ll go, old chap,” Jevons cried, springing to his feet, and draining
his glass at a single draught. “She mustn’t meet me here. Good-bye
till to-morrow. Remember, betray no sign to her that you know the
truth. It’s certainly a curious affair, as it now stands; but depend
upon it that there’s more complication and mystery in it than we have
yet suspected.”</p>
<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_119" id="Page_119"></SPAN></span></p>
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