CHAPTER XIII.
IN WHICH THE SEVERNSHIRE CORONER HOLDS AN
INQUEST.
At noon the next day an inquest was held on the body at “The Magpies,” the inn nearest Montem Castle—a roadside hostelry that stood back from the road, as if it had stepped aside for shelter beneath those great walnut-trees and elms which stretched their umbrageous arms over the lichen-covered roof. An open space in front was occupied by a pump and a wide trough, to which waggoners brought their horses, whilst they sat on the adjacent seat and tossed off brown sparkling ale from small glasses, which they refilled with a sort of pride from blue foaming jugs. There was the sign swinging between two bars like a wooden banner, displaying three magpies in solemn conclave near a wood. The lichens on the roof had gradually dispersed themselves over the coping-stones of the old house, and the brown and yellow excrescences vied with the changing hues of the sheltering trees.
Upon the day mentioned there were unusual signs of life at “The Magpies.” A crowd of idlers and gossips, men from the corners of Brazencrook streets, and boys and girls and hulking farm-labourers, lounged about the house, watching every movement of the police, and the coroner and the jury, with a dull but observant curiosity. When the jurymen went to view the body of the deceased man, and the spot where he was found, the little crowd followed at a respectful distance, and then came back again, after a walk of nearly three miles, to stare in at the window where the inquest was held, or drink beer in the tap-room.
The coroner opened the inquiry in a long and judicious address upon the circumstances of the case, and stated that the superintendent of the Brazencrook police had been anxious that Lady Verner should be called upon to give evidence. He regretted, however, that her ladyship, who was unwell when the dreadful occurrence took place, had been so shocked by the event that she was now seriously ill, and her medical attendants were anxious that she should have repose of mind and body. His lordship had, however, kindly signified his intention of being present; he believed that he was now in the house, and if so, they would hear his evidence first.
Lord Verner entered the room opportunely at this moment, with his lawyer from Brazencrook, and followed by reporters from the adjacent towns, where the news of a “Dreadful Murder in the Old Ruin of Montem Castle” had already supplied materials for sundry second editions of sundry newspapers. There is no more startling illustration of the rapid rate at which we live in these times than that afforded by the chronicles of our daily history. The other day, we were grubbing over the files of an old newspaper which was published weekly, coming out on Saturdays at noon with a foolscap sheet of postal news and rumours, a few advertisements, and sundry marriages and deaths; it was the leading journal of a great city—a city divided by a river, upon which vessels came and went on their way to America and the East Indies, and other distant countries. In this Saturday’s paper we came across a paragraph of local news, to the effect that “We hear that a dreadful murder was committed in Bedminster, on Wednesday evening;” then followed two or three lines indicating the manner of the murdered man’s death; and this was all the information considered necessary for the reader. Bedminster was really a portion of the city in which the journal was published, and in the present day that same paper would, between the time of the murder and the Saturday publication, have reported the fullest details of the crime, with a description of the scene of the murder, the antecedents of the dead man, a full report of the inquest and finding of the jury, and, supposing the criminal captured, a full report of the examination before the magistrates, and committal, occupying in the narration of this one case as much type and paper (to say nothing of writers and printers) as would have published the old journal for several weeks.
Thus the local newspapers of Severntown, and Brazencrook, and Avonworth, gave the whole district the speediest and fullest information relating to the tragedy, with an eloquent and graphic sketch of the scene by that smart gentleman who “did” the Verner marriage with the prayer-book service in it.
They told how Lord Verner was the first witness examined, and how his solicitor, Montagu Masters, Esq. (of the firm of Masters & Filmer of Brazencrook), watched the proceedings in the interests of the family. They repeated that story of the deceased’s arrival and his going out to walk, which is already fully known to our readers. Then they gave the evidence of Jones the groom, and finally the somewhat remarkable statement of Lionel Hammerton, which was the most interesting portion of the inquiry, seeing that the coroner cautioned the Captain in unusually solemn terms that what he said would be taken down in writing, and as he was unfortunately with the deceased when Jones came up, that circumstance might possibly prove inconvenient and troublesome to him, to say the least.
Mr. Montagu Masters had quite a battle royal over this point with the coroner; but her Majesty’s representative finally put the lawyer down by intimating that he was only permitted to be present in this court by courtesy, and that he (the coroner) would conduct this inquiry in his own way.
This most effectually prejudiced the minds of the jury against Lionel Hammerton, who certainly gave his evidence in a hesitating and dubious manner, which seemed fully to justify the suspicion of the police that he had murdered the deceased.
In the midst of Lionel’s examination the groom was recalled.
“How long after the Captain gave you his horse was it that you heard the noise which induced you to go to the ruin?”
“About a quarter of an hour,” was the reply.
“Did the Captain go straight in that direction when he left the stable yard?”
“He went the shortest road.”
“Was he in the habit of taking a walk in that direction after riding?”
“I can’t say.”
Then the surgeon was recalled.
“The bruise upon the right hand is recent, you say?”
“Yes.”
“Supposing the deceased had shot himself, it would have been almost impossible that he could have fired the pistol with his left hand?”
“Quite impossible, I should say, and considering the position of the wound there would have been some little difficulty with the right; but of course he could have used both hands; the wound is quite compatible with the supposition of suicide.”
The superintendent of police was also recalled, and he said that at the place where the deceased gentleman fell there were marks as if a struggle had taken place, and on searching the body no papers had been found. Morris, his lordship’s man, had seen the deceased with a pocket-book, and from the way in which the breast-pocket of his coat had been dragged open and torn, it would seem as if something (perhaps the pocket-book, as that could not be found) had been forcibly removed. He would also venture to point out to the coroner that although the groom hurried to the spot immediately upon hearing the noise, the Captain was there before him with the deceased’s head upon his knee. If he had committed suicide the Captain must have been close to the spot at the time, and yet he heard voices.
Mr. Masters protested against this police statement.
The coroner said it was not evidence, and he was not taking it down.
Lionel Hammerton said he had no objection to the policeman’s theorising. He certainly was the first on the spot; and there was blood upon the coat which he had just been informed the policeman had sent for to the hall.
It was well Earl Verner had long since left the court and knew nothing of this, or there would have been a fierce struggle between the leading authorities.
The points which stood out most prominently in the inquiry were the facts that the deceased had come to Montem on some business with his sister the Countess; that in the twilight they walked out to converse; that Lionel Hammerton, on returning from Brazencrook, instead of going into the house, goes towards the ruin by the nearest route; that no more is heard or seen of Lady Verner; that by-and-by a pistol is fired off, and Hammerton is found supporting the body of the deceased; that there is evidence of a struggle, though a brief one; that Hammerton can give no reason for going towards the ruin except that he saw two figures; that nobody can throw any light upon the nature of the business between the deceased and his sister; that the visit was altogether a peculiar one, the deceased leaving his luggage at the Verner Arms at first, and then sending for it, as though he were not certain of a kind reception at the Castle; that neither paper nor notes are found upon him; that his pocket-book is missing, though his watch and purse, containing gold, remain. If the deceased was murdered the crime had been one, not prompted suddenly by robbery so much as by revenge, or a robbery of papers or letters of some kind which might be more valuable than money.
The inquest was adjourned, and in the evening Lord Verner and his brother had a long, serious talk in the library; but it consisted chiefly of speculations about Tallant’s death, and the Earl firmly believed that he had committed suicide.
“What figures did you see, Lionel?—Her ladyship must have returned into the house, poor soul, for her maid tells me she had a terrible headache, and came in very soon after she brought her shawl and hat.”
“No doubt,” said Lionel, “it could not have been her ladyship.”
Poor fellow, what was he to say! “What a tangled thread we weave, when first we practise to deceive!” One lie led to another; with that awful suspicion burning in his heart,—and it would not go, despite all his efforts—Lionel’s chief aim was to shield the Countess.
“You heard voices, you say?”
“Yes.”
“Were you listening to them, or what?”
“I did listen a moment or two.”
“Why did you listen? what did you suspect?”
“I do not know; there are times when we do things the most trivial without being able to explain why or wherefore.”
“So there are. Your belief that you heard voices, and the statement that you saw two figures, clearly point to the theory of murder as against suicide.”
“Yes,” said Lionel.
“How could the murderer have escaped? You were on the spot in an instant almost, it seems.”
“I was there very quickly.”
“And you saw no one?”
“No, only Tallant on the ground.”
“From what Masters says, there is no doubt that that fool of a policeman has taken it into his thick head that you killed Richard Tallant,” said his lordship, in a tone of contemptuous coolness.
“I thought so last evening, and see it clearly to-day,” said Lionel.
“Let him have a care, Lionel, how he tampers with the name and fame of the house of Verner. By heavens I will punish him! The thing is absurd on the face of it.”
“I suppose the idea is that a man found by the side of one who is murdered should be able to give a succinct account of his death.”
“Once a policeman starts a theory of his own respecting any particular crime, he thinks of nothing else; he follows no clue which does not support that theory; he rejects all evidence that may tell against it; his leading idea is that somebody must be apprehended and convicted for it; and this Brazencrook fellow is a shallow-pated, ambitious booby, whose fingers are itching to have a distinguished prisoner; he is anxious to create a sensation,” said the Earl.
And so they continued to talk the affair over, whilst the gossips in the neighbourhood and throughout the country theorised upon it, and cleared up the mystery in their own way. Meanwhile, Lady Verner, to all appearance, continued very ill, and no word concerning recent events was to be whispered in her hearing; but when there was no one present but her maid she brightened up and insisted upon hearing of all that had occurred. Lady Verner was not so ill as she seemed.
At night when the shallow-pated and ambitious policeman, as Earl Verner called him, was smoking his pipe over his own fire, and relating the incidents of the day to his admiring wife, an assistant in the shop of the leading gunsmith of the place knocked at the door and wished to see the superintendent privately and on particular business.
“I come as an act of duty,” said the young man, “although I know I shall lose my place by it, for the master dared and forbade me to come to you.”
“Yes,” said the officer, shutting the door of his private office, and taking his seat at his desk beneath a long row of handcuffs and cutlasses.
“Captain Hammerton bought two pistols at our shop to-day.”
“Yes,” said the officer, writing down the words, the name of the assistant, the name of the master, &c.
“A revolver, and an ordinary pistol.”
“Yes, go on; I will not interrupt you, tell your own story.”
“He bought the ordinary one because it attracted his fancy—the stock was peculiar. The revolver, he said, he wanted to take to India with him, and he was going to London in the morning.”
“Going to London in the morning; yes,” said the officer, writing industriously.
“He bought bullets and powder.”
“Yes,” said the officer.
“That is all; hearing what I did about the inquest, I though it right in the interest of justice that you should know this.”
“Quite right; did he take the pistols with him?”
“No; we were to send them by Lord Verner’s groom when he passed with the letters.”
“Oh!” said the officer, “that alters the case. When did the groom call?”
“Not until this morning.”
“What the deuce is the good of that?” said the officer angrily; for he was greatly disappointed. He had hoped that the next moment when he should produce the pistol found in the ruins, the gunsmith’s assistant would identify it.
“That will do—thank you all the same, though there is nothing much in it; however it may be useful; if so you shall hear from me again.”
When the officious apprentice had gone, the Brazencrook chief leaned back in his chair and soliloquised.
“It shows he was thinking of pistols, at any rate—that is something; he had deadly weapons in his mind. Not much in that perhaps, being a soldier, but put this and that together. And then about going to London to-day. Ha! I must get at that point. I’m morally certain he killed the man, and Lady Verner knows something about it. There was a quarrel, something about her perhaps; she is pretty and young, and——”
Another knock at the door, and enter a gentleman whom we have seen before, though a stranger to the chief of the Brazencrook police—Mr. Bales from Scotland Yard.
The Brazencrook officer was delighted to receive so distinguished a visitor.
Mr. Bales said he knew something of the murdered man and his connections, and on making certain representations at head-quarters, he had come down “on spec,” in fact, “on his own hook.” A large reward would, no doubt, be offered for the discovery of the murderer, for it was a case of murder,—nobody in their senses could doubt that—and Lord Verner would, of course, second the Government efforts to clear up the mystery.
The local officer said, mysteriously, he was not so sure of that; he believed he was on the right track; if such should prove to be the case, of course, he would have the reward, or at any rate the greatest share of it.
“Certainly,” said Mr. Bales, “certainly; I have not come down here to rob you, my friend.”
“Well, I think not; you are too great a man; but that is mostly the little game of the London detectives who come interfering in a thing like this, ‘on spec,’ as you say.”
“It is not mine, I assure you.”
“Then we will make a bargain.”
“Yes, if you like.”
“Supposing my clue is right, and I get hold of the right man, you lay no claim to the reward.”
“I consent.”
“And supposing you are the successful hand, you divide the reward with me.”
“I consent to that also—but it is just possible neither of us may touch the money; there is generally a third party who brings these things to light in country districts: somebody comes and gives information of something that has escaped the police, eh?” said the London detective, with just a slightly sarcastic smile.
“There will be nothing of that sort in this case,” said the superintendent, who made up his mind there and then that, supposing a reward were offered, and that he received the announcement of the same in the morning, he would, at all risks, apprehend Lionel Hammerton.