CHAPTER XV.
[WHAT REALLY HAPPENED AT THE FEN INN.]
"You see, I was right," said Merrick, when I met him at the station.
"You have been right in every instance," I answered; "the inspector, here, quite agrees with me that you should be a detective. Where are your prisoners?"
"No, no! Not prisoners!" replied Merrick, shocked at the word. "They are my guests, traveling companions, what you will, but not prisoners."
"Still, I see my detective attends on them both," said I, as Strent and Rose Gernon came along the platform.
"It is as well to take all precautions. How is Francis Briarfield?"
"Rather downcast. He is afraid of being arrested for the murder."
"No fear of that," answered Merrick, casting a glance at Strent; "this gentleman's evidence will exonerate him fully."
Strent, smooth and unctuous as ever, rubbed his hands and bowed, but Rose Gernon turned her back on him with a gesture of disgust. Evidently she had not forgiven his hurried departure from the inn.
"What are we waiting for?" she said sharply. "Let us go on to the inquest. I wish to get it over as soon as possible and return to town."
We took the hint, and walked along to a room adjoining the morgue, where the inquest was being held. I introduced Merrick to the inspector, and after a short conversation they went into the morgue to examine the body. Not caring to see so ghastly a sight, I remained outside with Francis. In a quarter of an hour the doctor and the inspector returned, the former rubbing his hands with a well-pleased expression, the latter looking somewhat astonished. What had passed in the morgue I know not, as Merrick refused to gratify my curiosity.
"Wait till you hear the evidence of Strent," he said significantly.
The jury was made up of well-to-do Marshminster tradesmen, who took a profound interest in the proceedings, as the dead man was the brother of Miss Bellin's future husband. The Bellins were the great people of the neighborhood, and the tradesmen hoped to serve the Hall when Mr. and Mrs. Briarfield settled there. They were, therefore, excessively polite to Francis, but their frequent marks of attention only drew from him a bitter smile.
"Would they treat me in this way if they knew all?" he whispered to me.
"They will never know all," I answered in the same tone.
I had spoken to the inspector, and he in his turn had talked seriously with the coroner. The latter had been told the whole story, and, though astonished at the folly of Francis, yet found it in his heart to be sorry for the young man. He said he would not question Francis more than was necessary, and we hoped to carry through the inquest without exposing the underlying romance.
The first witness called was a local doctor, who deposed to having examined the body of Felix. He gave it as his opinion that the young man had died of poison, and explained the state of the blood with a lot of medical technicalities which none of the jury understood. It was, said the doctor, a case of blood poisoning, and the deceased had been wounded in the hand by some sharp instrument which had been steeped in poison.
I came next, and narrated how I had stayed at the Fen Inn on that night, and had met there Francis Briarfield, who was waiting there for his brother. Then I told of the discovery of the corpse, and the finding of the arrowhead in the fireplace. I said nothing about my tracking the trail to the pool, and if possible we wished that portion of the evidence to be passed over in silence. Fortunately the jury were a dull-headed lot, and submitted quietly to the guidance of the coroner. He only asked questions pertinent to the death without going too deeply into the subject. At this point I produced the arrowhead.
Francis explained that he had arrived from Chili on the 6th of June and had gone at once to the Fen Inn at the request of his brother Felix. His brother had not arrived on that night, and he had gone to bed. He was unable to say how his brother had come by his tragic end. Then came the critical point which we wished passed over in silence.
"Did you see your brother at the Fen Inn, Mr. Briarfield?" asked the coroner.
"I did not see my brother alive," was the evasive answer.
"Perhaps the body had been put in the pool by the murderer," said one of the jurymen, "in which case Mr. Briarfield would not see him."
"I did not go to the pool on that night," replied Francis, adroitly evading the remark; "it was later on that I learned my brother's body was there, and at once gave instructions that the pool was to be dragged."
At this point Mr. Briarfield was asked to stand down, and the inspector's evidence was taken. He deposed to the fact that Mr. Briarfield had instructed him to drag the pool for the body, and that it was found there.
This piece of evidence quite put the jury off the scent, as if Francis had placed the body in the pool, he would not have told the inspector where to find it. The critical point was thus glided gently over, and the coroner called Rose Gernon. Once the jury knew how the crime had been committed, they would forget all about the hiding of the body in the pool, so that the folly of Francis would not be made public.
I must say that Rose Gernon gave her evidence very clearly. She said she was an intimate friend of Felix Briarfield's, a statement which rather shocked the moral tradesmen of Marshminster. Felix asked her to go down to the inn, as he had prepared it for his brother, and wished to see him there about a family matter.
"But the inn was a ruin," interrupted a juryman.
Miss Gernon said that was very true. Still it was habitable, and Mr. Felix Briarfield had sent on fuel and provisions. As the former proprietor had left all the furniture, the rooms were fairly comfortable. She could not say why Felix did all this, unless it was that he wanted to see his brother privately.
Such talk was very weak, and the jurymen looked significantly at one another. They knew the Fen Inn, and could not conceive that anyone could be so mad as to dwell in it even for a night. It was said to be haunted, and though such a superstition might be scoffed at, yet not one of those present would have passed twelve hours of darkness in that ill-omened place.
"Were you not afraid when you saw the Lone Inn?" asked a juryman.
Rose shrugged her shoulders and laughed contemptuously.
"I am afraid of nothing," she said coolly; "there are no such things as ghosts. Besides, I had my brother with me."
"Your brother!"
"Yes, Edward Strent."
The inspector gave a low whistle, and, catching my eye, nodded significantly. He remembered what I had said on the previous night, and now agreed with my theory that the secret of the committal of the crime lay in the relationship existing between Rose and Strent. They were, it appeared, brother and sister. I saw all kinds of possibilities now that such a tie was made clear. Meanwhile Rose proceeded with her evidence.
"Mr. Felix Briarfield came to the inn," she said, "after his brother had gone to rest. I saw and spoke with him, and afterward went to bed myself. I understood that he was going to stay all night and see his brother in the morning."
"Was he alone in the room when you left him?"
"No; he was with Strent. An hour or so after I retired Strent came to my door and asked me to go downstairs. I did so, and found Felix lying dead on the floor. My brother had left the room, and on going; out at the back of the house I found him mounting the horse of Mr. Francis Briarfield. I asked him what had happened, and he just said Felix was dead, and advised me to fly lest I should be accused of the murder."
"That, I suppose, was also the reason of his flight?"
"So he told me when I saw him in London, but he then declared himself innocent of the crime. I was afraid I would be accused of the crime, so took the horse and gig in which we had come to the Fen Inn, and drove to Marshminster. From there I returned to London.
"Why did you not give the alarm?"
"I was afraid of being accused of the murder."
Here the inspector whispered something in the ear of the coroner. He nodded, and again spoke to Rose Gernon.
"Why did you not tell Mr. Denham where to find Strent when he was apparently guilty?"
"Strent is my brother," said Rose quietly, "and as he told me he was innocent, I did not wish him to be arrested for the crime. But that he visited me yesterday, and was seen by the men set to watch me, he would never have been caught."
Her examination lasted some considerable time, but the coroner did not succeed in eliciting anything new from her. She persistently held to the same story, so in despair the examiner desisted, and she was told to stand down. In her place Edward Strent was called, and then for me began the most interesting part of the case. I knew all that had been said hitherto, but I did not know how the crime had been committed, and waited to hear what Strent had to say. I quite believed him to be guilty, yet hardly thought he would accuse himself of the crime.
He first corroborated the story of Rose as to going to the inn, and narrated all that had occurred up to the time when he was left alone in the room with Felix.
"When I found myself alone with Briarfield," he proceeded, "I had a quarrel with him."
"About what?"
"About my sister. He had promised to marry her, yet, as I well knew, was paying attentions to Miss Bellin."
"But Miss Bellin was engaged to his brother," remarked a juryman.
"I know that. It was about Miss Bellin he wished to see his brother. I insisted that he should marry my sister, and he refused. We had hot words. He was on one side of the table, I on the other. Between us lay the arrowhead, which he had brought in his pocket."
"Why had he brought the arrowhead there?"
"I don't know," replied Strent, lying with the utmost promptitude. "He took the arrowhead out of his pocket, said it was poisoned, and laid it down on the table."
"Do you think he intended to kill his brother because he stood in his way with Miss Bellin?" asked an inquisitive juryman of a romantic turn of mind.
"I really don't know, sir," replied Strent, looking the juryman straight in the face. "He said nothing to me. We were quarreling over the shabby way in which he had treated my sister, and the arrowhead was on the table between us."
"What was the position of the arrowhead?" asked the coroner prompted by Merrick.
"It was leaning against a book which was on the table, and the point was uppermost. I said to Mr. Briarfield: 'Will you marry my sister?' and he said: 'No; I'm ---- if I will.' While saying this, he brought down the open palm of his hand on the arrowhead, and gave a cry of pain. When he lifted his hand, it had a ragged wound across it from the thumb to the little finger. I wished to bind it up, but he pushed me away, crying out he was a dead man. In three minutes he was lying dead on the floor. I threw the arrowhead into the fireplace, and tried to revive him, but it was no use. He was dead!"
"And you?"
"I was afraid I would be accused of the death, as Mr. Denham or Mr. Francis might have heard us quarreling together. I lost my head altogether, and only thought of flight. I ran up to my sister's room, and told her Felix was dead. Then I saddled the horse. When she came to the door, I was mounting. I told her to take the gig and fly to Marshminster, and that I would explain all in London."
"You fled like a coward!"
"I suppose I did," said the man sullenly, "but I was beside myself with terror. I rode to Starby, and gave the horse back to the livery-stable keeper. Then I went to London and saw my sister. She agreed with me that it was best to keep quiet, so I did not come forward to give evidence. Had it not been for that detective who watched my sister, I should not be here now."
This evidence practically ended the inquest. Merrick was called to prove that the wound in the hand was such a one as might have been made by the downward stroke of the hand on a sharp point. This evidence was substantiated by the local practitioner, who had examined the body with Dr. Merrick. There was no doubt that the affair had happened as Strent said. Felix Briarfield had slapped his open hand on the table to emphasize his refusal to marry Rose Gernon. Unfortunately, it came in contact with the poisoned arrowhead. The flint had an edge like a razor, and, being steeped in virulent poison, acted like a snakebite on the unfortunate young man. Felix had not been murdered, but died by misadventure.
This was the verdict brought in by the jury, and so the whole of this strange affair came to an end. Thanks to the astuteness of the inspector, and the delicacy of the coroner, the jury were quite unaware of what had happened between the death of Felix and the inquest. The reporters of the Marshminster Gazette merely put in a short statement of the affair, and in a few days people ceased to take any interest in the Fen Inn crime. It was a lucky escape for Francis, but I don't think the lesson was thrown away on him.
Rose Gernon and her brother went back to town the same evening. I never saw Strent again, but frequently had the pleasure of seeing his sister performing on the stage. She is now engaged to be married, but with the knowledge of her actions at the Fen Inn I cannot say I envy the bridegroom.
After the burial of Felix I went abroad with Francis, whose health was quite broken down by the strain put on it during the last few weeks. He returned in six months, and married Olivia. She was told all that had taken place in the Lone Inn, but kept the information to herself. Mrs. Bellin never knew that Felix had substituted himself for Francis. I was best man at the wedding by particular request, and saw the happy pair start for their honeymoon. I hope they will be happy, and am sure they deserve to be, seeing through what tribulations they have passed.
"What has become of the Fen Inn?" asked Dr. Merrick, one day, when we were talking over the case.
"Oh, the Fen Inn is pulled down, I believe," was my reply. "There will be no more tragedies there."
"A fit end for such a shambles," said Merrick; and I think he was about right.