CHAPTER XIV.
The inquest was held in the little town-hall in the market-place, and the ugly whispers which were afloat concerning Jem Stickels’s death brought together such a gathering that the meager accommodation provided by the old building was taxed to the utmost.
It was evident from the outset that this was no ordinary case of a drunken man found dead in a ditch, with nothing about him to tell how he came by his death. From the very first moment when the doors were opened, and the crowd rushed in and filled in a moment the space allotted to the public, there were murmurs and whispers flying from mouth to mouth, indicative of the general belief that some person or persons of a higher social position than the dead fisherman, and more generally interesting than he, would be implicated in the course of the proceedings. The questions: “Where’s the young lady?” And “Won’t the gentleman be well enough to come?” were often but never satisfactorily answered. The witnesses in the case were in the magistrate’s room, so rumor said, and were to be brought out one by one as they were wanted.
That part of the court usually occupied by the officials alone held on this occasion a good many curious ones drawn thither by the open secret of the romantic interest attached to the case. A few portly wives of local tradesmen, sandwiched in among the members of the sterner sex, lent their presence to the scene. There was a hum and a buzz from end to end of the tightly-packed court as the jurymen filed in, and taking their places on the oaken seats, black with age, which were already old when Charles the First was king, were sworn one by one, duly charged by the coroner.
After the lull in the court caused by these proceedings, there was a loud buzz of talk when the jury filed out again to view the body. The policemen, little used to such a scene of excitement in their quiet, little town, roared themselves hoarse in their endeavor to maintain silence on the part of everybody but themselves.
When the jurymen returned the interesting part of the proceedings began. The first witness called was the boy, Charles Wallett, who had found the body. His evidence did not take many minutes, and consisted merely of the information he had given at the Bell Inn the evening before. He had seen the body lying by the roadside, had called to the man, had touched him; and being unable to detect a movement or to obtain an answer, he had concluded that the man was dead, and had run with all speed to give information of his discovery.
The second witness was the detective, Hemming. He admitted the open secret that he was a private inquiry agent, and that he was staying at Stroan on business. He had been the first to reach the body after Wallett’s discovery of it, and he had been one of those to identify the deceased as Jem Stickels, the fisherman. The man was quite dead when he found him, but the body was still quite warm.
“At what time was it that you first saw the body?” asked the coroner.
“I heard it chime the half-hour past eight by St. Martin’s Church clock when I was about halfway between Stroan bridge and the place where we discovered the body.”
“Was there anything about the position in which the body lay, or anything else, in fact, to enable you to form an opinion as to the cause of death?”
“Nothing whatever, sir,” answered Hemming, who gave his evidence in the clear voice and confident manner of the old policeman, who feels that the court is his own theatre, where he is bound to get a hearing and deserve it.
“Was the body lying face downward, in such a position that the man may have been too drunk to rise, and have been suffocated in the grass and mud?”
“He was lying face downward, as I have said, sir. But his mouth was not close to the ground. I don’t think it is possible that he could have been suffocated. His clothes were quite loose about his neck also.”
“Then you formed no opinion as to the cause of death?”
“Well, sir, I had heard something; and it made me jump to a conclusion as I should not otherwise have done. With your permission, sir, I would rather not say at the present stage what that conclusion was. It was formed from nothing I saw about the body.”
There were whispers in the court. The people in the crowd looked at one another, and intimated that there wasn’t much worth knowing that the London chap didn’t know. They all felt kindly toward Hemming for speaking out so that they could hear him, an accomplishment in which the non-professional witness is so lamentably deficient.
This was the gist of Hemming’s evidence, the few further questions which he was asked producing unimportant answers. Each witness had to put up with a trivial question or two from the members of the jury, who all wished to make the evidence given bear more weight than the giver intended.
The third witness called was Lucas Mann, in whose house the deceased man had been a lodger at the time of his death.
Mann deposed that Stickels was brought home by two men at a time which he fixed as between a quarter and half-past six. Stickels, who was in a half-dazed condition when he arrived, came to himself entirely within a few minutes and told him a story as to how he came to be stunned. Stickels had then seemed quite well, had had a cup of tea by the fire, and had expressed his intention of walking to Stroan that night. Then there had been a knock at the door. Stickels himself had opened it, and after a conversation with two ladies who had come to see him, he had gone out by the back door abruptly. The next thing Mann had heard of him was that he had been found dead on the road.
The next two witnesses were the men who had picked Jem Stickels up from the ground, at the back of the Blue Lion, after his encounter with Clifford. These both deposed that the man was unconscious when they picked him up, that he began to recover almost immediately, and that they did not have to carry him to the cottage where he lodged, but only to support him a little, as he complained of feeling “a bit giddy-like.” They said that he seemed to be quite himself before they left him at the cottage.
There was a buzz of excitement in court when Miss Bostal was called. With the feminine witnesses began the real interest of the case. Enough had leaked out by this time for every gossip in Stroan to be aware that the quarrel between the gentleman, Clifford King, and the fisherman, Jem Stickels, had been on Nell Claris’s account; and everybody knew, also, that Miss Bostal had espoused the cause of Jem Stickels, and so had brought herself prominently forward into the romantic story. Although Jem Stickels had not borne the best of characters, it was natural that after his sudden and mysterious death there should be a strong revulsion of popular feeling in his favor.
“Poor chap!” they said to one another. “It was clear he was awful fond of the girl, and, to be sure, she must have given him some encouragement for him to have made bold to go for her fine gentleman lover.”
The feminine portion of the population was strongly antagonistic to Nell on account of her undoubted claims to beauty; and the strong feeling against her was undoubtedly the result of simple jealousy rather than a solid opinion founded upon her own conduct. The male portion of the populace, on the other hand, while less virulent than the women, were not inclined to warm partisanship on behalf of the girl, who had always displayed a marked indifference to their attentions. There was many a young man in the crowded court that day who found a secret salve for his wounded vanity in the thought that the girl who would not vouchsafe him so much as a look had come to grief between two admirers, one of whom was not a lover to be proud of, while the other had brought himself into a dangerous position.
On the whole, therefore, it was Miss Bostal rather than Nell who carried the sympathy of the ordeal. When the little, thin lady, with the pinched face and the faded hair, stepped into the witness-box and kissed the book with grave and dignified reverence, there was little or no laughter at her odd costume of fifteen years before, at the “girl-of-the-period” short jacket, bunched-up gown and Tyrolese hat, which, once so “smart” and up-to-date, had now become such a quaint relic of the past. People pardoned her eccentric dress, her prim little manners, in consideration of the goodness of heart which had caused the little lady to hold out a helping hand to the poor scapegrace and to champion the cause of the man of the people against the gentleman.
Every ear in the court was strained to catch her words, but the little woman spoke out well, in a thin, almost shrill voice, indeed, but with a distinct utterance which made every word carry from end to end of the hall.
“I understand, madam, that you were the last person who is known to have spoken to Jem Stickels before his death?” said the coroner.
“Yes, sir,” answered Miss Theodora. “I went to the cottage where he lodged as soon as I heard of his accident, to learn how he was.”
“He opened the door to you himself, I believe?”
“Yes, sir; he did.”
“And he was very surly to you, I believe?”
“Yes, sir, he was rather. He was much excited, and said that we should have to answer some questions to-morrow morning.”
At these words every man and woman in the court felt stirred to a deeper interest. They were touching the edge of the mystery at last.
“He said you would be asked some questions? What did you suppose him to mean by that?”
“I hardly thought about it. He spoke in a wild way. He was very angry and excited. All I thought about was trying to pacify him.”
“Did it occur to you at all that he had any idea of making away with himself?”
This question evidently took the witness by surprise. Miss Bostal stared at the coroner in frank perplexity. It was clear that the notion was new to her.
“No, sir, I certainly did not think that.”
“You had no idea what he meant?”
“Well, sir, I thought he meant to refer to the story that has been about—the story of some robberies not far from where he lived. He often used to say he knew who the thief was.”
At this ingenuous reply, which slipped out of the witness’s mouth without her having any idea of the bombshell she was throwing down, a great sensation shook the listening crowd, and called forth cries of silence from the police.
“He was much excited, you say? Did he seem otherwise in his usual state? I mean, did he speak as a man speaks who is in perfect health, in perfect command of himself?” asked the coroner, much to the disappointment of the listeners, who were more interested in the mystery lying underneath the story than in the death of Jem Stickels.
“Oh, yes! He seemed quite himself. We were surprised to find him like that.”
“And—was he sober?”
“Quite sober, I should say.”
“Did he say anything about the blow he had received? Did he make any complaint?”
“None while I was there.”
“And now, madam, I must ask you another question. How far is it from your house to the spot where the deceased was found?”
Miss Bostal considered.
“If you go by the fields, it must be about a mile and a half. By the road, I should think nearly two miles.”
At this point the superintendent of police nodded to the coroner, to express his assent to this calculation.
“And now tell me, if you please, what time it was when you left the cottage, when you saw the last of the deceased, that is to say?”
“It was about ten minutes past seven.”
“How did you fix the time?”
“I looked at my watch when we got back home again, to see if it was time to light the fire in the dining-room for my father’s return home. And it was then five-and-twenty minutes past seven.”
“Then you reckon that you did the walk in a quarter of an hour?”
“Yes. It is about three-quarters of a mile, by the way we came over the fields.”
There was a short pause, and the listening crowd, now more on the alert than ever, waited breathlessly for the coroner’s next question. It came in a rather surprising form.
“Can you tell me, Miss Bostal, whether you and Miss Claris remained in each other’s company from the moment you returned home until your father’s return?”
Miss Bostal reflected.
“Not quite all the time,” she answered, after a moment’s thought. “I tore my dress on a nail as I came through the back door, and I asked Miss Claris to make the tea while I ran up to my room and mended it.”
“And how long were you upstairs?”
“About ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, I should think.”
“You have no way of fixing the time?”
“I had no reason to take particular note of the time; but I think I remember seeing that it was between twenty minutes and a quarter to eight when I went down into the dining-room and lit the fire.”
“Was Miss Claris there?”
“No. She came in with the tea not long afterward.”
“And what time was that?”
“I cannot tell exactly. But I think it was soon after eight.”
“And during that time that you were in the dining-room by yourself, did you hear her moving about in the kitchen?”
“I don’t remember noticing. I was thinking of the fire. It would not burn up.”
“Altogether, then, I gather from what you have said, quite three-quarters of an hour elapsed between the time you left Miss Claris at the back door and the time she brought in the tea?”
“About that, I should think.”
“You did not see her or remember hearing her during that time?”
“I certainly did not see her. I don’t remember hearing her.”
There was another intent pause.
“When you did see her next—when she brought in the tea, that is to say—did she seem agitated, or was she calm?”
“She was very much agitated. She had been crying all the time, I think she told me.”
“I must thank you for the clear way in which you have given your evidence. Only one more question. Would it be possible, do you think, for a person to get, say, to the place where the body was discovered and back again in three-quarters of an hour or a little more?”
The crowd in the court seemed to draw a deep breath of unanimous consternation. Only the witness seemed to ignore the drift of the question.
“It would be absolutely impossible, I am sure,” she answered in surprise.
“And you are sure the time was no more than three-quarters of an hour?”
“As sure as I can be, considering that I took no particular note of the time.”
“Thank you. That is all I have to ask you at present, though it is possible we may have to recall you. Gentlemen,” he went on, turning to the jury, who were already springing up with their questions, “I think it will be better for you to hear the evidence of the doctors before you ask this witness any further questions.”
They sat down again, and again there was a buzz and a hum of excitement in the court, and people looked at one another and began to ask one another whether it was true that Nell Claris had been brought from the station, and whether she would be called as a witness. The story was growing more mysterious.
The buzz subsided as the doctor who saw the body before it was moved took the oath and gave his evidence.
He had noticed nothing to give him a clue as to the cause of death in the first cursory examination he was able to make out of doors.
“You afterward, with the assistance of Doctor Clarges, made a thorough examination of the body?”
“I did.”
“And were you then able to come to some definite conclusion?”
“I was. In the right side of the head I found a small wound, and, after probing for some time, I found a bullet imbedded in the cerebellum.”