'I am very sorry, my dear Duval, that I cannot give you any particulars of your poor friend's fate,' said Brighthurst. 'The coroner's jury have returned a verdict of wilful murder against some person or persons unknown, and no trace of the assassin had been discovered up to the time of the papers going to press. I know this much, for I made it the text of my editorial, that the English police do not seem more active in discovering the perpetrators of great crimes than our detectives here. I shall, however, be able to let you know all about it in a few minutes, as I instructed a boy to bring a proof of my article here, and with it a copy of the London Times, containing the account of the coroner's inquest, which I proposed reading in bed tonight.'
'I shall await it with the greatest anxiety,' said Bryan. Then turning to Miss Montressor, whose face was still buried in her handkerchief, and dropping his voice, he said: 'There is no occasion yet, at all events, to be so overwhelmed, my dear Clara. Foster is by no means an uncommon American name. Liverpool is even more frequented by Americans than London, and all of them who visit Liverpool of course go to the Adelphi. The victim in this awful case may not be our poor friend, after all.'
'But the date,' whispered poor Miss Montressor; 'the date of the murder concurs just with the time when he would be at Liverpool; though, by the way, he told me he intended to return to London on the evening of our departure. Something, however, may have detained him; and, besides, I have a kind of presentiment--something which I cannot shake off--that we shall discover it was our friend Mr. Foster, and no one else.'
'I confess I feel very uncomfortable and desponding about it myself,' said Bryan; 'and I should not be surprised if-- What is this?' he cried, as the waiter entered, bringing a packet for Mr. Brighthurst. 'O, the newspaper at last!'
'Pray take it, my dear Duval, and satisfy yourself at once,' said Brighthurst, handing the paper across to Bryan; 'I can fully apprehend your anxiety.'
Bryan took the journal, and, in the midst of a sympathetic silence, turned it over until he came upon the spot which he was seeking--a description of the proceedings at the coroner's inquest. In a broken voice he read out certain details with which the readers of this story are already familiar: the finding of the body on the landing-place of the warehouse, the evidence of the outdoor clerk, the two policemen, and the various persons present at the scene, the fly-driver, who recognised the victim as one of his customers, and the manager of the Adelphi, who gave evidence that the body was that of Mr. Foster, who had been staying at the hotel.
'There is no doubt at all about it,' said Bryan Duval, laying down the paper for a minute, his eyes filling with tears. 'It was poor Foster; it was our poor friend!'
'It is too dreadful to think of,' said Miss Montressor, giving way to her grief.
'Who can the murderer be? What can have been the motive for such a deed?' cried Duval, after reading a little farther. 'Foster was the kindest, gentlest soul in the world--a man who could not possibly have had an enemy; besides, he knew but few people in England, and none, I should have thought, in Liverpool.'
'Perhaps he was in the habit of sporting his money,' said Mr. O'Gog; 'there are terrible thieves in them Liverpool taverns.'