"I give her much more than the jury will do, Ellis. Public opinion is against her."
"Bah! what do the tinker and tailor and candlestick maker know of the matter?"
"They may not know much now, but they will soon be primed with sufficient evidence to give a verdict. The jury is chosen from the class you mention so contemptuously."
Dr. Ellis knew this very well, and knew, moreover, that rumour spoke ill of the widow. Therefore, it was with some doubt whether she would have a fair hearing that he attended the inquest. By the time he arrived the hotel was so crowded that the people overflowed into the road. The young man pushed his way into the public room and found that the proceedings had already commenced. He glanced round for Mrs. Moxton, and saw her seated near the coroner, clothed in black, closely veiled, and listening attentively to Drake's evidence.
The inspector's testimony was brief and meagre, for the police had, as yet, discovered nothing. He described the finding of the body, the futile search for the weapon with which the murder had been committed, and the failure of his attempt to learn where the deceased had so regularly spent his nights. Nevertheless, the identity of the dead man had been established, for he was the son of a Bond Street picture-dealer, Edgar Allan Moxton. Strange to say, father and son had died within a few hours of one another, the former in the morning from natural causes, the latter shortly before midnight by violence. Finally, Drake stated that hitherto the police had found no clue likely to lead to the identification and capture of the murderer.
"Which shows that the police don't suspect Mrs. Moxton," murmured Ellis to Cass.
The doctor himself was the next witness, and deposed as to his summons by Mrs. Moxton, and his examination of the corpse. Deceased had died from the stab of a broad-bladed knife which had pierced the left lung. The blow must have been struck by a strong arm, he averred, since the blade had penetrated through an overcoat, inside coat, waistcoat and shirt.
"Could a woman have struck such a blow?" asked one of the jury.
"An exceptionally strong woman might have done so," responded Ellis.
All eyes were turned on the trim, slight figure of Mrs. Moxton, and there was a general feeling that the doctor's answer exonerated her from having personally committed the murder. She was of too frail and delicate a physique to have struck home the knife with so sure and deadly an aim. Yet she might have put the weapon into another's hand, for it seemed incredible that she should be ignorant of the tragedy which took place within a few yards of her. When Mrs. Moxton's name was called out, and she stood up to give evidence, those present drew a long breath and waited eagerly for her to speak. Hitherto public curiosity had been languid; now the appearance of the principal witness stimulated it to fever heat. From the dead man's widow, if from anyone, the truth of this strange tragedy should come.