"Humph!" said Blair, shaking his head, "that is easier said than done. He has been too clever for us so far, he may prove too clever in the matter of obtaining the reward of his wickedness. Well, Mr. Thorold, the inquest takes place to-morrow, but I haven't got much evidence for the jury."
He was right. All his talk had been built up upon theory, and on the slenderest of circumstantial evidence. The fact that Brown, the mysterious, had stolen the key--and even that was not absolutely proved--did not show that he had stolen the body. Cicero could not swear to his identity, and, even presuming that he had committed the sacrilege, there was no evidence that it was he who had murdered Warrender.
And so the inquest on the body of the ill-fated doctor was held, the theft of the millionaire's corpse being merely a side-issue. Can it be wondered that the jury were puzzled? All that could be scraped together by Blair was put before them. Cicero related his midnight experience; Mrs. Warrender told how her husband went out to see a patient; Mrs. Marry how the doctor called at her house, and afterwards followed Brown. Finally, Alan and his housekeeper gave evidence as to the loss of the key, and the forged letter was produced. Out of this sparse detail little could be made, and after some deliberation, the jury brought in the only verdict possible under the circumstances:
"The deceased has been murdered by some person or persons unknown."
"Most unsatisfactory," said Blair grimly; "but there is no more to be said."
"What can you do now?" asked Alan. "Shall you give up the case?"
"That depends upon you, sir, or, rather, upon Miss Marlow."
"In what way?"
"In the money way, Mr. Thorold. I'm a poor man, and must attend to my duties. All the same, if Miss Marlow will offer a reward, I will do my utmost to find out who stole her father's body and who murdered the doctor."
"Why couple the two crimes?"