“Good-night, my lord—good-night, gentlemen,” said the officer, leaving the room.
When he was clear of the castle gates the police superintendent despatched the policeman who was with him to Brazencrook for three more officers, who were to meet him near the ruins as quickly as possible. When they came he posted them at various distant points commanding the castle, and bade them take any person into custody who might attempt to leave it during the night, the vicar of Brazencrook alone excepted.
In the castle that night two persons gave themselves up, during the still hours, to their wakeful thoughts. When the Countess heard the whole story, a terrible solution of the mystery suggested itself to her mind. Lionel Hammerton had overheard her brother’s threats, and had shot him in his fear and passion; for he knew how much the Earl’s happiness was bound up in the love of his wife. It was a terrible thought, but came again and again into Amy’s troubled mind; and all the time, think whatever he might, it seemed as if the devil whispered in Lionel’s ear, “She killed him.” He knew that it was a miserable morbid thought arising out of excitement, and overhearing the dead man’s threats, and his violent taking off occurring at so important a moment for Amy’s peace. And so these two fought with the ghosts of fancy, whilst the policeman half suspected Lionel, who had blood upon his coat, which, however easily accounted for, was still blood for all that.
What a blessing it would have been for them all if they could have seen that dark, halting shadow, which had flitted about amongst the ivy, and in out-of-the-way nooks and corners of the old ruin all the day long; that same figure which had haunted Richard Tallant in the Great City; that same figure which, on the night before, had slept beneath a tree in Kensington Palace Gardens, near Mr. Tallant’s house; that same figure which had glided behind his carriage in the early morning, and perched upon the springs behind; that same figure which had travelled by the same train, and disappearing amongst the passengers at Brazencrook, had haunted Richard Tallant far away in the distance, through the harvest fields, and along the white highway; that same figure which had leaped upon him with a hissing taunt, and pressed the cold weapon to his head that the work of destruction might be certain. Oh, if the police could but have met that creeping, stealthy figure, as it hugged that pocket-book, and crept away towards the woods for shelter, until the rain, which had been threatening to fall, should come down, and obscure the moonlight. In less than an hour great clouds rolled before the moon, and the rain fell in big splashing drops upon the trees, carrying now and then to the ground the first brown leaves of autumn.
CHAPTER XIII.
IN WHICH THE SEVERNSHIRE CORONER HOLDS AN INQUEST.
At noon the next day an inquest was held on the body at “The Magpies,” the inn nearest Montem Castle—a roadside hostelry that stood back from the road, as if it had stepped aside for shelter beneath those great walnut-trees and elms which stretched their umbrageous arms over the lichen-covered roof. An open space in front was occupied by a pump and a wide trough, to which waggoners brought their horses, whilst they sat on the adjacent seat and tossed off brown sparkling ale from small glasses, which they refilled with a sort of pride from blue foaming jugs. There was the sign swinging between two bars like a wooden banner, displaying three magpies in solemn conclave near a wood. The lichens on the roof had gradually dispersed themselves over the coping-stones of the old house, and the brown and yellow excrescences vied with the changing hues of the sheltering trees.
Upon the day mentioned there were unusual signs of life at “The Magpies.” A crowd of idlers and gossips, men from the corners of Brazencrook streets, and boys and girls and hulking farm-labourers, lounged about the house, watching every movement of the police, and the coroner and the jury, with a dull but observant curiosity. When the jurymen went to view the body of the deceased man, and the spot where he was found, the little crowd followed at a respectful distance, and then came back again, after a walk of nearly three miles, to stare in at the window where the inquest was held, or drink beer in the tap-room.
The coroner opened the inquiry in a long and judicious address upon the circumstances of the case, and stated that the superintendent of the Brazencrook police had been anxious that Lady Verner should be called upon to give evidence. He regretted, however, that her ladyship, who was unwell when the dreadful occurrence took place, had been so shocked by the event that she was now seriously ill, and her medical attendants were anxious that she should have repose of mind and body. His lordship had, however, kindly signified his intention of being present; he believed that he was now in the house, and if so, they would hear his evidence first.