“I went to the library and stayed there for a little. My mind was full of suspicion, in a turmoil and agony of uncertainty. I was only waiting for something more to go upon, in order to have the whole thing sifted to the very bottom.
“I stayed in the library for over half an hour. You know it is far away from the rest of the house. About half-past twelve I thought I would go up to the room where the child had died and try if I could find any of the medicines. My idea was to secure a bottle and get the contents analyzed. I naturally supposed that the nurse would be in one of the rooms, and meant to ask her to give me a bottle with a little of the medicine which Piers had last taken. I ran up-stairs. The house was dark, for the electric light had been put out, but I carried a candle. I opened the door of the room where the dead child lay, and went in. It did not take me a moment to switch on the light, and I then saw that the coffin was on the bed, and noticed with a start that the lid was screwed down.
“It seemed to me that it was strangely soon to screw on the lid. I went over and stood by the coffin. The nurse was nowhere to be seen. I then went into the dressing-room and began to search about for the medicine bottles, but although they had been lying on the table during Piers’s illness they had all been removed. There were two cupboards in the room—one was open, the other locked. In the open cupboard were no bottles of any sort. I felt very much inclined to burst open the lock of the other cupboard, but refrained. I feared the noise might disturb Mrs. Pelham.
“I left the room after being there for about a quarter of an hour, not having effected my purpose. As I was going down-stairs I was met by the butler. He had also got up, as he said he had heard the noise of people moving about the house, and could not think what was the matter. I told him at once that I had been up to bid little Piers good-by.
“‘Yes,’ said the man, ‘I’d like to go and have a last look at the little gentleman myself, sir.’
“‘You cannot do so, Johnson,’ I answered. ‘They have screwed on the lid of the coffin already.’
“‘But it’s very soon,’ said the man.
“‘It is very soon,’ I replied. He stared at me as if he scarcely believed the evidence of his own ears. I said nothing further, but left the house. Barbara dear, how white you look!”
“Well, is there anything more?” she asked.
“Only this. I happened to meet Tarbot the next day, and told him that I had gone up to bid little Piers good-by. I said that I was surprised to see the lid already screwed on the coffin. He said that circumstances made it necessary. Tarbot certainly looked like an innocent man—he was brisk and energetic, and had just a natural degree of soberness about him. While I was with him I felt ashamed of my suspicions, and could not speak about what I dreaded.