It was this fact which startled West from curiosity into suspicion. Surely there had been a shot fired—a revolver shot—almost on the very spot where he stood. He could not doubt the evidence of his own ears. Yet who had fired? For what purpose? and how had the party disappeared so completely during that narrow margin of time? There was no place where a man could hide unless he lay flat in the clover; and what occasion would any one have to thus seek concealment? Even if the shooter knew of the passing automobile, or heard his approach through the trees, there could be no reasonable cause for concealment. Determined now to learn exactly what had happened, West pressed his passage forward through the vines of the fence, and emerged into the field beyond. A half dozen yards and he found the clover trampled, as though a man had passed that way. The trail led into a shallow depression, past a rather large boulder, near which the trampling of the grass was even more plainly revealed, as though the stranger had remained here for some time, had even seated himself, and then, abruptly ended a few yards away. Evidently the fellow had turned back at this point, and retraced his steps.
West, now thoroughly puzzled, and already convinced that some mystery hovered over the place, began to circle through the untrampled clover, but without any defined purpose. All at once, at the lower end of the gully he came, unexpectedly, upon another trail, this one well marked, apparently frequently used, which led straight across the field, and terminated at a small gate leading through the wire fence. Evidently here was a short cut to the road, well known to the servants on the estate, and possibly others. The discovery, however, told nothing further than this, and contenting himself with another glance about the unchanged field of rustling clover, West proceeded along the course of the path, intending to thus rejoin the automobile, waiting his return behind the trees.
Within a few steps of the gate, which was closed, he came to a sudden, horrified pause, staring ahead at a strange something huddled in the path. It was a shapeless thing, bearing no resemblance to a human being, until he advanced closer; then he recognized the form of a man, curled up as a dog sleeps, face down hidden by his arm, and limbs drawn up, as if in a sudden spasm of agony. A hat was in the path beyond, where it had fallen, and a revolver lay glittering in the sunlight a few feet away. There was nothing familiar about either figure or clothing, yet unquestionably there lay the body of a suicide. The single shot they had heard, the tell-tale revolver close to the dead man's hand, were clear evidence of what had occurred.
The unexpectedness of this discovery, the peculiar position of the dead man, the loneliness of that deserted field in which he lay, shocked West and, for a moment left him strangely hesitant. Who was the man? What could have led up to the pitiful tragedy? Yet he advanced step by step nearer to the hideous object in the path. The man had been shot directly behind the right ear, killed instantly, no doubt, as the deadly bullet crashed through the brain. West lifted the arm which concealed the face, already shrinking from the suspicion, which had begun to assail him. Then he knew who the dead man was—Percival Coolidge.
CHAPTER XI
SUSPICION VERIFIED
Affairs progressed far too rapidly for some hours for West to reflect seriously over this experience. He could only act swiftly, answer questions, and do all in his power to assist others. The real meaning of the tragedy he made no effort to solve; for the time being, at least, he must leave that to others.
He stood guard beside the body until servants came and bore it to the house, but made no effort to follow. Instead he gave his address to Sexton, and continued his journey into the city. After what had passed between them he had no desire to again encounter Miss Natalie; and under these circumstances, actually shrank from meeting her. Just what this man's death might mean to the girl he could not safely conjecture, yet deep down in his own heart, he felt convinced that this act of self-destruction would later prove to be a confession of guilt. Yet, be that as it may, he was already definitely ruled out of the matter. Not, unless she personally sent for him, could he ever venture to go to her again in any capacity. To his mind this decision was final.
He was called for the inquest and gave his testimony. The hearing was brief, and the facts ascertained so clear, there remained no doubt in the minds of any one, but what this was a case of suicide. No particular attempt was made to probe into the cause, the personal affairs of the dead man being left for later investigation. West saw Natalie at the inquest for the very few moments she was upon the stand, but their eyes did not meet, nor did the girl give any evidence of recognition. She was pale, yet calm, answering the questions asked her quietly. These pertained entirely to her last meeting with Coolidge, and had no direct bearing on the verdict. The moment she was released she retired from the room; and West merely lingered long enough to learn the decision of the jury. Somehow the impression the young woman had left upon him in those few moments was not a pleasant one. He could not clearly analyse this result, yet she was either acting a part to conceal her true emotions, or else she was really indifferent.
It was not until the following day that reason began to reassert itself, and he succeeded in marshalling the facts of the case more clearly in his own mind. He even began to doubt and question his own testimony, yet, before he reached any real conclusion, one of the Club servants approached his chair.