As for Francis Eversleigh, his lamentable state was so evident that no one could behold him without pity. His face was full of suffering, his eyes were heavy and dull, his frame was bent and bowed. He tried to concentrate his thoughts, to fix his wandering wits on some definite idea, but the slightest effort exhausted him. All that he was really conscious of was that he was the victim of an incredibly cruel and malicious destiny that was slowly grinding the life out of him. In a blurr of emotions he hazily wondered how he was to get through the ordeal of the day. And further, he had a faint suspicion—he was not able to formulate it clearly—that, when Gale had spoken to him about the date on which Cooper Silwood had left for his Italian holiday, he had said something unguardedly—he could not remember exactly what—to the inspector, which that officer had regarded as peculiar. He was trying, with such strength as was left him, to recall it when the coroner took his seat.
When the jury had been impanelled and sworn, they, according to custom, went to view the remains—now hardly recognizable, but in the dead man's clothes had been found letters which further identified him, had there been any doubt. But there was no doubt whatever that the remains were the remains of Morris Thornton.
Thereafter evidence was given.
Inspector Gale, between whom and the coroner there chanced to be a tacit feud, on account of former differences—a circumstance which later was to have its effect on the inquest—followed every word with the closest attention.
First came the tale of the finding of the body.
The locksmith was called, and he recounted his share in the discovery in Stone Buildings, as already set forth in this narrative. But he was particularly questioned about the difficulty he had experienced in opening the door of Silwood's chambers. In reply, he described the Yale lock which he had forced to gain admission to the rooms; it was a lock of a special kind, and could only be opened and locked by a special key.
The lock was now produced and identified by the locksmith.
A clerk from the makers was then put in the box. He stated that the lock bore a number in addition to the name of the firm to which he belonged, and by tracing the number in their books, they were able to state that the lock had been supplied to Mr. Cooper Silwood some four years before, and he mentioned the precise date. And with the lock they had supplied two keys; they had not retained a triplicate. One of their men, he said, had fixed the lock on the door of Mr. Silwood's chambers. Asked by the coroner if the lock was of the kind that would shut of itself on the swinging-to of the door, he answered that it was not; it could neither be opened nor locked without the proper key being used. The door was locked, witness volunteered, after Mr. Thornton was dead.
"I don't know that you can say that!" exclaimed the coroner, sharply. "The door was certainly locked by some one on Mr. Thornton, alive or dead; a key was used, it is plain, but you do not know that Mr. Thornton was dead at the time; you have no right to say that."
"Perhaps not," said the clerk, humbly; "but it occurred to me, sir, that if Mr. Thornton had been alive when he was locked in, he would have tried to get out. When he found he could not get out by the door, would he not have broken one of the windows? Or maybe he would not have had more to do than lift a window and cry for help to some one without."