The Heart of a Mystery

by T. W. Speight

Patience Strong, wife of William Strong, deposed that, to the best of her belief, her husband never left home on the night of the supposed murder. He had been ill for two or three days previously, and on the evening in question she left him about nine o'clock, sitting in his slippers by the fire, when she went out to see a neighbor who had a sick child, and she found him still sitting in his slippers by the fire when she got home at five minutes before twelve.

After speaking in a low voice to Chief Constable Mace for a few moments, the Coroner called upon Walter Brill to come forward. In response to the summons a dark, quick-eyed, nervous little man, evidently dressed in his Sunday best, pressed his way through the crowd, and was sworn in the usual way. He deposed that he resided at No. 29 Winton Street, London, and that a few days ago he received, through the police, the photograph of a knife, produced, with a printed request that if he remembered having sold such a weapon he would at once communicate with the authorities. As he at once recognized the photograph's being very like that of a knife sold by him about two months before, he did as he was requested, and was waited upon by Mr. Mace and another gentleman, with the result that he was before the Coroner to-day to give evidence.

The knife now put into his hands was sold by him on a certain day in August last. He knew it by a private mark, which he put on all goods out of the common way sold by him. Had no means of telling the exact date when he sold the knife, but knew it was in August, because his little girl, who had just recovered from the measles, was running about the shop at the time. The knife was called an "American knife," but was in reality of Sheffield manufacture. It was made of the best steel, had one blade six inches in length, and opened with a spring. The purchaser of it was a gentleman about fifty years old, who carried a small black leather bag, of which he seemed to take especial care.

Being pressed to describe more particularly the appearance of the gentleman, witness said that, to the best of his recollection, he wore a black tail-coat and waistcoat, and a high, old-fashioned collar. He had no beard and not much whisker, and was very "respectable-looking." Being asked to look round the room, and see whether anyone among those present bore any resemblance to the person who bought the knife, witness rubbed his hands nervously together, and then turned and fronted the sixty or seventy faces grouped at the other end of the room.

By the time witness had reached this point the eyes of every spectator and juryman had shifted from his face to the face of John Brancker. Mr. Avison and John were sitting on one side of the room between the crowd of ordinary onlookers and the Coroner, and facing the jury.

As Walter Brill went on to describe the appearance of the man who bought the knife, John felt his color change in spite of himself. He was a shy, nervous man at the best of times, and totally unfitted to go through such an ordeal as the present one. He could feel, rather than see, that the eyes of all present were bent upon him. He turned first red and then white, and his lower lip began to quiver, as it had a trick of doing in moments of excitement or agitation. Mr. Mace favored his colleague from Scotland Yard with a nod that was perceptible to him alone. Almost unconsciously Mr. Avison moved his chair a few inches further away. John noticed the action, and his heart swelled within him.

The cause of all this was the strangely accurate description given by Brill of the man who had purchased the knife. John Brancker was verging towards middle-age. He went to London three or four times a month, on which occasions he took with him a small black leather bag. A black tail-coat and a high stiff collar formed part of his customary attire. He was clean-shaven, except for two short side-whiskers which began to show signs of grey; while no one could dispute the fact that he was a very staid and respectable-looking man.

The eyes of Brill roved with a sort of vague inquisitiveness from face to face, but no light of recognition came into them. He shook his head slowly and turned to the Coroner.

"Take your time; don't be in too great a hurry," said the latter; so Brill turned to look again.

It needs but that two or three people should stare intently at some one object for the eyes of all there to be drawn in the same direction. So it was in the present case. Brill awoke to the fact that the spectators were not looking so much at him as at someone behind him. He turned, letting his eyes follow the direction of theirs, and confronted John Brancker.