“I am brother-in-law of accused. His wife is my sister.”
His sister! Then at least I had no cause for jealousy, and had judged Vera wrongly.
“Tell us, please, what you know of the circumstances attending the murder of Mrs Inglewood.”
The witness twirled his moustache nervously, and glanced at me; then, as he saw my eyes fixed upon him, he scowled and turned away.
Yes. I felt convinced it was he. I could see guilt written upon his face.
“The story is a rather long one, and there are some matters which I cannot explain; however, I will tell you what occurred on the night in question. The murdered woman, who, for certain reasons, assumed the name of Mrs Inglewood, was my wife. She was called Rina Beranger before I married her, a schoolfellow of my sister’s, at Warsaw. After our marriage it was imperative she should live in England, and for that reason she left me. I resumed my position, that of an officer of Cossacks, and for a year we were parted. At last I obtained leave and travelled from St. Petersburg to London. I landed at Hull on the afternoon of the fifteenth of August, and at once telegraphed to my wife announcing that I should arrive about midnight.”
“Did you sign that telegram?” asked Mr Roland.
“With my initial only.”
“Is that the message?” counsel asked, handing up the telegram which had been put in as evidence against me.
“Yes; it is.”