“And how is it believed that the poor young lady got into the water?” I asked, anxious to obtain the local theory.
“It’s believed that she either fell in or was pushed in a long way higher up, because half-a-mile away, not far from the lock, there’s distinct marks in the long grass, showing that somebody went off the path to the brink of the river. And close by that spot they found her black silk shawl.”
“She went out without a hat, then?” I remarked, recollecting that when she had met her husband in secret she had worn a shawl. Could it be possible that she had met him again, and that he had made away with her? The theory seemed a sound one in the present circumstances.
“It seems to me, sir, that the very fact of her taking her shawl showed that she did not intend to be out very long,” the butler said.
“It would almost appear that she went out in the night in order to meet somebody,” I observed.
The old man shook his head sorrowfully, saying:
“Poor Miss Mary’s never been the same since her husband died, Doctor. She was often very strange in her manner. Between ourselves, I strongly suspect it to be a case of deliberate suicide. She was utterly broken down by the awful blow.”
“I don’t see any motive for suicide,” I remarked. Then I asked, “Has she ever been known to meet anyone on the river-bank at night?”
Old Parkinson was usually an impenetrable person. He fidgeted, and I saw that my question was an awkward one for him to answer without telling a lie.
“The truth will have to be discovered about this, you know,” I went on. “Therefore, if you have any knowledge likely to assist us at the inquest it is your duty to explain.”