“I can’t tell you that off-hand, I’m afraid. What happened next?”

Dr. Shaw looked at Cubitt.

“Well, Abel here — Mr. Pomeroy — got a bandage and a bottle of iodine, and put some iodine on the finger. Then Miss Darragh, a lady who’s staying here, said she’d bandage the finger and while she was getting out the bandage Miss Moore gave him brandy.”

“Did he actually take the brandy?”

“I think he took a little but after she’d tipped the glass up he clenched his teeth and knocked it out of her hand.”

“Complain of pain?”

“No. He looked frightened.”

“And then? After that?”

“After that? Well, just at that moment, really, the lights went out, and when they went up again he seemed much worse. He was in a terrible state.”

“A fit,” said Mr. Nark, speaking for the first time. “The man had a fit. Ghastly!” He belched uproariously.

“There’s a very strong smell of brandy,” said Dr. Shaw.

“It spilt,” explained Mr. Nark hurriedly. “It’s all over the floor in there.”

“Where’s the dart, Oates?” asked Dr. Shaw.

“In there, sir. I’ve put it in a clean bottle and corked it up.”

“Good. I’d better have it. You’ll have to leave the room in there as it is, Mr. Pomeroy, until I’ve had a word with the Superintendent. The body may be removed in the morning.”

“Very good, sir.”

“And I’m afraid, Mr. Parish, that under the circumstances I must report this case to the coroner.”

“Do you mean there’ll have to be an inquest?”

“If he thinks it necessary.”

“And — and a post-mortem?”

“If he orders it.”

“Oh God!” said Parish.

“May I have your cousin’s full name and his address?”

Parish gave them. Dr. Shaw looked solemn and said it would be a great loss to the legal profession. He then returned to the private bar. Oates produced his notebook and took the floor.

“I’ll have all your names and addresses, if you please, gentlemen,” he said.

“What’s the use of saying that?” demanded Mr. Nark, rallying a little. “You know ’em already. You took our statements. We’ve signed ’em, and whether we should in law, is a point I’m not sure of.”

“Never mind if I know ’em or don’t, George Nark,” rejoined Oates, “I know my business and that’s quite sufficient. What’s your name?”

He took all their names and addresses and suggested that they go to bed. They filed out through a door into the passage. Oates then joined Dr. Shaw in the private bar.

“Hullo, Oates,” said the doctor. “Where’s that dart?”

“Legge picked the dart off the floor,” Oates said.

He showed it to Dr. Shaw. He had put it into an empty bottle and sealed it.

“Good,” said Dr. Shaw, and put the bottle in his bag. “Now the remains of the brandy glass. They seem to have tramped it to smithereens. We’ll see if we can gather up some of the mess. There’s a forceps and an empty jar in my bag. Where did the iodine come from?”

“Abel keeps his first-aid outfit in that corner cupboard, sir. He’s a great one for iodine. Sloushed it all over Bob Legge’s face to-day when he cut himself with his razor.”

Dr. Shaw stooped and picked up a small bottle that had rolled under the settle.

“Here it is, I suppose.” He sniffed at it. “Yes, that’s it. Where’s the cork?”

He hunted about until he found it.

“Better take this, too. And the brandy bottle. Good Heavens, they seem to have done themselves remarkably proud. It’s nearly empty. Now where’s the first-aid kit?”

Dr. Shaw went to the cupboard and stared up at the glass door.

“What’s that bottle in there?” he said sharply.

Oates joined them.

“That sir? Oh yes, I know what that is. It’s some stuff Abel got to kill the rats in the old stables. He mentioned it earlier this evening.”

Oates rubbed his nose vigorously.

“Seems more like a week ago. There was the deceased gentleman standing drinks and chaffing Abel not much more than a couple of hours ago. And now look at him. Ripe for coroner as you might say.”

“Did Abel say what this rat-poison was?”

“Something in the nature of prussic acid, I fancy, sir.”

“Indeed?” said Dr. Shaw. “Get my gloves out of my overcoat pocket, will you, Oates?”

“Your gloves, sir?”

“Yes, I want to open the cupboard.”

But when Oates brought the gloves Dr. Shaw still stared at the cupboard door.

“Your gloves, sir.”

“I don’t think I’ll use ’em. I don’t think I’ll open the door, Oates. There may be fingerprints all over the shop. We’ll leave the cupboard doors, Oates, for the expert.”

Chapter VI

Inquest

i

The Illington coroner was James Mordant, Esq., M.D. He was sixty-seven years old and these years sat heavily upon him, for he suffered from dyspepsia. He seemed to regard his fellow men with brooding suspicion, he sighed a great deal, and had a trick of staring despondently at the merest acquaintances. He had at one time specialized in bacteriology and it was said of him that he saw human beings as mere playgrounds for brawling micrococci. It was also said that when Dr. Mordant presided over an inquest, the absence in court of the corpse was not felt. He sat huddled up behind his table and rested his head on his hand with such a lack-lustre air that one might have thought he scarcely listened to the evidence. This was not the case, however. He was a capable man.

On the morning of the inquest on Luke Watchman, the third day after his death, Dr. Mordant, with every appearance of the deepest distrust, heard his jury sworn and contemplated the witnesses. The inquest was held in the Town Hall, and because of the publicity given to Watchman’s death in the London paper, was heavily attended by the public. Watchman’s solicitor, who in the past had frequently briefed him, had come down from London. So had Watchman’s secretary and junior, and a London doctor who had attended him recently. There was a fair sprinkling of London pressmen. Dr. Mordant, staring hopelessly at an old man in the front row, charged the jury to determine how, when, where, and by what means, deceased came by his death; and whether he died from criminal, avoidable, or natural causes. He then raised his head and stared at the jury.

“Is it your wish to view the body?” he sighed.

The jury whispered and huddled, and its foreman, an auctioneer, said they thought perhaps under the circumstances they should view the body.

The coroner sighed again and gave an order to his officer. The jury filed out and returned in a few minutes looking unwholesome. The witnesses were then examined on oath by the coroner.

P. C. Oates gave formal evidence of the finding of the body. Then Sebastian Parish was called and identified the body. Everybody who had seen his performance of a bereaved brother, in the trial scene of a famous picture, was now vividly reminded of it. But Parish’s emotion, thought Cubitt, could not be purely histrionic unless, as he had once declared, he actually changed colour under the stress of a painful scene. Sebastian was now very pale indeed, and Cubitt wondered uneasily what he thought of this affair, and how deeply he regretted the loss of his cousin. He gave his evidence in a low voice but it carried to the end of the building, and when he faltered at the description of Watchman’s death, at least two of the elderly ladies in the public seats were moved to tears. Parish wore a grey suit, a soft white shirt and a black tie. He looked amazingly handsome, and on his arrival had been photographed several times.

Cubitt was called next and confirmed Parish’s evidence.

Then Miss Darragh appeared. The other witnesses exuded discomfort and formality but Miss Darragh was completely at her ease. She took the oath with an air of intelligent interest. The coroner asked her if she had remembered anything that she hadn’t mentioned in her first statement, or if there was any point that had been missed by the previous witness.