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CHAPTER III
A CORONER’S INQUEST
WE took our places at the foot of the corpse, with our backs to the light and silently awaited developments. In a few minutes McGorry returned, followed by the electrician, and during the rest of the time remained in the room checking off the men as they came in. It is needless for me to repeat all the testimony, as a great deal of it was perfectly irrelevant; suffice it to say that the electrician, engineer, and janitress all passed the ordeal without adding an iota to our information. The watchman when called persisted, after the severest cross-questioning, in his first assertion that neither on Wednesday night nor last night had he seen or heard anything suspicious. The only person he had admitted on either night was Mr. Atkins, who had returned at about half-past one that very morning; he was sure that he had seen no stranger leave the building.
At last Jim, the elevator boy, was called in. He appeared still very much frightened, and only looked at the corpse with the greatest reluctance.
“Have you ever seen this man before?” demanded the Coroner.
“No, sah,” answered Jim, in a shaking voice.
“Now, my lad, take another look at him. Are you still so sure that you have never seen him before,” gently insisted Mr. Merritt; “for, you see, we have reason to believe that you have.” Jim began to tremble violently, as he cast another glance at the dead man.
“Lord-a-massy, sah; p’raps I did, p’raps I did; I dunno, he looks some like—not ’zactly–”
“Do you know his name?”
“No, sah.”
“When did you see him last?”
“Tuesday ebenin’, sah.” Here the boy glanced apprehensively at McGorry.
“Come, come, my lad,” the Coroner exclaimed, impatiently; “tell us all you know about the man. The truth, now, and the whole truth, mind you; and don’t you look at any one to see how they are going to like what you say, either.”
“No, sah.” Jim hesitated a moment, then burst out: “I do think as he’s the same gem’man as come to see Miss Derwent last winter, and he come to call on her about half-past six on Tuesday.”
“Miss Derwent—” exclaimed McGorry, taking a step forward.
“McGorry,” said the Coroner, severely, “don’t try to interfere with justice and intimidate witnesses. Now, my boy, tell us how long did the gentleman stay with Miss Derwent.”
“Dey went out togedder ’most immedjutely, and den dey come back togedder.”
“At what time did they return?”
“Must have been ’bout eight, sah.”
“Did he go upstairs with the young lady?”
“Yes, sah.”
“When did he leave?”
“I can’t say, sah; I didn’t see him leave.”
“How was that?”
“Well, you see, sah, in de summer, when de house is mos’ empty, we’s not so partic’lar as we are in de winter, and we takes turn and turn about oftener, ’specially in de ebenin’.”
“I see,” said the Coroner.
“An’ so dat ebenin I goes off at half-past eight and Joe he run de elevator till eleben.”
“Did any one call on Miss Derwent yesterday?”
“I see nobody, sah.”
“Did the young lady go out during the day?”
“Yes, sah.”
“Tell us all you know of her movements.”
Jim rubbed his woolly pate in some perplexity: “Well, sah, yesterday de young lady she went out mighty early, little before eight, maybe, and den she come back about ten; but she don’t stay long; goes out again mos’ right away.”
Here Jim paused, evidently searching his memory.
“’Pears to me she come in ’bout half-past twelve; at any rate ’twasn’t no later, and she goes out again immedjutely. Yes, sah, and den I seed her come in ’bout seven, and I aint seen her again,” he ended up with a sigh of relief.
“And you are sure that she was alone each time you saw her?”
“Yes, sah. A good many parcels come for her in de afternoon,” he added.
“Well, Jim,” said the Coroner, “you may go now; but mind you, don’t say a word about this business to any one; do you hear? If I find out you have been gossipping I’ll know how to deal with you,” and he looked so threatening that I’m sure the unfortunate boy expected capital punishment to follow any incautious remark.
“Pardon me,” said Mr. Merritt, with a slight bow towards the Coroner, “but I should like to ask Jim how this man was dressed when he saw him last.”
“Just so ’s he is now, sah,” replied Jim, pointing to the Tuxedo coat, which had been thrown over the body.
The negro lad who next appeared, bowing and scraping, was not at all intimidated by the scene before him, and seemed to think himself quite the hero of the occasion.
“Your name is Joe Burr, I believe,” began the Coroner, consulting a small paper he held in his hand, “and you run the elevator here?”
“Yes, sah.”
“Now look carefully at this body and tell me if you recognize it as that of anyone you know.”
The boy looked at the dead man attentively for some moments and then answered: “Yes, sah.”
“Who is he?”
“I dunno his name, sah; he wouldn’t send up his card.”
“Have you seen him often?”
“No, sah; just dat once.”
“When was that?”
“Tuesday ebenin’, sah.”
“At what time?”
“It was a quarter to ten, ’zactly.”
“How are you so sure of the exact time?” the Coroner asked, in some surprise.
“’Cause I thought it mighty late to call on a lady, and so I looked at de clock when I come down.”
“Do you remember his ever calling on Miss Derwent before?”
“Why, sah, ’twasn’t Miss Derwent he was calling on; ’twas Mrs. Atkins.” This was a surprise; even the detective seemed interested.
“So it was Mrs. Atkins he had been calling on,” exclaimed the Coroner.
“No, sah; it were Mrs. Atkins he gwine ter call on. He only come at a quarter to ten. He wouldn’t send up his card; said he’s ’spected.”
“And did Mrs. Atkins receive him?”
“Yes, sah.”
“Do you remember at what time he left?”
“No, sah; I didn’t see him go out.”
“Now, Joe, there was another gentleman calling in the building on that evening. When did he leave?”
Joe seemed bewildered. “I didn’t see no other gem’man, sah.”
“Now, my lad, try and remember!”
“No, sah; I dun saw no one else. Mr. Stuart, he come in at ten–”
“No, no; it is a tall, dark gentleman, slightly resembling the corpse, that we want to hear about.”
“I see no such party, sah.”
“Didn’t a gentleman answering to this description call here at about half-past six and ask for a lady?”
“I couldn’t say, sah; I wa’n’t in de building at dat time.”
“Did you see Miss Derwent on Tuesday?”
“Yes, sah; I seen her arrive.”
“Didn’t you see her go out again?”
“No, sah.”
“How long were you out?”
“I went out at six, sah, and stayed till eight, or maybe later.”
“So you persist in saying that the only stranger you saw enter or leave the building on Tuesday evening, was the deceased?”
“Yes, sah.”
“And you are quite sure that you are not mistaken in your identification?”
“Yes, sah; I noticed him partic’lar.”
“What made you notice him particularly?”
The lad hesitated. “Out with it,” said the Coroner.
“Well, sah, he seemed like he been drinking.”
“How did he show it?”
“He talked loud and angry, sah.”
“Do you know what he was angry about?”
“You see, sah, we have orders to ask visitors to send deir names, or deir cards up, and to wait in de reception room till we find out if de parties are at home, or will see dem. Well, he comes in and says very loud, gettin’ into de elevator, ‘Take me up to de fifth floor,’ and I says, says I, ‘Do you mean Mrs. Atkins?’ and he says, ‘Yes, fellow, and be quick ’bout it.’ And den I asks him to wait, and send up his card, and he roars: ‘Min’ your own business, fellow; I’m ’spected.’ So I gwine take him up, and rings de bell, and he says: ‘Dat’s all.’ But I waited till de door opened, and there were Mrs. Atkins herself, and she didn’t say not’in’, and he jus’ went in.”
Joe paused for breath.
“Is Mrs. Atkins in the habit of answering the door-bell herself?”
“No, sah; I neber see her do so befo’.”
“Was Mr. Atkins in the house at the time?”
“No, sah; de gem’man was out of town.” Another sensation!
“When did he return?”
“Some time las’ night.”
“Now,” inquired the Coroner, “what can you tell us about Miss Derwent’s movements during the last two days?”
Joe’s answers coincided, as far as they went, with Jim’s statements.
“And Mrs. Atkins,—what did she do yesterday,” the Coroner asked.
“Well, sah, she went out mighty early and stayed till late in de arternoon, and when she come in she had her veil all pulled down, but ’peared to me she had been crying.”
“Did she say anything?”
“No, sah.”
“Now, Joe, would it have been possible on Tuesday evening for a man to walk downstairs, and go out, without your seeing him, while you were running the elevator?”
“Yes, sah, p’raps,” the lad answered, dubiously; “but Tony, he’s de hall boy, he would ’a seen him.”
“Have you told us all you know of the deceased?”
“Yes, sah.”
“And you have not noticed any strangers hanging around the building during the last few days?”
“No, sah.”
“Very well, then; you may go. Send in Tony.”
“Yes, sah; t’ank you, sah,” and Joe bowed himself out.
A few minutes later a small darky appeared.
“Now, Tony,” began the Coroner, solemnly, “look at this man carefully; did you ever see him before?” The boy looked at the body attentively for some time, then said: “No, sah.”
“Do you mean to say that you saw no one resembling the deceased come to this building on Tuesday evening?”
“No, sah.”
“Where were you on that evening? Now, be careful what you answer.”
“Well, sah, I went out ’bout half-past six to do some errands for Mr. McGorry.” McGorry nodded assent to this.
“And when did you return?”
“Guess it must have been mos’ eight, sah, but I disremember, ’zactly.”
“Did you see Miss Derwent either come in or go out on Tuesday evening?”
“Yes, sah, I seen her come; she had a satchel.”
“But did you see her again after that?”
“No, sah.”
“Mrs. Atkins—what did she do on Tuesday?”
“Dunno, sah; didn’t see her go out all day.”
“And yesterday, what did she do then?”
“Mrs. Atkins? She went out in de mornin’ and come in in de ebenin’.”
“Did you notice anything unusual about her?”
“Well, ’peared to us she’d been crying.”
“Can you remember who went in or out of the building on Tuesday evening?” the Coroner asked.
“Well, sah, near’s I can say only two gem’men come in—Mr. Stuart, and a gem’man who called on Mrs. Atkins.”
“Does the corpse at all resemble that gentleman?”
“I couldn’t rightly say, sah.”
“Why not?”
“Well, sah, I was a-sittin’ in de office when he come, an’ I jus’ see a big man go past and heard him talkin’ loud in de elevator.”
“While Joe was upstairs what did you do?”
“I sat in de front hall, sah.”
“Did you see anyone go out?”
“No, sah.”
After being severely admonished not to speak of this affair to anyone, Tony was allowed to depart.
“Now we have got through with the employees of the building,” said the Coroner, “and must begin on the families and their servants.”
“Yes, Mr. Coroner, and I think I had better step up-stairs myself and tell Mr. and Mrs. Atkins that you want to see them,” said Mr. Merritt, “and, in case the lady should be overcome by the sad news, perhaps it would be as well for Dr. Fortescue to come along also.”
I was only too delighted, of course.
CHAPTER IV
UNWILLING WITNESSES
NOT waiting for the elevator, we walked up the intervening flight and rang a bell on our right. The door was opened by a neat-looking maid, who showed some surprise at our early call.
“Is Mr. Atkins at home?” inquired the detective.
“Yes, sir; but he is having his breakfast.”
“Ah, indeed; I am sorry to disturb him,” replied Mr. Merritt. “However, it can’t be helped. Will you please tell your master that two gentlemen must see him for a few moments on important business.”
“Yes, sir,” and showing us into a gaudily furnished room on our left, the girl vanished. I saw at once that this was not the scene of last night’s drama, but a smaller room adjoining the other. My observations were almost immediately interrupted by the entrance of a young man, whose handsome face was at that moment disfigured by a scowl.
“Mr. Atkins, I believe,” said Mr. Merritt, advancing towards him with his most conciliatory smile. Mr. Atkins nodded curtly. “It is my painful duty,” continued the detective, “to inform you that a very serious accident has occurred in the building.”
The frown slowly faded from the young man’s forehead, giving place to a look of concern. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” he exclaimed, in the most natural manner; “what has happened? Can I do anything?”
“Well, Mr. Atkins,” replied Mr. Merritt, slowly, “to tell you the truth, a man has been killed, and as we haven’t been able to find any one so far who can identify him we are going through the formality of asking every one in the building to take a look at the corpse, hoping to discover somebody who knew the dead man, or at any rate can give us some clue to his identity. Will you and Mrs. Atkins and your two servants, therefore, kindly step down-stairs? The body is lying in the unoccupied apartment on the next floor.”
“Killed!” exclaimed young Atkins. “How dreadful! how did it happen?” But without waiting for an answer he pulled out his watch, which he consulted anxiously. “Pardon me, gentlemen, but I have a most important engagement down town which it is impossible for me to postpone. My wife is not up yet, and I really can’t wait for her to get ready; but I can go with you now, and take a look at the poor fellow on my way out. In the meantime, Mrs. Atkins will dress as quickly as possible, and follow with the two girls as soon as she is ready.”
“All right,” said Mr. Merritt; “that will do nicely. Dr. Fortescue,” with a wave of his hand in my direction, “will stay here, and escort Mrs. Atkins down-stairs. Ladies sometimes are overcome by the sight of death.”
“Yes, yes; and my wife is very excitable,” rejoined the young man. “I am glad Dr. Fortescue will wait and go down with her—if it isn’t troubling you too much,” he added, turning towards me.
“Not at all,” I replied, politely but firmly, with my eyes on Mr. Merritt. “I shall be delighted to return for Mrs. Atkins in a quarter of an hour and escort her down-stairs.”
I watched the detective keenly to see how he would take this disregarding of his orders, but he only smiled amiably, almost triumphantly, I thought. Mr. Atkins now left us, and I could hear him dashing up-stairs several steps at a time. How I longed to pierce the ceiling, and hear how he broke the news to his wife, and above all to observe how she took it. He returned in a few minutes, and, snatching his hat from the hall-table, prepared to follow us. On the way down he inquired with great interest about the accident, but Merritt put him off with evasive replies. When confronted with the dead body, he gazed at it calmly, but with a good deal of curiosity.
“Did you know the deceased?” the Coroner asked him.
The young man shook his head. “Never saw him before.” Then, looking at the corpse more closely he exclaimed: “Why, he is a gentleman; can’t you find out who he is?”
“We haven’t been able to, so far,” replied the Coroner.
“How did the accident occur?”
“He was murdered.”
The young man started back in horror.—“Murdered, and in this house—How, when?”
“Presumably the night before last.”
Was it my imagination, or did Mr. Atkins turn slightly pale? “Tuesday night,” he muttered. After a brief silence he turned to us, and withdrawing his eyes from the corpse with obvious difficulty, said, in a hearty, matter-of-fact voice: “Gentlemen, I regret that I have to leave you. I should like to hear some more of this affair, but I suppose if you do discover anything you will keep it pretty close?”
“You bet we’ll try to,” the Coroner assured him. After shaking us all most cordially by the hand, Mr. Atkins departed, and was escorted down-stairs by the detective, whose excessive politeness seemed to me very suspicious. “Was he going to put a sleuth on the young man’s tracks?” I wondered.
The air in the room was heavy with the odour of death, so I stepped out on the landing. The workmen were all talking in low tones. “I know that Frenchman did it; I know it,” I overheard one of them say. Much excited by these words, I was just going to ask who the Frenchman was, and why he should be suspected, when Mr. Merritt stepped out of the elevator and rang the bell of the opposite apartment. Miss Derwent had evidently not been far off, for the door was opened almost immediately, and a tall, slight young figure stood on the threshold. She was dressed in a quiet travelling suit, and a thick brown veil pulled down over her face rendered her features, in the dim light of the landing, completely invisible.
“Miss Derwent?” inquired Mr. Merritt. She bowed. “You have no doubt been told,” he continued, “that a very serious accident has occurred in the building.” She inclined her head slowly. “As we have been unable to identify the corpse”—here the detective paused, but she gave no sign and he went on—“we are asking every one in the house to take a look at it.”
Instead of answering, the girl went back into the apartment, but returned in a minute, carrying a handbag. Stepping out on to the landing she shut and locked the door behind her with apparent composure. As she turned to follow the detective she asked, in a low but distinct voice: “How did this accident occur?”
“That, we have not yet been able to ascertain,” he replied, leading her to the room where the dead lay. I hastily stepped back and resumed my former position at the foot of the corpse. As the girl crossed the threshold she hesitated a moment, then walked steadily in.
“Miss May Derwent, I believe?” the Coroner inquired, in his suavest tones. Again she bowed assent.
“Please look at this man and tell me if you have ever seen him before.” Before replying, the girl slowly lifted her veil and revealed to my astonished eyes, not only a face of very unusual beauty, but—and this is what I found inexplicable—coils of golden hair! Where were the raven locks I had seen only a few hours before? Had I dreamed them? But no, my memory was too clear on this point. My surprise was so great that I am afraid I showed it, for I caught Mr. Merritt looking at me with one of his enigmatical smiles. Miss Derwent was excessively pale, with heavy black rings under her eyes, but otherwise she seemed perfectly composed. She looked at the corpse a moment, then turning towards the Coroner, said, in a clear, steady voice: “I do not know the man.”
“Have you ever seen him before?”
“No,” she answered, quietly.
“Miss Derwent, pardon my questioning you still further, but I have been told that a gentleman closely resembling the deceased called on you on Tuesday evening. Now, do you see any resemblance between the two?”
A burning blush overspread the girl’s face, and then she grew so ghastly pale that I moved to her side, fearing she would fall.
“Mr. Coroner, can’t the rest of the questions you have to ask Miss Derwent be put to her somewhere else?” I suggested. “The atmosphere here is intolerable.”
“Certainly,” he replied, with unexpected mildness.
I drew the young lady’s unresisting hand through my arm and supported her into the next room. She was trembling so violently that she would have fallen if I had not done so, and I could see that it was only by the greatest self-control that she kept any semblance of composure.
“Now,” resumed the Coroner, “if you feel well enough, will you kindly answer my last question?”
“The gentleman who called on me on Tuesday does not resemble the dead man, except in so far that they both have black, pointed beards.”
“At what time did your friend leave you on Tuesday evening?” was the next question asked.
“I cannot see why the private affairs of my visitors or myself should be pried into,” she replied, haughtily. “I decline to answer.”
“My dear young lady,” here interposed Mr. Merritt, “you have, of course, every right not to answer any question that you think likely to incriminate you, but,” he continued with a smile, “it is hardly possible that anything could do that. On the other hand, it is our duty to try and sift this matter to the bottom. You certainly will agree with the necessity of it when I tell you that this man has been murdered!”
“Murdered!” the girl repeated, as if dazed. “Oh, no!”
“I regret to say that there is absolutely no doubt of it. Now, one of the elevator boys has identified the corpse as that of the gentleman who called on you the day before yesterday. I do not doubt that he was mistaken,—in fact, I am sure of it; but as no one saw your friend leave the building, it becomes incumbent on us to make sure that he did so. It will save a great deal of trouble to us, and perhaps to yourself, if you will tell us the gentleman’s name and at what hour he left here.”
She had covered her face with her hands, but now dropped them, and lifting her head, faced us with an air of sudden resolution.
“Gentlemen,” she began, then hesitated and looked at us each in turn, “you can readily imagine that it will be a terrible thing for me if my name should in any way, however indirectly, be connected with this tragedy. But I see that it is useless to refuse to answer your questions. It will only make you believe that I have something to conceal. I can but ask you, you on whom I have no claim, to shield from publicity a girl who has put herself in a terribly false position.”
“Miss Derwent, I think I can assure you that we will do everything in our power to help you. Nothing you say here shall be heard beyond these walls unless the cause of justice demands it.” The Coroner spoke with considerable warmth. Evidently, Miss May’s charms had not been without their effect on him.
“Very well, then,” said the girl, “I will answer your questions. What do you want to know?”
“In the first place, please tell us how you came to spend two nights in an unoccupied apartment?”
“I suppose you already know,” she answered, a trifle bitterly, “that I arrived here unexpectedly on Tuesday afternoon?” The Coroner made a motion of assent.
“I had reached the city earlier in the day, and had meant to catch the five o’clock train to Bar Harbor. As I had several errands to do, I sent my maid ahead to the Grand Central Depot with orders to engage a stateroom and check my luggage. I forgot to notice how the time was passing till I caught sight of a clock in Madison Square pointing to eight minutes to five. I jumped into a hansom, but got to the station just in time to see the train steam away, with my maid hanging distractedly out of a window.” She paused a moment. “A gentleman happened to be with me,” she continued with downcast eyes, “so we consulted together as to what I had better do. On looking up the trains I found that I could not get back to my mother’s country place till nine o’clock that evening, and then should have to leave home again at a frightfully early hour so as to catch the morning train to Bar Harbor. Otherwise I should be obliged to wait over till the following afternoon and take a long night journey by myself, which I knew my mother would not wish me to do. Altogether, it seemed so much simpler to remain in town if I could only find a place to go to. Suddenly, our apartment occurred to me. Of course, I knew that the world would not approve of my staying here alone; nevertheless, I decided to do so.”
“You went out again very soon after your arrival, did you not?” asked the Coroner.
“Yes,” she answered, “as there was no way of getting any food here, my friend” (she hesitated slightly over the last word) “had little difficulty in persuading me to dine with him at a quiet restaurant in the neighbourhood.”
“Did the gentleman return to the Rosemere after dinner?”
“Yes.”
“And did he leave you then?”
Miss Derwent hesitated a moment, then, throwing her head back she answered proudly: “No!” But a deep crimson again suffused her cheek, and she added almost apologetically: “It was all so unconventional that I did not see why I should draw the line at his spending the evening with me. He was a very intimate friend.”
“Why do you use the past tense?” asked Mr. Merritt. She cast a little frightened glance in his direction, evidently startled at being caught up so quickly: “We—we had a very serious disagreement,” she murmured.
“Was the disagreement so serious as to put an end to your friendship?” inquired the detective.
“Yes,” she replied curtly, while an angry light came into her eyes.
“At what time did the gentleman leave you?” resumed the Coroner.
“It was very late;—after eleven, I think.”
“And you have not seen him again since then?”
“Certainly not,” she replied.
“Why did you not carry out your first intention of leaving the city on the following morning?”
The girl appeared slightly embarrassed as she answered: “I did not feel like paying visits just at the moment, and besides I had not enough money to carry me as far as Bar Harbor. My maid had most of my money, and I was no longer willing to borrow from my visitor, as I had intended doing.”
“Excuse my questioning you still further,” said the Coroner, with a glance of admiration at the beautiful girl, who was fretting under the examination, “but, why, then, didn’t you return to your home?”
“I did not wish to do so.” Then, catching Mr. Merritt’s eye, she added: “I had been a good deal upset by—by what had occurred the night before and felt the need of a day to myself. Besides, I had some shopping to do, and thought this a good opportunity to do it. I am going home this morning.”
“Thank you, Miss Derwent,” exclaimed the Coroner, heartily; “your explanations are perfectly satisfactory. Only you have forgotten to tell us the gentleman’s name.”
“Why need you know his name?” she demanded, passionately, “you will soon find out who this unknown man is. There must be hundreds of people in this city who knew him. Why should I tell you the name of my visitor? I refuse to do so.”
“Miss Derwent is quite right,” interposed the detective, with unexpected decision; “once convinced that the dead man and her friend are not identical, and the latter’s name ceases to be of any importance to us.”
“Quite so, quite so,” the Coroner rather grudgingly assented.
“Can I go now?” she inquired.
“Certainly,” said the Coroner, cordially. “Good-day, Miss.”
I was just going to offer myself as an escort when Mr. Merritt stepped quietly forward, and possessed himself of the young lady’s bag. With a distant bow, that included impartially the Coroner and myself, Miss Derwent left the room.
“Remember Mrs. Atkins,” the detective murmured as he prepared to follow her. I nodded a curt assent. My brain was in a whirl. What was I to believe? This beautiful, queenlike creature seemed incapable of deceit, and yet—who were the two people I had so lately seen in her apartment? Why had no mention been made of them? No matter; I felt my belief in the young girl’s innocence and goodness rise superior to mere facts, and then and there vowed to become her champion should she ever need one, which I very much feared she might. I was vaguely annoyed that the detective should have insisted on escorting her. Had he a motive for this, I wondered, or had he simply succumbed to her fascination, like the rest of us? At any rate, I didn’t like it, and I rang Mrs. Atkins’s bell in considerable ill humour.
