Whoso Findeth a Wife

“A confession! What of?”

“Of unworthiness.”

“She acknowledged herself unfaithful to you, I presume?” observed one of the jurymen who had not before spoken; but to this I made no reply.

“Now, have you any suspicion that any secret affection existed between her and the deceased?” the Coroner asked, in a dry, distinct voice, that could be heard all over the room.

“I – I cannot say,” I faltered.

The movement among the audience showed the sensation my reply had caused, and it was increased by Ella suddenly rising from her place and shrieking hysterically: “That answer is a lie – a foul lie!”

“Silence!” shouted the Coroner, who, above all things, detested a scene in his Court. “If that lady interrupts again, she must be requested to leave.”

“Have you any further question to ask Mr Deedes?” he inquired, turning to the jury; but as no one replied, he intimated that the examination was at an end, and I felt that I had, at last, successfully passed through the ordeal I had dreaded.

Retiring to a seat, my place as a witness was at once taken by Beck; but scarcely had I sunk into a chair near where Ella was sitting when I felt within my hand the object I had taken from among the things found in the dead man’s possession. It had not been missed, and I wondered whether its loss would ever be detected. To keep it was, I felt, extremely dangerous; nevertheless I sat holding it in my palm, listening to the evidence of the well-known member for West Rutlandshire. His story, related in that loud, bombastic tone that had at first so prejudiced me against him, was much to the same effect as mine regarding the discovery of the body, its removal into the house, and the subsequent examination by the doctor, until there commenced the minute cross-examination.

“How long have you known the deceased?” the Coroner inquired, looking up suddenly from his notes.

“A few months. About six, I should think,” he answered.

“Have you any suspicion that he had an enemy?”

“No. He was about the last man in the world who would arouse the hatred of anybody. In fact, he was exceedingly popular.”

“You say you have been a frequent visitor at Mrs Laing’s. Now, from your own observations, have you seen anything that would lead you to the belief that he loved Miss Laing?”

“Nothing whatever,” he replied. “Ella was engaged to Mr Deedes, and although she was on the river a great deal with Ogle, I am confident she never for a moment regarded him as her lover.”

“Why are you so confident?”

“Because of certain facts she has confided in me.”

“What are they?”

He was silent. Evidently he had no intention of being led on in this manner, but, even finding himself cornered, his imperturbable coolness never deserted him, for he calmly replied, with a faint smile, —

“I refuse to answer.”

“Kindly reply to my question, sir, and do not waste the time of the Court,” exclaimed the Coroner, with impatience. “What were these facts?”

Again he was silent, twisting his gloves around his fingers uneasily.

“Come, answer if you please.”

“Well,” he replied, after considerable hesitation, “briefly, she gave me to understand that she loved Deedes, and had refused to listen to the deceased’s declaration of affection.”

“How came she to confide this secret of hers to you?” the Coroner asked eagerly.

Through my memory at that moment there flashed the scene I had witnessed in secret in the garden on that memorable night when I had detected this man with his arm around Ella’s waist, and I looked on in triumph at his embarrassment.

“I am a friend of the family,” he answered, with a calm, irritating smile a moment later. “She has told me many of her secrets.”

I knew from the expression upon his face that he lied. Was it not far more likely that on that night when I had discovered them he was uttering words of affection to her, and she, in return, had confessed that she loved me?

“Are you aware whether Mr Deedes had any knowledge that the deceased was his rival for Miss Laing’s hand?” inquired the Coroner, adding, self-apologetically, “I much regret being compelled to ask these questions, for I am aware how painful it must be to the family.”

“I believe he was utterly ignorant of it,” Beck replied. “He regarded Mr Ogle as his closest friend.”

“A false one, to say the least,” Dr Diplock observed in tones just audible. Beck shrugged his shoulders, but did not reply.

The inquisitive foreman of the jury then commenced a series of clumsy, impertinent questions, many of which the witness cleverly evaded. He resented this man’s cross-examination just as I had done, and during the quarter of an hour’s fencing with the tradesman no noteworthy fact was elicited. The Coroner, seeing this, suddenly put an end to the foreman’s pertinacious efforts to draw from the Member of Parliament further facts regarding home life at “The Nook,” and called Dr Allenby.

The doctor, who had apparently had long experience of inquests, took the oath in a business-like manner, and related the facts within his knowledge clearly and succinctly, describing how I had summoned him, his visit to “The Nook,” and the appearance of the dead man.

“Have you made a post-mortem?” the Coroner asked, without looking up from the notes he was making.

“I made an examination yesterday, in conjunction with Dr Engall. We found no trace of disease, with the exception of a slight lung trouble of recent date.”

“Was it sufficient to cause death?”

“Certainly not; neither was the bruise upon the forehead, which had, no doubt, been caused by the fall upon the gravel. The heart was perfectly normal, and we failed utterly to detect anything that would result fatally. The contents of the stomach have been analysed by Dr Adams, of the Home Office, at the instigation of the police, I believe.”

“Then, as far as you are concerned, you are unable to determine the cause of death?”

“Quite. It is a mystery.”

The next witness was a thin, white-haired, dapper little man, who, in reply to questions, explained that he was analyst to the Home Office, and had, at the request of the police, submitted the contents of the deceased’s stomach to analysis, the position of the hands pointing to a slight suspicion of poison.

“And what have you discovered?” inquired the Coroner, the Court being so silent that the proverbial pin, if it had been dropped at that moment, might have been heard.

“Nothing,” he answered clearly. “There was no sign of anything of a deleterious nature whatsoever. The deceased was certainly not poisoned.”

The assembly of excited townspeople again shifted uneasily, as it was wont to do after every important reply which might elucidate the mystery. It seemed as though a rumour had been circulated that Dudley had been poisoned, and this declaration of the renowned analyst set at rest for ever that wild, unfounded report. People turned to one another, whispering excitedly, and a shadow of disappointment rested upon their inquisitive countenances. They had expected it to be pronounced a case of murder, whereas it would now be proved that death had occurred from some natural but sudden and unknown cause.

“Then you have no opinion to offer as to the cause of death!” the Coroner exclaimed.

“None whatever,” was the reply, and that concluded the analyst’s important testimony.

The foreman of the jury expressed a wish to put a question to Ella, and a few moments later she stood where I had stood, and removing her glove, took the oath with trembling voice.

“Have you any reason to suppose, Miss Laing, that Mr Ogle’s declaration of love to you had aroused the enmity of Mr Deedes?” asked the man, seriously.

“No,” she answered in a tone so low that I could scarcely distinguish the word.

“Mr Deedes was your lover, wasn’t he?”

“I am still engaged to him,” she replied, tears welling in her eyes. “He tells a falsehood when he says that our love is at an end.”