The Bond of Black

The usual evidence of identification having been taken, I was called and described the finding of the body. Then the valet Ash was called in and related the story which he had already told the detective.

“You have no idea who this lady was whom your master desired to avoid?” the Coroner asked him.

“No,” answered the man.

“And as far as you are aware there was no reason for Mr Morgan taking his life?”

“None. He was exceedingly merry all the morning, whistling to himself, and once or twice joking with me when I waited on him at breakfast.”

The doctor was then called, and having given his name and stated his professional qualifications, said —

“When I saw the deceased he was dead. I should think about half an hour had elapsed since respiration ceased. The room appeared in perfect order, and there was no sign whatever of foul play. On making a cursory examination I found one of the hands contracted, the fingers bent in towards the palm. This morning I made a post-mortem at the mortuary, and on opening the hand I discovered this within it,” and from his vest pocket he took a piece of white tissue paper, which he opened.

Every neck was craned in Court to catch sight of what had been discovered, and I standing near him saw as he handed it to the Coroner that it was a tiny piece of soft black chiffon about half an inch square, evidently torn from a woman’s dress.

The Coroner took it, and then remarked —

“This would appear to prove that the deceased had a visitor immediately before his death, and that his visitor was a lady.”

“That is what I surmise,” observed the doctor. “My examination has proved one or two things.” There was a stir in Court, followed by a dead and eager silence.

“I found no external mark of violence whatsoever,” the doctor continued in a clear tone, “and the clenched hand with the piece of muslin within did not point to death from any unnatural cause. The only external marks were two very curious ones which are entirely unaccountable. On each elbow I found a strange white scar, the remains of some injury inflicted perhaps a year ago. The eyes, too, were discoloured in a manner altogether unaccountable. On further examination, I found no trace whatever of any organic disease. The deceased was a strong athletic man, and was suffering from no known malady which could have resulted fatally.”

“Did you make an examination of the stomach?” inquired the Coroner.

“I did. Suspecting suicide by poison, I made a most careful analysis, assisted by Dr Leverton, of King’s College Hospital, but we failed to discover any trace of poison whatsoever.”

“Then you cannot assign any cause for death in this instance?” observed the Coroner, looking up sharply in surprise.

“No,” answered the doctor. “I cannot.”

“Have you a theory that deceased died from the effects of poison?”

“Certain appearances pointed to such a conclusion,” the doctor responded. “Personally, before making the post-mortem, I suspected prussic acid; but all tests failed to detect any trace of such deleterious matter.”

“Of course,” said the Coroner, who was also a medical man of wide experience, clearing his throat, as he turned to the jury, “the presence of poison can be very easily discovered, and the fact that the analyses have failed must necessarily add mystery to this case.”

“Having failed to find poison,” continued the doctor, “we naturally turned our attention to other causes which might result fatally.”

“And what did you find?” inquired the Coroner eagerly, his pen poised in his hand.

“Nothing!” the witness answered. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Then you are quite unable to account for death?”

“Utterly. Several of the circumstances are suspicious of foul play, but we have found not the slightest trace of it. The marks upon the elbows are very curious indeed – circular white scars – but they have, of course, nothing to do with Mr Morgan’s sudden death,” I recollected the portion of charred paper which I had picked up, the discovery of the glove-button, and its connection with the tiny scrap of black chiffon. Yes, there was no doubt that he had had a visitor between the time that Ash went out to meet the mysterious woman at King’s Cross and the moment of his death.

“The affair seems enveloped in a certain amount of mystery,” observed the Coroner to the jury after the doctor had signed his depositions. “You have the whole of the evidence before you – that of the valet, the friend of deceased who discovered him, the police who have searched the chambers, and the doctor who made the post-mortem. In summing up the whole we find that the unfortunate gentleman died mysteriously – very mysteriously – but to nothing the medical men have discovered could they assign the cause of death. It would certainly appear, from the fact that a portion of a woman’s dress-trimming was discovered in the dead man’s clenched hand, that he had a secret visitor, and that she desired to escape while he wished her to remain. Yet there was no sign of a struggle in the rooms, and no one saw any person enter or leave. Again, we have it in evidence that deceased, at the hour of his death, sent a message to some unknown lady whom his valet had instructions to meet on the railway platform at King’s Cross. This meeting had undoubtedly been pre-arranged, and the lady expected the unfortunate gentleman to keep it. Perhaps watching from a distance, and not seeing Mr Morgan, she did not approach the clock, and hence the valet did not give her the mysterious blank and unaddressed letter. After this, the suggestion naturally occurs whether or not this same lady visited Mr Morgan in the absence of his valet. She may have done, or may not. But in this Court we have nothing to do with theories. It is your duty, gentlemen of the jury, to say whether this gentleman actually died from natural causes, or whether by suicide or foul means. We must recollect that the police have discovered what may eventually throw some light on the affair, namely, the fact that a cheque is missing from deceased’s cheque-book, leaving the counterfoil blank. By means of that cheque it is just possible that the identity of the unknown person who visited Mr Morgan may be established. I think, gentlemen,” continued the Coroner, after a pause, “I think you will agree with me that in these strange circumstances it would be unwise to go further into the matter. By exposing all the evidence the police have in their possession we might possibly defeat our inquiry; therefore I ask you whether you will return a verdict that the death of this gentleman has resulted from natural causes, or whether you think it wiser to return an open verdict of ‘Found dead,’ and leave all further inquiries in the hands of the police.”

Those in Court stirred again uneasily. There had been breathless silence while the Coroner had been speaking save for the rustling of the paper and “flimsies” used by the reporters, and the departure of one or two uniformed messenger-lads carrying “copy” to the evening journals for use in their special editions.

The foreman of the jury turned to his fellow-jurymen and inquired whether they desired to consult in private. But all were of one opinion, and without leaving the room returned a verdict of “Found dead.” At the club that night everybody read the evening papers, and in the smoking-room everybody propounded his own view of the mystery. Some were of opinion that their friend had fallen a victim of foul play, while others who, like myself, had noticed his recent depressed spirits and inert attitude, were inclined to think that he had taken his own life in a fit of despondency. They declared that he had sent Ash out on a fool’s errand in order to be alone, and that the blank note was really nothing at all. The only argument against that theory was the fact that I had found the door leading to his chambers open. This was incompatible with the idea that he had deliberately taken his own life.

As the person who had made the startling discovery, I was, of course, questioned on every hand regarding all the minor details of the terrible scene. The men who held the opinion that he had been murdered desired to make out that the furniture had been disturbed, but having very carefully noted everything, I was able to flatly contradict them. Thus the evening passed with that one single subject under discussion – the murder of the man who had been so popular amongst us, and whom we had all held in such high esteem.

Next morning, near noon, while reading the paper beside my own fire, Simes entered, saying —

“There’s Ash, sir, would like to see you.”

“Show him in,” I exclaimed at once, casting the paper aside, and an instant later the dead man’s valet made his appearance, pale and agitated.

“Well, Ash,” I said, “what’s the matter?”

“I’m a bit upset, sir; that’s all.” And he panted from the effort of ascending the stairs. Therefore, I motioned him to a seat.

“Well, have the police visited your master’s rooms again?”

“No, sir. They haven’t been again,” he replied. “But I made a thorough examination last night, and I wish you’d come round with me, if you’d be so kind, sir. I know you were my master’s best friend, and I’m sure you won’t let this affair rest, will you?”

“Certainly not,” I answered in surprise. “But why do you wish me to go with you?”

“I want to ask your opinion on something.”

“What have you discovered?”

“Well, sir, I don’t know whether it is a discovery, or not. But I’d like you to see it,” he said, full of nervous impatience.

Therefore, I called Simes to bring my hat and coat, and we went out together, taking a cab along to poor Roddy’s chambers. They seemed strangely silent and deserted now, as we let ourselves in with the latch-key. No cheery voice welcomed me from the sitting-room within, and there was no odour of Egyptian cigarettes or overnight cigars; no fire in the grate, for all was cheerless and rendered the more funereal because of the darkness of the rainy day.

“This morning,” explained Ash, “when I thought I had made a thorough examination of the whole place last night, I chanced to be taking a turn around this room and made a discovery which seems to me very remarkable.” Then, pointing, he went on: “You see in that cabinet there’s some old china.”

“Yes,” I answered, for some of the pieces were very choice, and I had often envied them.

“From where we stand here we can see a small casket of chased brass – Indian work, I think he called it.”

“Certainly.”

“Well, now, I chanced to pass this, and a thought occurred to me that I’d look what was in that box. I did so, and when I saw, I closed it up again and came to you to get your opinion.”

With that he opened the glass doors of the cabinet, took forth the little casket and opened it.

Inside there was nothing but ashes. They were white ashes, similar to those I had found in my own rooms after Aline had departed!

“Good God!” I gasped, scarcely believing my own eyes. “What was in this box before?”

“When I opened it last week, sir, there was a rosary, such as the Roman Catholics use. It belonged to my master’s grandmother, he once told me. She was a Catholic.”

I turned the ashes over in my hand. Yes, there was no doubt whatever that it had been a rosary, for although the beads were consumed yet the tiny lengths of wire which had run through them remained unmelted, but had been blackened and twisted by the heat. There was one small lump of metal about the size of a bean, apparently silver, and that I judged to have been the little crucifix appended.