If Sinners Entice Thee

“Then you can tell us absolutely nothing further?” observed the Coroner, toying with his quill.

“Unfortunately I cannot.”

The Captain, after signing his depositions, was directed to one of a row of empty chairs near the Coroner’s table, and his daughter was called.

Liane, pale and nervous, neatly dressed in black, entered quietly, removed her right glove, and took the oath. Having given her name, the Coroner asked, —

“When did you last see the deceased, Miss Brooker?”

“When she set out to go to the railway station,” she answered, in a low faltering voice.

“Have you any idea why she should have gone to Cross Lane? It was entirely out of her way home from Burghfield to Stratfield Mortimer, was it not?”

“I cannot tell,” Liane replied. “We went along that road on our cycles only on one occasion, and found it so rough that we agreed never to attempt it again.”

“I presume, Miss Brooker, that the deceased was your most intimate friend?” observed the Coroner. “She would therefore be likely to tell you if she had a lover. Were you aware of the existence of any such person?”

“No,” she replied, flushing slightly and glancing slowly around the hot, crowded room.

“You had a visitor whose name your father has just given me upon this paper,” observed the Coroner. “Was that visitor known to the deceased?”

The eyes of the father and daughter met for a single instant as she glanced around upon the long lines of expectant countenances.

“Oh, yes,” she replied. “The gentleman who came unexpectedly to see us has been known to us all for fully five or six years.”

“And has always been very friendly towards the unfortunate girl?”

“Always.”

“The only thing taken from the young lady appears to have been a diamond brooch. Do you know anything of it?”

“Of what?” gasped Liane nervously, her face paling almost imperceptibly behind her black veil.

“Of the brooch, of course.”

“I only know that she prized it very much, as it was a present from a gentleman she had met while on the Riviera eighteen months ago.”

“He was not her lover?” inquired the grave-faced man, without looking up from the sheet of blue foolscap whereon he was writing her statement.

“Not exactly. I have no knowledge of her possessing any admirer.”

The Coroner at last paused and put down his quill. “And this miniature, which was discovered beside the body, have you ever before seen it in the possession of the deceased?” he asked, holding it up to her gaze.

“No,” she answered. “Never.”

The jury not desiring to ask any questions, Liane was then allowed to retire to a chair next her father, and the doctor was called.

“Will you kindly tell us the result of the post mortem, Dr Lewis?” the Coroner requested, when the medical man had been sworn.

At once the doctor explained in technical language the injuries he had discovered, and described the exact position in which he had found the body when he reached the spot.

“And what, in your opinion, was the cause of death?” asked the Coroner in dry, business-like tones.

“She was shot at close quarters while ascending the incline leading from the railway arch towards Stratfield Mortimer. The weapon used was an Army revolver. I produce the bullet I have extracted,” he answered, taking it from his vest-pocket and handing it across the table. “The deceased’s assailant stood on her left-hand side, and must have shot her as she rode along. She evidently mounted her cycle at the commencement of the incline, and having run down swiftly and passed beneath the arch, was again descending when the shot was fired.”

“Was death instantaneous?” inquired the foreman of the jury.

“Scarcely,” answered the doctor. “Such a wound must, however, cause death. Immediate attention could not have saved her.”

A thrill of horror ran through the crowded court. Nearly everyone present had seen Nelly Bridson, with her smiling happy face, riding about the village and roads in the vicinity, and the knowledge that she had met with an end so terrible yet mysterious, appalled them.

Some further questions were put to the doctor, after which George Stratfield entered. As he raised the greasy copy of Holy Writ to his lips, his eyes fell upon Liane. She was sitting, pale and rigid, with a strange haggard expression upon her beautiful countenance such as he had never before beheld. He gazed upon her in alarm and surprise.

The Coroner’s questions, however, compelled him to turn towards the jury, and in reply he explained how, on that fateful evening after his father’s death, he was riding along Cross Lane, and was horrified by discovering the body of Nelly Bridson. In detail he described every incident, how he had lifted her up, and finding her quite dead, had ridden on into the village to obtain assistance.

Liane listened to his story open-mouthed. Her hands were closed tightly, and once or twice, when questions were put to him by Coroner or jury, she held her breath until he had answered. She was as one paralysed by some unknown fear. Their gaze met more than once, and on each occasion he fancied he detected, even through her veil, that her eyes were dark and haggard, like one consumed by some terrible dread.

“You have, I believe, some knowledge of this miniature,” the Coroner observed, again taking the small oval bejewelled portrait in his hand.

“Yes,” he answered. “It is undoubtedly the one which has been missing from my late father’s collection for more than twenty years. It was supposed to have been stolen, but by whom could never be ascertained. My father had several times offered handsome rewards for its recovery, as it is a family portrait.”

“You have no idea, I suppose, by what means it could have come into the unfortunate girl’s possession?”

“None whatever. The unexpected discovery amazed me.”

“You have not told us what caused you to ride along Cross Lane on that evening,” the foreman of the jury observed presently.

Again Liane held her breath.

“I had an appointment,” he answered, not without considerable hesitation, “and was proceeding to keep it.”

“Did you know Miss Bridson?”

“We had met on several occasions.”

The detective from Scotland Yard bent across the table and uttered some words, after which the Coroner, addressing George, said, —

“Inspector Swayne desires to ascertain whether it was with the deceased you had an appointment?”

“No,” he replied promptly.

Again the Coroner and the inspector exchanged some hurried words.

“Who was the person you intended to meet?” the Coroner asked, looking inquiringly at the witness.

“A lady.”

“Am I right in presuming that it was Miss Brooker?”