that would bear upon the case, but I might have got laughed at for my pains.”
“You attach no importance to it, then?”
“None whatever. I feel certain that it was but a freak of my own fancy.”
“Very well, sir. That will do for the present. Are there any more witnesses to examine?” continued the coroner, addressing the summoning officer.
There were one or two, who gave testimony of no importance, and they appeared to be all. Frederick Grey, who had been an eager listener to the witnesses, then stepped forward and addressed himself to the coroner.
“Will you let me make a statement, sir?”
“If it bears upon the case,” replied the coroner. “Does it do so?”
“Yes it does,” warmly replied Frederick, his earnest, honest gray eyes flashing. “There has been a cruel suspicion of carelessness cast upon my father, and I destroyed the proofs by which it could have been refuted.”
And forthwith he told the story of his heedless wiping of the cobwebbed jar.
“Was any one present when you did this, but you and your father?” asked the coroner.
“Sir, did you not hear me say so? My uncle John.”
“Let Mr. John Grey be called,” said the coroner. “Gentlemen,” he added to the jury, “I am going somewhat out of my legal way in admitting these statements; but I must confess that it does appear to me most improbable that Mr. Stephen Grey, whose high character we all well know, should have been guilty of this fatal carelessness. It has appeared to me entirely improbable from the first; and I deem it right to hear any evidence that can be brought forward to refute the accusation—especially,” he impressively concluded, “after the statement made by Mr. Carlton, as to the face he saw, or thought he saw, lurking near the chamber where the draught was placed. I acknowledge, in spite of Mr. Carlton’s stated conviction, that I am by no means convinced that face was not real. It may have been the face of some deadly enemy of the ill-fated young lady, one who may have followed her to South Wennock for the purpose of destroying her, and stolen nefariously into the house; and then, his work accomplished, have stolen out again.”
“With all due deference, Mr. Coroner, to your superior judgment,” interposed a juryman, “the suspicion that the poison may have been introduced into the draught after it was in the widow Gould’s house, appears to be disposed of by the fact that it smelt strongly of it when it was first brought—as sworn to by Mr. Carlton.”
“True, true,” said the coroner, musingly. “It is involved in much mystery. Stand forward, Mr. Grey. Were you present when your nephew wiped the cobwebs and dust from the jar of hydrocyanic acid?” continued the coroner, after he was sworn.
“I was,” replied Mr. John Grey. “My brother Stephen reached down the jar, which he had to do by means of steps, from its usual place, and the dust and cobwebs were much collected on it, the cobwebs being woven over the stopper—a certain proof that it had not recently been opened.”
“This was after the death had taken place?”
“It was just after it; when we got home from seeing the body. My brother remarked that it was a proof, or would be a proof—I forget his exact words—that he had not used the hydrocyanic acid; and whilst he and I ware closely talking, Frederick, unconscious, of course, of the mischief he was doing, took a duster and wiped the jar. I was not in time to stop him. I pointed out what he had done, and how it might tell against his father, and he was overwhelmed with contrition; but the mischief was over, and could not be remedied.”
“You had no other hydrocyanic acid in your house, except this?”
“None at all; none whatever.”
The coroner turned to the jury.
“If this statement of Mr. John Grey’s be correct—and it bears out his nephew’s—we must acknowledge that Mr. Stephen could not have put prussic acid into the draught when making it up. He could not, in my opinion.”
The jury assented. “Certainly he could not,” they said, “if the testimony were correct.”
“Well, gentlemen we know John Grey to be an upright man and a good man; and he is on his oath before his Maker."
Scarcely had the coroner spoken when a strange commotion was heard outside—a noise as of a crowd of people in the street, swarming up to the Red Lion. What was it? What could it be? The coroner and jury suspended proceedings for a moment, until the disturbance should subside.
But, instead of subsiding, it only came nearer and nearer; and at length burst into the room—eager people with eager faces—all in a state of excitement, all trying to pour forth the news at once.
Some additional evidence had been found.
The whole room rose, even the coroner and jury, so apt are the most official of us to be led away by excitement. What had come to light? Imaginations are quick, and the jury were allowing theirs a wide range. Some few of them jumped to the conclusion that, at