Chapter VI

"_Madame Colette Marinette._"

Dr. Marcy was the first person to join me in the breakfast room the

following morning. To my surprise, he informed me that Mr. Fielding

Thaneford had passed a comfortable night and was better. "Of course I am

speaking in comparative terms," he added. "The old man has had a stroke

of apoplexy. He is partially paralyzed on the right side, and his power

of speech is gone entirely. He cannot recover, but he may linger on for

some time."

"A week?"

"Perhaps longer. It is impossible to say--and here comes John."

The younger Thaneford favored us with a short nod and an unintelligible

word, and demanded of Effingham a full pot of coffee, strong and hot. I

made some obligatory enquiries, in my capacity of host, but my unwelcome

guest gave me only the curtest of replies. Nevertheless I felt

sufficiently large-minded to make allowances. After all, the man had

received two pretty severe blows, in the loss of his inheritance and in

the strickening of his father; and it could not be pleasant for him to

be accepting my hospitality.

Doctor Marcy waited until Thaneford had finished his breakfast; then he

bluntly asked for the holding of an inquest on Francis Graeme's death.

"I formally withdraw the medical certificate," he continued, "on the

ground that new evidence has come to light."

"What new evidence?" inquired John Thaneford, his beetling eyebrows

contracting angrily.

"I'll submit it to your jury," retorted the doctor.

There was no further discussion of the main point. Legally it was for

Thaneford alone to decide upon the necessity for an inquest, and for a

moment or two I thought he looked disinclined to give in. Then,

apparently, he changed his mind. "You don't seem to have much confidence

in your own medical opinions," he said nastily. "But I'm as anxious as

anybody to ferret out the truth behind this business. And possibly we

may get some light upon the making of that remarkable will. I take it

that Mr. Hugh Hildebrand will offer no objection." I made no answer to

the taunt, and Thaneford went to the telephone to call his jurors

together.

It was not until two days later that the members of the jury were

finally assembled at the "Hundred." Two of them were neighboring

farmers; there were also a couple of small business men from Calverton.

The fifth man was a Mr. Chalmers Warriner, a chemist and the head of the

experimental department of the Severn Optical Glass Works; and, greatly

to my surprise, I was ordered by the coroner to take the sixth and last

place in the panel. All of my associates had known Francis Graeme

personally, and it was apparent that the unusual circumstance of the

holding of the inquest after the interment had aroused curiosity and no

small amount of speculation.

By direction of the coroner the body had been exhumed and an autopsy

performed. The expert examination had been made by Dr. Clayton Williams

of the Johns Hopkins Medical School, and he was the first witness

called.

Doctor Williams told the jury that while the wound on the temple might

have been sufficient to cause death still he was not prepared to

pronounce positively upon the point. In answer to a question from

Professor Warriner, Doctor Williams went on to say that the autopsy had

revealed a very peculiar condition of the brain--a lesion of most

unusual character.

"Not necessarily caused by the blow on the temple?" asked Warriner.

"I do not think so," answered the witness.

"Can you assign a cause?"

"I have never seen anything quite like it, Mr. Warriner. In consequence,

I haven't any theory of causation to advance."

"But you must have come to some conclusions," persisted Warriner.

"All I can say is that the degenerative process observed by me resembled

that induced by sunstroke, but on a greatly intensified scale. It is

possible, of course, that Mr. Graeme may have had some obscure brain

disease, and that it had progressed to a critical stage quite

unsuspected by himself, or even by his medical advisers."

"You mean," continued Warriner, "that the deceased may have had a sudden

seizure, resulting in his falling from his chair and striking his head

upon the corner of that iron despatch-box placed in evidence by Doctor

Marcy?"

"It is possible."

"Then it is a perfectly plain case?"

"I'm not so sure about that," returned Doctor Williams. "The brain

lesion may have killed him before he fell; the superficial injury may

have no importance whatever. Or the wound may have been caused by a

weapon in the hands of another person."

"But there is no question of another person," put in John Thaneford.

There was nothing more of a tangible character to be obtained from the

testimony of the medical gentlemen; for Doctor Marcy could only

reiterate his belief that Francis Graeme had appeared to be in perfect

health on that fatal morning. Of course there had been no opportunity

for the usual laboratory tests, but his physical condition could not

have been precarious; that was unthinkable. There were just two factors

in evidence--the internal lesion and the external injury. Which was the

predetermining cause, and which was the final effect? Or was it that

neither fact had any real relation to the death of Francis Graeme? No

one could say, and Doctor Williams was finally permitted to retire. I

fancied that the saturnine countenance of Coroner Thaneford showed a

secret satisfaction in the apparent confusion of testimony.

The customary depositions were taken from the house servants, but they

added little or nothing to our stock of knowledge. Effingham, the

butler, was asked to explain his five minutes' absence from sentry duty

at the library door while Doctor Marcy was engaged in meeting Miss

Graeme. He answered very simply that Miss Eunice Trevor had sent him to

her dressing-room for smelling-salts and a bottle of aromatic spirits of

ammonia. When questioned about the master-key he declared that no one

knew of its hiding place behind the clock in the pantry; he did not

believe that it had been touched until he had taken it himself, shortly

before two o'clock, for the purpose of unlocking the library door.

Finally Doctor Marcy told the jury of the peculiar circumstances

concerning the iron despatch-box. But he could not positively affirm

that the box was not in the room when he first examined the body; he was

obliged to admit that he might have merely overlooked its presence.

John Thaneford turned to the jury. "Is there any use in going on with

the inquiry?" he asked. "I don't believe we can do more than return a

non-committal verdict--dead by the visitation of God, or something like

that."

"Or alternatively, by the act of party or parties unknown," interpolated

Warriner.

"Don't see why you should say that," retorted Thaneford, scowling

darkly.

"Well, Doctor Marcy has pointed out the unexplained disappearance of the

iron despatch-box; I mean between his first and second visit to the

room. I think we ought to make sure that no other person entered the

library in the interim, or had the opportunity and means to do so."

"Just what do you want?" demanded Thaneford truculently.

"Let's have Effingham back again," said Warriner calmly. "I want to ask

some questions that I didn't think of before."

There could be no valid objection to this procedure; and, accordingly,

the coroner directed that the negro butler should be recalled.

While we were waiting Warriner had risen and was walking about the room,

examining its details with profound attention. He was particular in

assuring himself that the main windows could not be opened, and that the

apertures provided by the swinging of the pridellas on their pivots were

impracticable to anyone except a really small boy. When Effingham

reappeared Warriner took the examination into his own hands.

"Now, Effingham," he began, "I want to know everything about this room.

Are there any traps leading to the cellar, any scuttle-panels in the

dome?"

"Nossir. It am tight all roun'--like um bottle. Doan know nuffin' 'bout

traps and scuttles."

"Undoubtedly correct," commented Warriner, looking around at us. "I have

tested the floor pretty thoroughly, and it is solid everywhere. The

same, I think, may be said of the dome and ceiling--not the sign of a

crack or jointure." He turned savagely on Effingham. "Now tell me, you

black scoundrel, where the secret door is?"

Effingham's countenance of shining ebony took on the ashy tinge peculiar

to his race under the emotional stress of fright or duress. "Nebber

heard of 'im," he said quickly, and relapsed into wary silence.

"You know me," continued Warriner, "and what I can put on you if you

don't obey me and answer my questions. Where is it?"

Effingham's knees shook in visible terror. Professor Warriner enjoyed a

wide reputation among the colored folk as a dealer in "cunjers" and

other forbidden arts; was not his physical laboratory the veritable

anteroom to the infernal regions. The old negro, torn between

superstitious fears and his inherited sense of loyalty to the

Hildebrand family, trembled and gasped as he tried to face his terrible

inquisitor. "Whuffer you pick on ole Effingham?" he protested feebly. "I

doan know nuffin 'bout any secret doah."

"Do what the gentleman tells you, Effingham." The voice was quiet and

controlled, and yet there was an undertone of emotional vibration in it;

I turned and saw Miss Trevor, who had entered the room unbidden and

unannounced. I thought that John Thaneford looked both angry and

dismayed, but he did not attempt to exercise his official authority.

"Yessum," returned Effingham with cheerful alacrity. Since one of the

ladies of the family had assumed the responsibility it was not for him

to offer any further objection. He went over to the right side of the

great fireplace and touched a spring in the paneling; a door, just high

and wide enough to accommodate an ordinary sized person, swung open.

"Nothing very romantic about this door," commented Miss Trevor. "It is

merely a short cut to the terrace and gardens, besides being a

convenient means of avoiding uncongenial visitors. But I don't think Mr.

Graeme often used it, and none of the servants, except Effingham, are

even aware of its existence."

We all crowded around the secret entrance. The short passage turned

sharply to the left behind the massive bulk of the chimney breast; we

caught just a glimpse of a second and outer door, strongly built and

banded with stout iron.

Warriner stepped forward and entered the passage, reappearing almost

immediately. "The outside door is unlocked," he said. "But that doesn't

prove anything of itself. Before proceeding further I think it would be

wise to examine the exterior situation."

I happened to catch Miss Trevor's eye, and I could have sworn that a

spark of relief-cum-triumph burned there for the infinitesimal part of a

second. We trooped into the hall and left the house in order to gain the

library terrace.

There was the door, cleverly masked by vines, in a corner of the chimney

stack. Moreover, its wooden surface had been veneered with stucco,

colored and lined to simulate the brick of the chimney; the deception

was quite good enough to pass casual inspection.

"The vines don't count for much," said Warriner. "Easy to push them

aside. But hullo! what's that?"

Plastered squarely on the line of the door opening was the empty cocoon

of a moth. It was perfectly evident that the door could not have been

opened without destroying the fragile structure, and of course it must

have been fixed in position months before to give time for the

transformation of the pupa into the perfect insect. That seemed to

settle the question of either entrance or exit for a period long

antedating the death of Francis Graeme.

"Pretty conclusive testimony," remarked Warriner. "I take it we're all

witness to the fact, and so if no one has any objection----" And then,

before a protest could have been voiced, he coolly picked off the cocoon

and dropped it into his pocket.

When we were reassembled in the library John Thaneford again suggested

that we might proceed to the formality of a verdict; he pointed out that

there was no shred of evidence connecting any definite person with the

tragedy. But once more Warriner was ready with a counter-proposal; he

wanted to examine the two negroes who were working on the south lawn

between those fateful hours of noon and two o'clock on the twenty-first

of June.

"But Doctor Marcy has their positive assurance," urged Thaneford, "that

no stranger was seen about the place that day. Isn't that so, doctor?"

he continued, turning to Marcy.

Doctor Marcy nodded. "Yes, and I've known both men all my life," he

said. "I can vouch for them as being perfectly straight."

"Better have them in and get their evidence on the record at first

hand," persisted Warriner.

There was incontrovertible reason in this, and Zack and Zeb were sent

for. John Thaneford still looked like a thunder cloud, and I found it

difficult to make up my mind. Was he annoyed at the masterful way in

which his official authority was being usurped, or was he inwardly

anxious to keep the inquiry within conventional bounds; was it even

possible that he was seeking to shield somebody? His personal skirts

must be clear, for it was positively established that he had been at

"Thane Court" the entire day of June the twenty-first. Being a relative,

the tidings of Mr. Graeme's death had been sent to him by telephone, and

he had replied that he would come immediately to the "Hundred." But he

had not put in an appearance until the next morning. The one suspicious

circumstance was his willingness, almost eagerness, to accept Doctor

Marcy's certificate without making any investigation on his own account,

coupled with his subsequent reluctance to reopen the inquiry. Finally,

his attitude throughout the inquest had been restless and perfunctory;

it could be easily seen that the exercise of his duty as coroner was

most distasteful to him. But I was keenly aware that I did not like John

Thaneford; all the more reason that I should not do him any injustice.

And so I kept my cogitations to myself.

Zack and Zeb proved to be model witnesses under Warriner's skilful

tutelage. It was positively determined that no stranger had been near

the library terrace between eleven and two o'clock on the day in

question.

"Or anybody else?" asked Warriner.

"Miss Eunice she done come by thar; walkin' up fum de gyarding,"

answered Zeb.

"What time was that?"

"Ah reckon 'bout one o'clock, sah."

"How do you know? Do you carry a watch?"

"Nossah, but de oberseer's bell for de fiel' hands just done rung,"

asserted the witness with conviction.

"Where did Miss Trevor go?"

"I doan know, sah. I speck she went plum into de manshun house--roun' de

cornah, sah."

Zack could add nothing more to this statement, and Zeb, when called in

his turn, merely produced corroborative testimony.

"I think we had better see Miss Trevor herself," said Warriner, after

Zeb had bowed and scraped his way out.

"All damned nonsense," objected Thaneford, looking uglier than ever.

"And I must say, Mr. Warriner, that you are taking a great deal too much

on yourself. I'm the coroner, and I know my duty."

Warriner stuck to his guns, and he was backed up by a juryman named

Orton, a well-to-do farmer and an unusually intelligent man, as it

seemed to me. Thaneford finally yielded ungracious assent and Miss

Trevor again entered the room. As she stood confronting us I was struck

by the intense pallor of her skin, when contrasted with the coal

blackness of her hair and her sombre apparel of mourning. Yet she

appeared perfectly collected and self-possessed; she admitted readily

that she had been on the library terrace at the approximate hour of one

o'clock; she explained that she had gone to the walled garden to cut

some flowers for the luncheon table; she had returned by the terrace as

that was the shortest way to the front door; she had entered the house,

and, after arranging the flowers, she had retired to her own room.

Warriner put a question or two relative to her taking Effingham's post

at the library door while Doctor Marcy was endeavoring to break the

news to Betty; her answers were definite and given without hesitation.

Yes, she had sent the servant upstairs to get the smelling salts and the

ammonia; she had thought the restoratives might be needed. Her account

of the finding of the body agreed perfectly with the story told by

Doctor Marcy.

"Thank you, Miss Trevor," said Warriner. "Just one more question. What

sort of flowers did you cut on your visit to the garden?"

"Yellow roses. I think the variety is called _Madame Colette

Marinette_."

Upon Miss Trevor's retirement the verdict was taken. It was unanimous

and to the effect that Francis Hildebrand Graeme had come to his death

through the visitation of God.

The jurymen climbed into their surreys and Fords and took their

departure. Warriner lingered behind, and a few minutes later he joined

me on the porch, where I was smoking a long longed-for cigarette. Miss

Trevor had gone upstairs, and John Thaneford had betaken himself to the

sick-room; we were entirely alone.

"I found this in the passage behind the secret door," he said, and

handed me the withered remains of what had been a magnificent yellow

rose.

"Interesting exhibit, isn't it," he went on dryly.

"You don't--you don't mean?" I stammered.

"I'm not very much up on floriculture, but this particular variety

happens to be one of my favorites. The florists call it----"

"Yes?"

"_Madame Colette Marinette._"