Whoso Findeth a Wife. Le Queux William

continued, looking at me rather suspiciously, I thought.

      At that moment I glanced at Ella, and was astounded to see how intensely excited she appeared, with her white face upturned, her mouth half open, her eyes staring, eagerly drinking in every word that fell from my lips. Her whole attitude was of one who dreaded that some terrible truth might be brought to light.

      “I have no reason to suspect he was murdered,” I answered in a low tone, and as I surreptitiously watched the face of the woman I loved I saw an instant transformation. Her breast heaved with a heavy sigh of relief as across her countenance there passed a look of satisfaction she was unable to disguise. She was in deadly fear of something, the nature of which I could not conjecture.

      “You have no suspicion whatever that the deceased had an enemy?” asked the foreman of the jury, who had the appearance of a local butcher.

      “None whatever,” I answered.

      “I frequently saw Mr Ogle on the river of an afternoon with Miss Laing,” the man observed. “Was there, as far as you are aware, any affection between them?”

      Glancing at Ella, I saw she had turned even paler than before, and was trembling. The question nonplussed me. In my heart I strongly suspected that some attachment existed between them; but resenting this impertinent question from a man who struck me as a local busybody, I made a negative reply.

      “Then jealousy, it would appear, was not the cause of the crime,” the foreman observed to his fellow-jurymen.

      The Coroner, however, quickly corrected him, pointing out that they had not yet ascertained whether death had, or had not, been due to natural causes.

      Turning to me, he said, —

      “I believe I am right in assuming that you are engaged to be married to Miss Laing, am I not?”

      “I was engaged to her,” I replied hoarsely.

      “Then you are not engaged at the present moment? Why was the match broken off?”

      I hesitated for several moments, trying to devise some means to avoid answering this abrupt question. The bitter thought of Ella’s double dealing occurred to me, and with foolish disregard for consequences I resolved not to spare her.

      “Because of a confession she made to me,” I said.

      “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.