CHAPTER V.

THE VERDICT AT THE INQUEST

From the time that suspicions as to the manner of Gilbert Thorneley's death had been communicated to Scotland Yard, the house in Wimpole street was taken possession of by the police, and all egress or ingress not subject to the knowledge and approval of the officer in charge was prohibited. Merrivale had been allowed on the previous day to see the body of poor old Thorneley, but with much difficulty, as the police had strict orders not to allow any strangers access to the chamber of death. He told me this on our way to the inquest.

"By the by," he said, "did you know that Wilmot is acting as sole executor of his uncle, and has taken upon himself the responsibility of ordering everything about the funeral? I asked Atherton about it yesterday evening, and he says Wilmot came to him and asked what was to be done, as Smith and Walker had said that he and Atherton, as only relatives of the deceased, were the proper persons to open the will, and see who were left his executors. Atherton, with his usual thoughtlessness for his own interests, bade him act as he considered right in everything, and was too much overwhelmed with his own sorrow to think of anything else. Wilmot then went to Smith's and opened the will, which was deposited there, and finds he is left sole executor; and, mind you, I fancy he's sole heir likewise, for he's as coxy as ever he can be. Mark my words, Kavanagh, there'll be a hitch about that will as sure as I'm alive."

I felt that Merrivale spoke with a purpose; but I answered him coolly: "I think so too; and Wilmot will find himself in the wrong box."

"If I thought it was any use," continued he, "I would ask you once more to confide to me the nature of the business which took you to Thorneley's on Tuesday evening."

"It will transpire in due time, Merrivale. I pass you my word it is utterly useless knowledge now; nor does it in any way affect Hugh Atherton's present position. God knows that nothing should keep me silent if I thought that silence would injure in the smallest degree one so dear to me--Will he be present to day?" I asked in a little while.

"Yes; he seemed very anxious to watch the proceedings; and on the whole I thought it better he should. I never saw such a man," said Merrivale, with a burst of enthusiasm very unlike his usual dry, cold manner; "he thinks of every one but himself. He is principally anxious to be there that he may detect any flaw in the evidence, or find any clue that may lead to the discovery of the real murderer of his uncle, apparently without any thought of saving himself, as if that were a secondary consideration. He seems to think more of the old man's death and take it to heart than of anything which has happened to himself; except when he speaks of Miss Leslie, and then he breaks down entirely. I have prepared him for having to hear your evidence, and I likewise mentioned that his uncle had sent for you the night of his death; and that you considered yourself bound in honor not to mention yet what transpired at the interview, but you had assured me it would throw no light upon our present darkness."

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"Darkness, indeed! O my poor Hugh!"

"He expressed great surprise, and said; 'Well, this will be the first and only secret affecting either of us which John has ever kept from me. Wilmot hinted that some one had been at work who was not friendly to me; but I told him I didn't believe I had an enemy: and I don't and won't believe it now.' Then I asked him if he wouldn't like to see you, and I think in his heart he would; but he seemed to hesitate, and at last said: 'No, it is best not, best for us both--at least until after this,'--meaning the inquest--'is over.'"

The first secret! No, not the first, Hugh, not the first; but the other could never have divided us, could never have raised one shadow between us, I had buried it deep down in its lonely grave, and laid its ghost by the might of my strong love for you, my friend and brother!

The house in Wimpole street looked gloomy enough, with its close-shut blinds and the two policemen keeping guard on either side the door, suggestive of death--of murder! There was a small crowd collected round; not such a crowd as had assembled before the police-station, but something like. Street-children, errand-boys, stray costermongers with their barrows, passing tradesmen with their carts or baskets, and women--slatterns from neighboring alleys and back-streets, Irish women from the Marylebone courts and slums; and each arrival caused fresh agitation and excitement amidst that crowd of upturned eager faces gathered there, _waiting for the verdict_.

"That's him," cried a voice as our cab drove up to the door--"that's Corrinder Javies!"' "No, it an't, bless yer innercence! the corrinder wears a scarlet gownd and a gold-laced 'at." "Tell ye he don't; he wears a black un, and ers got it in his bag." "Yah!--the lawyer, the nevy's lawyer!" followed by a yell of imprecations. The nearest _gamin_ on the door-step had heard Merrivale give his name to the policemen and demand admission, and had handed it down to his fellows. So, with the sounds of the brutal mob ringing in our ears, we passed the threshold of the murdered man's house. A cold shudder seized me as I stood in the hall, and I seemed to feel as if the spirit of the dead were hovering about in disquiet, and unable to rest. A superintendent of the police received us in the hall, and we asked him if we could go up to see the body. After some demur he went up-stairs with us, and unlocked the chamber of death. There in his shell lay all that remained of Gilbert Thorneley, he whose name and fame had been world-wide. Fame, for what? For amassing wealth; for grinding down the poor; for toiling, slaving, wearing himself out in the busy march of life, with no thought but for that life which perishes heaping up riches which must be relinquished on the grave's brink; which could bring him no comfort nor solace in the valley of the shadow; which perchance, in the inscrutable designs of providence, had been used as an instrument of retribution against him. I looked at his worn face--seamed with the lines of care, furrowed with the struggles that had brought so little reward--and remembered that last evening when I had seen and spoken with him--of the secret he had confided to me, of what he had so darkly hinted at; and I fancied I could read in his unplacid face that death had visited him in all its intensity of bitterness, that the bodily suffering had been nothing compared to the ocean of remorse which had swept over his soul. He rested from his weary labors, and the fruits of them had not followed him. God alone knew the complete history of his life; God only could supply what had been wanting from the treasures of his mercy; God only could tell whether that last flood of remorseful anguish had been the sorrow that could be accepted for the sake of One who had died for him.

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Whilst we yet stood gazing on the corpse, word was brought us that the coroner had arrived, and was going to open proceedings. The superintendent once more turned the key upon the dead; and we descended to the first-floor.

"I must divide you, gentlemen, now," said he. "You, sir," to Merrivale, "will please to come with me to the inquest-room; and you, Mr. Kavanagh, must wait in this back drawing-room until we send for you. I thought you'd prefer being alone, to going along with the other witnesses."

"Yes," I said; "I should much prefer it."

I avail myself of the newspaper-reports, together with Mr. Merrivale's notes, for an account of the inquest; and I have also used his observations made on the personal appearance, manner, etc, of the witnesses and others who took part in it. For myself, I remained in that dark dingy back-room until my turn came to give evidence.

I heard the dull tramp of the jury-men as they went up-stairs and entered the room overhead to view the body, and their hushed murmurs as they came down. I heard the hum of voices in the front drawing-room, where the witnesses were assembled, and the distinct orders issued at intervals by the police. I remember standing at the window looking into the dismal back-garden, noting mechanically the various small sights in the back-gardens opposite. I remember staring for a quarter of an hour at two cats fighting on the wall--a black and a tabby; and listening to their dismal squalls. If they had been two tigers tearing each other to pieces on that back garden-wall in the midst of this eminently civilized city, I don't think it would have made more impression on my brain than did those two specimens of the feline race. And last, I remember walking, as in a dream, into the dining-room, where sat the coroner at the head of the long table, and ranged on either side of him the twelve jury-men. I remember seeing a man whom I recognized as one of the deceased's solicitors, Mr. Walker, occupying a chair at a small side-table with his clerk, and on the opposite side of the room at another table sat Merrivale: while just behind him, guarded--ay, _guarded_--by a policeman, sat Hugh Atherton; and that as I came and took a chair placed for me at the other end of the long table, he raised his eyes and looked full upon me, and that I knew then the deadly influence which had been at work--for it was no longer the friendly, trustful look of old; I knew--yes, I knew that our warm friendship had died the death, that a traitor's hand had helped to slay it. I knew, and knowing it the pain was so intense, so like a knife entering my heart, that unconsciously I raised my hand as though to ward off the agony that had come upon me, and a cry escaped my lips--"Hugh, Hugh!" And then I heard the coroner addressing me in the calm business tones of a man accustomed to do his terrible work.

The first witness called was Mr. Evans, surgeon. He said:

"I am a member of the Royal College of Surgeons, and live at 138 Wimpole street. I was summoned to Mr. Thorneley's house about seven o'clock on the morning of the 24th; and was taken up into deceased's room. He was in bed, lying on his back, the eyes partially open, and the forehead and mouth contracted, as though great pain had preceded death. He had apparently been dead some hours. There was a stiffness, however, about the body, and an unusual rigidity of the limbs, which excited my suspicion. The feet were likewise arched. The housekeeper and the man-servant were in the room with the deceased at the time I arrived. I asked what he had taken last before going to bed. The housekeeper replied he had taken his bitter {602} ale as usual about nine o'clock. I asked to see the bottle out of which he had taken the ale. The housekeeper bade the man go down to his master's study and fetch up the tray. On it were a pint-bottle of Bass's bitter ale, a tumbler, and a plate of hard biscuit. There were a few drops at the bottom of the glass. I smelt and tasted them; there was no peculiar smell, but the taste was unusually bitter. It suggested to me that strychnine might have been introduced. In the bottle about half a tumblerful of ale was left. I took possession of it for the purpose of analysis, with the tumbler still containing a few drops. I said to the housekeeper: 'Information must be sent at once to the police.' This was done. I remained until the superintendent arrived, and then proceeded to my house with the ale-bottle and glass. I immediately subjected the contents of both to the usual process. In the few drops contained in the glass I discovered the appearance of strychnine. The contents of the bottle were perfectly free." (Sensation.) "I then went back to Mr. Thorneley's house, and reported the results to the police-officer, who communicated with Scotland Yard, the deceased's relative Mr. Wilmot, and his lawyers. I demanded that the family medical man should be summoned. On his arrival we made a _post-mortem_ examination, and removed the stomach with its contents, sealed and despatched them to Professor T---- for analysis. We both refused a death-certificate until the results of that analysis had been ascertained. We agreed ourselves in suspecting death had originated through poison, and that the poison had been strychnine. There was no appearance of any disease in either heart, lungs, or brain, which should cause sudden death. All three organs were in a perfectly healthy state."

Dr. Robinson, physician, and the usual medical attendant of deceased, corroborated the above evidence in every particular.

Professor T---- next deposed that he received the stomach of deceased with its contents from Dr. Robinson and Mr. Evans. That he had analyzed the latter, and had detected and separated strychnine in very minute quantities; on further test, positive proof of the existence of the poison was afforded by the colors produced. Upon introducing some of the suspected matter into the body of a frog, death had been produced from tetanic convulsions; thus demonstrating the existence of strychnine. His opinion was that deceased had died from the effects of strychnine administered in bitter ale; that the quantity administered had been about one grain, not more--it might be less.

Mrs. Haag, the housekeeper, was then examined. She was a woman past fifty in appearance; her face was remarkable; so perfectly immobile and passionless in its expression. Her hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes were of a pale sandy color; and her drooping eyelids had that peculiar motion in them which novelists call "shivering." She gave her answers in clear low tones; but seldom raising her eyes to the interrogator; they were of a cold bluish-gray, with a dangerous scintillating light in them. Her manners and appearance were those of a woman above her station in life; her language quite grammatical, though tinctured by a slightly foreign idiom and accent; her deportment perfectly self-possessed. She deposed that the deceased had appeared in the same health as usual up to the evening previous to his death, when on taking in his bitter ale and biscuits she observed that he looked very much flushed and agitated, and his voice had sounded loud and angry as she came up the stairs. He and Mr. Atherton seemed to be having a dispute; and as she came into the room she distinctly heard Mr. Atherton say to her master, "You will bitterly repent to-morrow what you have said to-night." She could swear to the words, for they made an {603} impression upon her. Had not heard Mr. Wilmot speak whilst in the study. The ale had been brought up from the cellar by Barker, who uncorked it down-stairs, as usual, in presence of the other servants. Barker had accompanied her to the study-door, and opened it for her. Always took in the ale when her master was alone, or when only the young gentlemen (Wilmot and Atherton) were there; and waited to receive his orders for the next day. Deceased always took bitter ale at nine o'clock, with hard biscuits.

Mr. Merrivale: "Did you not pour some ale out into the tumbler before taking it up-stairs?"

"I did not."

"Would you swear you did not?"

"Certainly I would swear it."

Evidence continued: To her knowledge he had taken nothing since the ale. The young gentlemen never took bitter ale: Mr. Atherton didn't like it, and Mr. Wilmot could not drink it. Only one tumbler had been brought up. The tray had remained in the study just as Mr. Thorneley had left it, and had not been touched until the following morning, when the doctor asked to have the bottle and glass brought to him. Barker, the man-servant, had fetched the tray from the study. No one had entered the study from the time Mr. Thorneley had gone to bed, until Barker had gone there for the tray the next morning. She had locked the door on the outside as she went up to bed, but had not gone into the room. On the morning of the 24th she was roused by a violent knocking at her door, and by Barker saying, in a very agitated manner, "For God's sake get up directly, Mrs. Haag, and come to master; for I fear he's dead!" Had hurried on a few clothes, and gone instantly to Mr. Thorneley's room. The deceased was in bed, the eyes partially open, and the mouth contracted, as if in an agony of pain. She had touched his hand and found it quite cold. Then they both had stooped to listen if he breathed; but he did not. Barker said: "I fear it's all up with him; he must have had a fit and died in the night. What's to be done, Mrs. Haag?" Replied, "Send at once for a doctor." The other servants now came crowding in, and one of them ran off immediately for the nearest surgeon. He arrived in less than half an hour. No one had touched the body until the arrival of the doctor; they had all feared lest they might do harm by touching it. Had lived in the service of deceased nearly thirty years; he had been a severe but just master to her. Was a Belgian by birth; but had lived nearly all her life in England. Was a widow; had no children living, nor any relations alive that she knew of. Examined as to what had transpired before taking the ale to the study, Mrs. Haag deposed that Mr. John Kavanagh had called on Mr. Thorneley at seven o'clock, and been closeted with him for an hour; that a short time before he went away the study-bell rang, which was answered by Barker, who came down into the servants'-hall and told Thomas the coachman to go up with him to his master's room. When they came down, they said they had been signing their names as witnesses to some paper, which both of them had supposed was a will; but that neither their master nor Mr. Kavanagh had told them so. She had put on her things whilst they were upstairs, and just after they returned she went out--Questioned as to her errand, said she went to buy some ribbon she wanted at a shop in Oxford street; that returning home by Vere street she saw Mr. Atherton coming out of the chemist's shop at the corner of Oxford street, and heard him speak to Mr. Kavanagh. Heard the words "Kavanagh," "Atherton," and saw them shake hands. Could swear to their identity.--Questioned by Mr. Merrivale, solicitor for the prisoner, as to how it had come about that she had been witness to the meeting between the two gentlemen at {604} the corner of Vere street and Oxford street, and yet was met only in the middle of Vere street--a very short street--at least five minutes afterwards by Mr. Kavanagh, denied meeting Mr. Kavanagh at all in Vere street; had passed the two gentlemen at the corner, and gone straight home. Had worn no veil that evening.--Examination resumed by the coroner: Had not seen her master since taking the ale into the study; had gone to the door after the gentlemen had left, but found it locked, and received for answer, he was busy, and did not require anything. Mr. Wilmot had left some time previous to Mr. Atherton; she had seen neither to speak to them that evening. This was the pith of the housekeeper's evidence.

John Barker was the next witness called, who corroborated everything deposed by Mrs. Haag. Asked by a juryman if it was he who signed the paper on the evening before Mr. Thorneley's death, replied it was. Was he aware of the nature of the document? No; but both he and Thomas the coachman, who had likewise signed, fancied it must be a will. Had lived nearly twenty years with his master, and often witnessed business papers, but never asked what they were.--Questioned by Mr. Merrivale as to whether he had noticed any conversation which passed between Mr. Wilmot and Mr. Atherton in the hall the night before the deceased died, replied he had caught one or two words.--Told by the coroner to repeat them. After seeming to recollect himself for a moment or two, said he had heard Mr. Wilmot say he must get some money out of the governor; to which Mr. Atherton had replied in rather a low voice; but he had heard the words, "won't live long," and "to be worried," and "our affairs."--Asked by the prisoner if the sentence had not been, "He is getting very old, and won't live long; he ought not to be worried with our affairs"? Replied he could not say; it might have been so; but what he had repeated was the whole of what he had distinctly heard. He wished to say that he believed Mr. Atherton to be innocent; for he was very fond of poor master, and his uncle always seemed more partial to him than to any one else--much more than to Mr. Wilmot.

Thomas Spriggs the coachman, the cook, and the housemaid, were then examined respectively, and their evidence corroborated every statement made before; only one fresh feature presented itself. The cook volunteered to state that she had been awoke, in the middle of the night on which her master died, by some noise, and had fancied she heard stealthy footsteps on the stairs.--Questioned upon this, said that she meant the stairs leading from the third story where the women-servants slept, to the second story..

Were they front or back-stairs?

Front-stairs; the back-stairs only reached the second floor. That the housekeeper occupied one room to herself, she and the housemaid another, and the third was empty. She had not dared to get out of bed, believing it was the ghost.

What ghost?

Oh! the house was haunted; all the servants know it and believed it, except the housekeeper, who had laughed at her shameful, and called her a superstitious woman. But then they had never been what she might call comfortable nor friendly together; for Mrs. 'Aag 'eld herself 'igh and 'orty with all the company in the 'all. Couldn't say at what hour she had been awoke; had drawed the clothes over her 'ed, and said her prayers, and supposed she had fell asleep again, being that way inclined by natur'.

Mr. Merrivale: "Have you and the housekeeper ever fallen out, cook?"

Witness: "Well, no, sir. I can't say as we ever 'ave; and I've nothing to bring against her except as she was 'igh and close, which isn't agreeable, sir, when the position of parties is {605} ekally respectable, which mine is, sir, 'aving come of a greengrocer's family as kep' their own wehicle and drove theirselves; and whose mother could afford to be washed out, and never sat down to tea on Sunday without s'rimps or 'winkles or something to give a relish."

Coroner: "That is enough, cook.--Bring in the next witness."

Mr. Lister Wilmot, who appeared much agitated, next deposed: "I went to visit my deceased uncle on the evening of Tuesday last, and whilst taking off my outer coat in the hall, my cousin, Mr. Atherton, arrived. We went into my uncle's study together. Very little conversation passed between us. I mentioned my intention of asking my uncle for some money that evening, which I needed, having some pressing bills to pay. My cousin replied something to the effect that he, my uncle, would probably not live long, and we ought not to worry him with our affairs. I think he simply said it with a view to stopping me from making the application: he thinks I am extravagant. He asked me how much I wanted. I said, £500. He said: 'That is a large sum, Lister; we shall never get the governor to come down as handsome as that.'"

Mr. Merrivale: "Did Mr. Atherton say, 'we shall,' or 'you will'?"

Witness (hesitating:) "I am not quite clear, but I think he said 'we shall.' It was simply a kindly way of speaking. We found my uncle more than usually taciturn and abstracted; but I was so hard pressed I was obliged to brave him, and ask him for money. To my astonishment, instead of venting his anger on me, he turned it all upon my cousin Hugh, and accused him of leading me into extravagance."

Coroner: "Was this so?"

"It was not. Hugh and I are the best of friends; but our pursuits and tastes are totally opposite. I said so to my uncle, and tried to appease him in vain. At last he worked himself into such a rage that he seemed quite reckless of what he said; and hinted that Hugh might pay my debts for me, and if he couldn't do so out of his own pocket, he might get Kavanagh to advance me some out of his future wife's dividends; that I might have got the girl for myself if I had chosen; but as it was, he dared say Kavanagh would marry her in the long-run, for it was easy to see how the wind lay in that quarter."

Mr. Merrivale: "Can you swear to those words?"

"I can. My cousin got very angry at this, and said: 'You have no right to make such remarks or draw any such conclusions; they are false. You will repent of this to-morrow.' I can swear to those words. Just then Mrs. Haag, the housekeeper, brought in my uncle's ale and biscuits, as usual. Barker opened the door for her: I remember that fact. There was only one tumbler with the bottle brought up. Neither myself nor my cousin ever touch that beverage. When Mrs. Haag had left the room, Hugh got up and went to the table where the tray had been placed, and brought a glass of ale to my uncle with a plate of hard biscuits."

Coroner: "Did you see the prisoner pour out the ale? Where was he standing with regard to yourself?"

"He had his back toward us; I was sitting by the fire opposite my uncle; the table was in the middle of the room. To get the ale Hugh must turn his back to us."

"How long was he at the table?"

Witness, (after a moment's thought:) "A minute or more; but I could not speak positively."

"Sufficient time to have put anything in the ale?"

Witness, (much agitated:) "Am I obliged to answer this?"

"You are not obliged; but an unfavorable interpretation might be put upon your silence."

Witness (in a very low voice:) "There _was_ time."

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Mr. Merrivale: "Did you not observe that some ale was poured out in the tumbler when it was brought up?"

"I did not observe it; it might have been so, but I could not say for certain either way."

Mr. Merrivale to the coroner: "My client desires me to state distinctly that a small quantity, about a quarter of a glassful, was already poured out when he went to the tray. He supposes it was done to save the overflow from the bottle."

Coroner: "I will note it."

Evidence continued: "My uncle drank half the ale at a draught, shook his bead, and said: 'It is very bitter, to-night.' We neither made any remark upon it. He likewise took a biscuit and ate it. Soon afterward I rose to go. He would not say good-night to me. Hugh came to the door with me--the study-door--and whispered, 'I'll try to appease him and make it all right for you.' I went straight down-stairs and out of the house. I remember seeing my cousin's coat hanging in the hall; it was a brown-tweed waterproof one; but I did not touch it. The coachman came the following morning with the sad news to my chambers."

Mr. Merrivale: "Are you acting as sole executor, Mr. Wilmot?"

"I am; my cousin is aware of it."

Mr. Walker: "It is illegal to ask for any depositions about the deceased's will here."

Coroner: "I am the best judge of that, Mr. Walker. Anything which throws light upon what we have to find out must be received as evidence."

Mr. Merrivale: "Were you aware what the contents of your late uncle's will were before you opened it at Messrs. Smith and Walker's?"

"I was not; but both Hugh Atherton and myself were led to anticipate what the tenor of it would be."

"Have the results fulfilled your anticipations?"

"I don't consider myself warranted in answering such a question."

Coroner: "Have you any thing else to state, Mr. Wilmot?"

"Nothing, except that I believe in my cousin's innocence."

Mr. John Kavanagh was then called, and, after the usual preliminaries, stated that on his return from a tour in Switzerland on the afternoon of Tuesday, the 23d, he found a note from Mr. Thorneley, which he now produced. (Note read by the coroner and passed on to the jurymen.) That upon receipt of it he had gone to Mr. Thorneley's at the hour appointed, and had been shown at once into that gentleman's study. Had found him very much altered for the worse and aged since last he had seen him, some months since. He looked as if some heavy trouble were upon him, weighing him down. He had transacted the business required, which occupied, he should say, an hour, and had then left him as calm and as well as when he (witness) first entered the room. He had chosen to walk home, and, stopping to light a segar at the corner of Vere street, had met Mr. Atherton _coming out of the chemist's shop_. Mr. Atherton had offered to accompany him home, but he (Witness) had refused, and they had parted, Mr Atherton stating his intention of coming to see him on the morrow. That the moment after, he had repented his refusal and hurried back to ask him to return; but being near-sighted and the night dark, had not been able to distinguish his figure, and had given up the pursuit. Returning down Vere street, about half-way he had met a female walking very fast, but who in passing had almost stopped, and stared very hard at him. She had on a thick veil, so he could not see her face, nor did he recognize her figure. The circumstance had passed from his mind until detective Jones had told him that Mr. Thorneley's housekeeper had been in Vere street that evening, and seen his meeting with Mr. Atherton, and then it had struck him it might have been she.--(Here Mr. Merrivale was seen to confer very earnestly with the {607} prisoner, and afterward to pass a slip of paper to the coroner, who after reading it bowed, as if in assent, and then beckoned to a policeman, who left the room.) He had gone straight home to his chambers, and being tired went early to bed, and did not wake till very late the following morning, when his clerk had told him the news of Mr. Thorneley's death, and detective Jones had called upon him shortly afterward.

By the coroner: "What was the nature of the business which you transacted with deceased?"

"I am bound over very solemnly not to mention it until a certain time."

"Was it a will you called the two servants to witness?"

"I am not at liberty to answer. I pass my word as a gentleman and a man of honor that in no way do I consider this to affect my friend Mr. Atherton's present position; and that when it does I shall consider myself free to speak."

Mr Walker: "We shall compel you, Mr. Kavanagh, to speak in another place than this. The breach of etiquette you have committed will not be passed over by us as the family and confidential legal advisers of the deceased gentleman."

"We shall both act as we think right, Mr. Walker."

The prisoner here in a very hollow voice said "For God's sake, and for the sake of one who is dear to us both, I entreat you, John Kavanagh, to reveal any thing that may help to clear an innocent man from this frightful imputation."

"I will, Hugh, so help me God! But it would avail you nothing to speak now."

Coroner: "Have you anything further to state?"

"Nothing, save my most solemn religious conviction that Mr. Atherton is innocent, and that he is the victim of the foulest plot."

Mr. Walker here appealed to the coroner, and said he objected to such insinuations being made there; that Mr. Kavanagh had done his best to criminate the prisoner, and that he was now trying to cast the blame upon others.

Mr. Kavanagh was about to make some violent answer, when the coroner called to order.

Mr. Merrivale: "Will you have the goodness, Mr. Kavanagh, to look toward the end of the room, and see if you identify any one there?"

Mr. Kavanagh: "My God! _It is she!_"

Coroner: "Who?"

"The woman I met in Vere street that night."

Standing opposite to the witness, with the light full upon her, was a female figure, closely veiled.

"I never met you, Mr. Kavanagh!" it was the woman who spoke, loudly, vehemently.

Coroner to witness: "I see you are using your eyeglass now; were you using it when you say you met this person in Vere street?"

"I was."

"Could you swear that the figure standing before you now and the woman you met are one and the same?"

"I would swear that _the appearance_ of that woman standing before me now and that of the figure I met is one and the same--the same height, the same carriage, the same veiled face."

"I never met you, Mr. Kavanagh!" repeated the woman, with a passionate gesture.

Coroner: "Mrs. Haag, you can retire." (It was the housekeeper.)

Mr. Walker: "I don't see how this affects the case."

Mr. Merrivale: "Probably not, sir; but you will see by and by. I am much obliged to you, Mr. Coroner."

Mr. Kavanagh is replaced by Inspector Jackson, detective officer, who deposed that from information received at Scotland Yard on the morning of the 24th instant, he had been desired by his superintendent to proceed to 100 Wimpole street, the residence {608} of the deceased gentleman, and examine into the case, accompanied by detective Jones. From information received from the housekeeper and other servants, and after a conference with the surgeon called in, his suspicions had fallen upon Mr. Atherton. He had left a policeman in charge from the nearest station-house, and gone with Jones direct to Mr. Atherton's chambers in the Temple. On breaking the nature of his visit to that gentleman, together with the news of Mr. Thorneley's death, he had been terribly overcome, and exclaimed that he was an innocent man, God was his witness; that he would not have hurt a hair of the old man's head; but certainly he _had_ been angry with him the night before. Cautioned not to say anything which might criminate himself, Mr. Atherton had again said, in very solemn tones: "My God, thou knowest I am innocent!" Witness had searched Mr. Atherton's room and clothes; in the pocket of his coat had found a small empty paper labelled STRYCHNINE--POISON; with the name of "Davis, chemist, 20 Vere street, corner of Oxford street."--Questioned by Mr. Merrivale as to which coat-pocket the packet was found in, replied the overcoat which Mr. Atherton wore on the previous evening.

By a juryman: "How do you know it was the identical coat worn that evening?"

"The man-servant, John Barker, swears to it; he took it from Mr. Atherton when he came to Mr. Thorneley's house, and hung it up in the hall to dry."

The prisoner: "Yes, I did wear that coat; but I know nothing of the paper found in it."

By the coroner: "Have you been in communication with the chemist in Vere street?"

Witness: "I have, sir; he remembers--"

Mr. Merrivale: "I object to this evidence coming from the mouth of Mr. Inspector. The chemist is here and should be examined himself."

Mr. Walker, one of the solicitors of deceased "I think that the evidence should be received from both the inspector and the chemist."

Mr. Merrivale: "I still object."

The coroner: "On what ground, Mr. Merrivale?"

Mr. Merrivale: "On the ground that the inspector having a preconceived notion when he communicated with the chemist, the latter may have been misled by his questions. I should at least wish that Davis should be examined first, and his evidence received direct."

The coroner: "Very well. Is there anything else, Mr. Inspector?"

"Nothing else, except that Mr. Atherton denied all knowledge at once of the paper found."

By Mr. Merrivale: "Did you not find also a bottle of camphorated spirits?"

"I did; but on the table. It was a fresh bottle, unopened, and bore the same label, from Mr. Davis's." (Witness dismissed.)

Mr. Merrivale here demanded to have the man Barker recalled, which was done.

Mr. Merrivale: "Can you swear to the overcoat which Mr. Atherton wore the last evening he came to Wimpole street?"

"Certainly, sir. It was a brown tweed waterproof, with deep pockets. I know it well."

"Is that the coat?" (Coat produced.)

"It is, sir."

"Can you swear to it?"

"I can, sir."

"How long was it between the time Mr. Wilmot went away and the time Mr. Atherton left the house?"

"About half an hour or three quarters, I should say."

"Did you let him out?"

"No, sir."

"Nor Mr. Atherton?'

"No, sir."

"Did you hear or know of any one being in the hall for any length of time whilst Mr. Atherton was with his uncle?"

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"No one could have been in the hall, sir, we servants were all at supper."

"Was the housekeeper with you?"

"No, sir; she has her supper in her own sitting-room always."

"Then how are you sure that she did not go into the hall?"

"I should have heard her door open and her footsteps pass along the passage. The servants' hall door was open that I might hear master's bell."

"You feel certain of this?"

"I do, sir."

"I have no more to ask this witness, Mr. Coroner."

Thomas Davis, chemist, was then called. He deposed that on the evening of the 23d he perfectly well remembered a gentleman coming into his shop and buying a small bottle of spirits of camphor. Could not swear to him, but thinks it may have been the prisoner. It was a tall gentleman. (Upon being shown the bottle of camphor, immediately identified it as the one sold. The paper found in Mr. Atherton's pocket was now produced, and he likewise identified it as coming from his shop.) The paper and label were the same as he used.--Questioned as to whether he recollected selling any strychnine either on or before the 23d, replied he could not remember selling any; but that he had found a memorandum in his day-book of one grain sold on the 23d. (Sensation.) Was quite sure it had been sold, or the entry would not have been made; always made those entries himself. His assistant reported to him of anything sold during his absence from the shop, and he then entered it in his day-book as a ready-money transaction. His assistant might have sold the strychnine on that day; but he had questioned him and found he did not remember any particulars. Could swear that he himself remembered nothing about it.--by Mr. Merrivale: Was generally absent from the shop an hour at dinner-time--from one to two--and from five to half-past for tea; again at night from nine to half-past. Closed at ten.

Mr. Merrivale here asked that Mr. Wilmot and Mrs. Haag might severally be brought in; to which Mr. Walker objected. The objection was overruled by the coroner, and Mr. Wilmot was summoned.

Mr. Merrivale: "Do you remember having seen this gentleman before, Mr. Davis?"

"I do not, sir."

"Nor remember his coming into your shop?"

"No, sir."

The housekeeper was then called, with the same results.

Examination of witness continued: His assistant was a remarkably steady and able young man, intrusted with making up very important prescriptions; his word could be relied on; had been with him for five years. He himself was a licensed member of Apothecaries' Hall.

The last witness summoned was James Ball, assistant to Mr. Davis, the chemist. In reply to the coroner, he never remembered having sold any strychnine on the 23d, though he might have done so; in which case he would report it to Mr. Davis, who would have entered it in the day-book. Was in the habit of mentioning each item as soon after it was sold as opportunity permitted. Could not identify either Mr. Wilmot or Mrs. Haag as having seen them in the shop.--By Mr. Walker: Remembered the prisoner coming into the shop on the evening of the 23d; they did not often see such a tall gentleman. His employer, Mr. Davis, had served him with the camphor.

By Mr. Merrivale: "Do you mean to say that a customer whom you did not serve, buying camphor, made an impression on your mind, and yet you have no recollection of any one coming to your shop and asking for such a remarkable and _dangerous_ thing as strychnine?"

After a moment's consideration:

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"I remember that gentleman," (pointing to the prisoner,) "because I wondered what his height might be, and what a jolly thing it must be to be so tall, especially with such a high counter to serve over." (Laughter. James Ball was considerably below the middle height) "I don't recollect anything at all about the strychnine."

By the coroner: "It is a question probably of life or death, James Ball, to that gentleman, Mr. Atherton; and I conjure you to strive to the utmost of your power to call to mind any circumstance concerning the sale of that poison which may throw some light upon the subject Take your time now to consider, for I see you _can_ recollect things."

After some moments of dead silence, James Ball replied, "I remember nothing further than what I have already stated."

This closed the evidence, and coroner, summing up, addressed the jury. He commented upon the awfulness of the crime which had been committed; on the fearful increase of the use of poisons of every kind for the purpose of taking away human life. He said in this case the principal facts they had to deal with were, that it was proved on evidence that poison had been administered to deceased in the bitter ale, which he had taken before going to bed. That the poison was pronounced to be strychnine, which it was well known would probably not take effect until an hour or so after it had been imbibed. That the glass of bitter ale in which the strychnine had been detected was poured out and given to deceased by his nephew, Mr. Hugh Atherton, in presence of his other nephew, Mr. Wilmot. That it had been proved by medical evidence that in the ale remaining in the bottle no strychnine had been detected. All suspicions therefore were confined to the ale which had been _poured out_. That Mr. Atherton had been heard to use angry, if not threatening, language to the deceased, (he repeated the words,) and had been seen by two witnesses coming out of the chemist's shop kept by the identical man whose name was on the paper labelled Strychnine, and found in the prisoner's pocket. The prisoner's legal adviser had stated that a portion of the ale was already poured out in the tumbler, when he (the prisoner) approached the table for the purpose of helping his uncle; but no evidence had been adduced of the fact. Mrs. Haag, the housekeeper, had stated to the contrary. Still the prisoner was entitled to the benefit of the doubt. There had been positive evidence that the deceased had died from the effects of poison; it rested with the jury to decide whether the other evidence was sufficiently conclusive to warrant their finding a verdict against the prisoner as having administered the poison.

After a consultation of some quarter of an hour, the jury returned a verdict of _Wilful Murder against Mr. Hugh Atherton_.

Merrivale brought me the news in that dull back-room where I waited, heaven only knows with what crushing, heart-sick anxiety, and we left the house--that doomed house of death, of woe and desolation to the living.

The crowd outside had thickened and densified; but their cries and clamors were meaningless sounds for me. As we stood on the pavement whilst Merrivale hailed a cab, I felt something thrust into my hand--a piece of paper. I looked round and saw a man disappearing amongst the throng, who presently turned and held up his hand to me. He was in plain clothes and somewhat disguised; but I recognized Jones the detective. When in the cab I unfolded the paper, and read, hastily scrawled in pencil:

"Meet me, sir, please, on the Surrey end of London Bridge to-night at nine o'clock." "A. Jones."

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