"There was a reason why you did not hear of this evidence earlier. You asked me to give you my theory, Had I not better do so before going into other matters?"

She raised her clasped hands slightly from her lap in faint protest.

"I beg your pardon for interrupting you. By all means let me have the theory first. My anxiety betrayed me into asking questions which ought to have been deferred."

He was filled with admiration of this woman who could keep so closely to the point, and with shame for himself for his unthrifty straying from it.

"As you are no doubt aware, chloroform affects different people in different ways. A little of it will kill some people; a large quantity will scarcely affect others. Many under its influence become delirious and rave. At certain periods, while under the power of chloroform, one may be relieved of pain, conscious of surrounding things, capable of moving, and yet delirious. The theory I would suggest is that Mr. Davenport inhaled some chloroform to ease a spasm of asthma, that he became delirious, that he had a return of his old hallucination, then wrote what was found on the leaf torn from the book, and while endeavouring to administer a second dose to himself, spilled the contents of the bottle over his beard and chest."

Her words came in as calm and measured a way as though she were speaking on an abstract subject to an indifferent audience.

As she went on, Pringle's admiration gave way to amazement. A scientific witness could not be more unmoved. Was it possible this superb woman opposite him had been explaining to him in these cold, measured accents her way of accounting for the death of a husband who had been alive and without any immediate danger of death a couple of days ago, and who had since died a death which was, to say the least of it, provocative of inquiry?

He leaned back in his chair, sighed thoughtfully, and knit his brows. He cleared his throat once or twice to speak, but remained silent. He felt dull and heavy, as though something oppressed his chest.

"That is my theory-the only possible theory," she said, leaning forward and looking quietly into his face, without any change in the expression of her own.

He shook himself slightly, looked perplexed, not satisfied. At last he spoke:

"And what evidence have we in support of this supposition?"

She leaned back in her chair and whispered, "None."

He started, sat up, and looked at her keenly. He drew down his brows over his eyes as though the light hurt him.

"I am afraid," said he, "such a theory would not stand without most substantial testimony. No jury would give a satisfactory verdict on a mere statement such as that, for, you see, there are the last words written by the deceased." Until this moment he had not used that cold, formless word "deceased" to her. But he felt now that he was regarding the matter in a purely professional way, and that so was she. In a moment he continued, laying impressively significant emphasis on his words: "How are we to explain the fact of Mr. Blake's name appearing on that piece of paper?"

"Mr. Blake," she said, half-closing her eyes as though she was weary, "was the last person he saw before his death, and, when the delirium came upon him, he naturally introduced the name of Mr. Blake as being that of the person most immediate to his memory."

"What!" cried Pringle, starting up off his chair and leaning towards her, "Do we admit he was there?"

He could scarcely contain himself for astonishment. He looked at her as though he expected to find her transformed into the person of Blake himself.

"Undoubtedly," she said, opening her eyes slowly and looking up at him. "Mr. Blake was there a little while before Mr. Davenport died."

Pringle groaned, ran his fingers excitedly through his hair, and began pacing the room up and down hastily.

After a dozen turns, he stopped in front of her chair.

"When did you learn that your late husband had had hallucinations?"

"Last night."

"Last night only! Who told you?"

"Mr. Blake."

"Mr. Blake! – Mr. Blake! And who saw your husband when he was suffering from these hallucinations?"

"Mr. Blake."

"And is he the witness we have as to the hallucinations?"

"Yes."

"Merciful heavens! Which of us is mad? Where did you meet this Blake?"

"I wrote to him to come here, and he came."

"You wrote him to come here! Heaven help you-heaven help you! It is you who are mad."

And he hastened out of the room.

CHAPTER X
THE ELDER PRINGLE SPEAKS

When Richard Pringle reached the street, he set off at a rapid walk for Lincoln's Inn Fields. His thoughts and feelings were too much disturbed for reasoning. The dialogue of the past hour hurried through his brain in an incoherent, inconsequential mass. In the intense excitement of the last few minutes, he had told her she was mad, and he almost believed it. He had known from the previous day that Blake had been at Crescent House on the night of Mr. Davenport's death. He had most plainly, most impressively given her to understand that he knew it. She must have seen plainly then he attached most disastrous importance to that visit of her former lover. Since then the leaf torn out of the pocket-book had been discovered. On that leaf appeared a deliberate accusation of murder in the handwriting of the dead man against Blake. That, in all reason, was sufficiently serious; but worse followed. She had the day after her husband's death asked this man Blake to visit her!

From Blake she had, Pringle felt not the least doubt, adopted that elaborate and childish theory of the fatal event. Blake had told her in that interview a thing neither she nor his brother had ever known before-namely, that the deceased man had at one time, and to Blake's personal knowledge, suffered from mental aberration of a kind which would exactly explain away that damnatory writing on the paper-if any one could believe Blake's story! The whole affair was simply monstrous. If he viewed the matter from a purely professional point of view, he would have been heartily sorry he ever connected himself with it. But he could not regard the case solely as a matter between client and solicitor. He was under the spell of this woman, and he could not, if he would, and he would not if he could, escape. Only one thing was clear to his mind now, and that took the form of muttered words:

"There will be business for the hangman in this affair."

When he arrived at the office he found his father in, and having locked the door of the private room, he communicated to the old man the substance of the interview which had just been brought to a close.

His father listened to the recital with the most circumstantial patience. When the son had finished his tale, and wound up with the opinion that some one was going to swing for the matter, the father, to the son's unspeakable astonishment, looked up cheerfully, and said:

"I am not at all sure of that, Dick-not at all."

"Bless my soul, father, where do you see the way out of it?"

"I can't say," said the elder man, "that I see my way out of it; but I am sure they do. Just run over the facts briefly: This woman was formerly in love with Blake; Blake is bought off by old Davenport, and Davenport marries the beauty. After years, the married couple come to London, and put up by themselves in a detached house. That night the old lover visits the house, and shortly after he leaves, the wife raises an alarm, and the husband is found dead. The doctor called in is not fully satisfied, and hints that the man has been killed by chloroform-a drug frequently used by deceased. The widow finds shelter in a neighbour's house. While there, she is given to understand by her attorney that it is supposed her old lover was in the house within a short time of the death, and that death is believed to have arisen from choloroform, not asthma. Upon this she displays great emotion, and declines to give any further information. She leaves the neighbour's house that afternoon, and goes to a house in which she stayed about six years ago when in London with her husband. From that house she sends for her old lover, and has an interview with him. Meantime a document is found in the handwriting of deceased, saying her old lover has poisoned him (deceased). Her solicitor sends a copy of this document to her. Next day solicitor calls upon her, and finds her quite calm. She explains her theory of her husband's death, and attributes the document mentioned to hallucination, from which she alleges deceased suffered earlier in life, and that death was the result of accidentally spilling the chloroform by deceased. That's the case, as far as I can make it out. Am I right, Dick?"

"Yes, sir-quite right."

"At the first glance it's a strong case."

"Did you ever, short of eye-witnesses, see a stronger?"

"I've seen a lot of cases in my time-a lot of cases. Wait a bit, Dick, until we have another look at it. A motive lies on the very surface; nothing could be plainer than the motive implied by the case. It is: the old lover poisons the husband in order that the woman may be free to marry him. A money motive may turn up later on; if we may find that the widow is rich. Dick, I am getting to be an old man now, and I give you one piece of advice, lest I may forget it: Always suspect a case where the motive is glaringly obvious. Now, the two survivors in this affair are people of good education, good position and intelligence, are they not?"

"Most assuredly, sir."

"Neither of the two is an idiot?"

"I am greatly afraid, father, that the lady's reason is affected."

"Observe, Dick, I did not ask you whether both are sane or mad. But is either of them an idiot-a drivelling idiot-whom you would not leave alone in a room where there was a fire or a razor?"

"No, no! They are both, as far as I know-I never saw him-rational on the surface, anyway. But I fear the strain has been too much for Mrs. Davenport."

"Never mind about that. She may for my purpose be as mad as she likes, so long as she is not a drivelling idiot. Now, supposing either of them had committed the crime of murder in this case, do you suppose that until drivelling idiocy had been fully established in one or the other, either of them would behave in such a childish way as you describe? Why, it would shame any Bedlamite in Europe for rank silliness! The man who tried to cool a red-hot poker in a barrel of gunpowder would be only a little rash compared with either of these two, if, as you seem to suppose, either is responsible for the dead man's death."

The younger man's face brightened.

"Then you think, sir, there is still good reason to hope?"

"I am sure there is no reason to do anything else. This Mrs. Davenport, at your first interview, trusts you fully up to a certain point, and then suddenly refuses to give you any more confidence. At your second interview she gives you all, and more than all, the confidence you require. What has wrought that change? She has seen the old lover. She is acting upon his advice. She has given you a great deal of confidence, but she has not told you everything. She is keeping back the most important piece of all."

"What is that?"

"The line of his and her defence. He will, of course, be professionally represented at the inquest. There will be some one there for him, anyhow. I am firmly convinced he has an unanswerable and startling defence. If I were you I should take every precaution I could for the protection of my client; but I feel fully assured he will clear up the whole case. Now run away. I've got in another batch of those Millington deeds, and I want to get through them by dinner-time. Will you be home to dinner?"

"I don't think so, sir. I'll run out to Dulwich and see if there is anything new."

When young Pringle found himself at Dulwich he went to Carlingford House; for he knew that the folk there, especially Alfred, would be anxious to hear the news, and this analysis of the case by his father had put him in good heart.

The day was fine and mild for the season. As he entered the garden of Carlingford House, he saw, through a tall wicket gateway, two elderly men walking in the grounds at the rear. One of these he recognised as Mr. Paulton; the other was a stranger to him.

He passed through the wicket gateway into the back garden. Just as he did so the two men faced fully round, and Mr. Paulton cried out, as he hastened towards the solicitor:

"Mr. Pringle, you are the very man we want. We were this minute talking of you. Mr. Davenport, this is Mr. Pringle, who has kindly consented, at our request, to act in this unhappy affair as solicitor for Mrs. Davenport."

"Sir," said the dead man's brother, bowing low, "I am very glad to make your acquaintance. I hope you find yourself in the enjoyment of good health."

"I am quite well, thank you," said Pringle, somewhat taken aback by the old-fashioned formality of the other.

The man who stood in front of him was a square-made, thick-set, low-sized man of close on sixty years of age. His hair was black and long and lank, profusely oiled, and hung down on the collar of his coat and shoulders. He did not wear beard, whiskers, or moustaches. His complexion was a lifeless sallow; his skin wrinkled, his nose aquiline, and narrow at the top; his mouth weak and uncertain, with thin, bloodless lips; his gait half-mincing, half-pompous; his voice half-suave, half-raucous. His eyes were large and prominent, and of a filmy, hazel colour. As Pringle looked at the new-comer, he thought: "If he weren't so broad, he'd look like a dyspeptic mummy."

"I have just finished telling Mr. Davenport all I heard about this sad affair, and I suppose you, Mr. Pringle, can now add something to where I left off? Mr. Davenport is most anxious to know everything."

Young Pringle had then for the second time to go over the main features of what had taken place since he was at Dulwich last. Of course he was much more reticent than he had been with his father, and repeated nothing of what had passed between Mrs. Davenport and himself. It was Jerry O'Brien who had first introduced Blake's name into the case. Mr. Paulton had told Mr. Davenport all he knew, without adopting the precaution of finding out how the brother of the dead man felt towards the widow.

Pringle had therefore no hesitation in saying that he had seen Mrs. Davenport, and that she, of course, would be present at the inquest to-morrow. He also said he had heard Thomas Blake would be present. He told Mr. Davenport that if he wished to call upon the widow, her address was at his disposal.

Mr. Davenport drew himself up hurriedly, and looking furiously at Pringle from head to foot, as though the solicitor was the cause of all the misfortunes, cried, while his lips, hands, and legs were trembling:

"I-I go near her! Are you mad, young sir? Have you taken leave of your senses, or are you jeering at me? I go near my brother's murderess! Do you take me for a conspirator too? Do you think I am another Blake? I pity you, sir. An attorney, quotha! A man of your trade ought to have some little discrimination. You are for her, young sir! Look you: If justice can be had on this earth, by any and all means in my power these two shall hang side by side on the same gibbet, and keep the company of each other on the road to hell, and in hell everlastingly;" and, foaming at the mouth, he dashed away from the astonished pair and rushed into the house.

The inquest was to be held next day at noon.

CHAPTER XI
"MRS. DAVENPORT WAS CALLED."

The remainder of that afternoon and the early part of next day were devoted by young Pringle to arranging details for the inquest. He would have attached but little importance to the wild words and manner of Mr. Edward Davenport if there had not been other very strong elements, of suspicion in the case. There was matter for more than grave suspicion-there was matter for absolute alarm. The theory for the defence set up by Mrs. Davenport was puerile in the extreme, and yet he could not make any other fit in with the admitted facts of the case. Upon deliberate consideration, he thought less of his father's exposition than he had at first. His father might be right, but his father's conviction went no further than a supposititious negative. In logic one could not prove a negative; in law there was no prohibition. An overwhelming alibi would insure an acquittal, but an alibi was impossible in this case; and by what other means was it possible to establish a negative?

He was anxious to ascertain one thing: Would Blake be arrested before or during the inquest? He made inquiries, and found that, although Blake's address was known and detectives were watching him, no arrest would be made before the coroner had taken some evidence. Pringle had no interest in Blake beyond the extent to which he affected Mrs. Davenport's case. But that was a great deal. If Blake's mouth were shut, Mrs. Davenport's defence would, he thought, be simpler.

The day of the inquest Pringle went to Jermyn Street, and took Mrs. Davenport to Dulwich. She was taciturn the whole way, and said she had nothing to add to what she had communicated yesterday. She hardly spoke a word the whole way from Jermyn Street to Herne Hill. Pringle's spirits became more depressed as they journeyed together, but he had made up his mind to fight the case out to the last.

The inquest was to be held at the "Wolfdog Inn," and when Pringle and Mrs. Davenport arrived there, a large crowd had already assembled, although the proceedings would not begin for some time. Pringle had engaged a private room for Mrs. Davenport, and to it she retired immediately on their arrival.

It was evident from the manner of those assembled in and near the "Wolf-dog," that the approaching inquiry was regarded with great interest, and that popular feeling was aroused against the newly-made widow.

Mrs. Davenport had entered by a back way, and had not been observed by the loungers. No one in the crowd knew her; but, of course, if she had passed through it, she would have been recognised instantly by her fresh weeds.

For a while young Pringle stood on the steps of the inn, and the broken snatches of conversation which he overheard did not help to cheer or inspirit him: he would have taken little or no heed of the idle talk floating in and out of the door had he felt merely a professional interest in this woman; but he had just left her; he had been with her for nearly an hour, and although few words had passed between them in that time, the spell of her physical beauty had reasserted itself, and his chivalry was up in arms for her.

While Pringle was standing on the steps of the inn, Dr. Santley and Alfred Paulton came up. They had walked with one another from Half Moon Lane.

"Well," said the latter, addressing Pringle, "any good news?"

The solicitor shook his head and answered:

"Nothing fresh."

"I thought," said Paulton, in a tone of disappointment, "that Jerry O'Brien would be with you. Is he not come? He said he would be here to-day."

"I have not seen him," said Pringle. "I came out with Mrs. Davenport. She is upstairs in a private room. Do you know anything of Blake? Have you met him on the way?"

"Perhaps," said Dr. Santley grimly, "he is cultivating the acquaintance of the police."

The speakers had moved out of earshot of the crowd.

"No," said Pringle, "I have ascertained that he will not be touched until after this day's work, anyway."

As the solicitor ceased speaking, two other men approached. They, too, were walking together; but as they drew near the "Wolfdog," one of them moved off to the right, and went towards the inn door; the other held on towards the three men. The latter was Jerry O'Brien. When he came up with the little group, and had shaken hands with them, Pringle asked:

"Who was that you were with as you came up the road?"

"What! Don't you all know him? Why, who could it be but Tom Blake?"

Significant looks passed between the three men. Paulton was the first to speak:

"You don't mean to say, Jerry, that you have-"

"Indeed I have. I met him on the platform at Victoria, and we came out in the same compartment together."

Jerry O'Brien seemed as much astonished at what he had done as his friends.

"But," urged Paulton, "you gave him the worst of characters the day before yesterday, and said he had something to do with this awful affair. Since then things have grown blacker against him, and yet you don't cut him! You come out here arm-in-arm with him to the very inquest where you say he will have to answer the ugliest questions which can be put to a man!"

"I bar only one thing in what you have said, Alfred. I did not walk out with him arm-in-arm. I met him quite accidentally at Victoria. I told you I should be here at the inquest. I was on my way here. I no more expected to see him than the man in the moon. He pounced on me suddenly, and rushed me. As a rule, I can take care of myself, but I admit I am no match for Blake. I am not sure I ever met his match. Look here, Pringle; I know you're a first-rate fellow at your work. You're not as old as you might be, but you're one of the best men in England for this kind of a job. However, if you have to tackle Tom Blake, he'll give you as much as you want."

Jerry O'Brien spoke with heightened colour, and in a tone of intense irritation.

This opinion was not unwelcome to Pringle's ears, for he knew that, no matter how big a scoundrel Blake might be, he would say nothing to inculpate Mrs. Davenport.

"What is this Blake's manner?" asked Pringle.

"Perfectly self-possessed, cool and audacious."

"Is he venturesome?

"He'd play for his boots or his shirt, and then for his skin."

"Do you think, O'Brien, he'll get out of this with a whole skin?"

"He may, for you are not his lawyer," said O'Brien, with a laugh.

"It is an old form of joke," said the attorney, with a smile. "Do you know if he has got legal assistance?"

"Legal assistance!" cried O'Brien, scornfully. "Not he. He laughed when telling me some fellows said he ought to get legal assistance. Why, my dear Pringle, he'd give the best of you thirty out of a hundred, and win the game by making you give misses. When is this thing to begin?"

"Presently. Have you any notion of what he is going to say at the inquest?"

"I asked him. I told him the paper found in the handwriting of the deceased would be very awkward."

"What did he say?"

"That it looked very awkward, no doubt; but that many people got into awkward positions and got out of them again."

"I asked him had he been summoned as a witness, and he said naturally he had, as he was the last person who saw the dead man alive."

"By Jove, O'Brien! Go on."

"I asked him how he thought the death occurred. He said that was beyond him to say. He had no doubt it was accidental, and that the memorandum on the piece of paper written under the influence of delirium might be an idea created by chloroform, or while suffering from a relapse of the old disease which seized him at Florence years ago."

"The same story identically. Did he say anything more?"

"Yes. I asked him did anything unpleasant occur between himself and Mr. Davenport that night?"

"What did he say to that?" eagerly asked the attorney.

"He looked at me doubtfully for a moment. 'O'Brien,' he said, 'you know more about this than the outside public. You are interested in it?' I said I was interested in it very indirectly. 'Very well, then,' said he, 'I'm going to the inquest. You come with me and then you shall hear the truth as far as I know it.'"

"This put me in a queer fix. I had not up to this told him I was on my way to this place. I could not keep the fact any longer to myself, so I told him I expected to find friends here, nothing more; and I asked him if I might communicate the substance of what he had said to them. He gave me full liberty. After all this, you will see I could not very well shake him off. When we got here he shook himself off. Mrs. Davenport's name was never mentioned by either of us. He did not show the least curiosity when I said I took an indirect interest in the case."

A few minutes after this the four men moved into the inn, and the coroner having arrived, the jury were sworn, and after returning from Crescent House, the business of taking evidence began.

After formal identification of the body by Mr. Edward Davenport, the witness examined was Alfred Paulton. He told his story simply and briefly, and answered the questions of the coroner and jury with precision. When what may be regarded as the examination-in-chief was over, Mr. Bertram Spencer, legal representative of Mr. Edward Davenport, put a few questions through the coroner. Paulton's replies were in effect:

No, he had never seen Mr. Davenport alive. When Dr. Santley and he entered the room where Mr. Davenport lay, deceased was then dead. At least, so he believed. He had no acquaintance with the effects of chloroform. He had never been in the room with a dead person before. Mrs. Davenport, upon his invitation, accompanied him to his father's house, also in Half Moon Lane. Paulton was asked a few more questions, but nothing new came out.

Dr. Santley was then examined. He stated that Mr. Paulton called him on the morning of the death. That he went immediately, as he happened to be dressed and disengaged at the time. He found Mr. Davenport quite dead. He thought life had been extinct for an hour or so; it was impossible to say accurately. The body was not cold. He was familiar with cases of spasmodic asthma. Practically it never killed directly; that is, one never died of the spasm. In a spasm, the heart, or head, or lungs, or aorta might give way, causing death. He had never known a case of death from spasmodic asthma, pure and simple.

He was, of course, familiar with chloroform as an anæsthetic. He had once seen a case of poisoning by chloroform. That case was accidental. Chloroform was frequently used as a palliative in severe cases of asthma. A small quantity sprinkled on a napkin or handkerchief and held close to the nose and mouth very often afforded temporary relief. This treatment had no effect on the disease beyond mitigating the violence or putting an end to the spasm. Chloroform should always be administered with great care, as it had frequently been known to cause death. In the present case he found no napkin or handkerchief lying near the body. In administering chloroform for spasmodic asthma, the usual way was to fold a napkin so that when open it would resemble rudely a funnel. Into the sharper end of the funnel the chloroform was dropped, and then the mouth and nose of the patient thrust into the more open end. The handkerchief of deceased showed no trace of being used in the administration of chloroform, nor did either of the napkins found in the room. There was a very strong smell of chloroform about the place, and a large, a very large quantity had been spilled over the beard and shirt and waistcoat of deceased. The bottle produced was what was known as a two-ounce bottle. The full of it, or half the full of it would, if sprinkled over the shirt and beard and waistcoat, in all likelihood cause death, provided the natural course of the vapour upwards towards the mouth and nostrils was not interfered with. He could form no certain opinion as to the cause of death. He had declined to certify because he did not know. He would prefer giving no opinion. The brain, or aorta, or heart might have given way without displaying any external symptom. If the lungs had yielded, there would no doubt have been an outward sign. In deaths by chloroform he was not acquainted with any infallible outward sign. A post-mortem examination would, he thought, determine the cause of death.

A few questions were then put on behalf of Mrs. Davenport. The case of poisoning by chloroform which had come directly under his notice was unquestionably accidental. A man who suffered acutely from neuralgia was in the habit of using chloroform to allay pain. He was found dead in his bed one morning with an empty bottle, which had contained an ounce of the drug, by the side of his face and partly under the clothes. It was possible, but very unlikely, that in the present case the bottle might have been accidentally emptied by deceased. Chloroform was denser than water, and would not run out of such a bottle very quickly. It was most unlikely that any man in possession of his senses would allow an ounce and a half of that fluid to escape from such a bottle and fall on his beard and chest. Assuming he was recumbent at the time, he would be obliged to hold the bottle on a level with his eyes in order to pour the spirit on his beard, and he would have to hold the bottle in that position for an appreciable time. In his opinion, the poison had not got on deceased accidentally.

Up to this point the questions had all been put through the coroner. Now Pringle suggested that it would be for the convenience of all concerned if he himself might, by favour of the coroner, directly interrogate the witness. This was agreed to, the coroner, before proceeding any further, giving notice that no further evidence would be taken that day, and that as soon as Dr. Santley's evidence was concluded, the inquiry would be adjourned pending the result of the post-mortem examination.

At this announcement Mr. Pringle expressed the greatest surprise. He had been curious to learn why the medical evidence had been gone into so early in the case. But knowing the coroner always acted with the greatest tact and judgment, he had made no remark at the time. For his part, he believed such a course, if followed, would be found very inconvenient.

Mrs. Davenport, in whose interest he was watching the case, was particularly anxious to be examined to-day, as she felt the strain of expectation in such an ordeal very great.

The coroner said if Mrs. Davenport was anxious to be examined he should be happy to take her evidence.

In that case Mr. Pringle begged as a favour that he might be allowed to reserve the few questions he had to ask Dr. Santley until after Mrs. Davenport had been examined. To this also, after a little show of resistance, the coroner acceded.