in and about the house. Soon the whole place was in a turmoil. Neighbors and village people were coming and going, and everybody was making suggestions or propounding theories.
Barbara and Morland quarrelled openly; Anne refused to see anybody; Archer stood around, moody and taciturn; the languid figure of Beth Fordyce could be seen strolling about the gardens, wringing her hands in picturesque despair; while Mrs. Stelton fluttered about everywhere, asking absurd questions and making herself a general nuisance.
I longed for a little talk with Anne, but decided not to bother her, so I employed myself answering the questions of the curious visitors who came and went.
The whole village was up in arms. And yet nobody seemed to care very much that David Van Wyck was dead. Their all-absorbing interest was the mystery of the thing. They positively gloated over the seemingly contradictory facts that a man had met his death in an inaccessible room and yet apparently not by his own hand.
Dozens of explanations were offered, some ingenious, some ridiculous; but I listened to them all, hoping that perhaps a chance shot might hit the truth. For I too was deeply interested in solving the mystery. Quite apart from my personal connection with the matter, I felt a stirring of the detective instinct to solve the problem. And not the least curious phase of it was that apparently nobody accused or even suspected any individual. The whole argument seemed to be that it must have been the work of an expert burglar, and yet that the entrance of such an intruder was impossible!
Buttonwood Terrace, hitherto so exclusive, was thrown open to all. Beside the curiosity seekers from the village, many personal friends and some distant relatives arrived at the house.
As both Anne and Barbara declined to see anybody, Mrs. Carstairs acted as hostess. She was serene and composed, but with an air of calm determination that made me wonder what her thoughts might be. At one time I saw her in earnest colloquy with Mr. Markham. I burned to know what she was talking about and I asked him.
“Oh,” he said, “she doesn’t want to testify at the inquest, and she doesn’t want her son to, either. But of course they’ll have to.”
“Can he or they be implicated?” I asked, with interest.
“Probably not. More likely it’s a woman’s natural instinct to dread such an experience both for herself and for anyone dear to her.”
I thought then of the peculiar circumstances of Carstairs and his mother both hunting for something in the road, and both denying that they had lost anything. I was about to tell this to Mr. Markham when he was called away on some matter. And I thought too, perhaps it was better not to mention the subject until I should discover what developments might result from the inquest.
Coroner Mellen proved himself capable of conducting matters in a business-like way. If he appeared hard and heartless it was probably necessary, considering the work he had to do. The inquest was to be held at half-past two, and there was much to be done by way of preparation. The jurymen were arriving, also several policemen and a number of reporters.
The incoming trains brought people from the city, and many of the principal men of the village were in attendance. Not everyone was allowed to enter the house, but the grounds were thronged with curiosity-seekers and idlers.
As the time neared for the inquest, the great hall began to be filled with people. A table had been placed in the centre for the use of the coroner and the reporters, and a group of chairs near by were intended for the jury.
Seats were reserved for the members of the household, and the rest of the room was quickly filled by an interested if horrified audience.
The coroner and the jurymen filed in and took their places, and as if by the touch of a magic wand, the beautiful reception hall was transformed into a court-room.
The arrival of the family upon the scene created a decided stir amongst the audience.
Anne came first, walking with Condron Archer. Her beautiful face was white, but her eyes were not cast down; instead, she looked straight ahead of her, but with an unseeing gaze, as if walking in sleep. Archer led her to a chair and sat down beside her. They were followed immediately by Barbara and Morland, who were whispering together as they came in. This brother and sister were often at variance in their opinions and apparently the present occasion offered them opportunity for differing views.
Mrs. Stelton and Miss Fordyce followed them, both looking very much disturbed and embarrassed.
I, myself, came in with Markham, the detective, and behind us were Mrs. Carstairs and her son. The other servants were congregated in a nearby room, but Mrs. Carstairs had insisted on having her son by her side and it had been allowed.
Coroner Mellen was short and sharp in his speech, and wasted little time in preliminaries. His jury was sworn, and his first witness on the stand, almost before I realized that the inquest had begun.
The valet, Carstairs, was the first one questioned. He answered the coroner in a nervous and agitated manner, and it was clear to be seen that he was exceedingly ill at ease. To me, however, this was only a natural result of finding himself implicated in such a tragedy.
“Tell the story in your own way,” said Coroner Mellen, speaking a little more kindly, as he observed the man’s demeanor.
“I went to the master’s room this morning, sir, as I always do, and he wasn’t there, and his bed hadn’t been slept in. So as I couldn’t think of any place he might be, except in his study, I went there, sir, and it was locked, and I couldn’t get in. I knocked several times, but nobody answered; so I went and told Jeannette, and she told Mrs. Van Wyck.”
“Who is Jeannette?” asked Mr. Mellen.
“She’s Mrs. Van Wyck’s maid, sir. And then the gentlemen came from the dining-room, and they ordered the door broken in, sir. We called Ranney for that.”
“Never mind about that now; tell us of last evening. When did you see Mr. Van Wyck last?”
“When he was dressing for dinner, sir. And he told me then that I needn’t attend him when he retired. He said he expected some visitors in the evening, and as he should be up late I needn’t wait up for him.”
“And didn’t you?”
“N-no, sir.”
“Why did you hesitate at that reply?”
“I—I didn’t, sir.”
“You did. What time did you go to bed yourself last night?”
“At—at about midnight, sir.”
“And where were you all the evening?”
“I was down in the village. I went to a ball there.”
“And returned home about midnight?”
“Why—yes, sir.”
The valet did seem disingenuous, and I felt sure that the coroner doubted his truthfulness. But to my mind the man was merely confused by the questions shot at him.
During the examination Mrs. Carstairs sat looking at her son. Her hands were clasped in the intensity of her attention, and I could see that she was controlling her agitation by sheer force of will. I had no reason to think the valet had killed his master,
