CHAPTER XIII
THE INQUEST
The coroner's court was packed; and though here and there I caught a face that I knew to be friendly to Radnor, the crowd was made up for the most part of morbid sensation seekers, eager to hear and believe the worst.
The District Attorney was present; indeed he and the coroner and Jim Mattison were holding a whispered consultation when I entered the room, and I did not doubt but that the three had been working up the case together. The thought was not reassuring; a coroner, with every appearance of fairness, may still bias a jury by the form his questions take. And I myself was scarcely in a position to turn the trend of the inquiry; I doubt if a lawyer ever went to an inquisition with less command of the facts than I had.
The first witness called was the doctor who made the autopsy. After his testimony had been dwelt upon with what seemed to me needless detail, the facts relating to the finding of the body were brought forward. From this, the investigation veered to the subject of Radnor's strange behavior on the afternoon of the murder. The landlord, stable boy and several hangers-on of the Luray Hotel were called to the stand; their testimony was practically identical, and I did not attempt to question its truth.
"What time did Radnor Gaylord come back to the hotel?" the coroner asked of "old man Tompkins," the landlord.
"I reckon it must 'a' been 'long about three in the afternoon."
"Please describe exactly what occurred."
"Well, we was sittin' on the veranda talkin' about one thing and another when we see young Gaylord comin' across the lot, his head down and his hands in his pockets walkin' fast. He yelled to Jake, who was washin' off a buggy at the pump, to saddle his horse and be quick about it. Then he come up the steps and into the bar-room and called for brandy. He drunk two glasses straight off without blinkin'."
"Had he ordered anything to drink in the morning when they left their horses?" the coroner interrupted at this point.
"No, he didn't go into the bar-room—and it wasn't usually his custom to slight us either."
A titter ran around the room and the coroner rapped for order. "This is not the place for any cheap witticisms; you will kindly confine yourself to answering my questions.—Did Mr. Gaylord appear to have been drinking when he returned from the cave?"
The landlord closed his right eye speculatively. "No, I can't say as he exactly appeared like he'd been drinking," he said with the air of a connoisseur, "but he did seem to be considerably upset about something. He looked mad enough to bite; his face was pale, and his hand trembled when he raised his glass. Three or four noticed it and wondered—"
"Very well," interrupted the coroner, "what did he do next?"
"He went out to the stable yard and swore at the boy for being slow. And he tightened the surcingle himself with such a jerk that the mare plunged and he struck her. He is usually pretty cranky about the way horses is treated, and we wondered—"
He was stopped again and invited to go on without wondering.
"Well, let me see," said the witness, imperturbably. "He jumped into the saddle and slashing the mare across the flanks, started off in a cloud o' dust, without so much as looking back. We was all surprised at this 'cause he's usually pretty friendly, and we talked about it after; but we didn't think nothing particular till the news o' the murder come that evening, when we naturally commenced to put two and two together."
At this point I protested and the landlord was excused. "Jake" Henley, the stable boy, was called. His testimony practically covered the same ground and corroborated what the landlord had said.
"You say he swore at you for being slow?" the coroner asked.
Jake nodded with a grin. "I don't remember just the words—I get swore at so much that it don't make the impression it might—but it was good straight cussin' all right."
"And he struck you as being agitated?"
Jake's grin broadened. "I think you might say agitated," he admitted guardedly. "He was mad enough to begin with, an' now the brandy was gettin' to work. Besides, he was in an all-fired hurry to leave before the rest o' the party come back, an' while I was bringin' out the horse, he heard 'em laughin'. They wasn't in sight yet, but they was makin' a lot o' noise. One o' the girls had stepped on a snake an' was squealin' loud enough to hear her two miles off."
"And Gaylord left before any of them saw him?"
The boy nodded. "He got off all right. 'You forgot to pay for your horse,' I yelled after him, and he threw me fifty cents and it landed in the watering-trough."
This ended his testimony.
Several members of the picnic party were next called upon, and nothing very damaging to Radnor was produced. He seemed to be in his usual spirits before entering the cave, and no one, it transpired, had seen him after he came out, though this was not noted at the time. Also, no one had noticed him in conversation with his father. The coroner dwelt upon this point, but elicited no information one way or the other.
Polly Mathers was not present. She had been subpœnaed, but had become too ill and nervous to stand the strain, and the doctor had forbidden her attendance. The coroner, however, had taken her testimony at the house, and his clerk read it aloud to the jury. It dealt merely with the matter of the coat and where she had last seen Radnor.
"Question. 'Did you notice anything peculiar in the behavior of Radnor Gaylord on the day of his father's death?'
"Answer. 'Nothing especially peculiar—no.'
"Q. 'Did you see any circumstance which led you to suspect that he and his father were not on good terms?'
"A. 'No, they both appeared as usual.'
"Q. 'Did you speak to Radnor in the cave?'
"A. 'Yes, we strolled about together for a time and he was carrying my coat. He laid it down on the broken column and forgot it. I forgot it too and didn't think of it again until we were out of the cave. Then I happened to mention it in Colonel Gaylord's presence, and I suppose he went back for it.'
"Q. 'You didn't see Radnor Gaylord after he left the cave?'
"A. 'No, I didn't see him after we left the gallery of the broken column. The guide struck off a calcium light to show us the formation of the ceiling. We spent about five minutes examining the room, and after that we all went on in a group. Radnor had not waited to see the room, but had gone on ahead in the direction of the entrance.'"
So much for Polly's testimony—which added nothing.
Solomon, frightened almost out of his wits, was called on next, and his testimony brought out the matter of the quarrel between Colonel Gaylord and Radnor. Solomon told of finding the French clock, and a great many things besides which I am sure he made up. I wished to have his testimony ruled out, but the coroner seemed to feel that it was suggestive—as it undoubtedly was—and he allowed it to remain.
Radnor himself was next called to the stand. As he took his place a murmur of excitement swept over the room and there was a general straining forward. He was composed and quiet, and very very sober—every bit of animation had left his face.
The coroner commenced immediately with the subject of the quarrel with his father on the night before the murder, and Radnor answered all the questions frankly and openly. He made no attempt to gloss over any of the details. What put the matter in a peculiarly bad light, was the fact that the cause of the quarrel had been over a question of money. Rad had requested his father to settle a definite amount on him so that he would be independent in the future, and his father had refused. They had lost their tempers and had gone further than usual; in telling the story Radnor openly took the blame upon himself where, in several instances, I strongly suspected that it should have been laid at the door of the Colonel. But in spite of the fact that the story revealed a pitiable state of affairs as between father and son, his frankness in assuming the responsibility won for him more sympathy than had been shown since the murder.
"How did the clock get broken?" the coroner asked.
"My father knocked it off the mantelpiece onto the floor."
"He did not throw it at you as Solomon surmised?"
Radnor raised his head with a glint of anger.
"It fell on the floor and broke."
"Have you often had quarrels with your father?"
"Occasionally. He had a quick temper and always wished his own way, and I was not so patient with him as I should have been."
"What did you quarrel about?"
"Different things."
"What, for instance?"
"Sometimes because he thought I spent too much money, sometimes over a question of managing the estate; occasionally because he had heard gossip about me."
"What do you mean by 'gossip'?"
"Stories that I'd been gambling or drinking too much."
"Were the stories true?"
"They were always exaggerated."
"And this quarrel the night before his death was more serious than usual?"
"Possibly—yes."
"You did not speak to each other at the breakfast table?"
"No."
Radnor's face was set in strained lines; it was evident that this was a very painful subject.
"Did you have any conversation later?"
"Only a few words."
"Please repeat what was said."
Radnor appeared to hesitate and then replied a trifle wearily that he did not remember the exact words; that it was merely a recapitulation of what had been said the night before. Upon being urged to give the gist of the conversation he replied that his father had wished to make up their quarrel, but on the old basis, and he had refused. The Colonel had repeated that he was still too young a man to give over his affairs into the hands of another,—that he had a good many years before him in which he intended to be his own master. Radnor had replied that he was too old a man to be treated any longer as a boy, and that he would go away and work where he would be paid for what he did.
"And may I ask," the coroner inquired placidly, "whether you had any particular work in mind when you made that statement, or was it merely a figure of rhetoric calculated to bring Colonel Gaylord to terms?"
Rad scowled and said nothing, and the rest of his answers were terseness itself.
"Did you and your father have any further conversation on the ride over, or in the course of the day?"
"No."
"You purposely avoided meeting each other?"
"I suppose so."
"Then those words after breakfast when you threatened to leave home were absolutely the last words you ever spoke to your father?"
It was a subject Radnor did not like to think about. His lips trembled slightly and he answered with a visible effort.
"Yes."
A slight murmur ran around the room, partly of sympathy, partly of doubt.
The coroner put the same question again and Radnor repeated his answer, this time with a flush of anger. The coroner paused a moment and then continued without comment:
"You entered the cave with the rest of the party?"
"Yes."
"But you left the others before they had made the complete round?"
"Yes."
"Why was that?"
"I was not particularly interested. I had seen the cave many times before."
"Where did you leave the party?"
"I believe in the gallery of the broken column."
"You left the cave immediately?"
"Yes."
"Did you enter it again?"
"No."
"You forgot Miss Mathers's coat and left it in the gallery of the broken column?"
"So it would seem."
"Did you not think of that later and go back for it?"
Radnor snapped out his answer. "No, I didn't think anything about the coat."
"Are you in the habit of leaving young ladies' coats about in that off-hand way?"
A titter ran about the room, and Rad did not deign to notice this question.
I was indignant that the boy should be made to face such an ordeal. This was not a regular trial and the coroner had no right to be more obnoxious than his calling required. There was a glint of anger in Radnor's eyes; and I was uneasily aware that he no longer cared what impression he made. His answers to the rest of the questions were as short as the English language permitted.
"What did you do after leaving the cave?"
"Went home."
"Please go into more detail. What did you do immediately after leaving the cave?"
"Strolled through the woods."
"For how long?"
"I don't know."
"How long do you think?"
"Possibly half an hour."
"Then what did you do?"
"Returned to the hotel, ordered my horse and rode home."
"Why did you not wait for the rest of the party?"
"Didn't feel like it."
The question was repeated in several ways, but Radnor stubbornly refused to discuss the matter. He had promised me, the last thing before coming to the hearing, that he would clear up the suspicious points in regard to his conduct on the day of the crime. I took him in hand myself, but I could get nothing more from him than the coroner had elicited. For some reason he had veered completely, and his manner warned me not to push the matter. I took my seat and the questioning continued.
"Mr. Gaylord," said the coroner, severely, "you have heard the evidence respecting your peculiar behavior when you returned to the hotel. Three witnesses have stated that you were in an unnaturally perturbed condition. Is this true?"
Radnor supposed it must be true. He did not wish to question the gentlemen's veracity. He did not remember himself what he had done, but there seemed to be plenty of witnesses who did remember.
"Can you give any reasons for your strange conduct?"
"I have told you several times already that I can not. I did not feel well, and that is all there was to it."
A low murmur of incredulity ran around the room. It was evident to everyone that he was holding something back, and I could see that he was fast losing the sympathy he had gained in the beginning. I myself was at a loss to account for his behavior; as I was absolutely in the dark, however, I could do nothing but let matters take their course. Radnor was excused with this, and the next half hour was spent in a consideration of the foot-prints that were found in the clay path at the scene of the murder. The marks of Cat-Eye Mose were admitted immediately, but the others occasioned considerable discussion. Facsimiles of the prints were produced and compared with the riding boots which the Colonel and Radnor had worn at the time. The Colonel's print was unmistakable, but I myself did not think that the alleged print of Radnor's boot tallied very perfectly with the boot itself. The jury seemed satisfied however, and Radnor was called upon for an explanation. His only conjecture was that it was the print he had left when he passed over the path on his way to the entrance.
The print was not in the path, he was informed; it was in the wet clay on the edge of the precipice.
Radnor shrugged. In that case it could not be the print of his boot. He had kept to the path.
In regard to the match box he was equally unsatisfactory. He acknowledged that it was his, but could no more account for its presence in the path than the coroner himself.
"When do you remember having seen it last?" the coroner inquired.
Radnor pondered. "I remember lending it to Mrs. Mathers when she was building a fire in the woods to make the coffee; after that I don't remember anything about it."
"How do you account for its presence at the scene of the murder?"
"I can only conjecture that it must have dropped from my pocket without my noticing it on my way out of the cave."
The coroner observed that it was an unfortunate coincidence that he had dropped it in just that particular spot.
This effectually stopped Radnor's testimony. Not another word could be elicited from him on the subject, and he was finally dismissed and Mrs. Mathers called to the stand.
She remembered borrowing the match box, but then someone had called her away and she could not remember what she had done with it. She thought she must have returned it because she always did return things, but she was not at all sure. Very possibly she had kept it, and dropped it herself on her way out of the cave.
It was evident that she did not wish to say anything which would incriminate Radnor; and she was really too perturbed to remember what she had done. Several other people were questioned, but no further light could be thrown on the subject of the match box; and so it remained in the end, as it had been in the beginning, merely a very nasty piece of circumstantial evidence.
This ended the hearing for the day, and the inquest was postponed until ten o'clock the following morning. So far, no word had been dropped touching the ha'nt, but I was filled with apprehension as to what the next day would bring forth. I knew that if the subject came up, it would end once for all Radnor's chances of escaping trial before the grand jury. And that would mean, at the best, two months more of prison. What it would mean at the worst I did not like to consider.
CHAPTER XIV
THE JURY'S VERDICT
My first glance about the room the next morning, showed me only too plainly what direction the inquiry was going to take. In the farther corner half hidden by Mattison's broad back sat Clancy, the Washington detective. I recognized him with an angry feeling of discouragement. If we were to have his version of the stolen bonds, Radnor's last hope of gaining public sympathy was gone.
Radnor was the first person to be called to the stand. He had not noticed the detective, and I did not have a chance to inform him of his presence. The coroner plunged immediately into the question of the robbery and the ha'nt, and it was only too evident from Radnor's troubled eyes that it was a subject he did not wish to talk about.
"You have recently had a robbery at your house, Mr. Gaylord?"
"Yes."
"Please describe just what was stolen."
"Five bonds—Government four per cents—a bag of coin—about twenty dollars in all—and two deeds and an insurance policy."
"You have not been able to trace the thief?"
"No."
"In spite of every effort?"
"Well, we naturally looked into the matter."
"But you have been able to form no theory as to how the bonds were stolen?"
"No, I have no theory whatever."
"You employed a detective I believe?"
"Yes."
"And he arrived at no theory?"
Radnor hesitated visibly while he framed an answer.
"He arrived at no theory which successfully covered the facts."
"But he did have a theory as to the whereabouts of the bonds, did he not?"
"Yes—but it was without any foundation and I prefer not to go into it."
The coroner abandoned the point. "Mr. Gaylord, there has lately been a rumor among the negroes working at your place, in regard to the appearance of a ghost, has there not?"
"Yes."
"Can you offer any light on the subject?"
"The negroes are superstitious and easily frightened, when the rumor of a ghost gets started it grows. The most of the stories existed only in their own imaginations."
"You believe then that there was no foundation whatever to any of the stories?"
"I should rather not go into that."
"Mr. Gaylord, do you believe that the ghost had any connection with the robbery?"
"No, I do not."
"Do you think that the ghost had any connection with the murder of your father?"
"No!" said Radnor.
"That is all, Mr. Gaylord.—James Clancy."
At the name Radnor suddenly raised his head and half turned back as if to speak, but thinking better of it, he resumed his chair and watched the approach of the detective with an angry frown. Clancy did not glance at Radnor, but gave his evidence in a quick incisive way which forced the breathless attention of every one in the room. He told without interruption the story of his arrival at Four-Pools and his conclusions in regard to the ha'nt and the theft; he omitted, however, all mention of the letter.
"Am I to understand that you never made your conclusions known to Colonel Gaylord?" the coroner asked.
"No, I had been employed by him, but I thought under the circumstances it was kinder to leave him in ignorance."
"That was a generous stand to take. I suppose you lost something in the way of a fee?"
The detective looked slightly uncomfortable over the question.
"Well, no, as it happened I didn't. There was a sort of cousin—Mr. Crosby"—he nodded toward me—"visiting in the house and he footed the bill. He seemed to think the young man hadn't intended to steal, and that it would be pleasanter all around if I left it for them to settle between themselves."
"I protest!" I cried. "I distinctly stated my conviction that Radnor Gaylord knew nothing of the bonds, and I paid him to get rid of him because I did not wish him troubling Colonel Gaylord with any such made-up story."
"Mr. Clancy is testifying," observed the coroner. "Now, Mr. Clancy, as I understand it, you discovered as you supposed the guilty man, and instead of going to your employer with the story and receiving your pay from him, you accepted it from the person you had accused—or at least from his friend?"
"I've explained the circumstances; it was a mere matter of accommodation."
"I suppose you know what such accommodation is called?"
"If you mean it was blackmail—that's false! At least," he added, quickly relapsing into good nature, "it was a mighty generous kind of blackmail. I could have got my pay fast enough from the Colonel but I didn't want to stir up trouble. We all know that it isn't the innocent who pay blackmail," he added parenthetically.
"Do you mean to insinuate that Mr. Crosby is implicated?"
"Lord no! He's as innocent as a lamb. Young Gaylord was too smart for him; he hoodwinked him as well as the Colonel into believing the bonds were stolen while he was out of the house."
A smile ran around the room and the detective was excused. I sprang to my feet.
"One moment!" I said. "I should like to ask Mr. Clancy some questions."
The young man was turned over to me, plainly against his wishes.
"What proof have you, Mr. Clancy, that the bonds were not stolen while Mr. Gaylord was out of the house?"
"Well, my investigations led me to the belief that he stole them, and that being the case, it must have been done before he left the house."
"I see! And your investigations concerned themselves largely with a letter which you filched from Mr. Gaylord's coat pocket in the night, did they not?"
"Not entirely—the letter merely struck me as corroborative evidence, though I have since learned—"
"Mr. Clancy," I interrupted sternly, "did you not tell me at the time, that that letter was absolute proof of his guilt—yes or no?"
"I may have said so but—"
"Mr. Clancy, will you kindly repeat what was in that letter."
"It referred to some bonds; I don't know that I can recall the exact words."
"Then I must request you to read it," I returned, picking it out from a bundle of papers on the table and handing it to him. "I am sorry to take up so much time with a matter that has nothing to do with the murder," I added to the coroner, "but you yourself brought up the subject and it is only fair to hear the whole story."
He nodded permission, and ordered Clancy to read the letter. The detective did so amidst an astonished hush. It struck everyone as a proof of guilt, and no one could understand why I had forced it to the front.
"Now Mr. Clancy," said I, "please tell the jury Mr. Gaylord's explanation of this letter."
Clancy with a somewhat sheepish air gave the gist of what Radnor had said.
"Did you believe that story when you first heard it?" I asked.
"No," said he, "I did not, because—"
"Very well! But you later went to the office of Jacoby, Haight & Co., and looked over the files of their correspondence with Radnor Gaylord and verified his statement in every particular, did you not?"
"Yes, I did, but still—"
"That is all I wish to ask, Mr. Clancy. I think the reason is evident," I added, turning to the jury, "why I was willing to pay in order to get rid of him. Nobody's character, nobody's correspondence, was safe while he was in the house."
The detective retired amidst general laughter and I could see that feeling had veered again in Radnor's favor. The total effect of the evidence respecting the ha'nt and the robbery was good rather than bad, and I more than fancied that I was indebted to the sheriff for it.
Radnor was not called again and that was the end of the testimony in regard to him. The rest of the time was taken up with a consideration of Cat-Eye Mose and some further questioning of the negroes in regard to the ha'nt. Old Nancy created considerable diversion with her account of the spirited roast chicken. It had changed materially since I heard it last. She was emphatic in her statement that "Marse Rad didn't have nuffen to do wif him. He was a sho' nuff ha'nt an' his gahments smelt o' de graveyard."
The evidence respecting Mose brought out nothing of any consequence, and with that the hearing was brought to a close. The coroner instructed the jury on two or three points of law and ended with the brief formula:
"You have heard the testimony given by these witnesses. It remains for you to do your duty."
After an interminable half hour the jury-men filed back to their seats and the clerk read the verdict:
"We find that the said Richard Gaylord came to his death in Luray Cavern on the 19th day of May, by cerebral hemorrhage, the result of a wound inflicted by some blunt weapon in the hands of a person or persons unknown. We recommend that Radnor Fanshaw Gaylord be held for trial before the Grand Jury."
Rad appeared dazed at the verdict; though in the face of the evidence and his own stubborn refusal to explain it, I don't see how he could have expected any other outcome. As for myself, it was better than I had feared.