The Whispering Lane/Chapter 6

judicial inquiry into the death of Cuthbert Slanton was held in a large wooden building, with a corrugated iron roof: one of the hastily constructed make-shifts of the war. It stood on an untidy patch of ground at the far end of the village, midway between the church and the manor-house. Hither an excited throng of people turned eager steps, two days after the discovery of the crime. By piecing together fly-about information, gathered promiscuously, the majority had come to as sure themselves that the inquest was a mere formality, by reason of the truth being already known.

Slanton—so ran the many rumours—had visited Miss Danby secretly in the night, which said little for her reputation. She had induced him to join her in an opium debauch, and, when he became insensible, had strangled him remorselessly, before dragging him for burial in the wood. So far the evidence was sufficiently clear and direct, but there was nothing to show why the man had been murdered, or why his forehead had been scored with a suggestive Biblical name. These were the questions asked by one and all: questions to which no one received any answer.

Scenting a mystery, many journalists, both metropolitan and provincial, were hot on the trail, each one hoping to solve it to the honour and glory of his own particular newspaper. The village hummed with their activities, like a bee-hive in swarming time, and they made as many inquiries as to the reason for this and for that, as a six year old child. The resulting information was decidedly mixed and untrustworthy; some saying one thing, some another, but sufficient was acquired to damn the accused woman as a vampire of the worst kind. The villagers had approved of Aileen, all youthful charm and vivacity, but Edith Danby had never been a favourite, because of her keep-off-the-grass attitude, and evasive habits of life. Therefore, when she arrived in Fryfeld, under the protective wing of Inspector Trant, they greeted her with groans and stones, condemning her, unheard, after the usual fashion of the ignorant. Aileen, soberly dressed, and heavily veiled, clung anxiously to Hustings, as he escorted her to the scene of the inquiry. She could not understand this amazing injustice of putting the cart before the horse. “Why can’t they wait until Edith defends herself?” she asked, piteously.

“Oh, it’s the senseless cry of all the ages. Crucify! Crucify! The blind passion of the mob-spirit, always more ready to curse than to bless.”

“But Edith has done them no harm?”

“What does that matter?” questioned Dick, cynically. “She’s their Aunt Sally for the time being, and they’ll make a cock-shy of her until they grow tired.”

“What if she proves her innocence?”

“Then they’ll probably wreath her with flowers. The ignorant are always in extremes. Think of the Duke of Wellington and the broken windows of Apsley House.”

Aileen sighed at this gross exhibition of human instability, and submitted to be conducted by her lover into the bleak, bare building, the interior of which was vaporous with grey autumnal mists. It contained only a few chairs for the jurymen, several forms for the witnesses, and a small table for the use of the Coroner. The general public had to stand, and crowded the lower portion of the vast expanse, shepherded by three or four policemen: uncomfortable enough for the next hour, but so highly interested in the baiting of one tormented woman, as to be oblivious thereto. It might have been a witch-trial of several hundred years back, so venomous were the looks directed towards the miserable creature, for whom they had no pity. She, herself, was indifferent to this atmosphere of causeless hatred, and sat, swathed from head to foot in a hooded grey cloak, staring vacantly before her. Aileen’s heart ached. “Can't I sit beside her and hold her hand?” she whispered to Dick.

“Better not; there is a nasty feeling abroad. Rest quietly here, while I ask for Trant’s permission to speak with her, as a possible client.”

The girl caught swiftly at his hand, as he stepped away. “Tell her I love her—I love her. Only that—I love her."

Hustings squeezed her hand reassuringly, nodded assent, and, making his way through a cluster of jurymen, explained himself tersely to the Inspector. “Oh, of course, you can ask if she will accept you as her solicitor,” said Trant, immediately, and the young man crossed over to the motionless figure.

Edith did not look up, when he bent down to make his proposal, but nodded a silent consent. Only when Hustings murmured Aileen’s message softly was she moved to speech, “Say that I love her, and trust her.”

“Will you prove that you do, by defending yourself—by speaking out?”

“So far as in me lies—yes!” and Edith, crossing her hands on her breast to grip her shoulders, looked more pale and gaunt and unapproachable than ever.

With this ambiguous reply, Hustings contented himself for the time being, and, at the outset of the proceedings, announced himself as present to watch over the interests of Miss Danby. The hot-heads at the hall doors grumbled more than a little, that he should oppose himself to their expressed opinions. But, finally, the feudal spirit, obedient to the Squire, admitted that he was acting like a sportsman. “Not as he’ll do anything much,” said everyone to everyone, “he’s wasting his breath is the Squire. She’s a bad lot, is that one.” And a woman clinched poor Edith’s evil reputation by loudly calling, “Jezebel! Jezebel!” shaking her fist vigorously as she shouted.

A short speech from the Coroner, confined to dry statements as to the why and the wherefore of the meeting, opened the proceedings. This was followed by Inspector Trant’s explanation of all that he had heard and found, since taking charge of the case. The contents of the dead man’s pockets were displayed on the table, and the officer particularly drew the attention of the jury to the return half-ticket from Cornby to London. He also produced the opium pipe, and the lacquer-box with its ominous furnishings. As the twelve good men and true had already inspected the body with its branded forehead, this last exhibit vanquished any doubts they might have entertained as to the possible innocence of the woman, to whom it presumably belonged. Trant, likewise, gave further necessary details, baldly, but convincingly; and ended his oration by calling upon the Divisional-surgeon to give evidence.

This important witness did not take long to explain himself. From an examination of the corpse, he asserted that the man had been drugged by means of opium—probably had smoked himself into a stupor—and then strangled by violent compression of the windpipe. The discoloured skin of the throat showed the strength and persistence of the death-clutch. When the doctor made this statement, several of the jurymen glanced at Miss Danby’s hands still clasping her shoulders. These were ungloved, and assuredly looked sufficiently large and powerful to execute the deed hinted at by the witness. Finally the doctor declared that, in his opinion, the deceased had been murdered shortly after midnight of the day previous to the finding of the body.

Jenny Walton was called upon to testify that Slanton had been a constant visitor at the cottage, and had as frequently quarrelled with his hostess. It was impossible for her to state positively why the two were always at variance, but she had gathered from stray words, let drop by Miss Danby and Miss More, that the deceased had insisted upon marrying the first lady, in spite of her constant refusals to entertain the idea. Witness had heard no noise of any struggle on the night when the crime was committed, and knew nothing about the matter until Miss Aileen discovered the body in the wood. Yes! Miss Danby possessed several opium pipes, and was much given to smoking—so as to soothe away the pain of almost constant neuralgia, she said. Well, of course, Miss Danby disliked Dr. Slanton; any woman would dislike a man who refused to take “No” for an answer. Miss Danby never made any secret of her detestation of this persistent suitor. No! Witness could not truthfully say that she had heard her mistress make use of any threats; but once—a week or so previous, Miss Danby had talked of going to America so as to be quit of Slanton. Jenny concluded her evidence by stating that she had retired to bed at nine o’clock leaving the women in the parlour. Up to that time no one had arrived, nor had she any reason to believe that the ladies expected a visitor.

Then Aileen was summoned to the witness-stand, and her fair girlish beauty enhanced by her black dress made a great impression upon those present. However much Edith was blamed, not a single word was heard against Aileen. Rather was she commiserated by several women, as a “pore lamb” in the clutches of a bad lot. Hustings breathed more freely when he heard the encouraging sounds, as the placing of the girl in the same category as Edith might have led to her arrest, as an accomplice. He thanked his stars that both the crowd and Trant were favourably inclined; and listened to what Aileen had to say without any perturbation.

The girl said as little as she well could say, and what she did say was all to the betterment of her friend, as a good and innocent woman. She set forth with crude eloquence, how her brother had died, how Edith had nursed him; how the two had been engaged, and how the young soldier had left his income to the woman he loved. Then followed an explanation as to how Edith had found the witness, in difficult circumstances after the disappearance of witness’s father, and how she had cherished her ever since. Miss Danby, admitted Aileen, disliked Dr. Slanton, who had tried to force her into marriage; but she had never desired his death, and had only suggested crossing the Atlantic in the hope of escaping from his odious attentions. Witness had retired to bed at half-past nine, and had slept much too soundly to hear anything. “Any ordinary thing, that is,” she supplemented, quickly, “but I certainly should have been awakened by any unusual noise—shouting or struggling I mean. Then I should have come downstairs at once, to see what was the matter.”

“Was Miss Danby her usual self at breakfast?” inquired the Coroner, pointedly.

“Oh, yes. Although”—with hesitation—“she had been smoking opium on the previous night, and was feeling the after-effects.”

“Oh!” The Coroner pounced alertly on this admission. “Then Miss Danby confessed to opium smoking?”

“Why shouldn’t she confess?” demanded Aileen, tartly. “It—the smoking I mean—was her usual remedy to rid herself of neuralgia pains. Miss Danby was no different on that morning to any other morning,” declared the girl, wilfully perjuring herself in the cause of friendship. “She had no reason to be otherwise.”

“What?” The Coroner looked dubious. “With that body lying in the wood.”

“She knew nothing of the body in the wood; nor did I, until I followed the cat and dog across the lawn!” and Aileen rapidly detailed the doings of Toby and Amelia, which had resulted in the shocking discovery.

A juryman pointed to the lacquer-box on the table. “Do you know this?”

“No! I never set eyes on it until Mr. Trant opened the book-case, and it fell out. It doesn’t belong to Miss Danby. It never did, and I ought to know, as I have been in her house and in her confidence constantly for the last year. I have often been to the book-case to find something to read; but no box fell out when I opened the doors. Besides,” said the girl, forcibly, “Miss Danby never mentioned tattooing to me, which naturally she would have done had she bought that case of tattooing instruments. Someone must have hidden that box in the book-case to implicate Miss Danby,” ended Aileen, positively.

“The assassin probably,” commented the Coroner with an ironical air. “But how could anyone have entered the cottage to hide the box, without the knowledge of yourself and Miss Danby?”

“Very easily. I sleep up-stairs: Miss Danby in the room across the passage, so anyone could have climbed into the parlour through the window, by pushing back the snick, and lifting up the lower sash. And that was done,” ended Aileen, emphatically, “as Mr. Hustings will tell you.”

This astonishing statement—and it was particularly astonishing to Trant—brought about the calling up of Hustings as a witness. He related what had been noted by himself and Miss More, when they examined the window, and challenged the Inspector to look into the matter for himself. “I shall certainly do so,” said Trant with a disbelieving shrug, “but I doubt if any examination will result in my gaining any clue.”

“It will give you a clue,” retorted Hustings, deliberately, “to the existence of the third person, who was hanging round the cottage when the murder took place. The evidence of the window proves that there is a third person.”

“That is fancy rather than fact,” struck in the Coroner, impatiently. “However, if Inspector Trant examines the window, and the clue you hint at is worth following up, followed up it shall be. Meanwhile have you any other witnesses to call, Mr. Inspector?”

‘‘No, sir. Unless Miss Danby?”—he looked meaningly at the woman.

She rose automatically, throwing back her hood, and folding her cloak round her gaunt figure. “I am willing to answer any questions you may put, sir,” she said, quietly, “being innocent, I have nothing to conceal.”

“Will it not be better to reserve your defence?” hinted the Coroner, doubtfully.

“Have you already settled what your verdict will be, that you talk of my ‘defence’?” queried Miss Danby, scornfully. “I speak now or never!” and she glanced towards Aileen and her lover, both of whom nodded their approval.

There was a surprised movement, and astonished murmur in the hall, when the accused woman faced the unfriendly crew with regal calmness. Most of those present truly believed her to be a murderess with her back to the wall fighting for a cause already lost. But the scornful expression on her fearless face, the accent of positive command she gave to her every word, and her plainly hinted assumption that she was sole mistress of the situation, impressed the majority with the belief that they were somewhat hasty in condemnation. Without the slightest display of emotion, never hesitating in her speech, never flinching at a revelation, the woman began to tell her tale. There was no interruption: only the dead silence of intent listening.

“I met Dr. Slanton for the first time in France during the war, when I was acting as a nurse at the base,” said the chill, deliberate voice. “At the outset he paid no attention to me, as I was simply an underling, carrying out his instructions. Later, Lieutenant Roderick More, the brother of the young lady yonder, was brought in, badly wounded, and placed in my charge. I had been his father’s secretary during pre-war times, and we had been engaged. Owing to the disapproval of Roderick’s father, the engagement was broken off, and I did not meet my lover again until he came to the hospital. For we were lovers—we two: he loved me as much as I loved him, so a renewed association ended in a renewed engagement. Fearing lest he might die, for his wound was deadly, Roderick made a will in my favour leaving me two thousand a year. It was witnessed by Dr. Slanton and by Alfred Rackman, who was my lover’s batman. After the signing of the will Slanton began to pay me attentions which I discouraged, saying that I loved Roderick and him only. Then”—the speaker’s voice trailed away into a faltering murmur, and for the first time she displayed emotion.

“Then Roderick—died,” she began again after a pause, and with an obvious effort; “he was buried in France, and later I returned to England to surrender the money to Mr. More, senior, as I did not wish him to think that my love for his dead son was mercenary. I found that Mr. More had disappeared, having gone to France only—as was reported—to be captured by the Germans. Failing to find him, I searched for his daughter, Aileen, who, I found, had left school to work in a stockbroker’s office. Her father had left ample funds for her maintenance, during his absence, but the guardian in charge of these had fled to South America with the money. I asked Aileen to take what Roderick had left me by will but she refused to do this and would only consent to live with me as my companion. We came to Fryfeld, and then—then—Slanton re-entered my life!” Here, once more, the speaker became emotional, as her hands clenched themselves and her face became fierce with scarcely smothered anger.

Again, recovering her self-control, she proceeded swiftly: “The war being over Dr. Slanton was employed as a house-surgeon in the Plantagenet Hospital, down Chelsea way. He learned—I know not how—that I lived here, and thrust himself upon me, insisting that I should marry him. I refused, but he would not accept my refusal, and for some months persecuted me with his hateful attentions, as Aileen can testify. Small wonder,” went on Miss Danby bitterly, “that I took to smoking opium again. It was Slanton who advised me to soothe my neuralgic pains in that way: advised me, when we were in France. I am a wreck because of him. He lured me to tamper with the drug, and his persecutions so tormented me that I indulged in it to calm my brain!” She breathed hard, when confessing this weakness, frowned darkly, and struggled to control her feelings.

Three minutes later. “That is all,” said Edith, wearily. “I saw Slanton some two weeks ago for the last time. As usual, he proposed marriage and, as usual, I refused to entertain the idea. On the morning when his body was found in the wood, I mentioned to Aileen that I would probably go to America to escape his attentions. That, alone, should show you how ignorant I was of his death.”

“Or show,” remarked the Coroner, meaningly, “that having rid yourself of the man, you hoped to escape the penalty of your crime.”

Miss Danby made a gesture of despair, and sat down, again folding her cloak, shaken loose during her speech, round her gaunt body. “Let it be as you say,” she retorted, contemptuously. “I know nothing more about the matter. By your faces I can see that you have already condemned me.”

“If you can make no better defence?”

“What other defence can I make, save by telling you the story of my life?” she demanded, fiercely. “There is no evidence I can bring forward to prove my innocence. Yet innocent I truly am”—and again she drew herself up imperially. “Yes—I am wholly innocent. I never saw the man on that night—I never knew that his body lay in the wood, much less that he was dead. Yonder box of tattooing instruments is not my property; I could not have used them had they been my property. And ‘Cain’! Why should I have branded him as ‘Cain’? Such a name was too good for such a beast, as he proved himself to be. ‘Devil’ would have been my choice, and flattering at that. But I did nothing—I know nothing—I can explain nothing. Judge me—condemn me—hang me, if you will. I say no more, since there is nothing to say.”

Wrapping herself in the grey cloak, wrapping herself also in impenetrable silence, she resumed her passive attitude, looking as grim and aloof as the Sphinx. And like the Sphinx, she dumbly proposed a riddle, which none present could guess. That they did attempt to do so, did not prove that their guess was correct. “Willful Murder!” was the guess—the verdict. And the guess was made and the verdict was given without the slightest hesitation on the part of the jury. “Oh, Edith! Edith!” wailed Aileen, when the fatal words fell from the lips of the foreman.

But Edith said nothing—she did not even look at her friend, who was suffering as much, if not more than, her own wretched self. Without a word she submitted to be led away by Trant, and took her seat in the waiting motor-car as an acknowledged murderess. Aileen did not see that sinister departure for a prison cell. She had fainted in the strong arms of her lover.