But there was another piece of evidence to be shown, and this took the form of a sc.r.a.p of creased white paper.

It was waved aloft in the coroner's hand, so that everyone could see it.

"This," said the coroner, "is an I.O.U. found upon the dead man, for two thousand pounds, and signed with the name of Lester Stark. An important piece of evidence, this. Will Mr. Stark kindly come forward?"

There was a rustle at the back of the court, and Stark pushed his way to the front, his face rather red, his eyes a trifle shamefaced. As he came, Merriton was conscious of a quickening of his pulse, of a leap of his heart, though he loathed himself afterward for the sensation. His eyes went toward 'Toinette, and he saw that she was looking at him, with all the love that was in her soul laid bare for him-and all-to see. It cheered him, as she meant it should.

Then Stark took his place upon the witness stand.

"This I.O.U. belongs to you, I take it?" said the coroner, briskly.

"It does, sir."

"And it was made out two days before the prisoner met his death. The signature is yours?"

Stark bowed. His eyes sought Nigel's and rested upon the pale, lined face with every appearance of concern. Then he looked back at the coroner.

"Dacre Wynne lent me that money two days before he came down to visit Merriton. No one knew of it, except he and I. We had never been good friends-in fact, I believe he hated me. My mother had been-well, kind to him in the old days, and I suppose he hadn't forgotten it. Anyhow, there was family difficulty. My-my pater left some considerable debts which we found we were obliged to face. There was a woman-oh, I needn't go into these family things, in a place like this, need I?... Well, if I must-I must. But it's a loathsome job at best.... There was a woman whom my father-kept. When he died he left her two thousand pounds in his will, and he hadn't two thousand pounds to leave when his debts were cleared up. We-we had to face things. Paid everything off, and all that, and then, at the last gasp, that woman came and claimed the money. The lawyer said she was within her rights, we'd have to fork out. And I couldn't lay my hands upon the amount just then, because it had taken pretty nearly all we had to clear the debts off."

"So you borrowed from Mr. Wynne?"

"Yes, I borrowed from Dacre Wynne. I'd sooner have cut my right hand off than have done it, but I knew Merriton was going to be married, and I wouldn't saddle him with my bills. Don't look at me like that, Nigel, old chap, you know I couldn't! Tony West has only enough for himself, and I didn't want to go to loan sharks. So the mater suggested Dacre Wynne. I went to him, in her name, and ate the dust. It was beastly-but he promised to stump up. And he did. I'm working now on a paper, to try and pay as much off as I can, and-a cousin is keeping the mater until I can look after her myself. We've taken a little place out Chelsea way. That's all."

"H'm. And you can show proof of this, if the jury requires it?" put in the coroner, at this juncture.

"I can-here and now." He thrust his hand into his pocket and drew out a sheaf of papers, tossing them in front of the coroner, who, after a glance at their contents, seemed to be satisfied that they gave the answer he sought.

"Thank you.... And you have no revolver, Mr. Stark, even if you had reason for killing Mr. Wynne?"

Stark gave a little start of surprise.

"Reason for killing him? You're not trying to intimate that I killed him, are you? Of all the idiotic things! No, I have no revolver, Mr. Coroner. And I've nothing more to say."

"Then stand down," said the coroner, and Lester Stark threaded his way back to the chair he had occupied during the proceedings, rather red in the face, and with blazing eyes and tightly set lips.

A stream of other witnesses came and gave their stories. Brellier told of how he had been rung up by Merriton to ask if there were any news of Wynne's arrival at the house. Told, in fact, all that he admitted to know of the night's affair, and ended up his evidence with the remark that "nothing on earth or in heaven would make him believe that Sir Nigel Merriton was guilty of murder."

Things were narrowing down. There was a restlessness about the court; time was getting on and everything pointed one way. After some discussion with the jury, the foreman of it, a stout, pretentious fellow, rose to his feet and whispered a few hurried words to the coroner. That gentleman wiped his forehead with a silk handkerchief and looked about him. It had been a trying business altogether. He'd be glad of his supper. He got to his feet and turned to the crowded room.

"Gentlemen," he said, "in all this evidence that has been placed before us I find not one loophole of escape for the prisoner, not one opening by which there might be a chance of pa.s.sing any other verdict than that which I am compelled to pa.s.s now; save only in the evidence of Borkins, who tells that the dead man groaned and moaned for a minute or two after being shot. This, I must say, leaves me in some doubt as to the absolute accuracy of his story, but the main facts tally with what evidence we have and point in one direction. There is only one revolver in question, and that revolver of a peculiar make and bore. I have shown you the instrument here, also the bullet which was extracted from the dead man's brain. Is there no other person who would wish to give evidence, before I am compelled to p.r.o.nounce the prisoner 'Guilty'-and leave him to the hands of higher Courts of Justice? If there is, I beg of you to speak, and speak at once. Time is short, gentlemen."

His voice ceased, and for a moment over the room there was silence. You could have heard a pin drop. Then came the sc.r.a.ping of a chair, a swiftly-muttered, "I will! I will! I have something to say!" in a woman's voice shrill with emotion, and 'Toinette Brellier stood up, slim and tall in her black frock, and with the veil thrown back from her pale face. She held something in her hand, something which she waved aloft for all to see.

"I ... I have something to say, Mr. Coroner," she said in a clear, high voice. "Something to show you, also. See!" She pushed her way through the crowd that opened to admit her, gaping at her as she came rapidly to the coroner's table and held out the object. It was a small-sized revolver, identical in every detail to that which lay upon the coroner's table. "That," she said clearly, her voice rising higher and higher, as she looked into Merriton's face for a single instant and smiled wanly, "that, Mr. Coroner, is a revolver identical with the one which you have there. It is the same make, the same bore-everything!"

"So it is!" For a moment the coroner lost his calm. He lifted an excited face to meet her eyes, "Where did you get it, Miss Brellier?"

"From the top drawer of the secretaire in the little boudoir at Withersby Hall," she said calmly, "where it has always lain. You will find a shot missing. Everything the same, Mr. Coroner; everything the same!"

"It belongs to some member of your household, Miss Brellier?"

She took a step backward and drew a sharp breath. Then her eyes were fixed upon Merriton's face.

"It belongs to-me," she said.

CHAPTER XXI

QUESTIONS-AND ANSWERS

A murmur of amazement went round the room, like the sound of rising wind. The coroner held up his hand for silence.

"You say it is yours, Miss Brellier? This-this is really most remarkable-most remarkable! The revolver is of French make, is it not? You bought it abroad?"

"I did. Just before I first came to England. I had been travelling through Tunis before that, and-well, one doesn't like to be without these things. Sir Nigel's revolver came from India, I believe-through the agents of a French firm, the makers."

"But-" The coroner's voice was low-pitched, incredulous, "are you trying to tell us you fired a shot that night, Miss Brellier?"

She shook her head, smiling.

"No-that would be impossible. But my revolver has always lain in that little secretaire, and I have never had cause to use it since I have been on this side of the Channel. I was in bed early that night, with a headache. My uncle will tell you that. He took me to my room and spent the rest of the evening in his study, as you have already heard from him. No, I cannot say I murdered Dacre Wynne. Though I would say that or anything to save Nigel. But I didn't discover that this little revolver of mine had ever been fired until yesterday, when I happened to go to my secretaire for a letter which I had locked away in that particular drawer. Then I took it up and chanced to examine it-I don't know why. Perhaps because it was the same as Nigel's, I-" she choked suddenly, and bit at her lips for control. "Is there not a loophole here, sir, by which Sir Nigel might be saved? Surely it must be traced who used this revolver, who fired the shot from it?"

Her voice had risen to a piteous note that brought the tears to many eyes in that crowded room. The coroner coughed. Then he glanced enquiringly over at Brellier, who had risen from his seat.

"You have something to say about this, Mr. Brellier?"

Brellier made a clicking sound with his tongue.

"I'm afraid my niece has been wasting your time, sir," he said quietly, "because I happen to have used that little instrument myself five months ago. We had a dog who was hurt-you remember Franco, 'Toinette? And if you carry your mind back you will also recollect that he had eventually to be shot, and that I was forced to perform that unpleasant operation myself. He was dear to me, that dog; he was-how do you call it?-a true 'pal'. It hurt me to do this thing, but I did it. And with that revolver also. It was light. 'Toinette must have forgotten that I mentioned the matter to her.

"I am afraid this can have no bearing upon the case-though the dear G.o.d knows that I would do all I could to bring this terrible thing to an end, if it lay in my power. That's is all, I think."

He bowed, and sat down again, beckoning his niece back to her seat with a little frown. She cast a piteous look up into the coroner's face.

"I'm sorry," she said brokenly; "I had forgotten about that. Of course, it is true, as my uncle said. But I was so anxious-so anxious! And there seemed just a chance. You understand?"

"I do, Miss Brellier. And I am sorry that the evidence in this case is of no use to us. Constable, take the prisoner away to await higher justice. I must say that I think no other verdict upon the evidence brought forward could possibly be pa.s.sed upon the prisoner than I have pa.s.sed to-day. I'm sorry, Sir Nigel, but-one must do one's duty, you know.... We'll be getting back to the office, Mr. Murkford." He beckoned to his clerk, who rose instantly and followed him. "Good afternoon, gentlemen."

... And so the whole wearisome proceedings were at an end-and Cleek had spoken no word of that would-be a.s.sa.s.sin who had come upon him in the dark watches of the night and sought his life. He noted that Borkins looked at him in some surprise, but held his counsel. Borkins knew more than he had said upon his oath this day; of that Cleek was certain. Well, he would bide his time. There were other ways to work besides the open-handed fashion of the coroner's court and the policeman's uniform. He was due to meet Borkins that night and discuss the possibilities of being taken on to work at the electrical factory. Something might come out of that-something must come of that. It was impossible that the thing should be left as it was, and an innocent boy-he was certain of Merriton's innocence, in spite of the evidence against him-should be hanged.

As he stepped out into the growing twilight Cleek touched Mr. Narkom on the arm and then ran over to the van into which the prisoner was stepping, his guardians of the law upon either side of him, his face white, his shoulders bowed. 'Toinette stood a few steps distant, the tears chasing themselves down her face and the sobs drowning her broken words of comfort to him. He seemed barely to notice her, but at sight of Cleek he flung himself round, and gave a harsh laugh.

"And a d.a.m.n lot of good you've done me, for all your fine reputation!" he said sneeringly, his face reddening. "G.o.d! that there should be such fools allowed to hold the law in their hands! You've made a mistake this time, Mr. Cl-"

"One moment!" Cleek held up a silencing hand as the name almost escaped Merriton's lips. "Officer, I'm from Scotland Yard. I'd like a word with the prisoner alone, if you don't mind, before you take him away. I'll answer for his safety, I promise.... Keep your heart up, boy; I've not done yet!" This in a low-pitched voice, as the two men dropped away from either side. "I've not done by a long shot. But evidence has been so confoundly against you. I'd hopes of that I.O.U., but the whole thing was so simply explained-and there were the proofs, you know. Still, there was no telling how the story would come out. But it was so obviously true.... Only, keep up your heart, lad; that's what I wanted to tell you. I'd swear on my oath you weren't guilty. And I'll prove it yet!"

Something like a sob broke in Merriton's voice. He held out an impetuous hand.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said jerkily, "but it's a devilish ordeal. What a life I've led this past week! If you only knew-could only realize! It tears a man's nerves to atoms. I've almost given up hope-"