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Mansion of Mystery

<h2 id="id00838" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XI</h2> <h5 id="id00839">AT THE CORONER'S INQUEST</h5> Sidham was in a state of keen excitement. No such mystery as the double tragedy had occurred in that neighborhood before, and all of the inhabitants were anxious to hear the latest news and learn what the coroner and the police were going to do. A hundred theories were afloat, all centering on the one object—to find the murderer. "Find him or her, and swing him or her to the nearest tree," was the verdict of many. "The law is all well enough, but this dastardly crime demands an object lesson." Coroner Jack Busby, who was a dealer in horses, had never had a murder case before, and was uncertain as to the method of procedure. But with the eyes of the whole community on him he realized his importance, as he ran hither and thither, to arrange for the inquest. He felt that his own little office was altogether too small for the occasion and so arranged to bring off the affair in the general courtroom. The place was soon crowded with people, and another crowd gathered outside. The hour for opening the inquest was at hand and the majority of the witnesses were present. The coroner, short, fat and bald-headed, looked around anxiously and then turned to the chief of police, who was near at hand. "I don't see Miss Langmore." "Neither do I," answered the guardian of the law, with a shrug of his shoulders, as if it was none of his especial business, "Yes, but—ahem! you are—ahem! responsible—" "She'll be here, coroner, don't worry." "You have had her properly guarded?" "Yes. I reckon she's coming now," and the chief of police nodded towards a side door of the courtroom. There was a slight commotion, and Margaret entered, escorted by Raymond Case, and followed by one of the women and the policeman who had been on guard at the Langmore mansion. The crowd arose to gaze at the girl and to pass various comments. "Mighty pale, ain't she?" "Wouldn't think a girl like that could do such an awful thing!" "Humph! you can't tell about these high-toned folks. They'd do anything. Didn't one of them millionaires run over two of my hens with his automobile an' never stop to settle the damage? Don't tell me!" "Yes, and she detested her step-mother—the hired girl told Mrs. Brown so, an' she told me." "Well, Coroner Busby will git to the bottom of it putty quick. He told Lem Hansom he knew what he was doin'." "He must know, if he's as slick at tryin' folks as he is in a hoss dicker," returned an old farmer who had made a trade of steeds which had proved unprofitable for him. Margaret was shown to a chair and sat down, with Raymond beside her. The young man was plainly nervous, yet he did what he could to comfort his companion. "Courage, Margaret," he whispered. "It is bound to come out right in the end." "I can scarcely see a friendly face," she faltered, taking a shy look around. "They all think I am—" She could not finish, but had to bite her lip to keep the tears from flowing. The coroner mounted the platform and rapped on a desk with his knuckles. "The—ahem! courtroom will come to order!" he called out, gazing around on all sides. There was a final buzz and then the place became quiet, broken only by the ticking of a big round clock on the wall. "We are gathered here—ahem! to inquire into the mysterious deaths of Mr. and Mrs. Barry Langmore," went on the coroner. "That's so—an' we want plain facts," put in an old farmer, sitting well up front. "Silence!" cried the coroner. "We must have silence!" "All right, Jack," replied the farmer. "I won't say another word." "Silence. We cannot go on if there is not silence. Ahem! ahem! Miss Langmore!" Margaret arose and bowed slightly. Then the coroner swore her in as a witness and told her to relate her story. She could scarcely stand and Raymond brought her chair forward. "You wish me to tell all I know?" she asked, in a faint but clear voice. "Everything," was Coroner Busby's answer. Pausing for a moment to collect her thoughts, she plunged into the recital, her tale being merely a repetition of that given to Adam Adams. When she came to tell how her father had been found her voice broke and it was fully a minute before she could go on. When she had finished the courtroom was as still as a tomb, save for the ticking of the clock, now sounding louder than ever. "Is that all?" asked the coroner, after a painful pause. "Yes, sir." "They say, Miss Langmore, that you were not on good terms with your stepmother." "Who says so?" "It is an—ahem! a common rumor. What have you to say on that point?" "It is true, sir," answered Margaret, after another pause, during which the eyes of all in the courtroom were fixed upon the girl. "It is said that you had violent quarrels," pursued the coroner. "No very violent quarrels. Sometimes we did not speak to each other for days." "Then you admit that you did quarrel?" "I do." "And you also quarreled with your father?" "No, sir." "What, not at all?" queried Coroner Busby, elevating his eyes in surprise, either real or affected. "We held different opinions upon certain questions, but we did not quarrel." "Hum!" The coroner mused for a moment. "That is all for the present," he added, and Margaret moved back to where she had been first sitting. "I am glad that is over," whispered Raymond. "Can I do anything? Get you some water?" "No, nothing," she answered, and dropped a veil over her face. The next witness called was Mary Billings, the domestic employed at the Langmore mansion, and who had been about the place at the time of the tragedy. She proved to be a round-faced Irish girl, not particularly bright, and now all but terror-stricken. As soon as she was sworn in she burst into tears. "Sure as there is a heavin above me, Oi didn't do that murder, so Oi didn't!" she moaned. "Nobody said you did," answered the coroner dryly, while a general smile went around the courtroom. "Then why did yez bring me here, I dunno? Sure an' Mr. Langmore was afther bein' me bist frind, an' Oi wouldn't harm him fer a million dollars, so Oi wouldn't!" It was with difficulty that she was quieted and made to tell what she knew. "Where were you from ten o'clock to twelve of the morning of the tragedy?" was the first question put to her. "Oi was in the kitchen, an' down to the barn, yer honor." "Were you in the kitchen first." "Sure an' Oi was that." "What were you doing?" "Phat was Oi doin'? Sure Oi was washin' the dishes, cl'anin' the silverware, peelin' the praties, shellin' the beans, cleanin' the lamps, fixin' the—" "Ahem! You mean you were doing the housework, eh?" "Yis, sur." "While you were in the house, did you leave the kitchen?" "Only to go to the ciller fer a scuttle o' coal." "Did you see or hear anything unusual going on while you were in the kitchen?" The Irish girl scratched her head and shrugged her shoulders. "Oi heard a lot av things, yer honor." "What were they?" "Oi heard Mrs. Langmore walkin' around upstairs, an' Oi heard Miss Margaret walkin' around, too. Then Oi heard Mrs. Langmore call to Miss Margaret." "Did Miss Margaret answer?" "Oi dunno—if she did, Oi didn't hear her." "What else?" "Thin Oi heard the front dure slam." "Did you see anybody come in or go out?" "Sure, an' Oi did not." "What time was this, as near as you can remember?" "Atwixt tin an' eliven o'clock." "Did you hear anything after the slamming of the front door?" "Oi did not, fer Oi wint down to the barn directly afterwards." "How long did you remain down at the barn?" "Till Miss Margaret came scr'amin' from the house. She cries, 'Mary, oh Mary! Me father! Me father!' an' staggers around loike she was goin' to fall, an' Oi run up to her an' hild her up, poor dear." And the servant girl shot a sympathetic glance in Margaret's direction. "Ahem! Now—er—you remained in the barn until you heard her cry out. Did you hear or see anything from the barn while you were down there?" "Well, to tell the truth, sur, Oi didn't notice anythin' at the toime, bein' that interested in me pet chickens, sur. Ye see, Pat Callahan gave me three foine Leghorns, an'—" "Never mind the Leghorns. If you saw or heard anything, what was it?" "'Twas something Oi was afther hearin', sur. Oi think somebody ran past the barn, aisy loike." "You didn't see anybody?" "No, sur. As Oi said before, thim Leghorns that Pat Callahan gave me—" "We'll—ahem! drop the Leghorns. After you heard the strange noise how long was it before you heard Miss Langmore scream?" "Perhaps quarter av an hour, sur. Oi didn't look to the clock." "And she fainted in your arms?" "Not exactly that, sur. She scr'ams, 'Me father! me father! Mary, he is murdered! Go to the library!' An' thin she wint over in me arms loike a stone, poor dear, poor dear!" And the domestic began to weep afresh. "What did you do then?" "Sure, phat could Oi do? Oi scr'amed fer hilp as loud as Oi could, an' thin Mrs. Bardon an' her son, Alfred, the docthor, came over." "What happened next?" "We all wint in the house, an' there we found poor Mr. Langmore dead in the library, in his chair. The doctor thought he moight be aloive yit an' had his mother an' me run upstairs fer some medicine from the medicine closet. In the upper hall we kim on Mrs. Langmore's body, also dead, an' I got that scared Oi turned an' flew down the back stairs an' out av the house loike the divil was afther me!" There was a general laugh throughout the courtroom, at which the coroner rapped loudly on the desk. "Silence. Such—ahem! conduct at an inquest is not to be allowed. If this happens again I shall clear the courtroom." "Thet's right, Jack, make 'em behave themselves," came from the old farmer in front. "This is serious business, this is." "What was done with the body of Mrs. Langmore?" continued the coroner to the servant girl. "The docther said to lave it till you came." "Mrs. Langmore was quite dead?" "Yis. Hivin rest her sowl!" "And Mr. Langmore?" "Sure an' the docther could do nothin' fer the poor mon. It made the docther sick to work over the corpse an' he soon had to give it up." "Now, tell me, how do you think the two were killed?" "Oi dunno. The docther ought to tell that—sure an' he has the eddication, an' Oi haven't." "There were no marks of violence?" "Phat?" "The victims had not been struck down?" "Oi dunno as to that, sur—better axed the docther." "Hum!" Coroner Busby mused for a moment. "How long have you lived with the Langmore family?" "Iver since Mr. Langmore married his sicond woife." "How many of the family lived at home?" "The first year there was the mister and missus an' Miss Jennie an' Miss Margaret. But Miss Jennie married an' moved away—she's travelin' now, they tell me." "Then Miss Margaret was the only child home?" "Yis, sur." "Didn't Mrs. Langmore have two sons?" "Yis, but they niver lived there. One av thim used to come an' see her now an' thin, an' that's all." "Was Miss Margaret on good terms with Mrs. Langmore?" "She was not. Mrs. Langmore was a—a vixin, always afther findin' fault, an' Oi wasn't on good terms wid her meself." "Ah! Then you quarreled also?" "Oh, no, sur, Oi knew me place, so Oi did, an' did me wurruk an' said nothin'. If it hadn't been fer Miss Margaret Oi'd a lift me job long ago. But she was such a noice girrul, an' so lonely loike, in the house wid that tongue-lasher—" "Wait! wait! You say Miss Margaret and Mrs. Langmore quarreled. When did they quarrel last?" At this question the domestic pursed up her lips and looked at Margaret. "Oi have nothin' to say about that," she answered coldly. This reply was a surprise to all, including Raymond. The coroner gazed at the witness sternly. "You must answer," he said. "It is my duty to get at the bottom of this awful affair." "Oi'll not answer," was the stubborn return. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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