Chapter II

“From the very first the public took a very great interest in the sad death of Mrs. Yule. The old lady’s eccentricities were pretty well known throughout all her neighbourhood, at any rate. Then, she had a large circle of friends, who all took sides, either for the disowned son or for the old lady’s rigid and staunch principles of filial obedience.

“Directly, therefore, that the papers mentioned the sudden death of Mrs. Yule, tongues began to wag, and, whilst some asserted ‘Accident,’ others had already begun to whisper ‘Murder.’

“For the moment nothing definite was known. Mr. Bloggs had sent for Mr. Statham, and the most persevering and most inquisitive persons of both sexes could glean no information from the cautious old lawyer.

“The inquest was to be held on the following day, and perforce curiosity had to be bridled until then. But you may imagine how that coroner’s court at Kensington was packed on that day. I, of course, was at my usual place—well to the front—for I was already keenly interested in the tragedy, and knew that a palpitating mystery lurked behind the old lady’s death.

“Annie, the housemaid at Dartmoor Terrace, was the first, and I may say the only really important witness during that interesting inquest. The story she told amounted to this: Mrs. Yule, it appears, was very religious, and, in spite of her advancing years and decided weakness of the heart, was in the habit of going to early morning service every day of her life at six o’clock. She would get up before any one else in the house, and winter or summer, rain, snow, or fine, she would walk round to St. Matthias’ Church, coming home at about a quarter to seven, just when her servants were getting up.

“On this sad morning (28th March) Annie explained that she got up as usual and went downstairs (the servants slept at the top of the house) at seven o’clock. She noticed nothing wrong, her mistress’s bedroom door was open as usual, Annie merely remarking to herself that the mistress was later than usual from church that morning. Then suddenly, in the hall at the foot of the stairs, she caught sight of Mrs. Yule lying head downwards, her head on the mat, motionless.

“‘I ran downstairs as quickly as I could,’ continued Annie, ‘and I suppose I must ’ave screamed, for cook came out of ’er room upstairs, and Mr. Bloggs, too, shouted down to know what was the matter. At first we thought Mrs. Yule was unconscious-like. Me and Mr. Bloggs carried ’er to ’er room, and then Mr. Bloggs ran for the doctor.’

“The rest of Annie’s story,” continued the man in the corner, “was drowned in a deluge of tears. As for the doctor, he could add but little to what the public had already known and guessed. Mrs. Yule undoubtedly suffered from a weak heart, although she had never been known to faint. In this instance, however, she undoubtedly must have turned giddy, as she was about to go downstairs, and fallen headlong. She was of course very much injured, the doctor explained, but she actually died of heart failure, brought on by the shock of the fall. She must have been on her way to church, for her prayer book was found on the floor close by her, also a candle—which she must have carried, as it was a dark morning—had rolled along and extinguished itself as it rolled. From these facts, therefore, it was gathered that the poor old lady came by this tragic death at about six o’clock, the hour at which she regularly started out for morning service. Both the servants and also Mr. Bloggs slept at the top of the house, and it is a known fact that sleep in most cases is always heaviest in the early morning hours; there was, therefore, nothing strange in the fact that no one heard either the fall or a scream, if Mrs. Yule uttered one, which is doubtful.

“So far, you see,” continued the man in the corner, after a slight pause, “there did not appear to be anything very out of the way or mysterious about Mrs. Yule’s tragic death. But the public expected interesting developments, and I must say their expectations were more than fully realised.

“Jane, the cook, was the first witness to give the public an inkling of the sensations to come.

“She deposed that on Thursday, the 27th, she was alone in the kitchen in the evening after dinner, as it was the housemaid’s evening out, when, at about nine o’clock, there was a ring at the bell.

“‘I went to answer the door,’ said Jane, ‘and there was a lady, all dressed in black, as far as I could see—as the ’all gas always did burn very badly—still, I think she was dressed dark, and she ’ad on a big ’at and a veil with spots. She says to me: “Mrs. Yule lives ’ere?” I says, “She do, ’m,” though I don’t think she was quite the lady, so I don’t know why I said ’m, but——’

“‘Yes, yes!’ here interrupted the coroner somewhat impatiently, ‘it doesn’t matter what you said. Tell us what happened.’

“‘Yes, sir,’ continued Jane, quite undisturbed, ‘as I was saying, I asked the lady her name, and she says: “Tell Mrs. Yule I would wish to speak with her,” then as she saw me ’esitating, for I didn’t like leaving her all alone in the ’all, she said, “Tell Mrs. Yule that Mrs. William Yule wishes to speak with ’er.”’

“Jane paused to take breath, for she talked fast and volubly, and all eyes were turned to a corner of the room, where William Yule, dressed in the careless fashion affected by artists, sat watching and listening eagerly to everything that was going on. At the mention of his wife’s name he shrugged his shoulders, and I thought for the moment that he would jump up and say something; but he evidently thought better of it, and remained as before, silent and quietly watching.

“‘You showed the lady upstairs?’ asked the coroner, after an instant’s most dramatic pause.

“‘Yes, sir,’ replied Jane; ‘but I went to ask the mistress first. Mrs. Yule was sitting in the drawing-room, reading. She says to me, “Show the lady up at once; and, Jane,” she says, “ask Mr. Bloggs to kindly come to the drawing-room.” I showed the lady up, and I told Mr. Bloggs, who was smoking in the library, and ’e went to the drawing-room.

“‘When Annie come in,’ continued Jane with increased volubility, ‘I told ’er ’oo ’ad come, and she and me was very astonished, because we ’ad often seen Mr. William Yule come to see ’is mother, but we ’ad never seen ’is wife. “Did you see what she was like cook?” says Annie to me. “No,” I says, “the ’all gas was burnin’ that badly, and she ’ad a veil on.” Then Annie ups and says, “I must go up, cook,” she says, “for my things is all wet. I never did see such rain in all my life. I tell you my boots and petticoats is all soaked through.” Then up she runs, and I thought then that per’aps she meant to see if she couldn’t ’ear anything that was goin’ on upstairs. Presently she come down——’

“But at this point Jane’s flow of eloquence received an unexpected check. The coroner preferred to hear from Annie herself whatever the latter may have overheard, and Jane, very wrathful and indignant, had to stand aside, while Annie, who was then recalled, completed the story.

“‘I don’t know what made me stop on the landing,’ she explained timidly, ‘and I’m sure I didn’t mean to listen. I was going upstairs to change my things, and put on my cap and apron, in case the mistress wanted anything.

“‘Then, I don’t think I ever ’eard Mrs. Yule’s voice so loud and angry.’

“‘You stopped to listen?’ asked the coroner.

“‘I couldn’t help it, sir. Mrs. Yule was shouting at the top of ’er voice. “Out of my house,” she says; “I never wish to see you or your precious husband inside my doors again.”’

“‘You are quite sure that you heard those very words?’ asked the coroner earnestly.

“‘I’ll take my Bible oath on every one of them, sir,’ said Annie emphatically. ‘Then I could ’ear some one crying and moaning: “Oh! what have I done? Oh! what have I done?” I didn’t like to stand on the landing then, for fear some one should come out, so I ran upstairs, and put on my cap and apron, for I was all in a tremble, what with what I’d heard, and the storm outside, which was coming down terrible.

“‘When I went down again, I ’ardly durst stand on the landing, but the door of the drawing-room was ajar, and I ’eard Mr. Bloggs say: “Surely you will not turn a human being, much less a woman, out on a night like this?” And the mistress said, still speaking very angrily: “Very well, you may sleep here; but remember, I don’t wish to see your face again. I go to church at six and come home again at seven; mind you are out of the house before then. There are plenty of trains after seven o’clock.”’

“After that,” continued the man in the corner, “Mrs. Yule rang for the housemaid and gave orders that the spare-room should be got ready, and that the visitor should have some tea and toast brought to her in the morning as soon as Annie was up.

“But Annie was rather late on that eventful morning of the 28th. She did not go downstairs till seven o’clock. When she did, she found her mistress lying dead at the foot of the stairs. It was not until after the doctor had been and gone that both the servants suddenly recollected the guest in the spare room. Annie knocked at her door, and, receiving no answer, she walked in; the bed had not been slept in, and the spare room was empty.

“‘There, now!’ was the housemaid’s decisive comment, ‘me and cook did ’ear some one cross the ’all, and the front door bang about an hour after every one else was in bed.’

“Presumably, therefore, Mrs. William Yule had braved the elements and left the house at about midnight, leaving no trace behind her, save perhaps the broken lock of the desk that had held the deed of gift in favour of young Bloggs.”