Chapter III

“Some say there’s a Providence that watches over us,” said the man in the corner, when he had looked at me keenly, and had assured himself that I was really interested in his narrative, “others use the less poetic and more direct formula, that ‘the devil takes care of his own.’ The impression of the general public during this interesting coroner’s inquest was that the devil was taking special care of his own—(‘his own’ being in this instance represented by Mrs. William Yule, who, by the way, was not present).

“What the Evil One had done for her was this: He caused the hall gas to burn so badly on that eventful Thursday night, 27th March, that Jane, the cook, had not been able to see Mrs. William Yule at all distinctly. He, moreover, decreed that when Annie went into the drawing-room later on to take her mistress’s orders, with regard to the spare room, Mrs. William was apparently dissolved in tears, for she only presented the back of her head to the inquisitive glances of the young housemaid.

“After that the two servants went to bed, and heard some one cross the hall and leave the house about an hour or so later; but neither of them could swear positively that they would recognise the mysterious visitor if they set eyes on her again.

“Throughout all these proceedings, however, you may be sure that Mr. William Yule did not remain a passive spectator. In fact I, who watched him, could see quite clearly that he had the greatest possible difficulty in controlling himself. Mind you, I knew by then exactly where the hitch lay, and I could, and will presently, tell you exactly all that occurred on Thursday evening, 27th March, at No. 9, Dartmoor Terrace, just as if I had spent that memorable night there myself; and I can assure you that it gave me great pleasure to watch the faces of the two men most interested in the verdict of this coroner’s jury.

“Every one’s sympathy had by now entirely veered round to young Bloggs, who for years had been brought up to expect a fortune, and had then, at the last moment, been defrauded of it, through what looked already much like a crime. The deed of gift had, of course, not been what the lawyers call ‘completed.’ It had rested in Mrs. Yule’s desk, and had never been ‘delivered’ by the donor to the donee, or even to another person on his behalf.

“Young Bloggs, therefore, saw himself suddenly destined to live his life as penniless as he had been when he was still the old gardener’s son.

“No doubt the public felt that what lurked mostly in his mind was a desire for revenge, and I think everyone forgave him when he gave his evidence with a distinct tone of animosity against the woman who had apparently succeeded in robbing him of a fortune.

“He had only met Mrs. William Yule once before, he explained, but he was ready to swear that it was she who called that night. As for the original motive of the quarrel between the two ladies, young Bloggs was inclined to think that it was mostly on the question of money.

“‘Mrs. William,’ continued the young man, ‘made certain peremptory demands on Mrs. Yule, which the old lady bitterly resented.’

“But here there was an awful and sudden interruption. William Yule, now quite beside himself with rage, had with one bound reached the witness-box, and struck young Bloggs a violent blow in the face.

“‘Liar and cheat!’ he roared, ‘take that!’

“And he prepared to deal the young man another even more vigorous blow, when he was overpowered and seized by the constables. Young Bloggs had become positively livid; his face looked grey and ashen, except there, where his powerful assailant’s fist had left a deep purple mark.

“‘You have done your wife’s cause no good,’ remarked the coroner drily, as William Yule, sullen and defiant, was forcibly dragged back to his place. ‘I shall adjourn the inquest until Monday, and will expect Mrs. Yule to be present and to explain exactly what happened after her quarrel with the deceased, and why she left the house so suddenly and mysteriously that night.’

“William Yule tried an explanation even then. His wife had never left the studio in Sheriff Road, West Hampstead, the whole of that Thursday evening. It was a fearfully stormy night, and she never went outside the door. But the Yules kept no servant at the cheap little rooms; a charwoman used to come in every morning only for an hour or two, to do the rough work; there was no one, therefore, except the husband himself to prove Mrs. William Yule’s _alibi_.

“At the adjourned inquest, on the Monday, Mrs. William Yule duly appeared; she was a young, delicate-looking woman, with a patient and suffering face, that had not an atom of determination or vice in it.

“Her evidence was very simple; she merely swore solemnly that she had spent the whole evening indoors, she had never been to 9, Dartmoor Terrace, in her life, and, as a matter of fact, would never have dared to call on her irreconcilable mother-in-law. Neither she nor her husband were specially in want of money either.

“‘My husband had just sold a picture at the Water Colour Institute,’ she explained, ‘we were not hard up; and certainly I should never have attempted to make the slightest demand on Mrs. Yule.’

“There the matter had to rest with regard to the theft of the document, for that was no business of the coroner’s or of the jury. According to medical evidence the old lady’s death had been due to a very natural and possible accident—a sudden feeling of giddiness—and the verdict had to be in accordance with this.

“There was no real proof against Mrs. William Yule—only one man’s word, that of young Bloggs; and it would no doubt always have been felt that his evidence might not be wholly unbiased. He was therefore well advised not to prosecute. The world was quite content to believe that the Yules had planned and executed the theft, but he never would have got a conviction against Mrs. William Yule just on his own evidence.”