A Changed Heart Part 39

"It was sent by that gadfly, Cherrie, to the shop, the evening of the murder. Her sister brought it, and, Marsh being out, gave it to the boy.

Now, what do you think the young rascal did? Why, sir, broke it open the minute the girl's back was turned, and read it. As luck would have it, I pounced in and caught him in the act. You ought to have seen his face, Blake! I took the note from him and read it myself, not knowing it was for Marsh, and I have it ever since. I meant to give it to him next day, and tell him what I have told you; but next day came the news of the murder, and underhand whispers of his guilt. Now, Val, what do you think of it? Isn't the allusion to Lady Leroy's money plain enough?"

"That bit of paper might hang him," Val emphatically said, handing it back. "What do you mean to do with it?"

"There is only one thing I can do with it, as a conscientious man--and that is, hand it over to the coroner. I like the boy, but I like justice more, and will do my duty. If we only had that Cherrie here, she might throw some light on the business."

"What can she mean by that allusion to state-rooms?" said Val. "Can they have meant to run off together in the steamer, and was Greentown only a ruse? I know Charley has been spooney about her this long time, and would be capable of marrying her at a moment's notice."

"Blake, do you know I have been thinking she is hiding somewhere not far off, and has the money. The police should be set on her track at once."

"They will, when that note is produced. But, doctor, you seem to take it for granted that Charley is guilty."

"How can I help it? Isn't the evidence strong enough?"

"Circ.u.mstantial, doctor, circ.u.mstantial. It seems hard to believe Charley Marsh a murderer."

"So it does, but Scripture and history, ever since the times of King David, are full of parallel cases. Think of the proof--think of this note, and tell me what you infer candidly yourself."

"The note is a staggerer, but still--Oh, hang it!" cried Mr. Blake, impatiently, "I won't believe him guilty as long as I can help it. Does he say nothing in is own defense?"

"Not a syllable, and the coroner and jury are all in his favor, too. He stands there like a sulky lion, and says nothing. They'll bring him in guilty without a doubt."

"Who have been examined?"

"All who saw Lady Leroy that day--Miss Marsh, Midge, myself, Lawyer Darcy, and Tom Oaks, who swore roundly when asked that Marsh knew of his paying the money that day, for he had told him himself. He also swore that he knew Charley to be over head and ears in debt--debts of honor, he called them. Debts of dishonor, I should say."

"I think I'll go in! Can we speak to Charley, I wonder?"

"Of course. He is not held precisely as a prisoner, as yet. They have Midge up again. I never knew her name was Priscilla Short, until to-day."

"What do they want with her a second time?"

"She was the first to discover the murder. Her evidence goes clear against Marsh, though she gives it with the greatest reluctance. Come, I'll go in with you."

The two gentlemen went in together, and found the a.s.semblage smiling at some rebut of Midge's. That witness, with a very red and defiant face, was glaring at the coroner, who, in rather a subdued tone, told her that would do, and proceeded to call the next witness, Robert Nettleby.

Robert Nettleby took his place, and was sworn. In reply to the questions put to him, he informed his hearers that he had heard nothing until the yells of Midge aroused him from sleep, and, following her up-stairs, he found her in Miss Marsh's room.

"Had Miss Marsh retired?" the coroner wanted to know.

Mr. Nettleby was not sure. If, by retiring, the coroner meant going to bed, no; but if he meant going asleep, yes. She was sitting by the window, dressed, but asleep, until Midge aroused her by her screams.

Then she started up, and followed them into the room of Mrs. Leroy, whom they found dead, and black in the face, as if she had been choked. Midge had run down stairs, and he had run after her, and they saw some one running under the trees, when they got out. Midge had flown out and collared him, and it proved to be Mr. Charley Marsh.

Here the coroner struck in.

"He was running, you say: in what direction?"

Mr. Nettleby couldn't say positively--was inclined to think he was running toward, not from them. Couldn't swear either way, for it was a queer, shadowy kind of a night, half moonlight, half darkness. They had all three gone back to the house, Mr. Marsh appearing very much shocked at hearing of the murder; and on returning to the room of the deceased, had found Miss Marsh in a fainting-fit. They brought her to with water, and then her brother had taken her to her mother's house in Speckport, in a gig. He and Midge had gone to his father's cottage, where they had remained all night. Further than that Mr. Nettleby knew nothing, except--and here he hesitated.

"Except what, sir?" the coroner sharply inquired. "Remember you are upon oath."

"Well, sir," said Bob, "it isn't much, except that when we came back to the room, I picked this up close to the bed. It looked as if it belonged to a man, and I put it in my pocket. Here it is."

He produced from his coat-pocket, as he spoke, a glove. A gentleman's kid glove, pale-brown in color, and considerably soiled with wear. Val started as he saw it, for those were the kind of gloves Charley Marsh always wore--he had them made to order in one of the stores of the town.

The coroner examined it with a very grave face--there were two letters inside, "C. M."

"Do you know to whom this glove belongs?" the coroner asked.

"I know I found it," said Nettleby, not looking at it, and speaking sulkily, "that's all I know about it."

"Does any one you know wear such gloves?"

"Plenty of gentlemen I've seen wear brown kid gloves."

"Have you seen the initials, 'C. M.,' inside this glove?"

"I have."

"And--on your oath, recollect--are you not morally certain you know its owner?"

Nettleby was silent.

"Speak, witness," the coroner cried; "answer the question put to you.

Who do you suspect is the owner of this glove?"

"Mr. Marsh! Them letters stands for his name, and he always wears them kind of gloves."

"Had Mr. Marsh been near the bed, after your return to the room together, before you found this glove?"

"No; I found it lying close by the bedside, and he had never been nearer than the middle of the room, where he was trying to fetch his sister to."

Robert Nettleby was told he might stand down, and Mr. Marsh was called upon to identify his property. Charley, who had been standing at one of the windows listening, in gloomy silence, and closely watched by two policemen, stepped forward, took the glove, examined it, handed it back, and coldly owned it was his.

How was he going to account for its being found by the bedside of the murdered woman?

Mr. Marsh was not going to account for it at all--he knew nothing about it. He always had two or three such pairs of gloves at once, and had never missed this. Amid an ominous silence, he resumed his place at the window, staring out at the broad green fields and waving trees, bathed in the golden August sunshine, and seeing them no more than if he had been stone-blind.

Mrs. Marsh was the next witness called, and came from an adjoining room, dressed in black, and simpering at finding herself the cynosure of so many eyes. Mrs. Marsh folded one black-kid-gloved hand over the other after being sworn, with a mild sigh, and prepared to answer the catechism about to be propounded. The coroner began wide of the mark, and asked her a good many questions, that seemed to have little bearing on the matter in hand, all of which the lady answered very minutely, and at length. Presently, in a somewhat roundabout fashion, he inquired if her son had been at home on the night of the murder.

"No; he not been at home, at least not until he had come driving home with Natty, both of them as pale as ghosts, and no wonder, though they quite made her scream to look at them; but when she had heard the news, she had such a turn, it was a mercy she hadn't fainted herself, and she hadn't half got over it yet."

Here Mrs. Marsh took a sniff at a smelling-bottle she carried, and the ammonia being strong, brought a tear into each eye, which she wiped away with a great show of pocket-handkerchief.

"What time had her son left the house before returning with his sister?"

"After tea. He had been home to tea, which in itself was so unusual a circ.u.mstance, that she, Mrs. Marsh, felt sure something was going to happen. She had had a feeling on her all day, and Charley's conduct had increased that feeling until she was perfectly convinced something dreadful was going to happen."

"In what manner had her son's conduct augmented her presentiments?"