Ashton-Kirk, Criminologist Part 4

There was a feeling behind the words that was not to be mistaken; and a slight pucker appeared between the eyes of the a.s.sistant coroner which a person well acquainted with him would have told you indicated increasing interest.

"You are reported to have said to the police sergeant," stated Dr.

Shower, referring to some memoranda scribbled upon the back of an envelope, "that the relationship between your father and yourself has not been an agreeable one."

"There has been no relationship between my father and myself--none whatsoever--for a number of years."

There was a gleam in the eyes of the speaker and a shaking quality in his voice which showed intense feeling; the thin hand of his sister rested upon his arm for an instant; he looked at her quickly, and then bent over while she whispered something in a tone so low that none of the others could hear a word.

"Very well, Mary," he said. "It's all right. Don't worry."

"What you say being the case," said Dr. Shower, "your father would not be likely to be a frequent visitor."

"We've lived here for five years; he was never here before. Up to last night I had not seen him for at least seven years."

"Humph!" The pucker between the a.s.sistant coroner's eyes deepened; he took a firm clutch upon his beard. "Then the visit of last night was quite unusual--unique, I might say."

"He was the last person in the world I expected to see," said the young man. "I did not get home until late. I had a cartoon to do for the sporting page and ideas were not flowing very easily; my usual train is at eleven-ten, but I was held up until the twelve-twenty-two. As I came down the street I saw a light burning in the sitting-room window; but I thought my sister was waiting for me, as she sometimes does. But when I came in and saw my father with her, I was so astonished that for a moment I could not speak."

"Just so. And now," here the hand of the questioner fell to caressing the trimmed beard, tenderly, "tell me this: Your father's visit, so late at night, and after so long an estrangement, must have had some special reason behind it. Would you mind saying what it was?"

For a moment there was silence. Bat Scanlon saw Osborne's eyes narrow as he watched the young man; he saw from the a.s.sistant coroner's att.i.tude that this was a most important question. And, more than anything else, he saw in the pale, sweet face of the invalid girl a look of subdued terror; the fragile hands were clasped together as though she were praying. And at length young Burton spoke:

"I don't know that there was any reason for the visit. He gave me none."

Shower turned upon the invalid girl quickly.

"Did he say anything to you?"

"No," replied the girl, in a low tone. "No; he said nothing."

"What did he talk about?" asked Osborne.

"I do not know," said the girl, her voice even fainter than before. "I never understood my father. He--he always frightened me by the way he looked and the way he laughed."

She sank back, exhausted, among the pillows; her brother bent over and spoke soothingly and encouragingly to her. When she had recovered a little he turned once more to the others, and Scanlon saw a bitter anger in his face--a cold, hard fury, such as only comes of a hurt that is deep and long rankled.

"You heard what she said?" he asked. "She never understood him. How could a girl like her understand a man like that! He frightened her by the way he looked and the way he laughed! Do you know what that means?

It's a thing born in her--got from her mother--a mother who lived in fear of that man for years. And then he finally drove her to her grave.

He was a monster--a human beast--he had no more remorse than----"

"Frank!" The girl's faint voice checked him. He looked down at her, the same expression in his face as Scanlon had seen there before.

"No, she doesn't know what he talked about," the young man resumed, in a lower tone, and with a quieter manner. "She never saw him in her life but what she almost died through fear of him."

With a gesture the a.s.sistant coroner seemed to put aside this phase of the matter.

"Very well," said he. "But tell us, please, what happened after you reached home last night and saw your father, so unexpectedly."

"I was angry," said the young artist "I asked him what he was doing here."

"And then what?"

"He merely jeered at me. I looked at my sister; she seemed very ill, and I understood the cause of it at once, and tried to cross toward her."

"You _tried_ to cross the room," said Osborne. "What was to prevent you?"

"My father tried to!" said the young man. "It was a way he had--I remember it from a boy--a love of threatening people--a desire to mock, a kind of joy in persecution. But he had forgotten that I had grown into a man, and I threw him out of my way as soon as he stepped into it."

"Well?" asked the questioner, after a pause.

"I saw that my sister had undergone a severe strain; she has been in bad health for some years. So I took her at once to her room."

"Your father remained in the sitting-room?"

"Yes. At least I suppose so. For when I returned, perhaps a quarter of an hour later, I found him lying upon the floor, just as he is now; the blood from a wound in his head was soaking into a rug and he was quite dead."

"A quarter of an hour elapsed between your leaving the room and your return?"

"Yes."

"During that time you heard no unusual sounds?"

"No."

"What other occupants are there here, beside you two?"

"A maid, who also does the cooking. And there is a nurse who has been attending my sister for some time past."

"Bring them here," said Dr. Shower to the policeman who had been standing at the room door during the greater part of this examination.

As the man departed the a.s.sistant coroner turned his glance toward the sick girl.

"How long was your father here before your brother arrived?"

"I am not sure," she replied in her low voice. "It may have been an hour--perhaps it was more."

The nurse and the maid had evidently not been far away, for the policeman now led them into the room. The maid was an exceedingly black negro girl, and obviously frightened; the nurse wore her trim uniform well; her face was calm and her eyes were level and serene; apparently long training in the hospitals had not been wasted in her case.

"What's your name?" inquired Dr. Shower, of the maid.

"Rosamond Wyat, suh," replied the girl. And, then, eagerly: "But, deedy, boss, I don't know nothing about this killing! I was back in that yeah kitchen, and----"

"Answer my questions, please," said the a.s.sistant coroner, severely.

"You were present in the house last night?"

"Yes, suh. I done lef' dat man in. But that's all I know----"

"Had you ever seen him before that?"

"I declah I never did, suh! And I was mighty s'prised when he tole me he was Miss Ma'y's fathah. I never knowed she had a fathah."