The Substitute Prisoner Part 7

"Lieutenant," he said disparagingly, "you don't attribute this crime to the work of spirits, do you?"

"No," laughed Britz. "Spirits don't murder people outside of story books. No ghostly significance attaches to the murder of Mr. Whitmore."

"Well, what is your theory?" demanded the coroner.

"I haven't any--as yet. I shall wait until I'm in possession of more facts before formulating one. Of this I am certain, however. Mr.

Whitmore came down here to-day expecting to meet death. In fact, he had prepared himself for it by destroying or secreting all his personal papers. More than that I am not prepared to say at present."

"Is there anything further that I can do?"

"Nothing, coroner, beyond ordering an immediate autopsy."

"Very well," replied the coroner, preparing to go. He was about to step out of the room when his footsteps were halted by an approaching figure that tore down the aisle as if under the stress of great excitement. The figure did not pause at the door but brushed past the official, halting abruptly before the body of the slain man.

"Dead!" he moaned, and the single word conveyed to his hearers the darting agony which rent him. For a long moment the newcomer stood, bowed with unutterable grief, holding the hand of the dead man, as if he would joyfully impart to those lifeless fingers, the largest measure of his own vitality. Reluctantly he relinquished the limp hand, and the effort cost him a pang.

As he turned from the rigid features staring vacantly up at him, he was sobbing inwardly. His handsome face was contorted as if in physical pain, his head drooped as if his shoulders had suddenly grown too weak to bear its weight.

"Who are you, sir?" the coroner's voice broke the stillness.

The wave of sorrow which swept over the man seemed to deprive him of the faculty of speech. He looked about him in a bewildered way, as if unable to comprehend the presence of the others.

[Ill.u.s.tration: He looked about him in a bewildered way]

"You knew Mr. Whitmore?" the coroner inquired mildly.

"Yes, I was his confidential secretary," the answer came in weak tones.

The coroner and the two detectives exchanged significant glances.

"Then you are Mr. Beard?" the former inquired.

"Yes."

"Can you throw any light on the murder--have you any idea as to who could have done it?"

As the weighty import of the query slowly dawned on Beard's consciousness, his face contracted until it took on the expression of one whose mental vision is gradually clearing; before whose dazed mind certain images are again taking compact shape, revealing themselves out of the surrounding darkness, sharply cut like figures illumined by the long-stretching rays of a powerful searchlight.

Britz noted the changing expression of the man's face with lynxlike eagerness. There was something touching, pathetic, in the utter desolation which the secretary felt at his employer's death. Then, suddenly, a burning anger seemed to succeed all other emotions, and, in an outburst of tempestuous fury, he exclaimed:

"Collins--George Collins--d.a.m.n him--d.a.m.n that scoundrel! He did it--there was no one else! Officers, arrest Collins--you know who he is.

He threatened to kill Mr. Whitmore, came down here every day for a month to do it. I'll send that cur to the electric chair--why should I shield him?"

"Precisely," agreed the coroner. "Now, calm yourself and tell us all about Collins."

Beard had been carried away by the storm of resentment that had swept his mind. He had uttered a direct accusation, something which it was farthest from his purpose to do. Caution had been his life-long habit.

It had deserted him for the instant, but only for the instant. The next moment it had returned, to abide with him throughout the rest of the examination.

"This Mr. Collins--can you explain how he got in here without being observed by the clerks?" asked the coroner.

"No," snapped the secretary.

"What motive had he for killing Mr. Whitmore?" the coroner fired at him.

"None that I know of," declared Beard.

"Well, tell us in your own way what connection Mr. Collins had with this crime," the coroner said persuasively.

"I have nothing to tell."

It was manifest that the secretary regretted his first outburst against Collins and was now prepared to counter every effort of his questioner.

The coroner, however, was not to be easily repulsed.

"This, sir, is a solemn inquest into the death of Herbert Whitmore," he informed the other. "I am now holding court, as authorized by the statute. You will regard yourself as a duly summoned witness. Raise your right hand!"

Beard lifted a trembling hand above his head.

"You do solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!" intoned the official. Producing pencil and paper he prepared to record the answers of the witness.

"You have accused one George Collins of the crime of murder," he pursued. "Are you prepared to substantiate that accusation with proof?"

"I do not accuse anyone of murder and I have no proof," a.s.serted Beard.

The coroner decided to try a new tack.

"Where did Mr. Whitmore spend the past six weeks?"

"I decline to tell," Beard answered firmly.

"On what ground do you refuse to answer?"

The secretary shifted uneasily from one position to another. His eyes roved about the room, finally studying the ceiling as if trying to discover written thereon some means out of his dilemma.

"I decline to answer--on the ground that my reply might tend to incriminate or degrade me. I'm sorry, but I must invoke my const.i.tutional privilege."

Had a tongue of flame shot from the witness's mouth it could not have produced greater amazement. The coroner and the detectives regarded each other as if uncertain whether they had heard aright. The changed att.i.tude of the witness could only denote that he feared to involve himself. He, who had been so quick to accuse another, now appeared intent only on shielding himself.

"You have found the customary refuge of guilty men," the coroner frowned at the witness. "In the presence of murder, all honest men speak frankly. What motive have you in concealing Mr. Whitmore's whereabouts during his absence from his office?"

"I must decline to say anything further until I have consulted with counsel," the secretary answered readily.

Certainly the two last replies smacked strongly of guilt, or at least, criminal knowledge. If not the actual murderer, he might be an accessory before the fact. So thought the coroner, and the cold gleam of authority in his eyes betrayed his belief.

"Since you won't speak, it is my duty to commit you to jail," he declared.

"On what charge?" demanded the witness.

"On suspicion of being involved in the crime."