Читать книгу The Case for the Crown - Fred M. White - Страница 8

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The big dining-room was packed with eager and excited spectators gathered together there to hear the evidence in connection with the tragic death of Robert Molyneux. It was 12 o'clock on the following morning, and only a few minutes before Cecil had crept wearily downstairs to give her evidence. There was hardly a soul there with whom she was not acquainted, with the exception of a pressman or two and an odd spectator here and there attracted by idle curiosity.

The first person called to give evidence was Cecil herself. She looked very white and fragile in her simple black dress as she came forward to give her testimony to the crowded room, where only a few hours before she had sat at dinner with the dead man at the other end of the table. She spoke in a low voice, but every word that she said was perfectly clear and distinct, and every syllable was followed with rapt attention by an audience who knew her domestic life almost as well as she knew it herself. She was strung up to high pitch now, and she did not spare her own feelings or the reputation of the man who had gone to his account.

She told the coroner how Molyneux had been drinking steadily for the past few days, and how the crisis had come just after dinner in an attack that left the dead man little more than a living wreck. She told how she had administered the last dose of medicine prescribed by the Harley-street physician, and how the drug had had the desired effect. She spoke of the manner in which Molyneux had appealed for another dose, and how she had refused with a statement that not another drop of the cordial was left. The quiet way in which she gave her evidence was not without its effect on the listeners.

"Did you stay with your husband after-wards?" the Coroner asked. "Did you stay till he was all right?"

"No," Cecil exclaimed. "The drug was an exceedingly powerful one, and began to take effect almost at once. It did not completely restore my husband, indeed, he was long past anything of that sort, but it enabled him to get a grip of himself and rendered him comparatively normal. He asked for more, but I had to refuse him."

"It was a very powerful drug?" the Coroner asked.

"Both powerful and dangerous. Dr. Barclay told me that a man who had injured his heart like my husband had by the amount of brandy he drank ought never to have touched it. Still, it was prescribed by a Harley-street physician, and I had no alternative. But I was always careful. Twenty-four hours always elapsed between each dose."

"A double dose would have been fatal?"

"Beyond the shadow of a doubt."

"Quite so, Mrs. Molyneux. Pray proceed."

"A few minutes after-wards my husband went in the smoking-room. Barton, the butler, took him the evening paper and his cigar case, and from that moment till an hour and a half later, when Barton came to see me and told me he could not rouse his master, I did not see my husband again till I followed Barton into the smoking-room and found him dead."

"You were in the house all the time?"

Just for a moment Cecil hesitated. Should she tell these people the whole truth, or should she suppress the fact that she had been saying good-bye to the man who was known to practically everybody present as her old lover? By so doing she might save herself in the long run from serious consequences, on the other hand she might be stirring up a scandal which would hang over her for the rest of her life. And to tell the truth with regard to that precious hour and a half could not possibly affect the investigation. It was her business, and hers alone. She shot one passing glance in Barclay's direction, but he was looking away from her, and the opportunity was lost.

"I was not in the house at all," she said. "It was a beautiful moonlight night, and I spent all the time in the garden."

One or two questions more, and the Coroner intimated that for the moment the witness was done with. As Cecil stepped back from the table Barclay came forward. He deposed that he was called to the scene of the tragedy by telephone, and that, as a result of his inquiries, he had come to the conclusion that the deceased had met with his death owing to the administration of a powerful drug which had been too much for a constitution broken down and shattered by continual excess in the use of alcohol.

"Do you mean that he was poisoned?" the Coroner asked.

"Well, not quite that," Barclay fenced. "A man in normal health would doubtless have assimilated that drug without evil consequences. But the deceased was not normal."

"In other words, he was a dipsomaniac, Dr. Barclay?"

"He was a physical wreck, sir. In ordinary conditions he would have been dead in three months. But, undoubtedly, I should say that drug was responsible for the sudden collapse. I cannot definitely say yet, because I have made no post-mortem. When this is done I shall be in a position to be more definite. At the same time it is my duty to tell you that I am quite convinced of the fact that Mr. Molyneux had not one dose of that medicine, but two doses. You have heard Mrs. Molyneux tell you how she administered the first dose, and I now produce the bottle from which the second came."

A thrill ran through the audience as Barclay produced a little green phial and held it up for the Coroner's inspection. Then in a breathless silence, he proceeded to tell the jury how that concentrated death had found its way into his hands. He was profoundly sorry for Cecil, he was absolutely convinced of her innocence, but he had his duty to do and his professional reputation to consider. He would have been only too glad to suppress this evidence if in honour he could have done so. But, as it was, he made the best he could of the position from Cecil's point of view.

"This is a serious matter," the Coroner said gravely. "Will you kindly hand me that bottle? Thank you. Ah, I see this prescription was made up by Mr. Johnson. Yet in her evidence Mrs. Molyneux told us that no one but Mr. Medcalfe had ever handled that prescription and that she alone was responsible for every bottle received. And yet this bottle was found in what I might call a secret hiding place with one dose already gone. Perhaps it would be as well, Dr. Barclay, if you stepped down for a moment whilst I ask Mrs. Molyneux a few more questions. What does Inspector Glass say?"

"Later on, sir, if you please," the Inspector interrupted. "I should be glad, sir. If you will finish with Dr. Barclay, and then I will put Mr. Johnson in the witness-box. At the present moment it would be hardly fair to Mrs. Molyneux to ask her any incriminatory questions."

There was something so ominous about this remark that the audience thrilled again. There was a still deeper note of tragedy in the air when Barclay stepped away from the table and the chemist, Johnson, took his place. The fresh witness deposed that on the previous evening, about half-past 9, a well-dressed woman, closely veiled, came into his shop with the prescription, which he made up. The bottle on the table was his own, and the contents therein had been compiled from the prescription in question. The lady had waited for the medicine to be made up, which did not take long, as there was no one else in the shop; she had paid for it and taken it away with her, and there the incident closed.

"You say she was closely veiled?" the coroner asked. "Had you any clue as to her identity?"

"Undoubtedly," the chemist said. "I have no hesitation in saying that my customer was Mrs. Molyneux."