Tunks lost no time in delivering his gruesome message and in spreading the news of the death. While the village policeman telegraphed to his superior officer at Pierside, the handy-man of the late Captain Huxham adopted the public-house as a kind of St. Paul's Cross, whence to the grim intelligence. Here he passed a happy and exciting hour detailing all that had happened, to an awe-stricken crowd, members of which supplied him with free drinks. The -folk were a dull, peaceful, law-abiding people, and it was rarely that crimes were committed in the district. Hence the news of the murder caused a tremendous sensation.  
Captain Jabez Huxham was well known, and his in the matter of planting Bleacres with yearly corn had been much commented upon. In Napoleonic times the fertile marsh farms had been golden with grain, but of late years, owing to Russian and American competition, little had been sown. Huxham, as the argued, could not have got even moderate prices for its crops, so it puzzled one and all why he persisted in his unprofitable venture. But there would be no more sowing at Bleacres now, for the captain himself was about to be put under the earth. "And a grand funeral he'll have," said the rustics, alive to the importance of the grim event. For thirty years no crime of this magnitude had been committed in the neighbourhood, and the violent death of Huxham provided these creatures with a new thrill.
 
Meanwhile the policeman, Dutton by name, had proceeded to Bleacres, followed—when the news became more widely known—by a large and curious . For that day and for the following days, until Huxham's body was buried, Bleacres could no longer be called the farm, in one sense of the word. But the inherent respect of the agriculturist for growing crops kept the individual members of the crowd, male and female, to the narrow path which led from the boundary channel to the front door of the Manor-house. When Inglis arrived with three or four policemen from Pierside, he excluded the public from the grounds, but the curious still in the distance—beyond Jordan as it were—with eyes fastened on the old . To them, one and all, it now assumed proportions as the of terror.
 
Inspector Inglis was a very quiet man, who said little, but who kept his eyes on the alert. He inspected the body of the dead man, and then sent for a doctor, who delivered his report in due course. The study was examined , and the entire house was searched from cellar to garret. Then Bella and her aunt were questioned, and Tunks was also put in the witness box. But in spite of all official curiosity, backed by official power on the part of Inglis, he the jury of the inquest, as ignorant of the truth as when he had begun his search. He certainly found a blood-stained behind the massive mahogany desk, with which the crime had been committed; but he could discover no trace of the assassin, and three or four days later, when the inquest took place in the Manor-house, the mystery of the murder was still unsolved. Nor, on the evidence , did there seem to be any chance of solution.
 
During the early part of the , Mrs. Coppersley had told Inglis how her late brother had sent her with a note to Marshely asking Silas Pence to call. When questioned, the preacher, not without and dismay, stated that he had been absent from his until eleven o'clock on the fatal evening, and had not obeyed the summons of the deceased. Certainly on his return he had found and read the note asking him to call, but as the hour was late, he had the visit until the next morning. Then, of course, the news of the murder had been made public, and Pence had said nothing until questioned by the Inspector. But he was quite frank and open in his replies, and Inglis was satisfied that the young preacher knew nothing about the matter.
 
From the moment when informed by Mrs. Coppersley of the crime until the inquest, Bella suffered greatly. At her request, Dr. —the medical man who had reported on the time and manner of Huxham's death—had examined the dregs of the tea-cup. Beyond doubt, as he discovered, laudanum had been poured into the tea, and so largely, that it was little wonder she had slept so soundly. Even had there been a struggle, as Ward assured her, she would not have heard the . And, as the state of the study showed that the murderer had taken his victim unawares, it was little to be wondered at that Bella woke in ignorance of what had taken place during the night. She was thankful to have the of the young physician as to the drugging, since she was from complicity in the crime. For, dreadful as it may seem, there were those evil-seekers who hinted that Huxham's daughter, having been alone in the house, must be aware of the truth, if not actually guilty herself. But Bella knew that the evidence of Dr. Ward and Mrs. Coppersley as to the drugging and the locking of the bedroom door would clear her character.
 
It was therefore not on this account that she suffered, but because of the absence of Cyril Lister. Since she had seen him enter the house shortly after eight o'clock on the fatal night she had not set eyes on him, nor had she received any communication. At a time when she needed him so greatly, it seemed strange that her lover should be absent, since the fact of the murder, now being known all over England, it appeared incredible that he alone should be ignorant. In spite of her desire to believe him guiltless, this conduct looked decidedly suspicious. If nothing serious had taken place between Cyril and her father on the night in question, why had Lister gone away? At least she that he had gone away, as he did not appear to be in the village, and she heard no mention of his name from the many people who haunted the house. Try as she might, Bella, dearly as she loved the young man, could not rid herself of the belief that he had struck the blow. Considering the circumstances, which she alone knew , he had every reason to commit the crime. Yet in the face of the strongest circumstantial evidence, Bella could not bring herself to credit Cyril's . Day after day, like sister Anne, she climbed to the quarter-deck to see if he was coming. But the day of the inquest came in due course, and even then he had not put in an appearance.
 
The Coroner was a grim, snappy old doctor, who set the object of the inquest gruffly and . The jury under his direction inspected the body and then gathered in the large and stately dining-room of the Manor-house to consider the evidence. Inspector Inglis confessed that he had few witnesses, and that there was nothing in the evidence likely to lead to the arrest of the murderer. Robbery, said the officer, was undoubtedly the cause of the crime, since the desk had been rifled, and the safe had been forced open. Mrs. Coppersley, the sister of the deceased, he went on to say, could state that she knew her brother kept at least one hundred pounds in gold in the safe. This was missing, so probably——
 
"We'll take things in order, if you please," snapped the gruff Coroner at this point of the Inspector's speech. "Call your witnesses."
 
Inglis was only too willing, and Dr. Ward gave his evidence, which proved that in his opinion, after an examination of the body, the deceased had been stabbed to the heart between the hours of eight and eleven on the night in question. Witness could not be more precise, he said, a which brought a from the Coroner. The old doctor lifted his eye-brows to intimate that the young doctor did not know his business over well, else he would have been more . But Dr. Ward avoided an argument by hurriedly stating that, according to his opinion—another grunt from the snappy Coroner—the wound had been with the dagger found behind the mahogany desk.
 
This remark led to the production of the dagger, a foot-long steel, broad towards the hilt and to a sharp point. This was set in a handle of jet-black wood, carved into the of an ugly negro. And the odd part about the blade was that the middle portion of the steel was perforated with queer letters of the cuneiform type, and filled in with . The Coroner frowned when he examined this strange weapon, and he looked inquiringly at Mrs. Coppersley.
 
"Does this belong to your late brother?" he asked jerkily.
 
Mrs. Coppersley looked at the knife. "Jabez, being a sailor, had all manner of queer things," she said hesitatingly, "but I never set my eyes on that. He wasn't one to show what he had, sir."
 
"Was your brother ever in Africa on the West Coast?"
 
"He was all over the world, but I can't rightly say where, sir. Why?"
 
"This," the gruff Coroner shook the weapon, "is an African sacrificial knife in use on the West Coast. From the way in which the copper is welded into the steel, I fancy some Nigerian tribe it. The members of tribes thereabouts are clever metal-workers. The handle and the lettering also remind me of something," the doctor, "for I was a long time out in Senegal and Sierra Leone and saw—and saw—but that's no matter. How comes an African sacrificial knife here?"
 
"I'm sure I don't know, sir," said Mrs. Coppersley . "Jabez, as I say, had all manner of queer things which he didn't show me."
 
"You can't say if this knife belonged to him?"
 
"No, sir, I can't. The murderer may have brought it."
 
"You are not here to give opinions," the doctor, throwing the ugly-looking weapon on the table. "Are you sure," he added to Ward, "that the wound was made with this knife?"
 
"Yes, I'm sure," replied the young , , for the Coroner's attitude annoyed him. "The weapon is sharp and fits the wound. Also the deceased wore a thick pea-jacket and only such a knife could have the cloth."
 
"If the blow were struck with sufficient force," snapped the Coroner.
 
"It was," rejoined the witness. "Have you any more questions to ask me?"
 
The Coroner nodded, and Ward gave details to prove that death must have taken place almost instantaneously, since Huxham had been stabbed to the heart. " deceased heard a noise, and rose suddenly from his chair at the desk to face round in self-defence. But the assassin was too quick for him, and struck the knife to deceased's heart with great force as is apparent from——"
 
"That's all supposition," contradicted the Coroner rudely. "Stick to facts."
 
Boiling with rage, the young doctor confined himself forthwith to a bald statement of what he had discovered and then was dismissed to give place to Mrs. Coppersley.
 
That lady was voluble and sharp-tongued, so that the Coroner quite met with his match, much to the delight of Dr. Ward, smarting under much discourtesy. Mrs. Coppersley that she had left the house at seven o'clock, by the back door, with a note for Mr. Silas Pence from her brother, asking him to call at the Manor-house. She left the note at Mr. Pence's lodgings and then went on to the grocery shop to make some purchases and to see Mrs. Vand and her son Henry. There she remained until a quarter to ten o'clock and afterwards returned to the Manor-house. Mr. Vand saw her as far as the boundary channel and then went home.
 
"What time was that?" asked the Coroner, making notes.
 
"Just at ten," replied witness, flushing at the smile on the faces of those who knew of the love romance. "The clock struck ten while I was speaking to Henry—I mean to Mr. Vand—and not knowing that it was so late I feared lest my brother should be angry. Jabez was always very particular as to the house being locked up, so I thought he might shut me out. I went in by the back door, having the key, and at once to bed."
 
"Did you not see your brother?" asked the Coroner.
 
"No, sir. Knowing Jabez's violent temper I had no wish to see him, lest there should be trouble. I went on tip-toe to bed, after locking the back door."
 
"Did you hear Mr. Huxham moving about," questioned a juryman, timidly.
 
"No, Mr. Tatters, I didn't. Everything was quiet as I passed the door of the study, and it was closed."
 
"Did you see a light in the window of the study when at the boundary channel with Mr. Vand?" asked the Coroner.
 
"No; I looked too," said the witness, "for if Jabez had been up, there would have been trouble owing to my being late. But there was no light in the window, so I fancied Jabez might have gone to bed and have locked me out. But he hadn't guessed I was absent, and so——"
 
"Did you see a light under the study door when passing through the hall?"
 
"No, and that made me believe that Jabez had gone to bed. But I didn't think of looking into the study; if I had," witness , "oh dear me, how very dreadful it all is. Well, then I went to bed, and next morning came down early to clean the study. When I entered I saw my brother dead in his , whereupon I ran up stairs and got Bella to come down. Then we sent for the police, and that's all I know."
 
The Coroner looked towards Ward. "This evidence takes an hour off your time of death, doctor," he said sourly. "You say that the man was murdered after eight and before eleven. Well then, as this witness reached the house just after ten and saw no light in the study the deceased must have been dead when she passed through the hall on her way to bed."
 
"Oh," Mrs. Coppersley, with her handkerchief to her lips. "How dreadful if I'd looked in to see Jabez weltering in his gore."
 
"It's a pity you didn't," rejoined the Coroner sharply, "for then you could have given the alarm and the assassin might have been arrested."
 
"Yes," cried Mrs. Coppersley violently, "and the assassin might have been in the house at the moment, with only two women, mind, and one of them drugged. I should have been killed myself had I given the alarm, so I'm glad I didn't."
 
"Drugged! Drugged! What do you mean by drugged?"
 
"Ask Bella," retorted Mrs. Coppersley. "I've told all I'm going to tell."
 
"Not all," said the Coroner, "was the front door locked?"
 
"I didn't notice at the time, being anxious to escape Jabez and get to bed."
 
"Did you notice if it was locked in the morning?"
 
"Yes, when I opened it for Tunks to go for the police."
 
"It was locked," said Bella, rising at this , "but Tunks opened it while I was talking with my aunt in the hall."
 
"You can give your evidence when I ask you," snapped the Coroner rudely. "Humph! So the front door was locked and the back door also. How did the assassin escape? He couldn't have gone by the front door after committing the crime, since the key was in the inside, and you locked the back door coming and going, Mrs. Coppersley."
 
"The murdering beast," said the witness melodramatically, "might have got out of the study window."
 
"Then he must be a very small man," retorted the Coroner, "for only a small man could through the window. I examined it an hour ago."
 
"Please yourself," said Mrs. Coppersley, with an air of , "all I know is, that I'm glad I didn't discover Jabez in his gore on that night and at that hour. If I had, you'd be holding an inquest on me."
 
"Possibly. If the assassin was in the study when you passed through the hall, Mrs. Coppersley."
 
"Ugh," shivered the witness, "and that's just where he was, depend upon it, sir, getting through the window, when he'd dropped the knife behind the desk. Oh, what an escape I've had," wept Mrs. Coppersley.
 
"There, there, don't bellow," said the Coroner, , "get down and let the witness, Luke Tunks, be called."
 
The Bleacres handy-man had very little to say, but gave his evidence in a manner. He had left the house with Mrs. Coppersley at seven and had gone straight home to bed, as he was tired. His grandmother could to the fact that he was in bed until the morning. Then he came as usual to the Manor-house, and found that his master was dead. He admitted that he had quarrelled with his master over a possible of wages, and they had not parted in a very friendly spirit. "But you can't say as I did for him," ended the witness .
 
"No one suggests such a thing," snapped the Coroner. "Had you any reason to believe that deceased expected to be murdered?"
 
Tunks scratched his head, "I have and I haven't," he said at length; "master did seem afraid of someone, as he was always looking over his shoulder. He said that he planted the corn so that there should be only one path up to the house. Then he rigged up that out-look round the chimney there," witness jerked his head towards the ceiling, "and he's got a search-light there also, which he turned on at times."
 
The Coroner nodded. The late Captain's search-light was well-known, but it was only put down as another freak on the part of a freakish man. But the remark of the witness about the corn was new. "Do you mean to say that the deceased planted the corn as a protection against some one coming on him unawares?"
 
"Yes, I do," said Tunks, sturdily, "corn don't pay, and there was always only one pathway left. Now my idea is——"
 
"We don't want to hear your ideas," said the Coroner; "get down. Silas Pence."
 
The young preacher's examination occupied only a few minutes. He said that he was absent from his lodgings until eleven, and then returned to find the note. As it was late he did not call, and went to bed, as his could prove. He had no reason to believe that Captain Huxham expected to be murdered, and considered that the old sailor was more than capable of looking after himself. Witness was very friendly with the Captain and wished to marry Miss Huxham, an arrangement to which the Captain was quite agreeable. Witness presumed that Huxham wished to see him about the projected marriage when he wrote the note asking witness to call. Next morning when about to pay the visit, witness heard of the murder.
 
Bella was the final witness, and stepped before the Coroner and the inquisitive jurymen, looking pale, but composed. She gave her evidence carefully, as she made up her mind to say nothing about Cyril's visit on the fatal night. Also she was grateful that in his statement Pence had said nothing of Lister's . She also that Pence had kept quiet about the offer of her hand as a reward for the death of Cyril made by her father to the preacher. More than ever she believed this wild declaration to be due to imagination on the young man's part.
 
"What have you to say about this matter, Miss Huxham?" asked the coroner in his usual gruff way.
 
"Nothing at all," she replied.
 
"Nothing at all," he echoed, and the jurymen looked at one another.
 
"No. I had quarrelled with my father on the afternoon of the night when he met with his terrible death. He refused to let me come to supper, so I retired to my room. Mrs. Coppersley brought me up tea and toast and then locked me in my room."
 
"By her father's orders," cried Mrs. Coppersley, rising.
 
"Silence," said the Coroner ; "but surely, Miss Huxham, you could have heard if——"
 
"I heard nothing," interrupted Bella, straightening her slim figure, "for I was drugged."
 
"H'm!" The Coroner looked at her shrewdly. "Mrs. Coppersley said something of that. Why were you drugged? Who drugged you?"
 
"My father drugged the cup of tea, brought by my aunt, with laudanum," said Bella bravely, to speak out, yet conscious of the curious faces.
 
"Yes, he did," cried Mrs. Coppersley. "I brought the tea to the study and then went to get the toast. Jabez had poured out the tea when I came back, and giving me a cup told me to take it to Bella. I never knew myself that it was drugged."
 
"But I can state that it was," said Dr. Ward, rising. "Miss Huxham gave me the dregs to examine. I can prove——"
 
The Coroner intervened testily. "All this is very much out of order," he said. "Let us proceed with caution. Miss Huxham, tell your story, and then we can hear Dr. Ward and Mrs. Coppersley."
 
"I have scarcely any story to tell," said Bella, still , yet still brave and . "I am engaged to be married, but my father did not approve of my choice. He interrupted my meeting with my future husband——"
 
"Who is he, if I may ask?"
 
"Mr. Lister. He is a gentleman who has been stopping here——"
 
"Yes, yes, I know;" and the Coroner did know, for his wife was a great gossip and collected all the scandal for miles around. In fact he had heard something of the of Lister after Miss Huxham. "Go on."
 
Bella proceeded. "My father would not allow me to come to supper, and sent up my aunt with tea and toast to lock me in my room. She did so. I did not eat the toast, but I drank the tea, and then fell asleep half on the floor and half on my bed. My aunt awoke me in the morning with the news of what had happened."
 
"And you heard nothing?"
 
"How could she," growled Ward, "when she was drugged."
 
"Silence there," said the Coroner sharply. "What time did you fall under the influence of the opiate, Miss Huxham?"
 
"Shortly after eight, so far as I can ."
 
"Did you know that the tea was drugged?"
 
"If I had I should not have drunk it," retorted the witness. "It was only next morning that I guessed the truth, and then I kept the dregs for Dr. Ward to examine. He says——"
 
"He can give his evidence himself," interrupted the Coroner. "Why did your father drug you?"
 
"I can't say, sir, unless he feared lest I should elope with Mr. Lister."
 
"Had you any such intention?"
 
"No, I had not."
 
The Coroner looked at her earnestly and pinched his lip, apparently . The whole affair struck him as strange, and he cross-examined the girl carefully. When he examined Mrs. Coppersley and Ward, both of them bore out the improbable story—in the Coroner's opinion—told by the girl. Finally the old doctor accepted the testimony and dismissed the witnesses.
 
"I can't compliment you on the conduct of this case, Inspector Inglis," he said, when informed that no more witnesses were forthcoming. "You have collected nothing likely to solve the mystery."
 
"I cannot manufacture evidence, sir," said Inglis stiffly.
 
The Coroner and made an acid speech in which he pointed out that the evidence laid before him and the jury amounted to absolutely nothing. Only one verdict could be brought in—"Wilful murder against some person or persons unknown." This was accordingly done, and the assembly . Only the Coroner remained to state sourly to Inglis that he considered the police in general to be fools, and the Pierside inspector to be the king of them.