The Greatest Works of Anna Katharine Green. Анна Грин
the floor would have been more or less deluged by her blood. What reason have you for this statement?”
“This; that in a few minutes, let us say ten, since that number has been used, the body has not had time to cool, nor have the blood-vessels had sufficient opportunity to stiffen so as to prevent the free effusion of blood.”
“Is a body still warm at ten minutes after death?”
“It is.”
“So that your conclusions are logical deductions from well-known facts?”
“Certainly, sir.”
A pause of some duration followed.
When the Coroner again proceeded, it was to remark:
“The case is complicated by these discoveries; but we must not allow ourselves to be daunted by them. Let me ask you, if you found any marks upon this body which might aid in its identification?”
“One; a slight scar on the left ankle.”
“What kind of a scar? Describe it.”
“It was such as a burn might leave. In shape it was long and narrow, and it ran up the limb from the ankle-bone.”
“Was it on the right foot?”
“No; on the left.”
“Did you call the attention of any one to this mark during or after your examination?”
“Yes; I showed it to Mr. Gryce the detective, and to my two coadjutors; and I spoke of it to Mr. Howard Van Burnam, son of the gentleman in whose house the body was found.”
It was the first time this young gentleman’s name had been mentioned, and it made my blood run cold to see how many side-long looks and expressive shrugs it caused in the motley assemblage. But I had no time for sentiment; the inquiry was growing too interesting.
“And why,” asked the Coroner, “did you mention it to this young man in preference to others?”
“Because Mr. Gryce requested me to. Because the family as well as the young man himself had evinced some apprehension lest the deceased might prove to be his missing wife, and this seemed a likely way to settle the question.”
“And did it? Did he acknowledge it to be a mark he remembered to have seen on his wife?”
“He said she had such a scar, but he would not acknowledge the deceased to be his wife.”
“Did he see the scar?”
“No; he would not look at it.”
“Did you invite him to?”
“I did; but he showed no curiosity.”
Doubtless thinking that silence would best emphasize this fact, which certainly was an astonishing one, the Coroner waited a minute. But there was no silence. An indescribable murmur from a great many lips filled up the gap. I felt a movement of pity for the proud family whose good name was thus threatened in the person of this young gentleman.
“Doctor,” continued the Coroner, as soon as the murmur had subsided, “did you notice the color of the woman’s hair?”
“It was a light brown.”
“Did you sever a lock? Have you a sample of this hair here to show us?”
“I have, sir. At Mr. Gryce’s suggestion I cut off two small locks. One I gave him and the other I brought here.”
“Let me see it.”
The doctor passed it up, and in sight of every one present the Coroner tied a string around it and attached a ticket to it.
“That is to prevent all mistake,” explained this very methodical functionary, laying the lock aside on the table in front of him. Then he turned again to the witness.
“Doctor, we are indebted to you for your valuable testimony, and as you are a busy man, we will now excuse you. Let Dr. Jacobs be called.”
As this gentleman, as well as the witness who followed him, merely corroborated the statements of the other, and made it an accepted fact that the shelves had fallen upon the body of the girl some time after the first wound had been inflicted, I will not attempt to repeat their testimony. The question now agitating me was whether they would endeavor to fix the time at which the shelves fell by the evidence furnished by the clock.
Chapter X.
Important Evidence
Evidently not; for the next words I heard were: “Miss Amelia Butterworth!”
I had not expected to be called so soon, and was somewhat flustered by the suddenness of the summons, for I am only human. But I rose with suitable composure, and passed to the place indicated by the Coroner, in my usual straightforward manner, heightened only by a sense of the importance of my position, both as a witness and a woman whom the once famous Mr. Gryce had taken more or less into his confidence.
My appearance seemed to awaken an interest for which I was not prepared. I was just thinking how well my name had sounded uttered in the sonorous tones of the Coroner, and how grateful I ought to be for the courage I had displayed in substituting the genteel name of Amelia for the weak and sentimental one of Araminta, when I became conscious that the eyes directed towards me were filled with an expression not easy to understand. I should not like to call it admiration and will not call it amusement, and yet it seemed to be made up of both. While I was puzzling myself over it, the first question came.
As my examination before the Coroner only brought out the facts already related, I will not burden you with a detailed account of it. One portion alone may be of interest. I was being questioned in regard to the appearance of the couple I had seen entering the Van Burnam mansion, when the Coroner asked if the young woman’s step was light, or if it betrayed hesitation.
I replied: “No hesitation; she moved quickly, almost gaily.”
“And he?”
“Was more moderate; but there is no signification in that; he may have been older.”
“No theories, Miss Butterworth; it is facts we are after. Now, do you know that he was older?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you get any idea as to his age?”
“The impression he made was that of being a young man.”
“And his height?”
“Was medium, and his figure slight and elegant. He moved as a gentleman moves; of this I can speak with great positiveness.”
“Do you think you could identify him, Miss Butterworth, if you should see him?”
I hesitated, as I perceived that the whole swaying mass eagerly awaited my reply. I even turned my head because I saw others doing so; but I regretted this when I found that I, as well as others, was glancing towards the door beyond which the Van Burnams were supposed to sit. To cover up the false move I had made—for I had no wish as yet to centre suspicion upon anybody—I turned my face quickly back to the crowd and declared in as emphatic a tone as I could command:
“I have thought I could do so if I saw him under the same circumstances as those in which my first impression was made. But lately I have begun to doubt even that. I should never dare trust to my memory in this regard.”
The Coroner looked disappointed, and so did the people around me.
“It is a pity,” remarked the Coroner, “that you did not see more plainly. And, now, how did these persons gain an entrance into the house?”
I answered in the most succinct way