Part 40 (2/2)

The medical evidence threw some doubt on this opinion, however. True, there were slight marks on Lady Tavener's throat, but it was possible she had caused them herself by catching hold of her own throat in some spasm.

She was addicted to drugs, a fact which she had concealed from her husband apparently, and her general condition was such that a shock or some sudden excitement might very easily prove fatal. Two doctors were agreed upon this point, and said that she was in a condition known as status lymphaticus.

After the inquest I had gone to see Quarles, and his one idea was that Sir John should have been arrested. Zena's sarcastic suggestion that her grandfather would hang him merely because of his reputation, had made the old man lose his temper altogether.

As I was the representative of Scotland Yard in that empty room at Chelsea, I felt compelled to say something in its defense.

”Have you read the evidence given to-day carefully?” I asked.

”I was there,” he snapped.

I had not seen him and was astonished.

”Arrest Tavener,” he went on, ”and then you may be able to solve the problem. There may be extenuating circ.u.mstances, but they can be dealt with afterwards. Let us go into another room.”

He got up and brought the discussion to a close. He was in one of those moods in which there was no doing anything with him.

Although I was at the inquest, I had had little to do with the case up to this point; now it came entirely into my hands, and it may be that Quarles's advice was at the back of my mind during my inquiries.

I made one or two rather interesting and significant discoveries. The Folliotts, with whom it was said Lady Tavener was dining that night, did not know Sir John, and moreover, they had no appointment with Lady Tavener that evening, nor were they dining at the Piccadilly Hotel. The people on Richmond Green, with whom Sir John had dined, admitted that he was in an excited condition. He made an expected division in the House of Commons an excuse for leaving early, directly after dinner in fact, but he had not gone to the House and did not arrive home until after midnight, when he found a constable waiting for him with the news of his wife's death.

These facts were given in evidence at the next hearing, but it was less due to them than to public feeling, I fancy, that a verdict of murder against Sir John Tavener was returned.

That night I went again to Chelsea.

”I see that you have arrested him, Wigan,” was the professor's greeting.

”I don't believe he is guilty,” I answered.

”Why not? Let us have the reasons. But tell me first, what was his demeanor when he heard the verdict? Was he astonished?”

”He seemed to be pitying a body of men who could make such a mistake.”

”Ah, he will play to the gallery even when death knocks at his door. Why do you think he is not guilty, Wigan?”

”Intuition for one reason.”

”Come, that is a woman's prerogative.”

”That sixth sense, which is usually denied to men,” corrected Zena.

”Then for tangible reasons,” I said; ”if he killed his wife he committed the crime between Twickenham and Richmond Green, knowing perfectly well that her death must be discovered at the end of her journey. He would know that suspicion would inevitably fall upon him.”

”That seems a good argument, Wigan, but, as a fact, suspicion did not immediately fall upon him. He has only been arrested to-day, and even now you think he has been wrongly arrested. The very daring of the crime was in his favor.”

”My second reason is this,” I went on. ”If he were guilty, would he deliberately have closed the door of escape open for him by the doctors and declare that he did not believe his wife committed suicide? Would he not have jumped at the idea?”

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