In giving the gist of what happened at the inquest, I have only one
excuse--to recall to the reader the events of the night of Arnold
Armstrong's murder. Many things had occurred which were not brought
out at the inquest and some things were told there that were new to me.
Altogether, it was a gloomy affair, and the six men in the corner, who
constituted the coroner's jury, were evidently the merest puppets in
the hands of that all-powerful gentleman, the coroner.
Gertrude and I sat well back, with our veils down. There were a number
of people I knew: Barbara Fitzhugh, in extravagant mourning--she always
went into black on the slightest provocation, because it was
becoming--and Mr. Jarvis, the man who had come over from the Greenwood
Club the night of the murder. Mr. Harton was there, too, looking
impatient as the inquest dragged, but alive to every particle of
evidence. From a corner Mr. Jamieson was watching the proceedings
intently.
Doctor Stewart was called first. His evidence was told briefly, and
amounted to this: on the Sunday morning previous, at a quarter before
five, he had been called to the telephone. The message was from a Mr.
Jarvis, who asked him to come at once to Sunnyside, as there had been
an accident there, and Mr. Arnold Armstrong had been shot. He had
dressed hastily, gathered up some instruments, and driven to Sunnyside.
He was met by Mr. Jarvis, who took him at once to the east wing. There,
just as he had fallen, was the body of Arnold Armstrong. There was no
need of the instruments: the man was dead. In answer to the coroner's
question--no, the body had not been moved, save to turn it over. It
lay at the foot of the circular staircase. Yes, he believed death had
been instantaneous. The body was still somewhat warm and rigor mortis
had not set in. It occurred late in cases of sudden death. No, he
believed the probability of suicide might be eliminated; the wounds
could have been self-inflicted, but with difficulty, and there had been
no weapon found.
The doctor's examination was over, but he hesitated and cleared his
throat.
"Mr. Coroner," he said, "at the risk of taking up valuable time, I
would like to speak of an incident that may or may not throw some light
on this matter."
The audience was alert at once.
"Kindly proceed, Doctor," the coroner said.
"My home is in Englewood, two miles from Casanova," the doctor began.
"In the absence of Doctor Walker, a number of Casanova people have been
consulting me. A month ago--five weeks, to be exact--a woman whom I
had never seen came to my office. She was in deep mourning and kept
her veil down, and she brought for examination a child, a boy of six.
The little fellow was ill; it looked like typhoid, and the mother was
frantic. She wanted a permit to admit the youngster to the Children's
Hospital in town here, where I am a member of the staff, and I gave her
one. The incident would have escaped me, but for a curious thing. Two
days before Mr. Armstrong was shot, I was sent for to go to the Country
Club: some one had been struck with a golf-ball that had gone wild. It
was late when I left--I was on foot, and about a mile from the club, on
the Claysburg road, I met two people. They were disputing violently,
and I had no difficulty in recognizing Mr. Armstrong. The woman,
beyond doubt, was the one who had consulted me about the child."