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

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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."




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