Chapter VI: The Inquest

Mr. Merkel was not in readiness for the inquest into the Nettleton Building affair until the Monday following; and at the hour set for the hearing the outer of his two offices, which made a fairly large courtroom, was literally packed by a throng of gaping, perspiring spectators.

In a corner by themselves sat the witnesses who were to testify. General Westbrook is of this group; also J. Howard Lynden, plainly ill at ease. The Doctor and his friend, Ferdinand Howe, are seated behind the General, an expression of concern on their countenances that is noted and commented on by the crowd. Why should Dr. Westbrook be so pale? Why should his face be so drawn? The affair is not of such consequence to him.

Still aloof from the others sits Señor Vargas, lean and swarthy, his eyes still dull behind their gold-rimmed pince-nez, and his pitted countenance not yet quickened to an interest by the sudden tragic death of his compatriot. Occasionally he coughs in a manner that seems to afford Doctor Westbrook some diversion from his own pressing care, for now and then he glances toward the Mexican gentleman with quite a professional air.

At length the door to the Coroner's private office opens, and through it file Mr. Merkel, self-important, Mr. Mountjoy, John Converse, a stenographer, and various clerks and petty officials. Converse, the Coroner, and the District Attorney seat themselves about a separate table away from one occupied by numerous reporters and newspaper artists; and immediately the tedious ordeal of securing a jury is entered upon.

(A) Clay Fairchild's Desk. (B) Mr. Nettleton's Desk. (C) Window at which Judge Petty Stood. (D) Window at which Mr. Howe Stood. (E) Doctor Westbrook's Desk. (Maltese cross symbol) Marks Spot where De Sanchez Fell

After six freeholders are accepted and sworn in, the captain of detectives is duly put upon his oath to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. A brief delay follows while the District Attorney asks for an application of the rule excluding witnesses. The witnesses are duly excluded.

Captain Converse established the _corpus delicti_; after which he related at length the results of his investigation, very much as he already had told them to Mr. Mountjoy and the Coroner.

As he returned to his seat by the table, a stir spread throughout the apartment; a rustling as of forest leaves before a tempest sibilated upon one theme: the unknown woman; but the sounds sank at once to anticipatory silence when the clerk arose and made ready to read from a sheet of paper in his hand the name of the next witness. Perhaps the avid curiosity is to be satisfied by the woman's name.

"James Howard Lynden."

On the wall facing the witness-chair was suspended a large map of those portions of the Nettleton and Field buildings which formed the locus operandi of the tragedy, and this Lynden contemplated seriously. The rooms were named and numbered thereon, the points of interest designated by letters or otherwise; and the reader is here referred to the plan (page 88), as occasion may arise, for a clearer understanding of the evidence.

The witness began his testimony in a well-modulated voice, which could be distinctly heard in every part of the room. In reply to interrogatories, he stated that he was a cotton-broker, twenty-eight years of age, and that his office was in Court Street, a few doors west of the Nettleton Building. He had been acquainted with the deceased, having met him frequently in a social way, but between them there had never been more than ordinary civilities exchanged. He next related such facts of the tragedy as he had imparted to Mr. Converse and the Chief of Police. The Coroner asked:

"What time did you leave your office on the evening of November fourth?"

"It was a very few minutes to five o'clock."

"Now, Mr. Lynden, begin at the time you left your office, and describe in detail the events from then onward."

"I merely walked leisurely toward the Nettleton Building for the purpose of stopping at Doctor Westbrook's office, before proceeding to my club for dinner. I have been in the habit of doing this several evenings in the week, and last Wednesday evening was no more eventful than scores of others until I arrived within forty or fifty feet of the Nettleton entrance."

"And what occurred then?"

"I observed Señor de Sanchez turn in at the entrance."

"What direction was he going when you first observed him?"

"West--toward me."

"Very well; proceed, Mr. Lynden."

"I continued on to the doorway, where I turned into the Nettleton Building, going directly upstairs without pausing."

"Did you see Señor de Sanchez?"

"Yes. Just as I began ascending the stairs he was turning to the right--to the east--at the top. There was a lighted incandescent lamp at that point, and I beheld him distinctly."

"Do you know what time that was?"

"It could have been only two or three seconds to five o'clock, for I heard the whistles begin to blow before I reached the top of the stairs."

"You are sure it was before you arrived at the top that you heard the whistles blow?"

"Oh, yes; I haven't a doubt of it. I remember the circumstance perfectly."

"Now, when you reached the head of the stairs--at the second story--did you see Señor de Sanchez?"

"No, sir. I saw him no more until I arrived at Doctor Westbrook's office--until I beheld him dying on the floor of the Doctor's reception-room."

Responding to a number of interrogations, the witness added that not more than thirty seconds elapsed between the time of his seeing De Sanchez turn at the head of the stairs and seeing him lying on the reception-room floor; that there was a lighted incandescent lamp before the entrance to this room; that there had been no one in the hall, and that it was impossible for anybody to have been concealed there. He continued:

"When I arrived at Doctor Westbrook's office the door was wide open. Señor de Sanchez was lying on his right side, his feet toward the door, and not much more than a yard beyond the threshold. Blood was spurting,--in rhythm with the heart-beats, it seemed,--from a wound in his throat, as though some large artery had been severed. This ceased in a second or two.

"I paused just at the threshold, dazed and utterly dumfounded by the sight that met my eyes. Doctor Westbrook, Mr. Howe, and myself held our respective attitudes three or four seconds,--possibly it was longer,--but during that time Señor de Sanchez only breathed two long sighs and became apparently dead.

"I believe, then, I was first to speak. 'Good God, Mobley!' I cried, 'What does this mean?' He still seemed dazed and made no reply. I advanced into the room and seized his arm, and said, 'For God's sake, tell me! Did you do this?' I was very much excited, and could not grasp the full import of what I beheld; but when he felt my touch, he aroused himself, and, recoiling a step or two, cried in tones of amazement, 'Jim! Jim! I do this? My God, Jim! No, no, no!' Then checking himself, he asked me, 'But who did? You must have seen; who was in the hall, man?'

"I next looked at Mr. Howe. He was exceedingly agitated and said nothing. He stood shaking his head like one whose mind could not digest the horror of the deed. I turned again to Doctor Westbrook and looked at the silver-bladed dagger he was holding in his hand. 'But that dagger,' I said, 'what does that mean?' He looked at it in a preoccupied manner, as though he did not see it. Suddenly becoming sensible of the fact that he was holding it in his hand, he exclaimed, 'You don't think I stabbed him, do you? Why, man, I just drew the knife from the wound.' I felt immensely relieved."

A deep exhalation burst from the massed throng, as though they had been holding their breath in an anxiety not to miss a word of this recital. Under the influence of this eagerness and galvanic expectancy, Lynden was growing restless; but he kept his gaze on the coroner, and continued to respond to that official's interrogations without hesitation. In answer to a number of these, witness said:

"I did not identify the dagger at the time. I am thoroughly familiar with the ornamental little weapon which Doctor Westbrook uses as a paper-knife, and have handled it many times. In fact, I was present when it was given the Doctor by his sister. She secured it, I believe, about four years ago, during a visit to Mexico, and at the time of the presentation she told a story--quite a tragic romance--in which it had--"

"We may omit that, Mr. Lynden," interrupted the Coroner. "Where did Doctor Westbrook usually keep this dagger, or paper-knife?"

"When not in use, it always lay on the table in his reception room."

Every eye was turned toward the dagger as Mr. Merkel arose and took it in his hand. And not one of those eyes missed the sombre stains which now dulled the lustre of its silvery blade.

"Is this the dagger?"

"That is the one that lay on Doctor Westbrook's table--his paper-knife. I am unable to identify it with the one he held in his hand; the hilt was then concealed, and the blade was very bloody; but it might be--I had no such thought at the time."

Mr. Merkel returned the dagger to the table and resumed his seat. The District Attorney leaned toward him and whispered a few words; whereupon--evidently on a suggestion--he asked:

"Are you familiar with the arrangement of the second floor of the Nettleton Building, Mr. Lynden,--more particularly, those rooms to the right or east of the stairway?"

"I am."

"Describe them, please."

Once more Lynden fixed his attention upon the plan suspended before him.

"Well, to begin with, the Nettleton Building faces in a southerly direction. From the head of the stairway the hall extends east to the light-well between the Nettleton and Field buildings. Beginning at the head of the stairs, the first room to the right, or on the south side of the hall, is the first office of the Guaranty Trust Company; the next suite is vacant, and then comes Doctor Westbrook's suite. I may add, that the numbers run in the order I am naming the suites: the Guaranty Trust Company's offices are number one, number two is unoccupied, and the Doctor's is number three.

"Now, passing over to the north side of the hall, the entrance to number four is directly opposite Doctor Westbrook's. It is the door to Mr. Nettleton's private office. Next to that, and facing the unoccupied suite, is Room 5, Mr. Nettleton's general office. Adjoining this is number six, a room occupied by the Guaranty Trust Company as a record and abstract room. That brings us back to the stairway again, but on the opposite side of the hall whence we started."

"Then there are six doors--three on each side--opening into the hall?"

"That is correct."

"Now, Mr. Lynden, are not the upper portions of those doors ground or frosted glass?"

At this apparently harmless and irrelevant question, the witness's composure dropped from him like a cloak cast aside; a swift, startled expression came into his light blue eyes, and he answered with obvious hesitation:

"I believe so."

"Don't you know?

"Yes."

"Well, are they?"

"Yes."

"Then, if a light were burning in one of those rooms and a person should be standing close to the door of that room, and on the inside, would there not be a pretty distinct shadow or silhouette of that person on the ground glass of that particular door?"

"I should imagine there would," said Lynden at length, but in a voice both low and unnatural.

"Well, in your frequent visits to Doctor Westbrook's office at such hours as the lamps were lighted, have you not observed that to be a fact?"

Without altering his attitude, the young man shook his head.

"No," said he; "I cannot say that I have."

At the next question an audible murmur of disappointment rippled through the room. It was as though the Coroner were searching for something while blindfolded, and had suddenly taken the wrong turning when about to lay his hand on the object of his quest. But if he was not over-astute, he had at least gathered wisdom from experience--to the extent of knowing that more than one road leads to Rome.

"Now, then, Mr. Lynden," he began once more, "when you arrived at the head of the stairs on the evening of November fourth, did you look down the length of the hall to your right--to the east?"

Witness answered, with visible relief:

"I did."

"How light was it? Was it light enough for you to see distinctly?"

"In addition to the two incandescents, the window at the end of the hall at the light-well was wide open and it was only twilight outdoors."

"Then, if anybody had been in the hall anywhere between the head of the stairs and the light-well window, you would have seen him?"

"I certainly should; there was no one there."

"I must ask you to recollect carefully, Mr. Lynden: Was there a lady--a woman--in the hall? Or did you pass a woman either in the hall or on the stairway?"

"Lady!" the witness exclaimed. "No--no; there was no lady--there was no one in the hall or on the stairs." He cast a furtive, uneasy glance at the expressionless visage of Mr. Converse, concluding, "I neither saw nor passed any one."

"Well, let us return to the head of the stairs. When you arrived there, what did you do?"

"I proceeded directly to Doctor Westbrook's office."

"As you walked down the hall, did you observe the doors on either side--whether they were open or closed?"

Here was a return to those mysterious doors. The young man's grip on the chair-arms tightened, and once again his answer was preceded by obvious hesitancy.

"Some were entirely closed," he said, slowly; "others were more or less open."

"Well, which ones were more or less open?"

"Doctor Westbrook's was--" he began; but the Coroner quickly interrupted:

"Did you notice it first?"

Silence. The young man sat rigid as a statue.

"Please answer, Mr. Lynden."

The insistence was soft, but inexorable. The witness seemed to have lost the power of speech, and was obliged to clear his throat before he could reply.

"Sir," he finally began, "I was not thinking of the doors, nor was I particularly observing whether they were open or closed. I will say this, however, in the hope that you will find the information you desire: that it is customary for the tenants of the Nettleton Building to leave their doors unfastened when departing in the evening, for the benefit of the janitor. As soon as he has cleaned the rooms, he locks the doors for the night. For that reason, I suppose, it would be safe to assume that those rooms whence the occupants had gone for the night were unlocked--in the event, of course, that the janitor had not yet placed them in order."

"The information is valuable, Mr. Lynden; but you stated that some doors were entirely closed, while others were more or less open. I will put my question in another way. Which was the first door you observed to be entirely closed?"

"That to number six."

"Was there a light in that room?"

"Yes."

"Did you observe any shadow on the door?"

"No."

"The next door you noticed to be closed--which was it?"

"The regular offices of the Guaranty Trust Company."

"Any light there?"

"They were dark."

"Well, the next door you noticed to be closed entirely?"

With a visibly growing reluctance to answer, each moment his voice becoming more and more strained, the young man replied:

"Number two--the vacant suite."

But the interrogations were relentless.

"The next?"

He moistened his lips, and his voice was barely audible.

"I observed no other doors closed," said he.

"Now, then, we have got this far--note it, please, Mr. Stenographer,--we have got this far: The doors to numbers one, two, and six were closed. That leaves three, four, and five--were they open or closed?"

No one heard the reply.

"Louder, if you please; the jury can't hear you."

"I said that number three was open."

"You have already testified that Doctor Westbrook's door was open," was the dry remark with which his answer was met. "Was number four open?"

"I did not notice."

"Not notice?" in a tone of intense surprise. "Did you not see it?"

"Sir, when I had arrived at that point I was so shocked by the sight in the Doctor's office that I did not observe the condition of doors or windows."

"Well, as you passed the door to Room 5--Mr. Nettleton's general office--you had not yet heard or beheld anything shocking, had you? Did you notice whether it was open or closed?"

There was an enthralling significance in the witness's manner which everybody present felt, and a conviction was natural that the young man knew something that he was resolved at any cost not to reveal. It was exasperating that the Coroner should so play about the mainspring of the witness's discomposure--as he plainly was doing--without being able to light upon a point that must force from him some admission, sufficient at least to serve as a fulcrum whereby the rest might be pried from him.

"Come, Mr. Lynden, the jury awaits your answer."

The witness's reply came hoarsely, as if it were indeed literally dragged forth:

"It was not closed--entirely."

"Ah, one of the 'more or less' doors: which was it, more or less?"

"I do not understand."

"Was the door to Room 5 of Mr. Nettleton's suite open or closed; and if not closed, how far was it open?"

The young man lowered his head a moment in an attitude of reflection.

"I should say it stood ajar about three or four inches," was the reply.

"Was there a light in that room?"

"Yes."

"Is there not a desk against the east wall of that room at which Clay Fairchild ordinarily sits, which is visible from the hall when the door is three or four inches ajar?"

"Yes."

"On the evening of November fourth, as you passed Room 5, did you observe this desk?"

"I did not; I could not see into the room."

Both Mr. Converse and Mr. Mountjoy were watching him through lids narrowed to mere slits, with an intentness of which he was plainly sensible.

"And why not?" came the next question. Lynden faltered:

"Be--because the--the aperture was closed by--by something."

"By what?"

"I cannot say."

"Was it a human form?"

Witness's voice was again becoming inaudible.

"I--I cannot say," said he, nervously,--"yes, it was a human form."

"Was it that of a man or a woman?"

So low that the jury, leaning as far forward as they could, scarcely caught the murmur, came the answer:

"It--it looked like a woman."

"Did you recognize her?"

Witness considered his response a long time. When finally it came, a sigh of disappointment welled from the crowd; it seemed that after all the baiting his examination was to come to naught.

"No," said he.

The Coroner persisted.

"Come, Mr. Lynden," said he, "was there not something about that form that struck you as being familiar?--that suggested the individuality of the person standing there?"

"I tell you I do not know who it was; I do not know," burst from the witness. "Whatever I beheld, if it was any one or anything at all, is but a shadow in my mind,--a nameless shadow, void of substance and form, and a nameless shadow it must remain. I can add no more to that, sir, nor shall I try."

Unless the witness had chosen deliberately to lie, it was evident that he could tell no more of the vague figure--that it was indeed only a shadow--and not pursuing this line of inquiry further, the Coroner took up another.

After Mr. Merkel and the District Attorney had conferred together with heads bowed over the table, the former began.

"Mr. Lynden," said he, "you say you enjoy friendly relations with General Westbrook's family. Have you recently heard any rumors connecting the name of Señor de Sanchez with any member of that family in a matrimonial way?"

"I have heard such rumors--yes; but nothing more. I certainly have heard nothing to that effect from any one in a position to know."

"Did you ever hear Doctor Westbrook deny the possibility of such a marriage?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Last Tuesday night."

"The night before Señor de Sanchez's death?"

"Yes."

As the Doctor himself further on relates at length the substance of what occurred between him and De Sanchez the night before the latter's death, it may here be omitted from Lynden's testimony. The only other point touched upon while this witness was upon the stand was shown in the following question:

"On the evening of November fourth, when you saw De Sanchez turn in at the Nettleton Building entrance, did you observe whether he was smoking?"

"I did not."

"That is all, Mr. Lynden; you may step aside."

With what relief he descended from the dais supporting the witness-chair can only be imagined. The examination of the first witness in the De Sanchez case had been a long and tedious affair. And what was there to show for it? Not much more than the public already knew; and there remained the woman--still unknown. And Mr. Lynden's extreme agitation--what did that signify? If he did not know the woman--if what he had beheld behind the nearly closed door was only a shadow--why had he not said so at once? Certainly, at this rate, the mystery which surrounded the case was only becoming deeper as the investigation proceeded.

However, speculation was forgotten in curiosity over whom the next witness might be.

"Mobley Westbrook," read the clerk; and an officer retired to the Coroner's private room to summon him.