LITMIR.BIZ

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hatred of mankind. He was simply an intelligent young man, who worked excellently when supervised by me. His mother is a washerwoman in this village, and the lad brought washing to my house. Noting that he was intelligent and was anxious to rise above his station, I engaged him as my assistant and trained him to do my work.”

      “Archaeological work?”

      “Yes. I don’t wash, whatever Bolton’s mother may, do. Don’t ask silly questions.”

      “Be more respectful,” said the Coroner again, and grew red. “Have you any idea as to the name of anyone who desired to obtain possession of this mummy?”

      “I daresay dozens of scientists in my line of business would have liked to get the corpse of Inca Caxas. Such as – ” and he reeled out a list of celebrated men.

      “Nonsense,” growled the Coroner. “Famous men like those you mention would not murder even for the sake of obtaining this mummy.”

      “I never said that they would,” retorted Braddock, “but you wanted to hear who would like to have the mummy; and I have told you.”

      The Coroner waived the question.

      “Was there any jewelry on the mummy likely to attract a thief?” he asked.

      “How the devil should I know?” fumed the Professor. “I never unpacked the mummy; I never even saw it. Any jewelry buried with Inca Caxas would be bound up in the bandages. So far as I know those bandages were never unwound.”

      “You can throw no light on the subject?”

      “No, I can’t. Bolton went to get the mummy and brought it home. I understood that he would personally bring his precious charge to my house; but he didn’t. Why, I don’t know.”

      When the Professor stepped down, still fuming at what he considered were the unnecessary questions of the Coroner, the young doctor who had examined the corpse was called. Robinson deposed that deceased had been strangled by means of a red window cord, and that, from the condition of the body, he would judge death had taken place some twelve hours more or less before the opening of the packing case by Braddock. That was at three o’clock on Thursday afternoon, so in witness’s opinion the crime was committed between two and three on the previous morning.

      “But I can’t be absolutely certain as to the precise hour,” added witness; “at any rate poor Bolton was strangled after midnight and before three o’clock.”

      “That is a wide margin,” grumbled the Coroner, jealous of his brother-practitioner. “Were there any, other wounds on the body?”

      “No. You can see for yourself, if you have inspected the corpse.”

      The Coroner, thus reproved, glared, and Widow Anne appeared after Robinson retired. She stated, with many sobs, that her son had no enemies and was a good, kind young man. She also related her dream, but this was flouted by the Coroner, who did not believe in the occult. However, the narration of her premonition was listened to with deep interest by those in the court. Widow Anne concluded her evidence by asking how she was to live now that her boy Sid was dead. The Coroner professed himself unable to answer this question, and dismissed her.

      Samuel Quass, the landlord of the Sailor’s Rest, was next called. He proved to be a big, burly, red-haired, red-whiskered man, who looked like a sailor. And indeed a few questions elicited the information that he was a retired sea-captain. He gave his evidence gruffly but honestly, and although he kept so shady a public-house, seemed straightforward enough. He told much the same tale as had appeared in the newspapers. In the hotel on that night there was only himself, his wife and two children, and the staff of servants. Bolton retired to bed saying that he might start early for Gartley, and paid one pound to get the case taken across to river and placed on a lorry. As Bolton had vanished next morning, Quass obeyed instructions, with the result which everyone knew. He also stated that he did not know the case contained a mummy.

      “What did you think it contained?” asked the Coroner quickly.

      “Clothes and curios from foreign parts,” said the witness coolly.

      “Did Mr. Bolton tell you so?”

      “He told me nothing about the case,” growled the witness, “but he chatted a lot about Malta, which I know well, having put into that port frequent when a sailor.”

      “Did he hint at any rows taking place at Malta?”

      “No, he didn’t.”

      “Did he say that he had enemies?”

      “No, he didn’t.”

      “Did he strike you as a man who was in fear of death?”

      “No, he didn’t,” said the witness for the third time. “He seemed happy enough. I never thought for one moment that he was dead until I heard how his body had been found in the packing case.”

      The Coroner asked all manner of questions, and so did Inspector Date; but all attempts to incriminate Quass were vain. He was bluff and straightforward, and told – so far as could be judged – everything he knew. There was nothing for it but to dismiss him, and Eliza Flight was called as the last witness.

      She also proved to be the most important, as she knew several things which she had not told to her master, or to the reporters, or even to the police. On being asked why she had kept silence, she said that her desire was to obtain any reward that might be offered; but as she had heard that there would be no reward, she was willing to tell what she knew. It was an important piece of evidence.

      The girl stated that Bolton had retired to bed at eight on the ground floor, and the bedroom had a window – as marked in the plan – which looked on to the river a stone-throw distant. At nine or a trifle later witness went out to have a few words with her lover. In the darkness she saw that the window was open and that Bolton was talking to an old woman muffled in a shawl. She could not see the woman’s face, nor judge of her stature, as she was stooping down to listen to Bolton. Witness did not take much notice, as she was in a hurry to see her lover. When she returned past the window at ten o’clock it was closed and the light was extinguished, so she thought that Mr. Bolton was asleep.

      “But, to tell the truth,” said Eliza Flight, “I never thought anything of the matter at all. It was only after the murder that I saw how important it was I should remember everything.”

      “And you have?”

      “Yes, sir,” said the girl, honestly enough. “I have told you everything that happened on that night. Next morning – ” She hesitated.

      “Well, what about next morning?”

      “Mr. Bolton had locked his door. I know that, because a few minutes after eight on the night before, not knowing he had retired. I tried to enter the room and make ready the bed for the night. He sang out through the door – which was locked, for I tried it – that he was in bed. That was a lie also, as after nine I saw him talking to the woman at the window.”

      “You previously said an old woman,” said the Coroner, referring to his notes. “How do you know she was old?”

      “I can’t say if she was old or young,” said the witness candidly; “it’s only a manner of speaking. She had a dark shawl over her head and a dark dress. I couldn’t say if she was old or young, fair or dark, stout or lean, tall or short. The night was dark.”

      The Coroner referred to the plan.

      “There is a gas-lamp near the window of the bedroom. Did you not see her in that light?”

      “Oh, yes, sir; but just for a moment. I took very little notice. Had I known that the gentleman was to be murdered, I should have taken a great deal of notice.”

      “Well, about this locked door?”

      “It was locked over-night, sir, but when I went next morning, it was not locked. I knocked and knocked, but could get no answer. As it was eleven, I thought the gentleman was sleeping very long, so I tried to open the door. It was not locked, as I say – but,” added witness with emphasis, “the window was snibbed and the blind was down.”

      “That

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