CHAPTER XI
THE CORONER'S INQUEST
If Kirby had been playing his own hand only he would have gone to thepolice and told them he was the man who had been seen leaving theParadox Apartments by the fire escape. But he could not do thiswithout running the risk of implicating Wild Rose. Awkward questionswould be fired at him that he could not answer. He decided not to runaway from arrest, but not to surrender himself. If the police roundedhim up, he could not help it; if they did not, so much the better.
He made two more attempts to see Wild Rose during the day, but he couldnot find her at home. When he at last did see her it was at theinquest, where he had gone to learn all that he could of thecircumstances surrounding the murder.
There was a risk in attending. He recognized that. But he was movedby an imperative urge to find out all that was possible of the affair.The force that drove him was the need in his heart to exonerate hisfriend. Though he recognized the weight of evidence against her, hecould not believe her guilty. Under tremendous provocation it might bein character for her to have shot his uncle in self-defense or while inextreme anger. But all his knowledge of her cried out that she couldnever have chloroformed him, tied him up, then taken his life while hewas helpless. She was too fine and loyal to her code, too good asportsman, far too tender-hearted, for such a thing.
Yet the evidence assaulted this conviction of his soul. If the WildRose in the dingy court-room had been his friend of the outdoor spaces,he would have rejected as absurd the possibility that she had killedhis uncle. But his heart sank when he looked at this wan-faced womanwho came late and slipped inconspicuously into a back seat, whose eyesavoided his, who was so plainly keyed up to a tremendously high pitch.She was dressed in a dark-blue tailored serge and a black sailor hat,beneath the rim of which the shadows on her face were dark.
The room was jammed with people. Every aisle was packed and hundredswere turned away. In the audience was a scattering of fashionablydressed women, for it was possible the inquest might develop asensation.
The coroner was a short, fat, little man with a highly developed senseof his importance. It was his hour, and he made the most of it. Hismethods were his own. The young assistant district attorney loungingby the table played second fiddle.
The first witnesses developed the movements of Cunningham during theevening of the twenty-third. He had dined at the City Club, and hadleft there after dinner to go to his apartment. To a club memberdining with him he had mentioned an appointment at his rooms with alady.
A rustling wave of excitement swept the benches. Those who had come toseek sensations had found their first thrill. Kirby drew in his breathsharply. He leaned forward, not to miss a word.
"Did he mention the name of the lady, Mr. Blanton?" asked the coroner,washing the backs of his hands with the palms.
"No."
"Or his business with her?"
"No. But he seemed to be annoyed." Mr. Blanton also seemed to beannoyed. He had considered not mentioning this appointment, but hisconscience would not let him hide it. None the less he resented theneed of giving the public more scandal about a fellow club member whowas dead. He added an explanation. "My feeling was that it was somebusiness matter being forced on him. He had been at Colorado Springsduring the day and probably had been unable to see the lady earlier."
"Did he say so?"
"No-o, not exactly."
"What did he say to give you that impression?"
"I don't recall his words."
"Or the substance of them?"
"No. I had the impression, very strongly."
The coroner reproved him tartly. "Please confine your testimony tofacts and not to impressions, Mr. Blanton. Do you know at what timeMr. Cunningham left the City Club?"
"At 8.45."
"Precisely?"
"Precisely."
"That will do."
Exit Mr. Blanton from the chair and from the room, very promptly andvery eagerly.
He was followed by a teller at the Rocky Mountain National Bank. Hetestified to only two facts--that he knew Cunningham and that thepromoter had drawn two thousand dollars in bills on the day of hisdeath.
A tenant at the Paradox Apartments was next called to the stand. Theassistant district attorney examined him. He brought out only one factof importance--that he had seen Cunningham enter the building at a fewminutes before nine o'clock.
The medical witnesses were introduced next. The police surgeon hadreached the apartment at 10.30. The deceased had come to his death, inhis judgment, from the effect of a bullet out of a .38 caliber revolverfired into his brain. He had been struck a blow on the head by someheavy instrument, but this in itself would probably not have provedfatal.
"How long do you think he had been dead when you first saw him?"
"Less than an hour." Answering questions, the police surgeon gave thetechnical medical reasons upon which he based this opinion. Hedescribed the wound.
The coroner washed the backs of his hands with his palms. Observingreporters noticed that he did this whenever he intended taking theexamination into his own hands.
"Did anything peculiar about the wound impress you?" he asked.
"Yes. The forehead of the deceased was powder-marked."
"Showing that the weapon had been fired close to him?"
"Yes."
"Anything else?"
"One thing. The bullet slanted into the head toward the right."
"Where was the chair in which the deceased was seated? I mean in whatpart of the room."
"Pushed close to the left-hand wall and parallel to it."
"Very close?"
"Touching it."
"Under the circumstances could the revolver have been fired so that thebullet could have taken the course it did if held in the right hand?"
"Hardly. Not unless it was held with extreme awkwardness."
"In your judgment, then, the revolver was fired by a left-handedperson?"
"That is my opinion."
The coroner swelled like a turkey cock as he waved the attorney to takecharge again.
Lane's heart drummed fast. He did not look across the room toward thegirl in the blue tailored suit. But he saw her, just as clearly asthough his eyes had been fastened on her. The detail that stood out inhis imagination was the right arm set in splints and resting in a linensling suspended from the neck.
_Temporarily Rose McLean was left-handed_.
"Was it possible that the deceased could have shot himself?"
"Do you mean, is it possible that somebody could have tied him to thechair after he was dead?"
"Yes."
The surgeon, taken by surprise, hesitated. "That's possible,certainly."
James Cunningham took the witness chair after the police officers whohad arrived at the scene of the tragedy with the surgeon had finishedtheir testimony. One point brought out by the officers was that in thesearch of the rooms the two thousand dollars was not found. The oilbroker gave information as to his uncle's affairs.
"You knew your uncle well?" the lawyer asked presently.
"Intimately."
"And were on good terms with him?"
"The best."
"Had he ever suggested to you that he might commit suicide?"
"Never," answered the oil broker with emphasis. "He was the last manin the world one would have associated with such a thought."
"Did he own a revolver?"
"No, not to my knowledge. He had an automatic."
"What caliber was it?"
"I'm not quite sure--about a .38, I think."
"When did you see it last?"
"I don't recollect."
The prosecuting attorney glanced at his notes.
"You are his next of kin?"
"My brother and I are his nephews. He had no nearer relatives."
"You are his only nephews--his only near relatives?"
Cunningham hesitated, for just the blinking of a
n eye. He did not wantto bring Kirby into his testimony if he could help it. That mightultimately lead to his arrest.
"He had one other nephew."
"Living in Denver?"
"No."
"Where?"
"Somewhere in Wyoming, I think. We do not correspond."
"Do you know if he is there now?"
The witness dodged. "He lives there, I think."
"Do you happen to know where he is at the present moment?"
"Yes." The monosyllable fell reluctantly.
"Where?"
"In Denver."
"Not in this court-room?"
"Yes."
"What is the gentleman's name, Mr. Cunningham?"
"Kirby Lane."
"Will you point him out?"
James did so.
The lawyer faced the crowded benches. "I'll ask Mr. Lane to stepforward and take a seat near the front. I may want to ask him a fewquestions later."
Kirby rose and came forward.
"To your knowledge, Mr. Cunningham, had your uncle any enemies?" askedthe attorney, continuing his examination.
"He was a man of positive opinions. Necessarily there were people whodid not like him."
"Active enemies?"
"In a business sense, yes."
"But not in a personal sense?"
"I do not know of any. He may have had them. In going through hisdesk at the office I found a letter. Here it is."
The fat little coroner bustled forward, took the letter, and read it.He handed it to one of the jury. It was read and passed around. Theletter was the one the promoter had received from the Dry Valleyrancher threatening his life if he ever appeared again in that part ofthe country.
"I notice that the letter is postmarked Denver," Cunningham suggested."Whoever mailed it must have been in the city at the time."
"That's very important," the prosecuting attorney said. "Have youcommunicated the information to the police?"
"Yes."
"You do not know who wrote the letter?"
"I do not."
The coroner put the tips of his fingers and thumbs together andbalanced on the balls of his feet. "Do you happen to know the name ofthe lady with whom your uncle had an appointment on the night of hisdeath at his rooms?"
"No," answered the witness curtly.
"When was the last time you saw the deceased alive?"
"About three o'clock on the day before that of his death."
"Anything occur at that time throwing any light on what subsequentlyoccurred?"
"Nothing whatever."
"Very good, Mr. Cunningham. You may be excused, if Mr. Johns isthrough with you, unless some member of the jury has a question hewould like to ask."
One of the jury had. He was a dried-out wisp of a man wrinkled like awinter pippin. "Was your uncle engaged to be married at the time ofhis death?" he piped.
There was a mild sensation in the room. Curious eyes swept toward thegraceful, slender form of a veiled woman sitting at the extreme left ofthe room.
Cunningham flushed. The question seemed to him a gratuitous probe intothe private affairs of the family. "I do not care to discuss that," heanswered quietly.
"The witness may refuse to answer questions if he wishes," the coronerruled.
Jack Cunningham was called to the stand. James had made an excellentwitness. He was quiet, dignified, and yet forceful. Jack, on theother hand, was nervous and irritable. The first new point hedeveloped was that on his last visit to the rooms of his uncle he hadseen him throw downstairs a fat man with whom he had been scuffling.Shown Hull, he identified him as the man.
"Had you ever had any trouble with your uncle?" Johns asked him.
"You may decline to answer if you wish," the coroner told the witness.
Young Cunningham hesitated. "No-o. What do you mean by trouble?"
"Had he ever threatened to cut you out of his will?"
"Yes," came the answer, a bit sulkily.
"Why--if you care to tell?"
"He thought I was extravagant and wild--wanted me to buckle down tobusiness more."
"What is your business?"
"I'm with a bond house--McCabe, Foster & Clinton."
"During the past few months have you had any difference of opinion withyour uncle?"
"That's my business," flared the witness. Then, just as swiftly as hisirritation had come it vanished. He remembered that his uncle'spassionate voice had risen high. No doubt people in the nextapartments had heard him. It would be better to make a frankadmission. "But I don't mind answering. I have."
"When?"
"The last time I went to his rooms--two days before his death."
Significant looks passed from one to another of the spectators.
"What was the subject of the quarrel?"
"I didn't say we had quarreled," was the sullen answer.
"Differed, then. My question was, what about?"
"I decline to say."
"I think that is all, Mr. Cunningham."
The wrinkled little juryman leaned forward and piped his questionagain. "Was your uncle engaged to be married at the time of his death?"
The startled eyes of Jack Cunningham leaped to the little man. Therewas in them dismay, almost panic. Then, swiftly, he recovered anddrawled insolently, "I try to mind my own business. Do you?"
The coroner asserted himself. "Here, here, none of that! Order inthis court, _if_ you please, gentlemen." He bustled in his manner,turning to the attorney. "Through with Mr. Cunningham, Johns? If so,we'll push on."
"Quite." The prosecuting attorney consulted a list in front of him."Cass Hull next."
Hull came puffing to the stand. He was a porpoise of a man. His eyesdodged about the room in dread. It was as though he were looking for away of escape.