It was thus that John Mellish had often reasoned upon the mystery which divided him from his wife. He could not bear to impute even the shadow of evil to her. He could not endure to think of her as a poor helpless woman entrapped into the power of a mean-spirited hireling, who was only too willing to make his market out of her secrets. He could not tolerate such an idea as this; and he sacrificed poor Archibald Floyd’s commercial integrity for the preservation of Aurora’s womanly dignity. Ah, how weak and imperfect a passion is this boundless love! How ready to sacrifice others for that one loved object, which must be kept spotless in our imaginations, though a hecatomb of her fellow-creatures are to be blackened and befouled for her justification! If Othello could have established Desdemona’s purity by the sacrifice of the reputation of every lady in Cyprus, do you think he would have spared the fair inhabitants of the friendly isle? No; he would have branded every one of them with infamy, if he could by so doing have rehabilitated the wife he loved. John Mellish would not think ill of his wife. He resolutely shut his eyes to all damning evidence. He clung with a desperate tenacity to his belief in her purity, and only clung the more tenaciously as the proofs against her became more numerous.
The inquest was held at a roadside inn, within a quarter of a mile of the north gates—a quiet little place, only frequented on market-days by the country people going backwards and forwards between Doncaster and the villages beyond Meslingham. The coroner and his jury sat in a long bare room, in which the frequenters of the Golden Lion were wont to play bowls in wet weather. The surgeon, Steeve Hargraves, Jarvis, the young man from the Reindeer, William Dork the constable, and Mr. Mellish, were the only witnesses called: but Colonel Maddison and Mr. Lofthouse were both present during the brief proceedings.
The inquiry into the circumstances of the trainer’s death occupied a very short time. Nothing was elicited by the brief examination of the witnesses which in any way led to the elucidation of the mystery. John Mellish was the last person interrogated, and he answered the questions put to him with prompt decision. There was one inquiry, however, which he was unable to answer, although it was a very simple one. Mr. Hayward, the coroner, anxious to discover so much of the history of the dead man as might lead eventually to the discovery of his murderer, asked Mr. Mellish if his trainer had been a bachelor or a married man.
“I really cannot answer that question,” said John; “I should imagine that he was a single man, as neither he nor Mr. Pastern told me anything to the contrary. Had he been married, he would have brought his wife with him, I should suppose. My trainer, Langley, was married when he entered my service, and his wife and children have occupied the premises over my stables for some years.”
“You infer, then, that James Conyers was unmarried?”
“Most decidedly.”
“And it is your opinion that he had made no enemies in the neighbourhood?”
“It is next to impossible that he could have done so.”
“To what cause, then, do you attribute his death?”
“To an unhappy accident. I can account for it in no other way. The path through the wood is used as a public thoroughfare, and the whole of the plantation is known to be infested with poachers. It was past ten o’clock at night when the shot was heard. I should imagine that it was fired by a poacher whose eyes deceived him in the shadowy light.”
The coroner shook his head. “You forget, Mr. Mellish,” he said, “that the cause of death was not an ordinary gunshot wound. The shot heard was the report of a pistol, and the deceased was killed by a pistol-bullet.”
John Mellish was silent. He had spoken in good faith as to his impression respecting the cause of the trainer’s death. In the press and hurry, the horror and confusion of the two last days, the smaller details of the awful event had escaped his memory.
“Do you know anyone amongst your servants, Mr. Mellish,” asked the coroner, “whom you would consider likely to commit an act of violence of this kind? Have you anyone of an especially vindictive character in your household?”
“No,” answered John, decisively; “I can answer for my servants as I would for myself. They were all strangers to this man. What motive could they possibly have had to seek his death?”
Mr. Hayward rubbed his chin, and shook his head reflectively.
“There was this superannuated trainer whom you spoke of just now, Mr. Mellish,” he said. “I am well aware that the post of trainer in your stables is rather a good thing. A man may save a good deal of money out of his wages and perquisites with such a master as you. This former trainer may not have liked being superseded by the deceased. He may have felt some animus towards his successor.”
“Langley!” cried John Mellish; “he is as good a fellow as ever breathed. He was not superseded; he resigned the active part of his work at his own wish, and he retained his full wages by mine. The poor fellow has been confined to his bed for the last week.”
“Humph,” muttered the coroner. “Then you can throw no light upon this business, Mr. Mellish?”
“None whatever. I have written to Mr. Pastern, in whose stables the deceased was employed, telling him of the circumstances of the trainer’s death, and begging him to forward the information to any relative of the murdered man. I expect an answer by tomorrow’s post; and I shall be happy to submit that answer to you.”
Prior to the examination of the witnesses, the jurymen had been conducted to the north lodge, where they had beheld the mortal remains of James
