Moreover, I had always hoped that when Mrs Yule grew older and more feeble she would surely relent towards her only son. But she was terribly obstinate.’

“‘It is because I may become weak in my dotage,’ she said, ‘that I want to make the whole thing absolutely final – I don’t want to relent. I wish that William should suffer, where I think he will suffer most, for he was always over-fond of money. If I make a will in favour of Bloggs, who knows I might repent it, and alter it at the eleventh hour? One is apt to become maudlin when one is dying, and has people weeping all round one. No! – I want the whole thing to be absolutely irrevocable; and I shall present the deed of gift to young Bloggs on his twenty-first birthday. I can always make it a condition that he keeps me in moderate comfort to the end of my days. He is too big a fool to be really ungrateful, and after all I don’t think I should very much mind ending my life in the workhouse.’

“‘What could I do?’ added Mr Statham. ‘If I had refused to draw up that iniquitous deed of gift, she only would have employed some other lawyer to do it for her. As it is, I secured an annuity of £500 a year for the old lady, in consideration of a gift worth some £30,000 made over absolutely to Mr William Bloggs.’

“The deed was drawn up,” continued the man in the corner, “there is no doubt of that. Mr Statham saw to it. The old lady even insisted on having two more legal opinions upon it, lest there should be the slightest flaw that might render the deed invalid. Moreover, she caused herself to be examined by two specialists in order that they might testify that she was absolutely sound in mind, and in full possession of all her faculties.

“When the deed was all that the law could wish, Mr Statham handed it over to Mrs Yule, who wished to keep it by her until 3rd April – young Bloggs’ twenty-first birthday – on which day she meant to surprise him with it.

“Mr Statham handed over the deed to Mrs Yule on 14th February, and on 28th March – that is to say, six days before Bloggs’ majority – the old lady was found dead at the foot of the stairs in Dartmoor Terrace, whilst her desk was found to have been broken open, and the deed of gift had disappeared.”

2

“From the very first the public took a great interest in the sad death of Mrs Yule. The old lady’s eccentricities were pretty well known throughout all her neighbourhood, at any rate. Then, she had a large circle of friends, who all took sides, either for the disowned son or for the old lady’s rigid and staunch principles of filial obedience.

“Directly, therefore, that the papers mentioned the sudden death of Mrs Yule, tongues began to wag, and, whilst some asserted ‘Accident’, others had already begun to whisper ‘Murder’.

“For the moment nothing definite was known. Mr Bloggs had sent for Mr Statham, and the most persevering and most inquisitive persons of both sexes could glean no information from the cautious old lawyer.

“The inquest was to be held on the following day, and perforce curiosity had to be bridled until then. But you may imagine how that coroner’s court at Kensington was packed on that day. I, of course, was at my usual place – well to the front, for I was already keenly interested in the tragedy, and knew that a palpitating mystery lurked behind the old lady’s death.

“Annie, the housemaid at Dartmoor Terrace, was the first, and I may say the only really important, witness during the interesting inquest. The story she told amounted to this: Mrs Yule, it appears, was very religious, and, in spite of her advancing years and decided weakness of the heart, was in the habit of going to early morning service every day of her life at six o’clock. She would get up before anyone else in the house, and winter or summer, rain, snow, or fine, she would walk round to St Matthias’ Church, coming home at about a quarter to seven, just when her servants were getting up.

“On this sad morning (28th March) Annie explained that she got up as usual and went downstairs (the servants slept at the top of the house) at seven o’clock. She noticed nothing wrong; her mistress’s bedroom door was open as usual, Annie merely remarking to herself that the mistress was later than usual from church that morning. Then suddenly, in the hall at the foot of the stairs, she caught sight of Mrs Yule lying head downwards, her head on the mat, motionless.

“‘I ran downstairs as quickly as I could,’ continued Annie, ‘and I suppose I must ’ave screamed, for cook came out of ’er room upstairs, and Mr Bloggs, too, shouted down to know what was the matter. At first we only thought Mrs Yule was unconscious-like. Me and Mr Bloggs carried ’er to ’er room, and then Mr Bloggs ran for the doctor.’

“The rest of Annie’s story,” continued the man in the corner, “was drowned in a deluge of tears. As for the doctor, he could add but little to what the public had already known and guessed. Mrs Yule undoubtedly suffered from a weak heart, although she had never been known to faint. In this instance, however, she undoubtedly must have turned giddy, as she was about to go downstairs, and fallen headlong. She was of course very much injured, the doctor explained, but she actually died of heart failure, brought on by the shock of the fall. She must have been on her way to church, for her prayer-book was found on the floor close by her, also a candle – which she must have carried, as it was a dark morning – had rolled along and extinguished itself as it rolled. From these facts, therefore, it was gathered that the poor old lady came by this tragic death at about six o’clock, the hour at which she regularly started out for morning service.