Old Man Newton was hardly ever sober, and at the village inns he threw out weird and strange hints about ‘breach of promise actions with £5,000 damages, which his daughter should get, if only he knew where to lay hands upon the scoundrel’.

“He also made vague and wholly useless enquiries about young Mervin Ledbury, but in a sleepy, out-of-the-way village like Ayrsham, no one knows anything about what goes on beyond a narrow five-mile radius at most. The Limes and the shooting were let to different tenants year after year, and neither Lord Walterton nor Mr Mervin Ledbury had ever rented them again.”

2

“That was the past history of old Newton,” continued the man in the corner, after a brief pause; “that is to say, of the man who on a dark night last October was found murdered in a lonely lane, not far from Ayrsham. The public, as you may well imagine, took a very keen interest in the case from the outset; the story of Mark Newton, of the threatened breach of promise, of the £5,000 damages, roused masses of conjecture to which no one as yet dared to give definite shape.

“One name, however, had already been whispered significantly, that of Mr Mervin Ledbury, the young Hussar, one of Mary Newton’s admirers at the very time she left home in order, as she said, to be married to someone above her in station.

“Many thinking people, too, wanted to know what Samuel Holder, Mary’s jilted fiancée, was doing close to the scene of the murder that night, and how he came to make the remark: ‘Hello! is that you, Mat Newton?’ when the old man lived nearly half a mile away, and really had no cause for being in that particular lane, at that hour of the night in the drizzling rain.

“The inquest, which, for want of other accommodation, was held at the local police station, was, as you imagine, very largely attended.

“I had read a brief statement of the case in the London papers, and had hurried down to Ayrsham Junction as I scented a mystery, and knew I should enjoy myself.

“When I got there, the room was already packed, and the medical evidence was being gone through.

“Old Man Newton, it appears, had been knocked on the head by a heavily leaded cane, which was found in the ditch close to the murdered man’s body.

“The cane was produced in court; it was as stout as an old-fashioned club, and of terrific weight. The man who wielded it must have been very powerful, for he had only dealt one blow, but that blow had cracked the old man’s skull. The cane was undoubtedly of foreign make, for it had a solid silver ferrule at one end, which was not English hallmarked.

“In the opinion of the medical expert, death was the result of the blow, and must have been almost instantaneous.

“The labourers who first came across the body of the murdered man then repeated their story; they had nothing new to add, and their evidence was of no importance. But after that there was some stir in the court. Samuel Holder had been called and sworn to tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

“He was a youngish, heavily built man of about five-and-thirty, with a nervous, not altogether prepossessing, expression of face. Pressed by the coroner, he gave us a few details of Old Man Newton’s earlier history, such as I have already told you.

“‘Old Mat,’ he explained, with some hesitation, ‘was for ever wanting to find out who the gentleman was who had promised marriage to Mary four years ago. But Mary was that obstinate, and wouldn’t tell him, and this exasperated the old man terribly, so that they had many rows on the subject.’

“‘I suppose,’ said the coroner tentatively, ‘that you never knew who that gentleman was?’

“Samuel Holder seemed to hesitate for a moment. His manner became even more nervous than before; he shifted his position from one foot to the other; finally he said:

“‘I don’t know as I ought to say, but –’

“‘I am quite sure that you must tell us everything you know which might throw light upon this extraordinary and terrible murder,’ retorted the coroner sternly.

“‘Well,’ replied Samuel Holder, whilst great beads of perspiration stood out upon his forehead, ‘Mary never would give up the letters she had had from him, and she would not hear anything about a breach of promise case and £5,000 damages; but old Mat ’e often says to me, says ’e, “It’s young Mr Ledbury,” ’e says, “she’s told me that once. I got it out of ’er, and if I only knew where to find ’im –”’

“‘You are quite sure of this?’ asked the coroner, for Holder had paused, and seemed quite horrified at the enormity of what he had said.

“‘Yes – yes – your worship – your honour –’ stammered Holder. ‘’E’s told me ’twas young Mr Ledbury times out of count, and –’

“But Samuel Holder here completely broke down; he seemed unable to speak, his lips twitched convulsively, and the coroner, fearing that the man would faint, had him conveyed into the next room to recover himself, whilst another witness was brought forward.

“This was Michael Pitkin, landlord of the Fernhead Arms, at Ayrsham, who had been on very intimate terms with old Newton during the four years which elapsed after Mary’s disappearance. He had a very curious story to tell, which aroused public excitement to its highest pitch.

“It appears that to him also the old man had often confided the fact that it was Mr Ledbury who had promised to marry Mary, and then had shamefully left her stranded and moneyless in London.

“‘But of course,’ added the jovial and pleasant-looking landlord of the Fernhead Arms, ‘the likes of us down here didn’t know what became of Mr Ledbury after he left The Limes, until one day I reads in the local paper that Sir John Fernhead’s daughter is going to be married to Captain Mervin Ledbury. Of course, your honour and me, and all of us know Sir John, our squire, down at Fernhead Towers, and I says to old Mat: “It strikes me,” I says, “that you’ve got your man.” Sure enough it was the same Mr Ledbury who rented The Limes years ago, who was engaged to the young lady up at The Towers, and last week there was grand doings there – lords and ladies and lots of quality staying there, and also the Captain.’

“‘Well?’ asked the coroner eagerly, whilst everyone held their breath, wondering what was to come.

“‘Well,’ continued Michael Pitkin, ‘Old Man Newton went down to The Towers one day. ’E was determined to see young Mr Ledbury, and went. What ’appened I don’t know, for old Mat wouldn’t tell me, but ’e came back mighty furious from ’is visit, and swore ’e would ruin the young man and make no end of a scandal, and he would bring the law agin’ ’im and get £5,000 damages.’

“This story, embellished, of course, by many details, was the gist of what the worthy landlord of the Fernhead Arms had to say, but you may imagine how everyone’s excitement and curiosity was aroused; in the meanwhile Samuel Holder was getting over his nervousness, and was more ready to give a clear account of what happened on the fatal night itself.

“‘It was about nine o’clock,’ he explained, in answer to the coroner, ‘and I was hurrying back to Ayrsham, through the fields; it was dark and raining, and I was about to strike across the hedge into the lane when I heard voices – a woman’s, then a man’s. Of course, I could see nothing, and the man spoke in a whisper, but I had recognized Mary’s voice quite plainly. She kept on saying: “’Tisn’t my fault!” she says, “it’s father’s, ’e ’as made up ’is mind. I held out as long as I could, but ’e worried me, and now ’e’s got your letters, and it’s too late.”’

“Samuel Holder again paused a moment, then continued:

“They talked together for a long time: Mary seemed very upset and the man very angry. Presently ’e says to ’er: “Well, tell your father to come out here and speak to me for a moment. I’ll see what I can do.” Mary seemed to ’esitate for a time, then she went away, and the man waited there in the drizzling rain, with me the other side of the ’edge watchin’ ’im. I waited for a long time, for I wanted to know what was goin’ to ’appen; then time went on. I thought perhaps that old Mat was at the Fernhead Arms, and that Mary couldn’t find ’im, so I went back to Ayrsham by the fields, ’oping to find the old man. The stranger didn’t budge. ’E seemed inclined to wait – so I left ’im there – and – and – that’s all. I went to the Fernhead Arms, saw old Mat wasn’t there – then I went back to the lane – and – Old Man Newton was dead, and the stranger was gone.’

“There was a moment or two of dead silence in the court when Samuel Holder had given his evidence, then the coroner asked quietly:

“‘You do not know who the stranger was?’

“‘Well, I couldn’t be sure, your honour,’ replied Samuel nervously, ‘it was pitch-dark. I wouldn’t like to swear a fellow-creature’s life and character away.’

“‘No, no, quite so,’ rejoined the coroner; ‘but do you happen to know what time it was when all this occurred?’

“‘Oh yes, your honour,’ said Samuel decisively, ‘as I walked away from the Fernhead Arms I ’eard Ayrsham church clock strike ten o’clock.’

“‘Ah that’s always something,’ said the coroner, with a sigh of satisfaction. ‘Call Mary Newton, please.’”

3

“You may imagine,” continued the man in the corner, after a slight pause, “with what palpitating interest we all watched the pathetic little figure, clad in deep black, who now stepped forward to give evidence.

“It was difficult to imagine that Mary Newton could ever have been pretty; trouble had obviously wrought havoc with her good looks. She was now a wizened little thing, with dark rings under her eyes, and a pale, anaemic complexion.