IT HAPPENED TWICE.

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 61, Issue 39, 26 November 1940, Page 7

IT HAPPENED TWICE.

By T. C. BRIDGES.

CHAPTER IX. THE VERDICT. “Knock-out drops!” This was real melodrama. Arkwright could feel the tingle of excitement all through the room. The only person who did not seem to be specially thrilled was Mr Sturrock. He turn'ed to Gerald Meakin.

“Mr Meakin, I should like your opinion as to whether a dose from this bottle could have been taken by Mrs Trelawney —■ whether or not it would have been detected by your examination.” IGerald ■ Meakin stood up. He spoke slowly and thoughtfully. ; A very few drops on top of the luminol w'ould have proved fatal to a person in ,Mrs Trelawney’s condition yet I think that even a small dose would have been detected by my analysis. In any case, sir, it seems to me that any person u£iiig such an obvious poison would hardly have been foolish enough to leave the bottle about.” The Coroner nodded.

‘That is a point, Mr Meakin.” He turned to the Sergeant. “There was no label or mark on the bottle?”

. “None, sir. Nor any date on the piece of newspaper. But the paper is not discoloured. It looks fresh.” “Who last used the room?” the Coroner asked.

“A Mr Chesham who came . down from London about three weeks ago with Mr Trelawney but was, I understand, recalled to London the same day that he arrived.” Arkwright, glancing at Peggy noticed how tense she had become. And the look in her eyes. Was it anger or—was it fear? But Mr Sturrock was asking Edgar about Chesham and, when Edgar got up, there was no doubt in Arkwright’s mind that he was desperately nervous. “This Mr Chesham was a friend of yours, Mr Trelawney?”* The Coroner asked. Edgar pulled himself together. “I knew h,im fairly well, sir, but he was not an intimate friend. He had been unwell and needed a. change. That is why I asked him down. That same evening he had a telephone message to say that his brother was seriously 111. So he left by the late train from Traverton.”

Again Arkwright looked at Peggy and now there was colour* in her cheeks. The colour of anger. She was blazing with indignation, yet trying to restrain her feelings. Arkwright felt profoundly uncomfortable. He could make nothing of it.

Edgar sat down and Mr Sturrock recalled Peggy. “Miss Garland, you have made no mention of this legacy. Were you aware of! it?” His tone was sharper than usual, but Peggy did not raise her voice as she replied. “Mrs Trelaw’ney told me some days ago of her intention to leave me an annuity of £2OO a year, and I was greatly surprised. But whether or not the bequest had been embodied in her will I had no means of knowing. Naturally then I did not speak of it.” She paused then u r ent on. “In any case I have been getting a salary of five pounds a week''and a very comfortable home. Mt seems, then, hardly likely that I should murder my employer for the sake of less money and no home.”

A gasp of surprise arose at the boldness of her words.

“Bravo Peggy!” said Meakin half aloud.

“No one lias accused you of anything, Miss Garland,’’ said the Coroner curtly. “I beg your pardon, sir. Mr Trelawney has at least suggested it. The scorn with which she spoke stung Edgar. He jumped up. “All I said was that I thought Miss Garland had make a mistake in pour-

A Story of Mystery and Poison.

(Copyright).

ing out the medicine. I never mentioned murder.”

Calm yourself, Mr Trelawney,” said the Coroner. “I am aware that you did not use the word ‘murder’.” He looked towards the jury. “We have had all the evidence available. After what Mr Gerard Meakin has told us I do not think that there is any need to adjourn the inquest for the sake of inquiring into the origin of the bottle discovered by Sergeant Caunter. Is there any question that any of you would like to ask?” A juryman stood up. He was Samuel French, father of the hew baby, which Arkwright had helped into the world. ' “Do ’ee think, zur, as Mrs Trelawney could have took another dose of the medicine, her own self. The du say the bottle was-hv her bed.” < “What do you think, Dr. Arkwright.?” the Coroner asked. “Possible,-” said Arkwright, slowly, “but extremely improbable.”

“I agree,” said the Coroner. “All the same, an intelligent question, Mr French. The pity is that the medicine bottle was broken. It is that accident which has made the whole inquiry so difficult.” He waited a moment, then, as no other juryman spoke, sent them off to consider their, verdict. Gerald Meakin leaned across to Arkwright. “We’re just as wise as when we started, John,” he murmured. Arkwright shrugged.

“The only Hew thing is that bottle of knock-out drops,” he whispered back. “I’m fairly sure they belonged to Chesham. There was something fishy about that fellow. Did you see how scared Edgar Trelawney was when Chesham’s name came up?” “He did seem nervous . . . hulloa—here they are hack again. They didn’t take long.”

The jury came in, and Cowle, the foreman, who was the Nethercombe grocer and a churchwarden, gave the verdict.

“We find that Mrs Trelawney died of an overdose of luminol, but how or by whom administered, there is not sufficient evidence to show. That’s unanimous, sir,” he added.

“And I think the only possible verdict under the circumstances,” said the Coroner*, “though naturally unsatisfactory to all concerned. Whether anything further is done in the matter remains with the police. I thank you, gentlemen,” he said, and got up. Arkwright made for the door. He waited to catch Peggy. But he got wedged in the crowd. Two men in front of him were talking.

“Her never did it!” said one. “Her’s a lady, her be I” “Baint so sure,” replied the other. “Two hundred pounds a year’s a mint o’ money. More so when ee don’t have to work for un.”

Arkwright felt a spasm of anger. He was driven to realise that opinion was divided as to Peggy’s guilt or innocence. It made him the more anxious to find her and tell her what was in his mind. /

But when lie got outside he could see nothing of Peggy. He went to the house, saw Rose, and asked! her to find Peggy. She came back presently to say that Miss Peggy was with, the elder Mr Men kin. in the] library, and that -tlney were talking business. • “Miss Peggy said she was very sorry, but she could not see you now.” Arkwright bit liis lip. “All right, Rose,” lie answered. “Tell her I will call this evening after I’ve finished my. rounds.” He paused, and noticed 1 Rose’s troubled face, “Don’t'be upset, Rose”’ lie said, kindly. “It will all come right presently.” Then he strode away. He returned at the end of his rounds without delaying even to take his usual cup of tea. Rose answeped his ring. “Miss Peggy, sir—she’s not here! — she’s left!” Arkwright gazed at Rose as if he could not believe his senses.

“Left!” “Gone to London, sir, by the 3.30,’ ■said Rose, in a shaken voice. “Vincent drove her to the station.” She stopped, then —“Oh, sir, don’t look like that!” she exclaimed, and burst into tears.

PEGGY GONE; ADDRESS SECRET,

Mr Meakin come out of the smokingroom and greeted the young doctor waiting in the hall. ' “Come in, Arkwright. I want to speak to you.” Rose, with her handkerchief to her eyes, went away, and the lawyer taking Arkwright by the arm, led Him into the smoking mom and closed the door. “Peggy—she’s gone,” John Arkwright said in a dazed way. “I know. I tried to keep her, but it was no use.,' She left a letter for you. Here it is. Read it!” Arkwright took the letter and the lawyer strode over to the window where he stood with his back to Arkwright, looking out. Arkwright’s fingers shook as he tore open tho- envelope. “My dear John,” Peggy had written in her beautifully clear hand. “I could not help knowing what you meant to say to me when you came to the house after the inquest this morning, and don’t mind telling you that I longed to hear it. Yet I have just sense enough left to be sure that I cannot and must not marry you until this business is cleared up. “It isn’t what you or I think, John; it is the opinion of those' around us. I saw and heard enough this morning to realise that I am under suspicion. And a doctor’s wife, like Caesar’s must be above suspicion.

“Perhaps I ought to have told you this instead of writing it but, to he honest, I hadn’t the pluck. So I am running away. '“I have given Mr Meakin an address by which ho can find me, hut he is under promise not to give it to you. And he will never do so until the mystery of Mrs Trelawney’s death is cleared up. Bo wise John. Put me out of your mind. Forget Peggy Garland.” Arkwright spoke imperatively to Mr Meakin. “You have her address. Tell me.” The old lawyer’s face was grave as he turned to the younger man. “John, you are a doctor, and you have taken the oath of Aesculapius. A

solicitor’s oath of secrecy is just as binding. Peggy is my client, and .1 cannot give you her address.”

“You don’t understand. I mean to marry her.” “Unfortunately, I understand too well. Peggy knows your intention as well as you do. And she, I think, is as fond of you as you are of her. But she does not let her feelings blind her.” He paused a moment, then went on. “See here, you know as well as 1 that some suspicion must attach to Peggy Garland. Peggy is a girl with a very fine character, and that is why she won’t marry you or anyone else so long as a breath of this abominable suspicion clings to her. I need hardly tell you that she has refused her legacy.” He laid a hand on Arkwright’s arm.

“I’m desperately sorry for you, Arkwright, but even if you had Peggy here in this room you could not persuade her to change her mind.” John Arkwright was silent for a moment, gazing out of the window with an expression of grim determination. “Y r ou have promised her not to give me her address and I respect your promise. But that doesn't mean that I can’t find her. To-morrow I shall go to London to look for her.” Mr Meakin shrugged his shoulders. “If you’ve made up you mind to go, go- you will. But you are only laying up fresh trouble for yourself. As I said before, the thing is to find evidence to clear Peggy. Then she will marry you quickly enough.” “That evidence may take, months tofind,” Arkwright answered. “Personally, I suspect Edgar Trelawney.” “Of poisoning his own mother?” “It sounds pretty awful, hut I do. There was plenty of time for him to slip something into that decanter on his way upstairs. I know the fellow was up to his eyes in’ debt and absolutely desperate. And remember this—that it was he who upset the table and so destroyed all evidence. I feel sure he ordered Rose YVeller to throiv all the broken glass into the dust-bin. Rose told me this herself.” Meakin looked grave.

“This is important evidence. The inquest should have been adjounied.” “It’s too late for that now,” said Arkwright curtly. “And in any case we have no proof against the man.” Steps sounded in the hall. “ —Oh Lor’ here he is! I must go.” “I’ll come with you,” said the lawyer. Then in a quick whisper. “Be civil to Edgar. Don’t let him think you suspect him.” i Edgar was in the hall. He had evidently just come in. His eyes widened a little at sight of Arkwright, but he came forward with outstretched hand, and Arkwright had to take it. “You will be at the. funeral, of course,” Edgar said. “I regret to say that I shall not,” Arkwright answered. “Unexpected business has turned up and I have to be away for two or three days.” “I’m sorry about that,” Edgar said, but Arkwright, watching him, had an idea that he was lying. He was not sorry at all. Arkwright wondered.

Cray, the doctor at Hoxworthy, agreed to take care of Arkwright’s practice during his absence, and that evening everything had been done to enable him to leave next morning on the 8.20 a.m. from Taverton.

Soon after eight he was in his car, driving along the narrow, winding road to Taverton at a brisk pace.

He drove mechanically, for his mind was on Peggy. He hacl little doubt about finding her, for she had spoken of her sister and mentioned that she lived in St. Leonards Terrace, Chelsea. He did not know tlie number, but that did not matter much.

He reached the top of the long slope leading to the saddle between. Okery and Wisdon Tors and increased speed along the level. Suddenly the, car lurched violently. The hear front wheel seemed to have buckled suddenly. Arkwright wrenched at the steering wheel in a desperate effort to right the car, but it was no use. She shot off the road, hit the low bank and turned over. Arkwright felt himself flying through the air. A thud which he heard rather than felt, a shower of sparks. After that—nothing. tTo be continued).