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Page 36
"He must be mad," I said, and I expect I spoke bitterly, for Isobel
lowered her eyes and her face flushed with embarrassment.
"Don't think that I condemn him," I added hastily, "but really in
justice to you, if not in order to clear his own good name, he should
speak out at once. Are you expecting to see him to-day?"
Isobel nodded.
"I am expecting him at almost any moment," she replied; then glancing
aside at a number of daily papers which lay littered upon the floor
beside the settee: "Of course you have seen what the press has to say
about it?" she added.
I nodded.
"What can you expect?" said I. "It is one of those cases in which
practically all the evidence, although it is of a purely
circumstantial nature, points to an innocent man as the culprit. I
feel very keenly annoyed with Coverly, for not only is he involving
both of you in a most unsavory case but he is also hindering the work
of justice. In fact by his inexplicable silence he is, although no
doubt unconsciously, affording the murderer time to elude the law."
Even as I spoke the words I heard a cab draw up in the street below,
and glancing out of the window, I saw Coverly alight from the cab, pay
the man and enter the doorway. His bearing was oddly furtive, that, as
I thought with a sudden pang, of a fugitive. A few moments later he
came into the room and his expression when he found me there was one
of marked hostility.
Eric Coverly bore no resemblance whatever to the deceased baronet from
whom he inherited the title, belonging as he did to quite another
branch of the family. Whereas Sir Marcus had been of a dark and sallow
type, Eric Coverly was one of those fair, fresh-colored, open-air
English types, handsome in an undistinguished way, and as a rule of a
light and careless disposition. There had never been any very close
sympathy between us, for the studies to which I devoted so much time
were by him regarded as frankly laughable absurdities. Although well
enough informed, he was typical of his class, and no one could justly
have catalogued him as an intellectual.
"Good morning, Addison," he said, having greeted Isobel in a
perfunctory fashion which I assumed to be accounted for by my
unwelcome presence. "The men of your Fleet Street tribe have conspired
to hang me, I see."
"Don't talk nonsense, Coverly," I said bruskly; "this misapprehension
is bound to arise if you decline to give any account of your
movements."
"But it is an outrage!" cried Coverly hotly. "What the devil do _I_
know about Marcus's death?"
"I am perfectly convinced that you know nothing whatever; but then I
have known you for many years. The 'Fleet Street tribe' to whom you
refer merely regard you as a unit of our rather large population. In a
case of this kind, Coverly, all men are equal."
Whilst I had been delivering myself of this somewhat priggish
speech--designed, I may add, in self-defense, to spur Coverly to a
rejoinder which might throw some light upon the mystery--he had
regarded me with an expression of ever increasing dislike. I noted
that there were shadows under his eyes, and that he was in a highly
nervous and excited condition. He had slept but little I judged during
the last forty-eight hours and had possibly had recourse to stimulants
to enable him to face the new trials which arose with every day.
"I don't feel called upon," he said angrily, "to give an account of my
movements to every policeman who cares to inquire. I know nothing
whatever about the matter. I have said so, and I am not accustomed to
have my word doubted."
"My dear Coverly," said I, "you must be perfectly well aware that
sooner or later you will have to relinquish this heroic pose. Will you
allow no one to advise you? You will have to answer the coroner, and
if you persist in this extraordinary refusal to give a simple answer
to a simple question, surely you realize that the matter will be
transferred to a higher tribunal?"
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