“Why are you so positive?” “I cannot say, but I am quite sure.” “That will do.” The coroner looked perplexed. The jurymen gazed at him as if for inspiration. The detective made no sign. The coroner rose and announced that the inquiry was adjourned. I realised the grim meaning of his laconic announcement. It was apparent to everyone that the case had assumed an ugly complexion, and that there was a so far unspoken suspicion of foul play in men’s minds. Such a suspicion was not likely to remain unexpressed very long, and it soon rose from a whisper to a crescendo of excitement. Lord Gascoyne had been murdered, so everyone said, and the London papers that came down by the evening train already had the announcement in large letters. They hinted at a mystery, and declared that sensational developments might be expected at the adjourned inquest. Mr. Gascoyne was in a state of the greatest nervous agitation. He took every care, however, that no suspicion of the dark things which were being said should reach any of the women, and the papers were carefully kept out of their way. Worried as he was, I do not think that he in any way anticipated the blow which was about to fall. Edith asked me one or two questions after the inquest as to what had taken place, but it was quite evident that she had not the least suspicion of what had occurred. Mrs. Gascoyne, on the other hand, who had lived in the world, and had been brought up in a commercial family, had her eyes fairly wide open. I could see when we met at dinner that she was very uneasy. It was a dismal meal. Lady Gascoyne did not, of course, appear. My wife was sad and preoccupied. Mrs. Gascoyne, with, I am sure, a full premonition of impending disaster, strove to be cheerful, but to little purpose. Mr. Gascoyne hardly spoke a word. When we were left alone he drew his chair nearer to me, evidently prepared for a long conversation. It would have been amusing, had the subject not possessed such grim significance for me, to notice how very deprecatingly the servants offered us wine. The castle cellar itself had, of course, been placed under lock and key, and the detective seemed to have disappeared from the premises. “Israel,” said Mr. Gascoyne seriously, “if poison was found in that bottle, someone must have put it there.” “That seems very obvious.” “I could have understood it had there only been a very little arsenic in the bottle, but that it should have contained the quantity it did is amazing.” Why Mr. Gascoyne should have understood it better had there not been so much arsenic in the bottle was not very apparent, but he was in the sort of mood in which people are apt to talk nonsense. “Have you the least suspicion as to who might have put the poison in the bottle, Israel?” He looked at me furtively. “They might say that it was I, sir.”