"Mr. Jamieson," I said, when we found ourselves alone after dinner that
night, "the inquest yesterday seemed to me the merest recapitulation of
things that were already known. It developed nothing new beyond the
story of Doctor Stewart's, and that was volunteered."
"An inquest is only a necessary formality, Miss Innes," he replied.
"Unless a crime is committed in the open, the inquest does nothing
beyond getting evidence from witnesses while events are still in their
minds. The police step in later. You and I both know how many
important things never transpired. For instance: the dead man had no
key, and yet Miss Gertrude testified to a fumbling at the lock, and
then the opening of the door. The piece of evidence you mention,
Doctor Stewart's story, is one of those things we have to take
cautiously: the doctor has a patient who wears black and does not raise
her veil. Why, it is the typical mysterious lady! Then the good doctor
comes across Arnold Armstrong, who was a graceless scamp--de
mortuis--what's the rest of it?--and he is quarreling with a lady in
black. Behold, says the doctor, they are one and the same."
"Why was Mr. Bailey not present at the inquest?"
The detective's expression was peculiar.
"Because his physician testified that he is ill, and unable to leave
his bed."
"Ill!" I exclaimed. "Why, neither Halsey nor Gertrude has told me
that."
"There are more things than that, Miss Innes, that are puzzling. Bailey
gives the impression that he knew nothing of the crash at the bank
until he read it in the paper Monday night, and that he went back and
surrendered himself immediately. I do not believe it. Jonas, the
watchman at the Traders' Bank, tells a different story. He says that
on the Thursday night before, about eight-thirty, Bailey went back to
the bank. Jonas admitted him, and he says the cashier was in a state
almost of collapse. Bailey worked until midnight, then he closed the
vault and went away. The occurrence was so unusual that the watchman
pondered over it an the rest of the night. What did Bailey do when he
went back to the Knickerbocker apartments that night? He packed a
suit-case ready for instant departure. But he held off too long; he
waited for something. My personal opinion is that he waited to see
Miss Gertrude before flying from the country. Then, when he had shot
down Arnold Armstrong that night, he had to choose between two evils.
He did the thing that would immediately turn public opinion in his
favor, and surrendered himself, as an innocent man. The strongest
thing against him is his preparation for flight, and his deciding to
come back after the murder of Arnold Armstrong. He was shrewd enough
to disarm suspicion as to the graver charge?"