One of Edward's hands was lying on the table. His whole arm twitched, and the hand fell over, palm upwards. The fingers opened and closed slowly. David found himself staring at that slowly moving hand.
“Impossible,” said Edward, and his breath caught in his throat as he said it.
“I 'm afraid not.”
Edward leaned forward a little.
“But, David,” he said, “it 's not possible. Who-who do you think-who would do such a thing. Or-suicide-do you think he committed suicide?”
David drew himself suddenly away from the table. All at once the feeling had come to him that he could no longer touch what Edward touched.
“No, I don't think it was suicide,” he said. “But of course it 's not my business to think at all. I shall give my evidence, and there, as far as I am concerned, the matter ends.”
Edward looked helplessly at David.
“Evidence?” he repeated.
“At the inquest,” said David Blake.
“I don't understand,” said Edward again. He put his head in his hands, and seemed to be thinking.
“Are you sure?” he said at last. “I don't see how-it was an attack-just like his other attacks-and then he died-you always said he might die in one of those attacks.”
There was a sort of trembling eagerness in Edward's tone. A feeling of nausea swept over David. The scene had become intolerable.
“Mr. Mottisfont died because he drank a cup of tea which contained enough arsenic to kill a man in robust health,” he said sharply.
He looked once at Edward, saw him start, and added, “and I think that you brought him that tea.”
“Yes,” said Edward. “He asked me for it, how could there be arsenic in it?”
“There was,” said David Blake.
“Arsenic? But I brought him the tea-”
“Yes, you brought him the tea.”
Edward lifted his head. His eyes behind his glasses had a misty and bewildered look. His voice shook a little.
“But-if there 's an inquest-they might say-they might think-”
He pushed his chair back a little way, and half rose from it, resting his hands on the table, and peering across it.
“David, why do you look at me like that?”
David Blake turned away.
“It 's none of my business,” he said, “I 've got to give my evidence, and for God's sake, Edward, pull yourself together before the inquest, and get decent legal advice, for you 'll need it.”
Edward was shockingly pale.
“You mean-what do you mean? That people will think-it 's impossible.”
David went towards the door. His face was like a flint.
“I mean this,” he said. “Mr. Mottisfont died of arsenic poisoning. The arsenic was in a cup of tea which he drank. You brought him the tea. You are undoubtedly in a very serious position. There will have to be an inquest.”
Edward had risen completely. He made a step towards David.
“But if you were to sign the certificate-there would n't need to be an inquest-David-”
“But I 'm damned if I 'll sign the certificate,” said David Blake.
He went out and shut the door sharply behind him.
CHAPTER IV. A MAN'S HONOUR
“Will you give me your heart?” she said.
“Oh, I gave it you long ago,” said he.
“Why, then, I threw it away,” said she.
“And what will you give me instead?
Will you give me your honour?” she said.
“ ELIZABETH!”
There was a pause.
“ Elizabeth -open your door!”
Elizabeth Chantrey came back from a long way off. Mary was calling her. Mary was knocking at her door. She got up rather wearily, turned the key, and with a little gasp, Mary was in the room, shutting the door, and standing with her back against it. The lamp burned low, but Elizabeth 's eyes were accustomed to the gloom. Mary Mottisfont's bright, clear colour was one of her great attractions. It was all gone and her dark eyes looked darker and larger than they should have done.
“Why, Molly, I thought you had gone home. Edward told me he was sending you home an hour ago.”
“He told me to go,” said Mary in a sort of stumbling whisper. “He told me to go-but I wanted to wait and go with him. I knew he 'd be upset-I knew he 'd feel it-when it was all over. I wanted to be with him-oh, Liz-”
“Mary, what is it?”
Mary put up a shaking hand.
“I 'll tell you-don't stop me-there 's no time-I 'll tell you-oh, I 'm telling you as fast as I can.”
She spoke in a series of gasps.
“I went into your little room behind the dining-room. I knew no one would come. I knew I should hear any one coming or going. I opened the door into the dining-room-just a little-”
“Mary, what is it?” said Elizabeth. She put her arm round her sister, but Mary pushed her away.
“Don't-there 's no time. Let me go on. David came down. He came into the dining-room. He talked to Edward. He said, 'I can't sign the certificate,' and Edward said, 'Why not?' and David said, 'Because'-Liz-I can't-oh, Liz, I can't-I can't.”
Mary caught suddenly at Elizabeth 's arm and began to sob. She had no tears-only hard sobs. Her pretty oval face was all white and drawn. There were dark marks like bruises under her hazel eyes. The little dark rings of hair about her forehead were damp.
“Dearest-darling-my Molly dear,” said Elizabeth. She held Mary to her, with strong supporting arms, but the shuddering sobs went on.
“Liz-it was poison. He says it was poison. He says there was poison in the tea-arsenic poison-and Edward took him the tea. Liz-Liz, why do such awful things happen? Why does God let them happen?”
Elizabeth was much taller than her sister-taller and stronger. She released herself from the clutching fingers, and let both her hands fall suddenly and heavily upon Mary's shoulders.
“Molly, what are you talking about?” she cried.
Mary was startled into a momentary self-control.
“Mr. Mottisfont,” she said. “David said it was poison-poison, Liz.”
Her voice fell to a low horrified whisper at the word, and then rose on the old gasp of, “Edward took him the tea.” A numbness came upon Elizabeth. Feeling was paralysed. She was conscious neither of horror, anxiety, nor sorrow. Only her brain remained clear. All her consciousness seemed to have gone to it, and it worked with an inconceivable clearness and rapidity.
“Hush, Mary,” she said. “What are you saying? Edward-”
Mary pushed her away.
“Of course not,” she said. “Liz, if you dared-but you don't-no one could really-Edward of all people. But there 's all the talk, the scandal-we can't have it. It must be stopped. And we 're losing time, we 're losing time dreadfully. I must go to David, and stop him before he writes to any one, or sees any one. He must sign the certificate.”
Elizabeth stood quite still for a moment. Then she went to the wash-stand, poured out a glass of water, and came back to Mary.
“Drink this, Molly,” she said. “Yes, drink it all, and pull yourself together. Now listen to me. You can't possibly go to David.”
“I must go, I must,” said Mary. Her tone hardened. “Will you come with me, Liz, or must I go alone?”
Elizabeth took the empty glass and set it down.
“Molly, my dear, you must listen. No-I 'm thinking of what 's best for every one. You don't want any talk. If you go to David's house at this hour-well, you can see for yourself. No-listen, my dear. If I ring David up, and ask him to come here at once-at once-to see me, don't you see how much better that will be?”
Mary's colour came and went. She stood irresolute.
“Very well,” she said at last. “If he 'll come. If he won't, then I 'll go to him, and I don't care what you say, Elizabeth-and you must be quick-quick.”