The Red Seal [35]
and Mr. Clymer, who was present, also knew it."
"And what is your opinion, doctor?" questioned Penfield.
Stone hesitated. "There was a distinct odor of amyl nitrite noticeable when I went to Turnbull's aid, and I concluded then that he had some heart trouble and had inhaled the drug to ward off an attack. It bears out Mr. Rochester's theory of death from angina pectoris."
"I see. Thank you, doctor. Please wait with the other witnesses; we may call you again," and with a sigh the busy physician resigned himself to spending another hour in the room reserved for the witnesses.
The next to take the witness stand was Deputy Marshal Grant. His testimony was short and concise, - and his description of the scene in the police court preceding Turnbull's death was listened to with deep attention by every one.
"Did the prisoner show any symptoms of illness before his heart attack?" asked Penfield.
"Not exactly illness," replied Grant slowly. "I noticed he didn't move very quickly; sort of shambled, as if he was weak in his legs. I've seen 'drunk and disorderlies' act just that way, and paid no particular attention to him. He did ask for a drink of water just after he returned to the cage."
"Did you give it to him?"
"No, an attendant gave the glass to Mr. Rochester who handed it to Mr. Turnbull."
Penfield regarded Grant in silence for a minute. "That is all," he announced, and with a polite bow the deputy marshal withdrew.
Detective Ferguson recognized Kent as he passed up the room to the platform and gave him a slight bow and smile, but the smile had disappeared when, at the coroner's request, he told of his arrival just after the discovery of the burglar's identity.
"I searched the cage where the prisoner had been seated and found this handkerchief," he went on to say. "It had been dropped by Turnbull and was saturated with amyl nitrite. I had it examined by a chemist, who said that this amyl nitrite was given to patients with heart trouble in little pearl capsules to be crushed in handkerchiefs and the fumes inhaled.
"The chemist also told me that" - the detective spoke with impressive seriousness, "judging from the number of particles of capsules adhering to the linen, more than one capsule had been crushed by Turnbull. Here is the handkerchief," and he laid it on the table with great care.
Kent's heart sank; the moment he had dreaded all that long afternoon had come. Penfield inspected the handkerchief with interest, and then passed it to the jurors, cautioning them to handle it carefully.
"I note," he stated, turning again to Detective Ferguson, "that it is a woman's handkerchief."
"It is," replied Ferguson. "And embroidered in one corner is the initial 'B.'"
Penfield ran his fingers through his gray hair. "You may go, Ferguson," he said, and beckoned to the morgue master. "Ask Miss Barbara McIntyre to return."
The girl was quick in answering the summons. Kent, more and more worried, was watching the scene with painful attention.
"Did Mr. Turnbull have one of your handkerchiefs?" asked Penfield.
Her surprise at the question was manifest in her manner.
"He might have," she said. "I have a dreadful habit of dropping my handkerchiefs around."
"Did you miss one after his visit to your house on Monday night?"
"Miss McIntyre," Penfield took up the handkerchief which the foreman replaced on his desk a moment before, and holding it with care extended it toward the girl. "Is this your handkerchief?"
She inspected the handkerchief and the initial with curiosity, but with nothing more, Kent was convinced, and in his relief was almost guilty of disturbing the decorum of the inquest with a shout of joy.
"It is not my handkerchief," she stated clearly.
Penfield replaced the handkerchief on the table with the same care he had picked it up, and turned again to her.
"Thank you, Miss McIntyre; I won't detain you longer. Logan," to the morgue master, "ask Dr. Stone to step here."
Almost immediately Stone reentered the room and hurried to the platform.
"And what is your opinion, doctor?" questioned Penfield.
Stone hesitated. "There was a distinct odor of amyl nitrite noticeable when I went to Turnbull's aid, and I concluded then that he had some heart trouble and had inhaled the drug to ward off an attack. It bears out Mr. Rochester's theory of death from angina pectoris."
"I see. Thank you, doctor. Please wait with the other witnesses; we may call you again," and with a sigh the busy physician resigned himself to spending another hour in the room reserved for the witnesses.
The next to take the witness stand was Deputy Marshal Grant. His testimony was short and concise, - and his description of the scene in the police court preceding Turnbull's death was listened to with deep attention by every one.
"Did the prisoner show any symptoms of illness before his heart attack?" asked Penfield.
"Not exactly illness," replied Grant slowly. "I noticed he didn't move very quickly; sort of shambled, as if he was weak in his legs. I've seen 'drunk and disorderlies' act just that way, and paid no particular attention to him. He did ask for a drink of water just after he returned to the cage."
"Did you give it to him?"
"No, an attendant gave the glass to Mr. Rochester who handed it to Mr. Turnbull."
Penfield regarded Grant in silence for a minute. "That is all," he announced, and with a polite bow the deputy marshal withdrew.
Detective Ferguson recognized Kent as he passed up the room to the platform and gave him a slight bow and smile, but the smile had disappeared when, at the coroner's request, he told of his arrival just after the discovery of the burglar's identity.
"I searched the cage where the prisoner had been seated and found this handkerchief," he went on to say. "It had been dropped by Turnbull and was saturated with amyl nitrite. I had it examined by a chemist, who said that this amyl nitrite was given to patients with heart trouble in little pearl capsules to be crushed in handkerchiefs and the fumes inhaled.
"The chemist also told me that" - the detective spoke with impressive seriousness, "judging from the number of particles of capsules adhering to the linen, more than one capsule had been crushed by Turnbull. Here is the handkerchief," and he laid it on the table with great care.
Kent's heart sank; the moment he had dreaded all that long afternoon had come. Penfield inspected the handkerchief with interest, and then passed it to the jurors, cautioning them to handle it carefully.
"I note," he stated, turning again to Detective Ferguson, "that it is a woman's handkerchief."
"It is," replied Ferguson. "And embroidered in one corner is the initial 'B.'"
Penfield ran his fingers through his gray hair. "You may go, Ferguson," he said, and beckoned to the morgue master. "Ask Miss Barbara McIntyre to return."
The girl was quick in answering the summons. Kent, more and more worried, was watching the scene with painful attention.
"Did Mr. Turnbull have one of your handkerchiefs?" asked Penfield.
Her surprise at the question was manifest in her manner.
"He might have," she said. "I have a dreadful habit of dropping my handkerchiefs around."
"Did you miss one after his visit to your house on Monday night?"
"Miss McIntyre," Penfield took up the handkerchief which the foreman replaced on his desk a moment before, and holding it with care extended it toward the girl. "Is this your handkerchief?"
She inspected the handkerchief and the initial with curiosity, but with nothing more, Kent was convinced, and in his relief was almost guilty of disturbing the decorum of the inquest with a shout of joy.
"It is not my handkerchief," she stated clearly.
Penfield replaced the handkerchief on the table with the same care he had picked it up, and turned again to her.
"Thank you, Miss McIntyre; I won't detain you longer. Logan," to the morgue master, "ask Dr. Stone to step here."
Almost immediately Stone reentered the room and hurried to the platform.