"Do you know anything about the marks in blood on the arm?"
"No. I was shown them by Doctor Ellis, but I do not know what they mean, or, indeed, what they are."
"Do they not look to you like secret writing? Like a cryptogram?"
"I don't know anything about secret writing. They look like blood smears to me. I do not understand them."
"Have you any idea why deceased wrote them on his arm?"
"Did you ever see your husband use a cypher of that kind?"
"Never. I never saw him use a cypher of any sort."
"Did you ever notice marks like them before?"
"Can you throw any light at all on this murder?"
"None whatever. I was amazed to find my husband dying."
"He did nothing but moan, and died in a few moments."
This examination, which lasted some considerable time, concluded all available evidence for the time being. On the meagre intelligence to be gleaned from it the jury framed their verdict, and stated that the deceased, Edgar Moxton, had been murdered by some person or persons unknown.
CHAPTER IV THE READING OF THE BLOOD SIGNS
In these progressive times, the duration of proverbial wonderment has been reduced from nine days to nine hours. The Dukesfield murder case was mysterious and dramatic, yet, even with these elements of popularity, it became stale and out of date within the week. The attention of the masses and the classes was more or less concentrated on the visit of an Eastern potentate, whose amazing jewels, and still more amazing barbarisms, appealed to the popular humour. Moxton's death and the strange circumstances attendant thereon ceased to be commented upon by the newspapers; they faded out of the public mind, and continued to be talked about only in the neighbourhood wherein the tragedy occurred. Yet even in Dukesfield, after a fortnight of discussion, the interest grew languid.
It was just as well for Mrs. Moxton that circumstances stood thus, for, in defiance of public opinion, she still continued to inhabit Myrtle Villa. Her husband's maltreated body was quietly buried in the Dukesfield cemetery, so quietly, indeed, that, save the necessary undertaker and his men, not a single person followed the unfortunate victim to his untimely grave. It is only justice to say that Mrs. Moxton would have done so but for the earnest advice of Ellis. Knowing her unpopularity and its cause, he warned her against thrusting herself forward. Like a wise woman, the widow took the hint, but passionately resented the reason for which it was given. When the ceremony was at an end, Ellis came to tell her about it, and she defended herself to him after the fashion of women, with many words and much indignation. As soon as he could obtain a hearing, the doctor assured her that in his case such arguments were needless.