It was between
seven and eight, and the chilly dawn was breaking, but the
sea-mist still lay heavily over the marshes, as though it were
the winding sheet of the dead. Robinson went to his own house to
get his trap and drive into Jessum, there to catch the train and
ferry to Pierside. It was necessary that Inspector Date should
be informed of this new tragedy without delay, and as Constable
Painter was engaged in watching the cottage, there was no
messenger available but Dr. Robinson. Random indeed offered to
send a soldier, or to afford Robinson the use of the Fort
telephone, but the doctor preferred to see Date personally, so as
to detail exactly what had happened. Perhaps the young medical
man had an eye to becoming better known, for the improvement of
his practice; but he certainly seemed anxious to take a prominent
part in the proceedings connected with the murder of Mrs. Jasher.
When Robinson parted from them, Random and Hope went to the
lodgings of the latter, so as to read over the confession and
learn exactly to what extent Mrs. Jasher had been mixed up in the
tragedy of the green mummy. She had declared herself innocent
even on her death-bed, and so far as the two could judge at this
point, she certainly had not actually strangled Sidney Bolton.
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