"
Before midnight the search was ended. Amongst the printed bills
flapping on dreary walls in that river-side neighbourhood, Joyce Harker
had discovered the description of a man "found drowned." The
description fitted Valentine Jernam, and the body had been found within
the last two days.
Joyce went to the police-office where the man was lying. He had no need
to look at the poor dead face--the dark, handsome face, which was so
familiar to him.
"I expected as much," he said to the official who had admitted him to
see the body; "he had money about him, and he has fallen into the hands
of scoundrels."
"You don't think it was an accident?"
"No; he has been murdered, sir. And I think I know the men who did it."
"You know the men?"
"Yes; but my knowledge won't help to avenge his death, if I can't bring
it home to them--and I don't suppose I can. There'll be a coroner's
inquest, won't there?"
At the inquest, next day, Joyce Harker told his story; but that story
threw very little light on the circumstances of Valentine Jernam's
death.
The investigation before the coroner set at rest all question as to the
means by which the captain had met his death. A medical examination
demonstrated that he had been murdered by a blow on the back of the
head, inflicted by some sharp heavy instrument. The unfortunate man
must have died before he was thrown into the water.
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