The Case for the Crown by Fred M. White — Read

Another weary day or two dragged on, the funeral was over at length, and the blessed sunshine seemed to purge the dismal old house of some haunting evil. So far there had been no further sign of Archenfield, except a telephone message to the effect that his sister-in-law was looking forward to seeing Cecil on the following Friday, and that she would call for her in the car in due course. Dr. Barclay had been in and out once or twice, but he had no news to impart, and nothing to say except that the Home Office investigation was going on, and that, consequently, Cecil had nothing to fear until the time for the adjourned inquest came round, which would not be for nearly another month yet, and consequently there was a good deal of time, all of which was in favour of Archenfield's investigations. Whether or not that individual had begun to move Barclay could not say, and Archenfield was not the type of man to anticipate events by talking about them. And there was another thing. There was just a chance that in the opinion of the Home Office authorities the drug administered to Robert Molyneux had not been directly the cause of his death, in which case Cecil had nothing more to fear. The whole thing would become more or less a nine days' wonder, and, in the course of time, absolutely forgotten.

"I sincerely hope not," Cecil said. "Nothing worse could happen to me. It would be a sort of living death, just as bad as if I were on Broadmoor. The stigma would cling to me till the end of my life. There would be always people ready to say that I intended to murder my husband."