William Monk 07 - Weighed in the Balance

original diagnosis was correct? Did Prince Friedrich die as a result of injuries sustained in his accident, and possibly exacerbated by a fit of coughing or sneezing?”
    “I really do not know. It would be impossible to be certain without an autopsy on the body.”
    There was a gasp around the room. A woman in the gallery shrieked. One of the jurors looked extremely distressed, as if it were about to happen right in front of him, there and then.
    “Is there anything to prove it cannot have been an injury which was the cause, Dr. Gallagher?” Harvester demanded.
    “No, of course not! If there were I should not have signed the certificate.”
    “Of course not,” Harvester agreed vehemently, spreading his hands. “Oh, one more thing. I assume you called upon the Prince very regularly while he was recuperating?”
    “Naturally. I went every day. Twice a day for almost the first week after the accident, then as he progressed well and the fever abated, only once.”
    “How long after the accident did he die?”
    “Eight days.”
    “And during that time, who, to your knowledge, cared for him?”
    “Every time I called, the Princess was there. She appeared to attend to his every need.”
    Harvester’s voice dropped a fraction and became very precise. “Nursing need, Doctor, or do you mean that she also cooked his food?”
    There was silence in the room. It hammered in the ears. The chamber was so crowded with people they were jammed together in the seats, fabric rubbing on fabric, the wool gabardine of gentlemen’s coats against the taffeta and bombazine of women’s gowns, suits and wraps. But for all the sound they might have been waxworks.
    “No,” Gallagher said firmly. “She did not cook. I was led to understand she did not have the art. And since she was a princess, one could hardly have expected it of her. I was told she never went to the kitchens. Indeed, I was told she never left the suite of rooms from the time he was brought to them until after he had died … in fact, not for some days after that. She was distraught with grief.”
    “Thank you, Dr. Gallagher,” Harvester said graciously. “You have been most clear. That is all I wish to ask you presently. No doubt Sir Oliver will have some point to raise, if you will be so good as to remain where you are.”
    Gallagher turned to face Rathbone as he rose and came forward. Monk had mentioned the yew trees at Wellborough to him, and he had done his research. He must not antagonize the man if he wished to learn anything of use. And he must forget Zorah, leaning forward and listening to every word, her eyes on him.
    “I think we can all appreciate your position, Dr. Gallagher,” he began with a faint smile. “You had no cause whatever to suppose the case was other than as you were told. No one expects or foresees that in such a household, with such people, there will be anything that is untoward or other than as it should be. You would have been criticized for the grossest offensiveness and insensitivity had you implied otherwise, even in the slightest manner. But with the wisdom of hindsight, and now having some idea of the political situation involved, let us reexamine what you saw and heard and see if it still bears the same interpretation.”
    He frowned apologetically. “I regret doing this. It can only be painful for all those present, but I am sure you perceive the absolute necessity for having the truth. If murder was done, it must be proved, and those who are guilty must account.”
    He looked quite deliberately at the jury, then at Gisela, sitting bleak-faced and composed next to Harvester.
    “And if there were no crime at all, simply a tragedy, then we must prove that also, and silence forever the whispers of evil that have spread all over Europe. The innocent also are entitled to our protection, and we must honor that trust.”
    He turned back to the witness stand before Harvester could complain that he was making speeches.
    “Dr. Gallagher, what precisely were the symptoms of Prince Friedrich’s last few hours and of his death? I would spare everyone’s feelings if I could, most of all those of his widow, but this must be.”
    Gallagher said nothing for a moment or two. He seemed to be marshaling his ideas, setting them right in his mind before he began.
    “Do you wish to refer to notes, Dr. Gallagher?” the judge inquired.
    “No, thank you, my lord. It is a case I shall not forget.” He drew in a deep breath and