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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75461 ***
+
+
+The Case of Miss Elliott
+
+by Baroness Orczy
+
+Published 1909, Greening & Co., Ltd. (London)
+
+
+
+Contents.
+
+    I. The Case of Miss Elliott
+   II. The Hocussing of Cigarette
+  III. The Tragedy in Dartmoor Terrace
+   IV. Who Stove the Black Diamonds?
+    V. The Murder of Miss Pebmarsh
+   VI. The Lisson Grove Mystery
+  VII. The Tremarn Case
+ VIII. The Fate of the “Artemis”
+   IX. The Disappearance of Count Collini
+    X. The Ayrsham Mystery
+   XI. The Affair at the Novelty Theatre
+  XII. The Tragedy of Barnsdale Manor
+
+
+
+[Frontispiece: A horse-drawn hansom cab at night-time. In the shadowy
+interior of the cab sits a man in evening dress, leaning against the
+side of the cab as if dozing. Another man stands beside the cab,
+tentatively reaching in. Caption: “’E was dead and no mistake.”]
+
+
+
+I. The Case of Miss Elliott
+
+Chapter I
+
+The man in the corner was watching me over the top of his great
+bone-rimmed spectacles.
+
+“Well?” he asked, after a little while.
+
+“Well?” I repeated with some acerbity. I had been wondering for the
+last ten minutes how many more knots he would manage to make in that
+same bit of string, before he actually started undoing them again.
+
+“Do I fidget you?” he asked apologetically, whilst his long bony
+fingers buried themselves, string, knots, and all, into the capacious
+pockets of his magnificent tweed ulster.
+
+“Yes, that is another awful tragedy,” he said quietly, after a while.
+“Lady doctors are having a pretty bad time of it just now.”
+
+This was only his usual habit of speaking in response to my thoughts.
+There was no doubt that at the present moment my mind was filled with
+that extraordinary mystery which was setting all Scotland Yard by the
+ears, and had completely thrown into the shade the sad story of Miss
+Hickman’s tragic fate.
+
+The _Daily Telegraph_ had printed two columns headed “Murder or
+Suicide?” on the subject of the mysterious death of Miss Elliott,
+matron of the Convalescent Home, in Suffolk Avenue—and I must confess
+that a more profound and bewildering mystery had never been set before
+our able detective department.
+
+“It has puzzled them this time, and no mistake,” said the man in the
+corner, with one of his most gruesome chuckles, “but I daresay the
+public is quite satisfied that there is no solution to be found, since
+the police have found none.”
+
+“Can you find one?” I retorted with withering sarcasm.
+
+“Oh, my solution would only be sneered at,” he replied. “It is far too
+simple—and yet how logical! There was Miss Elliott, a good-looking,
+youngish, lady-like woman, fully qualified in the medical profession
+and in charge of the Convalescent Home in Suffolk Avenue, which is a
+private institution largely patronised by the benevolent.
+
+“For some time, already, there had appeared vague comments and rumours
+in various papers, that the extensive charitable contributions did not
+all go towards the up-keep of the Home. But, as is usual in
+institutions of that sort, the public was not allowed to know anything
+very definite, and contributions continued to flow in, whilst the
+Honorary Treasurer of the great Convalescent Home kept up his
+beautiful house in Hamilton Terrace, in a style which would not have
+shamed a peer of the realm.
+
+“That is how matters stood, when on 2nd November last the morning
+papers contained the brief announcement that at a quarter past
+midnight two workmen walking along Blomfield Road, Maida Vale,
+suddenly came across the body of a young lady, lying on her face,
+close to the wooden steps of the narrow foot-bridge which at this
+point crosses the canal.
+
+“This part of Maida Vale is, as you know, very lonely at all times,
+but at night it is usually quite deserted. Blomfield Road, with its
+row of small houses and bits of front gardens, faces the canal, and
+beyond the foot-bridge is continued in a series of small riverside
+wharves, which is practically unknown ground to the average Londoner.
+The foot-bridge itself, with steps at right angles and high wooden
+parapet, would offer excellent shelter at all hours of the night for
+any nefarious deed.
+
+“It was within its shadows that the men had found the body, and to
+their credit be it said, they behaved like good and dutiful
+citizens—one of them went off in search of the police, whilst the
+other remained beside the corpse.
+
+“From papers and books found upon her person, it was soon ascertained
+that the deceased was Miss Elliott, the young matron of the Suffolk
+Avenue Convalescent Home; and as she was very popular in her
+profession and had a great many friends, the terrible tragedy caused a
+sensation, all the more acute as very quickly the rumour gained ground
+that the unfortunate young woman had taken her own life in a most
+gruesome and mysterious manner.
+
+“Preliminary medical and police investigation had revealed
+the fact that Miss Elliott had died through a deep and
+scientifically-administered gash in the throat, whilst the surgical
+knife with which the deadly wound was inflicted still lay tightly
+grasped in her clenched hand.”
+
+
+
+Chapter II
+
+The man in the corner, ever conscious of any effect he produced upon
+my excited imagination, had paused for a while, giving me time, as it
+were, to co-ordinate in my mind the few simple facts he had put before
+me. I had no wish to make a remark, knowing of old that my one chance
+of getting the whole of his interesting argument was to offer neither
+comment nor contradiction.
+
+“When a young, good-looking woman in the heyday of her success in an
+interesting profession,” he began at last, “is alleged to have
+committed suicide, the outside public immediately want to know the
+reason why she did such a thing, and a kind of freemasonic, amateur
+detective work goes on, which generally brings a few important truths
+to light. Thus, in the case of Miss Elliott, certain facts had begun
+to leak out, even before the inquest, with its many sensational
+developments. Rumours concerning the internal administration, or
+rather maladministration of the Home began to take more definite form.
+
+“That its finances had been in a very shaky condition for some time
+was known to all those who were interested in its welfare. What was
+not so universally known was that few hospitals had had more
+munificent donations and subscriptions showered upon them in recent
+years, and yet it was openly spoken of by all the nurses that Miss
+Elliott had on more than one occasion petitioned for actual
+necessities for the patients—necessities which were denied to her on
+the plea of necessary economy.
+
+“The Convalescent Home was, as sometimes happens in institutions of
+this sort, under the control of a committee of benevolent and
+fashionable people who understood nothing about business, and less
+still about the management of a hospital. Dr. Kinnaird, President of
+the institution, was a young, eminently successful consultant; he had
+recently married the daughter of a peer, who had boundless ambitions
+for herself and her husband.
+
+“Dr. Kinnaird, by adding the prestige of his name to the Home, no
+doubt felt that he had done enough for its welfare. Against that, Dr.
+Stapylton, Honorary Secretary and Treasurer of the Home, threw himself
+heart and soul into the work connected with it, and gave a great deal
+of his time to it. All subscriptions and donations went, of course,
+through his hands, the benevolent and fashionable committee being only
+too willing to shift all their financial responsibilities on to his
+willing shoulders. He was a very popular man in society—a bachelor
+with a magnificent house in Hamilton Terrace, where he entertained the
+more eminent and fashionable clique in his own profession.
+
+“It was the evening papers, however, which contained the most
+sensational development of this tragic case. It appears that on the
+Saturday afternoon Mary Dawson, one of the nurses in the Home was
+going to the house surgeon’s office with a message from the head
+nurse, when her attention was suddenly arrested in one of the passages
+by the sound of loud voices proceeding from one of the rooms. She
+paused to listen for a moment and at once recognised the voices of
+Miss Elliott and of Dr. Stapylton, the Honorary Treasurer and Chairman
+of Committee.
+
+“The subject of conversation was evidently that of the eternal
+question of finance. Miss Elliott spoke very indignantly, and Nurse
+Dawson caught the words:
+
+“‘Surely you must agree with me that Dr. Kinnaird ought to be informed
+at once.’
+
+“Dr. Stapylton’s voice in reply seems to have been at first bitingly
+sarcastic, then threatening. Dawson heard nothing more after that, and
+went on to deliver her message. On her way back she stopped in the
+passage again, and tried to listen. This time it seemed to her as if
+she could hear the sound of some one crying bitterly, and Dr.
+Stapylton’s voice speaking very gently.
+
+“‘You may be right, Nellie,’ he was saying. ‘At any rate, wait a few
+days before telling Kinnaird. You know what he is—he’ll make a
+frightful fuss and——’
+
+“Whereupon Miss Elliott interrupted him.
+
+“‘It isn’t fair to Dr. Kinnaird to keep him in ignorance any longer.
+Whoever the thief may be it is your duty or mine to expose him, and if
+necessary bring him to justice.’
+
+“There was a good deal of discussion at the time, if you remember, as
+to whether Nurse Dawson had overheard and repeated this speech
+accurately: whether, in point of fact, Miss Elliott had used the words
+‘_or_ mine’ or ‘_and_ mine.’ You see the neat little point, don’t
+you?” continued the man in the corner. “The little word ‘and’ would
+imply that she considered herself at one with Dr. Stapylton in the
+matter, but ‘or’ would mean that she was resolved to act alone if he
+refused to join her in unmasking the thief.
+
+“All these facts, as I remarked before, had leaked out, as such facts
+have a way of doing. No wonder, therefore, that on the day fixed for
+the inquest the coroner’s court was filled to overflowing, both with
+the public—ever eager for new sensations—and with the many friends of
+the deceased lady, among whom young medical students of both sexes and
+nurses in uniform were most conspicuous.
+
+“I was there early, and therefore had a good seat, from which I could
+comfortably watch the various actors in the drama about to be
+performed. People who seemed to be in the know pointed out various
+personages to one another, and it was a matter of note that, in spite
+of professional engagements, the members of the staff of the
+Convalescent Home were present in full force and stayed on almost the
+whole time. The personages who chiefly arrested my attention were,
+firstly, Dr. Kinnaird, a good-looking Irishman of about forty, and
+President of the institution; also Dr. Earnshaw, a rising young
+consultant, with boundless belief in himself written all over his
+pleasant rubicund countenance.
+
+“The expert medical evidence was once again thoroughly gone into.
+There was absolutely no doubt that Miss Elliott had died from having
+her throat cut with the surgical knife which was found grasped in her
+right hand. There was absolutely no signs of a personal struggle in
+the immediate vicinity of the body, and rigid examination proved that
+there was no other mark of violence upon the body; there was nothing
+therefore, to prove that the poor girl had not committed suicide in a
+moment of mental aberration or of great personal grief.
+
+“Of course, it was strange that she should have chosen this curious
+mode of taking her own life. She had access to all kinds of poisons,
+amongst which her medical knowledge could prompt her to choose the
+least painful and most efficacious ones. Therefore, to have walked out
+on a Sunday night to a wretched and unfrequented spot and there
+committed suicide in that grim fashion seemed almost the work of a mad
+woman. And yet the evidence of her family and friends all tended to
+prove that Miss Elliott was a peculiarly sane, large-minded, and happy
+individual.
+
+“However, the suicide theory was at this stage of the proceedings
+taken as being absolutely established, and when Police-Constable Fiske
+came forward to give his evidence no one in the court was prepared for
+a statement which suddenly revealed this case to be as mysterious as
+it was tragic.
+
+“Fiske’s story was this: Close upon midnight on that memorable Sunday
+night he was walking down Blomfield Road along the side of the canal
+and towards the foot-bridge, when he overtook a lady and gentleman who
+were walking in the same direction as himself. He turned to look at
+them, and noticed that the gentleman was in evening dress and wore a
+high hat, and that the lady was crying.
+
+“Blomfield Road is at best very badly lighted, especially on the side
+next to the canal, where there are no lamps at all. Fiske, however,
+was prepared to swear positively that the lady was the deceased. As
+for the gentleman, he might know him again or he might not.
+
+“Fiske then crossed the foot-bridge, and walked on towards the Harrow
+Road. As he did so, he heard St. Mary Magdalen’s church clock chime
+the hour of midnight. It was a quarter of an hour after that, that the
+body of the unfortunate girl was found, and clasping in her hand the
+knife with which that awful deed had been done. By whom? Was it really
+by her own self? But if so, why did not that man in evening dress who
+had last seen her alive come forward and throw some light upon this
+fast thickening veil of mystery?
+
+“It was Mr. James Elliott, brother of the deceased, however, who first
+mentioned a name then in open court, which has ever since in the minds
+of every one been associated with Miss Elliott’s tragic fate.
+
+“He was speaking in answer to a question of the coroner’s anent his
+sister’s disposition and recent frame of mind.
+
+“‘She was always extremely cheerful,’ he said, ‘but recently had been
+peculiarly bright and happy. I understood from her that this was
+because she believed that a man for whom she had a great regard was
+also very much attached to her, and meant to ask her to be his wife.’
+
+“‘And do you know who this man was?’ asked the coroner.
+
+“‘Oh, yes,’ replied Mr. Elliott, ‘it was Dr. Stapylton.’
+
+“Every one had expected that name of course, for every one remembered
+Nurse Dawson’s story, yet when it came, there crept over all those
+present an undescribable feeling that something terrible was
+impending.
+
+“‘Is Dr. Stapylton here?’
+
+“But Dr. Stapylton had sent in an excuse. A professional case of the
+utmost urgency had kept him at a patient’s bedside. But Dr. Kinnaird,
+the President of the institution, came forward.
+
+“Questioned by the coroner, Dr. Kinnaird, however, who evidently had a
+great regard for his colleague, repudiated any idea that the funds of
+the institution had ever been tampered with by the Treasurer.
+
+“‘The very suggestion of such a thing,’ he said, ‘was an outrage upon
+one of the most brilliant men in the profession.’
+
+“He further added that, although he knew that Dr. Stapylton thought
+very highly of Miss Elliott, he did not think that there was any
+actual engagement, and most decidedly he (Dr. Kinnaird) had heard
+nothing of any disagreement between them.
+
+“‘Then did Dr. Stapylton never tell you that Miss Elliott had often
+chafed under the extraordinary economy practised in the richly-endowed
+Home?’ asked the coroner again.
+
+“‘No,’ replied Dr. Kinnaird.
+
+“‘Was not that rather strange reticence?’
+
+“‘Certainly not. I am only the Honorary President of the
+institution—Stapylton has chief control of its finances.’
+
+“‘Ah!’ remarked the coroner blandly.
+
+“However, it was clearly no business of his at this moment to enter
+into the financial affairs of the Home. His duty at this point was to
+try and find out if Dr. Stapylton and the man in evening dress were
+one and the same person.
+
+“The men who found the body testified to the hour: a quarter past
+midnight. As Fiske had seen the unfortunate girl alive a little before
+twelve, she must have been murdered or had committed suicide between
+midnight and a quarter past. But there was something more to come.
+
+“How strange and dramatic it all was!” continued the man in the
+corner, with a bland smile, altogether out of keeping with the
+poignancy of his narrative; “all these people in that crowded court
+trying to reconstruct the last chapter of that bright young matron’s
+life and then—but I must not anticipate.
+
+“One more witness was to be heard—one whom the police, with a totally
+unconscious sense of what is dramatic, had reserved for the last. This
+was Dr. Earnshaw, one of the staff of the Convalescent Home. His
+evidence was very short, but of deeply momentous import. He explained
+that he had consulting rooms in Weymouth Street, but resided in
+Westbourne Square. On Sunday, 1st November, he had been dining out in
+Maida Vale, and returning home a little before midnight saw a woman
+standing close by the steps of the foot-bridge in the Blomfield Road.
+
+“‘I had been coming down Formosa Street and had not specially taken
+notice of her, when just as I reached the corner of Blomfield Road she
+was joined by a man in evening dress and high hat. Then I crossed the
+road, and recognised both Miss Elliott and——’
+
+“The young doctor paused, almost as if hesitating before the enormity
+of what he was about to say, whilst the excitement in court became
+almost painful.
+
+“‘And——?’ urged the coroner.
+
+“‘And Dr. Stapylton,’ said Dr. Earnshaw at last, almost under his
+breath.
+
+“‘You are quite sure?’ asked the coroner.
+
+“‘Absolutely positive. I spoke to them both, and they spoke to me.’
+
+“‘What did you say?’
+
+“‘Oh, the usual, “Hello, Stapylton,” to which he replied, “Hello!” I
+then said “Good-night” to them both, and Miss Elliott also said
+“Good-night.” I saw her face more clearly then, and thought that she
+looked very tearful and unhappy, and Stapylton looked ill-tempered. I
+wondered why they had chosen that unhallowed spot for a midnight
+walk.’
+
+“‘And you say the hour was——?’ asked the coroner.
+
+“‘Ten minutes to twelve. I looked at my watch as I crossed the
+foot-bridge, and had heard a quarter to twelve strike five minutes
+before.’
+
+“Then it was that the coroner adjourned the inquest. Dr. Stapylton’s
+attendance had become absolutely imperative. According to Dr.
+Earnshaw’s testimony, he had been with deceased certainly a quarter of
+an hour before she met her terrible death. Fiske had seen them
+together ten minutes later; she was then crying bitterly. There was as
+yet no actual charge against the fashionable and rich doctor, but
+already the ghostly bird of suspicion had touched him with its ugly
+wing.”
+
+
+
+Chapter III
+
+“As for the next day,” continued the man in the corner after a slight
+pause, “I can assure you that there was not a square foot of standing
+room in the coroner’s court for the adjourned inquest. It was timed
+for eleven a.m., and at six o’clock on that cold winter’s morning the
+pavement outside the court was already crowded. As for me, I always
+manage to get a front seat, and I did on that occasion, too. I fancy
+that I was the first among the general public to note Dr. Stapylton as
+he entered the room accompanied by his solicitor, and by Dr. Kinnaird,
+with whom he was chatting very cheerfully and pleasantly.
+
+“Mind you, I am a great admirer of the medical profession, and I think
+a clever and successful doctor usually has a most delightful air about
+him—the consciousness of great and good work done—with profit to
+himself—which is quite unique and quite admirable.
+
+“Dr. Stapylton had that air even to a greater extent than his
+colleague, and from the affectionate way in which Dr. Kinnaird finally
+shook him by the hand, it was quite clear that the respected chief of
+the Convalescent Home, at any rate, refused to harbour any suspicion
+of the integrity of its Treasurer.
+
+“Well, I must not weary you by dwelling on the unimportant details of
+this momentous inquest. Constable Fiske, who was asked to identify the
+gentleman in evening dress whom he had seen with the deceased at a few
+minutes before twelve, failed to recognise Dr. Stapylton very
+positively: pressed very closely, he finally refused to swear either
+way. Against that, Dr. Earnshaw repeated clearly and categorically,
+looking his colleague straight in the face the while, the damnatory
+evidence he had given the day before.
+
+“‘I saw Dr. Stapylton, I spoke to him, and he spoke to me,’ he
+repeated most emphatically.
+
+“Every one in that court was watching Dr. Stapylton’s face, which wore
+an air of supreme nonchalance, even of contempt, but certainly neither
+of guilt nor of fear.
+
+“Of course, by that time _I_ had fully made up my mind as to where the
+hitch lay in this extraordinary mystery; but no one else had, and
+every one held their breath as Dr. Stapylton quietly stepped into the
+box, and after a few preliminary questions the coroner asked him very
+abruptly:
+
+“‘You were in the company of the deceased a few minutes before she
+died, Dr. Stapylton?’
+
+“‘Pardon me,’ replied the latter quietly, ‘I last saw Miss Elliott
+alive on Saturday afternoon, just before I went home from my work.’
+
+“This calm reply, delivered without a tremor, positively made every
+one gasp. For the moment coroner and jury were alike staggered.
+
+“‘But we have two witnesses here who saw you in the company of the
+deceased within a few minutes of twelve o’clock on the Sunday night!’
+the coroner managed to gasp out at last.
+
+“‘Pardon me,’ again interposed the doctor, ‘these witnesses were
+mistaken.’
+
+“‘Mistaken!’
+
+“I think every one would have shouted out the word in boundless
+astonishment had they dared to do so.
+
+“‘Dr. Earnshaw was mistaken,’ reiterated Dr. Stapylton quietly. ‘He
+neither saw me nor did he speak to me.’
+
+“‘You can substantiate that, of course?’ queried the coroner.
+
+“‘Pardon me,’ once more said the doctor, with utmost calm, ‘it is
+surely Dr. Earnshaw who should substantiate _his_ statement.’
+
+“‘There is Constable Fiske’s corroborative evidence for that,’
+retorted the coroner, somewhat nettled.
+
+“‘Hardly, I think. You see, the constable states that he saw a
+gentleman in evening dress, etc., talking to the deceased at a minute
+or two before twelve o’clock, and that when he heard the clock of St.
+Mary Magdalen chime the hour of midnight he was just walking away from
+the foot-bridge. Now, just as that very church clock was chiming that
+hour, I was stepping into a cab at the corner of Harrow Road, not a
+hundred yards _in front_ of Constable Fiske.’
+
+“‘You swear to that?’ queried the coroner in amazement.
+
+“‘I can easily prove it,’ said Dr. Stapylton. ‘The cabman who drove me
+from there to my club is here and can corroborate my statement.’
+
+“And amidst boundless excitement, John Smith, a hansom cab-driver,
+stated that he was hailed in the Harrow Road by the last witness, who
+told him to drive to the Royal Clinical Club, in Mardon Street. Just
+as he started off, St. Mary Magdalen’s church, close by, struck the
+hour of midnight.
+
+“At that very moment, if you remember, Constable Fiske had just
+crossed the foot-bridge, and was walking towards the Harrow Road, and
+he was quite sure (for he was closely questioned afterwards) that no
+one overtook him from behind. Now there would be no way of getting
+from one side of the canal to the other at this point except over that
+foot-bridge; the nearest bridge is fully two hundred yards further
+down the Blomfield Road. The girl was alive a minute _before_ the
+constable crossed the foot-bridge, and it would have been absolutely
+impossible for any one to have murdered a girl, placed the knife in
+her hand, run a couple of hundred yards to the next bridge and another
+three hundred to the corner of Harrow Road, all in the space of three
+minutes.
+
+“This _alibi_, therefore, absolutely cleared Dr. Stapylton from any
+suspicion of having murdered Miss Elliott. And yet, looking on that
+man as he sat there, calm, cool and contemptuous, no one could have
+had the slightest doubt but that he was lying—lying when he said he
+had not seen Miss Elliott that evening; lying when he denied Dr.
+Earnshaw’s statement; lying when he professed himself ignorant of the
+poor girl’s fate.
+
+“Dr. Earnshaw repeated his statement with the same emphasis, but it
+was one man’s word against another’s, and as Dr. Stapylton was so
+glaringly innocent of the actual murder, there seemed no valid reason
+at all why he should have denied having seen her that night, and the
+point was allowed to drop. As for Nurse Dawson’s story of his alleged
+quarrel with Miss Elliott on the Saturday night, Dr. Stapylton again
+had a simple and logical explanation.
+
+“‘People who listen at keyholes,’ he said quietly, ‘are apt to hear
+only fragments of conversation, and often mistake ordinary loud voices
+for quarrels. As a matter of fact, Miss Elliott and I were discussing
+the dismissal of certain nurses from the Home, whom she deemed
+incompetent. Nurse Dawson was among that number. She desired their
+immediate dismissal, and I tried to pacify her. That was the subject
+of my conversation with the deceased lady. I can swear to every word
+of it.’”
+
+
+
+Chapter IV
+
+The man in the corner had long ceased speaking, and was placing
+quietly before me a number of photographs. One by one I saw the series
+of faces which had been watched so eagerly in the coroner’s court that
+memorable afternoon by an excited crowd.
+
+“So the fate of poor Miss Elliott has remained wrapt in mystery?” I
+said thoughtfully at last.
+
+“To every one,” rejoined the funny creature, “except to me.”
+
+“Ah! What is your theory, then?”
+
+“A simple one, dear lady: so simple that it really amazes me, that no
+one, not even you, my faithful pupil, ever thought of it.”
+
+“It may be so simple that it becomes idiotic,” I retorted with lofty
+disdain.
+
+“Well, that may be. Shall I at any rate try to make it clear.”
+
+“If you like.”
+
+“For this I think the best way would be, if you were to follow me
+through what transpired before the inquest. But first tell me, what do
+you think of Dr. Earnshaw’s statement?”
+
+“Well,” I replied, “a good many people thought that it was he who
+murdered Miss Elliott, and that his story of meeting Dr. Stapylton
+with her was a lie from beginning to end.”
+
+“Impossible!” he retorted, making an elaborate knot in his bit of
+string. “Dr. Earnshaw’s friends, with whom he had been dining that
+night, swore that he was _not_ in evening dress, nor wore a high hat.
+And on that point—the evening dress, and the hat—Constable Fiske was
+most positive.”
+
+“Then Dr. Earnshaw was mistaken, and it was not Dr. Stapylton he met.”
+
+“Impossible!” he shrieked, whilst another knot went to join its
+fellows. “He spoke to Dr. Stapylton, and Dr. Stapylton spoke to him.”
+
+“Very well, then,” I argued; “why should Dr. Stapylton tell a lie
+about it? He had such a conclusive _alibi_ that there could be no
+object in his making a false statement about that.”
+
+“No object!” shrieked the excited creature. “Why, don’t you _see_ that
+he had to tell the lie in order to set police, coroner and jury by the
+ears, because he did not wish it to be even remotely hinted at, that
+the man whom Dr. Earnshaw saw with Miss Elliott, and the man whom
+Constable Fiske saw with her ten minutes later, were _two different
+persons_.”
+
+“Two different persons!” I ejaculated.
+
+“Ay! two confederates in this villany. No one has ever attempted to
+deny the truth of the shaky finances of the Home; no one has really
+denied that Miss Elliott suspected certain defalcations and was trying
+to force the hands of the Honorary Treasurer towards a full enquiry.
+That the Honorary Treasurer knew where all the money went to was
+pretty clear all along—his magnificent house in Hamilton Terrace fully
+testifies to that. That the President of the institution was a party
+to these defalcations and largely profited by them I for one am
+equally convinced.”
+
+“Dr. Kinnaird?” I ejaculated in amazement.
+
+“Ay, Dr. Kinnaird. Do you mean to tell me that he alone among the
+entire staff of that Home was ignorant of those defalcations?
+Impossible! And if he knew of them, and did neither inquire into them
+nor attempt to stop them, then he _must_ have been a party to them. Do
+you admit that?”
+
+“Yes, I admit that,” I replied.
+
+“Very well, then. The rest is quite simple. Those two men, unworthy to
+bear the noble appellation of doctor, must for years have quietly
+stolen the money subscribed by the benevolent for the Home, and
+converted it to their own use: then, they suddenly find themselves
+face to face with immediate discovery in the shape of a young girl
+determined to unmask the systematic frauds of the past few years. That
+meant exposure, disgrace, ruin for them both, and they determine to be
+rid of her.
+
+“Under the pretence of an evening walk, her so-called lover entices
+her to a lonely and suitable spot; his confederate is close by, hidden
+in the shadows, ready to give him assistance if the girl struggles and
+screams. But suddenly Dr. Earnshaw appears. He recognises Stapylton
+and challenges him. For a moment the villains are nonplussed, then
+Kinnaird—the cleverer of the two—steps forward, greets the two lovers
+unconcernedly, and after two minutes’ conversation casually reminds
+Stapylton of an appointment the latter is presumed to have at a club
+in St. James’ Street.
+
+“The latter understands and takes the hint, and takes a quick farewell
+of the girl, leaving her in his friend’s charge, then as fast as he
+can, goes off, presently takes a cab, leaving his friend to do the
+deed, whilst the _alibi_ he can prove, coupled with Dr. Earnshaw’s
+statement, was sure to bewilder and mislead the police and the public.
+
+“Thus it was that though Dr. Earnshaw saw and recognised Dr.
+Stapylton, Constable Fiske saw Dr. Kinnaird, whom he did _not_
+recognise, on whom no suspicion had fallen, and whose name had never
+been coupled with that of Miss Elliott. When Constable Fiske had
+turned his back, Kinnaird murdered the girl and went off quietly,
+whilst Dr. Stapylton, on whom all suspicions were bound to fasten
+sooner or later, was able to prove the most perfect _alibi_ ever
+concocted.
+
+“One day I feel certain that the frauds at the Home will be
+discovered, and then who knows what else may see the light?
+
+“Think of it all quietly when I am gone, and to-morrow when we meet
+tell me whether if _I_ am wrong what is _your_ explanation of this
+extraordinary mystery.”
+
+Before I could reply he had gone, and I was left wondering, gazing at
+the photographs of two good-looking, highly respectable and respected
+men, whom an animated scarecrow had just boldly accused of committing
+one of the most dastardly crimes ever recorded in our annals.
+
+
+
+II. The Hocussing of Cigarette
+
+Chapter I
+
+Quite by chance I found myself one morning sitting before a
+marble-topped table in the A.B.C. shop. I really wondered for the
+moment what had brought me there, and felt cross with myself for being
+there at all. Having sampled my tea and roll, I soon buried myself in
+the capacious folds of my _Daily Telegraph_.
+
+“A glass of milk and a cheesecake, please,” said a well-known voice.
+
+The next moment I was staring into the corner, straight at a pair of
+mild, watery blue eyes, hidden behind great bone-rimmed spectacles,
+and at ten long bony fingers, round which a piece of string was
+provokingly intertwined.
+
+There he was as usual, wearing—for it was chilly—a huge tweed ulster,
+of a pattern too lofty to be described. Smiling, bland, apologetic,
+and fidgety, he sat before me as the living embodiment of the reason
+why I had come to the A.B.C. shop that morning.
+
+“How do you do?” I said with as much dignity as I could command.
+
+“I see that you are interested in Cigarette,” he remarked, pointing to
+a special column in the _Daily Telegraph_.
+
+“She is quite herself again,” I said.
+
+“Yes, but you don’t know who tried to poison her and succeeded in
+making her very ill. You don’t know whether the man Palk had anything
+to do with it, whether he was bribed, or whether it was Mrs. Keeson or
+the groom Cockram who told a lie, or why——?”
+
+“No,” I admitted reluctantly; “I don’t know any of these things.”
+
+He was fidgeting nervously in the corner, wriggling about like an
+animated scarecrow. Then suddenly a bland smile illuminated his entire
+face. His long bony finger had caught the end of the bit of string,
+and there he was at it again, just as I had seen him a year ago,
+worrying and fidgeting, making knot upon knot, and untying them again,
+whilst his blue eyes peered at me over the top of his gigantic
+spectacles.
+
+“I would like to know what your theory is about the whole thing,” I
+was compelled to say at last; for the case had interested me deeply,
+and, after all, I had come to the A.B.C. shop for the sole purpose of
+discussing the adventures of Cigarette with him.
+
+“Oh, my theories are not worth considering,” he said meekly. “The
+police would not give me five shillings for any one of them. They
+always prefer a mystery to any logical conclusion, if it is arrived at
+by an outsider. But you may be more lucky. The owner of Cigarette did
+offer £100 reward for the elucidation of the mystery. The noble Earl
+must have backed Cigarette for all he was worth. Malicious tongues go
+even so far as to say that he is practically a ruined man now, and
+that the beautiful Lady Agnes is only too glad to find herself the
+wife of Harold Keeson, the son of the well-known trainer.
+
+“If you ever go to Newmarket,” continued the man in the corner, after
+a slight pause, during which he had been absorbed in unravelling one
+of his most complicated knots, “any one will point out the Keesons’
+house to you. It is called Manor House, and stands in the midst of
+beautiful gardens. Mr. Keeson himself is a man of about fifty, and, as
+a matter of fact, is of very good family, the Keesons having owned
+property in the Midlands for the past eight hundred years. Of this
+fact he is, it appears, extremely proud. His father, however, was a
+notorious spendthrift, who squandered his property, and died in the
+nick of time, leaving his son absolutely penniless and proud as
+Lucifer.
+
+“Fate, however, has been kind to George Keeson. His knowledge of
+horses and of all matters connected with the turf stood him in good
+stead; hard work and perseverance did the rest. Now, at fifty years of
+age, he is a very rich man, and practically at the head of a
+profession, which if not exactly that of a gentleman, is, at any rate,
+highly remunerative.
+
+“He owns Manor House, and lived there with his young wife and his only
+son and heir, Harold.
+
+“It was Mr. Keeson who had trained Cigarette for the Earl of
+Okehampton, and who, of course, had charge of her during her
+apprenticeship, before she was destined to win a fortune for her
+owner, her trainer, and those favoured few who had got wind of her
+capabilities. For Cigarette was to be kept a dark horse—not an easy
+matter in these days, when the neighbourhood of every racecourse
+abounds with rascals who eke out a precarious livelihood by various
+methods more or less shady, of which the gleaning of early information
+is perhaps the least disreputable.
+
+“Fortunately for Mr. Keeson, however, he had in the groom, Cockram, a
+trusted and valued servant, who had been in his employ for over ten
+years. To say that Cockram took a special pride in Cigarette would be
+but to put it mildly. He positively loved the mare, and I don’t think
+that any one ever doubted that his interest in her welfare was every
+bit as keen as that of the Earl of Okehampton or of Mr. Keeson.
+
+“It was to Cockram, therefore, that Mr. Keeson entrusted the care of
+Cigarette. She was lodged in the private stables adjoining the Manor
+House, and during the few days immediately preceding the ‘Coronation
+Stakes’ the groom practically never left her side, either night or
+day. He slept in the loosebox with her, and ate all his meals in her
+company; nor was any one allowed to come within measurable distance of
+the living treasure, save Mr. Keeson or the Earl of Okehampton
+himself.
+
+“And yet, in spite of all these precautions, in spite of every care
+that human ingenuity could devise, on the very morning of the race
+Cigarette was seized with every symptom of poisoning, and although, as
+you say, she is quite herself again now, she was far too ill to fulfil
+her engagement, and, if rumour speaks correctly, completed thereby the
+ruin of the Earl of Okehampton.”
+
+
+
+Chapter II
+
+The man in the corner looked at me through his bone-rimmed spectacles,
+and his mild blue eyes gazed pleasantly into mine.
+
+“You may well imagine,” he continued, after a while, “what a
+thunderbolt such a catastrophe means to those whose hopes of a fortune
+rested upon the fitness of the bay mare. Mr. Keeson lost his temper
+for an instant, they say—but for one instant only. When he was hastily
+summoned at six o’clock in the morning to Cigarette’s stables, and saw
+her lying on the straw, rigid and with glassy eyes, he raised his
+heavy riding-whip over the head of Cockram. Some assert that he
+actually struck him, and that the groom was too wretched and too dazed
+to resent either words or blows. After a good deal of hesitation he
+reluctantly admitted that for the first time since Cigarette had been
+in his charge he had slept long and heavily.
+
+“‘I am such a light sleeper, you know, sir,’ he said in a tear-choked
+voice. ‘Usually I could hear every noise the mare made if she stirred
+at all. But there—last night I cannot say _what_ happened. I remember
+that I felt rather drowsy after my supper, and must have dropped off
+to sleep very quickly. Once during the night I woke up; the mare was
+all right then.’
+
+“The man paused, and seemed to be searching for something in his
+mind—the recollection of a dream, perhaps. But the veterinary surgeon,
+who was present at the time, having also been hastily summoned to the
+stables, took up the glass which had contained the beer for Cockram’s
+supper. He sniffed it, and then tasted it, and said quietly:
+
+“‘No wonder you slept heavily, my man. This beer was drugged: it
+contained opium.’
+
+“‘Drugged!’ ejaculated Cockram, who, on hearing this fact, which in
+every way exonerated him from blame, seemed more hopelessly wretched
+than he had been before.
+
+“It appears that every night Cockram’s supper was brought out to him
+in the stables by one of the servants from the Manor House. On this
+particular night Mrs. Keeson’s maid, a young girl named Alice Image,
+had brought him a glass of beer and some bread and cheese on a tray at
+about eleven o’clock.
+
+“Closely questioned by Mr. Keeson, the girl emphatically denied all
+knowledge of any drug in the beer. She had often taken the supper-tray
+across to Cockram, who was her sweetheart, she said. It was usually
+placed ready for her in the hall, and when she had finished attending
+upon her mistress’s night toilet she went over to the stables with it.
+She had certainly never touched the beer, and the tray had stood in
+its accustomed place on the hall table looking just the same as usual.
+‘As if I’d go and poison my Cockram!’ she said in the midst of a
+deluge of tears.
+
+“All these somewhat scanty facts crept into the evening papers that
+same day. That an outrage of a peculiarly daring and cunning character
+had been perpetrated was not for a moment in doubt. So much money had
+been at stake, so many people would be half ruined by it, that even
+the non-racing public at once took the keenest interest in the case.
+All the papers admitted, of course, that for the moment the affair
+seemed peculiarly mysterious, yet all commented upon one fact, which
+they suggested should prove an important clue: this fact was Cockram’s
+strange attitude.
+
+“At first he had been dazed—probably owing to the after-effects of the
+drug; he had also seemed too wretched even to resent Mr. Keeson’s very
+natural outburst of wrath. But then, when the presence of the drug in
+his beer was detected, which proved _him_ at any rate, to have been
+guiltless in the matter, his answers, according to all accounts,
+became somewhat confused; and all Mr. Keeson and the ‘vet.,’ who were
+present, got out of him after that, was a perpetual ejaculation:
+‘What’s to be done? What’s to be done?’
+
+“Two days later the sporting papers were the first to announce, with
+much glee, that, thanks to the untiring energy of the Scotland Yard
+authorities, daylight seemed at last to have been brought to bear upon
+the mystery which surrounded the dastardly outrage on the Earl of
+Okehampton’s mare, Cigarette, and that an important arrest in
+connection with it had already been effected.
+
+“It appears that a man named Charles Palk, seemingly of no address,
+had all along been suspected of having at least a hand in the outrage.
+He was believed to be a bookmaker’s tout, and was a man upon whom the
+police had long since kept a watchful eye. Palk had been seen loafing
+round the Manor House for the past week, and had been warned off the
+grounds once or twice by the grooms.
+
+“It now transpired that on the day preceding the outrage he had hung
+about the neighbourhood of the Manor House the whole afternoon, trying
+to get into conversation with the stable-boys, or even with Mr.
+Keeson’s indoor servants. No one, however, would have anything to do
+with him, as Mr. Keeson’s orders in those respects were very strict:
+he had often threatened any one of his _employés_ with instant
+dismissal if he found him in company with one of these touts.
+
+“Detective Twiss, however, who was in charge of the case, obtained the
+information that Alice Image, the maid, had been seen on more than one
+occasion talking to Palk, and that on the very day before the
+Coronation Stakes she had been seen in his company. Closely questioned
+by the detective, Alice Image at first denied her intercourse with the
+tout, but finally was forced to admit that she had held conversation
+with him once or twice.
+
+“She was fond of putting a bit now and again upon a horse, but
+Cockram, she added, was such a muff that he never would give her a
+tip, for he did not approve of betting for young women. Palk had
+always been very civil and nice-spoken she further explained.
+Moreover, he came from Buckinghamshire, her own part of the country,
+where she was born; anyway, she had never had cause to regret having
+entrusted a half-sovereign or so of her wages to him.
+
+“All these explanations delivered by Alice Image, with the flow of
+tears peculiar to her kind, were not considered satisfactory, and the
+next day she and Charles Palk were both arrested on the charge of
+being concerned in the poisoning of the Earl of Okehampton’s mare
+Cigarette, with intent to do her grievous bodily harm.”
+
+
+
+Chapter III
+
+“These sort of cases,” continued the man in the corner after a slight
+pause, during which his nervous fingers toyed incessantly with that
+eternal bit of string—“these sort of cases always create a great deal
+of attention amongst the public, the majority of whom in this country
+have very strong sporting proclivities. It was small wonder,
+therefore, when Alice Image and Charles Palk were brought before the
+local magistrates, that the court was crowded to overflowing, both
+with Pressmen and with the general public.
+
+“I had all along been very much interested in the case, so I went down
+to Newmarket, and, in spite of the huge crowd, managed to get a good
+seat, whence I could command a full view of the chief personages
+concerned in this thrilling sporting drama.
+
+“Firstly, there was the Earl of Okehampton—good-looking, but for an
+unmistakable air of the broken-down sporting man about his whole
+person; the trainer, Mr. Keeson—a lean, clean-shaven man, with a fine,
+proud carriage, and a general air of ancient lineage and the ‘Domesday
+Booke’ about him; Mrs. Keeson—a pale, nervous-looking creature, who
+seemed very much out of place in this sporting set; and, finally, the
+accused—Alice Image, dissolved in tears, and Charles Palk,
+over-dressed, defiant, horsey, and unsympathetic.
+
+“There was also Cockram, the groom. My short-sighted eyes had fastened
+on him the moment I entered the court. A more wretched, miserable,
+bewildered expression I have never seen on any man’s face.
+
+“Both Alice Image and Charles Palk flatly denied the charge. Alice
+declared, amid a renewed deluge of tears, that she was engaged to be
+married to Cockram, that she ‘no more would have hurt him or the
+pretty creature he was in charge of, for anything.’ How could she? As
+for Palk—conscious, no doubt, of his own evil reputation—he merely
+contented himself with shrugging his shoulders and various denials,
+usually accompanied with emphatic language.
+
+“As neither of the accused attempted to deny that they had been
+together the day before the outrage, there was no occasion to call
+witnesses to further prove that fact. Both, however, asserted
+emphatically that their conversation was entirely confined to the
+subject of Alice’s proposed flutters on the favourite for the next
+day’s race.
+
+“Thus the only really important witness was the groom Cockram. Once
+again his attitude as a witness caused a great deal of surprise, and
+gradually, as he gave his evidence in a peculiarly halting and nervous
+manner, that surprise was changed into suspicion.
+
+“Questioned by the magistrate, he tried his hardest to exonerate Alice
+from all blame; and yet when asked whether he had cause to suspect any
+one else he became more confused than ever, said, ‘No,’ emphatically
+first, then, ‘Yes,’ and finally looked round the court appealingly,
+like some poor animal at bay. That the man was hiding something, that
+he was, in point of fact, lying, was apparent to every one. He had
+drunk the beer, he said, unsuspectingly, on that fatal night; he had
+then dropped off to sleep almost immediately, and never woke until
+about six a.m., when a glance at the mare at once told him that there
+was something very wrong.
+
+“However, whether Cockram was lying or not—whether he suspected any
+one else or was merely trying to shield his sweetheart, there was, in
+the opinion of the magistrate, quite sufficient evidence to prove that
+Alice Image, at any rate, had a hand in the hocussing of Cigarette,
+since it was she who had brought the drugged beer to Cockram. Beyond
+that there was not sufficient evidence to show either that she was a
+tool in the hands of Palk, or that they both were merely instruments
+in the hands of some third person.
+
+“Anyway, the magistrate—it was Major Laverton, J.P., a great personal
+friend of the Earl of Okehampton, and a remarkably clever and acute
+man—tried his hardest to induce Alice to confess. He questioned the
+poor girl so closely and so rigorously that gradually she lost what
+little self-control she had, and every one in the court blamed Major
+Laverton not a little, for he was gradually getting the poor girl into
+a state of hysterics.
+
+“As for me, I inwardly commended the learned J.P., for already I had
+guessed what he was driving at, and was not the least astonished when
+the dramatic incident occurred which rendered this case so memorable.
+
+“Alice Image, namely, now thoroughly unnerved, harassed with the
+Major’s questions, suddenly turned to where Cockram was sitting, and,
+with a hysterical cry, she stretched out both her arms towards him.
+
+“‘Joe! my Joe!’ she cried; ‘you know I didn’t do it! Can’t you do
+anything to help me?’
+
+“It was pathetic in the extreme: every one in the court felt deeply
+moved. As for Cockram, a sudden change came over him. I am accustomed
+to read the faces of my fellow men, and in that rough countenance I
+saw then emerging, in response to the girl’s appeal, a quick and firm
+resolution.
+
+“‘Ay, and I will, Alice!’ he said, jumping to his feet. ‘I have tried
+to do my duty. If the gentlemen will hear me I will say all I know.’
+
+“Needless to say ‘the gentlemen’ were only too ready to hear him. Like
+a man who, having made up his mind, is now resolved to act upon it,
+the groom Cockram began his story.
+
+“‘I told your worship that, having drunk the beer that night, I
+dropped off to sleep very fast and very heavy-like. How long I’d been
+asleep I couldn’t say, when suddenly something seemed not exactly to
+wake me, but to dispel my dreams, so to speak. I opened my eyes, and
+at first I couldn’t see anything, as the gas in the stable was turned
+on very low; but I put out my hand to feel the mare’s fetlocks, just
+by way of telling her that I was there all right enough, and looking
+after her—bless her! At that moment, your worship, I noticed that the
+stable-door was open, and that some one—I couldn’t see who it was—was
+goin’ out of it. “Who goes there!” says I, for I still felt very
+sleepy and dull, when, to my astonishment, who should reply to me
+but——’
+
+“The man paused, and once more over his rough, honest face came the
+old look of perplexity and misery.
+
+“‘But——?’ queried the magistrate, whose nerves were obviously as much
+on tension as those of every one else in that court.
+
+“‘Speak, Joe—won’t you?’ appealed Alice Image pathetically.
+
+“‘But the mistress—Mrs. Keeson, sir,’ came from the groom in an almost
+inaudible whisper. ‘You know, ma’am,’ he added, while the gathering
+tears choked his voice, ‘I wouldn’t ’ave spoke. But she’s my
+sweetheart, ma’am; and I couldn’t bear that the shame should rest on
+her.’
+
+“There was a moment’s deadly silence in that crowded court. Every
+one’s eyes wandered towards the pale face of Mrs. Keeson, which,
+however, though almost livid in colour, expressed nothing but the most
+boundless astonishment. As for Mr. Keeson, surprise, incredulity, then
+furious wrath at the slander, could be seen chasing one another upon
+his handsome face.
+
+“‘What lie is this?’ burst involuntarily from his lips, as his fingers
+closed more tightly upon the heavy riding-whip which he was holding.
+
+“‘Silence, please!’ said the Major with authority. ‘Now, Cockram, go
+on. You say Mrs. Keeson spoke to you. What did she say?’
+
+“‘She seemed rather upset, sir,’ continued Cockram, still looking with
+humble apology across at his mistress, ‘for she only stammered
+something about: “Oh, it’s nothing, Cockram. I only wanted to speak to
+my son—er—to Mr. Harold—I——”’
+
+“‘Harold?’ thundered Mr. Keeson, who was fast losing his temper.
+
+“‘I must ask you, Mr. Keeson, to be silent,’ said the Major. ‘Go on,
+Cockram.’
+
+“And Cockram continued his narrative:
+
+“‘“Mr. Harold, ma’am?” I said. “What should ’e be doing ’ere in the
+stables at this time of night?” “Oh, nothing,” says she to me, “I
+thought I saw him come in here. I must have been mistaken. Never mind,
+Cockram; it’s all right. Good-night.”
+
+“‘I said good-night too, and then fell to wondering what Mr. ’Arold
+could have wanted prowling round the stables at this hour of the
+night. Just then the clock of St. Saviour’s struck four o’clock, and
+while I was still wondering I fell asleep again, and never awoke till
+six, when the mare was as sick as she could be. And that’s the whole
+truth, gentlemen; and I would never have spoke—for Mr. and Mrs. Keeson
+have always been good to me, and I’d have done anything to save them
+the disgrace—but Alice is goin’ to be my wife, and I couldn’t bear any
+shame to rest upon ’er.’
+
+“When Cockram had finished speaking you might have heard a pin drop as
+Major Laverton asked Mrs. Keeson to step into the witness-box. She
+looked fragile and pale but otherwise quite self-possessed, as she
+quietly kissed the book and said in a very firm tone of voice:
+
+“‘I can only say in reply to the extraordinary story which this man
+has just told that the drug in the beer must have given him peculiarly
+vivid dreams. At the hour he names I was in bed fast asleep, as my
+husband can testify; and the whole of Cockram’s narrative is a
+fabrication from beginning to end. I may add that I am more than
+willing to forgive him. No doubt his brain was clouded by the opiate;
+and now he is beside himself owing to Alice Image’s predicament. As
+for my son Harold, he was absent from home that night; he was spending
+it with some bachelor friends at the “Stag and Mantle” hotel in
+Newmarket.’
+
+“‘Yes! By the way,’ said the magistrate, ‘where is Mr. Harold Keeson?
+I have no doubt that he will be able to give a very good account of
+himself on that memorable night.’
+
+“‘My son is abroad, your worship,’ said Mrs. Keeson, while a shade of
+a still more livid hue passed over her face.
+
+“‘Abroad, is he?’ said the magistrate cheerfully. ‘Well, that settles
+the point satisfactorily for him—doesn’t it? When did he go?’
+
+“‘Last Thursday, your worship,’ replied Mrs. Keeson.
+
+“Then there was silence again in the court, for that last Thursday was
+the day of the ‘Coronation Stakes’—the day immediately following the
+memorable night on which the mare Cigarette had been poisoned by an
+unknown hand.”
+
+
+
+Chapter IV
+
+“I doubt whether in all the annals of criminal procedure there ever
+occurred a more dramatic moment than that when so strange a ray of
+daylight was shed on the mysterious outrage on Cigarette. The
+magistrate, having dismissed Mrs. Keeson, hardly dared to look across
+at the trainer, who was a personal friend of his, and who had just
+received such a cruel blow through this terrible charge against his
+only son—for at that moment I doubt if there were two people in that
+court who did not think that Mrs. Keeson had just sworn a false oath,
+and that both she and her son had been in the stables that night—for
+what purpose only they and their own conscience could tell.
+
+“Alice Image and Charles Palk were both discharged; and it is greatly
+to the credit of Cockram that in the midst of his joy in seeing his
+sweetheart safe he still remained very gloomy and upset. As for Mr.
+Keeson, he must have suffered terribly at all this mud cast at his
+only son. He had been wounded in what he worshipped more than anything
+else in the world—his family honour. What was the use of money and the
+old estates if such a stain rested upon his name?
+
+“As for Mrs. Keeson, public sympathy was very much overshadowed with
+contempt for her stupidity. Had she only held her tongue when Cockram
+challenged her, suspicion would never have fastened upon Harold. The
+fact that she had lied in the witness-box in order to try and remedy
+her blunder was also very severely commented upon. The young man had
+gone abroad on that memorable Thursday accompanied by two of his
+bachelor friends. They had gone on a fishing expedition to Norway, and
+were not expected home for three weeks. As they meant to move from
+place to place they had left no address: letters and telegrams were
+therefore useless.
+
+“During those three weeks pending Harold Keeson’s return certain facts
+leaked out which did not tend to improve his case. It appears that he
+had long been in love with Lady Agnes Stourcliffe, the daughter of the
+Earl of Okehampton. Some people asserted that the young people were
+actually—though secretly—engaged. The Earl, however, seems all along
+to have objected to the marriage of his daughter with the son of a
+trainer, and on more than one occasion had remarked that he had not
+sunk quite so low yet as to allow so preposterous a _mésalliance_. Mr.
+Keeson, whose family pride was at least equal to that of the Earl, had
+naturally very much resented this attitude, and had often begged his
+son to give up his pretensions, since they were manifestly so
+unwelcome.
+
+“Harold Keeson, however, was deeply in love; and Lady Agnes stuck to
+him with womanly constancy and devotion. Unfortunately a climax was
+reached some days before the disastrous events at Newmarket. The Earl
+of Okehampton suddenly took up a very firm stand on the subject of
+Harold Keeson’s courtship of his daughter. Some hot words were
+exchanged between the two men, ending in an open breach, the Earl
+positively forbidding the young man ever to enter his house again.
+
+“Harold was terribly unhappy at this turn of events. Pride forbade him
+to take an unfair advantage of a young girl’s devotion, and, acting on
+the advice of his parents, he started for his tour in Norway,
+ostensibly in order to try and forget the fair Lady Agnes. This
+unhappy love-affair, ending in an open and bitter quarrel between
+himself and the owner of Cigarette, did—as I said before—the young
+man’s case no good. At the instance of the Earl of Okehampton, who
+determined to prosecute him, he was arrested on landing at Harwich.
+
+“Well,” continued the man in the corner, “the next events must be
+still fresh in your mind. When Harold Keeson appeared in the dock,
+charged with such meanness as to wreak his private grievance upon a
+dumb animal, public sympathy at once veered round in his favour. He
+looked so handsome, so frank and honest, that at once one felt
+convinced that _his_ hand, at any rate, could never have done such a
+dastardly thing.
+
+“Mr. Keeson, who was a rich man, moreover, had enlisted the services
+of Sir Arthur Inglewood, who had, in the short time at his disposal,
+collected all the most important evidence on behalf of his client.
+
+“The two young men who had been travelling in Norway with Harold
+Keeson had been present with him on the memorable night at a bachelor
+party given by a mutual friend at the ‘Stag and Mantle.’ Both
+testified that the party had played bridge until the small hours of
+the morning, that between two rubbers—the rooms being very hot—they
+had all strolled out to smoke a cigar in the streets. Just as they
+were about to re-enter the hotel two church clocks—one of which was
+St. Saviour’s—chimed out the hour—four o’clock.
+
+“Four o’clock was the hour when Cockram said that he had spoken to
+Mrs. Keeson. Harold had not left the party at the ‘Stag and Mantle’
+since ten o’clock, which was an hour before Alice Image took the
+drugged beer to the groom. The whole edifice of the prosecution thus
+crumbled together like a house of cards, and Harold Keeson was
+discharged, without the slightest suspicion clinging to him.
+
+“Six months later he married Lady Agnes Stourcliffe. The Earl, now a
+completely ruined man, offered no further opposition to the union of
+his daughter with a man who, at any rate, could keep her in comfort
+and luxury; for though both Mr. Keeson and his son lost heavily
+through Cigarette’s illness, yet the trainer was sufficiently rich to
+offer his son and his bride a very beautiful home.”
+
+The man in the corner called to the waitress, and paid for his glass
+of milk and cheesecake, whilst I remained absorbed in thought, gazing
+at the _Daily Telegraph_, which, in its “London Day by Day,” had this
+very morning announced that Mr. and Lady Agnes Keeson had returned to
+town from “The Rookery,” Newmarket.
+
+
+
+Chapter V
+
+“But who poisoned Cigarette?” I asked after a while; “and why?”
+
+“Ah, who did, I wonder?” he replied with exasperating mildness.
+
+“Surely you have a theory,” I suggested.
+
+“Ah, but my theories are not worth considering. The police would take
+no notice of them.”
+
+“Why did Mrs. Keeson go to the stables that night? Did she go?” I
+asked.
+
+“Cockram swears she did.”
+
+“She swears she didn’t. If she did why should she have asked for her
+son? Surely she did not wish to incriminate her son in order to save
+herself?”
+
+“No,” he replied; “women don’t save themselves usually at the expense
+of their children, and women don’t usually ‘hocus’ a horse. It is not
+a female crime at all—is it?”
+
+The aggravating creature was getting terribly sarcastic; and I began
+to fear that he was not going to speak, after all. He was looking
+dejectedly all around him. I had one or two parcels by me. I undid a
+piece of string from one of them, and handed it to him with the most
+perfectly indifferent air I could command.
+
+“I wonder if it was Cockram who told a lie?” I then said
+unconcernedly.
+
+But already he had seized on that bit of string, and, nervously now,
+his long fingers began fashioning a series of complicated knots.
+
+“Let us take things from the beginning,” he said at last. “The
+beginning of the mystery was the contradictory statements made by the
+groom Cockram and Mrs. Keeson respectively. Let us take, first of all,
+the question of the groom. The matter is simple enough: either he saw
+Mrs. Keeson or he did not. If he did not see her then he must have
+told a lie, either unintentionally or by design—unintentionally if he
+was mistaken; but this could not very well be since he asserted that
+Mrs. Keeson spoke to him, and even mentioned her son, Mr. Harold
+Keeson. Therefore, if Cockram did not see Mrs. Keeson he told a lie by
+design for some purpose of his own. You follow me?”
+
+“Yes,” I replied; “I have thought all that out for myself already.”
+
+“Very well. Now, could there be some even remotely plausible motive
+why Cockram should have told that deliberate lie?”
+
+“To save his sweetheart, Alice Image,” I said.
+
+“But you forget that his sweetheart was not accused at first, and
+that, from the very beginning, Cockram’s manner, when questioned on
+the subject of the events of that night was strange and contradictory
+in the extreme.”
+
+“He may have known from the first that Alice Image was guilty,” I
+argued.
+
+“In that case he would have merely asserted that he had seen and heard
+nothing during the night, or if he wished to lie about it, he would
+have said that it was Palk, the tout, who sneaked into the stables,
+rather than incriminate his mistress, who had been good and kind to
+him for years.”
+
+“He may have wished to be revenged on Mrs. Keeson for some reason
+which has not yet transpired.”
+
+“How? By making a statement which, if untrue, could be so easily
+disproved by Mr. Keeson himself, who, as a matter of fact, could
+easily assert that his wife did not leave her bedroom that night; or
+by incriminating Mr. Harold Keeson, who could prove an _alibi_? Not
+much of a revenge there, you must admit. No, no; the more you reflect
+seriously upon these possibilities the deeper will become your
+conviction that Cockram did not lie either accidentally or on purpose;
+that he did see Mrs. Keeson at that hour at the stable-door; that she
+did speak to him; and that it was she who told the lie in open court.”
+
+“But,” I asked, feeling more bewildered than before, “why should Mrs.
+Keeson have gone to the stables and asked for her son when she must
+have known that he was not there, but that her inquiry would make it,
+to say the least, extremely unpleasant for him?”
+
+“Why?” he shrieked excitedly, jumping up like a veritable
+jack-in-the-box. “Ah, if you would only learn to reflect you might in
+time become a fairly able journalist. Why did Mrs. Keeson momentarily
+incriminate her son?—for it was only a momentary incrimination. Think,
+think! A woman does not incriminate her child to save herself; but she
+might do it to save some one else—some one who was dearer to her than
+that child.”
+
+“Nonsense!” I protested.
+
+“Nonsense, is it?” he replied. “You have only to think of the
+characters of the chief personages who figured in the drama—of the
+trainer Keeson, with his hasty temper and his inordinate family pride.
+Was it likely when the half-ruined Earl of Okehampton talked of
+_mésalliance_, and forbade the marriage of his daughter with his
+trainer’s son that the latter would not resent that insult with
+terrible bitterness? and, resenting it, not think of some means of
+being even with the noble Earl? Can you not imagine the proud man
+boiling with indignation on hearing his son’s tale of how Lord
+Okehampton had forbidden him the house? Can you not hear him saying to
+himself:
+
+“‘Well, by —— the trainer’s son _shall_ marry the Earl’s daughter!’
+
+“And the scheme—simple and effectual—whereby the ruin of the arrogant
+nobleman would be made so complete that he would be only too willing
+to allow his daughter to marry any one who would give her a good home
+and him a helping hand?”
+
+“But,” I objected, “why should Mr. Keeson take the trouble to drug the
+groom and sneak out to the stables at dead of night when he had access
+to the mare at all hours of the day?”
+
+“Why?” shrieked the animated scarecrow. “Why? Because Keeson was just
+one of those clever criminals, with a sufficiency of brains to throw
+police and public alike off the scent. Cockram, remember, spent every
+moment of the day and night with the mare. Therefore, if he had been
+in full possession of his senses and could positively swear that no
+one had had access to Cigarette but his master and himself, suspicion
+was bound to fasten, sooner or later, on Keeson. But Keeson was a bit
+of a genius in the criminal line. Seemingly, he could have had no
+motive for drugging the groom, yet he added that last artistic touch
+to his clever crime, and thus threw a final bucketful of sand in the
+eyes of the police.”
+
+“Even then,” I argued, “Cockram might just have woke up—might just
+have caught Keeson in the act.”
+
+“Exactly. And that is, no doubt, what Mrs. Keeson feared.
+
+“She was a brave woman, if ever there was one. Can you not picture
+her, knowing her husband’s violent temper, his indomitable pride, and
+guessing that he would find some means of being revenged on the Earl
+of Okehampton. Can you not imagine her watching her husband and
+gradually guessing, realising what he had in his mind when, in the
+middle of the night, she saw him steal out of bed and out of the
+house? Can you not see her following him stealthily—afraid of him,
+perhaps—not daring to interfere—terrified above all things of the
+consequences of his crime, of the risks of Cockram waking up, of the
+exposure, the disgrace?
+
+“Then the final tableau:—Keeson having accomplished his purpose, goes
+back towards the house, and she—perhaps with a vague hope that she
+might yet save the mare by taking away the poison which Keeson had
+prepared—in her turn goes to the stables. But this time the groom is
+half awake, and challenges her. Then her instinct—that unerring
+instinct which always prompts a really good woman when the loved one
+is in danger—suggests to Mrs. Keeson the clever subterfuge of
+pretending that she had seen her son entering the stables.
+
+“She asks for him, _knowing well that she could do him no harm_ since
+he could so easily prove an _alibi_, but thereby throwing a veritable
+cloud of dust in the eyes of the keenest enquirer, and casting over
+the hocussing of Cigarette so thick a mantle of mystery that
+suspicion, groping blindly round, could never fasten tightly on any
+one.
+
+“Think of it all,” he added as, gathering up his hat and umbrella, he
+prepared to go, “and remember at the same time that it was Mr. Keeson
+alone who could disprove that his wife never left her room that night,
+that he did not do this, that he guessed what she had done and why she
+had done it, and I think that you will admit that not one link is
+missing in the chain of evidence which I have had the privilege of
+laying before you.”
+
+Before I could reply he had gone, and I saw his strange scarecrow-like
+figure disappearing through the glass door. Then I had a good think on
+the subject of the hocussing of Cigarette, and I was reluctantly bound
+to admit that once again the man in the corner had found the only
+possible solution to the mystery.
+
+
+
+III. The Tragedy in Dartmoor Terrace
+
+Chapter I
+
+“It is not by any means the Law and Police Courts that form the only
+interesting reading in the daily papers,” said the man in the corner
+airily, as he munched his eternal bit of cheesecake and sipped his
+glass of milk, like a frowsy old tom-cat.
+
+“You don’t agree with me,” he added, for I offered no comment to his
+obvious remark.
+
+“No?” I answered. “I suppose you were thinking——”
+
+“Of the tragic death of Mrs. Yule, for instance,” he replied eagerly.
+“Beyond the inquest, and its very unsatisfactory verdict, very few
+circumstances connected with that interesting case ever got into the
+papers at all.”
+
+“I forget what the verdict actually was,” I said, eager, too, on my
+side to hear him talk about that mysterious tragedy, which, as a
+matter of fact, had puzzled a good many people.
+
+“Oh, it was as vague and as wordy as the English language would allow.
+The jury found that ‘Mrs. Yule had died through falling downstairs, in
+consequence of a fainting attack, but _how_ she came to fall is not
+clearly shown.’
+
+“What had happened was this: Mrs. Yule was a rich and eccentric old
+lady, who lived very quietly in a small house in Kensington; No. 9
+Dartmoor Terrace is, I believe, the correct address.
+
+“She had no expensive tastes, for she lived, as I said before, very
+simply and quietly in a small Kensington house, with two female
+servants—a cook and a housemaid—and a young fellow whom she had
+adopted as her son.
+
+“The story of this adoption is, of course, the pivot round which all
+the circumstances of the mysterious tragedy revolved. Mrs. Yule,
+namely, had an only son, William, to whom she was passionately
+attached, but, like many a fond mother, she had the desire of mapping
+out that son’s future entirely according to her own ideas. William
+Yule, on the other hand, had his own views with regard to his own
+happiness, and one fine day went so far as to marry the girl of his
+choice, and that in direct opposition to his mother’s wishes.
+
+“Mrs. Yule’s chagrin and horror at what she called her son’s base
+ingratitude knew no bounds; at first it was even thought that she
+would never get over it.
+
+“‘He has gone in direct opposition to my fondest wishes, and chose a
+wife whom I could never accept as a daughter; he shall have none of
+the property which has enriched me, and which I know he covets.’
+
+“At first her friends imagined that she meant to leave all her money
+to charitable institutions; but oh! dear me, no! Mrs. Yule was one of
+those women who never did anything that other people expected her to.
+Within three years of her son’s marriage she had filled up the place
+which he had vacated, both in her house and in her heart. She had
+adopted a son, preferring, as she said, that her money should benefit
+an individual rather than an institution.
+
+“Her choice had fallen upon the only son of a poor man—an
+ex-soldier—who used to come twice a week to Dartmoor Terrace to tidy
+up the small garden at the back: he was very respectable and very
+honest—was born in the same part of England as Mrs. Yule, and had an
+only son whose name happened to be William; he rejoiced in the surname
+of Bloggs.
+
+“‘It suits me in every way,’ explained Mrs. Yule to old Mr. Statham,
+her friend and solicitor. ‘You see, I am used to the name of William,
+and the boy is nice-looking and has done very well at the Board
+School. Moreover, old Bloggs will die within a year or two, and
+William will be left without any encumbrances.’
+
+“Herein Mrs. Yule’s prophecy proved to be correct. Old Bloggs did die
+very soon, and his son was duly adopted by the rich and eccentric old
+lady, sent to a good school, and finally given a berth in the Union
+Bank.
+
+“I saw young Bloggs—it is not a euphonious name, is it?—at that
+memorable inquest later on. He was very young and unassuming, and used
+to keep very much out of the way of Mrs. Yule’s friends, who, mind
+you, strongly disapproved of his presence in the rich old widow’s
+house, to the detriment of the only legitimate son and heir.
+
+“What happened within the intimate and close circle of 9, Dartmoor
+Terrace, during the next three years of course nobody can tell.
+Certain it is that by the time young Bloggs was nearing his
+twenty-first birthday, he had become the very apple of his adopted
+mother’s eye.
+
+“During those three years Mr. Statham and other old friends had worked
+hard in the interests of William Yule. Every one felt that the latter
+was being very badly treated indeed. He had studied painting in his
+younger days, and now had set up a small studio in Hampstead, and was
+making perhaps a couple of hundred or so a year, and that, with much
+difficulty, whilst the gardener’s son had supplanted him in his
+mother’s affections, and, worse still, in his mother’s purse.
+
+“The old lady was more obdurate than ever. In deference to the strong
+feelings of her friends she had agreed to see her son occasionally,
+and William Yule would call upon his mother from time to time—in the
+middle of the day when Bloggs was out of the way at the Bank—stay to
+tea, and part from her in frigid, though otherwise amicable, terms.
+
+“‘I have no ill-feeling against my son,’ the old lady would say, ‘but
+when he married against my wishes, he became a stranger to me—that is
+all—a stranger, however, whose pleasant acquaintanceship I am pleased
+to keep up.’
+
+“That the old lady meant to carry her eccentricities in this respect
+to the bitter end, became all the more evident when she sent for her
+old friend and lawyer, Mr. Statham, and explained to him that she
+wished to make over to young Bloggs the whole of her property by deed
+of gift, during her lifetime—on condition that on his twenty-first
+birthday he legally took up the name of Yule.
+
+“Mr. Statham subsequently made public, as you know, the whole of this
+interview which he had with Mrs. Yule.
+
+“‘I tried to dissuade her, of course,’ he said, ‘for I thought it so
+terribly unfair on William Yule and his children. Moreover, I had
+always hoped that when Mrs. Yule grew older and more feeble she would
+surely relent towards her only son. But she was terribly obstinate.’
+
+“‘It is because I may become weak in my dotage,’ she said, ‘that I
+want to make the whole thing absolutely final—I don’t want to relent.
+I wish that William should suffer, where I think he will suffer most,
+for he was always over fond of money. If I make a will in favour of
+Bloggs, who knows I might repent it, and alter it at the eleventh
+hour? One is apt to become maudlin when one is dying, and has people
+weeping all round one. No!—I want the whole thing to be absolutely
+irrevocable; and I shall present the deed of gift to young Bloggs on
+his twenty-first birthday. I can always make it a condition that he
+keeps me in moderate comfort to the end of my days. He is too big a
+fool to be really ungrateful, and after all I don’t think I should
+very much mind ending my life in the workhouse.’
+
+“‘What could I do?’ added Mr. Statham. ‘If I had refused to draw up
+that iniquitous deed of gift, she only would have employed some other
+lawyer to do it for her. As it is, I secured an annuity of £500 a year
+for the old lady, in consideration of a gift worth some £30,000 made
+over absolutely to Mr. William Bloggs.’
+
+“The deed was drawn up,” continued the man in the corner, “there is no
+doubt of that. Mr. Statham saw to it. The old lady even insisted on
+having two more legal opinions upon it, lest there should be the
+slightest flaw that might render the deed invalid. Moreover, she
+caused herself to be examined by two specialists in order that they
+might testify that she was absolutely sound in mind, and in full
+possession of all her faculties.
+
+“When the deed was all that the law could wish, Mr. Statham handed it
+over to Mrs. Yule, who wished to keep it by her until 3rd April—young
+Bloggs’ twenty-first birthday—on which day she meant to surprise him
+with it.
+
+“Mr. Statham handed over the deed to Mrs. Yule on 14th February, and
+on 28th March—that is to say, six days before Bloggs’ majority—the old
+lady was found dead at the foot of the stairs in Dartmoor Terrace,
+whilst her desk was found to have been broken open, and the deed of
+gift had disappeared.”
+
+
+
+Chapter II
+
+“From the very first the public took a very great interest in the sad
+death of Mrs. Yule. The old lady’s eccentricities were pretty well
+known throughout all her neighbourhood, at any rate. Then, she had a
+large circle of friends, who all took sides, either for the disowned
+son or for the old lady’s rigid and staunch principles of filial
+obedience.
+
+“Directly, therefore, that the papers mentioned the sudden death of
+Mrs. Yule, tongues began to wag, and, whilst some asserted ‘Accident,’
+others had already begun to whisper ‘Murder.’
+
+“For the moment nothing definite was known. Mr. Bloggs had sent for
+Mr. Statham, and the most persevering and most inquisitive persons of
+both sexes could glean no information from the cautious old lawyer.
+
+“The inquest was to be held on the following day, and perforce
+curiosity had to be bridled until then. But you may imagine how that
+coroner’s court at Kensington was packed on that day. I, of course,
+was at my usual place—well to the front—for I was already keenly
+interested in the tragedy, and knew that a palpitating mystery lurked
+behind the old lady’s death.
+
+“Annie, the housemaid at Dartmoor Terrace, was the first, and I may
+say the only really important witness during that interesting inquest.
+The story she told amounted to this: Mrs. Yule, it appears, was very
+religious, and, in spite of her advancing years and decided weakness
+of the heart, was in the habit of going to early morning service every
+day of her life at six o’clock. She would get up before any one else
+in the house, and winter or summer, rain, snow, or fine, she would
+walk round to St. Matthias’ Church, coming home at about a quarter to
+seven, just when her servants were getting up.
+
+“On this sad morning (28th March) Annie explained that she got up as
+usual and went downstairs (the servants slept at the top of the house)
+at seven o’clock. She noticed nothing wrong, her mistress’s bedroom
+door was open as usual, Annie merely remarking to herself that the
+mistress was later than usual from church that morning. Then suddenly,
+in the hall at the foot of the stairs, she caught sight of Mrs. Yule
+lying head downwards, her head on the mat, motionless.
+
+“‘I ran downstairs as quickly as I could,’ continued Annie, ‘and I
+suppose I must ’ave screamed, for cook came out of ’er room upstairs,
+and Mr. Bloggs, too, shouted down to know what was the matter. At
+first we thought Mrs. Yule was unconscious-like. Me and Mr. Bloggs
+carried ’er to ’er room, and then Mr. Bloggs ran for the doctor.’
+
+“The rest of Annie’s story,” continued the man in the corner, “was
+drowned in a deluge of tears. As for the doctor, he could add but
+little to what the public had already known and guessed. Mrs. Yule
+undoubtedly suffered from a weak heart, although she had never been
+known to faint. In this instance, however, she undoubtedly must have
+turned giddy, as she was about to go downstairs, and fallen headlong.
+She was of course very much injured, the doctor explained, but she
+actually died of heart failure, brought on by the shock of the fall.
+She must have been on her way to church, for her prayer book was found
+on the floor close by her, also a candle—which she must have carried,
+as it was a dark morning—had rolled along and extinguished itself as
+it rolled. From these facts, therefore, it was gathered that the poor
+old lady came by this tragic death at about six o’clock, the hour at
+which she regularly started out for morning service. Both the servants
+and also Mr. Bloggs slept at the top of the house, and it is a known
+fact that sleep in most cases is always heaviest in the early morning
+hours; there was, therefore, nothing strange in the fact that no one
+heard either the fall or a scream, if Mrs. Yule uttered one, which is
+doubtful.
+
+“So far, you see,” continued the man in the corner, after a slight
+pause, “there did not appear to be anything very out of the way or
+mysterious about Mrs. Yule’s tragic death. But the public expected
+interesting developments, and I must say their expectations were more
+than fully realised.
+
+“Jane, the cook, was the first witness to give the public an inkling
+of the sensations to come.
+
+“She deposed that on Thursday, the 27th, she was alone in the kitchen
+in the evening after dinner, as it was the housemaid’s evening out,
+when, at about nine o’clock, there was a ring at the bell.
+
+“‘I went to answer the door,’ said Jane, ‘and there was a lady, all
+dressed in black, as far as I could see—as the ’all gas always did
+burn very badly—still, I think she was dressed dark, and she ’ad on a
+big ’at and a veil with spots. She says to me: “Mrs. Yule lives ’ere?”
+I says, “She do, ’m,” though I don’t think she was quite the lady, so
+I don’t know why I said ’m, but——’
+
+“‘Yes, yes!’ here interrupted the coroner somewhat impatiently, ‘it
+doesn’t matter what you said. Tell us what happened.’
+
+“‘Yes, sir,’ continued Jane, quite undisturbed, ‘as I was saying, I
+asked the lady her name, and she says: “Tell Mrs. Yule I would wish to
+speak with her,” then as she saw me ’esitating, for I didn’t like
+leaving her all alone in the ’all, she said, “Tell Mrs. Yule that Mrs.
+William Yule wishes to speak with ’er.”’
+
+“Jane paused to take breath, for she talked fast and volubly, and all
+eyes were turned to a corner of the room, where William Yule, dressed
+in the careless fashion affected by artists, sat watching and
+listening eagerly to everything that was going on. At the mention of
+his wife’s name he shrugged his shoulders, and I thought for the
+moment that he would jump up and say something; but he evidently
+thought better of it, and remained as before, silent and quietly
+watching.
+
+“‘You showed the lady upstairs?’ asked the coroner, after an instant’s
+most dramatic pause.
+
+“‘Yes, sir,’ replied Jane; ‘but I went to ask the mistress first. Mrs.
+Yule was sitting in the drawing-room, reading. She says to me, “Show
+the lady up at once; and, Jane,” she says, “ask Mr. Bloggs to kindly
+come to the drawing-room.” I showed the lady up, and I told Mr.
+Bloggs, who was smoking in the library, and ’e went to the
+drawing-room.
+
+“‘When Annie come in,’ continued Jane with increased volubility, ‘I
+told ’er ’oo ’ad come, and she and me was very astonished, because we
+’ad often seen Mr. William Yule come to see ’is mother, but we ’ad
+never seen ’is wife. “Did you see what she was like cook?” says Annie
+to me. “No,” I says, “the ’all gas was burnin’ that badly, and she ’ad
+a veil on.” Then Annie ups and says, “I must go up, cook,” she says,
+“for my things is all wet. I never did see such rain in all my life. I
+tell you my boots and petticoats is all soaked through.” Then up she
+runs, and I thought then that per’aps she meant to see if she couldn’t
+’ear anything that was goin’ on upstairs. Presently she come down——’
+
+“But at this point Jane’s flow of eloquence received an unexpected
+check. The coroner preferred to hear from Annie herself whatever the
+latter may have overheard, and Jane, very wrathful and indignant, had
+to stand aside, while Annie, who was then recalled, completed the
+story.
+
+“‘I don’t know what made me stop on the landing,’ she explained
+timidly, ‘and I’m sure I didn’t mean to listen. I was going upstairs
+to change my things, and put on my cap and apron, in case the mistress
+wanted anything.
+
+“‘Then, I don’t think I ever ’eard Mrs. Yule’s voice so loud and
+angry.’
+
+“‘You stopped to listen?’ asked the coroner.
+
+“‘I couldn’t help it, sir. Mrs. Yule was shouting at the top of ’er
+voice. “Out of my house,” she says; “I never wish to see you or your
+precious husband inside my doors again.”’
+
+“‘You are quite sure that you heard those very words?’ asked the
+coroner earnestly.
+
+“‘I’ll take my Bible oath on every one of them, sir,’ said Annie
+emphatically. ‘Then I could ’ear some one crying and moaning: “Oh!
+what have I done? Oh! what have I done?” I didn’t like to stand on the
+landing then, for fear some one should come out, so I ran upstairs,
+and put on my cap and apron, for I was all in a tremble, what with
+what I’d heard, and the storm outside, which was coming down terrible.
+
+“‘When I went down again, I ’ardly durst stand on the landing, but the
+door of the drawing-room was ajar, and I ’eard Mr. Bloggs say: “Surely
+you will not turn a human being, much less a woman, out on a night
+like this?” And the mistress said, still speaking very angrily: “Very
+well, you may sleep here; but remember, I don’t wish to see your face
+again. I go to church at six and come home again at seven; mind you
+are out of the house before then. There are plenty of trains after
+seven o’clock.”’
+
+“After that,” continued the man in the corner, “Mrs. Yule rang for the
+housemaid and gave orders that the spare-room should be got ready, and
+that the visitor should have some tea and toast brought to her in the
+morning as soon as Annie was up.
+
+“But Annie was rather late on that eventful morning of the 28th. She
+did not go downstairs till seven o’clock. When she did, she found her
+mistress lying dead at the foot of the stairs. It was not until after
+the doctor had been and gone that both the servants suddenly
+recollected the guest in the spare room. Annie knocked at her door,
+and, receiving no answer, she walked in; the bed had not been slept
+in, and the spare room was empty.
+
+“‘There, now!’ was the housemaid’s decisive comment, ‘me and cook did
+’ear some one cross the ’all, and the front door bang about an hour
+after every one else was in bed.’
+
+“Presumably, therefore, Mrs. William Yule had braved the elements and
+left the house at about midnight, leaving no trace behind her, save
+perhaps the broken lock of the desk that had held the deed of gift in
+favour of young Bloggs.”
+
+
+
+Chapter III
+
+“Some say there’s a Providence that watches over us,” said the man in
+the corner, when he had looked at me keenly, and had assured himself
+that I was really interested in his narrative, “others use the less
+poetic and more direct formula, that ‘the devil takes care of his
+own.’ The impression of the general public during this interesting
+coroner’s inquest was that the devil was taking special care of his
+own—(‘his own’ being in this instance represented by Mrs. William
+Yule, who, by the way, was not present).
+
+“What the Evil One had done for her was this: He caused the hall gas
+to burn so badly on that eventful Thursday night, 27th March, that
+Jane, the cook, had not been able to see Mrs. William Yule at all
+distinctly. He, moreover, decreed that when Annie went into the
+drawing-room later on to take her mistress’s orders, with regard to
+the spare room, Mrs. William was apparently dissolved in tears, for
+she only presented the back of her head to the inquisitive glances of
+the young housemaid.
+
+“After that the two servants went to bed, and heard some one cross the
+hall and leave the house about an hour or so later; but neither of
+them could swear positively that they would recognise the mysterious
+visitor if they set eyes on her again.
+
+“Throughout all these proceedings, however, you may be sure that Mr.
+William Yule did not remain a passive spectator. In fact I, who
+watched him, could see quite clearly that he had the greatest possible
+difficulty in controlling himself. Mind you, I knew by then exactly
+where the hitch lay, and I could, and will presently, tell you exactly
+all that occurred on Thursday evening, 27th March, at No. 9, Dartmoor
+Terrace, just as if I had spent that memorable night there myself; and
+I can assure you that it gave me great pleasure to watch the faces of
+the two men most interested in the verdict of this coroner’s jury.
+
+“Every one’s sympathy had by now entirely veered round to young
+Bloggs, who for years had been brought up to expect a fortune, and had
+then, at the last moment, been defrauded of it, through what looked
+already much like a crime. The deed of gift had, of course, not been
+what the lawyers call ‘completed.’ It had rested in Mrs. Yule’s desk,
+and had never been ‘delivered’ by the donor to the donee, or even to
+another person on his behalf.
+
+“Young Bloggs, therefore, saw himself suddenly destined to live his
+life as penniless as he had been when he was still the old gardener’s
+son.
+
+“No doubt the public felt that what lurked mostly in his mind was a
+desire for revenge, and I think everyone forgave him when he gave his
+evidence with a distinct tone of animosity against the woman who had
+apparently succeeded in robbing him of a fortune.
+
+“He had only met Mrs. William Yule once before, he explained, but he
+was ready to swear that it was she who called that night. As for the
+original motive of the quarrel between the two ladies, young Bloggs
+was inclined to think that it was mostly on the question of money.
+
+“‘Mrs. William,’ continued the young man, ‘made certain peremptory
+demands on Mrs. Yule, which the old lady bitterly resented.’
+
+“But here there was an awful and sudden interruption. William Yule,
+now quite beside himself with rage, had with one bound reached the
+witness-box, and struck young Bloggs a violent blow in the face.
+
+“‘Liar and cheat!’ he roared, ‘take that!’
+
+“And he prepared to deal the young man another even more vigorous
+blow, when he was overpowered and seized by the constables. Young
+Bloggs had become positively livid; his face looked grey and ashen,
+except there, where his powerful assailant’s fist had left a deep
+purple mark.
+
+“‘You have done your wife’s cause no good,’ remarked the coroner
+drily, as William Yule, sullen and defiant, was forcibly dragged back
+to his place. ‘I shall adjourn the inquest until Monday, and will
+expect Mrs. Yule to be present and to explain exactly what happened
+after her quarrel with the deceased, and why she left the house so
+suddenly and mysteriously that night.’
+
+“William Yule tried an explanation even then. His wife had never left
+the studio in Sheriff Road, West Hampstead, the whole of that Thursday
+evening. It was a fearfully stormy night, and she never went outside
+the door. But the Yules kept no servant at the cheap little rooms; a
+charwoman used to come in every morning only for an hour or two, to do
+the rough work; there was no one, therefore, except the husband
+himself to prove Mrs. William Yule’s _alibi_.
+
+“At the adjourned inquest, on the Monday, Mrs. William Yule duly
+appeared; she was a young, delicate-looking woman, with a patient and
+suffering face, that had not an atom of determination or vice in it.
+
+“Her evidence was very simple; she merely swore solemnly that she had
+spent the whole evening indoors, she had never been to 9, Dartmoor
+Terrace, in her life, and, as a matter of fact, would never have dared
+to call on her irreconcilable mother-in-law. Neither she nor her
+husband were specially in want of money either.
+
+“‘My husband had just sold a picture at the Water Colour Institute,’
+she explained, ‘we were not hard up; and certainly I should never have
+attempted to make the slightest demand on Mrs. Yule.’
+
+“There the matter had to rest with regard to the theft of the
+document, for that was no business of the coroner’s or of the jury.
+According to medical evidence the old lady’s death had been due to a
+very natural and possible accident—a sudden feeling of giddiness—and
+the verdict had to be in accordance with this.
+
+“There was no real proof against Mrs. William Yule—only one man’s
+word, that of young Bloggs; and it would no doubt always have been
+felt that his evidence might not be wholly unbiased. He was therefore
+well advised not to prosecute. The world was quite content to believe
+that the Yules had planned and executed the theft, but he never would
+have got a conviction against Mrs. William Yule just on his own
+evidence.”
+
+
+
+Chapter IV
+
+“Then William Yule and his wife were left in full possession of their
+fortune?” I asked eagerly.
+
+“Yes, they were,” he replied; “but they had to go and travel abroad
+for a while, feeling was so high against them. The deed of course, not
+having been ‘delivered,’ could not be upheld in a court of law; that
+was the opinion of several eminent counsel whom Mr. Statham, with a
+lofty sense of justice, consulted on behalf of young Bloggs.”
+
+“And young Bloggs was left penniless?”
+
+“No,” said the man in the corner, as, with a weird and satisfied
+smile, he pulled a piece of string out of his pocket; “the friends of
+the late Mrs. Yule subscribed the sum of £1,000 for him, for they all
+thought he had been so terribly badly treated, and Mr. Statham has
+taken him in his office as articled pupil. No! no! young Bloggs has
+not done so badly either——”
+
+“What seems strange to me,” I remarked “is that for all she knew, Mrs.
+William Yule might have committed only a silly and purposeless theft.
+If Mrs. Yule had not died suddenly and accidentally the next morning,
+she would, no doubt, have executed a fresh deed of gift, and all would
+have been _in statu quo_.”
+
+“Exactly,” he replied drily, whilst his fingers fidgeted nervously
+with his bit of string.
+
+“Of course,” I suggested, for I felt that the funny creature wanted
+to be drawn out; “she may have reckoned on the old lady’s weak
+heart, and the shock to her generally, but it was, after all, very
+problematical.”
+
+“Very,” he said, “and surely you are not still under the impression
+that Mrs. Yule’s death was purely the result of an accident?”
+
+“What else could it be?” I urged.
+
+“The result of a slight push from the top of the stairs,” he remarked
+placidly, whilst a complicated knot went to join a row of its fellows.
+
+“But Mrs. William Yule had left the house before midnight—or, at any
+rate, some one had. Do you think she had an accomplice?”
+
+“I think,” he said excitedly, “that the mysterious visitor who left
+the house that night had an instigator whose name was William Bloggs.”
+
+“I don’t understand,” I gasped in amazement.
+
+“Point No. 1,” he shrieked, while the row of knots followed each other
+in rapid succession, “young Bloggs swore a lie when he swore that it
+was Mrs. William Yule who called at Dartmoor Terrace that night.”
+
+“What makes you say that,” I retorted.
+
+“One very simple fact,” he replied, “so simple that it was, of course,
+overlooked. Do you remember that one of the things which Annie
+overheard was old Mrs. Yule’s irate words, ‘Very well, you may sleep
+here; but, remember, I do not wish to see your face again. You can
+leave my house before I return from church; you can get plenty of
+trains after seven o’clock.’ Now what do you make of that?” he added
+triumphantly.
+
+“Nothing in particular,” I rejoined; “it was an awfully wet night,
+and——”
+
+“And High Street, Kensington Station, within two minutes’ walk of
+Dartmoor Terrace, with plenty of trains to West Hampstead, and Sheriff
+Road within two minutes of this latter station,” he shrieked, getting
+more and more excited, “and the hour only about ten o’clock, when
+there _are_ plenty of trains from one part of London to another? Old
+Mrs. Yule, with her irascible temper and obstinate ways, would have
+said: ‘There’s the station, not two minutes’ walk, get out of my
+house, and don’t ever let me see your face again,’ wouldn’t she now?”
+
+“It certainly seems more likely.”
+
+“Of course it does. She only allowed the woman to stay because the
+woman had either a very long way to go to get a train, or perhaps had
+missed her last train—a connection on a branch line presumably—and
+could not possibly get home at all that night.”
+
+“Yes, that sounds logical,” I admitted.
+
+“Point No. 2,” he shrieked, “young Bloggs having told a lie, had some
+object in telling it. That was my starting point; from there I worked
+steadily until I had reconstructed the events of that Thursday
+night—nay, more, until I knew something more about young Bloggs’
+immediate future, in order that I might then imagine his past.
+
+“And this is what I found.
+
+“After the tragic death of Mrs. Yule, young Bloggs went abroad at the
+expense of some kind friends, and came home with a wife, whom he is
+supposed to have met and married in Switzerland. From that point
+everything became clear to me. Young Bloggs had told a lie when he
+swore that it was Mrs. William Yule; therefore it was somebody who
+either represented herself as such, or who believed herself to be Mrs.
+William Yule.
+
+“The first supposition,” continued the funny creature, “I soon
+dismissed as impossible; young Bloggs knew Mrs. William Yule by
+sight—and since he had lied, he had done so deliberately. Therefore to
+my mind the lady who called herself Mrs. William Yule did so because
+she believed that she had a right to that name; that she had married a
+man, who, for purposes of his own, had chosen to call himself by that
+name. From this point to that of guessing who that man was was simple
+enough.”
+
+“Do you mean young Bloggs himself?” I asked in amazement.
+
+“And whom else?” he replied. “Isn’t that sort of thing done every day?
+Bloggs was a hideous name, and Yule was eventually to be his own. With
+William Yule’s example before him, he must have known that it would be
+dangerous to broach the marriage question at all before the old lady,
+and probably only meant to wait for a favourable opportunity of doing
+so. But after a while the young wife would naturally become troubled
+and anxious, and like most women under the same circumstances, would
+become jealous and inquisitive as well.
+
+“She soon found out where he lived, and no doubt called there,
+thinking that old Mrs. Yule was her husband’s own fond mother.
+
+“You can picture the rest. Mrs. Yule, furious at having been deceived,
+herself destroys the deed of gift which she meant to present to her
+adopted son, and from that hour young Bloggs sees himself penniless.
+
+“The false Mrs. Yule left the house, and young Bloggs waited for his
+opportunity on the dark landing of a small London house. One push and
+the deed was done. With her weak heart, Mrs. Yule was sure to die of
+the shock, if not of the fall.
+
+“Before that, already the desk had been broken open and every
+appearance of a theft given to it. After the tragedy, then, young
+Bloggs retired quietly to his room. The whole thing looked so like an
+accident that, even had the servants heard the fall at once, there
+would still have been time enough for the young villain to sneak into
+his room, and then to reappear at his door as if he, too, had been
+just awakened by the noise.
+
+“The result turned out just as he had expected. The William Yules have
+been and still are suspected of the theft; and young Bloggs is a hero
+of romance with whom every one is in sympathy.”
+
+
+
+IV. Who Stole the Black Diamonds?
+
+Chapter I
+
+“Do you know who that is?” said the man in the corner, as he pushed a
+small packet of photos across the table.
+
+The picture on the top represented an entrancingly beautiful woman,
+with bare arms and neck, and a profusion of pearl and diamond
+ornaments about her head and throat.
+
+“Surely this is the Queen of——?”
+
+“Hush!” he broke in abruptly, with mock dismay; “you must mention no
+names.”
+
+“Why not?” I asked, laughing, for he looked so droll in his distress.
+
+“Look closely at the photo,” he replied, “and at the necklace and
+tiara that the lady is wearing.”
+
+“Yes,” I said. “Well?”
+
+“Do you mean to say you don’t recognise them?”
+
+I looked at the picture more closely, and then there suddenly came
+back to my mind that mysterious story of the Black Diamonds, which had
+not only bewildered the police of Europe, but also some of its
+diplomats.
+
+“Ah! I see you do recognise the jewels!” said the funny creature,
+after a while. “No wonder! for their design is unique, and photographs
+of that necklace and tiara were circulated practically throughout the
+world.
+
+“Of course I am not going to mention names, for you know very well who
+the royal heroes of this mysterious adventure were. For the purposes
+of my narrative, suppose I call them the King and Queen of ‘Bohemia.’
+
+“The value of the stones was said to be fabulous, and it was only
+natural when the King of ‘Bohemia’ found himself somewhat in want of
+money—a want which has made itself felt before now with even the most
+powerful European monarchs—that he should decide to sell the precious
+trinkets, worth a small kingdom in themselves. In order to be in
+closer touch with the most likely customers, their Majesties of
+‘Bohemia’ came over to England during the season of 1902—a season
+memorable alike for its deep sorrow and its great joy.
+
+“After the sad postponement of the Coronation festivities, they rented
+Eton Chase, a beautiful mansion just outside Chislehurst, for the
+summer months. There they entertained right royally, for the Queen was
+very gracious and the King a real sportsman—there also the rumour
+first got about that His Majesty had decided to sell the world-famous
+_parure_ of Black Diamonds.
+
+“Needless to say, they were not long in the market: quite a host of
+American millionaires had already coveted them for their wives, and
+brisk and sensational offers were made to His Majesty’s business man
+both by letter and telegram.
+
+“At last, however, Mr. Wilson, the multi-millionaire, was understood
+to have made an offer, for the necklace and tiara, of £500,000, which
+had been accepted.
+
+“But a very few days later, that is to say, on the Sunday and Monday,
+6th and 7th July, there appeared in the papers the short but deeply
+sensational announcement that a burglary had occurred at Eton Chase,
+Chislehurst, the mansion inhabited by Their Majesties the King and
+Queen of ‘Bohemia’; and that among the objects stolen was the famous
+_parure_ of Black Diamonds, for which a bid of half a million sterling
+had just been made and accepted.
+
+“The burglary had been one of the most daring and most mysterious ones
+ever brought under the notice of the police authorities. The mansion
+was full of guests at the time, among whom were many diplomatic
+notabilities, and also Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, the future owners of the
+gems; there were also a very large staff of servants. The burglary
+must have occurred between the hours of 10 and 11.30 p.m., though the
+precise moment could not be ascertained.
+
+“The house itself stands in the midst of a large garden, and has deep
+French windows opening out upon a terrace at the back. There are
+ornamental iron balconies to the windows of the upper floors, and it
+was to one of these, situated immediately above the dining-room, that
+a rope-ladder was found to be attached.
+
+“The burglar must have chosen a moment when the guests were dispersed
+in the smoking, billiard, and drawing-rooms; the servants were having
+their own meal, and the dining-room was deserted. He must have swung
+his rope-ladder, and entered Her Majesty’s own bedroom by the window
+which—as the night was very warm—had been left open. The jewels were
+locked up in a small iron box, which stood upon the dressing-table,
+and the burglar took the box bodily away with him, and then, no doubt,
+returned the way he came.
+
+“The wonderful point in this daring attempt was the fact that most of
+the windows on the ground floor were slightly open that night, that
+the rooms themselves were filled with guests, and that the dining-room
+was not empty for more than a few minutes at a time, as the servants
+were still busy clearing away after dinner.
+
+“At nine o’clock some of the younger guests had strolled out on to the
+terrace, and the last of these returned to the drawing-room at ten
+o’clock; at half-past eleven one of the servants caught sight of the
+rope-ladder in front of one of the dining-room windows, and the alarm
+was given.
+
+“All traces of the burglar, however, and of his princely booty had
+completely disappeared.”
+
+
+
+Chapter II
+
+“Not only did this daring burglary cause a great deal of excitement,”
+continued the man in the corner, “but it also roused a good deal of
+sympathy in the public mind for the King and Queen of ‘Bohemia’ who
+thus found their hope of raising half a million sterling suddenly
+dashed to the ground. The loss to them would, of course, be
+irreparable.
+
+“Matters, were, however, practically at a standstill, all enquiries
+from enterprising journalists only eliciting the vague information
+that the police ‘held a clue.’ We all know what that means. Then all
+at once a wonderful rumour got about.
+
+“Goodness only knows how these rumours originate—sometimes solely in
+the imagination of the man in the street. In this instance certainly,
+that worthy gentleman had a very sensational theory. It was namely
+rumoured all over London that the clue which the police held pointed
+to no less a person than Mr. Wilson himself.
+
+“What had happened was this: Minute enquiries on the part of the most
+able detectives of Scotland Yard had brought to light the fact that
+the burglary at Eton Chase must have occurred precisely between ten
+minutes and a quarter past eleven; at every other moment of the entire
+evening somebody or other had observed either the terrace or the
+dining-room windows.
+
+“I told you that until ten o’clock some of Their Majesties’ guests
+were walking up and down the terrace; between ten and half-past
+servants were clearing away in the dining-room, and here it was
+positively ascertained beyond any doubt that no burglar could have
+slung a rope-ladder and climbed up it immediately outside those
+windows, for one or other of the six servants engaged in clearing away
+the dinner must of necessity have caught sight of him.
+
+“At half-past ten John Lucas, the head gardener, was walking through
+the gardens with a dog at his heels, and did not get back to the lodge
+until just upon eleven. He certainly did not go as far as the terrace,
+and as that side of the house was in shadow he could not say
+positively whether the ladder was there or not, but he certainly did
+assert most emphatically that there was no burglar about the _grounds_
+then, for the dog was a good watch-dog and would have barked if any
+stranger was about. Lucas took the dog in with him and gave him a bit
+of supper, and only fastened him to his kennel outside at a
+quarter-past eleven.
+
+“Surmising, therefore, that at half-past ten, when John Lucas started
+on his round, the deed was not yet done, that quarter of an hour would
+give the burglar the only possible opportunity of entering the
+premises _from the outside_, without being barked at by the dog. Now,
+during most of that same quarter of an hour, His Majesty the King of
+‘Bohemia’ himself had retired into a small library with his private
+secretary, in order to glance through certain despatches which had
+arrived earlier in the evening.
+
+“The window of this library was immediately next to the one outside
+which the ladder was found, and both the secretary and His Majesty
+himself think that they would have seen something or heard a noise if
+the rope-ladder had been slung while they were in the room. They both,
+however, returned to the drawing-room at ten minutes past eleven.
+
+“And here,” continued the man in the corner, rubbing his long, bony
+fingers together, “arose the neatest little complication I have ever
+come across in a case of this kind. His Majesty had, it appears,
+privately made up his mind to accept Mr. Wilson’s bid, but the
+transaction had not yet been completed. Mr. Wilson and his wife came
+down to stay at Eton Chase on 29th June, and directly they arrived
+many of those present noticed that Mr. Wilson was obviously repenting
+of his bargain. This impression had deepened day by day, Mrs. Wilson
+herself often throwing out covert hints about ‘fictitious value’ and
+‘fancy prices for merely notorious trinkets.’ In fact, it became
+obvious that the Wilsons were really seeking a loophole for evading
+the conclusion of the bargain.
+
+“On the memorable evening of the 5th July, Mrs. Wilson had been forced
+to retire to her room early in the evening, owing, she said, to a bad
+headache; her room was in the west wing of the Chase, and opened out
+on the same corridor as the apartments of Her Majesty the Queen. At
+half-past eleven Mrs. Wilson rang for her maid—Mary Pritchard, who, on
+entering her mistress’s room, met Mr. Wilson just coming out of it,
+and the girl heard him say: ‘Oh, don’t worry! I’ll have the whole
+reset when we get back.’
+
+“The detectives, on the other hand, had obtained information that two
+or three days previously Mr. Wilson had sustained a very severe loss
+on the ’Change, and that he had subsequently remarked to two or three
+business friends that the Black Diamonds had become a luxury which he
+had no right to afford.
+
+“Be this as it may, certain it is that within a week of the notorious
+burglary the rumour was current in every club in London that James S.
+Wilson, the reputed American millionaire, having found himself unable
+to complete the purchase of the Black Diamonds, had found this other
+very much less legitimate means of gaining possession of the gems.
+
+“You must admit that the case looked black enough against him—all
+circumstantial, of course, for there was absolutely nothing to prove
+that he had the jewels in his possession; in fact no trace of them
+whatever had been found, but the public argued that Mr. Wilson would
+lie low with them for a while, and then have them reset when he
+returned to America.
+
+“Of course, ugly rumours of that description don’t become general
+about a man without his getting some inkling of them. Mr. Wilson very
+soon found his position in London absolutely intolerable: his friends
+ignored him at the club, ladies ceased to call upon his wife, and one
+fine day he was openly cut by Lord Barnsdale, an M.F.H., in the
+hunting field.
+
+“Then Mr. Wilson thought it high time to take action. He placed the
+whole matter in the hands of an able if not very scrupulous solicitor
+who promised within a given time to find him a defendant with plenty
+of means, against whom he could bring a sensational libel suit, with
+thundering damages.
+
+“The solicitor was as good as his word. He bribed some of the waiters
+at the Carlton, and so laid his snares that within six months, Lord
+and Lady Barnsdale had been overheard to say in public what everybody
+now thought in private, namely, that Mr. James S. Wilson, finding
+himself unable to purchase the celebrated Black Diamonds, had thought
+it more profitable to steal them.
+
+“Two days later Mr. James S. Wilson entered an action in the High
+Courts for slander against Lord and Lady Barnsdale, claiming damages
+to the tune of £50,000.”
+
+
+
+Chapter III
+
+“Still the mystery of the lost jewels was no nearer to its solution.
+Their Majesties the King and Queen of ‘Bohemia,’ had left England soon
+after the disastrous event which deprived them of what amounted to a
+small fortune.
+
+“It was expected that the sensational slander case would come on in
+the autumn, or rather more than sixteen months after the mysterious
+disappearance of the Black Diamonds.
+
+“This last season was not a very brilliant one, if you remember; the
+wet weather, I believe, had quite a good deal to do with the fact;
+nevertheless London, that great world centre, was, as usual, full of
+distinguished visitors, among whom Mrs. Vanderdellen, who arrived the
+second week in July, was perhaps the most interesting.
+
+“Her enormous wealth spread a positive halo round her, it being
+generally asserted that she was the richest woman in the world. Add to
+this that she was young, strikingly handsome, and a widow, and you
+will easily understand what a _furore_ her appearance during this
+London season caused in all high social circles.
+
+“Though she was still in slight mourning for her husband, she was
+asked everywhere, went everywhere, and was courted and admired by
+everybody, including some of the highest in the land; her dresses and
+jewellery were the talk of the ladies’ papers, her style and charm the
+gossip of all the clubs. And no doubt that, although the July evening
+Court promised to be very brilliant, every one thought that it would
+be doubly so, since Mrs. Vanderdellen had been honoured with an
+invitation, and would presumably be present.
+
+“I like to picture to myself that scene at Buckingham Palace,”
+continued the man in the corner, as his fingers toyed lovingly with a
+beautiful and brand-new bit of string. “Of course, I was not present
+actually, but I can see it all before me; the lights, the crowds, the
+pretty women, the glistening diamonds; then, in the midst of the
+chatter, a sudden silence fell as ‘Mrs. Vanderdellen’ was announced.
+
+“All women turned to look at the beautiful American as she entered,
+because her dress—on this her first appearance at the English
+Court—was sure to be a vision of style and beauty. But for once nobody
+noticed the dress from Felix, nobody even gave a glance at the
+exquisitely lovely face of the wearer. Every one’s eyes had fastened
+on one thing only, and every one’s lips framed but one exclamation,
+and that an ‘Oh!’ half of amazement and half of awe.
+
+“For round her neck and upon her head Mrs. Vanderdellen was wearing a
+gorgeously magnificent _parure_ composed of black diamonds.”
+
+
+
+Chapter IV
+
+“I don’t know how the case of Wilson _v._ Barnsdale was settled, for
+it never came into court. There were many people in London who owed
+the Wilsons an apology, and it is to be hoped that these were tendered
+in full.
+
+“As for Mrs. Vanderdellen, she seemed quite unaware why her appearance
+at Their Majesties’ Court had caused quite so much sensation. No one,
+of course, broached the subject of the diamonds to her, and she no
+doubt attributed those significant ‘Oh’s’ to her own dazzling beauty.
+
+“The next day, however, Detective Marsh, of Scotland Yard, had a very
+difficult task before him. He had to go and ask a beautiful, rich, and
+refined woman how she happened to be in possession of stolen
+jewellery.
+
+“Luckily for Marsh, however, he had to deal with a woman who was also
+charming, and who met his polite enquiry with an equally pleasant
+reply:
+
+“‘My husband gave me the Black Diamonds,’ she said, ‘a year ago on his
+return from Europe. I had them set in Vienna last Spring, and wore
+them for the first time last night. Will you please tell me the reason
+of this strange enquiry?’
+
+“‘Your husband?’ echoed Marsh, ignoring her question, ‘Mr.
+Vanderdellen?’
+
+“‘Oh, yes,’ she replied sweetly, ‘I dare say you have never heard of
+him. His name is very well known in America, where they call him the
+“Petrol King.” One of his hobbies was the collection of gems, which he
+was very fond of seeing me wear, and he gave me some magnificent
+jewels. The Black Diamonds certainly are very handsome. May I now
+request you to tell me,’ she repeated, with a certain assumption of
+hauteur, ‘the reason of all these enquiries?’
+
+“‘The reason is simple enough, madam,’ replied the detective abruptly,
+‘those diamonds were the property of Her Majesty the Queen of
+“Bohemia,” and were stolen from Their Majesties’ residence, Eton
+Chase, Chislehurst, on the 5th of July last year.’
+
+“‘Stolen!’ she repeated, aghast and obviously incredulous.
+
+“‘Yes, stolen,’ said old Marsh. ‘I don’t wish to distress you
+unnecessarily, Madam, but you will see how imperative it is that you
+should place me in immediate communication with Mr. Vanderdellen, as
+an explanation from him has become necessary.’
+
+“‘Unfortunately, that is impossible,’ said Mrs. Vanderdellen, who
+seemed under the spell of a strong emotion.
+
+“‘Impossible?’
+
+“‘Mr. Vanderdellen has been dead just over a year. He died three days
+after his return to New York, and the Black Diamonds were the last
+present he ever made me.’
+
+“There was a pause after that. Marsh—experienced detective though he
+was—was literally at his wits’ ends what to do. He said afterwards
+that Mrs. Vanderdellen, though very young and frivolous outwardly,
+seemed at the same time an exceedingly shrewd, farseeing business
+woman. To begin with, she absolutely refused to have the matter hushed
+up, and to return the jewels until their rightful ownership had been
+properly proved.
+
+“‘It would be tantamount,’ she said, ‘to admitting that my husband had
+come by them unlawfully.’
+
+“At the same time she offered the princely reward of £10,000 to any
+one who found the true solution of the mystery; for, mind you, the
+late Mr. Vanderdellen sailed from Havre for New York on July the 8th,
+1902, that is to say, three clear days after the theft of the diamonds
+from Eton Chase, and he presented his wife with the loose gems
+immediately on his arrival in New York. Three days after that he died.
+
+“It was difficult to suppose that Mr. Vanderdellen purchased those
+diamonds not knowing that they must have been stolen, since, directly
+after the burglary the English police telegraphed to all their
+Continental colleagues, and within four-and-twenty hours a description
+of the stolen jewels was circulated throughout Europe.
+
+“It was, to say the least of it, very strange that an experienced
+business man and shrewd collector like Mr. Vanderdellen should have
+purchased such priceless gems without making some enquiries as to
+their history, more especially as they must have been offered to him
+in a more or less ‘hole-in-the-corner’ way.
+
+“Still, Mrs. Vanderdellen stuck to her guns, and refused to give up
+the jewels pending certain enquiries she wished to make. She declared
+that she wished to be sued for the diamonds in open court, charged
+with wilfully detaining stolen goods if necessary, for the more
+publicity was given to the whole affair the better she would like it,
+so firmly did she believe in her husband’s innocence.
+
+“The matter was indeed brought to the High Courts, and the sensational
+action brought against Mrs. Vanderdellen by the representative of His
+Majesty the King of ‘Bohemia’ for the recovery of the Black Diamonds
+is, no doubt, still fresh in your memory.
+
+“No one was allowed to know what witnesses Mrs. Vanderdellen would
+bring forward in her defence. She had engaged the services of Sir
+Arthur Inglewood, and of some of the most eminent counsel at the Bar.
+The court was packed with the most fashionable crowd ever seen inside
+the Law Courts; and both days that the action lasted Mrs. Vanderdellen
+appeared in exquisite gowns and ideal hats.
+
+“The evidence for the Royal plaintiff was simple enough. It all went
+to prove that the very day after the burglary not a jeweller,
+pawnbroker, or diamond merchant throughout the whole of Europe could
+have failed to know that a unique _parure_ of black diamonds had been
+stolen, and would probably be offered for sale. The Black Diamonds in
+themselves, and out of their setting, were absolutely unique, and if
+the late Mr. Vanderdellen purchased them in Paris from some private
+individual, he must at least have very strongly suspected that they
+were stolen.
+
+“Throughout the whole of that first day Mrs. Vanderdellen sat in
+court, absolutely calm and placid. She listened to the evidence, made
+little notes, and chatted with two or three American friends—elderly
+men—who were with her.
+
+“Then came the turn of the defence.
+
+“Everybody had expected something sensational, and listened more
+eagerly than ever as the name of Mr. Albert V. B. Sedley was called.
+He was a tall, elderly man, the regular angular type of the American,
+with his nasal twang and reposeful manner.
+
+“His story was brief and simple. He was a great friend of the late Mr.
+Vanderdellen, and had gone on a European tour with him in the early
+spring of 1902. They were together in Vienna in the month of March,
+staying at the Hotel Imperial, when one day Vanderdellen came to his
+room with a remarkable story.
+
+“‘He told me,’ continued Mr. Albert V. B. Sedley, ‘that he had just
+purchased some very beautiful diamonds, which he meant to present to
+his wife on his return to New York. He would not tell me where he
+bought them, nor would he show them to me, but he spoke about the
+beauty and rarity of the stones, which were that rarest of all things,
+beautiful black diamonds.
+
+“‘As the whole story sounded to me a little bit queer and mysterious,
+I gave him a word of caution, but he was quite confident as to the
+integrity of the vendor of the jewels, since the latter had made a
+somewhat curious bargain. Vanderdellen was to have the diamonds in his
+keeping for three months without paying any money, merely giving a
+formal receipt for them; then, if after three months he was quite
+satisfied with his bargain, and there had been no suspicion or rumour
+of any kind that the diamonds were stolen, then only was the money,
+£500,000, to be paid.
+
+“‘Vanderdellen thought this very fair and above-board, and so it
+sounded to me. The only thing I didn’t like about it all was that the
+vendor had given what I thought was a false name and no address; the
+money was to be paid over to him in French notes when the three months
+had expired, at an hotel in Paris, where Vanderdellen would be staying
+at the time, and where he would call for it.
+
+“‘I heard nothing more about the mysterious diamonds and their still
+more mysterious vendor,’ continued Mr. Sedley, amidst intense
+excitement, ‘for Vanderdellen and I soon parted company after that, he
+going one way and I another. But at the beginning of July I met him in
+Paris, and on the 4th I dined with him at the Elysee Palace Hotel,
+where he was staying.
+
+“‘Mr. Cornelius R. Shee was there too, and Vanderdellen related to him
+during dinner the history of his mysterious purchase of the Black
+Diamonds, adding that the vendor had called upon him that very day as
+arranged, and that he (Vanderdellen) had had no hesitation in handing
+him over the agreed price of £500,000, which he thought a very low
+one. Both Mr. Shee and I agreed that the whole thing must have been
+clear and above-board, for jewels of such fabulous value could not
+have been stolen since last spring without the hue and cry being in
+every paper in Europe.
+
+“‘It is my opinion, therefore,’ said Mr. Albert V. B. Sedley, at the
+conclusion of this remarkable evidence, ‘that Mr. Vanderdellen bought
+those diamonds in perfect good faith. He would never have wittingly
+subjected his wife to the indignity of being seen in public with
+stolen jewels round her neck. If after 5th July he did happen to hear
+that a _parure_ of black diamonds had been stolen in England at the
+date, he could not possibly think that there could be the slightest
+connection between these and those he had purchased more than three
+months ago.’
+
+“And, amidst indescribable excitement, Mr. Albert V. B. Sedley stepped
+back into his place.
+
+“That he had spoken the truth from beginning to end no one could doubt
+for a single moment. His own social position, wealth, and important
+commercial reputation placed him above any suspicion of committing
+perjury, even for the sake of a dead friend. Moreover, the story told
+by Vanderdellen at the dinner in Paris was corroborated by Mr.
+Cornelius R. Shee in every point.
+
+“But there! a dead man’s words are _not_ evidence in a court of law.
+Unfortunately, Mr. Vanderdellen had not shown the diamonds to his
+friends at the time. He had certainly drawn enormous sums of money
+from his bank about the end of June and beginning of July, amounting
+in all to just over a million sterling; and there was nothing to prove
+which special day he had paid away a sum of £500,000, whether _before_
+or _after_ the burglary at Eton Chase.
+
+“He had made extensive purchases in Paris of pictures, furniture, and
+other works of art, all of priceless value, for the decoration of his
+new palace in Fifth Avenue, and no diary of private expenditure was
+produced in court. Mrs. Vanderdellen herself had said that after her
+husband’s death, as all his affairs were in perfect order, she had
+destroyed his personal and private diaries.
+
+“Thus the counsel for the plaintiff was able to demolish the whole
+edifice of the defence bit by bit, for it rested on but very ephemeral
+foundations: a story related by a dead man.
+
+“Judgment was entered for the plaintiff, although every one’s
+sympathy, including that of judge and of jury, was entirely for the
+defendant, who had so nobly determined to vindicate her husband’s
+reputation.
+
+“But Mrs. Vanderdellen proved to the last that she was no ordinary and
+everyday woman. She had kept one final sensation up her sleeve. Two
+days after she had legally been made to give up the Black Diamonds,
+she offered to purchase them back for £500,000. Her bid was accepted,
+and during last autumn, on the occasion of the last Royal visit to
+London and the consequent grand society functions, no one was more
+admired, more _fêted_ and envied, than beautiful Mrs. Vanderdellen as
+she entered a drawing-room exquisitely gowned, and adorned with the
+_parure_ of which an Empress might have been proud.”
+
+The man in the corner had paused, and was idly tapping his fingers on
+the marble-topped table of the A.B.C. shop.
+
+“It was a curious story, wasn’t it?” said the funny creature, after a
+while. “More like a romance than a reality.”
+
+“It is absolutely bewildering,” I said.
+
+“What is your theory?” he asked.
+
+“What about?” I retorted.
+
+“Well, there are so many points, aren’t there, of which only one is
+quite clear, namely, that the _parure_ of Black Diamonds disappeared
+from Eton Chase, Chislehurst, on 5th July, 1902, and that the next
+time they were seen they were on the neck and head of Mrs.
+Vanderdellen, the widow of one of the richest men of modern times,
+whilst the story of how her husband came by them was, to all intents
+and purposes, _legally_ disbelieved.”
+
+“Then,” I argued, “the only logical conclusions to arrive at in all
+this is that the Black Diamonds, owned by His Majesty the King of
+‘Bohemia,’ were not unique, and that Mr. Vanderdellen bought some
+duplicate ones.”
+
+“If you knew anything about diamonds,” he said irritably, “you would
+also know that your statement is an absurdity. There are no such
+things as ‘duplicate’ diamonds.”
+
+“Then what _is_ the only logical conclusion to arrive at?” I retorted,
+for he had given up playing with the photos and was twisting and
+twining that bit of string as if his brain was contained inside it and
+he feared it might escape.
+
+“Well, to me,” he said, “the only logical conclusion of the affair is
+that the Black Diamonds which Mrs. Vanderdellen wore were the only and
+original ones belonging to the Crown of ‘Bohemia.’”
+
+“Then you think that a man in Mr. Vanderdellen’s position would have
+been fool enough to buy gems worth £500,000 at the very moment when
+there was a hue and cry for them all over Europe?”
+
+“No, I don’t,” he replied quietly.
+
+“But then——” I began.
+
+“No?” he repeated once again, as his long fingers completed knot
+number one in that eternal piece of string. “The Black Diamonds which
+Mrs. Vanderdellen wore were bought by her husband in all good faith
+from the mysterious vendor in Vienna, in March, 1902.”
+
+“Impossible!” I retorted. “Her Majesty the Queen of ‘Bohemia’ wore
+them regularly during the months of May and June, and they were stolen
+from Eton Chase on July the 5th.”
+
+“Her Majesty the Queen of ‘Bohemia’ wore a _parure_ of Black Diamonds
+during those months, and those certainly were stolen on July the 5th,”
+he said excitedly; “but what was there to prove that _those_ were the
+genuine stones?”
+
+“Why!——” I ejaculated.
+
+“Point No. 2,” he said, jumping about like a monkey on a stick;
+“although Mr. Wilson was acknowledged to be innocent of the theft of
+the diamonds, isn’t it strange that no one has ever been proved guilty
+of it?”
+
+“But I don’t understand——”
+
+“Yet it is simple as daylight. I maintain that His Majesty the King
+of ‘Bohemia’ being short, very short, of money, decided to sell
+the celebrated Black Diamonds; to avoid all risks the stones are
+taken out of their settings, and a trusted and secret emissary is
+then deputed to find a possible purchaser; his choice falls on the
+multi-millionaire Vanderdellen, who is travelling in Europe, is
+a noted collector of rare jewellery, and has a beautiful young
+wife—three attributes, you see, which make him a very likely
+purchaser.
+
+“The emissary then seeks him out, and offers him the diamonds for
+sale. Mr. Vanderdellen at first hesitates, wondering how such valuable
+gems had come in the vendor’s possession, but the bargain suggested by
+the latter—the three months during which the gems are to be held on
+trust by the purchaser—seems so fair and above-board, that Mr.
+Vanderdellen’s objections fall to the ground; he accepts the bargain,
+and three months later completes the purchase.”
+
+“But I don’t understand,” I repeated again, more bewildered than
+before. “You say the King of ‘Bohemia’ sold the loose gems originally
+to Mr. Vanderdellen; then, what about the _parure_ worn by the Queen
+and offered for sale to Mr. and Mrs. Wilson? What about the theft at
+Eton Chase?”
+
+“Point No. 3,” he shrieked excitedly, as another series of complicated
+knots went to join its fellows. “I told you that the King of ‘Bohemia’
+was _very_ short of money, every one knows _that_. He sells the Black
+Diamonds to Mr. Vanderdellen, but before he does it, he causes
+duplicates of them to be made, but this time in exquisite, beautiful,
+perfect Parisian imitation, and has these mounted into the original
+settings by some trusted man who, you may be sure, was well paid to
+hold his tongue. Then it is given out that the _parure_ is for sale; a
+purchaser is found, and a few days later the false diamonds are
+stolen.”
+
+“By whom?”
+
+“By the King of ‘Bohemia’s’ valued and trusted friend, who has helped
+in the little piece of villainy throughout; it is he who drops a
+rope-ladder through Her Majesty’s bedroom window on to the terrace
+below, and then hands the imitation _parure_ to his Royal master, who
+sees to its complete destruction and disappearance. Then there is a
+hue and cry for the _real_ stones, and after a year or so they are
+found on the person of a lady, who is legally forced to give them up.
+And thus His Majesty the King of ‘Bohemia’ got one solid million for
+the Black Diamonds, instead of half that sum, for if Mrs. Vanderdellen
+had not purchased the jewels, some one else would have done so.”
+
+And he was gone, leaving me to gaze at the pictures of three lovely
+women, and wondering if indeed it was the Royal lady herself who could
+best solve the mystery of who stole the Black Diamonds.
+
+
+
+V. The Murder of Miss Pebmarsh
+
+Chapter I
+
+“You must admit,” said the man in the corner to me one day, as I
+folded up and put aside my _Daily Telegraph_, which I had been reading
+with great care, “that it would be difficult to find a more
+interesting plot, or more thrilling situations, than occurred during
+the case of Miss Pamela Pebmarsh. As for downright cold-blooded
+villainy, commend me to some of the actors in that real drama.
+
+“The facts were simple enough; Miss Lucy Ann Pebmarsh was an old maid
+who lived with her young niece Pamela and an elderly servant in one of
+the small, newly-built houses not far from the railway station at
+Boreham Wood. The fact that she kept a servant at all, and that the
+little house always looked very spick and span, was taken by the
+neighbours to mean that Miss Pebmarsh was a lady of means; but she
+kept very much to herself, seldom went to church, and never attended
+any of the mothers’ meetings, parochial teas, and other social
+gatherings for which that popular neighbourhood has long been famous.
+
+“Very little, therefore, was known of the Pebmarsh household, save
+that the old lady had seen better days, that she had taken her niece
+to live with her recently, and that the latter had had a somewhat
+checkered career before she had found her present haven of refuge;
+some more venturesome gossips went so far as to hint—but only just
+above a whisper—that Miss Pamela Pebmarsh had been on the stage.
+
+“Certain it is that that young lady seemed to chafe very much under
+the restraint imposed upon her by her aunt, who seldom allowed her out
+of her sight, and evidently kept her very short of money, for, in
+spite of Miss Pamela’s obvious love of fine clothes, she had latterly
+been constrained to wear the plainest of frocks and most unbecoming of
+hats.
+
+“All very commonplace and uninteresting, you see, until that memorable
+Wednesday in October, after which the little house in Boreham Wood
+became a nine days’ wonder throughout newspaper-reading England.
+
+“On that day Miss Pebmarsh’s servant, Jemima Gadd, went over to Luton
+to see a sick sister; she was not expected back until the next
+morning. On that same afternoon Miss Pamela—strangely enough—seems
+also to have elected to go up to town, leaving her aunt all alone in
+the house, and not returning home until the late train, which reaches
+Boreham Wood a few minutes before one.
+
+“It was about five minutes past one that the neighbours in the quiet
+little street were roused from their slumbers by most frantic and
+agonised shrieks. The next moment Miss Pamela was seen to rush out of
+her aunt’s house and then to hammer violently at the door of one of
+her neighbours, still uttering piercing shrieks. You may imagine what
+a commotion such a scene at midnight would cause in a place like
+Boreham Wood. Heads were thrust out of the windows; one or two
+neighbours in hastily-donned miscellaneous attire came running out;
+and very soon the news spread round like wild-fire that Miss Pamela on
+coming home had found her aunt lying dead in the sitting-room.
+
+“Mr. Miller, the local greengrocer, was the first to pluck up
+sufficient courage to effect an entrance into the house. Miss Pamela
+dared not follow him; she had become quite hysterical, and was
+shrieking at the top of her voice that her aunt had been murdered. The
+sight that greeted Mr. Miller and those who had been venturesome
+enough to follow him, was certainly calculated to unhinge any young
+girl’s mind.
+
+“In the small bow-window of the sitting-room stood a writing-table,
+with drawers open and papers scattered all over and around it; in a
+chair in front of it, half sitting and half lying across the table,
+face downwards, and with arms outstretched, was the dead body of Miss
+Pebmarsh. There was sufficient indications to show to the most casual
+observer that, undoubtedly, the unfortunate lady had been murdered.
+
+“One of the neighbours, who possessed a bicycle, had in the meantime
+had the good sense to ride over to the police station. Very soon two
+constables were on the spot; they quickly cleared the room of
+gossiping neighbours, and then endeavoured to obtain from Miss Pamela
+some lucid information as to the terrible event.
+
+“At first she seemed quite unable to answer coherently the many
+questions which were being put to her; however, with infinite patience
+and wonderful kindness, Sergeant Evans at last managed to obtain from
+her the following statement.
+
+“‘I had had an invitation to go to the theatre this evening; it was an
+old invitation, and my aunt had said long ago that I might accept it.
+When Jemima Gadd wanted to go to Luton, I didn’t see why I should give
+up the theatre and offend my friend, just because of her. My aunt and
+I had some words about it, but I went. . . . I came back by the last
+train, and walked straight home from the station. I had taken the
+latch-key with me, and went straight into the sitting-room; the lamp
+was alight, and—and——’
+
+“The rest was chaos in the poor girl’s mind; she was only conscious of
+having seen something awful and terrible, and of having rushed out
+screaming for help. Sergeant Evans asked her no further questions
+then; a kind neighbour had offered to take charge of Pamela for the
+night, and took her away with her, the constable remaining in charge
+of the body and the house until the arrival of higher authorities.”
+
+
+
+Chapter II
+
+“Although, as you may well suppose,” continued the man in the corner,
+after a pause, “the excitement was intense at Boreham Wood, it had not
+as yet reached the general newspaper-reading public. As the tragic
+event had occurred at one o’clock in the morning, the papers the
+following day only contained a brief announcement that an old lady had
+been found murdered at Boreham Wood under somewhat mysterious
+circumstances. Later on, the evening editions added that the police
+were extremely reticent, but that it was generally understood that
+they held an important clue.
+
+“The following day had been fixed for the inquest, and I went down
+myself in the morning, for somehow I felt that this case was going to
+be an interesting one. A murder which at first seems absolutely
+purposeless always, in my experience, reveals, sooner or later, an
+interesting trait in human nature.
+
+“As soon as I arrived at Boreham Wood, I found that the murder of Miss
+Pebmarsh and the forthcoming inquest seemed to be the sole subjects of
+gossip and conversation. After I had been in the place half an hour
+the news began to spread like wild-fire that the murderer had been
+arrested; five minutes later the name of the murderer was on
+everybody’s lips.
+
+“It was that of the murdered woman’s niece, Miss Pamela Pebmarsh.
+
+“‘Oh, oh!’ I said to myself, ‘my instincts have not deceived me: this
+case is indeed going to be interesting.’
+
+“It was about two o’clock in the afternoon when I at last managed to
+find my way to the little police station, where the inquest was to be
+held. There was scarcely standing room, I can tell you, and I had some
+difficulty in getting a front place from which I could see the
+principal actors in this village drama.
+
+“Pamela Pebmarsh was there in the custody of two constables—she, a
+young girl scarcely five-and-twenty, stood there accused of having
+murdered, in a peculiarly brutal way, an old lady of seventy, her
+relative who had befriended her and given her a home.”
+
+The man in the corner paused for a moment, and from the capacious
+pocket of his magnificent ulster he drew two or three small photos,
+which he placed before me.
+
+“This is Miss Pamela Pebmarsh,” he said, pointing to one of these;
+“tall and good-looking, in spite of the shabby bit of mourning with
+which she had contrived to deck herself. Of course, this photo does
+not give you an idea of what she looked like that day at the inquest.
+Her face then was almost ashen in colour; her large eyes were staring
+before her with a look of horror and of fear; and her hands were
+twitching incessantly, with spasmodic and painful nervousness.
+
+“It was pretty clear that public feeling went dead against her from
+the very first. A murmur of disapproval greeted her appearance, to
+which she seemed to reply with a look of defiance. I could hear many
+uncharitable remarks spoken all round me; Boreham Wood found it
+evidently hard to forgive Miss Pamela her good looks and her unavowed
+past.
+
+“The medical evidence was brief and simple. Miss Pebmarsh had been
+stabbed in the back with some sharp instrument, the blade of which had
+pierced the left lung. She had evidently been sitting in the chair in
+front of her writing-table when the murderer had caught her unawares.
+Death had ensued within the next few seconds.
+
+“The medical officer was very closely questioned upon this point by
+the coroner; it was evident that the latter had something very serious
+in his mind, to which the doctor’s replies would give confirmation.
+
+“‘In your opinion,’ he asked, ‘would it have been possible for Miss
+Pebmarsh to do anything after she was stabbed. Could she have moved,
+for instance?’
+
+“‘Slightly, perhaps,’ replied the doctor; ‘but she did not attempt to
+rise from her chair.’
+
+“‘No; but could she have tried to reach the hand-bell, for instance,
+which was on the table, or—the pen and ink—and written a word or two?’
+
+“‘Well, yes,’ said the doctor thoughtfully; ‘she might have done that,
+if pen and ink, or the hand-bell, were _very_ close to her hand. I
+doubt, though, if she could have written anything very clearly, but
+still it is impossible to say quite definitely—anyhow, it could only
+have been a matter of a few seconds.’
+
+“Delightfully vague, you see,” continued the man in the corner, “as
+these learned gentlemen’s evidence usually is.
+
+“Sergeant Evans then repeated the story which Pamela Pebmarsh had
+originally told him, and from which she had never departed in any
+detail. She had gone to the theatre, leaving her aunt all alone in the
+house; she had arrived home at one o’clock by the late Wednesday night
+train, and had gone straight into the sitting-room, where she had
+found her aunt dead before her writing-table.
+
+“That she travelled up to London in the afternoon was easily proved;
+the station-master and the porters had seen her go. Unfortunately for
+her _alibi_, however, those late ‘theatre’ trains on that line are
+always very crowded; the night had been dark and foggy, and no one at
+or near the station could swear positively to having seen her arrive
+home again by the train she named.
+
+“There was one thing more; although the importance of it had been
+firmly impressed upon Pamela Pebmarsh, she absolutely refused to name
+the friends with whom she had been to the theatre that night, and who,
+presumably, might have helped her to prove at what hour she left
+London for home.
+
+“Whilst all this was going on, I was watching Pamela’s face intently.
+That the girl was frightened—nay more, terrified—there could be no
+doubt; the twitching of her hands, her eyes dilated with terror, spoke
+of some awful secret which she dare not reveal, but which she felt was
+being gradually brought to light. Was that secret the secret of a
+crime—a crime so horrible, so gruesome, that surely so young a girl
+would be incapable of committing?
+
+“So far, however, what struck every one mostly during this inquest was
+the seeming purposelessness of this cruel murder. The old lady, as far
+as could be ascertained, had no money to leave, so why should Pamela
+Pebmarsh have deliberately murdered the aunt who provided her, at any
+rate, with the comforts of a home? But the police, assisted by one of
+the most able detectives on the staff, had not effected so sensational
+an arrest without due cause; they had a formidable array of witnesses
+to prove their case up to the hilt. One of these was Jemima Gadd, the
+late Miss Pebmarsh’s servant.
+
+“She came forward attired in deep black, and wearing a monumental
+crape bonnet crowned with a quantity of glistening black beads. With
+her face the colour of yellow wax, and her thin lips pinched tightly
+together, she stood as the very personification of puritanism and
+uncharitableness.
+
+“She did not look once towards Pamela, who gazed at her like some
+wretched bird caught in a net, which sees the meshes tightening round
+it more and more.
+
+“Replying to the coroner, Jemima Gadd explained that on the Wednesday
+morning she had had a letter from her sister at Luton, asking her to
+come over and see her some day.
+
+“‘As there was plenty of cold meat in the ’ouse,’ she said, ‘I asked
+the mistress if she could spare me until the next day, and she said
+yes, she could. Miss Pamela and she could manage quite well.’
+
+“‘She said nothing about her niece going out, too, on the same day?’
+asked the coroner.
+
+“‘No,’ replied Jemima acidly, ‘she did not. And later on, at
+breakfast, Miss Pebmarsh said to Miss Pamela before me: “Pamela,” she
+says, “Jemima is going to Luton, and won’t be back until to-morrow.
+You and I will be alone in the ’ouse until then.”’
+
+“‘And what did the accused say?’
+
+“‘She says, “All right, aunt.”’
+
+“‘Nothing more?’
+
+“‘No, nothing more.’
+
+“‘There was no question, then, of the accused going out also, and
+leaving Miss Pebmarsh all alone in the house?’
+
+“‘None at all,’ said Jemima emphatically. ‘If there ’ad been I’d ’ave
+’eard of it. I needn’t ’ave gone that day. Any day would ’ave done for
+me.’
+
+“She closed her thin lips with a snap, and darted a vicious look at
+Pamela. There was obviously some old animosity lurking beneath that
+gigantic crape monument on the top of Jemima’s wax-coloured head.
+
+“‘You know nothing, then, about any disagreement between the deceased
+and the accused on the subject of her going to the theatre that day?’
+asked the coroner, after a while.
+
+“‘No, not about _that_,’ said Jemima curtly, ‘but there was plenty of
+disagreements between those two, I can tell you.’
+
+“‘Ah! what about?’
+
+“‘Money, mostly. Miss Pamela was over-fond of fine clothes, but Miss
+Pebmarsh, who was giving ’er a ’ome and daily bread, ’adn’t much money
+to spare for fallalery. Miss Pebmarsh ’ad a small pension from a lady
+of the haristocracy, but it wasn’t much—a pound a week it was. Miss
+Pebmarsh might ’ave ’ad a lot more if she’d wanted to.’
+
+“‘Oh?’ queried the coroner, ‘how was that?’
+
+“‘Well, you see, that fine lady ’ad not always been as good as she
+ought to be. She’d been Miss Pamela’s friend when they were both on
+the stage together, and pretty goings on, I can tell you, those two
+were up to, and——’
+
+“‘That’ll do,’ interrupted the coroner sternly. ‘Confine yourself,
+please, to telling the jury about the pension Miss Pebmarsh had from a
+lady.’
+
+“‘I was speaking about that,’ said Jemima, with another snap of her
+thin lips. ‘Miss Pebmarsh knew a thing or two about this fine lady,
+and she had some letters which she often told me that fine lady would
+not care for her ’usband or her fine friends to read. Miss Pamela got
+to know about these letters, and she worried her poor aunt to death,
+for she wanted to get those letters and sell them to the fine lady for
+’undreds of pounds. I ’ave ’eard ’er ask for those letters times and
+again, but Miss Pebmarsh wouldn’t give them to ’er, and they were
+locked up in the writing-table drawer, and Miss Pamela wanted those
+letters, for she wanted to get ’undreds of pounds from the fine lady,
+and my poor mistress was murdered for those letters—and she was
+murdered by that wicked girl ’oo eat her bread and ’oo would ’ave
+starved but for ’er. And so I tell you, and I don’t care ’oo ’ears me
+say it.’
+
+“No one had attempted to interrupt Jemima Gadd as she delivered
+herself of this extraordinary tale, which so suddenly threw an
+unexpected and lurid light upon the mystery of poor Miss Pebmarsh’s
+death.
+
+“That the tale was a true one, no one doubted for a single instant.
+One look at the face of the accused was sufficient to prove it beyond
+question. Pamela Pebmarsh had become absolutely livid; she tottered
+almost as if she would fall, and the constable had to support her
+until a chair was brought forward for her.
+
+“As for Jemima Gadd, she remained absolutely impassive. Having given
+her evidence, she stepped aside automatically like a yellow waxen
+image, which had been wound up and had now run down. There was silence
+for a while. Pamela Pebmarsh, more dead than alive, was sipping a
+glass of brandy and water, which alone prevented her from falling in a
+dead faint.
+
+“Detective Inspector Robinson now stepped forward. All the spectators
+there could read on his face the consciousness that his evidence would
+be of the most supreme import.
+
+“‘I was telegraphed for from the Yard,’ he said, in reply to the
+coroner, ‘and came down here by the first train on the Thursday
+morning. Beyond the short medical examination the body had not been
+touched; as the constables know, we don’t like things interfered with
+in cases of this kind. When I went up to look at deceased, the first
+thing I saw was a piece of paper just under her right hand. Sergeant
+Evans had seen it before, and pointed it out to me. Deceased had a pen
+in her hand, and the ink-bottle was close by. This is the paper I
+found, sir.’
+
+“And amidst a deadly silence, during which nothing could be heard but
+the scarcely-perceptible rustle of the paper, the inspector handed a
+small note across to the coroner. The latter glanced at it for a
+moment, and his face became very grave and solemn as he turned towards
+the jury.
+
+“‘Gentlemen of the jury,’ he said, ‘these are the contents of the
+paper which the inspector found under the hand of the deceased.’
+
+“He paused once more before he began to read, whilst we all in that
+crowded court held our breath to listen:
+
+“‘_I am dying. My murderess is my niece, Pam_——’
+
+“‘That is all, gentlemen,’ added the coroner, as he folded up the
+note. ‘Death overtook the unfortunate woman in the very act of writing
+down the name of her murderess.’
+
+“Then there was a wild and agonised shriek of horror. Pamela Pebmarsh,
+with hair dishevelled and eyes in which the light of madness had begun
+to gleam, threw up her hands, and without a groan, fell down senseless
+upon the floor.”
+
+
+
+Chapter III
+
+“Yes,” said the man in the corner with a chuckle, “there was enough
+evidence there to hang twenty people, let alone that one fool of a
+girl who had run her neck so madly into a noose. I don’t suppose that
+any one left the court that day with the slightest doubt in their
+minds as to what the verdict would be; for the coroner had adjourned
+the inquest, much to the annoyance of the jury, who had fully made up
+their minds and had their verdict pat on the tips of their tongues:
+‘Wilful murder against Pamela Pebmarsh.’
+
+“But this was a case which to the last kept up its reputation for
+surprises. By the next morning rumour had got about that ‘the lady of
+the aristocracy’ referred to by Jemima Gadd, and who was supposed to
+have paid a regular pension to Miss Pebmarsh, was none other than Lady
+de Chavasse.
+
+“When the name was first mentioned every one—especially the fair
+sex—shrugged their shoulders, and said: ‘Of course what else _could_
+one expect?’
+
+“As a matter of fact, Lady de Chavasse, _née_ Birdie Fay, was one of
+the most fashionable women in society; she was at the head of a dozen
+benevolent institutions, was a generous patron of hospitals, and her
+house was one of the most exclusive houses in London. True, she had
+been on the stage in her younger days, and when Sir Percival de
+Chavasse married her, his own relations looked somewhat askance at the
+showy, handsome girl who had so daringly entered the ancient country
+family.
+
+“Sir Percival himself was an extraordinarily proud man—proud of his
+lineage, of his social status, of the honour of his name. His very
+pride had forced his relations, had forced society to accept his
+beautiful young wife, and to Lady de Chavasse’s credit be it said, not
+one breath of scandal as to her past life had ever become public
+gossip. No one could assert that they _knew_ anything derogatory to
+Birdie Fay before she became the proud baronet’s wife. As a matter of
+fact, all society asserted that Sir Percival would never have married
+her and introduced her to his own family circle if there had been any
+gossip about her.
+
+“Now suddenly the name of Lady de Chavasse was on everybody’s tongue.
+People at first spoke it under their breath, for every one felt great
+sympathy with her. She was so rich, and entertained so lavishly. She
+was very charming, too; most fascinating in her ways; deferential to
+her austere mother-in-law; not a little afraid of her proud husband;
+very careful lest by word or look she betrayed her early connection
+with the stage before him.
+
+“On the following day, however, we had further surprises in store for
+us. Pamela Pebmarsh, advised by a shrewd and clear-headed solicitor,
+had at last made up her mind to view her danger a little more coolly,
+and to speak rather more of the truth than she had done hitherto.
+
+“Still looking very haggard, but perhaps a little less scared, she now
+made a statement which, when it was fully substantiated, as she stated
+it could be, would go far towards clearing her of the terrible
+imputation against her. Her story was this: On the memorable day in
+question, she did go up to town, intending to go to the theatre. At
+the station she purchased an evening paper, which she began to read.
+This paper in its fashionable columns contained an announcement which
+arrested her attention; this was that Sir Percival and Lady de
+Chavasse had returned to their flat in town at 51, Marsden Mansions,
+Belgravia, from ‘The Chase,’ Melton Mowbray.
+
+“‘De Chavasse,’ continued Pamela, ‘was the name of the lady who paid
+my aunt the small pension on which she lived. I knew her years ago,
+when she was on the stage, and I suddenly thought I would like to go
+and see her, just to have a chat over old times. Instead of going to
+the theatre I went and had some dinner at Slater’s, in Piccadilly, and
+then I thought I would take my chance, and go and see if Lady de
+Chavasse was at home. I got to 51, Marsden Mansions, about eight
+o’clock, and was fortunate enough to see Lady de Chavasse at once. She
+kept me talking some considerable time; so much, in fact, that I
+missed the 11 from St. Pancras. I only left Marsden Mansions at a
+quarter to eleven, and had to wait at St. Pancras until twenty minutes
+past midnight.’
+
+“This was all reasonable and clear enough, and as her legal adviser
+had subpœnaed Lady de Chavasse as a witness, Pamela Pebmarsh seemed to
+have found an excellent way out of her terrible difficulties, the only
+question being whether Lady de Chavasse’s testimony alone would, in
+view of her being Pamela’s friend, be sufficient to weigh against the
+terrible overwhelming evidence of Miss Pebmarsh’s dying accusation.
+
+“But Lady de Chavasse settled this doubtful point in the way least
+expected by any one. Exquisitely dressed, golden-haired, and brilliant
+complexioned, she looked strangely out of place in this fusty little
+village court, amidst the local dames in their plain gowns and
+antiquated bonnets. She was, moreover, extremely self-possessed, and
+only cast a short, very haughty, look at the unfortunate girl whose
+life probably hung upon that fashionable woman’s word.
+
+“‘Yes,’ she said sweetly, in reply to the coroner, ‘she was the wife
+of Sir Percival de Chavasse, and resided at 51, Marsden Mansions,
+Belgravia.’
+
+“‘The accused, I understand, has been known to you for some time?’
+continued the coroner.
+
+“‘Pardon me,’ rejoined Lady de Chavasse, speaking in a beautiful
+modulated voice, ‘I did know this young—hem—person, years ago, when I
+was on the stage, but, of course, I had not seen her for years.’
+
+“‘She called on you on Wednesday last at about nine o’clock?’
+
+“‘Yes, she did, for the purpose of levying blackmail upon me.’
+
+“There was no mistaking the look of profound aversion and contempt
+which the fashionable lady now threw upon the poor girl before her.
+
+“‘She had some preposterous story about some letters which she alleged
+would be compromising to my reputation,’ continued Lady de Chavasse
+quietly. ‘These she had the kindness to offer me for sale for a
+hundred pounds. At first her impudence staggered me, as, of course, I
+had no knowledge of any such letters. She threatened to take them to
+my husband, however, and I then—rather foolishly, perhaps—suggested
+that she should bring them to me first. I forget how the conversation
+went on, but she left me with the understanding that she would get the
+letters from her aunt, Miss Pebmarsh, who, by the way, had been my
+governess when I was a child, and to whom I paid a small pension in
+consideration of her having been left absolutely without means.’
+
+“And Lady de Chavasse, conscious of her own disinterested benevolence,
+pressed a highly-scented bit of cambric to her delicate nose.
+
+“‘Then the accused did spend the evening with you on that Wednesday?’
+asked the coroner, while a great sigh of relief seemed to come from
+poor Pamela’s breast.
+
+“‘Pardon me,’ said Lady de Chavasse, ‘she spent a little time with me.
+She came about nine o’clock.’
+
+“‘Yes. And when did she leave?’
+
+“‘I really couldn’t tell you—about ten o’clock, I think.’
+
+“‘You are not sure?’ persisted the coroner. ‘Think, Lady de Chavasse,’
+he added earnestly, ‘try to think—the life of a fellow-creature may,
+perhaps, depend upon your memory.’
+
+“‘I am indeed sorry,’ she replied in the same musical voice. ‘I could
+not swear without being positive, could I? And I am not quite
+positive.’
+
+“‘But your servants?’
+
+“‘They were at the back of the flat—the girl let herself out.’
+
+“‘But your husband?’
+
+“‘Oh! when he saw me engaged with the girl, he went out to his club,
+and was not yet home when she left.’
+
+“‘Birdie! Birdie! won’t you try and remember?’ here came in an
+agonised cry from the unfortunate girl, who thus saw her last hope
+vanish before her eyes.
+
+“But Lady de Chavasse only lifted a little higher a pair of very
+prettily-arched eyebrows, and having finished her evidence she stepped
+on one side and presently left the court, leaving behind her a faint
+aroma of violet sachet powder, and taking away with her, perhaps, the
+last hope of an innocent fellow-creature.”
+
+
+
+Chapter IV
+
+“But Pamela Pebmarsh?” I asked after a while, for he had paused and
+was gazing attentively at the photograph of a very beautiful and
+exquisitely-gowned woman.
+
+“Ah, yes, Pamela Pebmarsh,” he said with a smile. “There was yet
+another act in that palpitating drama of her life—one act—the
+_dénouement_ as unexpected as it was thrilling. Salvation came where
+it was least expected—from Jemima Gadd, who seemed to have made up her
+mind that Pamela had killed her aunt, and yet who was the first to
+prove her innocence.
+
+“She had been shown the few words which the murdered woman was alleged
+to have written after she had been stabbed. Jemima, not a very good
+scholar, found it difficult to decipher the words herself.
+
+“‘Ah, well, poor dear,’ she said after a while, with a deep sigh, ‘’er
+’andwriting was always peculiar, seein’ as ’ow she wrote always with
+’er left ’and.’
+
+“‘_Her left hand!!!_’ gasped the coroner, while public and jury alike,
+hardly liking to credit their ears, hung upon the woman’s thin lips,
+amazed, aghast, puzzled.
+
+“‘Why, yes!’ said Jemima placidly. ‘Didn’t you know she ’ad a bad
+accident to ’er right ’and when she was a child, and never could ’old
+anything in it? ’Er fingers were like paralysed; the ink-pot was
+always on the left of ’er writing-table. Oh! she couldn’t write with
+’er right ’and at all.’
+
+“Then a strange revulsion of feeling came over every one there.
+
+“Stabbed in the back, with her lung pierced through and through, how
+could she have done, dying, what she never did in life?
+
+“Impossible!
+
+“The murderer, whoever it was, had placed pen and paper to her hand,
+and had written on it the cruel words which were intended to delude
+justice and to send an innocent fellow-creature—a young girl not
+five-and-twenty—to an unjust and ignominious death. But, fortunately
+for that innocent girl, the cowardly miscreant had ignored the fact
+that Miss Pebmarsh’s right hand had been paralysed for years.
+
+“The inquest was adjourned for a week,” continued the man in the
+corner, “which enabled Pamela’s solicitor to obtain further evidence
+of her innocence. Fortunately for her he was enabled to find two
+witnesses who had seen her in an omnibus going towards St. Pancras at
+about 11.15 p.m., and a passenger on the 12.25 train, who had
+travelled down with her as far as Hendon. Thus, when the inquest was
+resumed, Pamela Pebmarsh left the court without a stain upon her
+character.
+
+“But the murder of Miss Pebmarsh has remained a mystery to this day—as
+has also the secret history of the compromising letters. Did they
+exist or not? is a question the interested spectators at that
+memorable inquest have often asked themselves. Certain it is that
+failing Pamela Pebmarsh, who might have wanted them for purpose of
+blackmail, no one else could be interested in them except Lady de
+Chavasse.”
+
+“Lady de Chavasse!” I ejaculated in surprise. “Surely you are not
+going to pretend that that elegant lady went down to Boreham Wood in
+the middle of the night in order to murder Miss Pebmarsh, and then to
+lay the crime at another woman’s door?”
+
+“I only pretend what’s logic,” replied the man in the corner, with
+inimitable conceit; “and in Pamela Pebmarsh’s own statement, she was
+with Lady de Chavasse at 51, Marsden Mansions, until eleven o’clock,
+and there is no train from St. Pancras to Boreham Wood between eleven
+and twenty-five minutes past midnight. Pamela’s _alibi_ becomes that
+of Lady de Chavasse, and is quite conclusive. Besides, that elegant
+lady was not one to do that sort of work for herself.”
+
+“What do you mean?” I asked.
+
+“Do you mean to say you never thought of the real solution of this
+mystery?” he retorted sarcastically.
+
+“I confess——” I began a little irritably.
+
+“Confess that I have not yet taught you to think logically, and to
+look at the beginning of things.”
+
+“What do you call the beginning of this case, then?”
+
+“Why! the compromising letters, of course.”
+
+“But——” I argued.
+
+“Wait a minute!” he shrieked excitedly, whilst with frantic haste he
+began fidgeting, fidgeting again at that eternal bit of string. “These
+did exist, otherwise why did Lady de Chavasse parley with Pamela
+Pebmarsh? Why did she not order her out of the house then and there,
+if she had nothing to fear from her?”
+
+“I admit that,” I said.
+
+“Very well; then, as she was too fine, too delicate to commit the
+villainous murder of which she afterwards accused poor Miss Pamela,
+who was there sufficiently interested in those letters to try and gain
+possession of them for her?”
+
+“Who, indeed?” I queried, still puzzled, still not understanding.
+
+“Ay! who but her husband,” shrieked the funny creature, as with a
+sharp snap he broke his beloved string in two.
+
+“Her husband!” I gasped.
+
+“Why not? He had plenty of time, plenty of pluck. In a flat it is easy
+enough to overhear conversations that take place in the next room—he
+was in the house at the time, remember, for Lady de Chavasse said
+herself that he went out afterwards. No doubt he overheard
+everything—the compromising letters, and Pamela’s attempt at levying
+blackmail. What the effect of such a discovery must have been upon the
+proud man I leave you to imagine—his wife’s social position ruined, a
+stain upon his ancient name, his relations pointing the finger of
+scorn at his folly.
+
+“Can’t you picture him, hearing the two women’s talk in the next room,
+and then resolving at all costs to possess himself of those
+compromising letters? He had just time to catch the 10 train to
+Boreham Wood.
+
+“Mind you, I don’t suppose that he went down there with any evil
+intent. Most likely he only meant to buy those letters from Miss
+Pebmarsh. What happened, however, nobody can say but the murderer
+himself.
+
+“Who knows? But the deed done, imagine the horror of a refined
+aristocratic man, face to face with such a crime as that.
+
+“Was it this terror, or merely rage at the girl who had been the
+original cause of all this, that prompted him to commit the final
+villany of writing out a false accusation and placing it under the
+dead woman’s hand? Who can tell?
+
+“Then, the deed done, and the _mise-en-scène_ complete, he is able to
+catch the last train—11.23—back to town. A man travelling alone would
+pass practically unperceived.
+
+“Pamela’s innocence was proved, and the murder of Miss Pebmarsh has
+remained a mystery, but if you will reflect on my conclusions, you
+will admit that no one else—_no one else_—could have committed that
+murder, for no one else had a greater interest in the destruction of
+those letters.”
+
+
+
+VI. The Lisson Grove Mystery
+
+Chapter I
+
+The man in the corner ordered another glass of milk, and timidly asked
+for a second cheese-cake at the same time.
+
+“I am going down to Marylebone Police Court, to see those people
+brought up before the ‘Beak,’” he remarked.
+
+“What people?” I queried.
+
+“What people!” he exclaimed, in the greatest excitement. “You don’t
+mean to say that you have not studied the Lisson Grove Mystery?”
+
+I had to confess that my knowledge on that subject was of the most
+superficial character.
+
+“One of the most interesting cases that has cropped up in recent
+years,” he said, with an indescribable look of reproach.
+
+“Perhaps. I did not study it in the papers because I preferred to hear
+_you_ tell me all about it,” I said.
+
+“Oh, if that’s it,” he replied, as he settled himself down in his
+corner like a great bird after the rain, “then you showed more sense
+than lady journalists usually possess. I can, of course, give you a
+far clearer account than the newspapers have done; as for the
+police—well! I never saw such a muddle as they are making of this
+case.”
+
+“I daresay it is a peculiarly difficult one,” I retorted, for I am
+ever a champion of that hard-working department.
+
+“H’m!” he said, “so, so—it is a tragedy in a prologue and three acts.
+I am going down this afternoon to see the curtain fall for the third
+time on what, if I mistake not, will prove a good burlesque; but it
+all began dramatically enough. It was last Saturday, 21st November,
+that two boys, playing in the little spinney just outside Wembley Park
+Station, came across three large parcels done up in American cloth.
+
+“With the curiosity natural to their age, they at once proceeded to
+undo these parcels, and what they found so upset the little beggars
+that they ran howling through the spinney and the polo ground,
+straight as a dart to Wembley Park Station. Half frantic with
+excitement, they told their tale to one of the porters off duty, who
+walked back to the spinney with them. The three parcels, in point of
+fact, contained the remains of a dismembered human body. The porter
+sent one of the boys for the local police, and the remains were duly
+conveyed to the mortuary, where they were kept for identification.
+
+“Three days later—that is to say, on Tuesday, 24th November—Miss
+Amelia Dyke, residing at Lisson Grove Crescent, returned from
+Edinburgh, where she had spent three or four days with a friend. She
+drove up from St. Pancras in a cab, and carried her small box up
+herself to the door of the flat, at which she knocked loudly and
+repeatedly—so loudly and so persistently, in fact, that the
+inhabitants of the neighbouring flats came out on to their respective
+landings to see what the noise was about.
+
+“Miss Amelia Dyke was getting anxious. Her father, she said, must be
+seriously ill, or else why did he not come and open the door to her.
+Her anxiety, however, reached its culminating point when Mr. and Mrs.
+Pitt, who reside in the flat immediately beneath that occupied by the
+Dykes, came forward with the alarming statement that, as a matter of
+fact, they had themselves been wondering if anything were wrong with
+old Mr. Dyke, as they had not heard any sound overhead for the last
+few days.
+
+“Miss Amelia, now absolutely terrified, begged one of the neighbours
+to fetch either the police or a locksmith, or both. Mr. Pitt ran out
+at once, both police and locksmith were brought upon the scene, the
+door was forcibly opened, and amidst indescribable excitement
+Constable Turner, followed by Miss Dyke, who was faint and trembling
+with apprehension, effected an entrance into the flat.
+
+“Everything in it was tidy and neat to a degree, all the fires were
+laid, the beds made, the floors were clean and washed, the brasses
+polished, only a slight, very slight layer of dust lay over
+everything, dust that could not have accumulated for more than a few
+days. The flat consisted of four rooms and a bathroom; in not one of
+them was there the faintest trace of old Mr. Dyke.
+
+“In order to fully comprehend the consternation which all the
+neighbours felt at this discovery,” continued the man in the corner,
+“you must understand that old Mr. Dyke was a helpless cripple; he had
+been a mining engineer in his young days, and a terrible blasting
+accident deprived him, at the age of forty, of both legs. They had
+been amputated just above the knee, and the unfortunate man—then a
+widower with one little girl—had spent the remainder of his life on
+crutches. He had a small—a very small pension, which, as soon as his
+daughter Amelia was grown up, had enabled him to live in comparative
+comfort in the small flat in Lisson Grove Crescent.
+
+“His misfortune, however, had left him terribly sensitive; he never
+could bear the looks of compassion thrown upon him, whenever he
+ventured out on his crutches, and even the kindliest sympathy was
+positive torture to him. Gradually, therefore, as he got on in life,
+he took to staying more and more at home, and after a while gave up
+going out altogether. By the time he was sixty-five years old and Miss
+Amelia a fine young woman of seven-and-twenty, old Dyke had not been
+outside the door of his flat for at least five years.
+
+“And yet, when Constable Turner, aided by the locksmith, entered the
+flat on that memorable 24th November, there was not a trace anywhere
+of the old man.
+
+“Miss Amelia was in the last stages of despair, and at first she
+seemed far too upset and hysterical to give the police any coherent
+and definite information. At last, however, from amid the chaos of
+tears and of ejaculations, Constable Turner gathered the following
+facts:
+
+“Miss Amelia had some great friends in Edinburgh, whom she had long
+wished to visit, her father’s crippled condition making this extremely
+difficult. A fortnight ago however, in response to a very urgent
+invitation, she at last decided to accept it, but in order to leave
+her father altogether comfortable, she advertised in the local paper
+for a respectable woman who would come to the flat every day and see
+to all the work, cook his dinner, make the bed, and so on.
+
+“She had several applications in reply to this advertisement, and
+ultimately selected a very worthy-looking elderly person, who, for
+seven shillings a week, undertook to come daily from seven in the
+morning until about six in the afternoon, to see to all Mr. Dyke’s
+comforts.
+
+“Miss Amelia was very favourably impressed with this person’s
+respectable and motherly appearance, and she left for Edinburgh by the
+5.15 a.m. train on the morning of Thursday, 19th November, feeling
+confident that her father would be well looked after. She certainly
+had not heard from the old man while she was away, but she had not
+expected to hear unless, indeed, something had been wrong.
+
+“Miss Amelia was quite sure that something dreadful had happened to
+her father, as he could not possibly have walked downstairs and out of
+the house alone; certainly his crutches were nowhere to be found, but
+this only helped to deepen the mystery of the old man’s disappearance.
+
+“The constable, having got thus far with his notes, thought it best to
+refer the whole matter at this stage to higher authority. He got from
+Miss Amelia the name and address of the charwoman, and then went back
+to the station.
+
+“There, the very first news that greeted him was that the medical
+officer of the district had just sent round to the various police
+stations his report on the human remains found in Wembley Park the
+previous Saturday. They had proved to be the dismembered body of an
+old man between sixty and seventy years of age, the immediate cause of
+whose death had undoubtedly been a violent blow on the back of the
+head with a heavy instrument, which had shattered the cranium. Expert
+examination further revealed the fact that deceased had had in early
+life both legs removed by a surgical operation just above the knee.
+
+“That was the end of the prologue in the Lisson Grove tragedy,”
+continued the man in the corner, after a slight and dramatic pause,
+“as far as the public was concerned. When the curtain was subsequently
+raised upon the first act, the situation had been considerably
+changed.
+
+“The remains had been positively identified as those of old Mr. Dyke,
+and a charge of wilful murder had been brought against Alfred Wyatt,
+of no occupation, residing in Warlock Road, Lisson Grove, and against
+Amelia Dyke for complicity in the crime. They are the two people whom
+I am going to see this afternoon brought before the Beak at the
+Marylebone Police Court.”
+
+
+
+Chapter II
+
+“Two very important bits of evidence, I must tell you, had come to
+light, on the first day of the inquest, and had decided the police to
+make this double arrest.
+
+“In the first place, according to one or two of the neighbours, who
+happened to know something of the Dyke household, Miss Amelia had kept
+company for some time with a young man named Alfred Wyatt; he was an
+electrical engineer, resided in the neighbourhood, and was some years
+younger than Miss Dyke. As he was known not to be very steady, it was
+generally supposed that the old man did not altogether approve of his
+daughter’s engagement.
+
+“Mrs. Pitt, residing in the flat immediately below the one occupied by
+the Dykes, had stated, moreover, that on Wednesday the 18th, at about
+midday, she heard very loud and angry voices proceeding from above;
+Miss Amelia’s shrill tones being specially audible. Shortly afterwards
+she saw Wyatt go out of the house; but the quarrel continued for some
+little time without him, for the neighbours could still hear Miss
+Amelia’s high-pitched voice, speaking very excitedly and volubly.
+
+“‘An hour later,’ further explained Mrs. Pitt, ‘I met Miss Dyke on the
+stairs; she seemed very flushed and looked as if she had been crying.
+I suppose she saw that I noticed this, for she stopped and said to me:
+
+“‘“All this fuss, you know, Mrs. Pitt, because Alfred asked me to go
+for a drive with him this afternoon, but I am going all the same.”
+
+“‘Later in the afternoon—it must have been quite half-past four, for
+it was getting dark—young Wyatt drove up in a motor-car, and presently
+I heard Miss Dyke’s voice on the stairs saying very pleasantly and
+cheerfully: “All right, daddy, we shan’t be long.” Then Mr. Dyke must
+have said something, which I didn’t hear, for she added. “Oh, that’s
+all right; I am well wrapped up, and we have plenty of rugs.”’
+
+“Mrs. Pitt then went to her window and saw Wyatt and Amelia Dyke start
+off in a motor. She concluded that the old man had been mollified, for
+both Amelia and Wyatt waved their hands affectionately up towards the
+window. They returned from their drive about six o’clock; Wyatt saw
+Amelia to the door, and then went off again. The next day Miss Dyke
+went to Scotland.
+
+“As you see,” continued the man in the corner, “Alfred Wyatt had
+become a very important personality in this case; he was Amelia’s
+sweetheart, and it was strange—to say the least of it—that she had
+never as yet even mentioned his name. Therefore, when she was recalled
+in order to give further evidence, you may be sure that she was pretty
+sharply questioned on the subject of Alfred Wyatt.
+
+“In her evidence before the coroner, she adhered fairly closely to her
+original statement:
+
+“‘I did not mention Mr. Wyatt’s name,’ she explained, ‘because I did
+not think it was of any importance; if he knew anything about my dead
+father’s mysterious fate he would have come forward at once, of
+course, and helped me to find out who the cowardly murderer was who
+could attack a poor, crippled old man. Mr. Wyatt was devoted to my
+father, and it is perfectly ridiculous to say that daddy objected to
+my engagement; on the contrary, he gave us his full consent, and we
+were going to be married directly after the New Year, and continue to
+live with father in the flat.’
+
+“‘But,’ questioned the coroner, who had not by any means departed from
+his severity, ‘what about this quarrel which the last witness
+overheard on the subject of your going out driving with Mr. Wyatt?’
+
+“‘Oh, that was nothing,’ replied Miss Dyke very quietly. ‘Daddy only
+objected because he thought that it was rather too late to start at
+four o’clock, and that I should be cold. When he saw that we had
+plenty of rugs he was quite pleased for me to go.’
+
+“‘Isn’t it rather astonishing, then,’ asked the coroner, ‘seeing that
+Mr. Wyatt was on such good terms with your father, that he did not go
+to see him while you were away?’
+
+“‘Not at all,’ she replied unconcernedly; ‘Alfred went down to
+Edinburgh on the Thursday evening. He couldn’t travel with me in the
+morning, for he had some business to see to in town that day; but he
+joined me at my friends’ house on the Friday morning, having travelled
+all night.’
+
+“‘Ah!’ remarked the coroner drily, ‘then he had not seen your father
+since you left.’
+
+“‘Oh, yes,’ said Miss Amelia; ‘he called round to see dad during the
+day, and found him looking well and cheerful.’
+
+“Miss Amelia Dyke, as she gave this evidence, seemed absolutely
+unconscious of saying anything that might in any way incriminate her
+lover. She is a handsome, though somewhat coarse-looking woman, nearer
+thirty, I should say, than she would care to own. I was present at the
+inquest, mind you, for that case had too many mysteries about it from
+the first for it to have eluded my observation, and I watched her
+closely throughout. Her voice struck me as fine and rich, with—in this
+instance, also—a shade of coarseness in it; certainly, it was very far
+from being high-pitched, as Mrs. Pitt had described it.
+
+“When she had finished her evidence she went back to her seat, looking
+neither flustered nor uncomfortable, although many looks of contempt
+and even of suspicion were darted at her from every corner of the
+crowded court.
+
+“Nor did she lose her composure in the slightest degree when Mr.
+Parlett, clerk to Messrs. Snow and Patterson, solicitors, of Bedford
+Row, in his turn came forward and gave evidence; only while the little
+man spoke her full red lips curled and parted with a look of complete
+contempt.
+
+“Mr. Parlett’s story was indeed a remarkable one, inasmuch as it
+suddenly seemed to tear asunder the veil of mystery which so far had
+surrounded the murder of old Dyke by supplying it with a motive—a
+strong motive too: the eternal greed of gain.
+
+“In June last, namely, it appears that Messrs. Snow and Patterson
+received intimation from a firm of Melbourne solicitors that a man of
+the name of Dyke had died there recently, leaving a legacy of £4,000
+to his only brother James Arthur Dyke, a mining engineer, who in 1890
+was residing at Lisson Grove Crescent. The Melbourne solicitors in
+their communication asked for Messrs. Snow and Patterson’s kind
+assistance in helping them to find the legatee.
+
+“The search was easy enough, since James Arthur Dyke, mining engineer,
+had never ceased to reside at Lisson Grove Crescent. Armed, therefore,
+with full instructions from their Melbourne correspondent, Messrs.
+Snow and Patterson communicated with Dyke, and after a little
+preliminary correspondence, the sum of £4,000 in Bank of Australia
+notes and various securities were handed over by Mr. Parlett to the
+old cripple.
+
+“The money and securities were—so Mr. Parlett understood—subsequently
+deposited by Mr. Dyke at the Portland Road Branch of the London and
+South Western Bank; as the old man apparently died intestate, the
+whole of the £4,000 would naturally devolve upon his only daughter and
+natural legatee.
+
+“Mind you, all through the proceedings the public had instinctively
+felt that money was somewhere at the bottom of this gruesome and
+mysterious crime. There is not much object in murdering an old cripple
+except for purposes of gain, but now Mr. Parlett’s evidence had indeed
+furnished a damning motive for the appalling murder.
+
+“What more likely than that Alfred Wyatt, wanting to finger that
+£4,000, had done away with the old man? And if Amelia Dyke did not
+turn away from him in horror, after such a cowardly crime, then she
+must have known of it and had perhaps connived in it.
+
+“As for Nicholson, the charwoman, her evidence had certainly done more
+to puzzle everybody all round than any other detail in this strange
+and mysterious crime.
+
+“She deposed that on Friday, 13th November, in answer to an
+advertisement in the _Marylebone Star_, she had called on Miss Dyke at
+Lisson Grove, when it was arranged that she should do a week’s work at
+the flat, beginning Thursday, the 19th, from seven in the morning
+until six in the afternoon. She was to keep the place clean, get Mr.
+Dyke—who, she understood was an invalid—all his meals, and make
+herself generally useful to him.
+
+“Accordingly, Nicholson turned up on the Thursday morning. She let
+herself into the flat, as Miss Dyke had entrusted the latch-key to
+her, and went on with the work. Mr. Dyke was in bed, and she got him
+all his meals that day. She thought she was giving him satisfaction,
+and was very astonished when, at six o’clock, having cleared away his
+tea, he told her that he would not require her again. He gave her no
+explanation, asked her for the latch-key, and gave her her full week’s
+money—seven shillings in full. Nicholson then put on her bonnet, and
+went away.
+
+“Now,” continued the man in the corner, leaning excitedly forward, and
+marking each sentence he uttered with an exquisitely complicated knot
+in his bit of string, “an hour later, another neighbour, Mrs. Marsh,
+who lived on the same floor as the Dykes, on starting to go out, met
+Alfred Wyatt on the landing. He took off his hat to her, and then
+knocked at the door of the Dykes’ flat.
+
+“When she came home at eight o’clock, she again passed him on the
+stairs; he was then going out. She stopped to ask him how Mr. Dyke
+was, and Wyatt replied: ‘Oh, fairly well, but he misses his daughter,
+you know.’
+
+“Mrs. Marsh, now closely questioned, said that she thought Wyatt was
+carrying a large parcel under his arm, but she could not distinguish
+the shape of the parcel as the angle of the stairs, where she met him,
+was very dark. She stated, though, that he was running down the stairs
+very fast.
+
+“It was on all that evidence that the police felt justified in
+arresting Alfred Wyatt for the murder of James Arthur Dyke, and Amelia
+Dyke for connivance in the crime. And now this very morning, those two
+young people have been brought before the magistrate, and at this
+moment evidence—circumstantial, mind you, but positively damning—is
+being heaped upon them by the prosecution. The police did their work
+quickly. The very evening after the first day of the inquest, the
+warrant was out for their arrest.”
+
+He looked at a huge silver watch which he always carried in his
+waistcoat pocket.
+
+“I don’t want to miss the defence,” he said, “for I know that it will
+be sensational. But I did not want to hear the police and medical
+evidence all over again. You’ll excuse me, won’t you? I shall be back
+here for five o’clock tea. I know you will be glad to hear all about
+it.”
+
+
+
+Chapter III
+
+When I returned to the A.B.C shop for my tea at five minutes past
+five, there he sat in his accustomed corner, with a cup of tea before
+him, another placed opposite to him, presumably for me, and a long
+piece of string between his bony fingers.
+
+“What will you have with your tea?” he asked politely, the moment I
+was seated.
+
+“A roll and butter and the end of the story,” I replied.
+
+“Oh, the story has no end,” he said with a chuckle; “at least, not for
+the public. As for me, why, I never met a more simple ‘mystery.’
+Perhaps that is why the police were so completely at sea.”
+
+“Well, and what happened?” I queried, with some impatience.
+
+“Why, the usual thing,” he said, as he once more began to fidget
+nervously with his bit of string. “The prisoners had pleaded not
+guilty, and the evidence for the prosecution was gone into in full.
+Mr. Parlett repeated his story of the £4,000 legacy, and all the
+neighbours had some story or other to tell about Alfred Wyatt, who,
+according to them, was altogether a most undesirable young man.
+
+“I heard the fag end of Mrs. Marsh’s evidence. When I reached the
+court she was repeating the story she had already told to the police.
+
+“Some one else in the house had also heard Wyatt running
+helter-skelter downstairs at eight o’clock on the Thursday evening;
+this was a point, though a small one, in favour of the accused. A man
+cannot run downstairs when he is carrying the whole weight of a dead
+body, and the theory of the prosecution was that Wyatt had murdered
+old Dyke on that Thursday evening, got into his motor-car somewhere,
+scorched down to Wembley with the dismembered body of his victim,
+deposited it in the spinney where it was subsequently found, and
+finally had driven back to town, stabled his motor car, and reached
+King’s Cross in time for the 11.30 night express to Edinburgh. He
+would have time for all that, remember, for he would have three hours
+and a half to do it in.
+
+“Besides which the prosecution had unearthed one more witness, who was
+able to add another tiny link to the already damning chain of evidence
+built up against the accused.
+
+“Wilfred Poad, namely, manager of a large cycle and motor-car depôt in
+Euston Road, stated that on Thursday afternoon, 19th November, at
+about half-past six o’clock, Alfred Wyatt, with whom he had had some
+business dealings before, had hired a small car from him, with the
+understanding that he need not bring it back until after 11 p.m. This
+was agreed to, Poad keeping the place open until just before eleven,
+when Wyatt drove up in the car, paid for the hire of it, and then
+walked away from the shop in the direction of the Great Northern
+terminus.
+
+“That was pretty strong against the male prisoner, wasn’t it? For,
+mind you, Wyatt had given no satisfactory account whatever of his time
+between 8 p.m., when Mrs. Marsh had met him going out of Lisson Grove
+Crescent, and 11 p.m. when he brought back the car to the Euston Road
+shop. ‘He had been driving about aimlessly,’ so he said. Now, one
+doesn’t go out motoring for hours on a cold, drizzly night in November
+for no purpose whatever.
+
+“As for the female prisoner, the charge against her was merely one of
+complicity.
+
+“This closed the case for the prosecution,” continued the funny
+creature, with one of his inimitable chuckles, “leaving but one tiny
+point obscure, and that was, the murdered man’s strange conduct in
+dismissing the woman Nicholson.
+
+“Yes, the case was strong enough, and yet there stood both prisoners
+in the dock with that sublime air of indifference and contempt which
+only complete innocence or hardened guilt could give.
+
+“Then when the prosecution had had their say, Alfred Wyatt chose to
+enter the witness-box and make a statement in his own defence.
+Quietly, and as if he were making the most casual observation, he
+said:
+
+“‘I am not guilty of the murder of Mr. Dyke, and in proof of this I
+solemnly assert that on Thursday, 19th November, the day I am supposed
+to have committed the crime, the old man was still alive at half-past
+ten o’clock in the evening.’
+
+“He paused a moment, like a born actor, watching the effect he had
+produced. I tell you, it was astounding.
+
+“‘I have three separate and independent witnesses here,’ continued
+Wyatt, with the same deliberate calm, ‘who heard and saw Mr. Dyke as
+late as half-past ten that night. Now, I understand that the
+dismembered body of the old man was found close to Wembley Park. How
+could I, between half-past ten and eleven o’clock, have killed Dyke,
+cut him up, cleaned and put the flat all tidy, carried the body to the
+car, driven on to Wembley, hidden the corpse in the spinney, and be
+back in Euston Road, all in the space of half-an-hour? I am absolutely
+innocent of this crime, and fortunately, it is easy for me now to
+prove my innocence.’
+
+“Alfred Wyatt had made no idle boast. Mrs. Marsh had seen him running
+downstairs at 8 p.m. An hour after that, the Pitts in the flat beneath
+heard the old man moving about overhead.
+
+“‘Just as usual,’ observed Mrs. Pitt. ‘He always went to bed about
+nine, and we could always hear him most distinctly.’
+
+“John Pitt, the husband, corroborated this statement: the old man’s
+movements were quite unmistakable because of his crutches.
+
+“Henry Ogden, on the other hand, who lived in the house facing the
+block of flats, saw the light in Dyke’s window that evening, and the
+old man’s silhouette upon the blind from time to time. The light was
+put out at half-past ten. This statement again was corroborated by
+Mrs. Ogden, who also had noticed the silhouette and the light being
+extinguished at half-past ten.
+
+“But this was not all; both Mr. and Mrs. Ogden had seen old Dyke at
+his window, sitting in his accustomed armchair, between half-past
+eight and nine o’clock. He was gesticulating, and apparently talking
+to some one else in the room whom they could not see.
+
+“Alfred Wyatt, therefore was quite right when he said that he would
+have no difficulty in proving his innocence. The man whom he was
+supposed to have murdered was, according to the testimony, alive at
+six o’clock; according to Mr. and Mrs. Ogden he was alive and sitting
+in his window until nine; again, he was heard to move about until ten
+o’clock by both the Pitts, and at half-past ten only was the light put
+out in his flat. Obviously, therefore, as his dead body was found
+twelve miles away, Wyatt, who was out of the Crescent at eight, and in
+Euston Road at eleven, could not have done the deed.
+
+“He was discharged, of course; the magistrate adding a very severe
+remark on the subject of ‘carelessly collected evidence.’ As for Miss
+Amelia, she sailed out of the court like a queen after her coronation,
+for with Wyatt’s discharge the case against her naturally collapsed.
+As for me, I walked out too, with an elated feeling at the thought
+that the intelligence of the British race had not yet sunk so low as
+our friends on the Continent would have us believe.”
+
+
+
+Chapter IV
+
+“But then, who murdered the old man?” I asked, for I confess the
+matter was puzzling me in an irritating kind of way.
+
+“Ah! who indeed?” he rejoined sarcastically, while an artistic knot
+went to join its fellows along that never-ending bit of string.
+
+“I wish you’d tell me what’s in your mind,” I said, feeling peculiarly
+irritated with him just at that moment.
+
+“What’s in my mind?” he replied, with a shrug of his thin shoulders.
+“Oh, only a certain degree of admiration!”
+
+“Admiration at what?”
+
+“At a pair of exceedingly clever criminals.”
+
+“Then you do think that Wyatt murdered Dyke?”
+
+“I don’t think—I am sure.”
+
+“But when did they do it?”
+
+“Ah, that’s more to the point. Personally, I should say between them
+on Wednesday morning, 18th November.”
+
+“The day they went for that motor-car ride?” I gasped.
+
+“And carried away the old man’s remains beneath a multiplicity of
+rugs,” he added.
+
+“But he was _alive_ long after that!” I urged. “The woman Nicholson——”
+
+“The woman Nicholson saw and spoke to a man in bed, whom she
+_supposed_ was old Mr. Dyke. Among the many questions put to her by
+those clever detectives, no one thought, of course, of asking her to
+describe the old man. But even if she had done so Wyatt was far too
+great an artist in crime not to have contrived a make-up which,
+described by a witness who had never before seen Dyke, would easily
+pass as a description of the old man himself.”
+
+“Impossible!” I said, struck in spite of myself by the simplicity of
+his logic.
+
+“Impossible, you say?” he shrieked excitedly. “Why, I call that crime
+a masterpiece from beginning to end; a display of ingenuity which,
+fortunately, the criminal classes seldom possess, or where would
+society be? Here was a crime committed, where everything was most
+beautifully stage-managed, nothing left unforeseen. Shall I
+reconstruct it for you?”
+
+“Do!” I said, handing across the table to him a brand new, beautiful
+bit of string, on which his talon-like fingers fastened as upon a
+prey.
+
+“Very well,” he said, marking each point with a scientific knot. “Here
+it is, scene by scene: There was Alfred Wyatt and Amelia Dyke—a pair
+of blackguards, eager to obtain that £4,000 which only the old man’s
+death could secure for them. They decide upon killing him, and: Scene
+1—Miss Amelia makes _her_ arrangements. She advertises for a
+charwoman, and engages one, who is to be a very useful witness
+presently.
+
+“Scene 2.—The murder, brutal, horrible, on the person of an old
+cripple, whilst his own daughter stands by, and the dismembering of
+the body.
+
+“Scene 3.—The ride in the motor-car—after dark, remember, and with
+plenty of rugs, beneath which the gruesome burden is concealed. The
+scene is accompanied by the comedy of Miss Dyke speaking to her
+father, and waving her hand affectionately at him from below. I tell
+you, that woman must have had some nerve!
+
+“Then, Scene 4.—The arrival at Wembley, and the hiding of the remains.
+
+“Scene 5.—Amelia goes to Edinburgh by the 5.15 a.m. train, and thus
+secures her own _alibi_. After that, the comedy begins in earnest. The
+impersonation of the dead man by Wyatt during the whole of that
+memorable Thursday. Mind you, that was not very difficult; it only
+needed the brain to invent, and the nerve to carry it through. The
+charwoman had never seen old Dyke before; she only knew that he was an
+invalid. What more natural than that she should accept as her new
+master the man who lay in bed all day, and only spoke a few words to
+her? A very slight make-up of hair and beard would complete the
+illusion.
+
+“Then, at six o’clock, the woman gone, Wyatt steals out of the house,
+bespeaks the motor-car, leaves it in the street in a convenient spot,
+and is back in time to be seen by Mrs. Marsh at seven.
+
+“The rest is simplicity itself. The silhouette at the window was easy
+enough to arrange; the sound of a man walking on crutches is easily
+imitated with a couple of umbrellas—the actual crutches were, no
+doubt, burned directly after the murder. Lastly, the putting out of
+the light at half-past ten was the crowning stroke of genius.
+
+“One little thing might have upset the whole wonderful plan, but that
+one thing only; and that was if the body had been found _before_ the
+great comedy scene of Thursday had been fully played. But that spinney
+near Wembley was well chosen. People don’t go wandering under trees
+and in woods on cold November days, and the remains were not found
+until the Saturday.
+
+“Ah, it was cleverly stage-managed, and no mistake. I couldn’t have
+done it better myself. Won’t you have another cup of tea? No? Don’t
+look so upset. The world does not contain many such clever criminals
+as Alfred Wyatt and Amelia Dyke.”
+
+
+
+VII. The Tremarn Case
+
+Chapter I
+
+“Well, it certainly is most amazing!” I said that day, when I had
+finished reading about it all in the _Daily Telegraph_.
+
+“Yet the most natural thing in the world,” retorted the man in the
+corner, as soon as he had ordered his lunch. “Crime invariably begets
+crime. No sooner is a murder, theft, or fraud committed in a novel or
+striking way, than this method is aped—probably within the next few
+days—by some other less imaginative scoundrel.
+
+“Take this case, for instance,” he continued, as he slowly began
+sipping his glass of milk, “which seems to amaze you so much. It was
+less than a year ago, was it not? that in Paris a man was found dead
+in a cab, stabbed in a most peculiar way—right through the neck from
+ear to ear—with, presumably, a long, sharp instrument of the type of
+an Italian stiletto.
+
+“No one in England took much count of the crime, beyond a contemptuous
+shrug of the shoulders at the want of safety of the Paris streets, and
+the incapacity of the French detectives, who not only never discovered
+the murderer, who had managed to slip out of the cab unperceived, but
+who did not even succeed in establishing the identity of the victim.
+
+“But this case,” he added, pointing once more to my daily paper,
+“strikes nearer home. Less than a year has passed, and last week, in
+the very midst of our much vaunted London streets, a crime of a
+similar nature has been committed. I do not know if your paper gives
+full details, but this is what happened: Last Monday evening two
+gentlemen, both in evening dress and wearing opera hats, hailed a
+hansom in Shaftesbury Avenue. It was about a quarter past eleven, and
+the night, if you remember, was a typical November one—dark, drizzly,
+and foggy. The various theatres in the immediate neighbourhood were
+disgorging a continuous stream of people after the evening
+performance.
+
+“The cabman did not take special notice of his fares. They jumped in
+very quickly, and one of them, through the little trap above, gave him
+an address in Cromwell Road. He drove there as quickly as the fog
+would permit him, and pulled up at the number given. One of the
+gentlemen then handed him a very liberal fare—again through the little
+trap—and told him to drive his friend on to Westminster Chambers,
+Victoria Street.
+
+“Cabby noticed that the ‘swell,’ when he got out of the hansom,
+stopped for a moment to say a few words to his friend, who had
+remained inside; then he crossed over the road and walked quickly in
+the direction of the Natural History Museum.
+
+“When the cabman pulled up at Westminster Chambers, he waited for the
+second fare to get out; the latter seemingly making no movement that
+way, cabby looked down at him through the trap.
+
+“‘I thought ’e was asleep,’ he explained to the police later on. ‘’E
+was leaning back in ’is corner, and ’is ’ead was turned towards the
+window. I gets down and calls to ’im, but ’e don’t move. Then I gets
+on to the step and give ’im a shake. . . . There!—I’ll say no
+more. . . . We was near a lamp-post, the mare took a step forward, and
+the light fell full on the gent’s face. ’E was dead and no mistake. I
+saw the wound just underneath ’is ear, and “Murder!” I says to myself
+at once.’
+
+“Cabby lost no time in whistling for the nearest point policeman, then
+he called the night porter of the Westminster Chambers. The latter
+looked at the murdered man, and declared that he knew nothing of him;
+certainly he was not a tenant of the Chambers.
+
+“By the time a couple of policemen arrived upon the scene, quite a
+crowd had gathered around the cab, in spite of the lateness of the
+hour and the darkness of the night. The matter was such an important
+one that one of the constables thought it best at once to jump into
+the hansom beside the murdered man and to order the cabman to drive to
+the nearest police station.
+
+“There the cause of death was soon ascertained; the victim of this
+daring outrage had been stabbed through the neck from ear to ear with
+a long, sharp instrument, in shape like an antique stiletto, which, I
+may tell you, was subsequently found under the cushions of the hansom.
+The murderer must have watched his opportunity, when his victim’s head
+was turned away from him, and then dealt the blow, just below the left
+ear, with amazing swiftness and precision.
+
+“Of course the papers were full of it the next day; this was such a
+lovely opportunity for driving home a moral lesson, of how one crime
+engenders another, and how—but for that murder in Paris a year ago—we
+should not now have to deplore a crime committed in the very centre of
+fashionable London, the detection of which seems likely to completely
+baffle the police.
+
+“Plenty more in that strain, of course, from which the reading public
+quickly jumped to the conclusion that the police held absolutely no
+clue as to the identity of the daring and mysterious miscreant.
+
+“A most usual and natural thing had happened; cabby could only give a
+very vague description of his other ‘fare,’ of the ‘swell’ who had got
+out at Cromwell Road, and been lost to sight after having committed so
+dastardly and so daring a crime.
+
+“This was scarcely to be wondered at, for the night had been very
+foggy, and the murderer had been careful to pull his opera hat well
+over his face; thus hiding the whole of his forehead and eyes;
+moreover, he had always taken the additional precaution of only
+communicating with the cabman through the little trap-door.
+
+“All cabby had seen of him was a clean-shaven chin. As to the murdered
+man, it was not until about noon, when the early editions of the
+evening papers came out with a fuller account of the crime and a
+description of the victim, that his identity was at last established.
+
+“Then the news spread like wildfire, and the evening papers came out
+with some of the most sensational headlines it had ever been their
+good fortune to print. The man who had been so mysteriously murdered
+in the cab was none other than Mr. Philip Le Cheminant, the nephew and
+heir-presumptive of the Earl of Tremarn.”
+
+
+
+Chapter II
+
+“In order fully to realise the interest created by this extraordinary
+news, you must be acquainted with the various details of that
+remarkable case, popularly known as the ‘Tremarn Peerage Case,’”
+continued the man in the corner, as he placidly munched his
+cheese-cake. “I do not know if you followed it in its earlier stages,
+when its many details—which read like a romance—were first made
+public.”
+
+I looked so interested and so eager that he did not wait for my reply.
+
+“I must try and put it all clearly before you,” he said; “I was
+interested in it all from the beginning, and from the numerous wild
+stories afloat I have sifted only what was undeniably true. Some
+points of the case are still in dispute, and will, perhaps, now for
+ever remain a mystery. But I must take you back some five-and-twenty
+years. The Hon. Arthur Le Cheminant, second son of the late Earl of
+Tremarn, was then travelling round the world for health and pleasure.
+
+“In the course of his wanderings he touched at Martinique, one of the
+French West Indian islands, which was devastated by volcanic eruptions
+about two years ago. There he met and fell in love with a beautiful
+half-caste girl named Lucie Legrand, who had French blood in her
+veins, and was a Christian, but who, otherwise, was only partially
+civilised, and not at all educated.
+
+“How it all came about it is difficult to conjecture, but one thing is
+absolutely certain, and that is that the Hon. Arthur le Cheminant the
+son of one of our English Peers, married this half-caste girl at the
+parish church of St. Pierre, in Martinique, according to the forms
+prescribed by French laws, both parties being of the same religion.
+
+“I suppose now no one will ever know whether that marriage was
+absolutely and undisputably a legal one—but, in view of subsequent
+events, we must presume that it was. The Hon. Arthur, however, in any
+case, behaved like a young scoundrel. He only spent a very little time
+with his wife, quickly tired of her, and within two years of his
+marriage callously abandoned her and his child, then a boy about a
+year old.
+
+“He lodged a sum of £2,000 in the local bank in the name of Mme. Le
+Cheminant, the interest of which was to be paid to her regularly for
+the maintenance of herself and child, then he calmly sailed for
+England, with the intention never to return. This intention fate
+itself helped him to carry out, for he died very shortly afterwards,
+taking the secret of his incongruous marriage with him to his grave.
+
+“Mme. Le Cheminant, as she was called out there, seems to have
+accepted her own fate with perfect equanimity. She had never known
+anything about her husband’s social position in his own country, and
+he had left her what, in Martinique amongst the coloured population,
+was considered a very fair competence for herself and child.
+
+“The grandson of an English earl was taught to read and write by the
+worthy _curé_ of St. Pierre, and during the whole of her life, Lucie
+never once tried to find out who her husband was, and what had become
+of him.
+
+“But here the dramatic scene comes in this strange story,” continued
+the man in the corner, with growing excitement; “two years ago St.
+Pierre, if you remember, was completely destroyed by volcanic
+eruptions. Nearly the entire population perished, and every house and
+building was in ruins. Among those who fell a victim to the awful
+catastrophe was Mme. Le Cheminant, otherwise the Hon. Mrs. Arthur Le
+Cheminant, whilst amongst those who managed to escape and ultimately
+found refuge in the English colony of St. Vincent, was her son,
+Philip.
+
+“Well, you can easily guess what happened, can’t you? In that
+English-speaking colony the name of Le Cheminant was, of course, well
+known, and Philip had not been in St. Vincent many weeks, before he
+learned that his father was none other than a younger brother of the
+present Earl of Tremarn, and that he himself—seeing that the present
+peer was over fifty and still unmarried—was heir-presumptive to the
+title and estates.
+
+“You know the rest. Within two or three months of the memorable St.
+Pierre catastrophe Philip Le Cheminant had written to his uncle, Lord
+Tremarn, demanding his rights. Then he took passage on board a French
+liner, and crossed over to Havre _en route_ for Paris and London.
+
+“He and his mother—both brought up as French subjects—had, mind you,
+all the respect which French people have for their papers of
+identification; and when the house in which they had lived for twenty
+years was tumbling about the young man’s ears, when his mother had
+already perished in the flames, he made a final and successful effort
+to rescue the papers which proved him to be a French citizen, the son
+of Lucie Legrand by her lawful marriage with Arthur Le Cheminant at
+the church of the Immaculate Conception of St. Pierre.
+
+“What happened immediately afterwards it is difficult to conjecture.
+Certain it is, however, that over here the newspapers soon were full
+of vague allusions about the newly-found heir to the Earldom of
+Tremarn, and within a few weeks the whole of the story of the secret
+marriage at St. Pierre was in everybody’s mouth.
+
+“It created an immense sensation; the Hon. Arthur Le Cheminant had
+lived a few years in England after his return from abroad and no one,
+not even his brother, seemed to have had the slightest inkling of his
+marriage.
+
+“The late Lord Tremarn, you must remember, had three sons, the eldest
+of whom is the present peer, the second was the romantic Arthur, and
+the third, the Hon. Reginald, who also died some years ago, leaving
+four sons, the eldest of whom, Harold, was just twenty-three, and had
+always been styled heir-presumptive to the earldom.
+
+“Lord Tremarn had brought up these four nephews of his, who had lost
+both father and mother, just as if they had been his own children, and
+his affection for them, and notably for the eldest boy, was a very
+beautiful trait in his otherwise unattractive character.
+
+“The news of the existence and claim of this unknown nephew must have
+come upon Lord Tremarn as a thunderbolt. His attitude, however, was
+one of uncompromising incredulity. He refused to believe the story of
+the marriage, called the whole tale a tissue of falsehoods, and
+denounced the claimant as a barefaced and impudent impostor.
+
+“Two or three months more went by; the public were eagerly awaiting
+the arrival of this semi-exotic claimant to an English peerage, and
+sensations, surpassing those of the Tichborne case, were looked
+forward to with palpitating interest.
+
+“But in the romances of real life, it is always the unexpected that
+happens. The claimant did arrive in London about a year ago. He was
+alone, friendless, and moneyless, since the £2,000 lay buried
+somewhere beneath the ruins of the St. Pierre bank. However, he called
+upon a well-known London solicitor, who advanced him some money and
+took charge of all the papers relating to his claim.
+
+“Philip Le Cheminant then seems to have made up his mind to make a
+personal appeal to his uncle, trusting apparently in the old adage
+that ‘blood is thicker than water.’
+
+“As was only to be expected, Lord Tremarn flatly refused to see the
+claimant, whom he was still denouncing as an impostor. It was by
+stealth, and by bribing the servants at the Grosvenor Square mansion
+that the young man at last obtained an interview with his uncle.
+
+“Last New Year’s Day he gave James Tovey, Lord Tremarn’s butler, a
+five-pound note, to introduce him, surreptitiously, into his master’s
+study. There uncle and nephew at last met face to face.
+
+“What happened at that interview nobody knows; was the cry of blood
+and of justice so convincing that Lord Tremarn dare not resist it?
+Perhaps.
+
+“Anyway, from that moment the new heir-presumptive was installed
+within his rights. After a single interview with Philip Le Cheminant’s
+solicitor, Lord Tremarn openly acknowledged the claimant to be his
+brother Arthur’s only son, and therefore his own nephew and heir.
+
+“Nay, more, every one noticed that the proud, bad-tempered old man was
+as wax in the hands of this newly-found nephew. He seemed even to have
+withdrawn his affection from the four other young nephews, whom
+hitherto he had brought up as his own children, and bestowed it all
+upon his brother Arthur’s son—some people said in compensation for all
+the wrong that had been done to the boy in the past.
+
+“But the scandal around his dead brother’s name had wounded the old
+man’s pride very deeply, and from this he never recovered. He shut
+himself away from all his friends, living alone with his newly-found
+nephew in his gloomy house in Grosvenor Square. The other boys, the
+eldest of whom, Harold, was just twenty-three, decided very soon to
+leave a house where they were no longer welcome. They had a small
+private fortune of their own, from their father and mother; the
+youngest boy was still at college, two others had made a start in
+their respective professions.
+
+“Harold had been brought up as an idle young man about town, and on
+him the sudden change of fortune fell most heavily. He was undecided
+what to do in the future, but, in the meanwhile, partly from a spirit
+of independence, and partly from a desire to keep a home for his
+younger brothers, he took and furnished a small flat, which, it is
+interesting to note, is just off Exhibition Road, not far from the
+Natural History Museum in Kensington.
+
+“This was less than a year ago. Ten months later the newly-found heir
+to the peerage of Tremarn was found murdered in a hansom cab, and
+Harold Le Cheminant is once more the future Earl.”
+
+
+
+Chapter III
+
+“The papers, as you know, talked of nothing else but the mysterious
+murder in the hansom cab. Every one’s sympathy went out at once to
+Lord Tremarn, who, on hearing the terrible news, had completely broken
+down, and was now lying on a bed of sickness, from which they say he
+may never recover.
+
+“From the first there had been many rumours of the terrible enmity
+which existed between Harold Le Cheminant and the man who had so
+easily captured Lord Tremarn’s heart, as well as the foremost place in
+the Grosvenor Square household.
+
+“The servants in the great and gloomy mansion told the detectives in
+charge of the case many stories of terrible rows which occurred at
+first between the cousins. And now every one’s eyes were already
+turned with suspicion on the one man who could most benefit by the
+death of Philip Le Cheminant.
+
+“However careful and reticent the police may be, details in connection
+with so interesting a case have a wonderful way of leaking out.
+Already one other most important fact had found its way into the
+papers. It appears that in their endeavours to reconstruct the last
+day spent by the murdered man the detectives had come upon most
+important evidence.
+
+“It was Thomas Sawyer, hall porter of the Junior Grosvenor Club, who
+first told the following interesting story. He stated that deceased
+was a member of the club, and had dined there on the evening preceding
+his death.
+
+“‘Mr. Le Cheminant was just coming downstairs after his dinner,’
+explained Thomas Sawyer to the detectives, ‘when a stranger comes into
+the hall of the club; Mr. Le Cheminant saw him as soon as I did, and
+appeared very astonished. “What do you want?” he says rather sharply.
+“A word with you,” replies the stranger. Mr. Le Cheminant seemed to
+hesitate for a moment. He lights a cigar, whilst the stranger stands
+there glaring at him with a look in his eye I certainly didn’t like.
+
+“‘Mind you,’ added Thomas Sawyer, ‘the stranger was a gentleman, in
+evening dress, and all that. Presently Mr. Le Cheminant says to him:
+“This way, then,” and takes him along into one of the club rooms. Half
+an hour later the stranger comes out again. He looked flushed and
+excited. Soon after Mr. Le Cheminant comes out too; but he was quite
+calm and smoking a cigar. He asks for a cab, and tells the driver to
+take him to the Lyric Theatre.’
+
+“This was all that the hall-porter had to say, but his evidence was
+corroborated by one of the waiters of the club who saw Mr. Le
+Cheminant and the stranger subsequently enter the dining-room, which
+was quite deserted at the time.
+
+“‘They ’adn’t been in the room a minute,’ said the waiter, ‘when I
+’eard loud voices, as if they was quarrelling frightful. I couldn’t
+’ear what they said, though I tried, but they were shouting so, and
+drowning each other’s voices. Presently there’s a ring at my bell, and
+I goes into the room. Mr. Le Cheminant was sitting beside one of the
+tables, quietly lighting a cigar. “Show this—er—gentleman out of the
+club,” ’e says to me. The stranger looked as if ’e would strike ’im.
+“You’ll pay for this,” ’e says, then ’e picks up ’is ’at, and dashes
+out of the club helter-skelter. “One is always pestered by these
+beggars,” says Mr. Le Cheminant to me, as ’e stalks out of the room.’
+
+“Later on it was arranged that both Thomas Sawyer and the waiter
+should catch sight of Harold Le Cheminant, as he went out of his house
+in Exhibition Road. Neither of them had the slightest hesitation in
+recognising in him the stranger who had called at the club that night.
+
+“Now that they held this definite clue, the detectives continued their
+work with a will. They made enquiries at the Lyric Theatre, but there
+they only obtained very vague testimony; one point, however, was of
+great value, the commissionaire outside one of the neighbouring
+theatres stated that, some time after the performance had begun he
+noticed a gentleman in evening dress walking rapidly past him.
+
+“He seemed strangely excited, for as he went by he muttered quite
+audibly to himself; ‘I can stand it no longer, it must be he or I.’
+Then he disappeared in the fog, walking away towards Shaftesbury
+Avenue. Unfortunately the commissionaire, just like the cabman, was
+not prepared to swear to the identity of this man, whom he had only
+seen momentarily through the fog.
+
+“But add to all this testimony the very strong motive there was for
+the crime, and you will not wonder that within twenty-four hours of
+the murder, the strongest suspicions had already fastened on Harold Le
+Cheminant, and it was generally understood that, even before the
+inquest, the police already had in readiness a warrant for his arrest
+on the capital charge.”
+
+
+
+Chapter IV
+
+“It would be difficult, I think, for any one who was not present at
+that memorable inquest to have the least idea of the sensation which
+its varied and dramatic incidents caused among the crowd of spectators
+there.
+
+“At first the proceedings were of the usual kind. The medical officer
+gave his testimony as to the cause of death; for this was, of course,
+not in dispute. The stiletto was produced; it was of an antique and
+foreign pattern, probably of Eastern or else Spanish origin. In
+England, it could only have been purchased at some _bric-à-brac_ shop.
+
+“Then it was the turn of the servants at Grosvenor Square, of the
+cabman, and of the commissionaire. Lord Tremarn’s evidence, which he
+had sworn to on his sickbed, was also read. It added nothing to the
+known facts of the case, for he had last seen his favourite nephew
+alive in the course of the afternoon preceding the latter’s tragic
+end.
+
+“After that the _employés_ of the Junior Grosvenor Club retold their
+story, and they were the first to strike the note of sensation which
+was afterwards raised to its highest possible pitch.
+
+“Both of them, namely, were asked each in their turn to look round the
+court and see if they could recognise the stranger who had called at
+the club that memorable evening. Without the slightest hesitation,
+both the hall-porter and the waiter pointed to Harold Le Cheminant,
+who sat with his solicitor in the body of the court.
+
+“But already an inkling of what was to come had gradually spread
+through that crowded court—instinctively every one felt that behind
+the apparent simplicity of this tragic case there lurked another
+mystery more strange even than that murder in the hansom cab.
+
+“Evidence was being taken as to the previous history of the deceased,
+his first appearance in London, his relationship with his uncle, and
+subsequently his enmity with his cousin Harold. At this point a man
+was brought forward as a witness, who it was understood had
+communicated with the police at the very last moment, offering to make
+a statement which he thought would throw considerable light upon the
+mysterious affair.
+
+“He was a man of about fifty years of age, who looked like a very
+seedy, superannuated clerk of some insurance office.
+
+“He gave his name as Charles Collins, and said that he resided in
+Caxton Road, Clapham.
+
+“In a perfectly level tone of voice, he then explained that some three
+years ago, his son William, who had always been idle and
+good-for-nothing, had suddenly disappeared from home.
+
+“‘We heard nothing of him for over two years,’ continued Charles
+Collins, in that same cheerless and even voice which spoke of a
+monotonous existence of ceaseless, patient grind, ‘but some few weeks
+ago my daughter went up to the West End to see about an engagement—she
+plays dance music at parties sometimes—when, in Regent Street, she
+came face to face with her brother William. He was no longer wretched,
+as we all are,’ added the old man pathetically, ‘he was dressed like a
+swell, and when his sister spoke to him, he pretended not to know her.
+But she’s a sharp girl, and guessed at once that there was something
+strange there which William wished to hide. She followed him from a
+distance, and never lost sight of him that day, until she saw him
+about six o’clock in the evening go into one of the fine houses in
+Grosvenor Square. Then she came home and told her mother and me all
+about it.’
+
+“I can assure you,” continued the man in the corner, “that you might
+have heard a pin drop in that crowded court whilst the old man spoke.
+That he was stating the truth no one doubted for a moment. The very
+fact that he was brought forward as a witness showed that his story
+had been proved, at any rate, to the satisfaction of the police.
+
+“The Collinses seem to have been very simple, good-natured people. It
+never struck any of them to interfere with William, who appeared, in
+their own words, to have ‘bettered himself.’ They concluded that he
+had obtained some sort of position in a rich family, and was now
+ashamed of his poor relations at Clapham.
+
+“Then one morning they read in the papers the story of the mysterious
+murder in the hansom cab, together with a description of the victim,
+who had not yet been identified. ‘William,’ they said with one accord.
+Michael Collins, one of the younger sons, went up to London to view
+the murdered man at the mortuary. There was no doubt whatever that it
+was William, and yet all the papers persisted in saying that the
+deceased was the heir to some grand peerage.
+
+“‘So I wrote to the police,’ concluded Charles Collins, ‘and my wife
+and children were all allowed to view the body, and we are all
+prepared to swear that it is that of my son, William Collins, who was
+no more heir to a peerage than your worship.’
+
+“And mopping his forehead, with a large coloured handkerchief, the old
+man stepped down from the box.
+
+“Well, you may imagine what this bombshell was in the midst of that
+coroner’s court. Everyone looked at his neighbour wondering if this
+was real life, or some romantic play being acted on a stage. Amidst
+indescribable excitement, various other members of the Collins’ family
+corroborated the old man’s testimony, as did also one or two friends
+from Clapham. All those who had been allowed to view the body of the
+murdered man pronounced it without hesitation to be that of William
+Collins, who had disappeared from home three years ago.
+
+“You see, it was like a repetition of the Tichborne case, only with
+this strange difference: This claimant was dead, but all his papers
+were in perfect order, the certificate of marriage between Lucie
+Legrand and Arthur Le Cheminant at Martinique, as well as the birth
+and baptismal certificate of Philip Le Cheminant, their son. Yet there
+were all those simple, honest folk swearing that the deceased had been
+born in Clapham, and the mother, surely, could not have been mistaken.
+
+“That is where the difference with the other noteworthy case came in,
+for in this instance as far as the general public is concerned the
+actual identity of the murdered man will always remain a matter of
+doubt—Philip Le Cheminant or William Collins took that part of his
+secret, at any rate, with him to his grave.”
+
+
+
+Chapter V
+
+“But the murder?” I asked eagerly, for the man in the corner had
+paused, intent upon the manufacture of innumerable knots in a long
+piece of string.
+
+“Ah, yes, the murder, of course,” he replied with a chuckle, “the
+second mystery in this extraordinary case. Well, of course, whatever
+the identity of the deceased really was, there was no doubt in the
+minds of the police that Harold Le Cheminant had murdered him. To him,
+at any rate, the Collins family were unknown; he only knew the man who
+had supplanted him in his uncle’s affections, and snatched a rich
+inheritance away from him. The charge brought against him at the
+Westminster Court was also one of the greatest sensations of this
+truly remarkable case.
+
+“It looked, indeed, as if the unfortunate young man had committed a
+crime which was as appalling as it was useless. Instead of murdering
+the impostor—if impostor he was—how much more simple it would have
+been to have tried to unmask him. But, strange to say, this he never
+seems to have done, at any rate as far as the public knew.
+
+“But here again mystery stepped in. When brought before the
+magistrate, Harold Le Cheminant was able to refute the terrible charge
+brought against him by the simple means of a complete _alibi_. After
+the stormy episode at the Junior Grosvenor Club he had gone to his own
+club in Pall Mall, and fortunately for him, did not leave it until
+twenty minutes past eleven, some few minutes _after_ the two men in
+evening dress got into the hansom in Shaftesbury Avenue.
+
+“But for this lucky fact, for which he had one or two witnesses, it
+might have fared ill with him, for feeling unduly excited, he walked
+all the way home afterwards; and had he left his club earlier, he
+might have found it difficult to account for his time. As it was, he
+was, of course, discharged.
+
+“But one more strange fact came out during the course of the
+magisterial investigation, and that was that Harold Le Cheminant, on
+the very day preceding the murder, had booked a passage for St.
+Vincent. He admitted in court that he meant to conduct certain
+investigations there, with regard to the identity of the supposed heir
+to the Tremarn peerage.
+
+“And thus the curtain came down on the last act of that extraordinary
+drama, leaving two great mysteries unsolved: the real identity of the
+murdered man, and that of the man who killed him. Some people still
+persist in thinking it was Harold Le Cheminant. Well, we may easily
+dismiss _that_ supposition. Harold had decided to investigate the
+matter for himself; he was on his way to St. Vincent.
+
+“Surely common-sense would assert that, having gone so far, he would
+assure himself first, whether the man was an impostor or not, before
+he resorted to crime, in order to rid himself of him. Moreover, the
+witnesses who saw him leave his own club at twenty minutes past eleven
+were quite independent and very emphatic.
+
+“Another theory is that the Collins’ gang tried to blackmail Philip Le
+Cheminant or William Collins whichever we like to call him—and that it
+was one of them who murdered him out of spite, when he refused to
+submit to the blackmailing process.
+
+“Against that theory, however, there are two unanswerable
+arguments—firstly, the weapon used, which certainly was not one that
+would commend itself to the average British middle-class man on murder
+intent—a razor or knife would be more in his line; secondly, there is
+no doubt whatever that the murderer wore evening dress and an opera
+hat, a costume not likely to have been worn by any member of the
+Collins’ family, or their friends. We may, therefore, dismiss that
+theory also with equal certainty.”
+
+And he surveyed placidly the row of fine knots in his bit of string.
+
+“But then, according to you, who was the man in evening dress, and who
+but Harold Le Cheminant had any interest in getting rid of the
+claimant?” I asked at last.
+
+“Who, indeed?” he replied with a chuckle “who but the man who was as
+wax in the hands of that impostor.”
+
+“Whom do you mean?” I gasped.
+
+“Let us take things from the beginning,” he said, with ever-growing
+excitement, “and take the one thing which is absolutely beyond
+dispute, and that is the authenticity of the _papers_—the marriage
+certificate of Lucie Legrand, etc.—as against the authenticity of the
+_man_. Let us admit that the real Philip Le Cheminant was a refugee at
+St. Vincent, that he found out about his parentage and determined to
+go to England. He writes to his uncle, then sails for Europe, lands at
+Havre, and arrives in Paris.”
+
+“Why, Paris?” I asked.
+
+“Because you, like the police and like the public, have persistently
+shut your eyes to an event which, to my mind has bearing upon the
+whole of this mysterious case, and that is the original murder
+committed in Paris a year ago, also in a cab, also with a
+stiletto—which that time was _not_ found—in fact, in the self-same
+manner as this murder a week ago.
+
+“Well, that crime was never brought home to its perpetrator any more
+than this one will be. But my contention is, that the man who
+committed that murder a year ago, repeated this crime last week—that
+the man who was murdered in Paris was the real Philip Le Cheminant,
+whilst the man who was murdered in London was some friend to whom he
+had confided his story, and probably his papers, and who then hit upon
+the bold plan of assuming the personality of the Martinique creole,
+heir to an English peerage.”
+
+“But what in the world makes you imagine such a preposterous thing?” I
+gasped.
+
+“One tiny unanswerable fact,” he replied quietly. “William Collins,
+the impostor, when he came to London, called upon a solicitor, and
+deposited with him the valuable papers, _after that_ he obtained his
+interview with Lord Tremarn. Then mark what happens. Without any
+question, immediately after that interview, and, therefore, without
+even having seen the papers of identification, Lord Tremarn accepts
+the claimant as his newly-found nephew.
+
+“And why?
+
+“Only because that claimant has a tremendous hold over the Earl, which
+makes the old man as wax in his hands, and it is only logical to
+conclude that that hold was none other than that Lord Tremarn had met
+his real nephew in Paris, and had killed him, sooner than to see him
+supplant his beloved heir, Harold.
+
+“I followed up the subsequent history of that Paris crime, and found
+that the Paris police had never established the identity of the
+murdered man. Being a stranger, and moneyless, he had apparently
+lodged in one of those innumerable ill-famed little hotels that abound
+in Paris, the proprietors of which have very good cause to shun the
+police, and therefore would not even venture so far as to go and
+identify the body when it lay in the Morgue.
+
+“But William Collins knew who the murdered man was; no doubt he lodged
+at the same hotel, and could lay his hands on the all-important
+papers. I imagine that the two young men originally met in St.
+Vincent, or perhaps on board ship. He assumed the personality of the
+deceased, crossed over to England, and confronted Lord Tremarn with
+the threat to bring the murder home to him if he ventured to dispute
+his claim.
+
+“Think of it all, and you will see that I am right. When Lord Tremarn
+first heard from his brother Arthur’s son, he went to Paris in order
+to assure himself of the validity of his claim. Seeing that there was
+no doubt of that, he assumed a friendly attitude towards the young
+man, and one evening took him out for a drive in a cab and murdered
+him on the way.
+
+“Then came Nemesis in the shape of William Collins, whom he dared not
+denounce, lest his crime be brought home to him. How could he come
+forward and say: ‘I know that this man is an impostor, as I happened
+to have murdered my nephew myself’?
+
+“No; he preferred to temporise, and bide his time until, perhaps,
+chance would give him his opportunity. It took a year in coming. The
+yoke had become too heavy. ‘It must be he or I!’ he said to himself
+that very night. Apparently he was on the best of terms with his
+tormentor, but in his heart of hearts he had always meant to be even
+with him at the last.
+
+“Everything favoured him; the foggy night, even the dispute between
+Harold and the impostor at the club. Can you not picture him meeting
+William Collins outside the theatre, hearing from him the story of the
+quarrel, and then saying, ‘Come with me to Harold’s; I’ll soon make
+the young jackanapes apologise to you’?
+
+“Mind you, a year had passed by since the original crime. William
+Collins, no doubt, never thought he had anything to fear from the old
+man. He got into the cab with him, and thus this remarkable story has
+closed, and Harold Le Cheminant is once more heir to the Earldom of
+Tremarn.
+
+“Think it all over, and bear in mind that Lord Tremarn _never_ made
+the slightest attempt to prove the rights or wrongs of the impostor’s
+claim. On this base your own conclusions, and then see if they do not
+inevitably lead you to admit mine as the only possible solution of
+this double mystery.”
+
+He was gone, leaving me bewildered and amazed, staring at my _Daily
+Telegraph_, where, side by side with a long recapitulation of the
+mysterious claimant of the Earldom there was the following brief
+announcement:
+
+“We regret to say that the condition of Lord Tremarn is decidedly
+worse to-day, and that but little hope is entertained of his recovery.
+Mr. Harold Le Cheminant has been his uncle’s constant and devoted
+companion during the noble Earl’s illness.”
+
+
+
+VIII. The Fate of the _Artemis_
+
+Chapter I
+
+“Well, I’m ——!” was my inelegant mental comment upon the news in that
+morning’s paper.
+
+“So are most people,” rejoined the man in the corner, with that eerie
+way he had of reading my thoughts. “The _Artemis_ has come home,
+having safely delivered her dangerous cargo, and Captain Jutland’s
+explanations only serve to deepen the mystery.”
+
+“Then you admit there is one in this case?” I said.
+
+“Only to the public. Not to me. But I do admit that the puzzle is a
+hard one. Do you remember the earlier details of the case? It was
+towards the end of 1903. Negotiations between Russia and Japan were
+just reaching a point of uncomfortable tension, and the man in the
+street guessed that war in the Far East was imminent.
+
+“Messrs. Mills and Co. had just completed an order for a number of
+their celebrated quick-firing guns for the Russian Government, and
+these—according to the terms of the contract—were to be delivered at
+Port Arthur on or about 1st February, 1904. Effectively, then, on 1st
+December last, the _Artemis_, under the command of Captain Jutland,
+sailed from Goole, with her valuable cargo on board, and with orders
+to proceed along as fast as possible, in view of the probable outbreak
+of hostilities.
+
+“Less than two hours after she had started, Messrs. Mills received
+intimation from the highest official quarters, that in all probability
+before the _Artemis_ could reach Port Arthur, and in view of coming
+eventualities, the submarine mines would have been laid at the
+entrance to the harbour. A secret plan of the port was therefore sent
+to the firm for Captain Jutland’s use, showing the only way through
+which he could possibly hope to navigate the _Artemis_ safely into the
+harbour, and without which she would inevitably come in contact with
+one of those terrible engines of wholesale destruction, which have
+since worked such awful havoc in this war.
+
+“But _there_ was the trouble. This official intimation, together with
+the plan, reached Messrs. Mills just two hours too late; it is a way
+peculiar to many official intimations. Fortunately, however, the
+_Artemis_ was to touch at Portsmouth on private business of the
+firm’s, and, therefore, it only meant finding a trustworthy messenger
+to meet Captain Jutland there, and to hand him over that all-important
+plan.
+
+“Of course, there was no time to be lost, but, above all, some one of
+extreme trustworthiness must be found for so important a mission. You
+must remember that the great European Power in question is beset by
+many foes in the shape of her own disaffected children, who desire her
+downfall even more keenly than does her Asiatic opponent. Also in
+times like these, when every method is fair which gives one adversary
+an advantage over the other, we must remember that our plucky little
+allies of the Far East are past masters in that art which is politely
+known as secret intelligence.
+
+“All this, you see, made it an absolute necessity to keep the mission
+to Captain Jutland a profound secret. I need not impress upon you the
+fact, I think, that it is not expedient for the plans of an important
+harbour to fall under prying eyes.
+
+“Finally, the choice fell on Captain Markham, R.N.R., lately of the
+mercantile marine, and at the time in the employ of our own Secret
+Intelligence Department, to which he has rendered frequent and
+valuable services. This choice was determined also mainly through the
+fact that Captain Markham’s wife had relatives living in Portsmouth,
+and that, therefore, his journey thither could easily be supposed to
+have an unofficial and quite ordinary character—especially if he took
+his wife with him, which he did.
+
+“Captain and Mrs. Markham left Waterloo for Portsmouth at ten minutes
+past twelve on Wednesday, 2nd December, the secret plan lying safely
+concealed at the bottom of Mrs. Markham’s jewel-case.
+
+“As the _Artemis_ would not touch at Portsmouth until the following
+morning, Captain Markham thought it best not to spend the night at an
+hotel, but to go into rooms; his choice fell on a place, highly
+recommended by his wife’s relations, and which was situated in a quiet
+street on the Southsea side of the town. There he and his wife stayed
+the night, pending the arrival of the _Artemis_.
+
+“But at twelve o’clock on the following morning the police were
+hastily called in by Mrs. Bowden, the landlady of 49, Gastle Street,
+where the Markhams had been staying. Captain Markham had been found
+lying half-insensible, gagged and bound, on the floor of the
+sitting-room, his hands and feet tightly pinioned, and a woollen
+comforter wound closely round his mouth and neck; whilst Mrs.
+Markham’s jewel-case, containing valuable jewellery and the secret
+plans of Port Arthur, had disappeared.”
+
+
+
+Chapter II
+
+“Mind you,” continued the man in the corner, after he had assured
+himself of my undivided attention, “all these details were unknown to
+the public at first. I have merely co-ordinated them, and told them to
+you in the actual sequence in which they occurred, so that you may be
+able to understand the subsequent events.
+
+“At the time—that is to say, on 3rd December, 1903—the evening papers
+only contained an account of what was then called ‘the mysterious
+outrage at Gastle Street, Portsmouth.’ A private gentleman was
+presumably assaulted and robbed in broad daylight, and inside a highly
+respectable house in a busy part of the city.
+
+“Mrs. Bowden, the landlady, was, as you may imagine, most excited and
+indignant. Her house and herself had been grossly insulted by this
+abominable outrage, and she did her level best to throw what light she
+could on this mysterious occurrence.
+
+“The story she told the police was indeed extraordinary, and as she
+repeated it to all her friends, and subsequently to one or two
+journalists, it roused public excitement to its highest pitch.
+
+“What she related at great length to the detective in charge of the
+case, was briefly this:
+
+“Captain and Mrs. Markham, it appears, arrived at 49, Gastle Street,
+on Wednesday afternoon, 2nd December, and Mrs. Bowden accommodated
+them with a sitting-room and bedroom, both on the ground floor. In the
+evening Mrs. Markham went out to dine with her brother, a Mr. Paulton,
+who is a well-known Portsmouth resident, but Captain Markham stayed in
+and had dinner alone in his sitting-room.
+
+“According to Mrs. Bowden’s version of the story, at about nine
+o’clock a stranger called to see Captain Markham. This stranger was
+obviously a foreigner, for he spoke broken English. Unfortunately, the
+hall at 49, Gastle Street, was very dark, and, moreover, the foreigner
+was attired in a magnificent fur coat, the collar of which hid the
+lower part of his face. All Mrs. Bowden could see of him was that he
+was very tall, and wore gold-rimmed spectacles.
+
+“‘He was so very peremptory in his manner,’ continued Mrs. Bowden,
+‘that I had to show him in at once. The Captain seemed surprised to
+see him—in fact, he looked decidedly annoyed, I might say; but just as
+I was closing the door I heard the stranger laugh, and say quite
+pleasantly: “You gave me the slip, my friend, but you see I have found
+you out all right.”’
+
+“Mrs. Bowden, after the manner of her class, seems to have made
+vigorous efforts to hear what went on in the sitting-room after that,”
+continued the man in the corner, “but she was not successful. Later
+on, however, the Captain rang and ordered whiskies and sodas. Both
+gentlemen were then sitting by the fire, looking quite friendly.
+
+“‘I took a look round the room,’ explained the worthy landlady, ‘and
+took particular notice that the jewel-case was on the table, with the
+lid open. Captain Markham, as soon he saw me, closed it very quickly.’
+
+“The stranger seems to have gone away at about half-past ten, and
+subsequently again Mrs. Markham came home accompanied by her brother,
+Mr. Paulton. The next morning she went out at a quarter past eleven
+o’clock, and about half an hour later the mysterious stranger called
+again.
+
+“This time he pushed his way straight into the sitting-room; but the
+very next moment he uttered a cry of intense horror and astonishment,
+and rushed back into the hall, gesticulating wildly, and shrieking: ‘A
+robbery!—a murder!—I go for the police!’ And before Mrs. Bowden could
+stop him, or even could realise what had occurred, he had dashed out
+of the house.
+
+“‘I called to Meggie,’ continued Mrs. Bowden, ‘I was so frightened, I
+didn’t dare go into the parlour alone. But she was more frightened
+than I was, and we stood trembling in the hall waiting for the police.
+At last I began to have my suspicions, and I got Meggie to run out
+into the street and see if she could bring in a policeman.’
+
+“When the police at last arrived upon the scene, they pushed open the
+sitting-room door, and there found Captain Markham in a most helpless
+condition, his hands tied behind his back, and himself half-choked by
+the scarf over his mouth. As soon as he recovered his breath, he
+explained that he had no idea who his assailant was; he was standing
+with his back to the door, when he was suddenly dealt a blow on the
+head from behind, and he remembered nothing more.
+
+“In the meantime Mrs. Markham had come home, and of course was
+horrified beyond measure at the outrage which had been committed. She
+declared that her jewel-case was in the sitting-room when she went out
+in the morning—a fact confirmed by Captain Markham himself.
+
+“But here, at once, the police were seriously puzzled. Mrs. Bowden, of
+course, told her story of the foreigner—a story which was corroborated
+by her daughter, Meggie. Captain Markham, pressed by the police, and
+by his wife, admitted that a friend had visited him the evening
+before.
+
+“‘He is an old friend I met years ago abroad, who happened to be in
+Portsmouth yesterday, and quite accidentally caught sight of me as I
+drove up to this door, and naturally came in to see me,’ was the
+Captain’s somewhat lame explanation.
+
+“Nothing more was to be got out of him that day; he was still feeling
+very bewildered he said, and certainly he looked very ill. Mrs.
+Markham then put the whole matter in the hands of the police.
+
+“Captain Markham had given a description of ‘the old friend he had met
+years ago abroad.’ This description vaguely coincided with that given
+by Mrs. Bowden of the mysterious foreigner. But the Captain’s replies
+to the cross-questionings of the detectives in charge of the case were
+always singularly reticent and lame. ‘I had lost sight of him for
+nearly twenty years,’ he explained, ‘and do not know what his present
+abode and occupation might be. When I knew him years ago, he was a man
+of independent means, without a fixed abode, and a great traveller. I
+believe that he is a German by nationality, but I don’t think that I
+ever knew this as a fact. His name was Johann Schmidt.’
+
+“I may as well tell you here, at once, that the mysterious foreigner
+managed to make good his escape. He was traced as far as the South
+Western Railway Station, where he was seen to rush through the
+barrier, just in time to catch the express up to town. At Waterloo he
+was lost sight of in the crowd.
+
+“The police were keenly on the alert; no trace of the missing jewels
+had as yet been found. Then it was that, gradually, the story of the
+secret plan of Port Arthur reached the ears of the general public. Who
+first told it, and to whom, it is difficult to conjecture, but you
+know what a way things of that sort have of leaking out.
+
+“The secret of Captain Markham’s mission had of necessity been known
+to several people, and a secret shared by many soon ceases to be one
+at all; anyway, within a week of the so-called ‘Portsmouth outrage,’
+it began to be loudly whispered that the robbery of Mrs. Markham’s
+jewels was only a mask that covered the deliberate theft of the plans
+of Port Arthur.
+
+“And then the inevitable happened. Already Captain Markham’s strange
+attitude had been severely commented upon, and now the public, backed
+by the crowd of amateur detectives who read penny novelettes and form
+conclusions of their own, had made up its mind that Captain Markham
+was a party to the theft—that he was either the tool or the accomplice
+of the mysterious foreigner and that, in fact, he had been either
+bribed or terrorised into giving up the plan of Port Arthur to an
+enemy of the Russian government. The crime was all the more heinous as
+by this act of treachery a British ship, manned by a British crew, had
+been sent to certain destruction.
+
+“What rendered the whole case doubly mysterious was that Messrs. Mills
+and Co. seemed to take the matter with complete indifference. They
+refused to be interviewed, or to give any information about the
+_Artemis_ at all, and seemed callously willing to await events.
+
+“The public was furious; the newspapers stormed; every one felt that
+the _Artemis_ should be stopped at any cost at her next port of call,
+and not allowed to continue her perilous journey.
+
+“And yet the days went by; the public read with horror at Lloyds’ that
+the _Artemis_ had called at Malta, at Port Said, at Aden, and was now
+well on her way to the Far East. Feeling ran so high throughout
+England, that, if the mysterious stranger had been discovered by the
+police, no protection from them would have saved him from being
+lynched.
+
+“As for Captain Markham, public opinion reserved its final judgment. A
+cloud hung over him, of that there was no doubt; many said openly that
+he had sold the secret plans of Port Arthur, either to the Japanese or
+to the Nihilists, either through fear or intimidation, if not through
+greed.
+
+“Then the inevitable climax came: A certain Mr. Carleton constituted
+himself the spokesman of the general public; he met Captain Markham
+one day at one of the clubs in London. There were hot words between
+them. Mr. Carleton did not mince matters; he openly accused Captain
+Markham of that which public opinion had already whispered, and
+finally, completely losing his temper, he struck the Captain in the
+face, calling him every opprobrious name he could think of.
+
+“But for the timely interference of friends, there would have been
+murder committed then and there; as it was, Captain Markham was
+induced by his own friends to bring a criminal charge of slander and
+of assault against Mr. Carleton, as the only means of making the whole
+story public, and possibly vindicating his character.”
+
+
+
+Chapter III
+
+“A criminal action for slander and assault is always an interesting
+one,” continued the man in the corner, after a while, “as it always
+argues an unusual amount of personal animosity on the part of the
+plaintiff.
+
+“In this case, of course, public interest was roused to its highest
+pitch. Practically, though Captain Markham was the prosecutor, he
+would stand before his fellow-citizens after this action either as an
+innocent man, or as one of the most dastardly scoundrels this nation
+has ever known.
+
+“The case for the Captain was briefly stated by his counsel. For the
+defence Sir Arthur Inglewood, on behalf of Mr. Carleton, pleaded
+justification. With wonderful eloquence Sir Arthur related the whole
+story of the secret plan of Port Arthur confided to the honour of
+Captain Markham, and which involved the safety of the British ship and
+the lives of a whole British crew.
+
+“The first witnesses called for the defence were Mrs. Bowden and her
+daughter, Meggie. Both related the story I have already told you. When
+they came to the point of having seen the jewel-case _open_ on the
+table during that interview between Captain Markham and the mysterious
+stranger, there was a regular murmur of indignation throughout the
+whole crowd, so much so, that the judge threatened to clear the court,
+for Sir Arthur argued this to be a proof that Captain Markham had been
+a willing accomplice in the theft of the secret plans, and had merely
+played the comedy of being assaulted, bound, and gagged.
+
+“But there was more to come.
+
+“It appears that on the morning of 2nd December—that is to say, before
+going to Portsmouth—Captain Markham, directly after breakfast, and
+while his wife was up in her own room, received a message which seemed
+greatly to disturb him. It was Jane Mason, the parlour-maid at the
+Markhams’ town house, who told the story.
+
+“A letter bearing no stamp had been dropped into the letter-box, she
+had taken it to her master, who, on reading it, became greatly
+agitated; he tore up the letter, stuffed it into his pocket and
+presently took up his hat and rushed out of the house.
+
+“‘When the master was gone,’ continued Jane, ‘I found a scrap of
+paper, which had fallen out of his pocket.’
+
+“This scrap of paper Jane Mason had carefully put away. She was a
+shrewd girl, and scented some mystery. It was now produced in court,
+and the few fragmentary words were read out by Sir Arthur Inglewood,
+amidst boundless excitement:
+
+“‘....if you lend a hand........Port Arthur safely.......hold my
+tongue....’
+
+“And at the end there were four letters in large capitals, ‘STOW.’
+
+“In view of all the evidence taken, there was momentous significance
+to be attached to those few words, of which only the last four letters
+seemed mysterious, but these probably were part of the confederate’s
+signature, who had—no one doubted it now—some hold upon Captain
+Markham, and had by a process of blackmail induced him to send the
+_Artemis_ to her doom.
+
+“After that, according to a statement made by the head clerk of
+Messrs. Mills and Co., Captain Markham came round to the office
+begging that some one else should be sent to meet Captain Jutland at
+Portsmouth. ‘This,’ explained the head clerk, who had been subpœnaed
+for the defence, ‘was quite impossible at this eleventh hour, and, in
+the absence of the heads of the firm, I had on Mr. Mills’ behalf to
+hold Captain Markham to his promise.’
+
+“This closed the case for the defence, and in view of the lateness of
+the hour, counsels’ speeches were reserved for the following day.
+There was not a doubt in anybody’s mind that Captain Markham was
+guilty, and but for the presence of a large body of police, I assure
+you he would have been torn to pieces by the crowd.”
+
+The man in the corner paused in his narrative and blinked at me over
+his bone-rimmed spectacles, like some lean and frowzy tom-cat, eager
+for a fight.
+
+“Well?” I said eagerly.
+
+“Well, surely you remember what happened the following day?” he
+replied, with a dry chuckle. “Personally, I don’t think that there
+ever was quite so much sensation in any English court of law.
+
+“It was crowded, of course, when counsel for the plaintiff rose to
+speak. He made, however, only a short statement, briefly and to the
+point; but this statement caused every one to look at his neighbour,
+wondering if he were awake or dreaming.
+
+“Counsel began by saying that Messrs. Mills and Co., in view of the
+obvious conspiracy that had existed against the _Artemis_, had
+decided, in conjunction with Captain Markham himself, to say nothing
+about the safety of the ship until she was in port; but now counsel
+had much pleasure in informing the court and public that the _Artemis_
+had safely arrived at Port Arthur, had landed her guns, and was on her
+way home again by now. A cablegram _via_ St. Petersburg had been
+received by Messrs. Mills and Co., from Captain Jutland that very
+morning.
+
+“That cablegram was read by counsel in court, and was received with
+loud and prolonged cheering which could not be suppressed.
+
+“With heroic fortitude—explained counsel—Captain Markham had borne the
+gross suspicions against his integrity, only hoping that news of the
+safety of the _Artemis_ would reach England in time to allow him to
+vindicate his character. But until Captain Jutland was safe in port,
+he had sworn to hold his tongue and to bear insult and violence,
+sooner than once more jeopardise the safety of the British ship by
+openly avowing that she carried the plans of the important port with
+her.
+
+“Well, you know the rest. The parties, at the suggestion of the judge,
+arranged the case amicably, and, Captain Markham being fully
+satisfied, Mr. Carleton was nominally ordered to come up for trial
+when called upon.
+
+“Captain Markham was the hero of the hour; but presently, after the
+first excitement had subsided, sensible people began to ponder. Every
+one, of course, appreciated the fact that Messrs. Mills and Co.,
+prompted by the highest authorities, had insisted on not jeopardising
+the safety of the _Artemis_ by shouting on the housetops that she was
+carrying the plans of Port Arthur on board. Hostilities in the Far
+East were on the point of breaking out, and I need not insist, I
+think, on the obvious fact that silence in such matters and at such a
+time was absolutely imperative.
+
+“But what sensible people wanted to know was, what part had Captain
+Markham played in all this?
+
+“In the evening of that memorable 2nd December, he was sitting
+amicably by the fire with the mysterious stranger, who was evidently
+blackmailing him, and with the jewel-case, which contained the plans
+of Port Arthur, open between them. What, then, had caused Captain
+Markham to change his attitude? What dispelled the fear of the
+stranger? Was he really assaulted? Was the jewel-case really stolen?
+
+“Captain Jutland, of the _Artemis_, has explained that he was only on
+shore for one hour at Portsmouth on the memorable morning of 3rd
+December, namely, between 10.30 and 11.30 a.m. On landing at the Hard
+from his gig, he was met by a gentleman, whom he did not know, and
+who, without a word of comment, handed him some papers, which proved
+to be plans of Port Arthur.
+
+“Now, at that very hour Captain Markham was lying helpless in his
+bedroom, and the question now is, who abstracted the plans from the
+jewel-case, and then mysteriously handed them to Captain Jutland? Why
+was it not done openly? Why?—why? and, above all, by whom?——”
+
+
+
+Chapter IV
+
+“Indeed, why?” I retorted, for he had paused, and was peering at me
+through his bone-rimmed spectacles. “You must have a theory,” I added,
+as I quietly handed him a beautiful bit of string across the table.
+
+“Of course, I have a theory,” he replied placidly; “nay, more, the
+only explanation of those mysterious events. But for this I must refer
+you to the scrap of paper found by Jane Mason, and containing the four
+fragmentary sentences which have puzzled every one, and which Captain
+Markham always refused to explain.
+
+“Do you remember,” he went on, as he began feverishly to construct
+knot upon knot on that piece of string, “the wreck of the _Ridstow_
+some twenty years ago? She was a pleasure boat belonging to Mr. Eyres,
+the great millionaire financier, and was supposed to have been wrecked
+in the South Seas, with nearly all hands. Five of her crew, however,
+were picked up by H.M.S. _Pomona_, on a bit of rocky island to which
+they had managed to swim.
+
+“I looked up the files of the newspapers relating to the rescue of
+these five shipwrecked mariners, who told a most pitiable tale of the
+loss of the yacht and their subsequent escape to, and sufferings on
+the island. Fire had broken out in the hull of the _Ridstow_, and all
+her crew were drowned, with the exception of three sailors, a Russian
+friend, or rather secretary, of Mr. Eyres, and a young petty officer
+named Markham.
+
+“You see, the letters stow had given me the clue. Clearly Markham, on
+receiving the message on the morning of 2nd December, was frightened,
+and when we analyse the fragments of that message and try to
+reconstruct the missing fragments, do we not get something like this:
+
+“‘If _you lend a hand_ in allowing the _Artemis_ to reach _Port Arthur
+safely_, and to land her cargo there, I will no longer _hold my
+tongue_ about the events which occurred on board the _Ridstow_.’
+
+“Clearly the mysterious stranger had a great hold over Captain
+Markham, for every scrap of evidence, if you think it over, points to
+his having been _frightened_. Did he not beg the clerk to find some
+one else to meet Captain Jutland in Portsmouth? He did not wish _to
+lend a hand_ in allowing the _Artemis_ to reach _Port Arthur safely_.
+
+“We must, therefore, take it that on board the _Ridstow_ some such
+tragedy was enacted as, alas! is not of unfrequent occurrence. The
+tragedy of a mutiny, a wholesale murder, the robbery of the rich
+financier, the burning of the yacht. Markham, then barely twenty, was
+no doubt an unwilling, perhaps passive, accomplice; one can trace the
+hand of a cunning, daring Russian in the whole of this mysterious
+tragedy.
+
+“Since then, Markham, through twenty years’ faithful service of his
+country, had tried to redeem the passive crime of his early years. But
+then came the crisis: The cunning leader of that bygone tragedy no
+doubt kept a strong hand over his weaker accomplices.
+
+“What happened to the other three we do not know, but we have seen how
+terrified Markham is of him, how he dare not resist him, and when the
+mysterious Russian—some Nihilist, no doubt, at war with his own
+Government—wishes to deal his country a terrible blow by possessing
+himself of the plan of her most important harbour, so that he might
+sell it to her enemies, Markham dare not say him nay.
+
+“But mark what happens. Captain Markham terrorised, confronted with a
+past crime, threatened with exposure, is as wax in the hands of his
+unscrupulous tormentor. But beside him there is the saving presence of
+his wife.”
+
+“His wife?” I gasped.
+
+“Yes, the woman! Did you think this was a crime without the inevitable
+woman! I sought her, and found her in Captain Markham’s wife. To save
+her husband both from falling a victim to his implacable accomplice,
+and from committing another even more heinous crime, she suggests the
+comedy which was so cleverly enacted in the morning of 3rd December.
+
+“When the landlady and her daughter saw the jewel-case open on the
+table the evening before, Markham was playing the first act of the
+comedy invented by his wife. She had the plan safely in her own
+keeping by then. He pretended to agree to the Russian’s demands, but
+showed him that he had not then the plan in his possession, promising,
+however, to deliver it up on the morrow.
+
+“Then in the morning, Mrs. Markham helps to gag and strap her husband
+down; he pretends to lie unconscious, and she goes out carrying the
+jewel-case. Her brother, Mr. Paulton, of course helps them both;
+without him it would have been more difficult; as it is, he takes
+charge of the jewel-case, abstracts the plan and papers, and finally
+meets Captain Jutland at the Hard, and hands him over the plan of Port
+Arthur.
+
+“Thus through the wits of a clever and devoted woman, not only are the
+_Artemis_ and her British crew saved, but Captain Markham is
+effectually rid of the blackmailer, who otherwise would have poisoned
+his life, and probably out of revenge at being foiled, have ruined his
+victim altogether.
+
+“To my mind, that was the neatest thing in the whole plan. The general
+public believed that Captain Markham (who obviously at the instigation
+of his wife had confided in Messrs. Mills and Co.) held his tongue as
+to the safety of the _Artemis_ merely out of heroism, in order not to
+run her into any further danger. Now, I maintain that this was the
+masterstroke of that clever woman’s plan.
+
+“By holding his tongue, by letting the public fear for the safety of
+the British crew and British ship, public feeling was stirred to such
+a pitch of excitement that the Russian now would never _dare_ show
+himself. Not only—by denouncing Captain Markham now—would he never be
+even listened to for a moment, but, if he came forward at all, if he
+even showed himself, he would stand before the British public
+self-convicted as the man who had tried through the criminal process
+of blackmail to terrorise an Englishman into sending a British ship
+and thirty British sailors to certain annihilation.
+
+“No; I think we may take it for granted that the Russian will not dare
+to show his face in England again.”
+
+And the funny creature was gone before I could say another word.
+
+
+
+IX. The Disappearance of Count Collini
+
+Chapter I
+
+He was very argumentative that morning; whatever I said he invariably
+contradicted flatly and at once, and we both had finally succeeded in
+losing our temper.
+
+The man in the corner was riding one of his favourite hobby-horses.
+
+“It is _impossible_ for any person to completely disappear in a
+civilised country,” he said emphatically, “provided that person has
+either friends or enemies of means and substance, who are interested
+in finding his or her whereabouts.”
+
+“Impossible is a sweeping word,” I rejoined.
+
+“None too big for the argument,” he concluded, as he surveyed with
+evident pride and pleasure a gigantic and complicated knot which his
+bony fingers had just fashioned.
+
+“I think that, nevertheless, you should not use it,” I said placidly.
+“It is not _impossible_, though it may be very difficult to disappear
+without leaving the slightest clue or trace behind you.”
+
+“Prove it,” he said, with a snap of his thin lips.
+
+“I can, quite easily.”
+
+“Now I know what is going on in your mind,” said the uncanny creature,
+“you are thinking of that case last autumn.”
+
+“Well, I was,” I admitted. “And you cannot deny that Count Collini has
+disappeared as effectually as if the sea had swallowed him up—many
+people think it did.”
+
+“Many idiots, you mean,” he rejoined dryly. “Yes, I knew you would
+quote that case. It certainly was a curious one; all the more so,
+perhaps, as there was no inquest, no sensational police court
+proceedings, nothing dramatic, in fact, save that strange and
+wonderful disappearance.
+
+“I don’t know if you call to mind the whole plot of that weird drama.
+There was Thomas Checkfield, a retired biscuit baker of Reading, who
+died leaving a comfortable fortune, mostly invested in freehold
+property, and amounting to about £80,000, to his only child, Alice.
+
+“At the time of her father’s death, Alice Checkfield was just
+eighteen, and at school in Switzerland, where she had spent most of
+her life. Old Checkfield had been a widower ever since the birth of
+his daughter, and seems to have led a very lonely and eccentric life;
+leaving the girl at school abroad for years, only going very
+occasionally to see her, and seemingly having but little affection for
+her.
+
+“The girl herself had not been home in England since she was eight
+years old, and even when old Checkfield was dying he would not allow
+the girl to be apprised of his impending death, and to be brought home
+to a house of loneliness and mourning.
+
+“‘What’s the good of upsetting a young girl, not eighteen,’ he said to
+his friend, Mr. Turnour, ‘by letting her see all the sad paraphernalia
+of death? She hasn’t seen much of her old father anyway, and will soon
+get over her loss, with young company round her, to help her bear up.’
+
+“But though Thomas Checkfield cared little enough for his daughter,
+when he died he left his entire fortune to her, amounting altogether
+to £80,000; and he appointed his friend, Reginald Turnour, to be her
+trustee and guardian until her marriage or until she should attain her
+majority.
+
+“It was generally understood that the words ‘until her marriage’ were
+put in because it had all along been arranged that Alice should marry
+Hubert Turnour, Reginald’s younger brother.
+
+“Hubert was old Checkfield’s godson, and if the old man had any
+affection for anybody it certainly was for Hubert. The latter had been
+a great deal in his godfather’s house, when he and Alice were both
+small children, and had called each other ‘hubby’ and ‘wifey’ in play,
+when they were still in the nursery. Later on, whenever old Checkfield
+went abroad to see his daughter, he always took Hubert with him, and a
+boy and girl flirtation sprang up between the two young people; a
+flirtation which had old Checkfield’s complete approval, and no doubt
+he looked upon their marriage as a _fait accompli_, merely desiring
+the elder Mr. Turnour to administer the girl’s fortune until then.
+
+“Hubert Turnour, at the time of the subsequent tragedy, was a
+good-looking young fellow, and by profession what is vaguely known as
+a ‘commission agent.’ He lived in London, where he had an office in a
+huge block of buildings close to Cannon Street Station.
+
+“There is no doubt that at the time of old Checkfield’s death, Alice
+looked upon herself as the young man’s _fiancée_. When the girl
+reached her nineteenth year, it was at last decided that she should
+leave school and come to England. The question as to what should be
+done with her until her majority, or until she married Hubert, was a
+great puzzle to Mr. Turnour. He was a bachelor, who lived in
+comfortable furnished rooms in Reading, and he did not at all relish
+the idea of starting housekeeping for the sake of his young ward, whom
+he had not seen since she was out of the nursery, and whom he looked
+upon as an intolerable nuisance.
+
+“Fortunately for him this vexed question was most satisfactorily and
+unexpectedly settled by Alice herself. She wrote to her guardian, from
+Geneva, that a Mrs. Brackenbury, the mother of her dearest
+schoolfellow had asked her to come and live with them, at any rate for
+a time, as this would be a more becoming arrangement than that of a
+young girl sharing a bachelor’s establishment.
+
+“Mr. Turnour seems to have hesitated for some time: he was a
+conscientious sort of man, who took his duties of guardianship very
+seriously. What ultimately decided him, however, was that his brother
+Hubert added the weight of his eloquent letters of appeal to those of
+Alice herself. Hubert naturally was delighted at the idea of having
+his rich _fiancée_ under his eye in London, and after a good deal of
+correspondence, Mr. Turnour finally gave his consent, and Alice
+Checkfield duly arrived from Switzerland in order to make a prolonged
+stay in Mrs. Brackenbury’s house.”
+
+
+
+Chapter II
+
+“All seems to have gone on happily and smoothly for a time in Mrs.
+Brackenbury’s pretty house in Kensington,” continued the man in the
+corner. “Hubert Turnour was a constant visitor there, and the two
+young people seem to have had all the freedom of an engaged couple.
+
+“Alice Checkfield was in no sense of the word an attractive girl; she
+was not good-looking, and no effort on Mrs. Brackenbury’s part could
+succeed in making her look stylish. Still, Hubert Turnour seemed quite
+satisfied, and the girl herself ready enough at first to continue the
+boy and girl flirtation as of old.
+
+“Soon, however, as time went on, things began to change. Now that
+Alice had become mistress of a comfortable fortune, there were plenty
+of people ready to persuade her that a ‘commission agent,’ with but
+vague business prospects, was not half good enough for her, and that
+her £80,000 entitled her to more ambitious matrimonial hopes. Needless
+to say that in these counsels Mrs. Brackenbury was very much to the
+fore.
+
+“She lived in Kensington, and had social ambitions, foremost among
+which was to see her daughter’s bosom friend married to, at least, a
+baronet, if not a peer.
+
+“A young girl’s head is quickly turned. Within six months of her stay
+in London, Alice was giving Hubert Turnour the cold shoulder, and the
+young man had soon realised that she was trying to get out of her
+engagement.
+
+“Scarcely had Alice reached her twentieth birthday, than she gave her
+erstwhile _fiancé_ his formal _congé_.
+
+“At first Hubert seems to have taken his discomfiture very much to
+heart. £80,000 were not likely to come his way again in a hurry.
+According to Mrs. Brackenbury’s servants, there were one or two
+violent scenes between him and Alice, until finally Mrs. Brackenbury
+herself was forced to ask the young man to discontinue his visits.
+
+“It was soon after that that Alice Checkfield first met Count Collini
+at one of the brilliant subscription dances given by the Italian
+colony in London, the winter before last. Mrs. Brackenbury was charmed
+with him, Alice Checkfield was enchanted! The Count, having danced
+with Alice half the evening, was allowed to pay his respects at the
+house in Kensington.
+
+“He seemed to be extremely well off, for he was staying at the
+Carlton, and, after one or two calls on Mrs. Brackenbury, he began
+taking the ladies to theatres and concerts, always presenting them
+with the choicest and most expensive flowers, and paying them various
+other equally costly attentions.
+
+“Mrs. and Miss Brackenbury welcomed the Count with open arms
+(figuratively speaking). Alice was shy, but apparently over head and
+ears in love at first sight.
+
+“At first Mrs. Brackenbury did her best to keep this new
+acquaintanceship a secret from Hubert Turnour. I suppose that the old
+matchmaker feared another unpleasant scene. But the inevitable soon
+happened. Hubert, contrite, perhaps still hopeful, called at the house
+one day, when the Count was there, and, according to the story
+subsequently told by Miss Brackenbury herself, there was a violent
+scene between him and Alice. As soon as the fascinating foreigner had
+gone, Hubert reproached his _fiancée_ for her fickleness in no
+measured language, and there was a good deal of evidence to prove that
+he then and there swore to be even with the man who had supplanted him
+in her affections. There was nothing to do then but for Mrs.
+Brackenbury to ‘burn her boats.’ She peremptorily ordered Hubert out
+of her house, and admitted that Count Collini was a suitor, favoured
+by herself, for the hand of Alice Checkfield.
+
+“You see, I am bound to give you all these details of the situation,”
+continued the man in the corner, with his bland smile, “so that you
+may better form a judgment as to the subsequent fate of Count Collini.
+From the description which Mrs. Brackenbury herself subsequently gave
+to the police, the Count was then in the prime of life; of a dark
+olive complexion, dark eyes, extremely black hair and moustache. He
+had a very slight limp, owing to an accident he had had in early
+youth, which made his walk and general carriage unusual and distinctly
+noticeable. His was certainly not a personality that could pass
+unperceived in a crowd.
+
+“Hubert Turnour, furious and heartsick, wrote letter after letter to
+his brother, to ask him to interfere on his behalf; this Mr. Turnour
+did, to the best of his ability, but he had to deal with an ambitious
+matchmaker and with a girl in love, and it is small wonder that he
+signally failed. Alice Checkfield by now had become deeply enamoured
+of her Count, his gallantries flattered her vanity, his title and the
+accounts he gave of his riches and his estates in Italy fascinated
+her, and she declared that she would marry him, either with or without
+her guardian’s consent, either at once, or as soon as she had attained
+her majority, and was mistress of herself and of her fortune.
+
+“Mr. Turnour did all he could to prevent this absurd marriage. Being a
+sensible, middle-class Britisher, he had no respect for foreign
+titles, and little belief in foreign wealth. He wrote the most urgent
+letters to Alice, warning her against a man whom he firmly believed to
+be an impostor; finally, he flatly refused to give his consent to the
+marriage.
+
+“Thus a few months went by. The Count had been away in Italy all
+through the winter and spring, and returned to London for the season,
+apparently more enamoured with the Reading biscuit baker’s daughter
+than ever. Alice Checkfield was then within nine months of her
+twenty-first birthday, and determined to marry the Count. She openly
+defied her guardian.
+
+“‘Nothing,’ she wrote to him, ‘would ever induce me to marry Hubert.’
+
+“I suppose it was this which finally induced Mr. Turnour to give up
+all opposition to the marriage. Seeing that his brother’s chances were
+absolutely _nil_, and that Alice was within nine months of her
+majority, he no doubt thought all further argument useless, and with
+great reluctance finally gave his consent.
+
+“The marriage, owing to the difference of religion, was to be
+performed before a registrar, and was finally fixed to take place on
+22nd October, 1903, which was just a week after Alice’s twenty-first
+birthday.
+
+“Of course the question of Alice’s fortune immediately cropped up: she
+desired her money in cash, as her husband was taking her over to live
+in Italy, where she desired to make all further investments. She,
+therefore, asked Mr. Turnour to dispose of her freehold property for
+her. There again Mr. Turnour hesitated, and argued, but once he had
+given his consent to the marriage, all opposition was useless, more
+especially as Mrs. Brackenbury’s solicitors had drawn up a very
+satisfactory marriage settlement, which the Count himself had
+suggested, by which Alice was to retain sole use and control of her
+own private fortune.
+
+“The marriage was then duly performed before a registrar on that 22nd
+of October, and Alice Checkfield could henceforth style herself
+Countess Collini. The young couple were to start for Italy almost
+directly, but meant to spend a day or two at Dover quietly together.
+There were, however, one or two tiresome legal formalities to go
+through. Mr. Turnour had, by Alice’s desire, handed over the sum of
+£80,000 in notes to her solicitor, Mr. R. W. Stanford. Mr. Stanford
+had gone down to Reading two days before the marriage, had received
+the money from Mr. Turnour, and then called upon the new Countess, and
+formally handed her over her fortune in Bank of England notes.
+
+“Then it was necessary, in view of immediate and future arrangements,
+to change the English money into foreign, which the Count and his
+young wife did themselves that afternoon.
+
+“At 5 o’clock p.m. they started for Dover, accompanied by Mrs.
+Brackenbury, who desired to see the last of her young friend, prior to
+the latter’s departure for abroad. The Count had engaged a magnificent
+suite of rooms at the Lord Warden Hotel, and thither the party
+proceeded.
+
+“So far, you see,” added the man in the corner, “the story is of the
+utmost simplicity. You might even call it commonplace. A foreign
+Count, an ambitious matchmaker, and a credulous girl; these form the
+ingredients of many a domestic drama, that culminates at the police
+courts. But at this point this particular drama becomes more
+complicated, and, if you remember, ends in one of the strangest
+mysteries that has ever baffled the detective forces on both sides of
+the Channel.”
+
+
+
+Chapter III
+
+The man in the corner paused in his narrative. I could see that he was
+coming to the palpitating part of the story, for his fingers fidgeted
+incessantly with that bit of string.
+
+“Hubert Turnour, as you may imagine,” he continued after a while, “did
+not take his final discomfiture very quietly. He was a very
+violent-tempered young man, and it was certainly enough to make any
+one cross. According to Mrs. Brackenbury’s servants he used most
+threatening language in reference to Count Collini; and on one
+occasion was with difficulty prevented from personally assaulting the
+Count in the hall of Mrs. Brackenbury’s pretty Kensington house.
+
+“Count Collini finally had to threaten Hubert Turnour with the police
+court: this seemed to have calmed the young man’s nerves somewhat, for
+he kept quite quiet after that, ceased to call on Mrs. Brackenbury,
+and subsequently sent the future Countess a wedding present.
+
+“When the Count and Countess Collini, accompanied by Mrs. Brackenbury,
+arrived at the Lord Warden, Alice found a letter awaiting her there.
+It was from Hubert Turnour. In it he begged for forgiveness for all
+the annoyance he had caused her, hoped that she would always look upon
+him as a friend, and finally expressed a strong desire to see her once
+more before her departure for abroad, saying that he would be in Dover
+either this same day or the next, and would give himself the pleasure
+of calling upon her and her husband.
+
+“Effectively at about eight o’clock, when the wedding party was just
+sitting down to dinner, Hubert Turnour was announced. Every one was
+most cordial to him, agreeing to let bygones be bygones: the Count,
+especially, was most genial and pleasant towards his former rival, and
+insisted upon his staying and dining with them.
+
+“Later on in the evening, Hubert Turnour took an affectionate leave of
+the ladies, Count Collini offering to walk back with him to the Grand
+Hotel, where he was staying. The two men went out together, and—well!
+you know the rest!—for that was the last the young Countess Collini
+ever saw of her husband. He disappeared as effectually, as completely,
+as if the sea had swallowed him up.
+
+“‘And so it had,’ say the public,” continued the man in the corner,
+after a slight pause, “that delicious, short-sighted, irresponsible
+public is wondering, to this day, why Hubert Turnour was not hung for
+the murder of that Count Collini.”
+
+“Well! and why wasn’t he?” I retorted.
+
+“For the very simple reason,” he replied, “that in this country you
+cannot hang a man for murder unless there is proof positive that a
+murder has been committed. Now, there was absolutely no proof that the
+Count was murdered at all. What happened was this: the Countess
+Collini and Mrs. Brackenbury became anxious as time went on and the
+Count did not return. One o’clock, then two in the morning, and their
+anxiety became positive alarm. At last, as Alice was verging on
+hysterics, Mrs. Brackenbury, in spite of the lateness of the hour,
+went round to the police station.
+
+“It was, of course, too late to do anything in the middle of the
+night; the constable on duty tried to reassure the unfortunate lady,
+and promised to send word round to the Lord Warden at the earliest
+possible opportunity in the morning.
+
+“Mrs. Brackenbury went back with a heavy heart. No doubt Mr. Turnour’s
+sensible letters from Reading recurred to her mind. She had already
+ascertained from the distracted bride that the Count had taken the
+strange precaution to keep in his own pocket-book the £80,000, now
+converted into French and Italian banknotes, and Mrs. Brackenbury
+feared not so much that he had met with some accident, but that he had
+absconded with the whole of his girl-wife’s fortune.
+
+“The next morning brought but scanty news. No one answering to the
+Count’s description had met with an accident during the night, or been
+conveyed to a hospital, and no one answering his description had
+crossed over to Calais or Ostend by the night boats. Moreover, Hubert
+Turnour, who presumably had last been in Count Collini’s company, had
+left Dover for town by the boat train at 1.50 a.m.
+
+“Then the search began in earnest after the missing man, and primarily
+Hubert Turnour was subjected to the closest and most searching
+cross-examination, by one of the most able men on our detective staff,
+Inspector Macpherson.
+
+“Hubert Turnour’s story was briefly this: He had strolled about on the
+parade with Count Collini for a while. It was a very blustery night,
+the wind blowing a regular gale, and the sea was rolling gigantic
+waves, which looked magnificent, as there was brilliant moonlight.
+‘Soon after ten o’clock,’ he continued, ‘the Count and I went back to
+the Grand Hotel, and we had whiskies and sodas up in my room, and a
+bit of a chat until past eleven o’clock. Then he said good-night and
+went off.’
+
+“‘You saw him down to the hall, of course?’ asked the detective.
+
+“‘No, I did not,’ replied Hubert Turnour. ‘I had a few letters to
+write, and meant to catch the 1.50 a.m. back to town.’
+
+“‘How long were you in Dover altogether?’ asked Macpherson carelessly.
+
+“‘Only a few hours. I came down in the afternoon.’
+
+“‘Strange, is it not, that you should have taken a room with a private
+sitting-room at an expensive hotel, just for those few hours?’
+
+“‘Not at all. I originally meant to stay longer. And my expenses are
+nobody’s business, I take it,’ replied Hubert Turnour, with some show
+of temper. ‘Anyway,’ he added impatiently, after a while, ‘if you
+choose to disbelieve me, you can make inquiries at the hotel, and
+ascertain if I have told the truth.’
+
+“Undoubtedly he had spoken the truth; at any rate, to that extent.
+Inquiries at the Grand Hotel went to prove that he had arrived there
+in the early part of the afternoon, had engaged a couple of rooms, and
+then gone out. Soon after ten o’clock in the evening he came in,
+accompanied by a gentleman, whose description, as given by three
+witnesses, _employés_ of the hotel, who saw him, corresponded exactly
+with that of the Count.
+
+“Together the two gentlemen went up to Mr. Hubert Turnour’s rooms, and
+at half-past ten they ordered whisky to be taken up to them. But at
+this point all trace of Count Collini had completely vanished. The
+passengers arriving by the 10.49 boat train, and who had elected to
+spend the night in Dover, owing to the gale, had crowded up and filled
+the hall.
+
+“No one saw Count Collini leave the Grand Hotel. But Mr. Hubert
+Turnour came down into the hall at about half-past eleven. He said he
+would be leaving by the 1.50 a.m. boat train for town, but would walk
+round to the station as he only had a small bag with him. He paid his
+account, then waited in the coffee-room until it was time to go.
+
+“And there the matter has remained. Mrs. Brackenbury has spent half
+her own fortune in trying to trace the missing man. She has remained
+perfectly convinced that he slipped across the Channel, taking Alice
+Checkfield’s money with him. But, as you know, at all ports of call on
+the South Coast, detectives are perpetually on the watch. The Count
+was a man of peculiar appearance, and there is no doubt that no one
+answering to his description crossed over to France or Belgium that
+night. By the following morning the detectives on both sides of the
+Channel were on the alert. There is no disguise that would have held
+good. If the Count had tried to cross over, he would have been spotted
+either on board or on landing; and we may take it as an absolute and
+positive certainty that he did not cross the Channel.
+
+“He remained in England, but in that case, where is he? You would be
+the first to admit that, with the whole of our detective staff at his
+heels, it seems incredible that a man of the Count’s singular
+appearance could hide himself so completely as to baffle detection.
+Moreover, the question at once arises, that if he did not cross over
+to France or Belgium, what in the world did he do with the money? What
+was the use of disappearing and living the life of a hunted beast
+hiding for his life, with £80,000 worth of foreign money, which was
+practically useless to him?
+
+“Now, I told you from the first,” concluded the man in the corner,
+with a dry chuckle, “that this strange episode contained no
+sensational incident, nor dramatic inquest or criminal procedure.
+Merely the complete, total disappearance, one may almost call it
+extinction, of a striking-looking man, in the midst of our vaunted
+civilisation, and in spite of the untiring energy and constant watch
+of a whole staff of able men.”
+
+
+
+Chapter IV
+
+“Very well, then,” I retorted in triumph, “that proves that Hubert
+Turnour murdered Count Collini out of revenge, not for greed of money,
+and probably threw the body of his victim, together with the foreign
+banknotes, into the sea.”
+
+“But where? When? How?” he asked, smiling good-humouredly at me over
+his great bone-rimmed spectacles.
+
+“Ah! that I don’t know.”
+
+“No, I thought not,” he rejoined placidly. “You had, I think,
+forgotten one incident, namely, that Hubert Turnour, accompanied by
+the Count, was in the former’s room at the Grand Hotel drinking whisky
+at half-past ten o’clock. You must admit that, even though the hall of
+the hotel was very crowded later on, a man would nevertheless find it
+somewhat difficult to convey the body of his murdered enemy through a
+whole concourse of people.”
+
+“He did not murder the Count in the hotel,” I argued. “The two men
+walked out again, when the hall was crowded, and they passed
+unnoticed. Hubert Turnour led the Count to a lonely part of the
+cliffs, then threw him into the sea.”
+
+“The nearest point at which the cliffs might be called ‘lonely’ for
+purposes of a murder, is at least twenty minutes’ walk from the Grand
+Hotel,” he said, with a smile, “always supposing that the Count walked
+quickly and willingly to such a lonely spot at eleven o’clock at
+night, and with a man who had already, more than once, threatened his
+life. Mr. Hubert Turnour, remember, was seen in the hall of the hotel
+at half-past eleven, after which hour he only left the hotel to go to
+the station after 1 o’clock a.m.
+
+“The hall was crowded by the passengers from the boat train a little
+after eleven. There was no time between that and half-past to lead
+even a willing enemy to the slaughter, throw him into the sea, and
+come back again, all in the space of five-and-twenty minutes.”
+
+“Then what is your explanation of that extraordinary disappearance?” I
+retorted, beginning to feel very cross about it all.
+
+“A simple one,” he rejoined quietly, as he once more began to fidget
+with his bit of string. “A very simple one indeed; namely, that Count
+Collini, at the present moment, is living comfortably in England,
+calmly awaiting a favourable opportunity of changing his foreign money
+back into English notes.”
+
+“But you say yourself that that is impossible, as the most able
+detectives in England are on the watch for him.”
+
+“They are on the watch for a certain Count Collini,” he said drily,
+“who might disguise himself, perhaps, but whose hidden identity would
+sooner or later be discovered by one of these intelligent human
+bloodhounds.”
+
+“Yes? Well?” I asked.
+
+“Well, that Count Collini never existed. It was _his_ personality that
+was the disguise. Now it is thrown off. The Count is not dead, he is
+not hiding, but has merely ceased to exist. There is no fear that he
+will ever come to life again. Mr. Turnour senior will see to that.”
+
+“Mr. Turnour!” I ejaculated.
+
+“Why, yes,” he rejoined excitedly; “do you mean to tell me you never
+saw through it all? The money lying in his hands; his brother about to
+wed the rich heiress; then Mrs. Brackenbury’s matrimonial ambitions,
+Alice Checkfield’s coldness to Hubert Turnour, the golden prize
+slipping away right out of the family for ever. Then the scheme was
+evolved by those two scoundrels, who deserve to be called geniuses in
+their criminal way. It could not be managed, except by collaboration,
+but as it was, the scheme was perfect in conception, and easy of
+execution.
+
+“Remember that disguise _previous_ to a crime is always fairly safe
+from detection, for then it has no suspicion to contend against, it
+merely deceives those who have no cause to be otherwise _but_
+deceived. Mrs. Brackenbury lived in London, Reginald Turnour in
+Reading; they did not know each other personally, nor did they know
+each other’s friends, of course; whilst Alice Checkfield had not seen
+her guardian since she was quite a child.
+
+“Then the disguise was so perfect. I went down to Reading, some little
+time ago, and Reginald Turnour was pointed out to me: he is a
+Scotchman, with very light, sandy hair. That face clean shaved, made
+swarthy, the hair, eyebrows, and lashes dyed a jet black, would render
+him absolutely unrecognisable. Add to this the fact that a foreign
+accent completely changes the voice, and that the slight limp was a
+masterstroke of genius to hide the general carriage.
+
+“Then the winter came round; it was, perhaps, important that Mr.
+Turnour should not be absent too long from Reading, for fear of
+exciting suspicion there; and the scoundrel played his part with
+marvellous skill. Can’t you see him yourself leaving the Carlton
+Hotel, ostensibly going abroad, driving to Charing Cross, but only
+booking to Cannon Street.
+
+“Then getting out at that crowded station and slipping round to his
+brother’s office in one of those huge blocks of buildings where there
+is perpetual coming and going, and where any individual would easily
+pass unperceived.
+
+“There, with the aid of a little soap and water, Mr. Turnour resumed
+his Scotch appearance, went on to Reading, and spent winter and spring
+there, only returning to London to make a formal proposal, as Count
+Collini, for Alice Checkfield’s hand. Hubert Turnour’s office was
+undoubtedly the place where he changed his identity, from that of the
+British middle-class man, to the interesting personality of the
+Italian nobleman.
+
+“He had, of course, to repeat the journey to Reading a day or two
+before his wedding, in order to hand over his ward’s fortune to Mrs.
+Brackenbury’s solicitor. Then there were the supposed rows between
+Hubert Turnour and his rival; the letters of warning from the
+guardian, for which Hubert no doubt journeyed down to Reading, in
+order to post them there: all this was dust thrown into the eyes of
+two credulous ladies.
+
+“After that came the wedding, the meeting with Hubert Turnour, who,
+you see, was obliged to take a room in one of the big hotels, wherein,
+with more soap and water, the Italian Count could finally disappear.
+When the hall of the hotel was crowded, the sandy-haired Scotchman
+slipped out of it quite quietly: he was not remarkable, and no one
+specially noticed him. Since then the hue and cry has been after a
+dark Italian, who limps, and speaks broken English; and it has never
+struck any one that such a person never existed.
+
+“Mr. Turnour is fairly safe by now; and we may take it for granted
+that he will not seek the acquaintanceship of the Brackenburys, whilst
+Alice Checkfield is no longer his ward. He will wait a year or two
+longer perhaps, then he and Hubert will begin quietly to re-convert
+their foreign money into English notes—they will take frequent little
+trips abroad, and gradually change the money at the various _bureaux
+de change_, on the Continent.
+
+“Think of it all—it is so simple—not even dramatic, only the work of a
+genius from first to last, worthy of a better cause, perhaps, but
+undoubtedly worthy of success.”
+
+He was gone, leaving me quite bewildered. Yet the disappearance had
+always puzzled me, and now I felt that that animated scarecrow had
+found the true explanation of it after all.
+
+
+
+X. The Ayrsham Mystery
+
+Chapter I
+
+“I have never had a great opinion of our detective force here in
+England,” said the man in the corner, in his funny, gentle, apologetic
+manner, “but the way that department mismanaged the affair at Ayrsham
+simply passes comprehension.”
+
+“Indeed?” I said, with all the quiet dignity I could command. “It is a
+pity they did not consult you in the matter, wasn’t it?”
+
+“It is a pity,” he retorted with aggravating meekness, “that they do
+not use a little common sense. The case resembles that of Columbus’
+egg, and is every bit as simple.
+
+“It was one evening last October, wasn’t it? that two labourers,
+walking home from Ayrsham village, turned down a lane, which, it
+appears, is a short cut to the block of cottages some distance off,
+where they lodged.
+
+“The night was very dark, and there was a nasty drizzle in the air. In
+the picturesque vernacular of the two labourers, ‘You couldn’t see
+your ’and before your eyes.’ Suddenly they stumbled over the body of a
+man lying right across the path.
+
+“‘At first we thought ’e was drunk,’ explained one of them
+subsequently, ‘but when we took a look at ’im, we soon saw there was
+something very wrong. Me and my mate turned ’im over, and “foul play”
+we both says at once. Then we see that it was Old Man Newton. Poor
+chap, ’e was dead, and no mistake.’
+
+“Old Man Newton, as he was universally called by his large circle of
+acquaintances, was very well known throughout the entire
+neighbourhood, most particularly at every inn and public bar for some
+miles around.
+
+“He also kept a local sweet-stuff shop at Ayrsham. No wonder that the
+men were horrified at finding him in such a terrible condition; even
+in their uneducated minds there could be no doubt that the old man had
+been murdered, for his skull had been literally shattered by a fearful
+blow, dealt him from behind by some powerful assailant.
+
+“Whilst the labourers were cogitating as to what they had better do
+next, they heard footsteps also turning into the lane, and the next
+moment Samuel Holder, a well-known inhabitant of Ayrsham, arrived upon
+the scene.
+
+“‘Hello! is that you, Mat Newton?’ shouted Samuel, as he came near.
+
+“‘Ay! ’tis Old Man Newton, right enough,’ replied one of the
+labourers, ‘but ’e won’t answer you no more.’
+
+“Samuel Holder seemed absolutely horrified when he saw the body of Old
+Man Newton; he uttered various ejaculations, which the two labourers,
+however, did not take special notice of at the time.
+
+“Then the three men held a brief consultation together, with the
+result that one of them ran back to Ayrsham village to fetch the local
+police, whilst the two others remained in the lane to guard the body.
+
+“The mystery—for it seemed one from the first—created a great deal of
+sensation in Ayrsham and all round the neighbourhood, and much
+sympathy was felt for, and shown to Mary Newton, the murdered man’s
+only child, a young girl about two-or-three-and-twenty, who, moreover,
+was in ill-health.
+
+“True, Old Man Newton was not a satisfactory protector for a young
+girl. He was very much addicted to drink; he neglected the little bit
+of local business he had; and, moreover, had recently shamefully
+ill-treated his daughter, the neighbours testifying to the many and
+loud quarrels that occurred in the small back parlour behind the
+sweet-stuff shop.
+
+“A case of murder—the moment an element of mystery hovers around
+it—immediately excites the attention of the newspaper-reading public,
+who is always seeking for new sensations.
+
+“Very soon the history of Old Man Newton and of his daughter found its
+way into the London and provincial dailies, and the Ayrsham murder
+became a topic of all-absorbing interest.
+
+“It appears that Old Man Newton was at one time a highly respectable
+local tradesman, always in a very small way, as there is not much
+business doing at Ayrsham. It is a poor and straggling village,
+although its railway station is an important junction on the Midland
+system.
+
+“There is some very good shooting in the neighbourhood, and about four
+or five years ago some of it, together with ‘The Limes,’ a pretty
+house just outside the village, was rented for the autumn by Mr.
+Ledbury and his brother.
+
+“You know the firm of Ledbury and Co., do you not; the great small
+arms manufacturers? The elder Mr. Ledbury was the recipient of
+Birthday honours last year, and is the present Lord Walterton; his
+younger brother, Mervin, was in those days, and is still, a handsome
+young fellow in the Hussars.
+
+“At the time—I mean about five years ago—Mary Newton was the local
+beauty of Ayrsham; she did a little dressmaking in her odd moments,
+but it appears that she spent most of her time in flirting. She was
+nominally engaged to be married to Samuel Holder, a young carpenter,
+but there was a good deal of scandal talked about her, for she was
+thought to be very fast; village gossip coupled her name with that of
+several young men in the neighbourhood, who were known to have paid
+the village beauty marked attention, and among these admirers of Mary
+Newton during the autumn of which I am speaking, young Mr. Mervin
+Ledbury figured conspicuously.
+
+“Be that as it may, certain it is that Mary Newton had a very bad
+reputation among the scandalmongers of Ayrsham, and though everybody
+was shocked, no one was astonished when one fine day in the winter
+following she suddenly left her father and her home, and went no one
+knew whither. She left, it appears, a very pathetic letter behind,
+begging for her father’s forgiveness, and that of Samuel Holder, whom
+she was jilting, but she was going to marry a gentleman above them all
+in station, and was going to be a real lady; then only would she
+return home.
+
+“A very unusual village tragedy, as you see. Four years went by, and
+Mary Newton did not return home. As time went by and with it no news
+of his daughter, Old Man Newton took her disappearance very much to
+heart. He began to neglect his business, and then his house, which
+became dirty and ill-kept by an occasional charwoman who would do a
+bit of promiscuous tidying for him from time to time. He was
+ill-tempered, sullen, and morose, and very soon became hopelessly
+addicted to drink.
+
+“Then suddenly, as unexpectedly as she had gone, Mary Newton returned
+to her home one fine day, after an absence of four years. What had
+become of her in the interim, no one in the village ever knew; she was
+generally supposed to have earned a living by dressmaking, until her
+failing health had driven her well nigh to starvation, and then back
+to the home and her father she had so heedlessly left.
+
+“Needless to say that all the talk of her ‘marriage with a gentleman
+above her in station’ was entirely at an end. As for Old Man Newton,
+he seems after his daughter’s return to have become more sullen and
+morose than ever, and the neighbours now busied themselves with talk
+of the fearful rows which frequently occurred in the back parlour of
+the little sweet-stuff shop.
+
+“Father and daughter seemed to be leading a veritable cat-and-dog life
+together. Old Man Newton was hardly ever sober, and at the village
+inns he threw out weird and strange hints about ‘breach of promise
+actions with £5,000 damages, which his daughter would get, if only he
+knew where to lay hands upon the scoundrel.’
+
+“He also made vague and wholly useless enquiries about young Mervin
+Ledbury, but in a sleepy, out-of-the-way village like Ayrsham, no one
+knows anything about what goes on beyond a narrow five-mile radius at
+most. ‘The Limes’ and the shooting were let to different tenants year
+after year, and neither Lord Walterton nor Mr. Mervin Ledbury had ever
+rented them again.”
+
+
+
+Chapter II
+
+“That was the past history of Old Newton,” continued the man in the
+corner, after a brief pause, “that is to say, of the man who on a dark
+night last October was found murdered in a lonely lane, not far from
+Ayrsham. The public, as you may well imagine, took a very keen
+interest in the case from the outset: the story of Mary Newton, of the
+threatened breach of promise, of the £5,000 damages, roused masses of
+conjecture to which no one has yet dared to give definite shape.
+
+“One name, however, had already been whispered significantly, that of
+Mr. Mervin Ledbury, the young Hussar, one of Mary Newton’s admirers at
+the very time she left home in order, as she said, to be married to
+some one above her in station.
+
+“Many thinking people, too, wanted to know what Samuel Holder, Mary’s
+jilted _fiancé_, was doing close to the scene of the murder that
+night, and how he came to make the remark: ‘Hello! Is that you, Mat
+Newton?’ when the Old Man lived nearly half-a-mile away, and really
+had no cause for being in that particular lane, at that hour of the
+night in the drizzling rain.
+
+“The inquest, which, for want of other accommodation, was held at the
+local police station, was, as you may imagine, very largely attended.
+
+“I had read a brief statement of the case in the London papers, and
+had hurried down to Ayrsham Junction, as I scented a mystery, and knew
+I should enjoy myself.
+
+“When I got there, the room was already packed, and the medical
+evidence was being gone through.
+
+“Old Man Newton, it appears, had been knocked on the head by a
+heavily-loaded cane, which was found in the ditch close to the
+murdered man’s body.
+
+“The cane was produced in court; it was as stout as an old-fashioned
+club, and of terrific weight. The man who wielded it must have been
+very powerful, for he had only dealt one blow, but that blow had
+cracked the old man’s skull. The cane was undoubtedly of foreign make,
+for it had a solid silver ferrule at one end, which was not English
+hall-marked.
+
+“In the opinion of the medical expert, death was the result of the
+blow, and must have been almost instantaneous.
+
+“The labourers who first came across the body of the murdered man then
+repeated their story; they had nothing new to add, and their evidence
+was of no importance. But after that there was some stir in the court.
+Samuel Holder had been called and sworn to tell the whole truth, and
+nothing but the truth.
+
+“He was a youngish, heavily-built man of about five-and-thirty, with a
+nervous, not altogether prepossessing expression of face. Pressed by
+the coroner, he gave us a few details of Old Man Newton’s earlier
+history, such as I have already told you.
+
+“‘Old Mat,’ he explained, with some hesitation, ‘was for ever wanting
+to find out who the gentleman was who had promised marriage to Mary
+four years ago. But Mary was that obstinate, and wouldn’t tell him,
+and this exasperated the old man terribly, so that they had many rows
+on the subject.’
+
+“‘I suppose,’ said the coroner tentatively, ‘that you never knew who
+that gentleman was?’
+
+“Samuel Holder seemed to hesitate for a moment. His manner became even
+more nervous than before; he shifted his position from one foot to the
+other; finally, he said:
+
+“‘I don’t know as I ought to say, but——’
+
+“‘I am quite sure that you must tell us everything you know which
+might throw light upon this extraordinary and terrible murder,’
+retorted the coroner sternly.
+
+“‘Well,’ replied Samuel Holder, whilst great beads of perspiration
+stood out upon his forehead, ‘Mary never would give up the letters she
+had had from him, and she would not hear anything about a breach of
+promise case and £5,000 damages; but old Mat ’e often says to me, says
+’e, “It’s young Mr. Ledbury,” ’e says, “she’s told me that once. I got
+it out of ’er, and if I only knew where to find ’im——”’
+
+“‘You are quite sure of this?’ asked the coroner, for Holder had
+paused, and seemed quite horrified at the enormity of what he had
+said.
+
+“‘Yes—yes—your worship—your honour——’ stammered Holder. ‘’E’s told me
+’twas young Mr. Ledbury times out of count, and——’
+
+“But Samuel Holder here completely broke down; he seemed unable to
+speak, his lips twitched convulsively, and the coroner, fearing that
+the man would faint, had him conveyed into the next room to recover
+himself, whilst another witness was brought forward.
+
+“This was Michael Pitkin, landlord of the Fernhead Arms, at Ayrsham,
+who had been on very intimate terms with old Newton during the four
+years which elapsed after Mary’s disappearance. He had a very curious
+story to tell, which aroused public excitement to its highest pitch.
+
+“It appears that to him also the old man had often confided the fact
+that it was Mr. Ledbury who had promised to marry Mary, and then had
+shamefully left her stranded and moneyless in London.
+
+“‘But, of course,’ added the jovial and pleasant-looking landlord of
+the Fernhead Arms, ‘the likes of us down here didn’t know what became
+of Mr. Ledbury after he left “The Limes,” until one day I reads in the
+local paper that Sir John Fernhead’s daughter is going to be married
+to Captain Mervin Ledbury. Of course, your honour and me, and all of
+us know Sir John, our squire, down at Fernhead Towers, and I says to
+old Mat: “It strikes me,” I says, “that you’ve got your man.” Sure
+enough it was the same Mr. Ledbury who rented “The Limes” years ago,
+who was engaged to the young lady up at the Towers, and last week
+there was grand doings there—lords and ladies and lots of quality
+staying there, and also the Captain.’
+
+“‘Well?’ asked the coroner eagerly, whilst every one held their
+breath, wondering what was to come.
+
+“‘Well,’ continued Michael Pitkin, ‘Old Man Newton went down to the
+Towers one day. ’E was determined to see young Mr. Ledbury, and went.
+What ’appened I don’t know, for old Mat wouldn’t tell me, but he came
+back mighty furious from ’is visit, and swore ’e would ruin the young
+man and make no end of a scandal, and he would bring the law agin’ ’im
+and get £5,000 damages.’
+
+“This story, embellished, of course, by many details, was the gist of
+what the worthy landlord of the Fernhead Arms had to say, but you may
+imagine how every one’s excitement and curiosity was aroused; in the
+meanwhile Samuel Holder was getting over his nervousness, and was more
+ready to give a clear account of what happened on the fatal night
+itself.
+
+“‘It was about nine o’clock,’ he explained, in answer to the coroner,
+‘and I was hurrying back to Ayrsham, through the fields; it was dark
+and raining, and I was about to strike across the hedge into the lane
+when I heard voices—a woman’s, then a man’s. Of course, I could see
+nothing, and the man spoke in a whisper, but I had recognised Mary’s
+voice quite plainly. She kept on saying: “’Tisn’t my fault!” she says,
+“it’s father’s, ’e has made up ’is mind. I held out as long as I
+could, but ’e worried me, and now ’e’s got your letters, and it’s too
+late.”’
+
+“Samuel Holder again paused a moment, then continued:
+
+“‘They talked together for a long time: Mary seemed very upset and the
+man very angry. Presently ’e says to ’er: “Well, tell your father to
+come out here and speak to me for a moment. I’ll see what I can do.”
+Mary seemed to ’esitate for a time, then she went away, and the man
+waited there in the drizzling rain, with me the other side of the
+’edge watchin’ ’im. I waited for a long time, for I wanted to know
+what was going to ’appen; then time went on. I thought perhaps that
+old Mat was at the Fernhead Arms, and that Mary couldn’t find ’im, so
+I went back to Ayrsham by the fields, ’oping to find the old man. The
+stranger didn’t budge. ’E seemed inclined to wait—so I left ’im
+there—and—and—that’s all. I went to the Fernhead Arms, saw old Mat
+wasn’t there—then I went back to the lane—and—Old Man Newton was dead,
+and the stranger was gone.’
+
+“There was a moment or two of dead silence in the court when Samuel
+Holder had given his evidence, then the coroner asked quietly:
+
+“‘You do not know who the stranger was?’
+
+“‘Well, I couldn’t be sure, your honour,’ replied Samuel nervously,
+‘it was pitch dark. I wouldn’t like to swear a fellow-creature’s life
+and character away.’
+
+“‘No, no, quite so,’ rejoined the coroner; ‘but do you happen to know
+what time it was when all this occurred?’
+
+“‘Oh yes, your honour,’ said Samuel decisively, ‘as I walked away from
+the Fernhead Arms I ’eard Ayrsham church clock strike ten o’clock.’
+
+“‘Ah! that’s always something,’ said the coroner, with a sigh of
+satisfaction. ‘Call Mary Newton, please.’”
+
+
+
+Chapter III
+
+“You may imagine,” continued the man in the corner, after a slight
+pause, “with what palpitating interest we all watched the pathetic
+little figure, clad in deep black, who now stepped forward to give
+evidence.
+
+“It was difficult to imagine that Mary Newton could ever have been
+pretty; trouble had obviously wrought sad havoc with her good looks;
+she was now a wizened little thing, with dark rings under her eyes,
+and a pale, anæmic complexion. She stood perfectly listlessly before
+the coroner, waiting to be questioned, but otherwise not seeming to
+take the slightest interest in the proceedings. In an even, toneless
+voice she told her name, age, and status, then waited for further
+questions.
+
+“‘Your father went out a little before ten o’clock on Tuesday night
+last, did he not?’ asked the coroner very kindly.
+
+“‘Yes, sir, he did,’ replied Mary quietly.
+
+“‘You had brought him a message from a gentleman whom you had met in
+the lane, and who wished to speak with your father?’
+
+“‘No, sir,’ replied Mary, in the same even and toneless voice; ‘I
+brought no message to father, and he went out on his own.’
+
+“‘But the gentleman you met in the lane?’ insisted the coroner with
+some impatience.
+
+“‘I didn’t meet any one in the lane, sir. I never went out of the
+house that Tuesday night, it rained so.’
+
+“‘But the last witness, Samuel Holder, heard you talking in the lane
+at nine o’clock.’
+
+“‘Samuel Holder was mistaken,’ she replied imperturbably; ‘I wasn’t
+out of the house the whole of that night.’
+
+“It would be useless for me,” continued the man in the corner, “to
+attempt to convey to you the intense feeling of excitement which
+pervaded that crowded court, as that wizened little figure stood there
+for over half-an-hour, quietly and obstinately parrying the most rigid
+cross-examination.
+
+“That she was lying—lying to shield the very man who perhaps had
+murdered her father—no one doubted for a single instant. Yet there she
+stood, sullen, apathetic, and defiant, flatly denying Samuel Holder’s
+story from end to end, strictly adhering and swearing to her first
+statement, that her father went out ‘on his own,’ that she did not
+know where he was going to, and that she herself had never left the
+house that fatal Tuesday night.
+
+“It did not seem to occur to her that by these statements she was
+hopelessly incriminating Samuel Holder, whom she was thus openly
+accusing of deliberate lies; on the contrary, many noticed a distinct
+touch of bitter animosity in the young girl against her former
+sweetheart, which was singularly emphasised when the coroner asked her
+whether she approved of the idea of a breach of promise action being
+brought against Mr. Ledbury.
+
+“‘No,’ she said; ‘all that talk about damages and breach of promise
+was between father and Sam Holder, because Sam had told father that he
+wouldn’t mind marrying me if I had £5,000 of my own.’
+
+“It would be impossible to render the tone of hatred and contempt with
+which the young girl uttered these words. One seemed to live through
+the whole tragedy of the past few months—the girl, pestered by the
+greed of her father, yet refusing obstinately to aid in causing a
+scandal, perhaps disgrace, to the man whom she had once loved and
+trusted.
+
+“As nothing more could be got out of her, and as circumstances now
+seemed to demand it, the coroner adjourned the inquest. The police, as
+you may well imagine, wanted to make certain enquiries. Mind you, Mary
+Newton flatly refused to mention Mr. Ledbury’s name; she was
+questioned and cross-questioned, yet her answer uniformly was:
+
+“‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. The person I was going to
+marry four years ago has gone out of my life—I have never seen him
+since. I saw no one on that Tuesday night.’
+
+“Against that, when she was asked to swear that it was _not_ Mr.—now
+Captain—Ledbury who had promised her marriage she flatly refused to do
+so.
+
+“Of course, there was not a soul there who had not made up his or her
+mind that Captain Ledbury _had_ met Mary Newton in the lane, and had
+heard from her that all his love letters to her were now in her
+father’s hands, and that the old man meant to use these in order to
+extort money from him.
+
+“Fearing the exposure and disgrace of so sensational a breach of
+promise action, and not having the money with which to meet Mat
+Newton’s preposterous demands, he probably lost control over himself,
+and in a moment of impulse and mad rage had silenced the old man for
+ever.
+
+“I assure you that at the adjourned inquest everybody expected to see
+Captain Ledbury in the custody of two constables. The police in the
+interim had been extremely reticent, and no fresh details of the
+extraordinary case had found its way into the papers, but fresh
+details of a sensational character were fully expected, and I can
+assure you the public were not disappointed.
+
+“It is no use my telling you all the proceedings of that second most
+memorable day; I will try and confine myself to the most important
+points of this interesting mystery.
+
+“I must tell you that the story told by the landlord of the Fernhead
+Arms was fully corroborated by several witnesses, all of whom
+testified to the fact that the old man came back from his visit to
+Fernhead Towers in a terrible fury, swearing to bring disgrace upon
+the scoundrel who had ruined his daughter.
+
+“What occurred during that visit was explained by Edward Sanders, the
+butler at The Towers. According to the testimony of this witness,
+there was a large house-party staying with Sir John Fernhead to
+celebrate the engagement of his daughter; the party naturally included
+Captain Mervin Ledbury, his brother, Lord Walterton, with the latter’s
+newly-married young wife, also many neighbours and friends.
+
+“At about six o’clock on Monday evening, it appears, a
+disreputable-looking old man, whom Edward Sanders did not know, but
+who gave the name of Newton, rang at the front door bell of The Towers
+and demanded to see Mr. Ledbury. Sanders naturally refused to admit
+him, but the old man was so persistent, and used such strange
+language, that the butler, after much hesitation, decided to apprise
+Captain Ledbury of his extraordinary visitor.
+
+“Captain Ledbury, on hearing that Old Man Newton wished to speak to
+him, much to Sanders’ astonishment, came downstairs and elected to
+interview his extraordinary visitor in the dining-room, which was then
+deserted. Sanders showed the old man in, and waited in the hall. Very
+soon, however, he heard loud and angry voices, and the next moment
+Captain Ledbury threw open the dining-room door, and said:
+
+“‘This man is mad or drunk; show him out, Sanders.’
+
+“And without another word the Captain walked upstairs, leaving Sanders
+the pleasant task of ‘showing the old man out.’ That this was done
+very speedily and pretty roughly we may infer from Old Man Newton’s
+subsequent fury, and the threats he uttered even while he was being
+‘shown out.’
+
+“Now you see, do you not?” continued the man in the corner, “that this
+evidence seemed to add another link to the chain which was
+incriminating young Mr. Ledbury in this terrible charge of murdering
+Old Man Newton.
+
+“The young man himself was now with his regiment stationed at York. It
+appears that the house-party at Fernhead Towers was breaking up on the
+very day of Old Man Newton’s strange visit thither. Lord and Lady
+Walterton left for town on the Tuesday morning, and Captain Ledbury
+went up to York on that very same fatal night.
+
+“You must know that the small local station of Fernhead is quite close
+to The Towers. Captain Ledbury took the late local train there for
+Ayrsham Junction after dinner that night, arriving at the latter place
+at 9.15, with the intention of picking up the Midland express to the
+north at 10.15 p.m. later on.
+
+“The police had ascertained that Captain Ledbury had got out of the
+local train at Ayrsham Junction at 9.15, and aimlessly strolled out of
+the station. Against that, it was definitely proved by several
+witnesses that the young man did catch the Midland express at 10.15
+p.m., and travelled up north by it.
+
+“Now, there was the hitch, do you see?” added the funny creature
+excitedly. “Samuel Holder overheard a conversation in the fatal lane
+between Mary Newton and the stranger, whom everybody by now believed
+to be Captain Ledbury. Good! That was between 9 p.m. and 10 p.m., and,
+as it happened, the young man does seem to have unaccountably strolled
+about in the neighbourhood whilst waiting for his train; but remember
+that when Sam Holder left the stranger waiting in the lane, and went
+back towards Ayrsham in order to try and find Old Man Newton, he
+distinctly heard Ayrsham church clock striking ten.
+
+“Now, the lane where the murder occurred is two-and-a-half miles from
+Ayrsham Junction station, therefore it could not have been Captain
+Ledbury who was there lying in wait for the old man, as he could not
+possibly have had his interview with old Mat, quarrelled with him and
+murdered him, and then caught his train two-and-a-half miles further
+on, all in the space of fifteen minutes.
+
+“Thus, even before the final verdict of ‘Wilful murder against some
+person or persons unknown,’ the case against Captain Mervin Ledbury
+had completely fallen to the ground. He must also have succeeded in
+convincing Sir John Fernhead of his innocence, as I see by the papers
+that Miss Fernhead has since become Mrs. Ledbury.
+
+“But the result has been that the Ayrsham tragedy has remained an
+impenetrable mystery.
+
+“‘Who killed Old Man Newton? and why?’ is a question which many
+people, including our clever criminal investigation department, have
+asked themselves many a time.
+
+“It was not a case of vulgar assault and robbery, as the old man was
+not worth robbing, and the few coppers he possessed were found intact
+in his waistcoat pocket.
+
+“Many people assert that Samuel Holder quarrelled with the old man and
+murdered him, but there are three reasons why that theory is bound to
+fall to the ground. Firstly, the total absence of any motive. Samuel
+Holder could have no possible object in killing the old man, but
+still, we’ll waive that; people do quarrel—especially if they are
+confederates, as these two undoubtedly were—and quarrels do sometimes
+end fatally. Secondly, the weapon which caused the old man’s death—a
+heavily-leaded cane of foreign make, with solid silver ferrule.
+
+“Now, I ask you, where in the world could a village carpenter pick up
+an instrument of that sort? Moreover no one ever saw such a thing in
+Sam Holder’s hands or in his house. When he walked to the Fernhead
+Arms in order to try and find the old man, he had nothing of the sort
+in his hand, and in spite of the most strenuous efforts on the part of
+the police, the history of that cane was never traced.
+
+“Then, there is a third reason why obviously Sam Holder was not guilty
+of the murder, though that reason is a moral one; I am referring to
+Mary Newton’s attitude at the inquest. She lied, of that there could
+not be a shadow of doubt; she was determined to shield her former
+lover, and incriminated Sam Holder only because she wished to save
+another man.
+
+“Obviously, old Newton went out on that dark, wet night in order to
+meet someone in the lane, that someone could not have been Sam Holder,
+whom he met anywhere and everywhere, and every day in his own house.
+
+“There! you see that Sam Holder was obviously innocent, that Captain
+Ledbury could not have committed the murder, that surely Mary Newton
+did not kill her own father, and that in such a case, common sense
+should have come to the rescue, and not have left this case, what it
+now is, a tragic and impenetrable mystery.”
+
+
+
+Chapter IV
+
+“But,” I said at last, for indeed I was deeply mystified, “what does
+common sense argue?—the case seems to be absolutely hopeless.”
+
+He surveyed his beloved bit of string for a moment, and his mild blue
+eyes blinked at me over his bone-rimmed spectacles.
+
+“Common sense,” he said at last, with his most apologetic manner,
+“tells me that Ayrsham village is a remote little place, where a daily
+paper is unknown, and where no one reads the fashionable intelligence
+or knows anything about Birthday honours.”
+
+“What _do_ you mean?” I gasped in amazement.
+
+“Simply this, that no one at Ayrsham village, certainly not Mary
+Newton herself, had realised that one of the Mr. Ledburys, whom all
+had known at ‘The Limes’ four years ago, had since become Lord
+Walterton.”
+
+“Lord Walterton!” I ejaculated, wholly incredulously.
+
+“Why, yes!” he replied quietly. “Do you mean to say you never thought
+of that? that it never occurred to you that Mary Newton may have
+admitted to her father that Mr. Ledbury had been the man who had so
+wickedly wronged her, but that she, in her remote little village, had
+also no idea that the Mr. Ledbury she meant was recently made, and is
+now styled, Lord Walterton?
+
+“Old Man Newton, who knew of the gossip which had coupled his
+daughter’s name, years ago, with the younger Mr. Ledbury, naturally
+took it for granted that she was referring to him. Moreover, we may
+take it from the girl’s subsequent attitude that she did all she could
+to shield the man whom she had once loved; women, you know, have that
+sort of little way with them.
+
+“Old Newton, fully convinced that young Ledbury was the man he wanted,
+went up to The Towers and had the stormy interview, which no doubt
+greatly puzzled the young Hussar. He undoubtedly spoke of it to his
+brother, Lord Walterton, who, newly married and of high social
+position, would necessarily dread a scandal as much as anybody.
+
+“Lord Walterton went up to town with his young wife the following
+morning. Ayrsham is only forty minutes from London. He came down in
+the evening, met Mary in the lane, asked to see her father, and killed
+him in a moment of passion, when he found that the old man’s demands
+were preposterously unreasonable. Moreover, Englishmen in all grades
+of society have an innate horror of being bullied or blackmailed; the
+murder probably was not premeditated, but the outcome of rage at being
+browbeaten by the old man.
+
+“You see, the police did not use their common sense over so simple a
+matter. They naturally made no enquiries as to Lord Walterton’s
+movements, who seemingly had absolutely nothing to do with the case.
+If they had, I feel convinced that they would have found that his
+lordship would have had some difficulty in satisfying everybody as to
+his whereabouts on that particular Tuesday night.
+
+“Think of it, it is so simple—the only possible solution of that
+strange and unaccountable mystery.”
+
+
+
+XI. The Affair at the Novelty Theatre
+
+Chapter I
+
+“Talking of mysteries,” said the man in the corner, rather
+irrelevantly, for he had not opened his mouth since he sat down and
+ordered his lunch, “talking of mysteries, it is always a puzzle to me
+how few thefts are committed in the dressing-rooms of fashionable
+actresses during a performance.”
+
+“There have been one or two,” I suggested, “but nothing of any value
+was stolen.”
+
+“Yet you remember that affair at the Novelty Theatre a year or two
+ago, don’t you?” he added. “It created a great deal of sensation at
+the time. You see, Miss Phyllis Morgan was, and still is, a very
+fashionable and popular actress, and her pearls are quite amongst the
+wonders of the world. She herself valued them at £10,000, and several
+experts who remember the pearls quite concur with that valuation.
+
+“During the period of her short tenancy of the Novelty Theatre last
+season, she entrusted those beautiful pearls to Mr. Kidd, the
+well-known Bond Street jeweller, to be re-strung. There were seven
+rows of perfectly matched pearls, held together by a small diamond
+clasp of ‘art-nouveau’ design.
+
+“Kidd and Co. are, as you know, a very eminent and old established
+firm of jewellers. Mr. Thomas Kidd, its present sole representative,
+was some time president of the London Chamber of Commerce, and a man
+whose integrity has always been held to be above suspicion. His
+clerks, salesmen, and book-keeper had all been in his employ for
+years, and most of the work was executed on the premises.
+
+“In the case of Miss Phyllis Morgan’s valuable pearls they were
+re-strung and re-set in the back shop by Mr. Kidd’s most valued and
+most trusted workman, a man named James Rumford, who is justly
+considered to be one of the cleverest craftsmen here in England.
+
+“When the pearls were ready, Mr. Kidd himself took them down to the
+theatre, and delivered them into Miss Morgan’s own hands.
+
+“It appears that the worthy jeweller was extremely fond of the
+theatre; but, like so many persons in affluent circumstances, he was
+also very fond of getting a free seat when he could.
+
+“All along he had made up his mind to take the pearls down to the
+Novelty Theatre one night, and to see Miss Morgan for a moment before
+the performance; she would then, he hoped, place a stall at his
+disposal.
+
+“His previsions were correct. Miss Morgan received the pearls, and Mr.
+Kidd was on that celebrated night accommodated with a seat in the
+stalls.
+
+“I don’t know if you remember all the circumstances connected with
+that case, but, to make my point clear, I must remind you of one or
+two of the most salient details.
+
+“In the drama in which Miss Phyllis Morgan was acting at the time,
+there is a brilliant masked ball scene which is the crux of the whole
+play; it occurs in the second act, and Miss Phyllis Morgan, as the
+hapless heroine, dressed in the shabbiest of clothes, appears in the
+midst of a gay and giddy throng; she apostrophises all and sundry
+there, including the villain, and has a magnificent scene which always
+brings down the house, and nightly adds to her histrionic laurels.
+
+“For this scene a large number of supers are engaged, and in order to
+further swell the crowd, practically all the available stage hands
+have to ‘walk on’ dressed in various coloured dominoes, and all
+wearing masks.
+
+“You have, of course, heard the name of Mr. Howard Dennis in
+connection with this extraordinary mystery. He is what is usually
+called ‘a young man about town,’ and was one of Miss Phyllis Morgan’s
+most favoured admirers. As a matter of fact, he was generally
+understood to be the popular actress’s _fiancé_, and as such, had of
+course the _entrée_ of the Novelty Theatre.
+
+“Like many another idle young man about town, Mr. Howard Dennis was
+stage-mad, and one of his greatest delights was to don nightly a mask
+and a blue domino, and to ‘walk on’ in the second act, not so much in
+order to gratify his love for the stage, as to watch Miss Phyllis
+Morgan in her great scene, and to be present, close by her, when she
+received her usual salvo of enthusiastic applause from a delighted
+public.
+
+“On this eventful night—it was on 20th July last—the second act was in
+full swing; the supers, the stage hands, and all the principals were
+on the scene, the back of the stage was practically deserted. The
+beautiful pearls, fresh from the hands of Mr. Kidd, were in Miss
+Morgan’s dressing-room, as she meant to wear them in the last act.
+
+“Of course, since that memorable affair, many people have talked of
+the foolhardiness of leaving such valuable jewellery in the sole
+charge of a young girl—Miss Morgan’s dresser—who acted with
+unpardonable folly and carelessness, but you must remember that this
+part of the theatre is only accessible through the stage door, where
+sits enthroned that uncorruptible dragon, the stage door-keeper.
+
+“No one can get at it from the front, and the dressing-rooms for the
+supers and lesser members of the company are on the opposite side of
+the stage to that reserved for Miss Morgan and one or two of the
+principals.
+
+“It was just a quarter to ten, and the curtain was about to be rung
+down, when George Finch, the stage door-keeper, rushed excitedly into
+the wings; he was terribly upset, and was wildly clutching his coat,
+beneath which he evidently held something concealed.
+
+“In response to the rapidly-whispered queries of the one or two stage
+hands that stood about, Finch only shook his head excitedly. He seemed
+scarcely able to control his impatience, during the close of the act,
+and the subsequent prolonged applause.
+
+“When at last Miss Morgan, flushed with her triumph, came off the
+stage, Finch made a sudden rush for her.
+
+“‘Oh, Madam!’ he gasped excitedly, ‘it might have been such an awful
+misfortune! The rascal! I nearly got him through! but he
+escaped—fortunately it is safe—— I have got it——!’
+
+“It was some time before Miss Morgan understood what in the world the
+otherwise sober stage door-keeper was driving at. Every one who heard
+him certainly thought that he had been drinking. But the next moment
+from under his coat he pulled out, with another ejaculation of
+excitement, the magnificent pearl necklace which Miss Morgan had
+thought safely put away in her dressing-room.
+
+“‘What in the world does all this mean?’ asked Mr. Howard Dennis, who,
+as usual, was escorting his _fiancée_. ‘Finch, what are you doing with
+Madam’s necklace?’
+
+“Miss Phyllis Morgan herself was too bewildered to question Finch; she
+gazed at him, then at her necklace, in speechless astonishment.
+
+“‘Well, you see, Madam, it was this way,’ Finch managed to explain at
+last, as with awestruck reverence he finally deposited the precious
+necklace in the actress’s hands. ‘As you know, Madam, it is a very hot
+night. I had seen every one into the theatre and counted in the
+supers; there was nothing much for me to do, and I got rather tired
+and very thirsty. I see’d a man loafing close to the door, and I ask
+him to fetch me a pint of beer from round the corner, and I give him
+some coppers; I had noticed him loafing round before, and it was so
+hot I didn’t think I was doin’ no harm.’
+
+“‘No, no,’ said Miss Morgan impatiently. ‘Well!’
+
+“‘Well,’ continued Finch, ‘the man, he brought me the beer, and I had
+some of it—and—and—afterwards, I don’t quite know how it happened—it
+was the heat, perhaps—but—I was sitting in my box, and I suppose I
+must have dropped asleep. I just remember hearing the ring up for the
+second act, and the call-boy calling you, Madam, then there’s a sort
+of a blank in my mind. All of a sudden I seemed to wake with the
+feeling that there was something wrong somehow. In a moment I jumped
+up, and I tell you I was wide awake then, and I saw a man sneaking
+down the passage, past my box, towards the door. I challenged him, and
+he tried to dart past me, but I was too quick for him, and got him by
+the tails of his coat, for I saw at once that he was carrying
+something, and I had recognised the loafer who brought me the beer. I
+shouted for help, but there’s never anybody about in this back street,
+and the loafer, he struggled like old Harry, and sure enough he
+managed to get free from me and away before I could stop him, but in
+his fright the rascal dropped his booty, for which Heaven be praised!
+and it was your pearls, Madam. Oh, my! but I did have a tussle,’
+concluded the worthy door-keeper, mopping his forehead, ‘and I do
+hope, Madam, the scoundrel didn’t take nothing else.’
+
+“That was the story,” continued the man in the corner, “which George
+Finch had to tell, and which he subsequently repeated without the
+slightest deviation. Miss Phyllis Morgan, with the light-heartedness
+peculiar to ladies of her profession, took the matter very quietly;
+all she said at the time was that she had nothing else of value in her
+dressing-room, but that Miss Knight—the dresser—deserved a scolding
+for leaving the room unprotected.
+
+“‘All’s well that ends well,’ she said gaily, as she finally went into
+her dressing-room, carrying the pearls in her hand.
+
+“It appears that the moment she opened the door, she found Miss Knight
+sitting in the room, in a deluge of tears. The girl had overheard
+George Finch telling his story, and was terribly upset at her own
+carelessness.
+
+“In answer to Miss Morgan’s questions, she admitted that she had gone
+into the wings, and lingered there to watch the great actress’s
+beautiful performance. She thought no one could possibly get to the
+dressing-room, as nearly all hands were on the stage at the time, and
+of course George Finch was guarding the door.
+
+“However, as there really had been no harm done, beyond a wholesome
+fright to everybody concerned, Miss Morgan readily forgave the girl
+and proceeded with her change of attire for the next act. Incidentally
+she noticed a bunch of roses, which were placed on her dressing-table,
+and asked Knight who had put them there.
+
+“‘Mr. Dennis brought them,’ replied the girl.
+
+“Miss Morgan looked pleased, blushed, and dismissing the whole matter
+from her mind, she proceeded with her toilette for the next act, in
+which, the hapless heroine having come into her own again, she was
+able to wear her beautiful pearls around her neck.
+
+“George Finch, however, took some time to recover himself; his
+indignation was only equalled by his volubility. When his excitement
+had somewhat subsided, he took the precaution of saving the few drops
+of beer which had remained at the bottom of the mug, brought to him by
+the loafer. This was subsequently shown to a chemist in the
+neighbourhood, who, without a moment’s hesitation, pronounced the beer
+to contain an appreciable quantity of chloral.”
+
+
+
+Chapter II
+
+“The whole matter, as you may imagine, did not affect Miss Morgan’s
+spirits that night,” continued the man in the corner, after a slight
+pause.
+
+“‘All’s well that ends well,’ she had said gaily, since almost by a
+miracle, her pearls were once more safely round her neck.
+
+“But the next day brought the rude awakening. Something had indeed
+happened which made the affair at the Novelty Theatre, what it has
+ever since remained, a curious and unexplainable mystery.
+
+“The following morning Miss Phyllis Morgan decided that it was
+foolhardy to leave valuable property about in her dressing-room, when
+for stage purposes, imitation jewellery did just as well. She
+therefore determined to place her pearls in the bank until the
+termination of her London season.
+
+“The moment, however, that, in broad daylight, she once more handled
+the necklace, she instinctively felt that there was something wrong
+with it. She examined it eagerly and closely, and, hardly daring to
+face her sudden terrible suspicions, she rushed round to the nearest
+jeweller, and begged him to examine the pearls.
+
+“The examination did not take many moments: the jeweller at once
+pronounced the pearls to be false. There could be no doubt about it;
+the necklace was a perfect imitation of the original, even the clasp
+was an exact copy. Half-hysterical with rage and anxiety, Miss Morgan
+at once drove to Bond Street, and asked to see Mr. Kidd.
+
+“Well, you may easily imagine the stormy interview that took place.
+Miss Phyllis Morgan, in no measured language, boldly accused Mr.
+Thomas Kidd, late president of the London Chamber of Commerce, of
+having substituted false pearls for her own priceless ones.
+
+“The worthy jeweller, at first completely taken by surprise, examined
+the necklace, and was horrified to see that Miss Morgan’s statements
+were, alas! too true. Mr. Kidd was indeed in a terribly awkward
+position.
+
+“The evening before, after business hours, he had taken the necklace
+home with him. Before starting for the theatre, he had examined it to
+see that it was quite in order. He had then, with his own hands, and
+in the presence of his wife, placed it in its case, and driven
+straight to the Novelty, where he finally gave it over to Miss Morgan
+herself.
+
+“To all this he swore most positively; moreover, all his _employés_
+and workmen could swear that they had last seen the necklace just
+after closing time at the shop, when Mr. Kidd walked off towards
+Piccadilly, with the precious article in the inner pocket of his coat.
+
+“One point certainly was curious, and undoubtedly helped to deepen the
+mystery which to this day clings to the affair at the Novelty Theatre.
+
+“When Mr. Kidd handed the packet containing the necklace to Miss
+Morgan, she was too busy to open it at once. She only spoke to Mr.
+Kidd through her dressing-room door, and never opened the packet till
+nearly an hour later, after she had dressed ready for the second act;
+the packet at that time had been untouched, and was wrapped up just as
+she had had it from Mr. Kidd’s own hands. She undid the packet, and
+handled the pearls; certainly, by the artificial light she could see
+nothing wrong with the necklace.
+
+“Poor Mr. Kidd was nearly distracted with the horror of his position.
+Thirty years of an honest reputation suddenly tarnished with this
+awful suspicion—for he realised at once that Miss Morgan refused to
+believe his statements; in fact, she openly said that she would—unless
+immediate compensation was made to her—place the matter at once in the
+hands of the police.
+
+“From the stormy interview in Bond Street, the irate actress drove at
+once to Scotland Yard; but the old-established firm of Kidd and Co.
+was not destined to remain under any cloud that threatened its
+integrity.
+
+“Mr. Kidd at once called upon his solicitor, with the result that an
+offer was made to Miss Morgan, whereby the jeweller would deposit the
+full value of the original necklace, _i.e._, £10,000, in the hands of
+Messrs. Bentley and Co., bankers, that sum to be held by them for a
+whole year, at the end of which time, if the perpetrator of the fraud
+had not been discovered, the money was to be handed over to Miss
+Morgan in its entirety.
+
+“Nothing could have been more fair, more equitable, or more just, but
+at the same time nothing could have been more mysterious.
+
+“As Mr. Kidd swore that he had placed the real pearls in Miss Morgan’s
+hands, and was ready to back his oath by the sum of £10,000, no more
+suspicion could possibly attach to him. When the announcement of his
+generous offer appeared in the papers, the entire public approved and
+exonerated him, and then turned to wonder who the perpetrator of the
+daring fraud had been.
+
+“How came a valueless necklace in exact imitation of the original one
+to be in Miss Morgan’s dressing-room? Where were the real pearls?
+Clearly the loafer who had drugged the stage door-keeper, and sneaked
+into the theatre to steal a necklace, was not aware that he was
+risking several years’ hard labour for the sake of a worthless trifle.
+He had been one of the many dupes of this extraordinary adventure.
+
+“Macpherson, one of the most able men on the detective staff, had,
+indeed, his work cut out. The police were extremely reticent, but, in
+spite of this, one or two facts gradually found their way into the
+papers, and aroused public interest and curiosity to its highest
+pitch.
+
+“What had transpired was this:
+
+“Clara Knight, the dresser, had been very rigorously cross-questioned,
+and, from her many statements, the following seemed quite positive.
+
+“After the curtain had rung up for the second act, and Miss Morgan had
+left her dressing-room, Knight had waited about for some time, and had
+even, it appears, handled and admired the necklace. Then,
+unfortunately, she was seized with the burning desire of seeing the
+famous scene from the wings. She thought that the place was quite
+safe, and that George Finch was as usual at his post.
+
+“‘I was going along the short passage that leads to the wings,’ she
+exclaimed to the detectives, ‘when I became aware of some one moving
+some distance behind me. I turned and saw a blue domino about to enter
+Miss Morgan’s dressing-room.
+
+“‘I thought nothing of that,’ continued the girl, ‘as we all know that
+Mr. Dennis is engaged to Miss Morgan. He is very fond of “walking on”
+in the ball-room scene, and he always wears a blue domino when he
+does; so I was not at all alarmed. He had his mask on as usual, and he
+was carrying a bunch of roses. When he saw me at the other end of the
+passage, he waved his hand to me and pointed to the flowers. I nodded
+to him, and then he went into the room.’
+
+“These statements, as you may imagine, created a great deal of
+sensation; so much so, in fact, that Mr. Kidd, with his £10,000 and
+his reputation in mind, moved heaven and earth to bring about the
+prosecution of Mr. Dennis for theft and fraud.
+
+“The papers were full of it, for Mr. Howard Dennis was well known in
+fashionable London Society. His answer to these curious statements was
+looked forward to eagerly; when it came it satisfied no one and
+puzzled everybody.
+
+“‘Miss Knight was mistaken,’ he said most emphatically, ‘I did not
+bring any roses for Miss Morgan that night. It was not I that she saw
+in a blue domino by the door, as I was on the stage before the curtain
+was rung up for the second act, and never left it until the close.’
+
+“This part of Howard Dennis’ statement was a little difficult to
+substantiate. No one on the stage could swear positively whether he
+was ‘on’ early in the act or not, although, mind you, Macpherson had
+ascertained that in the whole crowd of supers on the stage, he was the
+only one who wore a blue domino.
+
+“Mr. Kidd was very active in the matter, but Miss Morgan flatly
+refused to believe in her _fiancé’s_ guilt. The worthy jeweller
+maintained that Mr. Howard Dennis was the only person who knew the
+celebrated pearls and their quaint clasp well enough to have a
+facsimile made of them, and that when Miss Knight saw him enter the
+dressing-room, he actually substituted the false necklace for the real
+one; whilst the loafer who drugged George Finch’s beer was—as every
+one supposed—only a dupe.
+
+“Things had reached a very acute and painful stage, when one more
+detail found its way into the papers, which, whilst entirely clearing
+Mr. Howard Dennis’ character, has helped to make the whole affair a
+hopeless mystery.
+
+“Whilst questioning George Finch, Macpherson had ascertained that the
+stage door-keeper had seen Mr. Dennis enter the theatre some time
+before the beginning of the celebrated second act. He stopped to speak
+to George Finch for a moment or two, and the latter could swear
+positively that Mr. Dennis was not carrying any roses then.
+
+“On the other hand a flower-girl, who was selling roses in the
+neighbourhood of the Novelty Theatre late that memorable night,
+remembers selling some roses to a shabbily-dressed man, who looked
+like a labourer out of work. When Mr. Dennis was pointed out to her
+she swore positively that it was not he.
+
+“‘The man looked like a labourer,’ she explained. ‘I took particular
+note of him, as I remember thinking that he didn’t look much as if he
+could afford to buy roses.’
+
+“Now you see,” concluded the man in the corner excitedly, “where the
+hitch lies. There is absolutely no doubt, judging from the evidence of
+George Finch and of the flower-girl, that the loafer had provided
+himself with the roses, and had somehow or other managed to get hold
+of a blue domino, for the purpose of committing the theft. His giving
+drugged beer to Finch, moreover, proved his guilt beyond a doubt.
+
+“But here the mystery becomes hopeless,” he added with a chuckle, “for
+the loafer dropped the booty which he had stolen—that booty was the
+false necklace, and it has remained an impenetrable mystery to this
+day as to who made the substitution and when.
+
+“A whole year has elapsed since then, but the real necklace has never
+been traced or found; so Mr. Kidd has paid, with absolute quixotic
+chivalry, the sum of £10,000 to Miss Morgan, and thus he has
+completely cleared the firm of Kidd and Co. of any suspicion as to its
+integrity.”
+
+
+
+Chapter III
+
+“But then, what in the world is the explanation of it all?” I asked
+bewildered, as the funny creature paused in his narrative and seemed
+absorbed in the contemplation of a beautiful knot he had just
+completed in his bit of string.
+
+“The explanation is so simple,” he replied, “for it is obvious, is it
+not, that only four people could possibly have committed the fraud?”
+
+“Who are they?” I asked.
+
+“Well,” he said, whilst his bony fingers began to fidget with that
+eternal piece of string, “there is, of course, old Mr. Kidd; but as
+the worthy jeweller has paid £10,000 to prove that he did not steal
+the real necklace and substitute a false one in its stead, we must
+assume that he was guiltless. Then, secondly, there is Mr. Howard
+Dennis.”
+
+“Well, yes,” I said, “what about him?”
+
+“There were several points in his favour,” he rejoined, marking each
+point with a fresh and most complicated knot; “it was not he who
+bought the roses, therefore it was not he who, clad in a blue domino,
+entered Miss Morgan’s dressing-room directly after Knight left it.
+
+“And mark the force of this point,” he added excitedly.
+
+“Just before the curtain rang up for the second act, Miss Morgan had
+been in her room, and had then undone the packet, which, in her own
+words, was just as she had received it from Mr. Kidd’s hands.
+
+“After that Miss Knight remained in charge, and a mere ten seconds
+after she left the room she saw the blue domino carrying the roses at
+the door.
+
+“The flower-girl’s story and that of George Finch have proved that the
+blue domino could not have been Mr. Dennis, but it was the loafer who
+evidently stole the false necklace.
+
+“If you bear all this in mind you will realise that there was no time
+in those ten seconds for Mr. Dennis to have made the substitution
+_before_ the theft was committed. It stands to reason that he could
+not have done it afterwards.
+
+“Then, again, many people suspected Miss Knight, the dresser, but this
+supposition we may easily dismiss. An uneducated, stupid girl, not
+three-and-twenty, could not possibly have planned so clever a
+substitution. An imitation necklace of that particular calibre and
+made to order would cost far more money than a poor theatrical dresser
+could ever afford; let alone the risks of ordering such an ornament to
+be made.
+
+“No,” said the funny creature, with comic emphasis, “there is but one
+theory possible, which is my own.”
+
+“And that is?” I asked eagerly.
+
+“The workman, Rumford, of course,” he responded triumphantly. “Why! it
+jumps to the eyes, as our French friends would tell us. Who, other
+than he, could have the opportunity of making an exact copy of the
+necklace which had been entrusted to his firm?
+
+“Being in the trade he could easily obtain the false stones without
+exciting any undue suspicion; being a skilled craftsman, he could
+easily make the clasp, and string the pearls in exact imitation of the
+original; he could do this secretly in his own home and without the
+slightest risk.
+
+“Then the plan, though extremely simple, was very cleverly thought
+out. Disguised as the loafer——”
+
+“The loafer!” I exclaimed.
+
+“Why, yes! the loafer,” he replied quietly, “disguised as the loafer,
+he hung round the stage door of the Novelty after business hours,
+until he had collected the bits of gossip and information he wanted;
+thus he learnt that Mr. Howard Dennis was Miss Morgan’s accredited
+_fiancé_; that he, like everybody else who was available, ‘walked on’
+in the second act; and that during that time the back of the stage was
+practically deserted.
+
+“No doubt he knew all along that Mr. Kidd meant to take the pearls
+down to the theatre himself that night, and it was quite easy to
+ascertain that Miss Morgan—as the hapless heroine—wore no jewellery in
+the second act, and that Mr. Howard Dennis invariably wore a blue
+domino.
+
+“Some people might incline to the belief that Miss Knight was a paid
+accomplice, that she left the dressing-room unprotected on purpose,
+and that her story of the blue domino and the roses was pre-arranged
+between herself and Rumford, but that is not my opinion.
+
+“I think that the scoundrel was far too clever to need any accomplice,
+and too shrewd to put himself thereby at the mercy of a girl like
+Knight.
+
+“Rumford, I find, is a married man: this to me explains the blue
+domino, which the police were never able to trace to any business
+place, where it might have been bought or hired. Like the necklace
+itself, it was ‘home-made.’
+
+“Having got his properties and his plans ready, Rumford then set to
+work. You must remember that a stage door-keeper is never above
+accepting a glass of beer from a friendly acquaintance; and, no doubt,
+if George Finch had not asked the loafer to bring him a glass, the
+latter would have offered him one. To drug the beer was simple enough;
+then Rumford went to buy the roses, and, I should say, met his wife
+somewhere round the corner, who handed him the blue domino and the
+mask; all this was done in order to completely puzzle the police
+subsequently, and also in order to throw suspicion, if possible, upon
+young Dennis.
+
+“As soon as the drug took effect upon George Finch, Rumford slipped
+into the theatre. To slip a mask and domino on and off is, as you
+know, a matter of a few seconds. Probably his intention had been—if he
+found Knight in the room—to knock her down if she attempted to raise
+an alarm; but here fortune favoured him. Knight saw him from a
+distance, and mistook him easily for Mr. Dennis.
+
+“After the theft of the real necklace, Rumford sneaked out of the
+theatre. And here you see how clever was the scoundrel’s plan: if he
+had merely substituted one necklace for another there would have been
+no doubt whatever that the loafer—whoever he was—was the culprit—the
+drugged beer would have been quite sufficient proof for that. The hue
+and cry would have been after the loafer, and, who knows? there might
+have been some one or something which might have identified that
+loafer with himself.
+
+“He must have bought the shabby clothes somewhere, he certainly bought
+the roses from a flower-girl; anyhow, there were a hundred and one
+little risks and contingencies which might have brought the theft home
+to him.
+
+“But mark what happens: he steals the real necklace, and keeps the
+false one in his hand, intending to drop it sooner or later, and thus
+sent the police entirely on the wrong scent. As the loafer, he was
+supposed to have stolen the false necklace, then dropped it whilst
+struggling with George Finch. The result is that no one has troubled
+about the loafer; no one thought that he had anything to do with the
+substitution, which was the main point at issue, and no very great
+effort has ever been made to find that mysterious loafer.
+
+“It never occurred to any one that the fraud and the theft were
+committed by one and the same person, and that that person could be
+none other than James Rumford.”
+
+
+
+XII. The Tragedy of Barnsdale Manor
+
+Chapter I
+
+“We have heard so much about the evils of Bridge,” said the man in the
+corner that afternoon, “but I doubt whether that fashionable game has
+ever been responsible for a more terrible tragedy than the one at
+Barnsdale Manor.”
+
+“You think, then,” I asked, for I saw he was waiting to be drawn out,
+“you think that the high play at Bridge did have something to do with
+that awful murder?”
+
+“Most people think that much, I fancy,” he replied, “although no one
+has arrived any nearer to the solution of the mystery which surrounds
+the tragic death of Mme. Quesnard at Barnsdale Manor on the 23rd
+September last.
+
+“On that fateful occasion, you must remember that the house party at
+the Manor included a number of sporting and fashionable friends of
+Lord and Lady Barnsdale, among whom Sir Gilbert Culworth was the only
+one whose name was actually mentioned during the hearing of this
+extraordinary case.
+
+“It seems to have been a very gay house party indeed. In the daytime
+Lord Barnsdale took some of his guests to shoot and fish, whilst a few
+devotees remained at home in order to indulge their passion for the
+modern craze of Bridge. It was generally understood that Lord
+Barnsdale did not altogether approve of quite so much gambling. He was
+not by any means well off; and although he was very much in love with
+his beautiful wife, he could ill afford to pay her losses at cards.
+
+“This was the reason, no doubt, that Bridge at Barnsdale Manor was
+only indulged in whilst the host himself was out shooting or fishing;
+in the evenings there was music or billiards, but never any cards.
+
+“One of the most interesting personalities in the Barnsdale _ménage_
+was undoubtedly Madame Nathalie Quesnard, a sister of Lord Barnsdale’s
+mother, who, if you remember, was a Mademoiselle de la Trémouille.
+This Mme. Quesnard was extremely wealthy, the widow of a French West
+Indian planter, who had made millions in Martinique.
+
+“She was very fond of her nephew, to whom, as she had no children or
+other relatives of her own, she intended to leave the bulk of her vast
+fortune. Pending her death, which was not likely to occur for some
+time, as she was not more than fifty, she took up her abode at
+Barnsdale Manor, together with her companion and amanuensis, a poor
+girl named Alice Holt.
+
+“Mme. Quesnard was seemingly an amiable old lady; the only unpleasant
+trait in her character being her intense dislike of her nephew’s
+beautiful and fashionable young wife. The old Frenchwoman, who, with
+all her wealth, had the unbounded and innate thriftiness peculiar to
+her nation, looked with perfect horror on Lady Barnsdale’s
+extravagances, and above all on her fondness for gambling; and
+subsequently several of the servants at the Manor testified to the
+amount of mischief the old lady strove to make between her nephew and
+his young wife.
+
+“Mme. Quesnard’s dislike for Lady Barnsdale seems, moreover, to have
+been shared by her dependent and companion, the girl Alice Holt.
+Between them, these two ladies seem to have cordially hated the
+brilliant and much-admired mistress of Barnsdale Manor.
+
+“Such were the chief inmates of the Manor last September, at the time
+the tragedy occurred. On that memorable night Alice Holt, who occupied
+a bedroom immediately above that of Mme. Quesnard, was awakened in the
+middle of the night by a persistent noise, which undoubtedly came from
+her mistress’s room. The walls and floorings at the old Manor are very
+thick, and the sound was a very confused one, although the girl was
+quite sure that she could hear Mme. Quesnard’s shrill voice raised as
+if in anger.
+
+“She tried to listen for a time, and presently she heard a sound as if
+some piece of furniture had been knocked over, then nothing more.
+Somehow the sudden silence seemed to have frightened the girl more
+than the noise had done. Trembling with nervousness she waited for
+some few minutes, then, unable to bear the suspense any longer, she
+got out of bed, slipped on her shoes and dressing-gown, and determined
+to run downstairs to see if anything were amiss.
+
+“To her horror she found on trying her door that it had been locked on
+the outside. Quite convinced now that something must indeed be very
+wrong, she started screaming and banging against the door, determined
+to arouse the household, which she, of course, quickly succeeded in
+doing.
+
+“The first to emerge from his room was Lord Barnsdale. He at once
+realised that the shrieks proceeded from Alice Holt’s room. He ran
+upstairs helter-skelter, and as the key had been left in the door, he
+soon released the unfortunate girl, who by now was quite hysterical
+with anxiety for her mistress.
+
+“Altogether, I take it, some six or seven minutes must have elapsed
+from the time when Alice Holt was first alarmed by the sudden silence
+following the noise in Mme. Quesnard’s room until she was released by
+Lord Barnsdale.
+
+“As quickly and as coherently as she could, she blurted forth all her
+fears about her mistress. I can imagine how picturesque the old Manor
+House must have looked then, with everybody, ladies and gentlemen, and
+servants, crowding into the hall, arrayed in various _négligé_ attire,
+asking hurried questions, getting in each other’s way, and all only
+dimly to be seen by the light of candles, carried by some of the more
+sensible ones in this motley crowd.
+
+“However, in the meanwhile, Lord Barnsdale had managed to understand
+Alice Holt. He ran downstairs again and knocked at his aunt’s door; he
+received no reply—he tried the handle, but the door was locked from
+the inside.
+
+“Genuinely frightened now, he forced open the door, and then recoiled
+in horror.
+
+“The window was wide open, and a brilliant moonlight streamed into the
+room, weirdly illumining Mme. Quesnard’s inanimate body, which lay
+full length upon the ground. Hastily begging the ladies not to follow
+him, Lord Barnsdale quickly went forward and bent over his aunt’s
+body.
+
+“There was no doubt that she was dead. An ugly wound at the back of
+her head, some red marks round her throat, all testified to the fact
+that the poor old lady had been assaulted and murdered. Lord Barnsdale
+at once sent for the nearest doctor, whilst he and Miss Holt lifted
+the unfortunate lady back to bed.
+
+“The messenger who had gone for the doctor was at the same time
+instructed to deliver a note, hastily scribbled by Lord Barnsdale, at
+the local police station.
+
+“That a hideous crime had been committed, with burglary for its
+object, no one could be in doubt for a moment. Lord Barnsdale and two
+or three of his guests had already thrown a glance into the next room,
+a little boudoir, which Mme. Quesnard used as a sitting-room. There
+the heavy oak bureau bore silent testimony to the motive of this
+dastardly outrage. Mme. Quesnard, with the unfortunate and foolhardy
+habit peculiar to all French people, kept a very large quantity of
+loose and ready money by her. That habit, mind you, is the chief
+reason why burglary is so rife and so profitable all over France.
+
+“In this case the old lady’s national characteristic was evidently the
+chief cause of her tragic fate; the drawer of the bureau had been
+forced open, and no one could doubt for a moment that a large sum of
+money had been abstracted from it.
+
+“The burglar had then obviously made good his escape through the
+window, which he could do quite easily, as Mme. Quesnard’s apartments
+were on the ground floor. She suffered from shortness of breath, it
+appears, and had a horror of stairs; she was, moreover, not the least
+bit nervous, and her windows were usually barred and shuttered.
+
+“One very curious fact, however, at once struck all those present,
+even before the arrival of the detectives, and that was, that the old
+lady was partially dressed when she was found lying on the ground. She
+had slipped on an elaborate dressing-gown, had smoothed her hair, and
+put on her slippers. In fact, it was evident that she had in some
+measure prepared herself for the reception of the burglar.
+
+“Throughout these hasty and amateurish observations conducted by Lord
+Barnsdale and two of his male guests, Alice Holt had remained seated
+beside her late employer’s bedside sobbing bitterly. In spite of Lord
+Barnsdale’s entreaties she refused to move; and wildly waved aside any
+attempt at consolation offered to her by one or two of the older
+female servants who were present.
+
+“It was only when everybody at last made up their minds to return to
+their rooms, that some one mentioned Lady Barnsdale’s name. She had
+been taken ill and faint the evening before, and had not been well all
+night. Jane Barlow, her maid, expressed the hope that her ladyship was
+none the worse for this awful commotion, and must be wondering what it
+all meant.
+
+“At this, suddenly, Alice Holt jumped up, like a madwoman.
+
+“‘What it all means?’ she shrieked, whilst every one looked at her in
+speechless horror, ‘it means that that woman has murdered my mistress,
+and robbed her. I know it—I know it—I know it!’
+
+“And once more sinking beside the bed, she covered her dead mistress’s
+hand with kisses, and sobbed and wailed as if her heart would break.”
+
+
+
+Chapter II
+
+“You may well imagine the awful commotion the girl’s wild outburst had
+created in the old Manor House. Lady Barnsdale had been taken ill the
+previous evening, and, of course, no one had breathed a word of it to
+her, but equally, of course, it was freely talked about at Barnsdale
+Manor, in the neighbourhood, and even so far as in the London clubs.
+
+“Lord and Lady Barnsdale were very well known in London society, and
+Lord Barnsdale’s adoration for his beautiful wife was quite notorious.
+
+“Alice Holt, after her frantic outburst, had not breathed another
+word. Silent and sullen she went up to her room, packed her things,
+and left the house, where, of course, it became impossible that she
+should stay another day. She refused Lord Barnsdale’s generous offer
+of money and help, and only stayed long enough to see the detectives
+and reply to the questions they thought fit to put to her.
+
+“The whole neighbourhood was in a fever of excitement; many gossips
+would have it that the evidence against Lady Barnsdale was conclusive,
+and that a warrant for her arrest had already been applied for.
+
+“What had transpired was this:
+
+“It appears that the day preceding the tragedy, Bridge was, as usual,
+being played for, I believe, guinea points. Lord Barnsdale was out
+shooting all day, and though the guests at the Manor were very loyal
+to their hostess, and refused to make any positive statements, there
+seems to be no doubt that Lady Barnsdale lost a very large sum of
+money to Sir Gilbert Culworth.
+
+“Be that as it may, nothing further could be gleaned by enterprising
+reporters fresh from town; the police were more than usually reticent,
+and every one eagerly awaited the opening of the inquest, when
+sensational developments were expected in this mysterious case.
+
+“It was held on September the 25th, in the servants’ hall of Barnsdale
+Manor, and you may be sure that the large room was crowded to its
+utmost capacity. Lord Barnsdale was, of course, present, so was Sir
+Gilbert Culworth, but it was understood that Lady Barnsdale was still
+suffering from nervous prostration, and was unable to be present.
+
+“When I arrived there, and gradually made my way to the front rank,
+the doctor who had been originally summoned to the murdered lady’s
+bedside was giving his evidence.
+
+“He gave it as his opinion that the fractured skull from which Mme.
+Quesnard died was caused through her hitting the back of her head
+against the corner of the marble-topped washstand, in the immediate
+proximity of which she lay outstretched, when Lord Barnsdale first
+forced open the door. The stains on the marble had confirmed him in
+that opinion. Mme. Quesnard, he thought, must have fallen, owing to an
+onslaught made upon her by the burglar; the marks round the old lady’s
+throat testified to this, although these were not the cause of death.
+
+“After this there was a good deal of police evidence, with regard to
+the subsequent movements of the unknown miscreant. He had undoubtedly
+broken open the drawer of the bureau in the adjoining boudoir, the
+door of communication between this and Mme. Quesnard’s bedroom being
+always kept open, and it was presumed that he had made a considerable
+haul both in gold and notes. He had then locked the bedroom door on
+the inside and made good his escape through the window.
+
+“Immediately beneath this window, the flower-bed, muddy with the
+recent rain, bore the imprint of having been hastily trampled upon;
+but all actual footmarks had been carefully obliterated. Beyond this,
+all round the house, the garden paths are asphalted, and the burglar
+had evidently taken the precaution to keep to these asphalted paths,
+or else to cross the garden by the lawns.
+
+“You must understand,” continued the man in the corner, after a slight
+pause, “that throughout all this preliminary evidence, everything went
+to prove that the crime had been committed by an inmate of the house,
+or at any rate by some one well acquainted with its usages and its
+_ménages_. Alice Holt, whose room was immediately above that of Mme.
+Quesnard, and who was, therefore, most likely to hear the noise of the
+conflict and to run to her mistress’s assistance, had been first of
+all locked up in her room. It had, therefore, become quite evident
+that the miscreant had commenced operations from inside the house, and
+had entered Mme. Quesnard’s room by the door, and not by the window,
+as had been at first supposed.
+
+“But,” added the funny creature excitedly, “as the old lady had,
+according to evidence, locked her door that night, it became more and
+more clear, as the case progressed, that she must of her own accord
+have admitted the person who subsequently caused her tragic death.
+This was, of course, confirmed by the fact that she was partially
+dressed when she was subsequently found dead.
+
+“Strangely enough, with the exception of Alice Holt, no one else had
+heard any noise during the night. But, as I remarked before, the walls
+of these old houses are very thick, and no one else slept on the
+ground floor.
+
+“Another fact which in the early part of the inquest went to prove
+that the outrage was committed by some one familiar with the house,
+was that Ben, the watch-dog, had not raised any alarm. His kennel was
+quite close to Mme. Quesnard’s windows, and he had not even barked.
+
+“I doubt if the law would take official cognisance of the dumb
+testimony of a dog; nevertheless, Ben’s evidence was in this case
+quite worthy of consideration.
+
+“You may imagine how gradually, as these facts were unfolded,
+excitement grew to fever pitch, and when at last Alice Holt was
+called, every one literally held their breath, eagerly waiting to hear
+what was coming.
+
+“She is a tall, handsome-looking girl, with fine eyes and a rich
+voice. Dressed in deep black she certainly looked an imposing figure
+as she stood there, repeating the story of how she was awakened in the
+night, by the sound of her mistress’s angry voice, of the noise and
+sudden silence, and also of her terror, when she found that she had
+been locked up in her room.
+
+“But obviously the girl had more to tell, and was only waiting for the
+coroner’s direct question.
+
+“‘Will you tell the jury the reason why you made such an extraordinary
+and unwarrantable accusation against Lady Barnsdale?’ he asked her at
+last, amid breathless silence in the crowded room.
+
+“Every one instinctively looked across the room to where Lord
+Barnsdale sat between his friend Sir Gilbert Culworth and his lawyer,
+Sir Arthur Inglewood, who had evidently come down from London in order
+to watch the case on his client’s behalf. Alice Holt, too, looked
+across at Lord Barnsdale for a moment. He seemed attentive and
+interested, but otherwise quite calm and impassive.
+
+“I, who watched the girl, saw a look of pity cross her face as she
+gazed at him, and I think, when we bear in mind that the distinguished
+English gentleman and the poor paid companion had known each other
+years ago, when they were girl and boy together in old Mme. Quesnard’s
+French home, we may make a pretty shrewd guess why Alice Holt hated
+the beautiful Lady Barnsdale.
+
+“‘It was about six o’clock in the afternoon,’ she began at last, in
+the same quiet tone of voice, ‘I was sitting sewing in Madame’s
+boudoir, when Lady Barnsdale came into the bedroom. She did not see
+me, I know, for she began at once talking volubly to Madame about a
+serious loss she had just sustained at Bridge; several hundred pounds,
+she said.’
+
+“‘Well?’ queried the coroner, for the girl had paused, almost as if
+she regretted what she had already said. She certainly threw an
+appealing look at Lord Barnsdale, who, however, seemed to take no
+notice of her.
+
+“‘Well,’ she continued with sudden resolution, ‘Madame was very angry
+at this; she declared that Lady Barnsdale deserved a severe lesson;
+her extravagances were a positive scandal. “Not a penny will I give
+you to pay your gambling debts,” said Madame; “and, moreover, I shall
+make it my business to inform my nephew of your goings-on whilst he is
+absent.”
+
+“‘Lady Barnsdale was in a wild state of excitement. She begged and
+implored Madame to say nothing to Lord Barnsdale about it, and did her
+very best to try to induce her to help her out of her difficulties,
+just this once more. But Madame was obdurate. Thereupon Lady Barnsdale
+turned on her like a fury, called her every opprobrious name under the
+sun, and finally flounced out of the room, banging the door behind
+her.
+
+“‘Madame was very much upset after this,’ continued Alice Holt, ‘and I
+was not a bit astonished when directly after dinner she rang for me,
+and asked to be put to bed. It was then nine o’clock.
+
+“‘That is the last I saw of poor Madame alive.
+
+“‘She was very excited then, and told me that she was quite frightened
+of Lady Barnsdale—a gambler, she said, was as likely as not to become
+a thief, if opportunity arose. I offered to sleep on the sofa in the
+next room, for the old lady seemed quite nervous, a thing I have never
+known her to be. But she was too proud to own to nervousness, and she
+dismissed me finally, saying that she would lock her door, for once: a
+thing she scarcely ever did.’
+
+“It was a curious story, to say the least of it, which Alice Holt thus
+told to an excited public. Cross-examined by the coroner, she never
+departed from a single point of it, her calm and presence of mind
+being only equalled throughout this trying ordeal by that of Lord
+Barnsdale, who sat seemingly unmoved whilst these terrible
+insinuations were made against his wife.
+
+“But there was more to come. Sir Gilbert Culworth had been called; in
+the interest of justice, and in accordance with his duty as a citizen,
+he was forced to stand up and, all unwillingly, to add another tiny
+link to the chain of evidence that implicated his friend’s wife in
+this most terrible crime.
+
+“Right loyally he tried to shield her in every possible way, but
+cross-questioned by the coroner, harassed nearly out of his senses, he
+was forced to admit two facts—namely, that Lady Barnsdale had lost
+nearly £800 at Bridge the day before the murder, and that she had paid
+her debt to himself in full, on the following morning, in gold and
+notes.
+
+“He had been forced, much against his will, to show the notes to the
+police; unfortunately for the justice of the case, however, the
+numbers of these could not be directly traceable as having been in
+Mme. Quesnard’s possession at the time of her death. No diaries or
+books of accounts of any kind were found. Like most French people, she
+arranged all her money affairs herself, receiving her vast dividends
+in foreign money, and converting this into English notes and gold, as
+occasion demanded, at the nearest money-changer’s that happened to be
+handy.
+
+“She had, like a great many foreigners, a holy horror of banks. She
+would have mistrusted the Bank of England itself; as for solicitors,
+she held them in perfect abhorrence. She only went once to one in her
+life, and that was in order to make a will leaving everything she
+possessed unconditionally to her beloved nephew, Lord Barnsdale.
+
+“But in spite of this difficulty about the notes, you see for
+yourself, do you not, how terribly strong was the circumstantial
+evidence against Lady Barnsdale? Her losses at cards, her appeal to
+Mme. Quesnard, the latter’s refusal to help her, and finally the
+payment in full of the debt to Sir Gilbert Culworth on the following
+morning.
+
+“There was only one thing that spoke for her, and that was the very
+horror of the crime itself. It was practically impossible to conceive
+that a woman of Lady Barnsdale’s refinement and education should have
+sprung upon an elderly woman, like some navvy’s wife by the docks, and
+then that she should have had the presence of mind to jump out of the
+window, to obliterate her footmarks in the flower-bed, and, in fact,
+to have given the crime the look of a clever burglary.
+
+“Still, we all know that money difficulties will debase the noblest of
+us, that greed will madden the sanest and most refined. When the
+inquest was adjourned, I can assure you that no one had any doubt
+whatever that within twenty-four hours Lady Barnsdale would be
+arrested on the capital charge.”
+
+
+
+Chapter III
+
+“But the detectives in charge of the case had reckoned without Sir
+Arthur Inglewood, the great lawyer, who was watching the proceedings
+on behalf of his aristocratic clients,” said the man in the corner,
+when he had assured himself of my undivided attention.
+
+“The adjourned inquest brought with it, I assure you, its full quota
+of sensation. Again Lord Barnsdale was present, calm, haughty, and
+impassive, whilst Lady Barnsdale was still too ill to attend. But she
+had made a statement upon oath, in which, whilst flatly denying that
+her interview with the deceased at 6 p.m. had been of an acrimonious
+character as alleged by Alice Holt, she swore most positively that all
+through the night she had been ill, and had not left her room after
+11.30 p.m.
+
+“The first witness called after this affidavit had been read was Jane
+Barlow, Lady Barnsdale’s maid.
+
+“The girl deposed that on that memorable evening preceding the murder,
+she went up to her mistress’s room at about 11.30 in order to get
+everything ready for the night. As a rule, of course, there was nobody
+about in the bedroom at that hour, but on this occasion when Jane
+Barlow entered the room, which she did without knocking, she saw her
+mistress sitting by her desk.
+
+“‘Her ladyship looked up when I came in,’ continued Jane Barlow, ‘and
+seemed very cross with me for not knocking at the door. I apologised,
+then began to get the room tidy; as I did so I could see that my lady
+was busy counting a lot of money. There were lots of sovereigns and
+banknotes. My lady put some together in an envelope and addressed it,
+then she got up from her desk and went to lock up the remainder of the
+money in her jewel safe.’
+
+“‘And this was at what time?’ asked the coroner.
+
+“‘At about half-past eleven, I think, sir,’ repeated the girl.
+
+“‘Well,’ said the coroner, ‘did you notice anything else?’
+
+“‘Yes,’ replied Jane, ‘whilst my lady was at her safe, I saw the
+envelope in which she had put the money lying on the desk. I couldn’t
+help looking at it, for I knew it was ever so full of banknotes, and I
+saw that my lady had addressed it to Sir Gilbert Culworth.’
+
+“At this point Sir Arthur Inglewood jumped to his feet and handed
+something over to the coroner; it was evidently an envelope which had
+been torn open. The coroner looked at it very intently, then suddenly
+asked Jane Barlow if she had happened to notice anything about the
+envelope which was lying on her ladyship’s desk that evening.
+
+“‘Oh, yes, sir!’ she replied unhesitatingly, ‘I noticed my lady had
+made a splotch, right on top of the C in Sir Gilbert Culworth’s name.’
+
+“‘This, then, is the envelope,’ was the coroner’s quiet comment, as he
+handed the paper across to the girl.
+
+“‘Yes, there’s the splotch,’ she replied, ‘I’d know it anywhere.’
+
+“So you see,” continued the man in the corner, with a chuckle, “that
+the chain of circumstantial evidence against Lady Barnsdale was
+getting somewhat entangled. It was indeed fortunate for her that Sir
+Gilbert Culworth had not destroyed the envelope in which she had
+handed him over the money on the following day.
+
+“Alice Holt, as you know, heard the conflict and raised the alarm much
+later in the night, when everybody was already in bed, whilst long
+before that Lady Barnsdale was apparently in possession of the money
+with which she could pay back her debt.
+
+“Thus the motive for the crime, so far as she was concerned, was
+entirely done away with. Directly after the episode witnessed by Jane
+Barlow, Lady Barnsdale had a sort of nervous collapse, and went to bed
+feeling very ill. Lord Barnsdale was terribly concerned about her; he
+and the maid remained alternately by her bedside for an hour or two;
+finally Lord Barnsdale went to sleep in his dressing-room, whilst Jane
+also finally retired to rest.
+
+“Ill as Lady Barnsdale undoubtedly was then, it was absolutely
+preposterous to conceive that she could after that have planned and
+carried out so monstrous a crime, without any motive whatever. To have
+locked Alice Holt’s door, then gone downstairs, forced her way into
+the old lady’s room, struggled with her, to have jumped out of the
+window, and run back into the house by the garden, might have been the
+work of a determined woman, driven mad by the desire for money, but
+became absolutely out of the question in the case of a woman suffering
+from nervous collapse, and having apparently no motive for the crime.
+
+“Of course Sir Arthur Inglewood made the most of the fact that no mud
+was found on any shoes or dress belonging to Lady Barnsdale. The
+flower-bed was very soft with the heavy rain of the day before, and
+Lady Barnsdale could not possibly have jumped even from a ground-floor
+window and trampled on the flower-bed without staining her skirts.
+
+“Then there was another point which the clever lawyer brought to the
+coroner’s notice. As Alice Holt had stated in her sworn evidence that
+Mme. Quesnard had owned to being frightened of Lady Barnsdale that
+night, was it likely that she would _of her own accord_ have opened
+the door to her in the middle of the night, without at least calling
+for assistance?
+
+“Thus the matter has remained a strange and unaccountable puzzle. It
+has always been called the ‘Barnsdale Mystery’ for that very reason.
+Every one, somehow, has always felt that Lady Barnsdale did have
+something to do with that terrible tragedy. Her husband has taken her
+abroad, and they have let Barnsdale Manor; it almost seems as if the
+ghost of the old Frenchwoman had driven them forth from their own
+country.
+
+“As for Alice Holt, she maintains to this day that Lady Barnsdale was
+the culprit, and I understand that she has not yet given up all hope
+of collecting a sufficiency of evidence to have the beautiful and
+fashionable woman of society arraigned for this hideous murder.”
+
+
+
+Chapter IV
+
+“Will she succeed, do you think?” I asked at last.
+
+“Succeed? Of course she won’t,” he retorted excitedly. “Lady Barnsdale
+never committed that murder; no woman, except, perhaps, an East-end
+factory hand, could have done it at all.”
+
+“But then——” I urged.
+
+“Why, then,” he replied, with a chuckle, “the only logical conclusion
+is that the robbery and the murder were not committed by the same
+person, nor at the same hour of the night; moreover, I contend that
+there was no premeditated murder, but that the old lady died from the
+result of a pure accident.”
+
+“But how?” I gasped.
+
+“This is my version of the story,” he said excitedly, as his long bony
+fingers started fidgeting, fidgeting with that eternal bit of string.
+“Lady Barnsdale, pressed for money, made an appeal to Mme. Quesnard,
+which the latter refused, as we know. Then there was an acrimonious
+dispute between the two ladies, after which came the dinner hour, then
+Madame, feeling ill and upset, went up to bed at nine o’clock.
+
+“Now my contention is that undoubtedly the robbery had been committed
+before that, between the dispute and Madame’s bedtime.”
+
+“By whom?”
+
+“By Lady Barnsdale, of course, who, as the mistress of the house,
+could come and go from room to room without exciting any comment, who,
+moreover, at 6 p.m. was hard pressed for money, and who but a few
+hours later was handling a mass of gold and banknotes.
+
+“But the strain of committing even an ordinary theft is very great
+upon a refined woman’s organisation. Lady Barnsdale has a nervous
+breakdown. Well! what is the most likely thing to happen? Why! that
+she should confess everything to her husband, who worships her, and no
+doubt express her repentance at what she had done.
+
+“Then imagine Lord Barnsdale’s horror! The old lady had not discovered
+the theft before going to bed. That was only natural, since she was
+feeling unwell, and was not likely to sit up at night counting her
+money; the lock of the bureau drawer having been tampered with, would
+perhaps not attract her attention at night.
+
+“But in the morning, the very first thing, she would discover
+everything, at once suspect the worst, and who knows, make a scandal,
+talk of it before Alice Holt, Lady Barnsdale’s arch enemy, and all
+before restitution could be made.
+
+“No, no, that restitution must be made at once! not a minute must be
+lost, since any moment might bring forth discovery, and perhaps an
+awful catastrophe.
+
+“I take it that Mme. Quesnard and her nephew were on very intimate
+terms. He hoped to arouse no one by going to his aunt’s room, but in
+order to make quite sure that Alice Holt, hearing a noise in her
+mistress’s room, should not surreptitiously come down, and perhaps
+play eavesdropper at the momentous interview, he turned the key of the
+girl’s door as he went past, and locked her in.
+
+“Then he knocked at his aunt’s door (gently, of course, for old people
+are light sleepers), and called her by name. Mme. Quesnard,
+recognising her nephew’s voice, slipped on her dressing-gown, smoothed
+her hair, and let him in.
+
+“Exactly what took place at the interview it is, of course, impossible
+for any human being to say. Here even I can but conjecture,” he added,
+with inimitable conceit, “but we can only imagine that, having heard
+Lord Barnsdale’s confession of his wife’s folly, the old lady, who as
+a Frenchwoman was of quick temper and unbridled tongue, would indulge
+in not very elegant rhetoric on the subject of the woman she had
+always disliked.
+
+“Lord Barnsdale would, of course, defend his wife, and the old lady,
+with feminine obstinacy, would continue the attack. Then some
+insulting epithet, a word only perhaps, roused the devoted husband’s
+towering indignation—the meekest man on earth becomes a mad bull when
+he really loves, and the woman he loves is insulted.
+
+“I maintain that the old lady’s death was really due to a pure
+accident; that Lord Barnsdale gripped her by the throat, in a moment
+of mad anger, at some hideous insult hurled at his wife; of that I am
+as convinced as if I had witnessed the whole scene. Then the old lady
+fell, hit her head against the marble, and Lord Barnsdale realised
+that he was alone at night in his aunt’s room, and that he had killed
+her.
+
+“What would anyone do under the circumstances?” he added excitedly.
+“Why, of course, collect his senses and try to save himself from what
+might prove to be consequences of the most awful kind. This Lord
+Barnsdale thought he could best do by giving the accident, which
+looked so like murder, the appearance of a burglary.
+
+“The lock of the desk in the next room had already been forced open;
+he now locked the door on the inside, threw open the shutter and the
+window, jumped out as any burglar would have done; and, being careful
+to obliterate his own footmarks, he crept back into the house and
+thence into his own room, without alarming the watch-dog, who
+naturally knew his own master. He was, of course, just in time before
+Alice Holt succeeded in rousing the household with her screams.
+
+“And thus you see,” he added, “there are no such things as mysteries.
+The police call them so, so do the public, but every crime has its
+perpetrator, and every puzzle its solution. My experience is that the
+simplest solution is invariably the right one.”
+
+
+The End
+
+
+
+Transcriber’s Notes
+
+This transcription follows the text of the original 1909 publication.
+However, the following alterations have been made to correct what are
+believed to be unambiguous errors in the text:
+
+ * “interwined” has been changed to “intertwined” (I., Ch. I).
+ * “Chiselhurst” has been changed to “Chislehurst” (IV., Ch. IV).
+ * “Vandervellen” has been changed to “Vanderdellen” (IV., Ch. IV).
+ * “had affected” has been changed to “had effected” (V., Ch. II).
+ * “glanced at if” has been changed to “glanced at it” (V., Ch. II).
+ * “incoherent and definite” has been changed to
+   “coherent and definite”  (VI., Ch. I).
+ * “Wembly” has been changed to “Wembley” (VI., Ch. I).
+ * “immedate” has been changed to “immediate” (VI., Ch. I).
+ * “Athur” has been changed to “Arthur” (VII., Ch. II).
+ * “cetain” has been changed to “certain” (VIII., Ch. II).
+ * “signficance” has been changed to “significance” (VIII., Ch. III).
+ * “Mr. Carlton” has been changed to “Mr. Carleton” (VIII., Ch. III).
+
+Additionally, several occurrences of incorrectly matched quotation
+marks have been repaired. All other ostensible inconsistencies have
+been left unchanged from the original.
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75461 ***