The Attic Murder Part 8

"It was a defence," Mr. Jellipot commented, with his mild-mannered acuteness, "which incidentally -- and perhaps more than incidentally to their minds -- a.s.sisted that of their princ.i.p.al client. In fact," he added, professional indignation raising his voice somewhat beyond its usual pitch, "you were very badly represented, or you would not be in your present predicament."

"I expect I was. They seemed shrewd enough, in their own way, and they always seemed confident they would get me off, but they weren't men it was easy to like. But I had no choice really, especially as Tony was paying the bill... I suppose you want me to look up his friends, and get someone to say that he knew Tony was making a fool of me. It doesn't sound very easy to do."

"I should put it," Mr. Jellipot replied, "rather more widely. You should be alert for anything which might have influenced the jury's decision had you been able to put it before them, without supposing in advance what it may be.

"I want you," Sir Reginald added, "to go farther than that. I want you to endeavour to find out anything which is being said in those circles about Rabone's murder, and most particularly anything which would connect Entwistle with it, or show that the two men had been a.s.sociated, probably with others, in the criminal practices in which we suppose them to have been engaged. Or equally, of course, to learn anything that might tend to show that Rabone was killed because he was on the point of discovering a crime in which he was not involved himself."

Francis Hammerton considered these proposals with something less than enthusiasm, even though he reminded himself of the debt of grat.i.tude he owed to those who had put them forward, and the position in which he stood.

"In fact," he said bluntly, "you want me to obtain their confidence by pretending that I was properly convicted, but have managed to wriggle out on bail, and then to betray it."

He had August Garten in mind as he spoke, and his tone added to the effect of his words, to which his three auditors reacted in characteristic ways.

"You should not forget," Inspector Combridge said, with a feeling that his own profession was implicitly slurred, and yet conscious that, for the first time, he had really believed in Hammerton's innocence as he spoke, "that you are dealing with murderers and professional thieves. If they make war on society, they can't expect it not to resist."

"My own hesitation," Sir Reginald said, "was on different grounds. Rabone's fate, if we are right as to what occurred, shows that we are dealing with men who will have little scruple in what they do, if their own safety should be at stake. It appeared to me that we were asking you to undertake an extremely dangerous, as well as difficult task... But, of course, if you feel like that -- - "

Mr. Jellipot, who felt that Sir Reginald was concluding in the wrong way, mildly but firmly interrupted his valuable, but sometimes headstrong client: "May I say, Mr. Hammerton, that I think, with all respect, that your conclusions go somewhat beyond the logical implications of any proposals which either Sir Reginald or myself have offered for your consideration.

"I proposed that you should commence your enquiries with an absolutely open mind, and, beyond that, I suggested the possibility of your obtaining a witness in your support, who must, of course, come forward willingly, so that the question of your betraying anyone would not arise... As to Sir Reginald's request, it is not suggested that your previous friends were concerned in William Rabone's murder, or even in the crimes of which it was a possible consequence, though we may have reason to think that they were sufficiently a.s.sociated with those who were to know more about it than we have yet been able to learn."

"Well," Francis replied, overborne by his own thoughts, and the impact of these various arguments, "I don't want you to think me ungrateful for what you've done, nor insensible of the value of your advice. And as to anything being dangerous, if you ever get into such a position as mine, though I don't suggest that that's possible -- well, you'll know that it isn't easy to care... Yes, I understand, and you can rely on me to do what I can."

He rose as he spoke, as though to leave an interview which had reached its natural conclusion, and the movement roused Inspector Combridge to an equal activity.

He drew an oblong slip of paper from his pocket-book.

"Before you go," he said, "I must give you this. It's nothing to be afraid of, but you mustn't fail to be there.

Francis took it, and observed that it was a subpoena to attend as a witness, at 10 a.m. on the following Monday, in the case of Rex v. Entwistle, at the Magistrates' Court.

Chapter XXIV.

FOR a few hours, Francis found his mind distracted from the more difficult problems which must confront it, by the immediate necessity of obtaining shelter, and a larger portion of the elementary requirements of life than his pockets held.

The money which he had had at the time of his last arrest had been restored to him, together with a smaller sum, and other miscellaneous articles which he had had when first arrested at the Tipcat Club. He now provided himself with a suitcase of some solidity, and a sufficient quant.i.ty of linen and other articles to supply his needs for the fourteen days which seemed too likely to be the total measure of liberty that Mr. Jellipot's legal efforts would be able to gain.

Remembering the subpoena his pocket held, he observed that the privacy of his release, which Mr. Jellipot's caution had secured, was not likely to continue beyond the coming Monday. He supposed with some reason that it would be difficult for him to give evidence in such a case, and to leave the witness-box without his true name and present circ.u.mstances becoming almost universally known.

Well, he had two days. He could not call it more, for he had to be at the court at ten on Monday morning, waiting till he should be called to the witness-box. What could he do in so short a time? With no clear purpose in his mind, he decided to visit the Tipcat Club that night, where he had first met the acquaintances who had wrecked his life. He must be guided then by whom he would meet, and by the course of his conversation with them. He might see August Garten there, in whom was his best hope.

If she were not there, he decided that he would call upon her in the morning at the flat in Sheldon Gardens to which she had invited him (with others) more than once in the days when the seeking of her society was the first object that ruled his life. He would call at an hour when she might not be up, she being of those who sacrifice day for the darker hours; but it was unlikely, at such an hour, that they would be disturbed by such of her friends as he would not desire to meet. If he should see her at all, there would be time for conversation which would be unhurried, and might be unknown to any except themselves.

So he planned. But when he called on Inspector Combridge at the following noon, to fulfil a promise that he would report his address to him, he had a tale of double failure to tell.

As to the Tipcat Club, there had been a strange porter at the door, who regarded him with a suspicion which did not lessen when he gave a pa.s.sword several weeks out of date. Even when he abandoned the pretence of secrecy -- he had commenced by giving his own name -- and announced himself as Harold Vaughan, it was of no avail. The door was closed in his face, and there was no response when he continued for some minutes stubbornly pressing the bell.

He accepted this rebuff without much discouragement, as it was the second part of his programme in which he had better hope; but when he called at the Sheldon Gardens flat he found that Miss Garten's name had been removed from the signboard at the stair-foot. Miss Garten's flat was to let.

He sought the caretaker in the roof, and was informed that the lady had left a few days before. She had said that Scotland was her destination. Nothing more definite than that.

Had she left no address to which letters could be forwarded? No, she had not. But the woman, who was neither unfriendly to himself, nor disposed to regard him as one whom a young lady would go far to avoid, added that as Miss Garten had been receiving letters up to the morning when she somewhat abruptly left, and as there had been none arriving subsequently, she supposed that the post office had been instructed to re-address them. Probably, therefore, a letter would reach her.

Holding stubbornly to a poor hope, Francis waited at the foot of the stairs till the postman appeared. The man was civil, but not communicative. He admitted that he knew that Miss Garten had left. As to her letters being re-addressed, it was a matter between her and the post office, on which he was unable or unwilling to give a definite answer. If a letter were addressed to her, and were not returned, its delivery could be safely a.s.sumed.

Francis narrated to the Inspector the poor tale of his first day's experiences in the occupation which had been thrust upon him, supposing that he must incur the contempt which the expert may be expected to feel for the amateur's bungling efforts. But he was surprised to be met with sympathetic and encouraging words. The detective, who did not think it necessary to say that he was already familiar with most of the facts he heard, Francis having been un.o.btrusively watched from the moment when he had left Mr. Jellipot's office, approved the frankness of the account he received, and was aware that it is by a plodding persistence that the best results are obtained in the difficult profession to which he belonged. He recognized in Francis Hammerton a character of quiet obstinacy in which he had more confidence than he would have felt for more spectacular qualities.

More valuable than an abstract approval, he suggested a method by which Miss Garten's address might be obtained, even against her will.

"You can't hope to find her," he said, "on the information you've got. All you know is that she isn't in Scotland, to which we can add that she hasn't gone overseas, and the whole of England and Wales is a vague address with which to begin.

"If you send her a registered letter to Sheldon Gardens, the post office will re-address it, if they've got instructions to do so, but she isn't bound to reply, in which case you're no more forward by that. But if you pay an extra fee for the post office to give you proof of delivery, which they will do with a registered letter, providing it isn't refused by the addressee, the delivery slip will bear the actual address at which the letter is taken in.

"You'd better get a note off at once. If she answers, you might hear from her by Tuesday morning, and if she doesn't you're quite likely to get an address by which you can follow her up... But the fact is that the whole gang's rather scattered about. They all get flurried when we make a pounce, and go off different ways, so that it's as difficult as possible for us to keep track of them. It's like a cat getting a pigeon. The other birds fly off in a dozen directions, and most of them stay for a time on the roofs, though they've got to come down again, sooner or later, to where the corn's scattered about.

"Well, don't give up. You'll be surprised how far you get, if you go on one step at a time."

Francis thanked him, and went back to his room to write a note to August Garten through which he hoped to have the uncertain pleasure of meeting a lady by whose attractions he had fallen into his present predicament.

Chapter XXV.

MR. DUNKOVER appeared again for the Crown. Mr. Huddleston, K.C., a.s.sisted by Mr. Augustus Pippin, represented the accused.

Mr. Garrison, observing the eminent counsel who were to defend the accused, understood that it was not to be a case in which he would reserve any defence which he might be able to make until he should appear before the higher tribunal. The battle was to be joined at once, and seeing this he made a quick mental revision of the time which he had calculated would be sufficient for dealing with it. Three days -- possibly more. If both sides were prepared to go straight ahead, it meant a busy time for him during the coming week.

He glanced with professional interest at the second man whom the police had put into the dock to answer the present charge. No doubt the right one this time. Inspector Combridge didn't often make a mistake. The man didn't look like a murderer. But then, murderers seldom do.

He listened patiently to Mr. Dunkover's opening statement, and to the routine preliminary evidence. It was as necessary as it was boring. But he could trust his clerk to see that no essential was overlooked: that the depositions would be all that would be required by the higher court. He only became more than outwardly alert when Sir Lionel Tips.h.i.+ft entered the box to describe the injury which had been inflicted on the deceased, and to theorize on how it could have been caused, as the expert is allowed to do.

It appeared that the razor which had been found lying by the body, and which was, by an almost certain presumption, the weapon with which the crime had been committed, had been used twice, and with such savage strength that the neck of William Rabone, which had been short and thick, had been more than half cut through. One of the cervical vertebrae had been actually grazed by the blade, though it had not been severed. Death must have been almost instantaneous.

He described, with sufficient technical detail, the evidence by which he confidently deduced that the first wound, which had commenced on the front and left side of the neck, had been inflicted by someone standing behind, and probably slightly to the left of his victim. Its direction, in view of William Rabone's own height, indicated a rather tall man. If it were a woman, she must have been of unusual physique. The second wound had been inflicted, in his opinion, after the injured man had already fallen forward upon the floor.

"Would it have been possible," Mr. Dunkover asked, "for a man so wounded to have uttered a cry which would have penetrated to a lower floor of the house?"

"It would have been possible after the infliction of the first wound, but not the second. The wounded man appears to have staggered forward two or three paces toward the door, possibly with a blind instinct of escape, before he fell. After he had done so, his a.s.sailant must have bent over him and inflicted the second wound.

"Such a cry would have been uttered, if at all, during the moment before he fell."

"From the nature and direction of the wounds, can you say with certainty that they were not self-inflicted?"

"Yes. I have no doubt at all."

"Can you a.s.sist the court with any further deduction as to the a.s.sailant, or the course of the crime?"

"Only that there is a strong presumption that it was the work of a left-handed man."

"Thank you, Sir Lionel."

Mr. Dunkover sat down, and Mr. Huddleston rose to cross-examine the witness.

"You have expressed the opinion, Sir Lionel, that this is a case of murder, not suicide?"

"Yes. There can, in my opinion, be no reasonable doubt."

"Should you express that opinion with equal confidence, if it should appear that William Rabone may have had a very serious reason for self-destruction?"

"I should still hold that opinion."

"But you would not say -- as I understand you do not say even now -- that it is definitely impossible that the wounds may have been self-inflicted?"

"Not impossible, perhaps. I should call it a fantastic rather than an impossible theory."

"Do you base that opinion, partly at least, upon the extent of the wounds?"

Mr. Huddleston asked the question in a quiet and casual tone, knowing inwardly that it was the one hope that he had of shaking the effect of the witness's evidence, if he should oblige him with an affirmative answer. But Sir Lionel was too wary, and too sound in his surgical knowledge, to fall into the trap.

"On the nature," he answered, "not the extent."

There followed a long discussion between the learned counsel and the expert surgeon upon the nature, position and extent of suicidal wounds, which need not be recorded in detail. Text-books on forensic surgery were pa.s.sed to the witness, and pa.s.sages debated as bearing upon the evidence already given. But Sir Lionel's arguments remained unshaken.

Mr. Huddleston had not expected any other result. He knew that there was no reasonable doubt that it was a case of murder with which they dealt, though he had a very confident hope that he would be able to keep his client out of the legal net which was being spread for his destruction.

But he knew that, as he prolonged the discussion, and raised every side-issue the facts allowed, that there was a constant possibility that something of real or apparent inconsistency would be said, such as could be used at the subsequent trial to shake the jury's confidence in the witness, or otherwise confuse their minds.

Sir Lionel, who understood the game perfectly well, fenced adroitly enough to foil Mr. Huddleston's subtlest attempts, and, at the end of half an hour's exchanges, counsel had done no more than to elicit that a man who has an inclination to cut his throat usually begins with two or three tentative superficial wounds, and then, as his frenzy of resolution grows, may strike with such savage force as to sever his neck, even from one side to the other. Not only so, but he may repeat the blows, time after time, either through a mechanical determination previously formed, or in a desperate effort to hasten the oblivion that delays to come. Counsel and surgeon agreed upon the authenticity of a recorded case in which a man had hacked at his own neck until the transverse process of the fifth cervical vertebra had been completely severed.

Sir Lionel admitted readily that the extent of the wounds was not in itself an argument against suicide. He even conceded, as an abstract proposition, that it might be considered an argument on the other side. But he held impregnable ground when he dwelt on their direction, from front to back; on the fact that, unlike those that are self-inflicted, the ends of them were deep and sharp; and on other features concerning which it was minute and lucid, in which they -- and the second one in particular -- differed from anything which would have been the work of the dead man's hand.

When he was at last permitted to leave the box, there was probably no one in that crowded court who doubted that it was a savage murder which was in process of investigation.

Those who watched with sufficient closeness, may have observed that counsel had avoided cross-examination on the question of whether the murder had been the work of a left-handed man.

Mr. Huddleston sat down, looking content, but it was an expression without certain significance. It might mean no more than that he had had a fat fee to induce him to defend in a hopeless case, and that he was prolonging it in such ways as his brief required.

Peter Entwistle had also listened to the evidence with an easy interest, as though it were of no personal importance, but that also was without significance to those who were murderers who have gone to sleep in the dock.

Chapter XXVI.

"I CALL Francis Hammerton."

Francis, who had been waiting in the witnesses' room, entered the court and the witness-box at the same time, not knowing what might have occurred already.

He had not reflected that he might be called to answer to his own name, and when, in the next instant, he was asked his address, there was a second's pause before he replied, "44 Addleston Terrace, S.W.6," giving that to which he had the best right, but from which he had so unavoidably absented himself during recent weeks.

His mind, as he spoke, went rapidly over the consequences which the publication of his own name and address would have. How quickly would it bring his own relatives, to whom his disappearance must have been a strange, if not alarming event, round the doors of the court? He was glad to think that the address of the room he had now taken need not be mentioned. He would still have a retreat from surrounding voices, whether of friend or foe, of which none but Mr. Jellipot and the police would be aware.

He was conscious in the same instant that Mr. Garrison, who had seen him in the dock a week before, on the charge now to be faced by another prisoner, but then with a different name, gave him a quick questioning glance, and that the eyes of Mr. Huddleston, whose position of defending counsel he did not yet know, rested upon him sharply for a moment, and fell again to his brief.

Mr. Huddleston's mind had, in fact, hesitated on the edge of suspicion, observing that second's pause; but he reflected that many shy and respectable witnesses dislike giving their addresses in public, in such a case as that on which they were now engaged. Besides, had there been any real importance attaching to this question, the witness would surely have been coached already by the solicitors for the police. The very fact that the reply paused seemed to Mr. Huddleston's mind conclusive that there was none. In fact, he defeated himself by his own subtlety, as those of acute mind are often likely to do.

But the truth was that the prosecution had not gone over this witness's evidence with him at all. Inspector Combridge had relied upon the accuracy of the statement which he had made when first questioned. A still-lingering doubt as to the extent of his past innocence or present veracity had resulted in a decision to leave him in the witness-box to his own defence, and he would have been more interested than pleased had he been able to read the instructions concerning himself which Mr. Dunkover's brief contained. But if he could keep up his own end, he would find that the prosecution had no disposition to queer the pitch.

"Occupation?"

"Commercial artist."

"Mr. Hammerton, on the fourth inst. I understand that you were lodging at seventeen Vincent Street, the address where Mr. Rabone also had his rooms, and where he met with his death?"

"Yes."

"He occupied a room on the attic floor, and you were sleeping in one on the floor below?"

"Yes."

"And you were roused by a cry in the night? Will you tell the court in your own words what occurred, as far as your knowledge goes?"

"I was roused by a cry -- a loud horrible cry -- which seemed to come from the floor above. I felt certain that something terrible had happened. I got out of bed, and switched on the light.

"Then I half dressed, and went out on to the landing. There was no sound" -- he hesitated for one observable second and went on, "after the cry, and so -- - "

Mr. Dunkover interrupted him, seeing that counsel for the defence had observed that second's hesitation, and thinking that the question which would almost certainly be asked would come best from himself.

"Let us be clear on that. After the terrible cry you have mentioned, you heard no sound whatever until you went out on to the landing?"