 Chapter 29 The Newspapers made a sensation out of the announcement of Holy Maid's arrest on a charge of having murdered Sir Horace Fubanks. They declared that the arrest of the imminent K.C. on a capital charge would come as a surprising development of the Riversbrook case. It would cause a shock to his many friends, and especially to those who knew what a close friendship had existed between the arrested man and the dead judge. The papers expatiated on the fact that Holy Maid had appeared for the defense when Frederick Birchhill had been tried for the murder. As the public would remember, Birchhill had been acquitted owing to the great ability with which his defense was conducted. It was somewhat remarkable, said the Daily Record, that in his speech for the defense Holy Maid had attempted to throw suspicion on one of the witnesses for the prosecution. The journal hinted that it was the result of something which counsel for the defense had let drop at this trial that Inspector Chippenfield had picked up the clue which had led to Holy Maid's arrest. The papers had very little information to give the public about this new development of the Fubanks mystery, but they boldly declared that some startling revelations were expected when the case came before the court. In the absence of interesting facts, I'll propose the arrest of the distinguished K.C., some of the papers published summaries of his legal career and the more famous cases with which he had been connected. These summaries would have been equally suitable to an announcement that Mr. Holy Maid had been promoted to the peerage, or that he had been run over by a London bus. There were people who declared without knowing anything about the evidence the police had in their possession, that in arresting the famous barrister the police had made a far worse blunder than in arresting Birchhill. It was even hinted that the arrest of the man who had got Birchhill off was an expression of the police desire for revenge. To these people the acquittal of Holy Maid was a foregone conclusion. The man who had saved Birchhill's life by his brilliant forensic abilities was not likely to fail when his own life was at stake. But when the case came before the police court and the police produced their evidence, it was seen that there was a strong case against the prisoner. The whispers asked of the circumstances under which the prisoner had taken the life of a friend of many years appealed to a sentiment of public. These whispers concerned the discovery by the prisoner that his friend had seduced his beautiful wife. In the police court proceedings there were no disclosures under this head, but the thing was hinted at. In view of the legal eminence of the prisoner and the fear of the police that he would prove too much for any police officer who might take charge of the prosecution, the direction of public prosecutions was sent to Mr. Waters, KC, to appear at the police court. The prisoner was represented by Mr. Lethbridge, KC, an eminent barrister to whom the prisoner had been opposed in many civil cases. Inspector Chippenfield, who realized that the important position the prisoner occupied at the bar added to the importance of the officer who had arrested him, gave evidence as to the arrest of the prisoner at his chambers in the Middle Temple. With a generous feeling, which was possibly due to the fact that he was entitled to none of the credit of collecting the evidence against the prisoner, Inspector Chippenfield allowed Detective Rolf a subordinate share in the glory that hung round the arrest by volunteering the information in the witness box that when making the arrest he was accompanied by that officer. He declared that the prisoner made no remark when arrested and did not seem surprised. Mr. Walters produced a left-hand glove and witness duly identified it as the glove which he found in the room in which the murder took place. Inspector Seldin gave formal evidence of the discovery of the body of Sir Horace Fewbanks on the 19th of August. Dr. Slingsby repeated the evidence that he had given at the trial of Bertschil as to the cause of death, and again was professionally indefinite as to the length of time the victim had been dead when he saw the body. Thomas Taylor, taxi cab driver, gave evidence as to driving the prisoner from Hyde Park Corner on the night of the 18th of August and the finding of the glove. Crew went into the witness box and swore that on the second day after the discovery of the murder he was present at Riversbrook when the prisoner visited the house and saw Miss Fewbanks. When the prisoner arrived he was not carrying a walking stick, but he had one in his hand when he took his departure from the house. Witness followed the prisoner and a boy who collided with the prisoner knocked the stick out of his hands. Witness picked up the stick and inspected it. He identified the stick produced in court as the one which the prisoner had been carrying on that day. The most difficult and most important witness as far as new evidence was concerned was Alexander Saunders, a big broad red-faced scotchman whose firm grasp on the Tamashanter he held in his hands seemed to indicate a fear that all the pick pockets in London had designs on it. With great difficulty he was made to understand his part in the witness box and some of the questions had to be repeated several times before he could grasp their meaning. Mr. Lethbridge humorously suggested that his learned French had provided an interpreter so that his pure English might be translated into lowland scotch. By slow degrees Saunders was able to explain how he had found the pocket book which Sir Horace Fuebanks had lost while shooting at Craiglith Hall. Witness identified a letter produced as having been in the pocket book when he found it. The letter which had been written by the prisoner to Sir Horace Fuebanks urged Sir Horace to return to London at once, as if he did so there was a good possibility of his obtaining promotion to the Court of Appeal. The writer promised to do all he could in the matter and took call on Sir Horace at Riversbrook as soon as he returned from Scotland. Percival Chambers, an elderly well-dressed man with a gray beard and wearing glasses, who was Secretary of the Master of Roles, swore that he knew of no prospective vacancies on the Court of Appeal bench. Were any vacancies of the kind in view he believed he would be aware of them. This closed the case for the police and Mr. Lethbridge immediately asked for the discharge of the prisoner on ground that there was no case to go before a jury. The magistrate shook his head and merely asked Mr. Lethbridge if he intended to reserve his defense. Mr. Lethbridge replied with a nod and the accused was formally committed for trial at the next sittings at the Old Bailey. The newspapers reported at great length the evidence given in the police court, and the reports were inkily read by a sensation-loving public. Even those people who, when Holy Mead's arrest was announced, had ridiculed the idea of a man like Holy Mead murdering a lifelong friend, had to admit that the police had collected some damaging evidence. Those people, who at the same time of the arrest, had prided themselves on possessing an open mind as to the guilt of the famous barrister, confessed after reading the police court evidence that there could be little doubt of his guilt. The only thing that was missing from the police court proceedings was the production of a motive for the crime, but it was whispered that there would be some interesting revelations on this point when the prisoner was tried at the Old Bailey. Fortunately, he had not long to wait for his trial, as the next sittings of the central criminal court had previously been fixed a week ahead of the date of his commitment. That week was full of anxiety for Mr. Lethbridge, for he realized that he had a poor case. What increased his anxiety was the fact that Holy Mead insisted on the defense being conducted on the lines he laid down. It was a new thing in Lethbridge's experience to accept such instructions from a prisoner, but Holy Mead had threatened to dispense with all assistance unless his instructions were carried out. He was particularly anxious that his wife's name should be kept out of court as much as possible. Lethbridge had pointed out to him that the prosecution would be sure to drag it in at the trial in suggesting a motive for the murder, and that for the purposes of the defense it was best to have a full and frank disclosure of everything so that an appeal could be made to the jury's feelings. Holy Mead's beautiful wife, who was almost distraught by her husband's position, implored his counsel to allow her to go into the box and make a confession. But that course did not commend itself to Lethbridge, who realized that she would make an extremely bad witness and would but help to put the rope around her husband's neck. He put her off by declaring that there was a good prospect of her husband being acquitted. But that if the verdict unfortunately went against him, her confession would have more weight in saving him when the appeal against the verdict was heard. It amazed Lethbridge to find that the prisoner expressed the view that Birchell had committed the murder. This view was based on his contention that Sir Horace Fubanks was alive when he, Holy Mead, left him about 10 o'clock. The interview between them had been an angry one, but Holy Mead persisted in asserting that he had not shot his former friend. He declared that he had not taken Revolver with him when he went to Riversbrook. Lethbridge was one of those barristers who believed that a knowledge of the guilt of the client handicapped counsel in defending him. He had his private opinion as to the result of the angry interview between Holy Mead and Sir Horace Fubanks, but he preferred that Holy Mead should protest his innocence even to him. That made it easier for him to make a stirring appeal to the jury than it would have been if his client had fully confessed to him. His private opinion as to the author of the crime was strengthened by Holy Mead's admission that Birchell had not confessed to him or to his solicitor at the time of his trial that he had shot Sir Horace Fubanks. He was astonished that Holy Mead had taken up Birchell's defense, but Holy Mead's explanation was the somewhat extraordinary one that the man who had killed the seducer of his wife had done him a service by solving a problem that had seemed insoluble without a public scandal. There was no doubt that although Sir Horace Fubanks was in his grave, Holy Mead's hatred of him for his betrayal of his wife burned as strongly as when he had made the discovery that wrecked his home life. Neither death nor time could dim the impression nor lessen his hatred for the dead man who had once been his closest friend. Lethbridge, feeling that it was his duty as counsel for the prisoner to try every avenue which might help to an acquittal, asked Mr. Tomlinson, the solicitor who was instructing him in the case, to find Birchell and bring him to his chambers. Birchell was found and kept in appointment. Lethbridge explained to him that he had nothing further to fear from the police with regard to the murder of Sir Horace Fubanks. Having been acquitted on this charge, he could not be tried on it again, no matter what discoveries were made. He could not even be tried for perjury as he had not gone into the witness box. Having allowed these facts to sink home, he delicately suggested to Birchell that he ought to come forward as a witness for the defense of Holy Mead. He ought to do his best and try to save the life of the man who had saved his life. What do you want me to swear? asked Birchell in a tone which indicated that although he did not object to committing perjury, he wanted to know how far he was to go. Well, that Sir Horace Fubanks was alive when you went to Riversbrook, suggested Lethbridge. But I tell you he was dead, protested Birchell. He seemed to think that reviving a dead man was beyond even the power of perjury. That was your original story, I know, agreed Lethbridge, swivelly. But as you were not put into the witness box to swear it, you can alter it without fear of any consequences. You won't me to swear that he was alive, said Birchell meditatively. If you can conscientiously do so, replied Lethbridge. That he was alive when I left Riversbrook, asked Birchell. Well, not necessarily that, said Lethbridge. Birchell sprang up in alarm. Dear God, do you want me to swear that I killed him? He demanded. Lethbridge endeavored to explain that he would have nothing to fear from such a confession in the witness box. But Birchell would listen to no further explanations. He felt that he was in dangerous company and that his safety depended on getting out of the room. You've made a mistake, he said, as he reached the door. If you want a witness of that kind, you ought to look for him in colony hatch. End of chapter 29. Chapter 30 of the Hampstead Mystery. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Mary Rodey. The Hampstead Mystery by John R. Watson and Arthur J. Reese. Chapter 30. The impending trial of Holymead produced almost as much excitement and stayed legal circles as it did among the general public. It was rumored that there was a difficulty in obtaining a judge to preside at the trial, as they all objected to being placed in the position of trying a man who was well known to them and with who most of them had been on friendly terms. There was a great deal of sympathy for the prisoner among the judges. Of course, they could not admit that any man had the right to take the line to his own hands, but they realized that if any wrong done to an individual could justify this course, it was the wrong Sir Horace Fubanks had done to an old friend. When it became known that Mr. Justice Hudson was to preside at the Old Bailey during the trial of Holymead, legal rumor concerned itself with statements to the effect that there was now a difficulty in obtaining a K.C. to undertake the prosecution. When it was discovered that Mr. Walters K.C. was to conduct the prosecution, it was whispered that he had asked to be relieved of the work and had even waited on the Attorney General in the matter, but that the latter had told him that he must put his personal feelings aside and act in accordance with that high sense of duty he had always shown in his professional career. In Newgate Street, a long queue of people waited for admission to Old Bailey on the day the trial was to begin. They were inspected by two fat policemen to decide whether they appeared respectable enough to be entitled to a free seat at the entertainment in number one court. When the doors opened at 10.15 a.m., the first batch of them were admitted, but on reaching the top of the stairs where they were inspected by a sergeant, they were informed that all the seats in the gallery of number one court had been filled, but that he would graciously permit them to go to numbers two, three, four, or five courts. Those who were not satisfied with this generosity could get out the way they had come in and be quick about it. What the sergeant did not explain was that so many people with social influence had applied to the presiding judge for permission to be present at the trial that it had been found necessary to reserve the gallery for them as well as most of the seats in the body of the court. Fashionably dressed ladies and well-groomed men drove up to the main entrance of the Old Bailey in motors and taxicabs. The scene was as busy as the scene outside a West End theater on a first night. The services of several policemen were necessary to regulate the arrival and departure of taxicabs and motorcars and to keep back the staring mob of disappointed people who had been refused admission to the court by the fat sergeant, but were determined to see as much as they could before they went away. Elderly ladies and young ladies were assisted from smart motorcars by their escorts and greeted their friends with feminine fervor. Some of the younger ones exchanged whispered regrets as they swept into the court that such a fine-looking man as Holy Mead should have got himself into such a terrible predicament. The legal profession was numerously represented among the spectators in the body of the court. So many distinguished members of the profession had applied for tickets of admission that there was little room for members of the junior bar. It was many years since a trial had created so much interest in legal circles. When Mr. Justice Hodgson entered the court followed by no fewer than eight of the sheriffs of London, those present in the court rose. The members of the profession bowed slowly in the direction of his honor. The prisoner was brought into the dock from below and took the seat that was given to him beside one of the two warders who remained in the dock with him. He looked a little careworn as though with sleepless nights, but his strong clean-shaven face was as resolute as ever and betrayed nothing of the mental agony which he endured. His keen dark eyes glassed quietly through the court and though many members of the bar smiled at him when they thought they had caught his eye, he gave no smile in return. As he looked at Mr. Justice Hodgson, the distinguished judge inclined his head to what was almost a nod of recognition but the prisoner looked calmly at the judge as though he had never seen him before and had never been inside a court in his life till then. Among the persons standing in the body of the court were Crue and Inspector Chippenfield and Detective Rolf. Inspector Chippenfield displayed so much friendliness to Crue as he drew his attention to the number of celebrities in court that it was evident he had buried for the time being his professional enmity. This was because Crue had allowed him to appropriate some of the credit of unraveling Holymead's connection with the crime. As the jury were being sworn in, Crue and Chippenfield made their way out of the court into the corridor. As they were to be called as witnesses, they would not be allowed in court until after they had given their evidence. Mr. Walters in his opening address paid tribute to the exceptional circumstances of the case by some slight show of nervousness. Several times he insisted that the case was what he termed unique. The prisoner in the dock was a man who by his distinguished abilities had won for himself a leading position at the bar and had been honored and respected by all who knew him. It was not the first occasion that a member of the legal profession had been placed on trial on a capital charge, though he was glad to say, for the honor of the profession, that cases of the kind were extremely rare. But what made the case unique was that it was not the first trial in connection with the murder of Sir Horace Fubanks, and that at the first trial, when a man named Frederick Burchell had been placed in the dock, the prisoner now before the court had appeared as defending counsel and by his brilliant conduct of the defense had materially contributed to the verdict of acquittal which had been brought in by the jury. Some evidence would be placed before the jury about the first trial and the conduct of the defense. He ventured to assert that the jury would find in this evidence some damaging facts against the prisoner that they would find a clear indication that the prisoner had defended Burchell because he knew himself to be guilty of this murder and felt an obligation on him to place his legal knowledge and forensic powers at the disposal of a man whom he knew to be innocent. At the former trial, the prisoner, as counsel for the defense, had attempted to throw suspicion on a man named Hill who had been butler to the late Sir Horace Fubanks, but evidence would be placed before the jury to show that in doing so, the prisoner had been smitten by some pangs of conscience at casting suspicion on a man who he knew was not guilty. It was not incumbent on the prosecution to prove a motive for the murder, continued Mr. Walters, though where the motive was plainly proved the case against the prisoner was naturally strengthened. In this case there was no doubt about the motive, but the extent of the evidence to be placed before the jury under that head would depend upon the defense. The prosecution would submit some evidence on the point, but the full story could only be told if the defense placed the wife of the prisoner in the witness box. It was impossible for the prosecution to call her as a witness as English law prevented her wife giving evidence against her husband. She could, however, give evidence in favor of her husband and doubtless the defense would take full advantage of the privilege of calling her. The evidence which he intended to call would show that for years past very friendly relations had existed between the prisoner and the murdered man. They had been at Cambridge together and had studied law together in chambers. Their friendship continued after their marriages. The prisoner had married a second time and at that time Sir Horace Fubanks was a widower. Sir Horace Fubanks was what was known as a ladies man and at the previous trial prisoner as defending counsel had tried to bring out that Sir Horace was a man of immoral reputation among women. There was no doubt that the prisoner during Sir Horace's absence in Scotland became convinced that Sir Horace had been paying attention to his wife. There was no doubt that being a man of a jealous disposition his suspicions went beyond that. At any rate he wrote a letter to Sir Horace at Craigleith Hall where the latter was shooting asking him to come to London at once in order to induce Sir Horace to return and in order not to arouse suspicion as to his real object he concocted a story about a vacancy in the court of appeal bench to which it appeared Sir Horace Fubanks desired to be appointed. In this letter which would be produced in evidence the prisoner pretended to be working in Sir Horace's interests and offered to meet him on the night of his return at Rivers Book and let him know fully how matters stood. Sir Horace apparently wrote to the prisoner making an appointment with him for the night of the 18th of August. The prisoner kept that appointment, charged Sir Horace with carrying on an intrigue with his wife and then shot him. That is the case for the prosecution which I will endeavor to establish to the satisfaction of the jury, said Mr. Walters in concluding his speech. Of course it is impossible to produce direct evidence of the actual shooting but I will produce a silent but indisputable witness in the form of a glove which belonged to the prisoner that he was present in the room in which the murder took place. I will produce evidence to show that the prisoner left his stick behind in the hat stand in the hall on the night of the murder. These things prove conclusively that he left Rivers Book in a state of considerable excitement. The fact that after the murder was discovered he kept hidden in his own breast the knowledge that he had been there on that night instead of going to the police and in the endeavor to assist them to detect the murderer of his lifelong friend informing them that he had called on Sir Horace shows conclusively that he went there on a mission on which he dared not throw the light of day. Those witnesses who had given evidence at the police court were called and repeated their statements. Inspector Seldon was closely cross-examined by Mr. Lethbridge as to the way in which the dead body was dressed when he discovered it. He declared that Sir Horace had been wearing a light lounge suit of gray color, a silk shirt, wing collar, and black bow tie. Dr. Slingby's cross-examination was directed to ascertaining as near as possible the time the murder was committed but this was a point on which the witness allowed himself to be irritatingly indefinite. The murder might have taken place three or four hours before midnight on the 18th of August and on the other hand it might have taken place any time up to three or four hours after midnight. Hill, who had not been available as a witness at the police court, being then on the way back from America in response to a cable-gram from crew, reappeared as a witness. He looked much more at ease in the witness box than on the occasion when he gave evidence against Birchell. He had fully recovered from his terror of being arrested for the murder and obviously had much satisfaction in giving evidence against the man who, according to his impression, had tried to bring the crime home to him. He gave evidence as to the unexpected return of his master from Scotland on the 18th of August and also in regard to the relations between his master and Mrs. Holymead. On several occasions he had seen his master kiss Mrs. Holymead and once he had heard the door of the room in which they were together being locked. The new witnesses were called to testify to the suggestion of the prosecution that illicit relations had existed between Sir Horace Feubanks and Mrs. Holymead. These were Philip Williams, who had been the dead man's chauffeur and Dorothy Mason, who had been housemaid at Rivers Book. The chauffeur gave evidence as to meeting Mrs. Holymead's car at various places in the country. He formed the opinion from the first that these meetings between Sir Horace and the lady were not accidental. The last of the prosecution's witnesses was the legal shorthand writer who had taken the official report of the trial of Burchell. In response to the request of Mr. Walters, he read from his notebook the final passage in the opening address delivered by the prisoner at that trial as defending counsel. It is my duty to convince you that my client is not guilty, or in other words, to convince you that the murder was committed before he reached the house. It is only with the greatest reluctance that I take upon myself the responsibility of pointing an accusing finger at another man. In crimes of this kind, you cannot expect to get anything but circumstantial evidence. But there are degrees of circumstantial evidence, and my duty to my client lays upon me the obligation of pointing out to you that there is one person against whom the existing circumstantial evidence is stronger than it is against my client. Mr. Lethbridge was unexpectedly brief in his opening address. He ridiculed the idea that a man like the prisoner, trained in the atmosphere of the law, would take the law into his own hands in seeking revenge for a wrong that had been done to him. According to the prosecution, the prisoner had calmly and deliberately carried out this murder. He had sent a letter to Sir Horace Few Banks with the object of inducing him to return to London, and had subsequently gone to Riversbrook and shot the man who had been his lifelong friend. Could anything be more improbable than to suppose that a man of the accused's training, intellect, and force of character would be swayed by a gust of passion into committing such a dreadful crime like an immature ignorant youth of unbalanced temperament? The discovery that his wife and his friend were carrying on an intrigue would be more likely to fill him with disgust than inspire him with murderous rage. He would not deny that accused had gone up to Riversbrook a few hours after Sir Horace Few Banks returned from Scotland. He would admit that when the accused sought this interview, he knew that his quantum friend had done him the greatest wrong one man could do another. But he emphatically denied that the prisoner killed Sir Horace Few Banks or threatened to take his life. His learned friend had asked why had not the prisoner gone to the police after the murder was discovered and told them that he had seen Sir Horace at Riversbrook that night. The answer to that was clear and emphatic. He did not want to take the police into his confidence with regard to the relations that had existed between his wife and the dead man. He wanted to save his wife's name from scandal. Was not that a natural impulse for a high-minded man? The prisoner had believed that in due course the police would discover the actual murderer and that in the meantime, the scandal which threatened his wife's name would be buried with the man who had wronged her. If the prisoner could have prevented it, his wife's name would not have been dragged into this case even for the purpose of saving himself from injustice. But the prosecution, in order to establish a motive for the crime, had dragged the scandal into light. He did not blame the prosecution in the least for that. In fact, he was grateful to his learned friend for doing so. Forad had released him from a promise extracted from him by the prisoner, not to make any use of the matter in his conduct of the case. The defense was that although the accused man had gone to Riversbrook on the night of the 18th of August to accuse Sir Horace Fewbanks of base treachery, he went there unarmed and with no intention of committing violence. No threats were used and no shots were fired during the interview. And in proof of the latter contention, he intended to call witnesses to prove that Sir Horace Fewbanks was alive after the prisoner had left the house. The name of Daniel Kemp was loudly called by the ushers and when Kemp crossed the court on the way to the witness box, Chippenfield and Crue who had returned to the court after giving their evidence looked at one another. He's a dead man, whispered Chippenfield, nodding his head towards the prisoner. If this is a sample of their witnesses. Kemp had brushed himself up for his appearance in the witness box. He wore a new ready-made tweed suit. His thick neck was encased in a white linen collar which he kept fingering with one hand as though trying to loosen it for his greater comfort. And his hair had been plastered flat on his head with plenty of cold water. His red and scratched chin further indicated that he had taken considerable pains with the razor to improve his personal appearance in keeping with his unwanted part of a respectable witness in a place which knew a more sinister side of him. As he stood in the witness box, awkwardly avoiding the significant glasses that the Scotland Yard men and the police cast at him, he appeared to be more nervous and anxious than he usually was when in the dock. But Koo, who was watching him closely, was struck by the look of dog-like devotion he hurriedly cast at the weary face of the man in the dock before he commenced to give his evidence. He told the court a remarkable story. He declared that Birchell had told him on the 16th of August that he had a job on at Riversbrook and had asked him to join him in it. When Birchell explained the details, witness declined to have a hand in it. He did not like these put-up jobs. Mr. Lethbridge interposed to explain to any particularly unsophisticated jurymen that a put-up job meant a burglary that had been arranged with the connivance of a servant in the house to be broken into. Kemp declared that the reason he had declined to have anything to do with the project to Birchell Riversbrook was that he felt sure he would squeak if the police threatened him when they came to investigate the burglary. He happened to be at Hampstead on the evening of the 18th of August, and he took a walk along Tanton Gardens to have another look at the place which Birchell was to break into. It had occurred to him that things might not be square and that he might have laid a trap for Birchell. That was about 9.30 p.m. He was just able to catch a glimpse of the house through the plantation in front of it. The mansion appeared all in darkness, but while he looked he was surprised to see a light appear in the upper portion of the house which was visible from the road. He went through the carriage gates with the intention of getting a closer view of the house. As he walked along he heard a quick footstep on the gravel walk behind him and he slipped into the plantation. Looking out from behind a tree he could discern the figure of a man walking quickly towards the house. As he drew near him the man paused, struck a match and looked at his watch and he saw that it was Mr. Holymead. Witnesses suspicions in regard to a trap having been laid for Birchell were strengthened and he decided to ascertain what was in the wind. He crept through the plantation to the edge of the garden in front of the house. From there he could hear voices in a room upstairs. He tried to make out what was being said but he was too far away for that. In about a half an hour the voices stopped and a minute later a man came out of the house and walked down the path through the garden and entered the carriage-drive close to where witness was concealed in the plantation. As he passed him witness saw that it was Mr. Holymead. About five minutes afterwards the window upstairs in the room where the voices had come from was opened and Sir Horace Few Banks leaned out and looked at the sky as if to ascertain what sort of a night it was. He was quite certain that it was Sir Horace Few Banks. He was well acquainted with that gentleman's features having been sentenced by him three years ago. Sir Horace seemed quite calm and collected. Witness was so surprised to see him after having been told by Birchell that he was in Scotland that he did not take his eyes off him during the two or three minutes that he remained at the window breathing the night air. Sir Horace was fully dressed. He had on a light-tweed suit and he was wearing a soft shirt of a light color with a stiff collar and a small black bow tie. When Sir Horace closed the window witness jumped over the fence back into the wood and made his way to the Hampstead Tube Station with the intention of warning Birchell that Sir Horace Few Banks was at home. He waited at the station over an hour and as he did not see Birchell he then made his way home. During the time he was in the garden at Riversbrook listening to the voices he heard no sound of a shot. He was certain that no shot had been fired inside the house from the time the prisoner entered the house until he left. Had a shot been fired witness could not have failed to hear it. There could be no doubt that the effect produced in court by the evidence of the witness was extremely favorable to the prisoner. Kemp had told a plain straightforward story. The fact that he had shown no reluctance in disclosing in his evidence that he was a criminal and the associate of criminals seemed to add to the credibility of his evidence. It was felt that he would not have come to court to swear falsely on behalf of a man who was so far removed from the class to which he belonged. While Kemp was giving his evidence crew had dispatched a messenger to his chambers in Holborn for Joe. When the boy returned with the messenger Kemp was still in the witness box undergoing an examination at the hands of the judge. Sir Henry Hodgson seemed to have been impressed by the witness's story for he asked Kemp a number of questions and entered his answers in his notebook. Joe, whispered crew, as the boy stole noiselessly behind him. Look at that man in the witness box. Have you ever seen him before? Rather, Governor, whispered the boy in reply. Why, it's him who tried to fight me in the loft if I didn't promise to give up watching Mr. Holymeade. You are quite certain, Joe? Certain, sure, Governor. There ain't no chance of me mistaken a man like that. Crew listened intently to Kemp's evidence and he watched the man's face as he swore that he had seen Sir Horace's few banks leaning out of the window after Holymeade had left the house. He hastily took out a notebook, scribbled a few lines on one of the leaves, tore it out, and beckoned to a court usher. Take that to Mr. Walters, he whispered. The man did so. Mr. Walters opened the note, adjusted his glasses, and read it. He started with surprise, read the note through again, then turned around as though in search of the writer. When he saw Crew, he raised his eyebrows interrogatively and the detective nodded emphatically. Mr. Lethbridge sat down, having finished his examination of Kemp. Mr. Walters, with another glance at Crew's note, rose slowly in his place. I ask your honour that I may be allowed to defer until the morning my cross-examination of this witness. I am, of course, in your honour's hands in this matter, but I can assure your honour that it is desirable, highly desirable, in the interest of justice that the cross-examination of the witness should be postponed. I protest, your honour, against the cross-examination of the witness being deferred, said Mr. Lethbridge. There is no justification of it. I would urge your honour to accede to my request, said Mr. Walters, it is a matter of the utmost importance. Is your next witness available, Mr. Lethbridge? asked the judge. Surely, your honour, you're not going to allow the cross-examination of this witness to be postponed, protested Mr. Lethbridge. My learned friend has given no reason for such a course. Sir Henry Hudson looked at the court-clock. It is now within a quarter of an hour of the ordinary time for adjournment, he began. I think the fairest way out of the difficulty will be to adjourn the court now until tomorrow morning. There was a loud buzz of conversation when the court adjourned. After asking Chippenfield and Rolf to wait for him, crew made his way to Mr. Walters, and after a few whispered words with that gentleman, Mr. Mathers, his junior, and Mr. Salter, the instructing solicitor, he returned to Chippenfield and Rolf, and asked them to accompany him in a taxicab to Riversbrook. What do you want to go out there for? asked Inspector Chippenfield. You don't expect to discover anything there this late in the day, do you? I want to find out whether this man Kemp is lying or telling the truth. Of course he is lying, replied the positive police official. When you've had as much experience with criminals as I have had, Mr. Crew, you won't expect a word of truth from any of them. Well, let us go to Riversbrook and prove that he is lying, said Crew. We'll go with you, said Inspector Chippenfield, speaking for Rolf and himself. He did not understand how Crew expected to obtain any evidence at Riversbrook about the truth or falsity of Kemp's story, but he did not intend to admit that. But you can set your mind at rest. No jury will believe Kemp after we've given them his record in cross-examination. Rolf, whose association with Crew, in the case, had awakened in him a keen admiration for the private detective's methods and abilities, permitted himself to defy his superior officer to the extent of saying that the best way to prove Kemp a liar is to prove that his story is false. During the drive to Hampstead from the Old Bailey, the three men discussed Kemp and his past record. It was recalled that less than twelve months ago, while he was serving three years for burglary, his daughter had provided the newspapers with the sensation by dying in the dock while sentence was being passed on her. According to Inspector Chippenfield, who had been in charge of the case against her, she was a stylish, good-looking girl, and when dressed up might easily have been mistaken for a lady. She got in touch with the flash gang of railway thieves from America, said Inspector Chippenfield, helping himself to a cigar from Crew's proffered case. They used to work the express trains, robbing the passengers in the sleeping-births. She was neatly caught at Victoria Station in calling for a dressing case that had been left at the cloakroom by one of the gang. Inside the dressing case was Lady Sinclair's jewel case, which had been stolen on the journey up from Brighton. The thief, being afraid that he might be stopped at Victoria Station when the loss of the jewel case was discovered, had placed it inside his dressing case and had left the dressing case at the cloakroom. He sent Dora Kemp for it a few days later, as he believed he had outwitted the police. But I'd got on to the track of the jewels, and after removing them from the dressing case in the cloakroom, I had the cloakroom watched. When Dora Kemp called for the dressing case and handed in the cloakroom ticket, the attendant gave my men the signal and she was arrested. She died of heart disease while on trial, didn't she? Ask Crew. Yes, replied Inspector Chippenfield. Sir Horace Few Banks was the judge. He gave her five years, and no sooner were the words out of his mouth than she threw up her hands and fell forward in the dock. She was dead when they picked her up. She was as game as they make them, put in Rolf. We tried to get her to give the others away, but she wouldn't, though she would've got off with a few months if she had. The gang got frightened and cleared out. They left her in the lurch, but she wouldn't give one of them away. It was Holymede who defended her, said Chippenfield. It was a strange thing for him to do. Leading barristers don't like touching criminal cases, because, as a rule, there is little money and less credit to be got out of them. But Holymede did some queer things at times, as you know. He must have taken up the case out of interest in the girl herself, for I'm certain she hadn't the money to brief him. And I did hear afterwards that Holymede undertook to see that she was decently buried. Why, that explains it, exclaims Crue, in the voice of a man who had solved a difficulty. Explains what? asked Inspector Chippenfield. Explains why her father has taken the risk of coming forward in this case to give evidence for Holymede. Gratitude for what Holymede had done for his girl while he was in prison. My experience of criminals is that they frequently show more real gratitude to those who do them a good turn than people in a respectable walk of life. Besides, you know what a sentimental value people of his class attached to seeing their kin buried decently. If Holymede hadn't come forward, the girl would have been buried as a pauper in all probability. But I don't see that old Kemp is taking much risk, said Inspector Chippenfield. He is only perjuring himself, and he is too used to that to regard it as a risk. Don't you think he will be in an awkward position if the jury were to acquit Holymede? Ask Crue. One jury has already said that Sir Horace Fubanks was dead when Virgil broke into the house, and if this jury believes Kemp's story and says Sir Horace was alive when Holymede left it, don't you think Kemp will conclude that it will be best for him to disappear? Someone must have killed Sir Horace after Holymede left, and before Virgil arrived. Phew, I never thought of that, said Ralph Candidly. Kemp is a liar from first to last, said Inspector Chippenfield decisively. End of chapter 30. Chapter 31 of The Hempstead Mystery. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Nicole Carl, St. Louis, Missouri, July 2008. The Hempstead Mystery by John R. Watson and Arthur J. Reese. Chapter 31. When they reached Riversbrook, they entered the carriage-drive and traversed the plantation until they stood on the edge of the Italian garden facing the house. The gone-to-regular mansion stood empty and deserted, for Miss Fewbanks had left the place after her father's funeral, with the determination not to return to it. The wind whistled drearily through the nooks and crannies of the unfinished brickwork of the upper story, and a faint evening mist rose from the sodden garden, and floated in a thin cloud past the library window, as though the ghost of the dead judge were revisiting the house in search of his murderer. The garden had lost its summer beauty and was littered with dead leaves from the trees. The gathering grayness of an autumn twilight added to the dreariness of the scene. Kemp didn't say how far he stood from the house, said crew, but will assume he stood at the edge of the plantation, about where we are standing now to begin with. How far are we from that library window, Chippinfield? About fifty yards, I should say, said the inspector, measuring it with his eye. I should say seventy, said Rolf. And I say somewhere midway between the two, said crew with a smile. But we will soon see. Just hold down the end of this measuring tape, one of you. He produced a measuring tape as he spoke and started to unwind it, walking rapidly towards the house as he did so. Sixty-two yards, he said as he returned. He made a note of the distance in his pocketbook. So much for that, he said. But that's not enough. I want you to stand under the library window, Rolf, by that chestnut tree in front of it, and act as pivot for the measuring tape while I look at that window from various angles. My idea is to go in a semicircle right around the garden, starting at the garage by the edge of the wood, so as to see the library window, and measure the distance at every possible point at which Kemp could have stood. You're going to a lot of trouble for nothing. If your object is to try and prove that he couldn't have seen into the window, granted inspector Chippinfield and a mystified voice, why I can plainly see into the window from here. Crew smiled but did not reply. Followed by Rolf, he went back to the tree by the library window, where he posted Rolf with the end of the tape in his hand. Then he walked slowly back across the garden in the direction of the garage, keeping his eye on the library window on the first floor from which Kemp, according to his evidence, had seen Sir Horace leaning out after Holymead had left the house. He returned to the tree noting the measurement in his book as he did so, and then repeated the process, walking backwards with his eye fixed on the window, but this time taking a line more to the left. Again and again he repeated the process until finally he had walked backwards from the tree in narrow segments of a big semicircle, finishing up on the boundary of the Italian garden on the other side of the grounds, and almost directly opposite to the garage from which he had started. There's no use going further back than that, he said, turning to Inspector Chippenfield, who had followed him round, smoking one of Crew's cigars, and very much mystified by the whole proceedings, though he would not have admitted it on any account. At this point we practically lose sight of the window altogether, except for an oblique glimpse. Certainly Kemp would not come as far back as this. He would have no object in doing so. I quite agree with you, said Inspector Chippenfield. He would stand more in front of the house. The tree in front of the house doesn't obstruct the view of the window to any extent. The tree to which Inspector Chippenfield referred was a solitary chestnut tree, which grew close to the house a little distance from the main entrance, and reached to a height of about forty feet. Its branches were entirely bare of leaves, for the autumn frosts and winds had swept the foliage away. Rolf, who had been watching Crew's maneuvers curiously, walked up to them with a tape in his hand. He glanced at the library window on the first floor as he reached them. Kemp should have seen the library window if he had stood here, he said. I should say that if the blind were up, it would be possible to see right into that room. What do you say, Chippenfield, asked Crew, turning to that officer. Inspector Chippenfield had taken his stand stolidly on the center path of the Italian garden, directly in front of the window of the library. I say Kemp is a liar, he replied, knocking the ash off his cigar. A d- d- liar, he added emphatically. I don't believe he was here at all that night. But if he was here, do you think he saw Sir Horace leaning out of the window? I don't see what was to prevent him, was the reply, but my point is that he was a liar and he wasn't here at all. And you, Rolf, do you think Kemp could have seen Sir Horace leaning out of the window if he had been here? I should say so, remarked Rolf in a somewhat puzzled tone. I am sorry I cannot agree with either of you, said Crew. I think Kemp was here, but I am sure he couldn't have seen Sir Horace from the window. Kemp has been up here during the past few days in order to prepare his evidence, and he's been led astray by a very simple mistake. If a man were to lean outside the library window now, there would not be much difficulty in identifying him. But when the murder took place, it would have been impossible to see him from any part of the garden or grounds. Why? demanded Inspector Chippenfield. Because it was the middle of summer when Sir Horace's few banks was murdered. At that time the Chestnut Tree would be in full leaf, and the foliage would hide the window completely. Look at the number of branches the tree has. They stretch all over the window and even round the corners of that unfinished brickwork on the first floor by the side of the library window. A man could no more see through that tree in summertime than he could see through a stone wall. What did I tell you? exclaimed Inspector Chippenfield, in a voice of a man whose case has been fully proved. Didn't I say Kemp was a liar? We'll call evidence in rebuttal to prove that he is a liar, and he couldn't have seen the window. And after Holymead is convicted, I'll see if I cannot get a warrant out for Kemp for perjury. And yet Kemp did see Sir Horace that night, said Crue quietly. How do you know? What makes you say that? Inspector was unpleasantly startled by Crue's contention. He was able to describe accurately how Sir Horace was dressed for one thing, responded Crue. He might have got that from Seldin's evidence, said Inspector Chippenfield thoughtfully. He may have had someone in court to tell him what Seldin said. You do not think Lethbridge would be a party to such tactics, said Crue. Oh no, one could tell from the way he examined Seldin and Kemp on the point that it was in his brief. But the fact that Kemp knew how Sir Horace stressed doesn't prove that he saw Sir Horace after Holymead left the house, said Rolf. Kemp may have seen Sir Horace before Holymead arrived. Quite true, Rolf, said Crue. I haven't lost sight of that point. I think you will agree with me that there is a bit of mystery here which wants clearing up. They drove back into town, and in accordance with the arrangement Crue had made with Mr. Walters before leaving the court, they waited on that gentleman at his chambers in Lincoln's Inn. There, Crue told him of the result of their investigations at Riversbrook. Mr. Walters was professionally pleased at the prospect of destroying the evidence of Kemp. He was not a hard-hearted man, and personally he would have preferred to see Holymead acquitted, if that were possible, but as the prosecuting counsel he felt a professional satisfaction in being placed in a position to expose perjured evidence. Excellent, excellent, he exclaimed, rubbing his hands with gratification as he spoke, knowing what we know now it will be comparatively easy task to expose the witness Kemp under cross examination and show his evidence to be false. Mr. Walters looked as though he relished the prospect. It was arranged that Inspector Chippinfield should be called to give evidence and rebuttal as to the impossibility of seeing the library window through the tree, and that an Arbiculturist should also be called. Mr. Walters agreed to have the expert in attendance at the court in the morning. But Crue had something more on his mind, and he waited until Chippinfield and Rolf had taken their departure in order to put his views before the prosecuting counsel. Then he pointed out to him that to prove that Kemp's evidence was false was merely to obtain a negative result. What he wanted was a positive result. In other words, he wanted Kemp's true story. Do you not think, then, that Kemp is merely committing perjury in order to get wholly made off? asked Walters meditatively. You think he is hiding something? Crue replied, with his faint inscrutable smile, that he had no doubt whatever that such was the case. He thought Kemp's true story might be obtained if Walters directed his cross examination to obtaining the truth instead of merely to exposing falsehood. It was evident to him that Kemp had come forward in order to save the prisoner. How far was he prepared to go in carrying out that object? When he was made to realize that his perjury, instead of helping wholly need, had helped to convince the jury of the prisoner's guilt, would he tell the true story of how much he knew? My own opinion is that he will, continued Crue. I studied his face very closely while he was in the box today, and I am convinced he would go far, even to telling the truth, in order to save the only man who was ever kind to him. Walters was slow in coming round to Crue's point of view. He had a high opinion of Crue, for in his association with the case he had realized how skillfully Crue had worked out the solution of the river's brook mystery. But he took the view that now the case was before the court it was entirely a matter for the legal profession to deal with. He pointed out to Crue the profession of you that his own duty did not extend beyond the exposure of Kemp's perjury. It was not his duty to give Kemp a second chance, an opportunity to qualify his evidence. He believed the defense had called Kemp in the belief that his evidence was true, but the defense must take the consequences, if they built up their case, on perjured evidence which they had not taken the trouble to sift. Crue entered into the profession of you sympathetically, but he was not to be turned from his purpose. He felt that too much was at stake, and he lifted the discussion out of the atmosphere of the professional procedure and into that of their common manhood. Walters, I know you are not a vain man, he said honestly. A personal triumph in this case means even less to you than it does to me. I have built up what I regard as an overwhelming case against Holy Mead, but it is based on circumstantial evidence, and I would willingly see the whole thing toppled over, if by that means we could get the final truth. This man Kemp knows the truth, and you are in a position in which you can get the truth from him. It may be the last chance anyone will have of getting it. Apart from all questions of professional procedure, isn't there an obligation upon you to get at the truth? If you put it that way, I believe there is, replied Walters slowly and meditatively. There was a pause, and then he spoke with a sudden impulse. Yes, Crue, you can depend on me. I'll do my best. End of Chapter 31 Chapter 32 of The Hamsted Mystery This is a LibriVox recording, or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Lars Rolander The Hamsted Mystery by John Watson and Arthur Rees Chapter 32 The public interest in the Holy Mead trial on the second day was even greater than on the first. It was realized that Kemp's evidence had given an unexpected turn to the proceedings, and that if it could be substantiated, the jury's verdict would be not guilty. There were confident persons who insisted that Kemp's evidence was sufficient to acquit the prisoner, but everyone grasped the fact that the counsel for the prosecution, by his action in implying for an adjournment of the cross-examination of Kemp, clearly realized that his case was in danger if the evidence of the first witness for the defense could not be broken down. The public appetite for sensation, having been wetted by sensational newspaper reports of the latest face of the Riversbrook Mystery, there was a great rush of people to the Old Bailey early on the morning of the second day to witness the final stages of the trial. The queue in Newgate Street commenced to assembled at daybreak, and grew longer and longer as the day were on, but it was composed of persons who did not know that there was not the slightest possibility of their gaining admittance to number one court. The policeman who was invested with the duty of keeping the queue close to the wall of the building forbore to break this sad news to them. Being faithful to the limitations of the official mind, he believed that the right thing to do was to let the people in the queue receive this important information from the sergeant inside. How was he to know, without authority from his superior officer, that any of these people wanted to be admitted to number one court? So the policeman paired his nails, gallantly minding the places of pretty girls in the queue, who, worn out by hours of waiting in the cold, desired to slip away to a neighbouring tea shop to get a cup of tea before the court opened, and sternly rebuking enterprising youths who endeavored to wedge themselves in ahead of their proper place. The body of the court was packed before the proceedings commenced. The number of ladies present was even greater than on the first day, and the resources of the ushers were severely taxed to find accommodation for them all. In the back row, crew noticed Mrs. Hallamied, accompanied by Mademoiselle Chiron. They had not been in court on the previous day. Mrs. Hallamied seemed anxious to escape notice, but crew could see that although she looked anxious and distressed, she was buoyed up by a new hope, which doubtless had come to her since Kemp had given his evidence. There was an expectant silence in the court when Mr. Justice Hodson took his seat, and the names of the jurormen were called over. Kemp entered the witness's box with a more confident air than he had worn the previous day. Mr. Walters rose to begin his cross-examination, and the witness faced the barrister with the air of an old hand, who knew the game, and was not to be caught by any legal tricks or traps. You said yesterday, witness commenced Mr. Walters, adjusting his glasses and glancing from his brief to the witness, and from the witness back to the brief again, that you saw the prisoner enter the gate at Riversbrook about 9.30 on the night of the 18th of August. Yes, the monosyllable was flung out as insolently as possible. The speaker watched his interrogator with the lowering eyes of a man at war with society, and who realized that he was facing one of his natural enemies. Did he see you? No, you are quite sure of that. Haven't I just said so? Do not be insolent, witness! It was the juddiest warning voice that broke into the cross-examination. Answer the questions. How long was it, after the prisoner entered the carriage-drive, that you went to the edge of the plantation and heard voices upstairs? continued Mr. Walters. I went as soon as Mr. Hollamied passed me. How far were you from the house? About sixty yards. And from that distance you could hear the voices? Yes. Plainly? Not very. I could hear the voices, but I couldn't hear what they were saying. Were they angry voices? They seemed to me to be talking loudly. Yet you couldn't hear what they were saying? No, I was sixty yards away. You said in your evidence, in chief, that the talking continued half an hour. Did you time it? No. Then what made you swear that? I said about half an hour. I smoked out a pot full of tobacco while I was standing there, and that would be about half an hour. Kemp disclosed his broken teeth in a faint grin. What happened next? I heard the front door slam, and I saw somebody walking across the garden, and go into the carriage-drive towards the gate. Did you recognize who it was? Yes, Mr. Hollamied. Kemp looked at the prisoner as he gave the answer. You swear it was the prisoner? I do. Let me recall your evidence, in chief witness. You swore that you identified Mr. Hollamied as he went in, because he struck a match to look at the time as he passed you, and you saw his face. Did he strike matches as he went out? No. Then how are you able to swear so positively as to his identity in the dark? Kemp considered a moment before replying. Because I know him well, and I was close to him, he said at length. I was close enough to him almost to touch him. I knew him by his walk and by the look of him. It was him right enough. I'll swear to that. I put it to you, witness, persisted counsel, that you could not positively identify a man in a plantation at that time of night. Do you still swear it was Mr. Hollamied? I do, replied Kemp dodgedly. What did you do then? I stayed where I was. What for? I don't know. I didn't have any particular reason. I just stayed there watching. Did you think the prisoner might return? No, replied the witness quickly. Why should I think that? How long did you stay watching the house? It might be a matter of ten minutes more. And the prisoner didn't return during that time? No, replied the witness emphatically. What did you do after that? I went to the tube station. Prisoner might have returned after you left. I suppose he might, replied the witness reluctantly. Well, now, witness, you say you stayed ten minutes after Hollamied left, and during that time Sir Horace opened the window and leaned out of it. Yes. You saw him distinctly? Yes. You are sure it was Sir Horace's few banks? Yes. Now, witness, said Mr. Walters, suddenly changing his tone to one of more severity than he had previously used. You have told us that you heard Sir Horace's few banks and the prisoner in the library while you stood in the wood by the garage, and that subsequently you saw Sir Horace leaning out of the window after the prisoner had gone. You are quite sure you were able to see and hear all this from where you stood? Yes. Are you aware, witness, that there is a large chestnut tree at the side of the library in front of the window? Kemp considered for a moment. Yes, he said. And did not that tree obstruct your view of the library of the window? No. Witness, said Mr. Walters solemnly, listen to me. This tree did not obstruct your view when you went to Riversbrook a week or so ago to decide on the nature of the evidence you would give in this court. It is bare of leaves now, and you could see the library window and even see into the library from where you stood. But I put it to you that on the 18th of August, when this tree was covered with its summer foliage, you could no more have seen the library window behind its branches than you could have seen the inhabitants of Marsh. What answer have you got to that, witness? There was a slight stir in court, an expression of the feeling of tension among the spectators. Kemp drew the back of his hand across his lips, then moistened his lips with his tongue. Come, witness, give me an answer, thundered prosecuting counsel. I'll tell you I saw him after Mr. Hallamid had left, declared Kemp defiantly. His voice had suddenly become hoarse. To the surprise of the members of the legal profession who were in court, Mr. Walters instead of pressing home his advantage switched off to something else. I believe you have a feeling of gratitude towards the prisoner, he asked in a milder tone. I have, said Kemp. His defiant, insolent attitude had suddenly vanished, and he gave the impression of a man who feared that every question contained a trap. He did something for a relative of yours, which at that time greatly relieved your mind. He did, and I'll never forget it. Well, we won't go further into that at present, but it is a fact that you would like to do him a good turn. Yes. You came here with the intention of doing him a good turn? Kemp considered for a moment before answering. Yes. You came here with the intention of giving evidence that would get him off? Yes. You came here with the intention of committing perjury in order to get him off? Mr. Walters waited, but there was no reply to the question, and he added. You see what your perjured evidence has done for him? What has he done? asked Kemp sullendly. It has established the prisoner's guilt beyond all reasonable doubt in the minds of men of common sense. You did not see Sir Horace Fewbanks that night after the prisoner left him. You could not have seen him, even if he had leaned out of the window. But your whole story is a lie, because Sir Horace was dead when the prisoner left him. I was not, shouted Kemp. I saw him alive. I saw him as plain as I say you now. The man in court who was most fascinated by the witness was crew. He had watched every movement of Kemp's face, every change in the tone of his voice. I wonder what the fool will say next, whispered Inspector Chippenfield to crew. He will tell us how Sir Horace Fewbanks was shot, was crew's reply. Mr. Walters approached a step nearer to the witness box. You saw him as plainly as you see me now, he repeated. Yes, declared Kemp, who it was evident was laboring under great excitement. He will say I came here to commit perjury if it would get him off. He pointed with a dramatic finger to the man in the dock. I did, and I came here to get him off by telling the truth, if perjury didn't do it. You say I've helped to put the rope around his neck, but I'm man enough to tell the truth. I'll get him off, even if I have to swing for it myself. This outburst from the witness box created a sensation in court. Many of the spectators stood up in order to get a better view of the witness, and some of the ladies even jumped on their seats. Mr. Justice Hodson, who was momentarily taken aback. His first instinct was to check the witness and to ask him to be calm, but the witness took no notice of him. He displayed his judicial authority by an impressive descent of an uplifted hand, which compelled the unruly spectators to resume their seats. It was on Mr. Walters that Kemp concentrated his attention. It was Mr. Walters whom he set himself to convince, as if he were the man who could set the prisoner free. Of the rest of the people in court, Kemp in his excitement had become oblivious. Lace and Tomei said Kemp, and I'll tell you who shot this scoundrel. He was a scoundrel, I say, and he ought to have been in jail himself instead of sending other people there. I went up to the house that night to see if everything was clear, or whether that curr hill had laid a trap. That part of my evidence is true. And from behind a tree in the plantation I saw Mr. Hollamid pass me. He struck a match to look at the time, and I saw his face distinctly. A few minutes afterwards I heard loud angry voices coming from somewhere upstairs in the house. I thought the best thing I could do was to find out what he was about. I said to myself that Mr. Hollamid might want help. I walked across the garden and found that the hall door was wide open. I went inside and crept upstairs through the library. The light in the hall was turned on, as well as a little lamp on the turn of the staircase behind a marble figure holding some curtains, which led the way to the library. The library door was open and insured too, and I listened. I could hear them quite plainly. Mr. Hollamid was telling him what he thought of him. And no wonder it made my blood boil to think of such a scoundrel sitting on the bench and sentencing a better man than himself. I thought of the way in which he had killed my girl by giving her five years. It was the shock that killed her, five years for stealing nothing, for she didn't handle the jewels. And here he had been stealing a man's wife, and nothing said except what Mr. Hollamid called him. I stood there listening in case they started a fight, and I might be wanted. But they didn't. I heard Mr. Hollamid step towards the door, and I slipped away from where I had been standing. I saw the door of another room near me, and I opened it and went in quickly. I closed the door behind me, but I did not shut it. I looked through the crack and saw Mr. Hollamid making his way downstairs. He walked as if he didn't see anything, and I watched him till he went through the curtains on the stairs at the bend of the staircase, and I could see him no more. Then I heard a step, and looking through the crack I saw the judge coming out of the library. He walked to the head of the stairs and began to walk slowly down them. But when he reached the bend where the curtains and the marble figure were, he turned round and walked up the stairs again. He walked along as though he was thinking with his hands behind his back, and nodding his head a little, and a little cruel crafty smile on his face. He passed so close to me that I could have touched him by putting out my hand, and he went into the library again, leaving the door open behind him. Then suddenly as I stood there, the thought came over me to go into him and tell him what I thought about him. I opened the door softly so as not to frighten him, and walked out into the passage and into the library. And as I did so I took my revolver out of my pocket and carried it in my hand. I wasn't going to shoot him, but I meant to hold him up while I told him the truth. He was standing at the opposite side of the room, with his back towards me, and a book in his hand, but a board creaked as I stepped on it, and he swung round quickly. He was surprised to see me and no mistake. What do you want here? he said in a sharp voice, and I could see by the way he eyed the revolver that he was frightened. Then I opened out on him and told him off for the damned scoundrel he was, and he didn't like that either. He edged away to a corner, but I kept following him round the room, telling him what I thought of him. And seeing him so frightened, I put the revolver back in my pocket and walked close to him while I told him all the things I could think of. As I thought of my poor girl that he'd killed, I grew savage, and I told him that I had a good mind to break every bone in his body. He threatened to have me arrested for breaking into the place, but I only laughed and hit him across the face. He backed away from me with a wicked look in his eyes, and I followed him. He backed quickly towards the door, and before I knew what game he was up to, made a dart out of the room. But I was too quick for him. I got him at the head of the stairs and dragged him back into the room, and shut the door and stood with my back against it. I told him I hadn't finished with him. I had mastered him so quickly, and was able to handle him so easily, that I didn't watch him as closely as I ought to have done. He had backed away too stesc with his hand behind him, and suddenly he brought it up with the revolver in his hand. Now it's my turn, he said to me with his cunning smile. Throw up your hands. I saw then it was man for man. If I let him take me, I was in for a good seven years. I'd sooner be dead than do seven years for him. Shoot and be damned, I said. I ducked as I spoke, and as I ducked I made it die with my hand for my hip pocket, where I had put my revolver. He fired and missed. He fired again, but his toy revolver missed fire, for I heard the hammer click. But that was his last chance. I fired at his heart, and he dropped beside the desk. I didn't wait for anything more. I bolted. I got tangled in the staircase curtains, and fell down the stairs. As I was falling, I thought what a nice trap I would be in if I broke my leg and had to lie there until the police came. But I wasn't much hurt, and I got up and dashed out the house, and over the fence into the wood, the way I came. He stopped, and his gaze wandered round the hushed court, till it rested on the prisoner, who, with his hands grasping the rail of the dock, had leaned forward in order to catch every word. Kemp turned his gaze from the man in the dock to the man in the scarlet robe on the bench, and it was to the judge that he addressed his concluding words. You can call it murder. You can call it manslaughter. You can call it justifiable homicide. You can call it what you like. But what I say is that the man you have in the dock had nothing to do with it. It was me that killed him. Let him go, and put me in his place. He held his hands outstretched with the wrists together, as to the waiting for the handcuffs to be placed on them. End of Chapter 32 of the Hamstered Mystery by John Watson and Arthur Rees. Read by Losch Rolander. CHAPTER 33 An hour after the trial, crew entered the chambers of Mr. Walters K.C. I congratulate you on the way you handled him in the witness-box, said crew, who was warmly welcomed by the barrister. You did splendidly to get it all out of him, and so dramatically too. I think it is you who deserves all the congratulations, replied Walters. If it had not been for you there would not have been such a sensational development at the trial, and in all probability Kemp's evidence would have got Holymead off. Yes, I'm glad to think that Holymead would have got off even if I hadn't seen through Kemp, replied crew thoughtfully. I made a bad mistake in being so confident that he was the guilty man. The completeness of the circumstantial evidence against him was extraordinary, said Walters, to whom the legal aspects of the case appealed. Personally I am inclined to blame Holymead himself for the predicament in which he was placed. If he had gone to the police after the murder was discovered, told him the story of his visit to Sir Horace that night, and invited investigation into the truth of it, all would have been well. No, said crew in a voice which indicated a determination not to have himself absolved at the expense of another. The fact that he did not do what he ought to have done does not mitigate my sin of having had the wrong man arrested. The mistake I made was in not going to see him before the warrant was taken out. If I had had a quiet talk with him, I think I would have been able to discover a flaw in my case against him. What made me confident it was flawless was the fact that both his wife and her French cousin believed him to be guilty. Mademoiselle Chiron followed Holymead from the country on the 18th of August with the intention of averting a tragedy. She arrived at Riversbrook too late for that, but in time to see Sir Horace expire, and naturally she thought that Holymead had shot him. When Mrs. Holymead realized that I also suspected her husband, and had accumulated some evidence against him, she sent Mademoiselle Chiron to me with a concocted story of how the murder had been committed by a more or less mythical husband, belonging to Mademoiselle's past. Ostensibly the reason for the visit of this extremely clever French girl was to induce me to deal with Rolf, who had begun to suspect Mrs. Holymead of some complicity in the crime. But the real reason was to convince me that I was on the wrong track in suspecting Holymead. Of course she said nothing to me on that point. She produced evidence which convinced me that she was in the room when Sir Horace died, and as I was quite sure that she believed Holymead to be guilty, I felt that there could be no doubt whatever of his guilt. It is one of the most extraordinary cases on record, one of the most extraordinary trials, said Walters. You blame yourself for having had Holymead arrested, but you have more than redeemed yourself by the final discovery when Kemp was in the witness-box that he was the guilty man. That was an inspiration. Hardly that, said crew with the smile. I knew when he swore that he had seen Sir Horace leaning out of the library window that he was lying. After the murder was discovered I inspected the house and grounds carefully, and one of the first things of which I took a mental note was the fact that the foliage of the chestnut tree completely hid the only window of the library. Ah, but there is a difference between knowing Kemp was committing perjury and knowing that he was the guilty man. There is at least a distinct connection between the two facts, said crew, who after his mistake in regard to Holymead was reluctant to accept any praise. Kemp's description of the way in which Sir Horace was dressed showed that he had seen him. The inference that Kemp had been inside the house was irresistible. Sir Horace had arrived home at seven o'clock, and it was not likely that Kemp would hang about Riversbrook, the scene of a prospective burglary, until after dark, which at that time of the year would be about eight-thirty. He must have seen Sir Horace after dark. And, in order to be able to say how the judge was dressed, he must have seen him at close quarters. The rest was a matter of simple deduction. Kemp inside the house, listening to the angry interview between Holymead and few banks, Kemp with his hatred of the judge who had killed his daughter in the dock, and with his desire to do Holymead a good turn. I had previously had proof of that from my boy Joe, whom you have seen. Besides, Kemp fitted into my reconstruction of the tragedy on the vital question of time. How long did Sir Horace live after being shot? The medical opinions I was able to obtain on the point varied, but after sifting them I came to the conclusion that though he might have lived for half an hour, it was more probable that he had died within ten minutes of being hit. How is that vital? asked Walters, who was keenly interested in understanding how crew had arrived at his conviction of Kemp's guilt. Holymead's appointment with Sir Horace at Riversbrook was for nine thirty p.m. The letter found in Sir Horace's pocketbook fixed that time. It was exactly eleven p.m. when he got into a taxi at Hyde Park Corner after his visit to Riversbrook. On that point the driver of the taxi was absolutely certain. I was so anxious for him to make it eleven thirty that I went to see him twice about it. Assuming that Holymead arrived at Riversbrook at nine thirty, I allowed half an hour for his angry interview with Sir Horace, half an hour for the walk from Riversbrook to Hampstead Tube Station, and half an hour for the journey from Hampstead to Hyde Park Corner which would have involved a change at Leicester Square. As I could not induce the driver of the taxi to make Holymead's appearance at Hyde Park Corner eleven thirty instead of eleven, I had to admit that Holymead must have left Riversbrook at ten. But it was ten thirty, according to Mademoiselle Charonne, when she found Sir Horace dying on the floor of the library. Therefore, if Holymead did the shooting, the victim's death agonies must have lasted half an hour or more, medically that was not impossible but somewhat improbable. But a meeting between Kemp and Sir Horace after Holymead had gone filled in the blank in time. That came home to me yesterday when Kemp was in the witness box committing perjury in his determination to get Holymead off. I take it that the interview between Kemp and his victim lasted about twenty minutes. Therefore Sir Horace was shot about ten twenty, certainly before ten thirty, for Mademoiselle heard no shots while nearing the house. You have worked it out very ingeniously, said Walters. You must find the work of crime detection very fascinating. I am afraid that if I had been in your place, that is, if I had known as much about the tragedy as you do, when Kemp was in the witness box yesterday, I would not have seen anything more in his evidence than the fact that he was committing perjury in order to help Holymead. I think you would, said crew. These discoveries come to one naturally as the result of training one's mind in a particular direction. They come to you, but they wouldn't come to me, said Walters with a smile. But do you think Kemp's story of how Sir Horace was shot is literally true? Do you think Sir Horace got in the first shot and then tried to fire again? If that is so, I don't see how they can hope to convict Kemp of murder. A jury would not go beyond a verdict of manslaughter in such a case. You handled Kemp so well that he was too excited to tell anything but the truth, said crew. Sir Horace fired first and missed. The bullet which Chippinfield removed from the wall of the library shows that. And he pulled the trigger again, but the cartridge which had been in the revolver for a considerable time, probably for years, missed fire. Here is a silent witness to the truth of that part of Kemp's story. Crew produced from a waistcoat pocket, one of the four cartridges he had removed from the revolver Mademoiselle Chiron had handed to him, and he placed it on the table. On the cap of the cartridge was a mark where the hammer had struck without exploding the powder. End of Chapter 33 and End of the Hampstead Mystery