 CHAPTER 19 OF THE HAMPSTERED 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 HAMPSTERED MYSTERY by John Watson and Arthur Rees. CHAPTER 19 Mr. Walters began his address to the jury on Orthodox lines. He referred to the fact that his learned friend had warned them that the life of a fellow creature rested on their verdict. It was right that they should keep that in mind. It was right that they should fully realize the responsible nature of the duty they were called upon to perform. But it would be wrong for them to overestimate their responsibility or to feel weighed down by it. It would be wrong for them to be influenced by sentimental considerations of the fact that a fellow creature's life was at stake. Strictly speaking, that had nothing whatever to do with them. Their responsibility ended with their verdict. If their verdict was guilty, the responsibility of taking the prisoner's life would rest upon the law. Not on the jury, not on his honor who passed the sentence of death, not on the prison officials who carried out the execution. The jury would do well to keep in mind the fact that their responsibility in this trial, impressive and important as everyone must acknowledge it to be, was nevertheless strictly limited as far as the taking of the life of the prisoner was concerned. He then went over the evidence in detail, building up again the case for the prosecution where Mr. Hollamed had made breaches in it, and attempting to demolish the case for the defense. Hill, he declared, was an honest witness. The man had made one false step, but he had done his best to retrieve it, and with the help he had received from his late master, Sir Horace Few Banks, he would have buried the past effectively if it had not been for the fact that the prisoner, who was a confirmed criminal, had determined to drag him down. No doubt that Hill's association with Birchhill had been unfortunate for him. It had dragged his past into the light of day, and he stood before them a ruined man. He had tried to live down the past, and but for Birchhill he would have succeeded in doing so. But now no one would employ him as a house servant after the revelations that had been made in this court. They had seen Hill in the witness box, and he would ask the jury whether he looked like the masterful cunning scoundrel which the defense had described, or a weak creature who would be easily led by a man of strong will such as the prisoner was. As to what took place at the flat, they had a choice between the evidence of Hill and the evidence of the girl fanning. Hill had told them that he had tried to dissuade the prisoner from going to Riversbrook to burgle the premises because his master had returned unexpectedly. Fanning had told them that the prisoner was in favor of postponing the crime, but that Hill had urged him to carry it out. Which story was the more probable? What reliance could they place on the evidence of fanning? He did not wish to say that the witness was utterly vicious and incapable of telling the truth, a description that the defense had applied to Hill. But they must take into consideration the fact that Fanning was the prisoner's mistress. Was it likely that a woman knowing her lover's life was at stake would come here and speak the truth, if she knew the truth would hang him? He was sure that the jury, as men who knew the world thoroughly, would not hesitate between the evidence of Hill and that of Fanning. The case for the defense depended to a great extent on the plan of Riversbrook, which Hill candidly admitted he had drawn. His learned friend had called evidence to show that the paper on which the plan was drawn was of a quality which was not procurable by the general public. That might be so, but what his learned friend had not succeeded in doing and could not possibly have hoped to succeed in doing was to show that Birchhill could not have obtained possession in any other way of a paper of that kind. Yet it was necessary for the defense to prove that in order to prove that the plan was not drawn at Fanning's flat by Hill under threats from Birchhill but that Hill had drawn it at Riversbrook and that he gave it to Birchhill in order to induce him to consent to the proposal to break into the house. There were dozens of ways in which paper of this particular quality might have got to the flat. Might not Birchhill have a friend in his Majesty's stationery office? Was it impossible that a witness Fanning had a friend in that office or in one of the government departments to which the paper was supplied? Was it impossible in view of her relations with the victim of this crime for Fanning to have obtained some of the paper at Riversbrook and to have taken it home to her flat? She had sworn in the witness box that she had not had paper of that kind in her possession but with her lover's life at stake was she likely to stick at a lie if it would help to get him off? Counsel for the defense had endeavored to make much of the fact that the dead body of Sir Horace Few Banks was fully dressed when the police discovered it. He endeavored to persuade them that such a fact established the complete innocence of the prisoner and that because of it they must bring in a verdict of not guilty. He asked them to accept it as evidence not only that Sir Horace Few Banks was dead when the prisoner broke into the house but that he was dead when Hill left Riversbrook at 7.30 p.m. to meet Birchhill at Fanning's flat. With an ingenuity which did credit to his imagination he put before them as his theory of the crime that a quarrel took place between Sir Horace Few Banks and Hill at Riversbrook that Hill shot his master and then went to Fanning's flat so as to see that Birchhill carried out the burglary as arranged and at the same time found Sir Horace's dead body and thus directed suspicion to himself. The only support for this far-fetched theory was that the body when discovered by the police was fully dressed and that none of the electric lights were burning. Counsel for the defense contended that these two facts established his theory that the murder was committed before dusk. They established nothing of the kind. There were half a dozen more credible explanations of these things than the one he asked the jury to accept. What mystery was there in a man being fully dressed in his own house at midnight? The defense had been at great pains to show that Sir Horace Few Banks was a man of somewhat irregular habits in his private life. Did not that suggest that he might have turned off the lights and gone to sleep in an armchair in the library with the intention of going out in an hour or two to keep an appointment? If he had an appointment and his sudden and unexpected return from Scotland would suggest that he had a secret and important appointment he would be more likely to take a short nap in his chair than to undress and go to bed. Might not the prisoner who was a bold and reckless man have broken into the house when the lights were burning and his victim was away and fully dressed? In that case what was to prevent his turning off the lights before leaving the house instead of leaving them burning to attract attention? What was to prevent the prisoner turning off the lights in order to convey the impression that the crime had been committed in daylight? I want you to keep in mind when arriving at your verdict that there are certain material facts which have been admitted by the defense, said Mr Walters in concluding his address to the jury. It has been admitted that the prisoner was a party to a proposal to break into Riversbrook. As far as that goes there is no suggestion that he walked into a trap. Whether he arranged the burglary and compelled Hill to help him or whether Hill arranged it and sought out the prisoner's assistance is, after all, not very material. What is admitted is that the prisoner went to Riversbrook with the intention of committing a crime. It is admitted that he knew Sir Horace Few Banks had returned home. In that case is it not reasonable to suppose that the prisoner would arm himself? I do not say with the definite intention of committing murder but for the purpose of threatening Sir Horace if necessary in order to make good his escape. What is more likely than that Sir Horace heard the burglar in the house crept upon him and then tried to capture him? There was a struggle and the prisoner determined to free himself, drew his revolver and shot Sir Horace. It is not such a theory of the crime that Sir Horace was shot while trying to capture the prisoner more probable than the theory of the defense that Hill, the weak-willed frightened looking man you saw in the witness box was a masterful cunning criminal who for some inexplicable reason had turned ferociously on the master who had befriended him and given him a fresh start in life, had killed him and left the body in the house and had then managed to direct suspicion to the prisoner. The theory of the defense does great credit to my learned friend's imagination but it is one which I am sure the jury will reject as too highly collared. Looking at the plain facts of the case and dismissing from your minds the attempt to make them fit into a purely imaginative theory, I am sure that you will come to the conclusion that Sir Horace few banks met his death at the hands of the prisoner. The junior bar agreed that the case was one which might go either way. If they had possessed any money, the betting market would have shown scarcely a shade of odds. Everything depended on the way the jury looked at the case, on the particular bits of evidence to which they attached most weight, on the view the most argumentive positive-minded members of the jury adopted, for they would be able to carry the others with them. In the opinion of the junior bar, the summing up of Mr. Justice Hodson would not help the jury very much in arriving at a verdict. There were some judges who summed up for or against a prisoner according to the view they had formed as to the prisoner's guilt or innocence. There were other judges who summed up so impartially and gave such even balanced weight to the point against the prisoner and to the points in his favour, as to make on the minds of the jurymen the impression that the only way to arrive at a well-considered verdict was to toss a coin. Another type of judge conveyed to the jury that the prosecution had established an unanswerable case but the defence had shown equal skill in shattering it and therefore he did not know on which side to make up his mind. And fortunately, English legal procedure did not render it necessary for him to do so. The prisoner might be guilty and he might be innocent. Some of the jury might think one thing and the rest of the jury might think another but it was the duty of the jury to come to a unanimous verdict. It did not matter if they looked at some things in different ways but their final decision must be the same. Mr. Justice Hodgson belonged to the impartial, impersonal type of judge. He had no personal feelings or conviction as to the guilt or innocence of the prisoner. It was for the jury to settle that point and it was his duty to assist them to the best of his ability. He went over his notes carefully and dealt with the evidence of each of the witnesses. It was for the jury to say what evidence they believed and what they disbelieved. There was a pronounced conflict of evidence between Hill and Fanning. They were the chief witnesses in the case but the guilt or innocence of the prisoner did not rest entirely upon the evidence of either of these witnesses. Hill might be speaking the truth and the prisoner might be innocent though the presumption would be if Hill's evidence were truthful in every detail that the prisoner was guilty. Fanning's evidence might be true as far as it went but it would not in itself prove that the prisoner was innocent. Hill had admitted that he had drawn the plan of Riversbrook to assist Bert Schill to commit burglary. It was for the jury to determine for themselves whether he had been terrorized into drawing the plan for Bert Schill or whether he was the instigator of the burglary. The defence had contended that Hill had drawn the plan at his leisure at a time when he had access to a special quality of paper supplied to his master. If that were so, Hill's version of how he came to draw the plan was deliberately false and had been concocted for the purpose of exculpating himself but they would not be justified in dismissing Hill's evidence entirely from their minds because they were satisfied he had perjured himself with regard to the plan. They would be justified however in viewing the rest of his evidence with some degree of distrust. Counsel for the defence had made an ingenious use of the facts that the body of the victim was fully dressed when discovered and that none of the electric lights in the house were burning. These facts lend support to the idea that the murder was committed in daylight but they by no means established the theory as unassailable. They did not establish the innocence of the prisoner although to some extent they told in his favour. Counsel for the prosecution had put before them several theories to account for these two facts consistent with his contention that the murder had been committed by the prisoner. The jury must give full consideration to these theories as well as to the theory of the defence. They were not called upon to say which theory was true except in so far as their opinions might be implied in the verdict they gave. The defence continued his honour, was that he had committed the murder and had then decided to direct suspicion to the prisoner. If the jury acquitted the prisoner their verdict would not necessarily mean that they endorsed the theory of the defence. It might mean that but it might mean only that they were not satisfied that the prisoner had committed the murder. If the jury were convinced beyond all reasonable doubt that the prisoner had committed the murder they must bring in a verdict of guilty and if they were not satisfied they must bring in a verdict of acquittal. The jury filed out of their apartment and as they retired to consider their verdict the judge retired to his own room. The prisoner was removed from the dock and taken down the stairs out of sight. There was an immediate hum of voices in the court. Inspector Chippenfield approached the table and whispered to Mr. Walters. The latter nodded affirmatively and left the courtroom in company with Mr. Hollamede. The sibilant sound of whispering voices died down after a few minutes and then began the long tedious wait for the return of the jury. The occupants of the gallery who had no difficulty in coming to an immediate decision on the guilt or innocence of the prisoner could not understand what was keeping the jury away so long. They failed to understand the jury's point of view. These gentlemen had sat in court for three days listening intently to proceedings concerning a matter in which their degree of personal interest was only a form of curiosity and now the end of the case had been reached except for the climax which was in their control. To arrive at an immediate decision in a case that had occupied the court for three days would indicate they had no proper realization of the responsibilities of their position. A verdict was a thing that had to be nicely balanced in relation to the evidence. Where the case against the prisoner was weak or overwhelmingly strong the jury might arrive at a verdict with great speed as an indication that too much of their valuable time had already been wasted on the case. But where the evidence for and against the prisoner was fairly equal it behooved the jury to indicate by the time they took in arriving at their verdict that they had given the case the most careful consideration. Two hours and twenty minutes after the jury had retired the prisoner was brought back into the dock. This was an indication that the jury had arrived at their verdict and were ready to deliver it. The prisoner looked worn and anxious but he received encouraging smiles from his friends in the gallery. A minute later the judge entered the court and resumed his seat. The jury filed into court and entered the jury box. Amid the noise of barristers resuming their seats and court officials gliding about the judges associate called over the names of the jurymen. The suspense reached its climax as the associate put the formal questions to the foreman whether the jury had agreed on their verdict. What say you? Guilty or not guilty asked the associate in a hard metallic voice which there was no trace of interest in the answer. Not guilty replied the foreman. There was a muffled chair from the gallery which was suppressed by the stentorian cry of the ushers. Silence in the court! A pack of damned fools said the exasperated inspector Chippenfield. Rolf understood that his chief referred to the jury and he nodded the ascent of a subordinate. End of chapter 19 of The Hamstered Mystery by John Watson and Arthur Rees Read by Lars Rolander Chapter 20 of The Hamstered 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 Hamstered Mystery by John Watson and Arthur Rees Chapter 20 Hill has bolted! Rolf flung the words setting Inspector Chippenfield in a tone which he was unable to divest entirely of satisfaction. Fancy his being the guilty party after all he added with a tone of satisfaction still more evident in his voice. I often thought that he was our man and that he was playing with you. I am mean with us. Inspector Chippenfield had betrayed surprise at the news by dropping his pen on the official report he was preparing. But it was in his usual tone of cold official superiority that he replied. Do you mean that Hill, the principal witness in the Riversbrook murder trial has disappeared from London? He's bolted clean out of the country by this time. I tell you, cleared out for good and left his unfortunate wife and child to starve. How have you learned this, Rolf? His wife told me herself. I went to the shop this afternoon to have a few words with Hill and see how he felt after the way Hallimied had gone for him at the trial. His wife burst out crying when she saw me and she told me that her husband had cleared out last night after he came home from court. The hardened scoundrel took with him the few pounds of her savings which she kept in her bedroom and had even emptied the contents of the till of the few shillings and coppers it contained. All he left were the hapenists in the child's money box. He cleared out in the middle of the night after his wife had gone to bed. He left her a note telling her she must get along without him. I have the note here. His wife gave it to me. Rolf took a dirty scrap of paper out of his pocketbook and laid it before his back to Chippenfield. The paper was a half sheet torn from an exercise book and its contents were written in faint lead pencil. They read, Dear Mary, I've got to leave you. I have thought it out and this is the only thing to do. I'm too frightened to stay after what took place in the court today. I'll make a fresh start in some place where I'm not known and as soon as I can send a little money I will send for you and Daphne. Keep your heart up and it will be all right. Keep on the shop. Your loving husband. The poor little woman is heartbroken, continued Rolf, when his superior officer had finished reading the note. She wants to know if we cannot get her husband back for her. She says the shop won't keep her and the child. Unless she can find her husband she'll be turned into the streets because she's behind with the rent and hill's taken every penny she'd put by. Then she'd better go to the workhouse, retorted Inspector Chippenfield brutally. We'd have something to do if Scotland Yard undertook to trace all the absconding husbands in London. We can do nothing in the matter and you'd better tell her so. Inspector Chippenfield handed back Hill's note as he spoke. Rolf eyed him in some surprise. But surely you're going to take out a warrant for Hill's arrest. He said, certainly not, responded Inspector Chippenfield impatiently. I've already said that Scotland Yard has something more to do than trace absconding husbands. There's nothing to prevent you giving a little of your private time to looking for him, Rolf, if you feel so tender-hearted about the matter. But officially, no. I'm astonished that you're suggesting such a thing. It isn't that, replied Rolf, flushing a little and speaking with slight embarrassment. But surely after Hill's flight you'll apply for a warrant for his arrest on the other ground? On what other ground? asked his chief Coltley. Why? On a charge of murdering Sir Horace few banks? Rolf burst out indignantly. Doesn't this flight point to his guilt? Not in my opinion. Inspector Chippenfield's voice was purely official. Why surely it does? Rolf's glance at his chief indicated that there was such a thing as carrying official obstinacy too far. This letter he left behind suggests his guilt clearly enough. I didn't notice that, replied Inspector Chippenfield impassively. Perhaps you'll point out the passage to me, Rolf? Rolf hastily produced the note again. Look here! His finger indicated the place. I'm frightened to stay after what took place in the court today. Doesn't that mean clearly enough that he'll realize the acquittal pointed to him as the murderer and he determined to abscond before he could be arrested? So that's your way of looking at it, eh, Rolf? said Inspector Chippenfield quizzically. Certainly it is, responded Rolf. Not a little netled by his chief's contemptuous tone. It says plain as a pike staff that the jury acquitted Birch Hill because they believed Hill was guilty. Hollie Mead made out to strong a case for them to get away from. Hill's lies about the plan and the fact that the body was fully dressed when discovered. You're a young man, Rolf! responded Inspector Chippenfield in a tolerant tone. But you'll have to shed this habit of jumping impulsively to conclusions and generally wrong conclusions if you want to succeed in Scotland Yard. This letter of Hill's only strengthens my previous opinion that a damned muddle-headed jury let a cold-blooded murderer loose on the world when they acquitted Fred Birch Hill of the charge of shooting Sir Horace Few Banks. Why, man alive, Hollie Mead no more believes Hill is guilty than I do. He set himself to bamboozle the jury and he succeeded. If he had to defend Hill tomorrow he would show the jury that Hill couldn't have committed the murder and that it must have been committed by Birch Hill and no one else. He's a clever man, far cleverer than Walters and that is why I lost the case. He led Hill into a trap about the plan of Riversbrook, said Rolf. When I saw that Hill had been trapped on that point I felt we had lost the jury. Only because the jury were a pack of fools who knew nothing about evidence granted that Hill lied about the plan that he drew it up voluntarily in his spare time to assist Birch Hill. It proves nothing. It doesn't prove that Hill committed the murder it only proves that Hill was going to share in the proceeds of the burglary that he was a willing party to it. The one big outstanding fact in all the evidence the fact that towered over all the others is that Birch Hill broke into the house on the night Sir Horace Few Banks was murdered. The defence made no attempt to get away from that fact because they couldn't do so. But Holymead vamped up all sorts of surmises and suppositions for the purpose of befogging the jury and getting their minds away from the outstanding feature of the case for the prosecution. We proved that Birch Hill was in the house on a criminal errand. What more could they expect us to prove? They couldn't expect us to have a man looking through the window or hiding behind the door when the murder was committed. If we could get evidence of that kind we could do without juries. We could hang our man first and try him afterwards. I don't think a verdict of a quittle from a befogged jury would do so much harm in such a case. You're still convinced that Birch Hill did it, said Rolf questioningly. I have never wavered from that opinion, said his superior. If I had, this note of Hill's would restore my conviction in Birch Hill's guilt. Why? How do you make out that? replied Rolf blankly. Hill says he's clearing out of the country because he's frightened. What's he frightened of? His own guilty conscience and the long arm of the law? Not a bit of it. Hill's an innocent man. If he had been guilty he'd never stood the ordeal of the witness box and the cross-examination. Hill's cleared out because he was frightened of Birch Hill. Of Birch Hill? Yes. Didn't Birch Hill tell Hill just before he set out for Riversbrook on the night of the murder that if Hill played him false he'd murder him? Hill did play him false. Not then, but afterwards, when he made his confession and Birch Hill was arrested for the murder in consequence. When Birch Hill was acquitted at the trial his first thought would be to wreck vengeance on Hill. A man with one murder on his soul would not be likely to hesitate about committing another. Hill knew this and fled to save his life when Birch Hill was acquitted. That's the explanation of his letter, Rolf. So that's the way you look at it, said Rolf. Of course I do. It's the only way Hill's flight can be looked at in the light of all that's happened. The theory dovetails in every part. I'm more used than you to putting these things together, Rolf. Hill's as innocent of the murder as you are. And where do you think Hill's gone to? Certainly not out of London. He's too much of a cockney for that. Besides, he's a man who is fond of his wife and child. He's hiding somewhere close at hand. And I shouldn't wonder if the whole thing's a plant between him and his wife. Have you forgotten how she tried to hoodwink us before? I'll go to the shop tomorrow and see if I can't frighten the truth out of her. Meanwhile, you'd better put the Camden town police on to watching the shop. If he's hiding in London, he is bound to visit his wife sooner or later. Or she'll visit him. So we ought not to have much difficulty in getting on to his tracks again. Rolf departed to do his chief's bidding. A little crestfallen. He was at first inclined to think that he had made a bit of a fool of himself in his desire to prove to Inspector Chippenfield that he had been hoodwinked by Hill into a resting birchhill. But that night, as he sat in his bedroom, smoking a quiet pipe and reviewing this latest phase of the puzzling case, the earlier doubts which had assailed him on first learning of Hill's flight recurred to him with increasing force. If Hill were innocent, he would have been more likely to seek police protection before flight. Hill's flight was hardly the action of an innocent man. It pointed more to a guilty fear of his own skin now that the man he had accused of the murder was free to seek vengeance. Chippenfield's theory seemed plausible enough at first sight but Rolf now recalled that he knew nothing of the missing letters and Hill's midnight visit to Riversbrook to recover them. Rolf had concealed that episode from his superior officer because he lacked the courage to reveal to him how he had been hoodwinked by Mrs. Holly Mead's fainting fit the morning he was conducting his official inquiry at Riversbrook into the murder. It's an infernally baffling case, muttered Rolf, refilling his pipe from a tin of tobacco on the mantelpiece and walking up and down the cheap lodging-house rudget with rapid strides. If Bertschild is not the murderer, who is? Is it Hill? He lit his pipe, closed the window, opened his pocketbook and sat down to peruse the notes he had taken during his investigation of Sir Horace Fewbank's murder. He read and reread them, earnest researching for a fresh clue in the pencil pages. After spending some time in this occupation he took a clean sheet of paper and a pencil and copied a fresh the following entries from his notebook. August 19. When Riversbrook saw Sir H.F.'s body discovered fragment of Lady's handkerchief clenched in right hand. August 22. Made inquiries handkerchief, unable find were purchased. September 8. Found Hill at Riversbrook, searching Sir H.F.'s paper told me about bundle of Lady's letters tied up with pink ribbon which had been taken from secret drawer. Says they disappeared morning after murder when investigation was taking place. Sees visitors that day. Dr. Slingsby. Selden to arrange inquest. Newspaper men. Undertaker's representatives. Crew. Sees or one visitor alone. Hill says Mrs. H. Who fainted. Seafetched glass of water, leaving her alone in room. Hill suggests her letters indicate friendly relations between her and Sir H.F. Sir H.F. expected visit. Probably from Lady. Night of Murder. Hurried Hill off when he returned from Scotland. Mem, in advisable disclose this to see. Underneath his entries of the case, Trollf had written finally points to be remembered. One. Crew said before the trial that Birchhill was not the murderer and would be acquitted. Birchhill was acquitted. Two. Crew suggested we had not got the whole truth out of Hill. Hill disappears the night after the trial. Is Hill the murderer? Three. The handkerchief and the letters point to a woman in the case, although this was not brought out at the trial. Is it possible that a woman is Mrs. H? Trollf realized that the chief pieces of the puzzle were before him, but the difficulty was to put them together. He felt sure there was a connection between these facts, which, if brought to light, would solve the Riversbrook mystery. Without knowing it, he had been so influenced by crew's analysis of the case that he had practically given up the idea that Birchhill had anything to do with the murderer. His real reason for going to Hill's shop that morning was to try and extract something from Hill, which might put him on the track of the actual murderer. He believed Hill knew more than he had divulged Hill, before his disappearance, had placed in his hands an important clue. If he only knew how to follow it up, that incident of the missing letters must have some bearing on the case. If he could only elucidate it, should he disclose to Chipponfield Hill's story of the missing letters? Trollf dismissed the idea as soon as it crossed his mind. He knew his superior officer sufficiently well to understand that he would be very angry to learn that he had been deceived by Mrs. Hollamid, and, as she was outside the range of his anger, he would bear a grudge against his junior officer for discovering the deception which had been practised on him, and do all he could to block his promotion in Scotland Yard in consequence. Apart from that, he could offer Chipponfield an excuse for not having told him before. Should he consult Crue? Trollf dismissed that thought also, but more reluctantly, hang it all. It was too humiliating for an accredited officer of Scotland Yard to consult a private detective. Trollf had acquired an unwilling respect for Crue's abilities during the course of the investigations into the Riversbrook case, but he retained all the intolerance to regular members of the detective force field for the private detectives who poach on their preserves. Trollf's professional jealousy was intensified in Crue's case because of the brilliant success Crue had achieved during his career at the expense of the reputation of Scotland Yard. Trollf had an instinctive feeling that Crue's mind was of a finer quality than his own, and would see light where he only grouped in darkness. If Crue had been his superior officer in Scotland Yard, Trollf would have gone to him unhesitatingly and profited by his keener vision, but he could not do so in their existing relative positions. He ransacked his brain for some other course. After long consideration, Trollf decided to go and see Mrs. Hollamid and question her about the packet of letters which held a pledge he had removed from Riversbrook after the murder. He realized that this was rather a risky course to pursue, for Mrs. Hollamid was highly placed and could do him much harm if she got her husband to use his influence at the home office, for then he would have to admit that he had gone to her without the knowledge of his superior officer on the statement of a discredited servant who had arranged a burglary in his master's house and was murdered. Nevertheless, Trollf decided to take the risk. The chance of getting somewhere nearer the solution of the Riversbrook mystery was worth it and what a feather in his cap it would be if he solved the mystery. He was convinced that Chippenfield had shut out important light on the mystery by dodgidly insisting in order to buttress up his case against Birchhill which had been found in the dead man's hand was a portion of a handkerchief which had belonged to the girl Fanning and had been brought by Birchhill from the Westminster flat on the night of the murder. It was more likely in view of Hill's story of the letters that the handkerchief belonged to Mrs. Hollamid. Trollf had not made up his mind that Mrs. Hollamid had committed the murder but he was convinced that she and her letters had some connection with the baffling crime and he determined to try and pierce the mystery by questioning her. Having arrived at this decision he replaced his notebook in his coat pocket, knocked the ashes out of his pipe and went to bed. End of chapter 20 of The Hampstead Mystery by John Watson and Arthur Reece. Read by Lars Rolander. Chapter 21 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. Recording by Nicole Carl, St. Louis, Missouri. June 2008. The Hampstead Mystery by John R. Watson and Arthur J. Reece. Chapter 21 Rolf went to Hyde Park next day and walked from the tube station to Hollamid's house at Princess Gate. The servant who answered his ring informed him and replied to his question that Mrs. Hollamid was not at home. Do you know when she will be home? Persist Rolf for stalling an evident desire on the servant's part to shut the door in his face. The man looked at Rolf doubtfully. Well-trained English servant, though he was, and used to summing up strangers at a glance, he could not quite make out who Rolf might be. But before he could come to a decision on the point, a feminine voice behind him said, What did it weapon? The servant turned quickly in the direction of the voice. It's her party who wants to see Madam Mademoiselle. He replied, Partie? What mean you by partie? Explain yourselves really well. A person, a gentleman, Mademoiselle, replied Trapin, determined to be on the safe side. Open the door, Trapin, that I may see this gentleman. Trapin somewhat reluctantly complied, and a young lady stepped forward. She was tall and dark with charming eyes, which were also shrewd. She had a fine figure, which a tight-fitting dress displayed rather too boldly for good taste. And she was sufficiently young to be able to appear quite girlish in the half-life. You wish to see Madam Jolimide? She said to Rolf. Her manner was engagingly present and French. Rolf felt it incumbent upon him to be gallant under the presence of the fair representative of a nation whom he vaguely understood placed gallantry in the forefront of the virtues. He took off his hat with a courtly bow. I do, Mademoiselle, he replied, and my business is important. Then, Monsieur, step inside if you will be so good and I will see you. She led Rolf into a small, prettily furnished room at the end of the hall and carefully shut the door. Then she invited Rolf to be seated and asked him to state his business. But this was precisely what Rolf was not anxious to do, except to Mrs. Jolimide herself. My business is private and must be placed before Mrs. Jolimide, he said firmly. I wish to see her. I regret, Monsieur, but Madame Jolimide is out of town. She went last week. If you had only come before she went, Mme Zah and Chiron looked genuinely sorry. Rolf was a little taken aback of this intelligence and showed it. Out of town, he repeated. Where has she gone to? She looked at him almost timidly. But, Monsieur, I do not know if I ought to tell you without knowing who you are. You are a friend of Madame's? My name is Detective Rolf. I come from Scotland Yard, replied Rolf. In the authoritative tone of a man who knew that the disclosure was short to command respect, if not a welcome. Scotland, you come from Scotland? Madame will regret much that she has missed you. Scotland Yard, I said. Corrected Rolf, not Scotland. Is it not the same? Mme Zah and Chiron looked at him helplessly. Scotland Yard, is it not in Scotland? What is the difference? Rolf, with a Londoner's tolerance, her foreign ignorance painstakingly explained the difference. She looked so puzzled that he felt sure that he did not understand him, but that he reflected was not his fault. So you see, Mme Zah, my business with Mrs. Holymead is important. Therefore, I'll be obligated if you will tell me where I can find her, he said. In what part of the country is she? Mme Zah, Chiron looked distressed. Really, Monsieur, I cannot tell you. She is not hearing. I should have been with you, but did I have... She produced a tiny scrap from the place Hengarchif and held it to her nose as though in support of her statement. And she rings me on the telephone from different places and tells me the things she does need. And I do send them on to her. Where does she ring you from, as Rolf, I, Mme Zah, Hengarchif, intently? From Brighton, from Isperon, wherever she stops. What place was she stopping at when you heard from her last? Isperon, Monsieur. And when will she return here? That, Monsieur, I do not know. Tonight, tomorrow, next week she does not tell me. If Monsieur will leave me a message, I will see that she gets it. For it is always me she wants, and it is always me that talks to her. What shall I tell her when she next rings the telephone? If Monsieur will state his business, I will tell me, and there, what he tells me. In me she has confidence. She spoke in a tone which invited confidence, but Rolf was not prepared to go to the length of trusting the young woman he saw before him, despite her assurance that she was in the confidence of Mrs. Holymead. He rose to his feet with a keen glance at Mme Zah Sharon's Hengarchif, which she had rolled into a little ball in her hand. I cannot disclose my business to you, Mme Zah, he said courteously. I must see Mrs. Holymead personally, so I shall call again when she is returned. But Monsieur, why would you not tell me? She asked coaxingly. You are a police agent. Have you therefore come to see Mme about the case? Rolf showed that he was taken aback by the direct question. The case? He stammered. What case? Why Monsieur, what case could it be? But that of which I have so often heard Mme Zah speak, the friend of Monsieur and Mme Holymead, who was killed by the base assassin. Mme Zah is disconsolate about his terrible end. Mme Zah, Sharon, he replied the Hengarchif to her eyes on her own account. Have you come to tell her that you have caught the wicked man who did assassinate him? Mme Zah would be overjoyed. Why, hardly that, replied Rolf, completely off his guard. But we're on the track, Mme Zah. We're on the track. And is that an easy thought you wanted me to tell Madame, persisted Mme Zah, Sharon? I wanted to ask her a question or two about several things, said Rolf, who had determined to disclose his hand sufficiently to bring Mme Holymead back to London if she had anything to do with the crime. I want to ask her about some letters that were stolen. No, I won't say stolen, or removed from Riversbrook. I have been informed that even if these letters are no longer in existence, she can give the police a good idea of what was in them. The telephone bell in the corner of the room rang suddenly. Mme Zah, Sharon, ran to answer it and accidentally dropped her Hengarchif on the floor in picking up the receiver. Mme Zah, Sharon began speaking on the telephone, but she stopped suddenly, staring with fright and dyes into the mirror at the other side of the room. She reflected the actions of Rolf at the table, seated with his back towards her. He had taken advantage of her being called to the telephone to examine her Hengarchif, which he had picked up from the floor. He had produced from his pocketbook the scrap of lace and muslin which he had found in the murdered man's hand. He had the two on the table side by side, comparing them. And Mme Zah, Sharon noticed a smile on satisfaction flit across his face as he did so. When he looked, he restored the scrap to his pocketbook and the pocketbook to his pocket. Hastily, she turned to the telephone again and continued in a voice which a quick ear would have detected was slightly hysterical. Then, she hung up the receiver and turned to Rolf. But Mme Zah, you were saying Rolf handed the Hengarchif to its owner with a courtly bow, which he flattered himself was equal to the best French school. I picked this up off the floor. Mme Zah, it is yours, I think. These, Mme Zah, Sharon touched the Hengarchif with the 94 finger. It is my Hengarchif, I dropped it. It is very pretty, said Rolf, with simulated indifference. I suppose you bought that in Paris. It does not look English. But non monsieur, it is quite English. I bought it in the shop. Indeed, a London shop acquired Rolf with equal indifference. The Lyon Chauré shop in Oxford Street, what do you call it, Hobsons? I am sure I don't know. These ladies things are a bit out of my lines at Rolf, rising as he spoke with a smile in which there was more than a trace of self-satisfaction. He felt that he had acquitted himself with an adroitness which crew himself might have envied. He had made an important discovery and extracted the name of the shop where the Hengarchif had been bought himself, arousing any suspicions on the part of the lady. Rolf knew from his inquiries in West End shops that Hengarchiffs of that pattern and quality were stocked by many of the good shops. But the fact that he had found a Hengarchiff of this kind in the house of a lady who had abstracted secret letters from the murdered man's desk and had moreover discovered the name of the shop where she bought her. Hengarchiffs convinced him that he had struck a path which must lead to an important discovery. Mabzel Sharon followed Rolf into the hall and watched him depart from a front window. When she saw his retreating figure turn the corner of the street she left the window, ran upstairs quickly and knocked lightly at the closed door. The door was opened by Mrs. Holymead who appeared to be in a state of nervous agitation. Her large brown eyes were swollen and dim with weeping. Her hair had become partly unloosed. Her face was white and her dress disordered. She caught the French woman by the wrist and drew her into the bedroom, closing the door after her. What did he want, Gabrielle? She gasped. What did he say? Had he come about that? Gabrielle nodded her head. Gabrielle, Mrs. Holymead's voice rose almost to cry. Oh, what are we to do? Did he come to arrest? No, no. He was not so bad. He did not come to do dreadful things but just to have a little talk. A little talk? What about? He wanted to see you and ask you one or two little questions. I put him off. He was like a wax in my hands. Poof! He was gone. So why trouble? But he will come again. He is sure to come again. No doubt. He says he will come again in a week when you return. Mrs. Holymead wrung her hands helplessly. What are we to do then? She wailed. We will look the tragedy in the face when it comes. What have you been doing to yourself? There are nothing easy to look like that. With deaf and loving fingers, Gabrielle began to arrange Mrs. Holymead's hair. We will have everything right before this little police agent returns. We will show him that he is the complete fool for suspecting you about the murder. But what can you do, Gabrielle? She looked at Gabrielle with her large brown eyes as though she were utterly dependent on the other's stronger will for support and assistance. Mrs. El-Sharon stopped in her arrangement of Mrs. Holymead's hair and, bending over, kissed her affectionately. My petite, she said, do not worry. I have thoughts of a plan, almost excellent plan, which I myself execute tomorrow and then shall all your troubles be finished and you will be happy again. End of chapter 21. Chapter 22 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 R. Watson R. Watson and Arthur J. Rees Chapter 22 A lady to see you, sir. What sort of lady, Joe? Foreign I should say, sir. By the way, she speaks. I asked you her if she had an appointment. And she said no. But she said she wanted to see you on a very urgent and particular business. I told her most people says that what comes to say you. But she says hers was really important. I asked me to tell you, sir, that it was about the Riversbroke case. The Riversbroke case I see her, Joe. Has not stalked return yet? No, sir. Tell him to go to his dinner when he comes back. Show the lady in, Joe. Crew regarded his caller keenly as you ushered her in. Placed a chair for her and went out closing the door noiselessly behind him. She was a tall, well-dressed, graceful woman, fairly young, with dark hair and eyes. She looked quickly the detective as she entered, and crew was struck by the shrewd penetration of her glance. Your arm, Mr. Crew, the great detective, is it not so? She asked as she sat down. The glance she now gave the detective at closer range from her large dark eyes was innocent and ingenious for the touch of admiration. The contrast between it and her former look was not lost on Crew, and he realized that his visitor was no ordinary woman. My name is Crew, he said, ignoring the compliment. What do you wish to see me for? The visitor did not immediately reply. She nervously unfastened the bag she carried and taking out a singularly unfeminine-looking handkerchief, a large cambric square almost masculine in its proportions and guiltless of lace or perfume held it to her face for a moment. But Crew noticed that her eyes were dry when she removed it to remark. What I said to you, Monsieur, is in strictest confidence as sacred as the confession? Anything you say to me will be in strict confidence, said Crew a little grimly. And the boy, can he not hear through the keyhole? Crew's visitor glanced expressively at the door by which she had entered. You are quite safe here, madame. Mademoiselle, I shall say, he added with a quick glance at her left hand, from which she slowly removed the glove as she spoke. Mademoiselle, she wrong, Monsieur, said Gabrielle, flashing another smile at him. I am madame Harlemy's relative, Arcasin. I come to see you about the dreadful murder of the judge, madame's friend. You come from Mrs. Harlemy's? Said Crew quickly. Then mademoiselle, she wrong before? No, no, Monsieur, no. Her agitation was unmistakably genuine. I do not come from madame Harlemy's. I am her relative, it is true, but I come. How shall I say it? From myself. I mean, she does not know of my visit to you, Monsieur. I quite understand, reply true. Monsieur Crew, said Gabrielle Harrelly, although I have not come from madame Harlemy, it is for her sake that I come to see you, to save her from the persecution of one of your police agents who wants to ask questions about this so sordid, so terrible a crime. He has come once, this agent, last night. He came, and he told me he wanted to question madame Harlemy about the murder of her dear friend, the judge. I do not want madame worried with these questions. So I told him madame was away in the motor in the country. But he says he will come again and again till he sees her. Madame is distracted when she learns of his visit. It opens up her bleeding heart of fresh, for she and her husband were intimate with this dead judge, and deeply terribly. They deplore his so dreadful end. I see madame cry, and I say to myself, I will not let this little police agent spoil her beauty and give her the migraine. His visits must be, shall be, prevented. I have heard of the so great and good Monsieur crew, and I will go and see him. We will, as you say in your English way, put our heads together, this famous detective and I, and we will find some way of, how do you call it, circumventing this police agent so that my dear madame shall cry no more. Monsieur crew, I am here and I beg of you to help me. Crew listened to this outburst with inward surprise, but impassive features. Apparently the police had come to the conclusion that they had blundered in a resting virtual for the murder of Sir Horace Fewbanks, and had recommended inquires with a few to bringing the crime home to somebody else. He did not know whether their suspicions were now directed against Mrs. Hollamied, but the preliminary inquires so clumsily as to arouse her fears that they did. So much was apparent from Madame Chiron's remarks, despite the interpretations she thought to place on Mrs. Hollamied's fears. He wondered if the police agent was Rolf or Chippenfield. It was obvious that the cool proposal that he should help to shield Mrs. Hollamied against unwelcome police attentions covered some deeper conversation in the endeavour to extract more from the French woman. I'm very sorry to hear that Mrs. Hollamied has been subjected to this annoyance, he said warily. This police agent did he come by himself? But yes, Monsieur, I've already said it. I know, but I thought he might have had a companion waiting for him in a taxi cab outside. Scotland Yardmen frequently travel in pairs. He had no taxi cab, declared Mrs. Chiron positively. He walked away on foot by himself. I watched him from the window. Crue registered a mental note of this admission. If she had watched the detective's departure from the window, she evidently had some reason for wanting to see the last of him. Allowed, he said, I expect I know him. What was he like? Told as tall as you, only bigger, much bigger. And he had the great moustache which he caressed again and again with his fingers. Gabrielle dently imitated the action on her own short upper lip. I know him, declared Crue with a smile. His name is Roll. There should be nothing about him to alarm you, mademoiselle. Why, he's quite a ladies man. Gabrielle shrugged her shoulders disdainfully. That may be, she replied, but I like him not and I do not wish him to worry madame Halimid. But why not let him see mrs. Halimid, suggested Crue after a short pause as he only wants to ask her a few short questions. It seems to me that would be the quickest way out of the difficulty and would save you all the trouble and worry you speak of. I tell you, I will not, declared Gabrielle vehemently. I will not have madame Halimid worried and made ill with a terrible ordeal. Bah, what do you men, so clumsy, no other delicate feelings of a lady like madame Halimid. The least subcon of excitement and she's disturbed, distraught for days after last night, after the visit of the police agent, she was quite hysterical. Why should she be when she had nothing to be afraid of, said Crue. He spoke in a tone of simple wonder, but Gabrielle shot a quick glance at him from under her veiled lashes as she replied. Bah, what has that to do with it? I repeat, mrs. Crue, you men cannot understand the feelings of a lady like madame Halimid in a matter like this. She and her husband were, as I have said before, in team with the great judge. They visited his house, they dined with him, they met him in society. Behold, he is brutally horribly killed. Madame, when she hears the terrible news, is ill for days. She cannot eat, she cannot sleep, she can interest herself in nothing. She is forgetting a little when the police agents, they catch a man and say he's the murderer. Then comes the trial of this man at the court with so queer a name, Old Bailey. The papers are full of the terrible story again of the dead man, how he looked killed, how he lay in a pool of blood, how they cut him open. Madame Halimid cannot pick up a paper without seeing these things and she falls ill again. Then the jury say the man the police agents caught is not the murderer. He goes free and once more the talk dies away. Madame Halimid once more begins to forget when this police agent comes to her house to remind her once more all about it. It's too cruel, Monsieur, it's too cruel. Gabrielle's voice vibrated with indignation as she concluded and crew regarded her closely. He decided that her affection for Mrs. Halimid was not simulated and that it would be best to handle her from that point of view. I'm sorry, he said coldly, but I do not see how I can help you. Monsieur, said the French woman clasping her hands, I entreat you not to say so. It would be so easy for you to help. Not me, but Madame. How? You know this police agent, you also are a police agent though so much greater. Therefore you whisper just one little word in the air of your friend the police agent and he will not bother you from Halimid again. I think you could do this and if you need money to give to the police agent, why, I have brought some. She fumbled nervously at her handbag. Stay, said crew. What you ask is impossible. I have nothing whatever to do with Scotland Yard. I could not interfere in their inquiries even if I wished to. They would only laugh at me. Gabrielle's dark eyes showed her disappointment but she made one more effort to gain her end. She lent nearer to crew and laid a persuasive hand on his arm. If you would only make the effort she said coaxingly my beautiful Madame Halimid would be forever grateful. Madame Marcel once more I repeat that what you ask is impossible. Returned crew decisively. I repeat, I cannot see why Mrs. Halimid should object to answering a few questions the police wish to ask her. She's too sensitive about such a trifle. Gabrielle shrugged her shoulders likely in tacit recognition of the fact that the man in front of her was too shrewd to be deceived by subterfuge. There is another reason, Monsieur she whispered. You had better tell it to me. If you had been a woman you would have guessed the great judge was killed was in his spare moments what you call a gallant. He did love my sex. In France this would not matter but in England they think much of it. So very much. Madame Halimid is frightened for fear the least breath of scandal should attach to her name. If the world knew that the police agent had visited her house on such an errand Madame is innocent. It is not necessary to assure you of that but the prudish dames of England are sensorious. The Scotland Yard people are not likely to disclose anything about it said crew. That may be so but these things come out retorted Gabrielle. Monsieur she added after a pause and speaking in a low tone I know that you can do much very much if you will and can stop Madame Halimid from being worried. Would you do so if you were told who the murderer was? I mean he who did really kill the great judge crew was genuinely surprised but his control over his features was so complete that he did not betray it. Do you know who Sir Horace few banks murder is? He asked in quiet even tones Monsieur I do I will tell you the whole story in secret how do you say in confidence. If you promise me you will help Madame Halimid as I have asked you I cannot enter into a bargain like that rejoin crew. I do not know whether Mrs Halimid may not be implicated concerned in what you say. Monsieur she is not flashed Gabrielle indignantly she knows nothing about it what I have to tell you concerns myself alone in that case rejoin crew I think you had better speak to me frankly and freely and if I can I will help you you are perhaps right she replied I will tell you everything provided you give me your word of honor that you will not inform the police I will tell you if you bind me to that promise I do not see how I can help you in the direction you indicate said crew after a moment's thought if the police are asked to abandon their inquires about Mrs Halimid they will naturally wish to know the reason you are quite right said Gabrielle I did not think of that but if I tell you everything and you have to tell the police agents so as to help them will you promise that the police agents do not come and arrest me provided you have not committed murder or been in any way accessory to it I think I can promise you that rejoin crew Monsieur I do not understand you but I can almost define your meaning your promise is what you call a guarded one nevertheless I like your face and I will trust you Gabrielle the silence for some moments looking at crew earnestly Monsieur she said at length it is a terrible story I have to relate and it is difficult for me to tell a stranger what I know nevertheless I will begin I knew the great judge well you knew Sir Horrell few banks exclaimed crew he was my lover Monsieur the last two words out defiantly with a quick glance at crew to see how he took the above all she seemed to find something reassuring in his answering glance and she continued in more even tones I had often seen him at the house of Madame Halimid when I came to London to visit her I admired Sir Horrell when I saw him often he used to call and dine for he was the friend of Monsieur Halimid but Madame told me that the great judge was what in England you call a lover of the ladies that he was dangerous so I must be careful of him I used to look at him when he called and thought he was handsome in the English way and sometimes he looked at me when he was unobserved and smiled at me but Madame did not like me looking at him she said I was foolish she warned me to be careful Gabrielle shrugged her shoulders expressively of what use was Madame's warning it did but make me wish to know more this great lover of my sex he saw that and made the opportunity and made love to me he was so ardent so fervent a lover that I was conquered after we had been lovers I told him my secret that I was married Pierre Simon my husband was a bad man and so I left him but Madame must not know that I was married for that is my secret it does not do to tell everything besides it would have distressed her Monsieur I was happy with my lover the great judge he was charming he had that charm of manner which you English lack faithful I do not know often we were together and often we wrote letters when to meet was impossible he kept my letters they amused him so he said that they were so French so pecan so different to English ladies letters alas Monsieur there had been others many others there must have been for he understood my sex so well one afternoon I was out for a walk looking in the great shops in reading street when I felt a hand placed on my shoulder and looking round I saw Pierre my husband he was pleased at the meeting but I was not pleased he took me to a cafe where we could talk it was what he always did talk about money money money he always wanted money he said I must find him some and when I told him I had none he said I must find some way of getting it or he would come to the house and expose my secret I walked away out of the cafe and left him there but I soon saw him again and again he followed me and talked to me against my will Monsieur I was very much distressed and for a long time I tried to think of a way to get rid of Pierre for I was afraid that he would come to the house and tell madame Harlemy I was married then I thought of the great judge my lover he would know how to send Pierre away Pierre would be frightened of him but Sir Arras was in Scotland shooting the poor birds but I wrote to him and asked him for my sake to come up at once because I was in distress and needed help Monsieur he came but he came to his death he sent me later to meet him at Riversbrook at half past ten o'clock he was sorry it was so late but he thought it would be safer not to come to the house till after dark in the long summer evening for people were so sensorious I was to tell madame Harlemy that I was going to the theatre with a friend I was so pleased to think that I would get rid of Pierre that on the morning when he stopped me to ask me again about the money I showed him the letter of the great judge and told him I would make the judge put him in prison if he did not go away and leave me alone he is your lover said Pierre I will kill him but I laughed for I knew Pierre did not care if I had many lovers I said to him Pierre you would extort the money blackmail the English call it do they not must you crew but you would not kill Sir Horace is not afraid of you if you could near him he would have you taken off to jail but Pierre he was deep in thought several times he said I want money each time I said to him then you must work for it that is no way to get money he answered this great judge he has much money is it not so I left him as you thinking of money but I did not know how bad his thoughts were I returned home and I told madame Harlemy I would go to the theatre that night I left the house the gate o'clock and after walking along Piccadilly and Reading Street took the train to Hampstead then I walked up to the house of Sir Horace so as not to be too early the gate was opened and I thought that strange but I had no thought of murder as I walked up the garden I heard a shot two shots and then a cry and the sound of something falling on the floor the door of the house was open and the light was burning the hall upstairs I heard the noise of footsteps quick footsteps and then I heard them coming down the staircase I was afraid and I hid myself behind the curtains in the hall the footsteps came down and nearer and nearer and when they passed me I looked out to see Monsieur it was Pierre I called to him softly Pierre Pierre he looked round on his face it was so different so dreadful he did not know my voice and he ran away from me with a cry Monsieur my heart is a brave one I have not what you call nerves but when I knew I was alone in the great house with I knew not what a great fear clutched me I stood still in the hall with my eyes fixed on the stairs above at first all was silent then I heard a dreadful sound a groan I wanted to run away then Monsieur but the good god commanded me to go up and into the room where a fellow creature needed me I went upstairs and along to the door of a room which was half open I pushed it wide open and went in Morgue the judge was alone there dying Pierre had shot him he lay along the floor gasping groaning and the blood dripping from his breast when I saw this I ran forward and took his poor head on my knee and tried to stop the blood with my anchor chief but as I did the judge groan months more he knew me not though I call him by name in terrible agony he writhed his head off my breast his hand clutched at the hole in his breast closing on my anchor chief and so he died Monsieur strange it may seem but I do sure that I became calm again when he was dead I rose to my feet and looked around me in the room on the floor near him I saw a revolver I picked it up and hid it in my bag the tube of it was warm then I sat down in a chair and thought what I must do the police must not know I was there they must not know he was my lover I thought oh my lettuce that I wrote to him he had them hidden in a little drawer at the back of his desk a secret drawer often he had shown me my lettuce there and once he had showed me where to find the spring that opened the drawer so I searched for the spring and I found it the drawer opened and there were my lettuce tied together I took them all and hid them in my bag and then I closed the hiding place I can't achieve which my lover held in his hand I tried to get it out but I could not in my hurry I dragged it out it came away then but left a little bit in his hand it did not show I dare not wait longer I turned out the light and hurried out of the room and downstairs again I turned out the light and closed the door and hurried away that monsieur is my story End of Chapter 22 of The Hamstered Mystery by John R. Watson and Arthur J. Rees read by Lars Rolander Chapter 23 of The Hamstered 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 Hamstered Mystery by John Watson and Arthur R. Rees Chapter 23 As Gabrielle finished her story she cast a quick glance at crew's face as though seeking to divine his decision but apparently she could read nothing there and with an imperious gesture she exclaimed you will do what I ask now that I have exposed my secret my shame to you and told everything you will say madam all in mead from being persecuted by these police agents I must ask a few questions first the contrast between the detectives quiet English tones and the French woman's impetuous appeal was accentuated by the methodical way she drew slowly jotted down an entry in his open notebook her dark eyes sparkled in an agony of impatience as she watched him ask them quick monsieur for I burn in the suspense in the first place then have you any hold monsieur I know what you would ask you would say if I have any proofs stupid that I am to forget things so important I brought you the proofs she fumbled at the clasp of her handbag as she spoke and before she had finished speaking she had torn it open and emptied its contents on the table in front of crew a dainty handkerchief and a revolver see monsieur she cried here is the handkerchief of which I told you it is that which the judge ceased when I tried to stop the blood flowing in his breast that a little bit has been thrown off by his almost dead hand and the revolver it's that which I picked up on the floor near him I've had it locked up ever since crew examined both articles closely the revolver was a small nickel plated weapon with a silver chasing with a murdered man's initials engraved in the handle it had five chambers and one of the cartridges had been discharged four chambers were still loaded crew carefully extracted the cartridges and examined them closely one of them he held up to the light in order to inspect it more minutely did you do this he asked have you been trying to fire off the revolver no no monsieur she exclaimed quickly I would not fire I do not understand it I have been careful not to touch that says it's going the trigger said crew he again studied the cartridge that had attracted his attention it had missed fire for on the cap was a dint where the hammer had struck it he placed the four cartridges on the table and turning his attention to the handkerchief examined it minutely it was one of those film scraps of muslin and lace which ladies call a handkerchief an article whose cost is out of all proportion to its usefulness Gabrielle who was watching him keenly as he examined it exclaimed the handkerchief a box of them were given me by Sir Horace because he knew I love pretty things she laid a finger on the missing corner which might indeed have been torn off in the manner described a scrap of the lace was missing and it was evident that it had been removed with violence for the lace around the gap was loosened and the muslin slightly frayed you say that the corner was torn off when you wrench the handkerchief from the dead man's hold said crew but it was not found in his hand by the police or anyone else and he was not buried with it for I examined the body carefully what became of it Gabrielle looked at him quickly as though she suspected some trap you would play with me she said at length what became of it why you must surely know that the police of Scotland Yard have it the police agent who called on madame had it what is his name Rudolph exclaimed crew has he caught it yes she replied he did not show it to me but I saw it nevertheless the handkerchief when I spoke at the telephone and monsieur rolf picked it up quickly he studied my handkerchief not this one monsieur but one of the same kind and from his pocket book he took out the missing piece that was in the dead man's hand and he studied them side by side he thought I did not see that my back was turned but I saw in the mirror which hung on the wall then when I finished my telephone he bowed and said your handkerchief mademoiselle it was not so badly done for a clumsy police agent she was not able to recognize how keen was crew's interest in her statement but she saw that she had pleased him it is because of this man that he will come again she continued it is because of this that he would question madame Hollymead and then what will happen you know the police make so many mistakes blunders you English call them would they arrest her with their blunders that is why I come to ask you to save her may I have the revolver and the handkerchief ask crew I will take great care of them they are at your disposal for you will use them to confront a police agent crew again examined the articles in silence before taking them to his secretary and locking them up in one of the pigeonholes then he turned to Gabrielle whose large luminous eyes met his unhesitatingly she even smiled slightly a frank engaging smile as he remarked and now miss you any more questions crew smiled back at her you have told a remarkable story mademoiselle and corroborated it with two important pieces of evidence which are in themselves almost sufficient conviction he said but the Scotland Yard police are a suspicious lot and it is necessary for me to have further information in order to convince them if I am able to help you as you wish Gabrielle flashed a look of gratitude at crew she understood from his words that he believed her story and was disposed to help her although the police of Scotland Yard might prove harder to convince than him but those police friends they are the same everywhere she exclaimed they deal so much with crime that their minds get the taint and between the false and true they cannot tell the difference they are but small in brains with you the case is different you have it here and there she touched the temple slightly with a finger of each hand proceed monsieur ask me what questions you will I shall endeavor to answer them you said that as you were hiding behind the curtains of the stairway landing Pierre your husband rushed down past you you are quite sure it was he of that monsieur unfortunately there is no doubt I saw his face quite distinctly when he passed me and when he turned round the light would be shining from behind and would not reveal his face very closely suggested crew nevertheless monsieur sufficient for me to see Pierre clearly his head was half turned as he ran as though he was looking back expecting to see the judge rise up and punish him for his dreadful deed and I saw him en silhouette oh most distinctly impossible him to mistake I called softly Pierre just like that and he turned his face right round and then with a cry he disappeared along the path about what time was this the time it was half past 10 for that was the time I was to be there according to the letter the judge sent me but are you sure it was half past 10 weren't you early wasn't it just about 10 o'clock no monsieur she replied sadly if it had been 10 o'clock I would have been in time to say the life of my lover to prevent this great tragedy which brings to so many crew looked at her sharply and then nodded his head in acquiescence of the fact that much misery would have been adverted if she had been in time to say the life of Sir Horace Fewbanks when you went into the room Sir Horace Fewbanks you say was lying on the floor dying whereabouts in the room was he if he had been in this room he would have been lying right behind you with his head to the wall and his feet pointing towards that window he struggled and groaned after I went in and altered his position a little but not much he died so crew rapidly reviewed his recollection of the room in which the judge had been killed once again Gabrielle's statement tailored with his own reconstruction of the crime and the manner of its perpetration had been committed in his office the second bullet would have gone through the window instead of embedding itself in the wall and the judge would have fallen in the spot where she indicated and where was the writing desk from where you got your letters was crew's next question it was over there almost by that your little bookcase there she pointed to a small oaken book stand which stood slightly in advance which reposed the potentous volumes of newspaper clippings and photographs which constituted crew's Rouge library now we come to the letters you took them from the secret drawer in the desk why did you remove them because I would not have the police agents find them for then they would want to know so much and what did you do with them Monsieur crew I destroyed them when I got home I burnt them all I was so frightened you mean you were frightened to keep them in your possession after the judge was killed yes what place had I to keep them safe from prying eyes so Monsieur I burnt them all one by one and the charred fragments I kept and took into the park next day where I scattered them unobserved and what became of the letter you wrote to Sir Horace few banks at Gray Lake Hall asking him to come to London and save you from your husband's persecutions she looked at him earnestly in the endeavor to ascertain if he had lain a trap for her Sir Horace destroyed it in Scotland I suppose if the police did not find it strange that he should have kept all your other letters carefully and destroyed that one perhaps it was in his pocketbook that was stolen I do not know what does it matter it has gone she shrugged her shoulders lightly and indifferently do you know who stole the pocketbook no Monsieur I thought it was stolen in the train that is the police theory replied true but let that go the night of the murder seen anything of Pierre Monsieur I have not it is as though the earth has him swallowed he keeps silent with the silence of the grave he is wise to do so responded true now mademoiselle I have no more questions to ask you your confidence is safe you need be under no apprehensions on that score care not for myself monsieur crew so long as madame hollamead is freed from the persecutions of the police agents replied Gabrielle rising from her seat as she spoke if after hearing my story you could but give me the assurance I think I can safely promise you that mrs. hollamead will not be troubled with any further police attentions said crew after a moment's pause Gabrielle broke into profuse expressions of gratitude as she turned to go for the rest then I care not what happens I am how do you say it I am overjoyed je vous remercie monsieur I beg you not I can find my way out unattended but crew showed her to the stairs where again he had to listen to her profuse thanks before she finally departed he watched her graceful figure till it was lost to sight in the winding staircase and then he turned back to his office in the outer office he stopped to speak to Joe who perched on an office footstool was tapping quickly on the office table with his pen knife swaying backwards and forwards dangerously on his perch in the intensity of his emotions as he played the hero's part in the drama of saving the runaway engine from dashing into the 440 express by calling up the red gulch station on the wire Joe said crew I'll see nobody for an hour at least nobody you understand Joe came out of the cinema world long enough to nod his head in an emphatic understanding of the instructions in his own room crew pulled out once more gave himself up to the study of the baffling riversbrook mystery in the new light of Gabrielle's confession part of her story he reflected must be true she had produced Sir Horace's revolver and still more important a handkerchief which he had clutched in his dying struggles it was obvious that she or some other woman had been at riversbrook the night of the murder and in the room with the murdered man before he died that tallied with birchill statement to hill that he had seen a woman close the front door and walk along the garden path while he was hiding in the garden crew recalling Gabrielle's description of the room came to the conclusion that it was probably she who had been with a judge in his dying moments no one but a person who'd actually seen it could have described the room with such minuteness she had been in the room then for what object for the reason stated in her confession crew shook his head doubtfully she evaded the trap about the pocketbook but she made one bad mistake he mused the letters in the secret drawer were taken away and I have no doubt were burnt as she says but were they her letters was Sir Horace her lover at any rate she did not get hold of them in the way she said they were not taken away on the night Sir Horace was murdered for the simple reason that they were not in the secret drawer at that time end of chapter 23 of the hamster mystery by John Watson and Arthur Reese read by Lars Rolander