CHAPTER XIII
Doris Fanning got off a Holborn tram at King's Cross, and with a hastyglance round her as if to make sure she was not followed, walked at arapid pace across the street in the direction of Caledonian Road. Shewalked up that busy thoroughfare at the same quick gait for some minutes,then turned into a narrow street and, with another suspicious look aroundher, stopped at the doorway of a small shop a short distance down.
The shop sold those nondescript goods which seem to afford a living to anot inconsiderable class of London's small shopkeepers. The windows andthe shelves were full of dusty old books and magazines, trumpery curiosand cheap china, second-hand furniture and a collection of miscellaneousodds and ends. A thick dust lay over the whole collection, and the shopand its contents presented a deserted and dirty appearance. Moreover, thedoor was closed as though customers were not expected. The girl tried thedoor and found it locked--a fact which seemed to indicate that customerswere not even desired. After another hasty look up and down the streetshe tapped sharply on the door in a peculiar way.
The door was opened after the lapse of a few minutes by a short thicksetman of over fifty, whose heavy face displayed none of the suavity anddesire to please which is part of the stock-in-trade of the smallshopkeeper of London. A look of annoyance crossed his face at the sightof the girl, and his first remark to her was one which no well-regulatedshopkeeper would have addressed to a prospective customer.
"You!" he exclaimed. "What in God's name has brought you here? I told youon no account to come to the shop. How do you know somebody hasn'tfollowed you?"
"I could not help it, Kincher," the girl responded piteously. "I'mdistracted about Fred, and I had to come over to ask your advice."
"You women are all fools," the man retorted. "You might have known thatI would read all about the case in the papers, and that I'd let youhear from me."
"Yes, Kincher," she replied humbly, "but they let me see Fred for afew minutes yesterday at the police court and he told me to come overand see you. Oh, if you only knew what I've suffered since he wasarrested. Yesterday he was committed for trial. I haven't closed myeyes for over a week."
"So you attended the police-court proceedings?" said Kemp. And when thegirl nodded her head he went on, "The more fool you. I suppose it wouldbe too much to expect a woman to keep away even though she knew she coulddo no good."
"I knew that, Kincher, but I simply had to go. I should have died if Ihad stayed in that dreadful flat alone. I tried to, but I couldn't. I gotso nervous that I had to put my handkerchief into my mouth to preventmyself from screaming aloud."
"Well, since you are here you had better come inside instead of standingthere and giving yourself and me away to every passing policeman."
He led the way inside, and the girl followed him to a dirty, cheerlessroom behind the shop which was furnished with a sofa-bedstead, a table,and a chair. It was evident that Kemp lived alone and attended to his ownwants. The remains of an unappetising meal were on a corner of the table,and a kettle and a teapot stood by the fireplace in which a fire hadrecently been made with a few sticks for the purpose of boiling a kettle.Bedclothes were heaped on the sofa-bedstead in a disordered state, and inthe midst of them nestled a large tortoise-shell cat.
"Sit down," said Kemp. There was an old chair near the fireplace and hepushed it towards her with his foot. "What's brought you over here?"
The girl sank into the chair and began to cry.
"I can't help it, Kincher," she said. "I don't know what to say or do.Fancy Fred being charged with murder! Oh, it's too dreadful to thinkabout. And yet I can think of nothing else."
"Crying your eyes out won't help matters much," replied theunsympathetic Kemp.
The girl did not reply, but rocked herself backwards and forwards on thechair. She sobbed so violently that she appeared to be threatened with anattack of hysteria. Kemp watched her silently. The cat on thesofa-bedstead, as if awakened by the noise, got up, yawned, lookedinquiringly round, and then with a measured leap sprang into the girl'slap. She was startled by his act and then she smiled through her sobs asshe stroked the animal's coat.
"Poor old Peter!" she exclaimed. "He wants to console me! don't you,Peter? I say, Kincher, I wish you'd give me Peter; you don't want him.Oh, look at the dear!" The cat had perched himself on one of her kneesto beg, and he sawed the air appealingly with his forepaws. "I must givehim a tit-bit for that." She eyed the remains of the meal on the tabledisdainfully. "No, Peter, there is nothing fit for you toeat--positively nothing. Why, he understands me like a human being," shecontinued in amazement as the huge cat dropped on all fours anddeliberately sprang back to the sofa-bedstead. "I say, Kincher, youreally want a woman in this place to look after you. It's in a mostshocking state--it's like a pigsty."
Kemp made no reply but continued to watch her. Her tears had vanished andshe sat forward with her dark eyes sparkling, one hand supporting herpretty face as she glanced round the room.
"Have you a cigarette?" she asked suddenly.
Kemp went into the shop and came back with a packet of cheap cigarettes.The girl pushed them away petulantly.
"I don't like that brand," she said; "haven't you anything better?"
The man shook his head.
"No? Then here goes--I must have a smoke of some sort." She stuck one ofthe cheap cigarettes daintily into her mouth. "A match, Kincher! Why, thebox is filthy! You must have a woman in to look after you, even if I haveto find you one myself."
"I don't want any woman in the place," retorted Kemp. "There is no peacefor a man when a woman is about. But let us have no more of this idlechatter. What's brought you over here? I suppose it's about Fred."
"Poor Fred!" The girl looked downcast for a moment, then she tossed herhead, puffed out some smoke, and exclaimed energetically, "But he's notguilty, Kincher, and we'll get him off, won't we?"
"Not merely by saying so," replied Kemp. "But you'd better tell me how itcame about that he was arrested for the murder. The police gave awaynothing at the police court. Bill Dobbs was down there and he told methey let out nothing, except that their principal witness against Fred isthat fellow Hill. I always knew he'd squeak. I told Fred to have nothingto do with the job."
The girl's eyes flashed viciously. She tossed the cigarette into thefire-place and straightened herself.
"That's the low, dirty scoundrel who committed the murder," sheexclaimed. "He ought to be in the dock--not Fred."
"Was Fred up there that night?" asked Kemp.
"Up where?"
"At Riversbrook, or whatever they call it."
"Yes."
"He told me he didn't go."
"It's because he was up there that the police have arrested him," saidthe girl. "Hill gave him away. Oh, he's a double-dyed villain, is Hill.And so quiet and respectable looking with it all! He used to let me inwhen I went to Riversbrook, and let me out again, and pocket thehalf-crowns I gave him. And I like a fool never suspected him once, orthought that he knew anything about Fred coming to the flat. He didn'tlet it out till the night Sir Horace quarrelled with me. Sir Horace foundout about--about Fred--and when I went up to see him as usual, he told methat he had finished with me and he called Hill up to show me out. 'Showthis young lady out,' he said in that cold haughty voice of his, and thewily old villain Hill just bowed and held the door open. He followed medown stairs and let me out at the side door. There he said, 'I'll escortyou to the front gate, if you will permit me, miss. I usually lock thegate about this time.' I thought nothing of this because he had come withme to the front gate before. He followed me down the garden path throughthe plantation till we reached the front gate. He opened the gate for meand I said 'Good night, Hill,' but instead of his replying 'Good night,Miss Fanning,' as he usually did, he hissed out like a serpent, 'You tellBirchill I want to see him to-morrow, and I'll come to the flat about 9o'clock. Tell him an old friend named Field wants to see him. Don'tforget the name--Field!' Then he locked the gate and was gone before Icou
ld speak a word.
"I gave Fred his message next morning--I wish to God that I hadn't," shecontinued. "I asked Fred not to keep the appointment, but he insisted ondoing so. He said that he and Field had been good friends in the gaol,and that Field had told him that if he ever got on to anything he wouldlet him know. He seemed quite pleased at the idea of meeting Field again.I told him to beware that Field wasn't laying a trap for him, but hewouldn't listen to me.
"Sure enough, Field--or Hill as he calls himself now--did come overthat evening and I let him in myself. I took him into the sitting-roomwhere Fred was, and I sat down in a corner of the room pretending to reada book so that I could hear what our visitor had to say. But the cunningold devil whispered something to Fred, and Fred came over to me and askedif I'd mind leaving them alone for half an hour. I didn't mind so muchbecause I knew I could get it all out of Fred after Hill had gone.
"He remained shut up with Fred for nearly two hours and then I heard Fredletting him out of the front door. Fred came in to me, and I soon got thestrength of it all from him. What do you think Hill had come for? To getFred to burgle Sir Horace's house! And Fred had agreed to do it. I criedand I stormed and went into hysterics, but he wouldn't budge--you knowhow obstinate he can be when he likes. He said that Hill had told himthere was a good haul to be picked up. Sir Horace was going to Scotlandfor the shooting, and the servants were to be sent to his country house,so the coast would be clear. Hill was to leave everything right atRiversbrook on the afternoon of the 18th of August, and he was to comeacross to the flat and let Fred know.
"Hill came, as he promised, but as soon as he came in I could see thatsomething had happened. The first words he said were that Sir Horace hadreturned unexpectedly from Scotland. I was glad to hear it, for I thoughtthat meant that there would be no burglary. I said as much to Fred, andhe would have agreed with me, but that devil Hill was too full ofcunning. 'Of course, if you're frightened, we'd better call it off,' hesaid. Fred had been drinking during the day, and you know what he's likewhen he's had a little too much. 'I was never frightened of any job yet,'he said, 'and I'd do this job to-night if the house was full of rozzers,'Hill pretended that he wasn't particular whether the thing came off ornot that night, but all the while he kept egging Fred on to do it. Oh, Ican see now what his game was. In spite of all I could do or say, it wasarranged that Fred should go over, and see if it was quite safe to carryout the job. Hill said he thought Sir Horace was going out that night,and wouldn't be home until the early morning. About 9 o'clock Fred wentoff, leaving Hill and me alone in the flat together. How I wish now thatI had killed him when I had such a good chance.
"We sat there scarcely speaking, and heard the clock strike the hours.After midnight I began to get restless, for I thought something must havehappened to Fred. Hill said in a low voice: 'It's time Fred was back.'The words were scarcely out of his mouth when I heard Fred's stepoutside, and I ran to let him in. He came in as white as a sheet. 'Fred,'I cried as soon as I saw him, 'there's some blood on your face.'
"He didn't answer a word until he had taken a big drink of whisky out ofthe decanter. Then he said in a whisper: 'Sir Horace Fewbanks has beenmurdered!' 'Murdered!' cried Hill, leaping up from his chair--he can actwell, I can tell you--'My God, Fred, you don't mean it!' 'He's dead, Itell you,' replied Fred fiercely. I thought, and at the time I supposeHill thought, that Fred had shot him either accidentally or in order toescape capture. He seemed to guess what we were thinking, for he sworethat he had had nothing to do with it--Sir Horace was dead on the floorwhen he got there.
"He told us all that had happened. When he got to Riversbrook he foundlights burning on the ground floor. He jumped over the fence at the sideand hid in the garden. He was there only a few minutes when he saw thelights go out. Then the front door was slammed and a woman walked downthe garden path to the gate."
"A woman!" exclaimed Kemp.
"Yes, a woman. Why not? She had been to see Sir Horace. One of hisSociety mistresses. I'll bet it was on her account that he came back fromScotland."
"What time was this?" he asked with interest.
"About half-past ten," replied the girl.
"And this woman--this lady--turned out the lights and closed thefront door?"
"So Fred says. Of course he thought Sir Horace had done it, but he foundout later that Sir Horace was dead."
"I can't understand it," said Kemp. "What was she doing there? If shefound the man dead, why didn't she inform the police? No, wait a minute!She'd be afraid to do that if she was a Society woman."
"It might be her who killed him," said the girl.
"Does Fred think that?" asked Kemp, looking at her closely.
"Fred doesn't know what to think," she replied. "But it must have beenthis woman or Hill who killed him. I feel sure myself that it was Hill."
"This woman puzzles me," said Kemp thoughtfully. "She must have been acool hand if she went round turning out the lights after finding his deadbody. About half-past ten, you said?"
"That is as near as Fred can make it."
"Go on with your story," he said. "I'm interested in this. You weresaying that Fred saw the lights go out, and then this woman came out ofthe house and walked away."
"Well, Fred got into the house through one of the windows at theside--the one Hill had told him to try," continued the girl. "But firstof all he waited about half an hour in the garden, so as to give SirHorace time to go to sleep. He was able to find his way about the houseas Hill had given him a plan. He felt his way upstairs and finding a dooropen he went into the room and flashed his electric torch. By its lighthe saw Sir Horace Fewbanks lying huddled up in a corner with a big poolof blood beside him on the floor. He felt him to see if he was dead. Thebody was quite warm, but it was limp. Sir Horace was dead. Fred says helost his nerve and ran for it as hard as he could. He rushed down stairsand out of the house and got back to the flat as fast as he could.
"The three of us sat there shaking with fear and wondering what to do.Hill was the first to recover himself. In his cunning plausible way, hepointed out that it was altogether unlikely that suspicion would fall onFred or him. All we had to do was to keep quiet and say nothing; thenwe'd have no awkward questions put to us. It was his suggestion that weshould send an anonymous letter to Scotland Yard telling them Sir Horacehad been murdered. That would be much better, he said, than leaving thebody there until he went over and found it when he had to go over toRiversbrook to take a look round, in accordance with the instructionsthat had been given him when Sir Horace went to Scotland. Knowing what hedid, he was afraid that if he was allowed to discover the body and informthe police, he would let something slip when the police came at him withtheir hundreds of questions. We printed the letter to Scotland Yard, eachone doing a letter at a time. Hill took it with him, saying he would postit on his way home.
"When he left, Fred and I sat there thinking. Suddenly it came to me asclear as daylight that Hill had committed the murder, and had fixed upthings so as to throw suspicion on Fred. He must have known Sir Horacewas coming back from Scotland that night, and he had laid in wait for himand shot him. Then he had come over to my flat in order to persuade Fredto carry out the burglary, and direct suspicion to Fred for the murder,if the police worried him. I told Fred what I thought, but he onlylaughed at me and said I was talking nonsense. But I was right, for aweek afterwards the police came and arrested Fred at the flat."
"How did they get him?" asked Kemp.
"I saw them coming along the street from the window, and I pointed themout to Fred. He tried to get away through the kitchen window along theledge and down the spouting. He almost got away, but one of thedetectives saw him before he reached the ground, and they dashed downstairs and got him in the street. Next day I saw in the papers that Hillhad made an important statement to the police, and this had led toFred's arrest. Hill is the murderer, Kincher. The cunning, wicked,treacherous villain told the police about Fred being up there. He wantsto see Fred hang in order to save his
own neck." The girl's voice roseto a shriek, and she sprang to her feet with blazing eyes. "Kincher,"she cried, "you've got to help me put the rope round this wretch's neck.Do you hear me?"
Kemp's impassivity was in marked contrast to the girl's hystericalexcitement.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
"Fred wants you to get up an alibi for him. He sent me over to ask you toarrange it without delay. He wants you and two or three others to swearthat he was over here on the night of the murder. That will be sufficientto get him off."
"Not me," said Kemp, shaking his head decidedly. "I won't do it; it's toorisky. The police have too many things against me for my word to be anygood as a witness. I'd only be landing myself in trouble for perjuryinstead of helping Fred out of trouble. He ought to have got an alibiready before he was arrested. I told him at the inquest that he ought tolook after it, and he swore he'd not been up there on the night of themurder. It is too late to do anything in the alibi line now. I don't knowanybody I could get to come forward and swear Fred was in their companythat night--there is a difference between fixing up a tale for the policebefore a man's arrested, and going into the witness box and committingperjury on oath."
He spoke in such an uncompromising tone that the girl saw it was uselessto pursue the matter further.
"Suppose I went to the police and told them that Hill is the murderer?"she suggested.
Kemp shook his head slowly.
"There is only your word for it that Hill killed him," he said. "Itdoesn't look to me as if he did, when he went over to your flat and toldFred that Sir Horace had come back from Scotland. If he had killed him hewould have let Fred go over without saying a word about it."
"That was part of his cunning," said the girl. "If he had said nothingabout Sir Horace's return, Fred would have suspected him when he foundthe dead body. I'm as certain that Hill committed the murder as if I hadseen him do it with my own eyes."
Kemp shrugged his shoulders as though realising the uselessness ofattempting to combat such a feminine form of reasoning.
"Didn't Fred say that the body was warm when he touched it?" he asked.
She meditated a moment over this evidence of Hill's innocence.
"Well, if Hill didn't kill him, the woman Fred saw leaving the house musthave done so," she declared.
"There is something in that," said Kemp. "Look here, we've got to getFred a good lawyer to defend him, and we must be guided by his advice asto what is the best thing to do. He knows more about what will go downwith a jury than you do."
"I paid a solicitor to defend him at the police court," said thegirl, "but the money I gave him was thrown away. He said nothing anddid nothing."
"That shows he is a man who knows his business," replied Kemp. "What'sthe good of talking to police court beaks in a case that is bound to goto trial? It's a waste of breath. The thing is to see that Fred isproperly defended when the case comes on at the Old Bailey. We wantsomebody who can manage the jury. I should say Holymead is the man if youcan get him. I don't know as he'd be likely to take up the case, for hedon't go in much for criminal courts--and yet it seems to me that hemight. You ought to try to get him, at least. He used to be a friend ofyour friend Sir Horace, so if he took up the case it would look as if hebelieved Fred had nothing to do with the murder. It would be bound tomake a good impression on the jury."
"Wouldn't he be very expensive?" asked the girl.
"Not so expensive as getting hanged," said Kemp grimly. "You take myadvice and have him if you can get him. Never mind what he costs, if youcan raise the money. You've got some money saved up, haven't you?"
"Yes, I've nearly L200. Sir Horace put L100 in the Savings Bank for me onmy last birthday. And the furniture at the flat is mine. I'd sell thatand everything I've got, for Fred's sake."
"That is the way to talk," said Kemp. "You go to this solicitor you hadat the police court, and tell him you want Holymead to defend Fred. Tellhim he must brief Holymead--have nobody else but Holymead. Tell him thatHolymead was a friend of Sir Horace Fewbanks's and that if he appears forFred the jury will never believe that Fred had anything to do with themurder. And I don't think he had, though he did lie to me and swear hehadn't been up there that night," he added after a moment's reflection.
The Hampstead Mystery Page 13
