Inspector Combridge, unaware of these thoughts, was making some honest efforts toward a friendly understanding. He commenced upon several indifferent topics of conversation, without gaining more than monosyllabic answers. The fact was that he still doubted the degree of that innocence about which Mr. Jellipot protested so strongly, and this uncertainty, of which Francis had an instinctive perception, was a bar to any real cordiality, even had he not embodied, to his companion’s mind, the hated shadow of hostile law.
Yet it is bare justice to the Inspector to observe that he was not unwilling to be convinced, and he was as sincerely anxious to know the truth as he was genuinely endeavouring to establish friendly relations with his silent companion; for the point might be of vital importance to the soundness of the plan of campaign which was now to be discussed in Mr. Jellipot’s office.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Francis found that the Inspector did not take his departure when he had (as he conceived the position) delivered his body to Mr. Jellipot.
Instead of that, he took a seat in the lawyer’s office, without waiting for the formality of an invitation, while Mr. Jellipot, not appearing to observe this familiarity, was introducing Francis to another gentleman who had been seated on the farther side of his desk.
“This, Sir Reginald,” he said, “is Francis Hammerton.... Mr. Hammerton, this is Sir Reginald Crowe, through whose kindness I have been able to procure your release.”
Francis saw a man who looked young to be the chairman and actively controlling head of a great bank. His expression was of a dynamic energy, suggesting that his financial operations would be conducted with enterprise rather than caution as their dominant characteristic; as had, indeed, been the case since Lombard Street had been staidly stirred by the news that he had obtained control of a majority of London & Northern shares, and intended to use the voting power thus acquired to place himself in charge of the operations of the bank.
Sir Reginald looked at the young man who was thanking him rather shyly for the generosity which had procured his freedom. Accustomed to judge of the characters of those he met with a quick glance, which had rarely failed to guide him aright, he thought: “Jellipot right as usual. Jury must have been fools. Nothing strange in that.” He said aloud: “You needn’t thank me too much. It’s cost me nothing. I know you won’t run away.... Besides, I’m wanting something from you; so the boot may soon be on the other leg.... Tell him, Jellipot. You’ll explain better than I should.”
He leaned back in the low leather chair he occupied, leaving Mr. Jellipot to take the stage.
The lawyer began in his hesitant, precise manner, but with a clarity of statement which made listening easy.
“We wish you to appreciate, Mr. Hammerton, the exact position in which you stand, and the conditions on which your permanent release, and the vindication of your reputation depend.
“The Court of Appeal will have your case before them in a fortnight’s time from today. We have fourteen days. During that time we must obtain further evidence, such as they will consent to hear, or I am bound to advise you that the appeal will almost certainly fail.
“The powers of the Court of Appeal, as it interprets them for its own guidance, are extremely limited.
“It will not reverse a jury’s decision on points of fact, unless it should be of a most obvious perversity, even though it may recognize that a different verdict would have been more consonant with its own conclusions. It will not consider evidence, however relevant, which the defendant deliberately, negligently, or perhaps by some miscalculating duplicity, withheld from the lower court.
“It will interfere only on points of law, or on misdirections of the Judge, or irregularities on the part of the prosecution, by which a fair trial was denied to the accused.
“In such cases, it may even quash the conviction, in the interests of abstract justice, though it be an obvious consequence that the guilty will go free.
“Finally, it may consent to hear evidence which has come into possession of the defence since the date on which the trial was held, and which reasonable diligence on their part could not have obtained at that time.
“In this last is our best, and, in my judgement, our only hope.
“We cannot anticipate to succeed by submitting facts which you deliberately withheld, whatever motive you may have had; neither can we hope to argue convincingly that the jury, on the evidence which was before them, had no reasonable ground for the conclusion to which they came.
“What I feel that we require, and what I am therefore about to ask you to use your best efforts to obtain, is some fresh evidence—some new witness, if possible—whom you could not previously have called.
“It may not be easy—it may not be possible—but it is not a case of choosing between conflicting alternatives. It is the sole chance that your own indiscretion, if I may say so without offence, has left.
“To give you the greatest possible freedom of action, we have gone to some trouble to ensure that there will be no allusion in the daily press to the bail which has been granted to you. In looking up any of the acquaintances who were in any way responsible for your present position, or who would know you by your adopted name, you will be able to use the advantage of surprise; or you will be able to leave them in ignorance of your recovered liberty, if, in any case, you should desire to do so.
“There is a question which Inspector Combridge has raised, to which I am unable, from anything you have told me, to supply the answer, and concerning which even you yourself may have no certain opinion; but its importance is obvious.
“You were convicted as Tony Welch’s associate. Tony Welch has, I understand, been known to the police for many years as a prominent member of an international gang of card-sharpers, confidence-tricksters, and negotiators of forged bonds, and other financial paper of illicit descriptions. You consorted with several members of this gang, whose true characters we are satisfied that you did not know.
“The question is, did they regard you as one of themselves, or as Tony Welch’s dupe? If you go back to them, will they regard you as a fellow-criminal, endeavouring to avoid the punishment due to your guilt, or will they suppose that you were an innocent dupe, who will now have learnt, by a very bitter experience, to know them for what they are, and who is probably seeking both vindication for himself and their own exposure? I ask you to consider carefully before you reply, for you will see that the course of action which it may be prudent for you to take—even your personal safety—may depend upon the accuracy of your judgement upon this issue.”
Mr. Jellipot paused upon this lengthy and lucid statement, the substance of which Sir Reginald or the Inspector might have put into a question of twenty words, and Francis, though it had allowed him ample time for consideration, was not ready in his reply. The question was not new to his mind. He had considered it in the ample leisure which is allowed to imprisoned men, but the answer was hard to find.
He said: “Augusta Garten knew. I think she tried to warn me once, but I wouldn’t see. She couldn’t have said much more than she did, without giving her own people away. But I thought she was trying to put me off for other reasons from going with her that night, and I took it all in the wrong way.”
Inspector Combridge interposed sharply: “You could swear to that?”
“Yes.... I mean it’s true, or I shouldn’t have said it. Why do you ask that?”
“Because it confirms what we were nearly sure of before. We actually had a warrant made out at one time for that woman’s arrest, and then decided that the evidence wasn’t quite sufficient to get us home. We know how strong a case has to be against a girl with her looks. But if you could swear to that, it would show that she was aware what was on foot, and it might just be enough, with what we’ve got, to put her where she belongs.”
Francis looked troubled. He said: “I shouldn’t like to do that. It wouldn’t be very decent, when she was trying to keep me clear of the mess.”
Mr. Jelli
pot, observing a side-issue which might not be helpful, interposed before the Inspector was ready with his reply.
“Shall we keep to the present point? You think Augusta Garten understood your position, but, beyond that, you’re not sure?”
“No. I should say some may have thought one thing, and some another. Those who were about with us most must have had some warning not to talk before me. At any rate, I never heard anything to lead me to think what they really were.”
“That,” Mr. Jellipot said, “seems to answer the question.” He turned to the Inspector to ask: “How does it look to you?”
“If you ask me,” Inspector Combridge replied, “I shouldn’t say it goes far. The type of gangster with whom Hammerton got mixed up doesn’t open his mouth to put his foot into it, even when he thinks he’s among those of his own colour. I’ve been told by a man we had among them for over two years before they guessed what his business was, that even when they’re planning a kill they won’t say anything to each other that mightn’t pass between respectable people, and they always talk as though the pretences they make to their victims are the solid truth they profess them to be to him. I suppose it makes the illusion easier to sustain, besides avoiding the risk of anything going into the wrong ears.
“Even if one of them had said something dangerous, and Mr. Hammerton had given him a blank stare in reply, he wouldn’t have thought that he wasn’t being understood. He would have thought that he was having a plain hint to keep his mouth shut by someone more discreet than himself.”
“I think,” Francis interposed, with more certainty than he had spoken before, “that some at least of them would take for granted that I was guilty, especially after the jury had come to the same conclusion. I don’t think that even Moss & Middleton thought that I was really ignorant of what had been going on, though they defended me on those lines.”
“It was a defence,” Mr. Jellipot commented, with his mild-mannered acuteness, “which incidentally—and perhaps more than incidentally to their minds—assisted that of their principal client. In fact,” he added, professional indignation raising his voice somewhat beyond its usual pitch, “you were very badly represented, or you would not be in your present predicament.”
“I expect I was. They seemed shrewd enough, in their own way, and they always seemed confident they would get me off, but they weren’t men it was easy to like. But I had no choice, really, especially as Tony was paying the bill.... I suppose you want me to look up his friends, and get someone to say that he knew Tony was making a fool of me. It doesn’t sound very easy to do.”
“I should put it,” Mr. Jellipot replied, “rather more widely. You should be alert for anything which might have influenced the jury’s decision had you been able to put it before them, without supposing in advance what it may be.
“I want you,” Sir Reginald added, “to go farther than that. I want you to endeavour to find out anything which is being said in those circles about Rabone’s murder, and most particularly anything which would connect Entwistle with it, or show that the two men had been associated, probably with others, in the criminal practices in which we suppose them to have been engaged. Or equally, of course, to learn anything that might tend to show that Rabone was killed because he was on the point of discovering a crime in which he was not involved himself.”
Francis Hammerton considered these proposals with something less than enthusiasm, even though he reminded himself of the debt of gratitude he owed to those who had put them forward, and the position in which he stood.
“In fact,” he said bluntly, “you want me to obtain their confidence by pretending that I was properly convicted, but have managed to wriggle out on bail, and then to betray it.”
He had Augusta Garten in mind as he spoke, and his tone added to the effect of his words, to which his three auditors reacted in characteristic ways.
“You should not forget,” Inspector Combridge said, with a feeling that his own profession was implicitly slurred, and yet conscious that, for the first time, he had really believed in Hammerton’s innocence as he spoke, “that you are dealing with murderers and professional thieves. If they make war on society, they can’t expect it not to resist.”
“My own hesitation,” Sir Reginald said, “was on different grounds. Rabone’s fate, if we are right as to what occurred, shows that we are dealing with men who will have little scruple in what they do, if their own safety should be at stake. It appeared to me that we were asking you to undertake an extremely dangerous, as well as difficult task.... But, of course, if you feel like that—”
Mr. Jellipot, who felt that Sir Reginald was concluding in the wrong way, mildly but firmly interrupted his valuable, but sometimes headstrong client: “May I say, Mr. Hammerton, that I think, with all respect, that your conclusions go somewhat beyond the logical implications of any proposals which either Sir Reginald or myself have offered for your consideration.
“I proposed that you should commence your enquiries with an absolutely open mind, and, beyond that, I suggested the possibility of your obtaining a witness in your support, who must, of course, come forward willingly, so that the question of your betraying anyone would not arise.... As to Sir Reginald’s request, it is not suggested that your previous friends were concerned in William Rabone’s murder, or even in the crimes of which it was a possible consequence, though we may have reason to think that they were sufficiently associated with those who were to know more about it than we have yet been able to learn.”
“Well,” Francis replied, overborne by his own thoughts, and the impact of these various arguments, “I don’t want you to think me ungrateful for what you’ve done, nor insensible of the value of your advice. And as to anything being dangerous, if you ever get into such a position as mine, though I don’t suggest that that’s possible—well, you’ll know that it isn’t easy to care.... Yes, I understand, and you can rely on me to do what I can.”
He rose as he spoke, as though to leave an interview which had reached its natural conclusion, and the movement roused Inspector Combridge to an equal activity.
He drew an oblong slip of paper from his pocket-book.
“Before you go,” he said, “I must give you this. It’s nothing to be afraid of, but you mustn’t fail to be there.”
Francis took it, and observed that it was a subpœna to attend as a witness, at ten a.m. on the following Monday, in the case of Rex v. Entwistle, at the Magistrates’ Court.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
For a few hours, Francis found his mind distracted from the more difficult problems which must confront it, by the immediate necessity of obtaining shelter, and a larger portion of the elementary requirements of life than his pockets held.
The money which he had had at the time of his last arrest had been restored to him, together with a smaller sum, and other miscellaneous articles which he had had when first arrested at the Tipcat Club. He now provided himself with a suitcase of some solidity, and a sufficient quantity of linen and other articles to supply his needs for the fourteen days which seemed too likely to be the total measure of liberty that Mr. Jellipot’s legal efforts would be able to gain.
Remembering the subpœna his pocket held, he observed that the privacy of his release, which Mr. Jellipot’s caution had secured, was not likely to continue beyond the coming Monday. He supposed with some reason that it would be difficult for him to give evidence in such a case, and to leave the witness-box without his true name and present circumstances becoming almost universally known.
Well, he had two days. He could not call it more, for he had to be at the court at ten on Monday morning, waiting till he should be called to the witness-box. What could he do in so short a time? With no clear purpose in his mind, he decided to visit the Tipcat Club that night, where he had first met the acquaintances who had wrecked his life. He must be guided then by whom he would meet, and by the course of his conversation with them. He might see Augusta Garten there, in whom was his best hope.
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If she were not there, he decided that he would call upon her in the morning at the flat in Sheldon Gardens to which she had invited him (with others) more than once in the days when the seeking of her society was the first object that ruled his life. He would call at an hour when she might not be up, she being of those who sacrifice day for the darker hours; but it was unlikely, at such an hour, that they would be disturbed by such of her friends as he would not desire to meet. If he should see her at all, there would be time for conversation which would be unhurried, and might be unknown to any except themselves.
So he planned. But when he called on Inspector Combridge at the following noon, to fulfil a promise that he would report his address to him, he had a tale of double failure to tell.
As to the Tipcat Club, there had been a strange porter at the door, who regarded him with a suspicion which did not lessen when he gave a password several weeks out of date. Even when he abandoned the pretence of secrecy—he had commenced by giving his own name—and announced himself as Harold Vaughan, it was of no avail. The door was closed in his face, and there was no response when he continued for some minutes stubbornly pressing the bell.
He accepted this rebuff without much discouragement, as it was the second part of his programme in which he had better hope; but when he called at the Sheldon Gardens flat he found that Miss Garten’s name had been removed from the signboard at the stair-foot. Miss Garten’s flat was to let.
He sought the caretaker in the roof, and was informed that the lady had left a few days before. She had said that Scotland was her destination. Nothing more definite than that.
The Attic Murder Page 10
