The Dawn of Reckoning

by James Hilton

  “What had happened at the Hall while the busy and exciting count of votes was being taken not a couple of miles away? I shall be able to tell you that in a few short sentences. The butler at the Hall, who, though he suffers from deafness, is in every other way a thoroughly dependable witness, will say that he admitted the prisoner at eight-twenty p.m. and showed him into Mr. Monsell’s private study. He (the butler) then went to his pantry, which is situated immediately next to the study. He had some supper, and then went back to the study to replenish the fire. It was his duty to do this every hour without being specially summoned. When he knocked at the door and entered the room, he saw Mr. Monsell and the prisoner standing up facing each other. He could not hear them saying anything, but he could see from their faces that they were in the midst of a quarrel. He naturally performed his duties as quickly as he could and then went out. Now, gentlemen, so far as the prosecution have been able to discover, that was the last time Mr. Monsell was seen alive by any human being except the prisoner.

  “The butler did not go immediately to his pantry after attending to the fire. He went upstairs to his bedroom, which is in the attics, and he was there some time arranging his clothes and doing other odd jobs. About eleven o’clock, thinking that it was getting time for the election result to be known, he went downstairs to the pantry again and dozed off to sleep. He was awakened by a sudden shriek from the next room. When he gathered his wits and went to the study, he found the tragedy complete—Mr. Monsell shot through the breast and his wife fainting beside his body.”

  Sir Theydon then proceeded to describe the steps taken by the police and by Scotland Yard when they were called in. They found in the shrubbery a revolver of a most unusual kind, with the prisoner’s initials engraved upon it. The prisoner admitted it was his, and “his explanation of how it came to be there you will be able, gentlemen, to consider in due course.” Sir Theydon then gave a detailed description of the revolver and the ammunition it required, remarking that it was a type of weapon specially constructed for use in very low temperatures. “In fact, the prisoner admits that he used this particular weapon to kill seals on the ice-floes of Antarctica.

  “The contention of the prosecution,” continued Sir Theydon, “is that the prisoner shot and killed Mr. Monsell some time between nine o’clock and a quarter to midnight. He escaped through the window, which was found wide open when the crime was discovered, because he did not wish to meet the butler on the way out. In his haste he dropped the revolver in the shrubbery. There are traces of his footmarks,” went on Sir Theydon, “leading across the lawns towards the lane, where he had left his motor-cycle.”

  Sir Theydon then detailed the prisoner’s movements after the crime. There were a series of witnesses who would be called to prove absolutely what the prisoner did. “At ten minutes to midnight he was seen passing through the village of Nasechurch. At half-past twelve he stopped at an open-all-night petrol-station at Bishop’s Stortford. Here he asked for his tank to be filled to the brim, despite the fact that by that method he was charged the price of three gallons for what was only a little over two. He was evidently not only in a great hurry, but anticipating a journey of some length. Half-past one saw him at Cambridge, and five minutes to two at Ely. It is eighteen miles between these two places, so the rate works out at well over forty miles per hour. I will not weary you, gentlemen, with details of this high-speed Odyssey; suffice it to say that the prisoner arrived in Hull at a few minutes after six, garaged his machine, telling the proprietor that he would call for it in a few days, breakfasted at a workmen’s restaurant, and boarded the Hull-Bergen steamer about a quarter of an hour before sailing-time. His passport and steamer-ticket were both in order.

  “This,” went on Sir Theydon, striking the desk with his fist, “is no ordinary crime, committed in the heat of the moment by a weak man distraught by guilty passion. On the contrary, it is a crime carefully thought out and wilfully executed, the crime of a man who possesses both ingenuity and will-power. He set out from London with the fixed intention of killing his friend. He loaded his revolver, bought his steamboat ticket for Bergen, and packed a minimum of travelling-kit on the rear-carrier of his motor-cycle—all with the fixed intention of killing his friend. If ever, gentlemen, a murder deserved the adjective ‘wilful’ this is that murder…”

  IV

  Here the court adjourned for lunch.

  In the afternoon began the calling of the witnesses. John Venner, butler of the deceased, gave evidence of the finding of the body. His deafness made him a very difficult witness to cross-examine, and once or twice Sir John Hempidge, counsel for the defence, addressed him very sharply. A police-constable stood by him in the witness-box and shouted each question into his ear.

  Cross-examined, he said that according to his master’s orders, he visited the study every hour to put coal on the fire.

  “It was your custom to go in without being specially summoned?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why did you not go in at ten or eleven o’clock?”

  “I had orders not to put coal on the fire after nine.”

  “Not even if there was a guest with your master?”

  “No.”

  “You mean to say that even if your master was entertaining visitors he would let the fires go out after nine o’clock?”

  “If he wanted anything after nine, he used to send for me specially.”

  “How did he send for you?”

  “He used to ring.”

  “And could you hear the ring?”

  “Yes. It was a very loud one.”

  “Did it not strike you as strange that your master did not ring for you after nine o’clock?”

  “You expected that he would stay up to hear the result of his own election?”

  “I thought he would.”

  “And yet you were not surprised when he did not ring for you? Did you expect him to sit up with the fire out?”

  Witness appeared not to catch the question. When it had been repeated to him, he replied hazily: “I don’t know. I only did what I was told.”

  “Now,” continued Sir John, “you have said that you were asleep in your pantry when you were awakened by a shriek. How was it that, being so deaf, you could hear such a sound in another room?”

  “It was a very loud shriek.”

  “Loud enough to waken a very deaf man in another room?”

  “Mr. Monsell’s study was the room just next to my pantry.”

  “I see. And now let us turn back to the time when you admitted the prisoner into the house. What was he wearing?”

  “His morning coat and a cloth cap.”

  “And he went into the study with them on?”

  “Yes.”

  “With his cap on?”

  “He carried his cap in his hand.”

  “You said just now he went in with his cap on.”

  Witness appeared confused. Further cross-examined, he said that the reason he did not take prisoner’s hat and coat was that prisoner seemed in a great hurry and rushed past him.

  “I want you to tell the court plainly what you heard between the time you left the study after replenishing the fire and the moment you were awakened by Mrs. Monsell’s shriek.”

  “I heard nothing at all.”

  “Nothing outside the house?

  “No.”

  “No sound of a motor-bicycle, for instance?”

  “No.”

  “Children, I am told, were letting off fireworks all the evening, and there was a considerable amount of noise due to the election. Did you hear any of it?”

  “No.”

  The next witness was Dr. Livingstone Hardy, who described how he was sent for shortly after midnight. After giving medical evidence, he was sharply cross-examined by Sir John.

  “You state that in your opinion the shot was fired from a distance of six or seven feet from the victim?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you judge that?”

&n
bsp; “From the condition of the flesh round the wound.”

  “And from that you are certain that the injury could not have been self-inflicted?”

  “I always guard myself from saying that I am certain. It is my opinion, however, that the shot could not possibly have been fired by Mr. Monsell himself.”

  “Would the death have been instantaneous?”

  “Nearly so.”

  “What do you mean by ‘nearly so’?”

  “A matter of a couple of minutes, perhaps.”

  “Would it be impossible, after receiving such a wound, to get up by a superhuman effort and walk a few paces?”

  “I always guard myself from saying that anything is impossible. And as a medical man I do not know what a superhuman effort is.”

  “In plain words, sir, if you choose to understand them, I mean this: could Mr. Monsell, after being shot, have walked a couple of yards?”

  “I should say not. If, however, he was moving forward when he was shot, it is quite possible that his momentum might have sent him staggering a couple of yards, or even farther.”

  Inspector Ridyard was then called. He described the search of the Hall garden and the discovery of the revolver and the footprints. At the conclusion of his evidence the court was adjourned until the following day.

  V

  Larger crowds than ever waited for admittance the next morning, but the available accommodation was even more restricted than on the previous day.

  The whole day was taken up with the examination and cross-examination of various witnesses for the prosecution. On the whole the evidence was rather less exciting, but there were one or two thrills. One was when James Middleton, an assistant at Maycrafts, Ltd., the Strand gunsmiths, deposed that on the day before the crime lie sold a quantity of ammunition to the prisoner. It was special ammunition—a particular kind of cartridge—that could only be fired from a revolver of the type possessed by the prisoner. Cross-examined, he admitted that he had recently sold these cartridges to other purchasers.

  Dr. Hedwig Braun was then called. He said that he was one of the organizers of the new South Pole expedition which had set out in April. So far back as November, he declared, Dr. Ward had been asked to join the party. He had been asked several times since, but had declined owing to pressure of work.

  Cross-examined, he said that he was in Christiania on February 27th.

  “Would you have been very much surprised to receive a visit from the prisoner?”

  “He and I were friends, and if he had been in Norway I have no doubt we should have arranged to meet.”

  “Was it too late, on February 28th, to join your party?”

  “I am afraid it was. We had everything settled then.”

  “Would Dr. Ward have known that it was too late?”

  “I cannot say. After his repeated refusal to join us, we naturally did not trouble him with particulars of our personnel.”

  “Would you have refused to take him at so late a date?”

  “That would have been a matter for my committee. It would have been very awkward to place him at such short notice, but of course, we should have done our best, realizing the sort of man he is.”

  At this point there was some cheering in the court, which was sharply suppressed.

  Several other witnesses were then called, including those who saw the prisoner on the road from Chassingford and Hull. Evidence for the prosecution was concluded by five o’clock, when the court was again adjourned.

  VI

  The next day the accused was placed in the witness-box by his counsel and, after taking the oath, gave his story in full detail. “He is a tall Siegfried of a man,” wrote Mr. Milner-White, “with deep-set blue-grey eyes, and firm outstanding chin. Everything about him, and every word that he uttered, gave an impression of iron control; even before the steel-cold eyes of the Solicitor-General he did not flinch, but gave his evidence and replied to cross-examination with calmness, a carefulness, and an unwavering directness that created the best possible impression.”

  His evidence was a complete denial that he knew anything about the crime at all. As a matter of fact, he said, he did not hear about it until he reached Bergen, where a short paragraph in a Norwegian paper was translated for him. The news came as a great shock to him.

  Prisoner then, at the request of his counsel, gave a detailed summary of his movements on the night of February 27th. He was intending, he said, to catch the midnight train from King’s Cross to Hull, and had packed his luggage and made all preparations. Then in the morning a telegram came to him at the hospital. It was from Mr. Monsell, and ran somewhat as follows: “Can you come Chassingford this evening eight o’clock urgent.” The word “urgent” made him decide that at all costs he must keep the appointment, yet he knew that by doing so he might be too late to get back to King’s Cross in time for the midnight train. He therefore decided to accomplish the whole of the journey on his motor-cycle. He set out from Bethnal Green about six o’clock and arrived at Chassingford soon after eight. He was admitted into the study where he found the deceased writing.

  “I expressed surprise that he was not at the Town Hall, waiting for the count to begin, and he replied that he did not feel very well.

  “We chatted pleasantly for some time, and I was beginning to wonder why I had been sent for so urgently. Suddenly, without any warning, we began to quarrel.”

  Here his lordship interposed: “Really, you must explain yourself a little more definitely than that.”

  Prisoner: “I would rather not go into details about the nature of our quarrel. As a medical man I am quite certain that my friend was not properly aware of what he was saying. Of course, his statements and suggestions naturally provoked me at the time, and it was in the midst of it all that the butler came in to attend to the fire.”

  His lordship: “I would advise you to explain yourself more fully than that.”

  Prisoner was silent. After a pause he went on: “I prefer not to say any more than I have said. Our quarrel did not last long, for I very soon discovered that my friend was not quite responsible for his words. We chatted quite amicably till about half-past ten, when I began to think of going. As I was about to go out of the room he asked me whether I would mind stepping out on to the lawn through the window, because the butler had locked the front door and gone to bed, and it would be a trouble to get the keys. I said I had no objection at all, so he opened the window and I said good-bye and walked down to the lane, where I had left my machine. I then rode to Hull, as I had intended. That is all that happened, so far as I am aware.

  “I ought to explain one or two matters. First, the revolver. It is certainly mine, for I had lent it to Mr. Monsell some weeks before the election. He said he had received threatening letters, and had suspected attempts at burglary, and wanted me to lend him an unloaded revolver to frighten off anybody who might attempt any trouble. As the election was over when I went to the Hall on the evening of the 27th, I asked for my revolver back, because I knew I should want it if I joined the polar expedition. My friend said that he had left it at the Town Hall, and promised to send it to me the following day.

  “It is quite true that I bought the cartridges on the 26th. I wanted to have a supply in case I joined the expedition. I went in the shop really to see if they had any of the kind I wanted. Usually they have to be specially ordered, and when I was told that they had them in stock I thought I would buy them and make sure.”

  VII

  The cross-examination began after the lunch interval.

  Beginning at the beginning, said Sir Theydon: “Why did you suddenly make up your mind to join this polar expedition?”

  “I wished to, that was all.”

  “Why was it necessary to go to Norway? Could you not have written or cabled?”

  “I wanted to see Dr. Braun in person. I knew it was very late to join, but I thought I was more likely to be successful if I had a personal interview than if I wrote.”

  “You set a
high value on your own powers of persuasiveness?”

  “A higher value than on my literary powers, certainly.”

  “You must have been very keen to join the expedition?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Now I want to question you about your movements on the evening of the 27th. What is your motor-cycle?”

  “A 7½ h.p. Harley-Davison.”

  “It is a very fast machine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Supposing your interview with Mr. Monsell had begun at eight punctually and had lasted for an hour, there would have been ample time for you to get back to King’s Cross on your machine in time to catch the midnight express.”

  “No doubt. But how could I know how long the interview would last?”

  “Surely a midnight train to catch would have been an excellent reason for leaving early?”

  “I can’t quite see what you are driving at.”

  “I will tell you what I am driving at. I am suggesting that there was really no need for you to motor-cycle to Hull at all, and that, if you had wanted to, you could easily have caught the train. But you did not want to.”

  “Quite true. I did not want to.”

  “Why did you not want to?”

  “Because”—answered the prisoner with a slight smile—“because I prefer motor-cycling to train-riding.”

  “You mean that you prefer motor-cycling for six hours on a dark night in March to travelling by a comfortable boat-express?”

  “I do.”

  “You ask us to believe that this wild dash through the night, in many cases at the speed of an express train, was a mere whim on your part—a mad escapade?”

  “If you call it that I shall raise no objection. But I have done far madder things in the past.”

  “No doubt. Now I want you to see where your admission has led you. A little while ago you said that you decided to travel by motor-cycle because you might not have time to catch the train. Now you say that you motor-cycled because you preferred to. Which of those statements is correct?”