“The building is certainly an eyesore, and, before it came into being, Broxmouth was a real beauty spot. If you have ever been there, you will remember that fine walk along the edge of the cliffs, at the end of which there is a wonderful view as far as the towers of Barchester cathedral. It is called the ‘Lovers’ Walk,’ and is patronised by all the young people in the neighbourhood. They find it romantic as well as exhilarating: the objective is usually Kurtmoor, where there are one or two fine hotels for plutocrats in search of rural surroundings, and where humble folk like you and I and the aforesaid lovers can get an excellent cup of tea at the Wheatsheaf in the main village street.
“But it is a daylight walk, for the path is narrow and in places the cliffs fall away, sheer and precipitous, to the water’s edge, whilst loose bits of rock have an unpleasant way of giving way under one’s feet. If you were to consult one of the Broxmouth gaffers on the advisability of taking a midnight walk to Kurtmoor, he would most certainly shake his head, and tell you to wait till the next day and take your walk in the morning. Accidents have happened there—more than one—though Broxmouth holds its tongue about that. Rash pedestrians have lost their footing and tumbled down the side of the cliff before now, almost always with fatal results. And so, at first when a couple of small boys, hunting for mussels at low tide in the early morning of May 5th last, saw the body of a woman lying inanimate upon the rocks at the foot of the cliffs, and reported their discovery to the police, everyone began concluding that nothing but an accident had occurred, and went on to abuse the Town Council for not putting up along the more dangerous portions of the ‘Lovers’ Walk’ some sort of barrier as a protection to unwary pedestrians.
“Later on, when the body was identified as that of Janet Smith, a well-known resident of Broxmouth, public indignation waxed high: the barrier along the edge of the ‘Lovers’ Walk’ became the burning question of the hour. But during the whole of that day the ‘accident’ theory was never disputed; it was only towards evening that whispers of ‘suicide’ began to circulate in and about Broxmouth, to be soon followed by the more ominous ones of ‘murder.’
“And by the next morning Broxmouth had the thrill of its lift when it became known throughout the town that Captain Franklin Marston had been detained in connection with the finding of the body of Janet Smith, and that he would appear that day before the magistrate on a charge of murder.
“Properly to appreciate the significance of such an announcement, it would be necessary to be oneself a resident of Broxmouth where the Woodforde Institute, its affairs and its personnel are, as it were, the be-all and end-all of all the gossip in the neighbourhood. To begin with, the deceased was head matron of the Institute, and the man, now accused of the foul crime of having murdered her, was its secretary; moreover the secretary and the pretty young matron were known to be very much in love with one another, and, as a matter of fact, Broxmouth had of late been looking forward to a very interesting wedding. The idea of Captain Marston—who by the way was very good-looking, very smart, and a splendid tennis player—being accused of murdering his sweetheart was in itself so preposterous, so impossible, that his numerous friends and many admirers were aghast and incredulous. ‘There is some villainous plot here somewhere,’ the ladies averred, and wanted to know what Major Gubbins’s attitude was going to be under these tragic circumstances.
“Major Gubbins, if you remember, was headmaster of the school, and what’s more he, too, had been very much in love with Janet Smith, but it appeared that his friendship with Captain Marston had prompted him to stand aside as soon as he realised which way the girl’s affections lay. Major Gubbins was not so popular as the Captain, he was inclined to be off-hand and disagreeable, so the ladies said, and moreover he did not play tennis, and, with the sublime inconsequence of your charming sex, they seemed to connect these defects with terrible accusation which was now weighing upon the Major’s successful rival.
“The executive of the Institute consisted, in addition to the three persons I have named, of its president, General Sir Arkwright Jones, who, it seems, took little if any interest in the concern. It seems as if, by giving it the prestige of his name, he had done all that he intended for the furtherance of the Institute’s welfare. Then there were the governors, a number of amiable local gentlemen and ladies who played tennis all day and attended innumerable tea-parties and knew as much about administering a big concern as a terrier does of rabbit-rearing. In the midst of this official supineness, the murder of the young matron, followed immediately by the arrest of the secretary, had come as a bombshell, and now wise heads began to wag and ominous murmurs became current that for some time past there had been something very wrong in the management of the Woodforde Institute. Whilst, at the call of various august personages, money was pouring in from the benevolent public, the commissariat was being conducted on parsimonious lines that were a positive scandal: the boys were shockingly underfed and the staff of servants was constantly being changed because girls would not remain on what they called a starvation regime.
“Then again, no proper accounts had been kept since the inception of the Institute five years ago; entries were spasmodic, irregular and unreliable; books were never audited; no one apparently had the slightest idea of profit and loss or of balances; no one knew from week to week where the salaries and wages were coming from, or from quarter to quarter if there would be funds enough to meet rates and taxes; no one, in fact, appeared to know anything about the affairs of the Institute, least of all the secretary himself who had often remarked quite jocularly that he had never in all his life known anything about book-keeping and that his appointment by the governors rested upon his agreeable personality rather than upon his financial and administrative ability.
“As you see, the Captain’s position was, in consequence of this, a very serious one: it became still more so when presently two or three ominous facts came to light. To begin with, it seemed that he could give absolutely no account of himself during the greater part of the night of May 5th. He had left the Institute at about seven o’clock; he told the headmaster then that he was going for a walk which seemed strange as it was pouring with rain. On the other hand the landlady at the room where he lodged told the police that when she herself went to bed at eleven o’clock the Captain had not come in: she hadn’t seen him since morning; when he went to work and at what time he eventually came home she couldn’t say. But there was worse to come: firstly, a stick was found on the beach some thirty yards or less from the spot where the body itself was discovered; and secondly, the police produced a few strands of wool which were, it seems, clinging to the poor girl’s hat-pin, and which presumably were torn out of a muffler during the brief struggle which must have occurred when she was first attacked and before she lost her footing and fell down the side of the cliff.
“Now the stick was identified as the property of Captain Marston, and he had been seen on the road with it in his hand in the early part of the evening. He was then walking alone on the ‘Lovers’ Walk’; two Broxmouth visitors met him on their way back from Kurtmoor. Knowing him by sight, they passed the time of day. These witnesses, however, were quite sure that Captain Marston was not then wearing a muffler, on the other hand they were equally sure that he carried the stick; they had noticed it as a very unusual one, of what is known as Javanese snake-wood with a round heavy knob and leather strap which the Captain carried slung upon his arm.
“Of course the matter interested me enormously; it is not often that a person of the social and intellectual calibre of Captain Marston stands accused of so foul a crime. If he was guilty, then indeed he was one of the vilest criminals that ever defaced God’s earth, and in the annals of crime there were few crimes more hideous. The poor girl, it seems, had been in love with him right up to the end and, according to some well-informed gossips, the wedding day had actually been fixed.
“The unsuccessful rival, Major Gubbins, too, was an interesting personality, and it was difficult to suppo
se that he was entirely ignorant of the events which must of necessity have led up to the crime. Supposedly there had been a quarrel between the lovers; sundry rumours were current as to this and in a vague way those rumours connected this quarrel with the shaky financial situation of the Institute. But it was all mere surmise and very contradictory; no one could easily state what possible connection there could be between the affairs of the Institution and the murder of the chief matron.
“In the meanwhile the accused had been brought up before the magistrate, and formal evidence of the finding of the body and of the arrest was given, as well as of the subsequent discovery of the stick which was identified by the two witnesses and of the strands of wool. The accused was remanded until the following Monday, bail being refused. The inquest was held a day or two later and I went down to Broxmouth for it. I remember how hot it was in that crowded courtroom: excited and perspiring humanity filled the stuffy atmosphere with heat. While the crowd jabbered and fidgeted I had a good look at the chief personages who were about to enact a thrilling drama for my entertainment; you have seen portraits of them all in the illustrated papers, the British Army being well represented by a trio of as fine specimens of manhood as anyone would wish to see.
“The President, General Arkwright Jones, was there as a matter of course. He looked worried and annoyed that the even tenor of his pleasant existence should have been disturbed by this tiresome event; he is the regular type of British pre-war superior officer with ruddy face and white hair, something like a nice ripe tomato that has been packed in cotton wool. Then there was the headmaster. Major Gubbins, well-groomed, impassive, immaculate in dress and bearing; and finally the accused himself, in charge of two warders, fine-looking man, obviously more of a soldier and an athlete than a clerk immersed in figures.
“Two other persons in the crowded room arrested my attention: two women. One of them dressed in deep black, thin-lipped, with pale round eyes and pursed-up mouth was Miss Amelia Smith, the sister with whom deceased had been living, and the other was Louisa Rumble who held the position of housekeeper at the Woodforde Institute. The latter was one of the first witnesses called, and her evidence was intensely interesting because it gave one the first clue as to the motive which underlay the hideous crime. The woman’s testimony, you must know, bore entirely on the question of housekeeping and of the extraordinary scarcity of money in the richly-endowed Institute.
“‘Often and often,’ said the witness, a motherly old soul in a flamboyant bonnet, ‘did I complain to Miss Smith when she give me my weekly allowance for the tradesmen’s books: “’Tisn’t enough, Miss Smith, I says to ’er, not to feed a family, I says, let alone thirty growin’ boys and ’alf a dozen working girls.” But Miss Smith she just shook ’er ’ead and says: “Committee’s orders, Mrs. Rumble, I ’ave no power.” “Why don’t you speak to the Captain?” I says to ’er, “’e ’as the ’andling of the money; it is a scandal,” I says. “Those boys can’t live on boiled bacon an’ beans and not English nor Irish bacon, it ain’t, neither,” I says. “Pore lambs. The money I ’ave won’t pay for beef or mutton for them, Miss Smith,” I says, “and you know it.” But Miss Smith, she only shook ’er ’ead and says she would speak to the Captain about it.’
“Asked whether she knew if deceased had actually spoken to the secretary on the subject, Mrs. Rumble said most emphatically, ‘Yes!’
“‘What’s more, sir,’ she went on, ‘I can tell you that the very day before she died, the pore lamb ’ad a reg’lar tiff with the Captain about that there commissariat.’
“Mrs. Rumble had stumbled a little over the word, but strangely enough no one tittered; the importance of the old woman’s testimony was impressed upon every mind and silenced every tongue. All eyes were turned in the direction of the accused. He had flushed to the roots of his hair, but otherwise stood quite still, with arms folded, and a dull expression of hopelessness upon his good-looking face.
“The coroner had asked the witness how she knew that Miss Smith had had words with the Captain Marston: ‘Because I ’eard them two ’aving words, sir,’ Mrs. Rumble replied. ‘I’d been in the office to get my money and my orders from Miss Smith, and we ’ad the usual talk about American bacon and boiled beans with which I don’t ’old, not for growing boys; then back I went to the kitchen, when I remembered I ’ad forgot to speak to Miss Smith about the scullery maid, who’d been saucy and given notice. So up I went again and I was just a goin’ to open the office door when I ’eard Miss Smith say quite loud and distinck: “It is shameful,” she says, “and I can’t bear it,” she says, “and if you won’t speak to the General then I will. He is staying at the Queen’s at Kurtmoor, I understand,” she says, “and I am goin’ this very night to speak with him,” she says, “as I can’t spend another night,” she says, “with this on my mind.” Then I give a genteel cough and…’
“The worthy lady had got thus far in her story when her volubility was suddenly checked by a violent expletive from the accused.
“‘But this is damnable!’ he cried, and no doubt would have said a lot more, but a touch on his shoulder from the warders behind him quickly recalled him to himself. He once more took up his outwardly calm attitude, and Mrs. Rumble concluded her evidence amidst silence more ominous than any riotous scene would have been.
“‘I give a genteel cough,’ she resumed, with unruffled dignity, ‘and opened the door. Miss Smith, she was all flushed and I could see that she’d been crying; but the Captain ’e just walked out of the room, and didn’t say not another word.’
“By this time,” the Man in the Corner went on drily, “we must suppose that the amateur detectives and the large body of unintelligent public felt that they were being cheated. Never had there been so simple a case. Here, with the testimony of Mrs. Rumble, was the whole thing clear as daylight—motive, quarrel, means, everything was there already. No chance of exercising those powers of deduction so laboriously acquired by a systematic study of detective fiction. Had it not been for the position of the accused and his popularity in Broxmouth society, all interest in the case would have departed in the wake of Mrs. Rumble, and at first when Amelia Smith, sister of the deceased, was called, her appearance only roused languid curiosity. Miss Amelia looked, what in fact, she was: a retired school marm, and wore the regular hallmark of impecunious and somewhat soured spinsterhood.
“‘Janet often told me,’ she said in the course of her evidence, ‘that she was quite sure there was roguery going on in the affairs of the Institute, because she knew for a fact that subscriptions were constantly pouring in from the public, far in excess of what was being spent, for the welfare of the boys. I often used to urge her to go straight to the governors or even to the President himself about the whole matter, but she would always give the same disheartened reply. General Arkwright Jones, it seems, had made it a condition when he accepted the presidency that he was never to be worried about the administration of the place, and he refused to have anything to do with the handling of the subscriptions; as for the governors, my poor sister declared that they cared more for tennis parties than for the welfare of a lot of poor officers’ children.’
“But a moment or two later we realised that Miss Amelia Smith was keeping her tit-bit of evidence until the end. It seems that she had not even spoken about it to the police, determined as she was, no doubt, to create a sensation for once in her monotonous and dreary life. So now she pursed up her lips tighter than before, and after a moment’s dramatic silence, she said:
“‘The day before her death, my poor sister was very depressed. In the late afternoon, when she came in for tea, I could see that she had been crying. I guessed, of course, what was troubling her, but I didn’t say much. Captain Franklin Marston was in the habit of calling for Janet in the evening and they would go for a walk together; at eight o’clock on that sad evening I asked her whether Captain Marston was coming as usual, whereupon she became quite excited and said: “No, no, I don’t wish to see him!”
and after a while she added in a voice choked with tears: “Never again!”
“‘About a quarter of an hour later,’ Miss Amelia went on, ‘Janet suddenly took up her hat and coat. I asked her where she was going and she said to me: “I don’t know but I must put an end to all this. I must know one way or the other.” I tried to question her further, but she was in an obstinate mood; when I remarked that it was raining hard she said: “That’s all right, the rain will do me good.” And when I asked her whether she wasn’t going to meet Captain Marston after all, she just gave me a look, but she made no reply. And so my poor sister went out into the darkness and the rain, and I never again saw her alive.’
“She paused just long enough to give true dramatic value to her statement, and indeed there was nothing lukewarm now about the interest which she aroused; then she continued: ‘As the clock was striking nine I was surprised to receive a visit from the headmaster, Major Gubbins. He came with a message from Captain Marston to my sister; I told him that Janet had gone out. He appeared vexed, and told me that the Captain would be terribly disappointed.’
“‘What was this message?’ the coroner asked, amidst breathless silence.
“‘That Janet would please meet Captain Marston at the Dog’s Tooth Cliff. He would wait for her there until nine o’clock.’”
The Man in the Corner gave a short, sharp laugh, and with loving eyes contemplated his bit of string, in which he had just woven an elegant and complicated knot. Then he said:
“Now it was at the foot of the Dog’s Tooth Cliff that the dead body of Janet Smith was found, and some thirty yards further on the stick which had last been seen in the hand of Captain Franklin Marston. Nervous women gave a gasp and scarcely dared to look at the accused for fear no doubt that they would see the hangman’s rope around his neck, but I took a good look at him then. He had uttered a loud groan and buried his face in his hands, and I, with that unerring intuition of which I pride myself, knew that he was acting. Yes, deliberately acting a part—the part of shame and despair. You, no doubt, would ask me why he should have done this. Well, you shall understand presently. For the moment, and to all unthinking spectators, the attitude of despair on the part of the accused appeared fully justified.
Unravelled Knots Page 12
