“Terrified, she clung to the open door; she could do nothing but stare and stare, for the room, the furniture, the motionless figure by the desk had started whirling round and round before her eyes, so that she felt that at any moment she might fall down in a dead faint. It seemed ages before she heard Ann’s voice calling to her, asking what was the matter. Ann was lazy and never came downstairs before eight o’clock. She had apparently only just tumbled out of bed when she heard Mrs. Tufnell’s scream. Now she came running downstairs, with her bare feet thrust into her slippers and a dressing gown wrapped round her.
“‘What is it, auntie?’ she kept on asking as she ran, ‘What has happened?’
“And when she reached the office door, she only gave one look into the room and exclaimed, ‘Oh, my God! He’s killed him!’
“Somehow Ann’s exclamation of horror brought Mrs. Tufnell to her senses. With a great effort she pulled herself together, just in time, too, to grip Ann by the arm, or the girl would have measured her length on the tiled floor behind her. As it was, Mrs. Tufnell gave her a vigorous shake:
“‘What do you mean, Ann Weber?’ she demanded in a hoarse whisper. ‘What do you mean? Who has killed him?’
“But Ann couldn’t or wouldn’t utter another word. She was as white as a sheet and, staggering backwards, she had fallen up against the banisters at the foot of the stairs and was clinging to them, wide-eyed, with twitching mouth and shaking knees.
“‘Pull yourself together, Ann Weber,’ Mrs. Tufnell said peremptorily, ‘and run and fetch the police at once.’
“But Ann looked as if she couldn’t move. She kept reiterating in a dry, meaningless manner, ‘The police! The police!’ until Mrs. Tufnell, who by now had gathered her wits together, gave her a vigorous push and then went upstairs to put on her bonnet. A few minutes later she had gone for the police.”
III
“I don’t know,” the Man in the Corner went on glibly, “whether you remember all the circumstances which made that case such a puzzling one. Indeed, it well deserved the popular name that the evening papers bestowed on it—‘The Fulton Gardens Mystery’—for it was, indeed, a mystery, and to most people it has so remained to this day.”
“Not to you,” I put in, with a smile, just to humour him, as I could see he was waiting to be buttered-up before he would proceed with his narrative.
“No, not to me,” he admitted, with his fatuous smile. “If the members of the police force who had the case in hand had been psychologists, they would not have been puzzled, either. But they were satisfied with their own investigations and with all that was revealed at the inquest, and they looked no further, with the result that when the edifice of their deductions collapsed, they had nowhere to turn. Time had gone on, evidences had become blurred, witnesses were less sure of themselves and less reliable, and a certain blackguard, on whom I for one could lay my fingers at this moment, is going through the world scot-free.
“But let me begin by telling you the facts as they were revealed at the inquest. You can then form your own conclusions, and I daresay that these will be quite as erroneous as those arrived at by the public and the police.
“The drama began to unfold itself when Mr. Ernest Jessup, the younger son of the deceased gentleman, was called. He began by explaining that he was junior clerk in his father’s office, and that he, along with all the other employees, had remarked on the 16th that the guv’nor did not seem at all like himself. He was irritable with everybody, and just before luncheon he called Arthur Leighton into his office and apparently some very hot words passed between the two. Witness happened to be in the hall at the moment, getting his hat and coat, and the housemaid was standing by. They both heard very loud voices coming from the office. The guv’nor was storming away at the top of his voice.
“‘That’s poor Leighton getting it in the neck,’ witness remarked to Ann Weber.
“But the girl only giggled and shrugged her shoulders. Then she said: ‘Do you think so?’
“‘Yes,’ witness replied; ‘aren’t you sorry to see your devoted admirer in such hot water?’
“Again the girl giggled and then ran away upstairs. Mr. Leighton was not at the office the whole of that afternoon, but witness understood, either from his father or from his brother—he couldn’t remember which—that Leighton was to come in late that night to interview the guv’nor.
“Witness was next questioned as to the events that occurred at Mr. Jessup’s home in Fitzjohn’s Avenue, while the terrible tragedy was enacted in Fulton Gardens. It seems that Mr. Jessup had an old mother who lived in St. Albans, and that he went sometimes to see her after business hours and stayed the night. As a general rule when he intended going he would telephone home in the course of the afternoon. On the 16th he rang up at about five o’clock and said that he was staying late at the office—later than usual—and they were not to wait dinner for him.
“Mrs. Jessup took this message herself and had recognised her husband’s voice. Then, later on in the evening—it might have been half-past eight or nine—there was another telephone message from the office. Witness went to the telephone that time. A voice, which at first he did not think that he recognised, said: ‘Mr. Jessup has gone to St. Albans. He caught the 7.50 and won’t be home tonight.’
“In giving evidence witness at first insisted on the fact that he did not recognise the voice on the telephone. It was a man’s voice, and sounded like that of a person who was rather the worse for drink. He asked who was speaking and the reply came quite clearly that time: ‘Why, it’s Leighton, you ass! Don’t you know me?’ Witness then asked: ‘Where are you speaking from?’ and the reply was: ‘From the office, of course. I’ve had my wigging and am getting consoled by our Annie-bird.’ Annie-bird was the name the pretty housemaid went by among the young clerks at the office.
“Witness then hung up the receiver and gave his mother the message. Neither Mrs. Jessup nor anyone else in the house thought anything more about it, as there was nothing whatever unusual about the occurrence. Witness only made some remarks about Arthur Leighton having been drinking again, and there the matter unfortunately remained until the following morning, when witness and his brother arrived at the office and were met with the awful news.
“Both Mrs. Jessup and Mr. Aubrey, the eldest son, corroborated the statements made by the previous witness with regard to the telephone messages on the evening of the 16th. Mr. Aubrey Jessup also stated that he knew that his father was worried about some irregularities in Arthur Leighton’s accounts; and that he meant to have it out with the young clerk in the course of the evening. Witness had begged his father to let the matter rest until the next day, as Leighton, he thought, had got the afternoon off to see a sick sister, but the deceased had rejected the suggestion with obvious irritation.
“‘Stuff and nonsense!’ he said. ‘I don’t believe in that sick sister a bit. I’ll see that young blackguard tonight.’
“The next witness was Mrs. Tufnell, who was cook-housekeeper at Fulton Gardens. She was a middle-aged, capable-looking woman, with a pair of curiously dark eyes. I say ‘curiously’ because Mrs. Tufnell’s eyes had that velvety quality which is usually only met with in Southern countries. I have seldom seen them in England, except, perhaps, in Cornwall. Apart from her eyes, there was nothing either remarkable or beautiful about Mrs. Tufnell. She may have been good looking once, but that was a long time ago. When she stood up to give evidence, her face appeared rather bloodless, weatherbeaten, and distinctly hard. She spoke quite nicely and without any of that hideous Cockney accent one might have expected from a cook in a City office.
“She deposed that on the 16th, just before the luncheon hour, she was crossing the hall at 13, Fulton Gardens. The door into the office was ajar and she heard Mr. Jessup’s voice raised, evidently in great wrath. Mrs. Tufnell also heard Mr. Leighton’s voice, both gentlemen, as she picturesquely put it, going at one another hammer and tongs. Obviously, though she wouldn’t admit it, Mrs. Tufne
ll stopped to listen, but she does not seem to have understood much of what was said. However, a moment or two later, Mr. Jessup went to the door in order to shut it, and while he did so, Mrs. Tufnell heard him say quite distinctly:
“‘Well, if you must go now, you must, though I don’t believe a word about your sister being ill. But you may go; only, understand that I expect you back here this evening not later than nine. I shall have gone through the accounts by then, and…’
“At this point the door was shut and witness heard nothing more. But she reiterated the statements which she had already made to the police, and which I have just retold you, about Mr. Jessup staying late at the office and her taking him in some sandwiches, when he told her that he was expecting Mr. Leighton at about nine o’clock and did not wish to be disturbed by anybody else. Witness was asked to repeat what the deceased had actually said to her with reference to this matter, and she laid great stress on Mr. Jessup’s harsh and dictatorial manner, so different, she said, to his usual gentlemanly ways.
“‘“I don’t want to see anybody else—not any of you,” that’s what he said,’ Mrs. Tufnell replied, with an air of dignity, and then added: ‘As if Ann Weber or I had ever thought of disturbing him when he was at work!’
“Witness went on to relate that, after she had taken in the tray of tea and sandwiches, she went upstairs and found Ann Weber sitting in her room by herself. Mark, the girl explained, had gone off, very disappointed that they couldn’t all go together to the cinema. Mrs. Tufnell argued the point for a moment or two, as she didn’t see why Ann should have refused to go if she wanted to see the show. But the girl seemed to have turned sulky. Anyway, it was too late, she said, as Mark had gone off by himself: he had booked the places and didn’t want to waste them, so he was going to get another friend to go with him.
“Mrs. Tufnell then settled down to do some sewing and Ann turned over the pages of a stale magazine. Mrs. Tufnell thought that she appeared restless and agitated. Her cheeks were flushed and at the slightest sound she gave a startled jump. Presently she said that she had some silver to clean in the pantry, and went downstairs to do it. Some little time after that there was a ring at the front door bell, and Mrs. Tufnell heard Ann going through the hall to open the door. A quarter of an hour went by, and then another.
“Mrs. Tufnell began to wonder what Ann was up to. She put down her sewing and started to go downstairs. The first thing that struck her was that all the lights on the stairs and landing were out; the house appeared very silent and dark; only a glimmer came from one of the lights downstairs in the hall at the foot of the stairs.
“Mrs. Tufnell went down cautiously. Strangely enough, it did not occur to her to turn on the lights on her way. After she had passed the first-floor landing she heard the sound of muffled voices coming from the hall below. Thinking that she recognised Ann’s voice, she called to her: ‘Is that you, Ann?’ And Ann immediately replied: ‘Coming, aunt.’ ‘Who are you talking to?’ Mrs. Tufnell asked, and as Ann did not answer this time, she went on: ‘Is it Mr. Leighton?’ And Ann said: ‘Yes. He is just going.’
“Mrs. Tufnell stood there, waiting. She was half-way down the stairs between the first floor and the hall, and she couldn’t see Ann or Mr. Leighton, but a moment or two later she heard Ann’s voice saying quite distinctly: ‘Well, good night, Mr. Leighton, see you tomorrow as usual.’ After which the front door was opened, then banged to again, and presently Ann came tripping back across the hall.
“‘You go to bed now, Ann,’ Mrs. Tufnell said to her. ‘I’ll see Mr. Jessup off when he goes. He won’t be long, now, I daresay.’
“‘Oh, but,’ Ann said, ‘Mr. Jessup has been gone some time.’
“‘Gone some time?’ Mrs. Tufnell exclaimed. ‘He can’t have been gone some time. Why, he was expecting Mr. Leighton, and Mr. Leighton has only just gone.’
“Ann shrugged her shoulders: ‘I can only tell you what I know, Mrs. Tufnell,’ she said, acidly. ‘You can come down and see for yourself. The office is shut up and all the lights out.’
“‘But didn’t Mr. Leighton see Mr. Jessup?’
“‘No, he didn’t. Mr. Jessup told Mr. Leighton to wait and then he went away without seeing him.’
“‘That’s funny,’ Mrs. Tufnell remarked, drily. ‘What was Mr. Leighton doing in the house, then, all this time? I heard the front door bell half an hour ago and more.’
“‘That’s no business of yours, Aunt Sarah,’ the girl retorted pertly. ‘And it wasn’t half an hour, so there!’
“Mrs. Tufnell did not argue the point any further. Mechanically she went downstairs and ascertained in point of fact that the door of the office and the showroom on the ground floor were both locked as usual, and that the key of the office was outside in the lock. This was entirely in accordance with custom. Mrs. Tufnell, through force of habit, did just turn the key and open the door of the office. She just peeped in to see that the lights were really all out. Satisfied that everything was dark she then closed and relocked the door. Ann, in the meanwhile, stood half-way up the stairs, watching. Then the two women went upstairs together. They had only just got back in their room when the front door bell rang once more.
“‘Now, whoever can that be?’ Mrs. Tufnell exclaimed.
“‘Don’t trouble, aunt,’ Ann said with alacrity. ‘I’ll run down and see.’ Which she did. Again it was some time before she came back, and when she did get back to her room she seemed rather breathless and agitated.
“‘Someone for Mr. Jessup,’ she said in answer to Mrs. Tufnell’s rather acid remark that she had been gone a long time. ‘He kept me talking ever such a while. I don’t think he believed me when I said Mr. Jessup had gone.’
“‘Who was it?’ witness asked.
“‘I don’t know,’ the girl replied. ‘I never saw him before.’
“‘Didn’t you ask his name?’
“‘I did. But he said it didn’t matter—he would call again tomorrow.’
“After that the two women sat for a little while longer, Mrs. Tufnell sewing, and Ann still rather restlessly turning over the pages of a magazine. At ten o’clock they went to bed. And that was the end of the day as far as the household of Mr. Jessup was concerned.
“You may well imagine that all the amateur detectives who were present at the inquest had made up their minds by now that Arthur Leighton had murdered Mr. Seton Jessup, and robbed the till both before and after the crime. It was a simple deduction easily arrived at and presenting the usual features. A flirty minx, an enamoured young man, extravagance, greed, opportunity and supreme temptation. Amongst the public there were many who did not even think it worthwhile to hear further witnesses. To their minds the hangman’s rope was already round young Leighton’s neck. Of course I admit that at this point it seemed a very clear case. It was only after this that complications arose and soon the investigations bristled with difficulties.”
IV
“After a good deal of tedious and irrelevant evidence had been gone through, the inquest was adjourned and the public left the court on the tiptoe of expectation as to what the morrow would bring. Nor was anyone disappointed, for on the morrow the mystery deepened even though there was plenty of sensational evidence for newspaper reporters to feed on.
“The police, it seems, had brought forward a very valuable witness in the person of the point policeman, who was on duty from eight o’clock onwards on the evening of the 16th at the corner of Clerkenwell Road and Fulton Gardens. Number 13 is only a few yards up the street. The man had stated, it seems, that soon after half-past eight he had seen a man come along Fulton Gardens from the direction of Holborn, go up to the front door of Number 13 and ring the bell. He was admitted after a minute or two and he stayed in the house about half an hour. It was a dark night and there was a slight drizzle; the witness could not swear to the man’s identity. He was slight and of middle height and walked like a young man. When he arrived he wore a bowler hat and no overcoat, but when he came out
again he had an overcoat on and a soft grey hat and he carried the bowler in his hand. Witness noticed as he walked away up Fulton Gardens towards Finsbury this time he took off the soft hat, slipped it into the pocket of his overcoat and put on the bowler.
“About ten minutes later, not more, another visitor called at No. 13. He also was slight and tallish, and he wore an overcoat and a bowler hat. He turned into Fulton Gardens from Clerkenwell Road, but on the opposite corner to the one where witness was standing. He rang the bell and was admitted and stayed about twenty minutes. He walked away in the direction of Holborn. Witness would not undertake to identify either of these two visitors: he had not been close enough to them to see their faces, and there was a good deal of fog that night as well as the drizzle. There was nothing suspicious-looking about either of the men. They had walked quite openly up to the front door, rung the bell and been admitted. The only thing that had struck the constable as queer was the way the first visitor had changed hats when he walked away.
“Witness swore positively that no one else had gone in or out of No. 13 that night except those two visitors. How important this evidence was you will understand presently.
“After this young Tufnell was called. He was a shy-looking fellow, with a nervous manner altogether out of keeping with his dark expressive eyes—eyes which he had obviously inherited from his mother and which gave him a foreign as well as a romantic appearance. He was said to be musical and to be a talented amateur actor. Everyone agreed, it seems, that he had always been a very good son to his mother until his love for Ann Weber had absorbed all his thoughts and most of his screw. He explained that he was junior clerk to Mr. Jessup, and as far as he knew had always given satisfaction. On the 16th he had also noticed that the guv’nor was not quite himself. He appeared unusually curt and irritable with everybody. Witness had not been in the house all the evening. When his mother told him that neither she nor Ann could go to the cinema with him he went off by himself, and after the show he went straight back to his digs near the Alexandra Palace. He only heard of the tragedy when he arrived at the office as usual on the morning of the 17th.
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