The First R. Austin Freeman Megapack: 27 Mystery Tales of Dr. Thorndyke & Others

by R. Austin Freeman

  “This lady” was a fashionably dressed young woman who had just bounced into the witness-box and was now being sworn. The preliminaries being finished, she answered Miss Bellingham’s question and Mr. Loram’s by stating that her name was Augustina Gwendoline Dobbs, and that she was housemaid to Mr. George Hurst, of “The Poplars,” Eltham.

  “Mr. Hurst lives alone, I believe?” said Mr. Loram.

  “I don’t know what you mean by that,” Miss Dobbs began; but the barrister explained:

  “I mean that I believe he is unmarried?”

  “Well, and what about it?” the witness demanded tartly.

  “I am asking you a question.”

  “I know that,” said the witness viciously; “and I say that you’ve no business to make any such insinuations to a respectable young lady when there’s a cook-housekeeper and a kitchenmaid living in the house, and him old enough to be my father——”

  Here his lordship flattened his eyelids with startling effect, and Mr. Loram interrupted: “I make no insinuations. I merely ask, Is your employer, Mr. Hurst, an unmarried man, or is he not?”

  “I never asked him,” said the witness sulkily.

  “Please answer my question—yes or no?”

  “How can I answer your question? He may be unmarried or he may not. How do I know? I’m not a private detective.”

  Mr. Loram directed a stupefied gaze at the witness, and in the ensuing silence a plaintive voice came from the bench:

  “Is the point material?”

  “Certainly, my lord,” replied Mr. Loram.

  “Then, as I see that you are calling Mr. Hurst, perhaps you had better put the question to him. He will probably know.”

  Mr. Loram bowed, and as the judge subsided into his normal state of coma he turned to the triumphant witness.

  “Do you remember anything remarkable occurring on the twenty-third of November the year before last?”

  “Yes. Mr. John Bellingham called at our house.”

  “How did you know he was Mr. John Bellingham?”

  “I didn’t; but he said he was, and I supposed he knew.”

  “At what time did he arrive?”

  “At twenty minutes past five in the evening.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I told him that Mr. Hurst had not come home yet, and he said he would wait for him in the study and write some letters; so I showed him into the study and shut the door.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Nothing. Then Mr. Hurst came home at his usual time—a quarter to six—and let himself in with his key. He went straight through into the study, where I supposed Mr. Bellingham still was, so I took no notice, but laid the table for two. At six o’clock Mr. Hurst came into the dining-room—he has tea in the City and dines at six—and when he saw the table laid for two he asked the reason. I said I thought Mr. Bellingham was staying to dinner.

  “‘Mr. Bellingham!’ says he. ‘I didn’t know he was here. Why didn’t you tell me?’ he says. ‘I thought he was with you, sir,’ I said. ‘I showed him into the study,’ I said. ‘Well, he wasn’t there when I came in,’ he said, ‘and he isn’t there now,’ he said. ‘Perhaps he has gone to wait in the drawing-room,’ he said. So we went and looked in the drawing-room, but he wasn’t there. Then Mr. Hurst said he thought Mr. Bellingham must have got tired of waiting and gone away; but I told him I was quite sure he hadn’t, because I had been watching all the time. Then he asked me if Mr. Bellingham was alone or whether his daughter was with him, and I said that it wasn’t that Mr. Bellingham at all, but Mr. John Bellingham, and then he was more surprised than ever. I said we had better search the house to make sure whether he was there or not, and Mr. Hurst said he would come with me; so we went all over the house and looked in all the rooms, but there was not a sign of Mr. Bellingham in any of them. Then Mr. Hurst got very nervous and upset, and when he had just snatched a little dinner he ran off to catch the six-thirty train up to town.”

  “You say that Mr. Bellingham could not have left the house because you were watching all the time. Where were you while you were watching?”

  “I was in the kitchen. I could see the front gate from the kitchen window.”

  “You say that you laid the table for two. Where did you lay it?”

  “In the dining-room, of course.”

  “Could you see the front gate from the dining-room?”

  “No, but I could see the study door. The study is opposite the dining-room.”

  “Do you have to come upstairs to get from the kitchen to the dining-room?”

  “Yes, of course you do!”

  “Then might not Mr. Bellingham have left the house while you were coming up the stairs?”

  “No, he couldn’t have done.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it would have been impossible.”

  “But why would it have been impossible?”

  “Because he couldn’t have done it.”

  “I suggest that Mr. Bellingham left the house quietly while you were on the stairs?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “How do you know he did not?”

  “I am quite sure he didn’t.”

  “What makes you feel sure he did not?”

  “I am quite certain he didn’t.”

  “But how can you be certain?”

  “Because I should have seen him if he had.”

  “But I mean when you were on the stairs.”

  “He was in the study when I was on the stairs.”

  “How do you know he was in the study?”

  “Because I showed him in there and he hadn’t come out.”

  Mr. Loram paused and took a deep breath, and his lordship flattened his eyelids.

  “Is there a side gate to the premises?” the barrister resumed wearily.

  “Yes. It opens into a narrow lane at the side of the house.”

  “And there is a French window in the study, is there not?”

  “Yes; it opens on to the small grass plot opposite the side gate.”

  “Were the window and the gate locked, or would it have been possible for Mr. Bellingham to let himself out into the lane?”

  “The window and the gate both have catches on the inside. He could have got out that way, but, of course, he didn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, no gentleman would go creeping out by the back way like a thief.”

  “Did you look to see if the French window was shut and fastened after you missed Mr. Bellingham?”

  “I looked at it when we shut the house up for the night. It was then shut and fastened on the inside.”

  “And the side gate?”

  “That was shut and latched. You have to slam the gate to make the latch fasten, so no one could have gone out of that gate without being heard.”

  Here the examination-in-chief ended, and Mr. Loram sat down with an audible sigh of relief. Miss Dobbs was about to step down from the witness-box when Mr. Heath rose to cross-examine.

  “Did you see Mr. Bellingham in a good light?” he asked.

  “Pretty good. It was dark outside, but the hall-lamp was alight.”

  “Kindly look at this”—here a small object was passed across to the witness. “It is a trinket that Mr. Bellingham is stated to have carried suspended from his watch-guard. Can you remember if he was wearing it in that manner when he came to the house?”

  “No, he was not.”

  “You are sure of that?”

  “Quite sure.”

  “Thank you. And now I want to ask you about the search that you have mentioned. You say that you went all over the house. Did you go into the study?”

  “No—at least, not until Mr. Hurst had gone to London.”

  “When you did go in, was the window fastened?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could it have been fastened from the outside?”

  “No; there is no handle outside.”

  “What furniture is there in
the study?”

  “There is a writing-table, a revolving-chair, two easy chairs, two large bookcases, and a wardrobe that Mr. Hurst keeps his overcoats and hats in.”

  “Does the wardrobe lock?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it locked when you went in?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know. I don’t go about trying the cupboards and drawers.”

  “What furniture is there in the drawing-room?”

  “A cabinet, six or seven chairs, a Chesterfield sofa, a piano, a silver-table, and one or two occasional tables.”

  “Is the piano a grand or an upright.”

  “It is an upright grand.”

  “In what position is it placed?”

  “It stands across a corner near the window.”

  “Is there sufficient room behind it for a man to conceal himself?”

  Miss Dobbs was amused and did not dissemble. “Oh, yes,” she sniggered, “there’s plenty of room for a man to hide behind it.”

  “When you searched the drawing-room, did you look behind the piano?”

  “No, I didn’t?” Miss Dobbs replied scornfully.

  “Did you look under the sofa?”

  “Certainly not!”

  “What did you do, then?”

  “We opened the door and looked into the room. We were not looking for a cat or a monkey; we were looking for a middle-aged gentleman.”

  “And am I to take it that your search over the rest of the house was conducted in a similar manner?”

  “Certainly. We looked into the rooms, but we did not search under the beds or in the cupboards.”

  “Are all the rooms in the house in use as living or sleeping rooms?”

  “No; there is one room on the second floor that is used as a store and lumber room, and one on the first floor that Mr. Hurst uses to store trunks and things that he is not using.”

  “Did you look in those rooms when you searched the house?”

  “No.”

  “Have you looked in them since?”

  “I have been in the lumber-room since, but not in the other. It is always kept locked.”

  At this point an ominous flattening became apparent in his lordship’s eyelids, but these symptoms passed off when Mr. Heath sat down and indicated that he had no further questions to ask.

  Miss Dobbs once more prepared to step down from the witness-box, when Mr. Loram shot up like a jack-in-the-box.

  “You have made certain statements,” said he, “concerning the scarab which Mr. Bellingham was accustomed to wear suspended from his watch-guard. You say that he was not wearing it when he came to Mr. Hurst’s house on the twenty-third of November, nineteen hundred and two. Are you quite sure of that?”

  “Quite sure.”

  “I must ask you to be very careful in your statement on this point. The question is a highly important one. Do you swear that the scarab was not hanging from his watch-guard?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Did you notice the watch-guard particularly?”

  “No, not particularly.”

  “Then what makes you so sure that the scarab was not attached to it?”

  “It couldn’t have been.”

  “Why could it not?”

  “Because if it had been there I should have seen it.”

  “What kind of a watch-guard was Mr. Bellingham wearing?”

  “Oh, an ordinary sort of watch-guard.”

  “I mean, was it a chain or a ribbon or a strap?”

  “A chain, I think—or perhaps a ribbon—or it might have been a strap.”

  His lordship flattened his eyelids, but made no further sign, and Mr. Loram continued:

  “Did you or did you not notice what kind of watch-guard Mr. Bellingham was wearing?”

  “I did not. Why should I? It was no business of mine.”

  “But yet you are sure about the scarab?”

  “Yes, quite sure.”

  “You noticed that, then?”

  “No, I didn’t. How could I when it wasn’t there?”

  Mr. Loram paused and looked helplessly at the witness; a suppressed titter arose from the body of the Court, and a faint voice from the bench inquired:

  “Are you quite incapable of giving a straightforward answer?”

  Miss Dobbs’ only reply was to burst into tears; whereupon Mr. Loram abruptly sat down and abandoned his re-examination.

  The witness-box vacated by Miss Dobbs was occupied successively by Dr. Norbury, Mr. Hurst, and the cloak-room attendant, none of whom contributed any new facts, but merely corroborated the statements made by Mr. Jellicoe and the housemaid. Then came the labourer who discovered the bones at Sidcup, and who repeated the evidence that he had given at the inquest, showing that the remains could not have been lying in the watercress-bed more than two years. Finally Dr. Summers was called, and, after he had given a brief description of the bones that he had examined, was asked by Mr. Loram:

  “You have heard the description that Mr. Jellicoe has given of the testator?”

  “I have.”

  “Does that description apply to the person whose remains you examined?”

  “In a general way, it does.”

  “I must ask you for a direct answer—yes or no. Does it apply?”

  “Yes. But I ought to say that my estimate of the height of the deceased is only approximate.”

  “Quite so. Judging from your examination of those remains and from Mr. Jellicoe’s description, might those remains be the remains of the testator, John Bellingham?”

  “Yes, they might.”

  On receiving this admission Mr. Loram sat down, and Mr. Heath immediately rose to cross-examine.

  “When you examined these remains, Doctor Summers, did you discover any personal peculiarities which would enable you to identify them as the remains of any one individual rather than any other individual of similar size, age, and proportions?”

  “No. I found nothing that would identify the remains as those of any particular individual.”

  As Mr. Heath asked no further questions, the witness received his dismissal, and Mr. Loram informed the Court that that was his case. The judge bowed somnolently, and then Mr. Heath rose to address the Court on behalf of the respondent. It was not a long speech, nor was it enriched by any displays of florid rhetoric; it concerned itself exclusively with a rebutment of the arguments of the counsel for the petitioner.

  Having briefly pointed out that the period of absence was too short to give rise of itself to the presumption of death, Mr. Heath continued:

  “The claim therefore rests upon evidence of a positive character. My learned friend asserts that the testator is presumably dead, and it is for him to prove what he has affirmed. Now, has he done this? I submit that he has not. He has argued with great force and ingenuity that the testator, being a bachelor, a solitary man without wife or child, dependent or master, public or private office or duty, or any bond, responsibility, or any other condition limiting his freedom of action, had no reason or inducement for absconding. This is my learned friend’s argument, and he has conducted it with so much skill and ingenuity that he has not only succeeded in proving his case; he has proved a great deal too much. For if it is true, as my learned friend so justly argues, that a man thus unfettered by obligations of any kind has no reason for disappearing, is it not even more true that he has no reason for not disappearing? My friend has urged that the testator was at liberty to go where he pleased, when he pleased, and how he pleased; and that therefore there was no need for him to abscond. I reply, if he was at liberty to go away, whither, when, and how he pleased, why do we express surprise that he has made use of his liberty? My learned friend points out that the testator notified to nobody his intention of going away and has acquainted no one with his whereabouts; but, I ask, whom should he have notified? He was responsible to nobody; there was no one dependent upon him; his presence or absence was the concern of nobody but himself. If circumstances suddenly arising made it desira
ble that he should go abroad, why should he not go? I say there was no reason whatever.

  “My learned friend has said that the testator went away leaving his affairs to take care of themselves. Now, gentlemen, I ask you if this can fairly be said of a man whose affairs are, as they have been for years, in the hands of a highly capable, completely trustworthy agent who is better acquainted with them than the testator himself? Clearly it cannot.

  “To conclude this part of the argument: I submit that the circumstances of the so-called disappearance of the testator present nothing out of the ordinary. The testator is a man of ample means, without any responsibilities to fetter his movements and has been in the constant habit of travelling, often into remote and distant regions. The mere fact that he has been absent somewhat longer than usual affords no ground whatever for the drastic proceeding of presuming his death and taking possession of his property.

  “With reference to the human remains which have been mentioned in connection with the case I need say but little. The attempt to connect them with the testator has failed completely. You yourselves have Heard Doctor Summers state on oath that they cannot be identified as the remains of any particular person. That would seem to dispose of them effectually. I must remark upon a very singular point that has been raised by the learned counsel for the petitioner, which is this:

  “My learned friend points out that these remains were discovered near Eltham and near Woodford and that the testator was last seen alive at one of these two places. This he considers for some reason to be a highly significant fact. But I cannot agree with him. If the testator had been last seen alive at Woodford and the remains had been found at Woodford, or if he had disappeared from Eltham and the remains had been found at Eltham, that would have had some significance. But he can only have been last seen at one of the places, whereas the remains have been found at both places. Here again my learned friend seems to have proved too much.”

  “But I need not occupy your time further. I repeat that, in order to justify us in presuming the death of the testator, clear and positive evidence would be necessary. That no such evidence has been brought forward. Accordingly, seeing that the testator may return at any time and is entitled to find his property intact, I shall ask you for a verdict that will secure to him this measure of ordinary justice.”