by Fergus Hume
CHAPTER VIII
THE VERDICT OF THE JURY
As may be guessed, the murder of Aaron Norman caused a tremendoussensation. One day the name was unknown, the next and it was in themouths of the millions. The strange circumstances of the crime, themystery which shrouded it, the abominable cruelty of the serpent broochhaving been used to seal the man's lips while he was being slowlystrangled, deepened the interest immensely. Here, at last was a murderworthy of Wilkie Collins's or Gaboriau's handling; such a crime as oneexpected to read of in a novel, but never could hope to hear of in reallife. Fact had for once poached on the domains of fiction.
But notwithstanding all the inquiries which were made, and all thevigilance of the police, and all the newspaper articles, and all thetheories sent by people who knew nothing whatever of the matter, nothingtangible was discovered likely to lead to a discovery of the assassinsor assassin. It was conjectured that two people at least had beenconcerned in the committal of the crime, as, weak physically though hewas, the deceased would surely not have allowed himself to be bound byone person, however strong that person might be. In such a case therewould certainly have been a scuffle, and as the daughter of the murderedman heard his cry for help--which was what Sylvia did hear--she wouldcertainly have heard the noise of a rough-and-tumble struggle such asNorman would have made when fighting for his life. But that singlemuffled cry was all that had been heard, and then probably the broochhad been pinned on the mouth to seal it for ever. Later the man had beenslowly strangled, and in the sight of his horrified daughter.
Poor Sylvia received a severe shock after witnessing that awful sight,and was ill for some days. The faithful Deborah attended to her like aslave, and would allow no one, save the doctor, to enter the sick-room.Bart Tawsey, who had been summoned to Gwynne Street from his bed,remained in the empty shop and attended to any domestic duties whichMiss Junk required to be performed. She made him cook viands for Sylviaand for herself, and, as he had been trained by her before, to act as anemergency cook, he did credit to her tuition. Also Bart ran messages,saw that the house was well locked and bolted at night, and slept on ahastily-improvised bed under the counter. Even Deborah's strong nerveswere shaken by the horrors she had witnessed, and she insisted that Bartshould remain to protect her and Sylvia. Bart was not over-strong, buthe was wiry, and, moreover, had the courage of a cock sparrow, so whilehe was guarding the house Deborah had no fears, and could attendaltogether to her sick mistress.
One of the first people to call on Miss Norman was a dry, wizen monkeyof a man, who announced himself as Jabez Pash, the solicitor of thedeceased. He had, so he said, executed Aaron's legal business for years,and knew all his secrets. Yet, when questioned by the police, he couldthrow no light on the murder. But he knew of something strange connectedwith the matter, and this he related to the detective who was now incharge of the case.
This officer was a chatty, agreeable, pleasant-faced man, with browneyes, brown hair and brown skin. Also, to match his face, no doubt, hewore brown clothes, brown boots, a brown hat and a brown tie--in fact,in body, face and hands and dress he was all brown, and this prevalentcolor produced rather a strange effect. "He must ha' bin dyed," saidMiss Junk when she set eyes on him. "But brown is better nor black, MissSylvia, though black you'll have to wear for your poor par, as is goneto a better land, let us hope, though there's no knowing."
The brown man, who answered to the name of Hurd, or, as he geniallydescribed himself, "Billy" Hurd, saw Mr. Pash, the lawyer, after he hadexamined everyone he could lay hold of in the hopes of learningsomething likely to elucidate the mystery. "What do you know of thismatter, sir?" asked the brown man, pleasantly.
Pash screwed up his face in a manner worthy of his monkey looks. Hewould have been an absolute image of one with a few nuts in his cheek,and as he talked in a chattering sort of way, very fast and a trifleincoherent, the resemblance was complete. "I know nothing why myesteemed client should meet with such a death," he said, "but I maymention that on the evening of his death he called round to see me anddeposited in my charge four bags of jewels. At least he said they werejewels, for the bags are sealed, and of course I never opened them."
"Can I see those bags?" asked Hurd, amiably.
The legal monkey hopped into the next room and beckoned Hurd to follow.Shortly the two were looking into the interior of a safe wherein reposedfour bags of coarse white canvas sealed and tied with stout cords. "Theodd thing is," said Mr. Pash, chewing his words, and looking so absurdlylike a monkey that the detective felt inclined to call him "Jacko,""that on the morning of the murder, and before I heard anything aboutit, a stranger came with a note from my esteemed client asking that thebags should be handed over."
"What sort of a man?"
"Well," said Pash, fiddling with his sharp chin, "what you might call aseafaring man. A sailor, maybe, would be the best term. He was stout andred-faced, but with drink rather than with weather, I should think, andhe rolled on his bow-legs in a somewhat nautical way."
"What name did he give?" asked Hurd, writing this description rapidly inhis note-book.
"None. I asked him who he was, and he told me--with many oaths I regretto say--to mind my own business. He insisted on having the bags to takeback to Mr. Norman, but I doubted him--oh, yes," added the lawyer,shrewdly, "I doubted him. Mr. Norman always did his own business, andnever, in my experience of him, employed a deputy. I replied to theunknown nautical man--a sailor--as you might say; he certainly smelt ofrum, which, as we know, is a nautical drink--well, Mr. Hurd, I repliedthat I would take the bags round to Mr. Norman myself and at once. Thisoffice is in Chancery Lane, as you see, and not far from Gwynne Street,so I started with the bags."
"And with the nautical gentleman?"
"No. He said he would remain behind until I returned, so as to receivemy apology when I had seen my esteemed client and become convinced ofthe nautical gentleman's rectitude. When I reached Gwynne Street I foundthat Mr. Norman was dead, and at once took the bags back to replace themin this safe, where you now behold them."
"And this sailor?" asked Hurd, eyeing Mr. Pash keenly.
The lawyer sucked in his cheeks and put his feet on the rungs of hischair. "Oh, my clerk tells me he left within five minutes of mydeparture, saying he could not wait."
"Have you seen him since?"
"I have not seen him since. But I am glad that I saved the property ofmy client."
"Was Norman rich?"
"Very well off indeed, but he did not make his money out of hisbook-selling business. In fact," said Pash, putting the tips of hisfingers delicately together, "he was rather a good judge of jewels."
"And a pawnbroker," interrupted Hurd, dryly. "I have heard all aboutthat from Bart Tawsey, his shopman. Skip it and go on."
"I can only go on so far as to say that Miss Norman will probablyinherit a fortune of five thousand a year, beside the jewels containedin those bags. That is," said Mr. Pash, wisely, "if the jewels be notredeemed by those who pawned them."
"Is there a will?" asked Hurd, rising to take his leave.
Pash screwed up his eyes and inflated his cheeks, and wriggled so muchthat the detective expected an acrobatic performance, and wasdisappointed when it did not come off. "I really can't be sure onthat point," he said softly. "I have not yet examined the paperscontained in the safe of my deceased and esteemed client. He wouldnever allow me to make his will. Leases--yes--he has somehouse-property--mortgages--yes--investments--yes--he entrusted me withall his business save the important one of making a will. But a greatmany other people act in the same strange way, though you might notthink so, Mr. Hurd. They would never make a lease, or let a house, orbuy property, without consulting their legal adviser, yet in the case ofwills (most important documents) many prefer to draw them up themselves.Consequently, there is much litigation over wrongly-drawn documents ofthat nature."
"All the better for you lawyers. Well, I'm off to look for your nauticalgentleman."
"Do you think he is g
uilty?"
"I can't say," said Hurd, smiling, "and I never speak unless I am quitesure of the truth."
"It will be hard to come at, in this case," said the lawyer.
Billy the detective smiled pleasantly and shrugged his brown shoulders."So hard that it may never be discovered," he said. "You know manymysteries are never solved. I suspect this Gwynne Street crime will beone of them."
Hurd had learned a great deal about the opal brooch from Sylvia andDeborah, and what they told him resulted in his visiting the CharingCross Hospital to see Paul Beecot. The young man was much worried. Hisarm was getting better, and the doctors assured him he would be able toleave the hospital in a few days. But he had received a letter from hismother, whom he had informed of his accident. She bewailed his danger,and wrote with many tears--as Paul saw from the blotted state of theletter--that her domestic tyrant would not allow her to come to Londonto see her wounded darling. This in itself was annoying enough, but Paulwas still more irritated and excited by the report of Aaron's terribledeath, which he saw in a newspaper. So much had this moved him that hewas thrown into a high state of fever, and the doctor refused to allowhim to read the papers. Luckily, Paul, for his own sake, had somewhatcalmed down when Hurd arrived, so the detective was permitted to seehim. He sat by the bedside and told the patient who he was. Beecotlooked at him sharply, and then recognized him.
"You are the workman," he said astonished.
"Yes, Mr. Beecot, I am. I hear that you have not taken my warningregarding your friend, Mr. Grexon Hay."
"Ah! Then you knew his name all the time!"
"Of course I did. I merely spoke to you to set you on your guard againsthim. He'll do you no good."
"But he was at school with me," said Beecot, angrily.
"That doesn't make him any the better companion," replied Hurd; "seehere, Mr. Beecot, we can talk of this matter another time. At present,as I am allowed to converse with you only for a short time, I wish toask you about the opal serpent."
Paul sat up, although Hurd tried to keep him down. "What do you know ofthat?--why do you come to me?"
"I know very little and want to know more. As I told you, my name isBilly Hurd, and, as I did _not_ tell you, I am the detective whom theTreasury has placed in charge of this case."
"Norman's murder?"
"Yes! Have you read the papers?"
"A few, but not enough. The doctors took them from me and--"
"Gently, Mr. Beecot. Let us talk as little as possible. Where did youget that brooch?"
"Why do you want to know? You don't suspect me, I hope?"
Hurd laughed. "No. You have been in this ward all the time. But as thebrooch was used cruelly to seal the dead man's mouth, it seems to me,and to Inspector Prince, that the whole secret of the murder lies intracing it to its original possessor. Now tell me all about it," saidBilly, and spread out his note-book.
"I will if you'll tell me about Miss Norman. I'm engaged to marry herand I hear she is ill."
"Oh, she is much better," said Hurd, pausing pencil in hand, "don'tdistress yourself. That young lady is all right; and when you marry heryou'll marry an heiress, as I learn from the lawyer who does thebusiness of the deceased."
"I don't care about her being the heiress. Will you take a message toher from me?"
"Certainly. What is it?" Hurd spoke quite sympathetically, for eventhough he was a detective he was a human being with a kindly heart.
"Tell her how sorry I am, and that I'll come and see her as soon as Ican leave this confounded hospital. Thanks for your kindness, Mr. Hurd.Now, what do you wish to know? Oh, yes--about the opal serpent, which,as you say, and as I think, seems to be at the bottom of all thetrouble. Listen," and Paul detailed all he knew, taking the story up tothe time of his accident.
Hurd listened attentively. "Oh," said he, with a world of meaning, "soMr. Grexon Hay was with you? Hum! Do you suppose he pushed you into theroad on purpose?"
"No," said Paul, staring, "I'm sure he didn't. What had he to gain byacting in such a way?"
"Money, you may be sure," said Hurd. "That gentleman never does anythingwithout the hope of a substantial reward. Hush! We'll talk of this whenyou're better, Mr. Beecot. You say the brooch was lost."
"Yes. It must have slipped out of my pocket when I fell under the wheelsof that machine. I believe there were a number of loafers and raggedcreatures about, so it is just possible I may hear it has been pickedup. I've sent an advertisement to the papers."
Hurd shook his head. "You won't hear," he said. "How can you expect towhen you know the brooch was used to seal the dead man's lips?"
"I forgot that," said Paul, faintly. "My memory--"
"Is not so good as it was." Hurd rose. "I'll go, as I see you areexhausted. Good-bye."
"Wait! You'll keep me advised of how the case goes?"
"Certainly, if the doctors will allow me to. Good-bye," and Hurd wentaway very well satisfied with the information he had obtained.
The clue, as he thought it was, led him to Wargrove, where he obtaineduseful information from Mr. Beecot, who gave it with a very bad grace,and offered remarks about his son's being mixed up in the case, whichmade Hurd, who had taken a fancy to the young fellow, protest. FromWargrove, Hurd went to Stowley, in Buckinghamshire, and interviewed thepawnbroker whose assistant had wrongfully sold the brooch to Beecot manyyears before. There he learned a fact which sent him back to Mr. JabezPash in London.
"I says, sir," said Hurd, when again in the lawyer's private room, "thatnautical gentleman of yours pawned that opal serpent twenty years agomore or less."
"Never," said the monkey, screwing up his face and chewing.
"Yes, indeed. The pawnbroker is an old man, but he remembers thecustomer quite well, and his description, allowing for the time that haselapsed, answers to the man who tried to get the jewels from you."
Mr. Pash chewed meditatively, and then inflated his cheeks. "Pooh," hesaid, "twenty years is a long time. A man then, and a man now, would bequite different."
"Some people never change," said Hurd, quietly. "You have not changedmuch, I suspect."
"No," cackled the lawyer, rather amused. "I grew old young, and havenever altered my looks."
"Well, this nautical gentleman may be the same. He pawned the articleunder the name of David Green--a feigned one, I suspect."
"Then you think he is guilty?"
"I have to prove that the brooch came into his possession again before Ican do that," said Hurd, grimly. "And, as the brooch was lost in thestreet by Mr. Beecot, I don't see what I can do. However, it is strangethat a man connected with the pawning of the brooch so many years agoshould suddenly start up again when the brooch is used in connectionwith a terrible crime."
"It is strange. I congratulate you on having this case, Mr. Hurd. It isan interesting one to look into."
"And a mighty difficult one," said Hurd, rather depressed. "I reallydon't see my way. I have got together all the evidence I can, but I fearthe verdict at the inquest will be wilful murder against some person orpersons unknown."
Hurd, who was not blind to his own limitations like some detectives,proved to be a true prophet. The inquest was attended by a crowd ofpeople, who might as well have stayed away for all they learnedconcerning the identity of the assassin. It was proved by the evidenceof Sylvia and Deborah how the murder had taken place, but it wasimpossible to show who had strangled the man. It was presumed that theassassin or assassins had escaped when Deborah went upstairs to shoutmurder out of the first-floor window. By that time the policeman on theGwynne Street beat was not in sight, and it would have been easy forthose concerned in the crime--if more than one--to escape by the cellardoor, through the passage and up the street to mingle with the people inthe Strand, which, even at that late hour, would not be deserted. Orelse the assassin or assassins might have got into Drury Lane and haveproceeded towards Oxford Street. But in whatever direction they went,none of the numerous policemen around the neighborhood on that fatalnight h
ad "spotted" any suspicious persons. It was generally assumed,from the peculiar circumstances of the crime, that more than one personwas inculpated, and these had come out of the night, had committed thecruel deed, and then had vanished into the night, leaving no tracebehind. The appearance of the fellow whom Mr. Pash called the nauticalgentleman certainly was strange, and led many people to believe thatrobbery was the motive for the commission of the crime. "This man, whowas powerful and could easily have overpowered a little creature likeNorman, came to rob," said these wiseacres. "Finding that the jewelswere gone, and probably from a memorandum finding that they were in thepossession of the lawyer, he attempted the next morning to get them--"and so on. But against this was placed by other people the cruelcircumstances of the crime. No mere robbery would justify the broochbeing used to pin the dead man's lips together. Then, again, the manbeing strangled before his daughter's eyes was a refinement of crueltywhich removed the case from a mere desire on the part of the murdered toget money. Finally, one man, as the police thought, could not havecarried out the abominable details alone.
So after questions had been asked and evidence obtained, and detailsshifted, and theories raised, and pros and cons discussed, the jury wasobliged to bring in the verdict predicted by Mr. Hurd. "Wilful murderagainst some person or persons unknown," said the jury, and everyoneagreed that this was the only conclusion that could be arrived at.
Of course the papers took up the matter and asked what the police weredoing to permit so brutal a murder to take place in a crowdedneighborhood and in the metropolis of the world. "What was civilisationcoming to and--" etc., etc. All the same the public was satisfied thatthe police and jury had done their duty. So the inquest was held, theverdict was given, and then the remains of Aaron Norman were committedto the grave; and from the journals everyone knew that the daughter leftbehind was a great heiress. "A million of money," said the Press, andlied as usual.
