When they reached Riversbrook they entered the carriage drive and
traversed the plantation until they stood on the edge of the Italian
garden facing the house. The gaunt, irregular mansion stood empty and
deserted, for Miss Fewbanks had left the place after her father's
funeral, with the determination not to return to it. The wind whistled
drearily through the nooks and crannies of the unfinished brickwork of
the upper story, and a faint evening mist rose from the soddened garden
and floated in a thin cloud past the library window, as though the ghost
of the dead judge were revisiting the house in search of his murderer.
The garden had lost its summer beauty and was littered with dead leaves
from the trees. The gathering greyness of an autumn twilight added to the
dreariness of the scene.
"Kemp didn't say how far he stood from the house," said Crewe, "but we'll
assume he stood at the edge of the plantation--about where we are
standing now--to begin with. How far are we from that library window,
Chippenfield?"
"About fifty yards, I should say," said the inspector, measuring it
with his eye.
"I should say seventy," said Rolfe.
"And I say somewhere midway between the two," said Crewe, with a smile.
"But we will soon see. Just hold down the end of this measuring tape, one
of you." He produced a measuring tape as he spoke, and started to unwind
it, walking rapidly towards the house as he did so. "Sixty-two yards!" he
said, as he returned. He made a note of the distance in his pocket-book.
"So much for that," he said, "but that's not enough. I want you to stand
under the library window, Rolfe, by that chestnut-tree in front of it,
and act as pivot for the measuring tape while I look at that window from
various angles. My idea is to go in a semicircle right round the garden,
starting at the garage by the edge of the wood, so as to see the library
window and measure the distance at every possible point at which Kemp
could have stood."
"You're going to a lot of trouble for nothing, if your object is to try
and prove that he couldn't have seen into the window," grunted Inspector
Chippenfield, in a mystified voice. "Why, I can see plainly into the
window from here."
Crewe smiled, but did not reply. Followed by Rolfe, he went back to the
tree by the library window, where he posted Rolfe with the end of the
tape in his hand. Then he walked slowly back across the garden in the
direction of the garage, keeping his eye on the library window on the
first floor from which Kemp, according to his evidence, had seen Sir
Horace leaning out after Holymead had left the house. He returned to the
tree, noting the measurement in his book as he did so, and then repeated
the process, walking backwards with his eye fixed on the window, but this
time taking a line more to the left. Again and again he repeated the
process, until finally he had walked backwards from the tree in narrow
segments of a big semicircle, finishing up on the boundary of the Italian
garden on the other side of the grounds, and almost directly opposite to
the garage from which he had started.
"There's no use going further back than that," he said, turning to
Inspector Chippenfield, who had followed him round, smoking one of
Crewe's cigars, and very much mystified by the whole proceedings, though
he would not have admitted it on any account. "At this point we
practically lose sight of the window altogether, except for an oblique
glimpse. Certainly Kemp would not come as far back as this--he would have
no object in doing so."
"I quite agree with you," said Inspector Chippenfield. "He would stand
more in the front of the house. The tree in front of the house doesn't
obstruct the view of the window to any extent."
The tree to which Inspector Chippenfield referred was a solitary
chestnut-tree, which grew close to the house a little distance from the
main entrance, and reached to a height of about forty feet. Its branches
were entirely bare of leaves, for the autumn frosts and winds had swept
the foliage away.
Rolfe, who had been watching Crewe's manoeuvres curiously, walked up to
them with the tape in his hand. He glanced at the library window on the
first floor as he reached them.
"Kemp could have seen the library window if he had stood here," he said.
"I should say that if the blind were up it would be possible to see right
into the room."
"What do you say, Chippenfield?" asked Crewe, turning to that officer.
Inspector Chippenfield had taken his stand stolidly on the centre path of
the Italian garden, directly in front of the window of the library.
"I say Kemp is a liar," he replied, knocking the ash off his cigar. "A
d----d liar," he added emphatically. "I don't believe he was here at all
that night."
"But if he was here, do you think he saw Sir Horace leaning out of
the window?"
"I don't see what was to prevent him," was the reply. "But my point is
that he was a liar and that he wasn't here at all."
"And you, Rolfe--do you think Kemp could have seen Sir Horace leaning out
of the window if he had been here?"
"I should say so," remarked Rolfe, in a somewhat puzzled tone.
"I am sorry I cannot agree with either of you," said Crewe. "I think Kemp
was here, but I am sure he couldn't have seen Sir Horace from the window.
Kemp has been up here during the past few days in order to prepare his
evidence, and he's been led astray by a very simple mistake. If a man
were to lean outside the library window now there would not be much
difficulty in identifying him, but when the murder took place it would
have been impossible to see him from any part of the garden or grounds."
"Why?" demanded Inspector Chippenfield.
"Because it was the middle of summer when Sir Horace Fewbanks was
murdered. At that time that chestnut-tree would be in full leaf, and the
foliage would hide the window completely. Look at the number of branches
the tree has! They stretch all over the window and even round the corners
of that unfinished brickwork on the first floor by the side of the
library window. A man could no more see through that tree in summer time
than he could see through a stone wall."
"What did I tell you?" exclaimed Inspector Chippenfield in the voice of a
man whose case had been fully proved. "Didn't I say Kemp was a liar?
We'll call evidence in rebuttal to prove that he is a liar--that he
couldn't have seen the window. And after Holymead is convicted I'll see
if I cannot get a warrant out for Kemp for perjury."
"And yet Kemp did see Sir Horace that night," said Crewe quietly.
"How do you know? What makes you say that?" The inspector was
unpleasantly startled by Crewe's contention.
"He was able to describe accurately how Sir Horace was dressed--for one
thing," responded Crewe.
"He might have got that from Seldon's evidence," said Inspector
Chippenfield thoughtfully. "He may have had some one in court to tell him
what Seldon said."
"You do not think Lethbridge would be a party to such tactics?" said
Crewe. "No, no. One could tell from the way he examined Seldon and Kemp
on the point that it was in his brief."
"But the fact that Kemp knew how Sir Horace was dressed doesn't prove
that he saw Sir Horace after Holymead left the house," said Rolfe. "Kemp
may have seen Sir Horace before Holymead arrived."
"Quite true, Rolfe," said Crewe. "I haven't lost sight of that point. I
think you will agree with me that there is a bit of a mystery here which
wants clearing up."
They drove back to town, and, in accordance with the arrangement Crewe
had made with Mr. Walters before leaving the court, they waited on that
gentleman at his chambers in Lincoln's Inn. There Crewe told him of the
result of their investigations at Riversbrook. Mr. Walters was
professionally pleased at the prospect of destroying the evidence of
Kemp. He was not a hard-hearted man, and personally he would have
preferred to see Holymead acquitted, if that were possible, but as the
prosecuting Counsel he felt a professional satisfaction in being placed
in the position to expose perjured evidence.
"Excellent! excellent!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands with
gratification as he spoke. "Knowing what we know now, it will be a
comparatively easy task to expose the witness Kemp under
cross-examination, and show his evidence to be false." Mr. Walters looked
as though he relished the prospect.
It was arranged that Inspector Chippenfield should be called to give
evidence in rebuttal as to the impossibility of seeing the library
window through the tree, and that an arboriculturist should also be
called. Mr. Walters agreed to have the expert in attendance at the court
in the morning.
But Crewe had something more on his mind, and he waited until
Chippenfield and Rolfe had taken their departure in order to put his
views before the prosecuting counsel. Then he pointed out to him that to
prove that Kemp's evidence was false was merely to obtain a negative
result. What he wanted was a positive result. In other words, he wanted
Kemp's true story.
"You do not think, then, that Kemp is merely committing perjury in order
to get Holymead off?" asked Walters meditatively. "You think he is hiding
something?"
Crewe replied, with his faint, inscrutable smile, that he had no doubt
whatever that such was the case. He thought Kemp's true story might be
obtained if Walters directed his cross-examination to obtaining the truth
instead of merely to exposing falsehood. It was evident to him that Kemp
had come forward in order to save the prisoner. How far was he prepared
to go in carrying out that object? When he was made to realise that his
perjury, instead of helping Holymead, had helped to convince the jury of
the prisoner's guilt, would he tell the true story of how much he knew?
"My own opinion is that he will," continued Crewe. "I studied his face
very closely while he was in the box to-day, and I am convinced he would
go far--even to telling the truth--in order to save the only man who was
ever kind to him."
Walters was slow in coming round to Crewe's point of view. He had a high
opinion of Crewe, for in his association with the case he had realised
how skilfully Crewe had worked out the solution of the Riversbrook
mystery. But he took the view that now the case was before the court it
was entirely a matter for the legal profession to deal with. He pointed
out to Crewe the professional view that his own duty did not extend
beyond the exposure of Kemp's perjury. It was not his duty to give Kemp a
second chance--an opportunity to qualify his evidence. He believed the
defence had called Kemp in the belief that his evidence was true, but the
defence must take the consequences if they built up their case on
perjured evidence which they had not taken the trouble to sift.
Crewe entered into the professional view sympathetically, but he was not
to be turned from his purpose. He felt that too much was at stake, and he
lifted the discussion out of the atmosphere of professional procedure
into that of their common manhood.
"Walters, I know you are not a vain man," he said, earnestly. "A personal
triumph in this case means even less to you than it does to me. I have
built up what I regard as an overwhelming case against Holymead. But it
is based on circumstantial evidence, and I would willingly see the whole
thing toppled over if by that means we could get the final truth. This
man Kemp knows the truth, and you are in a position in which you can get
the truth from him. It may be the last chance anyone will have of getting
it. Apart from all questions of professional procedure, isn't there an
obligation upon you to get at the truth?"
"If you put it that way, I believe there is," replied Walters slowly and
meditatively. There was a pause, and then he spoke with a sudden impulse.
"Yes, Crewe; you can depend on me. I'll do my best."