THE MYSTERY OF "OLD MRS JARDINE"
My association with Professor Quarles undoubtedly had an effect upon
my method of going to work in the elucidation of mysteries, and not
always with a good result. His methods were his own, eminently
successful when he used them, but dangerous in the hands of others. In
attempting to theorize I am convinced I have sometimes lost sight of
facts.
I am not sure that this reflection applies to the case of old Mrs.
Jardine, but somehow my mind never seemed to get a firm grip of the
affair. I was conscious of being indefinite, and had an unpleasant
sensation that I had failed to see the obvious.
Old Mrs. Jardine lived at Wimbledon, in a house of some size standing
in a well-grown garden. She was an invalid, confined to the
house--indeed, to three or four rooms which opened into one another on
the first floor--and she must have been an absolute annuity to Dr.
Hawes, who visited her nearly every day. The household consisted of
old Mrs. Jardine, Mrs. Harrison, also an elderly lady, who was her
companion, Martha Wakeling, housekeeper and cook, who had been many
years in her service; and a housemaid named Sarah Paget.
Into this household, in which no one took any particular interest,
came tragedy, and the Wimbledon mystery developed into a sensation.
Early one morning Sarah Paget arrived at the doctor's, saying her
mistress had been taken suddenly ill, and would he come immediately.
She did not know what was the matter. The cook had sent her.
Three days before Dr. Hawes had gone away for a holiday, and his
practice was in the hands of a locum, a young doctor named Dolman. He
went at once. Mrs. Jardine was dead upon her bed. She had been found
in the morning by Martha Wakeling lying just as the doctor saw her.
She had been attacked in her sleep, Dolman thought, and her head had
been smashed with some heavy instrument; Mrs. Harrison, the companion,
had disappeared. Of course, the police were sent for at once, and the
case came into my hands that same day.
Dr. Dolman had seen his patient for the first time on the previous
afternoon. Dr. Hawes had told him that she was something of a crank,
could only walk a little, and suffered from indigestion and general
debility, which was hardly wonderful, since she would make no effort
to go out even for a drive. She seemed to enjoy being a confirmed
invalid under constant medical treatment, and would certainly resent
any neglect.
"She was sitting in an arm-chair when I saw her," Dolman told me, "and
was in good spirits; inclined to be facetious, in fact, and to enjoy
her little joke at my expense. She wanted to know what a young man
could possibly know about an old woman's ailments, and wondered that
Hawes was content to leave his patients in such inexperienced hands as
mine. I do not think she was as bad as she would have people believe."
Dolman had not spoken to Mrs. Harrison, but he had seen her. She was
sitting in the adjoining room doing some needlework. He had taken
little notice of her, and was doubtful if he would know her again.
Martha Wakeling said it was her custom to go into her mistress's room
on her way down in the morning, and she had found her dead on the bed.
She had heard no noise in the night. Mrs. Harrison occupied a room
opening out of Mrs. Jardine's, and it was empty that morning. The bed
had been slept in, but the companion had gone.
"Was she on good terms with Mrs. Jardine?" I asked.
"Yes, oh, yes."
"You say it rather doubtfully?"
"The mistress wasn't always easy to get on with, and I daresay she
tried Mrs. Harrison at times."
"And so Mrs. Harrison murdered her in a fit of anger," I suggested.
"I don't say that. She is not to be found; that's all I know for
certain."
"Where did Mrs. Harrison come from? Who was she?"
"I think she answered the mistress's advertisement."
"How long has she been here?" I asked.
"Just over a year. Mrs. Jardine didn't get on well with the last two
companions she had. They were younger women, and the place was too
dull for them. They wanted to go out more, and Mrs. Jardine wanted
someone who was content to live the kind of life she did. So she got
this elderly companion."
"Mrs. Harrison had friends, I suppose?"
"I never saw nor heard of any."
"But she received letters?"
"I can't call to mind that she ever did. I fancy she was one of the
lonely sort."
She was also uninteresting and commonplace in appearance, according to
Martha Wakeling's description. The word-picture I managed to draw up
for circulation had nothing distinctive about it. Nor did Martha know
much of her mistress's relations. Mrs. Jardine had not been on
friendly terms with them, and had not seen any of them in her time, as
far as she knew; the only one she had heard mentioned was a nephew, a
Mr. Thomas Jardine, who lived somewhere in London.
The upper floor of the house was unfurnished and locked up, and an
unfastened window on the ground floor, opening into the garden,
suggested the way Mrs. Harrison had left. I took immediate steps to
delay the publication of the news of the tragedy. There were points in
the case which might modify first suspicions considerably, and a few
hours of unhampered investigation might be of great value.
Even a perfunctory search among Mrs. Jardine's papers proved that if
she had not seen her nephew recently she had heard from him. I found
two letters asking for money, a whine in them, and at the same time an
underlying threat, as though the writer had it in his power to do
mischief. Apparently Mrs. Jardine had a past which might account for
her being a crank. A talk with her nephew should prove interesting.
I went to the address given in the letters--a flat in Hammersmith--but
it was not until next morning that I got an interview with Thomas
Jardine.
He was a big loose-limbed man, a gentleman come down in the world
through dissipation. I told him I had come on behalf of Mrs. Jardine,
and his first words showed that he was either an excellent actor or
that the news of his aunt's death had not yet reached him.
"If you are her business man and have brought me a check, you are
welcome," he said.
"I have not brought the check--at present."
"Come, there's a hopeful tone about you," he returned, "and I'm hard
up enough not to be particular or spiteful. Is the old girl willing to
come to terms?"
"I am in rather a difficult position," I answered, carefully feeling
my way. "I want to do the best I can for both sides, and, as you are
probably aware, Mrs. Jardine is not one to talk very fully, even to
her man of business."
"I warrant she has given you her version of the story."
"But not yours. I should like to hear yours."
"They won't agree; but the unvarnished truth is this. She was a Miss
Stuart, or called herself so, and my uncle met her on a sea trip. He
was in such a hurry to put his head in the noose that he married her
without knowing anything about her. He imagined he had caught an
angel; instead--well, to put it mildly, he had found an adventuress.
She had taken good care to discover she had got hold of a rich man,
and soon began her tricks. She alienated my uncle from his family, not
particular about the truth so long as she got her way. My father was
the kind of man who never succeeds at anything, and my uncle was
constantly helping him. This came to an end when Mrs. Jardine got hold
of the reins. She didn't spend money; she got it out of her husband
and hoarded it, no doubt conscious that her opportunity of doing so
might suddenly come to an end. It did. My father made it his business
to hunt up her past history. It wasn't edifying. A lot she denied, but
plenty remained which there was no denying. She had been a decoy for
Continental thieves, she had seen the inside of a prison, and it
would have been unsafe for her to travel in certain countries. She and
my uncle separated. You can imagine Mrs. Jardine's feelings toward my
father, but my uncle also seemed to hate him for having opened his
eyes. I believe he gave him a sum of money and told him he would have
nothing more to do with him. My uncle was a religious man, had strong
views of right and wrong--some stupid views, too. When he died, to
everybody's astonishment he had left his money to Mrs. Jardine for her
life. At her death it was to come to my father for his life, and
afterward to his son, without any restrictions whatever."
"To you?" I said.
"To me. My father has been dead some years, so as long as that old
woman lives I am being kept out of my own. That is my side of the
story."
I nodded, showing extreme interest--which, indeed, I felt. But for the
fact that the companion was missing, this man's position would be a
very unpleasant one. No one could have more interest in his aunt's
death than he had.
"I daresay the old woman has told you that her husband's accusations
were all false, and that by leaving such a will he repented before he
died," Jardine went on, "but I have told you the facts."
"And yet you have written to her for money," I said quietly.
"So she has shown you the letters, has she?"
"I have seen them. Why write to her when you could so easily raise
money on your expectations?"
"Raise money! Good heavens, I've raised every penny to be got from Jew
or Gentile. There are the letters which came this morning. I haven't
opened them yet, the outside is quite enough; money-lenders'
complaints, half of them, and the other half bills demanding immediate
payment. If you've ever had dealings with the fraternity, you can tell
what is inside by the look of the envelope."
I turned the letters over; he was probably right as to their contents.
There was one, however, in a woman's handwriting which interested me.
I almost passed it to him, and then thought better of it.
"It struck me that there was a threatening tone in your letters," I
said.
"Perhaps. I was not averse from frightening her a little if I could."
"Not very generous," I said.
"I don't feel generous. She'd have to come down very handsomely to
make me drink her health."
"If your story is the correct one, there may be a reason for your aunt
leading so secluded a life," I went on. "In marrying your uncle she
may have tricked her confederates."
"It is more than possible," Jardine answered.
"Do you know any of them who would be likely to do her an injury?" I
asked.
"You're thinking I would give the old woman away to them?" he laughed.
"No; I have worked on the shady side at times, but I am not so bad as
that."
"I wasn't thinking so."
"Then I don't understand your question. Is it likely I should have
acquaintances in a gang of Continental thieves?"
"The night before last Mrs. Jardine was murdered," I said quietly.
The man sprang from his chair.
"Murdered! Then--by heaven! you're--you're thinking that----"
"And her companion, a Mrs. Harrison, is not to be found," I added.
"Mrs. Jardine--dead! Then I come into my own. The night before
last--where was I? Drunk. I didn't get home."
"I know that. I called here yesterday."
"Are you thinking that I had a hand in it?"
"I am looking for her companion," I answered.
Had there been no missing companion I should have been very doubtful
about Thomas Jardine; as it was, the two became connected in my mind.
I left the Hammersmith flat, stopping outside to give instructions to
the man I had brought with me to keep a watch upon Jardine's
movements.
Then I went to Wimbledon to see Martha Wakeling again, but I did not
tell her I had seen Jardine.
"Do you think you could find me any of Mrs. Harrison's handwriting?" I
asked.
"I believe I can," she said, after a moment's thought. "She wrote a
store's order the other day which was not sent. I believe it's in this
drawer. Yes, here it is."
I glanced at it and put it in my pocket.
"I wonder whether this nephew has anything to do with the affair?" I
said contemplatively.
"No," she said with decision.
"Why are you so certain? You said you didn't know him."
"I don't."
"I have discovered one thing," I said carelessly. "By Mrs. Jardine's
death he comes into a lot of money."
"I've heard my mistress say something of the kind."
"You see, there would be a motive for the murder."
"The thing is to find Mrs. Harrison," she said. "A woman doesn't go
away in the middle of the night unless she has a good reason for doing
so."
Details of the crime, so far as they were known, were now published,
and the description of Mrs. Harrison was circulated in the press.
When the inquest was adjourned, no doubt most people were surprised.
Although I did not suppose the companion innocent, I was not satisfied
that she alone was responsible for the crime. I had wondered whether
the letter which I had seen in Jardine's flat had come from her, but
the store's order which Martha Wakeling had given me proved that I was
wrong. Possibly Mrs. Harrison was a member of the gang which Mrs.
Jardine had forsaken, and the murder was one of revenge; yet Thomas
Jardine profited so greatly that I could not dismiss him from my
calculations. Besides, the old lady's will was suggestive. Over her
husband's money she had no control, but she had saved a considerable
amount, and, as though to make restitution to her husband's family,
but with a curious reservation--only if she died a natural death.
Should she die by violence or accident, this money went to her
"faithful servant and friend, Martha Wakeling." It was evident she had
feared violence--apparently from her nephew--and it was significant
that her papers proved that, although Jardine knew he was her heir, he
was not aware of the condition.
Before the day fixed for the hearing of the adjourned inquest I went
to see Christopher Quarles.
I had nearly finished the story before he showed any interest, and
then we went to the empty room, with Zena with us, where I had to tell
the tale all over again. He had to have his own way, or there was
nothing to be got out of him at all.
"Was there no information to be had from Sarah Paget?" he asked, when
I had finished.
"None whatever."
"Did Mrs. Jardine keep much money in the house?"
"Martha Wakeling says not."
"Then the companion was likely to get little by murdering her
mistress," said Quarles.
"Either she did it in a fit of uncontrollable passion," I said, "or
the motive was revenge."
"Possible solutions," returned the professor, "but robbed of their
weight when we consider the motives which Thomas Jardine and Martha
Wakeling had."
"I think----"
"One moment, Wigan; I am not theorizing, I am using facts. By
murdering his aunt, Jardine lost her money----"
"He inherited three or four thousand a year," I interrupted.
"Which was mortgaged up to the hilt or over it; he told you so
himself. Mrs. Jardine's money would have been very useful to him, and
by killing her he would lose all chance of it."
"He did not know the condition," I said.
"So far as we know," Quarles answered. "I don't think we must consider
that point as proved. Now take Martha Wakeling's position. By the
violent death of her mistress she will come into this money. Was there
any provision for her in the will if Mrs. Jardine died a natural
death?"
"She got a legacy of a hundred pounds."
"You appreciate the enormous difference," said Quarles with that
exasperating smile he had when he thinks he has driven his opponent
into a corner.
"At any rate, we have no reason to suppose that Jardine did know the
condition," I returned. "I do not believe he committed the murder, but
I am inclined to think he and Mrs. Harrison are accomplices."
"A theory--my method, Wigan. Very good, but by the handwriting on that
envelope you have tried to establish a connection between Jardine and
Mrs. Harrison, and have failed."
"At present," I said irritably.
"It is a pity that some of the old superstitions do not hold good,"
said Quarles, "or at least are without significance in these practical
days. You might have confronted Jardine with his victim, and the
wounds might have given evidence by bleeding afresh. I suppose you
haven't done this?"
"No, Jardine has not seen his aunt," I answered, still irritably.
The professor looked at Zena.
"It is curious the tragedy should happen while Dr. Hawes was away,"
Zena said. "What kind of man is his locum, Mr. Wigan?"
"Quite above suspicion," I answered.
"Ah, your question sets me theorizing, Zena," said Quarles, "and we
have got to watch Martha Wakeling, Wigan. Yes, I am going to help you,
and we'll start to-morrow morning."
We returned to the dining-room, and after a pleasant hour, during
which we appeared to forget that such a place as Wimbledon existed, I
left, far more of a lover than a detective.
Next morning Quarles called for me.
"We'll go to the stores first," he said. "I have a fancy to look at
the items in the list sent. There might be some drug which would make
Mrs. Jardine sleep more soundly."
"The list was not sent. I have it here."
"I mean the one sent in place of that," said the professor. "Of course
one was sent. People who are not in the habit of having much money in
the house would see that the store cupboard was replenished."
He was right. A list was shown to us, and I had some difficulty in not
showing signs of excitement. The writing was the same as that on the
envelope in Jardine's flat. It was peculiar writing, and I could swear
to it.
"I think we shall find that Martha Wakeling wrote that," said Quarles.
"If so, we establish a link between her and Jardine which neither of
them has mentioned."
"But since she would profit by the crime, why should she communicate
with him?"
"We are going to find out," he answered. "I presume you have not been
keeping any particular watch upon Martha Wakeling?"
"No."
"Has she mentioned what she intends to do when this affair is over?"
"I think she said she would go back to her old village somewhere in
Essex."
"Quite a rich woman, eh?" laughed Quarles. "But I doubt the statement
about her old village. She is more likely to go where she is not
known."
"You will change your opinion when you have talked to her."
"I hope to know all about her before I talk to her," Quarles
returned. "We are going to Wimbledon, but not to an interview yet."
Arriving there, I went to the house to make sure that Martha Wakeling
was there, and then, taking care not to be seen, joined the professor
in the garden, where we hid in a shrubbery to watch anyone who came
from or went to the house. It was a long wait--indeed, Quarles was
rather doubtful whether anything would happen that day--but in the
afternoon Martha Wakeling came out and passed into the road.
"We have got to follow her and not be seen," said Quarles.
There was some difficulty in doing so, for she was evidently careful
not to be followed. She went to the station, and by District Railway
to Victoria, and to a house in the Buckingham Palace Road.
"We must find out whom it is she comes to visit here, Wigan," said
Quarles. "We will wait a few minutes, and then you must insure that we
are shown up without being announced. I do not fancy we shall meet
with any resistance."
The woman who opened the door to us showed no desire for secrecy. The
lady who had just come in did not live there, she explained. If I
wanted to see her, would I send in my name? It was not until I told
her that I was a detective that she led the way to the first floor,
and we entered the room unannounced.
In an armchair sat an elderly woman, and from a chair at her side
Martha Wakeling rose quickly. Quarles had entered the room first, and
she did not notice me in the doorway.
"What is the meaning of this intrusion?" she asked.
"It is a surprise to find you in London," I said, coming forward.
"You! Yes, my sister is----"
Quarles had crossed toward the woman in the arm-chair.
"I am glad to see the journey has not hurt you, Mrs. Jardine," he said
quietly.
* * * * *
It was a bow drawn at a venture, but Martha Wakeling's little cry of
consternation was enough to prove that Quarles was right.
* * * * *
The arrest of Mrs. Jardine for the murder of her companion created a
sensation, and I am doubtful whether the plea of insanity which saved
her from the gallows and sent her to a criminal lunatic asylum was
altogether justified.
The method in her madness was so extraordinary that the result of the
trial would have been different, I fancy, had not Martha Wakeling's
courage and care of her mistress aroused everybody's sympathy.
Martha Wakeling knew little of her mistress's past, but she had always
known that she was not such an invalid as she pretended to be. If she
chose to live that kind of life, it was nobody's business but her own,
and the servant never suspected that she was afraid of being seen by
some of her former associates.
Martha's story made it clear that Mrs. Jardine had nursed a great
hatred for her husband's family, especially for her nephew, the son of
the man who had made the accusations against her. Her will, her every
action in the tragedy, pointed to premeditation. She chose the time
when Dr. Hawes was away, and, saying it would be an excellent joke to
mislead a young doctor, she arranged that Mrs. Harrison should take
her place when Dolman came. The companion could not refuse, very
possibly enjoyed the joke.
Martha Wakeling knew of this arrangement, thought it silly, but never
suspected any sinister intention.
In the middle of the night her mistress woke her up, and told her that
she had killed Mrs. Harrison. Mrs. Jardine was excited, and explained
that everyone would suppose that she herself had been murdered, and
that her will and papers, and her nephew's impecunious position, would
certainly bring the crime home to him. This was her revenge. She was
mad; Martha was convinced of that. Mrs. Jardine never seemed in doubt
that her servant, who was the only person who knew the truth, would
help her. Mrs. Jardine intended to go away that night, and when the
affair was over Martha would join her, and they could go and live
quietly somewhere. She did not want her husband's money--she had
enough of her own, and, since by her will it would come to Martha,
there was no difficulty. Martha refused to be a party to such a crime,
and succeeded in showing her mistress that she was in danger. Even if
the body was taken for Mrs. Jardine, it was Mrs. Harrison who would be
suspected, not Thomas Jardine. Poor Mrs. Harrison was dead, nothing
could alter that, and Martha schemed to protect her mistress. She so
far entered into her plan as to let it be supposed that the dead woman
was Mrs. Jardine. Since the companion would not be found, the hue and
cry would be after her. All that day her mistress was concealed in the
house, as much afraid now as she had been exultant before, and in the
evening Martha got her a lodging in Buckingham Palace Road.
Afterward she intended to take her away to some place where they were
not known and look after her. Three times she had been to see her,
fearful that her mistress might betray herself. And she had written
to Thomas Jardine to warn him that his aunt had made no secret of her
hatred, and that it might be said he had killed her. That
communication Thomas Jardine had thought wise to keep to himself--for
the present, at any rate--fully alive to the fact that, since he was
drunk and quite unable to prove an alibi on the fatal night, and that
it was not proved that the companion had committed a motiveless crime,
he was in danger of arrest.
* * * * *
Zena had said it was curious the tragedy should happen while Dr. Hawes
was away, and the professor declared it was this remark which had led
him to believe that the dead woman was Mrs. Harrison and not Mrs.
Jardine. On this supposition the attitude of Martha Wakeling was
understandable. She might naturally wish to protect her mistress, and
she was the only person who could help her in the deception.
The fact that I had given her a reason to suppose that I suspected the
nephew would show her the necessity of warning him, and at the same
time she would attempt to throw all the suspicion on Mrs. Harrison,
who was past suffering.
This was Quarles's theory, and he had found the fact to support it in
the handwriting of the store's order.