THE MYSTERY OF CROSS ROADS FARM
We said nothing to the professor about the understanding we had come
to. In his presence--and I had little opportunity of seeing Zena at
any other time--we behaved toward each other as we had always done,
and I did not think he had any idea of our secret. Personally, I felt
the effects of my horrible experience in the Tudor room for some time,
which I think accounts for my not doing myself justice in the next
case I was called upon to undertake.
Let me recount the facts of this complex affair, which I take from the
evidence given at the trial of Richard Coleman.
Cross Roads Farm, lying about a mile outside the village of Hanley, in
Sussex, was owned by two brothers, Peter and Simon Judd.
They were twins, middle-aged, devoted to each other, and somewhat
eccentric. Peter was well known to everybody. He went to market, paid
the bills, and interviewed people when necessary. Simon seldom left
the farm, and was little known in the neighborhood. They lived simply,
had no servants in the house, and the villagers declared they must
have been saving money for years. Mrs. Gilson, a widow in the village,
went up to the farm daily, but was never there after eight o'clock.
At night the Judds were alone in the house. They never had visitors,
they retired early, and their only known recreation was a game of
chess before going to bed. No one, except Mrs. Gilson, and, on
occasion, her son Jim, who was an "innocent," had been known to take a
meal in their house. For Jim Gilson both brothers showed a pitying
affection, and he came and went much as he liked, earning a few
shillings by doing any odd job of which he was capable.
One evening in November Mrs. Gilson was returning from the farm
considerably earlier than usual, when she met a man, a stranger, an
unusual occurrence in a neighborhood where she knew everybody.
Next morning, on going to the farm, the blinds in the upper windows
were not drawn as usual, a thing she had never known to happen before.
The back door was generally standing open when she arrived; to-day it
was shut, but was on the latch, and she entered, to come face to face
with a tragedy.
In front of the fireplace in the sitting-room Peter Judd, clothed only
in his pajamas, was lying face downward--dead! A small table on which
the chessboard had stood was overturned, and the chessmen were
scattered about the floor. There was no sign of his brother, but,
wherever he was, it appeared that he too must be in his pajamas, for
his bed had been slept in and his clothes were on a chair.
The doctor said that during the night Peter Judd had been strangled,
marks of fingers being visible on his throat. Probably he had been
seized from behind, and the shock of the attack had possibly
accelerated his death, for he had apparently made little struggle to
defend himself.
Police investigation, however, soon proved that a struggle had taken
place in the house. On an upper landing the furniture was in
disorder, and a piece of torn material, which Mrs. Gilson identified
as belonging to pajamas which Simon Judd wore, was found. Another torn
shred was found in the kitchen, where the table had been pushed out of
its place. In the yard outside was a well-house. The door of this,
which was always locked, had been forced, and caught by a splinter of
wood was a third shred of the pajamas. On the floor of the shed was an
old slipper, also belonging to Simon Judd, Mrs. Gilson said.
The well was dragged, with no result, which hardly astonished the
neighborhood, for it was of immense depth, and tapped an underground
pit of water, according to common report.
Then came Mrs. Gilson's story of the man she had met on the previous
evening, and her description was so definite that within a few days a
ne'er-do-well, Richard Coleman, was traced, and subsequently arrested.
It was proved by more than one witness that he had been in Hanley that
day, apparently on the tramp, and with no money, yet two days after
the murder he was spending money freely in Guildford.
At first Coleman denied all knowledge of Cross Roads Farm, but
afterward admitted that he had been there. The Judds were his uncles.
He had not seen them for years, and had gone to ask for help. He
wasn't in the house an hour, he declared, and said that his uncles had
given him twenty pounds, for their dead sister's sake. They had also
given him a lecture on idleness, and sent him about his business.
There had been no quarrel, and he knew nothing about the tragedy.
That he was the Judds' nephew was true, but for the rest of his story,
no one believed it. The fact that he had denied all knowledge of Cross
Roads Farm was strong evidence against him. He was brought to trial,
and found guilty. His record was a bad one, yet the counsel's
eloquence so impressed the jury that he was recommended to mercy, with
the result that the death penalty was commuted to penal servitude for
life.
Of this tragedy I knew nothing when Cross Roads Farm became the scene
of a second mystery.
For five years--that is, since the death of the Judds--the house had
been shut up. Neither of the brothers had made a will apparently; they
had no solicitor, no banker. Either their wealth had been stolen by
Coleman, and safely concealed by him before his arrest, or it existed
only in the village imagination, or it remained hidden on the
premises. The last, being the most romantic idea, found the greatest
favor; but the possibility of treasure trove had not induced anyone to
take the farm. The gardens grew into a tangle, through which the upper
part of the house began to show signs of ruin. It was an uncanny spot,
which people passed with apprehension at night, and looked askance at
even in the daytime.
The only person who appeared to have no dread of the place was Jim
Gilson. During the last five years he had grown rather more incapable.
Physically he was a powerful man, mentally he was a baby; and whenever
he could elude his mother's watchfulness he ran off eagerly to the
farm and sat just inside the gate. Passers-by often saw him there, but
whether he ever penetrated further over the uncanny ground was not
known.
Sudden and unusual excitement on Jim's part led to the discovery of
the second tragedy. There was another dead man at Cross Roads Farm,
Jim declared, first to his mother and then to everyone he met. The
constable, with others, went there, and it was found that Gilson had
spoken the truth.
A tramp, dirty and unshaven, clothed in rags, lay face downward on the
sitting-room floor. The doctor who had been called to Peter Judd came
again. The tramp was lying in exactly the same position as Peter Judd
had lain, the limbs stretched almost identically as his had been, and
on his throat were similar finger-marks. The only difference the
doctor could suggest was that the tramp seemed to have been seized
from the front, whereas, he believed, Judd had been attacked from
behind. It was a suggestion more than a conviction.
It was natural, perhaps, that in Hanley people began to attribute both
deaths to supernatural agency. Certainly there were curious points in
the case, but it seemed to me that I had had harder problems to solve.
First, I made myself acquainted with the evidence which had been given
at Richard Coleman's trial. I know that to read evidence is not the
same thing as hearing it, but one or two points struck me forcibly.
Why had Coleman been recommended to mercy? True, his counsel's address
had been an eloquent one, but if the prisoner were guilty surely there
could be no extenuating circumstances in such a dastardly crime. The
evidence was strongly against Coleman, yet in spite of this the jury
had recommended him to mercy. Was there a doubt in their minds? Do we
not all know that subtle doubt which comes even hand in hand with what
we believe is conviction? There have been times with us all when we
have given judgment and immediately began to doubt that judgment.
Unless something of this sort had happened to this jury, I could not
understand the recommendation to mercy.
Again, I was not satisfied with the assumption that Simon Judd's dead
body had been thrown into the well. The well was certainly of immense
depth, and possibly tapped an underground cave full of water, which
might account for the futility of dragging operations; but the shred
of pajamas and the slipper found in the shed were not of themselves
sufficient evidence that the body had been got rid of in this way.
Even with the other signs of struggle in the house the evidence was
not conclusive. Simon Judd might be alive, in which case he might be
the murderer.
Such an hypothesis was, however, unlikely. The brothers were devoted
to each other, as twins often are; the overturned chessboard proved
that normal relations had existed between them that evening, that they
had played their usual game before retiring. If Simon Judd was dead,
and his body was not in the well, where was it? Hidden securely, at
any rate, and therefore, presumably, by someone who knew the farm
well, which Richard Coleman did not.
Again, why had the murderer troubled to hide only one body?
Another point which struck me as curious was the wonderful accuracy of
Mrs. Gilson's description of Richard Coleman. It was nearly dark when
she met him; in passing she could have little opportunity to examine
him closely, yet her description was sufficient to lead to his arrest.
These considerations set me speculating and, with more excitement than
was usual with me, I set to work to see how far my speculations were
supported by facts. To begin with, I had an interview with Richard
Coleman in prison. I did not tell him of the new tragedy at the farm;
I merely said that some new facts had come to light, and that if he
answered my questions it might be to his ultimate benefit.
"A man unjustly imprisoned does not easily believe that," he returned.
However, he told me his version of the story, exactly as he had told
it at his trial.
"Do you remember meeting Mrs. Gilson?" I asked.
"Not particularly."
"You didn't stop and ask her the way?"
"No. I met two or three people on the way to the farm. They didn't
interest me, and I had no reason to suppose that I interested them."
"Why did you deny knowing anything about Cross Roads Farm?"
"Well, one way and another there was a good deal against me at the
time. It was natural to deny a leading statement like that made by the
police, and I knew nothing about the murder then. You see, although I
was innocent of murder, I wasn't an innocent man. I was in a hole, and
attempted to lie myself out of it."
"Very foolish! It was a weighty argument against you. Did you see
anyone else at the farm beside your uncles?"
"It was true what I said at the trial, that one of the workmen had
just finished talking to my uncles at the door as I came in. The man
gave evidence, said he had parted with the Judds much as I described,
but that he had not seen me. I thought he said that to try and help me
a bit, because I'm certain he saw me."
"Do you think it was the same man?"
"I didn't doubt that it was, but I couldn't have sworn to him; I was
too much engaged in taking stock of the two men I had come to ask for
help."
"Did you ask for work?"
"No, money."
"Did you demand any special sum?"
"No; and I didn't demand it, I asked. I was playing the penitent game,
the prodigal anxious to reform. Had I demanded I should have got
nothing. I had sized up my men all right. I got twenty pounds, which
was far more than I expected. I hadn't had such a sum to my name for
years."
"Was the money given willingly?"
"Not exactly willingly. My Uncle Peter did most of the
talking--lecturing it was--but he seemed more impressed with my tale
than Uncle Simon did. Simon Judd had a good many reasons why I should
not have the money, but it was evident that Peter usually had the last
word and his own way. I should say he took the lead in most things."
"Did he actually give you the money?"
"Yes, counting it into my hand quid by quid, as if he'd been parting
with a fortune."
"Where did he get it from? Did he take it out of his pocket?"
"No; he went out of the room, leaving me with Simon, who didn't speak
a word the whole time. Peter Judd was away about ten minutes. He came
back with the money in his hand."
"And then you left the farm?"
"Yes; they didn't offer me anything to eat or drink. I have an idea
that Peter thought of doing so, but Simon made some remark about
throwing money away, and suggested my going at once."
"You didn't return to Hanley?"
"No, I went in the opposite direction."
Next day I was back at the farm, my attention concentrated on the
well. I had already heard that this well was not much used, there
being another under the scullery, to which a pump had been fixed, and
which supplied better water. The windlass over the well in the shed
substantiated this statement, for it was evident that it had stood
idle for a long time.
Peter Judd had left the room to get the money, and had been absent ten
minutes; and the door of this shed had been found forced on the
morning after the murder. Might the shed not be the treasure chamber?
The floor overlapped the mouth of the well considerably, and attached
to the under part of this floor, and close to the well wall, I found a
chain. Pulling this up, I raised a small but stout iron box fastened
to the lower end of it. The box had been wrenched open and was empty.
I had discovered the Judds' bank. No doubt it had been robbed on the
night of the murder. By whom? By someone who had watched Peter Judd go
there for the money. The answer came naturally to the question. That
person was not Richard Coleman, unless his story were false from
beginning to end, which was unlikely.
The next two days I devoted to a closer acquaintance with Mrs. Gilson.
I acted intentionally in a manner to make her think I had nearly
solved the mystery. I told her that I believed Richard Coleman was an
innocent man. The result was exactly what I expected. She became
nervous when I plied her with questions, and contradicted herself,
growing confused when I pressed home a point. Once I purposely
questioned her when her son was present, and her confusion became
fear. Jim Gilson said little, but at times looked wonderfully
intelligent. It was difficult to suppose that he did not perfectly
understand me.
"You don't go and sit inside the gateway at Cross Roads Farm now,
Jim," I said suddenly. Since this second discovery he had quite
forsaken his haunt.
"No," he answered.
"Why not?"
"No one else will come there now. They're afraid."
"Of what?"
"Spirits."
"And of you, Jim--eh?"
The suggestion pleased him. He came and stood close to me, and rolled
up his sleeve to show me how muscular his arms were.
"Splendid! Tell me, Jim, where is Simon Judd?"
"Buried!" he said, and slouched out of the room.
I looked at his mother. Poor woman! I pitied her.
"I didn't know--I didn't guess, not till afterward," she said. "Jim
told me next day that he had seen a man go to the farm, told me what
he was like, and I knew it was the man I had met. It was more Jim's
description than mine that I gave. But I thought this man was the
murderer, thought so for months, until Jim began to talk strange about
money and that well. It was not until then that I knew he had been at
the farm that night. And now this second murder! What will they do?"
"Release an innocent man."
"But to Jim?" she whispered.
"Find him not responsible for his actions, most likely. You ought to
have spoken, Mrs. Gilson. An innocent man is in prison. They are
likely to be severe with you."
"I don't care what happens to me; it's Jim I care about."
Later in the day I tried to get Jim to show me where Simon Judd was
buried. He only laughed.
"And the money, Jim--what has become of it?"
Still his only answer was a laugh.
"By sitting at the gate you kept watch over it, I suppose? Had it
somewhere close by, where you could get at it to play with; and when
this tramp came you thought he would rob you. Is that the story?"
"It's all right now," he said solemnly.
My course was clear. Jim Gilson must be arrested, and a court of
justice would have to say whether he was responsible for his actions
or not. Personally, I was not sure that he was as mad as he pretended
to be. The curious disposal of the shreds of pajamas showed cunning, a
desire to mislead, or it may be there had been a struggle. Perhaps
Simon Judd had fought desperately for his life, and the madman had
buried him, entirely forgetting the dead body of Peter Judd, who had
given him no trouble. Possibly he had left it with a purpose;
certainly it had helped to convict an innocent man. Who can explain
either the cunning or forgetfulness of a madman?
On the evening of the day following the arrest of Jim Gilson I
received a telegram from Christopher Quarles, asking me to go to him
without delay. He was in the empty room, his granddaughter with him.
"Wigan, this Sussex affair?" were the words with which he greeted me.
"All over. The murderer was arrested yesterday," I answered.
I had not seen Quarles for some days, and the case had not been
mentioned between us. His theories would probably have hindered rather
than helped me.
"You're wrong, all wrong," he said.
"My dear professor, nobody knows your ability better than I do, but
you haven't had anything to do with this affair. I assure you----"
"You may tell me the whole story, if you like, but you're wrong. You
haven't caught your man."
"Nonsense," I said angrily.
"Tell me the story."
"The newspaper resume of the affair is quite correct," I said.
"I'd rather hear it from you."
And, in spite of my annoyance, I told it in answer to an appealing
glance from Zena. There was nothing I would not have done to please
her.
"I'll tell you the story in a different way," said Quarles, when I had
finished, "and you can pull me up if I go outside reason. At the
beginning of this mystery, four or five years ago, I felt no interest
in it; now I am impelled to interfere. True, I have taken no active
part in the affair, but with me that is not always necessary. Into my
empty brain something has come from outside."
I smiled. There was something of the charlatan in him.
"The body of Peter Judd is found," Quarles went on, "his brother's
isn't. Where is it? Down the well? You do not think so, yet by the
shred of pajamas and the slipper found there it is desired by someone
to suggest this solution. A well can be made to give up its secrets,
as a rule, but not this particular well. This is a point in Richard
Coleman's favor, since he would not be likely to have any knowledge of
local lore; and, if you like, it is against Gilson, who might have
such knowledge. But what possible object could he have in laying such
a misleading trail?"
"To implicate some other person--the man he had seen join the Judds as
he left them."
"I am not combating your theory that two men left the Judds in much
the same manner that night, and that the man who gave evidence at the
trial was not the one Coleman saw. No doubt Coleman saw Gilson; but do
you suggest it was a premeditated crime?"
"No. Gilson was curious about the visitor, and watched; and while he
waited Peter Judd went to the well, and Gilson saw the gold. Then
desire to possess came to him."
"So he murdered the two men who had been kind to him. Why?" asked
Quarles. "During the night he could have broken open the shed and
taken the gold. The Judds would undoubtedly have jumped to the
conclusion that their nephew had robbed them."
"I should say Gilson's idea was to get the key, hence the murder."
"And while he was strangling Peter, what was Simon doing? Since Peter
was found in the sitting-room in his pajamas, it is permissible to
suppose that something had aroused him. If it did not arouse Simon
too, Peter would be likely to do so, and at the very least he would
have called for help the moment he was attacked."
"You forget the doctor's evidence," I said. "He was killed by the
shock as much as by the man's fingers at his throat."
"A most important point," said Quarles; "we will come back to it in a
minute. Having murdered both the Judds, this imbecile breaks into the
shed, because he fails to find the key, I suppose; and having got the
money, is satisfied. He hides one body and leaves the other. He lays a
false trail for no earthly reason, I submit. For months he does not
let fall a word to disturb his mother, but he haunts the gate of the
farm."
"His mother knows he is guilty, professor; remember that."
"Did she see him do it? Has he shown her the money?"
"No."
"Then, I ask, what made Gilson haunt the farm? The right answer to
that question will put you on the right road. It was Zena who
propounded that question to me."
"In seeking for motives we must not be too precise in dealing with a
madman," I said. "I think his idea was to protect the money which he
had hidden somewhere close at hand."
"I don't," said Quarles. "He was watching for the man who murdered
Peter Judd."
"Rather a fantastic conclusion, isn't it?" I said.
"It might be were there no evidence to support it. Let me tell the
story as I imagine it. The twin brothers were much attached to each
other. Few people knew them well; they kept altogether to themselves.
From Coleman's statement it would seem that Peter took the lead. It
was he who went for the money. He appears to have managed all the
money transactions. It may have been merely a division of labor, but
there may have been another reason. Perhaps Simon's temperament was to
waste money, and to keep him out of temptation Peter kept the key of
the treasury."
"Still a little fantastic, I fancy," I said somewhat contemptuously.
"Quite true, and we will go a little farther on the same road. We will
assume that the sight of gold was not good for the moral welfare of
Simon Judd. So long as he did not see gold he was content to go on
his simple way, but the sight of it set him desiring possession. The
nephew came, and twenty sovereigns were fetched from the treasury
chest and displayed before Simon's gloating eyes. There was a sudden
desire to possess gold himself. Peter had the key, had a hiding-place
for it, probably; and on this night, thinking of his nephew, was not
careful enough to conceal that hiding-place from his brother, or it
may be he was forgetful, and left the key on the mantelshelf. In the
night he remembered it, or was aroused by some noise, and went down to
find Simon, who was fully dressed, taking the key. Some words may have
been spoken; Peter may have reasoned with him, but Simon was beyond
reason. He attacked his brother, and killed him. The shock of such a
thing may well have had something to do with Peter's death, as the
doctor suggests. Would shock have had such effect upon him, do you
suppose, had he been attacked by Gilson, an innocent imbecile?"
I did not answer.
"Simon at once realized his position. Suspicion must fall upon him
unless he was murdered too. So he laid the trail, shreds of his
pajamas here and there, and the old slipper. The well would be an
excellent grave for him. He remembered that Gilson saw Coleman arrive;
suspicion would fall upon Coleman. Conscience was dead now, he could
take the gold. So he left Cross Roads Farm, being careful to dress
himself in clothes that probably only his brother knew he possessed,
and left his ordinary clothes on the chair in his room."
"And Gilson?" I asked.
"No doubt he saw Peter Judd go to the shed, and was fascinated by the
sight of the gold; at any rate, he remained there. He would see
Coleman leave. That he saw the actual murder is unlikely, did not know
of it until the next day, I should conjecture; but he would see what
Simon Judd did, would see him take the money and go. When he knew
Peter Judd was dead, Gilson would guess who had killed him. He would
say nothing, because both men had been good to him; but knowing the
two brothers, being in touch, perhaps, since he is one of God's fools,
with a plane of thought which is above the normal man, he waited for
Simon Judd's return, and he has not been disappointed."
"Not disappointed!" I exclaimed.
"I imagine Simon spent his money riotously, every penny of it,
conscience troubling him at times, which trouble he drowned with drink
and drugs; but in the end he was irresistibly drawn back, a tramp,
dirty, unrecognizable, except to the eyes expecting him--Gilson's."
"And then?"
Quarles paused for a moment.
"If Gilson watched him closely, as he probably did, he may some day,
in a lucid interval, confirm my surmise. I think Simon Judd stood
before the lifted veil when he returned to Cross Roads Farm again;
that on the spot where so many familiar hours had been spent he saw
his brother once more, and remorse came to him. The gold had gone, you
see. Every detail of that tragic night was recalled in a moment of
time, and, terror seizing him, he clutched himself by the throat and
fell dead."
"I think you are right, dear," Zena said solemnly.
"But how is it no one knew him?" I asked.
"Few people did know him, and he had passed through five years of
debauchery. Find someone who knew of some peculiarity he had. Coleman
might help you here. Gilson knew him. Didn't he tell you Simon Judd
was buried? That would be a day or so after the tramp had been buried
in Hanley."
This case was certainly one of my failures, although I had to accept
praise when both Coleman and Gilson were released.
It happened, too, that Coleman knew that, as a young man, his Uncle
Simon had undergone an operation, the scar of which the doctor found
on the tramp's body.
Jim Gilson was never lucid enough to give a detailed account of what
happened when Simon Judd returned to the farm, but piecing together
statements he made at intervals there is little doubt that Quarles's
surmise was not very far from the truth.