COMMITTED FOR TRIAL
Thorndyke's hint as to the possible danger foreshadowed by my growing
intimacy with Juliet Gibson had come upon me as a complete surprise, and
had, indeed, been resented by me as somewhat of an impertinence.
Nevertheless, it gave me considerable food for meditation, and I
presently began to suspect that the watchful eyes of my observant friend
might have detected something in my manner towards Miss Gibson
suggestive of sentiments that had been unsuspected by myself.
Of course it would be absurd to suppose that any real feeling could have
been engendered by so ridiculously brief an acquaintance. I had only met
the girl three times, and even now, excepting for business relations,
was hardly entitled to more than a bow of recognition. But yet, when I
considered the matter impartially and examined my own consciousness, I
could not but recognise that she had aroused in me an interest which
bore no relation to the part that she had played in the drama that was
so slowly unfolding. She was undeniably a very handsome girl, and her
beauty was of a type that specially appealed to me--full of dignity and
character that gave promise of a splendid middle age. And her
personality was in other ways not less attractive, for she was frank and
open, sprightly and intelligent, and though evidently quite
self-reliant, was in nowise lacking in that womanly softness that so
strongly engages a man's sympathy.
In short, I realised that, had there been no such person as Reuben
Hornby, I should have viewed Miss Gibson with uncommon interest.
But, unfortunately, Reuben Hornby was a most palpable reality, and,
moreover, the extraordinary difficulties of his position entitled him to
very special consideration by any man of honour. It was true that Miss
Gibson had repudiated any feelings towards Reuben other than those of
old-time friendship; but young ladies are not always impartial judges of
their own feelings, and, as a man of the world, I could not but have my
own opinion on the matter--which opinion I believed to be shared by
Thorndyke. The conclusions to which my cogitations at length brought me
were: first, that I was an egotistical donkey, and, second, that my
relations with Miss Gibson were of an exclusively business character and
must in future be conducted on that basis, with the added consideration
that I was the confidential agent, for the time being, of Reuben Hornby,
and in honour bound to regard his interests as paramount.
"I am hoping," said Thorndyke, as he held out his hand for my teacup,
"that these profound reflections of yours are connected with the Hornby
affair; in which case I should expect to hear that the riddle is solved
and the mystery made plain."
"Why should you expect that?" I demanded, reddening somewhat, I suspect,
as I met his twinkling eye. There was something rather disturbing in
the dry, quizzical smile that I encountered and the reflection that I
had been under observation, and I felt as much embarrassed as I should
suppose a self-conscious water-flea might feel on finding itself on the
illuminated stage of a binocular microscope.
"My dear fellow," said Thorndyke, "you have not spoken a word for the
last quarter of an hour; you have devoured your food with the relentless
regularity of a sausage-machine, and you have, from time to time, made
the most damnable faces at the coffee-pot--though there I'll wager the
coffee-pot was even with you, if I may judge by the presentment that it
offers of my own countenance."
I roused myself from my reverie with a laugh at Thorndyke's quaint
conceit and a glance at the grotesquely distorted reflection of my face
in the polished silver.
"I am afraid I _have_ been a rather dull companion this morning," I
admitted apologetically.
"By no means," replied Thorndyke, with a grin. "On the contrary, I have
found you both amusing and instructive, and I only spoke when I had
exhausted your potentialities as a silent entertainer."
"You are pleased to be facetious at my expense," said I.
"Well, the expense was not a very heavy one," he retorted. "I have been
merely consuming a by-product of your mental activity--Hallo! that's
Anstey already."
A peculiar knock, apparently delivered with the handle of a
walking-stick on the outer door, was the occasion of this exclamation,
and as Thorndyke sprang up and flung the door open, a clear, musical
voice was borne in, the measured cadences of which proclaimed at once
the trained orator.
"Hail, learned brother!" it exclaimed. "Do I disturb you untimely at
your studies?" Here our visitor entered the room and looked round
critically. "'Tis even so," he declared. "Physiological chemistry and
its practical applications appears to be the subject. A physico-chemical
inquiry into the properties of streaky bacon and fried eggs. Do I see
another learned brother?"
He peered keenly at me through his pince-nez, and I gazed at him in some
embarrassment.
"This is my friend Jervis, of whom you have heard me speak," said
Thorndyke. "He is with us in this case, you know."
"The echoes of your fame have reached me, sir," said Anstey, holding out
his hand. "I am proud to know you. I should have recognised you
instantly from the portrait of your lamented uncle in Greenwich
Hospital."
"Anstey is a wag, you understand," explained Thorndyke, "but he has
lucid intervals. He'll have one presently if we are patient."
"Patient!" snorted our eccentric visitor, "it is I who need to be
patient when I am dragged into police courts and other sinks of iniquity
to plead for common thieves and robbers like a Kennington Lane
advocate."
"You've been talking to Lawley, I see," said Thorndyke.
"Yes, and he tells me that we haven't a leg to stand upon."
"No, we've got to stand on our heads, as men of intellect should. But
Lawley knows nothing about the case."
"He thinks he knows it all," said Anstey.
"Most fools do," retorted Thorndyke. "They arrive at their knowledge by
intuition--a deuced easy road and cheap travelling too. We reserve our
defence--I suppose you agree to that?"
"I suppose so. The magistrate is sure to commit unless you have an
unquestionable _alibi_."
"We shall put in an _alibi_, but we are not depending on it."
"Then we had better reserve our defence," said Anstey; "and it is time
that we wended on our pilgrimage, for we are due at Lawley's at
half-past ten. Is Jervis coming with us?"
"Yes, you'd better come," said Thorndyke. "It's the adjourned hearing of
poor Hornby's case, you know. There won't be anything done on our side,
but we may be able to glean some hint from the prosecution."
"I should like to hear what takes place, at any rate," I said, and we
accordingly sallied forth together in the direction of Lincoln's Inn, on
the north side of which Mr. Lawley's office was situated.
"Ah!" said the solicitor, as we entered, "I am glad you've come; I was
getting anxious--it doesn't do to be late on these occasions, you know.
Let me see, do you know Mr. Walter Hornby? I don't think you do." He
presented Thorndyke and me to our client's cousin, and as we shook
hands, we viewed one another with a good deal of mutual interest.
"I have heard about you from my aunt," said he, addressing himself more
particularly to me. "She appears to regard you as a kind of legal
Maskelyne and Cooke. I hope, for my cousin's sake, that you will be able
to work the wonders that she anticipates. Poor old fellow! He looks
pretty bad, doesn't he?"
I glanced at Reuben, who was at the moment talking to Thorndyke, and as
he caught my eye he held out his hand with a warmth that I found very
pathetic. He seemed to have aged since I had last seen him, and was
pale and rather thinner, but he was composed in his manner and seemed to
me to be taking his trouble very well on the whole.
"Cab's at the door, sir," a clerk announced.
"Cab," repeated Mr. Lawley, looking dubiously at me; "we want an
omnibus."
"Dr. Jervis and I can walk," Walter Hornby suggested. "We shall probably
get there as soon as you, and it doesn't matter if we don't."
"Yes, that will do," said Mr. Lawley; "you two walk down together. Now
let us go."
We trooped out on to the pavement, beside which a four-wheeler was drawn
up, and as the others were entering the cab, Thorndyke stood close
beside me for a moment.
"Don't let him pump you," he said in a low voice, without looking at me;
then he sprang into the cab and slammed the door.
"What an extraordinary affair this is," Walter Hornby remarked, after we
had been walking in silence for a minute or two; "a most ghastly
business. I must confess that I can make neither head nor tail of it."
"How is that?" I asked.
"Why, do you see, there are apparently only two possible theories of the
crime, and each of them seems to be unthinkable. On the one hand there
is Reuben, a man of the most scrupulous honour, as far as my experience
of him goes, committing a mean and sordid theft for which no motive can
be discovered--for he is not poor, nor pecuniarily embarrassed nor in
the smallest degree avaricious. On the other hand, there is this
thumb-print, which, in the opinion of the experts, is tantamount to the
evidence of an eye-witness that he did commit the theft. It is
positively bewildering. Don't you think so?"
"As you put it," I answered, "the case is extraordinarily puzzling."
"But how else would you put it?" he demanded, with ill-concealed
eagerness.
"I mean that, if Reuben is the man you believe him to be, the thing is
incomprehensible."
"Quite so," he agreed, though he was evidently disappointed at my
colourless answer.
He walked on silently for a few minutes and then said: "I suppose it
would not be fair to ask if you see any way out of the difficulty? We
are all, naturally anxious about the upshot of the affair, seeing what
poor old Reuben's position is."
"Naturally. But the fact is that I know no more than you do, and as to
Thorndyke, you might as well cross-examine a Whitstable native as put
questions to him."
"Yes, so I gathered from Juliet. But I thought you might have gleaned
some notion of the line of defence from your work in the laboratory--the
microscopical and photographic work I mean."
"I was never in the laboratory until last night, when Thorndyke took me
there with your aunt and Miss Gibson; the work there is done by the
laboratory assistant, and his knowledge of the case, I should say, is
about as great as a type-founder's knowledge of the books that he is
helping to produce. No; Thorndyke is a man who plays a single-handed
game and no one knows what cards he holds until he lays them on the
table."
My companion considered this statement in silence while I congratulated
myself on having parried, with great adroitness, a rather inconvenient
question. But the time was not far distant when I should have occasion
to reproach myself bitterly for having been so explicit and emphatic.
"My uncle's condition," Walter resumed after a pause, "is a pretty
miserable one at present, with this horrible affair added to his own
personal worries."
"Has he any special trouble besides this, then?" I asked.
"Why, haven't you heard? I thought you knew about it, or I shouldn't
have spoken--not that it is in any way a secret, seeing that it is
public property in the city. The fact is that his financial affairs are
a little entangled just now."
"Indeed!" I exclaimed, considerably startled by this new development.
"Yes, things have taken a rather awkward turn, though I think he will
pull through all right. It is the usual thing, you know--investments, or
perhaps one should say speculations. He appears to have sunk a lot of
capital in mines--thought he was 'in the know,' not unnaturally; but it
seems he wasn't after all, and the things have gone wrong, leaving him
with a deal more money than he can afford locked up and the possibility
of a dead loss if they don't revive. Then there are these infernal
diamonds. He is not morally responsible, we know; but it is a question
if he is not legally responsible, though the lawyers think he is not.
Anyhow, there is going to be a meeting of the creditors to-morrow."
"And what do you think they will do?"
"Oh, they will, most probably, let him go on for the present; but, of
course, if he is made accountable for the diamonds there will be nothing
for it but to 'go through the hoop,' as the sporting financier
expresses it."
"The diamonds were of considerable value, then?"
"From twenty-five to thirty thousand pounds' worth vanished with that
parcel."
I whistled. This was a much bigger affair than I had imagined, and I was
wondering if Thorndyke had realised the magnitude of the robbery, when
we arrived at the police court.
"I suppose our friends have gone inside," said Walter. "They must have
got here before us."
This supposition was confirmed by a constable of whom we made inquiry,
and who directed us to the entrance to the court. Passing down a passage
and elbowing our way through the throng of idlers, we made for the
solicitor's box, where we had barely taken our seats when the case was
called.
Unspeakably dreary and depressing were the brief proceedings that
followed, and dreadfully suggestive of the helplessness of even an
innocent man on whom the law has laid its hand and in whose behalf its
inexorable machinery has been set in motion.
The presiding magistrate, emotionless and dry, dipped his pen while
Reuben, who had surrendered to his bail, was placed in the dock and the
charge read over to him. The counsel representing the police gave an
abstract of the case with the matter-of-fact air of a house-agent
describing an eligible property. Then, when the plea of "not guilty" had
been entered, the witnesses were called. There were only two, and when
the name of the first, John Hornby, was called, I glanced towards the
witness-box with no little curiosity.
I had not hitherto met Mr. Hornby, and as he now entered the box, I saw
an elderly man, tall, florid, and well-preserved, but strained and wild
in expression and displaying his uncontrollable agitation by continual
nervous movements which contrasted curiously with the composed demeanour
of the accused man. Nevertheless, he gave his evidence in a perfectly
connected manner, recounting the events connected with the discovery of
the crime in much the same words as I had heard Mr. Lawley use, though,
indeed, he was a good deal more emphatic than that gentleman had been in
regard to the excellent character borne by the prisoner.
After him came Mr. Singleton, of the finger-print department at Scotland
Yard, to whose evidence I listened with close attention. He produced the
paper which bore the thumb-print in blood (which had previously been
identified by Mr. Hornby) and a paper bearing the print, taken by
himself, of the prisoner's left thumb. These two thumb-prints, he
stated, were identical in every respect.
"And you are of opinion that the mark on the paper that was found in Mr.
Hornby's safe, was made by the prisoner's left thumb?" the magistrate
asked in dry and business-like tones.
"I am certain of it."
"You are of opinion that no mistake is possible?"
"No mistake is possible, your worship. It is a certainty."
The magistrate looked at Anstey inquiringly, whereupon the barrister
rose. "We reserve our defence, your worship."
The magistrate then, in the same placid, business-like manner, committed
the prisoner for trial at the Central Criminal Court, refusing to accept
bail for his appearance, and, as Reuben was led forth from the dock, the
next case was called.
By special favour of the authorities, Reuben was to be allowed to make
his journey to Holloway in a cab, thus escaping the horrors of the
filthy and verminous prison van, and while this was being procured, his
friends were permitted to wish him farewell.
"This is a hard experience, Hornby," said Thorndyke, when we three were,
for a few moments, left apart from the others; and as he spoke the
warmth of a really sympathetic nature broke through his habitual
impassivity. "But be of good cheer; I have convinced myself of your
innocence and have good hopes of convincing the world--though this is
for your private ear, you understand, to be mentioned to no one."
Reuben wrung the hand of this "friend in need," but was unable, for the
moment, to speak; and, as his self-control was evidently strained to the
breaking point, Thorndyke, with a man's natural instinct, wished him a
hasty good-bye, and passing his hand through my arm, turned away.
"I wish it had been possible to save the poor fellow from this delay,
and especially from the degradation of being locked up in a jail," he
exclaimed regretfully as we walked down the street.
"There is surely no degradation in being merely accused of a crime," I
answered, without much conviction, however. "It may happen to the best
of us; and he is still an innocent man in the eyes of the law."
"That, my dear Jervis, you know, as well as I do, to be mere casuistry,"
he rejoined. "The law professes to regard the unconvicted man as
innocent; but how does it treat him? You heard how the magistrate
addressed our friend; outside the court he would have called him _Mr_.
Hornby. You know what will happen to Reuben at Holloway. He will be
ordered about by warders, will have a number label fastened on to his
coat, he will be locked in a cell with a spy-hole in the door, through
which any passing stranger may watch him; his food will be handed to him
in a tin pan with a tin knife and spoon; and he will be periodically
called out of his cell and driven round the exercise yard with a mob
composed, for the most part, of the sweepings of the London slums. If he
is acquitted, he will be turned loose without a suggestion of
compensation or apology for these indignities or the losses he may have
sustained through his detention."
"Still I suppose these evils are unavoidable," I said.
"That may or may not be," he retorted. "My point is that the presumption
of innocence is a pure fiction; that the treatment of an accused man,
from the moment of his arrest, is that of a criminal. However," he
concluded, hailing a passing hansom, "this discussion must be adjourned
or I shall be late at the hospital. What are you going to do?"
"I shall get some lunch and then call on Miss Gibson to let her know the
real position."
"Yes, that will be kind, I think; baldly stated, the news may seem
rather alarming. I was tempted to thrash the case out in the police
court, but it would not have been safe. He would almost certainly have
been committed for trial after all, and then we should have shown our
hand to the prosecution."
He sprang into the hansom and was speedily swallowed up in the traffic,
while I turned back towards the police court to make certain inquiries
concerning the regulations as to visitors at Holloway prison. At the
door I met the friendly inspector from Scotland Yard, who gave me the
necessary information, whereupon with a certain homely little French
restaurant in my mind I bent my steps in the direction of Soho.