HELP FROM WITHOUT
When the doctor finished speaking he looked at his two listeners;
and, if he expected to see surprise on their faces, he was not
disappointed. Wilfred looked at him as if partly satisfied and yet
partly amazed and perplexed. Mr. Benson looked at him in frank
astonishment.
“Who were they, these people?” he asked. “Had you seen them before?
Have you seen them since? Why on earth did you not accept my
invitation to tell me what you knew, because you knew perfectly well
that I was not acting for the police, but for Lady Evenden and Frank
Gough?”
“I had never seen them before,” declared Laidlaw. “Nor have I seen
them since. You see how hopeless was my position. If you don’t believe
me, how much less would the police?”
“Yes, that’s all right,” said Mr. Benson, who was rapidly recovering
his poise, “but what have you to give as evidence that there were
indeed any people there at all, except your word? You say that you saw
a man and a woman. What do you suggest was the reason of their visit
there? How do you suggest that they knew of the existence of the
secret passages? Your story is very thin, Dr. Laidlaw. Very thin.”
“Mr. Benson,” said the unhappy little doctor, “whether you believe me
or not, I have told you the exact truth. You say you cannot accept my
word. Very well, I will put the alternative to you. Tell me, if you
don’t believe me, how do you account for the murder? If I, as you
suggest, murdered Sir John Evenden, why did I do it? So far as I can
see, from my knowledge, there is only one other person upon whom
suspicion could possibly fall, and that is Lady Evenden. Do you, in
your suspicion, suggest that she did it? If she did, why should she?”
“I do not suggest for a moment that she did,” replied Mr. Benson. “On
the other hand, I am quite sure that she did not. But you do not clear
the ground quite so easily as that. Don’t forget that the most
mysterious thing about this murder is the presence of some curious
poison in the brain of the late baronet. I am a layman, and profoundly
ignorant of these matters, but it strikes me with irresistible force
that some person with a considerable knowledge of medicine, and
poisons, was responsible for the crime. I am not concerned to impute
motives. I am concerned with facts.”
“I can only say that I have told you the exact truth,” said Laidlaw
wearily. “You can do what you like. You can murder me in cold blood if
you like, for I am helpless. But you will be committing a ghastly
murder. I saw the man and I saw the woman--I know I saw them. That is
all I know. Lady Evenden had nothing to do with the murder--nor had
I.”
“Would you like to know what I think?” asked the old lawyer, standing
up and bending over the shaking doctor. “I’ll tell you what I think
happened. You probably went up that staircase, and through the Prior’s
Room, for some reason best known to yourself, and at the point of
safely leaving the room you were met by the late Sir John, returning
from his visit to Mr. Frank Gough’s room. He, knowing of your sinister
relation with his stepmother, grabbed you and insisted upon your
telling him the truth. You probably tried to get away, and seized
something and struck him. Probably, to give you your due, you did not
intend to kill, but when you found that you had done so, you sought to
confuse the issue by injecting some of your filthy poison into the
dead man’s brain. I wouldn’t mind betting that I’m not far out in my
calculation.”
“You are utterly wrong,” said the doctor earnestly. “I assure you that
there were the man and the woman there, and that the murder had been
committed before I came upon the scene. I did not even examine the
dead man; I hurried away as quickly as I could.”
“I think I’d better have a word with you,” said Wilfred to the lawyer.
Mr. Benson looked at him sharply, saw that his young friend had
obviously something to say of importance, then went to the door.
“Joe,” he called, and almost as soon as he spoke Joe Litt and one of
his assistants appeared.
“Watch him!” the lawyer instructed, and Wilfred and he left the room.
They went out into the farmyard, and it was not until they were well
out of earshot of the house that Wilfred spoke.
“He’s not telling the exact truth,” he said. “But, on the other hand,
he’s telling some truth.”
“Surely by now,” said Mr. Benson, “you must see the advisability of
taking me into your confidence?”
“I am determined to keep to my policy of absolute silence,” replied
Wilfred stubbornly. “But I will tell you enough to enable you to check
Laidlaw’s account. This is the serious divergence between what he says
and what I know happened. He says that Lady Evenden went as far as the
staircase leading to the scene of the tragedy. There he is wrong--both
she and he went into the room. They remained there for perhaps three
minutes, during which time there was a sound of some scuffling
overhead, and after that Lady Evenden certainly came down alone. He
followed--perhaps two minutes after that.”
“You saw all this?” asked the lawyer.
“Yes, I saw it,” replied Wilfred.
“Then what do you think of his story about a man and a woman who were,
I take it, the actual murderers?” asked Mr. Benson.
“I can’t say,” Wilfred replied slowly, gazing across the marsh. “I
certainly saw no man, but immediately after Lady Evenden came down the
staircase, crossed the crypt, and went out through the entrance to the
lawn, a woman followed her. I saw no man.”
“Where were you?” asked the lawyer.
“In the crypt,” Wilfred replied.
“What did you do when you saw Lady Evenden come out? And this other
woman? What sort of a woman was she?” The lawyer frowned as he put the
question.
“It would be very difficult to say,” Wilfred replied. “I saw Lady
Evenden leave, and I identified her because Miss Kilby was with me.
She had followed her mistress out and had met me on the lawn. We
descended the staircase after her, and first of all heard her talking
to Laidlaw in the crypt. Then, as we heard them move to the other
staircase, we followed. We hid in that little vestry place where all
of us hid last night. I repeat, the first person to come downstairs
was Lady Evenden, then another woman came down and went out. I saw her
silhouetted against the moon light as she went up the stone staircase
to the lawn. Then, after that, Laidlaw came.”
“But how did you know that Lady Evenden was ever in the Prior’s Room?”
The lawyer surveyed his young friend, and noted the troubled look on
his face.
“Well, as I told you, I was with Miss Kilby,” he said, after a pause.
“When Laidlaw and Lady Evenden disappeared up the staircase to the
Prior’s Room, Jill followed. She got as far as the wardrobe, then she
came down again--terrified. Now that’s all you must ask me.”
“But, my dear chap, I differ from you,” said Mr. Benson. “I’m the last
person in the world to cause any trouble for your fiancee or yourself,
but don’t you see that you have said too much for the matter to be
left there? Don’t you see that your fiancee’s evidence can probably
clear Frank Gough and be sufficient to exonerate Lady Evenden? My dear
chap, that evidence must be given.”
“That’s just the difficulty,” said Wilfred, in some excitement. “You
really must not pursue this matter by ingenious roundabout ways such
as I suppose lawyers delight in. Believe me, Mr. Benson, you will
regret it to the last days of your life, if you do. I might be able to
produce sufficient evidence to clear Frank Gough. But there is
certainly not enough evidence to clear Lady Evenden, who, mark you,
is, in my opinion and in Jill’s opinion, just as innocent of the
murder.”
“Well, surely there is also her word,” said the lawyer. “She can
testify to having seen this other mysterious woman and possibly the
mysterious man that Laidlaw says was there, can’t she?”
“No, she can’t,” said Wilfred decidedly. “She doesn’t remember a thing
about the whole affair.”
“How on earth do you make that out?” asked Mr. Benson, stopping in his
walk, and turning to face Wilfred, bewilderment in his eyes.
“It will take me a long time to explain the exact circumstances
governing the relations between that little doctor and Lady Evenden,”
he said. “But in the meantime it is sufficient for me to tell you that
there is a process, not unlike hypnotism, whereby a strong
character--and Laidlaw is that, despite his appearance--can obtain a
complete control of a weaker. Now that process is tremendously
accelerated where circumstances permit of the exercise of some
definite lever for the stronger to hold over the weaker. In this case
the lever is obviously the unfortunate circumstances of Lady Evenden’s
past.
“Laidlaw is probably letting the unfortunate lady believe that she
murdered her first husband--I wouldn’t be surprised if he is,
anyhow--hence the blackmail. Now, then, don’t you see that, having
established that mental control, making her believe a certain thing,
he can easily extend that and make her believe something else? The
whole thing boils down to this. If Laidlaw were to be apprehended for
this murder, it wouldn’t surprise me if we were to be confronted by a
confession by Lady Evenden that she had done it.”
“God bless my soul!” The old lawyer was flabbergasted at the prospect.
“There you have the whole difficulty,” said Wilfred. “And there you
have the keynote to my policy. Until you can table the evidence to
convict either Laidlaw or some one else, Then, for the sake of Lady
Evenden, who is manifestly in Laidlaw’s power, you must say nothing,
and I, for my part, will not be moved to say anything. There it is.”
For ten minutes after Wilfred had finished speaking, they walked about
the yard in silence; then Mr. Benson said.
“But you say that he is not telling the whole truth, even now? That is
a sign of guilt, isn’t it?”
“Yes--it might be,” Wilfred partially agreed. “On the other hand,
there is not a very great discrepancy between what he says and the
truth. He might have wanted to emphasize that Lady Evenden was not
actually in the room, purely in her interest. He is right about the
strange woman. But if there was a man there as well, the question is,
where did he get to? Miss Kilby and I saw no man.”
“For the love of heaven, what did Miss Kilby see?” asked the lawyer,
removing his hat and mopping his brow.
“I shall certainly not say that, or allow her to say what she saw,”
Wilfred replied. “You may be certain of this--she did not see the
actual murder committed, she saw no other man but Laidlaw, and she
certainly saw a woman standing with her back towards her, who
afterwards came down the stairs--that’s all.”
Again there was silence. Presently the lawyer appeared to make a
decision.
“Very well,” he said. “Come along.”
They went back through the farmyard to the kitchen, and through to the
room where Laidlaw was sitting anxiously awaiting his fate.
“I have discovered a way of testing your story,” said Mr. Benson. “You
will remain here until I decide to release you. Look after him, Joe,”
he said, turning to Joe Litt. “See that he is under constant guard,
and I’ll see you to-morrow.”
Wilfred and the lawyer rode home across the marsh almost in silence.
Wilfred looked at the face of his companion, from time to time, and
could not make out a certain look of almost triumphant satisfaction
that he saw there. Arrived at the Priory, the horses were immediately
given over to the groom, and the lawyer invited his companion to a
late lunch, which was readily accepted. All through the meal Mr.
Benson spoke but little, and immediately afterwards he suggested that
perhaps Wilfred would like to see Jill, which offer was also accepted,
more readily still.
So, for some time Jill and Wilfred strolled about the lawn together,
talking over things that interested only themselves, forgetting even
the tragic events so closely connected with them.
Meanwhile Mr. Benson was at his papers and on the telephone. He had
called a London number, and soon the call came through.
“Is that Sir Francis Waveryon?” asked Mr. Benson. “Ah! this is Chris
Benson! How are you, old man? Oh, yes, fit as a fiddle, and likely to
be when your grandchildren are suffering from rheumatics in their old
age. Look here, old man, do you know anything about this
psycho-analysis business--hypnotism--strong-willed doctors governing
patients who are inclined to be a bit on the mental side? Yes? Well,
look here, who is the best--the very best man? Can you get him for me
immediately? Ah, yes, my dear chap, but this is not a case of
etiquette. Look here, I mean this--this is actually a case of life and
death--a murder trial, no less, and a diabolical mess. You will?
Thanks very much. Tring--Rushton Tring. I see. He’ll be here
to-morrow, will he? Early? Oh, yes--any fee. To-night would be all the
better. That’s the thing. What? Well! well! I’ve been so busy,
Francis. You shall have a brace of the best to-night, sure. Good-bye,
old man.
“That’ll do the trick,” said Mr. Benson to himself as he hung up the
receiver and went to see Lady Evenden.
Lady Evenden was very much better, and received Mr. Benson in her
boudoir as soon as he presented himself. He talked cheerfully of
various subjects, spoke optimistically of the coming trial, and never
referred to Dr. Laidlaw at all. He remained with Lady Evenden for half
an hour, then returned to the library, where he went through a number
of papers connected with the coming trial and saw the latest copy of
the amended brief for Sir Courtney Caldecott, which awaited his
initialing.
“I won’t initial the thing at all yet; let’s see what another day
brings forth,” said Mr. Benson to himself. He saw Wilfred for a moment
at five o’clock, when the young doctor presented him with a
fully-written foolscap statement of what Dr. Laidlaw had said. Mr.
Benson thanked him.
“Now look here, my young friend,” he said. “I’m going to be busy for
the rest of the evening, and I don’t want you or anyone else to
disturb me. I have someone coming down from London, and he and I will
dine together. You get hold of your Mary Ellen, or Jill, or whatever
your cunning little girl’s name is, and spend a bit of time with her.
I’ll see you in the morning, and it is possible I may see you later
to-night, though not probable. In any case, you have the room next to
me if I do want you last thing, haven’t you?” Wilfred agreed to follow
the old man’s advice, which was very palatable to him, and left the
library, leaving the old man studying the statement he had written
out.
At ten minutes past eight Mr. Rushton Tring arrived, and was shown
immediately into the library, where he was greeted cordially by Mr.
Benson. Mr. Tring was a tall man. He stood over six feet, three inches
in his socks, and he wore very apparent socks--deep red with brown
rings. He had a remarkable head, long and pointed. His forehead was
high, but narrow; and his eyes, which were never still, were guarded
by a pair of large gold-rimmed spectacles. His mouth was so thin that
it rarely could be seen. There was just an indication of a sort of
crease instead of a definite lip line. Mr. Tring’s nose was long and
sharp--an inquisitive nose--but the whole effect of his features was
good-humored. His eyes danced about, and though you could not see it,
you felt that there was a perpetual smile somewhere hidden away on the
face of Mr. Rushton Tring, the greatest alienist and psycho-analyst in
London.
Dinner was throughly enjoyed by Mr. Tring. He complimented Mr. Benson
on the Bordeaux, he complimented him on the pheasants, the port sent
him into ecstasies, while he found no words with which to describe the
old liqueur brandy. During the meal not a word was spoken of the case
in hand. But, afterwards, when he was comfortably seated in the
library opposite his host, Mr. Tring listened very carefully to all
that Mr. Benson had to say.
Nothing was kept from him; he heard all that Mr. Benson knew, and very
carefully read the statement of Dr. Laidlaw. When he had heard
everything he asked unexpectedly:
“Have you a photograph of the lady? And another of the doctor?”
“I can get you one of Lady Evenden immediately,” said the lawyer, and
left the room. He returned from the drawing-room with a
studio-portrait of Lady Evenden, which he handed to the great
psychologist.
“H’m!” said the great man, “H’m! Not a note of music! Not a scrap of
art--a heart which obviously directs her head! Terribly strong
capacity to feel, ruinously strong, and nowhere to divert the energy
when customary channels are blocked. H’m! Very dangerous; very
dangerous, indeed!”
He continued gazing at the portrait in silence, after making his first
remarks; then he said:
“Well, now, we’ll find some excuse for taking our friend Lady Evenden
out for a drive to-morrow. We’ll take her to your curious old farm in
the marshes, and we’ll see what happens when I confront the two.”
“But, my dear chap,” said Mr. Benson, “she’s very awkward to deal with
just now. What if she won’t go?”
“No one is awkward at all,” said Mr. Rushton Tring quietly. “We only
imagine each other’s awkwardness. She will come the very minute I ask
her.”