“The Spaniard” Does His Bit
Ellery met “the Spaniard” in accordance with his appointment in
Trafalgar Square that evening. As he approached, he saw the old man
pacing up and down the pavement in front of the National Gallery,
walking slowly with a dignity and grace worthy of some grandee of the
olden times. He was curiously like the Lavery portrait of Cunninghame
Graham. “The Spaniard” made Ellery a low bow, accompanied by a
sweeping gesture with his broad-brimmed hat; and Ellery, doing his
best to live up to the occasion, returned the salutation with a very
inferior grace.
“You have news for me?” he asked.
“If you will do me the honour of accompanying me in my promenade, I
think I may be able to impart certain facts of interest to your fair
lady.”
“The Spaniard,” as Ellery told Joan afterwards, took the devil of a
time to come down to brass tacks. But what he had to tell was quite
conclusive. He had found, and could produce, conclusive evidence that
Walter Brooklyn had been in Trafalgar Square at the time he had
stated. He had discovered two men who had seen him leaning over the
parapet opposite the National Gallery, and one of them had definitely
noticed the time by the clock of St. Martin’s Church. This had been at
11.40. Moreover, the second man, perhaps, “the Spaniard” hinted—oh, so
delicately that his way of saying it seemed to make petty larceny a
fine art—in the hope of picking a few trifles out of Mr. Brooklyn’s
pockets, had actually followed him round the Square, and seen him take
out his watch and look at the time. He had shadowed Brooklyn up
Cockspur Street and the Haymarket, actually as far as the corner of
Jermyn Street, where some object of greater immediate interest had
served to distract him from the chase. Moreover, in return for
suitable rewards, both these men were prepared to give evidence. “The
Spaniard” had arranged for them both to meet Ellery, if he so desired,
and, in a few minutes’ time, they would be in the bar of the little
public-house in which Ellery had originally met with “the Spaniard”
himself.
This was more than satisfactory, and Ellery at once went to meet the
two men and hear their stories. They fully bore out what “the
Spaniard” had said, and Ellery took their names and addresses, and
then arranged to see them again on the following morning at the same
place, and to take them, with the other witnesses he and Joan had
collected, to Thomas’s office, where they would be able to consider
the steps that had best be taken towards securing Walter Brooklyn’s
absolution. He could get hold of the remaining witnesses later in the
evening; but first he had to thank “the Spaniard” and to settle with
him for what he had done.
Ellery had no doubt that “the Spaniard” both needed and expected
payment for the very real service he had rendered; but it was, he
found, by no means easy to come to the point. The old man, despite his
seedy garments, was very much the fine gentleman in his manners; it
was easy enough to thank him handsomely, and to receive his still more
handsome acknowledgments. But it was not at all easy to offer him
money. Still, it had to be done; and, awkwardly and stammeringly,
Ellery at last did it.
He was met with a refusal. “The Spaniard” was only too glad to have
been of some service—to a lady. Thanks were more than enough:
pecuniary reward would degrade a charming episode to the level of a
commercial transaction. Perhaps, some day, Ellery, or Miss Cowper
might be in a position to do him a service. He would accept it gladly;
but he begged that, until the occasion arose, no more might be said
upon the matter. Ellery had to leave it at that, making a resolution
to seek at once an occasion for being of service to the man who had
helped so greatly in their quest. Meanwhile, he could only thank him
again, and exchange, in taking his leave, the fine courtesies which
gave “the Spaniard” such manifest pleasure.
Ellery’s first action, on leaving Trafalgar Square, was to take steps
to summon his other witnesses to meet him at Thomas’s office the
following morning. Kitty Frensham he secured by a telephone message to
Mandleham’s flat. Mandleham at once promised to come himself, and to
bring Kitty with him, at half-past ten. Ellery then walked on to
Piccadilly Circus, where he found his friend, the night-watchman, deep
this time in Carlyle’s _Oliver Cromwell_, which Ellery had lent him.
He, too, promised to be in attendance. Ellery then walked along
Piccadilly to the theatre, and secured the attendant who had seen
Walter Brooklyn standing outside at “a bit before half-past ten.” This
completed his preparations; and he rang at the bell of Liskeard House,
and asked for Joan.
“What news?” she asked anxiously, coming forward to greet him as he
was announced.
“The best,” he replied. “The _alibi_ is proved.”
“Oh, I am so glad. And now I can tell you a secret. I wasn’t
absolutely sure my stepfather had told us the truth. At least, I was
sure; but I couldn’t help having a doubt every now and then. And I
simply couldn’t bear the thought that he might have been implicated. I
knew, of course, that he hadn’t killed any one; but I wasn’t quite
sure he didn’t know all about it. And everybody else seemed to believe
the worst, and at times I couldn’t help being a little shaken. Now you
must tell me all about what you’ve found out.”
Ellery did tell her all about it, and also of the steps he had taken
to arrange a meeting at Thomas’s office for the following morning.
Joan said at once that she would go; and Ellery thereupon rang up
Thomas, to whom he had so far said nothing, at his home, and demanded
an interview. Joan and he must, he said, see Thomas on urgent
business. They would be bringing several witnesses who could throw
valuable light on the case, and they would be at his office at 10.30
on the following morning. Would Thomas be sure to keep the time free?
Thomas was plainly surprised, and also curious; and he tried to make
Ellery tell him over the ’phone what it was all about. This Ellery
would not do, merely saying that the matter was of vital importance,
but he would rather explain it all in the morning. Thomas thereupon
agreed to cancel a previous engagement, and to be ready for them at
the hour arranged. “Now, at last,” said Ellery, as he hung up the
receiver, “I think we are entitled to a good night’s rest.”
“I’m afraid there won’t be much sleep for me, darling,” said Joan.
“Sir Vernon was told to-day about poor George. He kept asking for him,
and in the end Marian had to tell him all about it. Of course it has
made him worse. Now, he keeps asking to see the police, and insisting
that they must find the murderers. But he knows nothing at all about
it—he has no idea who did it. Some one must be with him all the time,
of course. Mary is with him now, and I have to take her place at
midnight. She is tired out, poor thing.”
“And what about you, poor thing?” said Ellery; for he could see that
she was almost at the end of her strength. He drew her head down on to
his shoulder, and tried to persuade her to give up the idea of coming
to Thomas’s office in the morning. But Joan was firm: she must see the
thing through. She would be all right: she could get plenty of sleep
later in the day. Ellery had to consent to her coming, and the lovers
sat together till midnight, when they bade each other farewell, as
lovers do, for all the world as if their parting were, not for a few
hours, but for an eternity.
It was getting on for one o’clock when Ellery reached home; and he was
surprised as he went up the steps, to see a light in his sitting-room.
He let himself in with his key, and found his landlady sitting bolt
upright on the hall chair. “Lord, Mr. Ellery,” she said, “how late you
are. There’s a person in your room been waiting for you more than an
hour. I wouldn’t go to bed with him there—not for worlds, I wouldn’t.
He said he must see you, and would wait.”
“What sort of a man?”
“Oh, not a nice man. He looks to me more like a tramp, sir, than
anything else. I was afraid he might steal something if I left him.”
Ellery opened the door and went in. He at once recognised the man who
had followed Walter Brooklyn on Tuesday from Trafalgar Square to
Jermyn Street—one of the witnesses whom “the Spaniard” had found. The
visitor lost no time.
“Look ’ere, mister,” he said, “it’s off.”
“What’s off? What do you mean?”
“What I mean is you don’t catch me givin’ hevidence in this ’ere case.
You treated me like a gent, and I thought I’d let you know. But
to-morrow I shan’t be there. You gotter understand that.”
“Do you mean you won’t help to clear Mr. Brooklyn? Why, what’s the
matter?”
“Well, mister, I may not be what I oughter be—leastways, some folks
says I ain’t. But I got views o’ my own as to what’s right, same as
others. And I’ve found out a thing or two about this Mr. Brooklyn of
yours. He can swing, s’far as I’m concerned.”
“My good fellow, the man’s innocent of this crime, whatever you may
know about him. You must say what you know.”
“Not so much ‘good fellow,’ and there’s no ‘must’ about it, mister.
That chap deserves hangin’ for things he’s done, and I don’t care if
they hangs ’im on the right charge or the wrong ’un. I know a girl
what . . .”
“I don’t mind telling you that I don’t like Mr. Brooklyn any better
than you do. But I want to see him cleared. He didn’t commit these
murders, I know that.”
“Come, come, mister, why not let ’im hang? What’s it matter to you,
anyway? He’d be a good riddance, from what I ’ear of ’im.”
“But you can’t see a man condemned when you know he’s innocent.”
“Why not, mister? I says, Why not? It’s not as if you had any personal
interest in the fellow, so to speak.”
“But I have. He’s the stepfather of the girl I’m engaged to marry. She
would never get over it if he were convicted.”
The pickpocket’s manner changed from sullenness to interest. “Eh,
what’s that you say?” he said. “Nah, if you’d told me that at onct,
I’m not one to stand between a man and his girl.”
“You’ll come, won’t you?”
The man hesitated. “I don’t say as I won’t,” he said. “But, if I do
come, ’twon’t be for any love of your Mr. Brooklyn. I’d see ’im
hanged, and glad too, along of what I know.”
“I don’t care why you come, as long as you do come.”
“Well, mister, I’ll come. If yer want to know why, it’s because I’ve
took a bit of a fancy to yer. But I’ll ’ave a bit of me own back on
that Brooklyn gent, if he gets off bein’ ’ung. I didn’t lift ’is watch
off ’im that night; but I will when ’e gets out.”
“Oh, you’re welcome there. Pick his pockets as much as you like.”
“In course yer won’t let on ter the police what I’ve been sayin’. I’ve
bin treatin’ yer as if yer was a pal, yer know.”
Ellery promised that his visitor’s calling should be kept a dead
secret. Then he gave him a drink and showed him out, after obtaining a
renewal of the promise that he would attend in the morning. The man
slouched out into the night.
Love did not keep Ellery awake. He was tired, and he slept soundly,
only waking in time to snatch a hasty breakfast, and to call for Joan
early enough to take her straight round with him to their appointment
at Thomas’s office.