"On the whole," said Meldon, "things are turning out better than I
expected. They developed in a way that at first a little surprised me.
In fact, for an hour or two I was rattled, and hardly knew what to say
or do; but on thinking the whole affair over quietly, after an
interview I had with Callaghan, I have every reason to feel fairly well
satisfied."
He and Major Kent sat together at afternoon tea on the verandah of
Portsmouth Lodge. The Major was evidently nervous and uncomfortable.
The teaspoon tinkled in the saucer as he handed a cup to his friend,
and he forgot to help himself to a lump of sugar.
"I took Doyle quite the right way," said Meldon, "and I don't think
he'll sack Sabina. I should have been sorry if Sabina had got into
serious trouble--"
"What about the judge?" said the Major.
"I'm talking about Sabina Gallagher at present, I'll come to the judge
later on. As a matter of fact he's perfectly well able to look after
himself. Sabina isn't, and it is my practice--it ought to be yours,
Major, but of course it isn't--it is my practice to look after the poor
and helpless, especially when they happen to be women, before I do
anything for those who are rich and powerful. You, I regret to say, go
upon a different plan. Because Sabina happens to be a friendless
servant, with no one to take her part, you don't care a pin what
happens to her. You are interested only in this judge, who is well off
and has the whole force of the British constitution at his back if any
one attempts to do him any harm."
The Major accepted the rebuke meekly.
"I only meant," he said, "that I'd like to hear about the judge now I
know that Sabina is all right. And after all, J. J., the British
constitution isn't much use to a man when you are set on ragging him."
"Of course not," said Meldon. "In fact, the British constitution is a
greatly over-rated thing. It didn't save poor Lorimer from his
untimely end. It wouldn't save this judge if I had determined to make
him miserable. It won't save Simpkins when his time comes. However,
as things turn out, I don't want to harry the judge. There's no
particular point in it. I don't much mind now even if he goes back to
Doyle's hotel."
"He really left then?"
"Yes. Doyle was rather upset about it. It's a serious loss to him,
and I'm sorry it occurred, for it turns out now that it was quite
unnecessary. I couldn't possibly be expected to guess; but, as a
matter of fact, I needn't have worried about that judge at all. He
won't do us any harm. In fact, I expect he'll turn out to be a most
valuable ally. I shall see him to-morrow and try to enlist his
sympathies for our Simpkins plot. I expect he'll simply jump at it."
"I thought you said he'd gone."
"He has gone from the hotel, but not from Ballymoy. He's at present
staying with his niece."
"I didn't know he had a niece."
"Miss King, or, to be quite accurate, Mrs. Lorimer, is his niece, and
he's staying with her."
Major Kent started and laid down his teacup. Then a look of relief
came into his face, and he smiled.
"You'll give up that absurd theory of yours now, I suppose," he said,
"and admit that Miss King isn't a murderess. I always knew she wasn't,
though I couldn't convince you."
"I don't see," said Meldon, "that anything has happened to invalidate
the evidence on which we originally concluded that Miss King is Mrs.
Lorimer."
"Don't be an ass, J. J. You say she's the judge's niece; so of course
she can't--"
"You apparently think," said Meldon, "that a judge's niece, merely
because her uncle happens to occupy a position of legal eminence,
couldn't possibly commit a crime. You're entirely wrong. Some of the
greatest women criminals the world has ever seen have been the nieces
of men of high position. Look at Lucrezia Borgia, for instance. Her
uncle was a Pope; and whatever our religious opinions may be we must
admit that a Pope is a bigger man than an ordinary judge, and yet
Lucrezia is famous for some of the most remarkable crimes in all
history. I could quote other instances, but that one ought to be
sufficient to convince you that relationship to a judge is no
safeguard--"
"That wasn't what I meant, J. J. You say that this judge tried Mrs.
Lorimer. Now if--"
"Do you mean to suggest," said Meldon, "that a judge wouldn't try his
own niece for murder?"
"Of course he wouldn't. How could he?"
"You're entirely wrong," said Meldon. "As a matter of fact any
right-minded and really upright judge, such as we have every reason to
suppose this Sir Gilbert Hawkesby is, would take a special pride in
trying his own niece. He'd like to hang her if he could, always
supposing that he felt sure that she was guilty. If there's one thing
judges are more determined about than another it's their independence
of all considerations of private friendship in the discharge of their
duties. There are several recorded instances of judges hanging their
own sons. The expression, 'A Roman father,' arises, as well as I
recollect, from an incident of the sort, and the men who have done that
kind of thing have always been regarded as the brightest examples of
incorruptibility. Every lawyer is brought up in the tradition that he
can't do a finer action, if he becomes a judge--and they all expect to
become judges in the end--than to hang a relative of his own. Sir
Gilbert saw his opportunity when Miss King was brought up before him,
and the moment he became convinced of her guilt he summed up against
her in the most determined way."
"You may talk as you like, J. J., but no judge would do it."
"You have evidently a very low opinion of judges," said Meldon. "So
has Doyle. He thinks that they are all influenced by political
prejudices, and are ready to condemn a man who belongs to any League,
without waiting to find out whether he has committed a crime or not.
That's bad enough; but what you charge them with is infinitely worse.
You say that they are habitually guilty of nepotism--that is to say of
partiality to their own nieces, which is one of the worst crimes there
is in a judge, as bad as simony would be in a bishop."
"I don't say anything of the sort. I say--"
"Either you say that Miss King isn't his niece or you say that he
wouldn't try her for murder. You must be saying one or the other,
though you don't express yourself very distinctly, because there's
nothing else you could say."
"I don't, of course, agree with you," said the Major, after a pause.
"In fact, I think you're talking downright nonsense, but I'm not going
to argue with you. I'm--"
"I wish you'd always take up that attitude," said Meldon. "Your
arguments waste a lot of time."
"I'm just going to ask you one question. Supposing Miss King is Mrs.
Lorimer--"
"She is. There's no supposition about it."
"And supposing the judge tried her as you say--"
"That's in all the papers. There's no use attempting to deny that,
whatever else you deny."
"And supposing she's his niece--"
"Callaghan says the cook told him she was," said Meldon, "and it
appears that she kissed him when they met, which she'd hardly have done
if they weren't relations."
"Then," said the Major triumphantly, "how can you account for his going
to stay with her as if she hadn't done anything wrong?"
"I don't quite catch your point, Major."
"Is it likely that, knowing his niece to be a murderess, or at all
events believing her to be a murderess, a judge--a judge, mind you, J.
J.--would go and stay in the house with her, and kiss her?"
"It was she who kissed him," said Meldon, "but that's a minor point. I
see your difficulty now, Major, and I quite admit there's something in
it, or appears to be something in it to a man like you who doesn't
understand the legal point of view."
"No point of view can alter facts," said the Major, "supposing they are
facts, which of course they're not."
"Yes, it can," said Meldon. "To the legal mind a fact ceases to be a
fact the moment a properly qualified court has decided the other way.
The judge may be, in this particular case he is, as we know, absolutely
convinced that his niece is a murderess. But a jury says she isn't,
and so from a legal point of view she's a perfectly innocent and
upright woman. The judge can't hang her. He can't even warn her not
to do it again. He is bound, whatever his private feelings and
convictions are, to accept the jury's verdict at its face value, and to
treat his niece exactly as he did before all the unpleasantness arose."
"He needn't kiss her," said the Major.
"If he's a consistently just man and was on what we may call kissing
terms with her before," said Meldon, "he'll of course kiss her again
afterwards. He can't do anything else. In the eye of the law--that's
what I mean by the legal standpoint--she's an innocent woman. Now the
judge's whole position in society and even his income depends on his
keeping up the theory that the law is infallible. Whatever you and I
as private individuals may do, a judge has only one course open to him.
He must take the view that the law takes. That's why I say that it's
quite natural for Sir Gilbert to go and stop with his niece and kiss
her, though, as I said before, it was really she who kissed him. If he
didn't, he'd be admitting publicly that the law was wrong, and he can't
do that without giving himself and his whole position away hopelessly."
"It doesn't strike me as a bit natural," said the Major. "In fact,
it's quite impossible. That's why I say--"
"I can understand your feeling," said Meldon. "Indeed I was a good
deal surprised at first; but when I came to think it all out, and to
realise the sort of way the judge would look at it, I saw, as you'll
probably be able to see some time tomorrow--"
"No. I won't. I'll never see that. It's absurd to suppose--"
"I don't deny," said Meldon, "that when we consider Sir Gilbert
Hawkesby as a private individual, separating for a moment the man from
the judge, we must credit him with the feeling that Miss King is rather
a--what the French would call a _mauvais sujet_."
"A what?"
"A black sheep," said Meldon, "a disgrace to the family. The sort of
relation whom one is inclined to keep in the background as much as
possible. I am relying on that feeling to secure the help of the
judge."
"For what?"
"To marry Miss King to Simpkins, of course. The thing we've been at
all along."
"He won't do that. No man living would marry his niece to Simpkins."
"That depends on the nature of the niece. There are nieces--there's no
use denying it, Major, because it's unfortunately true. There are
nieces that a man would be glad to see married to any one. And there's
a great deal to be said in favour of the Simpkins alliance in this
particular case."
"No, there isn't. The man is a cad."
"I don't think nearly so badly of Simpkins as you do, Major. I've told
you that before. But, even granting what you say is true, the judge
probably argues that Miss King with her record can't expect anything
better. He'll be glad enough to get Simpkins for her. He'll recollect
that Ballymoy is a frightfully out-of-the-way place, and that if Miss
King is married to a man who lives here none of her friends will ever
see any more of her. That's exactly what he wants; and so I
confidently expect that, once the position is explained to him, he'll
simply jump at the chance."
"Do you mean to say," said the Major--"I am now supposing that all your
ridiculous ideas are true, and that Miss King will really--"
He hesitated.
"Kill Simpkins?" said Meldon. "That's what you want done, isn't it?"
"Do you mean to say that you think the judge will go out of his way to
encourage her to commit another crime?"
"It's not the business of a judge to prevent crime," said Meldon. "You
mustn't mix him up with the police. The police have to see that people
don't do what's wrong. Judges have to punish them afterwards for what
the police fail to stop them from doing. The judge won't step out of
his proper sphere and start doing police work. If he did there'd be
endless confusion. And besides that, I don't expect the judge will
think that she means to kill Simpkins. He doesn't understand as we do
that she is acting in the interests of her art. She probably, in fact
certainly, hasn't told him what she told me--that she has come to
Ballymoy with the intention of going on with her work. He'll think
that the narrow shave she had over the Lorimer affair will have given
her a lesson, and that from now on she'll want to settle down and live
a quiet, affectionate kind of life. When she kissed him in that
spontaneous way this morning, what do you suppose was passing through
his mind? What was he thinking? Remember that he hadn't seen her
since the day of the trial, and then ask yourself what thoughts those
two kisses would suggest to him."
"I don't know. That she was glad to see him, I suppose."
"A great deal more than that. A judge doesn't stop short at those
superficial views of things. He looks deep down into the more
recondite emotions of the human heart. As soon as he felt those kisses
he said to himself: 'Here is a poor girl who's really sorry for what
she's done--'"
"I thought you said he didn't believe she'd done it. I certainly
don't."
"As a judge he doesn't; but I'm speaking of him now as an uncle, a
simple unofficial uncle. As an uncle he can't help recollecting poor
Lorimer, but he'll want to give his niece every possible fair play, and
as soon as she showed signs of penitence--her kisses were a pretty
convincing sign of penitence, considering the way he summed up against
her--he'd be all for burying the past and letting her get a fresh start
in life if she could."
"Of course I don't attach the smallest importance to anything you've
said. I don't believe, in the first place, that Miss King is Mrs.
Lorimer. I don't believe any judge would try to hang his own niece. I
don't believe, if he had tried her, he'd go and stop in the house with
her afterwards, and I'm perfectly certain he wouldn't kiss her. But
you apparently like to pretend to me that you do believe all the rot
you've been talking, and that being so, I'd rather like to know what
you intend to do next."
"It doesn't in the least matter to you what I do," said Meldon. "If
I'm the kind of drivelling idiot you make out, my actions are of no
importance, either to you or to any one else."
"All the same, I'd like to know what they're going to be."
"Why?"
"So that I can do my best to prevent their doing any irreparable
mischief, if possible; though I don't expect it is possible."
"I shall do no irreparable mischief to any one," said Meldon; "except
Simpkins; and you always said you wanted him poisoned."
"I never said such a thing."
"Keep cool, Major. There's no use losing your temper. You and Doyle
and O'Donoghue all said you'd be glad to gloat over Simpkins' corpse.
If you hadn't said so I shouldn't be taking all this trouble. If I
didn't still believe that you hate Simpkins I should drop the matter at
once. After all, it's no business of mine."
"Then do drop it. Like a good man, J. J., leave Miss King alone, and
let the judge fish in peace."
"No; I won't. I'll see the thing through now I'm this far, and within
easy reach of success. I don't want to have you reproaching me
afterwards for going back on my word."
"I won't reproach you. I promise not to."
"You'd mean not to; but when the present flurry is over, and when
Simpkins begins to annoy you again about the fishing and other things,
you won't be able to help reproaching me. Even if you refrain from
actual words I shall see it in your eye. I can't go through life,
Major, haunted by your eye with a mute, unspoken reproach in it."
Major Kent sighed heavily.
"Then what do you mean to do?" he asked.
"I shall see the judge to-morrow," said Meldon, "and--"
"I advise you not to. He's sure to have found out about the paraffin
oil by that time."
"I'm prepared for that. There may be some slight temporary
unpleasantness, but that will pass away at once when the judge hears
the proposal that I have to make."
"What's that?"
"That he should encourage the marriage between Simpkins and his niece.
I shall explain to him that it is very much to his own interest to do
so, and of course he'll see the force of what I say at once. I shan't
mention the ultimate fate of Simpkins. I don't suppose he'd care much
if I did. He can't be particularly keen on preserving Simpkins' life,
for he doesn't know him. Still it is best to avoid all risks, and I
shall treat the marriage as the ordinary conventional love-match,
without hinting at any connection between it and Miss King's peculiar
art. When I've settled things up with him--that'll be about twelve or
one o'clock, if I get at him before he starts fishing for the day--I
shall go down to the village and get a hold of Simpkins. He'll be in
his office, I expect. I shall lunch with him, and then lead him up and
lay him at Miss King's feet."
"Will he go for you? He hasn't shown any great eagerness for the match
so far."
"I shan't give him much choice," said Meldon. "I shall tell him that
the thing has got to be done at once. Very few men are able to stand
up to me when I take a really determined tone with them, and I shall
speak in the strongest way to Simpkins. When I have, so to speak,
deposited him in front of Miss King--"
"On his knees?" said the Major.
"Very probably. In these matters of detail I must of course be guided
by circumstances; but when I have put him down, either on his knees or
in some other posture, I shall slip away unobtrusively--"
"I should like to see you doing that. I don't think you could. You're
generally more obtrusive than any one else I've ever met."
"Leaving them together," said Meldon, "with Callaghan watching from
behind a tree, so as to be able to report to me exactly what happens.
In the meanwhile I shall stroll up the river and find the judge. If he
isn't actually into a fish at the moment, I shall bring him straight
down to the house and let him hear the result at once. If he has a
salmon hooked, I shall of course wait till it's landed, and then bring
him down. Afterwards I shall take Simpkins up to the rectory and make
arrangements about the licence. We ought, bar accidents, to have the
whole thing finished in the inside of a fortnight from now. After that
I must leave it in the hands of O'Donoghue. He'll have to be careful
how he treats Simpkins when he's called in. It won't do to make
mistakes and go curing him accidentally."
"I suppose," said the Major bitterly, "that you'll employ Sabina
Gallagher to make the wedding-cake. She might begin the poisoning."
"Certainly not," said Meldon. "Sabina couldn't make a wedding-cake,
and in any case Simpkins won't eat enough of his own wedding-cake to do
him any harm, whatever it's made of. If you were accustomed to
weddings, Major, you'd know that the whole cake is invariably eaten by
the postoffice officials--a most deserving class, whom nobody wants to
poison. Besides, in a case like this, it will be better to avoid all
publicity and show. It wouldn't do to have the newspapers getting hold
of the fact that Mrs. Lorimer is being married again so soon. There'd
be paragraphs, and the suspicions of Simpkins would be excited. On the
whole, I don't think we'll have a wedding cake, or bridesmaids, or
anything of that sort. But you can be best man if you like."
"I know you don't mean a word you're saying, J. J., and that you won't
really do anything."
"Wait and see."
"But if I thought you meant to cause Miss King the slightest uneasiness
or discomfort, I should simply turn you straight out of my house. I
wouldn't be a party for a single moment to any plan for insulting a
really nice woman like Miss King."
"Don't fret about that," said Meldon. "What I'm doing is exactly what
Miss King wants done. She told me so herself."