The two men first called did not interest me. They were the constables
to whose evidence I had listened at the police court.
"Detective-Inspector Cronin," exclaimed Mr Paget, when they had
finished, and a tall, well-preserved, black-bearded man entered the
witness-box and was sworn.
"I am John Cronin, detective inspector, Criminal Investigation
Department," said he, in answer to counsel. "The pocket-book which I
produce was handed me on prisoner's arrest, and upon examining it, I
found it contained, amongst other things, a bill of the Charing Cross
Hotel. I proceeded there, made inquiries, and ascertained that prisoner
had been staying there one day, giving his name as Frank Burgoyne. I
examined the room he occupied, and found a despatch box in which was the
photograph I now produce. Comparing it with that of the woman murdered
in Angel Court, taken after death, I find the features exactly
coincide."
"Was there any distinguishing mark?" asked his lordship.
"Yes, m'lord," replied the detective handing up both photographs. "Your
lordship will notice a small scar over the left eye."
"You made other inquiries, I believe?" asked Mr Paget.
"Yes; on the following day I went to prisoner's house, Elveham Dene,
Northamptonshire, and searched the premises. On examining the drawers
of a writing-table in the library, which were unlocked, I found two
blank pieces of paper on which were seals corresponding in every
particular to that found on the lady murdered in Bedford Place."
What did all this mean? I knew nothing of these seals. Surely it must
be some plot to take away my life!
The frightful suspicion--could Vera be concerned in it--entered my soul.
The doubt was too awful to be entertained; yet she had not communicated
with me since my arrest.
"In the same drawer," continued the detective fumbling among some papers
he held in his hand, "I found this telegram. It is dated on the day of
the murder in Bloomsbury, and addressed to the deceased. It
reads:--`Handed in at Hull and received at the West Central district
office. Shall be with you about midnight. Be at home.' It is signed
with a single letter `B.' On examining the notepaper on the
writing-table, I found it was the same as that upon which the seals were
impressed."
"You produce some of that notepaper, I think?" said Mr Paget.
"I do, sir."
The paper was handed to the judge, who held it to the light and compared
the watermarks.
When he had satisfied himself the detective resumed:
"Throughout my examination I was in every way retarded by the action of
the prisoner's wife. On proceeding to search one of the bedrooms she
positively refused to give me the keys of a chest of drawers, and I was
therefore compelled to force them. Concealed under some papers, which
lined one of the drawers, I discovered a small gold padlock, upon which
are engraved the initials `R.S.', and to which was attached the small
portion of gold chain I now produce. I had charge of the inquiries in
the case of Mrs Inglewood, and remember at the time of her decease she
was wearing a diamond bracelet which is also produced. When I examined
the house at Bedford Place I discovered the case of the bracelet, which
bore the name of the jeweller. The manager of the firm in question will
be called to prove that the padlock found in the bedroom of the prisoner
is the one belonging to Mrs Inglewood's bracelet, and that it had been
sold to her a week before her death."
Some of the dead woman's jewellery in my room! Incredible!
Was it possible that Vera--but, no--again banish the thought!
"In the same drawer," added the detective, with a self-satisfied smile
at the intense surprise which his statements excited, "was this letter,
in a lady's handwriting, signed `Ethel Inglewood': `Come and dine
to-morrow evening. I have the money ready, and rely on you to keep my
secret.' The address embossed on the paper is `67, Bedford Place,' and
the date is that of the day previous to the murder."
"Do you prove anything else?" inquired Mr Paget, expectantly.
"No," replied the inspector, "except that from inquiries I made I find
that very shortly after the inquest on Mrs Inglewood the prisoner left
the country suddenly, and the next murder--the one in Angel Court--was
perpetrated on the day of his return."
As Mr Paget resumed his seat, my counsel, Mr Roland, rose. Turning to
the witness with a suave countenance, he mildly asked:
"How do you fix the day of the prisoner's return?"
"By the books of the club to which the accused belonged--the Junior
Garrick."
"You say you found the seals in the library. Could access be easily
gained to that room?"
"No; prisoner's wife had the key."
"And she refused you the keys of the chest of drawers?"
"Yes, giving as her reason that it contained papers of a strictly
private nature."
"Did she express surprise when you found the seals?"
"When I showed them to her she fainted."
"You said, just now, that the little padlock was `concealed.' Are you
sure it had not accidentally fallen behind the paper?"
"No; I should think not."
"Did you suspect the prisoner previous to his arrest?"
"I did. After the inquest on Mrs Inglewood, observation was kept upon
him for some time, but he eluded us by going abroad."
"And now you endeavour to fix the crime upon him without any direct
evidence. I have nothing more to ask you."
My hopes sank as Mr Roland resumed his seat, with a poor affectation of
indifference.
The next witness was a neatly-attired, gentlemanly-looking man, the
jeweller's manager, who proved the purchase of the bracelet by Mrs
Inglewood, and identified the tiny padlock as a portion of it.
When he had retired, Mr Roland having asked him no questions, he was
succeeded by Bob Nugent, who stepped into the witness-box averting my
gaze. Was even Bob in the conspiracy!
"You were, I think, Mr Nugent," said the prosecuting counsel, "a
friend--a particular friend I may say--of the prisoner's?"
"I was--formerly."
"Now, tell me, do you remember the night of the 15th August?"
"I do. The prisoner and I left the Junior Garrick Club soon after
midnight, to proceed home."
"Was there anything in his manner which attracted your attention?"
"He seemed rather excited, having lost heavily at cards. I left him at
Danes' Inn."
"Do you know on what day he returned from abroad?"
"It was in the beginning of March. He was then strangely reticent as to
his actions in the meantime."
"You will remember, as a journalist, possibly, on what night the murder
in Angel Court occurred?"
"On the same night as the prisoner's return."
"Do you know anything of the photograph found upon the accused?"
"Yes; he produced it accidentally, while dining at the Junior Garrick
Club, and appeared much confused and annoyed, endeavouring at once to
conceal it."
"Did you see it again?"
"The prisoner, in consequence of some remarks I made to him, showed it
to me next day at his hotel. On that occasion he explained that it had
been given to him by some man who is now dead."
"Did that not strike you as improbable?"
"Well--yes, it did."
"Did he enter into any further explanation?"
"Very little was said about the seal."
The court was extremely hot. Surely I was becoming fainter and more
faint! There was a singing and surging in my ears. Was I falling or
standing upright? What were they speaking of? I had lost sight of the
face of my friend. I could only see the lines of expectant upturned
countenances.
I was really fainting; nevertheless I struggled against it. Something,
too, within me told me that I ought to struggle against it, yet
everything was swimming and whirling around me, and vague forms seemed
rapidly passing and repassing before my vision.
Then I staggered backward into the chair placed for me, and gradually
the sense of sickening misery departed.