THE ANONYMOUS LETTER
Within a week of that night Brereton was able to sum things up, to take
stock, to put clearly before himself the position of affairs as they
related to his mysterious client. They had by that time come to a clear
issue: a straight course lay ahead with its ultimate stages veiled in
obscurity. Harborough had again been brought up before the Highmarket
magistrates, had stubbornly refused to give any definite information
about his exact doings on the night of Kitely's murder, and had been
duly committed for trial on the capital charge. On the same day the
coroner, after holding an inquest extending over two sittings, had
similarly committed him. There was now nothing to do but to wait until
the case came on at Norcaster Assizes. Fortunately, the assizes were
fixed for the middle of the ensuing month: Brereton accordingly had
three weeks wherein to prepare his defence--or (which would be an
eminently satisfactory equivalent) to definitely fix the guilt on some
other person.
Christopher Pett, as legal adviser to the murdered man, had felt it his
duty to remain in Highmarket until the police proceedings and the
coroner's inquest were over. He had made himself conspicuous at both
police-court and coroner's court, putting himself forward wherever he
could, asking questions wherever opportunity offered. Brereton's dislike
of him increased the more he saw of him; he specially resented Pett's
familiarity. But Pett was one of those persons who know how to combine
familiarity with politeness and even servility; to watch or hear him
talk to any one whom he button-holed was to gain a notion of his
veneration for them. He might have been worshipping Brereton when he
buttoned-holed the young barrister after Harborough had been finally
committed to take his trial.
"Ah, he's a lucky man, that, Mr. Brereton!" observed Pett, collaring
Brereton in a corridor outside the crowded court. "Very fortunate man
indeed, sir, to have you take so much interest in him. Fancy you--with
all your opportunities in town, Mr. Brereton!--stopping down here, just
to defend that fellow out of--what shall we call it?--pure and simple
Quixotism! Quixotism!--I believe that's the correct term, Mr. Brereton.
Oh, yes--for the man's as good as done for. Not a cat's chance! He'll
swing, sir, will your client!"
"Your simile is not a good one, Mr. Pett," retorted Brereton. "Cats are
said to have nine lives."
"Cat, rat, mouse, dog--no chance whatever, sir," said Pett, cheerfully.
"I know what a country jury'll say. If I were a betting man, Mr.
Brereton--which I ain't, being a regular church attendant--I'd lay you
ten to one the jury'll never leave the box, sir!"
"No--I don't think they will--when the right man is put in the dock, Mr.
Pett," replied Brereton.
Pett drew back and looked the young barrister in the face with an
expression that was half quizzical and half serious.
"You don't mean to say that you really believe this fellow to be
innocent, Mr. Brereton?" he exclaimed. "You!--with your knowledge of
criminal proceedings! Oh, come now, Mr. Brereton--it's very kind of you,
very Quixotic, as I call it, but----"
"You shall see," said Brereton and turned off. He had no mind to be more
than civil to Pett, and he frowned when Pett, in his eagerness, laid a
detaining hand on his gown. "I'm not going to discuss it, Mr. Pett," he
added, a little warmly. "I've my own view of the case."
"But, but, Mr. Brereton--a moment!" urged Pett. "Just between ourselves
as--well, not as lawyers but as--as one gentleman to another. _Do_ you
think it possible it was some other person? Do you now, really?"
"Didn't your estimable female relative, as you call her, say that I
suggested she might be the guilty person?" demanded Brereton,
maliciously. "Come, now, Mr. Pett! You don't know all that I know!"
Pett fell back, staring doubtfully at Brereton's curled lip, and
wondering whether to take him seriously or not. And Brereton laughed and
went off--to reflect, five minutes later, that this was no laughing
matter for Harborough and his daughter, and to plunge again into the
maze of thought out of which it was so difficult to drag anything that
seemed likely to be helpful.
He interviewed Harborough again before he was taken back to Norcaster,
and again he pressed him to speak, and again Harborough gave him a
point-blank refusal.
"Not unless it comes to the very worst, sir," he said firmly, "and only
then if I see there's no other way--and even then it would only be for
my daughter's sake. But it won't come to that! There's three weeks
yet--good--and if somebody can't find out the truth in three weeks----"
"Man alive!" exclaimed Brereton. "Your own common-sense ought to tell
you that in cases like this three years isn't enough to get at the
truth! What can I do in three weeks?"
"There's not only you, sir," replied Harborough. "There's the
police--there's the detectives--there's----"
"The police and the detectives are all doing their best to fasten the
crime on you!" retorted Brereton. "Of course they are! That's their way.
When they've safely got one man, do you think they're going to look for
another? If you won't tell me what you were doing, and where you were
that night, well, I'll have to find out for myself."
Harborough gave his counsel a peculiar look which Brereton could not
understand.
"Oh, well!" he said. "If _you_ found it out----"
He broke off at that, and would say no more, and Brereton presently left
him and walked thoughtfully homeward, reflecting on the prisoner's last
words.
"He admits there is something to be found out," he mused. "And by that
very admission he implies that it could be found out. Now--how?
Egad!--I'd give something for even the least notion!"
Bent's parlour-maid, opening the door to Brereton, turned to a locked
drawer in the old-fashioned clothes-press which stood in Bent's hall,
and took from it a registered letter.
"For you, sir," she said, handing it to Brereton. "Came by the noon
post, sir. The housekeeper signed for it."
Brereton took the letter into the smoking-room and looked at it with a
sudden surmise that it might have something to do with the matter which
was uppermost in his thoughts. He had had no expectation of any
registered letter, no idea of anything that could cause any
correspondent of his to send him any communication by registered post.
There was no possibility of recognizing the handwriting of the sender,
for there was no handwriting to recognize: the address was typewritten.
And the postmark was London.
Brereton carefully cut open the flap of the envelope and drew out the
enclosure--a square sheet of typewriting paper folded about a thin wad
of Bank of England notes. He detached these at once and glanced quickly
at them. There were six of them: all new and crisp--and each was for a
hundred and fifty pounds.
Brereton laid this money aside and opened the letter. This, too, was
typewritten: a mere glance at its termination showed that it was
anonymous. He sat down at Bent's desk and carefully read it through.
There was no address: there was nothing beyond the postmark on the
envelope to show where the letter came from; there was absolutely
nothing in the contents to give any clue to the sender. But the wording
was clear and plain.
"MR. GIFFORD BRERETON,--Having learnt from the newspapers that you
are acting as counsel for John Harborough, charged with the murder
of a man named Kitely at Highmarket, I send you the enclosed £900
to be used in furthering Harborough's defence. You will use it
precisely as you think fit. You are not to spare it nor any
endeavour to prove Harborough's innocence--which is known to the
sender. Whenever further funds are needed, all you need do is to
insert an advertisement in the personal column of _The Times_
newspaper in these words: _Highmarket Exchequer needs
replenishing_, with your initials added. Allow me to suggest that
you should at once offer a reward of £500 to whoever gives
information which will lead to the capture and conviction of the
real murderer or murderers. If this offer fails to bring
information speedily, double it. I repeat that no pains must be
spared in this matter, and that money to any amount is no object.
The sender of this letter will keep well informed of the progress
of events as narrated in the newspapers, to which you will please
to afford all proper information."
Brereton read this extraordinary communication through three times; then
he replaced letter and bank-notes in the envelope, put the envelope in
an inner pocket, left the house, and walking across to the Northrop
villa, asked to see Avice Harborough.
Avice came to him in Mrs. Northrop's drawing-room, and Brereton glancing
keenly at her as she entered saw that she was looking worn and pale. He
put the letter into her hands with a mere word.
"Your father has a powerful friend--somewhere," he said.
To his astonishment the girl showed no very great surprise. She started
a little at the sight of the money; she flushed at one or two
expressions in the letter. But she read the letter through without
comment and handed it back to him with a look of inquiry.
"You don't seem surprised!" said Brereton.
"There has always been so much mystery to me about my father that I'm
not surprised," she replied. "No!--I'm just thankful! For this
man--whoever he is--says that my father's innocence is known to him. And
that's--just think what it means--to me!"
"Why doesn't he come forward and prove it, then?" demanded Brereton.
Avice shook her head.
"He--they--want it to be proved without that," she answered. "But--don't
you think that if all else fails the man who wrote this would come
forward? Oh, surely!"
Brereton stood silently looking at her for a full minute. From the
first time of meeting with her he had felt strangely and strongly
attracted to his client's daughter, and as he looked at her now he began
to realize that he was perhaps more deeply interested in her than he
knew.
"It's all the most extraordinary mystery--this about your father--that
ever I came across!" he exclaimed suddenly. Then he looked still more
closely at her. "You've been worrying!" he said impetuously. "Don't! I
beg you not to. I'll move heaven and earth--because I, personally, am
absolutely convinced of your father's innocence. And--here's powerful
help."
"You'll do what's suggested here?" she asked.
"Certainly! It's a capital idea," he answered. "I'd have done it myself
if I'd been a rich man--but I'm not. Cheer up, now!--we're getting on
splendidly. Look here--ask Mrs. Northrop to let you come out with me.
We'll go to the solicitor--together--and see about that reward at once."
As they presently walked down to the town Brereton gave Avice another of
his critical looks of inspection.
"You're feeling better," he said in his somewhat brusque fashion. "Is it
this bit of good news?"
"That--and the sense of doing something," she answered. "If I wasn't
looking well when you came in just now, it was because this inaction is
bad for me. I want to do something!--something to help. If I could only
be stirring--moving about. You understand?"
"Quite!" responded Brereton. "And there is something you can do. I saw
you on a bicycle the other day. Why not give up your teaching for a
while, and scour the country round about, trying to get hold of some
news about your father's movements that night? That he won't tell us
anything himself is no reason why we shouldn't find out something for
ourselves. He must have been somewhere--someone must have seen him! Why
not begin some investigation?--you know the district. How does that
strike you?"
"I should be only too thankful," she said. "And I'll do it. The
Northrops are very kind--they'll understand, and they'll let me off.
I'll begin at once--tomorrow. I'll hunt every village between the sea
and the hills!"
"Good!" said Brereton. "Some work of that sort, and this reward--ah, we
shall come out all right, you'll see."
"I don't know what we should have done if it hadn't been for you!" said
Avice. "But--we shan't forget. My father is a strange man, Mr. Brereton,
but he's not the sort of man he's believed to be by these Highmarket
people--and he's grateful to you--as you'll see."
"But I must do something to merit his gratitude first, you know,"
replied Brereton. "Come!--I've done next to nothing as yet. But we'll
make a fresh start with this reward--if your father's solicitor
approves."
The solicitor did approve--strongly. And he opened his eyes to their
widest extent when he read the anonymous letter and saw the bank-notes.
"Your father," he observed to Avice, "is the most mysterious man I ever
heard of! The Kitely mystery, in my opinion, is nothing to the
Harborough mystery. Do you really mean to tell me that you haven't an
idea of what all this means?"
"Not an idea!" replied Avice. "Not the ghost of one."
"Well--we'll get these posters and handbills out, anyway, Mr. Brereton,"
said the solicitor. "Five hundred pounds is a good figure. Lord bless
you!--some of these Highmarket folk would sell their mothers for half
that! The whole population will be turned into amateur detectives. Now
let's draft the exact wording, and then we'll see the printer."
Next day the bill-poster placarded Highmarket with the reward bills, and
distributed them broadcast in shops and offices, and one of the first
persons to lay hands on one was Mallalieu & Cotherstone's clerk, Herbert
Stoner.