THE NARRATIVE OF JOHN LEXMAN
“I am, as you may all know, a writer of stories which depend for their
success upon the creation and unravelment of criminological mysteries.
The Chief Commissioner has been good enough to tell you that my stories
were something more than a mere seeking after sensation, and that I
endeavoured in the course of those narratives to propound obscure but
possible situations, and, with the ingenuity that I could command, to
offer to those problems a solution acceptable, not only to the general
reader, but to the police expert.
“Although I did not regard my earlier work with any great seriousness
and indeed only sought after exciting situations and incidents, I can
see now, looking back, that underneath the work which seemed at the time
purposeless, there was something very much like a scheme of studies.
“You must forgive this egotism in me because it is necessary that
I should make this explanation and you, who are in the main police
officers of considerable experience and discernment, should appreciate
the fact that as I was able to get inside the minds of the fictitious
criminals I portrayed, so am I now able to follow the mind of the man
who committed this murder, or if not to follow his mind, to recreate the
psychology of the slayer of Remington Kara.
“In the possession of most of you are the vital facts concerning this
man. You know the type of man he was, you have instances of his terrible
ruthlessness, you know that he was a blot upon God's earth, a vicious
wicked ego, seeking the gratification of that strange blood-lust and
pain-lust, which is to be found in so few criminals.”
John Lexman went on to describe the killing of Vassalaro.
“I know now how that occurred,” he said. “I had received on the previous
Christmas eve amongst other presents, a pistol from an unknown admirer.
That unknown admirer was Kara, who had planned this murder some three
months ahead. He it was, who sent me the Browning, knowing as he did
that I had never used such a weapon and that therefore I would be chary
about using it. I might have put the pistol away in a cupboard out
of reach and the whole of his carefully thought out plan would have
miscarried.
“But Kara was systematic in all things. Three weeks after I received the
weapon, a clumsy attempt was made to break into my house in the middle
of the night. It struck me at the time it was clumsy, because the
burglar made a tremendous amount of noise and disappeared soon after
he began his attempt, doing no more damage than to break a window in
my dining-room. Naturally my mind went to the possibility of a further
attempt of this kind, as my house stood on the outskirts of the village,
and it was only natural that I should take the pistol from one of my
boxes and put it somewhere handy. To make doubly sure, Kara came down
the next day and heard the full story of the outrage.
“He did not speak of pistols, but I remember now, though I did not
remember at the time, that I mentioned the fact that I had a handy
weapon. A fortnight later a second attempt was made to enter the house.
I say an attempt, but again I do not believe that the intention was at
all serious. The outrage was designed to keep that pistol of mine in a
get-at-able place.
“And again Kara came down to see us on the day following the burglary,
and again I must have told him, though I have no distinct recollection
of the fact, of what had happened the previous night. It would have been
unnatural if I had not mentioned the fact, as it was a matter which had
formed a subject of discussion between myself, my wife and the servants.
“Then came the threatening letter, with Kara providentially at hand. On
the night of the murder, whilst Kara was still in my house, I went out
to find his chauffeur. Kara remained a few minutes with my wife and
then on some excuse went into the library. There he loaded the pistol,
placing one cartridge in the chamber, and trusting to luck that I did
not pull the trigger until I had it pointed at my victim. Here he took
his biggest chance, because, before sending the weapon to me, he had had
the spring of the Browning so eased that the slightest touch set it
off and, as you know, the pistol being automatic, the explosion of one
cartridge, reloading and firing the next and so on, it was probably
that a chance touch would have brought his scheme to nought--probably me
also.
“Of what happened on that night you are aware.”
He went on to tell of his trial and conviction and skimmed over the life
he led until that morning on Dartmoor.
“Kara knew my innocence had been proved and his hatred for me being
his great obsession, since I had the thing he had wanted but no longer
wanted, let that be understood--he saw the misery he had planned for
me and my dear wife being brought to a sudden end. He had, by the
way, already planned and carried his plan into execution, a system of
tormenting her.
“You did not know,” he turned to T. X., “that scarcely a month passed,
but some disreputable villain called at her flat, with a story that he
had been released from Portland or Wormwood Scrubbs that morning and
that he had seen me. The story each messenger brought was one sufficient
to break the heart of any but the bravest woman. It was a story of
ill-treatment by brutal officials, of my illness, of my madness, of
everything calculated to harrow the feelings of a tender-hearted and
faithful wife.
“That was Kara's scheme. Not to hurt with the whip or with the knife,
but to cut deep at the heart with his evil tongue, to cut to the raw
places of the mind. When he found that I was to be released,--he may
have guessed, or he may have discovered by some underhand method; that a
pardon was about to be signed,--he conceived his great plan. He had less
than two days to execute it.
“Through one of his agents he discovered a warder who had been in some
trouble with the authorities, a man who was avaricious and was even then
on the brink of being discharged from the service for trafficking with
prisoners. The bribe he offered this man was a heavy one and the warder
accepted.
“Kara had purchased a new monoplane and as you know he was an excellent
aviator. With this new machine he flew to Devon and arrived at dawn in
one of the unfrequented parts of the moor.
“The story of my own escape needs no telling. My narrative really begins
from the moment I put my foot upon the deck of the Mpret. The first
person I asked to see was, naturally, my wife. Kara, however, insisted
on my going to the cabin he had prepared and changing my clothes, and
until then I did not realise I was still in my convict's garb. A
clean change was waiting for me, and the luxury of soft shirts and
well-fitting garments after the prison uniform I cannot describe.
“After I was dressed I was taken by the Greek steward to the larger
stateroom and there I found my darling waiting for me.”
His voice sank almost to a whisper, and it was a minute or two before he
had mastered his emotions.
“She had been suspicious of Kara, but he had been very insistent. He had
detailed the plans and shown her the monoplane, but even then she would
not trust herself on board, and she had been waiting in a motor-boat,
moving parallel with the yacht, until she saw the landing and realized,
as she thought, that Kara was not playing her false. The motor-boat had
been hired by Kara and the two men inside were probably as well-bribed
as the warder.
“The joy of freedom can only be known to those who have suffered the
horrors of restraint. That is a trite enough statement, but when one is
describing elemental things there is no room for subtlety. The voyage
was a fairly eventless one. We saw very little of Kara, who did not
intrude himself upon us, and our main excitement lay in the apprehension
that we should be held up by a British destroyer or, that when we
reached Gibraltar, we should be searched by the Brit's authorities. Kara
had foreseen that possibility and had taken in enough coal to last him
for the run.
“We had a fairly stormy passage in the Mediterranean, but after that
nothing happened until we arrived at Durazzo. We had to go ashore in
disguise, because Kara told us that the English Consul might see us and
make some trouble. We wore Turkish dresses, Grace heavily veiled and I
wearing a greasy old kaftan which, with my somewhat emaciated face and
my unshaven appearance, passed me without comment.
“Kara's home was and is about eighteen miles from Durazzo. It is not on
the main road, but it is reached by following one of the rocky mountain
paths which wind and twist among the hills to the south-east of the
town. The country is wild and mainly uncultivated. We had to pass
through swamps and skirt huge lagoons as we mounted higher and higher
from terrace to terrace and came to the roads which crossed the
mountains.
“Kara's, palace, you could call it no less, is really built within sight
of the sea. It is on the Acroceraunian Peninsula near Cape Linguetta.
Hereabouts the country is more populated and better cultivated. We
passed great slopes entirely covered with mulberry and olive trees,
whilst in the valleys there were fields of maize and corn. The palazzo
stands on a lofty plateau. It is approached by two paths, which can be
and have been well defended in the past against the Sultan's troops
or against the bands which have been raised by rival villages with the
object of storming and plundering this stronghold.
“The Skipetars, a blood-thirsty crowd without pity or remorse, were
faithful enough to their chief, as Kara was. He paid them so well that
it was not profitable to rob him; moreover he kept their own turbulent
elements fully occupied with the little raids which he or his agents
organized from time to time. The palazzo was built rather in the Moorish
than in the Turkish style.
“It was a sort of Eastern type to which was grafted an Italian
architecture--a house of white-columned courts, of big paved yards,
fountains and cool, dark rooms.
“When I passed through the gates I realized for the first time something
of Kara's importance. There were a score of servants, all Eastern,
perfectly trained, silent and obsequious. He led us to his own room.
“It was a big apartment with divans running round the wall, the most
ornate French drawing room suite and an enormous Persian carpet, one of
the finest of the kind that has ever been turned out of Shiraz. Here,
let me say, that throughout the trip his attitude to me had been
perfectly friendly and towards Grace all that I could ask of my best
friend, considerate and tactful.
“'We had hardly reached his room before he said to me with that bonhomie
which he had observed throughout the trip, 'You would like to see your
room?'
“I expressed a wish to that effect. He clapped his hands and a big
Albanian servant came through the curtained doorway, made the usual
salaam, and Kara spoke to him a few words in a language which I presume
was Turkish.
“'He will show you the way,' said Kara with his most genial smile.
“I followed the servant through the curtains which had hardly fallen
behind me before I was seized by four men, flung violently on the
ground, a filthy tarbosch was thrust into my mouth and before I knew
what was happening I was bound hand and foot.
“As I realised the gross treachery of the man, my first frantic thoughts
were of Grace and her safety. I struggled with the strength of three
men, but they were too many for me and I was dragged along the passage,
a door was opened and I was flung into a bare room. I must have been
lying on the floor for half an hour when they came for me, this time
accompanied by a middle-aged man named Savolio, who was either an
Italian or a Greek.
“He spoke English fairly well and he made it clear to me that I had to
behave myself. I was led back to the room from whence I had come and
found Kara sitting in one of those big armchairs which he affected,
smoking a cigarette. Confronting him, still in her Turkish dress, was
poor Grace. She was not bound I was pleased to see, but when on
my entrance she rose and made as if to come towards me, she was
unceremoniously thrown back by the guardian who stood at her side.
“'Mr. John Lexman,' drawled Kara, 'you are at the beginning of a great
disillusionment. I have a few things to tell you which will make you
feel rather uncomfortable.' It was then that I heard for the first time
that my pardon had been signed and my innocence discovered.
“'Having taken a great deal of trouble to get you in prison,' said Kara,
'it isn't likely that I'm going to allow all my plans to be undone, and
my plan is to make you both extremely uncomfortable.'
“He did not raise his voice, speaking still in the same conversational
tone, suave and half amused.
“'I hate you for two things,' he said, and ticked them off on his
fingers: 'the first is that you took the woman that I wanted. To a man
of my temperament that is an unpardonable crime. I have never wanted
women either as friends or as amusement. I am one of the few people in
the world who are self-sufficient. It happened that I wanted your wife
and she rejected me because apparently she preferred you.'
“He looked at me quizzically.
“'You are thinking at this moment,' he went on slowly, 'that I want her
now, and that it is part of my revenge that I shall put her straight in
my harem. Nothing is farther from my desires or my thoughts. The Black
Roman is not satisfied with the leavings of such poor trash as you. I
hate you both equally and for both of you there is waiting an experience
more terrible than even your elastic imagination can conjure. You
understand what that means!' he asked me still retaining his calm.
“I did not reply. I dared not look at Grace, to whom he turned.
“'I believe you love your husband, my friend,' he said; 'your love will
be put to a very severe test. You shall see him the mere wreckage of the
man he is. You shall see him brutalized below the level of the cattle
in the field. I will give you both no joys, no ease of mind. From this
moment you are slaves, and worse than slaves.'
“He clapped his hands. The interview was ended and from that moment I
only saw Grace once.”
John Lexman stopped and buried his face in his hands.
“They took me to an underground dungeon cut in the solid rock. In many
ways it resembled the dungeon of the Chateau of Chillon, in that its
only window looked out upon a wild, storm-swept lake and its floor was
jagged rock. I have called it underground, as indeed it was on that
side, for the palazzo was built upon a steep slope running down from the
spur of the hills.
“They chained me by the legs and left me to my own devices. Once a day
they gave me a little goat flesh and a pannikin of water and once a week
Kara would come in and outside the radius of my chain he would open a
little camp stool and sitting down smoke his cigarette and talk. My
God! the things that man said! The things he described! The horrors he
related! And always it was Grace who was the centre of his description.
And he would relate the stories he was telling to her about myself. I
cannot describe them. They are beyond repetition.”
John Lexman shuddered and closed his eyes.
“That was his weapon. He did not confront me with the torture of my
darling, he did not bring tangible evidence of her suffering--he just
sat and talked, describing with a remarkable clarity of language which
seemed incredible in a foreigner, the 'amusements' which he himself had
witnessed.
“I thought I should go mad. Twice I sprang at him and twice the chain
about my legs threw me headlong on that cruel floor. Once he brought the
jailer in to whip me, but I took the whipping with such phlegm that it
gave him no satisfaction. I told you I had seen Grace only once and this
is how it happened.
“It was after the flogging, and Kara, who was a veritable demon in his
rage, planned to have his revenge for my indifference. They brought
Grace out upon a boat and rowed the boat to where I could see it from my
window. There the whip which had been applied to me was applied to her.
I can't tell you any more about that,” he said brokenly, “but I wish,
you don't know how fervently, that I had broken down and given the dog
the satisfaction he wanted. My God! It was horrible!
“When the winter came they used to take me out with chains on my legs
to gather in wood from the forest. There was no reason why I should be
given this work, but the truth was, as I discovered from Salvolio, that
Kara thought my dungeon was too warm. It was sheltered from the winds
by the hill behind and even on the coldest days and nights it was not
unbearable. Then Kara went away for some time. I think he must have gone
to England, and he came back in a white fury. One of his big plans had
gone wrong and the mental torture he inflicted upon me was more acute
than ever.
“In the old days he used to come once a week; now he came almost every
day. He usually arrived in the afternoon and I was surprised one night
to be awakened from my sleep to see him standing at the door, a lantern
in his hand, his inevitable cigarette in his mouth. He always wore the
Albanian costume when he was in the country, those white kilted skirts
and zouave jackets which the hillsmen affect and, if anything, it added
to his demoniacal appearance. He put down the lantern and leant against
the wall.
“'I'm afraid that wife of yours is breaking up, Lexman,' he drawled;
'she isn't the good, stout, English stuff that I thought she was.'
“I made no reply. I had found by bitter experience that if I intruded
into the conversation, I should only suffer the more.
“'I have sent down to Durazzo to get a doctor,' he went on; 'naturally
having taken all this trouble I don't want to lose you by death. She
is breaking up,' he repeated with relish and yet with an undertone of
annoyance in his voice; 'she asked for you three times this morning.'
“I kept myself under control as I had never expected that a man so
desperately circumstanced could do.
“'Kara,' I said as quietly as I could, 'what has she done that she
should deserve this hell in which she has lived?'
“He sent out a long ring of smoke and watched its progress across the
dungeon.
“'What has she done?' he said, keeping his eye on the ring--I shall
always remember every look, every gesture, and every intonation of his
voice. 'Why, she has done all that a woman can do for a man like me. She
has made me feel little. Until I had a rebuff from her, I had all the
world at my feet, Lexman. I did as I liked. If I crooked my little
finger, people ran after me and that one experience with her has broken
me. Oh, don't think,' he went on quickly, 'that I am broken in love. I
never loved her very much, it was just a passing passion, but she killed
my self-confidence. After then, whenever I came to a crucial moment
in my affairs, when the big manner, the big certainty was absolutely
necessary for me to carry my way, whenever I was most confident of
myself and my ability and my scheme, a vision of this damned girl rose
and I felt that momentary weakening, that memory of defeat, which made
all the difference between success and failure.
“'I hated her and I hate her still,' he said with vehemence; 'if
she dies I shall hate her more because she will remain everlastingly
unbroken to menace my thoughts and spoil my schemes through all
eternity.'
“He leant forward, his elbows on his knees, his clenched fist under his
chin--how well I can see him!--and stared at me.
“'I could have been king here in this land,' he said, waving his hand
toward the interior, 'I could have bribed and shot my way to the throne
of Albania. Don't you realize what that means to a man like me? There is
still a chance and if I could keep your wife alive, if I could see her
broken in reason and in health, a poor, skeleton, gibbering thing that
knelt at my feet when I came near her I should recover the mastery of
myself. Believe me,' he said, nodding his head, 'your wife will have the
best medical advice that it is possible to obtain.'
“Kara went out and I did not see him again for a very long time. He sent
word, just a scrawled note in the morning, to say my wife had died.”
John Lexman rose up from his seat, and paced the apartment, his head
upon his breast.
“From that moment,” he said, “I lived only for one thing, to punish
Remington Kara. And gentlemen, I punished him.”
He stood in the centre of the room and thumped his broad chest with his
clenched hand.
“I killed Remington Kara,” he said, and there was a little gasp of
astonishment from every man present save one. That one was T. X.
Meredith, who had known all the time.