THE TRUTH
Four o'clock had struck, and the doors of the bank were closed when Miss
Wickham and Viner hurried up to it, but there was a private entrance at
the side, and the man who answered their summons made no difficulty about
admitting them when Miss Wickham said who she was. And within a few
minutes they were closeted with a manager, who, surprised when they
entered, was astonished before many words had been exchanged. For during
their dash from the Whitechapel streets Viner had coached his companion
as to the questions he wished her to put on arrival at the bank, and she
went straight to the point.
"I wanted to know if my companion, Mrs. Killenhall, had called here this
afternoon?" begun Miss Wickham.
"She has," answered the manager. "I happened to see her, and I attended
to her myself."
"Did she present a check from me?" inquired Miss Wickham.
"Certainly--and I cashed it," said the manager. He gave his customer
and her companion a look of interrogation which had a good deal of
surprise in it. "Why?" he continued, glancing at Miss Wickham, "wasn't
it in order?"
"That," replied Miss Wickham, "depends upon the amount."
"The amount!" he exclaimed. "You know--if the drawer! It was for ten
thousand pounds!"
"Then Mrs. Killenhall has done me, or you, out of that," said Miss
Wickham. "The check I gave her was to have been filled up for the amount
of the usual weekly bills--twenty pounds or so. Ten thousand?
Ridiculous!"
"But--it all seemed in order!" exclaimed the concerned manager. "She was
as plausible, and all that--and really, you know, Miss Wickham, we know
her very well--and, in addition to that, you have a very large balance
lying here. Mrs. Killenhall merely mentioned that you wanted this amount,
in notes, and that she had called for it--and of course, I cashed the
check--your check, remember!--at once."
"I hadn't filled in the amount," remarked Miss Wickham.
"Mrs. Killenhall had often presented checks bearing your signature in
which you hadn't filled in the amount," said the manager. "There was
nothing unusual, I assure you, in any detail of the affair."
"The most important detail, now," observed Viner dryly, "is to find Mrs.
Killenhall."
The manager, who was obviously filled with amazement at Mrs. Killenhall's
audacity, looked from one to the other of his visitors, as if he could
scarcely credit their suggestion.
"You really mean me to believe that Mrs. Killenhall has got ten thousand
pounds out of Miss Wickham by a trick?" he asked, fixing his gaze at
last on Viner.
"What I really mean you to believe," said Viner, rising, "is that a
rapid series of events this afternoon has proved to me that Mrs.
Killenhall is one of a gang who are responsible for the murder of John
Ashton, who stole his diamond and certain papers, and who have
endeavoured, very cleverly, to foist one of their number, a scoundrelly
clever actor, on the public, as a peer of the realm who had been missing.
Mrs. Killenhall--who has another name--probably got wind of possible
detection about noon today, and took advantage of Miss Wickham's habit of
giving her a weekly check, to provide herself with ample funds. That's
really about the truth--and I think Miss Wickham and I had better be
seeing the police."
"The very best thing you can do!" responded the manager with alacrity.
"And take my advice and go straight to headquarters--go to New Scotland
Yard. Just think what this woman--and her accomplices--could do! If she
or they had one hour's start of you, they can have already put a good
distance between themselves and London; they can be halfway to Dover, or
Harwich, or Southampton. And therefore--"
"And therefore all the more reason why we should set somebody on their
trail," interrupted Viner, and hurried Miss Wickham out of the manager's
room and away to the taxicab which he had purposely kept in waiting. "I
don't think Mrs. Killenhall, or Killerby, or whatever her name is, will
have hurried away as quickly as all that," he remarked as they sped along
toward Whitehall. "My own idea is that, having got hold of your money,
she'll probably have made for the headquarters of this precious gang, she
and they are sure to have one, for I should say the place in Whitechapel
was only an outpost,--and they'll be better able to arrange an escape
from there than she would to make an immediate flight. She--but what are
you thinking?"
"That I seem to be involved, somehow, in a very strange and curious
combination of things," answered Miss Wickham.
"Just so!" agreed Viner. "So do I--and I was literally pitchforked into
the very midst of it all by sheer accident. If I hadn't happened to go
out for a late stroll on the night on which it began, I should never
have--but here we are!"
The official of the Criminal Investigation Department with whom
they were shortly closeted, listened carefully and silently to
Viner's account of all that had happened. He was one of those
never-to-be-sufficiently-praised individuals who never interrupt and
always understand, and at the close of Viner's story he said exactly what
the narrator was thinking. "The real truth of all this, Mr. Viner," he
said, "is that this is probably one of the last chapters in the history
of the Lonsdale Passage murder. For if you find this woman and the men
who are undoubtedly her accomplices, you will most likely have found, in
one or other of them, the murderer of John Ashton!"
"Precisely!" agreed Viner. "Precisely!"
The official rose from his seat and turned to the door.
"Drillford, of your nearest police-station, had this case in charge," he
remarked. "I'll just call him on the telephone."
He left the room and was away for several minutes; when he returned
there was something like a smile on his face.
"If you and Miss Wickham will drive along and see Drillford, Mr. Viner,"
he said. "I think you'll find he's some news for you."
"Has he told it to you?" demanded Viner.
"Well--just a little," answered the official with another smile. "But
I won't rob him of the pleasure of telling you himself. You ought to
be disappointed. However, I'll just tell you enough to whet your
appetite for more--Drillford is confident that he's just arrested the
real man! No--no more!" he added, with a laugh. "You'll run up there
in twenty minutes."
Drillford, cool and confident as ever, was alone in his office when Viner
and his companion were shown in. He looked at Miss Wickham with
considerable curiosity as he handed her a chair, and Viner noticed that
the bow he made her was unusually respectful. But he immediately plunged
into the pertinent subject, and turned to Viner with a laugh of
self-deprecation.
"Well, Mr. Viner!" he said. "You were right, and I was wrong. It wasn't
that young fellow Hyde who killed Mr. Ashton. And now that I know who
did, I don't mind saying that I'm jolly glad that his innocence will be
established."
"But do you know who did?" asked Viner eagerly.
"I do!" answered Drillford.
"Who, then?" exclaimed Viner.
"He's in the cells at the back, now," said Drillford, "and I only hope
he's not one of those chaps who are so clever that they can secrete
poison to the very last moment and then cheat the gallows, for now that I
know as much as I do, I should say he's as pretty a specimen of the
accomplished scoundrel as ever put on fine clothes. Dr. Cortelyon, of
your square!"
This sudden and surprising revelation, made in ordinary matter-of-fact
tones, produced different effects on the two people to whom it was made.
Viner, after a start and a smothered exclamation, stared silently at
Drillford as if he scarcely comprehended his meaning. But Miss Wickham,
with a quick flush which evidently denoted suddenly-awakened
recollection, broke into words.
"Dr. Cortelyon!" she exclaimed. "Ah--I remember now. Mr. Ashton once told
me, in quite a casual way as we were passing through the square, that he
had known Dr. Cortelyon in Australia, years and years ago!"
Drillford glanced at Viner and smiled.
"I wish you'd remembered that little matter before, Miss Wickham!" he
said. "It might have saved a lot of trouble. Well--Cortelyon's the man!
And it all came about quite suddenly, this afternoon. Through your aunt,
Mr. Viner--Miss Penkridge. Smart lady, sir!"
"My aunt!" exclaimed Viner. "Why, how on earth--"
"Some of your gentlemen had a conference with that fellow Cave at your
house, after you left court this morning," said Drillford. "Miss
Penkridge was present. Cave told more of his cock-and-bull story, and
produced a certain letter which he said had been handed to him at the
hotel he'd put up at. All that, and all the stuff he told at the
police-court, was bluff--carefully concocted by himself and Cortelyon in
case Cave was ever put in a tight corner. Now, according to what she
tells me, Miss Penkridge immediately spotted something about that letter
which none of you gentlemen were clever enough to see--"
"I know!" interrupted Viner. "She saw that the envelope and paper had
been supplied by Bigglesforth, of Craven Gardens, and that a certain
letter in the typewriter which had been used was defective."
"Just so," laughed Drillford, "and so, being, as I say, a smart woman,
she went round to Bigglesforth, got him to herself, and made some
inquiries. And--it's very queer, Mr. Viner, how some of these apparently
intricate cases are easily solved by one chance discovery!--she hadn't
been talking to Bigglesforth ten minutes before she was on the right
track. Bigglesforth, when he'd got to know the main features of the case,
was willing enough to help, and your aunt immediately brought him round
here to see me. And I knew at once that we'd got right there!"
"Yes--but how, exactly?" asked Viner.
"Bigglesforth," answered Drillford, "told me that he'd supplied
stationery to Dr. Cortelyon for some time, and he'd no doubt that the
paper and envelope described by Miss Penkridge was some which he'd
specially secured for the Doctor. But he told something far more
important: Six months ago Cortelyon went to Bigglesforth and asked him if
he could get him a good second-hand typewriter. Now, Bigglesforth had a
very good one for which he'd no use, and he at once sold it to Cortelyon.
Bigglesforth didn't mention the matter to his customer, for the machine
was perfect in all other respects, but one of the letters was
defective--broken. That was the same letter, Mr. Viner, which was
defective in the document which Cave showed to you gentlemen and spoke of
previously in court!"
"Extraordinary!" muttered Viner. "What a piece of luck!"
"No, sir!" said Drillford, stoutly. "No luck at all--just a bit of good
common-sense thinking on the part of a shrewd woman. But you'll want to
know what we did. I was so absolutely certain of the truth of Miss
Penkridge's theory that I immediately made preparations for a descent on
Cortelyon's house. I got a number of our best men--detectives, of
course--and we went round to Markendale Square, back and front. Inquiry
showed that Cortelyon was out, but we'd scarcely got that fact
ascertained when he drove up in a taxicab with Cave himself. They
hurriedly entered the house--I myself was watching from a good point of
vantage, and I saw that both men were, to say the least, anxious and
excited. Then I began to make final preparations. But before I'd finished
telling my men exactly what to do, another party drove up--your
companion, Miss Wickham, Mrs. Killenhall. She too entered. Then I
moved--quick. Some of us went to the front--I with the others went in by
the back. We made straight for Cortelyon's surgery, and we were on him
and the other two before they'd time to move, literally. The two men
certainly tried to draw revolvers, but we were too many for 'em, and as
they'd tried that game, I had 'em handcuffed there and then. It was all
an affair of a moment--and of course, they saw it was all up. Now,
equally of course, Mr. Viner, in all these cases, in my experience, the
subordinates immediately try to save their own skins by denouncing the
principal, and it was so in this instance. Mrs. Killenhall and Cave at
once denounced Cortelyon as the mainspring, and the woman, who's a
regular coward, got me aside and offered to turn King's evidence, and
whispered that Cortelyon actually killed Ashton himself, unaided, as he
let him out of his back door into Lonsdale Passage!"
"So--that's settled!" exclaimed Viner.
"Yes, I think so," agreed Drillford. "Well, we brought 'em all here, and
charged 'em, and examined 'em. Nothing much on Cave, who, of course, is
precisely what Hyde said he was--a man named Nugent Starr, an old
actor--if he was as good a performer on the stage as he is in private
life, he ought to have done well. But on Mrs. Killenhall we found ten
thousand pounds in Bank of England notes, and one or two letters from
Cortelyon, which she was a fool for keeping, for they clearly prove that
she was an accessory. And on Cortelyon we'd a big find! That diamond that
Ashton used to carry about, the other ring that Ashton was wearing when
he was murdered, and--perhaps most important of all--certain papers which
he'd no doubt taken from Ashton's body."
"What are they?" demanded Viner.
Drillford glanced at Miss Wickham.
"Well," he said, "I've only just had time to glance at them, but I should
say that they affect Miss Wickham in a very surprising fashion, and I
shall be glad to hand them over to her solicitors as soon as they come
for them. They're birth certificates, burial certificates, marriage
certificates, and a complete memorandum of a certain case, evidently
written out with great care by Ashton himself. And of course, knowing
what I do now, it's very clear to me how Ashton's murder came about.
Cortelyon knew that if Ashton was out of the way, and he himself in
possession of the papers, he could use some, suppress others, and foist
off an accomplice of his own as claimant to a title which, from what I've
seen, appears without doubt to belong to--"
Drillford was again glancing at Miss Wickham, but Viner contrived to stop
any further revelations and got to his feet.
"Extraordinary!" he said. "But--my aunt? Where is she?"
"She remained here until we'd safely caged the birds," answered
Drillford. "Then she said she'd go home. And I suppose you'll find
her there."
Viner took his companion away from the police-station in silence. But at
the end of the street Miss Wickham looked back.
"Are those three people really locked up--in cells--close by where we
were sitting with the inspector?" she asked.
"Just so," answered Viner.
"And will they all be hanged?" she whispered.
"I sincerely hope one will!" exclaimed Viner.
"What," she inquired, "did the inspector mean about the papers found on
Dr. Cortelyon? I have some uneasy feeling that--"
"I think you 'd better wait," said Viner. "There'll have to be some
queer explanations. We must let Mr. Pawle and Mr. Carless know of what's
happened--they're the proper people to deal with this affair."
And then, as they turned into Markendale Square, they saw Mr. Pawle and
Mr. Carless, who, with Lord Ellingham, were hurrying from Miss Wickham's
house in the direction of Viner's. Mr. Carless quickened his pace and
came toward them.
"I was so upset when I heard from Perkwite that Miss Wickham has been in
that house in Whitechapel," he said, "that, on learning she'd gone off
with you, Viner, Lord Ellingham and I drove to Pawle's and brought him on
here to learn if she'd got home and what had happened."
"What had happened?" demanded Mr. Pawle. "What is it, Viner?"
Viner gathered them round him with a look.
"This has happened!" he said. "The whole thing's solved. Ashton's
murderer is found, and he and his accomplices are under lock and key.
Listen, and I'll tell you all that's been done since one o'clock, up
here--while we've been at the other end of the town. But I'll only give
you an outline. Well, then--"
The three men listened in dead silence until Viner had repeated
Drillford's story; then Mr. Pawle glanced round at the window of
Viner's house.
"Miss Penkridge, by all that's wonderful!" he said in a deep voice. "Most
extraordinary! Where is she?"
"At home, I should imagine," answered Viner with a laugh.
"Then, my dear sir, by all means let us pay our respects to her!" said
Mr. Pawle. "A tribute!"
"By all means!" exclaimed Mr. Carless. "A just tribute--richly
deserved!"
"I should like to add my small quota," said Lord Ellingham.
Viner led the way into his house and to the drawing-room. Miss
Penkridge, in her best cap, was calmly dispensing tea to the two Hyde
sisters, who were regarding her with obvious admiration. She looked
round on her nephew and the flood of callers as if to ask what most of
them were doing there. And Viner, knowing Miss Penkridge's peculiar
humour, rose to the occasion.
"My dear aunt," he said in a hushed voice, "these gentlemen, having heard
of your extraordinary achievement this afternoon, have come to lay at
your feet their united tribute of--"
Miss Penkridge shot a warning glance through her steel-rimmed spectacles.
"Don't talk nonsense, Richard!" she exclaimed sharply. "Ring the bell for
more cups and saucers!"