INJURED INNOCENCE
Mr Baker had some uncomfortable experiences. When he was brought before
the magistrates it was first of all pointed out--as it were,
inferentially--that he was not only a dangerous character, but, also,
just the sort of person who might be expected to commit a heinous
crime, as his monstrous behaviour when resisting arrest clearly showed.
Not content with inflicting severe injuries on the police, he had
treated other persons, who had assisted them in their laudable attempts
to take him into safe custody, even worse. In proof of this it was
shown that one such person was in the cottage hospital, and two more
under the doctor's hands; while Granger, the local constable, and Nunn,
the detective in charge of the case, appeared in the witness-box, one
with his arm in a sling, and the other with plastered face and bandaged
head. The fact that the prisoner himself bore unmistakable traces of
having lately been engaged in some lively proceedings did not enhance
his naturally uncouth appearance. It was felt by more than one who saw
him that he looked like the sort of person who was born to be hung.
His own statement in the coroner's court having been produced in
evidence against him, it was supplemented by the statements of
independent witnesses in a fashion which began to make the case against
him look very ugly indeed. Both Miss Arnott and Mr Morice were called
to prove that his own assertion--that he had threatened to shoot the
master of Oak Dene--was only too true. While they were in the box the
prisoner, who was unrepresented by counsel, preserved what, for him,
was an unusual silence. He stared at them, indeed, and particularly at
the lady, in a way which was almost more eloquent than speech. Then
other witnesses were produced who shed a certain amount of light on his
proceedings on that memorable Saturday night.
It was shown, for instance, that he was well within the mark in saying
that he had had a glass or two. Jenkins, the landlord of the "Rose and
Crown," declared that he had had so many glasses that he had to eject
him from his premises; he was "fighting drunk." In that condition he
had staggered home, provided himself with a gun and gone out with it. A
driver of a mail-cart, returning from conveying the mails to be taken
by the night express to town, had seen him on a stile leading into
Exham Park; had hailed him, but received no answer. A lad, the son of
the woman with whom Baker lodged, swore that he had come in between two
and three in the morning, seeming "very queer." He kept muttering to
himself while endeavouring to remove his boots--muttering out loud. The
lad heard him say, "I shot him--well, I shot him. What if I did shoot
him? what if I did?" He kept saying this to himself over and over
again. After he had gone to bed, the lad, struck by the singularity of
his persistent repetition, looked at his gun. It had been discharged.
The lad swore that, to his own knowledge, the gun had been loaded when
Baker had taken it out with him earlier in the night.
The prisoner did not improve matters by his continual interruptions. He
volunteered corroborations of the witnesses' most damaging statements;
demanding in truculent tones to be told what was the meaning of all the
fuss.
"I shot the man--well, I've said I shot him. But that didn't do him no
harm to speak of. I swear to God I didn't do anything else to him. I
hadn't no more to do with killing him than an unborn babe."
There were those who heard, however, who were inclined to think that he
had had a good deal more to do with killing him than he was inclined to
admit.
Miss Arnott, also, was having some experiences of a distinctly
unpleasant kind. It was, to begin with, a shock to hear that Jim Baker
had been arrested on the capital charge. When she was told what he had
said, and read it for herself in the newspapers, she began to
understand what had been the meaning of the gunshot and of the groans
which had ensued. She, for one, had reason to believe that what the
tippling old scoundrel had said was literally true, that he had spoken
all the truth. Her blood boiled when she read his appeal to Hugh
Morice, and that gentleman's carefully formulated corroboration. The
idea that serious consequences might ensue to Baker because of his
candour was a frightful one.
It was not pleasant to be called as a witness against him; she felt
very keenly the dumb eloquence of the appeal in the blood-shot eyes
which were fixed upon her the whole time she was testifying, she
observed with something more than amazement. She had a horrible feeling
that he was deliberately endeavouring to fit a halter round the neck of
the drink-sodden wretch who, he had the best reason for knowing, was
innocent of the crime of which he was charged.
A brief encounter which took place between them, as they were leaving
the court, filled her with a tumult of emotions which it was altogether
beyond her power to analyse. He came out of the door as she was getting
into her car. Immediately advancing to her side he addressed her
without any sort of preamble.
"I congratulate you upon the clearness with which you gave your
evidence, and on the touch of feminine sympathy which it betrayed for
the prisoner. I fear, however, that that touch of sympathy may do him
more harm than you probably intended."
There was something in the words themselves, and still more in the tone
in which they were uttered, which sent the blood surging up into her
face. She stared at him in genuine amazement.
"You speak to me like that?--you? Certainly you betrayed no touch of
sympathy. I can exonerate you from the charge of injuring him by
exhibiting anything of that kind."
"I was in rather a difficult position. Don't you think I was? Unluckily
I was not at my ease, which apparently you were."
"I never saw anyone more at his ease than you seemed to be. I wondered
how it was possible."
"Did you? Really? What a curious character yours is. And am I to take
it that you were uneasy?"
"Uneasy? I--I loathed myself."
"Not actually? I can only assure you that you concealed the fact with
admirable skill."
"And--I loathed you."
"Under the circumstances, that I don't wonder at at all. You would. I
even go further. Please listen to me carefully, Miss Arnott, and read,
as you very well can, the meaning which is between the lines. If a
certain matter goes as, judging from present appearances, it very
easily may go, I may have to take certain action which may cause you to
regard me with even greater loathing than you are doing now. Do not
mistake me on that point, I beg of you."
"If I understand you correctly, and I suppose I do, you are quite right
in supposing that I shall regard you with feelings to which no mere
words are capable of doing justice. I had not thought you were that
kind of man."
Events marched quickly. Jim Baker was brought up before the magistrates
three times, and then, to Miss Arnott's horror, he was committed for
trial on the capital charge. She could hardly have appeared more
affected if she herself had been committed. When the news was brought
to her by Day, the butler, who still remained in her service, she
received it with a point-blank contradiction.
"It's not true. It can't be true. They can't have done anything so
ridiculous."
The old man looked at his young mistress with curious eyes, he himself
seemed to be considerably disturbed.
"It's quite true, miss. They've sent him to take his trial at the
assizes."
"I never heard of anything so monstrous. But, Day, it isn't possible
that they can find him guilty?"
"As for that, I can't tell. They wouldn't, if I was on the jury, I do
know that."
"Of course not, and they wouldn't if I was."
"No, miss, I suppose not."
Day moved off, Miss Arnott following him with her eyes, as if something
in his last remark had struck her strangely.
A little later, when talking over the subject with Mrs Plummer, the
elder lady displayed a spirit which seemed to be beyond the younger
one's comprehension. Miss Arnott was pouring forth scorn upon the
magistrates.
"I have heard a great deal of the stupidity of the Great Unpaid, but I
had never conceived that it could go so far as this. There is not one
jot or tittle of evidence to justify them in charging that man with
murder."
Mrs Plummer's manner as she replied was grim.
"I wonder to hear you talk like that."
"Why should you wonder?"
"I do wonder." Mrs Plummer looked her charge straight in the face
oddly. Miss Arnott had been for some time conscious of a continual
oddity in the glances with which the other favoured her. Without being
aware of it she was beginning to entertain a very real dislike for Mrs
Plummer; she herself could scarcely have said why. "For my part I have
no hesitation in saying that I think it a very good thing they have
sent the man for trial; it would have been nothing short of a public
scandal if they hadn't. On his own confession the man's an utterly
worthless vagabond, and I hope they'll hang him.
"Mrs Plummer!"
"I do; and you ought to hope so."
"Why ought I to hope so?"
"Because then there'll be an end of the whole affair."
"But if the man is innocent?"
"Innocent!" The lady emitted a sound which might have been meant to
typify scorn. "A nice innocent he is. Why you are standing up for the
creature I can't see; you might have special reason. I say let them
hang him, and the sooner the better, because then there'll be an end of
the whole disgusting business, and we shall have a little peace and
quietude."
"I for one should have no peace if I thought that an innocent man had
been hanged, merely for the sake of providing me with it. But it is
evidently no use our discussing the matter. I can only say that I don't
understand your point of view, and I may add that there has been a good
deal about you lately which I have not understood."
Mrs Plummer's words occasioned her more concern than she would have
cared to admit; especially as she had a sort of vague feeling that they
were representative of the state of public opinion, as it existed
around her. Rightly or wrongly she was conscious of a very distinct
suspicion that most of the people with whom she came into daily and
hourly contact would have been quite willing to let Jim Baker hang, not
only on general principles, but also with a confused notion--as Mrs
Plummer had plainly put it--of putting an end to a very disagreeable
condition of affairs.
In her trouble, not knowing where else to turn for advice or help, she
sent for Mr Stacey. After dinner she invited him to a tete-a-tete
interview in her own sitting-room, and then and there plunged into the
matter which so occupied her thoughts.
"Do you know why I have sent for you, Mr Stacey?"
"I was hoping, my dear young lady, that it was partly for the purpose
of affording me the inexpressible pleasure of seeing you again."
She had always found his urbanity a little trying, it seemed
particularly out of place just now. Possibly she did not give
sufficient consideration to the fact that the old gentleman had been
brought out of town at no small personal inconvenience, and that he had
just enjoyed a very good dinner.
"Of course there was that; but I am afraid that the principal reason
why I sent for you is because of this trouble about Jim Baker."
"Jim Baker?"
"The man who is charged with committing the murder in Cooper's
Spinney."
"I see, or, rather, I do not see what connection you imagine can exist
between Mr Baker and myself."
"He is innocent--as innocent as I am."
"You know that of your own knowledge?"
"I am sure of it."
"What he has to do is to inspire the judge and jury with a similar
conviction."
"But he is helpless. He is an ignorant man and has no one to defend
him. That's what I want you to do--I want you to defend him."
"Me! Miss Arnott!" Mr Stacey put up his glasses the better to enable
him to survey this astonishing young woman. He smiled benignly. "I may
as well confess, since we are on the subject of confessions"--they were
not, but that was by the way--"that there are one or two remarks which
I should like to make to you, since you have been so kind as to ask me
to pay you this flying visit; but, before coming to them, let us first
finish with Mr Baker. Had you done me the honour to hint at the subject
on which you wished to consult me, I should at once have informed you
that I am no better qualified to deal with it than you are. We--that is
the firm with which I am associated--do no criminal business; we never
have done, and, I think I am safe in assuring you, we never shall do.
May I ask if you propose to defray any expenses which may be incurred
on Mr Baker's behalf? or is he prepared to be his own chancellor of the
exchequer?"
"He has no money; he is a gamekeeper on a pound a week. I am willing to
pay anything, I don't care what."
"Then, in that case, the matter is simplicity itself. Before I go I
will give you the name of a gentleman whose reputation in the conduct
of criminal cases is second to none; but I warn you that you may find
him an expensive luxury."
"I don't care how much it costs."
Mr Stacey paused before he spoke again; he pressed the tips of his
fingers together; he surveyed the lady through his glasses.
"Miss Arnott, will you permit me to speak to you quite frankly?"
"Of course, that's what I want you to do."
"Then take my very strong advice and don't have anything to do with Mr
Baker. Don't interfere between him and the course of justice, don't
intrude yourself in the matter at all. Keep yourself rigidly outside
it."
"Mr Stacey! Why?"
"If you will allow me to make the remarks to which I just now alluded,
possibly, by the time I have finished, you will apprehend some of my
reasons. But before I commence you must promise that you will not be
offended at whatever I may say. If you think that, for any cause
whatever, you may be disposed to resent complete candour from an old
fellow who has seen something of the world and who has your best
interests very much at heart, please say so and I will not say a word."
"I shall not be offended."
"Miss Arnott, you are a very rich young lady."
"Well?"
"You are also a very young lady."
"Well again?"
"From such a young lady the world would--not unnaturally--expect a
certain course of action."
"How do you mean?"
"Why don't you take up that position in the world to which you are on
all accounts entitled?"
"Still I don't quite understand."
"Then I will be quite plain--why do you shut yourself up as if, to use
a catch phrase, you were a woman with a past?"
Miss Arnott started perceptibly--the question was wholly unexpected.
Rising from her chair she began to re-arrange some flowers in a vase on
a table which was scarcely in need of her attentions.
"I was not aware that I did."
"Do you mean that seriously?"
"I imagined that I was entitled to live the sort of life I preferred to
live without incurring the risk of criticism--that is what I mean."
"Already you are beginning to be offended. Let us talk of the garden.
How is it looking? Your uncle was very proud of his garden. I certainly
never saw anything finer than his roseries. Do you still keep them up?"
"Never mind the roseries, or the garden either. Why do you advise me
not to move a finger in defence of an innocent man, merely because I
choose to live my own life?"
"You put the question in a form of your own; which is not mine. To the
question as you put it I have no answer."
"How would you put it?"
"Miss Arnott, in this world no one can escape criticism;--least of all
unattached young ladies;--particularly young ladies in your very
unusual position. I happen to know that nothing would have pleased your
uncle better than that you should be presented at Court. Why don't you
go to Court? Why don't you take your proper place in Society?"
"Because I don't choose."
"May I humbly entreat you to furnish me with your reasons?"
"Nor do I choose to give you my reasons."
"I am sorry to hear it, since your manner forces me to assume that you
have what you hold to be very sufficient reasons. Already I hear you
spoken of as the 'Peculiar Miss Arnott.' I am bound to admit not wholly
without cause. Although you are a very rich woman you are living as if
you were, relatively, a very poor one. Your income remains practically
untouched. It is accumulating in what, under the circumstances, I am
constrained to call almost criminal fashion. All sorts of unpleasant
stories are being connected with your name--lies, all of them, no
doubt; but still, there they are. You ought to do something which would
be equivalent to nailing them to the counter. Now there is this most
unfortunate affair upon your own estate. I am bound to tell you that if
you go out of your way to associate yourself with this man Baker, who,
in spite of what you suggest, is certainly guilty in some degree, and
who, in any case, is an irredeemable scoundrel; if you persist in
pouring out money like water in his defence, although you will do him
no manner of good, you may do yourself very grave and lasting injury."
"That is your opinion?"
"It is."
"I thank you for expressing it so clearly. Now may I ask you for the
name of the gentleman--the expert criminal lawyer--to whom you
referred? and then we will change the subject."
He gave her the name, and, later, in the seclusion of his own chamber,
criticised her mentally, as Mr Whitcomb once had done.
"That girl's a character of an unusual kind. I shouldn't be surprised
if she knows more about that lamentable business in Cooper's Spinney
than she is willing to admit, and, what's more, if she isn't extremely
careful she may get herself into very serious trouble."