PART OF THE TRUTH
Captain Jessop ate as greedily as he drank strong waters, and did full
justice to the curry, which was really excellent. Hurd did not broach
any unpleasant topic immediately, as he wished the man to enjoy his
meal. If Jessop was guilty, this dainty dinner would be the last of its
kind he would have for many a long day. Moreover, Hurd wished to learn
more of the mariner's character, and plied him with questions, which the
unsuspecting sailor answered amiably enough.
"Me an' you might become mates, as it were," said Jessop, extending his
large hand again and again. "Put it there."
"Well, we'd want to know something more about one another to become real
mates," laughed Hurd.
"Oh, you're a commercial traveller, as you say, and I'm the captain of
as fine a barkey as ever sailed under Capricorn. Leastways I was, afore
I gave up deep-sea voyages."
"You must miss the ocean, living at Stowley."
"Inland it is," admitted the mariner, pulling out a dirty clay pipe, at
the conclusion of the meal, "and ocean there ain't round about fur
miles. But I've got a shanty there, and live respectable."
"You are able to, with the stand-by," hinted Hurd.
Jessop nodded and crammed black tobacco, very strong and rank, into the
bowl of his pipe with a shaking hand. "It ain't much," he admitted;
"folks being stingy. But if I wants more," he struck the table hard, "I
can get it. D'ye see, Mister Commercial?"
"Yes, I see," replied Hurd, coolly. Jessop was again growing cross, and
the detective had to be careful. He knew well enough that next morning,
when sober, Jessop would not be so disposed to talk, but being muzzy, he
opened his heart freely. Still, it was evident that a trifle more liquor
would make him quarrelsome, so Hurd proposed coffee, a proposition to
which the sailor graciously assented.
"Cawfee," he observed, lighting his pipe, and filling the room with
evil-smelling smoke, "clears the 'ead, not as mine wants clearing, mind
you. But cawfee ain't bad, when rum ain't t' be 'ad."
"You'll have more rum later," hinted Hurd.
"Put it there," said Jessop, and again the detective was forced to wince
at the strong grip of a horny hand.
Miss Junk appeared in answer to the tinkle of the bell and removed the
food. Afterwards she brought in coffee, hot and strong and black, and
Jessop drank two cups, with the result that he became quieter. Then the
two men settled down for a pleasant conversation. At least, Jessop
thought so, for he frequently expressed the friendliest sentiments
towards his host. Then Matilda appeared with a bottle of rum, a kettle
and two glasses. When she departed, Hurd intimated that he would not
require her services again that night. This he whispered to her at the
door, while Jessop was placing the kettle on the fire, and before
returning to his seat, he quietly turned the key. So he had the mariner
entirely to himself and got to business at once while the kettle boiled.
"You have known this place for years I believe," said Hurd, taking a
chair opposite to that of Jessop. "Did you ever drop across a man, who
used to live here, called Lemuel Krill?"
The other man started. "Whatever makes you arsk that?" he inquired in a
husky voice.
"Well, you see, as a commercial I trade in books, and had to do with a
second-hand bookseller in Gwynne Street, Drury Lane. It seems that he
was murdered," and he eyed Jessop attentively.
The sailor nodded and composed himself with a violent effort. "Yes,"
said he in his husky voice, "so I heard. But what's he got to do with
Lemuel Krill?"
"Oh," said Hurd, carelessly, "it is said Aaron Norman was Krill."
"Might ha' bin. I don't know myself," was the gruff reply.
"Ah! Then you did not know Lemuel Krill?"
"Well," admitted the captain, reluctantly, "I did. He wos the landlord
of this here pub, and a cuss to drink. Lor', 'ow he could drink, and did
too. But he run away from his wife as used to keep this shanty, and she
never heard no more of him."
"Until she found he was rich and could leave her five thousand a year,"
said Hurd, absently; "so like a woman."
"You seem to know all about it, mister?" said the sailor, uneasily.
"Yes, I read the papers. A queer case that of Norman's death. I expect
it was only right he should be strangled seeing he killed Lady Rachel
Sandal in the same way."
Jessop, resting his hands on the arms of his chair, pushed it back and
stared with a white face. "You know of that?" he gasped.
"Why not? It was public talk in this place over twenty years ago. I
understand you have been here-abouts for thirty years," went on Hurd,
carelessly, "possibly you may recollect the case."
Jessop wiped his forehead. "I heard something about it. That there lady
committed suicide they say."
"I know what they say, but I want to know what you say?"
"I won't be arsked questions," shouted the captain, angrily.
"Don't raise your voice," said the detective, smoothly; "we may as well
conduct this conversation pleasantly."
"I don't converse no more," said Jessop in a shaky voice, and staggered
to his feet, rapidly growing sober under the influence of a deadly fear.
Hurd did not move as the man crossed the room, but felt if the key was
safe in his pocket. The sailor tried to open the door, and then realized
that it was locked. He turned on his host with a volley of bad language,
and found himself facing a levelled revolver.
"Sit down," said Hurd, quietly; "go back to your chair."
Jessop, with staring eyes and outspread hands, backed to the wall. "Who
are you anyhow?" he demanded, hardly able to speak.
"Perhaps that will tell you," said Hurd, and threw the warrant on the
table. Jessop staggered forward and looked at it. One glance was
sufficient to inform him what it was, and he sank back into his chair
with a groan, leaving the warrant on the table. Hurd picked it up and
slipped it into his pocket. He thought Jessop might destroy it; but
there was no fight in the mariner.
"And now that we understand one another," said Hurd, putting away his
weapon, "I want to talk."
"Sha'n't talk," said Jessop, savagely.
"Oh, yes, I think so; otherwise I can make things unpleasant for you."
"You can't arrest me. I've done nothing."
"That may be so, but arrest you I can and I have done so now. To-morrow
morning you will go to London in charge of a plain-clothes policeman,
while I go to Stowley."
"To my crib. No, I'm blest if you do."
"I sha'n't go immediately to your crib," rejoined Hurd, dryly, "though I
may do so later. My first visit will be to that old pawnbroker. I think
if I describe you--and you are rather a noticeable man, Captain
Jessop--he will recognize the individual who pawned an opal serpent
brooch with him shortly after the death of Lady Rachel Sandal, to whom
the said brooch belonged."
"It's a lie," said Jessop hoarsely, and sober enough now.
"Quite so, and perhaps it is also a lie that a man resembling yourself
tried to get certain jewellery from a lawyer called Pash--"
Jessop lost his self-control, which he was trying desperately to
preserve, and rose to his feet, white-faced and haggard. "Who are you?"
he shouted, "who are you?"
"Doesn't the warrant tell you," replied his companion, not at all upset.
"My name is Billy Hurd. I am the detective in charge of the Norman
murder case. And I've been looking for you for a long time, Mr. Jessop."
"I know nothing about it."
"Yes, you do; so sit down and talk away."
"I'll break your head," cried the captain, swinging his huge fists.
"Try," Hurd whipped out his revolver, but did not rise, "at the risk of
getting a bullet through you. Pshaw, man, don't be a fool. I'm making
things as easy for you as possible. Create a disturbance, and I'll hand
you over to the police. A night in the village lock-up may cool your
blood. Sit down I tell you."
The sailor showed his teeth like those of a snarling dog and made as to
strike the seated detective; but suddenly changing his mind, for he saw
well enough in what danger he stood, he dropped into his chair, and,
covering his face with his hands, groaned aloud. Hurd put away his
revolver. "That's better," said he, pleasantly; "take a tot of rum and
tell me all you know."
"I'm innocent," groaned Jessop.
"Every man is innocent until convicted by a jury," said Hurd, calmly.
"Consider me a jury and I'll size up your case, when I hear all. Are you
innocent of both murders?"
"Lady Rachel committed suicide," said Jessop, raising a haggard face.
"Yes--I stick to that, sir. As to Krill's death in London, I didn't
touch him; I swear I didn't."
"But you saw him on that night?"
"How can you prove that?"
"Very simply. Norman--or Krill if you prefer the old name--took certain
jewellery to Pash for safe keeping shortly before his death. You
presented to Pash a paper, undeniably written and signed by the old man,
saying that the jewellery was to be given up to bearer. Now, before
taking the jewellery to Pash, Krill could not have written that paper,
so you must have seen him during the few hours which elapsed between his
visit to Pash and his death."
This was clearly argued, and Jessop could not contradict. "I left him
quite well and hearty."
"In the cellar in Gwynne Street?"
"Yes, in the cellar," admitted Jessop.
"At what time?"
"About half-past eight--say between eight and nine."
"Well, what happened?" asked Hurd, smoking quietly.
The sailor twisted his big hands and groaned. Then he laid his head on
the table and began to sob, talking brokenly and huskily. "I'm done
for," he gasped. "I'd know'd it would come--no--I ain't sorry. I've had
a nightmare of a time. Oh--since I pawned that brooch--"
"Ah. Then you did pawn the brooch at Stowley?"
Jessop sat up and wiped his eyes. "Yes, I did. But I pulled my cap down
over my eyes and buttoned up my pea-jacket. I never thought old Tinker
would ha' knowed me."
"Wasn't it rather rash of you to pawn the brooch in a place where you
were well known?"
"I wasn't well known. I only come at times, and then I went away. Old
Tinker hadn't seen me more nor once or twice, and then I pulled down my
cap and--" Jessop, badly shaken, was beginning to tell the episode over
again, when Hurd stopped him.
"See here," said the detective. "You say that you are innocent?"
"I swear that I am," gasped Jessop.
"Well, then, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. My business is not
to hang innocent people. Take a glass of rum and tell me all you know,
beginning with your first meeting with Krill and running down through
the death of Lady Rachel to your last meeting in the Gwynne Street
cellar."
"And when you know all?"
"Then I'll see what is to be done."
"Will you arrest me?"
"I have arrested you. Don't make conditions with me, man," said Hurd,
with a stern face. "The night is growing late and I want to get to the
bottom of this business before we go to bed. Take some rum."
Seeing there was nothing for it but to make a clean breast, Captain
Jarvey Jessop wasted no further time in useless lamentation. He could
have smashed Hurd easily enough, even though there was the risk of being
shot. But the fracas would bring others on the scene, and Jessop knew he
could not deal with the police. Therefore, he took a stiff peg and
became quieter. In fact, when once started on his confession, he
appeared to be rather relieved.
"It's been a nightmare," said he, wiping his forehead. "I'm glad it's
come to the lawr, that I am. I met Krill, as he wos then, some
twenty-five year back by chance, as you may say"--he cast a strange look
at the detective, which the latter noted--"yes, by chance, Mr. Hurd. I
found he kep' the pub here, and this bein' no distance from Southampton
I took to runnin' down here when the barkey was at anchor. Me an' Krill
became great mates, and I'd what you might call free quarters here--yes,
sir--it's a frozen fact."
"Very generous of Mr. Krill," remarked Hurd, dryly, and wondering what
the man was keeping back.
"Oh, he was right enough as a mate when not drunk; but the liquor made a
howling dorg of him. I've seen many drunk in many places," said Jessop,
"but anyone who held his liquor wuss nor Krill I never did see. He'd
knife you as soon as look at you when drunk."
"But he evidently preferred strangling."
"Hold on, mate," said Jessop, with another deep pull at the rum. "I'm
comin' to that night. We wos both on the bust, as y'may say, and Mrs.
Krill she didn't like it, so got to bed with the child."
"How old was the child?"
"Maud? Oh, you might say she was thirteen or fifteen. I can't be sure of
her age. What's up?"
For Hurd, seeing in this admission a confirmation that Maud was either
not Krill's child or was illegitimate, and could not inherit the money,
had showed his feelings. However, he made some trivial excuse, not
wishing to be too confidential, and begged Jessop to proceed.
"Well, mate," said the captain, filling another glass of rum, "y'see
the lady had come earlier and had been put to bed by the missus. I never
saw her myself, being drinking in this very room along o' Krill. But
_he_ saw her," added Jessop, emphatically, "and said as she'd a fine
opal brooch, which he wish he'd had, as he wanted money and the missus
kept him tight."
"Krill was a judge of jewels?"
"Travelled in jewels once," said the captain. "Bless you, he could size
up a precious stone in no time. But he sat drinking with me, and every
now and then got out of the room, when he'd stop away for perhaps a
quarter of an hour at the time."
"Did he mention the opal brooch again?"
"No," said Jessop, after reflection, "he didn't. But he got so drunk
that he began to show fight, as he always did when boozy, though a timid
chap when sober. I concluded, wishing no row, to git to my hammock, and
cut up stairs. Then I went by mistake into the room of that pore lady,
carrying a candle, and saw her tied to the bedpost stone dead, with a
silk handkerchief round her neck. I shouted out blue murder, and Mrs.
Krill with the kid came tumbling down. I was so feared," added Jessop,
wiping his forehead at the recollection, "that I ran out of doors."
"What good would that do?"
"Lor', I dunno," confessed the man, shivering, "but I wos skeered out of
my life. It wos rainin' pitchforks, as y'might say, and I raced on
through the rain for an hour or so. Then I thought, as I wos innocent,
I'd make tracks back, and I did. I found Krill had cut."
"Did his wife tell you?"
"Oh, she wos lying on the floor insensible where he'd knocked her down.
And the kid--lor'," Jessop spat, "she was lying in the corner with her
lips fastened together with the brooch."
"What?" cried Hurd, starting to his feet. "The same as her--the same as
Norman's was?"
Jessop nodded and drank some rum. "Made me sick it did. I took th'
brooch away and slipped it into my pocket. Then the kid said her father
had fastened her lips together and had knocked her mother flat when she
interfered. I brought Mrs. Krill round and then left her with the kid,
and walked off to Southampton. The police found me there, and I told
them what I tell you."
"Did you tell about the brooch?"
"Well, no, I didn't," confessed Jessop, coolly, "an' as the kid and the
mother said nothing, I didn't see why I shouldn't keep it, wantin'
money. So I went to Stowley and pawned it, then took a deep sea voyage
for a year. When I come back, all was over."
"Do you think Krill murdered the woman?" asked Hurd, passing over for
the moment the fact that Jessop had stolen the brooch.
"He said he didn't," rejoined the man with emphasis, "but I truly
believe, mister, as he did, one of them times, when mad with drink and
out of the room. He wanted the brooch, d'ye see, though why he should
have lost the loot by sealin' the kid's mouth with it I can't say."
"When did you come across Krill again?"
"Ho," said Jessop, drawing his hand across his mouth, "'twas this way,
d'ye see. I come round here lots, and a swell come too, a cold--"
"Grexon Hay," said Hurd, pointing to the photograph.
"Yes. That's him," said Jessop, staring, "and I hated him just, with his
eye-glass and his sneerin' ways. He loved the kid, now a growed, fine
gal, as you know, and come here often. In June--at the end of it
anyhow--he comes and I hears him tells Mrs. Krill, who was always
looking for her husband, that a one-eyed bookseller in Gwynne Street,
Drury Lane, had fainted when he saw the very identical brooch showed him
by another cove."
"Beecot. I know. Didn't you wonder how the brooch had left the
pawnshop?" asked Hurd, very attentive.
"No, I didn't," snarled Jessop, who was growing cross. "I knew old
Tinker's assistant had sold the brooch and he didn't oughter t' have
done it, as I wanted it back. Mrs. Krill asked me about the brooch, and
wanted it, so I said I'd get it back. Tinker said it was gone, but wrote
to the gent as bought it."
"Mr. Simon Beecot, of Wargrove, in Essex."
"That wos him; but the gent wouldn't give it back, so I 'spose he'd
given it to his son. Well, then, when Mrs. Krill heard of the one-eyed
man fainting at sight of the brooch, she knew 'twas her husband, as he'd
one eye, she having knocked the other out when he was sober."
"Did she go up and see him?"
"Well," said Jessop, slowly, "I don't rightly know what she did do, but
she went up. I don't think she saw Krill at his shop, but she might have
seen that Pash, who was Mr. Hay's lawyer, and a dirty little ape o'
sorts he is."
"Ha," said Hurd, to himself, "I thought Pash knew about the women
beforehand. No wonder he stuck to them and gave poor Miss Norman the
go-bye," he rubbed his hands and chuckled. "Well, we'll see what will
come of the matter. Go on, Jessop."
"There ain't much more to tell," grumbled the captain. "I heard of this,
and I wasn't meant to hear. But I thought I'd go up and see if I could
get money out of Krill by saying I'd tell about the murder of Lady
Rachel."
"You _are_ a scoundrel," said Hurd, coolly.
"I wos 'ard up," apologized the captain, "or I wouldn't, not me. I'm
straight enough when in cash. So I went up in July."
"On the sixth of July?"
"If that was the day of the murder--yes. I went up and loafed round
until it wos dark, and then slipped through that side passage at eight
o'clock to see Krill."
"How did you know where to find him?"
"Why, that Hay knew about the chap, and said as he did business in a
cellar after eight. So Krill let me in, thinking, I 'spose, I wos a
customer. He'd been drinking a little and was bold enough. But when I
said, as I'd say, he'd killed Lady Rachel, he swore he was an innercent
babe, and cried, the drink dyin' out of him."
"The same as it died out of you lately," said Hurd, smiling.
"Go slow," grunted the captain, in a surly tone. "I ain't afraid now, as
I ain't done nothing. I said to Krill I'd say nothin' if he'd give me
money. He wouldn't, but said he'd placed a lot of pawned things with
Pash, and I could have them. He then gave me a paper saying I was to
have the things, and I went to Pash the next morning and had trouble.
But I heard by chance," again Jessop cast a strange look at Hurd, "that
Krill had been murdered, so I didn't wait for the lawyer to come back,
but cut down to Southampton and went on a short voyage. Then I come here
and you nabbed me," and Jessop finished his rum. "That's all I know."
"Do you swear you left Aaron Norman alive?"
"Meaning Krill? I do. He wasn't no use to me dead, and I made him give
me the jewels Pash had, d'ye see."
"But who warned you of the death when you were waiting?"
Jessop seemed unwilling to speak, but when pressed burst out, "'Twas a
measily little kid with ragged clothes and a dirty face."
"Tray," said Hurd. "Hum! I wonder how he knew of the murder before it
got into the papers?"