AN OLD CRIME
With a thoughtful air Horace Hatherley put down the newspaper, where
he had been studying the column of Births, Deaths, and Marriages, and
with an expression of abstraction gazed out into the garden in front
of him, deep in retrospect.
His friend Dr. Crane's voice broke the spell.
"What's the problem, Hatherley?" asked the newcomer, pausing by his
chair as he spoke.
"A name here" (indicating the newspaper upon his knee) "has brought
back old days, and a dramatic episode to my mind."
"What is it?--let's have the tale if it's worth the telling."
Dr. Hatherley did not answer at once--but after a slight pause:
"This is in confidence," he said seriously--"there is something I
should like to share with you; as I said, a name long unheard, as far
as I am concerned, has caught my eye, and brought back an old doubt
to my mind."
"You may trust me," said Dr. Crane, sitting down, and pulling his
pipe out of his pocket, which he lighted with a taper ignited at the
glowing fire in front of him.
"I see here," began Horace Hatherley, "the death of Lucille
Medhurst"--picking up the paper again and pointing to the
announcement as he spoke.
A flash of interest kindled in his friend's eyes.
"Yes--what of it? Did you know her?"
"Slightly--I met her first upon her wedding day. He--her
husband--was--my--friend."
These last words were said slowly, and sadly.
"What--Medhurst of that address--Oaklands, Wychcliff?"
"Yes--that one."
"Then you know something of him now? Excuse me asking, but Margaret
Woodford from the Abbey House here, went to that man's home as
governess when her father died--he failed, you may remember?"
Dr. Hatherley nodded.
"What do you know of them? As a matter of fact, I've been a little
worried," continued Dr. Crane, "that my old friend Woodford's
daughter went to their house: whispers have reached me of some
mystery attaching to the place. It certainly seems an out-of-the-way
spot for a man, whom I believe is a gentleman of means, to live in."
"Yes--he's wealthy, but there is a reason--but remember, Crane--I
repeat it, if I divulge to you Medhurst's story, I do it in
confidence. He was my friend--and I am his friend while I have
breath."
"I quite understand, and will fully respect the confidence whatever
it is," answered Dr. Crane. The last words--"I am his friend"--and
the warm tone of the speaker's voice, had done a good deal to
reassure the listener.
"Medhurst was at school and college with me, one of the best and
straightest chaps one could ever meet, and we were closely in touch
with one another after our 'Varsity days. Then he went abroad for a
few years, travelling for the sole purpose of seeing the
world--money, of course, being no object. We corresponded at first,
and then it dropped, and I lost sight of him, until he surprised me
one day by writing to announce his approaching marriage with a girl,
half Spanish by birth, whom he had met abroad, and who was staying
with friends in town at that moment.
"Well, to make a long story short, I was invited to the wedding,
which shortly after took place, and in fact to be Gordon's best man.
It was then I saw Lucille Don Rosa for the first time, and I was not
surprised at my friend's infatuation, for she was a very beautiful
girl, but with a proud cold beauty and a detached air which made me
wonder even then if my friend had made a mistake in his choice.
"However, time passed, and I saw little of them; they lived in a
society whirl, and I was, as you know, a hardworking student scarcely
in their swim. Then quite suddenly tragedy closed their door of
happiness. Lady Crosby held a big reception, they were among the
guests, and I, probably through their influence, received an
invitation.
"The thing wasn't in my line, but I decided to accept. There was a
big crowd, and a Miss Vandevor, an American heiress, was present,
wearing a very famous ruby necklace. Of course detectives mingled
with the crowd. Before the evening was half over all exits were
closed, and it was announced that Miss Vandevor's necklace had been
stolen--unclasped from her throat in the crush.
"The suggestion was then made that we men should turn out our
pockets--and, Crane, I can tell you this, during those moments I
received the biggest shock of my life, for Medhurst, before any
detective approached him, took the gems from his pocket, and in a
dead kind of voice said, 'I see it's hopeless to escape, so I admit I
was tempted.' He laid the necklace in the owner's lap, and then
stood motionless, facing the crowd almost with a defiant expression
it seemed to be, although he was white to his lips.
"His wife fainted dead away, and was carried from the room. I was
stunned for the moment, then I moved to his side, and expostulated.
"'My dear old chap,' I said, 'you don't know what you are saying;
there's a mistake somewhere--some thief present has evidently dropped
the thing into your pocket.' It was an illuminating thought, and I
turned to the public and made the suggestion loudly. 'Surely someone
has seen this done,' I added, with great assurance. 'No, I took
it--I coveted its possession, and I am ready to bear the
consequences,' was his answer."
Dr. Hatherley paused, then continued: "Well, the whole horrible story
was repeated at the trial, although I urged a plea should be put
forward for sudden aberration of the brain, in my confidence as to my
friend's innocence; of course no one heeded me, and he was convicted
and--and--suffered--a--nine months'--sentence."
Horace Hatherley's voice shook as he finished, and for a little
neither of the men spoke, then he resumed: "Mrs. Medhurst was
practically ignored by her so-called friends, and vanished, I know
not where--probably to this out-of-the-way place you mention. No one
seemed to remember her after the first whirl of excitement was over,
and as to the husband, his memory seemed to be blotted out by most of
those who had known him.
"But I say this, Crane, I am as confident to-day, as I was at his
trial, that in some way there was a miscarriage of justice, and
somewhere in the world may live the man or woman he was screening.
It seems hardly just to suggest it, but the thought will come
sometimes--could it have been his wife? And yet, poor lady, I have
no reason for doubting her. Seeing her death announced made the
whole thing come back to my mind with revivified force."
Dr. Crane's pipe had long since gone out for lack of attention.
"It's a wonderfully sad and yet interesting story," he remarked; "I
will of course keep it to myself, but had I known this earlier, I
should certainly have tried to save Margaret Woodford from going to
employers with this shadow over them."
"Oh, you needn't worry," said his friend, a little testily, "or I
shall be sorry I told you; you may take it from me, any woman would
be safe under the care of such a chivalrous gentleman as Gordon
Medhurst. There is a mistake somewhere; I hope in some way--God's
way, perhaps--his name will be cleared."
* * * * *
It was some weeks later that Dr. Hatherley noticed another
announcement in his morning paper which brought a fervent "Thank
God!" to his lips as he read it. It was headed:
"AN OLD SOCIETY CRIME RECALLED
"Through her lawyers the late Lucille Medhurst wishes it to be known
that she alone was responsible for the loss of Miss Vandevor's
necklace ten years ago; her husband, who suffered the full penalty of
the law, was wholly innocent. Her full confession is in our hands."
"I always knew he was innocent," said his friend, laying the paper
down with a sigh of relief.