JOTTY
In due course Mr. Fuller returned to his office and to the chambers in
Barkers Inn, only to find that Dick had not yet put in an appearance.
Alan regretted his absence greatly, since Latimer was the one person to
whom he could talk freely. Needless to say, the young man was bubbling
over with the information he had acquired, and found it very difficult
to think of anything else, which was scarcely a good state of mind in
which to attend to his clients’ affairs. Had the solicitor been able,
he would have set everything else aside until he had solved the mystery
of the Rotherhithe murder, and had learned the secret of the peacock;
but as he had to earn his bread and butter, such indulgence in
gratifying his curiosity was not to be thought of. Alan felt very
unsettled for quite a week after his arrival in Chancery Lane.
Nor were his anxieties allayed when he heard from his clerk, that
during his absence, an urchin who called himself Alonzo had haunted the
office, demanding on every occasion to see Mr. Fuller. And the odd
thing about the matter was, that when Alan really did return, Jotty—to
give him his slum name—failed to put in an appearance. The solicitor
did not dare to write to the lad saying that he would be glad to accord
him an interview on a settled date, since Miss Grison might read the
letter and prevent the boy’s attendance. For the same reason Fuller did
not call at the Thimble Square house, lest its landlady, being
extremely sharp, might—and probably would—guess that he was tampering
with Jotty’s loyalty. As a matter of fact Alan was not, as he did not
seek to question the page about the lady, but simply wished to learn
what he had to say concerning his association with Baldwin Grison. And
as the dead man’s sister desired that the assassin of her brother
should be captured and punished, Fuller deemed that he was right in
using every means to forward her aims. Jotty—Alan felt sure of this—was
a valuable witness, and, if dexterously questioned, might be able to
throw some light on the darkness which environed the crime. It
certainly seemed that the next step to be taken was the examination of
the street-arab, but as the lad did not put in an appearance, and
Fuller—on the before-mentioned grounds—did not dare to awaken Miss
Grison’s suspicions by sending for him, he had to wait patiently. And
this, coupled with the continued absence of Latimer, did not tend to
sweeten the young man’s now irritable temper.
In fact the wear and tear of thought so displayed itself outwardly that
when Dick did arrive he commented openly on his friend’s sorry looks.
The reporter came back to London by the night mail, and finding when he
got to Barkers Inn that Alan had already gone to his office he followed
him there as soon as a bath and a change of clothes had made him
respectable. Breakfast he had already dispatched in a restaurant on his
way from the railway station. Dick, having enjoyed his holiday, was in
a happy frame of mind, but his smiles left him when he saw his chum’s
anxious face.
“What the deuce is the matter?” asked Mr. Latimer, when the first
greetings were over, and he was smoking comfortably in a chair, “you
look sick.”
“I am sick—with worry,” said Fuller emphatically, “it’s that infernal
case.”
“Oh,” said Dick leisurely; “which part of it in particular?”
“The whole. I have much to tell you, as I want your opinion. The more I
look into the matter the more confused does it grow.”
“Have you been looking into the matter?” asked Dick provokingly calm.
“Yes, I have, and in consequence I have scarcely enjoyed my Christmas
at home,” cried Alan.
“Not even with the most charming girl in the world?”
“No. Because she asks questions, and I have to keep a great deal from
her.”
“On account of her uncle?”
“Precisely!”
“Hum! Is he guilty?”
“I don’t know. Anyway he has the peacock.”
Latimer pushed back his chair and let his pipe fall. “What?”
“He has the peacock. I’ve seen it, and what is more he allowed me to
make a drawing of it,” and Alan fumbled among his papers for the
sketch. “Here it is, Dicky!”
“The devil!” ejaculated the journalist staring at the painted bird;
“then the man murdered Grison after all.”
“I’m not sure. I have my doubts.”
“But hang it, man, you know that Grison was murdered for the sake of
the original of this.” He laid his finger on the sketch, “and if Sorley
has it, he must have taken it out of the murdered man’s room.”
“Well you won’t be so sure of that when you have heard my story,” said
Alan in a tart way, for his nerves were all jangling.
“Tell it, old son,” remarked Latimer, recovering his pipe, and not
another word did he utter until he was in full possession of Alan’s
information.
The solicitor told him everything from the time he had arrived at
Belstone until the moment of departure, and carried up the narrative as
far as London by relating how Jotty had been haunting the office.
“And now that I am back, the little fool won’t turn up,” finished
Fuller, greatly exasperated, “and I dare not send for him.”
“No,” nodded Dick grimly, “that is very obvious. The quieter you keep
this business the better it will be until we get at its truth. Hum!
It’s a most extraordinary complication, Alan.” He stared at the sketch
which was now lying on the table. “Have you solved this riddle?”
“No. So far as I can see there isn’t any riddle to solve.”
“It looks like it,” murmured Dick, looking hard at Fuller’s artistic
effort; “so my sixth sense was right when it told me that Morad-Bakche
was mixed up in the matter.”
Alan nodded crossly. “But I wish that your sixth sense would tell you
who murdered Grison.”
“We shan’t learn that until we question the sister. If she admits that
she took the peacock to The Monastery at Belstone, Sorley will be
exonerated. If she declares that she did not, Sorley will have to
account for its being in his possession.”
“But confound it man, can’t you see that if—as Sorley says—she wishes
to get him into trouble, she will certainly decline to tell the truth.”
“What is the truth anyhow?” asked Dick, after the fashion of Pontius
Pilate.
“Lord knows!” replied Fuller disconsolately. “Of course Jotty never
said that Grison had the peacock on the precise night of his murder.
The boy only saw it on previous occasions. It is quite possible that
the dead man may have given it to his sister to send to Sorley and make
trouble. They both hated the man, and evidently with good reason.”
“Yes; but if that were the case, it would argue that Grison knew he
would be murdered, which is ridiculous. Besides Sorley told a lie about
his motor bicycle, which shows that he does not wish it known he was
able to slip up to town and back again without making use of the
publicity of the railway. I am inclined to suspect Sorley as the guilty
person.”
“Do you think Bakche may have killed Grison?”
“No; for if he had he would scarcely have given the peacock to the
sister for Sorley’s benefit.”
Alan nodded. “I thought that myself,” he said slowly. “Well what is to
be done now, Dicky?”
“Inspector Moon ought to know,” said Latimer significantly.
Fuller jumped up quickly, “Not just now, Dick; don’t say anything to
him. He would certainly arrest Sorley straight away, and I wish to
spare Marie the disgrace.”
“But the truth is bound to come out sooner or later, Alan,” remarked
Dick, perplexed how to act.
“The truth! Quite so. Still, when known, the truth may not implicate
Mr. Sorley. For all we know he may be perfectly innocent.”
“He may be,” retorted Latimer dryly, and with a shrug, “but to my mind
he seems to be deeply involved in the matter. The evidence is strong——”
“The circumstantial evidence,” corrected Alan quickly.
“I don’t see that your interpolated word matters a cent, sonny. The
peacock being in the man’s possession points to his guilt.”
“Unless Miss Grison left it secretly at The Monastery.”
“There is that chance certainly,” admitted Dick with another shrug.
“However as Sorley is not aware that he is suspected he won’t try to
bolt, so under the circumstances I shall hold my tongue until things
straighten out a trifle. But if he does try to leave the country, I
must speak, Alan, and so must you, else we may be accused of
compounding a felony. As a lawyer you ought to know that much.”
“I do know it,” said Fuller impatiently, “and if Sorley is guilty he
assuredly must be arrested and punished when the case is proved. All
the same we must give him the benefit of the doubt until his
criminality is placed beyond all question.”
“Why do you defend the man so?” asked Latimer suspiciously; “you don’t
approve of him, as you have told me dozens of times.”
“I am not thinking of the man so much as of Marie. The shame of having
her uncle tried and hanged for a sordid murder would certainly break
her heart, Dick.”
“Well there’s something in that. How love does complicate honest
behavior. But that you love Miss Inderwick you would have no hesitation
in telling Moon the truth.”
“I admit that. But things being as they are, I must ask you not to
speak to the police until I give you leave.”
“Very good, old son. I see we’ll both end in jail, for tampering with
the course of justice. All the same I shall hold my tongue. And now
that being settled so far may I ask what you intend to do?”
“I can hardly say. What in your opinion is the step I should take?”
“Question Miss Grison and learn if she took back the peacock,” said
Dick without a moment’s hesitation.
“But hang it all man, she will only tell lies.”
“Why should she?”
“Your common-sense, let alone what we talked about a few moments ago,
should tell you,” said Fuller impatiently. “If she did take all that
trouble to implicate Sorley, she won’t give herself away by
acknowledging it. The admission that she concealed the peacock in its
old cupboard would exonerate Sorley. You can see that?”
“Yes! Of course since she hates the man, she—— Hullo, what’s up?”
Latimer asked this question because Alan suddenly started to his feet
and listened intently to a noise in the outer office.
“I hear a boy’s voice,” said the solicitor hastily throwing open the
door just in time to permit Jotty to be pushed into the room by the
indignant clerk with whom he had been arguing. “Oh it’s you, young man.
I thought so. That’s all right, Seymour, I’ll attend to him,” and
Fuller, closing the door, pointed out a chair to the page. “Sit down,
Jotty.”
“Alonzer, please sir,” said the lad quickly, “I don’t want t’ hey
anythin’ t’ do wiff m’ ole bad self. I’ve turned over a new leaf, Miss
Grison ses.”
“We’ll take a look at the old leaf before you do that finally,” said
Alan, seating himself at his desk. “Just now and for the next half
hour, you are the disreputable Jotty, and not the Sunday-school
Alonzo.”
The boy grinned cunningly and nodded, glancing round the office and at
Latimer in a furtive and stealthy manner. He did not wear his page’s
suit of many buttons, but a civilian kit of badly-cut tweed clothes.
But as his sleek hair was well oiled, and he had a penny sprig of holly
in his button-hole it must be presumed that Jotty was out for the day,
and was very pleased with his general appearance. Being small and
wizen, his legs scarcely touched the ground, when seated, and he looked
not unlike a monkey. But his very shrewd and restless eyes, which were
taking in everything to be stored in his active brain, showed that he
was a clever and decidedly dangerous lad.
“Who’s him, sir?” asked Jotty, pointing at Dick in negro fashion with
his sharp chin, “d’y wan’ me t’ tork wen he’s here?”
“Yes, and you know this gentleman, so don’t pretend ignorance.”
“Ho yes,” murmured Jotty with pretended surprise, “y’wos at th’
inquitch wosn’t y’sir.”
“I was, Jotty. You and I and Inspector Moon had a talk.”
“’Ad we, sir?” asked the lad with a vacant look. Fuller leaned over and
gave him a shake. “No nonsense, boy,” he said sharply, “you have to
answer a few questions. I’m glad you have come to see me at last, you
young rip.”
“At larst, sir,” protested the page meekly, “why I’ve bin an’ bin an’
bin ever so oftin and couldn’t spot yer nohow, sir. An’ t’aint easy t’
git out of th’ house wen she’s got her eyes abaout nohow. But it’s
m’day orf an’ I come along t’ see if I cud make a quid or two.”
“Your price is a high one,” said Alan dryly, “how do I know what you
have to tell me is worth a pound, or a quid as you call it.”
“Oh I ain’t got nothink t’ tell,” said Jotty readily, “but I thought es
y’d help a pore cove es wants t’ be respectable.”
“I shall help you at a price,” said Fuller, who did all the talking
while Dick smoked in silence and kept his ears and eyes open. Latimer
had not a very good opinion of the witness, as he thought him cunning,
and likely to tell lies unless he was driven into a corner, and perhaps
for that very reason. “Do you know this?” asked Alan, pushing the
sketch under Jotty’s shrewd blue eyes. Dick frowned at the action, as
he deemed it wise that Alan should have kept the fact of the peacock
being in Sorley’s possession to himself, in the meantime at all events.
“Yessir,” said Jotty quickly, “it’s a picter of him es was kind t’ me’s
goldbird es he showed me times an’ agin.”
“Well then,” said Alan, and Dick’s frown relaxed as he spoke, “this
picture, as you call it was taken long ago, before Mr. Grison got the
peacock. Was the bird like that sketch, or is there any change.”
“Nosir. It wos just like that here. Wiff a big tail and shiny things on
it. Them spots is th’ shiny things ain’t they, sir?”
Alan nodded, while Dick grinned at this compliment to his friend’s
artistic abilities. “When did you see the peacock last?”
“On the very night es he es wos kind t’ me wos murdered.”
“Can you swear to that?” asked Alan with secret dismay, for this reply
seemed to prove that Sorley was guilty.
“Yessir. I kin swear hard I kin,” said Jotty with a frank smile.
“Are you sure that Mr. Grison didn’t give the peacock to someone, say a
day or so before he met with his death?”
“Him give it away,” cried Jotty with supreme contempt, “why sir, he es
wos good t’ me, ses t’ me es he’d rather die nor give up thet shiny
thing. An’ die he did, when it wos took.”
“Who took it, boy?” demanded Dick suddenly.
“Him es slipped the knife int’ th’ pore cove.”
“Are you sure that Grison had the peacock on the night he died?” asked
Alan, fighting against hope for Marie’s sake.
“I’d swear t’ it anywhere, sir,” said Jotty confidently. “I liked t’
hev a look et that there shiny thing, and him es wos good t’ me, he
shows it t’ me most every night, saying wot lots of swell things it cud
buy. Every night he showed it t’ me,” repeated Jotty with emphasis,
“and afore he went t’bed that night he let me ’ave a squint.”
“On the night he was murdered.”
“On the night he was done for,” said Jotty in his own simple way.
“That seems conclusive, Alan,” put in Latimer.
“Yes,” said the lawyer with a sigh, then added under his breath. “Poor
Marie, what a shock for her. Jotty, you liked Mr. Grison, didn’t you?”
“Yessir, no end. He wos good t’ me, and guv’ me things t’ eat an’
drink. Oh my,” Jotty rubbed his lean stomach vulgarly, “the baked
taters an’ corfee and saveloys I hed when he stood sam.”
“Then you would like the man who stabbed him to be punished?” pursued
Fuller artfully.
“Yessir; and bring him t’ th’ gallers I shell somehow.”
“But you have no idea who murdered Mr. Grison?” remarked Latimer
quickly.
“Oh hevn’t I? Perhaps not, and praps I ain’t sich a fool es you’d think
me t’ be, mister. I knows whot I knows anyhow.”
“What is that, Jotty.”
The lad looked indescribably cunning. “I ain’t agoin’ t’ tell till I’m
a dead cert es I’m right.”
“But if you tell me, Jotty, I can help you.”
“I don’ want no help,” said the boy sullenly.
“If I speak to Inspector Moon you’ll have to tell,” said Dick sharply.
“Sha’n’t, so there,” growled Jotty, his shrill voice becoming gruff as
if the change to manhood had suddenly taken place.
“You shall.”
Jotty made no reply, but looked at both gentlemen with a mulish
expression evidently determined not to speak. “It’s wuth a quid or
two,” he muttered after a long pause.
“What is worth a quid or two?” demanded Alan, eyeing him with a strong
dislike, for he objected to the brat’s obstinacy.
“What I knows.”
“What do you know?”
“That’s tellin’s.”
“If I give you a quid, as you call it, will you tell.”
“Yessir,” said Jotty promptly, and held out a curved claw in which
Alan, as promptly, placed a sovereign. The boy bit it to prove its
quality and then spat on it for luck. “I knows someone es wos with him
es wos good t’ me, on that night,” said Jotty, agreeably supplying the
information.
“Who was the person?” asked Latimer, while Alan winced, quite expecting
to hear the name of Sorley.
“Sha’n’t tell.”
“Do you know the name?”
“Yessir. Leastways I spelled it out fro’ th’ letter. Oh I’ve ’ad
schoolin’, I ’ave, gents both, and knows m’ letters somehow.”
“What is this letter?” asked Alan in a peremptory tone.
“A letter es the cove es came wrote sayin’ he’d come. I never sawr him
es wrote the letter,” explained Jotty, “cos, after I seed the peacock
on th’ night; him es wos good t’ me turned me out to dos elsewheres.
But I fun’ the letter I did in them ole clothes.”
“Whose old clothes?”
“Him es wos good t’ me.”
“Mr. Grison?”
“Yessir. He fell an’ got covered with mud like. An’ he ses t’ me he’d
like me t’ taike the mud orf, and I did. In th’ coat I fun’ th’ letter,
an’ wrapped up marbles in it. I furgot t’ put it back,” added Jotty in
an apologetic manner, “an’ es he es wos good t’ me didn’t ask fur no
letter, I never said anything, I didn’t, nohow.”
“When was this?” questioned Alan anxiously. “On the day afore he es wos
good t’ me wos made a dead un.”
“Have you the letter?”
“Yes sir!” and Jotty clutched the breast of his ill-fitting jacket,
“but I want another quid or two for it.”
“You know how to make a bargain, young man,” said Latimer humorously;
“just hand over that letter at once.”
“I sha’n’t. So there,” said Jotty, turning obstinate again. “It’s wuth
another quid anyhow. An’ I sawr him es wrote it when he called t’ see
him es wos good t’ me afore.”
“Oh this person called to see Mr. Grison before, did he.”
“Onct or twice he did. Allays at night, and then they torks.”
“What about?”
“I dunno, sir. I never heard. Him es was good t’ me, he allays turned
me out wen the gent came.”
“Oh,” said Dick meditatively, “so this visitor was a gent?”
“Yes sir. A real gent, wiff slap-up clothes and——”
The description sounded like that of Sorley, and Alan stretched out his
hand. “I want that letter, you imp?” he said impressively.
“Give me a quid an’ it’s yours.”
Fuller shrugged his shoulders and glanced at Latimer, who nodded. It
was unpleasant being dictated to by a boy, but the issues were so great
that Dick’s nod intimated it was best to agree, and get the epistle in
question with the least possible trouble. Money was scarce with Fuller,
but so anxious was he to arrive at the truth that he reluctantly
brought forth another sovereign. Jotty clawed it and went through the
same ceremony. He then produced a letter written on very excellent
paper, which was dirty with having been in his pocket for some length
of time, probably to wrap up the marbles he had mentioned. In his
anxiety Dick rose and looked over his friend’s shoulder to read the
letter. It did not take long, as it only consisted of a date, a line
and the writer’s initials as follows, on a plain sheet of gray
note-paper without any address:—
“11 _November_.
“Will see you seven o’clock, 13: 11: 08.
“R. V. S.”
“Is it his writing?” asked Latimer, referring to Sorley, but not
mentioning the name because of Jotty’s presence.
“I think so. I can compare it with the letter he wrote me. The initials
are certainly his, and the appointment is for the night of the murder.”
“But he wos up afore,” put in Jotty, who grinned in a very satisfied
manner, as he well might do, considering he had just made two pounds.
“Who was up before?” asked Latimer sharply. “Him es wrote thet letter.”
“Can you describe the man?”
“Ain’t I done so,” said Jotty in an injured tone, “he wos a real gent
wiff slap-up clothes. Hadn’t got no hair on his face he hadn’t and
torked es if every cove wos dirt. Stiff-like, too, an’ an ole ’un,
tryin’ to look like a young toff.”
Alan winced again as both the letter and Jotty’s very excellent
description seemed to prove that Sorley was the guilty person. “How do
you know that this gentleman you describe wrote the letter?”
“Cos I seed him coming up an hour or so afore him es wos good t’ me
kicked th’ bucket. I wos turned out, long afore he come in. So I goes
away an’ dosses wiff a friend o’ mine, and never hears no more till
nex’ morning when Mother Slaig, she ups and ses es murder had bin done
cruel.”
“Is that all you know?”
“Every blessed bit, sir,” said Jotty cheerfully. “Why didn’t you tell
this to Inspector Moon at the inquest?” demanded Latimer sharply.
“Cos there wasn’t no quids in it then,” retorted the boy impudently,
“an’ I do nothin’ fur nothin’, I do anyhow. An’ now I’ve got wot I
arsked fur,” he placed his cap on his head, “I’m on t’ give m’self a
treat.”
The youth had edged near the door by this time, and held it slightly
open, evidently expecting to be stopped. Indeed Fuller put out an arm
to detain him and ask further questions, only to cause Jotty to vanish
in a remarkably swift space of time. Dick prevented Alan, who was about
to follow.
“Let him go,” said Latimer quickly, “we can always get hold of him when
we want. Compare the letters?”
Without a word Alan did so, and placed both the one he had received
from Sorley and that which Jotty had sold, under Dick’s eye. The latter
drew a long breath. “There’s no doubt about it, Alan,” he said sadly,
“they are written by one and the same man. Sorley had an appointment
with Grison at Mother Slaig’s on the night of the crime, as this letter
proves. Also Jotty declares that he saw him, for the description is
very accurate. Hum! I wish you had not shown the boy that drawing of
the peacock.”
“The moment I did show it, I guessed that I had made a mistake,” said
Fuller quickly; “and so I was forced against my will to tell a
necessary lie in order to lull the lad’s suspicions. But it seems
evident, Dick, that Sorley got the peacock from Grison, and that the
yarn about the sister leaving it, is wholly untrue. What’s to be done
now?”
“Sorley must be arrested for murder,” said Dick decisively.
“No, no. He may be innocent after all!”
“Innocent when you have seen that note and heard Jotty’s description?”
“Well,” said Alan anxiously, “wait for three days before doing
anything.”
Dick wavered then made up his mind abruptly. “All right, I’ll wait,” he
said gruffly.