CORRUPTION
The tightly-wedged mass of spectators watched, open-mouthed and
quivering with anticipation, while the attendant, at Meeking's whispered
bidding, broke the seals and cut the strings of the package which he had
just carried in. Clearly, this was some piece of material evidence--but
what? A faint murmur of interest rose as the last wrappings fell aside
and revealed a somewhat-the-worse-for-wear typewriter. People glanced
from it to the witness: some of those present recognized him as a young
mechanic, a native of Hathelsborough, who had gone, a few years
previously, to work in the neighbouring manufacturing city of
Clothford--such began to ask themselves what he could have to do with
this case and waited eagerly for his evidence.
But Meeking, the battered typewriter before him, kept the witness
waiting. Turning to the bench, he put in the depositions taken at the
Coroner's inquest with respect to the typewritten threatening letter
sent to Wallingford and by him entrusted to Epplewhite; the letter
itself, and the facsimile of the letter published as a supplement by the
_Monitor_, with a brief explanation of his reasons for bringing them
into evidence. Then he addressed himself to his witness and got the
first facts from him--Samuel Owthwaite. Mechanic. Employed by Green &
Polford, Limited, of Clothford, agents for all the leading firms of
typewriter manufacturers.
"I believe you're a native of Hathelsborough, aren't you, Owthwaite?"
began Meeking.
"I am, sir."
"Keep up your interest in the old place, eh?"
"I do, sir."
"Have you any relations in the town?"
"Yes, sir, several."
"Do they send you the Hathelsborough paper, the _Monitor_, every week?"
"Yes, sir, regularly."
"Did they send you a copy of the _Monitor_ in which there was a
facsimile of the threatening letter addressed to the late Mayor by some
anonymous correspondent?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you look at the facsimile?"
"I did, sir."
"Notice anything peculiar, or strange, or remarkable about it?"
"Yes, sir, I notice that some of the letters were broken and some
defective."
"You noticed that as an expert mechanic, working at these things?"
"It was obvious to anybody, sir. The letters--some of them--were badly
broken."
"Look at the dock, Owthwaite. Do you know the prisoner, Simon Crood?"
"Well enough, sir!"
"How long have you known him?"
"Ever since I was a youngster, sir--always!"
"Have you ever seen Simon Crood at Green & Polford's, your employers?"
"I have, sir."
"When was that?"
"He came in two days after I'd seen the facsimile, sir."
"Bring anything with him?"
"Yes, sir, that typewriter before you."
"Sure it was this particular machine?"
"Positive, sir; it's an old Semmingford machine, number 32,587."
"Did you hear him say anything about it?"
"I did, sir. He told our Mr. Jeaveson--manager he is--that this was a
machine he'd bought in London, many years ago; that the lettering seemed
to be getting worn out, and that he wanted to know if we could supply
new letters and do the machine up generally."
"Yes; what then?"
"Mr. Jeaveson said we could, and the machine was handed over to me for
repair."
"Did you make any discovery about it?"
"Yes, sir. That afternoon I just ran the lettering off, to see what
defects there were. I found then that the broken and defective letters
were identical with those in the facsimile letter that I'd seen in the
_Monitor_ two days before."
"Just come down here, Owthwaite; take this sheet of paper, and run the
letters off again so that their Worships can compare the broken and
defective letters with those in the threatening letter. Now," continued
Meeking, when the mechanic had complied with this suggestion and gone
back to the witness-box, "what did you do on making this discovery?"
"I told Mr. Jeaveson about it, sir, and showed him what I meant. He
discussed the matter with Mr. Polford afterwards, and it was decided
that I should go over to Hathelsborough and see Mr. Hawthwaite, taking
the machine with me."
"Did you do that?"
"Yes, sir, next day, in the evening."
"Did you tell Superintendent Hawthwaite of your discovery and hand the
machine to him?"
"Yes, sir; both."
"Did he have the machine wrapped and sealed up in your presence?"
"He did, sir."
"This machine, now on the table?"
"That machine, sir."
"And this is the machine that the prisoner, Simon Crood, brought himself
to Green & Polford's?"
"That's the machine, sir."
Meeking nodded to his witness, signifying that he had no more to ask,
but before Owthwaite could leave the box, Stedman, the local solicitor
with whom Simon Crood had held a whispered conversation on coming into
court, rose and began to cross-examine him.
"Did you happen to be in Green & Polford's shop--the front shop, I
mean--when Alderman Crood brought in that machine?" he asked.
"I was there at the time, sir," replied Owthwaite.
"Did he come quite openly?"
"Yes, sir. In a cab, as a matter of fact. The cabman carried in the
machine."
"Did Alderman Crood say who he was?"
"Well, sir, to be exact, he saw me as soon as he came in, and recognized
me. He said, 'Oh, a Hathelsborough lad, I see? You'll know me, young
man.' Then he told Mr. Jeaveson and myself what he wanted."
"The whole business was quite open and above-board, then?"
"Quite so, sir."
"He drew your attention himself to the defects of the machine?"
"He did, sir."
"And this was after--not before--that facsimile appeared in the
_Monitor_?"
"After, sir."
"Now I want a particularly careful answer, Owthwaite, to my next
question. Did Alderman Crood ask you to get these repairs made
immediately?"
"No, sir, he did not. He said he was in no hurry."
"You were to take your own time about them, the machine remaining with
you?"
"Just that, sir."
Stedman sat down, as if satisfied, and Owthwaite left the witness-box.
At the calling of the next witness's name Tansley nudged Brent.
"Now we may hear something lively!" he whispered. "This chap's been the
Borough Accountant for some years, and I've often wondered if he doesn't
know a good deal that he's kept to himself. But, if he does, will he let
it out? Old Crood doesn't look over pleased to see him anyway!"
Brent glanced from the new witness, a quiet, reserved-looking man of
middle age, to Simon Crood. There was a dark scowl on the heavy
features, and, Brent fancied, a look of apprehension. Once more Simon
beckoned to his solicitor and exchanged a few whispered words with him
across the front of the dock before turning to the witness. And to him
Brent also turned, with an instinctive feeling that he possibly held a
key to those mysteries which had not yet been produced.
Matthew James Nettleton, Member of the Society of Incorporated
Accountants and Auditors. Borough Accountant of Hathelsborough during
the last seven years. During that period in close touch with all the
persons concerned in the present matter.
"Mr. Nettleton," said Meeking, "you are Borough Accountant of
Hathelsborough?"
The witness folded his hands on the ledge of the box and shook his head.
"No," he answered. "Was."
"Was? What do you mean?"
"I have resigned my appointment."
"When?"
"Yesterday--at six o'clock last evening, to be precise."
"May I ask why?"
"You may, sir. Because I knew the inquiry just held by the Inspector of
the Local Government Board to be an absolute farce! Because I know that
the financial affairs of the borough are rotten-ripe! Because I utterly
refuse to be a cat's paw in the hands of the Town Trustees any longer!
Those are my reasons."
Tansley dug his elbow into Brent's ribs as an irrepressible murmur of
surprise broke out all round the court. But Brent was watching the men
in the dock. Krevin Crood smiled cynically; the smile developed into a
short, sharp laugh. But Simon's flabby face turned a dull red, and
presently he lifted his big silk handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
Meeking waited a moment, letting the witness's outburst have its full
effect. Then, amidst a dead silence, he leaned towards the box.
"Why didn't you say all that at the recent inquiry?" he asked.
"Because it wouldn't have been a scrap of good!" retorted the witness.
"Those affairs are all cut-and-dried. My only course was to do what I
did last night--resign. And to give evidence now."
Meeking twisted his gown together and looked at the magistrates. He ran
his eye carefully along the row of faces, and finally let it settle
again on his witness.
"Tell their Worships, in your own fashion, your considered opinion as to
the state of the borough finances," he said. "Your opinion based on your
experience."
"They are, as I said just now, absolutely rotten!" declared Nettleton.
"It is now seven years since I came to this place as Borough Accountant.
I found that under an ancient charter the whole of the financial
business of the borough was in the hands of a small body known as the
Town Trustees, three only in number. It is marvellous that such a body
should be allowed to exist in these days! The Town Trustees are
responsible to nobody. They elect themselves. That is to say, if one
dies, the surviving two elect his successor. They are not bound to
render accounts to anyone; the Corporation, of which they are a
permanent committee, only know what they choose to tell. This has gone
on for at least three centuries. It may have served some good purpose at
some period, under men of strict probity, but, in my opinion, based on
such experience as I have been able to command, it has of late years led
to nothing but secret peculation, jobbery and knavery. As regards my own
position, it has simply been that I have never at any time been
permitted to see any accounts other than those placed before me by the
Town Trustees. My belief is that no one but themselves actually knows
what the financial condition of the town really is. I am of impression
that this Corporation, as a Corporation, is bankrupt!"
There now arose a murmur in court which the Chairman and officials found
it difficult to suppress. But curiosity prevailed over excitement, and
the silence was deep enough when Meeking got in his next question.
"You affirm all this in face of the recent inquiry?"
"I do--and strongly! The accounts shown at the recent inquiry were all
carefully manipulated, arranged, cooked by the Town Trustees. I had
nothing to do with them. They were prepared by the Town Trustees,
chiefly, I imagine, by Mallett and Coppinger, with Crood's approval and
consent. They were never shown to me. In short, my position has been
this, simply, I have had certain accounts placed before me by the Town
Trustees with the curt intimation that my sole duty was to see that the
merely arithmetical features were correct and to sign them as
accountant."
"Could you not have made a statement to this effect at the inquiry?"
"I could not!"
"Why, now?"
"Because I could not have produced the books and papers. All the books
and papers to which I have ever had access are merely such things as
rate books and so on--the sort of things that can't be concealed. But
the really important books and papers, showing the real state of things,
are in the possession of Mallett and Coppinger, who, with Crood, have
never allowed anybody to see them. If I could have had those things
brought before the inspector, I could have proved something. But I
couldn't bring them before a court of inquiry like that. You can bring
them before this!"
"How?" demanded Meeking.
"Because, I take it, they bear a very sinister relation to the murder of
the late Mayor," replied the witness. "He was as well aware as I am that
things were all wrong."
"You know that?"
"I know that he did his best, from such material as he could get at, to
find out what the true state of things was. He worked hard at examining
such accounts as were available. To my knowledge he did his best to get
at the secret accounts kept by the Town Trustees. He failed
utterly--they defied him. Yet, just before his murder, he was getting
at facts in a fashion which was not only unpleasant but highly dangerous
to them, and they were aware of it."
"Can you give us an example of any of these facts--these discoveries?"
"Yes, I can give you one in particular. Wallingford was slowly but
surely getting at the knowledge of the system of secret payment which
has gone on in this place for a long time under the rule of the Town
Trustees. He had found out the truth, for instance, as regards Krevin
Crood. Krevin Crood was supposed to be paid a pension of L150 a year; in
reality he was paid L300 a year. Wallingford ascertained this beyond all
doubt, and that it had gone on ever since Krevin Crood's retirement from
his official position. There are other men in the borough, hangers-on
and supporters of the Town Trustees, who benefit by public money in the
shape of pensions, grants, doles--in every case the actual amount paid
is much more than the amount set down in such accounts as are shown.
Wallingford meant to sweep all this jobbery clean away!"
"How?"
"By getting the financial affairs of the town into the full and absolute
control of the Corporation. He wanted to abolish the Town Trustees as a
body. If he had succeeded in his aims, he would have done away with all
the abuses which they not only kept up but encouraged."
"Then, if Wallingford's reforms had been carried out, Krevin Crood would
have lost L150 a year?"
"He would have lost L300 a year. Wallingford's scheme included the utter
abolition of all these Town Trustee-created pensions and doles. Lock,
stock and barrel, they were all to go."
"And the Town Trustees--Crood, Mallett, Coppinger--were fully acquainted
with his intentions and those of his party?"
The witness shrugged his shoulders.
"That's well known!" he answered. "They were frightened of him and his
schemes to the last degree. They knew what it meant."
"What did it mean?"
Nettleton glanced at Simon Crood and smiled.
"Just what it's come to, at last," he said. "Exposure--and disgrace!"
"Well," said Meeking, when a murmur of excited feeling had once more run
round the court, "a more particular question, Mr. Nettleton. Did the
late Mayor ever come to your office in the course of his
investigations?"
"He did, frequently. Not that I had much to show him. But he carefully
examined all the books and papers of which I was in possession."
"Did he make notes?"
"Notes and memoranda--yes. At considerable length, sometimes."
"What in?"
"In a thickish memorandum book, with a stout cover of red leather, which
he always carried in his pocket."
"Could you identify that book if you saw it?"
"Certainly! Besides, you would find it full of his notes and figures."
"That will do for the present, Mr. Nettleton, unless my friend here
wants to examine you. No? Then recall Superintendent Hawthwaite for a
moment. Superintendent, you have just heard of a certain pocket-book
which belonged to the late Mayor. Was it found on his dead body, or on
his desk, or anywhere, after the murder? No? Not after the most careful
and thorough search? Completely disappeared? Very good. Now let us have
Louisa Speck."
A smartly-dressed, self-possessed young woman came forward, and Tansley,
nudging Brent, whispered that this was Mallett's parlour-maid and that
things were getting deuced interesting.