CONFLICTING EVIDENCE
"By the time the public had been able to think over James Fairbairn's
evidence, a certain disquietude and unrest had begun to make itself felt
both in the bank itself and among those of our detective force who had
charge of the case. The newspapers spoke of the matter with very obvious
caution, and warned all their readers to await the further development
of this sad case.
"While the manager of the English Provident Bank lay in such a
precarious condition of health, it was impossible to arrive at any
definite knowledge as to what the thief had actually made away with. The
chief cashier, however, estimated the loss at about £5000 in gold and
notes of the bank money--that was, of course, on the assumption that Mr.
Ireland had no private money or valuables of his own in the safe.
"Mind you, at this point public sympathy was much stirred in favour of
the poor man who lay ill, perhaps dying, and yet whom, strangely
enough, suspicion had already slightly touched with its poisoned wing.
"Suspicion is a strong word, perhaps, to use at this point in the story.
No one suspected anybody at present. James Fairbairn had told his story,
and had vowed that some thief with false keys must have sneaked through
the house into the inner office.
"Public excitement, you will remember, lost nothing by waiting. Hardly
had we all had time to wonder over the night watchman's singular
evidence, and, pending further and fuller detail, to check our growing
sympathy for the man who was ill, than the sensational side of this
mysterious case culminated in one extraordinary, absolutely unexpected
fact. Mrs. Ireland, after a twenty-four hours' untiring watch beside her
husband's sick bed, had at last been approached by the detective, and
been asked to reply to a few simple questions, and thus help to throw
some light on the mystery which had caused Mr. Ireland's illness and her
own consequent anxiety.
"She professed herself quite ready to reply to any questions put to her,
and she literally astounded both inspector and detective when she firmly
and emphatically declared that James Fairbairn must have been dreaming
or asleep when he thought he saw her in the doorway at ten o'clock that
night, and fancied he heard her voice.
"She may or may not have been down in the hall at that particular hour,
for she usually ran down herself to see if the last post had brought any
letters, but most certainly she had neither seen nor spoken to Mr.
Ireland at that hour, for Mr. Ireland had gone out an hour before, she
herself having seen him to the front door. Never for a moment did she
swerve from this extraordinary statement. She spoke to James Fairbairn
in the presence of the detective, and told him he _must_ absolutely have
been mistaken, that she had _not_ seen Mr. Ireland, and that she had
_not_ spoken to him.
"One other person was questioned by the police, and that was Mr. Robert
Ireland, the manager's eldest son. It was presumed that he would know
something of his father's affairs; the idea having now taken firm hold
of the detective's mind that perhaps grave financial difficulties had
tempted the unfortunate manager to appropriate some of the firm's money.
"Mr. Robert Ireland, however, could not say very much. His father did
not confide in him to the extent of telling him all his private affairs,
but money never seemed scarce at home certainly, and Mr. Ireland had, to
his son's knowledge, not a single extravagant habit. He himself had been
dining out with a friend on that memorable evening, and had gone on with
him to the Oxford Music Hall. He met his father on the doorstep of the
bank at about 11.30 p.m. and they went in together. There certainly was
nothing remarkable about Mr. Ireland then, his son averred; he appeared
in no way excited, and bade his son good night quite cheerfully.
"There was the extraordinary, the remarkable hitch," continued the man
in the corner, waxing more and more excited every moment. "The
public--who is at times very dense--saw it clearly nevertheless: of
course, every one at once jumped to the natural conclusion that Mrs.
Ireland was telling a lie--a noble lie, a self-sacrificing lie, a lie
endowed with all the virtues if you like, but still a lie.
"She was trying to save her husband, and was going the wrong way to
work. James Fairbairn, after all, could not have dreamt quite all that
he declared he had seen and heard. No one suspected James Fairbairn;
there was no occasion to do that; to begin with he was a great heavy
Scotchman with obviously no powers of invention, such as Mrs. Ireland's
strange assertion credited him with; moreover, the theft of the
bank-notes could not have been of the slightest use to him.
"But, remember, there was the hitch; without it the public mind would
already have condemned the sick man upstairs, without hope of
rehabilitation. This fact struck every one.
"Granting that Mr. Ireland had gone into his office at ten minutes to
ten o'clock at night for the purpose of extracting £5000 worth of notes
and gold from the bank safe, whilst giving the theft the appearance of a
night burglary; granting that he was disturbed in his nefarious project
by his wife, who, failing to persuade him to make restitution, took his
side boldly, and very clumsily attempted to rescue him out of his
difficult position--why should he, at nine o'clock the following
morning, fall in a dead faint and get cerebral congestion at sight of a
defalcation he knew had occurred? One might simulate a fainting fit, but
no one can assume a high temperature and a congestion, which the most
ordinary practitioner who happened to be called in would soon see were
non-existent.
"Mr. Ireland, according to James Fairbairn's evidence, must have gone
out soon after the theft, come in again with his son an hour and a half
later, talked to him, gone quietly to bed, and waited for nine hours
before he fell ill at sight of his own crime. It was not logical, you
will admit. Unfortunately, the poor man himself was unable to give any
explanation of the night's tragic adventures.
"He was still very weak, and though under strong suspicion, he was left,
by the doctor's orders, in absolute ignorance of the heavy charges which
were gradually accumulating against him. He had made many anxious
inquiries from all those who had access to his bedside as to the result
of the investigation, and the probable speedy capture of the burglars,
but every one had strict orders to inform him merely that the police so
far had no clue of any kind.
"You will admit, as every one did, that there was something very
pathetic about the unfortunate man's position, so helpless to defend
himself, if defence there was, against so much overwhelming evidence.
That is why I think public sympathy remained with him. Still, it was
terrible to think of his wife presumably knowing him to be guilty, and
anxiously waiting whilst dreading the moment when, restored to health,
he would have to face the doubts, the suspicions, probably the open
accusations, which were fast rising up around him."