THE PRISONER
"I really don't know," continued the man in the corner blandly, "what it
was that interested me in the case from the very first. Certainly it had
nothing very out of the way or mysterious about it, but I journeyed down
to Brighton nevertheless, as I felt that something deeper and more
subtle lay behind that extraordinary assault, following a robbery, no
doubt.
"I must tell you that the police had allowed it to be freely circulated
abroad that they held a clue. It had been easy enough to ascertain who
the lodger was who had rented the furnished room in Russell House. His
name was supposed to be Edward Skinner, and he had taken the room about
a fortnight ago, but had gone away ostensibly for two or three days on
the very day of Mr. Morton's mysterious disappearance. It was on the
20th that Mr. Morton was found, and thirty-six hours later the public
were gratified to hear that Mr. Edward Skinner had been traced to London
and arrested on the charge of assault upon the person of Mr. Francis
Morton and of robbing him of the sum of £10,000.
"Then a further sensation was added to the already bewildering case by
the startling announcement that Mr. Francis Morton refused to prosecute.
"Of course, the Treasury took up the case and subpoenaed Mr. Morton as a
witness, so that gentleman--if he wished to hush the matter up, or had
been in any way terrorised into a promise of doing so--gained nothing by
his refusal, except an additional amount of curiosity in the public mind
and further sensation around the mysterious case.
"It was all this, you see, which had interested me and brought me down
to Brighton on March 23rd to see the prisoner Edward Skinner arraigned
before the beak. I must say that he was a very ordinary-looking
individual. Fair, of ruddy complexion, with snub nose and the beginning
of a bald place on the top of his head, he, too, looked the embodiment
of a prosperous, stodgy 'City gent.'
"I took a quick survey of the witnesses present, and guessed that the
handsome, stylish woman sitting next to Mr. Reginald Pepys, the noted
lawyer for the Crown, was Mrs. Morton.
"There was a large crowd in court, and I heard whispered comments among
the feminine portion thereof as to the beauty of Mrs. Morton's gown,
the value of her large picture hat, and the magnificence of her diamond
rings.
"The police gave all the evidence required with regard to the finding of
Mr. Morton in the room at Russell House and also to the arrest of
Skinner at the Langham Hotel in London. It appears that the prisoner
seemed completely taken aback at the charge preferred against him, and
declared that though he knew Mr. Francis Morton slightly in business he
knew nothing as to his private life.
"'Prisoner stated,' continued Inspector Buckle, 'that he was not even
aware Mr. Morton lived in Brighton, but I have evidence here, which I
will place before your Honour, to prove that the prisoner was seen in
the company of Mr. Morton at 9.30 o'clock on the morning of the
assault.'
"Cross-examined by Mr. Matthew Quiller, the detective-inspector admitted
that prisoner merely said that he did not know that Mr. Morton was a
_resident_ of Brighton--he never denied having met him there.
"The witness, or rather witnesses, referred to by the police were two
Brighton tradesmen who knew Mr. Morton by sight and had seen him on the
morning of the 17th walking with the accused.
"In this instance Mr. Quiller had no question to ask of the witnesses,
and it was generally understood that the prisoner did not wish to
contradict their statement.
"Constable Hartrick told the story of the finding of the unfortunate
Mr. Morton after his four days' incarceration. The constable had been
sent round by the chief inspector, after certain information given by
Mrs. Chapman, the landlady of Russell House. He had found the door
locked and forced it open. Mr. Morton was in an arm-chair, with several
yards of rope wound loosely round him; he was almost unconscious, and
there was a thick wool shawl tied round his mouth which must have
deadened any cry or groan the poor gentleman might have uttered. But, as
a matter of fact, the constable was under the impression that Mr. Morton
had been either drugged or stunned in some way at first, which had left
him weak and faint and prevented him from making himself heard or
extricating himself from his bonds, which were very clumsily, evidently
very hastily, wound round his body.
"The medical officer who was called in, and also Dr. Mellish who
attended Mr. Morton, both said that he seemed dazed by some stupefying
drug, and also, of course, terribly weak and faint with the want of
food.
"The first witness of real importance was Mrs. Chapman, the proprietress
of Russell House, whose original information to the police led to the
discovery of Mr. Morton. In answer to Mr. Pepys, she said that on March
1st the accused called at her house and gave his name as Mr. Edward
Skinner.
"'He required, he said, a furnished room at a moderate rental for a
permanency, with full attendance when he was in, but he added that he
would often be away for two or three days, or even longer, at a time.
"'He told me that he was a traveller for a tea-house,' continued Mrs.
Chapman, 'and I showed him the front room on the third floor, as he did
not want to pay more than twelve shillings a week. I asked him for a
reference, but he put three sovereigns in my hand, and said with a laugh
that he supposed paying for his room a month in advance was sufficient
reference; if I didn't like him after that, I could give him a week's
notice to quit.'
"'You did not think of asking him the name of the firm for which he
travelled?' asked Mr. Pepys.
"'No, I was quite satisfied as he paid me for the room. The next day he
sent in his luggage and took possession of the room. He went out most
mornings on business, but was always in Brighton for Saturday and
Sunday. On the 16th he told me that he was going to Liverpool for a
couple of days; he slept in the house that night, and went off early on
the 17th, taking his portmanteau with him.'
"'At what time did he leave?' asked Mr. Pepys.
"'I couldn't say exactly,' replied Mrs. Chapman with some hesitation.
'You see this is the off season here. None of my rooms are let, except
the one to Mr. Skinner, and I only have one servant. I keep four during
the summer, autumn, and winter season,' she added with conscious pride,
fearing that her former statement might prejudice the reputation of
Russell House. 'I thought I had heard Mr. Skinner go out about nine
o'clock, but about an hour later the girl and I were both in the
basement, and we heard the front door open and shut with a bang, and
then a step in the hall.
"'"That's Mr. Skinner," said Mary. "So it is," I said, "why, I thought
he had gone an hour ago." "He did go out then," said Mary, "for he left
his bedroom door open and I went in to do his bed and tidy his room."
"Just go and see if that's him, Mary," I said, and Mary ran up to the
hall and up the stairs, and came back to tell me that that was Mr.
Skinner all right enough; he had gone straight up to his room. Mary
didn't see him, but he had another gentleman with him, as she could hear
them talking in Mr. Skinner's room.'
"'Then you can't tell us at what time the prisoner left the house
finally?'
"'No, that I can't. I went out shopping soon after that. When I came in
it was twelve o'clock. I went up to the third floor and found that Mr.
Skinner had locked his door and taken the key with him. As I knew Mary
had already done, the room I did not trouble more about it, though I did
think it strange for a gentleman to look up his room and not leave the
key with me.'
"'And, of course, you heard no noise of any kind in the room then?'
"'No. Not that day or the next, but on the third day Mary and I both
thought we heard a funny sound. I said that Mr. Skinner had left his
window open, and it was the blind flapping against the window-pane; but
when we heard that funny noise again I put my ear to the keyhole and I
thought I could hear a groan. I was very frightened, and sent Mary for
the police.'
"Mrs. Chapman had nothing more of interest to say. The prisoner
certainly was her lodger. She had last seen him on the evening of the
16th going up to his room with his candle. Mary the servant had much the
same story to relate as her mistress.
"'I think it was 'im, right enough,' said Mary guardedly. 'I didn't see
'im, but I went up to 'is landing and stopped a moment outside 'is door.
I could 'ear loud voices in the room--gentlemen talking.'
"'I suppose you would not do such a thing as to listen, Mary?' queried
Mr. Pepys with a smile.
"'No, sir,' said Mary with a bland smile, 'I didn't catch what the
gentlemen said, but one of them spoke so loud I thought they must be
quarrelling.'
"'Mr. Skinner was the only person in possession of a latch-key, I
presume. No one else could have come in without ringing at the door?'
"'Oh no, sir.'
"That was all. So far, you see, the case was progressing splendidly for
the Crown against the prisoner. The contention, of course, was that
Skinner had met Mr. Morton, brought him home with him, assaulted,
drugged, then gagged and bound him, and finally robbed him of whatever
money he had in his possession, which, according to certain affidavits
which presently would be placed before the magistrate, amounted to
£10,000 in notes.
"But in all this there still remained the great element of mystery for
which the public and the magistrate would demand an explanation: namely,
what were the relationships between Mr. Morton and Skinner, which had
induced the former to refuse the prosecution of the man who had not only
robbed him, but had so nearly succeeded in leaving him to die a terrible
and lingering death?
"Mr. Morton was too ill as yet to appear in person. Dr. Mellish had
absolutely forbidden his patient to undergo the fatigue and excitement
of giving evidence himself in court that day. But his depositions had
been taken at his bedside, were sworn to by him, and were now placed
before the magistrate by the prosecuting counsel, and the facts they
revealed were certainly as remarkable as they were brief and
enigmatical.
"As they were read by Mr. Pepys, an awed and expectant hush seemed to
descend over the large crowd gathered there, and all necks were strained
eagerly forward to catch a glimpse of a tall, elegant woman, faultlessly
dressed and wearing exquisite jewellery, but whose handsome face wore,
as the prosecuting counsel read her husband's deposition, a more and
more ashen hue.
"'This, your Honour, is the statement made upon oath by Mr. Francis
Morton,' commenced Mr. Pepys in that loud, sonorous voice of his which
sounds so impressive in a crowded and hushed court. '"I was obliged, for
certain reasons which I refuse to disclose, to make a payment of a large
sum of money to a man whom I did not know and have never seen. It was in
a matter of which my wife was cognisant and which had entirely to do
with her own affairs. I was merely the go-between, as I thought it was
not fit that she should see to this matter herself. The individual in
question had made certain demands, of which she kept me in ignorance as
long as she could, not wishing to unnecessarily worry me. At last she
decided to place the whole matter before me, and I agreed with her that
it would be best to satisfy the man's demands.
"'"I then wrote to that individual whose name I do not wish to disclose,
addressing the letter, as my wife directed me to do, to the Brighton
post office, saying that I was ready to pay the £10,000 to him, at any
place or time and in what manner he might appoint. I received a reply
which bore the Brighton postmark, and which desired me to be outside
Furnival's, the drapers, in West Street, at 9.30 on the morning of March
17th, and to bring the money (£10,000) in Bank of England notes.
"'"On the 16th my wife gave me a cheque for the amount and I cashed it
at her bank--Bird's in Fleet Street. At half-past nine the following
morning I was at the appointed place. An individual wearing a grey
overcoat, bowler hat, and red tie accosted me by name and requested me
to walk as far as his lodgings in the King's Parade. I followed him.
Neither of us spoke. He stopped at a house which bore the name 'Russell
House,' and which I shall be able to swear to as soon as I am able to go
out. He let himself in with a latch-key, and asked me to follow him up
to his room on the third floor. I thought I noticed when we were in the
room that he locked the door; however, I had nothing of any value about
me except the £10,000, which I was ready to give him. We had not
exchanged the slightest word.
"'"I gave him the notes, and he folded them and put them in his
pocket-book. Then I turned towards the door, and, without the slightest
warning, I felt myself suddenly gripped by the shoulder, while a
handkerchief was pressed to my nose and mouth. I struggled as best I
could, but the handkerchief was saturated with chloroform, and I soon
lost consciousness. I hazily remember the man saying to me in short,
jerky sentences, spoken at intervals while I was still weakly
struggling:
"'"What a fool you must think me, my dear sir! Did you really think
that I was going to let you quietly walk out of here, straight to the
police-station, eh? Such dodges have been done before, I know, when a
man's silence has to be bought for money. Find out who he is, see where
he lives, give him the money, then inform against him. No you don't! not
this time. I am off to the continent with this £10,000, and I can get
to Newhaven in time for the midday boat, so you'll have to keep quiet
until I am the other side of the Channel, my friend. You won't be much
inconvenienced; my landlady will hear your groans presently and release
you, so you'll be all right. There, now, drink this--that's better.' He
forced something bitter down my throat, then I remember nothing more.
"'"When I regained consciousness I was sitting in an arm-chair with some
rope tied round me and a wool shawl round my mouth. I hadn't the
strength to make the slightest effort to disentangle myself or to utter
a scream. I felt terribly sick and faint."'
"Mr. Reginald Pepys had finished reading, and no one in that crowded
court had thought of uttering a sound; the magistrate's eyes were fixed
upon the handsome lady in the magnificent gown, who was mopping her eyes
with a dainty lace handkerchief.
"The extraordinary narrative of the victim of so daring an outrage had
kept every one in suspense; one thing was still expected to make the
measure of sensation as full as it had ever been over any criminal case,
and that was Mrs. Morton's evidence. She was called by the prosecuting
counsel, and slowly, gracefully, she entered the witness-box. There was
no doubt that she had felt keenly the tortures which her husband had
undergone, and also the humiliation of seeing her name dragged forcibly
into this ugly, blackmailing scandal.
"Closely questioned by Mr. Reginald Pepys, she was forced to admit that
the man who blackmailed her was connected with her early life in a way
which would have brought terrible disgrace upon her and upon her
children. The story she told, amidst many tears and sobs, and much use
of her beautiful lace handkerchief and beringed hands, was exceedingly
pathetic.
"It appears that when she was barely seventeen she was inveigled into a
secret marriage with one of those foreign adventurers who swarm in every
country, and who styled himself Comte Armand de la Tremouille. He seems
to have been a blackguard of unusually low pattern, for, after he had
extracted from her some £200 of her pin money and a few diamond
brooches, he left her one fine day with a laconic word to say that he
was sailing for Europe by the _Argentina_, and would not be back for
some time. She was in love with the brute, poor young soul, for when, a
week later, she read that the _Argentina_ was wrecked, and presumably
every soul on board had perished, she wept very many bitter tears over
her early widowhood.
"Fortunately her father, a very wealthy pork-butcher of Chicago, had
known nothing of his daughter's culpable foolishness. Four years later
he took her to London, where she met Mr. Francis Morton and married him.
She led six or seven years of very happy married life when one day, like
a thunderbolt from a clear, blue sky, she received a typewritten letter,
signed 'Armand de la Tremouille,' full of protestations of undying love,
telling a long and pathetic tale of years of suffering in a foreign
land, whither he had drifted after having been rescued almost
miraculously from the wreck of the _Argentina_, and where he never had
been able to scrape a sufficient amount of money to pay for his passage
home. At last fate had favoured him. He had, after many vicissitudes,
found the whereabouts of his dear wife, and was now ready to forgive all
that was past and take her to his loving arms once again.
"What followed was the usual course of events when there is a blackguard
and a fool of a woman. She was terrorised and did not dare to tell her
husband for some time; she corresponded with the Comte de la Tremouille,
begging him for her sake and in memory of the past not to attempt to see
her. She found him amenable to reason in the shape of several hundred
pounds which passed through the Brighton post office into his hands. At
last one day, by accident, Mr. Morton came across one of the Comte de la
Tremouille's interesting letters. She confessed everything, throwing
herself upon her husband's mercy.
"Now, Mr. Francis Morton was a business man, who viewed life practically
and soberly. He liked his wife, who kept him in luxury, and wished to
keep her, whereas the Comte de la Tremouille seemed willing enough to
give her up for a consideration. Mrs. Morton, who had the sole and
absolute control of her fortune, on the other hand, was willing enough
to pay the price and hush up the scandal, which she believed--since she
was a bit of a fool--would land her in prison for bigamy. Mr. Francis
Morton wrote to the Comte de la Tremouille that his wife was ready to
pay him the sum of £10,000 which he demanded in payment for her absolute
liberty and his own complete disappearance out of her life now and for
ever. The appointment was made, and Mr. Morton left his house at 9 a.m.
on March 17th with the £10,000 in his pocket.
"The public and the magistrate had hung breathless upon her words. There
was nothing but sympathy felt for this handsome woman, who throughout
had been more sinned against than sinning, and whose gravest fault seems
to have been a total lack of intelligence in dealing with her own life.
But I can assure you of one thing, that in no case within my
recollection was there ever such a sensation in a court as when the
magistrate, after a few minutes' silence, said gently to Mrs. Morton:
"'And now, Mrs. Morton, will you kindly look at the prisoner, and tell
me if in him you recognize your former husband?'
"And she, without even turning to look at the accused, said quietly:
"'Oh no! your Honour! of course that man is _not_ the Comte de la
Tremouille.'"