THE UNCONTRITE PENITENT
As the door closed on Angelina, a buzz of excited talk broke out.
The astonished jurymen put their heads together and eagerly discussed
the new turn of events, while the coroner sat with a deeply cogitative
expression, evidently thinking hard and casting an occasional
speculative glance in Thorndyke’s direction. Meanwhile Cobbledick
edged up to my side and presented his views in a soft undertone.
“This is a facer, Doctor, isn’t it? Regular do. My word! Just think of
the artfulness of that young woman, toting us round and helping us to
find the things that she had just popped down for us to find. I call
it a masterpiece.” He chuckled admiringly, and added in a lower tone,
“I hope she hasn’t got herself into any kind of mess.”
I looked at Cobbledick with renewed appreciation. I had always liked
the sergeant. He was a capable man and a kindly one; and now he was
showing a largeness of soul that won my respect and my gratitude, too.
A small man would have been furious with Angelina, but Cobbledick took
her performances in a proper sporting spirit. He was only amused and
admiring. Not for nothing had Nature imprinted on his face that
benevolent smile.
Presently Mr. Pilley, who seemed to have a special gift for the
expression of erroneous opinions, addressed himself to the coroner.
“Well, Mr. Chairman,” he said cheerfully, “I suppose we can consider
the inquest practically over.”
“Over!” exclaimed the astonished coroner.
“Yes. We were inquiring into the death of Angelina Frood. But if Mrs.
Frood is alive after all, why, there’s an end to the matter.”
“What about the body in the mortuary?” demanded the foreman.
“Oh, ah,” said Pilley. “I had forgotten about that.”
He looked owlishly at the coroner and then exclaimed: “But that is the
body of Mrs. Frood!”
“It can’t be if Mrs. Frood is alive,” the coroner reminded him.
“But it must be,” persisted Pilley. “It has been identified as her,
and it had her clothes and ring on. Mr. Bundy must have been pulling
our legs.”
“There is certainly something very mysterious about that body,” said
the coroner. “It was dressed in Mrs. Frood’s clothes, as Mr. Pilley
points out, and it appears that Mrs. Frood must be in some way
connected with it.”
“There’s no doubt about that,” agreed the foreman. “She must know who
that dead person is and how the body came to be in the place where it
was found, and she will have to give an account of it.”
“Yes,” said the coroner. “But it is a mysterious affair. I wonder if
Dr. Thorndyke could enlighten us. He seems to know more about the
matter than anybody else.”
But Thorndyke was not to be drawn into any statement. “It would be
merely a conjecture on my part,” he said. “Presumably Mrs. Frood knows
how the remains got into the wall, and I must leave her to give the
necessary explanations.”
“I don’t see what explanations she can give,” said the foreman. “It
looks like a clear case of wilful murder. And it is against her.”
To this view the coroner gave a guarded assent; and indeed it was the
obvious view. There was the body, in Angelina’s clothing, and
everything pointed clearly to Angelina’s complicity in the crime, if
there had really been a crime committed. And what other explanation
was possible?
As I reflected on the foreman’s ominous words, I was sensible of a
growing alarm. What if Angelina had been, as it were, snatched from
the grave only to be placed in the dock on a charge of murder? That
she could possibly be guilty of a crime did not enter my mind. But
there was evidently some sort of criminal entanglement from which she
might find it hard to escape. The appearances were sinister in the
extreme; her simulated disappearance, her disguise, her suspicious
silence during the inquiry; to any eye but mine they were conclusive
evidence of her guilt. And the more I thought about it, the more
deadly did the sum of that evidence appear, until, as the time ran on,
I became positively sick with terror.
The opening of a door and a sudden murmur of surprise caused me to
turn; and there was Angelina herself. But not quite the Angelina that
I remembered. Gone were the pallid complexion, the weary, dark-circled
eyes, the down-cast mouth, the sad and pensive countenance, the dark,
strong eye-brows. Rosy-cheeked, smiling, confident, and looking
strangely tall and imposing, she stepped composedly over to the head
of the table, and stood there gazing with calm self-possession, and
the trace of a smile at the stupefied jurymen.
“Your name is--?” said the coroner, gazing at her in astonishment.
“Angelina Frood,” was the quiet reply; and the voice was Bundy’s
voice.
Here Pilley rose, bubbling with excitement. “This isn’t the same
person!” he exclaimed. “Why, he was a little man, and she’s a tall
woman. And his hair was short, and just look at hers! You can’t grow a
head of hair like that in twenty minutes.”
“No,” Angelina agreed, suavely. “I wish you could.”
“The objection is not relevant, Mr. Pilley,” said the coroner,
suppressing a smile. “We are not concerned with the identity of Mr.
Bundy but with that of Angelina Frood. Can anyone identify this lady?”
“I can,” said I. “I swear that she is Angelina Frood.”
“And Mrs. Gillow?”
Mrs. Gillow could and did identify her late lodger, and furthermore,
burst into tears and filled the court-room with “yoops” of hysterical
joy. When she had been pacified and gently restrained by the coroner’s
officer from an attempt to embrace the witness, the coroner proceeded:
“Now, Mrs. Frood, the jury require certain explanations from you, in
regard to the body of a woman which is at present lying in the
mortuary and which was found buried in the city wall with certain
articles of clothing and jewellery which have been identified as your
property. Did you know that that body had been buried in the wall?”
“Yes,” replied Angelina.
“Do you know how it came to be in the wall?”
“Yes. I put it there.”
“You put it there!” roared Pilley, amidst a chorus of exclamations
from the jurymen. The coroner held up his hand to enjoin silence and
asked, as he gazed in astonishment at Angelina.
“Can you tell us who this deceased person was?”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” Angelina replied, apologetically. “I don’t think
her name was known.”
“But--er--” the astounded coroner inquired, “how did she come by her
death?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that either,” replied Angelina. “The fact
is, I never asked.”
“You never asked!” the coroner repeated, in a tone of bewilderment.
“But--er--are we to understand that--in short, did you or did you not
cause the death of this person by your own act? Of course,” he added
hastily, “you are not bound to answer that question.”
Angelina smiled at him engagingly. “I will answer with pleasure. I did
not cause the death of this person.”
“Then are we to understand that she was already dead when you found
her?”
“I didn’t find her. I bought her; at a shop in Great St.
Andrew-street. I gave four pounds, fourteen and three-pence for her,
including two and three-pence to Carter Paterson’s. I’ve brought the
bill with me.”
She produced the bill from her pocket and handed it to the coroner,
who read it with a portentous frown and a perceptible twitching at the
corners of his mouth.
“I will read this document to you, gentlemen,” he said in a slightly
unsteady voice. “It is dated the 19th of April, and reads: ‘Bought of
Oscar Hammerstein, Dealer in Human and Comparative Osteology, Great
St. Andrew-street, London, W.C., one complete set superfine human
osteology, disarticulated and unbleached (female), as selected by
purchaser, four pounds eight shillings and sixpence. Replacing and
cementing missing teeth, one shilling and sixpence. Packing case, two
shillings. Carriage, two and three pence. Total, four pounds, fourteen
and three-pence. Received with thanks, O. Hammerstein.’ Perhaps you
would like to see the bill, yourselves, gentlemen.”
He passed it to the foreman, taking a quick glance out of the corners
of his eyes at the bland and impassive Angelina, and the jury studied
it in a deep silence, which was broken only by a soft, gurgling sound,
from somewhere behind me, which, I discovered, on looking round, to
proceed from Sergeant Cobbledick, whose crimsoned face was partly
hidden by a large handkerchief and whose shoulders moved convulsively.
Presently the coroner addressed Thorndyke. “In continuation of your
evidence, Doctor, does Mrs. Frood’s explanation agree with any
conclusions that you had arrived at from your inspection of the
remains?”
“It agrees with them completely,” Thorndyke replied with a grim smile.
The coroner entered the answer in the depositions, and then turned
once more to Angelina.
“With regard to the objects that were found with the skeleton; did you
put them there?”
“Yes. I put in the metal things and a few pieces of scorched rag to
give a realistic effect--on account of the lime, you know.”
“And the articles that were recovered from the river, too, I suppose?”
“Yes, I put them down--with proper precautions, of course.”
“What do you mean by proper precautions?”
“Well, I couldn’t afford to waste any of the things, so I used to keep
a lookout with a telescope, and then, when I saw a likely person
coming along, I put one of the things down where it could be seen.”
“And were they always seen?”
“No. Some people are very unobservant. In that case I picked it up
when the coast was clear and saved it for another time.”
The coroner chuckled. “It was all very ingenious and complete. But
now, Mrs. Frood, we have to ask you what was the object of these
extraordinary proceedings. It was not a joke, I presume?”
“Oh, not at all,” replied Angelina. “It was a perfectly serious
affair. You have heard what sort of husband I had. I couldn’t possibly
live with him. I made several attempts to get away and live by myself,
but he always followed me and found me out. So I determined to
disappear altogether.”
“You could have applied for a separation,” said the coroner.
“I shouldn’t have got it,” replied Angelina, “and even if I had, of
what use would it have been? I should have been bound to him for life.
I couldn’t have married anyone else. My whole life would have been
spoilt. So I decided to disappear completely and for good, and start
life afresh in a new place and under a new name. And in order that
there should be no mistake about it, I thought I would leave
the--er--the material for a coroner’s inquest and a will directing
that a suitable monument should be put up over my grave. Then, if I
had ever married again, there would have been no danger of a charge of
bigamy. If anyone had made any such suggestion, I could have referred
them to the registrar of deaths and to the tombstone of Angelina Frood
in Rochester churchyard.”
“And as to a birth certificate under your new name?” the coroner asked
with a twinkle of his eye.
Angelina smiled a prim little smile. “I think that could have been
managed,” she said.
“Well,” said the coroner, “it was an ingenious scheme. But apparently
Dr. Thorndyke knew who Mr. Bundy was. How do you suppose he discovered
your identity?”
“That is just what I should like to know,” she replied.
“So should I,” said the coroner, with a broad smile; “but, of course,
it isn’t my affair or that of the jury. We are concerned with this
skeleton that you have planted on us. I suppose you can give us no
idea as to where it came from originally?”
“The dealer said it had been found in a barrow--not a wheel-barrow,
you know; an ancient burial-place. Of course, I don’t know whether he
was speaking the truth.”
“What do you think, Dr. Thorndyke?” the coroner asked.
“I think it is an ancient skeleton, though very well preserved. Some
of the teeth--the original ones--show more wear than one expects to
find in a modern skull. But I only made a cursory inspection.”
“I think the evidence is sufficient for our purpose,” said the
coroner; “and that really concludes the case, so we need not detain
you any longer, Mrs. Frood. I don’t know exactly what your legal
position is; whether you have committed any legal offence. If you
have, it is not our business; and I think I am expressing the
sentiments of the jury if I say that I hope that the authorities will
not make it their business. No one has been injured, and no action
seems to be called for.”
With these sentiments the jury concurred warmly, as also did Sergeant
Cobbledick, who was heard, very audibly and regardless of the
proprieties, to murmur “Hear, hear.” We waited to learn the nature of
the verdict, and when this had been pronounced (to the effect that the
skeleton was that of an unknown woman, concerning the circumstances of
whose death no evidence was available), the court rose and we prepared
to depart.
“You are coming back to lunch with us, Angelina?” said I.
“I should love to,” she replied, “but there is Mr. Japp. Do you think
you could ask him, too?”
“Of course,” I replied, with a sudden perception of the advantage of
even numbers. “We shouldn’t be complete without him.”
Japp accepted with enthusiasm, and, after a hasty farewell to
Cobbledick, we went forth into the High Street, by no means unobserved
of the populace. As we approached the neighbourhood of the office
Angelina said: “I must run into my rooms for a few moments just to
tidy myself up a little. It was such a very hurried toilette. I won’t
be more than a few minutes. You needn’t wait for me.”
“I suggest,” said Thorndyke, “that Mr. Japp and I go on and break the
news to Mrs. Dunk that there is a lady guest, and that Strangeways
remains behind to escort the prisoner.”
I fell in readily with this admirable suggestion, and as the two men
walked on, I followed Angelina up the steps and waited while she plied
her latch-key. We entered the hall together and then went into the
sitting-room, where she stood for a moment, looking round with deep
satisfaction.
“It’s nice to be home again,” she said, “and to feel that all that
fuss is over.”
“I daresay it is,” said I. “But now that you are home, what have you
got to say for yourself? You are a nice little baggage, aren’t you?”
“I am a little beast, John,” she replied. “I’ve been a perfect pig to
you. But I didn’t mean to be, and I really couldn’t help it. You’ll
try to forgive me, won’t you?”
“The fact is, Angelina,” I said, “I am afraid I am in love with you.”
“Oh, I hope to goodness you are, John,” she exclaimed. “If I thought
you weren’t I should wish myself a skeleton again. Do you think you
really are?”
She crept closer to me with such a sweet, wheedlesome air that I
suddenly caught her in my arms and kissed her.
“It does seem as if you were,” she admitted with a roguish smile; and
then--such unaccountable creatures are women--she laid her head on my
shoulder and began to sob. But this was only a passing shower. Another
kiss brought back the sunshine and then she tripped away to spread
fresh entanglements for the masculine heart.
In a few minutes she returned, further adorned and looking to my eyes
the very picture of womanly sweetness and grace. When I had given
confirmatory evidence of my sentiments towards her, we went out, just
in time to encounter Mrs. Gillow and acquaint her with the program.
“I suppose,” said Angelina, glancing furtively at a little party of
women who were glancing, not at all furtively, at her, “one should be
gratified at the interest shown by one’s fellow towns-people; but
don’t you think the back streets would be preferable to the
High-street?”
“It is no use, my dear,” I replied. “We’ve got to face it. Take no
notice. Regard these bipeds that infest the footways as mere samples
of the local fauna. Let them stare and ignore them. For my part, I
rather like them. They impress on me the admirable bargain that I have
made in swapping Peter Bundy for a beautiful lady.”
“Poor Peter,” she said, pensively. “He was a sad boy sometimes when he
looked at his big, handsome John and thought that mere friendship was
all that he could hope for when his poor little heart was starving for
love. Your deal isn’t the only successful one, John, so you needn’t be
so conceited. But here we are home--really home, this time, for this
has been my real home, John, dear. And there--Oh! Moses!--there is
Mrs. Dunk, waiting to receive us!”
“What used you to do to Mrs. Dunk,” I asked, “to make her so furious?”
“I only used to inquire after her health,” Angelina replied
plaintively. “But mum’s the word. She’ll spot my voice as soon as I
speak.”
Mrs. Dunk held the door open ceremoniously and curtsied as we entered.
She was a gruff old woman, but she had a deep respect for
“gentlefolk,” as is apt to be the way with old servants. Angelina
acknowledged her salutation with a gracious smile and followed her
meekly up the stairs to the room that Mrs. Dunk had allotted to her.
I found Thorndyke and Japp established in the library--Dr. Partridge
had dispensed with a drawing-room and I followed his excellent
example--and here presently Angelina joined us, sailing majestically
into the room and marching up to Thorndyke with an air at once hostile
and defiant.
“Serpent,” said Angelina.
“Not at all,” Thorndyke dissented with a smile. “You should be
grateful to me for having rescued you from your own barbed-wire
entanglements.”
“Serpent, I repeat,” persisted Angelina. “To let me sit in that
court-room watching all the innocents walking into my trap one after
another, and then, just as I thought they were all inside, to hand me
a thing like that!” and she produced, dramatically, a small sheet of
paper, which I recognized as the remainder of Thorndyke’s note. I took
it from her, and read: “You see whither the evidence is leading. The
deception cannot be maintained, nor is there any need, now that your
husband is dead. Explanations must be given either by you or by me.
For your own sake I urge you to explain everything and clear yourself.
Let me know what you will do.”
“This is an extraordinary document,” I said, passing it to Japp. “How
in the name of Fortune did you know that Bundy was Angelina?”
“Yes, how did you?” the latter demanded. “It is for you to give an
explanation now.”
“We will have the explanations after lunch,” said he; “mutual
explanations. I want to hear how far I was correct in details.”
“Very well,” agreed Angelina, “we will both explain. But you will have
the first innings. You are not going to listen to my explanation and
then say you knew all about it. And that reminds me, John, that you
had better tell Mrs. Dunk. She is sure to recognize my voice.”
I quite agreed with Angelina and hurried away to intercept Mrs. Dunk
and let her know the position. She was at first decidedly shocked, but
a vivid and detailed description of the late Mr. Frood produced a
complete revulsion; so complete, in fact, as to lead me to speculate
on the personal characteristics of the late Mr. Dunk. But her
curiosity was aroused to such an extent that, while waiting at table,
she hardly removed her eyes from Angelina, until the latter, finding
the scrutiny unbearable, suddenly produced the hated eye-glass, and,
sticking it in her eye, directed a stern glance at the old woman, who
instantly backed towards the door with a growl of alarm, and then
sniggered hoarsely.
It was a festive occasion, for we were all in exuberant spirits,
including Mr. Japp, who, if he said little, made up the deficiency in
smiles of forty-wrinkle power, which, together with his upstanding
tuft of white hair, made him look like a convivial cockatoo.
“Do you remember our last meeting at this table?” said Angelina, “when
I jeered at the famous expert and pulled his reverend leg, thinking
what a smart young fellow I was, and how beautifully I was bamboozling
him? And all the while he knew! He knew! And ‘Not a word said the
hard-boiled egg.’ Oh, serpent! serpent!”
Thorndyke chuckled. “You didn’t leave the hard-boiled egg much to
say,” he observed.
“No. But why were you so secret? Why didn’t you let on, just a little,
to give poor Bundy a hint as to where he was plunging?”
“My dear Mrs. Frood----”
“Oh, call me Angelina,” she interrupted.
“Thank you,” said he. “Well, my dear Angelina, you are forgetting that
I didn’t know what was in the wall.”
“My goodness!” she exclaimed. “I had overlooked that. Of course, it
might have been-- Good gracious! How awful!” She paused with her eyes
fixed on Thorndyke, and then asked: “Supposing it had been?”
“I refuse to suppose anything of the kind,” he replied. “My
explanations will deal with the actual, not with the hypothetical.”
There was silence for a minute or two. Like Angelina, I was
speculating on what Thorndyke would have done if the remains had been
real remains--and those of a man. He had evidently sympathized warmly
with the hunted wife; but if her defence had taken the form of a
crime, would he have exposed her? It was useless to ask him. I have
often thought about it since, but have never reached a conclusion.
“You will have to answer questions better than that presently,” said
Angelina; “but I won’t ask you any more now. You shall finish your
lunch in peace, and then--into the witness-box you go. I am going to
have satisfaction for that note.”
The little festival went on, unhurried, with an abundance of cheerful
and rather frivolous talk. But at last, like all fugitive things, it
came to an end. The table was cleared, and garnished with the port
decanter and the coffee service, and Mrs. Dunk, with a final glower,
half-defiant and half-admiring, at Angelina, took her departure.
“Now,” said Angelina, as I poured out the coffee, “the time has come
to talk of many things, but especially of expert investigations into
the identity of Peter Bundy. Your lead, Sir.”