Old Man in the Corner went on with a grin, "in view of the tragedy
occurring so much later, it did not appear so at the time. But it
brought in an altogether fresh element of conjecture, and while the
police asked for an adjournment pending fresh enquiries, the public
was left to ponder over the many puzzles and contradictions that the
case presented. Whichever line of argument one followed, one quickly
came to a dead stop.
"There was, first of all, the question whether Reuben Levison did
cajole his mother into giving him the diamond stars, or whether he
was peremptorily refused admittance to her room; but this was just a
case of hard swearing between one party and the other, and here I
must admit, that public opinion was inclined to take Reuben's version
of the story. Mrs. Levison's passionate affection for her younger
son was known to all her friends, and people thought that Ida Griggs
had lied in order to incriminate Mrs. Aaron.
"But in this she entirely failed, and here was the first dead stop.
You will remember that she said that, after she left Mrs. Levison,
she went downstairs and saw Mrs. Aaron and Mr. Reuben fully dressed
in the back parlour, and that afterward she heard Mr. Reuben call a
taxi: obviously, therefore, Mrs. Aaron had the diamonds in her
possession then, since she was wearing them at the ball, and it is
not conceivable that either of those two would have gone off in the
taxi, leaving the other to force an entrance into Mrs. Levison's
room, strangle her, and steal the diamonds. As Mrs. Aaron could not
possibly have done all that in her evening-dress, making her way
afterwards from a first floor window down into the yard by clinging
to a creeper in the pouring rain, the hideous task must have devolved
on Reuben, and even the police, wildly in search of a criminal, could
not put the theory forward that a man would murder his mother in
order that his sister-in-law might wear a few diamond stars at a ball.
"It was, in fact, the motive of the crime that seemed so utterly
inadequate, and therefore public argument fell back on the theory
that Reuben had stolen the diamond stars just before dinner after he
had found his mother's handbag in the shop, and that the subsequent
murder was the result of ordinary burglary, the miscreant having
during the night entered Mrs. Levison's room by the window while she
was asleep. It was suggested that he had found the key of the safe
by the bedside and was in the act of ransacking the place when Mrs.
Levison woke, and the inevitable struggle ensued resulting in the old
lady's death. The chief argument, however, against this theory was
the fact that the unfortunate woman was still dressed when she was
attacked, and no one who knew her for the careful, thrifty woman she
was could conceive that she would go fast asleep leaving the safe
door wide open. This, coupled with the fact that not the slightest
trace could be found anywhere in the backyard of the house, or the
adjoining yards and walls of the passage, of a miscreant armed with a
ladder, constituted another dead stop on the road of public
conjecture.
"Finally, when at the adjourned inquest Reuben Levison was able to
bring forward more than one witness who could swear that he arrived
at the ball at the Kensington Town Hall in the company of his
sister-in-law somewhere about ten o'clock, and others who spoke to
him from time to time during the evening, it seemed clear that he, at
any rate, was innocent of the murder. Mr. Aaron had not gone up to
bed until ten o'clock, and, if Reuben had planned to return and
murder his mother, he could only have done so at a later hour, when
he was seen by several people at the Kensington Town Hall.
"Subsequently the jury returned an open verdict and that abominable
crime has remained unpunished until now. Though it appeared so
simple and crude at first, it proved a terribly hard nut for the
police to crack. We may say that they never did crack it. They are
absolutely convinced that Reuben Levison and Mrs. Aaron planned to
murder the old lady, but how they did it, no one has been able to
establish. As for proofs of their guilt, there are none and never
will be, for though they are perhaps a pair of rascals, they are not
criminals. It is not they who murdered Mrs. Levison."
"You think it was Ida Griggs?" I put in quickly, as the Old Man in
the Corner momentarily ceased talking.
"Ah!" he retorted, with his funny, dry cackle, "you favour that
theory, do you?"
"No, I do not," I replied. "But I don't see----"
"It is a foolish theory," he went on, "not only because there was
absolutely no reason why Ida Griggs should kill her mistress--she did
not rob her, nor had she anything to gain by Mrs. Levison's
death--but as she was neither a cat, nor a night moth, she could not
possibly have ascended from a first floor window to another window on
the half-landing above, and entered her own room that way, for we
must not lose sight of the fact that her bedroom door was the next
morning found locked on the outside, and the key left in the lock."
"Then," I argued, "it must have been a case of ordinary burglary."
"That has been proved impossible," he riposted--"proved to the hilt.
No man could have climbed up the wall of the house without a ladder,
and no man could have brought a ladder into that backyard without
leaving some trace of his passage, however slight: against the walls,
around the yard, there were creepers and shrubs--it would be
impossible to drag a heavy ladder over those walls without breaking
some of them."
"But some one killed old Mrs. Levison," I went on with some
exasperation--"she did not strangle herself with her own fingers."
"No, she did not do that," he admitted, with a dry laugh.
"And if the murderer escaped through the window, he could not vanish
into thin air."
"No," he admitted again, "he could not do that."
"Well then?" I retorted.
"Well then, the murder must have been committed by one of the inmates
of the house," he said; and now I knew that I was on the point of
hearing the solution of the mystery of the five diamond stars,
because his thin, claw-like fingers were working with feverish
rapidity upon his beloved bit of string.
"But neither Mrs. Aaron," I argued, "nor Reuben Levison----"
"Neither," he broke in decisively. "We all know that. It was not
conceivable that a woman could commit such a murder, nor that Reuben
would kill his mother in order to gratify his sister-in-law's whim.
That, of course, was nonsense, and every proof, both of time and
circumstance, both of motive and opportunity, was entirely in their
favour. No. We must look for a deeper motive for the hideous crime,
a stronger determination, and above all a more powerful physique and
easier opportunity for carrying the plot through. Personally, I do
not believe that there was a plot to murder; on the other hand, I do
believe in the man who idolised his young wife, and had witnessed a
deadly quarrel between her and his mother, and I do believe in his
going presently to the latter in order to try to soothe her anger
against the woman he loved."
"You mean," I gasped, incredulous and scornful, "that it was Aaron
Levison?"
"Of course I mean that," he replied placidly. "And if you think over
all the circumstances of the case you will readily agree with me. We
know that Aaron Levison loved and admired his wife; we know that he
was very athletic, and altogether an outdoor man. Bear these two
facts in mind, and let your thoughts follow the man after the
terrible quarrel at the dinner-table.
"For a while he is busy in the shop, probably brooding over his
mother's anger and the unpleasant consequences it might have for the
lovely Rebecca. But presently he goes upstairs determined to speak
with his mother, to plead with her. Dreading that Ida Griggs, with
the habit of her kind, might sneak out of her room, and perhaps glue
her ear to the keyhole, he turns the key in the lock of the girl's
bedroom door. He knows that the interview with his mother will be
unpleasant, that hard words will be spoken against Rebecca, and these
he does not wish Ida Griggs to hear.
"Then he knocks at his mother's door, and asks admittance on the
pretext that he has something of value to remit to her for keeping in
her safe. She would have no reason to refuse. He goes in, talks to
his mother; she does not mince her words. By now she knows the
diamond stars have been extracted from the safe, stolen by her
beloved Reuben for the adornment of the hated daughter-in-law.
"Can't you see those two arguing over the woman whom the man loves
and whom the older woman hates? Can't you see the latter using words
which outrage the husband's pride and rouses his wrath till it gets
beyond his control? Can't you see him in an access of unreasoning
passion gripping his mother by the throat, to smother the insults
hurled at his wife?--and can you see the old woman losing her
balance, and hitting her head against the corner of the marble
wash-stand and falling--falling--whilst the son gazes down, frantic
and horror-struck at what he has done?
"Then the instinct of self-preservation is roused. Oh, the man was
cleverer than he was given credit for! He remembers with
satisfaction locking Ida Griggs's door from the outside; and now to
give the horrible accident the appearance of ordinary burglary! He
locks his mother's door on the inside, switches out the light, then
throws open the window. For a youngish man who is active and
athletic the drop from a first floor window, with the aid of a
creeper on the wall, presents but little difficulty, and when a man
is faced with a deadly peril, minor dangers do not deter him.
"Fortunately, everything has occurred before he has bolted and barred
the downstairs door for the night. This, of course, greatly
facilitates matters. He lets himself down through the window, jumps
down into the yard, lets himself into the house through the back
door, then closes up everything, and quietly goes upstairs to bed.
"There has not been much noise, even his mother's fall was
practically soundless, and--poor thing!--she had not the time to
scream; the only sound was the opening of the window; it certainly
would not bring Ida Griggs out of her bed--girls of her class are
more likely to smother their heads under their bedclothes if any
alarming noise is heard. And so the unfortunate man is able to sneak
up to his room unseen and unheard.
"Whoever would dream of casting suspicion on him?
"He was never mixed up in any quarrel with his mother, and he had
nothing much to gain by her death. At the inquest every one was
sorry for him; but I could not repress a feeling of admiration for
the coolness and cleverness with which he obliterated every trace of
his crime. I imagine him carefully wiping his boots before he went
upstairs, and brushing and folding up his clothes before he went to
bed. Cannot you?
"A clever criminal, what?" the whimsical creature concluded, as he
put his piece of string in the pocket of his funny tweed coat.
"Think of it--you will see that I am right. As you say, Mrs. Levison
did not strangle herself, and a burglar from the outside could not
have vanished into thin air."
VI
THE MYSTERY OF THE DOG'S TOOTH CLIFF
The Old Man in the Corner was more than usually loquacious that day:
he had a great deal to say on the subject of the strictures which a
learned judge levelled against the police in a recent murder case.
"Well deserved," he concluded, with his usual self-opinionated
emphasis, "but not more so in this case than in many others, where
blunder after blunder is committed and the time of the courts wasted
without either judge or magistrate, let alone the police, knowing
where the hitch lies."
"Of course, _you_ always know," I remarked dryly.
"Nearly always," he replied, with ludicrous self-complacence. "Have
I not proved to you over and over again that with a little reasonable
common-sense and a minimum of logic there is no such thing as an
impenetrable mystery in criminology. Criminology is an exact science
to which certain rules of reasoning invariably apply. The trouble is
that so few are masters of logic and that fewer still know how to
apply its rules. Now take the case of that poor girl, Janet Smith.
We are likely to see some startling developments in it within the
next two or three days. You'll see if we don't, and they will open
the eyes of the police and public alike to what has been clear as
daylight to me ever since the first day of the inquest."
I hastened to assure the whimsical creature that though I was
acquainted with the main circumstances of the tragedy, I was very
vague as to detail, and that nothing would give me greater pleasure
than that he should enlighten my mind on the subject--which he
immediately proceeded to do.
"You know Broxmouth, don't you?" he began, after a while--"on the
Wessex coast. It is a growing place, for the scenery is superb, and
the air acts on jaded spirits like sparkling wine. The only
drawback--that is, from an artistic point of view--to the place is
that hideous barrack-like building on the West Cliff. It is a huge
industrial school recently erected and endowed by the trustees of the
Woodforde bequest for the benefit of sons of temporary officers
killed in the war, and is under the presidency of no less a personage
than General Sir Arkwright Jones, who has a whole alphabet after his
name.
"The building is certainly an eyesore, and before it came into being,
Broxmouth was a real beauty spot. If you have ever been there, you
will remember that fine walk along the edge of the cliffs, at the end
of which there is a wonderful view as far as the towers of Barchester
Cathedral. It is called the Lovers' Walk, and is patronised by all
the young people in the neighbourhood. They find it romantic as well
as exhilarating: the objective is usually Kurtmoor, where there are
one or two fine hotels for plutocrats in search of rural
surroundings, and where humble folk like you and I and the aforesaid
lovers can get an excellent cup of tea at the Wheatsheaf in the main
village street.
"But it is a daylight walk, for the path is narrow and in places the
cliffs fall away, sheer and precipitous, to the water's edge, whilst
loose bits of rock have an unpleasant trick of giving way under one's
feet. If you were to consult one of the Broxmouth gaffers on the
advisability of taking a midnight walk to Kurtmoor, he would most
certainly shake his head and tell you to wait till the next day and
take your walk in the morning. Accidents have happened there more
than once, though Broxmouth holds its tongue about that. Rash
pedestrians have lost their footing and tumbled down the side of the
cliff before now, almost always with fatal results.
"And so, when a couple of small boys hunting for mussels at low tide
in the early morning of May fifth last, saw the body of a woman lying
inanimate upon the rocks at the foot of the cliffs, and reported
their discovery to the police, every one began by concluding that
nothing but an accident had occurred, and went on to abuse the town
Council for not putting up along the more dangerous portions of the
Lovers' Walk some sort of barrier as a protection to unwary
pedestrians.
"Later on, when the body was identified as that of Miss Janet Smith,
a well-known resident of Broxmouth, public indignation waxed high:
the barrier along the edge of the Lovers' Walk became the burning
question of the hour. But during the whole of that day the
'accident' theory was never disputed; it was only towards evening
that whispers of 'suicide' began to circulate, to be soon followed by
the more ominous ones of 'murder.'
"And the next morning Broxmouth had the thrill of its life when it
became known throughout the town that Captain Franklin Marston had
been detained in connection with the finding of the body of Janet
Smith, and that he would appear that day before the magistrate on a
charge of murder.
"Properly to appreciate the significance of such an announcement, it
would be necessary to be oneself a resident of Broxmouth where the
Woodforde Institute, its affairs and its personnel are, as it were,
the be-all and end-all of all the gossip in the neighbourhood. To
begin with the deceased was head matron of the institute, and the man
now accused of the foul crime of having murdered her was its
secretary; moreover the secretary and the pretty young matron were
known to be very much in love with one another, and, as a matter of
fact, Broxmouth had of late been looking forward to a very
interesting wedding. The idea of Captain Marston--who by the way was
very good-looking, very smart, and a splendid tennis player--being
accused of murdering his sweetheart was in itself so preposterous, so
impossible, that his numerous friends and many admirers were aghast
and incredulous. 'There is some villainous plot here somewhere,' the
ladies averred, and wanted to know what Major Gubbins's attitude was
going to be under these tragic circumstances.
"Major Gubbins, if you remember, was headmaster of the school, and,
what's more, he, too, had been very much in love with Janet Smith,
but it appeared that his friendship with Captain Marston had prompted
him to stand aside as soon as he realised which way the girl's
affections lay. Major Gubbins was not so popular as the Captain, he
was inclined to be off-hand and disagreeable, so the ladies said,
and, moreover, he did not play tennis, and, with the sublime
inconsequence of your charming sex, they seemed to connect these
defects with the terrible accusation which was now weighing upon the
Major's successful rival.
"The executive of the institute consisted, in addition to the three
persons I have named, of its president, General Sir Arkwright Jones,
who, it seems, took little if any interest in the concern. It seemed
as if, by giving it the prestige of his name, he had done all that he
intended for the furtherance of the institute's welfare. Then there
were the governors, a number of amiable local gentlemen and ladies
who played tennis all day and attended innumerable tea-parties, and
knew as much about administering a big concern as a terrier does of
rabbit-rearing.
"In the midst of this official supineness, the murder of the young
matron, followed immediately by the arrest of the secretary, had come
as a bombshell, and now wise heads began to wag and ominous murmurs
became current that for some time past there had been something very
wrong in the management of the Woodforde Institute. Whilst, at the
call of various august personages, money was pouring in from the
benevolent public, the commissariat was being conducted on
parsimonious lines that were a positive scandal. The boys were
shockingly underfed, and the staff of servants was constantly being
changed because girls would not remain on what they called a
starvation régime.
"Then again, no proper accounts had been kept since the inception of
the Institute five years ago; entries were spasmodic, irregular and
unreliable; books were never audited; no one, apparently, had the
slightest idea of profit and loss or of balances; no one knew from
week to week where the salaries and wages were coming from, or from
quarter to quarter if there would be funds enough to meet rates and
taxes; no one, in fact, appeared to know anything about the affairs
of the Institute, least of all the secretary himself, who had often
remarked quite jocularly that he had never in all his life known
anything about book-keeping, and that his appointment by the
governors rested upon his agreeable personality rather than upon his
financial and administrative ability.
"As you see, the Captain's position was, in consequence of this, a
very serious one; it became still more so when presently two or three
ominous facts came to light. To begin with, it seemed that he could
give absolutely no account of himself during the greater part of the
night of May fifth. He had left the Institute at about seven
o'clock; he told the headmaster then that he was going for a walk
which seemed strange as it was pouring with rain. On the other hand
the landlady at the room where he lodged told the police that when
she herself went to bed at eleven o'clock, the Captain had not come
in: she hadn't seen him since morning, when he went to his work, and
at what time he eventually came home she couldn't say.
"But there was worse to come: firstly, a stick was found on the beach
some thirty yards or less from the spot where the body itself was
discovered; and secondly, the police produced a few strands of wool
which were, it seems, clinging to the poor girl's hatpin, and which
presumably were torn out of a muffler during the brief struggle which
must have occurred when she was first attacked and before she lost
her footing and fell down the side of the cliff.
"Now the stick was identified as the property of Captain Marston, and
he had been seen on the road with it in his hand in the early part of
the evening. He was then walking alone on the Lovers' Walk; two
Broxmouth visitors met him on their way back from Kurtmoor. Knowing
him by sight, they passed the time of day. These witnesses, however,
were quite sure that Captain Marston was not then wearing a muffler,
on the other hand they were equally sure that he carried the stick;
they had noticed it as a very unusual one, of what is known as
Javanese snake-wood with a round heavy knob and leather strap which
the Captain carried slung upon his arm.
"Of course, the matter interested me enormously; it is not often that
a person of the social and intellectual calibre of Captain Marston
stands accused of so foul a crime. If he was guilty, then indeed, he
was one of the vilest criminals that ever defaced God's earth, and in
the annals of crime there were few crimes more hideous. The poor
girl, it seems, had been in love with him right up to the end and,
according to some well-informed gossips, the wedding-day had actually
been fixed.
"The unsuccessful rival, Major Gubbins, too, was an interesting
personality, and it was difficult to suppose that he was entirely
ignorant of the events which must of necessity have led up to the
crime. Supposedly there had been a quarrel between the lovers;
sundry rumours were current as to this and in a vague way those
rumours connected this quarrel with the shaky financial situation of
the Institute. But it was all mere surmise and very contradictory;
no one could easily state what possible connection there could be
between the affairs of the Institute and the murder of the chief
matron.
"In the meanwhile the accused had been brought up before the
magistrate, and formal evidence of the finding of the body and of the
arrest was given, as well as of the subsequent discovery of the
stick, which was identified by the two witnesses, and of the strands
of wool. The accused was remanded until the following Monday, bail
being refused. The inquest was held a day or two later, and I went
down to Broxmouth for it. I remember how hot it was in that crowded
court-room; excited and perspiring humanity filled the stuffy
atmosphere with heat. While the crowd jabbered and fidgeted I had a
good look at the chief personages who were about to enact a thrilling
drama for my entertainment; you have seen portraits of them all in
the illustrated papers, the British army being well represented by a
trio of as fine specimens of manhood as any one would wish to see.
"The President, General Arkwright Jones, was there as a matter of
course. He looked worried and annoyed that the even tenor of his
pleasant existence should have been disturbed by this tiresome event;
he is the regular type of British pre-war officer with ruddy face and
white hair, something like a nice ripe tomato that has been packed in
cotton wool. Then there was the headmaster, Major Gubbins,
well-groomed, impassive, immaculate in dress and bearing; and finally
the accused himself, in charge of two warders, a fine-looking man,
obviously more of a soldier and an athlete than a clerk immersed in
figures.