chuckle, "how gradually a network of sinister evidence was being
woven around Philip Ashley. He himself was conscious of it, and he
was conscious also of the wave of hostility that was rising up
against him. He looked now, not only grave, but decidedly anxious,
and he held his arms tightly crossed over his chest, as if in the act
of making a physical effort to keep his nerves under control.
"He gave me the impression of a man who would hate any kind of
publicity, and the curious, eager looks that were cast upon him,
especially by the women, must have been positive torture to a
sensitive man. However, he looked a handsome and manly figure as he
stood up to answer the questions put to him by the coroner. He said
that he had arrived at the flat on the Saturday at about mid-day,
explaining to the jury that he always came once a fortnight to be
with his father, whilst his brother Charles enjoyed a couple of days
in the country. On this occasion, however, he was told that his
father was too ill to see him. Charles, however, went off on his
bicycle as usual, but contrary to precedent, a lady had apparently
been left in charge of the invalid. Witness understood that this was
Mrs. Triscott, the wife of a neighbour, who had kindly volunteered to
stay over the week-end. She was an experienced nurse and would know
what to do in case the patient required anything. For the moment he
was asleep and must not be disturbed.
"'I naturally felt very vexed,' the witness continued, 'at being kept
out of my father's room, and I may have spoken rather sharply at the
moment, but I flatly deny that I was rude to Mrs. Triscott, or that I
was in a violent rage. I did get a glimpse of my father, as he lay
in bed, and I must say that I did not think that he looked any worse
than he had been all along. However, I was not going to argue the
point. I preferred to wait until the Monday morning when my brother
would be home, and I could tackle him on the subject.'
"At this point the coroner desired to know why, in that case, when
the witness was told that his brother would not be at the flat before
ten o'clock, he turned up there as early as half-past eight.
"'Because,' the witness replied, 'I was naturally rather anxious to
know how things were, and because I hoped to get a day on the river
with a friend, and to make an early start if possible. However, when
I got to the flat, Mrs. Triscott wanted to get away, and so I agreed
to stay there and wait until ten o'clock, when, so Mrs. Triscott
assured me, my brother would certainly be home. As a matter of fact
he always used to get home at that hour with clockwork regularity on
the Monday mornings after his holiday. My father was asleep, and
Mrs. Triscott left me instructions what to do in case he required
anything. At half-past nine he woke. I heard him stirring and I
went into his room and gave him some barley-water and sat with him
for a little while. He seemed quite cheerful and good-tempered, and,
honestly, I did not think that he was any worse than he had been for
weeks. Just before ten o'clock he dropped off to sleep again. I
knew that my brother would be in within the next half hour and, as
this would not be the first time that my father had been left alone
in the flat, I did not think that I should be doing anything wrong by
leaving him. I went back to my chambers and was busy making
arrangements for the day when I had a telephone message from my
brother that our father was dead.'
"Questioned by the coroner as to the disagreement which he had had
with his father on the previous Wednesday, Mr. Philip Ashley
indignantly repudiated the idea that there was any quarrel.
"'My father,' he said, 'had a very violent temper and a very harsh,
penetrating voice. He certainly did get periodically angry with me
whenever I explained to him that my marriage to Lady Peet-Jackson
could not, in all decency, take place for at least another six
months. He would storm and shriek for a little while,' the witness
went on, 'but we invariably parted the best of friends.'"
The Old Man in the Corner paused for a little while, leaving me both
interested and puzzled. I was trying to piece together what I
remembered of the case with what he had just told me, and I was
longing to hear his explanation of the events which followed that
memorable inquest. After a little while the funny creature resumed:
"I told you," he said, "that a wave of hostility had risen in the
public mind against Philip Ashley. It came from a sense of sympathy
for the other son, who, deformed and afflicted, had been done out of
a fortune. True that it would not have been of much use to him, and
that in the original will ample provision had been made for his
modest wants, but it now seemed as if, at the eleventh hour, the old
miser had thought to make reparation toward the son who had given up
his whole life to him, whilst the other had led one of leisure,
independence, and gaiety. What had caused old Thornton Ashley thus
to change his mind was never conclusively proved; there were some
rumours already current that Philip Ashley was in debt and had
appealed to his father for money, a fatal thing to do with a miser.
But this also was never actually proved. The only persons who could
have enlightened the jury on the subject were Philip Ashley himself
and his brother, Charles, but each of them, for reasons of his own,
chose to remain silent.
"And now you will no doubt recall the fact which finally determined
the jury to bring in their sensational verdict, in consequence of
which Philip Ashley was arrested on the coroner's warrant on a charge
of attempted murder. It seemed horrible, ununderstandable,
unbelievable, but, nevertheless, a jury of twelve men did arrive at
that momentous decision after deliberation lasting less than half an
hour. What I believe weighed with them in the end was the fact that
the assistant who came with the divisional surgeon to conduct the
_post-mortem_ found underneath the bed of the deceased, a
walking-stick with a crook-handle, and the crumpled and torn copy of
the notes for the new will which Mr. Triscott had prepared. Philip
Ashley when confronted with the stick admitted that it was his. He
had missed it on the Saturday when he was leaving the flat, as he was
under the impression that he had brought one with him; however, he
did not want to spend any more time looking for it, as he was
obviously so very much in the way.
"Now, both the charwoman and Mrs. Triscott swore that the patient's
room had been cleaned and tidied on the Sunday, and that there was no
sign of a walking-stick in the room then.
§5
"And so," the Old Man in the Corner went on, with a cynical shrug of
his lean shoulders, "Philip Ashley went through the terrible ordeal
of being hauled up before the magistrate on the charge of having
attempted to murder his father, an old man with one foot in the
grave. He pleaded 'Not Guilty,' and reserved his defence. The whole
of the evidence was gone through all over again, of course, but
nothing new had transpired. The case was universally thought to look
very black against the accused, and no one was surprised when he was
eventually committed for trial.
"Public feeling remained distinctly hostile to him. It was a crime
so horrible and so unique you would have thought that no one would
have believed that a well-known, well-educated man could possibly
have been guilty of it. Probably, if the event had occurred before
the war, public opinion would have repudiated the possibility, but so
many horrible crimes have occurred in every country these past few
years that one was just inclined to shrug one's shoulders and murmur:
'Perhaps, one never knows!' One thing remained beyond a doubt: old
Mr. Thornton Ashley died of shock or fright following a violent and
dastardly assault, finger-marks were discovered round his throat, and
there were evidences on his face and head that he had been repeatedly
struck with what might easily have been the walking-stick which was
found under his bed. Add to this the weight of evidence of the new
will, about to be signed, and of the quarrel between father and son
on the previous Wednesday, and you have as good a motive for the
murder as any prosecuting counsel might wish for. Philip Ashley
would not, of course, hang for murder, but it was even betting that
he would get twenty years.
"Anyway, I don't think that, as things were, any one blamed Lady
Peet-Jackson for her decision. A week before Philip Ashley's trial
came on she announced her engagement to Lord Francis Firmour, son of
the Marquis of Ettridge, whom she subsequently married.
"But Philip Ashley was acquitted--you remember that? He was
acquitted because Sir Arthur Inglewood was his counsel, and Sir
Arthur is the finest criminal lawyer we possess; and, because the
evidence against him was entirely circumstantial, it was demolished
by his counsel with masterly skill. Whatever might be said on the
subject of 'motive,' there was nothing whatever to prove that the
accused knew anything of his father's intentions with regard to a new
will; and there was only a charwoman's word to say that he had
quarrelled with his father on that memorable Wednesday.
"On the other hand, there was Mr. Oldwall and Dr. Fanshawe-Bigg, old
friends of the deceased, both swearing positively that Thornton
Ashley had a peculiarly shrill and loud voice, that he would often
get into passions about nothing at all, when he would scream and
storm, and yet mean nothing by it. The only evidence of any tangible
value was the walking-stick but even that was not enough to blast a
man's life with such a monstrous suspicion.
"Philip Ashley was acquitted, but there are not many people who
followed that case closely who believed him altogether innocent at
the time. What Lady Peet-Jackson thought about it no one knows. It
was for her sake that the unfortunate man threw up the chances of a
fortune, and when it came within his grasp it still seemed destined
to evade him to the end. In losing the woman for whom he had been
prepared to make so many sacrifices, poor Philip lost the fortune a
second time, because, as he was not married within the prescribed
time-limit, it was Charles who inherited under the terms of the
original will. But I think you will agree with me that any sensitive
man is well out of a union with a hard and mercenary woman.
"And now there has been another revolution in the wheel of Fate.
Charles Ashley died the other day in a nursing home of heart failure,
following an operation. He died intestate, and his brother is his
sole heir. Funny, isn't it, that Philip Ashley should get his
father's fortune in the end? But Fate does have a way sometimes of
dealing out compensations, after she has knocked a man about beyond
his deserts. Philip Ashley is a rich man now, and there is a rumour,
I am told, current in the society papers, that Lady Francis Firmour
has filed a petition for divorce, and that the proceedings will be
undefended. But can you imagine any man marrying such a woman after
all that she made him suffer?"
Then, as the funny creature paused and appeared entirely engrossed in
the fashioning of complicated knots in his beloved bit of string, I
felt that it was my turn to keep the ball rolling.
"Then you, for one," I said, "are quite convinced that Philip Ashley
did not know that his father intended to make a new will, and did not
try to murder him?"
"Aren't you?" he retorted.
"Well," I rejoined, somewhat lamely, "some one did assault the old
miser, didn't they? If it was not Philip Ashley then it must have
been just an ordinary burglar, who thought that the old man had some
money hidden away under his mattress."
"Can't you theorise more intelligently than that?" the tiresome
creature asked in his very rude and cynical manner. I would gladly
have slapped his face, only--I did want to know.
"Your own theory," I retorted, choosing to ignore his impertinence,
"seek him first whom the crime benefits."
"Well, and whom did that particular crime benefit the most?"
"Philip Ashley, of course," I replied, "but you said yourself----"
"Philip Ashley did not benefit by the crime," the old scarecrow broke
in, with a dry cackle. "No, no, but for the fact that a merciful
Providence removed Charles Ashley so very unexpectedly out of this
wicked world, Philip would still be living on a few hundreds a year,
most of which he would owe to the munificence of his brother."
"That," I argued, "was only because that Peet-Jackson woman threw him
over, otherwise----"
"And why did she throw him over? Because old Thornton Ashley died
under mysterious circumstances, and Philip Ashley was under a cloud
because of it. Any one could have foreseen that that particular
woman would throw him over the very moment that suspicion fell upon
him."
"But Charles----" I began.
"Exactly," he broke in, excitedly, "it was Charles who benefited by
the crime. It was he who inherited the fortune."
"But, by the new will he would have inherited anyhow. Then, why in
the world----"
"You surely don't believe in that new will, do you? The way in which
I marshalled the facts before you ought to have paved the way for
more intelligent reasoning."
"But Mr. Triscott----" I argued.
"Ah, yes," he said, "Mr. Triscott--exactly. The whole thing could
only be done in partnership, I admit. But does not everything point
to a partnership in what, to my mind, is one of the ugliest crimes in
our records? You ought to be able to follow the workings of Charles
Ashley's mind, a mind as tortuous as the body that held it. Let me
put the facts once more briefly before you. While Philip obstinately
remained a bachelor, all was well. Charles stuck to the old miser,
carefully watching over his interests lest they become jeopardised.
But presently, Lady Peet-Jackson became a widow and Philip gaily
announced his engagement. From that hour Charles, of course, must
have seen the fortune on which he had already counted slipping away
irretrievably from his grasp. Can you not see in your mind's eye
that queer, misshapen creature setting his crooked brain to devise a
way out of the difficulty? Can you not see the plan taking shape
gradually, forming itself slowly into a resolve--a resolve to stop
his brother's marriage at all costs? But how? Philip, passionately
in love with Muriel Peet-Jackson, having won her after years of
waiting, was not likely to give her up. No, but _she_ might give
_him_ up. She had done it once for the sake of ambition, she might
do it again if ... if ... well, Charles Ashley, obscure, poor,
misshapen, was not likely to find a rival who would supplant his
handsome brother in any woman's affections. Certainly not! But
there remained the other possibility, the possibility that Philip,
poor--or, better still, disgraced--might cease to be a prize in the
matrimonial market. Disgraced! But how? By publicity? By crime?
Yes, by crime! Now, can you see the plan taking shape?
"Can you see Charles cudgelling his wits as to what crime could most
easily be fastened on a man of Philip's personality and social
position? Probably a chance word dropped by his father put the
finishing touch to his scheme, a chance word on the subject of a
will. And there was the whole plan ready. The unsigned will, the
assault on the dying man, and quarrels there always were plenty
between the peppery old miser and his somewhat impatient son. As for
Triscott, the dapper little local lawyer, I suppose it took some time
for Charles Ashley's crooked schemes to appear as feasible and
profitable to him. Of course, without him nothing could have been
done, and the whole of my theory rests upon the fact that the two men
were partners in the crime.
"Where they first met, and how they became friends, I don't profess
to know. If I had had anything to do with the official investigation
of that crime I should first of all have examined the servant in the
Triscott household, and found out whether or no Mr. Charles Ashley
had ever been a visitor there. In any case, I should have found out
something about Triscott's friends and Triscott's haunts. I am sure
that it would then have come to light that Charles Ashley and Mr.
Triscott had constant intercourse together.
"I cannot bring myself to believe in that unsigned will. There was
nothing whatever that led up to it, except the supposed quarrel on
the Wednesday. But, if that old miser did want to alter his will,
why should he have sent for a man whom he hardly knew and whom, mind
you, he would have to pay for his services, rather than for his
friend, Oldwall, who would have done the work for nothing? The man
was a miser, remember. His meanness, we are told, amounted to a
mania; a miser never pays for something he can get for nothing.
There was also another little point that struck me during the inquest
as significant. If Triscott was an entire stranger to Charles
Ashley, why should he have taken such a personal interest in him and
in the old man to the extent of sending his wife to spend two whole
days and nights in charge of an invalid who was nothing to him? Why
should Mrs. Triscott have undertaken such a thankless task in the
house of a miser, where she would get no comforts and hardly anything
to eat? Why, I say, should the Triscotts have done all that if they
had not some vital self-interest at stake?
"And I contend that that self-interest demanded that one of them
should be there, in the flat, on the watch, to see that no third
person was present whilst Philip spent his time by his father's
bedside--a witness, such as Lady Peet-Jackson, perhaps, or some
friend--whose testimony might demolish the whole edifice of lies,
which had been so carefully built up. And, did you notice another
point? The charwoman, by a new arrangement, was never at the flat on
a Monday morning, and that arrangement had only obtained for the past
two months. Now why? Charwomen stay away, I believe, on Sundays
always, but, I ask you, have you ever heard of a charwoman having a
holiday on a Monday?"
I was bound to admit that it was unusual, whereupon the old scarecrow
went on, with excitement that grew as rapidly as did the feverish
energy of his fingers manipulating his bit of string.
"And now propel your mind back to that same Monday morning, when, the
coast being clear, Charles Ashley, back at the flat and alone with
the old man, was able at last to put the finishing touch to his work
of infamy. One pressure of the fingers, one blow with the
walking-stick, and the curtain was rung down finally on the hideous
drama which he had so skilfully invented. Think of it all carefully
and intelligently," the Old Man in the Corner concluded, as he
stuffed his beloved bit of string into the capacious pocket of his
checked ulster, "and you will admit that there is not a single flaw
in my argument----"
"The walking-stick," I broke in, quickly.
"Exactly," he retorted, "the walking-stick. Charles was quick enough
to grasp the significance of that, and on Saturday, while his
brother's back was turned, he carefully hid the walking-stick,
knowing that it would be a useful piece of evidence presently. Do
you, for a moment, suppose," he added, dryly, "that any man would
have been such a fool as to throw his walking-stick and the crumpled
notes of the will underneath his victim's bed? They could not have
been left there, remember, they could not have rolled under the bed,
as the walking-stick had a crook-handle; they must deliberately have
been thrown there.
"No, no!" he said, in conclusion, "there is no flaw. It is all as
clear as daylight to any receptive intelligence, and though human
justice did err at first, and it looked, at one time, as if the
innocent alone would suffer and the guilty enjoy the fruits of his
crime, a higher justice interposed in the end. Charles has gone, and
Philip is in possession of the fortune which his father desired him
to have. I only hope that his eyes are opened at last to the true
value of the beautiful Muriel's love, and that it will be some other
worthier woman who will share his fortune and help him forget all
that he endured in the past."
"And what about the Triscotts?" I asked.
"Ah!" he said, with a sigh, "they are the wicked who prosper, and
higher justice has apparently forgotten them, as it often does forget
the evil-doer, for a time. We must take it that they were well paid
for their share in the crime, and, if the unfortunate Charles had
lived, he probably would have been blackmailed by them and bled
white. As it is, they have gone scot-free. I made a few enquiries
in the neighbourhood lately and I discovered that Mr. Triscott is
selling his practice and retiring from business. Presently we'll
hear that he has bought himself a cottage in the country. Then,
perhaps, your last doubt will vanish and you will be ready to admit
that I have found the true solution of the mystery that surrounded
the death of the miser of Maida Vale."
The next moment he was gone, and I just caught sight of the corner of
his checked ulster disappearing through the swing doors.
XII
THE FULTON GARDENS MYSTERY
§1
"Are you prepared to admit," the Old Man in the Corner said abruptly
as soon as he had finished his glass of milk, "that sympathy,
understanding, largeness of heart--what?--are invariably the outcome
of a big brain? It is the fool who is censorious and cruel. Your
clever man is nearly always sympathetic. He understands, he
appreciates, he studies motives and understands them. During the war
it was the fools who tracked down innocent men and women under
pretence that they were spies; it was the fools who did not
understand that a German might be just as fine a patriot as a Briton
or a Frenchman if he served his own country. The hard, cruel man is
almost always a fool; the backbiting old maid invariably so.
"I am tempted to say this," he went on, "because I have been thinking
over that curious case which newspaper reporters have called the
Fulton Gardens Mystery. You remember it, don't you?"
"Yes," I said, "I do. As a matter of fact I knew poor old Mr. Jessup
slightly, and I was terribly shocked when I heard about that awful
tragedy. And to think that that horrid young Leighton----"
"Ha!" my eccentric friend broke in, with a chuckle, "then you have
held on to that theory, have you?"
"There was no other possible!" I retorted.
"But he was discharged."
I shrugged my shoulders under pretence of being unconvinced. As a
matter of fact, all I wanted was to make the funny creature talk.
"A flimsy _alibi_," I said coldly.
"And a want of sympathy," he rejoined.
"What has sympathy got to do with a brutal assault on a defenceless
old man? You can't deny that Leighton had something, at any rate, to
do with it?"
"I did not mean sympathy for the guilty," he argued, "but for the
women who were the principal witnesses in the case."
"I don't see----" I protested.
"No, but I do. I understood, and in a great measure I sympathised."
At which expression of noble sentiment I burst out laughing. I
couldn't help it. In view of his preamble just now his fatuous
statement was funny beyond words.
"You being the clever man who understands, etcetera," I said, as
seriously as I could, "and I the censorious and cruel old maid who is
invariably a fool."
"You put it crudely," he rejoined complacently, "and had you not
given ample proof of your intelligence before now I might have
thought it worth while to refute the second half of your argument.
As for the first..."
"Hadn't you better tell me about the Fulton Gardens Mystery?" I broke
in impatiently.
"Certainly," he replied, in no way abashed. "I have meant to talk to
you about it all along, only that you would digress."
"_Pax!_" I retorted, and with a conciliatory smile I handed him a
beautiful bit of string. He pounced on it with thin hands that
looked like the talons of a bird, and he gloated on that bit of
string for all the world as on a prey.