baffling enough. But to me ... Well, there was the victim of what
you very properly call the cowardly assault, your friend--or
acquaintance--Mr. Seton Jessup, a man on the wrong side of sixty, but
very active and vigorous for his years. He carried on the business
of pearl merchant in Fulton Gardens, but he did not live there, as
you know. He was a married man, had sons and daughters and a nice
house in Fitzjohn's Avenue. He also owned the house in Fulton
Gardens, a four-storied building of the pattern prevalent in that
neighbourhood. The ground floor, together with the one above that,
and the basement were used by Mr. Jessup himself for his business: on
the ground floor he had his office and showroom, above that were a
couple of reception rooms, where he usually had his lunch and saw a
few privileged customers, and in the basement there was a kitchen
with scullery and pantry, a small servants' hall, and a strong-room
for valuables. The top story of all was let to a surgical-instrument
maker who did not sleep on the premises, and the second floor--that
is the one just below the surgical-instrument maker and immediately
above the reception rooms--was occupied by Mrs. Tufnell, who was
cook-housekeeper to Mr. Jessup, and her niece, Ann Weber, who acted
as the house-parlourmaid. Mrs. Tufnell's son, Mark, who was a junior
clerk in the office, did not sleep in the house. He was considered
to be rather delicate, and lived with a family somewhere near the
Alexandra Palace.
"All these people, as you know, played important parts in the drama
that was enacted on the sixteenth of November at No. 13, Fulton
Gardens--an unlucky number, by the way, but one which Mr. Jessup did
not change to the usual 12a when he bought the house, because he
despised all superstition. He was a hard-headed, prosperous business
man; he worked hard himself, and expected hard work from his
employés. Both his sons worked in the office, one as senior clerk,
and the other as showman, and in addition to young Mark Tufnell there
was another junior clerk--a rather unsatisfactory youth named Arthur
Leighton, who was some sort of a relation of Mrs. Jessup's. But for
this connection he never would have been kept on in the business, as
he was unpunctual, idle, and unreliable. The housekeeper, as well as
some of the neighbours, had been scandalised lately by what was
picturesquely termed the 'goings on of that young Leighton with Ann,
the housemaid at No. 13.'
"Ann Weber was a very pretty girl, and like many pretty girls she was
fond of finery and of admiration. As soon as she entered Mr.
Jessup's service she started a flirtation with Mark Tufnell, then she
dropped him for a while in favour of the youngest Mr. Jessup; then
she went back to Mark, and seemed really in love with him that time
until, finally, she transferred her favours to Arthur Leighton,
chiefly because he was by far the most generous of her admirers. He
was always giving her presents of jewellery which Mark Tufnell could
not afford, and young Jessup apparently did not care to give her.
But she did not, by any means, confine her flirtations to one man:
indeed, it appears that she had a marvellous facility for keeping
several men hanging about her dainty apron-strings. She was not on
the best of terms with her aunt, chiefly because the latter noted
with some asperity that her son was far from cured of his infatuation
for the pretty housemaid. The more she flirted with Leighton and the
others the greater did his love for her appear, and all that Mrs.
Tufnell could hope for was that Mr. Leighton would marry Ann one day
soon, when he would take her right away and Mark would then probably
make up his mind to forget her. Young Leighton was doing very well
in business apparently, for he always had plenty of money to spend,
whilst poor Mark had only a small salary, and, moreover, had nothing
of the smart, dashing ways about him which had made the other man so
attractive to Ann."
§2
"And now," the Old Man in the Corner continued after a while, "we
come to that sixteenth of November when the mysterious drama occurred
at No. 13, Fulton Gardens. As a general rule, it seems, Mr. Jessup
was in his office most evenings until seven o'clock. His clerks and
showmen finished at six, but he would, almost invariably, stay on an
hour longer to go through his accounts or look over his stock. On
this particular evening, just before seven o'clock, he rang for the
housekeeper, Mrs. Tufnell, and told her that he would be staying
until quite late, and would she send him in a cup of tea and a plate
of sandwiches in about an hour's time. Mrs. Tufnell owned to being
rather disappointed when she had this order because her son Mark had
arranged to take her and Ann to the cinema that evening, and now, of
course, they could not leave until after Mr. Jessup had gone, in case
he wanted anything, and he might be staying on until all hours.
However, Mark stayed to supper, and after supper Mrs. Tufnell got the
tea and sandwiches ready and took the tray up to Mr. Jessup herself.
Mr. Jessup was then sitting at his desk with two or three big books
in front of him, and Mrs. Tufnell noticed that the safe in which the
cash was kept that came in after banking hours was wide open.
"Mrs. Tufnell put down the tray, and was about to leave the room
again when Mr. Jessup spoke to her.
"'I expect Mr. Leighton back presently. Show him in here when he
comes. But I don't want to see anybody else, not any of you.
Understand?'
"It seems that he said this in such a harsh and peremptory manner
that Mrs. Tufnell was not only upset, but quite frightened. Mr.
Jessup had always been very kind and considerate to his servants, and
the housekeeper declared that she had never been spoken to like that
before. But we all know what that sort of people are: they have no
understanding, and unless you are perpetually smiling at them they
turn huffy at the slightest word of impatience. Undoubtedly Mr.
Jessup was both tired and worried, and no great stress was laid by
the police subsequently on the fact that he had spoken harshly on
this occasion. Even to you at this moment I dare say that this seems
a trifling circumstance, but I mention it because to my mind it had a
great deal of significance, and I think that the police were very
wrong to dismiss it quite so lightly.
"Well, to resume. Mr. Jessup was in his office with his books and
with the safe, where he kept all the cash that came in after banking
hours, open. Mrs. Tufnell saw and spoke to him at eight o'clock and
he was then expecting Arthur Leighton to come to him at nine.
"No one saw him alive after that.
"The next morning Mrs. Tufnell was downstairs as usual at a quarter
to seven. After she had lighted the kitchen fire, done her front
steps and swept the hall she went to do the ground-floor rooms. She
told the police afterwards that from the moment she got up she felt
that there was something wrong in the house. Somehow or other she
was frightened; she didn't know of what, but she was frightened. As
soon as she had opened the office door she gave a terrified scream.
Mr. Jessup was sitting at his desk just as Mrs. Tufnell had seen him
the night before, with his big books in front of him and the safe
door open. But his head had fallen forward on the desk, and his arms
were spread out over his books. Mrs. Tufnell never doubted for a
second but that he was dead, even before she saw the stick lying on
the floor and that horrible, horrible dull red stain which spread
from the back of the old man's head, right down to his neck and
stained his collar and the top of his coat. Even before she saw all
that she knew that Mr. Jessup was dead. Terrified, she clung to the
open door; she could do nothing but stare and stare, for the room,
the furniture, the motionless figure by the desk had started whirling
round and round before her eyes, so that she felt that at any moment
she might fall down in a dead faint. It seemed ages before she heard
Ann's voice calling to her, asking what was the matter. Ann was lazy
and never came downstairs before eight o'clock. She had apparently
only just tumbled out of bed when she heard Mrs. Tufnell's scream.
Now she came running downstairs, with her bare feet thrust into her
slippers and a dressing-gown wrapped round her.
"'What is it, Auntie?' she kept on asking as she ran. 'What has
happened?'
"And when she reached the office door, she only gave one look into
the room and exclaimed, 'Oh, my God! He's killed him!'
"Somehow Ann's exclamation of horror brought Mrs. Tufnell to her
senses. With a great effort she pulled herself together, just in
time, too, to grip Ann by the arm, or the girl would have measured
her length on the tiled floor behind her. As it was, Mrs. Tufnell
gave her a vigorous shake:
"'What do you mean, Ann Weber?' she demanded in a hoarse whisper.
'What do you mean? Who has killed him?'
"But Ann couldn't or wouldn't utter another word. She was as white
as a sheet and, staggering backwards, she had fallen up against the
bannisters at the foot of the stairs and was clinging to them,
wide-eyed, with twitching mouth and shaking knees.
"'Pull yourself together, Ann Weber,' Mrs. Tufnell said peremptorily,
'and run and fetch the police at once.'
"But Ann looked as if she couldn't move. She kept on reiterating in
a dry, meaningless manner, 'The police! The police,' until Mrs.
Tufnell, who by now had gathered her wits together, gave her a
vigorous push and then went upstairs to put on her bonnet. A few
minutes later she had gone for the police.
§3
"I don't know," the Old Man in the Corner went on glibly, "whether
you remember all the circumstances which made that case such a
puzzling one. Indeed, it well deserved the popular name that the
evening papers bestowed on it--'The Fulton Gardens Mystery'--for it
was, indeed, a mystery, and to most people it has so remained to this
day."
"Not to you," I put in, with a smile, just to humour him, as I could
see he was waiting to be buttered-up before he would proceed with his
narrative.
"No, not to me," he admitted, with his fatuous smile. "If the
members of the police force who had the case in hand had been
psychologists, they would not have been puzzled, either. But they
were satisfied with their own investigations and with all that was
revealed at the inquest, and they looked no further, with the result
that when the edifice of their deductions collapsed, they had nowhere
to turn. Time had gone on, evidences had become blurred, witnesses
were less sure of themselves and less reliable, and a certain
blackguard, on whom I for one could lay my fingers at this moment, is
going through the world scot-free.
"But let me begin by telling you the facts as they were revealed at
the inquest. You can then form your own conclusions, and I dare say
that these will be quite as erroneous as those arrived at by the
public and the police.
"The drama began to unfold itself when Mr. Ernest Jessup, the younger
son of the deceased gentleman, was called. He began by explaining
that he was junior clerk in his father's office, and that he, along
with all the other employés had remarked on the sixteenth that the
guv'nor did not seem at all like himself. He was irritable with
everybody, and just before luncheon he called Arthur Leighton into
his office and apparently some very hot words passed between the two.
Witness happened to be in the hall at the moment, getting his hat and
coat, and the housemaid was standing by. They both heard very loud
voices coming from the office. The guv'nor was storming away at the
top of his voice.
"'That's poor Leighton getting it in the neck,' witness remarked to
Ann Weber.
"But the girl only giggled and shrugged her shoulders. Then she
said: 'Do you think so?'
"'Yes,' witness replied, 'aren't you sorry to see your devoted
admirer in such hot water?'
"Again the girl giggled and then ran away upstairs. Mr. Leighton was
not at the office the whole of that afternoon, but witness
understood, either from his father or from his brother--he couldn't
remember which--that Leighton was to come in late that night to
interview the guv'nor.
"Witness was next questioned as to the events that occurred at Mr.
Jessup's home in Fitzjohn's Avenue, while the terrible tragedy was
enacted in Fulton Gardens. It seems that Mr. Jessup had an old
mother who lived in St. Albans, and that he went sometimes to see her
after business hours and stayed the night. As a general rule, when
he intended going he would telephone home in the course of the
afternoon. On the sixteenth he rang up at about five o'clock and
said that he was staying late at the office--later than usual--and
they were not to wait dinner for him. Mrs. Jessup took this message
herself, and had recognised her husband's voice. Then, later on in
the evening--it might have been half-past eight or nine--there was
another telephone message from the office. Witness went to the
telephone that time. A voice, which at first he did not think that
he recognised, said: 'Mr. Jessup has gone to St. Albans. He caught
the 7.50, and won't be home to-night.' In giving evidence witness at
first insisted on the fact that he did not recognise the voice on the
telephone. It was a man's voice, and sounded like that of a person
who was rather the worse for drink. He asked who was speaking, and
the reply came quite clearly that time: 'Why, it's Leighton, you ass!
Don't you know me?' Witness then asked: 'Where are you speaking
from?' and the reply was: 'From the office, of course. I've had my
wigging and am getting consoled by our Annie-bird.' Annie-bird was
the name the pretty housemaid went by among the young clerks at the
office. Witness then hung up the receiver and gave his mother the
message. Neither Mrs. Jessup nor any one else in the house thought
anything more about it, as there was nothing whatever unusual about
the occurrence. Witness only made some remarks about Arthur Leighton
having been drinking again, and there the matter unfortunately
remained until the following morning, when witness and his brother
arrived at the office and were met with the awful news.
"Both Mrs. Jessup and Mr. Aubrey, the eldest son, corroborated the
statements made by the previous witness with regard to the telephone
messages on the evening of the sixteenth. Mr. Aubrey Jessup also
stated that he knew that his father was worried about some
irregularities in Arthur Leighton's accounts, and that he meant to
have it out with the young clerk in the course of the evening.
Witness had begged his father to let the matter rest until the next
day, as Leighton, he thought, had got the afternoon off to see a sick
sister, but the deceased had rejected the suggestion with obvious
irritation.
"'Stuff and nonsense!' he said. 'I don't believe in that sick sister
a bit. I'll see that young blackguard to-night.'
"The next witness was Mrs. Tufnell, who was cook-housekeeper at
Fulton Gardens. She was a middle-aged, capable-looking woman, with a
pair of curiously dark eyes. I say 'curiously' because Mrs.
Tufnell's eyes had that velvety quality which is usually only met
with in southern countries. I have seldom seen them in England,
except, perhaps, in Cornwall. Apart from her eyes, there was nothing
either remarkable or beautiful about Mrs. Tufnell. She may have been
good-looking once, but that was a long time ago. When she stood up
to give evidence her face appeared rather bloodless, weather-beaten,
and distinctly hard. She spoke quite nicely and without any of that
hideous Cockney accent one might have expected from a cook in a City
office.
"She deposed that on the sixteenth, just before the luncheon hour,
she was crossing the hall at 13, Fulton Gardens. The door into the
office was ajar, and she heard Mr. Jessup's voice raised, evidently
in great wrath. Mrs. Tufnell also heard Mr. Leighton's voice, both
gentlemen, as she picturesquely put it, going at one another hammer
and tongs. Obviously, though she wouldn't admit it, Mrs. Tufnell
stopped to listen, but she does not seem to have understood much of
what was said. However, a moment or two later, Mr. Jessup went to
the door in order to shut it, and while he did so, Mrs. Tufnell heard
him say quite distinctly:
"'Well, if you must go now, you must, though I don't believe a word
about your sister being ill. But you may go; only, understand that I
expect you back here this evening not later than nine. I shall have
gone through the accounts by then, and...'
"At this point the door was shut and witness heard nothing more. But
she reiterated the statements which she had already made to the
police, and which I have just retold you, about Mr. Jessup staying
late at the office and her taking him in some sandwiches, when he
told her that he was expecting Mr. Leighton at about nine o'clock and
did not wish to be disturbed by anybody else. Witness was asked to
repeat what the deceased had actually said to her with reference to
this matter, and she laid great stress on Mr. Jessup's harsh and
dictatorial manner, so different, she said, to his usual gentlemanly
ways.
"'"I don't want to see anybody else--not any of you," that's what he
said,' Mrs. Tufnell replied, with an air of dignity, and then added:
'As if Ann Weber or I had ever thought of disturbing him when he was
at work!'
"Witness went on to relate that, after she had taken in the tray of
tea and sandwiches, she went upstairs and found Ann Weber sitting in
her room by herself. Mark, the girl explained, had gone off, very
disappointed that they couldn't all go together to the cinema. Mrs.
Tufnell argued the point for a moment or two, as she didn't see why
Ann should have refused to go if she wanted to see the show. But the
girl seemed to have turned sulky. Anyway, it was too late, she said,
as Mark had gone off by himself: he had booked the places and didn't
want to waste them, so he was going to get another friend to go with
him.
"Mrs. Tufnell then settled down to do some sewing, and Ann turned
over the pages of a stale magazine. Mrs. Tufnell thought that she
appeared restless and agitated. Her cheeks were flushed and at the
slightest sound she gave a startled jump. Presently she said that
she had some silver to clean in the pantry, and went downstairs to do
it. Some little time after that there was a ring at the front-door
bell, and Mrs. Tufnell heard Ann going through the hall to open the
door. A quarter of an hour went by, and then another.
"Mrs. Tufnell began to wonder what Ann was up to. She put down her
sewing and started to go downstairs. The first thing that struck her
was that all the lights on the stairs and landing were out; the house
appeared very silent and dark; only a glimmer came from one of the
lights downstairs in the hall at the foot of the stairs.
"Mrs. Tufnell went down cautiously. Strangely enough, it did not
occur to her to turn on the lights on her way. After she had passed
the first-floor landing she heard the sound of muffled voices coming
from the hall below. Thinking that she recognised Ann's voice, she
called to her: 'Is that you, Ann?' And Ann immediately replied:
'Coming, aunt.' 'Who are you talking to?' Mrs. Tufnell asked, and as
Ann did not answer this time, she went on: 'Is it Mr. Leighton?' And
Ann said: 'Yes. He is just going.'
"Mrs. Tufnell stood there, waiting. She was half-way down the stairs
between the first floor and the hall, and she couldn't see Ann or Mr.
Leighton, but a moment or two later she heard Ann's voice saying
quite distinctly: 'Well, good-night, Mr. Leighton, see you to-morrow
as usual.' After which the front door was opened, then banged to
again, and presently Ann came tripping back across the hall.
"'You go to bed now, Ann,' Mrs. Tufnell said to her. 'I'll see Mr.
Jessup off when he goes. He won't be long now, I dare say.'
"'Oh, but,' Ann said, 'Mr. Jessup has been gone some time.'
"'Gone some time?' Mrs. Tufnell exclaimed. 'He can't have been gone
some time. Why, he was expecting Mr. Leighton, and Mr. Leighton has
only just gone.'
"Ann shrugged her shoulders. 'I can only tell you what I know, Mrs.
Tufnell,' she said acidly. 'You can come down and see for yourself.
The office is shut up and all the lights out.'
"'But didn't Mr. Leighton see Mr. Jessup?'
"'No, he didn't. Mr. Jessup told Mr. Leighton to wait, and then he
went away without seeing him.'
"'That's funny,' Mrs. Tufnell remarked, dryly. 'What was Mr.
Leighton doing in the house, then, all this time? I heard the
front-door bell half an hour ago and more.'
"'That's no business of yours, Aunt Sarah,' the girl retorted pertly.
'And it wasn't half an hour, so there!'
"Mrs. Tufnell did not argue the point any further. Mechanically she
went downstairs and ascertained in point of fact that the door of the
office and the show-room on the ground floor were both locked as
usual, and that the key of the office was outside in the lock. This
was entirely in accordance with custom. Mrs. Tufnell, through force
of habit, did just turn the key and open the door of the office. She
just peeped in to see that the lights were really all out. Satisfied
that everything was dark she then closed and relocked the door. Ann,
in the meanwhile, stood half-way up the stairs watching. Then the
two women went upstairs together. They had only just got back in
their room when the front-door bell rang once more.
"'Now, whoever can that be?' Mrs. Tufnell exclaimed.
"'Don't trouble, aunt,' Ann said with alacrity. 'I'll run down and
see.' Which she did. Again it was some time before she came back,
and when she did get back to her room, she seemed rather breathless
and agitated.
"'Some one for Mr. Jessup,' she said in answer to Mrs. Tufnell's
rather acid remark that she had been gone a long time. 'He kept me
talking ever such a while. I don't think he believed me when I said
Mr. Jessup had gone.'
"'Who was it?' witness asked.
"'I don't know,' the girl replied. 'I never saw him before.'
"'Didn't you ask his name?'
"'I did. But he said it didn't matter--he would call again
to-morrow.'
"After that the two women sat for a little while longer, Mrs. Tufnell
sewing, and Ann still rather restlessly turning over the pages of a
magazine. At ten o'clock they went to bed. And that was the end of
the day as far as the household of Mr. Jessup was concerned.
"You may well imagine that all the amateur detectives who were
present at the inquest had made up their minds by now that Arthur
Leighton had murdered Mr. Seton Jessup, and robbed the till both
before and after the crime. It was a simple deduction easily arrived
at and presenting the usual features. A flirty minx, an enamoured
young man, extravagance, greed, opportunity, and supreme temptation.
Amongst the public there were many who did not even think it worth
while to hear further witnesses. To their minds the hangman's rope
was already round young Leighton's neck. Of course, I admit that at
this point it seemed a very clear case. It was only after this that
complications arose and soon the investigations bristled with
difficulties.
§4
"After a good deal of tedious and irrelevant evidence had been gone
through the inquest was adjourned, and the public left the court on
the tiptoe of expectation as to what the morrow would bring. Nor was
any one disappointed, for on the morrow the mystery deepened, even
though there was plenty of sensational evidence for newspaper
reporters to feed on.