IX. THE PRISONER'S DEFENCE
The circumstances, so far as they were known to the public, concerningthe death of the beautiful Miss Ena Garnier, and the fact that CaptainJohn Fowler, the accused officer, had refused to defend himself on theoccasion of the proceedings at the police-court, had roused very generalinterest. This was increased by the statement that, though he withheldhis defence, it would be found to be of a very novel and convincingcharacter. The assertion of the prisoner's lawyer at the police-court,to the effect that the answer to the charge was such that it could notyet be given, but would be available before the Assizes, also caused muchspeculation. A final touch was given to the curiosity of the public whenit was learned that the prisoner had refused all offers of legalassistance from counsel and was determined to conduct his own defence.The case for the Crown was ably presented, and was generally consideredto be a very damning one, since it showed very clearly that the accusedwas subject to fits of jealousy, and that he had already been guilty ofsome violence owing to this cause. The prisoner listened to the evidencewithout emotion, and neither interrupted nor cross-questioned thewitnesses. Finally, on being informed that the time had come when hemight address the jury, he stepped to the front of the dock. He was aman of striking appearance, swarthy, black-moustached, nervous, andvirile, with a quietly confident manner. Taking a paper from his pockethe read the following statement, which made the deepest impression uponthe crowded court:--
I would wish to say, in the first place, gentlemen of the jury, that,owing to the generosity of my brother officers--for my own means arelimited--I might have been defended to-day by the first talent of theBar. The reason I have declined their assistance and have determined tofight my own case is not that I have any confidence in my own abilitiesor eloquence, but it is because I am convinced that a plain,straightforward tale, coming direct from the man who has been the tragicactor in this dreadful affair, will impress you more than any indirectstatement could do. If I had felt that I were guilty I should have askedfor help. Since, in my own heart, I believe that I am innocent, I ampleading my own cause, feeling that my plain words of truth and reasonwill have more weight with you than the most learned and eloquentadvocate. By the indulgence of the Court I have been permitted to put myremarks upon paper, so that I may reproduce certain conversations and beassured of saying neither more nor less than I mean.
It will be remembered that at the trial at the police-court two monthsago I refused to defend myself. This has been referred to to-day as aproof of my guilt. I said that it would be some days before I could openmy mouth. This was taken at the time as a subterfuge. Well, the daysare over, and I am now able to make clear to you not only what tookplace, but also why it was impossible for me to give any explanation. Iwill tell you now exactly what I did and why it was that I did it. Ifyou, my fellow-countrymen, think that I did wrong, I will make nocomplaint, but will suffer in silence any penalty which you may imposeupon me.
I am a soldier of fifteen years' standing, a captain in the SecondBreconshire Battalion. I have served in the South African Campaign andwas mentioned in despatches after the battle of Diamond Hill. When thewar broke out with Germany I was seconded from my regiment, and I wasappointed as adjutant to the First Scottish Scouts, newly raised. Theregiment was quartered at Radchurch, in Essex, where the men were placedpartly in huts and were partly billeted upon the inhabitants. All theofficers were billeted out, and my quarters were with Mr. Murreyfield,the local squire. It was there that I first met Miss Ena Garnier.
It may not seem proper at such a time and place as this that I shoulddescribe that lady. And yet her personality is the very essence of mycase. Let me only say that I cannot believe that Nature ever put intofemale form a more exquisite combination of beauty and intelligence. Shewas twenty-five years of age, blonde and tall, with a peculiar delicacyof features and of expression. I have read of people falling in love atfirst sight, and had always looked upon it as an expression of thenovelist. And yet from the moment that I saw Ena Garnier life held forme but the one ambition--that she should be mine. I had never dreamedbefore of the possibilities of passion that were within me. I will notenlarge upon the subject, but to make you understand my action--for Iwish you to comprehend it, however much you may condemn it--you mustrealize that I was in the grip of a frantic elementary passion whichmade, for a time, the world and all that was in it seem a small thing ifI could but gain the love of this one girl. And yet, in justice tomyself, I will say that there was always one thing which I placed aboveher. That was my honour as a soldier and a gentleman. You will find ithard to believe this when I tell you what occurred, and yet--though forone moment I forgot myself--my whole legal offence consists in mydesperate endeavour to retrieve what I had done.
I soon found that the lady was not insensible to the advances which Imade to her. Her position in the household was a curious one. She hadcome a year before from Montpellier, in the South of France, in answer toan advertisement from the Murreyfields in order to teach French to theirthree young children. She was, however, unpaid, so that she was rather afriendly guest than an _employee_. She had always, as I gathered, beenfond of the English and desirous to live in England, but the outbreak ofthe war had quickened her feelings into passionate attachment, for theruling emotion of her soul was her hatred of the Germans. Hergrandfather, as she told me, had been killed under very tragiccircumstances in the campaign of 1870, and her two brothers were both inthe French army. Her voice vibrated with passion when she spoke of theinfamies of Belgium, and more than once I have seen her kissing my swordand my revolver because she hoped they would be used upon the enemy. Withsuch feelings in her heart it can be imagined that my wooing was not adifficult one. I should have been glad to marry her at once, but to thisshe would not consent. Everything was to come after the war, for it wasnecessary, she said, that I should go to Montpellier and meet her people,so that the French proprieties should be properly observed.
She had one accomplishment which was rare for a lady; she was a skilledmotor-cyclist. She had been fond of long, solitary rides, but after ourengagement I was occasionally allowed to accompany her. She was a woman,however, of strange moods and fancies, which added in my feelings to thecharm of her character. She could be tenderness itself, and she could bealoof and even harsh in her manner. More than once she had refused mycompany with no reason given, and with a quick, angry flash of her eyeswhen I asked for one. Then, perhaps, her mood would change and she wouldmake up for this unkindness by some exquisite attention which would in aninstant soothe all my ruffled feelings. It was the same in the house. Mymilitary duties were so exacting that it was only in the evenings that Icould hope to see her, and yet very often she remained in the littlestudy which was used during the day for the children's lessons, and wouldtell me plainly that she wished to be alone. Then, when she saw that Iwas hurt by her caprice, she would laugh and apologize so sweetly for herrudeness that I was more her slave than ever.
Mention has been made of my jealous disposition, and it has been assertedat the trial that there were scenes owing to my jealousy, and that onceMrs. Murreyfield had to interfere. I admit that I was jealous. When aman loves with the whole strength of his soul it is impossible, I think,that he should be clear of jealousy. The girl was of a very independentspirit. I found that she knew many officers at Chelmsford andColchester. She would disappear for hours together upon her motor-cycle.There were questions about her past life which she would only answer witha smile unless they were closely pressed. Then the smile would become afrown. Is it any wonder that I, with my whole nature vibrating withpassionate, whole-hearted love, was often torn by jealousy when I cameupon those closed doors of her life which she was so determined not toopen? Reason came at times and whispered how foolish it was that Ishould stake my whole life and soul upon one of whom I really knewnothing. Then came a wave of passion once more and reason was submerged.
I have spoken of the closed doors of her life
. I was aware that a young,unmarried Frenchwoman has usually less liberty than her English sister.And yet in the case of this lady it continually came out in herconversation that she had seen and known much of the world. It was themore distressing to me as whenever she had made an observation whichpointed to this she would afterwards, as I could plainly see, be annoyedby her own indiscretion, and endeavour to remove the impression by everymeans in her power. We had several small quarrels on this account, whenI asked questions to which I could get no answers, but they have beenexaggerated in the address for the prosecution. Too much has been madealso of the intervention of Mrs. Murreyfield, though I admit that thequarrel was more serious upon that occasion. It arose from my findingthe photograph of a man upon her table, and her evident confusion when Iasked her for some particulars about him. The name "H. Vardin" waswritten underneath--evidently an autograph. I was worried by the factthat this photograph had the frayed appearance of one which has beencarried secretly about, as a girl might conceal the picture of her loverin her dress. She absolutely refused to give me any information abouthim, save to make a statement which I found incredible, that it was a manwhom she had never seen in her life. It was then that I forgot myself. Iraised my voice and declared that I should know more about her life orthat I should break with her, even if my own heart should be broken inthe parting. I was not violent, but Mrs. Murreyfield heard me from thepassage, and came into the room to remonstrate. She was a kind, motherlyperson who took a sympathetic interest in our romance, and I rememberthat on this occasion she reproved me for my jealousy and finallypersuaded me that I had been unreasonable, so that we became reconciledonce more. Ena was so madly fascinating and I so hopelessly her slavethat she could always draw me back, however much prudence and reasonwarned me to escape from her control. I tried again and again to findout about this man Vardin, but was always met by the same assurance,which she repeated with every kind of solemn oath, that she had neverseen the man in her life. Why she should carry about the photograph of aman--a young, somewhat sinister man, for I had observed him closelybefore she snatched the picture from my hand--was what she either couldnot, or would not, explain.
Then came the time for my leaving Radchurch. I had been appointed to ajunior but very responsible post at the War Office, which, of course,entailed my living in London. Even my week-ends found me engrossed withmy work, but at last I had a few days' leave of absence. It is those fewdays which have ruined my life, which have brought me the most horribleexperience that ever a man had to undergo, and have finally placed mehere in the dock, pleading as I plead to-day for my life and my honour.
It is nearly five miles from the station to Radchurch. She was there tomeet me. It was the first time that we had been reunited since I had putall my heart and my soul upon her. I cannot enlarge upon these matters,gentlemen. You will either be able to sympathize with and understand theemotions which overbalance a man at such a time, or you will not. If youhave imagination, you will. If you have not, I can never hope to makeyou see more than the bare fact. That bare fact, placed in the baldestlanguage, is that during this drive from Radchurch Junction to thevillage I was led into the greatest indiscretion--the greatest dishonour,if you will--of my life. I told the woman a secret, an enormouslyimportant secret, which might affect the fate of the war and the lives ofmany thousands of men.
It was done before I knew it--before I grasped the way in which her quickbrain could place various scattered hints together and weave them intoone idea. She was wailing, almost weeping, over the fact that the alliedarmies were held up by the iron line of the Germans. I explained that itwas more correct to say that our iron line was holding them up, sincethey were the invaders. "But is France, is Belgium, _never_ to be rid ofthem?" she cried. "Are we simply to sit in front of their trenches andbe content to let them do what they will with ten provinces of France?Oh, Jack, Jack, for God's sake, say something to bring a little hope tomy heart, for sometimes I think that it is breaking! You English arestolid. You can bear these things. But we others, we have more nerve,more soul! It is death to us. Tell me! Do tell me that there is hope!And yet it is foolish of me to ask, for, of course, you are only asubordinate at the War Office, and how should you know what is in themind of your chiefs?"
"Well, as it happens, I know a good deal," I answered. "Don't fret, forwe shall certainly get a move on soon."
"Soon! Next year may seem soon to some people."
"It's not next year."
"Must we wait another month?"
"Not even that."
She squeezed my hand in hers. "Oh, my darling boy, you have brought suchjoy to my heart! What suspense I shall live in now! I think a week ofit would kill me."
"Well, perhaps it won't even be a week."
"And tell me," she went on, in her coaxing voice, "tell me just onething, Jack. Just one, and I will trouble you no more. Is it our braveFrench soldiers who advance? Or is it your splendid Tommies? With whomwill the honour lie?"
"With both."
"Glorious!" she cried. "I see it all. The attack will be at the pointwhere the French and British lines join. Together they will rush forwardin one glorious advance."
"No," I said. "They will not be together."
"But I understood you to say--of course, women know nothing of suchmatters, but I understood you to say that it would be a joint advance."
"Well, if the French advanced, we will say, at Verdun, and the Britishadvanced at Ypres, even if they were hundreds of miles apart it wouldstill be a joint advance."
"Ah, I see," she cried, clapping her hands with delight. "They wouldadvance at both ends of the line, so that the Boches would not know whichway to send their reserves."
"That is exactly the idea--a real advance at Verdun, and an enormousfeint at Ypres."
Then suddenly a chill of doubt seized me. I can remember how I sprangback from her and looked hard into her face. "I've told you too much!" Icried. "Can I trust you? I have been mad to say so much."
She was bitterly hurt by my words. That I should for a moment doubt herwas more than she could bear. "I would cut my tongue out, Jack, before Iwould tell any human being one word of what you have said." So earnestwas she that my fears died away. I felt that I could trust her utterly.Before we had reached Radchurch I had put the matter from my mind, and wewere lost in our joy of the present and in our plans for the future.
I had a business message to deliver to Colonel Worral, who commanded asmall camp at Pedley-Woodrow. I went there and was away for about twohours. When I returned I inquired for Miss Garnier, and was told by themaid that she had gone to her bedroom, and that she had asked the groomto bring her motor-bicycle to the door. It seemed to me strange that sheshould arrange to go out alone when my visit was such a short one. I hadgone into her little study to seek her, and here it was that I waited,for it opened on to the hall passage, and she could not pass without myseeing her.
There was a small table in the window of this room at which she used towrite. I had seated myself beside this when my eyes fell upon a namewritten in her large, bold hand-writing. It was a reversed impressionupon the blotting-paper which she had used, but there could be nodifficulty in reading it. The name was Hubert Vardin. Apparently it waspart of the address of an envelope, for underneath I was able todistinguish the initials S.W., referring to a postal division of London,though the actual name of the street had not been clearly reproduced.
Then I knew for the first time that she was actually corresponding withthis man whose vile, voluptuous face I had seen in the photograph withthe frayed edges. She had clearly lied to me, too, for was itconceivable that she should correspond with a man whom she had neverseen? I don't desire to condone my conduct. Put yourself in my place.Imagine that you had my desperately fervid and jealous nature. You wouldhave done what I did, for you could have done nothing else. A wave offury passed over me. I laid my hands upon the wooden writing-desk. Ifit had been an iron safe I should
have opened it. As it was, itliterally flew to pieces before me. There lay the letter itself, placedunder lock and key for safety, while the writer prepared to take it fromthe house. I had no hesitation or scruple, I tore it open.Dishonourable, you will say, but when a man is frenzied with jealousy hehardly knows what he does. This woman, for whom I was ready to giveeverything, was either faithful to me or she was not. At any cost Iwould know which.
A thrill of joy passed through me as my eyes fell upon the first words. Ihad wronged her. "Cher Monsieur Vardin." So the letter began. It wasclearly a business letter, nothing else. I was about to replace it inthe envelope with a thousand regrets in my mind for my want of faith whena single word at the bottom of the page caught my eyes, and I started asif I had been stung by an adder. "Verdun"--that was the word. I lookedagain. "Ypres" was immediately below it. I sat down, horror-stricken,by the broken desk, and I read this letter, a translation of which I havein my hand:--
MURREYFIELD HOUSE, RADCHURCH.
DEAR M. VARDIN,--Stringer has told me that he has kept you sufficiently informed as to Chelmsford and Colchester, so I have not troubled to write. They have moved the Midland Territorial Brigade and the heavy guns towards the coast near Cromer, but only for a time. It is for training, not embarkation.
And now for my great news, which I have straight from the War Office itself. Within a week there is to be a very severe attack from Verdun, which is to be supported by a holding attack at Ypres. It is all on a very large scale, and you must send off a special Dutch messenger to Von Starmer by the first boat. I hope to get the exact date and some further particulars from my informant to-night, but meanwhile you must act with energy.
I dare not post this here--you know what village postmasters are, so I am taking it into Colchester, where Stringer will include it with his own report which goes by hand.--Yours faithfully, SOPHIA HEFFNER.
I was stunned at first as I read this letter, and then a kind of cold,concentrated rage came over me. So this woman was a German and a spy! Ithought of her hypocrisy and her treachery towards me, but, above all, Ithought of the danger to the Army and the State. A great defeat, thedeath of thousands of men, might spring from my misplaced confidence.There was still time, by judgment and energy, to stop this frightfulevil. I heard her step upon the stairs outside, and an instant later shehad come through the doorway. She started, and her face was bloodless asshe saw me seated there with the open letter in my hand.
"How did you get that?" she gasped. "How dared you break my desk andsteal my letter?"
I said nothing. I simply sat and looked at her and pondered what Ishould do. She suddenly sprang forward and tried to snatch the letter. Icaught her wrist and pushed her down on to the sofa, where she lay,collapsed. Then I rang the bell, and told the maid that I must see Mr.Murreyfield at once.
He was a genial, elderly man, who had treated this woman with as muchkindness as if she were his daughter. He was horrified at what I said. Icould not show him the letter on account of the secret that it contained,but I made him understand that it was of desperate importance.
"What are we to do?" he asked. "I never could have imagined anything sodreadful. What would you advise us to do?"
"There is only one thing that we can do," I answered. "This woman mustbe arrested, and in the meanwhile we must so arrange matters that shecannot possibly communicate with any one. For all we know, she hasconfederates in this very village. Can you undertake to hold hersecurely while I go to Colonel Worral at Pedley and get a warrant and aguard?"
"We can lock her in her bedroom."
"You need not trouble," said she. "I give you my word that I will staywhere I am. I advise you to be careful, Captain Fowler. You've shownonce before that you are liable to do things before you have thought ofthe consequence. If I am arrested all the world will know that you havegiven away the secrets that were confided to you. There is an end ofyour career, my friend. You can punish me, no doubt. What aboutyourself?"
"I think," said I, "you had best take her to her bedroom."
"Very good, if you wish it," said she, and followed us to the door. Whenwe reached the hall she suddenly broke away, dashed through the entrance,and made for her motor-bicycle, which was standing there. Before shecould start we had both seized her. She stooped and made her teeth meetin Murreyfield's hand. With flashing eyes and tearing fingers she was asfierce as a wild cat at bay. It was with some difficulty that wemastered her, and dragged her--almost carried her--up the stairs. Wethrust her into her room and turned the key, while she screamed out abuseand beat upon the door inside.
"It's a forty-foot drop into the garden," said Murreyfield, tying up hisbleeding hand. "I'll wait here till you come back. I think we have thelady fairly safe."
"I have a revolver here," said I. "You should be armed." I slipped acouple of cartridges into it and held it out to him. "We can't afford totake chances. How do you know what friends she may have?"
"Thank you," said he. "I have a stick here, and the gardener is withincall. Do you hurry off for the guard, and I will answer for theprisoner."
Having taken, as it seemed to me, every possible precaution, I ran togive the alarm. It was two miles to Pedley, and the colonel was out,which occasioned some delay. Then there were formalities and amagistrate's signature to be obtained. A policeman was to serve thewarrant, but a military escort was to be sent in to bring back theprisoner. I was so filled with anxiety and impatience that I could notwait, but I hurried back alone with the promise that they would follow.
The Pedley-Woodrow Road opens into the high-road to Colchester at a pointabout half a mile from the village of Radchurch. It was evening now andthe light was such that one could not see more than twenty or thirtyyards ahead. I had proceeded only a very short way from the point ofjunction when I heard, coming towards me, the roar of a motor-cycle beingridden at a furious pace. It was without lights, and close upon me. Isprang aside in order to avoid being ridden down, and in that instant, asthe machine flashed by, I saw clearly the face of the rider. It wasshe--the woman whom I had loved. She was hatless, her hair streaming inthe wind, her face glimmering white in the twilight, flying through thenight like one of the Valkyries of her native land. She was past me likea flash and tore on down the Colchester Road. In that instant I saw allthat it would mean if she could reach the town. If she once was allowedto see her agent we might arrest him or her, but it would be too late.The news would have been passed on. The victory of the Allies and thelives of thousands of our soldiers were at stake. Next instant I hadpulled out the loaded revolver and fired two shots after the vanishingfigure, already only a dark blur in the dusk. I heard a scream, thecrashing of the breaking cycle, and all was still.
I need not tell you more, gentlemen. You know the rest. When I ranforward I found her lying in the ditch. Both of my bullets had struckher. One of them had penetrated her brain. I was still standing besideher body when Murreyfield arrived, running breathlessly down the road.She had, it seemed, with great courage and activity scrambled down theivy of the wall; only when he heard the whirr of the cycle did he realizewhat had occurred. He was explaining it to my dazed brain when thepolice and soldiers arrived to arrest her. By the irony of fate it wasme whom they arrested instead.
It was urged at the trial in the police-court that jealousy was the causeof the crime. I did not deny it, nor did I put forward any witnesses todeny it. It was my desire that they should believe it. The hour of theFrench advance had not yet come, and I could not defend myself withoutproducing the letter which would reveal it. But now it isover--gloriously over--and so my lips are unsealed at last. I confess myfault--my very grievous fault. But it is not that for which you aretrying me. It is for murder. I should have thought myself the murdererof my own countrymen if I had let the woman pass. These are the facts,gentlemen. I leave my future in your hands. If you should absolve me Imay say that I have hopes of serv
ing my country in a fashion which willatone for this one great indiscretion, and will also, as I hope, end forever those terrible recollections which weigh me down. If you condemnme, I am ready to face whatever you may think fit to inflict.