CHAPTER II
A MILLIONAIRE IN THE DOCK
The man in the corner had finished his glass of milk. His watery blueeyes looked across at Miss Polly Burton's eager little face, from whichall traces of severity had now been chased away by an obvious andintense excitement.
"It was only on the 31st," he resumed after a while, "that a body,decomposed past all recognition, was found by two lightermen in thebottom of a disused barge. She had been moored at one time at the footof one of those dark flights of steps which lead down between tallwarehouses to the river in the East End of London. I have a photographof the place here," he added, selecting one out of his pocket, andplacing it before Polly.
"The actual barge, you see, had already been removed when I took thissnapshot, but you will realize what a perfect place this alley is forthe purpose of one man cutting another's throat in comfort, and withoutfear of detection. The body, as I said, was decomposed beyond allrecognition; it had probably been there eleven days, but sundryarticles, such as a silver ring and a tie pin, were recognizable, andwere identified by Mrs. Kershaw as belonging to her husband.
"She, of course, was loud in denouncing Smethurst, and the police had nodoubt a very strong case against him, for two days after the discoveryof the body in the barge, the Siberian millionaire, as he was alreadypopularly called by enterprising interviewers, was arrested in hisluxurious suite of rooms at the Hotel Cecil.
"To confess the truth, at this point I was not a little puzzled. Mrs.Kershaw's story and Smethurst's letters had both found their way intothe papers, and following my usual method--mind you, I am only anamateur, I try to reason out a case for the love of the thing--I soughtabout for a motive for the crime, which the police declared Smethursthad committed. To effectually get rid of a dangerous blackmailer was thegenerally accepted theory. Well! did it ever strike you how paltry thatmotive really was?"
Miss Polly had to confess, however, that it had never struck her in thatlight.
"Surely a man who had succeeded in building up an immense fortune by hisown individual efforts, was not the sort of fool to believe that he hadanything to fear from a man like Kershaw. He must have _known_ thatKershaw held no damning proofs against him--not enough to hang him,anyway. Have you ever seen Smethurst?" he added, as he once more fumbledin his pocket-book.
Polly replied that she had seen Smethurst's picture in the illustratedpapers at the time. Then he added, placing a small photograph beforeher:
"What strikes you most about the face?"
"Well, I think its strange, astonished expression, due to the totalabsence of eyebrows, and the funny foreign cut of the hair."
"So close that it almost looks as if it had been shaved. Exactly. Thatis what struck me most when I elbowed my way into the court that morningand first caught sight of the millionaire in the dock. He was a tall,soldierly-looking man, upright in stature, his face very bronzed andtanned. He wore neither moustache nor beard, his hair was cropped quiteclose to his head, like a Frenchman's; but, of course, what was so veryremarkable about him was that total absence of eyebrows and eveneyelashes, which gave the face such a peculiar appearance--as you say, aperpetually astonished look.
"He seemed, however, wonderfully calm; he had been accommodated with achair in the dock--being a millionaire--and chatted pleasantly with hislawyer, Sir Arthur Inglewood, in the intervals between the calling ofthe several witnesses for the prosecution; whilst during the examinationof these witnesses he sat quite placidly, with his head shaded by hishand.
"Mueller and Mrs. Kershaw repeated the story which they had already toldto the police. I think you said that you were not able, owing topressure of work, to go to the court that day, and hear the case, soperhaps you have no recollection of Mrs. Kershaw. No? Ah, well! Here isa snapshot I managed to get of her once. That is her. Exactly as shestood in the box--over-dressed--in elaborate crape, with a bonnet whichonce had contained pink roses, and to which a remnant of pink petalsstill clung obtrusively amidst the deep black.
"She would not look at the prisoner, and turned her head resolutelytowards the magistrate. I fancy she had been fond of that vagabondhusband of hers: an enormous wedding-ring encircled her finger, andthat, too, was swathed in black. She firmly believed that Kershaw'smurderer sat there in the dock, and she literally flaunted her griefbefore him.
"I was indescribably sorry for her. As for Mueller, he was just fat,oily, pompous, conscious of his own importance as a witness; his fatfingers, covered with brass rings, gripped the two incriminatingletters, which he had identified. They were his passports, as it were,to a delightful land of importance and notoriety. Sir Arthur Inglewood,I think, disappointed him by stating that he had no questions to ask ofhim. Mueller had been brimful of answers, ready with the most perfectindictment, the most elaborate accusations against the bloatedmillionaire who had decoyed his dear friend Kershaw, and murdered him inHeaven knows what an out-of-the-way corner of the East End.
"After this, however, the excitement grew apace. Mueller had beendismissed, and had retired from the court altogether, leading away Mrs.Kershaw, who had completely broken down.
"Constable D 21 was giving evidence as to the arrest in the meanwhile.The prisoner, he said, had seemed completely taken by surprise, notunderstanding the cause or history of the accusation against him;however, when put in full possession of the facts, and realizing, nodoubt, the absolute futility of any resistance, he had quietly enoughfollowed the constable into the cab. No one at the fashionable andcrowded Hotel Cecil had even suspected that anything unusual hadoccurred.
"Then a gigantic sigh of expectancy came from every one of thespectators. The 'fun' was about to begin. James Buckland, a porter atFenchurch Street railway station, had just sworn to tell all the truth,etc. After all, it did not amount to much. He said that at six o'clockin the afternoon of December the 10th, in the midst of one of thedensest fogs he ever remembers, the 5.5 from Tilbury steamed into thestation, being just about an hour late. He was on the arrival platform,and was hailed by a passenger in a first-class carriage. He could seevery little of him beyond an enormous black fur coat and a travellingcap of fur also.
"The passenger had a quantity of luggage, all marked F.S., and hedirected James Buckland to place it all upon a four-wheel cab, with theexception of a small hand-bag, which he carried himself. Having seenthat all his luggage was safely bestowed, the stranger in the fur coatpaid the porter, and, telling the cabman to wait until he returned, hewalked away in the direction of the waiting-rooms, still carrying hissmall hand-bag.
"'I stayed for a bit,' added James Buckland, 'talking to the driverabout the fog and that; then I went about my business, seein' that thelocal from Southend 'ad been signalled.'
"The prosecution insisted most strongly upon the hour when the strangerin the fur coat, having seen to his luggage, walked away towards thewaiting-rooms. The porter was emphatic. 'It was not a minute later than6.15,' he averred.
"Sir Arthur Inglewood still had no questions to ask, and the driver ofthe cab was called.
"He corroborated the evidence of James Buckland as to the hour when thegentleman in the fur coat had engaged him, and having filled his cab inand out with luggage, had told him to wait. And cabby did wait. Hewaited in the dense fog--until he was tired, until he seriously thoughtof depositing all the luggage in the lost property office, and oflooking out for another fare--waited until at last, at a quarter beforenine, whom should he see walking hurriedly towards his cab but thegentleman in the fur coat and cap, who got in quickly and told thedriver to take him at once to the Hotel Cecil. This, cabby declared, hadoccurred at a quarter before nine. Still Sir Arthur Inglewood made nocomment, and Mr. Francis Smethurst, in the crowded, stuffy court, hadcalmly dropped to sleep.
"The next witness, Constable Thomas Taylor, had noticed a shabbilydressed individual, with shaggy hair and beard, loafing about thestation and waiting-rooms in the afternoon of December the 10th. Heseemed to be watching the arrival platform of the Tilbury and Southendt
rains.
"Two separate and independent witnesses, cleverly unearthed by thepolice, had seen this same shabbily dressed individual stroll into thefirst-class waiting-room at about 6.15 on Wednesday, December the 10th,and go straight up to a gentleman in a heavy fur coat and cap, who hadalso just come into the room. The two talked together for a while; noone heard what they said, but presently they walked off together. No oneseemed to know in which direction.
"Francis Smethurst was rousing himself from his apathy; he whispered tohis lawyer, who nodded with a bland smile of encouragement. The employesof the Hotel Cecil gave evidence as to the arrival of Mr. Smethurst atabout 9.30 p.m. on Wednesday, December the 10th, in a cab, with aquantity of luggage; and this closed the case for the prosecution.
"Everybody in that court already _saw_ Smethurst mounting the gallows.It was uninterested curiosity which caused the elegant audience to waitand hear what Sir Arthur Inglewood had to say. He, of course, is themost fashionable man in the law at the present moment. His lollingattitudes, his drawling speech, are quite the rage, and imitated by thegilded youth of society.
"Even at this moment, when the Siberian millionaire's neck literally andmetaphorically hung in the balance, an expectant titter went round thefair spectators as Sir Arthur stretched out his long loose limbs andlounged across the table. He waited to make his effect--Sir Arthur is aborn actor--and there is no doubt that he made it, when in his slowest,most drawly tones he said quietly;
"'With regard to this alleged murder of one William Kershaw, onWednesday, December the 10th, between 6.15 and 8.45 p.m., your Honour, Inow propose to call two witnesses, who saw this same William Kershawalive on Tuesday afternoon, December the 16th, that is to say, six daysafter the supposed murder.'
"It was as if a bombshell had exploded in the court. Even his Honour wasaghast, and I am sure the lady next to me only recovered from the shockof the surprise in order to wonder whether she need put off her dinnerparty after all.
"As for me," added the man in the corner, with that strange mixture ofnervousness and self-complacency which had set Miss Polly Burtonwondering, "well, you see, _I_ had made up my mind long ago where thehitch lay in this particular case, and I was not so surprised as some ofthe others.
"Perhaps you remember the wonderful development of the case, which socompletely mystified the police--and in fact everybody except myself.Torriani and a waiter at his hotel in the Commercial Road both deposedthat at about 3.30 p.m. on December the 10th a shabbily dressedindividual lolled into the coffee-room and ordered some tea. He waspleasant enough and talkative, told the waiter that his name was WilliamKershaw, that very soon all London would be talking about him, as he wasabout, through an unexpected stroke of good fortune, to become a veryrich man, and so on, and so on, nonsense without end.
"When he had finished his tea he lolled out again, but no sooner had hedisappeared down a turning of the road than the waiter discovered an oldumbrella, left behind accidentally by the shabby, talkative individual.As is the custom in his highly respectable restaurant, Signor Torrianiput the umbrella carefully away in his office, on the chance of hiscustomer calling to claim it when he had discovered his loss. And sureenough nearly a week later, on Tuesday, the 16th, at about 1 p.m., thesame shabbily dressed individual called and asked for his umbrella. Hehad some lunch, and chatted once again to the waiter. Signor Torrianiand the waiter gave a description of William Kershaw, which coincidedexactly with that given by Mrs. Kershaw of her husband.
"Oddly enough he seemed to be a very absent-minded sort of person, foron this second occasion, no sooner had he left than the waiter found apocket-book in the coffee-room, underneath the table. It containedsundry letters and bills, all addressed to William Kershaw. Thispocket-book was produced, and Karl Mueller, who had returned to thecourt, easily identified it as having belonged to his dear and lamentedfriend 'Villiam.'
"This was the first blow to the case against the accused. It was apretty stiff one, you will admit. Already it had begun to collapse likea house of cards. Still, there was the assignation, and the undisputedmeeting between Smethurst and Kershaw, and those two and a half hours ofa foggy evening to satisfactorily account for."
The man in the corner made a long pause, keeping the girl ontenterhooks. He had fidgeted with his bit of string till there was notan inch of it free from the most complicated and elaborate knots.
"I assure you," he resumed at last, "that at that very moment the wholemystery was, to me, as clear as daylight. I only marvelled how hisHonour could waste his time and mine by putting what he thought weresearching questions to the accused relating to his past. FrancisSmethurst, who had quite shaken off his somnolence, spoke with a curiousnasal twang, and with an almost imperceptible soupcon of foreign accent,He calmly denied Kershaw's version of his past; declared that he hadnever been called Barker, and had certainly never been mixed up in anymurder case thirty years ago.
"'But you knew this man Kershaw,' persisted his Honour, 'since you wroteto him?'
"'Pardon me, your Honour,' said the accused quietly, 'I have never, tomy knowledge, seen this man Kershaw, and I can swear that I never wroteto him.'
"'Never wrote to him?' retorted his Honour warningly. 'That is a strangeassertion to make when I have two of your letters to him in my hands atthe present moment.'
"'I never wrote those letters, your Honour,' persisted the accusedquietly, 'they are not in my handwriting.'
"'Which we can easily prove,' came in Sir Arthur Inglewood's drawlytones, as he handed up a packet to his Honour; 'here are a number ofletters written by my client since he has landed in this country, andsome of which were written under my very eyes.'
"As Sir Arthur Inglewood had said, this could be easily proved, and theprisoner, at his Honour's request, scribbled a few lines, together withhis signature, several times upon a sheet of note-paper. It was easy toread upon the magistrate's astounded countenance, that there was not theslightest similarity in the two handwritings.
"A fresh mystery had cropped up. Who, then, had made the assignationwith William Kershaw at Fenchurch Street railway station? The prisonergave a fairly satisfactory account of the employment of his time sincehis landing in England.
"'I came over on the _Tsarskoe Selo_,' he said, 'a yacht belonging to afriend of mine. When we arrived at the mouth of the Thames there wassuch a dense fog that it was twenty-four hours before it was thoughtsafe for me to land. My friend, who is a Russian, would not land at all;he was regularly frightened at this land of fogs. He was going on toMadeira immediately.
"'I actually landed on Tuesday, the 10th, and took a train at once fortown. I did see to my luggage and a cab, as the porter and driver toldyour Honour; then I tried to find my way to a refreshment-room, where Icould get a glass of wine. I drifted into the waiting-room, and there Iwas accosted by a shabbily dressed individual, who began telling me apiteous tale. Who he was I do not know. He _said_ he was an old soldierwho had served his country faithfully, and then been left to starve. Hebegged of me to accompany him to his lodgings, where I could see hiswife and starving children, and verify the truth and piteousness of histale.
"'Well, your Honour,' added the prisoner with noble frankness, 'it wasmy first day in the old country. I had come back after thirty years withmy pockets full of gold, and this was the first sad tale I had heard;but I am a business man, and did not want to be exactly "done" in theeye. I followed my man through the fog, out into the streets. He walkedsilently by my side for a time. I had not a notion where I was.
"'Suddenly I turned to him with some question, and realized in a momentthat my gentleman had given me the slip. Finding, probably, that I wouldnot part with my money till I _had_ seen the starving wife and children,he left me to my fate, and went in search of more willing bait.
"'The place where I found myself was dismal and deserted. I could see notrace of cab or omnibus. I retraced my steps and tried to find my wayback to the station, only to find myself in worse and more desertedneighbourhoods. I became h
opelessly lost and fogged. I don't wonder thattwo and a half hours elapsed while I thus wandered on in the dark anddeserted streets; my sole astonishment is that I ever found the stationat all that night, or rather close to it a policeman, who showed me theway.'
"'But how do you account for Kershaw knowing all your movements?' stillpersisted his Honour, 'and his knowing the exact date of your arrivalin England? How do you account for these two letters, in fact?'
"'I cannot account for it or them, your Honour,' replied the prisonerquietly. 'I have proved to you, have I not, that I never wrote thoseletters, and that the man--er--Kershaw is his name?--was not murdered byme?'
"'Can you tell me of anyone here or abroad who might have heard of yourmovements, and of the date of your arrival?'
"'My late employes at Vladivostok, of course, knew of my departure, butnone of them could have written these letters, since none of them know aword of English.'
"'Then you can throw no light upon these mysterious letters? You cannothelp the police in any way towards the clearing up of this strangeaffair?'
"'The affair is as mysterious to me as to your Honour, and to the policeof this country.'
"Francis Smethurst was discharged, of course; there was no semblance ofevidence against him sufficient to commit him for trial. The twooverwhelming points of his defence which had completely routed theprosecution were, firstly, the proof that he had never written theletters making the assignation, and secondly, the fact that the mansupposed to have been murdered on the 10th was seen to be alive andwell on the 16th. But then, who in the world was the mysteriousindividual who had apprised Kershaw of the movements of Smethurst, themillionaire?"