CHAPTER XIV
When Colwyn went in to lunch the following day after a walk on thefront, he found Sir Henry awaiting him in the lounge with a visitorwhose identity the detective guessed before Sir Henry introduced him.
"This is Mr. Oakham," said Sir Henry. "I have told him of yourinvestigation into this painful case which has brought him to Norfolk."
"An investigation in which you helped," said Colwyn, with a smile.
"I am afraid it would be stretching the fable of the mouse and the lionto suggest that I was able to help such a renowned criminal investigatoras yourself," returned Sir Henry waggishly. "When Mr. Oakham learnt thatyou had been investigating this case he expressed a strong desire to seeyou."
"I am returning to London by the afternoon express, Mr. Colwyn," saidthe solicitor. "I should be glad if you could spare me a little of yourtime before I go."
"Certainly," replied Colwyn, courteously. "It had better be at once, hadit not? You have not very much time at your disposal."
"If it does not inconvenience you," replied Mr. Oakham politely. "Butyour lunch----"
"That can wait," said the detective. "I feel deeply interested in thiscase of young Penreath."
"Mr. Oakham saw him this morning before coming over," said Sir Henry."He is quite mad, and refuses to say anything. Therefore, we have cometo the conclusion----"
"Really, Sir Henry, you shouldn't have said that." Mr. Oakham's tone wasboth shocked and expostulatory.
"Why not?" retorted Sir Henry innocently. "Mr. Colwyn knows all aboutit--I told him myself. I thought you wanted him to help you?"
"I am aware of that, but, my dear sir, this is an extremely delicate anddifficult business. As Mr. Penreath's professional adviser, I must begof you to exercise more reticence."
"Then I had better go and have my lunch while you two have a chat," saidSir Henry urbanely, "or I shall only be putting my foot in it again. Mr.Oakham, I shall see you before you go." Sir Henry moved off in thedirection of the luncheon room.
"Perhaps you will come to my sitting-room," said Colwyn to Mr. Oakham."We can talk quietly there."
"Thank you," responded Mr. Oakham, and he went with the detectiveupstairs.
Mr. Oakham, of Oakham and Pendules, Temple Gardens, was a littlewhite-haired man of seventy, attired in the sombre black of theVictorian era, with a polished reticent manner befitting the seniorpartner of a firm of solicitors owning the most aristocratic practice inEngland; a firm so eminently respectable that they never rendered a billof costs to a client until he was dead, when the amount of legalexpenses incurred during his lifetime was treated as a charge upon thefamily estate, and deducted from the moneys accruing to the next heir,who, in his turn, was allowed to run his allotted course without a billfrom Oakham and Pendules. They were a discreet and dignified firm, asancient as some of the names whose family secrets were locked away intheir office deed boxes, and were reputed to know more of the innerhistory of the gentry in Burke's Peerage than all the rest of the legalprofession put together.
The arrest of the only son of Sir James Penreath, of Twelvetrees, Berks,on a charge of murder, had shocked Mr. Oakham deeply. Divorces had comehis way in plenty, though he remembered the day when they wereconsidered scandalous in good families. But the modern generation hadchanged all that, and Mr. Oakham had since listened to so many storiesof marital wrongs, and had assisted in obtaining so many orders forrestitution of conjugal rights, that he had come to regard divorce asfashionable enough to be respectable. He was intimately versed in mosthuman failings and follies, and a past master in preventing theirconsequences coming to light. Financial embarrassments he was well usedto--they might almost be said to be his forte--for many of his clientshad more lineage than money, but the crime of murder was a thing outsidehis professional experience.
The upper classes of the present generation had, in this respect atleast, improved on the morals of their freebooting ancestors, and murderhad gone so completely out of fashion among the aristocracy that Mr.Oakham had never been called upon to prepare the defence of a clientcharged with killing a fellow creature. Mr. Oakham regarded murder as anungentlemanly crime. He believed that no gentleman would commit murderunless he were mad. Since his arrival in Norfolk he had come to theconclusion that young Penreath was not only mad, but that he hadcommitted the murder with which he stood charged. Sir Henry Durwood hadbeen responsible for the first opinion, and the police had helped him toform the second. Two interviews he had had with his client since hisarrest had strengthened and deepened both convictions.
It was in this frame of mind that Mr. Oakham seated himself in thedetective's sitting room. He accepted a cigar from Colwyn's case, andlooked amiably at his companion, who waited for him to speak. Theinterview had been of the solicitor's seeking, and it was for him todisclose his object in doing so.
"This is a very unfortunate case, Mr. Colwyn," the solicitor remarked.
"Yes; it seems so," replied Colwyn.
"I am afraid there is not the slightest doubt that this unhappy youngman has committed this murder."
"You have arrived at that conclusion?"
"It is impossible to arrive at any other conclusion, in view of theevidence."
"It is purely circumstantial. I thought that perhaps Penreath would havesome statement to make which would throw a different light on the case."
"I will be frank with you, Mr. Colwyn," said the solicitor. "You areacquainted with all the facts of the case, and I hope you will be ableto help us. Penreath's attitude is a very strange one. Apparently hedoes not apprehend the grave position in which he stands. I am forced tothe conclusion that he is suffering from an unhappy aberration of theintellect, which has led to his committing this crime. His conduct sincecoming to Norfolk has not been that of a sane man. He has hidden himselfaway from his friends, and stayed here under a false name. I understandthat he behaved in an eccentric and violent way in the breakfast room ofthis hotel on the morning of the day he left for the place where themurder was subsequently committed."
"You have learnt this from Sir Henry, I presume?"
"Yes. Sir Henry has conveyed to me his opinion, based on his observationof Mr. Penreath's eccentricity at the breakfast table the last morningof his stay here, that Mr. Penreath is an epileptic, liable to attacksof _furor epilepticus_--a phase of the disease which sometimes leads tooutbreaks of terrible violence. He thought it advisable that I shouldknow this at once, in view of what has happened since. Sir Henryinformed me that he confided a similar opinion to you, as you werepresent at the time, and assisted him to convey Penreath upstairs. May Iask what opinion you formed of his behaviour at the breakfast table, Mr.Colwyn?"
"I thought he was excited--nothing more."
"But the violence, Mr. Colwyn! Sir Henry Durwood says Penreath was aboutto commit a violent assault on the people at the next table when heinterfered."
"The violence was not apparent--to me," returned the detective, who didnot feel called upon to disclose his secret belief that Sir Henry hadacted hastily. "Apart from the excitement he displayed on thisparticular morning, Penreath seemed to me a normal and average youngEnglishman of his class. I certainly saw no signs of insanity about him.It occurred to me at the time that his excitement might be the outcomeof shell-shock. We had had an air raid two nights before, and someshell-shock cases are badly affected by air raids. I have since beeninformed that Penreath was invalided out of the Army recently, sufferingfrom shell-shock."
"In Sir Henry's opinion the shell-shock has aggravated a tendency to thedisease."
"Has Penreath ever shown any previous signs of epilepsy?"
"Not so far as I am aware, but his mother developed the disease in lateryears, and ultimately died from it. Her illness was a source of greatworry and anxiety to Sir James. And epilepsy is hereditary."
"Pathologists differ on that point. I know something of the disease, andI doubt whether Penreath is an epileptic. He showed none of the symptomswhich I have always associated with epilepsy."
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br /> "An eminent specialist like Sir Henry is hardly likely to be mistaken.The fact that Penreath seemed a sane and collected individual to youreye proves nothing. Epileptic attacks are intermittent, and the sufferermay appear quite sane between the attacks. Epilepsy is a remarkabledisease. A latent tendency to it may exist for years without thosenearest and dearest to the sufferer suspecting it, so Sir Henry says.Penreath's case is a very strange and sad one."
"It is a strange case in very way," said Colwyn earnestly. "Why should ayoung man like Penreath go over to this remote Norfolk village, where hehad not been before, and murder an old man whom he had never seenpreviously? The police theory that this murder was committed for thesake of L300 which the victim had drawn out of the bank that day seemsincredible to me, in the case of a young man like Penreath."
"The only way of accounting for the whole unhappy business is on SirHenry's hypothesis that Penreath is mad. In acute epileptic mania thereare cases in which there is a seeming calmness of conduct, and these arethe most dangerous of all. The patient walks about like a man in adream, impelled by a force which he cannot resist, and does all sorts ofthings without conscious purpose. He will take long walks to places hehas never been, will steal money or valuables, and commit murder orsuicide with apparent coolness and cunning. Sir Henry describes this asautomatic action, and he says that it is a notable characteristic ofthe form of epileptic mania from which Penreath is suffering. You willobserve that these symptoms fit in with all the facts of the caseagainst Penreath. The facts, unfortunately, are so clear that there isno gainsaying them."
"It seems so now," said Colwyn thoughtfully. "Yet, when I wasinvestigating the facts at the time, I came across several points whichseemed to suggest the possibility of an alternative theory to the policetheory."
"I should like to know what those points are."
"I will tell you."
The detective proceeded to set forth the result of his visit to the inn,and the solicitor listened to him with close attention. When he hadfinished Mr. Oakham remarked:
"I am afraid there is not much in these points, Mr. Colwyn. Yoursuggestion that there were two persons in the murdered man's room isinteresting, but you have no evidence to support it. The girl'sexplanation of her visit to the room is probably the true one. Far be itfrom me, as Penreath's legal adviser, to throw away the slightest strawof hope, but your conjectures--for, to my mind, they are nothingmore--are nothing against the array of facts and suspiciouscircumstances which have been collected by the police. And even if thepolice case were less strong, there is another grave fact which wecannot overlook."
"You mean that Penreath refuses to say anything?" said Colwyn.
"He appears to be somewhat indifferent to the outcome," returned thelawyer guardedly.
"It is his silence which baffles me," said Colwyn. "I saw him aloneafter his arrest, and told him I was willing to help him if he couldtell me anything which would assist me to establish his innocence--ifhe were innocent. He replied that he had nothing to say."
"What you tell me deepens my conviction that Penreath does not realisethe position in which he is placed, and cannot be held accountable forhis actions."
"Is it your intention to plead mental incapacity at the trial?"
"Sir Henry Durwood has offered to give evidence that, in his opinion,Penreath is not responsible for his actions. The Penreath family isunder a debt of gratitude to Sir Henry. I consider it little short ofprovidential that Sir Henry was staying here at the time." Like mostlawyers, Mr. Oakham had a firm belief in the interposition ofProvidence--particularly in the affairs of the families of the great."And that is the reason for my coming over here to see you this morning,Mr. Colwyn. You were present at the breakfast table scene--you witnessedthis young man's eccentricity and violence. The Penreath family isalready under a debt of gratitude to you--will you increase theobligation? In other words, will you give evidence in support of thedefence at the trial?"
"You want me to assist you in convincing the jury that Penreath is acriminal lunatic," said Colwyn. "That is what your defence amounts to.It is a grave responsibility. Doctors and specialists are sometimesmistaken, you know."
"I am afraid there is very little doubt in this case. Here is a youngman of birth and breeding, who hides from his friends under an assumedname, behaves in public in an eccentric manner, is turned out of hishotel, goes to a remote inn, and disappears before anybody is up. Thebody of a gentleman who occupied the room next to him is subsequentlydiscovered in a pit close by, and the footprints leading to the pit arethose of our young friend. The young man is subsequently arrested closeto the place where the body was thrown, and not then, or since, has heoffered his friends any explanation of his actions. In thecircumstances, therefore, I shall avail myself of Sir Henry's evidence.In my own mind--from my own observation and conversation withPenreath--I am convinced that he cannot be held responsible for hisactions. In view of the tremendously strong case against him, in view ofhis peculiar attitude to you--and others--in the face of accusation, andin view of his previous eccentric behaviour, I shall take the onlypossible course to save the son of Penreath of Twelvetrees from thegallows. I had hoped, Mr. Colwyn, that you, who witnessed the scene atthis hotel, and subsequently helped Sir Henry Durwood convey thisunhappy young man upstairs, would see your way clear to support SirHenry's expert opinion that this young man is insane. Your reputationand renown would carry weight with the jury."
"I am sorry, but I am afraid you must do without me," replied Colwyn."In view of Penreath's silence I can come to no other conclusion, thoughagainst my better judgment, than that he is guilty, but I cannot takeupon myself the responsibility of declaring that he is insane. In spiteof Sir Henry Durwood's opinion, I cannot believe that he is, or was. Itwill be a difficult defence to establish in the case of Penreath. If youwish the jury to say that Penreath is the victim of what French writerscall _epilepsie larvee_, in which an outbreak of brutal or homicidalviolence takes the place of an epileptic fit, with a similar break inthe continuity of consciousness, you will first have to convince thejudge that Penreath's preceding fits were so slight as to permit thepossibility of their being overlooked, and you will also have toestablish beyond doubt that the break in his consciousness existed fromthe time of the scene in the hotel breakfast-room until the time themurder was committed. The test of that state is the unintelligentcharacter of some of the acts of the sufferer. In my opinion, a defenceof insanity is not likely to be successful. Personally, I shall go nofurther in the case, but I cannot give up my original opinion that thewhole of the facts in this case have not been brought to light. Probablythey never will be--now."