CHAPTER XXII
Colwyn reached Durrington by midday, and proceeded to the hotel for hisletters and lunch. After a cold meal served by a shivering waiter in thechilly dining room he went to the garage where he had left his car, andset out for Norwich. He arrived at the cathedral city late in theafternoon, and drove to the hotel where Mr. Oakham had stayed. Whileengaging a room, he told the clerk that he expected Mr. Oakham fromLondon, and asked to be informed immediately he arrived. After makingthese arrangements the detective left the hotel and went to the citylibrary, where he spent the next couple of hours making notes from legalstatutes and the Criminal Appeal Act.
When he returned to the hotel for dinner the clerk informed him that Mr.Oakham had arrived a short time previously, and had requested that Mr.Colwyn would join him at dinner. Colwyn proceeded to the dining-room,and saw Mr. Oakham dining in solitary state at a large table, reading aLondon evening newspaper between the courses. He looked up as Colwynapproached, and rose and shook hands.
"This is an unexpected pleasure," said the detective. "I hardly thoughtyou would get here before the morning."
"I had arranged to visit Norwich to-morrow, but in view of the urgentnature of your telegram I decided to catch the afternoon train instead,"replied the solicitor. "Will you dine with me, Mr. Colwyn, and we cantalk business afterwards."
Colwyn complied, and when the meal was finished, Mr. Oakham turned tohim with an eagerness which he did not attempt to conceal, and said:
"Now for your news, Mr. Colwyn. But, first, where shall we talk?"
"As well here as anywhere. There is nobody within hearing."
The solicitor followed his glance round the almost empty dining-room,and nodded acquiescence. Drawing his chair a little nearer thedetective, he begged him to begin.
"I have not very much to tell you--at present. But since the convictionof your client, James Ronald Penreath, I have been back to the inn wherethe murder was committed, and I have discovered fresh evidence whichstrengthens considerably my original belief that Penreath is an innocentman. But I have reached a stage in my investigations when I need yourassistance in completing my task before I go to the authorities with mydiscoveries. It is hardly necessary for me to tell a man of yourexperience that it is one of the most difficult things in the world toupset a jury's verdict in a case of murder."
"What have you discovered?"
"This, for one thing." Colwyn produced the pocket-book, and displayedthe contents on the table. "This is the murdered man's pocket-book,containing the missing notes which Penreath is supposed to have murderedhim for. The prosecution dropped the charge of robbery, but the theftformed an important part of the Crown theory of the crime, asestablishing motive."
"Where did you find this pocket-book?"
"Suspended by a piece of cord, half way down the pit where the body wasflung."
"It's an interesting discovery," replied Mr. Oakham thoughtfullytapping his nose with his gold-rimmed eye-glasses as he stared at theblack pocket-book on the white tablecloth. "Speaking personally, it isproof of what I have thought all along, that a Penreath of Twelvetreeswould not commit a robbery. Therefore, on that line of reasoning, onecould argue that as Penreath did not commit the robbery, and the Crownhold that the murder was committed for the money, Penreath must beinnocent. But the Crown is more likely to hold that as Penreath threwthe body in the pit, he concealed the money there afterwards, and washiding in the wood to recover it when he was arrested. The real pointis, Mr. Colwyn, can you prove that it was not Mr. Penreath who placedthe money in the pit?"
"I believe I can prove, at all events, that it was not Penreath whothrew the body into the pit."
"You can! Then who was it?"
"I am not prepared to answer that question at the moment. During myvisit to the inn I made a number of other discoveries besides that ofthe pocket-book, which, though slight in themselves, all fit in with mypresent theory of the murder. But before disclosing them, I want tocomplete my investigations by testing my theory to the uttermost. It isjust possible that I may be wrong, though I do not think so. When I havetaken the additional step which completes my investigations, I will goto the chief constable, reconstruct the crime for him as I see it now,and ask him to take action."
"Then why have you sent for me?"
"To help me to complete my task. Part of my theory is that Penreath isdeliberately keeping silent to shield some one else. The solicitor of aconvicted man has access to him even when he is condemned to death. Iwant you to take me with you to see Penreath."
"For what purpose?"
"In order to get him to speak."
"It would be quite useless." The lawyer spoke in some agitation. "I haveseen him twice since the verdict, and implored him to speak if he hasanything to say, but he declared that he had nothing to say."
"Nevertheless, I shall succeed where you have failed. Penreath is aninnocent man."
"Then why does he not speak out, even now--more so now than ever?"
"He has his reasons, and they seem sufficient to him to keep him silenteven under the shadow of the gallows."
"And why do you think he will confide them to you, when he refuses todivulge them to his professional adviser?"
"He will not willingly reveal them to me. My hope of getting his storydepends entirely upon my success in springing a surprise upon him. Thatis one of my reasons for not telling you more just now. The mere factthat you knew would hamper my handling a difficult situation. Theslightest involuntary gesture or look might put him on his guard, andthe opportunity would be lost. It is not absolutely essential that Ishould gain Penreath's statement before going to the police, but if hisstatement coincides with my theory of the crime it will strengthen mycase considerably when I reconstruct the crime for the police."
"Your way of doing business strikes me as strange, Mr. Colwyn," said thesolicitor stiffly. "As Mr. Penreath's professional adviser, surely I amentitled to your fullest confidence. You are asking me to behave in avery unprofessional way, and take a leap in the dark. There are properways of doing things. I will be frank with you. I have come to Norwichin order to urge Penreath for the last time to permit me to lodge anappeal against his conviction. That interview has been arranged to takeplace in the morning."
"Has he previously refused to appeal?"
"He has--twice."
"May I ask on what grounds you are seeking permission to appeal?"
"If he consents, my application to the Registrar would be made underSection Four of the Criminal Appeal Act," was the cautious reply.
"That means you are persisting in your original defence--that Penreathis guilty, but insane. Therefore your application for leave to appealagainst the sentence on the ground of insanity only enables you toappeal to the Court to quash the sentence on the ground that Penreath isirresponsible for his acts. Even if you succeed in your appeal he willbe kept in gaol as a criminal lunatic. In a word, you intend to persistin a defence which, as I told you before the trial, had very littlechance of success. In my opinion it has no more chance of success beforethe Court of Appeal. You have not sufficient evidence for a successfuldefence on the grounds of insanity. The judge, in his summing up at thetrial, was clearly of the opinion that Sir Henry Durwood was wrong inthinking Penreath insane, and he directed the jury accordingly.
"In my opinion the judge was right. I do not think Penreath is insane,or even subject to fits of impulsive insanity. If you ask my opinion, Ithink he is still suffering from the effects of shell shock, and, likemany other brave men who have been similarly affected, he endeavoured toconceal the fact. I have come to the conclusion that Penreath's peculiarconduct at the Durrington hotel, on which Sir Henry based his theory of_furor epilepticus_, was nothing more than the combined effect ofmental worry and an air raid shock on a previously shattered nervoussystem. Penreath is a sane man--as sane as you or I--and my lateinvestigations at the scene of the murder have convinced me that he isan innocent man also. The question is, are you going to allowprofession
al etiquette to stand in the way of proving his innocence?"
"But you have not shown me anything to convince me that he _is_ aninnocent man. Your statement comes as a great surprise to me, and youcannot expect that I should credit your bare assumption. It would beexceedingly difficult to believe without the most convincing proofs,which you have not brought forward. I prepared the case for the defenceat the trial, and I only permitted that defence to be put forwardbecause there was no other course--the evidence was so overwhelming, andPenreath's obstinate silence in the face of it pointed so conclusivelyto his guilt."
"Nevertheless, you were wrong. The question is, are you going to help meundo that wrong?"
"You have not yet proved to me that it is a wrong," quibbled thesolicitor.
"Mr. Oakham, let me make this quite clear to you," said the detectivesternly. "I have sent for you out of courtesy, because, as I saidbefore, I like to do things in a regular way. As you force me to speakplainly, there is another reason, which is that I did not wish to makeyou look small, or injure your professional reputation, by actingindependently of you. It would be a bad advertisement for Oakham andPendules if it got abroad--as it assuredly will if you persist in yourattitude--that an innocent client of yours was almost sent to thegallows through your wrong defence at his trial. It is in your hands toprevent such a scandal from becoming public property. But if you aregoing to stand on professional etiquette it is just as well you shouldunderstand that I am quite prepared to act independently of you. I havesufficient influence to obtain an order from the governor of the gaolfor an interview with the condemned man, and I shall do so. I havediscovered sufficient additional evidence in this case to save Penreath,and I am going to save him, with or without your assistance. You havehad your way--it was a wrong way. Now I am going to have my way. I onlyask you to trust me for a few hours. After I have seen Penreath you areat liberty to accompany me to the chief constable, to whom I shall telleverything. That is my last word."
"I will do as you ask, Mr. Colwyn," replied the solicitor, after a shortpause. "Not because I am apprehensive of the consequences, but becauseyou have convinced me that it would be foolish and wrong on my part toplace any obstacles in the way of establishing my client's innocence,even if it is only the smallest chance. You must forgive my hesitation.I am an old man, and your story has been such a shock that I am unableto realise it yet. But I will not stand on punctilio when it is aquestion of trying to save a Penreath of Twelvetrees from the gallows. Ithink I can arrange it with the governor of the gaol to permit you toaccompany me when I see Penreath in the morning. That interview is totake place at twelve o'clock. We can go together from here to the gaol,if that will suit you."
"That will suit me excellently. And before that interview takes place Ishould be glad if you would tell me the facts of Penreath's engagementto Miss Willoughby."
"I really know very little about it," said Mr. Oakham, looking somewhatsurprised at the question. "I have heard, though, that Penreath metMiss Willoughby in London before the war, and became engaged after avery brief acquaintance. Ill-natured people say that the girl's auntthrew her at Penreath's head. The aunt is a Mrs. Brewer, a wealthymanufacturer's widow, a pushing nobody----"
"I have met her."
"I had forgotten. Well, you know that type of woman, with an itch to getinto Society. Perhaps she thought that the marriage of her niece to aPenreath of Twelvetrees would open doors for her. At any rate, Iremember there was a great deal of tittle-tattle at the time to theeffect that she manoeuvred desperately hard to bring about theengagement. On the other hand, there can be no harm in stating now thatRonald Penreath's father was almost equally keen on that match formonetary reasons. The Penreaths are far from wealthy. From that point ofview the match seemed suitable enough--money on one side, and birth andbreeding on the other. I am not sure that there was very much love inthe case, or that the young people's feelings were deeply involved oneither side. There is no reason why I should not mention these thingsnow, for the match has been broken off. It was broken off shortly afterPenreath's arrest."
"By the young lady?"
"By the aunt, in her presence. It happened the day after they went toHeathfield to identify Penreath. Mrs. Brewer was furious about the wholebusiness as soon as she ascertained that it wasn't a mistake, as she hadhoped at first, and that there was likely to be much unpleasantpublicity over it. She said she would never be able to hold up her headin Society after the disgrace, and all that sort of thing. It all cameabout through my asking Miss Willoughby if she would like to see herlover while he was awaiting trial. The girl replied, coldly enough, thatit would be time enough to see him after he had cleared himself of thedreadful charge hanging over his head. By the way she spoke she seemedto think herself a deeply injured person, as perhaps she was. Then theaunt had her say, and insisted that I must tell Penreath the engagementwas broken off. I asked Miss Willoughby if that was her wish also, andshe replied that it was. I told Penreath the following day, but I do notthink that it worried him very much."
"I do not think it would," replied Colwyn with a smile.