‘Mrs. Goodge, too?’

  ‘Pretty well powdered, sir — but she hadn’t to come far.’

  ‘Well — I suppose she had her usual drop, eh? Anything else?’

  ‘Nothing except the half-quartern in the bottle, sir.’

  ‘But something happened that attracted your attention, I believe?’

  ‘Well, there was something I noticed, sir, nothing much. A gentleman came in to our saloon bar — that’s at the end of the counter, opposite to where Mrs. Goodge was standing. I just happened, after serving him, to see Mrs. Goodge staring at him, and I heard her mutter something to herself.’

  ‘What did she mutter?’

  ‘She said, as near as I can recollect, sir, “I’ll lay anything it is!” ’

  ‘I’ll repeat that. “I’ll lay anything it is!” Was that it?’

  ‘It was either “lay” or “bet” sir. I’m not sure which word. The rest of it’s right.’

  ‘She was looking at the gentleman in the saloon bar when she said this?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Straight at him.’

  ‘As if she knew him?’

  ‘She was looking very hard at him, sir.’

  ‘Well, now, Stead, here is a plan of your premises: the ground-floor. Just show us exactly where Mrs. Goodge stood and where the gentleman you speak of stood. Your ground floor is divided into three parts, I see — a saloon bar at one end; a public bar at the other; a bottle-and-jug department in the centre. The counter of the public bar, I also see, faces the counter of the saloon bar. Now which bar was Mrs. Goodge in?’

  ‘Public bar, sir.’

  ‘Show us where she stood.’

  ‘Just there, sir.’

  ‘And the gentleman?’

  ‘He stood there, sir — in the saloon bar.’

  ‘So she was directly facing him, with nothing but the space inside the counter — set down here as fifteen-and a-half feet — separating them?’

  ‘That’s right, sir.’

  ‘Who was inside that space?’

  ‘Just then, only myself, sir.’

  ‘Well, this gentleman who came in: did you know him?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Absolute stranger?’

  ‘To me, sir.’

  ‘You can’t remember having ever seen him before?’

  ‘No, sir. Sure on that point. Not known to me at all, sir.’

  ‘Can you describe him?’

  ‘Not particularly, sir. I didn’t take any great notice of him. I thought he was somebody who happened to be passing and wanted a drink before closing-time.’

  ‘What drink did he have?’

  ‘Double whisky, sir.’

  ‘Did he stay long?’

  ‘Scarcely a minute, sir. Drank it straight off and went.’

  ‘Still, you saw him, and saw Mrs. Goodge staring at him as if she knew him. Can’t you give us some idea of his appearance?’

  ‘Only that he was a man of about middle height, sir. Struck me as a foreigner. He was wearing a black overcoat, black hat — one of those big slouch hats like foreigners wear — and was very much muffled up about his neck and face. I can’t remember his face at all. I thought he looked like a musician — or an actor, or something of that sort.’

  ‘Well, but you heard him speak. Did he speak like a foreigner?’

  ‘He only said two words, sir. Double Scotch. I can’t remember that he spoke like a foreigner.’

  ‘Well, you say he drank off his whisky and went out. What did Mrs. Goodge do?’

  ‘Nipped out of the place, sir, quick!’

  ‘As if to follow him?’

  ‘I thought so, sir.’

  ‘Did you see anything more of them, either of them, after that?’

  ‘No, sir, nothing — of either.’

  ‘You felt sure that Mrs. Goodge hurried out to speak to or follow the man?’

  ‘Yes, sir — for a simple reason. She forgot her bottle — into which I’d put the half-quartern of gin.’

  ‘Left it on the counter?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Did she come back for it?’

  ‘No, sir. I put it aside. It’s there now — where I put it, sir.’

  No further questions were put to Stead, and his place in the witness-box was presently taken by an elderly man named Frederick Tapster, who said he was a day labourer in the employ of the Holbern Borough Council and lived in Stafford’s Mews, back of Oxford Street. Mr. Tankersley questioned him.

  ‘Were you standing just outside the Marquis of Manby a little before eleven o’clock last Thursday night?’ he asked.

  ‘I was, guv’nor!’ replied Tapster.

  ‘What were you doing there?’

  ‘Waiting for a pal o’ mine to come out. I was wanting to go home, like, and he was stopping inside, arguing with another chap. I thought if I went, he’d follow, see?’

  ‘And he didn’t?’

  ‘Not immediate he didn’t. I waited for him.’

  ‘Did you see a man in black clothes, with a big white muffler round his neck and face, come along and turn into the Marquis of Manby?’

  ‘I did! Leastways, I see him turn into the Marquis. I didn’t see where he come from. When I see him he was just a-letting down of his umbrella and turning into the saloon bar.’

  ‘Did you get any view of his face?’

  ‘Not particular, guv’nor. Muffled up to his eyes he was, with a big white choker or handkercher.’

  ‘Did you see him come out again?’

  ‘I did. Not three minutes afterwards. Come out and put up his umbrella again.’

  ‘And then? What did he do?’

  ‘Do? Sets off across the street — that’s what he done.’

  ‘Well, now, did anything happen then?’

  ‘Yes, guv’nor. A woman come out o’ the Marquis — t’other bar entrance — looked round her, caught sight o’ this here bloke in the black clothes, and made after him. She collared him by the arm just as he got t’other side o’ the street.’

  ‘Seized him, eh?’

  ‘She got him right enough, guv’nor.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘ ’S far as I could see, guv’nor, he just turned and looked at her. She said something, and they walked round the corner.’

  ‘Which corner? Into which street?’

  ‘Can’t say, guv’nor. I ain’t familiar with that part. I’d on’y gone there with that pal o’ mine, as lives thereabouts.’

  ‘Look at this plan, then, Tapster. You were standing there. Now, there are two corners those people could have gone round. Which was the one — left corner or right corner?’

  ‘That there corner, guv’nor — to the left.’

  ‘That’s into Little Custom Street. That was the last you saw of them?’

  ‘The very last, guv’nor. My pal, he come out just then, and we went off. When I hears about this here murder I sees the police about what I saw.’

  ‘And you say the man didn’t do anything particular when the woman seized his arm? — didn’t shake her off or anything?’

  ‘I see nothing partik’lar, guv’nor. He just turned and looked at her, quiet, like. Then she says something — I dunno what, of course — and they walks off, peaceful, round the corner.’

  ‘Do you think you’d be able to identify that man if you saw him again, Tapster?’

  ‘Can’t say as to that, guv’nor. I never see his dial — not to get a clear look at it — he was that wrapped up about his neck and chin. Might rekernize his gen’ral appearances, guv’nor.’

  Tapster stood down, and another witness appeared in the person of Mrs. Callaway, a middle-aged woman who stated in answer to Mr. Tankersley that she lived at Number 19, Little Custom Street, a few doors away from the house of which Mrs. Goodge was caretaker.

  ‘Did you know the late Mrs. Goodge, Mrs. Callaway?’

  ‘Very well indeed by sight, sir — not so well otherwise, though I have spoken to her time and again.’

  ‘You knew her intimately enough not to be mistaken when you did see her?’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t be mistaken in seeing Mrs. Goodge, sir. I’d been familiar with Mrs. Goodge’s personal appearance for many years. And see her pretty nearly every day, sir, in the shops and elsewhere.’

  ‘Ever see her in the Marquis of Manby?’

  ‘Indeed not, sir, never entering such myself!’

  ‘Well, where did you see Mrs. Goodge last, now?’

  ‘Last Thursday night, sir, when it was snowing so hard.’

  ‘Where did you see her?’

  ‘Coming along the street, sir — Little Custom Street — from the direction of the establishment you’ve just mentioned.’

  ‘What time was that, Mrs. Callaway?’

  ‘Just about eleven o’clock, sir — when they closes the publics.’

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘Like Mrs. Goodge, sir, I’m caretaker of the place I live in — flats, sir. My orders are to close our street-door at eleven o’clock every night, and I keeps to orders, strict. I was just about to close the door, and looks out before I done so, and I see Mrs. Goodge, coming down the street.’

  ‘You could see her — at that time of night — and it snowing?’

  ‘Which there’s a very good lamp, sir, right opposite our door, and its light fell full on Mrs. Goodge — that’s how, sir.’

  ‘I see! Was Mrs. Goodge alone?’

  ‘No, sir: There was a man with her.’

  ‘Did you see his face?’

  ‘No, sir. Which he was looking down at the pavement. He was all in black, sir — with one of them big hats what musicians fancies. Looked to me, sir, like one of them fellows which you see going about carrying fiddles in cases.’

  ‘Did you see where they went — Mrs. Goodge and this man?’

  ‘I did not, sir. I come in, and closed our door. ’Twasn’t no concern of mine, sir.’

  ‘Had you ever seen Mrs. Goodge and the man together before?’

  ‘Not as I’m aware of, sir.’

  ‘Very well, Mrs. Callaway, just one more question. When you saw them, in which direction were these two walking in Little Custom Street? East or west?’

  Mrs. Callaway looked a little puzzled.

  ‘They was walking, sir, towards Minerva House — where Mrs. Goodge lived.’

  III

  THE NEXT WITNESS called was the late Mrs. Goodge’s married daughter, Mrs. Jeeveson: she, too, was questioned by Mr. Tankersley.

  ‘I suppose you saw your mother pretty frequently, Mrs. Jeeveson?’

  ‘Constant, sir! Which it would be at least once a week, regular.’

  ‘Did she talk much to you about the murder of Mrs. Clayton?’

  ‘She talked of little else, sir, after it happened. Leastways, not so much about the murder, but about that man she see leaving the flats.’

  ‘What did she say about him?’

  ‘That she’d know him again, right enough, if she ever see him, sir.’

  ‘But — I am looking at your mother’s evidence, given at the inquest of Mrs. Clayton — she said then that she never saw his face.’

  ‘No, sir — but she see his back!’

  ‘She thought she’d be able to recognize him by that, eh?’

  ‘What she always say to me and my husband, sir, was this here — If she see that man again, dressed as he was that night, with his big black hat, and his white muffler, and his black clothes she’d know him among a thousand, sir. And there was another thing she’d know him by.’

  ‘What was that, Mrs. Jeeveson?’

  ‘She said he walked very soft and stealthy, sir — like one o’ them animals in the Zoological.’

  ‘Like a cat, eh?’

  ‘Or a tiger, sir!’

  ‘Do you think the man your mother was seen with last Thursday night was the man she saw on the night of Mrs. Clayton’s murder, Mrs. Jeeveson?’

  ‘I do that, sir! And I wish I could see him!’

  ‘What do you think he was doing down there in your mother’s living-room?’

  ‘Well, sir, me and my husband — not to speak of the policemen — has talked that over, frequent. I think he went down there to try and get round her. What did he give her money for?’

  ‘You think he gave her the bank-notes that were found in her hand?’

  ‘I’m sure he did, sir! Where else would she get all that money? It’s plain enough to me, sir. He tried to square her — then he bethought himself it would be better to quieten her once for all — and he did! And I wish I’d the chance of quietening him!’

  ‘Was your mother in the habit of keeping money in the cupboard before which she was lying, Mrs. Jeeveson?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I’m aware of that. She kep’ it in an old tea-caddy.’

  ‘You don’t think she’d taken those notes out of the tea-caddy, do you? The idea’s been that she was struck down when she was about to put them into the tea-caddy. But — she may have been taking them out?’

  ‘No, sir, I’m very certain she wasn’t. I know what was in that tea-caddy at four o’clock that very afternoon!’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘For this reason, sir. I went to see my mother that afternoon — and little did I think what was a-going to befall her that very night. I’d my little boy with me, sir — Gerald Henry, his name is — and it was his birthday. And his grandma said she must give him a nice birthday present, and she brought out the tea-caddy and give Gerald Henry a ten-shilling note out of it. I see what was in it. “My gracious, Ma!” I says, “What a lot o’ money you’ve got there! — it isn’t safe to keep all that in the place — why don’t you put it in the P.O.?” I says. And — —’

  ‘What’s the P.O., Mrs. Jeeveson?’

  ‘Post Office Savings Bank, sir. And she says “Oh, I always keep it by me till it gets to £20, and then I puts it in the P.O.: it’s safe enough there in the cupboard,” she says, “I always have the key on me.” “Well, Ma,” I says, “I should think you’ve £20 there now.” “Might be,” she says. “You can count it if you like.” And I did count it, sir, and there was getting on to £17. And there weren’t no five-pound notes, I can take my solemn oath, like what they found in my poor mother’s hand! No, sir, that there reptile had given them to her!’

  ‘What do you suppose he’d given them to her for, Mrs. Jeeveson?’

  ‘Why, to make her hold her tongue, sir! To square her, of course.’

  ‘Would she have held her tongue, do you think?’

  ‘No, sir, I do not! Far be it from me to think that my mother ‘ud ha’ done any such thing! I think she was — I ain’t got the proper word for it.’

  ‘Temporizing with him, eh, Mrs. Jeeveson?’

  ‘That’s it, sir — I ain’t no good at them fine words, but such is my meaning. I think she was playing cat-and-mouse with him, and that when he left, she’d ha’ followed him and given him in charge. However, she didn’t get no chance, as you’re aware, sir.’

  One more witness was called — Samuel John Trotter, taxi-cab driver, to whose evidence, it was obvious, the police attached considerable importance. He gave the impression of being a sharp-witted, observant young fellow, whose testimony could be relied on as regards accuracy. Mr. Tankersley began on him with a direct question:

  ‘Do you remember the night of Thursday last, Trotter?’

  ‘I do, sir!’

  ‘Where were you and your cab at a quarter to twelve that night?’

  ‘On a rank in Oxford Street, sir.’

  ‘Whereabouts — exactly?’

  ‘Oxford Street end of Berners Street, sir.’

  ‘Were you hailed there?’

  ‘Yes, sir — just after the three-quarters had gone.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘Man who came down Berners Street, sir — walking very fast.’

  ‘Can you describe him?’

  ‘Some of him, sir. He was wearing a big black hat, a slouch hat with uncommon wide brim, and he’d a big white muffler round his neck and throat, drawn right over his chin and mouth and up to his nose, and the rest of him was in black clothes. Also, he’d a pair of dark spectacles on. Couldn’t see much of his face, sir.’

  ‘Was he an Englishman?’

  ‘I took him for a foreigner, sir. He spoke like one.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Nothing but “Liverpool Street”.’

  ‘He got into your cab?’

  ‘There and then, sir.’

  ‘And you drove him to Liverpool Street Station?’

  ‘That’s where I thought he wanted to go, sir. But when I’d got to the corner of New Broad Street and Liverpool Street he pulled me up sharp. I stopped, and he got out. He muttered something about walking over, and then asked what I wanted.’

  ‘Broken English, Trotter?’

  ‘Well, sir, he just said “How mooch”, like these foreigners do. I told him, and he paid me, and set off across the road towards Liverpool Street Station. At least, as if he was going there. But he didn’t — I saw him again, as I was turning my cab round.’

  ‘What was he doing?’

  ‘He turned sharp back when he’d got half across the road and went into the Metropolitan station, sir. There’s an entrance to that, sir, right opposite the gates of the big main-line station.’

  ‘You saw him actually enter the Metropolitan station?’

  ‘I did, sir.’

  ‘That’s the underground, of course. And that would be about — what time, Trotter?’

  ‘About ten past twelve — midnight, sir.’

  ‘Trains would still be running, eh?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir.’

  ‘East and west?’

  ‘Both, sir.’

  ‘Could you recognize that man if you saw him again, Trotter?’

  ‘Well, sir, it’s hard to say. If he was dressed just as he was then, I should have a pretty good idea. But these here foreigners, at least a lot of ’em, they’re very fond of those big black hats, and black clothes, and white mufflers. I took this chap for a musician or something of that sort.’

  ‘And you feel certain he was a foreigner?’

  ‘He didn’t speak English, sir. Not to me, anyway.’

  ‘Are you pretty well acquainted with foreigners?’

  ‘I’d driven a good many, sir.’

  ‘Can you tell one from the other?’

  ‘Well, I think I can, sir. I know a German from a Frenchman, and a Spaniard from an Italian.’

 

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