Collected works of j s f.., p.844
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 844
“No more than that Beverley considers he’s cause to make the arrest, Mrs. Martenroyde,” replied Eddison.
“But it’s an impossible charge, Mr. Eddison,” she said. “We all know that at the time James Martenroyde came to his end, Sugden was on his way to London! He couldn’t have done aught to his uncle. He was miles and miles away!”
Eddison made no reply. Instead, he looked at Ramsden. In Ramsden he saw what I had already seen — an expression of blank surprise. And Ramsden, catching the interrogative look, spoke.
“Went off by the 5.41 that afternoon,” he said. “I know he did.”
Still Eddison hesitated. And Mrs. Martenroyde spoke again.
“Mr. Eddison — I’m his mother,” she said. “If you know aught—”
Eddison looked at me as if to seek advice. Getting no response — for I was more interested in his visitors than in him — he took a turn or two about the room.
“Mrs. Martenroyde,” he said, coming to a sudden stop, “I may as well tell you and Ramsden, for you’ll hear it all before long: Sugden was not on his way to London that evening on which his uncle was murdered. He was here in Todmanhawe.”
Watching Mrs. Martenroyde closely, I saw at once that this news came to her as an absolute revelation, and that whatever Sugden’s movements had been that Monday evening, he had given no particulars of them to his mother. She stared at Eddison — and at Ramsden — and at me: a stare of amazement. Then she shook her head.
“He went—” she began.
“My man saw him off!” exclaimed Ramsden. “He did go! He couldn’t have been at Todmanhawe that night. It’s damned nonsense! He was in London at half past eight next morning, I do know. He got that telegram from me, in London, at that time.”
“Who says he was here?” demanded Mrs. Martenroyde. “Whoever does is a liar!”
Eddison waved his hand as if to dismiss further discussion.
“It’s no use going into it now,” he said. “It’ll all be gone into before the magistrates. But I may as well tell you that Sugden was seen here that evening, and that he was also seen to leave Shipton a few hours later, by the 2.36 express. That,” he added, “would get him to St. Pancras at eight o’clock. He’d get your telegram, Ramsden, just as he reached his lodgings.”
“But who saw him here?” persisted Mrs. Martenroyde. “I’ve a right to know. I’m his mother. And a charge like that — murder!”
“You’ll hear all about it in due course,” said Eddison. “Now, as you’ve come to me, tell me — what did Sugden say when Beverley came to him just now?”
“Say?” exclaimed Mrs. Martenroyde. “He was too much taken aback to say aught!”
“He said naught,” replied Ramsden. “I told him to say naught. I knew there was some mistake. I told him to go with ’em, quiet, and to hold his tongue till we’d seen you. Mr. Eddison — what’s to be done?”
“There’s only one thing to be done, my lad,” replied Eddison. “He’ll have to face the charge and answer it. If he can clear himself, all the better. Now, have you got a solicitor in Shipton?”
Ramsden shook his head.
“Never had no occasion for aught of that sort,” he answered.
“I know Mr. Sharpley,” said Mrs. Martenroyde. “I once went to him when I’d some linen stolen.”
“Sharpley’s an old man,” remarked Eddison. “Now, you do what I tell you, Ramsden. Get your car and drive your mother into Shipton. Go to young Pybus — tell him I’ve sent you. Take him straight off to see Sugden. Make Sugden tell him his side of the story. The plain, absolute truth, mind you! — no lies and no keeping anything back. Then Pybus will see to his defence, and to his witnesses if he has any. And go at once.”
“Will they let us or Pybus see him?” asked Mrs. Martenroyde.
“Beverley will let you all see him,” replied Eddison. “Go straight to Pybus — he’ll see to everything for you. Now be off! And, Ramsden, mind you impress on Sugden that he’s to tell Pybus everything — everything, do you hear?”
“I’ll see to it,” answered Ramsden, with a grim look. “He’ll have to. But it licks me, Mr. Eddison. Sugden did go away on the 5.41.”
“Be off with you both and get your car,” said Eddison. “The sooner Pybus and you see Sugden, the better. Have it out with him.”
Mother and son went away without further speech. Watching them go side by side down the garden, I noticed their quietness and silence and commented on it to my host.
“Ramsden Martenroyde never was a man of many words,” said Eddison, “and his mother has had the shock of her life. I’m wondering if she will be able to get Sugden to say anything. If she can’t, and Pybus can’t, then nobody can. Pybus is a smart fellow — a bit brusque and bullying, but that’s what’s wanted in this case. If Sugden was here, in the neighbourhood, that Monday evening, Sugden’s got a good deal to explain. You’ll not be surprised, I suppose, if he does give an explanation?”
“No,” I replied, “I shan’t.”
“An explanation that will upset Beverley?” he added.
“I shan’t be surprised at that either,” I assented.
“You still think Beverley may be on the wrong tack?” he asked, with a sly smile. “Not the tack you’d have taken?”
“I think Beverley has been a little precipitate,” I said. “I should have made more exhaustive inquiry.”
“Oh, well, Beverley’s a policeman,” he said indulgently. “Policemen love a straight line, and Beverley thinks he’s on one, with nothing to do but follow it to the end. We’ll see how he works things out. If Sugden has a good case and confides in Pybus, Beverley will find his theories upset. We may get a revelation tomorrow — I know Pybus and his methods. He’ll fight.”
Some few hours after that, as Eddison and I were down in the lower part of the village, returning from a call on Colonel Houston and his daughter, who were still staying at the Scarthdale Arms, Ramsden and his mother came along in their car, evidently home again from their excursion to Shipton. With no more than a mere acknowledgment of our presence, they were passing us, but Eddison hailed them loudly, and Ramsden, with obvious unwillingness, pulled up.
“Well?” said Eddison, going up to the side of the car. “You’ve seen Pybus?”
Mrs. Martenroyde opened what until then had been tightly shut lips.
“We’ve seen Mr. Pybus,” she replied, “and Mr. Pybus has seen our Sugden.”
“Well?” inquired Eddison, expectantly. “And—”
“We haven’t anything more to say — at present,” answered Mrs. Martenroyde, acidly. “You can go on, Ramsden.”
“Here, stop a bit!” exclaimed Eddison. “Come, now! I sent you to Pybus. Did Pybus—”
“We’ve no call to say more just now,” said Mrs. Martenroyde firmly. “There’s a time for speech, Mr. Eddison, and there’s a time for silence. And we can hold our tongues as well as anybody. Now, Ramsden, drive on.”
Ramsden drove on; the car moved off in the direction of Mill House, and Eddison turned to me.
“Not very promising for Beverley’s case, that, Camberwell!” he said. “That woman’s in quite a different mood now from what she was before I sent her to see Pybus. Pybus has got something out of Sugden! I shouldn’t wonder if you’re right — and Beverley’s all wrong.”
Beverley himself turned up at Eddison’s late in the day. He looked worried and puzzled.
“Have you seen those Martenroydes since they came back from Shipton?” he asked. “Yes? Did they tell you anything? No? Um! — Well, Pybus has been to see me. A rather high-handed sort of chap, Mr. Eddison! He lays down the law!”
“What’s he been to see you about?” asked Eddison.
“Just to tell me that when Sugden’s put before the magistrates tomorrow morning, he’ll oppose any application for a remand,” replied Beverley. “He as good as said that I was a fool and that he’d upset any evidence we could bring as soon as it was brought. He knows something. He’d a long talk with Sugden, and when he left him I saw Pybus and Mrs. Martenroyde and Ramsden go across to the bank. They were there some time. Pybus — however, it’s no good bothering about it now. I say there is a case against Sugden. What do you suppose Pybus’s defence will be?”
But Eddison smiled and shook his head.
“You’ll hear it in the morning, Beverley,” he said. “I can make a good guess at it. If it’s what I think, the magistrates won’t give you a remand, so you’d better be prepared with your case and witnesses. Has Sugden made any statement to you?”
“No,” replied Beverley; “not one word!”
CHAPTER XIII. THE PERFECT ALIBI
SUGDEN MARTENROYDE, IN the presence of a crowded court, was duly placed before the local magistrates next morning, charged with the murder of his uncle, James Martenroyde, and after some discussion between the Chairman, Mr. Cordukes, appearing for the police, and Mr. Pybus, representing the accused, it was agreed, all the necessary witnesses being present, that the case should be gone into at once. Thereupon Mr. Cordukes opened for the prosecution, whose theory, summarized, was that Sugden, having reason to fear James Martenroyde’s threatened examination of the books and accounts at Gresham Street, had secretly returned to Todmanhawe immediately after his departure for London and, lying in wait for his uncle near the weir bridge, had killed him by a blow from some heavy weapon. The evidence brought forward in support of this theory was, of course, fully familiar to me, but in pursuance of my usual plan I made a summary of it in my note-book, as follows:
Orris, chauffeur to the late James Martenroyde, examined by Mr. Cordukes, said that on the night of Monday, January 25th, Mr. Martenroyde, following his invariable practice, left Todmanhawe Grange at ten o’clock to walk round his mill. The witness and Mrs. Haines, housekeeper, sat up for him, as usual. At 12.15 he had not returned. Usually he returned by half past ten. Mrs. Haines, feeling sure that something had happened, went up with witness to rouse Mr. Camberwell, a visitor who had arrived that evening from London. After matters had been explained to Mr. Camberwell, he and witness set out to look for Mr. Martenroyde. Witness knew exactly which way Mr. Martenroyde went every night, and took Mr. Camberwell that way. They found Mr. Martenroyde’s dead body on the river-bank near the end of the foot-bridge which crossed the river near the mill weir.
Dr. Ponsford, practising at Todmanhawe, said that he was fetched to the river-bank near Todmanhawe Mill about half an hour after midnight on Tuesday morning, January 26th. He found several people grouped about the dead body of Mr. James Martenroyde. He made a preliminary examination there and then and a more definite one later. He had no hesitation in saying that Mr. Martenroyde’s death was caused by violent blows on the head — precise particulars of which he gave. There had been two blows, and either was of sufficient violence to cause death. Death would be practically instantaneous and, in witness’s opinion, took place some two and a half hours, or thereabouts, before his examination of the body.
Ronald Camberwell, a partner in the firm of Chaney and Chippendale, private inquiry agents, of Jermyn Street, London, said that he arrived at Todmanhawe Grange on Monday, January 25th, as a result of a request from Mr. James Martenroyde that a member of the firm should visit him at once. He gave a detailed account of Mr. Martenroyde’s conversation with him on the subject of a letter from William Heggus, an employee at the Gresham Street warehouse, and produced the letter spoken of. He could not say that Mr. Martenroyde was definitely suspicious about his nephew Sugden’s conduct of the London business, but he was certain that Mr. Martenroyde intended to satisfy himself about the somewhat vague charges brought by William Heggus, and he also knew that Mr. Martenroyde had told Sugden that he himself during his approaching visit to London would take the opportunity of going through the books and accounts with him. Witness then corroborated the evidence of the chauffeur Orris as regards the search for Mr. Martenroyde and the discovery of his dead body.
Stephen Eddison, solicitor, now retired from practice, said that as one of the trustees of the will of the late James Martenroyde, and in consequence of information supplied to him by the last witness immediately after Mr. Martenroyde’s death, he sent to London for the books and papers of the Gresham Street office and, in company with his co-trustee, Mr. Halstead, Mr. Camberwell, and Superintendent Beverley, made a thorough examination of them. The accounts were in great confusion and none of them satisfactory. The account at the London bank was overdrawn. In his opinion, Mr. Martenroyde, had he lived to make the examination himself, would have found everything not merely irregular but culpable. Mr. Sugden Martenroyde appeared to have had unusual licence accorded to him by his uncle, and, in witness’s opinion, he had abused it. Witness, knowing James Martenroyde as he did, felt sure that had he lived to make the proposed examination of books and accounts, Sugden would have come under his heavy displeasure.
Up to this point Mr. Pybus, representing the accused, had not asked a single question of any of the witnesses for the prosecution. But when Mr. Cordukes had done with Eddison, Pybus rose.
“I want to ask you a very simple question, Mr. Eddison,” he said. “Was there anything in these books, accounts, and papers which Mr. Sugden Martenroyde, who was responsible for them, could not have put straight?”
Eddison was somewhat taken aback by this question.
“Well,” he replied, after a slight hesitation, “I suppose there wasn’t.”
“The bank account, for instance. You have just said it was overdrawn. Couldn’t Mr. Sugden Martenroyde have put that straight?”
“He could, of course — by paying in sufficient funds,” replied Eddison.
“Supposing Mr. Sugden to be faced by two alternatives,” asked Pybus; “one: to put the bank account straight; the other, to kill his uncle before his uncle could find out that the bank account wasn’t straight — which do you think he’d be likely to adopt?”
“I think that’s an absurd question,” retorted Eddison. “I—”
“No more absurd than to ask their worships to believe that my client murdered his uncle and employer because the bank account was a bit on the wrong side!” said Pybus. He turned to the bench. “Your worships,” he went on, “the bank account in London is straight. There was never any question of its being straight. If Mr. James Martenroyde had lived to make his proposed examination of the Gresham Street office bank accounts, he would have found it strictly in order.”
“It was not in order when I examined the pass-book!” declared Eddison.
“It is in order — perfect order — now, anyway,” said Pybus quietly, “and could have been put in order at any moment. I have no more to ask this witness.”
(Eddison and I subsequently discovered that the previous afternoon Pybus, Mrs. Martenroyde, and Ramsden Martenroyde, after interviewing Sugden in the police station, had visited the local bank at Shipton, and thence sent considerable funds to the bank in London at which the Gresham Street account was kept, thereby putting it in credit.)
Nor — a matter of surprise, I think, to those of us who had known what evidence they would give and what its importance was — had Pybus any question to put to the next two witnesses, the workmen Outwin and Guest. He accepted this evidence quietly, indifferently, making no sign. Yet it was positive evidence, proving beyond doubt that Sugden Martenroyde certainly returned to Todmanhawe that Monday evening — returned after openly departing for London. Those two witnesses were of the sort whose testimony is invariably believed by magistrates or by juries — plain, unimaginary men who tell a straight tale, devoid of all trimmings. That Outwin and Guest saw Sugden on the road between Hartwick and Todmanhawe on the evening of James Martenroyde’s death no one could doubt after hearing their evidence.
But Pybus did a little questioning of the old woman, Prissy Mallison, who, in answer to Mr. Cordukes, repeated the story which she had told to Beverley and me. Cordukes humoured her about her belief that the figure she saw was the Todmanhawe ghost; his theory, of course, was that what the witness actually saw was Sugden, lying in wait for his victim. Pybus humoured her, too; his questions were directed to fixing the exact time at which she saw the ghost. He did this to his own evident satisfaction; Prissy, old as she was, was in full possession of her faculties and of an unimpaired memory, and Pybus had no difficulty in establishing the fact that what she saw, ghost, goblin, or human being, at the lych-gate of Todmanhawe churchyard was seen between nine thirty and ten o’clock.
There remained only two witnesses for the prosecution when Prissy Mallison had stumped out of the box, still chattering about the ghost. One was the booking-clerk who had been on duty at Shipton station in the early morning of Tuesday, January 26th; the other was a porter also on duty at that time. Both these men professed an intimate knowledge of Mr. Sugden Martenroyde’s appearance; both testified that he left Shipton for London by the Scotch express, leaving Shipton at 2.36 and arriving at St. Pancras at eight o’clock.
With this evidence the case for the prosecution came to an end, and Pybus rose to address the magistrates. He said little, beyond making some caustic remarks as to the theory of the prosecution with regard to motive. Their worships, he said, were asked to believe that his client had got the affairs of the Gresham Street office into such a mess that, hearing of his uncle’s intention of looking into them, he had no way of escape but by murdering that uncle! However, he was not going to waste the time of the court over discussion of that matter — the real question before their worships was one of his client’s guilt or innocence. That James Martenroyde died as the result of a savage attack upon him, there was no doubt; there was no doubt, either, that his death took place — never mind the exact moment — between the hours of ten o’clock on the Monday night and twelve thirty on the ensuing midnight. And he would now show that during the space of time covered by those hours Sugden Martenroyde was not in nor indeed near Todmanhawe.
