Читать книгу The Peer and the Woman - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 11

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"Call the first witness!" ordered the coroner sharply.

The policeman threw open the door, and fixed his eyes upon a little knot of men and women who were whispering together in a corner of the passage.

"Mike Beaston," he called, "you're wanted! Come this way."

A tall, broad-shouldered man in the garb of a navvy detached himself from the group and came forward. The policeman solemnly beckoned him into the room, motioned him where to stand, and closed the door.

"Your name is Mike Beaston?" inquired the coroner

"I should like ter see the man as said it warn't," was the somewhat pugnacious reply. The witness had been preparing himself for the unaccustomed ordeal through which he had to pass by frequent visits to the tap-room, with the result that without being drunk he was inclined to be quarrelsome. But a glance at the coroner sent all the Dutch courage oozing out of his heels. The latter was used to such witnesses and knew how to treat them. He had assumed an air of the severest displeasure, and the frowning gaze which he bent upon the unfortunate Mr. Beaston was particularly disconcerting to that gentleman.

"Answer simply yes or no," he remarked, sharply. "Your name is Mike Beaston?"

"Yessur," was the much-subdued answer.

"What are you by trade?"

"Shure I work at anything. I ain't 'ticular. I've been on a job at Egson's Wharves the last month, sur."

"You lodge at 19 Bloomer's Place?" asked the coroner.

"For shure, yer honor," replied the witness.

"And your room was on the floor above the one occupied by the deceased?"

"Yes, sur."

"At what hour did you return home on Tuesday night, the 17th?"

"Bout arf 'our arter closing time."

The coroner looked up, mystified.

"Do you mean—"

"Beg pardon, sir. He means after the public-houses are closed," interrupted P.C. 198, significantly.

The coroner accepted the explanation, but promptly snubbed P.C. 198 for interfering, to the delight of the witness. P.C. 198 assumed a gloomy air of outraged dignity, and during the remainder of the examination did not open his lips.

"Did you go straight to bed when you got home?" the coroner went on.

"For shure I did; what else wur there for me to do in my bit o' a room? I just tumbled on my bed, and it's meself wur fast aslape in less than no time, yer honor."

"You heard no noise in the room below?"

"None, yer honor."

"Nor as you passed it on your way up?"

"No, sur."

"Not even voices?"

"Not even voices, sur. It was all as quiet as the grave."

"Until what time did you sleep?"

"It wur about half-past six when I woke up, and turned out straight away."

"Tell me what you saw on your way downstairs."

The witness, who was now quite at his ease, ran one hand lightly through his hair, and after a brief pause to collect his thoughts, commenced volubly, but disconnectedly, to explain the circumstances which led to his being connected with the case as witness. He was on his way downstairs, and was just passing the door of the room below his when he noticed a dark stain on the boards, which, when he put his foot on it, he perceived was wet. He struck a light, and, stooping down, found to his horror that it was blood which was slowly trickling in a little stream from underneath the door of the room which he was passing.

"Indeed, yer honor, I wur fair dazed, I wur, when I see'd it, and I didn't do nawthin' for a minute or two but look at it. Then I cum to meself, and I knocked at the door. 'Mrs. Ward,' sez I, 'Mrs. Ward, open the door, there's a good 'un;' but there warn't no answer, so I just put my foot against it, like, and open it went. I've seen some queer sights in my time," the witness continued, in an awed tone, "but that theer was a licker, and no gammon. It wur awful, for shure. She wur a-lying flat on the floor with her head about a yard off the door, and one of her hands clutched in the bed things, and there were a long, thin knife—a queer shape like—buried in her chest. The blood had flowed from where she wur stabbed right underneath the door. It made me feel rare and bad just to look at it. I sez, 'Minus, who's a-done it?' but, Lord, it warn't no use speaking to her. She wur dead as a door-nail, stiff, and almost cold. Well, I just felt her, and I sings out for Mrs. Judkin, and, be jabers—I beg your pardon, your honor—but there wur a rare to-do then. I just sez, 'Mrs. Judkin, here's rare goings on,' and she peeped in the room, and she went straight off into one of them there fainting fits. Then a lot of others they came in, and I off and fetched a doctor and a copper—this 'un here, yer honor," the witness remarked, indicating Police Constable 198 by a supercilious gesture. "There warn't no other about, so I had to bring him," he added apologetically to the jury. "I knowed he'd make a blooming hash of it all the same."

The coroner bit his lip, and so did several of the jury. Police Constable 198 looked scornfully indifferent, or rather tried to. Mike Beaston grinned and bore a sharp reprimand from the coroner with exemplary meekness.

A few more questions were asked, but without result. Evidently the witness had told everything he knew of the affair, so he was dismissed.

"Mrs. Judkin is the next witness. Shall I call her, sir?" inquired Police Constable 198.

"Mrs. Judkin, the landlady? Certainly," said the coroner.

Mrs. Judkin was called, and a plain, hard-featured woman stepped into the room. She was dressed in a rusty black gown, which had evidently seen better days, and had a shawl of the same sombre hue twisted around her shoulders. Unlike the last witness, she was evidently perfectly at her ease; but there was an air of extreme caution, not to say wariness, in the slow replies which she gave to the questions that were asked her which was decidedly not prepossessing. Before she had been before him five minutes the coroner had decided, rightly or wrongly, that she was keeping something back. The idea naturally quickened his interest in the case.

"How long had the deceased been a lodger of yours?" he asked.

"Nearly two weeks, sir."

"What was her occupation during that time?"

"She did no work, sir, as I know on."

"She paid you regularly, then?"

"Pretty well."

"Did it never strike you that she was a different sort of person to your other lodgers, for instance?"

"Can't say as it did, particular. I didn't take much notice of her."

"She gave you the name of Mrs. Ward when she came?"

"Yes.

"Had you any reason to suppose that this was not her real name?"

"No. I didn't bother my head about it. One name was as good as another to me."

"How did the deceased pass the time if she did no work?"

"I don't know. How should I? I've summut else to do besides watch my lodgers about."

"She went out occasionally, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes; she went out sometimes."

"Did she ever go out at night?"

"I don't know as she did," the witness admitted. "She kept herself respectable, seemingly. She was mostways at home crying at nights."

"Did she ever have any visitors?"

"Never until the night she was murdered."

There was a slight sensation among the jurymen. M. de Feurget, too, leaned forward with nervously twitching lips and bloodshot eyes. He was evidently deeply interested.

"She had more than one visitor on that night, then?"

"She had two."

"Did they come together, or at different times?"

"At different times."

"Were they both men?"

"Yes."

"Now, tell me at what time the first one arrived."

"About half-past nine."

"Can you describe him?"

"No, I dunno as I can. He just knocked at the door o' my room; so I sez 'Come in,' but he didn't no more than just come half-way in like, and I wur a-sitting t'other end wi' a little oil lamp on the table by me, so he wur in the dark like. He just sez, 'Which is Mrs. Ward's rooms?' and I sez 'Second floor front!' and off he goes. He wur a little chap and thin—about the size of that there gent."—and she pointed to M. de Feurget, who frowned and seemed ill-pleased at the comparison.

"How long did he remain upstairs?"

"Not more than 'arf an hour, I shouldn't think."

"Did you hear their voices?"

"Yes, now and agen."

"Were they talking in a loud key? Did they seem to be disagreeing?"

"Summut of that sort. She wur a-sobbing and carrying on, and he wur terrible angry."

"You didn't overhear any part of the conversation?"

"No. I didn't listen."

"What happened after this first visitor had left?"

"Another gent came about ten minutes afterward."

"Did you see anything of him? Can you describe him?"

"No, that I can't. He wur tall and slim, and had a beautiful voice, but I couldn't see nothing of his face, he wur so muffled up. I know one thing about 'im, though. He wur a gent, the proper sort, too."

"Did he ask you for Mrs. Ward?"

"Yes. I called out 'Fust door on fust landing,' and he says 'Thank'ee,' and off he goes."

"Mrs. Ward's room was the one just above yours, then?"

"Yes."

"Did you hear them talking?"

"Never once; they were very quiet."

"You did not hear any quarrel or scream, or the sound of any falling body?"

"Nothing."

"That seems very strange. Of the two visitors, it certainly seems as though the last must have been the murderer. And yet you say that you did not even hear an ordinary quarrel?"

"No."

The witness had suddenly become taciturn. She stood nervously drawing her shawl closer around her shoulders, and, notwithstanding the closely-set lips, there was an air of irresolution about her which the coroner was quick to notice.

"Did you see this visitor when he came downstairs?"

"No."

"Did you hear him?"

"No."

"Then you don't know how long he was upstairs?"

"No."

"You are quite sure that these answers are absolutely correct? You are on your oath, remember."

"I am quite sure."

"Then you neither saw nor heard anything of deceased or of this visitor from the time of his arrival to the next morning, when you were summoned upstairs by Mike Beaston?"

"No, I didn't."

"And you will swear that Mrs. Ward had no other visitor that night?"

The witness was evidently disturbed. She hesitated and changed color.

"I don't know nothing about that," she answered slowly.

"Have you any reason to suppose that the deceased had any other visitor upon, that night?"

"She might 'a 'ad. It's like this, you see," the witness continued, reluctantly; "the room next to Mrs. Ward's I lets by the night when I gets the chance, and I'd let it for that night to a woman called Betsy Urane. I 'eard her cum in 'bout two hours arter the second gent had gone up to Mrs. Ward's."

The witness paused, and there was a little stir of interest. M. de Feurget was leaning forward in his seat, with his hand pressed to his side, and with an intense feverish excitement gleaming in his dark eyes. The witness remained sullenly silent, her long, bony fingers restlessly interlacing themselves with the fringe of her shawl. Her manner increased the supposition that she had something still to reveal.

"Did the woman Betsy Urane come in alone?"

"I dunno. I suppose not."

"You could hear any one going upstairs from your room?"

"Yes."

"And you heard footsteps after the woman Urane had entered?"

"Yes."

"The footsteps of one person or of more than one?"

"There was a man and a woman."

"You will swear that you did not see the man?"

"I will."

"Did they enter the room which the woman Urane had engaged?"

"Yes."

"And did you hear either of them leave it?"

"Yes."

"Which?"

"The woman."

"When?"

"About five minutes after their arrival. I was going to bed, and I met her on the stairs, coming down."

"Alone?"

"Alone."

"Where was her companion?"

"She said that she had left him in the room while she went out to buy something."

"Did she return?"

"No."

"Have you seen her since?"

"No."

The proceedings were stayed while the coroner gave some whispered instructions to the constable, who immediately left the room.

"Was her companion found in the room this morning?"

"No."

"Did you hear him leave?"

"No."

"Thank you; that will do, Mrs. Judkin."

Mrs. Judkin gave her shawl a final twitch and left the room with an unmistakable air of relief in her hard, expressionless face. The coroner finished making some notes, and then, laying down his pen, turned to the jury.

"I have sent for the woman Betsy Urane," he said. "I think you will all agree with me that she is likely to prove an important witness."

There was a murmur of assent which had scarcely subsided when P.C. 198 entered the room and made his way over to the coroner's chair.

"I have discovered the woman, sir," he announced, in a self-satisfied tone. "She is outside."

The coroner nodded approvingly.

"Very good," he said. "Send her in at once."

"Betsy Urane" was called and Betsy Urane appeared. She was a tall, stout woman, with a pile of yellow hair untidily arranged, coarse, unpleasant features, and a bold, defiant expression. She was dressed in some castoff finery, evidently purchased at a second-hand shop, and altogether her appearance could only be described as repulsive. The coroner drew a fresh supply of paper toward him and commenced his examination at once.

"Your name is Betsy Urane?"

"Yes, it is."

"You were at 19 Bloomer's Place, on last Tuesday night, with a man?"

"Well, and if I was?"

"Will you tell us who your companion was?"

"I would if I knowed, but I don't."

"How long had you known him before taking him there?"

"About an hour."

"Where did you meet him?"

"In the Crown and Thistle bar."

"You had never seen him before, then?"

"Never."

"Did he speak to you first, or you to him?"

The witness hesitated. The coroner was used to all types of witnesses, and made up his mind quickly how to treat this one.

"Betsy Urane," he said, sharply, "I don't know whether you have ever been a witness at an inquest before. In case you haven't, I feel it my duty to urge upon you the necessity and wisdom of speaking the truth, and of telling everything you know concerning the matter you are asked about. You are on your oath, you must remember, and you are liable to be prosecuted for perjury if you make a single false statement or attempt to evade the truth in any way. We are here to sift this matter to the bottom, and we know a good deal already," he added, significantly.

The witness was cowed, but put a bold front on it.

"There's no need for all that palavering," she said, sullenly. "I should have told you all I knowed wi'out. It was like this 'ere. I was a-sitting in the Crown and Thistle, having a glass along wi' a lady friend o' mine, when a stranger chap came in, and I heard 'im ask at the bar whether they knowed where a Mrs. Judkin lived. Well, Mrs. Judkin and me being particular friends, I jumps up, and goes to 'im. 'I know where Mrs. Judkin lives,' I sez. 'I has a room there myself often.' So he turns round and looks at me and then draws me on one side.

"'Do you know a Mrs. Ward who lives in 'er 'ouse?' he asks. 'Can't say as I've ever spoken to 'er,' I sez, 'but I knows her by sight. 'Er room's next the one I generally 'as there.' Then he asks me some more questions about her, whether she wur very poor, whether she went out and such like, and I told him as much as I knew, and, natural like, asked him to stand summut. He paid for drinks, and then he went a little way off, and stood by 'imself as though he wur thinking something over. Just before closing time he cum back to me. 'Did you say that your room at Mrs. Judkin's was next to Mrs. Ward's?' he asked. I told 'im as it was, and he sez, quiet like, 'Could you take me into your room for a short time?' 'In coors,' I says, and off we went. Well, when we got there he made me show him her door, and when he got into my room he did nothing but walk up and down and mutter to himself, excited like. Then he comes up to me and sez, 'I want to be alone here for a short time. If I gives you a sovereign will you leave me this room for to-night, and find a lodging somewhere else?' 'In coors I will,' I sez, and I just lays 'old of the quid and hoff I goes. I ain't seen 'im since, and I don't know no more about 'im."

"Can you describe him?"

"Well, I can; but I dunno as it 'ud be much good, for he had a false beard and false whiskers, and false 'air on; and I'm pretty sure he wasn't used to such clothes as 'e was wearing, which was rough 'uns. He wur rather stout, wi' a yellow beard and yellow 'air, rather a long thin face, wi' bright eyes, and 'e 'eld 'is 'ead as though he wur a gent, and 'e walked like one. He wur dressed rough enough, but 'is 'ands wur white and soft. I can't tell yer much more."

"If you could describe his clothes a little, it might help us," said the coroner suggestively.

"Well, he wore a long, dark blue overcoat, patched in a lot o' places, and wi' a hole or two in; a billycock 'at, broke at the top, and a dirty white 'andkerchief tied round 'is throat."

"You are quite sure that you have not seen him in the neighborhood before?"

"I'll take my oath I ain't."

"Very good. That will do. Mrs. Urane."

The witness, who had quite recovered her composure, nodded jauntily and swaggered out of the room. Several other witnesses, including the doctor, were examined without anything fresh coming to light. Then the weapon with which the murder had been committed was produced and handed round.

The interest in the case, which had flagged a little, was revived at once by its appearance. It was of strange, graceful shape, of the finest Damascus steel, and with an elaborately carved handle. One by one the jurymen handled it, and each passed it on with a little murmur of admiration.

"This weapon should certainly furnish a clue," the coroner remarked, handing it back to the emissary of the police. "It must have been stolen from somewhere."

The man nodded, and thought that there was no doubt about that. Then there was a few minutes' consultation, and the verdict was recorded:

"Wilful murder against some person or persons unknown."

A couple of hours later printed bills with all the description which had been obtained of the murderer hung on the doors of every police-station in London, with the ominous heading: "Wanted!" and by nightfall detectives with a copy of the bill in their pocket-books were watching every train which arrived at the great ports of the country, and every outward-bound vessel of every sort was placed under a rigid espionage. The whole machinery of Scotland Yard was set in motion to discover the man in the long blue overcoat.