Читать книгу The Case for the Crown - Fred M. White - Страница 10

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But we are never quite so much alone and so friendless as we think ourselves to be in times of overwhelming misfortune, and though Cecil Molyneux little dreamt of it, the hand of fate was already moving in her aid. The man who had been seated just inside the door replaced the notebook, in which he had been writing, in his pocket, and followed the rest of the crowd into the garden, and from thence along the road in the direction of the High street.

He was a man apparently young in years, with a skin smooth and fair as that of a girl. His flint-blue eyes were just a little hard, but they were limpid enough, and his little brown moustache was carefully trimmed. It was only when he removed his hat that Archenfield's hair proclaimed the fact that he was considerably older than he looked, for his locks were absolutely white, and there were fine lines of care and suffering impressed indelibly on that high forehead of his. He was slight of build, with a certain suggestion of wiry strength, and he had the quiet assured manner of one who knows the world, and has seen human nature in most of its phases.

He crossed the road, until he came at length to an old house in the high street which appeared to be given over to different sets of offices. He glanced at the brass plate inscribed "Mr. Thomas Snow, Commissioner of Oaths," and then walked down a dingy passage to the clerks' room at the back. There he inquired if he could see Mr. Snow, and in a few moments was closeted with that gentleman in his private room.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Archenfield?" Snow asked.

"My name is familiar to you?" Archenfield suggested.

"My dear sir, of course, of course. I have never had the pleasure of meeting you before, but it is an honour to know so distinguished a playwright has elected to settle down so near to Oxley."

Archenfield waved the compliment aside.

"A dubious honour, I fear," he said, "I like the neighbourhood, perhaps mostly because it is so quiet, and because I can work down here without much interruption. In my peculiar position, Mr. Snow—"

"Need we go into that?" Snow asked. "I don't suppose that any sensible person believes the story. At any rate, I don't, I assure you."

"Ah, but then you are a lawyer, and accustomed to weigh evidence. But still, you are quite right, because my past has nothing whatever to do with this visit. And now, Mr. Snow, I will come to the point. I drove my car into Oxley early this morning to change some books at the library. And the first thing I heard, of course, was all about this tragedy. The librarian, who is apparently a born gossip, is full of it. He told me how Mr. Robert Molyneux had died, and he more than hinted at the fact that Mrs. Molyneux could say a good deal on the subject if she only chose. In fact, all the poisonous sort of gossip you can get in a small place like this."

"'Be ye as pure as snow, as chaste as ice, thou shalt not escape calumny,'" Snow quoted.

"Of course, of course. The fellow rather annoyed me, he smiled and deprecated what he was saying, but he was full of smug satisfaction, all the same. Now, Mr. Snow, I have seen Mrs. Molyneux several times, and naturally I know a good deal about her story. She is a true and noble woman, if ever I saw one, and I am intensely sorry for her. That is perhaps why I decided to attend the inquest. I won't disguise from you that, being a writer of plays, the dramatic side of the business appealed to me, but that is a secondary consideration. As you know, as everybody knows, for the matter of that, I was once tried for my life on a charge of murdering my wife, the one person in the world that I would have died for cheerfully. True, the trial took place in Hongkong, but it excited as much attention over here as it did there, and of course I was condemned by public opinion before the trial was over. There are thousands of people in this country who regard me as a lucky man, and who look upon me as a cold-blooded murderer who escaped the hangman on a legal technicality. Some day they will know the truth. But that's nothing to do with the case. Knowing myself to be an innocent man, I can afford to ignore public opinion, all the more so because I have ample private means and can therefore produce my plays in my own theatre, I dare say you will think I am a long time coming to the point, but it is this. Now, ingenuity and, I flatter myself, originality, make my plays the success they are. And I make a great study of crime and criminals. It's a hobby of mine to attend sensational trials when I believe the prisoner to be innocent, and without undue egotism I have saved at least two men and three women from what appeared to be certain death."

"You think Mrs. Molyneux innocent, then?" Snow asked.

"My dear sir, I am certain of it," Archenfield said earnestly. "I was certain of it before I went into that room this morning, and now I am more convinced of it than ever. Never mind why. I believe that that girl, for she's nothing more, is being made the victim of an infamous conspiracy. And I want to help her, Mr. Snow. I want to devote the whole of my time to prove her innocence. It is just the very case that appeals to me. And she is in danger, terrible danger."

"I am afraid she is," Snow admitted. "And yet I would have staked my professional reputation—"

"You can go on staking it," Archenfield said curtly. "That woman is innocent enough. I know it; in fact I know a great deal more than you are aware of, though when I went into that room this morning I was as ignorant of what has really happened as you are. I think you will agree with me that my services may be useful."

"My dear sir," Snow cried, "they will be invaluable. I read all about that Morton murder case, where you simply smashed up the Scotland Yard theory. I should be only too glad of your assistance."

"Then, in that case, you won't mind answering a few questions," Archenfield said. "In the first place, do you know anything about Mr. Molyneux's monetary affairs?"

"To a certain extent, yes. I have been his solicitor for some time."

"Is he a man of means?"

"Well, upon my word, there you have me." Snow confessed. "I really can't say. Molyneux kept up a big establishment, he lived well and paid everybody, but somehow I don't fancy that he was very sound financially. About 12 years ago, his father died, and left him a large property, which he promptly dissipated on the racecourse and the prize-ring, and in riotous living generally. He always had a queer crowd about him; racecourse touts and pugilists, and all the disreputable needy set that one associates with the worst side of the turf. Even in recent years, since he was married, Molyneux has had some exceedingly shady characters staying in the house. Much to his wife's disgust, of course, But, then, what could she do?"

"Yes, but you said he dissipated all his patrimony. In that case, where—"

"I was just coming to that," Snow went on. "I know that Robert Molyneux was exceedingly short of money when he went abroad about 10 years ago."

"Where did he go to?"

"Oh, I can tell you that. He went to China."

Archenfield's eyes narrowed slightly and there came a quick gleam into those blue pupils of his.

"Oh, China!" he said softly. "Mr. Snow, that's very interesting. And how long did he stay there?"

"Oh, about three or four years altogether, I believe."

"And when he came back, he bought the Red House, and has lived there ever since in comparative prosperity?"

"You are quite justified in saying that," Snow remarked.

"And then he got married. Can you tell me why Mrs. Molyneux married a brute like that?"

"I think it was a case of necessity. Molyneux helped her father out of a tight place, and I think the match was forced on the girl. Not that Molyneux cared anything about her. He was the sort of man who would compel a girl to marry him out of sheer obstinacy, knowing perfectly well that she cared for somebody else."

Again Archenfield's eyes narrowed.

"Oh, there's somebody else, is there? But I might have known it. I suppose you see how this fact tells against your client, Mr. Snow?"

"Well, naturally. There you have the motive for crime, if crime there is."

"We'll put that aside for the moment, and get on a little farther. Now, this morning a certain ring was produced at the inquiry, a ring that was given to Mrs. Molyneux by her husband—the ring which, I mistake not, will form one of the most important links of the prosecution. The ring was shown to the coroner, and subsequently taken possession of by the police. Mr. Snow, I want to have a look at the ring."

"Why not?" Snow asked. "If you'll walk across to the Town Hall with me I will introduce you to Inspector Glass, and I have no doubt that he will show you what you want to see. But I don't quite understand—."

"My dear sir, there are lots of things in this world that you don't understand yet," Archenfield replied. "There are lots of things I don't understand myself, but, at the same time, I think I have an intelligent grip on the situation. Let's go over and see Inspector Glass."

The official was in his office writing out a report, and was quite willing to give his distinguished visitor all the information that lay in his power. Inspector Glass might have had his own opinions, but he had a profound respect for this distinguished visitor, who had more than once refuted the ingenious theories of Scotland Yard. Without the least hesitation he produced the ring from his safe and passed it across the table for Archenfield's inspection. The latter gave it one swift glance, there was a quick in-drawing of his breath, a flash of his blue eyes, but no further sign.

"Thank you, Inspector," he said. "And now I am going to make a somewhat strange request. Would you mind granting me the loan of that ring for 24 hours?"