"And she, without even turning to look at the accused, said quietly:
""Oh no! your Honour! of course that man is not the Comte de la Tremouille.""
CHAPTER XXVI
A SENSATION
"I can a.s.sure you that the situation was quite dramatic," continued the man in the corner, whilst his funny, claw-like hands took up a bit of string with renewed feverishness.
"In answer to further questions from the magistrate, she declared that she had never seen the accused; he might have been the go-between, however, that she could not say. The letters she received were all typewritten, but signed "Armand de la Tremouille," and certainly the signature was identical with that on the letters she used to receive from him years ago, all of which she had kept.
""And did it never strike you," asked the magistrate with a smile, "that the letters you received might be forgeries?"
""How could they be?" she replied decisively; no one knew of my marriage to the Comte de la Tremouille, no one in England certainly. And, besides, if some one did know the Comte intimately enough to forge his handwriting and to blackmail me, why should that some one have waited all these years? I have been married seven years, your Honour."
"That was true enough, and there the matter rested as far as she was concerned. But the ident.i.ty of Mr. Francis Morton"s a.s.sailant had to be finally established, of course, before the prisoner was committed for trial. Dr. Mellish promised that Mr. Morton would be allowed to come to court for half an hour and identify the accused on the following day, and the case was adjourned until then. The accused was led away between two constables, bail being refused, and Brighton had perforce to moderate its impatience until the Wednesday.
"On that day the court was crowded to overflowing; actors, playwrights, literary men of all sorts had fought for admission to study for themselves the various phases and faces in connection with the case. Mrs. Morton was not present when the prisoner, quiet and self-possessed, was brought in and placed in the dock. His solicitor was with him, and a sensational defence was expected.
"Presently there was a stir in the court, and that certain sound, half rustle, half sigh, which preludes an expected palpitating event. Mr. Morton, pale, thin, wearing yet in his hollow eyes the stamp of those five days of suffering, walked into court leaning on the arm of his doctor-Mrs. Morton was not with him.
"He was at once accommodated with a chair in the witness-box, and the magistrate, after a few words of kindly sympathy, asked him if he had anything to add to his written statement. On Mr. Morton replying in the negative, the magistrate added:
""And now, Mr. Morton, will you kindly look at the accused in the dock and tell me whether you recognize the person who took you to the room in Russell House and then a.s.saulted you?"
"Slowly the sick man turned towards the prisoner and looked at him; then he shook his head and replied quietly:
""No, sir, that certainly was not the man."
""You are quite sure?" asked the magistrate in amazement, while the crowd literally gasped with wonder.
""I swear it," a.s.serted Mr. Morton.
""Can you describe the man who a.s.saulted you?"
""Certainly. He was dark, of swarthy complexion, tall, thin, with bushy eyebrows and thick black hair and short beard. He spoke English with just the faintest suspicion of a foreign accent."
"The prisoner, as I told you before, was English in every feature. English in his ruddy complexion, and absolutely English in his speech.
"After that the case for the prosecution began to collapse. Every one had expected a sensational defence, and Mr. Matthew Quiller, counsel for Skinner, fully justified all these expectations. He had no fewer than four witnesses present who swore positively that at 9.45 a.m. on the morning of Wednesday, March 17th, the prisoner was in the express train leaving Brighton for Victoria.
"Not being endowed with the gift of being in two places at once, and Mr. Morton having added the whole weight of his own evidence in Mr. Edward Skinner"s favour, that gentleman was once more remanded by the magistrate, pending further investigation by the police, bail being allowed this time in two sureties of 50 each."
CHAPTER XXVII
TWO BLACKGUARDS
"Tell me what you think of it," said the man in the corner, seeing that Polly remained silent and puzzled.
"Well," she replied dubiously, "I suppose that the so-called Armand de la Tremouille"s story was true in substance. That he did not perish on the Argentina, but drifted home, and blackmailed his former wife."
"Doesn"t it strike you that there are at least two very strong points against that theory?" he asked, making two gigantic knots in his piece of string.
"Two?"
"Yes. In the first place, if the blackmailer was the "Comte de la Tremouille" returned to life, why should he have been content to take 10,000 from a lady who was his lawful wife, and who could keep him in luxury for the rest of his natural life upon her large fortune, which was close upon a quarter of a million? The real Comte de la Tremouille, remember, had never found it difficult to get money out of his wife during their brief married life, whatever Mr. Morton"s subsequent experience in the same direction might have been. And, secondly, why should he have typewritten his letters to his wife?"
"Because-"
"That was a point which, to my mind, the police never made the most of. Now, my experience in criminal cases has invariably been that when a typewritten letter figures in one, that letter is a forgery. It is not very difficult to imitate a signature, but it is a jolly sight more difficult to imitate a handwriting throughout an entire letter."
"Then, do you think-"
"I think, if you will allow me," he interrupted excitedly, "that we will go through the points-the sensible, tangible points of the case. Firstly: Mr. Morton disappears with 10,000 in his pocket for four entire days; at the end of that time he is discovered loosely tied to an arm-chair, and a wool shawl round his mouth. Secondly: A man named Skinner is accused of the outrage. Mr. Morton, although he himself is able, mind you, to furnish the best defence possible for Skinner, by denying his ident.i.ty with the man who a.s.saulted him, refuses to prosecute. Why?"
"He did not wish to drag his wife"s name into the case."
"He must have known that the Crown would take up the case. Then, again, how is it no one saw him in the company of the swarthy foreigner he described?"
"Two witnesses did see Mr. Morton in company with Skinner," argued Polly.
"Yes, at 9.20 in West Street; that would give Edward Skinner time to catch the 9.45 at the station, and to entrust Mr. Morton with the latch-key of Russell House," remarked the man in the corner dryly.
"What nonsense!" Polly e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.
"Nonsense, is it?" he said, tugging wildly at his bit of string; "is it nonsense to affirm that if a man wants to make sure that his victim shall not escape, he does not usually wind rope "loosely" round his figure, nor does he throw a wool shawl lightly round his mouth. The police were idiotic beyond words; they themselves discovered that Morton was so "loosely" fastened to his chair that very little movement would have disentangled him, and yet it never struck them that nothing was easier for that particular type of scoundrel to sit down in an arm-chair and wind a few yards of rope round himself, then, having wrapped a wool shawl round his throat, to slip his two arms inside the ropes."
"But what object would a man in Mr. Morton"s position have for playing such extraordinary pranks?"
"Ah, the motive! There you are! What do I always tell you? Seek the motive! Now, what was Mr. Morton"s position? He was the husband of a lady who owned a quarter of a million of money, not one penny of which he could touch without her consent, as it was settled on herself, and who, after the terrible way in which she had been plundered and then abandoned in her early youth, no doubt kept a very tight hold upon the purse-strings. Mr. Morton"s subsequent life has proved that he had certain expensive, not altogether avowable, tastes. One day he discovers the old love letters of the "Comte Armand de la Tremouille."
"Then he lays his plans. He typewrites a letter, forges the signature of the erstwhile Count, and awaits events. The fish does rise to the bait. He gets sundry bits of money, and his success makes him daring. He looks round him for an accomplice-clever, unscrupulous, greedy-and selects Mr. Edward Skinner, probably some former pal of his wild oats days.
"The plan was very neat, you must confess. Mr. Skinner takes the room in Russell House, and studies all the manners and customs of his landlady and her servant. He then draws the full attention of the police upon himself. He meets Morton in West Street, then disappears ostensibly after the "a.s.sault." In the meanwhile Morton goes to Russell House. He walks upstairs, talks loudly in the room, then makes elaborate preparations for his comedy."
"Why! he nearly died of starvation!"