"One of the most puzzling cases I ever remember watching," the Old Man in the Corner said to me that day, "was the one known to the public as that of 'The Miser of Maida Vale.' It presented certain altogether novel features, and for once I was willing to admit that, though the police had a very hard nut to crack in the elucidation of the mystery, and in the end failed to find a solution, they were at one time very near putting their finger on the key of the puzzle. If they had only possessed some of that instinct for true facts with which Nature did so kindly endow me, there is no doubt that they would have brought that clever criminal to book."
I wish it were in my power to convey something of that air of ludicrous complacency with which he said this. I could almost hear him purring to himself, like a lean, shabby old cat. He had his inevitable bit of string in his hand, and had been in rapturous contemplation of a series of knots which he had been fashioning until the moment when I sat down beside him and he began to speak. But as soon as he embarked upon his beloved topic he turned his rapturous contemplation on himself. He just sat there and admired himself, and now and again blinked at me, with such an air of self-satisfaction that I longed to say something terribly rude first, and then to flounce out of the place, leaving him to admire himself at his leisure.
But, of course, this could not be. To use the funny creature's own verbiage, Nature had endowed me with the journalistic instinct. I had to listen to him; I had to pick his brains and to get copy out of him. The irresistible desire to learn something new, something that would thrill my editor, as well as my public, compelled me to swallow my impatience, to smile at him—somewhat wryly, perhaps—and then to beg him to proceed.
I was all attention.
"Well," he said, still wearing an irritating air of condescension, "do you remember the case of the old miser of Maida Vale?"
"Only vaguely," I was willing to admit.
"It presented some very interesting features," he went on, blandly, "and assuming that you really only remember them vaguely, I will put them before you as clearly as possible, in order that you may follow my argument more easily later on.
"The victim of the mysterious tragedy was, as no doubt you remember, an eccentric old invalid named Thornton Ashley, the well-known naval constructor, who had made a considerable fortune during the war and then retired, chiefly, it was said, owing to ill-health. He had two sons, one of whom, Charles, was a misshapen, undersized creature, singularly unprepossessing both in appearance and in manner, whilst the other, Philip, was a tall, good-looking fellow, very agreeable and popular wherever he went. Both these young men were bachelors, a fact which, it appears, had been for some time a bone of contention between them and their father. Old Ashley was passionately fond of children, and the one desire of his declining years was to see the grandchildren who would ultimately enjoy the fortune which he had accumulated. Whilst he was ready to admit that Charles, with his many afflictions, did not stand much chance with the fair sex, there was no reason at all why Philip should not marry, and there had been more than one heated quarrel between father and son on that one subject.
"So much so, indeed, that presently Philip cut his stick and went to live in rooms in Jermyn Street. He had a few hundreds a year of his own, left to him by a godmother. He had been to Rugby and to Cambridge, and had been a temporary officer in the war: pending his obtaining some kind of job he settled down to live the life of a smart young bachelor in town, whilst his brother Charles was left to look after the old man, who became more and more eccentric as his health gradually broke up. He sold his fine house in Hyde Park Gardens, his motor, and the bulk of his furniture, and moved into a cheap flat in Maida Vale, where he promptly took to his bed, which he never left again. His eccentricities became more and more pronounced and his temper more and more irascible. He took a violent dislike to strangers, refused to see anybody except his sons and two old friends, Mr. Oldwall, the well-known solicitor, and Dr. Fanshawe-Bigg, who visited him from time to time and whose orders he obstinately refused to obey. Worst of all, as far as the unfortunate Charles was concerned, he became desperately mean, denying himself (and, incidentally, his son) every luxury, subsisting on the barest necessities, and keeping no servant to wait on him except a daily 'char.'
"Soon his miserliness degenerated into a regular mania.
"'Charles and I are saving money for the grand-children you are going to give me one day,' he would say with a chuckle whenever Philip tried to reason with him on the subject of this self-denying ordinance. 'When you have an establishment of your own, you can invite us to come and live with you. There will be plenty then for housekeeping, I promise you!'
"At which the handsome Philip would laugh and shrug his shoulders and go back to his comfortable rooms in Jermyn Street. But no one knew what Charles thought about it all. To an outsider his case must always have appeared singularly pathetic. He had no money of his own and his delicate health had made it impossible for him to take up any profession: he could not cut his stick like his brother Philip had done, but, truth to tell, he did not appear to wish to do so. Perhaps it was real fondness for his father that made him seem contented with his lot. Certain it is that as time went on he became a regular slave to the old man, waiting on him hand and foot, more hard-worked than the daily 'char,' who put on her bonnet and walked out of the flat every day at six o'clock when her work was done, and who had all her Sundays to herself.
"All the relaxation that Charles ever had were alternate week-ends, when his brother Philip would come over and spend Saturday to Monday in the flat taking charge of the invalid. On those occasions Charles would get on an old bicycle, and with just a few shillings in his pocket which he had saved during the past fortnight out of the meagre housekeeping allowance which he handled, he would go off for the day somewhere into the country, nobody ever knew where. Then on Monday morning he would return to the flat in Maida Vale, ready to take up his slave's yoke, to all appearances with a light heart.
"'Charles Ashley is wise,' the gossiping acquaintances would say, 'he sticks to the old miser. Thornton Ashley can't live for ever, and Oldwall says that he is worth close on a quarter of a million.'
"Philip, on the other hand, could have had no illusions with regard to his father's testamentary intentions. The bone of contention—Philip's celibacy—was still there, making bad blood between father and son; more than once the old miser had said to him with a sardonic grin: 'Let me see you married soon, my boy, and with a growing family around you, or I tell you that my money shall go to that fool Charles, or to the founding of an orphan asylum or the establishment of a matrimonial agency.'
"Mr. Oldwall, the solicitor, a very old friend of the Ashleys, and who had seen the two boys grow up, threw out as broad a hint to Philip on that same subject as professional honour allowed.
"'Your father,' he said to him one day, 'has got that mania for saving money, but otherwise he is perfectly sane, you know. He'll never forgive you if you don't gratify his wish to see you married. Hang it all, man, there are plenty of nice girls about. And what on earth would poor old Charles do with a quarter of a million, I'd like to know.'
"But for a long time Philip remained obstinate and his friends knew well enough the cause of this obstinacy; it had its root in a pre-war romance. Philip Ashley had been in love—some say that he had actually been engaged to her—with a beautiful girl, Muriel Balleine, the daughter of the eminent surgeon, Sir Arnold Balleine. The two young people were thought to be devoted to one another. But the lovely Muriel had, as it turned out, another admirer in Sir Wilfred Peet-Jackson, the wealthy shipowner, who worshipped her in secret. Philip Ashley and Wilfred Peet-Jackson were great friends; they had been at school and 'Varsity together. In 1915 they both obtained a commission in the Coldstreams and in 1916 Peet-Jackson was very severely wounded. He was sent home to be nursed by the beautiful Muriel in her father's hospital in Grosvenor Square. His case had already been pronounced hopeless, and Sir Arnold himself, as well as other equally eminent surgeons, gave it as their opinion that the unfortunate young man could not live more than a few months—if that.
"We must then take it that pity and romance played their part in the events that ensued. Certain it is that London society was one day thrilled to read in its Times that Miss Muriel Balleine had been married the previous morning to Sir Wilfred Peet-Jackson, the wealthy shipowner and owner of lovely Deverill Castle in Northamptonshire. Her friends at once put it about that Muriel had only yielded to a dying man's wish, and that there was nothing mercenary or calculating in this unexpected marriage; she probably would be a widow within a very short time and free to return to her original love and to marry Philip Ashley. But in this case, like in so many others in life, the unexpected occurred. Sir Wilfred Peet-Jackson did not die—not just then. He lived six years after the doctors had said that he must die in six months. He remained an invalid and he and his beautiful wife spent their winters in the Canaries and their summers in Switzerland, but Muriel did not become a widow until 1922, and Philip Ashley all that time never looked at another girl; he was even willing to allow a fortune to slip away from him, because he always hoped that the woman whom he had never ceased to worship would be his wife one day.
"Probably old Ashley knew all that; probably he hated the idea that this one woman should spoil his son's life for always; probably he thought that threat of disinheritance would bring Philip back out of the realms of romance to the realities of life. All this we shall never know. The old man spoke to no one about that, not even to Mr. Oldwall, possibly not even to Charles. By the time that Sir Wilfred Peet-Jackson had died and Philip had announced his engagement to the beautiful widow, Thornton Ashley was practically a dying man. However, he did have the satisfaction before he died of hearing the good news. Philip told him of his engagement one Saturday in May when he came for his usual fortnightly week-end visit. Strangely enough, although the old man must have been delighted at this tardy realisation of his life's desire, he did not after that make any difference in his mode of life. He remained just as irascible, just as difficult, and every bit as mean as he had always been; he never asked to see his future daughter-in-law, whom he had known in the past, though she did come once or twice to see him; nor did he encourage Philip to come and see him any more frequently than he had done before. The only indication he ever gave that he was pleased with the engagement was an obvious impatience to see the wedding-day fixed as soon as possible, and one day he worked himself up into a state of violent passion because Philip told him that Lady Peet-Jackson was bound to let a full year lapse before she married again, out of respect for poor Wilfred's memory.
"Of course a good deal of gossip was concentrated on all these events. Although Thornton Ashley had, for the past three years, cut himself adrift from all social intercourse, past friends and acquaintances had not altogether forgotten him, whilst Philip Ashley and Lady Peet-Jackson had always been well-known figures in a certain set in London. It was not likely, therefore, that their affairs would not be discussed and commented on at tea-parties and in the clubs. Philip Ashley was exalted to the position of a hero. By his marriage he would at last grasp the fortune which he had so obstinately and romantically evaded: true love was obtaining its just reward, and so on. Lady Peet-Jackson, on the other hand, was not quite so leniently dealt with by the gossips. It was now generally averred that she had originally thrown Philip Ashley over only because Peet-Jackson was a very rich man and had a handle to his name, and that she was only returning to her former lover now because Thornton Ashley had already one foot in the grave, and was reputed to be worth a quarter of a million.
"I have a photograph here," the Old Man in the Corner went on, and threw a bundle of newspaper cuttings down before me, "of Lady Peet-Jackson. As no doubt you will admit, she is very beautiful, but the face is hard; looking at it one feels instinctively that she is not a woman who would stand by a man in case of trouble or disgrace. But it is difficult to judge from these smudgy reproductions, and there is no doubt that Philip Ashley was madly in love with her. That she had enemies, especially amongst those of her own sex, was only natural in view of the fact that she was exceptionally beautiful, had made one brilliant marriage, and was on the point of making another.
"But the two romantic lovers were not the sole food of the gossip-mongers. There was the position of Charles Ashley to be discussed and talked over. What was going to become of him? How would he take this change in his fortune? If rumour, chiefly based on Mr. Oldwall's indiscretions, was correct, he would be losing that reputed quarter of a million if Philip's marriage came off. But in this case gossip had to rest satisfied with conjectures. No one ever saw Charles, and Philip, when questioned about him, had apparently very little to say.
"'Charles is a queer fish,' he would reply. 'I don't profess to know what goes on inside him. He seems delighted at the prospect of my marriage, but he doesn't say much. He is very shy and very sensitive about his deformity, and he won't see any one now, not even Muriel.'
"And thus the stage was set," the funny creature continued with a fatuous grin, "for the mysterious tragedy which has puzzled the public and the police as much as the friends of the chief actors in the drama. It was set for the scene of Philip Ashley's marriage to Muriel Lady Peet-Jackson, which was to take place very quietly at St. Saviour's, Warwick Road, early in the following year.
"On the twenty-seventh of August old Thornton Ashley died, that is to say he was found dead in his bed by his son Charles, who had returned that morning from his fortnightly week-end holiday. The cause of death was not in question at first, though Dr. Fanshawe-Bigg was out of town at the moment, his locum tenens knew all about the case, and had seen the invalid on the Thursday preceding his death. In accordance with the amazing laws of this country, he gave the necessary certificate without taking a last look at the dead man, and Thornton Ashley would no doubt have been buried then and there, without either fuss or ceremony, but for the amazing events which thereupon followed one another in quick succession.
"The funeral had been fixed for Thursday, the thirtieth, but within twenty-four hours of the old miser's death it had already transpired that he had indeed left a considerable fortune, which included one or two substantial life insurances, and that the provisions of his will were very much as Philip Ashley and his friends had surmised. After sundry legacies to various charitable institutions concerned with the care of children, Thornton Ashley had left the residue of his personalty to whichever of his sons was first married within a year from the time of the testator's death, the other son receiving an annuity of three hundred pounds. This clearly was aimed at Philip, as poor misshapen Charles had always been thought to be out of the running. Moreover, a further clause in the will directed that in the event of both the testator's sons being still unmarried within that given time, then the whole of the residue was to go to Charles, with an annuity of one hundred pounds to Philip and a sum of ten thousand pounds for the endowment of an orphan asylum at the discretion of the Charity Organisation Society.
"There were a few conjectures as to whether Charles Ashley, who, by his brother's impending marriage, would be left with a paltry three hundred pounds a year, would contest his father's will on the grounds of non compos mentis, but, as you know, it is always very difficult in this country to upset a will, and the provisions of this particular one were so entirely in accord with the wishes expressed by the deceased on every possible occasion, that the plea that he was of unsound mind when he made it would never have been upheld, quite apart from the fact that Mr. Oldwall, who drew up the will and signed it as one of the witnesses, would have repudiated any suggestion that his client was anything but absolutely sane at the time.
"Everything then appeared quite smooth and above board when suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, came the demand from the Insurance Company in which the late Mr. Thornton Ashley had a life policy for forty thousand pounds for a post-mortem examination, the company not being satisfied that the deceased had died a natural death. Naturally, Dr. Percy Jutt, who had signed the death certificate, was furious, but he was overruled by the demands of the Insurance Company, backed by no less a person than Charles Ashley. Indeed, it soon transpired that it was in consequence of certain statements made by Mr. Triscott, a local solicitor, on behalf of Charles Ashley to the general manager of the company, that the latter took action in the matter.
"Philip Ashley, through his solicitor, Mr. Oldwall, and backed by Dr. Jutt, might perhaps have opposed the proceedings, but quite apart from the fact that opposition from that quarter would have been impolitic, it probably also would have been unsuccessful. Anyway, the sensation-mongers had quite a titbit to offer to the public that afternoon; the evening papers came out before midday with flaring headlines: 'The mystery miser of Maida Vale.' Also, 'Sensational developments,' and 'Sinister Rumours.'
"By four o'clock in the afternoon some of the papers had it that a post-mortem examination of the body of the late Mr. Thornton Ashley had been conducted by Dr. Dawson, the divisional surgeon, and that it had revealed the fact that the old miser had not died a natural death, traces of violence having been discovered on the body. It was understood that the police were already in possession of certain facts and that the coroner of the district would hold an inquest on Thursday, the thirtieth, the very day on which the funeral was to have taken place.”
"Now I have attended many an inquest in my day," the Old Man in the Corner continued after a brief pause, during which his claw-like fingers worked away with feverish energy at his bit of string, "but seldom have I been present at a more interesting one. There were so many surprises, such an unexpected turn of events, that one was kept on tenterhooks the whole time as to what would happen next.
"Even to those who were in the know, the witnesses in themselves were a surprise. Of course, every one knew Mr. Oldwall, the solicitor and life-long friend of old Thornton Ashley, and the divisional surgeon, whose evidence would be interesting; then there was poor Charles Ashley and his handsome brother, Philip, now the owner of a magnificent fortune, whose romantic history had more than once been paragraphed in the Press. But what in the world had Mr. Triscott, a local lawyer whom nobody knew, and Mrs. Trapp, a slatternly old 'char,' to do with the case? And there was also Dr. Percy Jutt, who had not come out of the case with flying professional colours, and who must have cursed the day when he undertook the position of locum tenens for Dr. Fanshawe-Bigg.
"The proceedings began with the sensational evidence of Dr. Dawson, the divisional surgeon, who had conducted the post-mortem. He stated that the deceased had been in an advanced state of uræmia, but this had not actually been the cause of death. Death was due to heart failure, caused by fright and shock, following on violent aggression and an attempt at strangulation. There were marks round the throat, and evidences of a severe blow having been dealt on the face and cranium causing concussion. In the patient's weak state of health, shock and fright had affected the heart's action with fatal results.
"All the while that the divisional surgeon gave evidence, going into technical details which the layman could not understand, Dr. Percy Jutt had obvious difficulty to control himself. He had a fidgety, nervous way with him and was constantly biting his nails. When he, in his turn, entered the witness-box, he was as white as a sheet and tried to hide his nervousness behind a dictatorial, blustering manner. In answer to the coroner, he explained that he had been acting as locum tenens for Dr. Fanshawe-Bigg, who was away on his holiday. He had visited the deceased once or twice during the past fortnight, and had last seen him on the Thursday preceding his death. Dr. Fanshawe-Bigg had left him a few notes on the case.
"'I found,' he went on to explain, 'the deceased in an advanced stage of uræmia, and there was very little that I could do, more especially as I was made to understand that my visits were not particularly wanted. On the Thursday, deceased was in a very drowsy state, this being one of the best-known symptoms of the disease, and I didn't think that he could live much longer. I told Mr. Charles Ashley so; at the same time, I did not think that the end would come quite so soon. However, I was not particularly surprised when on the Monday morning I received a visit from Mr. Charles Ashley who told me that his father was dead. I found him very difficult to understand,' Dr. Jutt continued, in reply to a question from the coroner, 'emotion had, I thought, addled his speech a little. He may have tried to tell me something in connection with his father's death, but I was so rushed with work that morning, and, as I say, I was fully prepared for the event, that all I could do was to promise to come round some time during the day, and, in the meanwhile, in order to facilitate arrangements for the funeral, I gave the necessary certificate. I was entirely within my rights,' he concluded, with somewhat aggressive emphasis, 'and, as far as I can recollect, Mr. Charles Ashley said nothing that in any way led me to think that there was anything wrong.'
"Mr. Oldwall, the solicitor, was the next witness called, and his testimony was unimportant to the main issue. He had drafted the late Mr. Thornton Ashley's will in 1919, and had last seen him alive before starting on a short holiday some time in June. Deceased had just heard then of his son's engagement and witness thought him looking wonderfully better and brighter than he had been for a long time.
"'Mr. Ashley,' the coroner asked, 'didn't say anything to you then about any alteration to his will?'
"'Most emphatically, no!' the witness replied.
"'Or at any time?'
"'At no time,' Mr. Oldwall asserted.
"These questions put by the coroner in quick succession had, figuratively speaking, made every one sit up. Up to now the general public had not been greatly interested, one had made up one's mind that the old miser had kept certain sums of money, after the fashion of his kind, underneath his mattress; that some evil-doer had got wind of this and entered the flat when no one was about, giving poor Thornton Ashley a fright that had cost him his life.
"But with this reference to some possible alteration in the will the case at once appeared more interesting. Suddenly one felt on the alert, excitement was in the air, and when the next witness, a middle-aged, dapper little man, wearing spectacles, a grey suit and white spats, stood up to answer questions put to him by the coroner, a suppressed gasp of anticipatory delight went round the circle of spectators.
"The witness gave his name as James Triscott, solicitor, of Warwick Avenue. He said that he had known the deceased slightly, having seen him on business in connection with the lease of 73, Malvine Mansions, the landlord being a client of his. On the previous Friday, that is, the twenty-fourth, witness received a note written in a crabbed hand and signed, 'A. Thornton Ashley,' asking him to call at Malvine Mansions any time during the day. This Mr. Triscott did that same afternoon. The door was opened by Mr. Charles Ashley whom he had also met once or twice before, who showed him into the room where the deceased lay in bed, obviously very ill, but perfectly conscious and reasonable.
"'After some preliminary talk,' the witness went on, 'the deceased explained to me that he was troubled in his mind about a will which he had made some four years previously, and which had struck him of late as being both harsh and unjust. He desired to make a new will, revoking the previous one. I naturally told him that I was entirely at his service, and he then dictated his wishes to me. I made notes and promised to have the will ready for his signature by Monday. The thought of this delay annoyed him considerably, and he pressed me hard to have everything ready for him by the next day. Unfortunately, I couldn't do that. I was obliged to go off into the country that evening on business for another client, and couldn't possibly be back before midday Saturday, when my clerk and typist would both be gone. All I could do was to promise faithfully to call again on Monday at eleven o'clock with the will quite ready for signature. I said I would bring my clerk with me, who could then sign as a witness.
"'I quite saw the urgency of the business,' Mr. Triscott went on in his brisk, rather consequential way, 'as the poor old gentleman certainly looked very ill. Before I left he asked me to let him at least have a copy of my notes before I went away this evening. This I was able to promise him. I got my clerk to copy the notes and to take them round to the flat later on in the day.'
"I can assure you," the Old Man in the Corner said, "that while that dapper little man was talking, you might have heard the proverbial pin drop amongst the public. You see, this was the first that any one had ever heard of any alteration in old Ashley's will, and Mr. Triscott's evidence opened up a vista of exciting situations that was positively dazzling. When he ceased speaking, you might almost have heard the sensation-mongers licking their chops like a lot of cats after a first bite at a succulent meal; glances were exchanged, but not a word spoken, and presently a sigh of eagerness went round when the coroner put the question which every one had been anticipating:
"'Have you got the notes, Mr. Triscott, which you took from the late Mr. Thornton Ashley's dictation?'
"At which suggestion Mr. Oldwall jumped up, objecting that such evidence was inadmissible. There was some legal argument between him and the coroner, during which Mr. Triscott, still standing in the witness-box, beamed at his colleague and at the public generally through his spectacles. In the end the jury decided the point by insisting on having the notes read out to them.
"Briefly, by the provisions of the new will, which was destined never to be signed, the miser left his entire fortune, with the exception of the same trifling legacies and of an annuity of a thousand pounds a year to Philip, to his son Charles absolutely, in grateful recognition for years of unflagging devotion to an eccentric and crabbed invalid. Mr. Triscott explained that on the Monday morning he had the document quite ready by eleven o'clock, and that he walked round with it to Malvine Mansions, accompanied by his clerk. Great was his distress when he was met at the door by Charles Ashley, who told him that old Mr. Thornton Ashley was dead.
"That was the substance of Mr. Triscott's evidence, and I can assure you that even I was surprised at the turn which events had taken. You know what the sensation-mongers are; within an hour of the completion of Mr. Triscott's evidence, it was all over London that Mr. Philip Ashley had murdered his father in order to prevent his signing a will that would deprive him—Philip—of a fortune. That is the way of the world," the funny creature added with a cynical smile. "Philip's popularity went down like a sail when the wind suddenly drops, and in a moment public sympathy was all on the side of Charles, who had been done out of a fortune by a grasping and unscrupulous brother.
"But there was more to come.
"The next witness called was Mrs. Triscott, the wife of the dapper little solicitor, and her presence here in connection with the death of old Thornton Ashley seemed as surprising at first as that of her husband had been. She looked a hard, rather common, but capable woman, and after she had replied to the coroner's preliminary questions, she plunged into her story in a quiet, self-assured manner. She began by explaining that she was a trained nurse, but had given up her profession since her marriage. Now and again, however, either in an emergency or to oblige a friend, she had taken care of a patient.
"'On Friday evening last,' she continued, 'Mr. Triscott, who was just going off into the country on business, said to me that he had a client in the neighbourhood who was very ill, and about whom, for certain reasons, he felt rather anxious. He went on to say that he was chiefly sorry for the son, a delicate man, who was sadly deformed. Would I, like a good Samaritan, go and look after the sick man during the weekend? It seems that the doctor had ordered absolute rest, and Mr. Triscott feared that there might be some trouble with another son because, as a matter of fact, the old man had decided to alter his will.
"'I knew nothing about Mr. Thornton Ashley's family affairs,' the witness said, in reply to a question put to her by the coroner, and calmly ignoring the sensation which her statement was causing, 'beyond what I have just told you that Mr. Triscott said to me, but I agreed to go to Malvine Mansions and see if I could be of any use. I arrived at the flat on Friday evening and saw at once what the invalid was suffering from. I had nursed cases of uræmia before, and I could see that the poor old man had not many more days to live. Still I did not think that the end was imminent. Mr. Charles Ashley, who had welcomed me most effusively, looked to need careful nursing almost as much as his father did. He told me that he had not slept for three nights, so I just packed him off to bed and spent the night in an armchair in the patient's room.
"'The next morning Mr. Philip Ashley arrived and I was told of the arrangement whereby Mr. Charles got a week-end holiday once a fortnight. I welcomed the idea for his sake, and as he seemed very anxious about his father, and remembering what my husband had told me, I promised that I would stay on in the flat until his return on the Monday. Thus only was I able to persuade him to go off on his much-needed holiday. Directly he had gone, however, I thought it my duty to explain to Mr. Philip Ashley that really his father was very ill. He was only conscious intermittently and that in such cases the only thing that could be done was to keep the patient absolutely quiet. It was the only way, I added, to prolong life and to ensure a painless and peaceful death.
"'Mr. Philip Ashley,' the witness continued, 'appeared more annoyed than distressed, when I told him this, and asked me by whose authority I was here, keeping him out of his father's room, and so on. He also asked me several peremptory questions as to who had visited his father lately, and when I told him that I was the wife of a well-known solicitor in the neighbourhood, he looked for a moment as if he would give way to a violent fit of rage. However, I suppose he thought better of it, and presently I took him into the patient's room, who was asleep just then, begging him on no account to disturb the sufferer.
"'After he had seen his father, Mr. Ashley appeared more ready to admit that I was acting for the best. However, he asked me—rather rudely, I thought, considering that the patient was nothing to me and I was not getting paid for my services—how long I proposed staying in the flat. I told him that I would wait here until his brother's return, which I was afraid would not be before ten o'clock on Monday morning. Whereupon he picked up his hat, gave me a curt good-day, and walked out of the flat.
"'To my astonishment,' the witness now said amidst literally breathless silence on the part of the spectators, 'it had only just gone eight on the Monday morning, when Mr. Philip Ashley turned up once more. I must say that I was rather pleased to see him. I was expecting Mr. Triscott home and had a lot to do in my own house. The patient, who had rallied wonderfully the last two days, had just gone off into a comfortable sleep, and as I knew that Mr. Charles would be back soon, I felt quite justified in going off duty and leaving Mr. Philip in charge, with strict injunctions that he was on no account to disturb the patient. If he woke, he might be given a little barley-water first and then some beef-tea, all of which I had prepared and put ready. My intention was directly I got home to telephone to Dr. Jutt and ask him to look in at Malvine Mansions some time during the morning. Unfortunately, when I got home I had such a lot to do, that, frankly, I forgot to telephone to the doctor, and before the morning was over Mr. Triscott had come home with the news that old Mr. Thornton Ashley was dead.'
"This," the Old Man in the Corner continued, "was the gist of Mrs. Triscott's evidence at that memorable inquest. Of course, there were some dramatic incidents during the course of her examination; glances exchanged between Philip Ashley and Mr. Oldwall, and between him and the dapper little Mr. Triscott. The latter, I must tell you, still beamed on everybody; he looked inordinately proud of his capable, business-like wife, and very pleased with the prominence which he had attained through this mysterious and intricate case.
"The luncheon interval gave us all a respite from the tension that had kept our nerves strung up all morning. I don't think that Philip Ashley, for one, ate much lunch that day. I noticed, by the way, that he and Mr. Oldwall went off together, whilst Mr. and Mrs. Triscott took kindly charge of poor Charles. I caught sight of the three of them subsequently in a blameless teashop. Charles was indeed a pathetic picture to look upon; he looked the sort of man who lives on his nerves, with no flesh on his poor, misshapen bones, and a hungry, craving expression in his eyes, as in those of an under-fed dog.
"We had his evidence directly after luncheon. But, as a matter of fact, he had not much to say. He had last seen his father alive on the Saturday morning when he went off on his fortnightly week-end holiday. He had bicycled to Dorking and spent his time there at the Running Footman, as he had often done before. He was well known in the place. On Monday morning he made an early start and got to Malvine Mansions soon after ten and let himself into the flat with his latch-key. He expected to find his brother or Mrs. Triscott there, but there was no one. He then went into his father's room, and at first thought that the old man was only asleep. The blinds were down and the room very dark. He drew up the blind and went back to his father's bedside. Then only did he realise that the old man was dead. Though he was very ignorant in such matters, he thought that there was something strange about the dead man, and he tried to explain this to Dr. Jutt. But the latter seemed too busy to attend to him, so when Mr. Triscott came to call later on, he told him of this strange feeling that troubled him. Mr. Triscott then thought that as Dr. Jutt seemed so indifferent about the matter, it might be best to see the police.
"'But this,' Charles Ashley explained, 'I refused to do, and then Mr. Triscott asked me if I knew whether my dear father had any life insurances, and if so, in what company. I was able to satisfy him on that point, as I had heard him speak with Mr. Oldwall about a life policy he had in the Empire of India Life Insurance Company. Mr. Triscott then told me to leave the matter to him, which I was only too glad to do.'
"Witness was asked if he knew anything of his father's intentions with regard to altering his will, and to this he gave an emphatic 'No!' He explained that he had taken a note from his father to Mr. Triscott on the Friday and that he had seen Mr. Triscott when the latter called at the flat that afternoon, but when the coroner asked him whether he knew what passed between his father and the lawyer on that occasion, he again gave an emphatic 'No!'
"He had accepted gratefully Mr. Triscott's suggestion that Mrs. Triscott should come over for the weekend to take charge of the invalid; but he declared that this arrangement was in no way a reflection upon his brother. On the whole, then, Charles Ashley made a favourable impression upon the public and jury for his clear and straightforward evidence. The only time when he hesitated—and did so very obviously—was when the coroner asked him whether he knew of any recent disagreement between his father and his brother Philip, a disagreement which might have led to Mr. Thornton Ashley's decision to alter his will. Charles Ashley did hesitate at this point, and, though he was hard-pressed by the coroner, he only gave ambiguous replies, and when he had completed his evidence, he left one under the impression that he might have said something if he would, and that but for his many afflictions the coroner would probably have pressed him much harder.
"This impression was confirmed by the evidence of the next witness, a Mrs. Trapp, who had been the daily 'char' at Malvine Mansions. She began by explaining to the coroner that she had done the work at the flat for the past two years. At first she used to come every morning for a couple of hours with the exception of Sundays, but for the last two months or so she came on the Sundays, but stayed away on the Mondays; on Wednesdays she stayed the whole day, until about six, as Mr. Charles always did a lot of shopping those afternoons.
"Asked whether she remembered what happened at the flat on the Wednesday preceding Mr. Thornton Ashley's death, she said that she did remember quite well Mr. Philip Ashley called; he did do that sometimes on a Wednesday, when his brother was out. He stayed about an hour and, in Mrs. Trapp's picturesque language, he and his father 'carried on awful!'
"'I couldn't 'ear what they said,' Mrs. Trapp explained, with eager volubility, 'but I could 'ear the ole gentleman screaming. I 'ad 'eard 'im storm like that at Mr. Philip once before—about a month ago. But Lor' bless you, Mr. Philip 'e didn't seem to care, and on Wednesday, when I let 'im out of the flat 'e just looked quite cheerful like. But the ole gentleman 'e was angry. I 'ad to give 'im a nip o' brandy, 'e was sort o' shaken after Mr. Philip went.'
"You see then, don't you?" the Old Man in the Corner said with a grim chuckle, "how gradually a network of sinister evidence was being woven around Philip Ashley. He himself was conscious of it, and he was conscious also of the wave of hostility that was rising up against him. He looked now, not only grave, but decidedly anxious, and he held his arms tightly crossed over his chest, as if in the act of making a physical effort to keep his nerves under control.
"He gave me the impression of a man who would hate any kind of publicity, and the curious, eager looks that were cast upon him, especially by the women, must have been positive torture to a sensitive man. However, he looked a handsome and manly figure as he stood up to answer the questions put to him by the coroner. He said that he had arrived at the flat on the Saturday at about mid-day, explaining to the jury that he always came once a fortnight to be with his father, whilst his brother Charles enjoyed a couple of days in the country. On this occasion, however, he was told that his father was too ill to see him. Charles, however, went off on his bicycle as usual, but contrary to precedent, a lady had apparently been left in charge of the invalid. Witness understood that this was Mrs. Triscott, the wife of a neighbour, who had kindly volunteered to stay over the week-end. She was an experienced nurse and would know what to do in case the patient required anything. For the moment he was asleep and must not be disturbed.
"'I naturally felt very vexed,' the witness continued, 'at being kept out of my father's room, and I may have spoken rather sharply at the moment, but I flatly deny that I was rude to Mrs. Triscott, or that I was in a violent rage. I did get a glimpse of my father, as he lay in bed, and I must say that I did not think that he looked any worse than he had been all along. However, I was not going to argue the point. I preferred to wait until the Monday morning when my brother would be home, and I could tackle him on the subject.'
"At this point the coroner desired to know why, in that case, when the witness was told that his brother would not be at the flat before ten o'clock, he turned up there as early as half-past eight.
"'Because,' the witness replied, 'I was naturally rather anxious to know how things were, and because I hoped to get a day on the river with a friend, and to make an early start if possible. However, when I got to the flat, Mrs. Triscott wanted to get away, and so I agreed to stay there and wait until ten o'clock, when, so Mrs. Triscott assured me, my brother would certainly be home. As a matter of fact he always used to get home at that hour with clockwork regularity on the Monday mornings after his holiday. My father was asleep, and Mrs. Triscott left me instructions what to do in case he required anything. At half-past nine he woke. I heard him stirring and I went into his room and gave him some barley-water and sat with him for a little while. He seemed quite cheerful and good-tempered, and, honestly, I did not think that he was any worse than he had been for weeks. Just before ten o'clock he dropped off to sleep again. I knew that my brother would be in within the next half hour and, as this would not be the first time that my father had been left alone in the flat, I did not think that I should be doing anything wrong by leaving him. I went back to my chambers and was busy making arrangements for the day when I had a telephone message from my brother that our father was dead.'
"Questioned by the coroner as to the disagreement which he had had with his father on the previous Wednesday, Mr. Philip Ashley indignantly repudiated the idea that there was any quarrel.
"'My father,' he said, 'had a very violent temper and a very harsh, penetrating voice. He certainly did get periodically angry with me whenever I explained to him that my marriage to Lady Peet-Jackson could not, in all decency, take place for at least another six months. He would storm and shriek for a little while,' the witness went on, 'but we invariably parted the best of friends.'"
The Old Man in the Corner paused for a little while, leaving me both interested and puzzled. I was trying to piece together what I remembered of the case with what he had just told me, and I was longing to hear his explanation of the events which followed that memorable inquest. After a little while the funny creature resumed:
"I told you," he said, "that a wave of hostility had risen in the public mind against Philip Ashley. It came from a sense of sympathy for the other son, who, deformed and afflicted, had been done out of a fortune. True that it would not have been of much use to him, and that in the original will ample provision had been made for his modest wants, but it now seemed as if, at the eleventh hour, the old miser had thought to make reparation toward the son who had given up his whole life to him, whilst the other had led one of leisure, independence, and gaiety. What had caused old Thornton Ashley thus to change his mind was never conclusively proved; there were some rumours already current that Philip Ashley was in debt and had appealed to his father for money, a fatal thing to do with a miser. But this also was never actually proved. The only persons who could have enlightened the jury on the subject were Philip Ashley himself and his brother, Charles, but each of them, for reasons of his own, chose to remain silent.
"And now you will no doubt recall the fact which finally determined the jury to bring in their sensational verdict, in consequence of which Philip Ashley was arrested on the coroner's warrant on a charge of attempted murder. It seemed horrible, ununderstandable, unbelievable, but, nevertheless, a jury of twelve men did arrive at that momentous decision after deliberation lasting less than half an hour. What I believe weighed with them in the end was the fact that the assistant who came with the divisional surgeon to conduct the post-mortem found underneath the bed of the deceased, a walking-stick with a crook-handle, and the crumpled and torn copy of the notes for the new will which Mr. Triscott had prepared. Philip Ashley when confronted with the stick admitted that it was his. He had missed it on the Saturday when he was leaving the flat, as he was under the impression that he had brought one with him; however, he did not want to spend any more time looking for it, as he was obviously so very much in the way.
"Now, both the charwoman and Mrs. Triscott swore that the patient's room had been cleaned and tidied on the Sunday, and that there was no sign of a walking-stick in the room then.
"And so," the Old Man in the Corner went on, with a cynical shrug of his lean shoulders, "Philip Ashley went through the terrible ordeal of being hauled up before the magistrate on the charge of having attempted to murder his father, an old man with one foot in the grave. He pleaded 'Not Guilty,' and reserved his defence. The whole of the evidence was gone through all over again, of course, but nothing new had transpired. The case was universally thought to look very black against the accused, and no one was surprised when he was eventually committed for trial.
"Public feeling remained distinctly hostile to him. It was a crime so horrible and so unique you would have thought that no one would have believed that a well-known, well-educated man could possibly have been guilty of it. Probably, if the event had occurred before the war, public opinion would have repudiated the possibility, but so many horrible crimes have occurred in every country these past few years that one was just inclined to shrug one's shoulders and murmur: 'Perhaps, one never knows!' One thing remained beyond a doubt: old Mr. Thornton Ashley died of shock or fright following a violent and dastardly assault, finger-marks were discovered round his throat, and there were evidences on his face and head that he had been repeatedly struck with what might easily have been the walking-stick which was found under his bed. Add to this the weight of evidence of the new will, about to be signed, and of the quarrel between father and son on the previous Wednesday, and you have as good a motive for the murder as any prosecuting counsel might wish for. Philip Ashley would not, of course, hang for murder, but it was even betting that he would get twenty years.
"Anyway, I don't think that, as things were, any one blamed Lady Peet-Jackson for her decision. A week before Philip Ashley's trial came on she announced her engagement to Lord Francis Firmour, son of the Marquis of Ettridge, whom she subsequently married.
"But Philip Ashley was acquitted—you remember that? He was acquitted because Sir Arthur Inglewood was his counsel, and Sir Arthur is the finest criminal lawyer we possess; and, because the evidence against him was entirely circumstantial, it was demolished by his counsel with masterly skill. Whatever might be said on the subject of 'motive,' there was nothing whatever to prove that the accused knew anything of his father's intentions with regard to a new will; and there was only a charwoman's word to say that he had quarrelled with his father on that memorable Wednesday.
"On the other hand, there was Mr. Oldwall and Dr. Fanshawe-Bigg, old friends of the deceased, both swearing positively that Thornton Ashley had a peculiarly shrill and loud voice, that he would often get into passions about nothing at all, when he would scream and storm, and yet mean nothing by it. The only evidence of any tangible value was the walking-stick but even that was not enough to blast a man's life with such a monstrous suspicion.
"Philip Ashley was acquitted, but there are not many people who followed that case closely who believed him altogether innocent at the time. What Lady Peet-Jackson thought about it no one knows. It was for her sake that the unfortunate man threw up the chances of a fortune, and when it came within his grasp it still seemed destined to evade him to the end. In losing the woman for whom he had been prepared to make so many sacrifices, poor Philip lost the fortune a second time, because, as he was not married within the prescribed time-limit, it was Charles who inherited under the terms of the original will. But I think you will agree with me that any sensitive man is well out of a union with a hard and mercenary woman.
"And now there has been another revolution in the wheel of Fate. Charles Ashley died the other day in a nursing home of heart failure, following an operation. He died intestate, and his brother is his sole heir. Funny, isn't it, that Philip Ashley should get his father's fortune in the end? But Fate does have a way sometimes of dealing out compensations, after she has knocked a man about beyond his deserts. Philip Ashley is a rich man now, and there is a rumour, I am told, current in the society papers, that Lady Francis Firmour has filed a petition for divorce, and that the proceedings will be undefended. But can you imagine any man marrying such a woman after all that she made him suffer?"
Then, as the funny creature paused and appeared entirely engrossed in the fashioning of complicated knots in his beloved bit of string, I felt that it was my turn to keep the ball rolling.
"Then you, for one," I said, "are quite convinced that Philip Ashley did not know that his father intended to make a new will, and did not try to murder him?"
"Aren't you?" he retorted.
"Well," I rejoined, somewhat lamely, "some one did assault the old miser, didn't they? If it was not Philip Ashley then it must have been just an ordinary burglar, who thought that the old man had some money hidden away under his mattress."
"Can't you theorise more intelligently than that?" the tiresome creature asked in his very rude and cynical manner. I would gladly have slapped his face, only—I did want to know.
"Your own theory," I retorted, choosing to ignore his impertinence, "seek him first whom the crime benefits."
"Well, and whom did that particular crime benefit the most?"
"Philip Ashley, of course," I replied, "but you said yourself——"
"Philip Ashley did not benefit by the crime," the old scarecrow broke in, with a dry cackle. "No, no, but for the fact that a merciful Providence removed Charles Ashley so very unexpectedly out of this wicked world, Philip would still be living on a few hundreds a year, most of which he would owe to the munificence of his brother."
"That," I argued, "was only because that Peet-Jackson woman threw him over, otherwise——"
"And why did she throw him over? Because old Thornton Ashley died under mysterious circumstances, and Philip Ashley was under a cloud because of it. Any one could have foreseen that that particular woman would throw him over the very moment that suspicion fell upon him."
"But Charles——" I began.
"Exactly," he broke in, excitedly, "it was Charles who benefited by the crime. It was he who inherited the fortune."
"But, by the new will he would have inherited anyhow. Then, why in the world——"
"You surely don't believe in that new will, do you? The way in which I marshalled the facts before you ought to have paved the way for more intelligent reasoning."
"But Mr. Triscott——" I argued.
"Ah, yes," he said, "Mr. Triscott—exactly. The whole thing could only be done in partnership, I admit. But does not everything point to a partnership in what, to my mind, is one of the ugliest crimes in our records? You ought to be able to follow the workings of Charles Ashley's mind, a mind as tortuous as the body that held it. Let me put the facts once more briefly before you. While Philip obstinately remained a bachelor, all was well. Charles stuck to the old miser, carefully watching over his interests lest they become jeopardised. But presently, Lady Peet-Jackson became a widow and Philip gaily announced his engagement. From that hour Charles, of course, must have seen the fortune on which he had already counted slipping away irretrievably from his grasp. Can you not see in your mind's eye that queer, misshapen creature setting his crooked brain to devise a way out of the difficulty? Can you not see the plan taking shape gradually, forming itself slowly into a resolve—a resolve to stop his brother's marriage at all costs? But how? Philip, passionately in love with Muriel Peet-Jackson, having won her after years of waiting, was not likely to give her up. No, but she might give him up. She had done it once for the sake of ambition, she might do it again if ... if ... well, Charles Ashley, obscure, poor, misshapen, was not likely to find a rival who would supplant his handsome brother in any woman's affections. Certainly not! But there remained the other possibility, the possibility that Philip, poor—or, better still, disgraced—might cease to be a prize in the matrimonial market. Disgraced! But how? By publicity? By crime? Yes, by crime! Now, can you see the plan taking shape?
"Can you see Charles cudgelling his wits as to what crime could most easily be fastened on a man of Philip's personality and social position? Probably a chance word dropped by his father put the finishing touch to his scheme, a chance word on the subject of a will. And there was the whole plan ready. The unsigned will, the assault on the dying man, and quarrels there always were plenty between the peppery old miser and his somewhat impatient son. As for Triscott, the dapper little local lawyer, I suppose it took some time for Charles Ashley's crooked schemes to appear as feasible and profitable to him. Of course, without him nothing could have been done, and the whole of my theory rests upon the fact that the two men were partners in the crime.
"Where they first met, and how they became friends, I don't profess to know. If I had had anything to do with the official investigation of that crime I should first of all have examined the servant in the Triscott household, and found out whether or no Mr. Charles Ashley had ever been a visitor there. In any case, I should have found out something about Triscott's friends and Triscott's haunts. I am sure that it would then have come to light that Charles Ashley and Mr. Triscott had constant intercourse together.
"I cannot bring myself to believe in that unsigned will. There was nothing whatever that led up to it, except the supposed quarrel on the Wednesday. But, if that old miser did want to alter his will, why should he have sent for a man whom he hardly knew and whom, mind you, he would have to pay for his services, rather than for his friend, Oldwall, who would have done the work for nothing? The man was a miser, remember. His meanness, we are told, amounted to a mania; a miser never pays for something he can get for nothing. There was also another little point that struck me during the inquest as significant. If Triscott was an entire stranger to Charles Ashley, why should he have taken such a personal interest in him and in the old man to the extent of sending his wife to spend two whole days and nights in charge of an invalid who was nothing to him? Why should Mrs. Triscott have undertaken such a thankless task in the house of a miser, where she would get no comforts and hardly anything to eat? Why, I say, should the Triscotts have done all that if they had not some vital self-interest at stake?
"And I contend that that self-interest demanded that one of them should be there, in the flat, on the watch, to see that no third person was present whilst Philip spent his time by his father's bedside—a witness, such as Lady Peet-Jackson, perhaps, or some friend—whose testimony might demolish the whole edifice of lies, which had been so carefully built up. And, did you notice another point? The charwoman, by a new arrangement, was never at the flat on a Monday morning, and that arrangement had only obtained for the past two months. Now why? Charwomen stay away, I believe, on Sundays always, but, I ask you, have you ever heard of a charwoman having a holiday on a Monday?"
I was bound to admit that it was unusual, whereupon the old scarecrow went on, with excitement that grew as rapidly as did the feverish energy of his fingers manipulating his bit of string.
"And now propel your mind back to that same Monday morning, when, the coast being clear, Charles Ashley, back at the flat and alone with the old man, was able at last to put the finishing touch to his work of infamy. One pressure of the fingers, one blow with the walking-stick, and the curtain was rung down finally on the hideous drama which he had so skilfully invented. Think of it all carefully and intelligently," the Old Man in the Corner concluded, as he stuffed his beloved bit of string into the capacious pocket of his checked ulster, "and you will admit that there is not a single flaw in my argument——"
"The walking-stick," I broke in, quickly.
"Exactly," he retorted, "the walking-stick. Charles was quick enough to grasp the significance of that, and on Saturday, while his brother's back was turned, he carefully hid the walking-stick, knowing that it would be a useful piece of evidence presently. Do you, for a moment, suppose," he added, dryly, "that any man would have been such a fool as to throw his walking-stick and the crumpled notes of the will underneath his victim's bed? They could not have been left there, remember, they could not have rolled under the bed, as the walking-stick had a crook-handle; they must deliberately have been thrown there.
"No, no!" he said, in conclusion, "there is no flaw. It is all as clear as daylight to any receptive intelligence, and though human justice did err at first, and it looked, at one time, as if the innocent alone would suffer and the guilty enjoy the fruits of his crime, a higher justice interposed in the end. Charles has gone, and Philip is in possession of the fortune which his father desired him to have. I only hope that his eyes are opened at last to the true value of the beautiful Muriel's love, and that it will be some other worthier woman who will share his fortune and help him forget all that he endured in the past."
"And what about the Triscotts?" I asked.
"Ah!" he said, with a sigh, "they are the wicked who prosper, and higher justice has apparently forgotten them, as it often does forget the evil-doer, for a time. We must take it that they were well paid for their share in the crime, and, if the unfortunate Charles had lived, he probably would have been blackmailed by them and bled white. As it is, they have gone scot-free. I made a few enquiries in the neighbourhood lately and I discovered that Mr. Triscott is selling his practice and retiring from business. Presently we'll hear that he has bought himself a cottage in the country. Then, perhaps, your last doubt will vanish and you will be ready to admit that I have found the true solution of the mystery that surrounded the death of the miser of Maida Vale."
The next moment he was gone, and I just caught sight of the corner of his checked ulster disappearing through the swing doors.