The Middle Temple Murder

by J. S. Fletcher

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  REVELATIONS

  Spargo turned on his disreputable and dissolute companion with all hisjournalistic energies and instincts roused. He had not been sure, sinceentering the "King of Madagascar," that he was going to hear anythingmaterial to the Middle Temple Murder; he had more than once feared thatthis old gin-drinking harridan was deceiving him, for the purpose ofextracting drink and money from him. But now, at the mere prospect ofgetting important information from her, he forgot all about MotherGutch's unfortunate propensities, evil eyes, and sodden face; he onlysaw in her somebody who could tell him something. He turned on hereagerly.

  "You say that John Maitland's son didn't die!" he exclaimed.

  "The boy did not die," replied Mother Gutch.

  "And that you know where he is?" asked Spargo.

  Mother Gutch shook her head.

  "I didn't say that I know where he is, young man," she replied. "I saidI knew what she did with him."

  "What, then?" demanded Spargo.

  Mother Gutch drew herself up in a vast assumption of dignity, andfavoured Spargo with a look.

  "That's the secret, young man," she said. "I'm willing to sell thatsecret, but not for two half-sovereigns and two or three drops of coldgin. If Maitland left all that money you told Jane Baylis of, when Iwas listening to you from behind the hedge, my secret's worthsomething."

  Spargo suddenly remembered his bit of bluff to Miss Baylis. Here was anunexpected result of it.

  "Nobody but me can help you to trace Maitland's boy," continued MotherGutch, "and I shall expect to be paid accordingly. That's plainlanguage, young man."

  Spargo considered the situation in silence for a minute or two. Couldthis wretched, bibulous old woman really be in possession of a secretwhich would lead to the solving of the mystery of the Middle TempleMurder? Well, it would be a fine thing for the _Watchman_ if theclearing up of everything came through one of its men. And the_Watchman_ was noted for being generous even to extravagance in layingout money on all sorts of objects: it had spent money like water onmuch less serious matters than this.

  "How much do you want for your secret?" he suddenly asked, turning tohis companion.

  Mother Gutch began to smooth out a pleat in her gown. It was reallywonderful to Spargo to find how very sober and normal this old harridanhad become; he did not understand that her nerves had been all a-quiverand on edge when he first met her, and that a resort to her favouriteform of alcohol in liberal quantity had calmed and quickened them;secretly he was regarding her with astonishment as the mostextraordinary old person he had ever met, and he was almost afraid ofher as he waited for her decision. At last Mother Gutch spoke.

  "Well, young man," she said, "having considered matters, and having aright to look well to myself, I think that what I should prefer to havewould be one of those annuities. A nice, comfortable annuity, paidweekly--none of your monthlies or quarterlies, but regular andpunctual, every Saturday morning. Or Monday morning, as was convenientto the parties concerned--but punctual and regular. I know a good manyladies in my sphere of life as enjoys annuities, and it's a greatcomfort to have 'em paid weekly."

  It occurred to Spargo that Mrs. Gutch would probably get rid of herweekly dole on the day it was paid, whether that day happened to beMonday or Saturday, but that, after all, was no concern of his, so hecame back to first principles.

  "Even now you haven't said how much," he remarked.

  "Three pound a week," replied Mother Gutch. "And cheap, too!"

  Spargo thought hard for two minutes. The secret might--might!--lead tosomething big. This wretched old woman would probably drink herself todeath within a year or two. Anyhow, a few hundreds of pounds wasnothing to the _Watchman_. He glanced at his watch. At that hour--forthe next hour--the great man of the _Watchman_ would be at the office.He jumped to his feet, suddenly resolved and alert.

  "Here, I'll take you to see my principals," he said. "We'll run alongin a taxi-cab."

  "With all the pleasure in the world, young man," replied Mother Gutch;"when you've given me that other half-sovereign. As for principals, I'dfar rather talk business with masters than with men--though I mean nodisrespect to you." Spargo, feeling that he was in for it, handed overthe second half-sovereign, and busied himself in ordering a taxi-cab.But when that came round he had to wait while Mrs. Gutch consumed athird glass of gin and purchased a flask of the same beverage to put inher pocket. At last he got her off, and in due course to the _Watchman_office, where the hall-porter and the messenger boys stared at her inamazement, well used as they were to seeing strange folk, and he gother to his own room, and locked her in, and then he sought the presenceof the mighty.

  What Spargo said to his editor and to the great man who controlled thefortunes and workings of the _Watchman_ he never knew. It was probablyfortunate for him that they were both thoroughly conversant with thefacts of the Middle Temple Murder, and saw that there might be anadvantage in securing the revelations of which Spargo had got theconditional promise. At any rate, they accompanied Spargo to his room,intent on seeing, hearing and bargaining with the lady he had locked upthere.

  Spargo's room smelt heavily of unsweetened gin, but Mother Gutch wassoberer than ever. She insisted upon being introduced to proprietor andeditor in due and proper form, and in discussing terms with them beforegoing into any further particulars. The editor was all for temporizingwith her until something could be done to find out what likelihood oftruth there was in her, but the proprietor, after sizing her up in hisown shrewd fashion, took his two companions out of the room.

  "We'll hear what the old woman has to say on her own terms," he said."She may have something to tell that is really of the greatestimportance in this case: she certainly has something to tell. And, asSpargo says, she'll probably drink herself to death in about as short atime as possible. Come back--let's hear her story." So they returned tothe gin-scented atmosphere, and a formal document was drawn out bywhich the proprietor of the _Watchman_ bound himself to pay Mrs. Gutchthe sum of three pounds a week for life (Mrs. Gutch insisting on theinsertion of the words "every Saturday morning, punctual and regular")and then Mrs. Gutch was invited to tell her tale. And Mrs. Gutchsettled herself to do so, and Spargo prepared to take it down, word forword.

  "Which the story, as that young man called it, is not so long as amonkey's tail nor so short as a Manx cat's, gentlemen," said Mrs.Gutch; "but full of meat as an egg. Now, you see, when that Maitlandaffair at Market Milcaster came off, I was housekeeper to Miss JaneBaylis at Brighton. She kept a boarding-house there, in Kemp Town, andclose to the sea-front, and a very good thing she made out of it, andhad saved a nice bit, and having, like her sister, Mrs. Maitland, had alittle fortune left her by her father, as was at one time a publicanhere in London, she had a good lump of money. And all that money was inthis here Maitland's hands, every penny. I very well remember the daywhen the news came about that affair of Maitland robbing the bank. MissBaylis, she was like a mad thing when she saw it in the paper, andbefore she'd seen it an hour she was off to Market Milcaster. I went upto the station with her, and she told me then before she got in thetrain that Maitland had all her fortune and her savings, and hersister's, his wife's, too, and that she feared all would be lost."

  "Mrs. Maitland was then dead," observed Spargo without looking up fromhis writing-block.

  "She was, young man, and a good thing, too," continued Mrs. Gutch."Well, away went Miss Baylis, and no more did I hear or see for nearlya week, and then back she comes, and brings a little boy withher--which was Maitland's. And she told me that night that she'd lostevery penny she had in the world, and that her sister's money, whatought to have been the child's, was gone, too, and she said her sayabout Maitland. However, she saw well to that child; nobody could haveseen better. And very soon after, when Maitland was sent to prison forten years, her and me talked about things. 'What's the use,' says I toher, 'of your letting yourself get so fond of that child, and lookingafter it as you do, and educat
ing it, and so on?' I says. 'Why not?'says she. 'Tisn't yours,' I says, 'you haven't no right to it,' I says.'As soon as ever its father comes out,' says I,' he'll come and claimit, and you can't do nothing to stop him.' Well, gentlemen, if you'llbelieve me, never did I see a woman look as she did when I says allthat. And she up and swore that Maitland should never see or touch thechild again--not under no circumstances whatever."

  Mrs. Gutch paused to take a little refreshment from her pocket-flask,with an apologetic remark as to the state of her heart. She resumed,presently, apparently refreshed.

  "Well, gentlemen, that notion, about Maitland's taking the child awayfrom her seemed to get on her mind, and she used to talk to me at timesabout it, always saying the same thing--that Maitland should never havehim. And one day she told me she was going to London to see lawyersabout it, and she went, and she came back, seeming more satisfied, anda day or two afterwards, there came a gentleman who looked like alawyer, and he stopped a day or two, and he came again and again, untilone day she came to me, and she says, 'You don't know who thatgentleman is that's come so much lately?' she says. 'Not I,' I says,'unless he's after you.' 'After me!' she says, tossing her head:'That's the gentleman that ought to have married my poor sister if thatscoundrel Maitland hadn't tricked her into throwing him over!' 'Youdon't say so!' I says. 'Then by rights he ought to have been thechild's pa!' 'He's going to be a father to the boy,' she says. 'He'sgoing to take him and educate him in the highest fashion, and make agentleman of him,' she says, 'for his mother's sake.' 'Mercy on us!'says I. 'What'll Maitland say when he comes for him?' 'Maitland'llnever come for him,' she says, 'for I'm going to leave here, and theboy'll be gone before then. This is all being done,' she says, 'so thatthe child'll never know his father's shame--he'll never know who hisfather was.' And true enough, the boy was taken away, but Maitland camebefore she'd gone, and she told him the child was dead, and I never seea man so cut up. However, it wasn't no concern of mine. And so there'sso much of the secret, gentlemen, and I would like to know if I ain'tgiving good value."

  "Very good," said the proprietor. "Go on." But Spargo intervened.

  "Did you ever hear the name of the gentleman who took the boy away?" heasked.

  "Yes, I did," replied Mrs. Gutch. "Of course I did. Which it wasElphick."