“Any comment, doctor?” said Wyatt.
“Are you charging me with any of the things the sergeant mentioned?”
“No. But I would like to ask you a question. Or rather, several questions. The first one is, how could Tom Severn—or Sixty as he was usually known—have gotten about as he seems to have done if his leg was broken?”
“He couldn’t,” said the doctor promptly.
“What does that mean?”
“His leg wasn’t broken.”
“But you said it was, showed me the time he was admitted in your admissions register.”
“I know. I lied and falsified the entry.”
“Why?”
“Severn was a dangerous man. He told me he needed an alibi, didn’t tell me why until I’d agreed to give him one. Then he told me that if I split on him, didn’t continue to cover for him, he’d kill me.”
“Do you think he would have?”
“Yes, I do.”
“If what you say now is true, then Severn could have been—probably was—one of the men who killed Sergeant Polk outside here the night that Lord Somerville’s son was kidnapped.”
“That’s correct.”
“Had you known Severn before this—before he asked you for an alibi?”
“Yes. I knew him down at Ansley Cross before he was sent to Dartmoor. Then I saw him again a few months ago after he came back from Australia.”
“Where?”
“At the dispensary. He turned up with a bad knife wound on his face. I recognized him at once, didn’t say anything to him but, after he’d stared at me for a while, he apparently recognized me.”
“Did he want to know why you were calling yourself Owen when your name was really Roberts?”
“Yes.”
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth—that I had debts I could not pay, wanted to drop out of sight and start over.”
“Is that another reason you agreed to lie, give him an alibi?”
“Yes. He said he was sure I had even better reasons than the ones I had given him for changing my name, wouldn’t want him to start telling people who I really was.”
Wyatt nodded. “I think he was one of those people who find blackmail emotionally satisfying as well as financially rewarding.”
“I agree with you. I think the sense of power it gave him—especially over those he considered his superiors-was very important to him.”
“Now we come to Lord Somerville’s son. Did you know about him, see him or have anything to do with him before tonight?”
“Yes, I did.”
“When and how?”
“I first saw him a little over a week ago, the night—at least, I gather it was the night—that Severn kidnapped him. He—Severn, I mean—woke me, said there was someone I had to look at, take care of.”
“Somerville’s son?”
“Yes. Of course, I didn’t know who he was at the time.”
“Where was this? At the barge?”
“Yes. The poor creature was in a bad way. Severn had him tied up, and he was struggling with the ropes, making those pathetic sounds, and Severn was afraid he’d do himself a mischief.”
“What did you do?”
“I gave him some laudanum to quiet him down, left some with Severn to give him later on if he needed it.”
“You say you didn’t know who he was. Didn’t you ask Severn about him?”
“Yes. He said he was a natural, a poor backward creature that he was taking care of for a while for a friend.”
“Did you believe him?”
“Not really. I knew he was up to something—I didn’t know what—but I didn’t want to press him on it. As I told you, I knew he was a dangerous man and during the years I’ve been in London I’ve discovered it’s sometimes best not to know things, not to ask questions.”
“And what about before you came to London?”
The doctor looked at him, puzzled and a little startled.
“What do you mean?”
“You were the Somervilles’ physician, took care of Lady Somerville during her pregnancy, did you not?”
“I did.”
“And you delivered her child when he was born?”
For the first time the doctor hesitated.
“No,” he said finally. “I did not deliver him.”
“How did that happen?”
“There had been a bad snow storm—the worst in years. It took some time for one of the footmen to get through to tell me I was needed. By the time I got to Greyhurst, the child had already been born.”
“I see. Mrs. Severn delivered it?”
“Yes.”
“When you saw him did he seem well and healthy?”
Again the doctor hesitated.
“I asked you a question, Doctor. If you’d rather not answer it, would you answer another one for me. Why was Tom Severn called Sixty?”
“Forgive me, Inspector,” said Somerville. “I’m sure you have some reason for asking these particular questions, but I must confess it escapes me. Do they relate in any way to any of the things that have been happening recently?”
“Why, yes, m’lord. I think they do. Don’t you, Mrs. Severn?”
Mrs. Severn’s face, always rather pale, was paler than ever now—pale and strained.
“Yes,” she said.
“Can you tell us why your husband was called Sixty?”
Her dark and troubled eyes were fixed on Wyatt’s face, clearly trying to decide just how much he knew. Finally she made up her mind.
“Yes,” she said. “Not many people called him that—Torn didn’t like it—and even fewer people knew where it came from, but … it was short for Six Toes. Because that’s what he had, six toes on each foot instead of five.”
“Right,” said Wyatt. “An anomaly more common among animals than humans, but still far from unknown. Correct, Doctor?”
“I’ve only known one other case in all the years I’ve been practicing, but in general … yes.”
“Then it was you who delivered Lady Somerville’s baby, Mrs. Severn?”
“Yes.”
“To repeat the question I asked Dr. Roberts, was it well and healthy when it was born?”
“No,” she said, speaking with an effort. “It wasn’t.”
“What was wrong with it?”
“I don’t know what was wrong, but … it was born dead.”
“What?” said Somerville. “What did you say?”
“Please let me continue,” said Wyatt. “When I have finished, you can ask all the questions you wish.”
“But did you hear what she said? And do you realize what it means?”
“Yes,” said Wyatt firmly. “Now will you please be patient?”
His face working, reflecting shock and incredulity, Somerville looked at him. Then with great effort, he controlled himself.
“Very well,” he said in a strained voice.
“Go on, Mrs. Severn. You say Lady Somerville’s child was born dead.”
“Yes.”
“Will you tell us what happened?”
“Dr. Roberts arrived at Greyhurst about a half hour later. I told him what had happened, and he looked at the child, said he had been worried about it and about Lady Somerville. She had had a very hard time and was unconscious at the moment, and he said he didn’t think she was going to live either. Suddenly she opened her eyes, began whispering that she wanted her baby. Dr. Roberts said he couldn’t tell her the child was dead, didn’t know what to do. But I said I knew, and I did it.”
“What did you do?”
“My baby had been born two days before, shortly after Lord Somerville left for London. I got him and gave him to Lady Somerville to hold.”
“Why?”
“I thought, if she was going to die, at least she would die happy. And it did make a difference. She quieted down, began smiling, and Dr. Roberts looked at me and nodded as if he thought I had done the right thing.”
“Tr
ue, doctor?” asked Wyatt.
“Yes.”
“Go on, Mrs. Severn.”
“About an hour later Lord Somerville came home. My lady was still holding the baby. She looked up at him and smiled … and died. Lord Somerville told me to take the baby away so he could be alone with her, and I did. Then, about an hour later, he came out and asked me if I would stay on and take care of the baby for him—and I suddenly realized he thought the child was his.”
“You had not intended this—to pass your child off as his—to begin with?”
“Of course not. He was my child, and I loved him. I told you why I gave him to Lady Somerville to hold. But once Lord Somerville accepted him as his, I saw what it could mean. He could be my son and Tom’s—a jailbird’s son—and not only have nothing, but be marked for life or he could be Lord Somerville’s son and have everything—a title, wealth and a father who loved him and would take care of him. It didn’t take me long to decide what to do.”
“Which was to say nothing, let Lord Somerville go on thinking the child was his.”
“Yes.”
“What did you plan to do about Dr. Roberts who knew the truth?”
“I thought I’d talk to him, tell him why I was doing it and ask him not to say anything about it. But I didn’t have to. Because a day or so later he had that accident, was in hospital for several weeks and then left Ansley Cross for good.”
“What happened to the dead child—Lord Somerville’s son?”
“After he’d talked to me, asked me if I’d take care of his son, he noticed that I looked different and asked me what had happened with my child. I … I told him it had been born dead, and he said he was sorry and that I should bury him in the Randall cemetery.”
“Which you did. And so that is where he lies now, under the name of Severn.”
“Yes.”
“When did you discover that there was something wrong with the boy?”
“Quite a bit later. I thought he was just a little slow at first, and Lord Somerville was away most of the time—he didn’t really want to see the child because he felt he was responsible for Lady Somerville’s death. But when he did see him he got worried, and we took him down to London to see a doctor on Harley Street and he said …”
“Lord Somerville told me what he said.”
Somerville looked at Mrs. Severn without really seeing her.
“All these years,” he said. “Lost and empty years when I could not bring myself to come back to England because England meant him—what I thought of as my secret and my curse.” His eyes focused. “I still don’t see how you could have done it, Mrs. Severn. Done it to me, I mean.”
“I told you how it began,” she said, speaking slowly, painfully. “Then afterwards, when I discovered that he wasn’t right in the head, I … well, it became harder than ever to tell you the truth. Because if people knew he was my son, they would have put him away. But as it was, with you thinking he was yours, I could be with him, take care of him.”
“I often wondered why he meant so much to you—more than he did to me. Not that it’s hard to understand my feelings. Because I did resent him, partly because I felt he was responsible for my wife’s death—and partly because of what he was—or rather, wasn’t; someone to whom I could never pass on the title. Did Severn know the truth—that the creature was his own son?”
“I don’t think so,” said Mrs. Severn. “He certainly didn’t find out from me.”
“I don’t think he knew either,” said Wyatt. “At least, not until the very last minute. Then … well, it’s because of what he did when he did find out that he died himself.”
“What do you mean?” asked Somerville.
“Severn was not working alone. He had a chimney sweep named Matty Gann working with him. I don’t know what else they did—I suspect that they were involved in quite a few robberies—but I know that Gann was here with Severn the night of the kidnapping, the night that Polk was killed.”
“How do you know that?” asked Somerville.
“I had testimony to that effect from a climbing boy who worked with Gann—someone my friends here found for me.” He nodded toward Sara and Andrew. “And now I have additional confirmation from Gann himself.”
“You’ve got Gann?” asked Sara.
“Yes. We’ve been looking for him for several days, picked him up early this morning. He was hurt, slashed by Severn, but not so badly hurt that he couldn’t talk, confirm some things I suspected.”
“Do they relate to what you said before?” asked Somerville. “That it was finding out that the creature he thought was my son was his own that led to his death?”
“Yes,” said Wyatt. “Gann guarded the boy last night on the barge where they’d been hiding him, keeping him prisoner, while Severn was out trying to collect the backmail money he’d demanded of you. When Severn got back, in a rage because he hadn’t gotten the money, Gann made the mistake of pointing out something that Severn had never noticed before—that the creature had six toes on each foot just like Severn. In that moment, Severn must have realized what it meant. That the creature was not your son, but his own. More furious than ever, he attacked Gann, driving him away because he immediately saw something else—that if you knew the truth—that Alfred wasn’t your son—you wouldn’t be willing to pay Severn to keep quiet about him and return him to you. And since he evidently intended to make another attempt to blackmail you, and didn’t want you to find out what he’d just discovered himself, he did something as cold-bloodedly vicious as anything I’ve ever heard of.”
“What was that?” asked Somerville.
“I know!” said Sara with fascinated horror. “He tried to cut off those extra toes—the sixth ones!”
“Exactly,” said Wyatt. “He thought that by doing that, he’d be able to keep you from making the connection he had made, guessing the truth.”
“Oh, no!” said Somerville. “He couldn’t do that! Not to his own flesh and blood!”
“Yes, he could,” said Mrs. Severn harshly. “You never said so, but I know you always thought of Alfred as a monster. But it was he who was the reai monster—Tom!”
“I agree,” said Wyatt. He turned to the doctor who had been listening intently. “You said that Severn was dead and the creature was gone by the time you got to the barge.”
“That’s correct.”
“Why had you gone there?”
“Severn had sent me a message asking me to come. I suspect he thought he might have trouble with the creature again, wanted me to give him something to quiet him if it should prove necessary.”
“Did he tell you to bring your bag with you?”
“No, he didn’t. But I brought it anyway—I always do.”
Wyatt nodded. “May I look at it for a moment?”
“Of course.” The doctor handed him his black leather bag. Wyatt hefted it as if judging its weight, opened it and glanced inside it, then handed it back.
“Thank you,” he said. “Will you tell us what you think happened before you got to the barge?”
“I’m a doctor, not a detective,” said Roberts, “and I didn’t realize the significance of the six toes until you pointed it out just now, but I suspect that what you suggested was true. Severn cut off one of the creature’s toes, and the creature, shocked and terrified because it had never been hurt before, took the hatchet away from Severn, killed him with it and then ran off.”
“Yes,” said Wyatt. “That’s what I thought you meant.”
“No!” said Mrs. Severn. “Alfred wouldn’t do that! He couldn’t do that!”
“Does that mean that he’s going to be charged with murder?” asked Somerville. “Since he was attacked, I should think it could be called self-defense. And besides, can someone with his mentality—or lack of it—be held accountable for his actions?”
“I’m inclined to doubt it,” said Wyatt. “But there’s another, even more cogent reason why I don’t intend to charge him. Did you examine Severn’s
body when you got to the barge?” he asked Roberts.
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t have time before you came.”
“Then you don’t know what the cause of death was.”
“Not really. But since his head was bloody and there was blood on the hatchet, I assumed that that was the weapon, and that he was hit on the head with it.”
Wyatt nodded. “That’s what did happen. That’s how he was killed. However, the wound was in a very interesting place. In the back of Severn’s head.”
“I don’t think there’s anything startling or surprising about that,” said the doctor. “If things happened as we suspected—if the creature took the hatchet away from Severn—isn’t it likely that Severn turned to run away? That would make it possible for the creature to strike him in the back of the head.”
“Yes, it would,” said Wyatt. “There is, however, another interesting fact. The creature, for all his limited mental capacity, is right-handed. I noticed it when Sara led him from the cemetery, and I saw him use his right hand in preference to his left several times when we were bringing him here. The wound that killed Severn, however, was on the left side of the back of his head and could only have been dealt him by …”
With surprising speed, the doctor leaped to his feet and raised his heavy cane to strike at Wyatt. But quick as he was, Andrew was just as quick. Almost as if he had been anticipating it, he jumped up and grabbed the end of the cane. Turning with an oath, the doctor pulled it away from him and raised it again—but by this time Sergeant Tucker had crossed the room and, clamping a large hand on the cane, took it away from him.
“Now, now, Doctor,” he said mildly. “Let’s not have any of that.”
“I was going to say,” said Wyatt, “that Severn could only have been killed by a left-handed man—like you, Doctor.”
“You mean it was he who killed Severn, not Alfred?” asked Somerville.
“Yes.”
“But why?”
“I think that most of what he told us concerning his life before he came to London was the truth. I think he even told the truth about the reason for changing his name. But I think that his practice during these past few years has been more questionable than appeared at first. Not that he hasn’t done a great deal of charity work, which made him highly regarded. But along with his good works—which were a useful front—there was a good deal of another kind that was extremely lucrative. When Severn came to see him to have the slash on his face taken care of, they not only recognized one another—they also recognized that they were both of the same stripe and could be useful to one another. Severn, just back from Australia, saw at once that the doctor’s knowledge of the underworld could be a help to him. He undoubtedly consulted with the doctor when he became curious about what his wife was doing in London, what she was hiding; and it was probably from the good doctor that he got the poison he used to kill the watch-dog. True, doctor?”
The Case of the Somerville Secret Page 12