by Fergus Hume
‘I cannot! The evidence is too strong against him!’
‘You know that he is innocent, Mr Vincent.’
‘I do not! I believe that he murdered my wife.’
‘You believe that he murdered your wife,’ she reiterated, coming a step nearer and holding out the greenstone idol—’do you believe that he dropped this in the study when his hand struck the fatal blow?’
‘I don’t know!’ he said, coolly glancing at the idol. ‘I never saw it before.’
‘Think again, Mr Vincent—think again. Who was it that went to the Alhambra at eight o’clock with Dr Monson and met there the captain of a New Zealand steamer with whom he was acquainted?’
‘It was I,’ said Vincent defiantly, ‘and what of that?’
‘This!’ she said in a loud voice. ‘This captain gave you the greenstone idol at the Alhambra, and you placed it in your breast-pocket. Shortly afterwards you followed to Brixton the man whose death you had plotted. You repaired to your house, killed your unhappy wife who received you in all innocence, took the balance of the money, hacked the desk, and then dropped by accident this idol which convicts you of the crime.’
During this speech she advanced step by step towards the wretched man, who, pale and anguished, retreated before her fury. He came right to my hiding-place, and almost fell into my arms. I had heard enough to convince me of his guilt, and the next moment I was struggling with him.
‘It is a lie! a lie!’ he said hoarsely, trying to escape.
‘It is true!’ said I, pinning him down. ‘From my soul I believe you to be guilty.’
During the fight his pocket-book fell on the floor and the papers therein were scattered. Miss Ford picked up one spotted with blood.
‘The proof!’ she said, holding it before us. ‘The proof that Julian spoke the truth. There is the letter written by you which authorized your unhappy wife to give him one hundred pounds.’
Vincent saw that all was against him and gave in without further struggles, like the craven he was.
‘Fate is too strong for me,’ he said, when I snapped the handcuffs on his wrists. ‘I admit the crime. It was for love of you that I did it. I hated my wife who was a drag on me, and I hated Roy who loved you. In one sweep I thought to rid myself of both. His application for that money put the chance into my hand. I went to Brixton, I found that my wife had given the money as directed, and then I killed her with the foil snatched from the wall. I smashed the desk and overturned the chair, to favour the idea of the robbery, and then I left the house. Driving to a higher station than Brixton, I caught a train and was speedily back at the Alhambra. Monson never suspected my absence, thinking I was in a different corner of the house. I had thus an alibi ready. Had it not been for that letter, which I was fool enough to keep, and that infernal idol that dropped out of my pocket, I should have hanged Roy and married you. As it turns out, the idol has betrayed me. And now, sir,’ he added, turning to me, ‘you had better take me to gaol.’
I did so there and then. After the legal formalities were gone through, Julian Roy was released and ultimately married Miss Ford. Vincent was hanged, as well deserved to be, for so cowardly a crime. My reward was the greenstone god, which I keep as a memento of a very curious case. Some weeks later Miss Ford told me the way in which she had laid the trap.
‘When you revealed your suspicions about the idol,’ she said, ‘I was convinced that Vincent had something to do with the crime. You mentioned Dr Monson as having been with him at the Alhambra. He is one of the doctors at the hospital in which I am employed. I asked him about the idol and showed it to him. He remembered it being given to Vincent by the captain of the Kaitangata. The curious look of the thing had impressed itself on his memory. On hearing this I went to the docks and I saw the captain. He recognized the idol and remembered giving it to Vincent. From what you told me I guessed the way in which the plot had been carried out, so I spoke to Vincent as you heard. Most of it was guesswork, and only when I saw that letter was I absolutely sure of his guilt. It was due to the greenstone god.’
So I think, but to Chance also. But for the accident of the idol dropping out of Vincent’s pocket, Roy would have been hanged for a crime of which he was innocent. Therefore do I say that in nine cases out of ten Chance does more to clinch a case than all the dexterity of the man in charge.
THE END
THE RAINBOW CAMELLIA
COUNTRY solicitors have fewer opportunities than their urban brethren of handling exceptional cases. The friction of metropolitan life develops numerous strange episodes, which are of rarer occurrence in provincial centres. Human nature is no doubt the same in country as in town; but the lack of a concentrated population, by demanding less ingenuity on the part of the criminal, reduces the level of crime. Moreover bucolic wits are not so keen as those sharpened by the necessities of London life. Agrarian wrong-doers are usually commonplace rogues, who sin in a crude fashion unworthy of notice. Crime, which in the capital is a fine art, is in the country commonly the result of a childish outburst of temper. These remarks apply peculiarly to the inhabitants of inland market towns, and to the rural population of their intervening pasture-lands.
Yet at times a case not easily to be paralleled, even in the metropolis, comes under the notice of a country solicitor. Such a one is that of the Rainbow Camellia, which is, to my mind, unique in the annals of crime. It was simply a case of theft, but sufficiently noticeable for the skilful way in which it was planned and executed. My first intimation of the affair came from my wife, who one morning entered the breakfast-room with a face expressive of consternation.
‘Fred,’ said she, in an awestruck tone, ‘do you remember Eliza Drupp the housemaid who left six months ago?’
‘Was that the red-haired minx who smashed our best dinner-service, and who carried a bottle of diamond cement in her pocket to mend breakages?’
‘Yes, she has been arrested.’
‘I’m not surprised. Whose dinner-service is it this time?’
‘Don’t jest, Fred. I am very sorry for the poor girl, though she has been stealing. Cook told me all about it. She is so excited.’
‘Who is excited, cook or Eliza?’
‘Cook, of course.’
‘Then the dinner won’t be fit to eat. I wish cook would gossip less, and attend more to her stewing and frying. Give me my breakfast, Nell; I must be off early this morning. Well,’ I added, as my wife poured out the coffee, ‘and what has Eliza Drupp been stealing?’
‘The rainbow camellia.’
‘What, the whole plant?’
‘No, only a bud. She went into the Gardens yesterday and picked it.’
‘Audacious creature, she’ll get six months for that. Old Bendel is on the Bench, and as he is a prominent member of the Horticultural Society, Eliza need expect no mercy.’
‘I don’t know what possessed her to do such a thing,’ said Nell reflectively; ‘and the worst of it is, that George Beanfield gave information about the theft.’
‘Who is George Beanfield, and why shouldn’t he give information?’
‘Because he kept company with her. It is a piece of spite on his part to punish Eliza for taking up with the greengrocer.’
‘I congratulate you on your knowledge of kitchen gossip, Nell. But you have not answered my question. Who is George Beanfield?’
‘A gardener in the service of the Horticultural Society. I suppose he will be the principal witness against poor Eliza. How can a man be so mean!’
‘A man scorned is as dangerous as a woman scorned my dear. Eliza should not have ‘walked out’ with the greengrocer. By the way, was George the man who used to hide in the coal-cellar?’
‘No, that was a soldier.’
‘Oh, then he was the Gargantua who devoured all the cold meat.’
‘Don’t talk nonsense, Fred. Go to your office, and if you hear anything of the case, tell me when you come home. I am so sorry for poor Eliza.’
This was very charitable on
the part of Nell. So far as I could remember Eliza Drupp had been a sore trial, and I had frequently heard my wife express a hope that the Drupp sins would come home to the Drupp sinner. Now that they had come in the most satisfactory manner, she regretted the accomplishment of her wishes, and pitied the recreant Eliza. I did not. It was impossible to pity a girl who had cost me over twenty pounds in breakages.
When I reached my office, I received a message from Eliza, requesting me to step round to her cell and discuss the matter. As fish did not come to my net in sufficient quantities to make me despise even such small fry as Eliza, I accepted the invitation, and speedily found myself in the presence of my former housemaid. She was to be brought before Bendel that very morning, so there was no time to be lost in learning what defence she proposed to make.
To judge of the heinousness of Eliza’s offence, it is necessary to state that the Horticultural Society of Foxton is the sole owner of the famous rainbow camellia. That unique plant had been brought from China many years ago by a vagrant Foxtonian, and it was the only one in existence on this side of the world. The Foxton Society prided itself on the possession of this rarity, the more so as such possession excited the envy of all rival societies. Of these many had attempted to beg, borrow, buy or steal slips of the plant in order to raise rainbow camellias on their own account; but hitherto not one had secured even a single bud. It was reserved for Eliza to commit that crime.
The blossom was streaked with the seven colours of the rainbow—hence its name—and as a further priceless qualification it emitted a distinct odour. Now as, with this exception, a scented camellia is absolutely unknown, it was only natural that the Foxton horticulturists should set a high value on their ownership. I thought myself that their enthusiasm was exaggerated, as the prosperity of Foxton did not entirely depend on the possession of that striped and scented flower; but then I am not a flower-fancier, and I cannot appreciate the passions of horticulturists. Those of Foxton were quite offensive in their pride. If Eliza Drupp had stolen the Crown Jewels the theft would have been a mere venial transgression: but that she should cull a single bud of the rainbow camellia placed her beyond the pale of ordinary sinners.
Eliza was tearful but voluble. She had been born within sound of Bow Bells, and talked with a strong cockney accent, which became more marked with increasing agitation. How this child of the London pavement had drifted to Foxton I do not know, but she had served as housemaid in various houses for the last four years, and was accustomed when out of a situation, which happened frequently on account of her destructive propensities, to visit her parents at Hackney. Her town graces and brazen good looks—our cook said they were brazen—attracted many admiring swains. The vengeful George was one of these, but Eliza had jilted him in favour of the more opulent greengrocer. Nemesis in the person of the deserted gardener was now punishing her for such perfidy.
‘’Ow ’e’s treated me shaimful,’ said the tearful Eliza; ‘jest ’cause I wouldn’t taike ’im ’e shows me up loike this.’
‘If you play with fire, Eliza, you burn your fingers as a natural consequence. But this is not the point. Have you any defence to this charge?’
‘I should soigh so, sir. ’Tain’t trew es I stole thet measly kemmelliar. Whoy, it was my own.’
‘Come now, that’s nonsense. The Foxton rainbow camellia is the only one of its kind in England.’
‘’Tain’t the only one in the world anyhow, sir,’ retorted Eliza, with some heat. ‘I hev a rinebow kemmelliar et ’Ackney. If you don’t b’li’ve me jest send up to my father an’ see.’
‘Do you mean to say that you possess a plant of the same species?’ I asked, rather astonished at this information.
‘’Course I do, sir. My brother ’e’s a steward ’e is; ’e goes to Chiner on the Three Star Loine, sir. ’E browght it to me fower years ago from furren parts ’e did.’
‘And the flower you wore was off your own bush?’
‘Yuss. I kim ’ere yesterdaiy from ’Ackney, an’ I browght it with me jest to see if moine was loike this ’un ’ere.’
‘Did you wear it when you entered the Gardens?’
‘No, sir, I ’ed it in a paiper beg, an’ when I was in the green’ouse I takes it hout. When I sawr it wure the saime, I pins it in moy dress. Then that bloomin’ gonoph collared me. D’ye see, sir?’
‘I see, but how is it that a blossom is missing from the tree?’
‘I don’no, sir. ’Tworn’t me as took it, sir. You jist telergrarf to moy father at ’Ackney an’ arsk ’im to bring down moy kemmelliar, sir.’
‘Yes, I’ll do that, but as he cannot be down in time for the case today, I’ll ask for a remand, so that I may ascertain the truth of your story.’
‘Thenk ’ee, sir. Em I to staiy ’ere, sir?’
‘I hope not, I will be security for your bail myself.’
‘Thet is ’ensome on yer, sir. An’ if yer sees thet there George Beanfield, sir, jist tell ’im as ’ow I’ll scretch ’is eyes out of ’is ’ed.’
There was no necessity for me to deliver this agreeable message. She did so herself when brought before the magistrate. Beanfield seemed to appreciate the situation, and to congratulate himself that Eliza was restrained from violence by two stout policemen. As long as possible he remained modestly in the background, and it was with manifest reluctance that he came forward when called upon to enter the witness-box. The lady in the dock glared at him with a mixture of scorn and rage, and again proclaimed her determination to ‘scretch ’is eyes out’. When ordered to be silent she relapsed into tears and said she was being ‘put upon’. I had heard her make this remark before when gently corrected for breaking three plates in succession.
The court was filled with infuriated members of the Horticultural Society, who wished Eliza to be forthwith hanged and quartered. It was commonly reported that my client had not only picked the flower but had also stolen a slip of the plant, which she designed to sell to a rival society. Believing that Eliza thus intended to rob Foxton of the glory of solely possessing the rainbow camellia, the horticulturists thought no punishment too severe for so abandoned a creature. I applied for a remand, which old Bendel (who was a rabid member of the society) was disposed to refuse. I pointed out that, in the interests of justice, the prisoner should be granted sufficient time to communicate with her friends, and prove herself innocent of the charge. Bendel did not believe she had a defence, and said as much, but after considerable argument I managed to obtain an adjournment for three days. In the matter of bail I was unsuccessful, as the magistrate declined to allow Eliza to be at large until the matter had been legally threshed out. He was supported in this decision by his angered confreres, who had already judged and condemned the delinquent housemaid. The ultimate outcome of my application was the removal of Eliza to her former captivity.
When instructing the parental Drupp by letter as to the misfortune which had befallen his daughter, I suggested that, to clear her character, he should forthwith bring with him to Foxton the Hackney camellia. As to the existence of this plant I had my doubts, expecting that Eliza had mistaken the variegated scentless camellia for the unique plant of Foxton. But the bush brought by Drupp proved to be of the same genus. It was streaked with seven colours, it was scented, and, as a proof that Eliza was innocent, it still bore the stem whence the bud, alleged to have been stolen from the Foxton greenhouse, had been reft. Her story thus proved to be true, but I thought it strange that, at such a juncture, a blossom should also be missing from our local plant. The coincidence was peculiar, the inference doubtful.
‘Moy daughter growed this ’ere,’ explained Drupp, who was quite as cockney in speech as Eliza; ‘et was browght from Chiner by moy son Sam, es is a steward on the Mendeloy. Ses Lizer t’ me t’other doy, “Oi’ll jest tike a flower t’ Foxton an’ see if thet kemmelliar es th’ saime es moine.” Which she did, an’ now thi’ve put ’er in quod. Oi ’opes, sir, es ’ow thi’ll let ’er orf.’
With so clear a de
fence I thought it extremely probable that they would let her off; but as old Bendel was on the Bench I knew the fight would be a tough one. Had Eliza worn the bud when she entered the Gardens, her innocence would have been proved beyond all doubt. Still as the matter stood I had every hope of clearing her character.
When Eliza was again placed in the dock the court was even more crowded than on the former occasion. A rumour had originated—I know not how—that a plant similar to that owned by the society would be put in evidence by the defence. As in duty bound no horticulturist believed this fable. As well say there were two Queens of England, as two rainbow camellias. The Foxton plant was displayed in all its glory, and, lost in admiration, the onlookers exclaimed that there was none like unto it. This biblical exclamation is suitable to the scene, for the plant might have been the golden image of Nebuchadnezzar, so abjectly did its worshippers grovel before it. The mere sight of the missing bud roused them to wrathful denunciations against its ravisher.
When brought before the magistrate, Eliza wept loudly; but on the appearance of George in the witness-box, she recovered her spirits, and called him names. Then she again relapsed into tears, and sniffed provokingly during the subsequent proceedings.
Beanfield deposed that Eliza was not wearing the flower when she entered the Gardens, but he admitted that she had carried a paper bag, which he feebly conjectured to contain biscuits. He had exchanged no words with her, as they were not on friendly terms, but he declared that she had made a face at him, and had derisively put out her tongue. When he saw her again, the bud—produced in court—was fastened in the bosom of her dress. He at once inspected the rainbow camellia, and found a blossom missing, upon which evidence he had given Eliza in charge for theft.
Another gardener proved that no buds were wanting when he saw the plant half an hour before Eliza’s visit. He was followed by the President of the Horticultural Society, who stated that outside China, to which the species was indigenous, there was no rainbow camellia in existence. The bud produced in court could only have been taken from the Foxton greenhouse. His assertion of the uniqueness of the plant was received with great applause by his fellow-horticulturists.