The Mystery of a Hansom Cab

by Fergus Hume

  Over one hundred years later, Melbourne continues to be the place Hume knew. The city is still very conservative yet entrepreneurial. Yesteryear’s speculations are today’s ‘major projects’. The public buildings hastily erected in the boom years were never fully executed— Parliament House, the GPO and Flinders Street Station—while newer additions such as the Crown Casino may never be finished.

  The Hansom Cab has clearly worn well, though not all of its original readers would have predicted as much. For his part, the creator of Sherlock Holmes dismissed his rival’s work in a private letter as ‘One of the weakest tales I have read, simply sold by puffing’, but Conan Doyle also owes a considerable literary debt to Gaboriau and was not above using devices similar to those employed by Hume.

  Some aspects of The Hansom Cab correspond directly with A Study in Scarlet, notably the rivalry between the detectives engaged officially in the investigation and the use of the hansom cab in the modus operandi of the killer. While there is no direct evidence of borrowing on the part of Doyle, these parallels do at the very least demonstrate that the two writers were separated by much less than the distance that lay between their respective cities.

  Conan Doyle and Hume spearheaded different directions in crime fiction. Where Conan Doyle concentrates on the establishing the character of his protagonist, Hume’s detectives Gorby and Kilsip are merely two players within an ensemble of actors in the drama. Hume uses the mystery to anatomise the society in which his characters move.

  The Mystery of a Hansom Cab stands in contradiction of the notion that best-sellers burn bright and fade fast. A panoramic depiction of a bustling yet uneasy city, the novel has a central place in Australian literary history. It is also a key text in crime fiction’s formative years.

  * * *

  Apart from minor corrections to spelling and punctuation, this edition for the first time reproduces the text of the original Melbourne edition printed by Kemp and Boyce in 1886. Other reprints have relied on later versions in which local details are omitted and the language is bowdlerised.

  THE MYSTERY OF A HANSOM CAB

  CHAPTER ONE

  WHAT THE ARGUS SAID

  The following report appeared in the Argus newspaper of Saturday, the 28th July, 18— :—

  ‘Truth is said to be stranger than fiction, and certainly the extraordinary murder which took place in Melbourne on Thursday night, or rather Friday morning, goes a long way towards verifying this saying. A crime has been committed by an unknown assassin, within a short distance of the principal streets of this great city, and is surrounded by an impenetrable mystery. Indeed, from the nature of the crime itself, the place where it was committed, and the fact that the assassin has escaped without leaving a trace behind him, it would seem as though the case itself had been taken bodily out of one of Gaboriau’s novels, and that his famous detective Lecoq only would be able to unravel it. The facts of the case are simply these:—

  ‘On the twenty-seventh day of July, at the hour of twenty minutes to two o’clock in the morning, a hansom cab drove up to the police station, in Grey Street, St Kilda, and the driver made the startling statement that his cab contained the body of a man whom he had reason to believe had been murdered.

  ‘Being taken into the presence of the inspector, the cabman, who gave his name as Malcolm Royston, related the following strange story:—

  ‘At the hour of one o’clock in the morning, he was driving down Collins Street East, when as he was passing the Burke and Wills monument he was hailed by a gentleman standing at the corner by the Scotch Church. He immediately drove up, and saw that the gentleman who hailed him was supporting the deceased, who appeared to be very intoxicated. Both were in evening dress, but the deceased had no overcoat on, while the other wore a short covert coat of a light fawn colour, which was open. As Royston drove up, the gentleman in the light coat said, “Look here cabby, here’s some fellow awfully tight, you’d better take him home!”

  ‘Royston then asked him if the drunken man was his friend, but this the other denied, saying that he had just picked him up from the footpath, and did not know him from Adam. At this moment the deceased turned his face up to the light of the lamp under which both were standing, and the other seemed to recognise him, for he recoiled a pace, letting the drunken man fall in a heap on the pavement, and gasping out “You!” he turned on his heel, and walked rapidly away down Russell Street in the direction of Bourke Street.

  ‘Royston was staring after him, and wondering at his strange conduct, when he was recalled to himself by the voice of the deceased, who had struggled to his feet, and was holding on to the lamp-post, swaying to and fro. “I wan’ g’ome,” he said in a thick voice, “St Kilda.” He then tried to get into the cab, but was too drunk to do so, and finally sat down again on the pavement. Seeing this Royston got down, and lifting him up, helped him into the cab with some considerable difficulty. The deceased fell back into the cab, and seemed to drop off to sleep; so, after closing the door, Royston turned to remount his driving-seat, when he found the gentleman in the light coat whom he had seen holding up the deceased, close to his elbow. Royston said, “Oh you’ve come back,” and the other answered, “Yes, I’ve changed my mind, and will see him home.” As he said this he opened the door of the cab, stepped in beside the deceased, and told Royston to drive down to St Kilda. Royston, who was glad that the friend of the deceased had come to look after him, drove as he had been directed, but near the Church of England Grammar School, on the St Kilda Road, the gentleman in the light coat called out to him to stop. He did so, and the gentleman got out of the cab, closing the door after him.

  ‘“He won’t let me take him home,” he said, “so I’ll just walk back to the city, and you can drive him to St Kilda.”

  ‘“What street, sir?” asked Royston.

  ‘“Grey Street, I fancy,” said the other, “but my friend will direct you when you get to the Junction.”

  ‘“Ain’t he too much on, sir?” said Royston, dubiously.

  ‘“Oh, no! I think he’ll be able to tell you where he lives—it’s Grey Street or Acland Street I fancy, I don’t know which.”

  ‘He then opened the door of the cab and looked in, “Goodnight, old man,” he said—the other apparently did not answer, for the gentleman in the light coat, shrugging his shoulders, and muttering “sulky brute,” closed the door again. He then gave Royston half a sovereign, lit a cigarette, and after making a few remarks about the beauty of the night, walked off quickly in the direction of Melbourne. Royston drove down to the Junction, and having stopped there according to his instructions he asked his fare several times where he was to drive him to. Receiving no answer, and thinking that the deceased was too drunk to answer, he got down from his seat, opened the door of the cab, and found the deceased lying back in the corner with a handkerchief across his mouth. He put out his hand with the intention of rousing him, thinking that he had gone to sleep, when on touching him the deceased fell forward, and on examination, to his horror, he found that he was quite dead.

  ‘Alarmed at what had taken place, and suspecting the gentleman in the light coat, he drove to the police station at St Kilda, and there made the above report. The body of the deceased was taken out of the cab and brought into the station, a doctor being sent for at once. On his arrival, however, he found that life was quite extinct, and also discovered that the handkerchief which was tied lightly over the mouth was saturated with chloroform. He had no hesitation in stating that from the way in which the handkerchief was placed, and the presence of chloroform, that a murder had been committed, and from all appearances the deceased died easily, and without a struggle.

  ‘The deceased is a slender man, of medium height, with a dark complexion and is dressed in evening dress, which will render identification difficult, as it is a costume which has not any distinctive mark to render it noticeable. There were no papers nor cards found on the deceased from which his name could be discovered, and the clothing was not mar
ked in any way. The handkerchief, however, which was tied across his mouth, was of white silk, and marked in one of the corners with the letters “O. W.” in red silk. The assassin, of course, may have used his own handkerchief to commit the crime, so that if the initials are those of his name they may ultimately lead to his detection. There will be an inquest held on the body of the deceased this morning, when, no doubt, some evidence may be elicited which may solve the mystery.’

  In Monday morning’s issue of the Argus the following article appeared with reference to the matter:—

  ‘The following additional evidence has been obtained which may throw some light on the mysterious murder in a hansom cab of which we gave a full description in Saturday’s issue:—“Another hansom cabman called at the police office and gave a clue which will, no doubt, prove of value to the detectives in their search after the murderer. He states that he was driving up the St Kilda Road on Friday morning about half past one o’clock, when he was hailed by a gentleman in a light coat who stepped into the cab and told him to drive to Powlett Street in East Melbourne. He did so, and after paying him, the gentleman got out at the corner of Wellington Parade and Powlett Street and walked slowly up Powlett Street while the cab drove back to town.”

  Here all clue ends, but there can be no doubt in the minds of our readers as to the identity of the man in the light coat who got out of Royston’s cab on the St Kilda Road with the one who entered the other cab and alighted therefrom at Powlett Street. There could have been no struggle, as the cabman Royston would surely have heard the noise had any taken place. The supposition is, therefore, that the deceased was too drunk to make any resistance, and the other, watching his opportunity, placed the handkerchief saturated with chloroform over the mouth of his victim, and after a few ineffectual struggles the latter would relapse into a state of stupor from such inhalation. The man in the light coat, judging from his conduct before getting into the cab, appears to have known the deceased, though from the circumstance of his walking away on recognition and returning again shows that his attitude towards the deceased was not altogether a friendly one.

  ‘The difficulty is where to start from in the search after the author of what appears to be a deliberate murder, as the deceased seems to be unknown, and his presumed murderer has escaped. But it is impossible that the body can remain long without being identified by someone, as though Melbourne is a large city, yet it is neither Paris or London, where a man can disappear in a crowd and never be heard of again. The first thing to be done is to establish the identity of the deceased, and then, no doubt, a clue will be obtained leading to the detection of the man in the light coat who appears to have been the perpetrator of the crime.

  ‘It is of the utmost importance that the mystery in which the crime is shrouded should be cleared up, not only in the interests of justice, but also in those of the public—taking place as it did, in a public conveyance, and in the public street. To think that the author of such a crime is at present at large walking in our midst, and perhaps preparing for the committal of another, is enough to shake the strongest nerves. According to James Payne, the well-known novelist, fact is sometimes in the habit of poaching on the domain of fiction, and, curiously enough, this case is a proof of the truth of his saying. In one of Du Boisgobey’s stories, entitled ‘An Omnibus Mystery’, a murder closely resembling this tragedy takes place in an omnibus, but we question if even that author would have been daring enough to have written about a crime being committed in such an unlikely place as a hansom cab. Here is a great chance for some of our detectives to render themselves famous, and we feel sure that they will do their utmost to trace the author of this cowardly and daring murder.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE EVIDENCE AT THE INQUEST

  At the inquest held on the body found in the hansom cab the following articles taken from the deceased were placed on the table:—

  1. Two pounds ten shillings in gold and silver.

  2. The white silk handkerchief which was saturated with chloroform, and was found tied across the mouth of the deceased, marked with the letters O. W. in red silk.

  3. A cigarette case of Russian leather, half filled with old Judge cigarettes.

  4. A left-hand white glove of kid—rather soiled—with black seams down the back.

  Samuel Gorby, of the detective office, was present in order to see if anything might be said by the witnesses likely to point to the cause or to the author of the crime.

  The first witness called was Malcolm Royston, in whose cab the crime had been committed. He told the same story as had already appeared in the Argus, and the following facts were elicited by the coroner:—

  Q. Can you give a description of the gentleman in the light coat who was holding the deceased when you drove up?

  A. I did not observe him very closely, as my attention was taken up by the deceased; and, besides, the gentleman in the light coat was in the shadow.

  Q. Describe him from what you saw of him.

  A. He was fair, I think, because I could see his moustache, rather tall, and in evening dress, with a light coat over it. I could not see his face very plainly, as he wore a soft felt hat, which was pulled down over his eyes.

  Q. What kind of hat was it he wore—a wide-awake?

  A. Yes. The brim was turned down, and I could only see his mouth and moustache.

  Q. What did he say when you asked him if he knew the deceased?

  A. He said he didn’t; that he had just picked him up.

  Q. And afterwards he seemed to recognise him?

  A. Yes. When the deceased looked up he said ‘You!’ and let him fall on to the ground; then he walked away towards Bourke Street.

  Q. Did he look back?

  A. Not that I saw.

  Q. How long were you looking after him?

  A. About a minute.

  Q. And when did you see him again?

  A. After I put the deceased into the cab I turned round and found him at my elbow.

  Q. And what did he say?

  A. I said ‘Oh! you’ve come back,’ and he said ‘Yes, I’ve changed my mind and will see him home,’ and then he got into the cab and told me to drive to St Kilda.

  Q. He spoke then as if he knew the deceased.

  A. Yes; I thought that he only recognised him when he looked up, and perhaps having had a row with him walked away, but thought he’d come back.

  Q. Did you see him coming back?

  A. No; the first I saw of him was at my elbow when I turned.

  Q. And when did he get out?

  A. Just as I was turning down by the grammar school on the St Kilda Road.

  Q. Did you hear any sounds of fighting or struggling in the cab during the drive?

  A. No; the road was rather rough, and the noise of the wheels going over the stones would have prevented me hearing anything.

  Q. When the gentleman in the light coat got out did he appear disturbed?

  A. No; he was perfectly calm.

  Q. How could you tell that?

  A. Because the moon had risen and I could see plainly.

  Q. Did you see his face then?

  A. No; his hat was pulled down over it. I only saw as much as I did when he entered the cab in Collins Street.

  Q. Were his clothes torn or disarranged in any way?

  A. No; the only difference I saw in him was that his coat was buttoned.

  Q. And was it open when he got in?

  A. No; but it was when he was holding up the deceased.

  Q. Then he buttoned it before he came back and got into the cab?

  A. Yes. I suppose so.

  Q. What did he say when he got out of the cab on the St Kilda Road?

  A. He said that the deceased would not let him take him home, and that he would walk back to Melbourne.

  Q. And you asked him where you were to drive the deceased to?

  A. Yes; and he said that the deceased lived either in Grey Street or Acland Street, St Kilda, but that the deceased woul
d direct me at the Junction.

  Q. Did you not think that the deceased was too drunk to direct you?

  A. Yes, I did: but his friend said that the sleep and the shaking of the cab would sober him a bit by the time I got to the Junction.

  Q. The gentleman in the light coat apparently did not know where the deceased lived?

  A. No; he said it was either in Acland Street or Grey Street.

  Q. Did you not think that curious?

  A. No; I thought he might be a club friend of the deceased.

  Q. How long did the man in the light coat talk to you?

  A. About five minutes.

  Q. And during that time you heard no noise in the cab?

  A. No; I thought the deceased had gone to sleep.

  Q. And after the man in the light coat said goodnight to the deceased what happened?

  A. He lit a cigarette, gave me a half-sovereign, and walked off towards Melbourne.

  Q. Did you notice if the gentleman in the light coat had his handkerchief with him?

  A. Oh, yes; because he dusted his boots with it. The road was very dusty.

  Q. Did you observe any striking peculiarity about him?

  A. Well, no; except that he wore a diamond ring.

  Q. What was there peculiar about that?

  A. He wore it on the forefinger of the right hand, and I never saw it that way before.

  Q. When did you notice this?

  A. When he was lighting his cigarette.

  Q. How often did you call to the deceased when you got to the Junction?

  A. Three or four times. I then got down, and found he was quite dead.

  Q. How was he lying?

  A. He was doubled up in the far corner of the cab; very much in the same position as I left him when I put him in. His head was hanging on one side, and there was a handkerchief across his mouth. When I touched him he fell into the other corner of the cab, and then I found out he was dead. I immediately drove to the St Kilda police station and told the police.