The Maze

by Philip MacDonald

  I think you could, Jennings. I must warn you that, however much you are to be sympathised with in a difficult position, I don’t like the way you are giving your answers. Now! Did you ever hear the reason for Miss Mayne’s leaving the house?

  No, sir.

  You are sure?

  Yes, sir.

  What was your own opinion for the reason of her sudden departure?

  Didn’t ’ave none, sir.

  Did Miss Mayne appear to be happy and contented during all the time she was in the house?

  Absolutely, sir. As ’appy as the day is long, as you might say. Never saw a ’appier young lady in my life. Seemed very ’appy about ’er work and ’appier in the ’ouse. Very ’appy young lady, sir!

  So that you think her work for Mr Brunton and Mr Brunton’s behaviour toward herself gave her no cause for unhappiness?

  I don’t think, sir. I know.

  I see … Can you explain, Jennings, how it was that when Miss Mayne left so hurriedly she was in a state of great distress—tears and so forth—and had been in such a state for the past forty-eight hours?

  . . . . . .

  Come, Jennings! Please answer.

  ’Fraid I can’t sir. I don’t remember. If you say she was un’appy about going away, you must be right, ’aving got it from the police or Mr ’Arrison. But I recolleck nothing at all.

  Do you wish that answer to go on record, Jennings?

  Yes, sir.

  You are not aware, then, Jennings, of a scene which took place in the household thirty-six hours prior to Miss Mayne’s departure?

  Scene, sir? No, sir.

  You were not, in fact, aware that on the Wednesday night before Miss Mayne’s departure on the Friday, Mrs Brunton had entered Mr Brunton’s study at about half an hour after midnight and found Mr Brunton and Miss Mayne together in such circumstances that she demanded Miss Mayne’s immediate withdrawal from the house?

  Me, sir? Certainly not, sir.

  You were not, on that night, wakened by the bell in your room! You did not go downstairs to find Mrs Brunton waiting for you outside her room? Mrs Brunton did not tell you that you were to go out and fetch a taxi at once because Miss Mayne was leaving the house? You did not, in fact, go down to the hall on the way to telephone or leave the house in search of a taxi? You were not stopped in the hall by your master who told you to return immediately to bed and take no notice of Mrs Brunton’s orders?

  . . . . . .

  Come, Jennings! Did these events take place or not?

  Well, sir. What can I—Yes, sir.

  How do you reconcile that answer, Jennings, with the one you gave to my last question?

  I—I—well, sir—oh, yes, sir, I remember. It was just as you said, but Mrs Brunton never mentioned no name. She never said ’oo the taxi was for.

  I see. You note the witness’s answer, gentlemen …

  Now, Jennings! It seems hopeless to try to get any real evidence from you. I am going to ask you a few more general questions and then tell you to stand down; but I must warn you that you will very likely be wanted again, and if and when you are, it will be very much wiser for you to give direct answers to anything you are asked. The first of the remaining questions I have to put to you this time, is: Are you aware of any reason why any person who was an inmate of 44 Rajah Gardens on the night of Thursday last should have any reason for wishing the death of Mr Maxwell Brunton?

  No, sir.

  Have you any reason for supposing that the various quarrels and misunderstandings which took place between Mr Brunton and members of the household that day and which have been described to us by you and other witnesses, were anything more than misunderstandings? Were, in fact, deadly and serious quarrels?

  No, sir.

  So far as you know, life upon that Thursday and the days immediately preceding it was entirely normal in the household?

  Yes, sir.

  Very well, Jennings, you may stand down. Remember that you may be wanted again … I am assuming, gentlemen, that you have no more questions to ask this witness at this stage?

  Call Enid Brunton!

  VI

  ENID KATHLEEN BRUNTON

  WHAT is your full name?

  Enid Kathleen Brunton.

  Will you please take the oath.

  I swear by Almighty God that what I shall say in evidence in this Court shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

  You are the widow of the deceased?

  Yes.

  Having concluded these formalities, Mrs Brunton, I have to proceed to ask you a few questions. I need not say that it will be to your advantage and to ours if you will answer these as concisely as possible … You have heard the evidence of all the preceding witnesses?

  Yes.

  In particular, the evidence of Mr Sydney Harrison, your husband’s secretary?

  Yes.

  You did not see your husband alive after that time when he came into the drawing-room at eleven o’clock and talked for a while and then left again for his study?

  No.

  At what time did you retire?

  At eleven-thirty, at the same time as the rest of the party except my daughter—Mrs Bayford—and Mr Hargreaves.

  And you went straight to your room?

  Yes.

  And you did not leave your room between that time and the time when you were roused by the news of your husband’s death?

  No.

  And you heard no unusual sounds during that time?

  No.

  Are there any facts in any of the evidence hitherto given with which you disagree?

  No.

  You will remember that in his evidence Mr Harrison stated that he inadvertently became aware that you and your husband had been apparently quarrelling? That, of course, was when you entered the study and desired to speak to Mr Brunton. Mr Harrison accordingly left it, and having been told by Mr Brunton to return in ten minutes, he returned before your interview with your husband had ended. You remember this?

  Yes.

  Had you, in fact, been having any disagreement with your husband?

  Yes.

  Was it a serious disagreement? Amounting to a quarrel?

  That is difficult to answer. There are degrees in these things.

  Quite. But what I am trying to get at, Mrs Brunton, is how bitter the disagreement or quarrel was. Was it a greater disagreement than you had ever had with Mr Brunton previously?

  No.

  But all the same for that, a fairly serious matter?

  Yes.

  Will you please tell the Court what it was about?

  Can I be forced to answer that question?

  No. Not in this Court. Nor can you be forced in any other court. But I would like to impress upon you, Mrs Brunton, that this is an inquiry into the manner in which your husband met his death. You have heard the police surgeon’s statement to the effect that the injury which caused that death could not have been self-inflicted or accidental. And, therefore, you must realise that the injury was in all probability inflicted by some other person. This means that we are investigating a matter of the very gravest nature, and that, therefore, no stone can be left unturned. Anyone withholding information or refusing to answer questions which the Court deems necessary must obviously place themselves, by deliberately hindering the proceedings, in a very grave situation. I hope you understand me?

  Perfectly. Do you still wish me to tell you the cause of my quarrel with my husband on the day of his death?

  Please.

  It was about a woman. I had learnt, on reliable information, that my husband had been enjoying a liaison with this woman. I told him that I knew. I reminded him of promises he had made before. I asked him to put an end to his intimacy with this woman. He was very angry. Angrier, I think, than I had ever seen him before. He accused me of having had him spied upon, and I admitted the accusation. He threatened—he threatened—

  . . . . . .

  Shall I ask the clerk to g
et you a glass of water, Mrs Brunton?

  No, thank you, I am sorry. I won’t do that again. Shall I go on?

  Please.

  My husband threatened to leave me. He had never done such a thing before in all our life together. He also made other vague threats. He was, as I said just now, angrier than I had ever seen him.

  May we have the name of this woman, Mrs Brunton? I take it that you know it?

  I do. But is it necessary for me to give it in Court? She has no connection whatsoever with this … She doesn’t even live in London. My husband’s time with her was spent away from London. She has never been in or near our house.

  I see. I don’t think, Mrs Brunton, that it will be necessary for us to insist upon a public announcement of this name at this stage, but perhaps you would write it down and hand it in to me.

  . . . . . .

  Thank you … Now, Mrs Brunton: some rather painful questions, I am afraid, but both you and I have our duty to do … You were married to Mr Brunton, I think you said, twenty-seven years ago?

  Yes. I was eighteen when we married. He was nine years older than I.

  And during that time, as I understand from the general trend of the evidence, and your evidence in particular, there have been several instances of temporary infidelity on Mr Brunton’s side?

  Yes.

  You knew of all these?

  I cannot say. I knew of many.

  Did you ever consider obtaining a divorce from Mr Brunton?

  Never.

  But you had other quarrels with him on the subject of these infidelities?

  Many.

  Apart from this distressing side of his character, was Mr Brunton a good husband to you?

  Very, very good.

  And a good father to his children?

  To my daughter, yes. To my son, sometimes.

  It may seem rather a strange question, Mrs Brunton, but this is a strange affair: What were your feelings towards Mr Brunton? I do not mean at any one stage of your life, but taken over the whole of your married life?

  I loved him.

  In spite of his infidelities and the fact that you considered he was not always a good father to your son?

  In spite of these things.

  Mrs Brunton, you say that you knew that Mr Brunton’s liaison with this woman—whose name you have written down for me—took place in all its phases outside London.

  Yes.

  You could, if necessary, prove that?

  Yes.

  Can you tell us, Mrs Brunton, from your knowledge of your husband, whether this liaison would preclude the possibility of other and temporary intrigues?

  I can tell you. It would have been quite possible for my husband to have been associated with another woman as well over the same period.

  Possibly in London?

  Possibly in London.

  Possibly, Mrs Brunton, inside your house?

  Oh God! … I am sorry. That is possible, sir. But I do not think that it was so.

  I am sorry, Mrs Brunton, but I have to finish this line of questioning.

  Please go on.

  Very well, then. You say that it is not likely, during the time immediately preceding his death, that your husband was conducting an intrigue with anyone living in or frequently visiting your house. And you say that you do not think this situation existed. Does that ‘think,’ Mrs Brunton, actually mean that you cannot be sure?

  It … Yes.

  Thank you. Will you please tell me now whether there have, of late, been many women visitors to your house with whom it is possible or likely that Mr Brunton had been carrying on an intrigue.

  When exactly do you mean by ‘of late’?

  Let us say within the last six weeks or—two months. That is from a time approximately two months ago up to the day of your husband’s death.

  There have not. There have been no visitors.

  Except, of course, Miss Lamort? So, Mrs Brunton, if there had been another liaison, of which you knew nothing, in addition to the one of which you know, going on before your husband’s death it was either one which was conducted, like the one of which you did know, outside the house, or one which was conducted with somebody within the house?

  That is so.

  I understand from your previous evidence, Mrs Brunton, that you had been having some sort of watch kept upon Mr Brunton’s movements outside the house. Am I correct?

  Quite correct … I had—

  You were saying, Mrs Brunton?

  Nothing. I said that I agreed that I had been having my husband watched.

  May we take it, then, that if this other possible liaison of which I have been speaking had taken place outside the house, you would have known about it?

  You may.

  Without doubt?

  Without doubt.

  Therefore, Mrs Brunton, if this possible intrigue were, in fact, going on up to the time of your husband’s death, it was both within your house and with someone at that time, at least, living within your house?

  If you must go on with that assumption: Yes.

  Please forgive me, Mrs Brunton. I am afraid I must carry on in my own way … Now: assuming this intrigue was in your own house, can you tell us—I am sorry for this, Mrs Brunton, but I must conduct the inquiry as I think best—can you tell us who, being resident in your house at the time of your husband’s death and for some little time at least previous to that, would be the most likely partner in such a possible liaison?

  . . . . . .

  Was my question clear, Mrs Brunton?

  Quite clear. I am afraid that I cannot answer it.

  You can make no conjecture?

  I am afraid I cannot answer your question.

  Very well, Mrs Brunton. Just two more questions and then I think I shall be able to conclude your evidence at least for the present. In the first place, you have heard the suggestion contained in the evidence of a previous witness to the effect that your husband and son also quarrelled on the day of his death?

  Yes.

  Have you any knowledge of this quarrel or disagreement?

  Yes.

  Will you please tell us what you know, then.

  Early that morning my son came to me and told me that he had got something to ask his father which he did not think would meet with approval. He was very nervous about it all. I tried to calm him and suggested that perhaps he would like me to speak to his father instead, but he wouldn’t have that. From a small boy Adrian has always been very courageous. All the more so because he is very nervous naturally. But he just makes himself do things. I think perhaps the scene with his father was more violent than it need have been just because Adrian was so nervous and apprehensive before it began.

  Can you give the jury, Mrs Brunton, any idea of what this quarrel was about?

  Generally speaking, yes. For the details, you will have to ask my son himself when he is before you. All I know is that it was about a young woman with whom he is very deeply in love. He wanted his father’s consent to his engagement and was afraid that he would not get it.

  I suppose we are to gather, Mrs Brunton, that consent was withheld?

  Yes. I am afraid Adrian had chosen a bad day to approach his father. I tried to persuade him to put it off.

  May I ask, Mrs Brunton, whether you yourself approved of your son’s choice?

  I am afraid I have not yet met the lady, but I am sure that my son would not have such deep and sincere feelings for anyone unsatisfactory.

  I see. As you say, Mrs Brunton, I have no doubt that we shall get more definite information from your son. Before we leave the matter entirely, however, I should like to ask you whether you saw your son immediately after the interview.

  No, I did not. It must have been at least two hours later that I saw him.

  What was his state of mind then, Mrs Brunton—so far as you could judge?

  He was naturally most upset. I tried to soothe him. I told him also that the best thing he could do was to let the matter r
est for a day or two, when both he and I would speak to his father again.

  Did that seem to satisfy him at all?

  Yes.

  So that after seeing you and getting your counsel his ill-feeling toward his father appeared in some measure to evaporate?

  I cannot say. We changed the subject.

  What was your son’s attitude toward his father when they met, at dinner and later that day? And if it comes to that, Mr Brunton’s attitude toward his son?

  My husband appeared to be conciliatory. He hated hurting people’s feelings. He often did so, but he was always genuinely sorry afterward.

  And Mr Adrian Brunton?

  My son is much younger. I am afraid that, quite naturally, he did not respond much to his father’s advances. Really, sir, that is quite natural, if you come to think of it.

  I see. Now, Mrs Brunton, you have heard the previous evidence. In this evidence there was contained, besides the suggestion that your son and your husband disagreed that day, another to the effect that your daughter and your husband disagreed that day. Do you know anything of this?

  Nothing at all.

  Neither your husband nor Mrs Bayford made any mention to you of any misunderstanding or disagreement?

  None whatever.

  And since your husband’s death, Mrs Bayford has made no mention of this to you?

  None whatsoever.

  Thank you. One last question. Apart from these family troubles and the other matters of which we have spoken, do you know whether your husband had, prior to his death, been worrying about any other outside matters?

  Not to my knowledge.

  He had seemed, in fact, to be his normal self?

  Entirely.

  Over a period of, let us say, a month or longer before his death?

  Yes.

  Thank you, Mrs Brunton. I have no more questions to put to you at this stage, and I do not imagine the jury will have … Is that so, gentlemen? … Thank you … Mrs Brunton, if you will stand down.

  Call Adrian Brunton.

  VII

  ADRIAN BRUNTON

  WHAT is your full name?

  Adrian Brunton.

  Will you please take the oath?

  Do I have to take the oath?

  No, Mr Brunton, this Court has no power to force you to give your evidence under oath, but I can only suggest that to do so is both advisable and helpful.