The Telegraph, 22 November 1934
The Strathaird’s captain pressed his fingertips together, regarding the men standing before him thoughtfully. “Mr. Alcott’s offer struck me as both patriotic and obliging. Certainly Mr. Kisch’s antics have caused no end of trouble.”
“For pity’s sake, man!” Rowland exploded. “These men are murderers!”
“Settle down, old boy,” Alcott said, stepping towards Rowland. “You’ll be treated fairly if you don’t resist.”
“Go to hell, Henry—”
“Just a minute, Mr. Alcott.” Carter signalled the stewards to step between the two. “While I was initially inclined to accept your offer, I received a telegram this morning warning me that you and your colleagues are wanted for questioning with respect to attacks on people in Canberra and Melbourne.”
“Propaganda from one of Kisch’s Communist friends, no doubt!” Alcott barked.
Carter spoke evenly. “Mr. Wilfred Sinclair is certainly not a Communist, Mr. Alcott. In any case, his telegram was confirmed by another from a Detective Delaney of the New South Wales Police Force.”
“Why, this is outrageous! Scurrilous, slanderous allegations!”
“I have decided, Mr. Alcott, that the only way to ensure the safety of everybody concerned is to confine all parties to their cabins until we make port in Sydney, at which point the matter will be one for the police.”
For a moment it looked as though Alcott and his men would resist. The crewmen responded by flanking each of the passengers and displaying, if not unholstering, their weapons. It seemed they were not ordinary stewards but armed security. Simmering, Alcott conceded and the four men were accompanied back to their First Class accommodations.
“Captain Carter,” Rowland said before he too was escorted to his cabin. “Herr Kisch is in a lot of pain. I understand that there is no X-ray equipment on board, but surely there’s something that can be done?”
“I’ll speak to the ship’s doctor, Mr. Sinclair,” Carter said gruffly. “There’s nothing more I can do.”
In the end Rowland returned to his friend with only a few sleeping powders, but it was something.
And so, the next day was passed confined to an airless cabin with a man in an agony, while the liner made her way to Sydney. Aware that their situation may have been a good deal more perilous had Captain Carter accepted Alcott’s version of events, they bore it without further protest. The Strathaird found herself trapped in Darling Harbour in much the same way that she had been delayed in Melbourne while lawyers argued over whether Egon Kisch should be allowed to land. Miss Christian Jollie Smith and Mr. Piddington, K.C., came to his bedside to discuss his case. At extraordinary expense, an X-ray machine was installed on the ship and Egon Kisch’s leg finally treated and plastered. Henry Alcott and his men disembarked and disappeared before Colin Delaney could question them. Rowland and Clyde’s vigilance was relieved, at least temporarily, by dozens of Egon Kisch’s supporters who once again boarded to fill the infirmary from where the man himself spoke to the press and made his case directly to the Australian public. Among the visitors to the infirmary was the fugitive Gerald Griffin who spoke with his fellow delegate and wrote a letter on Strathaird letterhead before eluding the authorities and vanishing once more. Rowland couldn’t help but wonder if the New South Wales Police really wanted to capture him.
“Someone murdered a young woman and set her alight, Rowly,” Delaney admitted. “We’ll catch that bastard first.”
Edna and Milton also joined them on board. Rowland kissed the sculptress’ cheek. “You and Milt probably saved our lives,” he whispered. “Thank you.”
“You should be thanking Wilfred.” She embraced him tightly and noticed him flinch. “What have you done?” she demanded, pulling back to look at him.
“I’m just a little sore.” Rowland resisted the urge to clutch his side. “We should find you a doctor.”
“No—I’m perfectly well… how was Wil?”
“He was… is quite cross,” she said, clearly aware that Rowland was trying to avoid the subject. “You seem pale, Rowly.” She turned to Clyde. “What happened to him?”
Clyde glanced at Rowland. “Perhaps you should have that wound looked at again now that Egon’s safe.”
“As soon as we disembark,” Rowland promised. The injury was increasingly uncomfortable but not yet intolerably so. He expected a doctor would simply instruct him to rest… which he would, as soon as the “Raging Reporter” was finally on Australian soil.
The case of Egon Kisch continued to be debated through that day and the next. Miss Jollie Smith ran back and forth between the court and the Strathaird infirmary to clear up points of fact and law. Finally, on the afternoon of 16 November, just after the infirmary had been cleared of visitors, the message came that the Supreme Court of New South Wales had ordered the release of Egon Kisch.
The halls and decks of R.M.S. Strathaird rang with cheers and heartfelt renditions of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow”. The residents of Woodlands House celebrated too, not just for the release of Egon Kisch but also their own. They had done their part and now they could go home.
Amidst the joyous furore they could only watch from a distance as Egon Kisch was lifted onto a stretcher and carried down the gangway to the long-awaited shore.
“Have you ever seen such a showman?” Clyde murmured as Egon waved to the crowd.
And then, on the dock, Egon’s triumph turned to confusion. He was bundled into a police car and taken away, leaving bewildered supporters and the excited press in his wake.
“What the blazes…” Rowland began.
Milton was already moving, swinging his walking stick to create a path through the crowd. “They’ll take him to Police Headquarters—come on!”
They were not alone in following Kisch to the station, and like his other supporters and the press, they were denied admittance while the Czechoslovak was carried into the reception room. The best they could do was peer in through the forecourt window with dozens of others. Egon was clearly furious as they searched his suitcase and questioned him on its contents.
“What the hell’s going on?” Milton asked.
“I’m not sure,” replied Rowland who had the added vantage of his height in observing what was happening. “They’ve just given him a paper and pen… perhaps they’re trying to get him to write a confession of some sort.”
Suddenly Egon shouted loudly enough for those behind the window to hear: “In Gaelic language? You want me to submit to a dictation test in Gaelic? It is stupid and unfair to test me with this. It will make Australia a laughing stock!”
“For the love of God,” Rowland said. “They’re making him sit an entry test in Gaelic.”
“Can they do that?” Clyde asked outraged. “Can you see what’s happening now, Rowly?”
“Egon’s throwing away the pen… they’ve given him another one… he’s refusing to take it.” Rowland shook his head incredulously. “The constable’s reading again.”
“That doesn’t sound like it did the last time,” Kisch shouted so all could hear. “This fellow does not know Gaelic himself!”
Three policemen stepped forward to seize the journalist. Someone closer to the window shouted, “Bail’s been denied. They’re taking him into custody!”
Rowland made his way back to the reception and demanded to see Egon Kisch. He wasn’t the only one. They were all told in no uncertain terms to get on their way and threatened with arrest if they resisted.
From the prison corridors in Police Headquarters, Egon Kisch roared about injustice and dirty tricks, the shame that it was for a peace delegate to be treated in this way.
“What do we do now?” Clyde asked.
“Delaney!” Rowland said. “We’ll ask for Delaney.”
“You’ll do no such thing!” Colin Delaney appeared from behind a counter. He pulled them aside. “Are you trying to get me sacked?”
“Colin—”
“Sorry
, Rowly, there’s nothing I can do. The Immigration Act you know…”
“But—”
“You can’t help him now… not here, anyway. Your best chance is to talk to lawyers.”
They all blanched as Egon Kisch shouted for a lawyer and a doctor. Milton began to lose his temper.
“He’s not being tortured,” Delaney assured them. “I suspect he’s just trying to make the sergeant’s life miserable.”
“Egon shouting is the least of his worries!” Milton threatened to storm the cells himself to take aid to the prisoner.
Rowland intervened before Delaney was forced to arrest the poet. “Perhaps we should call on Miss Jollie Smith—find out what she’s doing to get Egon released, and see if there’s anything more we can do—” He glanced at Milton. “Aside from a gaol break.”
The offices of Christian Jollie Smith were in the Manchester Unity Building on Elizabeth Street. It was by now well beyond normal business hours, but Rowland expected the solicitor would be burning the midnight oil in preparation for Egon Kisch’s day in court.
It was as they entered the building that they encountered Alcott, Smith and Brown. The three were standing by the corridor which led to Miss Jollie Smith’s rooms, waiting.
Milton swore. He recognised Alcott of course, but also Smith. “That’s the bloody peace officer from Parliament House,” he said quietly.
Rowland stepped in front of Edna.
Henry Alcott unfolded his arms. “Rowly… fancy meeting you here, old boy. Are you taking your Commie mongrels for a walk?”
“I believe you gentlemen are wanted by the police,” Rowland said coldly.
Alcott stared at him. “My god you look like Aubrey… even now, ten years older than he was…”
“What are you doing here?” Rowland asked suspiciously. Alcott seemed to be stalling.
A scream from down the corridor, and then a man’s cry. “You won’t defend Red rats anymore!”
“What the devil—” Rowland broke for the corridor.
Alcott leapt to grab him. Another scream. Rowland turned and swung. Then all the men threw themselves into the fray. Smith produced a knife. Milton parried a slash with his walking stick and then thrust it like a sword into the man’s stomach. Smith doubled over but he did not release his weapon.
Alcott charged, slamming Rowland against the wall. For a moment he was winded as Alcott laid into him. Rowland could feel blood soaking through the fabric of his shirt, and it was that rather than any pain or debilitation that told him the stab wound had reopened. Clyde pulled Alcott off.
A door opened in the corridor and Christian Jollie Smith stumbled out. The lawyer was bleeding profusely from the head as she ran blindly along the hall.
Rowland regrouped, bolting into the corridor as he left Clyde and Milton to hold back the three men.
The solicitor collapsed outside another door, just as Lamb emerged into the corridor from her office. He held an iron pipe about three feet in length in both hands.
Rowland put himself between Lamb and his victim. “Drop the pipe, Mr. Lamb.”
“Finish it!” Alcott bellowed as he tried to break free of Clyde.
Edna slipped past the men to reach the crumpled form of Jollie Smith. She banged frantically on the door of the dentist’s offices at which the solicitor had fallen, shouting for help as blows were exchanged around her.
Lamb raised his pipe above his head and ran towards the two women, swinging wildly as Rowland blocked his way. A thud as the pipe made contact with Rowland’s chest. Gasping, Rowland fell to his knees, but he grabbed Lamb as he did so, bringing his assailant down with him.
The door was opened by a man who was presumably the dentist, and between them he and Edna dragged and carried Jollie Smith into the relative refuge of his surgery.
“The police… we need the police!” Edna handed the semiconscious solicitor into his care.
Rowland gripped Lamb’s hand and slammed it against the ground, trying to force him to release the iron pipe. Someone kicked him in the back, dragged him off Lamb, and threw him into the wall. Dazed, Rowland tried to focus. Alcott.
“I won’t miss this time.” A knife.
Rowland drew back as Alcott thrust. The blade nicked his jacket but nothing more. He struck back before Alcott could recover, seizing Alcott’s wrist and punching at the same time. The blow caught Alcott on the jaw, stunning him. Rowland followed with another blow and another. Alcott dropped the knife. Rowland seized him by the collar, light-headed now. “Damn you, Henry!”
“Rowly, behind you!” Clyde’s voice.
Rowland turned quickly, with Alcott still in his grip.
Henry Alcott grunted as the knife meant for Rowland plunged into his spine. Lamb’s eyes widened as he realised what he had done, and he stepped back. Smith and Brown tried to run but by now help had arrived and their way was barred.
Rowland did not release his grip on Alcott—holding him up as his limbs became loose and heavy. Alcott clutched Rowland’s shoulder as the light faded from his eyes. “Don’t leave me, Aubrey… help me.”
Rowland tried, calling for help as he attempted desperately to stem the bleeding even as he bled himself. But Henry Alcott was dead.
36
MURDEROUS ATTACK ON WOMAN LAWYER IN HER OFFICE
Beaten With Iron Pipe
MISS JOLLIE SMITH IN DESPERATE STRUGGLE
ALLEGED ADMISSION BY MAN WHO IS CHARGED
VICTIM NOW IN HOSPITAL
SYDNEY, Friday
With severe wounds on the head, alleged to have been inflicted by a man armed with a piece of iron piping, Miss C. Jollie Smith, well-known City solicitor, was taken to Sydney Hospital this morning.
There she was immediately treated by several doctors for a nasty wound on the head, which necessitated several stitches. Later in the day a man was charged at the Central Court with having assaulted her with intent to do bodily harm, and was remanded.
Miss Jollie Smith’s office was the scene of the sensational encounter. She said later that she feared for her life. “I was in my office preparing the affidavits in the Kisch case,” she said. “Nobody else was in, but suddenly the door opened. A man rushed into the room and then dived at me across my desk…”
WEAPON SECURED
Constables arrived soon afterwards, and they took a man to the Central Police Station. A piece of water-pipe more than two feet long, which had the appearance of having been freshly sawn from a longer piece, was given to the constables. Miss Jollie Smith was taken by the Central Ambulance to Sydney Hospital where it was found necessary to shave part of her head to treat lacerations to the scalp. She was admitted for observation. “I think I’m lucky to be alive,” she said. “My greatest disappointment is that I have had to miss the application to the Court in the Kisch case, which promised to be most interesting.”
MAN CHARGED
Alleged to have admitted that he intended murder, Ernest Gustave Lamb, 51, accountant, was charged at the Central Police Court later in the day with having unlawfully assaulted Christian Jollie Smith, occasioning her actual bodily harm. Lamb was also charged with unlawful common assault…
The detective added that Lamb said: “I went there for the purpose of doing her in. I want to be committed for trial for this for murder.” Detective Cartwright said Miss Smith was now in Sydney Hospital. Three stitches had been inserted in a wound in her head, but she had not been certified as being in a dangerous condition. Lamb was remanded to November 27.
The Newcastle Sun, 16 November 1934
It was never clear how exactly Wilfred Sinclair was alerted to the incident at the Manchester Unity Building. Perhaps he had been notified by the police, or some bystander, or, more likely, he’d had his own spies watching his brother. Rowland for his part had not known Wilfred was even in Sydney.
Christian Jollie Smith was taken immediately to the hospital, as the police attempted to ascertain what precisely had occurred in the corridor. Smith and Brown claimed to be passers
-by set upon by Communist thugs of whom they claimed Lamb was one. Lamb confessed quite proudly that he had intended to kill Christian Jollie Smith, and wished to be arrested for that crime. With regards to Alcott, he would say nothing. Smith and Brown, on the other hand, claimed it was Rowland who had wielded the knife and delivered the fatal blow.
Of course Clyde, Milton and Edna provided a vastly different version of events. Shaken after watching a man die as he held him, Rowland was quiet. He, too, was taken to the hospital when it was discovered that not all the blood on his clothes belonged to Alcott. His friends were detained at the scene.
Wilfred Sinclair arrived at the Manchester Unity Building with New South Wales Police Commissioner Childs. It was difficult to tell which of them commanded greater authority. The scene was cleared soon after that. Smith, Brown and Lamb were taken into custody, Alcott to the City Morgue. Clyde, Edna and Milton gave their formal statements at Police Headquarters while Egon Kisch still bellowed for justice from his cell.
At the hospital, Rowland remained under guard as the wound, which it seemed had gradually been reopened by repeated impact, was given the appropriate attention.
A Dangerous Language Page 32