“Yes, there was,” said Harrison.” But again it was something which anybody else would have seen. Indeed, I was going to ask Mrs. Crewe about it myself. Why does your gardener do his work in his best shoes?”
There was silence for a moment. Then Mrs. Crewe laughed. “That’s a better one, Mr. Harrison,” she said. “But are you sure of it?”
“He was kneeling by some rose trees,” said Harrison, “and one could not help noticing that the soles of his shoes were perfectly new. Having noticed that, one went a step further and noticed that the shoes themselves were new, too.”
“And what do you make of that, Mr. Harrison?” asked Netta, the frown on her white forehead growing accentuated as she concentrated her look on her neighbour.
“I should say he has only two pairs,” said Harrison, “and suddenly found he had to send one of them to be mended.”
“I expect that is the explanation,” said Mrs. Crewe. “You have passed your examination with honours, Mr. Harrison. Hasn’t he, children?”
There were murmurs of agreement, these being particularly cordial on the part of Netta Crewe. By now she was sitting reasonably close to Harrison on the chesterfield and seemed well satisfied to be so near him. Occasionally she looked at him with trusting eyes, and Henry would undoubtedly have decided that his master had “made a conquest.” Harrison himself felt somewhat flattered, for there was certainly a great deal of charm about the attractive Miss Crewe.
“We’ve forgotten to ask Mr. Harrison about the poor tramp,” she exclaimed, turning to her mother.
“Of course we have,” said Mrs. Crewe. “How foolish. It’s your fault, Archie, for wanting to ask all those questions.”
“We’ve read all we can in the papers,” said Crewe. “It’s no good asking Mr. Harrison any questions about the murder; that’s why I thought of some others.”
“Surely you can tell us something?” asked Netta.
“Your brother is absolutely right, Miss Crewe,” said Harrison. “The papers have all the news. I can’t add anything to it.”
“Terribly cautious of you,” said Mrs. Crewe.
“If ignorance is caution—” said Harrison.
At that moment Miss Docket was announced, and came breezily into the room. Harrison was surprised to realise how much her fresh presence seemed to dispel the atmosphere of tension which had gradually gathered round them as they talked. Although Harrison rose to give his place to Miss Docket, Netta Crewe very deftly guided the newcomer to an armchair and resumed her close position to Harrison.
The announcement of luncheon did not lead to any rearrangement, for Netta Crewe entrenched herself firmly beside Harrison at the table. The meal had made fair progress when Netta Crewe turned to Miss Docket and said, “Mr. Harrison has been very unkind to us, Miss Docket. Here we have been reading about a marvellous murder mystery right in our own district and Mr. Harrison staying here too and he won’t say a word.”
“Perhaps you could tell us something,” said Mrs. Crewe, “if the subject isn’t too painful.”
“I assure you it’s nothing like that,” answered Miss Docket. “Except that they’re arrested an innocent man—that’s disgusting enough, in all conscience. Still, Mr. Harrison’s going to look after him, so I feel a bit happier about it.”
“Look after him?” said Netta, knitting her brows and looking slightly bewildered.
“Yes,” answered Miss Docket. “He’ll prove the man innocent.”
“Excellent,” said Mrs. Crewe, drily.
“Miss Docket honours me by her belief in my powers,” said Harrison.
“Do you mean to say you have taken it on professionally?” asked Crewe.
“That is so,” answered Harrison.
“No wonder you wouldn’t talk,” commented Crewe.
“I wouldn’t mind telling you what I know,” said Harrison, with a smile at Netta, quickly responded to, “if I knew it.”
“But I seem to remember the papers said that the police had detained another tramp,” said Mrs. Crewe. “That was so, wasn’t it, Archie?”
“Quite right, mother.”
“And you’re making an important case of one tramp killing another, Mr. Harrison?” asked Mrs. Crewe.
“Hardly an important case,” said Harrison; “I’m interested, that’s all.”
“But all your cases are important, Mr. Harrison, surely?” said Netta.
“To me, of course,” answered Harrison, with a smile.
“I take back the word, if you don’t like it,” said Mrs. Crewe. “But you say you are interested. I really can’t understand that.”
“I’m interested in a man who can’t look after himself,” said Harrison.
“At that rate you might wander round the country defending every tramp who got into trouble,” said Crewe.
“And he could do worse than that,” intervened Miss Docket.
“But a straightforward case, as this is assumed to be, Mr. Harrison,” urged Mrs. Crewe. “One man knocks another on the head. Plain, unvarnished murder. Death without frills. Mind you, there’s a lot to be said for it. If I knew I was going to die some long, agonising death from a horrible disease I think I should prefer to be knocked on the head as the tramp was.”
“Mother!” exclaimed Netta.
“My dear child,” was the reply. “I’m too near death myself to humour him by not mentioning him. Like Cyrano, I can look him in the face. It might even be, and I say it in all seriousness, that the tramp was lucky to die as easily as he did and escaped a much more unpleasant method of leaving life. Death without frills has always appealed to me. But it is a straightforward case, Mr. Harrison, and I can’t really imagine what you hope to do.”
“To travesty an old quotation,” said Harrison, “call no case straightforward, Mrs. Crewe, until it is finished, and not even then. Sometimes the plain, unvarnished murders, as you call them, turn out to be the most complicated. But that isn’t my reason. Would you like to hear why I am so interested?”
“Of course, Mr. Harrison, of course,” exclaimed Netta.
“It goes back to my earlier days,” said Harrison, “when I thought I might make a stir as a barrister. For some reason or other I was in the Court of Criminal Appeal and, while waiting for something else, I listened to a case in some ways not unlike this one. Two men—tramps, I expect one would call them—young and vigorous-looking, had been sentenced to death for the murder of a night watchman. He was looking after the material on an estate where a number of houses were being put up near London. They had crept in to steal some of the lead and had been surprised by the watchman. In the morning he was found lying dead from a blow on the head. A sordid enough story.”
“Go on,” said Netta, with breathless interest.
“A very young counsel was conducting their appeal,” continued Harrison; “I won’t say he didn’t do justice to their case. Heaven knows, there seemed little justice to do. But I felt, at the time, that he was overpowered by his surroundings at the Law Courts. He hesitated. He obviously went over old ground in trying to do something. He felt he couldn’t succeed. The prosecuting counsel wasn’t even called upon. The appeal was dismissed and that was that.”
“Did you think the men were innocent?” asked Miss Docket.
“I really don’t know what to say,” answered Harrison. “Greatly daring, as a very young barrister, I called on the prosecuting counsel and asked him about it. He told me he had not pressed the case at the Assizes and had expected a verdict of manslaughter. He lent me the papers and I read them through. Even now, I can’t quite make up my mind.”
“By your description, I should have thought the men had had every chance,” said Mrs. Crewe.
“I’m afraid that was exactly what I didn’t think,” said Harrison. “British justice is fair and sound and works wonderfully well. But say what you like, there is a difference between barristers. Some have the faculty of putting a convincing case to a jury—and make a lot of money for it—and some have not. The jud
ge sums up for the jury but he cannot wholly remove counsel’s impression. That’s obvious, isn’t it?”
“Of course,” said Miss Docket.
“Well,” continued Harrison, “there are some cases, like that of the these two men, where nobody seems particularly interested. That’s how I felt all the time about it. Nobody took a real interest in these men who were on trial for their lives. They had a fair trial, according to all our rules, and yet I don’t think they had a fair chance. They needed help and they didn’t get it. They were not interesting enough. Their crime inspired no headlines or photographs or anything unusual.”
“What did you do, Mr. Harrison?” asked Mrs. Crewe.
“I tried to interest people in a reprieve, but I was the smallest of small fry and the men were duly executed.”
“A horrible story,” commented Miss Docket.
“Yes, horrible because to me it appeared so casual,” said Harrison. “But there was one thing still more horrible. I suppose I was young at the time or it would not have impressed me so much. When the appeal had been dismissed and the men realised that their last hope had gone, the younger one, he could not have been much more than twenty, gave a despairing shriek. I shall never forget that shriek.”
At this moment Mrs. Crewe turned to her son with great concern and exclaimed, “Why, Archie, you’re as white as a sheet.”
“That’s all right, mother,” was the feeble reply, followed by a long drink.
“Archie has a strong imagination,” said Mrs. Crewe, “and you seem to have impressed him, Mr. Harrison.”
“And that’s why you are interested in the Jogger?” said Miss Docket.
“Partly,” answered Harrison. “I made a kind of mental vow at the time that if I could help anyone in similar circumstances I would. This is the first chance I have had.”
“And the other part?” asked Crewe.
“Because I am so impressed by the general belief in this man’s innocence,” replied Harrison, “that I am inclined to assume it myself.”
“But that’s absurd,” said Archie Crewe, quickly.
“And why?” asked Harrison.
“It’s all so obvious,” was the reply. “You mustn’t be too quixotic and let your kind heart carry you away, Mr. Harrison.”
“And why shouldn’t he,” asked Miss Docket. “I think we ought to congratulate him. It’s a splendid story, Mr. Harrison, and I, for one, admire you for it.”
“And so do I,’‘ added Netta.
“Of course we all admire Mr. Harrison for it,” said Mrs. Crewe. “But we’re giving altogether too much attention to crime. I know Mr. Harrison can talk about other things as well. That’s why I asked him here.”
The conversation passed to more general topics, and as it gathered way Harrison realised that his hostess was a woman of great experience and unusual culture. She had done everything, been everywhere, and read everything. In addition she was able to put her thoughts into crisp words. Harrison felt that he had rarely listened to more entertaining talk, and the boorishness of the son and the embarrassing friendliness of the daughter were more or less forgotten.
The meal was drawing to its close when Netta Crewe leaned across the table and made a remark in a low voice to her brother. “Why, of course,” was the much louder reply.
“That’s very rude of you, Netta,” said Mrs. Crewe. “What is all this whispering and secrecy?”
Netta gave a becoming blush and looked uncomfortably towards her brother.
“It’s not a secret, mother,” he said, “Netta was only asking me if she dared worry Mr. Harrison about his height.”
“I really must apologise, Mr. Harrison,” said Mrs. Crewe; “my children are quite mad sometimes.”
“It’s not as bad as that,” said Crewe; “Netta thinks she’s tall and likes to compare herself with every visitor who comes.”
“Why not?” said Harrison.
“In her socks and all that sort of thing,” continued Crewe. “She’s done the measuring on one of the stable doorways. It’s covered with the marks of other unfortunate guests.”
“If it will give you any pleasure, Miss Crewe,” said Harrison, with a smile, “I will certainly match my inches against yours in the proper manner.”
“How perfectly sweet of you, Mr. Harrison,” was the girl’s soft reply. “Come along and do it before we have coffee.”
“Just a moment, Netta,” interrupted Mrs. Crewe. “There’s something I must do or I may forget about it.”
She went out of the room quickly and was soon back with a small bundle in her hand.
“That’s for you, Mr. Harrison,” she said, passing it to him.
Harrison looked at the packet in his hand and realised that it was a banker’s bundle of one-pound notes.
“Money?” he asked.
“I hope so,” answered Mrs. Crewe, with a twinkling eye.
“There must be a hundred pounds here,” he added.
“Again I hope so,” said Mrs. Crewe, “That’s what the banker said it was.”
“But why?” asked Harrison.
“I was so impressed by your story, Mr. Harrison,” she answered, “that I want to do my little bit to help the man you think is innocent.”
“It’s extremely kind of you, Mrs. Crewe,” said Harrison, holding the bundle out to her. “Don’t think I’m ungrateful, but really I can’t take it.”
“It’s going to cost you money and I may as well help,” said Mrs. Crewe. “You can’t pretend to me that you won’t need it. I know the value of that packet well enough. Besides, I am used to being obeyed, Mr. Harrison. I defy you to refuse me.”
“You must humour her,” whispered Netta in his ear.
“Very well,” answered Harrison.
“And you can be certain, Mr. Harrison,” said Mrs. Crewe, “that that hundred isn’t going to be nearly enough to prove the man’s innocence.”
Chapter VI
Harrison Studies The Body
It was after dinner before Clay Harrison appeared in his chambers in the Temple. Henry received him with a pained look. He wished to convey that he was more hurt than angry that his master should prefer a day in the country to doing his duty as a private investigator who lived by the fees he earned. One went out of London for a summer holiday; one might even go into the country for a bank holiday; but even Clay Harrison was hardly justified in spending an odd day casually “like a school treat.” The murdered tramp might be a reason but Henry felt that it was a pretty thin one.
Harrison’s presence soon dispelled his critical mood. The understanding between Harrison and Henry was so great that it was impossible for such a feeling to last for long. Closely questioned by Harrison, Henry had to admit that nothing of great urgency had arisen.
“Nothing that you couldn’t deal with yourself, Henry?” asked Harrison.
“Well, sir,” said Henry, “I think I know your little ways.”
“Only too well,” was the answer. “I think I shall have to live in the country and only come here, say, twice a week, for I know you could carry on quite all right without me.”
“You wouldn’t do that, sir?” said Henry.
“Indeed, Henry,” said Harrison,” there’s hardly any need for me to come here at all. I’m certain I could leave it all to you.”
“Maybe you could, sir,” answered Henry, with a twinkle. “I thought you were serious for the moment, but I see you are only justifying your day off.”
“Henry,” said Harrison, “I had a lovely day in the country.”
Henry looked at him with unfathomable scorn.
“Really I did, Henry,” continued Harrison. “And not what you think either. I wasn’t making daisy chains and putting them round Miss Docket’s neck.”
“I should hope not, sir,” said Henry, indignantly.
“Or Miss Rich’s neck, for that matter,” added Harrison.
Henry coloured slightly.
“A charming soul, Miss Rich, Henry,” said Harrison, “b
ut I’m not a ladies’ man, I’m sorry to say. I didn’t even lie on a mossy bank and watch the fleecy clouds drift across the canopy of cerulean blue.”
Henry, feeling that comment was worse than useless, waited with exemplary patience.
“I went out to lunch, Henry,” said Harrison, and proceeded to recount what had happened during his visit to Overstead House.
“Very interesting and very intellectual, sir,” commented Henry, “and I expect you enjoyed it.”
“Why do you always scoff at intellect, Henry?” asked Harrison.
“Talk never got a man anywhere,” said Henry.
“Quite wrong, Henry,” remarked Harrison, cheerfully; “talk is everything in life. We should never have settled our little problems in crime if you and I hadn’t talked them over together.”
“That’s a different kind of talk, sir.”
“Mrs. Crewe’s intelligent, Henry,” said Harrison. “What did you think of Miss Crewe?”
Henry was taken aback by the suddenness of the question. “I really didn’t notice her,” was the feeble answer.
“My dear Henry,” said Harrison, “I saw you making mental notes at the meeting of everyone on the platform. Out with it.”
“I thought she was a very attractive young woman,” said Henry, rather reluctantly.
“She is, Henry,” continued Harrison, “and she seemed to be very taken with a certain Clay Harrison. In fact, she came almost embarrassingly close to me at times.”
“I know how much you liked that, sir,” said Henry, solemnly.
“Well, Henry, I felt just as you might have done on such an occasion, I was rather flattered.”
“In that case, sir,” said Henry, “I’m sorry I didn‘t stay with you.”
“Directly the chaperon is off duty, something is sure to happen, isn’t it, Henry,” answered Harrison. “But I kept my head, although I must say she became unblushingly affectionate.”
“Well, she wasn’t intellectual, at any rate, sir,” said Henry, decisively.
“How rude you are to my charms, Henry,” laughed Harrison.
“I don’t mean that, sir,” said Henry; “I mean her idea of amusement. Marking your height on a door—sounds like a children’s game to me.”
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