XVIII
"My dear fellow," the Vicar said, "my dear, dear fellow, let me try and understand what it is you are telling me. Forgive me, are you quite well?"
"Perfectly."
"But you are saying that it was this man Henderson who was Sugden's companion in the burglary at Verney's."
"Exactly. His accomplice. And our Other Man."
"You seem very sure of it. You're not jumping to conclusions out of a natural sense of outrage at having found the fellow trying to burgle you?"
"I'm not jumping at anything. Henderson has made me a very full confession admitting that he was at Massingham that night; that it was he who scuffled with Verney and carried off the seal and this watch, which he was in the act of taking from my safe. Longford had put it there."
The Vicar had been awoken from his slumbers in the small hours and his understanding was so ill attuned to news of this kind that he put his head in his hands and groaned quite loudly.
"Why, whatever's the matter?" said Justin, somewhat light-headed himself from his exertions. "Haven't I been making myself clear?"
"My dear fellow, I won't deceive you, you have not. Say it all over very slowly. There was a watch . . ."
"Certainly—which Henderson took from Verney's that night and never disposed of. Longford and Miss Kelly found out about it, so
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they managed to steal it from Henderson's house, put it in an envelope and lodged it with me in my safe, allowing Henderson to know what they had done."
"You mean they had laid a trap for him?" the Vicar cried, clutching with a good deal of desperation at this idea.
"Exactly."
"Hoping that Henderson would dash straight off to get the watch as soon as everything was quiet and that you'd be there to catch him? Yes, I know you told me that's how it happened, and in my opinion it was most providential. Now let me get it clear in my mind why Henderson should have thought it necessary to recover the watch at such risk to himself."
"Because it was valuable, to begin with. Besides, he may have feared it would be dangerous evidence against him in our hands."
"But how was Longford to know that you'd arrive to catch the burglar so conveniently in the act? And why should Henderson have obliged you with a confession?"
"I don't see how it matters, seeing that he has confessed and I have the result in my pocket. I suppose he felt trapped. He may have thought we had more against him than we had. Or perhaps his conscience over shooting at me the other night had something to do wdth it."
"Shooting at you!" cried the Vicar, discovering with horror a new obscurity in the story.
"Didn't I tell you? I thought it best at the time to keep it dark, but someone took a pot shot at me near George's house about a fortnight back. I thought Longford had done it, since he was thereabouts at the time. But it was Henderson; he makes no bones about it; says he just fired 'a bit close like' to frighten me off Wee Geordie and the case in general. Seems to have frightened Longford the worse of the pair of us as it turned out. Poor chap. Suppose he'd been hit by accident?"
"At least the outrage would have been reported to the Police," returned the Vicar with some asperity. "You are becoming altogether careless of your owti safety and of ordinary rules and regulations, or so it seems to me. This burglary of your office, now—have you reported that?"
"Well, no, as it happens."
"You haven't had Henderson arrested or charged?"
"For burgling me! Good heavens no."
THE QUEST: 1899
At these shameless words the Vicar's severity, which never set very hard, melted completely and he began to shake all over with one of his most awesome effects of laughter. "For a legal man you have the most w . . . wonderfully anarchic notions," he managed to blurt out. "Aren't you compounding a felony by failing to report this crime?"
"I may be misprising one, if you want to be technical about it."
"Then suppose it was a trap laid to catch you? Suppose this burglary was arranged in the hope that you'd cover up and compromise yourself?"
The possibility in fact had already occurred to Justin. He remembered how he had just handed Longford back his envelope—without the watch of course—and was sitting down at his desk to begin the questioning which was to lead to the confession, with Henderson to his right on a chair between him and the window, and Longford standing on guard near the rifled safe, when, looking up, he had caught a glance pass between them. From all he had seen he felt sure that the interests of these two men were widely, even desperately conflicting. Yet something had passed: some threat, or warning, or perhaps a promise. It was only a small mystery to set against the reality of the confession that lay in his pocket, yet it troubled him, like a piece of a jig-saw that obstinately refused to fit. There was no point in bothering the Vicar with it, though. It would fall into place in time, no doubt, and meanwhile there were more important things to do.
Soon after half-past eight he let himself into the deserted office. A smell of candle grease and none too clean bodies met him, so he opened the windows and lit the fire, which was soon spluttering its evil-smelling coal dust over everything. He heard Spinks arrive, the brisker step of Harris moving on his rounds and then a sudden exclamation, followed by a knock at the door, around which the clerk's face appeared with the expression of one whose most cherished images have been profaned.
"I know: don't tell me: we've been burgled," Justin greeted him irritably. "What have you found? The broken window catch downstairs?"
"The mud, sir—mud everywhere."
"Has Spinks noticed it? He's not a very noticing lad, but better get rid of him on some errand just in case. Then get Billings to mend the catch and we'll sponge off the worst."
THE MASSINGHAM AFFAIR
"But the Police, sir!" Harris objected, aghast at this. "Surely the footprints, sir ... ? Won't they want . . . ?"
"Bother the Police. Just do as I say and I'll explain later."
Now that he had burnt his boats he felt much calmer, for though he was in no doubt of the seriousness of what he was doing in shielding Henderson, he knew he simply dared not trust the man to Blair's custody until some independent person had interviewed him and taken a more official statement; otherwise there might be a recantation and everything would be lost. 'Must pacify Harris, though,' he thought. 'Mustn't breathe a word about Misprision—too awful! Suppose I merely tell him there were burglars here but nothing was taken and there's no case for the Police?' The rattle of a bucket and the smell of soap and carbolic from the landing apprised him of the fact that by his orders proofs of a crime were in the very act of being removed; and still wondering how on earth he could explain it away, he opened the private door almost on top of his reproachful clerk (who was down on his knees on the landing carpet) to see rising into view behind him on the stairs die top half of the Mercury's Mr Hicks looking more gnome-like than ever in an ulster about three sizes too large for him.
It was a bad moment.
"Cleaning up, sir?" their visitor remarked, taking in Harris and his bucket with polite surprise. "What's become of young Spinks? Too arthritic for this job? Or have you sent him out snowballing?" He had approached nearer, where the trail of half-dried mud was plainly visible in the sunlight flooding through the office window and the open door. "Disgustingly careless people are," he lamented. "Quite beastly habits, some of 'em. If you'd had a squad of burglars, sir, at work all night they could hardly have made a nastier mess of it, now could they?"
He seemed much spryer than usual, his eyes darting here and there, from the safe to the footmarks and Harris's anguished face. Once inside the office proper, however, all this playfulness seemed to fall from him and he gazed at Justin with the rather constipated stare so familiar to his colleagues.
"Now then, sir . . ." There was reproach in the voice. This man had been hurt and disenchanted beyond even the common experience of the Press. "You know why I'm here, I expect?"
/> Justin replied guardedly that he thought he had some notion.
"I think you have, sir. You had visitors last night."
"Indeed?"
"No need to deny it, for I saw 'em. I saw you. Anything you'd care to say, sir?"
"Only that you must have had a devilish cold and miserable time out there and I hope it was worth it."
"Oh, don't worry, it will be worth it," Hicks said, turning up the corners of his mouth in a little mirthless grin. "There's a story here, sir. Make some nice copy, as I seem to remember saying once before at the time of that little contretemps of yours in Bewley. Not that we want to print anything about ilxat, though."
"I'm sure you don't."
"Seeing that what we're after is another story, the biggest that's hit Smedwick since the Scots came down and massacred half the population in 1308. Now there's a story worth having."
"You shall have it too."
And he tossed Henderson's confession across the desk.
The effect of this manoeuvre was immediate. Mr Hicks, as a good journalist, was prepared for most things—catastrophe for choice—but even his professional aplomb was not quite equal to the occasion. He stared at the thing wide-eyed; then, as he began to read, broke into a prolonged whistle of astonishment.
I, Joseph Henderson, declare as follows:
I remember the night of the Massingham burglary. I was out poaching over the moor with George Sugden. I had my gun with me. We got no game, so Sugden said: "Let's try the priest's." We went through Hirsley Wood to Mr Verney's house. We had with us a bag made of old poke, and this we tore up and tied round our boots. In an outhouse we found a chisel, and with it we forced a window and climbed into a room. We lit a candle and searched around for what we could get. There was a lady's gold watch on the mantelpiece: it is the same as the one now shown me. There was a kind of seal too in the shape of a bird which I sold some years ago.
We then went into the dining-room next door. We heard footsteps and voices above and we saw a light on the stairs. We blew out our candle. I saw Mr Verney coming down towards us with a candle in his hand and I believe his daughter was with him. I had the gun in my hand. Sugden pushed against me to get to the door, and this accidentally set off the gun. Mr Verney's candle went out. Sugden had run out. The old man came into the dining-room and went after me in the darkness. I was dodging about. I then ran into the passage, through the other room, and dived into the flower-beds. I did not see Sugden any-
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THE MASSINGHAM AFFAIR
where. I ran across the garden, over the wall into the fields, and followed die burn uphill. At the quarry near Mellow's Ford I pulled the old poke sacking off my feet and threw it away. I had dropped the chisel somewhere in the house. I got home about three and burnt my boots, stockings and breeches which were soaking wet. The Police came about two hours later.
"My God, but this is dynamite!" Hicks cried as he laid it down. "Beautiful! Beautiful! How the devil did you get it? Have you been after Henderson all this time?" "Longford has. I owe everything to Longford." "Including the confession?" "In a way. Henderson just folded up."
"And told the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?" Justin thought for a while and then said slowly: "No one tells that. There are discrepancies between the two confessions; for I must tell you I have Sugden's too. But I think this is the truth all right, or as near as makes no matter. You see he mentions one particular piece of evidence that explains what was never explained before: something quite striking and new. . . ."
"You mean the bit about the sacking, the 'old poke'?" "You've spotted it. This means the end of Blair." "Fortunately it's just the beginning of the Story," said Mr Hicks with reverence in his voice.
XIX
Few of our readers (declared the Mercury in a leader which Justin preserved among the papers young Mr Jobling found) can have forgotten the sense of shock and outrage that followed the infamous attack upon the Reverend Mr Verney and his daughter at Massingham in February 1891 or the subsequent trial at which two Smedwick men, Milligan and Kelly, were adjudged guilty and sentenced to Penal Servitude for Life. When the convicts were committed to durance vile it was our belief, and that of most of our fellow citizens, that crime had been punished and the district rid of two worthless scoundrels.
Is it permissible to believe this any longer? The Mercury, which conceived it its public duty to record all the details of an odious crime and the condign punishment that followed it, now feels impelled to ask whether justice was done or injustice; whether it was not the innocent who were punished rather than the guilty. The Mercury, fully
aware of the gravity of its questions, but aware also of its duty as an organ of public conscience, asks now whether the jury that found Milligan and Kelly guilty was not misled; whether the judge who sentenced them was not an unwitting agent of oppression; whether the police officers who brought the case against the accused men performed their duty?
That suspicions such as we voice of infamies more to be expected in barbarous lands, among Turks and heathen, could even arise in our own enlightened state and time, under a Government (whatever its political complexion) owing allegiance to our most gracious Queen, is a matter for wonder and dismay. Fortunately the force of evil does not go unchallenged. Where the voice of the appointed guardians of peace and public welfare have been mute, two ordinary citizens (whom we are proud to claim as fellow citizens), obeying only their sense of Christian duty, have raised the questions that we ask in the most cogent form in Whitehall and Westminster itself, adducing evidence which may be of an unparalleled and startling kind.
And even Government must hearken when the people speaks. The need for a ministerial enquiry is quite plain. The Mercury urges it. The common weal requires it. Let the Government act now.
Unknown to the author of this heartfelt call, a Commissioner from the Treasury, charged to investigate the whole affair, had reached Smedwick before the paper was in the press. Respect for its wishes could hardly have been prompter—and much credit was claimed afterwards in the editorial offices. Justin, busy at his desk with a spate of conveyances, was the first to be alerted by the sudden appearance of the Commissioner, a razor-sharp, intent gentleman in a frock-coat who would have served for the model of what Harris never ceased to hope his employer would become. "Mr Wilcox—from the Treasury, sir," he had intoned with deep satisfaction.
No one had announced the Commissioner's presence or purpose in Smedwick; he had simply descended from Olympus with his black gloves and his black bag; but local intelligence was omniscient, and long before the day was out news of his activities had begun to filter back to the office in the market-place. Apparently not a moment had been wasted. Miss Kelly had been the first witness to be seen; then Longford; then the men who claimed to have seen Kelly and Milligan at dawn near the Duke's Wall, six miles across the moor from Massingham. It was a formidable beginning.
On the next day, a Wednesday, the Commissioner saw Bulwer
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the tailor, who had been a witness of the affair of Milligan's trouser button, though he had not been called in court. Dr Higson followed —he who had found the scrap of newspaper in the lining of Kelly's coat—and later that afternoon the news was all round Smedwick that Wilcox and his bag had been seen disappearing into the workhouse in search of Piggott. If this was a sensation—and it now required only the slightest movement on Wilcox's part to rate as one—it was soon overtaken by another, as the news flew from house to house that Geordie Sugden himself, pale as a bogle', had gone at supper-time to the King's Arms where he had been closeted for two hours with the Commissioner.
After the fevered activity of the two previous days the town seemed almost morbidly quiet next morning, for Wilcox had been detected at an early hour driving west along the moor road in a hired trap and his destination had been settled for him without much difficulty. 'He's ganned awa' tae Verney's', the word had gone round amidst general appr
oval. The sight of the trap returning down the hill from the moor drew perhaps the largest audience Pelegate and Bewley Street had known since Milligan and Kelly had passed that way after the famous confrontation scene, but the Commissioner would hardly have been aware of it or have seen the faces peering at him from behind the curtains in the dusk. He had other calls to make—one, most vital, upon Henderson—and these were noted too; until the darkness closed in and the watchers saw only the dim glow of the trap's lamps and heard the clip-clop of hooves in the Lawn-market near Police headquarters.
Justin heard them on the cobbles of the market-place, then the man's footsteps on his office stairs: the evidence of an activity he had called up but controlled no longer. He longed to know how the Commissioner had been impressed by the witnesses he had seen, particularly Blair, whose punishment now appeared as the great necessity in the case, apart from the release of the wrongfully accused men. But when he broached the matter he could see at once that Mr Wilcox was not to be drawn beyond his strict terms of reference—"Punishment of the Police, sir? My dear Mr Deny, is not that premature? The possibility exists, of course, as do other possibilities; I think I should say no more. It is all in my report."
"Which you are publishing?"
"Well, naturally that will be a matter for the Minister," Mr Wilcox
said, raising his voice on the word as though invoking some more than mortal power. "The Minister could if he desired make public the results of a Treasury enquiry, but it has not in my experience been a very frequent practice to do so. You will appreciate the highly confidential nature of this business."
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