Three Inquisitive People
Page 21
“Interesting,” said Richard. “D’you know, I went over the whole thing time after time when I was at Brixton, and I never thought of him once.”
“Well, I don’t mind telling you,” Simon admitted, “it never occurred to me until we found out that the pearls were false, then I began to see daylight, though the trouble was to get proof.”
“Yes, Schatz told me about that; nice little chap Schatz, but even then I didn’t connect Gideon with the murder. I tell you who I did think of—old Win.”
“Who?”
“Aunt Winifred, you know, poor old thing. Of course, I didn’t consider it seriously, but Mother was a bit of a bully, you know, unconsciously perhaps; but, nevertheless, she kept old Winnie on the run all day long. It was always: ‘Oh, no, I can’t leave it to the servants, Winifred will do that.’ The poor old thing would never have stayed in the house another day if she’d had money of her own or anywhere else to go to. Although Father didn’t like her I’ve always thought it was rather rotten of him to leave her absolutely dependent on Mother in his will.”
“Ner.” Simon shook his head emphatically. “We ruled her out from the beginning. It had to be a strongman to strike those blows.” He carefully divided the remaining contents of the bottle between their glasses.
“I suppose it’s early,” Richard said suddenly, “but what about a little lunch?”
“Ah, that reminds me, I’ve an invitation for you. The Duke said, if you’ve no other arrangements, would you lunch with him, Errol House, one-fifteen? How’s that suit you?”
“Splendid, love to. You’ll be there, of course?”
“Um, and Van Ryn. Kind of celebration.”
“They’ve been awfully good, those two I mean, considering they didn’t know me from Adam,” Richard remarked. “And as for you, my dear fellow, God knows what I should have done without you.”
Simon waved his hand deprecatingly. “Oh, I love a muddle,” he grinned. “What about walking round?”
They arrived a little early at Errol House, but the Duke was expecting them, and Rex was already there.
Richard had never met the Duke before except for the few hours on Sunday morning previous to his arrest, but he received a more than charming welcome, and became immediately interested in the wonderful collection of rare and beautiful things scattered about the big lounge-room.
De Richleau was always delighted to show his treasures to anyone of appreciation and understanding, and soon he was leading his guest from the sword which Francis the First had surrendered at Pavia, to the little tabouret upon which his ancestors had had the privilege of sitting in the presence of the Kings and Queens of France. Mr. Granville Schatz arrived a little later, and, almost immediately after, luncheon was announced.
Luncheon was indeed a celebration. The Duke had spared nothing which he felt might give the released prisoner pleasure. A number of his oldest bottles had been removed from the place of their long rest, and carefully decanted earlier in the day. Wine followed with each well-chosen course, and it was not until after four o’clock that they rose from the table.
During the meal they had followed the precedent already set, and refrained from discussing Sir Gideon or the murder; but when the long Hoyo de Monterreys were lit Richard was told in detail, step by step, how the case against Sir Gideon had been built up, which had eventually enabled them to secure his release.
“You must, of course, have been exceedingly worried,” said the Duke, “during your confinement, but I trust at least that you were not too uncomfortable?”
“Oh, no,” Richard admitted. “They were really very nice. The Governor was an old Colonel, the real old ‘Damn it! Shoot ’em! Fill ‘em full of lead and teach ‘em manners!’ type, but really he was awfully decent. ‘Man’s innocent until he’s proved guilty,’ he blared at me when I arrived. ‘Make you as comfortable as we can, but must observe regulations.’”
“Were the—er—regulations very stiff?” asked Simon.
“Not too bad, there’s only one thing, and that’s a disgrace to civilisation.”
“And what is that?” inquired the Duke.
“You’re not allowed to smoke as much as you like. They admit, mark you, that you’re innocent until you’re proved guilty, so what right have they then to inflict what amounts to an absolute torture upon a man who’s used to tobacco?”
“You’re right,” De Richleau agreed. “It is a scandal that your legislature should remain so callous and inhumane. In these days two-thirds at least of the entire population are habitual smokers; suddenly to cut one off from the practice of a lifetime must be torture.”
“It makes one’s nerves so rotten,” said Richard bitterly. “After all, one’s only occupation in prison is to think out one’s defence, and when you’ve got heavy brain work that’s the very time you want to smoke. You just can’t think without it, and it’s utterly unfair to rob a man of his normal capabilities for defence. I wish we could do something about it.”
“Get busy with one or two of your M.P.s,” suggested Rex.
“Trouble is, Parliament’s grown so unwieldy,” Richard replied. “Government bills take all the time! Unemployment, Disarmament, Reparations, India, Tariffs, there’s hardly any time left for private members at all. The only chance is to try and get the public interested through the Press, but it’s a thing that should be done. After all, anybody is liable to be detained by the police for a bad motor smash, or anything, at any time.”
“We must see,” said the Duke, “what we can do; it is a piece of official tyranny unlike the sporting fairmindedness of the British race.” At that moment he was called away to the telephone.
When he rejoined them a few minutes later, he said softly: “That was our friend Marrofat. He thought we should be interested to know that he asked Gideon Shoesmith to call and see him at the Yard and quietly arrested him after lunch.”
26
The Defence Triumphant
At twenty-five minutes to three upon the third day the case of Rex vs. Shoesmith, the eminent counsel who led for the defence rose from his place in court and bowed solemnly to Judge and jury.
“My Lord, Gentlemen,” he began. “It is with the fullest confidence that I rise to address you on behalf of the prisoner.
“In my long association with the Bar I can recall few cases in which so distinguished a man has been so wantonly submitted to all the hideous publicity, and appalling strain, that is involved by trial for murder, upon such slender and ill-founded evidence.
“You have heard the story of the prisoner’s early life. By no means well endowed with this world’s goods, we see him—a young man in a provincial town—slowly but surely earning the confidence of his employers, and winning his way to the front. Not because of any financial advantage, not because of any special aptitude for sport, not owing to influential relations, or any unusual degree of social acceptability—but solely upon account of his industry, his capability, his honesty.
“Later, we see him setting out on ventures of his own. Not—not, mark you—as one avid for wealth and success, ruthlessly casting aside old associations, but modestly, prudently, with the blessing and the backing of those who had previously been his masters.
“There follow years of industrious, conscientious labour, largely devoted to business, but even more largely devoted to the welfare of his fellow-men. We see the prisoner climbing life’s ladder, ever mindful of the teaching of his parents, religious people in the best and truest sense; so that today it would be difficult to estimate the debt of gratitude which the poor of Sheffield owe to Sir Gideon Shoesmith.
“Sir Gideon is not—has never been—a wealthy man. Undoubtedly, with his abilities applied to no other end, he might have been; but of him it may be truly said, his charities have kept him poor.
“Indeed, it was for this lifelong devotion to the interests of others that, in 1928, his Sovereign decided to honour him with a knighthood—a fitting recognition of a long and honourable career.
“And, to pile absurdity upon absurdity, they persist in their accusation, in the full knowledge that the victim was, of all people in the world, the prisoner’s but recently married and dearly cherished wife.
“Let us examine the flimsy motive upon which the prosecution base their case. They argue that because the prisoner had financial embarrassments of a temporary kind he sacrificed a position of permanent ease and brutally murdered a woman to whom he was undoubtedly devoted in order to secure temporary relief.
“What are the actual facts? What exactly did Sir Gideon Shoesmith stand to gain?
“Lady Shoesmith had, as is required by the law, made a new will at the time of her marriage. Under that will the prisoner was the principal beneficiary. But is there anything surprising in that? They were man and wife. Lady Shoesmith’s only son was already handsomely provided for under her late husband’s will. What could be more natural than that she should decide to leave the bulk of her estate to Sir Gideon, a matter of some eighteen thousand pounds.
“But what did he stand to lose?
“Only a comparatively small portion of Lady Shoesmith’s handsome income was derived from her personal estate. Her principal revenue came from a different source entirely. It came from the Trust formed by her late husband in which she had interest for life. A Trust, I ask you to remember, in which Sir Gideon had no sort of interest and over which he had no shadow of control, which passed absolutely to Richard Eaton in the event of Lady Shoesmith’s death.
“We have been told that Lady Shoesmith’s income amounted to the considerable figure of some eight thousand pounds a year, and it was, we are told, very largely from this source that the establishment in Curzon Street was kept up.
“How, then, can the prosecution suggest that to acquire an estate, almost entirely consisting of a piece of property at Slough, a property which may be worth fifteen or sixteen thousand pounds, but which I am advised may not fetch more than ten in the open market today, a man would be foolish enough to sacrifice the benefits of a steady income totalling eleven thousand a year, of which the wife with whom he was living in all amity and happiness was in receipt?
“We have heard a great deal about the episode of the pearls. What does this actually amount to? A loyal wife happy to help her husband in a business difficulty.
“There is no shadow of proof for the rash statement that Sir Gideon had the pearls copied without the knowledge of his wife. You have heard the truth from Sir Gideon himself. Last July his bank pressed for a reduction of his overdraft; he had at that time no liquid assets which he could realise and, pressed by his wife, he disclosed to her the reason for his anxiety.
“Naturally, Lady Shoesmith was anxious to assist him, but the question was—how? Her income was almost entirely derived from this Trust which she was powerless to touch, and therefore she suggested to him the sale of the Slough property, this being her own to dispose of if she wished. Sir Gideon was opposed to this; as a business man he realised how great the appreciation in value of this property was likely to be in years to come. He felt that he could not allow his wife to make this sacrifice. It was then that the question of the pearls arose, and the pearls, mark you, were the only other free asset of any considerable value which Lady Shoesmith possessed.
“If Lady Shoesmith ceased to wear these beautiful necklaces, which had been the admiration and envy of her friends for many years, it would excite comment and inquiry. This was obviously to be avoided in the circumstances, and the remedy was a simple one—the pearls could be copied and nobody would be the wiser. Nobody, that is, except Sir Gideon and Lady Shoesmith herself, for we can hardly accept as serious the suggestion of the prosecution that a woman of Lady Shoesmith’s position, who had been accustomed to wear jewels all her life—and moreover, as we are told, had worn these actual necklaces every day since she had received them from her first husband many years before, could for one moment be deceived by a set of imitations, let alone remain unaware of a substitution during as long a period as four months.
“It was then decided to have the necklaces copied. Sir Gideon very wisely avoided unnecessary expenses by having the work carried out by a wholesale firm in the city rather than Lady Shoesmith’s jeweller in the West End.
“The next question was the disposal of the jewels, and here again it was desirable that the utmost privacy should be observed. Necklaces of such considerable value are known and recognised among the trade, to break them up would be to destroy a great part of their value, to sell them openly to a London firm would have been to risk the knowledge of their sale becoming public, and any rumour of such a kind might have proved seriously damaging to Sir Gideon’s credit at that time.
“Sir Gideon and Lady Shoesmith had already arranged to take a short holiday at Deauville. After some thought it occurred to them that they might find a possible buyer in that fashionable resort, where so many wealthy people from all parts of the world congregate during its brief season. The idea proved a fortunate one since within a few days of their arrival they made the acquaintance of a rich Brazilian who subsequently bought the pearls.
“From start to finish this affair was one in which the maintenance of secrecy was essential, unless Sir Gideon’s credit was to be seriously impaired. It was an entirely private matter, and there was no reason of any kind why Lady Shoesmith should have informed her relations or her friends.
“Transactions of a similar nature, where a woman of property seeks to assist a husband in business difficulties, must, in one form or another, take place every day. In a great city like London, I do not doubt that there are, at this very moment, innumerable conversations taking place with a precisely similar object in view.
“I submit, there, that there is not the slightest reason to doubt Sir Gideon’s relation of this affair, and the ready willingness with which Lady Shoesmith sacrificed her pearls last summer can be taken as one more indication of the happy accord in which this couple lived.
“We come now to the history of the Sheffield and Kingslade Estate Development Company, of which the prosecution have made so much.
“Evidence has been brought before you that this Company came into being under Sir Gideon’s auspices shortly after the War.
“What was the object with which this Company was formed? Largely, we have learned, to relieve the over-crowded and insanitary conditions in which—in common with the less fortunate elements in all the other great cities of Britain—the poor of Sheffield live.
“All of us realise how important it is that the slums and tenement houses of the past should become nothing but a hideous and disgraceful memory, and instead, people of the most moderate means enabled to secure accommodation which gives them light and air and sunshine at a rental which they can afford.
“The Government has been doing what it can to rectify the social scandal of the slums, but the Government has many calls upon it, and in the face of the burden upon industry of the present high taxation it is utterly unable to bear any but a small portion of the cost for this most necessary work.
“How, then, could this work progress at all if it were not for men of high practical ideals, men of Sir Gideon’s stamp, who fill the breach by the creation of concerns such as the Sheffield and Kingslade Development Company?
“What actual benefits has Sir Gideon received for all the time that he has devoted during the last ten years to this Company’s affairs? A few hundred pounds in director’s fees and a modest return upon his capital; during the past year he has received no dividend at all.
“And it is for the sole purpose of investing further sums in this excellent but unremunerative undertaking that the prosecution allege the prisoner committed this unnatural crime!
“Had Sir Gideon been involved in financial speculation—g
ambling in shares or foreign currencies—there might have been some grounds for an assertion by the prosecution that he sought to obtain this money for further speculation by which he hoped to retrieve his failing fortunes, but their contention that he did this thing for the purpose of further investing in a profitless concern is manifestly absurd.
“So much for the shadowy, unsubstantial motive alleged to be the reason for the crime. Let us now examine carefully the actual events upon the night in question.
“In his opening for the Crown, my learned friend told us that he proposed to show beyond any shadow of doubt that the prisoner had absented himself for a period of half an hour or more from a public dinner at the Park Lane Hotel with the deliberate intent of returning to his flat and committing the crime of which he stands accused.
“In addition, my learned friend proposed to bring evidence that the prisoner was actually seen during the time of his alleged absence from the hotel, in the mews at the back of Errol House, from which we are told access could be had by way of the fire-escapes to his flat.
“Later we learn that this evidence is not forthcoming, but the innuendo has been made, and I should be guilty of neglecting my duty to the defence if I allowed the faintest doubt to linger in the mind of any member of the jury as to the complete worthlessness of this evidence, which the prosecution has been unable to produce.
“Upon inquiry it appears that the young man who was reported to have seen Sir Gideon was one of those parasites who batten upon the vice of all great cities—suspected of being concerned in the illicit drugs and other illegal practices, and of such dubious character that, dreading the light which questions in this court might throw upon his own nefarious way of life, he has elected, or been persuaded by his wealthier principals, to leave the country.
“It has been suggested that Sir Gideon himself provided the means for the man’s departure because he drew a certain sum in notes from his bank upon the morning of his arrest. That Sir Gideon should have had his pocket picked with such a sum upon his person is for him a most regrettable coincidence. That he should not have mentioned this to the police is perfectly understandable, since within an hour of the event he suffered the terrible shock of being arrested upon a charge of murdering his wife; a shock that would most certainly put all other thoughts out of any man’s mind. But the suggestion that this money was used to bribe this man to leave the country is malicious and absurd. No evidence whatever has been brought to show that Sir Gideon had the faintest idea of this person’s existence, and since at that time Richard Eaton was being held by the police in connexion with the crime, Sir Gideon could have had no possible idea that he was even under suspicion.