“The prosecution begged leave to read a statement purporting to have been taken from this man. If such a thing were possible you will see how easily a man’s life might be sworn away by irresponsible people, without any opportunity for the court to verify the facts alleged, or assess the reliability of the witness.
“Fortunately for the interests of justice such a procedure cannot take place in a court of law, and His Lordship very rightly ruled that this statement should not be read and could not be admitted as evidence.
“But my learned and able friend was not content to let the matter rest at that. You have seen during the trial how again and again he has reverted to the question of this missing witness, and by searching and often irrelevant questions to the police Superintendent and the man Van Ryn, sought in the most skilful manner to bring before the Court the story alleged to have been secured from this untrustworthy and disreputable young man.
“So much so has this been the case that His Lordship has found it necessary, upon more than one occasion, to exercise his authority in order to restrain the ardour of my learned friend.
“Now let us face the innuendoes regarding the statement of this young man. It is inferred that he saw somebody that he thought was Sir Gideon Shoesmith leaving the Mews. Let us assume that for once in his evil life he was telling the truth. How could he possibly be sure?
“There is no suggestion even that he had ever seen Sir Gideon before; it seems that he made this criminally rash statement upon being shown a reproduction of a photograph of Sir Gideon taken from the daily press. All of us know how misleading such a reproduction may be.
“You will also recall that the night was foggy and the mews ill-lit. At that hour of night the streets adjacent to Piccadilly are more frequented by elderly gentlemen in evening dress than the streets of any other quarter of London—one might perhaps say than the streets of any quarter of any city in the world. Indeed, it would be difficult between eight o’clock and midnight to walk two hundred yards down any of these turnings which lie between Mayfair and the Clubs without meeting an elderly gentleman in evening dress.
“How then, can this man presume to say that the figure of which he caught one glimpse in the foggy darkness was that of Sir Gideon Shoesmith?
“I feel that the defence has been hampered by these innuendoes, and it would have been better—far better—if the prosecution had been able to produce this witness; we should then—once and for all—have had the opportunity of exposing before the court how utterly baseless and unfounded is this suggestion of identification, and how impossible it would be to place credence in the word of such an unreliable and abandoned creature.
“What, then, is the actual evidence brought before the court?
“You are asked to believe that because Sir Gideon was absent from one room in an hotel for a matter of from twenty to thirty minutes, he did, in that incredibly short space of time, traverse a number of streets, climb a fire-escape—an elderly man, mark you—commit this crime, unheard, unseen, although there were a number of people present in the flat, answer a telephone call in a manner that can only be attributed to an actor or a trained criminal, descend the fire-escape, return through the streets, and once more take his place at the table among his friends, unruffled, unperturbed.
“Sir Gideon has himself informed you regarding his movements during that critical half-hour. Only in the previous week he had consulted a doctor, who advised that social engagements of any kind should be entered into with the greatest moderation.
“How can we be surprised that after the strain of the long dinner Sir Gideon felt unwell—the heat—the atmosphere of some one hundred and twenty persons gathered together in that confined space would naturally tend to aggravate any previous indisposition. In such a case who would not leave the table at the earliest opportunity for the freer air of the hotel lounge, and that is precisely what Sir Gideon did, sitting for some little time quietly in a corner until he felt somewhat recovered.
“And then what do we find? Sir Gideon does not wish to trouble his friends with his temporary indisposition, so instead of returning immediately to the banqueting-room he prescribes for himself the old-fashioned remedy of a brandy and soda, and spends at least ten minutes, one-third, I would ask you to remember, of this half-hour of which the prosecution have made so much, consuming it and completing his recovery in the downstairs bar.
“How, I ask, in the short space of twenty minutes, to which the limit has been reduced, could an elderly man, such as the prisoner, accomplish all these activities that have been alleged against him? A boy of twenty could not accomplish half as much!
“To recapitulate, then. We have seen Sir Gideon, an honourable and industrious man, carving for himself a distinguished career, devoting much of his time to charities and works of the highest public utility.
“Not until he is well past middle age does he have the time and opportunity to seek the amenities of marriage, but when he does he is fortunate in meeting a woman suitable in age, position and temperament. We have ample evidence that the marriage was a happy one, and I aver that the very fact that Lady Shoesmith sold her pearls to help her husband in his difficulties is an additional proof of their mutual confidence and trust.
“It has been plainly shown that whoever might benefit by the death of Lady Shoesmith, it could certainly not be Sir Gideon. For him it is a tragic blow, by which at one stroke he is robbed, not only of the considerable financial support of a rich wife, but of a pleasant home with all the comforts of life and that happy companionship during his declining years, to which, after all his labours, he was entitled to look forward.
“We have gone into the history of the Sheffield and Kingslade Development Company and find that this concern was promoted by the prisoner, largely with the aim of bettering conditions for the less fortunate members of the community; and it has been made clear that had Sir Gideon been able and willing to assist that company in its present difficulties, no considerable benefit could have been derived by him, for at least a number of years, by so doing.
“We have dealt with the insinuations made by the prosecution regarding the statement of the witness whom they were unable to produce, a miserable creature, utterly unstable, and capable of making any rash assertion through his fear of the police; and it is obvious that it was the intention of the police to endeavour to fix the crime upon Sir Gideon. Moreover, we have made it clear that even if this person were of the highest integrity he had not sufficient opportunity which would enable him to identify the prisoner, one brief glimpse, in a foggy, ill-lit mews being totally inadequate.
“Lastly, we have examined the suggestion that the prisoner left the Park Lane Hotel, and we have proved conclusively that at ten minutes to ten he was talking to a waiter in the lounge, and at ten minutes past ten he was quietly consuming a brandy and soda in the downstairs bar.
“The prosecution have signally failed to produce one scrap of evidence regarding his either going out or coming in to that hotel.
“I maintain that the defence has proved that Sir Gideon was in that hotel within the narrowest possible limits of time, and that the prosecution have failed to show any reason for supposing that he ever left it.
“Once more I say that in all my long association with the Bar never have I seen an honourable man submitted to such a hideous ordeal upon such slender and ill-founded evidence.”
27
Lady Felicity Valets Rex Van Ryn
After the court rose the Duke offered Simon and Rex a lift westward in his car.
“You can drop me at the American Club,” said Rex, “an’ I’ll be grateful. I’ve got to do a spot of work, not having been near the office all day an’ I’ll be able to have a word there with one or two of the boys.”
The Duke looked at Simon.
“Um,” the latter nodded. “You can drop me there, too, if you will, it’s quite near the National.”
When they were settled in the car Simon proffered his cigarette-case.
“Thanks,” said Rex. “I think I’d have had to quit that court to get a smoke if they’d sat another half-hour.”
After that they sank back in gloomy silence, each one revisualising certain episodes that had taken place in court that day, while the big car alternately rushed and crawled its way through the traffic of the Strand, Lower Regent Street and Piccadilly.
“Come along in and have one,” Rex proffered, as they drew up before the Club.
“Thank you, I will,” the Duke agreed, getting out.
“’Fraid I can’t,” Simon shook his head. “Got to meet Richard, he’ll be anxious to know how things went. See you tomorrow,” and he hurried off down the street.
“Two Manhattans, and heap the peel,” was Rex’s brief order to the white-coated steward who served the bar. “Over to that corner there.”
“Hallo, Mike!—Evening, Nickie!—See you later, Jerry”—he waved salutations to half a dozen friends who beckoned him to join their groups as he piloted the Duke through the babble of sound to the quietest spot available.
Another white-coated steward appeared and paused before their table. “Your office called you, Mr. Van Ryn.”
Rex shrugged. “Oh, let ’em keep calling.”
The man presented a large envelope. “Feller left this for you, Mr. Van Ryn.”
Rex took the packet and tossed it on the table. “Thanks, Andy, those birds’ll be the death of me.”
“Don’t mention it, Mr. Van Ryn,” the man replied in his singsong voice.
“D’you mind,” Rex looked at the Duke.
“Of course not, please open your letter,” De Richleau smiled.
Van Ryn tore the packet open and glanced down the long typewritten sheets. “Batavian Shelling down again,” he grunted, “and Eden Copera going into liquidation. I’d hate to play the market these days.”
De Richleau nodded. “And, my friend, I fear things will be worse before they’re better.”
“Two Manhattans and a heap, Mr. Van Ryn,” the steward chanted, setting the drinks on the small table.
“Do it again,” said Rex briefly.
“O.K., Mr. Van Ryn.”
Rex pushed his papers from in front of him, and swallowed his drink. “That guy’s going to get away with it,” he said suddenly,
“I fear so,” De Richleau agreed. “Personally I thought the Superintendent would drop the case when I learned that Carrington Smythe had fled the country. I imagined that the death of Lady Shoesmith would be added to that long list of murders where the police are perfectly well aware of the identity of the murderer, but lack the evidence to bring a case.”
Rex groaned. “Who’d have thought the police of this country were all that bum; little Cedric would never have put foot on a dock-side in the States.”
“Perhaps not,” the Duke smiled. “But Shoesmith would have got bail, and appealed for retrials every six months for the next ten years.”
“Say! Where’d you get that stuff?” Rex grinned. “All the same, I’ll allow there’s a heap in what you say. Pity Marrofat didn’t pull Cedric into Vine Street that night, though.”
“Yes, I’ve little doubt that he got in touch with Shoesmith on the morning of his arrest, or even the night before, perhaps. It was an opportunity for blackmail that such a person as Carrington Smythe could hardly be expected to neglect.”
“How do you think things’ll go tomorrow?”
“There’ll be the closing speech for the Crown, then the Judge will sum up. I almost doubt if the jury will retire and a verdict of ‘Not Guilty’ is certain to be returned. It will be all over by lunch-time. That, at least, is some consolation, luncheon in comfort, for the first time in four days.”
“I just can’t get over the way that attorney twisted everything upside down. To listen to him all afternoon you’d think the old man was God’s own uncle!”
“It was a clever speech,” the Duke agreed. “I admired the manner in which he dealt with the Sheffield and Kingslade Development Company. If Aron is correct it is one of the biggest swindles in the country.”
“And all that stuff about the old man being overcome, and parking in the lounge.”
“He was clever, too, when dealing with the pearls. From all that I have heard of Lady Shoesmith, they were the very last thing with which she would have parted.”
“I’ll tell you, though!” Rex swallowed his second cocktail. “He hit on one great point, the old man did stand to drop a packet on the deal!”
“You mean the income of the Trust going to Eaton, that’s true; but I think it was a question of great urgency. He had to have a certain sum at once or he would have gone under.”
“Maybe you’re right, but doesn’t seem to me it would have been much fun if he’d re-financed his company and had no income to live on.”
The Duke raised his slanting eyebrows. “I had a long talk last night with Simon Aron,” he said slowly, “and Aron’s ideas on this subject are interesting. He points out that Shoesmith was his own accountant, that is to say, his firm acted for his company; he may have been in difficulties for a long time, and in his capacity of accountant it would be easy for him to fake the books. He may have counted upon his marriage to set everything right, having no knowledge of the Trust, and only discovered that Lady Shoesmith was in no position to help him, later.”
“I get you,” Rex nodded.
“I think Aron may be right in his suggestion that Shoesmith has falsified the Company’s accounts. Now, if that has been going on over a period of years, all would be well as long as the Company prospered and the other shareholders received a reasonable dividend, but when times are bad, it is then that people are apt to look into things. You’ll remember the Company passed their dividend this year; there was a scene, I understand, nothing serious, but a certain discontent. Perhaps Sir Gideon was scared and felt the time had come when things must be put right. I’ll tell you another thing.”
“Go right ahead,” Rex called to the passing steward: “Andy, two more Manhattans. Yes, go ahead, I’m listening.”
“Aron points out that if he had falsified the accounts in any way, he could not deal, sell the majority holding, or amalgamate with a similar concern; not, that is, until he had straightened things out. Do you remember the copy of the Articles of Association that Aron procured?”
“Yes, he gave me a loan of it.”
“Then you’ll remember the nice block of shares which Shoesmith got for the original concession. If everything had been in perfect order he might have turned those over at ten shillings, in addition to unloading his ordinary and preference shares. Aron worked it out, and at that price he would have received some forty thousand pounds.”
“Even that wouldn’t have seen him happy compared to sitting pretty with the dame.”
“I wonder.” The Duke drew thoughtfully at his cigarette. “Has it ever occurred to you that a confirmed bachelor might not find marriage in itself so altogether wonderful, especially when it is with a middle-aged woman who has been spoilt all her life?”
“Maybe it wouldn’t be all that funny,” Rex agreed.
“It would have been still less funny, my friend, if he’d been made bankrupt, or sent to prison, or perhaps both—not a little bit funny. And upon the other hand,” De Richleau finished his second cocktail, “no inquiry, no bankruptcy, no prison, but forty thousand pounds, all ready to start in the game again, and—no wife.” He stood up slowly.
“Have another before you go,” Rex suggested. “I’ll have to beat it myself in a minute, I’ve got an early dinner at the Embassy tonight. Bum party, it’s sure to be, every one of them dead from the neck up, and before I go I’ll have to try and get the hang of what those guys have been doing in the office all day.” He picked up his papers from the table.
“Thank you, no,” De Richleau smiled. “Another cocktail now and I should have no appetite for the excellent sherry which I hope to drink at Clarendon House in a few hours’ time.”
Rex escort
ed him downstairs. “So long,” he grinned as the Duke carefully buttoned his fur coat about him. “See you in the morning.”
For an hour and a half Rex put in some hard and conscientious work, annotating and digesting the reports which had been sent up from his office, in the quiet library of the Club. Then he placed his papers in his locker and made his way to Trevor Square.
As he left the Club he studied his watch with a rueful face, realising that if he were to change and arrive at the American Embassy in decent time for dinner, it would be impossible for him to ring up Felicity and get half an hour with her. His work had taken longer than he thought, and after all, he reflected, it was better not to go to the Embassy at all than to arrive there late for dinner, if he did that he’d get the boring evening that he expected, anyway, and instead of kudos for having done the right and proper thing, nasty reports would find their way across the Atlantic, to the great old man on the other side.
But at Trevor Square a pleasant surprise awaited him. Felicity lay curled up on the Chesterfield in his sitting-room, all arms, and legs, and loveliness.
“Dar-ling!” said Rex.
“My Sweet,” said Felicity.
“Isn’t it just the top of the world to see you, after a long, hard day. I’ll say it’s marvellous, but who let you in?”
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