The Dead Witness: A Connoisseur's Collection of Victorian Detective Stories

by Michael Sims

  The officer and the magistrate exchanged a smile. The latter went to the man who had opened the door and said, in a low tone of voice, “We must get into the house, my man; show us how we can pass this grating and I will give you five guineas. If you refuse, I shall commit you to jail, whether your connection with this establishment deserves it or no. I am a magistrate, and these, my officers, are acting under my direction.”

  The man spoke not; but, raising his manacled hands to his mouth, gave another whistle of peculiar shrillness and modulation.

  The hall in which we were detained was of great height and extent. Beyond the iron screen, a heavy partition of woodwork cut off the lower end, and a door of heavy oak opened from the room thus formed into the body of the hall. An open, but grated, window was immediately above the door and extended almost from one end of the partition to the other. L—, observing this, climbed up the iron screen with the agility of the cat, and had scarcely attained the top ere we observed him level a pistol towards some object in the enclosure and exclaim, with a loud voice, “Move one step and I’ll drive a couple of bullets through your skull.”

  “What do you require?” exclaimed a tremulous voice from within.

  “Send your friend there, Joe Mills, to open the door of the grating. If you move hand or foot, I’ll pull trigger, and your blood be upon your own head.”

  L— afterwards informed me, that upon climbing the screen, he discerned a gentleman in black in close consultation with a group of men. They were standing at the farther end of the enclosure against a window, the light of which enabled him to pick out the superior, and to discern the physiognomy of his old acquaintance Joe.

  “Come, come, Joe, make haste,” said L—. “My fingers are cramped, and I may fire in mistake.”

  The threat was effectual in its operation. The man was afraid to move, and the door of the enclosure was opened by his direction. Joe walked trippingly across the hall and, touching a spring in one of the iron rails, removed the fastenings from a portion of the screen, and admitted our party.

  “How do you do, Mr. Mills?” said L—. “How are our friends at the Blue Lion! You must excuse me if I put you to a little inconvenience, but you are so volatile that we can’t make sure of finding you when we want you unless we take the requisite precaution. Tommy, tackle him to his friend, and by way of greater security, fasten them to the grating—but don’t waste the gloves, for we have several more to fit.”

  “Gentlemen,” said the man in black, advancing to the door of the enclosure, “what is the reason of this violence? Why is the sanctity of this holy establishment thus defiled! Who are you, and what seek you here?”

  “I am a magistrate, sir, and these men are officers of justice armed with proper authority to search this house for the person of Mary Lobenstein, and we charge you with her unlawful detention. Give her to our care, and you may save yourself much trouble.”

  “I know nothing of the person you mean, nor are we subject to the supervision of your laws. This house is devoted to religious purposes—it is the abode of penitents who have abjured the world and all its vanities. We are under the protection of the Legate of His Holiness, the Pope, and the laws of England do not forbid our existence. Foreigners only dwell within these walls, and I cannot allow the interference of any party un-authorised by the Head of the Church.”

  “I shall not stop,” said the magistrate, “to expose the errors of your statement. I am furnished with sufficient power to demand a right of search in any house in the Kingdom. Independent of ascertaining the safety of the individual with whose abduction you are charged, it is my duty to inquire into the nature of an establishment assuming the right to capture the subjects of the King of this realm and detain them in a place having all the appointments of a common prison, yet disowning the surveillance of the English laws. Mr. L—, you will proceed in your search, and if any one attempts to oppose you, he must take the consequences.”

  The countenance of the man in black betrayed the uneasiness he felt; the attendants, six in number, who, with our friend Mills, had formed the council whose deliberations were disturbed by the sight of L—’s pistol, were ranged beneath the window that looked into the yard, and waited the commands of the chief. This man, whose name we afterwards ascertained was Farrell, exchanged a look of cunning with his minions and, with apparent resignation, replied, “Well, sir, it is useless for me to contend with the authority you possess; Mr. Nares, throw open the yard door and, do you and your men attend the gentlemen round the circuit of the cells.”

  The person addressed unbolted the fastenings of a huge door that opened into the yard, and bowed to our party as if waiting their precedence. Mr. Wilson, being nearest the door, went first, and Nares, with a bend of his head, motioned two of his party to follow. As they passed him, he gave them a knowing wink and said, “Take the gentlemen to the stone house first.” The magistrate was about to pass into the yard when L— seized him by the collar of his coat and violently pulling him back into the room, closed the door and jerked the principal bolt into its socket.

  “Excuse my rudeness, sir, but you will soon perceive that it was necessary. Your plan, Mr. Nares, is a very good plan, but will scarcely answer your purpose. We do not intend placing ourselves at the mercy of your men in any of your stone houses, or cells with barred windows. You have the keys of the establishment at your girdle—go round with us yourself and let those five or six fellows remain here instead of dancing at our heels. Come, come, sir, we are not to be trifled with; no hesitation, or I shall possess myself of your keys and leave you securely affixed to your friend Mills.”

  Nares grinned defiance, but made no reply. Farrell, whose pale face exhibited his dismay, took courage from the dogged bearing of his official and stuttered out, “Mr. Nares, I desire that you will not give up your keys.” The hint was sufficient. Nares and his fellows, who were all furnished with bludgeons, raised their weapons in an attitude of attack, and a general fight was inevitable. The closing of the yard door had cut off one of our friends, but it also excluded two of the enemy. Still the odds were fearfully against us, not only in point of numbers, which rated five to four, and our antagonists were all of them armed, while the magistrate and I were totally unprovided with the means of defense.

  Hostilities commenced by one of the men striking me a violent blow upon the fleshy part of the left shoulder that sent me staggering to the other side of the room. Two of the ruffians simultaneously faced the police officer, as if to attack him; he received the blow of the nearest upon his mace or staff of office, and before the fellow had time to lift his guard, returned him a smashing rap upon the fingers of his right hand, compelling him to drop his cudgel and run howling into the corner of the room. The officer then turned his attention to the fellow who had assaulted me and who was flourishing his stick with the intent of repeating the blow—but receiving a severe crack across his shins from the officer’s mace, he was unable to keep his legs and dropped upon the floor. I immediately wrested the bludgeon from his grasp, and left him hors de combat. The officer, while assisting me, received a knock-down blow from the fellow who had hesitated joining in the first attack, but, cat-like, had been watching his opportunity for a pounce. I gave him in return a violent thump upon his head, and drove his hat over his eyes—then, rushing in upon him. I pinioned his arms and held him till the officer rose and assisted me to secure him. While placing the handcuffs upon him, I was favored with a succession of kicks from the gentleman with the crippled hand.

  L—, having drawn a pistol from his pocket, advanced to Nares and desired him to deliver up the keys; the ruffian answered him by striking a heavy blow on L—’s ear that immediately produced blood. The officer, exhibiting the utmost self-possession under these irritating circumstances, did not fire the pistol at his adversary, but dashed the weapon into his face and inflicted a painful wound. Nares was a man of bull-dog courage. He seized the pistol and struggled fearfully for its possession. His gigantic frame and strength
over-powered his antagonist; the pistol was discharged in the scuffle, luckily without wounding anyone—and the ruffian, holding the conquered L— upon the ground, was twisting his cravat for the purpose of choking him when, having satisfactorily arranged our men, we arrived to the rescue and prevented the scoundrel from executing his villainous intention. But Nares, although defeated by numbers, evinced a determination to die game—it was with the utmost difficulty that we were enabled to secure his arms, and while slipping the handcuffs over his wrists, he continued to leave the marks of his teeth upon the fingers of the policeman.

  While this furious melee was going on, the magistrate had been unceremoniously collared by the master of the house and thrust forth into that part of the hall which adjoined the iron screen. But his worship did not reverence this ungentlemanly proceeding, and turned valiantly upon his assailer. Both of them were un-provided with weapons, and a furious bout of fisticuffs ensued, wherein his worship was considerably worsted. Mills and the porter, who had been fastened by the policeman to the railing of the screen, encouraged Farrell by their cheers. The magistrate was severely punished and roared for help; Farrell, dreading collision with the conquerors of his party, left his man and started off through the open door of the grating; he ran down the lane with a speed that defied pursuit. The driver and the magistrate both endeavored to overtake him, but they soon lost sight of the nimble rogue, and returned discomforted to the house.

  During the scuffle, the two men who, with Mr. Wilson, were shut out by the promptitude of L—, clamored loudly at the door for re-admission. The attorney, as he afterwards confessed, was much alarmed at the position in which he found himself—cut off from all communication with his friends and left at the mercy of two ill-looking scoundrels, in a strange place, and surrounded by a range of grated prisons, while a number of cadaverous, maniac looking faces glared at him from between the bars.

  Upon mustering our party, we were all more or less wounded. The magistrate was outrageous in his denunciations of vengeance upon all the parties concerned; his discolored eye and torn apparel, besides the bruises about his person, had inflamed his temper, and he declared that it was his firm determination to offer a large reward for the apprehension of the chief ruffian, Farrell. L— was much hurt, and for some time appeared unable to stand alone—his ear bled profusely and relieved his head, which had been seriously affected by Nares’s attempt at strangulation. The other officer had received a severe thumping, and his bitten hand gave him much pain. My left arm was almost useless, and many bloody marks exhibited the effects of the fellow’s kicks upon my shins. Nevertheless, we had fought a good fight, and had achieved a perilous victory.

  The magistrate threw up the window sash and addressed the men in the yard from between the iron gratings. “Harken, you sirs, we have thrashed your fellows, and have them here in custody. If you attempt resistance, we shall serve you exactly in the same manner. But if either of you feel inclined to assist us in the discharge of our duty, and will freely answer every question and render all the help in his power, you shall not only be forgiven for any part you may have taken in scenes of past violence, short of murder, but shall be well rewarded into the bargain.”

  One of the men, and I must say that he was the most ill-looking of the whole lot, immediately stepped forward, and offered to turn “King’s evidence” if the magistrate would swear to keep his promise. The other fellow growled his contempt of the sneak “what would snitch” and darted rapidly down the yard. As we never saw him again, it is supposed that he got into the garden and found some means of escaping over the walls.

  The yard door was opened, and the lawyer and the informer were admitted. The latter personage told us that his wife was the matron of the establishment and, with her sister, would be found upstairs. The keys were taken from Nares, and we began our search. Mr. Wilson desired the man to conduct us to Mary Lobenstein’s room, but he positively denied the knowledge of any such person. His wife, a coarse, pock-marked, snub-nosed woman with a loud, masculine voice, also declared that no female answering to that name had ever been within the house. L— remarked that no credit was to be attached to their assertions, and ordered them to lead the way to the search.

  It would occupy too much space to describe minutely the nature of the persons and events that we encountered in our rounds. Suffice it to say, we soon discovered that the suspicions of the police officer and the magistrate barely reached the truth. Farrell’s establishment had no connection with any religious house, nor could we discover either monk, friar, nun, or novice in any of the cells. But the name was a good cloak for the villainous usages practiced in the house, as it dis-armed suspicion and prevented the interference of the police. The house, in reality, was a private mad-house, but subject to the foulest abuses; wives who were tired of their husbands, and vice versa, reprobate sons wishing to dispose of fathers, or villains who wanted to remove their rivals, either in love or wealth, could secure safe lodgings for the obnoxious personages in Farrell’s Farm, as it was termed by the knowing few. Farrell could always obtain a certificate of the lunacy of the person to be removed; Nares had been bred to the pestle and the mortar and, as the Act then stood, an apothecary’s signature was sufficient authority for immuring a suspected person. Incurables of the worst description were received by Farrell and boarded at the lowest rate. He generally contracted for a sum down, guaranteeing that their friends should never again be troubled by them—and, as the informer said, “He gave them little enough to eat, and if they did not die, it wasn’t his fault.”

  The house was also appropriated to other purposes of secrecy and crime. Ladies in a delicate situation were accommodated with private rooms for their accouchement, and the children effectually provided for. Fugitives from justice were sure of concealment if they could obtain admission to the Farm. In short, Farrell’s doors, although closed to the world and the eye of the law, were open to all who could afford to pay, or be paid for—from the titled seducer and his victim, whose ruin was effected in the elegant suite of rooms fronting the lane, to the outcast bedlamite, the refuse of the poor-house and the asylum who was condemned to a slow but certain death in the secret cells of this horrible abode.

  It would fill a volume to recount the history of the sufferers whom we released from their almost hopeless imprisonment—a volume of crime, of suffering, and of sorrow.

  After a painful and fruitless search through all the various rooms, cells, and hiding places of that singular house, we were compelled to acknowledge that the assertions of the under-keeper and his wife were but too correct. Mary Lobenstein was not among the number of the detenues at the Farm, nor could we discover the slightest trace of her. Still L— clung to the hope that in the confusion necessarily attending our first search we had passed over some secret cell or dungeon in which the poor girl was immured. The square stone building in the centre of the garden afforded some ground for this surmise—we were unable to open the small iron-banded door that was fixed in the side of this apparently solid structure. The under-keeper declared that the key was always in the possession of Farrell, his principal; and that no one ever entered the place but Nares und his master. He was not aware that any person was ever confined in it, a spring of water bubbled up within the building, and he believed that Farrell used it as a wine cellar only. He had seen wine carried in and out of the place. Indeed, the whole appearance of the building corroborated the man’s statement—there was no window, air hole, or aperture of any description, excepting the small door before mentioned; and the contracted size of the place itself prevented the possibility of its containing a hiding hole for a human being if a well or spring occupied the area, as the keeper affirmed.

  Resigning this last hope of finding the poor girl, we gave our assistance to the magistrate in removing the prisoners and placing the unfortunates whom we had released in temporary but appropriate abodes. In this service, the under-keeper and his wife proved valuable auxiliaries in pointing out the incurable mad folks and
those who, in his opinion, had been unjustly detained. The prisoners were placed in our carriage and conveyed to London, under the superintendence of L— himself, who promised to return during the evening with additional assistance. The policeman was dispatched to Enfield for several carriages and post-chaises. Some of the most desperate and confirmed maniacs were sent to the lunatic asylum, with the magistrate’s order for their admittance, and two or three of the sick and sorrowing were removed to the Middlesex hospital.

  I assisted the lawyer and the magistrate in taking the depositions of several of the sufferers who appeared sane enough to warrant the truth of their stories. As night approached, I prepared for a departure, and Mr. Wilson resolved to accompany me; we received the addresses of several persons from various inmates of the Farm, who requested us to let their families know of the place of their detention. As we drove down the lane, we met L— and a posse of police officers, who were to accompany the magistrate in his night sojourn at the house and assist him in the removal of the rest of the inmates in the morning.

  During the evening I called, with a heavy heart, upon Mrs. Lobenstein and communicated the melancholy remit of our scheme. I related minutely the particulars of our transaction—she listened quietly to my story and occasionally interrupted me, when describing the zeal of the officer L—, by invoking the blessings of Heaven upon his head. When she learnt the unsuccessful issue of our search, she remained silent for a minute only—when, with a confident tone and a cheerful voice, she said, “My daughter Mary is in that stone house. The workings of the fingers of Providence are too evident in the wonderful train of circumstances that led to the discovery of Farrell and his infamous mansion. My child is there, but you have not been able to penetrate the secret of her cell. I will go with you in the morning, if you can spare another day to assist a bereaved mother.”