Classic Tales of Mystery

by Editors of Canterbury Classics

  The perspiration stood on Mrs. Thipps’s forehead.

  “Save us from our friends,” whispered the Duchess to Parker. “If that cough-drop-devouring creature had openly instructed those fourteen people—and what unfinished-looking faces they have—so characteristic, I always think, of the lower middle-class, rather like sheep, or calves’ head (boiled, I mean), to bring in wilful murder against the poor little man, he couldn’t have made himself plainer.”

  “He can’t let him incriminate himself, you know,” said Parker.

  “Stuff!” said the Duchess. “How could the man incriminate himself when he never did anything in his life? You men never think of anything but your red tape.”

  Meanwhile Mr. Thipps, wiping his brow with a handkerchief, had summoned up courage. He stood up with a kind of weak dignity, like a small white rabbit brought to bay.

  “I would rather tell you,” he said, “though it’s reelly very unpleasant for a man in my position. But I reelly couldn’t have it thought for a moment that I’d committed this dreadful crime. I assure you, gentlemen, I couldn’t bear that. No. I’d rather tell you the truth, though I’m afraid it places me in rather a—well, I’ll tell you.”

  “You fully understand the gravity of making such a statement, Mr. Thipps,” said the Coroner.

  “Quite,” said Mr. Thipps. “It’s all right—I—might I have a drink of water?”

  “Take your time,” said the Coroner, at the same time robbing his remark of all conviction by an impatient glance at his watch.

  “Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Thipps. “Well, then, it’s true I got to St. Pancras at ten. But there was a man in the carriage with me. He’d got in at Leicester. I didn’t recognise him at first, but he turned out to be an old school-fellow of mine.”

  “What was this gentleman’s name?” inquired the Coroner, his pencil poised.

  Mr. Thipps shrank together visibly.

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,” he said. “You see—that is, you will see—it would get him into trouble, and I couldn’t do that—no, I reelly couldn’t do that, not if my life depended on it. No!” he added, as the ominous pertinence of the last phrase smote upon him, “I’m sure I couldn’t do that.”

  “Well, well,” said the Coroner.

  The Duchess leaned over to Parker again. “I’m beginning quite to admire the little man,” she said.

  Mr. Thipps resumed.

  “When we got to St. Pancras I was going home, but my friend said no. We hadn’t met for a long time and we ought to—to make a night of it, was his expression. I fear I was weak, and let him overpersuade me to accompany him to one of his haunts. I use the word advisedly,” said Mr. Thipps, “and I assure you, sir, that if I had known beforehand where we were going I never would have set foot in the place.

  “I cloak-roomed my bag, for he did not like the notion of our being encumbered with it, and we got into a taxicab and drove to the corner of Tottenham Court Road and Oxford Street. We then walked a little way, and turned into a side street (I do not recollect which) where there was an open door, with the light shining out. There was a man at a counter, and my friend bought some tickets, and I heard the man at the counter say something to him about ‘Your friend,’ meaning me, and my friend said, ‘Oh, yes, he’s been here before, haven’t you, Alf?’ (which was what they called me at school), though I assure you, sir”—here Mr. Thipps grew very earnest—“I never had, and nothing in the world should induce me to go to such a place again.

  “Well, we went down into a room underneath, where there were drinks, and my friend had several, and made me take one or two—though I am an abstemious man as a rule—and he talked to some other men and girls who were there—a very vulgar set of people, I thought them, though I wouldn’t say but what some of the young ladies were nice-looking enough. One of them sat on my friend’s knee and called him a slow old thing, and told him to come on—so we went into another room, where there were a lot of people dancing all these up-to-date dances. My friend went and danced, and I sat on a sofa. One of the young ladies came up to me and said, didn’t I dance, and I said ‘No,’ so she said wouldn’t I stand her a drink then. ‘You’ll stand us a drink then, darling,’ that was what she said, and I said, ‘Wasn’t it after hours?’ and she said that didn’t matter. So I ordered the drink—a gin and bitters it was—for I didn’t like not to, the young lady seemed to expect it of me and I felt it wouldn’t be gentlemanly to refuse when she asked. But it went against my conscience—such a young girl as she was—and she put her arm round my neck afterwards and kissed me just like as if she was paying for the drink—and it reelly went to my ’eart,” said Mr. Thipps, a little ambiguously, but with uncommon emphasis.

  Here somebody at the back said, “Cheer-oh!” and a sound was heard as of the noisy smacking of lips.

  “Remove the person who made that improper noise,” said the Coroner, with great indignation. “Go on, please, Mr. Thipps.”

  “Well,” said Mr. Thipps, “about half-past twelve, as I should reckon, things began to get a bit lively, and I was looking for my friend to say good-night, not wishing to stay longer, as you will understand, when I saw him with one of the young ladies, and they seemed to be getting on altogether too well, if you follow me, my friend pulling the ribbons off her shoulder and the young lady laughing—and so on,” said Mr. Thipps, hurriedly, “so I thought I’d just slip quietly out, when I heard a scuffle and a shout—and before I knew what was happening there were half- a-dozen policemen in, and the lights went out, and everybody stampeding and shouting—quite horrid, it was. I was knocked down in the rush, and hit my head a nasty knock on a chair—that was where I got that bruise they asked me about—and I was dreadfully afraid I’d never get away and it would all come out, and perhaps my photograph in the papers, when someone caught hold of me—I think it was the young lady I’d given the gin and bitters to—and she said, ‘This way,’ and pushed me along a passage and out at the back somewhere. So I ran through some streets, and found myself in Goodge Street, and there I got a taxi and came home. I saw the account of the raid afterwards in the papers, and saw my friend had escaped, and so, as it wasn’t the sort of thing I wanted made public, and I didn’t want to get him into difficulties, I just said nothing. But that’s the truth.”

  “Well, Mr. Thipps,” said the Coroner, “we shall be able to substantiate a certain amount of this story. Your friend’s name—”

  “No,” said Mr. Thipps, stoutly, “not on any account.”

  “Very good,” said the Coroner. “Now, can you tell us what time you did get in?”

  “About half-past one, I should think. Though reelly, I was so upset—”

  “Quite so. Did you go straight to bed?”

  “Yes, I took my sandwich and glass of milk first. I thought it might settle my inside, so to speak,” added the witness, apologetically, “not being accustomed to alcohol so late at night and on an empty stomach, as you may say.”

  “Quite so. Nobody sat up for you?”

  “Nobody.”

  “How long did you take getting to bed first and last?”

  Mr. Thipps thought it might have been half-an-hour.

  “Did you visit the bathroom before turning in?”

  “No.”

  “And you heard nothing in the night?”

  “No. I fell fast asleep. I was rather agitated, so I took a little dose to make me sleep, and what with being so tired and the milk and the dose, I just tumbled right off and didn’t wake till Gladys called me.”

  Further questioning elicited little from Mr. Thipps. Yes, the bathroom window had been open when he went in in the morning, he was sure of that, and he had spoken very sharply to the girl about it. He was ready to answer any questions; he would be only too ’appy—happy to have this dreadful affair sifted to the bottom.

  Gladys Horrocks stated that she had been in Mr. Thipps’s employment about three months. Her previous employers would speak to her character. It was her duty to make
the round of the flat at night, when she had seen Mrs. Thipps to bed at ten. Yes, she remembered doing so on Monday evening. She had looked into all the rooms. Did she recollect shutting the bathroom window that night? Well, no, she couldn’t swear to it, not in particular, but when Mr. Thipps called her into the bathroom in the morning it certainly was open. She had not been into the bathroom before Mr. Thipps went in. Well, yes, it had happened that she had left that window open before, when anyone had been ’aving a bath in the evening and ’ad left the blind down. Mrs. Thipps ’ad ’ad a bath on Monday evening, Mondays was one of her regular bath nights. She was very much afraid she ’adn’t shut the window on Monday night, though she wished her ’ead ’ad been cut off afore she’d been so forgetful.

  Here the witness burst into tears and was given some water, while the Coroner refreshed himself with a third lozenge.

  Recovering, witness stated that she had certainly looked into all the rooms before going to bed. No, it was quite impossible for a body to be ’idden in the flat without her seeing of it. She ’ad been in the kitchen all evening, and there wasn’t ’ardly room to keep the best dinner service there, let alone a body. Old Mrs. Thipps sat in the drawing-room. Yes, she was sure she’d been into the dining-room. How? Because she put Mr. Thipps’s milk and sandwiches there ready for him. There had been nothing in there—that she could swear to. Nor yet in her own bedroom, nor in the ’all. Had she searched the bedroom cupboard and the box-room? Well, no, not to say searched; she wasn’t use to searchin’ people’s ’ouses for skelintons every night. So that a man might have concealed himself in the box-room or a wardrobe? She supposed he might.

  In reply to a woman juror—well, yes, she was walking out with a young man. Williams was his name, Bill Williams—well, yes, William Williams, if they insisted. He was a glazier by profession. Well, yes, he ’ad been in the flat sometimes. Well, she supposed you might say he was acquainted with the flat. Had she ever—no, she ’adn’t, and if she’d thought such a question was going to be put to a respectable girl she wouldn’t ’ave offered to give evidence. The vicar of St. Mary’s would speak to her character and to Mr. Williams’s. Last time Mr. Williams was at the flat was a fortnight ago.

  Well, no, it wasn’t exactly the last time she ’ad seen Mr. Williams. Well, yes, the last time was Monday—well, yes, Monday night. Well, if she must tell the truth, she must. Yes, the officer had cautioned her, but there wasn’t any ’arm in it, and it was better to lose her place than to be ’ung, though it was a cruel shame a girl couldn’t ’ave a bit of fun without a nasty corpse comin’ in through the window to get ’er into difficulties. After she ’ad put Mrs. Thipps to bed, she ’ad slipped out to go to the Plumbers’ and Glaziers’ Ball at the “Black Faced Ram.” Mr. Williams ’ad met ’er and brought ’er back. ’E could testify to where she’d been and that there wasn’t no ’arm in it. She’d left before the end of the ball. It might ’ave been two o’clock when she got back. She’d got the keys of the flat from Mrs. Thipps’s drawer when Mrs. Thipps wasn’t looking. She ’ad asked leave to go, but couldn’t get it, along of Mr. Thipps bein’ away that night. She was bitterly sorry she ’ad be’aved so, and she was sure she’d been punished for it. She had ’eard nothing suspicious when she came in. She had gone straight to bed without looking round the flat. She wished she were dead.

  No, Mr. and Mrs. Thipps didn’t ’ardly ever ’ave any visitors; they kep’ themselves very retired. She had found the outside door bolted that morning as usual. She wouldn’t never believe any ’arm of Mr. Thipps. Thank you, Miss Horrocks. Call Georgiana Thipps, and the Coroner thought we had better light the gas.

  The examination of Mrs. Thipps provided more entertainment than enlightenment, affording as it did an excellent example of the game called “cross questions and crooked answers.” After fifteen minutes’ suffering, both in voice and temper, the Coroner abandoned the struggle, leaving the lady with the last word.

  “You needn’t try to bully me, young man,” said that octogenarian with spirit, “settin’ there spoilin’ your stomach with them nasty jujubes.”

  At this point a young man arose in court and demanded to give evidence. Having explained that he was William Williams, glazier, he was sworn, and corroborated the evidence of Gladys Horrocks in the matter of her presence at the “Black Faced Ram” on the Monday night. They had returned to the flat rather before two, he thought, but certainly later than 1:30. He was sorry that he had persuaded Miss Horrocks to come out with him when she didn’t ought. He had observed nothing of a suspicious nature in Prince of Wales Road at either visit.

  Inspector Sugg gave evidence of having been called in at about half-past eight on Monday morning. He had considered the girl’s manner to be suspicious and had arrested her. On later information, leading him to suspect that the deceased might have been murdered that night, he had arrested Mr. Thipps. He had found no trace of breaking into the flat. There were marks on the bathroom window-sill which pointed to somebody having got in that way. There were no ladder marks or footmarks in the yard; the yard was paved with asphalt. He had examined the roof, but found nothing on the roof. In his opinion the body had been brought into the flat previously and concealed till the evening by someone who had then gone out during the night by the bathroom window, with the connivance of the girl. In that case, why should not the girl have let the person out by the door? Well, it might have been so. Had he found traces of a body or a man or both having been hidden in the flat? He found nothing to show that they might not have been so concealed. What was the evidence that led him to suppose that the death had occurred that night?

  At this point Inspector Sugg appeared uneasy, and endeavoured to retire upon his professional dignity. On being pressed, however, he admitted that the evidence in question had come to nothing.

  One of the jurors: Was it the case that any finger-marks had been left by the criminal?

  Some marks had been found on the bath, but the criminal had worn gloves.

  The Coroner: Do you draw any conclusion from this fact as to the experience of the criminal?

  Inspector Sugg: Looks as if he was an old hand, sir.

  The Juror: Is that very consistent with the charge against Alfred Thipps, Inspector?

  The Inspector was silent.

  The Coroner: In the light of the evidence which you have just heard, do you still press the charge against Alfred Thipps and Gladys Horrocks?

  Inspector Sugg: I consider the whole set-out highly suspicious. Thipps’s story isn’t corroborated, and as for the girl Horrocks, how do we know this Williams ain’t in it as well?

  William Williams: Now, you drop that. I can bring a ’undred witnesses—

  The Coroner: Silence, if you please. I am surprised, Inspector, that you should make this suggestion in that manner. It is highly improper. By the way, can you tell us whether a police raid was actually carried out on the Monday night on any Night Club in the neighbourhood of St. Giles’s Circus?

  Inspector Sugg (sulkily): I believe there was something of the sort.

  The Coroner: You will, no doubt, inquire into the matter. I seem to recollect having seen some mention of it in the newspapers. Thank you, Inspector, that will do.

  Several witnesses having appeared and testified to the characters of Mr. Thipps and Gladys Horrocks, the Coroner stated his intention of proceeding to the medical evidence.

  “Sir Julian Freke.”

  There was considerable stir in the court as the great specialist walked up to give evidence. He was not only a distinguished man, but a striking figure, with his wide shoulders, upright carriage and leonine head. His manner as he kissed the Book presented to him with the usual deprecatory mumble by the Coroner’s officer, was that of a St. Paul condescending to humour the timid mumbo-jumbo of superstitious Corinthians.

  “So handsome, I always think,” whispered the Duchess to Mr. Parker; “just exactly like William Morris, with that bush of hair and beard and those exciting eyes looking out of it—so spl
endid, these dear men always devoted to something or other—not but what I think socialism is a mistake—of course it works with all those nice people, so good and happy in art linen and the weather always perfect—Morris, I mean, you know—but so difficult in real life. Science is different—I’m sure if I had nerves I should go to Sir Julian just to look at him—eyes like that give one something to think about, and that’s what most of these people want, only I never had any—nerves, I mean. Don’t you think so?”

  “You are Sir Julian Freke,” said the Coroner, “and live at St. Luke’s House, Prince of Wales Road, Battersea, where you exercise a general direction over the surgical side of St. Luke’s Hospital?”

  Sir Julian assented briefly to this definition of his personality.

  “You were the first medical man to see the deceased?”

  “I was.”

  “And you have since conducted an examination in collaboration with Dr. Grimbold of Scotland Yard?”

  “I have.”

  “You are in agreement as to the cause of death?”

  “Generally speaking, yes.”

  “Will you communicate your impressions to the Jury?”

  “I was engaged in research work in the dissecting room at St. Luke’s Hospital at about nine o’clock on Monday morning, when I was informed that Inspector Sugg wished to see me. He told me that the dead body of a man had been discovered under mysterious circumstances at 59 Queen Caroline Mansions. He asked me whether it could be supposed to be a joke perpetrated by any of the medical students at the hospital. I was able to assure him, by an examination of the hospital’s books, that there was no subject missing from the dissecting room.”

  “Who would be in charge of such bodies?”

  “William Watts, the dissecting-room attendant.”

  “Is William Watts present?” inquired the Coroner of the officer.

  William Watts was present, and could be called if the Coroner thought it necessary.

  “I suppose no dead body would be delivered to the hospital without your knowledge, Sir Julian?”