“I am afraid this will be calculated to put you to a considerable amount of inconvenience, Mr. Henderson,” said the lawyer, after they had discussed the matter for a few moments. “From what I can gather, you were the last person to see the poor woman alive, and as Sir Vivian Devereux says, for that reason we must be particularly careful that no breath of scandal attaches itself to your name. Now, as cases like this are somewhat foreign to our experience, I have made up my mind, always, of course, with your permission, that I will introduce you to a gentleman who makes them his particular study. Of course, should you desire it, I will put precedent4 on one side, and do all I can for you; but, if you will be guided by me, you will place your case in the hands of Mr. Codey, the gentleman to whom I refer, and whose name is doubtless familiar to you. His office is not far from here, and if you will accompany me, I shall be only too pleased to escort you to it, and to introduce you to him.”
This course having been agreed upon, they accompanied him to the office of the lawyer in question, and, after a few moments’ delay, were conducted to his presence. He looked more like a trainer of racehorses than a criminal lawyer. He was the possessor of a sharp, keen face, a pair of restless eyes, a clean-shaven mouth and chin, while the whiskers on his cheeks were clipped to a nicety. The elderly lawyer introduced Sir Vivian and Godfrey to him, and explained the nature of their visit.
“Ah, the Burford Street murder,” said Mr. Codey, as soon as he heard the name of the case. “I was wondering how long it would be before I was drawn5 into it. And so, Mr. Henderson, you have the misfortune to be connected with it? As a matter of fact, I suppose you are the gentleman in evening dress who was seen speaking to the girl on the pavement outside the house.”
“I am; but how do you know it?” Godfrey asked, in considerable surprise.
“I merely guessed it,” said the lawyer. “I see from the papers that the deceased was once your model. Now you come to me for help. I simply put two and two together, with the result aforesaid. Perhaps you will be kind enough to tell me all you know about it. Be very sure you keep nothing back; after that I shall know how to act.”
Thus encouraged, Godfrey set to work, and told the tale with which by this time my readers are so familiar. The lawyer listened patiently, made a few notes on a sheet of paper as the story progressed, and when he had finished asked one or two more or less pertinent6 questions.
“You say that you returned to your hotel immediately after your interview with the deceased?”
“Immediately,” Godfrey answered.
“Did you take a cab?”
“No,” said Godfrey; “it was a cold night, and I thought the walk would do me good.”
“But you drove to the house in a cab?”
“I did, and dismissed it at once.”
“That was unfortunate. Do you think the driver would know you again?”
“I should think it very probable,” said Godfrey.
“You were standing8 under the lamp-post, of course, when you paid him, with the light shining full upon your face?”
“I suppose so, as the lamp is exactly opposite the door; but I did not think of that.”
“No; but, you see, I must think of these things,” said the lawyer. “And when you returned to your hotel?”
“I called for a brandy and soda9, and, having drunk it, went to bed.”
When he had learned all he desired to know, it was arranged that Mr. Codey should attend the coroner’s court, and watch the case on Godfrey’s behalf; after which they left the office. On reaching the club where Sir Vivian and Godfrey had elected to lunch, they found that the murder was the one absorbing topic of the day. This was more than Godfrey had bargained for; for, when it was remembered that the deceased woman had been his model, he was cross-questioned concerning her on every hand. So unbearable10 did this at last become, that he proposed to Sir Vivian that they should take a stroll in the park until it should be time for them to set off to the business of the afternoon.
When they reached the building in which the inquest was to be held, they discovered that a large crowd had collected; indeed, it was only with difficulty, and after they had explained their errand, that they could gain admittance to the building. Fensden was awaiting them there, still looking pale and worried; also Mr. Codey, the lawyer, appearing even keener than he had done at his office.
“Public curiosity is a strange thing,” said the latter, as he looked round the packed court. “Probably not more than five persons now in this room ever saw the dead girl, and yet they crowd here as though their lives depended upon their not losing a word of what is said about her.”
At this moment an official came forward, and said something to Godfrey in a low voice. The latter immediately followed him from the room. When he returned he was very white, and he seemed visibly upset.
Then the coroner entered, a portly, dignified11 gentleman, and took his seat, after which the proceedings12 were opened in due form.
The landlord of the house, in which the deceased had resided, was the first witness called. He deposed13 as to the name she was known by in the house, stated that she was supposed to be an artist’s model, and that, to the best of his belief, she had been a quiet and respectable girl. At any rate, her rent had invariably been paid on the day on which it had become due. He had identified the body as being that of his lodger14. During the time she had been with him he had never known her to receive a visitor; as a matter of fact, she had kept to herself; scarcely speaking to any one save when she returned their salutations on the stairs. He was not aware that she had received a letter, and, as far as he knew, she had not a friend in London.
The next witness was the German cabinet-maker, who had been the first to discover the murder. He gave evidence through the medium of an interpreter, and described how he had seen the congealed15 blood under the door and the suspicions it had given rise to. In answer to a question put by a superintendent16 of police, who represented the commissioner17, he stated that he had never spoken to the deceased, for the reason that he knew no English or Italian, and she was not acquainted with German. He had heard her go out on the night in question, and return shortly after midnight, but whether she was accompanied by any one he could not say. He also deposed to the position of the body when they opened the door, and to the mysterious fact that the hands were missing.
The next witness was the police-constable on the beat, who had been called in by the landlord. He gave evidence as to the opening of the door, and the discovery then made. He was followed by the doctor, who had made the post-mortem examination, and who described the nature and situation of the various wounds, and the conclusions he had drawn therefrom. Then came the first sensation of the afternoon, when the well-known artist, Godfrey Henderson, was called. In answer to the various questions put to him, he deposed that he had known the deceased for upward of a year; that he had employed her for the model of his picture, “A Woman of the People,” and had always found her a quiet and eminently18 respectable girl. He had been compelled to dismiss her, not because he had any fault to find with her, but because he was going abroad. This was not the last he had heard of her, for, while on the Nile at Luxor, he had received a letter from her, informing him of her address, in view of any future work he might have for her. At Naples he had again met her, when he was on his way back to England, and had taken her to the Opera in her mother’s company. On the night of the murder, he had again met her in the Strand19, quite by accident, when, finding that she was in serious trouble, he had offered to help her. She would not accept his assistance, however. Noticing that she was in a most unhappy state, and not liking20 to leave her alone in the streets, he had called a cab and escorted her to her abode21 in Burford Street. He did not enter the building, however, but bade her good-bye in the street, after which he returned to his hotel. He was unable to assign any motive22 for the crime, and added that the only person he could have believed would have committed it, was a man named Dardini, an Italian, who was in love with the girl, and who had attempted his (the witness’s) life in Naples, on the night of the visit to the Opera. Whether the man was in England he was unable to say. Whether she had been in want of money at the time of his last seeing her, he also was unable to say. She had declared that she was in work, that was all he knew of the matter.
“On hearing that she was married, did you not inquire the name of her husband?” asked the coroner.
“I did,” Godfrey replied, “but she refused to tell me.”
“Did not that strike you as being singular?”
“No,” Godfrey replied. “When she informed me that he was dead, I did not press the matter.”
“You are quite sure, I suppose, that she was not married when you met her at Naples?”
“I feel convinced that she was not; but I could not say so on my oath.”
“And when you opened the box, which you say was sent you at your country residence, were you not shocked at the discovery you made?”
“Naturally I was!”
“And what conclusions did you come to?”
“I gathered from it that my old friend had been murdered.”
“What caused you to recognise her hands?”
“A certain mark above the knuckle23 of the second finger, the result, I should say, of a burn.”
At this point, Mr. Codey, who had already informed the coroner that he was appearing on behalf of the witness then being examined, asked an important question.
“On making this terrible discovery, what was your immediate7 action?”
“I sent for my prospective24 father-in-law, Sir Vivian Devereux, and for the police officer in charge of Detwich. It was at once agreed that we should communicate with the authorities and that I should render them all the assistance in my power.”
“Pardon my touching25 upon such a matter, but I believe you are about to be married, Mr. Henderson?” said the coroner.
“I hope to be married on Thursday next,” said Godfrey.
“I do not think I need trouble you any further,” the coroner then remarked.
The next witness was a police officer, who informed the Court that inquiries26 had been made in Naples concerning the man Dardini, with the result that it was discovered that he had been arrested for assault upon a foreigner a fortnight before the deceased’s return to England, and that he was still in prison. This effectually disposed of his association with the crime, and added an even greater air of mystery to it than before.
When this witness had stepped down, Mr. Victor Fensden was called. He stated that he was also an artist, and a friend of Mr. Godfrey Henderson. It was he who had first discovered the deceased, and he had recommended her to his friend for the picture of which she was afterward27 the principal figure. She had always struck him as being a quiet and respectable girl. When asked why she had received her notice of dismissal, Victor answered that it was because his friend, Mr. Henderson, had suddenly made up his mind to travel.
“I understand you to say suddenly,” said the superintendent in charge of the case. “Why was it Mr. Henderson suddenly made up his mind to go abroad?”
“I do not know that this question is at all relevant to the case,” said Victor, appealing to the coroner. “It was purely28 a private matter on Mr. Henderson’s part.”
“But anything that bears on the question at issue can scarcely be irrelevant,” said the coroner. “I think it would be better if you would answer the question.”
Fensden paused for a moment while the Court waited in suspense29.
“I repeat my question,” said the superintendent. “Why did the deceased so suddenly lose her employment?”
Once more Victor hesitated. Godfrey looked at him in surprise. Why did he not go on?
“We decided30 to travel on account of a conversation Mr. Henderson and I had concerning the girl.”
“What was that conversation?” inquired the coroner.
Once more Fensden seemed to hesitate.
“Did the conversation refer to the deceased?”
“It did!”
“I gather from your reluctance31 to answer that you were afraid Mr. Henderson might become attached to her, so you used your friendly influence in order to hurry him away as quickly as possible? Am I right in so supposing?”
Another pause, during which Victor’s face was seen to express great emotion.
“That was so.”
“You are sure that Mr. Henderson was attached to the deceased?”
“I am sure of it.”
“Did you know that Mr. Henderson was aware of the deceased’s return to Naples?”
“I was aware that he was in correspondence with her,” said Victor; “but he said nothing to me of his intention to visit her in Naples.”
“Had you known this, would you have endeavoured to dissuade32 him from such a course?”
“I do not know what I should have done; but I should think it very probable that I should have endeavoured to prevent their meeting.”
“When did you become aware of the deceased’s return to England?”
“When Mr. Henderson informed me of it on my arrival at his house at Detwich Hall.”
“You were naturally very much surprised to hear that he had met her, I suppose?”
“Very much,” Victor replied.
“Did you say anything to him upon the subject?”
“I warned him against the folly33 of being drawn into another entanglement34 with her, particularly when he was to be married in ten days’ time.”
“You say another entanglement with her? Are we, therefore, to understand that there had been an entanglement before?”
Again Victor paused before he replied.
“I withdraw the word ‘another,’” he said, hurriedly. “I did not mean it in that sense. I merely suggested to Mr. Henderson that his fianc??e might not care to know that he had been seen driving through the streets of London after midnight with an Italian girl, who had once been his model.”
“Good Heavens!” said Godfrey to himself. “And this is the man whom I have trusted and who has called himself my friend for so many years!”
At this point the coroner, addressing the jury, stated his intention of adjourning35 the inquiry36 until the following Wednesday morning at eleven o’clock. He had excellent reasons for keeping it open until then, he said, and these reasons he had communicated to the foreman of the jury, who was completely satisfied. The Court thereupon adjourned37, and Godfrey presently found himself in the street with Mr. Codey on one side and Sir Vivian Devereux on the other. Victor Fensden was waiting for them on the pavement, and, as soon as they emerged, he approached them with a face that still bore the traces of violent emotion.
“Godfrey,” he began, in a faltering38 voice, “after what they dragged out of me, I scarcely know what to say to you.”
“In any case, I beg that you will not say it,” said Godfrey, coldly. “You have said quite enough already.” Then, turning to the others, he continued: “Come, gentlemen, let us find a cab. I suppose we had better go back to your office, Mr. Codey?”
“I think it would be better,” said that gentleman. “I must have a talk with you upon this matter.”
Then, hailing a cab, they entered it, leaving Fensden on the pavement looking after them. Godfrey’s face was still very pale. It was impossible for him to be blind to the fact that his kindness to Teresina had been the means of bringing down grave suspicion upon himself. Yet, even with that knowledge before him, he knew that he would not, or could not, have acted otherwise than he had done.
When they reached the lawyer’s private office, the door was shut and they sat down to business.
“Well, Mr. Henderson,” said Mr. Codey, “what is your opinion now?”
“I think that the public mind is already jumping to the conclusion that I am responsible for the murder,” Godfrey answered, without fear or hesitation39.
“I am very much afraid that you must accustom40 yourself to look upon it in that light,” the other replied. “The man Fensden’s evidence, given in such a manner as he gave it, was unnecessarily damaging.”
“He is a black-hearted scoundrel,” said the old baronet, wrathfully. “I told you yesterday, Godfrey, that I didn’t trust him, and that I felt sure he bore you some ill-will. And yet, do you know, Mr. Codey,” he added, turning to the lawyer, “Mr. Henderson has done everything for that man. He has practically kept him for years past, he took him on a tour round Europe only a few months ago, and this is the result. It makes one sick with humanity.”
“When you have seen as much of humanity as I have, you will not be surprised at anything,” said the lawyer. “The greater the obligation in many cases, the deeper the ingratitude41. We are wandering from the point, however. Now I am going to be plain-spoken. Tell me, Mr. Henderson, did you ever, under any sort of circumstance, make love, or suggest love, to the woman who is now deceased?”
“Never,” said Godfrey, firmly. “The man who declares that I did, lies.”
“Very probable, but that won’t prevent his saying it. When you left her in Burford Street, did you meet any one near the house?”
“Not a soul. The street, so far as I could see, was empty.”
“I think you said this morning that the night porter let you in at your hotel? Did you make any remark to him respecting the time?”
“Yes, I said to him when he had opened the door, ‘I’m afraid I’m rather late,’ then, looking at my watch, I added, ‘Why, it’s half-past twelve!’”
“If he’s blessed with a good memory, he will recollect42 that,” said Codey. Then with his usual abruptness43, he continued, “Which way did you walk from Burford Street?”
“Through the Tottenham Court Road, along Oxford44 Street, and down Bond Street.”
“A man shall walk it quickly to-morrow morning in order to see how long it will take. If only that hall porter has a good memory, and can be relied upon, this should prove an important point.”
“But surely, my good sir,” put in Sir Vivian, “you do not for a moment suppose that Mr. Henderson will be accused of having killed this woman?”
“I should not be at all surprised,” said the lawyer, quietly. “Let us regard the facts of the case. Some months back, Mr. Henderson employed this girl as his model, and retained her services when he really had no need for them. He was on such familiar terms with her that his friend felt compelled to remonstrate45 with him. As a result they left England hurriedly, the girl following them to Naples. No, no, Mr. Henderson, I beg that you will be silent. Remember, I am telling the story as I should tell it if I were against you instead of for you. As I have said, the girl left for Naples, and I insinuate46 that she followed you. It can be proved that she corresponded with you, and that you sent your friend on his way to travel alone; always bearing in mind that he was the man who had persuaded you to give the girl up. You, in the meantime, returned to Naples, in order to visit her again. You may dispute the motive, but you can not deny that you took her out to dinner and to a theatre afterward.”
“But her mother was with her,” said Godfrey hurriedly, his face flushing angrily at the imputation47 put upon his action by the other.
“That point is immaterial,” the lawyer replied calmly. “It is sufficient for the purposes of the prosecution48 that you met her there. Then you proceeded to England, and, after a little while in the country, became engaged to the daughter of Sir Vivian, now present. The Italian girl had also gone to England. Why? To be with you, of course. You, however, see nothing of her. Therefore, she is unhappy. Why? Because you are about to be married.”
“But that is only supposition,” said Godfrey. “As a matter of fact, she herself was already married.”
“To whom? Why not to yourself?”
“Good Heavens, man,” said Godfrey, starting from his seat, “you don’t surely mean to say that you believe I had married her?”
“I believe nothing,” he replied, still with the same coolness. “But you will find that the counsel for the prosecution will consider it more than likely. Let me continue my story. I was saying that she was unhappy because you were about to be married. It is only natural. Then you came up to town, visited the theatre, and afterward, quite by chance, met her in the Strand, at midnight. At midnight, and by chance, mark that! Does that meeting look like an accidental one? Could you convince a jury that it was? I doubt it. However, let us proceed. The girl is in trouble, and you take her home in a hansom. The policeman and the cabman will certainly identify you, and, for the reason that you say the street was empty when you bade her good-bye, no one will be able to swear that you did not go into the house with her. Now, Mr. Henderson, I ask you to look these facts in the face, and tell me, as a thinking man, whether you consider the public is to be blamed if it regards you with suspicion?”
“As you put it, no,” said Godfrey. “But it can surely be proved that I had nothing whatsoever49 to do with it, beyond what I have said.”
“Exactly; and that is what we have got to do. But I don’t mind telling you candidly50 that I fancy we shall have our work cut out to do it. You see, we have to remember that, beyond your own evidence, there is absolutely nothing for us to argue upon. The two strongest points in your favour are the facts that you were at Detwich when the box containing the dead woman’s hands was sent off at Euston, and that there would not be sufficient time between the moment when the policeman saw you in Burford Street and the time when you arrived at your hotel, for you to have committed the crime. What we have to do is to find the person who despatched the box from London, and to make sure of the hall porter. In the meantime go back to Detwich, and be sure that you don’t stir from home until you hear from me.”
“One more question, Mr. Codey. I should like you, before we go any further, to tell me honestly whether, in your own heart, you believe me to be innocent or guilty?”
“I believe you to be innocent,” said the lawyer; “and you may be sure I shall try to prove it.”
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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precedent
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| n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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pertinent
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immediate
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standing
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soda
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unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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deposed
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| v.罢免( depose的过去式和过去分词 )；（在法庭上）宣誓作证 | |
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lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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congealed
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| v.使凝结，冻结( congeal的过去式和过去分词 )；（指血）凝结 | |
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superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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commissioner
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eminently
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strand
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liking
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abode
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motive
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knuckle
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prospective
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touching
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inquiries
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afterward
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purely
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suspense
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decided
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reluctance
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dissuade
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folly
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entanglement
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adjourning
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inquiry
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adjourned
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faltering
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hesitation
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accustom
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ingratitude
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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abruptness
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Oxford
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remonstrate
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insinuate
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| vt.含沙射影地说，暗示 | |
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imputation
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prosecution
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| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
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49
whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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50
candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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