Our Serial Story.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2628, 9 October 1909, Page 1 (Supplement)

Our Serial Story.

By Fergus Hume.

! “Tlie Jew’s House/*

Autnor ot me Mystery of a Hansom Gab, ” “ The Yellow Holly, ” “ The Mandarin’s Fan, ” “ The Sealed Message, ” etc., etc., etcj.' (All Eights Keserved)

JkAAMAAAAAAA A Jk YTT CHAPTER VI. THE INQUEST. The Dove family dwelt in a lordly house, on the outskirts of Druntlea, which cheap wits naturally called “The Dove-cot.” It was comfortable and imposing, built of raw red-brick and furnished from cellar to garret by some flamboyant firm that gave gaudy value for the money. The mansion, brandnew and aggressively pompous in a cheap way, stood in newly laid-out grounds, wherein Nature was hard at work trying with the aid of three prize gardeners to grow sufficient greenery to hide the naked ugliness of the place. The Dovecot—people declined to call it otherwise—was fairly representative of the mushroom growth of the suburb. Ben-Ezra had said, “Let there be jerry-built houses of mixed architecture in five minutes,” and jerry-built houses of the pattern demanded rose like exhalations from the disgusted earth. Homing Grange—that was the late Sir Giles’ name for the atrocity—was the newest eyesore. But the Dove family, knowing no better, dwelt imposingly in rooms damp with plaster and crowded with violently colored furniture. Lady Dove was the sole person who did not approve, but as she had been a governess in the seventies, and came of a decent middleclass family, before she married Sir Giles for bread-and-butter, her taste was naturally better than that of her husband and offspring, who took after their father. Besides, Sir Giles owed his money and his title to the ex-gover-ness. She saw possibilities in the busy little commerc'al butterman, whom she had married against her family’s, consent, and brought out the best in him. She it was who persuaded him to increase the business left by his father, who suggested shops being opened all over London to supply genuine fresh eggs and butter that could be eaten, and it was her brains mainly that had selected the speculations which had resulted in Sir Giles’ gigantic fortune. When the successful pair retired to their native Midland town as plain Mr and Mrs Dove, it was the lady who insisted t,pon her husband taking a position as a .municipal councillor and afterwards mayor. She introduced him to politics, and made him stand for Parliament. Even though he failed to get in, his loose cash proved of such value to the Government then in power that its heads felt kindly disposed towards a man with so deep a purse. Then Mr Dove —spurred on by his ambitious wife —built an orphanage and a hospital and gave the town a picture gallery, besides endowing a scholarship. Representations extremely favorable were made in exalted quarters, and when Dove was Mayor for the third time, the King came in person to open a new iving of his orphanage, with the result that he knelt a plebeian and rose up a baronet. He then feit that his life s work was done, and hoped to settle down quietly as an admired ornament of bis town.

Not so Lady Dove. She met too many people who had known her and her baronet when they were tradesfolk, and the said people were too familiar. It was necessary —so she decided —for the family to emigrate, not to a neighborhood crowded with aristocrac} 7 , but to some .comparatively unknown locality, where their title would raise them above everyone. With a far-see-ing eye she selected Bruntlea, and the Doves —papa, mamma, one boy, and twin girls, together with a large establishment of servants —settled in Homing Grange, especially built by BenEzra for ‘their abode. Meantime, the boy went to ltugby and Oxford to be polished, and the twins were supplied with an expensive governess, and the parents became the great people of the neighborhood.

Poor, self-satisfied Sir Giles thought he had found a resting-place for the sole of his foot at last, but his wife—not approving of the raw, ugly barrack they dwelt in—insisted that he should obtain Tanbuck Hall, and become new wine in an old bottle. Sir Giles did his best, but Ben-Ezra refused to sell, and an enmity arose between Jew and Gentile, which culminated—as everyone thought and said—in the Friday night murder in the fog. It was a sad end to Sir Giles’ career, for, once settled in Tanbuck Hall, his wife had intended to cultivate him into an earl. But the luck which had held good for so many years without a break came to an abrupt and inglorious end. Poor Lady Giles, a rank materialist, sufficient in herself to herself, marvelled at the unknown power that had robbed her of an obedient husband and of a prospective peerage. The catastrophe upset her views, and she became religious for a cause which would have sent many believers out of church. So strangely does one woman’s poison become another woman’s meat. Naturally, Sir Giles’ death put an end to everything, but tears and preparation for his bestowal in a gorgeous new vault which he had built for himself and family. Luckily, Reginald was now three-and-twenty, and could be trusted to look after things external, while Lady Dove sat in darkened rooms weeping her eyes red. She was an am-

bitious woman, but extremely goodhearted, and genuinely sorry for the kindly, vulgar, hot-tempered little man to whom she owed so much. Certainly the fortunes of the Doves had been built up mutually by both husband and wife, but if she had been the brain to plan, Sir Giles had been the bands to execute. However, lie was gone, and Lady Dove began to consider if she could not likewise mould her son. In her heart she doubted success in this direction, for Reginald had no capabilities to speak of. He was a heavy, stolid youth, more or less silent, and easily controlled by the amorous passion. It was a knowledge of his undeniable weakness in this respect which made Lady Dove doubt the governess.

Ida Cashell had taught the twin girls for two years, and was a small, redhaired, vivacious woman, who dressed well and knew how to suit her conversation to her company. It was natural that Reginald should admire her, but not natural that she should dare to raise her eyes to the heir to the Dove estates and title. Lady Dove gave Miss Cashed a hint, which was promptly taken, and there were no further grounds for complaint, since the governess suddenly became exceedingly demure and kept the’bov —he was little else —at a safe distance. For all her cleverness, Lady Dove was not feminine enough to see danger in this too obedient change of front, and thought—as she put it —that she had taught Miss Cashed her position. As a matter of fact, the astute Ida held the young man on a very secure chain, and under the rose the two saw more of one another than Lady Dove would hr.ve considered desirable. Miss Cashed, who was ready 40 years of age, and —looking much younger —confessed to five-and-twenty, had led a stormy past, about which she declined to furnish information. Lady Dove’s knowledge of her began and ended with the references supplied by a fashionable educational agency in Kensington. Yet all the time she was cherishing a serjient in her bosom.

Miss' Cashell’s plans were simple. She intended to marry young Dove and handle the money, and take a position in society, and have a good time generally. She was clever enough to do what she wanted, as a volcanic career had sharpened her wits into desperately dangerous instruments. But the death of Sir Giles threw her plans into confusion, and she knew that she would have to weave fresh nets for the sharing of her bird. While cogitating, she sympathised with the widow like an angel of mercy. No one dreamed that she was anything else, ns Ithurial’s spear was wanting. Wain didn’t gather these facts concerning the Dove menage all at once, for learning them entailed many visits to afternoon teas and much clever questioning. Before the inquest took place, and after the verdict was given, he still pursued his inquiries. Luckily, he met by chance an elderly lady who bad known his mother, and she promptly asked him to tea. One introduction led to another, until Wain was hand-in-glove with ail the gessips in Bruntlea, and thus managed to gaiq*a very fair knowledge of the great people of the neighborhood. The Doves, be found, were popular, because they spent their money freely, and were really kindhearted folk, even if they were a kttle stuck-up. But the majority of Wain’s female acquaintances hated Ida Cashed fervently. Why, he could not exactly learn, save that gossip said that she dyed her hair, and was no better than she should be.

Wain’s inquiries into the doings of the dead man’s family were made because he wished to learn if Sir Giles past included an enemy who would proceed so far as murder. The reporter, after his conversation with Mr Verily, was convinced that Ben-Ezra had no hand in the crime, and that it could be traced to some other person. But the person proved impossible to find, and after all his inquiries Wain could discover no one upon whom the slightest suspicion could be thrown-. Sir Giles, from common report, had been a hot-tempered little man, hut kindhearted in the main, .&nd although people laughed at his pretensions to nobility, no one wished him ill. Ben-Ezra, it was confidentially said, was his worst enemy, and, of course, people on the strength of this report, and judging hastily from the external circumstances of the case, believed him to he guilty. Wain did not think so, as he considered the Jew too acute a man to avenge himself in so crude a. manner. 'He might have tried to ruin the fani ly m a financial way, which was exactly what a Hebrew would do, hut murder is not a Jewish custom. The race is too subtle for such coarse bludgeon-work.

But Wain was alone in this opinion, since the Quakers held their peace, and when the day of the inquest came everyone deemed that the examination of Ben-Ezra was a mere matter of form. Inspector Quill gathered all the evidence he could, and looked upon his prisoner as a doomed man. Ben-Ezra was brought from prison and questioned by the Coroner, but steadily maintained bis innocence. And assuredly, he did not look like a guilty person- as i‘ e was calm and collected in hie answers. But this, as one or two peopWP°inted / ■'■i-w■ i

out, may have been the brazen nerve of guilt.

The jury inspected the body, which bad been taken to Homing Grange, and then went to a public-house to bear the evidence. It resulted in a verdict oi wilful murder being brought against the Jew. Later on in the day BenEzra was confronted with a magistrate, and .the case was gone into more thoroughly. Many reporters were present, for the case awakened great interest, and, moreover, it was the dull season of news, when anything sensational was a boon and a blessing to hard-up journals. Wain was amongst his brethren of the stylograph pen, and took notes. Once or twice the prisoner looked in Wain’s direction, and seemed to regard him as a friend. And Wain was his friend—the sole one in Court. From the curious way in which the newspaper man had been brought into connection with the case, he believed that the unseen powers wished him to aid an entirely innocent mortal, whom circumstances conspired to hang. The doctor who had examined the body deposed that the deceased bad been killed instantly by the first shot, which bad struck the temple and pierced the brain. But two more shots bad been fired recklessly into the corpse, one in the breast and another lower down into the stomach. It was apparent that the assassin .had wished to make absolutely sure of bis victim’s death when this cold-blooded behavior was taken into account. The witness gave all necessary medical details, and produced the three bullets ' which had been extracted from the body. Inspector Quill proved that the three bullets fitted the empty chambers of the revolver which the prisoner had been holding when discovered by Dawkins and Mr Wain. Three shots had been fired, as could be deposed by various witnesses, and three chambers of the revolver were empty. The remaining three still contained unfired cartridges. Quill had searched the body, and bad found the watch and purse and jewellery of the deceased all in due order. But, of course, as the inspector said, be did not suggest for one moment that Ben-Ezra had robbed, or intended to rob, bis victim. The motive of the crime was one of pure revenge. It will be seen from the above statement that Quill was perfectly convinced of the prisoner’s guilt. And on the face of it, he was justified in so judging. But it was the very ease of the judgment founded on external circumstances that made Wain doubtful as to the truth of the inspector’s belief. Quill also detailed the facts of deceased’s visit to Tanbuck Hall at 7 o’clock to sec the prisoner, and produced the letter—found in the prisoner’s High-street office —written by Sir Giles, making the fatal appointment. “Lady Dove,” stated the inspector , “can swear to this also, as her late husband partook of an early dinner on Wednesday night, and left his home at 6.30 to call on the prisoner. Sir Giles left after a stormy interview, a few minutes after 8 o’clock. Mr Wain can prove that ho heard deceased muttering to himself in the avenue about that hour. The deceased—ns Mr Wain can prove likewise—then returned with the idea of forcing the prisoner ■ to soil Tanbuck Hall, and it was some little time afterwards that Constable Dawkins, in the company of Mr Wain, heard the shots fired. Afterwards they came upon prisoner standing over the body of his victim with the revolver in his hand.”

At this juncture Wain sent up a hastily scribbled note to the magistrate, which resulted in questions being asned about the broken French window. The inspector acknowledged that the window had been broken, and proposed to produce Mrs Jorvin and Eliza James as witnesses to declare that they had heard the smashing of glass before the shots were fired. But the point which the magistrate, prompted by Wain, wished to got at, and at which he eventually arrived, was that if the window was broken, anyone could unlatch the catch from inside and thus enter the room. Quill acknowledged that this could have been done. “But,” 'he added with emphasis, “the prisoner himself stated that when ho returned to the drawing-room the window was fast locked.”

“With the body outside,” commented the magistrate; “that makes a ]K>int in the prisoner’s favor.” “Unless he fired through the window and broke it himself,” said Quill. “You forget that the smashing of glass was heard by two witnesses before the shots were fired, Mr Inspector,” retorted -the magistrate, which remark covered Quill with well-merited confusion. People saw that the officer was prejudiced against Ben-Ezra, and inclined to take his guilt for granted. Mrs Jorvin’s evidence, together with that of the housemaid, were much as the' Quaker had reported to Barrington Wain. She had listened at the drawing-room door because, knowing tlie enmity between her master and the deceased, she feared lest there should ha trouble, and was ready to rush in if the men came to blows. However, she acknowledged that they had not done se>, but that deceased had departed vowing to drag Ben-Ezra’s name through the mud. Then her master had come out to repair to the study at the back of the house, and she had fled up the stairs, to find Eliza James on the landing. They heard, said Mrs Jorvin, the smashing of glass, and, seized with fear, fled to witnesses’ bedroom. It might .have been ten or twelve minutes after that when they heard shots fired.

“Why did you run away when you heard the glass smashing?” asked the magistrate. “I was seized, as was Eliza, with a fit of nerves,” babbled Mrs Jorvin quickly; “and small blame to either of

us, when we had gone through so much. We were hotji on tenterhooks, as you might say, expecting blue murder, witii our hearts in our mouths. Ami .eie we 'w.hi.g?” demanded witnc s, i-iumphantly, -your worship knows we weren’t.”

“When did you come out of your bedroom after the shots were fired?” asked the magistrate, ignoring Mrs Jorvin’s remark.

“Oh, it was ever so long, and Eliza James had fainted with fear. I left her on the bed, shaking myself like an aspen, your worship, and ran down to find a policeman and a stranger with my master.” Dawkins was called at this point, and took up the story from where Mrs Jorvin left it off. He detailed all that had happened from the time lie and Wain stumbled on the prisoner to the arrival of Inspector Quill, who of course, had given his evidence. Dawkins described prisoner’s demeanour and statement, and stated that shortly after his superior officer arrived he had discovered the broken window. “And from the fact of the broken glass lying on the carpet within,” ended Dawkins, truthfully, “I believe, your worship, that the window was broken by someone on the outside.”

“And the catch could have been unfastened from without?”

“Yes, your Worship, very easily. Perhaps,” hesitated Dawkins, throwing a glance towards the calm prisoner, “someone broke the window to gain admittance.”

“That remains to be seen,” said the magistrate. “Call Barrington Wain.” The journalist’s evidence included his statement of how he had lost his way in the fog, and had come to be in the avenue at such an hour. He stated emphatically, and in this was supported by Constable Dawkins (recalled), that the small gate, set in the larger one, was open. Wain’s evidence of the soliloquy, truthfully given from a retentive memory, showed that the deceased had credited prisoner with a desire to kill him. But even Mrs Jorvin (recalled) could not say that she had over; heard any actual threat made by her master.

Eliza James was also recalled, and it was proved by her, and likewise by the housekeeper, that fifteen minutes had elapsed from the departure of the prisoner to the hack-or-tlie-house study, to the sound of three shots being fired. “It was five minutes from the time master left the drawingroom and Mrs Jorvin joined me on the landing, to the breaking of the glass,” said Eliza .James. “We ran to our bedrooms and remained there, frightened at what we had heard, until the sound of the firing made me faint with fear.” Thus it was proved that Ben-Ezra had ten minutes from the time lie was last seen by the witnesses going t-o the hack study, to get back to the drawingroom and commit the crime. Wain’s idea of thus proving the innocence of Ben-Ezra by an alibi provided by the housekeeper and the housemaid was whiffed away.

Lady Dove deposed as to her husband's desire to buy the Hall, and how Ben-Ezra refused to sell it. She also detailed the enmity which existed between the two men on this score, and said that Sir Giles had frequently said prisoner would murder him if lie could. But Lady Dove stated emphatically that her husband had never declared openly anything Ben-Ezra had said in the way of threats. “He spoke generally,” explained the witness, “and it was more his idea of what the prisoner thought of him than what was actually said.”

“Do you believe that the prisoner ever threatened to kill deceased?” asked the magistrate. “No,” denied Lady Dove, quietly; “if he had done so, my husband would have told mo, I am sure.” This was another point in prisoner’s favor, but so strong was the prejudice against Ben-Ezra that it was received in silence. Lady Dove also stated how her husband had written to Ben-Ezra, and had made an early dinner on the fatal day, so as to be able to go to Tanbuck Hall on the Wednesday. She was asked why deceased had not gone to see Ben-Ezra at his office, where he usually transacted business; but witness professed her inability to say why the Hall was chosen and so late an hour was fixed upon.

After Quill had produced all his witnesses, and the evidence had been given, Ben-Ezra was placed in the box to make his statement. Ho repeated what he had said in the drawingroom immediately after the commission of the crime, and insisted that he was innocent.

“The revolver with which the deceased was shot belongs to you?” he was asked.

“It does,” admitted Ben-Ezra, firmly; “arid I had it in the drawing-room on the night in question. It was lying on a side table.’’ There was a sensation in Court at this reply, and oven the magistrate seemed aghast at so damaging an admission. “Do you mean to say that you had a loaded revolver in the drawingroom?” he asked, sharply.

Ben-Ezra smiled. “I am not a popular man in Bruntlea,” he replied, coolly .but somewhat bitterly, “and I have a loaded revolver in my office, another in my study at the Hall, and a third in the drawingroom, to say nothing of one which I keep in my office bedroom. I have to protect myself from possible burglars ” “Nonsense,” said the magistrate, sharply. “Who would break into your house?”

“ Anyone who knew that I did not keep loaded weapons handy,” said the prisoner,' promptly. “As a matter of fact, twice my office has been broken into, and the Hall has been twice attempted. Both, attempts were made when I was in London: The revolver, loaded, lay on a side table, as usual,

I ; but as Sir Giles was not a burglar, I did not require to use it.” “Then who did use it?” Boa Ezra ~ reply was prompt: “The per . .1 who » ..o.ied the small gate and who broke the window.” i “You knew that the window was broken?” ‘Oh, yes, when I heard the shots fired I ran into the 'drawing room and saw the broken panes. I opened the window and found the dead body with the revolver beside it. Because I had sot the window hack—it was a Fiench remember—the constab.e and inspector did not discover the fact of the breakage for some : time.” j “You did not mention it?” j “I was too bewildered with the catas- ( trophe to mention anything,” retorted j the prisoner. “I saw that I was t ap- | ped by some person.” ! “Can you guess the name of that person?” asked the magistrate, sarcastically. “No,” raid Ben-Ezra, composedly. “1 have many enemies, but 1 cannot think of the particular one who would lay so clever a trap.” “You say,” said the magistrate, re-

ferring. to his .notes, ‘‘that the smaller gate was open?” “Mr Wain and Constable Dawkins said that, sir.” “Quito so; quite so. But, as you expected Sir Giles, you naturally opened the gate or left it open, so that ho could enter.” “I would have done so,” said the prisoner, quietly, “hut Sir Giles arrived at the door of my house at a-quarter to 7; that is to say, 15 minutes before 1 expected him. I would have gone down shortly before 7 to admit him at the gate; but lie arrived, as 1 have stated, before time.” “And he found the gate open?” “He could not have entered otherwise. I asked him how he had opened the gate, since only J had the key. He said that the gate was open at 20 minutes to 7, when he arrived.” * “Sir Giles left his home at half-past G,” said the magistrate; “could he get to your gates in five minutes?” “Oh, yes; his house is only a stone’s throw away.” “But the fog. The witness Wain lost himself in the fog.” “1 understand that Mr Main is a stranger in Bruntlea. Sir Giles has lived here for six years, and know.every inch of the place.” “Knew every inch, you mean,” said the magistrate, somewhat crueliy; “the unfortunate man has been murdeie;!, remember.” “But not by me, sir.” “Then you say that ST Giles —in a fog, remember —found his way to your gates in five minutes?” Ben-Ezra shrugged h.s spare shoulders. “He told me that ho had arrived at Tanbuck Hall gates at 20 minutes to 7. and I understand that be left his heme at half-past G. That would give him ten minutis.” The magistrate was a trifle di e mcerted at the shrewdness of the prisoner, and reverted to the revolver question. “It is absurd for a man to keep so many loaded revolvers in his house,” he said testily. “In hi; houses,” corrected the Jew, calmly. “I happen to he a very unpopular mail.” “Humph!” snapped the magistrate, whose temper had been ruffled, “and perhaps with some reason. Can you explain what was the particular misdeed which Sir Giles threatened to make public?” “It was not a misdeed at nil. I decline to make it public, as it has nothing to do with the present case.” “Take care, prisoner. According to the quality of the misdeed and the strength of your desire to keep it secret, you must have desired to close the deceased’s mouth.” “Had Sir Giles made what he knew public property,” said Ben-Ezra, steadily, “I should have borne his accusation in silence.” “Knowing it to be a true one?” “Knowing my own innocence.” "“Then it is a misdeed?” exclaimed the magistrate. “No. It refers to a family matter, which I did not wish to be brought up, lor reasons which I decline to state.” Baffled on this point, the magistrate again came back, pertinaciously, to the question of the gate. “You say that you alone have the key of the gate?” “Of the front gates, great and small,” said Ben-Ezra precisely, “but at the back of the house there is a small postern gate, the key of which is held by Mrs Jorvin.. Out of this postern the servants come and go and the tradespeople deliver tlieir goods.” “We’ are not talking of the postern gate,” said the magistrate testily. “Yot the person who broke the window and stole my revolver to shoot Sir Giles may have entered by the postern gate.” “That’s a lie!” sang out the shrill voice of Mrs Jorvin, “for the postern was locked early in the afternoon, and I had the key in my pocket.” The housekeeper was called to order, and the magistrate addressed himself to the prisoner: “What do you means of saying that this suppositious person.stole your revolver?” “Can you not understand it, sir? Someone who had gained admittance to the Park—by the front gate, since Mrs Jorvin states that the postern was closed —lurking at the window between the time Sir Giles left and returned, must have seen my revolver, which, as I stated, was loaded, on a side table. By breaking a window-pane, this person could slip in a hand and undo the catch. Then it would he easy for the person to take the revolver and walk out again, to lie in wait for Sir Giles, or perhaps for- me.” “But you say that the .window was fastened .when you returned to the room?” | Jk t

“Quite so, sir. But if the window could he unlocked from the outside by means of the broken, pane—and remember, f ir, Inspector Quill admits as nr.tell ii could be as easily fastened.” “Then you believe that some person took the revolver in this way to kill fair Giles, and Uius, as you put it, trap you.” “Yes and no, sir. The person may have intended to fire at me when I entered after hearing the smash of the glass.” “D-d you hoar the smash?” “No, I did not; thus, I daresay, the person's‘intentions were frustrated. Sir Giles, coming along in the darknrrs. was thus killed by the person. So far a;; I can see, this assassin, failing to lure me into the room to be shot, killed Sir Giles, hoping that I would be accused of the murder. As you see,” ended the prisoner, with a shrug, “that is exactly what has happened.” This was all the defence, as Ben-Ezra Id call no witnesses. The Bench reiTed, and in ten minutes returned to deliver a verdict of wilful murder against Ben Erza. The prisoner was then formally committed for trial.

(To be Continued.)