The Middle Temple Murder
He looked round the court as the Member of Parliament entered the witness-box—a tall, handsome, perfectly-groomed man, whose beard was only slightly tinged with grey, whose figure was as erect as a well-drilled soldier's, who carried about him an air of conscious power. Aylmore's two daughters sat at a little distance away, opposite Spargo, with Ronald Breton in attendance upon them; Spargo had encountered their glance as they entered the court, and they had given him a friendly nod and smile. He had watched them from time to time; it was plain to him that they regarded the whole affair as a novel sort of entertainment; they might have been idlers in some Eastern bazaar, listening to the unfolding of many tales from the professional tale-tellers. Now, as their father entered the box, Spargo looked at them again; he saw nothing more than a little heightening of colour in their cheeks, a little brightening of their eyes.
"All that they feel," he thought, "is a bit of extra excitement at the idea that their father is mixed up in this delightful mystery. Um! Well—now how much is he mixed up?"
And he turned to the witness-box and from that moment never took his eyes off the man who now stood in it. For Spargo had ideas about the witness which he was anxious to develop.
The folk who expected something immediately sensational in Mr. Aylmore's evidence were disappointed. Aylmore, having been sworn, and asked a question or two by the Coroner, requested permission to tell, in his own way, what he knew of the dead man and of this sad affair; and having received that permission, he went on in a calm, unimpassioned manner to repeat precisely what he had told Spargo. It sounded a very plain, ordinary story. He had known Marbury many years ago. He had lost sight of him for—oh, quite twenty years. He had met him accidentally in one of the vestibules of the House of Commons on the evening preceding the murder. Marbury had asked his advice. Having no particular duty, and willing to do an old acquaintance a good turn, he had gone back to the Anglo-Orient Hotel with Marbury, had remained awhile with him in his room, examining his Australian diamonds, and had afterwards gone out with him. He had given him the advice he wanted; they had strolled across Waterloo Bridge; shortly afterwards they had parted. That was all he knew.
The court, the public, Spargo, everybody there, knew all this already. It had been in print, under a big headline, in the Watchman. Aylmore had now told it again; having told it, he seemed to consider that his next step was to leave the box and the court, and after a perfunctory question or two from the Coroner and the foreman of the jury he made a motion as if to step down. But Spargo, who had been aware since the beginning of the enquiry of the presence of a certain eminent counsel who represented the Treasury, cocked his eye in that gentleman's direction, and was not surprised to see him rise in his well-known, apparently indifferent fashion, fix his monocle in his right eye, and glance at the tall figure in the witness-box.
"The fun is going to begin," muttered Spargo.
The Treasury representative looked from Aylmore to the Coroner and made a jerky bow; from the Coroner to Aylmore and straightened himself. He looked like a man who is going to ask indifferent questions about the state of the weather, or how Smith's wife was last time you heard of her, or if stocks are likely to rise or fall. But Spargo had heard this man before, and he knew many signs of his in voice and manner and glance.
"I want to ask you a few questions, Mr. Aylmore, about your acquaintanceship with the dead man. It was an acquaintanceship of some time ago?" began the suave, seemingly careless voice.
"A considerable time ago," answered Aylmore.
"How long—roughly speaking?"
"I should say from twenty to twenty-two or three years."
"Never saw him during that time until you met accidentally in the way you have described to us?"
"Never."
"Ever heard from him?"
"No."
"Ever heard of him?"
"No."
"But when you met, you knew each other at once?"
"Well—almost at once."
"Almost at once. Then, I take it, you were very well known to each other twenty or twenty-two years ago?"
"We were—yes, well known to each other."
"Close friends?"
"I said we were acquaintances."
"Acquaintances. What was his name when you knew him at that time?"
"His name? It was—Marbury."
"Marbury—the same name. Where did you know him?"
"I—oh, here in London."
"What was he?"
"Do you mean—what was his occupation?"
"What was his occupation?"
"I believe he was concerned in financial matters."
"Concerned in financial matters. Had you dealings with him?"
"Well, yes—on occasions."
"What was his business address in London?"
"I can't remember that."
"What was his private address?"
"That I never knew."
"Where did you transact your business with him?"
"Well, we met, now and then."
"Where? What place, office, resort?"
"I can't remember particular places. Sometimes—in the City."
"In the City. Where in the City? Mansion House, or Lombard Street, or St. Paul's Churchyard, or the Old Bailey, or where?"
"I have recollections of meeting him outside the Stock Exchange."
"Oh! Was he a member of that institution?"
"Not that I know of."
"Were you?"
"Certainly not!"
"What were the dealings that you had with him?"
"Financial dealings—small ones."
"How long did your acquaintanceship with him last—what period did it extend over?"
"I should say about six months to nine months."
"No more?"
"Certainly no more."
"It was quite a slight acquaintanceship, then?"
"Oh, quite!"
"And yet, after losing sight of this merely slight acquaintance for over twenty years, you, on meeting him, take great interest in him?"
"Well, I was willing to do him a good turn, I was interested in what he told me the other evening."
"I see. Now you will not object to my asking you a personal question or two. You are a public man, and the facts about the lives of public men are more or less public property. You are represented in this work of popular reference as coming to this country in 1902, from Argentina, where you made a considerable fortune. You have told us, however, that you were in London, acquainted with Marbury, about the years, say 1890 to 1892. Did you then leave England soon after knowing Marbury?"
"I did. I left England in 1891 or 1892—I am not sure which."
"We are wanting to be very sure about this matter, Mr. Aylmore. We want to solve the important question—who is, who was John Marbury, and how did he come by his death? You seem to be the only available person who knows anything about him. What was your business before you left England?"
"I was interested in financial affairs."
"Like Marbury. Where did you carry on your business?"
"In London, of course."
"At what address?"
For some moments Aylmore had been growing more and more restive. His brow had flushed; his moustache had begun to twitch. And now he squared his shoulders and faced his questioner defiantly.
"I resent these questions about my private affairs!" he snapped out.
"Possibly. But I must put them. I repeat my last question."
"And I refuse to answer it."
"Then I ask you another. Where did you live in London at the time you are telling us of, when you knew John Marbury?"
"I refuse to answer that question also!"
The Treasury Counsel sat down and looked at the Coroner.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE NEW WITNESSThe voice of the Coroner, bland, suave, deprecating, broke the silence.
He was addressing the witness.
"I am sure, Mr. Aylmore," he said, "there is no wish to trouble you with unnecessary questions. But we are here to get at the truth of this matter of John Marbury's death, and as you are the only witness we have had who knew him personally—"
Aylmore turned impatiently to the Coroner.
"I have every wish to respect your authority, sir!" he exclaimed. "And I have told you all that I know of Marbury and of what happened when I met him the other evening. But I resent being questioned on my private affairs of twenty years ago—I very much resent it! Any question that is really pertinent I will answer, but I will not answer questions that seem to me wholly foreign to the scope of this enquiry."
The Treasury Counsel rose again. His manner had become of the quietest, and Spargo again became keenly attentive.
"Perhaps I can put a question or two to Mr. Aylmore which will not yield him offence," he remarked drily. He turned once more to the witness, regarding him as if with interest. "Can you tell us of any person now living who knew Marbury in London at the time under discussion—twenty to twenty-two or three years ago?" he asked.
Aylmore shook his head angrily.
"No, I can't,'' he replied.
"And yet you and he must have had several business acquaintances at that time who knew you both!"
"Possibly—at that time. But when I returned to England my business and my life lay in different directions to those of that time. I don't know of anybody who knew Marbury then—anybody."
The Counsel turned to a clerk who sat behind him, whispered to him; Spargo saw the clerk make a sidelong motion of his head towards the door of the court. The Counsel looked again at the witness.
"One more question. You told the court a little time since that you parted with Marbury on the evening preceding his death at the end of Waterloo Bridge—at, I think you said, a quarter to twelve."
"About that time."
"And at that place?"
"Yes."
"That is all I want to ask you, Mr. Aylmore—just now," said the Counsel. He turned to the Coroner. "I am going to ask you, sir, at this point to call a witness who has volunteered certain evidence to the police authorities this morning. That evidence is of a very important nature, and I think that this is the stage at which it ought to be given to you and the jury. If you would be pleased to direct that David Lyell be called—"
Spargo turned instinctively to the door, having seen the clerk who had sat behind the Treasury Counsel make his way there. There came into view, ushered by the clerk, a smart-looking, alert, self-confident young man, evidently a Scotsman, who, on the name of David Lyell being called, stepped jauntily and readily into the place which the member of Parliament just vacated. He took the oath—Scotch fashion—with the same readiness and turned easily to the Treasury Counsel. And Spargo, glancing quickly round, saw that the court was breathless with anticipation, and that its anticipation was that the new witness was going to tell something which related to the evidence just given by Aylmore.
"Your name is David Lyell?"
"That is my name, sir."
"And you reside at 23, Cumbrae Side, Kilmarnock, Scotland?"
"I do."
"What are you, Mr. Lyell?"
"Traveller, sir, for the firm of Messrs. Stevenson, Robertson & Soutar, distillers, of Kilmarnock."
"Your duties take you, I think, over to Paris occasionally?"
"They do—once every six weeks I go to Paris."
"On the evening of June 21st last were you in London on your way to Paris?"
"I was."
"I believe you stayed at De Keyser's Hotel, at the Blackfriars end of the Embankment?"
"I did—it's handy for the continental trains."
"About half-past eleven, or a little later, that evening, did you go along the Embankment, on the Temple Gardens side, for a walk?"
"I did, sir. I'm a bad sleeper, and it's a habit of mine to take a walk of half an hour or so last thing before I go to bed."
"How far did you walk?"
"As far as Waterloo Bridge."
"Always on the Temple side?"
"Just so, sir—straight along on that side."
"Very good. When you got close to Waterloo Bridge, did you meet anybody you knew?"
"Yes."
"Mr. Aylmore, the Member of Parliament."
Spargo could not avoid a glance at the two sisters. The elder's head was averted; the younger was staring at the witness steadily. And Breton was nervously tapping his fingers on the crown of his shining silk hat.
"Mr. Aylmore, the Member of Parliament," repeated the Counsel's suave, clear tones. "Oh! And how did you come to recognize Mr. Aylmore, Member of Parliament?"
"Well, sir, in this way. At home, I'm the secretary of our Liberal Ward Club, and last year we had a demonstration, and it fell to me to arrange with the principal speakers. I got Mr. Aylmore to come and speak, and naturally I met him several times, in London and in Scotland."
"So that you knew him quite well?"
"Oh yes, sir."
"Do you see him now, Mr. Lyell?"
Lyell smiled and half turned in the box.
"Why, of course!" he answered. "There is Mr. Aylmore."
"There is Mr. Aylmore. Very good. Now we go on. You met Mr. Aylmore close to Waterloo Bridge? How close?"
"Well, sir, to be exact, Mr. Aylmore came down the steps from the bridge on to the Embankment."
"Alone?"
"No."
"Who was with him?"
"A man, sir."
"Did you know the man?"
"No. But seeing who he was with. I took a good look at him. I haven't forgotten his face."
"You haven't forgotten his face. Mr. Lyell—has anything recalled that face to you within this last day or two?"
"Yes, sir, indeed!"
"What?"
"The picture of the man they say was murdered—John Marbury."
"You're sure of that?"
"I'm as certain, sir, as that my name's what it is."
"It is your belief that Mr. Aylmore, when you met him, was accompanied by the man who, according to the photographs, was John Marbury?"
"It is, sir!"
"Very well. Now, having seen Mr. Aylmore and his companion, what did you do?"
"Oh, I just turned and walked after them."
"You walked after them? They were going eastward, then?"
"They were walking by the way I'd come."
"You followed them eastward?"
"I did—I was going back to the hotel, you see."
"What were they doing?"
"Talking uncommonly earnestly, sir."
"How far did you follow them?"
"I followed them until they came to the Embankment lodge of Middle Temple Lane, sir."
"And then?"
"Why, sir, they turned in there, and I went straight on to De Keyser's, and to my bed."
There was a deeper silence in court at that moment than at any other period of the long day, and it grew still deeper when the quiet, keen voice put the next question.
"You swear on your oath that you saw Mr. Aylmore take his companion into the Temple by the Embankment entrance of Middle Temple Lane on the occasion in question?"
"I do! I could swear no other, sir."
"Can you tell us, as near as possible, what time that would be?"
"Yes. It was, to a minute or so, about five minutes past twelve."
The Treasury Counsel nodded to the Coroner, and the Coroner, after a whispered conference with the foreman of the jury, looked at the witness.
"You have only just given this information to the police, I understand?" he said.
"Yes, sir. I have been in Paris, and in Amiens, and I only returned by this morning's boat. As soon as I had read all the news in the papers—the English papers—and seen the dead man's photographs I determined to tell the police what I knew, and I went to New Scotland Yard as soon as I got to London this morning."
Nobody else wanted to ask Mr. David Lyell any questions, and he stepped down. And Mr. Aylmore suddenly came forward again, seeking the Coroner's attention.
"May I be allowed to make an explanation, sir?" he began. "I—"
But the Treasury Counsel was on his feet, this time stern and implacable. "I would point out, sir, that you have had Mr. Aylmore in the box, and that he was not then at all ready to give explanations, or even to answer questions," he said. "And before you allow him to make any explanation now, I ask you to hear another witness whom I wish to interpose at this stage. That witness is–"
Mr. Aylmore turned almost angrily to the Coroner.
"After the evidence of the last witness, I think I have a right to be heard at once!" he said with emphasis. "As matters stand at present, it looks as if I had trifled, sir, with you and the jury, whereas if I am allowed to make an explanation—"
"I must respectfully ask that before Mr. Aylmore is allowed to make any explanation, the witness I have referred to is heard," said the Treasury Counsel sternly. "There are weighty reasons."
"I am afraid you must wait a little, Mr. Aylmore, if you wish to give an explanation," said the Coroner. He turned to the Counsel. "Who is this other witness?" he asked.
Aylmore stepped back. And Spargo noticed that the younger of his two daughters was staring at him with an anxious expression. There was no distrust of her father in her face; she was anxious. She, too, slowly turned to the next witness. This man was the porter of the Embankment lodge of Middle Temple Lane. The Treasury Counsel put a straight question to him at once.
"You see that gentleman," he said, pointing to Aylmore. "Do you know him as an inmate of the Temple?"
The man stared at Aylmore, evidently confused.
"Why, certainly, sir!" he answered. "Quite well, sir."
"Very good. And now—what name do you know him by?"
The man grew evidently more bewildered.
"Name, sir. Why, Mr. Anderson, sir!" he replied. "Mr. Anderson!"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
UNDER SUSPICIONA distinct, uncontrollable murmur of surprise ran round the packed court as this man in the witness-box gave this answer. It signified many things—that there were people present who had expected some such dramatic development; that there were others present who had not; that the answer itself was only a prelude to further developments. And Spargo, looking narrowly about him, saw that the answer had aroused different feelings in Aylmore's two daughters. The elder one had dropped her face until it was quite hidden; the younger was sitting bolt upright, staring at her father in utter and genuine bewilderment. And for the first time, Aylmore made no response to her.
But the course of things was going steadily forward. There was no stopping the Treasury Counsel now; he was going to get at some truth in his own merciless fashion. He had exchanged one glance with the Coroner, had whispered a word to the solicitor who sat close by him, and now he turned again to the witness.
"So you know that gentleman—make sure now—as Mr. Anderson, an inmate of the Temple?"
"Yes, sir."
"You don't know him by any other name?"
"No, sir, I don't."
"How long have you known him by that name?"
"I should say two or three years, sir."
"See him go in and out regularly?"
"No, sir—not regularly."
"How often, then?"
"Now and then, sir—perhaps once a week."
"Tell us what you know of Mr. Anderson's goings-in-and-out."
"Well, sir, I might see him two nights running; then I mightn't see him again for perhaps a week or two. Irregular, as you might say, sir."
"You say 'nights.' Do I understand that you never see Mr. Anderson except at night?"
"Yes, sir. I've never seen him except at night. Always about the same time, sir."
"What time?"
"Just about midnight, sir."
"Very well. Do you remember the midnight of June 21st-22nd?"
"I do, sir."
"Did you see Mr. Anderson enter then?"
"Yes, sir, just after twelve."
"Was he alone?"
"No, sir; there was another gentleman with him."
"Remember anything about that other gentleman?"
"Nothing, sir, except that I noticed as they walked through, that the other gentleman had grey clothes on."
"Had grey clothes on. You didn't see his face?"
"Not to remember it, sir. I don't remember anything but what I've told you, sir."
"That is that the other gentleman wore a grey suit. Where did Mr. Anderson and this gentleman in the grey suit go when they'd passed through?"
"Straight up the Lane, sir."
"Do you know where Mr. Anderson's rooms in the Temple are?"
"Not exactly, sir, but I understood in Fountain Court."
"Now, on that night in question, did Mr. Anderson leave again by your lodge?"
"No, sir."
"You heard of the discovery of the body of a dead man in Middle Temple Lane next morning?"
"I did, sir."
"Did you connect that man with the gentleman in the grey suit?"
"No, sir, I didn't. It never occurred to me. A lot of the gentlemen who live in the Temple bring friends in late of nights; I never gave the matter any particular thought."
"Never mentioned it to anybody until now, when you were sent for to come here?"
"No, sir, never, to anybody."
"And you have never known the gentleman standing there as anybody but Mr. Anderson?"
"No, sir, never heard any other name but Anderson."
The Coroner glanced at the Counsel.
"I think this may be a convenient opportunity for Mr. Aylmore to give the explanation he offered a few minutes ago," he said. "Do you suggest anything?"
"I suggest, sir, that if Mr. Aylmore desires to give any explanation he should return to the witness-box and submit himself to examination again on his oath," replied the Counsel. "The matter is in your hands."
The Coroner turned to Aylmore.
"Do you object to that?" he asked.
Aylmore stepped boldly forward and into the box.
"I object to nothing," he said in clear tones, "except to being asked to reply to questions about matters of the past which have not and cannot have anything to do with this case. Ask me what questions you like, arising out of the evidence of the last two witnesses, and I will answer them so far as I see myself justified in doing so. Ask me questions about matters of twenty years ago, and I shall answer them or not as I see fit. And I may as well say that I will take all the consequences of my silence or my speech."
The Treasury Counsel rose again.
"Very well, Mr. Aylmore," he said. "I will put certain questions to you. You heard the evidence of David Lyell?"
"I did."
"Was that quite true as regards yourself?"
"Quite true—absolutely true."
"And you heard that of the last witness. Was that also true!"
"Equally true."
"Then you admit that the evidence you gave this morning, before these witnesses came on the scene, was not true?"
"No, I do not! Most emphatically I do not. It was true."
"True? You told me, on oath, that you parted from John Marbury on Waterloo Bridge!"
"Pardon me, I said nothing of the sort. I said that from the Anglo-Orient Hotel we strolled across Waterloo Bridge, and that shortly afterwards we parted—I did not say where we parted. I see there is a shorthand writer here who is taking everything down—ask him if that is not exactly what I said?"
A reference to the stenographer proved Aylmore to be right, and the Treasury Counsel showed plain annoyance.
"Well, at any rate, you so phrased your answer that nine persons out of ten would have understood that you parted from Marbury in the open streets after crossing Waterloo Bridge," he said. "Now—?"
Aylmore smiled.
"I am not responsible for the understanding of nine people out of ten any more than I am for your understanding," he said, with a sneer. "I said what I now repeat—Marbury and I walked across Waterloo Bridge, and shortly afterwards we parted. I told you the truth."
"Indeed! Perhaps you will continue to tell us the truth. Since you have admitted that the evidence of the last two witnesses is absolutely correct, perhaps you will tell us exactly where you and Marbury did part?"
"I will—willingly. We parted at the door of my chambers in Fountain Court."
"Then—to reiterate—it was you who took Marbury into the Temple that night?"
"It was certainly I who took Marbury into the Temple that night."
There was another murmur amongst the crowded benches. Here at any rate was fact—solid, substantial fact. And Spargo began to see a possible course of events which he had not anticipated.
"That is a candid admission, Mr. Aylmore. I suppose you see a certain danger to yourself in making it."
"I need not say whether I do or I do not. I have made it."
"Very good. Why did you not make it before?"
"For my own reasons. I told you as much as I considered necessary for the purpose of this enquiry. I have virtually altered nothing now. I asked to be allowed to make a statement, to give an explanation, as soon as Mr. Lyell had left this box: I was not allowed to do so. I am willing to make it now."
