The Middle Temple Murder - J. S. Fletcher (reading women .TXT) 📗

Milcaster, there came to the town three years before the present proceedings, a man named Chamberlayne, who commenced business in the High Street as a stock-and-share broker. A man of good address and the most plausible manners, Chamberlayne attracted a good many people⁠—amongst them his unfortunate client. It was matter of common knowledge that Chamberlayne had induced numerous persons in Market Milcaster to enter into financial transactions with him; it was matter of common repute that those transactions had not always turned out well for Chamberlayne’s clients. Unhappily for himself, Maitland had great faith in Chamberlayne. He had begun to have transactions with him in a large way; they had gone on and on in a large way until he was involved to vast amounts. Believing thoroughly in Chamberlayne and his methods, he had entrusted him with very large sums of money.

“The Recorder interrupted Mr. Doolittle at this point to ask if he was to understand that Mr. Doolittle was referring to the prisoner’s own money.

“Mr. Doolittle replied that he was afraid the large sums he referred to were the property of the bank. But the prisoner had such belief in Chamberlayne that he firmly anticipated that all would be well, and that these sums would be repaid, and that a vast profit would result from their use.

“The Recorder remarked that he supposed the prisoner intended to put the profit into his own pockets.

“Mr. Doolittle said at any rate the prisoner assured him that of the two hundred and twenty thousand pounds which was in question, Chamberlayne had had the immediate handling of at least two hundred thousand, and he, the prisoner, had not the ghost of a notion as to what Chamberlayne had done with it. Unfortunately for everybody, for the bank, for some other people, and especially for his unhappy client, Chamberlayne died, very suddenly, just as these proceedings were instituted, and so far it had been absolutely impossible to trace anything of the moneys concerned. He had died under mysterious circumstances, and there was just as much mystery about his affairs.

“The Recorder observed that he was still waiting to hear what Mr. Doolittle had to urge in mitigation of any sentence he, the Recorder, might think fit to pass.

“Mr. Doolittle said that he would trouble the Court with as few remarks as possible. All that he could urge on behalf of the unfortunate man in the dock was that until three years ago he had borne a most exemplary character, and had never committed a dishonest action. It had been his misfortune, his folly, to allow a plausible man to persuade him to these acts of dishonesty. That man had been called to another account, and the prisoner was left to bear the consequences of his association with him. It seemed as if Chamberlayne had made away with the money for his own purposes, and it might be that it would yet be recovered. He would only ask the Court to remember the prisoner’s antecedents and his previous good conduct, and to bear in mind that whatever his near future might be he was, in a commercial sense, ruined for life.

“The Recorder, in passing sentence, said that he had not heard a single word of valid excuse for Maitland’s conduct. Such dishonesty must be punished in the most severe fashion, and the prisoner must go to penal servitude for ten years.

“Maitland, who heard the sentence unmoved, was removed from the town later in the day to the county jail at Saxchester.”

Spargo read all this swiftly; then went over it again, noting certain points in it. At last he folded up the newspaper and turned to the house⁠—to see old Quarterpage beckoning to him from the library window.

XIX The Chamberlayne Story

“I perceive, sir,” said Mr. Quarterpage, as Spargo entered the library, “that you have read the account of the Maitland trial.”

“Twice,” replied Spargo.

“And you have come to the conclusion that⁠—but what conclusion have you come to?” asked Mr. Quarterpage.

“That the silver ticket in my purse was Maitland’s property,” said Spargo, who was not going to give all his conclusions at once.

“Just so,” agreed the old gentleman. “I think so⁠—I can’t think anything else. But I was under the impression that I could have accounted for that ticket, just as I am sure I can account for the other forty-nine.”

“Yes⁠—and how?” asked Spargo.

Mr. Quarterpage turned to a corner cupboard and in silence produced a decanter and two curiously-shaped old wineglasses. He carefully polished the glasses with a cloth which he took from a drawer, and set glasses and decanter on a table in the window, motioning Spargo to take a chair in proximity thereto. He himself pulled up his own elbow-chair.

“We’ll take a glass of my old brown sherry,” he said. “Though I say it as shouldn’t, as the saying goes, I don’t think you could find better brown sherry than that from Land’s End to Berwick-upon-Tweed, Mr. Spargo⁠—no, nor further north either, where they used to have good taste in liquor in my young days! Well, here’s your good health, sir, and I’ll tell you about Maitland.”

“I’m curious,” said Spargo. “And about more than Maitland. I want to know about a lot of things arising out of that newspaper report. I want to know something about the man referred to so much⁠—the stockbroker, Chamberlayne.”

“Just so,” observed Mr. Quarterpage, smiling. “I thought that would touch your sense of the inquisitive. But Maitland first. Now, when Maitland went to prison, he left behind him a child, a boy, just then about two years old. The child’s mother was dead. Her sister, a Miss Baylis, appeared on the scene⁠—Maitland had married his wife from a distance⁠—and took possession of the child and of Maitland’s personal effects. He had been made bankrupt while he was awaiting his trial, and all his household goods were sold. But this Miss Baylis took some small personal things, and I always believed that she took the silver ticket. And she may have done, for anything I know to the contrary. Anyway,