The Attic Murder - S. Fowler Wright (ebook reader computer TXT) 📗
- Author: S. Fowler Wright
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For the first time a momentary doubt passed through the Judge’s mind as to what his decision was going to be. He remembered that the bank inspector of whose murder the convict had been accused had been in the employment of the London & Northern Bank, of which Sir Reginald was chairman, and he saw that there might be more here than the surface showed. “You say, Mr. Rossiter,” he asked, and his tone revealed the doubt that had come into his mind, “that your client’s liberty is essential to the preparation of his appeal?”
“It is of the utmost importance.”
Mr. Justice Fordyce was silent for one pregnant moment, during which even Mr. Jellipot’s cautious temperament felt that the battle was won, but after that he shook his head slightly.
“I am sorry,” he said, “but I see no sufficient reason for granting the application which has been so ably and eloquently made. You can renew it on Friday, if you think it worth while to do so. Yes, Friday. Eleven-thirty.”
Mr. Rossiter and Mr. Jellipot withdrew without further words, and the legal gentlemen whose application was next on the list entered the room.
“You may congratulate your client,” Mr. Rossiter said, “on the fact that he will be able to spend the weekend in his own home.”
“You mean that he will grant bail on Friday?”
“You may expect that with some confidence.”
As Mr. Rossiter foretold, so it proved to be.
On Friday morning the application was formally renewed, and Mr. Justice Fordyce asked no questions at all. He said, in his toneless manner: “Bail will be granted on Hammerton’s own recognizances, and one surety for two thousand pounds, whose name must be approved by the court. Sir Reginald Crowe? Yes, certainly. You can have the order drawn up at once.”
Mr. Rossiter, who had heard no more than he had had good reason to expect, he having busied himself during those two intervening days in ways which are not recognized by the law, but by which the cause of justice is often served, said: “Thank you, my lord”; and Mr. Jellipot had cause, for a second time, to feel that he had won success in the unfamiliar branch of litigation in which he moved. But he knew that the most difficult fence — the appeal itself — lay ahead.
Still, he had won a battle, if not a campaign, and it had been one which many more experienced criminal lawyers might have hesitated to try; and by so doing he had gained the ground for future strategic movements which it was essential to have.
Having won this success, he did not fail to take the full advantage which it allowed. He knew that time was the vital factor of the position, and he acted with such promptitude that, with Sir Reginald’s equal diligence, it became possible, while the afternoon was still young, to open the prison doors, and Francis found himself leaning back in the comfort of Sir Reginald’s private car, as it bore him smoothly, and at the best pace that the London traffic allowed, in the direction of Mr. Jellipot’s office.
His sense of recovered freedom during this journey might have been more absolute had not Inspector Combridge been his sole companion. He was too ignorant of such procedures to do more than make a mistaken guess as to why the Inspector should be still at his side, or of what limited amount of freedom would now be his. At the best, he supposed that the Inspector was now beside him as one who would make formal delivery of his body at the lawyer’s office. He wondered what would happen if he should ask the chauffeur to pull up, saying that he had decided to get out and go to his home by a different way.
Inspector Combridge, unaware of these thoughts, was making some honest efforts toward a friendly understanding. He commenced upon several indifferent topics of conversation, without gaining more than monosyllabic answers. The fact was that he still doubted the degree of that innocence about which Mr. Jellipot protested so strongly, and this uncertainty, of which Francis had an instinctive perception, was a bar to any real cordiality, even had he not embodied, to his companion’s mind, the hated shadow of hostile law.
Yet it is bare justice to the Inspector to observe that he was not unwilling to be convinced, and he was as sincerely anxious to know the truth as he was genuinely endeavouring to establish friendly relations with his silent companion; for the point might be of vital importance to the soundness of the plan of campaign which was now to be discussed in Mr. Jellipot’s office.
FRANCIS found that the Inspector did not take his departure when he had (as he conceived the position) delivered his body to Mr. Jellipot.
Instead of that, he took a seat in the lawyer’s office, without waiting for the formality of an invitation, while Mr. Jellipot, not appearing to observe this familiarity, was introducing Francis to another gentleman who had been seated on the farther side of his desk.
“This, Sir Reginald,” he said, “is Francis Hammerton… Mr. Hammerton, this is Sir Reginald Crowe, through whose kindness I have been able to procure your release.”
Francis saw a man who looked young to be the chairman and actively controlling head of a great bank. His expression was of a dynamic energy, suggesting that his financial operations would be conducted with enterprise rather than caution as their dominant characteristic; as had, indeed, been the case since Lombard Street had been staidly stirred by the news that he had obtained control of a majority of London & Northern shares, and intended to use the voting power thus acquired to place himself in charge of the operations of the bank.
Sir Reginald looked at the young man who was thanking him rather shyly for the generosity which had procured his freedom. Accustomed to judge of the characters of those he met with a quick glance, which had rarely failed to guide him aright, he thought: “Jellipot right as usual. Jury must have been fools. Nothing strange in that.” He said aloud: “You needn’t thank me too much. It’s cost me nothing. I know you won’t run away… Besides, I’m wanting something from you; so the boot may soon be on the other leg… Tell him, Jellipot. You’ll explain better than I should.”
He leaned back in the low leather chair he occupied, leaving Mr. Jellipot to take the stage.
The lawyer began in his hesitant precise manner, but with a clarity of statement which made listening easy.
“We wish you to appreciate, Mr. Hammerton, the exact position in which you stand, and the conditions on which your permanent release, and the vindication of your reputation depend.
“The Court of Appeal will have your case before them in a fortnight’s time from today. We have fourteen days. During that time we must obtain further evidence, such as they will consent to hear, or I am bound to advise you that the appeal will almost certainly fail.
“The powers of the Court of Appeal, as it interprets them for its own guidance, are extremely limited.
“It will not reverse a jury’s decision on points of fact, unless it should be of a most obvious perversity, even though it may recognize that a different verdict would have been more consonant with its own conclusions. It will not consider evidence, however relevant, which the defendant deliberately, negligently, or perhaps by some miscalculating duplicity, withheld from the lower court.
“It will interfere only on points of law, or on mis-directions of the Judge, or irregularities on the part of the prosecution, by which a fair trial was denied to the accused.
“In such cases, it may even quash the conviction, in the interests of abstract justice, though it be an obvious consequence that the guilty will go free.
“Finally, it may consent to hear evidence which has come into possession of the defence since the date on which the trial was held, and which reasonable diligence on their part could not have obtained at that time.
“In this last is our best, and, in my judgement, our only hope.
“We cannot anticipate to succeed by submitting facts which you deliberately withheld, whatever motive you may have had: neither can we hope to argue convincingly that the jury, on the evidence which was before them, had no reasonable ground for the conclusion to which they came.
“What I feel that we require, and what I am therefore about to ask you to use your best efforts to obtain, is some fresh evidence — some new witness, if possible — whom you could not previously have called.
“It may not be easy — it may not be possible — but it is not a case of choosing between conflicting alternatives. It is the sole chance that your own indiscretion, if I may say so without offence, has left.
“To give you the greatest possible freedom of action, we have gone to some trouble to ensure that there will be no allusion in the daily press to the bail which has been granted to you. In looking up any of the acquaintances who were in any way responsible for your present position, or who would know you by your adopted name, you will be able to use the advantage of surprise; or you will be able to leave them in ignorance of your recovered liberty, if, in any case, you should desire to do so.
“There is a question which Inspector Combridge has raised, to which I am unable, from anything you have told me, to supply the answer, and concerning which even you yourself may have no certain opinion; but its importance is obvious.
“You were convicted as Tony Welch’s associate. Tony Welch has, I understand, been known to the police for many years as a prominent member of an international gang of card-sharpers, confidence-tricksters, and negotiators of forged bonds, and other financial paper of illicit descriptions. You consorted with several members of this gang, whose true characters we are satisfied that you did not know.
“The question is, did they regard you as one of themselves, or as Tony Welch’s dupe? If you go back to them, will they regard you as a fellow-criminal, endeavouring to avoid the punishment due to your guilt, or will they suppose that you were an innocent dupe, who will now have learnt, by a very bitter experience, to know them for what they are, and who is probably seeking both vindication for himself and their own exposure? I ask you to consider carefully before you reply, for you will see that the course of action which it may be prudent for you to take — even your personal safety — may depend upon the accuracy of your judgement upon this issue.”
Mr. Jellipot paused upon this lengthy and lucid statement, the substance of which Sir Reginald or the Inspector might have put into a question of twenty words, and Francis, though it had allowed him ample time for consideration, was not ready in his reply. The question was not new to his mind. He had considered it in the ample leisure which is allowed to imprisoned men, but the answer was hard to find.
He said: “August Garten knew. I think she tried to warn me once, but I wouldn’t see. She couldn’t have said much more than she did, without giving her own people away. But I thought she was trying to put me off for other reasons from going with her that night, and I took it all in the wrong way.”
Inspector Combridge interposed sharply: “You could swear to that?”
“Yes… I mean
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