Crime at Tattenham Corner (29 page)

At this juncture a messenger with a note in his hand was observed making his way through the crowd, after gazing round in a moonstruck fashion. He twisted himself in and out until he reached Inspector Stoddart. The inspector opened the note, read it, and after a word to Harbord, who was seated beside him, followed the boy to the door.

Sir William Howse frowned as he continued his cross-examination.

“You yourself drove your car to the parking ground?”

“I did.”

“Who was this woman about whom we have heard so much who followed you in?”

“I have not the slightest idea. I saw no woman. That she was following me was I imagine a flight of fancy on the man's part.”

“Did you expect to meet your brother at Hughlin's Wood that night?”

“Certainly not. I had no idea he was in England even.” 

“Had he any real reason to be dissatisfied with your management of his finances?”

Sir John did not answer for a minute, then he spoke slowly:

“When we embarked on any transaction together we were singularly unfortunate. When I gave him any advice it had an extraordinary knack of turning out badly. I meant, however, to have straightened out his affairs, and returned his shares in the Guayazil Mine if he had given me time, but he would not listen to a word. He seemed mad with rage.”

The Solicitor-General looked at him severely.

“You are still prepared to swear that you had nothing to do with placing the body in the ditch?”

Sir John held up his hand. “Absolutely. So help me God!”

“Can you tell us who did?”

Sir John shook his head. “I have no idea. Nothing about the case has puzzled me so much as this question.” With another of those penetrating glances of his the Solicitor-General sat down and intimated that his cross-examination of the witness was over.

At this moment Inspector Stoddart re-entered the court, a white paper in his hand. After a momentary hesitation he turned to Sir William and handed it to him. He in his turn waited a minute and conferred with Sir Douglas Ames; then he hurriedly scribbled a line or two and beckoning to an usher passed it up to the Judge. 

Mr. Justice Gower read it without one muscle of his stiff, parchment-like face altering. He made an almost imperceptible sign to the Solicitor-General.

Sir William Howse rose.

“May I make an application, my lord? May I move the adjournment of this case until to-morrow?”

The Judge looked at him over the top of his spectacles.

“On what ground do you make this application, Sir William?”

The Solicitor-General looked round from the jury to the prisoners, then he said slowly, every syllable falling with startling distinctness on the listening ears:

“Because I hold in my hand what purports to be the confession of the real criminal, my lord.”

“The confession of the real criminal.” Sir John Burslem looked thunderstruck. At a touch from one of his warders he hastily disappeared down the stairs from the dock. The Judge passed out by the door at the back of the Bench. The Solicitor-General and Sir Douglas Ames went over to a side-door together. With a sign to Harbord, Inspector Stoddart followed them. The general public poured out wonderingly, puzzling, disputing, only to meet a more amazed crowd outside.

Harbord looked at the Inspector. “What does this mean, sir?”

“The woman in the case,” Stoddart said briefly. “A few hours ago Mrs. Jimmy was driving herself to the court in her Ford when a runaway butcher's cart got into the way. She lost her nerve, tried to turn, swerved badly, and came into collision with a bus, and got a bad smash. She was pinned down by some of the machinery, and when they got her out it was obvious that she was fatally injured. She was taken at once to St. Jude's Hospital. At first it was thought that an operation might be attempted, but it was soon seen that she was too far gone. For some time she did not realize how serious her condition was. And the hospital authorities, for their part, did not find out her name or her connexion with this case.

“But when she was asked if she had any relatives she wished to see, Mrs. Jimmy realized the situation and desired that a priest, and later a lawyer might be sent for. In his presence and that of the necessary witnesses she made a statement that she, and not her brother-in-law, Sir John Burslem, shot her husband at Hughlin's Wood.”

Harbord stared and rubbed his eyes. “But how could such a thing be? Sir John himself says that in the struggle his brother's revolver went off and shot him.”

The inspector gave that faint, inscrutable smile of his. “The revolver went off, no doubt, but it did not shoot James Burslem. You remember the medical and expert gunnery testimony, that the bullet that was lodged in the base of the skull was not fired from the revolver found in the ditch, nor at the close quarters indicated by Sir John's account of the struggle.”

Harbord nodded. “Both points have always puzzled me. Still, short as has been my career in the C.I.D., I have already discovered that expert evidence is sometimes mistaken.”

“This wasn't,” Inspector Stoddart said shortly. After a pause he went on, “The bullet that killed James Burslem was fired from the opposite side of the ditch from that spot among the trees where you found the handbag, Alfred. And it was fired from a revolver, the fellow to the one found in the ditch. And it was fired intentionally to kill James Burslem by Mrs. James.”

Harbord uttered an incredulous sound. “You are certain that she was not delirious, sir?”

“Absolutely!” the inspector said finally. “Before the case was presented to the Solicitor-General, Inspector Wilkins was sent to Mrs. James's house and found the pistol precisely where her confession indicated.”

“That seems to be pretty conclusive,” Harbord assented. “But I suppose the markings have not been examined yet?”

“Hasn't been time. But I don't think there is any doubt as to the accuracy of the confession. Mrs. James knew that death was imminent; she was a Roman Catholic and she had to clear her conscience before she died. She began her confession by stating quite frankly that she was thoroughly tired of James Burslem. Most of her time she was a grass widow, and she found him either sickeningly demonstrative when he returned or boringly tiresome with his grievance against his brother. Furthermore, his expeditions absorbed most of his income, and she was always kept short of money, a serious grievance to Mrs. James. He appears to have been especially tiresome in the few days after his return from Tibet on this last occasion, and she found his temper, his fulminations against his brother, and his meanness alike irritating.

“A violent quarrel took place between the pair on the morning of the 2nd of June, and, though a sort of reconciliation was patched up, she admitted that her anger against her husband was still very great. James Burslem remained in his house all the afternoon, apparently brooding over his grievances and keeping her with him, all of which added fuel to her smouldering wrath. Between six and seven o'clock knowing that his brother would be certain to go down and have a look at Peep o' Day, he announced his intention of going down after him and having it out with him. They dined together at a foreign restaurant in Soho, James's already violent temper being aggravated by the wine he drank, and his wrath against his brother increasing. When at last they started for Epsom he produced two pistols and told her that he should challenge his brother to a duel. She managed to abstract one of them when he was not looking, but was unable to get the other.

“A little way outside Epsom he stopped and ordered Mrs. James to go on and ascertain whether Sir John was at Harker's stables as he expected, and if possible to find out, at any rate approximately, what time Sir John would leave.

“She did her best, as is shown by the note you discovered in the handbag. Then the pair drove off to Hughlin's Wood. This was the spot chosen by James Burslem for the encounter, as the sharp bend would oblige the car to slow down. He parked the car by the wayside and Mrs. James with it, and went off to the Wood. But she was not minded to be left behind. She followed him, carefully keeping out of sight, and watched the encounter between the brothers from behind the tree near which you found the handbag. She still held the pistol she had taken from him. Then, when she saw the two men struggling together a sudden temptation assailed her. She was thoroughly sick of Jimmy Burslem, and made up her mind to rid herself of him once and for all. She fired, and at the same moment heard the crack of the other pistol.”

“Then, as a matter of fact, she does not know which of them shot her husband,” Harbord interjected.

The inspector permitted himself a faint smile. “She had no doubt. Don't you remember she was the crack shot at the Marble Pavilion – couldn't have missed her man at that distance. She says she was puzzled by Sir John and Lady Burslem's conduct afterwards. She could not make out what they were doing, and when they had driven off she came out to investigate. She was amazed to see Sir John's signet ring on her dead husband's little finger. It was she who tumbled the body into the ditch.”

“What! His wife! The brute!” Harbord ejaculated.

The inspector moved his hand impatiently. “Not so bad as killing him, was it? She says also she had to get his keys from his pocket, and, turning him over on the right side to do this, he was so close to the ditch that he slipped in. You can believe as much of that as you like.”

“That will not be one word!” Harbord assured him.

“Then she drove off in the wake of the others to 15 Porthwick Square, on the way passing Stanyard, with whose appearance and car she was quite familiar, and who was apparently in difficulties. She stopped and offered help, which was refused. Then the brilliant idea of trying to implicate Stanyard occurred to her. She had picked up a handkerchief of Sir John's from the grass. Getting out to see what was the matter with Stanyard's car, while he was occupied with the machinery underneath, she stuffed the handkerchief down between the cushions and seized Stanyard's cigarette-case that lay on the seat. Then she drove quickly to Porthwick Square. Just as she got near, Sir John ran down the steps of No. 15, got into his car and started off. Impelled by curiosity, she followed to the parking ground, parked her car beside his, and after putting Stanyard's cigarette-case where it was found, made off after Sir John, as the man told us. She failed, however, to keep up with him, and at last lost sight of him altogether. Henceforth it was a case of blackmailing poor Lady Burslem. She and her blessed spirits were merely a cloak for extracting money from her. Occasionally, too, when the police watch became very rigorous, by means of her séances she conveyed messages between husband and wife.”

“A nice sort of lady, upon my word!” Harbord commented. “It strikes me that hanging is too good for Mrs. James Burslem.”

“Well, she will not get it anyway,” Stoddart said gravely. “She died just as I entered the hospital this afternoon; without a friend near her, for, though she repeatedly asked for Sophie, of course Lady Burslem was not allowed to go. Well, well, poor thing, after all she was her own worst enemy!”

And that was the best that could be said for Mrs. Jimmy!

The second day of the trial of Sir John Burslem will not soon be forgotten by any of those in court. Enormous as had been the crowds attracted the first day, the rumours that had spread through London like wildfire the night before had almost doubled them on the second. People struggled and fought even for standing room in the street outside the Old Bailey. Inside the court, crammed to suffocation though it was, there was an air of briskness, of expectancy that had altogether been wanting when the case began.

Sir John Burslem stepped into the dock looking as if a burden had slipped off his shoulders, seeming indeed to those who knew him like a shadow of his former self. A dramatic surprise awaited the spectators when the case opened.

“Call Robert Ellerby!” Sir Douglas Ames directed. Robert Ellerby was called loudly by the usher. Those in court who had known Ellerby stared and rubbed their eyes as a quiet looking, elderly man in a well-cut lounge suit rose and made his way to the witness-box. The Robert Ellerby they had known with his clean-shaven face, his somewhat smug expression, had always looked so essentially a gentleman's servant. This man, with the thin, bronzed face and the grey moustache looked more like the colonial rancher, or an explorer. Scarcely a trace of the Robert Ellerby they had known could they discern in him.

Nevertheless, when he had taken the oath in response to Sir Douglas Ames, and began to make his statement, they recognized the quiet, subdued voice, the respectful manner.

It would have been almost possible to hear the proverbial pin drop in the crowded court. For so long had Ellerby been looked upon as dead, and speculation ever been rife as to the disposal of his remains, that to see him there before them, to hear him giving his evidence in this calm, unemotional manner, seemed nothing less than a miracle.

In response to Sir Douglas Ames he stated that when Sir John started for Epsom on the evening of that 2nd of June he told Ellerby that he need not sit up for him. Therefore he was, of course, in bed when the car returned and he was awakened by James, the footman. When he had dressed and had come downstairs and with James had witnessed Sir John's will, he was taken by Sir John and Lady Burslem into their confidence with regard to that evening's happenings. Questioned by Sir Douglas, he said that he had pleaded with Sir John to give up his mad scheme, and to go at once to the police, but without effect. Nothing then remained, witness added simply, but to help Sir John by every means in his power. 

 “Why did you not go to the police yourself?” Sir Douglas asked.

“Because I could not go against Sir John,” the witness answered. “We were boys together. He had been good to me all my life, and I cared for him more than anything on earth.”