The Mystery of the Clasped Hands: A Novel

Ten minutes later a verdict of wilful murder against Godfrey Henderson was returned, and he was committed for trial on the coroner's warrant.

Instead of returning to Bow Street from the coroner's court, Godfrey was now driven to Holloway Prison, where he was placed in an ordinary cell. His spirits by this time had fallen to as low an ebb as it would be possible for those of a human being to reach. What had he done to deserve this cruel fate? He was not conscious of ever having done any one an injury; he had always done his best to help his fellow-men. Why, therefore, was he brought so low? He thought of Molly, and pictured her feelings when she should hear that he was committed for trial. He could imagine his mother's despair and could almost hear poor, sorrowing Kitty vainly endeavouring to comfort her.

During the afternoon Sir Vivian and Mr. Codey came to see him again. The former was very plainly distressed; the latter, however, regarded matters in a somewhat more stoical light. He had seen the same things so many times before, that he had become in a certain measure hardened to it. In all the cases upon which he had hitherto been engaged, however, he had never had one in which the prisoner was a country gentleman, besides being an artist of considerable repute. "You must not give way, Mr. Henderson," he said, kindly. "There's plenty of time yet for us to prove your innocence. Doubtless, when this is all over and you are free once more, you will regard it as a very unpleasant experience, certainly, but one which might very easily have been worse. Now, with your permission, I will tell you what I have done. In the first place, we must endeavour to find the real murderer. Only a trained hand could do this, so I have engaged a man with whom I have had a great many dealings in the past. He is a private detective of an unusual kind, and has a knack of securing information which neither the Government men nor the private agents seem to possess. He will be expensive, but I suppose you will have no objection to paying him well for his services, if he is successful, as I trust he will be."

"You may be quite sure I shall have no objection," said Godfrey. "Let him get me out of this scrape, and I'll pay him double, even treble, his usual charges."

"Oh, he won't bleed you as much as that," returned the lawyer. "He is below now, and if you care to see him, I will obtain permission for him to come up."

The necessary authority being forthcoming, Codey presently returned, accompanied by a burly, rosy-cheeked individual, who might very well have been the landlord of a well-to-do country inn or a farmer in a prosperous way of business. A more jovial countenance could scarcely have been discovered, had one searched England through for it. Merely to look at it was to be made to feel happy, while to hear his laugh was to be put in a good humour for the remainder of the day. He was dressed in a suit of tweeds, more than a trifle pronounced as to colour, a knitted blue waistcoat covered his portly, bow-windowed presence, while he wore a spotted blue and white tie, decorated with a large diamond pin. His feet and hands were enormous, and when he laughed – which he did on every available opportunity – his whole figure seemed to quiver like a blanc mange.

"This is Jacob Burrell, Mr. Henderson," said the lawyer, when the door had closed on them. "I have told him that you wish him to take up your case, and he is prepared to do so without delay."

"I am exceedingly obliged to you, Mr. Burrell," said Godfrey. "Mr. Codey has told me of your cleverness. If you can discover who it was who actually murdered the poor girl, you will not only relieve me from a position of considerable danger, but you will lay me under an everlasting obligation to yourself."

"I'll do the best I can, sir," said the man, jovially, rubbing his hands together, as if he regarded the whole affair as a huge joke. "As Mr. Codey may have told you, I have unravelled pretty tangled skeins in my day, and it won't be my fault if I don't do the same here. Now, sir, Mr. Codey, who knows my ways of work, has given me an outline of the case, but if you don't mind, I should like to put a few questions to you on my own account."

"Ask me whatever you please," said Godfrey, "and I will answer to the best of my ability."

Burrell seated himself opposite Godfrey, placed one enormous hand on either knee, and looked the other full in the face.

"Now, sir, in the first place, when you had your old studio in London, before you inherited your present estate, and when you first engaged the girl, can you remember who were your intimate friends? I mean, the friends who were in the habit of dropping into your studio pretty frequently, to smoke their pipes, and perhaps to take a friendly glass?"

Godfrey considered for a moment.

"I had not very many friends in those days," he answered at last. "I was a hard worker, and for that reason didn't encourage men to waste my time. Besides, I was only a struggling artist, and couldn't afford to entertain very much."

"But there must have been some men who came in. Think, sir, and try to recollect. It's an important point."

"Well, of course, there was my friend, Mr. Fensden, who practically lived with me. He used my studio whenever he had anything to do."

"He is the gentleman who gave the damaging evidence against you on Monday, is he not?"

"He is! Then there was a Mr. Bourke, a leader writer on the Daily Record."

"I know Mr. Bourke," said the detective. "We may dismiss him from the case at once."

"Then there was an artist named Halliday, who occasionally dropped in, but he is now in Dresden."

"When did he go?"

"Nearly two months before I went abroad myself," Godfrey answered. "I think I have given you the list of my friends. I can remember no more."

"Now, sir, that box, in which the hands were sent, had you ever seen it before?"

"No," said Godfrey; "I am quite certain I had not."

"When you came home from Egypt, did you make any purchases in Naples?"

"None at all. I was only there one night."

"Now, sir, I am given to understand that your friend, Mr. Fensden, induced you to go abroad for the reason that he feared you were falling in love with your model. On what sort of terms was Mr. Fensden himself with the girl in question?"

"On very friendly terms," said Godfrey.

"Was he in love with her, do you think?"

"I am certain he was not," Godfrey replied, shaking his head. "I do not think he would ever be in love with anybody."

"And you are quite sure that he saw nothing of the girl from the day he bade her good-bye in your studio, until Monday, when he inspected her dead body in the mortuary?"

"I am sure of it," Godfrey answered.

"And when did he return to England, for I understand he has been abroad until lately?"

"On Thursday morning. I met him at the Mahl Stick Club an hour or two after his return from Paris."

"Now, sir, one other question, and the last. The girl, I understand, told you that she was married, and refused to say to whom. I have had an opportunity of examining the wedding-ring from her finger. Somewhat to my surprise, I found that it was of Austrian make. Now, how does it come about that a girl living in Naples should be married with an Austrian wedding-ring? It was, moreover, an expensive one. What I want to know is, was the young woman ever in Vienna?"

"Never, to the best of my belief," said Godfrey. "At any rate she never told me so."

"Now, sir, there's one point I want to clear up, and when I have done that, I sha'n't be at all certain that I haven't got the key to the whole mystery. Is it only a singular coincidence, do you think, that Teresina Cardi, your old model, wore a wedding-ring of Austrian make, and that the box in which her hands were sent to you the other day should bear the label of a well-known Vienna firm?"

He chuckled and rubbed his hands together, as he put this question to Godfrey.

"It certainly seems singular," said the latter; "but why should not the ring have been purchased in Naples, even if it were of Austrian make?"

"There is not the least reason why it should not, but the coincidence is worth remarking. Now, sir, I shall leave you to think over what I have said. I shall telegraph to Naples and Vienna, and meanwhile endeavour to find out who it was handed the box in at Euston. Allow me to wish you good-day, gentlemen."

They returned his salutations, after which he went away, leaving one little ray of hope behind him.

"A most remarkable man that!" said Codey, appreciatively, when the door was once more closed. "He will follow the trail now like a sleuth-hound. In the meantime, Mr. Henderson, I can not promise you anything very hopeful for to-morrow. I shall apply to the magistrate for a remand in order to give Burrell more time to look about him. I shall keep in touch with him, you may be sure. I have retained Alfred Rolland as counsel for you. He and I have often worked together, and I don't think you could have a better man."

"I place myself in your hands unreservedly," said Godfrey. "Do whatever you think best, and spare no expense. I have others besides myself to think of in this matter."

"You have indeed, poor souls!" said Sir Vivian. "I shall go down to-night, and try to reassure them, and come up again first thing in the morning."

When they left him, half-an-hour later, Godfrey sat himself down on his bed and resigned himself to his own miserable thoughts. What enemy had he who hailed from Vienna? He could think of no one among the circle of his acquaintances who had ever been there. Certainly no one who would be likely to do him such an irreparable wrong. After that he thought of his dear ones at home, and broke down completely. His supper was sent away untouched. He felt as though he could not have swallowed a mouthful, even had his life depended on it. At last he retired to bed, but not to rest. When he rose next morning, he felt older by a dozen years.

"This will never do," he said to himself. "If I go on like this, people will begin to think from my appearance that I am guilty. No, they shall see that I am not afraid to look any man in the face."

Then the door was unlocked, and he was informed that it was time to set off for the magistrate's court.

CHAPTER XII

The preliminary investigation before the magistrate calls for but little comment. The evidence was, with but few exceptions, that which had been given before the coroner on the Monday and Wednesday preceding. If it were remarkable for anything it was for the number of spectators in the Court. The building, in which the coroner's inquiry had been conducted, had been crowded, but the police-court was packed, not with the poorly-clad spectators which one usually meets and associates with that miserable place, but by well-dressed and even aristocratic members of society. When Godfrey recovered from his first feeling of shame at finding himself in such a place and in such a position, and looked about him, he recognised several people whom he had once accounted his friends, but who had now schemed and contrived by every means in their power, to obtain permission to watch, what they thought would amount to his degradation and final extinction. Pulling himself together he gazed boldly around him, and more than one person there told himself or herself that a man who could look at one like that could never be guilty of such a crime as murder. Mr. Rolland, the counsel who had been retained by Codey for the defence, was a tall, handsome man, and of others, little above middle-age. He was the possessor of a bland, suave manner which had the faculty of extracting information from the most unwilling and reluctant witnesses. Near him sat Mr. Codey himself, keen-eyed and on the alert for anything that might tend to his client's advantage. The curiosity of the visitors was not destined, however, to be gratified, for, when certain of the witnesses had been examined, the case was adjourned for a week, and Godfrey returned to Holloway by the way he had come.

How the next seven days passed Godfrey declares he is unable to tell, but at last that weary week came to an end, and once more he stood in the crowded Court. At first glance it looked, if such a thing were possible, as if more people had been squeezed into the building than on the previous occasion. The fashionable world was as well represented as before, while this time there were even more ladies present than had hitherto been the case. The cabman who had driven the pair to Burford Street was examined and repeated his former evidence. He was subjected to a severe cross-examination by Mr. Rolland, but his testimony remained unshaken. The police-constable, who had seen them together outside the house, also repeated his tale. He was quite certain, he assured the Court, that the woman in question was crying as he passed them. At the same time he was not sure whether or not the prisoner was speaking angrily to her. When he left the witness-box Victor Fensden took his place. He described the life in the studio before Godfrey left England, and repeated the story of the attempt he had made to induce him to break off his relations with the girl. When the prosecution had done with him Mr. Rolland took him in hand and inquired what reason he had for supposing that his client had ever felt any affection for the deceased woman.

"Because he himself told me so," Fensden returned unblushingly. "I pointed out to him the absurdity of such a thing, and was at last successful in inducing him to accompany me abroad."

"You parted where?"

"In Port Said. I went on to Palestine, while he returned to Naples."

"En route to England?"

"I believe so."

"On what day did you yourself reach London?"

"On the day of the murder."

"When did you next see the prisoner?"

"He lunched with me at the Mahl Stick Club on the same day."

"That will do," said Mr. Rolland, somewhat to the surprise of the Court. "I have no further questions to ask you."

It was at this point that the great sensation of the day occurred. When Fensden had taken his place once more, Detective-sergeant Gunson was called, and a tall, handsome man, with a short, brown beard entered the box. He stated that his name was Gunson, and that he was a member of the Scotland Yard detective force. Two days previous, accompanied by Detective-sergeant McVickers, he had paid a visit to the prisoner's residence, Detwich Hall, in the county of Midlandshire. They had made a systematic search of the building, with the result that, hidden away behind a bookcase in the studio, they had discovered a long knife of Oriental workmanship and design. The blade was of razor-like sharpness, and was covered with certain dark stains. He found nothing else of an incriminating nature. Detective-sergeant McVickers was next called, who corroborated his companion's evidence.

Dr. Bensford, an analytical chemist and lecturer at the Waterloo Hospital, stated that he was instructed by the Home Secretary to make an examination of the marks upon the knife in question, now produced, and had arrived at the conclusion that they were the stains of human blood. (Great sensation in Court.)

So overwhelming was the shock to Godfrey, that for a moment he neither heard nor saw anything. A ghastly faintness was stealing over him and the Court swam before his eyes. With a mighty effort, however, he pulled himself together and once more faced the Court. He looked at Sir Vivian and saw that the baronet's face had suddenly become very pale.

"Good Heavens!" he thought to himself, "will he suspect me also?"

The analyst having left the box, Victor Fensden was recalled, and the knife handed to him. He took it in his daintily gloved hand and examined it carefully.

"Have you ever seen that knife before?" asked the prosecution.

Victor hesitated a moment before he replied.

"No," he answered, as if with an effort.

"Think again," said his examiner. "Remember that this is a court of justice, and it behooves you to speak the truth. Where did you see that knife before?"

Once more Victor hesitated. Then in a somewhat louder voice he said:

"In Egypt. In Cairo."

"To whom does it belong?"

"To Mr. – I mean to the prisoner. I was with him when he purchased it."

A greater sensation than ever was produced by this assertion. Godfrey leaned forward on the rail of the dock and scrutinized the witness calmly.

"Your Worship," he said, addressing the magistrate, "with all due respect I should like to be allowed to say that I have never seen that knife in my life before."

The prosecution having finished their case, Mr. Rolland addressed the Bench. He pointed out how entirely improbable it was that a gentleman of Mr. Henderson's character and position would commit a murder of such a cowardly nature. He commented on the fact that it would have been impossible, had he even desired to do such a thing, for him to have committed the crime and have walked from Burford Street to his hotel in Piccadilly in the time counted from the moment he was seen by the police officer to the time of his arrival at his hotel. Moreover, he asked the magistrate to consider the question as to whether a man who had committed such a dastardly deed would have been likely to send the mutilated remains to himself as a wedding present. It was useless for him, however, to argue, the magistrate had already made up his mind, and Godfrey was therefore not surprised when he found himself committed to stand for his trial at the next Criminal Sessions, to be held in a month's time. Bowing to the magistrate, he left the dock, entered the cab that was waiting for him in the yard, and was driven away to Holloway.

"It was the finding of that knife that did it," said Mr. Codey reproachfully, when he next saw him. "Why on earth didn't you tell me that it was hidden there?"

"Because I did not know it myself," Godfrey replied. "When I told the magistrate that I had never seen it before, it was the truth. I did not buy a knife in Cairo, so how could I have brought one home with me?"

"But who could have placed it behind the bookcase, if you did not?" asked the lawyer.

"That is more than I can say," said Godfrey simply.

"Look here, Mr. Henderson," said Codey sharply, "I have met a good many unsuspicious men in my time, but I don't think I have ever met one so unsuspicious as you are. I have a list of all the people in your house at the moment when that box arrived. Let us run it over. There was your mother, your sister, and your fiancée, Miss Devereux. As our friend Burrell would say, they may be dismissed from the case without delay. Your butler and footman are old family servants, as are the housekeeper, the cook, and the head parlour-maid. They may also be dismissed. The remainder of the household would be scarcely likely to possess a knife of that description, so we will dismiss them also. There remains only yourself and Mr. Fensden. You declare you are innocent, and we will presume that you are. Now, Mr. Fensden, by his evidence has placed you where you are. That is certain. You say that he lied as to the fact of your being in love with the woman who is dead, and also when he said that you purchased the knife in Cairo. You say that he came to stay with you on the day that the murder was discovered – why should he not have placed it behind the bookcase, in order that it should be another incriminating point against you?"

"I can not believe that he would do such a thing," said Godfrey. "He would not be so base."

"I am not so sure of it," said the astute lawyer. "What is more, I made a curious discovery to-day. The man in question pretends to be your friend. He gives his evidence with reluctance. Yet I noticed that when that knife was produced his face betrayed neither surprise nor emotion. Had he had your interests at heart, would he have been so callous? Answer me that! Now you have my reasons for arguing that he knew where the knife was, and also the man who had placed it there."

"The suspicions you suggest are too horrible," said Godfrey, rising and pacing the cell. "What possible reason could he have for doing me such an injury?"

"One never knows. There are some men who hate the man who is supposed to be their best friend, either because he, the friend, has been successful in money-making, in love, or perhaps he presumes him to be happier than himself. You are rich; he is poor. You have been successful in your profession; he has been a failure. His hatred, like hundreds, might have begun with jealousy and have terminated in this. I have known more unlikely things."

"In that case what am I to do?"

"Leave it to me and to Burrell to arrange. If things were not going right, my experience teaches me that that astute gentleman would have shown signs of dissatisfaction before now. He has got his nose on the trail, you may be sure, and if I know anything about him, he will not leave it for a moment."

"But do you think he will be able to prove my innocence?" asked Godfrey.

"All in good time, my dear sir, all in good time," said the lawyer. "With me for your lawyer (pardon the boast), Rolland for your counsel, Dick Horsden and Braithwaite with him, and Burrell for the ferret that is to make the rabbits bolt, you could not be better served. For my own part, I wouldn't mind making you a bet – and as a rule I am not a man who gambles – that the last-named gentleman has already acquired sufficient information to secure your return to Detwich with an unblemished character."

"Then do so by all means," said Godfrey. "I will take it with the greatest pleasure in the world."

"Very well then," answered the lawyer. "I'll tell you what we'll do. I've a junior clerk who has the making of a man in him, but who is in consumption. The doctors tell me that, unless he is sent for a long sea voyage to the other side of the world, he will not live a year. I have promised to send him to the South Seas, and, if you like, this shall be our bet: If you get off scot-free, you pay all his expenses – something like five hundred pounds – and also give him five hundred pounds to go on with. If you don't, then I pay. Will you agree to that?"

"With all the pleasure in the world," Godfrey replied.

"Then it's settled. And now I must be going. Good-bye."

They shook hands, and then the lawyer took his departure, leaving Godfrey happier than he had been for some time past.

The month that separated the magistrate's inquiry from the Sessions at the Old Bailey seemed to Godfrey like an eternity. Day after day crept slowly by, with but little, if anything, to relieve the monotony. He took his daily exercise, kept his cell in spotless order, received visits from the lawyer, who came to report progress, and from Sir Vivian, who brought messages of hope and encouragement from the folk at home.

On one red-letter day he was informed that visitors had arrived to see him, and he was accordingly conducted to the room where he had on several occasions interviewed his lawyer. The warder opened the door and he entered, to be nearly overwhelmed by surprise. Standing by her father's side, at the farther end of the room, and waiting to receive him, was no less a person than Molly herself. She ran forward and threw herself into his arms.

"Molly, Molly," he faltered, "what does this mean? Why are you here? You should not distress yourself like this."

"I could not help it," she answered. "I had to come, I could stay away from you no longer. You do not know how I have suffered. It seems as if a lifetime had elapsed since we parted. At last I managed to persuade papa to bring me up. My poor boy, how ill you look! How you must have suffered!"

"Never mind about that, dear," said Godfrey. "If it all comes right in the end, we can afford to suffer a little. Now tell me of yourself; you don't know how hungry I am for news."

"No, don't let us talk of myself," she answered. "I want to talk about you and your affairs. Do you know that this morning I saw Mr. Codey, your lawyer, for the first time? He was introduced to me by papa."

"And what did he say to you?" Godfrey inquired, with natural interest.

"I am afraid there is not much to tell," said Molly. "When I asked him if he thought we should be able to prove your innocence, he said, 'That's a thing we shall have to see about; but I don't mind going so far as to promise you, that, unless there's anything else that I don't know of, you and Mr. Henderson will eat your Christmas dinner together next year!' I asked him and implored him to tell me more, but I could not get anything else out of him."