Crime at Tattenham Corner Page 22

  Then every head was craned forward as a door, apparently into some subterranean regions, was thrown open, and Sir John Burslem entered in charge of the warders.

  But those who had known Sir John Burslem in the old days rubbed their eyes and looked again. Could this tall, emaciated figure with the thin, white face and the burning eyes really belong to the stout, prosperous-looking Sir John Burslem with whom they were familiar.

  The jury was sworn. Called upon to plead, Sir John Burslem said “Not guilty” in a clear, firm voice. Then while the Solicitor-General outlined the case for the Crown the prisoner sat back in a chair that had been placed in the front of the dock. With folded arms and bent head he listened to the indictment put forth by Sir William Howse.

  In studiously temperate tones the prisoner was made to feel how terribly it all told against him.

  The Solicitor-General, Sir William Howse, began by sketching the business relations between the two brothers. Apparently these had never been satisfactory. James Burslem seemed to have been singularly unfortunate in his speculations, whether advised by his elder brother or not. He seemed to have brooded over his financial troubles, and this last affair of the shares bought by Sir John and their subsequent rise was evidently the culminating point.

  Several witnesses would testify to having heard the explorer declare his intention of making his brother disgorge what he regarded as his ill-gotten gain. Then had followed the lying in wait at Hughlin’s Wood, and the attack on Sir John. Stress was laid on the fact that though Sir John stated that his brother was the first to produce the pistol, and that it was fired in the struggle, the bullet that killed James Burslem was not fired from his own pistol, the one afterwards found in the ditch at Hughlin’s Wood. Of the pistol from which the actual bullet had been fired, the most rigorous search had failed to find a trace. But if the bullet were fired in the course of the struggle, belonging as it might to either brother, how did Sir John Burslem behave? Seeing his brother lying on the ground apparently in the last extremity, would not his first thought have been, had he been an innocent man, to summon assistance, and having ascertained that his brother was dead one would have expected him to report the affair to the police-station and to give himself up for having caused James Burslem’s accidental death.

  Instead of this straightforward course, James Burslem, having had transferred to his pockets his brother’s ring and watch and various small belongings was tumbled face downwards into the ditch, and Sir John and his wife drove back to 15 Porthwick Square, where the new will was executed which would enable Sir John still to manage his many enterprises through the agency of his wife. Then Sir John took his car to the South London parking ground and did everything in his power to make it appear that it was he who had been killed, not his brother. While every newspaper in the land was publishing details of the mysterious murder of Sir John Burslem, the real Sir John remained perdu in gloomy lodgings in Lorraine Street, in the house of a Mrs. Johnson who is the sister of his valet Ellerby. From there by means which had not yet been discovered he made his way into Spain. There, later, Lady Burslem joined him.

  Then came the great period of stress with regard to some of the biggest enterprises in the Burslem group. From the particulars sent out to Lady Burslem, Sir John no doubt saw that only his hand at the helm could save them. And it was then that the scheme was devised of which the results were seen to-day. Sir John returned to England disguised as his wife’s secretary. Detection was only a matter of time. From information received the police were already suspicious of Lady Burslem and were keeping a careful watch upon her movements. Altered as the secretary’s appearance was, he was soon recognized as the supposedly defunct Sir John Burslem.

  Not a muscle of Sir John’s face stirred as he listened; his countenance might have been carved out of ivory so absolutely expressionless and motionless was it.

  The witnesses called by the Crown were comparatively few. The medical testimony was taken first; then that of the men who found the body; after them those who had identified it as that of Sir John Burslem, conspicuous among them Inspector Stoddart. Very few questions were asked these witnesses; their identifications had evidently been made in good faith, and it was apparent to the world that they had been mistaken. The attendant at the parking ground identified Sir John as the man who brought his car in and gave various details of the appearance of the woman who had followed him in, but without helping materially to establish her identity.

  After him came the gunnery expert, who swore that the bullet which killed James Burslem was not the one fired from the pistol found in the ditch. Other witnesses testified to cleaning Sir John’s car and finding Stanyard’s cigarette-case in it. Harbord swore to finding the stained overcoat under the thrall in the second wine-cellar in 15 Porthwick Square.

  When the case for the prosecution ended it was felt on all sides that it left scarcely a loophole of escape for the prisoner.

  Then came the opening of the defence. Sir Douglas Ames looked fully aware of the gravity and the difficulty of the case when he rose. Quite briefly he outlined Sir John’s story, dwelling on the fact that it had been put in evidence by the prosecution that James Burslem’s feeling against his brother had been very bitter owing to the unsatisfactory state of his finances; that he had sworn to have it out with him in the hearing of several witnesses. It would be proved that earlier in the afternoon of June 2nd James Burslem hired a car at a garage where he was unknown, and that the car was recognized at several different places on the way to Epsom. The only point on which there was any divergence of opinion in testimony was on the question of whether James Burslem was alone or not; some witnesses were prepared to say that there was only one man in the car, others were equally positive that it had two occupants, a man and a woman; other witnesses would prove that the pistol found in the ditch was James Burslem’s, and that the bullet that killed him must have been fired from one very similar. The marking on the bullet theory was disputed by some gunnery experts, and altogether the jury was left in a befogged condition on this point.

  Sir Douglas made the most of his client’s state of panic on discovering that his brother was dead, and of his certainty that he would be accused of having murdered him in order to prevent the truth of the financial transactions between them from coming to light. That the slightest breath of scandal against Sir John Burslem, the faintest suspicion of his probity, would have meant ruin to thousands who had entrusted their money to him was made the most of. Then the tremendous temptation that had assailed him was outlined. Sir John Burslem was a well-known, in some senses a public, man. His brother, great explorer though he might be, was comparatively unknown to the man in the street. Let it be supposed that Sir John Burslem was killed at Hughlin’s Wood, James Burslem might never be suspected of the murder, and Sir John might escape while the real assassin was being searched for. Then followed the dramatic account of Sir John’s return to 15 Porthwick Square, his signing of the will, deposit of his car in the South London parking ground, and departure into hiding. Told by a counsel with Sir Douglas Ames’s forensic skill, the story was one well calculated to arouse sympathy for his client. Several women in court were in tears when he finished, and public opinion, ever fickle, began to veer round in Sir John’s favour.

  Sir Douglas had announced his intention of putting Sir John in the witness-box, and when the counsel sat down John Victor Burslem was called. Guarded by warders he took his stand and the oath, then, drawing himself to his full height, he faced the jury.

  His story as elicited by Sir Douglas Ames differed in no way from that told by his counsel, and very little from that of the prosecution. But when Sir William Howse rose to cross-examine the excitement in court became intense.

  “You say that you shot your brother with his own pistol,” the Solicitor-General began.

  “He was shot by his own pistol by accident in the course of a struggle – a struggle forced upon me by his attack,” Sir John replied in a clear, firm voice.

&
nbsp; “Are you aware that expert evidence shows that the bullet that killed your brother was not fired from his own pistol?”

  Sir John made a gesture of bewilderment.

  “I can only say that they are – they must be – mistaken. I had no pistol. There was no pistol there but my brother’s. I felt and heard it go off when I was struggling to take it from him.”

  “Are you also aware that the medical authorities say the pistol was not fired close at hand, as would have been the case if it had gone off during a struggle?”

  Sir John shrugged his shoulders. “It went off when I tried to wrest it from him. I can say no more.”

  “How do you account for there being no blackening of the skin round the hole by which the bullet entered?”

  “I do not account for it – I cannot account for it,” Sir John replied, with a puzzled air. “I can only reaffirm that the facts are exactly as I have stated.”

  “Then you say that the medical testimony and the gunnery expert evidence are not true?”

  “Are mistaken,” Sir John corrected. “That is the only conclusion I can come to.”

  “Then we will leave it at that. A mistake,” the Solicitor-General said severely. “Now, Sir John, matters being as you have stated, your brother having been accidentally shot in a scuffle brought about by himself, why did you not take the straightforward course and at once summon assistance?”

  Sir John gulped down something in his throat.

  “It would have been no use. I have seen death in too many forms not to know that.”

  “Then why did you not drive straight to the police-station and say what had happened?”

  “Because I was a fool and a coward,” Sir John said bitterly. “I felt sure I should be accused of murdering my brother, as is happening now, and I could not face it. It seemed to me that, if the body was supposed to be mine, I should be able to escape altogether, and I yielded to the temptation. My life since has been one long misery and repentance.”

  “Please confine yourself to answering the questions, Sir John Burslem.” Sir William Howse pulled up his gown on his shoulder. “How did your brother’s body come to be in the ditch?”

  “I do not know; I cannot imagine,” Sir John passed his hand wearily over his brow. “When I left it, it was lying by the road-side quite near the ditch, but certainly not in it.”

  “And the pistol?” the Solicitor-General rapped out. “Did you leave that by the roadside too?”

  “No, I threw it away as far as I could and I heard it splash into the ditch.”

  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.”

  CHAPTER 26

  “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.