The Complete Four Just Men Page 13

  Seven o’clock boomed forth, and the angry hum of talk ceased. London watched in silence, and with a quicker beating heart, the last hour crawl round the great clock’s dial.

  There had been a slight alteration in the arrangements at Downing Street, and it was after seven o’clock before Sir Philip, opening the door of his study, in which he had sat alone, beckoned the Commissioner and Falmouth to approach. They walked towards him, stopping a few feet from where he stood.

  The Minister was pale, and there were lines on his face that had not been there before. But the hand that held the printed paper was steady and his face was sphinxlike.

  ‘I am about to lock my door,’ he said calmly. ‘I presume that the arrangements we have agreed upon will be carried out?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ answered the Commissioner quietly.

  Sir Philip was about to speak, but he checked himself.

  After a moment he spoke again.

  ‘I have been a just man according to my lights,’ he said half to himself. ‘Whatever happens I am satisfied that I am doing the right thing – What is that?’

  Through the corridor there came a faint roar.

  ‘The people – they are cheering you,’ said Falmouth, who just before had made a tour of inspection.

  The Minister’s lip curled in disdain and the familiar acid crept into his voice.

  ‘They will be terribly disappointed if nothing happens,’ he said bitterly. ‘The people! God save me from the people, their sympathy, their applause, their insufferable pity.’

  He turned and pushed open the door of his study, slowly closed the heavy portal, and the two men heard the snick of the lock as he turned the key.

  Falmouth looked at his watch.

  * * *

  ‘Forty minutes,’ was his laconic comment.

  In the dark stood the Four Men.

  ‘It is nearly time,’ said the voice of Manfred, and Thery shuffled forward and groped on the floor for something.

  ‘Let me strike a match,’ he grumbled in Spanish.

  ‘No!’

  It was Poiccart’s sharp voice that arrested him; it was Gonsalez who stooped quickly and passed sensitive fingers over the floor.

  He found one wire and placed it in Thery’s hand, then he reached up and found the other, and Thery deftly tied them together.

  ‘Is it not time?’ asked Thery, short of breath from his exertions.

  ‘Wait.’

  Manfred was examining the illuminated dial of his watch. In silence they waited.

  ‘It is time,’ said Manfred solemnly, and Thery stretched out his hand.

  Stretched out his hand – and groaned and collapsed.

  The three heard the groan, felt rather than saw the swaying figure of the man, and heard the thud of him as he struck the floor.

  ‘What has happened?’ whispered a tremorless voice; it was Gonsalez.

  Manfred was at Thery’s side fumbling at his shirt.

  ‘Thery has bungled and paid the consequence,’ he said in a hushed voice.

  ‘But Ramon – ’

  ‘We shall see, we shall see,’ said Manfred, still with his fingers over the heart of the fallen man.

  * * *

  That forty minutes was the longest that Falmouth ever remembered spending. He had tried to pass it pleasantly by recounting some of the famous criminal cases in which he had played a leading role. But he found his tongue wandering after his mind. He grew incoherent, almost hysterical. The word had been passed round that there was to be no talking in tones above a whisper, and absolute silence reigned, save an occasional sibilant murmur as a necessary question was asked or answered.

  Policemen were established in every room, on the roof, in the basement, in every corridor, and each man was armed. Falmouth looked round. He sat in the secretary’s office, having arranged for Hamilton to be at the House. Every door stood wide open, wedged back, so that no group of policemen should be out of sight of another.

  ‘I cannot think what can happen,’ he whispered for the twentieth time to his superior. ‘It is impossible for those fellows to keep their promise – absolutely impossible.’

  ‘The question, to my mind, is whether they will keep their other promise,’ was the Commissioner’s reply, ‘whether having found that they have failed they will give up their attempt. One thing is certain,’ he proceeded, ‘if Ramon comes out of this alive, his rotten Bill will pass without opposition.’

  He looked at his watch. To be exact, he had held his watch in his hand since Sir Philip had entered his room.

  ‘It wants five minutes.’ He sighed anxiously.

  He walked softly to the door of Sir Philip’s room and listened.

  ‘I can hear nothing,’ he said.

  The next five minutes passed more slowly than any of the preceding.

  ‘It is just on the hour,’ said Falmouth in a strained voice. ‘We have – ’

  The distant chime of Big Ben boomed once.

  ‘The hour!’ he whispered, and both men listened.

  ‘Two,’ muttered Falmouth, counting the strokes.

  ‘Three.’

  ‘Four.’

  ‘Five – what’s that?’ he muttered quickly.

  ‘I heard nothing – yes, I heard something.’ He sprang to the door and bent his head to the level of the keyhole. ‘What is that? What – ’

  Then from the room came a quick, sharp cry of pain, a crash – and silence.

  ‘Quick – this way, men!’ shouted Falmouth, and threw his weight against the door.

  It did not yield a fraction of an inch.

  ‘Together!’

  Three burly constables flung themselves against the panels, and the door smashed open.

  Falmouth and the Commissioner ran into the room.

  ‘My God!’ cried Falmouth in horror.

  Sprawled across the table at which he had been sitting was the figure of the Foreign Secretary.

  The paraphernalia that littered his table had been thrown to the floor as in a struggle.

  The Commissioner stepped to the fallen man and raised him. One look at the face was sufficient.

  ‘Dead!’ he whispered hoarsely. He looked around – save for the police and the dead man the room was empty.

  Chapter 11

  A newspaper cutting

  The court was again crowded today in anticipation of the evidence of the Assistant Commissioner of Police and Sir Francis Katling, the famous surgeon.

  Before the proceedings recommenced the Coroner remarked that he had received a great number of letters from all kinds of people containing theories, some of them peculiarly fantastic, as to the cause of Sir Philip Ramon’s death.

  ‘The police inform me that they are eager to receive suggestions,’ said the Coroner, ‘and will welcome any view however bizarre.’

  The Assistant Commissioner of Police was the first witness called, and gave in detail the story of the events that had led up to the finding of the late Secretary’s dead body. He then went on to describe the appearance of the room. Heavy bookcases filled two sides of the room, the third or south-west was pierced with three windows, the fourth was occupied by a case containing maps arranged on the roller principle.

  Were the windows fastened? – Yes.

  And adequately protected? – Yes; by wooden folding shutters sheathed with steel.

  Was there any indication that these had been tampered with? – None whatever.

  Did you institute a search of the room? – Yes; a minute search.

  By the Foreman of the Jury: Immediately? – Yes: after the body was removed every article of furniture was taken out of the room, the carpets were taken up, and the walls and ceilings stripped.

  And nothing was found? – Noth
ing.

  Is there a fireplace in the room? – Yes.

  Was there any possibility of any person effecting an entrance by that method? – Absolutely none.

  You have seen the newspapers? – Yes; some of them.

  You have seen the suggestion put forward that the deceased was slain by the introduction of a deadly gas? – Yes.

  Was that possible? – I hardly think so.

  By the Foreman: Did you find any means by which such a gas could be introduced? – [The witness hesitated] None, except an old disused gaspipe that had an opening above the desk. [Sensation]

  Was there any indication of the presence of such a gas? – Absolutely none.

  No smell? – None whatever.

  But there are gases which are at once deadly and scentless – carbon dioxide, for example? – Yes; there are.

  By the Foreman: Did you test the atmosphere for the presence of such a gas? – No; but I entered the room before it would have had time to dissipate; I should have noticed it.

  Was the room disarranged in any way? – Except for the table there was no disarrangement.

  Did you find the contents of the table disturbed? – Yes.

  Will you describe exactly the appearance of the table? – One or two heavy articles of table furniture, such as the silver candlesticks, etc., alone remained in their positions. On the floor were a number of papers, the inkstand, a pen, and [here the witness drew a notecase from his pocket and extracted a small black shrivelled object] a smashed flower bowl and a number of roses.

  Did you find anything in the dead man’s hand? – Yes, I found this.

  The detective held up a withered rosebud, and a thrill of horror ran through the court.

  That is a rose? – Yes.

  The Coroner consulted the Commissioner’s written report.

  Did you notice anything peculiar about the hand? – Yes, where the flower had been there was a round black stain. [Sensation]

  Can you account for that? – No.

  By the Foreman: What steps did you take when you discovered this? – I had the flowers carefully collected and as much of the water as was possible absorbed by clean blotting-paper: these were sent to the Home Office for analysis.

  Do you know the result of that analysis? – So far as I know, it has revealed nothing.

  Did the analysis include leaves from the rose you have in your possession? – Yes.

  The Assistant Commissioner then went on to give details of the police arrangements for the day. It was impossible, he emphatically stated, for any person to have entered or left 44 Downing Street without being observed. Immediately after the murder the police on duty were ordered to stand fast. Most of the men, said the witness, were on duty for twenty-six hours at a stretch.

  At this stage there was revealed the most sensational feature of the inquiry. It came with dramatic suddenness, and was the result of a question put by the Coroner, who constantly referred to the Commissioner’s signed statement that lay before him.

  You know of a man called Thery? – Yes.

  He was one of a band calling themselves “The Four Just Men”? – I believe so.

  A reward was offered for his apprehension? – Yes.

  He was suspected of complicity in the plot to murder Sir Philip Ramon? – Yes.

  Has he been found? – Yes.

  This monosyllabic reply drew a spontaneous cry of surprise from the crowded court.

  When was he found? – This morning.

  Where? – On Romney Marshes.

  Was he dead? – Yes. [Sensation]

  Was there anything peculiar about the body? [The whole court waited for the answer with bated breath] – Yes; on his right palm was a stain similar to that found on the hand of Sir Philip Ramon!

  A shiver ran through the crowd of listeners.

  Was a rose found in his hand also? – No.

  By the Foreman: Was there any indication how Thery came to where he was found? – None.

  The witness added that no papers or documents of any kind were found upon the man.

  Sir Francis Katling was the next witness.

  He was sworn and was accorded permission to give his evidence from the solicitor’s table, on which he had spread the voluminous notes of his observations. For half an hour he devoted himself to a purely technical record of his examinations. There were three possible causes of death. It might have been natural: the man’s weak heart was sufficient to cause such; it might have been by asphyxiation; it might have been the result of a blow that by some extraordinary means left no contusion.

  There were no traces of poison? – None.

  You have heard the evidence of the last witness? – Yes.

  And that portion of the evidence that dealt with a black stain? – Yes.

  Did you examine that stain? – Yes.

  Have you formed any theories regarding it? – Yes; it seems to me as if it were formed by an acid.

  Carbolic acid, for instance? – Yes; but there was no indication of any of the acids of commerce.

  You saw the man Thery’s hand? – Yes.

  Was the stain of a similar character? – Yes, but larger and more irregular.

  Were there any signs of acid? – None.

  By the Foreman: You have seen many of the fantastic theories put forward by the Press and public? – Yes; I have paid careful attention to them.

  And you see nothing in them that would lead you to believe that the deceased met his end by the method suggested? – No.

  Gas? – Impossible; it must have been immediately detected.

  The introduction into the room of some subtle poison that would asphyxiate and leave no trace? – Such a drug is unknown to medical science.

  You have seen the rose found in Sir Philip’s hand? – Yes.

  How do you account for that? – I cannot account for it.

  Nor for the stain? – No.

  By the Foreman: You have formed no definite opinion regarding the cause of death? – No; I merely submit one of the three suggestions I have offered.

  Are you a believer in hypnotism? – Yes, to a certain extent.

  In hypnotic suggestion? – Again, to a certain extent.

  Is it possible that the suggestion of death coming at a certain hour so persistently threatened might have led to death? – I do not quite understand you.

  Is it possible that the deceased is a victim to hypnotic suggestion? – I do not believe it possible.

  By the Foreman: You speak of a blow leaving no contusion. In your experience have you ever seen such a case? – Yes; twice.

  But a blow sufficient to cause death? – Yes.

  Without leaving a bruise or any mark whatever? – Yes; I saw a case in Japan where a man by exerting a peculiar pressure on the throat produced instant death.

  Is that ordinary? – No; it is very unordinary; sufficiently so to create a considerable stir in medical circles. The case was recorded in the British Medical Journal in 1896.

  And there was no contusion or bruise? – Absolutely none whatever.

  The famous surgeon then read a long extract from the British Medical Journal bearing out this statement.

  Would you say that the deceased died in this way? – It is possible.

  By the Foreman: Do you advance that as a serious possibility? – Yes.

  With a few more questions of a technical character the examination closed.

  As the great surgeon left the box there was a hum of conversation, and keen disappointment was felt on all sides. It had been hoped that the evidence of the medical expert would have thrown light into dark places, but it left the mystery of Sir Philip Ramon’s death as far from explanation as ever.

  Superintendent Falmouth was the next witness called.<
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  The detective, who gave his evidence in clear tones, was evidently speaking under stress of very great emotion. He seemed to appreciate very keenly the failure of the police to safeguard the life of the dead Minister. It is an open secret that immediately after the tragedy both the officer and the Assistant Commissioner tendered their resignations, which, at the express instruction of the Prime Minister, were not accepted.

  Mr Falmouth repeated a great deal of the evidence already given by the Commissioner, and told the story of how he had stood on duty outside the Foreign Secretary’s door at the moment of the tragedy. As he detailed the events of that evening a deathly silence came upon the court.

  You say you heard a noise proceeding from the study? – Yes.

  What sort of a noise? – Well, it is hard to describe what I heard; it was one of those indefinite noises that sounded like a chair being pulled across a soft surface.

  Would it be a noise like the sliding of a door or panel? – Yes. [Sensation]

  That is the noise as you described it in your report? – Yes.

  Was any panel discovered? – No.

  Or any sliding door? – No.

  Would it have been possible for a person to have secreted himself in any of the bureaux or bookcases? – No; these were examined.

  What happened next? – I heard a click and a cry from Sir Philip, and endeavoured to burst open the door.

  By the Foreman: It was locked? – Yes.

  And Sir Philip was alone? – Yes; it was by his wish: a wish expressed earlier in the day.

  After the tragedy did you make a systematic search both inside and outside the house? – Yes.

  Did you make any discovery? – None, except that I made a discovery curious in itself, but having no possible bearing on the case now.

  What was this? – Well, it was the presence on the window-sill of the room of two dead sparrows.

  Were these examined? – Yes; but the surgeon who dissected them gave the opinion that they died from exposure and had fallen from the parapet above.