CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Miss Weston entered the witness-box.

She took the oath, and gave her name and address, with a cool self-possession which suggested to Mr. Huddleston’s experienced glance that she might be a formidable obstacle to his client’s freedom, if she should have anything damning against him to which she would be prepared to swear.

But Mr. Peter Entwistle looked at her, and was undisturbed. He could not recall having seen her previously, and he decided that she was not one whom he would quickly forget. Anyway, he had a defence, when the time to show it should come, by which he hoped to bring a more worried look on to Inspector Combridge’s face than it now bore—and even now he did not appear to be particularly well-content.

Meanwhile Miss Weston was saying that she was employed by the Texall Enquiry Agency. In the course of her duties with them, she had taken an attic-room at No. 17 Vincent Street, in the name of Mary Jones, about two months ago.

“With what instructions did you go there?”

“I was to make the acquaintance of Mr. Rabone, and to endeavour to discover whether he were in any way concerned in certain events which had occurred at the London & Northern Bank, of which he was an inspector.”

Mr. Garrison interposed: “Am I to understand that your agency was acting on the instructions of the bank, or for private interests?”

“For the bank, of course.”

Mr. Garrison’s face cleared somewhat at this reply, but he asked again: “Then do I understand correctly that William Rabone was under the suspicion of his employers in connection with irregularities at the branches of the bank at which his inspections were made?” He turned his attention to Mr. Dunkover as he went on: “And, if so, is it a matter which should properly be brought out in connection with the present charge?”

Mr. Dunkover replied that the magistrate understood the position correctly. He was afraid that the issue of the probity of the dead man could not be entirely avoided. It might even become a question of the first importance. But it was only right for him to say at this stage that the instructions which Miss Weston received did not necessarily convey any imputation against him. Certain irregularities had occurred—it might not be necessary to be more specific—the source of which it had become imperative to trace, and under such circumstances it might become an unpleasant necessity to scrutinize the records, and to direct enquiries of other kinds upon a number of officials who would normally be above suspicion, and most of whom must be innocent and upright men.

Mr. Garrison said, very well. He was quite sure that counsel would avoid any imputation—especially against a man who could no longer defend his own integrity—which was not relevant to the present charge.

The examination proceeded.

“You did, in fact, Miss Weston, establish a considerable degree of intimacy—using the word, of course, in a quite innocent sense—with William Rabone?”

Miss Weston’s reply paused.

“I don’t think,” she said, “that the word intimacy would be quite accurate, however you use it. He was never in any sense confidential with me. He professed friendship—or something more. You may say that.”

“May we say that you appeared to have won his affections, but that you had not advanced to a point at which his confidence was equally given?”

“I should put it differently. I should say he acted toward me as, under such circumstances, it was normal for him to do.”

Mr. Dunkover perceived clearly that, whatever William Rabone’s feelings may have been, on her side, Miss Weston’s affections had not been won. He was conscious of a slight irritation at the exactness of definition that the witness required, when he had been endeavouring to do no more than to lead her smoothly over the unavoidable preliminaries to the point where her evidence became important to the present case.

But he was pleased to observe, without appearing to do so, that Miss Weston’s evidence had already caused an interchange of whispered words between Mr. Huddleston and his instructing solicitor, and that the latter gentleman was now occupied in a similar colloquy with Peter Entwistle over the rail of the dock.

Evidently the suggestion that William Rabone might be shown to have been involved in some conspiracy to defraud the bank, whether or not he may have been already known to be of that character by the defence, indicated a line of attack proposing an illicit connection between their client and the murdered man, or even a possible motive for the crime, which they saw that they must be wary to meet.

Mr. Dunkover went on: “Perhaps it may be sufficient to say that your relations as a fellow-lodger with William Rabone reached a superficial familiarity, of which he would have taken some further advantage had he been permitted to do so.”

As Miss Weston received this amended definition in a silence which might be taken for assent, he continued quickly: “And during this time is it correct to say that you occupied one of the two attic rooms which constitute the top floor of Mrs. Benson’s house, and that William Rabone had the other?”

“Yes.”

“And did that contiguity enable you to observe any unusual or suspicious circumstance?”

“The second night after I took the room, I heard a noise that sounded like someone coming cautiously over the roof, and then entering through the window of Mr. Rabone’s room. Then I heard voices in his room—his own and one other’s, if not more—which almost at once became very low. I supposed that he had given a warning that my room had become occupied.

“He or they who had come left after about half an hour, very quietly. It was a dark night, and without opening my window, which I hesitated to do, I could learn nothing more, except that whoever had come returned across the front of my window—that is that they went in the direction of Windsor Terrace.”

“And were these visits repeated?”

“The same thing happened again about three weeks later, but on that occasion they were so quiet that I did not wake until I heard voices, very low, in Mr. Rabone’s room. I had kept my own window closed and bolted since I had known that men were liable to be prowling about the roofs in the night, but when I heard the voices I got out and loosened it, so that it would open without noise—it was a dormer window, opening from side hinges—and when a man came out of Mr. Rabone’s window, and went back the same way as before, I opened it, and followed him as closely as I safely could without being observed.

“The night was cloudy, but not very dark. I could not see the man with any distinctness—he went faster than I, and got farther away as he went on—but I counted the windows, and was sure that he went in at No. 13.”

“Beyond these singular incidents, did you observe or hear anything of an unusual nature prior to the day preceding the death of William Rabone?”

“No. Nothing till the evening before.”

“And then? Will you tell the court what occurred in your own way?”

“Mr. Rabone came in earlier than usual—about six o’clock. It had been understood that he would do so, and that he wanted to talk to me. He had made it plain that he didn’t want Mr. Hammerton to be there, and he went upstairs when Mr. Rabone came in, so that we had a long time alone.

“The conversation didn’t go at all as I had expected it would. He said almost at first that he had found out who I was, and that I was spying on him. He made out that he had known all along, though I didn’t think that was true. But he didn’t seem to care, or to resent it at all. He treated it more as a joke.

“He said that I had been wasting my time, and that he had written to the general manager of the bank. He said he was going to make him an offer, and if it were taken in the right way, he could save the bank many thousands of pounds, besides more worry than it was good for bank directors to have; but, of course, he wasn’t going to do it for nothing.

“He said, anyway, that he didn’t care. It would be their funeral, not his. Even if they wouldn’t come to terms, they couldn’t do more than dismiss him, and he was thankful to say that he wasn’t poor enough to mind that. Whatever else happened, he would resign. When he found that they were putting people to spy on him, it was time to bring things to an end, which he meant to do.

“Then he went on to say that I needn’t worry about the office again, as he was going to give me a better life than that of a common spy. He would go abroad, and begin to spend money, instead of working all the time, as he had been doing till then, and I could share his life, as he seemed to feel sure that I should be willing to do.

“Even when I raised difficulties, he seemed to think that I only stood out because I wasn’t sure that he would do all that he said.

“On my side, I wanted him to say more than he would—he was too cautious, from first to last, to let me learn anything definite—and so, altogether, we talked for a long time without getting much further forward.”

Mr. Garrison intervened: “I must be clear upon this. Do I understand that Rabone admitted to you that he had been party to conspiracies for defrauding the bank by which he was employed, which he would be willing to betray if he were to receive a sufficient reward, but not otherwise?”

“No. It wouldn’t be right to say that. He admitted nothing. But it was implicit in all he said.”

“And he recognized at the same time that he was threatened with exposure? Did he appear to be in a mood in which a man might destroy himself to escape the consequences of his wrong-doing?”

“No. Not in the least. He appeared confident in his own position, and contemptuous of anything they could do.”

“And you feel sure that that attitude was genuine, and not merely assumed?”

“Yes. I don’t think there could be any doubt about that.”

“Very well. Pray go on, Mr. Dunkover.”

“And how did this conversation end?”

“I allowed it to appear that I was overcome by his persuasions, and inclined to agree. It was after midnight then. I think I was willing to say almost anything which would have ended the conversation. I proposed to give him a final answer in the morning.”

“Did he agree to that?”

“No. He became very difficult. I think he became more doubtful of what I meant than he had been while I was holding him off more indefinitely. He was very shrewd in his own way, but he had an idea that any girl could be bought, or that he would be attractive to her, or perhaps both. He said he must have an answer then, and he made it very clear what he meant it to be.

“I said I was too tired to say more that night, and was going to bed. He didn’t object to that, but he followed me up, and tried to come into my room before I could lock the door.... He’d tried to do that more than once before, but I’d had less difficulty in putting him off.

“Now he said that I’d got to learn that one room was enough for both, and I might begin then just as well as later. I threatened to call Mrs. Benson or Mr. Hammerton, if he wouldn’t leave me alone for that night, but he said he didn’t care about them. He knew how to manage them, and a few more if it came to that.... And then I happened to say, did he know how late it was?—that it was half-past one then, and when I mentioned the time he suddenly altered, and said he hadn’t known that I was as tired as I said, and of course he’d wait till the next night.

“I felt sure it was reminding him of the time which had made such a sudden change, and it made me guess that he was expecting a visitor to his room of whom he didn’t wish me to know, so I went into my own room, and locked the door, and loosened the window, and after a few minutes I put out the light, as though I had gone to bed. But I didn’t really undress. I just lay down on the bed.”

The magistrate interrupted again: “You say you lay down on the bed. You didn’t open it?”

She thought a moment, before she replied. “Yes, I did open it. But I mean I didn’t undress. I lay down in my clothes. But it was a cold night, and I drew the bedclothes over me. I think I had got chilly staying so long downstairs.”

“You will see,” Mr. Dunkover said, “that that supports the evidence we have heard already.”

Mr. Garrison agreed. “Yes. It was a small point, but I wished it clear.”

Miss Weston went on: “I think I dozed, though I hadn’t meant to, for the next thing of which I was conscious was a murmur of voices in Mr. Rabone’s room. It was low at first, but after that it became louder, and then low again, rather as though there had been a quarrel which had been made up, and then I heard Mr. Rabone give a terrible cry.

“I jumped up when I heard that, and ran to his room. As I crossed the landing, I remember seeing a line of light under his door, and hearing something that sounded like a struggle within the room. But as I was opening the door someone pressed against it from the inside, and then the light was switched off.

“After that, the door opened easily. I couldn’t see anything inside, but I thought I heard something move on the floor, and a man’s steps crossed the room to the window. I remember thinking that, though I could see nothing, I must be conspicuous to anyone in the room while I stood in the doorway, so I stepped in, and somewhat sideways while I felt for the switch. I couldn’t find it for a moment. It isn’t just where you’d expect it to be. And when I did get a light I saw a man’s legs disappearing through the open window.

“The next moment, I saw Mr. Rabone on the floor. He was still moving, but you could see at a glance that he was beyond help. His head was—well, you could see.

“I switched off the light again. I don’t quite know why. It may have been to conceal myself from the man who had just gone through the window, or it may have been to shut out the sight of Mr. Rabone on the floor. I just did it, without stopping to think.

“I slipped back to my own room, and opened the window. The man was evidently getting away as quickly as he could, and making more noise than I had heard the time before. I followed, but could not get near enough to see what he was like. In fact, he got farther away.

“But I saw him go in at the same window—No. 13—as before, and a minute after I crept quietly up to it, and looked in.

“It didn’t open into a room, but an unlighted landing, with some stairs going down at the farther end. There was no light on the landing, but a little light came from the stairs. It shone up from the floor below. I looked in for a minute, and it was all quiet, so I tried the window. It didn’t seem to have any fastening except a loose-fitting latch, and I had it open in a moment, without making any noise, and got down on to the landing.

“I thought that if I could get down to the front door and found it barred, it would almost certainly mean that the man was remaining within the house, and probably someone who lived there, but if the door were open it would mean that he had escaped into the street.

“I went down as quietly as I could, though it seemed that every stair creaked, but I heard no other sound, and I couldn’t see any lights under the doors. The house might have been empty for anything I could tell. And when I got down to the street door, it was shut, but not bolted. It closed with a Yale lock, and when I pulled this back it opened at once.

“I looked out into the street, but there was no one there, and I stood for some moments undecided what I should do. I didn’t feel inclined to go back into the house, nor to go to number seventeen, and have to knock Mrs. Benson up, and see Mr. Rabone again with her.

“I felt that it wasn’t really my matter how he had got killed, and anyway I’d done all that I could, and the best thing I could do was to go back to my own home, and report to the office in the morning.”

“You appear to have acted, up to that point,” Mr. Garrison said, “with a good deal of courage, and some discretion, but you should have known that it was your duty to have informed the police at once. In such a position your first duty is to the state.”

Miss Weston was conscious that her feeling had been at the time that her first duty was to her employers, and the doctrine stated with such assurance by Mr. Garrison is probably one to which the majority of women only conform when it coincides with more intimate codes. But if her mind did not accept this precept, she had sufficient sense not to question it. She said: “I’ve seen since that I didn’t act very wisely; but I suppose I’d had about as much as I could stand for the time,” and the magistrate accepted the explanation without further comment.

Mr. Dunkover said: “It appears that Miss Weston reported her experiences to her employers, who communicated with the London & Northern Bank immediately, and Miss Weston’s statement was at once put at the disposal of the police.”

Mr. Garrison made no reply. He had glanced at the clock which was on the opposite wall of the court, and observed that it was ten minutes to two. It was a tribute to the dramatic quality of Miss Weston’s narrative that he had not previously observed that it was past his usual time for lunch. He said: “I think this will be a convenient time to adjourn. Till two-thirty prompt.”