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Opal Serpent

<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> THE VERDICT OF THE JURY As may be guessed, the murder of Aaron Norman caused a tremendous sensation. One day the name was unknown, the next and it was in the mouths of the millions. The strange circumstances of the crime, the mystery which shrouded it, the abominable cruelty of the serpent brooch having been used to seal the man's lips while he was being slowly strangled, deepened the interest immensely. Here, at last was a murder worthy of Wilkie Collins's or Gaboriau's handling; such a crime as one expected to read of in a novel, but never could hope to hear of in real life. Fact had for once poached on the domains of fiction. But notwithstanding all the inquiries which were made, and all the vigilance of the police, and all the newspaper articles, and all the theories sent by people who knew nothing whatever of the matter, nothing tangible was discovered likely to lead to a discovery of the assassins or assassin. It was conjectured that two people at least had been concerned in the committal of the crime, as, weak physically though he was, the deceased would surely not have allowed himself to be bound by one person, however strong that person might be. In such a case there would certainly have been a scuffle, and as the daughter of the murdered man heard his cry for help—which was what Sylvia did hear—she would certainly have heard the noise of a rough-and-tumble [Pg 92] struggle such as Norman would have made when fighting for his life. But that single muffled cry was all that had been heard, and then probably the brooch had been pinned on the mouth to seal it for ever. Later the man had been slowly strangled, and in the sight of his horrified daughter. Poor Sylvia received a severe shock after witnessing that awful sight, and was ill for some days. The faithful Deborah attended to her like a slave, and would allow no one, save the doctor, to enter the sick-room. Bart Tawsey, who had been summoned to Gwynne Street from his bed, remained in the empty shop and attended to any domestic duties which Miss Junk required to be performed. She made him cook viands for Sylvia and for herself, and, as he had been trained by her before, to act as an emergency cook, he did credit to her tuition. Also Bart ran messages, saw that the house was well locked and bolted at night, and slept on a hastily-improvised bed under the counter. Even Deborah's strong nerves were shaken by the horrors she had witnessed, and she insisted that Bart should remain to protect her and Sylvia. Bart was not over-strong, but he was wiry, and, moreover, had the courage of a cock sparrow, so while he was guarding the house Deborah had no fears, and could attend altogether to her sick mistress. One of the first people to call on Miss Norman was a dry, wizen monkey of a man, who announced himself as Jabez Pash, the solicitor of the deceased. He had, so he said, executed Aaron's legal business for years, and knew all his secrets. Yet, when questioned by the police, he could throw no light on the murder. But he knew of something strange connected with the matter, and this he related to the detective who was now in charge of the case. This officer was a chatty, agreeable, pleasant-faced man, with brown eyes, brown hair and brown skin. [Pg 93] Also, to match his face, no doubt, he wore brown clothes, brown boots, a brown hat and a brown tie—in fact, in body, face and hands and dress he was all brown, and this prevalent color produced rather a strange effect. "He must ha' bin dyed," said Miss Junk when she set eyes on him. "But brown is better nor black, Miss Sylvia, though black you'll have to wear for your poor par, as is gone to a better land, let us hope, though there's no knowing." The brown man, who answered to the name of Hurd, or, as he genially described himself, "Billy" Hurd, saw Mr. Pash, the lawyer, after he had examined everyone he could lay hold of in the hopes of learning something likely to elucidate the mystery. "What do you know of this matter, sir?" asked the brown man, pleasantly. Pash screwed up his face in a manner worthy of his monkey looks. He would have been an absolute image of one with a few nuts in his cheek, and as he talked in a chattering sort of way, very fast and a trifle incoherent, the resemblance was complete. "I know nothing why my esteemed client should meet with such a death," he said, "but I may mention that on the evening of his death he called round to see me and deposited in my charge four bags of jewels. At least he said they were jewels, for the bags are sealed, and of course I never opened them." "Can I see those bags?" asked Hurd, amiably. The legal monkey hopped into the next room and beckoned Hurd to follow. Shortly the two were looking into the interior of a safe wherein reposed four bags of coarse white canvas sealed and tied with stout cords. "The odd thing is," said Mr. Pash, chewing his words, and looking so absurdly like a monkey that the detective felt inclined to call him "Jacko," "that on the morning of the murder, and before I heard anything about it, a stranger came [Pg 94] with a note from my esteemed client asking that the bags should be handed over." "What sort of a man?" "Well," said Pash, fiddling with his sharp chin, "what you might call a seafaring man. A sailor, maybe, would be the best term. He was stout and red-faced, but with drink rather than with weather, I should think, and he rolled on his bow-legs in a somewhat nautical way." "What name did he give?" asked Hurd, writing this description rapidly in his note-book. "None. I asked him who he was, and he told me—with many oaths I regret to say—to mind my own business. He insisted on having the bags to take back to Mr. Norman, but I doubted him—oh, yes," added the lawyer, shrewdly, "I doubted him. Mr. Norman always did his own business, and never, in my experience of him, employed a deputy. I replied to the unknown nautical man—a sailor—as you might say; he certainly smelt of rum, which, as we know, is a nautical drink—well, Mr. Hurd, I replied that I would take the bags round to Mr. Norman myself and at once. This office is in Chancery Lane, as you see, and not far from Gwynne Street, so I started with the bags." "And with the nautical gentleman?" "No. He said he would remain behind until I returned, so as to receive my apology when I had seen my esteemed client and become convinced of the nautical gentleman's rectitude. When I reached Gwynne Street I found that Mr. Norman was dead, and at once took the bags back to replace them in this safe, where you now behold them." "And this sailor?" asked Hurd, eyeing Mr. Pash keenly. The lawyer sucked in his cheeks and put his feet on the rungs of his chair. "Oh, my clerk tells me [Pg 95] he left within five minutes of my departure, saying he could not wait." "Have you seen him since?" "I have not seen him since. But I am glad that I saved the property of my client." "Was Norman rich?" "Very well off indeed, but he did not make his money out of his book-selling business. In fact," said Pash, putting the tips of his fingers delicately together, "he was rather a good judge of jewels." "And a pawnbroker," interrupted Hurd, dryly. "I have heard all about that from Bart Tawsey, his shopman. Skip it and go on." "I can only go on so far as to say that Miss Norman will probably inherit a fortune of five thousand a year, beside the jewels contained in those bags. That is," said Mr. Pash, wisely, "if the jewels be not redeemed by those who pawned them." "Is there a will?" asked Hurd, rising to take his leave. Pash screwed up his eyes and inflated his cheeks, and wriggled so much that the detective expected an acrobatic performance, and was disappointed when it did not come off. "I really can't be sure on that point," he said softly. "I have not yet examined the papers contained in the safe of my deceased and esteemed client. He would never allow me to make his will. Leases—yes—he has some house-property—mortgages—yes—investments—yes—he entrusted me with all his business save the important one of making a will. But a great many other people act in the same strange way, though you might not think so, Mr. Hurd. They would never make a lease, or let a house, or buy property, without consulting their legal adviser, yet in the case of wills (most important documents) many prefer to draw them up themselves. Consequently, there is much litigation over wrongly-drawn documents of that nature." [Pg 96] "All the better for you lawyers. Well, I'm off to look for your nautical gentleman." "Do you think he is guilty?" "I can't say," said Hurd, smiling, "and I never speak unless I am quite sure of the truth." "It will be hard to come at, in this case," said the lawyer. Billy the detective smiled pleasantly and shrugged his brown shoulders. "So hard that it may never be discovered," he said. "You know many mysteries are never solved. I suspect this Gwynne Street crime will be one of them." Hurd had learned a great deal about the opal brooch from Sylvia and Deborah, and what they told him resulted in his visiting the Charing Cross Hospital to see Paul Beecot. The young man was much worried. His arm was getting better, and the doctors assured him he would be able to leave the hospital in a few days. But he had received a letter from his mother, whom he had informed of his accident. She bewailed his danger, and wrote with many tears—as Paul saw from the blotted state of the letter—that her domestic tyrant would not allow her to come to London to see her wounded darling. This in itself was annoying enough, but Paul was still more irritated and excited by the report of Aaron's terrible death, which he saw in a newspaper. So much had this moved him that he was thrown into a high state of fever, and the doctor refused to allow him to read the papers. Luckily, Paul, for his own sake, had somewhat calmed down when Hurd arrived, so the detective was permitted to see him. He sat by the bedside and told the patient who he was. Beecot looked at him sharply, and then recognized him. "You are the workman," he said astonished. "Yes, Mr. Beecot, I am. I hear that you have not taken my warning regarding your friend, Mr. Grexon Hay." [Pg 97] "Ah! Then you knew his name all the time!" "Of course I did. I merely spoke to you to set you on your guard against him. He'll do you no good." "But he was at school with me," said Beecot, angrily. "That doesn't make him any the better companion," replied Hurd; "see here, Mr. Beecot, we can talk of this matter another time. At present, as I am allowed to converse with you only for a short time, I wish to ask you about the opal serpent." Paul sat up, although Hurd tried to keep him down. "What do you know of that?—why do you come to me?" "I know very little and want to know more. As I told you, my name is Billy Hurd, and, as I did not tell you, I am the detective whom the Treasury has placed in charge of this case." "Norman's murder?" "Yes! Have you read the papers?" "A few, but not enough. The doctors took them from me and—" "Gently, Mr. Beecot. Let us talk as little as possible. Where did you get that brooch?" "Why do you want to know? You don't suspect me, I hope?" Hurd laughed. "No. You have been in this ward all the time. But as the brooch was used cruelly to seal the dead man's mouth, it seems to me, and to Inspector Prince, that the whole secret of the murder lies in tracing it to its original possessor. Now tell me all about it," said Billy, and spread out his note-book. "I will if you'll tell me about Miss Norman. I'm engaged to marry her and I hear she is ill." "Oh, she is much better," said Hurd, pausing pencil in hand, "don't distress yourself. That young lady is all right; and when you marry her you'll marry an [Pg 98] heiress, as I learn from the lawyer who does the business of the deceased." "I don't care about her being the heiress. Will you take a message to her from me?" "Certainly. What is it?" Hurd spoke quite sympathetically, for even though he was a detective he was a human being with a kindly heart. "Tell her how sorry I am, and that I'll come and see her as soon as I can leave this confounded hospital. Thanks for your kindness, Mr. Hurd. Now, what do you wish to know? Oh, yes—about the opal serpent, which, as you say, and as I think, seems to be at the bottom of all the trouble. Listen," and Paul detailed all he knew, taking the story up to the time of his accident. Hurd listened attentively. "Oh," said he, with a world of meaning, "so Mr. Grexon Hay was with you? Hum! Do you suppose he pushed you into the road on purpose?" "No," said Paul, staring, "I'm sure he didn't. What had he to gain by acting in such a way?" "Money, you may be sure," said Hurd. "That gentleman never does anything without the hope of a substantial reward. Hush! We'll talk of this when you're better, Mr. Beecot. You say the brooch was lost." "Yes. It must have slipped out of my pocket when I fell under the wheels of that machine. I believe there were a number of loafers and ragged creatures about, so it is just possible I may hear it has been picked up. I've sent an advertisement to the papers." Hurd shook his head. "You won't hear," he said. "How can you expect to when you know the brooch was used to seal the dead man's lips?" "I forgot that," said Paul, faintly. "My memory—" "Is not so good as it was." Hurd rose. "I'll go, as I see you are exhausted. Good-bye." [Pg 99] "Wait! You'll keep me advised of how the case goes?" "Certainly, if the doctors will allow me to. Good-bye," and Hurd went away very well satisfied with the information he had obtained. The clue, as he thought it was, led him to Wargrove, where he obtained useful information from Mr. Beecot, who gave it with a very bad grace, and offered remarks about his son's being mixed up in the case, which made Hurd, who had taken a fancy to the young fellow, protest. From Wargrove, Hurd went to Stowley, in Buckinghamshire, and interviewed the pawnbroker whose assistant had wrongfully sold the brooch to Beecot many years before. There he learned a fact which sent him back to Mr. Jabez Pash in London. "I says, sir," said Hurd, when again in the lawyer's private room, "that nautical gentleman of yours pawned that opal serpent twenty years ago more or less." "Never," said the monkey, screwing up his face and chewing. "Yes, indeed. The pawnbroker is an old man, but he remembers the customer quite well, and his description, allowing for the time that has elapsed, answers to the man who tried to get the jewels from you." Mr. Pash chewed meditatively, and then inflated his cheeks. "Pooh," he said, "twenty years is a long time. A man then, and a man now, would be quite different." "Some people never change," said Hurd, quietly. "You have not changed much, I suspect." "No," cackled the lawyer, rather amused. "I grew old young, and have never altered my looks." "Well, this nautical gentleman may be the same. He pawned the article under the name of David Green—a feigned one, I suspect." [Pg 100] "Then you think he is guilty?" "I have to prove that the brooch came into his possession again before I can do that," said Hurd, grimly. "And, as the brooch was lost in the street by Mr. Beecot, I don't see what I can do. However, it is strange that a man connected with the pawning of the brooch so many years ago should suddenly start up again when the brooch is used in connection with a terrible crime." "It is strange. I congratulate you on having this case, Mr. Hurd. It is an interesting one to look into." "And a mighty difficult one," said Hurd, rather depressed. "I really don't see my way. I have got together all the evidence I can, but I fear the verdict at the inquest will be wilful murder against some person or persons unknown." Hurd, who was not blind to his own limitations like some detectives, proved to be a true prophet. The inquest was attended by a crowd of people, who might as well have stayed away for all they learned concerning the identity of the assassin. It was proved by the evidence of Sylvia and Deborah how the murder had taken place, but it was impossible to show who had strangled the man. It was presumed that the assassin or assassins had escaped when Deborah went upstairs to shout murder out of the first-floor window. By that time the policeman on the Gwynne Street beat was not in sight, and it would have been easy for those concerned in the crime—if more than one—to escape by the cellar door, through the passage and up the street to mingle with the people in the Strand, which, even at that late hour, would not be deserted. Or else the assassin or assassins might have got into Drury Lane and have proceeded towards Oxford Street. But in whatever direction they went, none of the numerous policemen around the neighborhood on that fatal night had [Pg 101] "spotted" any suspicious persons. It was generally assumed, from the peculiar circumstances of the crime, that more than one person was inculpated, and these had come out of the night, had committed the cruel deed, and then had vanished into the night, leaving no trace behind. The appearance of the fellow whom Mr. Pash called the nautical gentleman certainly was strange, and led many people to believe that robbery was the motive for the commission of the crime. "This man, who was powerful and could easily have overpowered a little creature like Norman, came to rob," said these wiseacres. "Finding that the jewels were gone, and probably from a memorandum finding that they were in the possession of the lawyer, he attempted the next morning to get them—" and so on. But against this was placed by other people the cruel circumstances of the crime. No mere robbery would justify the brooch being used to pin the dead man's lips together. Then, again, the man being strangled before his daughter's eyes was a refinement of cruelty which removed the case from a mere desire on the part of the murdered to get money. Finally, one man, as the police thought, could not have carried out the abominable details alone. So after questions had been asked and evidence obtained, and details shifted, and theories raised, and pros and cons discussed, the jury was obliged to bring in the verdict predicted by Mr. Hurd. "Wilful murder against some person or persons unknown," said the jury, and everyone agreed that this was the only conclusion that could be arrived at. Of course the papers took up the matter and asked what the police were doing to permit so brutal a murder to take place in a crowded neighborhood and in the metropolis of the world. "What was civilisation coming to and—" etc., etc. All the same the public was satisfied that the police and jury [Pg 102] had done their duty. So the inquest was held, the verdict was given, and then the remains of Aaron Norman were committed to the grave; and from the journals everyone knew that the daughter left behind was a great heiress. "A million of money," said the Press, and lied as usual. 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