A 512720


University of
Midijai
Libraries
1817
VERITAS
ARTES SCIENTIA














11.1523 ha
HANGING JUDGE
Copyright, 1948, by Artbur Douglas Bruce Hamilton
Printed in the United States of America
All rights in this book are reserved. It may not be used for dramatic, motion- or
talking-picture purposes witbout written authorization from tbe bolder of these rights.
Nor may the book or part thereof be reproduced in any manner wbatsoever without
permission in writing except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical
articles and reviews. For information address: Harper & Brothers, 49 East 33rd Street,
New York 16, N. y.
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Prologue
I
1
Na bare little room, some years before the outbreak of
the Second World War, three men were playing bridge.
It was hot, and though they had taken off their jackets
they were sweating profusely; but they played with an in-
tense concentration that suggested an important issue, as if
a moment's relaxation of their attention would bring about
some evil consummation.
The game was a three-handed variety of auction, not
contract, for the players were of the class that is usually be-
hind the times in these matters; a few years earlier they
would have been playing whist.
Two of the men, though fifteen years divided them, were
conspicuously older than the third. They had the appear-
ance of men of character rather than intellect, and some-
thing not very palpable in their grouping, or in their
costume, or in a common expression of concerned watch-
fulness, set them apart from their companion.
The third man could not have been over twenty-six. He
[1]


H A N GING JUDGE
"Must a' sweated half a dozen pounds off myself,”
agreed Harry. “Go on this way, there won't be anything left
of me to keep my date tomorrow."
The third man, who was sandy haired, clean shaven, and
about thirty-five, broke in quickly. “My deal, ain't it?" He
dealt, and called one heart. Harry, holding ace, king, queen
of spades, ace and two small hearts, a string of diamonds to
the queen jack, but no clubs, tried a no-trump. Neither
challenging him, he picked up the dummy, and on the lead
of the king of hearts laid it down, revealing eight clubs to
the four top honors, and the ace of diamonds. Playing the
heart ace on the first trick, he made his spades, led to the
diamond, and ran the clubs for a grand slam.
"Never saw anything like it,” the older man grumbled.
"Calls no-trumps and picks up all those clubs. Well, lucky
at cards—” He checked himself, too noticeably.
"All right, old man,” said Harry. "There's such a thing as
being too tactful. Though of course it ain't exactly a
question of love. ..." He wrenched his head round again.
The cards were dealt. But this time Harry picked up a
wretched hand. As soon as he had had time to look at it he
flung the cards down.
"Can't keep it up. . . . He said eight o'clock-why the
hell don't he come?"
His tone was of mild protest, rising to a plaintive whine.
But his eyes were frantic.
.
[3]


HANGING JUDGE
H
=
-
DO
WW
sir?"
ус
"Coming now, old man.” The two older men got up, and
hastily donned their blue jackets. They had barely finished
buttoning, in a position of attention, when the door opened
with a clattering of keys. Harry rose too, and stood in an
unsteady, half-cringing posture, his doglike eyes devouring
the first figure to enter the room--a handsome gentleman of
middle age, whose lower teeth were pulling at one corner of
his yellow-gray mustache. He shook his head slightly.
“I'm
sorry,
old
man,” he said.
Harry's eyes glazed over.
“You mean it's no go,
“I'm afraid not. I've just been on the telephone. You
remember I warned you not to be too hopeful."
Harry licked his lips.
“But they couldn't carry it that far. . . . You're pullin'
my leg, aren't
you,
sir?"
"I wish from my heart I was. ... But I'm afraid I can't
hold out any hope now, Gosling, and you've got to try and
be brave. We'll all help you through every way we can."
Harry began to blubber.
"It ain't fair. ... I never hurt anybody. I didn't mean
that poor beggar to be killed. I never saw the gun. You
know I told the truth, sir, just as the Reverend does, and
Fred and Jim here.” He went on with venom.
"And so did that swine, shaking himself on the bench.
[4]


H AN GING JUDGE
He knew I wasn't guilty, and he told them to say I was.
Just for the kick of it. . . ." His voice rose to a scream.
"He's the real murderer. . . . He's killed my mother and
now he's killing me. Christ, if I could—"
"Gosling, be quiet!"
The Governor went on quietly—“Now be a good chap,
and keep your chin up. You've been splendid up to now.
You must think of us all as your friends—as we are-
who've got to do a beastly job that we hate. We want to
for
you.
If there's anything in reason you want,
you've only got to ask me, and if humanly possible I'll see
that you get it."
Harry shook his head and achieved a pale grin.
"There's nothing, sir. I haven't much of an appetite, if
that's what you mean."
"Would you like to see the chaplain?"
Harry seemed to consider.
"Yes, I'd like to see him. There's something he might do
for me."
"I'll ask him to come to you at once," said the Governor.
make it easy
2
The Reverend Roy Mortimer was a young man, acting
as chaplain to the jail during the absence on long leave of
the resident minister. He had been ordained priest less than
--
---
[5]


HANGING JU D G E
M
bei
10.
yo
-
pre
tea
the
two years before and was a curate in a large Wandsworth
parish, to which he had first come fired with zeal for spread-
ing sweetness and light in a district he had expected to find
romantically sordid. Of the sordidness he had now had
sufficient experience, but the romance had yet to be discov-
ered. The realities of poverty had made him aghast at his
own presumptions, shamefaced at the respect with which
many of his parishioners treated him and his doctrines, and
humbly sympathetic toward those others who, with greater
or less courtesy, declined his ministrations. He regarded
himself as an impostor; but, amid the collapse of almost all
the faiths he had cherished, he still clung to a belief in
personal survival, without which he would have found it
impossible to reconcile the suffering and degradation of
which he was a daily witness with the existence of a benev-
olent deity. It was this belief, even more than his humility
and lack of parsonical censoriousness, that had endeared
him and made his company so welcome to Harry Gosling,
who, being young, desired above all things to survive, in
the flesh if it could be, but failing that in some shape where
his personal identity and consciousness would not be lost.
Almost from the moment, less than a month ago, when
Harry had arrived at the prison, the two men had formed
a close friendship, accelerated by circumstances that were
almost equally painful to both.
[6]


H A N GANG JUDGE
"I've got leave to stay with you all night, old man,” were
Mortimer's first words, as soon as the two were as near
being alone as the circumstances permitted. “The Gover-
nor's being very decent. ...
.. We can talk or not, just as
you feel.”
Harry, sitting edgeways on his cot, slightly returned the
pressure of his hand. He had washed away all traces of his
tears, and was looking calmer and harder.
"No need for that, Reverend,” he answered. “I b’lieve
they're going to give me some dope to make me sleep, and
that's the best way through these hours. . . . They haven't
said so direct, but I b'lieve they are. Have a good
sleep yourself, and come bright and early in the morning."
"It's going to be all right, you know, Harry,” said Mor-
timer. "After tomorrow, I mean."
"Yes, I know. . . . Feel pretty sure, anyway. But we
can talk about that later; there was something else I wanted
to ask you about now.... Sort of last office."
"You know I won't refuse to do anything I can.”
“Question is, whether you can. . . . I want to write a
letter, and I want you to see that it's posted.”
“But my dear boy, of course. There's no difficulty about
that.”
"Well, perhaps not. ... But you see, I don't want any-
one pawing over the letter. Not even the Governor. Not
[7]


H ANGING JUDGE
truth.
Me
"A
M
k
nas
there
even you. I don't mean pawing exactly, but you know, I
suppose it's the Governor's duty to look at anything I write,
and forward it or not as he thinks proper."
“I believe that is the regulation thing."
“I thought so. Well, I'm asking you to break the regula-
tion--write a note to the person I'm writing to yourself,
and slip in my letter without opening it.”
The chaplain hesitated.
“You said you wouldn't refuse anything you can do,"
urged Harry. "You can do this.'
“Look here, Harry," asked Mortimer abruptly. “It's not-
it won't be a confession?"
Harry dropped his head on his hands.
"God, I did think you believed me."
Mortimer put his arm round his shoulder. “I'm sorry, old
man. I do believe you, you know that perfectly well. I
shouldn't have asked that."
Harry raised his face. "All right, Reverend, that's all right.
... But will you? It can't hurt you much, even if it was
found out. 'Tisn't as if you could even lose your job, you
being here only temp'ory."
"Now that's not fair to me," the chaplain protested. "If
I thought it right fifty jobs wouldn't stop me."
“Well—will you?" ... You know I'm being punished
wrongly. It's just someone I want to write to, to tell the
SENSI
the
mm
that
Ex
.
[8]


HANGING JUDGE
truth. Surely you don't mind breaking some silly rule, if.
it'll give me some comfort?"
Mortimer nodded.
"All right,” he said.
3
Mr. Justice Brittain rose early according to his custom,
took a cup of tea and a single Bath Oliver biscuit, and was
at his writing desk by half-past six. His body was enfolded
in a silk dressing gown of rich purple. From the neck of this
there emerged a bald but massive head with heavy-lidded
eyes, a high-bridged nose and a mouth both self-willed and
sensual, partly hidden in a heavy jowl which overflowed
the angle of his chin—all informed with the stamp of an
immense and conscious dignity, so that his look was almost
that of a Roman Emperor of the period of decline, a Vitel-
lius or an Elagabalus.
He wrote steadily for an hour and a half. That night he
was to be guest of honor at the annual banquet of the Wor-
shipful Company of Catchpolls, and, as he was not a fluent
extemporary speaker, he followed his usual practice of writ-
ing his reply to the toast in full. After three readings he
would have it by heart with every stress and intonation
thought out to a minute degree of nicety; and the better
class newspapers, to whom his utterances were nearly al-
[9]


H A N G H N
JU DGE
swe
bre:
ent
tion
hoo
abo
wer
hes
İ
WIU
ways worth printing, would next morning give an abridged
version, discreetly handed to their representatives at an early
stage in the evening.
"In a fallible world,” he wrote, approaching his peroration,
"I will not venture so far as to claim that our criminal law
is an infallible instrument. But this I will claim—that in this
our land of Britain it approaches as near perfection as is
humanly possible. Further, perfection increases in direct
proportion to the gravity of the issue judged. It may be
that a failure in advocacy here, or a too ready acceptance
of perjured evidence there, has rarely, and in cases of some-
thing less than first importance, brought on the head of
some unfortunate an excessive or undeserved punishment.
But, and I speak with all respect for my fellow guest Mr.
Lewis Bowes, the ingenious and justly famous detective
novelist, whose livelihood may be said to depend on the
supposition that High Court Judges are prone to aberration
and error-but, gentlemen, I assure you that so solicitous
are the custodians of the law, so imbued with a sense of
their responsibility, that on a capital charge such a lapse,
leading to a miscarriage of justice, is absolutely impossible.
I will say categorically that, within the memory of any liv-
ing man, no person in this country has suffered the extreme
penalty of the law without having richly deserved that
fate.”
The French clock on the mantelpiece struck eight-a
par
al
20
[ 10 ]


me
(12
hai
alt:
Chapter One
ava
inte
1
A
a si
no
CTE
fro
pe
S the ship glided through the late afternoon Mersey
mist, on the last stage of its journey, the steerage
passengers emerged in twos and threes from their
quarters and crowded round the taffrail of the small deck
space allotted to them.
The unsociable Teal betook himself, as usual, to a posi-
tion a little apart from the others. Gazing with emotionless
fixity at the tall cliff of the Royal Liver Building, that per-
jured half-promise Britain offers to metropolitan Americans
sick for home, he seemed, as he stood stiffly a yard or so
from the rail, utterly detached from the murmurous and
expectant uplifting of spirits within a few yards of him.
Nobody on the voyage had succeeded in getting more
than a score of words out of him, and those had been only
monosyllables and courtesy words. He had not been rude.
He had merely stonewalled, impervious to all encourage-
lin
[12]


HANGING
JUDGE
ments to open out. . ... The Irishman Baxter, the unoffi-
cial life of the party whose private pride it was never to
have sailed on a ship without becoming an authority on the
affairs of all his fellow passengers, had made nothing of
him; and he now, realizing he had less than fifteen minutes
available, decided to make a last attempt to keep his record
intact.
"Smoke, old man?” he offered, sidling up.
Teal looked at the cigarette case and then raised his wan
gray face to meet the other's eyes.
“No, thanks."
"Wish I had your self-control. I don't believe ye've had
a smoke or a drink the whole trip.”
Baxter was not a professional popularity seeker. He was
no hearty, arrogant, backslapper. His interest in his fellow
reatures arose from a shallow but wide love of them, and
from an extreme simplicity. An unprecedented thing hap-
pened; Teal volunteered information.
"Can't. Bad heart."
“That's tough,” said Baxter, concealing his exultation.
“That's real tough. Still, if ye follow what I mean,
it's better to know. I've known unsuspected heart cases to go
off like a puff of wind, while the fellow who gets to know
in time takes care, and generally lives out his allotted
span
and beyond."
This piece of rather facile optimism evoked no response.
[13]


HANGING JUDGE
P
A.
1
10
SA
It looked as if the spring, which had so unexpectedly re-
leased its tiny trickle, was drying up again. Baxter dug
further.
"Ye're an Englishman, aren't ye?”
"Yes."
"Just back for a look at the old country?"
"I'm back for good."
Baxter nodded. "Times are hard in the States now, and
that's a fact. ... I hope I'm not jumping to conclusions-
maybe you were in a regular job?"
This time a larger trickle emerged.
“For the last two years I've been on the bum."
"A hobo? Now that's interesting.'
The trickle became a gush. “Not a hobo—that's a grade
lower in the social scale. A bum has a regular campaign,
according to the seasons. He goes south in the winter,
comes back north in the summer. He begs his way and
jumps a train or a truck when he can, but he doesn't steal.”
“Now, would you believe it?" Baxter was quite over-,
come. “Just like the high-class folks! An' now, I suppose,
what with yer health, ye've had to lay off.”
“Partly that. I was a month in hospital in Buffalo—where
I used to have a regular job.”
Baxter was persistent.
“An' so ye thought ye'd make the best of a bad job, and
return to the bosom of yer family?"
Tat
Wid
2
25
Stai
MO
wa
rea
Teg
dla
[ 14 ]


HANGING JUDGE
The impassivity of Teal's face was broken by a faint
flicker.
"I have no family."
"Still," insisted Baxter, resolved to look on the bright
side. "No doubt ye'll have a job to go to?"
"Yes," Teal answered, after a moment's hesitation. “I
have a job all right.”
2
That little outpost of the Midlands and the North, Eus-
ton Station, was imbrued with an acrid density of atmos-
phere owing less to its own smoky grime than to the pene-
tration of an orange December fog, filtering in from the
flats of Marylebone, when at 10:20 P.M. (forty minutes late,
as foreshadowed on the indicator an hour ago) a dark
maroon train crept hissing along the arrival platform to a
standstill, gasped, and relaxed.
Among the last of the two hundred odd passengers who
debouched onto the platform, making for a few minutes a
thick stream flowing toward the barrier beyond which its
molecules gradually dispersed never to reunite, was a gaunt
man who emerged from a third-class compartment in the
rear part on the train. A few stragglers from the storming
regiment of porters scrutinized with calculation his thick
black boots, his decent but faintly shiny blue suit; took in
the absence of an overcoat and the dilapidated condition
[15]


H A N G H N JU D GE
1
ite
by
tack
thes
mini
as a
wait
of his basketwork container, which, made on the extending
principle and secured with a length of twine, had lost its
handles, rendering its negotiation a matter for care; and
turned away. One, attracted perhaps by the unusual cut of
the brown Stetson hat, which might pertain to an eccentric
American or Colonial to whom normal standards did not
apply, ventured to lay a tentative hand on the bag. But
the owner shook his head, hitched the bag higher under his
armpit, and went on his way without pausing.
Surrendering his ticket at the barrier, Teal made his way
with some assurance as far as the archway, built in a peni-
tentiary style, which gives access to the Euston Road. Thus
far he was accompanied by a fair press of his late fellow
passengers, who, with legs savoring their freedom after
hours of cramping, stepped buoyantly forth from the arch,
rather in the manner of a mass jail delivery. Teal, how-
ever, hesitated and put down his bag. He found himself in
a short and narrow thoroughfare flanked on either side by
hotels, bearing names calculated to appeal to the homing
instincts of London, Midland and Scottish provincials at a
loss--the Bootle, the Smethwick, the Wolverhampton, the
Leith, the Hamilton, the Carlisle. Most of these bore leg-
ends, in glass protectors and black frames, announcing fairly
enough the cost of entertainment; and Teal, selecting the
Smethwick (4/6 BED AND BREAKFAST), picked up his bag
and walked up the steps and through the open door.
tion
was
Dark
[16]


HANGING JUDGE
----
The narrow ball, lit by a single dusty and reddish bulb,
offered a somewhat chilly hospitality, for it was flanked
by no doors, had no furniture except a dilapidated hat
rack, and led only to a dark flight of stairs. At the foot of
these, however, Teal discovered a bell; and within two
minutes of his ringing it a middle-aged woman, disguised
as a maid of twenty or under, flounced down the stairs
with a gallant display of apron and petticoat frills, and
waited for him to announce his business.
“A room and breakfast," said Teal, with his usual econ-
omy of statement.
"Would it be just for tonight?”
"It depends.” Whether it depended on the extent of his
business in London or on the nature of the accommoda-
tion, Teal left, possibly with intention, to conjecture. He
was led, without further discussion, up three flights of
stairs to a small room with a single window, which proved
on inspection to look upon a corridor. There was no con-
nection with the outer air whatever.
“I suppose this is a cheaper room,” hazarded Teal, pre-
pared to consider it on those grounds.
He was answered coldly. "All rooms are the same price
-four and six with breakfast.”
“Then I'd like one with a proper window.”
He was eventually led up further stairs into a kind of
cell, one of whose ends was practically all window. Against
23
[17]


H AN GING
J U D G E
th
he
ab
b
ab
an
ma
an
10
this end was the head of the bed, which occupied rather
more than half the floor space.
"It's customary to pay in advance," hinted his conduct-
ress. She accepted his half-crown and florin, produced not
without reluctance, with an air of forgiveness. “I'll give you
your receipt at breakfast,” she conceded. “I could get you
some supper now, eggs and bacon and bread and cheese,
and a cup of tea, if you'd be wanting it.”
"How much?"
"One and six.”
"I won't worry. Good night-thank you.”
Left alone, Teal sat on the bed, and extracted from his
pocket a crumpled paper bag, consumed the contents-a
small half of pork pie and a packet of crisps, which had
accompanied him from Liverpool. When he had finished
eating he rose, removed his jacket and waistcoat, and un-
buttoning an under pocket in the latter produced a roll of
treasury notes. Slipping off the elastic band that held them
together he counted them twice, carefully. The amount was
seventeen pounds, ten shillings. He replaced the notes in
their hiding place, folded the waistcoat neatly, and placed
it under his pillow. Then he opened his bag, took from it
a threadbare pajama suit and a newspaper packet contain-
ing soap, sponge, toothbrush and tooth powder, undressed,
made a deliberate toilet, opened the window, switched off
the
ar
( 18 )


HANGING JUDGE
the light, and lay down on the bed, cupping the back of his
head with his palms.
A cold wind blew in on his face from behind. After
about ten minutes he rose and closed the window to within
about two inches of the top. Then he switched on the light
and, getting back into bed, turned up his pillow. Rum-
maging in the same waistcoat pocket, he brought to light
an oblong envelope. It was grubby and beginning to come
apart at the folds.
All these actions Teal performed with an impalpable air
of routine, of a neurotic reiteration of a habit that he could
not break. Propping up the pillow behind him, he took out
the contents of the envelope and read, intently.
After a time he replaced the envelope in its hiding place,
got out of bed and put out the light. He returned to his
former attitude, lying on his back, with his hands cupping
the back of his head. He lay very still, with his eyes closed,
but an observer would have found it impossible to say if
and when he slept.
[ 19 ]


ploy
set
of t
ing
Chapter Two
but
reac
T
to
quit
01
W
cant
1
THOE
hou
Or
1
HETHER Teal slept or not, he appeared with
his bag under his arm in the coffee room
shortly after six the next morning, at which
early hour there were no other guests present. He ate
methodically, but without gusto, everything that was put
before him, being served by a consumptive-looking young
man who, with an apron of grayish white superimposed
over another of green baize, appeared to combine the
duties of a waiter and a porter. To this person Teal, at the
end of his breakfast, surrendered his bag, together with
threepence, and said:
"I may sleep here tonight. I don't know. Will you look
after this till this evening?"
He left the hotel at once and proceeded on foot to Eus-
ton Square station. Buying a ticket and descending to the
platform, he caught a train in five minutes. It was empty
except for a handful of early workers and railway em-
at
dill
C
dou
do
WC
fo
[ 20 ]


H A N GING JUDGE
ployees, silent men, mostly lean and gray faced, with that
set and dull look that precedes adjustment to the rhythm
of the day's work. At eight or ten stations from his start-
ing point Teal got out. He walked with some hesitation,
but without asking a direction, for about ten minutes,
reaching at length a poor street, in which he slowed down.
The houses here were mean, but not without pretensions
to respectability. In proof of this there were to be seen, at
quite half a dozen of the front door steps, women either
on their knees, scouring or scrubbing, or standing up, de-
canting buckets of water and plying brooms. At this period
of the day they were drudges, dressed as such, and little
more regard was paid to decency than to beauty. At a
house near the end Teal stopped, looking up at it for three
or four minutes; then he turned on his heel and slowly
retraced his steps.
He did not however re-enter the station, but climbed on
a bus, which brought him at about eight o'clock to Pica-
dilly Circus. After making an inquiry he walked through
Coventry Street and Leicester Square, pulling up before the
doors of the City of Westminster Public Library. But the
doors were shut; and a notice board informed him that he
would have to wait another hour.
He returned to the Square and sat down in one of the
seats provided for the public. He pulled his hat over his
forehead, and became for a period undistinguishable from
[ 21 ]


HANGING JU D G E
He
in
bec
1
por
ed
the
pari
The
you want?”
ther
1.901
lati
the mainly derelict persons of no occupation to be seen in
the garden so long as it is open. He appeared to go to sleep,
but as nine o'clock struck he rose abruptly with no air of
awaking and walked back to the library.
It was now open. Climbing some stairs he entered the
reference section, signed a name in the book, and ap-
proached the clerk.
"Have you old copies of newspapers?” he asked.
“What newspaper
do
"Any will do. Say the Times."
“What date?"
Teal told him.... Nearly two hours he spent in the
library, turning over the pages of a heavy bound volume.
At last he rose, stiff, and walked out. He turned into
the Strand; outside the Law Courts he stopped and, after
studying the day's list, made an inquiry of a policeman.
He was directed up a spiral staircase, at the top of which
he found a uniformed official.
"Court of Appeal?” he asked.
The official pointed out a door. Teal walked along a cor-
ridor, punctuated with adjurations to silence, and thrust
open
the door indicated. He found himself in a bare wooden
gallery, not unlike that of a church. From the well of the
court, the thin voice of an invisible person was imperfectly
audible. Teal picked his way, conscious of creaking boots,
to a bench near the back—those in front were nearly full.
tara
.
ing
read
a13
to
Tea
an
[22]


H A N GING JUDGE
He sat down in a seat near the aisle, next to a little old man
in a high old-fashioned collar, a point of which was em-
bedded in the sagging folds of his jaw.
Teal looked down. A few figures of obviously minor im-
portance were visible, but the composition of the picture
led inevitably up to the bench opposite, concentrating on
the three huddled black figures behind it. One was like a
parrot, another like a vulture, and third like a tarantula.
They sat in silence, swaying a little, and every now and
then their heads would come together for a murmured col-
loquy.
The thin reedy voice, too conscious of its perfect articu-
lation, droned on. Suddenly there was an interruption. The
tarantula partly detached himself from the group and, lean-
ing forward, said in a gentle, clear, and deadly voice that
reached every corner of the court:
"Mr. Fratton, am I correct in understanding that your
argument is this, that since the firm in question had ceased
to exist there was no forgery?"
The thin voice repudiated and qualified, haltingly.
Teal touched his neighbor's arm, and whispered a question.
The old man put his hand to his mouth to answer.
"The one on the right-spoke just now.”
Teal turned his eyes on the tarantula, and gazed at him
fixedly for over two minutes. Then he picked up his hat
and went silently out.
[23]


HANGING JUDGE
OWI
vise
OV
ters
lw
2
After a light but protracted lunch in a Lyons, Teal
walked up Aldwych, momentarily at a loose end, and pres-
ently bought a cheap seat for the picture theater near the
bottom of Kingsway. The show was a long one; he sat
stolidly in the high gallery for over three hours, and when
he came out it was dark. He made straight for the Aldwych
station, and entered a telephone booth. He did not however
make a call, coming out after a brief inspection of the Di-
rectory A to K, and making for the station lift. Half an
hour later he emerged at South Kensington. A few minutes'
walk brought him to the door of a house in a quiet and
spacious square. He rang the bell.
"Sir Francis Brittain,” he announced, with his usual la-
conic air of statement, to the manservant.
The man who opened the door, trained to assess the de-
grees of social status with some exactness, replied curtly to
Teal's question-
“Not at home.”
“Will he be in later this evening?"
“He's away."
Teal's voice showed surprise. “But he was in Court
today.”
“The Courts rose this afternoon. If you want to see him
you'll have to wait till the second week in January."
sho
him
the
III
[ 24 ]


HAN GING JUDGE
"My business is urgent. Will you give me his address?"
"I'm not at liberty to do that.”
"I think you'd better—on his account more than my
own.”
A quiet assurance in Teal's manner did something to re-
vise the other's opinion of him.
"I tell you I'm not at liberty,” he said. “But if you care
to write a note, I'll see that it's forwarded. I have some let-
ters to forward to him this evening."
Teal considered.
"Yes, that will be better," he said after a moment. “May
I write here?"
“I suppose so.” The man grudgingly admitted him and
showed him down the hall, keeping a little distance behind
him. He opened the door of a small room at the back of
the house. It was dusty and littered, clearly being used as a
dumping ground for unwanted papers and books. The
servant pulled out a chair and made a space on a writing
table under the window. "You'll find everything you need
here,” he said.
Teal was five minutes in the room. When he came out
he said to the servant, "I've decided not to write after all;
I'll wait till the Judge comes back."
The man answered, “Please yourself.”
When Teal reached the main road again he stopped. His
eyes traveled right and left, apparently in search of some-
[ 25 ]


Chapter Three
ܝ
A
T about the most northerly part of the county of Nor-
folk, and facing due north, lies a stretch of coast
whose grave loveliness has as yet eluded the atten-
tions either of the speculative builder or of the artist (who,
just as the African missionary is the forerunner of the mer-
chant of liquor, textile goods and small arms, is too often
the harbinger of a devastation from which he decamps in
horror). Perhaps it is the forbidding severity of the climate
in winter, when the low austere lines of the county take on
their most stately beauty, that has discouraged the artist.
The wind attacks direct from the ice pack, buffeting and
whinnying round the cottages of the few small villages with
slow attrition on the nervous system. From the builder
the district owes its immunity partly to its remoteness, for
the one main road connects no centers of importance, and
[27]


HANGING
GING JUDGE
the
ale
ant
ever
The
alt
test
T
the railway from Winstanton (threatened with closing
down) decants only twice a day its little quota of shopkeep-
ers, farmers and schoolchildren at the four stations on the
single track branch line. But an additional safeguard is pro-
vided by the traditions of the Kesteven family, who, own-
ing all the land between the market town of Sutton Thorpe
and the once busy little port of Overwells, have set their
face absolutely against the exploitation of the soil for any
purpose other than tillage. For the family seat, Cokingham,
was the cradle of scientific agriculture in Great Britain, and
the soil is among the richest in the country.
At the head of one of the many creeks of "staithes”
which lace the fringe of this coast stands the seemly little
village of Moxton. Lying very flat, at no point more than a
dozen feet above high-water mark, and dominated not by
the church (which lies further inland) but by a disused
windmill at the western end, the village, seen from the dyke
that zigzags over the marshes from the sea a short two
miles away, shows the affinity which all the coast in the
neighborhood of the Wash has with Holland, in a remote
age connected with it territorially.
About ten o'clock on a cold but sunny and blue-skied
morning a few days before Christmas, two men were walk-
ing along the dyke. They had come by the wide yellow
sands from Cokingham, then across the sand hills, and
were now bound for the village. One was about fifty and
da
with
the
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the
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[ 28 ]


HANGING JUDGE
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the other not more than twenty; both were well dressed in
a loose and free country style, but whereas the younger
carried a gun, and looked speculatively over the marshes
every now and then, the older had his hands unoccupied.
They had just reached the last angle of the dyke, when they
became aware of a man approaching them from the village.
He was heavily built and neatly dressed in a pepper-and-
salt suit of plus fours. He too had
a gun
under his arm,
and
a smooth-haired fox terrier trotted in a disciplined fashion
behind him, keeping an unvarying distance of about two
feet from his heels.
The younger of the two made a gesture of annoyance.
"Hang it,” he exclaimed. “That's the one man I don't
want to meet.” He cast his eyes around as though in search
of a means of escape. But on the left a low meadow, boggy
with recent rains, was cut off by a ditch; on the right was
the staithe. "Wish I had my waders,” he added.
"You'll have to face it out," said the other. “Who is he?"
"Chap called Willoughby .... lives in a cottage behind
the village. Gent all right, but he's got a bad name here
we had a spot of unpleasantness with him last summer.”
“That's a well-trained dog," said the older man.
He prepared to watch the encounter with a slightly iron-
ical amusement. When they approached within fifty yards
his companion began to show signs of embarrassment. He
started to talk, rather wildly about nothing in particular,
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-


H AN GING
JUD GE
Ву
Bruce Hamilton
AAMI NADIA
EXO INTEL
AIAANLOTIIN
ΑΛΛΗΛΟΙΣ
HARPER & BROTHERS Publishers
New York and London


8200
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1
HANGING JUDGE
Copyrigbt, 1948, by Artbur Douglas Bruce Hamilton
Printed in the United States of America
All rights in this book are reserved. It may not be used for dramatic, motion- or
talking-picture purposes without written authorization from the bolder of these rights.
Nor may the book or part tbereof be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without
permission in writing except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical
articles and reviews. For information address: Harper & Brotbers, 49 East 33rd Street,
New York 16, N. y.
D-X
sw


--
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Hanging Judge


-


Prologue
1
Na bare little room, some years before the outbreak of
the Second World War, three men were playing bridge.
It was hot, and though they had taken off their jackets
they were sweating profusely; but they played with an in-
tense concentration that suggested an important issue, as if
a moment's relaxation of their attention would bring about
some evil consummation.
The game was a three-handed variety of auction, not
contract, for the players were of the class that is usually be-
hind the times in these matters; a few years earlier they
would have been playing whist.
Two of the men, though fifteen years divided them, were
conspicuously older than the third. They had the appear-
ance of men of character rather than intellect, and some-
thing not very palpable in their grouping, or in their
costume, or in a common expression of concerned watch-
fulness, set them apart from their companion.
The third man could not have been over twenty-six. He
[1]


H A N GING J U D G E
of
al
di
01
+
d
0
h
was of fair height, but slightly built. His brown hair was
inclined to curl, and his features, though drawn and peaky,
were comely. His eyes and mouth had something doglike,
diffident, and sensitive. His complexion, one felt, was in-
tended by nature to be fresh and pink, but it had gone bad,
being overlaid by that greasy sallowness which one asso-
ciates with hard indoor work in a great city, and a defi-
ciency of fresh air and exercise. His manner, as he played,
was in a jerky way more lively than that of the other two
indeed, too lively, just as the remarks he threw off from time
to time were spuriously facetious. Every now and then he
stretched his head to the right as far as it would go, tensing
the muscles on the left side of his neck, relaxing only when
complete rigidity had been achieved and maintained for
three or four seconds.
.. Fifty for little slam, and two-fifty for rub.” His
voice, rather high pitched, was that of a Cockney of the
lower middle class, with a faintly ingratiating intonation
that was perhaps more vocational than natural. “Lemme see,
at a fiver a hundred that's thirty-five quid. Will you pay
cash, gentlemen, or shall I charge you?”
"Well, Harry, I plead the Gaming Act.” The speaker, the
oldest of the three, whose great bulk, baldness, and large
black mustache gave him an air of comic ferocity, wiped his
head and neck with an enormous handkerchief. “Christ, it's
hot.”
[2]


--
J U D GE
H A N G I N G
"Must a' sweated half a dozen pounds off myself,"
agreed Harry. “Go on this way, there won't be anything left
of me to keep my date tomorrow.”
The third man, who was sandy haired, clean shaven, and
about thirty-five, broke in quickly. “My deal, ain't it?" He
dealt, and called one heart. Harry, holding ace, king, queen
of spades, ace and two small hearts, a string of diamonds to
the queen jack, but no clubs, tried a no-trump. Neither
challenging him, he picked up the dummy, and on the lead
of the king of hearts laid it down, revealing eight clubs to
the four top honors, and the ace of diamonds. Playing the
heart ace on the first trick, he made his spades, led to the
diamond, and ran the clubs for a grand slam.
"Never saw anything like it," the older man grumbled.
"Calls no-trumps and picks up all those clubs. Well, lucky
at cards—” He checked himself, too noticeably.
"All right, old man," said Harry. “There's such a thing as
being too tactful. ... Though of course it ain't exactly a
question of love. ..." He wrenched his head round again.
The cards were dealt. But this time Harry picked up a
wretched hand. As soon as he had had time to look at it he
flung the cards down.
"Can't keep it up. ... He said eight o'clock-why the
hell don't he come?”
His tone was of mild protest, rising to a plaintive whine.
But his eyes were frantic.
[3]


HANGING JU D G E
"Coming now, old man.” The two older men got up, and
hastily donned their blue jackets. They had barely finished
buttoning, in a position of attention, when the door opened
with a clattering of keys. Harry rose too, and stood in an
unsteady, half-cringing posture, his doglike eyes devouring
the first figure to enter the room-a handsome gentleman of
middle age, whose lower teeth were pulling at one corner of
his yellow-gray mustache. He shook his head slightly.
"I'm sorry, old man," he said.
Harry's eyes glazed over.
"You mean it's no go, sir?"
"I'm afraid not. ... I've just been on the telephone. You
remember I warned you not to be too hopeful.”
Harry licked his lips.
"But they couldn't carry it that far. ... You're pullin'
my leg, aren't
you,
sir?"
"I wish from my heart I was.... But I'm afraid I can't
hold out any hope now, Gosling, and you've got to try and
be brave. We'll all help you through every way we can.”
Harry began to blubber.
"It ain't fair. . . . I never hurt anybody. I didn't mean
that poor beggar to be killed. I never saw the gun. You
know I told the truth, sir, just as the Reverend does, and
Fred and Jim here.” He went on with venom.
"And so did that swine, shaking himself on the bench.
[4]


HANGING JUDGE
two years before and was a curate in a large Wandsworth
parish, to which he had first come fired with zeal for spread-
ing sweetness and light in a district he had expected to find
romantically sordid. Of the sordidness he had now had
sufficient experience, but the romance had yet to be discov-
ered. The realities of poverty had made him aghast at his
own presumptions, shamefaced at the respect with which
many of his parishioners treated him and his doctrines, and
humbly sympathetic toward those others who, with greater
or less courtesy, declined his ministrations. He regarded
himself as an impostor; but, amid the collapse of almost all
the faiths he had cherished, he still clung to a belief in
personal survival, without which he would have found it
impossible to reconcile the suffering and degradation of
which he was a daily witness with the existence of a benev-
olent deity. It was this belief, even more than his humility
and lack of parsonical censoriousness, that had endeared
him and made his company so welcome to Harry Gosling,
who, being young, desired above all things to survive, in
the flesh if it could be, but failing that in some shape where
his personal identity and consciousness would not be lost.
Almost from the moment, less than a month ago, when
Harry had arrived at the prison, the two men had formed
a close friendship, accelerated by circumstances that were
almost equally painful to both.
[6]


H A N GANG JUD G E
"I've got leave to stay with you all night, old man,” were
Mortimer's first words, as soon as the two were as near
being alone as the circumstances permitted. “The Gover-
nor's being very decent. ... We can talk or not, just as
you feel.”
Harry, sitting edgeways on his cot, slightly returned the
pressure of his hand. He had washed away all traces of his
tears, and was looking calmer and harder.
"No need for that, Reverend,” he answered. “I b'lieve
they're going to give me some dope to make me sleep, and
that's the best way through these hours. ... They haven't
said so direct, but I b’lieve they are. . . . Have a good
sleep yourself, and come bright and early in the morning.”
"It's going to be all right, you know, Harry," said Mor-
timer. "After tomorrow, I mean.”
“Yes, I know. . . Feel pretty sure, anyway. But we
can talk about that later; there was something else I wanted
to ask
you about now. ... Sort of last office."
“You know I won't refuse to do anything I can.'
"Question is, whether you can. ... I want to write a
letter, and I want you to see that it's posted.”
“But my dear boy, of course. There's no difficulty about
that.”
"Well, perhaps not. ... But you see, I don't want any-
one pawing over the letter. Not even the Governor. Not
[7]


HANGING JUDGE
even you. I don't mean pawing exactly, but you know, I
suppose it's the Governor's duty to look at anything I write,
and forward it or not as he thinks proper."
“I believe that is the regulation thing."
“I thought so. Well, I'm asking you to break the regula-
tion—write a note to the person I'm writing to yourself,
and slip in my letter without opening it."
The chaplain hesitated.
“You said you wouldn't refuse anything you can do,”
urged Harry. "You can do this."
“Look here, Harry," asked Mortimer abruptly. "It's not-
it won't be a confession?"
Harry dropped his head on his hands.
"God, I did think you believed me.”
Mortimer put his arm round his shoulder. "I'm
sorry,
old
man. I do believe you, you know that perfectly well. I
shouldn't have asked that.”
Harry raised his face. “All right, Reverend, that's all right.
... But will you? It can't hurt you much, even if it was
found out. 'Tisn't as if you could even lose your job, you
being here only temp'ory."
"Now that's not fair to me," the chaplain protested. "If
I thought it right fifty jobs wouldn't stop me."
“Well—will you?" You know I'm being punished
wrongly. It's just someone I want to write to, to tell the
[8]


H A N GING JUDGE
truth. Surely you don't mind breaking some silly rule, if.
it'll give me some comfort?"
Mortimer nodded.
"All right,” he said.
3
Mr. Justice Brittain rose early according to his custom,
took a cup of tea and a single Bath Oliver biscuit, and was
at his writing desk by half-past six. His body was enfolded
in a silk dressing gown of rich purple. From the neck of this
there emerged a bald but massive head with heavy-lidded
eyes, a high-bridged nose and a mouth both self-willed and
sensual, partly hidden in a heavy jowl which overflowed
the angle of his chin—all informed with the stamp of an
immense and conscious dignity, so that his look was almost
that of a Roman Emperor of the period of decline, a Vitel-
lius or an Elagabalus.
He wrote steadily for an hour and a half. That night he
was to be guest of honor at the annual banquet of the Wor-
shipful Company of Catchpolls, and, as he was not a fluent
extemporary speaker, he followed his usual practice of writ-
ing his reply to the toast in full. After three readings he
would have it by heart with every stress and intonation
thought out to a minute degree of nicety; and the better
class newspapers, to whom his utterances were nearly al-
[9]


H A N G I N G JUDGE
ways worth printing, would next morning give an abridged
version, discreetly handed to their representatives at an early
stage in the evening.
"In a fallible world,” he wrote, approaching his peroration,
"I will not venture so far as to claim that our criminal law
is an infallible instrument. But this I will claim that in this
our land of Britain it approaches as near perfection as is
humanly possible. Further, perfection increases in direct
proportion to the gravity of the issue judged. It may be
that a failure in advocacy here, or a too ready acceptance
of perjured evidence there, has rarely, and in cases of some-
thing less than first importance, brought on the head of
some unfortunate an excessive or undeserved punishment.
But, and I speak with all respect for my fellow guest Mr.
Lewis Bowes, the ingenious and justly famous detective
novelist, whose livelihood may be said to depend on the
supposition that High Court Judges are prone to aberration
and error-but, gentlemen, I assure you that so solicitous
are the custodians of the law, so imbued with a sense of
their responsibility, that on a capital charge such a lapse,
leading to a miscarriage of justice, is absolutely impossible.
I will say categorically that, within the memory of any
liy-
ing man, no person in this country has suffered the extreme
penalty of the law without having richly deserved that
fate.”
The French clock on the mantelpiece struck eight—a
[ 10 ]


H AN GING JUDGE
sweet silver chime. The Judge put down his pen. It was his
breakfast hour.
It was also the hour when Harry Gosling, whom he had
sentenced to death a month ago, was listening to the order
for the burial of his own body while Dodd, the execu-
tioner, pinioned his limbs; was being led sixteen steps to
the scaffold in the gray prison light, snatched away as a
hood was thrown over his head; was feeling the noose fixed
about his neck, as the Chaplain's voice broke, rallied, and
went on—until there came a lurch, and a greater dark-
.
ness.
But the Judge was not aware of this. Perhaps less than a
thousand of London's millions were aware of it at this
particular moment in eternity_would not become so until,
a few days later, the early editions of the evening papers
appeared on the streets with their curt posters, “Gosling
hanged," bringing a sobering shock, but happily, in a world
of rapid adjustments, a transient one.
"Breakfast is served, sir," announced the Judge's man,
entering silently. The Judge rose, passed into his dining
room, and with the serenity proceeding from a reliable
digestion, addressed himself to kidneys and bacon.
[11]


Chapter One
-
A
.
1
S the ship glided through the late afternoon Mersey
mist, on the last stage of its journey, the steerage
passengers emerged in twos and threes from their
quarters and crowded round the taffrail of the small deck
space allotted to them.
The unsociable Teal betook himself, as usual, to a posi-
tion a little apart from the others. Gazing with emotionless
fixity at the tall cliff of the Royal Liver Building, that per-
jured half-promise Britain offers to metropolitan Americans
sick for home, he seemed, as he stood stiffly a yard or so
from the rail, utterly detached from the murmurous and
expectant uplifting of spirits within a few yards of him.
Nobody on the voyage had succeeded in getting more
than a score of words out of him, and those had been only
monosyllables and courtesy words. He had not been rude.
He had merely stonewalled, impervious to all encourage-
[12]


H A N GING JUDGE
22
ments to open out. ... The Irishman Baxter, the unoffi-
cial life of the party whose private pride it was never to
have sailed on a ship without becoming an authority on the
affairs of all his fellow passengers, had made nothing of
him; and he now, realizing he had less than fifteen minutes
available, decided to make a last attempt to keep his record
intact.
"Smoke, old man?” he offered, sidling up.
Teal looked at the cigarette case and then raised his wan
gray face to meet the other's eyes.
“No, thanks.”
"Wish I had your self-control. I don't believe ye’ve had
a smoke or a drink the whole trip.”
Baxter was not a professional popularity seeker. He was
no hearty, arrogant, backslapper. His interest in his fellow
creatures arose from a shallow but wide love of them, and
from an extreme simplicity. An unprecedented thing hap-
pened; Teal volunteered information.
"Can't. Bad heart.”
“That's tough,” said Baxter, concealing his exultation.
"That's real tough. ...
.. Still, if ye follow what I mean,
it's better to know. I've known unsuspected heart cases to go
off like a puff of wind, while the fellow who gets to know
in time takes care, and generally lives out his allotted span
and beyond.”
This piece of rather facile optimism evoked no response.
[ 13 ]


HANGING JUDGE
us
a
It looked as if the spring, which had so unexpectedly re-
leased its tiny trickle, was drying up again. Baxter dug
further.
“Ye're an Englishman, aren't ye?"
“Yes.”
“Just back for a look at the old country?"
"I'm back for good.”
Baxter nodded, "Times are hard in the States now, and
that's a fact. . . . I hope I'm not jumping to conclusions-
maybe you were in a regular job?"
This time a larger trickle emerged.
"For the last two years I've been on the bum."
“A hobo? Now that's interesting.”
The trickle became a gush. "Not a hobo—that's a grade
lower in the social scale. A bum has a regular campaign,
according to the seasons. He goes south in the winter,
comes back north in the summer. He begs his way and
jumps a train or a truck when he can, but he doesn't steal."
“Now, would you believe it?" Baxter was quite over-,
come. "Just like the high-class folks! An' now, I suppose,
what with yer health, ye've had to lay off.”
"Partly that. I was a month in hospital in Buffalo-where
I used to have a regular job."
Baxter was persistent.
"An' so ye thought ye'd make the best of a bad job, and
return to the bosom of yer family?"
ti
e
SE
I
[ 14 ]


HANGING JUDGE
The impassivity of Teal's face was broken by a faint
flicker.
“I have no family."
"Still,” insisted Baxter, resolved to look on the bright
side. "No doubt ye'll have a job to go to?"
"Yes," Teal answered, after a moment's hesitation. “I
have a job all right.”
2
That little outpost of the Midlands and the North, Eus-
ton Station, was imbrued with an acrid density of atmos-
phere owing less to its own smoky grime than to the pene-
tration of an orange December fog, filtering in from the
flats of Marylebone, when at 10:20 P.M. (forty minutes late,
as foreshadowed on the indicator an hour ago) a dark
maroon train crept hissing along the arrival platform to a
standstill, gasped, and relaxed.
Among the last of the two hundred odd passengers who
debouched onto the platform, making for a few minutes a
thick stream flowing toward the barrier beyond which its
molecules gradually dispersed never to reunite, was a gaunt
man who emerged from a third-class compartment in the
rear part on the train. A few stragglers from the storming
regiment of porters scrutinized with calculation his thick
black boots, his decent but faintly shiny blue suit; took in
the absence of an overcoat and the dilapidated condition
[15]


H A N GING
J U D GE
ni
a
0
of his basketwork container, which, made on the extending
principle and secured with a length of twine, had lost its
handles, rendering its negotiation a matter for care; and
turned away. One, attracted perhaps by the unusual cut of
the brown Stetson hat, which might pertain to an eccentric
American or Colonial to whom normal standards did not
apply, ventured to lay a tentative hand on the bag. But
the owner shook his head, hitched the bag higher under his
armpit, and went on his way without pausing.
Surrendering his ticket at the barrier, Teal made his way
with some assurance as far as the archway, built in a peni-
tentiary style, which gives access to the Euston Road. Thus
far he was accompanied by a fair press of his late fellow
passengers, who, with legs savoring their freedom after
hours of cramping, stepped buoyantly forth from the arch,
rather in the manner of a mass jail delivery. Teal, how-
ever, hesitated and put down his bag. He found himself in
a short and narrow thoroughfare flanked on either side by
hotels, bearing names calculated to appeal to the homing
instincts of London, Midland and Scottish provincials at a
loss—the Bootle, the Smethwick, the Wolverhampton, the
Leith, the Hamilton, the Carlisle. Most of these bore leg-
ends, in glass protectors and black frames, announcing fairly
enough the cost of entertainment; and Teal, selecting the
Smethwick (4/6 BED AND BREAKFAST), picked up his bag
and walked
up
the
steps and through the open
door.
a
D
C
[16]


Η Α Ν GI N G
JUD.GE
The narrow hall, lit by a single dusty and reddish bulb,
offered a somewhat chilly hospitality, for it was flanked
by no doors, had no furniture except a dilapidated hat
rack, and led only to a dark flight of stairs. At the foot of
these, however, Teal discovered a bell; and within two
minutes of his ringing it a middle-aged woman, disguised
as a maid of twenty or under, flounced down the stairs
with a gallant display of apron and petticoat frills, and
waited for him to announce his business.
"A room and breakfast," said Teal, with his usual econ-
omy of statement.
"Would it be just for tonight?"
"It depends.” Whether it depended on the extent of his
business in London or on the nature of the accommoda-
tion, Teal left, possibly with intention, to conjecture. He
was led, without further discussion, up three flights of
stairs to a small room with a single window, which proved
on inspection to look upon a corridor. There was no con-
nection with the outer air whatever.
“I suppose this is a cheaper room,” hazarded Teal, pre-
pared to consider it on those grounds.
He was answered coldly. “All rooms are the same price
--four and six with breakfast."
"Then I'd like one with a proper window."
He was eventually led up further stairs into a kind of
cell, one of whose ends was practically all window. Against
رو
[17]


HANGING JUDGE
this end was the head of the bed, which occupied rather
more than half the floor space.
"It's customary to pay in advance," hinted his conduct-
ress. She accepted his half-crown and florin, produced not
without reluctance, with an air of forgiveness. “I'll give you
your receipt at breakfast,” she conceded. "I could get you
some supper now, eggs and bacon and bread and cheese,
and a cup of tea, if you'd be wanting it."
“How much?”
“One and six."
"I won't worry. Good night—thank you."
Left alone, Teal sat on the bed, and extracted from his
pocket a crumpled paper bag, consumed the contents—a
small half of pork pie and a packet of crisps, which had
accompanied him from Liverpool. When he had finished
eating he rose, removed his jacket and waistcoat, and un-
buttoning an under pocket in the latter produced a roll of
treasury notes. Slipping off the elastic band that held them
together he counted them twice, carefully. The amount was
seventeen pounds, ten shillings. He replaced the notes in
their hiding place, folded the waistcoat neatly, and placed
it under his pillow. Then he opened his bag, took from it
a threadbare pajama suit and a newspaper packet contain-
ing soap, sponge, toothbrush and tooth powder, undressed,
made a deliberate toilet, opened the window, switched off
( 18 )


H A N GING JUD
D G E
the light, and lay down on the bed, cupping the back of his
head with his palms.
A cold wind blew in on his face from behind. After
about ten minutes he rose and closed the window to within
about two inches of the top. Then he switched on the light
and, getting back into bed, turned up his pillow. Rum-
maging in the same waistcoat pocket, he brought to light
an oblong envelope. It was grubby and beginning to come
apart at the folds.
All these actions Teal performed with an impalpable air
of routine, of a neurotic reiteration of a habit that he could
not break. Propping up the pillow behind him, he took out
the contents of the envelope and read, intently.
After a time he replaced the envelope in its hiding place,
got out of bed and put out the light. He returned to his
former attitude, lying on his back, with his hands cupping
the back of his head. He lay very still, with his eyes closed,
but an observer would have found it impossible to say if
and when he slept.
[19]


Chapter Two
W
1
HETHER Teal slept or not, he appeared with
his bag under his arm in the coffee room
shortly after six the next morning, at which
early hour there were no other guests present. He ate
methodically, but without gusto, everything that was put
before him, being served by a consumptive-looking young
man who, with an apron of grayish white superimposed
over another of green baize, appeared to combine the
duties of a waiter and a porter. To this person Teal, at the
end of his breakfast, surrendered his bag, together with
threepence, and said:
"I may sleep here tonight. I don't know. Will you look
after this till this evening?"
He left the hotel at once and proceeded on foot to Eus-
ton Square station. Buying a ticket and descending to the
platform, he caught a train in five minutes. It was empty
except for a handful of early workers and railway em-
[ 20 ]


H AN GING GING
JUD G E
ployees, silent men, mostly lean and gray faced, with that
set and dull look that precedes adjustment to the rhythm
of the day's work. At eight or ten stations from his start-
ing point Teal got out. He walked with some hesitation,
but without asking a direction, for about ten minutes,
reaching at length a poor street, in which he slowed down.
The houses here were mean, but not without pretensions
to respectability. In proof of this there were to be seen, at
quite half a dozen of the front door steps, women either
on their knees, scouring or scrubbing, or standing up, de-
canting buckets of water and plying brooms. At this period
of the day they were drudges, dressed as such, and little
more regard was paid to decency than to beauty. At a
house near the end Teal stopped, looking up at it for three
or four minutes; then he turned on his heel and slowly
retraced his steps.
He did not however re-enter the station, but climbed on
a bus, which brought him at about eight o'clock to Pica-
dilly Circus. After making an inquiry he walked through
Coventry Street and Leicester Square, pulling up before the
doors of the City of Westminster Public Library. But the
doors were shut; and a notice board informed him that he
would have to wait another hour.
He returned to the Square and sat down in one of the
seats provided for the public. He pulled his hat over his
forehead, and became for a period undistinguishable from
[ 21 ]


H A N G I N G JUDGE
you want?”
the mainly derelict persons of no occupation to be seen in
the garden so long as it is open. He appeared to go to sleep,
but as nine o'clock struck he rose abruptly with no air of
awaking and walked back to the library.
It was now open. Climbing some stairs he entered the
reference section, signed a name in the book, and ap-
proached the clerk.
"Have you old copies of newspapers?" he asked.
“What newspaper
do
"Any will do. Say the Times."
“What date?"
Teal told him. ... Nearly two hours he spent in the
library, turning over the pages of a heavy bound volume.
. . . At last he rose, stiff, and walked out. He turned into
the Strand; outside the Law Courts he stopped and, after
studying the day's list, made an inquiry of a policeman.
He was directed up a spiral staircase, at the top of which
he found a uniformed official.
"Court of Appeal?” he asked.
The official pointed out a door. Teal walked along a cor-
ridor, punctuated with adjurations to silence, and thrust
open the door indicated. He found himself in a bare wooden
gallery, not unlike that of a church. From the well of the
court, the thin voice of an invisible person was imperfectly
audible. Teal picked his way, conscious of creaking boots,
to a bench near the back—those in front were nearly full.
[22]


HANGING JUDGE
He sat down in a seat near the aisle, next to a little old man
in a high old-fashioned collar, a point of which was em-
bedded in the sagging folds of his jaw.
Teal looked down. A few figures of obviously minor im-
portance were visible, but the composition of the picture
led inevitably up to the bench opposite, concentrating on
the three huddled black figures behind it. One was like a
parrot, another like a vulture, and third like a tarantula.
They sat in silence, swaying a little, and every now and
then their heads would come together for a murmured col-
loquy.
The thin reedy voice, too conscious of its perfect articu-
lation, droned on. Suddenly there was an interruption. The
tarantula partly detached himself from the group and, lean-
ing forward, said in a gentle, clear, and deadly voice that
reached every corner of the court:
"Mr. Fratton, am I correct in understanding that your
argument is this, that since the firm in question had ceased
to exist there was no forgery?”
The thin voice repudiated and qualified, haltingly. .
Teal touched his neighbor's arm, and whispered a question.
The old man put his hand to his mouth to answer.
"The one on the right-spoke just now."
Teal turned his eyes on the tarantula, and gazed at him
fixedly for over two minutes. Then he picked up his hat
and went silently out.
.
[23]


HANGING JUDGE
2
After a light but protracted lunch in a Lyons, Teal
walked up Aldwych, momentarily at a loose end, and pres-
ently bought a cheap seat for the picture theater near the
bottom of Kingsway. The show was a long one; he sat
stolidly in the high gallery for over three hours, and when
he came out it was dark. He made straight for the Aldwych
station, and entered a telephone booth. He did not however
make a call, coming out after a brief inspection of the Di-
rectory A to K, and making for the station lift. Half an
hour later he emerged at South Kensington. A few minutes'
walk brought him to the door of a house in a quiet and
spacious square. He rang the bell.
"Sir Francis Brittain," he announced, with his usual la-
conic air of statement, to the manservant.
The man who opened the door, trained to assess the de-
grees of social status with some exactness, replied curtly to
Teal's question
"Not at home."
“Will he be in later this evening?"
"He's away."
Teal's voice showed surprise. “But he was in Court
today.”
“The Courts rose this afternoon. If you want to see him
you'll have to wait till the second week in January."
[ 24 ]


HANGING JUDGE
3
"My business is urgent. Will you give me his address?"
"I'm not at liberty to do that.”
"I think you'd better-on his account more than my
own.”
A quiet assurance in Teal's manner did something to re-
vise the other's opinion of him.
"I tell you I'm not at liberty," he said. “But if you care
to write a note, I'll see that it's forwarded. I have some let-
ters to forward to him this evening."
Teal considered.
“Yes, that will be better," he said after a moment. “May
I write here?"
“I suppose so." The man grudgingly admitted him and
showed him down the hall, keeping a little distance behind
him. He opened the door of a small room at the back of
the house. It was dusty and littered, clearly being used as a
dumping ground for unwanted papers and books. The
servant pulled out a chair and made a space on a writing
table under the window. "You'll find everything you need
here," he said.
Teal was five minutes in the room. When he came out
he said to the servant, “I've decided not to write after all;
I'll wait till the Judge comes back.”
The man answered, “Please yourself.”
When Teal reached the main road again he stopped. His
eyes traveled right and left, apparently in search of some-
[ 25 ]


H A N G H N O
J U DGE
thing. Not finding what he sought, he turned, and walked
slowly back the way he had come. Thirty yards beyond
the Judge's house the square ended; just to the right, round
the angle made by the adjoining street was a pillar box.
Teal went up to it, and read the indicator; the last and only
remaining collection of the day. was due at 8:30.
He wandered down into the Fulham Road, and across it.
In the slum where he found himself a number of small boys
were playing football against the wall of a cul-de-sac. Teal
moved close to the boys, watching. Presently the ball came
in his direction. He held it and waited. ... One of the
players came up to him in a state of considerable indig-
nation.
“Look, sonny,” said Teal. “Like to earn a pound? It's a
bet I specially want to win.”
He explained what he needed with some care. “Meet me
at South Kensington Station when you've done it,” he con-
cluded. “I'll give you the pound then; here's half a crown
to go on with.”
About an hour later the boy came to him in the Station
Arcade.
“I got it, mister," he said. “Did it quite nat’ral too, 'e
called me a clumsy little devil. There was only one letter,
a big ’un.”
"Well, what was the name and address?” asked Teal.
[26]


Chapter Three
1
A
T about the most northerly part of the county of Nor-
folk, and facing due north, lies a stretch of coast
whose grave loveliness has as yet eluded the atten-
tions either of the speculative builder or of the artist (who,
just as the African missionary is the forerunner of the mer-
chant of liquor, textile goods and small arms, is too often
the harbinger of a devastation from which he decamps in
horror). Perhaps it is the forbidding severity of the climate
in winter, when the low austere lines of the county take on
their most stately beauty, that has discouraged the artist.
The wind attacks direct from the ice pack, buffeting and
whinnying round the cottages of the few small villages with
slow attrition on the nervous system. From the builder
the district owes its immunity partly to its remoteness, for
the one main road connects no centers of importance, and
[ 27 ]


Η Α Ν GI N G
JUDGE
th
ܢܘ
ev
TI
be
H
99
the railway from Winstanton (threatened with closing
down) decants only twice a day its little quota of shopkeep-
ers, farmers and schoolchildren at the four stations on the
single track branch line. But an additional safeguard is pro-
vided by the traditions of the Kesteven family, who, own-
ing all the land between the market town of Sutton Thorpe
and the once busy little port of Overwells, have set their
face absolutely against the exploitation of the soil for any
purpose other than tillage. For the family seat, Cokingham,
was the cradle of scientific agriculture in Great Britain, and
the soil is among the richest in the country.
At the head of one of the many creeks of "staithes"
which lace the fringe of this coast stands the seemly little
village of Moxton. Lying very flat, at no point more than a
dozen feet above high-water mark, and dominated not by
the church (which lies further inland) but by a disused
windmill at the western end, the village, seen from the dyke
that zigzags over the marshes from the sea a short two
miles away, shows the affinity which all the coast in the
neighborhood of the Wash has with Holland, in a remote
age connected with it territorially.
About ten o'clock on a cold but sunny and blue-skied
morning a few days before Christmas, two men were walk-
ing along the dyke. They had come by the wide yellow
sands from Cokingham, then across the sand hills, and
were now bound for the village. One was about fifty and
of
W
ic
hi
st
[ 28 ]


H A N G 1 N G J u D G E
ex]
-
ing
this
bec
the
und
SOC
qut
tim
and then, changing his tactics, turned his head and gazed
intently at some imaginary object over the marsh. The man
coming to them, however, betrayed not a particle of self-
consciousness. He walked on with a slow but unfaltering
stride to within a yard or two, then stopped. The dog inter-
preted this as an order to dismiss, and began an investiga-
tion of the stranger's boots.
“Good morning, Lord Kesteven," said its master. His
level blue eyes forced the young man's to an encounter.
“Morning, Mr. Willoughby," Lord Kesteven answered
with a trace of bluster. He made to pass on, but the other
spoke just too quickly.
"Duck rising this morning?"
"No. Seem a bit shy."
“The wind, I suppose.'
"Yes, I suppose so."
They stood committed to conversation.
"I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting this
gentleman," observed the man with the dog.
"I'm sorry," said Lord Kesteven. “This is my mother's
brother, Sir George Archer—Chief Constable of the county
-Mr. Willoughby, Uncle George.”
Mr. Willoughby bowed, raising his eyebrows slightly.
"A recent appointment, I think?"
Sir George answered, affably enough. “That's so. I was
in the Colonial Service-out East-till malaria got me."
der
he
ex
e
[ 30 ]


Η Α Ν GING J U DGE
two
cen
ac
obt
f
1
mil
an
sich
Ge
"Well it's like this. He's a famous local womanizer. Not
that that's any of our business—I believe he's a schoolmas-
ter, or a don at some northern university_been coming
here at intervals since the summer before last-and he
probably needs to relax on vacation. But a month or two
ago one of our gardeners came to see Dad. It appears his
daughter had taken on the job of cooking for Willoughby
-he's always changing his girls, but he generally gets 'em
from outside. Well, he began to talk like a blackguard to
the girl, and did his best to behave like one. How far it went
I don't know; the father was a
bit vague, no wonder, poor
chap. ... Well Dad was a bit flummoxed. You see the girl
was overage; it would only be her word against his, and he
looks such a respectable Johnny. Dad's unofficial advice
was to give Willoughby a jolly good hiding."
"And did he?"
“Not a bit of it. ... Dad sent Hepworth to warn Wil-
loughby off pretty plainly, and he spoke to the gardener
a few days later—but the chap was very reserved, and
wanted to shut up about it. Obviously Willoughby had
bought him off; for all I know the girl may still trot up there
every now and then when nobody's looking. But it's a bit
thick. They're really decent people, but a big family, and
hard up. They oughtn't to be exposed to such temptation."
They had reached the end of the bank. Climbing a
couple of stiles they made their way by a narrow lane be-
STO
nin
Wa
do
ch
be
t
[ 32 ]


H A N GING JUDGE
tween cottages, and a hundred yards of main road, to the
center of the village. There in the yard of the Soldier Inn,
a chauffeur was waiting outside a Daimler limousine, un-
obtrusively decorated with the armorial bearings of the Earl
of Cokingham.
"Do you mind if we go out of our way a couple of
miles?” asked Lord Kesteven, as they climbed in. “There's
an old housekeeper of ours in Sutton Thorpe who's pretty
sick. She's a fairly ancient dame; I ought to look in on her.”
They glided silently out of the village. About half a
mile beyond it, just before they reached the church, Sir
George suddenly sat up and called out abruptly, "Here,
stop!"
Almost before the car drew up he was out of it and run-
ning briskly back to where, about fifty yards behind, a man
was squatting at the roadside. His head had fallen right
down between his knees, and one hand was clutching at his
chest. His face was the color of dirty paper.
Sir George raised his head, supporting him with an arm
behind his back,
"What is it-heart?" he asked.
A flicker of assent passed over the man's face. He seemed
to be trying to do something with his hand. Sir George,
naturally quick in the uptake, correctly interpreted it as an
attempt to reach his left-hand waistcoat pocket. He ex-
tracted a little tube of pills and, taking out one, conveyed
[ 33 ]


H A N G I N G
J U DGE
1
P
11
1
P
.
x
it to the other's mouth. There it appeared to remain; the
throat, contracted with the effort of swallowing, seemed
unequal to the act.
By this time the car had reversed and Lord Kesteven and
the chauffeur had come up. "Got any brandy, Alan?” asked
Sir George. "No? Well, where's the nearest we can get
some? This chap's in a pretty bad way.”
The chauffeur answered. “Back at the Soldier, sir. I'll
turn the car.
The sick man was established on the cushions at the
back, not without difficulty. “Hurry, Blake,” said Lord
Kesteven; and in less than a minute they were back at the
Soldier. The house was not yet open, but Blake went to the
back, and after a very short delay the landlord came out
with a glass of brandy. By this time the worst of the attack
had passed, and as the man drank some color returned to
his cheeks.
"Fuss ...." was the first audible word to pass his lips.
"Sorry trouble.”
Sir George looked down on the gaunt face with sym-
pathy. The man was clearly not a tramp, as he had at first
supposed; the clothes were shabby but decent. Some haunt-
ing quality in the deep-set eyes, a suggestion of tragedy,
affected him strongly.
“Take it easy, old fellow," he said. He turned to the
[ 34 ]


H A NGING JU UD
D G E
!
landlord, a lean man whose brow was furrowed in lines of
perpetual concern. "You can give this chap somewhere to
lie down, can't you?"
“I can put him on a bed, sir,” replied the landlord, as if
there were an inexpressible number of things he could not
put him on.
"And I think he should have a doctor."
"I can find him a doctor, sir.” A clergyman, a lawyer, or
a dentist, would have been manifestly beyond his powers.
"I'll ring Dr. Birch from the Hall, Mason," put in Lord
Kesteven.
A voice came from the cushions. “I don't need a doctor.
Had these before."
Lord Kesteven answered good-naturedly. “That's all
right. My show, you understand. That was a nasty attack
-you ought to see someone."
The wan set features relaxed into a ghost of a smile.
"Not the expense,” he said. “I have money. Thanks all the
same. ..." He paused for a moment, then added, “Perhaps
I'd better see the doctor, though. Ought to know where I
stand.”
“Of course.
Well...
He was able to walk with a little assistance. The landlord
conducted him up a narrow flight of steps into a light and
airy bedroom. “Sheets are all right," he said, presumably
[ 35 ]


H AN GING JUDGE
pe
ce
aspersing the pillows and blankets, as he helped him onto
the bed. "I'll leave you for a bit, old man. I expect you'd
like a bit of rest.”
"Do you know the chap, Mason?" asked Lord Kesteven,
when the landlord came down.
"I don't know him, my lord,” announced Mason, who
clearly knew almost everybody else. “He's a stranger around
here. But we'll make him comfortable, you can put your
mind at rest, my lord.”
op li
tal lui
ch
ta
Or
2
"We'll change your medicine, too," said Dr. Birch. "I'll
send it up this afternoon." He snapped his bag in a manner
betokening finality.
“You'd better tell me a bit more than that,” said Teal
quietly from the bed.
The doctor paused in the doorway.
"Well, as I said, you must take things very easy. You've
a pretty rotten heart."
"The last doctor I saw in the United States a few
months agowasn't encouraging.... I want to know my
expectation of life—matter of business."
Dr. Birch hesitated. Inured to practicing mild deceit, in
the interest of his patients and often at their direct solicita-
tion, he was nevertheless not unaccustomed to invalids who
begged to be told the truth. More often than not these were
2)
[ 36 ]


Η Α Ν GI N G JUDGE
2
take you
people entirely incapable of enduring it—but there were ex-
ceptions. The doctor took another look at Teal, and then
sat down on the edge of the bed.
"A doctor isn't a prophet,” he said. "If you want my
opinion, I would say with care you might live a year. ...
I can't guarantee anything; another attack like this might
you off any time. On the other hand you might be
lucky, and go on a great deal longer. The only concrete
thing I can tell you is that an insurance company wouldn't
take you on at any price. ... If you have affairs to put in
order I should advise you to see to them at once."
Teal nodded. “As I thought. Thank you,
doctor."
Dr. Birch sought to qualify. ... But Teal's eyes were
skeptical. He interrupted-
"Can I get up now?"
"Provided you take things quietly.”
"I will.”
Teal was only partly undressed. When the doctor had
gone he fixed his collar and tie, put on his jacket, and made
his way downstairs. The house was just opened, but no
customers had arrived. The landlord was behind the bar,
polishing glasses.
"So you're down,” he observed. “Good report from the
medico?"
"Nothing new," Teal answered. ... "You've been very
kind."
[37]


H A NGING JUDGE
1
=
a
☺
I
a
"All in the day's work. You're very welcome, I'm sure."
“What is this place?"
“The Soldier Inn, old man.”
“I mean what village? I lost track of things after my
attack.”
“Moxton it is, sir.” The landlord held a glass to the light,
scrutinized it and put it down.
Teal nodded. “That's where I was making for. ... Can
you put me up here for a while?"
Mr. Mason, polishing with increased vigor, hesitated for
a moment before replying.
“You'll have some luggage, I suppose, old man?"
“Left a bag at Sutton Thorpe station. There seemed to
be no bus, so I decided to walk. I expect there's a carrier
who can bring it up?"
"I can bring it up myself, if you give me the ticket. I
have to drive to Sutton this evening."
Teal took a slip of paper out of his pocket, together with
a pound note and handed it to the landlord.
“There you are,” he said. “And take this too, as a de-
posit. I have money."
"I can do you for thirty a week,” said Mason, with satis-
faction. "Full breakfast, hot dinner at midday, cup of tea
at four, and cold supper. Would you be staying any length
of time?"
"At least a week. My name's Teal, by the way."
[ 38 ]


H A N G I N G JU DGE
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Teal. ... Will you take some-
thing with me now?"
"Thanks, I could do a ginger ale. ... Afraid I won't help
much with the bar. I've had to cut out alcohol, except as
medicine. ... This heart of mine, and other reasons. ..."
"Too bad, old man.” Mason unstoppered a ginger ale,
and drew half a pint of beer for himself. "Well here's to
your better health.”
They drank, and a silence fell on them. "What made you
pick on Moxton, if it's not inquisitive?” asked the landlord
at last. “It's a quiet enough spot in winter, and no mistake."
"Someone I have to look up here,” Teal replied. "Man
called Willoughby...."
"Mr. Willoughby!” The landlord released a whistle.
"You know him?” Teal spoke with a trace of eagerness.
"Well, I wouldn't say I knew him personal—he's gentry.
But it's many a time I've driven him from Sutton Thorpe
station to his home here, Overstaithe, and back to the sta-
tion. ... So you know him."
"Not exactly,” Teal disclaimed. “But I have business
with him. What do you know of him here?"
"Not so much as you might expect, considering he's been
here on and off for the last eighteen months.” The landlord
took a sip at his beer. "He's a pretty close gent—not what
you might call sociable. And pretty sharp, too_looks as if
he's used to ordering people about. He did tell me, almost
[ 39 ]


HANGING J UDGE
F
a
11
the first time I drove him, he's a teacher-somewhere in
Lancashire, I think he said. He only comes here for holi-
days, same as public school holidays. ... I wouldn't say
he was exactly a favorite round here.”
A question hovered on Teal's lips; but the door had
opened. A little old man with a light silver moss over his
red cheeks, and a mouth whose contours betrayed a total
absence of teeth, shuffled in.
"Mornin' Fred, mornin' stranger,” he said, and sat down
on the same bench as Teal. “Oo is it ain't exactly a fa-
vorite?” he added, when he had adjusted his legs.
“Speaking of Mr. Willoughby,” replied Mason shortly.
"Oo?"
"Willoughby!" repeated Mason, in a louder tone. He
seemed somewhat out of humor,
The old man chuckled.
“ 'E ain't a favorite with the mothers, right enough.
Won't answer for the darters though."
Mason protested. “Now look here, Art Turvey, you ain't
no call to talk like that, before a stranger too. Mr. Wil-
loughby's a gentleman, and you'll get into trouble one of
these days.
"Oo d’you say 'e got into trouble now?"
“I said you'll get into trouble,” shouted Mason, out of
patience. "You don't know anything. If you leave out Mary
Reddish, it's all gossip.” He turned to Teal apologetically.
[ 40 ]


HANGING JUDGE
"Just loose talk," he said. “You get a lot of that, in a quiet
place like Moxton.”
"I seed what I seed,” insisted the old man obstinately. "I
ain't neighbored 'im nigh on two year for nothing.
'E's got Mary Reddish back now.”
"Well, she leaves at eight o'clock, don't she?"
"You can do a lot before eight o'clock.”
Teal leaned forward and addressed the old man.
"You're a neighbor of Mr. Willoughby?”
"That I am, mister. And I seed what I seed.”
"Will
you
show me his house presently?"
"Eh?"
"Will you show me his house presently?”
"Show
you
now if it's worth a pint to you. But
you
won't
find 'im there. 'E's on the mashes with his gun and little
dog. I just seed ’im."
Teal rose.
“That suits me. Will you come now?"
"Pleasure.” They went out, and walked slowly up a lane
which led out of the main road to the right. “Reg'lar rip 'e
is,” said the old man, and freed from the restraint of Ma-
son's presence his remarks became more explicit but less
decorous. ... Teal listened attentively, but made no com-
ment. They passed a row of cottages, and then the old
man halted. He raised his stick.
"See the 'ouse from 'ere," he said. About a hundred
[ 41 ]


HANGING JUDGE
yards up the lane were two more buildings on the right.
The first was small and neglected looking; the second, a
little beyond, was really a row of cottages, unpretentious
but with an air of unassuming prosperity.
“That's 'is 'ouse," said the old man. “ 'E 'ad the three
knocked into one. Nice place, they say. I ain't been in it
though, not since Ben Graves the wheelwright died in the
end one-three year ago.”
"Thank you," said Teal. “I'll go on for a bit; you needn't
come any further."
He gave the man sixpence, and walked on at a leisurely
pace. When he reached Mr. Willoughby's cottage he
halted. A stone wall, about four feet high, partly screened
the premises from the road. Looking over this, Teal saw a
double garden. The right-hand side was a well-kept lawn,
the left a kitchen garden, at this time of year rather forlorn.
A path from the house led through this to a well. It had
clearly been out of use for some time, and some of the ma-
sonry had been used for a small rock garden at the far side
of the lawn. The whole place was characterized by a love
of order rather than of beauty. Smoke was coming from
two of the three chimneys to the house, but there was no
outward sign of any activity within.
Teal surveyed the place with close attention for a few
moments. Then he turned, and walked quietly back to the
Soldier.
[ 42 ]


Chapter Four
1
O
N Saturday evening, two days after Teal's ar-
rival, an event of considerable local interest took
place at the Soldier Inn.
The North Norfolk (Brasseys) Darts Association was
the happy inspiration of the firm of brewers to which most
of the public houses of the district were tied. For the better
promotion of the sale of liquor the country was divided into
regions each containing about a dozen Brassey Inns, consti-
tuting a series of darts leagues whose members contested out
and home matches during the last three months of the year.
It chanced that at this point, toward the end of the season,
the Soldier and the Polish Count of Sutton Thorpe had out-
paced the competitors in their section to such an extent that
the championship of the Cokingham district, and the silver
cup that went with it, lay between them, and would be de-
cided by the result of the match now to be played.
1
[ 43 ]


H AN GING JUDGE
The match was due to begin at eight o'clock, and by half-
past seven an aged Ford, a natty Morris two-seater, several
bicycles, and a number of pairs of legs had brought to the
gates of the Soldier the Polish Count team and its support-
ers. The first rounds were served in the large public bar,
where everything scourable and polishable had been bright-
ened for the occasion, and there prevailed an atmosphere
of good-fellowship, rendered somewhat artificial, not to say
tense, by the importance of the coming event.
At a quarter to eight Art Turvey manifested himself in
the bar, being observed by no one to enter it, and in a slight
lull in the conversation was heard addressing Mason in a
hoarse and self-conscious voice.
“Reckon ye could draw me a pint on the 'ouse, Fred
Mason. Ye knows I always casts better in liquor."
Mason drew him a tankard and replied. “You won't
mind standing down tonight, Art Turvey. Give the younger
chaps a chance."
Turvey consumed half his drink and put the tankard
down with a clatter.
"I got a right to play," he expostulated. “Ain't I the oldest
man here? Ain't I been playin' darts before them young
shavers' dads were sucking their milk?"
“We have to pick the team on form, old chap,” protested
Mason mildly.
[ 44 ]


H A N GING JUDGE
Art Turvey finished his drink.
"If I ain't good enough to cast for the Soldier," he said,
"I ain't good enough to drink the Soldier's beer.” He looked
around, apparently in the hope of someone professing, and
showing a desire to back, a belief in his qualifications on
the second head. But nobody did; and his exit was without
dignity.
Just before eight Teal came down into the bar. He had
on his hat and overcoat. He nodded to Mason as he passed
him, and Mason said, “Not staying to see the game, old
chap?”
Teal shook his head.
"Like to. But I have to go out. To Mr. Willoughby. Be
back before you close.” He went out.
"What's the ghost want with Willoughby?" asked
George Featherstone, the captain of the Soldier team.
Mason shrugged his shoulders. “I don't know. He keeps
pretty close. . . . He told me he had business with Wil-
loughby, but I don't know what it is.”
It was time to start the match. More beer was drawn; the
team set to, and for an hour and a half the attention of all
was concentrated on the darts board. After a terrific strug-
gle the Soldier proved victorious in the third and deciding
game: Fred Mason was himself the one to throw the win-
ning double; his success, and the fact that it was Saturday,
[ 45 ]


Η Α Ν GING
JUDGE
a
11
induced him to exceed his normally very modest ration of
beer, so that he was in a happy, rather fuddled condition
when the time came to close the house.
Only as he was shooting the last bolt did it occur to him
that he had not seen "the ghost"-as Teal had come to be
known-return.
"Blowed if I mightn't have missed him," he said to him-
self. He took a candle to the upper floor. Teal's door was
shut, and no light was visible through the chinks. Mason
knocked lightly, without response.
"Of course, he might have been asleep an hour ago. ...
Anyway, if he ain't in, he can always knock."
He went to bed.
|
2
Mason, being a widower, was assisted at the Soldier by a
woman called Maud Sills, who was of a sufficiently mature
and homely appearance to lift the relation beyond the
realms of scandal. Maud did the housekeeping and house-
work, and on the rare occasions when there was a rush
assisted in the bar.
At half-past seven on Sunday morning she carried into
Teal's room the
сир
of tea and the two Osborne biscuits
with which the guest was wont to stay the
pangs
of hunger
until nine o'clock breakfast.
[ 46]


H A N Ġ ING JU D G E
She found the bed unoccupied, and as smooth and fresh
as she had left it the night before. Being a woman well
aware from experience that the unusual did not happen in
Moxton, she concluded that "the ghost” had left, or ar-
ranged to sleep out, and that Mason had forgotten to trans-
mit instructions to her.
Fred Mason, who did not indulge in the luxury of early
tea, awoke at eight o'clock with a dry mouth and a vague
sense of something good having befallen him. This sense, as
his brain grew clearer, presently resolved itself into a mem-
ory of his personal triumph last night, and a pleasant an-
ticipation of the Brassey cup occupying a place of honor in
his bar parlor for at least a year to come. He washed,
shaved, and dressed, and then went downstairs, and Teal
did not come into his mind at all.
At twenty to nine, it occurred to Maud, about to lay the
table in the sitting room, that it was time she found out
from her master whether "the ghost really had left. She
discovered Fred on the front doorstep, making endearing
noises to a polite but sleepy Dalmatian, who had spent the
night out and would have been glad to be left alone.
"Mr. Teal goin' to be in for breakfast?” she asked.
"Oľ chap's been on the tiles,” Mason answered, refer-
ring to the Dalmatian. “Mr. Teal? I s'pose so." He
suddenly remembered. "He ain't still out?"
[47]


H A N GING JUDGE
h
al
"I dunno," replied Maud. “But 'e ain't slep' in 'is bed. I
thought you'd know."
Mason pursed his lips. “Queer,” he said. “I s'pose he
slept at Willoughby's."
"Willoughby's?" Maud echoed, in a caustic tone. “Not
'e. 'E ain't a pretty girl.”
Mason looked reproachful.
“Now Maud, you're old enough to know better than
that. A still tongue shows a wise head.” He made further
advances to the dog, which were quelled by the animal's
suddenly rising and, after a stretch, a yawn, and a shake,
taking itself off. Mason looked after it gloomily.
“Still, it's queer,” he added. “I expect he'll be along to
breakfast, though. Or he'd have got a message down."
be
스
​ya
ta
3
he
ye
Teal, however, did not appear at breakfast. But Mason,
although feeling a little surprised at a discourtesy he had
not expected from the man, privately shared Maud's belief
that Moxton was no place for mysteries, and he put the
matter out of his head until, on his opening the house at
twelve o'clock, Art Turvey sidled quietly in.
“Well Fred,” he said. “I'eared about yer feats. You done
th
W
bi
pretty well.”
He was, evidently, prepared to be magnanimous.
Mason offered a modest disclaimer. "Just luck, Art-
al
[ 48 ]


HANGING JUDGE
flukin' the right thing at the right moment. ... By the way,
have you seen the ghost' this morning?”
Art shook his head.
“I ain't seed ’im this morning. I seed 'im last night, but I
ain't seed 'im this morning."
Mason squinted through a glass.
"When did you see him last night?"
"Not more'n twenty minute arter I left 'ere. 'E must a'
been fair drunk. 'E knocked at my door and asked for Mr.
Willoughby."
Mason absently polished the glass.
"Nothin' in that,” he observed. “You live only a few
yards below Willoughby. He could have mistaken the cot-
tage, easy-it was a dark night.”
"Mebbe. Only I points Willoughby's out to him, plain
as paint, only on Thursday.”
"I knew he was going to Willoughby. He told me so. But
he said he'd be back before closing, an' he ain't come back
yet. No message, either. It's funny."
He came to a resolution. “Maud,” he called and, when
the woman appeared, said, “Look here, just run up to Mr.
Willoughby's, ask if Mr. Teal's there, and if he's coming
back to dinner.”
Maud protested, “I can't leave the jinte.”
"I'll look after the joint," Mason reassured her. "Run
along, there's a good girl.'
[ 49 ]


HANGING JUDGE
ha
do
4
Though she did not expect to see him, Maud paid tribute
to Mr. Willoughby's gentry by removing her apron and
putting on a hat. She was not at all looking forward to an
encounter with Mary Reddish, for on their last meeting
words, indirectly connected with Mary's ambiguous stand-
ing at Overstaithe, had passed between them.
But as she pushed open the garden gate she saw Mr. Wil-
loughby, hatless, in a pair of old flannel trousers and a Nor
folk jacket buttoned up round his neck, plying a spade in a
bed in front of the house. He looked up at the sound of
Maud's footsteps on the gravel path, and confronted her
with a look of blank expectancy.
Maud became flustered.
Scuse me, Mr. Willoughby," she said. “Is Mr. Teal
here, if you'll pardon the intrusion?”
Mr. Willoughby, as though weighing his words, allowed
a few seconds to pass before replying.
“Do you mean the person who is staying at the Inn?"
escaped him at last.
“Yessir, Mr. Teal.”
"He is not here."
He looked at her in an anatomizing sort of way Maud
afterward described as “like I was a piece of mutton which
SIE
[50]


HANGING JU D G E
’e thought was on the go.” At the moment, however, she
had nothing much to say.
"Thank you, sir," was all she could manage. “Beg par-
don if I intruded.” She retired in disorder.
"Well?” queried Fred Mason, as she re-entered the bar.
"'E ain't there."
"When did he leave Mr. Willoughby?”
"I dunno."
"You mean to say you didn't ask, Maud?"
"I didn't get no chance. 'E gives me the shivers, that
man.”
Fred Mason shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, you are a silly girl, Maud.”
23
5
The licensing regulations stipulated that the Soldier
should close at two on Sunday afternoons. This arrange-
ment well suited Fred Mason, who after a solitary dinner,
assisted on its way by an extra Sabbath pint, retired for a
siesta, from which he awoke at half-past four in a somewhat
piano humor. A wash and tea put him on better terms with
himself; and now for the first time he began to get seriously
concerned about his boarder.
After tea he changed into his best shirt and collar and a
dark blue suit of intense, not to say, depressing respectabil-
[51]


HANGING JUDGE
تن
e.
W
fi
PI
ity. He further garnished his appearance by taking a stout
Malacca cane in his hand and placing a bowler hat upon
his head, and fortified by this outfit, though not without a
touch of self-consciousness, set out up the lane to Over-
staithe.
It was now quite dark, and Mason had to pick his way
gingerly along the unlighted lane. He felt his way to Mr.
Willoughby's garden gate, which creaked rather dauntingly
at his push, marched uneasily up to the front door and an-
nounced himself with the timid single knock of the classes
born to subjection.
A second and bolder rap was however necessary before
the door was opened. Mason's embarrassment was in-
creased by the knowledge that though Mary Reddish would
officially have gone home it was by no means certain that
she had in fact done so. He was therefore somewhat re-
lieved when Mr. Willoughby himself appeared in the door-
way.
“Good evening, sir," Mason greeted him, in his serious
bass.
“Good evening, Mason.” Mr. Willoughby's demeanor
was neither friendly nor hostile; it was merely expectant.
Mason tried again.
"Might I have the favor of a few words with you, sir?"
Mr. Willoughby held the door handle for a few seconds,
and then stepped back a pace.
jt
E
[ 52 ]


H A N GING JUDGE
"Come in,” he said. Mason wiped his feet with great
care on the doormat, and obeyed. He was not asked to sit
down; the occupant of Overstaithe retired to a position
with his back to the fire, and waited.
"It's about that chap staying with me," began Mason,
fingering the rim of his bowler. “That chap Teal. I can't
make out what's become of him."
"No?"
"I was wondering if you had any idea, sir."
“Why?"
Mr. Willoughby was not being helpful. Fred Mason
plunged.
“Well you see, sir, it's like this. He went out last night,
just before eight, and he told me he was going to see you.
He said he'd be in before closing, but he wasn't; he didn't
come back at all last night. And no one's seen him at all
today.”
Mr. Willoughby allowed himself a frosty smile.
“He may possibly have left you deliberately. Perhaps he
had no money to meet your bill.”
"He paid me in advance, sir, for the best part of a week.
So it's not that. ... If it's not an impertinence, sir, would
you mind telling me if he did come to you last night?”
Mr. Willoughby nodded.
“Yes. He came here at eight, and left soon after nine. I
haven't seen him since."
[53]


H A N GING JUDGE
PI
CU
tai
2V
“No idea where he might have gone?"
“None whatever."
There seemed to be nothing else to be said. Mason moved
to the door.
"Well I'm sorry to have troubled you sir," he apologized,
in a valedictory way. “But it's all very mysterious.”
“My advice is not to worry," offered Mr. Willoughby
unexpectedly. “Either he'll turn up or he won't. I see noth-
ing mysterious about it. If he doesn't, he probably has rea-
sons of his own. It isn't as if he hasn't paid you."
Mason answered doubtfully. “Yes sir, that's true. Well,
thank you, sir, good night.”
He found his way out.
in
mu
fu
an
M
19
th
ly
W
1
ܝܩ
a
6
That was all very well. But Fred Mason, though innately
inclined to accept the counsel of his betters, whom he sup-
posed to be by tradition and education better qualified than
himself to make decisions, was by no means satisfied that
he ought to take no further steps. He could see no rhyme
nor reason in Teal's just making off without a word. Why
had Mr. Willoughby been so close? Though he was of
course not bound to do so, surely it would have been natu-
ral for him to give some little account of his business with
his visitor; being apparently the only man in the district
who knew anything about Teal, he might have been able to
بة
a
[54]


HANGING JUDGE
provide some clue. . . . An unpleasant possibility now oc-
curred for the first time to the not overquick brain of the
innkeeper. Supposing Teal had suffered another heart at-
tack? Had dragged himself to the nearest hedge and gasped
away his life with no one to give him any help? It could not
have happened between Willoughby's and the Soldier, for
in that case he would have been discovered long ago; but
might not Teal, after leaving Willoughby, have wandered
further up the rutty lane, where there were no dwellings,
and been overcome there? After a few moments' meditation
Mason decided it was almost impossible, for the lane,
though not used by field laborers on Sunday, was the short-
est way between the village and the church, and a body
lying in it could hardly have been overlooked this morning.
Unless Teal had wandered into a field? But surely there
was no sense in that, on a cold moonless December night.
When Mason got back to the Soldier he went straight
up to Teal's room. The coverlet of the bed was turned
down, the pajamas were folded neatly under the pillow,
everything was exactly as Maud had left it on Saturday
evening. A single hairbrush and comb lay on the toilet table,
a safety razor, a shaving stick, a toothbrush and powder,
and a cheap rubber sponge on the washstand. Mason opened
up the chest of drawers and found two old but serviceable
shirts, three strong and heavily darned pairs of woolen
socks, an American "union suit," a couple of handkerchiefs
[55]


HANGING JUDGE
W
th
29
m
yo
and a faded blue tie. In the wardrobe hung the carefully
patched remains of what had perhaps been a dozen years
ago an excellent tweed suit. No luxuries, nothing but bare
necessities, and the whole outfit indicated a poverty ren-
dered decent by the careful husbanding of resources.
On the floor at the foot of the bed was a small basket-
work portmanteau, Teal's only luggage. It was locked, and
also secured firmly by a double length of strong twine.
Mason prodded it with his foot, and then picked it up; it
was not empty, but there was nothing of any weight inside.
That night in the bar the landlord took counsel with
George Featherstone. George, apart from being the best
darts player in the village, was a rather childish person of
no particular consequence, but during the general strike he
had enrolled himself as a special constable, and had since
then persuaded Moxton to look to him as an authority on
all matters concerning the public peace.
"I can't help thinking," said Fred, after he had stated
his case, "our friend at Overstaithe might have been a bit
more expansive. After all, if 'the ghost came up here to see
Willoughby, it stands to reason Willoughby ought to know
something about him.”
“That's incompetent, immaterial, and irrelevant, cor-
rected George, who went to the pictures whenever he
could. “If Willoughby says he don't know where the ghost
[56]


HANGING JUDGE
reful
years
t bare
iren
. and
vine
ide
went after he left, we got to believe him. What we got to
find out is where the ghost went after he left."
"Well, how are we goin' to do that?"
There was a pause.
"Tracks...." hazarded George at last.
"It ain't rained for nigh a week,” objected Fred. “There
won't be no tracks. Anyway, we wouldn't be able to see
them before daylight.”
“Reckon we can't do nothing before daylight,” George
agreed. "If you take my advice, Fred, you'll wait till to-
morrow morning, and if the ghost ain't shown up by then,
you go to Jack Welby's and phone Sergeant Scotton at
Sutton Thorpe. Seems to me it's a case for the dicks."
"That's just what I'll do, George.” Fred Mason had pri-
vately come to this resolution some time before, but he was
glad to get it ratified. “Don't want to raise a scare for noth-
ing, you know. But I feel I've got some responsibility for
the chap."
George Featherstone shook his head gloomily. "I reckon
'e's croaked,” he said.
vith
을
​hi
ace
On
*
[ 57]


hi
m
VE
F1
er
Chapter Five
th
1
ly
I
ta th
는
​18
T would be pleasant to depict Sergeant Scotton as a
vehicle for rich humors of the rustic constabulary
order, a heavy, plodding, notebooked figure adding
characteristic touches of bucolic incompetence to every
task to which he put his hands. Actually he was less in-
teresting and more capable: a bored-looking man, young-
ish and ambitious, who intended to get on in the Force,
and apprehended that the best means of doing so were an
unremitting application to routine, an uncritical respect for
his superior officers, and a diligent cultivation of the good
opinion of the gentry.
He had been stationed at Sutton Thorpe since his pro-
motion, two years ago, and having handled nothing more
felonious than an occasional assault and battery, or the
theft of a sack of potatoes, was inclined to concur with the
[58]


HANGING
J U D G E
local view that the district was no place for mysteries. He
had cycled to Moxton early on Monday morning, Christ-
mas Eve, patiently prepared to give his usual thorough in-
vestigation to a mare's nest, but when he had listened to
Fred Mason's apologetic narration he realized with a quick-
ening of interest that here was something genuinely out of
the way.
His first step was to organize, with the help of Fred and
the unoccupied section of Moxton's male population, a kind
of battue of the neighborhood, and particularly of the fields
lying near Overstaithe. Privately Scotton had little more
faith than the innkeeper in the theory that Teal had been
taken desperately ill, crawled into some corner and died
there; it was hardly credible that he would not have been
discovered before now; but the possibility had to be elimi-
nated. After a morning of poking about in every barn, rick,
hedge and outhouse within reasonable distance of the vil-
lage, Scotton was confirmed in his conclusion that he would
have to seek a solution along less obvious lines.
The end of the search brought him back to the Soldier
at a little before twelve. Inviting his corps of assistants in-
side, he paid for their drinks with the air of a man intend-
ing to indent for them, and proceeded to extract from Fred
Mason a kind of Domesday survey of the village. His ob-
ject was, accepting Mr. Willoughby's statement that Teal
had left Overstaithe a little after nine, to discover who
[59]


HANGING JUDGE
ter
the
1
-
dei
would have had the best opportunity of seeing or hearing
anything of him afterward, and he learned that the most
likely people were the cottagers in the lane itself. There
was no other exit from it except its continuation over the
dark fields toward the church, a route a stranger to the
district would hardly have taken without good reason.
Accordingly Scotton, finishing his half-pint, set off to
Overstaithe. It was clearly needful to try to get something
more particular from Willoughby. Aware of the man's repu-
tation, and having just heard of his rather churlish recep-
tion of Fred Mason and Maud, he looked forward to the
interview with no pleasure. But as yet the interview was
not to be; the door was opened by Mary Reddish, who
told the Sergeant that the master was out for his usual
morning walk “on the mashes,” and would certainly not
be home before one.
The Sergeant considered Mary. Her attraction lay more
in her plump body than in her face. The latter was ordi-
nary, but its look of eager defiance had, taken with the
helmet of red bobbed hair, disturbing potentialities.
“Know anything about this chap Teal?" tried Scotton,
affably.
"Teal?” Mary echoed. "Ain't that the man staying at the
Soldier?"
"He was staying at the Soldier," amended Scotton. “But
he's disappeared. That's what I'm up here for—your mas-
W
fo
lo
4
پی
a
[60]


HANGING JUDGE
ter seems to have been the last person to see him up here.
I wondered if you knew anything about him.”
Mary shook her head. "I don't know nothing. Not even
that he'd been here. When was it?"
"From eight to nine on Saturday.”
"Well, of course, I was home then."
"Where's your home?"
“Down by the Staithe.” Mary looked at the Sergeant
suspiciously. “But what's that to you?"
"Nothing at all,” disclaimed Scotton. “Except I won-
dered if you could have seen or heard him when he left.”
"Well, I didn't. I didn't know he'd been here."
"All right.” Scotton nodded pacifically. "I'll try for Mr.
Willoughby later—good morning.”
The Sergeant's next call was on Art Turvey. Art, how-
ever, was unable to add anything material to what he had
told Fred Mason, Teal had knocked at his door within a
few minutes of his having returned, in dudgeon (though
Art did not put it that way), from the Soldier. Teal had
looked surprised, and said, "I thought this was Mr. Wil-
loughby's.” Art, still out of humor, had impugned his stu-
pidity in making such a mistake after having had Wil-
loughby's pointed out to him only a day or two before. He
had stood at his door as Teal vanished into the darkness
toward his proper destination, had heard the Overstaithe
garden gate opened, and then shut himself in again.
[61]


H A N GING JUDGE
a
ta
ti
bi 01 by
Sa
pl
W
no
m
"And when did he come back?" asked Scotton.
“May be there still for all I know," Art replied. “I never
seed 'im come back."
“But you must have heard him in the lane?''
"I never heerd 'im.”
“Didn't you hear any footsteps?"
“I never heerd no footsteps. I was abed and asleep by
nine."
Art owned to a wife, a woman considerably younger
than himself, but almost totally deaf. At Scotton's request,
Art bawled a few questions in her ear, but it was plain that
she had no knowledge of the matter, and even less interest.
So Scotton worked his way back down the lane, asking
the same questions at every cottage, but he found no one
who had seen Teal return, or who had heard anyone who
might have been him. Reversing his query, he also asked if
anyone had noticed him go up, but he drew a blank here
likewise. There was therefore, he concluded, nothing sur-
prising or significant in Teal's failure to elicit the attention
of the villagers after leaving Willoughby. The night was
dark, and once the Soldier had filled up there were few
people abroad; it seemed probable that Teal might have
made a complete tour of the village without being remarked.
The Sergeant's last call was at the post office. This did
not lie on the route he had been exploring, but he had a
nodding acquaintance with Isaac Knowles, the postmaster,
th
ca
di
[62]


HANGING JUDGE
u
nterest
and he hoped a few words might not be wasted. As a mat-
ter of fact, he did gain something, though it did not appear
to be very important.
Isaac had noticed among the letters from the box he had
handed that morning to Davis, the postman, a rather heavy
one in a long envelope which he believed had been posted
by Teal. When pressed for his reason for this belief he
said it was in a strange handwriting, and addressed to some
place in America, New York State, he thought it was, and
who in the village would be writing to America? This did
not seem to Scotton to be very conclusive, for the letter
might have been posted by a motorist or cyclist passing
through the village; but when this was put to him Isaac
came out with another reason. There'd been a letter through
the mail a few days before, posted at Moxton Post Office
and addressed to Mr. Willoughby in Moxton, which
seemed a funny thing; the letter could have been delivered
by hand, and saved time and a three-halfpenny stamp. The
handwriting was strange, and Isaac thought it must be that
of the ghost, as the only stranger in the village. The big
letter had been addressed in the same hand. No, he'd never
seen the ghost's handwriting.
On thinking it over Scotton concluded Isaac was prob-
ably right, for the first letter could easily have been from
Teal to Willoughby, making the appointment for Satur-
day, or asking for an interview. But the clue did not seem
no Olk
he wa
sked i
ther
entias
for
have
ked
di
da
[63]


H ANG I N G J U D G E
a
d
ti
b
to amount to much. The second letter, if addressed to the
United States, would probably be somewhere in London
now, hard to trace, and hardly worth tracing. Even assum-
ing that Teal was the writer, it was not, Scotton realized,
evidence of his presence in Moxton later than Saturday eve-
ning, for the box had not been cleared between six P.M. on
Saturday and early on Monday morning.
Nevertheless, the Sergeant made a mental note to follow
the matter up by questioning Davis and the Sutton Thorpe
Post Office staff; the address, if remembered, might afford
a clue to Teal's background. At the moment there seemed
to be nothing to do except wait for Willoughby; but as he
approached the Soldier again he saw a car drawn up out-
side which he knew to belong to Cokingham. And in the
bar, to his considerable surprise, he found Fred Mason
talking to a man whom he recognized as the Chief Con-
stable of the County.
0
M
U
2
“Hello, Scotton, glad to see you.” Sir George greeted the
Sergeant with that easy affability which, free from any
trace of condescension, customarily procured eager devo-
tion and loyalty from his subordinates without any loss of
dignity.
“Good afternoon, Sir George.” Scotton was aware that
the Chief was staying at Cokingham and that he had taken
[ 64 ]


H A N GING J U D GE
me
foi
joi
de
du
QU
OUT
"You're not suspecting him of dirty work, are you?"
"Hardly that, sir. But he must know something."
"I agree. . . . Well, we'd better have some lunch and
a drink. Can you do us bread and cheese, Mason?"
They loitered and chatted for the best part of an hour.
Archer, prior to his present appointment, had been the
governor of a large prison in Malaya. He had made an
exhaustive study of the psychology of the East Indians
with whom he had mostly had to deal and, in the face of
much quiet obstruction from official and unofficial quarters,
had set in hand a number of innovations in the treatment
of prisoners which had abundantly justified themselves by
the small percentage of criminals who returned to his
charge. He had had his failures, some of which he related
with a pleasant readiness to see a joke against himself.
Penology was evidently the prime interest of his life, and
he was hoping, when next a governorship to one of the
big prisons fell vacant, to step down to it from the com-
paratively inactive dignity of his present position. His out-
look was almost rank heresy to Scotton, who took an en-
tirely official view of convicted criminals; but the Sergeant
was fascinated by the new aspects opened on his own
trade, and he sensed a possibility that he might become a
better policeman for this contact.
Sir George handed Mary Reddish his card when the two
men reached Overstaithe. The girl returned after a mo-
MIC
ex
TI
at
W
d
V
[66]


H A N GING JUDGE
ment's disappearance to show them into a plainly but com-
fortably furnished drawing room. There they were shortly
joined by Mr. Willoughby, followed by Mary bearing a
decanter of port and glasses. Willoughby's face was slightly
flushed, as though he had already helped himself gener-
ously from this or some other decanter, but he was obvi-
ously in an excellent humor.
"You'll take a glass, gentlemen?" he invited, with some-
thing of the grand manner. “It's Cockburn of a good year
-quite drinkable.”
“Thank you,” said Sir George, and helped himself. Scot-
ton followed suit rather sheepishly. They exchanged com-
monplaces for a few moments, and then Willoughby, un-
expectedly expansive, plunged in medias res.
"I'd like to flatter myself that you are merely paying a
social call on an old man who is a great deal alone,” he
said. "But the presence of our good friend from Sutton
Thorpe"-he indicated Scotton with a condescending wave
- seems to rule that out. I take it you want to ask me
about this man Teal, who I understand has left the district
without giving any account of himself.”
Sir George took it on himself to answer.
“Yes. Of course there may be nothing in it at all, but
he left his baggage behind, and when he last left the Sol-
dier he made it quite clear he intended coming back. We're
very sorry to trouble you, but no one here knows a thing
[67]


H A N GING JUDGE
نة
=
h
for
he
about him, and as he appeared to have some business with
you we thought you might be able to give us some infor-
mation about his background. Whether for example you
know of any relatives or friends who may be able to throw
some light on the matter."
Mr. Willoughby shrugged his shoulders.
“I'm afraid not. There's no secret about his business with
me, if that's what he called it. The man did me a service
about fifteen years ago in London--to be precise he saved
my life, pulling me onto the pavement when I'd slipped in
front of a motor bus. From time to time since he has come
to me for financial help, which I've generally given, as the
man's health is bad and he can't get regular work. As to
his background, I've no knowledge about it whatever. I
don't think he has any family living. I believe he used to
work in the building trade, but I'm a little vague even about
that. When I first knew him he was living in a poor lodg-
ing somewhere in Clapton. I suppose I must have known
the address some time, but I'm afraid I've no memory or
record of it now."
Scotton asked, "Was his visit on Saturday, sir, a sur-
prise one, or did he write making an appointment?”
Mr. Willoughby hesitated for a fraction of a second.
"It was a surprise. I had no knowledge he was in the
village; I hadn't seen him about the place.”
[68]


Η Α Ν GING J U DGE
ܝܢ
o
bi bi
ar
th
open. Indeed the only contents appeared to be a copy of
the Times weekly edition, a dirty shirt, and two rolled-up
pairs of dirty socks. The Sergeant picked up the shirt; and
as its folds loosened out something fell with a little thud
on the floor.
"Money, by Jove!” exclaimed Sir George. He picked
up a roll of notes and, slipping off the elastic band round
them, counted. “Fourteen pounds. What do you make of
that?"
“That he certainly hasn't vanished on purpose."
"No. And what did he want with Willoughby? This
must have been a small fortune to a chap in his position.”
Scotton reflected. "Mr. Willoughby said he didn't ask
for money.”
“Then what did he want with him? ...
D'you think it
could have been blackmail? Willoughby might have only
told us half the truth.”
Scotton shrugged his shoulders. "No evidence, sir. Still,
I agree we ought to hunt out a bit more about Willoughby.
. . . He's rather a mystery round here, you know, sir.
He'll come here for a week or two or a month or two at a
time. But I haven't heard of anyone who knows where he
lives when he's not here."
“It shouldn't be hard to find out. But he may not want
his other address known for quite legitimate reasons. You'd
fo
[72]


H A N G T N G JUDGE
*
1
1
better not tackle him personally again until you've tried
other lines of inquiry."
"Or until we know Teal has really disappeared. It's less
than forty-eight hours so far, sir.”
“That's quite true. Willoughby's idea about amnesia may
be quite sound from what I remember Teal had a sort of
brooding concentrated look, of a sort that often goes with
amnesia."
"Look here, sir."
Scotton was at the window. "What do you make of
that?"
On the outside ledge was a flat cake of sand, about a
foot by five inches.
“We'd better open the window," said Sir George. "It's
not locked.” He pushed up the lower pane and looked out.
"Well I know what it suggests to me.'
"A footprint?" hazarded Scotton.
“Yes. . . . But a footprint squashed out. As if some-
body had sat on it or knelt on it.”
"I believe you're right, sir. Only that makes it impossible
to identify."
“Unfortunately. ... But where does the sand come
from? You're not going to tell me that anyone would have
carried so large an amount on his shoes all the way from
the beach?"
14
1
11 11
ܝܘ
-
[73]
1


H A N GING JUD GE
gi
pi
It
pa
.
br
"I think I can explain that, sir,” said Scotton, with some
eagerness. “The Council are going to do some work on the
lane, and they've dumped a heap of sand and half a dozen
barrels of pitch right in the yard.”
"Let's see,” said Sir George. He looked out of the win-
dow. Immediately beneath it, at the same level as the bed-
room floor, was a flat roof. “What's that?"
“The garage.
“There are traces of sand there too. It looks as if some-
one has climbed on to the garage roof, and then into here.
. . And not so long ago. But if that's
so,
there ought
to be traces inside here, in the room. Let's have a look."
The carpet was a faded brown, rendering the search dif-
ficult. After about five minutes however, a small amount of
sand was brought to light, the greater part immediately
below the window sill. “There's no doubt about it, sir,"
said Scotton.
Sir George nodded. "We'd better take a look outside."
In the yard they found the heap of sand, and faint sug-
gestions of an undistinguishable footprint. “But how would
he have got up to the garage roof?” asked Sir George. “He'd
have needed a ladder."
"What about one of them barrels, sir? He'd only have
needed to move it a few yards, and then back again."
“If that's so, there should be some traces of it."
But here no conclusive evidence was forthcoming. The
Wi
an
it
th
th
W
[74]


HANGING J U D GE
ground in front of the garage was hard, and yielded no im-
pression. "Still,” said Sir George, "you're probably right.
It's the most likely way up. It wouldn't have needed any
particular activity either; the roof's quite low."
"Bit tough on a man with heart disease, don't you think,
sir?"
Sir George looked at the Sergeant intently.
"Meaning you don't believe it was Teal?”
"Well, I don't know. ... Only an idea, but I don't see
where it leads us.”
"I agree it seems absurd for Teal to have come back and
broken into his own room in this clandestine way. But if it
wasn't him, we have to presume it was a burglar, unless
and until we get some further light on the matter. And if
it was a burglar, why didn't he take anything? You'd
think he'd at least have forced open the bag."
“He may have been after bigger game.”
"Well why didn't he get it? Mason hasn't reported any-
thing missing, has he?"
"No, sir.”
“Or
any
alarm?"
"No. I'll have to ask him again.”
"You'd better. Of course this may have nothing to do
with our man at all. But it's queer. .
Sir George held out his hand.
“I must go now," he said. “Let me know how things go
•
.
[75]


HANGING
J u D G E
On the question of the presumed entry into Teal's room,
absolutely no further light was forthcoming. Fred Mason
had missed nothing, and could recall no night alarm. He
admitted however that his bedroom and Maud's were both
at the other side of the house, and neither of them was
likely to be awakened by anything happening on the ga-
rage side unless considerable noise was made. For the
present, at least, Scotton had to abandon this line of in-
quiry as a blind alley.
The attempt to trace the letter Teal had posted also led
nowhere. The postman, who had turned in his collection
without looking at individual letters, naturally could give
no help. The clerk who did the sorting at the Sutton Thorpe
Post Office was hardly more useful. The only unusual en-
velope he recalled was one in a strange handwriting for
the United States. It seemed highly probable that this was
Teal's letter, but the clerk could remember neither the ad-
dressee nor the address. The letter was doubtless already
on the high seas, and there seemed no possibility of tracing
it, even if the circumstances were held sufficient to warrant
an interference with post office regulations.
A call on Dr. Birch had confirmed Scotton's disbelief that
Teal had just wandered off on the tramp. A few days' hard
walking, the doctor asserted, would certainly have killed
him. He was not impressed by Scotton's hypothesis that
what Teal claimed to have done in the United States he
[77]


H A N G H N
J U DGE
o
a1
th
to
SU
C
W
M
T
M
te
could surely do again in England. The heart disease, Dr.
Birch said, was not of long standing, but it had obviously
taken a very rapid course lately; what might have been
possible a few months back was out of the question now.
Nevertheless Scotton, who knew as much about the falli-
bility of doctors as the next man, paid personal visits to
some half-dozen of the nearest Unions. He got accounts of
a few men vaguely answering Teal's description, but in
each case the follow-up proved disappointing. The Ser-
geant interviewed the railway staff of every station from
Winstanton to Overwells, and the conductors of every bus
plying in the district, and every car owner he could find
who might have picked up a stranger on the Saturday eve-
ning, but all without result. He visited likewise all the inns
or hotels within reasonable range, but could get no ac-
count of any stranger resembling Teal. A police notice was
issued, and plastered all over the county; and within a few
days the missing man was reported at Cromer, King's Lynn,
Norwich (twice) and Wroxham. Each of these trails Scot-
ton pursued with his usual patient industry, and each
proved abortive. Three of the men reported were traced;
one was not found, but the description given by the in-
formant was almost spectacularly unlike that on the police
bill; and in the last case (Wroxham) it turned out that no
likely stranger had been seen at all, and the informant was
SC
[78]


HA NG ING JUDGE ·
only concerned with ventilating some long-standing griev-
ance against the police.
In the meanwhile Scotton had not neglected Willoughby,
though the pressure of more urgent matters had caused him
to push that line of inquiry a little to the background. But
when he got round to it more seriously, he was not a little
surprised to learn that the statement he had made to the
Chief Constable, that nobody in Moxton seemed to know
Willoughby's permanent address, was literally true. Fred
Mason, who customarily drove him to and from Sutton
Thorpe station at the beginning and end of his visits to
Moxton, invariably received the first of these orders by
telegram from London. Mary Reddish, like her predeces-
sors, had been accustomed to receive by registered post
the key and a note (with no address) indicating her mas-
ter's time of arrival a day or two before. The small sprin-
kling of local gentry, with none of whom was Willoughby
on terms of more than nodding acquaintance, knew noth-
ing at all; and, what was more significant, Isaac Knowles
at the post office was equally ignorant.
“But surely,” Scotton protested to the Postmaster, “you
get letters readdressed to him here passing through your
hands sometimes?"
“Not a single one." Isaac replied. "Not during all the
time he's been here. The only letters he gets, aside from a
[79]


H A N GING JU DGE
yi
few local ones, are addressed here direct, Lunnon post-
mark. They generally come in a largish envelope; I reckon
there are often a goodish number of letters enclosed. And
the handwriting on the envelope's always the same.”
"Well, what about the other end. Doesn't he ever leave
a forwarding address when he goes away from here?”
“Never done it. To tell the truth, though, letters hardly
ever come for him when he's away. When one does, it's
delivered as usual, and just waits in his box till he comes
back."
The whole thing seemed to Scotton rather fishy. He was
tempted to ask the Postmaster to hold up the next letter
that came from London. But he doubted his ability to get
the necessary authority to intercept and examine Wil-
loughby's correspondence; it was not as if the man was
definitely under suspicion of any misdemeanor. Besides the
mystification might be a quite innocent one. It was not un-
usual for a man to want to separate his working and holi-
day lives. Willoughby might be some sort of bigwig, who
would be exposed to publicity and annoyance if his true
identity became known in Moxton.
On the whole, however, the Sergeant decided against
questioning Willoughby directly. But on the day following
his interview with Isaac Knowles an idea occurred to him.
Early in the afternoon he appeared in the bar of the Sol-
dier, and got Fred Mason aside.
[ 80 ]


H A N GING JUDGE
"Look here, Fred,” he said. “You always drive Wil-
loughby to Thorpe station when he leaves here, don't
you?"
Fred replied “That's right, Sarge."
"Well, I want you to do something for me. When he
orders your car this time, step over to Isaac's and phone
me right away. I'm going to find out where he comes from,
and looks as if I'll have to take a trip to London to do it.”
Fred made a grimace.
“Good idea, Sarge,” he said. “But you're too late. I drove
him down to catch the 9:40 this morning—more'n a week
before I expected."
Scotton swore.
[81]


de
in
Chapter Six
O
ca
be
bat
10
1
N a Sunday afternoon, about three weeks after
Teal's disappearance, one Alfred Motley, retired
boat builder, and present parish clerk of Mox-
ton, was proceeding up the lane to Evening Service with
his wife. He was, as was not unusual at this hour of the
week, in a towering rage; the pink tip of his long, thin nose
twitched, and his double cascade of mustache worked up
and down as he chewed venomously at his upper lip.
There were two main reasons for his anger. The first, a
chronic one, was the failure of his digestion to cope peace-
fully with a high tea consisting mainly of stewed tea and
a leathery ham. The second was his misfortune in cutting
himself at his ceremonial Sunday evening shave. This had
not only been painful and inconvenient, but it had made
him late, leading to a third and ancillary cause and symp-
tom of malaise, a fussy and hurried gait to which his age
and figure were unsuited.
bre
the
8a]
da
pri
the
Pe
lag
[ 82]


H A N G I N G
JUDGE
f
Nevertheless, as he passed Art Turvey's cottage he sud-
denly halted. He threw his head upwards, and his nose
began to twitch even more violently, the tip indeed seem-
ing, trunklike, to stretch out and explore into the upper air.
"You get it, Mabel?” he asked.
Mrs. Motley sniffed a little herself, and then hazarded:
"Drains?"
Alfred shook his head.
"That rubbish pit,” he diagnosed. “That ain't drains.
Dead cat, more like."
"Seems to me to come more from Willoughby's.”
"The rubbish pit,” repeated Alfred obstinately. “Dead
cat, or dog. Blasted scandal. If Art Turvey don't do 'is job
better’n that, 'e'll ’ave to GO."
"Oh, come ON, Alf,” urged his wife impatiently. "We're
late enough as it is.”
Vituperating slightly, Alfred moved on. ... A stiff
breeze had risen by the time the churchgoers returned, and
the smell was less evident. The wind increased to a full
gale, blowing throughout the night and most of the next
day; nevertheless Alfred, with a devotion to duty that was
proof against any elemental disturbance, set out early in
the morning to interview Art Turvey.
Art, in his years of retirement, supplemented his Old Age
Pension by acting as custodian of the pit to which the vil-
lagers consigned their refuse. The work was not onerous,
[83]


HANGING JUDGE
ha
re
pi
is
for the rubbish was periodically removed by contract, a
task in which Art had no hand. But he received the sum of
two and six a month from the parish for his services, which
he conscientiously declined to look on as a sinecure. Every
morning after breakfast he would go down to what might
be called his office and, standing at the edge of the lane
overlooking the pit, would put in a steady half-hour's work
contemplating the litter therein. Sometimes he was even
observed to descend into the depths, where he would
empty a tin into which rain water had fallen, or move a
piece of orange peel into a more orderly position.
“But there ain't no dead cat, Mr. Motley,” he protested,
when the parish clerk challenged him. “Nor dog. Nor ’orse,
nor elephant. I just been down; you can come and see for
yourself.”
"Well, there's a smell,” replied Alf bluntly. "What are
you goin' to do about it?”
But Art was not going to be drawn into accepting re-
sponsibility for anything outside his legitimate sphere.
"If it ain't in the pit, it ain't my affair,” he insisted with
firmness. “As to the smell, I got it myself yesterday. Seemed
to come from Willoughby's."
"Willoughby's wouldn't ’ave a smell,” retorted Alf curtly.
He recalled that he had contradicted his wife on that point
last night. “You'd better investigate it proper, Art Turvey."
A heavy squall of rain now blew up, and the two men,
ol
Be
st
in
S1
[ 84]


HANGING
GING JUDGE
who had been standing at Art's door, retreated partly into
the cottage.
"I'll 'vestigate, Mr. Motley," conceded Art. "When it
dries up. Can't do nuffin' in this muck. But I'll 'vestigate
as a favor I tell you it ain't in the pit.”
They bickered about it as the rain fell. It was half an
hour before a slight lull enabled Alfred to get away. Art
regarded his retiring figure as he plunged sloshing and drip-
ping through the mud with a look of malice.
"Smell!” he exclaimed contemptuously. “'E's a smell
'isself.”
2
By the first post on this Monday morning Fred Mason
had received a letter. It was from a stranger, who turned
out to be a friend of his late father's sister. It appeared that
Bertha Mason was ill with dysentery in her home in Win-
stanton, and had expressed a wish to see her nephew. Fred
had an affection for his Aunt Bertha, and also a warm feel-
ing toward the house and savings which, as the old lady's
only surviving near relative, he might reasonably expect to
come his way. Deciding to obey the summons, he left in-
structions with Maud to open the house if he was late, and
drove off, reaching Winstanton at half-past three.
He found his aunt less sick than the letter had led him
to believe, but in a very peevish condition, because her
[85]


HANGING J U DGE
Sa
the
att
wi
of
"
L
for
rubber hot-water bottle (her life, as she described it) had
been dropped at a refilling by the servant, and the stopper
had broken. Fred instantly offered to go out and buy her
another bottle, but that was not the way Aunt Bertha (on
whose reptuation for economy Fred built high hopes) man-
aged things. She directed her nephew to Jacket's, a store
for miscellaneous second hand gear, a few streets' distance
away; Jacket would probably find among his stock an old
stopper that would fit.
Jacket's proved to be an exceptionally dirty and disor-
derly little junk shop. It also appeared, on Fred's arrival,
to be untenanted, but a third tug at the crazy bell pull
brought from the back a presumptive Mr. Jacket, lean, con-
sumptive looking, with Stevensonian hair and mustache and
a lot of wet cement on his hands.
“I think I've got one or two,” he said, in answer to
Fred's
query,
and ran his
eye over some shelves. "Yes, that
cardboard box up there .. d'you mind, o’man? Me
'ands.”
By standing on tiptoe Fred was just able to reach the
box Mr. Jacket had appeared to indicate; but directly he
had dislodged it the shopkeeper said: "Not that one, them's
rings. . . . Never mind, put it down now, I'll move it back
later.. Just behind the bottle.”
There were a couple of stoppers in the correct box, and
Fred was lucky enough to find one that fitted fairly well.
Wa
yo
an
si
[86]


Η Α Ν GING
Ju D G E
As he replaced the other one in the box a glint of dull gold
caught his eye.
"You've got one of the rings mixed up in this lot,” he
said, and removed it. He was on the point of putting it in
the other box, when something about the ring caught his
attention. It was a signet ring, a plain affair of rolled gold
with a bloodstone, on which was engraved a stag's head.
"Where'd you get this, old chap?” he asked, in a tone
of subdued excitement.
“That?" Mr. Jacket took the ring and squinted at it.
"Lemme see.
Yes, I remember, bought it nigh on a
fortnight ago.”
"D'you mind telling me who sold it to you?”
“An old party. Countryman 'e was.”
"Could
you
describe him, like, old chap?"
"A shaky ol' party. Lot o white moss all over 'is dial.
No teeth.”
Fred nodded. “I think I know him. . . . Anything about
his nose?"
"Yes, now I come to think of it, 'e'd a sort of bluish
wart on his boko. . You ain't sayin' it's stolen, are
you?"
“Do'know," answered Fred pacifically. “Not your fault,
anyway. But I'd like to buy it off
you,
if it ain't expensive.”
"Well I gave the ol' party five bob. What you say to
six?"
.
[87]


H A N G H N G
J U D G E
--
ti
"I'll take it," said Fred. He plumped down the money
and made to leave the shop. “ 'Ere, what about your stop-
per?" called out Mr. Jacket.
Fred returned, completed the transaction, and hurried
out again. He had something more interesting to think
about than stoppers.
P
el
3
Si
fo
be
he
ag
"I knew it at once, Sarge.” In Sergeant Scotton's little
office, about three hours later, Fred Mason was stating his
case.
Scotton turned the ring over. "Queer thing for a chap
like Teal to have,” he observed. “It's not worth much, but
it looks classy, with the crest. You'd think it belonged to
some good family."
"It didn't belong to his family. He told me about it, one
day when he'd lost it, and I found it in the bathroom. It
was given to him by a man he fished out of the Thames,
years ago. The chap was a gent, but down on his luck. He
told Teal he hadn't any money, but gave him the ring-
pressed it on him, he said.”
It crossed Scotton's mind that Teal seemed to have spe-
cialized in lifesaving.
“M’m. Well did this fellow in the shop remember when
he got it?"
"That's what I'm coming to. Naturally I asked him, an’
bi
be
th
he
[88]


H A N GING JUDGE
he told me a fortnight ago, and gave me an exact descrip-
tion of—who d’you think, Sarge?"
"Not my job to guess.
"Old Art Turvey! Right down to that blue mole of his.
Paid him five bob for it. And that's not all, Sarge, I know
exactly when it was. Three Saturdays ago, Art took the
bus to Winstanton. You know they issue a cheap return on
Saturdays. And when he came back he had a bit of money
in his pocket-he had a couple of extra pints every night
for three days after that."
The Sergeant looked more interested. The Teal case had
been in the slow process of dying a natural death. When
he had thrown in his hand an Inspector from Norwich had
come down, gone pretty exactly over the ground Scotton
had traversed with no better result, and recommended
against pursuing further investigations, in view of the lack
of evidence of any foul play. The Inspector's failure was
consoling to Scotton's dignity, but he remained irritated
by the sense of an opportunity lost.
"Might lead to something," he said noncommittally. "I'll
be up to see about it tomorrow."
Fred, in the grip of a bad attack of detective fever,
thought this very dilatory.
"Why not let me run you up to see Art now, Sarge?"
he pleaded. "Strike while the iron's hot."
Scotton shook his head.
[89]


HANGING JUDGE
ne
pra
wa
Dad
"Might just as well make sure of our ground first. It
may be a different ring, and the fellow who sold it might
not be Art Turvey. If I get this man Jacket over from Win-
stanton to identify, we'll have something to go on. Mean-
while, say nothing about it.”
Fred agreed, although a little disappointed. ... His
spirits, however, revived when, at about twelve o'clock next
morning, a police car from Winstanton brought the Ser-
geant and Jacket to the doors of the Soldier. Now it hap-
pened that only ten minutes earlier Fred had seen Art pass
the inn and turn fifty yards down the Overwells road as far
as Alf Motley's, and he was in fact at this moment to be
seen conversing with the parish clerk at his gate. The cir-
cumstances hardly permitted a properly regulated identi-
fication parade, but the Sergeant took Jacket for a stroll
in the direction of the post office, telling him to keep his
eyes open.
"That's the ol' party,” said Jacket confidently, directly
they were out of earshot of the pair. “Know him in a
million.”
They settled themselves in the bar of the inn, and when
Art passed the corner on his way home Fred went out and
called him inside. Art, upheld by the hope of a free pint,
needed no urging; but when he saw the Sergeant and Jacket
his face fell. Scotton wasted no time.
"Now, Turvey, you know me, and I see you know
pes
w
ing
al
Z
[90]


E
H A N GING JUDGE
رر
..
ock me
he &
first Jacket here. So I reckon you understand what we want to
talk about."
Art tried to bluster. “Do' know what yer mean. I never
seed this bloke, do' know him from Adam.”
"That so?" retorted Scotton tersely. “Then maybe you've
never seen this ring either?"
Art began to blubber. "I ain't done nothing wrong," he
protested. "If it got throwed away, that means it weren't
wanted, don't it? Wot I find in the pit's my perkisits, ain't
that so?"
"So you found it in the pit?"
"Ain't I tellin' you? Of course I did, nigh on three week
back.”
hed
"And you don't know who it belongs to ?”
"Course I don't. Never set eyes on it before.”
"Well I'll tell you. It belongs to Teal. And he's disap-
peared, and now his ring turns up in your possession.
What have you got to say to that?”
Art swallowed once or twice, but had apparently noth-
ing to say
“Going to tell me he chucked it into the pit himself?”
Art managed: 'Taint for me to say 'ow it got there;
all I knows is I found it there."
This was logical, and Scotton realized that evidentially
he was on weak ground. He felt sure, however, that Art
knew more than he had told, though, in view of his age
Tau
23
[91]


H AN GING JUDGE
set
turt
tot
mai
Wit
ther
and infirmities, he could hardly be suspected of any des-
perate enterprise.
gar
“Now look here, Turvey,” he said, in a gentler tone.
“This is a serious matter. I don't suppose you've done any.
thing we can't forget about if we want to. But you've got
to tell me the truth. We'll find out in the end anyway, only hel
if you obstruct us you can get into pretty bad trouble. but
Now I'm going to give you one more chance. Where did
you
find this ring?"
"I bin tellin' you, in the pit," Art repeated pleadingly.
But his assurance was going.
lone
"All right,” Scotton snapped. “Well you'll have to come
back to the station with me. I shall hold you on the charge
of stealing by finding, until we get evidence for a more
serious charge.”
On this Art collapsed, and presently came out with a
story which Scotton decided was the truth. It seemed that up
on Boxing Day Art had put on his best suit and called at
Overstaithe with the purpose of wishing Mr. Willoughby The
the compliments of the season. He did not see Willoughby, plic
but was offered through Mary Reddish a shilling for the
job of sweeping the garden free of leaves. This was very
much what he had expected, experience having taught him
that Willoughby seldom gave anything for nothing, but the
bargain was a good one, the only leaves being the last
scant droppings from a single ash tree in the lane. So he
S
was
sion
wal
offic
(
ings
api
mai
mid
[92]


Η Α Ν GING JUDGE
the kitchen garden? And why should he have dropped his
ring there?
He was still deliberating when the solid figure of the
parish clerk passed through the gate and found the little
group. “ 'Allo, Scotton,” he said, in a tone faintly patroniz-
ing. “What
you
doin' 'ere?”
The Sergeant replied, slightly nettled. “Come to that, Mr.
Motley, what are you?”
Alfred blew out his cheeks. “ 'Ficial business," he replied,
with importance. “This smell. . . . Art Turvey swears it
comes from `ere."
Scotton inhaled. “Yes, it's pretty fierce. Know what it
is?”
“Dead cat, I say,” replied the parish clerk, and added
reluctantly, “Look's as if Art's right. Stronger than ever
here. Looks as if someone's throwed a dead cat in the well."
Scotton suddenly met Fred Mason's eye. ... Suppressing
something very like a gasp, he said in his normal voice,
“Yes, we'd better look into it.”
He moved to the well in two swift steps. The windlass
was rusted and the rope broken. The well itself was uncov-
ered. Scotton looked down into the black depths. Nothing
was visible; but he withdrew his head rather sharply.
"Can you get me a rope, Mr. Motley?" he asked, in an
altered tone. “I'm going down.”
han
you
S.
to
says
POSE
awa
S
thin
help
A
stat
[94]


li
Chapter Seven
1
T
HE car containing Inspector Vincett and Dr. Blades,
arriving at Sutton Thorpe at about half-past four,
was met at the police station by Scotton.
"Got
your call just in time," said Vincett, as they shook
hands. “I was just off to Lynn to look at a burglary. ... So
you've found the party?"
Scotton made a grimace. "What's left of him.”
"Pretty far gone, eh?”
"I've seen worse, at that, considering the time. Dr. Adams
says the water and the cold would have delayed decom-
position."
"It would,” agreed Dr. Blades. “Can I do the P.M. right
away? I'm anxious to get back to Norwich tonight."
Scotton nodded. “The body's at the mortuary and
every-
thing's ready, doctor. You'll find Dr. Adams very glad to
help you."
A few minutes' walk brought the three men to the police
station. Scotton led the others to the mortuary, at the back,
[95]


H A N G I N G JUDGE
On
let-
gesi
glas
one
lou
where Dr. Adams, in a state of controlled fluster, was finish-
ing his preparations. After introducing the doctors Scotton
led Vincett, who took no more than one quick look at the
body, into his office, where they sat down and lit cigarettes.
“Well, old man,” said Vincett. “What have you got?"
He was a large, blond-mustached, affable man, with some-
thing of the look of an early Saxon. Cross-gartered (and
perhaps with a quarterstaff in his immense hands) one felt
that he would have made a more impressive showing than
in his not particularly well-fitting uniform.
“Quite a bit,” Scotton answered.
"Body identified all right?"
"No doubt about it. He's not so far gone as that, and be-
sides there are the clothes. Fred Mason's quite positive."
"Seem to be any doubt about his being drowned?"
"Can't say definitely yet. It's the presumption, of course,
and Dr. Adams, after a quick once-over said he couldn't
find any serious external injuries. But there's something I've
found.”
Scotton unlocked a drawer in his desk and pulled out a
transparent waterproof wallet and a handful of moist
papers. The latter he passed, one by one and rather gin-
gerly, over to the Inspector.
"These come from a queer sort of pocket inside the lin-
ing, somewhere near the armpit. It was a hidden pocket, a
homemade affair, as you'll see, and pretty well protected.
low
rela
put
whi
1
get
you
[96]


H A N GING JUDGE
.
One of the papers—there are bits of it sticking to the wal-
let-is pretty well spoiled. But the rest are all right. I sug-
gest you read them out.”
"All right.” Vincett unexpectedly produced a magnifying
glass from his pocket, and adjusted his chair. ... "This
one's quite clear—a birth certificate.”
"Yes," said Scotton quietly. "Notice the names."
"Frances Mabel Teal,” spelled out Vincett. “John Wil-
loughby. uh-huh.”
"Interesting, isn't it? Notice the date.”
“November 30th-thirty-five years ago."
"Just about Teal's age, so I'm told.”
"Any case, why should a man carry around another fel-
low's birth certificate?... Looks as if the poor chap was a
relative of Willoughby's. What is Willoughby's first name?"
"John.”
"Uh-huh.”
“That's not all. Take a look at some of those letters. I've
put them in order, as far as I can make it out."
Vincett took up the papers one by one, read out aloud
what was written on them, and put them aside.
The first was brief.
Make it 8:30 instead of 8, usual place, Thursday. I might
get there at 8, but am not sure, and don't want to keep
you waiting.
J.
[97]


H A N GING JUDGE
it's quite impossible for me to get to London before the
end of April.
Fond love,
J.
"That's not a pretty letter," commented Vincett. "You
notice the date?"
Scotton nodded. "About eight months before the birth
certificate. It's clear enough. ... Look at the next.”
"Why, it's typewritten!"
"Every word of it. Read it, and I think you'll see why."
Vincett read
DEAR MABEL,
I have been thinking things over, and I have strong hopes
that we will be able to manage after all. In fact, when I re-
turn to town I hope to have some good news for you. You
must forgive my last letter; I was in a bit of a panic, and
I'm afraid it was rather harsh. In fact, I am thoroughly
ashamed of it. Will you return it to me, or destroy it?
Promise faithfully, my dear; I couldn't bear to think that
you should ever see it again.
Your loving,
J.
Vincett grunted. “Evidence of admission of paternity. ...
That's April 3rd. The next is April 12th, also typewritten.”
ܝܲܙܐ
DEAR M.,
Will be back, with good news, next week. You didn't tell
me whether you had destroyed that other letter. Please do
so, and if you haven't, send it back to me.
Your loving,
J.
13
[99]


HANGING JUDGE
unfortunately, the spoiled one. The first page is pretty clear,
but the end of it is quite undecipherable. You'll see it's in
a different handwriting a woman's—and there's no doubt
it's a letter to Teal from his mother."
"No address," said Vincett. "Like all of them. And the
date just January 18th. So like a woman.”
He adjusted his magnifying glass, and read slowly:
MY DEAREST BOY,
These letters, the only ones I ever received from your
father, whom I knew as John Willoughby, will explain to
you how you came to be born. Even now, when I am dying,
and know you will not see this till I am dead, I cannot bear
to go into details with you, and I can only bring myself to
let you know the truth because your father, whose career
I have always followed, is elderly, successful, and childless.
It
may be that he is a better man now, and would welcome
the chance of making reparation for the wrong he did me
by helping his own child. You must forgive me, Bob, for the
lies I have told you. I know ..
painful to you as it is to me, and I
because your health has made it so hard for you to earn
.. have hardly anything to leave you.
After the last letter he wrote I never troubled .
.. chance that I found out, from a newspaper photo-
graph, who he really
I always suspected he
was leading a double ... parents were so vague. He
was then
now therefore a very important
... if you
.
1
.
.
( 101 ]


HANGING JUDGE
11
ស
sh
b
The rest of the letter was completely unreadable, except
for the signature on the third and last page, which was star-
tlingly clear—“Your loving mother, Mary Teal.”
The two men smoked in silence for a few moments. “I
suppose there's no question about it being our Wil-
loughby?" said Vincett at last.
"Not the slightest,” Scotton replied. “I have some writ-
ing of his here-application for a gun license. It's almost
exactly the same.”
"There seems to be no doubt he told us quite a few
tarradiddles. We ought to have followed him up more
closely."
Scotton recognized the gentle euphemism of the "we"
and the "us"; for Vincett had taken no part in the investi-
gation as long as Willoughby was available. He defended
himself uneasily.
“I don't see what we could have done before he slipped
away. Up to a point there was nothing particularly fishy
about him, he was just the last person to have seen Teal.
And he gave a perfectly satisfactory account of the inter-
view. Also, he's not the sort of man we can handle at all
roughly, unless definitely under suspicion. He's a gentle-
man, and he owns a small property here. He's got some
standing in the district.”
“Yet nobody knows anything of his life outside it.”
“That's true. It's pretty queer.”
It
V
SI
[102]


H A N GING JUDGE
"We shouldn't have much trouble in finding out if we
really get down to it. That last letter gives a hint that he's
a bit of a bigwig. Obviously the name's there, if we could
only read it."
Vincett took up the paper again, but after a close scrutiny
shook his head in exasperation.
"What about chemicals?” suggested Scotton.
"Too far gone, I'm afraid. ... Not that it matters much;
we can probably get all we want by opening Willoughby's
house. If we need to. What do you make of the case as it
stands at present?”
Scotton considered. “It couldn't have been an accident.
It's either murder or suicide, and I say suicide. Of course,
Willoughby might have pitched him in, but it sounds a bit
steep to me. Though he did tell us some lies."
"I wouldn't hold that against him. There's quite a good
reason for the lies, in these letters."
"Yes. . . . Motive seems a bit weak too, at present. But
Teal might have had a motive for suicide. His expectation
of life was short. Perhaps he tried to get Willoughby to
acknowledge the relationship and help him. Willoughby
refused, and Teal decided to do himself in. He might have
used Willoughby's garden just to spite him.”
“We must have a good look at the house and garden to-
morrow. In the meantime there doesn't seem to be much
we can do till we get the P.M. results."
[ 103]


H A N GING JUDGE
2
Doctors Blades and Adams worked late; but at last the
former joined the policemen in the office and, in response
to Vincett's unspoken query, announced laconically:
"He wasn't drowned.”
“That,” observed Vincett calmly, "makes it interesting.
You're quite sure?"
“Absolutely. No water in the lungs at all.”
"Bashed?" hazarded Scotton.
"No signs of it. Except for a few grazes probably from
the sides of the well, there are no marks of external vio-
lence.”
Vincett looked at the doctor shrewdly. "Am I to attach
any significance to the word 'external?"
Dr. Blades nodded. "I shall have to get back to Norwich
to do some analysis—I was given no reason to expect any-
thing of the sort and I haven't the means with me. I'll have
a proper report ready tomorrow morning, but in the mean-
time I don't mind telling you unofficially that I haven't the
slightest doubt about the cause of death."
"And that was?"
"Poisoning. By potassium cyanide. Taken in alcohol I
should say—probably brandy.”
“This is really quite out of the way," commented Vincett.
“We'd better take a look at Overstaithe right away."
PI
W
A
V
=
[ 104 ]


Chapter Eight
ܝܕ
IS
N the later editions of the most sensational and widely
read of the London evening papers there appeared the
following paragraphs:
NEW TURN IN MOXTON MYSTERY
STRANGER'S BODY FOUND IN WELL
The discovery of the body of the man Teal, who, as re-
ported in these columns, vanished from the Soldier Inn,
Moxton, North Norfolk, a few days before Christmas, has
given a dramatic new turn to a mystery which has given
the local police much concern lately.
Teal's body was found today at the bottom of a disused
well in the garden of Mr. John Willoughby of Overstaithe,
Moxton. It will be recalled that when Teal was last seen at
the Soldier he expressed his intention of visiting Mr.
Willoughby. From this meeting he never returned. Mr. Wil-
loughby is not at present in residence at Overstaithe.
[105]


Η Α Ν GI N G JUDGE
Mr. Alfred Motley, the parish clerk of Moxton and a
prominent figure in North Norfolk society, gave our cor-
respondent a vivid description of the finding of the body,
which was largely due to his own acumen.
“I had noticed an unpleasant smell coming from Mr. Wil-
loughby's garden. This aroused my suspicions, and in my
capacity as parish clerk I arranged for an investigation. On
proceeding to conduct this I fell in with Sergeant Scotton of
the Norfolk Constabulary, who was investigating Teal's
disappearance. As a result of what I told him Sergeant Scot-
ton descended into the well and after some difficulty came
up with Teal's body. It was in a ghastly condition and had
obviously been in the water several weeks.
“The brickwork of the well, which is nowhere near the
garden path, is raised at least two feet above the ground,
and I do not see how it would have been possible for Teal
to fall in accidentally.
"Unfortunately Mr. Willoughby, who might be able to
throw some light on the matter, is away. He is in the habit
of paying regular visits to Overstaithe, which is his prop-
erty, but no one here knows anything of his life outside.
He is believed to be a schoolmaster in Lancashire."
The inquest will be held at Sutton Thorpe on Friday. The
police are believed to be confident of reaching an early solu-
tion of the mystery.
Vincett and Scotton, after an exhaustive but finally not
unprofitable all-night search at Overstaithe, were finishing
their breakfast at the Soldier Inn next morning when Fred
[106]


Η Α Ν
J U D G E
GING
en and
eht
ul
at So
db
Ear
ETOUN
Mason brought them the paper and pointed out the article.
"Chap came after me too,” he commented. “But I gave
him no change. I thought I ought to show you."
“The blasted fool!” exclaimed Scotton. “I told
everyone
present to keep their mouths shut, that I'd see to the papers.
Now, of course, Willoughby will bolt."
But when the two officers went round to Motley's cot-
tage the parish clerk listened to Scotton's invective with a
stolid silence, not unmingled with complacency.
"You can't talk to me that way, George Scotton,” he said.
"I know the lor. I represent this parish, and the public too,
for that matter, and I ain't goin' to 'ave this 'ushed up.
know how you police work—all secrecy. Publicity, that's
what you want, in a case like this.”
“You may get a bit more publicity than you fancy," ob-
served Vincett, "if you have to answer a charge of obstruct-
ing the course of justice.”
Motley's face turned a pasty shade. “That's all non-
sense,” he muttered. "I know the lor.”
Vincett shrugged his shoulders. “All the same you'll be in
trouble if Willoughby isn't found owing to your talk. And
you will in any case if you open your mouth again.”
“That ain't the lor," insisted Motley, with less confi-
dence. But when Scotton and Vincett had left he picked up
his copy of the newspaper, which had been specially dis-
1
ablet
e hall
i pri
VIEW
J.
lyn
[ 107]


HANGING JUDGE
patched to him the night before, and read down the column
once more with a smirk of self-satisfaction.
“Civil young fellow," he murmured.
In this fashion, with consequences unforeseen by every-
one concerned, did the British public become aware that
John Willoughby was suspect of Teal's murder.
2
"Not even a photograph,” said Scotton with bitterness.
Certain momentous discoveries had been made in Over-
staithe; but among them was no vestige of a clue to Wil-
loughby's identity or life outside the village. Vincett shook
his head.
"It looks like a dead end,” he said. “And now he's on his
guard, time is important. We've got to find him quickly."
“Question is, where to look.”
"Well, I think we can rule out the Lancashire schools.
That's only what he told Fred Mason—the best person to
put some story around to stop the village from getting too
curious. His notes to Mary Reddish and his telegrams to
Fred came from London. That wouldn't contradict his
Lancashire story, because a man might naturally avoid the
nasty cross-country journey by spending a night or two in
London.”
“Doesn't mean he lives in London, though.”
"No-but it's our best bet for getting a line on him.
[ 108 ]


H A N GING JUDGE
Colum
even
eta
mnes
We'd better try the L.N.E.R. and Liverpool Street, for what
they're worth.”
“All right if the railway people know him," agreed Scot-
ton. "But if they don't, we'll be pretty helpless without a
picture."
"Wouldn't there be anything in the local rags? After all,
you have a regatta here every year; there might be some-
thing in a group.”
"Can't remember anything. Seems to me, if he was so set
on living a separate life here, he'd have been pretty careful
to keep out of any photograph.”
“That's true. We can look up the files, of course.
Here's an idea; is there any sort of an artist living in Mox-
ton?"
"Artist?” Scotton considered. "Not that I know of.
There's Miss Rushby at the school, of course. She's not a
professional, but I believe she spends most of her spare
time sketching on the Staithe. What's the idea?”
"She might do us a sketch of Willoughby. Come on, let's
O
sheck
be
on 11
8 m
ns #
try her.”
It's
tik
70
"That's a notion,” said Scotton.
They found Miss Rushby, a formidably athletic but by
no means unattractive young woman of thirty, vigorously
at work scrubbing desks in preparation for the term about
to begin. She smiled when Vincett made his request.
"I'll have a shot," she said. “But you musn't expect too
him
[ 109 ]


H ANGING JUDGE
much from memory; I'm not a real artist anyway. But I
know pretty well what Mr. Willoughby looks like, and I
have sometimes been lucky in catching likenesses.”
For a few minutes she fiddled experimentally with a piece
of charcoal and a Whatman board; then tore off a sheet
and attempted a careful drawing. Scotton looked earnestly
over her shoulder.
"Suppose you have a smoke and leave me to it," suggested
Miss Rushby presently. "It'll really be quicker that way in
the end.”
Scotton took the hint, and waited as patiently as he
could. Miss Rushby tore up one sheet in annoyance, but
finally offered the block for inspection.
"I don't think I'll do better than that,” she said. “I've
exaggerated the points a bit, without making it a carica-
ture. Superficially, he's a very easy subject.”
"It looks prime to me," said Vincett. “But you know the
man, Scotton; what do you say?"
"It's the spit of him.” Scotton examined the sketch ad-
miringly. "Better than a photograph-sort of sharper.”
They thanked the schoolmistress and left. “We can give
that to the press now the hunt is up,” said Vincett. “But I'd
like to try it along the railway first. ... Let's get back to
Thorpe; I want to call Norwich.”
Scotton had one or two matters of routine to attend to
in the town, and left Vincett at the police station. When
[110]


H A N GING JUDGE
he returned at the end of half an hour the Inspector had fin-
ished his phoning.
“When's the next London train?” he asked.
Scotton looked at his watch. “Sixteen minutes," he said.
"Well, we're taking it.”
"Me too?"
"You too. I'll need you for positive identification, if we
happen to be lucky. I've got the authority; all you've got to
do is to make arrangements here."
Scotton nodded. “That's all right; I can tell Thompson
to call up Sergeant Hart at Cokingham if anything turns up.
... What about the doctor's report?”
“Dr. Blades was right. Teal died from a shot of potassium
cyanide. Clears things up a bit, doesn't it?”
"Yes. Now all we have to do is to find our man."
3
The train stopped for twenty minutes at King's Lynn
without obliging passengers to change their coach, but Vin-
cett and Scotton dismounted, and cross-examined as many
of the station staff as was feasible in the time. Willoughby
was not known by name here, but Miss Rushby's sketch
procured immediate recognition from a newsboy and the
guard who joined the train at this point. The newsboy was
merely certain that he had seen the gent some time, but the
guard stated that the subject of the sketch had for some
[111]


H A N GING JUDGE
time been a recurring first-class passenger to London at
long but regular intervals. He had never sought any services
or given any tips, and his baggage had never displayed any
clue to his destination more exact than Liverpool Street.
This hardly carried the matter further, nor did the evi-
dence of the attendant of the dining car that was put on
at Ely. Lunch was served on this car and Vincett found
that Willoughby had used it on infrequent occasions; the
waiter remembered him (from the sketch) as a solitary
man who buried himself behind a newspaper and seemed
to avoid company. On one occasion a gentleman who
joined the train at Cambridge had apparently recognized
him and attempted a conversation; Willoughby had ap-
peared displeased at the encounter and had rebuffed the
presumed acquaintance. An identification of the acquaint-
ance might have helped, but the waiter had never seen him
before or since.
The two detectives reached Liverpool Street in no very
hopeful frame of mind, and their first attempts at the sta-
tion were not encouraging. Certainly the ticket collector, to
whom they showed the drawing when the stream of pas-
sengers
had passed through the barrier, had an impression
that he had seen Willoughby, but, “I haven't a ghost of an
idea who he is,” he admitted. “There are a few regular
travelers on this route I know by name, but he's not one of
them.” None of the other collectors, nor any of the book-
[112]


H AN GING J U DGE
ing clerks on the Eastern Section got as far as recognition,
and when, as a last resort, Vincett procured an audience
with the stationmaster all that official could tell him was
that he believed the sketch to be the likeness of some poli-
tician, but he couldn't say who.
Vincett, however, would not admit defeat. He got the
stationmaster to introduce them to the Porters' room, where
he and Scotton established themselves comfortably and,
with unblushing repetitiousness, interrogated every porter
who came in. And in a little more than half an hour they
had their reward. After a single glance at Miss Rushby's
sketch a porter nodded and said:
"Yes, I remember the old boy. Got off the 2:30 from
Cambridge and Lynn a week or two ago. Traveled first
class and tipped thruppence.” He sniffed.
Vincett asked, "What did you do with him?"
"Put him on a taxi."
"Get the address?"
"No. But I know whose taxi it was. Fellow who works
here regular; very likely he's on the line now."
"I wish you'd take us and see.
Their luck held. Near the end of the line of waiting taxis
the man was located. With the help of the portrait and a
little prompting from the porter he recalled the fare, who in
this case also seemed to have impressed chiefly by the
meagerness of his tipping.
[113]


H A N G H N G
J U DGE
"It was one of the Southern Stations," he said. “Yes, I
remember—Victoria, South-Eastern Section.”
"Know where he went from there?"
"Haven't the faintest.”
"Did he give his luggage to a porter?”
"I don't think so. He only had one bag. I believe he car-
ried it into the station himself.”
“Looks like Victoria for us," said Vincett; and after
thanking their informants the men made their way to the
Metropolitan Station, thence into an Inner Circle train. “It's
something,” Vincett conceded. “Though of course he might
just have had a casual appointment at or near the station.
But it's more likely that he lives somewhere on the South-
ern Railway, and that should narrow the field.”
“I'd always supposed he lived in London,” Scotton ob-
jected. “Remember his telegrams to Fred Mason always
came from London."
“That's so." Vincett shrugged his shoulders. “Well, let's
put in an hour or two here, and if we don't get a line I'm
going to Scotland Yard. We've got good reason to suppose
he's a somebody, and they ought to be able to find out who.
Failing that we'll give the drawing and description to the
press. But I don't want to do that; it's quite on the cards
he missed that article, and if he has it's a pity to give him
a hint to bolt.”
At Victoria Vincett and Scotton went straight to the Sta-
[114]


H A N G H N O JUDGE
tionmaster, who proved briskly helpful. “Don't know the
fellow at all,” he said. “But I'll take you to the ticket col-
lectors who are on duty, then to those who aren't on duty
but who are at the station, and after that we'll think again.”
The first ticket collector ruminated over the picture: "I
swear I know that face. ... Some lawyer or actor-a big
pot anyway."
"You can't get closer than that?"
The man considered for a moment and then shook his
head. "I don't know that I've ever seen him, personally."
Vincett made a gesture to the Stationmaster. "I'm afraid
we're wasting your time and our own. We ought to have
gone straight to the Yard.”
The last words were addressed to his colleague. But the
Sergeant had turned away; he was looking at an elderly
man who had just passed, with some appearance of hurry,
through the next barrier.
Scotton seized his companion's arm.
"Believe it or not,” he said, “but that's Willoughby."
4
"You don't think it was a little premature to charge him?"
The Chief Constable was speaking. Vincett, on his ar-
rival with his prisoner at the Norwich Police Station late
on the same evening, had formally charged Willoughby with
Teal's murder. After a brief conversation with Dr. Blades,
[ 115 ]


HANGING J U D G E
who was at the station, he had then telephoned Sir George
Archer, and had been instructed by him to come to his
house immediately.
“I don't see that I had any option, sir,” he answered
slowly. “Without a charge, we would have had no excuse
for detaining him, and he might have slipped through our
fingers again.”
"You're convinced he's guilty?"
“It's what the Americans call an open and shut case, sir."
“Yes, it looks like it.” Sir George fingered some papers.
“What was his general reaction when you caught up with
him?"
"He was pretty cool. When I told him we would have to
talk to him, he suggested a move to the Grosvenor Hotel.
We did so, and I told him the facts, and asked him if he
was prepared to answer a few questions. 'Do you intend to
charge me with Teal's murder?' he asked, after thinking a
bit. I told him that depended on his answers. Then he said,
'I realize my position is an equivocal one, and I prefer to
say nothing at this stage.' Then I suggested he could answer
one question at least, what name did he go by outside Nor-
folk? He didn't answer. I asked him what his business was,
where he lived. He refused to tell me, so I warned him that
if he wasn't more helpful I would be bound to take him into
custody. 'You would take me to Norwich, I suppose?' he
[116]


HANGING JUDGE
za
--
asked, as if he wasn't at all surprised. I told him yes, and he
said he would not make any objection, provided I permitted
him a confidential conversation with his lawyer before he
left. I agreed to that and took him to a telephone booth
where he put through a call, and in less than twenty minutes
the lawyer turned up. He—the lawyer I mean—was an
elderly chap, very well dressed, and a lot more flustered
than Willoughby. Scotton and I kept an eye on them, but
out of earshot. They talked for the best part of half an
hour, and then Willoughby nodded to me, and said he was
ready to come. I asked the lawyer if he wished to come
too, but he said no, he would communicate with us later.
... We went back to Liverpool Street, and so on here. But
I left Scotton; I sent him to Scotland Yard with that draw-
ing, on the chance of someone there recognizing it. I'm
more convinced than ever that Willoughby's a bigwig."
"I think you're probably right,” said Sir George. He took
a paper from the top of his desk and pushed it over to
Vincett.
“That's a decoded version of a telegram I received just
before you got here."
Vincett read: "Satisfied John Willoughby innocent Teal
case. Drop all proceedings. Do not call at inquest. Press
open verdict. Written. West.” The Inspector raised his
eyebrows.
[117]


H A N GING JUDGE
"Well—who?" Sir George's voice was impatient.
"Sir Francis Brittain.”
2
5
Sir George broke a very long silence.
"I was brought up on the dogma that the law is no re-
specter of persons. ... I know it doesn't always work
out that way, but it always has wherever I've had any
authority. I'm a bit too old and set to care about changing
my ways now. The idea of a High Court Judge getting
clean away with a murder for which a lesser man would
have to stand his chance of hanging doesn't appeal to me.
Does this sound very revolutionary to you?"
Vincett considered.
"It is revolutionary, of course, sir," he answered at
length. "A policeman, that is if he's anything in his head
and heart at all, starts out with ideals the same as other
people—enforcing justice, protecting the weak, and so on.
But he pretty soon comes to find that his chief job is to
protect property and look after interests of the people who
own property. He has to overlook or tone down offenses
committed by people of position. You get it chiefly in
motoring cases. There was one just before you became
Chief, sir—that son of Lord Bell's, who killed a road man
who was cycling home near Fakenham. I not only had to
SA
.
•
[119]


H A N GING JUDGE
reduce the charge from 'reckless driving' to 'driving with-
out due care and attention,' but I had to suppress the fact
that he was simply stinking of whisky. Result-license en-
dorsed. ... It makes one a bit cynical, but we don't all
enjoy the process of learning on which side our bread's
buttered.”
Sir George nodded. “I see we're in agreement on prin-
ciple. Are we agreed explicitly on the facts of this case? I
mean that the Home Office, acting on information given by
Brittain's solicitor, has decided to instruct us to drop our
case in what it considers to be the public interest?"
"I've no doubt about it."
“No more have I. Would
you
like to see the game spoiled
without prejudice to your position?"
Vincett grinned. “You bet I would, sir."
“There's a way we can do it.” Sir George rose, pressed
the button of an electric bell, and remained standing in
front of the fire. To his butler, who entered a moment later,
he said:
“Weeks, what time did you receive that telegram?"
“About half an hour ago, sir.”
“You're wrong, Weeks. You've only just received it.
Here it is.” He took the orange envelope off the desk and
handed it to the man.
“Yes, sir," agreed Weeks, without change of expression.
Sir George went on:
( 120 )


H A N GING J U D G E
"As I am busy with Inspector Vincett, you think it ad-
visable not to interrupt me. Directly Inspector Vincett
leaves, you will bring me the telegram. Do you under-
stand?"
"Perfectly, sir.”
"Thank you, Weeks, that's all.” Sir George turned to
the Inspector when the butler had left. The two men
looked at each other unwinkingly for a few seconds. Then
Sir George cleared his throat and said: “Well, Vincett, this
message you've just had from Scotton is rather a knockout.
The case will make a big sensation. . . . We've been a bit
close with the press so far-I think we might give them
this, don't you?" He sat down and put his hand on the
telephone.
Vincett answered solemnly. “I agree with you, sir. It'll
cause less of a scandal if it's broken gently."
“Just what I thought,” said Sir George.
He took off the receiver.
[ 121 ]


=
Chapter Nine
0
t
a
1
T
-
ܢܘ
wo days later Sutton Thorpe underwent an as-
tounding metamorphosis.
An annual fair, taking place in the little township
at midsummer, commonly attracted visitors from a radius
of about twenty miles. Also, on one occasion the local foot-
ball team had won through the qualifying stages to the first
round proper of the F.A. Cup and, entertaining a popular
second division team, had received an influx of visitors
which, whether estimated in terms of gate money, trade,
or mere excitement, had provided ample compensation for
a hammering by six goals to one. But there was absolutely
no comparison between those visitations and the invading
armies that were flung upon the town on the day of the
inquest on the body of one Teal (Christian name unknown).
Close on a thousand people had braved the discomforts
of the all-night train from London (seven hours, including
( 122 ]


H A N GING JUDGE
Ni
an a
the wait at King's Lynn), and two relief trains had been
hurriedly put together to supplement the 9:20 from Nor-
wich. At least one private motor bus had been chartered
from every town of any size in the neighborhood, and on
the regular bus routes the conductors soon ceased implor-
ing the observance of the regulations limiting the number
of passengers. By nine o'clock every road approaching the
town was like the Brighton Road on August Bank Holiday;
a complete impasse was reached within a quarter mile of
the market square, and a number of motorists abandoned
their cars and finished the journey on foot. Some thirty
policemen had been rushed up by R.A.F. planes from Bock-
ing, but for a long time their efforts to keep the streets clear
and the generally well-dressed crowd orderly were quite
unavailing.
The Trust House, the Kesteven Arms had received tele-
phone calls booking all its accommodation early the morn-
ing before. By evening the other two hotels, the Polish
Count and the Goat were also full, and the first outposts
of the army were making a house-to-house visitation, offer-
ing fantastic sums for the most inadequate shelter. Money
flowed like water; the two bakeries, Branch's and the
Purity, had the utmost difficulty in preserving bread to ful-
fill their regular orders; milk and cheese were all but unob-
tainable; at the grocers' there was a run on tinned and bot-
tled foods equal to a month's normal demand; publicans
al foc
he is
visitas
trace
on ta
olete
dini
JWT
ha
[ 123 ]


Η Α Ν GI N G
JU D G E
t
le
=
le
CI
$1
ir
0
ܢܘ
sweated and exulted. Profiting by the fine weather, Stay-
bright, the confectioner, who had been told that his little
girl's incipient tuberculosis would become very serious if
she did not spend the rest of the winter in a milder climate,
set up a stand outside his shop and, dispensing tea at six-
pence a cup from two dubious-looking urns, made, together
with the sale of half his stock of sweets, enough to send
the child to Bournemouth for three months. Visions of mort-
gages paid off, County Court summonses deferred sine die,
new clothes given to children who had gone without for a
year and more, were abroad through the land.
All this because, on the morning before the inquest, the
newspapers had printed the news that the man known at
Moxton as John Willoughby, whom everybody believed
to be Teal's murderer, was in reality the famous "hanging
Judge," Sir Francis Brittain, and had been arrested; also
in a lesser degree because it had less ostentatiously become
known that Sir George Archer, the recently appointed
Chief Constable of the County, had offered his resignation,
which had been accepted.
ir
II
0
2
The inquest started an hour late, because a number of
persons bound to be present (including the Coroner and
several jurymen) had been unable to fight their way through
[ 124 ]


E
HANGING JUDGE
er,
his L
Eerita
a ali
togee
to se
of mu
sine a
put for
the press unassisted. Of the five or six thousand unprivi-
leged members of the general public who had come to the
town, room was found in the little Church House for rather
less than fifty.
When at last everything was ready, the proceedings
commenced almost before those present realized it. The
swearing in of the jurors was followed by a considerable
interval; and presently people became aware that the Cor-
oner, Edwin Thomas, Medical Officer for the district, and
a great huntsman, was not, as they had supposed, mutter-
ing to himself, but addressing the Court. The adjustment
had barely been made (though few of the words caught)
before the Coroner's Officer, who had so far appeared the
most important person on the scene, called out at the top
of his voice "Frederick Mason," and the landlord of the
Soldier, after an unsuccessful attempt on the jury box, was
safely cajoled into the right position.
Fred's evidence was brief, amounting to little more than
a statement that he had seen the body and identified it as
that of his lodger, whom he knew by the name of Teal
alone. With some difficulty he was dissuaded from qualify-
ing his identification by remarks, on the subject of post-
mortem changes, promising to be lurid.
He was followed by Dr. Blades, who seemed ill at ease.
But with the help of the Coroner his evidence was rushed
TOWN
beliai
handi
beciu
nh
geri
[ 125 ]


H A N G I N G
J U DGE
t1
ir
0
C
IT
o
al
a
CI
through at a great rate, and he had almost literally been
hustled off the stand before the reporters (among others)
realized that something had happened that could, with
more than the usual justification, be described as a “Sen-
sation in Court.”
Briefly, his testimony was to the effect that he had made
a post-mortem examination of the body; that owing to
information received he had looked for signs of drowning
but found none; that certain indications had led him to
infer the presence of hydrocyanic acid; that he had re-
moved the stomach and drained off its contents, placing
each in a sealed bottle; that he had conveyed these to his
laboratory in Norwich and applied certain tests, establish-
ing the presence in the stomach of the deceased of an
amount of potassium cyanide considerably in excess of the
minimum fatal dose. This being consistent with the other
symptoms, he had no hesitation in stating the cause of
death to be poisoning by potassium cyanide. The man's
heart was in a shocking condition, but heart disease was
not the specific cause of death.
The next witnesses were Scotton and Vincett, who de-
scribed in some detail the events leading up to the finding
of the body, each from his own point of view. Everybody
began to sit or stand a little more upright. But to the gen-
eral amazement, at the moment of maximum expectation,
Vincett stated in answer to a question from the Coroner
D
S
[126]


GE
J U D G E
HANGING
terall
ong at
could, s
owing
drowi
je hade
ks, place
estatis
that he did not think he could help the Court any further,
and began to leave the stand.
However, before he had got clear a juryman rose, and
in a nervous but insistent manner requested from the Cor-
oner permission to ask the witness a few questions. The
Coroner, not without obvious reluctance, made a gesture of
assent.
The juryman remained standing. In private life an ele-
mentary schoolmaster, he was an elderly man with insecure
pince-nez and a generally downtrodden look, but he had
at this moment an air of determination not to be put upon,
and the manner of his questioning, though excessively self-
conscious, was vigorous to the point of bluntness.
“Are not the premises known as Overstaithe," he began
pedantically, "where the body was found, the property of
Sir Francis Brittain?"
“Yes."
“Known locally as Mr. John Willoughby?”
"That is so."
"Is it not a fact that the deceased was known to have
paid a visit to Sir Francis Brittain on the night of his dis-
appearance several weeks ago?”
"That is so. I believe Sir Francis is to give evidence about
that.”
The schoolmaster looked a little dashed, but held on his
+
ed or
the cost
Se 77
course.
[ 127 ]


HANGING JUDGE
in
th
9)
"Were you, at the time of the discovery of the body,
aware that Sir Francis and Mr. Willoughby were one and
the same person?"
“I was not.”
"Is it not true that you had some difficulty in finding Mr.
Willoughby, who was not in Moxton at the time, and whose
whereabouts and life outside were entirely unknown in the
village?"
"Yes."
"But you eventually succeeded in tracing him, in
London?"
“I did.”
“When
you traced him were you aware that he was Sir
Francis Brittain?”
“I was not.”
"Is it not a fact that you arrested him, conveyed him to
Norwich, and there charged him with the murder of the
deceased?"
“Yes."
(Sir Francis turned to his solicitor and whispered, “We
should have obtained an adjournment.”
The solicitor shrugged his shoulders. “An open verdict
would have been better—an adjourned inquest would only
have allowed a long period of speculation. But there's been
a leakage I suspect the doctor."
th
y
( 128 )


E
H A N G I N G
eh
0182
ling:
dus
nin:
im
var
"Can you object?"
"Impossible at this stage. But I hope Thomas will pull
him up soon.")
The schoolmaster went on:
"Some time later, did you not receive information show-
ing Mr. Willoughby to be really Sir Francis?”
“Yes.”
"And a statement to that effect was given to the press?”
"It was."
"And a short time after that Sir Francis was released and
the charge dropped?”
"Yes.”
"Can you give me any information as to the reason for
the dropping of the charge?”
"It was decided that it could not be substantiated.”
“In other words that you had made a blunder?"
Vincett replied after hesitation: “I can't accept that
expression."
"The blunder perhaps consisted in not ascertaining the
true identity of John Willoughby before you made the
charge?"
Dr. Thomas, who had been getting more and more res-
tive, here intervened.
"That is a most improper suggestion. If you cannot keep
your questions to the point, you had better sit down."
( 129 )


H A N G 1 N G JUDGE
The schoolmaster flushed. “I beg your pardon, sir, but
I have not quite finished. ... Inspector Vincett, are you
yourself satisfied that the charge was ill founded?"
The Coroner rushed in once more. “That again is an
improper question, and I shall disallow it."
“As you please, sir. . . . Is it true that Sir George
Archer, the Chief Constable of the County, yesterday ten-
dered his resignation?"
Dr. Thomas now burst out with: "All this has absolutely
no connection with the present inquiry. Will you please sit
down.”
The schoolmaster then lost his temper. "I will not sit
down, sir. This inquiry is being stifled. I am perfectly en-
titled to put these questions, and the failure to answer them
—not that I blame Inspector Vincett—and your own in-
terruptions, seem to me to be highly suspicious.'
He sat down, though, apparently satisfied with having
made his point. Dr. Thomas savaged him with a glance,
and then turned to Vincett. “That will do Inspector," he
said.
"Sir Francis Brittain."
3
The judge's manner, as he proceeded without hurry to
the witness stand, was entirely free from embarrassment.
The Coroner rose a few inches from his chair and achieved
an uncertain bow, which Sir Francis acknowledged with a
[ 130 ]


H A N G I N G
1
i
stately but affable inclination of his head. Dr. Thomas
spoke deprecatingly:
“Sir Francis, I am sure you appreciate our sincere regret
for the trouble to which you are being put over this case."
"Please do not apologize,” Brittain answered with suav-
ity. “It so happens that I am in a position to testify at this
inquiry as an ordinary member of the public. You will of
course consider me as such."
"That is very handsome of you.” Dr. Thomas appeared
to be meditating further apologies, but wisely decided
against them. He continued. “Now, Sir Francis, would you
be so kind as to give me your own account of your rela-
tions with the deceased man, Teal?"
“Certainly. I have little to add to the account I gave to
Sir George Archer and the Sergeant in charge at the police
station here, shortly after the man's disappearance. I knew
him intermittently for a good many years. He was instru-
mental in saving me from what would have been at the best
a serious injury from a motor bus in London, about fifteen
years ago I think. From time to time since he has visited
me, and I have generally given him money. I understood
that he was unable to work regularly, owing to poor health.
I did not know where he lived--indeed I do not think he
had a regular place of residence—and I had no knowledge
of his friends. He once told me he had no near relatives
living. I had not seen him for a considerable time when I
FH
3
[131]


H AN GING
J U D GE
received a visit from him at my house at Moxton on Satur-
day, December 21st. This visit considerably surprised me,
for he knew me by my right name, and I was rather an-
noyed that he should have discovered my address in Nor-
folk and my incognito, which I employed merely to enjoy
my holidays quietly and without publicity. When he ar-
rived at my house he appeared to be in a very depressed
state; his heart was bad, and he did not expect to live more
than a few months. He told me he had recently been in
the United States, why exactly I am not clear, and he did
not seem to be in any urgent need of money. I received the
impression that he had come to see me on personal grounds,
of gratitude for the occasional help I have given him, rather
than in the hope of getting money. I privately decided, how-
ever, to make him a present at Christmas, and did my best
to induce in him a more cheerful frame of mind, not I fear
with much success. He left me I suppose about half-past
nine, and that was the last I saw of him.”
“Thank you, Sir Francis, that is very clear. Have you
any idea as to how the man can have met his death?"
“I have an opinion.”
"I think the jury would be glad to hear it."
"It seems to me that there are two possibilities. Teal may
have been decoyed into some house after leaving me, there
poisoned, and afterward carried to my premises by some
[ 132 ]


H ANGING JU D G E
2)
person, possibly insane, with feelings of malice toward my-
self and with the intention of embarrassing me. But I con-
sider it more likely that Teal was overcome by a sudden
uncontrollable impulse of self-destruction, which he in-
dulged on the spur of the moment without any thought of
the consequences. From my considerable experience I
would definitely say that the suicidal tendency was present,
and it is possible that he had been carrying the poison
about him for a long time. The double method employed-
poisoning and throwing himself down a well in a way
which would be expected to kill him—is quite typical of
these cases.”
"I see.” Dr. Thomas nodded in an impressed way. “I
don't think we need keep you any further, Sir Francis."
The schoolmaster got up, opened his mouth, shut it, and
sat down again.
“Dr. Birch,” called out the Coroner, smoothly and with
a not too conspicuous rapidity.
The remainder of the evidence taken was in the nature
of an anticlimax. Dr. Birch gave a report on Teal's health
at the time of his examination, stating positively that the
man would have in any case been lucky to have lived an-
other six months. Art Turvey (whom the Coroner treated
as a suspect) was made to repeat the story of the ring and
of his last encounter with Teal. A loquacious person named
( 133 )
50
--
ܗ ܚܣܝ


HANGING JUDGE
Baxter, who had been allowed to view the remains, iden-
tified them as belonging to a fellow passenger on a ship
sailing from New York to Liverpool early in December.
The Coroner's remarks, offered after a considerable
pause, were brief but careful. He commenced by deploring
the fact that so little information about the deceased had
emerged. Not even his Christian name was known, and the
inference, supported by the evidence of Sir Francis Brittain,
Frederick Mason and Patrick Baxter, the only persons to
come forward who had enjoyed the opportunity of gaining
any personal knowledge of him, appeared to be that he
was a solitary and a kind of wanderer, or one might say a
superior tramp. ... Dr. Thomas then recalled the bare
facts of his disappearance, the subsequent police investiga-
tion, and the eventual discovery of his body, and referred
to the medical evidence, pointing out that there could
hardly be any doubt that the man had died from poison-
ing by potassium cyanide.
"Deaths of this kind,” he proceeded, "are sometimes the
result of an accident, but it is difficult to see how the cir-
cumstances in this case admit the possibility of an accident.
This leaves us with the hypothesis of homicide or suicide.
Now perhaps I need not remind you that your main duty
is to identify the deceased, and determine how, when, and
where he came by his death. But you are not entitled to
certify by your verdict anything that has not been proved
[134]


HANGING Ju D G E
beyond reasonable doubt. Thus in this case there are cer-
tain facts about which you are unlikely to differ--that the
deceased was known by the name of Teal, that he died of
poisoning on the night of December 22nd, somewhere at
or near the village of Moxton. Further than that perhaps
you will be unable to go, and there need be no reason to
regret this, as the way is not barred to subsequent police
inquiries. But the probability of such inquiries yielding fur-
ther information does not appear to be strong enough to
justify an adjournment, and the police have not asked for
one.
“The very distinguished witness we have heard, Sir Fran-
cis Brittain, whom chance has involved in this case, has
suggested from his wide experience two alternative possi-
bilities. You may give some weight to his suggestions, and
particularly to that which he indicated as the more likely-
that the unfortunate man, hopelessly depressed by the
knowledge of the brief and painful future that awaited him,
destroyed himself in a fit of aberration. It might be that he
had long intended to do so, and only wished, before put-
ting an end to his life, to have a final interview with the
gentleman who had befriended him, perhaps to render him
thanks. But Sir Francis would be the first to say that this
is merely the theory most consistent with our present
knowledge of the facts. I do not think you will find it a
sufficient basis for a verdict, for we have had no evidence
[ 135]


H A N GING JUDGE
of suicidal intent, nor of steps taken from which suicidal
intent might be inferred, such as the purchase of cyanide,
or a farewell letter.
"With regard to homicide, we have no evidence at all.
I ought however to say a brief word about the unfortunate
misunderstanding which led to Sir Francis himself being
placed under arrest on a charge of murder for a few hours.
It is easy to see how this misunderstanding arose. Inasmuch
as the body was found on premises belonging to Sir Fran-
cis, it was obviously necessary to question him. But owing
to the fact that from perfectly natural and human reasons,
which do his modesty credit, Sir Francis had successfully
made an entire separation between his public life as a Judge
of the High Court, and his holiday life as Mr. Willoughby,
a country gentleman, he proved extremely difficult to trace,
and this circumstance was on the face of it-the police not
then holding the true key_highly suspicious. The suspicion
was increased when Sir Francis, on being challenged by In-
spector Vincett, declined to reveal his identity, obviously
not realizing the gravity of the case, and still hoping the
incognito, which had enabled him to spend so many happy
holidays in Norfolk as an ordinary inconspicuous citizen,
might be preserved. When his identity was revealed, the
absurdity of the arrest was of course made manifest, but
by this time, owing to some unfortunate blunder, a leakage
had occurred. I would like to express to Sir Francis my
[ 136]


H A N GING JUDGE
per the police in the difficult and possibly delicate inquiry
that lies before them. But the public mind will not rest
quietly about this case unless satisfied that every effort is
being made to seek a solution and bring the guilty party-
if guilty party there is—to justice. Certain remarks of the
Coroner can be made to bear the fatalistic interpretation
that this inquiry is foredoomed to failure, and that the po-
lice concur in this view. No more unfortunate impression
could be given. The good name of Sir Francis, the honor of
the police, and the reputation of justice in this country, all
require that the investigation should be vigorously pushed
forward without fear or favor. The circumstances of the
case have been in many respects peculiar, and a failure to
solve the mystery is liable to be widely misunderstood.
1
But this was the only discordant note. . . . Sir Francis
returned to London, and resumed his place on the Bench.
It was noticed that during the next few days the public
gallery of his court was packed, and extra police had to
be drafted to the Law Courts to deal with the crowd who
appeared anxious to hear an exceptionally dull and tech-
nical case in the Admiralty division. Those who obtained
admission found the external composure of the Judge un-
broken, but it was observed that on occasions he asked the
same question twice over, and more than once Counsel was
obliged to remind him of important pieces of evidence
which he appeared to have entirely overlooked.
On the Wednesday evening following the inquest a knot
[ 139]


HANGING JUDGE
of about twenty men assembled outside the New Inn at
Cokingham, and after some discussion marched the four
miles along the main road as far as Moxton. Tramping up
the lane to Overstaithe they halted for a few minutes, and
then somebody threw a stone. . . . A message was sent to
Sergeant Scotton, who however failed to reach the scene
until the crowd had dispersed. Having noticed the wrecked
garden gate and the smashed windows he went to Coking-
ham, where he was able to get some names. The next
morning an aggravation of the offense was brought to light
by the appearance on the front of Overstaithe, in vividly
though irregularly painted green letters two feet high, the
legend: “HANG THE SEDUCER AND MURDERER WILLOUGHBY-
BRITTAIN.”
On the Friday, fifteen men appeared before the magis-
trate at Winstanton. Of the fourteen whose request to be
dealt with summarily was granted, two were discharged,
two more fined and the remainder bound over to keep the
peace for one year. The fifteenth man, one Gilbert Red-
dish, was remanded to Quarter Sessions. Bail was then
offered on his behalf by Lord Kesteven, and the man was
liberated. This incident was reported at length in the local
press, and also in the Banner.
On the Monday, as Mr. Justice Brittain came from the
Judges' room into court to hear the divorce suit “Barnes
versus Barnes and Gold,” a number of people rose from
[ 140 ]


HANGING
J U D G E
their seats in the public gallery and began hissing. There
were cries of “Turn him off the Bench," and "He ought to
be in the dock.” The gallery was cleared, and three men
and a woman were arrested. ... At about three o'clock
in the afternoon a crowd began to assemble outside the
Law Courts. The attempts made by the police to disperse
it were only partly successful—indeed short of completely
shutting off a portion of the Strand the thing was impos-
sible. Just before four o'clock somebody called out “There
he is" and a quiet little solicitor, Mr. Cuthbert Bishop,
famous in Lincoln's Inn for his profound knowledge of
marine insurance, was suddenly greeted by boos, hisses,
catcalls, insults and even missiles. Eventually he scrambled
into a taxi, thoroughly frightened but having suffered no
worse physical misadventure than a dented tall hat.
Mr. Justice Brittain's court had risen ten minutes earlier,
and the Judge had walked out by Chancery Lane unmo-
lested.
On Tuesday, some account of these matters appeared in
the Banner under the caption "Scandalous Scene at Law
Courts." "Mr. Justice Brittain insulted.” “Well-known So-
licitor Attacked by Mob.” In another part of the paper was
printed a letter, headed “The Teal Case":
Sir,
It is now over a week since an open verdict was returned
by the Coroner's jury inquiring into the death of the man,
( 141 ]


H A N G I N G JUDGE
yesterday, that we had some plain speaking. It is well
known that Sir Francis Brittain was arrested under the
name of Willoughby for Teal's murder, but released when
his identity became known. Now the Inspector of Police
who made the arrest was either guilty of doing so on in-
sufficient grounds, in which case he should be disciplined,
or he had good grounds, in which case the charge should
have been thoroughly investigated. Neither course has been
adopted, and the result is fair neither to Sir Francis, against
whom the aforesaid rumors are being circulated, nor to the
public, who are being given, perhaps wrongly, grounds for
thinking that the charge has been dropped for no better rea-
son than the eminence of the accused man. This impression
is given further color by the resignation of the Chief Con-
stable of the County of Norfolk, who gave the press the
information of the arrest and of Mr. Willoughby's true
identity.
These being the facts, is it too much to suggest that an
official statement on the reasons for bringing the charge and
the reasons for abandoning it is more in line with the true
public interest than the present policy of hush-hush? The
good name of justice in this country is at stake, and any ap-
pearance of partiality must encourage those subversive ele-
ments in our society who never weary of telling us that
there is one law for the rich and another for the
poor.
I am, Sir,
Yours etc.,
Fiat Justitia
[ 143]


E
H A N GING JUD
BYS
7yMix
e kon
-
Just
istiyi
Mean
D G E
raised. We are aware that there is no legal or other prece-
dent for such a statement, but public opinion has been in-
flamed on the subject, as evidenced by the disgraceful
scenes at Moxton last week and at the Law Courts yester-
day. Nothing less than a disclosure of the full facts will
restore public confidence in the impartiality which is insep-
arable from the majesty of the Law.
The next move lies with the Home Office, and it must not
be delayed.
On the following day a Mr. Beckwith, a back-bench
Opposition member, rose to his feet at question time in the
House of Commons to ask for information with regard to
the arrest on a charge of murder of Sir Francis Brittain,
and his subsequent release. The Home Secretary replied
that this was entirely an administrative matter and he did
not see what useful information he could give. He was
aware that attempts to make political capital out of an ad-
mittedly unfortunate incident had been essayed from quar-
ters which he could hardly regard as disinterested. The
facts were perfectly clear to any intelligent person without
an ax to grind. Sir Francis had been arrested through a
natural misunderstanding rising out of the concealment of
his identity. It was very unjust that a distinguished and
valuable public servant should be subjected to a persecu-
tion which appeared to derive mainly from a spirit of wan-
ton mischief. Etc., etc. Supplementary questions,
acter ?
Ors, 4
znaniu
+
12:32
[145]


H A N GING
J U D G E
handed in debate. However, he stood for certain very im-
portant interests, on whose behalf he had a right to the
floor. . . . He had not been speaking for more than half
a minute before the House was electrified into agonized
attention. While the Opposition members exchanged nerv-
ous and incredulous grins, the Ministerialists listened dazed
and stupefied to one of the biggest sensations of their polit-
ical life. Sir George was supporting the motion.
In some fashion he contrived to associate the issue with
the struggle against Bolshevism, but there was no ambigu-
ity about his main trend. The fount of justice, a shattered
House was given to understand, must not be polluted by
channels suspect of infection, and (in slightly altered im-
agery) if a branch was rotten it must be lopped off. Without
positively alleging that the branch was rotten the failure
(presumably of the tree) to reply adequately to certain
charges raised the presumption that it was, and if no satis-
factory rebuttal was forthcoming he, Sir George, would
vote for the motion.
Before the speaker sat down, the more knowledgeable
members had of course realized what lay behind this spec-
tacular bolt. Sir George, a millionaire many times over, was
not only by far the most generous subscriber to party
funds, but was also the outstanding figure in the railway
world. Now some three years before an important case in-
volving the interests of one of the railway groups had
---
[ 147]


HANGING JUDGE
come before Mr. Justice Brittain. It so happened that the
illustrious advocate briefed by the railway was the particular
bête noire of the Judge, who had come rather the worse
out of a series of dignified but waspish encounters spread
over a number of years. Sir Francis had determined at an
early stage that the railway was to lose its case and, with
that perverse ingenuity of which only a man with a pro-
found knowledge of the law is capable, had bent all his
energies to that end. His efforts were successful; a case
that might easily have gone the other way was decided
against the railway; and Sir George had neither forgotten
nor forgiven.
This was his belated revenge, and it soon became appar-
ent not only that he had the solid support of his group, but
that the move had been carefully and secretly planned.
Thoroughly demoralized by this mutiny from its Old Guard
the Government had to shift its front. The Prime Minister
rose. He had not realized the extent to which the
issue had become a matter of genuine public concern.
Speaking personally and without detailed information, he
had no doubt that the course taken by the police, in whom,
etc. would prove to be abundantly justified. But he
now recognized the desirability of a ventilation of the facts
through the proper channels, and offered a time for a de-
bate and a free vote. A day was appointed, considerably
earlier than the Prime Minister had at first been willing to
.
1
[ 148]


H A N GING
JUDGE
stairs; he's a creature of Sidney's and, no doubt, followed
you
here from Hove. That wouldn't matter, only I've just
heard that the boat won't sail before one, owing to trouble
in the engine room. Now I don't believe in the engine trou-
ble, but I do believe that Sidney has arranged to have the
boat delayed."
Sir Francis protested, "He can't do that.”
“I'm afraid he can—as Chairman of the railway his
orders
go
for the Channel Service. The point is that Sidney
knows of the P.M.'s promise, he was persuaded to accept
it with the greatest difficulty; and there's no doubt that
Gardiner's intention, under orders, is to notify the police
on the stroke of midnight and have you held. Now there
are two courses open to us; one is to go straight to the
police station here, tell the officer in charge that you in-
tended to go abroad, but have heard from me that a war-
rant for your arrest has been issued, and that being an
innocent man you feel unable to take any other course
than to abandon your journey, and give yourself up."
Sir Francis looked at the lawyer with red-rimmed eyes.
“Is that the course you recommend?"
Farmer shrugged his shoulders. “It would tell in your
favor. But as you know, I think you run a grave risk by
standing your trial, so long as a way out is open to you.”
“What is the other course?”
[ 151 ]


H A N GING JUDGE
"To employ a stratagem. Listen to me."
About half an hour later Farmer accompanied a heavily
muffled man, dressed in a long raglan coat and a tweed
hat, through the lounge and the main entrance to the hotel.
Two men who had been sitting in a corner rose
quietly, and followed them to the car which had conveyed
the Judge from Hove.
“He's bolting," said the
younger
of the pursuers. “I sup-
pose we follow?"
The older man smiled grimly. “We do not,” he said.
“That's his servant; they're trying to draw us away. You'll
find he'll try and make the boat all right, if we keep out
Wait a minute.”
He walked rapidly over to his own car and gave quick
instructions to the man who had remained at the wheel.
The car moved off before the first one was out of sight.
At half-past twelve Sir Francis came down to the lounge.
A porter, carrying the one bag which had not already gone
on board, led him through dark quays to the waterside,
where the steamer lay. Sir Francis showed his passport at
the barrier and his ticket at the gangway, and was then led
by a steward to the bowels of the ship. . . . But hardly
had the steward left the cabin when a knock fell on the
door.
The Judge opened it, and was confronted by two
strangers.
of the way.
o
F
ܝܘ
>
b
[152]


HANGING JUDGE
}
3
At two o'clock the following afternoon, before a crowded
and expectant House of Commons, the Prime Minister rose.
“Mr. Speaker, Sir," he began. “There are two pieces of
information which I should give this House at once, as they
may affect the course of the debate.”
He paused to look round the House and, having exacted
the maximum amount of suspense, added in the laconic
tones he habitually reserved for important announcements:
“Sir Francis Brittain has been rearrested, and Sir Gilbert
West has resigned.”
There was a moment's dead silence; then some applause,
hastily suppressed, from the public gallery, and a few cries
of "Shame" from the Government back benches. The Prime
Minister paid no attention to the interruptions, but pres-
ently proceeded with a little more warmth in his tone.
“It is not for me to prejudge the charge on which Sir
Francis is held, and I need not remind honorable members
that no point of privilege morally justifies any of us here
in prejudging it. I feel bound, however, to make a brief
personal explanation.
"When my attention was first called to this case—which
was after the resignation of the Chief Constable of Norfolk
I was inclined to think that on the facts submitted to me
by my honorable friend and colleague, Sir Gilbert West,
२८
[ 153 ]


HANGİNG JUDGE
1
chances for which I am in no way to blame, and though I
accept the position of scapegoat I am bound to say that
should similar circumstances arise again I would act in pre-
cisely the same manner. The laying down of my office is a
small matter to me; as a private member I shall continue to
give my loyal support to His Majesty's Government to the
best of my abilities. But I am not hiding a diminished
head.”
His warmth of utterance struck fire among many Gov-
ernment supporters, whose enthusiasm for the Premier's re-
marks had been noticeably lukewarm. Sir Gilbert continued
amid a volley of cheers.
"The facts are these. I was first notified of the arrest of
Sir Francis not through official channels, but by Sir Fran-
cis's personal legal representative. This gentleman put be-
fore me certain facts, then known to no one but himself and
his client, but which since have become public property,
with regard to the true identity of a certain Mr. John Wil-
loughby. These facts furnished an explanation of the arrest,
that is to say it was easy to see why the police officer made
the arrest, misconstruing 'Mr. Willoughby's' legitimate
efforts to conceal his identity into evidence of guilt, having
regard also to the fact that the body of the unfortunate man
Teal was found on his premises. Once, however,
for the concealment of identity came to light, it seemed to
me that the charge broke down. The remaining evidence
the reason
[ 155 ]


H A N GING JUDGE
t
fi
P
against Sir Francis appeared insufficient to substantiate the
charge. This being so, having given consideration to the
grave public consequences likely to arise if this premature
and mistaken arrest became known, I directed a code tele-
gram to be sent to the Chief Constable ordering Sir Fran-
cis's immediate release. This was done, but it happened that
shortly before the arrival of my telegram the Norfolk police
had obtained knowledge of Mr. Willoughby's identity, and
had communicated it to the press. I submit that the clamor
arising from this unfortunate step, coupled with the fact
that Sir George Archer, resenting the dropping of the case,
tendered his resignation as Chief Constable, are the sole
reasons why we are now confronted with the grave scandal
of seeing a High Court Judge charged with an offense, on
which I must still characterize as frivolous grounds, and of
which, with all respect to the Prime Minister's caution
against prejudgment, I believe him to be absolutely guilt-
less."
Cries of "Oh! Oh!" were heard from the Opposition
benches at this point.
The remainder of Sir Gilbert's speech was mainly self-
exculpatory, and somewhat redundant. The leader of the
Opposition followed. ... He thought that, in view of Sir
Gilbert's resignation and the remarks to which the House
had just listened, comment on the part he had played in the
incident would be superfluous and unkind. With regard to
a
[156]


H A N G H N G
JUDGE
*
the Prime Minister's rather ambiguous statement he was
both gratified and disturbed. He was gratified to learn that
justice would now take its proper course, without fear or
favor. But he had listened in vain for any indication that
steps would be taken to make the recurrence of such inci-
dents an impossibility. It was abundantly clear that the
Prime Minister had changed his mind, not so much from a
sense of the moral and political turpitude of a great Govern-
ment department condoning a possible felony on sheer class
grounds, but because certain accidental circumstances had
practically forced him into the path of virtue. It seemed pos-
sible—in fact this was the only interpretation that could be
put on the Prime Minister's words—that of these circum-
stances the spontaneous outburst of public indignation that
the matter had aroused had been of lesser influence than
the unexpected rebellion of some of the stanchest supporters
of the ministry. He was not going to inquire too closely into
the reasons for the rebellion; he was happy to accept it as
a sign of grace, and hoped it meant a change of heart.
There was another disquieting consideration. The Prime
Minister's remarks could be taken to mean only that he had
decided to reconsider the case after the discussion in this
House last week. Now that discussion took place six days
ago, and Sir Francis had only just been rearrested. Was it
conceivable that the question whether or not there were
grounds to justify the arrest could be so complicated as to
[ 157]


H A N GING JUDGE
a
ܘ
I
7
ros
require a full six days to consider? Was it not more reason-
able to suppose that the Government had used the time to
seek a way of avoiding this so-called grave scandal of a dis-
tinguished man, against whom a prima-facie case existed,
being called upon to face the music just as if he were Tom,
Dick, or Harry? Did it not seem likely that the hope had
been that the suspected man, by quietly taking himself off
out of reach of the law, would render such an embarrassing
conjuncture unnecessary? (Cries of “Shame," and one of
“Dirty Dog.") To him the whole affair appeared to be a
clear exposure of the class incidence of justice, and he could
not accept the Prime Minister's attempt at self-exculpation
as valid. The whole principle of collective responsibility
would go by the board if the Government was allowed, on
this very important issue, to extricate itself from disgrace
by throwing overboard the Home Secretary. ... In view
of the fact that the case was now definitely sub judice he
would suggest the withdrawal, or at any rate the postpone-
ment, of the motion for Sir Francis's removal, but he pro-
posed that the question should be made one of confidence.
But the Opposition thunder had really been stolen. ...
The leader of the Center Party, at the end of a neat and
careful speech, in the course of which he expressed his con-
fident hope that the charge would not be substantiated, but
his belief that once it had been made, it should have been
proceeded with in the interest of the public, the accused
a
( 158 ]


=
os
-
ti
Chapter Eleven
el
ti
1
8
1
HE skies did not fall on the opening morning of Sir
Francis's trial. But they did the next best thing, pre-
cipitating over Norwich and the surrounding coun-
try rather over two inches of rain in something less than
two hours.
Denis Bowman, watchmaker and jeweler of the city, who
had known for some days that he would be on the panel
from which the jury would be called to hear the case, had
felt a sore throat coming on from an early hour on the pre-
ceding day. It had (at least to the best of his rather selective
memory) always been his fate to fall a victim to some dis-
qualifying mishap on the eve of an occasion in which he
particularly wanted to participate. In his boyhood, were
there a school prize giving, a day in Cromer, or an impor-
tant cricket match to which he specially looked forward, he
would get a bilious attack or sprain his ankle; if, a little later
[ 160 ]


H A N G 1 N G Ju D G E
Tng di
hing
in life, Fred Terry was coming to the theater with "The
Scarlet Pimpernel,” or, at a still more advanced stage, some
tens of thousands of photographs of Greta Garbo were due
to be shown in quick succession at one of the cinemas, des-
tiny would choose that week for his annual attack of influ-
enza or a violent onslaught of his chronic lumbago.
So an undeniable sore throat, to a watchmaker whose
life's ambition had been to sit on a jury in a famous murder
trial, was a matter for anguished heartburnings and heroic
remedies. On retiring to bed (at nine o'clock) he had in-
structed his wife to place a mustard plaster on his chest,
inhaled Vapopine until his lungs revolted against the stuff,
swallowed twenty grains of quinine, and, although a long-
standing advocate of temperance, gobbled the best part of a
gill of whisky in an equal quantity of boiling water. In con-
sequence, he awoke in the morning with no perceptible
symptoms of a cold, but stupefied and almost stone deaf,
a result of the quinine which he had not anticipated.
Denis was a small, rosy man, with a face much puckered
from scrutinizing minute objects through a jeweler's glass.
He prided himself on being a vigilant observer of the minu-
tiae, not only of watches and precious stones, but of human
nature at large. When considering a person's character, he
would search eagerly for some idiosyncrasy or recurring
mannerism, pounce upon it, and forthwith interpret the
whole complex of processes which went to make up the un-
Test
*
ther
hich
1
!!
Hem
( 161 )


HANGING
J U D GE
fortunate subject in the light of that particular hallmark. In
this habit of mind he was encouraged by his reading, which
consisted mostly of popular travesties of various schools of
psychology, and the sort of biographies which tell us that
the entire characters of Beethoven, Pope, Byron and Dickens
are to be explained by the circumstance of their being re-
spectively deaf, lame, lame and in love with his sister, and
in love with his wife's sister.
These studies, in Denis's opinion, admirably qualified him
for the office of a juror, above all in a murder case, in which,
as was notorious, human nature was simply rampant. He
therefore considered it a crowning injustice when, on top
of his potential cold, a violent deluge of rain commenced
to fall, cutting short his drugged and feeble attempts to eat
his breakfast, and filling him with new apprehension. He
had to be in court at half-past nine, and the court was only
five minutes' walk from his home, but no public vehicles ran
in such a way as to help him, and, as he discovered after a
quarter of an hour's hysterical telephoning, absolutely no
taxi or hired car was likely to be available in time. “But you
simply can't go out in this, Denny," protested his wife, as
she assisted his fumbling efforts to superimpose his mack-
intosh over his overcoat. “You'll catch your death! ....
Denis replied, with unconscious hypocrisy, “There's a little
word, my dear, D,U,T,Y. After all, the boys in Flanders
had to put up with a lot worse.”
[162]


HANGING JUDGE
Wild horses, of course, would hardly have kept him from
so congenial a duty; but with an even fiercer deluge of rain
finding out all the crevices and weakly defended portions of
his clothing, and playing with especial venom on the vulner-
able areas of his umbrella, he was a sorry and będraggled
object when he was at last able to shed the outer layers,
polish up his glasses, and generally restore an outer appear-
ance befitting the dignity that might be his.
At last, however, he was pushed (for he could hardly
hear what was being said to him) into his right place in the
right court; the judge, counsel, and the prisoner took their
places, and before he was ready for it the clerk was reading
out a list of names. This, he knew, was the matter that im-
mediately concerned himself, but what with his deafness,
his anxiety, an uncomfortable and humiliating running of
the nose, countered alternately by blasts on his handker-
chief, and Homeric sniffs, and the general stir and bustle
of the court, he could hardly catch half of the names. But
with a painful attention he watched one man after another
get up from beside him and take his place in the jury box,
and when at last the full complement of twelve unchallenged
citizens was made
up
he realized, with bitter mortification,
that fate had led him on only, in the end, to betray. ... The
jurors were sworn, one after the other, and Denis, very near
tears, played a kind of coda to his trumpetings with the
handkerchief. The result was, at the cost of some little pain,
[ 163 ]


H ANGING JUDGE
le
di
2
of
SP
ac
na
ha
a sudden clearing of his Eustachian tube, and he returned
verynarily to a full perception of what was going on
around him just as the Bible was tendered to the last of the
twelve.
This man's appearance was, in an elusive way, familiar
to Denis. It was not an appearance you could readily for-
get; it had indeed a kind of conscious and purposeful mem-
orability. The pince-nez were secured by an inch-wide
length of black silk; the hair grew in a luxuriant coronal
of iron gray around the back of the head, and there alone;
while the neck was decorated by a high collar which, rein-
forced by a cascading stock, extended to conceal large
patches of the wearer's chin. ... Denis suddenly realized
what was missing—a low-crowned black hat with a brim
ten inches wide.
This person, on being offered the Book, pushed the offer-
er's hand gently but firmly aside and announced in a high
clear voice, “I wish to apply for exemption, on the grounds
of my strong personal objection to capital punishment.”
The judge, Parkinson, a very toothy old gentleman with
the air of a good-natured ram, looked up quickly.
"You are not concerned with capital punishment,” he said
patiently. “You are being sworn as a judge of evidence.
Your responsibility does not go beyond that."
On which the juror-presumptive made a very deep bow,
the pince-nez (miraculously) maintaining their position.
to
O
[164]


HANGING JUDGE
"My lord, I defer of course to your explanation of the
legal aspect of the matter. But my objection is such as to
disqualify me from the proper performance of my duties as
a judge of evidence in a case of this character."
("Swallowed the dictionary," whispered a vulgar looking
man next to Denis, who had not been called and seemed glad
of it. "It's old Courcy-Wynyard; trust him to make a
speech.” Denis now remembered the man: an unsuccessful
actor who on coming into a small fortune had retired to his
native town, and was supposed to be devoting himself to
the career of a man of letters—though the only letters that
had yet publicly appeared in his name had been addressed
to the local press.)
"I mean," amplified Courcy-Wynyard, with the gesture
of a No. 2 Company heavy man, “that whatever the weight
of the evidence, however irrefutable the indictment, nothing
would shake my determination to adhere to a vote of not
guilty. My hatred of this barbarous and iniquitous punish-
ment, which is neither reformative nor preventive, and only
very dubiously exemplary, is such that I—"
“Quite," assented Parkinson suavely. "You are excused.”
“Then there is the question of the oath,” restarted
Courcy-Wynyard, but at this point he was ejected from the
box, not entirely without difficulty.... A name was called;
the vulgar man nudged Denis, who found himself, incred-
ibly, walking across the floor to take his place among the
( 165 )


H A N GING JUDGE
twelve. A drab person thrust a Bible into his hand and
gabbled, “Do you swear b’Almighty God well trutry tru
'livence make tween Sovlord-king prisbar whom have charge
tru'dict give'cord ev'dence?" "I will,” replied Denis with a
faint recollection of his wedding day. “Kiss Book," in-
structed the drab person. "Oh, sorry,” said Denis. He was
just able to make the necessary caress before having re-
course to his handkerchief once more. The teeth of
Parkinson glistened affably upon him.
“You seem to have a bad cold.”
Denis protested, “Dothig, by lord, just liddle chill.”
“If you do not feel well enough to take your place, I will
excuse you.”
In a panic, Denis rallied all his forces to articulate clearly.
"I doat wish to be excused, by lord. I'be had a bit of a
code, but it's not id the idfegshus stage.”
The judge looked at him keenly. “Very well,” he said at
last. ... Denis was suffered to take his place, his immediate
neighbors edging as far as possible away from him.
2
Of the opening of the Crown case by Sir Keith Motting-
ham (instructed by the Director of Public Prosecutions)
Denis heard little. The deafness that had descended upon
him again, and the noise of the rain still assailing the high
[ 166]


H A N GING JUD
D G E
windows, combined with his own nervousness and fluster
to impart an unreal quality to Sir Keith's quiet, almost
apologetic remarks, which came to him in disconnected,
truncated snatches.
... due sense of responsibility, the department of Pub-
lic Prosecutions has decided that there is a case against the
man who stands before you. It is my duty to put that case
to you, and to call such evidence as supports it, but it is no
part
of my duty to act as an advocate against the prisoner.”
Lukewarm, decided Denis, and henceforth regarded Sir
Keith with deep suspicion. A certain diffidence in the bear-
ing of the Counsel for the Crown rather bore out Denis's
opinion, which was consolidated by a trick of rubbing the
side of his nose as he hesitated for a word. In actual fact
the manner of Sir Keith, who had always regarded Brittain
as a boor, was conditioned more by a sense of the impor-
tance of the occasion than any desire to understate the
biggest case of his career. But, in the present state of the
public mind, any lack of assurance in going after the pris-
oner was liable to be construed as symptomatic of a con-
spiracy of silence. Denis, with many another of his kind,
was not hostile to Brittain; indeed, the idea that a judge
could possibly be suspected of murder was deeply shocking
to every bourgeois instinct in him. He believed however,
finally, that such a charge would never have been brought
[ 167]


HANGING JUDGE
ness
18 1
first se
fered
its
atau
"I meant, isn't it true that he spoke in such a way as to
give you the idea he disliked Willoughby?”
"No, sir. He was a most unemotional chap."
"He told you nothing about his business with Wil-
loughby?"
"No."
"There was perhaps rather the air of a secret about it-
of a conspiracy?"
"It was a bit of a mystery to us all, of course.”
"Exactly. . . . Turning to the Saturday, you just now
stated very positively that Teal did not take a drink at the
bar that evening?"
"No sir.”
"There was a big darts match at the Inn that evening,
was there not?"
“That's right.”
“The house was much more crowded than was usual,
even on Saturday?"
"Yes, sir."
"Bearing that in mind, and the fact that you were prob-
ably serving drinks to a number of comparative strangers,
don't
you think that you might have served Teal with a
brandy and forgotten about it later?"
“No, sir. Teal only came through the bar on his way out.
If he had ordered a drink it would have been so unusual I'd
have been bound to remember it."
Sirene
W
[171]


HANGING JUD G E
"Are you saying he never took brandy the whole time he
was with you?"
“Not quite that. He had a brandy when Lord Kesteven
and Sir George brought him in, when he was ill. And the
first evening he bought a quarter bottle, to keep in his room,
in case he was taken bad in the night.”
“Ah!... Did you recover that bottle after his death?”
“Yes, sir. I found it when I was looking through his
things, after his disappearance."
"Any liquor left?"
“Most of it, sir. About a double had gone."
“And he might have drunk that double brandy just be-
fore leaving the Inn on Saturday evening?"
“Yes, sir."
Sir Miles sat down, with an air of enormous satisfaction.
(Put on, thought Denis. Doesn't sound much to make a fuss
about.)
Fred was followed by Maud Sprott, and then came Mary
Reddish on the point that Mr. Willoughby had sent her
home at half-past seven on the Saturday night. With some
difficulty—for she obviously suspected an attack on her
character-she was got to admit that she generally went
later. But the Egyptian's only object was to show that she
commonly washed up after dinner, and had been told to
postpone this duty on this particular evening. Sir Miles,
with a gesture indicating that he thought the evidence was
[ 172]


E
HAN GING JUDGE
20.
hope i
monit:
ID:
hatte
DISC
10
stantial account of his share in the investigation. After he
had described the sinister scene in the garden at Overstaithe,
when the body had been found, Sir Keith slowed down,
and asked with great deliberation:
"When the body had been brought to the surface, did
you go down into the well again?”
"I did.”
"Did you conduct a search for any other object which
might throw light on the cause of death?"
"A very thorough search."
"Such as a bottle, or container of some sort that might
have held a dose of poison.”
“I was looking particularly for something of the sort.”
"Did you find anything?"
"Nothing.”
"How much water was at the bottom of the well?"
“Between six inches and a foot."
"Did
you
look in the water?"
"Very thoroughly. And at a later stage I went down
again; Inspector Vincett did, too. Nothing was found.”
“Did you search the ground in the neighborhood of the
well?"
“Yes, very thoroughly. I found nothing.”
Scotton then spoke of the removal of the body to the
mortuary at Sutton Thorpe. There was another pause,
ended by Sir Keith asking:
%7
juer
DINA
anti
[ 175 ]


HANGING JUDGE
"After the clothes had been removed from the deceased
man,
did
you
search them?
"I did."
"Tell the jury what you found.”
"In the right trouser pocket a small amount of change-
one and tenpence. Also a stub of pencil. In the left-hand
trouser pocket a box of matches and a two-bladed pocket
knife. The hip pocket and side jacket pockets were empty.
In the waistcoat pockets an American two cent stamp, a
bottle of pills—tablets, rather—and the torn half of a Lon-
don bus ticket, route Number 27. It was not possible to tell
from this the journey taken. If the ticket had been punched
it was on the missing half.”
"Anything else?”
“In a concealed inside jacket pocket, a waterproof case
or wallet, in which there were a number of papers. The case
had stuck to those of the
papers which
were outermost, dam-
aging them, but those inside were fairly dry."
"Are those the papers you found?"
A packet was handed to Scotton, who examined them
cursorily.
"Yes, sir."
“Look at them in detail.”
“These are the correct papers," asserted Scotton, after
a more thorough examination. "I have a list here, which I
2)
[ 176]


HANGING JUDGE
made at the time, and which corresponds exactly with
these.”
"I want you to read out what you can of the writing on
these
papers,
in the numbered order."
With the reading of these documents, with which the
reader is already familiar, the first thunder of the prosecu-
tion's artillery became audible. Denis was galvanized into
an almost painful attention. “The dirty dog!” he said to
himself, and began to scrutinize the prisoner more closely,
seeing potentialities that had hitherto escaped him. A sen-
sual face all right, he decided; and what was all that about
the servant girl at Moxton? Still, that was hearsay, he
mustn't consider it unless it was put in as evidence. ... So
that was what Sir Keith had meant by paternity. ... What
was the opposite of parricide? Infanticide?-no that was
something different. Filicide? .... In the course of these
meditations, with his eyes on the man in the dock, Denis
suddenly became aware that Sir Francis was scratching his
right ear every few minutes. ... I must watch for that, he
resolved, it may tell me something later on. ...
Scotton went on to describe how he and Inspector Vin-
cett had entered and searched Overstaithe that same night.
He had found six bottles (four empty) of Napoleon brandy
in the dining-room sideboard. During the course of the
search Inspector Vincett showed him a letter and a bottle.
[ 177]


H A N GING JUD G E
not at first attach any significance to it, but I took posses-
sion of it, and at a later stage, after the inquest, an idea
occurred to me. I went to the Soldier Inn, and tried it on
Teal's bag. It opened the lock readily, and had clearly been
made for it.”
At this point Sir Keith produced the bag, which had al-
ready been sworn to by Fred Mason, and Vincett demon-
trated. The lock had been forced away from the bag, but
was still in working order.
Sir Keith resumed. “What was the second object you
found?"
"A letter, which I discovered between the leaves of a
book on a revolving bookcase in the drawing room--the
Comedies of Shakespeare.'
"Is this the letter?"
"It is.”
“What date does it bear?"
“December 20th of last year.”
"Please read out the letter."
Vincett read: “Dear Mr. Willoughby (“Mr. Willoughby'
is written between inverted commas). It may surprise you
to hear from me, not a very pleasant surprise. It may grieve
you to know that Mabel Teal, whom you seduced and well
to put it mildly let down, many years ago, died of cancer in
a hospital in Cincinnati November 8, six years ago. But
when she died she left behind letters from you many years
( 181 )


HANGING JUDGE
it a lot further if you're going to convince me. ...
Hello,
what's this?
"That is the case for the Crown, my lord,” Sir Keith had
just announced.
Or "The State rests,” Denis paraphrased flippantly....
Now then, my lord, what about it?
2
"Members of the jury,” said Sir Miles, “the prosecution
having closed their case, it is now open to me to take one
of two courses. The first of these is to submit to his lord-
ship that there is no case for me to answer. I do not intend
to take that step. I may say that, if the man I am defending
were an obscure individual, bound to sink back on his ac-
quittal into the oblivion—as far the the public is concerned
-from whence he came, I would do so. But this defendant
has behind him a long and renowned career as a high offi-
cer in that profession of which I myself am an unworthy
member. His name has been bandied lightly about the land,
and something more than a bare acquittal is necessary. Sir
Francis has insisted on going into the witness box and mak-
ing a full and candid statement of all the facts in this case
that come within his knowledge. He does this, not with the
purpose of rebutting this trumpery hotchpotch of bits and
pieces of circumstantial evidence, which the Crown has
been practically forced by ignorant public clamor to ad-
[ 185]


E
HANGING J U D G E
ܚܕܰ;
e
JU
N.
the le
"My personal knowledge of this unfortunate man does
not go further back than the evening on which he was last
seen alive. But I am not going to confine myself to that oc-
casion. Certain evidence has been given purporting to show
that the man was my own natural son. This evidence-I am
speaking to you now as a lawyer of some experience—is in-
conclusive. There is a possibility of imposture, of the de-
ceased having by some means obtained possession of certain
papers, and conducting an impersonation on the basis of
their contents. But I am not going to take a stand on this
point. The papers, so far as they go, are authentic. Those
letters signed with the initials J. or J.W. were written by
myself, and a child was undoubtedly born to the recipient,
Mabel Teal. Whether or not I was the father of that child,
whether or not the child was the man whose body was
found in the well in my garden, are matters on which I can
offer you no assistance.
“Some thirty-five years ago, I was a young man, recently
admitted to the bar, struggling like many another to build
up a practice and establish my position. I had no private
fortune, and no immediate prospect of being able to marry,
but I was not thereby rendered immune from the tempta-
tions to which all young men are subject. I was protected
from casual adventures by a certain fastidiousness of taste.
At the age of twenty-six, however, I made the acquaintance
of a girl named Mabel Teal, through the circumstances of a
edio
this
anda
AWET
ob
ti
[ 187]


H A N G I N G JU DGE
e were
Thi
ده مد ، اما
may, bi
mful too
hader
eaches
to justify me in crippling my career at the outset by a mar-
riage which could only be disastrous. I therefore wrote to
Miss Teal, repudiating personal responsibility, but offering,
for the sake of her friendship, what amounted in my finan-
cial position to very generous financial help. She replied
declining this, and I never saw her again. Afterwards I
learned that the child had been born, and I renewed my
offer of help to the mother, but I did not receive a reply.”
Sir Miles asked: “You never saw the child?"
"Unless it was indeed the man Teal, never."
"And when did you first see Teal?"
"On the night of his disappearance.'
"By appointment?”
"No, I never received the letter produced by Inspector
Vincett, and had no knowledge of the man's existence be-
fore he visited me, at about eight o'clock on the night in
question."
“You heard certain witnesses tell the court that you gave
them accounts of a previous acquaintance with Teal?”
"I did give an account, and that account was a false one."
"Why did you give a false account?”
"At that time I had no idea that the man was dead. I
supposed that he had moved on voluntarily without notice,
as people of vagrant habits commonly do, and as I surmised
that no more would be heard of him I deemed it unneces-
sary to disclose my private affairs. That is, I did not wish
en
ndo
jue
( 189 )


H A N G I N G J u D G E
I proposed to do for him—not in any hostile manner, but
as one making a respectful but confident suggestion that I
owed him some assistance. I told him I wanted time to think
that over, that I did not regard my paternity as definitely
established, but for my own satisfaction I would in any case
be glad to help him fairly substantially. I asked him to come
to see me again in a day or two, by which time I would be
ready to make some arrangement. He talked a little about
his life in America, and then left.”
"Amicably?"
"Entirely so. The interview was not precisely a sentimen-
tal one, but he showed no personal hostility. When I learned
next day that he had disappeared I was much surprised. I
concluded he had decided after all not to ask me for money,
but to leave me alone; and I felt rather relieved, as no one
enjoys the ghosts of his past being brought up in such a
way.”
Sir Miles ran through the details of the interview with
Teal at some length. According to Sir Francis the two men
had been together during the whole time, except for a short
period when Teal had gone to use the lavatory upstairs
while his host had entered his bedroom to change into a
thicker jacket, as the night had turned cold. On his return
to the living room he found Teal had got there before him.
... Sir Miles's last question was:
"You say you have no knowledge of the letter Inspector
[ 191 ]


HANGING
J U D GE
seriousness of his position.” Another juror, a zealous mem-
ber of one of the more austere Protestant sects, had been
shocked by the worldly fashion in which Sir Francis had
admitted and lightly deprecated his early lapse from virtue.
"I would not give it too much importance in a notorious
loose liver," he said, “but the man has held a responsible
position, and to my knowledge he's come down pretty
strongly, not to my mind a bit too strongly, on people mak-
ing glib excuses for leading immoral lives. Now that smells
of humbug to me, and if he's a humbug over a thing like
that, where are you going to stop?" Denis skirted round
this point, which he did not regard as fundamental, but the
first argument he contested. “After all,” he protested,
"you've got to consider his psychology and his habits. For
years he's been used to laying down the law whenever he
sees the inside of a courtroom; you can't expect him to
switch over all of a sudden.” Somebody used a slighting
word about psychology, and Denis became voluble. His
reading, however superficial, had been wide, and he was
listened to with some respect. He was desperately anxious
to create a good impression. Presently it occurred to him
that during the whole morning he had entirely forgotten to
watch for that mannerism he had observed on the day be-
fore. “Look here,” he plunged recklessly, "I'll give you a
tip. When he's being cross-examined, watch his right hand.
[ 194 ]


H A N GING JUDGE
"I cannot recall the date.”
“I think you know what I mean, on what occasion?"
"Obviously, after Miss Teal had written announcing her
pregnancy.”
“Do you think your letter can be taken in any sense other
than as an acknowledgment of responsibility for the lady's
condition?"
“As I said, at the time I accepted responsibility in good
faith.”
"It was only later that you began to doubt?"
"Yes.”
"I quote from the letter marked G. 'I am deeply grieved,
and I must say indignant that you should attempt to ascribe
to me responsibility for your present unfortunate condition.
I can recall no passage between us which might give you
even a remote excuse for doing so.' Would you say that is
consistent with the earlier letter?"
“As I have said, at a later stage I began to have doubts,
and it seemed to me it was very questionable whether I
could have been responsible.”
"Are you seriously telling me that after such a short lapse
of time you could have had any doubts. I mean as to the
physical possibility?”
“Certainly.”
"You can hardly have been a very ardent lover. Take the
typewritten letters E and F in which you requested Miss
[196]


H A N G I N G
"I did. But I said nothing explicit of my intention to her,
so as not to raise hopes which I was not likely to be able to
fulfill for a considerable time.”
“We will leave that for the jury to decide. I refer you to
the letter marked B. 'The stern Papa is getting inquisitive;
we don't want to be cut off with the proverbial shilling.'
Was not your father Dr. Gordon Brittain, of Harley Street?"
“Yes.”
“What was the date of his death?"
"I cannot recall it."
"I have a copy of the Times which I will presently hand
to the jury. The issue is for March 8th, forty-one years ago,
and in the column headed 'Deaths' there appears the name
Brittain, Gordon Spencer, Physician. Does that refer to your
father?"
“Presumably.”
“The letter B is dated Boxing Day, three years later. At
that time, therefore your father had been dead over three
years?"
“It appears so.
"In fact, you were writing to Miss Teal about a stern
parent, who was presumably standing in the way of your
marriage, at a time when that parent had been in the grave
several years?"
"I do not accept your interpretation.”
“What interpretation then do you put upon it?”
[ 198 ]


H A N GING JUDGE
"I may have been referring to my family at large, using
the expression 'stern papa' in a symbolic way.”
"You admit, then, that the question of marriage had been
mooted?"
“It was not mooted in the shape of a definite proposal.
The abstract possibility may have been discussed.”
"I put it to you that your behavior throughout this asso-
ciation was that of a liar and blackguard, who promised
eventual marriage, but made excuses to avoid honoring
your promise, and abandoned the girl in a particularly
brutal way directly you had got her into trouble.”
“I entirely repudiate the description.”
There was a small scab on Sir Francis's ear now. He
could not quite make up his mind to pick it off, and kept
fingering it. Denis nudged his neighbor. "He's at it again,"
he whispered, care for his reputation as a psychologist get-
ting
the
upper
hand once more....
Sir Keith continued:
"You were known at Moxton as Mr. John Willoughby?”
“Yes.”
"As far as your life there was concerned, you took great
pains to conceal your true identity?"
“That is so.”
"Why did
you
do this?"
"I think the reason is obvious. As a person whose name
was fairly well known to the public, I wished to evade pub-
[199]


HANGING JUDGE
1
lic interest, and particularly the attention of neighbors who,
if they knew who I was, might intrude on the privacy which
was the object of my retreat."
“The object was not to lead a loose life of a sort which,
if you were known to be one of His Majesty's Judges,
would result in a nation-wide scandal and possibly very un-
pleasant consequences to yourself ?"
A squabble between Counsel arose, terminating in the
judge's ruling the question in order. Sir Francis answered:
“The suggestion is insulting and entirely untrue.”
At this moment he felt for his ear again, most unfortu-
nately; for every juror, like almost everybody in the
County, had long been directly or indirectly made aware
of the nature of Mr. Willoughby's life at Moxton. The
stock of Denis rose sharply.
“The object was simply to avoid the annoying publicity
that inevitably follows a prominent man?”
“Yes.”
"You were known to Mabel Teal as John Willoughby,
were you not?"
“Yes.”
“Would you have described yourself as a prominent man
at that stage in your career?”
"Hardly.”
“What then was the object of your alias at that time?"
After an unhappy pause, Sir Francis replied slowly. "The
[200]


HANGING JUDGE
رو
Sir Francis thrust forward his head. "I did not receive
the letter; I had no foreknowledge that the man would visit
me; and I did not take his life.”
"I see. ... Have you ever done any amateur photography
Sir Francis?"
"No."
"Or gold or silver electroplating?"
"No."
"You are aware that in these processes, and in photog-
raphy, potassium cyanide is employed?"
"I have heard so."
"You had no legitimate reason for keeping a supply of
cyanide in your house?”
“No reason at all.”
"Yet a quantity of cyanide was found in your house?"
“So we have been told.”
"Are you suggesting that Inspector Vincett is a perjurer?"
"I make no suggestion. I only say, that to the best of my
knowledge, there was no potassium cyanide in the house
while I was living there."
"Do you think any servant may at any time have kept
some in your medicine chest?"
“I cannot say, but I think it highly unlikely."
"Do you think Teal himself may have put it there?"
"It is not impossible.”
“How could he have done that?"
[ 202 ]


HANGING JUDGE
“That late that night you made an unlawful entry into
the Soldier Inn, into Teal's room; that you then examined
his bag but failed to find the papers, that you returned to
your room in a state of agitation, and either inadvertently
dropped the key, or deliberately thrust it into the lining of
an armchair to conceal it?"
“The whole suggestion is fantastic."
There was a pause. Sir Francis had given his answers
with great boldness and force, but he was clearly terribly
shaken. Sir Keith resumed in a lower key.
“Why did you curtail your holiday, Sir Francis?"
“To avoid questions arising out of Teal's disappearance,
which might lead to a disclosure of my identity."
"You realized, did you not, that the body would inevi-
tably be found sooner or later, that Mr. Willoughby would
then come under suspicion, and that it was necessary for
Sir Francis to make a clean break from his alias while there
was yet time?”
"I knew nothing of a body and there was no question of
suspicion."
"Allowing only a decent interval to elapse after Teal's
disappearance, so that you should not be immediately asso-
ciated with it?"
"That to an extent is true, though as I have already told
you
the motive was not the one you impute to me.”
"You heard no doubt Frederick Mason and Sergeant
[204]


H A N GING JUDGE
majesty stripped from him, had been a much more pitiable,
and therefore sympathetic, figure than the portly gentleman
struggling to get back to his former attitude of regarding
the whole matter as an outrage. Sir Miles hardly succeeded
in palliating the damning exposures of character revealed by
the letters to Mabel Teal; but he made considerable play
with the inconsistency of the athletic feats demanded by
the prosecution's reconstruction of the murder and its se-
quel with the age and physical make-up of the prisoner.
Nevertheless, with the jury the tide set against the pris-
oner that night. ... To his amazement, and not a little to
his dismay, Denis found his ear-scratching theory spon-
sored (with the copyright stolen, so to speak) by the fore-
man, who proceeded to build an elaborate theory upon it,
not at all in the prisoner's favor. Denis wondered, as he lis-
tened to the foreman's patient and somewhat cocksure dis-
entangling and sifting of truth and falsehood in Sir Francis's
evidence, whether the ear scratchings had really come quite
so pat. He himself could not remember half of the instances
he was now being told about.
"I wonder if I was right to start this?” he asked himself,
as for the twentieth time he rearranged his bedclothes and
punched his pillows into a new position.
[207]


Chapter Thirteen
1
T had been expected that on the following morning the
trial would proceed immediately to its closing stages. A
mild surprise however was sprung when Sir Keith asked
and obtained leave to call evidence in rebuttal of the defense.
The two witnesses he produced were Isaac Knowles, the
postmaster of Moxton, and Davis, the village postman. The
method by which collection and deliveries were operated in
the village was in this fashion: Moxton being only a sub
post office, all its letters, incoming and outgoing, had to go
through Sutton Thorpe. Twice a day Davis would cycle
from Thorpe and make his delivery, finishing at the post
office, where Isaac would hand him the contents of the let-
ter box, together with any parcels or registered letters. It
happened that on the afternoon of the Thursday before
Teal's disappearance Isaac, on Davis's arrival, pointed out
[ 208 ]


H A N G I N G
JUDGE
t
0
b
SO
W
O
0
CH
W
the man from whom he was now determined to obtain his
own long-denied rights. Certainly his mood was a deter-
mined one; behind the quite courteous tone of his letter
there lurked a mood of implacability; one felt he would not
be sorry, if his demands were not fully met, to punish, to
revenge himself on this prosperous and respected man who
had caused him to be brought into the world and aban-
doned him while still unborn. Also it must be remembered
he was a sick man, whose tenure of life hung on a slender
thread; he had nothing to lose and little to gain, except
revenge.
"I suggest,” said Sir Keith, “that his feelings when he
wrote the letter were something like this. He was doubtful
as to what sort of man this long-lost father of his was. If
he showed solicitude, sincere repentance, a disposition to
make atonement for his sin, he would go easily with him.
But if he showed a hard front he would not spare him. All
depended on the interview between them. Therefore he
wrote in such a fashion as not to commit himself to any
course; he would leave this man an opportunity for dis-
playing magnanimity, if any lay in his nature."
But on Sir Francis, Counsel went on, the effect of the
letter must have been catastrophic. For he had a bad con-
science, and no reason to suppose that Teal would be eas-
ily placated. He had to face all that was implied by Teal's
phrase "treat me as your son,” financially, socially; or al-
th
SU ti
--
n
-
[212]


H A N G I N G JUDGE
0
01
Of
CI
b1 fa tr
for the murderer; the terrifying task awaited him of recov-
ering the documents which might still bring him to book.
The forcible entry into the Soldier, the opening and ran-
sacking of Teal's bag, its failure; the realization either that
he had been bluffed, that there were no papers, or that he
himself had inadvertently buried them, in a place where
they could never be recovered by himself. The return to
Overstaithe, the key thrust out of sight anywhere; a night
in Gehenna, and then the dawn, returning courage, a story
improvised and successfully told, twice, three times; and
then as the search grew warmer, discreet retirement. On
the afternoon when Sir Francis stepped onto the platform
of Liverpool Street Station he hoped and believed that John
Willoughby had been buried for good and all.
Counsel concluded by recapitulating concisely the main
points of the evidence: to what alternative, he asked, could
they possibly point other than the guilt of the man who
stood in the dock? Any idea of suicide was ruled out of
court by the fact that no phial or vessel from which Teal
could have taken the poison had been found. Since cyanide
of potassium acts immediately, it follows the vessel from
which it was drunk must have been thrown away or
dropped near the body. But the police had made an ex-
haustive search for it and found nothing. If, however, the
jury could conceive any alternative to the Crown case, or
if his learned friend offered them any which seemed cred-
do
d
ca
of
al
P
[214]


H A N GING JUDGE
CL
W
th
ne
ре
of
im
UF
ing his own end was near, and filled with vindictive feel-
ings against the man he believed to be his father, had de-
stroyed himself in such a way as at least to embarrass, and
possibly to throw suspicion on, Sir Francis. In this acci-
dental circumstances had assisted him, though they were
not inconsistent with design. A quantity of cyanide might
have been placed in an empty medicine bottle, a key hid-
den where a search would bring it to light. Physically of
course, the thing was simple; it was only necessary for him
to sit on the edge of the well, take the poison he had pre-
pared for such a contingency, and then allow himself to
drop. The vessel, as his learned friend called it, had doubt-
less been dropped, later swept away by Turvey or another,
and dumped on the village rubbish heap.
Or again, there might be some very deep-laid plot, with
Teal and Sir Francis as joint victims. Was Teal's real busi-
ness at Moxton with Sir Francis? Might it not have been a
blind to cover some other undertaking, possibly a criminal
one, an undertaking with some associate of his vagrant life
who now lived in or near the village? Could he not have
visited this associate after leaving Overstaithe, then have
been done to death, and carried by the murderer, who
knew of his visit to Sir Francis, to the place where he was
found, in the hope of diverting suspicion? It had to be re-
membered that the body was not found, nor murder sus-
pected, for weeks after the disappearance-ample time to
th
Ol
se
yo
m
be
cl
st
[216]


HANGING JUDGE
cover up tracks, and to strengthen the diversion of suspi-
cion by planting evidence in Overstaithe at a time when it
was untenanted and open to any man whose talents lay
that way. That man might have been a burglar, his busi-
ness with Teal the planning of a burglary, Teal's true busi-
ness with his alleged father no more than the contrivance
of an opportunity for spying out the ground, the occasion
of the murder a quarrel between thieves. ...
Imaginative? Yes—but was such a theory one whit more
imaginative than his learned friend's frantic efforts to close
up the gaps and gather in the loose ends in the Crown case
-the business with the bag, the supposition that Teal had
told Sir Francis the fatal papers were in his bag, the wild
story, for which there was no particle of evidence, that
the accused man, at this time of life, had made a burglari-
ous entry into the Soldier? If the thing were not so deadly
serious, he would describe it as puerile.
Sir Francis was not being tried for a moral offense. Even
if one believed that he had behaved less than well in the
matter of Mabel Teal, many years ago, when he was a
young man subject to the temptations of youth, there was
nothing to show that his life since then had not been a
model one. Even if there had been, did the jury seriously
believe that people guilty of immorality were on that ac-
count likely murderers? If that was so, we were all rubbing
shoulders with murderers or potential murderers every day.
[217]


HANGING JUDGE
a
ti
SC
S
fa
3
3
D
... It was true that Sir Francis had had this long-forgot-
ten adventure of his youth brought up against him. It was
a misfortune, but why in heaven's name should it be a
motive for murder? Sir Francis was a man of substance;
it would not cripple him to make a handsome allowance to
his son. Surely any concession would be better than plung-
ing into a wild crime, bound in the end to come to light.
Again, Sir Francis was a judge. He knew the law, he
knew the world, he knew police procedure. Granting the
impossible, that he chose to kill Teal instead of buying him
off, was it conceivable that a man of his kind would have
scattered clues around like a mental deficient? He over-
looks papers in the man's pocket, he leaves the key to his
victim's box, the letter making the fatal appointment, about
the house, where anyone can find them; he doesn't even
trouble to conceal the remains of the poison with which he
committed the crime. Except in the case of the papers,
there was ample time to cover up errors made in panic.
Was it believable? Had the demeanor of Sir Francis in the
box suggested that he was a man who ought to be certified
as insane?
Much ado had been made about the letter in which Teal
was alleged to have announced his intention of calling on
Sir Francis. It seems probable that the letter was delivered,
and that was perhaps one of the strongest pieces of evi-
dence for the defense. For why should Sir Francis have lied
id
t
f
-
[218]


HANGING JUDGE
of
ing; let him keep life itself. He had in any case to endure
a cruel punishment, too heavy for his fault; let not the
jury, through confusion of thought and the misinterpreta-
tion of circumstances that could be read a hundred other
ways, impute to him a crime which he had not, could not
have committed. ...
th
er
be
of
m
3
de
NE
cu
+
0
Mr. Justice Parkinson's voice sounded, in contrast to his
peering amiability of countenance, a little acid. He did not
like emotional appeals, and he considered Sir Miles's rhet-
oric as something out of place and irrelevant. In conse-
quence he was perhaps a thought sharper in defining the
issue than he would have deemed necessary if he had not
felt that the wrong note had been struck. He began by
stating that there was nothing unusual about this case; the
eminence of the accused was accidental, and should be for-
gotten, except insofar as there existed a presumption of
good character for a man of the record of Sir Francis. That
presumption had, to a certain extent, been invalidated by
evidence given and not contested, but the jury should not
permit the question of immorality, as such, to influence
them in deciding the plain issue on which they had to judge.
Sexual immorality was not normally a crime, and one could
not fairly argue from one to the other.
"I am aware," said the judge, and a slightly malicious
[220]


HANGING JUDGE
W.
D
tic
he
on
an
ini
PO
mu
th
submission has been made that the motive is utterly inade-
quate.
"Now I hardly need to remind you that there is no such
thing as an adequate motive for murder. If no murders
were committed without adequate motive, murder would
never be done. At the same time we must recognize a dis-
tinction between the strength of motives. The man who
stands to gain by murder, to be revenged or to satisfy
jealousy by it, may have a strong motive, always provided
that his objective, or a reasonable part of it, cannot be at-
tained by legitimate means. Learned Counsel for the de-
fense has put it to you that the motive suggested in this
case is under the circumstances an extremely weak one,
and I think you must give weight to this. It surely would
have been possible for ‘Mr. Willoughby' to have come to
an arrangement with Teal: and to do so, even at the cost
of some financial or social embarrassment, would have been
a simpler course than to jeopardize his career, his security,
and his peace of mind by committing a desperate crime.
If you are to believe that the accused preferred the latter
alternative, you may have to suppose some breakdown of
nervous control consequent on shock, and a temporary one
at that, for you may find it hard to read the demeanor of
the accused in the witness box as that of a man whose
mental balance is impaired."
On the other hand, etc. etc. . . . What he gives you
Jo
ce
as
SC
SC
ī
[222]


GE
H A N GING JUDGE
terlys
is nos
M20 X
to share
met het
to the
dit
Feate
with his right hand he takes away with his left, reflected
Denis, puzzled by this masterly exercise in judicial impar-
tiality. ... On the question of “particular improbability,"
however, the judge was more explicit. Certainly, he said,
on the presumption of guilt, the failure to destroy obvious
and vital pieces of evidence was puzzling and apparently
inconsistent with the behavior of an educated man in full
possession of his faculties.
“But," and the Judge leaned forward and spoke with
more emphasis than hitherto, "you must remember one
thing. Still assuming the guilt of the accused, the crime
was committed not by Sir Francis Brittain, but by Mr.
John Willoughby. And Sir Francis Brittain was not con-
cerned with exculpating Mr. Willoughby, but in utterly dis-
associating himself from that person—a thing he had done
successfully for many years, and which he could have rea-
sonable grounds for hoping that he could now finally do.
The Bench was the last place on which people would look
for the missing owner of Overstaithe.
"Remember that Willoughby had to disappear, and that
in the long run—as it happened it was a short run-the
remains of Teal were sure to come to light. When they did,
the finger of suspicion would point inexorably to the miss-
ing Willoughby. Where then was the urgent need to de-
stroy evidence against him? The only evidence that had
to be destroyed was any pointing to the conclusion that
Tyveri
the
greke
SAT
e
bonum
[223]


I:
in:
do
Chapter Fourteen
ou
th
bi
1
ca
IN
Lc
ور
an
at
of
CC
N the Norfolk County jail, two days before the morn-
ing appointed for the execution of Sir Francis Brittain,
the Governor and the Chaplain were talking in the
latter's room.
"Altogether too well,” the latter was saying, in answer
to a question. "He's gone soft. . . . It's been the same
ever since the appeal. Up to then, he was master of him-
self, very busy preparing his case, and absolutely con-
fident-you know, I don't think he'd believed in the
possibility of a conviction, and once that accident had hap-
pened, he was quite sure it would be set right on appeal.
But now he's gone to pieces. . . . His brain seems addled.”
“Think we'll get him to the post all right?”
“We'll have to. But it won't be pleasant. It never is, of
course, but I think this will be worse than usual."
“You mean he won't run?"
"He doesn't seem to take things in.”
"You don't think he's insane?"
The Chaplain shrugged his shoulders. “Legally, he's sane,
ܝܢ
[226]


H A N GING JUDGE
I should say. But of course you can recommend an exam-
ination.”
The Governor tugged at his collar. "I don't think I can
do that, without a lot more to go on. There'd be an awful
outcry—the public are out for his blood. . . . It's a funny
thing: society, I mean the best people, did its best to keep
him out of trouble. But once he was fairly landed, it be-
came more bitter than anybody."
“Yes. Cutting off the tainted member; they daren't be
lukewarm. ... Society has always been like that—take
Lord Byron."
The Governor nodded, presumably to show his accept-
ance of the poet. “Nothing like a confession?” he asked,
after a pause. “I'm not asking you to break any confidences,
of course.'
"There are no confidences to break. There's been no
confession—and yet in a sense perhaps there has.”
The Chaplain looked at his watch. "I told him to expect
me about now. Will you come along for a little?”
When they entered the condemned cell Sir Francis was
sitting at the table, with a pencil in his hand and paper
before him. But the paper was blank. He did not appear to
notice his vistors; he had to be nudged by a warder.
"Don't get up." The Governor sat down. He had not
been able to decide whether to call this prisoner "Brittain"
or "Sir Francis”; he compromised by never addressing him
by name. “Writing, I see.”
[227]


HANGING
J U DGE
la
"I
le
OL
fi
“I don't know what to write,” said Sir Francis.
“Mind if I make a suggestion?"
Sir Francis raised distressed eyes: "Please do, please. I
really can't start."
The Governor cleared his throat.
"Well, you know, old fellow, in a case like this, with
your experience, well, you know what we like to have."
"You mean a confession?" The voice had lost all its
quiet incisive resonance.
"Well, yes, exactly,” almost stuttered the Governor.
“That's what I'm trying to do. Only I can't start.”
The two officials exchanged glances. The Governor
spoke again.
"Well, here's the parson, you know. He'll help you-
he's a literary sort of bird. Not that you need to be lit-
erary.'
“That's not what's troubling me. I say I can't start. I
don't know what to say. ...
Sir Francis was weeping.
“Come, pull yourself together.” The Governor tried a
bracing tone. “Let's start at the beginning.
When did
you decide to ... do the thing?”
"I don't know.
I see now I did it. ... The jury,
the Court of Criminal Appeal, they can't both be wrong.
... I've always said it was impossible; I'd die if I believed
it."
n
lo
Ş
.
.
[228]


-..
Η Α Ν GI N G
JU D G E
the office door and saw his superior officer, with an em-
purpled face, standing before the wall telephone and bawl-
ing at the top of his voice, “Trunks!”
"What's up, Sarge,” asked Bunker mildly.
"Hell!” replied Foxley between his teeth. "Trunks, I
said, TRUNKS!!”
He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and turned to
Bunker. “What's the time, Phil? This clock here is fast,
isn't it?"
P. C. Bunker consulted his watch. "Six minutes, I make
it. It wants two minutes of eight.”
"I may make it. ... I should ring the Yard or the
Home Office, but there's no time for red tape. ...
. . Hullo,
trunks! ... Get me Norwich County Jail at once. At
once, you understand? Clear all lines if necessary. ...
This is police, matter of life and death.” He hung up the
receiver.
Bunker, thrusting back a feeling that if his sergeant was
in such a hurry he would do well to talk less, awaited an
explanation. But he did not get it.
“Get on the other line, Phil,” shouted Foxley. “Call up
the Yard, and ask for Superintendent Morris. Tell him it's
urgent. Run, man, run.
Left alone, Foxley picked up the chair and sat down. He
took up the letter and was continuing his perusal of it
when the telephone bell rang. He rushed to the machine.
“Hullo, Norwich Jail? Good. Listen, this is Willesden
[231]


1
opi
Epilogue
hor
IALAH
THIS
LAT
HIS was the letter Foxley had received:
THE SOLDIER INN
MOXTON
December 21st
DEAR SERGEANT FOXLEY,
I expect you will be surprised to receive a letter from
Robert Teal, the man who disappeared from Moxton on
above date, also the man who if my calculations are cor-
rect was found in the old well at Overstaithe, and whose
murder Sir Francis Brittain, alias John Willoughby, was
hanged for.
I've taken a lot of trouble to show that the law can get
the wrong man, even in a murder case. Here are a few
points for you and the police, and the judges to think over.
(1) Sir Francis is innocent.
(2) I committed suicide.
(3) I am not Sir Francis Brittain's son.
[ 233 ]


E
H A N GING JUD G E
a ne
Ta
th
have to
crystals of cyanide of potassium, dissolved them, and kept
them in a bottle about me. And I still had the bottle.
I looked out Brittain's address in a directory, and went
to his house. I learned he was away on holiday, and that
was a setback, for I was strung up, and doubted I would
carry it through if I had to wait. The servant wouldn't give
me the address, but I made an excuse of urgent business,
that I had to write him a letter, and got into the house. The
servant told me letters would be forwarded, he was re-
directing some that evening. Well, I meant to write, but on
thinking it over I didn't. I might be able to do what I
wanted easier if I didn't give him too long a time for think-
ing. While I was in the room where I was shown, consid-
ering things, I looked around me, and my eyes lighted on
some empty medicine bottles on a shelf. They were all
marked with the label of some chemist near by in South
Kensington, and they gave me an idea. I took one of the
bottles and pocketed it, and late that night transferred my
cyanide solution to it. By that time I had found Brittain's
address at Moxton by a trick, and learned that he was still,
all these years after, going by the name of Willoughby,
So next day I went to Moxton. As I expect you know,
I had a bad heart attack directly I got there, the worst I'd
had. The doctor who came to see me told me as clearly as
possible my number was up, and that decided me. I'd really
chouten
therea
that
DIA
[239]


HANGING JUDGE
nothing to live for, except to punish Brittain. I thought I
wouldn't get in touch with him for a day or two, I wanted
to look round, and try out the possibilities. I've heard a
good bit about Brittain, or Willoughby, during these few
days, and not much good. He hasn't changed his spots.
I've
only seen him once so far, on the marshes, he was beating
his dog, who'd gone to smell at some rubbish and not come
to heel directly he called.
I went up to look at his house, and I decided on my plan.
Yesterday I wrote two letters to Willoughby. The first I
posted. In it I said that I was wondering if he was requir-
ing a domestic servant. My sister, aged 18, who had a thor-
ough domestic training, was anxious to work for a single
gentleman. I enclosed a photograph—it was a photo of the
sister of my friend in Buffalo, a very attractive young girl.
I proposed to call on him at eight o'clock Saturday eve-
ning, when if he was interested, we could discuss the
matter.
It was a pimp's letter, and I showed clearly I meant it
to be that by asking him to destroy it, which I expect he
will do. When I go to him tonight, he may shut the door
in my face. If he does so I shall abandon my plan, set
about things in a different way, perhaps spare him the
worst. But from what I have heard here I do not think he
will shut the door in my face, and that is one of the rea-
sons why I've sent the letter. I believe he will send his girl,
[240]


HANGING JUDGE
who I have heard generally stays till nine or half-past,
away early, so that she will not hear our conversation, and
that may come in useful as an incriminating act. He has
had trouble over this girl, and may be looking for some-
thing new. I was careful to explain in my letter that I was
my sister's only guardian, no other family. I think he will
welcome me, carefully of course, and if he does I will know
he deserves all I'm preparing for him.
At least I am supposing that. And now I will tell of the
second letter, which I have not posted, and that is part of
my plan. This letter also said I would come at 8 p.m. Sat-
urday, but it told the truth, or part of it. In it I announced
myself as Robert Teal, his son, and told him I expected to
be treated as his son. It was a threatening letter. My inten-
tion is to make an opportunity to hide it, somewhere in his
house, in such a way that as he's not looking for it he
won't find it, but when he is suspected, and his house
searched properly, it will be found. And then you'll have
a chain that ought to be good enough for the police. My
God yes, if they hang a man on the evidence in Harry's
case-a threatening letter making an appointment, Brittain
taking pains (I hope) to have the house empty for our
meeting, my body found in the way it will be found.
I'm going to speak him fair enough. I shall tell him I'm
Teal, which will of course be a surprise and a shock, but
I'm not going to rush him. I shall just say I thought he
1
pati
pla, si
him to
[241]


HANGING JUDGE
me
no
th
WO
W
mi
ba
pr
be
P
th
ought to help me, try to create a friendly idea. I want him
to give me a chance to be alone for a little so that I can
plant the letter, and also the bottle with part of the cyanide.
I want to get him to offer me a drink, to see if he has
brandy in the house. Why? Because, I hope, traces of
brandy will be found in my stomach, along with the cya-
nide, and suggesting it was taken in a drink. One other
thing I shall hide in the house, the key to my grip. You'll
see why in a minute.
It's nearly seven, and in about half-an-hour I shall be
setting out. I've put my wallet in a special pocket I've made
in the lining of my coat, so that it shan't appear that it
could easily be found by my murderer searching my body.
The wallet is supposed to be waterproof, and I hope it will
prove so, for in it is all the evidence that Brittain was Teal's
or Campbell's father. If the papers are destroyed or can't
be read, it'll be hard to pin it on Brittain, for where is the
motive? But it's a chance I'll have to take, and I believe it
will be all right, because I believe my enterprise is a just
one, and that goes for something. I wonder how much
water there is at the bottom of that well. It looks as if it's
not been used for a time, it may be dry.
In another pocket is the letter I meant to plant, and a
large capsule, soluble, which I've made up myself, and
which contains a quantity of brandy with a safe dose of
the cyanide. I've had to make the capsule, no hard job for
al
m
ܢܩ
[242]


CE
H A N GING JUDGE
me with
he
t123
ht
l'iree
my dari
my pharmaceutical experience, because I can see
no way to get rid of a bottle or phial. Such a phial, if I take
the dose from that, is sure to be found near me, and it
would suggest suicide.
Also I have that key safely tucked away. When I leave
Willoughby I'm going to hide in the dark, at least until
midnight, and then when the village is asleep I'll go quietly
back to the Soldier, break into my room by a method I've
prepared, and leave traces of my entry, not too distinct,
but enough to show a policeman someone has broken in.
Perhaps I'm overreaching myself here, but I think some-
thing of the kind is important. When Mabel Teal's papers,
are found on my body, people will ask why, if Brittain
murdered me, didn't he remove them and destroy them?
My answer is the secret pocket, which could be missed in
a murderer's hurried search, and the key which they'll find
in his house. When they find it's the key to my grip, it will
look as if I'd told Brittain the papers were in my bag at the
Soldier, that I wasn't such a fool as to go to him with the
proofs on my person. And that Brittain had taken the key
from my body and broken into my room, hoping to get
hold of them.
I mustn't forget to drop my ring near the well. I don't
know how long it will be before they find me, but I don't
want it to be too long. I've done all I can to point to
"Willoughby" and I hope they'll get there pretty soon, for
PENT
017
Pet
[243]


HANGING JUDGE
the
and
able
anc
pri:
hay
Th
thi
there's the question of the papers being destroyed. So I'm
going to drop my ring, which I've made sure the landlord
here has noticed, nearby. Barring accidents, that ought to
direct attention to the well, and it will look as if it dropped
off as my body was being dragged there.
It's time to go. I'm going to tell the landlord I have an
appointment with Willoughby, as I go out, and up the
lane I'm going to look in at the cottage of that chap who
pointed out Overstaithe, and pretend I've mistaken the
house in the dark. That would help to fix Willoughby as
the last person to see me alive.
There's this letter. I shan't post it until the last thing, in
case of a slip. I may find time to add a P.S. But I think this
is all I can write now. Sorry if I haven't been clear on any
point. I don't regret leaving life, except that I shan't see
the result of this experiment. Maybe the whole thing will
go wrong. Maybe this will be received in time to save Brit-
tain. I've put it at three months, which may give him a fair
chance. I feels no qualms about him being hanged, but if
he goes through the nightmare and is spared in the end, I
shall be satisfied.
Sergeant Foxley, you may think me mad or wicked, or
both. But you, who knew Harry, should know why I do
this. Harry was innocent, and Brittain is innocent. But
which of the two deserve death more?—the harmless af-
fectionate boy who was the dupe of a clever scoundrel, or
Не
ro
in
to
to
[244]


H A N GING JUDGE
at
fre
no
be
til
my
Sn
you swine
swine youve
bi
nc
bi
keep the engine going and be ready to drive off Sharp. So
I said as long as you dont hurt him Ime Game. So then Fos-
ter drove up on a nice car and he turned into the entrance
where there was a Garage. And Taylor went in behind and
shone a Torch an then there was a report not to loud I
thought it was a backfire from Foster's Car but Taylor came
running. He had a gun in one hand and a bag in the other I
said
shot him he said start her you bloody
fool. A window opende and a woman called Ronnie whats
happened and then I heard a whistle and I drove. I suppose
I shd have stopt but I was Mad with fear. Taylor kepd say-
ing faster and I speded her up then he said turn Right here
and I turned but I was too late, we had mounted the pave-
ment. The car Crashed agins a lamp standard and Taylor
hit it full he was killed he died without recovering con-
science. I was not hurt much but they came an took me and
that is the truth Bob I swear by God.
The Lawyer said they would send me to Prison but not
have me hanged for I had not knon Taylor had a gun. I
cannot tell all but I was Charged and then committed so I
thought all was going right for it came out about mother
had diabetis and I saw the Jury crying 2 of them a man and
a woman and I told the truth except about rearlizing it was
a burglary when I did just before, Because my counsil told
me not to. he was very good my counsil I mean he made
me cry too, but it came out about Atkins and me cheeting
F
2
m
[248]


GE
HANGING JUDGE
So the
beli
at o la
Taylez
I then
ONNIE
lo
RISE
at billiards. And I had to answer a lot of awful questions
from the polices counsil but as I was telling the truth I did
not mind except about the realizing for he made out I must
be mad if I did not Realize. But still I thought it was alright
til the Judge made his Speech Briton his name was but not
my idea of a Briton turning everything against me the dirty
sneak. He said I made a record of Depravity meaning my
biliards and taking from the Till and said dismiss from your
mines the story of the prisoners mothers diabetis there are
no extennuating circumstances for Murder an not be suaid
by Emotion but go by the facs alone. He said if Taylor and
I were Participateing in a common purpose to committ a
Fellowny then we were both guilty I was a Principel in the
2nd Degree, I cd only be Not Guilty if I did not no Taylor
was going to commit or had a gun and he poopood that.
Wel Bob he practicaly told them to find me Guilty and they
did though after 31/4 hrs. There was an Appeal where I
went but didnt understand, a lot of talk. About R.V. Bets
some old case I think which the Judges said showed I was
guilty, but it did not Bob for I had not thought of Murder
not even to Rob untel the last moment, & if Taylor had
lived I beleive he would have said. It was all that Judge
Briton, I try to be fair to him I lie awake Thinking, but he
did it the cold Devil, he must have seen the truth, a fiend in
human Shape if ever there was one.
Well, Coat, that is not all for Mum died 2 days after the
.
Okm
Th"
ܕܳܐܶ
46.
[249]