Delphi Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Illustrated) (1235 page)

Presuming that the assassin was indeed after the jewels, it is very instructive to note his knowledge of their location, and also its limitations. Why did he go straight into the spare bedroom where the jewels were actually kept? The same question may be asked with equal force if we consider that he was after the papers. Why the spare bedroom? Any knowledge gathered from outside (by a watcher in the back-yard for example) would go to the length of ascertaining which was the old lady’s room. One would expect a robber who had gained his information thus, to go straight to that chamber. But this man did not do so. He went straight to the unlikely room in which both jewels and papers actually were. Is not this remarkably suggestive? Does it not pre-suppose a previous acquaintance with the inside of the flat and the ways of its owner?

But now note the limitations of the knowledge. If it were the jewels he was after, he knew what room they were in, but not in what part of the room. A fuller knowledge would have told him they were kept in the wardrobe. And yet he searched a box. If he was after papers, his information was complete ; but if he was indeed after the jewels, then we can say that he had the knowledge of one who is conversant, but not intimately conversant, with the household arrangements. To this we may add that he would seem to have shown ignorance of the habits of the inmates, or he would surely have chosen Lambie’s afternoon or evening out for his attempt, and not have done it at a time when the girl was bound to be back within a very few minutes. What men had ever visited the house? The number must have been very limited. What friends? what tradesmen? what plumbers? Who brought back the jewels after they had been stored with the jewellers when the old lady went every year to the country? One is averse to throw out vague suspicions which may give pain to innocent people, and yet it is clear that there are lines of inquiry here which should be followed up, however negative the results.

How did the murderer get in if Lambie is correct in thinking that she shut the doors? I cannot get away from the conclusion that he had duplicate keys. In that case all becomes comprehensible, for the old lady — whose faculties were quite normal — would hear the lock go and would not be alarmed, thinking that Lambie had returned before her time. Thus, she would only know her danger when the murderer rushed into the room, and would hardly have time to rise, receive the first blow, and fall, as she was found, beside the chair, upon which she had been sitting. That is intelligible. But if he had not the keys, consider the difficulties. If the old lady had opened the flat door her body would have been found in the passage. Therefore, the police were driven to the hypothesis that the old lady heard the ring, opened the lower stair door from above (as can be done in all Scotch flats), opened the flat door, never looked over the lighted stair to see who was coming up, but returned to her chair and her magazine, leaving the door open, and a free entrance to the murderer. This is possible, but is it not in the highest degree improbable? Miss Gilchrist was nervous of robbery and would not neglect obvious precautions. The ring came immediately after the maid’s departure. She could hardly have thought that it was her returning, the less so as the girl had the keys and would not need to ring. If she went as far as the hall door to open it, she only had to take another step to see who was ascending the stair. Would she not have taken it if it were only to say: “ What, have you forgotten your keys? “ That a nervous old lady should throw open both doors, never look to see who her visitor was, and return to her dining-room is very hard to believe.

And look at it from the murderer’s point of view. He had planned out his proceedings. It is notorious that it is the easiest thing in the world to open the lower door of a Scotch flat. The blade of any penknife will do that. If he was to depend upon ringing to get at his victim, it was evidently better for him to ring at the upper door, as otherwise the chance would seem very great that she would look down, see him coming up the stair, and shut herself in. On the other hand, if he were at the upper door and she answered it, he had only to push his way in. Therefore, the latter would be his course if he rang at all. And yet the police theory is that though he rang, he rang from below. It is not what he would do, and if he did do it, it would be most unlikely that he would get in. How could he suppose that the old lady would do so incredible a thing as leave her door open and return to her reading? If she waited, she might even up to the last instant have shut the door in his face. If one weighs all these reasons, one can hardly fail, I think, to come to the conclusion that the murderer had keys, and that the old lady never rose from her chair until the last instant, because, hearing the keys in the door, she took it for granted that the maid had come back. But if he had keys, how did he get the mould, and how did he get them made? There is a line of inquiry there. The only conceivable alternatives are, that the murderer was actually concealed in the flat when Lambie came put, and of that there is no evidence whatever, or that the visitor was some one whom the old lady knew, in which case he would naturally have been admitted.

There are still one or two singular points which invite comment. One of these, which I have incidentally mentioned, is that neither the match, the match-box, nor the box opened in the bedroom showed any marks of blood. Yet the crime had been an extraordinarily bloody one. This is certainly very singular. An explanation given by Dr. Adams who was the first medical man to view the body is worthy of attention. He considered that the wounds might have been inflicted by prods downwards from the leg of a chair, in which case the seat of the chair would preserve the clothes and to some extent the hands of the murderer from bloodstains. The condition of one of the chairs seemed to him to favour this supposition. The explanation is ingenious, but I must confess that I cannot understand how such wounds could be inflicted by such an instrument. There were in particular a number of spindle-shaped cuts with a bridge of skin between them which are very suggestive. My first choice as to the weapon which inflicted these would be a burglar’s jemmy, which is bifurcated at one end, while the blow which pushed the poor woman’s eye into her brain would represent a thrust from the other end. Failing a jemmy, I should choose a hammer, but a very different one from the toy thing from a half-crown card of tools which was exhibited in Court. Surely commonsense would say that such an instrument could burst an eye-ball, but could not possibly drive it deep into the brain, since the short head could not penetrate nearly so far. The hammer, which I would reconstruct from the injuries would be what they call, I believe, a plasterer’s hammer, short in the handle, long and strong in the head, with a broad fork behind. But how such a weapon could be used without the user bearing marks of it, is more than I can say. It has never been explained why a rug was laid over the murdered woman. The murderer, as his conduct before Lambie and Adams showed, was a perfectly cool person. It is at least possible that he used the rug as a shield between him and his victim while he battered her with his weapon. His clothes, if not his hands, would in this way be preserved.

I have said that it is of the first importance to trace who knew of the existence of the jewels, since this might greatly help the solution of the problem. In connection with this there is a passage in Lambie’s evidence in New York which is of some importance. I give it from the stenographer’s report, condensing in places:

Q. “Do you know in Glasgow a man named
? “

A. “ Yes, sir.”

Q. “What is his business?”

A. “A book-maker.”

Q. “ When did you first meet him? “

A. “ At a dance.”

Q. “ What sort of dance? “

A. “A New Year’s dance.” (That would be New Year of igo8.)

Q. “ When did you meet him after that? “

A. “In the beginning of June.”

Q. “Where?”

A. “In Glasgow.”

Q. “ At a street corner? “

A. “No, he came up to the house at Prince’s Street.”

Q. “ Miss Gilchrist’s house? “

A. “Yes, sir.”

Q. “That was the first time since the dance? “

A. “Yes, sir.”

Q. “ Do you deny that you had a meeting with him by a letter received from him at a corner of a street in Glasgow? “

A. “I got a letter.”

Q. “ To meet him at a street corner? “

A. “ Yes.”

Q. “The first meeting after the dance?”

A. “ Yes.”

Q. “ And you met him there? “

A. “ Yes.”

Q. “ And you went out with him? “

A. “ No, I did not go out with him.”

Q. “ You went somewhere with him, didn’t you? “

A. “ Yes, I made an appointment for Sun day.”

Q. “Did you know anything about the man?”

A. “Yes, I did, sir.”

Q. “ What did you know about him? “

A. “ I didn’t know much.”

Q. “ How many times did he visit you at Miss Gilchrist’s house? “

A. “Once.”

Q. “ Quite sure of that? “

A.
      
“ Quite sure.”

Q.
      
“ Didn’t he come and take tea with you there in her apartment? “

A.
      
“That was at the Coast.”

Q.
      
“ Then he came to see you at Miss Gil-

Christ’s summer place? “

A.
      
“Yes.”

Q.
      
“How many times?”

A.
      
“Once.”

Q.
      
“ Did he meet Miss Gilchrist then? “

A.
      
“Yes, sir.”

Q.
      
“You introduced him?”

A.
      
“Yes, sir.”

Q.
      
“ Did she wear this diamond brooch? “

A.
      
“I don’t remember.”

Q.
      
“ When did you next see him? “

A.
      
“ The first week in September.”

Q.
      
“In Glasgow?”

A.
      
“Yes, sir.”

Q.
      
“By appointment?”

A.
      
“Yes.”

Q.
      
“When next?”

A.
      
“I have not met him since.”

Q.
      
“ And you say he only called once at the country place?”

A. “Once, sir.”

Q. “ In your Glasgow deposition you say:

‘ He visited me at Girvan and was entertained at tea with me on Saturday night, and at dinner on Sunday with Miss Gilchrist and me.’”

A. “Yes, sir.”

Q. “ Then you did see him more than once in the country.”

A. “Once.”

He read the extract again as above.

Q. “Was that true?”

A. “Yes.”

Q. “ Then you invited this man to tea at Miss Gilchrist’s summer house? “

A. “Yes.”

Q. “ On Saturday night? “

A. “Yes.”

Q. “ And on Sunday night? “

A. “ He wasn’t there.”

Q. “ On Sunday you invited him there to dinner with Miss Gilchrist and yourself, didn’t you? “

A. “Yes, sir. I didn’t invite him.”

Q. “Who invited him.”

A. “ Miss Gilchrist.”

Q. “Had you introduced him?”

A. “Yes, sir.”

Q. “ He was your friend, wasn’t he? “

A. “Yes, sir.”

Q. “ She knew nothing about him? “

A. “No.”

Q. “ She took him to the house on your recommendation? “

A. “Yes.”

Q. “Did she wear her diamonds at this dinner party? “

A. “I don’t remember.”

Q. “You told him that she was a rich woman? “

A. “Yes.”

Q. “ Did you tell him that she had a great many jewels?”

A. “Yes.”

Q. “Have your suspicions ever turned towards this man? “

A. “Never.”

Q. “ Do you know of any other man who would be as familiar with those premises, the wealth of the old lady, her jewelry, and the way to get into the premises as that man? “

A. “No, sir.”

Q. “Was the man you met in the hallway this man? “

A. “No, sir.”

This is a condensation of a very interesting and searching piece of the cross-examination which reveals several things. One is Lambie’s qualities as a witness. Another is the very curious picture of the old lady, the bookmaker and the servant-maid all sitting at dinner together. The last and most important is the fact, that a knowledge of the jewels had got out. Against the man himself there is no possible allegation. The matter was looked into by the police, and their conclusions were absolute, and were shared by those responsible for the defence. But is it to be believed that during the months which elapsed between this man acquiring this curious knowledge, and the actual crime, never once chanced to repeat to any friend, who in turn repeated it to another, the strange story of the lonely old woman and her hoard? This he would do in full innocence. It was a most natural thing to do. But, for almost the first time in the case we seem to catch some glimpse of the relation between possible cause and effect, some connection between the dead woman on one side, and outsiders on the other who had the means of knowing something of her remarkable situation.