"'I don't know, sir,' the old man concluded. 'I went to bed and I never seed the Captain again, nor yet Mr. 'Enery—not from that day to this, sir. No, not again, sir.' And Rose once more shook his head in the same doleful manner. Of course the police were very down on him for keeping back this valuable piece of information, and they were even inclined to look with suspicion upon the man. They wanted to know something about his antecedents and why he seemed so frightened of facing the police authorities. Fortunately for him, however, Miss Shillington could give them all the information they wanted. She said that James Rose had been for years in the service of a Mrs. O'Shea, who was a great friend of Mrs. Shillington's. When Mrs. O'Shea died she left him a hundred pounds. But the poor thing had never been very strong, and he was nothing to look at, he couldn't get another place, and the hundred pounds vanished bit by bit. About a month ago Mrs. Shillington, who was requiring a man-servant, advertised for one in the Daily Mail. Rose answered the advertisement, and though the poor thing in the meanwhile had gone terribly downhill physically, Mrs. Shillington, remembering how honest and respectable he had always been when he was in Mrs. O'Shea's service, engaged him out of compassion and for the sake of old times. Miss Shillington gave him an excellent character and the police were satisfied.
"I think," the Old Man in the Corner said, amorously contemplating a marvellously intricate knot, which he had just made in his bit of string, "I think that the police were mainly satisfied because at last they felt that 'they had made out a case.' From that moment the detectives and inspectors in charge became absolutely convinced that Henry Buckley had enticed Captain Denver Shillington to some place of evil fame close to the river and there, in collusion probably with other disreputable characters, had robbed and murdered him. To say the least, the case looked black enough against Buckley. His fast living, his mountain of debt, the absence in him of moral rectitude as proved by his fraudulent bankruptcy, all told against him; and now it was definitely proved that he had sought out and actually been in the company of Captain Shillington the night that the latter disappeared. A light grey overcoat similar to the one described by Rugger and by the chauffeur as worn by the gentleman who was loafing in Somerset Street was found to be a part of his wardrobe; no one could swear, however, as to the scarf, but it turned out that he never went out in the evening without wearing a large, white carnation in his button-hole.
"The fact that he had not stated from the beginning that he had called at Mexfield House that night, and subsequently met the missing man and walked away with him, naturally told terribly against him. Obviously the man lost his head. Questioned by the police, he tried at first to deny the whole thing: he declared that the man with the white carnation and the light-coloured scarf was some other man whose name happened to be Henry, and he tried to upset Rose's evidence by declaring that the man lied and that he had never called at Mexfield House that night. But, unfortunately for him, he had taken a taxi from his club to the house, the taxi-driver was found, and the noose was further tightened round the Honourable Henry Buckley's neck. In vain did he assert after that that Denver Shillington had told him to call at Mexfield House at a quarter-past midnight on that fatal Friday. He was no longer believed. He admitted that he was in financial difficulties, and that he had spoken about these to Captain Shillington earlier in the evening. He admitted, tardily enough, that he went to Mexfield House hoping that Denver would give him some money in order to wipe out his most pressing debts. When he found that the Captain had not yet come home, he left a message with the man-servant and thought he would go on to the club for a little while and return later to see Shillington. Unfortunately, he drank rather heavily whilst he was at the club and never thought any more either about his money worries or about the Captain. In fact, he remembered nothing very clearly beyond the fact that he went home, in the small hours and went straight to bed.
"He then went on to say that he woke up the next morning with a splitting headache. It was pouring with rain and London was looking particularly beastly, as he picturesquely termed it. He recollected that his sister Angela had planned to go down with old Square-toes to some friends near Newmarket for the weekend. He, too, had been asked but had declined the invitation, but now he began to wish he hadn't; while he was out of town money-lenders couldn't dun him, and a breath of country air would certainly do him good.
"And he was just cogitating over these matters at eight a.m. on that Saturday morning, when his sister Angela came into his room. 'She told me,' he went on, 'that old Square-toes was unable to accompany her to these friends in Cambridgeshire, that she didn't want to go alone, and would I hire a car and drive her down. She offered to pay for the car, and, as the scheme happened to suit me, I agreed. We drove down to Tatchford, and on the Tuesday I had an unpleasant reminder from one of my creditors and thought that I must get back to see what old Square-toes would do for me. I got home that same evening, and the next morning early Miss Shillington rang up and told me over the 'phone that they had heard nothing of Captain Shillington since the previous Friday and that they were getting anxious. And that's all I know,' he concluded. 'I swear that I never set eyes on Shillington after he drove off from the Duchess of Flint's, with my sister in his car. I did call at Mexfield House, but it was at Shillington's suggestion, but when the man told me that the Captain was not yet home, I did not loaf about the street, I went straight back to the club and then home.'
"Of course all this was very clear and very categorical, but there were one or two doubtful points in Buckley's statements, which the police—dead out now to prove him guilty of murder—made the most of. Firstly, there was his former denial on oath that he had not called at Mexfield House that night. It was only when he was confronted with the testimony of the taxi-cab driver that he made the admission. The employees at his club, which, by the way, was in Hanover Square, had seen him come in at about half-past eleven. He went out again twenty minutes later and the hall porter saw him hail a taxi-cab. He was once more in the club at half-past twelve, and it is a significant fact that two of the younger members chaffed him subsequently because he had not the usual white carnation in his button-hole.
"Then again it was more than strange that on the Friday he was so worried about his debts that he went in the middle of the night to his friend's house in order to try and borrow money from him, and yet when, according to his own statements, he never even saw his friend, off he went the very next morning to the country, stayed away four days, and on his return did not make any attempt seemingly to see the Captain or to ask him for money. Thirdly, it was equally inconceivable that Captain Shillington should have appointed to see Buckley at that hour of the night, however pressed the latter might have been for money. Why should he? The next morning would have done just as well, whether he meant to help him or whether he did not, and, according to the testimony of the night-watchman, William Rugger, when he was accosted by Buckley, he exclaimed in tones of great surprise, 'Good Lord, Henry, what are you doing here?' These are not words which a man would say to a friend whom he had appointed to meet at this very hour.
"However, this portion of the taxi-driver's and Rugger's testimony Buckley still strenuously denied. He could not deny the other. He had called at Mexfield House and reluctantly admitted that it had been nothing but 'blue funk' that had prompted him at first to hold his tongue about that and then to deny the fact altogether.
"But, above all, there was yet another fact which to the police was more conclusive, more damning than any other and that was that on the Wednesday morning the Honourable Henry Buckley had called at Messrs. Foster and Turnbull, the well-known pawnbrokers of Oxford Street, and had pledged a pair of diamond ear-rings and a couple of valuable bracelets there for which he received three hundred and fifty pounds.
"Here again, if Buckley had volunteered this statement, all might have been well, but it was the pawnbrokers who gave information to the police. It turned out that the ear-rings and the two bracelets were the property of his sister, Lady Angela. Buckley declared that she had given them to him, and she, very nobly, did her best to corroborate this statement of his, but it had become impossible to believe a word he said. Lady Angela's valiant efforts on his behalf were thought to be unconvincing, and, as a matter of fact, the public has never known from that day to this whether Henry Buckley stole his sister's jewellery, or whether she gave it to him voluntarily.