Unravelled Knots

by Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy

§3

"Mind you, there can be no question but that the police acted very injudiciously when they actually preferred a charge of murder against Henry Buckley. There were two such damning flaws in the chain of evidence that had been collected against him that the man ought never to have been arrested. Even the magistrate was of that opinion. As you know, if there is the slightest doubt about such a serious charge, the magistrates will always commit a man for trial and let a jury of twelve men pronounce on the final issue rather than decide such grave matters on their own. But in this case there were really no proofs. There were deductions: the accused was a young blackguard, a moral coward and a liar. There was the blood-stained scarf, the hat and the white carnation, there was the testimony of the taxi-driver and the night watchman that Henry Buckley had been in the company of Captain Shillington that night, but there was no proof that he had murdered his friend and stolen the pearls.

"To begin with, if there had been a murder, where was it committed, and what became of Captain Shillington's body? Of course, the police still hope to find traces of it, but, as you know, they have not yet succeeded. Various theories are put forward that Henry Buckley was a member of a gang of ruffians with headquarters in some obscure corner of London close to the river, and that he enticed the Captain there and murdered him with the help of his criminal associates with whom he probably shared the proceeds of the crime. But over a year has gone by since Shillington disappeared and the police are no nearer finding the body of the missing man.

"The magistrate dismissed the case against Henry Buckley. There was not sufficient evidence to commit him for trial. What told most in his favour in the end was the question of time. He was able to prove that he was at his club in Hanover Square at half-past midnight on the fateful night. Now, according to James Rose's testimony, it was after midnight when he, Buckley, called at Mexfield House. Even supposing that Shillington had arrived in the taxi five minutes later, it was inconceivable that a man could entice another to an out-of-the-way part of London, murder him—even if he left others to dispose of the body—and walk back unconcernedly to Hanover Square, all in less than half an hour. Nor were the pearls or any large sum of money ever traced to Henry Buckley. He was just as deeply in debt after the disappearance of Captain Shillington as he had been before. Now he has gone on another tour round the world, and the Shillingtons—mother and daughter—have given up all hopes of ever seeing the gallant Captain, who was such a model son, again. A little while ago the illustrated papers published photos of the two ladies on board a P. and O. steamer bound for Australia, but the public had forgotten all about Lady Angela's pearls and the mysterious white carnation. No one was interested in the old lady with the white hair and stooping figure, who was carried on board in a chair, and who obstinately refused to be interviewed by newspaper men eager for copy. The case is relegated, as far as the public is concerned, to the category of undiscovered crimes."

"But," I argued, as the Old Man in the Corner became silent, absorbed in the untying of an intricate knot which he had made a little while ago, "surely the police have found out who the man was who accosted Captain Shillington in Somerset Street that night, the man with the light-coloured scarf, which was subsequently found in the river by the side of the missing man's hat, the man who called the Captain 'Denver,' and whom the latter called 'Henry,' and was so surprised to see. If it was not Henry Buckley, who was it?"

"Ah!" the exasperating creature retorted with a fatuous smile, "who was it? That's just the point—a point just as dark as that a man like Captain Shillington could be enticed at that hour of the night to an out-of-the-way part of London, and at a moment when he had his fiancée's jewellery worth twenty-five thousand pounds in his pocket. Don't you think that that point is absolutely inconceivable?"

"Well," I said, "it does seem——"

"Of course it does," he broke in eagerly. "I ask you: Is it likely? At one moment we are told that Captain Shillington was a pattern of all the virtues and that his business acumen and abilities had earned for him not only a fortune but the admiration of all those who knew him; and the very next we are asked to suppose that he would meekly allow a young blackguard, whom he knew to be dishonest and unscrupulous, to drag him 'reluctantly' to some obscure haunt of a gang of criminals. Surely that should have jumped to the eyes of any sane person who had studied the case."

"I don't suppose," I retorted, "that Captain Shillington allowed Buckley to drag him very far. Most people believed at the time that he was attacked directly he rounded the corner of Somerset Street. There are one or two entrances to mews just about there——"

"Yes," the funny creature rejoined excitedly, "but not one nearer than fifty yards from Mexfield House. And do you think that the immaculate Australian would have walked ten at night with young Buckley and with those pearls in his pocket? Why should he? He was outside his own door. Wouldn't he have taken Henry into the house with him if he wished to speak to him? No! No! The whole theory is inconceivable...."