“That is, the child in Maitland’s house?”
Johnson nodded.
“You don’t know what association there is between the child and these two men?”
“No, sir, except that I am certain that Mr. Collett-Banson had the little boy with him, because I sent toys—mechanical engines or something of the sort—by Mr. Maitland’s directions. It was the day that Mr. Maitland made his will, about eighteen months ago. I remember the day particularly for a peculiar reason. I had expected Mr. Maitland to ask me to witness the will and was piqued, for no cause, because he brought two clerks up from the office to sign. These little things impress themselves upon one,” he added.
“Was the will made in favour of the child?”
Johnson shook his head.
“I haven’t the slightest knowledge of how the property goes,” he said. “He never discussed the matter with me; he wouldn’t even employ a lawyer. In fact, I don’t remember his ever employing a lawyer all the time I was with him, except for conveyancing work. He told me he had copied the form of will from a book, but beyond feeling hurt that I, an old and faithful servant of his, hadn’t been taken a little into his confidence, I wasn’t greatly interested in the matter. But I do remember that that morning I went down to a store and bought a whole lot of toys, had them packed and brought them back to the office. The old man played with them all the afternoon!”
Early in the morning Dick Gordon interviewed the prisoners at Pentonville, and found them in a very obstinate mood.
“I know nothing about babies or children; and if Johnson says he sent toys, he is lying,” said Balder defiantly. “I refuse to make any statement about Maitland or my association with Maitland. I am the victim of police persecution, and I defy you to bring any proof that I have committed a single act in my life—unless it is a crime to live like a gentleman—for which you can imprison me.”
“Have you any message for your wife and children?” asked Dick sarcastically, and the sullen features of the man relaxed for a second.