The Brooklyn murders

by G. D. H. Cole

To the reporters and to the members of the police who were present, crowding to suffocation the confined space of the coroner’s court, it became more and more evident that the inquest was not likely to throw any light upon the mystery. They heard, from the police witnesses, from the household servants, and from Joan Cowper, how the bodies had been found. Walter Brooklyn and others gave purely formal evidence of identification: the doctors for once told a plain story. George Brooklyn had been killed by a savage blow on the back of the head, dealt without doubt by a powerful man with the stone club of Hercules, which was produced in court with the bloodstains still upon it. Prinsep, too, had probably been killed by the blow on the back of his head, dealt with an unknown instrument. The knife thrust at the heart, which had missed its object, had been made subsequently, and would not by itself have caused sudden death. Inspector Blaikie’s evidence, indeed, promised to be more exciting; for he told of the finding of George Brooklyn’s handkerchief under Prinsep’s body, produced a knife, similar to that found in the body, which he had found in George Brooklyn’s office, showed the broken fragments of Prinsep’s cigar-holder found in the garden, and photographs of fingerprints found on the stone club and others taken from Prinsep’s hands. This was exciting enough; but it did more to mystify than to enlighten the public and the reporters. Still, it was excellent copy; and the reporters, and later the editors and sub-editors, made the most of it. Then, when the inquest seemed practically over, the coroner, a sharp little man who had attended strictly to business and said as little as possible throughout the proceedings, acted on the hint given him by the police, and ordered Walter Brooklyn to be recalled. Walter’s manner, when he gave his earlier evidence and was asked no more than a couple of formal questions, had shown plainly to the inspector, and also to Joan and Ellery, who were sitting together, that he was surprised at being let off so lightly. As the inquest went on, and nothing was said to draw him into the mystery, his expression, troubled and puzzled in the earlier stages, gradually cleared, and, up to the moment when he suddenly found himself recalled, he had been growing more and more sure that the suspicions of the police against him had been somehow dispelled. But now, in an instant, he realised that they had been deliberately keeping back everything that could seem to connect him with the case, not because they did not suspect him still, but because they had carefully set a trap into which they hoped that he would fall. For a moment, a scared look came into his face; but, when he stepped again into the witness stand, he wore his usual rather ill-humoured and supercilious expression. Immaculately dressed and groomed, he was a man who looked precisely what he was—an elderly, but still dissipated, man about town.

This time the questions which the coroner asked were far from formal. He began with what was plainly a leading question,—

“It has been suggested to me, Mr. Brooklyn, that you may be able to throw some further light on this tragedy. This morning you were given no opportunity to make a general statement; but I desire to give you that opportunity now. Is there anything further that you are in a position to tell us?”

“I know no more of the affair than I have heard in this court to-day—or previously from the police.” Walter Brooklyn added the last words after a noticeable pause. “Nevertheless, there is a statement that I want to make. It has been suggested, not in this court, but earlier to me by Inspector Blaikie—that I was in Liskeard House on Tuesday evening. I desire to say that I called at Liskeard House shortly after ten o’clock and waited for a few minutes in the outer hall. Then I went away; and since that time—perhaps twenty past ten on Tuesday night—I have not been in either the house or the garden. Of the circumstances of the tragedy I know nothing at all except what I have heard at this inquest or from the police.”

Walter Brooklyn’s statement created a sensation; for here was the first hint of a suspicion entertained by somebody as to the real murderer. Clearly the police had been keeping something back—something which would incriminate the man who was now giving evidence. Of course, after interrogating Walter Brooklyn the police might have discovered their suspicions to be groundless, and therefore have said nothing of them. But, if this were so, why had they recalled him in this curious fashion, and why should Brooklyn go out of his way to draw public attention to himself, and to make certain that his doings would be fully canvassed in the newspapers? No, the way in which he had been recalled showed that the police were acting with a definite purpose. They were trying to get Walter Brooklyn to make a statement which would clearly incriminate him, and, if they really had evidence of his presence in the house, they had certainly succeeded.

This explanation, natural and largely correct as it was, was not quite a fair account of Superintendent Wilson’s motives. His object had been not merely to get Walter Brooklyn to incriminate himself, but also to give him a chance of clearing himself if he could give a satisfactory explanation of his presence in the house. The fact that the man had repeated on oath an obvious lie seemed to him a good enough reason for ordering an arrest. He nodded across the court to the inspector.

But the coroner’s court had not yet quite done with Walter Brooklyn. A juryman, quick to be influenced by the general suspicion which was abroad, signified his desire to ask a question. “Where did you go after leaving Liskeard House?” he rapped out.

The coroner interposed. “Since that question has been asked,” he said, “perhaps it would be well if you would give us an account of your movements on Tuesday night.”

Walter Brooklyn seemed to think for a minute before replying. “Well,” he said, “I strolled about for a bit round Piccadilly Circus and Shaftesbury Avenue, and then I went home to the club.”

“At what time did you reach your club?”