Dimambro spread out his hands.
“Oh, I have my business—very particular,” he said. “Besides, it has nothing to do with me, eh? I don’t see no—no connection between me and that—no! But in time, I do come back, and then—he tell you,” he broke off, pointing to Burchill. “He tell you better, see?”
“I am taking everything in order,” said Burchill. “And for the present I have done with Mr. Dimambro. Now I come to myself. I shall have to go into details about myself which I should not give if it were not for these exceptional circumstances. Mr. Davidge, I am sure, will understand me. Well, about myself—you will all remember that at both the coroner’s inquest and at the proceedings before the magistrate at which Barthorpe Herapath was present and I—for reasons well known!—was not, there was mention made of a letter which I had written to Jacob Herapath and was subsequently found in Barthorpe’s possession, on his arrest. That letter was taken to be a blackmailing letter—I don’t know whether any of you will believe me, and I don’t care whether you do or not, but I declare that it was not meant to be a letter of that sort, though its wording might set up that opinion. However, Jacob Herapath resented that letter, and on its receipt he wrote to me showing that it had greatly displeased him. Now, I did not want to displease Jacob Herapath, and on receipt of his letter, I determined to see him personally at once. Being, of course, thoroughly familiar with his habits, I knew that he generally left the House of Commons about a quarter past eleven, every night when the House was sitting. I accordingly walked down to Palace Yard, intending to accost him. I arrived at the entrance to the Hall soon after eleven. A few minutes later Mountain, the coachman, drove up with the coupé brougham. I remained within the shadow of the porch—there were other people about—several Members, and men who were with them. At a quarter past eleven Jacob Herapath came down the Hall, accompanied by Dimambro. I knew Dimambro, though I had not seen him for some time—I used to see him, very occasionally, during my secretaryship to Mr. Herapath. When I saw these two in conversation, I drew back, and neither of them saw me. I did not want to accost Mr. Herapath in the presence of a second party. I watched him part from Dimambro, and I heard him tell Mountain to drive to the estate office. When both he and Dimambro had gone, I walked out into Parliament Square, and after thinking things over, I hailed a passing taxi-cab, and told the driver to go to Kensington High Street, and to pull up by the Metropolitan Station.”
Burchill here paused—to give Davidge a peculiarly knowing look.
“Now I want you all—and particularly Mr. Davidge—to follow closely what I’m going to tell you,” he continued. “I got out of the cab at the station in the High Street, dismissed it, walked a little way along the street, and then crossed over and made for the Herapath Flats—for the estate office entrance. I think you are all very well acquainted with that entrance. You know that it lies in a covered carriage way which leads from the side-street into the big quadrangle round which the flats are built. As I went up the side-street, on the opposite side, mind, to the entrance, I saw a man come out of the covered carriage way. That man I knew!”
Burchill made a dramatic pause, looking impressively around him amidst a dead silence.
“Knew!” he repeated, shaking his finger at the expectant faces. “Knew well! But—I am not going to tell you his name at this moment. For the present we will call him Mr. X.”