(SHORT STORY) Better Hang Wrong Feller

Auckland Star, Volume LXV, Issue 224, 21 September 1934, Page 15

(SHORT STORY) Better Hang Wrong Feller

(By ANTONY MAESDEN.)

"Talking of April 1 " said the ex-inspector. '"No, this isn't a lioaxyani; and yet I reckon you could say it was in a way. Only it turned out pretty serious, for what you writingchaps calls the protagonisers in the job. . . . There's ;in old wise-crack that you may have heard: 'Better hang wrong feller than hang no feller!' I don't know who said that; but I do know a case in which it actually happened —they hanged the wrong feller, handsome!" "And was it better?" I asked. The inspector shrugged. "It wasn't better for us! There was a holy row about it, you may imagine; and more than one man got sacked. It all just goes to prove that you can't trust appearances. . . . Why, take us two! I'd never have guessed you were a novelist, from the cut of you; and J don't fancy it occurred to you that J was ex-C.I.D. until I told you just now?" I made some evasive answer; for as a matter of fact (though I know very little about the police) this man's trade stuck out all over him I had met him rambling on a secluded stretch af the downs; we exchanged some wayfarers' chat; and by the time we had flung- ourselves full-length and filled pipes, his bulk and boots and general personality had placed him beyond question. . . . But I didn't want to risk offending him with a yarn in the wind, so I agreed that appearances were deceptive. He said: "The case I'm thinking of was that of a man named Blair, who was murdered on All Fools' Day—most suitably, by gosh! —a few years back. Remember it?" "I've been in China since the war —till last month." "Dm —you wouldn't, then. . . ." W T e lit up. We had all Sussex to ourselves this spring morning; not so much as a sheep in sight, and not a hint of humanity, save for one sleepy-looking country house in its wooded part down below. My fellow-wayfarer nodded. "This chap Blair was a.Civil servant, a bachelor, who lived on the ground floor of some suburban mansion-flats, with a non-resident housekeeper to look after him'. She used to come in before breakfast and leave at about six. On April 2 she found him lying in his hall with his head smashed; he had been dead at least nine hours, and the flat was ransacked. Which wag tough luck on him. . . . "The case looked simple enough. One of Blair's colleagues—cha'p called Ashe— had been embezzling accounts; and Blair found out and blackmailed him. On the evening of the Ist Ashe called at Blair's and they had sC bit of row—Blair asking more blackmail and Ashe unable to pay. At about 9 p.m. they adjourned to the local hostelry, where the argument- was continued. The barman testined—-at Ashe's trial, this was—that they'd been quarrelling about some typed document, and were still quarrelling when they left at 9.30. Ashe admitted it. The document, he said, was a draft letter denouncing him, which Blair, was threatening to send in. if Ashe didn't pay up. That letter liad disappeared; but we •unearthed a carbon copy among Blair's papers (these Civil servants will have everything in duplicate, don't you know), iwhich Ash 6 confessed was identical. . . "So you sec how the prosecution shaped? Ashe went back with Blair, murdered him. destroyed the letter; then cleared off with Blair's watch and a few valuables (which the housekeeper missed later) so that we might suppose some burglar had done Blair in; but ho had missed the carbon, knowing nothing about it—and that gave him away. - - In defence, Ashe admitted everything up to their leaving the pub; then, he said, they parted. But it wouldn't wash. Ashe was hanged. "Which was tough luck on him; because a few weeks after we'd hanged Ashe, someone got murdered in another flat by a burglar we caught red-handed; and when the burglar had been sentenced, blowed if he didn't tell us he'd murdered Blair, and that we'd find Blair's valuables if we dug up a piece of waste ground to which he directed us; which we did. . . . Oh, yes, we found them right enough—all except the watch (remember that, won't you? It mattered quite a lot later on). But we didn't advertise our little find, I assure you. After all, Ashe was dead, and the second chap was going to be hanged, anyway, irrespective of Blair; so there didn't seem much point in crying over epilt beans —or not publicly. But we cried in private like hell! There was wind-up, and a Disciplinary Board, and a wailing and what's-its-lKiming of teeth. That's bow I got—how I resigned from thc Force; and several more with me. "Which was tough luck on all of us; for we weren't done with Blair yet. Would you believe it, after 18 months Blair's third killer turned up! A tramp, this time, who walked into a north country police station one evening, and said lie wanted to surrender himself for the murder of Jamee Blair." "Incredible!" I exclaimed. The inspector laughed ruefully. "Didn't they wish it was! They tried hard not to believe him —but, damn it, they'd no choice. He produced Blair's watch with his name engraved on it; and the original letter, ready stamped for post, which Blair had typed against Ashc; also he volunteered some details of evidence which had never got into print, and which he couldn't possibly have known except at first hand. . . • His story was that at 9.30 he'd found Blair's flat open and dark, and had slipped into it. He'd got no further than thc hall when Blair entered after him. The tramp stepped behind the door. Blair switched the lights on, and they could both see at a glance that the flat had been looted —everything in a mess. . Then Blair turned and saw him. The tramp, in a blind panic, knocked Blair on the head, cleared his pockets, and bolted. Next night he read about Blair's death, but had kept his mouth shut ever since. . . "Well, the tramp's story couldn't be shaken; and if you've followed me so far you'll have pieced the jig-saw together? The flat was burgled about 9.0 and 9.30 " "By whom 1" I put in.

"By the second man —the man who told us wliere to dig for the loot." "But he said he'd killed Blair!" "Well, ho was a liar. You can't kill somebody you've never met —at least not by bashing his head in. He'd left "while Blair and Ashe were still at the pub; and he left Blair's door open. And-a few minutes afterwards the tramp and Blair arrived simultaneously. . . . Yes, I know what you're going to say: the burglar'd confessed ? But it happens frequently that a convicted murderer will brag of jobe he's never clone—some kink of vanity, I suppose; there are lots of cases on record. . . . "So there we were. We'd hanged Ashc, we'd hanged the burglar—and now this infernal tramp must needs stick his nose into it. ... No, they didn't hang the tramp; they kind of hadn't the heart to. They reckoned one and a half men hanged for one. blackmailer was plenty —not to mention sacking me! And they were scared of the Press; you fellows might have hinted the mistake was jetting habitual, if the true facts had come out." "What became of the tramp, then?" I inquired. "Oh, that was easy. The poor chap was mental, you see. They got him certified, /and "shoved him away quick. He's alive still. . . . no, not down there/' he said, nodding towards the big house in the trees on which my glance rested. "That's just a private mental home; the tramp's in the County asylum. . . Of course you'll keep this yarn to yourself? It wouldn't do if it got talked about, even now —but I thought you'd appreciate it, between ourselves, since the C.I.D. seems to interest you." "It does indeed— —" I said soberly. Yet for me, some of the glory of the April day had departed. It eeemed a terrifying thing that justice, even in this one isolated case, should have so miscarried. Better hang wrong fellow? But the wrong fellow might have been ine! And my informant seemed so callous about it; only one aspect of it touched him, apparently —that the mistake had cost him Ms job. But I supposed policemen had to grow thick ekins: how else could they carry on? At all events he was quite unaware of the impression his story had made on me; for lie chuckled suddenly, and pointing downhill: —

"You're in luck," he remarked. "I'm quite small beer, you know; but here cornea someone worth talking to " A second man was lumbering up the steep track towards us; a large and bulky personage in plue-fours, not unlike my companion. "D'you recognise him J" he murmured. I shook my head. "Well, it's Blank — Superintendent Blank." I stared, then; for he had named a celebrity—one of the Big Four from the Yard. "I'll introduce you if you like; and if ho b'ji'iiis iii the mood, I'll leave you together. You get right side of him; he'll spin you yarns that'll beat any crook-story written." Pius-Fours joined Uβ then; my friend stood up and saluted. '"Morning, Chief!" " 'Morning, Kennedy!" He glanced at each of us sharply.. Then to the inspector: "I hoped I'd find you. Want a word with you presently; there's a little matter cropped up. ■ ■ • Don't get out of call, please!" My companion took the hint and, with a nod to me, strolled ahead. I stood by, respectfully. . . . I've said I haven't much to do with police-work, and it isn't every day one meets a man of Blank's standing. But he turned towards me with the frankeet of smiles. "Been swapping yarns, ch?" "Nothing very much," I said, guardedly it had occurred to me that in confiding to me the appalling facts of the Blair case, my friend had perhaps been indiscreet; and I didn't want to get him into trouble for goseiping. "Interesting man, your inspector!" • "Oh, so long as he haen't been boring you. . . . He's quite harmless, anyway; if there was more like him, a keeper's job 'ud be easier !" And he nodded, pensively, towards the big house that slumbered peacefully below in its trees.