THE TRIAL OF CICELY SELBY

Auckland Star, Volume LXVI, Issue 55, 6 March 1935, Page 21

THE TRIAL OF CICELY SELBY

By ALLYN SLOAN BY THE AUTHOR OF >' STRANGE ABSENCE."

CHAPTER VI. Identified. It seemed to Cicely that she had sat for days in the cell in Cannon Row Police Station before the door opened and she was led out and shown into a bare, yellow-washed room where seven women stood in line. They were like herself, hatless, fair-haired,, blue-eyed, and of much the same build as herself, and she was told to choose a place in the line with them. This was, she knew, what was termed an identification parade, and after a moment's hesitation she took up a position seventh in the row and stood with furiously beating heart waiting for her accusers to come and identify her. She strove with all her might to keep calm and to look unconcerned, for it was important that her agitation be not seen, she knew.

Yet, when the door opened her heart gave a leap and seemed to perform amazing antics within her. A man, a stranger, stood beside the constable, a burly man, wearing a taxi-driver's number attached to the button of his coat. He moved towards the line and looked into the face of each woman. As he neared, her, Cicely felt that she must fidget or sigh, but she kept her eyes firmly fixed ahead of her. The man's footstep creaking slowly along the line, then on her right, stopped. She felt an almost imperceptible touch on her shoulder, after which, to her surprise, she saw the man walk out. What had happened! Had he identified her? But that couldn't be. She had taken no taxi for several days and certainly not on the 2.3 th. The door opened again and a woman was shown in. She was a drab, sourlooking creature, wearing a mole-col-oured coat with a grubby white scarf about her neck. The same process was repeated, excepting that the woman on reaching her pointed a sharp finger at her face and said in no doubtful tone: "That's 'er." Trembling with anger, Cicely took a step forward. Who were these people? How dared they accuse her? What did it all mean ? No "one would answer her, however, and she was taken back to the cell where she had spent the night. During the hours which followed whilst she was waiting to be brought before the magistrate, she had time to spare to ponder over the injustice which was being done her. CHAPTER VII. "The Fool." Cicely Selby's case came up before Mr. James and ultimately resulted'in her being committed for trial at the Central Criminal Courts, bail being refused. The public had not been admitted to the proceedings, but the Press had, and in a remarkably short time posters were flaunting her name in letters two inches high through the street's of London. Indeed, as Gilmorts escorted Lady Penge to the offices of Pry, West and Pry, solicitors, a newsboy bawled into their ears: "Bachelor Girl for Trial!" Both' turned away their faces in disgust. Samuel Pry, a thin, white-haired man whose entire vitality seemed to be concentrated in the piercing glance of his eyes, stood at his office window, and seeing Lady Penge and Gilmore come down the street, pursed his lips. He had for many years been the Selbys' family solicitor and after the death of their parents he had continued to watch over the girls' interests, although since they had.grown up he had seen scarcely anything of either. He knew, however, a certain amount about them, and being incorrigibly old-fashioned, he did not like what he knew. Jill, he had heard, was as unstable as water, and Cicely ae independent a* the wind. When on attaining her majority she had moved up from Pengeinere and her aunt's protection to live by hereelf in a flat in town, he had predicted the worst, and although deeply shocked at what had happened, he could not altogether refrain from taking r.p an "I told you so" attitude. Of course that anything so dreadful should happen he had scarcely expected. That such a thing should befall the child of his old and much esteemed clients appalled him.

With a sigh. Pry's thoughts reverted to the result of that morning's proceedings, which had been reported to him by Williams, the junior whom he had sent to the Magistrate's Court to watch the caee on Cicely's behalf.

But the door opened and Lady Penge, with Gilmore and MeCrae, were shown in. Jill ■ had found reasons for once why she had to remain in the country, and had not come up to town.

The old solicitor bowed. "A bad business, I'm afraid, Lady Pencre," he said.

"Umph. I don't .know what to make of it," jerked her ladyship, seating herself.

"Terrible," murmured Gilmore, who was badly shaken by the whole businese. When h<: had begged Jill to marry him he had scarcely realised that within a few days her sister would bo arrested for murder! Blowing out his cheeks, he repeated: "Terrible!"

"I'm afraid the case is quite clear," observed Williams. "The woman svvuars to seeing Miss Selby go up to Don Sebastian's flat that night; the taxidriver identifies her as the woman he set down at Mendez's after having taken her up at the Pom me d'Or, where she is well known to be Miss Cicely Selby." The young man shrugged. "It all hangs together, even to their times." Lady Penge snorted disdainfully. "The fool!" McCrae flung her a murderous glance. Her attitude in the matter was entirely incomprehensible to him. "But look here," he burst out. "What about a motive? That eurely is the first thing to seek." "Quite, but so far none has appeared," the solicitor told him dryly. Lady Penge flung up her head with a strangely horse-like movement. "Wherever there's a man and a woman there's a motive," ehe declared. "That'll hardly be definite enough for the police," McCrae told her. How on earth, he wondered, did Cicely and Jill come to have such an appalling aunt? "The handkerchief is the most dangerous piece of evidence so far," observed Pry. . . Gilmore's eyes bulged, and again ne muttered: "Terrible!" Suddenly Lady Pcngc got up. "Look here, I've a train to catch. I only came in to tell you to get on with the case and do whatever you think necessary and don't worry me. I've made a statement to the police, and I know no more about it. D'you understand?"

Thero was no misunderstanding her ladyship's meaning. In fact, she washed her hands of the whole affair. Cicely had made her bed; now let her lie on it. McCrae's expression became positively belligerent. As if sensing his disapproval, Lady Penge flung the young man a glance of defiance. Her hard mouth tightened and her eye? glared; then, with e enort, she turned to the door, which Gilmore opened for her. "I'll just see Lady Penge into a taxi," he explained. But at the door the woman halted. "Cicely can pay her own expenses, d'you hear '>." Pry bowed. "That'll teach her to keep the law!" When the door had closed upon her, MeCrae and the solicitor eyed each other in silence, until finally the young man burst out: "She's at Act of God, not a woman!" Pry shook his head. "A hard woman, I fear, very hard. Williams. . ." Whilst the solicitors spoke together in a low tone, MeCrae turned to the window and stared unaeeingly out. Cicely —he saw again the courtroom and Cicely looking not unlike a flower in her pretty green dress against the sombre surroundings. He had seen the puzzled expression of her face, the exasperation, the nervous opening and shutting of her slender hand as she had listened" to the evidence against her. And what evidence! It had seemed incontestable to th© miserable young man. And yet—was it possible that she had done this thing? He would not blame her, but — Gilmore returned and sat down. Swinging away from the window. MeCrae burst out: "Look here, d'you think—you don't think that Cicely is —" he broke off and swallowed — "Guilty?" snapped the solicitor, rising and beginning to pace the floor. "I don't know, I'm sure. Frankly, I'm puzzled. Of course —it might be possible. . . Still, we must brief counsel immediately." Gilmore nodded. "I suppose Terhume is our man." he suggested. "I know him quite well and could —" Mr. Pry's head shook with decision. "No, this is not his type of case at all. I want Sir John Rand." Gilmore's face registered distaste. "I should hardly of thought—" "You are thinking , of his reputation?" the solicitor's lips twisted cynically. "Of his methods, yes." McCrao 'broko in: "What's wrong with his methods?" "From our point of view, nothing at all, as ho will be on our side. Sir John is famed for his ruthlese crossexamining but that need not trouble us. He is young, keen and very successful."

• "Most unpleasant," murmured Gilmore. Terhuno now was one of the Gloucestershire Terhunes of Terlnme Courtney, impeccable therefore as to family and possessing the manners of a gentleman. It occurred to MeCrae that lie had read something about Rand in the reports of a sensational case just before ho had gone abroad. As far ae he could remember, Rand had reduced some poor wretch to hysterica in the witness box, and a few people had protested. But that would not' hurt Cicely if he was defending her. Pry broke the silence, saying firmly: "I "really think that Rand is our man. Williams, give Sir John a ring and ask if he will see me at once." Gilmore, however, persisted. "But is there no one else? What about Leeson?" "He'll bo against us," Pry answered. "Urn." Gilmore threw out his oheet. "I still think Terhune —" Pry turned to him with fire. "My dear sir, do you wish Miss Selby to be hanged?" Gilmore's eyes bulged distastefully at this solicitor. But a shocked exelamination passed McCrae's lips, for a picturo had floated before his eyes. . . a slender white neck with a rope about it. Perspiration broke out on his brow as ho gasped: "Good lord, man, let's have Rand if he's the best." Pry nodded. "Ho is. If he will take the case."

CHAPTER VIII.

The Guiltless Prisoner,

Bare walls unbroken save by a locked door and a barred window placed inaccessibly high, proved all too conducive to thought, Cicely found. Hour after hour she sat on a straight chair by a bare table, with a book open before her at which she stared but which she rarely read, for not even in the most thrilling (lights of fiction could she lose consciousness of her own plight. It nagged at her all day and in her sleep, so that she spent hours pacing the confined area of her cell. Ten steps this way, seven that, turn —Heaven! if only she could walk and not have to cross back over her own footsteps in that small square.

A ray of sunlight glancing in, paintel a golden patch high, up on the wall. Watching it, her chin quivered and she caught her lips between her teeth. Freedom! She had valued it, but not enough. What would she not give to be starting out to play golf! The smooth greens, the long drives between the scented pines, windswept skies—o God, it was incredible—a nightmare! Surely she must awake soon! Her eyes ran from wall to wall, then to the ceiling. It was all so small, so cold and hideous. Whatever one had done one could not deserve such ugliness, and she had done nothing. That was what vas so amazing.

She had not done anything, not one single thing of all the things which were laid at her door. They said she had killed Mendez, but she had not; nor had she dined at the Pomme d'Or that night, as they insisted. Even Francois, the old waiter, who should ] ave known her if anyone did, seeing that lie had waited on her so often, even he had said in his evidence that she had dined that night at the Pomme d'Or, although he acknowledged it, at a different table from the one she usually occupied in the corner. The taxi driver and the caretaker's wife—the latter had seemed to enjoy giving evidence against her, and had had to be stopped more than once by the magistrate from venomous digressions; yet she had never seen the woman in her life, nor had she taken a taxi that day at all! Over and over it she went and there was no way out at all. She had told the truth and what more could she do? At first Cicely had feared that she might implicate Jill in her replies, but there had been no danger of that, for the evidence had not seemed to refer to her sister any more than it had to herself. The handkerchief alone was a pointer, and steadfastly she had denied am' knowledge of how it had got into Sebastian Mcndez's flat. It was incomprehensible, maddening. Restlessly she paced the floor from wall to wall, but neither physically nor mentally could she escape. In spite of her painted lips and airs of sophistication Cicely was, at heart, little more than a very frightened young girl. The thought of the trial \l:':\i c.ch week would bring nearer was one of sheer terror, and at night she lay for hours visualising the scene. She had never witnessed a real trial, but a few i..onths ago a sensational case had been very fully reported in the Press, and she recalled now with surprise, and not a little shame, the avidity with which she had read the sordid details. Nothing had been, omitted in the account, which had been graphic to a degree. One witness, pressed by counsel beyond the limit of endurance, had fainted.

And this was the experience irhich awaited her! The girl shuddered and almost welcomed the horrible period of imprisonment, which separated her from that final ordeal. There was a chance, too, that before then the real inurderei' might be apprehended. Did Jill know more than she had told? Cicely had noticed her sister's absence at the Magistrate's Court and wondered. But of course the girl could not know anything. She would have been in much too great a hurry to escape from the scene. Still, there was that handkerchief. . . Beating her fists against her temples, she tried to think—to see light. She was innocent —innocent —yet here she was shut up in Holloway. In England, she had always heard, people were held to bo innocent until their guilt had been proved. But if that were so, why did she have to eke out her day* in that cold cell? She had books, but they did not make up for the comforts of a home and for freedom of movement. Was this justice? Her eyes wandered to the unresponsive wa'lls, and gazed at them with loathing. Beyond them was sunshine, open spaces, activity, everything that made life worth living. What was the date? It took some reckoning, for time had lost its accustomed values. Until recently it had flown, but now it dragged on leaden feet. After careful counting, Cicely placed the date and with a pang remembered that she should be in Scotland, staying with the Fergusons. Her throat closed up and her fists clenched; the thought of Scotland was torture. Fergie Lodge in the fortst of Rothicmurchus ehe had always thought the most lovely place on earth, but seen in retrospect from Holloway prison, it assumed a beauty which scarcely was earthly. Again her eyes, with a hunted expression in their blue depths, went to the walls which hemmed her in, depriving her of the freedom which belonged by right to every jut>t man. If she ever got out —but supposing she did not? Were people ever falsely convicted, wrongly sentenced? Her hands gripped the table and she sat trembling with stark terror. Such a thing could not be; not in this England of the nineteenthirtiee. Swallowing, she dashed her hand over her eyes as if to dispel the nightmare.

"Silly aesl" she muttered aloud, forcing an odd. cracked laugh. But it would be hotter if she were not alone. If she could talk to someone when these bouts of tenor came upon her. . . . She was so far away from everything —shut in. Sitting very still, she held her breath and listened, straining her ears to catch the smallest sound. But they were filled with the thumping of her frightened heart, and distantly, beyond the door, a sound of footsteps approaching along the corridor.

(To be continued daily)