TURK’S FATAL ERROR

Greymouth Evening Star, 9 November 1931, Page 8

TURK’S FATAL ERROR

WEALTHY MERCHANT CHARGED The old unwritten law of Turkey has been used by a rich Turkish merchant to get rid of his unwanted wife so that he would be free to marry a pretty English girl. In the Turkey of the old regime the unwritten law which gave a husband the unquestioned right to slay a wife found to have betrayed him was generally accepted. Ever since Mustapha Kemal Pasha decided to introduce Western ideas into Turkey, however, the unwritten law has been a dead letter. Interest in it was revived by as amazing a murder plot as has ever been recorded even in Constantinople, city of innumerable dark mysteries. Ak-serail is one of the most exclusive residential quarters in the new Constantinople, and one of that quarter’s most luxuriously-appointed houses was that occupied by a wealthy man of business named Hanim Bey. The war had made him rich, and some half-dozen years ago he crowned a career of success by wooing and wedding a beautiful and accomplished Turkish girl namel Hadjer Hanoum. A frequent visitor to their home was a friend of the husband’s Jevad Bey, a healthy young bachelor of about the same age as the -wife. He came often, but always at the behest of the husband.

One evening after the three had eaten a particularly excellent dinner, the husband drew the visitor’s attention to a handsome new gramophone and urged his visitor to dance with his wife, while lie himself attended to the records.

While the two were dancing, however, the husband received a telephone call. He explained to the two dancers that an extremely important matter of business had arisen which necessitated his immediate presence in another part of the city, but he urged his visitor to stay and dance until his return. A SILENT RETURN

Hanim Bey then left, stating that he would be away for about two hours, but in less than half an hour he reentered the house—-and he entered in a curiously cautious manner. Letting himself in silently and not turning on any lights, he made his way to the dining room, where he had left Jevad Bey and his wife. It was. dark and empty. Still treading cautiously, he then made his way up the broad staircase to his wife’s room. Silently he turned the handle of the room, but it refused to yield. Hanim Bey, a big man physically, then put his shoulder to the door and burst it in. A cry broke from his lips. Then he lunged furiously forward, a dagger clenched in his upraised band. In a matter of seconds, his faithless iwife lay dead, stabbed to the heart. Public sympathy was for Hanim when the tragedy became known, and he would probably have “got. away” with it. had it not been for a young and newly-appointed public prosecutor, who found out. firstly, that the rich Turk had an intrigue with a pretty English girl, and, secondly, that the (telephone call was a bogus one. The 'details of the plot were finally made public by Jevad. I “I owed Hanim money,” said Jevad. (“and was forced on innumerable occasions to go to the house, although 1 never dreamed what was his real reason. On the night of the tragedy 1 noticed one queer thing—all the servants were absent, the meal being served by the hostess. “During the meal I also noticed that Hanim continually pressed unusually large quantities of wine both on Hadjer Hanoum and myself. Then came the dancing and the telephone message, and Hanim left the house. . . I tell you there had been nothing whatever in the nature of love-making between his wife and me up to that, moment, but that night we were simply driven into one another’s arms.” The result is that shortly Hanim Bey will be on trial for his life, with the carefully arranged plea of “unwritten law” cut from under his feet.