Mysterious Telephone Call

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXII, Issue 22142, 22 June 1935, Page 7 (Supplement)

Mysterious Telephone Call

PERHAPS the most remarkable 'thing about the murder of Julia Wallace is that from beginning to end there was no important conflict of evidence. That is what makes it such a fascinating puzzle. Except for the usual polite medical squabble over rigor mortis and a trifling uncertainty about the precise moment of a milkboy's visit, the essential facts were never in dispute. There they were, and you could make what you liked of them. The judge made one thing, the jury made another, the Court of Appeal decided that nothing could be made of them, and so set the prisoner free at the very gallows' foot. William Herbert Wallace was an agent employed to collect payments for the Prudential Assurance Company. He was 52 years old and of frail physique, and had been married for 18 years to a wife of about his own age. For 16 years they had lived together at 29 Wolverton Street, Liverpool, apparently in perfect harmony. Music, chess and science were the husband's inoffensive pursuits; Marcus Aurelius, the gentle stoic, his favourite philosopher.

The wife, delicate and retiring, played the piano, painted in water-colours, and listened with interest while he expounded, as best he could, the new theory of atomic physics and the great riddles of the universe. They took their few quiet outings together and enjoyed an ideal companionship. There was no other man; no other woman. No one ever heard a harsh word pass between this happily-married, middle-aged couple. At about 7.15 in the evening of Monday, January 19, 1931, Wallace left his house to play in a competition game at a meeting of the chess club, held at the City Cafe about half-an-hour awnv. About the same time a telephone call was put through to the cafe from a public kiosk just off Wolverton Street, and was answered by the club captain, Mr. Beattie.

The caller, who gave the unusual name of " Qualtrough," asked whether Wallace had arrived, said he was too busy to ring up again, and left a message asking Wallace to call on him next day at 7.30 p.m., at " 25 Menlove Gardens East," about " something in the matter of his business." At 7.45 Wallace reached the cafe and was given the message. " Who's Qualtrough? I don't know the chap. Where is Menlove-gardens East? Is it Menlove Avenue? " He entered the address in his notebook and went on to play and win his came of chess. Some time after ten he left the cafe with a friend, observing that he did not know whether he should keep this odd appointment or not. On the Tuesday the Wallaces had an jarly supper at home, and between 6.30 ind 6.45 Mrs. Wallace took in the milk from the milk-boy. This was the last time she was seen alive. At 6.45, according to his own statenent, Wallace set out to visit Qualtrough, and between 7.6 and 7.10 he vas certainly boarding a tram about

twenty minutes' rido from Wolverton i Street. A few minutes later he changed trains again, making repeated and detailed inquiries of both conductors for " Meniore Gardens Eust." Be was put down at Menloye Gardens West and was told that it would prqbnbly be somewhere in that direction. He replied, "Thank j'ou; I am a complete stranger about here." Now, in a sense, that was not quite true. Two .years previously he had visited a Mr. Crewe, living in that neighbourhood, on five occasions. But since he had always gone there in the dark of the winter evenings it was scarcely surprising that he should not be familiar with all the adjacent streets. After three and a-half year's residence Mr. Crewe himself had no idea whether there was or was not a Menlove Gardens East. Actually, having inquired at a house of a passer-by and of a police constable Wallace was told by all three that, though thero was a Menlovo Gardens North, South and West, and also a Menlove Avenue (all of which ho tried), Menlovo Gardens East did not exist. Unwilling, however, to lose the chance of a useful commission, he asked the constable where ho could consult a directory, adding, "It is not eight o'clock." The constable agreed that it was only 7.45, and told him where to find a newsagent's shop still open. Here Wallace again searched, and asked for Menlove Gardens East, and was told for the fourth time that there was no such place. It was now getting on for 8.20, and Wallace, remembenng that there had been one or two burglaries of late in lis own street, began, as he said, to oel uneasy. He took the next tram joine. A little before 8.40 Wallace's nextloor neighbours, a Mr. and Mrs. Johnton, heard knocking at the back door )f No. 29. The residents in Wolverton street made frequent use of their back loors, which all led out fnto a long 111 try, running parallel to the street

itself. Going out themselves by tho back at a quarter to nine they met Wallace coming down the entry towards his own back door. He greeted them with the rather surprising question: "Have you heard anything unusual to-night?" They said: " No; what has happened?" He said: " I have tried tho back door and gone round to the front, and they are both locked against mo." Mr. Johnston suggested that ho should try the back door again. Ho did so; called out, " It opens now," and went in. The Johnstons, standing in the yard, saw him turn up the gas in the two upstairs back rooms and board him calling as though to his wife. After about three minutes he came hurriedly out, saying: " Coino and see; she has been killed." Then they all went in, by way of tho scullery and kitchen, and in the front sitting-room they saw Mrs. Wallace lying dead on tho floor near the unlit gas fire. Her head had been brutally battered in, and tho wall and furniture was splashed with blood. In the kitchen a cabinet had been broken open and a ca.shbox emptied of its contents (about £4) and replaced on the shelf. This box was where Wallace kept the insurance money each week, till Wednesday, when he paid it in. On most Tuesdays it would have amounted to £2O or £3O, but that week he had paid out about £l4 in benefits. Wallace then ran upstairs to see if anything else had been stolen. Ho returned almost at once sai'ing: " There is £5 in a vase; they have not taken that " Mr. Johnston then went for the police. The police surgeon arrived at ton o'clock and asserted that Mrs. Wallace had by then been dead four hours. Actually, we know she was alive at

least as late as G. 30; but rigor mortis is always a v«ry uncertain indication, in spite of the dogmatic pronouncements of doctors in detective fiction. It seenis unlikely, however, that she was alive much after seven. Eleven ferocious blows had been struck, and it seemed clear that the murderer must have been heavily spattered with blood. Wallace, now once more " cool and collected," and smoking cigarettes, said ho had no suspicion of anybody, and, after making a state-

UNSOLVED CRIMES—No. 17

By Dorothy L. Sayers

rncnt, was sent to sleep, if he could, at his brother's house. Next day the charwoman who occasionally worked for the Wallaces, reported that two things were missing from the house since her last visit on January 7: a pjnall kitchen poker and an iron bar used for cleaning under the gas fire in the sitting-room. A minute search of the drains and waste ground in the district failed to disclose these, or any other, weapons. On the 22nd Wallace furnished the police with a list of friends and acquaintances whom his wife might have admitted to the house during his absence.

He was also foolish enough to question Mr- Bcattie closely about the exact time of ' Qualtrough's " telephone call, remarking, " The police have cleared ftne. When asked why he had said this, he replied: " I had an idea; we have ideas; it was indiscreet of ine."

It was, indeed; and this explanatior o m l Jrove mutters. On February 2, allace was arrested and chargec with the murder of his wife. The trial opened on April 22, and th< prosecution put forward their struetion of the crime. Having (for nc ascertainable reason) determined tc murder his wife, Wallace had himsell telephoned to the cafe in the name oi vualtrough, to prepare himself an alib: for the next day. The voice had been quite unlike his, but he could have disguised it. On Tuesday evening he suggested s music practice, and asked his wife tc i-i the K as fire in the sitting room, which was used only for music and receiving visitors. Meanwhile, he went upstairs, took ofl all his clothes (to avoid bloodstains), put on his old mackintosh (to receive bloodstains), came down armed with the iron bar Cor poker, or both), savagely killed the poor woman, made a futile attempt to burn the incriminating mackintosh, broke open the cabinet and cash box to suggest burglary, went up and flung bedclothes about for the same purpose, washed his bloodstained bands and legs, dressed, and rushed away to catch his tram. After drawing ostentatious attention to himself and his errand, by way of confirming the alibi, he returned, pretended to be unable to get in till he had secured the Johnstons as witnesses, and then " discovered " the body, preserving all the time a callous demeanour, except for a few crocodile tears in the kitchen. Now, this story has a good many holes in it, the most obvious being the complete lack of motive. Mrs. Wallace was insured for £2O and had £9O in the post office; but her husband had his own bank balance of over £l5O, and all his affairs were in perfect order. -But, indeed, every incident in thf case might have two explanations, each plausible as the other. The jury, after an hour's retirement, found Wallace guilty. Two weeks later, the Appeal judges, " looking very crave quashed the verdict, on the ground that the prosecution had not proved their ease—a decision which made criminal history. Who, then, murdered Julia Wallace? 1 think that if a detective novelist had to make a story to cover the facts it would run something like this: There was a man—let us call him by his own assumed name of " Qualtrough"—who had goc himself into financial difficulties through a dishonesty which, perhaps, Wallace had himself helped to expose. At any rate, be knew Wallace weft—knew his" habits with regard to the insurance money—knew that if the Wallaces went out together they took the money with them, but that if Wallace went out alone he left it at homo in hi& wife's care. He was also a frequenter of the City Cafe, and so could see by the list of club fixtures that always hung there which night Wallace was duo to play chess. This man determined to rob Wallace's cash box and throw the guilt on Wallace. On the Monday night, Qualtrough hid at a point near the end of Woiverton Street which Wallace was bound | to pass—by whichever door he went out—on tho way to the cafe. As soon as he saw the little man go past he hurried to put in the bogus telephone call before Wallace could be there to receive it and recognise his voice. He may then have taken a taxi or motor car to the cafe, arriving in time to hear whether Wallace got the message and meant to keep the appointment. In any case, he would again be in his hiding-place on the Tuesday night, and when he saw Wallace pass he would know that the bait had been taken. Even if Wallace went and returned immediately, Qualtrough had a good forty minutes in hand. In the meantime. Mrs. Wallace, before sitting down to a quiet evening by the kitchen fire, bethought herself like a careful housewife, that this would be a good moment to shake out the bedding in the disused front room, to prevent it from getting damp. It was a January night, and she had & cold; so, on her way up, she took her husband's mackintosh from the hallstand and slipped it on. While she is stripping the bed, the bell rings. She runs down to ansveer it. The piled-up bedclothes topple over, as is their way And fall on the floor.

There is a inan on the doorstep. Perhaps he gives his own name.' Perhaps, if she does not appear to recognise him] he says he is Qualtrough, detained by some accident, unable to got home in time for his appointment, hoping to catch Wallace before he starts. In any case, she asks him to come in and wait. She takes liini into tho sitting room, lights tho gas iiro, strips off the niackintosh with an apology and lays it down. Now Comes the crucial moment. Perhaps not intending murder (for in that ease ho would have brought his own weapon), Qualtrough snatches up the handy mackintosh and flings it over her hoad. But she resists—and in that

moment recognises him—calls him by his own name.

lliat will never do. At all costs she must be silenced for ever! He catches up the iron bar from tho fireplace and beats her down. In his terror and rage, he strikes her again and again. She falls against the gas lire, burning her skirt, and as ho stoops over her the mackintosh swings out and catches ire also. Smoke—smell—fire—the neighbours alarmed—that must not happen I lie turns out the gas fire and stamps out the burning stuff on tho hearthrug.

Jiut the coat has been a good friend to him; it has taken nearly all the bloodstains, and now ho uses it to wipe us boots and trouser-legs. Has he really killed her? J

It £ 7 n , Kue ilope — a d ' m remorse —with God knows what confused idea in his mind he rolls the mackintosh up and thrusts it under hor shoulder. But she is dead; and now he must carry out his plan and get away. He goes into the kitchen and breaks open the cabinet with the kitchen poker. Nothing there Where, then—? Ah, tho cash box 1 That will be the thing! He opens it. Four pounds 1 Four pounds only as tho price of murder 1 Automatically he takes the money out automatically rubs his finger-prints from tho box and replaces it on the shelf Finger-prints! How about the pokers? Ho forces himself to return to tho hornbble sitting room, collects the iron bar «inu then I t-liinlv soniotliing—- a pnssing footstep, a voice in tho street —startles him. Ho extinguishes the light and creeps out the back vrav, takinc the pokers with him.