The Stone Stable Mystery.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXII, Issue XX, 14 May 1904, Page 11

The Stone Stable Mystery.

PART IL—(Continued.) Richards seated himself, breathing quickly, and for a moment or two he did not speak. “ The beginning is a long v ack,” lie said, at length; “and 1 should have >1 hard task to find it. The point, is, 1 know, how Barrow came by his death. I have known it for years.” “ Richards.” 1 interrupted, ‘ before you go further, tell me one tiling— did you have a hand in it?" “No,” he replied, strongly. “I was not even a witness; but I know." I nodded, and, collecting himself, he began his story. “ I had spent all my money and lost all my- friends, never mind how or why. I was too proud and too ignorant to do menial work. A man who has been well educated and lived ill the lap of luxury does r-ot come down to that all at onee. When finally not even a roof was left, me, I roamed about the suburbs getting a meal and sleeping where I could. In this way I found the stone stable. “It was an evening about the beginning of March, either the fourth or the fifth. 1 found the dcor unlocked and, going inside, I struck a match and looked about me. There was a loft overhead, but I did not go up at onee, and while I stood looking round the match went out in my fingers and I heard a sound of steps coming round the other side of the building. It was too late for me to escape unobserved, and I groped my way across the stable until I came to where I bad noticed the battens that gave access to the left; then I went cautiously up and lay down at the edge of the floor above.

“As I reached my hiding place 1 heard the sound of voices in the doorway, then the dcor closed and a faint light illumined the floor beneath. Peering down I saw two men standing by the bench that ran across the end of the stable. They had a lantern placed so that the light fell on the wall opposite to the entrance, as though fearful that the rays might be discerned through the drinks of the door —indeed, I heard one of them say something to that effect. Both men wore overcoats, though the weather was warm, and one also appeared to have his face or head bandaged with cloths. They were conversing earnestly and in subdued voices, every word of their conversation being audible to me in the. loft.” “ Who were they? ” I asked, as Richards paused. “I had seen neither of them before, but I know now that they were Barrow and Gresham.” “ Well?”

“I heard Barrow complain that ho had heard nothing from his brother, and he asked Gresham if some' letter had been delivered. Gresham replied that it had, that he had handed it to Asher outside his office. Barrow appeared agitated and walked excitedly up and down. “ ‘ Why should I prolong this torture,’ he exlaiecd at length. ’What is left for me to live for? Belter that I should die now than lot slowly in Thursday Island. For the love of God, Gresham, help me. I am a leper, you have said it. Let me die now before the worst horror of the thing is upon me. You have the means at hand. You would not hesitate iu the cause of humanity to destroy a wounded animal. Is there less humanity" for the man than for the brute? ” Gresham drew back, staring al the other, and breathing quickly. “‘Would you take that way, Harrow? ’ he asked. ‘“Try me,’ replied Barrow. ‘Give me the opportunity.’ “There was a long silence, then they moved away under the floor of the. loft, and present I heard the door open and the sound of their footsteps Terceting towards the road. Fearing discovery, 1 descended and made my way into the open air, where I lay down under the shelter of a stone wall. The night was overcast and dark. Several times at hmg intervals I heard footsteps passing close io me. but at last I fell Asleep -and did übt awake until the

rumble of a cart on the road disturbed me shortly after dawn. Curiosity prompted me to go round to the do»c of the stable. 1 found a padlock is the door, but the hasp was tin listened, and, loosening it, I went inside. The piaee appeared as I had left it. with the exception that there was a tin case standing on the bench which 1 did not recollect having seen there on the previous night. In the case I found a tin of fresh milk and some meat sandwiches. 1 helped myself to them, ami that was my first theft. “After that I often returned to the stable at night-time, but though the tin ease remained in the same place, it was never replenished with food. How I managed to exist for the next week or two is a mystery even to myself, but at last 1 was desperate, and fit for anything. Then one night, prowling about the houses in the neighbourhood, 1 found the side door of Dr. Gresham’s house unlocked, and 1 took advantage of it. I found the bureau in the consult-ing-room, and prised it open with :i strong knife. 1 did the same by the cashbox, and, pocketing what it contained, and possessing myself of a pocketbook 1 discovered in one of the drawers, I made iny way back to the stable." “Did you have a light in the consult-ing-room?”

"Yes, tiiere was a reading lamp on the table, ami I lit it.” "Did you look in the pocket book to see if it contained anything?” “Not at that time, but in the stable t did. There were two single pound notes and the letter to Asher." "You are sure it contained the letter to Asher?”

“Certain. How it fell out without my seeing it 1 don’t know. It mystified me at the time, but I was too excited to think it out coolly. It was not until 1 came to read the report of the inquest that 1 learnt what had actually occurred to it. That is my story.” “Why did you not come forward at once and give yourself up?” “For two reasons. In the first plape, I doubted whether t should be believed. In the. second, I knew, or thought, 1 knew, that Barrow had taken his owu life.” "Do you think differently now?”

“I am less certain, and it is just the torture of that doubt which has driven me to you. Gresham may, from an unconsidered impulse of humanity, have given Barrow the moans to end his life, and then, losing his head and fearing the consequences to himself, have taken steps to conceal the body. After that the mere fact that he perjured himself counts for nothing as a proof of his guilt.”

“So," I said, rising, “that then is the clue to the mystery—Barrow was a leper.” "‘Was he a leper?" asked Richards, slowly. 1 stood still, arrested by the diabolical suggestion which lay at the root of his words. “If 1 could be sure of that,” continued Richards, “1 should be sorry 1 spoke. But was he a leper—or was he—the victim of a—devil?” "Tell me how the suspicion of such a possibility lias crept into your mind. Richards,” 1 said. “How do suspicions arise?” Richards asked in his turn. "Something in Gres, ham’s manner, maybe, when Hie proposition was made to him. Something in the complete self-possession that characterised him at the inquest. Isn’t it a fact that great criminals have no moral sense? And could a man with a moral sense—knowing what Gresham knew—have preserved throughout the proceedings such a complete serenity of manner, that not the faintest shadow of doubt at any time attached to his words? The more 1 have reflected on it, the more certain have I become that the. facts don’t fit; that the true secret of Barrow's death is not as. it appears.” Knowing wh»< I did of the events even now transpirir £ in the Gresham household, every word he uttered affected me with a force of which he could have no idea, but I had had too much experience of criminal investigation to fall into the error of embracing a complex theory of

n clinic where n simple one would suffice, mid 1 therefore resolved to preserve an open mind. There was now only one thing to do with Richards, and that was to conduct him to the office and get him to repeat his story word for word. This was done, and he was then arrested for the burglarious entry of Dr. Gresham's house, being almost immediately released on the recognisances of his employer and myself. 1 may say at this stage that the charge was never proceeded with against this young man, and that he has never since ceased to lead a respectable life.

It was very nearly midnight before I returned home, but my time had not been wasted. In iny pocket was a warrant, authorising me to arrest Dr. Edward John Gresham on the charge of inciting am! abetting one, Arthur Barrow,* io commit suicide.

As I turned it,to the street I saw the lights of a hansom drawn up in front of my door, and a few minutes later, instead of turning, as I had anticipated, into a comfortable bed, i was rolling rapidly through the silent streets in the direction of Cave s-road. One of the men who were set to watch the, house had been sent with an urgent message from Mary, requiring my immediate presence. The message was verbal and the man knew of no reason for it. Dr. Gresham was at home, had not stirred out since dinner, and at the time the man left was believed to bo in his consulting-roo n, writb.g letters. A signal had been agreed upon to indicate my arrival, and the young lady would join me in the garden immediately afterwards. Everything came oil as arranged, and Mary reached me, apparently unnoticed by the househol I. "Oh. Jim,” she exclaimed, breathlessly, “ I am sorrv to take you from your sleep, but, I dare not be alone any longer.” “ You shall not,” 1 replied, putting my arm round her. “ You have been a brave girl, but it is a man’s business now and your responsibility is at an <■ nd.” “ f have a terr’b'c thing to tell yon,” she sail, holding fast to me. “ When J left, you i.-i the garden this morning, f went back to the house at ome and stayed with Miss Gresham all day. The doctor came in once or twice before it was dark, but only stayed to say a few words. After dinner he came up again and remained a little longer. lie asked me if his sister had been able to take any food, and I replied, as was the ease, that she had eaten better than she had done for several days past. He seemed pleased, and after a few minutes again went away. I heard him go into his consulting-room and close the door. 1 had been accustomed al. this time of the day to go out for a breath of fresh air before retiring for the night, and Miss Gresham now' suggested that I should follow' my usual custom. I replied that I preferred to remain in doors, that I was too tired, that the night, air, was chilly, but she insisted, ived I went.

“My idea was to take a run down the lawn and come straight back, but I stayed a little longer than 1 intended, and it was possibly four or five minutes before I returned. I had closed niy patient's door on leaving, but as I came back through the hall I noticed that it was slightly ajar. My suspicions were aroused and I moved forward silently As I drew near I heard a voice. It was the doctor’s voice, and yet there was a difference. It sounded cold and hard and it made my flesh creep. “ You cannot eat,” said the voice. * All food nauseates and disgust you. You will never be able to eat.’ The words were repeated two or three times in the same tense, steely tones. 1 felt myslf growing faint, and, fearing what might be the result of a loss of consciousness at that critical moment 1 drew back until 1 was out hearing, when I turned and ran out into the cool night air.

'• from the darkness I could look along the hall without being observed, and in a short while I saw him come out and cross in the direction of the con-sulting-room, when I went back to my patient’s room. She was sitting up as I had left her, but there was a vacant look in her eyes which had often puzzled me on previous occasions. 1 understood the meaning of it now, for I had seen cases of treatment by hypnotic suggestion, but my mind was so clouded by horror that for awhile I could not think coherently. Then I felt that I must see you, and, on the pretence of having left something in the garden, I went out and sent the message which brought you here.” “Where is Gresham now?” I asked, as Mary concluded. “ In the consulting-room.” “ Does he suspect anything? It is very late for him to be working.” “ He is often there later than this,” Alary replied. “There has been nothing io arouse his suspicions, unless he has heard of Dr. Brand’s visit.” The possibility of this having happened determined me to act at onee, instead of waiting, as I had at first intended. for the morning. 1 therefore told Alary to return to her patient’s room, and for her greater peace of mind to lock the door. I then posted one of my assistants in the front of the house, leaving the second in his old position by the side door that gave access to the consulting-room. These arrangements made, I entered the house, and went quickly along the hall and side passage to Dr Gresham’s office. A ray of light streaming through the keyhole directed me to the door I sought, and, with a single premonitory rap, I turned the handle and entered. Dr. Gresham was seated at the desk, with a number of open books before him. He started at my abrupt entry and regarded me with a look of dawning recollection. “Hazlett,” he exclaimed. I closed the door and stood with my back to it. Then 1 read the warrant and gave him the usual caution. He made no reply, but sat jingling the

charms on his watch chain, regarding me with an amused smile. “I have a cab waiting for your outside,” 1 remarked, taking a step in his direction. “We can go out through the side door without alarming the house.” “Are you really serious, Hazlett?” he asked. “What possible grounds can you have for arresting me?” “You will learn them at the Police Court to-morrow,” I said. He appeared slightly dashed at this, and his fingers strayed from one charm to another, as though he were testing and rejecting various theories. “Give me a hint,” he said at last, “and I will ask you nothing further.” “You are charged on the sworn testimony of an eye witness,” was my response. “But there is a good deal against you, Grasham, and if you had not been arrested on this charge, you might be on another.” “What other?” he inquired incredulously. “Attempted murder of your sister.” “I suppose you have evidence on that point also,” he said, with a sneer. “The evidence of Dr. Brand,” I replied. That shook him. I eaught a momentary gleam of fury in the depths of his smiling eyes. His hand ceased to finger the charms indiscriminately, and became fixed on one particular orman-ent. “Have you been moleing beneath my feet all these years?” he asked, menacingly. “Now, Grasham,” I said, raising a warning forefinger; “don’t spoil things by losing your temper. Get up and we will go out into the lane.” He raised his hand to his moustache, and in the next instant I heard a slight sound of something breaking between his teeth. Blowing my whistle, 1 threw myself upon him, but it was already too late. The deadly drug contained in the gold charm struck straight at the vital spark, and in a few minutes he had ceased to breathe.

The rest of my story may be told in a few words.

Agnes Gresham, removed from the deadiy influence of her brother, slowly recovered. The exact details of Gresham’s erime are, of course, only matters for conjecture, but there is no doubt that the idea of persuading Barrow that lie was a leper arose out of stories related by Barrow himself of his experiences in Thursday Island. The delusion was probably intensified in the victim’s mind by some trivial affection of a local character, a supposition to some extent borne out by the contused swelling on Barrow’s high cheekbone. Convinced of the terrible calamity which had befallen him, it was only natural in a man of Barrow’s high

character, that he should seek to mini* mise the risk to others by withdrawing himself from all human intercourse save that of the doctor. It is probable that the latter’s first idea was to induce the return of his victim to Thursday Island, but the alternative proposed by Barrow doubtless appealed to him as a simpler and more certain method of achieving the end he had in view. What really happened on that March night, while Richards lay sleeping within a stone’s throw under the wall, will never be known. But suicide or murder, the blood-guiltiness was Gresham’s.