The Collected Works of J. S. Fletcher: 17 Novels & 28 Short Stories (Illustrated Edition). J. S. Fletcher
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answered that theer question you axed me," he said. "An' I'll answer it agen—Guilty!"
So there was no more to be done or said, the prisoner having been proved to be a perfectly sane man, and presently Perris heard himself sentenced to death. He stood for a moment after the last words had fallen on his ears, and he looked round the court, in which we many faces that he must have known, but if he was searching for any particular face he showed no sign. And with every eye fixed on him, he presently turned and walked steadily down the stairs behind him, and so disappeared.
There were many in the court who believed that Perris's last look round had been for his wife. But Rhoda had not been in court, though she was close at hand. At the time of Perris's sudden reappearance she had broken down, and it had been necessary to remove her from Wroxdale's house to an adjacent nursing home where she had ever since remained. Only the best medical skill and the closest attention had restored her sufficiently to be in a condition to face the prospect of entering the witness-box, and the doctor who had accompanied her to the Assizes was thankful for his patient's sake when he heard that there would be no call upon her.
"All the same," he said to Wroxdale, who with Taffendale had come across from the courts to the hotel in which Rhoda and a nurse were waiting in a private room, "somebody's got to break the news to her. She'll be better when she hears it."
Wroxdale looked at Taffendale.
"That's your duty, Mark," he said quietly.
Taffendale's face showed signs of agitation, and he turned away from the other two. But they suddenly saw him draw himself up and square his shoulders and he turned to them with a firmly-set jaw.
"If you think so, and the doctor thinks so," he said.
The doctor nodded.
"Yes, I think so," he said. "Tell her quietly and briefly. I'll call the nurse out and we'll stay near the door in case we're wanted. Come away as soon as you've told her, and then we'll get her away again. Come at once—the sooner she knows the better."
When Taffendale walked through the door which the doctor held open for him he felt that he was dealing with the most critical episode in his life. He knew what would result from the carrying out of the sentence which had just been passed on Abel Perris. Rhoda would be free, and she was already cleared of the suspicions which had gathered about her. And yet he felt a strange certainty that at this moment she was further away from him than ever; that there was a vast gulf between them which nothing could bridge. And as he crossed the room all thoughts of himself and of her went out of his mind and he only saw her as a trembling and agitated woman waiting to know the worst.
She sat in an easy-chair in which the nurse had placed her, facing the fire, and she was staring at the flames with abstracted eyes when Taffendale went up and touched her shoulder. She looked up at him with a start and her hands clasped themselves nervously.
"You won't be wanted, Rhoda," he said gently. For a moment she searched his face with a long look.
"Then—it's over?" she whispered.
"It's over."
"He—he wouldn't say—more?"
"Nothing more."
"And so—"
Her voice sank to a whisper and her eyes finished the question. And Taffendale inclined his head and turned away without speaking. But he quickly turned to her again and laid his hand on her arm.
"There's hope yet," he said. "Wroxdale says there'll be a petition, and all that. Now, Rhoda, you must go back with the nurse and the doctor. Be brave."
She rose obediently and stood for a while looking through the window at the gloomy facade of the great hall which Taffendale had just left. Then she turned to him.
"If—if naught's any good," she said quietly," will they let me speak to him before—the end? There's things—I want to say. You'll see to that, Mark?"
"I'll see to that," replied Taffendale. "Now, Rhoda, you must go."
He picked up her cloak from the table close by and put it round her shoulders, remembering as he did so how, not so many months before, he had rendered her the same service when she had come to his house at the Limepits, little dreaming of what lay before herself and him. And with this thought in his mind, and without another word, he called in the nurse and the-doctor and left her with them.
Taffendale and Wroxdale travelled from the Assize town in company, and for a time neither spoke of the event of the morning. But at last Taffendale started out of a long reverie, which his companion had taken care not to break in upon.
"What chance will this petition have?" he asked abruptly.
Wroxdale looked out of the window of the compartment which they had secured to themselves, and stared at the grey landscape for some time before he answered.
"Well, Mark," he said at last, "if you want to know the truth, I'm afraid very little. Remember the summing-up or, rather, the judge's remarks. There's no denying the fact—this, on Perris's deliberate confession, was a particularly cold-blooded and brutal murder. You know that there doesn't seem to be a single extenuating circumstance. He deliberately killed that poor fellow. Now, his Lordship of this morning is well known as a very stern and severe judge—he's a thoroughly upright man, but a staunch upholder of the Law, and if we send up a petition the Home Secretary will depend upon what he, who heard the case, has to say, and I fail to see what he can say in Perris's favour—with the exception of one thing."
"What's that?" asked Taffendale sharply.
"Why, that when he heard of all this he returned at once—at once, mind!—and gave himself up to justice," replied Wroxdale. "A certain percentage of criminals do that, but it's a small one. Another thing though really part of the same thing—is that all through, from the time he made his voluntary confession to the police to the time of the trial this morning, he showed a firm desire to tell the truth, regardless of the consequences to himself. That is all, so far as I can see, that would be likely to weigh with the authorities. And yet, there is another feature of the case which might be taken into consideration."
"Well?" asked Taffendale.
"This," said Wroxdale thoughtfully. "The absence of any known motive. Perris is such an obstinate, pig-headed fellow that it has been, and, in my opinion, always will be impossible to get out of him what his motive was. But one may reasonably suppose that he didn't kill that man with premeditation. I'll stake my life he didn't, Mark! Therefore, the presumption is that he did kill him on the spur of the moment, whatever Perris himself may say. Perris has stuck consistently all through to the same tale: I meant to kill Webster, and I did kill him.' Yes quite so! but how long had he meant to kill him? A month, a week, a day, or five minutes. My own belief is that when Pippany Webster entered those premises at Cherry-trees, Perris had no more idea of killing him than I have of killing you."
Taffendale, who had been listening with close attention, nodded.
"Couldn't all that be put in a petition?" he asked.
"Certainly it could, and we'll have a petition, and it shall be put in," replied Wroxdale. "I'll draft that petition at once, and we'll do all we can with it, and we'll make a great point, too, of the mystery that overhangs the case yet. Yes, we'll have a petition, and run it for all it's worth."
"And whatever it costs I'll stand to," said Taffendale. "Never mind what the amount is."
Wroxdale made no answer to that beyond a nod. He drew out and lighted a cigar, and smoked for awhile in silence. Then he turned to his companion with an enigmatic smile.
"Human nature is a queer thing, Mark Taffendale," he said. "There's no particular personal reason why any one should sign that petition in favour of Abel Perris. He's not a very lovable personality, poor fellow; the folk above him will say that he's best out of the way, and the folk below him will remember that he killed one of themselves. But I can see one reason why Martinsthorpe folk would sign it—sign it, to a man no doubt."
Taffendale knitted his brows and looked