Classic Audiobook Collection - The Brooklyn Murders by G. D. H. Cole ~ Full Audiobook [mystery]
Episode Date: November 22, 2025The Brooklyn Murders by G. D. H. Cole audiobook. Genre: mystery On the night Sir Vernon Brooklyn turns seventy, his country-house birthday dinner is meant to be a triumph: the celebrated theatrical m...anager gathers relatives, friends, and a future son-in-law under one roof, and the talk turns to money, marriages, and the shape of the Brooklyn legacy. But old resentments simmer beneath the toasts, especially around Joan Cowper, Sir Vernon's strong-willed niece, whose unwanted engagement to the smooth John Prinsep has become a family battleground. By morning, celebration curdles into shock when Prinsep is found brutally murdered in his study, and a second death soon follows, raising the chilling possibility of an impossible crime. Superintendent Henry Wilson of Scotland Yard is called in, and what begins as a straightforward inquiry quickly becomes a meticulous unpicking of alibis, inheritances, and private grudges inside a household where everyone has something to gain and something to hide. As Wilson pressures witnesses and tests theories, Joan and other members of the family are forced to confront how far greed and pride can warp loyalty, love, and truth. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:15:42) Chapter 02 (00:25:14) Chapter 03 (00:44:03) Chapter 04 (01:03:44) Chapter 05 (01:23:24) Chapter 06 (01:44:46) Chapter 07 (01:58:17) Chapter 08 (02:09:23) Chapter 09 (02:16:41) Chapter 10 (02:38:58) Chapter 11 (02:59:15) Chapter 12 (03:16:06) Chapter 13 (03:32:10) Chapter 14 (03:44:51) Chapter 15 (03:54:15) Chapter 16 (04:13:03) Chapter 17 (04:28:08) Chapter 18 (04:41:49) Chapter 19 (04:53:31) Chapter 20 (05:02:38) Chapter 21 (05:20:37) Chapter 22 (05:31:33) Chapter 23 (05:46:08) Chapter 24 (06:07:57) Chapter 25 (06:28:03) Chapter 26 (06:40:38) Chapter 27 (07:00:01) Chapter 28 (07:10:03) Chapter 29 (07:21:38) Chapter 30 (07:33:54) Chapter 31 (07:51:12) Chapter 32 (08:01:08) Chapter 33 (08:13:53) Chapter 34 (08:28:26) Chapter 35 (08:33:35) Chapter 36 (08:50:56) Chapter 37 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices
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The Brooklyn Murders by G. D.H. Co. Chapter 1. A family celebration. At 70, Sir Vernon Brooklyn was still the outstanding figure in the theatrical world. It was indeed 10 years since he had made his farewell appearance on the stage. And with the consistency rare among the members of his profession, he had persisted in making his first farewell also his last. He had also for some time past resigned to younger men the actual direction of his vast theatrical interoperable.
which included five great western theatres and a steady stream of touring companies in the provinces and overseas.
Both as actor and as manager, he was warned to say, his work was over.
But as chairman of the Brooklyn Dramatic Corporation, which conducted all its work under his name,
he was almost as much as ever in the eye of the public.
Like most men, who have risen by their own efforts, aided by fortune and by public, which takes a pleasure in idolatry,
positions of wide authority, Sir Vernon had developed, perhaps to excess, the habit of getting his own way.
Thus, although his niece and housekeeper, John Cooper, and his near relatives and friends had done their best to dissuade him from coming to London,
he had ignored their protest and insisted on celebrating his 70th birthday in the London house, formerly the scene of his triumphs which he now seldom visited.
Sir Vernon now spent most of his time at the Great Country House in Sussex,
which he had bought ten years before from Lord Fittlerworth.
There he entertained largely, and there was no reason why he should not have taken the advice of his relatives and his doctor,
and gathered his friends around him to celebrate what he was pleased to call his second majority.
But Sir Vernon had made up his mind, and it was therefore in the old house just off Piccadilly that his guests assembled for dinner on Midsummer Day June 25th.
Like Sir Vernon's country places, the old house had a history.
He had bought it and the ground.
with a magnificent garden frontage on Piccadilly,
looking over the Green Park from Lord Liskeed,
when that noble man had successfully gambled away the fortune,
which had made him at one time the richest man in England,
who had no connection with trade.
Sir Vernon had turned his purchase to good use,
facing Piccadilly, but standing well back in its garden from the street,
he had built a great Piccadilly theatre,
the perfect playhouse in which,
despite its size and large seating capacity,
every member of the audience could both see and hear,
here. The theatre covered a lot of ground, but when it was spilt, there still remained not only the old
mansion fronting upon its side street, a cul-de-sac used by its visitors alone, but also between
it and the theatre, a pleasant expanse of garden. For some years, Sir Vernon had lived in the house,
and there he had also worked converting the greater part of the ground floor into palatial set of
offices for the Brooklyn Dramatic Corporation. On his retirement from active work, he had kept in his
own hands only the first floor, which he fitted as a flat to house him on his visits to town.
On the second floor, he had installed his nephew, John Princep, who had succeeded him as managing
director of the corporation. The third floor was given over to the servants who attended to the
whole house. It was in this house that Sir Vernon was celebrating his birthday, and his guests
were to dine with him in the great boardroom of the corporation on the ground floor, formerly
the banqueting hall of generations of Liskies, in which many a political plot.
had been hatched and many a diner carried helpless from under the table in the bad days of the prince regent.
Between the house and the tall back of the theatre lay the garden,
in which a past Lord Liskeed with classical taste had erected a model Grecian temple
and a quantity of indifferent antics statuary, the fruits of his sojourn at the embassy of Constantinople.
In this garden, before dinner was served, a number of Sir Vernon's guests had already gathered.
The old man had been persuaded, despite the brilliant midsummer,
weather to remain in the house. But John Cooper and John Princepip were there to do the honours on
his behalf. As Harry Lucas came into the garden, John Princep was laughingly, as he said,
showing off the points of a dilapidated Hercules, who club, lion-skin and all, was slowly
mouldering under the trees at one end of the lawn. His stone club had come loose and
Princep had taken it from the statue and was playfully threatening to do classical execution with it
upon the persons of his guests.
Seeing Lucas, he put the club back into the broken hand of the statue
and came across the lawn to bid him welcome.
You are the last to arrive, Mr. Lucas, said he.
You see, it's quite a family affair this evening.
It was quite a family affair.
Of the eight persons now on the lawn,
six were members of the Brooklyn family by birth or marriage.
Lucas was a one-inch-oldest friend and collaborator.
And young Ellery, the remaining member of the party,
was Lucas's ward,
usually to be found when he had his will somewhere in the neighborhood of John Cooper.
As Vernon had fully made up his mind that John was to marry Princep,
and there was supposed to be some sort of engagement between them.
Elery's attentions were not welcome to Princep,
and there was no love lost between the two men.
But there was no sign of this in Princep's manner this evening.
He seemed to be in unusually good spirits, rather in contrast to his usual humour.
for Princep was not generally regarded as good company
since he had succeeded Sir Vernon in the business control of the Brooklyn Corporation
of which he was managing director
he had grown more and more preoccupied with affairs
and had developed a brusque manner which may have served him well in dealing with visitors
who wanted something for nothing
but was distinctly out of place in the social interchange of his leisure hours
prince of had indeed his pleasures
he had reputed a heavy drinker whose magnificent natural constitution
prevented him from showing any of the signs of dissipation.
Many of Prince's acquaintances, who were as many as his friends were few,
had seen him drink more than enough to put an ordinary man under the table,
but none had ever seen him the verse for drink,
and he was never better at a bargain than when the other man had taken some glasses less than he,
but still a glass too much.
Men said that he took his pleasures sadly.
Certainly they had never been allowed to interfere with his power of work,
and often, after a hard evening, he would go to his study and labour far into the night.
But for this occasion, his sullenness seemed to have left him,
and his rather harsh laugh rang out repeatedly over the garden.
Lucas had never liked Prince of him,
and he soon found himself one of a group that included Joan and Ellery and Mary Woodman,
a cousin of the Brooklands, who lived with John and helped her to keep Sir Vernon's house.
Presently, John drew him aside.
Uncle Harry, she said.
there's something I want to tell you.
Lucas was, in fact, no relation of the Brooklyn's,
but from their childhood, Joan and George Brooklyn had known him as Uncle Harry,
and had made him their confidant in many of their early troubles.
The habit had stuck, and now John had a very serious trouble to tell him.
You must do what you can to help me, she said.
I've told Uncle Vernon again today that on no account will I ever marry John,
and he absolutely refuses to listen to me.
He says it's all settled, and is well-relevant.
made on that understanding, and that we are engaged in a whole lot more.
I must make him realise that I won't.
But you know what he is?
I wanted to speak to him for me.
Lucas thought a moment before replying.
Then, my dear, he said,
I'm very sorry about it, and you know I will do what I can.
But is this quite the time?
We should only be accused with some truths of spoiling Sir Vernon's birthday.
Let it alone for a few days, and then I'll try talking to him.
but it won't be easy at any time.
Yes, Uncle,
but there's a special reason why it must be done tonight.
Uncle Vernon tells me that he is going to announce the terms of his will,
and that he will speak of what he calls John's and my engagement.
I really can't allow that to happen.
I don't really mind about the will or John getting the money,
but it must not be publicly given out that John is to have me as well.
Uncle Vernon has no right to leave me as part of his net personality to John or anybody else.
Lucas said. He foresaw an awkward interview for Severnan was not an easy man to deal with, and latterly every year had made him more difficult, but he saw that he was in for it, and, with a reassuring word to John passed into the house in search of his house.
As Joan turned back to rejoin the others, Robert Ellery stepped quickly to her side. Slim and slightly built, he offered a strong contrast to Prince's tall, sturdy figure.
John's two lovers were very different types.
Ellery was not strictly handsome,
but he had an invincible air of being on good terms with the world,
which, with a ready smile and a clear complexion,
were fully as effective as a most approved type of manly beauty.
Still under 30, he was just beginning to make himself a name.
A playoffice had recently been produced with success by Brooklyn Corporation.
One of his detective novels had made something of a hit,
and his personal popularity was helping him to win
rapid recognition for his undoubted talent as a writer.
Moreover, his guardian, Lucas, was a big figure and the dramatic and literary world,
knew everybody who was worth knowing, and had a high opinion of the ability of his ward.
It is obvious that Ellery was in love with Joan.
Few men had less power of concealing what was in them,
and everybody in the Brooklyn Circle, except of Vernon himself,
was well aware that Ellery thought the world of Joan,
and more than suspected that she thought the world of him.
Of course, the theory could not be mentioned in Prince's presence,
but when he was not there, the situation was freely discussed.
George, Brooklyn and his wife always maintained that,
even if John did not marry Ellery, she would certainly not marry Princep.
Carter Woodman, Sir Vernon's lawyer as well as his cousin,
held firmly to the opposite opinion,
and often hinted that Sir Vernon's will would settle the question in Princep's favour.
But then, as George said,
Woodman was a lawyer and his mind naturally ran on the marriage settlements rather than the marriage itself.
The Brooklands were neither particularly united nor particularly quarrelsome in their own family circles.
They had their bickering and their mutual dislikes to about the average extent,
but more than the normal amount of family solidarity had manifested itself in their dealings with the out of world.
Two outsiders, Lucas and Ellery, were indeed recognized almost as members of the family,
and on the other hand, one black sheep, Sir Vernon's brother, Walter, had been driven forth and refused to further recognition.
For the rest, they stuck together and accepted for the most part, unquestioningly, Sir Vernon's often tyrannical but usually benevolent authority.
If John had been a real Brooklyn, George would hardly have been so confident that she would not marry Prince of.
But John was not really a Brooklyn at all.
She was a stepdaughter of Walter, who had for a time retrieved his fallen fortunes,
fallen through his own fault by marrying the rich widow of Copa, the coffee king.
The widow had then obligingly died, and Walter Brooklyn had lost no time in spending her money,
including the large sum left in trust for John by a mother.
But it was not this so much as Walter's manner of life that had caused Joan a 21 to say that she would live with him no longer.
Sir Vernon to whom she was strongly attached
and then offered her a home
and for five years she had been in fact mistress of his house
and hostess to his lavish entertainment of his theatrical friends
From the first, Savernan had set aside on her marrying his nephew
John Princep who was ten years as senior
but John was a young woman with a will of her own
and for five years she had resisted the combined pressure of
Savanan and of John Princep himself
without any success in persuading
either Savanan to give up the idea
or Prince of the hopelessness
of his suit.
Prince Pist visited in believing that she would
come round, though of late
a growing friendship with Elery
had made him more anxious to secure a
consent to a definite engagement.
Ordinarily, Princep had a way
of scowling when he saw
John and Ellery together, but
tonight he seemed without a care as he came up
to Joan and invited her to lead the way
indoors. Dinner was already served, and Sir Vernon with Lucas was waiting for them all to come.
There, in the great boardroom of the corporation, they offered one by one their congratulations to the
old man. An enemy had once said of Sir Vernon, Droklyn, that he was the finest stage gentleman
in Europe, both on and off the stage. The saying was unjust, but there was enough truth in it
to sting. Sir Vernon was a little apt to act off the stage, and the habit at perhaps grown on
him since his retirement.
Tonight, with his fine silver hair and keen, well-cut features, he was very much the gentleman,
dispensing noble hospitality with just too marked a sense of its magnificence.
But it was a Vernon's day, and his guests were there to do his will, to draw him out into
reminiscence, to enhance a sense of having made the most of life's chances, and of being sure
to leave behind him those who would carry on the great tradition.
The talk turned to the building of the Piccadilly Theatre.
The old man told him how, from the first days of his success, he had made up his mind to build himself the finest theatre in London.
From the first, he had his eye on the site of Liskeed House,
and it had taken him twenty years to persuade the Liskees, impoverished as they were, to sell it for such a purpose.
At last, he had secured the site, and then again his foresight had been rewarded.
Not for nothing had he paid for George Brooklyn's training as an architect,
based on the lad's own bent, and given him the opportunity to study play-health,
architecture in every quarter of the globe. The Piccadilly Theatre was not only George
Brooklyn's masterpiece, it was structurally, aquestically, visually, for comfort,
and chart in every way the finest theatre in the world. It was also the best-paying theatre.
And the old man said, if in his day he had been the finest actor, so was George's wife,
still the finest actress, if only she would not waste on domesticity the gift that was
meant for mankind. For Mrs. George Brooklyn, as is a
Belle Ravin had been the star of the Piccadilly Theatre until she had married its designer and
quitted the stage sorely against Sir Vernon's will.
Sir Vernon was in his best form, and the talk led by him was rapid and at times brilliant.
But there was at least one of those present to whom it made no appeal, for John Cooper was
painfully anxious as to the result of Lucas's interview with Sir Vernon.
Several times she caught his eye.
But although he smiled at her down the table, his look brought her no reassure.
At last, when the servants had withdrawn after the last court,
John rose purposing to lead the ladies to the drawing-room.
But Sir Vernon waved her back to her seat,
saying that, before they left the table,
there was something which he wanted them all to hear.
Clearly, there was nothing for it but to wait.
But John made up a mind that,
if Sir Vernon spoke of her publicly as engaged to Princep,
not even the spoiling of his birthday party should stop her from speaking of mind.
The end of chapter one.
Chapter 2
Of the Brooklyn murders
This is a Liberty Walks recording
This Liberty Walk's recording is in the public domain
Read by Yoganand
The Brooklyn Murders
By G.D.H. Cole
Chapter 2
Sir Vernon's Will
All of us here
began Sir Vernon with a well-satisfied
look round the table
are such good friends that we can be absolutely
frank one with another
I am an old man
and I expect that almost all of you
have at one time or another wondered
I put it bluntly
what you will get when I die
it is very natural that you should do so
and I have come to the conclusion that
you had better know exactly how you stand
Carter here as of course
as my legal advisor
known from the first what is in my will
and now I want all of you to know
in order that you may expect neither too much
nor too little
I fear I am still a moderately healthy old man
Or so my doctor tells me
And you may therefore still have time to wait
But at my age it is well to be prepared
And I felt that you ought not to be left any longer in the dark
At this point several of surveillance auditors attempted to speak
But he waved them into silence
Now let me have my say without telling me what I know already
He continued
I know that you would tell me truly that nothing is further from your thoughts
then to wish me out of the way.
It is not because I am in any doubt on that head
that I am speaking to you,
but because this is a business matter
and it is well to know in advance what one's prospects are.
Listen to me then,
and I'll tell you as far as I can,
exactly how things stands.
To several of you, I've already made substantial gifts.
You, John, and you, George,
have each received 50,000 pounds on shares of the company.
You, John, have 10,000 pounds worth of shares
standing in your name. These sums are apart from my will and the bequests which I propose to make
are in addition to these. As Neely as Carter here can tell me, I am now worth, on a conservative
estimate, some 8,000 and 900,000 pounds. Carter works it out that when all death duties have been
paid, there will be at least 600,000 pounds to be divided among you. In apportioning my property,
I worked on the basis of this sum. I have divided it first into two portions,
hundred thousand pounds for smaller legacies
and 500,000 pounds to be shared by my residuary legates
First let me tell you
My smaller bequess
Which concern most of you
To you Lucas my oldest and closest friend
I have left nothing but a few personal
Mementos
You have enough already
And it is at your express wish that I do as I have done
To my young friend and your ward
Ellery I leave 5,000 pounds
I understand that he will have enough when you die
but this sum may be welcome to him if, as I expect, I am the first to go.
To you, Carter, I leave twenty thousand pounds.
You too have ample means, but a close connection and the work you have done so far,
for me and for the company, call for recognition.
To Mrs. Carter, to you, Helen, I have left no money.
You will share in what your husband receives,
but I will show you later the jewels which will be yours when I die.
To you, Mary, who with Joan, have lived with me,
cared for me, I leave 20,000 pounds enough to make you independent. There are but two more of my
smaller legacies I need mention. The rest are either to servants or to charitable institutions.
But you all know that for many years past I have not been on good terms with my brother Walter.
I have no mind since I have other relatives who are far dearer to me to leave him another
fortune to squander like the last, but I am leaving in trust for him the sum of 10,000 pounds
of which he will receive the income during his life.
On his death, the sum will pass to my dear niece, Joan,
to whom I shall also leave absolutely the sum of 40,000 pounds.
This, with the 10,000 pounds which he had already,
will make her independent, but not rich.
You may be surprised, John, that I leave you no more.
But when I tell you of my principal bequeaths,
you will understand the reason.
The residue, then, of my property,
amounting to at least 500,000 pounds,
I leave equally between my two nephews, John Princep and George Brooklyn.
You two, therefore, will both be rich men.
As so large a sum is involved, I have taught it right to make provision for the disease of either of you.
Should George die before me, which God forbid?
You, Marian, as his wife, will receive half the sum which he would have received under my will.
The other half will pass to John as the surviving residuary legate.
should John die the first the half of a share will pass to John a provision the reason for which you will all I think readily appreciate I have not made provision for the death of both my nephews for an even so unlikely hardly calls for precaution but should God bring so heavy a misfortune upon us the residue of my property would then pass as a will now stands to my nearest surviving relative while Sir Vernon was still speaking John had been trying to break it upon him Prince of his able to take it to
Cheka for a moment, but at this point
she insisted on speaking. Uncle, she said,
there is something I must say to you
in view of what you have just told us.
I'm very sorry if my saying
it spoils your birthday, but I must say
it all the same. What you have left to me is more than enough,
and certainly all that I expect or have
any right to expect, but I cannot
bear that you should misunderstand me,
or that I should seem by saying nothing
now to accept the position.
I want you to understand quite definitely
that I have no intention of marrying
John. I'm not engaged to him, and I never shall be. It's not that I have anything against him.
It's simply that I don't want, and don't mean to marry him. I'm sorry if it hurts you to hear me
say this, but you have publicly implied that we are to be married, and I couldn't keep
silent after that. Sivan's face had flushed when John began to speak, and he had seemed on the
point of breaking in upon her, but he had evidently thought better of it, for he let her have a say,
but now he answered coolly and with a suppressed but obvious irritation.
My dear Joan, you know quite well that this marriage has been an understood thing among us all.
I don't pretend to know what fancy has got into your head just lately,
but at all events, let us hear no more of it tonight.
I'll believe what you have said has quite spoiled the evening for me.
Then, as Joan tried to speak, he added,
No, please, no more about it now.
If you wish, you can speak to me about it in the morning.
don't still try to say something. But at this point, Lucas cut quickly into the conversation.
Actor-managers, he said, had all the luck. You would not find a poor devil of a playwright
with the best part of a million to leave to his descendants. And then, with obvious relief,
the rest helped to steer the talk back to less dangerous topics. Severnan seemed to forget
his annoyance and launched into a stream of old theatrical reminiscence, Lucas capping each of his
stories with another. The cheerfulness of the latter part of the evening was
perhaps a trifle forts, and there were two John herself and young Ellery, who took in it
only the smallest possible part. But Princep, Lucas and Carter Woodman made up for these
others, and an outsider would have pronounced a Vernon's party a complete success.
There was no withdrawal of the ladies that evening, for, after a discomfiture, John made no move
towards a drawing-room. In the end, it was Princep who broke up the party with a word to Sir
come uncle he said ten o'clock and time for a roystring to end i have work i must do about the theatre and it is time some of us were getting home then jones seemed to wake up to a sense of her duties and sir vernon was promptly bustled off upstairs the guests gradually taking the leave
most of them had not far to go lucas had his car waiting to run him back to his house at hamston elery had rooms in chelsea and announced his intention as a night was fine of walking back by
the parks. The George Brooklyn's and the Woodmans, who lived in the outer suburbs at Bannsted
and Escher, where staying the night in town at the famous Cunningham on the opposite side of
Piccadilly, the best hotel in London in the estimation of foreign potentates and envoys, as well as
of Londoners themselves. George Brooklyn, saying that he had an appointment, asked Woodman to see his wife
home and left Marianne and the Woodman's outside the front door of the Piccadilly Theatre while they
across the road towards the hotel.
The guests, having departed,
Liskid House began to settle down for the night.
On the ground floor, indeed,
there began a scurry of servants clearing up
after the dinner. On the first floor,
John, having seen Sir Vernon to his room,
sat in the long-deserted drawing-room,
talking over the evening's events with a friend,
Mary Woodman, and reiterating to a sympathetic listener,
her determination never to marry John Princep.
Meanwhile, upstairs on the second floor,
John Princepire sat at his desk in his remote study
with a heavy frown on his face,
very unlike the seemingly light-hearted and amiable expression
he had worn all the evening.
Sivanan's birthday party was over,
but there were strange things preparing for the night.
The end of chapter two.
Chapter 3 of the Brooklyn murders.
This Liberty Walk's recording is in the public domain.
Read by Yoga Anand.
The Brooklyn Murders by G.D.H. Cole.
Chapter 3.
murder
John Princep was a man who valued punctuality and cultivated regular habits both in himself and in others
at 10.15 punctually each night a servant came to him to collect any late letters for the post.
Thereafter, unless some visitor had to be shown up, he was left undisturbed and no one
entered his flat on the second floor of Lestead House until the next morning.
The servants who slept on the floor above had access to it by a staircase of their own
and did not need to pass through Princep's quarters.
No less regular where the arrangements were the morning.
At 8 o'clock precisely, Princep's valet called him
bringing the morning papers and letters and a cup of tea.
At the same time, other servants began the work of dusting and cleaning the flat,
a long suite of rooms running the whole length of the house.
Princep's bedroom, opening out of his study and accessible also from the end of the long corridor,
was a pleasant room looking out over the old garden towards the back of the theatre.
On the morning after the birthday dinner, Princep's valet approached a bedroom door with some trepidation,
for he had overslept himself and was at least five minutes late,
an offence which his master would not readily forgive.
Repeated Knox, bringing no reply, Morgan slipped into the room,
only to find that the bed had not been slept in,
and that there was no sign that Princep had been there at all since he had dressed for dinner on the previous evening.
Closing the door, Morgan walked back along the corridor to consult his fellow servants.
he found Winter, who was superintending the dusting of the drawing room.
Did you see the mask last night?
He asked.
Winter answered with a nod and added,
Yes, I took some letters from him for the post as usual.
Did he say anything about going out?
His pet has not been slept in, and he's not in his room this morning.
Winter replied that Princep had said nothing,
and the two men walked down the corridor together to take a look around.
At this moment there came a terrible scream from the study,
and a scared maid-servant came running out straight into Morgan's arms.
Oh, Mr. Morgan, the master, she sobbed.
I'm sure he's dead.
The two men's servants made all haste into the study.
There stretched on the floor beside his writing table lay John Prince.
A glance told them that he was dead
and shot the apparent course in a knife,
the handle of which protruded from his chest just about the region of the heart.
Morgan went down on his knees beside the body and felt the pulse.
Get out quick, he said, and stop those girls from kicking up a row.
He's dead right enough.
Noggin's voice was agitated indeed,
but it hardly showed the grief that might have been expected in an exemplary valet mourning for the death of his master.
Winter made no reply but left a room to quiet the servants.
Then he came back and telephoned first for the police and then for the dead man's doctor,
who promised to be with them inside of half a now.
As he sat at the telephone, he warned Morgan.
Don't disturb a thing.
if you are not careful one of us may get run in for this job.
Morgan, meanwhile, had satisfied himself beyond a doubt that Princef was dead.
Leaving the body, he turned to Winter.
Someone will have to tell Miss Joan, I suppose.
I'll go and find a maid.
Meanwhile, you stay on guard here.
Winter's guard was not for long.
In less than ten minutes, Morgan returned.
I've seen Miss John, he said, and she's gone to tell Sir Vernon.
Here are the police coming upstairs.
The telephone message had by a lot.
lucky accident, found Inspector Blackie, already at Wine Street, and it was he with two constables
and a sergeant who had come round to the house at once. The constables remained downstairs,
while he and the sergeant made a preliminary examination. Winter told him that nothing had been
disturbed, except that they had touched the body in order to make sure that Prince was dead, and
used the telephone to communicate with the doctor and the police. No doubt about this being dead,
said Inspector Blakey after a brief examination of the body.
"'Deat some hours, so far as I can see.
"'And no doubt about the cause of death either,'
"'and he pointed to the knife still in the body.
"'Has either of you ever seen that knife before?'
"'Both Winter and Morgan took a good look at the shaft,
"'but disclaimed ever having seen the knife.'
"'It wasn't his, I can tell you that,' said Morgan.
"'I know everything he had in the study,
"'and I'm dead sure it wasn't here yesterday.'
"'Hello?' said the inspector suddenly.
"'This is curious.
"'There's a mark on the back of the head.
that shows he must have been struck a heavy blow. It might have killed him by itself. Must have
stunned him, I should say. Well, we'll leave that for the doctors. So saying, the inspector got up from his
knees and began to make a minute examination of the room. Here, you too, he said to Morgan and
Winter. Clear out of here for the present, and stay in the next room till I sent for you.
Inspector Blakey was a careful man. Everything in the room was rapidly submitted to a detailed
examination, the result of which the sergeant rode down as a superior dictated them.
They were neither surprisingly rich nor surprisingly meagre. Of finger marks, there were plenty,
but these might well prove to be those of Prince of himself or of other persons whose presence
in the room was quite natural. Identifiable footmarks, there were none. Robbery, unless of some
special object, did not appear to have been the motive of the murderer. Considerable sums of money
were in the drawers of Princep's desk. But neither these
nor the other contents of the drawers seemed to have been in any way disturbed.
A safe stood unopened in a corner of the room.
The dead man's watch and other valuables had been left intact upon him.
Either the murder had left in great haste without accomplishing his purpose,
or that purpose did not include robbery of any ordinary kind.
Inspector Blakey directed a special attention to the papers,
lying on the dead man's desk which he seemed to have been working upon when he was disturbed.
these it did not take the inspector long to discover related to the financial affairs of walter brooklyn who as he soon ascertained later by a few questions was the brother of sir vernon a man about town of shady reputation and known to be head over ears in debt the papers seemed to contain some sort of abstract statement of his liabilities with a series of letters from him to sir vernon asking for financial assistance
"'H'm,' said the inspector to himself.
"'These may easily have a bearing on the case.
"'But there were other interesting discoveries to come.
"'The inspector was now informed that the doctor had arrived.
"'He ordered that he should be shown up immediately
"'and suspended his examination of the room to greet the newcomer.
"'Dr. Manton had been for some years the dead man's medical advisor,
"'but no other member of the Brooklyn family had been under his care.
"'Something in common with him
"'had perhaps caused Princepip to forsake the state family
physician in his favour. But this hardly appeared on the surface. Princef was heavily built and sullen
in expression. Dr. Muntin was slim, built and rather jaunty, with the habit of wearing clothes far less
funereal than the normal etiquette of the medical profession seems to dictate. He entered now,
flung a rapid and seemingly quite cheerful, good morning, Inspector. Bad business this, I hear,
with a blakey, and went at once down on his knees beside the body. Bad business. Bad business. Bad business.
He continued to repeat to himself in a perfectly cheerful tone of voice as he made his preliminary examination.
He made a noise between his teeth as he touched the hilt of the knife still embedded in Prince's chest.
Then as he saw the contusion on the back of the head, he said,
Hmm, hmm.
Then he relapsed into silence, which he broke a moment later by whistling a tune softly to himself.
Well, said the inspector, watch a report.
The doctor made no answer for a moment.
Then he said,
have him carried into the room.
I want to make a full examination.
I'll talk to you when I have done.
Very well, said the inspector,
and he went to the door and called to the sergeant
to bring up the two constables to move the body.
Heavily, they marched into the room,
lifted up the dead man and bore him away,
the doctor following.
But as they raised the body from the floor,
an interesting object came to light.
Underneath John Prince's body
had lain a crumpled pocket-handkerchief.
The inspector pounced upon it.
in the corner was plainly marked the name of George Brooklyn.
Who's George Brooklyn?
Inspector Blakey called out to the doctor in the adjoining room.
The doctor came to the door and saw the handkerchief in the inspector's hand.
Hello, what's that you've got? he said.
George Brooklyn is Prince's cousin, old Vernon's other nephew,
an architect I believe, by profession.
Thanks.
This appears to be his handkerchief, the inspector answered.
It was under the body.
Hmm.
Well, that's none of my business, said the dog.
and turned back into the room.
There, a minute or two later, Inspector Blakey followed him,
leaving the sergeant and guard in the room where the tragedy had occurred.
But first he carefully packed up and transferred to his handbag,
the handkerchief, the papers from the desk, and certain other spoils of his search.
Well, what do you make of it now? he asked Dr. Mountain.
The doctor had by this time drawn the knife from the wound,
and this he now handed silently to the inspector, who examined it curiously,
felt its edge and finally wrapped it up and put it away in his bag with the rest of his findings.
Then he turned again to the doctor.
A shocking business inspector, said the latter, still with his curiously cheerful air,
and I may add rather an odd one, the man was not killed with a knife,
and the knife wound has not actually touched any vital parts.
He was killed, I have no doubt, by the blow on the back of the head,
a far easier form of murder
for anyone who is not an expert.
It was a savage blow.
The wound in the chest
I have little hesitation in saying
was inflicted subsequently,
probably when the man was
already dead.
As I say, it would not have killed him
and there are also indication
that it was inflicted after death,
the comparative absence of bleeding
and the general condition of the wound, for example.
You say the man was killed
with a knock on the head, and the assassin
then stabbed him in order to make doubly
sure. Pardon me, Inspector. I say nothing of the sort. I say that the blow on the back of the head
was a cause of death, and that the knife wound was, in all probability, subsequent. Anything about
assassins and their motives and methods is your business and not mine. I accept the correction,
said the inspector, smiling. But the inference seems practically certain. Why else should the murderer
have stabbed a dead man? I have no theory, Inspector. I simply give you the medic-legal. I simply give you
the medical evidence and leave you to draw the inferences for yourself.
But perhaps you can give me some valuable information.
I believe you were a Mr. Prince's doctor.
Yes, and I think I may say a personal friend.
What sort of man was he? Anything wrong physically?
No, they ought to have been from the way he used his body.
But he had the constitution of an ox.
He limped owing to an accident some years ago.
But otherwise, oh, as healthy as you like.
And apart from that, what was he like?
I got on well with him, but there were many who did not.
A tough customer, hard in business and not ready to make friends.
What terms was he on with his family?
With Mr. George Brooklyn, for instance.
Come now, Inspector, this is hardly fair.
I barely know George Brooklyn.
I don't think he and Princep liked each other,
but there had been no quarrel so far as I know.
I suppose you are thinking of the handkerchief.
I have to think of these things.
While he was speaking, the inspector opened his bag and took out the knife again.
A curious knife says, he said.
Perhaps you can tell me whether it is a surgical instrument?
Not so curious when you know what it is.
I do happen to know, though it has nothing to do with my professional.
My son is a mechanical draughtsman, and he has several.
Knives of this type are sold by most firms which supply architects and draftsmen's material.
Hmm
What did you say
Was Mr. George Brooklyn's profession?
I believe he's an architect
And a very promising one
That doctor may make this knife
A most valuable clue
I do not choose to consider it in that light
Clues are not my affair
I'm glad to say
Well, they are my business
And I shall certainly have to make
Further inquiries about Mr. George Brooklyn
Oh, inquire away
Said the doctor
But I fancy you will find
George Brooklyn quite above suspicion
The inspector's eyes showed just for an instant a dangerous clean.
Then, and is there anything else you can tell me? he asked.
Nothing else, I think, said the doctor.
I'm afraid you won't find it much of a clue.
And with that, and a few words more about the necessary inquest, the doctor took his leave.
The inspector went back into the study.
Ask those two men who are waiting to step in here, will you?
He said to the sergeant.
Morgan and Winter were duly brought in.
sergeant while I talk to these two men I want you to make a thorough examination of the rest of the house leave nothing to chance house and garden I mean and make me a sketch plan of the whole place while you are about it now said the inspector when the sergeant had withdrawn there are a number of questions I want to ask you first who as far as you know was the last person to see the deceased alive which of you was in charge of the front door last night I was sir replied winter well then
said the inspector. I'll begin with you. Morgan can go back to the other room for the present,
and I'll send for him when I want him. Now, when did you yourself last see, Mr. Prince,
at 10.30 last night, sir, when I went up to fetch his letters for the post. Did you notice anything
unusual, or did he make any remark? He just gave me the letters. He didn't say anything. He seemed in a
bad temper, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. I see. There was nothing
remarkable. Do you know if anyone saw him after you? Yes, sir. At about quarter to eleven, Mr. George
Brooklyn called and asked for Mr. Princep. I told him, I thought Mr. Princep was in, and he said he would
find his own way up. And do you know when Mr. George Brooklyn came out? Yes, I happened to catch
sight of him crossing the hall to the front door about three quarters of an hour later, somewhere
about half past eleven. We were in the dining room clearing up, and several of us saw him go out.
You say clearing up.
Had there been some entertainment in the house last night?
Yes, sir.
It was Sir Vernon Brooklyn's family party.
His 70th birthday, sir.
Besides those in the house, there were Mr. and Mrs. George,
Mr. Carter Woodman, sir, the solicitor, who is also Sir Vernon's cousin,
and his wife, and Mr. Lucas, and yes, Mr. Ellery.
When did they leave?
They all left a minute or two after ten o'clock.
Mr. and Mrs. George and the Woodmans are staying in the Cunningham, sir, and they walked.
Mr. Lucas, the playwrighter said, he went off in his car to Hampstead, and Mr. Ellery, he walked off in a great hurry.
So far as you know, no one besides Mr. George Brooklyn saw Mr. Princep after 10.15?
No, of course, Miss Joan, or Miss Woodman, or Sir Vernon may have seen him without my knowing.
One more question. Do you recognize this walking stick?
The inspector had found this lying on the floor of the room.
It might be Princeps, but it was best to make sure.
"'No, sir. I've never seen it to my knowledge. But it may have been Mr. Princeps for all that.
He had quite a number. You have no idea then whose it was? No, sir. Mr. Princep used to collect
walking sticks. He was always bringing new ones home. Now, I want to ask you another question.
You see this knife? The one that was sticking out of the body? Have you ever seen it before?'
Winter's manner showed some hesitation. At length he said,
No, I can't say I have.
I mean, it wasn't here to my knowledge yesterday.
You seem to hesitate in answering.
It's a curious sort of knife.
Surely you would remember if you had seen it.
Or have you seen one like it?
Must I answer that question, sir?
You see, I'm not at all sure it was the same.
Of course you must answer.
It's your business to give the police all the help you can in discovering the murder.
Well, sir, all I meant was that
I'd often seen Mr. George Brooklyn
using that sort of knife when he was doing his work.
He's an architect down at Fittlerworth.
He used to bring his work down when he came to stay with Sir Vernon,
and I know he had a knife like that.
I see.
But you can't say whether this is his?
No, it might be, but all I know is it's a same pattern.
And that's all you can tell me, is it?
Winter said nothing, and the inspector added,
very well, that'll do.
Now I want to ask Morgan a few questions.
Morgan had little light to throw upon the tragedy.
He had been out all the previous evening,
after helping his master to rest for dinner,
when he had noticed nothing extraordinary.
He had come back soon after 11.30,
and had gone straight to bed.
Where had he been?
He had spent the evening with friends at Hammsmith,
had come back by the tube with two friends
who had only left him at the door of the house.
There he had met winter and had gone upstairs with him to bed.
asked if he knew the walking stick he was quite sure that it was not as masters and that it had not been in the room on the previous day about the knife he knew nothing except that he had never seen it or one like it before the inspector had just finished his examination of morgan when he was startled by a shout from the garden throwing up the window he called to a constable who was running towards the house the man's answer was to ask him to come as quickly as possible calling another constable to keep guard and the same
study, Inspector Blakey hastened to the garden, directed by Morgan to a private stairway which led
directly to it from the back of the house. This Morgan informed him was Mr. Princep's usual
way of getting into the garden and thence by the private covered way into the Piccadilly Theatre
itself. But before Inspector Blakey left the study, he did one thing. He phoned through to
Scotland Yard and made arrangements for the immediate arrest of George Brooklyn, who is probably
to be found at the Cunningham Hotel.
The end of chapter 3.
Chapter 4 of the Brooklyn murders.
This Liberty Walk's recording is in the public domain.
Read by Yoga Anand.
The Brooklyn Murders by G.D. H. Cole.
Chapter 4.
What John found in the garden.
John Cooper usually knew her own mind,
and in a view, knowing your own mind meant knowing when to stop as well as when to go on.
She had made a position clear at the dinner,
and Sir Vernon could no longer pretend, she said to herself, that our marriage with Prince of was a foregone conclusion.
Sir Vernon, indeed, had said nothing more about the matter when she took him to his room in the evening,
and they had separated for the night apparently on the best of terms.
But John had known that she must prepare for a stormy interview on the morrow,
and as she dressed in the morning, her thoughts were running on what she should say to Sir Vernon
in answer to the reproaches he was sure to address to her.
just as she was ready for breakfast,
a scared maid came to her door
and said that Morgan wished to speak to her for a moment.
John looked at the girl's face and saw outwance that something serious was amiss.
Why, what's the matter? she said.
I don't know miss, but there's something wrong upstairs,
and they're sending for the police.
Joan hurried to the room where Morgan was waiting for her.
With the impeccable manner of the good man-servant
and almost without a shade of feeling in his voice,
Morgan told her what had happened.
how he and Winter had found Princep.
Lying on the floor of his study dead.
You're sure that he's dead?
She managed to ask.
Have you sent for a doctor?
Morgan assured her that everything was being attended to
and said that he had come to her
because someone would have to break the news to Sir Vernon.
Would she do it?
Into Joan's mind came the thought of the interview she had expected
and of the interview she was after all to have.
No question now of her marrying John Princep.
There was no longer any sense.
such person as John Princep to marry.
I suppose I must do it, she said.
Jones composure lasted just long enough for the door to close behind Morgan.
Then she flung herself down a coach and let her feelings have their way.
She sobbed half historically, not because even at this tragic moment she felt grieve for
John Princep, but simply because the sudden catastrophe was too much for her.
Tragedy has swooped down in a moment on the house of Brooklyn, sweeping out of existence
a crisis which had seemed so vital to her only a few minutes ago.
On her was a sense of calamity, bewilderment, and helplessness in the face of death.
She had felt no call to ask Morgan questions.
John Princep's death, his murder was a fact, a shattering event which must have time to sink into a consciousness
before she could begin to inquire about the manner of its coming.
She did not even ask herself how it had happened or who had done this thing.
As she lay there sobbing, the one thought in her mind was that principle was dead.
But soon that other thought that called to action which had been presented to her at the very moment when Morgan told her the news came back into her mind.
She had given way, but she must pull herself together.
Sir Vernon, old and weak as he was, must be told the news.
And she must tell him.
She must tell him at once, less tidings should break on him suddenly from some other quarter.
Aldi
the police were probably
in the house.
With a powerful effort
John forced herself
to be calm.
Drying her eyes,
she stood upright
and looked at herself
in the glass.
She would need all the power
to break the news
to the old man
whom she loved
the old man
who had loved
John Princep
far more than he loved
her.
John Princep
had been Sir Vernon's
favourite nephew,
the man who was to
succeed him
had indeed
Alderdy succeeded him
in the management
of the great
enterprise he had built up. He liked George and John, but Princep had always had the first place in both
his affection and his esteem. This death, this murder, John told herself, might be more than he could
bear. It might kill him, and it fell to her, who only the night before had floated his will
by refusing to marry John Princep to break to the old man the news of his favourite's death.
Still, it had to be done, and it was best done quickly. Savanan always lay in bed to breakfast,
and it was to his bedroom that John went with evil tidings.
She did not try to break it to him gradually.
She told him straight out what she knew, holding his hand as she spoke.
He looked very old and feeble there in the great bed,
but he took it more quietly than she had expected,
unable apparently to take in at once the full implication of what she said.
Ted murdered, he repeated to himself again and again.
He lay back in the bed and closed his eyes.
eyes. John sat beside him for a while and then stole away. His eyes opened and he watched her to the door, but he did not speak.
John's first act on leaving Sir Vernon was to telephone to the family doctor, old Sir Jonas Dalimple, and asked him to come round as soon as he could.
Then she felt that she must have air. Her head was swimming and she was near to fainting.
So she went down the private staircase and out into the old garden, which now as ever seemed to,
so remote from the busy world outside.
For some minutes she walked up and down the avenue of trees,
along which were arranged the antique statues Lord Liske
that brought home from Asia Minor.
Then, in search of a place where she could sit and rest,
she went toward the model temple
which the same old scholar-diplomat had built to Marcus' enthusiasm
for the world of antiquity.
But as Joan came nearer the temple she saw in the entrance
some indistinct dark object lying upon the steps.
At first she could not be sure what it was,
but as she came close,
she became sure that it was a body of a man
lying with the feet towards her in an unnatural attitude,
which must be that of either unconsciousness or death.
Her impulse was to turn tail and run to the house for help,
but with a strong effort of will,
she forced herself to go still nearer.
It was a man, and the man she felt sure was dead.
The face was turned away,
lying downwards to the stone of the topmost step,
and on the exposed back of the head was a mark of a savage blow
which had crushed the skull almost like an egg shell.
Alderdy, Joan was nearly certain who it was,
and an intense feeling of sickness came over her
as she forced herself to touch the body and to turn it over
enough to expose the face.
Then she let the thing drop back
and started back herself with a sharp cry.
It was a cousin, George Brooklyn,
manifestly dead and no less manifestly murdered,
who lay there on the steps of the...
the Grecian temple.
Filled as she was with horror at the second tragedy of the morning,
John did not lose her presence of mind.
She staggered indeed, and had to cling for a minute to the nearest of the old statues,
the Hercules, whose points, John Princep had showed off to his guests
only the night before.
The tears which she had been keeping back burst from her now, and the weeping did her good.
She regained a composure and realized that her first duty was to summon help,
slowly and unsteadily she walked towards the house. At the door leading to the garden she met one of the policemen who was helping the sergeant in his examination of the house. She tried to speak, but she could only utter one word, come and lead the way back to the horror that lay there in the garden. The policeman followed her. But as soon as they came in view of the temple and he saw what she had seen already, he ceased to advance. One moment, miss, he said, I must fetch the sergeant and he started back to the house in search of a superior.
John stood stock still, only swaying a little, until the policeman came back with the sergeant.
Then she watched the gentleman go up to the body, turn it over slightly to see the face, and then let it fall back.
Begging pardon, mess, said the sergeant, turning to her, but maybe you know who this gentleman is?
With a violent effort John managed to answer, George, my cousin, Mr. George Brooklyn, she said, and then overcome by the strain, she fainted.
The sergeant was a chivalrous man
and he instantly left off
his examination of the sport and came to
Jones' help. Propping up ahead
he fanned her rather awkwardly.
As he did so, he shouted to the policeman.
Don't stand there, you fool, looking like a stuck pig.
Go and get some water for the lady.
The constable set off at a run,
lumbering heavily over the grass.
And tell the inspector what's toward,
shouted the sergeant after him.
It was this shout that the inspector heard
and that made him throw up the study window
and received at once the constable's message.
By the time Inspector Blakey
reached the garden, the constable had returned
with a glass of water, and Joan had
recovered consciousness. She was sitting
on the grass, a bag propped
against the pedestal of the statue, and the
sergeant was trying to persuade her to go indoors.
The inspector, after a hasty glance at the scene,
added his entreaties.
But John refused to go.
No, I must see this through,
she said, as to herself,
I'm all right now, she added,
trying to smile at the police officer.
Let me alone please.
After a time they left her to herself and pursued the investigation of the crime.
Not only were the facts and manner of death plain enough.
The actual weapon with which the blow had been dealt was also clearly indicated.
Between the body and the statue lay a heavy stone club.
Evidently a part of the group of statuary against which Joan was resting.
It was a club of Hercules taken from the hand of the stone figure
which stood only a few feet away from the body.
on the club were unmistakable recent blood strains
and clotted in the blood were heads which seemed to correspond closely with those of the dead man
the blow had been one of immense violence
the stone club itself was so heavy that only a strong man could have wielded it with effect
and it had evidently been brought down with great force on the back of george brooklyn's head
by someone standing almost immediately behind him but rather to the right hand
so much appeared even from a cursory inspection of the wound.
It was also evident that the body did not lie where it had fallen.
It had been dragged two or three yards along the ground into the temple and tree,
presumably in order that it might be well out of way of the casual notice.
The dragging of it along the ground had left clear traces.
A track had been swept clear of loose stones and rubble by the passage of the body,
and the two little ridges assured where the stones and dust had piled up on each side.
George Brooklyn was fully dressed in his evening clothes, just as he had appeared at dinner the night before.
He had evidently come out into the garden without either a hat or overcoat,
or at least there was no sign of these on the scene of the crime.
His body lay where it had been dragged, presumably by the murderer,
and all the evidence seemed to show that death had been practically instantaneous.
There was no sign of a struggle.
The only visible mark of the event was a trail left where the dragging of the body a swept clear of dirt and pebbles,
the stone approach to the model temple.
All these observations made by the sergeant
within a minute or two of discovering the body
were confirmed by the inspector
when he went over the ground. Footmarks
indeed were there in plenty.
But Joan explained that they had all been walking
about the garden before dinner on the previous evening
and that nearly all of them had actually stood for some time
just outside the porch of the temple.
From the footprints it was almost unlikely
that any valuable evidence would be derived.
this situation been less grim, Inspector Blakey would have been inclined to laugh when he found that the man whose body lay in the garden was a very man for whose arrest he had just issued the order.
His fear had been that George Brooklyn would slip away before there was time to effect an arrest.
That fear was now most completely remote. If George Brooklyn had killed Prince of upstairs, surely fate had lost no time in exacting retribution.
The inspector's immediate business, however, was to say.
what close to the second and more mysterious murder might have been left,
and it soon appeared to him that valuable evidence was forthcoming.
First, on the Stone Club, his skilled examination plainly revealed a fine set of fingerprints
blurred in places but still quite decipherable.
Moreover, these prints occupied exactly the spaces most natural if the weapon had been used
for a murderous assault.
The inspector carefully wrapped up the club for forwarding at once to the fingerprint
Department of Scotland Yard.
But good fortune did not end there,
close to the statue of Hercules
from which the club had been taken,
he found, troddened into the ground,
a broken cigar holder.
It was a fine amber holder,
broken cleanly across the middle.
Where the cigar was to be inserted was a stout,
gold ban, and on this ban
was an inscription, Veeby from H.Hell,
Blakey looked in vain for a cigar end.
Probably the holder had dropped from her pocket
and had been trodden upon.
perhaps from the pocket of the murderer himself.
The inspector turned to John with his fight.
Have you ever seen this before?
He asked.
Joan gave a start of surprise.
For a moment she stared at the cigar-holder without saying a word.
Then she spoke slowly, and as if with an effort,
yes, she said.
Uncle Harry, I mean, Mr. Lucas gave it to Sir Vernon,
but Mr. Princep always used it.
I saw him using it last night.
Miss Cooper, said the inspector.
This may be very important.
Are you quite sure that you saw Mr. Princep using this holder last night?
And if you are, at what time?
Yes, quite sure.
He was smoking a cigar in it when he went up on to his room.
Joan had stayed in the garden while the inspector was examining the ground
because she seemed to have lost the power of doing anything else.
If she went in, she must go and tell the barren of this second tragedy
or else talk to him in such a way as deliberately to keep him in ignorance of it.
The strain in either case would be she felt more than she could bear.
It was better even to stay near this horrible corpse
and to watch the police making their investigations.
Meanwhile, Dr. Muntin, and with him a police surgeon, had come into the garden
and were making an examination of the body.
When they had gone, two stout constables placed it on a stretcher and carried it into the house.
Joan followed almost mechanically, leaving the inspector still in the garden.
As she entered the house, Winter told her that Mrs. George,
Brooklyn and Mrs. Woodman were upstairs with Miss Woodman and that Carter Woodman had
telephoned to say that he was coming round at once.
He had just heard at his office the news of Prince's murder, but of course he would know
nothing yet of George's fate.
And then it occurred to Joan that Mrs. George, who was upstairs, had probably heard nothing
as yet of her husband's death.
Was she to break the news again?
This time to a wife whose love for a husband had been so great as to become a family
proverb as much in love as Marian.
How often they had laughed as they had said it,
and now it came home suddenly to Joan what it meant.
Still, she must go upstairs and see them,
tell them if need be.
She found that they knew already.
They had seen from a window the excitement in the garden,
and Mary Woodman had run down to find out what the trouble was.
So Mary had to tell Mrs. George,
and there they were sitting in silence,
waiting for news that could be no worse and could be no better.
Joan shortly told them what she knew.
Marianne listened in silence, sitting still and staring at nothing with a fixed case.
She did not weep.
She was as if she had been turned to stone.
Joan thought that she looked more beautiful now than she had ever looked on the stage
when she set a whole theatre crying for the sorrows of some queen of long ago.
She longed to offer comfort, but she dared.
to do nothing. Complete silence fell on the room. Meanwhile, below Carter Woodman had arrived.
He heard from winter at the door the news of the second tragedy of the morning. At first,
he seemed half incredulous, but he was soon convinced that there was no room for doubt. With
the sentence expressing his horror, he hurried through into the garden in search of the inspector,
whom he found still seeking for further traces of the crime. Carter Woodman took the position
by storm. His tall, athletic presence, dominated the group of
men gathered round the statue. He insisted that he must hear the whole story, demanded to know
what clues the police had found, and so bully the inspector and everybody else as to get
himself at once very heartily disliked. Before he had half done, the police were quite in a mood
to convict him of the murder if they could find a shred of evidence. But they had to respect
his energy, for it was he who pointed out to them something which they had overlooked. It was a scrap
of paper lying on the floor of the temple, seemingly blown into a corner.
corner just beyond where the body had lain, a leaf clearly from a memorandum book, and from the
cleanness and the state of the torn edge, apparently not long turn out. On it was written in a
hand which Woodman at once identified as Princeps, come to me in the garden, I will wait in the
temple, J. P. There was no adverse direction, but it seemed to prove that Princep, who lay dead
upstairs had arranged with someone a meeting in the garden where now George Brooklyn's body
had been found. It was Woodman too who made a valuable suggestion. Look here, Inspector, he said.
Most of this part of the garden, though it is hidden from the house by the trees, can be seen
from the windows at the back of the theatre. Whoever was there with poor old George last night
may quite possibly have been seen by someone from there. There are nearly always people about till
light. The inspector at once
pointed out that the place where they were
standing and the temple itself were
completely hidden from the theatre by a thick
belt of trees and shrubs. But
Woodman insisted that the chance was worth
trying. George, or his
assailant, might have been another part
of the garden some of the time.
The inspector and Woodman accordingly went across
to the theatre, to which the news
had already spread, and there
they quickly found what they wanted.
A caretaker who lived in a set of
ground floor rooms at the back of the house,
had distinctly seen John Princep
walking up and down the garden shortly
after 11 o'clock, or it might have been a quarter past
on the previous night.
He had been quite alone, and the man had last seen him
walking towards a shrubbery in the temple.
Asked if he was quite certain that the person he saw was Princep,
he said there could be no mistaking Mr. Prince.
He had on his claret-coloured, overcoat and slouch-haired,
and no one could help recognising his walk.
He had a pronounced limp and walked with a curious sight-we.
action. It was Mr. Principal right. The caretaker concluded, I should know him out of a thousand.
This would have satisfied some man, and it appeared to satisfy Woodman, but the inspector held that
it was desirable to look for corroborative evidence. No one else in the building seemed to have
seen anyone in the garden, but most of the staff had not yet arrived. The inspector made arrangements
for each to be interrogated on arrival, and he and Woodman then went back into the garden,
through the private door opening on the covered way, communicating between the theatre and the house.
They continued their search, but no further clues were to be found.
The end of chapter 4.
Chapter 5 of the Brooklyn Murders
This Libby V recording is in the public domain.
Read by Yoga Anand.
The Brooklyn Murders by G.D. H. Cole.
Chapter 5.
Playing as a Pike Stuff
Inspector Blakey, when he had done all that he could
on the scene of the double crime, went at once to report to his
superiors and to hold a consultation at Scotland Yard.
The officer to whom he was immediately responsible
was the celebrated superintendent Wilson,
the professor, as his colleagues called him,
in allusion to his scholarly habits
and his pre-eminently intellectualist way of reasoning out the solution of his cases.
The professor, in his earlier days as Inspector Wilson,
had patiently found his way to the heart of a
good many murder mysteries by thinking them out as logical problems. He had made his name by solving
the great antedated murder mystery when everyone else had been hopelessly in fault and a man's
life and a great fortune had both depended on his skill in reasoning out the truth. He was a small
man with quick nervous movements and a curious way of closing his eyes and holding up his hands
before him with tips of his fingers pressed tightly together when he was discussing a case.
he was reputed to have but a scant respect for most of his colleagues of Scotland Yard
but he made an exception in favour of Inspector Blakey whose pertinacity in following up Clues
worked in excellently with his own skill at putting two and two together
Blakey he would often say could not reason but he could find things out
he Wilson stuck there in his office could not go hunting for clues
but he and Blakey together were a first-class combination
He was sitting at his desk, busy with a mass of papers when the inspector entered.
He at once put his work aside and settled down to discuss a new case.
A word of the second murder had already been sent to him over the telephone,
and he had seen that the case was certain to make a stir.
The connection of the victims with Sir Vanon, Brooklyn, and the Piccadilly theatre,
was enough to ensure a first-class newspaper sensation.
There was an unusual note of eagerness in his voice as he asked for the latest news.
The trouble about the case, sir, said Inspector Bolley.
Blakey, is that it's as plain as the pike stuff. But what the clues plainly indicate cannot
possibly be true. Perhaps I'd better tell you the whole story from the beginning. Superintendant
Wilson nodded, put the tips of his fingers together, leant back in his chair and finally closed his
eyes. He had composed himself to listen. I went to Liskeed House shortly before half-past eight
this morning on receipt of a telephone message stating that a murder had been committed. Who sent the
message, one of the servants. They had found the body when they went in to clean the room in the
morning. I went to the house, as I say. In a room on the second floor, a study, I found the body
which the servants identified as that of Mr. John Prynip, by whom the second floor was occupied.
Mr. Prynip was managing director of the Brooklyn Corporation, a nephew of Sir Vernon Brooklyn.
The superintendent nodded. The body was lying on the floor with a face upwards. A knife which I have
since found to be of a peculiar type used by architects and draftsmen was protruding from the chest
in the region of the heart. On the side of the head was a very clearly marked contusion,
obviously caused by a heavy blow from some blunt instrument which cannot have been any object
of furniture in the room. The dead man's doctor, Dr. Manton and the police surgeon agreed that
this blow and not the knife wound was a cause of death. The knife did not touch any vital part
and the doctors believed that the wound in the chest was inflicted after death.
You say, believe. Are they certain? No, almost certain, but not so as to swear to it.
I at once made an examination of the room. The dead man had evidently been sitting at his desk
and had fallen from his chair on being struck from behind on the left-hand side.
On the desk was a mass of papers relating to the financial affairs of Mr. Walter Brooklyn,
a brother I find of Sir Vernon Brooklyn, and therefore uncle to the deceased.
I have the papers here. The inspector handed over a bundle which is super-induced.
attendant placed beside him on the table.
Go on, he said.
Lying on the floor at some distance from the body was the walking stick,
which may or may not have some connection with the crime.
There were at least 30 or 40 walking sticks standing in a corner.
But this was lying on the floor behind the study chair to the left,
that is, at the point from which the murderer seems to have approached as a victim.
The servants say that they do not remember seeing the stick before,
but they cannot be certain, as the deceased collected sticks.
this is evidently a curio
made I think of rhinoceros horn
The superintendent examined the stick for a moment
And then put it down beside him
Dr. Manton then arrived
And after a preliminary examination
Asked that the body should be removed
To the adjoining room
When it was lifted up
There was revealed
Lying beneath it
This handkerchief
Which as you see is marked in the corner
With the name G. Brooklyn
Mr. George Brooklyn
I was attained
He is also a nephew of Sir Vernon Brooklyn
He is moreover
an architect by profession, and might therefore easily have been possession of the knife found
embedded in the body. Winter, the butler at the house, has often seen him using a knife of this
precise pattern. Hmm, said the superintendent. I made inquiries among the servants. The last of them
to see Mr. Principal I was a butler, Winter, who collected from him his late letters for the post.
That was at 10.30 or thereabouts. The deceased was sitting at a stable, working at a lot of figures.
He seemed in a bad temper, but that, Winter says, was nothing unusual.
But from the same winter, I obtained a very valuable piece of evidence.
At about quarter to eleven, Mr. George Brooklyn called to see the deceased.
He said he would show himself upstairs, and did so.
He was seen by Winter and the other servants leaving the house by the front door at about 11.30.
It was on receiving this information that I telephoned to you asking for the immediate arrest of Mr. George Brooklyn,
who was believed to be staying at the Cunningham Hotel.
"'Yes,' said the superintendent.
"'I sent two men round there.
"'They were informed that Mr. Brooklyn had booked rooms,
"'and that his wife had spent the night in the hotel.
"'He had not been there since the previous day before dinner.
"'I was about to take further steps when I received your second message.
"'Quite so.
"'Now I come, sir, to the really extraordinary part of the case.
"'Immediately before telephoning to you,
"'I had received an urgent message to come down to the garden
"'where the sergeant was making investigations.
"'In the garden, I found a body,
which was identified by a young lady who lives in the house, Sir Vernon Brooklyn's ward, I understand, as of Mr. George Brooklyn himself.
He was an evening dress without hair to coat, and the body was lying on the steps of a curious sort of stone summer house,
they call it the Grecian temple, where it had been dragged.
The cause of death, the doctors confirmed this, was a terrific blow on the back of the head,
and the weapon was lying a few yards from the body.
I have it here in the parcel.
The inspector lived with the heavy club with an effort onto the table,
and the superintendent gave an involuntary start of surprise as he saw the strange weapon that had been employed at this sinister tragedy.
It is, as you see, sir, a heavy stone club.
It's part of a group of statuary, a Hercules, they tell me, which stands in the garden about four yards from the summer house or temple.
It has obviously been detached for some time from the rest of the statue.
On it are some blood strains and hairs which correspond to those of the dead man.
there are also fingerprints which I suppose you will have examined.
I took the precaution to secure fingerprints of both dead men for possible use.
They are here, the inspector handed over another parcel.
I studied carefully the scene of the crime.
The deed was evidently done almost at the foot of the statue
and the body was dragged from there to the temple, presumably to remove it from casual notice.
At the foot of the statue I found this crushed cigar holder
which Miss John Cooper, the young lady to whom I referred,
identifies as habitually used by Mr. John Princep,
and actually seen in his mouth at 10 o'clock last night,
when a party then held in the house, broke up.
I also found on the floor of the temple this crumpled piece of paper,
presumably a leaf from a memorandum book,
and the inspector handed over the brief scrolled note in John Princep's writing,
making an appointment in the garden.
What is said, however, was not quite accurate,
for it was not he but Carter Woodman who had found the note.
The writing of this note was identified by Miss Cooper as that of Mr. Princep.
It is one of the puzzles of this affair.
You mean that it would have fitted in better if John Princep's body had been found in the garden,
suggested the superintendent.
Exactly, as things are, it is confusing.
About this time, Mr. Carter Woodman, Sir Vernon Brooklyn's lawyer, arrived.
At his suggestion, we went across to the theatre which overlooks the garden,
although the place where the crime was committed and the body found is completely
concealed by trees from both the house and the theatre. Our object was defined if anyone from
the theatre had seen anything of what happened. A caretaker stated that he had seen Mr.
Princepip walking in the garden sometime between eleven o'clock last night and a quarter past.
I made further inquiries, both in the house and at the theatre, but that, I think, exhaust
the discoveries I have made so far. And the inspector stopped and wiped his face with a green
handkerchief. You have stated the case very plainly.
said Superintendent Wilson.
Now tell me what you make of it.
And he gave what can best be described as a ghost of a chuckle.
Ah, that's just where the trouble comes in, sir, replied the inspector.
I don't know what to make of it.
As I said, it is as plain as a pike staff, and yet it can't be.
When I examined Mr. Prince's room, I found abundant evidence pointing to the conclusion
that he was murdered by Mr. George Brooklyn.
But when I go down into the garden, I find Mr. George Brooklyn lying dead there.
and the circumstances which strongly suggest that he was killed by Mr. Princip.
Yet they can't possibly have killed each other. It's simply impossible.
You say that there is strong ground for suspecting that Princep killed Brooklyn.
What is the ground? Well, first is that cigar holder.
The second thing is the letter in his writing, though I admit that raises a difficulty.
The third thing is that I am practically certain the fingerprints on the club correspond to those I took from Princep's hands.
then Prince of was certainly seen walking the garden.
In short, Inspector Blikey, said the superintendent, half smiling,
you appear to hold very strong prima facie evidence that each of these two men murdered the other.
The inspector groaned, don't laugh at me, sir, he said.
I'm doing my best to puzzle it out.
Of course, they didn't kill each other.
At least both of them didn't.
They couldn't.
You know what I mean?
Do you mean, I take it, that they could only have killed each other and left their
bodies where they found on the assumption that at least one corpse was alive enough to walk about
and commit a murder and then quite replace itself where it had been killed.
It will, I fear, be difficult to persuade even a coroner's jury that such an account of the
circumstances is correct.
Of course, it is incorrect, sir, but you'll admit that's what it looks like.
It is quite possible for a man who had committed a murder to be murdered himself as he leaves
the scene of his crime, but it is stark, staring nonsense for the man whom he had killed to get
as if he were alive and well, and come after his murderer with a club, to say nothing of laying himself
out again neatly afterwards. No, that won't wash. Yet the evidence both ways is thoroughly good
evidence. We can agree, Inspector, that these two men did not kill each other, but it remains
possible, even probable, on the evidence you have so far secured, that one of them did kill the other,
and was then himself killed by some third person unknown, possibly a witness of the first crime
bent on exact and retribution.
How does that strike you?
The superintendent thrust his hands deep into his pockets
and leant back in his chair with a satisfied look
as if he had scored a point.
Inspector Blakey's face, however, hardly became less doleful.
Yes, that's possible, he said.
But unfortunately, there is absolutely nothing to show
which set of circumstantial clues ought to be accepted
and which discarded in that case.
We did not know which of the two men was killed first.
when Druclin went to see Princep
did he murder him and then
there in the study or did
Prince Prince Decois visitor into the garden
by means of the note we have found and
they kill him? Either theory
fits some of the facts. Neither
fits them all. I don't know which
to think or which to work on as a basis.
The evidence we have possibly points in the right direction
in one of the cases and in the wrong direction
in the other. But how are we to tell which is right and which is wrong?
There's nothing to lay hold of
What about the medical evidence as to the time of death?
Does that throw any light on the case?
None whatever, unfortunately.
In both instances, the doctors agree that death almost certainly took place at some time between 10.30 and 12 o'clock.
But they say it is impossible to time the thing any more accurately than that.
Come, that seems at least to narrow the field of inquiry.
When were each of these men last seen alive?
The inspector referred to his notes.
John Princep was seen at 10.30 by the servant, Winter.
who went to fetch his letters for the post.
He was seen in the garden at some time
between 11 o'clock and 11.15
by the caretaker at the Piccadilly Theatre,
Jabez Smith, and also
I have since ascertained by a dresser
named Laura Rose about the same time.
No one seems to have seen him later than about 1115.
His body was found in a study
this morning at 10 minutes past 8 by the maid
Sarah Plenty
and seen immediately afterwards by the household servants,
William Winter and Peter Morgan.
And George Brooks,
He was seen at about quarter to eleven by Winter and other servants when he called at Liskeed House and went up by himself to John Princep's room.
He was seen again by Winter and two other servants leaving the house at about 11.30.
He did not go home to his hotel and neither his wife nor anyone else I have been able to discover saw him again.
His body was discovered at 9.30 this morning in the garden of Liskeed House by his cousin, John Cooper.
That certainly does not seem to help us very much.
In the case of Princep, he may have died any time after 1119.
Brooklyn was alive at 1130.
Yes, but if Brooklyn killed Princep,
it seems he must have done so between 1115 when Princep was still alive
and 1130 when Brooklyn was seen leaving the room.
That does not follow at all.
We know he came back after 1130 since he was found dead in the grounds.
The first question is,
how and when did he come back?
I've made every possible inquiry about that.
The front door was bolted at about 1145
and Winter is positive that he did not come in again that way.
There are two other ways into the garden.
One is through the coachyard.
That was locked and bolted about 11 and was found untouched this morning.
The other is through the theatre.
Nobody saw him.
And the caretaker says he could not have gone through that way
without being seen.
But it appears that the door from the theatre into the garden
was not locked until nearly midnight, and it is just possible he may have slipped through that way.
He seems to have been seen in the theatre early in the evening, before his call at Liskid House at 1045.
Was it the usual thing for Princep to walk about the garden at night? Yes, they tell me that he often
took a stroll there on fine nights before going to bed. The superintendent dropped his chin thoughtfully.
I can only see one thing for it, he said. We have no evidence to show which of these men died first,
and therefore which if either of them kill the other.
You must follow both sets of clues
until you get further evidence to show which is the right one.
But remember that, even if one murder can be accounted for in that way,
there is still another murderer somewhere at large
unless another unexpected corpse turns up
and clear evidence of having been murdered by one of the other two.
The inspector laughed.
Well, he said, it all seems a bit of a puzzle.
It seems to me the next thing is to find out whether,
Either of them had any special reason for murdering the other.
If you agree, I shall work up the antecedents of the case
and do a little research into the family history.
Yes, that's probably the best we can do for the present.
But spread the net wide.
Find out all you can about the old family and the servants.
Everyone who is known to have been in the house last night.
Everyone who could have any reason for deciding the death of either
or both of the murdered men.
I suppose one of them must have murdered the other, said the inspector reflectively.
I see no sufficient reason for thinking that, replied is superior.
It looks to me more like a very carefully planned affair,
ducked out by some third party,
but we mustn't take anything for granted.
Your immediate job is certainly to follow up the clues you have found.
Even if they do not lead where we expect them to lead,
they will probably lead somewhere.
A deliberately late false clue is often just as useful
as an ordinary straightforward clue in the long run.
Oh, I'll keep my eyes open, said the inspector,
and as there is a third party involved in any case
it's worth remembering that he could not easily have got into the house
after midnight at the least
and I'm blessed if I see how he could have got out of it
and left all the doors properly fastened
unless he had an accomplice insight
that is certainly a point
everyone who slept in the house is certainly worth watching
what about the men's servants
only two Morgan and Winter sleep in the house
Morgan says he came back about 11.30
after spending the evening with friends in Hammersmith
he and Winter went up their rooms together soon after.
Morgan's room can only be reached through Winters.
Winter says he lay awake for some hours.
He is a bad sleeper.
And heard Morgan snoring in the next room all the time.
He did not go to sleep until after he had heard two o'clock strike.
He says he's a light sleeper and Morgan could not have passed through his room without waking him.
That seems to clear Morgan if Winter is speaking the truth.
What about Winter himself?
A good deal seems to turn on his testimony.
Winter is a very old servant. He has been in the family since he was a boy.
He doesn't strike me as at all the kind of man to be mixed up in an affair of this sort.
Morgan is rather a sly fellow, much more the sort of man one would be inclined to suspect.
You're probably right, but we must not let Winter off too easily.
Suppose it is true that one of these two men did kill the other.
Isn't an old devoted family servant if he saw the crime just the man to take his revenge?
There have been many crimes with far less stronger motive.
I'll certainly have Winter watched and Morgan Till,
but I'm not at all hopeful.
It is too well planned to be a sudden crime,
and I'm sure Winter is not the man for a high-class job of this sort.
Do the best you can, and keep me fully informed about the case.
If I have a brain wave, I'll let you know.
At present I can't see light any more than you.
With that unsatisfactory conclusion, the two detectives parted.
Superintendent Will Ferrette,
left alone, walked quickly up and down the room, chuckling to himself, and every now and then
marking off a point on his fingers or pausing in his walk to examine one of the clues which the
inspector had left in his keeping. He appeared to find it a fascinating case.
The end of Chapter 5. Chapter 6 of the Brooklyn murders. This Liberty Walk's recording is in the
public domain. Read by Yoganand. The Brooklyn Murders by G.D.H.
CH COLE. CH X.
A pause for reflection.
When Inspector Blakey
got to his own room he sat down with a sheet
of paper in front of him and on it
made out from his notes
a list of all the persons whom he
knew to have been in the house the previous
night. It was a long list
and he made it out more to set
his subconscious mind free to work
then with any idea that it would
throw a direct light on the problem.
Having made his list he began to
write down after each name exactly
what was known about its owners' doings and movements on the night before.
He left out nothing, however unimportant it might seem.
For he had fully mastered the first principle of scientific detection,
that detail generally gives the clue to a crime,
and that therefore every detail matters.
He began with those who seemed least likely to have had any end in the business.
First, there were the four mate servants.
They had gone to bed before eleven.
They slept two in the room,
and there seemed no reason to doubt that, as he said,
they had all slept soundly.
He did not dismiss them from his mind,
but he had nothing against them so far.
Then there was a lady's maid, Agnes Dutch.
She had slept alone on the first floor
in a little room next to that of Joan Cooper.
She had felt tired, she said,
and had gone to bed at 10.30
after making sure that Miss Joan would not want her again.
She seemed a nice, quiet girl,
and although she seemed very upset in the morning,
when the inspector saw her, that was no more than was to be expected.
There was nothing against her either.
Besides, Mary Woodman had not gone to bed until after twelve,
and she said that she was certain the girl was in her room until then.
She had been sitting in the big landing lounge reading,
and both Jones and the maid's doors opened to the lounge.
What of Mary Woodman herself?
She had been with Joan until about eleven,
and had then sat for an hour reading.
No one had seen her during that hour,
or heard her go to bed afterwards,
but Mary notoriously got on with everybody
and had not an enemy in the world.
Everyone had told the inspector,
without need of his asking the question,
that she was the very last person
to have anything to do with the murder.
Besides, the whole thing was clearly a man's job.
The inspector filed Mary Woodman in his mind for future reference,
but he felt quite sure that she knew nothing about the crimes.
Then, to finish the women, there was John Cooper.
She had discovered George Brooklyn's,
body in the garden and a manner after the discovery seemed to be signed enough that it had come to her
as a horrifying surprise. Certainly she had known nothing about George Brooklyn's death, but she might,
for all that, be in a position to throw some further light upon the crimes. He had asked her in the
garden how she had spent the previous evening, and she had answered without hesitation. After seeing
Sir Vernon to his room shortly after ten, she had sat with Mary Woodman in the lounge until eleven
o'clock and had then gone to bed. Her maid had come to her rather before half-past ten,
and she had told her she would be needed no more that night. Mary Woodman, who had sat on in the
lounge, confirmed this, and stated that Joan had not left her room before midnight. Certainly there
seemed to be nothing to connect Joan with the crimes. She was a fine young lady, the inspector
reflected. She had borne up wonderfully. Next, they were the men, and it was among them that the
criminal, if, as Blake he suspected, he was one of the intimate circle of Liskeet House
would probably fount. Sir Vernon Brooklyn was clearly out of it. He was a feeble old man whose
hand could not possibly have struck those savage blows. He was reported to be very fond of
both his nephews, and he had undoubtedly gone to bed at a quarter-past ten. So much for him. He
might know things or suspect, but he could have had no hand in the murders. At present the
Inspector had been told he was prostrated by the news of Prince's death, and his doctor had
forbidden any mention of the matter in his presence. He did not even know yet that George
Brooklyn was dead. The only other men who had slept in the house were the two servants,
Winter and Morgan. Morgan seemed to be clear of suspicion, at least if Winter had told
the truth. But might not Winter himself have had a hand in the affair? The superintendent
had dropped a plausible hint, and there might be something in it. Inspector Bleck,
he wrote it down as possible but unlikely.
Two other man-servants, who had waited at dinner, did not sleep in the house, and had left
soon after half-past eleven.
They had been busy clearing up until the very moment of their departure, and it seemed plain
that they had enjoyed neither time nor opportunity for any criminal proceeding.
Besides, they were strangers imported for the evening from the restaurant attached to the theatre.
As robbery had evidently not been a motive in either murder, there was less reason to think
seriously about them. They could have had no motive. Next, the inspector turned to a consideration
of the guests who had been at the dinner. There was first George, Brooklyn and his wife. About
George, he had already noted down all what he knew. What of Mrs. George? Inquiries which the
sergeant had made established that she had gone straight back to a hotel, the Cunningham,
soon after 10 o'clock. George had left her in the care of the woodman's, parting from them at the
door of the theatre on plea of an appointment. Mrs. George, or she was better known both to the
inspector and to all London, Isabelle Ravin, the great tragedy actress, had then sat talking
with Mrs. Woodman in the sitting room which they shared at the hotel until after eleven when
she had gone to bed, expecting that her husband might come in at any moment. She had gone to sleep
and had only discovered his absence when she woke in the morning. She had been worried and after a
hasty breakfast she had hurried across to Liskid House with Helen Woodman to make inquiries.
There she had met with the fatal news. She was now lying ill in a room at the Cunningham Hotel
with Mrs. Woodman in faithful attendance upon her. This recital clearly brought up the question
of the Woodman's man and wife. When they returned to the hotel with Mrs. George, Carter Woodman
had gone to one of the hotel waiting rooms to write letters, leaving the two women together.
He said that he had remained at work till 1145 or so.
when he had gone down to the hall and asked the Knight Porter to see some important letters off by the first post in the morning.
This was corroborated by the Knight Porter who had so informed the sergeant.
Carter Woodman had then gone straight to bed, a statement fully confirmed by his wife.
This seemed fairly well to dispose of any connection of either the Woodman's or Mrs. George with a tragedy.
Harry Lucas, Sir Vernon's old friend, had left in his car for Hampstead at ten minutes past ten after a few farewell words with Sir Vernon.
He had reached home soon after 10.30 and had gone straight to bed.
This had been already confirmed by police inquiries at Hampstead during the morning.
Robert Ellery?
He had left house soon after 10, saying that he intended to walk back to his room at Chelsea.
The inspector had not followed his trail.
But he now made up his mind to do so, though he had not much faith in the result.
Still, here was at least a loose end that needed tying.
When he had made his list and tabulated his information, Inspector Blackie did not feel
that he had greatly advanced in his quest.
Not one of the people on the list seemed in the least likely
either to have committed the murders or to have been even an accessory to them.
He began to feel that he had not yet got at all on the track of the real criminal,
or at least of the second one, if one of the two men had really killed the other.
Was it someone quite outside the circle he had been studying?
And if so, how had that outsider got access to the house?
He might have slipped in without being noticed,
but it did not seem very likely
and it was far more difficult to see
how he had slipped out. But after
all, George Brooklyn had got back
somehow after 11.30, and
where he had come, so might another.
Perhaps someone had slipped in
and out by way of the theatre.
So the inspector made up his mind
to go over the whole scene again, and above
all to find out nor about the persons with whom he had to deal
their histories, and still more their present
ways of life, their loves, and above
all their animosities, if they were to find out of their
animosities if they had any. There he felt the clue to the mystery was most likely to be found.
Accordingly, on the following morning, the second after the tragedy, Inspector Blakey,
presented himself early at the office of Carter Woodman and sent up his car.
Sir Vernon was still far too ill to be consulted, and the next thing seemed to be a visitor to his lawyer,
who, being both confidential advisor and a close relative, would be certain to know most of what
there was to be known about the circumstances surrounding the dead men.
Woodman had offered all possible assistance and had himself suggested a call at his office.
The inspector presented his car to an elderly clerk who was presiding in the outer office
and was at once shown in to the principal.
Again, he was struck, as he had been on the morning before, with the lawyer's overflowing vitality.
At rather over 46, Woodman still looked very much the athlete he had been in his younger days
when he had accumulated three blues at Oxford and represented England at rugby football on more than one occasion.
He had given up childish things he used to say, but the abandoned vigour of the man remained
and stood out strongly against a rather dingy background which successful solicitors seemed to regard as an indispensable mark of respectability.
Carter Woodman, the inspector knew, had a big practice and one of good standing.
He did all the legal work of the Brooklyn Corporation, and he was perhaps the best known expert on theatrical law in the country.
Woodman greeted the inspector cordially and shook his hand with a force that made it tingle for
some minutes afterwards.
Well, Inspector, he said, what progress?
Have you got your eye on the scoundrels yet?
The Inspector Shooker said.
We are still only at the beginning of the case, I'm afraid.
I've come here to take advantage of your offer to give me all the help you can.
Of course I will.
It's indispensable that the terrible business should be thoroughly cleared up.
For one thing, I'm very much afraid for Sir Vernon,
and there certainly would be more chance of his getting over it
if we knew exactly what the truth is.
uncertainty is a killing business.
He had not been told yet about Mr. George Brooklyn's death.
You will understand that, as it is impossible for me to see Sir Vernon,
I shall have to ask you to tell me all you can about any of the family of affairs
that may have a bearing on the tragedy.
As matters, it is most important that I should know as much as possible
about the circumstances of the two dead men.
To establish the possible motives for both crimes may be of the greatest value.
There is so little to go upon in the way.
the facts themselves that I have to look for evidence from outside the immediate events.
Am I to understand that you have no further light on the crime beyond what you gained when the
bodies were found?
Hardly that, Mr. Woodman?
I have at least had time to think things over and to conduct a few additional investigations,
but I shall know better what to make of these when I have asked you a few questions.
Ask away, but I shall probably be able to answer more to your satisfaction if you tell me
how matters stand.
I think I may say that I know thoroughly both surveillance and late Mr. Prince's affairs.
Well, you know, Mr. Woodman, the prima facie evidence in both cases seemed to point to a quite impossible conclusion.
In each case, what evidence there was went to show that the two men had murdered each other.
This could not be true of both, but we have so far no evidence to show whether it ought to be disbelieved in both cases or only even one.
That is where further particulars may prove so important.
I'll tell you all I can.
Let us begin with Mr. Princep.
Or see, in any trouble that you know of, the lawyer hesitated.
Well, he said at length, it is a private matter,
and I'm sure it can have no bearing on the case.
But you'd better have all the facts.
There had been some trouble about a woman,
a girl who was acting in a small part in the Piccadilly theatre.
Her name, Charis Lang.
Princep had been, well, I believe somewhat intimate with her,
and she had formed the opinion that he had promised to marry her.
He came to see me about it.
He denied that he had made any such promise
and said he was anxious to get the matter honourably settled.
I wrote to the woman and asked her to meet me,
but she refused, said it was not a lawyer's business,
but entirely a private question between her and Mr. Prince.
I showed him her letter, and he was very much worried.
He informed me that Mrs. George Brooklyn,
she used to be a leading lady at the Piccadilly,
had known the girl in a professional day,
and I approached her and told her a part of the story.
She took, I must say, the girl's side
and said she was sure a promise of marriage had been made.
She wanted to take the matter up.
But George Brooklyn objected to his wife being mixed up in it
and undertook to see Miss Lange himself.
He was to have done so two nights ago,
the night of the murders,
and then to have gone back to tell Prince of what had happened.
I have no means of knowing whether he actually did so.
This is very important.
Can you give me Miss Lanselaw?
Lank's address, I have it here, somewhere in Hammersmith. Yes, three Alginon Terrace. But she's at the
theatre every evening and you could probably find her there. I must certainly arrange to see her.
Can you tell me anything further about the young woman? For instance, is she, well, respectable?
I've told you all I know. Mrs. George might know more. Thank you. Now, is there anything else you know
about Mr. Prynip that might have a bearing on his death? Nothing. Had he any of
financial troubles? None, I am sure. He had a large salary from the Brooklyn Trust,
besides a considerable personal income, and he always lived well within his means.
Had he any enemies? Again, the lawyer paused before answering. Finally, no, you replied. No
enemies. The inspector took the queue. But there were some people you know of,
with whom he was not on the best of terms, he asked. I think I may say yes to that. He had a temper,
and there had been violent disputes in several occasions with Mr. Walter Brooklyn, Sir Vernon's brother.
One moment. Was he on good terms with Mr. George Brooklyn? Again, a pause. No, I can't say he was,
but they were not enemies. George thought he had behaved badly to Charis Lang, and said so. Also,
George was strongly against Prince's marrying Miss John Cooper, which Sir Vernon had set his heart on.
and then in question and answer the whole episode at the dinner
the announcement of Sir Vernon's will
and Joan's dramatic refusal to marry Princepip gradually came out
the inspector felt that now at last he was learning things
did Miss Cooper know about Miss Lang
not that I'm aware of but I can't be sure
Mrs. George may have told her
and what would you say were the relations between Miss Cooper and Mr. Princep
he was half in love with her in a sort of a way
At any rate he certainly wanted to marry her.
She was most certainly not in love with him.
I don't think she had any strong feelings against him,
but it is impossible to be sure.
She would have done almost anything rather than marry him, I'm certain.
Had Miss Cooper, so far as you know, any other attachment?
That's a difficult question.
She's very thick with Robert Ellery, the young playwright, you know?
But whether she's in love with him is more than I can tell you.
He's obviously in love with her.
It was a common talk and everybody knew about it except Sir Vernon.
This, Mr. Ellery, can you tell me anything about him?
He was at the dinner, was he not?
Yes, he's a ward of old Mr. Lucas, one of Sir Vernon's oldest friends.
A good deal about with John and a frequent visitor at Sir Vernon's country place,
a nice enough fellow so far as I have seen.
Or see on good terms with Mr. Prynip.
Princep did not like his going about with John, I think.
otherwise they seem to get on all right.
Now, Mr. Woodman, I want to ask you a somewhat difficult question.
I should, of course, ask Sir Vernon himself if we were well enough.
You know, presumably the terms of Sir Vernon's will.
Do you feel at liberty to tell me about its contents?
They might throw some light on the question of motive?
The lawyer thought a moment.
I don't see why I shouldn't tell you the whole thing in confidence, he said.
Sir Vernon told them all that night what?
was in his will, and you certainly ought to know about it. The greater part of his property
was to be divided at his death between his two nephews, who have now unhappily predicest him.
Yes, and in the event of the death of either or both of the nephews, what was to happen?
If Mr. George Brooklyn died, half of his share was to go to Mrs. George and half to Prince.
If Princep died, half of his share was to go to Miss John Cooper.
Sir Vernon explained that his arrangements were based on her marriage.
being Princep. Then, under the will, Miss Cooper now gets half Mr. Princep's share. Does she get
half Mr. George's share also? No, a part of it goes to Mrs. George, and the reminder in both
cases to the next of kin. I see. And who is the next of Kim? John's stepfather, Mr. Walter
Brooklyn. Ah, I think you mentioned that Mr. Walter Brooklyn was on bad terms with Mr.
Princep. Walter Brooklyn was on bad terms with most people who knew him. His stepdaughter left him
after a mother's death and came to live with Sir Vernon.
I'm afraid Walter Brooklyn is not a very likable person.
On what terms was he with Sir Vernon?
He was always trying to get money from him.
He had ran through one big fortune,
his wife's, including all the money left in trust from Miss Cooper.
He leads a fairly expensive life in town,
supported, I understand, partly by his bridge earnings,
and partly on what he can raise from his friends.
Did Sir Vernon give him money?
Yes, far more than I thought desirable.
But Sir Vernon had a very strong sense of family solidarity.
Laterally, however, Walter Broklin's demands had become so exorbitant
that Sir Vernon had been refusing to see him
and had handed the matter over to Princep, whom Walter was finding a much more difficult man to deal with.
Do you know whether Princep had been seeing Mr. Walter Brooklyn lately?
Yes, I know he saw him the day before the murder.
Walter was always after money.
He'll probably begin sponging on Miss Cooper in a day or two.
you certainly do not give Mr. Walter Brooklyn a good character, no, but I think everyone you ask
will confirm my estimate. I look into that. Now, are there any other particulars in the will I ought to know
about? I should like to know approximately what's a one in his worth, not far short of a million.
You don't say so. Then anyone interested in his will had a great deal at stake.
Are any others interested besides those you have mentioned?
There are a number of smaller legacies.
Miss Cooper was left 40,000 pounds.
My sister, Miss Mary Woodman, and I are left 20,000 pounds each.
The rest are quite small legacies.
I think that is almost all I need to ask you.
But is there any other particular you think might help me in my inquiry?
As to that, I cannot say.
But there are two points I have been intending to mention.
The first is that I know Mr. Walter Brooklyn called at Liskeed House a few minutes after
on the night of the murder. My wife and I saw him go up to the porch and ring the bell just
after we had come out of the house. That is very important. Do you know anything more? No. It was
merely a chance that I noticed him and pointed him out to my wife. Mr. and Mrs. George may also
have seen him. They were with us. We went into the hall. That's all I can tell you. Where did you
go when you left the house? Straight back to the hotel where I was staying. I did not go out again
that night. I heard nothing about the tragedy till they rang me up about it at my office the next morning.
Who rang you up? One of the servants at Liskeed House. I do not know which it was. And what was the
other point you wished to mention? Well, I know Mr. Walter Brooklyn was an exceptional financial
difficulties and had been trying in vain to raise a loan. This has happened very opportunely for him.
But of course, Sir Vernon may alter his will. If he recovers enough to do so, he may.
but I doubt if he will.
He always told me that he could not bear the thought of leaving money out of the family,
and much as he disapproves of Walter Brooklyn, he is still attached to him.
Well, thank you very much, Mr. Woodman.
What you have told me has been very helpful.
Perhaps I'll call you again and tell you what success I meet with in following it up.
I may, of course, have more to ask you later.
The Inspector Rose and Woodman gave him his hand.
He went out of the office with his hand tingling.
Certainly a man who impresses himself upon one, said he, laughing softly to himself.
And what he had to say was most enlightening.
The end of chapter six.
Chapter 7 of the Brooklyn murders.
This Libby-Wox recording is in the public domain, read by Yoganand.
The Brooklyn Murders by G.D. H. Cole.
Chapter 7.
The case against Walter Brooklyn.
Inspector Blackie left Carter Woodman's office with the feeling that a new and unexpected light had been thrown on the tragedy and that he had at least found a quite sufficient motive for both crimes.
If Walter Brooklyn had committed the murders, he stood to gain directly a considerable slice of Sir Vernon's huge fortune.
Moreover, a considerable slice of the remainder would go to his stepdaughter, John Cooper, and he might hope to despoil her again as he had despoiled her of her mother's money.
evidence against Mr. Walter Brooklyn might be lacking, but certainly there was no lack of motive.
Moreover, the man seemed from Woodman's description quite a likely murderer.
The inspector decided that his next job was undoubtedly to discover whether there was any direct evidence against Walter Brooklyn.
To begin with, he said to himself, what had he to go upon?
Of direct evidence, not a shred.
But where the direct evidence pointed obviously in the wrong direction, it was necessary to consider.
very seriously the question of motive. Walter Brooklyn, he reflected, would not stand to
inherit surveillance money unless both nephews were clear out of the way. He had therefore
a motive for both murders together, but not for either of them except in conjunction with the other.
This seemed to point to the conclusion that if Walter Brooklyn had committed either of the
murders, he had committed both. On the other hand, it still remained possible that one of the two
men had killed the other, and that Walter
Brooklyn, knowing this and realizing
his opportunity, had then
disposed off the survivor.
Or, after all, the indications might
again be as deceptive as those which
followed hard upon the discovery of the murders.
What Woodman had told the inspector provided, however,
at least one clear line of investigation
which could be followed up immediately.
If Woodman and other people
had seen Walter Brooklyn approaching Liskkeed
house and ringing the front door bell
soon after 10 o'clock on the night of the murder,
he ought not to be difficult to get further information about his movements.
Had he been admitted to the house, and if so, when had he left,
and why had no mention of his visit previously been made to the inspector?
The best thing was to call at leastkeed house at once and make inquiries.
Inspector Blakey set off immediately.
The bell was answered by a mate-servant and the inspector asked for a few words with Mr. Winter.
He was shown into the small side room and within a minute Winter joined him.
the inspector plunged at once into business.
Since I have left you, there have been certain developments
which make it desirable that I should ask you one or two questions.
I want to know whether on Tuesday night anyone called at the house during the evening?
Well, sir, of course, there were the guests at dinner that night.
You have their names.
Did anyone else call later in the evening, for example?
Yes, there was Mr. George, as I told you.
He came at about a quarter at ten minutes to eleven,
and left at about 11.30. Did anybody else visit the house that night? No, there was no one else.
Now, I want you to be very careful. Are you positive that no one else called? Yes. I mean, no.
I had quite forgotten. At a few minutes after ten, Mr. Walter Brooklyn, Sir Vernon's brother,
came. He sent up his name to Sir Vernon and asked him to see him at once. He said it was about
something important. Did Sir Vernon see him? No. He sent on word by one of the temperament.
men-servants, he couldn't see him. He told him to see Mr. Princepip, or to write.
Then did Mr. Walter Brooklyn go up to see Mr. Princep? No, he seemed mighty annoyed. He did.
He said to me, things were coming to a pretty pass when a man wouldn't see his own brother.
Then he took himself out of the house in a rage, and I shut the door after him. Did you see
anything more of him? No, that's the last I saw. He didn't come back, for I was on duty here,
till the place was bolted up for the night. Did Mr. Walter Brooklyn often come to the house?
Well, he had been a number of times lately to see Mr. Princep.
Had he been to see Sir Vernon? No, you see Sir Vernon's been away in the country for some time.
But when he was in London, did Mr. Walter Brooklyn come to see him? He used to.
Then I believe there was a bit of a quarrel.
Last time he was in London, Sir Vernon told me he would not see Mr. Walter, and I was to tell him to see Mr.
Prince of if he came. I sent upon Tuesday because I didn't know if the instructions still held.
Then there had been a quarrel? Hardly what you would call a quarrel. What we understood was that
Mr. Walter wanted money and Sir Vernon wouldn't give it him. Did anyone else see Mr. Walter
Brooklyn on Tuesday? Yes, the maid, Janet must have seen him. The inspector sent for Janet,
who confirmed what Winter had said. It seemed plain enough that Walter Brooklyn had called at a
for ten minutes past ten, had been refused an interview with Sir Vernon, and had left a few minutes later.
Therefore, no one about the house had seen any more of him.
Before he left, the inspector obtained from Winter, Mr. Walter Brooklyn's address.
He lived at his club, the Byron, named after the playwright.
Not the poet, only a few steps down pickedly.
The inspector made that his next place of call.
The club porter, with the aid of the night porter, gave him the information he needed.
Walter Brooklyn had dine in the club on Tuesday, had gone out at about 10 o'clock, and had returned just about midnight.
The night porter had noticed nothing unusual about him when he came back.
It was about his usual hour.
He had gone straight upstairs, the man believed, probably to his room, but the porter could not say.
So far, there was nothing very much to go upon.
Walter Brooklyn might have committed the murders.
He had certainly been out until midnight, but this was nothing unusual, and there was no evidence that he had been in the house.
What evidence there was seemed to show that he had not, but Inspector Blake, he still lingered
in talk with the two porters, asking further questions which produced quite unilluminating answers.
Soon they found a common interest in the cricket news and plunged into discussion of the
respective chances of Surrey and Middlesex for the Conti championship.
The Knight Porter, who was a North Countryman and a partisan of Yorkshire, cut in every now and
then with a sarcastic comment. He was especially scornful of the day, Porter's pride in the number
of amateur shows included in the Middlesex 11.
Call them gentlemen, he said.
They get paid, same as a player's.
Only they put it down as expenses.
But at this point, the argument broke off
for the day porter suddenly changed the subject.
Let me have a look at the stick, will you?
They said to the inspector.
Inspector Blakey, who had been twirling the stick
about rather approsively at once handed it over.
It was a stick found in Princeps' room,
and he was carrying it about with him solely with the hope
that someone might recognize it
and enable him to discover to whom it had belonged.
It was a peculiar stick and likely to be noticed by those who saw it.
The shaft was of rhinoceros horn linked together with bands of gold,
and it had a solid gold handle.
What do you make of it? the inspector asked.
I was going to ask you how you got hold of it, answered the porter.
Why do you ask?
Wally, because it is surely Mr. Walter Brooklyn's stick.
I've often seen him carrying it.
Take a good look.
Are you quite certain it is his?
Either it is, or it's one just the same.
It's a most unusual pattern, too.
Yes, rhinoceros horn, I should say.
Could you swear to it?
Hardly that.
There might be two of them.
But I've not seen Brooklyn with his for a day or two.
Try to remember, was he carrying the stick when he went out on Tuesday?
The porter paused a minute.
Yes, I think he was, he said.
But no, you mean in the evening?
You'll have to ask the night.
to hear that. He was on duty
from 9 o'clock. The inspector
turned to the night porter. Do you
recognize this as Mr. Brooklyn's stick?
Yes, I'm pretty sure it is his.
And do you remember
whether he was carrying it on Tuesday night when he
went out? The man hesitated
sometime before replying finally.
No, he said.
I can't say. Maybe
he was. I rather think he was.
But I'm not sure. And
when he came in? He had
a stick, I remember. He wrapped it at
door with it. I expect it was this one. No, I don't think it was. It was plain stick, I'm
almost sure. Remember that this may be of the utmost importance. You can't remember whether
or not Mr. Brooklyn had a stick when he went out? Not for sure, I think he had. But you can't
say whether it was this stick. No, not for certain. And when he came in, he had a stick, but I'm
almost sure it wasn't this one. Would anyone else be?
be likely to know? I don't think so. There was no one else about. At this point, the day Porto
struck him. I wonder why you are so curious about the stick, he said. That I'm afraid is my
business, said the inspector. Now, can you tell me where Mr. Brooklyn usually goes off a night?
Sometimes to a theatre or variety show, but most often he goes to play bridge at his other club.
Where is that? It's a small place, the sanctum in Polmo. Only a few minutes from here.
After a few words more, the inspector took his leave on route for Duke Street.
The stick he held in his hand had become a clue of the first importance.
Its presence in Princep's study seemed to show that its owner had been there on the fatal night.
More and more, Walter Brooklyn was becoming involved.
But how had he gotten?
That was a mystery still.
At the sanctum, Inspector Blakey at first drew a blank, a blank which he had expected.
Walter Brooklyn had not been to the club on Tuesday.
nothing had been seen of him since the previous Saturday night.
So you have heard nothing of him this week?
said the inspector preparing to take his leave.
Beck pardon, sir, replied the porter.
It had almost slipped my memory.
Mr. Walt Brooklyn rang up one night this week on the telephone.
I have a note of the call somewhere.
What is it about?
Yes, if a registered pass, let come for him.
Because, if it had, he wanted it sent round to him at once by hand.
Sent to his other club?
No, he wanted it sent to Sir Vernon Brooklands.
Liskied House Piccadilly. He gave us a name and address over the phone. Did you send the parcel?
No, because we told him no parcel had come. Has it arrived since? No. When was this call you mentioned?
The porter referred to his book. It was about 11.30 or a bit before. The call before was at 11.20.
On what day? On Tuesday of this week? The night of the murder, thought the inspector.
And did Mr. Brooklyn say where he was speaking from?
Yes, he was at Liskeed House where he wanted the parcel sent.
So Walter Brooklyn, who had apparently failed to secure admittance to the house just before 10.15,
had somehow got into it afterwards and was there at 1130.
He, like George Brooklyn, had slipped into the house unseen.
That fact with the fact of the stick seemed to the inspector to determine his guilt,
or at least his complicity in the crimes, or one of them.
The stick and the telephone message taken together proved that he had been in Princep's room.
The inspector next produced the stick.
The porter recognized it at once
as one Walter Brooklyn always carried.
He had never seen him with another.
He was more sure
than the porters at the Byron.
He was prepared to swear to the stick.
But he added,
You have gone and lost the furrow.
The inspector had noticed that there was no feral,
but it had not seemed important.
It might have dropped off anywhere.
He therefore followed up a different line.
When did you see the stick last?
on Saturday when Mr. Brooklyn was here, he was showing off a billiard stroke with it out there in the hole.
It had a ferrule then all right. I happened to notice it.
No further information was forthcoming, and the inspector passed on to his next business.
He went straight back to Liss-Teed House and up to Prince of Prinsop study.
Exhaustive search there failed to reveal any trace of the missing feral.
I may as well try the garden, said the inspector to himself.
But it's almost too good to be true.
Nevertheless, there in the guard and the inspector lighted on the ferule,
lying in a heap of gravel near the base of the statue.
He cursed himself for missing it before,
and then blessed his luck that had enabled him to retrieve the blunder.
There could be no doubt that it was a right ferule.
The stick was an outsize, and it fitted exactly.
The nail marks and the impression left by the rim on the stick coincided exactly.
The ferule was a little out of shape, as if it had been wrenched,
and there was a scratch on it where it was bent.
But when the inspector had bent it back into shape, there could be no doubt about the fit.
Walter Brooklyn had been in the garden as well as in Prince of Study
and had been on the very spot where the murder of George Brooklyn had taken place.
Inspector Blakey was more than satisfied with his day's work.
Out of seemingly insignificant beginnings, he had built up,
he felt, more than enough evidence to hang Walter Brooklyn.
He went in the best of spirits to report to a superior officer.
the end of chapter 7
Chapter 8
of the Brooklyn murders
This Liberty Walk's recording is in the public domain
read by Yoganand
The Brooklyn Murders
By G.D.H. Cole
Chapter 8
A review of the case
The inspector found Superintendent Wilson
in his room.
As he told his case
the superintendent kept his eyes closed
but every now and then he gave an approving nod.
His subordinate had done well
and it was only right that this should be recognised.
The inspector spirits rose higher still as he saw the impression he was making.
Having told the full story, he came to the point on which he wanted a superior's assent.
And now, sir, I think as we have abandoned evidence, I must ask you to get a warrant made out
at once for Walter Brooklyn's arrest.
It was then the inspector received his first check.
Not quite so fast, my friend, said the superintendent.
Do you mean that, in your opinion, it is proved that Walter Brooklyn,
committed these murders? Surely, said Inspector Blikey.
After what I've just told you, there can't be the shadow of a doubt about it?
Superintendent Wilson gave a short laugh and sat upright in his chair. He was beginning to enjoy
himself. Ah, but I think they can. Come now, let us take first, only the murder of John
Princep, leaving out of account for the moment the murder of George Brooklyn. Now, what evidence
have you as to the murder of John Prince? First, that Walter Brooklyn's walking stick,
has been found in his room, and secondly that Walter Brooklyn rang up from Liskeed House at about
11.30 that night. He must have rung up from Prince's room. There are only two telephones in the
building, one in the portals room downstairs, connecting with the offices in the ground floor,
and the other on a separate line in Prince's room. He couldn't have used the downstairs phone
because it was out of honour that night. Winter told me that. Assume that you're right. Still,
there is at least as strong evidence that George Brooklyn was in the room that night too.
Remember his handkerchief you picked up and the draftsman's knife.
And in any case, he was seen leaving the house at 11.30.
And we know from the discovery of his body in the grounds that he came back afterwards.
Yes, I know that, said the inspector.
And do you mean to tell me that, in phase of that evidence,
you can prove to a jury that it was Walter and not George Brooklyn who killed Prince?
Perhaps not, if the case were taken alone.
But it has to be considered together with the other, the murder of George Brooklyn.
The double incrimination seems to me decisive.
Wait a bit.
Next, let us take George Brooklyn's case, leaving aside for the moment that of Prince of.
Now there, what evidence have you?
The finding of the ferule in the garden, and the strong motive Walter Brooklyn had to put both nephews of Sir Vernon out of the way.
Motive by itself, however strong is not enough, and the ferule evidence is rather slender.
It may have been dropped previously.
Walter Broklin had not been to Liskeed House
were more than a week before the murder
and the Farul was on his stick
only three days before.
I love you that point.
But even if his tick was in the garden,
it does not follow that he was there.
He may have lost it earlier.
Prince Prince may have added for all we know.
Moreover, what of the evidence which seems to show
that Prince Prince of murder George Brooklyn?
He was seen in the garden just before 11 o'clock.
The cigar holder, which he habitually used
and had been using that very evening was found broken on the spot where the murder was done.
Moreover, I have in my possession now a far more decisive piece of evidence.
You told me that you were sure the fingerprints on the stone club found in the garden were those of Princep.
You were perfectly correct.
The fingerprint department has compared them with the impression of John Princep's hands,
and these coincide beyond a doubt with the marks left on the stone.
You have not yet seen the reproductions, Inspector.
Here they are.
The superintendent took some papers and photographs from a drawer
and handed them across the table to the inspector
who poured over them for some time without speaking.
Finally, he said with something of a sigh,
there can be no doubt they are the same.
And as you say, this throws a quite new light on one of the murders.
It seems to prove that George Brooklyn was killed by Prince.
I do not regard it as a proof-positive,
but it's certainly very strong evidence,
especially as the marks on the club were just where a man would take hold
in order to deal a smashing blow.
The murderer used both hands, you notice.
The prints are quite distinct for both the thumbs.
Yes, that's clear enough, although none of the impressions is quite complete.
Somehow, a part of the marks had got rubbed off before the club was properly examined.
These accidents will happen.
It's only fortunate that the marks were not destroyed beyond hope of identification.
Perhaps you yourself, Inspector, or one of your subordinates, handled the club carelessly.
Or perhaps someone else handled it.
before you came on the scene.
No, I was most careful,
and no one touched it after I appeared except myself.
The sergeant did not allow it to be touched at all until I arrived.
Miss Cooper, who first discovered the body, told me
she had not even noticed a weapon, much less handled it.
She was too upset to notice anything except the body.
Well, I suppose it does not greatly matter,
as the identification of the prince is still quite clear.
There remains, of course, the bare possibility that,
while Princep did handle the club, he did not actually kill George Brooklyn, but it is certain that the club
was a weapon used. The fragments of hair clothed with blood which are still on it came quite
definitely from the head of the deceased. The only doubt in my mind is whether Princep was a powerful
enough man to strike such a blow. But I suppose we must take it that he was. It was a terrific blow,
I understand, from the medical evidence. Yes, but a man not unusually strong can by using his opportunities,
in a very big blow. I do not think there is much in that. Quite so. Then I take it you agree that
in face of the evidence, it would be quite impossible to arrest Walter Brooklyn on the charge of
having murdered George Brooklyn. The inspector sighed. Yes, he said, you're right. I thought
the case was getting straightened out, but it now seems darker than ever. Then a thought came into
the inspector's mind, and his expression brightened. But he went.
went on. If Princep murdered George Brooklyn, that makes a search that George Brooklyn cannot
have murdered him. It means that the evidence against Walter Brooklyn holds so far as the
murderer of Princep is concerned. I think you're forgetting a difficulty.
Princef was last seen in the garden shortly after 11. But George Brooklyn was seen leaving the
house at 11.30. After that, he must somehow have come back, gotten to the garden and been murdered.
That would take some time. The inspector nodded. But Walter Brooklyn, who rang up his
club from Princep's room at 11.30 was back at his club before midnight. That leaves very little time.
If the theory you advance is true, how do you fit in the times?
George Brooklyn could hardly have got back into the garden and got himself killed before a
quarter to 12. It would take Walter Brooklyn five minutes to get out of the house and back to his club.
That leaves less than 10 minutes for Princep to go up to his room and for Walter Brooklyn to murder him.
That sequence of time is difficult, but it is not impossible. Crime is usually.
a pretty rapid business. Probably Walter and George came back into the garden together and the two
murders followed in rapid succession. Princep killed George and he and Walter went upstairs together.
Then Walter killed him while they were discussing his affairs. You remember the papers I found
lying on the table? Perhaps, but that seems to me exceptionally quick work. So quick that my instinct
is to doubt whether it is the right explanation. After all, there is no direct evidence that Walter
Brooklyn did murder Princeip. Surely the walking stick is.
Can the telephone message together are very strong evidence?
Not strong enough I'm certain to obtain a conviction.
The telephone message was sent some time before George Brooklyn was killed.
And don't forget that a moment ago you thought your evidence that Walter Brooklyn had murdered George Brooklyn equally strong.
Yet, Alderdy, you are practically convinced that he did not.
I'm still convinced that he was there when the murder took place in the garden.
Ah, that's another matter.
He may have been present at both murders, and yet committed neither.
I see now what you're driving at.
You mean that there may be a fourth man involved?
That may be so.
But I was not quite sure on that point.
What the evidence seems to me to establish beyond reasonable doubt
is at some meeting of the three men.
Princep and George and Walter Brooklyn took place in Liskeed House that night.
That meeting was followed by, probably resulted in, the death of two of the three.
There may have been others present, that is for you to find out.
but I am clear that the next step is to discover what this meeting was about and who was there.
If we knew that, it would probably throw a new light on the whole situation.
In the circumstances, there is still it seems to me every reason for arresting Walter Brooklyn.
He was certainly present whether he committed murder or not.
I think it will be best to leave him at lunch for the time being.
We have, I think, ample evidence of his presence in the house,
but not of his having had a guilty hand in the murders.
I think instead of arresting him, it'll be far better for you to see him
and find out all you can about what happened that night.
Very well, I'll try to see him at once.
Or try to warn him that what he says may be used against him?
I must leave that to your judgment.
And now, Inspector, I fancy you're a bit discouraged by the result of a talk.
You came here with your mind made up,
and you have found that the case is not so straightforward as it was beginning to appear.
But that is no reason at all for being discouraged.
the evidence you have gathered is of the greatest value.
It has enabled us to put our hand on someone who,
we are practically sure, knows all about the murders,
whether or not he actually committed one of them.
Once again, let me congratulate you on a very fine day's work.
The inspector was well in part reassured by Superintendent Wilson's conclusion.
He had been watching his superior intently
and had noticed the keen critical joy with which he had demolished
the apparently overwhelming case against Walter Brooklyn.
The inspector had been compelled to admit, even to himself, the force of his superior arguments.
But when he left the room, he remained somehow, in spite of this,
convinced that Walter Brooklyn was not male-in accessory, but the actual murder of one, if not both men,
and with a strong suspicion that the apparently conclusive evidence that Princep had killed George Brooklyn,
had a flaw in it somewhere if only he could find it.
But he could not attend to his instincts for the moment.
his next business was to see Walter Brooklyn and find out from him all he could.
At the least, Walter must know a great deal.
Most probably he knew the whole story.
But how much would he tell?
The end of chapter 8.
Chapter 9 of the Brooklyn murders.
This Liberty Walk's recording is in the public domain.
Read by Yoganand.
The Brooklyn Murders by G.D.H. Cole.
Chapter 9
Walter Brooklyn's explanation
Inspector Blackie made a hasty meal and then set off for Walter
Brooklyn's club
He found Mr. Brooklyn there and was soon alone with him in a private room
Before the inspector could even introduce himself and state his business
He found the offensive turned against himself
He had thought over the interview carefully beforehand
And had made up his mind that whatever his private opinion might be
It was his duty to hear without prejudice
whatever Walter Brooklyn had to say
and to put aside for the moment all suspicions
resting only on the undoubted fact that the man had been present in the house that night
he might be able to explain his presence or he might not
the interview would show till the chance had been given
the inspector was determined to keep an open mind
but the conversation did not begin at all as he had anticipated
as he got out the first few words about the purpose for which he had asked for an interview
Walter Brooklyn struck in abruptly.
See, Inspector.
I fail to see that it is any of your business
to come nursing about my affairs.
I find you have been asking the portrait downstairs
a whole lot of questions.
From your manner, the fellow has jumped to the conclusion
that you suspect me of having had a hand in these murders.
You have set all the servants simmering,
and by now it's all around the club that I murdered my nephew
or something like that.
I'll tell you I'm damned if I'll stand it.
Blast your impudence.
Since you have come here, I think you owe
me an explanation.
Walter Brooklyn's manner seemed to the inspector quite extraordinarily violent, but he noticed
something else while Brooklyn was speaking, the man's amazing physical strength.
He could not be less than 60, but as he stood there in a half-threatening attitude, the
difficulty it seemed holding himself in, Inspector Blackie could not help thinking that
here was the very figure of a man to have struck the blows on both the dead men's skulls.
Here, moreover, was a man obviously passionate and lacking in self-control.
just the sort of person to resort to violence if his will were crossed.
The inspector's open mind was rapidly closing up before Brooklyn had finished his first speech.
Nevertheless, he answered quietly enough.
I'm sorry, Mr. Brooklyn, if any of my inquiries have caused you inconvenience.
But you must understand that it is my duty to investigate these murders
and to ask any questions that may be necessary for that purpose.
You apparently know.
But here again, Walter Brooklyn struck him.
Necessary inquiries, of course, he said.
but what I want to know is
what you mean by coming round here and practically
telling my club servants that I have committed murder
necessary inquiries indeed
If you know Mr. Brooklyn what was a matter
of my conversation with the club servants
You can hardly fail to realize why the inquiries were necessary
Most certainly I failed to see it
These murders have nothing to do with me
That may be
But even so it is necessary to establish that fact
You know I suppose that your walking stick was found in Mr. Princep's room
the morning after the murder? I wanted to tell me how it got there. I dare say you say you found
it there. I know that if it was there, it was not I who put it there. I don't believe it was
there at all. I lost it last Tuesday afternoon. And where did you lose it? May I ask? If I knew that my
man, I should have been after it soon enough. I must have left it somewhere. Not that it's any
business of yours what I did with it. Pardon me, Mr. Brooklyn. You will admit that the
fact that it was found in Mr. Princep's room
calls for some explanation.
If you do not know where you left it,
I shall have to do my best to find out.
May I ask you where you went
last Tuesday afternoon? I don't see
why I should tell you. I think
Mr. Brooklyn that, unless you
wish to find yourself in the dock on a criminal
charge, you had far better
do so. For a moment, it
seemed as if Walter Brooklyn would make a personal
attack on the detective, or at least
turn then and there out of the room.
But he seemed to think better of it.
Ask your questions, he said.
First then, where did you call when you were out on the Tuesday afternoon?
I went first to see Mr. Carter Woodman.
I presume you know who he is at his office in Lincoln's Inn.
Then I took a taxi to the Piccadilly Theatre,
where I saw the young hound prince and one or two others.
Who are the others?
An actress girl there.
I miss Lang.
She was the only one.
Did you see them separately or together?
separately.
And then, where did you go?
Back to Mr. Woodman's office.
I told him I'd lost the stick and thought I must have left it there.
He had a look, but it wasn't there.
He said I must have left it in the taxi, and I suppose I had.
When did you notice the loss on leaving the theatre?
So you might have left a stick there or in the taxi or at Woodman's.
Yes, if you found it in Prince's room, I suppose he must have found it in the theatre,
and taken it up to his room.
Why didn't he give it back to you when he saw you later in the evening?
Saw me later in the evening?
He didn't see me later in the evening.
But you were at Liskeed House on Tuesday evening?
Look, here young man, I don't know what you're driving at.
I tell you, I did not see Prince Exit in the afternoon.
But you were at Liskeed House in the evening.
I tell you I was not.
Yes, by Joe Doer.
I was, in a sense.
I went to the door and asked for Sir Vernon.
But he was not at home.
When was that?
About ten o'clock, I suppose.
And you did not go into the house then?
No.
Welling into the outer hall.
That, Mr. Brooklyn is not the occasion to which I was referring.
You came back to Liskeed House till later on Tuesday evening.
Walter Brooklyn, glad at the inspector.
Young man, he said.
I will thank you not to tell me where he was.
I know that for myself.
You admit then that you came back to the house?
I admit nothing of the sort
I was not in the house at all
I've told you already that I did not go there
the inspector discharged this bombshell
then how did it occur that you rang up the sanctum
club from Liskeed House at 1130 on Tuesday evening
this was too much for Walter Brooklyn
in final impudence he said
I don't know where you picked up these cock and bull stories
I did not ring up the sanctum from Liskeed house
because I was not there
and now I've had enough of your questions
and he can go, and he strode to the door and held it open.
Get out, he said.
The inspector picked up his head.
I had some further questions to ask you, he said.
Perhaps another time I shall find you in a better mood.
Good evening.
And he left the room as hastily as he could,
without compromising his dignity,
not quite certain whether Walter Brooklyn would complete the performance
by throwing him downstairs.
Brooklyn, however, merely relieved his feelings by slamming the door.
In the hall, the inspector found the porter.
had a pleasant interview
asked the latter familiar with Walter Brooklyn's ways
Not exactly pleasant but decidedly illuminating
said the inspector as he went upon his way
The end of chapter 9
Chapter 10 of the Brooklyn murders
This Librivox recording is in the public domain
Read by Yorg Anand
The Brooklyn Murders by G.D. H. Cole
Chapter 10
Karis Lang
Inspector Blank
Inspector Blakey, when he left the Biden club, was quite convinced that Walter Brooklyn was the murderer.
Not merely one of the murderers, but the murder of both men.
The evidence against Princep, he was more than ever inclined to discount in face of the impression which Walter Brooklyn had made upon him.
Not only the man's manner, but even more his physique, had convinced the inspector of his guilt.
Here at least was a man who combined great physical strength with an obviously ungovernable temper,
just the combination of qualities which seemed most clearly to fit the case.
After all, he had never believed much in fingerprints.
They showed no doubt that Prince were actually held in his hand the weapon with which the murder was committed.
But did that prove that he had done the deed?
He might conceivably have taken hold of the club for some quite different purpose.
The Prince were not conclusive evidence.
On that point, he permitted himself to differ from his superior, who had seemed to think that they were.
They needed explaining, certainly.
but there were other possible explanations.
Moreover, if Princep had been careless enough to leave his fingerprints all over the club,
was it not curious that not a trace of them had been left in the dead man's clothing,
though he had obviously been dragged by the collar from the statue into the little antique temple
so as to be out of the way?
A stashed collar was about the likeliest possible place for clear impressions of fingers.
But there was not the trace of a finger mark on it.
The man who dragged the body to the temple steps had certainly worn gloves.
Then a very curious point struck the inspector.
All the fingerprints had been partly obliterated, as if someone had handled the club subsequently.
But in the morning he had be careful that no one should do so, and he was fairly certain that no one had.
Then another significant point occurred to him.
No other fingerprints had been found on the club.
Then if someone else had handled it subsequently, that someone else had worn gloves.
But in the garden that morning, none of the others present had been wearing gloves.
The obliterating marks had been made before the discovery and therefore also presumably before the crime.
The inspector almost felt that he could reconstruct the scene.
John Princeb had held the club, but later Walter Brooklyn wearing gloves had handled it.
As usual, the evidence of the fingerprints, true as far as it went, was misleading.
Only the partial obliteration of the marks had given the key to the truth.
The new explanation, moreover, fitted in exactly with this observation of the absence of fingerprints,
on George Brooklyn's crumpled collar.
It was true, of course, the inspector reflected,
that all this was only hypothesis.
He could not prove absolutely that the obliterations
had been made by a pair of gloude hands
holding the club with murderous purpose,
and still less could he prove that the glowed hands were Walter Brooklands.
His conjecture was not evidence in a court of law,
but it served to confirm him in his own opinion.
He could now, with good hope,
go on search of further evidence.
what then ought to his next step to be.
His talk with Walter Brooklyn had opened up certain fresh lines of inquiry.
He must see Woodman again and find out what had been the business on which
Brooklyn had twice visited him on the Tuesday.
And he had better see Miss Lang of the Piccadilly Theatre in case she could throw any light on the case.
And he must try to trace Walter Brooklyn's stick.
He felt sure that Brooklyn had told him a lie about this
and that he had really left it in Prince's room in the evening.
but it was his business to make every inquiry and to test Brooklyn's story by every possible means.
By this time, before it was now 9 o'clock, Woodman would certainly have left his office.
The inspector felt that he had done a good day's work and could, with a good conscience, leave further activity for the morrow.
He went home and strayed to bed in his tiny bachelor flat in Judd Street.
When Inspector Blakey woke the following morning, he at once began to turn the case over in his mind.
It was now Thursday and the inquest had been fixed for Friday.
It would be necessary that day to decide on the procedure to be followed.
Ought the police to produce the evidence which they had gathered?
Or would it be better to make the proceedings as purely formal as possible
and to reserve all disclosures for the trial which would surely follow?
The inspector's instinct was against any premature showing of his hand,
but he would have to discuss the matter with Superintendent Wilson,
with whom the final decision would rest.
That could stand over until he had seen
Woodman and the unknown Miss Lang. He would arrange to see the superintendent in the afternoon.
The inspector went out and breakfasted in one of those huge tiger restaurants which cater for
the servantless flat dwellers of London. Then he went to Scotland Yard, arranged to see the superintendent
after lunch and phoned through to Woodman arranging an 11 o'clock appointment at his office.
Next he went on the phone to the Piccadilly Theatre and discovered that Miss Lang was expected
there at about midday. He left a message stating that he would call to see her.
She lived as he knew at Hammersmith and was not on the telephone.
He also rang through to the sergeant on duty at Liskeed House,
who reported that there were no fresh developments.
At 11 o'clock punctually, the inspector entered Carter Woodman's outer office.
The old clerk seated there at his desk, looked up at him suspiciously from a heap of papers.
Rather brusquely, the inspector announced that he had come to see Woodman by appointment.
The man went to tell his master, and Carter Woodman promptly appeared at the door of the inner room to bed his visitor welcome.
Coming towards the inspector, he gripped him firmly by the hand.
Well, my lad, how goes it?
He said, have you found the scoundrels?
You must come and tell me all about it.
Inspector felt himself almost carried bodily into the inner room and seated breathless in a chair,
while Carter Woodman took up a commanding position on the heart rug.
Quite right to come to me, he said.
He must treat me as if I wear Sir Vernon.
As his man of business, I regard myself as in charge of his affairs.
Now, let me know exactly what you have done so far.
and I'll see if I can help you.
But first, have you any fresh clothes as to the identity of the murderers?
Inspector Blikey reflected, as Woodman was speaking,
that powerful physique seemed to run in the Brooklyn family.
Woodman was only a distant relative,
yet he had many of the physical characteristics
which the inspector had noticed in Walter Brooklyn.
But there the resemblance seemed to end.
Woodman's bluff and hearty manner,
which seemed to have big reserves of strength and self-control behind it,
was in market contrast to Walter Brooklyn's passionate and excitable temperament.
Woodman belonged to a very definite type,
the successful city man who combined keen business acumen and a sharp eye for a bargain
with a hale fellow well-met manner and an ability to make himself instantly at home in almost any society.
The inspector, engrossed with his own thoughts, said nothing in immediate reply to Woodman's question,
and the latter, after a pause, repeated it, remarking cheerfully,
what daydreaming are we?
Won't do any detective, you know?
Not at all what we expect of you, eh?
And after putting his hand for a moment on the inspector's shoulder,
he abandoned his place advantage before the fireplace
and sat down in his desk chair facing his visitor.
I saw Mr. Walter Brooklyn yesterday.
Not, I'm afraid, a very pleasant interview.
He seemed to resent very much my asking him any questions.
In fact, he all but threw me downstairs,
the detective added with a laugh.
What took you to see him? asked Woodman.
I suppose it was about seeing him outside the house.
It had come to my knowledge that Mr. Walter Brooklyn was actually in Mr. Prince's room at
Liskeed House at 11.30 on Tuesday night.
Good Lord, man. You don't say so. Are you sure? Why? Who in the world told you that?
Nobody actually saw him there, but he telephoned at that time to his club, said that he was
speaking from Liskeed House and asked if a registered pass-led arrived for him, as he warned
and sent round there at once.
Dear me, Inspector, this throws a new
and a most distressing light on the case.
Did you discover from Mr. Brooklyn
what he was doing at Liskeet House?
No, and it was exactly on that point
that I came to see what you could tell me.
My dear chap, I'm as surprised as you are to know
that he was there at all.
I understand from Mr. Brooklyn that he had seen you
earlier in the day.
It might help if I knew what was the business then.
you probably know enough about Walter Brooklyn to guess that it was about money.
I had guessed so, but I am glad to have it definite.
Can you give me rather more particulars?
I think I may, though strictly speaking the matter ought to be confidential.
Mr. Walter Brooklyn had been trying for some time to get Sir Vernon to pay his debts,
as he had done on several previous occasions.
This time Sir Vernon handed the matter over to John Prince,
partly because he was away from town
and partly because he thought he could
trust Prince-Sip to handle the matter more
successfully than he did it himself.
Prince, that upon, saw Walter Brooklyn and also consulted me.
On my advice, he refused to make any payment
without a very clear understanding that this was to be the last application.
Walter Brooklyn tried all means to get the money without conditions
and in particular refused to disclose in detail
what his liabilities were.
Prince-Sib would not give a penny unless his country,
conditions were met. On Tuesday afternoon Walter Brooklyn came down by appointment to see me,
and I tried to get him to accept the conditions. He refused, and declared his intention of seeing
Prince up again. I told him he must do what he liked about that. I believe he saw Princeup.
Anyhow, later in the afternoon he came back and made another attempt to get me to urge that
the conditions should be modified. I refused, of course, and he left. I have not seen him since.
So far as you know, he had made no appointment with Prince of the evening.
I know nothing about that. He may have done. He did not tell me.
When he came back to you the second time, did he tell you that he had lost his walking stick
and asked if you had found it in the office after he left? Yes, I believed he did. It was not here.
I said he had probably left it in the taxi. And that's all you know about the matter?
Yes. Of course, I know something about the accident of Walter Brooks.
liabilities. They are considerable. We can go into that if it becomes necessary. But can you tell me,
would it be likely that if Walter Brooklyn arranged a meeting with Princep about money,
George Brooklyn would also have been present? It seems they were both there that evening?
I should not have expected so, but it is certainly not impossible. Prinsip might have called in
George, as he was co-haired to Sir Vernon's money, to help him make it quite plain that the money would only be
paid if the conditions were met.
Or, of course, it may have been an accident.
George Brooklyn might have been with Prince of when Walter called.
Have you any reason to believe that it was so?
Well, we know that Walter Brooklyn, although he denies it,
was in Princep's room at about 11.30.
We know that George Brooklyn left the house at about that time,
and he must have come back at some time later to the garden, if not to the house.
It seems at least likely that they met either before or after 11.
Yes, that seems probable.
But I'm afraid I know no more than I have told you.
Perhaps you can help me a little more.
I'm getting interested in this Miss Lang,
who seems to turn up at every point in the story.
It now appears that Walter Brooklyn went to see her at the theatre on the Tuesday afternoon.
He saw and Princeop there separately.
I know nothing about that.
I told you he went off to see Princep,
but I have no idea what he can have been doing with Mincalfe.
Miss Lang. Did Walter Brooklyn know Miss Lang? Quite probably. She had a large theatrical
acquaintance. But I did not know he was friendly with her. But you said that Mr. George
Brooklyn was to have seen Miss Lang on Tuesday evening. Lawyer nodded. And now, the inspector
continued, we find Walter as well as George Brooklyn mixed up with her. May not she have had
something to do with the evening meeting at Liskeet House? Really, Inspector, that is a matter for you,
I've never seen the young woman
and I've known no more about her
than I have already told you
you had better see her yourself.
That is what I propose to do.
But I thought you might be able to throw some light
in Walter Broklin's dealings with her.
Not at all, unfortunately. I wish I could.
For there is nothing I won't know
than to get this horrible business cleared up.
The inspector saw that there was nothing more
to be learned from Carter Woodman at that stage.
She accordingly took his leave
when went in search of Karis Lang, who, he was beginning to feel,
might well hold the clue to the whole mystery.
His original idea had been to see her at her home,
but he had decided that it would be better to talk to her at the theatre,
where the event in which she was concerned had actually taken place.
Accordingly, he took a taxi to the Piccadilly Theatre
and sent up his car to Miss Lang, who had just arrived and been given his note and message.
When he was shown into Carys Lang's room, Inspector Blikey had his first surprise.
He had been expecting, without any good reason to be confronted with the beauty of the picture
postcard type, some little bit of fluff from the musical comedy stage.
But he saw at once that Karis Lang was not at all that kind of woman.
She was a girl whom no one but an idiot, and Inspector Blakey was far from being an idiot,
would think of calling pretty.
Beautiful, some people would call her, but less from any regularity of feature than from
an effect of carriage and expression, a dignity without aloofness, a self-possession that was
neither hard nor unwomanly.
The inspector did not think of beautiful.
She was not of the type he admired,
but he said to himself that here was obviously a woman of character,
and he at once changed his mind about the right way of tackling Miss Lang.
She was, he recognised, a person with whom it would pay to be quite frank.
I understand, she began,
that you wish to ask me some questions about, she hesitated a moment,
this terrible affair.
The inspector could see that she was deeply moved.
"'Yes, Miss Lange,' he replied.
"'I've come to ask you for certain information.
"'We have, of course, every desire to trouble you as little as possible.'
"'Oh,' she interrupted.
"'I only wish I had more to tell you.
"'By all means, ask me what you will.
"'I'm afraid some of my questions may seem to you rather impertinent.
"'No, Inspector.
"'I understand it is your business to get at the truth.
"'I shall answer whatever you may ask.
"'Then, first of all, will you tell me about Mr. Walter Brooklyn?
I understand that he came to see you last Tuesday here.
Is that so?
I confess him, surprised at the question.
I thought it was about Mr. George Brooklyn and Mr. Princep
that you wished to question me.
But I can answer at once.
Mr. Walter Brooklyn did come to see me.
Did you know Mr. Walter Brooklyn well?
No, hardly at all.
Indeed, until that day I had scarcely spoken to him.
I had met him a few times in large gatherings at Liskid House and elsewhere.
Then he is not a friend of yours.
by no means, the answer was so decided as to startle the inspector.
Have you any objection?
He asked to telling me on what business Mr. Walter Brooklyn visited you on Tuesday?
It's not a thing I like to speak about, but I am fully prepared to tell you.
Mr. Brooklyn came to make to me a dishonorable suggestion that I should help him to extract money from Mr. Princep.
In what way?
Mr. Princep had refused to give Mr. Walter Brooklyn a certain sum of money which he wanted.
He came to ask me to bring pressure to bear on Mr. Princepip to give it to him.
He suggested that I had a hold over Mr. Princep.
I suppose I must tell you what made him think that too,
and that if I was to ask, he would get the money.
And on what ground did he ask you to do this?
He threatened that if I did not, he would tell Sir Vernon about me and Mr. Princep.
He made the most horrible insinuations.
You are friendly with Mr. Princep?
Two years ago, John Princep
asked me to marry him, and I accepted him.
Our engagement was kept secret at his request.
Miss Lang, I'm sorry if I give you pain,
but I must ask you whether you were engaged to Mr. Princep
at the time of his death?
The answer came clearly, but in a voice totally devoid of expression.
I do not know, said Carrey Slang.
The engagement had at least not been formally broken off.
And, of course, you rejected Walter Brooklyn's proposal?
I did. Did you tell Mr. Princep aborted?
No, it was not a matter I could bring myself to mention to him.
You understand that Walter Brooklyn intended to carry the story to Sir Vernon?
Yes, and of course Sir Vernon would have been very angry.
He has always wanted John to marry his ward, Miss Cooper.
What had Walter Brooklyn to gain by telling Sir Vernon?
I suppose he thought Sir Vernon would soon make John give me up,
and that between them they could fix up for John and Miss Cooper to marry.
Or perhaps he relied on my telling John
and thought John would let him have the money to prevent him from going to Sir Vernon.
Yes, that seems the most probable explanation.
And did you see Mr. Princep after your meeting with Walter Brooklyn?
Yes, for a few moments.
He had seen Mr. Brooklyn to, and he was very angry.
Mr. Brooklyn had used the same threat to him as he used to me.
and how had Mr. Prince have taken it?
He had refused to give Mr. Brooklyn a penny
and said he would see Sir Vernon himself.
In order to tell him of your engagement,
again came the answer painfully given.
I do not know.
I'm sorry, Miss Lank, but I have not quite done.
Did you see Mr. George Brooklyn on Tuesday?
Yes, he came here to see me after he had left Liskkeed house in the evening.
At what time was that?
it was after ten o'clock, probably about a quarter past.
I'm off the stage for a long time then.
Was Mr. George Brooklyn a friend of yours?
Yes, in a way.
At least Mrs. George Brooklyn is a very dear friend.
I used to understudy her when she was Isabel Rabin.
She was the Isabel Rabin, you know?
Yes.
Then there was nothing unusual in Mr. George Brooklyn's coming to see you here?
I don't think he had ever been to my room before.
I'd often met him at his own.
own house or at Liskeed house. Did he come for some special purpose? Yes, he came to see me about
my engagement to Mr. Princep. Do you mind telling me more exactly what you mean? Until recently,
Mr. Princep always behaved to me as if we were engaged. Lately, his manner to me had changed.
When I spoke to him about it, he laughed it off, and I tried to go on treating him as I had done.
But about a fortnight ago, I had a letter from Mr. Carter Woodman. You know him, I expect.
saying he would like to discuss with me certain matters placed in his hands by Mr. Princep.
I wrote back saying that I could not conceive that there was anything in my relations with John
that called for a lawyer's interference.
Then I took the letter to John, and we had a real quarrel about it.
I asked him if I was to consider our engagement at an end.
But he put me off, and before I could get him to answer, we were interrupted.
I did not see him again until Tuesday, and then only for a minute.
I meant to try to clear a matter of and to tell him I could not go on like that,
but he was called away, and I had no chance.
Then in the evening, George Brooklyn came to see me.
Will you tell me what happened then?
He asked me point-blank whether I had been engaged to John.
I said that I certainly had been, but that I didn't know whether I still was.
I told him that I still loved John, but I asked him to let John know.
He had promised to see him when he left me, that I considered our engagement definitely
at an end unless he decided to renew it.
Mr. Lang, my questions must have been very painful,
and it has been very good of you to answer them so freely.
I think there's only one thing more I need to ask.
At what time did Mr. George Brooklyn leave you?
A few minutes after half-past ten.
I went on the stage again almost immediately afterwards.
And you did not see Mr. George Brooklyn again?
No.
You saw no more of either Mr. Princep or Mr. Walter Brooklyn, I suppose?
Yes, as it happens, I caught sight out of my window of Mr. Princep
walking in the garden behind the theatre.
That must have been about a quarter past eleven.
And that's all you saw.
He was alone?
Yes, I saw no one else.
Then I want to thank you again for the way in which you have told me what you know.
And with that the inspector took his leave,
feeling that, as a result of his talk, he had scored another good point against Walter
Brooklyn.
Quite apart from the murders, the man really disdive.
served hanging for his behavior to Carrey's
Lang, at least that was how
Inspector Blackie felt about it.
He must get enough evidence to
convince his reluctant superior, and
thereafter twelve good men and true
that Walter Brooklyn was the murderer.
John Princep, perhaps, was not such a bad riddance.
Certainly he had been behaving
like a cad. But then,
Carys Lang was in love with him,
and that was enough to cover a multitude
of sins. For her sake,
at least, the murderer must be brought to justice.
Moreover, George Brooklyn seemed to have been a good sort.
The inspector was inclined to dismiss the idea that he had had anything to do with the killing of Princep,
even though his talk with Princep after leaving Carys Lang might have afforded full provocation,
if, as seemed likely, Princep had refused to marry her.
The inspector's last thought was that it was still a tangled enough skein that he had to unravel,
but some, at least of the knots, had been successfully untied.
The end of chapter 10
Chapter 11 of the Brooklyn murders
This Liberty Walk's recording is in the public domain
Read by Yoganand
The Brooklyn Murders
By G.D. H. Cole
Chapter 11
John takes up the case.
Karis Lang had kept a composure
during the trying interview with the inspector
and had forced herself to tell him
everything she had to tell
that could even indirectly bear upon the murders.
She had felt that this was
her duty, and in her the sense of duty was unusually strong.
But the telling had caused her a terrible effort, and when the inspector went away,
and there was no longer need to hold herself up bravely, her fortitude gave way.
She had told things which, until then, she had not admitted even to herself,
and what hurt her most was that, in telling the truth and nothing but the truth,
she had been compelled to let John Princep's character appear in the worst light.
Not, she told herself, that it mattered to him any longer.
but she loved him, and it was horrible to her that she should have to drag his memory in the mud.
Moreover, was he not suspected of having killed George Brooklyn,
and would not her account of him have made such an act seem more probable?
She did not believe that he had done so,
and as she thought over a conversation with the inspector,
she felt that she had been false to his memory,
and yet she knew that there was nothing else she could have done.
But why had Walter Brooklyn been dragged into the case by the detective?
until Inspector Blikey had came to see her, she had been quite without a theory of the events of Tuesday.
She had been stunned by the fact of Prince's death, and she had hardly troubled to think who could have killed him.
Now it was clear that the police believed that Walter Brooklyn had something to do with it,
an odious man by all account, and one who had proved himself odious beyond measure in his dealings with her.
Yet not a man she would readily have suspected of murder with violence.
Underhand crimes, dirty little crimes, she said to have.
herself would be more in keeping with what she knew of him. And then, despite this treatment of her,
she accused herself of being uncharitable. After all, there was some dignity about murder,
and a feeling, biased no doubt by a personal experience, was that Walter Brooklyn was not even
fit to be a murderer. Carys felt that she could not go on to the stage that afternoon as if
nothing had happened. She had forced herself to play a part, and had played it as well as ever
since a tragedy, but for that afternoon at least she must be free, and an understudy must take a place.
Having been to force to tell a story to the inspector, she felt all the more need to tell it again to someone
more sympathetic, to some real friend capable of understanding what she had suffered and of sharing
in a sorrow. Speedily, her mind was made up. She must see Isabelle, Mrs. George Brooklyn.
Isabel too was in trouble, at least as hard as her own. Isabel had lost her George,
as she had lost John Princep.
Then she remembered. Some people said that John had killed
George Brooklyn, and some said that George Brooklyn had killed John
Prince. She had heard that there was evidence, though she did not know what it was.
Could either of these things be true, and if there was even a chance that either might be true,
how could she go and talk about it to Isabel?
She did not find an answer to her question, but all the same she made up her mind to go.
she was capable of conceiving the thought that the two men might have quarrel
and that the one might have killed the other but she was not capable of believing the thought
which she could conceive she knew that they might quarrel that they had done so often enough
but they would not kill and if they had she barely formulated the thought what did it matter
now she and isabel were both desolate in need of comfort she would go so carrie's
having made to her understudy secret delight,
her arrangements at the theatre set off to find Isabel,
for that was a name by which she still called Marianne Brooklyn,
Isabelle she knew was still in the hotel,
the Cunningham, and she had not far to go.
In a few minutes, the two women were in each other's arms.
It was not a question of who had killed their lovers.
They both needed comfort, and they sought together such comfort as could be found.
By and by, Carys found herself telling the story of the Inspector.
She had never before spoken openly to Mrs. George about John Princep.
But now she told the whole story, only to find that most of it was known to Marianne
already.
Marianne told her how Carter Woodman had come to see her and asked her to use her influence
to break the entanglement between Carys and John Princep, and how she had indignantly refused
and had threatened to go and tell John straight out that he ought to marry her.
Carys did not try to defend Prince, she realized that
there could be no defense for what he had done.
But she told Marian that she had loved him,
and that she believed he had loved her in a way
and would certainly have married her
but for his fear of surveillance opposition.
She told Marion that it was quite clear from the inspector's manner
that he suspected Walter Brooklyn of one, if not of both murders,
and at last she told her of Walter Brooklyn's visit to herself
and of the infamous threat he had made.
To Carus's surprise, Marion Brooklyn
altogether refused to consider the policy.
of Walter's guilt. She had seen him outside Liskeed House as they left on the Tuesday evening,
and she agreed that he might possibly have gone there to carry out his threat of telling Sir Vernon,
but she was quite convinced that he had had nothing to do with the murders,
and she was very doubtful whether he would really have carried out his threat against Carys.
Walter Brooklyn, she said, is a thoroughly bad lot. In money matters, he couldn't trust him an inch.
But I do not believe he would really have done a thing like that. I mean,
either murdered anybody or really told Sir Vernon about you.
He might threaten, but I don't believe we'd do such a thing when it comes to the point.
Then Marianne Brooklyn realized what seemed to her the most horrible thing about the situation.
Poor John, she said.
It would be simply terrible for her if Walter Brooklyn is really suspected.
She has troubled enough with what has happened already,
and with Sir Vernon on her hands in such a state that nearly everything has to be kept from him.
if a stepfather is going to be dragged into court I don't know what she will do
all caries could suggest was that it would be best that she should know nothing about it
until it could no longer be kept from her but to this marian brooklyn did not agree
i think dear she had better know at once john is not easily frightened and i'm sure she would
wish to be told and so it was finally settled marianne brooklyn said that she would go to liskied
house at once and try to see john at first of the first of her own
she suggested that Caris should come with her, but finally they agreed that she had better go alone.
Caris, a good deal more at ease after a talk with a friend, went back to the theatre with every intention of appearing at the evening performance.
Marianne Brooklyn found Joan at home.
Indeed, since Tuesday, she had not left the house, say for an occasional breath of air in the garden.
With the police continually making inquiries, newspaper reporters laying constant siege to the house,
and Sir Vernon so ill that the fact of George Brooklyn's death,
had still to be kept from him, and George's absence explained by all manner of satifuges,
John and Mary Woodman had been going through a terrible time, made the words, in Joan's case,
at least, by the sense of helplessness in face of a great calamity. Her duties in looking
after Sir Vernon did not prevent her from thinking. Rather, they were such as to make thought
turned to brooding. Her thoughts seemed to go round and round in an endless and aimless circle,
and as the days passed the strain was telling on a far more than on Mary Woodman who was not blessed or cursed with the faculty of imagination.
Mary did her duties quite sympathetically and with little sign of inward disturbance.
Joan did her duty too, but she was eating out her soul in the doing of it.
A face, as she came into the room to greet Marianne, was haggard with lack of sleep.
She had not lost that look of composure and self-possession that was normally hurts.
but it was easy to see that the strain on her had been severe.
Marianne did not quite know how to begin what she had to say,
but John saved her from her embarrassment by beginning at once to speak about Sir Vernon.
He had been very bad indeed.
He was still very bad, but she thought he was beginning to rally.
It had been terribly difficult, having to keep from him the news
and prevent him from taking any part of the investigation.
He had asked more than once to see the police,
but the doctor said that absolute rest was indispensable,
and that any further shock or excitement would almost certainly still be fatal to him.
Joan told Marian that she and Mary had their hands so full that they knew little or nothing of what was going on
and had no idea what progress the police were making towards the solution of the mystery.
This gave Marian the opening for which she had been waiting.
It was about that, darling, she said, I came to see you.
I did not want the police to come asking you more questions until you were prepared.
shown expressed a surprise
prepared Maria
prepared for what do you mean
well dear I thought I'd better tell you
the police think they have a clue
a clue
do you mean they know who did it
no dear I don't mean that they know
but there is someone whom they suspect
of course it's a business to suspect people
but I thought I ought to tell you
of course it is their business to find out who did it
I'm only glad it isn't mine
and yet I can't help wondering.
I keep thinking about it
even though I try hard to put it out of my mind.
That is only natural, dear.
It's the same with me.
I find myself wondering.
Joan interrupted.
And the worst of it is that
one's thoughts take one no further.
Mine just go round and round.
I haven't the ghost of an idea who it was.
What I came to tell you, John, was this.
Of course, it can't be true,
but the police suspect your stepfather.
Joan had been standing, leaning with one arm on the mantelpiece,
but at Marianne's words she went very white and a body swayed.
She gripped the mantelpiece to steady herself and felt away to a chair.
For a moment she said nothing.
Then, so low as to be just audible, her answer came.
Marianne, tell me at once what makes you think that?
I don't think it, my dear.
But unfortunately, the police do.
The man, Inspector Blakey, has quite convinced himself of it.
I'd better tell you exactly what I know.
Then Marianne told Joan all about the inspector's visit to Carrie's slang.
Joan listened in silence, barely moving.
Her colour came back slowly,
and as she realised that the police had built up a real case against her stepfather,
a look of determination came into her face.
I wonder if he knows, she said.
I must go to him at once.
Marianne said to herself that Joan was bearing it wonderfully well.
There was no fear that she would collapse under the shock.
Indeed, she could see that the next.
news had really done a good. During the days since the crime, she had been suffering above all
because she felt helpless and useless. The danger to her stepfather gave her a sense of work
to do. It drowsed her and brought into play the reserves of strength in a character. Marianne had
so far held back the reason for Walter Brooklyn's visit to Carrie's Lange, but she felt
that it was only fair to Joan to tell her the whole truth, however bad it might be. If she
was to help Walter Brooklyn, she must certainly know the verse that could be said against him.
There was no doubt at all in John's mind.
Badly as Walter Brooklyn had used her,
and though she had refused to live any longer under his roof,
she was quite certain that he was incapable of murder,
above all of the murders of the two victims of Tuesday's tragedy.
Even when Marianne told her the purpose with which Walter Brooklyn had been to visit,
Karis Lang, that in no way altered a view.
He would never have told Sir Vernon, she said.
It was only too like him to threaten,
but he would never have done it.
I know him, and I'm sure of that.
Joan was keenly anxious to find out
what evidence the police could possibly have
against a strip father,
but of this, Marianne could tell her hardly anything.
She could only suggest that probably Carter Woodman would know about it.
Mrs. Woodman was still with her at the hotel,
but Carter had been away the previous night,
and she had not seen him.
Joan said that she would try to see Carter at once,
and then, when she had found out all she could,
she would go to see Walter Brooklyn.
So far from being prostrated by the news,
John was moved by it to take action at once.
She telephoned through to Carter Woodman at his office
and asked him particularly to come and see her at Liskeed House that afternoon.
Woodman tried to put her off.
But when she said that if he could not come to her,
she would go at once to him,
he at last agreed to come.
Within an hour he was with her,
and John plunged at once into business
by asking him to tell all he knew about the police
and the progress they had made.
Woodman seemed reluctant to talk,
but on being pressed,
he told him most of what had passed at his first talk
with the inspector,
leaving out, however,
anything which would tend to connect
Walter Brooklyn with the crime,
and thereby creating the impression
that the police were totally at a loss.
But Joan was not to be put off so easily.
It is no use, Carter, she said,
you're trying to spare my feelings.
I know that the police suspect my stepfather,
and I want to know on what evidence
they are trying to build up a case
against him. Surely you must know something about that? Faced with the direct question, Carter
Woodman told her most of what he knew. He said that the police had found out that Walter Brooklyn
had been in the house that night and that he had actually telephoned to his club from Princep's
room at about half-past eleven. He told her that Walter Brooklyn's walking stick had been
found in Princep's room and that Walter had almost thrown the inspector downstairs when he went
to question him about his movements. What surprised him, he said, was that Walter Brooklyn,
had not been arrested already.
At this, Joan broke out indignantly.
You don't mean that you believe he did it?
My dear John, I only wish you had not asked me such a question.
But what am I to think?
It is clear that he was in the house,
and somebody must have done it after all.
I am sorry for you,
but I think you are under no illusions about your stepfather's character.
I tell you that he could never have done a thing like that.
I know he's a bad man in many ways.
But he's not that sort.
Surely you must understand that.
But Carter Woodman did not seem to understand it.
Apologetically, but firmly he made it quite clear to John
that he was disposed to believe in Walter Brooklyn's guilt,
or at least that he saw nothing unlikely in the supposition
that he might have committed murder.
Joan, who had intended to ask Woodman to go to work
for the purpose of clearing of stepfather,
soon saw that there was nothing to be gained by making such a request.
In his present mood, at least, Carter Woodman
would be far more likely to search for further evidence of Walter Brooklyn's guilt.
Joan had found out from him most of what she wanted,
and seeing that there was nothing further to be gained by enlisting his help,
she got rid of him as soon as she decently could.
When Woodman had gone, Joan sat down to think the matter over quietly.
She was absolutely certain that her stepfather was in no way guilty of the murders,
but after what Woodman had said,
it seemed only too clear that he must have been on the spot
when one of them at least was committed.
That meant that he knew the truth,
but for some reason or other
he had evidently not told the police
what he knew.
That John felt was not altogether surprising.
Probably the police had somehow got him
into one of his rages,
and she knew that, if that were so,
it was just like him to have refused to say a word.
It was more than ever necessary
for her to see him
and get at the real truth of what he knew.
Only if she had that to go upon,
could she help him.
and as Carter Woodman would do nothing,
she felt that she must devote all her energies
to clearing him of the suspicion.
She would have to have a good lawyer of his own, of course,
but John must see him
and compel him to best her himself about his defence.
For one thing, he was certain to be in low water,
and she must at once promise to pay all the expenses of the case.
She admitted to herself that in the light of what Carries Lang and Woodman
had told her the police seemed to have a strong case against Walter Brooklyn,
A mind went back to Woodman's words
After all, somebody must have done it
And she realized that for the police
Somebody might mean Walter Brooklyn
Quite as readily as anyone else
She, knowing him as no one besides knew him
Might be sure of his innocence
But that was no reason why others should share a conviction
Now, if Walter Brooklyn was to escape from the coils
In which he was enmeshed
It would be because decisive evidence was forthcoming
that he had not committed the murders.
And that decisive evidence would have to be deliberately searched for by someone other than the police,
who, intent on proving the case against Walter Brooklyn,
would not be likely to seek for clues which would invalidate their own case.
And if she did not undertake this task, who would?
She felt that the duty was hers.
But if, as she was sure, Walter Brooklyn had not committed murder,
then who had?
and what had a stepfather been doing in Liskeed house that night?
It was true that, by Carter's account, he had denied his presence there.
But it did not surprise John at all that a stepfather should have lied to the police.
If he was determined not to tell what he knew, his only possible courts was to deny that he had been present.
She would have to point out to him that, as his presence in the house had been definitely established,
the only possible court's remaining was to tell the police everything that he knew.
but what could it be that he was holding back?
If he had been present when murder was done,
he must be concealing the name of the murderer.
That puzzled John,
for she did not see whom Walter Brooklyn could possibly be intent on shielding.
Quicksortism was as unlike him as deliberate murder.
Moreover, who could the murderer have been?
She searched her mind in vain for any hint of a clue.
There was literally no one whom she could suspect.
the whole thing appeared to her merely inexplicable.
She realized, however, that the best way,
perhaps the only way of clearing a stepfather,
was to bring the real murderer to light.
But there might be two different murderers.
Joan was inclined to regard it as quite possible
that Prince Prince would have killed George Brooklyn,
but it was utterly inconceivable that George should have killed anybody.
Far more clearly than a stepfather, he was not that kind of man.
So that the best line of inquiry seemed to be
to search for the murder of John.
Princep. But she remembered, it was in this case that the police had their strongest evidence
against Walter Brooklyn. There was little or nothing so far as she knew to connect him with
the death of George, but he had been in Princep's room, and there his stick had been found.
Surely he must know who had killed John Princep. She could do nothing until she had seen him,
but seeing him might well clear up the whole tragedy once and for all.
Joan was still lying back in a chair with closed eyes
trying to think the thing out when Winter announced that Mr. Ellery was in the lounge
and would like to see her if she felt equal to it.
She had not seen Ellery since that fatal Tuesday evening
when he had left with the other guests
announcing his intention of walking back to Chelsea.
Doubtless he had felt that to come sooner would be an intrusion
but she knew enough of his feelings to be sure that
it had caused him a struggle to keep away.
She was glad, very glad he had come, for just what she wanted was someone to whom she could talk freely, someone on whose help she could rely in trying to clear a stepfather.
Robert Ellery, she knew, would be ready to believe as she believed, and to do everything in his power to help her in her trouble.
These thoughts flashed through her mind as she went to the lounge where he was waiting.
The end of Chapter 11.
Chapter 12 of the Brooklyn Murders
This Liberty Box recording is in the public domain
Read by Yoga Anand
The Brooklyn murders by G.D. H. Cole
Chapter 12
Robert Ellery
It had been a struggle for Ellery to keep away.
He had heard nothing of the tragedy until Wednesday evening
when he had been to dine with his guardian, Harry Lucas at Hampstead.
There had been, of course, nothing in the morning papers,
and he had not seen an evening paper.
He had indeed spent the day and,
a long country walk, returning to Hampstead across the heath in time to dress for dinner at his
guardian's house, where he always kept a change of clothes, and often stayed the night. His walk
had been taken with a purpose, no less a purpose there and going thoroughly with himself into the
question of his feeling for John Cooper. He had been a silent witness of the scene at
a governance party when Joan had declared outright that nothing would ever make her marry John
Princep. That outburst of hers had meant a great deal to him. He had hard to him. He had hard
concealed from himself before the fact that he was head over years in love with Joan.
But he had always taught himself to regard his love as hopeless and try to make himself believe that he ought to get the better of it,
and accept as a foregone conclusion, John's marriage with Prince of.
He had been told by Sir Vernon himself that they were engaged, and of course no word on the matter had passed between him and John.
Her definite repudiation of the engagement had therefore come to him as a surprise,
and for the first time had allowed him to think that his own suit might not be altogether hopeless.
Joan liked him, that he knew well enough.
But loving was of course another story and he hardly allowed himself even now to hope that she loved him.
But he made up his mind after what had passed, first to spend the day in the country thinking things over,
or rather charging at full speed down the middle six lanes while the process of thought went on of their own momentum.
Then he promised himself to tell the guardian in the evening exactly how matters stood
and to ask for his advice.
Harry Lucas had known well how to make himself a friend and counsellor
as well as the guardian of the young man.
Ellery went straight upstairs and dressed without seeing his guardian.
But as soon as they met in a smoking room before dinner,
he saw that something very serious was a matter.
Lucas had expected that Ellery would already have heard the news,
but when he found that he knew nothing,
he told them the story in a few words,
explaining how the bodies had been discovered,
but saying nothing about clues or about any opinion he may have entertained,
as to the identity of the murderer or the murderers.
Lucas himself had been down to Liskeed House to offer his help.
He had seen Sir Vernon for a few minutes
and had talked with Joan and Mary Woodman.
He had also seen Superintendent Wilson at Scotland Yard
and offered any help it might be in his power to give.
But beyond the bad facts discovered in the morning,
startling enough in themselves, he knew little,
and of course at this stage the inquiries of Inspector Blakey
were only at their beginning.
Ellery asked no questions at first.
The news seemed for the moment to strike him dumb, and the first clear thought that arose in his mind was that, now at least, there could be no more question of Joan marrying Princep.
Ellery had most cordially disliked and distrusted Princep, and he could not pretend to feel any great sorrow at his death.
But he had greatly liked George Brooklyn, and after his first thought, it was mainly the terrible sorrow that had come upon all those who were left that filled his mind.
for a time he and Lucas spoke of nothing but the depth of the tragedy that had come upon the Brooklyn's
but by and by Ellery's curiosity began to assert itself after all there was mystery as well as tragedy
in the events of Tuesday night and mystery had always exercised over him a strong fascination
I feel a beast he said to his guardian for thinking of anything but the sorrow of it all
but I am damned if I can help wanting to find out all about it my dear Bob that's perfectly
natural. It would be so in anyone, but it's more than natural in your case. You write detective
novels, and here you are faced with a crime mystery in real life. You would be more than human
if you didn't want to unravel it. Besides, seriously enough, it warns unraveling, and I don't
think the police are going to have an easy time in finding out the truth. Then Lucas told him of
the strange clues that had been discovered, how all the evidence seemed to point to the conclusion
that Princep had murdered George Brooklyn, and equally to the conclusion that George
Roger had murdered Prince of course, Lucas said it.
That is physically quite impossible.
And personally, I'm not in the least disposed to believe that either of them killed the other.
I'm sure in my own mind that someone else killed both of them,
but I haven't a ghost of an idea who it can have been.
And so there's nothing been found out to throw suspicion on anybody else?
So far as I know, nothing at all.
You'd better do a bit of detective work on your own account.
Ellery said nothing in reply to that.
while they had been talking he had been turning over in his mind the question whether after what had happened
he could possibly speak to his guardian about his love for Joan he had told himself firmly that he could not
but just when he had thought his mind was made up he found himself beginning to speak about it all the same
he was so full of it that he could not keep from declaring it was john really engaged to prince
he asked harry lincoln had a good idea of ellery's reason for asking the question but he gave no hint of this in his answer
preferring to let the young man speak
or not of his own affairs
as might seem to him best.
No, that she never was, he replied.
Long ago Sir Vernon had set his heart on their marrying
and he always persisted in treating it as settled.
Joan, I know, had told him again and again
that she would not marry Prince of,
but he always put her off,
and said that it would all come right in the end.
Between ourselves, I don't think Princef was really very keen on marrying Joan,
but he was prepared to do it because Sir Vernon wanted
it, and he was afraid he would not get the money if he refused. I don't know that I ought to
speak like that about him now that he is dead, but you know very well that I disliked him, and it
is no use pretending that I didn't. Hillary felt his spirits rising as he heard what Lucas said,
and again he accused himself of being a beast for feeling cheerful on such an occasion.
No more was said then, and during dinner, while the servants were in the room, they talked of
other things, of the play which Ellery was writing, of where he had been during the day of many
indifferent matters. They were both glad when dinner was over and they could return to the
smoking room and be again alone. Then it was that Ellery told Lucas of his love for John,
and then he had his surprise, for he found that his guardian had discovered that for himself
long ago and that he was being strongly encouraged to persist in his suit.
My dear boy, said Lucas, of course you are in love with John, and I shouldn't be a bit surprised
if you find out before long that she's in love with you. She's a very fine young woman, and I wouldn't
wish you better fortune than to win her.
I hope you will when the time comes,
but of course you can't make love to her just now.
You will have to wait until this terrible affair is over.
But if I see her, how can I possibly help telling her now,
now that the other fellow is out of the way?
I know I shall simply blurt it out and probably spoil my chance for good and all.
Lucas gave him some sage advice.
He should go and see Joan and offer to help in any way he could,
but on no account must he make love to her yet a while,
from which it may be seen that Harry Lucas up to date, as he thought himself, had still some old-fashioned ideas about propriety.
Ellery stayed the night in Hampstead and went to bed in a mood of cheerfulness, which he told himself was quite unforgivably brutal.
He would go and see Joan the next day.
He would try to follow his guardian's advice.
But if he failed, well, he would fail, and he was not sure that to fail would be quite such a disaster as Lucas made out.
after all she had not been engaged to Princeop
and why should he not say he loved her?
The next morning Elery left after an early breakfast
without seeing his guardian and went off for another long walk
across the heath and over to Mill Hill
his mood had changed and he now told himself
that to go and see Joan would be an intrusion
and that he must at least let some days pass before he went
he felt he could not see her without telling her of his love
and he was sure that to tell her now would be wrong
He tried to put the thing out of his mind
and as long as he kept walking
he succeeded fairly well
but when after a long day he found himself
back in his lodgings at Chelsea
he was soon aware that he would be
fit for nothing else until he had seen
her. He tried to go on with his work
but after a few attempts he put it aside as useless
then he sat down to try to bring his mind
to bear on the crime. He felt that
he as an amateur expert in detecting
or to be able to see some light
upon the conditions of the crime
but he could see none.
At length he was obliged to tell himself
that he had not nearly enough information to go upon
and that he could not hope to make any progress
without going himself over the scene of the crime
and hearing more of what the police had done.
But how could he do that without going to Liskeed House?
And how could he go there without seeing Joan?
As he went to bed he told himself that he could do nothing.
But he was a healthy fellow and his perplexity
did not long interfere with his slumbers.
Tired out by his long walk,
He slept like a top.
He was still in bed and asleep on the following morning
when the landlady knocked at the door and told him
that a gentleman, who would not state his business,
was waiting to see him downstairs.
Dressing hastily, he went down and found a stranger standing before the fireplace.
His visitor handed him a card on which he read,
Inspector Gibbs, New Scotland Yard.
So they had come to ask him something about murders.
Inspector Blakey, who had enough to do in following up the trail of Walter
Brooklyn, had no time to act on his wife.
resolution to see Ellery and get from him an explanation of his movements on Tuesday after leaving
Liskeed House. His colleague, Inspector Gibbs, had therefore been interested with his task. The police
were not seriously disposed to think that Ellery had anything to do with the murders. But everyone
who had been at the house that night was worth interrogating, and Ellery was therefore to be
questioned like the rest. Inspector Gibbs was a very polite young man, excellently groomed, and
with an air of treating you as one man of the world treats another. Very politely, he explained,
plain the purpose of his visit and told Ellery that he must not suppose that merely because the
police asked him certain questions there was any suspicion at all attaching to him. But we must,
you know, get all of facts quite complete. Elery said that he fully understood and was prepared
to answer any questions to the best of his power. But the plain factors, he said, that I know
nothing at all about it. He was first asked at what time he had left Leskeed house on Tuesday evening
and replied that it was a few minutes past ten. He could not say more exactly.
No, he had not returned there later in the evening.
He had gone straight back to Chelsea.
At what time had he reached his rooms in Chelsea?
About midnight.
Not till he made that answer did it occur to him that there was anything in his movements
it might be difficult to explain.
About midnight, said the inspector with a note of surprise in his voice.
But you said you went straight back after leaving Liskeed house.
What I meant was that I went nowhere else in particular in between.
As a matter of fact, I walked back and spent some time trawling up.
down the embankment before I returned to my rooms. I went down to Chelsea Bridge and walked right
along the embankment to Lott's Road and then back here to Tide Street. It was just about midnight
when I let myself in. I see. And did you meet anyone after you came in? No, but my landlady may have
seen me come in. There was still a light in a room which looks out over the front door.
Before the inspector left, he saw the landlady and confirmed this with her. She had seen
Ellery come in at about midnight.
There was nothing unusual in his taking a long
evening stroll by the river on a fine night.
But before he saw the landlady, the inspector had further questions
to ask of Ellery himself.
You say then that you were walking about four close on
two hours between Liskid House and Chelsea embankment.
Is there anyone who can corroborate this?
Ellery thought for a moment.
Yes, there ought to be, he said.
I met a friend who lives somewhere down here in Chelsea
at Hyde Park Corner at about a...
quarter past ten, and he left me at the Lord's road end of the embankment at about half-past eleven.
We were together all that time. Will you give me his name and address?
Ellery paused for a moment, and then gave a nervous laugh.
"'Upon my word,' he said.
"'This is devilish awkward. I don't know the chap's address. I never have known it.
All I do know is that he lives somewhere down the west end of Chelsea, not far from
world's end, I think,' he said.
"'I dare say we can trace him,' said the inspector.
you had better tell me his profession as well as his name.
Perhaps you know where you works?
Good Lord, this is worse than ever, said Ellery.
I can't for the life of me remember what the fellow's name is.
It has slipped clean out of my memory.
Then seeing a heightened look of surprise on the inspector's face,
you see, he added, I hardly know him really.
He's only a casual acquaintance.
I met a few times at the club.
He paused and glanced at his visitor in whose manner
he was elderly conscious of a change.
Come, come, come, miss.
Elri. Surely you must be able to remember the man's name. It's not, I only wish I could. I
almost had it then. It's something like forest or forester or foster. I'm nearly sure,
but it isn't any of those. I'm nearly certain it begins with an F. Isn't it rather curious that
you should have been walking about London for so long with a man you hardly know, and whose name even
you can't remember? It may be curious, Inspector, and you may think I'm making it all up. I can see
you are inclined to think that. But what I have told is exactly what happened. I expect the name
will come back to me soon. I have a way of just forgetting things like that every now and then.
A most unfortunate way, if I may say so. I can only hope that your memory will soon come back.
You realize, as opposed to the consequences of your laps may be serious? Oh, nonsense, Inspector.
I don't see anything so curious about it.
I often get talking with chaps I don't know from Adam,
and I'm quite capable of forgetting the name of my dearest friend.
What happened was that?
We were both walking home towards Chelsea.
It was a beautifully fine night,
and we got into an interesting conversation about plays.
I'm a playwright, you know, and I think he must be an actor.
I mean, from the way he talked.
Well, Mr. Ellery, I should advise you to make a strong effort
to find that gentleman again or to remember his name.
No doubt it's quite all right, but it'll be best for you to have your alibi confirmed.
Ellery saw that Inspector Gibbs was not quite sure whether to believe or disbelieve his story.
After all, it did sound a bit fishy.
It would be awkward and quite fatal to his plans of acting as an amateur detective
if the police began seriously to suspect him of having had a hand in the murders.
That would put a visit to Liskeed House and to Joan more than ever out of the question.
Ellery promised to devote the day to an attempt to trace his missing acquaintance
and the inspector departed with a last word of advice given as by one man of the world to another.
But Ellery had an unpleasant feeling that until that fellow, what the devil was his name,
was run to earth, his movements would be carefully watched by the police,
which was not at all the development he had been expecting.
The Chelsea Arts Club, where he had certainly sometimes met the fellow,
seemed the best place to begin the search,
and Ellery accordingly went round there to make a little.
inquiries, but he drew blank. No one could place a fellow who lived in Chelsea, probably an actor,
whose name was neither Foster nor Forrest, nor Forrester, but something more or less like that.
Everyone, he asked, said it was too vague a description, or offered him suggestions which he
at once rejected. Ellery began to feel that his job was not going to be easy. As he left the
club, he was more than a little depressed, especially he felt sure that a heavy-footed individual,
who kept some distance behind
was under instructions to follow him.
The police boots were unmistakable.
He noticed them across the road as he came down the club steps
and turning round a moment later he saw the aware of following none too
discreetly in his wake.
If that is a police idea of shadowing a man, he said to himself,
I don't think much of it.
But perhaps they don't mind my knowing.
Then he considered whether it was worthwhile to try giving his watch to slip,
but that he reflected would only make things worse
and get him suspected all the more.
He must let himself be followed,
and he might as well take it cheerfully.
With cat-like tread upon the four-wee steel,
he whistled and laughed as he heard the feet of the law
clumping along behind him.
The end of chapter 12.
Chapter 13 of the Brooklyn Murders.
This Liberty Walk's recording is in the public domain.
Read by Yorg Anand
The Brooklyn Murders by G.D.H. Cole.
Chapter 13.
An arrest. Inspector Blakey had made arrangements to see Superintendent Wilson after lunch,
and at half-past two they were closeted together in the superintendent's office. The decision
about the inquest could be no longer delighted. It was imperative that the police should make up
their minds how far they would place the facts which they had discovered before the coroner's jury.
The police nearly always hate a coroner's jury, at least in cases in which murder is suspected
or known. They dislike the premature disclosure of the hardly gathered clues before their case is
complete. They had read the misdirected inquisitiveness of some jurymen who may unknowingly
give the criminal just a hint he wants. Above all, the object to looking like fools, and whether
they present an incomplete case or with all the information they possess that is very likely
to be their fate in the presence of the good men and true, and in the columns of the newspapers
the next morning. The Brooklyn case had created an immense popular excitement. Neither
Prince of North George Brooklyn was much known to the general public, but Sir Vernon was still
a great popular figure and pictures of Isabel Raven, Mrs. George Brooklyn, remembered as the
finest actress of a few years ago had been published in almost every paper. The reporters
had indeed little enough to go upon, for after the first sensational story of the discovery of
their bodies, they had been put off with very scanty information. Nothing connecting Walter
Brooklyn with the crime had yet been published. But Inspector Blakey knew that,
As a club servants had fastened on that side of the story,
it was certain to reach some of the papers before many days passed.
Still, it was a moot point whether or not it would be best to keep all reference to Walter Brooklyn
out of the inquest proceedings if it were possible to do so.
Inspector Blakey would usually have been inclined to favour any plan which aimed at keeping
the coroner's jury in the dark.
That was, in his view, a part of the duty of a good police officer.
But on this occasion, he had become so firmly convinced of Walter Brooklyn's guilt
that he was set on a different method of proceeding.
What he wanted was to be allowed to arrest Walter Brooklyn at once in advance of the inquest
and then to tell the coroner's jury the full story of the evidence against him
in the hope that its publication in the press would result in the offering of corroborative evidence from outside.
He felt more and more certain that Brooklyn had committed both the murders,
but he was not so sanguine as to suppose that he had yet enough evidence to assure a favorable verdict,
that is, a verdict against Walter from a jury.
There was at least a specious case to be made out in favour of the view that Princep had killed George
and a skillful barrister would make much of this,
using also every shred of evidence for the view that George had killed Princep
in the hope of muddling the mind of the jury that they would not dare to bring in any verdicts other than not guilty.
But only a very little further evidence would give him enough to hang Walter Brooklyn on one, if not both of the charges.
It was worthwhile even to sum it to the foolish heckling of a coroner's jury,
if by doing so he could hope to get the further evidence he wanted.
His case so far, he recognized, depended on an inference
and it would be just like a jury to turn him down.
Juries, in his view, always did the wrong thing if you gave them half a chance.
Still in this case, it was worthwhile in the hope of getting further evidence
even to endure their folly.
This reasoning of Inspector Blakey failed to commend itself on Superintendent Wilson
He too saw that the case against Walter Brooklyn was not conclusive, and unlike the inspector,
he was not himself by any means convinced that Walter Brooklyn was guilty.
But he thought he knew a way of bringing the matter to a supreme test and of making the
suspected man either proclaim his own guilt or remove the most serious ground of suspicion against him.
His idea was that, at least during the first stages of the inquest,
the police should say nothing of those discoveries which implicated Walter Brooklyn,
but that they should arrange for Walter himself to be called up to give evidence,
as if there were no suspicion against him.
He could be used to identify the deceased,
and a hint to the coroner would ensure that he should be asked
to give an account of his movements on Tuesday evening.
He would then have either to admit or to deny having been in Prince's room,
either to tell at last what he must know about the murders,
or to perjure himself in such a manner as would leave no doubt of his complicity
and little of his guilt.
Superintendent Wilson then would by no means agree to the execution of a warrant
for Walter Brooklyn's arrest before the inquest,
for he still thought he might be innocent
and might be persuaded to tell openly what he knew,
a chance which his arrest would altogether destroy.
But he agreed that, if Walter Brooklyn plainly perjured himself at the inquest,
his arrest would be indispensable,
and there would be no purpose in leaving him longer at large.
He agreed, therefore, to take at once the necessary steps to procure the warrant,
and he arranged that it should be handed to the inspector
for execution if and when the need arose.
but on no account must it be executed until after the inquest
or save in accordance with the conditions which he had laid on.
Only if Walter's guilt or complicity and his refusal to tell freely what he knew
were plainly shown would the superintendent agree to the arrest.
Meanwhile, of course, the man should be watched.
So it happened that although the inquest was for the most part a purely formal affair,
Walter Brooklyn was among those who were called upon to give evidence.
With most of its proceedings we need not concern ourselves.
We know well enough, Eldadie, almost all that the coroner's jury was allowed to know.
Indeed, we know a good deal more, for Inspector Blakey and his evidence,
said not a word either of Walter Brooklyn's walking stick or of the telephone message
which he had sent from Liskeed House.
No club servant was called, and there was no reference to the meeting with Carys Lang,
was not in any way brought into the case.
Carter Woodman indeed gave evidence, but he had been warned in a
advanced by the inspector and he said nothing which could appear to implicate Walter Brooklyn.
To the reporters and to the members of the police who were present,
crowding to suffocation the confined space of the coroner's court,
it became more and more evident that the inquest was not likely to throw any light upon the mystery.
They heard from the police witnesses, from the household servants and from John Cooper,
how the bodies had been found.
Walter Brooklyn and others gave purely formal evidence of identification.
The doctors, for once, told a plain story.
George Brooklyn had been killed by a savage blow on the back of the head,
dealt without doubt by a powerful man with the stone club of Hercules,
which was produced in court with the bloodstains upon it.
Princep II had probably been killed by the blow on the back of his head,
dealt with an unknown instrument.
The knife thrust at the heart, which had missed its object,
had been made subsequently and would not be itself have caused sudden death.
Inspector Blakey's evidence indeed promised to be more exciting,
for he told the finding of George Brooklyn's handkerchief underp
Prince's body, produced a knife similar to that found of the body which he had found in
George Brooklyn's office, showed the broken fragments of Prince's cigar holder found in the
garden, and photographs of fingerprints found on the Stone Club and others taken from Princeps'
hands. This was exciting enough, but he did more to mystify than to enlighten the public
and the reporters. Still it was excellent copy, and the reporters, and later the editors and sub-editors
made the most of it. Then when the inquest seemed practically over the corona, a sharp little
man who had attended strictly to business and said as little as possible throughout the proceedings,
acted on the hint given him by the police, and ordered Walter Brooklyn to be recalled.
Walter's manner, when he gave his earlier evidence and was asked no more than a couple of formal
questions had shown plainly to the inspector, and also to John and Ellery, who were sitting together,
that he was surprised at being let off so lightly. As the inquest went on and nothing was said to
draw him into the mystery. His expression, troubled and puzzled in the earlier stages,
gradually cleared, and up to the moment when he suddenly found himself recalled,
he had been growing more and more sure that the suspicions of the police against him
had been somehow dispelled. But now, in an instant, he realized that they had been deliberately
keeping back everything that could seem to connect him with the case, not because they did
not suspect him still, but because they had carefully set a trap into which they hoped that
he would fall. For a moment, a scared look came into his face.
But when he stepped again into the witness stand, he wore his usual, rather ill-humoured and supercilious expression.
Immaculately dressed and groomed, he was a man who looked precisely what he was,
an elderly but still dissipated man about town.
This time, the questions which the corona asked were far from formal.
He began with what was plainly a leading question.
It has been suggested to me, Mr. Brooklyn, that you may be able to throw some further light on this tragedy.
This morning you are given no opportunity.
to make a general statement, but I decided to give you that opportunity now.
Is there anything further that you are in a position to tell us?
I know no more of the affair than I have heard in this court today, or previously from the police.
Walter Brooklyn added the last words after a noticeable pause.
Nevertheless, there's a statement that I want to make.
It has been suggested, not in this court, but earlier to me by Inspector Blikey,
that I was in Liskeed House and Tuesday evening.
I decided to say that I called at Liskeet House shortly after 10 o'clock and waited for a few minutes in the outer hall.
Then I went away.
And since that time, perhaps 20 past 10 on Tuesday night, I have not been in either the house or the garden of the circumstances of the tragedy.
I know nothing at all, except what I have heard at this inquest or from the police.
Walter Brooklyn's statement created a sensation, for here was the first hint of a suspicion entertained by somebody as to the real murderer.
Clearly, the police had been keeping something back, something which would incriminate the man who was now giving evidence.
Of course, after interrogating Walter Brooklyn, the police might have discovered their suspicions to be groundless
and therefore have said nothing of them.
But if this was so, why had they recalled them in this curious fashion,
and why should Brooklyn go out of his way to draw public attention to himself
and to make certain that his doings would be fully canvassed in the newspapers?
No, the way in which he had been recall showed that the police were acting with a definite purpose.
They were trying to get Walter Brooklyn to make a statement which would clearly incriminate him,
and if they really had evidence of his presence in the house, they had certainly succeeded.
This explanation, natural and largely correct as it was, was not quite a fair account of Superintendent Wilson's motives.
His object had been not merely to get Walter Brooklyn to incriminate himself,
but also to give him a chance of clearing himself
if he could give a satisfactory explanation
of his presence in the house.
The fact that the man had repeated on oath
an obvious lie seemed to him
a good enough reason for ordering an arrest.
He nodded across the court to the inspector.
But the coroner's court had not yet quite done
with Walter Brooklyn.
A jury man, quick to be influenced
by the general suspicion which was abroad,
signified his desire to ask a question.
Where did you go after leaving Liskeed house?
He rapped out.
the coroner interposed.
Since that question has been asked, he said,
perhaps it would be well if you would give us
an account of your movements on Tuesday night.
Walter Brooklyn seemed to think for a minute before replying.
Well, he said,
I strolled about for a bit round Piccadilly Circus and Shaftersbury Avenue
and then I went home to the club.
At what time did you reach your club?
I should guess it was shortly before midnight.
That is considerable time after you left Leskeed house.
I'm merely telling you what happened.
The club porter could probably confirm the time of your return?
Yes, I imagine so.
And is there anyone who would be able to substantiate your account of what you did between 10-15 and midnight?
Were you strolling about all that time?
Yes, I suppose I was.
Why you were alone?
Yes.
Then there is no one who could confirm your story?
Probably not.
But I did meet one or two people I knew.
none of them is here now no do you decide that the inquest should be adjourned in order that they may be called no what on earth for i don't know whether i could find them anyway then i think there is nothing further i need ask you and with that a good deal bivalred walter brooklyn was told to leave the witness box he went back to his seat but a minute later got up and left the court many pairs of eyes followed him as he walked slowly towards the door and the more experienced spectators nudged
to one another as Inspector Blikey rose quickly in his place and went out after him.
Joan, in a place in the court, saw her stepfather leave, but she did not notice that the inspector
had followed. Ellery, who did notice, said nothing, for though he realized what was about
to happen, he saw that there was no means of preventing the arrest. Meanwhile, the corona was
rapidly summing up the evidence. Murder, he told the jury was clearly established in both cases,
and they need have no hesitation as to their verdict on that point.
But who had committed the murders?
If they were satisfied that in either case the evidence established the guilt of some definite person,
it was their duty to bring in a verdict against that person.
In his opinion, however, the evidence was wholly inadequate to form the basis of any positive conclusion.
It might be that John Princep had been killed by George Brooklyn,
the finding of the handkerchief and his known visit to the house were certainly suspicious circumstances.
It might be, on the other hand, that George Brooklyn had been killed by John Princep.
The note and prince's writing found in the temple, the cigar holder and his known presence in the garden were all grounds for suspicion.
But both these sets of clues could not point to the truth, and the jury had no means of determining on which the greater reliance should be placed.
Indeed, both sets of clues might be misleading, and certainly neither was by itself enough to form the basis of a verdict.
The murders might both be the work of some third person, and one of them must be the work of a third person.
but no evidence had been placed before them which would justify a verdict against any particular person.
Suspicion, he would remind them, was a very different thing from proof,
and even with their suspicions, they must not be too free in face of the very slender evidence before them.
After the coroner summing up, it was clear that only one verdict was possible.
After only a moment's consultation, the foreman announced that their verdict in both cases
was willful murder by some person or persons unknown.
The coroner made a short speech thanking everyone and the court adjourned.
John was glad to breathe fresh air again after a first experience of the suffocating atmosphere of a court.
By this time, Walter Brooklyn was safe under lock and key.
As he reached the door of the court half an hour earlier, he felt a touch on his sleeve
and turning saw Inspector Blikey immediately behind him.
Well, what do you want now? he said sullenly.
The inspector beckoned him into a corner and there showed him the warrant duly made out for his arrest.
Walter Broklin glanced at it.
For a moment, he drew himself up to his full height and grasped his stick tightly
as if he were considering the prospects of a mad struggle for liberty.
Then he gave a short laugh.
I'll come with you, he said.
And then he added suddenly, with a fury, the more impressive, because its utterance was checked.
You damned little fool of a policeman.
Come, come, Mr. Brooklyn, said the inspector.
I'm only doing my duty.
Walter Brooklyn made no reply, and the inspector added,
Are you ready now?
Call a taxi, said Walter.
I suppose you will not walk me handcuffed through the streets,
he added bitterly.
Certainly not, said the inspector,
and he hailed a passing taxi
and signed to his prisoner to get in.
A small crowd had collected by this time
and stood gaping on the payment as a taxi drove away.
The end of chapter 13.
Chapter 14 of the Brooklyn murders.
This Libre Walk's recording is in the public domain.
Read by Yoganand.
The Brooklyn Murders
By G.D.H. Cole
Chapter 14
Mainly a love scene.
John had fully intended to see her stepfather before the inquest
and to warn him of his danger and get him to tell the truth to her at least.
When Ellery came to visit her on the Thursday afternoon, the inquest was on Friday,
she had been on the point of setting out for his club,
with the set purpose of making him tell her the whole story.
just before dinner time she knew
was a most likely hour for finding him
at home. There would probably be difficulty
in persuading him to talk freely
even to her but she thought that
she would know how to manage him.
It was still too early to start however
and she had ample time to see
Ellery first. A talk with him
was just what she wanted.
He would sympathise with her and she was
sure he was just a man to help her
where Carter Woodman had failed.
He would throw himself into the case
and aid her to find out what she ought to do
in order to clear a stepfather of the suspicion which lay upon him.
Since a talk with Woodman, she had come to realize fully how grave that suspicion was,
but she was sure that Bob, she and Ellery, had called each other by their Christian names,
ever since they were children, would not only take a word for it that Walter Brooklyn could not possibly be guilty of the crimes,
but be ready to use his wits and time in proving the suspected man's innocence.
She did not quite tell herself that he would do all this because he was in love with her,
but neither did she quite admit to herself that she would not have asked him unless she had been in love with him.
There was some embarrassment, of which Joan was fully conscious in Robert Elri's manner as he rose to greet her.
I hope I'm not in the way, he said awkwardly, blushing as he said it.
My dear Bob, I'm so glad you have come.
I've been pining for someone to whom I could really talk.
I wasn't at all sure whether I ought to come.
I thought you might prefer to be alone, and you must have your hands very much.
full with Sir Vernon. Of course I would have come sooner if I had thought you wanted me. Again
Ellery colored. I want you now anyway, and it isn't simply that I want to talk. I want to do
something and I want your help. To help John, what thing better could Ellery have asked for?
He would do anything in the world to help her. But what sort of help did she need? He longed to
tell her that he was hers to command in any way she chose because he loved her. But all he found
himself saying was, I say that's awfully jolly of you. To let me help you, I mean, conscious of
the banality of the words, even as he spoke them. John went straight to the point. Bob, the police
suspect my stepfather of being mixed up with this horrible affair. In fact, I'm sure they actually
think he's actually guilty of murder. They've got hold of something that seems to incriminate
him. Elry made an inarticulate noise of sympathy. Of course, Bob, you and I, no, he didn't do
it. You do think he couldn't have done it, don't you?
It would certainly never have occurred to me to suspect him.
Of course, he's quite innocent.
It's all some horrible mistake.
He couldn't have done such a thing.
But I want you to help me prove he didn't.
My dear John, are you quite sure the police really suspect him?
Of course, they have to make inquiries about everybody.
Why, I was quite under the impression that they suspected me.
Suspect you?
How dreadful.
What do you mean?
Well, I had a most inquisitorial visit from the police this morning.
and a man in obvious police boots has been following me about all day, he spoke lightly,
but John took what he said very seriously indeed.
My dear Bob, she said, that is positively awful.
But why ever should anyone think you had anything to do with it?
Oh, just because I failed to give a satisfactory explanation.
I think that is what they call it, of my movements on Tuesday night.
You know, I walked home after dinner.
Well, I wandered round a bit and didn't get home till midnight.
So they argue that I had plenty of time to kill half a dozen people
and insist that I must either prove an alibi or take the consequences.
What do you say? Do you think I did it? My dear Bob, don't joke about it.
It is far too serious if the police are going to drag you into this terrible business.
No, really, it isn't serious at all, now at any rate.
I'm in a position fortunately to produce a conclusive alibi.
You see, I wasn't alone, and I found the chap who was with me most of the time
and sent him round to Scotlandia to tell them it's all right.
I expect the gentleman with boots will be out of a job before long.
You're sure it's really all right?
Of course it is.
Or I shouldn't have said a word about it.
And I dare say what you have heard about the police suspecting old Walter isn't a bit more serious.
Oh, but it is.
From their point of view, I'm afraid they have a very strong case.
And John told him all that she knew.
Both what she had heard about Carrie's lying from Marianne Brooklyn
and what Carter Woodman had told her.
Finally, she told Ellery that she had made up a mind to go at once to her stepfather
and tried to make him tell her the truth.
As John told her story,
Ellery could not help saying to himself that it looked bad for old Walter.
He did not know Walter Brooklyn very well,
but all he did know was unfavorable and he had never heard anyone,
even John herself, say a good word for him.
Left to his own reflections,
Ellery would not have hesitated to suspect Walter Brooklyn of murder,
for he realized at once that the wicked uncle had everything to gain
by putting his two nephews out of the way.
But John knew the man and he did not.
If John was positive, that was good enough for him.
He was so completely under influence
that the idea that Walter Brooklyn was guilty was dismissed
almost as soon as it was entertained.
Ellery would make it his business to get Walter Brooklyn cleared.
He would work for the old beast with the feeling that he was working for John himself.
entering at once into John's plan, he applauded a determination to go and see a stepfather
and placed himself unreservedly at her service.
"'Your idea,' she said.
While they had been discussing Walter Brooklyn's story, Ellery's embarrassment had quite left him.
But these words of Jones, and a look as she spoke them, brought it back in double force.
He felt the blood rushing to his head and became uncomfortably aware that he was going red in the face.
also he could not take his eyes off Joan
and somehow it seemed that she could not take her eyes off him
they gazed at each other with something of fear
and something of embarrassment in their looks
and each was conscious of a heart beating more and more insistently with him
for at least a minute neither of him spoke
then Ellery said one word and put out his hand towards her
Joan he said and his voice sounded to him strange and unreal
He felt her hand grasp him, almost fiercely, and an acute sensation.
It has no name ran right through him at the touch.
In an instant, her head was in his shoulder and his arms were round her.
She was sobbing and his cheek was caressing hers.
Poor darling, he said at last.
John had meant that talk with Robert Ellery to be so practical,
so entirely the opening of a business partnership.
She and Bob were to clear a stepfather together
and when they had done that, who knew what might come after?
But there was to be no intrusion of sentiment
until the work in hand was completed.
In the event, things had not gone off at all, as she intended.
From the moment of his coming,
she had felt a sense of danger,
something poignant yet intensely welcome in their meeting.
This feeling had been dispelled for the time
while she told him a tale,
and she had half said to herself that now she was safe.
Then in a moment, security had vanished
a sense of tension had come back far more strongly than before she had felt herself merely a passive thing
as she was another passive thing in the control of great elemental forces beyond herself.
Without a word said it seemed a marriage had been arranged.
There was indeed no need for words between them on this matter of matters that had joined
them indissolably together.
They were sitting now on the couch holding each other's hands.
They could talk business, speak of what must be done to clear Walter Brooklyn,
while with the contact of their bodies love interpenetrated them.
And Joan could say to herself Alderty that this most unbusiness-like proceeding
was the best stroke of business she had ever done.
For the immediate purpose she had in view, it had immensely strengthened their partnership.
For these twain had become one flesh, and what was nearer, heart needs must be near his soul.
As he sat there together, they formed their plan of campaign.
It was obviously impossible to make a beginning until Joan had done a best to make Walter
Brooklyn tell what he knew. If he were to refuse, their task would be so much the harder.
But even the hardest task now seemed easy to them with the power of their love behind them.
Whatever his attitude might be, they would still be ready to do their best for him.
But surely he would tell Joan. There was no time to be lost. He must be seen at once,
and Ellery is set to work to advise Joan about the questions he ought to ask.
It seems clear enough that he was in the house. I suppose he'll be able to explain that.
but we mustn't be content with getting just his explanation of what he was doing here.
Try to find out exactly what he did and where he went that day.
We may need to be able to account for every minute of his time.
Joan said that she quite saw how every detail mattered.
If he would tell her anything, he would probably be willing to tell the whole story.
At all events, she would do her best.
It would be wisest, they agreed for her to go alone.
For Walter Brooklyn would very likely refuse to talk,
if Ellery were with her.
But he would walk round to the club with her
and wait while she tried to get her stepfather to see her.
So John and Ellery walked round to the Byron Club together.
There was a strange pleasure,
quite unlike anything they had known before,
in merely walking side by side.
They belonged to each other now.
But the answer to Ellery's inquiry of the club porter was that
Mr. Broklin was out
and that he had left word he might not return to the club that night.
John did not at all like the expression on the porter's face
as he gave this information.
She saw that he had at any rate
had strong suspicions,
presumably put into his mind by the police,
asked whether he could say
where Mr. Brooklyn was,
the porter did not know.
He might perhaps be at his other club,
the sanctum, in Paul Mall.
Or again, he might not.
He had not said where he was going.
Inquiries at the other club were equally barren.
Mr. Walter Brooklyn had not been there that day.
He might come in or he might not.
And again, Joan saw from the porter's,
manner that here too her stepfather was under suspicion of murder.
John left at each club a message asking Walter Brooklyn to ring her up at Liskeed House
immediately he came in. This was all that could be done for the moment and to Liskeed House
they returned, having suffered a check at the outset of their quest. Ellery promised to spend the
evening scouring London for traces of Walter Brooklyn and in the mind of each was the half-formed
thought that he might have fled rather than reveal what he knew. Each knew that the other
feared this, but neither put the thought into words. They arranged to meet again on the following
morning, and Ellery was to ring up her later in the evening to report whether he had traced
Walter, and to hear whether any message had come to Joan from either of the clubs. Then, after
the manner of lovers, they bade each other farewell a dozen times over, each farewell more lingering
than the last. At length, Ellery went, for he was due at Scotland Yard, where he hoped to find
that his alibi had been accepted, and the last trace of suspicion removed from the last trace of suspicion
removed from him. It would be awkward to be followed about by the man in police boots wherever he
went with Joan, and it would be awkward to have the police know exactly what they were doing
in Walter Brooklyn's interest. The police boot had followed John and him on their visits to the
two clubs, and now, as he left Liskeed house, Ellery saw their owner leaning against a lamp post
opposite and gazing straight at the front door. Never, he thought, at a man looked more obviously
a detective, or rather a policeman in plain cloths. Even a power.
from the boots, he was labelled
policemen all over from his measured stride
to the tips of his waxed moustache.
As Ellery turned down into Piccadilly,
he heard the man coming along behind him.
The end of chapter 14.
Chapter 15 of the Brooklyn murders.
This library box recording is in the public domain.
Read by Yoganand.
The Brooklyn Murders by G.D.H. Co.
Chapter 15.
to and fro
It was by a fortunate accident
that Ellery had been able
so soon to establish his alibi
After drawing blank at the Chelsea Arts Club
He had had very little of an idea
Where he should try next
He was almost certain that it was there
He had been introduced to the man
And the only course seemed to be that of waiting
Until he returned up again
Or his name somehow came back to mind
Still it was just possible
That Elery had met the man at his other club
in the Adelphi and he got on a bus and went there to pursue his inquiries. His success was no better,
although he remained there to lunch and made persistent inquiries of his fellow members for an actor
whose name began with an F. The afternoon found him walking rather disconsolately down the strand,
not at all certain where to go next. Just outside the Golden Cross Hotel, Fortune did him a good
turn, for he ran straight into the very man he was looking for. Elie turned back with him and explained
the difficulty he was in, and his acquaintance,
promised to go at once to Scotland Yard and tried to set matters right with Inspector Gibbs.
He was so friendly that Ellery had some difficulty in admitting that he had forgotten his name,
but he got round to it by asking for his address in case of need.
The other's answer was to hand him a card on which was written,
William Gloucester, Levin, Denzel Street, SW3.
Of course, said Ellery to himself, but it didn't begin with an F after all.
This meeting put Ellery at his ease, and he felt that he could now go,
and see Joan with a clear conscience.
Leaving Gloucester to go to Scotland Yard and asking him to tell the inspector that he would come round later,
he set off a liskid house and found himself charged with the task of clearing, not himself but Walter Brooklyn.
He also found himself engaged to be married.
These events made it all the more essential to make quite sure that the police were no longer inclined to look on him with suspicion.
And on leaving Joan, he went straight to Scotland Yard and was soon received not by Inspector Gibbs
but by Superintendent Wilson, who, having received the inspector's report on Gloucester's visit,
had made up his mind to have a look at Ellery himself.
The superintendent at once put him at his ease by telling him that his explanation
and his friend's corroboration of it appeared to be quite satisfactory.
Ellery's reply was to say that, in that case, perhaps he might be relieved of the presence
of the heavy-footed individual who had been following him about all day.
The superintendent laughed.
Yes, I think we can find something more useful for him to do, he said.
I hope you have not resented, ah, shall I say, attentions?
We were bound to keep an eye on you until we were certain,
and the superintendent at once gave instructions on the house phone
that the man who had been watching Ellery need do so no longer,
but should report to him in a few minutes in his room.
Elery assured him that it was quite all right,
but that he was glad to be relieved of the man
because he wanted to do a little private detecting on his own.
I know you people have got your knife into Walter Brooklyn,
but I'm sure he had nothing to do with it, and I mean to do my best to find out who had.
Ellery said this deliberately in the hope of getting the superintendent to show something of his hand,
but that very official merely wished him luck, for we policemen, he said,
are always glad to have a man's character cleared, though you may not think it, and politely bowed him out.
So far as he could see, no one followed him as he left the building, and he went back to Liskeed House.
He had said that he would phone, but he found it quite beyond his power to keep him.
away. Joan was busy with Sir Vernon when he arrived, but she came to him before long. No message
had come from Walter Brooklyn, and she was getting anxious. Was it possible that he had been
arrested already? Ellery promised to make inquiries, and to use every possible effort to find
her stepfather. But though he tried that evening every place he could think of, in which Walter
Brooklyn might be, no trace of him could be found, and there was no sign that he had been arrested.
Resumed inquiries early the next morning were equally fruitless. Brooklyn had not
been back to either of his clubs and no message had been received from him. It was under these
circumstances that Joan failed to see a stepfather before the inquest opened. She was greatly relieved
to see that he was present and promising herself that she would talk to him as soon as it was over.
She did nothing while the inquest was actually in progress. She passed a note to him,
asking him to come round and see her at Liskeed House immediately the court rose and he nodded to her
and reply across her room. She therefore felt no anxiety when he rose and left him. He left
his seat before the proceedings came to an end.
Thus it came about that he was arrested without her having a chance to ask him to tell his story of
the events of Tuesday night.
The explanation of Walter Brooklyn's absence was simple enough.
By Thursday, life at his club had been made unendurable for him by the manner and
evidence of the club servants.
He became conscious that his fellow members were also talking about him and he decided to go
away.
He had been summoned to appear at the inquest on the following morning, but he could at least
have a quiet night before returning to his troubles. While Joan and Ellery were hunting London for
him, Walter Brooklyn was doing himself well at a hotel in Medinhead. He had intended to return there
after seeing Joan, but the inspector's hand on his shoulder warned him that he would sleep the coming
night in jail. At Wine Street, Brooklyn asked to be allowed to see a solicitor. The request was
at once granted and in response to an urgent message, Mr. Fred Thomas of New Court arrived within
half an hour. Thomas was not Brooklyn's regular solicitor, for Carter Woodman had managed most of his
business affairs. But Thomas was a club acquaintance and a man about town himself, professionally a lawyer
with few illusions and a large, if rather, disreputable practice, mainly among racing men.
Walter Brooklyn's first idea was that Thomas should make an effort to get him admitted
to bail when he was brought up before the magistrate next morning, and he mentioned the names
of several persons who might be prepared to stand surety for him.
But Thomas at once destroyed his herbs.
There was no chance, he said, of securing bail on a charge of murder.
He was afraid his client would have to make up his mind to stay where he was for the present.
At any rate, Thomas would see to it that he was made as comfortable as could be.
There were ways of doing these things, and Thomas was an expert hand at dealing with the police.
What he could do would be done.
But the main thing was for his client to give him every fact that could possibly be helpful in preparing the defense.
they began to discuss the case.
Meanwhile, Ellery, who had guessed at once the reason why the inspector had followed Walter
Brooklyn out of the coroner's court, had not been idle.
He had left his place a minute or two later, merely whispering to John that there was something
he must do at once.
He had come out of the court just in time to see the inspector and Walter Brooklyn get
into a taxi and drive off.
Hailing another taxi, he had told the driver to follow, and his car had drawn up at Wine
Street police station a moment after the other.
He had seen Brooklyn and the inspector pass into the building
and had then paid his driver and stood disconsolately outside wondering what he should do.
Finally, he went into the station and asked for Inspector Blackie, sending in his card.
He was kept waiting for some minutes and then the inspector came to him and asked what he wanted.
You have arrested Mr. Walter Brooklyn, have you not?
Elery asked.
The inspector replied that he had.
Is it possible for someone to come and see him?
I suppose he'll be here overnight.
The inspector shook a said.
"'He'll be here for the night,' he said.
"'But you can't see him.
"'He has already sent for his lawyer.
"'I don't want to see him myself.
"'But his step-daughter, Miss Cooper, is very anxious to have a talk with him.
"'Oh, that's another matter.
"'It might be arranged.
"'I don't see it could, but it might.
"'The right courts would be for her to see his lawyer
"'and for him to apply on her behalf.
"'I couldn't do anything on my own responsibility.
"'Then if I brought her here, you couldn't allow her to see him?
"'No, I'm afraid I couldn't.
"'The regulation's not.
a very strict. Eleary tried
to move the inspector. He failed, but
he was not inclined to give up hope.
He went straight to Scotland Yard
and asked for Superintendent Wilson.
Reminding that official that
earlier in the day, he had wished him
luck in his effort to clear Walter Brooklyn,
Ellery obtained without difficulty
permission for Joan to see him in his cell.
Armed with a sign permit, he drove
straight to Liskeet House. He phoned
John with his guardian, Harry Lucas,
who had brought her back in his car
from the court. Lucas, too,
had seen the inspector leave the court and had guessed his purpose. He had also guessed
Ellery's object in leaving a moment later. In the car, he had already told Joan what he feared,
and they had agreed that the best thing was to go back to Liskeet House and wait for news.
Walter Brooklyn would come there if he was still a free man. And if not, Ellery would
either come or telephone to tell Joan what had happened. John therefore received Ellery's
bad news without surprise, and she gave him a grateful kiss. She had told Lucas of the arrangement
while they were waiting.
When he showed her the permit to visit his stepfather,
Lucas' car was at the door,
and he offered to take John round at once.
He took the driver's seat himself,
telling his chauffeur to wait his turn,
and Joan and Ellery got in behind.
The end of chapter 15.
Chapter 16 of the Brooklyn Murders.
This Libby Box recording is in the public domain.
Read by Yoganand.
The Brooklyn Murders by G.D.H. Cole.
Chapter 16
A Link in the Chain
Fred Thomas came away a good deal dissatisfied from his discussion with his client.
Walter Brooklyn, he felt, had given him little enough to go upon.
He persisted in affirming that he had not been in Liskeed House that night
and in denying absolutely that he had either rung up his club
and given a message or left his walking-strick in Prince's room.
Yet, surely Thomas argued the police,
if they had proceeded to the drastic step of an arrest, must have some definite proof that he had been in the house, or at any rate some clear indication of his complicity.
He did not believe that his client was being frank with him, and while he had not said this outright, a hint of what he thought had produced a violent outburst of bad temper from Brooklyn,
and almost caused him to tell his legal advisor to clear out and come back no more.
This had served to confirm Thomas's idea that Brooklyn was lying and his thought, as he went away, was that if he tried again,
probably Brooklyn would tell him the truth when he cooled down and came to realize more fully what his position was.
In his experience, imprisonment had a wonderfully sobering effect.
Meanwhile, Thomas made up his mind to see Carter Woodman and tried to find out from him more definitely how matters stood.
Woodman, presumably, would want Walter Brooklyn to get off, even if he believed him to be guilty.
He would probably not want a member of the Brooklyn family to be convicted of murder, whatever the truth might be.
Thomas had not long left Walt Brooklyn when Joan arrived to see him.
She had come into the police station alone, leaving Lucas and Ellery outside in the car to wait for a return.
While they waited, Ellery told his guardian more about his engagement to Joan and received from him very hearty congratulations.
You didn't take my advice, my boy, Lucas said.
But now the things have come out right, I'm most heartily glad that you didn't.
I've hoped for this for a long time.
I'm very fond of you both, and I can see there's no doubt about your being fond of each other,
which was very pleasant hearing for Ellery, for he had a great liking for his guardian,
and he knew that his friendly countenance would be likely to stand him in good stead with Sir Vernon, Brooklyn,
of whom he was more than a little afraid.
You must back me up with Sir Vernon, he said, and Lucas readily promised his help.
It was three-quarters of an hour before John came out of the police station.
she seemed well satisfied, smiling back at the policeman who accompanied her to the door.
He has told you, asked Elri, as he held open the door of the car.
What he had to tell, Joan replied.
It was not very much.
But it makes everything different.
Let us go back and talk it over.
Lucas drove straight back to Liskeed House, and there in Joan's room the three held a consultation.
He was not here at all, she told him.
I mean, he did not come back to the house on Tuesday night.
The telephone message must be all.
a mistake. Do you mean that he knows nothing at all about it? asked Ellery. I'm quite sure that he knows
nothing. He has told me exactly what he did after leaving here and up to the time when he went back
to his club. You may think I ought not to ask this, Joan, said Lucas. But are you quite sure of
what you say? Absolutely sure. He was telling me the truth, I know. Then I suppose, Eleary put in,
we can produce witness to prove that he was somewhere else when he was supposed to be here. But who the
devil did send that telephone message if he did not. Lucas put in a word. Never mind that for the moment.
The main thing now is to prove that he did not send it. Who was with him and where was he?
Ah, that's just the difficulty. He has told me exactly where he went, but I don't see how we can find
anyone to prove it. Do you mean that he was alone all the time and no one saw him? asked Elry.
Well, not quite that, but something very like it, I'm afraid. Then John was a lot.
to tell a story. Walter Brooklyn, after being refused an interview with Sir Vernon, had left
Liskeed House at about a quarter past ten. He had stopped for a minute or two outside the
Piccadilly theatre, wondering what to do next. Then he had walked slowly along Piccadilly and into the
circus. There again, he had hung about for a few minutes and had then gone slowly along Coventry
Street as far as Leicester Square. He had walked round the square and outside the Alhambra had stopped
for a few minutes to talk to a woman of his acquaintance. Not at all a nice woman.
I'm afraid. And he knows no more about her than that her name is Kitty and that she's often to be found about there.
He doesn't even know her surname. It was about a quarter to 11 when he met her.
Then he had gone on past the hippodrome and up charing cross road as far as Cambridge Circus.
He had stopped for a few minutes outside the palace but had not spoken to anyone and then he had walked on Shaftersbury Avenue and back into Piccadilly Circus.
In Cambridge Circus he had lighted a cigar with his last match
but it had gone out.
Just outside the Monaco he had stopped a man he did not know.
Fellow came out of the place.
He looked like a waiter, don't you know?
And had borrowed a match and relighted his cigar.
Then he had crossed the circus again and walked back down picketily
as far as a turning leading to Liskeed house.
He had half a mind he said to go in and ask to see Princeip.
But after hanging about for a few minutes,
he had given up the idea, crossed the road and walked down St.
Strait with the idea of looking in at his other club.
But he had decided not to go in and had walked past the door down Pal Mall and into Trafalgar Square.
At the top of Whitehall, he had looked at his watch and the time had been 1145.
Just before that, he had hung over the parapet on the National Gallery side of the square for a minute or two,
but he had no conversation with anyone.
On leaving the square, he turned up Regent Street and made his way,
walking a good deal faster along German Street, and up St. James Street,
and so back to his club in Piccadilly.
He had thus again passed Liskeet Street but on the opposite side of the road.
When he got in he had gone straight to bed.
This account of Walter Brooklyn's movements was quite convincing to John and a two listeners,
but they had to admit that there was not much in it to persuade others of its truth.
According to his own account, he must have been in the neighbourhood of Liskeed House at 11.30
when the phone message was supposed to have been sent,
and not one of his movements between 10-15 and midnight seemed to be at all easy to,
to confirm by any independent testimony.
When Joan had finished a narrative, they all felt that
if Walter Brooklyn's vindication was to depend on an alibi,
his chances were not particularly good.
Still, if he had not been in the house,
the police could, after all, have very little against him beyond a suspicion.
At this point, Mary Woodman came into the room to say that Sir Vernon would be very pleased
if Mr. Lucas would come and sit with him for a while,
and Lucas, promising to obey her order, to be very quiet and not allow the patient
to excite himself was led off to the sick room.
I tell you what, John, said Elery, who had been sitting still,
with a prodigious frown on his face, trying to think the thing over.
We have jolly well got to establish that alibi.
We don't know what else the police may have,
but we are safe enough if we can prove that he wasn't here that evening.
Unless we can establish positively that he wasn't there,
the circumstantial evidence will go down with a jury.
But how can we establish it?
I only wish we could.
We are going to.
We are going to find those people he spoke to,
and we are going to hunt London for people who saw him strolling about.
After all, he is very well known, and lots of people must have seen him.
I know we shall be able to prove he is telling the truth.
You are a dear to say, sir, and I don't see what we can do, but try.
How do you propose to set about it?
First of all, I propose that we make a map of the warn rings of Ulysses, shall we call it?
showing exactly where he went, whom he spoke to and when and so on.
That'll help us to see exactly what's the best way of getting to work.
So, Ellery took a sheet of paper and they sat down side by side at the table.
Under Joan's directions, Ellery made a map of Walter Brooklyn's journeyings on Tuesday evening.
It took an hour to do and this is what it looked like when it was done
with notes to help them in prosecuting their inquiries.
It isn't very hopeful, I'm afraid, said John, as he looked together,
at the finished plan, but I'm afraid it is all we have to go upon. Not quite all, I hope. Did he tell you
what the man he spoke to looked like? I mean the chap who gave him a match outside the monico? Yes,
he was a tall, dark man, clean-shaven, and very blue in the chin, wearing a long black overcoat
and a squash hat, and he almost certainly had some trouble of the eyes. He wore glasses, but he kept
blinking all the time behind them. That ought to help. Now, about this woman, Kitty, what
she like. He says she's about
40, but dresses and pains
to look younger. She's getting
fat, has bright golden hair,
certainly dyed, and wears a great
many rings. She's fairly tall
and walks with a bit of a waddle.
Eyes are dark and piercing,
he says, and has a smile that looks
as if it was switched on and off
like an electric light. I must
say she doesn't sound attractive.
But he says she is,
extraordinarily. And what's more?
She's very well known.
He has heard a other name, but he can't remember.
He thinks she has had several surnames.
That seems to be all we can get to start with.
What I propose to do is to follow his stepfather's route,
trying to find someone who saw him at each point where he stopped.
Yes, but you can leave a bit of it to me.
We know that Marianne and Helen and Carter all saw him coming here at a few minutes past ten,
and the servants here say he left it about a quarter past.
He tells me he stopped outside the theatre just after that.
if so someone very likely saw him.
I'll see about that, and I'll try to find out as well
whether anyone saw him passing again later.
He must have passed at about 11.20 or half past.
I mean when he stood at the corner of Bliskeet Street,
and again just before 12 on his way back to the club.
Very well, you take this end, and I'll follow the rest of his wandrinks.
And there's no reason why I shouldn't get to work at once.
It'll be best to go over the ground in the evening, just as he did.
they sat and talked of the case for a while longer,
and then they sat for a time without talking at all,
happy in each other's presence,
despite the tragedy in which they were involved.
At length, Ellery started up,
saying that he must go out and get some dinner,
and then go to work seriously.
And by the way, John, he added,
Why shouldn't you come out and have dinner with me?
I'm sure Mary would look after Sir Vernon.
My dear boy, does it occur to you
that I have left him to himself for a good long time already,
or rather left poor Mary alone to look after him.
I couldn't have done it if Marian had not promised to come in and help.
I'm sure Mary wouldn't mind, Ellery began pleading with her to come.
Oh, of course, Mary is an angel.
She never minds anything, but that's no reason why she should be put upon.
No, my boy, you go and have your bachelor dinner, and I'll get winter to send me up an egg.
May not I share the egg?
Certainly not. Get along with you.
and Joan sped a lover on his way
with a taste of her kiss fresh on his mouth.
It seemed a profanation to eat anything after that,
but all the same, while Joan ate her egg
and then took a turn in watching over Sir Vernon,
Elery, seated alone in the grill room at Hatchit,
was making a very solid and satisfactory meal.
Somehow love seemed to give one an appetite,
he reflected, as he lighted a cigar.
Then he set forth upon his quest,
walking slowly down picketily towards the circus.
He had no fixed plan of action,
As he put it to himself, he was following the route Walter Brooklyn had taken and just keeping his eyes open in the hope that something might turn up.
Nothing did turn up till he reached Piccadilly Circus.
There, as he knew, Walter Brooklyn had hung about for a few minutes, but had spoken to no one.
The quest certainly did not seem to be hopeful.
Piccadilly Circus was crowded with people, some hurrying this way or that in pursuit of some definite object,
other standing or strolling about as if they had nothing to do, and nowhere in particular.
to go. The Flava women, who sit on the island in the middle of the circus in the daytime,
had already left their post and would presumably have done so on Tuesday before Walter Brooklyn
took that disastrous walk. But before long, Ellery picked out two persons who remained at fixed spots
while the rest of the crowd changed from minute to minute. The one was a policeman regulating the
traffic and the queues at the point where the bus is stopped by the island. The other was a night
watchman in his little hut, keeping guard over a piece of the roadway which was under repair.
These were the most likely of all the crowd to have been there on Tuesday night
and with them he determined beginner's inquiries.
The policeman was quickly disposed of.
He had not been on duty on Tuesday but a little persuasion and tangible form
soon secured the name of the constable who had
and the news that he had only been kept away that night by a misadventure
and would be on duty again the following night.
Ellery made a note of the name and said to himself that he must see the other policemen later.
For the present he strolled over towards a watchman
whom he found reading a tattered book in his little cabin by the light partly of the lamps and sky signs,
and partly though it was a warm summer evening of a blazing fire in a pail.
He was a little old man with a pair of steel spectacles which had carved a deep rut in his nose
and he seemed to be reading with extraordinarily concentrated attention.
Ellery managed to see what the book was. It was Sato Rosatus.
The man was clearly a scholar and probably a homely philosopher of the working class.
It seemed best to use the opening which Providence had provided.
That's a fine book you have got there, said Elery, casting his mind back to the days at school.
When he at first and last read his Sato,
only to forget all about it and Carlisle as he reached years of discretion.
The little man peered up at him over his glasses.
It is the book for me, he said.
That Carlisle said, he was a man.
I dare say you managed to read a great deal at your job.
I do that.
You see, I had an accident ten years.
ago. Before that I was a Navi. But that finished me, for heavy work I mean. At least, I was
rushed at this job. The company gave it to me when the doctor said I was fit for life
work. And then it came to me, I'd take up reading like, I hadn't hardly ever opened a book till
then, not since school. I can tell you, it's been a revelation to me. I don't ask nothing better
than to sit here with a good book now, but it isn't often one of you gentlemen seems to notice
what I am reading. The old man spoke slowly and rather as if he was thinking aloud. He seemed
almost to have forgotten that Ellery was there. Perhaps I shouldn't have noticed unless there had
been something I wanted to ask you. A man's life may depend on it and I wanted you help.
The old man peered up at him and a little gleam of excitement came into his eyes. But you only
nodded to Elery to go on. Ellery ended him a photograph of Walter Brooklyn.
On Tuesday night at about half past ten, that man stopped for some minutes on the island in the
middle of the circus here. He's accused of having been somewhere else, and his life may depend
on finding someone who saw him here. What I want to ask is whether you happen to notice him.
The old man thought for a minute before answering, I can't say I did, but I seem to know his
face somehow. Half past ten, you said, then, or then about it must have been. No, I didn't see
him. At half-past ten, I was in here reading, and I didn't notice much, but I know I've seen
the chap somewhere. Wait a minute while I think. Ellery waited. It seemed a long while before the
old man went on. Now, if you had have said half-past eleven, or maybe a quarter-past, I should have
said I saw him. Yes, yes, why, he did cross the circus again at about that time. Then I saw him.
It was like this, you see.
About a quarter past 11 on Tuesday
gets up to walk around the works here
and see if it's all right.
Up there at the corner by Shaftersbury Avenue,
I saw a gentleman.
Very like your gentleman he was,
and smoking a big cigar
come strolling across the road.
Very slowly he was walking.
Seemed as if he was annoyed about something,
waving a stick in the air he was,
as if he was making believe to hit somebody.
I only noticed him because a big motor car
came round suddenly from Regent Street as he was crossing,
and he had to skip.
Came straight into the ropes around the work up there.
I hurried to see if he was all right,
but before I got there, he dusted himself down and walked on.
I'm almost sure he was your man.
I've got a memory of her faces,
and I noticed him particularly,
because he seemed that ratty, if I may say so.
Can you tell me again what time that was?
Not far short of half-past eleven.
Leastways it was after the quarter,
20 or 25 past maybe.
Ellery congratulated himself on an extraordinary stroke of luck.
It was, of course, far more important to establish Walter Brooklyn's presence in Pricadilly Circus between 1115 and 1130, then at 10.30.
But it had seemed impossible to do so.
Someone might have noticed him when he hung about there for several minutes,
but it seemed very unlikely that his mere walking across a circus at the later time could have been confirmed.
By a lucky chance it had been, and the first link in the alibi had been successfully joined.
the next thing was to get the watchman's name and address and to arrange for his appearance if he were called upon.
The old man readily gave the particulars, but when Ellery talked of payment for his services, he refused.
I don't want money for it, he said, not unless I have to appear in court.
Then I'll want my expense the same as another, but I'll tell you what.
If I've done you a good turn, you come here again some night and talk to me about books.
That'll be a lot more to me than what you would give me.
there ain't no one I've got to talk to about what I read.
It'll be a treat to have a talk to a gent like you
what knows all about books and what's inside them.
I'm afraid, said Elery, you do me too much credit.
It's years since I read Carlisle, and I've forgotten most about him,
but I'll come back and lend you some more of him if you wanted.
But I expect you know a lot more about him than I do.
It turned out that what the old man wanted above all else
was a copy of Carlis Cromwell
Ellery promised to bring it
and after a few words more they parted
on the best of terms and Ellery
walked on slowly along Coventry Street
and into Leicester Square
He felt that luck was on his side
The end of chapter 16
Chapter 17
Of the Brooklyn Murders
This Liberty Box recording is in the public domain
Read by Yoganand
The Brooklyn Murders by G.D.H.
Kohl
Chapter 17
The Lovely Lady
To walk round Lester Square in search of the mysterious Kitty
gave Ellery an uncomfortable feeling.
Kitty appeared to belong to a type of lovely lady which had not come much in his way
and his first sensation was one of strong distaste.
Moreover, he very soon realized that the description given to him was not likely to be of
much value.
There seemed to be a whole tribe of Kitty's in the neighbourhood of Lester Square
and Elery liked each one he set eyes on less than the last.
he came speedily on to two conclusions.
First, that he would never spot the right one by means of the description which Walter
Brooklyn had given, and secondly, that it would be quite out of his power to address one
of these ladies, or to do anything but seek refuge in flight, if, as seemed most probable,
one of them attempted to address him.
He tried to overcome this feeling, but it was no use.
Even though no one had yet spoken to him, he turned tail and took refuge in Orange Street
for a few minutes' reflection.
He knew that he could not do it.
Moreover, to walk around Lester Squire addressing strange females by a Christian name,
which might or might not belong to them,
was probably an excellent prelude to adventures of a sort,
but hardly to the gaining of the particular information of which he was in search.
The way to find Kitty was not to hunt for hypothetical needle in a very unpleasant haystack,
but to go straight to someone who is likely to know.
And who would be more likely than Will Jackson,
who was celebrated as the devil of a fellow with women,
and lived moreover in bachelor chambers hardly more than round the corner in Panton Street,
Ellery set off there to find his man.
Jackson had been with Ellery at Oxford, and dissimilar as many of their tastes where they had kept up the acquaintance.
They had in common an intense absorption in the technique of the theatre,
in which Ellery was interested as a young and promising writer of plays,
and Jackson as an equally promising producer.
But Jackson's way of living was very different from his friends.
He was not a vicious man, but he said that,
wise, and still more the shoddy imitation of it which passes current in the London,
Demi Mondt attracted him as a study. He liked watching the game and making little bets with
himself as to its fortunes. It was, he said, a harmless amusement, and of the professors of psychology
based their views largely on a study of the disease of personality, why should not he, a mere
amateur, follow the example? So he passed much of his time among persons whose ways of living
where, to say the least, not in conformity with the dictates of the non-conformist conscience.
It was his pride to know the society underworld, and in particular he was sworn to boast
that he knew the points of all the important lovely ladies of London. It was 10 to 1 that he would
know where to find Kitty. Jackson, fortunately, was in, and Ellery was soon able to explain his
business. He wanted a woman, none too young and getting fat, whose name was Kitty, something or other.
She was, he believed, often to be found round about Lester Squire.
You are the very last man I ever expected to come to me on a quest like that, said Jackson with a laugh.
Now, if it had been Lorimer or Wentworth, but you of all men?
Oh, I know it's all right, and your intentions are strictly honourable.
But do you know that there are at least a dozen kitties, all of them celebrated in their way,
who conform fully to the description you have given me?
How am I to know which one you want?
Ellery repeated his description, giving every detail that had been told him.
The golden dyed hair, the smile that switched on and off like an electric light.
That's not much help.
It's part of the professional equipment, said Jackson.
The dark eyes, the slovenly walk.
The golden hair and the dark eyes helped to narrow the field.
But there are still half a dozen it might be.
All of the fat and forty brigade.
And all of them know better than they should be, according to the world's reckoning.
Five of the six are just the ordinary things.
thing, but the other is something quite out of the common run. She's not what you would call an
honest woman, but she's a very remarkable person for all that. I wonder if it is she you are after.
Tell me about her first. Well, a name, or at least the name she's known by, is Kitty French.
Kitty Lessing it used to be when I first knew her. In those days, she was more or less the
property of a Russian archduke, or something of the sort, or rather he used to be altogether
a property. Then, a year or so ago, he died, and since then she had,
had been rather at a loose end. She's fat and forty, but she's a most fascinating woman,
awfully clever too. Can you get hold of her for me? Yes, I think they know where to find her,
but you'd better understand that she's not at all the ordinary sort of street crawler.
If she is your woman, the description you gave was a bit misleading. She's most often about
with Horace Mandelham, the painter-chap nowadays. Come round to Dukes with me, and I dare say we
shall find her. Ellery knew about Dukes, of course, but he had never been
there. Just at the moment, it was the latest thing in nightclubs in London, and everybody who fancied
himself for herself as a bit in advance of other folk was keen to go there. Ellery was not advanced,
and it took some persuasion to carry him along. He seemed to think that Jackson ought to cut out
his prize for him from under the guns of Dukes and bring her home and tow. But Jackson said he
could find her, but he couldn't possibly bring her. Finally, Elri agreed to go. After all, he
reflected, it was all in the day's work. He had known what sort of
of man Walter Brooklyn was, and he must not complain if the task of clearing up his character
men going into some queer places. Tewks certainly did not rely for its popularity and external
display. It was approached by three flights of narrow and rickety stairs, and the visitors had to
satisfy two rather seedy-looking janitors, not in uniform, a top and bottom. And when they
entered the club itself, Ellery had a still greater surprise. The famous Tewks consisted of one very
long low room, or rather of three long, low attics, which had been immaturously knocked into one.
The decorations were old and faded, and the places where the partitions had been were still
marked by patches of new paper pasted on to hide the wrench in the old.
The ventilation was abominable, and what windows there were did not seem to have been
clean for months.
The furniture, a few cede divans and a large number of common binser chairs and kitchen tables
seemed to have been picked up at secondhand from very inferior dealer.
Tables and floor were stained with countless spillings of food and drink
and a thick cloud of tobacco smoke made it quite impossible to see any distance along the room.
There was only one redeming feature and Ellery's eye fell upon it almost as soon as he entered the place.
Near the door was a magnificent grand piano on which someone was playing really well
an arrangement from Borodine's Prince Igor.
Jackson drew Ellery to a vacant table.
We'll sit down here and order something, and then in a moment or two I'll go around and spy out the land, he said.
From here we shall see anyone who goes out.
And by Joe, there's one of the six kitties, not the one I told you about.
I shouldn't be surprised if we find the whole half-dozen before the evening's out.
Everybody looks in here just now.
Ellery felt very uncomfortable when he was left alone to sip his gin and water, while Jackson went round the room,
exchanging a few words with friends at several of the tables.
But soon and his friend came back to report,
"'No, she's not here now.
"'But I have spotted another kitty for you.
"'I forgot her.
"'She makes the seventh on her list.
"'And you'd better have a word with the two who are here.
"'Bring her drink across,
"'and I'll introduce you to that one over there.
"'She is Kitty Turner,
"'and the chap she is with is a fellow from Bloomsbury,
"'was called Parkinson, a civil servant, I believe.
"'I'll do the talking, most of it.
"'You just ask if she knew Walter Brooklyn
"'when you get a chance.'
"'They drew a blank at the conversation.
Kitty Turner was certainly a very bright lady, laughing immoderately both at her own and at Jackson's jokes,
and it seemed to Ellery a good deal relieved to get a rest from a tet-tat-tete with a gloomy fellow who were sitting by her side.
He, at any rate, seemed to take his pleasure sadly.
Indeed, it struck Ellery, as he looked round the room, that very few of the people were seemed to be really enjoying themselves.
The women were cheerful, but there were something forced about the gaiety of many of them,
and some of the men seemed to need a deal of cheering up.
Ellery found himself wondering why on earth so many people came to this sort of place if they did not even find it amusing.
He, at any rate, was not amused, even as Jackson seemed to be, by regarding the place as a sort of psychological study.
He had come there for a definite purpose, and as soon as he had satisfied himself that Kitty Turner knew nothing of Walter Brooklyn, he was ready to move on.
A signal soon brought Jackson to his feet, and they strolled across a room to try the next Kitty on the list.
Kitty Lawrence and did know Walter Brooklyn
but not to any degree of intimacy
She had met him a few times
And Ellery had rather gathered that in her opinion
He had been less attentive than he should have been to her charms
She had certainly not seen him on Tuesday
Or indeed for weeks past
Ellery liked her even less than the other
For attitude towards him seemed to be strictly professional
And as soon as she was sure that he could not be fascinated
She showed him plainly that the sooner he went away
The better he would please her
Ellery again gave Jackson the signal and they left a table.
They were just discussing whether it was worthwhile to wait a time in the hope that some more kitties might turn up when Jackson said suddenly,
By Joe, here she comes, and alone too. We are in luck.
Ellery turned and saw entering the room a stout, rather coarse-looking woman of about 40 or 45 so far as he could judge through the intervening smoke,
and despite the artificial obstructions which the lady herself had placed in the way of those who might be minded to
inspectorer too closely. He saw at once that she was a person to be reckoned with.
The face was powerful and the pair of keen black eyes which were glancing penetratingly
round the room as if in search of someone were not easily to be forgotten. The figure was
without dignity, but the woman's expression gave it the lie. Certainly she was more likely to
have owned the Russian archduke than to have been owned by him. Jackson left Ellery standing by himself
and went up to her. She greeted him pleasantly. Oh well, I was looking for Harris.
Did you know if he is here?
Jackson replied that he had not seen him
and asked her to join him and his friend while she was waiting.
She agreed and Jackson led her across and made the introduction.
From the moment when he was introduced to Kitty French,
Elery had a feeling that he had found what he wanted.
She was very gracious, but as Jackson introduced her,
she smiled and the coming of her smile was for all the world
as if she had suddenly pressed the switch and turned it on like the electric light.
Both the other kitties had smiles which they turned down and off
at will, but their smiles came into being gradually, whereas this woman smiled and stopped smiling
with quite extraordinary suddenness. Ellery was so sure that she was the right woman, and also,
as he told Jackson afterwards, so sure of a common sense that he plunged straight into
his story. There is something I want to ask you, he said. Indeed, I got Jackson to introduce me
on purpose. You know, Walter Brooklyn, don't you? Your face at once became serious. Yes, I do.
I've just seen the terrible news in the evening paper.
Do you think he can have done it, Mr. Ellery?
I suppose you know him too?
Yes, I know him, and I'm quite sure he had nothing to do with it.
I want you to help prove that I am right.
You saw him on Tuesday night, did you not?
I had quite forgotten it, but I did.
I spoke to him for a minute or two.
I was coming out of the Alhambra with the Horace,
Mr. Mandelheim, that is, and Horace had left me for a minute to look for a taxi.
The old one came up and spoke to me, I remember.
The old one? Is that the name for Walter Brooklyn?
Yes, we used to call him the old rip, but it got shot into the old one.
He goes the pace rather, even now, you know?
I dare say he does.
And of course, that is likely to make him all the worse for him with the jury, if it is a usual sort.
But if he didn't do it, surely he's all right, isn't he?
The fact that you remember meeting him may be the means of saving his life.
Can you tell me at what time that was?
"'Oh, Lord, Mr. Ellery, I never know the time.
It was some time in the evening, fairly early.
We left before the show was over.
Horace would probably know.
Did Mr. Mendelham see Mr. Brooklyn?
Yes, he did.
When he came back, he asked me who it was I had been talking to.
At this point, a new voice struck into the conversation.
Hello, Kitty.
You seem very deep in something.
Haven't you even a word for me?
Why, here's Horace, said Kitty.
I've been waiting for you for us, Horace.
It's really too bad.
But now you come over here and make yourself really useful for a minute.
It's not a thing you do often.
Horace Mandelheim was fortunately quite precise about the time.
They had left the Alhambara a few minutes after half past ten
and he had come back with the taxi just about a quarter to eleven.
Walter Brooklyn had at that moment taken his leave of Kitty friendship.
Yes, that was a man.
He recognized at once a photograph which Elri passed across to him.
He was quite ready to swear to it if it was of any importance.
he had seen the evening paper and knew the chap was in trouble.
A good deal to his surprise, Ellery found that he definitely liked Kitty Frencham,
and before he left he had even promised to go and see her once in a flat in Chelsea,
which, as she told him, was hardly more than round the corner from his own rooms.
She had promised, and had made Mandelham promise as well,
to give every help that could possibly be given in clearing Walter Brooklyn,
although she had made it plain that she did not like him,
and although her reluctance to find herself in a court of law was evident,
enough. Still, she had recognized that she ought to do what she could, and Ellery half believed that a
part of her willingness was due to the fact that he had impressed her favorably. He had come
prepared to spend money in securing the evidence of a lovely lady of unlovely repute. He had
secured the willing testimony of an exceedingly clever, and even to his temperament, a fascinating
woman. Kitty Frencham was certainly not the sort of person to whom money could be offered for such a
service. It puzzled Ellery that such a woman should have, as he put it,
to himself, gone to the bed.
She was worthy of something better than that anemic specimen, Mandelham.
It was by this time too late to do more,
but before going home, Ellery phoned through to Joan,
who was waiting up for a message from him,
and told her briefly what he had accomplished.
The quest, he said, had taken him to some strange places.
He would tell her all about it on the morrow.
Joan, too, had news of a sort,
but she said that it would keep.
Both of them retired for the night,
well pleased with the whistles of their first evening's experience
of practical detective work.
It had been easy going so far, but Ellery said to himself,
Fortune had a most encouraging way of smiling on the beginner.
Probably their troubles were still to come.
The end of Chapter 17.
Chapter 18 of the Brooklyn murders.
This Libby Vox recording is in the public domain.
Read by Yoganan.
The Brooklyn Murders by G.D. H. Cole.
Chapter 18.
The case was the difference.
The more Fred Thomas thought over the case which he had to handle, the less he liked it.
He was certainly not accustomed to be squeamish, and considerably more than his share of rather shady business came his way.
But he did not like these cases of what he called serious crime.
Sharp practice was well enough, but a lawyer engaged in it regularly had best obtained from the defense of murderers.
Thomas had by his time gone into the whole case and was fully aware of the force of the air,
evidence against his client held by the police.
In his mind there was not much doubt of Walter Brooklyn's guilt.
He had obviously been in the house.
The stick and the telephone message showed that.
And what were you to do with a man who would not make a clean breast of it to his own lawyer?
What was the use of his client's reiterated assertions that he had not been near the place
and that he knew nothing at all about the murders?
Indeed, was not a refusal to speak the clearest indication of guilt?
If Brooklyn, though he had been present in the house, had not.
been guilty, surely he would have told what he knew. Still, unsatisfactory as his client was,
he would have to do his best for him. He could not very well throw up the case after he had once
agreed to take charge of it, but he was not hopeful, and for the moment it seemed the best
course to go and talk the whole thing over with Carter Woodman. But when one came to think of
it, was there not yet another indication of the man's guilt? If the man had been innocent, he would
surely have gone, first of all, to the family lawyer. Thomas knew Woodman really slightly and
was not quite sure of his reception, but when he rang up, Woodman readily agreed to see him
and to give all possible help. After all, he had said, the man's a sort of relation of mine,
whatever he may have done, a way of putting the position which did not strengthen Thomas's
belief in the innocence of his client. When Thomas was shown into Woodman's office, he was
surprised with the cordiality of his reception. Woodman was so glad he had come, and they must
worked together to do what they could for the poor fellow, a bit of a bad hat between ourselves,
but for the sake of the family, you know? Thomas went straight to the point. Mr. Brooklyn
positively assures me that he was not in Luskeed house on Tuesday night, and that he knows absolutely
nothing of the murders. Woodman said nothing, but he drummed on the table with his fingers,
and the action conveyed a perfectly clear message. What way to do for a fellow who would not tell
his own lawyer the truth? He says that he simply strolled a boat all the time between ten o'clock
and midnight. Alone? asked
Woodman. Yes, quite alone. Judging
from his story, it would be impossible to obtain
confirmation, even if it were all
true. Then, what
line of defense do you propose to adopt?
It was on that point I wanted your
advice. In the circumstances
and assuming that they remain unchanged,
what can we do but deny the story
and trust your blustering counsel to get him off?
Surely more than that is needed?
Certainly, but what more can be done
unless there is something else that Mr. Brooklyn can tell us.
Look here, Thomas. You can be quite frank with me.
I'm quite sure Brooklyn was in the house, and that he knows all about the murders,
even if he didn't actually commit them. But like you, I want to get him off.
Can't you help me to make him speak?
He doesn't like me, and nothing I could say would have any influence.
If he had been inclined to trust me, he would have sent for me in the first instance.
You will have to make him talk somehow.
But I can tell you what will weigh most heavily against him.
He stands to gain a fortune by these murders, not by either of them singly, but by both together.
It's hard to get over a fact like that as well as the other evidence.
The suggestion of motive is so clear.
And to put it bluntly, his personal character doesn't help matters.
Do you happen to know whether Mr. Brooklyn was pressed for money?
He was always pressed for money, and just lately has been even harder pressed than usual.
He was thrown here on Tuesday
trying all he could to get money from me
and he left me with the express intention
of seeing Prince of him and having another attempt to
raise the wind through him. I know Prince
was determined to refuse and he wasn't a man
to refuse gently either.
What you say makes me feel more than ever
like throwing up the case. I'm not bound to go on if he won't be
frank with me. Don't throw it up. We must give the fellow every chance
it's difficult for you I know but do the best you can.
I expect your idea for good hectoring counsel
is the best that can be managed.
After all, they have no direct evidence.
I'm afraid what they have is good enough.
Oh, you never know with a jury.
What came into my head was that the best possible line of defense
if it can be arranged would be to throw suspicion on someone else,
not enough to do the other person any real damage,
but just enough to create a reasonable doubt.
Woodman made no reply for a moment.
Then he said, that's all very well,
but where do you propose to find the person and the evidence?
First of all, it is surely very probable that George Brooklyn was actually killed by Prince of.
There is good evidence for that, you'll agree.
Good enough to make a case, and it may even be true, though I don't think it is.
Well, I propose to argue strongly that it is true,
and I think we can create enough doubt to make it impossible to convict Mr. Brooklyn on that head.
That leaves a murder of Princep.
Unfortunately, that is just where the evidence against Walter Brooklyn is strongest.
I know it is.
I want you to help me to find someone else who could reasonably be suspected of killing
Princep, never mind the evidence. I'll find that if you'll help me to the person, it won't
need to be enough to do the suspected person any real damage. It isn't as if we wanted to get
anyone convicted. I only want to throw dust in the jury's eyes. I'm sorry, but I can't
help you there, said Woodman shortly. What about the savage? Out of the question. They are as
innocent as you are. What does it matter if they are innocent? Can they be proved so?
Carter Woodman brought his fist down on the table with a bang. Then he said very deliberately,
I am anxious to use all legitimate means of getting Mr. Walter Brooklyn acquitted, but I must tell
you once and for all, Thomas, that I decline to be a party to attempt to throw the guilt on any
innocent persons. My dear fellow, what is the use of talking about legitimate means in a case like
this? You know as well as I do that only illegitimate means.
can give my client a dog's chance.
Then I'm sorry. I can't help you.
With that the interview ended.
Thomas left Woodman's office more firmly than ever convinced of Walter Brooklyn's guilt,
but also determined to follow up a stratagem of shifting the suspicion,
or at least some part of it elsewhere.
The more he thought of the plan, the more it appealed to him.
It wasn't much of a dodge in itself,
but it seemed to offer more hope than anything else in this case.
If the fellow did get hanged after all,
he would have only himself to blame.
Thomas would have done his best.
Following up his line of thought, Thomas made up his mind that first thing to do was to get full information about the servants.
Thus, Walter Brooklyn's legal advisor, though with a very different idea in his mind,
set to work upon an aspect of the case which had already been considered and investigated by the police.
It will be remembered that Inspector Blakey had cross-examined the two men's servants
and that subsequently he and Superintendent Wilson had agreed to have the two men watched,
not that they were much disposed to believe that either of them had anything directly to do with the murders,
but because their complicity or knowledge or even their guilt was just barely conceivable.
Morgan's presence at the house of his friends in Hammersmith on the Tuesday night,
and his return to Liskeed House at about a quarter to 11 had been duly ratified,
but his statement that he had gone straight to bed and remained there until the morning rested wholly on winter's evidence.
There was no reason to suspect this, unless it should turn out that winter was himself,
involved. The police had therefore directed most of the attention to the butler who had
certainly gone up to his room with Morgan at a quarter to 12. Had he stayed there or had he
come down again and played some part in the night's doings? On this point the police could find
no evidence at all. Morgan stated that Winter was in his room in the morning, that his bed
had been slept in and that he rose at his usual hour. But Morgan had slept heavily and he
could not positively say that winter had remained in his room all night. This fact, however, was
no evidence at all against Winter and there had been nothing in his demeanour to suggest that he was in any way concerned.
His past history too seemed to make him a most unlikely criminal.
Accordingly, now that the evidence seemed to point conclusively to the guilt of Walter Brooklyn,
the police, while they still kept some perfectory watch on the two servants,
practically dismissed them from their minds.
Thomas, when he had ascertained the main facts about the two men's servants,
did not for a moment suspect that either of them was guilty,
or think it likely that either had any knowledge of the crimes.
His first step was to ask Walter Brooklyn himself
whether he supposed that either of the servants could throw any light on the matter.
Supposing his client to be at the least fully cognizant of the night's events,
he thought that the question could hardly fail to give him some guidance.
But Walter Brooklyn displayed little interest,
and by doing so confirmed the lawyer's opinion that the servants had nothing at all to do with it.
Go and see them by all means, Brooklyn had said.
But I don't suppose they know anything about it.
That was all he would say, and he still struck to the story he at first told Thomas,
and maintained that he himself was equally ignorant of what had taken place.
A marked coolness, which did not increase Thomas' zest for the case,
had sprung up between him and his client,
and although certain questions had to be asked and answered,
it was clear enough that Walter Brooklyn greatly preferred the solitude of his cell to his lawyer's society.
It was on his own initiative, therefore, that Thomas went to see both Winter and Morgan,
and received from them a repetition of what they had told the police.
From them, he learned nothing new.
But from one of the maids servants, he picked up a fact that had escaped Inspector Blake's attention.
A few days before the murders, the butler Winter had quarreled violently with John Princep,
and in the heat of the quarrel, Princep had practically given the man notice to leave.
The notice had not been quite definite, and the maid had heard Winter confide to Morgan
that he intended to hang on and see what happened,
and to get the matter cleared up with Prince's.
the one way or the other before the month expired. She did not know what the quarrel had been
about, and Thomas did not think it politic to push his inquiries further, or to ask either
Morgan or Winter himself for the explanation. He therefore cautioned the girl against
telling anyone at all that there had been a quarrel. It would only make further trouble,
he said, and we may have trouble enough on our hands already. Thomas had thus found the first
essential for building up a case on suspicion against Winter, an actual quarrel
and therefore a possible motive for murder.
But he recognised that the argument was very thin
and that he must, if possible, get something more definite.
Inquiries, however, failed to give him anything at all
that could be used to defame either Winters or Morgan's character.
They appeared to be persons of unblemished respectability,
and Winter's long service in the Brooklyn household
seemed never to have been marred before
by such an incident as his quarrel with Prince.
The position did not look promising for Thomas's client,
but he did the mind to persist.
His persistence was at length rewarded.
He discovered what had been the cause of the quarrel between Winter and Princep.
And it was Morgan who told him quite unconscious that he was providing a link in the chain
which Thomas was attempting to forge.
Thomas had turned his attention to a further study of the character and circumstances of the murdered men
and had gone to Morgan for light on the ways of his late master.
It was easy to see that Morgan had disliked Princep,
though he had always behaved to him in his life as a perfectly swarven, well-willed
servant knows how to behave with a deadly politeness that conceals all human feeling behind an
impenetrable mask. But now that Princep was dead, Morgan no longer concealed his opinion of him.
He had neither prospect nor intention of remaining with the Brooklyn's, and he did not care
whether they liked or disliked what is said. Accordingly, he told Thomas, without any hesitation
that, shortly before his death, Princep had been engaged in a peculiarly unpleasant intrigue
with a girl down at Sir Vernon's country place at Fittler in Sussex,
the daughter, in fact, of Sir Vernon's head gardener there.
And what made it worse was that the girl was engaged to be married at the time to a decent
fellow who only found out at the last moment how things were going.
He would marry her all the same, but that did not make Princep's part in the affair
less dishonourable.
It did not take Thomas long to extract the information that the decent fellow whom
Prince had wronged was actually no other than this very man winter
against whom he had been trying to build up a case.
Winter was 20 years older than the girl,
but he seemed to be very much in love with her,
and naturally enraged by Prince's misuse of her.
Here at last were all the elements of a crime of passion,
and Thomas began to see his way clear or to throw upon Winter
quite enough suspicion to make it very difficult for a jury to convict Walter Brooklyn.
Indeed, might he not even have stumbled accidentally on the truth,
or a part of it?
Perhaps, after all, Walter Brooklyn was not the murderer.
although he knew all about it,
but on the whole he was still inclined to believe that his client was guilty,
and that nevertheless fortune had presented him
with an excellent chance of shifting the suspicion elsewhere.
Certainly he would say not a word of his discoveries to anyone
until the time came to adopt an actual line of defense at the coming trial.
The end of chapter 18.
Chapter 19 of the Brooklyn murders.
This Liberty Walk's recording is in the public domain, read by Yorghanand.
The Brooklyn murders by G.D. H. Cole. Chapter 19. The police have their doubts.
While the representatives of the defense, official and unofficial, were pursuing their separate lines of investigation,
the police had not been altogether idle. Inspector Blakey had not been long in finding out that Thomas had been making inquiries among the servants at Liskeed House,
or in drawing the conclusion that the defense would make an attempt to shift some part, at least of the suspicion,
to other shoulders with the object of creating enough doubt to make it difficult for a jury to convict their client.
He was not surprised at this, and he did not at all alarm him, for among other things he regarded it as a sure proof that the lawyer held his own case to be weak.
The inspector was quite unable to take seriously the idea that Winter was in any way implicated in the murders,
and Morgan's complicity, owing to the position of their bedrooms, was practically impossible without Winters.
Blakey, therefore, treated Thomas's moose as being merely the necessary preparation for an attempt to throw dust into the eyes of the jury, and not in the least an endeavor to find the real murderer.
There could be no doubt that it, Thomas's tactics were, from the inspector standpoint, the final and conclusive proof, Walter Brooklyn had murdered Princep, and either he or Princep had murdered George Brooklyn.
They had the right man under lock and key.
that it is one thing to be sure that you have the right man in custody and quite another to be sure of getting him convicted by a jury.
The inspector admitted that the case against Walter Brooklyn was not conclusive.
His complicity was practically proved, but there was no direct evidence that he had actually struck the blows.
The evidence was circumstantial, and in these circumstances, the inspector did not disguise from himself the fact that any attempt to shift the suspicion might at least create enough doubt to make a conviction improbable.
accordingly while Joan and Ellery were doing their best to prove Walter Brooklyn's innocence,
Inspector Blakey was searching with equal vigor for further proofs of his guilt,
but he found nothing that was of material importance so far as he could see.
The sole addition to his case was the evidence of a taxi driver
who, from his accustomed post on the rank outside the Piccadilly Theatre,
had seen Walter Brooklyn pass at somewhere about half-past eleven or so,
but the man would not be sure to a few minutes.
This was all very well in its way, Inspector thought,
but as Walter Brooklyn's presence inside Liskeed House at about 11.30 was proved
already, he could not be of much importance to prove his presence just outside at about the same time.
There was, however, this to be said for the new piece of evidence.
Walter Brooklyn denied the telephone message and maintained that he had not been at Liskid House at all.
Direct evidence that he had been at the time in question within a minute's walk of the house
was certainly better than nothing.
Nothing further had come to light when on Saturday morning
Inspector Blakey went to Superintendent Wilson with this daily report on the case
telling him first about the taxi man's evidence
The superintendent seemed to attach some importance to this
Why you have to rely on circumstantial evidence, he said
The accumulation of details is all important
Every little helps
Your taxi driver may yet be an important link in the chain
The inspector confided to his superior that the result of his reflections on the case
was to make him far more doubtful
than he had been of securing a conviction.
Quite so, said the superintendent.
I thought he would realize that
when he had thought it over.
The inspector replied that he saw it now
and went on to explain
what he believed to be the strategy of the defense
throwing suspicion on the servants.
The trouble of it is, he said,
that although I am absolutely sure
in my own mind that winter had nothing
whatever to do with the affair,
there's no way of proving the thing
one way or the other.
So far as the evidence goes, he might have done it.
Of course, there's absolutely no shred of evidence that he did,
but that is not enough to prevent a clever counsel from arousing suspicion in the mind of a jury.
Are you sure, said the superintendent, that there is no shred of evidence?
I mean, of course, of what the other side may be able to dress up to look like evidence.
I should say that fellow Thomas is clever enough to find something that he can make serve as a cause for suspicion.
Is there anything at all that will serve?
For example, this principle seems to have been a bit of a beast.
Is there anything to show whether winter was on good or bad terms with him?
If he had quarrelled or anything of the sort,
that is just the kind of fact Thomas or his counsel would use to good effect.
You're right there, but I've come across nothing that would suggest a quarrel.
Morgan, that's a valet chap, made no secret of disliking prince of very cordially,
but winter seems to be just a good, faithful family servant.
I dare say there's nothing to be found out in that way, but you might make a note of it and get a few inquiries made.
We want to know exactly how strong the difference is likely to be.
And by the way, I suppose you still have no doubts in your own mind that Walter Brooklyn is the murderer?
The superintendent opened his eyes and looked at the inspector as he spoke.
None at all. At least it seems to me practically certain.
Quite as certain as a case against most men who get hanged, do you mean that you are in
doubt about it? The superintendent
made no direct reply to this.
At any rate, he said, the evidence
is certainly not conclusive.
I suppose you have no idea whether the
defense will try to prove an alibi?
I don't see how they can.
According to his own story,
Brooklyn was just trawling about alone
all the evening. He can't prove that,
surely? Oh, I don't
know about that. If it were
true, he might have been seen by a dozen
people. And even if it weren't
true, Thomas might be able to produce witness
who could swear they had seen him.
Thomas wouldn't stick at that.
Any alibi he tries to produce will need very careful scrutiny.
But we know Brooklyn was in the house at 11.30.
The superintendent smiled and leant back in his chair.
No, he said, that is just where you go wrong.
We don't know it.
It rests on the evidence about the telephone message.
But have you considered all the possibilities about that message?
The defense clearly will not admit that Walter Brooklyn sent it.
We believe he did.
but is it not quite possible for the defense to argue that somebody else sent that message with a deliberate intention of misleading us?
And is it not also possible that Druclin sent it, but not from Liskid House?
But why should he say he was at Liskid House if he wasn't?
I don't say he wasn't.
But he may maintain that the man who took the message down made a mistake.
After all, such mishaps are common enough.
Or he may have been meaning to go to Liskkeed House before the messenger arrived.
I think that is ruled out anyway.
We have proved from inquiries at the telephone exchange at Liskeed House did ring up Brooklyn's club but about the time stated.
There was some trouble about the connection and the operator remembers making it.
Well, take the other possibility.
May not the defense argue that someone else must have impersonated Brooklyn at the telephone?
With the deliberate object of throwing suspicion upon him,
the murderer supposing him not to be Walter Brooklyn, would obviously want to get someone else suspected if he could.
on that theory all the circumstantial evidence would be false clues left by the real murderer
that doesn't seem to me at all likely if i may say so the evidence that was left on the spot
where a prince of was killed was obviously meant to incriminate george brooklyn that seems to show
that when the murder was done the murderer had no idea that george brooklyn was dead already
if indeed he was a criminal would hardly lay two distinct and actually inconsistent sets of clues
leading to quite different suspects.
Not unless he was a quite exceptionally clever criminal,
I grant you.
But tell me this.
Why should a man, who otherwise cover his traces so well
give himself away like an utter fool by the telephone conversation?
Obviously, I should say, because the phone message was sent before the murder,
and the murder was not premeditated.
Having killed this man, Brooklyn took the only possible course by denying the conversation.
Yes, that theory hangs together.
but I'm not satisfied with it.
There seems to me to be every reason to believe that the murders
were most carefully thought out beforehand,
and in that case the sending of the telephone message needs a lot of explanation.
Then again, we have still no indication at all of how Walter Brooklyn,
or for that matter, George Brooklyn got into or out of the house.
On that point, I've absolutely failed to get any light.
My first idea, of course, was duplicate keys and the stable yard.
but the yard was quite definitely bolted as well as locked by eleven o'clock.
The wall could not be scaled without a long ladder which is out of the question.
The front door is quite impossible unless three or four servants were in the plot.
I suppose they must have slipped in through the theatre,
although it beats me how they got in without being seen.
May not Walter Brooklyn have come in through the stable yard before it was closed
and been in the house sometime before the murders?
He may have been going away when your taxi man saw him at about 11.30.
Even so, that doesn't explain how he let himself out and bolted the place after him from the inside.
And in any case, George Brooklyn was still alive at 11.30, when he was seen leaving the building by the front door.
He had to get back, and Prince, if he killed him, must have been alive too, well after 1130.
And you can add to that the difficulty that George Brooklyn seems to have got back into the garden after 1130,
and that, where one man could enter unseen, so could too.
The inspector scratched his chin.
The whole thing is a puzzle, he said.
But there's one thing I'm sure of.
It's a much worse puzzle if you don't assume that Walter Brooklyn was the murder.
Still, there's nothing so dangerous as to simplify a problem by assuming that what you cannot
conclusively prove to be true.
If I were a jury man, I certainly could not vote for a conviction on the evidence we have
at present.
But there's no one else who could have done it.
Oh, yes, there is.
as all the population of London
I grant you we have at present
no reason for suspecting anyone else in particular
but that may be because we don't know enough
then what do you want me to do
hunt for all your worth for further evidence
don't shut your eyes to the possibility
that Walter Brooklyn may not be the murderer
hunt for evidence of any kind
as if you were starting the case afresh
and meanwhile Walter Brooklyn remains in custody
most certainly there is
presumptive evidence that he is the guilty party. But it is nothing like a certainty. Remember that
the above conversation serves to show that the police on their side were becoming seriously worried.
They had hoped that the strong presumptive evidence against Walter Brooklyn would speedily have
been reinforced by further discoveries. But so far they had been disappointed. Inspector Blake,
he at least was still strongly of opinion that he was guilty, but a strong opinion is not
enough to convince a jury and the inspector did not like to see the acquittal of a man he had
arrested, especially as he had no other evidence pointing to some different person as a guilty
person. Superintendent Wilson at least, while he could not blame the inspector for his
conduct of the investigation, was growing more and more dissatisfied the progress of the case.
He had an uneasy and a growing feeling which he had at first been unwilling to admit even to
himself that they were on the wrong track.
the end of chapter 19
Chapter 20 of the Brooklyn murders
This Libby Vox recording is in the public domain
Read by Yogan
The Brooklyn Murders by G.D. H. Cole
Chapter 20
Superintendent Wilson thinks it out.
When the inspector had left him
Superintendent Wilson gave himself up for a time to his thoughts
leaning back in his chair with his long legs stretched out before him
and tips of his fingers pressed together before his face,
he concentrated his faculties upon the Brooklyn affair.
A heavy frown settled on his brow,
and he gave every now and then an impatient twist of his body,
eloquent of his mind's discomfort.
At length he sighed, looked at the clock,
rose, put on his head and started for home.
He had made up his mind as he did when difficulties beset him
to talk the case over with his wife.
Superintendent Wilson never mentioned business to his wife
when things were going well,
but whenever his usually clear brain seemed to be working amos,
it was his way to unload on her all his trouble.
Not that Mrs. Wilson had a powerful intellect, far from it.
She was a comfortable motherly woman inclined to stoutness
and completely wrapped up in her children and a home.
For her husband, she had a profound admiration.
He was, to our mind, not merely the finest detective in Europe,
but the cleverest man in the world,
but she was quite content to admire his cleverness without understanding it,
and a husband made no attempt as a rule to discuss his case with her.
He had found, however, that on the rare occasion on which his sinking got into blind alley,
her very passivity was the best possible help he could have.
As he talked to her, and as she assented unquestioningly to everything that he said,
new ideas somehow arose in his mind.
Doubts were dispelled new courses of action suggested the weak spots in the armour of crime became apparent.
He would tell her that she had been the sorts of women,
his most brilliant inspirations, and she would placidly accept the role without bothering to inquire
in what way she contributed to his flashes of insight into the most abstruse mysteries that came
under the notice of the Criminal Investigation Department. It was a sign of deep dissatisfaction with
the progress of the Brooklyn case that the superintendent now took his troubles home to his wife.
He found her in the pleasant sitting room of the house facing Clapham Common, placidly knitting
bullies for the children in anticipation of the coming winter.
From the garden came the noise of the children themselves,
playing a game which involved repeated shouts of bang, bang, bang,
as a rival army is engaged.
My dear, I want to consult you, he said coming up and kissing her.
Mrs. Wilson laid down a knitting on the table beside her and composed herself to listen.
It's about this Brooklyn case.
I suppose you have read about in the papers?
I'm working on it, you know?
Mrs. Wilson, who confined a newspaper reading to a glance at the pictures and
headlines in the daily graphic had barely heard of the case and knew none of the details.
A husband, therefore, began by giving her a brief but perfectly clear account of the
circumstances of the crimes. It helped to clear his mind and to put the essential facts
in their proper focus. How dreadful was Mrs. Wilson's appropriate comment at various points
in the story. And who did it? She asked when a husband had done, smiling at him as if he were
certain to know, my dear, if I knew that I shouldn't need to consult you.
Blackie feels quite certain it was Walter Brooklyn, old Sir Varnan's brother.
I'll tell you just what there is against him.
And the superintendent gave an account of the evidence leading to the presumption of Walter
Brooklyn's guilt, the walking stick, his failure to explain his movements on the night of the
murders, his very strong motive for the crimes, and finally the telephone message sent from
Liskeed House on the fatal evening.
But you say he didn't do it.
Then who did? asked his wife.
No, my dear, I didn't say he didn't do it.
all I say is that I'm not satisfied that he did
but you say he sent the telephone message
even if he did send the telephone message that doesn't prove that he committed the murders
he may have been there and yet someone else may be the murderer
but I'm not even sure that he ever did send the message
if he didn't send it someone else did
yes my dear that's the very point but if it was someone else
then that someone was deliberately trying to incriminate Walter Brooklyn
That is what you call laying a false clue, isn't it?
Yes.
But the trouble is that if the telephone and the walking stick are false clues,
we have to deal with two quite different sets of false clues,
both deliberately laid and point into quite different conclusions as to the murderer.
Is that possible?
The superintendent paused and looked at his wife,
but instead of answering, she got up and went to the window.
Georgie, she said, you mustn't pull the cat's tail.
If you're not good, I shall send you to bed.
then she came back to her seat.
Yes, dear, you were saying,
I was asking whether it was credible
that someone should have laid two sets
of quite inconsistent false clues
with the purpose of misleading us?
Two sets of clues, dear?
And both to mislead you.
It must be very difficult to see through them both.
By George, exclaimed the superintendent,
leaping from his chair and beginning to pace up and down the room.
By, George, you have given me just the idea I wanted.
Yes, that must be it.
What must be what, dear?
I had no idea I had said anything clever.
Why, both sets of clues weren't meant to mislead us.
That's it.
The criminal laid two sets of false clues.
He meant us to see through one set, but he thought we would never see through the other.
He reckoned it would never occur to us that both sets of clues were false.
Oh, yes.
We were to feel awfully bucked up about seeing through the first set of clues, the obviously false ones.
and then we were meant to go on and hang the wrong man gaily on the strength of the others.
It was a clever idea to buy Joe.
Do you mean, Mrs. Wilson began, but the husband was now in full flow and he cut a shot.
What I mean is that the criminal deliberately laid the set of clothes which pointed to the two men having murdered each other.
We were bound to see through these because the conclusion to which they pointed was just physically impossible.
Then he laid the close pointing to Walter Brooklyn, really meaning this time to get to,
Walter Brooklyn hanged for the murders.
My word. Yes, this does throw a new light on the case.
My dear, you have done it again.
There's lots to find out yet.
But I'm sure it'll come out right now that I know where to begin.
Then who was a murderer, dear?
Have I told you someone?
I'm sure I don't know who it was.
Neither do I, my dear.
But I think I do know now to begin looking for him.
When I found him, I'll tell you who he is.
and half the credit of finding him will be yours.
The superintendent was so moored that he went up and kissed his wife
as he kissed her only on occasions of rare exultation.
Then he got back to business with a sigh.
If both sets of close or falls, my dear, you see, that doesn't make them valueless.
They may still be used to point to the real murderer.
Yes, I begin to see it light already.
If Walter Brooklyn did not send that telephone message, who did?
Not much help there, I'm afraid.
except that it was a very daring criminal indeed,
and probably one who knew intimately both Walter Brooklyn and Liskeed House.
Ringing up Brooklyn's club shows that he knew the man's habits.
There is something to go upon at all events.
But there's a walking stick too.
Yes, that may be the point on which the whole case turns.
By this time, Superintendent Wilson was talking to himself,
almost oblivious of his listener.
His wife knew too well to interrupt him.
She resumed a knitting, only looking up at his time,
from time to time as he paced up and down the room.
The stick.
If Walter Brooklyn didn't leave it in Princep's room, who did?
It was a very remarkable stick and quite certain to be recognized.
Just a thing, in fact, for a false clue.
Let me see.
Brooklyn said he lost it on the Tuesday afternoon, the day of the murders.
That means that somehow, rather, the murderer got hold of it.
Hmm, hmm, we are getting warm, my dear.
when we know for certain who got hold of that stick we shall have found the murderer.
Yes, we must certainly find out all about that stick.
Left in a taxi was it?
I think not.
I'm beginning to have a very shrewd idea where it was left, the superintendent paused.
Where was it left, dear?
Wait till I know for certain darling.
I'll find out, never fear.
And then I shall know who the murderer was.
But even then, I shall be a long way of getting a conventure.
the superintendent laughed.
But surely, if you know,
knowing is one thing and proving a case
to a jury and quite another.
But that's enough for the present.
I want to sleep on this.
And with these words,
Superintendent Wilson went out into the garden
to play with the children.
The end of chapter 20.
Chapter 21 of the Brooklyn murders.
This Liberty Walk's recording
is in the public domain,
read by Yoganand.
The Brooklyn Murders.
By G. D. H. Cole
Chapter 21
Don Cahote
While Fred Thomas was trying to make a shield for Walter Brooklyn's guilt
by throwing the suspicion upon others
whom, he himself believed to be innocent,
Joan and Ellery were following up their attempt to prove a stepfather's alibi.
Two points they have already established,
thanks to Ellery's mingled sagacity and good fortune.
Walter Brooklyn had definitely been in Leicester Square at a quarter to eleven
and in Piccadilly Circus at about 20 past 11.
So far, his story was confirmed.
Moreover, if he had been seen in the circus at 11.20,
it was difficult to believe that he had rung up his club
from Prince's room at Liskeed House
after making his way unseen into the building
less than 10 minutes later.
It was true that the evidence was not absolutely conclusive,
as neither time could be fixed quite certainly to within a few minutes.
But at least the evidence against him was severely shaken
and there seemed to be a good reason for urging
that the telephone message around which the case had practically been built up was a fake.
Find out who sent it, the defense could argue, and you find the real criminal.
Still, even if the telephone message could be discredited, and Ellery realized that this would take some doing,
they remained the walking stick and the undoubted fact that Walter Brooklyn had expressed
the intention of seeing Prince of that evening. They could not feel that the evidence which they had
so far gathered made his acquittal even probable, much less sexual.
especially as there was still no evidence that seemed to point in any other direction.
John and Ellery felt that they must get further confirmation of the alibi.
It was a question of accounting, not for a few minutes here and there, but for every minute of
Walter Brooklyn's time.
Clearly, what now mattered most was where he had been between the time when the old night
watchman saw him in Piccadilly Circus and his return to his club at about midnight.
George Brooklyn had been seen alive as late as 1130 and Princep, Uly if he had been
few minutes before. If Walter Brooklyn had murdered either, it must have been done between 11.30 and
midnight, for it seemed clear enough that he had not left his club again during the night.
Of this, the night porter was positive. At the same time, it was desirable, though less important,
to confirm also his story of his movements during the earlier part of the evening.
After they had talked the situation over, John and Ellery determined to pursue the hunt together,
and once more to follow Walter Brooklyn's route in search of further confirmation.
For what it was worth, Joan had already been able to confirm a stepfather's first statement about his movements.
A door porter at the Piccadilly Theatre had seen him standing for a minute or two outside the main entrance.
A bit before half-past ten, and had noticed him walking off a long Piccadilly towards a circus.
Thereafter, although Joan and Ellery hunted high and low,
they could get no further trace of him until his meeting with Kitty Frencham in Leicester Square at a quarter to eleven.
They found and interrogated without success the policeman who had been,
on duty in Piccadilly Circus. They even inquired of the porter outside the Monaco and the
criterion and of a few street sellers who were standing at the corners. There was no information
to be obtained, but they agreed that this did not greatly matter. If only they could get evidence
bearing on Walter Brooklyn's movements after half-past eleven or still better from 1045 onwards.
They would begin at the other end and try to trace his movements between 11.30 and midnight.
accordingly they walked down together to Trafalgar Square.
Here there were two possible lines of investigation.
Walter Brooklyn had first leaned for some time over the parapet opposite the National Gallery.
He had then walked down to the top of Whitehall and had there paused to set his watch
by a clock standing out over one of the shops.
There was a slender chance that someone might have noticed him or one other of these occasions.
How shall we make a start here? asked Ellery, rather fall only,
as he stood at the corner of Coxper Street overlooking Trafalgar Square.
At the foot of the Nelson column stood the usual curious,
an incurious crowd listening to some orator descanting on the rights or wrongs of labour.
Follow the old preceptive courts, said John promptly.
Ask a policeman, there seemed to plenty about.
Ellery went up to the nearest and began to explain his business.
He was speedily referred to the sergeant,
who was standing at the edge of the crowd,
eyeing at the little note of speakers on the plinth,
as if he was meditating a possible arrest.
He'll know who was on duty on Tuesday night.
I wasn't, said the constable.
The sergeant was communicative.
First, he bade them wait a few minutes,
while he listened to what the speaker then on her feet,
for it was a woman was saying.
What she said appeared to give him satisfaction.
For he smiled happily as he entered a note in his book.
Then the speech became more commonplace,
and the sergeant bidding a constable take notes
while he was busy,
signified his willingness to utter
to Joan and Ellery. But before they
could tell him of their concerns, they had to
listen a while to his, which related
mainly to the inequity of allowing
seditious meetings to be held openly in
Trafalgar Square. They tell us to
take it all down. They do, every
word, and then they do nothing.
They shove it away in some pigeonhole
or other. They were presumably
the powers that ruled at the home
office over the doings of the Metropolitan
Police. What I say is,
what's the police for, if it
to stop this kind of thing. He jerked his thumb in the direction of the plinth.
But you make an arrest sometimes, don't you? John asked. Once in a blue moon, maybe. But even then,
more often than not, the Home Secretary lets him go. Disgusting, I call it, and demoralizing for
the country. If I had my way, he had his way for a few minutes, as far as words went, and then
as a reward of patient listening, he let Elereem have his say. But he was not helpful. Yes, I know
who was on duty here that night.
There was Bill Adamson, Tom shot down by Whitehall,
and there was George Milligan patrolling up and down by the gallery.
That's 100 to one against any of them having noticed your man.
Adams is on duty here, and the other two will be along at the station.
You can have a word with Adams now, and I'll take you along to the station myself in a few minutes.
They are just finishing up there.
He jerked the thumb in the direction of the plinth.
Adams, a tall, fat policeman, who kept patting himself on the stomach
while he talked, had seen nothing of Walter Brooklyn, whose photograph Elery showed him.
Lord, bless you, if I was to notice everybody, I should have a job on, was his comment,
clearly showing his view of the hopelessness of their search.
Discouraged, they left him and went to the station with the sergeant.
Here the same fate befell them.
Neither of the two constables had noticed Walter Brooklyn, and both of them seemed to think
the quest quite hopeless.
Ellery did not give the name of the man he was looking for, lest the police intent on building up their own case
might refuse him information.
Only an unrecognizable snapshot had appeared in the press.
Well, sir, said the sergeant,
I've done my best for you, and I'm sorry it's no use.
But it's what I told you to expect.
Ellery distributed suitable rewards in the appropriately furtive manner
and prepared to take his sleeve.
But Joan stopped him.
I have an idea, she said.
It might come to nothing, that it's worth trying.
Then she turned to Mulligan, a short, humorous,
and very obviously Irish constable.
Tell me, is there an innation?
tramp or person of that sort who is often to be found at night in Truffle the squire?
I mean, someone you are always having to move on?
Lord, miss, there's a dozen or sir?
Move him on night after night, but they come back just the same.
Well, I want you to find me a man like that, one who is always hanging about the squire,
and it's likely to know others who do the same.
Can you find me a man of that sort?
Certainly, miss, I can.
I see what you're after, and I should say the chap we call the Spaniard is about what you want.
He's a bloke who goes about in a long cloak and a broad-brimmed felt hat,
often not much else, I should say,
barring the remains of a pair of trousers.
He's pretty nearly always about in the squire,
and he's always talking to anyone he can find to listen.
Ellery broke in.
Can you find him first now?
The constable looked at the sergeant.
If the sergeant here will let me leave the station for half an hour,
I expect I can, he said.
The sergeant was duly placated,
and the two set off with Constable Mulligan.
He led them, not into the squire,
but into the little alley behind St. Martin's in the fields.
There he pointed to the bar of a rather disreputable-looking public house.
You go in there, he said to Ellery, and ask if the Spaniard is there.
They'd know him.
If I were to go in, they'd shut up like a knife when you aren't looking.
Ellery went in and ordered a drink.
A glance round the bar showed him that the Spaniard was not in the bar at the moment.
He turned to the woman behind the bar counter and asked her if she knew where to find the Spaniard.
The woman looked at him with an air of surprise, but she made no reply.
Then she turned to a curtain door behind her and spoke through it.
Alf, she said, come here a minute.
Alph speedily appeared on his shirt-sleeves, a portly, middle-aged man, rather stolid to look at,
but with a pair of cunning little eyes that looked at you, not steadily, but with a succession of keen, quick glances.
Ellery heard the woman whispered to him,
This gent here's asking for the Spaniard.
And what might you be wanting with the Spaniard, mister?
asked Alph, leaning across a bar
and speaking confidentially almost into Ellery's year.
Certainly nothing to his disadvantage.
But I want to know something, and I think he may be able to tell me.
The publican looked at him at trifle suspiciously.
Is a gentleman known to you, maybe?
He asked.
No.
Oh, I could probably find him for myself.
I thought you might know him.
Well, yeah and yeah, said Alph, apparently making up his mind to Ellery's disadvantage.
Ellery began to expostulate.
but at that moment, through the same curtain door through which mine host had come,
walked a quite unmistakable figure, a very tall, thin man with perfectly white hair and beard,
the latter cut to a fine point.
The newcomer wore a long and very threadbare black coat, now green with age,
and seemed just about to place upon his head a very white-brimmed black,
a rather greenish felt hat, which Ellery thought of instinctively as a sombrero.
In a fine, high-pitched voice, perfectly cultivated.
but a good deal affected, and with a curious intonation that seemed like the affectation of a foreign accent,
he addressed the woman behind the bar.
Did I hear my name spoken among you?
He asked.
The woman turned to Alf, or shrugged her shoulders.
"'Here he is,' he said to Ellery.
"'I suppose you'd better ask him what you want.'
Ellery put on his best manners.
"'Sir,' said he, to the man called the Spaniard,
"'may I have the honour of a few words with you on a matter which concerns me very deeply?'
And you, I must admit, scarcely at all?
The Spaniard dod low.
The honour is, he replied, is with me.
For, as a poet says,
Honour is he to whom man speaks things of his heart.
We will call the honours easy, if you please,
but I shall be very much obliged for a few words with you.
If it please you, then, let us take the air together.
I can speak and listen better under the sky,
with pleasure, but just a word before we go.
my friend Miss Cooper and the gentleman who brought me to you are waiting outside.
You will not mind if they accompany us?
Ellery had some misgiving that suddenly confronted with the policeman.
The old Spaniard might reach the conclusion that he had been led into a trap and refused to speak.
And to whom do I owe the honour of this introduction?
Well, to be frank, he is a policeman, but he's acting quite in a non-professional capacity.
The old man hesitated a moment.
Then he said, Wully, let's go.
outside Ellery's fears were speedily remote.
He saw Joan and the policeman waiting a few doors off.
The Spaniard saw them too, and at sight of Mulligan, his face lighted up with pleasure.
He greeted Joan with a low bow, and then turned to Mulligan with another.
Ah, my friend, it is you.
As a poet says, even among the taunts, the rose is sweet.
You're not, I thank, as others of your cloth.
Then he turned to Ellery.
Mr. Mulligan and I are old friends, he said.
but it's not always so between me and the guardians of law and order as you quaintly termed them yes said mulligan smiling the spaniard and i have had many a good talk together
But you didn't know, did you, father, that I tracked you here?
I couldn't go in, because I thought there might be others who wouldn't be so pleased to see me.
As always, a soul of consideration.
The marked gentleman of true chivalry.
I will require to ask best I can by any service that I can do to your friends.
And again, he lifted his head and made a sweeping bell.
When John and Ellery talked the thing over afterwards,
they remembered that their eyes had met at this moment,
and they had much ado not to laugh outright.
They discovered that the same thought had come into their hedge.
This was not merely this pennyard.
It was Don Cahote himself come to life again.
But where was Rosinante?
Constable Mulligan excused himself.
I mustn't be away from the station any longer.
Now you have been introduced, you can get along without me.
You know where to find me if you want me again.
And thanked and rewarded by Ellery,
the constable returned to his duty after putting
a hand affectionately on the old man's shoulder by way of farewell.
Joan and Ellery, between them, told the Spaniard the full story of their quest,
first as they walked towards Truffelgar Square, and then leaning over the very parapet
over which Walter Brooklyn had leaned.
The Spaniard heard them through, wholly inclining his head every now and then to show
that he fully appreciated some particular point in the narrative.
Finally, Ellery produced a photograph of Walter Brooklyn and asked the old man
whether he had seen the original on Tuesday night.
"'A fine figure of a gentleman,' said the Spaniard,
"'and indeed I know him well by sight,
"'though hitherto I have been denied the honour of knowing his name.
"'Often have I seen him in Poulmore?'
"'Yes, but did you see him on Tuesday?'
"'John could not help interrupting.
"'The Spaniard's way of continuing was in itself a mild and courteous reproof.
"'Often, my friends, have I seen him,
"'Little deeming that one day my memory of him
"'might be of service to others.'
"'And then he added,
yes, I saw him here on Tuesday, here on this very spot to which I've led you.
Here he stopped and lighted the cigar.
I noted that he lighted it from the stump of another.
That was because he had no matches, said Joan excitedly.
That pared out what he said.
Madam, if it would not incommode you, might I crave your permission to smoke even now?
John readily gave it and the old man deftly rolled a cigarette with strong black tobacco
from a battered metal case.
Can you tell us at what time you saw him?
said Elery.
Ah, time.
Why should I mark the hours?
What need have I to know?
It was evening.
But what you tell us is of no use
unless you can say what time it was.
Alas, if I had known,
my watch would never have gone
the way of all watches.
A faint flicker of a smile
and an extraordinarily expressive gesture
accompanied the phrase.
It was as if all watches had a mistake.
serious knack of vanishing into infinite space.
But nevertheless,
another's memory may serve where mind fails,
for I was not alone.
Who is with you? Can you find him?
I'll find him for you, but not till evening.
And meantime, I'll seek for those who may have seen Mr. Brooklyn in Whitehall.
If any can find such a man, I can find him.
There is a fraternity among us who wander under the sky.
We remark what passes around us,
for we have no affairs of our own to disturb our minds.
He turned to Ellery.
It would be well that you should leave the photograph with me until evening.
Then we will meet again.
An appointment was made for Trafalgar Square at 11 o'clock that same night.
The old man would not meet them sooner or elsewhere.
John could not leave Sir Vernon at that arm, but Ellery would come.
In parting, she thanked the spaniard for all that he had done.
What can a man do better than come to the aid of ladies in distress?
truly as a poet says he enlarget his heart who doth his neighbour a kindness the word i've rendered neighbour is feminine in the spanish he added half to himself
what a queer old bird said illory as he walked away it was difficult to keep it up while we were talking to him but it was well worth while i think he said dear said joan a bit queer of course but see how he's helping us we could never have done anything without him he's quiet off his chum that's clear
but he seems to be quite all there when it is a question of getting something done.
We are meeting some queer people on this job.
Who do you suppose he is? asked John.
Nothing on earth, if you mean how does he get his living?
I should say he was just what they call its character,
picking up somehow barely enough to exist on,
and drifting about with nothing in particular to do.
He probably drinks or has been in trouble somehow.
I don't care what trouble he is being in.
He fascinates me, and he's obviously an educated man.
Yes, I dare say he was quite the gentleman, in the orthodox sense, years ago.
Now he is one of the bottom dogs keeping up his self-respect by playing the Hidalgo.
Don't you suppose he's really a Spaniard?
No more than you or I.
He's probably been in Spain, that's all.
But whoever he seems likely to get us just the information we want,
and that's what we really care about.
Well, I feel inclined to introduce him to my night watchman at Piccadilly.
They would make a pretty pair.
They are both hero-worshippers.
The end of chapter 21.
Chapter 22 of the Brooklyn murders.
This Liberty Box recording is in the public domain.
Read by Yoganand.
The Brooklyn Murders by G.D. H. Cole.
Chapter 22.
The Spaniard does a spit.
Hillary met the Spaniard in accordance with his appointment in Trafalgar Square that evening.
As he approached, he saw the old man pacing up and down the pavement
in front of the National Gallery, walking slowly with the dignity and grace worthy of some
grandee of the olden times.
He was curiously like the lavery portrait of Cunningham, Graham.
The Spaniard made Ellery a low bow, accompanied by a sweeping gesture with his broad-brimmed
hat, and Ellery, doing his best to live up to the occasion, returned the salutation with a
very inferior grace.
You have news for me?
He asked, if you will do me the honour of accompanying me in my promenade, I think I may be
to impart certain facts of interest to your fair lady.
The Spaniard, as Elery told Joan afterwards,
took the devil of a time to come down to Brastax.
But what he had to tell was quite conclusive.
He had found, and could produce conclusive evidence
that Walter Brooklyn had been in Trefalgar Square at the time he had stated.
He had discovered the two men who had seen him
leaning over the parapet opposite the National Gallery,
and one of them had definitely noticed the time by the clock of St. Martin's Church.
This had been at 1140.
Moreover, the second man, perhaps, the Hispanic had hinted,
Oh, so delicately that his way of saying it seemed to make pity Larsonier fine art,
in the hope of picking a few trifles out of Mr. Brooklyn's pockets,
had actually followed him round the squire,
and seen him take out his watch and look at the time.
He had shadowed Brooklyn up Coxper Street and the Haymarket,
actually as far as the corner of German street,
where some object of greater immediate interest had helped to distract him from the chase.
Moreover, in return for suitable rewards, both these men were prepared to give evidence.
The Spaniard had arranged for them both to meet Ellery, if he so desired, and in a few minutes' time
they would be in the bar of the little public house in which Elery had originally met with the
Spaniard himself. This was more than satisfactory, and Elery at once went to meet the two men
and hear their stories. They fully borrowed what the Spaniard had said, and Elri took their names and
addresses and then arranged to see them again on the following morning at the same place,
and to take them with the other witnesses he and Joan had collected to Thomas's office,
where they would be able to consider the steps that had best be taken towards securing Walter
Brooklyn's absolution. He could get hold of the remaining witnesses later in the evening,
but first he had to thank the Spaniard and to settle with him for what he had done.
Ellery had no doubt that the Spaniard both needed and expected payment for the very real service he had
vendor. But it was, he found, by no means easy to come to the point. The old man, despite the
cede garments, was very much the fine gentleman in his manners. It was easy enough to thank him
handsomely and to receive his still more handsome acknowledgments, but it was not at all easy
to offer him money. Still, it had to be done, and awkwardly and stammeringly, Ellery at last
did it. He was met with a refusal. The Spaniard was only too glad to have been of some service to a lady.
thanks were more than enough.
Pecunary reward would degrade a charming episode
to the level of a commercial transaction.
Perhaps someday, Ellery, or Miss Cooper
might be in a position to do him a service.
He would accept it gladly,
but he begged that, until the occasion arose,
no more might be said upon the matter.
Ellery had to leave it at that,
making a resolution to seek out once an occasion
for being of service to the man
who had helped so greatly in their quest.
Meanwhile, he could only thank him again,
and exchange in taking his leave
the fine curtsies which gave
the spaniard such manifest
pleasure. Ellery's first action
on leaving Trefellcus Square was to take
steps to summon his other witnesses
to meet him at Thomas's office
the following morning. Kitty
Frenchum, he secured by a telephone message
to Mandelham's flat.
Mandelham at once promised to come himself
and to bring Kitty with him at half-past ten.
Ellery then walked on to Piccadilly Circus
where he found his friend, the night-watchman,
deep this time in Carlisle's Oliver Cromwell which Ellery had lent him.
He too promised to be in attendance.
Elery then walked along Piccadilly to the theatre and secured the attendant
who had seen Walter Brooklyn standing outside at a bit before half-past ten.
This completed his preparations.
And he rang at the bell of Liskeed House and asked for Joan.
What news? she asked anxiously, coming forward to greet him as he was announced.
The best, he replied.
The alibi is proved.
Oh, I'm so glad.
and now I can tell you secret.
I wasn't absolutely sure
my stepfather had told us the truth.
At least I was sure,
but I couldn't help having a doubt every now and then.
And I simply couldn't bear the thought
that he might have been implicated.
I knew, of course, that he hadn't killed anyone,
but I wasn't quite sure he didn't know all about it.
And everybody else seemed to believe the worst,
and at times I couldn't help being a little shaken.
Now you must tell me all about what you have found.
Ellery did tell her all about it
and also of the steps he had taken to arrange a meeting
at Thomas's office for the following morning.
Joan said at once that she would go,
and Ellery thereupon rang up Thomas,
to whom he had so far said nothing at his home
and demanded an interview.
John and he must, he said,
see Thomas an urgent business.
They would be bringing several witnesses
who could throw valuable light on the case
and they would be at his office at 10.30 on the following morning.
would thomas be sure to keep the time free thomas was plainly surprised and also curious and he tried to make ellery tell him over the phone what it was all about this ellery would not do merely saying that the matter was of vital importance but he would rather explain it all in the morning
Thomas, that upon, agreed to cancel a previous engagement and to be ready for them at the hour arranged.
Now at last, said Eleree as he hung up the receiver.
I think we're entitled to a good night's rest.
I'm afraid there won't be much sleep for me, darling, said John.
Severnon was told today about poor George.
He kept asking for him, and in the end, Marianne had to tell him all about it.
Of course, it has made him worse.
Now he keeps asking to see the police, and insisting that they must find the murderers.
but he knows nothing at all about it.
He has no idea who did it.
Someone must be with him all the time, of course.
Mary is with him now, and I have to take a place at midnight.
She is tired out, poor thing.
And what about you, poor thing?
Said Ellery, for he could see that.
She was almost at the end of her strength.
He drew her head down onto his shoulder
and tried to persuade her to give up the idea
of coming to Thomas's office in the morning.
But Joan was firm.
She must see the thing through.
She would be all right.
She could get plenty of sleep later in the day.
Ellery had to consent to her coming,
and the lovers sat together till midnight,
when they bade each other farewell as lovers too,
for all the world as if their parting were,
not for a few hours, but for an eternity.
It was getting on for one o'clock when Elery reached home,
and he was surprised as he went up the stairs to see a light in a sitting-room.
He let himself in with his ski,
and found his landlady sitting bolt upright on the hall chair.
Lord Mr. Ellery, she said,
how late you are.
Is a person in your room been waiting for more than an hour?
I wouldn't go to bed with him there.
Not for worse, I wouldn't.
He said he must see you and would wait.
What sort of a man?
Oh, not a nice man.
He looks to me more like a tramser than anything else.
I was afraid he might steal something if I left him.
Ellery opened the door and went in.
He at once recognized a man who had followed Walter Brooklyn on Tuesday
from Truffelgar Square to German Street,
one of the witnesses whom the Spaniard had found.
The visitor lost no time.
Look here, Mr.
He said.
It's off.
What's off?
What do you mean?
What I mean is you don't catch me giving evidence in this year case.
You treated me like a gent and I thought I'd let you know.
But tomorrow I shan't be there.
You got to understand that.
Do you mean you won't help to clear Mr. Brooklyn?
Why?
What's the matter?
Well, Mr.
I may not be what I ought to be.
Leastways some folks says I ain't.
But I got views of my own as to what's right.
same as others, and I've found out a thing or two about this, Mr. Brooklyn of yours.
He can swing so far as I'm concerned.
My good fellow, the man's innocent of this crime, whatever you may know about him.
You must say what you know.
Not so much, good fellow.
And there's no must about it, Mr.
That chap deserves hanging for things he has done,
and I don't care if they hangs him on the right charge or the wrong one.
I know a girl what...
I don't mind telling you that I don't like Mr. Brooklyn any better than you do.
But I want to see him clear.
he didn't commit these murders
I know that
come come Mr. Why not let him hang
What is it matter to you anyway
He'd be a good riddance from what a year of him
But you can't see a man
Condemned when you know he's innocent
Why not mister I say
Why not? It is not as if you had any personal interest in the fellow
So to speak
But I have
He's the stepfather of the girl I'm engaged to marry
She would never get over it if he were convicted
The Pickpockets man had changed from
sullenness to interest.
Hey?
What's that you say?
He said.
Now, if you had told me that at once,
I'm not one to stand between a man and his girl.
You'll come, won't you?
The man hesitated.
I don't say as I won't, he said.
But if I do come, it won't be for any love of you, Mr. Brooklyn.
I'd seem hanged and glad, too, along of what I know.
I don't care why you come as long as you do come.
Well, Mr. I'll come.
If you want to know why, it's because I have took a bit of fancy to you.
But I'll have a bit of my own back on that Brooklyn gent if he gets off being hung.
I didn't lift his watch off him that night, but I will when he gets out.
Oh, you're welcome there. Pick his pockets as much as you like.
In course, you won't let on the police what I have been saying.
I've been treating you as if you were a pal, you know.
Elery promised that his visitor's calling should be kept a dead secret
then he gave him a drink and showed him out after obtaining a renewal of the promise that he would attend in the morning.
The man slouched out into the night.
Love did not keep Ellery awake.
He was tired and he slept soundly, only waking in time to snatch a hasty breakfast and to call for John early enough to take a straight round with him to their appointment at Thomas's office.
The end of Chapter 22
Chapter 23 of the Brooklyn murders.
This Libby Vox recording is in the public domain.
Read by Yoganand
The Brooklyn Murders by G.D. H. Cole
Chapter 23.
Walter Brooklyn goes free.
The business transacted at Thomas's office that morning was protracted,
but the result of it was never in doubt.
Thomas had before long to admit that he had been suspecting an innocent man,
and that man, his own client.
At first, he was inclined to be incredulous,
but when witness after witness was produced,
he had to admit absolutely that Joan and Ellery had proved their case.
The testimony of one or even two witnesses might have been doubted,
but the cumulative effect of the evidence given by the old night watchman,
Kitty Frenchman and Horace Mannelham,
and the man whom the Spaniard had found was irresistible.
It was true that the evidence of the stick and the telephone message
which Walter Brooklyn was supposed to have sent
were unaffected by the case which Joan and Ellery had prepared.
But Thomas, though he knew nothing of superintendent,
and Wilson's new view of the case agreed that any charge based on these would certainly collapse in face of a conclusive alibi.
Thomas confidently stated that it was only a matter of a short time before Walter Brooklyn would be released without a stain on his character.
There were stains enough on it already, Jones said to herself, even if this last disgrace were removed.
Walter Brooklyn was not guilty of murder and had been, in this case, unjustly accused.
but no amount of sympathy with him in his present misfortune
could wipe out the recollection of what she had suffered
while she had still felt it her duty to live with him.
She had done her best to absolve him of the charge of murder
because she was fully assured of his innocence
but that once accomplished she desired to have no more to do with him.
When therefore Thomas suggested that she should go at once to the prison
and tell her stepfather the good news
while he and Ellery saw the police an endeavour to make an irons
for his release, Joan refused and said that she would prefer Thomas to see his client himself.
To the rest of the suggested program, she agreed, and Thomas Atwans got through on the phone to Superintendent Wilson
and arranged an immediate appointment.
Joan and Ellery agreed with him that the best courts was to tell the police the whole story at once,
and instead of waiting for the trial, to endeavor to secure Walter Brooklyn's release as soon as the necessary formalities could be carried through.
taking their witness with them
therefore Joan, Ellery and Thomas
set out for Scotland Yard
There they left witnesses in a waiting room
and were at once shown into the superintendent
Inspector Blakey who had been sent for
when Thomas' message was received was also present
and the two police officers now heard
from Joan and Ellery what they had done
The superintendent listened very quietly to their story
in one of his favorite attitudes
With his eyes closed most of the time
His legs thrust out before him
and his hands buried deep in his trouser-prockets.
The inspector once or twice tried to interrupt
and was at first obviously incredulous.
But before they had done,
the strength of the case was evident even to him,
and the testimony of the witnesses,
who I then called in and examined one by one,
was quite conclusive in its cumulative effect.
Walter Brooklyn had been seen by no less than seven persons,
and it was quite inconceivable,
in view of the times and places at which they had seen him,
that he could have made his way into a and to,
out of Liskeed House and committed even a single murder in the time available.
The superintendent jotted down a list of the independent testimonies which went to the making of the
alibi.
10.15 or so.
Shown out of Liskeed House by Winter.
10.20 or so.
Seen by Portrait of Piccadilly Theatre walking up Piccadilly towards a circus.
1045.
Seen in Leicester Square by Kitty Frenchman and Horace Mandelham.
1120 or so.
Seen in Piccadilly Circus by Night Watchmen.
11.30 or so.
seen by a taxi driver near Liskeet Street in Piccadilly, exact time uncertain.
11.35, about.
Seen at time, not precisely fixed, but it must have been at this time by the spaniard,
leaning on the parapet, and then walking along the top of the Trafalgar Square.
10.45, seen by witness of unknown occupation at the top of Whitehall,
and followed by him on Coxborough Street and Regent Street, as far as a corner of German Street.
12 midnight. Seen by Knight Porter entering the Byron Club, the porter is positive, he did not go out again.
When the last witness had withdrawn, the superintendent looked at his notes.
What do you make of it now? asked Thomas. The reply, unicitatingly given, was that the alibi
seemed to be conclusive. I admit, said the superintendent, that for a time we were barking up the
wrong tree. There remains, of course, to be explained the telephone message and the presence of
your client's stick. I don't say that we shan't have to.
test even the alibi further. Some of your witnesses are a rather doubtful character. But personally,
I admit that I have no doubt about it. Indeed, quite apart from the alibi, I had already made up my mind
on other grounds that your client was innocent. Your discoveries merely conform my opinion.
Then you agree, said Thomas, that my client ought to be released? Before you answer that question,
sir, put in Inspector Blikey, may I have a word? I admit that what we have just heard is very
powerful testimony. But surely the telephone message proves that Mr. Brooklyn was in the house,
and therefore that there is something wrong with the alibi, to say nothing of the stick. I hope
you won't agree to a release, at least until there has been time to look into the matter further.
The superintendent rose from his chair. You will excuse this for a moment. He said to the others,
and he beckoned to the inspector to follow him into the adjoining room. My dear inspector,
he said when he had shut the door, you will kindly leave me to manage his affair.
The inspector replied,
"'Sertainly, sir,' but he added half to himself.
All the same, I believe he did it.
I shall order release—I mean, I shall announce that the prosecution is withdrawn,
and get the man released as soon as possible.
To my mind, the alibi is quite convincing.
But even apart from it, I was going to tell you this morning that I proposed to recommend
Walter Brooklyn's release.
I'll explain my reasons when the others have gone.
You'll leave it to me.
The inspector said nothing but followed a superior officer back into the other room.
Well, Mr. Thomas, said the superintendent, I shall certainly offer no opposition to a client's release.
Will you take the necessary steps on your side? Thomas said that he would, and the superintendent added that in that case, there should be neither difficulty nor delay.
Only formal evidence of arrest had been offered before the magistrate, and they might now consider the charge as definitely dropped.
Joan began to thank him, but he stopped her. It's not a matter for thanks, he said.
we appear to arrest her the wrong man, and the need for apologies if it exists is on our side.
You will, however, agree that appearances were strongly against Mr. Brooklyn,
and that we could hardly have taken any other courts.
Indeed, it seems clear that whoever did commit the murder or murders
must have deliberately planned to throw suspicion on your stepfather.
That, I think, furnishes an important clue.
But I suppose you have now no idea at all who the murderer was?
it is hardly fair to ask me that question Miss Cooper
said the superintendent smiling
you come here and knock the police theory into smithereens
and then you ask us if we have another theory ready made
now we have not a theory
but we do possess certain very important clues
at this point Thomas had a word to say
it is just possible that I may be able to help you there
in preparing for the defense of my client
I add of course to consider who the criminal
or criminals might be and to make certain
inquiries. I like it on certain information which you may find useful. I'm not likely to need it now,
but I'll gladly make you a present of it for what it is worth. What is the information?
I believe you have been watching certain of the servants at Liskid House. Morgan, I mean,
and the butler Winter, the superintendent glanced at Inspector Blakey who nodded.
You may or may not have discovered that the man Winter had a very strong personal course of quarrel with Mr.
Princep, quite enough, I think, to be the motive of a serious crime.
The superintendent again looked towards Inspector Blikey, who very slightly shook his head.
Then he said to Thomas, I think you'd better tell us all you know.
Well, to begin with, the butler had a violent quarrel with Mr. Princep a few days before the
murder and was practically given notice to leave.
That can be proved by the evidence of the maid servants and of Morgan.
This is the first I've heard of it, said John.
And what's more?
I don't believe it. Winter is a very old and trusted family severed.
I'm sure Mr. Prince would not have given him notice.
The mates say that the notice was not quite definite,
and that Winter was not sure whether he would have to go or not.
He spoke to Morgan about it, but the evidence as to the quarrel is quite decisive.
I think it's horrible, said John.
I'm every bit as sure that Winter had nothing to do with it, as I am sure about my stepfather.
And what if they did have a quarrel?
John, Mr. Princep, I mean, was always hot temper.
I have not yet told the inspector what the quarrel was about.
It was about the girl, Winter was engaged.
To a girl down at Fittler's daughter, I believe.
I understand that Mr. Princep had some relations with her, and Winter objected.
At this, Joan suddenly went red all over, but she said nothing.
The superintendent was watching her, said very quietly,
Do you know this girl, Miss Cooper?
And can you throw any light on the incident?
I'm sorry to ask, but he paused for her answer.
Of course, I know the girl well, but I would rather not speak of it.
I had no idea that she was to be married to winter.
Very well, Miss Coppa.
I see that you do know, and that there is some truth in the story.
Can you say that there is not?
I prefer not to say anything.
That will do.
I see your point, Mr. Thomas.
This certainly provides what we have been seeking,
a possible motive for Mr. Prince's murder.
But of course, it's merely.
possible indication. There is no evidence against Winter as far as I'm aware. That, Mr. Superintendent,
is entirely your business. I merely gave you what information I had gathered. Tracking down
the criminal is fortunately no concern of mine. Quite so. And that is the whole of the information?
Yes. Apart from that, I know no more than you know already. Then I can only thank you for the help
you have given and assure you that everything possible shall be done to expedite your client's release.
by the way, you had better say nothing to anyone else of what you have just told me.
And thereupon, with a skill born of long practice, the superintendent bowed his visitors out of the room.
To Inspector Blake, he spoke a little word asking him to remind for a few minutes' discussion.
Jones' indignation burst forth as soon as she was outside the building.
She was particularly angry with Thomas.
I call it abominable.
We have just succeeded in clearing one innocent man whom an hour or two ago you believed to be guilty.
and now you're wantonly throwing suspicion on someone else.
What business is it of yours?
I know winter had nothing to do with it.
That's all very well, Miss Cooper, but it was my duty to tell the police,
and moreover, by doing so, I probably speeded up Mr. Brooklyn's release by at least 24 hours.
It's always wise to have the police on your side when you can.
If it was your duty, why didn't you tell the police when you first found it out?
I'll be quite frank with you, Miss Cooper.
I did not, because, until your very same time,
smart work on proving Mr. Brooklyn's alibi, my best chance of getting him off was to be able to
throw unexpected suspicion on someone else at the trial. I call it beastly, even to think of using
methods like that. Thomas was very small. But I suppose, Miss Cooper, you would not have liked to
see your stepfather condemned. I had to do the best I could. I don't care. It can't be right
to throw suspicion on an innocent man like that. Do you yourself believe Winter did it? Why didn't you
do what he did. Clear my stepfather by proving the truth of what he said. Perhaps, Miss Cooper,
it was because I am not so clever as you are. I've already congratulated you on the way you have
managed this affair. I don't want your congratulations. Do you believe Winter did it? As to that,
Miss Cooper, I do not pretend to know. It's for the police and not for me to find out. Joan, on hearing
this, simply turned a back on him and walked away. Thomas very politely raised his head to her back,
told Elery that he must be off and hailed a passing taxi.
Elodie hurried after John.
For a minute after he came up with her, she strode on fast, saying nothing.
Then, don't you think it is beastly, she said.
I agree with you that Thomas is a cad, and I don't believe old winter had anything to do with it.
And I don't think there was any need for him to tell the police.
But he probably did it, as he said, in order to get the police on her side.
And now they'll be off full cry after winter.
I suppose they'll want to arrest him next.
Hillary shook his head.
Hardly, without more evidence than they possess,
but they will probably have him watched.
There was a further silence during which Joan continued to walk fast,
staring straight in front of her.
At last, she said,
I've been thinking, and I'm sure I see what we ought to do.
So far, we have only been trying to prove that my stepfather did not do it.
We have succeeded.
But at this rate, we shall all of us be suspected in turn.
There's only one thing for it.
There'll be no peace in quietness till someone finds a criminal.
I don't believe the police will ever find him.
Why shouldn't you and I find him ourselves?
We haven't done badly so far.
Ellery whistled.
That's a much taller order than proving your stepfather's alibi, he said.
But I am game.
There certainly won't be much peace for any of us
till somebody finds out who did do it.
But I am dashed if I know how to begin.
Neither do I at present.
We have to think it all out.
and make a fresh start.
Come home with me and we'll start planning it at once.
They say two heads are better than one
and I'm prepared to be a very faithful follower.
But you'll have to be the shallow combs, I'm afraid.
Come along then, Watson,
but try not to be as stupid as your namesake.
The end of chapter 23.
Chapter 24 of the Brooklyn murders.
This Liberty Works recording is in the public domain.
Read by Yoganan.
The Brooklyn Murders by G.D. H. Cole. Chapter 24. A fresh start.
Well, where do we stand now? said Superintendent Wilson as he turned back into the room after showing his visitors out.
Nowhere at all, sir, I should say, was the inspector's discontented reply.
You have let the bird in the hand go, and all the other birds are safer than ever in the bush.
Are you so sure there's no doubt about that alibi?
"'Still harping on that, are you, Inspector?
"'Come, put the idea of Walter Brooklyn's guilt out of your head.
"'It's not often I take much talk in alibis,
"'but this one is absolutely convincing.'
"'I'm not so sure, sir, all the same.
"'At least I would have kept hold of the man we had got
"'till we could lay someone else by the heels.'
"'The superintendent shrugged the shoulders impatiently.
"'That's the worst of you, Inspector,' he said.
"'You are impervious to evidence.
"'You never give up an idea
"'when you have once been at the trouble of forming it.
and therefore you don't see how this morning's business really helps us.
Helps us?
No, I'm jiggered if I see that.
If you are in the right, we are in a worse hole than ever.
No, my dear inspector, it does help us.
And the superintendent rubbed his hands with satisfaction.
He smiled to himself as he reflected that he could see further than most people through a brick wall.
How do you mean? asked the inspector.
Well, if Walter Brooklyn was not in the house, it's clear that he did not send that telephone message.
But someone did send it.
Who was that someone?
Find him, and you find the murderer.
It was clearly sent with a deliberate intention of throwing suspicion on Walter Brooklyn.
Yes, if you're right about the alibi, I see that.
But I don't see that we are any nearer to finding out who did send it.
Well, at least, said the superintendent, there are certain things to go upon.
First, there is no doubt at all that the message was sent, and sent from Liskeed House.
The inquiries at the exchange prove that.
The inspector nodded.
That being so, is it not safe to conclude that it was sent by one of the inmates,
or by the murderer before making his escape?
If the murderer was an inmate of the house, the two possibilities are reduced to one.
Probably he was at any rate someone familiar with the house and the family.
I see, said the inspector, and his face brightened up for the first time.
That is certainly a point.
You mean that winter could without difficulty have sent the message?
Doubtless he could, and so could others.
don't jump to conclusions.
I agree that it would fit in with the theory
your mind is now forming that winter is guilty.
But remember that, we have really nothing against him.
Even if the story about the quarrel and his engagement turns out to be true,
that doesn't carry us very far.
It's not enough to prove motive.
If everybody who had a motive for murder kill this man,
there would be nobody left alive.
Direct evidence is what counts.
But direct evidence isn't easy to get.
Nothing that is worthwhile is easy to get.
The odd job is to do things that are difficult.
That's all very well.
But me, no buts, Inspector.
So far from being depressed by this morning's events, I'm greatly encouraged.
They fit in exactly with my own view.
But if you don't believe Winter did it, who do you think did?
Come now, Inspector, that is a question for the end of the argument, not the beginning.
I had at least fully made it my mind before I knew anything at all of this alibi,
that Walter Brooklyn did not do it.
What on earth made you think that?
Had you some fresh evidence?
No, Inspector.
Merely some fresh use of the old evidence.
The more I thought about it, the plainer became that both those sets of clues were deliberately laid by the same person.
I mean the murderer.
Don't you see my point?
But why did the murderer lay two inconsistent sets of false clues?
That, my inspector, is the point.
He laid them both in the hope that we should see through the one set and not through the other,
which is just what you have done.
He is a clever scoundrel.
He meant us to hang Walter Brooklyn.
He is too clever for me, if that's so.
But supposing you're right,
I don't see that we are much nearer to finding out who he is.
The superintendent assumed the air of one instructing a little child
and as he spoke ticked off the points on his fingers.
My dear, Blackie.
We have to trace a murderer through the false clues which he left.
Point number one.
Walter Brooklyn's stick was found in Princep's room.
If Walter Brooklyn did not put it there, who did?
Asked if I know, said the inspector.
Who could have put it there?
Someone must have got it from Walter Brooklyn.
He said he left it in a taxi, didn't he?
No, he said he didn't know where he had left it.
It might have been in a taxi,
or it might have been any of the places he visited that afternoon.
In Woodman's office, for example, or in the Picardilly Theatre.
you must find out again exactly where he went
and if possible where he did leave the stick
there is just a chance that Princep found it
and took it up to his room but I don't think so
I think it was clearly left on the floor of Princep's room
in order that it might serve as a clue to mislead us
I see a point I'll find out what I can
then there's a telephone message
it's not very difficult to imitate a man's voice over the telephone
but I doubt if the murderer would have risked it
if unless he had known the man he was imitating pretty well.
He may have been something of a mimic.
The idea of imitating the voice would have occurred to such a man.
Find out if there is anyone connected with the Brooklands who is much of a mimic.
Why, old Sir Vernon Brooklyn used to be the finest impersonator in England in his younger days
before he took to serious acting.
I was not thinking of him.
There may be others.
That sort of talent often runs in families.
I'll make inquiries.
Now I come to a much more important point.
When one man takes elaborate measures to get another hanged,
it usually means he has either some violent grudge
or some strong reason for securing the removal of that particular person.
If the murderer tried to get Walter Brooklyn hanged,
when he might apparently have got away without leaving any clue at all,
he must have either a violent hatred
or more probably a very strong motive for wishing Walter Brooklyn out of the way.
we have to find out who had such a motive.
Motive seems a dangerous line to go on.
You remember that Walter Brooklyn had the strongest financial motive for killing his nephews?
He gets a port of the money when Sir Vernon dies.
I know he does, but what I want you to find out is who would get the money if Walter Brooklyn were removed.
When you found out about the will, did you discover that?
No, it seemed quite enough to find out that Brooklyn stood to get it by killing his nephews.
So far as I remember, there was a man.
was nothing in the will to say who would get the money if they all died.
That's a point you must make quite sure of, not merely what is in the will, but who is the
next of kin after Walt Brooklyn? It may be the decisive glow. I believe you have some definite
suspicion in your mind. My dear inspector, if I have, I'm not going to say any more about
it just now. You go and find out what I've asked, and then we can talk. I'm to do nothing then
about winter? I certainly did not say that. That man thought.
Thomas seems to have found out something you had missed.
It's your turn to pick up something that has escaped him.
Watch the servants at Liskeed House, the maids as well as Winter and Morgan.
Keep an eye on the whole household.
And meanwhile, I'll find out all about that girl at Fittlerworth.
I can have inquiries made locally on the spot.
Then you are inclined to think Winter may have done it?
Not at all.
There you are jumping to conclusions again.
I'm not at all disposed to say anything definite just at present.
what we need is further information
and all we can do for the present is to follow up every hint we get
I'll do my best sir
but it doesn't look to me very hopeful
oh never say die
even if he could not find out the whole truth for ourselves
and I believe we can
there is plenty of chance still for the murderer to give himself away
in my experience that is how 99 out of 100
murderers get caught I mean of those who do get caught at all
you watch winter carefully but don't jump
to conclusion that he is guilty.
Watch them all.
Keep your eyes and your mind wide open.
We'll pull it through yet.
But, said the inspector, unable any longer to keep back the question.
If you think neither Walter Brooklyn nor Winter did it, who do you think did?
If I knew that my dear inspector, I shouldn't be giving you these instructions.
The real criminal may be someone quite outside our previous range of suspicion.
Indeed, I shouldn't be at all surprised if he is.
But you mean that the immediate thing is to go.
fully into these new aspects of the case?
Quite so.
Do that and report progress.
And remember to keep your eyes
wide open for anything that may turn up.
We must trust largely
to luck. As Inspector
Blakey left Superintendent Wilson's room,
he was in a curiously divided
state of mind. At one moment
he still said to himself that all his good labour
could not have been wasted and that Walter
Brooklyn must really be guilty after all.
The next, he found himself assuming
with great reassurance that Winter was the murderer.
He was one of those men who could only keep their minds open
by entertaining two contrary opinions at the same time.
He shook his head over what seemed to him the weakness of his superior
in letting Walter Brooklyn go without arresting someone else.
Meanwhile, in the lounge at Liskeed House,
Joan and Ellery were sitting very close to each other on a sofa
making their plans for the discovery of the criminal.
How had we better begin? he asked,
running his hand desperately through his hair.
I can see only one way, Joan replied.
We have nothing to go upon.
Nothing, I mean, that would make us suspect any particular person.
So the only thing to do is to suspect everybody,
to find out exactly where everybody was when the crime was committed
and what they were doing that evening.
That's something of an undertaking.
I don't mean all the world.
I mean everybody who was or was likely to have been in this house.
Of course, it may have been someone quite different,
but I think that's the best way to start.
And we mustn't rule out anybody, even ourselves.
However sure we are, they had nothing to do with it.
Even if that doesn't find the criminal, it may help us to light on a clue.
But it is still a tall order.
We don't even know at what time the murderers were committed.
Isn't that a good point to begin upon?
Let me see.
When were George and John last seen alive?
Both at some time after 11.
George was seen leaving the house at half-past,
and Princef was seen rather before that time in the garden.
Isn't that sure?
Then that, said John, definitely fixes the time of both the murders as being later than, say, 11.15,
and one of them definitely after 11.30.
That is something to go upon.
Ah, but stop a minute.
May not either the people who thought they saw George or the others who thought they saw John have been mistaken?
Neither of them was seen close to.
It doesn't seem very likely.
Winter would hardly have mistaken someone else for George when he saw him going out by the front door.
Still, my dear, it is possible. Winter was at the other end of the hole and only noticed him by accident. He probably caught no more than a glimpse. Yes, Bob, but the other man saw him from quite close. You remember, he said he went to open the door for him? But George slipped out before he could get there. Yes, I know, but did the other man know George by sight? He was only a hired waiter in for the evening. Winter probably told him afterwards it was George, and he took it for granted. I think your romancing might as well.
If it wasn't George, who was it? Surely, John, in that case, it was a murderer, whoever he may have been.
Jones sighed. Follow up that idea of yours, why all means, she said. But it doesn't sound to me very hopeful.
The people who said they saw John are much more likely to have been mistaken. They only saw him from a window somewhere off, and it was half dark.
Do you know, John? I'm half inclined to believe that neither of them was really seen then at all.
what I mean is
they may have both been dead by half past eleven
suppose they were neither of them seen
yes and by Joe that would get rid of one difficulty
I've never been able to see how George got back
into the grounds after the place was all locked up
but suppose he didn't have to get back at all because he never went out
then the man who went out and was mistaken for George
would be the murderer John
aren't you listening yes Bob I heard what you said
and I half think you're right.
I was thinking of the telephone message.
Why, what about it?
What I mean is,
if that message was sent with the object of shifting the suspicion on to someone else,
isn't it more likely to have been sent after
than before the murders?
You're right.
At least it was probably sent after one of them.
There is no necessary reason to suppose that they were both done at the same time.
We don't even know that the same man did them.
Oh, I don't know about that.
"'Two murders in one night is bad enough,
"'but to ask me to believe in two different murderers
"'is too much of a strain on my credulity.'
"'Then you don't think Princep killed George?'
"'Ellerie asked.
"'No, I'm nearly sure he didn't.'
"'It isn't, I'm afraid, dear, that I don't think he was morally capable of it.
"'I simply feel sure he wouldn't have been such a fool.
"'Not even if George had told what he thought of him about Carrey's lang.
"'They'd both probably have lost their tempers pretty bad.
No, Bob, not even then. At least I'm nearly sure. I'm convinced there was only one murderer. Remember, they were both killed the same way. Well, let's assume you're right. Then if what you said about the phone message was right, it was probably sent after one of the murders. I mean, immediately after. The murderer wouldn't have wasted time on the premises. Yes, that means that 1130 or thereabouts is a critical time. Then half past ten is the earliest possible.
Winter went up to get John's letter then, and everything was all right.
Oh, but George was seen long after that.
Winter let him in by the front door at a quarter to eleven.
Yes, it was certainly George he let in.
They spoke, and he couldn't have made a mistake.
That narrows a bit.
Then probably it all happened after a quarter to eleven,
unless George found Prince of dead when he got upstairs
and chased the murderer down the private stairs into the garden
and got killed by him out there.
How does that strike you, John?
it is possible Bob
but it looks as if we couldn't fix the time
very nearly. It was somewhere
between a quarter to eleven and half past
but that's as near as we can get
let it stand there
and now let's follow our original plan
and see what we know about everybody who might
have been mixed up in it. Let's write it down.
I'll write. Losing no time they got to work
first they made a list of everyone who had been
present at the dinner on the evening of the tragedy
Sir Vernon, John Princep, George Brooklyn and his wife, Carter and Mrs. Woodman, Lucas, Mary Woodman and themselves.
Next came the servants. Winter, Morgan, Agnes Dutch, the two other maids, they hired waiters.
They were the only persons who, as far as they knew, had been in the house that night.
Next, they wrote down exactly what they knew of the doings of every one of these people,
leaving spaces in which they could fill in further particulars as they discovered more.
When it was finished, the list and comments took this form.
Persons, Sir Vernon, movements, went to bed 1015, remained in room.
Evidence were movements, Joan, Mary Woodman.
Persons, Joan, movements, with Sir Vernon 1015 to 10.30, with Mary Woodman 10.40, then bed.
Evidence were movements, Sir Vernon, Mary Woodman, self.
"'That self looks very suspicious,' said John, as Ellery wrote it down.
"'Yes, we are suspecting ourselves as well as others.
"'I strongly suspect you. And I, you, but get on.'
"'Persons, Mary Woodman, movements, in landing lounge till after eleven, then bed.
"'Evidence were movements. John to 1040, self.'
"'Another suspect,' said Ellery.
"'Poor Mary,' said John.
She couldn't hurt her to fly.
Then I suspect her all the more.
Persons.
Winter.
Moomments.
Downstairs with servants till after 11.30.
Let's in Morgan soon after 11.30.
Then bed.
Evidence were movements.
Other servants.
Morgan self.
He went to bed.
But did he stay there?
That's a point.
Put down, did he stay there?
No clear evidence.
After all, Morgan says he did.
Yes, but Morgan is.
isn't sure. We come to him next. Persons, Morgan, movements at Hammersmith at 11. Evidence were
moments, unconfirmed, but may be capable of confirmation. Persons, Morgan, movements,
arrived at Liskkeet House soon after 11.30, went to bed, stayed there. Evidence were moments,
winter. I say, there wouldn't be much evidence of what Morgan did if it wasn't for winter.
they were both in it. Winter's story depends on Morgans almost as much as Morgans or
us. We suspect them both. At least I don't, but I mean to pretend to do so. Who's next?
Agnes Dutch, put it on. Persons, Agnes Dutch, movements, dismissed by Joan for night
1030, went to bed. Evidence for movements, shown. Next please, the maid servants. They're all
in the same position. Put them down.
Persons, maid servants.
Movements, downstairs till after 11, then bed.
Evidence were moments.
Winter and waiters, one another.
No collusion.
Don't be silly.
Now we come to the people who weren't sleeping in the house.
Persons.
Marianne Brooklyn.
Moomans.
Back to Hotel 10.20.
Evidence were moments.
Carter and Helen Woodman.
Moomins talked with Helen till 11.30 in Helen's room.
Evidence were moments.
Helen Woodman. Then bed. Evidence for movements. No confirmation. But she's out of it anyway. Yes. Poor Marianne.
Persons. Carter Woodman. Moomans back to Hotel 1020. Evidence for moments. In hotel writing room till 1145.
Evidence for moments. Told above had letters to write. Moomens. Gave letters to Porto to post 1145.
Evidence were movements, porter and liftman.
That seems all right.
Yes, Helen's next.
Persons.
Helen Woodman.
Mooments.
Back the hotel 1020.
Evidence were movements.
Marianne and Carter.
Moments with Marian until 11.30, then bed.
Evidence were movements.
Marian Carter Woodman after 1145.
And now we come to you, Bob.
Oh, I'm no use.
I've approved Alibe Alderdy.
I'm in the same position as your revered stepfather.
Put yourself down all the same.
Persons.
Elibri.
Movements.
Walking about 10.15 to about midnight.
Evidence were movements?
Gloucester.
Movements.
Home and bed.
Evidence were movements?
Lion lady.
But did you stay in bed?
And slept like a top.
That leaves only Uncle Harry.
Oh, he left in his car at 10.15 and went back.
to Hampstyn. He told me the police had made inquiries and confirmed that he got back at
1045 and did not go out again. Put him down. Persons. Lucas. Moomans. Left list keyed house
by car. 1015. Evidence were moments. All of us. Moments. Arrived home 1045 and stayed
there. Evidence were moments. Police satisfied. And that's everybody. Yes. And I don't know
that we are much further. There's no one on this list you can possibly.
suspect, except perhaps Morgan, and he can hardly have done it unless Winter wasn't it too.
I don't know about that. Then whom do you suspect? No one and everyone. I want time to think that
list over. Leave it with me, and I'll put on my considering cap and tell you tomorrow.
Don't you go suspecting poor Winter like the police? My dear Joan, this is almost undetective-like
advice. You ought to make a point of suspecting everybody. I make an exception of Winter. I'm a
afraid you want to make an exception of everybody. I have a far more suspicious nature. Is there anything
I can do while you are thinking it over? Yes, go and see Carter Woodman and find out all you can
about John's circumstances at the time of the murder. Carter may know something about this winter
story, or be able at any rate to tell you something useful we don't know. Then come here tomorrow
morning, I'll tell you if I have added brainwave. Then at last, Ellery said goodbye, and Joan went
to get the sleep she badly needed. The end.
of chapter 24. Chapter 25 of the Brooklyn murders. This Liberty Walk's recording is in the public domain
read by Yoganand. The Brooklyn Murders by G.D. H. Cole. Chapter 25. Raising the wind.
Walter Brooklyn's release was arranged more quickly than anyone had expected and while Ellery and Joan
was still engaged in the conversation just reported he came out of Brixton Jail a free man. At the gate he
said goodbye to Thomas and hailing a taxi ordered the man to drive to his club. The portrait
of Byron met him as he entered with an incredulous stare, for he was a firm believer in the
theory that Brooklyn was guilty and had been for days past been telling all his friends and those
of the club members who would listen to him of the important part which he himself had played
in bringing the murderer to justice. Walter Brooklyn was not popular in the club, and by members
and servants alike the assumption of his guilt had been readily accepted. Brooklyn passed the
without a word and went straight up to his room. As he passed by the dough leading to the kitchen
stairs, a discreetly faint smell of cooking floated up to him, and he thought how pleasant it would
be to see a good dinner before him again in the comfortable club dining room. But a second thought
gave him pause. Could he face his fellow members just yet? He could pretty accurately guess what
they had been saying about him, and he was not at all sure what his reception would be. It would be
better to give time for the news of his release and the convincing evidence of his innocence
to get round the club before he made a public reappearance. But a good dinner was indispensable.
His first act on regaining the privacy of his apartment was to take up the house phone
which connected with the kitchens and to order dinner to be sent up to his room. The start of
surprise which a chef gave on hearing who was speaking to him, he could visualize over the phone
as clearly as if the man had been standing before him in the same room. He was all the most
careful for that reason in ordering his dinner, discussing the merits of one course after another
at length with the chef. He meant to do himself well, and he meant the servants to understand that
he was back quite on the old footing. But Walter Brooklyn had other things to consider, besides
his reinstatement, as a more or less respectable member of society. He was literally almost
penniless, and he knew that his release from prison would merely reopen in a more insistent form
that long struggle with his creditors. He must have money, and he must have money, and he must
have it at once. His attempt to get money from Princep had completely failed and Woodman
had very decisively refused to give him an advance. But a great deal had happened since then.
Now both Princep and George Brooklyn were dead and in more ways than one that meant a change in his own situation.
Princep had been the main obstacle between him and Sir Vernon and there was at least a chance that
if he could see his brother he would be able to get a substantial loan. He knew that Sir Vernon
was very ill but if only he was not too ill.
to be approached, that might make the job all the easier.
Could he not persuade the sick man to back a bill for him, or better still, write a check in his favour?
That was one possibility.
But there was another.
Now that George and Prince of were out of the way, who was there to whom Sir Vernon could leave his wealth?
Well, it would Joan and himself.
Marianne Brooklyn would doubtless get something, and Mary Woodman, but the bulk of the property
would hardly go to them.
Walter knew well enough Sir Vernon's strong sense of family law.
loyalty, and he was fairly sure that, in the changed circumstances, he would profit heavily when his brother died.
Might it not be better, instead of risking the giving of offence to Sir Vernon by asking for a loan to try to raise some money on the strength of his expectations?
From that point of view, Sir Vernon's illness would make the chances of success all the greater.
Walter Brooklyn had no positive knowledge of Sir Vernon's will.
Some time back, however, Sir Vernon had written to him enclosing one of the many last checks which he had given to his brother,
to tell him that, except in a very remote contingency, he would expect no further assistance,
whether I am dead or alive.
Sir Vernon had added, I may as well tell you that I have left the bulk of my property
to my two nephews, and as long as they live, you will receive only a comparatively small
legacy.
You have forfeited all claim to my esteem, and as long as I have other near relatives to whom
I can leave my property, I feel under no obligations to place any of it in your hands.
I know too well what you would do with it.
I tell you this in order that you may not deceive yourself by any false expectations.
Little had Sir Vernon expected when he wrote his letter that the time would come
when it would positively encourage his brother to look forward to a big legacy.
Walter had seen Sir Vernon after receiving that letter
and while his brother had told him nothing positive,
he had come away with a shrewd idea that he could expect nothing
except in the unlikely event of both nephews dying before Sir Vernon
but that in that event he would get the bulk of the money.
The question was whether Sivernan had altered his will
or whether he would do so now when the money was likely actually to pass to his brother.
Even if he wished to alter it, was he well enough to do so?
That must be discovered.
He could find out easily enough about Svarenin's health.
John would tell him that even if she had a good suspicion of his reasons for wishing to know.
But would John be in a position to tell him what was in the will
and would it even be wise to ask her?
He was under no illusions.
Joan would not want him to have the money,
and even if he stood to benefit now,
she would be just the person to persuade her Vernon to make a new will.
Moreover, there was only one person
who would be certain to know what the will contained,
and that was Carter Woodman.
Walter Brooklyn's first idea when he got thus far was to see Woodman,
find out about the will,
and try to arrange for a loan on the strength of his expectations.
But would this do either?
Woodman was no friend of his
and if his attention were called to the matter
he might easily induce Sir Vernon to make a fresh
will. Yet Woodman was the
only person through whom he can hope to
arrange for an advance. For
Woodman alone would know whether or not Walter
was now Sir Vernon's hair
and somehow an advance must be got
and got quickly.
They must surely, he thought, be some
way round the difficulty. Walter
Brooklyn was no fool and he set himself
deliberately to devise some method of raising
the wind with Woodman's aid. He
came speedily to the conclusion that there was only one way in which it could be done.
He must somehow get Woodman onto his side.
This was not altogether impossible, much as the two men disliked each other.
It was, Walter told himself, merely a matter of money.
Woodman, he considered, would certainly receive a legacy under any wills or Vernon might make,
probably a few thousands in return for his services.
But he supposed that Woodman could entertain no hope of being one of the principal beneficiaries.
Woodman's expectations were probably small. But Walter Brooklyn had good reason to believe that, despite his apparent prosperity, Woodman was a hard pressed for money. Left alone in Woodman's office for a few minutes the week before, he had hurriedly turned over certain private papers on the desk and had gathered enough information to be sure that Woodman, like himself, would do a good deal for a supply of ready money. Might not this fact, he wondered, open up the possibility of a bargain? If, as he believed, the will was now in his favour,
He could offer Woodman very favourable terms for negotiating advance on his behalf.
He would offer Woodman a share, a substantial share, as a loan of whatever he could raise
on the strength of Walter's expectations.
Why waste time?
He would at least see at once whether Woodman was at his office and tried to arrange an appointment.
The telephone was at his elbow, and he rang up.
Woodman was there, and Walter got straight through to him.
His clerks had already gone home for the night.
Who is speaking?
Came the voice from the other end.
Walter Brooklyn, this end.
I want to see you as soon as possible.
As he gave his name, Walter heard a gasp from the man at the other end of the wire.
Then, why are you speaking from? came the voice.
Not from Brixton, if that is what you mean.
I'm speaking from the Byron Club.
Good God, man, how on earth?
The police released me this afternoon.
I'm completely clear of this charge, although I understand you were good enough to believe me guilty.
To this, there came no answer.
I must see you privately at once.
What about? I'll tell you that when we meet. Will you come round here? When? Tonight, if you can. I shall be in my room all the evening. Not tonight. I have an engagement. Then tomorrow morning. Very well, at about 11. I'll be here. Good night. Each man, as he hung up the receiver, had plenty to think about. Brooklyn was perfecting his scheme for raising alone with Woodman's aid and reflecting upon the various ways in which he might approach his subject. Carter Woodman also stood silent with a heavy frown.
on his face. The fact that Walter Brooklyn had been released, although the evidence against him seemed
overwhelming, came as a great surprise to Woodman. Something curious must have happened. When
Brooklyn rang off, he had been on the point of asking for further details. He would get them
somehow elsewhere. He would try to see the inspector. He rang up Scotland Yard. Hello,
is that Inspector Blikey? Carter Woodman speaking. Is that you, Mr. Woodman? I was just trying
to get through to you myself. Are you at your office?
then may i come round and see you for a few minutes will what you want to say to me keep till i get round very well i'll be with you in a half a jiffy
this was a piece of luck woodman would get the full story from the inspector and he would also be able to give and return a piece of information which he thought would make scotland yard sit up how on earth had they come to release walter brooklyn well there were such thing as rear-arrest after all the man had not been acquitted
The inspector arrived in less than a quarter of an hour.
He explained that he wished to ask Woodman a few questions relating to Princep's private affairs
and also involving, he believed, certain of the servants at Liskeed House.
Had Woodman had anything of some trouble with a girl down at Fittleworth?
The head gardener's daughter?
Miriam Smith?
Yes, Woodman did know about it.
But he had not mentioned it before as it was confidential
and there was no reason to believe it had anything to do with the murders.
Princep had commissioned them to settle with the girl for a lump sum payment
in consideration of which she was to leave the district.
Woodman understood there would be a child.
Undoubtedly, Princep had behaved badly to the girl,
but it was not the first time.
Was there any reason to connect the incident with the murders?
There may be or they may not, Mr. Woodman.
Are you aware that the girl was engaged to be married to the butler at Liskeed House?
Winter, his name is.
Oh, I know Winter, a most trusted old woman.
family servant. I had no idea that he was engaged with a girl, but I feel quite sure you're wrong if you
connect him in any way with the murders. He is the last man to be mixed up in such a thing. Besides,
between ourselves, I haven't a doubt that it was Walter Brooklyn who killed Prince of. He may have
killed George Brooklyn too. Oh, Prince of May. But surely there is not much doubt he killed Prince of.
I see you have not heard the news, Mr. Woodman. Walter Brooklyn was released this afternoon.
Woodman thought that he would get fuller information if he simulated ignorance and astonishment.
Released?
Whatever for, he asked.
Because our evidence seems to show that he had nothing to do with it.
But good heavens, there was a stick and the telephone message and a quarrel with Prince of.
What more do you want?
I can't go into the details, Mr. Woodman, but we have been convinced that he didn't do it.
Of course, if you have made up your mind, it's no good my telling you what I was going to tell you.
but when I last saw you, you were sure enough he was guilty.
What on earth has made you change your opinion?
If you have further information, you should certainly tell me, Mr. Woodman.
We ought to know everything that has a possible bearing of the case.
I'll tell you, but it must be between ourselves.
You know Thomas, who is Walter Brooklyn's present solicitor?
The man knows his client is guilty,
and he had the affrontry to come here and ask me to help him arranging a collusive defense.
Indeed, what was it? He proposed.
that I should help him in attempt to shift the suspicion to men's servants.
Of course, I refuse to have anything to do with such dishonorable tactics.
Thomas admitted to me that his client was guilty.
I'm only surprised that he seems to have succeeded so well in deceiving the police.
You say that Thomas admitted Brooklyn's guilt to you?
asked the inspector half incredulously, but with a note of excitement in his voice.
Undoubtedly, he did.
Of course, I should not have told you if he had not made me that dishonorable
proposal. I'm telling you now in order to save an innocent man from suspicion.
This is very strange, Mr. Woodman. The proofs of Mr. Brooklyn's innocence were considered
to be conclusive. Superintendent Wilson very strongly holds that they are conclusive. He appears
to have a perfect alibi. Alibis can be faked and usually are. This one has been pretty
thoroughly tested. But in view of what you say, I may certainly take up the matter again at
once. Of course, my first step will be to have a talk with Mr. Thomas.
"'Pardon me, Inspector, but I hope you will not do that.
"'I have told you this in strict confidence,
"'and it would endanger my professional position
"'if it were known that I had done, sir.
"'Surely not, the fact that the man made you a dishonorable proposal absolves you.
"'He would deny it, and it would be only my word against his.
"'He would merely deny to, that he ever considered his client to be guilty.
"'What else could he do?
"'And we could not prove it.'
"'The inspector stood silent for a moment,
"'biting his lips, while he thought,
the position over. And he said,
very well, Mr. Woodman. Perhaps
you're right, but I think I can get
at the truth in another way. I'll let you know
the result. Rest assured that
what you say will be given full weight.
All I want is to prevent you
from going on a wild ghost chase after
poor old winter. I've known him
since I was a baby, and he is quite
incapable of doing what you suggest.
That is as, as
maybe, Mr. Woodman. We are not inclined
to suspect him seriously without further evidence.
But I will certainly look into what
you tell me about Mr. Walter Brooklyn.
And now there is another matter about which I want to ask you one or two questions.
Ask away.
You were good enough to give me very full particulars about the contents of Sir Vernon Brooklyn's will.
But there were one or two points about which I omitted to ask you.
Perhaps you will not mind clearing them up now?
The first place, as matter stands now.
Who did you say were the principal beneficiaries?
I have the facts here in my notebook, but I want to check them.
Let me see.
Mrs. George Brooklyn gets one half of the sum
which would have gone to George Brooklyn
and Miss Cooper half of what would have gone to John Prince of
Mr. Walter Brooklyn is the Residuary Legatee
and stands I suppose to inherit about half a million
unless the will is altered.
Thank you. The further point I want to know is
what the position would be if Mr. Walter Brooklyn were to die before Sir Vernon
who would be the Residuary Legatee in that case?
Woodman paused for a moment before replying
Then he said, the residue would go, of course, to the next of kin.
Who is that? I think you have not mentioned any other relatives.
To the best of my belief, Inspector, I myself and the next of kin after Walter Brooklyn,
Inspector Vistled.
Then you would inherit the bulk of the money if Sir Vernon Brooklyn died after Walter Brooklyn?
Yes, that is, unless a new will were made.
I should, of course, have to inform Sir Vernon fully as to the circumstances.
Quite so.
And now there is just one further point.
Sir Vernon has not, I suppose, shown any desire so far as to amend this will.
He is far too ill to be troubled at present with matters of business.
I see.
Then so far as you know, the old will stands.
Yes, Mr. Walter Brooklyn is at present the principal heir.
Thank you, Mr. Woodman, said the inspector, holding out his hand.
When Inspector Blake he had gone, Woodman sat down again at his test to think things over.
What was the purpose of the questions just addressed to him?
Clearly, the police had some new idea in their minds.
They had come to the conclusion, on grounds adequate or inadequate,
that Walter Brooklyn was not the murderer,
and they were clearly trying to find out fresh.
Who else could have had a reasonable motive?
This was the only possible reason for the careful inquiries into the terms of the will.
Was it possible that the police had a real new clue?
Possibly even a definite suspicion?
Would they even begin suspecting him?
now they had discovered that he was next of kin.
As long as Walter Brooklyn lived, he stood to gain nothing.
It was ridiculous to think that he could be suspected.
The inspector also had a good deal to think about when he left Woodman's office.
His first thought was to see his superior officer,
but he found that the superintendent was out and was not expected back for an hour or so.
He made up his mind to fill in the interval by clearing up the new question
relating to Walter Brooklyn's guilt which Carter Woodman had raised.
He took a taxi and drove to listen.
keyed house where he asked to see Miss Cooper. She received him at once and he came straight to the point.
Miss Cooper, I have a question to ask you. You may think it a very peculiar one and you need not answer it if you would rather not.
I shall not tell anyone that you refused or that I asked it. I want to know whether so far as you are aware, Mr. Thomas, your stepfather's solicitor, at any time believed in his client's guilt?
I should not ask you, of course, if your stepfather had not been released.
But I have a reason for asking.
Joan showed that the questions startled her.
But she answered without hesitation.
Yes, she said,
Mr. Thomas did believe what you say
until we had undeceived him with the evidence
you also found convincing.
Indeed, that was why Mr. Ellery and I determined
to go to work on her own.
We felt that Mr. Thomas believing
what was not true
would never find out what was true.
My stepfather told me that
he was sure Thomas believed him guilty.
But he said,
I dare say he'll make as good a difference
as another would when it comes to the point.
I'll tell you, Miss Cooper, exactly why I ask the question.
It is being stated that Mr. Brooklyn actually confessed his guilt to his solicitor,
and that Mr. Thomas told the third person that he was guilty.
I should not, of course, tell you this if I believe it to be true.
Your answer quite satisfies me that it is based on a misunderstanding.
It is preposterous, said John indignantly.
My stepfather told Mr. Thomas the absolute truth,
but the man would not believe it until we proved it to him.
"'That is just what I imagine, Miss Cooper.
"'Thank you very much for speaking to me so frankly.
"'It has saved a world of trouble.
"'Let me assure you that no suspicion at all
"'no rests on Mr. Brooklyn.'
"'I should hope not,' said John.
"'But who put this abominable story about?'
"'I cannot tell you that, Miss Cooper,
"'but you may rest secure that no more will be heard of it.
"'May I use your telephone for a moment on my way out?'
"'The permission was readily given,
"'and in the hall the inspector stepped into the little closed lobby
in which the telephone was kept and rang up Carter Woodman.
Hello? Is that Mr. Woodman?
Inspector Blakey speaking.
I've looked into that matter about which you spoke to me.
About Walter Brooklyn, I mean.
His having told Thomas that he was guilty?
There's nothing in it.
No, nothing in it.
You made a mistake.
You must have misinterpreted what Thomas said.
He did believe Mr. Brooklyn to be guilty,
but Mr. Brooklyn never told him so.
It was merely his personal opinion.
What?
Am I sure?
Yes, quite certain.
No, I've not seen Thomas, but I am sure all the same.
Yes, we now regard Mr. Brooklyn's innocence as quite established.
Yes, quite certain.
No doubt at all about it.
We made a very natural mistake when we arrested him.
But that's all done with, now.
I think we're getting on the right track.
Thanks all the same.
You are quite right to tell me, though there proved to be nothing in it.
Good night.
The inspector hung up the receiver and went on his room.
way. The end of
25. Chapter 26 of the Brooklyn
murders. This Liberty Walk's recording is in the public
domain. Read by
Yoganand. The Brooklyn Murders by G.D.H.
Cole. Chapter 26.
Two men strike a bargain.
Walter Brooklyn dined alone in his rooms. As a rule,
a single club waiter would have been deputed to attend upon him.
But this evening, he noticed that no less than four
an excuse were coming to help. Each court was brought to table by a different hand.
For the whole club staff were curious to get a good look at the member who had been miraculously
delivered from jail and the gallows. That very afternoon, when they had discussed the case,
they had all been taking his guilt for granted, picturing him in his lonely cell,
devouring the skilly of adversity, and now here he was back again amongst them,
eating an excellent dinner as if nothing out of the way had occurred. If Carter Woodman had been there to
express his continued confidence that Walter Brooklyn was guilty, he would, despite the release,
not have lacked supporters among the club servants. For Walter Brooklyn was not an easy man to like,
especially for his social and furious. But this evening, those who were most convinced of his
guilt were also anxious to take part and waiting upon him. There is a thrill to be got by
close personal contact with a real murderer. Downstairs, Walter Brooklyn had no doubt,
the dining room and the smoking room, as well as the servant's quarters, were busy with the news of his
release. Among the club members, as among the servants, there would be differences of opinion,
and he felt he could name certain members who would be vigorously affirming their belief that
the police made a mistake, not when they arrested him, but when they let him go. Despite the old
Johnny's, he said to himself, would gladly see him hanged. Their disappointment added to the
pleasure of being a free man, and this was really a first-rate dinner. The Byron had its
faults, but they did know how to cook. Indeed, the more Walter thought about the
the new situation, the better he was pleased.
His two inconvenient nephews
were safely out of the way, and he had an
excellent chance of becoming an exceedingly rich
man. He smiled to himself as he
counted as chickens. Two, there
were immediate troubles to be faced.
He must have money now,
but he was sure Woodman couldn't be fool enough
to refuse the terms he was in a position
to offer. Supposing, even that
he did refuse, there was still the way
of going direct to Old Vernon.
By the way, how was old Vernon?
That dinner had been so good that the idea of telephoning to Liskeed House to inquire had gone clean out of his head.
He would do it now.
It would be the very devil if the old chap were to go and alter his will.
The chances were he wasn't well enough to do it.
He would ring up at once and inquire after him.
It would be only decent.
After all, the man was his brother.
Winter's voice over the telephone informed him that Sir Vernon had taken an alarming turn for the verse.
His condition was said to be critical, but not hopeless.
The doctor was with him now.
Sir Vernon had been unconscious for some time.
Winter promised to ring up and give the doctor's further report later in the evening.
Walter Brooklyn was duly sympathetic,
and there was in him indeed some real feeling for his brother.
But the thought uppermost in his mind was that
if old Vernon would only be obliging enough to die,
it would be from his brother's point of view a very happy release.
If only the will had not been altered already without us knowing about it,
a horrible thought, not unlikely perhaps.
but disquieting all the same.
How badly he wanted to see Carter Woodman in order to make sure.
Poor old Vernon would never live to alter his will now.
Everything depended on the terms of the will now enforce.
It was probably all right, but he would give something to know for certain,
and if Sir Vernon would only die now and get it over,
there would be no need to bribe Woodman for an advance.
The money would be his then.
Should he wait and risk it?
No.
Old men often took so unconscionably longer.
dying. If things came right, he would never miss what he would have to give Woodman for the
sake of immediate security. The telephone rang. It was winter. The doctor had just left.
Savanin's condition was very critical, but the doctor said it was still not hopeless. He
might rally and get well. But any shock would certainly be fatal. The doctor was coming again
later. Should he phone up again? Brooklyn asked him to do so and rang off. Yes, he must certainly
see Woodman unless old Vernon was obliging enough to do.
eye in the night. Turning these things
over in his mind, Walter Brooklyn said
until a pleasant drowsiness came over him.
He woke with the start. It was
after eleven. Was not that
a knock at the door? Come in,
he said. When he saw who his
visitor was, he greeted him warmly.
This is quite unexpected,
he said, but I'm very glad you have come.
Have a whiskey. Cotterwoodman nodded.
I found I could get you after all this evening,
he said. Then he mixed himself a good
stiff whiskey, silently refilled Brooklyn
glass for him and sank into a chair.
What was it you wanted to see me about?
He asked.
Money, as usual, I suppose.
Brooklyn nodded.
A man must live, you know, he said.
Your idea of living has always been one that runs away with the money, my dear chair,
said Woodman with a laugh.
Never mind that.
I want some now.
But you know that Sir Vernon, through Prince,
gave me positive instructions that I should only give you money on one condition?
Isn't the position a bit different?
now, Woodman? I mean, since what happened last week? Woodman paused a moment. There is a difference,
he said, but clearly I cannot advance you money without authority from Sir Vernon, and he is far too ill
to be troubled about such things at present. I don't want you to trouble him, but I should have
thought that, in the new circumstances, you would make no difficulty about advancing me alone.
I want 10,000 pounds to clear off debts and a few thousands to get along for the present.
my dear fellow, do you think I carry 10,000 pounds loose in my pocket?
I think you could get me an advance of more than that amount if you choose.
But Sir Vernon may alterus will.
These words of Woodman's brought great comfort to Walter Brooklyn's heart.
They proved at least that, as the will stood,
he would come in for a considerable sum on his brother's death.
He was emboldened to make a definite proposal.
Look here, Woodman, you know what is it in the will.
I want you to advance me 20,000 pounds at once on the strength.
of my expectations under it. There's no risk practically. What there is, I'm prepared to pay for.
If you let me have 20,000 now, you shall have 30,000 when Sir Vernon dies. Good heavens,
do you think I'm rolling in money? If I had 20,000 to spare, I couldn't risk it on a pure
gamble like that. The odds are that Sir Vernon will alter his well. Or you may die before he does.
Where should I be then? I should imagine in that case, you would get a big slice of the money yourself,
but really that's no reason why I should give it to you.
What your propose is absurd.
You know very well, Woodman, that it is not absurd.
But if you don't like my proposal, make one of your own.
What I want is £20,000 and a regular income assured until old Vernon dies.
My word, you don't want much, was Woodman's comment, but his brain was working actively.
He was in fact in quite as dire straits for money as Walter Brooklyn himself.
lately his position was worse
for heavy stock exchange speculation
had brought him to the point of certain
bankruptcy unless he could raise a considerable
sum at once his mind went to
work on a definite scheme which indeed
he had conceived before ever he
came to visit Walter Brooklyn
while he perfected his plan
he continued to protest the impossibility of doing
what Walter suggested before making
his proposal he wanted to be sure
how far the man to whom he was speaking
knew what's are Vernon Brooklyn's
will contained
20,000 pounds he suggested was a big sum to ask for on the strength of expectations under the will.
He saw at once that this line of argument made Walter Brooklyn anxious,
and before long he had convinced himself that Sir Vernon's brother had no certain knowledge of the provisions of the will.
Then he was ready to spring his audacious proposal.
Look here, Brooklyn, I've been thinking it over, and we may be able to manage something.
I will try to get you that 20,000 pounds on condition that you make over to me,
one half of your expectation under the will. You are asking me to buy a pig in a poke,
was Walter Brooklyn's answer. You know the details of the will, and I'm willing to tell you that
I don't. I can't accept your terms, but I'm willing to pay you 40,000 pounds when I get the money
if you let me have 20 down. Isn't that a fair proportion? Considering the risk, certainly not,
but I'm willing to make an alternative suggestion. Under the will, Joan and Mrs. George Brooklyn
are both amply provided for.
The inheritance or the rest of
surveillance money probably lies between you and me,
whether the will is altered or not.
I suggest that we make an agreement
to go equal shares in whatever is left to
either of us. I add one condition
that you should draw up a new will
making me the heir to your estate.
You stand to get the lot
that way whatever happens.
I can see that it is very nice indeed
from your point of view. And what,
I ask, do you offer me in exchange?
20,000 pounds down, which I can borrow on the strength of our joint expectations, and I'm willing to add 2,000 a year until Sir Vernon dies.
And in addition, I offer you the security that even if Sir Vernon cuts you out of his will, you will still get your share of the money.
But if Sir Vernon dies now, he's pretty bad, they tell me.
The effect of it will be that I shall be making you a pretty handsome present, and I shall be presenting you with 20,000 pounds in hard cash.
they wrangle for some time longer,
but Walter Brooklyn, in ignorance of the precise terms of the will,
was at a serious disadvantage.
Finally, he agreed to Carter Woodman's terms,
and Woodman at once sat down and drafted out a written agreement
putting their compact into definite terms.
He also grew up in a few lines,
a will constituting himself Walter Brooklyn's heir.
Now, we must get these documents signed and witnessed, he said.
There'll be someone about downstairs, said Brooklyn heavily.
He had an uneasy feeling that he was being badly swindled, but 20,000 pounds tone was the main thing.
Besides, he might find ways, though Woodman was a cute lawyer of repudiating the bargain later if he proved to his interest to do so.
There were two documents to be witnessed, the will and the agreement.
The IOU, which was Woodman's further security for the 20,000 pounds, would not, of course, be signed until the money was actually paid over.
The two men went downstairs, found a Knight Porter and a waiter who had not yet gone to bed, and completed the two documents in their presence.
Then, taking the will and his copy of the agreement, Woodman bade Walter Brooklyn goodnight, receiving a not very cordial response.
His first business on the morrow would be to use the two documents and the joint expectation of the two men under surveillance's will as a means of racing at once, not merely the 20,000 pounds for Walter Brooklyn, but the much larger sum of which he himself stood.
immediately in need. He thought he knew a man who would let him have the money. If he failed,
bankruptcy was inevitable. Woodman congratulated himself on a good night's work. Alderty's chestnuts
were half out of the fire. Walter Brooklyn, when Woodman had gone, sat down again in his chair
with a heavy sigh. He was very conscious that he had been swindled. Carter Woodman knew the terms
of Survearnance's will, and he did not, and it was certain that, with his knowledge to help him,
Woodman had struck a hard bargain.
Moreover, he not only knew the will.
He was in a very strong position
as Sir Vernon's legal advisor to prevent the making of a new one
which would be disadvantages to him.
Woodman was almost safe to score whatever might happen.
But there was solid comfort in the thought
that under the compact they had just made
it was to Woodman's interest that Walter
should get the largest possible slice of Sirverness money.
Whatever came to Walter was to become Woodman's in time.
Woodman, therefore, would be bound to do his best to serve Walter's interests.
Yes, there were compensations in being swindled on such terms.
Walter stood a good chance of wealth for as long as he lived,
and what did it matter to him who might get the money after his death?
After me, the deluge, said Walter Brooklyn to himself,
summing up the evening's transaction.
The end of Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Of the Brooklyn murders
This Liberty Walk's recording is in the public domain
Read by Yoganan
The Brooklyn Murders by G.D. H. Cole
Chapter 27
Robert Ellery's idea
Ellery woke up in the morning with the dim consciousness
that he had a great idea.
What had he been thinking out when he dropped off to sleep the night before?
The murders, of course, they were always in his thoughts.
But what was a shattering new idea that had come to him as he lay awake?
That was how his best ideas often came.
In the night just before he went to sleep, they came to him half formed,
and the next morning, by the time he was fully awake,
they have somehow taken a form and certainty.
With an effort, he stretched and roused himself,
and as he did so, the idea came back to him.
He felt certain that he knew who was a murderer.
who he had asked himself the night before who of all the persons who figured on the list
John and he had compiled was most likely to have done the thing he felt certain that it was
not the work of a stranger the whole of the circumstances seemed to point to someone familiar
with the house and its ways yet on the evidence it seemed clear enough that no one among
those they had put upon their list could be guilty but their list included everybody
Very well. This had been his first inspiration. There must be something wrong with the evidence.
It must point away from the guilty as it had pointed towards innocent.
The Madra, who had laid that clever trail to incriminate Walter Brooklyn, would obviously
have taken the precaution to lay a trail pointing away from himself. Indeed, whoever had the
apparently clearest alibi was on this showing the most likely to be guilty. It would be
safest in the circumstances to ignore for the moment all the evidence
which seemed to prove innocence
and simply consider, in the light of the remaining
conditions, who was most likely
to have been the murderer?
This narrowed the field considerably.
The women, except as possible accessories,
could be ruled out of account in any case.
The no woman could have struck the blows
by which the two cousins had met their deaths.
That left, whom?
Walter Brooklyn was out of it,
for his alibi had been not merely accepted
but tested beyond possible doubt.
Ellery could hardly suspect himself, though he admitted that anyone else, falling out his line of thought, might still suspect him.
His alibi was not conclusive.
It depended on the word of one man, but he could rule himself out.
He could say positively that he had not done the thing.
Then, who remained?
Willie Harry Lucas, Carter Woodman, and the two servants, Winter and Morgan.
Among these, if he was right, the real murderer must be found.
it was ludicrous
Ellery felt to suspect his guardian
Harry Lucas had no
possible motive and he was a very
last man for such a deed
he was ruled out of consideration as soon as they thought
was conceived
about Winter and Morgan
Ellery could not feel the same
full certainty but he was
very strongly of opinion that the murders
were not work of a servant
and that neither of these men had the qualities
which the deeds seemed to demand
and then there was left
only cart of woodmen
It was on that thought that Ellery had fallen asleep
and that was the idea that now came back to him with added certainty.
Carter Woodman was the murderer.
But was not the whole idea preposterous?
Woodman not merely had an alibi which had satisfied the police.
He was a relative, an old personal friend
that tried and trusted business advisor of the Brooklyn's.
His wife was one of Joan's dearest friends
and he himself had been constantly about
with the men of whose murder, Ellery was now suspecting him.
The idea seemed preposterous enough when it was put him that way.
But though Ellery presented these difficulties to his mind and all their strength,
they did not at all change his attitude.
No one else was a murderer, therefore Carter Woodman was.
There, turned certainly into Ellery's conviction his own strong dislike of Woodman.
The suggestion of Woodman's guilt once made was plausible to him
because he had not at all the feeling that the deed was incongruous.
It would have been utterly incongruous with what he knew of any other possible suspect,
even Walter Brooklyn, but the cap seemed to fit Carter Woodman.
Ellery said to himself that Woodman was just a sort of chap who would commit murder
if he had a strong enough motive.
Yes, but where was a motive in this case?
What did Woodman stand to gain?
Knowing the terms of the will, Ellery was aware that he gained nothing directly.
for Sir Vernon's fortune would now pass mainly to Walter Brooklyn, and the rest to Joan and to Marion Brooklyn.
Of course, Woodman might hope to get Sir Vernon to make a new will in his favour,
and in any case he probably stood now a fine chance of becoming the managing director of the Brooklyn Corporation.
But a man would hardly come at too desperate murders merely on such chances.
The more Ellery considered the matter, the surer he felt that there must be something else behind,
something of which he was unaware that would make the whole case plain.
He must see Joan and tell her what he suspected.
She might well know some fact of which he was ignorant
that would throw a clear light on the motive behind the crimes.
But would she ever believe that Woodman had done it?
Ellery realized that what to him seemed like certainty
would seem to others wholly a guess
and that he had not merely no proof
but actually no evidence to support his assumptions.
What evidence there was told the other way
Still this did not strike his assurance. He must make Joan see the case as he had come to see it.
Then they could seek together for the proof. As soon as Ellery had breakfasted, he set off a
liskied house to find John. They must get to work at once. John too had spent a good part of the
night thinking, but her thoughts had brought her no nearer to a solution of the mystery surrounding
the murders. There was literally not one of all those who seemed to be concerned who could, in her judgment,
the murderer. She was reduced to the
supposition that it must be some
outsider, someone whom they are not even
dreamed so far of connecting
with the crimes. But Joan's thoughts,
unlike Ellery's persistently wandered from the problem
which she had set herself to solve.
She kept thinking of the future, of the thing
that was dearest to the heart of the old man
lying at death's toe. It was not
the money, it was a direction of the
great dramatic enterprise which he
alone had built up. He had
set his heart, she knew, on
passing on not merely his fortune, but the leadership of the Brooklyn Corporation to one of his own blood,
one who could carry on the work he had set himself to do.
Whom would he now put in the place which Princep had lately occupied?
He might indeed die without the strength to make a change, but Joan did not believe that he would.
It seemed to her inconceivable that he would leave matters so that the bulk of his fortune,
and with it the control of the Brooklyn Corporation, would pass to her stepfather, who had manifestly neither
the will nor the special capacity to carry on the work.
She was convinced that Sir Vernon would change his will,
and she could see but one man whom he was now likely to make heir to his wealth and position.
Carter Woodman had the talent and the knowledge to run the corporation as a business,
if not as an artistic success.
Would Sir Vernon put Woodman in Prince's place?
Joan hated the very idea,
for she believed in the Brooklyn Corporation as an artistic venture,
and she had always somehow both disliked and distrusted Carter Woodman.
She would have found it difficult to give a definite reason for a dislike,
and she admitted that she was perhaps unfair, but there it was.
She hoped Carter would not get the job,
and she was sure that, however successful he might be commercially,
his accession to power would put an end to all hope of artistic success.
Still, she told herself it was no business of hers,
and she would certainly not try to influence her Vernon in any way.
she supposed he would make Woodman his air, for there was no one else.
Against her will, the thought of Ellery came into her mind.
He would be, would he not?
She seemed to be arguing with a non-existent adversary,
just the man to carry on Sir Vernon's great artistic enterprises.
Joan found herself building up quite a romance on the basis of Robert Ellery's success in to control of the great Brooklyn Enterprise.
How well he would do it!
And then she reminded herself sharply that she had not known.
right to entertain such ideas, and that in any case she certainly could not say a word
on Bob's behalf to Sir Vernon.
Now, Carter Woodman would get the job.
Jones sighed as she resigned herself to the inevitable, but despite her good resolutions,
she was still thinking what an excellent successor to Sir Vernon Robert Ellery would make when
she was told that he was waiting to see her.
She brushed the thought she had been entertaining out of her mind and resting hastily, for
she had breakfasted in bed, went down to see him.
Well, my dear, what news? he asked.
My dear Bob, I have had a beastly night, and I feel utterly washed out,
and my thoughts keep on going round and round in a circle.
Poor darling, said Elery, you are having a time.
And yet, Bob, it's odd how little it all matters now I have you.
I must give you a kiss for saying that, my dear, and I must try to live up to it.
"'Dear boy,' said John,
"'and then for a few minutes, they managed to get along without the need for words.
"'John was the first to rouse herself.'
"'My dear Bob,' she said,
"'this is a fine way of wasting time.
"'I thought her job was to find out who did it.'
"'My dear child, I've been thinking all the time.
"'It's wonderful how putting my head on your shoulder clears my brain.
"'Now I'm ready to behave like a real scientific detective.
"'I think you'll do it better if you sit a little farther off.
"'Now, my lad, what do you?
you think about it. I think just this, Joan. I think I know now who did it. Joan gave a gasp.
You know who did it? She repeated. Well, I don't know. I think I have a very good idea.
Do you mean you have got some evidence at last? Who was it, Bob? Tell me. Now, I haven't any
fresh evidence yet. I've just been thinking. But I believe it was, Elie paused, Carter Woodman.
Joan gave a half-cry of surprise.
Bob, Bob, you can't mean that.
Whatever makes you say such a thing.
My dear boy, it's quite absurd.
Why is it absurd, John?
Well, Carter is a member of the family
and one of her oldest friends.
And, but what's the use of discussing it?
Why, he was here yesterday.
He may be here today, dear,
but I don't see what that has to do with it.
But Carter's been helping the police all through.
He's...
Isn't that just...
what he would do if he were guilty?
My dear Bob, this is absurd.
We know that Carter was in the Cunningham Hotel all the evening.
He couldn't have done it, really.
Do you think that the man who was clever enough to fasten all that suspicion on your stepfather
wouldn't be clever enough to provide himself with a passable alibi?
Oh yes, but all this doesn't tell me why you suspect Carter?
Put it out of your mind, Bob.
I know you don't like him, but that doesn't mean that he has committed murder.
I have said to myself already everything that you are saying now,
but I still believe that he did it.
Why, Bob?
Have you any reason, any proof at all, I mean?
No, I have no proof, but I have an idea.
It's a question of elimination.
If nobody else did it, then he did it.
But, my dear boy, what possible motive could he have had?
People don't commit murders just for fun.
To be reasonable.
Carter was on quite good terms with both George and John,
and he had no reason for killing either of them.
Do you mean that, Joan? said Elroy with a sense of disappointment.
I hoped you would be able to explain to me what motive he would have had.
Come now, doesn't he really stand to gain something?
I mean, don't you think Sir Vernon may make him as air, or something of that sort?
John paused.
Yes, Bob, she said with a sight.
There, I think you're right.
Sir Vernon will very likely put Carter and John's place, I should have been.
imagine, but... Well, isn't that a motive? No, my dear, it doesn't. After all, we don't know
what he will. And I'm quite sure people don't commit carefully planned murders just on a chance
like that. Really, Bob, it's ridiculous. Ellery said nothing but got up and strode across a room.
Then he turned and faced John. Look here, he said. Supposing we hadn't cleared old Walter,
and he had been put out of the way as well as Prince and George. Who would have been the air then?
the next of kin I mean
Oh, Cartray suppose
But you don't suggest
My dear child we have been a pair of fools
By George I wasn't sure
But I'm sure now
What you've just said makes it clear as clear
Makes what clear
Why the motive
Of course I ought to have seen it before
Ought to have seen it before
Ought to have seen what
Why
Whoever murdered John and George
Did it's best to throw the suspicion on your stepfather
didn't he? Yes, I suppose he did. And if your stepfather had been convicted, Woodman could have
stepped into Sir Vernon's shoes without a word said as a next heir. When Sir Vernon died, yes, probably he
could. And wasn't all this the surest way of hastening his end? But that is not my point.
As long as Walter Brooklyn was likely to be convicted, the man I suspect stood to inherit
Sir Vernon's money and to step at once into Princep's shoes. He had murdered
two of the people who stood in his way, and he did his best to murder the third judicially by
faking up evidence against him. If Walter Brooklyn was convicted, he was quite safe to get
both the money and the control of the theatres. That's what he was after when he tried to get
your stepfather convicted of murder. Doesn't that theory fit the facts? I suppose it does, Bob,
but it would be a simply horrible thing to have to believe, and it doesn't convince me in the least.
I don't like Carter
but we have treated him as almost one of the family
all this years
could he possibly have done such a thing
I don't like him either
in fact I dislike him very strongly
and I believe he could and did
but it won't be easy to prove it
but Bob it can't be true
Carter was with the others at the Cunningham
all the time or the night when John
and George were killed
I know he said he was
but was he
a thing like that needs to be proved
why is you only man who had any reason for killing these three people
and unless he can prove conclusively that he didn't kill two of them
and do his best to get the law to kill the third
I shall go on believing that he did
at any rate I mean to look into it
but you can't possibly bring a charge of that sort without proof
you and I are going to find the proof
and there are two things you can do to help
first you must find out from Marion will probably be best
where Woodman really was on Tuesday night.
I mean whether he positively was with them in the hotel all the evening.
I don't believe he was.
My dear boy, it would be simply horrible to have to go and ask Marion things like that
when I can't possibly tell her why we want to know them.
To think that she's actually living with the Woodman's
without an idea that anyone is suspecting Carter of having murdered her husband.
No, you mustn't tell her a word.
But you can easily find out what I want without letting her see what I suspect.
I suppose I must try to find out, just to prove that you're all wrong.
But I don't suspect Carter.
It's just too horrible to think.
My dear, whether we like it or not, we have to find the man who did this.
More than ever now that your stepfather is cleared.
The man who is capable of these things is capable of anything.
And I can't bear the thought that you may be meeting him and regarding him as a friend.
All right, Bob, I agree that we have to get to the bottom of this.
I'll do my best, but I'm still sure you're wrong.
That's right, John, I only hope I am.
But while you're seeing Marion,
I will try to find out a few things about friend Woodman on my own.
At this moment, Marian Brooklyn was shown in.
She came across most mornings and spent a part of the day at Liskid House,
taking a share and looking after Severna.
It was a relief to her to have something to do.
It stopped her from just thinking day and night of what she had lost.
Ellery had not seen her since the tragedy
and he felt shy and awkward now in the presence of her grief
At the end of a few minutes he took his leave and left Joan
to do what she had promised
It was not easy to come to the point
How could she, without rousing suspicions,
asked Marian about Carter Woodman's movements
And the night of the murders
But very soon Marian gave her just the chance she needed
By saying that she and Helen had been alone together
All the previous evening
Where was Carter? she asked
he had to go out and see someone on business.
He did not get back till we were just going to bed.
Sitting up late as usual, I suppose.
It was about 12 o'clock, certainly not later.
And you know, I can't sleep if I go to bed early.
I didn't know Carter did business in the evenings.
He always used to boast of keeping his evenings clear for enjoying himself.
Yes, and he had promised Helen to be in.
But he said it was a very particular engagement.
at some club or other, I believe.
He was seeing Sir John Bunnery about some legal business.
When he came in, he was dead, tired, and went straight to bed.
Marian, do you like Carter?
John asked suddenly.
It seems funny, I never asked you that before.
I hate him.
My dear, you must say that, of course I like him.
I don't mean I care for Carter like some other people,
but of course I like him.
Helen is a darling.
That means you don't like him at all.
Wally, you are too nice to say, sir.
I do like him, John.
At least, I mean, I don't dislike him.
He seems to leave Helen alone a great deal.
Far too much, and he's often out until all hours.
He even went out again after the dinner here last Tuesday, didn't he?
No, he didn't that night.
He went away to his room and wrote letters.
But he didn't go out again.
I stayed with Helen till he came up to bed, rather before twelve.
But don't talk about that horrible.
night. I'm sorry, dear, I won't again. And then they talked of other things until Marion went in to
sit a while with Sir Vernon. The doctor, who had been with him, saw Joan on his way out.
Sir Vernon, he reported, was not yet out of immediate danger, but he was rallying wonderfully from
the shock which he had sustained. The end of chapter 27. Chapter 28 of the Brooklyn murders.
This library book's recording is in the public domain. Read by Yogan.
The Brooklyn murders
By G. D. H. Cole
Chapter 28
The Superintendent's Theory
When Inspector Blikey reported to Superintendent
Wilson the results of his conversation with Carter Woodman,
he had formed no definite theory.
He explained without comment the precise terms of the will,
stating that, if Walter Brooklyn had been removed,
Carter Woodman, as next of kin,
would have become the principal beneficiary.
He was not prepared for the conclusion
which a superior immediately drew on hearing that this was a case.
Then Carter Woodman is a murderer, said the superintendent with an air of finality.
If we had known these facts before, it would have saved a world of trouble.
But, said Inspector Blakey, Carter Woodman appears to have a perfect alibi.
He was in the Cunningham Hotel at the time when the murders were committed.
At least that seemed to be an undoubted fact when we investigated his movements.
My dear Inspector, it does not follow that, because Walter Brooklyn's
alibi proved to be sound. All alibis are therefore equally sound. I do not need to remind you that
alibis can be faked. Quite so, sir, but aren't you rather hasty in leaping to the conclusion that
Woodman is guilty? We have really nothing against him, except a suggestion of no to. As matters
tan now, he has gained absolutely nothing by the murders. Perhaps not, though it's not safe to be too
sure on that point. We may not know all the circumstances, but if you are right,
Don't you see that the very fact that, as matters stand now,
he has gained nothing is a very strong reason for suspecting him?
The inspector failed to follow his reasoning.
Why do you say that? he asked.
I can't see it at all.
Well, it's clear that the murderer, whoever he was,
did his level best to get Walter Brooklyn hanged.
Who stood again by getting Walter Brooklyn out of the way?
I see. Carter Woodman?
Yes, I follow now.
That is one strong point against him.
him. Here's another. Do you remember where Walter Brooklyn thought he had left his stick on Tuesday
afternoon? He went back to look for it. You remember? The inspector thought for a moment.
In Carter Woodman's office, he said at last. Well then, isn't it clear that he did leave his stick
in Woodman's office? Woodman found it, but denied the fact when Walter called to fetch it,
and told him he must have left it in the taxi. Then Woodman deliberately planted the stick on the scene
of Prince's murder. That's pure hypothesis. I don't say it isn't true, but it's more than
hypothesis. It is divination. Surely you see that it must be what happened. I expect as you
usually are right, said the inspector. But will it convince a jury? I have tried all I know to get
any evidence showing when the stick was left, but not a trace can I find. A jury will regard it
as a pure hypothesis, the superintendent's side.
Juries are sadly lacking an appreciation of the subtleties of reasoning.
You're quite right there, he said.
My divination won't hang Carter Woodman, but it convinces you as it convinced me.
We have to get faith in our own knowledge before we can make a case that will persuade others.
You and I now have that faith.
We know that Carter Woodman is guilty.
but even you can't prove it. Not yet.
But it will be proved. And now I come to a third point.
You remember that written message that was found in the garden near George Brooklyn's body?
The scrap of paper you picked up? It was in Prince's writing.
Yes, I remember. Have you thought any more about the scrap of paper?
Or have you just assumed that it was a request by Princep that George Brooklyn should beat him in the garden?
there didn't seem to be much to be gleamed from it.
There, I think you're wrong.
I want to know exactly when that piece of paper was found, and by whom?
We found it in the garden that morning, when we were looking for clues after finding George
Brooklyn's body.
Who actually found it?
I suppose I did.
No, I remember, no.
It was Carter Woodman who directed my attention to it.
It was lying in a corner in the summer house, the place they called the temple.
"'My dear inspector,' said the superintendent excitedly,
"'do you realize the significance of what you have just said?'
"'Woodman took good care that you should discover that piece of paper,
"'because he had put it there for you to find.'
"'The superintendent said these last words slowly,
"'and with very great emphasis.'
"'The inspector scratched his head thoughtfully.
"'I believe you're right,' he said.
"'It was after we had finished her first search
"'that Woodman drew my attention to the scrap of paper.'
He was afraid you would fail to notice it.
I can see that you are right, sir.
But there again you have a thing which will not convince a jury for a moment.
Your reasoning will seem to them fantastic.
I only know you are right because you always are right
when you make a long guess like that.
But needn't be only a guess?
Look here, and Superintendent Wilson pushed a scrap of paper across a subordinate.
Take a good look.
Do you see anything curious about it?
It's written oddly near the edge of the paper.
Yes, that is a point.
The writing is right up to the top of the paper,
and immediately about the writing is a torn edge.
The paper, as we said before,
is a sheet torn from a memorandum book found in Princep's room.
But it is not a complete sheet.
About an inch has been nearly torn off the top of the sheet.
Is that a natural thing for Princep to have done?
And does the writing look natural as it does now on the sheet?
The inspector looks again at the note.
No, it certainly does not, he said.
Doesn't that suggest anything to you?
Do you mean that this is only part of the message?
That's exactly what I do mean.
The message now says only meet me in the garden, J.P.
Probably what it said originally was,
Dear so-and-so, whatever the name may have been,
and I don't believe it was George.
Meet me in the garden, J.P.
There may have been a date to, at the time.
top of the note. You mean that this note, though it was written by Princef, was not written with
reference to the particular location we were concerned with? Precisely. Now I suppose there is
no hope for finding the missing part of that memorandum slip, but I am convinced that is what
happened. The inspector made a sudden exclamation. Good Lord, what a fool I have been, he said.
How do you mean, said the superintendent sharply? Why? I actually found what must have been the
missing part of the slip when I was searching Princep's room. I thought nothing of it at the time.
You have it now? The inspector shook his head ruefully. Now, he said, it has gone west.
When I searched the room, I naturally looked in the grate. There had been a fire, and on the
hearth was a half-burnt scrap of paper. What was on it? Nothing but the name of a day at the
head. Monday it was, and one word. The rest was burnt. It had evidently fallen out of the grate.
the word was man just man nothing else the superintendent gave an excited laugh now i know what the note contained he said monday dear woodman meet me in the garden j p how does that strike you the note was from prince up to woodman but it was written on the day before the murders lord what a pity you didn't keep the fragment mighty inspector never destroy anything that's
the only safe courts for a man like you.
I did show it to the sergeant, sir, said the inspector,
a considerably press-fallen at a superior's tone.
Come, that's a bit better.
The judge will probably accept your combined testimonies.
It's a great pity, though, you didn't realize the importance of the scrap of chart paper.
However, for our own purposes, at least,
I think we can take it as proved that woodman deliberately prepared
and planted that note on the scene of the crime,
believing that the other piece was safely burnt in the fire and Princep's room.
Our case against Woodman is mounting up.
Come, Inspector, you must follow up these new clues at once.
Don't forget Woodman's alibi.
That still holds unless we can shake it.
It must be our next business to shake it.
We now know that Woodman did leave the Cunningham Hotel that evening.
It's your job to discover how he left it and how he got into Liskeed House.
Make these the next points, Inspector.
I'll do my best,
and there is one other matter
I should tell you about
though in the light of our discoveries,
it's now probably of quite minor importance, I think.
Still, we must not be too cocksure
or neglect any fact
that may possibly bear on the case.
If you are right about Woodman,
then he planned the whole affair
very carefully, but he took a big risk all the same.
Having you to reckon with, yes.
Well, I doubt if a man would take
a risk of that magnitude without some very
very urgent reason, such as grave and immediate financial embarrassment. I wanted to look into
Woodman's record, make inquiries about him in the city, and see if he appears to be in
queer street or anything of that sort. It wouldn't prove anything if he were. No, but it would
greatly strengthen our case on the question of motive. It's worth looking into it all events.
And now, Inspector, I won't keep you. There's work to do, and you at best be getting about it.
and I want to do some more thinking in this case.
It gets interesting.
The end of chapter 28.
Chapter 29 of the Brooklyn murders
by G.D. H. Cole.
This Libri-Wox recording is in the public domain, read by Yoganand.
The Brooklyn Murders by G.D. H. Cole.
Chapter 29.
The Lie of the Land.
when Joan and Ellery determined upon their course of action
Ellery's immediate part was to make a thorough investigation of Carter Woodman's movements
apparently he had a perfect alibi
as good as Elery's own absolving him of all part in the events of the fatal Tuesday and night
indeed in the eyes of law he had scarcely needed an alibi
for nothing had occurred to throw any real suspicion upon him
Ellery suspected him nevertheless almost to certainty
but he admitted to himself that even now his suspecting
speech was based on what others would regard as no more than a guess.
Tuesday, therefore, seemed the best starting point.
For if Woodman's alibi for the occasion held good, that would finish the matter,
and prove that the whole edifice of suppositions which Ellery had built up was founded on nothing.
It was easy enough for Ellery to walk into the Cunningham Hotel, where he was already known
under pretext of a visit to Marianne Brooklyn.
But having made his entry, he did not proceed to the suite of rooms, which
he shared with the Woodman's. His object was to explore the hotel in order to discover whether
there was in fact, as a porter and the manager had stated to Inspector Blakey, only one possible
exit. The porter, who had been at the door from 10 o'clock onwards through the night, had been
quite certain that Woodman had not gone out that way. He had come in with his wife and Mrs.
Brooklyn at about a quarter past 10, and he had not returned to the entrance hall until about
a quarter to 12 when he had given the porter his late letters for the post and had gone.
gone straight upstairs again. That seemed clear enough, for the porter was very positive that
Woodman had not gone out at any time during the evening. There was, the manager told the
police, another exit of course for the hotel servants. But the only way to this from the club quarters
lay through the great kitchen, and it would be quite impossible for a guest to leave by this
way without being observed. Ellery had chosen 11 o'clock at night for his visit to the hotel
and meeting the manager whom he knew
he asked to be shown into the kitchens.
The management was excessively proud of these
and made a regular show of them to its guests.
The manager readily agreed to taking round
and even a cursory inspection was enough to show Ellery
that even at that hour in the evening
no guest could possibly have left by the servant's exit
without being seen by at least half a dozen persons.
The preparation of theatre suppers was in full swing
and the kitchens were ally with chefs and waiters
at least until midnight.
leaving the manager, as if he were going up to the Woodman's apartment,
Elery resumed his probe.
On the ground floor, he speedily discovered there was no possible means of exit except the main door.
There remained the basement, occupied mainly by a vast grilled room, which was closed at 10 o'clock.
Elery descended the stairs and pushed open the grilled room door, communicating with the hotel.
The place was in darkness, and without turning on the light, he made a tour of the huge room.
at the far end away cloak rooms
another flight of stairs communicating with the street
so far it would be fully possible for a guest to make
his way without attracting attention
Ellery went up the far stairs and approached the door
leading from the grill room to the street
it was heavily barred and bolted as well as locked
but the key was on the lock and there seemed to be nothing
to prevent the bolts from being withdrawn from the inside
as quietly as he could Ellery took down the bards
slid back the bolts and unlocked the door
He stood not on the street
but in a small outer hall
with another locked door in front of him
This door also could be undone from the inside
And opening it cautiously
Elery found himself looking out into St. John's Street
He had established a fact that it was
Possible at night for a guest to leave the Cunningham
Hotel unobserved
Quietly he relocked the doors and slid back
The well-oiled dolts and bars
Surprised for the second time to find
How little noise his operations made
Woodman then could have both left and returned to the hotel without being seen.
But had he, the very lack of possible observers seemed to make it impossible to prove the case either for or against him.
If no one had seen Ellery make his investigations and as he returned to the ground floor he was certain that no one had noticed him
at least until he reached the top of the basement stairs, why should anyone have seen Carter Woodman when he had followed the same route?
the effect of Ellery's investigations was to make Woodman's alibi
insecure but it afforded absolutely no positive evidence of his guilt
still it was something to have shown that the alibi was not conclusive
and Ellery was fairly well pleased with the result of his visit
but he had not yet done according to Woodman's story he had written his letters
in a small and little-used writing room on the first floor at the opposite end of the
hotel from his own rooms but quite near the basement stairs to which another small
flight of stairs led directly from the first floor, almost from the writing room door.
Ellery went into the writing room and found it deserted.
He remembered that Woodman had stated that he had had it to himself throughout the time he had
spent there.
Ellery had no definite idea that the writing room would yield a clue, but he thought that
he might as well have a look round.
He glanced at the blotting pets which lay on each table, only to see that the blotting
paper was evidently changed very frequently.
But picking up one of the blotters, he discovered that,
While the top sheet was practically clean, the old used sheets of blotting paper had been left underneath.
Rapidly he examined every sheet.
On several, he saw marks of Carter Woodman's writing and of his large, bold signature.
This, however, showed only that woodman often used a room.
So far it bore out his story.
The pads bore impressions of several other handwritings, but only one other record frequently.
Ellery was able to make out the signature by holding the paper up to the light.
the writing was curious and quite unmistakable.
The name of the writer was Bar Poo, evidently in Oriental.
Ellery had an idea.
It was a chance and no more.
But he made up his mind to see Bar Poo if he were still in the hotel and to put a few questions.
Returning to the hall, he asked the porter the number of his room.
Oh, you mean the Burmish gentleman? said the porter.
He has sweet on the first floor.
His sitting room is number 17.
He came in only a few minutes ago.
Ellery made his way to number 17 and knocked.
The Burmese, a small, dark-skinned man with curious,
trinkling little eyes and quick movements was in his room,
and received him with ready courtesy.
Elery presented his card and apologized for intruding upon him.
Oh no, said the Burmys.
You not intrude, very pleased.
You may think it very strange of me, said Ellery.
But may I ask you a question without explaining fully why I ask it?
It is on a matter of real importance.
"'Ask, yes,' said the Burmese.
"'I help if I can.'
He spoke English quickly and jerkily,
but he evidently understood the language well.
"'I very glad meet you, Mr. Ellery.
"'I, Burmese, come here and study the British conditions.
"'Go back, Burma, tell my people all about this country.
"'You help me. I help you.'
"'Then that's a bargain, and I can ask you my question at once.
"'Did you use the writing room opposite here
at any time on the evening of Tuesday, the 17th of this month?
Why, that the day I came here.
Yes, I used them that night.
I came here, study your conditions.
I won't meet all your famous men.
I go there, write letters, ask them, meet me.
I write your Mr. Bernard Shah, your Mr. Wells,
you're Mr. Arnold Bennett.
Ellery interrupted.
Can you tell me at what time that evening you were in the writing room?
Yes, I tell you.
I come here to stay.
Evening, I wish write letters.
I wish at once to meet your famous men.
I go to writing-room door.
I peep in.
I see gentlemen there writing.
He not noticed me, but I shy.
I steal away.
What time was that?
Eleven by the clock.
No, earlier.
It was what you call eleven less a quarter.
I see, about 10.45.
Yes, I go back to me.
my room and I wait. I leave door open and soon I see gentlemen come out of writing room and go downstairs.
Then I go in. I write my letters. Do you know when that was? I go back to writing room a few
minutes after I go back to my room. About 11 of the clock. It was then. And how long did you stay there?
I stay there a long time, what you call the three-quarters of hour, perhaps. And then you came back.
to your room? Yes, I come back here. You did not see the gentleman who was in the writing room again?
Yes, I see him. He come upstairs there, outside my door, just after I got back to my room.
You left the door open then? Yes, there was no air. It is what you call stuffy here. I see him
go into writing room. And that was the last you saw of him? Yes, but he stayed in hotel.
I see him later, days later, oftentimes.
Then you would recognize him if you saw him?
Is this he?
And Ellery passed a photograph of Carter Woodman to the Burmys.
Yes, that he, and then the Burmese smiled blandly and added.
And now you tell me why you wish to know this.
I would rather not tell you just yet, Mr. Poo, if you will forgive me.
All I can say is that what you have told me affects a man's life.
you not want to tell me you not tell me
but you help me get interview with Mr. Bernard Shaw
I help you you help me see
Ellery promised his good officers for what they were worth
and Mr. H.G. Wells
Ellery again promised with rather more hesitation to do what he could
and Mr. Bennett
this time Ellery foreseeing further additions to the list
suggested that he should come back and have another talk with Mr.
to Pooh in a day or two. He would certainly do anything possible to help him. And Mr. Bertrand
Russell, the Burmese was saying, as Ellery managed to talk himself out of the room. Here at last,
Elri said to himself, as he left the hotel, was proof, proof positive, even all but certainty.
Woodman had lied about his doing some Tuesday evening, and his alibi was a fake. At the time when he had
said that he was writing letters in the small writing room, he was really somewhere else.
He had left the writing room at a few minutes before eleven,
and he had only returned to it by the stairs which led directly to the basement
about three quarters of an hour later.
The inference was obvious, to Ellery at least,
but his new certainty that Woodman was a criminal
was still, of course, very far from complete demonstration.
A man might lie about his movements and still not be a murderer.
What should the next step be?
He would see John and convince her now that his suspicions had been rightly directed.
She could hardly still doubt.
The end of chapter 29.
Chapter 30 of the Brooklyn murders.
This Libby Vox recording is in the public domain.
Read by Yorg Anand.
The Brooklyn Murders by G.D. H. Cole.
Chapter 30.
A letter and its consequences.
One of Jones' duties during these troublous days was to deal with Sir Vernon's private letters.
The management of the Brooklyn Corporation had passed, for the time being, into the hands of a subordinate.
But there were many private letters to be read and answered.
Ill as he was, Savarnan liked to be consulted about some of these, and Joan always set aside a few to discuss with him each morning.
On the day following Ellery's successful investigation at the Cunningham Hotel,
Joan sat opening the letters at breakfast.
Most of them contained little of interest, but there was one marked private which was clearly of importance.
As John read it, she felt that
yet another of the clues leading to the
discovery of the murder had come
unexpectedly into her hands.
The letter was from Sir John Bunnery
the successful solicitor, well known
in the sporting world as a bookmaker
Sir Tony, a nickname which he had
earned by his long association with legal
cases connected with the turf.
Sir John had been a friend of Severance
in earlier years, but the two men had
quarreled many years ago and since then
they had seen nothing of each other.
Carter Woodman, however, was
as Joan knew, a friend of Sir John's,
and she was not surprised when glancing down the letter she read his name.
Sir John Bunnery began by offering his sympathy to an old friend in the misfortunes which had come upon him,
adding that he hoped they had drifting apart of late years would not make the sympathy less welcome.
Then, having said the proper things, he came to business.
On the previous day, he explained,
as somewhat curious request had come to him from Mr. Carter Woodman,
who had asked for his help in securing a large loan
stating that there could be no doubt about the repayment of the money
as full security could be given
that far more than the sum asked for
would be available under the will of Sir Vernon Brooklyn.
He, Carter Woodman, was one of the beneficiaries under the will
and he was also in a position to offer in return for the loan,
the joint guarantee of Mr. Walter Brooklyn,
who had now, in tragic circumstances,
become the principal beneficiary under the will.
Woodman stated that he was Walter Brooklyn's heir
and that he and Walter were prepared to make themselves jointly liable for the repayment of the sum asked for.
Sir John said that he would of course be most pleased to assist Mr. Woodman,
who was a personal friend.
But although Woodman had approached him in confidence
and asked him not to mention the matter even to Sir Vernon,
he had felt it necessary to write equally in confidence to Sir Vernon
in order to ascertain whether Woodman and Walter Brooklyn were in fact the heirs.
Sir Vernon would understand that he was asking for this information
really in strict confidence and he, Sir John, would quite accept the position of the answer
was that Sir Vernon did not feel able to tell him how matter stood.
In that case, however, he would feel compelled to decline to arrange the very large advance
60,000 pounds for which Woodman had asked.
A hint would be enough to tell him how he ought to act.
Sir John ended with the repetition of his condolences and expressed the hope that when
Sir Vernon was well enough, their old friendship might be renewed.
John read the letter right through with a feeling of bewilderment.
What could it all mean?
Whereas stepfather and Carter Woodman really acting in collusion in an attempt to raise money
in anticipation of Sir Vernon's death?
And if they were, what light did their extraordinary proceeding throw on the murders?
The letter gave John a good deal to think about.
The information which Woodman had given to Sir John Bunnery might of course be technically
correct. She realized that, under the existing will, Walter Brooklyn was, now that the two persons
who had stood in his way, had been removed, the principal beneficiary. But he had become so
entirely by an accident, which was certainly no part of the testator's intention, and his chance
of remaining so depended entirely on surveillance, not making a new will in someone else's
favour. Woodman, of course, might have a good reason for thinking that he would not do that,
even if he were able. But John doubted this. And Miss
inclined to believe that he was relying on
surveillance speedy death without making a new will.
Walter had in any case
well he became the heir after the murders.
That was but a few days ago.
And he and Woodman had Joan reflected
certainly been quite extraordinarily prompt
in trying to take advantage of the new position.
Either they must be in some terrible financial difficulty
or they must fear the making of a new will
and hope to raise the money before this could come about.
what surprised Joan far more were the statements that Walter had made Carter Woodman his heir.
She knew well that Walter had no love for Woodman, and she at once realized that he could only have taken such a step in return for a pecuniary consideration.
There was obviously in Woodman's application to Sir John Bunnery evidence of a very unpleasant bargain.
The whole letter made John very angry indeed.
In any case, the receipt of the letter could not but go.
considerably strengthened Joan's suspicions of Carter Woodman.
Of course, she said to Herschel.
He hoped to raise this money without her hearing anything about it,
and she could not help feeling that it looked very much
as if he had deliberately planned the whole thing
in order to lay hands on the money.
But apart from the effect of the letter upon Joan,
what was likely to be its effect on Sir Vernon?
She felt that she must show it to him,
and she did not conceal from Herschel that she positively wanted him to see it.
for she hardly concealed from herself now her desire a hope for Ellery's sake that Sir Vernon would alter his will.
The effect of Sir John Bunnery's letter, she thought, would certainly be to make him very angry with both Walter Brooklyn and Carter Woodman,
and she felt sure that, ill as he was, Sir Vernon, under the circumstances, would lose no time in making a new will.
Woodburn indeed had, she felt, effectively destroyed his chances of getting the money for the sake of which,
if her suspicions were correct, he had probably done two men to death.
Sir John Bunnery's breach of confidence had hoisted the engineer with his own patard.
Taking this letter and one or two others from the heap which lay before her,
John went up to Sir Vernon's room.
She read him the others first and received his instructions,
or rather his permission to deal with them as she thought best.
Then, without any previous comment,
she read him Sir John Bunnery's letter, watching his face as she read.
The effect of the news upon him was exactly what she had expected.
He was very angry and while she was reading he interjected indignant comments.
He was effectively roused and as soon as she had finished reading
he bade her write at once to Sir John Bunnery not answering his question directly
but strongly advising him not to lend the money.
Write at once he said and I'll sign it myself.
The answer must be sent immediately.
Joan needed no second invitation.
She sat down at once and having written the answer
read it through to Sir Vernon who signed it.
She then gave it to one of the servants
with instructions that it should be posted immediately.
When she came back into the room,
Savernan was sitting up in bed.
He had a pencil in his hand
and was trying to write on the fly leaf of a book
he had taken from the table beside his bed.
As John came in, he sank back,
exhausted by the effort.
Come here, my dear, he said.
I shan't rest now till I've made a new will
and I want you to write it for me.
It can be put into proper legal form later
if there is time.
Shall I send for Carter Woodman? said Joan.
No, my dear. No more Carter Woodman for me just now.
I shall have to find a new lawyer. But never mind that now.
You write what I tell you.
Then slowly and painfully the old man dictated a new will.
I have to make it simple, he said.
The new will left Joan the whole of his fortune with the request that she should pay
to all persons mentioned the previous will and still living,
the sums there left to them, except that
no sum should be paid to Carter Woodman.
A further clause appointed Joan and Henry Lucas joint executors,
and a third, an afterthought, provided for the payment of a small annuity to Helen Woodman.
There is no need for her to suffer for what he has done, said Sir Vernon.
Two of the servants were then called into witness of will,
and John, at Sir Vernon's command, took it downstairs,
and had it placed at once in the office safe of the Brooklyn Corporation.
I'm easier now in my mind, said the old man,
as Joan returned from her errand.
You will have to carry on the Brooklyn tradition now, John, he added.
John took his hand and sat by him, and in a few minutes he fell asleep.
John sat up by his side for a while.
Then she quietly disengaged her hand and left him sleeping.
He was tired out, but she believed the exertion had done him good.
In the lounge, John phoned Ellery in a high state of excitement.
News, darling, he said.
I've news for you, and it shows that I was right.
I have some news for you too, my boy.
It's a most extraordinary thing that has happened.
I'm not so sure as I was that you were wrong.
I think my news makes it simply certain I was right.
Bob, Savenan has made a new will, cutting out Carter.
My dear, you don't mean to say he suspects?
No, of course he doesn't.
But this morning we found out that Carter and my stepfather are trying,
the two of them, to raise money and the strength of the will.
good God, how did you find out that?
A letter came to Sir Vernon from Sir John Bunnery,
saying Woodman had approached him in confidence for a loan of £60,000
on the joint security of his and my stepfather's expectations.
He said my stepfather had made him his heir.
Made who?
Why, Carter?
So that he stood to get the money anyway.
Ellery whistled.
My word, the plot thickens.
And now let me tell you my news.
and so the two lovers exchanged the information.
Joan, in her anger against Carter Woodman,
was now a good deal easier to convince.
She admitted at once the force of Ellery's evidence.
If Woodman had lied, it was not likely that he had lied for nothing.
Her anger for the time prevented her from realising the full horror of the position.
But presently it came home to her.
Oh, poor Helen, she said.
What are we to do?
It'll break a heart.
My dear, we must clear this thing up now.
We can't leave it where it stands.
You see that.
Joan pulled herself together.
Yes, I suppose we have to go through with it.
And find positive proof.
I suppose we must go on.
We can't prove it yet, you see, said Elery.
But we have made a really good beginning on the job of bringing last Tuesday's business home to Woodman,
and we mustn't lose any time in following up that trail to the end.
But how do you suppose to follow it up?
Haven't you done all you can there?
No.
Don't you see? We must prove that the man the servants took for George that night,
when he went out of this house, was Rayleigh Carter Woodman.
That all sounds very well, but I don't see how you're going to do it.
Neither do I, but I mean to have a shot.
My dear Bob, let me try. It's my turn to do something.
I have an idea, and I may be able to find out about it.
You're very mysterious.
Won't you tell me what the idea is?
No, Bob. It may come to do.
nothing, and I'd rather try it myself first. It won't take long to find out. You've done all
the clever things so far, and I think it's my turn for a change. Right, you are, John, I only hope
it's a good one. I hope it is, but it is only a chance. You come back here tonight and I'll tell you.
Besides, I want an excuse for seeing you again. Darling, said Ellery, and the conversation for the
next few minutes can be left to the experienced imagination of the reader. The end of Chapter 13.
Chapter 31 of the Brooklyn murders by G.D. H. Cole.
This Liberty Walk's recording is in the public domain.
Read by Yoganand.
The Brooklyn Murders by G.D. H. Cole.
Chapter 31. A button in a bag.
As soon as Elri had gone, Joan put on her things and walked across to the Cunningham Hotel,
where she went straight upstairs to the rooms occupied by Carter Woodman and his run.
wife. As she expected, there was no one at home. Woodman was at his office and Marianne Brooklyn
and Mrs. Woodman where she knew away for the day. Joan locked the two doors opening on the corridor
and had the suite safely to herself. It would have been awkward if anyone had interrupted her,
for what she did was to make a thorough search of the rooms, looking particularly at all the
articles of male clothing and going very carefully through Carter Woodman's own belongings. Her search
was entirely unsuccessful and having replaced everything neatly so that no one would notice
that it had been disturbed, she unlocked the door and gave it up as a bad job. So much for that
little idea, she said to herself, I could never really have hoped to find it there. But was that
the end of her idea? As Joan finished her tidying up, she began to hope that it was not. Carter Woodman
has not been foolish enough to leave what she was looking for in his own rooms. But he must, she said to
herself have left it somewhere. Where then would he have left it? Where would she, if she wanted to
get safely rid of a rather bulky object, so as never to hear of it again be likely to leave it?
A station cloakroom at once occurred to her as a likely place, but the prospect of searching all
the cloakrooms of London was not alluring. Moreover, there were a dozen other places in which
he might have disposed to offer a compromising object with almost equal safety, at the bottom
of the river, as stone was all that was needed, in a pawn shop. Of course, after removing all marks
that would serve to identify the article, in a cab, or any of hundred other places merely by leaving
them behind, the cabman would hardly ask questions if he found something of obvious value.
To hunt for what woodman had hidden seemed far more hopeless, far worse than looking for a
needle in a haystack. It would need an army of men to do the searching. The police might be
able to do that sort of thing. She and Ellery said,
could not. Yet, if their theory was right, Woodman had almost certainly returned to the
hotel after murdering George and Prince, up, bearing with him at least one very compromising
piece of property. He could hardly have got rid of it, or them safely the same evening. Most
likely he would have done them up in a bag or parcel and gone out to dispose of them the next morning
on his way to his office. A bag was the more likely, for as Woodman habitually carried one,
it would attract less notice than a parcel.
Assume that he had gone out with the things in a bag.
Had he taken them to his office, or had he got rid of them on the way?
Either might be the case, and it would not be easy to follow up the clue.
Then Joan at a sudden thought.
Swiftly she got up and again locked the dots.
Among the things she had searched, there had been a large handbag.
She had looked into it and found it empty.
As the objects she was seeking were bulky, she had not studied it,
very carefully, but it was just possible that it might repay further inspection.
But before John could make a search, she heard steps coming along the corridor.
Hastily, she unlocked the sitting-room door and hurried into the bedroom.
Hardly had she done so when she saw Carter Woodman come into the room.
Fortunately, the bedroom communicated directly with the corridor, and John, without pausing,
to make any further examination, or to watch Woodman's movements, let herself out noiselessly
into the corridor and sped down the stairs, unobserved.
a narrow shave and all had seen for nothing.
Then Woodman's presence in the hotel gave Joan another idea.
If he was there, he was not at his office.
Why should she not complete the task she had set herself by having a look round there as well?
She took a taxi, and in less than a quarter of an hour she was in Woodman's outer office
and in talk with his confidential clerk.
She was told that Woodman was not him and would not be back until after lunch.
she told Mooman that she could not wait
but that she would like to go into the in-office and write a note
Mooman at once showed her in and withdrew to the out room
Jones saw that whatever she did she would have to do quickly
first she scribbled a hasty note stating that he had come to see
Woodman to inquire about her stepfather's affairs
as he was out however her business would keep
having done this she cast her eyes quickly round the room
in one corner was a hat and coat cupboard
and in it was hanging a coat of woodmonds.
Very quickly she went through the pockets.
The woolly papers were a number of restaurant bills
evidently stuffed in hastily and forgotten.
Joan confiscated them, without much hope that they would be of use.
Then in the bottom of the cupboard she noticed a handbag,
twin brother of the one she had been on the point of examining at the hotel.
Hastily she opened it.
Apparently it was empty, but feeling round the corners,
Joan found a hard object, a coat button,
which she quickly transferred to her purse.
Then putting back the bag and closing the cabot, she returned to the outer room.
A talk with the clerk might have its uses.
Mr. Woodman has been looking rather ill just lately, John began.
Do you think he is really unwell?
I must say, miss, he's not well.
Between you on me, miss.
He's been barely worried.
About these terrible murders, you mean?
About them, miss, and about other things.
Mr. Woodman wouldn't like my saying so, but he has had dreadable worries.
Oh dear, I hope nothing serious
Oh, probably not, Miss,
and you'd mustn't say a word about it to anyone.
I ought not to have said what I did say,
but I'm worried, too.
You'll be sure not to mention it, Miss, won't you?
All right, Moorman, don't you worry?
But, Miss, Mr. Woodman, is such a short-tempered gentleman,
and you don't know how angry it be
if he knew what I have been saying to you.
You'll have to look after him,
moment, see that he doesn't worry too much,
By the way, I suppose I couldn't catch him now at lunch.
Where does he usually lunch?
Generally at the blue boar up Hall-Born, Miss,
he generally goes to blue-bore every day when he's in this part.
If I try there and don't find him, where else could I try?
Does he ever go to any other restaurant?
I don't quite know where he'd be missed.
One day last week he went to the avenue by Hatton Garden,
but I don't think he's been there since.
He's never been there but the ones too.
my knowledge. When was that
Moorman? As it happens, Miss, I can tell you.
It was the day we heard of those terrible murders.
Last Wednesday, Miss. Thank you, MoMA.
I'll see if he's at either of these places. If not, I may come back.
But Joan did not go to either of the places of which Mooman had told her.
Instead, she went to the nearest telephone box and phone to Ellery, who was lunching at his club
to come at once and meet her outside Chancery Lane Station.
Meanwhile, she went into an ABC and ordered a cup of coffee.
As she waited, she took out the coat button and had a good look at it.
She was not in much doubt.
The button was of a quite peculiar type,
a bright brass button identical with those which George Brooklyn always wore on a summer evening coat.
Here was luck indeed.
According to her theory, Carter Woodman had been mistaken for George Brooklyn
because he had deliberately come out of Liskkeithouse wearing George's coat and opera hat.
George was very particular with his stress
and the court was quite unmistakable
and with these if not in them
he must have returned to the Cunningham Hotel
where he would have stowed them away
somewhere safely for the night
but the next morning his first object
would be to get rid of their incriminating presence
she had guessed that he would pack them away
in the bag which he usually carried
and so leave for the office
barring them away without any risk of arousing suspicion
then her first thought had been that
he would leave them in some railway
cloakroom or drop them quietly into the river. But this would involve the risk that the bag might
turn up and be identified as his. What would be the safest way of disposing the hat in court
without leaving the bag or running any risk of identification? She thought she had guessed at least
one way in which it might have been done, and it was to follow this up that she wanted
Ellery's help. She had now proved definitely to her own satisfaction that the court had been in
woodman's bag, but she was not sure whether the police would be willing to accept the evidence of a
solitary coat. They must find the coat, unless it had been put beyond reach of recovery. When Ellery
arrived, John told him that they were going to lunch together at the Avenue restaurant opposite
Hatt and Garden. In a few words, she told him what he was to do. At the avenue, John remained at the
table they had chosen while Elery went to the gentleman's cloak room. There was no attendant in the room
at the time and Ellery made a quick survey of the two or three dozen hats and coats which were
hanging there. What he was looking for was at any rate not among them. In a few minutes the
attendant came in and Elery entered into talk. Do you get many hats and coats left behind here?
He asked. Not many, sir. Sometimes a gentleman leaves a coat or an umbrella. But he generally
comes back for it. Gentlemen sometimes leave things when they are a bit torn, sir, if I may put
it so without taking a liberty. But not often, sir. Most of the country,
customers here are a very regular gents. When things is left, we keep them here for a week or two,
and then we send them to the lost property office. Have you lost something, sir? No, but a friend of
mine thinks he left a coat and opera hat here a week or so ago. Have you found anything of the
sort? Yes, I have, said the porter. And what's more, I'm damned, sir, begging your pardon,
if I could make it out at all. Gentlemen don't usually walk about in opera hats at lunchtime,
or go away leaving their hands behind.
But this lot was left at lunchtime.
I know that, sir, because it were in here in the morning,
and I noticed it after lunch.
Perhaps it had my friend's name in it.
No, sir, that it didn't.
I searched that coat,
and not a name, nor a scrap of paper was there on it.
A pair of gloves and a few coppers was all it had in it.
Wasn't there a name in the hat either?
No, there wasn't.
Or we would probably have found the owner by now.
"'Well,' said Ellery,
"'I'm going to take you into my confidence.
"'I believe that coat and hair did belong to my friend,
"'and I want you to let me have a look at them.
"'The matter is more important than it sounds,
"'for if it is a court, I think,
"'it may be the clue to the discovery of a murder.
"'Lord, sir, you don't say, sir.'
"'The attendants faced brightened,
"'and a new sense of importance came into his manner.
"'Lord, a real murderer,' he rubbed his hands.
"'Then he said, remembering that he had no idea
"'who Ellery might be.
"'In that case, sir,
ought not be to send for the police.
All in good time, said Elery.
But before we do that, you must let me see the coat and hat and find out if I'm right.
It wouldn't do to bring the police here on a wild goose chase.
I don't want to take them away.
But you must keep them safe and not give them up to anyone until the police come.
The porter that upon brought out the coat and hat.
The court was undoubtedly George Brooklyn's, or own fellow to his,
and to make the proof complete there was a button missing,
and the remaining buttons were the same as that which Joan had phoned in the handbag in Carter Woodman's office.
Allery turned to examine the hat.
There was no name in it, but in the crown there was evidence no less valuable.
At some time, the adhesive gold initials which hatters used had been fastened inside.
These had been removed or fallen out, but their removal had left the spaces which they had covered
cleaner than the rest of the white silk lining.
The initials G.B. stood out, not as plainly as if the gold left,
letters had remained, but quite unmistakably, when the lining was carefully examined.
There could be no doubt that Jones's sagacity had resulted in bringing to light
George Brooklyn's hat and coat, or that they had been left in a place which Woodman
had visited on the day following the murder. Their theory that Woodman had masqueraded
as George Brooklyn was confirmed, and the new evidence served to connect him more closely
than any previous discovery with the murders at Liskkeed House.
Ellery drew Woodman's photograph from his pocket. Have you ever seen
seen this gentleman, he asked, but the porter
did not remember. He might have,
or he might not.
So many gentlemen come to the avenue
and he was not continuously in the clockroom.
The lady at the cash desk
would be more likely to remember. She was
a rare one for faces.
Cautioning the man to take the greatest care of
the head and court until the police came,
Elid rejoined Joan in the restaurant upstairs
and told her of his success.
They determined to see the manager and take further
precautions against the disappearance of George
Brooklyn's clots.
John had selected a table in an alco
at which it was possible to talk quietly without being overheard
and through the head-waiter, Ellery got the manager to come and join them there.
They told them, in confidence, the greater part of the story, names and all,
except that they did not give Carter Woodman's name.
The manager promised that the court and had should be kept safely
and given Napoleon to the police.
He then sent for the cashier to whom Woodman's photograph was shown.
But she did not remember his face and was inclined to be positive
that he had not really lunched there on that day.
The waiters were then called in turn and shown the photograph,
but none of them remembered having seen Woodman.
The managers seemed to regard this as conclusive evidence
that he had not lunched in the restaurant.
Of course, said Elri, he may have lunched here and not been noticed,
but I'm inclined to believe he didn't lunch here at all.
There was nothing to stop him from walking straight into the cloakroom
and then going right away as if he had lunched
without coming into the restaurant at all.
I wonder how Mooman knew he lunched here that day.
We can't ask him that without putting him on his card, said Joan.
But what we have is good enough, and we can make Mooman speak out later if it becomes necessary.
The manager had by this time left him, and they were discussing the situation alone.
Suddenly, Ellery broke in on something that Joan was saying.
By Joe, he said, I've just remembered.
What the fool I'm not who have thought of it before?
What is it this time?
why you remember those fingerprints of Princeps that were on the club George was killed with?
I know how they got there.
When we were on the garden before dinner, I saw Princeop take down that club from the statue and swing it about.
He was showing it to.
Whom do you think?
North Carter Woodman?
Yes, Woodman.
That must have given him the idea of using the club.
He may have remembered that it would probably have Prince's finger marks on it.
Yes, but if he used it afterwards, it would have.
his marks too. Not necessarily. Don't you remember the police saying at the inquest that some of the
marks were blurred as if the club had been handled afterwards? That inspector fellow said he was sure
the murderer had worn glows. That is it. Woodman must have worn gloves and they blurred the marks.
That shows that Woodman killed George as well as Prince of course it all helps to make it likely
and I never thought John had done it. But it's not proof, you know. It may not be proof,
but by George
With the rest of the facts we have
I think it's good enough
No Bob I don't think it's good enough
For proof I mean
Unless we can prove that Carter
Was in Liskid House that evening
If we could prove that
I agree that we could bring the whole thing
Home to him
But we know he went out of Cunningham
And lied about where he had been
We know he lied
But we can't prove that he went out of the hotel
We were assured that he could have gone out
and in again without being seen.
It really isn't good enough yet.
But how are we to make it any better?
If Carter got back into Liskeet House,
I'm going to find out how he did it.
He couldn't have come in by the front door.
Someone would have been certain to see him.
And I'm fairly certain he couldn't have gotten
through the theatre without being seen.
Then how on earth did he get him?
That's what I mean to find out.
If he didn't come in the other ways,
he must have come in through the coach yard.
But surely the evidence
the inquest showed that it was all locked up
and no one could possibly have gotten that way.
My dear Bob, the evidence only showed that it was locked at 11 o'clock.
The police theory was that the murders were somewhere between midnight.
But we believe Carter got out of the Cunningham sometime before 11.
He must have come there before it was locked
and we know now, thanks to the court button, how he got out.
You may be right.
But the chauffeur and his wife both said they didn't see anyone come in before they locked up.
"'See that, even if Woodman did come that way,
"'I don't see how we can prove it.
"'You are a Jeremiah.
"'Of course, I don't see either.
"'But I haven't really tried yet, and I'm going to.
"'And now, Bob, let's pay a bill and get to work on it.
"'It must be so, and I'm not going to believe it can't be proved.'
"'The end of Chapter 31.
"'Chapter 32 of the Brooklyn murders.
"'This Liberty Walk's recording is in the public domain.
read by Yovanath
The Brooklyn Murders
By G. D. H. Cole
Chapter 32
Sir John Bunnery
Before John and Ellery parted
They arranged what each should do next
To clear up the remaining difficulties
John was to test a theory about the courtyard
While Ellery was to investigate the circumstances
surrounding the extraordinary attempt of Woodman
and Walter Brooklyn to raise a loan
In anticipation of Sir Vernon's death
Woodman had approached Sir John Bunnery
and Sir John's subsequent letter to Sir Vernon
seemed to make it worthwhile to find out what information he possessed.
Ellery made up his mind to go and see Sir John,
and Joan furnished him with a convenient pretext for doing so.
Sir Vernon had determined to get his new will into proper legal form
at the earliest possible moment,
and had told John that Woodman must on no account be allowed to do the drafting of it.
She had suggested that Sir John Bunnery might be called in,
and Sir Vernon had readily agreed.
John therefore commissioned Ellery to call on Sir John
and asked him to come to Liskeet House at his earliest convenience
for the purpose of drawing up Sir Vernon's new will.
Ellery wrote on his card from Sir Vernon Brooklyn
and aided by the name was speedily shown into Sir John Bunnery's private office.
Sir John was not at all the popular idea of what the bookmaker's attorney ought to be.
He was a small, dried-up old man with very sharp little eyes
that darted to and fro with disconcerting suddenness.
He had a way of sitting very still and looking his visitors up and down with those bright little eyes
until they felt that no detail of their appearance and perhaps none of their thoughts had escaped observation.
Sir John made Ellery nervous and after a few sentences he found that he had completed his ostensible business
without getting anywhere near the matter he had really come to discuss.
He shifted uneasily in his chair.
Sir John Bunnery evidently read his thoughts.
And now, young man, there is something else you want to say to me?
isn't there?
This was not at all the way in which
Elrere expected to conduct the interview.
He had hoped to discover what he
wanted casually in the course of conversation
without giving Sir John
who was, after all, a friend of Woodman's,
any hint of what he wanted to know.
But Sir John was manifestly a man
whom it was not easy to pump.
Elie was wondering what to reply
when the old lawyer spoke again.
I have refused Woodman that advanced.
Is that what you wanted to know?
Ellery said that it was not, and then realized that he had admitted wanting to know something.
Well, what is it then? said Sir John. There was nothing for it, but either to get out of the room
without the information that was needed, or to make Sir John Bunnery, at least in part, a confidant.
Ellery rapidly chose the latter-court and elected to go to work the most direct way.
I want to know precisely what Carter Woodman said to you when he asked you to lend him that money.
Do you know what he wanted it for?
you want to know a lot young man and why should i tell you all this because carter woodman is a murderer those small eyes looked at him very suddenly
said sir john and so you think woodman killed those two fellows at liskied house is that it i i dare say they were a good riddance i must say you take it very calmly sir john in my business young man we get used to taking things calmly murder is not a-yre is not a man we get used to taking things calmly murder is not a man
not an uncommon crime.
But I understood Carter Woodman was a friend of yours.
If you were my age, young man,
and in my profession,
you wouldn't be surprised even if one of your friends committed a murder.
But he's no friend of mine now.
Carter Woodman would be a good reddance himself.
I could have put him in prison for trying to raise money on false pretenses.
Sir John, you will tell me what you know.
I have almost certain proved that Woodman did commit murder.
but your evidence may be indispensable.
In that case, I should naturally give it at the proper time to the police.
Why should I give it to you, young man?
I never heard of you before.
Who are you?
Well, you a friend of Severn's, and of Miss Cooper's.
You probably know my guardian, Mr. Lucas.
Miss Cooper and I have been working on the case together.
Oh, you have, have you?
Playing the amateur detective, eh?
We have found out any amount of police don't do.
know anyhow. Yes, a mature detective always do in the novels. I prefer to say what I have to say
at the proper time to the police. It saves complications. But, Sir John, the police are absolutely wrong
about this. If you will tell me what you know, I will undertake that the police shall be fully
informed within the next few days. And why not now, young man? Because you want to do it all yourself.
Is that it? Perhaps it is. And perhaps it is in, Sir John. But you know best,
let's telephone to the police to send someone round here, and you can tell them and me together.
And have the police worrying round here all day till heaven knows when?
No, thank you, young man, Sir John paused, and then went on suddenly.
I suppose you are going to marry that Cooper girl?
I don't think that's any business of yours, Sir John, but I have no objection to telling you that we are engaged to be married.
Tad, tut, don't lose your temper boy.
I'm just going to tell you all about it.
Woodman came to see me the other night at my club.
No, not the Byron, Fosters, at the corner of Clareger Street.
That was at nine o'clock by my appointment.
He was with me for an hour discussing that loan you seem to know all about.
He told me just what I told Sir Vernon my letter,
that Walter Broklin had made a will in his favour,
and that they were prepared to sign their joint names to a bill.
He said that made the loan perfectly safe,
on the strength of their expectations from Sir Vernon.
That was all he told me.
Sir John stopped.
Is that all you know?
asked Ellery, with an air of disappointment.
No, of course, it's not all.
You just wait a minute, young man.
Don't be impatient.
Sir John glad for a few seconds at his visitor and then continued.
I may say that Woodman already owed me a considerable sum
in connection with a business transaction.
So I thought it wise to make a few inquiries about him in the city.
"'And I may tell you, young man, that the fellow is bankrupt, positively bankrupt,
"'a shilling in the pound affair, or something like it.
"'Speculation, of course. He can't hold out for more than a few days.
"'There are men on the stock exchange who know that for a fact.
"'So that Woodman would be very likely to take some desperate step in order to retrieve his fortunes.
"'Such as coming to me and trying to raise money under false pretenses.
"'The man's a damn scoundrel,' said Sir John.
"'Shallie murders versus than raising money on false pretenses, Sir John.
"'Oh, is it, young man?
"'Of course, you know all about it.
"'I only know that the fellow ought to be locked up.
"'That's enough for me.
"'I might have lent him the money as a friend.
"'But surely, Sir John, when you found out all this about him,
"'you wouldn't have considered lending him the money?'
"'Of course I did not consider it.
"'Not for a moment.
"'I never meant to lend him another penny.
"'I wrote that letter of mine simply to put Sir Verne,
on his card. I would have gone to the police, but as I told you, I saw no reason why I should
get myself mixed up in the affair. But it would have outraged my legal sense of that man had
got Sir Vernon's money by means of some jiggery-pokery with that old scoundrel Walter Brooklyn.
So I wrote to Sir Vernon. You see my position? If that's your position, I don't quite see
why you are telling me all this now. I am telling you a young man because I had no suspicion
that he had committed murder as well.
If that is a case, a man of that sort is too dangerous to be left loose.
He might be murdering me next, or Sir Vernon.
But now you're going to tell me all about your case against him.
Ellery saw that it was best to tell the whole story,
and he did tell most of it.
Sir John listened,
wholly interrupting every now and then with a pertinent question.
At the end, his only comment was,
hmm, not so bad for Emmett Shos.
And now, my fine young man, what are you going to?
to do next. If I am to be the family lawyer, that is a point which concerns me. Is it to be a
first-class family scandal, eh? Really, we have been so busy trying to discover the truth that I don't
think we have ever considered what to do afterwards. Hmm, but you will have to consider it now. Do you think
Sir Werner is anxious to have another scandal in the family? If you do, I don't. I suppose a murderer
will have to be brought to justice. You do, do you? And doubtless, you look forward to
appearing in court and showing how clever you have been?
Really, sir John, I look forward to nothing of the kind.
If Carter Woodman could be put out of the way of further mischief
without dragging the whole affair into court,
I should ask for nothing better.
How much of what you have found out is known to the police?
Nothing at all, I believe.
Of course, some other people, the manager at the avenue, for example,
know something of the story.
They can be dealt with.
Well, young man, you think it over,
and come back and talk to me before you say a word,
to the police. Bring your
Miss Cooper to, if you like.
I'm told she's a pretty girl.
And with those words, the old lawyer held out his hand
and bustled his visitor out of the office.
Ellery left Sir John Bunnery's presence
feeling as if he had been bruised all over.
He had found out what he wanted, but not at all
in the way he had intended.
And now this masterful old man
apparently meant to take full command
of the case. He must
see Joan and tell her what had happened.
the end of chapter 32
Chapter 33 of the Brooklyn murders
This Libri-Wox recording is in the public domain
Read by Yoganand
The Brooklyn Murders by G.D.H. Cole
Chapter 33
On the tiles
Inspector Blakey had received very definite instructions
from the superintendent as to the courts of investigation
which he was to follow up.
He was to find out all he could about Woodman's financial
circumstances and he was to seek for proof that Woodman had been in possession of Walter
Brooklyn's walking stick. Side by side with this line of investigation, he had intended to look
further into his private suspicions of Elri, but these which had been almost removed by his last
talk with the superintendent were finally dispelled by a further talk with William Gloucester.
Ellery's alibi was good enough. Carter Woodman was a man whose every concern he must
scrutinize if you would find the murder.
It did not take the inspector long to prove beyond doubt that Woodman was in a state of serious
financial embarrassment.
Discrete inquiries in the city showed that he had been speculating heavily in oil shares
and that he stood to lose a large sum on the falling prices of the shares which he had contracted
to buy.
There was nothing to show directly that he had staked his clients as well as his own money
on the fate of his dealings, but the inspector could make a shrewd guess at the state of his
affairs. In all probability, he must either raise money at once or else face ignominious collapse
and perhaps worse. It was definite that he had been putting off his creditors with promises to pay
in the near future and plunging meanwhile into most serious difficulties in the attempt to extricate
himself. So far, so good. But the other matter gave the inspector far more serious trouble.
Try as he would, he could get no clue that would tell him whether Walter Brooklyn had really left
his walking stick in Carter Woodman's office. His first was.
First thought had been to see Woodman's confidential clerk and to find out, if possible,
without putting Woodman on his guard, what the man might know.
He had scraped an acquaintance with Mooman in the course of his investigations
and had several times talked to him about the case.
Moorman, he was fairly well convinced, had not the least suspicion of his employer's guilt,
and the inspector was sure that he had said nothing to make him suspect.
Indeed, he could hardly have done so, for only since he last saw the man had he,
himself began to suspect Woodman.
Now, accordingly, Inspector Blikey, watching for an opportunity when he was certain that
Carter Woodman was not in his office, went to see Mooman.
He asked for Woodman, and receiving the answer that he was out, fell easily into conversation
with the old clerk.
It was quite casually that he asked after a while, by the way, Walt Brooklyn was here on
the day after murders.
You don't happen to remember whether he had his walking stick with him, do you?
Mouman looked at him sharply
as if he realized that there was
a purpose in the question
I have no idea he said
it isn't a thing I should notice
one way or the other
I'm too short-sighted to notice much
the inspector tried a little to jog his
memory but with no result
Mouman either did not remember
or he would not tell
to ask the young clerk in the vestibule
seemed too dangerous
for to do so would almost certainly be
to put Woodman on his guard
The inspector could only report to the superintendent that he had failed to trace a stick.
Look here, Blakey, said Superintendent Wilson.
This will never do.
We know perfectly well who committed these murders, and we are as far off bringing it home to him as ever.
The inspector could only reply that he had done his best.
Yes, and I'm not blaming you, his superior rejoined, but it won't do.
I see I shall have to take a hand in the game myself.
we must find out about the walking stick
and there's another point of recent doubt to die
where is the weapon with which Princep was killed
why you have got the club
yes yes but you don't tell me that the murderer carried
that immense unwieldy thing up two flights of stairs
when he might easily have been seen
no Princep wasn't killed with that club
George Brooklyn was but it was some other weapon that killed Princep
there's a knife suggested the inspector
But you have that too.
Really, Inspector, you are unusually thick-headed this morning.
The man wasn't killed with a knife.
He was killed with a blow on the back of the head delivered with some heavy blunt instrument.
Isn't that what the doctor said?
Quite.
If it was in the club, I suppose the murderer carried the weapon away.
I suppose he may have done, as you did not find it.
You're sure there was no object in the room that might have been used as a weapon?
None at all, sir, I think.
the stick belonging to Walter Brooklyn could not have made the wound, I'm told,
nor any of the other sticks for that matter.
It looks much more like a case of sandbagging, now I think of it in this light.
Well, Inspector, I am not satisfied, and I feel sure you will not object if I do a bit of
investigation on my own.
Are you taking the case out of my hands, sir?
No, no, I want you to carry on, and especially to find out what these young people,
Miss Cooper and Ellery, are doing.
There are only two of two of my hands, sir.
three points on which I want to satisfy myself personally.
Very well, sir, said the inspector, and he left feeling and looking more than a little aggrieved.
Superintendent Wilson, in his rare personal appearances in the work of detection,
had one great advantage. He was not known by sight, even to most of the habitual criminal class.
He had, therefore, on this occasion at least, no need to disguise himself.
He merely went to Carter Woodman's office as a prospective client who had been strongly recommended to him.
He wanted both to have a look at Woodman himself and to see whether anything more could be got out of movement on the question of the stick.
Woodman was engaged with a client when he arrived and he had a favorable chance of making friends with the old clerk before he was shown into the inner office.
He used his opportunity for that alone, making no attempt to lead the conversation towards the business on which he had come.
In a very few minutes he was shown into Woodman's private office.
Looking his man up and down, he noted, as the inspector had noted before him,
powerful physique, the straining vitality, and the false geniality of Woodman's manner.
But he could also see that the man was seriously worried.
There was, for all his appearance of heartiness, a hurried look about him, and he seemed preoccupied
as, with an excellent assumption of business incapacity, his visitor began to unfold a long
story about a lease and a mortgage which he wished to negotiate.
Woodman listened with growing impatience, as his superintendent meant that he should.
At length he interrupted saying that the details could be dealt with later.
His visitor was most apologetic.
Never had a head for business, but positively must get the matter dealt with that day.
He lived away in the country.
Mr. Amos, Porter of Sandling in Sussex was his description for the nonce.
And he could not be in town again for weeks.
Woodman finally suggested that, as there was other work he must do,
Mr. Porter should settle the details with his clerk,
an excellent man of business, who would be able to tell him
all he wanted. Mr. Porter, after a perfectory attempt to go on with his explanation to the
principal, agreed, and he was soon back in the other office with Mooman. Mr. Porter had left his
hat, coat and stick in the outer office when he went in to see Woodman, laying the stick on a chair
and covering it with his coat. His business with Mooman was soon done, and he crossed a room to
get his sinks. By a curious accident, while he was struggling into his court, he dropped a stick
at Mooman's feet. Moorman picked it up, but as he was passing it back to his room, he was
to his owner, he started violently and almost dropped it.
A queer old stick, is it not? said Mr. Porter.
I valued highly for its associations.
Moorman paid at him oddly.
I beg pardon, sir.
But isn't that the stick a gentleman I know used to carry?
No, no, I've had the stick for years.
I bought it in...
Let me see.
Where did I buy it?
Never mind.
I had no idea there was another like it.
That is most interesting.
May I ask who uses such a stick?
The gentleman's name is Brooklyn, Mr. Walter Brooklyn.
He had one very like yours.
God bless my soul, not the fellow whose name has been in all the papers.
Dear me, what was it about?
I know it was on the papers.
Mr. Brooklyn was suspected wrongly of murder.
Oh, yes, I remember now.
And you know, Mr. Brooklyn?
How interesting.
Woman lowered his voice.
He was in the office with that stick on the very day on which the murders were committed.
Dear, dear, it is coming back to me.
There was something about the stick in the papers.
How odd it should be like mine?
It was found in the room where one of the murders took place.
And you saw Mr. Brooklyn with a stick when he left his office the same day.
Dear me, that must have looked very bad for him.
But he was released, wasn't he?
Yes, the police let him go.
And did you give evidence, Mr. Moorman?
Did you have to say you had seen him leave this office with that stick in his hands?
It must be a terrible ordeal to be a witness.
Terrible.
I didn't have to give evidence.
And in any case, I didn't see the stick when Mr. Brooklyn left the office.
Oh, I see.
He added the stick with him when he left.
Then, of course, it wouldn't go so much against him it being found.
Why, it might have been my stick, and Mr. Porter gave a curious high laugh.
well, Mr.
Is it Moorman?
Thank you.
You have told me just what I wanted to know
about my mortgage.
I will write him, sending all the documents.
Good morning.
Safely out of ear-shot and eye-shot
of Woodman's office,
Superintendent Wilson had a quiet laugh.
A little diplomacy does it,
he said to himself.
Now I know all about the stick.
An ex for another little exploration.
The superintendent's next visit was paid
in his proper person.
driving to Liskeed House he asked to be shown up to Prince's room where everything was still just as it had been when the murder was discovered.
There he made a careful examination of the room and all its contents, seeking for any weapon with which the murder could possibly have been done.
His search was fruitless, and after a while he passed to the window and gazed out thoughtfully into the garden below.
The roof of the antique temple showed over the intervening trees.
But the place where the murder of George Brooklyn had taken place was completely hidden by the trees and the bushes growing.
around them. The superintendent cast back in his mind to discover whether the bushes had been searched
for possible clues. He assumed that they had. It was an elementary precaution, but he had best
have a hunt round himself. Something might have been overlooked. He went down the private staircase
into the garden and began his search. Nothing rewarded his efforts, though he spent a good hour searching,
and it was with a puzzled expression that he went upstairs again to Prince's room, resuming his stand
at the window and gazing out.
Suddenly something seemed to catch us attention.
Leaning as far out of the window as he could,
he studied intently what he could see of the roof.
It's just a possibility, he muttered as he closed the window and crossed the room.
What superintendent Wilson had remarked was that almost on the level of Princep's window
was a roof of that part of the house which projected over the stable yard.
It was not near enough for any entry to the room to be affected by its means,
but it was easily within reach of a throw,
and an object cast away upon it would be completely invisible and safely disposed of until someday,
probably distant, when the roof might need repair.
It was an admirable place for the best of all of any inconvenient piece of property.
By means of the landing window, the superintendent found a sway without much difficulty out onto the roof
and was easily able to climb over its cable side to the flat space in the centre.
And there at last his efforts were rewarded, for on the roof lay,
Clearly, just where it had been thrown, a small bag heavily loaded, not with sand, but with small shot, a deadly weapon.
Stuffing the thing into his pocket, the superintendent climbed back with more difficulty and shut the window behind him.
He chuckled softly to himself.
He had reasoned the right, and here at last was a clue that had not been laid to mislead.
A real clue that he must make to point straight at the murderer.
He went back to his office to examine his spine at leisure.
The end of chapter 33
Chapter 34 of the Brooklyn murders
This Liberty Walk's recording is in the public domain
Read by Yoganand
The Brooklyn Murders by G.D.H. Cole
Chapter 34
The Stable Yard
While Superintendent Wilson by his own methods
was thus working towards a solution of the mystery
Joan and Ellery were also pursuing
the investigations along their separate line.
There was but one thing needed.
they felt to complete their case
and turn their conviction from moral
to legal certainty.
How had woodmen got into Liskid House?
That was a question which
Joan had set herself to answer.
The coach yard seemed to be the only possible
means of access. It was a large
square yard opening into Liskite Street
by a pair of massive wooden doors
10 feet high and a small gate
let into the wall at the site.
Neither the wall nor the doors
could be climbed without the aid of a long
ladder. One entry
by these doors would find himself in the yard.
On his left, he would have the side wall of Liskeed house,
which had no window looking out onto the yard.
On his right would be the large coach house,
now used as a garage,
above which lived the chauffeur and his wife,
formerly a domestic of Sir Vernon's,
both servants of longstanding.
Their apartment had also a door opening into Liskeet Street
and a way down into the garage.
Immediately opposite, anyone entering the yard from the street
was an extension built out from the street,
built out from the side of Liskid House towards the back.
The ground floor of this was occupied by storerooms,
accessible only from the yard,
but between these a passage led through directly into the garden.
Above were rooms belonging to Liskid House,
whose windows looked out only upon the garden.
Joan, as she stood in the yard, noticed first that
if the outer door were open and the yard itself empty,
as at this moment, there was nothing to prevent anyone from walking straight through into the garden.
for as she knew the gate leading to the garden, though it was shut, was never locked save at night.
The big front gates of the yard stood open most of the day, and in any case, the small gate beside them was not locked until the whole place was shut up for the night.
A man wishing to get into the garden would only have to watch until the yard itself was empty,
and he would then have every chance of getting through without being observed.
In the chauffeur's apartments about the garage, only one window.
The window looked down on the yard and this, as Joan knew, was a tiny spare room seldom occupied.
Even if Woodman had come in by this way, there was only a very slender chance that he had been noticed.
The chauffeur came into the yard from the garage and John entered into talk with him.
Usually he locked up when no one had the car out in the evening at half past nine or ten.
On this occasion, Lucas's car had been in the garage during dinner and he had kept the place open after Lucas went
in case anyone might want a car out.
He had locked the whole place up at 11 o'clock
and had then gone straight to bed.
Had anyone, John asked,
entered by the yard entrance before he locked up?
He had seen no one,
but he had not been in the yard all the time.
He went away to ask his wife
and came back to assure John
that although she had been in the yard part of the time,
she too had seen no one pass that way.
There was no one else was there,
Joan asked about that night. No one. But then the chauffeurs seemed to be plunged into thought.
Yes, miss, there was someone else. Miss Parker, Nora, what used to be the cook, miss?
She came in to help with the dinner, and she stayed the night with us. She went to bed early, she did.
About half past ten. She had to leave early next morning. She went away before they found out what had
happened in the night. Was she sleeping in the little room up there? Yes, miss. And when
When I looked up at 11 o'clock, she was sitting at the window there.
She said she couldn't sleep and was trying to read herself off.
Then she might have seen anyone come in?
Yes, miss, she might.
Do you know where she is now?
She is with my wife this very moment, miss.
She's in a job now, away in Essex.
That's where she went when she left that morning.
But it's her day off, miss, and she has come up to see us.
Joan asked to speak to the woman and was soon in the parlour with her and the chauffeur's wife.
Did I see anyone come through the coach yard that night?
Yes, I did, miss, but I didn't think nothing of it.
It was about a quarter to eleven, and I was looking out of the spare room window when a gentleman came into the yard.
It was too dark down on the yard at first to see who it was.
But as he passed under the lamb by the gate leading into the garden, I saw his face.
Who was it? Did you know him?
Mr. Woodman, Miss?
Of course, I thought it was all right, seeing as it was him.
and he went through into the guard.
Yes, Miss.
You didn't see him come out again?
No, miss.
No one else passed through the yard before Mr. Purvis here came and locked up.
Now, Nora, I don't want you to tell anyone, or you, Pervis, or your wife, that Nora saw Mr. Woodman come in.
It's very important. You shouldn't mention it just yet.
Mrs. Pervis curtsied, and Nora also agreed to say nothing.
Purvis himself began by saying
Certainly, miss, if you wish it
And then he seemed to realize
The implications contained in Jones' request
His shot dropped and his mouth hung open
Then he said
Pick pardon, miss, but surely you don't mean as Mr. Woodman
It ought to do with this terrible affair
Never mind, Perwis, just now, what I mean?
I'm not accusing anybody
But I knew someone came in by the yard
And I wanted to make sure who it was
Well, miss, you can make sure we won't say
nothing about it. They kept their word, no doubt, and said nothing to anyone else. But when
Joan had gone, they said a great deal among themselves. Joan's questions had been enough to make
them suspect that Woodman might be concerned in the murders. And though nothing was said of
Jones' discovery, Pervis's dark and unsupported suspicions of Woodman, and Mrs. Pervis's
hints of what she could say if she had a mind where soon all drowned the servants' hall.
It was not surprising that these rumours soon came to Inspector Blake's years.
He was not at first inclined to attach much importance to them,
for they appeared to be no more than below-stairs' gossip,
and the fact of Woodman's unpopularity with the servants,
which had not escaped his observation,
seemed sufficiently to account for the vague suspicions.
Servants, he said to himself,
were always ready to suspect anyone they disliked,
and in this case they were all strong partisans of winter,
and highly indignant at the share of their attention.
intentions which the police had bestowed on the men's servants at Liskeed House.
All the same, the inspector traced the rumours to the chauffeur's wife and made up his mind to
have a little talk with her.
He began brusquely.
It was his way of dealing with women whom he thought he could frighten by asking her what
she meant by concealing information from the police.
The woman was plainly embarrassed, but she only said that she did not know what he meant.
He accused her of saying in the servants' hall that she knew who had committed the murders in
Liskkeet House, but that she wasn't going to say anything. Her reply was to deny all knowledge
and to inform the inspector that those that said she said such things wasn't fit, not to see it with
the decent folks. The more the inspector tried to brawbeat her, the less would she say. She grew
sulky and told him to let a poor woman alone, and not go putting into her mouth things she never said.
She didn't know anything, and if she did, she wouldn't tell him. Inspector Blakey retired from
the contest beaten, but warning her that he would call again. He did not, however, retire so far as
to prevent him from seeing that, as soon as she believed herself to be alone, the chauffeur's wife
hurried into Liskid House by the back way and went straight up by the back stairs. Putting two
and two together, he speedily concluded that she had gone to see Joan Cooper, and that John
probably knew all that she knew, and had told her to keep quiet about it. The inspector made up
his mind to see John as soon as the woman had gone. Meanwhile, Mrs. Pervis was telling John about the
inspector's visit and begging pardon for having let a tongue wag in the servants' hall. But I didn't
tell him nothing, miss. You can rest assured of that. I sent him away with a flee in his ear,
miss. At this moment, Ellery was announced. John dismissed Mrs. Pervis with a further caution to say
nothing for the present. As soon as she had gone, Ellery told Joan of his visit to Sir John Bunnery
and of the fact that Woodman had been in serious financial straits before the murder took place.
It seems to be true enough about your stepfather making a will in his favour.
It's all very odd, I don't understand it a bit.
I'm afraid there's almost nothing he wouldn't do for money except murder, said Joan.
Old Sir John seemed to think that murder was quite a venial offence in comparison with getting money by false pretenses.
Hillary answered laughing.
Don't be silly, Bob.
I found out how Carter got into the house.
and I've got the proof.
And then John told the story of the coach house yard,
a story which proved beyond doubt that Woodman
had been in the scene of the crime.
Well done, John.
So that makes it certain he was here.
I'm really beginning to think, Bob, we are rather clever people.
My dear, we have done the trick.
Do you realize that it practically finishes our case?
We have got enough now to be quite sure of a conviction.
Oh, Bob, how horrible it is when you put it that way.
it has really been rather fun finding it all out
but now we have found out
oh what are we to do about it
the obvious thing would be to tell the police
I suppose it would
but think of the trial
the horrible publicity of it
and I don't a bit want to see Carter hanged
though he may deserve it
think of poor Helen
my dear Joan of course you don't
but it is not easy to hush up a thing like this
but need be tell the police
they don't know what we have been doing. Must we tell them now?
Blast, if I know, darling. But I forgot to tell you about what the old lawyer-chair,
Bunnery said. He wants it hushed up, all right. Then that means we can hush it up.
I don't know whether we can or not. But I tell you what I suggest we do. You come down with me
and see Carter Woodman. We shall have to tell him what we know and force him to admit the whole thing.
Then we'll see what he means to do. Perhaps. Perhaps.
he might agree to run away to Australia or something before the police find out.
And then we can see old Bunnery and get his advice and decide what to do about telling them.
Before John could answer the string of proposals, there came a knock at the door and Inspector
Blakey walked into the room. John and Ellery evidently showed their embarrassment,
for he stood looking curiously at them for a moment and then said reassuringly that he had
only come in to have a word or two if he might. John asked him to sit down and
and offered him a cigarette.
The inspector lighted it deliberately, and then he suddenly shot a question at them.
What is it that you have told the chauffeur's wife not to tell me?
Joan looked at Elery, and Elri looked at Joan, but neither of them answered.
Come, come, Miss Cooper.
You really must not try to prevent the police from getting information,
or you will force us to conclude that you wish to shield the murderer.
Still, Joan made no answer.
I hope, Miss Cooper, that it is only that you and your friend have,
been doing a little detective work on your own and wanted to have all the credit for yourselves.
But don't you think the time has come for telling me what you know?
Elri did not answer the question directly.
Look here, Inspector, he said.
You think we know all about these murders and are trying to keep the truth from you.
It looks mighty like it.
Well, in a sense, I don't say we haven't been keeping something back.
But I give you my word that we are not in collusioned with the murderer or anything of the sort.
there's a very special reason
why we can't tell you quite everything
just now for what it is worth
does the very special
reason apply to Miss Cooper as well
yes said Joan
for the moment it does
Hillary went on
of course I know you have a grievance
you're going to tell us we are abetting the criminal
whoever he is
and that we shall be getting into trouble
if you are not careful
so you will said the inspector
very serious trouble
all the same inspector, I'm afraid we must risk it.
Very likely we shall be free to tell you the whole story
or what we know of it in a day or two.
But we won't tell you now.
That's flat.
A day or two is ample time for a criminal to get away.
Maybe, but I don't think you need worry about that.
You have given him enough time to get away if he wants to.
In any case, we're not going to tell you.
I'm sorry, but I warn you that you are conspiring to defeat the ends of justice.
justice. Sorry and all that. Another time, Inspector, we shall look forward to an interesting talk.
But for the present, good morning. The inspector took the hint and left the room in a very bad temper.
His parting short was that he must report their conduct to his official superior.
What on earth are we to do now, said John? Go and seek Carter Woodman at once, I think.
When we have done that, we shall know better how to act. But suppose he runs away when he hears us
story flies the country, I mean. Wouldn't that be the best way out? I don't want to see him hanged
any more than you do. As the inspector said, we run some risk assholes that way, but the
worst of it is that the whole story is bound to come out. I don't see how it can be kept secret in
any case, or rather, I only see one possible way. Watch that. Wait till we have been to
Woodman. I want to see if he will be man enough to take it. I don't know what you mean.
But I suppose we had better see Woodman.
Yes, and there's no time to lose if the inspector is on the trail.
John and Elery took a taxi and ordered the driver to drive to Woodman's office,
but they underestimated the inspector's promptness in action.
They did not know that behind them followed another taxi containing Inspector Blakey
and two plain-clothed's detectives.
The end of Chapter 34
Chapter 35 of the Brooklyn Murders
This Liberty Box recording is in the public domain
Read by Yoga Anand
The Brooklyn murders
G. D.H. Co.
Chapter 35
An order for bulbs
Superintendent Wilson's examination of his find
took him some little time.
The bag was of ordinary stout canvas
most unlikely to be capable of identification.
The small shot also was of a kind
which can be purchased at any gunsmiths
and at most ironmongards.
To trace the criminal by means of either of these clues seemed virtually impossible.
But this was not the end of the matter.
Taking the shot, the superintendent carefully sifted it,
and by and by, he had separated from the pile of short,
quite a number of other minute objects which had lain among it.
There were several small pieces of cardboard, a few fragments of matches,
some wisps of tobacco, a few bolts of fluff, two pins, three small nails,
and several tiny scraps of paper.
Some are all of these might, of course, have got mixed up with the shot before ever it came into the murderous possession,
and most of them were not at all likely in any case to afford a clue.
But the chance was worth trying, and the inspector made a minute examination of them all.
The scraps of paper alone seemed to hold out any hope of a clue.
Two of them were blank.
One was an indistinguishable fragment of a newspaper, apparently from the typography, The Times.
The other two which fitted together contained a few words written.
by hand. The words were unimportant, merely 12 dozen hyacinths, 15 dozen tulips, 10 dozen SQ,
the last word being cut short by a tear. The paper was evidently part of an order,
or of a memorandum for an order for garden bulbs. But the writing, the superintendent
compared it with a note which he had received from Woodman, the writing was very like.
He could not say positively that they were the same. He must compare the scrap of paper
with other specimens of Woodman's hand. A second, a second one, he could not say positively that they were the same.
visit to Woodman's office in the guise of Mr. Porter, the unbusiness-like mortgage-maker
would probably afford the opportunity. Superintendent Wilson called a taxi and drove away in the
direction of Lincoln's Inn. The Fates, watching outside that very ordinary-looking office,
had a more than usually amusing time that afternoon. As Joan and Ellery, after dismissing their
taxi, entered the auto office, a second taxi drew up a few doors off, just out of view.
Inspector Blike, he leapt out, and after him two plaincloth's offices.
The inspector rapidly posted his men.
There's no back way out of these premises, he said.
So we have an easy job.
I'm going right in now, and I want you to wait outside and follow any of our people who come out.
You know them all by sight.
If Carter Woodman comes out, don't lose sight of him on any account.
But don't detain him unless it's quite impossible to keep an eye on him.
I shall probably keep my eye on the other two myself.
so saying the inspector disappeared into the building.
He had no clearly formed plan in his mind,
but his suspicions had been thoroughly aroused,
and he feared that John and Ellery had gone to warn Woodman to fly from the country.
A few minutes after the inspector had entered the office,
his two subordinates had the surprise of their lives.
A third taxi drew up at the door,
and out of its step no less a person than Superintendent Wilson.
While they were debating whether to speak to him,
his quick eye caught sight of them,
and rapidly walking a little away,
along the street in order to be out of view,
he beckoned them to come.
What are you doing here? He asked.
In a few words, the men told him that Inspector Blikey
and John and Ellery as well were inside
and that they had received instructions to remain on the watch
and to follow Woodman if he came out.
The superintendent thought rapidly.
If he went in, it would be obviously impossible
to maintain his alias of Mr. Porter
and he ran the risk of interrupting a most important conversation.
If, on the other hand, he stayed outside,
what blunder might not be committed in his absence?
Telling the men to remain on guard and follow the inspector's instruction,
he entered the building.
He did not, however, go to the door of Woodman's outer office.
Instead, he went along the corridor to where,
as he remembered, the private door from Woodman's inner sanctum gave on the passage.
There he paused and listened.
Someone was speaking within.
But not a word was audible through the stout door.
There was no keyhole, and nothing was to be seen either.
The superintendent must fare further to the back of the building
if he sought to find out what was on progress in Woodman's room.
There might be a window looking on the room,
through which he could watch unobserved.
He soon found a back door leading into a small flagged yard at the rear of the building.
It was locked, but the key was in place.
Unlocking it, he slipped out into the yard and easily located the window of Woodman's room.
By standing on a water butt, he could see the three people,
Joan, Ellery and Carter Woodman
with him, but the window was closed
and he could hear nothing. He remained
at his post of vantage watching
the end of chapter
35. Chapter 36
of the Brooklyn murders
This Liberty Walk's recording
is in the public domain. Read by
Yoganand. The Brooklyn
Murders by G.D. H. Cole.
Chapter 36. An afternoon
call. Hardly had Joan and Ellery
passed from the outer office into Woodman's private room
when the inspector entered the room they had left and asked if Mr. Woodman
was in. Moorman, who had met the inspector several times lately,
saw nothing strange in the visit and merely replied that his employer was in,
but he was at the moment engaged.
If you care to wait, sir, I dare say he won't be long.
Blakey said that he would wait, and Moorman thereupon suggested that he should go in
and tell his principal that the inspector was there.
But the inspector told him not to bother.
he would take his chance when Woodman was free.
He sat down, therefore, to wait in the outer office,
improving the minutes by conversing with the loquacious old clerk about his employer's affairs.
Meanwhile, Joan and Ellery were seated with Carter Woodman.
He had greeted them rather effusively on their entrance,
and in movement's presence they had thought it best to shake hands
and behave as if nothing were the matter.
Woodman had placed chairs for them and had again sat down at his desk.
While they spoke, he continued for a while mechanically.
opening and glancing at the pile of letters before him. It was John who spoke first.
We have come here, she said, because it seemed the only thing to do. When we have heard what you
have to say, we shall know better what our next step must be. Something in a voice caused Woodman
to look up sharply. The tone was hard and a glance at his two visitors showed him that their errand
was not a pleasant one. But he looked down again and went on opening his letters without making any sign.
we have to tell you, Joan went on,
that we know now who killed John Prince and poor George.
Woodman gave a start as she spoke,
but all he said was,
Then, my dear John, you know a great deal more than I do.
I'll put it another way, said John.
We know that you killed them.
She got the words out with an effort,
breathing hard and clutching the arm of the chair as she spoke.
Woodman dropped the letter he was holding and looked straight at her.
"'My dear John,' he said,
"'are you quite mad?'
"'And you too, Mr. Ellery?'
"'No, we are not mad.
"'We know,' said Ellery,
"'with a short, uneasy laugh,
"'a laugh that created.
"'Woodman looked from the one to the other.
"'I fear you are both mad,' he said very quietly.
"'And now, will one of you please tell me
"'what you mean by this extraordinary accusation?'
"'You had better hear what we have to say
"'before you start protesting,' said Ellery.
"'Let me tell me tell you.
you exactly what happened at Liskeed House last Tuesday. Then you will see that we know.
You are supposed to have been at your hotel in the small writing room on the first floor
between 1045 and 1130 or after. So I was, of course. But we can produce a gentleman who was in
the writing room between those hours and can swear that you were not. Oh, I may have slipped
out of the room for a while, but it is preposterous. You had better hear me out. This gentleman
saw you leave the writing room and go downstairs at a few minutes to eleven.
Shortly after, he went to the room himself and remained there three quarters of an hour.
He saw you return to the writing room rather before a quarter to twelve.
This is pure nonsense.
But what of it?
Even if it were true?
This.
When you left the room, you went down to the basement of the hotel, which was deserted,
and let yourself out by unbarring the side door leading from the grilled room into St. John Street.
you also returned that way shortly after half-past eleven.
Again, I say that you are talking absolute nonsense,
but if it pleases you, pray continue this fairy tale.
Joan took up the story.
You walked across Liskid House and entered the garden through the courtyard shortly before it was locked for the night.
I will pass over what you did next, but at a time shortly before half-past eleven,
probably about a quarter-past, you put on John Princep's hat and coat and walked up and down the garden,
imitating his lameness in a spot where you could be seen from the back of the theatre.
You then went upstairs to John's room,
and delivered, imitating my stepfather's voice,
a false telephone message purporting to come from him to his club and pall mall.
Next you put on George's hat and coat,
and dressed in them, walked out of the front door in such a way
that the servants, seeing you at a distance, readily mystique you for George.
Am I right so far?
I am listening, my dear John, because I had better,
hear the whole of this wild story that something or someone here he turned and glad at
Ellery has put into your head but of course the whole thing is monstrous you need
not blame mr Ellery he and I have worked it all out together and we can prove all
we say we should have mentioned that before leaving Liskeed House you arranged a
scene of the murders so as to make it seem first of all that John and George had
killed each other under John's body you placed a blood-skeed house
stained handkerchief belonging to George
and he also left one of George's
knife sticking in the body. You
killed George with a weapon which, as
you well know, had on John's
finger marks. Of course
you wore gloves and therefore
left no marks which could be identified as
your own. The finger marks on the
club with which George was killed
were made by John earlier in the day
when he showed you the club before dinner.
They were defaced
but not obliterated by the marks
made later by a glowed hands.
Is that correct?
Of course it is not correct.
It's a parcel of lies, the whole lot of it.
Really, Mr. Woodman, said Elery,
you will find that the whole story is remarkably convincing to others,
if not to you.
Let me give you an account of the objects you had in view.
You knew that it was physically impossible for John and George to have killed each other.
But by leaving the signs as you did,
you hoped to create the impression that either might have killed the other.
Your main object, however, was not to create suspicion against
each of these two, but to incriminate
another person whom you decide to remove
for reasons of your own. You
therefore fake the telephone message
I have mentioned, and you also left
Walter Brooklyn's stick in John Prince's room.
You also detached the ferule from the stick with your penknife, and left the
ferule on the garden on the spot where
George was murdered. By actual murder, your elderly on Tuesday
night removed two of the three persons who would
stand between you and Sir Vernon's fortune.
You hope that, by means of the clues which you provided, the law
would do your work in removing the third. I will not ask you whether this is true. We know it.
Woodman shrugged his shoulders. Oh, if you know it, he said, of course there is nothing for me to say.
You left Liskeed House wearing George's hat and overcoat. These, you took back to the hotel and
stowed away in a handbag for the night. You went out the next morning carrying the hand back,
which you brought to this office. At lunchtime, you took it with you. I do not know where you lunched,
but you went into the clockroom of the avenue restaurant,
as if you were going to lunch there,
and left the hat and caught hanging on a peg.
You hope that it would be impossible to trace them to you.
They have been traced.
During Eladry's last speech,
Woodman's forced calm and first showed some sign of breaking,
but he pulled himself together with an effort.
I must say you have laid this plot very carefully, he said.
Unfortunately, not only have you been traced,
John went on,
but you were unwise enough not to notice,
when you left the coat that it lacked a button. You left that button deep down in the corner of the bag
which is now in that cupboard over there. With a sudden cry Woodman rose from his chair and sprang
towards a cupboard. He tore the bag open and felt wildly in it. Then he flung the bag away. Now, said John,
the button is not there, Mr. Woodman. Now, it is safe somewhere else. And I think,
Mr. Woodman, what you have just done rather disposes off the pose of
injured innocence, don't you? asked Ellery. Woodman kicked the bag savagely into a corner and sank
into his chair. His face had gone dead white. Shakily he poured out and drank a glass of water.
Your hopes of removing my stepfather by due process of law, Joan continued, were unfortunately frustrated.
You were, therefore, in the position of having committed two murders for nothing unless you could find
some fresh means of profiting by them. You found such means. As soon as you heard of me,
my stepfather's release, you made your plans.
Soon after his release, you met him,
and somehow or other persuaded him to make a will in your favour.
I do not know how you did it,
but I presume there was some agreement between you
to share the proceeds of your deal.
You then attempted on the strength of your joint expectations
under Sir Vernon's will
to raise a large loan from one who was a friend of yours,
Sir John Bunnery.
You were in serious financial trouble,
and only a considerable immediate supply
of money could save you from bankruptcy and disgrace. That, I think, is correct. Joan paused,
but this time Woodman had nothing to say. His face had gone grayer still. He stared at John
in his hand straight towards one of the drawers of the table before him, but he remained silent.
This time, however, John pressed him for an answer. Do you admit now that what I have said
is true, she asked, and as he still said nothing, we can prove it all, you know, Elery added.
Woodman pulled himself together with an effort.
You have told the police all this?
He asked.
Not a word as yet, said John.
We decided to see you first.
May I ask why?
If it can be helped,
we do not want your wife to suffer more than she must
for what you have done.
Nor do we want a scandal.
If you will leave the country and never come back,
we will do what we can to hush the whole thing up.
A light came into Woodman's ashen face.
I see, he said
Do you admit that all we have told you is true?
It doesn't seem to be much good denying it now.
You will sign in our presence a confession that you committed these murders.
I don't know what for.
No, I won't sign anything.
But you admit it.
Between ourselves, yes.
In public, a thousand times no.
Woodman even smiled as he said this.
You admit it to us.
yes, yes, haven't I said, sir?
But there are some things not even you seem to know.
Won't you tell us them, Mr. Woodman, just to make our story complete? said Ellery.
Remember that we are proposing to let you go.
We are taking some risks in doing that.
Not for my sake, I'll be bound, but I don't mind telling you.
What do you want to know?
How the murders were actually done?
Oh, I have no objection to telling you.
Indeed, I flatter myself
The thing was rather prettily arranged.
Woodman had almost regained his outward composure
and spoke with some of his accustomed assurance.
I went into the garden of Liskeet House
just as you said by the courtyard.
I have no idea how you discovered that.
Then I went straight up the backstairs to Princep's room.
No one saw me go upstairs, I take it.
Or you would have mentioned the fact.
I found Princep at his stable writing.
I laid him out with a bare.
big blow on the back of the head. With what weapon? With a sandbag. Then it has not been found. I threw it
out afterwards onto the roof of the stables out of sight. Then, as I wasn't sure if he was dead,
I made sure with the knife I found lying on the table. It belonged I knew to George Brooklyn. I don't
know how it got there. It wasn't part of my plan. I finished him off with that and went out
onto the landing. Just then I heard someone coming upstairs. It was George Brooklyn. Until that moment,
I had no definite intention of killing George that night. I meant to leave signs which would show that
George and Walter had conspired to kill Prince of Prince. I had put a handkerchief of George's
under the body. George's coming just then was dused awkward. I had no time to clear away the
crisis and I had somehow to prevent him from entering the room. So I met him on the landing and told him that
Princep was in the garden and wanted him to go down. He went down the back stairs with me like a lamp.
It was then it occurred to me that, as he had seen me up in Princep's room, I should have to kill him too.
I let him over towards the temple and let him get a few paces in front. Then I seized a club from
the Hercules statue and smash his head in from behind. After that, I had to consider how to cover my
tracks. I dragged the body into the temple entrance, fetched Prince's coat and head and walked up and
down the garden as you know. Then I went up again to Prince's room and sent off that telephone
message and arranged things there, leaving George's handkerchief under the body and Walter's
stick in the room. I had already dropped the ferule in the garden and a note in Prince's writing
making an appointment for the garden. He had sent it to me the previous day. George had left his
hat and overcoat in the landing. I had intended to slip out unabsurged somehow, but seeing the
coat and hat gave me an idea. I put them on and walked out as George Brooklyn,
thus throwing everyone wrong as I thought about the time of the murders.
All the rest you seem to know.
Hmm, said Ellery, you are a remarkably cold-blooded scoundrel.
Perhaps, but we can keep our opinions of each other to ourselves.
You would prefer me to go away rather than stay and face your accusation.
Isn't that so?
I suppose you can put it that way, said Ellery.
Well, I can't go without money.
That's the position.
and I want a good lot.
I can't lay hands on money at short notice,
and you will have to find it.
Besides, remember that.
If you don't accuse me, I am still Walter Brooklyn's heir,
and he is Sir Vernon's.
I understand it is most unlikely Sir Vernon will live to make another well.
Now, how much can you provide?
And how soon?
That is the business proposition we have to settle between us.
I'm prepared to disappear for the present,
and I'll go further for a suitable consideration.
and promise never to come back to this country.
But my condition is that I get half of whatever comes to Joan when Sir Vernon dies.
How does that strike you?
Joan had listened with feeling of nausea to Woodman's confession,
but now she broke in indignantly.
I'm afraid, she said, that you are a little after the fair.
It's quite true that, under my stepfather's new will,
you appear to be the principal heir.
It is also true that my stepfather stood to inherit a large sum of money,
until Sir Vernon made a new will.
Joan said these words very slowly and distinctly.
As Woodman heard them, the colour which had quite come back,
faded again from his face,
and he stared at her with a consternation that deepened as she went on.
We had not quite finished our story.
After your wicked bargain with my stepfather,
you attempted to raise money on the strength of being his,
and therefore indirectly Sir Vernon's air.
I know how hard up you were.
Indeed pressure from creditors, well, I hope, provide a good enough reason for your absconding now.
If you choose to spread the report that you have died abroad, we shall certainly not object,
but you will get no money from us.
As I was saying, you went to Sir John Bunnery and tried to raise a large sum from him on the ground of your expectations.
But you may not know that Sir John at once wrote privately to Sir Vernon to ask whether you were really the heir,
or that yesterday's a Vernon rallied enough to make a new will.
That well, of course, excludes both you and my stepfather altogether.
At these words, the colour came suddenly back into Woodman's cheeks.
In a second, he pulled open a drawer on the desk before him, seized from it a revolver,
and took aim at Joan.
But Ellery was just too quick for him, knocking up his arm so that the bullet embedded itself in the ceiling.
Woodman at once turned on Ellery, closing with him, and a fierce struggle began.
At this moment there was a sound of breaking glass
and rapidly opening the window
through the hole which he had made
Superintendent Wilson leapt into the room
At the same time the door leading to the auto office
began to rattle as if someone were attempting to open it from without
but it was locked and resisted all efforts to break it open
Then someone smashed the glass panel above
And the head of Inspector Blackie
With movement's terrified face behind appear in the gap
At sight of the superintendent
Ellery relaxed his hold for a moment and Woodman broke loose.
But this time, instead of aiming at John, he turned the weapon upon himself.
Putting the barrel of the revolver to his temple, he fired.
When a moment later, the inspector forced an entrance,
he found John, Ellery and Superintendent Wilson bending over Carter Woodman's body.
The end of Chapter 36.
Chapter 37 of the Brooklyn murders.
This Libby Works recording.
the public domain. Read by Yoganand. The Brooklyn Murders by G.D. H. Cole. Chapter 37. A happy
ending. John, Ellery and the superintendent faced one another across Woodman's body.
Moorman, his nerves gone, crouched in a corner, muttering. The inspector bent down and made a quick
inspection of the body. Hmm, he said. He's quite dead. The superintendent turned to Ellery.
And now, perhaps it is time for you to give me a little explanation.
Of this, asked Ellery, pointed to the body.
Of everything was the answer.
It is straightforward enough, said Elery.
Mr. Woodman, as you will easily discover,
if you ask that whimpering object over there,
has been for some time in grave financial difficulties.
This morning he was disappointed of raising a large amount
for which he had hoped,
and I'm afraid this is a result.
Is that all you have to tell me?
What more should I have?
May I ask whether you have any theory as to the murderer of George Brooklyn or of John
Prince?
I have no theory, and I cannot see what that has to do with this suicide.
Elri emphasized the last word.
Oh, that's your line is it.
And supposing, I suggested that this gentleman here, he pointed to Woodman's body,
was the murderer.
I should ask you what evidence you have to support such an extraordinary suggestion.
Very well, Mr. Ellery, but I had better tell you.
that I already have full knowledge of the truth. That is why I'm here. You and the young lady here
had much better make a clean breast of it. Don't you think, Superintendent, that you had better
deal with one thing at a time? Surely for the moment, this dead man claims your attention.
You know where to find us if you want us? I shall take Miss Cooper home. By all means, Mr. Ellery,
there is work for me here, but I shall have to call on you both later in the day. Could I meet you,
say at Liskeed House, about six o'clock?
Oh, if that's the attitude you'd take, I suppose we'd better have it out now.
That'll be best, I think.
Then Superintendent Wilson turned to the inspector, who had not recovered from his amazement
at the miraculous appearance of his superior.
The superintendent pointed to Woodman's body.
Colonium men and have the thing removed.
Then we can say what we have to say.
So when the body had been taken away, John and Ellery found themselves face to face with
Superintendent Wilson.
I'll tell you what I know, he said.
And then I think you will see the wisdom of letting me hear your story.
But first, there is one thing I must do.
Going to Woodman's desk, he took from his pocketbook the scraps of paper which he had
found and rapidly compared them with other specimens of Woodman's handwriting.
Just as I thought, he said.
And now I'm ready.
Fire away then, said Elery.
Well, it was clear enough to me from an early stage in the case, even before you
confirmed my view with your very convincing alibi that Mr. Walter Brooklyn was not the murderer.
That was the assumption on which I said to work.
May I ask why? said John. Of course, I knew he hadn't done it. But what made you? A quite
proper question, Ms. Cooper. What made me take that view was a very strong conviction that the
clues, the second set of clues, I mean, pointed far too directly to Mr. Brooklyn.
They looked as if they had been deliberately laid. I,
to have seen that at once, but I was put off by the other set of clues, the obviously false
ones, that the police were meant to see through from the first. It took me a little time to
realize that the murderer had been clever enough to lay two separate sets of false clues,
one meant to be seen through and one meant to mislead. Yes, we got to that too,
though we didn't put it quite as you do. Quite so. Well, as soon as I reached that conclusion,
it became clear that the murderer had strong reasons were removing,
not only your two cousins, but also your stepfather.
My next step, therefore, was to discover who would be most likely to inherit Sir Vernon Brooklyn's money
if Mr. Walter Brooklyn was safely out of the way.
So that brought you to Carter Woodman at once?
In a sense, yes, but of course, at that stage I had no sort of proof.
I set out to prove what was only a theory.
Yes, that was what we did.
tell us what you found out said Ellery half rising from his chair in his excitement you remember that Mr. Walter Brooklyn's stick was found in Mr. Princep's row while I succeeded in proving that Mr. Brooklyn had left that stick in Carter Woodman's office on the day of the murders
Lord we never thought of that said Ellery Moorman whom you know admitted that to me not knowing who I was I got it out of him when he thought I was merely a client taking an outside interest in the
case. He didn't realize that it was of importance.
And that was your proof? asked Joan with an air of disappointment.
Dear me, Miss Cooper, I should be very sorry to try to hang a man on such evidence. That was
only a beginning. What puzzled me was that, whereas the weapon with which Mr. George
Brooklyn was killed was found on the scene of the murder, there was no sign of any weapon
which could have killed Mr. Prince. So I made a thorough, fresh search, and at last, on the roof of the
building which projects over towards the
courtyard, I found the weapon
where the murder had thrown it out of sight.
It was a bag filled with small shot.
But I don't see how you could prove
whose it was.
One moment, Mr. Elri.
I took that bag away and went carefully through its contents.
Among them I found two tiny scraps of paper,
obviously part of an order, or a memorandum of an order
for garden bulbs.
When I went to the desk there just now,
it was to confirm my view
that the writing was Carter Woodman's.
I was right.
So that proved it, said John.
I would not go so far as to say that, said Superintendent Wilson.
But it made a case with certain other points,
which you probably know as well as I,
Woodman's financial difficulties and so on.
I had not, however, finished my case.
In fact, when I came here, I was pursuing my investigations.
Your presence and that of the inspector were quite unexpected.
Indeed, I may say that you interrupt
me. Sorry and all that, said Ellery. But you see, we had finished a case and proved Carter Woodman's
guilt so that he knew the game was up. Hence, the end of the story as you saw it just now.
I suggest Mr. Ellery and Miss Cooper that in view of what we both know, the only possible
course is to pull our information. I have told you my evidence. Will you be good enough now to
tell me yours? Joan and Ellery looked at each other, and Joan nodded. They both realized,
that it was inevitable that they should tell Superintendent Wilson all they knew.
You tell him, Bob, I'm not up to it, said John, smiling faintly.
But, Superintendent, you realize, don't you? How anxious we have been that this horrible
story should not come to light? It has caused misery enough, elderly. The telling of it
will only cost more. I understand, said the superintendent. Then can't we still keep it
to ourselves? said John, with a note of hope in a voice. The superintendent shook his head.
I suppose you realize, he said,
that you have both committed a very serious offence,
but I won't be too hard on you,
especially as you have shown yourself
such creditable I met shows in my line of business,
he added with the smile.
But I'm afraid the whole story must come out now.
There's really no question about that.
But surely, said John,
there's no one to try now,
so you can't have a trial.
I don't see why you should want to drag
the whole beastly story to light.
It'll...
Pardon me, Miss Cooper?
there'll have to be an inquest on cartwoodman and you and mr ellery will have to tell what you know but can't we say he committed suicide it's quite true he did and leave it at that said john
yes ellery put in and give evidence about his embarrassed financial position as a reason for taking his life quite impossible said the superintendent i fear the story must come out but as there will be no trial there will not really be very much publicity you will do best to tell you will do best to tell you will do best to tell you will be very much publicity you will do best to
tell the whole story at the inquest.
It'll all blow over very soon.
But what about poor Helen?
I mean, Mrs. Woodman, said Joan.
I'm afraid she'll have to bear it as best she can.
So it was done.
At the inquest, the whole story was told,
both by John and Ellery and by Superintendent Wilson.
The papers, the next day, were full of it,
and full two of compliments, both to the professionals
and to the amateurs on the skills shown in unraveling the Missing
But that same day came a parliamentary crisis.
The old Prime Minister resigned and a new one in the name of conservatism and tranquility took his place.
Parliament was dissolved and the drums beat in the beacons flared in anticipation of an appeal to the people.
In a few days the Brooklyn mystery was forgotten, except by those directly concerned and by a few specialists in the records of crime.
Joan and Ellery of course are married and quite disgustingly rich now that's a very well.
which now that Sir Vernon is dead.
They live at Liskeet House when they are in town
and Ellery is managing director of the Brooklyn Corporation.
He has made many attempts to get Marianne to return to the stage,
but perhaps he will yet succeed,
for he has just written a play in which she agrees
the leading part was made for her.
Family matters keep Joan rather busy at present,
but a first play, produced a year ago by Brooklyn Corporation,
was a great success.
She's thinking of collaborating with a husband and another
with a strong detective interest.
Hillary summed up the situation the other day
when he and Joan were talking over the days of the great Brooklyn mystery.
Well, my dear, it was sad about poor old George,
but you must agree that the other two were really a good riddance.
And although one of them had been in a way a suitor,
I think John did agree, but all she said was,
poor Marian.
The end of Chapter 37.
The End of the Brooklyn Mothers by G.D. H. Cole.
