The Old Man in the Corner

  CHAPTER X

  THE MYSTERIOUS DEATH ON THE UNDERGROUND RAILWAY

  It was all very well for Mr. Richard Frobisher (of the _London Mail_) tocut up rough about it. Polly did not altogether blame him.

  She liked him all the better for that frank outburst of manlikeill-temper which, after all said and done, was only a very flatteringform of masculine jealousy.

  Moreover, Polly distinctly felt guilty about the whole thing. She hadpromised to meet Dickie--that is Mr. Richard Frobisher--at two o'clocksharp outside the Palace Theatre, because she wanted to go to a MaudAllan _matinee_, and because he naturally wished to go with her.

  But at two o'clock sharp she was still in Norfolk Street, Strand, insidean A.B.C. shop, sipping cold coffee opposite a grotesque old man who wasfiddling with a bit of string.

  How could she be expected to remember Maud Allan or the Palace Theatre,or Dickie himself for a matter of that? The man in the corner had begunto talk of that mysterious death on the underground railway, and Pollyhad lost count of time, of place, and circumstance.

  She had gone to lunch quite early, for she was looking forward to the_matinee_ at the Palace.

  The old scarecrow was sitting in his accustomed place when she came intothe A.B.C. shop, but he had made no remark all the time that the younggirl was munching her scone and butter. She was just busy thinking howrude he was not even to have said "Good morning," when an abrupt remarkfrom him caused her to look up.

  "Will you be good enough," he said suddenly, "to give me a descriptionof the man who sat next to you just now, while you were having your cupof coffee and scone."

  Involuntarily Polly turned her head towards the distant door, throughwhich a man in a light overcoat was even now quickly passing. That manhad certainly sat at the next table to hers, when she first sat down toher coffee and scone: he had finished his luncheon--whatever itwas--moment ago, had paid at the desk and gone out. The incident did notappear to Polly as being of the slightest consequence.

  Therefore she did not reply to the rude old man, but shrugged hershoulders, and called to the waitress to bring her bill.

  "Do you know if he was tall or short, dark or fair?" continued the manin the corner, seemingly not the least disconcerted by the young girl'sindifference. "Can you tell me at all what he was like?"

  "Of course I can," rejoined Polly impatiently, "but I don't see that mydescription of one of the customers of an A.B.C. shop can have theslightest importance."

  He was silent for a minute, while his nervous fingers fumbled about inhis capacious pockets in search of the inevitable piece of string. Whenhe had found this necessary "adjunct to thought," he viewed the younggirl again through his half-closed lids, and added maliciously:

  "But supposing it were of paramount importance that you should give anaccurate description of a man who sat next to you for half an hourto-day, how would you proceed?"

  "I should say that he was of medium height--"

  "Five foot eight, nine, or ten?" he interrupted quietly.

  "How can one tell to an inch or two?" rejoined Polly crossly. "He wasbetween colours."

  "What's that?" he inquired blandly.

  "Neither fair nor dark--his nose--"

  "Well, what was his nose like? Will you sketch it?"

  "I am not an artist. His nose was fairly straight--his eyes--"

  "Were neither dark nor light--his hair had the same strikingpeculiarity--he was neither short nor tall--his nose was neitheraquiline nor snub--" he recapitulated sarcastically.

  "No," she retorted; "he was just ordinary looking."

  "Would you know him again--say to-morrow, and among a number of othermen who were 'neither tall nor short, dark nor fair, aquiline norsnub-nosed,' etc.?"

  "I don't know--I might--he was certainly not striking enough to bespecially remembered."

  "Exactly," he said, while he leant forward excitedly, for all the worldlike a Jack-in-the-box let loose. "Precisely; and you are ajournalist--call yourself one, at least--and it should be part of yourbusiness to notice and describe people. I don't mean only the wonderfulpersonage with the clear Saxon features, the fine blue eyes, the noblebrow and classic face, but the ordinary person--the person whorepresents ninety out of every hundred of his own kind--the averageEnglishman, say, of the middle classes, who is neither very tall norvery short, who wears a moustache which is neither fair nor dark, butwhich masks his mouth, and a top hat which hides the shape of his headand brow, a man, in fact, who dresses like hundreds of hisfellow-creatures, moves like them, speaks like them, has no peculiarity.

  "Try to describe _him_, to recognize him, say a week hence, among hisother eighty-nine doubles; worse still, to swear his life away, if hehappened to be implicated in some crime, wherein _your_ recognition ofhim would place the halter round his neck.

  "Try that, I say, and having utterly failed you will more readilyunderstand how one of the greatest scoundrels unhung is still at large,and why the mystery on the Underground Railway was never cleared up.

  "I think it was the only time in my life that I was seriously tempted togive the police the benefit of my own views upon the matter. You see,though I admire the brute for his cleverness, I did not see that hisbeing unpunished could possibly benefit any one.

  "In these days of tubes and motor traction of all kinds, theold-fashioned 'best, cheapest, and quickest route to City and West End'is often deserted, and the good old Metropolitan Railway carriagescannot at any time be said to be overcrowded. Anyway, when thatparticular train steamed into Aldgate at about 4 p.m. on March 18thlast, the first-class carriages were all but empty.

  "The guard marched up and down the platform looking into all thecarriages to see if anyone had left a halfpenny evening paper behind forhim, and opening the door of one of the first-class compartments, henoticed a lady sitting in the further corner, with her head turned awaytowards the window, evidently oblivious of the fact that on this lineAldgate is the terminal station.

  "'Where are you for, lady?' he said.

  "The lady did not move, and the guard stepped into the carriage,thinking that perhaps the lady was asleep. He touched her arm lightlyand looked into her face. In his own poetic language, he was 'struck allof a 'eap.' In the glassy eyes, the ashen colour of the cheeks, therigidity of the head, there was the unmistakable look of death.

  "Hastily the guard, having carefully locked the carriage door, summoneda couple of porters, and sent one of them off to the police-station, andthe other in search of the station-master.

  "Fortunately at this time of day the up platform is not very crowded,all the traffic tending westward in the afternoon. It was only when aninspector and two police constables, accompanied by a detective in plainclothes and a medical officer, appeared upon the scene, and stood rounda first-class railway compartment, that a few idlers realized thatsomething unusual had occurred, and crowded round, eager and curious.

  "Thus it was that the later editions of the evening papers, under thesensational heading, 'Mysterious Suicide on the Underground Railway,'had already an account of the extraordinary event. The medical officerhad very soon come to the decision that the guard had not been mistaken,and that life was indeed extinct.

  "The lady was young, and must have been very pretty before the look offright and horror had so terribly distorted her features. She was veryelegantly dressed, and the more frivolous papers were able to give theirfeminine readers a detailed account of the unfortunate woman's gown, hershoes, hat, and gloves.

  "It appears that one of the latter, the one on the right hand, waspartly off, leaving the thumb and wrist bare. That hand held a smallsatchel, which the police opened, with a view to the possibleidentification of the deceased, but which was found to contain only alittle loose silver, some smelling-salts, and a small empty bottle,which was handed over to the medical officer for purposes of analysis.

  "It was the presence of that small bottle which had caused the report tocirculate freely that the mysterious case on the Underground Railw
ay wasone of suicide. Certain it was that neither about the lady's person, norin the appearance of the railway carriage, was there the slightest signof struggle or even of resistance. Only the look in the poor woman'seyes spoke of sudden terror, of the rapid vision of an unexpected andviolent death, which probably only lasted an infinitesimal fraction of asecond, but which had left its indelible mark upon the face, otherwiseso placid and so still."

  "The body of the deceased was conveyed to the mortuary. So far, ofcourse, not a soul had been able to identify her, or to throw theslightest light upon the mystery which hung around her death.

  "Against that, quite a crowd of idlers--genuinely interested ornot--obtained admission to view the body, on the pretext of having lostor mislaid a relative or a friend. At about 8.30 p.m. a young man, verywell dressed, drove up to the station in a hansom, and sent in his cardto the superintendent. It was Mr. Hazeldene, shipping agent, of 11,Crown Lane, E.C., and No. 19, Addison Row, Kensington.

  "The young man looked in a pitiable state of mental distress; his handclutched nervously a copy of the _St. James's Gazette_, which containedthe fatal news. He said very little to the superintendent except that aperson who was very dear to him had not returned home that evening.

  "He had not felt really anxious until half an hour ago, when suddenly hethought of looking at his paper. The description of the deceased lady,though vague, had terribly alarmed him. He had jumped into a hansom, andnow begged permission to view the body, in order that his worst fearsmight be allayed.

  "You know what followed, of course," continued the man in the corner,"the grief of the young man was truly pitiable. In the woman lying therein a public mortuary before him, Mr. Hazeldene had recognized his wife.

  "I am waxing melodramatic," said the man in the corner, who looked up atPolly with a mild and gentle smile, while his nervous fingers vainlyendeavoured to add another knot on the scrappy bit of string with whichhe was continually playing, "and I fear that the whole story savours ofthe penny novelette, but you must admit, and no doubt you remember, thatit was an intensely pathetic and truly dramatic moment.

  "The unfortunate young husband of the deceased lady was not much worriedwith questions that night. As a matter of fact, he was not in a fitcondition to make any coherent statement. It was at the coroner'sinquest on the following day that certain facts came to light, which forthe time being seemed to clear up the mystery surrounding Mrs.Hazeldene's death, only to plunge that same mystery, later on, intodenser gloom than before.

  "The first witness at the inquest was, of course, Mr. Hazeldene himself.I think every one's sympathy went out to the young man as he stoodbefore the coroner and tried to throw what light he could upon themystery. He was well dressed, as he had been the day before, but helooked terribly ill and worried, and no doubt the fact that he had notshaved gave his face a careworn and neglected air.

  "It appears that he and the deceased had been married some six years orso, and that they had always been happy in their married life. They hadno children. Mrs. Hazeldene seemed to enjoy the best of health tilllately, when she had had a slight attack of influenza, in which Dr.Arthur Jones had attended her. The doctor was present at this moment,and would no doubt explain to the coroner and the jury whether hethought that Mrs. Hazeldene had the slightest tendency to heart disease,which might have had a sudden and fatal ending.

  "The coroner was, of course, very considerate to the bereaved husband.He tried by circumlocution to get at the point he wanted, namely, Mrs.Hazeldene's mental condition lately. Mr. Hazeldene seemed loath to talkabout this. No doubt he had been warned as to the existence of the smallbottle found in his wife's satchel.

  "'It certainly did seem to me at times,' he at last reluctantlyadmitted, 'that my wife did not seem quite herself. She used to be verygay and bright, and lately I often saw her in the evening sitting, as ifbrooding over some matters, which evidently she did not care tocommunicate to me.'

  "Still the coroner insisted, and suggested the small bottle.

  "'I know, I know,' replied the young man, with a short, heavy sigh. 'Youmean--the question of suicide--I cannot understand it at all--it seemsso sudden and so terrible--she certainly had seemed listless andtroubled lately--but only at times--and yesterday morning, when I wentto business, she appeared quite herself again, and I suggested that weshould go to the opera in the evening. She was delighted, I know, andtold me she would do some shopping, and pay a few calls in theafternoon.'

  "'Do you know at all where she intended to go when she got into theUnderground Railway?'

  "'Well, not with certainty. You see, she may have meant to get out atBaker Street, and go down to Bond Street to do her shopping. Then,again, she sometimes goes to a shop in St. Paul's Churchyard, in whichcase she would take a ticket to Aldersgate Street; but I cannot say.'

  "'Now, Mr. Hazeldene,' said the coroner at last very kindly, 'will youtry to tell me if there was anything in Mrs. Hazeldene's life which youknow of, and which might in some measure explain the cause of thedistressed state of mind, which you yourself had noticed? Did thereexist any financial difficulty which might have preyed upon Mrs.Hazeldene's mind; was there any friend--to whose intercourse with Mrs.Hazeldene--you--er--at any time took exception? In fact,' added thecoroner, as if thankful that he had got over an unpleasant moment, 'canyou give me the slightest indication which would tend to confirm thesuspicion that the unfortunate lady, in a moment of mental anxiety orderangement, may have wished to take her own life?'

  "There was silence in the court for a few moments. Mr. Hazeldene seemedto every one there present to be labouring under some terrible moraldoubt. He looked very pale and wretched, and twice attempted to speakbefore he at last said in scarcely audible tones:

  "'No; there were no financial difficulties of any sort. My wife had anindependent fortune of her own--she had no extravagant tastes--'

  "'Nor any friend you at any time objected to?' insisted the coroner.

  "'Nor any friend, I--at any time objected to,' stammered the unfortunateyoung man, evidently speaking with an effort.

  "I was present at the inquest," resumed the man in the corner, after hehad drunk a glass of milk and ordered another, "and I can assure youthat the most obtuse person there plainly realized that Mr. Hazeldenewas telling a lie. It was pretty plain to the meanest intelligence thatthe unfortunate lady had not fallen into a state of morbid dejection fornothing, and that perhaps there existed a third person who could throwmore light on her strange and sudden death than the unhappy, bereavedyoung widower.

  "That the death was more mysterious even than it had at first appearedbecame very soon apparent. You read the case at the time, no doubt, andmust remember the excitement in the public mind caused by the evidenceof the two doctors. Dr. Arthur Jones, the lady's usual medical man, whohad attended her in a last very slight illness, and who had seen her ina professional capacity fairly recently, declared most emphatically thatMrs. Hazeldene suffered from no organic complaint which could possiblyhave been the cause of sudden death. Moreover, he had assisted Mr.Andrew Thornton, the district medical officer, in making a postmortemexamination, and together they had come to the conclusion that death wasdue to the action of prussic acid, which had caused instantaneousfailure of the heart, but how the drug had been administered neither henor his colleague were at present able to state.

  "'Do I understand, then, Dr. Jones, that the deceased died, poisonedwith prussic acid?'

  "'Such is my opinion,' replied the doctor.

  "'Did the bottle found in her satchel contain prussic acid?'

  "'It had contained some at one time, certainly.'

  "'In your opinion, then, the lady caused her own death by taking a doseof that drug?'

  "'Pardon me, I never suggested such a thing; the lady died poisoned bythe drug, but how the drug was administered we cannot say. By injectionof some sort, certainly. The drug certainly was not swallowed; there wasnot a vestige of it in the stomach.'

  "'Yes,' added the doctor in reply to anothe
r question from the coroner,'death had probably followed the injection in this case almostimmediately; say within a couple of minutes, or perhaps three. It wasquite possible that the body would not have more than one quick andsudden convulsion, perhaps not that; death in such cases is absolutelysudden and crushing.'

  "I don't think that at the time any one in the room realized howimportant the doctor's statement was, a statement which, by the way, wasconfirmed in all its details by the district medical officer, who hadconducted the postmortem. Mrs. Hazeldene had died suddenly from aninjection of prussic acid, administered no one knew how or when. Shehad been travelling in a first-class railway carriage in a busy time ofthe day. That young and elegant woman must have had singular nerve andcoolness to go through the process of a self-inflicted injection of adeadly poison in the presence of perhaps two or three other persons.

  "Mind you, when I say that no one there realized the importance of thedoctor's statement at that moment, I am wrong; there were three persons,who fully understood at once the gravity of the situation, and theastounding development which the case was beginning to assume.

  "Of course, I should have put myself out of the question," added theweird old man, with that inimitable self-conceit peculiar to himself. "Iguessed then and there in a moment where the police were going wrong,and where they would go on going wrong until the mysterious death on theUnderground Railway had sunk into oblivion, together with the othercases which they mismanage from time to time.

  "I said there were three persons who understood the gravity of the twodoctors' statements--the other two were, firstly, the detective who hadoriginally examined the railway carriage, a young man of energy andplenty of misguided intelligence, the other was Mr. Hazeldene.

  "At this point the interesting element of the whole story was firstintroduced into the proceedings, and this was done through the humblechannel of Emma Funnel, Mrs. Hazeldene's maid, who, as far as was knownthen, was the last person who had seen the unfortunate lady alive andhad spoken to her.

  "'Mrs. Hazeldene lunched at home,' explained Emma, who was shy, andspoke almost in a whisper; 'she seemed well and cheerful. She went outat about half-past three, and told me she was going to Spence's, in St.Paul's Churchyard, to try on her new tailor-made gown. Mrs. Hazeldenehad meant to go there in the morning, but was prevented as Mr. Erringtoncalled.'

  "'Mr. Errington?' asked the coroner casually. 'Who is Mr. Errington?'

  "But this Emma found difficult to explain. Mr. Errington was--Mr.Errington, that's all.

  "'Mr. Errington was a friend of the family. He lived in a flat in theAlbert Mansions. He very often came to Addison Row, and generally stayedlate.'

  "Pressed still further with questions, Emma at last stated that latterlyMrs. Hazeldene had been to the theatre several times with Mr. Errington,and that on those nights the master looked very gloomy, and was verycross.

  "Recalled, the young widower was strangely reticent. He gave forth hisanswers very grudgingly, and the coroner was evidently absolutelysatisfied with himself at the marvellous way in which, after a quarterof an hour of firm yet very kind questionings, he had elicited from thewitness what information he wanted.

  "Mr. Errington was a friend of his wife. He was a gentleman of means,and seemed to have a great deal of time at his command. He himself didnot particularly care about Mr. Errington, but he certainly had nevermade any observations to his wife on the subject.

  "'But who is Mr. Errington?' repeated the coroner once more. 'What doeshe do? What is his business or profession?'

  "'He has no business or profession.

  "'What is his occupation, then?

  "He has no special occupation. He has ample private means. But he has agreat and very absorbing hobby.'

  "'What is that?'

  "'He spends all his time in chemical experiments, and is, I believe, asan amateur, a very distinguished toxicologist.'"