CHAPTER XXVIII
THE REGENT'S PARK MURDER
By this time Miss Polly Burton had become quite accustomed to herextraordinary _vis-a-vis_ in the corner.
He was always there, when she arrived, in the selfsame corner, dressedin one of his remarkable check tweed suits; he seldom said good morning,and invariably when she appeared he began to fidget with increasednervousness, with some tattered and knotty piece of string.
"Were you ever interested in the Regent's Park murder?" he asked her oneday.
Polly replied that she had forgotten most of the particulars connectedwith that curious murder, but that she fully remembered the stir andflutter it had caused in a certain section of London Society.
"The racing and gambling set, particularly, you mean," he said. "All thepersons implicated in the murder, directly or indirectly, were of thetype commonly called 'Society men,' or 'men about town,' whilst theHarewood Club in Hanover Square, round which centred all the scandal inconnection with the murder, was one of the smartest clubs in London.
"Probably the doings of the Harewood Club, which was essentially agambling club, would for ever have remained 'officially' absent from theknowledge of the police authorities but for the murder in the Regent'sPark and the revelations which came to light in connection with it.
"I dare say you know the quiet square which lies between Portland Placeand the Regent's Park and is called Park Crescent at its south end, andsubsequently Park Square East and West. The Marylebone Road, with allits heavy traffic, cuts straight across the large square and its prettygardens, but the latter are connected together by a tunnel under theroad; and of course you must remember that the new tube station in thesouth portion of the Square had not yet been planned.
"February 6th, 1907, was a very foggy night, nevertheless Mr. AaronCohen, of 30, Park Square West, at two o'clock in the morning, havingfinally pocketed the heavy winnings which he had just swept off thegreen table of the Harewood Club, started to walk home alone. An hourlater most of the inhabitants of Park Square West were aroused fromtheir peaceful slumbers by the sounds of a violent altercation in theroad. A man's angry voice was heard shouting violently for a minute ortwo, and was followed immediately by frantic screams of 'Police' and'Murder.' Then there was the double sharp report of firearms, andnothing more.
"The fog was very dense, and, as you no doubt have experienced yourself,it is very difficult to locate sound in a fog. Nevertheless, not morethan a minute or two had elapsed before Constable F 18, the pointpoliceman at the corner of Marylebone Road, arrived on the scene, and,having first of all whistled for any of his comrades on the beat, beganto grope his way about in the fog, more confused than effectuallyassisted by contradictory directions from the inhabitants of the housesclose by, who were nearly falling out of the upper windows as theyshouted out to the constable.
"'By the railings, policeman.'
"'Higher up the road.'
"'No, lower down.'
"'It was on this side of the pavement I am sure.'
"No, the other.'
"At last it was another policeman, F 22, who, turning into Park SquareWest from the north side, almost stumbled upon the body of a man lyingon the pavement with his head against the railings of the Square. Bythis time quite a little crowd of people from the different houses inthe road had come down, curious to know what had actually happened.
"The policeman turned the strong light of his bull's-eye lantern on theunfortunate man's face.
"'It looks as if he had been strangled, don't it?' he murmured to hiscomrade.
"And he pointed to the swollen tongue, the eyes half out of theirsockets, bloodshot and congested, the purple, almost black, hue of theface.
"At this point one of the spectators, more callous to horrors, peeredcuriously into the dead man's face. He uttered an exclamation ofastonishment.
"'Why, surely, it's Mr. Cohen from No. 30!'
"The mention of a name familiar down the length of the street had causedtwo or three other men to come forward and to look more closely into thehorribly distorted mask of the murdered man.
"'Our next-door neighbour, undoubtedly,' asserted Mr. Ellison, a youngbarrister, residing at No. 31.
"'What in the world was he doing this foggy night all alone, and onfoot?' asked somebody else.
"'He usually came home very late. I fancy he belonged to some gamblingclub in town. I dare say he couldn't get a cab to bring him out here.Mind you, I don't know much about him. We only knew him to nod to.'
"'Poor beggar! it looks almost like an old-fashioned case ofgarroting.'
"'Anyway, the blackguardly murderer, whoever he was, wanted to make surehe had killed his man!' added Constable F 18, as he picked up an objectfrom the pavement. 'Here's the revolver, with two cartridges missing.You gentlemen heard the report just now?'
"'He don't seem to have hit him though. The poor bloke was strangled, nodoubt.'
"'And tried to shoot at his assailant, obviously,' asserted the youngbarrister with authority.
"'If he succeeded in hitting the brute, there might be a chance oftracing the way he went.'
"'But not in the fog.'
"Soon, however, the appearance of the inspector, detective, and medicalofficer, who had quickly been informed of the tragedy, put an end tofurther discussion.
"The bell at No. 30 was rung, and the servants--all four of themwomen--were asked to look at the body.
"Amidst tears of horror and screams of fright, they all recognized inthe murdered man their master, Mr. Aaron Cohen. He was thereforeconveyed to his own room pending the coroner's inquest.
"The police had a pretty difficult task, you will admit; there were sovery few indications to go by, and at first literally no clue.
"The inquest revealed practically nothing. Very little was known in theneighbourhood about Mr. Aaron Cohen and his affairs. His female servantsdid not even know the name or whereabouts of the various clubs hefrequented.
"He had an office in Throgmorton Street and went to business every day.He dined at home, and sometimes had friends to dinner. When he was alonehe invariably went to the club, where he stayed until the small hours ofthe morning.
"The night of the murder he had gone out at about nine o'clock. That wasthe last his servants had seen of him. With regard to the revolver, allfour servants swore positively that they had never seen it before, andthat, unless Mr. Cohen had bought it that very day, it did not belong totheir master.
"Beyond that, no trace whatever of the murderer had been found, but onthe morning after the crime a couple of keys linked together by a shortmetal chain were found close to a gate at the opposite end of theSquare, that which immediately faced Portland Place. These were provedto be, firstly, Mr. Cohen's latch-key, and, secondly, his gate-key ofthe Square.
"It was therefore presumed that the murderer, having accomplished hisfell design and ransacked his victim's pockets, had found the keys andmade good his escape by slipping into the Square, cutting under thetunnel, and out again by the further gate. He then took the precautionnot to carry the keys with him any further, but threw them away anddisappeared in the fog.
"The jury returned a verdict of wilful murder against some person orpersons unknown, and the police were put on their mettle to discover theunknown and daring murderer. The result of their investigations,conducted with marvellous skill by Mr. William Fisher, led, about a weekafter the crime, to the sensational arrest of one of London's smartestyoung bucks.
"The case Mr. Fisher had got up against the accused briefly amounted tothis:
"On the night of February 6th, soon after midnight, play began to runvery high at the Harewood Club, in Hanover Square. Mr. Aaron Cohen heldthe bank at roulette against some twenty or thirty of his friends,mostly young fellows with no wits and plenty of money. 'The Bank' waswinning heavily, and it appears that this was the third consecutivenight on which Mr. Aaron Cohen had gone home richer by several hundredsthan he had been at the start of play.
"Young Joh
n Ashley, who is the son of a very worthy county gentleman whois M.F.H. somewhere in the Midlands, was losing heavily, and in his casealso it appears that it was the third consecutive night that Fortunehad turned her face against him.
"Remember," continued the man in the corner, "that when I tell you allthese details and facts, I am giving you the combined evidence ofseveral witnesses, which it took many days to collect and to classify.
"It appears that young Mr. Ashley, though very popular in society, wasgenerally believed to be in what is vulgarly termed 'low water'; up tohis eyes in debt, and mortally afraid of his dad, whose younger son hewas, and who had on one occasion threatened to ship him off to Australiawith a L5 note in his pocket if he made any further extravagant callsupon his paternal indulgence.
"It was also evident to all John Ashley's many companions that theworthy M.F.H. held the purse-strings in a very tight grip. The youngman, bitten with the desire to cut a smart figure in the circles inwhich he moved, had often recourse to the varying fortunes which now andagain smiled upon him across the green tables in the Harewood Club.
"Be that as it may, the general consensus of opinion at the Club wasthat young Ashley had changed his last 'pony' before he sat down to aturn of roulette with Aaron Cohen on that particular night of February6th.
"It appears that all his friends, conspicuous among whom was Mr. WalterHatherell, tried their very best to dissuade him from pitting his luckagainst that of Cohen, who had been having a most unprecedented run ofgood fortune. But young Ashley, heated with wine, exasperated at his ownbad luck, would listen to no one; he tossed one L5 note after another onthe board, he borrowed from those who would lend, then played on parolefor a while. Finally, at half-past one in the morning, after a run ofnineteen on the red, the young man found himself without a penny in hispockets, and owing a debt--gambling debt--a debt of honour of L1500 toMr. Aaron Cohen.
"Now we must render this much maligned gentleman that justice which waspersistently denied to him by press and public alike; it was positivelyasserted by all those present that Mr. Cohen himself repeatedly tried toinduce young Mr. Ashley to give up playing. He himself was in a delicateposition in the matter, as he was the winner, and once or twice thetaunt had risen to the young man's lips, accusing the holder of the bankof the wish to retire on a competence before the break in his luck.
"Mr. Aaron Cohen, smoking the best of Havanas, had finally shrugged hisshoulders and said: 'As you please!'
"But at half-past one he had had enough of the player, who always lostand never paid--never could pay, so Mr. Cohen probably believed. Hetherefore at that hour refused to accept Mr. John Ashley's 'promissory'stakes any longer. A very few heated words ensued, quickly checked bythe management, who are ever on the alert to avoid the least suspicionof scandal.
"In the meanwhile Mr. Hatherell, with great good sense, persuaded youngAshley to leave the Club and all its temptations and go home; ifpossible to bed.
"The friendship of the two young men, which was very well known insociety, consisted chiefly, it appears, in Walter Hatherell being thewilling companion and helpmeet of John Ashley in his mad and extravagantpranks. But to-night the latter, apparently tardily sobered by histerrible and heavy losses, allowed himself to be led away by his friendfrom the scene of his disasters. It was then about twenty minutes totwo.
"Here the situation becomes interesting," continued the man in thecorner in his nervous way. "No wonder that the police interrogated atleast a dozen witnesses before they were quite satisfied that everystatement was conclusively proved.
"Walter Hatherell, after about ten minutes' absence, that is to say atten minutes to two, returned to the club room. In reply to severalinquiries, he said that he had parted with his friend at the corner ofNew Bond Street, since he seemed anxious to be alone, and that Ashleysaid he would take a turn down Piccadilly before going home--he thoughta walk would do him good.
"At two o'clock or thereabouts Mr. Aaron Cohen, satisfied with hisevening's work, gave up his position at the bank and, pocketing hisheavy winnings, started on his homeward walk, while Mr. Walter Hatherellleft the club half an hour later.
"At three o'clock precisely the cries of 'Murder' and the report offire-arms were heard in Park Square West, and Mr. Aaron Cohen was foundstrangled outside the garden railings."