The Old Man in the Corner

  CHAPTER XXX

  FRIENDS

  "Yes," interrupted Polly eagerly, since, for once, her acumen had beenat least as sharp as his, "but suspicion of that horrible crime onlyshifted its taint from one friend to another, and, of course, I know--"

  "But that's just it," he quietly interrupted, "you don't know--Mr.Walter Hatherell, of course, you mean. So did every one else at once.The friend, weak and willing, committing a crime on behalf of hiscowardly, yet more assertive friend who had tempted him to evil. It wasa good theory; and was held pretty generally, I fancy, even by thepolice.

  "I say 'even' because they worked really hard in order to build up acase against young Hatherell, but the great difficulty was that of time.At the hour when the policeman had seen the two men outside Park Squaretogether, Walter Hatherell was still sitting in the Harewood Club, whichhe never left until twenty minutes to two. Had he wished to waylay androb Aaron Cohen he would not have waited surely till the time whenpresumably the latter would already have reached home.

  "Moreover, twenty minutes was an incredibly short time in which to walkfrom Hanover Square to Regent's Park without the chance of cuttingacross the squares, to look for a man, whose whereabouts you could notdetermine to within twenty yards or so, to have an argument with him,murder him, and ransack his pockets. And then there was the totalabsence of motive."

  "But--" said Polly meditatively, for she remembered now that theRegent's Park murder, as it had been popularly called, was one of thosewhich had remained as impenetrable a mystery as any other crime had everbeen in the annals of the police.

  The man in the corner cocked his funny birdlike head well on one sideand looked at her, highly amused evidently at her perplexity.

  "You do not see how that murder was committed?" he asked with a grin.

  Polly was bound to admit that she did not.

  "If you had happened to have been in Mr. John Ashley's predicament," hepersisted, "you do not see how you could conveniently have done awaywith Mr. Aaron Cohen, pocketed his winnings, and then led the police ofyour country entirely by the nose, by proving an indisputable _alibi_?"

  "I could not arrange conveniently," she retorted, "to be in twodifferent places half a mile apart at one and the same time."

  "No! I quite admit that you could not do this unless you also had afriend--"

  "A friend? But you say--"

  "I say that I admired Mr. John Ashley, for his was the head whichplanned the whole thing, but he could not have accomplished thefascinating and terrible drama without the help of willing and ablehands."

  "Even then--" she protested.

  "Point number one," he began excitedly, fidgeting with his inevitablepiece of string. "John Ashley and his friend Walter Hatherell leave theclub together, and together decide on the plan of campaign. Hatherellreturns to the club, and Ashley goes to fetch the revolver--the revolverwhich played such an important part in the drama, but not the partassigned to it by the police. Now try to follow Ashley closely, as hedogs Aaron Cohen's footsteps. Do you believe that he entered intoconversation with him? That he walked by his side? That he asked fordelay? No! He sneaked behind him and caught him by the throat, as thegarroters used to do in the fog. Cohen was apoplectic, and Ashley isyoung and powerful. Moreover, he meant to kill--"

  "But the two men talked together outside the Square gates," protestedPolly, "one of whom was Cohen, and the other Ashley."

  "Pardon me," he said, jumping up in his seat like a monkey on a stick,"there were not two men talking outside the Square gates. According tothe testimony of James Funnell, the constable, two men were leaning armin arm against the railings and _one_ man was talking."

  "Then you think that--"

  "At the hour when James Funnell heard Holy Trinity clock strikinghalf-past two Aaron Cohen was already dead. Look how simple the wholething is," he added eagerly, "and how easy after that--easy, but oh,dear me! how wonderfully, how stupendously clever. As soon as JamesFunnell has passed on, John Ashley, having opened the gate, lifts thebody of Aaron Cohen in his arms and carries him across the Square. TheSquare is deserted, of course, but the way is easy enough, and we mustpresume that Ashley had been in it before. Anyway, there was no fear ofmeeting any one.

  "In the meantime Hatherell has left the club: as fast as his athleticlegs can carry him he rushes along Oxford Street and Portland Place. Ithad been arranged between the two miscreants that the Square gate shouldbe left on the latch.

  "Close on Ashley's heels now, Hatherell too cuts across the Square, andreaches the further gate in good time to give his confederate a hand indisposing the body against the railings. Then, without another instant'sdelay, Ashley runs back across the gardens, straight to the Ashton Club,throwing away the keys of the dead man, on the very spot where he hadmade it a point of being seen and heard by a passer-by.

  "Hatherell gives his friend six or seven minutes' start, then he beginsthe altercation which lasts two or three minutes, and finally rouses theneighbourhood with cries of 'Murder' and report of pistol in order toestablish that the crime was committed at the hour when its perpetratorhas already made out an indisputable _alibi_."

  "I don't know what you think of it all, of course," added the funnycreature as he fumbled for his coat and his gloves, "but I call theplanning of that murder--on the part of novices, mind you--one of thecleverest pieces of strategy I have ever come across. It is one of thosecases where there is no possibility whatever now of bringing the crimehome to its perpetrator or his abettor. They have not left a singleproof behind them; they foresaw everything, and each acted his part witha coolness and courage which, applied to a great and good cause, wouldhave made fine statesmen of them both.

  "As it is, I fear, they are just a pair of young blackguards, who haveescaped human justice, and have only deserved the full and ungrudgingadmiration of yours very sincerely."

  He had gone. Polly wanted to call him back, but his meagre person was nolonger visible through the glass door. There were many things she wouldhave wished to ask of him--what were his proofs, his facts? His weretheories, after all, and yet, somehow, she felt that he had solved onceagain one of the darkest mysteries of great criminal London.