The Complete Simon Iff (12 page)

Simon Iff took the armchair of the Senior in front of the great fire of logs, remarking laughingly that he was the presiding judge. Holborne took the ingle seat, that he might watch the mystic’s face. But Iff playfully adopted an air of benevolent neutrality, which we may suppose that he conceived to go well with his position. His second bottle of Burgundy stood on a table before him, with a cup of the admirable coffee of the Hemlock Club. This was almost in the nature of a tribute, for a supply of it was sent to the club every year by the Shereef of Mecca, in memory of Sir Richard Burton, who had been a member of the club. His small pale face was almost hidden by a Partaga Rothschild, in which he appeared more engrossed than in the story which Stanford proceeded to unfold.

The latter prefaced his remarks by an apology. “This is a very simple and very sordid story; in fact, I have rarely met anything so bald.” “And unconvincing,” murmured Simon Iff. “I shall give you only facts,” continued the historian. “Plain, unquestionable facts. I shall not try to tell a story: I shall give you the bare bones of the case. You can reconstruct your animal in the approved fashion.”

“Good,” said the old magician. “You won’t omit any essential facts, will you, there’s a dear man?”

“Of course not. Don’t I know my business?”

“I’m sure of it. Your acknowledged eminence .”

“Oh, don’t rag! This is a serious affair.”

“Dr. Stanford will now read his memorandum.”

“I begin,” announced Stanford.

“One. History of the parties concerned. John Briggs, aged forty-three, was Professor of Engineering at the Owens College, Manchester, but resigned his chair five years ago in order to devote himself more closely to experimental work. Peter Clark, aged twenty-four, the murdered man, was the son of Briggs’ only sister Ann. Both his parents were dead. Neither he nor Briggs have any near relatives living.

“Two. The scene of the crime.

“Briggs lives with an old butler and housekeeper (man and wife), but otherwise entirely alone, in a house on Marston Moor in Yorkshire. It stands in its own grounds, which extend to three hundred acres. Detached from the house is a large laboratory, where Briggs was accustomed to work, and often to sleep. His lunch was usually brought to him there on a tray, and sometimes his dinner. In fact, it may be said almost that he lived in the laboratory.

“This room has two doors, one towards the house, the other away from it. There are no other houses within several miles.

“Briggs had one ruling passion, the fear of interruption in his work. As tramps of a rather dangerous type infested the district, he had, after a violent scene with one of them four and a half years ago, purchased a Webley revolver. This weapon had lain loaded on his desk from that day to the day of the murder. It was seen there on the morning of that day by the butler when he went with the professor’s breakfast. It was this weapon which was used to kill Clark.

“Three. Relations between Briggs and Clark.

“These were extremely hostile. Clark was rather a wild youth, and Briggs blamed him for the death of his mother, to whom Briggs was devotedly attached. Her son’s conduct had grieved and impoverished her; she had broken down nervously; and in this weak condition a chill had proved fatal to her. It had been aggravated by the deliberate neglect of Peter Clark, who had refused to call in a doctor until too late. Briggs had been heard to say that he hated one man only, and that was his nephew. On one occasion he said to him, before witnesses, ‘If the sheriff balks, Peter, I hope I shall be there to do his work for him.’ There was thus the greatest possible animus.

“Four. Financial relations of the parties.

“The Briggs Family Settlement disposes of the sum of ninety- four thousand pounds. From one-sixth part of this Briggs drew an income; Clark, on the death of his parents, was entitled to a similar amount. The balance was held in trust for the next generation; that is, if either Briggs or Clark had children, the fund would be divided among these on their attaining majority. If Briggs died without children, the income would accumulate with the bulk of the fund in expectation of heirs to Clark; but if Clark died first, Briggs, as sole survivor of the earlier generation, would enjoy the income at present paid to Clark in addition to his own. Thus Briggs would find his income doubled if Clark died, while, if Briggs died, Clark could only benefit indirectly through his children, if he ever had any. Thus we see that Briggs had a strong financial motive for the murder; whereas Clark would gain nothing whatever. Nor had Clark any other motive for killing Briggs: on the contrary, he was always hoping to conciliate his uncle, and get him to help him, both directly and in a financial way, and indirectly through his influence. The bearing of this will be seen later, when we touch upon the actual circumstances of the crime.

“Briggs had been making some elaborate experiments in connection with aircraft, and was in great need of money. Eight months earlier he had mortgaged his house, down to the Old Red Sandstone. This emphasizes the motive for the act.

“Five. Conditions immediately antecedent to the murder.

“Clark had been staying in the neighborhood, and had pestered his uncle intolerably. On one occasion he had come into the laboratory while the professor was eating his lunch. The butler, who was present, says that this was exactly two weeks before the murder. He remembers the date, because it was a Sunday, and lunch had been late, owing to his having been over the moor to church.

“He swears that he heard the professor say the following words: ‘Mark me, Peter. At the house I don’t mind so much; but if you come bothering me here, I shall most assuredly have recourse to assassination.’ With that he had risen, gone over to his desk, taken up the revolver, and tapped it, nodding his head repeatedly. The boy, thoroughly scared, had slunk out of the laboratory.

“Six. The day of the murder.

“This was a Sunday. Briggs had again passed the night in the laboratory. The butler had gone over to church, leaving his wife at home. She heard the clock strike twelve, the signal for her to prepare lunch. Immediately afterwards she was startled by the sound of a shot; but she was not particularly alarmed, as small explosions frequently occurred in the laboratory.

“This fixes the moment of the crime within one or two minutes, and the medical evidence confirms it.

“She expected her husband to return at 12.15; he did not do

so. She went out to look for him, and saw him driving towards the house with another man, who proved subsequently to be the vicar of the parish. Reassured, she returned to her kitchen.

“The butler, with the vicar, drove to the house, took out the horse, and went over together to the laboratory.

“This is what they saw. The professor was stooping over the body of Clark. He was apparently in deep thought, and seemed undecided as to what to do. The men were shocked into silence, and had the fullest opportunity of watching the actions of Briggs.

“He remained motionless for some little while; ultimately he laid down his revolver, which was still in his hand, and picked up a Brown automatic, which was firmly grasped in that of Clark. This was done with the evident intention of representing the death of Clark as the result of suicide.

“This latter weapon, although loaded, had not been discharged; the Webley had been fired recently, and the empty shell was still in the chamber; as appeared later. It was a Webley bullet which killed Clark; it had been fired from a very close range, estimated at two yards by the experts.

“The vicar now interrupted by a shocked exclamation. Briggs remained intent upon the automatic, looking at it as if it were some strange new object.

“The professor looked up as the two men approached him. He waved a hand. ‘Go away! go away!’ was his only remark.

“The vicar sent the butler to fetch the police and a doctor; he himself remained on guard. Briggs went over to his desk, put the automatic on one side, and buried his head in his hands. It was clear to the vicar that he was stunned by the realization of what he had done.

“But the vicar made a supreme effort. He went over, put his hand on his shoulder and shook him roughly. ‘Man,’ he cried, ‘Don’t you realize what you have done?’ Briggs answered: ‘By God, you bet I do.’ This is the only intelligible remark that has been drawn from him. A plain confession. Then silence.

“Seven. Subsequent events.

“It has proved impossible to rouse the professor from his apathy. He has made no defence of any kind. He remains crouched and inattentive; when addressed he merely repeats: ‘Go away! go away!’ He would not even plead when brought into the court: he said nothing when he was sentenced this morning.

“The reason for this course of conduct is evident. He is a man of the acutest intelligence, and realizing that he was caught practically in the act, is relying for escape upon simulation of dementia. We investigated the point on his behalf, supplying him with writing materials as if it were part of the prison routine. After a short time he seized on them with apparent eagerness. Here is what he wrote: ‘Revolve — gyre — explode — balance — soul — wings — action and reaction.’ Under that he drew a thick line. The rest of the sheet is covered with abstruse mathematical formulae, evidently intended to impress us still further with the idea of madness; but although they are unintelligible to the mathematicians to whom they have been submitted, they are, wherever they can be understood at all, perfectly correct. He is certainly not insane. With great shrewdness, on the contrary, he has chosen just the one chance of saving his neck.”

Stanford paused.

“Is that all?” asked Simon Iff.

“All?” cried Holborne. “Could any case be more complete? Two strong motives for murder, one of them urgent. Expressed intention to commit it; caught in the act of endeavoring to set up a defence; confession of the crime immediately afterwards; a subsequent attitude compatible only with the simulation of insanity. There isn’t a link missing.”

“No, but I think there’s a missing link!” snapped Simon Iff. “In heaven’s name, where are your brains, all of you? Look here; let me repeat that story, word for word, only instead of ‘Professor Briggs’ let us say ‘the cabbage,’ or ‘the antelope,’ wherever his name occurs. You wouldn’t suspect them, would you? And I assure you that Briggs is just as incapable of pulling a gun on a man as either of those! It simply would not occur to him to do it.”

“My dear man,” said Holborne, “we all appreciate your attitude, I assure you; but facts are chiels that winna ding.” “Ah, facts!” cried the mystic, with as near a sneer as he ever allowed himself. “Now look out, Stanford, I’m going to pump lead into you! You promised me two things: to give me all the essential facts, and to give me nothing but the facts. You are doubly perjured, you lost wretch!”

“Come, come, I say! I think I’ve given you an absolutely full and fair account.”

“No: Omission number one. You don’t say why he resigned from Owens College.”

“Yes, I do; he wanted to prosecute his experiments with less distraction.”

“Just half the fact; I happen to know that he was forced to resign.”

“What?”

“They simply could not get him to lecture. Either he would not go down to the classroom at all, or else he would forget all about the class, and start hieroglyphics on the blackboard!” “What has that got to do with it?”

“Why, the problem is the man’s mind. You say nothing about his mind. You don’t even tell us the most important thing of all; which is, what is he thinking of at this moment?”

“Wondering if he’ll dodge the noose,” put in the young man who had previously laughed at Simon Iff.

“Oh, no!” flashed back the mystic, “with death so near him, he must be thinking of really important things — perhaps even of you!”

“That would at least explain his dejection,” he added musingly. “Having crushed it, let us pass on to my next point. You actually permitted yourself to draw deductions which are quite unjustifiable. You say that he exchanged pistols with the corpse, evidently to set up a defence of suicide. Evident to whom? You see, you fatally neglect the calibre of Briggs’ mind. To me, it seems much more likely that he was quite preoccupied with some other matter. You judge him by yourselves. You assume that he killed Clark, and then argue. ‘But if I had killed Clark, I should be thinking solely of how to escape.’ I say that if he did kill Clark, two seconds later his mind would have returned to the problems on which it had previously been at work. You men don’t understand concentration: Briggs does. Besides all this, if he was going to put up the suicide theory, why not do it? He did not know that they had seen him change the weapons.”

“Hang it all, he confessed to the vicar.”

“That was my next point; he did nothing of the sort. He told the parson, emphatically, that he realized what he had done. But what was that? No word of any murder! The question is what he did do, and what he is doing now.”

“You’re super-subtle,” said the Judge. “I wish you were right, but there’s nothing in it.”

“Stick to the point! What does his whole attitude, from the very moment of discovery, indicate? Simply this, that he is busy.”

“Busy!” It was a general shout of derision. “Busy! with his throat in a noose! Busy!”

“I ask your pardon, Stanford,” said the magician quietly; “you are the historian here, and I beg you to correct me if I have my facts wrong. At the siege of Syracuse”

“The Siege of Syracuse?” The company became hilarious, despite themselves.

“I forget who conquered it; it doesn’t matter; but whoever he was, he gave orders that the great geometer Archimedes should be spared. The soldiers found him drawing figures in the sand, and asked him who he was; but he only said: “Get away! Get away! I’m busy!” And they killed him. Waiter! Let me have another cigar and some more coffee!”

The Judge was a little impressed. “This is an amusing theory,” he said, “though I’m damned if I can believe it. How do you propose to develop it?”

“Will you help me?”

“You bet I will.”

“Well, I want a copy of that jargon of Stanford’s about ‘wings’; and I want five minutes alone with Briggs in the condemned cell.”