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Christopher Quarles College Professor and Master Detective

<h2 class="newchapter">CHAPTER VIII THE MYSTERY OF CROSS ROADS FARM</h2> We said nothing to the professor about the understanding we had come to. In his presence—and I had little opportunity of seeing Zena at any other time—we behaved toward each other as we had always done, and I did not think he had any idea of our secret. Personally, I felt the effects of my horrible experience in the Tudor room for some time, which I think accounts for my not doing myself justice in the next case I was called upon to undertake. Let me recount the facts of this complex affair, which I take from the evidence given at the trial of Richard Coleman. Cross Roads Farm, lying about a mile outside the village of Hanley, in Sussex, was owned by two brothers, Peter and Simon Judd. They were twins, middle-aged, devoted to each other, and somewhat eccentric. Peter was well known to everybody. He went to market, paid the bills, and interviewed people when necessary. Simon seldom left the farm, and was little known in the neighborhood. They lived simply, had no servants in the house, and the villagers declared they must have been saving money for years. Mrs. Gilson, a widow in the village, went up to the farm daily, but was never there after eight o'clock. At night the Judds were alone in the house. They never had visitors, they retired early, and their only known recreation was a game of chess before going to bed. No one, except Mrs. Gilson, and, on occasion, her son Jim, who was an "innocent," had been known to take a meal in their house. For Jim Gilson both brothers showed a pitying affection, and he came and went much as he liked, earning a few shillings by doing any odd job of which he was capable. One evening in November Mrs. Gilson was returning from the farm considerably earlier than usual, when she met a man, a stranger, an unusual occurrence in a neighborhood where she knew everybody. Next morning, on going to the farm, the blinds in the upper windows were not drawn as usual, a thing she had never known to happen before. The back door was generally standing open when she arrived; to-day it was shut, but was on the latch, and she entered, to come face to face with a tragedy. In front of the fireplace in the sitting-room Peter Judd, clothed only in his pajamas, was lying face downward—dead! A small table on which the chessboard had stood was overturned, and the chessmen were scattered about the floor. There was no sign of his brother, but, wherever he was, it appeared that he too must be in his pajamas, for his bed had been slept in and his clothes were on a chair. The doctor said that during the night Peter Judd had been strangled, marks of fingers being visible on his throat. Probably he had been seized from behind, and the shock of the attack had possibly accelerated his death, for he had apparently made little struggle to defend himself. Police investigation, however, soon proved that a struggle had taken place in the house. On an upper landing the furniture was in disorder, and a piece of torn material, which Mrs. Gilson identified as belonging to pajamas which Simon Judd wore, was found. Another torn shred was found in the kitchen, where the table had been pushed out of its place. In the yard outside was a well-house. The door of this, which was always locked, had been forced, and caught by a splinter of wood was a third shred of the pajamas. On the floor of the shed was an old slipper, also belonging to Simon Judd, Mrs. Gilson said. The well was dragged, with no result, which hardly astonished the neighborhood, for it was of immense depth, and tapped an underground pit of water, according to common report. Then came Mrs. Gilson's story of the man she had met on the previous evening, and her description was so definite that within a few days a ne'er-do-well, Richard Coleman, was traced, and subsequently arrested. It was proved by more than one witness that he had been in Hanley that day, apparently on the tramp, and with no money, yet two days after the murder he was spending money freely in Guildford. At first Coleman denied all knowledge of Cross Roads Farm, but afterward admitted that he had been there. The Judds were his uncles. He had not seen them for years, and had gone to ask for help. He wasn't in the house an hour, he declared, and said that his uncles had given him twenty pounds, for their dead sister's sake. They had also given him a lecture on idleness, and sent him about his business. There had been no quarrel, and he knew nothing about the tragedy. That he was the Judds' nephew was true, but for the rest of his story, no one believed it. The fact that he had denied all knowledge of Cross Roads Farm was strong evidence against him. He was brought to trial, and found guilty. His record was a bad one, yet the counsel's eloquence so impressed the jury that he was recommended to mercy, with the result that the death penalty was commuted to penal servitude for life. Of this tragedy I knew nothing when Cross Roads Farm became the scene of a second mystery. For five years—that is, since the death of the Judds—the house had been shut up. Neither of the brothers had made a will apparently; they had no solicitor, no banker. Either their wealth had been stolen by Coleman, and safely concealed by him before his arrest, or it existed only in the village imagination, or it remained hidden on the premises. The last, being the most romantic idea, found the greatest favor; but the possibility of treasure trove had not induced anyone to take the farm. The gardens grew into a tangle, through which the upper part of the house began to show signs of ruin. It was an uncanny spot, which people passed with apprehension at night, and looked askance at even in the daytime. The only person who appeared to have no dread of the place was Jim Gilson. During the last five years he had grown rather more incapable. Physically he was a powerful man, mentally he was a baby; and whenever he could elude his mother's watchfulness he ran off eagerly to the farm and sat just inside the gate. Passers-by often saw him there, but whether he ever penetrated further over the uncanny ground was not known. Sudden and unusual excitement on Jim's part led to the discovery of the second tragedy. There was another dead man at Cross Roads Farm, Jim declared, first to his mother and then to everyone he met. The constable, with others, went there, and it was found that Gilson had spoken the truth. A tramp, dirty and unshaven, clothed in rags, lay face downward on the sitting-room floor. The doctor who had been called to Peter Judd came again. The tramp was lying in exactly the same position as Peter Judd had lain, the limbs stretched almost identically as his had been, and on his throat were similar finger-marks. The only difference the doctor could suggest was that the tramp seemed to have been seized from the front, whereas, he believed, Judd had been attacked from behind. It was a suggestion more than a conviction. It was natural, perhaps, that in Hanley people began to attribute both deaths to supernatural agency. Certainly there were curious points in the case, but it seemed to me that I had had harder problems to solve. First, I made myself acquainted with the evidence which had been given at Richard Coleman's trial. I know that to read evidence is not the same thing as hearing it, but one or two points struck me forcibly. Why had Coleman been recommended to mercy? True, his counsel's address had been an eloquent one, but if the prisoner were guilty surely there could be no extenuating circumstances in such a dastardly crime. The evidence was strongly against Coleman, yet in spite of this the jury had recommended him to mercy. Was there a doubt in their minds? Do we not all know that subtle doubt which comes even hand in hand with what we believe is conviction? There have been times with us all when we have given judgment and immediately began to doubt that judgment. Unless something of this sort had happened to this jury, I could not understand the recommendation to mercy. Again, I was not satisfied with the assumption that Simon Judd's dead body had been thrown into the well. The well was certainly of immense depth, and possibly tapped an underground cave full of water, which might account for the futility of dragging operations; but the shred of pajamas and the slipper found in the shed were not of themselves sufficient evidence that the body had been got rid of in this way. Even with the other signs of struggle in the house the evidence was not conclusive. Simon Judd might be alive, in which case he might be the murderer. Such an hypothesis was, however, unlikely. The brothers were devoted to each other, as twins often are; the overturned chessboard proved that normal relations had existed between them that evening, that they had played their usual game before retiring. If Simon Judd was dead, and his body was not in the well, where was it? Hidden securely, at any rate, and therefore, presumably, by someone who knew the farm well, which Richard Coleman did not. Again, why had the murderer troubled to hide only one body? Another point which struck me as curious was the wonderful accuracy of Mrs. Gilson's description of Richard Coleman. It was nearly dark when she met him; in passing she could have little opportunity to examine him closely, yet her description was sufficient to lead to his arrest. These considerations set me speculating and, with more excitement than was usual with me, I set to work to see how far my speculations were supported by facts. To begin with, I had an interview with Richard Coleman in prison. I did not tell him of the new tragedy at the farm; I merely said that some new facts had come to light, and that if he answered my questions it might be to his ultimate benefit. "A man unjustly imprisoned does not easily believe that," he returned. However, he told me his version of the story, exactly as he had told it at his trial. "Do you remember meeting Mrs. Gilson?" I asked. "Not particularly." "You didn't stop and ask her the way?" "No. I met two or three people on the way to the farm. They didn't interest me, and I had no reason to suppose that I interested them." "Why did you deny knowing anything about Cross Roads Farm?" "Well, one way and another there was a good deal against me at the time. It was natural to deny a leading statement like that made by the police, and I knew nothing about the murder then. You see, although I was innocent of murder, I wasn't an innocent man. I was in a hole, and attempted to lie myself out of it." "Very foolish! It was a weighty argument against you. Did you see anyone else at the farm beside your uncles?" "It was true what I said at the trial, that one of the workmen had just finished talking to my uncles at the door as I came in. The man gave evidence, said he had parted with the Judds much as I described, but that he had not seen me. I thought he said that to try and help me a bit, because I'm certain he saw me." "Do you think it was the same man?" "I didn't doubt that it was, but I couldn't have sworn to him; I was too much engaged in taking stock of the two men I had come to ask for help." "Did you ask for work?" "No, money." "Did you demand any special sum?" "No; and I didn't demand it, I asked. I was playing the penitent game, the prodigal anxious to reform. Had I demanded I should have got nothing. I had sized up my men all right. I got twenty pounds, which was far more than I expected. I hadn't had such a sum to my name for years." "Was the money given willingly?" "Not exactly willingly. My Uncle Peter did most of the talking—lecturing it was—but he seemed more impressed with my tale than Uncle Simon did. Simon Judd had a good many reasons why I should not have the money, but it was evident that Peter usually had the last word and his own way. I should say he took the lead in most things." "Did he actually give you the money?" "Yes, counting it into my hand quid by quid, as if he'd been parting with a fortune." "Where did he get it from? Did he take it out of his pocket?" "No; he went out of the room, leaving me with Simon, who didn't speak a word the whole time. Peter Judd was away about ten minutes. He came back with the money in his hand." "And then you left the farm?" "Yes; they didn't offer me anything to eat or drink. I have an idea that Peter thought of doing so, but Simon made some remark about throwing money away, and suggested my going at once." "You didn't return to Hanley?" "No, I went in the opposite direction." Next day I was back at the farm, my attention concentrated on the well. I had already heard that this well was not much used, there being another under the scullery, to which a pump had been fixed, and which supplied better water. The windlass over the well in the shed substantiated this statement, for it was evident that it had stood idle for a long time. Peter Judd had left the room to get the money, and had been absent ten minutes; and the door of this shed had been found forced on the morning after the murder. Might the shed not be the treasure chamber? The floor overlapped the mouth of the well considerably, and attached to the under part of this floor, and close to the well wall, I found a chain. Pulling this up, I raised a small but stout iron box fastened to the lower end of it. The box had been wrenched open and was empty. I had discovered the Judds' bank. No doubt it had been robbed on the night of the murder. By whom? By someone who had watched Peter Judd go there for the money. The answer came naturally to the question. That person was not Richard Coleman, unless his story were false from beginning to end, which was unlikely. The next two days I devoted to a closer acquaintance with Mrs. Gilson. I acted intentionally in a manner to make her think I had nearly solved the mystery. I told her that I believed Richard Coleman was an innocent man. The result was exactly what I expected. She became nervous when I plied her with questions, and contradicted herself, growing confused when I pressed home a point. Once I purposely questioned her when her son was present, and her confusion became fear. Jim Gilson said little, but at times looked wonderfully intelligent. It was difficult to suppose that he did not perfectly understand me. "You don't go and sit inside the gateway at Cross Roads Farm now, Jim," I said suddenly. Since this second discovery he had quite forsaken his haunt. "No," he answered. "Why not?" "No one else will come there now. They're afraid." "Of what?" "Spirits." "And of you, Jim—eh?" The suggestion pleased him. He came and stood close to me, and rolled up his sleeve to show me how muscular his arms were. "Splendid! Tell me, Jim, where is Simon Judd?" "Buried!" he said, and slouched out of the room. I looked at his mother. Poor woman! I pitied her. "I didn't know—I didn't guess, not till afterward," she said. "Jim told me next day that he had seen a man go to the farm, told me what he was like, and I knew it was the man I had met. It was more Jim's description than mine that I gave. But I thought this man was the murderer, thought so for months, until Jim began to talk strange about money and that well. It was not until then that I knew he had been at the farm that night. And now this second murder! What will they do?" "Release an innocent man." "But to Jim?" she whispered. "Find him not responsible for his actions, most likely. You ought to have spoken, Mrs. Gilson. An innocent man is in prison. They are likely to be severe with you." "I don't care what happens to me; it's Jim I care about." Later in the day I tried to get Jim to show me where Simon Judd was buried. He only laughed. "And the money, Jim—what has become of it?" Still his only answer was a laugh. "By sitting at the gate you kept watch over it, I suppose? Had it somewhere close by, where you could get at it to play with; and when this tramp came you thought he would rob you. Is that the story?" "It's all right now," he said solemnly. My course was clear. Jim Gilson must be arrested, and a court of justice would have to say whether he was responsible for his actions or not. Personally, I was not sure that he was as mad as he pretended to be. The curious disposal of the shreds of pajamas showed cunning, a desire to mislead, or it may be there had been a struggle. Perhaps Simon Judd had fought desperately for his life, and the madman had buried him, entirely forgetting the dead body of Peter Judd, who had given him no trouble. Possibly he had left it with a purpose; certainly it had helped to convict an innocent man. Who can explain either the cunning or forgetfulness of a madman? On the evening of the day following the arrest of Jim Gilson I received a telegram from Christopher Quarles, asking me to go to him without delay. He was in the empty room, his granddaughter with him. "Wigan, this Sussex affair?" were the words with which he greeted me. "All over. The murderer was arrested yesterday," I answered. I had not seen Quarles for some days, and the case had not been mentioned between us. His theories would probably have hindered rather than helped me. "You're wrong, all wrong," he said. "My dear professor, nobody knows your ability better than I do, but you haven't had anything to do with this affair. I assure you——" "You may tell me the whole story, if you like, but you're wrong. You haven't caught your man." "Nonsense," I said angrily. "Tell me the story." "The newspaper résumé of the affair is quite correct," I said. "I'd rather hear it from you." And, in spite of my annoyance, I told it in answer to an appealing glance from Zena. There was nothing I would not have done to please her. "I'll tell you the story in a different way," said Quarles, when I had finished, "and you can pull me up if I go outside reason. At the beginning of this mystery, four or five years ago, I felt no interest in it; now I am impelled to interfere. True, I have taken no active part in the affair, but with me that is not always necessary. Into my empty brain something has come from outside." I smiled. There was something of the charlatan in him. "The body of Peter Judd is found," Quarles went on, "his brother's isn't. Where is it? Down the well? You do not think so, yet by the shred of pajamas and the slipper found there it is desired by someone to suggest this solution. A well can be made to give up its secrets, as a rule, but not this particular well. This is a point in Richard Coleman's favor, since he would not be likely to have any knowledge of local lore; and, if you like, it is against Gilson, who might have such knowledge. But what possible object could he have in laying such a misleading trail?" "To implicate some other person—the man he had seen join the Judds as he left them." "I am not combating your theory that two men left the Judds in much the same manner that night, and that the man who gave evidence at the trial was not the one Coleman saw. No doubt Coleman saw Gilson; but do you suggest it was a premeditated crime?" "No. Gilson was curious about the visitor, and watched; and while he waited Peter Judd went to the well, and Gilson saw the gold. Then desire to possess came to him." "So he murdered the two men who had been kind to him. Why?" asked Quarles. "During the night he could have broken open the shed and taken the gold. The Judds would undoubtedly have jumped to the conclusion that their nephew had robbed them." "I should say Gilson's idea was to get the key, hence the murder." "And while he was strangling Peter, what was Simon doing? Since Peter was found in the sitting-room in his pajamas, it is permissible to suppose that something had aroused him. If it did not arouse Simon too, Peter would be likely to do so, and at the very least he would have called for help the moment he was attacked." "You forget the doctor's evidence," I said. "He was killed by the shock as much as by the man's fingers at his throat." "A most important point," said Quarles; "we will come back to it in a minute. Having murdered both the Judds, this imbecile breaks into the shed, because he fails to find the key, I suppose; and having got the money, is satisfied. He hides one body and leaves the other. He lays a false trail for no earthly reason, I submit. For months he does not let fall a word to disturb his mother, but he haunts the gate of the farm." "His mother knows he is guilty, professor; remember that." "Did she see him do it? Has he shown her the money?" "No." "Then, I ask, what made Gilson haunt the farm? The right answer to that question will put you on the right road. It was Zena who propounded that question to me." "In seeking for motives we must not be too precise in dealing with a madman," I said. "I think his idea was to protect the money which he had hidden somewhere close at hand." "I don't," said Quarles. "He was watching for the man who murdered Peter Judd." "Rather a fantastic conclusion, isn't it?" I said. "It might be were there no evidence to support it. Let me tell the story as I imagine it. The twin brothers were much attached to each other. Few people knew them well; they kept altogether to themselves. From Coleman's statement it would seem that Peter took the lead. It was he who went for the money. He appears to have managed all the money transactions. It may have been merely a division of labor, but there may have been another reason. Perhaps Simon's temperament was to waste money, and to keep him out of temptation Peter kept the key of the treasury." "Still a little fantastic, I fancy," I said somewhat contemptuously. "Quite true, and we will go a little farther on the same road. We will assume that the sight of gold was not good for the moral welfare of Simon Judd. So long as he did not see gold he was content to go on his simple way, but the sight of it set him desiring possession. The nephew came, and twenty sovereigns were fetched from the treasury chest and displayed before Simon's gloating eyes. There was a sudden desire to possess gold himself. Peter had the key, had a hiding-place for it, probably; and on this night, thinking of his nephew, was not careful enough to conceal that hiding-place from his brother, or it may be he was forgetful, and left the key on the mantelshelf. In the night he remembered it, or was aroused by some noise, and went down to find Simon, who was fully dressed, taking the key. Some words may have been spoken; Peter may have reasoned with him, but Simon was beyond reason. He attacked his brother, and killed him. The shock of such a thing may well have had something to do with Peter's death, as the doctor suggests. Would shock have had such effect upon him, do you suppose, had he been attacked by Gilson, an innocent imbecile?" I did not answer. "Simon at once realized his position. Suspicion must fall upon him unless he was murdered too. So he laid the trail, shreds of his pajamas here and there, and the old slipper. The well would be an excellent grave for him. He remembered that Gilson saw Coleman arrive; suspicion would fall upon Coleman. Conscience was dead now, he could take the gold. So he left Cross Roads Farm, being careful to dress himself in clothes that probably only his brother knew he possessed, and left his ordinary clothes on the chair in his room." "And Gilson?" I asked. "No doubt he saw Peter Judd go to the shed, and was fascinated by the sight of the gold; at any rate, he remained there. He would see Coleman leave. That he saw the actual murder is unlikely, did not know of it until the next day, I should conjecture; but he would see what Simon Judd did, would see him take the money and go. When he knew Peter Judd was dead, Gilson would guess who had killed him. He would say nothing, because both men had been good to him; but knowing the two brothers, being in touch, perhaps, since he is one of God's fools, with a plane of thought which is above the normal man, he waited for Simon Judd's return, and he has not been disappointed." "Not disappointed!" I exclaimed. "I imagine Simon spent his money riotously, every penny of it, conscience troubling him at times, which trouble he drowned with drink and drugs; but in the end he was irresistibly drawn back, a tramp, dirty, unrecognizable, except to the eyes expecting him—Gilson's." "And then?" Quarles paused for a moment. "If Gilson watched him closely, as he probably did, he may some day, in a lucid interval, confirm my surmise. I think Simon Judd stood before the lifted veil when he returned to Cross Roads Farm again; that on the spot where so many familiar hours had been spent he saw his brother once more, and remorse came to him. The gold had gone, you see. Every detail of that tragic night was recalled in a moment of time, and, terror seizing him, he clutched himself by the throat and fell dead." "I think you are right, dear," Zena said solemnly. "But how is it no one knew him?" I asked. "Few people did know him, and he had passed through five years of debauchery. Find someone who knew of some peculiarity he had. Coleman might help you here. Gilson knew him. Didn't he tell you Simon Judd was buried? That would be a day or so after the tramp had been buried in Hanley." This case was certainly one of my failures, although I had to accept praise when both Coleman and Gilson were released. It happened, too, that Coleman knew that, as a young man, his Uncle Simon had undergone an operation, the scar of which the doctor found on the tramp's body. Jim Gilson was never lucid enough to give a detailed account of what happened when Simon Judd returned to the farm, but piecing together statements he made at intervals there is little doubt that Quarles's surmise was not very far from the truth. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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