The Mystery of the Clasped Hands: A Novel

Here the counsel for the prosecution rose to protest.

"Your lordship," he said, "I must respectfully submit that the question as to whether Mr. Fensden cohabited with the deceased is not relevant to the case. We are trying the prisoner at the Bar and not Mr. Fensden."

His opponent took up the challenge.

"I respectfully submit that I am in the right," said Rolland. "In eliciting this information I am leading up to the question of motive, and I am sure my learned friend will admit that that is an all-important point.

"I am afraid I must rule against you," said the judge, addressing the Prosecuting counsel. "Anything that tends to throw a light upon the proceedings of the deceased so short a time prior to the murder can scarcely fail to be relevant."

Once more readjusting his gown, Mr. Rolland invited Burrell to proceed.

"How long did witness and the deceased occupy the house at Laleham?"

"For more than a fortnight. Then Fensden left her in a strange place without a penny in the world." (Here a murmur of indignation ran through the Court, which, by the judge's orders, was instantly suppressed.)

"That will do," said Mr. Rolland. "Call Elizabeth Raikes."

The owner of Laburnum Cottage next entered the box, and, though much flurried by the novel position in which she found herself, gave evidence to the effect that the deceased and Fensden had occupied apartments at her house for the period mentioned by the previous witness. She was quite sure, from things she had overheard, that they were not happy together, and she knew that the man treated the woman cruelly. Sometimes he was away for a couple of days, and one day he disappeared altogether without paying for anything they had had while in the house, and leaving his wife totally unprovided for. She had heard the present case talked about, but had not associated the victim with the Mrs. Onslow who had occupied rooms at her cottage.

"I have two more witnesses to call," said Mr. Rolland, when Mrs. Raikes had stepped down. "Then, my lord, I shall have completed my case. Call Mrs. Wilhelmina Montgomery."

A tall, handsome woman, fashionably attired, stepped into the witness-box and took the oath. In response to the question put her by the counsel for the defence, she stated that her name was Wilhelmina Montgomery, and that she was the widow of George Montgomery, late of Sheffield. "I live at No. 13, Bridgeworth Road, Richmond," she continued. "I first met the witness, Victor Fensden, at Baden, while travelling with some friends, in December last. We became very intimate, and, when he returned to England early in March, he called upon me at my house. Eventually he asked me to marry him, and after some hesitation I consented to do so. I have three thousand a year invested in Consols, and a considerable amount of ready money lying idle at the bank. This may or may not have been his motive, but I have no knowledge of that. Mr. Fensden was anxious for an immediate marriage, but to this I would not consent. I knew that he was in the hands of the Jews, but I would have paid off his indebtedness after marriage. He stayed at my house on several occasions, as did others of my friends. One day I went out to do some shopping, and on my return discovered him in my boudoir. He held a piece of yellow soap in his hand and a large number of door-keys were spread out on the table before him. I asked him what he was doing, and he answered that he was endeavouring to find a key similar to the one he had lost. My housekeeper had furnished him with several, and he had at last found one that fitted the imprint in the soap. On the night of the murder he informed me that it would be necessary for him to attend an important meeting, and that it was just possible he would not be back until late. As a matter of fact, it was considerably after one o'clock, perhaps half-past one, when he returned. On the Saturday following he left me to go down to Midlandshire to pay a visit to an old friend, he said, who was about to be married. Before he went he once more pressed me for an early marriage, suggesting, knowing that I am fond of travelling, that we should immediately set off for a long trip round the world."

The box which had contained the hands was then handed to her, and she was asked if she recognised it.

"Yes," she answered immediately. "If you look underneath I think you will find a large inkstain. (This proved to be the case.) I brought some things in it from Vienna. How Mr. Fensden obtained possession of it, however, I do not know."

The counsel for the prosecution having no questions to ask, the witness was allowed to stand down.

"Call Joseph Hodder," said Mr. Rolland, and, to Godfrey's amazement, one of his own under-gardeners entered the box. Having taken the oath, he stated, in reply to the counsel's question, that, on the Sunday following the murder, it was his duty to attend to the stoking of the fires of the various conservatories at the Hall. He knew that his master and the ladies had gone to Church, because he had passed them in the park, and that the strange gentleman had remained at home, because, when he had passed the drawing-room window on his way to his work, he saw him sitting before the fire reading. Having attended to the fires in the vineries and other garden-houses, he returned to the Hall itself to look after the heat in the new winter garden that Mr. Henderson had built. From this house in question it is quite possible to see into the studio, and, to his surprise, he discovered the gentleman visitor was no longer in the drawing-room, but was kneeling beside the big bookcase near the fireplace in the studio. It looked as if he were feeling for something behind it, but what that something was he had no idea. When he was asked why he had not given information on this matter before, he replied that he had not attached any importance to it until he had talked it over with the head gardener on the day following the search by the police. Then he had gone to Miss Henderson, and had told her. She had written at once to his master's lawyer, and that was all he knew about it.

"The evidence of this man," said Mr. Rolland, "completes my case."

The words had scarcely left his lips before Victor Fensden was seen to spring to his feet. Once more he opened his mouth as if to speak, and once more he failed to utter a word. Then, with a loud cry, he fell forward in a swoon. Two of the policemen near at hand ran forward to pick him up. Between them, they carried him out of the Court to an adjoining room. In the Court itself at that moment, it would have been possible to have heard a pin drop. Then the judge found his voice.

"Gentlemen," he said, addressing the jury, "after the astounding evidence you have just heard, I am thankful to say that, in my opinion, there is not the least shadow of a reason for continuing the case against the prisoner at the bar. In this I feel sure you will concur with me."

The foreman of the jury entirely agreed with his lordship, and at the same time desired to express, on behalf of himself and his brother jurymen, their great regret that a gentleman of Mr. Henderson's position should, by another man's action, have been placed in such an unhappy predicament.

"With that I quite agree," said the counsel for the prosecution.

This was the signal for general applause in Court, which, somehow, was not checked by the judge as quickly as is customary in such cases.

When silence had been restored, the latter addressed Godfrey.

"Godfrey Henderson," he said, and his voice was very impressive, "by reason of the false evidence that has been given against you, by a cruel and vindictive man, you have been brought to the dock of this Court, and charged with the perpetration of a most cruel and bloodthirsty crime. Of that crime twelve of your countrymen have declared you to be innocent, and to their testimony I emphatically add my own. While it is not in my power to offer you the hope of receiving any return for the anxiety you have suffered, I can say something that I know you will value much more; that is, that you leave this Court a free man, and without the shadow of a stain upon your character."

"I thank you, my lord," said Godfrey, quietly, and at that moment one of the ushers of the Court entered and approached the judge.

"Gentlemen," said the latter, again addressing the Court, "I think it only right to make it known to you that a Higher Power than that I represent has intervened, and the wretched man, who has caused all this misery and suffering, has been suddenly called to appear before a greater Tribunal. May God have mercy upon his soul!"

Then the Court was cleared, and Godfrey found himself shaking hands with Sir Vivian and the men who had worked so hard to prove his innocence. When he had thanked them from the very bottom of his heart, Sir Vivian took his arm.

"Come away now, come away," said the old gentleman. "There are other people waiting to welcome you."

Seizing Godfrey by the arm, he hurried him out into the street to a cab which was waiting there. Ten minutes later he was locked in his mother's arms.

"O Godfrey," said Molly, as he embraced her in her turn, "I knew that God would send you back to me!"

A week later Godfrey and Molly were married by special license, and left England the same day for the South of France. They are now back again at the Hall, and as happy as two young people could well expect to be. The clouds that shadowed their lives at one time are now completely dispersed, but, if Godfrey lives to be a hundred, he will never forget the agony he suffered in connection with what the newspapers called "The Mystery of the Clasped Hands."

THE END