Four

I

T here was a moment’s silence. A silence of dismay and bewilderment. Then the judge’s small

clear voice took up the thread once more.

“We will now proceed to the next stage of our inquiry¹. First however, I will just add my

own credentials² to the list.”

He took a letter from his pocket and tossed it on to the table.

“This purports³ to be from an old friend of mine, Lady Constance Culmington. I have not

seen her for some years. She went to the East. It is exactly the kind of vague incoherent letter

she would write, urging me to join her here and referring to her host and hostess in the vaguest

of terms. The same technique, you will observe. I only mention it because it agrees with the

other evidence—from all of which emerges one interesting point. Whoever it was who enticed⁴

us here, that person knows or has taken the trouble to find out a good deal about us all. He,

whoever he may be, is aware of my friendship for Lady Constance—and is familiar with her

epistolary style. He knows something about Dr. Armstrong’s colleagues and their present

whereabouts. He knows the nickname of Mr. Marston’s friend and the kind of telegrams he

sends. He knows exactly where Miss Brent was two years ago for her holiday and the kind of

people she met there. He knows all about General Macarthur’s old cronies.”

He paused. Then he said:

“He knows, you see, a good deal. And out of his knowledge concerning us, he has made

certain definite accusations⁵.”

Immediately a babel broke out.

General Macarthur shouted:

“A pack of dam’ lies! Slander⁶!”

Vera cried out:

“It’s iniquitous⁷!” Her breath came fast. “Wicked!”

Rogers said hoarsely⁸:

“A lie—a wicked lie … we never did—neither of us….”

Anthony Marston growled⁹:

“Don’t know what the damned fool was getting at!”

The upraised hand of Mr. Justice Wargrave calmed the tumult¹⁰.

He said, picking his words with care:

“I wish to say this. Our unknown friend accuses me of the murder of one Edward Seton. I

remember Seton perfectly¹¹ well. He came up before me for trial in June of the year 1930. He

was charged with the murder of an elderly woman. He was very ably defended and made a

good impression on the jury in the witness-box. Nevertheless, on the evidence, he was certainly

guilty. I summed up accordingly, and the jury brought in a verdict of Guilty. In passing

sentence of death I concurred¹² with the verdict. An appeal was lodged¹³ on the grounds of

misdirection. The appeal was rejected and the man was duly executed. I wish to say before you

all that my conscience is perfectly clear on the matter. I did my duty and nothing more. I passed

sentence on a rightly convicted murderer.”

Armstrong was remembering now. The Seton case! The verdict had come as a great

surprise. He had met Matthews, KC on one of the days of the trial dining at a restaurant.

Matthews had been confident. “Not a doubt of the verdict. Acquittal practically certain.” And

then afterwards he had heard comments: “Judge was dead against him. Turned the jury right

round and they brought him in guilty. Quite legal, though. Old Wargrave knows his law. It was

almost as though he had a private down on the fellow.”

All these memories rushed through the doctor’s mind. Before he could consider the

wisdom of the question he had asked impulsively¹⁴:

“Did you know Seton at all? I mean previous to the case.”

The hooded¹⁵ reptilian¹⁶ eyes met his. In a clear cold voice the judge said:

“I knew nothing of Seton previous to the case.”

Armstrong said to himself:

“The fellow’s lying—I know he’s lying.”

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