The mystery of Angelina Frood 18 – Freeman · Verses Across
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The mystery of Angelina Frood 18The Uncontrite Penitent
18
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The mystery of Angelina Frood 18
The Uncontrite Penitent
FreemanEnglish
As the door closed on Angelina, a buzz of excited talk broke out. The astonished jurymen put their heads together and eagerly discussed the new turn of events, while the coroner sat with a deeply cogitative expression, evidently thinking hard and casting an occasional speculative glance in Thorndyke’s direction. Meanwhile Cobbledick edged up to my side and presented his views in a soft undertone.
“This is a facer, Doctor, isn’t it? Regular do. My word! Just think of the artfulness of that young woman, toting us round and helping us to find the things that she had just popped down for us to find. I call it a masterpiece.” He chuckled admiringly, and added in a lower tone, “I hope she hasn’t got herself into any kind of mess.”
I looked at Cobbledick with renewed appreciation. I had always liked the sergeant. He was a capable man and a kindly one; and now he was showing a largeness of soul that won my respect and my gratitude, too. A small man would have been furious with Angelina, but Cobbledick took her performances in a proper sporting spirit. He was only amused and admiring. Not for nothing had Nature imprinted on his face that benevolent smile.
Presently Mr. Pilley, who seemed to have a special gift for the expression of erroneous opinions, addressed himself to the coroner.
“Well, Mr. Chairman,” he said cheerfully, “I suppose we can consider the inquest practically over.”
“Over!” exclaimed the astonished coroner.
“Yes. We were inquiring into the death of Angelina Frood. But if Mrs. Frood is alive after all, why, there’s an end to the matter.”
“What about the body in the mortuary?” demanded the foreman.
“Oh, ah,” said Pilley. “I had forgotten about that.”
He looked owlishly at the coroner and then exclaimed: “But that is the body of Mrs. Frood!”
“It can’t be if Mrs. Frood is alive,” the coroner reminded him.
“But it must be,” persisted Pilley. “It has been identified as her, and it had her clothes and ring on. Mr. Bundy must have been pulling our legs.”
“There is certainly something very mysterious about that body,” said the coroner. “It was dressed in Mrs. Frood’s clothes, as Mr. Pilley points out, and it appears that Mrs. Frood must be in some way connected with it.”
“There’s no doubt about that,” agreed the foreman. “She must know who that dead person is and how the body came to be in the place where it was found, and she will have to give an account of it.”
“Yes,” said the coroner. “But it is a mysterious affair. I wonder if Dr. Thorndyke could enlighten us. He seems to know more about the matter than anybody else.”
But Thorndyke was not to be drawn into any statement. “It would be merely a conjecture on my part,” he said. “Presumably Mrs. Frood knows how the remains got into the wall, and I must leave her to give the necessary explanations.”
“I don’t see what explanations she can give,” said the foreman. “It looks like a clear case of wilful murder. And it is against her.”
To this view the coroner gave a guarded assent; and indeed it was the obvious view. There was the body, in Angelina’s clothing, and everything pointed clearly to Angelina’s complicity in the crime, if there had really been a crime committed. And what other explanation was possible?
As I reflected on the foreman’s ominous words, I was sensible of a growing alarm. What if Angelina had been, as it were, snatched from the grave only to be placed in the dock on a charge of murder? That she could possibly be guilty of a crime did not enter my mind. But there was evidently some sort of criminal entanglement from which she might find it hard to escape. The appearances were sinister in the extreme; her simulated disappearance, her disguise, her suspicious silence during the inquiry; to any eye but mine they were conclusive evidence of her guilt. And the more I thought about it, the more deadly did the sum of that evidence appear, until, as the time ran on, I became positively sick with terror.
The opening of a door and a sudden murmur of surprise caused me to turn; and there was Angelina herself. But not quite the Angelina that I remembered. Gone were the pallid complexion, the weary, dark-circled eyes, the down-cast mouth, the sad and pensive countenance, the dark, strong eye-brows. Rosy-cheeked, smiling, confident, and looking strangely tall and imposing, she stepped composedly over to the head of the table, and stood there gazing with calm self-possession, and the trace of a smile at the stupefied jurymen.
“Your name is--?” said the coroner, gazing at her in astonishment.
“Angelina Frood,” was the quiet reply; and the voice was Bundy’s voice.
Here Pilley rose, bubbling with excitement. “This isn’t the same person!” he exclaimed. “Why, he was a little man, and she’s a tall woman. And his hair was short, and just look at hers! You can’t grow a head of hair like that in twenty minutes.”
“No,” Angelina agreed, suavely. “I wish you could.”
“The objection is not relevant, Mr. Pilley,” said the coroner, suppressing a smile. “We are not concerned with the identity of Mr. Bundy but with that of Angelina Frood. Can anyone identify this lady?”
“I can,” said I. “I swear that she is Angelina Frood.”
“And Mrs. Gillow?”
Mrs. Gillow could and did identify her late lodger, and furthermore, burst into tears and filled the court-room with “yoops” of hysterical joy. When she had been pacified and gently restrained by the coroner’s officer from an attempt to embrace the witness, the coroner proceeded:
“Now, Mrs. Frood, the jury require certain explanations from you, in regard to the body of a woman which is at present lying in the mortuary and which was found buried in the city wall with certain articles of clothing and jewellery which have been identified as your property. Did you know that that body had been buried in the wall?”
“Yes,” replied Angelina.
“Do you know how it came to be in the wall?”
“Yes. I put it there.”
“You put it there!” roared Pilley, amidst a chorus of exclamations from the jurymen. The coroner held up his hand to enjoin silence and asked, as he gazed in astonishment at Angelina.
“Can you tell us who this deceased person was?”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” Angelina replied, apologetically. “I don’t think her name was known.”
“But--er--” the astounded coroner inquired, “how did she come by her death?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that either,” replied Angelina. “The fact is, I never asked.”
“You never asked!” the coroner repeated, in a tone of bewilderment. “But--er--are we to understand that--in short, did you or did you not cause the death of this person by your own act? Of course,” he added hastily, “you are not bound to answer that question.”
Angelina smiled at him engagingly. “I will answer with pleasure. I did not cause the death of this person.”
“Then are we to understand that she was already dead when you found her?”
“I didn’t find her. I bought her; at a shop in Great St. Andrew-street. I gave four pounds, fourteen and three-pence for her, including two and three-pence to Carter Paterson’s. I’ve brought the bill with me.”
She produced the bill from her pocket and handed it to the coroner, who read it with a portentous frown and a perceptible twitching at the corners of his mouth.
“I will read this document to you, gentlemen,” he said in a slightly unsteady voice. “It is dated the 19th of April, and reads: ‘Bought of Oscar Hammerstein, Dealer in Human and Comparative Osteology, Great St. Andrew-street, London, W.C., one complete set superfine human osteology, disarticulated and unbleached (female), as selected by purchaser, four pounds eight shillings and sixpence. Replacing and cementing missing teeth, one shilling and sixpence. Packing case, two shillings. Carriage, two and three pence. Total, four pounds, fourteen and three-pence. Received with thanks, O. Hammerstein.’ Perhaps you would like to see the bill, yourselves, gentlemen.”
He passed it to the foreman, taking a quick glance out of the corners of his eyes at the bland and impassive Angelina, and the jury studied it in a deep silence, which was broken only by a soft, gurgling sound, from somewhere behind me, which, I discovered, on looking round, to proceed from Sergeant Cobbledick, whose crimsoned face was partly hidden by a large handkerchief and whose shoulders moved convulsively.
Presently the coroner addressed Thorndyke. “In continuation of your evidence, Doctor, does Mrs. Frood’s explanation agree with any conclusions that you had arrived at from your inspection of the remains?”
“It agrees with them completely,” Thorndyke replied with a grim smile.
The coroner entered the answer in the depositions, and then turned once more to Angelina.
“With regard to the objects that were found with the skeleton; did you put them there?”
“Yes. I put in the metal things and a few pieces of scorched rag to give a realistic effect--on account of the lime, you know.”
“And the articles that were recovered from the river, too, I suppose?”
“Yes, I put them down--with proper precautions, of course.”
“What do you mean by proper precautions?”
“Well, I couldn’t afford to waste any of the things, so I used to keep a lookout with a telescope, and then, when I saw a likely person coming along, I put one of the things down where it could be seen.”
“And were they always seen?”
“No. Some people are very unobservant. In that case I picked it up when the coast was clear and saved it for another time.”
The coroner chuckled. “It was all very ingenious and complete. But now, Mrs. Frood, we have to ask you what was the object of these extraordinary proceedings. It was not a joke, I presume?”
“Oh, not at all,” replied Angelina. “It was a perfectly serious affair. You have heard what sort of husband I had. I couldn’t possibly live with him. I made several attempts to get away and live by myself, but he always followed me and found me out. So I determined to disappear altogether.”
“You could have applied for a separation,” said the coroner.
“I shouldn’t have got it,” replied Angelina, “and even if I had, of what use would it have been? I should have been bound to him for life. I couldn’t have married anyone else. My whole life would have been spoilt. So I decided to disappear completely and for good, and start life afresh in a new place and under a new name. And in order that there should be no mistake about it, I thought I would leave the--er--the material for a coroner’s inquest and a will directing that a suitable monument should be put up over my grave. Then, if I had ever married again, there would have been no danger of a charge of bigamy. If anyone had made any such suggestion, I could have referred them to the registrar of deaths and to the tombstone of Angelina Frood in Rochester churchyard.”
“And as to a birth certificate under your new name?” the coroner asked with a twinkle of his eye.
Angelina smiled a prim little smile. “I think that could have been managed,” she said.
“Well,” said the coroner, “it was an ingenious scheme. But apparently Dr. Thorndyke knew who Mr. Bundy was. How do you suppose he discovered your identity?”
“That is just what I should like to know,” she replied.
“So should I,” said the coroner, with a broad smile; “but, of course, it isn’t my affair or that of the jury. We are concerned with this skeleton that you have planted on us. I suppose you can give us no idea as to where it came from originally?”
“The dealer said it had been found in a barrow--not a wheel-barrow, you know; an ancient burial-place. Of course, I don’t know whether he was speaking the truth.”
“What do you think, Dr. Thorndyke?” the coroner asked.
“I think it is an ancient skeleton, though very well preserved. Some of the teeth--the original ones--show more wear than one expects to find in a modern skull. But I only made a cursory inspection.”
“I think the evidence is sufficient for our purpose,” said the coroner; “and that really concludes the case, so we need not detain you any longer, Mrs. Frood. I don’t know exactly what your legal position is; whether you have committed any legal offence. If you have, it is not our business; and I think I am expressing the sentiments of the jury if I say that I hope that the authorities will not make it their business. No one has been injured, and no action seems to be called for.”
With these sentiments the jury concurred warmly, as also did Sergeant Cobbledick, who was heard, very audibly and regardless of the proprieties, to murmur “Hear, hear.” We waited to learn the nature of the verdict, and when this had been pronounced (to the effect that the skeleton was that of an unknown woman, concerning the circumstances of whose death no evidence was available), the court rose and we prepared to depart.
“You are coming back to lunch with us, Angelina?” said I.
“I should love to,” she replied, “but there is Mr. Japp. Do you think you could ask him, too?”
“Of course,” I replied, with a sudden perception of the advantage of even numbers. “We shouldn’t be complete without him.”
Japp accepted with enthusiasm, and, after a hasty farewell to Cobbledick, we went forth into the High Street, by no means unobserved of the populace. As we approached the neighbourhood of the office Angelina said: “I must run into my rooms for a few moments just to tidy myself up a little. It was such a very hurried toilette. I won’t be more than a few minutes. You needn’t wait for me.”
“I suggest,” said Thorndyke, “that Mr. Japp and I go on and break the news to Mrs. Dunk that there is a lady guest, and that Strangeways remains behind to escort the prisoner.”
I fell in readily with this admirable suggestion, and as the two men walked on, I followed Angelina up the steps and waited while she plied her latch-key. We entered the hall together and then went into the sitting-room, where she stood for a moment, looking round with deep satisfaction.
“It’s nice to be home again,” she said, “and to feel that all that fuss is over.”
“I daresay it is,” said I. “But now that you are home, what have you got to say for yourself? You are a nice little baggage, aren’t you?”
“I am a little beast, John,” she replied. “I’ve been a perfect pig to you. But I didn’t mean to be, and I really couldn’t help it. You’ll try to forgive me, won’t you?”
“The fact is, Angelina,” I said, “I am afraid I am in love with you.”
“Oh, I hope to goodness you are, John,” she exclaimed. “If I thought you weren’t I should wish myself a skeleton again. Do you think you really are?”
She crept closer to me with such a sweet, wheedlesome air that I suddenly caught her in my arms and kissed her.
“It does seem as if you were,” she admitted with a roguish smile; and then--such unaccountable creatures are women--she laid her head on my shoulder and began to sob. But this was only a passing shower. Another kiss brought back the sunshine and then she tripped away to spread fresh entanglements for the masculine heart.
In a few minutes she returned, further adorned and looking to my eyes the very picture of womanly sweetness and grace. When I had given confirmatory evidence of my sentiments towards her, we went out, just in time to encounter Mrs. Gillow and acquaint her with the program.
“I suppose,” said Angelina, glancing furtively at a little party of women who were glancing, not at all furtively, at her, “one should be gratified at the interest shown by one’s fellow towns-people; but don’t you think the back streets would be preferable to the High-street?”
“It is no use, my dear,” I replied. “We’ve got to face it. Take no notice. Regard these bipeds that infest the footways as mere samples of the local fauna. Let them stare and ignore them. For my part, I rather like them. They impress on me the admirable bargain that I have made in swapping Peter Bundy for a beautiful lady.”
“Poor Peter,” she said, pensively. “He was a sad boy sometimes when he looked at his big, handsome John and thought that mere friendship was all that he could hope for when his poor little heart was starving for love. Your deal isn’t the only successful one, John, so you needn’t be so conceited. But here we are home--really home, this time, for this has been my real home, John, dear. And there--Oh! Moses!--there is Mrs. Dunk, waiting to receive us!”
“What used you to do to Mrs. Dunk,” I asked, “to make her so furious?”
“I only used to inquire after her health,” Angelina replied plaintively. “But mum’s the word. She’ll spot my voice as soon as I speak.”
Mrs. Dunk held the door open ceremoniously and curtsied as we entered. She was a gruff old woman, but she had a deep respect for “gentlefolk,” as is apt to be the way with old servants. Angelina acknowledged her salutation with a gracious smile and followed her meekly up the stairs to the room that Mrs. Dunk had allotted to her.
I found Thorndyke and Japp established in the library--Dr. Partridge had dispensed with a drawing-room and I followed his excellent example--and here presently Angelina joined us, sailing majestically into the room and marching up to Thorndyke with an air at once hostile and defiant.
“Serpent,” said Angelina.
“Not at all,” Thorndyke dissented with a smile. “You should be grateful to me for having rescued you from your own barbed-wire entanglements.”
“Serpent, I repeat,” persisted Angelina. “To let me sit in that court-room watching all the innocents walking into my trap one after another, and then, just as I thought they were all inside, to hand me a thing like that!” and she produced, dramatically, a small sheet of paper, which I recognized as the remainder of Thorndyke’s note. I took it from her, and read: “You see whither the evidence is leading. The deception cannot be maintained, nor is there any need, now that your husband is dead. Explanations must be given either by you or by me. For your own sake I urge you to explain everything and clear yourself. Let me know what you will do.”
“This is an extraordinary document,” I said, passing it to Japp. “How in the name of Fortune did you know that Bundy was Angelina?”
“Yes, how did you?” the latter demanded. “It is for you to give an explanation now.”
“We will have the explanations after lunch,” said he; “mutual explanations. I want to hear how far I was correct in details.”
“Very well,” agreed Angelina, “we will both explain. But you will have the first innings. You are not going to listen to my explanation and then say you knew all about it. And that reminds me, John, that you had better tell Mrs. Dunk. She is sure to recognize my voice.”
I quite agreed with Angelina and hurried away to intercept Mrs. Dunk and let her know the position. She was at first decidedly shocked, but a vivid and detailed description of the late Mr. Frood produced a complete revulsion; so complete, in fact, as to lead me to speculate on the personal characteristics of the late Mr. Dunk. But her curiosity was aroused to such an extent that, while waiting at table, she hardly removed her eyes from Angelina, until the latter, finding the scrutiny unbearable, suddenly produced the hated eye-glass, and, sticking it in her eye, directed a stern glance at the old woman, who instantly backed towards the door with a growl of alarm, and then sniggered hoarsely.
It was a festive occasion, for we were all in exuberant spirits, including Mr. Japp, who, if he said little, made up the deficiency in smiles of forty-wrinkle power, which, together with his upstanding tuft of white hair, made him look like a convivial cockatoo.
“Do you remember our last meeting at this table?” said Angelina, “when I jeered at the famous expert and pulled his reverend leg, thinking what a smart young fellow I was, and how beautifully I was bamboozling him? And all the while he knew! He knew! And ‘Not a word said the hard-boiled egg.’ Oh, serpent! serpent!”
Thorndyke chuckled. “You didn’t leave the hard-boiled egg much to say,” he observed.
“No. But why were you so secret? Why didn’t you let on, just a little, to give poor Bundy a hint as to where he was plunging?”
“My dear Mrs. Frood----”
“Oh, call me Angelina,” she interrupted.
“Thank you,” said he. “Well, my dear Angelina, you are forgetting that I didn’t know what was in the wall.”
“My goodness!” she exclaimed. “I had overlooked that. Of course, it might have been-- Good gracious! How awful!” She paused with her eyes fixed on Thorndyke, and then asked: “Supposing it had been?”
“I refuse to suppose anything of the kind,” he replied. “My explanations will deal with the actual, not with the hypothetical.”
There was silence for a minute or two. Like Angelina, I was speculating on what Thorndyke would have done if the remains had been real remains--and those of a man. He had evidently sympathized warmly with the hunted wife; but if her defence had taken the form of a crime, would he have exposed her? It was useless to ask him. I have often thought about it since, but have never reached a conclusion.
“You will have to answer questions better than that presently,” said Angelina; “but I won’t ask you any more now. You shall finish your lunch in peace, and then--into the witness-box you go. I am going to have satisfaction for that note.”
The little festival went on, unhurried, with an abundance of cheerful and rather frivolous talk. But at last, like all fugitive things, it came to an end. The table was cleared, and garnished with the port decanter and the coffee service, and Mrs. Dunk, with a final glower, half-defiant and half-admiring, at Angelina, took her departure.
“Now,” said Angelina, as I poured out the coffee, “the time has come to talk of many things, but especially of expert investigations into the identity of Peter Bundy. Your lead, Sir.”
