The Crime Of The Impardonable Sin (Part 1)
Lorient Montaner
It is not by mere coincidence that the most enthralling elements of crime, which intrigue our heightened fascination, are suspense and mystery—especially when the crime transcends the deliberate imposition and basic nature of the criminal. Thus, there are distinctive crimes committed with sheer duplicity and proficiency, whilst others are nothing more than the emboldened actions of someone embodying sheer madness. This irredeemable act, which I acknowledge as the crime of the impardonable sin, is the foundation of this story.
The year was 1919. A short, punctilious middle-aged attorney named Harold Whitby of London had recently returned from a leisure trip to New York when he received at his Piccadilly address a significant murder case: the death of the daughter of an English count from Devonshire.
His name was Lord Arrington, and he was a well-established influence in London, a close acquaintance of the affluent members of London society. His beautiful daughter, Emily Arrington, had supposedly been murdered by a former French soldier who had courted her. His name was Jean Pierre Duvauchelle, and he had migrated to England after the war.
Lady Arrington's body was found dead at the Hotel Ritz in London. At the time, the suspect was residing in London until he was arrested and taken to gaol, where Mr Whitby first met him on that cold November day. Once at the police station, he was escorted to Mr Duvauchelle’s cell to speak with him privately.
Mr Whitby noticed immediately that Mr Duvauchelle was not in good spirits. He looked gaunt and extremely agitated, as if he were concealing some terrible secret or consumed by the looming prospect of death at the merciless hands of the gallows. He was a young man, eclectic in nature, in his mid-twenties, of average height and build. His eyes were dark brown, his hair black, and the symmetry of his nose and cheekbones was striking—testament to his French lineage.
‘Mr Duvauchelle, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am your designated attorney. My name is Harold Whitby’.
‘Monsieur, it is good to meet you. Please, you must believe me. I am innocent. I have not killed anyone!’ he entreated desperately.
‘Calm down, young man’, Mr Whitby said.
‘They will send me to the gallows, monsieur!’
‘There is sufficient time to attempt to establish your innocence before you head off to the gallows, young man’.
‘They will not believe I am innocent. I am a foreigner in this land!’
‘True, Mr Duvauchelle, but that is the least of your troubles. You are charged with a serious crime. This accusation against you is a very grave matter. It cannot be taken as a mere dismissible action’.
‘I did not murder Lady Arrington!’
‘That is why I am here, Mr Duvauchelle. Now, it is exceedingly important that we begin forthwith with the incontrovertible facts. Do you understand?’
‘Oui, monsieur’, he affirmed.
‘Good. Then let us start with your deposition or version of events. As your attorney, I must recommend absolute honesty when describing the sequence of events. I warn you to choose your words carefully, for the judge at your trial will not be as lenient as I am presently. Is that fully understood, Mr Duvauchelle?’
‘I understand and agree, monsieur’.
‘Very well. Let us start at the beginning. After reviewing the details provided to me about your case, you had been living in Devonshire previously, no?’
‘Yes’.
‘Then is it accurate to suggest, Mr Duvauchelle, that Lady Arrington and you were good acquaintances?’
‘No, we were lovers, monsieur’.
‘Lovers, Mr Duvauchelle? I was told that Lady Arrington was engaged to Lord Greenfield of Devonshire’.
‘Yes, but she did not love him. She loved me, but her family would not accept a commoner like me into their prestigious circle. Don’t you see? I have been framed by Lord Greenfield’. His preoccupation turned suddenly into anger and animosity.
‘You knew she was engaged and still you courted her, Mr Duvauchelle?’
‘Yes’, he rejoined.
‘For how long did you know her, and where did you meet?’
‘I have known her for approximately a year, monsieur. We met here in London at the St James Theatre. I remember that night clearly. The evening was lively, and the mild weather was a comforting sensation. I was seated beneath the balcony when I spotted her in the nearest seat. She was beautiful and elegant, possessing a natural charm and grace’.
‘You stated in your deposition when you were arrested that you had moved from Devonshire to London. You said you came to England from France after the war. Why did you come to our country?’
‘That is correct. The reason I came to England was that I lost everything back in Bezonvaux, my village. It was destroyed during the Battle of Verdun. I simply wanted to start over in a new place’.
‘Why England, Mr Duvauchelle?’
‘Why not?’
He paused and continued, ‘If you don’t mind me asking, monsieur, do you have a cigarette? I need to calm my nerves’.
‘I don’t smoke, but if permitted, I shall have one of the guards bring you a cigarette’.
The guard acquiesced to Mr Whitby’s request and gave Mr Duvauchelle a cigarette to smoke.
‘Now, Mr Duvauchelle, what exactly happened on the night of the murder?’
‘You want to know where I was at the time of the murder?’
‘Precisely’.
‘At that hour, I was at the nightclub, taking a drink with a friend’.
‘According to the deposition of the chambermaid at the Ritz Hotel, you had been in Lady Arrington’s room and were the last person seen leaving. Am I to believe, Mr Duvauchelle, that this version of events is correct?’
‘It is true I was there earlier, visiting Lady Arrington because she had invited me’.
‘Then you were the last to have seen her alive before she was found dead in her room?’
‘That I do not know for certain. But rest assured, monsieur, I am confident I was not!’
‘Then what are you implying?’
‘I am not the killer. I had an alibi. Whoever murdered Lady Arrington planned everything to perfection’.
‘Do you recall the precise hour you left the hotel, Mr Duvauchelle?’
‘Ah, that I cannot answer completely because I did not have my pocket watch’.
‘Surely you can remember if it was before ten or eleven o’clock in the evening’.
‘It was close to 10.30 p.m. We returned to her room after the play finished. We had gone to see The Eyes of Youth at the St James Theatre’.
‘Is it true you had a quarrel with Lady Arrington and left her room in anger?’
‘That is not true! We had an argument like other couples, but that was all’.
‘An argument, you say, Mr Duvauchelle? Enough to murder Lady Arrington?’
‘Of course not, monsieur!’
‘Then, what was your argument about?’
He paused before continuing, ‘She wanted to end our affair’.
‘But you wanted to continue the affair to accommodate your desires?’
‘Yes’, he muttered.
‘You understand, Mr Duvauchelle, this circumstantial evidence can condemn you to the gallows?’
‘Yes, I know, monsieur, but I am innocent—innocent, I tell you!’
His composure faltered.
‘You must regain your equanimity, Mr Duvauchelle’.
‘You must do everything in your power to absolve me of this crime, monsieur. I beg you!’
‘I can only promise you my diligence and effort. Before I go, tell me the name of your friend who was with you at the nightclub’.
‘His name is Charles Cantrelle. He is Belgian’.
‘Where does he live?’
‘In the East End at 20 Brick Lane’.
‘Good. And one last question, Mr Duvauchelle. Why would the chambermaid accuse you, given that a piece of your shirt was found at the crime scene as evidence?’
‘We had been arguing, and Lady Arrington grabbed my shirt so that I couldn’t leave until she’d finished speaking. Naturally, I left anyway. As for the chambermaid—she is the lover of Lord Greenfield’,
‘Can you prove that?’
‘Not really, since she will deny it’.
‘I must go now, Mr Duvauchelle. I shall attempt to locate your friend Mr Cantrelle and return tomorrow morning’.
He gripped Mr Whitby’s hand tightly. ‘Please, monsieur, you are the only one who can help me!’
‘I shall do my best’.
The next morning, Mr Whitby woke to the inclement weather that brought the usual rain. He had not slept well, as the matter of Mr Duvauchelle’s defence weighed heavily on his mind. He left the comfort of his home in Soho and headed to Mr Cantrelle’s address in the East End. With his umbrella in hand, he took a cab to 20 Brick Lane.
After several tappings on the door, there was no response. The general impression he had was that Mr Cantrelle was not present at his home. When he realised that, he returned to the gaol to speak to his client, Mr Duvauchelle. Once there, he found him pensive in thought, pacing within his cell back and forth. Mr Duvauchelle was not in optimal spirits, because the indicative evidence was strongly incriminating. Mr Whitby sensed his awkward predicament and the difficulty that burdened his troubled expression.
‘Good morning, Mr Duvauchelle! I am afraid I was not able to locate your friend, Mr Cantrelle. Apparently, he was not at home’.
‘Bonjour, monsieur! I am glad you are here. I have not slept much the entire night. You say that my friend was not home. That is odd, since he is usually at home at that hour. Did you knock several times? Perhaps he was asleep?’
‘Perhaps, Mr Duvauchelle! I did knock several times and there was no response. If he was there, then he must have been sleeping like a bear’.
‘You will return afterwards to converse with him, no monsieur?’
‘Yes of course, but it would help if you told me his occupation and where he works’.
‘He is an artist like me. He is a brilliant painter, to be specific!’
‘That is interesting, Mr Duvauchelle. Until I have another location to find him, I cannot utilise him as a witness. He is a pivotal witness to the case’.
‘Yes. I understand, monsieur! He is usually at the corner of the West End by the cafés and restaurants. Our clients are some of the wealthiest people in London. Our art galleries are funded by them. You can say, we are eccentric gents!’
‘I see! Have you always been a painter, Mr Duvauchelle? If so, why did you become a soldier?’
‘I have always been a painter, since my childhood. You see, monsieur, my childhood was the most pleasant time ever. As for my reason to be a soldier and fight in the war, I merely chose survival’.
‘What do you mean, Mr Duvauchelle?’
‘You do not understand, monsieur! With all due respect, you are a man of power, while I am not. My father was a merchant, but he died when I was young, and my mother raised me in Bezonvaux. She married an opulent man, but he was abusive and left my mother. I was a young man then, and I was forced to abandon my studies to work. I worked in a factory that only exploited me. Thereafter, the war came, and I enlisted in the army. I was in my mid-twenties then and in Paris. My mother died afterwards of tuberculosis’.
‘It must have been difficult! Do you not have siblings, Mr Duvauchelle?’
‘Of course it was, monsieur! As for your question, I had only one brother, Philippe. We were twins, but he too succumbed to the illness of tuberculosis. He was an infelicitous child, not even twelve, monsieur’.
‘I am so sorry to hear that, Mr Duvauchelle!’
‘It was not of your doing, monsieur’.
‘All right, let us speak about the matter of your defence. You said in your deposition when questioned that you had left the Hotel Ritz before the murder was committed. What did you leave in? Was it in your automobile? Was it in a cab?’
‘I took the cab to the nightclub!’
‘Do you remember the driver and cab number or colour? Think hard, Mr Duvauchelle’.
‘He was a man with a pale complexion and strange in his demeanour, monsieur. The colour of the cab was black. As for the number, I believe it was 20, 21, or 22. I cannot be certain. I did not really glance at the number, and it was pitch-black in the night’.
‘I shall have that information checked at the local cab agencies of London afterwards. It will be tedious; nonetheless, it must be done’.
‘Have you heard anything else about my case, monsieur? For how long shall I be here, in this wretched gaol?’
‘That I cannot tell you, but I shall know by tomorrow!’
Mr Duvauchelle took a deep breath to digest that reality. ‘I do not want to die. I fear death, and I cannot be hanged for a crime I did not commit!’
‘I shall do my best, Mr Duvauchelle! There must be witnesses in the nightclub who saw you there at the hour of the murder’.
‘Yes, Mademoiselle Madeline Schiller!’
‘Who is she?’
‘She is only a friend of mine. I met her through Charles’.
‘I must know the truth, Mr Duvauchelle. Was this woman your lover? This will be investigated and revealed at your upcoming trial’.
He hesitated before responding. ‘Yes, we were lovers! I am a man with needs like any other man, monsieur, but this does not make me a murderer’.
‘That is accurate, Mr Duvauchelle! However, this will be addressed and utilised against you. It is necessary to speak at once with her’.
‘Please do not badger her with too many questions. Ask her only about my presence at the nightclub on that night’.
‘Is there something, Mr Duvauchelle, that I should know? You realise that she will be cross-examined at your trial?’
‘The police have interviewed her already, and she has told them everything, but they have discredited her because she is a cabaret dancer, monsieur’.
‘That is a reasonable assumption, Mr Duvauchelle. Unless I can find more credible witnesses, such as Mr Cantrelle, at the nightclub, proving your innocence will be a challenging endeavour!’
‘When will you speak to her?’
‘Now that I think about it, perhaps I can kill two birds with one stone’, Mr Whitby's eyebrows lifted.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Will your dear friend Mr Cantrelle be at the nightclub tonight?’
‘I believe so, monsieur!’
‘Your cabaret dancer also?’
‘Oui!’
‘The name of this nightclub, Mr Duvauchelle?’
‘Murray's Cabaret Club on Beak Street!’
‘Where the Americans play their jazz at?’
‘Oui, you are correct!’
‘I have heard it mentioned!’
‘I prefer it to the Nest on Kingly Street or the Savoy!’
‘Then I shall visit Murray's tonight, and hope that your two friends are present, Mr Duvauchelle’.
‘Please, monsieur, I do not know how much longer I can bear the madness of this place!’
‘You must be patient, Mr Duvauchelle! Now try to repose a bit and I shall return tomorrow with better news, I hope. Listen to me: prescribed rest will be good for you!’
‘I shall try, but every day I spend here, the killer is out there. Please investigate Lord Greenfield and his relationship with the chambermaid, monsieur!’
‘I shall do that'.
Mr Whitby finished the conversation with Mr Duvauchelle and departed the police station. He returned to his perusal of the report of the evidence established. The terrible crime occurred at the Hotel Ritz, where the chambermaid discovered the dead body of Lady Arrington.
According to the deposition of the chambermaid, Miss Biggins, who was the main accuser and witness in the case, she identified Mr Duvauchelle as the last person seen speaking to Lady Arrington alive. Mr Whitby waited until after midday to visit the Hotel Ritz and talk to Miss Biggins in private.
The notion that the chambermaid was having a sexual liaison or affair with Lord Greenfield, the Count of Devonshire, was a serious accusation. If true, it still would not serve the purpose of establishing the innocence of his client. The only thing it would imply would be another salacious scandal of an English nobleman. Of course, he was cognisant of the possibility, but he was committed to his dutiful pledge to his profession and his client.
At precisely 1.15 p.m., he left Piccadilly and headed towards the hotel. There, he found Miss Biggins working assiduously in one of the guest rooms. Naturally, she did not recognise Mr Whitby. When he told her who he was, he mentioned the murder of Lady Arrington. Her natural reaction was one of distrust and uncertainty. She was perhaps not a prepossessing sight, but Mr Whitby perceived her reluctance to speak with him about the murder. Because it was a private matter, they discussed the murder at length.
‘Miss Biggins, you affirm to the police that the last individual who departed Lady Arrington's room was my client, Mr Duvauchelle. Is that correct?’
‘Aye!’ She answered in her Cockney accent.
‘Miss Biggins, if I may ask, at what hour did you see Mr Duvauchelle leave Lady Arrington's room?’
‘It was at 10.15 p.m., sir!’
‘Are you certain about that? How did you know it was that hour?’
‘Because of the clock in the corridor! I always check the hour during my toils, sir’.
‘What were you doing at that time?’
‘I was preparing the room next to Lady Arrington's’.
‘Then, what happened?’
‘I heard an argument that ended, and that is when I saw Mr Duvauchelle pass the room’,
‘You did not see him, then, exiting Lady Arrington's room'.
‘Not exactly!’
‘Then, how did you know he left?’
‘Because I heard his voice and because the door in the room I was in was wide open, sir’.
‘You are certain that the man you saw passing in the corridor was Mr Duvauchelle?’
‘Quite certain, sir!’
‘When you found Lady Arrington dead, what position was she in?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Was she in a recumbent position, on her back, or lying face down?’
‘She was lying on her back, with her eyes open. I can’t forget that ghastly look of death. It was a horrible dread that sent chills down my spine, sir!’
‘How did you know the voice you heard in Lady Arrington’s room was that of Mr Duvauchelle?’
‘I recognised that voice!’
‘How?’
‘I have heard him speaking to Lady Arrington many times before, sir’.
‘Where?’
‘Here at the hotel. In the lounge, in the restaurant, and in her room, sir. He was a daily fixture here and always accompanied her. He was a brash and incurious fellow and did not care who saw him come and go from Lady Arrington’s room. You know, it was her favourite room and she was engaged to the handsome Lord Greenfield. That poor woman, Lady Arrington, was bedevilled by that greedy scoundrel of your client. I tell you, he is evil and deceptive!’
‘How did you know she was engaged to Lord Greenfield, Miss Biggins?’
‘It is in the newspapers! Do you not read them, sir?’
‘I try not to, because they are usually comprised of mere balderdash and sensationalism! Before I go, Miss Biggins, have you met Lord Greenfield?’
‘In person?’
‘Yes, in person!’
‘I have only met him once, when he came to visit London. He stayed in the hotel’.
‘Was he alone, Miss Biggins?’
‘That I do not know, because I try not to pry into the affairs of others. It is not ladylike!’
‘Yet you did pry on the conversation between Mr Duvauchelle and Lady Arrington on the night of the murder’.
‘I suppose, but methinks I did the right thing. If not, the killer of Lady Arrington would have never been caught! I must go now, I have my cleaning duties to fulfil. If you will excuse me, sir’.
‘That will be all the questions for now, Miss Biggins. If I need to ask more questions, then I shall return. Before I go, can I enter the former room of Lady Arrington?’
‘You mean the room where she was savagely murdered by your client?’
‘I believe it is for the courts to decide that, Miss Biggins, and not you! Now, do I have to ask again?’
‘Of course not, sir!’
Mr Whitby felt that her mien had altered throughout the interesting conversation, particularly when speaking about Mr Duvauchelle and Lord Greenfield. Her blatant animosity towards Mr Duvauchelle was plainly noticeable, as was her admirable persuasion for Lord Greenfield. He could not forget that ironic comparison in her observation of the two men, and he took note of that in his notebook.
Although she displayed a curious attachment to the details of the sequence of events that had occurred before Lady Arrington’s murder, and her fond admiration for Lord Greenfield, it was not sufficient to warrant any abnormal suspicion of her involvement with Lord Greenfield.
Mr Whitby entered the room after Miss Biggins had opened it. The room had been closed since the murder. There was a sudden eeriness he felt as he stood inside that memorable room. Gradually, he began to review in his thoughts the indubitable facts of the murder, including every minutia explored.
According to the chambermaid’s version, Mr Duvauchelle was the last person reported to have spoken to Lady Arrington, and worse, he was the last person with her in the room. Mr Whitby investigated all the visible places, including every nook and cranny.
In the pathologist’s report, Lady Arrington was killed through suffocation. She was strangled to death by an object that was not discovered by the police. The discolouration of her face and the heavy marks on the neck displayed evident signs of strangulation. There was no trace of her blood discovered, nor any clue that could prove his client’s innocence. At that time, there was none. Until Mr Whitby could discover more pertinent information on the matter, he had to concentrate on speaking to Mr Cantrelle and Miss Schiller at the nightclub.
He returned home to prepare for his trip to the nightclub. He dined at one of the local restaurants near the Criterion, and then headed to Murray’s Cabaret Club, in hope that he would locate the two supposed witnesses for Mr Duvauchelle.
Once at Murray’s, he entered. It was close to ten o’clock at night when he arrived. The festive ambience with music and cabaret dancers was everywhere. At the time he entered and was seated, black jazz musicians were playing. He had not frequented many nightclubs, preferring more established gentlemen’s clubs.
Although he fancied more classical music, he enjoyed this newfangled American music that had become popular in England. He had been given a general description of Mr Cantrelle and relied on a photograph provided by Mr Duvauchelle for Miss Schiller’s appearance.
After half an hour had elapsed, the cabaret dancers took the stage to perform. Amongst the women was Miss Schiller. Mr Whitby was taken aback by her beauty and her artistic talent, but his visit was not of a convivial nature, and his concern that Mr Cantrelle had not appeared at the club became an imminent uncertainty. He waited for him to present himself, but after searching around the club, he failed to find him. That meant he was either arriving late or was not going to come. Afterwards, he spoke to Miss Schiller once her performance had ended. He was standing when he addressed her, as she started to smoke her cigarette.
‘Miss Schiller, I am Mr Harold Whitby. I don’t mean to incommode you’.
She interposed, ‘Jean Pierre’s barrister!’
‘Criminal attorney, I prefer! How did you know?’
‘I thought he told you that I visited him at the gaol where he was being kept!’
‘No, I was not aware. He did not tell me’, Mr Whitby said with a flummoxed response.
‘Poor devil, with so much on his mind, he probably forgot, sir!’
‘Perchance! I urge that we speak now of the case’.
‘Of course!’ She replied with a winsome smile.
‘Good! Let us begin with the questions. Was Mr Duvauchelle here at Murray’s when Lady Arrington was murdered? Did you see him? Were you in his company, Miss Schiller?’
‘I was performing that night when Jean Pierre was in the club’.
‘Then you were not with him at the hour of the murder?’
‘Not exactly, but I saw him at the table with Charles’.
‘You mean Mr Cantrelle?’
‘Yes!’
‘I see that he is not here. Are you a friend of Mr Cantrelle?’
‘An acquaintance, I would call it’.
‘What is your relationship with Mr Duvauchelle, Miss Schiller?’
She puffed ascending circles of smoke from her cigarette before answering, ‘Are you wondering if we were lovers, Mr Whitby?’
‘To be blunt, Miss Schiller, yes!’
‘Is this what Jean Pierre confessed?’
‘Yes, he did!’
‘If you must know, the answer to your question is yes, we were lovers’.
‘You said were—then you are not presently?’
‘Occasionally he does seek me! He is a man! I’m sure you understand, being a man yourself. Are you single or married, Mr Whitby, because I am single?’
‘I am single, but I did not come for a social visit. When you say occasionally, did that include the night of the murder?’
‘No! He was with me intimately, but he then returned to his flat’.
‘At what time, Miss Schiller?’
‘It was around eleven o’clock!’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I saw the clock in the lounge!’
‘What did you do next?’
‘I joined some of the girls who were at a table with a couple of fine gentlemen from abroad, drinking. I believe they were Americans’.
‘Where did you meet Mr Duvauchelle?’
‘We met at the Savoy!’
‘Was he alone?’
‘No, he was with Charles!’
‘I see’.
‘Yes, forgive me if I didn’t mention that! They are always together. You know they are artists? They would frequent the corner of Piccadilly, Regent Street and Charing Cross, displaying their wonderful art. They also had the good fortune of having their craft displayed at the most prestigious galleries in London. Jean Pierre is an exceptional painter’.
‘Mr Cantrelle—is he a better artist?’
She paused, ‘That all depends on taste and observation, sir!’
‘What can you tell me of his relationship with Lady Arrington? Was he in love with her?’
‘Who?’
‘Mr Duvauchelle’.
The question did not seem to please her, but her reply was indifferent; she did not deny it. ‘I suppose you could call what they had love’.
‘I shall require your deposition and presence at the trial, once it has been determined’.
‘Of course!’
‘I shall notify you of the date—that is, if Mr Duvauchelle has not told you before!’
Mr Whitby left Murray’s at around eleven o’clock and took a cab back to his residence. Although he did not converse with Mr Cantrelle, the conversation with Miss Schiller was an important revelation. There was only one possible dilemma with her narrative: she was not with Mr Duvauchelle at the exact moment of the murder. It was imperative that Mr Whitby locate Mr Cantrelle at once. He would have to wait until the following morning.
He awoke that morning with the urgency of attempting to speak with Mr Cantrelle. He had received the date of the trial earlier that day, when he was informed that it had been set. He realised then that Mr Duvauchelle's defence had begun in earnest.
As was his usual wont since accepting the murder case, he visited the gaol where his client, Mr Duvauchelle, was detained. Mr Duvauchelle remained in his unsettling state, pacing back and forth and biting his nails constantly. He appeared to be musing in profound contemplation when Mr Whitby arrived. Immediately, he relayed the date of the trial.
‘Good morning, Mr Duvauchelle. Your case has been listed for trial before a judge and jury!’
‘Bonjour, monsieur! When is my trial?’ Mr Duvauchelle enquired.
‘It is on the 18th of November’.
‘That is only in two weeks!’
‘Indeed. I assure you I shall do my utmost to prove your innocence, Mr Duvauchelle’.
‘Can you assure me that I shall walk out of here a free man, monsieur?’
‘To be frank, Mr Duvauchelle, no. Given your limited options, I remain your best hope’.
‘Did you speak to Charles and Madeline?’
‘Well, I spoke to Miss Schiller at the Murrays’ last night, but I was not able to locate Mr Cantrelle there. I shall attempt to find him today, at the places Miss Schiller mentioned’.
‘Miss Schiller was able to confirm my account of the events?’
‘To a great extent, yes, but there is one issue that could pose a serious problem’.
‘What problem?’
‘Miss Schiller said she saw you with Mr Cantrelle, but she was performing at the time. Therefore, she was not physically with you when the murder occurred. Until I have located him, her testimony may be refuted’.
‘I don't understand!’
‘Simply put, Mr Duvauchelle, under cross-examination that critical fact will be scrutinised and may even be deemed inadmissible. That will depend upon the judge and the prosecutor’.
‘There were other individuals who saw me in the club’.
‘Were they acquaintances? Where can I find them?’
‘Acquaintances they are not, in the full meaning of the word. I do not know precisely where they live, as many come and go from London, monsieur’.
‘Then that will be a fruitless endeavour and a waste of my time and effort. For now, I shall concentrate on locating Mr Cantrelle, who is my primary witness’.
‘I would hope that you find him soon, monsieur, before it is too late!’
‘Let us hope, for your sake, that it is not’.
‘Madeline will be coming later to see me. I will have to tell her of my trial date’.
‘I see nothing wrong with that. You should use your gentleman's persuasion on her so that she understands the difficult situation you now face, Mr Duvauchelle’.
‘This judge who is presiding over my trial, do you know him well, monsieur?’
‘Lord Hargreave? He is a very capable judge, Mr Duvauchelle. He is known for his stern moral judgement and his strict adherence to the law. This case will be won or lost on the evidence presented, not on the whims of the judge or prosecutor’.
‘All I care about is my freedom, not my assumed guilt!’
‘Before I go, I want you to know that I visited the Hotel Ritz and spoke to the chambermaid, Miss Biggins’.
‘That wench! She despises me because I am not Lord Greenfield!’
‘She made that quite clear’.
‘She will be testifying against me?’
‘She is the prosecution's leading witness, Mr Duvauchelle’.
‘She will condemn me to the gallows, surely, monsieur. She and her lover, Lord Greenfield, have planned this from the beginning. I know you do not believe me, but I swear on my beloved mother’s grave that I am speaking the absolute truth!’
‘Right now, Mr Duvauchelle, you must prepare yourself for the trial and allow me to investigate that conspiracy. I am off. I shall return tomorrow, and please, do try to rest’.
‘Rest, monsieur? I cannot rest when my life is in the hands of a judge and jury. Would you be able to rest if you were in my position?’ He asked, with a serious stare.
‘I suppose not,’ Mr Whitby replied.
Mr Whitby left the police station and searched once more for the elusive Mr Cantrelle, his key witness. He looked for him meticulously in the streets previously mentioned, where he was known to frequent as a painter. Yet again, he failed to locate him. It was becoming clear that Mr Cantrelle, a man known for being inconspicuous, had suddenly vanished from the face of the earth.
Mr Whitby returned to Mr Cantrelle's address and discovered that he had not been evicted by his landlord; rather, he had simply left. The question now was whether he was still in London. This was an ominous development for the trial. Without any clue as to his whereabouts, finding him would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.
He returned to the gaol to speak to Mr Duvauchelle forthwith about the sudden disappearance of his dear friend. He needed to confer with him about whether this disappearance was mere coincidence or connected to the case. He had relied heavily on Mr Cantrelle’s testimony as the cornerstone of his defence.
Without it, Mr Whitby was faced with a terrible quandary he had not foreseen. This was also a significant distraction from the preparation of his arguments for trial. The intricate nature of his investigation was developing into a labyrinthine plot of heightened mystery. When he spoke to Mr Duvauchelle again, he was somewhat surprised to see him.
‘Monsieur, I did not expect you to return so soon. Has something terrible happened?’ Mr Duvauchelle asked.
‘Perhaps, Mr Duvauchelle. I have not been successful in finding your friend, Mr Cantrelle’, Mr Whitby answered.
‘That is not good! Have you searched for him at his address in the East End? At the cafés and restaurants in the West End?’
‘Yes, I have, but he was not there, Mr Duvauchelle’.
‘The galleries and the pubs?’
‘I had a companion of mine check those places too, and still nothing’.
Mr Duvauchelle’s reaction was one of transparent distress. ‘Do you think he will fail to appear at my trial, monsieur? No, no—that cannot happen!’
‘I would hope not. Can you tell me, Mr Duvauchelle, if there are any other places Mr Cantrelle frequents, either in London or outside the city?’
‘At the moment, I cannot think of anywhere else. He has no immediate family in London, nor in England. He is a foreigner, monsieur, like me’.
‘His absence makes it difficult to proceed with the defence, but for now I must continue with the evidence and facts at hand. In the meantime, the prosecution will present its case first’.
‘Has Miss Schiller come to visit you today, Mr Duvauchelle?’
‘Oui, she has’.
‘Am I right to assume that you told her the date of your trial?’
‘Oui, I have’.
‘Very well’.
‘Monsieur, is there nothing else you can do to prove my innocence, beyond any doubt?’
‘For now, Mr Duvauchelle, we must prepare ourselves for the trial’.
Mr Whitby left Mr Duvauchelle with that grim reality to contemplate, there in the dim and dreary confinement of that solitary gaol—a most dreadful abode to endure. He returned to Piccadilly, and it was late in the afternoon.
Along the way, he pondered the whereabouts of Mr Cantrelle. He had dispatched someone to investigate the matter, and his solicitous concern was delaying his defence of Mr Duvauchelle. He had spent the night at home, within the ruminative pattern and application of thought that was mostly effective to present in the trial. He was then informed that the prosecutor in the case was a Thomas Bullwinkle, a studious and experienced barrister, with an impeccable reputation and acumen.
The inexplicable mystery of Mr Cantrelle’s whereabouts lingered and prolonged until the next week, when Mr Whitby had awakened, with the cold draught gradually covering the city. He was extremely cognisant, as he had reviewed in the depth of his retrospective memory all the proven facts and depositions of the witnesses, including those with whom he had conversed in person.
Because he could not locate Mr Cantrelle, the other important witness was Miss Schiller. The problem with her testimony before the judge would be her admissible credibility. It was a deliberate risk on his part to undertake, but for the moment, he had no alternative in the due course of that inevitability. He had one week left not only to prepare Mr Duvauchelle’s defence but also to continue his thorough investigation.
He headed to the gaol, as he did daily, to see Mr Duvauchelle. He noticed on this visit the constant trepidation and angst Mr Duvauchelle felt about being sent to the gallows afterwards, as a guilty man. Mr Whitby was well aware of those horrific expressions that a man accused of a heinous murder would display so overtly, but Mr Duvauchelle’s fate lay in the hands of his innocence or guilt.
‘Good morning, Mr Duvauchelle, I see that you are in an inquisitive mood!’
‘That is an understatement, monsieur. I am a wreck, and my anxiety is consuming me, like the rats that gnaw away at the walls of this cell’.
‘The rats, you say, Mr Duvauchelle—where?’
‘Behind these four walls! I hear their nocturnal squeaking and gnawing’.
‘It is regrettable that you experience this discomfort, but the rats are the least of your concerns, Mr Duvauchelle. Hold on, my boy, and stay steadfast amidst the adversity’.
‘It is difficult, monsieur. You do not know the horrors of war. I, who was there in the deadly trenches of the battlefield, am still haunted daily by those horrific images of death and despair. These sturdy walls remind me of those confined trenches’.
‘I can only fathom that terrifying ordeal, Mr Duvauchelle’.
‘Monsieur, there are no adequate words to describe this horror that no civilised man should ever experience in his life!’
‘Well said, Mr Duvauchelle, but we must proceed to the matter of your defence’.
Mr Duvauchelle then changed his demeanour and focused on the case. ‘Pardon, monsieur, I am listening!’
‘Good, Mr Duvauchelle! I was thinking about the other possible witnesses of that night. You said that you were at the Ritz Hotel on the night of the murder’.
‘Oui, monsieur!’
‘You were with Lady Arrington the whole night?’
‘What do you mean, monsieur?’
‘I mean, were you alone or with Lady Arrington the entire night?’
‘I comprehend! Yes, we had gone to the theatre, as I stated before’.
‘Then, afterwards?’
‘We returned to the hotel’.
‘Did you speak to anyone at the hotel?’
He paused to reflect on the question. ‘I believe I spoke to the porter before I entered the room with Lady Arrington’.
‘Do you know his name, Mr Duvauchelle?’
‘His name is George’.
‘Who else?’
‘Nobody else’.
‘Then, it is this George whom I must speak to’.
‘You think he can attest to our conversation, monsieur?’
‘Perhaps, if I can find him’.
‘If you do, he will vouch for me, will he not, monsieur?’
‘I hope so, Mr Duvauchelle’.
Mr Whitby excused himself and departed the police station. He headed once more to the Ritz Hotel, this time to speak to the porter. When he arrived, he asked if he could speak to him. It did not take long before he located him and spoke to him privately. He was a mild-mannered individual, sedulous in his occupation. Mr Whitby introduced himself and began his enquiry.
‘George Albright?’
‘Yes, I am George Albright. What can I do for you, sir?’
‘I am Mr Harold Whitby. I came to ask you several questions about a certain gentleman you might know’.
‘Who?’
‘Mr Duvauchelle. Does that name ring a bell?’
‘You mean Mr Duvauchelle, the Frenchman? The lover of Lady Arrington?’
‘Yes, but how did you know that they were lovers?’
‘Everyone who works at the hotel was aware of their amorous affair, sir. Even Lord Greenfield, who reproached them’.
‘What do you mean, Mr Albright?’
‘I thought you were aware of their heated confrontation’.
‘Heated confrontation, you say, Mr Albright? What exactly took place that you recall about the night of Lady Arrington’s murder?’
‘Lady Arrington had been with Mr Duvauchelle in the room, and as they were exiting the hotel, Lord Greenfield confronted them and argued with Mr Duvauchelle’.
‘Can you be more specific, Mr Albright? What were they arguing about?’
‘It was about the affair between Mr Duvauchelle and Lady Arrington’.
‘Do you remember what Lord Greenfield said?’
‘You mean his words?’
‘Of course!’
‘Lord Greenfield told him he was a scoundrel, a wastrel, who was only with her for her wealth and status in society’.
‘Did he threaten him?’
‘You mean, did Lord Greenfield threaten Mr Duvauchelle?’
‘Yes’.
‘I am not one to quote the exact words of a man, sir, but we all heard him say that he was lucky not to be dead. The next time they crossed paths, Mr Duvauchelle would not be a fortunate man’.
‘Then, what happened?’
‘Lord Greenfield was escorted to his room by the chambermaid’.
‘Who was that chambermaid?’
‘Miss Biggins’.
‘Miss Biggins—she was the chambermaid who tended to Lady Arrington’s room?’
‘Yes’.
‘Did she tend to Lord Greenfield’s room as well when he was here that night?’
‘I believe so, sir’.
Mr Whitby stared into the porter’s eyes to observe his response to his audacious question. ‘Did Miss Biggins always tend to his room while he stayed at the hotel?’
‘Whenever he came to visit London’.
‘Did Lord Greenfield come often?’
‘He came and went, sir’.
‘Where is Miss Biggins now? Is she currently working at the hotel?’
‘I believe she has the day off’.
‘I should like to enter the room where Lady Arrington was murdered. Can you have someone open the room with the key?’
‘Certainly!’
The porter told Mr Whitby to wait in the lounge until he found someone to open the door. Afterwards, a young lady escorted Mr Whitby to Lady Arrington’s room. Even though he had entered the room before and it had been cleaned, the pristine room appeared almost the same, with its uncommon eeriness and indifference to Mr Whitby. This was due to the ghastliness of the nature of the death, which had impressed a haunting vestige of murder. He began to investigate the room, hoping to find a clue and understand the events that had unfolded.
After he had traced every possible step of the episode of the murder, including the new information that preceded Lady Arrington’s death, he searched from top to bottom for any relevant clue that had been overlooked or mistakenly dismissed as an inconsequential irony.
As he was gazing at the mirror of the room, he saw the reflection of an inanimate object under the bed. When he realised what it was, he retrieved a silver cigarette case that had been thrown to the ground or had fallen there. The question he had was: to whom did the cigarette case belong, and was it here when Lady Arrington was murdered?
Much was unclear about the true nature behind the murder and its undetermined motive. There was another fascinating item that he discovered: an article of clothing from a woman’s dress. Was this item also connected to the murder of the daughter of the Count of Devonshire? How could he confirm his suspicion? Perhaps the porter would know! He spoke to him again and this time queried about the possible significance of these new clues.
‘Mr Albright, do you recognise these two items? The first is a silver cigarette case, and the second is a piece of garment’.
He examined the items, paused, and then responded, ‘The cigarette case seems like the type that Lord Greenfield had—then again, I may be wrong’.
‘Look closely, Mr Albright—it is of extreme importance! It could mean the difference between being a guilty man or an innocent man’.
‘It belonged to Lord Greenfield’.
‘And the garment?’
He examined it too, very closely, and exclaimed, ‘Oh!’
‘What is it, Mr Albright? Do you recognise this item?’ Mr Whitby insisted.
‘Yes, indeed’.
‘To whom does it belong?’
He had a singular expression that denoted a shocking revelation, 'It had belonged to Miss Biggins, the chambermaid, sir!'
'Are you certain, Mr Albright?'
'Enough to testify'.
'Is Miss Biggins working today?'
'No!'
'Then, I shall return tomorrow!'
Mr Whitby left the Ritz Hotel post-haste, with the stunning clues he had discovered and the asseveration disclosed. Within the passing of twenty-four hours, he had perceived a propitious benefit to the case that would change the course of the investigation completely. If it was an accurate intimation and he could prove the correlation between the items and the murder, then he would uncover the truth to the mystery. It would imply as well unveiling the original identity of the murderer and culprit.
He was anxious to apprise Mr Duvauchelle. He had returned to the gaol to tell him of his recent discoveries at the hotel, and the interesting conversation he shared with the porter. He had an urgency also to speak to Lord Greenfield, his main suspect. From what he had read in the newspapers, he was back in Devonshire, attending the funeral of the late Lady Arrington.
The other person who he needed to speak to was Miss Biggins, the chambermaid. There was much of her and her version of events that were incompatible and incompossible details to the actual sequence of the murder of Lady Arrington. There was yet concern for the absence of Mr Cantrelle. He had received a correspondence sent by his private investigator, who had been outside of London, that he could not find Mr Cantrelle.
'Mr Duvauchelle, there is a good chance that you might be freed quicker than you thought!'
'What are you saying, monsieur?'
'I went to the hotel and spoke to the valet'.
'What did he tell you?'
'He said that on the night of the murder, before Lady Arrington was killed, Lord Greenfield and you argued'.
'Is that true, Mr Duvauchelle?'
'Now that I remember, I did!'
'You forgot to mention this important occurrence!'
'Pardon me, monsieur, but my mind is distracted with the thought of being sent to the gallows!'
'Mr Duvauchelle, do you remember what you were arguing about?'
'I do! We were arguing about my relationship with Lady Arrington'.
'Did he threaten you, Mr Duvauchelle?'
'Oui! He was extremely a jealous man, with rage in his dilated eyes, monsieur'.
'He was drunk?'
'Like a mad drunkard, monsieur!'
'What happened next?'
'Lady Arrington had attempted to intervene. The argument abated, and we left for the theatre'.
'Did you see Miss Biggins?'
'She took Lord Greenfield away by the arm. That is all I remember. That vile woman may appear to be charming and innocent, but she is a cunning serpent, whose fangs carry a lethal dose of poison, monsieur!'
'Perhaps, Mr Duvauchelle!'
'You must locate her at once, monsieur, and make her confess! It will be much easier to rattle her than Lord Greenfield. He is a reputable nobleman of solid disposition, who will not be shaken so easily!'
'I agree, Mr Duvauchelle! Until I speak to Miss Biggins, then it is all mere speculative conjecture and theory'.
'You must speak to her, monsieur, before it is too late!'
'Don't be flustered, Mr Duvauchelle! I shall effectuate that action in due time, but I am more concerned with the absence of Mr Cantrelle. I have not been able to locate him at all. It is as if the earth has swallowed him entirely. Where could he be?'
'I would not count on him returning, monsieur!'
'What do you mean?'
'Nothing! The solitary confinement has begun to play more tricks on my mind'.
Mr Whitby left the cell of Mr Duvauchelle and returned to Piccadilly to peruse the new revelations about the ongoing case. He was aware of the importance of these discovered clues. If he could link these items retrieved to the murder, then he would have a plausible connection to produce a consequential effect that had resolved the enigma.
He began to surmise his analysis of the murder and Mr Duvauchelle's involvement. The incriminating evidence that was attributed to his client was nothing more than circumstantial facts in nature. The deposition of the chambermaid Miss Biggins was the primary cause for Mr Duvauchelle's culpability in the murder. He began to wonder about the probability of a conspiratorial plot designed to murder Lady Arrington.
Therefore, he had sent a correspondence to his private investigator who was in Devonshire, to seek any substantial information about Lord Greenfield, Miss Schiller, Miss Biggins, Mr Cantrelle, and including his client Mr Duvauchelle. What was evident that connected all these individuals to the murder of Lady Arrington? He had considered the existential riddle to this mystery. The question that had triggered his fascination had been what was the actual answer?
That following morning, Mr Whitby awoke with the immediacy of speaking to Miss Biggins. He headed to the Ritz Hotel and was informed that Miss Biggins had not appeared to work there. She had been scheduled for that day. He thought it was unusual that she had not appeared because she had never missed a day of work. Although this was indicative of his theory of her surreptitious inclusion in the murder, it was inconclusive evidence that could attach her to the crime.
The impeding trial of Mr Duvauchelle was soon approaching, and the only proof established of his defence was the voluntary affirmation given by Miss Schiller, who stated she had seen Mr Duvauchelle at Murray's during the critical hour of the murder. There were subtle discrepancies in this murder that he could not yet accredit to any relevancy so apperceptively.
Mr Whitby had planned, as he usually did in the mornings, to visit Mr Duvauchelle, but he visited the home of Miss Schiller to confirm her presence at the upcoming trial. When he arrived, she was absent. He had presumed she had left to visit Mr Duvauchelle, and he was correct. When he had arrived at the Police Station, Miss Schiller was indeed visiting his client.
'Good morning, Miss Schiller, it is good to see you! I had stopped at your residence to speak to you, and you were not home'.
'Good morning, Mr Whitby! I left my flat early to stop to purchase cigarettes for Jean Pierre'.
'Understood, Miss Schiller!'
'Is there something you wanted to tell me, sir?'
'I only wanted to confirm your appearance for the trial, Miss Schiller'.
'I see! In that case, yes, I shall be there!'
'Good!'
She had excused herself and left the Police Station, while Mr Whitby conversed with Mr Duvauchelle.
'How are you today, Mr Duvauchelle?' Mr Whitby had asked.
'Nervous, extremely nervous! Is there any new tidings of the case? Have you found Charles? Have you spoken to Miss Biggins?'
His anxiety had developed into a moment of hysterics, 'Not yet, Mr Duvauchelle, but I am working on that!'
'My time is running out, monsieur. You must find the chambermaid!'
'We still have time, Mr Duvauchelle. I shall find her!'
Mr Whitby had noticed that Mr Duvauchelle's episode of hysteria had subsided for the nonce and he listened attentively to his words.
'Forgive me, monsieur!'
'There is no extra tidings, Mr Duvauchelle'.
'Oh!'
He seemed too glum and resigned to the reality of his forthcoming trial.
'Cheer up, Mr Duvauchelle, in spite of the uncertainty, there is still hope!'
'Hope is nothing more than an attainable form of delusion, monsieur'.
'To run away from trouble is a form of cowardice and, while it is true that the suicide braves death, he does it not for some noble object but to escape some ill', Aristotle!' Mr Whitby had responded.
Mr Whitby departed his cell and returned to Piccadilly. There, he had received a note from the porter informing him that Miss Biggins had resigned from her position at the hotel. This was indeed significant information. Immediately, he went to the Ritz Hotel to speak to the young man.
Once he spoke to him, he confirmed that Miss Biggins had left her position willingly on her own accord. He found this, a very odd and coincidental piece of information that was difficult to believe. As he was about to leave, the porter handed him some matches that had belonged to the Hotel Savoy. The matches were found in the possessions left behind by Miss Biggins.
At first, Mr Whitby did not perceive any connection, but he thought of Lord Greenfield. He had thanked the porter and headed towards the Hotel Savoy in Westminster. There, in one of the rooms of the hotel, he found Miss Biggins. She had been staying there for two days, not as a chambermaid, but instead as a lady of prestige. It was manifest that a wealthy person had been paying for her expenses at the lofty hotel.
When Mr Whitby had knocked on the door, she was not expecting him, and her expression was of a startling surprise that was noticeable, but she quickly changed into her habitual demeanour and attempted to maintain her rigid composure.
'Miss Biggins, it is a coincidence to see you here at the Savoy!'
She smiled and said, 'Mr Whitby, if I may enquire, what has brought you before me, sir?'
'I believe you know why I am here!'
'Excuse me, but I am afraid I don't, and I don't have much time to waste. I think I have answered all your questions respectfully, sir!'
She was about to close the door before Mr Whitby had showed her the piece of garment found, 'I believe this belongs to you, Miss Biggins!'
Upon seeing the torn garment, she rapidly changed her conduct once more. She had allowed Mr Whitby to enter the room. Once inside, they spoke, 'Miss Biggins, you and I know that this garment was yours. It is from the typical uniform worn as a chambermaid at the Ritz Hotel. This can be easily corroborated by the employees of the hotel'.
'This does not prove it was mine, sir!'
'Perhaps, but you fail to realise that I have checked every employee who worked on that night of the murder, including the chambermaids, Miss Biggins. And ironically, you were the only chambermaid who was working in the vicinity during the hour of the murder'.
Her straightforward defence began to shift into a slight discomfort that soon turned into sudden consternation and apprehension, consuming her anxiety.
'I must have torn it while I was doing the rooms! It is a common occurrence daily–for we are constantly cleaning, sir!'
'Quite understood!'
'Where did you find it?'
'In the room of Lady Arrington, Miss Biggins, which you were in. Now, are you going to deny you were in the room on that night when Lady Arrington was mercilessly murdered?'
'This is mere circumstantial and fanciful supposition on your part. Are you linking me to the murder, Mr Whitby? If so, you know that this piece of garment will not condemn me!'
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