Call Mr. Fortune · Case III (3/3)

Then arose a small and pallid barrister with a priggish nose. He would ask Mr. Lunt to carry his mind back to some earlier transactions. So the story of the expedition to Mozambique was brought out and, such was the simplicity of the priggish little man, the harassed mouth of Mr. Lunt was made to explain that Lunt Brothers had annexed Cranford’s discovery, and that the expedition of Lunt Brothers had left him to die in the bush.

“Are you justifying the murder?” said counsel for the Crown.

“You will understand my friend’s uneasiness, gentlemen,” says the little barrister, and pinned Mr. Lunt to the statement that it was Sir Albert who had planned this iniquitous scheme. “And when Cranford had gone, Mr. Lunt, of course you warned your brother at once this desperate fellow was on his track. No? Curious. Yet you went down in your motor to your own house at Colney Towers, not much more than a mile away. You reached the house between 12 and 12:30? Perhaps? Oh, don’t begin to forget things now. What did you do then?”

As far as he remembered Mr. Lunt took a stroll.

“On your oath⁠—did you not go and meet your brother?”

Mr. Lunt (who had sat down) started up to deny it. He had not gone outside his own park.

“Would it surprise you to hear that on the path from your house to Sir Albert’s there were found next day fresh footprints which your boots fit?” Mr. Lunt often walked that way. “What clothes were you wearing?” Mr. Lunt could not remember. He went as he was. “You don’t deny you were wearing a coat with an Astrakhan collar?” Mr. Lunt could not say⁠—he had such a coat⁠—he did often wear it. “Very well. And, as you were saying, you have had quarrels with your brother about the policy of the firm?”

“Not quarrels, no,” Mr. Lunt protested eagerly, and struggled to explain them away.

“On the day after the murder you had a large scratch on your forehead which was not there before the murder?” Mr. Lunt could not remember the scratch. Anybody might have a scratch. He was let go. And the jury looked at each other.

After lunch, first witness for the defence, came Lady Lunt to say that the scheme to trick Cranford had been Victor’s, and that on many subjects there were bitter quarrels between Victor and Albert. Radnor Hall corroborated. Reggie followed, and brought the crisis of the battle.

Mr. Fortune, eminent in his profession, had examined the body. Clutched in the left hand were some black tufts⁠—fragments of Astrakhan. When he visited the scene of the crime he had found on the brambles close by other tufts of Astrakhan. He had traced recent footprints which corresponded exactly to the size of a pair of Mr. Albert Lunt’s boots. He produced measurements and casts. In the depths of one of the neighbouring coverts he had found a Smith-Southron .38 magazine pistol, from which three shots had been fired. And a vigorous cross-examination could do nothing with these facts. Then came other witnesses to prove that Victor Lunt had been wearing Astrakhan, and Cranford a raincoat.

Last witness for the defence⁠—Cranford himself. Last question for the defence⁠—“On your oath, did you murder Albert Lunt?”

“On my oath, no.”

The once-confident counsel for the Crown went delicately now. It was plain enough that he thought his case did not justify him in pressing the prisoner hard. “When you were told Albert Lunt was out you made no further attempt to see him. Why?”

“I thought it was a plant. I thought the two of them were putting me off.”

“So you went straight back to town?”

“Yes. I caught the 2:50. You know that.” Counsel for the Crown gave it up.

A speech of sledgehammer logic from the priggish little barrister, exhibiting Cranford as a man much wronged, and Victor Lunt as the villain of the piece⁠—a speech the more effective from its studied absence of passion. A summing up from the judge dead against Victor Lunt. A quick verdict of Not Guilty. Cheers in court. Nurse Dauntsey crying and laughing and feeling blindly for Reggie Fortune’s hand.

In the corridor outside, “That’s a case, my boy, that’s a case.” The little Jew solicitor jumped and gurgled. “Some sensation! What, Mr. Lomas, some sensation in the Yard.”

“Baddish break, Lomas. ‘Zeal, all zeal, Mr. Easy,’ ” Reggie grinned.

“Why the devil couldn’t you give it me?” Lomas thrust by in a hurry. “Get on, Bell⁠—get on.” Superintendent Bell, his lieutenant, shook his head at Reggie.

That night after dinner a card was brought in to Reggie Fortune. “For God’s sake see me,” was scrawled above “Mr. Victor Lunt.” Reggie went down to his consulting-room.

Victor Lunt was in distress. The fat face which in the morning had been pale was now crimson and sweating. He breathed heavily; he seemed swollen.

“You must expect nothing from me, Mr. Lunt. I have done with your case,” Reggie said.

“You’ll hear what I’ve got to say. You must hear my side, doctor. It was you who set them on me. My God, there may be a warrant out for me any moment. Doctor, for God’s sake⁠—you don’t want to send me to the gallows. I never did it. I swear I never did.”

“I have said nothing but the truth about what I found. The facts are the facts, Mr. Lunt. Defend yourself against them. I can do nothing for you.”

“But the facts lie, doctor. God love you, you wouldn’t go to hang an innocent man. I’ll tell you the truth, by God I will.”

Reggie sat down. “I can’t take up your case, Mr. Lunt. I am committed. Anything you tell me is at your own risk. If you can convince me that you’re innocent it’s my duty to do what I can for you. But I advise you to hold your tongue.”

“Don’t you see?” Victor Lunt was almost screaming. “If they hang me it’s you that’s done it. Will you listen now?”

“Go on, sir.”

Victor Lunt mopped his face, tried to speak, and stuttered. “I did go out that day.” The words came in a half-articulate rush. “I wanted to see what Cranford had done to Bert. And in the park I found Bert lying shot. He had a pistol in his hand.”

“Do you want me to believe he shot himself?” Reggie frowned.

“O God, I don’t know. I swear it’s the truth, doctor. He was lying there shot with a pistol in his hand. When I bent over him he grabbed at me. ‘You swine,’ he said, and he lifted his hand to shoot. Then I bashed his face with a stone. But he shot and it cut my head. That was the scratch, doctor. My God, you do see things. I grabbed the pistol and wrenched it away from him.”

“The sprained thumb,” Reggie muttered.

“Then I heard the death-rattle.” Victor Lunt shuddered, and again he could not command his speech. “I lost my head, doctor. I ran away. I chucked the pistol away. I don’t know what I did. Doctor, I swear it’s God’s truth.” He started up. “What do you mean to do now?”

For Reggie sat silent looking at him. “If it’s the truth, Mr. Lunt, I advise you to tell it.”

“It is the truth. Don’t you know it’s the truth? O God!”

“I am not God, Mr. Lunt.”

Victor Lunt screamed. Two men had come into the room. “Mr. Victor Lunt? I am Superintendent Bell. I hold a warrant⁠—” Victor Lunt fell upon the hearth.

They rushed at him, dragged him out of the fire.⁠ ⁠… “Apoplexy,” Reggie said. “I thought it was coming.” The detective’s eyebrows asked him a question. Reggie shook his head.

“This warrant won’t run,” said Superintendent Bell. “What was he doing here, sir?”

“Asking for mercy,” Reggie said. “He’s taking the case to a higher court. I wonder. I wonder.”

And that night Victor Lunt died.⁠ ⁠…

A few days afterwards Reggie gave a little dinner to Cranford and Nurse Dauntsey, and Nurse Dauntsey in a shy evening-frock was adorably happy. And in due time, “Have another peach,” Reggie said.

“Do you want to see me blush, Mr. Fortune?” But she took another.

“You can do pleasant things with the stones⁠—he loves me, he loves me not.”

“It’s not interesting any more,” said Nurse Dauntsey, and looked demure.

“I’m off to British Columbia next week,” Cranford announced.

“Alone?” said Reggie, with his eye on Nurse Dauntsey.

“This year, next year,” Nurse Dauntsey counted. “May I have five peaches, Mr. Fortune?”

“I’m sure you know what’s good for you. So you’re dropping the Mozambique copper claim, Cranford?”

“Lady Lunt offered to turn it over to me. I couldn’t touch it.”

“Of course not,” said Nurse Dauntsey.

“Good thing for me Victor Lunt didn’t stand his trial,” Cranford said.

“Yes. It would have kept you in England.” Reggie lit a cigar.

“I should have had to tell the whole story.” Reggie stared at him. “Yes. That’s the proposition, sir. It was the case you put up against him got me off.”

“I put up nothing,” Reggie cried. “Everything I had against Victor was true, and he knew it was true. That’s what broke him. He had a queer story of his own though,” and Reggie told them Victor Lunt’s version of the crime. “I’ve wondered how much of that was true. He wanted me to believe Albert committed suicide, you see. And that’s impossible.”

“Maybe it was all true,” Cranford said. “Poor beggar. He went through it.”

“I didn’t feel merciful,” Reggie said. “Whatever was the way of it, he meant to get his brother murdered. He worked you up and sent you off to do it. He meant the murder. No, I didn’t feel merciful. And yet⁠—I wonder.”

“I always meant to put you wise,” Cranford said. “You’ll pardon me. I couldn’t afford to give anything away. And I told you no lies. I didn’t murder Albert Lunt. But I killed him. Fair and clean, sir. On my soul it’s as good a bit of work as ever I did. He was a yellow dog. It was up to me to wipe him out. This is the way of it, doctor. When they said he wasn’t at Prior’s Colney I laid to wait for him, and then I saw him coming across the park. I met him and I told him off. I had it all cut out. He had to have his chance, though he gave me none. I had two guns. One for him, one for me. I offered him the pick, and he snatched and fired at me while I had the other gun by the muzzle. He was sure trash. Then he put in another miss and I stretched him. That’s my tale, sir.”

“And it’s just as well you didn’t try it on a jury,” Reggie said.

Cranford started up. “Mr. Fortune, sir, I’m considerably in your debt. But if you call me a liar⁠—”

“Oh, no, no.”

“D’you call me a coward, then? I would have it all out if Victor had come to trial.”

“You’ve run straight,” Reggie said.

“I sure have,” Cranford fumed.

“Do sit down, dear,” said Nurse Dauntsey in her nice, gentle voice.

On her Reggie turned. “And you knew all the time!” He shook his head at her.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Fortune.” She looked surprised.

“Cranford, my congratulations,” said Reggie. “Never trust a really nice girl unless you’re marrying her. Perhaps you knew that.”