The very evening after the first day of the inquest, the warrant was out for their arrest.”

He looked at a huge silver watch which he always carried in his waistcoat pocket.

“I don’t want to miss the defence,” he said, “for I know that it will be sensational. But I did not want to hear the police and medical evidence all over again. You’ll excuse me, won’t you? I shall be back here for five o’clock tea. I know you will be glad to hear all about it.”

3

When I returned to the ABC shop for my tea at five minutes past five, there he sat in his accustomed corner, with a cup of tea before him, another placed opposite to him, presumably for me, and a long piece of string between his bony fingers.

“What will you have with your tea?” he asked politely, the moment I was seated.

“A roll and butter and the end of the story,” I replied.

“Oh, the story has no end,” he said with a chuckle; “at least, not for the public. As for me, why, I never met a more simple ‘mystery’. Perhaps that is why the police were so completely at sea.”

“Well, and what happened?” I queried, with some impatience.

“Why, the usual thing,” he said, as he once more began to fidget nervously with his bit of string. “The prisoners had pleaded not guilty, and the evidence for the prosecution was gone into in full. Mr Parlett repeated his story of the £4,000 legacy, and all the neighbours had some story or other to tell about Alfred Wyatt, who, according to them, was altogether a most undesirable young man.

“I heard the fag end of Mrs Marsh’s evidence. When I reached the court she was repeating the story she had already told to the police.

“Someone else in the house had also heard Wyatt running helter-skelter downstairs at eight o’clock on the Thursday evening; this was a point, though a small one, in favour of the accused. A man cannot run downstairs when he is carrying the whole weight of a dead body, and the theory of the prosecution was that Wyatt had murdered old Dyke on that Thursday evening, got into his motor car somewhere, scorched down to Wembley with the dismembered body of his victim, deposited it in the spinney where it was subsequently found, and finally had driven back to town, stabled his motor car, and reached King’s Cross in time for the 11.30 night express to Edinburgh. He would have time for all that, remember, for he would have three hours and a half to do it in.

“Besides which the prosecution had unearthed one more witness, who was able to add another tiny link to the already damning chain of evidence built up against the accused.

“Wilfred Poad, namely, manager of a large cycle and motor-car depot in Euston Road, stated that on Thursday afternoon, 19th November, at about half past six o’clock, Alfred Wyatt, with whom he had had some business dealings before, had hired a small car from him, with the understanding that he need not bring it back until after 11 p.m. This was agreed to, Poad keeping the place open until just before eleven, when Wyatt drove up in the car, paid for the hire of it, and then walked away from the shop in the direction of the Great Northern terminus.

“That was pretty strong against the male prisoner, wasn’t it? For, mind you, Wyatt had given no satisfactory account whatever of his time between 8 p.m., when Mrs Marsh had met him going out of Lisson Grove Crescent, and 11 p.m., when he brought back the car to the Euston Road shop. ‘He had been driving about aimlessly,’ so he said. Now, one doesn’t go out motoring for hours on a cold, drizzly night in November for no purpose whatever.

“As for the female prisoner, the charge against her was merely one of complicity.

“This closed the case for the prosecution,” continued the funny creature, with one of his inimitable chuckles, “leaving but one tiny point obscure, and that was, the murdered man’s strange conduct in dismissing the woman Nicholson.

“Yes, the case was strong enough, and yet there stood both prisoners in the dock, with that sublime air of indifference and contempt which only complete innocence or hardened guilt could give.

“Then when the prosecution had had their say, Alfred Wyatt chose to enter the witness-box and make a statement in his own defence. Quietly, and as if he were making the most casual observation he said:

“‘I am not guilty of the murder of Mr Dyke, and in proof of this I solemnly assert that on Thursday, 19th November, the day I am supposed to have committed the crime, the old man was still alive at half past ten o’clock in the evening.’

“He paused a moment, like a born actor, watching the effect he had produced. I tell you, it was astounding.

“‘I have three separate and independent witnesses here,’ continued Wyatt, with the same deliberate calm, who heard and saw Mr Dyke as late as half past ten that night. Now, I understand that the dismembered body of the old man was found close to Wembley Park. How could I, between half past ten and eleven o’clock, have killed Dyke, cut him up, cleaned and put the flat all tidy, carried the body to the car, driven on to Wembley, hidden the corpse in the spinney, and be back in Euston Road, all in the space of half an hour? I am absolutely innocent of this crime, and, fortunately, it is easy for me now to prove my innocence.’

“Alfred Wyatt had made no idle boast. Mrs Marsh had seen him running downstairs at 8 p.m. An hour after that, the Pitts in the flat beneath heard the old man moving about overhead.

“‘Just as usual,’ observed Mrs Pitt. ‘He always went to bed about nine, and we could always hear him most distinctly.’

“John Pitt, the husband, corroborated this statement; the old man’s movements were quite unmistakable because of his crutches.

“Henry Ogden, on the other hand, who lived in the house facing the block of flats, saw the light in Dyke’s window that evening, and the old man’s silhouette upon the blind from time to time. The light was put out at half past ten. This statement again was corroborated by Mrs Ogden, who also had noticed the silhouette and the light being extinguished at half past ten.

“But this was not all; both Mr and Mrs Ogden had seen old Dyke at his window, sitting in his accustomed armchair, between half past eight and nine o’clock. He was gesticulating, and apparently talking to someone else in the room whom they could not see.

“Alfred Wyatt, therefore, was quite right when he said that he would have no difficulty in proving his innocence. The man whom he was supposed to have murdered was, according to the testimony, alive at six o’clock; according to Mr and Mrs Ogden he was alive and sitting in his window until nine; again, he was heard to move about until ten o’clock by both the Pitts, and at half past ten only was the light put out in his flat. Obviously, therefore, as his dead body was found twelve miles away, Wyatt, who was out of the Crescent at eight, and in Euston Road at eleven, could not have done the deed.

“He was discharged, of course, the magistrate adding a very severe remark on the subject of ‘carelessly collected evidence’. As for Miss Amelia she sailed out of the court like a queen after her coronation, for with Wyatt’s discharge the case against her naturally collapsed. As for me, I walked out too, with an elated feeling at the thought that the intelligence of the British race had not yet sunk so low as our friends on the Continent would have us believe.”

4

“But then, who murdered the old man?” I asked, for I confess the matter was puzzling me in an irritating kind of a way.

“Ah! who indeed?” he rejoined sarcastically, while an artistic knot went to join its fellows along that never-ending bit of string.

“I wish you’d tell me what’s in your mind,” I said, feeling peculiarly irritated with him just at that moment.

“What’s in my mind?” he replied, with shrug of his thin shoulders. “Oh, only a certain degree of admiration!”

“Admiration at what?”

“At a pair of exceedingly clever criminals.”

“Then you do think that Wyatt murdered Dyke?”

“I don’t think – I am sure.”

“But when did they do it?”

“Ah, that’s more to the point.