The Missing Angel by Erle Cox (lightest ebook reader TXT) 📕

“Shoot!” Tydvil was evidently far more interested in the kidneys than

Amy’s news, and his indifference annoyed her.

“What is the meaning of ‘shoot’?” she demanded.

“It’s a shorter word than proceed, and means the same thing. ‘Shoot,’” he

added, “is a synonym for ‘get it off your chest.’”

“One is vulgar, and the other is coarse, and both are offensive,”

retorted Amy. “You know I detest slang.”

“Quite so,” said the imperturbable Tydvil.

“Then perhaps,” she came back very, acidly, “you will condescend to speak

English to me.”

Still deeply engaged with his plate, Tydvil said, very politely, “Very

well, my dear, I repeat, it will give me unfeigned pleasure to hear your

news.”

Amy accepted the words at their face value. “I had a visit yesterday from

a most distinguished gentleman, a Mr. Nicholas Senior, who is in

Australia enquiring into our social work and conditions.”

“Ur!” came the non-commital comment from the kidneys. “I spent the whole

afternoon with him, inspecting our institutions.”

“Ur!”

“He was most intensely interested.”

“After subscriptions, I suppose,” commented Tydvil.

“There you are entirely wrong. Indeed, he subscribed to ours with most

princely, generosity. It may interest you to know that he gave a cheque

for one hundred pounds for the Moral Uplift Society.”

“Mug!” murmured Tydvil.

“What did you say, Tydvil?” she demanded. “I said ‘good,’ my dear.”

She looked at his suspiciously a moment. “You cannot think why he called

on me.” Amy purred.

“I was wondering,” Tydvil admitted.

“Well, he had heard of my work from the Archbishop of Canterbury, and he

had a letter of introduction to me from dear Archbishop Pottinger.” There

was exaltation in her voice.

Tydvil did not respond to the invitation for congratulations. Instead, he

reminded her that he had put himself to the inconvenience of waiting for

her in his office all the morning, and that she had not come. He

submitted his remark as a justifiable grievance.

“I know,” answered Amy, “but I really could not come, Mr. Senior took me

to lunch.”

“Where?”

Amy paused, and then said hesitantly, “Well, Tydvil, Mr. Senior is

staying at Menzies, and we went there.”

Tydvil Jones put his knife and fork gently on his plate and said in

pained amazement, “Amy, have you forgotten that you are one of the

vice-presidents of the League for the Suppression of Alcohol.”

“That makes no difference whatever, Tydvil. If Mr. Senior can stay there,

and he is a friend of the Archbishop of Canterbury, I don’t think anyone

could take exception to my lunching with him.”

“I am astonished, Amy! Astonished!” commented her husband with virtuous

censure.

“There was really nothing at all objectionable,” she protested. Then,

hurriedly, to stop further argument, “I am asking Mr. Senior to dinner,

Tydvil. He is most anxious to meet you.”

Mr. Jones glanced at the clock and stood up. “I cannot help feeling

surprised and grieved at your indiscretion, Amy. Of course, I will meet

Mr. Senior. I feel quite justified in acquainting him with my

disapproval. Have my car sent round,” he directed the maid.

Somehow, Amy felt that Tydvil had forced her into a corner from which she

could protest neither against the strictures on Mr. Senior nor his

ordering the car.

Pausing at the door as he left the room, Tydvil announced that he would

be working late at the office again, and Amy made no comment.

That morning, when, shortly before ten o’clock, Mr. William Brewer

presented himself at the St. Kilda court to answer a charge of assault on

a police officer and insulting behaviour, he was the least happy and most

bewildered man in the Metropolitan area. He found that he had an

unexpected capacity for a further depression of spirits when, a minute or

two later, no less a person than Tydvil Jones appeared and took his place

in front of the bench. He was accompanied by a tall and very

distinguished looking companion of legal aspect.

“That has torn it,” Billy reflected, though Tydvil apparently took no

notice of Mr. Brewer’s presence.

Tydvil himself was interested to note that “among those present” were Mr.

Cranston and his two unpleasant looking friends, the large policeman whom

he had treated so promptly and effectually the night before, and four

young men who were, he supposed, the rest of the hunting pack.

The police magistrate who presided on the bench, disposed of three drunks

in five minutes, and one minor assault case in less than ten. Then the

case of William Brewer—insulting behaviour and assaulting a

constable—was called.

Immediately Mr. Olden rose to his feet and announced that he appeared for

the defendant. Then he slipped across to the astonished William who had

taken his place in the dock, and whispered he was not to worry, but not

to give evidence on his own behalf on any account.

Used as he was to hard swearing and the complication of police court

evidence, Mr. J. J. Arty, M.P., remembered the case of William Brewer in

after life as the most remarkable in a long experience.

All the morning the legal battle raged round the defendant’s black eye.

Mr. Olden nailed the witnesses for the prosecution down to that eye. The

large constable swore positively that, black or no black eye, it was the

defendant who had hurled half a brick at his outraged person. He was

warmly supported by Mr. Cranston and his two unpleasant friends, who all

told a tale of infuriated intoxication, murderous assault with a kerosene

lamp, and outrageous language, but all agreed that the defendant had no

black eye. They had all witnessed the assault on the constable in the

execution of his duty. The four young men were weak in detail but strong

in their belief.

One the contrary, two indignant friends of Billy, and the wife of one of

them, swore just as positively that the defendant had spent the evening

playing cards at their home and that the black eye was properly ripe when

he had arrived at their home.

Mr. Arty began to lose patience and remarked that he had listened to more

perjury that morning than he was accustomed to hear in six months of

police court practice, and that was a great deal. Then Mr. Olden called

Mr. Tydvil Jones, who entered the witness box and bowed politely to Mr.

Arty, to whom he was very well known.

Sworn, Mr. Jones deposed that he was entirely at a loss to understand the

evidence he had heard from either side. The defendant was in his employ.

On the previous evening Brewer had worked back with him at his office

until somewhere near eleven p.m. He was not sure of the exact time Mr.

Brewer left him, but he could not possibly have been embroiled with the

police or Cranston, neither was it possible he could have played cards

with his friends—as alleged.

He was also positive that the black eye, round which the case centred,

was obtained by the defendant on the previous morning while he was

assisting his (Mr. Tydvil Jones’) secretary with her work. He had been

present when the accident occurred. He felt sure that Brewer would not

have been able to reach St. Kilda by the time the assault was alleged to

have taken place.

Mr. Arty questioned Mr. Jones closely, and received instant and frank

replies to all the questions which he put to the witness.

Mr. Arty then sat back in his char and told all the witnesses except Mr.

Tydvil Jones, whose high standing and well known integrity placed him

above suspicion, that for some reason best known to themselves they had

come into court and sworn to what he regarded as a “fabric of unmitigated

falsehood.” He could form no idea of the reason for the evidence they had

given, but there was evidently something behind the case that had not

been disclosed.

He concluded by telling the witnesses that if he could make up his mind

which were the liars, he would gladly commit them for perjury. Then he

discharged William Brewer as the victim of a manifest conspiracy.

Ten of the witnesses and Billy Brewer left the court in bemazed

indignation. Pausing to tell Brewer to see him in his office as soon as

he arrived at the warehouse, he rejoined Mr. Olden and the two, entering

Tydvil’s car, drove off citywards.

For the first five minutes Tydvil was silent and very thoughtful. His

reverie was interrupted by Nicholas. “That, my dear Tydvil,” he said with

a smile, “is where you draw your dividends on your blameless past.”

“Hump!” Tydvil growled. “You were right when you said how easy it was to

get into mischief. Still, I had to give that evidence.”

“I don’t know that it was imperative,” commented Mr. Senior, “but you

made a great job of it.”

“It was necessary,” replied Tydvil. “You see, I told my wife last night

Brewer had been working back with me.” He outlined his encounter with Amy

and added, “So, you see, I had to back in the witness box what I had told

her.”

“Yes, I see,” commented Nicholas. “But it just proves that a man with a

first class reputation can get away with practically anything. Every one

of those ten witnesses told the truth as he saw it. But the whole mass of

their evidence was blown out by your wholly fictitious statements.”

Arranging to meet in his office that evening, the two parted when Tydvil

dropped Nicholas on Princes Bridge.

Twenty minutes after Tydvil had arrived at his office, Brewer knocked and

was admitted. Billy, angry and bewildered, was glad that Geraldine was

not at her table when he passed it.

His reception by Tydvil was somewhat cold, but not hostile. Said Tydvil,

“I will not enquire into the unfortunate circumstances which led you into

the unpleasant position in which I found you this morning. I accepted

unreservedly the assurance of my friend, Mr. Olden, that you were

guiltless, and was very glad to be able to do so. I am afraid I adopted a

most reprehensible course in giving the evidence I did…”

Billy made as though to speak.

“No, Brewer, there is no need to thank me. It would have been a

miscarriage of justice had the bench believed the evidence against you.

We’ll say no more about it.” Tydvil smiled and held out his hand.

Billy took it warmly and stuttered his gratitude. As he turned to go,

Tydvil stopped him. “Oh, by the way, Brewer, this business of this

morning almost made me forget. Do you know a man named Jerry McCann?”

Startled, and wondering what more was in store, Billy admitted the

acquaintanceship.

“Well,” replied Tydvil, “last night about ten o’clock, when I was working

here, I heard a hammering on the front door of the warehouse. I opened

it, and there was a man on the doorstep who gave the name of Jerry

McCann…”

“Impossible!” gasped Billy.

“Not at all,” continued Tydvil. “He was, I am afraid, somewhat under the

influence of liquor…”

“But…” Billy tried to break in.

“Wait, wait!” Tydvil silenced him. “He wanted to see you. He was a little

troublesome, so I humoured him. He said he owed you some money and he had

promised to pay you last night—dead or alive—that was the exact term he

used. So I agreed to take charge of the money for you. Here it is,” and

Tydvil held out the twenty-five pounds.

While he was speaking, Billy stared at Tyddie with something like