The Old Man in the Corner | Page 6

a quarter before nine. Still Sir Arthur Inglewood made no
comment, and Mr. Francis Smethurst, in the crowded, stuffy court, had
calmly dropped to sleep.
"The next witness, Constable Thomas Taylor, had noticed a shabbily
dressed individual, with shaggy hair and beard, loafing about the

station and waiting-rooms in the afternoon of December the 10th. He
seemed to be watching the arrival platform of the Tilbury and Southend
trains.
"Two separate and independent witnesses, cleverly unearthed by the
police, had seen this same shabbily dressed individual stroll into the
first-class waiting-room at about 6.15 on Wednesday, December the
10th, and go straight up to a gentleman in a heavy fur coat and cap,
who had also just come into the room. The two talked together for a
while; no one heard what they said, but presently they walked off
together. No one seemed to know in which direction.
"Francis Smethurst was rousing himself from his apathy; he whispered
to his lawyer, who nodded with a bland smile of encouragement. The
employés of the Hotel Cecil gave evidence as to the arrival of Mr.
Smethurst at about 9.30 p.m. on Wednesday, December the 10th, in a
cab, with a quantity of luggage; and this closed the case for the
prosecution.
"Everybody in that court already saw Smethurst mounting the gallows.
It was uninterested curiosity which caused the elegant audience to wait
and hear what Sir Arthur Inglewood had to say. He, of course, is the
most fashionable man in the law at the present moment. His lolling
attitudes, his drawling speech, are quite the rage, and imitated by the
gilded youth of society.
"Even at this moment, when the Siberian millionaire's neck literally and
metaphorically hung in the balance, an expectant titter went round the
fair spectators as Sir Arthur stretched out his long loose limbs and
lounged across the table. He waited to make his effect--Sir Arthur is a
born actor--and there is no doubt that he made it, when in his slowest,
most drawly tones he said quietly;
"'With regard to this alleged murder of one William Kershaw, on
Wednesday, December the 10th, between 6.15 and 8.45 p.m., your
Honour, I now propose to call two witnesses, who saw this same
William Kershaw alive on Tuesday afternoon, December the 16th, that
is to say, six days after the supposed murder.'

"It was as if a bombshell had exploded in the court. Even his Honour
was aghast, and I am sure the lady next to me only recovered from the
shock of the surprise in order to wonder whether she need put off her
dinner party after all.
"As for me," added the man in the corner, with that strange mixture of
nervousness and self-complacency which had set Miss Polly Burton
wondering, "well, you see, I had made up my mind long ago where the
hitch lay in this particular case, and I was not so surprised as some of
the others.
"Perhaps you remember the wonderful development of the case, which
so completely mystified the police--and in fact everybody except
myself. Torriani and a waiter at his hotel in the Commercial Road both
deposed that at about 3.30 p.m. on December the 10th a shabbily
dressed individual lolled into the coffee-room and ordered some tea. He
was pleasant enough and talkative, told the waiter that his name was
William Kershaw, that very soon all London would be talking about
him, as he was about, through an unexpected stroke of good fortune, to
become a very rich man, and so on, and so on, nonsense without end.
"When he had finished his tea he lolled out again, but no sooner had he
disappeared down a turning of the road than the waiter discovered an
old umbrella, left behind accidentally by the shabby, talkative
individual. As is the custom in his highly respectable restaurant, Signor
Torriani put the umbrella carefully away in his office, on the chance of
his customer calling to claim it when he had discovered his loss. And
sure enough nearly a week later, on Tuesday, the 16th, at about 1 p.m.,
the same shabbily dressed individual called and asked for his umbrella.
He had some lunch, and chatted once again to the waiter. Signor
Torriani and the waiter gave a description of William Kershaw, which
coincided exactly with that given by Mrs. Kershaw of her husband.
"Oddly enough he seemed to be a very absent-minded sort of person,
for on this second occasion, no sooner had he left than the waiter found
a pocket-book in the coffee-room, underneath the table. It contained
sundry letters and bills, all addressed to William Kershaw. This
pocket-book was produced, and Karl Müller, who had returned to the

court, easily identified it as having belonged to his dear and lamented
friend 'Villiam.'
"This was the