The Middle Temple Murder J. S. Fletcher (the reading strategies book .txt) 📖

The woman whom Spargo thus narrowly inspected was of very remarkable appearance. She was almost masculine; she stood nearly six feet in height; she was of a masculine gait and tread, and spare, muscular, and athletic. What at once struck Spargo about her face was the strange contrast between her dark eyes and her white hair; the hair, worn in abundant coils round a well-shaped head, was of the most snowy whiteness; the eyes of a real coal-blackness, as were also the eyebrows above them. The features were well-cut and of a striking firmness; the jaw square and determined. And Spargo’s first thought on taking all this in was that Miss Baylis seemed to have been fitted by Nature to be a prison wardress, or the matron of a hospital, or the governess of an unruly girl, and he began to wonder if he would ever manage to extract anything out of those firmly-locked lips.

Miss Baylis, on her part, looked Spargo over as if she was half-minded to order him to instant execution. And Spargo was so impressed by her that he made a profound bow and found a difficulty in finding his tongue.

“Mr. Spargo?” she said in a deep voice which seemed peculiarly suited to her. “Of, I see, the Watchman? You wish to speak to me?”

Spargo again bowed in silence. She signed him to the window near which they were standing.

“Open the casement, if you please,” she commanded him. “We will walk in the garden. This is not private.”

Spargo obediently obeyed her orders; she swept through the opened window and he followed her. It was not until they had reached the bottom of the garden that she spoke again.

“I understand that you desire to ask me some question about John Maitland, of Market Milcaster?” she said. “Before you put it. I must ask you a question. Do you wish any reply I may give you for publication?”

“Not without your permission,” replied Spargo. “I should not think of publishing anything you may tell me except with your express permission.”

She looked at him gloomily, seemed to gather an impression of his good faith, and nodded her head.

“In that case,” she said, “what do you want to ask?”

“I have lately had reason for making certain enquiries about John Maitland,” answered Spargo. “I suppose you read the newspapers and possibly the Watchman, Miss Baylis?”

But Miss Baylis shook her head.

“I read no newspapers,” she said. “I have no interest in the affairs of the world. I have work which occupies all my time: I give my whole devotion to it.”

“Then you have not recently heard of what is known as the Marbury case⁠—a case of a man who was found murdered?” asked Spargo.

“I have not,” she answered. “I am not likely to hear such things.”

Spargo suddenly realized that the power of the Press is not quite as great nor as far-reaching as very young journalists hold it to be, and that there actually are, even in London, people who can live quite cheerfully without a newspaper. He concealed his astonishment and went on.

“Well,” he said, “I believe that the murdered man, known to the police as John Marbury, was, in reality, your brother-in-law, John Maitland. In fact, Miss Baylis, I’m absolutely certain of it!”

He made this declaration with some emphasis, and looked at his stern companion to see how she was impressed. But Miss Baylis showed no sign of being impressed.

“I can quite believe that, Mr. Spargo,” she said coldly. “It is no surprise to me that John Maitland should come to such an end. He was a thoroughly bad and unprincipled man, who brought the most terrible disgrace on those who were, unfortunately, connected with him. He was likely to die a bad man’s death.”

“I may ask you a few questions about him?” suggested Spargo in his most insinuating manner.

“You may, so long as you do not drag my name into the papers,” she replied. “But pray, how do you know that I have the sad shame of being John Maitland’s sister-in-law?”

“I found that out at Market Milcaster,” said Spargo. “The photographer told me⁠—Cooper.”

“Ah!” she exclaimed.

“The questions I want to ask are very simple,” said Spargo. “But your answers may materially help me. You remember Maitland going to prison, of course?”

Miss Baylis laughed⁠—a laugh of scorn.

“Could I ever forget it?” she exclaimed.

“Did you ever visit him in prison?” asked Spargo.

“Visit him in prison!” she said indignantly. “Visits in prison are to be paid to those who deserve them, who are repentant; not to scoundrels who are hardened in their sin!”

“All right. Did you ever see him after he left prison?”

“I saw him, for he forced himself upon me⁠—I could not help myself. He was in my presence before I was aware that he had even been released.”

“What did he come for?” asked Spargo.

“To ask for his son⁠—who had been in my charge,” she replied.

“That’s a thing I want to know about,” said Spargo. “Do you know what a certain lot of people in Market Milcaster say to this day, Miss Baylis?⁠—they say that you were in at the game with Maitland; that you had a lot of the money placed in your charge; that when Maitland went to prison, you took the child away, first to Brighton, then abroad⁠—disappeared with him⁠—and that you made a home ready for Maitland when he came out. That’s what’s said by some people in Market Milcaster.”

Miss Baylis’s stern lips curled.

“People in Market Milcaster!” she exclaimed. “All the people I ever knew in Market Milcaster had about as many brains between them as that cat on the wall there. As for making a home for John Maitland, I would have seen him die in the gutter, of absolute want, before I would have given him a crust of dry bread!”

“You appear to have a terrible dislike of this man,” observed Spargo, astonished at her vehemence.

“I had⁠—and I have,” she answered. “He tricked my sister into a marriage with him when he knew that