Hag's Nook

STATEMENT

6:15 P.M.

For Inspector Jennings, or whom it may concern: I have heard the whole story now, from Dr. Fell, and he has heard mine. I am quite composed. It vaguely occurs to me that on legal documents one is supposed to put down "of sound mind," or some such terms, but I trust I shall be forgiven if I do not adhere strictly to the prescribed form. I do not know it.

Let me try to be frank. This is easy, inasmuch as I shall shoot myself when I have finished writing. For a moment I had entertained the idea of shooting Dr. Fell during our talk a few minutes ago. However, there was only one bullet in the pistol. When I confronted him with it, he made a gesture of a rope being put about his neck; and upon reflection I could easily perceive that such a clean exit is better than hanging, so I put away the weapon. I hate Dr. Fell, I confess I genuinely hate him, for having exposed me, but I must think of my own welfare above all others, and I have no wish to be hanged. They say it is very painful, and I could never bear pain with fortitude.

To begin with, let me say in all justice to myself, as a last word, that I think the world has shabbily used me. I am not a criminal. I am a man of education and parts; an ornament, I believe, to any society in which I move. This has been partly my consolation. My real name I will not give, nor too much of my background, lest it should be traced: but I was actually, at one time, a student of theology. My dismissal from a certain seminary was due to unfortunate circumstances — such circumstance as may involve any young man of robust and healthy nature who is not enervated by worship from the appeal of a pretty girl. That I had stolen money I do to this day deny, or that I had attempted to place the blame on another of my fellow students.

My parents, not understanding, refused to sympathize. I could not help thinking even then that the world has a shabby treatment for its most favored sons. Let me be brief: I could not obtain employment. My gifts were such that I could have advanced rapidly had I had the opportunity, but I got no opportunities, save menial ones. I borrowed money from an aunt (she is dead now; in pace requiescat!); I went about the world, I knew poverty-yes, and for one day I was hungry-and I grew weary. I wished to settle down, to be comfortable, to be respected, to use my powers, and to taste the sweets of ease.

On a liner from New Zealand, something more than three years ago, I met young Thomas Audley Saunders. He told me that the influence of a certain Sir Benjamin Arnold, an old friend of his uncle's who had never seen the nephew, had obtained him this new and splendid position. Knowing theology well, I became his friend on the long voyage. I need not dwell on it. The poor fellow died shortly after he reached England. It was only then that the thought occurred to me that I should disappear and a new Thomas Saunders should appear at Chatterham. I did not fear discovery. I knew enough of his history to take his place, and his uncle never left Auckland. I should have to keep up a correspondence, of course, but by typing my infrequent letters and practising the signature on Saunders' passport until I had an excellent imitation, I was safe from discovery. He had been educated at Eton, but his collegiate and theological courses were taken at St. Boniface's in New Zealand, and it was unlikely that I should come upon an old friend.

The life, while pleasant and pastoral, was hardly stimulating. I was a gentleman, but-like all others — I wished to be a rich and roving gentleman. It was necessary, however, to keep a curb upon my appetites so that my sermons might be really instructive and sincere; I say with pride that I kept the parish accounts straight, and only once-on pain of severe necessity, when a serving-girl of the county threatened scandal for being attacked — did I tamper with these. But I wish to live a more pleasant life; say, in continental hotels, with many servants and a fling at amorousness now and then.

In my talk with Dr. Fell. I have learned that he knows almost everything. I had made the same deductions from old Anthony Starberth's diary — which Mr. Timothy Starberth kindly showed me-as Dr. Fell made over three years later. I determined that there must be money hidden in the well at the Hag's Nook. If it were negotiable-jewels or bullion, say — I could presently resign and disappear.

I need not dwell on this part. Chance, vile chance, entered again. Why does God permit such things? I had found the cache, and to my delight it proved to be precious stones. Through my earlier experiences I was aware of a trustworthy man in London who could engineer sales at Antwerp in a most satisfactory fashion…. I dislike that word "engineer." It destroys what some have been so kind as to call the Addisonian purity of my prose style; but let it stand…. Let me say again, I found the stones. I estimated that their value might be conservatively placed at about five thousand pounds.

It was (I remember it distinctly) the afternoon of the eighteenth of October when I made this discovery. As I was on my knees in the hiding-place, prying open the iron box which contained these stones; and shielding my candle from outside observation, I thought that I heard a noise in the well outside. I was just in time to see the rope quivering, and a thin leg disappear from the mouth of the opening, and I heard Mr. Timothy Starberth's unmistakable laugh. Undoubtedly he had noticed something amiss in the well. He had climbed down, seen me at work, and was now going up to laugh. I may here say that he had always a most inexplicable dislike, nay, hatred, for the church and all holy things, and his attitude had at times amounted almost to blasphemy. He, of all people, could work me the most harm. Even if he had not seen my find (and I did not doubt he had) his mirth at finding me thus employed would wreck all my hopes.

Here I must point out a curious feature of my own character. There are times when I seem absolutely to lose control over my reflex actions, and when I seem almost to enjoy inflicting physical pain. Even as a child I had buried rabbits alive and torn the wings from flies. In maturity this often amounts to a certain bewildered activity — which I find difficult to remember, and strive to conceal, and which has often frightened me… But let me go on. I found him standing at the top of the well, waiting for me when I came up, his riding-clothes soaking wet. He was doubled up in laughter and slapping his knee with his crop. The precious box was buttoned up in my coat; in my hand I had the small crowbar.

When his elaborate laughter had turned him almost with his back to me, I struck. I took delight in striking him many times, even after he had fallen. I cannot boast that at this time the plan I conceived was at full maturity; but it took shape presently, and I resolved to turn the Starberth legend of broken necks to profitable use.

I broke his neck with the iron bar, and left him in a thicket at twilight, whistling his horse near me.

My fright may be readily imagined when, later on and in a calmer moment, I learned that he was not dead and wished to see me. Dr. Fell has just recently told me that it was this fact which first made him suspicious of me — i.e., that Timothy Starberth should ask for me to be summoned to his bedside, and that I should see him alone: My natural agitation after that interview, which I could scarcely conceal, did not go unnoticed by Dr. Fell. Mr. Starberth told me — in brief — what Dr. Fell already outlined to us all the other day, namely the plan for putting a statement of my guilt into the vault of the Governor's Room, so that a conviction for murder should hang over my head throughout three years. When I heard him tell me this, I did not know what course to pursue. I thought of flying at his throat, but that would only mean a cry and instant apprehension. Given three years, I thought, and I could surely find a means of circumventing his purpose. When I returned to the others, I was careful to implant in their minds the belief that the old man was mad — lest, in an unguarded moment, he should betray me before he died.

Nor need I discuss here the many plans I evolved for stealing that paper. They came to nothing. Instead of being able to resign and leave Chatterham, I was now powerless. In three years, certainly, I might put a deal of ground between myself and Lincolnshire, but there was this overwhelming reason against flight:

If I disappeared, an inquiry would be instituted for Thomas Saunders. It must inevitably be revealed that the real Thomas Saunders was dead — unless, of course, I could step forward whenever they searched for me, and stop investigations. If I were free, without this murder charge in the Governor's Room vault hanging over me, I could always step forward: I could be merely Thomas Saunders resigned from his pastorate. But if I were Thomas Saunders the fugitive — as I must be always — then they would discover what had happened to the real clergyman from Auckland and I should be thought guilty of foul play against him. In either case, I should be faced with a murder charge if I disappeared then. The only course was in some fashion to purloin that paper from the safe.

I therefore set about making a confidant of young Mr. Martin Starberth before his departure for America. Without being accused of lack of modesty, I think I may say that my powers of personality, are sufficient to make a staunch friend of whomever I choose. I did this with Martin, whom I found a trifle conceited and headstrong, but otherwise a very amiable young man. He told me about the keys to the vault, the conditions, everything concerning his duties on the evening of his twenty-fifth birthday. Even at that date, some two years ago, he was uneasy. As time went on, I saw by his letters from America that the fear had become almost pathological (if I may use the word), and that I might turn to good account both this fact and the well-known devotion of his cousin Herbert to the more brilliant Martin. My purpose was, of course, to gain possession of the paper; it was unfortunate that I should be compelled to kill Martin in so doing — indeed, I liked the young man — and, as a corollary, to encompass the death of his cousin Herbert; but it will be seen that my position was precarious.

I have already indicated that my plan rested, upon Martin's fear and Herbert's hero-worship, but there was a third element. These two young men were, in general build and appearance, surprisingly alike. At a distance, one might easily be mistaken for the other.

Taking them into my confidence, I disclosed the arrangement. It would not be necessary for Martin to subject himself to the terrors of such a vigil. On the designated night, immediately after dinner, they should go to their respective rooms; and lest either of them be intruded upon to disclose the trick — Martin should make it clear that he wanted no interruptions. Herbert should dress himself in Martin's clothes, and Martin in Herbert's. To avoid a waste of time in resuming identities when the vigil was over (I suggested), Herbert should pack a suit of his and one of Martin's own clothes in a bag, and give it to Martin. This Martin should strap on the rear of Herbert's motor-bicycle, and immediately set out on the bicycle, by a back lane, for the rectory. At the appropriate time Herbert should set out for the Governor's Room, taking Martin's keys and going through the instructions as set down by the Starberth tradition.

This, it is to be understood, is what I told them to do. My own plans were different; but let me proceed. At just twelve o'clock Herbert was to leave the Governor's Room; and Martin, having changed into his own clothes at the rectory and driven back at this time, should be waiting for him, with the motor-bicycle, in the road before the prison. Whereupon Herbert would deliver to his cousin the keys, the lamp, and the written proof of the vigil, and Martin should return afoot to the Hall. Herbert should take the motor-bicycle, drive to the rectory, change his clothes, and also return — apparently after having taken only a drive through the countryside to relieve his feelings on the night of his cousin's ordeal.

My own design, I need not say, was: first, to provide an absolute and undeniable alibi for myself; and, second, to make the murder of Martin seem the work of Herbert. To this end I played strongly on family pride, which is in its own way a very admirable sentiment. I suggested that, even though the strict letter of the ordeal were broken, its spirit could be preserved. Herbert could open the iron box inside the vault, but he must not examine any of its contents. He must, instead, put them all into his pocket, and deliver them to Martin when they met at midnight outside the prison. Returning to the Hall, Martin could examine them at his leisure. If, on the morrow, Mr. Payne protested that he had removed from the iron box in the vault anything which should not be removed, Martin could credibly plead a blunder. A harmless blunder, since his conduct had in any event proved the purpose of the ordeal, viz. that he had spent the hour in the Governor's Room.

My own course of action was clear. When Martin arrived at the rectory not later than nine-thirty, he could be disposed of there. I regretted that I could not make his death entirely painless; but a blow from an iron bar would render him unconscious while the neck was broken and the other injuries prepared. He could then be conveyed without suspicion in my car to the Hag's Nook, and arranged under the wall. The almanac had prophesied dark and wet weather, which proved to be a true prediction. After doing this, I should repair to Dr. Fell's. Having already suggested a party to watch the window of the Governor's Room, I felt that I could have no better alibi. When-at midnight-the light was extinguished in the Governor's Room, exactly on time, the uneasiness of the watchers would be set at rest. They would decide that Martin had come safely through his vigil. Shortly thereafter I should take my leave. Herbert, I knew, would wait patiently before the prison for as long as I liked, since he expected his cousin; and he would not let himself be seen.

The longer I delayed, the better. When I left Dr. Fell's I should leave my car and join Herbert. I should inform him that, unfortunately, in my absence from the rectory his cousin had drunk himself into a bad state — a statement which his conduct would admirably bear out — and that it was necessary for Herbert to accompany me there and assist in getting Martin on his feet before Miss Starberth grew alarmed.

With the keys, the lamp, and the contents of the iron box, he would return with me to the rectory. There was no need for subterfuge in his case; a bullet would suffice. Later on in the night I could safely return to the prison and make sure that Herbert had overlooked nothing. I had tried to find an excuse for causing him to open the balcony door, but I feared lest he grow suspicious, and determined to accomplish this result myself.

What actually happened I need scarcely recapitulate. Although in one instance (which I shall indicate) my calculations went awry. I think I may say that presence of mind rescued me from a dangerous situation. It was only chance which defeated me. Herbert was seen by the butler while he was packing the change of clothes in the bag; this indicated flight. Martin — whom they thought to be Herbert — was seen driving away, down a back lane, on the motor-bicycle; another indication of flight. Miss Starberth happened to come out into the hall (unforeseen chance) when Herbert, posing as Martin, was leaving the house. But he was seen only from the rear, at a distance and in dim light; when addressed, he merely mumbled something to simulate drunkenness, and thus escaped undetected. Not once were either of these two directly addressed or confronted when assuming the identities of each other. When Budge took up the bicycle-lamp to Martin's room, where Herbert waited, he did not give it to anyone, as he has remarked; he merely left it outside the door. When Budge, in going to obtain the bicycle-lamp, Saw Martin on the bicycle, it was in the obscurity of night riding away.

I applied lethal measures to Martin. I confess that it was with a hesitation that I did so, for he was almost tearfully wringing my hand and thanking me for rescuing him from what he dreaded most. But a sudden blow, when he was bending over the spirits-decanter, and I felt stimulated to my work. He was a very light weight. I am counted a powerful man, and I had not the slightest difficulty later. A rear lane, behind Yew Cottage, took me to the vicinity of the prison; I arranged the body under the balcony and beside the well, and returned to Dr. Fell's. Though I had toyed with the idea of driving the spikes of the well through the body, as a more realistic detail and to confirm the ancient tale of Anthony's death, I abandoned it as being a trifle too apt, a trifle too studied a vindication of the Starberth curse.

My only fear was now that Herbert should get out of the house safely. Without wishing to speak ill of the dead, I think I may say that he was a dull, cloddish fellow, not overquick in an emergency. He had even been backward in taking up my plan, having several strong and almost bitter arguments with Martin about it…. In any event, Dr. Fell tells me that, while waiting in his garden for the stroke of eleven, I overreached myself. My agitation, and my somewhat inessential question, "Where is Herbert?" at the critical period of the wait, caused him some speculation; but I dare assert that I had been through a period of strong emotional tension, and such manifestations were only to have been expected.

I now can discuss another effort of vile and devilish chance to overthrow me. I refer, of course, to the ten minute difference in the clocks. For some time I have puzzled as to why, since Herbert shut off his lamp ten minutes too soon and thus almost precipitated catastrophe — I have puzzled, I say, as to why he had arrived in the Governor's Room almost on the stroke of the real eleven say, o'clock. But I saw my answer anticipated, by Dr. Fell's questioning of the servants at the Hall. Herbert carried a watch which was fast. But while he was waiting in Martin's room he not unnaturally kept his eyes on the clock there. He had ordered the housemaid to set all the clocks right, according to his own time, and he assumed she had done so. There was, as Dr. Fell discovered, a large clock with the right time in Martin's room. Thus Herbert left the Hall by the right time in the Governor's Room he had only his watch, and he left by the wrong time.

At this point, through no fault of my own reasoning, but due sheerly to chance, the young American (for whom I have the highest respect) had been roused to a dangerous pitch of emotional tension. He determined on a dash across the meadow. I tried to dissuade him; it would have been fatal had he run into Herbert leaving the prison, would have proved my own undoing. Seeing, therefore that it was useless to stop him, I followed. The spectacle of a hatless clergyman pounding through a thunderstorm like a boy at a country frolic did not go unobserved by Dr. Fell, but my mind was on other matters. And I saw running what I had hoped for, and what was only natural — he was running towards the Hag's Nook, and not towards the gate of the prison.

Thereupon ensued the inspiration upon which I cannot pride myself, since it is a part of my character and no development of my own. I perceived how this danger could be turned into an advantage. I ran-as was natural for a man with nothing on his conscience — towards the prison gate. I had carefully cautioned Herbert that, while he must show his light in going into the prison, he must under no circumstances show it in going out; some stranger might observe him meeting Martin in the lane, and wonder. It was timed with an accuracy I can only regard as the fruit of my own labours. What with the night and the rain, he American was lost; and I had ample time to meet Herbert. I made sure he had the documents. I told him briefly standing there in the wild night, that he had miscalculated — happy invention! — that he was ten minutes too early, and Martin had not yet left the rectory. I told him further that the suspicions of the watchers were aroused and that they were all about us. He must hurry back to the rectory on foot, and by devious ways. I was genuinely afraid that he might show his light, so I jerked it from his hand, intending to get rid of it in the wood.

But another ray of imaginative insight showed me a better plan. Save by flashes of lightning, the American could see nothing. I therefore smashed the lamp with my foot, and in hurrying to join him, I simply dropped it near the wall. it is in such crises as these that one's brain amazes one with the quickness and finely wrought artistry of its conceptions.

I had now nothing more to fear. Herbert would go afoot. it was impossible that the American should avoid finding Martin's body, but, if he did not, I was prepared to stumble upon it. Whereupon I possessing the only automobile within reach, would be dispatched to Chatterham for either the doctor or the police. I should have ample time to anticipate Herbert at the rectory.

Need I say that so it worked out? I had a more than human task to do that night, but I had set myself to it coolly; and, once I had killed Martin, that deed might have impelled me by its inexplicable stimulus to a dozen others. Before getting Dr. Markley — as I later told the chief constable — I stopped at the rectory, quite naturally, for my raincoat.

I had been a trifle delayed, and I was scarcely a second before Herbert. It would have been more prudent to have come close to him and fired against his body, as conducive to less noise; but the rectory is isolated, without much danger of a revolver-shot being overheard; and it seemed, at that moment more sporting to stand at a distance and shoot him between the eyes.

I then put on my raincoat and drove back to the prison with Dr. Markley.

All our labours were over by one o'clock. I had, then, several hours before dawn to complete my arrangements. Never have I felt so impelled to tidy up everything, as one takes pleasure in meticulously tidying up a room. I could have concealed Herbert's body — at least for the time being — in the cellar where I had hidden the bicycle, the valise, and certain implements e had used on Martin. But I must go to bed with my house (so to speak) swept and garnished. Besides, I had wished to fix the murder of Martin Starberth on his cousin, and e must overlook no chance.

All that I did, I did that night. It was not heavy work, since the body was so light. Knowing my way so thoroughly, I did not even need a lamp. So many times I had taken solitary walks through the prison — standing on its walls (often, I fear, seen) — standing on its walls, I say, moving through its historic corridors with some apt quotation on my lips — that I knew my way in the dark. With the Starberth keys in my possession, I now had access to the Governor's Room. For a long time I had been uncertain as to whether or not the door to the balcony had ever been locked; in any case (as I have indicated) it could be unlocked. I did this, and my plan was complete.

One thing more. The iron box containing the documents in the vault I later dropped into the well. I did this because I still suspected (nay, I dare say feared) the diabolical cleverness of Timothy, whom I had killed. I feared another document, perhaps, a secret compartment; I wished to be sure.

It amuses me to think that last night I was almost caught. I became suspicious of those conferences at Dr. Fell's, and I watched, suitably armed. Some one tried to intercept me and I fired; I was relieved to learn today that it was only Budge, the butler. Earlier in this narrative I stated that I would be frank; I withdraw that statement now. There is one point upon which I cannot be frank, even knowing that in the next few minutes e must put a revolver to my temple and pull the trigger. Sometimes, at night, I have seen faces. Last night I thought I saw one, too, and momentarily it unnerved me. I will not discuss it. Such matters disrupt the nice logic of my plans. This is all I can bear to say.

And now, gentlemen who will read this, I have nearly done. My dealings with my friend the diamond salesman have been satisfactorily completed — not too often, lest I rouse suspicion-over a period of years. I was prepared. When, as a climax to the buffetings of evil chance, I received a letter from my "uncle" that he was visiting England for the first time in ten years, I could accept it with quiet resignation. in brief- I was weary. I had fought too long. I only wanted to leave Chatterham. So the news of my uncle's coming, with details, I told freely over all the country; as a subterfuge, I urged Sir Benjamin Arnold to meet him, knowing that he would refuse and insist that I go in his stead. I should have disappeared. For three years I had brooded so long over chance, and the malevolent turns it had dealt me, that a smoothly rounded life, without dangers, seemed no longer essential.

Dr. Fell has left me the pistol as a kindness. I do not want to use it yet. The man has too much power at Scotland Yard….

I wish, now, that I had shot him. When death is so close I think I could stand the idea of hanging, if it were only a few weeks away. The lamp gives not too much life, and I should have preferred to kill myself in a gentlemanly way, with a suitable flourish and at least more prepossessing clothes.

The fluency which has animated me in writing my sermons seems to desert my pen. Have I done blasphemy? A man of my parts, I tell myself, could not possibly do so, since my precepts — even though I am not ordained or likely to be ordained — were of the most approved order. Where was the flaw in my plans? I asked Dr. Fell. That was why I wanted to see him. His suspicion of me became a certainty when I, in a too rash moment, to cover up any doubts in their minds, said that Timothy Starberth on his death-bed had accused one of his own family of killing him. I was rash, but I was consistent. if I had been given the opportunity in this life, some chance for my brilliance — I am a great man. I can with difficulty bring myself to take the pen from the paper, because then I must pick up the other thing.

I hate everybody. I would wipe out the world if I could. Now I must shoot myself. I have blasphemed. I who have secretly not believed in God, I pray, I pray… God help me. I can write no more; I am sick.

THOMAS SAUNDERS.