The Judas Window

'That's all right,' grunted H.M., and continued without inflection: 'We were just havin’ a bit of a private conference. We -'

Fleming drew himself up. 'I had no intention of staying,' he said with dignity. 'I came here to get something off my mind. Now I've done it, my conscience is clear again and I don't deny I shall take some pleasure in saying good day. I'll only say that there seems to be something infernally queer going on hereabouts. By the way, doctor. If I do manage to see the Attorney-General, shall I tell him you're back and ready to testify?'

'Tell him anything you like,' Spencer answered quietly.

Fleming hesitated, opening his mouth as though he were bedevilled to the edge of an outburst; then he nodded with ponderous gravity, and made for the door. Although he did not know it, it was his own presence which had disturbed the room in a manner we could not analyse. H.M. got up and stood looking down at Spencer Hume.

'Aren't you rather glad you didn't go into court?' he asked quite mildly. 'Set your mind at rest. I'm not goin' to call you as a witness. In your present frame of mind, I wouldn't dare. But right here, strictly among ourselves, you faked that evidence, didn't you?'

The other studied this. 'I suppose you could call it that, in a way.'

'But why the blazes did you fake it?'

'Because Answell is guilty,' said the other.

And then I knew what the expression of his eyes reminded me of: it reminded me of James Answell himself, and of the same trapped sincerity with which Answell had faced accusations. It made even H.M. blink. H.M. gravely made a gesture which I could not interpret; he kept his eyes fixed on Spencer as he did so.

'The Judas window means nothin' to you?' he insisted, with another incomprehensible gesture at which Spencer peered doubtfully.

'I swear it does not'

'Then listen to me,' said H.M. 'You've got two courses open to you. You can clear out. Or you can go to court this afternoon. If Walt Storm's waived you as a witness, and if you've really got a medical certificate for yesterday, you can't be arrested unless Balmy Rankin cuts up awful rough - which I don't think he will. If I were you, I'd go to court. You may hear something that will interest you, and will make you want to speak out. But you ought to know where the real piece of feather, the genuine one, is now. There are two parts of that missin' piece. Half of the missin' piece is stuck in the teeth of a cross-bow that I'm goin' to produce in court. The other half was left in the Judas window. If I see the tide startin' to swing against me, I warn you I'll put you into the box no matter how dangerous you are. But I don't think that'll be necessary. That's all I've got to say, because I'm goin' back now.'

We followed him out, leaving Spencer sitting by the table with the dying firelight red on his face, pondering. It was at this time yesterday that we had first heard of the Judas window. Before an hour had passed it was to be shown in all its hidden obviousness; it was to loom as large and practical as a sideboard, though of slightly different dimensions: and it was to swallow up Courtroom Number One. For the moment we knew only that the room was locked.

On the landing Evelyn seized H.M.'s arm. 'There's one thing at least,' she said through her teeth, 'you can tell. One little question that's so easy it never occurred to met to think of it before -'

'Uh-huh. Well?' enquired H.M.

'What is the shape of the Judas window?'

'Square,' said H.M. promptly. 'Mind that step.'

XVI

IPut On This Dye Myself

'SHALL be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.' 'Ar,' said the witness.

The witness did not chew gum; but the continual restless movement of his jaws, the occasional sharp clicking sound he made with his tongue to emphasize a point, gave the impression that he was occupied with an exhaustless wad of it. He had a narrow, suspicious face, which alternately expressed good nature and defiance; a very thin neck; and hair which seemed to be the colour and consistency of liquorice. When he wished to be particularly emphatic, he would jerk his head sideways in speaking, as though he were doing a trick with the invisible chewing-gum; and turn his eye sternly on the questioner. Also, his tendency to address everyone except H.M. as 'your lordship' may have been veiled awe - or it may have been a sign of the budding Communist tendencies indicated by the curl of his lip and the hammer-and-sickle design in his militant tie.

H.M. plunged in.

'Your full name's Horace Carlyle Grabell, and you live at 85 Benjamin Street, Putney?'

'That's right,' agreed the witness with cheerful defensiveness, as though he were daring anyone to doubt this.

'Did you use to work in the block of service-flats in Duke Street, D'Orsay Chambers, where the accused lives?'

'That's right.'

'What was your job there?'

'I was an Extra Cleaner-Up.'

'What's an Extra Cleaner-Up, exactly?'

'It's like this. It's the mess they makes, that the chambermaids don't like. When their ash-trays gets full, they empties 'em into the waste-paper baskets. They sticks their old razor-blades anywhere they can, to get 'em out of sight. They leaves things about - well, you know what I mean. Extra Cleaner-Up, especially when there was parties.'

'Were you working there round about the 3rd of January last?'

'On that date,' corrected Horace Carlyle Grabell, with a pounce. 'On that date, I was.'

'Yes. Did you know the deceased, Mr Hume?'

'I hadn't the honour of his personal acquaintance -'

'Just confine yourself to answering the question,' said the judge sharply.

'Very good, your Lordship,' said the witness smoothly, and his jaw extended at the same time his upper lip drew away from his teeth. 'I was about to say: except once when we got very matey, and he gave me ten pounds to keep my mouth shut about his being a thief.'

Several times before a recorder would have had the opportunity of writing the word 'sensation'. This one, which could hardly be called a full-fledged sensation, since nobody knew what it meant, was all the more pronounced because of the casual way in which Grabell spoke. The judge slowly took off his spectacles, disengaging them from under his tie-wig, folded them up, and contemplated him.

'You quite understand what you are saying?' enquired Mr Justice Rankin.

'Oh, very good, your Lordship.'

'I wished to make sure of that. Proceed, Sir Henry.'

'We'll try to make certain of it, my lord,' growled H.M. 'Now then. How'd you come to know the deceased so well by sight?'

'I used to work at another place - not far away. Every week, Saturday mornings, they used to take the week's takings up to the Capital Counties Bank in a leather bag. I went along; kind of a bodyguard, you see; not that it was ever needed. The deceased, he didn't actually do nothing; I mean, he didn't take the money across the counter or nothing. He would just come out of that little door at the back of the bank, and stand with his hands behind his back, and nod to Mr Perkins who brought the money, like as if he was giving his blessing to it.'

'How many times d'ye think you saw him there?'

'Oh, umpteen.'

'A dozen, do you think?'

'More'n that,' insisted the witness, shaking his head sceptically and drawing the air through a hollow tooth. 'Every Saturday for six months or so.'

'Now, where were you on the morning of Friday, January 3rd, last?'

'Cleaning out the dustbin in 3c’ answered Grabell promptly. 'That's Mr Answell's flat.' He made a sign of quick and saturnine friendliness towards the prisoner, pushing his fist under his own chin as though to keep it up; and instantly checked this with an air of portentous solemnity.