Bruce Alexander - Person or Persons Unknown

“And while you are about it, give them the name ‘Yos-sel,’ and ask them, do they know him, and have they seen him. This name was given me by four women, all of whom knew last night’s victim by sight and one of whom had seen him and the victim quarreling earlier last night. He was described by two as a ‘foreigner’ and by two others specifically as a ‘Jew’ — though he has no beard, and his garments are not such as a Jew might wear. All four agreed he is the sort who robs prostitutes of their earnings. That was likely the basis of his quarrel with the victim, whose name, by the bye, was Priscilla Tarkin, better known as Poll.’”

At this point. Sir John paused. Then said he: “It comes to me that at least some of you may know this fellow Yossel by reputation and by sight. Would you give me an ‘aye’ if you do?”

The men exchanged glances, as if seeking permission each from the other to speak out. As a result, the response was delayed somewhat but came as a resounding affirmative when at last it was heard.

“Ah!” said Sir John. “It appears Yossel is well known to most of you. Then by all means, bring him in if you see him. Detain him for questioning. In all truth, I cannot yet call him a suspect, yet his name was given me, and it is at present the only one that we have. He is said to go armed with a knife, so treat him with the proper degree of caution — though I doubt not that each of you is capable of handling him.”

Again he paused — but just long enough to offer a nod in dismissal. “That will be all, gentlemen,” said he. “I thank you for your time, and I do put my faith in you.”

With that, he resumed his seat behind his desk, folded his hands before him, and waited thus until we had all filed from his chambers. I ascended the stairs to our kitchen, secure in my belief that when next I came down again, the villainous Yossel would be apprehended, locked up in the strong room, and awaiting Sir John’s pleasure as to when and where to interrogate him.

Alas, however, it was not so. For when, next morning, I answered Sir John’s summons and returned, I found the strong room empty and Mr. Millhouse arrived, pacing up and down, looking left and right. He recognized me immediately and came to me forthwith.

“Ah,” said he, “young Mr. Proctor, is it not?”

I agreed that it was.

“Perhaps I’ve come too early for my appointment with Sir John. He asked only that I come by in the morning. I sent in word by that gentleman there” — he ducked his head in Mr. Marsden’s direction — “that I’d arrived. But I was told simply to wait. If this is an inconvenient hour, I should be happy to return later. I wonder,” said he. hesitating, “could you possibly tell him that for me?”

“I should be happy to do so,” said I, bobbing at the waist in a tight little bow, “He will admit me to deliver your message. He does sometimes prefer to sit alone and consider those matters that weigh upon him.”

“I quite understand,” said he, returning my bow most gracefully.

“If you will excuse me,” said I.

Turning, I left him where he stood and made straight for the door to Sir John’s chambers. Contrary to what I had said to Mr. Millhouse, I was quite confident that I should be invited in — and I was. Closing the door quietly behind me, I made swiftly across the room to the desk. Sir John leaned across it in a conspiratorial manner.

“He’s here now,” whispered Sir John. “Millhouse, I mean.”

“I know,” said I. “He spoke with me out in the corridor.”

“We must think of something for you to do, some work for you here whilst I put questions to him.”

“Those boxes in the comer,” said I. “They’re filled with papers. I’ll go through them and divide them in piles.”

“Perfect,” said Sir John, quiet as he could. “Call him in now.”

I opened the door and did so, then swiftly did I retreat to the biggest of the boxes, threw it open, and scattered papers about. Let Mr. Millhouse make what he will of it, said I to myself.

This subterfuge, though perhaps not absolutely necessary, was occasioned by Sir John’s desire to have an observer present during those interrogations he deemed to be of potential importance. Sir John believed that one who told lies must needs always give some indication of it. If not in his voice, then in his eyes, his manner of breathing, even in the posture he assumes on a chair. “A man might even tell the truth,” he had said, “and betray worry over his answer — even worry over the question. When I know what worries a man, I shall know better how to direct my interrogations.”

And so it was that when Mr. Millhouse entered, he found me in a comer, worrying over a great stack of papers. That comer afforded me an angle from which I might view his face as he would converse with Sir John.

“Come in, come in, sir,” said the magistrate. “Sit down, please. Perhaps you can tell me a bit more of poor Poll’s background, her visitors, and so on.”

“Perhaps I can,” said Mr. Millhouse. He looked round him then. His glance seemed to linger upon me. At last he eased down into a chair which stood directly opposite Sir John; only the desk separated them.

“Oh … I hope the presence of Jeremy will not disturb you greatly. I have given him a task of sorting through past records of the Bow Street Court. The Lord Chief Justice has demanded a survey of us, and it must be done.” “No, no, that’s quite all right.”

“Very good. Now, Mr. Millhouse, your wife was quite forthcoming regarding Priscilla Tarkin’s unfortunate circumstances and sterling character, and so on, and while Tm sure what she said was quite accurate, so far as it went, it was not the sort of information likely to help our inquiry into the death of the poor woman. I was hoping that you, as a man and as Polly’s neighbor, might have been more observant of her habits, her commerce, and so on.” “Well, I’ll tell you what I can, of course.” “How long were you acquainted with her?” “The entire six months we have been here in London.” “And how was it that you became aware of her — what shall we call it? — her line of work? Surely she herself didn’t inform you immediately?”

“No, certainly not. I would say that our knowledge came only gradually.”

He seemed to grow more tense. His hands, which he had rested on his knees, no longer rested; they twitched a bit as his fingers examined the seams of his breeches. “Not long after our arrival, perhaps a month, we were wakened quite late at night by an awful row next door. The wall between her place and our own seems quite thin. In any case, there were cries and shouts, and one of the voices distinctly male. An accusation of theft was made and denied. My wife urged me to go next door to see what I could do to settle the matter, or at least calm them down. I was just pulling on my clothes when suddenly we heard the door slam and loud footsteps departing. Well, one naturally wonders at a male guest well after midnight, or perhaps one assumes the obvious; I know I did. My wife was unwilling to do so, and so next day she approached Poll in a manner most sympathetic and heard from her the story she gave you yestermorn. She had already formed an affection for the woman; her pity for her now deepened it.”

“But you said you came upon this gradually,” said Sir John. “There must have been hints earlier.”

“Well, there were. First of all, she was a widow, living alone, and had no means of support that I could tell. She slept late in the morning. And I had already spied her out on the street in the evening, loitering about in such a way as to make herself available to conversation with Strang-ers.

“I see. Now, if I may take you back to that occasion when you and your wife were wakened by the row, let me ask you this: Was the accusation of theft which you mentioned made in her voice? I know that women of the streets are often preyed upon by thieves of every sort. We are now searching for one who made a practice of robbing prostitutes of their earnings. He was seen quarreling with her earlier on the night she was murdered. Did the male voice you heard give indication of a foreign accent?”