Ordeal by Innocence

‘Hester–Hester–my dear.’ Argyle’s voice was distressed.

Startled, the girl’s hand flew to her lips. She flushed and spoke with the sudden awkwardness of youth.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean–I forgot–I–I oughtn’t to have said a thing like that–not now that he’s–I mean, now that it’s all over and…and…’

‘Over and done with,’ said Argyle. ‘All of this is in the past. I try–we all try–to feel that the boy must be regarded as an invalid. One of Nature’s misfits. That, I think, expresses it best.’ He looked at Calgary. ‘You agree?’

‘No,’ said Calgary.

There was a moment’s silence. The sharp negative had taken both his listeners aback. It had come out with almost explosive force. Trying to mitigate its effect, he said awkwardly:

‘I–I’m sorry. You see, you don’t understand yet.’

‘Oh!’ Argyle seemed to consider. Then he turned his head towards his daughter. ‘Hester, I think perhaps you’d better leave us–’

‘I’m not going away! I’ve got to hear–to know what it’s all about.’

‘It may be unpleasant–’

Hester cried out impatiently:

‘What does it matter what other awful things Jacko may have done? That’s all over.’

Calgary spoke quickly.

‘Please believe me–there is no question of anything that your brother has done–quite the opposite.’

‘I don’t see–’

The door at the far end of the room opened and the young woman whom Calgary had just glimpsed earlier came back into the room. She wore an outdoor coat now, and carried a small attaché-case.

She spoke to Argyle.

‘I’m going now. Is there anything else–’

There was a momentary hesitation on Argyle’s part (he would always hesitate, Calgary thought) and then he laid a hand on her arm and drew her forward.

‘Sit down, Gwenda,’ he said. ‘This is–er–Dr Calgary. This is Miss Vaughan, who is who is–’ Again he paused as though in doubt. ‘Who has been my secretary for some years now.’ He added: ‘Dr Calgary has come to tell us something–or–ask us something–about Jacko–’

‘To tell you something,’ Calgary interrupted. ‘And although you don’t realize it, every moment you are making it more difficult for me.’

They all looked at him in some surprise, but in Gwenda Vaughan’s eyes, he saw a flicker of something that looked like comprehension. It was as though he and she were momentarily in alliance, as though she had said: ‘Yes–I know how difficult the Argyles can be.’

She was an attractive young woman, he thought, though not so very young–perhaps thirty-seven or eight. A well-rounded figure, dark hair and eyes, a general air of vitality and good health. She gave the impression of being both competent and intelligent.

Argyle said with a frosty touch in his manner: ‘I am not at all aware of making things difficult for you, Dr Calgary. Such was certainly not my intention. If you will come to the point–’

‘Yes, I know. Forgive me for saying what I did. But it is the persistence with which you–and your daughter–are continually underlining that things are now over–done with–finished. They are not over. Who is it who said: “Nothing is ever settled until–”’

‘“Until it is settled right,”’ Miss Vaughan finished for him. ‘Kipling.’

She nodded at him encouragingly. He felt grateful to her.

‘But I’ll come to the point,’ Calgary went on. ‘When you’ve heard what I have to say, you’ll understand my–my reluctance. More, my distress. To begin with, I must mention a few things about myself. I am a geophysicist, and have recently formed part of an Antarctic expedition. I only returned to England a few weeks ago.’

‘The Hayes Bentley Expedition?’ asked Gwenda.

He turned towards her gratefully.

‘Yes. It was the Hayes Bentley Expedition. I tell you this to explain my background, and also to explain that I have been out of touch for about two years with–with current events.’

She went on helping him:

‘You mean–with such things as murder trials?’

‘Yes, Miss Vaughan, that is exactly what I mean.’

He turned to Argyle.

‘Please forgive me if this is painful, but I must just check over with you certain times and dates. On November 9th, the year before last, at about six o’clock in the evening, your son, Jack Argyle (Jacko to you), called here and had an interview with his mother, Mrs Argyle.’

‘My wife, yes.’

‘He told her that he was in trouble and demanded money. This had happened before–’

‘Many times,’ said Leo with a sigh.

‘Mrs Argyle refused. He became abusive, threatening. Finally he flung away and left, shouting out that he was coming back and that she had “jolly well got to stump up”. He said, “You don’t want me to go to prison, do you?” and she replied, “I am beginning to believe that it may be the best thing for you.”’

Leo Argyle moved uneasily.

‘My wife and I had talked it over together. We were–very unhappy about the boy. Again and again we had come to his rescue, tried to give him a fresh start. It had seemed to us that perhaps the shock of a prison sentence–the training–’ His voice died away. ‘But please go on.’

Calgary went on:

‘Later that evening, your wife was killed. Attacked with a poker and struck down. Your son’s fingerprints were on the poker, and a large sum of money was gone from the bureau drawer where your wife had placed it earlier. The police picked up your son in Drymouth. The money was found on him, most of it was in five-pound notes, one of which had a name and address written on it which enabled it to be identified by the bank as one that had been paid out to Mrs Argyle that morning. He was charged and stood his trial.’ Calgary paused. ‘The verdict was wilful murder.’

It was out–the fateful word. Murder…Not an echoing word; a stifled word, a word that got absorbed into the hangings, the books, the pile carpet…The word could be stifled–but not the act…

‘I have been given to understand by Mr Marshall, the solicitor for the defence, that your son protested his innocence when arrested, in a cheery, not to say cocksure manner. He insisted that he had a perfect alibi for the time of the murder which was placed by the police at between seven and seven-thirty. At that time, Jack Argyle said, he was hitch-hiking into Drymouth, having been picked up by a car on the main road from Redmyn to Drymouth about a mile from here just before seven. He didn’t know the make of the car (it was dark by then) but it was a black or dark blue saloon driven by a middle-aged man. Every effort was made to trace this car and the man who drove it, but no confirmation of his statement could be obtained, and the lawyers themselves were quite convinced that it was a story hastily fabricated by the boy and not very cleverly fabricated at that…

‘At the trial the main line of defence was the evidence of psychologists who sought to prove that Jack Argyle had always been mentally unstable. The judge was somewhat scathing in his comments on this evidence and summed up dead against the prisoner. Jack Argyle was sentenced to imprisonment for life. He died of pneumonia in prison six months after he began to serve his sentence.’

Calgary stopped. Three pairs of eyes were fastened on him. Interest and close attention in Gwenda Vaughan’s,, suspicion still in Hester’s. Leo Argyle’s seemed blank. Calgary said, ‘You will confirm that I have stated the facts correctly?’

‘You are perfectly correct,’ said Leo, ‘though I do not yet see why it has been necessary to go over painful facts which we are all trying to forget.’

‘Forgive me. I had to do so. You do not, I gather, dissent from the verdict?’