16 - Barbara's Message. As A Thief In The Night by R. Austin Freeman.

16 - Barbara's Message. As A Thief In The Night by R. Austin Freeman.  
As one of the many stories written by R. Austin Freeman this book includes the most interesting character of Dr. Thorndyke. He commands the skills of a doctor, a lawyer and an investigator all rolled up into one remarkable man. In this case he must solve a murder mystery perpetrated by a most unusual criminal. There is also love and intrigue at play involving the other main characters

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter sixteen of As a Thief in the Night by R.
Austin Freeman. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain.
Barbara's message the routine of modern life creates the habit
of dividing the day into a series of definite phases,
which we feel impelled to recognize, even in circumstances to
which they have no real application. Normally, the day is

(00:24):
brought formally to an end by retirement to bed, a
process that also normally leads to a lapse into unconsciousness,
the emergence from which marks the beginning of another day. So,
in mere obedience to the call of habit, I had
gone to bed, though in spite of bodily fatigue, there
had been no hint of any tendency to sleep. But

(00:45):
I might have saved myself the trouble. True, my tired
limbs stretched themselves out restfully, and mere muscular fatigue slowly
wore off. But my brain continued uselessly and chaotically to
pursue its activities, only the more feverishly. When the darkness
and the silence closed, the avenues of impressions from without,

(01:06):
hour after hour crept by with incredible slowness, marked at
each quarter by the gentle undertone of the treasury clock,
voicing its announcement as it seemed in polite protest. Surely
there was never a clock that hinted so delicately and
unobtrusively at the passage of the irrevocable minutes that perish
for us and are reckoned. Other sound, there was none

(01:28):
to break the weary silence of the night. But by
the soft, mellow chime I was kept informed of the
birth of another day and the progress of its infancy,
which crawled so tardily in the wake of my impatience.
At last, when half past four had struck, I threw
back the bed clothes, and, stepping out, switched on the
light and put a match to the gas under the kettle.

(01:50):
I had no occasion to hurry, but rather sought to
make my preparations with study deliberation, in spite of which
I had shaved, washed and dressed, and was sitting down
to my frugal breakfast when the alarm clock startled me
by blurting out with preposterous urgency its unnecessary reminder. It
had just turned a quarter past five when I set

(02:10):
forth to take my way on foot towards Kensington. No
conveyance was necessary, nor would it have been acceptable. For
though throughout the wearisome hours that I had spent in bed,
my thoughts had never ceased to revolve around the problem
that Thorndyke had set, I still seemed to have the
whole matter to debate afresh. What should I say to Barbara?

(02:31):
How should I break to her the news that my
own appointed agent had made an undissembled accusation and was
holding over her an unconcealed menace. I knew well enough
what her attitude would be. She would hold me blameless,
and she would confront the threat against her reputation, even
against her liberty, calmly and unafraid. I had no fear

(02:52):
for her, either of panic or recrimination. But how could
I excuse myself? What could I say in extenuation of
Thorndyke's secret hostile maneuver. The hands of the church clock
were approaching half past six when I turned the corner
and came in sight of the entrance to her flat,
And at the same moment I was made to realize

(03:12):
the imminence and the actuality of the danger which threatened her.
In a narrow street nearly opposite to the flat, A
closed car was drawn up in such a position that
I could move out into the main road either to
the right or left without turning round. And a glance
at the alert driver and a watchful figure inside, both
of whom looked at me attentively as I passed at

(03:34):
once aroused my suspicions, And when as I crossed to
the flat, I observed a tall man perambulating the pavement,
those suspicions were confirmed, for this was no brown hatted neophyte.
The hard, athletic figure and the calm, observant face were unmistakable.
I had seen too many plainclothed policemen to miss the

(03:54):
professional characteristics, and this man also took an obtrusive note
of me. As my destiny nation became apparent, the church
clock was chiming half past six. As I pressed the
button of the electric bell by Barbara's front door. In
the silence that still wrapped the building, I could hear
the bell ring noisily, no far away, and listened intently

(04:15):
for some sounds of movement within. The maid would not
arrive for another half hour, but I knew that Barbara
was usually up at this hour, but I could hear
no sign of anyone stirring in the flat. Then I
rang again, and yet again, and as there was still
no sound from within, a vague uneasiness began to creep
over me. Could Barbara be away from home? That might

(04:37):
be as well in some respects. It might give time
for the discovery of the error, and save some unpleasantness.
On the other hand, But at this moment I made
a singular discovery myself. The latchkey was in the door.
That was a most remarkable circumstance. It was so very
unlike the methodical self possessed Barbara. But probably it had

(04:59):
been left there by the man. At any rate, there
it was. And as I had now rung four times
without result, I turned the key, pushed open the door,
and entered. When I had closed the door behind me,
I stood for some seconds in the dark hall, listening.
There was not a sound. I was astonished that the
noise of the bell had not aroused Barbara. Indeed, I

(05:20):
was surprised that she was not already up and about.
Still vaguely uneasy, I felt for the light switch, and
when I had turned it on, stole along the hall
and peered into the sitting room. Of course, there was
no one in it, nor was there any one in
the kitchen or in the spare bedroom. Finally, I went
to Barber's bedroom and knocked loudly, at the same time

(05:41):
calling her by name, but still there was no response
or sound of movement. At last, after one or two
more trials, I turned the handle, and, opening the door
a few inches, looked in. The room was nearly dark,
but the cold land light of the early morning was
beginning to show on the blind, and in that dim
twilight I could just make out a figure lying on

(06:01):
the bed. With a sudden thrill of alarm, I stepped
into the room and switched on the light, and then
I stood rooted to the spot, as if I had
been turned into stone. She was there, lying half dressed
upon the bed and as still as a bronze effigy
upon a tomb. From where I stood, I could see
that her right hand, resting on the bed lightly held

(06:22):
a hypodermic syringe, and that her left sleeve was rolled
up nearly to the shoulder. And when approaching stealthily on
tiptoe I drew nearer, I saw upon the bare arm
a plainly visible puncture, and close by it a little
blister like swelling. The first glance had made plain the
dreadful truth. I had realized instantly that she was dead.

(06:44):
Yet still, instinctively, I put my fingers to her wrist
in the forlorn hope of detecting some lingering trace of life.
And then any possible doubt was instantly dispelled, for the
surface was stone cold, and the arm as rigid as
that of a marble statue. Not only was she dead,
she had been lying here dead, while I, in my
bed in the temple, had lain listening to the chimes

(07:06):
and waiting for the hour when I could come to her.
For quite a long time I stood by the bed,
looking down on her, in utter stupefication. So overwhelming was
the catastrophe that for the moment my faculty seemed to
be paralyzed, my power of thought suspended in a trance
of amazement. I gazed at her, and, with the idle
irrelevancy of a dreamer, noted how young, how beautiful she looked,

(07:31):
how lissome and graceful was the pose of the figure,
How into the waxen face, with its drowsy eyes and
parted lips. There had come as something soft and youthful,
almost girlish, that had not been there during life. Dimly
and dreamily I wondered what the difference could be. Suddenly
my glance fell on the syringe that still rested in
her hand, and with that my faculties awoke. She had

(07:55):
killed herself. But why? Even as I asked myself the question,
the terrible, the incredible answer stole into my mind, only
to be indignantly cast out. But yet I lifted my
eyes from the calm, pallid face, so familiar and yet
so strange, and cast a scared glance round the room.
And then I observed for the first time a small

(08:16):
table near the bed, on which, beside a flat candle
stick containing the remains of a burnt out candle, lay
two unstamped letters. Stepping over to the table, I read
their superscriptions. One was addressed to me, the other to
Superintendent Miller C. I D. And both were in Barbara's handwriting.
With a shaking hand, I snatched up the one addressed

(08:38):
to me, tore open the envelope and draw of the letter.
And this is what I read, my dearest Ruper, This
letter is to bid you farewell. When you receive it,
you will curse and revile me, But I shall not
hear those curses. Now as I write, you are my
darling Rupert, and I am your dear friend Barbara. With

(08:58):
what will be when I am gone, I have no concern.
It would be futile to hope that any empty words
of mine could win your forgiveness. I have no such thought,
and do not even ask for pardon. When you think
of me in the future, it will be with hatred
and loathing. It cannot be otherwise. But I have no
part in the future. In the present, which runs out

(09:19):
with every word that I write. I love you, and
you at least are fond of me, and so it
will be to the end, which is now drawing near.
But though this which I write to you and love,
will be read by you in hatred, yet I have
a mind to let you know the whole truth, And
that truth can be summed up in three words. I
love you. I have always loved you, even when I

(09:41):
was a little girl and you were a boy. My
desire for you has been the constant, consuming passion of
my life, and to possess you for my own has
been the settled purpose from which I have never deviated.
But once, when I married Harold. As I grew up
from girlhood to womanhood, my love grew from girls to
a woman's passion, and my resolution became more fixed. I

(10:04):
meant to have you for my own. But there was Stella.
I could see that you worshiped her, and I knew
that I should never have you while she lived. I
was fond of poor Stella, but she stood as an
insuperable obstacle between you and me. And I suppose I
am not quite as other women. I am a woman
of a single purpose. Stella stood in the way of

(10:26):
that purpose. It was a terrible necessity, but it had
to be, And after all I seemed to have failed.
When Stella was gone, you went away, and I thought
I had lost you forever, for I could not follow you.
I knew that you had understood me, at least partly,
and that you had fled from me. Then I was

(10:46):
in despair. It seemed that I had dismissed poor Stella
to no purpose. For once I lost courage, and in
my loneliness, committed myself to a marriage with poor Harold.
It was a foolish lapse to have kept my courage
and lived in hope, as I realized almost as soon
as I had married him. But when you came back,

(11:07):
I could have killed myself, for I could see that
you were still the same old Rupert, and my love
flamed up more intensely than ever, And once more I
resolved that you should be my own, and so you
would have been in the end, But for doctor Thorndyke.
That was the fatal error that I fell into, the
error of undervaluing him. If I had only realized the

(11:28):
subtlety of that man, I would have made a serious
effort to deal with him. He should have had something
very different from the frivolous make believe that I sent him. Well, Rupert,
my darling, I have played my hand that I have lost,
but I have lost only by the merest mischance. As
I sit here with the ready filled syringe on the
table at my side, I am as confident as ever

(11:50):
that it was worth while. I regret nothing but the
bad luck that defeated skillful play, and the fact that you,
my dear one, have had to pay so large a
proportion my losings. I will say no more. You know
everything now, and it has been a melancholy pleasure to
have this little talk with you before making my exit.

(12:10):
Your loving friend, Barbara, I have just slipped the key
into the latch on the chance that you may come
to me early. From what Tony said, and when I
know of you, I think that is just possible. I
hope you may. I like to think that we may
meet for the last time alone. To say that this
astounding letter left me numb and stupefied with amazement would

(12:31):
be to express but feebly its effect on me. The
whole episode presented itself to me as a frightful dream
from which I should presently awaken and come back to
understandable and believable realities. For I know not how long
I stood, dazed by the shock, with my eyes riveted
on that calm, comely figure on the bed, trying to
grasp the incredible truth that this dead woman was Barbara,

(12:55):
that she had killed herself, and that she had murdered Stella,
murdered her callously, deliberately and with considered intent. Suddenly, the
deathly silence of the flat was broken by the sound
of an opening and then of a closing door. Then
a strong masculine voice was borne to my ears, saying
in a not unkindly tone, Now, my girl, you had

(13:16):
better run off to the kitchen and shut yourself in
on this, I roused, and, walking across to the door,
which was still ajar, went out into the hall, where
I confronted Superintendent Miller and barber's maid. Both stared at
me in astonishment, and the maid uttered a little cry
of alarm as she turned and hurried into the kitchen.
The Superintendent looked at me steadily and with obvious suspicion,

(13:38):
and after a moment or two, asked, gruffly, nodding at
the bedroom door, is missus Monkhouse in there? Missus Monkhouse
is dead? I answered, dead, he repeated, incredulously. Then, pushing
past me, he strode into the room, and as I followed,
I could hear him cursing furiously in a not very
low undertone. For a few moments, he stood looking down

(14:01):
on the corpse, gently touching the bare arm and apparently
becoming aware of its rigidity. Suddenly he turned and, glaring
fiercely at me, demanded, what is the meaning of this,
mister Mayfield? The meaning, I repeated, looking at him inquiringly. Yes,
how came you to let her do this, that is,
if she did it herself. I found her dead when

(14:23):
I arrived here, I explained, And when did you arrive here?
About half an hour ago? He shook his head and
rejoined in an ominously quiet tone. That won't do, sir.
The maid is only just come, and the dead woman
couldn't have let you in. I explained that I had
found the key in the outer door, but he made

(14:43):
no pretense of accepting the explanation. That is well enough,
said he, if you can prove that the key was
in the door. Otherwise it is a mere statement which
may or may not be true. The actual position is
that I have found you alone in this flat with
the body of a woman who has died of violent death.
You will have to account satisfactorily for your presence here

(15:03):
at this time in the morning, and for your movements
up to the time of your arrival here. The very equivocal,
not to say, a perilous position on which I suddenly
found myself, sir. To steady my wits, I realized instantly
how profoundly suspicious the appearances really were, and that if
I could not produce evidence of my recent arrival, I
should quite probably have to meet the charge of being

(15:25):
an accessory to the suicide, and an accessory to suicide
is an accessory to murder. It was a very serious position.
Have you seen your man yet? I asked the men
I mean, who were on observation duty outside, I have
seen them, but I haven't spoken to them. They are
waiting out on the landing. Now why do you ask,

(15:48):
because I think they saw me come in here. Ah, well,
we can see about that presently. Is that letter that
you have in your hand from missus Munkhouse, Because if
it is, I shall want to see it. I don't
want to show it unless it is necessary, and I
don't think it will be. There is a letter addressed
to you which will probably tell you all that you
need to know. He snatched up the letter and, tearing

(16:11):
it open, glanced through it rapidly. Then without comment, he
handed it to me. It was quite short and ran
as follows. Thursday one thirty five A m Mister Superintendent
Miller c I d. This is to inform you that
I alone am responsible for the death of my late husband,
Harold Monkhouse, and also for that of the late Miss

(16:32):
Stella Kene. I had no confidants or accomplices, and no
one was aware of what I had done. As my
own death will occur in about ten minutes from an
injection of morphine, which I shall administer to myself, this
statement may be taken as my dying declaration. I may
add that no one is aware of my intention to
take my life. Yours very truly, Barbara monkhouse Well, said Miller,

(16:58):
as I returned the letter to him. That supports your statement,
And if my men saw you into the flat, that
will dispose of the matter so far as a suicide
is concerned. But there is another question. It is evident
that she knew that a discovery had been made. Now
who told her? Was it you, mister Mayfield? No, I replied,
it was not. I found her dead when I arrived,

(17:20):
as I have told you. Do you know who did
tell her? I do not, and I am not disposed
to make any guesses. No, it's no use guessing. Still,
you know, mister Mayfield, you knew, and you came here
to tell her, and you know who knew besides yourself.
But there, he added, as we moved out into the hall,

(17:40):
it is no use going into that now. I've acted
like a fool, too punctilious by half. I oughtn't have
let her slip through my fingers. I should have acted
at once on doctor Thorndyke's hint without waiting for confirmation.
He was still speaking in an angry, reproachful tone, but
suddenly his manner changed, Looking at me critically but with

(18:01):
something of kindly sympathy, he said, it has been a
trying business for you, mister Mayfield, the whole scandalous affair,
and this must have given you a frightful shock. Though
I expect you would rather have it as it is
than as it ought to have been, but you don't
look any the better for it. He escorted me, politely
but definitely, to the outer door, and when he opened it,

(18:23):
I saw his two subordinates waiting on the landing, to
both of whom collectively Miller addressed the inquiry, did you
see mister Mayfield enter this flat? Yes, sir, was the
reply of one, confirmed by the other. He went up
the stairs at exactly half past six. Miller nodded and
wishing me good morning, beckoned to the two officers, and

(18:43):
as I turned to descend the stairs, I saw the
three enter and heard the door shut once more. In
the outer world, walking the gray, half lighted streets to
which the yet unextinguished lamp seemed only to impart an
added chill. My confused thoughts took up the tangled threads
at the point at which the Superintendent's appearance had broken
them off. But I could not get my ideas arranged

(19:04):
into any intelligible form, Each aspect of the complex tragedy
conflicted with all the others. The pitiful figure that I
had left lying on the bed made its appeal in
spite of the protest of reason, for the friendship of
a lifetime cannot easily be extinguished. In a moment, I
knew now that she was a wretch, a monster, And
when I reminded myself of what she had done, I

(19:27):
grudged the easy, painless death by which he had slipped
away so quietly from the wreckage that her incredible wickedness
had created. When I contrasted that death, a more gentle
lapsing into oblivion, with the long, cheerfully endured sufferings of
a brave, innocent little Stella, but could have cursed the
faithful friendship of Wallingford, which had let her escape from

(19:48):
the payment to the uttermost farthing of her hideous debt.
And yet the face that haunted me, the calm, peaceful,
waxen face, was the face of Barbara, my friend, almost
my sister, who had been so much to me, who
had loved me with that strange, tenacious, terrible passion. It
was very confusing, and the same inconsistency pervaded my thoughts

(20:10):
of Thorndyke. Unreasonably, I found myself thinking of him with
a certain repulsion, almost of dislike, as the cause of
this catastrophe. Yet my reason told me that he had
acted with the highest motives of justice, that he had
but sought retribution for Stella's sufferings and death, and of
those of poor harmless herald Moncous, that as a barrister,

(20:32):
even as a citizen, he could do no less than
denounce the wrong to her. But my feelings were too lacerated,
my emotions too excited, to allow my reason to deal
with the conflicting elements of this tragedy. In this confused
state of mind, I walked on, hardly conscious of direction,
until I found myself at the entry of my chambers.

(20:52):
I went in and made a futile attempt to do
some work. Then I paced the room for an hour
or more, alternately raging against Barbara and recalling the lonely
figure that I had seen in the twilight of that
darkened room, until my unrest drove me forth again to
wander through the streets, away into the squalid east, among
the docks and the rookeries, from Whitechapel to Limehouse. It

(21:14):
was evening when once more I dragged myself up my
stairs and spent with fatigue and exhausted by lack of food,
for during the whole day I had taken but a
few cups of tea hastily snatched in the course of
my wanderings, re entered my chamber. As I closed the door,
I noticed a letter in the box, and, taking it
out listlessly opened the envelope. It was from Thorndyke, a

(21:36):
short note, but very cordially worded, begging me like a
good fellow, to go round and have a talk with him.
I flung the note down impatiently on the table, with
an immediate resurgence of my unreasonable sense of resentment. But
in a few minutes I experienced a sudden revulsion of
feeling a sense of profound loneliness came upon me. A

(21:57):
yearning for human companionship, and a specially for the companionship
of Thorndyke, from whom I had no secrets and who
knew the whole dreadful story, even to his final culmination.
Once More, footsore as I was, I descended my stairs,
and a couple of minutes later was ascending the pair
that led up to Thorndyke's chambers end of Chapter sixteen.