LITMIR.BIZ

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      "I know that an' all," said Perris. "An'—I don't care."

      Wroxdale rose from his chair and paced the room. He had never known an experience of this sort in the whole course of his career, and he was puzzled beyond measure.

      "Was it—was it accidental?" he asked, suddenly stopping in front of Perris and staring down at him in wonder. "It was, eh?"

      Perris shook his head.

      "No, sir, it were nowt o' t' sort," he answered. "It were what I understand—I'm no gre't scholar—what I understand they term deliberate. I meant to kill t' feller, and I did kill him."

      "But—why?" asked Wroxdale.

      Perris's face suddenly became sullen, and he shook his head.

      "I shalln't tell nobody why I killed t' man," he answered. "That's my business. But," he added, his face clearing again, "I'll tell you, and I'll tell t' police how and where it wor 'at I made away wi' him. It were one Sunda' night—I can't reightly fix t' exact date, but our Rhoda were singing a new piece that night down at t' chappil, and t' preacher had been to tea wi' us. When they'd gone, I wor alone, d'ye see, an' this Webster he come moochin' round like, and I led him into t' granary, and as I say, I hed mi reasons for makin' away wi' him, and I made away wi' him. An' later on, I put t' body away i' t' owd well."

      Wroxdale sat down and stared at the man who had voluntarily made this extraordinary confession. Was he sane? He could see no sign of insanity in him; he talked coherently, intelligently—and yet, what sane man would boldly appear and give up his liberty, life, in this fashion?

      "You want to make a confession to the police?" he asked suddenly.

      "That's what I come to you about, sir," answered Perris. "I know naught about no confessions to t' police—I want to tell t' truth. If so be 'at my wife's i' danger—why, then, she mun be putten out o' danger, an'—"

      Wroxdale gave way to a sharp feeling of humanity. He rose impulsively from his chair, and laid his hand on Perris's shoulder.

      "Perris!" he exclaimed. "Tell me the truth! You're not making all this up, not inventing it, to shield your wife? Out with the truth, now?"

      Perris looked up wonderingly, and the solicitor knew at once that he had listened to the naked truth.

      "Eh, Lord bless you, no, sir!" he answered. "I telled you just how it all were. My wife knew naught about it. Nobody knew naught about it. It were nobody but me—nobody!"

      Wroxdale took away his hand, and turned to his desk. But before he could sit down, the maid who admitted Perris knocked at the door and called him out.

      "Wait a moment, Perris," he said, as he left the room.

      Perris folded his hands and twiddled his thumbs.

      "As many as is agreeable to you, sir," he answered.

      Outside in the hall Wroxdale confronted Taffendale, the inspector, and, behind them, half-hidden in the shadows, a cloaked and hooded figure which he instinctively guessed to be Rhoda's. And with a quick recognition of the situation he raised his hand in the gesture of silence, and beckoned the two men aside out of earshot of the woman.

      "Hush!" he said. "I've an idea why you've come. But—there'll be no proceedings against Mrs. Perris. Her husband is in that room, and he's just told me the truth. She's innocent of everything—it was he who killed Webster! But why, only himself and God know I—I doubt if men ever will."

Chapter XXIII

       Table of Contents

      Throughout the dreary and sordid weeks which elapsed between the making of his confession to the police and the holding of the ensuing Winter Assizes Perris maintained the attitude which he had shown to Wroxdale with a firmness and stolidity that nothing could break down. Having once made the confession nothing moved him from it or whatever purpose it was that had impelled him to make it. How and when he killed Pippany Webster he would and did tell; why he killed him he would not tell. It was nobody's affair but his, he said; repeated attempts on Wroxdale's part to get him to tell more, warnings as to his fate, only produced sullenness on his part and eventually silence. Once committed for trial and placed in prison on remand he fell into the prison routine with ready acceptance and a curious equanimity. They said of him that nothing affected his appetite nor his ability to sleep; he made no complaints and received Wroxdale's visits with indifference. And at last, when the Assizes were near at hand, he gave the solicitor a plain intimation that he wanted to see him no more.

      "I can't see what's t' use o' your comin' here so oft, Mestur Wroxdale," he said, showing for the first time some signs of testiness. "It's only wastin' your time and it's doin' no good. I've telled t' truth about t' matter and theer's an end on it. At least, I know what t' end 'll be, and t' sooner it comes t' better."

      "So you mean to let yourself be hanged without an effort to save your neck?" said Wroxdale, feeling it necessary to speak with brutal plainness. "Remember, you're not playing at this—you're in the hands of the Law."

      "T' Law and t' lawyers can do wi' me what they like," answered Perris. "I've spokken. I've telled t' truth, and I'll tak' t' consequences. I thowt it all out when I were travillin' down i' t' train that day I come to see you, sir. I tell you I've spokken. An' nowt 'll alter what I've said."

      Wroxdale shook his head.

      "You've still a duty to yourself, Perris," he said. "You see, if you could only show me that there were extenuating circumstances—"

      "I don't know what them words means, sir," replied Perris, with more signs of testiness. "I've telled what t' circumstances were, an'—"

      "Wait a moment," said Wroxdale, "and try to remember that I'm doing my best for you. I don't want to see you go to the scaffold if I can save you. By extenuating circumstances I mean that perhaps you lost your temper—"

      Perris made a gesture of impatient dissent.

      "I lost nowt o' t' sort, then!" he exclaimed. "I werrn't likely to lose mi temper wi' t' like o' that theer. I killed him same as I'd ha' killed a weasel or a rat-ten. An' I've telled ye once for all, Mestur Wroxdale, I've said my say and I shall say no more. Ye mean well, sir, but it's no use comin' to this place agen on that business. What I've said, I'll stand to."

      Then Wroxdale played his last card.

      "There's somebody besides yourself to think of, Perris," he said. "There's your wife. You don't want her to go through the rest of her life branded as a murderer's widow?"

      The look of sullen obstinacy which Wroxdale had begun to know so well came over Perris's face, and settled there as if it would never move.

      "I've said my say, Mestur Wroxdale," he answered. "I've nowt no more to remark, sir."

      And Wroxdale left him and troubled him no more. But he contrived, with the co-operation of the authorities, to have Perris examined, unknown to himself, by mental specialists, for he had doubts as to the man's sanity. And the mental specialists gave it as their convinced opinion that Perris was sane enough on all points, and then Wroxdale knew that things would have to take their course.

      That course was short and sharp enough, once the weeks of weary waiting were over. In a crowded court, in which he himself seemed to be the most unconcerned person present, Perris, called upon to plead, reiterated his guilt as calmly and firmly as he had confessed it before the magistrates. Advised by the presiding judge to withdraw his plea and to take his trial, he answered that he should do no such thing.

      He had already told the police and the magistrates all the circumstances of the crime he was charged with and in the telling he had spoken the truth. He was not going to take back what he had said to please anybody. And just as he had been deaf to all that Wroxdale had urged, so he was deaf to all that grave judicial advice could put before him. Forms of law were naught to him, and he shook his head impatiently at the mention of them and the advantage to himself and the public of a fair trial.

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