The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 14, 1902, Page 19

WHEREUPON HE DREW HIS PISTOL AND SHOT THE BURGLAR. 1502, by the National Press Agency.) ¢ HOW person ou The speaker was an elderly He was standing with his back to the fire. In front of him was another some seven years old. for this some day,” y. “It is mot much only enough to carry get another place. You to desperation and will for whatever may happen. he elder man inter- d enough, and more show this person urned and passed standing holding look of despera- servant ran up to his hand. The upon it and ded into the siness, Jane,” the old e, who was cook in hment at Dulwich. governor have been arrel, and it has rning him out of ad been an insolent »hn shook my hand as he didn’t even notice me ey will never make it have thought seven d ever have come was a disappoint- his nephew went married Miss Mon- governess. I know adful scene between them vernor said, ‘If you marry er see your face again,’ and e he has been in the be the last, I shonld r is a good master. I say against him. It is years since I entered his could not wish for a bet- I know that he is a hard a post, and when he says always sticks to it. Still, I he would have held Master John, after ght him up and treated him ere his son. Do you know, I . hat harm will come out of it, Jane. There was & look on the lad's face as he went out that gave me the shivers. He looked hunted like and downright des- pera vish I could have spoken to guiet and have said, “Master John, 1 don’t know how things have gone with you. but I have got money laid by and Would be right glad to lend you a couple ndred if you would acept it’ He t looking himself, anyhow. He was r le and shabby looking. Things bad with him, it was easy to see 1 can’t think how master can have so hardened himse!f against him. If 1 knew where he was living I would go and see him, for I shan’t get that des- perate look out of my mind for a long time. 1 shouldn’t be surprised at all if orrow when 1 look in the paper I see ‘SBuicide of a gentleman, name It fairly frightens me.” they had been ‘speaking of t for two or three hours, and his face toward home. It r home; a little room in a small Brixton. His wife had sat up Twotttle children were asleep 1 one corner, and a third lay The slow, heavy steps that stairs told their own tale. s been of no use, John?” she e entered. *I felt sure it would was against your going. If he been going to forgive you he done it long ago. Never Luck must turn presently.” sitterly. ““Well, that is all over, needn’t talk about it any more, 1 have now made up my mind that - ve up looking for any decent kind c and will go to the parish to- x d ask them to put me on a job et road cleaning. 1 have tiied hard to get something better. I have answered b B s ndreds of advertisements and gradu- ally have been getting lower and lower, v it has come to the parish. It won’t give me outdoor work, we go into the house. There is nothing for it dear. I cannot see you and children starve. It won’t be for long will let me out, I suppose, to look work. I used to be able to drive and been round to almost every cab- London and tried to get a han- som. 1 falled so far because I don't THE_SUNDAY, CALL: SHE FOUND THE WATCH ANDTHE POCKET -BOOK™ know the streets well enough to pass the examination cab drivers ‘have to .80 through before they can get a license; but I might get a job as carter. They don’t bave to be licensed. We have got bread enough ‘to last us till to-morrow, and no more; and the next day we will sell these belongings of ours”—and he laughed coldly—‘‘and go into the house. I never thought to bring you to this, Mary.” And he broke down completely. His wife soothed him. “Don’t grieve for my sake, John. I shall be glad to go into the house. Tt will be better than this terrible anxiety that we have been suffer- ing for the Jast six months. It will be rest for both of us, and then, as you say, you may be able to make a fresh start and work your way up, which I am sure you will do.” The next day he was again out all the mcrning seeking to obtain employment; then he went on to the embankment and sat down. When he heard the clock strike haif past'11, he started to his feet as a suddén thought struck him, and he walked fdst to a small public house on the south side of the river. He went in. ‘“Have you any letter for John Har- old?” he asked the barman. “Yes. There has been one lying hera for you for the last fortnight,” the man said. He seized it, put it into his pocket, and with a werd of thanks hurried out. Out- #ide the doof he opened it with trembling nds" and gavé a cry of thankfulness, or ;inclosed ‘in’ it were four five-pound fotes. He. put theth in his waistcoat pocket, stuck the letter loosely into his coat and stafted at a run. It was a qQuarter-past' 18 as he reached his door. He ran upktairs. “Look, /Mary, look!” he cried, as he ithrew the notes on the table. She threw hérself into his arms with a cry of joy. ¢ “Where did it come from, John?" she asked, in a tone almost of terror, a min- ute later. “That good fellow, Hugh Begby, has sent|it me. Here iIs his letter.” He gave an exclamation of horror when, in feeling in his pockets, he found that the letter was gone. “Thik is horrible, Mary!” he said, “for I have .not got his address. He simply Wrote last that he was going away from that part of the country in a couple of months, and, of course, by this time, he Wwill have moved, and I shan't be able to write and thafk him.” Anthour later they sat down to the first ;“uln medl. they had ular meal that they had eaten for Weeks. “We will make the money last as long as we can,” John sald. “At a pound a week it will give me four or five months. I fcel a new man again. Aid has come to 4.Us when we werz at our worst. The tide ¥ has Blrely turned. 1 shall have a quiet afternoon at home, and to-morrow I shall begin with fresh hope.” It ‘was not till 4 o'clock that he went out, and as he got into a busy thorough- fare a newspaper boy came running aleng with & bundle of evening papers. On the bill which he held was a line in the largest type, “Murder of a banker at Dulwich.” He at once bought a copy and operfed it. here was a short paragraph only—‘‘Murder of Mr. Harold, the banker, of Lombard street. Last night at a quarter to 12, the butler in the employ of Mr. Harold heard a noise in his mas- ter's room, and running down saw a man run to the window. On the ground lay the dead body of his master, stabbed to the heart. He gave the alarm at once, but the murderer had escaped. He had evidently been taken by surprise, for the banker's pocketbook and watch were the only things missing. There was a rope ladder hanging from the window, the catch of which had evidently been forced. a\x present there is no clew to the iden- $ of the murderer.” Greatly shocked, John Harold returned home. A horrible thing has happened, my dear. Uncle was murdered last night. 1 am very sorry, for we parted in anger. He was as good as a father to me for many vears. Of course, it will make no difference to us. for if there is one thing more certain than another it is that he struck me out of his will years ago.” Two days later John went to the In- quest, and on stating that he was a ne- phew of the deceased was provided with a seat in the courthouse. The first wit- ness called was the old butler. After re- lating the circumstances ot the finding of the body of his master he was asked: “Have you any reason to suspect any * he <aid, but in a tone that was not of abs:lute conviction; it was the tone that induced the coroner to ask an- other question. “Do you know of any one who had any guarre! with your master?” The old butler hesitfted. “Well, sir,” hé said, on thé question being repeated, “he had a quarrel with his nephew, Mr. John Harold, the evening before, but I am certain that had nething to do with it.” “Oh, he had a guarrel with his nephew, had he; was it a serious one?” “Yes,” the cld man said; “it was what you might call serious, and I was told by master to show him out of the house.” “Was there any intin.acy between him and his nephew?” “No, sir. Mr. John had not been in the house for many years. “One more question,” the coroner said; “was this gentleman you speak of likely to benefit by the death of the deceased?” “I should think not,” the man said posi- tively. *“My master wasn't the sort of man to forgive easily. Mr. John was brought up by him, and we always thought that he would be master’'s heir, but there was a quarrel when Mr. John married, and so ‘ar as I know they never saw each other again till the night when Mr. John called.” “1 must get you. to tell us what you Very reluctantly the witness repeated the words that he had overheard. ‘When he had stepped down John Harold stood up. “I am John Harold, sir,” he sald. “I shall be happy to tell you what I know of this matter.” He went Into the witness box and gave en account of the interview that he had had with his uncle. *“And you say that for seven years he Bad completely thrown you off?”” the cor- oner asked. “Yes, sir; that is so.” “And I suppose you cherished angry feelings against him?" “He had a right to do with his own as he liked, sir. I had never felt hard against him until the pressure came upon me., Until six months ago I had no feel- ing against my uncle; he had a right to do as he Hked with his own, but I admit that I did feel very bitter against him that night. I had been thrown out of work owing to the fallure of the firm by whom I was employed, and failinz to obtain fresh employment, and being re- duced to great straits, I wag driven to apply to him for some little aid until I could obtain another situation. As I have you, he not only refused to give me that aid, but ordered me to be shown it of the house, and I own thaf I left tiwith a very bitter feeling against him.” The 1 t was adjourned. On the mext occasion a police officer in charge the case sald: “I went to the house whete John Harold had a room and I Ifd ‘thiat hig" rent had been several ‘wéeks In arrears, blit that he pald it off or the morning succeeding the murder. T . find also that that morning he discharged several small bills he owed in the neigh- ‘borhood. I spoke to Mr. Harold about it and he told me that he had received some money from a friend the day after the murder. I learned that he did not re- turn home on that evening until 12:15.” He was followed by the banker’s solici= tor. He said: “I have been requested to come here. I have brought with me the will of the late Mr. Harold. He leaves his whole estates and property to his nephew, Johr: Harold. This will, sir, was made ten years ago and so far as I know no other has since been made. On several occasions the deceased had told me that he intended to make a fresh will, but he was one of those gentlemen who are very averse to making wills. He was a busy man and within the last six months he had given me instructions for a will of an entirely different character, but al- though I have more than once asked him if my clerk should take it down to him for his ction, he always put it off, saying he was very busy and eonstantly dining out, but that he would let me kncw when he was disengaged. This he never did and the will stands good.” The butler was again put in the box. “You Lave told us, Mr. Bellingham, that the murderer of your master rushed from the room as you entered it. Did you get a clear sight of him?” “Not a clear sight, sir. I was too much teken aback to notice much of him. I just saw his back as he rushed out.” rike you at all that the figure ».to you?” “Did it at all resemble the figure of your master’s nephew?” “I should say not, sir, certainly not. I b was wider, but it was such a glimpse that I got of him that I would raiher say nothing about it, one way or the other.” should like go into the box again,™ John Harold sald, when the butler left it. “I received the money that enabled me to pay off the debts I owed from a& friend in Australia. I obtained it only the Gay after my uncle’s death from the pub- X Three Dogs, Southwark, lying for me for a fort- night. “Will you show ¢ “I am sorry it on the way There was a silence In the court, and John Harold went on: “The barmaa can tell you that he e it to me,” “He may tell us that he gave you & letter, Mr. Harold, but of course he can- ontents were, or where You can, if you like, make ent as to what you wers doing f between nine o'clock and a is that letter?” y that I cannot; I lost “I was sitting ment for two Did you converse with any one? That is there any one who could con= statement?” sir, I b e seat to myself for most of th and did not exchange a word with o or three people who sat down.” corcner’s jury found a verdiet of m gainst some person um=- known, but as Jonn Harold left the court ¥ e constable on 1 after several court, was finally Public opinion was t him. It was shown of work for months, to the sorest straits. seventeen pounds was found in his wife's possession which she admitted had been given to her by the prisoner on the day after the murder. He accounted for by the story of his having received y pounds from some one in Au , whose address he was unable give. A telegram had a polic that he wa After h been sent aut although the police had discovered that a man of the name he gave had lived at Bailarat he had moved away, and there was no address. It was wn that he had a violent quarrel with his uncle twenty-four hours before, and was at that time evidently desperate. He might or ght not know that at the death of his le he would come into a very large ne; at any rate, he might think that he would be left some- thing, and this afforded a motive tor the crime. The general opinion was that al- though he was probably guilty a convie- tion could hardly be obtained against him on the ground of insufficient evidence. A week befors Christmas there was an- other sensational heading, ‘“Murderous affray between burglars and e policeman. The latter badly wounded. One of the former killed.” The account stated that owing to the number of burglaries lately committed near Hampstead, the police on duty had been armed with pistols. On the evening before a constable, going his rounds, saw lights in a house, and going quietly up to the window, looked in and saw two men engaged In packing up & ty of booty. He had climbed In by the open window, and was at once at tacked by the burglars. One of these he had knocked down with a truncheon, the other had shot at him, whereupon he drew his pistol and shot the burglar through the head. The sound of the fir- ing had byought assistance, but by the time it me the burglar who had first been knfcked down had effected his escape. The policeman was Insensible and the other burglar dead. Four days later a poorly dressed woman had gone to the Kensington Police Court, from which John Harold had been come mitted for trial, and asked to speak to the magistrate privately. She informed him that she had been in service and was married. Later on she discovered that her husband was a criminal. She lived very unhapplly with him; he frequently brought home the proceeds of burglaries. On the morning of the rhurder of Mr. Harold he had brought home a watch and a pocketbook containing several bank notes and had locked them up In a cup- board, where they had remained ever since. Five nights before her husband had gone out as usual; he did not re- turr in the morning and she saw in the paper that he had been killed by a police= man at Hampstead. She had, the day be- fcre she had come to the police court, broken open the cupboard and found the watch and the pocketbook. In this, in addition to the notes, she found a number of cards of William Harold, and, as she knew that that gentleman's nephew had been committed for . trial for his murder, she thought it right to bring the things to the magistrate. The latter highly com- mended her for so doing and sald he would at once lay the matter before th proper aathorities and did so Immediately. It was midday on Christmas day. Mary Harold was citting in her room; there was but a.loaf of bread on the table, for she had put the £17 aside and had sub- sisted on the sale of the few remaining articles of furniture. Presently she started; there was a step on the stairs that seemed familiar to her. She almost ceared to breathe until the door opened and her husband ran in. “I am cleared, Mary! I am freel It bas been proved who did the murder. [ am releaséd on my own bail. I must still appear to be tried; but'it will only be a formal business.” For some minutes neithec of them spoke. ““This is a happy Christmas,” his ‘wife sobbed at last. . “It is indeed, darling: there is an end te all our troubles, for by uncle’s will I am a very rich man. Now I will go out” and buy some dinner.” “Ne, John, supper if you like: we will eat our bread together, and assuredly we shall always look back upon it as the happlest Christmas dinner that we ever ata”