Monsieur Judas: A Paradox

Not an important place by any means, this sleepy little town lying at the foot of a low range of undulating hills, beside a slow-flowing river. A square-towered church of Norman architecture, very ancient and very grim; one principal narrow street, somewhat crooked in its course; other streets, narrower and more crooked, leading off on the one side to the sheltering hills, and on the other down to the muddy stream. Market-place octagonal in shape, with a dilapidated stone cross of the Plantagenet period in the centre; squat stone bridge, with massive piers, across the sullen gray waters; on the farther shore a few red-roofed farmhouses; beyond, fertile pastoral lands and the dim outline of distant hills.

Picturesque in a quiet fashion certainly, but not striking in any way; a haven of rest for worn-out people weary of worldly troubles, but dull--intensely dull--for visionary youth longing for fame. The world beyond did not know Jarlchester, and Jarlchester did not know the world beyond, so accounts were thus equally balanced between them.

Being near Winchester, the ancient capital of Saxon England, it was asserted by archaeologists that Jarlchester, sleepy and dull as it was in the nineteenth century, had once been an important place. Jarl means Earl, and Chester signifies a camp; so those wiseacres asserted that the name Jarlchester meant the Camp of the Earl; from which supposition arose a fable that Jarl Godwin had once made the little town his head-quarters when in revolt against pious Edward who built St. Peter's of Westminster. As Godwin, however, according to history, never revolted against the King, and generally resided in London, the authenticity of the story must be regarded as doubtful. Nevertheless, Jarlchester folks firmly believed in it, and sturdily held to their belief against all evidence to the contrary, however clearly set forth.

They were a sleepy lot as a rule, those early-to-bed and early-to-rise country folk; for nothing had occurred for years to disturb their sluggish minds, so they had gradually sunk into a state of somnolent indifference, with few ideas beyond the weather and the crops.

Then Jarlchester, unimportant since Anglo-Saxon times, suddenly became famous throughout England on account of "The Mystery," and the mystery was "A Murder."

On this moist November morning, when the whole earth shivered under a bleak gray sky, a crowd, excited in a dull, bovine way, was assembled in front of the "Hungry Man Inn," for in the commercial-room thereof, now invested with a ghastly interest, an inquest was being held on the body of a late guest of the inn, and the bucolic crowd was curious to know the verdict.

A long, low-ceilinged apartment this commercial-room, with a narrow deal table covered with a glaring red cloth down the centre; four tall windows looking out on to the crowd, who, with faces flattened against the glass, peered into the room. A jury of lawful men and true, much impressed with a sense of their importance, seated at the narrow table; at the top thereof, the coroner, Mr. Carr, bluff, rosy-faced, and eminently respectable. Near him a slender young man, keen-eyed and watchful, taking notes (reported by the crowd outside to be a London detective); witnesses seated here, there, and everywhere among eager spectators; but the body! oh, where was the body, which was the culminating point of interest in the whole gruesome affair? The crowd outside was visibly disappointed to learn that the body was lying upstairs in a darkened room, and the jury, half eager, half fearful, having inspected it according to precedent, were now assembled to hear all procurable evidence as to the mode in which the living man of two days ago became the body upstairs.

First Witness.--Boots. Short, grimy, bashful; pulls forelock stolidly, shuffles with his feet, is doubtful as to aspirates, and speaks hoarsely, either from cold--it is raining--or from nervousness either of the jury or of the body; perhaps both.

"Name? Jim Bulkins, sir. Bin boots at ''Ungry Man' fur two year'n more come larst Easter. Two days back, gen'man--him upstair--come 'ere t' stay. Come wi' couach fro' Winchester. Ony a bag--leather bag--very light. Carried 't upstair fur gen'man, who 'ad thir'-seven. Gen'man come 'bout five. 'Ad dinner, then wrote letter. Posted letter hisself. Show'd 'im post orfice. Guv me sixpence; guv me t'other fur carr'in' up bag. Seemed cheerful. Went t' bed 'bout nine. Nex' mornin' I went upstair with butts. Gen'man arsked fur butts t' be givin pusonally t' 'im 'cause 'e were perticler 'bout polish. Knocked at door; n' anser. Knocked agin; n' anser. Thought gen'man 'sleep, so pushed door to put butts inside; door were open."

Coroner.--"What do you mean by the door being open?"

Witness.--"Weren't locked, sir; closed t' a bit--what you might call ajar, sir. Entered room, put down butts; gen'man were lyin' quiet in bed. Thought 'e were sleepin' an' come downstair. This were 'bout nine. At ten went up agin. Knocked; n' anser. Knocked agin; n' anser. Went into room agin; gen'man still sleepin'. Went to wake 'im an' found 'e were ded. Sung out at onct, an' Mr. Chickles 'e come up."

Juryman (sharp-nosed and inquisitive).--"How was he lying when you saw him first?"

Witness.--"Bedclose up t' chin, sir. 'Ands and h'arms inside bedclose; lyin' on back--bedclose smooth like. Know'd 'e were ded by whiteness of 'is face--like chalk, sir--h'awful!"

Coroner.--"Are you sure deceased asked you to give him his boots personally next morning?"

Witness.--"Yes, sir--said 'e were vury perticler."

Coroner.--"Did he seem to you like a man intending to make away with himself?"

Witness.--"No, sir. Quite lively like. Sed as 'ow 'e were goin' to look roun' this 'ole nex' day, sir."

Coroner (pompously).--"And what did the deceased mean by the expression 'this hole,' my man?"

Witness (grinning).--"Jarlchester, sir."

Great indignation on the part of the patriotic jury at hearing their native town thus described, and as Boots is still grinning, thinking such remark to be an excellent joke, he is told sharply to stand down, which he does with obvious relief.

The next witness called was Sampson Chickles, the landlord of the "Hungry Man." A fat, portly individual is Mr. Chickles, with a round red face, and a ponderous consciousness that he is the hero of the hour--or rather the minute. "Swear Sampson Chickles!" Which is done by a fussy clerk with a rapid gabble and a dingy Bible--open at Revelations--and Mr. Chickles, being sworn to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, gives his evidence in a fat voice coming somewhere from the recesses of his rotund stomach.

"My name, gentlemen, is Sampson Chickles, and I've lived in Jarlchester, man and boy, sixty years. But I keep my health wonderful, gentlemen, saving a touch of the--"

Coroner.--"Will the witness kindly confine himself to the matter in hand?"

Witness (somewhat ruffled).--"Meaning the dead one, I presume, Mr. Carr. Certainly, Mr. Carr; I was coming to that. He--meaning the dead one--came here two days ago by the coach from Winchester. There is, gentlemen, no name on his bag--there is no name on his linen--no letters, no cards in his pockets--not even initials, gentlemen, to prevent his clothes being stolen at the wash. He never mentioned his name, Mr. Carr. I was going to ask him next morning, but he was dead, and therefore, gentlemen, not in a position to speak. As far as I am concerned, Mr. Carr, the dead one has never been christened. The mystery--meaning the dead one--has no name that I ever heard of, and was spoken of by me and my daughter (who may know more than her father) as the gentleman in No. 37. I only spoke to the dead one twice, Mr. Carr and gentlemen; once when I arranged about terms--thirty shillings a week, gentlemen, not including wine--and again when I asked him if he had enjoyed his dinner--soup, fish, fowl, and pudding. Gentlemen, he had enjoyed his dinner."

A Juryman (hungry-looking, evidently thinking of the dinner).--"Was he cheerful, Mr. Chickles?"

Witness.--"Jocund, sir, if I may use the term. Merry as a lark."

Facetious juryman suggests wine.

Witness (with mournful dignity).--"No, sir! Pardon me, Mr. Specks, he had no wine while he was in this house. His explanation was a simple one, gentlemen--wine did not agree with his pills--tonic pills, Mr. Carr--one to be taken before bedtime every night."

Coroner (with the air of having found something).--"Pills, eh? Did he look ill?"

Witness.--"Not exactly ill, Mr. Carr; not exactly well, gentlemen. Betwixt and between. Weak, sir. His legs shook, his hands trembled, and when a door banged he jumped, gentlemen--jumped!"

A Juryman.--"Then I presume he was taking tonic pills for his constitution?"

Witness.--"Well, yes, Mr. Polder, yes, sir. There is the box of pills--tonic pills, as he--meaning the dead one--told me. Found in his room, gentlemen--on the chest of drawers--after his death."

Inspection of pills by jury. Great curiosity evinced when pills (eight in number) appeared to be like any other pills. The London detective, however, secured the pill-box after inspection, and sat with it in his hand thinking deeply.

Mr. Chickles, having given all his evidence, retired, with the full consciousness that he had given it in a masterly fashion; and his daughter, Miss Molly Chickles, plump, pretty, and a trifle coquettish, was duly sworn. At first she was rather bashful, but having found her tongue--a task of little difficulty for this rustic daughter of Eve--told all she knew with many sidelong glances and confused blushes--feminine arts not quite thrown away on the jury, although they were to a man married and done for.