Was one-armed man behind attack?

The one-armed man and the locked room

On the night of October 4, 1921, a tense drama played itself out on the West Moulin Road in Pitlochry.

The setting was a fine Victorian villa with spacious grounds, fringed with trees, plants and bushes. The frontage, with its three gabled windows and wooden framed porch, commanded a view to the south east, across the town.

Mrs Christina Robertson, a widow, had settled into her bed for the night in one of the bedrooms on the first floor.

In a bedroom across the landing, slept her young daughter and her daughter’s friend, who happened to be visiting for the night. All the lamps had been dimmed. The family’s small dog, Pax, was asleep downstairs.

Jessie Robertson (no relation), the family’s maid occupied a small room on the ground floor.

At 4am Mrs Robertson was suddenly woken from her slumber by the sound of screaming from downstairs. This was immediately followed by hurried footsteps on the staircase.

Mrs Robertson’s first thought was for her daughter and she rushed to open the panelled door of her bedroom. On doing so, she was shocked to see her maid Jessie running towards her, one hand clutching a wound on her throat. The maid, hysterical, screamed “there’s a man downstairs, and he’s attacked me”.

Her throat was cut and was bleeding profusely. Jessie’s garments were stained and vivid red. Mrs Robertson, showing remarkable courage and presence of mind, rushed across the landing and quickly hastened her daughter and friend back into her own room. Fortunately, as was the custom in large Victorian houses, the bedroom doors were all of the lockable variety. Quickly, Mrs Robertson turned the key and locked the door from the inside.

In the height of the commotion, they could not detect the sound of the mysterious assailant on the stairs, although the small dog was barking incessantly from somewhere on the floor below.

After securing the bedroom door she was able to assess the extent of the wound to Jessie’s throat. Although she did not think it was life-threatening, it would definitely require hospital attention.

However, they could not possibly unlock the door and make their way downstairs. Was the unknown man still in the house? Or had he made his way outside? Pax was still barking. Meanwhile the young girls had remained remarkably calm, and managed to console Jessie, the maid. Mrs Robertson knew they would not be able to jump, or climb, from the upstairs window sill, particularly with two small girls and her maid injured and bleeding.

Then she remembered, she had kept a whistle in the drawer of her dressing table. She quickly raised the sash window at the front and began to blow the whistle as often, and as loudly, as she could. The shrill sound echoed around the trees and pierced the dark night. Would the sound alert the intruder, or would it frighten him away? Mrs Robertson had no way of knowing, but she continued to blow frantically, hoping someone would hear her cry for help.

It must have been an anxious vigil in the locked bedroom, as it was fully 45 minutes until help came.

Several times Mrs Robertson had thought about unlocking the bedroom door and venturing downstairs. She knew Jessie, her servant, needed medical attention but was fully aware that the intruder may still be in the house.

Eventually, just before 5am, a neighbour woken by the constant sound of the whistle decided to investigate. She hurriedly dressed and immediately ventured outside onto the street. As her eyes became accustomed to the faint light of early morning, she was met by sight of a “strange looking” onearmed man, obviously leaving from the back of the villa, then attempting to make his way down the road. The man was thick set, clean shaven and about 40 years of age. Immediately, fearing something was amiss, she challenged him: “Who are you, and what do you want?” she demanded. To her astonishment he replied: “Which is the way to the police station?” The neighbour was somewhat surprised by the answer and, thinking it to be an attempt to throw her off the scent, repeated her demanded: “What are you doing here?” she again asked. “I want the police station” came the answer. During this strange encounter Mrs Robertson was still blowing the whistle and the dog was still barking. Worrying that something sinister may be happening in the house, the neighbour hastily directed the sturdily built one-armed man to the police station. He duly disappeared into the early morning mist. Now, joined by another neighbour, (a stonemason on his way to work) the pair rushed through the open back door into the kitchen.

The light was burning, and a broken cut-throat razor lay on the floor. There were traces of blood.

Hearing voices in the house calling out “What is the matter?” Mrs Robertson unlocked the bedroom door and appeared on the landing.

The local doctor was called, and Jessie’s wounds attended to. She was removed to the Pitlochry Cottage Hospital.

Meanwhile the local police were summoned, who immediately engaged the help of the Procurator Fiscal for Perthshire, to investigate the case.

The bizarre events of the night had thrown up several mysteries. Who was the one-armed man? Why had he attacked the maid, Jessie? Was theft a motive? Had he been disturbed? Why did the one-armed man want to know the location of the police station? Did he intend to hand himself in, or was it merely a distraction to put the neighbours at ease?

Some puzzling questions immediately occurred to the investigating officers. The case seemed inexplicable to the police.

Just who was the mysterious onearmed man?

To be continued .....