“I’m afraid not.”
“Thank you.”
Mr Meiklejohn seemed to be hesitating. Then he bobbed to his feet and said, “Realising the importance of this point, can you give no indication of which of your helpers you’ve mentioned might have taken the coffee to the Archdeacon?”
“It mightn’t have been one of the people I mentioned at all. It might have been anyone.” She added, with a touch of impatience, “If you’re filling thirty or forty coffee cups in a hurry, you haven’t much time to notice things like that.”
“I think that’s an entirely reasonable answer,” said the Coroner, in a tone of voice which indicated to Mr Meiklejohn, who was no fool, that if he asked any more questions, he was going to be sat on. “Thank you, Mrs Consett. I see from my list that we are now entering a rather different field of inquiry and I think it is an appropriate moment to adjourn for luncheon. We’ll then take the police evidence. Back at half past two, please. And a word of warning to you.” He turned to the jury. “There’s no objection, of course, to your discussing this among yourselves, but you’re not to talk to anyone else. I’m sure you understand the reason for that.”
Over a beer at the Lion, Philip Rosewarn said to Bill Williams, “I took time off to be there. As I’m getting the sack anyway, it didn’t seem to matter. A bit slow so far, but it all seems to be pointing in one direction.”
“Rolfe’s very sound,” said Bill. “He won’t let anyone talk out of turn. He’s playing for an open verdict.”
“But he can’t actually stop the jury from naming someone.”
“You can never stop a jury from making fools of themselves,” agreed Bill. “Do you think we’ve got time for the second pint?”
“Now, Superintendent,” said the Coroner. “What can you tell us about this matter?”
“Not as much as I should like to,” said Bracher. “We understood from our experts that the only probable time and place that the deceased could have taken this fatal dose was at the lunch party, and it soon became clear also that the most vital item, so far as he was concerned, was the coffee.”
“I think that follows from what we have heard.”
“Yes, sir. Unfortunately, it transpired that all the people who happened to be near the coffee table, or actually assisting in the service of the coffee, were residents of the Close.”
“Why do you say ‘unfortunately’, Superintendent?”
Bracher hesitated. He was, as he knew, on treacherous ground. But there were things which had to be said.
“It was like this, sir. To start with, we did get some co-operation. Mr Openshaw, Mrs Henn-Christie and Mrs Consett all answered our questions. And one witness gave us some information, but subsequently withdrew it.”
“Could we have names, please?”
“This was the junior verger, Leonard Masters.”
“Why did he wish to withdraw his evidence?”
“He said that when he spoke to us, he had not been aware of the Dean’s instructions.”
The Coroner paused in his note taking for a long moment and said, “You’ll have to explain that.”
“I was told, sir – but this is, of course, at second hand – that the Dean had issued some general advice, or instruction, to the Cathedral employees and to residents in the Close that they were not to answer inquiries by the police.”
“You say second hand. Has the Dean confirmed this?”
“No, sir. He has not made himself available for questioning.”
“But he was not, of course, aware of the laboratory findings.”
Bracher said, quite sharply, “I don’t think that was any excuse.”
“I’m not prepared to comment on that. Perhaps you’d let us know what further steps you took.”
“I gave instructions that inquiries should be made at all chemists’ shops in Melchester and at all gardening shops which sold nicotine-based sprays and weedkillers. I wished to ascertain whether anyone who had been present at the lunch party had recently made such a purchase.”
“And were you successful?”
A momentary pause.
“Not at first, sir. It seems that pure nicotine is very rarely purchased by members of the public. Pharmacists use it for some of their own purposes. So far as nicotine-based weedkiller is concerned, there were three shops that stock it, but none of them could give us any precise evidence of recent purchasers. It is true that where any preparation contains a significant amount of a substance which is on the Poisons Index, the attendant is supposed to make the purchaser sign for it, but I’m afraid this rule is not always strictly observed.”
“Then your inquiries were unsuccessful?”
“In Melchester, yes. We then extended them to Salisbury, Worcester and Winchester.”
“With what results?”
“Perhaps, sir, you could take Miss Lovelock now.”
“Very well,” said the Coroner.
Miss Lovelock turned out to be a nervous girl in her early twenties who gave her evidence in a strangled whisper. It did not take her long to reach the point. She was an assistant in Homegrowers of Winchester. It was a gardening shop. She had been questioned by a man who said he was a detective sergeant. She thought the name was Telford. Yes, it might have been Telfer. He had asked her about people who had bought certain sorts of weedkiller and if any of them had come from Melchester.
“How would you be expected to know that?”
Miss Lovelock explained that she came from Melchester herself. She had worked, until quite recently, as a maid at the Theological College. That was how she had been able to tell the Sergeant that Miss Forrest had bought some of that sort of weedkiller from her.
The name slipped out so casually that it took a few seconds for it to sink in. Then every head in the room started to turn. The Coroner said, in a voice sharp enough to override any comment, “Since this particular preparation contained a listed poison, I understand that it was your duty to get the purchaser to sign a register which you kept for the purpose.”
Miss Lovelock looked upset. She whispered, “Yes, sir.”
“You did get her to sign it?”
“No, sir. I meant yes, I knew I should have done, but it was a very busy morning. I was alone in the shop, you see. And there was a crowd of people all waiting to be served.”
“Then we have only your recollection that it was Miss Forrest who made this particular purchase. That’s not very satisfactory—” He broke off as the coroner’s officer whispered something to him. He paused for a moment. The crowded room was completely silent, but charged with the electricity which can be produced by an unexpected crisis.
Finally he said, “I understand that Miss Forrest is present. She should, of course, have been properly notified if her evidence was wanted—” he looked at Superintendent Bracher, who avoided his eye “—but if she is prepared to assist us, then this point could perhaps be set at rest.”
“Of course,” said Amanda. She seemed completely cool. “Would you like me to do it now?”
“I think it would be best. If you would stand here—” As Miss Lovelock left the witness box, Amanda gave her a friendly smile and took the oath without a tremor in her voice.
“Magnificent,” said Bill Williams. “What a girl.”
The Coroner said, “You heard Miss Lovelock’s evidence. All that I would like to ask you, at this point, is whether she was correct in her recollection.”
“Perfectly correct, sir.”
“Thank you.”
“If I might?” said Mr Meiklejohn.
The Coroner thought about it. He was well aware of the implications of what he had heard. He was equally aware of the danger that the jury could be influenced by improper cross-examination. In the end he said, with a smile, “I think you have had your ration, Mr Meiklejohn. But I will allow you one question.”
“I have only one question to ask, sir.” He turned to Amanda. “We have heard from the Superintendent that there was plenty of this particular sort of we
edkiller available in Melchester. Why did you go all the way to Winchester to buy it?”
Amanda said, “I’m afraid you are putting matters in the wrong order. I didn’t go to Winchester to buy weedkiller. I went, as I have done once a week since we came here, to visit Mrs Hawkes. She has an apartment in the King Alfred Almshouse. I should explain, perhaps—” she made a half-turn toward the jury “—that she is nearly ninety-five and was my father’s nanny.” One of the women on the jury smiled sympathetically. “On one of these visits – I think it was about three weeks ago – I happened to pass Homegrowers shop and noticed a can of this preparation in the window and bought it. That was all there was to it.”
The Coroner said, “Thank you, Miss Forrest.” He was glad that Mr Meiklejohn’s intervention had given Amanda a chance of offering a plausible explanation of what might otherwise have been a damaging matter. He was about to speak when he was interrupted. Rosa Pilcher, who had been simmering quietly in a seat next to Mr Fairbrass, jerked suddenly upright. Her hair had worked itself into a tangle and her face was scarlet with a white circle around her mouth. She said, “If she can give evidence, why am I being stopped from speaking? Tell me that. I know more about it than anyone. I was there. I saw what she did.”
Mr Fairbrass put a hand on her arm and tried to pull her down. She shook him off. Her voice, which had started high, had risen until it was almost a shriek. “It was the coffee. She poured out a cup and told one of those boys to take it to the Archdeacon. Now you know the truth.”
During the whole of this outburst Amanda had been looking steadily at Rosa. Mr Fairbrass again got hold of her arm and said, in tones of unexpected authority, “Sit down, woman.”
Rosa subsided. The Coroner waited until the room was again quite silent. Then he said, “In view of that totally irregular interruption, I shall have to consider whether it is my duty to impanel a new jury. I will think it over. For the moment, this hearing will stand adjourned.”
“All rise,” said the coroner’s officer.
Eighteen
People who got copies of both the local papers on their breakfast tables on Friday morning must have been struck by the different ways in which the Times and the Journal treated the inquest.
Both papers, naturally, reported at length the evidence which had been given. At that point the Journal concluded with a brief comment that an improper intervention by a member of the public had caused the Coroner to consider the advisability of discharging the jury.
Arthur Driffield had exercised no such restraint.
He had been prevented by the Coroner from publicising the state of affairs in the Close. Very well. That was the Coroner’s privilege. He was master in his own court. But he was not master of the Melset Times.
Under a subheading, questions which demand an answer, he said: “There were a number of curious points about the hearing which must have struck a disinterested spectator. Why did the Coroner seem anxious to hush up the dissensions which had divided the Close into two warring camps? As this paper has reported, the burning question was whether or not to accept a very favourable offer for the land on the other side of the river known as Fletcher’s Piece. We are reliably informed that the Chapter was equally divided. The Dean and one Canon were opposed to the project. The Archdeacon and one Canon were in favour of it. The Archdeacon was determined to put the matter to the Greater Chapter. His death has pre-empted this decision.
“A second point was surely significant. According to Superintendent Bracher, his inquiries have been deliberately obstructed by the Dean, who had forbidden members of the Close community to co-operate with the police. But for this it seems likely that they would by now be in possession of the final pieces of evidence necessary to bring home a charge of murder—”
When he had read as far as this, Grant Adey said to his wife, “Arthur really is sticking his neck out. He’s implying, as clearly as possible, that the Dean and Amanda planned the job between them.”
His wife said, “I should have thought that was pretty obvious by now. She brewed up the stuff out of that weedkiller she’d bought and put it into a cup and told one of the boys to take it to the Archdeacon.”
“That may have been what happened,” said Adey, “but it hasn’t been proved yet. And I’m not sure this isn’t contempt of court.”
“I don’t think you can be contemptuous of a Coroner’s Court,” said his wife. She had read law before marrying Grant and he frequently consulted her on matters of this sort.
The first and natural reaction of the reporters who attended the inquest from London had been to get a statement from the Dean. This had proved unexpectedly difficult. Since the Deanery was not on the telephone, they had been denied one favoured method of approach, which was to ring their victim up and obtain incautious but reportable comments. Direct access proved equally difficult. Those who got as far as the Deanery gate were met by Mullins, with young Ernie in support. Young Ernie was Sam Courthope’s assistant. He was a large youth who attended Judo classes in his spare time and seemed anxious to demonstrate his technique on anyone attempting entry by force.
In fact, had they succeeded in bypassing Ernie, their enterprise would have been profitless. The Dean had already left the house early that morning by the wicket gate in the garden wall and a private path across Lady Fallingford’s garden.
By ten past ten every seat in the court was full. Amanda was there with Penny. She must have been aware that people in the room were looking at her and talking about her, but she gave no sign of it. One person conspicuously missing was Rosa. The Coroner had been firm about that. If Rosa was allowed in, he would adjourn the court. At ten twenty-five the jury filed in through a door beside the rostrum and took their seats. It was felt to be significant by people expert in such matters that they refrained from looking at Amanda. Phil Rosewarn whispered to Bill Williams, “I think they’ve made their minds up, don’t you?” Bill nodded.
At this point, when everyone was expecting the appearance of the Coroner, the public door opened and the Dean appeared, leaning on his stick. He advanced slowly along the front row of seats. Penny got up. The Dean said, “Thank you, Penny,” and took her seat. Penny retired to stand at the back of the room.
“Good theatre,” said Rosewarn. “He doesn’t seem to be any more worried than Amanda is.”
“It’d take more than this to worry him,” said Bill. “Here comes the Coroner.”
Everyone rose and sank back again into their seats.
The Coroner said, “I have given anxious thought to my duty in this matter. As those of you who were here yesterday will be aware, toward the close of the proceedings an entirely irregular statement, by someone who was not on oath, was made from the body of the hall. It was no doubt intended to influence the minds of the jury. I can only trust that it has not done so.”
The jury looked pointedly at the ground.
“In any event, what was said has no doubt been so widely repeated that it seemed to me that no purpose would be served by impanelling a fresh jury, and I have therefore decided to let the hearing proceed. Dr Barkworth, please.”
Dr Barkworth’s evidence did not amount to much. He explained how he had come to make his original diagnosis of influenza and why he had made it, and after ten minutes of this was followed by Dr McHarg.
The Coroner said, “There are one or two points you can clear up for us, Doctor. First, have you any comment to make on the original diagnosis?”
“Certainly. In the same caircumstances, I should probably have made the same diagnosis as Dr Barkworth.”
“Could you tell us why?”
“Because none of the normal processes of pathological examination would have detected the presence of nicotine. It required laboratory analysis to establish that.”
“Thank you, Doctor. In view of certain unfounded criticisms which have been made, I thought it as well to have that point publicly established.”
“The brotherhood of medicine,” murmured Bill Williams.<
br />
“Another point on which you may be able to enlighten us, Doctor. I presume that nicotine has an unpleasant taste.”
“Certainly. Though not as unpleasant as most other toxic substances.”
“But coffee would disguise the taste?”
“Yes. Particularly black coffee, or coffee heavily sweetened with sugar.”
“I meant to ask about that. The coffee on this occasion was served black?”
“Yes. There was milk and sugar on the tables if you wanted them.”
After one or two further questions the Coroner indicated that he had finished with Dr McHarg, but the jury had not. A small juryman with a gnome-like face and pebble glasses, who seemed to have constituted himself an unofficial foreman, held up his hand and said, “Are we allowed to ask questions?”
“Certainly. Mr Kinloch, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. What we’d like to know is why Dr McHarg changed his mind.”
“Did he?”
“We heard that he was going to give a death certificate, but changed his mind at the last moment.”
“I can answer that,” said Dr McHarg. “I changed my mind when I haird from Dr Scotland exactly what symptoms he had obsairved during the closing moments of the Archdeacon’s life.”
“And those were the symptoms of nicotine poisoning?”
“They were consistent with it.”
“Then wasn’t it Dr Scotland’s duty to report this to the police immediately?”
“I don’t think we can criticise Dr Scotland in his absence,” said the Coroner. “He should be with us soon.”
It was already nearly half past eleven and he was wondering whether the missing experts might have overslept.
They had not overslept. The three of them had started in very good time, in Dr Leigh’s aged Humber, and had soon been deep in medical shop. Crossing Blackwater Common, in the middle of an interesting discussion on some recent theories about the circulation of the blood, they had suddenly realised that there was something very wrong with the circulation of their car. It had given a number of deep coughs – “Very like an asthmatic patient I once had,” said Dr Gadney – and had come to a halt.
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