Bodle was a farmer from Plumstead near London and was ordinarily a vigorous and healthy man. However, one day he was suddenly taken ill after drinking his morning coffee. He began vomiting, suffered stomach cramps, and subsequently died. The local justice of the peace, Mr. Slace, began to investigate the matter. He soon found out that Bodle was not a popular man with his family; he was dictatorial and prone to fits of violence. It was also noted that nobody in the family seemed upset at his death. There were rumors circulating that Bodle’s grandson John had wanted him dead, and the sooner the better. Given these suspicious circumstances, Slace asked Marsh to test the contents of George Bodle’s stomach, and the coffee, in order to establish whether or not arsenic could have been the cause of death. Marsh used Scheele’s test, which quickly revealed the presence of arsenic in the coffee. Likewise, when the stomach contents were tested, a yellow sulphide precipitate confirmed that arsenic was present. A local chemist also testified that he had sold John Bodle arsenic trioxide, while a maid who worked on the farm reported that John Bodle had said he wanted his grandfather dead so he could inherit his money. The results from Marsh’s tests combined with the witnesses’ statements seemed to confirm John Bodle’s guilt. It was an open-and-shut case.
However, at John Bodle’s trial in Maidstone in December 1832, he was surprisingly found not guilty. Part of the reason for this was that the samples of yellow arsenic trisulphide that Marsh had recovered from the coffee and stomach contents had deteriorated by the time of the trial. The jury therefore had to acquit on the grounds of reasonable doubt, since there was no incontrovertible proof of the presence of arsenic. Many years later John Bodle, who in the intervening time had been deported to the colonies for fraud, finally admitted to murdering his grandfather, though too late for anything to be done about it.
At the time, Marsh was stung by his failure to secure a conviction and resolved that he would pick up where Scheele had left off. He wanted to create a test that could not only infallibly detect the presence of arsenic, but which would also be able to be understood by a lay jury. The method he eventually developed involved adding the sample matter to a solution of hydrochloric acid and zinc, which would create arsine gas if arsenic was present, as well as hydrogen gas generated from combining the zinc and acid. If he trapped this gas, directed it through a tube, and then ignited it, a silvery black stain would form on a porcelain Plate held in front of the tube if arsine gas was present—metallic arsenic. The test did prove to have its drawbacks, though; if antimony (another poisonous substance) was present, it would also form a black deposit under this test. However antimony, unlike arsenic, dissolves in sodium hypochlorite, so there was a way of differentiating the two if necessary.
Marsh’s test proved to be so sensitive that quantities of arsenic as small as one fifth of a milligram could be detected. He first published the details of it in The Edinburgh Philosophical Journal in 1836. Marsh gave us the first really practical and reliable test for the presence of arsenic. However, he died in 1846, at the age of fifty-two, leaving his wife and children destitute. A sad end to such a bright and influential career.
In 1841 a German chemist named Hugo Reinsch (1809–1884) published a new arsenic test, which required far less skill than the Marsh test. Because of its simplicity, it promised to provide far more accurate results when carried out by less experienced chemists. For the Reinsch test, a sample of the suspected liquid was mixed with hydrochloric acid. Then a polished copper foil strip was placed into the mixture. If any arsenic was present in the sample, it would react with the hydrochloric acid and leave a grey stain on the copper foil. But although simpler and quicker to perform, this method soon proved to have its own drawbacks, as demonstrated in the trial of Thomas Smethurst.
On May 2, 1859, Smethurst, a retired surgeon in his late forties, was arrested for attempted poisoning. A few years earlier he had moved into a boarding house in Bayswater, London. It was there that he met Isabella Bankes, a fellow lodger. Bankes was a wealthy, independent woman, also in her forties. It did not take long for Smethurst to begin a passionate affair with her. He soon left his wife to begin a new life with Bankes in Richmond, and on December 9, 1858, Smethurst and Bankes were married, despite Smethurst still being bound by his previous vows.
In March 1859, only a few months after their marriage, Bankes became violently ill, exhibiting symptoms such as high fever, vomiting, and diarrhea. She was treated by several doctors, and when her condition did not improve, they became suspicious and sent samples of her bodily excretions to be examined. These were tested by Alfred Swaine Taylor, the widely respected English toxicologist. He found what he believed to be a metallic poison in one sample, and Smethurst was arrested on suspicion of poisoning. Unfortunately it was too late to help Bankes and she died soon after Smethurst’s arrest.
After Bankes’s death, Taylor carried out further tests, including on medicine bottles found in the lodgings she shared with Smethurst. One medicine bottle containing chlorate of potash was also found to contain traces of arsenic. Taylor deduced that Smethurst had poisoned the medicine so he could administer it to Bankes undetected. Smethurst was immediately charged with murder. However, Bankes’s postmortem failed to find any trace of arsenic in her body, nor did further tests on bodily fluids that had been collected when she was alive.
Confused, Taylor tried to think of another explanation. It was known that copper could sometimes contain arsenic impurities. Taylor suddenly realized that the copper he had used during the Reinsch test was not pure enough, and that arsenic impurities in it had reacted with the hydrochloric acid used in the test to create the telltale grey stain. Smethurst’s trial was already under way, and despite Taylor alerting the court and the jury to his mistake, it continued, as the magistrate believed the “metallic poison” found in the original sample from Bankes was enough evidence to prove Smethurst’s guilt. Smethurst was found guilty of murder. However, after vociferous protest from both the public and medical professionals—including petitions to the Home Office—his sentence was lifted. Commentators on the case highlighted evidence that seemed to have been ignored during the trial. Bankes was prone to fits of illness throughout her life, including extended periods of vomiting. Not only that, but the medicine she received from doctors in fact contained mercury, which might well explain the metallic poison that was believed to be present in her fluid samples. It seems likely that she simply died of natural causes, a consequence of her chronic poor health.
This case highlights the fact that, despite the relative ease with which the Reinsch test could be performed, an expert knowledge of chemistry was still needed to ensure an accurate result. Both the Marsh and the Reinsch test were valid and effective methods of testing for arsenic, but only when the procedure was carried out correctly.
Another significant case in the history of forensic toxicology is that of the Frenchwoman Marie-Fortunée Lafarge, who was convicted of poisoning her husband in 1840. The case became a cause célèbre, as it was one of the earliest trials to be reported on daily by newspapers (see Plate 12), and because she was the first person convicted largely on direct forensic toxicological evidence—as opposed to the more indirect evidence that Mary Blandy was convicted on.
Marie-Fortunée Lafarge (née Chapelle) was born in Paris in 1816, the daughter of an army officer. She was said to be, through her grandmother’s line, a direct descendant of King Louis XIII. She lost both her parents when she was still young and was eventually adopted by her maternal aunt, though she was already eighteen. The two did not get along and although Marie was educated and treated well, she was always made to feel like une cousine pauvre—“a poor cousin.”
When she reached the ripe old age of twenty-three and was still unmarried, her aunt took it upon herself to find Marie a husband. However, she failed to inform Marie of this little project. She engaged the services of a marriage broker, who eventually came up with a candidate who fitted the bill. His name was Charles Lafarge, and he was the son of a just
ice of the peace. He was twenty-eight years old and apparently a giant of a man, coarse and uncouth. His family had been left penniless by a succession of poor business deals, and his father saw the marriage as a way for them to get their hands on some more cash. Obviously he was not keen for Marie’s family to learn of this ulterior motive, so he concealed the reality of the family finances, claiming that they were wealthy in both land and business.
Since all seemed satisfactory, a meeting was arranged between Charles and Marie. Unfortunately she was unimpressed by him. Nevertheless she eventually agreed to marry him, since she was under the impression that he was a rich man. Their engagement was announced, and on August 10, 1839, they became husband and wife, then left Paris to begin life at the Lafarge estate.
Marie was horrified when she arrived; it was immediately clear that she and her family had been tricked. The house, which was contained within the ruins of a former monastery, was in a very poor state of repair, damp and rat-infested. There was no money, just a mountain of debt. Marie considered her new family little better than vulgar peasants. She locked herself in her room and wrote a letter to her new husband begging him to release her from the marriage and threatening to kill herself if he did not. He refused, but promised not to assert his marital privileges until the estate was restored. Marie also insisted that they each make a will leaving everything to the other. Charles did this but then promptly changed it to leave everything to his mother.
Then, while Charles was away in Paris trying to raise money for a new business venture, Marie unexpectedly sent him a Christmas cake along with—even more unexpectedly—a love letter. After eating the cake he became violently ill. He did not contact a doctor, however, and assumed that the cake must have been contaminated in some way while it was being transported. He returned to the estate, still feeling very unwell. Marie insisted that he take to his bed and that he should allow her to nurse him. She prepared all his food, and the illness immediately flared up again. The family doctor judged that it seemed a little like cholera.
Charles continued to experience a variety of symptoms including cramps, dehydration, and nausea. He became so ill that the family decided that he should be watched twenty-four hours a day. A young cousin called Emma Pontier and a family friend called Anna Brun were chosen to help look after him. All the while, Marie continued to treat him with various medicaments, including gum arabic, which she said she swore by. In spite of this apparent care, however, Charles continued to deteriorate. He was prescribed eggnog to keep his strength up. It was Anna Brun who noticed Marie taking a white powder from a malachite box she owned and stirring it into the eggnog. When she asked what it was, Marie told her it was “orange blossom sugar,” which she was adding to the drink to sweeten it. This reply failed to satisfy Anna, and when she noticed a few white flakes still floating on the surface, she began collecting samples of the food that Marie prepared for Charles as evidence.
After two weeks spent suffering in extreme pain, Charles passed away. Marie seemed totally unfazed by her husband’s death and remained calm even when informed that the police were being sent for. Two days later, a justice of the peace named Moran arrived from Brive. He immediately took possession of the soup and eggnog that Anna Brun had kept. Moran had heard of a new test that pathologists in Paris were using to detect the presence of arsenic. This was, in fact, the Marsh test. He asked the doctors who had treated Charles if they knew of it. Not wishing to seem foolish or uninformed, they said that they did—in fact, they had never even heard of the method, let alone carried out such a test themselves.
The doctors performing the autopsy had only removed the stomach before burial. They performed an old-fashioned and unreliable test that involved heating the sample to try to determine the presence of arsenic. When they did so, it gave off a strong smell and formed a yellow precipitate, but the test was performed so incompetently that the test tube actually exploded. Still, they eventually concluded that there was a high concentration of arsenic in the body of Charles Lafarge.
Moran then turned his attentions to Emma Pontier. When questioned she admitted to hiding Marie Lafarge’s small malachite box. When the box was recovered it was handed over at once to a Dr. Lespinasse for examination. He found that the substance it contained was indeed arsenic. Moran also learnt that before Charles had received the cake that made him ill, Marie had procured arsenic from a local chemist, claiming it was to treat a rat infestation. With this development, Moran felt compelled to act; he arrested and charged Marie with murder. She was incarcerated in the jail at Brive.
The trial took place in Tulle on September 3, 1840. A young lawyer called Charles Lachaud was appointed to defend Marie, assisted by several others. One of these, a man called Maître Paillet, was acquainted with the toxicologist Mathieu Orfila, who was, among other things, an acknowledged expert on the Marsh test. The strongest evidence against Marie was the test carried out by the doctors at Brive, which had concluded that there was arsenic present in the corpse. When Paillet wrote to him explaining how the results had been obtained, Orfila was furious at the outdated methods employed. He sent an affidavit to the court stating that the tests were conducted so ignorantly that they meant nothing.
The doctors’ report stated that when they performed their test, it resulted in a yellow precipitate that they assumed to be arsenic. However, Orfila argued that as the test had been carried out incorrectly, the yellow precipitate could actually have been caused by many other substances and could not be considered conclusive evidence. When Orfila’s statement was read in court, it destroyed the evidence of the doctors from Brive. In an unexpected move, the prosecution then insisted that the stomach contents be subjected to the Marsh test as Orfila suggested.
Three chemists from Limoges were found who, despite their inexperience, attempted to carry out the test. However, when they did so, they found no traces of arsenic in the stomach sample. This was not a welcome development for the prosecution—they were keenly aware that the balance of evidence was tipping, and not in their favor. However, they had one last ace up their sleeves: they asked that the food that Anna Brun had hidden away should be similarly examined. The defense were by now feeling confident in their victory and so acquiesced. Unfortunately for Marie, this time the tests did find arsenic, and in prodigious quantities. This was a puzzling development—if there was poison in the food, then why was there no poison in the body? Finally it was decided that Orfila should be called personally.
A week later, Orfila arrived, and conducted the Marsh test on the contents of Lafarge’s stomach himself, insisting that the three chemists watch his methods carefully. By the afternoon of the following day, Orfila had his answer: the previous tests had been incorrectly performed. There was arsenic in the body of Charles Lafarge, although admittedly in small quantities.
The defense tried in vain to discredit these new results but to no avail. On September 19, 1840, Marie Lafarge was found guilty of murder and sentenced to life imprisonment with hard labor. She was transported to Montpellier to serve her sentence. King Louis-Philippe later commuted the hard labor (but not the life sentence). In 1841, while still in prison, Marie wrote her Mémoires, which were published later that year. In them she completely denied any wrongdoing. In 1852, Napoleon III finally released her as an act of mercy, since she was suffering from tuberculosis. She died on November 7 that year, still proclaiming her innocence.
The case highlights just how important accurate toxicological testing could be. Had Orfila not become involved, the inaccurate results of the previous tests could well have led to a completely different outcome in the trial. It also led to King Louis-Philippe issuing a decree forbidding apothecaries to sell arsenic or any other poison to anyone not already known to them. Anyone buying a substance that could be used as a poison was also required to sign a register, a “poison book.” The rest of Europe soon adopted similar measures.
Although arsenic was undoubtedly preeminent among poisons, it was by no means the only substa
nce used during this period. In fact, during the early years of the nineteenth century, new poisonous substances were being developed at an alarming rate: strychnine in 1818 and chloroform in 1831, for example. Even years later, in 1847, Mathieu Orfila confessed that he thought it possible that vegetable poisons would remain undetectable in the body and that there was nothing that he or anyone else could do about this problem. This is because the basis of vegetable poisons are alkaloids such as morphine, strychnine, and nicotine. These work in the nervous system and therefore leave no trace in the body that scientists in the early nineteenth century were able to detect. Fortunately for forensic science, Orfila was wrong on this count. A few years later a Belgian chemist named Jean Servais Stas (1813–1891) came up with a solution while working at the École Royale Militaire in Brussels.
Gustave Fougnies had no title, yet he was a wealthy man, having recently inherited the considerable fortune of his father, who had been a greengrocer. On November 20, 1850, he collapsed and died on the dining-room floor of the Château Bitremont where his sister Lydie lived in Belgium. This was, in itself, perhaps not entirely remarkable: he had been weak since birth and had even had his leg amputated as a result of his poor constitution—something that had only made his condition worse. What was remarkable was the apparent indifference of his sister to his death—if anything, she seemed pleased. However, once you dig into the family situation in a little more depth, the reason for this quickly becomes apparent.
Lydie was a countess, having married Count Hippolyte de Bocarmé, who was descended from the noble Belgian family of Visart de Bocarmé. Despite his title, Bocarmé was permanently short of money. He liked to live extravagantly but earned only around 2,000 francs a year and had therefore borrowed a substantial amount of money to fund his lavish lifestyle. It is highly probable that he married Lydie in 1840 at least in part for her money. In fact, she had little money of her own but would inherit the family fortune in the event of her brother’s death, since he was unmarried and without children. Given his poor state of health, this seemed likely to occur in the relatively near future.
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