by Francis Iles
“ ‘As soon as I was informed, in the afternoon, that Mr. Chatford had also been taken ill, I sent a message offering my services in conjunction with those of his own medical man. Mr. Chatford, however, having already called in Dr. Lydston, I did not press the point. In the afternoon I called upon Mr. and Mrs. Bourne to make sure that they had not been taken ill, and was distressed to find Mrs. Bourne in bed with symptoms somewhat similar to my own, though unfortunately a little more severe. I was now convinced that these three illnesses must have been caused by something we had all eaten at tea on the 14th at my house, which pointed conclusively to the potted meat. When I heard the next day that Mr. Chatford was really seriously ill I made a special journey into Merchester and again offered my services, this time to Dr. Lydston, feeling that he as a medical man would appreciate the value of the experience in this somewhat rare disease which I could afford. Dr. Lydston considered the matter, and informed me that he could not avail himself of my services without Mr. Chatford’s consent. Soon after I returned home, however, he rang me up and asked me to go back for a consultation. I did so, taking with me the large dose of jalap and cream of tartar which I had prepared and put into a capsule for the purpose. I saw Mr. Chatford, and was able to inform Dr. Lydston that he was clearly suffering from botulism. I also gave Dr. Lydston the capsule containing the jalap and cream of tartar to administer to him if he thought advisable. I cannot say whether Dr. Lydston administered this dose while I was in the room or not. I think not, as Mr. Chatford was in a state of considerable collapse at that time, but I did not really notice. It was obvious to me from the lack of improvement in Mr. Chatford’s condition that Dr. Lydston’s treatment had been on mistaken lines, and I was anxious that he should understand what was the real cause of the illness.
“ ‘In my opinion the potted meat, having become contaminated through natural causes, was undoubtedly responsible for the illnesses of Mr. Chatford, Mrs. Bourne, and myself, and I am unable to throw any further light on the matter.
“ ‘I make this statement quite voluntarily and without being questioned.’ ”
“There, doctor,” said Chief Inspector Russell, almost indecently jovial considering the hour. “That’s correct, isn’t it? That’s exactly what you want to put forward?”
Dr. Bickleigh rubbed his hands gently together. “Quite, I think.” They had tried to wear him down by keeping him up so late, but again they’d got hold of the wrong man; a doctor doesn’t lose his wits through having to exercise them half the night; he’d soon lose his practice as well if he did.
Superintendent Allhayes smothered a yawn. He had got out of the ways of night-work since reaching his present rank. “Do you wish to make any corrections, additions, or erasures before you sign it?”
“None at all, thank you. I’ll sign it now.”
Dr. Bickleigh took the Sergeant’s pen from him and bent over the table. He was glowing with triumph. There were one or two awkward juxtapositions in the statement, and a few things which he would have preferred to gloss over or perhaps have worded rather differently (in fact the wording all through was absurd; but what could you expect when each single sentence was discussed for several minutes, separately and apart from its context, before being written down?), but nothing to which he could take a real exception. And on the whole the police had been very fair; much fairer than he had expected; that bit at the end was bunkum, of course, just put in to save their faces, but they really had been quite reasonable. Chief Inspector Russell particularly: Dr. Bickleigh quite liked that big, cheerful, paternal-looking man.
No, there were one or two awkward juxtapositions perhaps, but they simply didn’t count compared with the marvellous, the utterly glorious way in which he had turned their own traps back on them. There had been only two possible bits of evidence against him, and both of them he had completely demolished. The idea had seemed sound when it occurred to his flogged brain just before dinner. Hearing it read over in the statement, he could have crowed aloud. The incubator and the capsule— absolutely and entirely convincing! The evidence knocked clean out of their hands. Nothing but suspicion left. And you can’t arrest a murderer on suspicion. Oh, dear, no. Only felonious loiterers, and housebreakers, and low scum like that. Not an artist in death like Edmund Alfred Bickleigh, Esq., M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P. Good gracious, no.
Dr. Bickleigh had a task not to laugh as he signed his name with an unusually bold flourish, and added the date underneath. Nearly half-past three, and no arrest to compensate them. Well, but of course, they could hardly have been expected to realise what kind of a man they had to deal with; they didn’t come up against Edmund Bickleighs every day.
Suspicion would remain, of course: but what on earth was suspicion?
With any luck Chatford ought to be dead by now.
Dr. Bickleigh straightened up. “Well, that’s done at last. Now, then, what about that drink you wouldn’t have a couple of hours ago? No need to keep your minds sharp any longer now, you know. Say when, Chief Inspector.” (And we’ll drink a silent toast to a speedy death in the Chatford family.)
“No, thank you. I won’t change my mind, doctor.”
“No?” said Dr. Bickleigh indifferently. Let him sulk, then, if he wanted to. “Superintendent, say when.”
“I think, doctor,” said the Chief Inspector, in a strangely gentle voice, “that the Superintendent’s got something different to say to you.”
The Superintendent seemed to shake himself together. He drew a little nearer to Dr. Bickleigh and fixed him with his rigid gaze. “Edmund Alfred Bickleigh, it is my duty to warn you that anything you say may be taken down and used in evidence hereafter. I now arrest you on a charge of attempting to murder Mr. William Chatford and Mrs. Madeleine Bourne by administering to them poisonous germs at Wyvern’s Cross on the 14th September, 1929.”
Dr. Bickleigh had been experiencing a curious sensation. A shell seemed to have exploded quite close to his head, as one or two had done in the war. He had undergone once more just that same perception-numbing reverberation, that violent rocking of the brain in the brain-pan which momentarily paralyses the processes of the mind; there was even the old shrill singing in his ears, so piercing as to be physically excruciating.
Slowly his stunned senses recovered, apprehended, examined, rejected this preposterous mis-statement. “You can’t,” he said, in a small but very distinct voice. “You’ve no evidence. No evidence at all.”
Chief Inspector Russell laid a huge, not unfriendly hand on the little man’s shoulder. “Better not say anything just now, doctor.”
Dr. Bickleigh looked up at him. His mouth worked impotently. Only his dry tongue rasped against the parched roof of his mouth with a rustling, scratchy sound. Speech had completely deserted him. It was probably just as well.
“Here, hold up, doctor. Sergeant, give him a chair. Come on; I’ll mix you a drink—a real stiff one, eh? No need to chuck up the sponge yet. While there’s life there’s hope, you know, doctor.”
Not a particularly tactful observation perhaps; but Chief Inspector Russell, a kind-hearted man, meant it well.
CHAPTER XII
1
GERM DRAMA CHARGE OF ATTEMPTED MURDER AGAINST DOCTOR WIFE’S BODY EXHUMED
From our own correspondent.
Merchester (Devonshire), Friday.
“That he attempted to murder William Andrew Chatford, of the firm of Shipton, Ogden, Ermehead & Chatford, solicitors, of Merchester, and Madeleine Winifred Bourne, of Wyvern’s Cross, by administering poisonous germs to them, to wit, bacillus enteritidis.”
These were the words uttered in the old-fashioned Merchester police court this morning, and were the prelude of what promises to be a great drama of the law. The man in the dock was Dr. Edmund Alfred Bickleigh, whose appearance there was the culmination of a series of sensational events during the present week.
Dr. Bickleigh, who wore a blue serge suit and a dark tie, is a slightly built man with a ruddy complexion. He faced the magistrates
with coolness, but kept his countenance averted from the public during the short time he was in the dock. He followed with keen and critical interest the evidence of Superintendent Allhayes, Deputy Chief Constable of Devonshire, who arrested him.
“Yesterday evening I went to Dr. Bickleigh’s house in Wyvern’s Cross, accompanied by Chief Inspector Russell of Scotland Yard,” said the Deputy Chief Constable. “I saw him, and told him I was about to arrest him on a serious charge.
“YOU HAVE NO EVIDENCE”
“I cautioned him, and then said:
“ ‘I now arrest you on a charge of attempting to murder William Andrew Chatford and Madeleine Winifred Bourne by administering to them poisonous germs, to wit, bacillus enteritidis, on the 14th September last.’ Dr. Bickleigh replied, ‘You can’t do that. You have no evidence. No evidence at all.’
“I am instructed by the Director of Public Prosecutions, who has taken the case up, to ask for a remand of a week. I shall offer no further evidence to-day.”
Mr. F. L. Gunhill, who represented Bickleigh, said that he did not intend to apply for bail at this stage.
WOMEN CHEER PRISONER
A large crowd that included many women was waiting near the police court in the hope of seeing Dr. Bickleigh. When he appeared, cheers were raised, and many people struggled forward in an attempt to shake his hand. The prisoner smilingly acknowledged the ovation as the police hurried him into the taxi which was waiting, and the cab drove off amid a remarkable demonstration of sympathy with the accused man.
LONG INVESTIGATIONS
The arrest of Dr. Bickleigh is the sequel to investigations which have been in progress in the neighbourhood of Wyvern’s Cross for a considerable time. I learn that these investigations were prompted by the Home Office, as a result of communications which were made to London as long ago as last June. Scotland Yard detectives have been pursuing enquiries in the district for several weeks.
Mrs. Bickleigh died in distressing circumstances on the 9th April last year. She had been suffering from a painful illness. An inquest was held, and a verdict returned of accidental death through an overdose of morphia self-administered.
The little community of Wyvern’s Cross is in a ferment of excitement. The Scotland Yard officers, working from Merchester, had gone about their enquiries so quietly and unassumingly that nobody except Mr. Chatford and Mr. and Mrs. Bourne had been aware of their presence at all. Indeed, so well had the secret been kept that the news of the arrest came as a veritable bombshell to the villagers, only to be followed by the still greater bombshell later in the day of the exhumation of Mrs. Bickleigh’s body. I am informed that when Dr. Bickleigh issued his invitations to tea on the 14th, during which it is alleged that the poison-germs were administered, the officers were hastily consulted and advised an acceptance in order that suspicions should not be aroused by an unneighbourly refusal. The sequel came as unexpectedly to the detectives as to the alleged victims.
I understand that sensational developments are expected. THE EXHUMATION
The exhumation of Mrs. Bickleigh’s body, ordered by the Home Office, took place late this afternoon, and is causing a tremendous local sensation. Digging operations began just after five o’clock, but the coffin was not brought to the surface until after dark. The little churchyard at Wyvern’s Cross was closed during the operation to all but officials engaged in the case and the gravediggers.
The scene was eerie in the extreme. The grave which sheltered Mrs. Bickleigh’s body lies under an ancient yew. When the coffin had been scraped free of earth, it was laid under this venerable tree to await the arrival of Dr. Sourby, the Home Office pathologist. A few minutes after nine o’clock the headlights of a motor-car ascending a winding hill could be seen, and five minutes later Dr. Sourby alighted, accompanied by Detective Chief Inspector Russell, of Scotland Yard. Policemen carrying hurricane lanterns led them to the graveside.
A dark night, the gloomy sky oppressively overcast; the rising wind moaning through the branches of the ancient yew; the little party standing round the open grave, their shadows distorted into grotesque shapes by the flickering light of the lanterns; the silent knot of awestricken villagers looking on from a distance—such was the impressive solemnity of the spectacle as the handsome oak casket, with brass fittings and name-plate, was hoisted on to a hand-bier and the little procession moved off, led by a constable with a lantern, to a tiny disused cottage, with whitewashed walls and thatched roof, which stands near by.
Only an oil lamp, supplemented by the hurricane lantern, served to illuminate the post-mortem examination conducted by Dr. Sourby. The expert, however, with the celerity and skill born of long years of practice, speedily performed it and removed certain organs from the body.
EXHUMATION LAW
The law relating to exhumations is that a coroner can order the exhumation of a body if he has not already held an inquest; but if he has previously held an inquest, he must apply to the Home Secretary for an order.
ARREST A SENSATION
That the arrest of Dr. Bickleigh has caused a sensation locally is to put it at its mildest. One of the most respected as well as one of the most popular figures in the district, he came to Wyvern’s Cross just over fourteen years ago, and since then, by his professional skill and kindness, has endeared himself . . .
A graduate of . . .
His war record . . .
. . .
2
MR. F. L. Gunhill rubbed his podgy hands together and beamed hearteningly on his client. He looked far too cheerful a little fat man to be a solicitor.
“Oh, you needn’t worry about that, Bickleigh. They won’t press that charge. They know they couldn’t get a conviction. You’ll see: the grand jury will throw out the bill, as sure as eggs. Why, they’ve no real evidence at all.”
“I should think not, indeed,” Dr. Bickleigh agreed indignantly.
“H’m, yes. Pity you remarked on it, though. Still, no matter, no matter. They have a prima facie case, no doubt, and we’ll have to get out our answer to it, just in case. But of course they only made the arrest to free their hands for this other investigation. Now that’s what we’ve got to concentrate on.”
“It’s outrageous,” Dr. Bickleigh said thinly. “I could never have conceived such a thing. To lose such a wife is bad enough, Gun-hill, but to be put on one’s trial for murdering her . . .”
“Yes, of course. Of course. Shocking. We’ll go into the matter of counsel more fully, of course, but I strongly advise briefing Sir Francis Lee-Bannerton. Strongly. Just the man for us. If he’ll take the case, of course.”
“Why ever shouldn’t he?”
“Oh, he’s a busy man, Lee-Bannerton, you know,” said Mr. Gunhill, with something of an evasive air. “Still, we’ll go into that later. There are just one or two points I want to examine with you now.”
Dr. Bickleigh looked up suddenly. “Look here, Gunhill, they haven’t got a case. Have they? I mean, there’s even less evidence than in the other. How could there be any evidence against me of such a ridiculous charge? I mean, it’s so absurd.”
“Oh, they’ve got hold of one or two small things. Nothing of major importance, I quite agree. In fact, we’re quite justified in feeling every confidence. Every confidence. I don’t mind telling you, Bickleigh, that I consider an adverse verdict almost unthinkable.”
“So I should hope, indeed.”
“But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take every precaution,” said Mr. Gunhill, with robust sense. “We should, and we must. Of course, if the judge rules out the evidence on the attempted murder charge as inadmissible in the major one, the result is a foregone conclusion. But the prosecution will fight for its admission without a doubt. Still, even there the odds are in our favour. It will depend entirely on the judge.”
“They can’t possibly find me guilty. It would be too preposterous.” Dr. Bickleigh was quite calm. It was impossible that he could be found guilty.
“Exactly. Precisely. I’
m delighted to see you so confident. In fact, I’m every bit as much so myself.” Mr. Gunhill rubbed his hands and looked extremely confident. “Still, as I said, we must take every precaution. Now, assuming that this evidence is admitted, I have an inkling—yes, indeed, more than an inkling—that the prosecution will make a big point of your conduct in the sick-room. We haven’t gone properly into that yet, have we? No. No, of course not. So I should like you to tell me just how it came about that you diagnosed botulism in Chatford’s case when he actually had nothing of the sort. How was that, eh?”
Two little tiny points of red appeared on Dr. Bickleigh’s cheekbones, as they had since his arrest whenever he thought of Lydston. “I could hardly be expected to know that I was being deceived by a fellow-practitioner, could I? With the police and a bacteriologist waiting in the next room to try and trap me.”
“Of course not. It was—most high-handed. Then you were deceived by Lydston about the symptoms?”
“Most certainly I was. From my own case I had strong suspicions of botulism (as it turned out, I was mistaken; but that’s neither here nor there), which I wanted to confirm from Chatford’s. I questioned Lydston, and what he told me did confirm it.”
“I see. Yes. Of course, you understand the point they’ll try to make?”
“Quite,” said Dr. Bickleigh disgustedly. “You explained that. And equally that they’ll credit me with maliciously substituting the capsule with the culture for the one containing jalap and cream of tartar which they found, exactly as I said, in my surgery. No doubt. I’m supposed to have been trying to commit a murder. We mustn’t forget that.”
“Yes, yes,” soothed Mr. Gunhill. “So Lydston deliberately deceived you. Well, that’s quite a good line. Quite sound, in view of the trap they laid for you. Yes, I think we can take that line.”
“It happens to be the truth,” Dr. Bickleigh said coldly.
“Oh, yes. Oh, naturally. And the capsule: quite sound, quite sound. Yes, I’m sure we can meet that attack adequately. Perfectly. I’m not worried on that head at all.”