by Francis Iles
“Gentlemen of the jury, have you all agreed upon your verdict?”
“We have.”
“Do you find the prisoner at the bar, Edmund Alfred Bickleigh, guilty or not guilty of the wilful murder of Julia Elizabeth Mary Bickleigh?”
“Not guilty.”
Well, of course.
“Is that the verdict of you all?”
“It is.”
But for all that Dr. Bickleigh drew a huge breath of relief, and felt rather weak about the knees as he turned to the judge and waited to be formally discharged.
Well, that was the end of everything. Eight whole days of it, and now—free at last. Well, not technically free. He was still in custody, of course, on that ridiculous attempted murder charge. That would be taken almost immediately, a mere formality. Everyone knew that, having failed on the major charge, the Crown could never hope to get a verdict against him in the minor one; really the trial just finished had been a trial, in a way, upon the other charge too. Quite possibly (thought Gunhill) the Crown would enter a nolle prosequi. Anyhow, he had nothing to worry about now.
The judge said a few words to him, and Dr. Bickleigh, who had not heard one of them, beamed back vaguely. People pressed forward to shake his hand as he stepped out of the dock, Gunhill and the rest. There was even some attempt at cheering. Dr. Bickleigh felt a hero. Damn it all, he was a hero. There were precious few people who could get away with a killing like that. And now he was out of danger. Ruined, of course. Every halfpenny he had in the world had gone into his defence: he would possess little more than the clothes he stood in; a nice system, that allows that sort of thing to happen to an innocent man. Yes, ruined right enough, but out of danger for good and all. And as for being ruined—well, Chatford had ruined him, and it was only fair that Chatford should be forced to make restitution. And, by God . . .
As with smiling face and nodding head he accepted the congratulations of those round him, and shook hands that were being continually thrust towards him from all sides like a cheval de frise, a little spot deep down in Dr. Bickleigh’s consciousness glowed and burned with a fierce hatred of Chatford and a determination for vengeance.
Chatford! Chatford, to set himself against him. . . .
Somebody tapped him sharply on the shoulder, and he looked round into the unsmiling face of Superintendent Allhayes. “Better come this way, I think, doctor. Must remind you, still in custody, until . . .”
“Yes, of course,” Dr. Bickleigh laughed gaily. “Still got your clutches on me, haven’t you? Like me so much you can’t let me go, eh? All right, Superintendent.”
Still laughing (for, after all, it was rather amusing, after being acquitted of murder), Dr. Bickleigh accompanied the Superintendent into another room. It was empty, except for two constables and a sergeant.
“Well, lead me to the Black Maria,” giggled the little man. “Or are you going to give me a drink first, Superintendent? I can tell you, I wouldn’t mind one a bit.”
The Superintendent’s moon-like face did not alter its expression by a millimetre. “Edmund Alfred Bickleigh, I now arrest you for the wilful murder of Dennis Herbert Blaize Bourne, by administering to him the germs of typhoid fever on the 14th September, 1929, and I warn you that anything you say may be taken down and used in evidence hereafter. Hi, stop that, you— Sergeant, get hold of him, can’t you? Barrows! Spreyton! Don’t stand there like stuffed dummies. . . .”
EPILOGUE
ON MONDAY, the 24th April, the trial opened of Dr. Edmund Alfred Bickleigh for the wilful murder of Dennis Herbert Blaize Bourne by administering to him poisonous germs, to wit, bacillus enteritidis. The trial lasted four days. Late in the afternoon of the 27th the jury returned a verdict of guilty.
In passing sentence the judge said: “Edmund Alfred Bickleigh, yours was a commonplace, sordid crime for which I can find no extenuating circumstances whatever. It only remains for me to . . .”
On the 15th May, Dr. Bickleigh’s appeal against this verdict was heard in the Court of Criminal Appeal by the Lord Chief Justice, sitting with Mr. Justice Darlington and Mr. Justice Parbury. The grounds of appeal were (a) misdirection by the learned judge in his charge to the jury, and (b) that the verdict was against the weight of the evidence. The appeal was dismissed.
On the 2nd June, Dr. Bickleigh was executed for the murder of Dennis Herbert Blaize Bourne. He protested his innocence to the last.
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