Family Matters
Page 22
“The sooner I get back to the shop the better. There’s a chap from Birmingham is coming to see me this afternoon—I expect he’s there now.”
“Well,” said Mr. Quatt, “we had better be frank about it. If we don’t bring in an open verdict we shall be giving everyone a lot of bother and causing a lot of unhappiness and making ourselves look a lot of blooming fools. I don’t see how we can possibly bring in any other verdict. We all know our coroner, and we know what a jolly decent chap he is, and we know he’s got a fine knowledge of the law. The Bishop himself couldn’t have given us a better address than what he gave us just now in the summing-up. There’s many a hard case I’ve seen him tackle in this town—and so have you, Mr. Twamley, and you, Mr. Beerhouse—and I’ve never seen him mistaken, not as anyone could prove. So I reckon he knows his job, and it’s up to us to show as we know ours. I’m very sorry to have heard all this talk about Mrs. Kewdingham, and I’m very sorry about that letter. I don’t believe she was doing anything wrong with Mr. Harrigall, or with anyone else. You chaps will agree with me, I’m sure.”
All the pipes and cigarettes were deposited in the ash-trays. All the faces were dull and solemn, as in the presence of some tremendous ritual.
“I will now ask you—”
At that moment a hitherto inconspicuous juryman, Mr. Fred Smith, also rose to his feet. He rose in order that he might more impressively deliver himself of what he had to say. Mr. Smith and Mr. Quatt gravely faced each other.
“I agree heartily,” said Mr. Smith, “with all that you have said about our respected coroner. But we are here to do justice to everyone; justice to the living, justice to the dead. It is my duty to draw your attention to something which is highly important…”
4
In the court there was a new increase of tension as the time passed. The jury had been in retirement for half an hour (quite long enough), forty minutes, fifty minutes…The coroner frowned occasionally. There were no conversations. It was a period of suspense.
What were the jury thinking of? After the masterly summing-up of the coroner there should have been no doubt whatever as to the verdict. The coroner thought of retiring to his own room, taking with him the counsel and the experts. He felt as though he ought to apologise for the jury—so unlike the obliging Shufflecastrians! But at any moment they might return…
The reporters, anticipating a rush for the telephones, were getting uneasy. There would now be little chance of a splash in the evening papers, and the Shufflecester Gazette was being held up for a special edition. Mr. Bletch, the senior reporter, began to think he would risk it—the verdict was a foregone conclusion, and he might as well finish his copy and let them start the machines. Mr. Bletch frequently wrote long accounts of things before they happened. He could have described vividly the final scene in the court; but now something advised him to be careful.
It was ten minutes to five when steps were heard, the steps of a single person coming along the corridor.
A policeman entered the court. He respectfully advanced to the coroner’s desk, where he stood to attention.
“If you please, sir, the jury would like to consult you.”
These words produced an immediate sensation. The coroner looked angry and bewildered as he stepped off his platform and walked away in front of the constable. So loud was the noise of excited chatter that Inspector Miles was obliged to call sternly:
“Order, order! Silence in the court, if you please!”
What was coming? Without a jury, without a coroner, the people waited in a state of rising agitation. Mr. Bletch congratulated himself: he could see a whole row of lovely headlines.
It was nearly a quarter past five when the coroner came back to his place in the court. He avoided looking at anyone in particular, and he was plainly disturbed.
Soon after the coroner’s return, the sound of steps was again heard coming along the passage. In a hush of painful expectancy the jurymen shuffled back to the chairs. A fearful gravity had now imposed itself upon the dullness of their faces, and they were almost dignified. Mr. Quatt, instead of sitting with the others, remained standing at the end of the row, and it could be seen that he held in his hand a folded paper.
Solemnly the coroner spoke to Mr. Quatt:
“Concerning the death of Robert Arthur Kewdingham, are you agreed upon your verdict?”
Mr. Quatt gave a sign to his fellow jurors, and they all rose to their feet. Then, grave and orderly, he stepped forward and handed his paper to the coroner.
“That,” he said in a clear voice, “is the verdict of us all.”
5
Bertha Kewdingham was alone in the drawing-room of Number Six when a car pulled up at the gate outside with a loud squealing of brakes. A moment later, Inspector Miles and Sergeant Hynes were quickly walking along the short path to the door. The unhappy woman saw them from the window. These were not the messengers for whom she had been waiting with so much anxiety. Her heart began to thump as she admitted her visitors to the hall.
“Mrs. Kewdingham?” said the Inspector, not roughly, but without a trace of emotion.
“Yes.”
“I am Inspector Miles of the Shufflecester Police. Here is a warrant. Please be careful, madam. I have to warn you that anything you say may be used as evidence against you.”
“Yes,” Bertha replied. “I understand.” She was pale, and her fingers were pressed against her bosom, but she spoke without a tremor.
“It will be best for you, madam, if we are as quick as possible. I now charge you with the murder of your husband, Robert Arthur Kewdingham, by administering to him a certain poison, to wit, arsenic, on the twenty-seventh of April, nineteen—”
Then she looked from one to the other, from the large blunt head of the inspector to the more pleasing face of the sergeant, not with fear, but with a smile that was almost whimsical.
“That is entirely untrue,” she said. “I did nothing of the kind.”
6
And what had Mr. Fred Smith said to the rest of the jury?
Mr. Smith was an estate agent, and on a certain April evening he had occasion to walk through the Crawley Woods. He was, so he said, walking along a silent path of grass, when he saw a lady and a gentlemen who were not in a position to observe his approach. He knew the lady as Mrs. Kewdingham; the gentleman he could not identify until he saw him in the court and heard him give his name as Mr. John Harrigall.
From the evidence which had been given, said Mr. Smith, it was known that Mrs. Kewdingham had laid the table for dinner on the evening of the 27th, and had then prepared the dinner herself. Had either Mrs. Kewdingham or Mr. Harrigall desired to place a certain fluid in the glass from which Mr. Kewdingham was to drink, there was nothing to prevent them. Mrs. Kewdingham had unlimited opportunities, and Mr. Harrigall had an opportunity when he went down to post his letter. It should also be noted, that all this took place when the maid was out of the house. In view of the episode at Crawley, and of circumstances which had been given in evidence, there was no need to look far for a motive. Actually, said Mr. Smith, there were many points of resemblance between this and a famous case which occurred many years ago…
So Mr. Fred Smith, that quiet, observant man, led the jury to their final decision.
Epilogue
1
After a long hearing of the case in the police court, Mrs. Kewdingham was committed for trial at the Shufflecester Assizes.
This famous trial lasted for six days, beginning on the 24th of October. Mrs. Kewdingham was defended by Sir William Plasquet, and his final speech is well known to every student of English law, as, indeed, it deserves to be. Owing to the powerful defence, which relied mainly upon their medical experts and upon the inconclusive nature of the evidence put forward by the Crown, the prisoner was acquitted. Mr. Justice Hay, who presided, entirely agreed with the verdict, and said that any
other would have been totally beyond his comprehension.
2
Within a year of the trial, the following notice appeared in the Shufflecester Gazette:
A PRETTY WEDDING
From our London Correspondent
On the 18th of this month, at St. Agatha’s Church, North Kensington, the marriage took place of Mrs. Bertha Millicent Kewdingham and Mr. Rudolph Unterstein, the coal and iron magnate. In view of the circumstances, the ceremony was very quiet, only invited guests being present. The church, however, was charmingly decorated with orchids and other exotic blooms. Among the guests was Mr. John Harrigall, the author, who has recently returned from a long visit to the United States.
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