“You had a good look at the body, doctor?” he asked, stooping and speaking almost in a whisper. “I wonder if it would be fair for me to ask you a question?”
“Let us hear the question,” Thorndyke replied cautiously.
“Well, it is this: the medical witness that I am calling is the police surgeon’s locum tenens. I don’t know anything about him, but I suspect that he hasn’t had much experience. He tells me that he can mid nothing definite to indicate the cause of death, but that there are no signs of violence. What do you say to that?”
“It is exactly what I should have said myself if I had been in his place,” Thorndyke replied. “I saw nothing that gave any hint as to the cause of death. You will have to settle that question on evidence other than medical.”
“Thank you, thank you,” said the coroner. “You have set my mind completely at rest. Now I will get on with the inquiry. It needn’t take very long.”
He retired to his chair at the head of the long table, on one side of which sat the jury and on the other one or two reporters, and having seen that his writing materials were in order, prepared to begin. And Thorndyke, once more meeting Mr. Pottermack’s eye, found it fixed on him with an expression of expectant horror.
“The inquiry, gentlemen,” the coroner began, “which we are about to conduct concerns the most regrettable death of a fellow-townsman of yours, Mr. James Lewson, who, as you probably know, disappeared rather mysteriously on the night of the 23rd of last July. Quite by chance, his dead body was discovered last Monday afternoon, and it will be our duty to inquire and determine how, when, and where he met with his death. I need not trouble you with a long preliminary statement, as the testimony of the witnesses will supply you with the facts and you will be entitled to put any questions that you may wish to amplify them. We had better begin with the discovery of the body and take events in their chronological order. Joseph Crick.”
In response to this summons a massively built labourer rose and advanced sheepishly to the table. Having been sworn, he deposed that his name was Joseph Crick and that he was a labourer in the employ of Mr. Barber, a local builder.
“Well, Crick,” said the coroner, “now tell us how you came to discover this body.”
The witness cast an embarrassed glance at the eager jurymen, and, having wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, began: “’Twere last Monday afternoon—”
“That was the thirteenth of April,” the coroner interposed.
“Maybe ’twere,” the witness agreed cautiously, “I dunno. But ’twere last Monday afternoon. Me and Jim Wurdle had been workin’ in the pit a-fillin’ the carts with gravel. We’d filled the last cart and seen her off, and then, as it were gettin’ on for knockin’-off time, we lights our pipes and goes for a stroll round the pit to have a look at the old shelter-place where they used to keep the carts in the winter. We’d got round to the gate and Jim Wurdle was a lookin’-in when I happened to notice a tree that had fell down from the top of the face. And then I see something layin’ by the tree what had got a cap at one end and a pair of shoes at the other. Give me a regler start, it did. So I says to Jim Wurdle I says, Jim, I says, that’s a funny-lookin’ thing over yonder long-side the tree, I says. Looks like some one a-layin’ down there, I says. So Jim Wurdle he looks at it and he says, ‘right you are, mate,’ he says, ‘so it do,’ he says. So we walked over to have a look at it and then we see as ’twere a dead man, or leastways a man’s skillinton. Give us a rare turn, it did, to see it a-layin’ there in its shabby old clothes with the beedles a-crawlin’ about on it.”
“And what did you do then?” asked the coroner.
“We sung out to the other chaps t’other side of the pit and told them about it, and then we set off for the town as hard as we could go until we come to the police station, where we see Sergeant Tatnell and told him about it; and he sent us back to the pit to wait for him and show him where it were.”
When the coroner had written down Crick’s statement he glanced at the jury and enquired: “Do you wish to ask the witness any questions, gentlemen?” And as nobody expressed any such wish, he dismissed Crick and called James Wurdle, who, in effect, repeated the evidence of the previous witness and was in his turn dismissed.
The next witness was Inspector Barnaby of the local police force, a shrewd-looking man of about fifty, who gave his evidence in the concise, exact manner proper to a police officer.
“On Monday last, the thirteenth of April, at five twenty-one P.M., it was reported to me by Sergeant Tatnell that the dead body of a man had been discovered in the gravel-pit in Potter’s Wood. I obtained an empty shell from the mortuary, and, having put it on a wheeled stretcher, proceeded with Sergeant Tatnell to the gravel-pit, where the previous witnesses showed us the place where the body was lying. We found the body lying at the foot of the gravel-face close to a tree that had fallen from the top. I examined it carefully before moving it. It was lying in a sprawling posture, not like that of a sleeping man but like that of a man who had fallen heavily. There were a few stones and some gravel on the body, but most of the gravel which had come down with the tree was underneath. The body was in an advanced stage of decay; so much so that it began to fall to pieces when we lifted it to put it into the shell. The head actually dropped off, and we had great trouble in preventing the legs from separating.”
An audible shudder ran round the court at this description and the coroner murmured, “Horrible! horrible!” But the inspector proceeded in matter-of-fact tones:
“We conveyed the remains to the mortuary, where I removed the clothing from the body and examined it with a view to ascertaining the identity of deceased. The underclothing was marked clearly ‘J. Lewson’ and in the breast pocket of the coat I found a letter-case with the initials ‘J.L.’ stamped on the cover. Inside it were a number of visiting-cards bearing the name ‘Mr. James Lewson’ and the address ‘Perkins’s Bank, Borley, Bucks,’ and some letters addressed to James Lewson, Esquire, at that address. In one of the trousers pockets I found a key, which looked like a safe key, and as there seemed to be no doubt that the body was that of Mr. Lewson, the late manager of the Borley branch of Perkin’s Bank, I cleaned the rust off the key and showed it to Mr. Hunt, the present manager, who tried it in the lock of the safe and found that it entered and seemed to fit perfectly.”
“Did it shoot the bolt of the lock?” one of the jurors asked.
“No,” replied the inspector, “because, after Mr. Lewson went away and took the key with him, the manager had the levers of the lock altered and a pair of new keys made. But the old duplicate key was there, and when we compared it with the key from the body, it was obvious that the two keys were identical in pattern.”
“Did you take any other measures to identify the body?” the coroner asked.
“Yes, sir. I checked the clothing carefully, garment by garment, by the description that we issued when Mr. Lewson disappeared, and it corresponded to the description in every respect. Then I got the caretaker from the bank to look it over, and he identified the clothes and shoes as those worn by Mr. Lewson on the night when he disappeared.”
“Excellent,” said the coroner. “Most thorough and most conclusive. I think, gentlemen, that we can fairly take it as an established fact that the body is that of Mr. James Lewson. And now. Inspector, to return to the clothing; you have mentioned two articles found by you in deceased’s pockets. What else did you find?”
“Nothing, sir. With the exception of those two articles—which I handed to you—the pockets were all completely empty.”
“And the letter-case?”
“That contained nothing but letters, bills, cards, and a few stamps; nothing but what was in it when I gave it to you.”
Here the coroner opened his attache-case, and, taking from it the letter-wallet, the letters, cards, bills, and other contents, placed them, together with the key, on a wooden office tray which he pushed along the table for the jurymen’s inspection. While they were cur
iously poring over the tray, he continued his examination.
“Then you found nothing of value on the person of deceased?”
“With the exception of the stamps, nothing whatsoever. The pockets were absolutely empty.”
“Do you happen to know if deceased, at the time of his disappearance, had any valuable property about him?”
“Yes, sir. It is nearly certain that when he went away at about eight o’clock on the night of Wednesday, the twenty-third of last July, he had on his person one hundred pounds in five-pound Bank of England notes.”
“When you say that it is nearly certain, what does that certainty amount to?”
“It is based on the fact that after he had gone, banknotes to that amount were found to be missing from the bank.”
“And is it known what became of those notes?”
“Yes, sir. Their numbers were known and they have now all been recovered. As soon as they appeared in circulation they were traced; and in nearly every case traced to some person who was known to the police.”
“Is it certain that these notes were taken by deceased and not by some other person?”
“Yes, practically certain. Deceased was in sole charge, and he had one key on his person and the other locked in the safe, where it was found when the lock was picked. But, if you will allow me, sir, I should like to say, in justice to deceased, that he had, apparently, no intention of stealing these notes, as was thought at first. Certain facts came to light later which seemed to show that he had merely borrowed this money to meet a sudden urgent call and that he meant to replace it.”
“I am sure every one will be very glad to hear that,” said the coroner. “We need not go into the circumstances that you mention, as they do not seem relevant to this inquiry. But these notes raise an important point. If they were on his person when he went away and they were not on his body when it was found, and if, moreover, they are known to have been in circulation since his death, the question of robbery arises, and with it the further question of possible murder. Can you give us any help in considering those questions?”
“I have formed certain opinions, sir, but, of course, it is a matter of guesswork.”
“Never mind, Inspector. A coroner’s court is not bound by the strict rules of evidence; and, besides, yours is an expert opinion. Let us hear what view you take of the matter.”
“Well, sir, my opinion is that deceased met his death by accident the night that he went away. I think that he fell into the pit in the dark, dislodging a lot of gravel and pulling the small tree down with him. Both the body and the tree were on top of the heap of gravel, but yet there was a good deal of gravel and some stones on the body.”
The coroner nodded and the witness proceeded:
“Then I think that, about a month later, some tramp found the body and went through the pockets, and when he discovered the notes, he cleared off and said nothing about having seen the body.”
“Have you any specific reasons for this very definite theory?”
“Yes, sir. First, there is clear evidence that the pit has been frequented by one or more tramps. Quite close to where the body was discovered is an old cart-shelter, dug out of the gravel, and that shelter has been used from time to time by some tramp or tramps as a residence. I found in it a quantity of wood ashes and charcoal and large sooty deposits on the wall and roof, showing that many fires had been lit there. I also found an old billy, or boiling-can, a lot of rags and tramps’ raffle and a quantity of small bones—mostly rabbits’ and fowls’ bones. So tramps have certainly been there.
“Then the state of deceased’s pockets suggests a tramp’s robbery. It was not only the valuables that were taken. He had made a clean sweep of everything. Not a thing was left. Not even a pipe or a packet of cigarettes or even a matchbox.”
“And as to the time that you mentioned?”
“I am judging by the notes. A sharp lookout was kept for them from the first. A very sharp lookout. But for fully a month after the disappearance not one of them came to light. And then, suddenly, they began to come in one after the other and even in batches, as if the whole lot had been thrown into circulation at once. But if it had been a case of robbery with violence, the robber would have got rid of the notes immediately, before the hue and cry started.”
“So you consider that the possibility of robbery with murder may be ruled out?”
“On the facts known to me, sir, I do—subject, of course, to the medical evidence.”
“Exactly,” said the coroner. “But in any case you have given us most valuable assistance. Is there any point, gentlemen, that is not quite clear, or any question that you wish to put to the inspector? No questions? Very well. Thank you, Inspector.”
The next witness called was the police surgeon’s deputy, a youngish Irishman of somewhat convivial aspect. Having been sworn, he deposed that his name was Desmond M’Alarney, that he was a Doctor of Medicine and at present acting as locum tenens for the police surgeon, who was absent on leave.
“Well, doctor,” said the coroner, “I believe that you have made a careful examination of the body of deceased. Is that so?”
“I have made a most careful examination, sir,” was the reply, “though as to calling it a body, I would rather describe it as a skeleton.”
“Very well!” the coroner agreed good-humouredly, “call it what you like. Perhaps we may refer to it as the remains.”
“Ye may,” replied the witness, “and mighty small remains, by the same token. But such as they are, I have examined them with the greatest care.”
“And did your examination enable you to form any opinion as to the cause of death?”
“It did not.”
“Did you find any injuries or signs of violence?”
“I did not.”
“Were any of the bones fractured or injured in any way?”
“They were not.”
“Can you give us no suggestion as to the probable cause of death?”
“I would suggest, sir, that a twenty-foot drop into a gravel-pit is a mighty probable cause of death.”
“No doubt,” said the coroner. “But that is hardly a matter of medical evidence.”
“Tis none the worse for that,” the witness replied cheerfully.
“Can you say, definitely, that deceased did not meet his death by any kind of homicidal violence?”
“I can not. When a body is rejuiced to a skeleton, all traces of violence are lost so long as there has been no breaking of bones. He might have been strangled or smothered or stabbed or had his throat cut without leaving any marks on the skeleton. I can only say that I found no indications of any kind of homicidal violence or any violence whatsoever.”
“The inspector has suggested that deceased met his death by accident—that is by the effects of the fall, and that appears to be your opinion too. Now, if that were the case, what would probably be the immediate cause of death?”
“There are several possible causes, but the most probable would be shock, contusion of the brain, or dislocation of the neck.”
“Would any of those conditions leave recognizable traces?”
“Contusion of the brain and dislocation of the neck could be recognized in the fresh body but not in a skeleton like this. Of course, if the dislocation were accompanied—as it very often is—by fracture of the little neck-bone known as the odontoid process of the axis, that could be seen in the skeleton. But there is no such fracture in the skeleton of deceased. I looked for it particularly.”
“Then we understand that you found nothing definite to indicate the cause of death?”
“That is so, sir.”
“Do you consider that the appearance of the body, in a medical sense, is consistent with a belief that deceased was killed by the effects of the fall?”
“I do, sir.”
“Then,” said the coroner, “that seems to be about all that we can say as to the cause of death. Do the jury wish to put any questions to the medical witne
ss? If not, we need not detain the doctor any longer.”
As Dr. M’Alarney picked up an uncommonly smart hat and retired, the coroner glanced quickly over his notes and then proceeded to address the jury.
“I need not occupy your time, gentlemen, with a long summing-up. You have heard the evidence and probably have already arrived at your conclusions. There are certain mysterious circumstances in the case, as, for instance, how deceased came to be wandering about in the wood at night. But these questions do not concern us. We have to consider only how deceased met his death, and as the doctor justly remarked, the fact that the body was found at the bottom of a gravel-pit, having evidently fallen some eighteen or twenty feet, offers a pretty obvious explanation. The only suspicious circumstance was that deceased had clearly been robbed either before or after death. But you have heard the opinion of a very able and experienced police inspector, and the excellent reasons that he gave for that opinion. So I need say no more, but will now leave you to consider your verdict.”
During the short interval occupied by the discussions of the jurymen among themselves, two members of the audience were engaged busily in reviewing the evidence in its relation to the almost inevitable verdict. To Thorndyke the proceedings offered an interesting study in the perverting effect upon the judgment of an unconscious bias, engendered by the suggestive power of a known set of circumstances. All the evidence that had been given was true. All the inferences from that evidence were sound and proper inferences, so far as they went. Yet the final conclusion which was going to be arrived at would be wildly erroneous, for the simple reason that all the parties to the inquiry had come to it already convinced as to the principal fact—the identity of the deceased person—which had accordingly been left unverified.
As to Pottermack, his state of mind at the close of the inquiry was one of astonished relief. All through the proceedings he had sat in tremulous expectancy, with a furtive eye on the strange lawyer, wondering when that lawyer’s turn would come to give his evidence and what he would have to say. That the stranger had detected some part, at least, of the fraud he had at first little doubt, and he expected no less than to hear the identity of the body challenged. But, as the time ran on and witness after witness came forward guilelessly and disgorged the bait for the nourishment of the jury, his fears gradually subsided and his confidence began to revive. And now that the inquiry was really over and they had all gobbled the bait and got it comfortably into their gizzards; now that it was evident that this lawyer had nothing to say, after all, in spite of his preposterous porings over those admirable shoes, Mr. Pottermack was disposed just a little to despise himself for having been so easily frightened. The ‘superiority complex’ began to reassert itself. Here he sat, looking upon a thoroughly bamboozled assembly, including a most experienced police inspector, a coroner, a lawyer, and a doctor. He alone of all that assembly, indeed of the whole world, knew all about it.
The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack Page 76