“You seem to attach some significance to this condition,” said the coroner. “What did it suggest to you?”
“I think it is a fact worth noting,” the doctor replied cautiously, “but I would rather not go beyond that, except to say that it seemed somewhat against the probabilities. I should have expected that at the moment of death, when all the muscles suddenly relaxed, the body would have slipped forward out of the chair.”
The coroner pondered this careful answer for a few moments and then asked:
“Could you judge how long deceased had been dead?”
“Only approximately. I would say about three weeks.”
“Did you discover anything further?”
“Not on this occasion, but I examined the body very thoroughly at the mortuary and drew up a detailed description, mainly for use by the police. Do you wish me to give those details?”
“It is not actually necessary,” the coroner replied, “but perhaps it would be as well to put the description on record in the depositions. Yes, let us have the full details.”
The witness accordingly proceeded: “The body was that of a woman of about thirty, apparently married, as she was wearing a wedding ring, but there were no indications of her having borne a child. Her height was five feet six and a quarter inches, weight one hundred and twenty-four pounds—eight stone twelve. Figure spare, in fact definitely thin. Complexion fair, hair flaxen or golden. Its length suggested that it had been bobbed some time ago; now a little below the shoulders. Eyes apparently grey, but it was impossible to judge the exact tint owing to the condition of the body. For the same reason, the features were a little obscure but it could be seen that the nose was rather small, of the concave type with a slight prominence on the bridge. The mouth medium sized and apparently well shaped. The ears were more distinctive and less changed; they were slightly outstanding, thin in all parts with hardly any lobule, and set obliquely on the head. The line of the jaw was also markedly slanting and the chin was pointed and slightly receding.
“As to the identity of deceased, I was present when the clothing was removed from the body and I examined each garment. Two of them were marked in ink with the initials ‘ER.’; one was marked in ink ‘E. Robey’; and a small fancy handkerchief in the skirt pocket bore the name ‘Emma’ embroidered in white silk. That completes the description of deceased.”
“Yes,” said the coroner, “and a very full and clear description it is. There ought not to be any difficulty in getting the body identified. And now we come to the question of the cause of death. Were you able to ascertain that?”
“Yes. The cause of death was poisoning by potassium cyanide. The dose taken was very large, fully sixty grains, and death probably occurred almost instantaneously, or, at most, within a minute or two.”
“Is potassium cyanide a very powerful poison?”
“Yes, very. It contains prussic acid in a concentrated form and acts in the same way and with the same violence and rapidity.”
“What is the lethal dose?”
“It is usually given as less than five grains, probably as little as two and a half grains, but, as in the case of most poisons, the effects vary in different individuals. But a dose of sixty grains is enormous.”
“Did you make the analysis yourself?”
“Yes, in conjunction with Professor Woodfield. When I made the post mortem, I removed the organs and took them in sealed and marked receptacles to the laboratory of St. Margaret’s Hospital, where the professor and I made the analysis together.”
“The poison was derived, I suppose, from the tablets of which we have heard?”
“So one would have assumed, and analysis proved that the tablets were really composed of potassium cyanide. But when we came to make the examination, a very curious fact transpired. The quantity of the poison taken was at least sixty grains; the tablets were shown by the label on the bottle to contain five grains each, and we verified this by analysis. The quantity taken was therefore equal to twelve tablets. But there were not twelve tablets missing from the bottle. The label showed that the bottle, when full, had contained fifty tablets of five grains each, so that if twelve had been consumed there should have remained thirty eight. But there were forty-three, or five more than there should have been.”
“That doesn’t seem to me very conclusive,” the coroner objected. “There might have been some error in filling the bottle. Don’t you think so?”
“No, sir,” Oldfield replied firmly. “We excluded that possibility. I purchased two fresh bottles from the makers, and the professor and I each counted the tablets. There were exactly fifty in each bottle; and the important fact is that each bottle was quite full. Neither would hold another tablet. Then we tried the bottle that was found on the deceased’s table, and the result was the same; it would hold fifty tablets and not one more. A single extra tablet prevented the complete insertion of the cork.”
The coroner appeared deeply impressed. “It is a most extraordinary thing,” said he, “but there seems to be no doubt of the facts. Can you suggest any explanation?”
“The only explanation that occurs to me is that the poison taken was not derived from the tablets at all. Part of it certainly was not, and if a part came from another source it is most probable that the whole of it did. The facts suggest to me that a solution of the cyanide was prepared in advance, and that it was this solution which was swallowed by deceased. But that is only my opinion.”
“Exactly. But if your view is correct, why were the tablets there?”
“That,” Oldfield replied, “is not strictly a medical question.”
“No,” the coroner agreed with a smile, “but we needn’t be too pedantic. You have considered the question, I think, and we should like to hear your conclusion.”
“Then I may say that the tablets appeared to me to have been put there designedly to support the idea of suicide.”
The coroner apparently considered this a rather lame conclusion, for he did not pursue the subject, but returned to the analysis.
“Did your chemical examination bring out anything more?”
“Yes, another very significant fact. At my suggestion, Professor Woodfield tested the material for morphine, and I assisted him. The result was that we discovered undoubted traces of the drug, though the condition of the body did not admit of anything like a reliable estimate of quantity. But morphine was certainly there, and in an appreciable amount, as was proved by our getting a positive reaction. A very small quantity would not have been discoverable at all.”
“Can you give us any idea as to the amount that had been taken?”
“We agreed that our results suggested a full, but not very large dose; not more than a third of a grain, or at the outside, half a grain.”
“But isn’t half a grain rather a large dose?”
“It is a very large dose if given hypodermically, but not so excessive if swallowed. Still, one doesn’t usually give more than a quarter of a grain.”
“You said just now that the morphine test was made at your suggestion. What made you suspect the presence of morphine?”
“It was hardly a suspicion. The possibility occurred to me, and it seemed worth while to test it.”
“But what suggested the possibility?”
“The idea arose from a consideration of the extraordinary circumstances of this case. Taken at their face value, the appearances point definitely to suicide. But yet it is impossible to rule out the alternative of homicide by the forcible administration of poison. It is very difficult, however, to compel a person to swallow even a liquid against his will, and the attempt would involve considerable violence, which would leave its marks on the body. But if the victim could be given a full dose of morphine beforehand, he would become so lethargic and passive that the poison could be administered quite easily.
“In this case, I searched carefully for bruises or other signs of violence but I found none; which seemed to exclude the suggestion of homicide, but only on t
he condition that no narcotic had been taken. It was then that I decided to test for the most likely and most suitable narcotic—morphine.”
“And having found it, what do you infer? You seem to imply that its presence suggests homicidal poisoning.”
“I would not put it as high as that; but if there should be other evidence creating a presumption of homicide, the presence of the morphine would be strong corroboration.”
This completed the doctor’s evidence, and, when the depositions had been read and signed, he was informed that he was free to go about his business. He elected, however, to return to his seat to hear the rest of the evidence, and to jot down a few notes.
“I think,” said the coroner, “that if we take the inspector’s evidence next, we shall have all the known facts of the case and can fill in details later from the evidence of the other witnesses.”
Accordingly, Inspector Blandy, having, at the coroner’s invitation, taken possession of the vacated chair, bestowed a benevolent smile on the jury and ran off the preliminaries with the air of one pronouncing a benediction. Then, in reply to the opening question, he introduced his evidence by a general statement which, in effect, repeated those of the preceding witnesses. Having described the room, the corpse, the table, and the various objects on it, he continued:
“When the doctor had finished his examination, I proceeded with my own, beginning with the tumbler and the water-jug. On these were a number of finger prints, mostly very distinct, and apparently, all made by the same hands. Those on the water-jug were from a right hand and those on the tumbler were from the left. I took the fingerprints of deceased on small cards and compared them with those on the tumbler and the water-jug, and I can say, positively, that they were the same. All the prints on the jug and the tumbler were certainly those of deceased’s fingers, and there were no others.”
“Would you regard that as conclusive evidence that deceased took the poison herself?”
“No, certainly not. Anyone having control of the dead body could easily have taken the fingerprints of deceased on the jug and the glass. The evidential value of the fingerprints is dependent on the other evidence.”
“You have heard that deceased was locked in the room and that the key was on the inside.”
“Yes,” the inspector agreed, beaming benignly on the coroner, “but I have also heard that the door was unlocked from the outside by Mr. Polton; and he could as easily have locked it from the outside, leaving the key inside. In fact, the thing is frequently done by criminals, especially by hotel thieves, who have a special instrument made for the purpose, somewhat like a dentist’s root-forceps. With this they can grasp the key from the outside, unlock the door, commit their robbery, and, when the go away, relock the door from outside, leaving the key inside.”
“Have you any reason to believe that the door of the deceased’s room was locked from the outside in this way?”
“Not with the instrument that I have mentioned. That instrument, having roughened jaws, usually leaves little scratches on the key. I examined the key for scratches, but there were none. Nevertheless, I believe that the door was locked from the outside and that a very simple improvised apparatus was used. Perhaps I had better explain the method before giving the reasons for my belief. The procedure—which is well known to the police—is this: The key is placed in the lock so that a quarter turn will be enough to shoot the bolt; then a small rod such as a thick match, a skewer, or a lead pencil, is passed through the bow, or handle, of the key and a loop at the end of a length of string is hitched on to the rod. The string has to be kept fairly tight to prevent the loop from falling off. The operator now goes out, closing the door after him, keeping the tightened string in the space between the edge of the door and the jamb, and well above the level of the key; then he gives a steady pull at the string with the result that the leverage of the little rod turns the key and shoots the bolt of the lock. When the key has made a quarter turn and locked the door, the loop slips off the rod, the string is pulled out through the crack of the door, and the little rod either drops on the floor or is flicked out of the key and falls some distance away.”
The coroner looked a little dubious. “It sounds very ingenious,” said he, “but rather risky for a person who has just committed a murder. Suppose the plan should fail.”
“But it couldn’t fail, sir,” the inspector replied. “If it did not work the first time, all he would have to do would be to open the door and try again. Perhaps a demonstration will make it clear.”
He opened the attaché-case that he had brought with him and took out a flat slab of wood to which a lock had been attached and a through keyhole made. Inserting a key, he produced a thick match and a length of string with a loop at the end. Passing the match through the bow of the key, he held it there while he slipped the loop over it and drew the string fairly taut.
“Now,” said he, “observe what happens. The key is towards you and I am on the outside of the door.”
He held the slab firmly on the table, brought the tightened string round to the back, and gave a steady pull. Instantly, the key was seen to turn, the bolt shot out, the loop slipped off the match, and the latter, flicked out of the key, flew along the table.
The effect of the experiment was unmistakable. The jurymen smiled and nodded, and even the coroner admitted his conviction.
“And now, sir,” said the inspector, picking up the match and viewing it through a lens, “I will ask you to examine this match. Near the middle you will see a little indented curved line on one side, and, on the opposite side, about half an inch nearer the head, a smaller, less distinct mark. Then, at the other end of the match, where the loop of the string caught it, you will see four little dents, one at each corner; and if you place the match in the key, as it was when I pulled the string, you will see that the two dents on the side correspond exactly with the sharp edges of the key-bow.”
He illustrated the method and then passed the match together with his magnifying glass to the coroner, who examined it with intense interest and then passed it to the jury.
“Well, Inspector,” said the coroner when the match had gone the round, “you have given us a most conclusive demonstration, and I am sure that we are all convinced of the practicability of the method. The next question is, Have you any evidence that it was actually used?”
The inspector’s answer was to open once more his attaché-case and take from it a corked glass tube containing a single large match, the end of which bore a spot of red sealing-wax. Then from his pocket he produced a key, and, taking the match from its tube, laid it and the key on the table before the coroner.
“This match,” said he, “which I have marked with sealing-wax to prevent mistakes, is, as you see, a large-size Bryant and May. I found it on the floor of the room (which I will call ‘deceased’s room’) under a small cabinet, two feet, three inches from the door. This is the key with which that door was locked. On the match are six indentations exactly like those on the other match, which you have. The two side indentations correspond exactly with the sharp edges of the key-bow. I have no doubt that this match was used to lock that door; and I am confirmed in this by having found on the arris, or sharp corner of the edge of the door, an indented mark at exactly the spot where the string would have passed round, as proved by actual trial. I can’t produce the door, but I have here a heel-ball rubbing which shows the mark distinctly.”
He handed the sheet of paper to the coroner, who, having examined the rubbing, and passed it to the foreman of the jury, turned once more to the witness.
“You have given us, Inspector, a very complete and convincing demonstration; and there now arises from it another question. This key which you have shown us apparently belongs to the door of the room in which the body of deceased was found. But whose property is it? The presumption is that it belongs to the tenant of the room, Mrs. Schiller. But is it actually her key, or only one similar to hers? Can you tell us that?”
“Only by h
earsay. I am informed by Mrs. Mitchens that this key is the actual key that she gave to Mrs. Schiller. She can identify it by a mark that was made on it. As she is one of the witnesses, she can give you the particulars first-hand; but I think there is no doubt that this is Mrs. Schiller’s own key.”
“Then the next question is, Where is Mrs. Schiller?”
The inspector smiled a pensive smile. “I wish,” he replied, “that I could answer that question. Ever since the discovery, we have been trying to get into touch with her, but we cannot learn anything as to her whereabouts. She is said to be in Birmingham, but that is a rather vague address even if it is correct. We have advertised in the papers, asking her to communicate with us, but there has been no reply.”
“In effect, then, she has disappeared?”
“That is what it seems to amount to. At any rate she is missing.”
“The importance of the matter is,” said the coroner, “that if this is her key, there must have been some kind of contact between her and deceased.”
“Precisely, sir,” Blandy agreed. “That is why we are so anxious to get into touch with her.”
This was the inspector’s final contribution, and, when he had signed the depositions and retired to his seat, the name of Julia Mitchens was called, and that lady proceeded to give her evidence, which was largely negative. She had never seen or heard of a person named Emma Robey. Of her tenant, Mrs. Schiller, she knew practically nothing. The lady had engaged the ground-floor rooms, furnished, but had added some furniture. No references were given but the rent was paid—in cash—monthly, in advance. She had said that she needed no attendance but wanted to be left alone to do her work, which was that of an artist. Witness seldom saw her excepting when she paid the rent. She was pleasant in manner but not intimate. She had a separate electric bell with a small brass name-plate under it, and a removable brass plate on the wall, which she took down every evening. She had her own latch-key and keys of the bedroom and the sitting-room. The bedroom door was kept locked, and she always locked the sitting-room door when she went out.
The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack Page 274