‘What is your opinion of Dr Carmichael?’ asked Frances. ‘Does he have any unsavoury associates?’
‘He seems to have no associates of any kind,’ replied Barstie, ‘which is strange in itself. He resists any attempt to open a conversation however trivial the subject.’
‘Ask him the time of day and he will almost leap into the air with alarm, and then scurry away to his room,’ agreed Chas. ‘He does not gamble; if he drinks he does so alone and if there is a woman he favours I am unaware of her.’
‘A man with no obvious vices is a man with a great many secrets,’ said Barstie, darkly.
‘Does he go out or does he keep to his room?’ asked Frances.
‘Something of both. It would be instructive to know where he goes,’ said Chas. ‘That man has business in hand, but he keeps it very close.’
‘Have you made the acquaintance of Mr Darscot?’
‘It is very hard not to,’ said Barstie. ‘He is a warbling fly who is every man’s friend and brother, who will drink and gamble and chatter like a schoolgirl, and never allow a thought to cross his mind.’
‘And yet he has, or claims to have, many valuable connections which a clever man might take advantage of,’ said Chas. He rubbed his hands together. ‘He may repay study yet.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
The inquest on Dr Mackenzie was to resume on the Friday morning, largely because it was a date convenient for Professor Stevenson. Frances had never seen the professor and was eager to do so as he was a celebrity in the world of medicine and a man to be admired. Anticipating that she would be rivalled for a place at the hearing by that portion of the population of Bayswater that had no business to attend to or could afford to leave it unattended, she determined to be at Providence Hall a full hour before the start of the hearing in order to be assured of a seat. This proved to be a wise decision. Her other investigations were safely in the hands of her assistants. Tom had already settled the matter of the missing washing, which proved to be the work of a gang of thieves none of whom was older than eight, and having left the client and her neighbour declaring eternal friendship and crying over a glass of beer, Tom had been deputed to keep an eye on the Pearson household. Sarah was being interviewed by Mr Whiteley, owner of the row of handsome shops on the Grove, who was busy constructing further properties in Queen’s Road to enhance his empire. He was looking for a sensible woman to spy on rival establishments. Frances, who had no difficulty with Sarah undertaking any task in the pursuit of malefactors, was concerned that this was a somewhat degrading use of her services, but Sarah assured her that all the best shops employed spies and it had become quite a respectable calling.
Even as early as half past nine the little court was crowded with interested parties. The two main rival solicitors of Bayswater, Mr Rawsthorne and Mr Marsden, were there, both exuding professional politeness and private jealousy. Mr Gillan represented the Chronicle, but other pressmen had come from far and wide, and there were many who would be reporting back to Fleet Street, or even sending foreign cables. Dr Bonner was not present having sent Mr Fairbrother in his place, who informed Frances that his mentor was too unwell to make an appearance. Dr Carmichael was huddled in a corner, speaking to no one, and abruptly hid behind his morning paper when a new figure appeared. This gentleman was tall and spare with a grim expression, and bore a striking resemblance to the portrait of Dr Mackenzie. Frances, thinking it very probable that he was Mackenzie’s brother, determined to secure an interview with him. She was able to approach near enough to hand him her card. He looked both surprised and insulted at her presumption. ‘You are Mr David Mackenzie, I assume?’ she said.
‘Yes, Madam, I am,’ he said severely, ‘and we have not been introduced.’ He stared at her card.
‘I am a private detective engaged in the search for a missing man, Henry Palmer, who is an employee of your brother.’
‘I know nothing of this Mr Palmer and have no need of a detective,’ he said. He held the card out as if to return it, but she pretended not to notice the gesture.
‘I was not offering my services in that capacity, but made use of my card to serve as my introduction. I am already acquainted with Dr Carmichael —’ Frances glanced around, and saw that the man had vanished, ‘who appears to have departed before the proceedings have even commenced. How curious.’
‘Carmichael, here? That contemptible scoundrel!’ exclaimed Mackenzie.
‘Oh?’
His already hard gaze hardened further. ‘If you have any pretensions at respectability, although given your profession I must doubt it very much, you will have nothing whatsoever to do with him.’
‘I have only just made his acquaintance and would value your advice in that respect,’ said Frances politely. ‘If you would be kind enough to call on me when the proceedings have closed, I would like to interview you.’
He was a little disarmed by her courtesy, but not enough to thaw his antagonism. ‘I am not sure, Madam, that I wish to be seen entering whatever apartments you may inhabit, or have any dealings with you in a public place.’
He made a curt nod of dismissal and began to turn away from her, but she moved quickly so that they still faced each other, and he recoiled in surprise and disdain. ‘Very well, we may arrange to meet at the offices of Mr Rawsthorne, who is not only my solicitor but an old friend of my family.’
The name made him pause. ‘Rawsthorne, you say? Hmm. He is the man I have employed to watch these proceedings.’ There was a brief silence. ‘Very well, if he can vouch for you I will consider it.’ He turned and walked away, but Frances knew she had done enough.
By the time the inquest was due to begin, not only was every available seat in the little hall taken, but there were eager observers standing at the back, a seething knot of hopefuls in the foyer, and a disappointed crowd lurking outside.
‘If we may commence,’ said Hardwicke. ‘This is the resumed inquest on the body of Dr Alastair Mackenzie, which was removed from the catacombs of All Souls Kensal Green on the 9th of October. I understand that allegations have been made suggesting that the body in the coffin was not a body at all, or if it was, it was not that of Dr Mackenzie. I wish to emphasise that I am entirely satisfied that this was indeed the body of Dr Mackenzie. I have here the death certificate signed by Dr Bonner on the 22nd of September. I have been given to understand that he is too unwell to attend; nevertheless, we can proceed without him. Dr Bonner has already given evidence that he had for some time been treating Dr Mackenzie for a weak heart and had advised him against overwork, as he had feared that the strain would be too much for him. This advice Dr Mackenzie ignored and when he collapsed in the presence of Dr Bonner there was so little doubt as to the cause that a certificate was signed without further enquiry showing that death was due to cardiac syncope. Dr Mackenzie’s body was laid out at his own premises, the Life House, for a period of four days, after which Dr Bonner saw what he believed were sufficient signs of decomposition – due to a septic condition of the intestines – to be certain that the deceased was indeed dead. The body was coffined on Sunday the 26th of September, the funeral taking place on the following day. Following this, at the instigation of Miss Frances Doughty –’ there was a buzz of whispers in the courtroom and heads turned in Frances’ direction ‘ – a visit was made to the catacombs at All Souls, where it was discovered that some motion of the body had taken place after the coffin was deposited. I ordered a full post-mortem examination to take place and I now call Dr Collin to give evidence of his findings.’
Dr Collin had always attended Frances’ family and was a prime exponent of the genial manner, something that had become a little strained in Frances’ dealings with him ever since the time she had suggested that he had made a mistake, especially as she was later proved to be correct. The circumstance had not been mentioned since, indeed any discussion of the subject had been very carefully avoided, but Frances was sure that he had never forgiven her. He stepped up to the coroner’s table.
‘The contents of the stomach suggested to me that Dr Mackenzie’s last meal had been taken on the night of the 21st of September and that he had been in a fasting state for some time thereafter. There were marked signs of decomposition as one might expect, however, they were not of the extent that I would have expected in the corpse of a man who had died some three weeks ago and been exposed to a warm atmosphere for almost a week before burial. Moreover, I did not detect the advanced sepsis of the intestines described by Dr Bonner. It is my opinion that as of the 13th of October the man had been dead for ten or maybe twelve days at most.’
A whisper travelled around the court, but was soon stilled as Hardwicke leaned forward to speak. ‘Dr Collin, let me have this quite clearly from you. It is your belief, based upon your many years in medical practice, that Dr Mackenzie died at some date between the 1st and 3rd of October?’
Dr Collin was impassive. ‘Yes.’
‘But you are aware, of course, that the body was deposited in the catacombs at All Souls on the 27th of September?’
‘So I understand.’
‘Are you telling this court that Dr Mackenzie, the director of the Life House, the purpose of which is to avoid any possibility of premature burial, was himself buried alive?’
‘Yes, I am.’
The courtroom, every occupant of which had been listening anxiously and quietly so as not to miss a single word, erupted in a torrent of exclamations. Newsmen scribbled rapidly and tore pages out of their notebooks, then ran to the door and handed the fragments of paper to messengers waiting outside. A cry went up in the foyer as the news poured forth to be followed by loud yells from the street. The sensational revelation, thought Frances, would be in America faster than one could imagine it possible. Hardwicke called for silence and the coroner’s officers did their best to restore order, but it was some little time before the tumult died down.
‘Any repeat of this disgraceful conduct and I will have the room cleared,’ said Hardwicke sternly. ‘Now then, Dr Collin, please continue. Did you form any conclusion as to the cause of death?’
‘I did. Dr Mackenzie died of a collapse of the heart brought on by fright. It is my theory that he was placed in the coffin while in a state of suspended animation during which the signs of life were greatly reduced. The peculiar construction of the Life House coffin meant that he had a sufficiency of air for a man in that condition. He subsequently came back to a state of consciousness and was able to operate the mechanism with his hand, but he may well have been unable to call out for assistance. There was a bell in the coffin, but the charcoal packing around the body had moved, probably as a result of his struggles, and prevented its operation. There were abundant signs in the interior of the coffin that he had fought to escape, and there was damage to his hands and knees from his efforts in that respect.’
A groan of distress flowed around the little court, but Hardwicke did not suppress it and it passed. ‘Were there any indications as to what had brought on the condition of suspended animation?’
‘I observed the mark of an injection in the doctor’s left arm and sought further advice on the matter.’
‘Thank you, Dr Collin. If you would step down now, I would like to hear from Professor Stevenson.’
The presence of that renowned gentleman in such a tiny court was a matter of considerable excitement and all heads craned to look. The individual who stepped forward was tall and vigorous looking with a fine dark beard. He was, thought Frances, in the very prime of a man’s life, about two and forty, when his strength and intelligence were at their peak. Everything about his manner and bearing invited confidence in his opinion.
‘I am Dr Thomas Stevenson, Professor of Medical Jurisprudence at Guys Hospital, and adviser to the Home Office. I observed the post-mortem examination of Dr Alastair Mackenzie and removed samples, which I then subjected to a number of tests. My conclusion was that Dr Mackenzie had received an injection of morphia, although whether he administered it to himself or it was given by another individual it is impossible to say. The injection was made in the left arm and I have been told that the deceased was right handed. There were no indications on the body that he had been subjected to any forcible restraint, so it is very possible that even if he did not inject himself, it was received voluntarily. The amount of morphia in his system would, I believe, have been sufficient in normal cases where the individual was robust and in good health to produce unconsciousness and slow the action of the heart. It would not in such cases have been fatal or even have led to any lasting ill-health. Dr Mackenzie, however, was not a robust man and it is my opinion that the dose of morphia in his case could well have resulted in a state of very deep unconsciousness which might to outward appearances have given the impression of death.’
‘In your opinion, was the injection the cause of death?’ asked Hardwicke.
‘Not directly. I believe that had Dr Mackenzie not been placed in a coffin but carefully tended, he might very well have awoken from his stupor.’
There was another rumble of chatter about the little court.
The next witness was a young man who appeared to be in a state of some excitement. He brought a little model with which he demonstrated the beautiful working of the interior mechanism of the coffin, and showed how it was constructed and operated with such glowing and voluble enthusiasm that Dr Hardwicke had to urge him to stop. The main result of his evidence was that the position of the lever admitted only one mode of employment, with the fingers, and he had never known any device to be operated in any other way or indeed at all. The court was left with the profound hope that the reason the mechanism had never before been operated was that the occupant of the coffin had been dead.
This completed the evidence, which, thought Frances, left the jurors in something of a quandary. There was little doubt as to the cause of Mackenzie’s death, but it was necessary to determine the contribution made by the injection, whether or not a crime had been committed, and how much they ought to condemn the negligence of Dr Bonner.
Dr Hardwicke cut through the difficulty by addressing the jurymen, who gave great attention to his every word. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘I am sure you appreciate that you have a very difficult task to perform. The revelation that shortly prior to his death Dr Mackenzie received an injection of morphine, even if it was not a fatal one, must give rise to considerable concern about the circumstances that led to his being placed in his coffin, which was then deposited in the catacombs while he was still alive. You may feel, as I do, that the absence from this court of Dr Bonner, the only person present at the collapse of Dr Mackenzie, apart from the unfortunately still missing Mr Palmer, is much to be regretted and renders it impossible for you to reach a verdict at this time. Dr Bonner may well be able to supply this court with valuable information about the tragic events and I must express my concern that his sudden indisposition has coincided with today’s hearing.’ The jurymen, sensing that they were about to be temporarily relieved of responsibility, nodded with some alacrity. ‘It is my intention, therefore, to adjourn the proceedings in the hope that in one week’s time Dr Bonner will be sufficiently restored to health to attend. Perhaps, if we are fortunate, Mr Palmer may have reappeared by then.’
As the proceedings closed, the pressmen made a unified dash for the door. David Mackenzie and
Mr Rawsthorne rose from their seats and stood to one side, talking very quietly and earnestly. Frances sought out Mr Fairbrother, who was looking pale with shock. ‘Please, I would rather not say anything just now —’ he said and hurried out onto the street in search of a cab. Frances quickly followed him and when he saw this he increased his pace to a run, trotting down Church Street and waving wildly at passing hansoms, which were either occupied or being rapidly taken by pressmen struggling for precedence. As he looked about him seeking some avenue of escape, Frances gathered her skirts and ran after him. Astonished and dismayed to see that she was in pursuit, Fairbrother dashed out of Church Street and began to run up the better populated Edgware Road. In any formal race he would undoubtedly have outpaced her, but he had seriously underestimated the energy of a tall young woman unafraid of long walks, and her single-minded determination and willingness to fling herself pell-mell down a public street in a good cause. When he was finally able to hail a cab, the brief pause as he stepped in gave her enough time to catch him up and leap breathlessly inside. ‘Miss Doughty!’ he exclaimed in astonishment as she crushed in beside him.
There was the sting of sweat on her brow and it was a curious feeling, almost a good one. The two of them, red-faced and panting, stared at each other, he in alarm and she in triumph. ‘Dr Bonner is not ill at all,’ she gasped. ‘Either that or he is suffering from nothing more deadly than remorse. And you have been deputed to tell him the verdict so that he may act accordingly. What is he about to do? Run away? Disappear like Mr Palmer? Make a pretence of being dead to avoid the consequences of his own actions? I doubt that the public or the police would countenance that happening a second time amongst the directors of the same business.’
‘Oh this is too terrible!’ exclaimed Fairbrother. ‘I know that Dr Bonner is a good man and never meant to do any harm. And he has a great deal to worry him at the moment. He has had a letter this morning from Mr Marsden saying that a Mr Darscot has made a claim on Dr Mackenzie’s estate for a debt of £500 and has a signed agreement to prove the matter, and there is nothing with which to pay! And now this! It could be the ruination of the Life House!’
A Case of Doubtful Death Page 19