‘Apart from Cayley and Morrison, the prisoner had other sources. He carefully cultivated Mr Akers, a mathematician whose reputation for unfriendliness and unpleasantness was well-known. I will present witnesses who will testify that Mr Akers was a very skilful mathematician, but that he indulged in the unfortunate habit of freely and snidely insulting those of his colleagues whose minds he considered inferior to his own. There is no reason to suppose that the accused was exempt from such treatment. I submit, gentlemen of the jury, that he put up with frequent humiliation, and obsequiously continued friends with Mr Akers, because of his hidden, deeper goals; those of furthering his career and extending the duration of his fellowship, thanks to research on ideas produced by Mr Akers’ powerful mind. The same underhanded motivation lay behind his apparent friendship with Mr Beddoes and Mr Crawford.
‘Why should he resolve on the murders of these three mathematicians, since they were all three useful to him? To answer this question, it will be necessary to question some mathematical experts, who will testify that these three particular mathematicians were all working in and around the very same problem, known as the n-body problem. They are not, however, known to have been collaborating. I submit, gentlemen of the jury, that by dint of his frequent secret discussions with these three mathematicians, by putting various ideas of theirs together, perhaps, the accused came to realise that he could produce some research work of a very high value, which would ensure his reputation for a long time to come, but that he could not, of course, do so if they were all three present to lay claim to part of the credit. Therefore, he decided quite simply and brutally to eliminate them. Such, gentlemen of the jury, is the motive I claim to lie behind the series of horrendous murders you have heard described, and it is no negligible one, involving, as it does, the entire financial and professional future of a man without resources. Murder has been committed for far less. Please bear this in mind, when listening to the opening statement of my learned friend, and the various declarations of the witnesses who will be summoned and questioned one by one.’
I hardly dared look at Arthur throughout this dreadful speech, which became increasingly devastating as it advanced. Although I could easily see him simply by glancing up, it seemed a cruel thing to do, and I tried to keep my eyes firmly glued to Mr Bexheath. Oh, it makes me boil, the whole procedure! I suppose that if a person is guilty of a crime, they somehow forfeit the right to proper treatment on the part of Society – but it seems very hard that a perfectly innocent person should be subjected to this public pillory, to sit exposed, in enforced silence, and be stared at by curious idlers who listen eagerly whilst all these falsely righteous, insulting, humiliating accusations are thrown at him. Even supposing that justice does not miscarry, and that one is acquitted and discharged, as they say, without a stain on one’s character – that does not begin to make up for the needless suffering thus undergone! When I think that every acquittal follows such a scene of torment, the hair rises upon my scalp.
Tears of indignation burnt my eyes as that horrid man, whose neck I would willingly have wrung, invented his perfectly nasty motive, and I could not resist casting a tiny glance in the direction of the dock. Arthur was sitting motionless, with his forehead pressed in his hand, which was hardly surprising. At least nature provides us with this one final screen against the stares and mockery of the world, when all others have been torn away.
It was an incredible relief when Mr Bexheath sat down; the tension in the courthouse lightened sensibly, and the judge then requested if Mr Haversham wished to rise and make his opening statement, before any witnesses should be called. I thought that he would have put it off, so as to prepare his answer to the hateful accusations, but barristers think quickly, no doubt, and he had taken notes and completed the preparation of his answer even as the other was still speaking. He rose to his feet, and began.
Opening Speech for the Defence, by Mr Haversham
‘May it please you, my Lord, gentlemen of the jury. You have heard the charge of triple murder levelled against the prisoner, and you have heard the reconstruction given by my learned friend, of the manner in which the murders were committed, and of the motive thereof.
‘I will now undertake to show you two things. First, that the manner of the murders as described by counsel for the Crown is merely an interpretation laid upon the very few facts which the police investigation has been able to obtain, and that it is possible to construct at least one other equally plausible interpretation, fitting the known facts equally well. As you know, gentlemen of the jury, as long as no further concrete evidence can be brought forth in favour of the Crown’s interpretation, this means that the prisoner’s guilt has not been proved beyond a reasonable doubt, and he therefore must be acquitted. Second, I will show you that the argument as to motive submitted by my learned colleague is no more than a twisted tissue of inventions.
‘When listening to the opening statement of counsel for the Crown, gentlemen of the jury, I am certain that you were attentive at all times to distinguish facts from opinions. I will now give a completely different interpretation of the events surrounding the murders, which fits with all the known facts as well as that of opposing counsel.
‘My friends, it is well-known that a mathematician’s force diminishes with age. Imagine, now, a mathematician, known for his tremendous ability and originality of thought, who finds, as he grows older, that he is no longer as able as he used to be, of bringing his own ideas to fruition. He still has brilliant ideas, but something is lacking which did not use to lack; the precision, the memory, the persistence in overcoming obstacles. Such a mathematician may well turn to others for aid, and receive it, for mathematicians, by and large, are a generous race, much given to assisting each other.
‘Now, imagine that such a mathematician produces a truly remarkable idea – the idea of a lifetime! Imagine that he burns to develop it and to complete it, but is blocked, perhaps, by technicalities which he does not master, and turns to others for help. Suppose that they are able to provide exactly the little missing detail which makes everything work, and the final quod erat demonstrandum is appended to the proof of the grand theorem. May not the author then well feel that the contributions of his colleagues is of far less importance than his own, being merely of a technical nature, while his was the founding and driving idea? And would it not then be natural for him to feel that his helpers have not merited the forthcoming honour and glory to the same degree as himself? And yet the joint publication of mathematical articles makes no distinction between the different authors. Such feelings may easily give rise to jealousy and resentment, and this may easily swell into a burning desire to obtain and keep the glory for oneself, by whatever means, the more so as the glory is greater.
‘Gentlemen of the jury, I submit that such were the feelings of the mathematician Mr Crawford, and that, as some ideas of his, thanks to the occasional help of his two friends Mr Akers and Mr Beddoes, were blossoming into a work of tremendous importance, he determined to eliminate them, and to allow himself alone to be crowned with the laurels he felt he richly deserved.
‘I claim that Mr Crawford planned the death of Mr Akers, concealing himself in his rooms when he knew that his friend was dining out, holding his poker in his gloved hands, awaiting his return, and that when Mr Akers entered his own doors, the blow fell, powerful and immediate. Mr Crawford then dropped the poker, searched the pockets of the deceased, removed the fatal bottle of digitalin which we know to have been there, and departed, unseen and unsuspected. Recall, gentlemen of the jury, that Mr Crawford was a hefty and powerful man, and that he was a close familiar of Mr Akers.
‘I claim that Mr Crawford, having waited for some weeks and seen that no one was accused of the murder he had thus secretly perpetrated, then planned to eliminate Mr Beddoes in a similar manner. This time, he ensured his absence from home by himself organising a dinner invitation, together with a third person, namely the prisoner, who will testify to this fact. Why Mr Crawfor
d should have chosen the prisoner to make up a third party is not difficult to imagine; he must have seen that the third party would automatically come under suspicion for the murder, and all the more so if he had already been associated in some way with the previous murder. Mr Crawford then recused himself from the dinner on the grounds of feeling unwell. There is no witness to his acts of that evening, but I claim, gentlemen of the jury, that he hid himself among the great lilac bushes which shield Mr Beddoes’ garden so effectively from the street, took up a large and heavy rock which lay to hand in the garden border, and waited. The fact that Mr Beddoes did not return alone, but was accompanied by the prisoner, may have momentarily annoyed him, but the prisoner took his leave of Mr Beddoes at the gate and turned away down the street, leaving Mr Crawford time to put his sudden, evil plan into execution. As for my learned friend’s allegation that the prisoner carried earth from Mr Beddoes’ garden upon his shoes, this follows naturally from the brief moment during which he stood within the open gateway shaking hands, and it is perfectly absurd to adduce it as evidence against the prisoner.
‘Gentlemen of the jury, I submit to you that after several weeks of rumination upon these deeds, Mr Crawford could not bear the realisation of what he had done, and that seeing no further obstacle between himself and the glory he sought for, or perhaps – and this is even more likely, as no particular theorem has actually come to light, left behind by any of the three protagonists – suddenly realising that his brilliant result suffered from a fatal flaw which rendered it utterly false, and which had escaped even the careful eyes of his colleagues, he poured the poison into his bottle of whisky and drank it down, impelled by the sufferings of a guilty conscience to make an end of everything.
‘I beg you to take note, gentlemen, of the striking lack of concrete evidence against the prisoner in this case. There are no traces of fingerprints on the poker nor on the rock, no traces of blood upon the prisoner’s clothes – in short, no hard factual evidence against him at all! It is up to you, gentlemen, to decide whether the events I have described are plausible, in which case the prisoner’s guilt can certainly not be considered as proven.
‘I turn now to the question of motive, and submit to you that the prisoner would have had no motive whatsoever to commit the triple murder of which he stands accused. The motive described by opposing counsel does not hold water for a moment; the very witnesses called by the prosecution will disclaim it utterly. They will tell you that the motive described above is quite simply non-existent, a purely fictitious invention on the part of my learned friend.
‘No proof of manner, no proof of motive – gentlemen of the jury, I fully expect that you will acquit the prisoner!’
I find that Mr Haversham’s speech was short and pointed, but something about it troubles me. I cannot lay my finger on exactly what, but it lies in his reconstruction of the Crawford theory. I myself suggested this theory, but somehow, his way of telling it strikes me as curiously unconvincing. Yes – I know what it is! Why, why on earth would Mr Crawford have bothered to remove the flask of digitalin from Mr Akers’ pockets? What could it possibly mean? Could he have been envisioning using it for another murder? Surely not to kill himself with! It is all so confusing, and the speeches by the barristers do not help. How they are allowed and encouraged to indulge in inventions – almost in lies – in the interest of their client! What a peculiar profession.
The court has adjourned, and I have come away. This afternoon, the prosecution will begin to call its witnesses; rumour says that the first to be called will be the medical examiner, who will testify as to the details of the manner of death met by the three victims. But I cannot attend; I shall return tomorrow morning, and write you everything that passes. It somehow gives a little relief to my anguish, and some trace of hope, when I write down everything black on white and share it with you.
Your most affectionate sister,
Vanessa
Cambridge, Friday, May 18th, 1888
Dear Dora,
I am here in the courtroom, following what is now going to become installed as my daily routine: court in the morning, lessons in the afternoon. I can no longer visit Arthur or speak to him at all, as he must spend his entire day in court.
Today, however, I am no longer in the public gallery. Strange as it may seem, I have learnt that I am to be called as a witness for the prosecution! Mr Bexheath will certainly obtain no evidence for the prosecution from me, whatever he may think. But then, he knows nothing of my feelings, of course. The whole collection of witnesses for the prosecution must sit together along a special bench while we are in court. I am allowed to leave in the afternoons to teach my lessons, but I am under strict injunctions to discuss the case with nobody. On the bench with me are several mathematicians: Mr Morrison is sitting next to me, and although we may not communicate, his eyes twinkle at me occasionally (and he can even be heard emitting indignant remarks under his breath, in full defiance of orders!). Next to him are Mr Wentworth and Mr Withers. Professor Cayley will be called tomorrow. Mrs Beddoes and Mrs Wiggins, the charlady, are also present, as well as two or three other people with whom I am not acquainted; I cannot imagine who they might be. If all these people are going to be as ineffective, as witnesses for the prosecution, as I intend to be, their testimonies will not go far to help Mr Bexheath!
Mr Morrison says that he means to attend the trial for the whole of every day, and that he will keep me abreast of what goes on in the afternoons. He told me that yesterday, the entire afternoon was devoted to the examination and cross-examination of the medical examiner, but that apart from graphic descriptions of the explicit manner of death of the three victims, nothing was elicited which was in any way surprising or unexpected. Mr Morrison says that when his testimony was not gruesome, it was boring. He told me that Mr Akers’ personal doctor was also heard; his testimony concerned only the fact of Mr Akers’ heart disease, and its attendant medication. He testified that judging by the last time he had prescribed for Mr Akers, and given his regular dose of ten drops three times a day, Mr Akers’ medicine bottle must still have contained at least three weeks’ worth of medicine.
In contrast, I must admit that I found the court procedure of this morning to be – it sounds heartless, but at certain moments it was almost amusing! Mr Bexheath put Professor Cayley and Mr Morrison on the stand, in order to support his theory of Arthur’s motive. But I do not think he obtained from them exactly what he wanted.
Professor Cayley was called first. He stood at the witness stand, with his stern, thin-lipped face and indrawn cheeks showing much the same disapproving expression he had worn for his lecture on the teaching of mathematics, except that the disapproval now seemed to fix upon Mr Bexheath rather than upon the enemies of Euclid. His voice was nasal, his tone chilly, and his answers brief. Rather than describe the scene, I have written out my shorthand notes in full, and will continue to do so every day.
Direct examination of Professor Cayley, by Mr Bexheath
The witness was sworn in by the court clerk.
Mr Bexheath: You are Professor Arthur Cayley, sixty-six years old, Sadleirian Professor of Pure Mathematics at the University of Cambridge?
Professor Cayley: Yes.
Mr Bexheath: The prisoner wrote a doctoral dissertation under your direction?
Professor Cayley: Yes.
Mr Bexheath: Who decided on the subject of that dissertation?
Professor Cayley: I did.
Mr Bexheath: Did you provide guidance throughout the time during which the prisoner wrote the dissertation?
Professor Cayley: Certainly.
Mr Bexheath: How often did you meet with the prisoner during the course of his doctoral research?
Professor Cayley: I met with him once a week precisely, as I do with each of my doctoral students.
Mr Bexheath: Did the prisoner subsequently write and publish an article in the Cambridge Mathematical Journal based on the research done for his doctoral dissertation?
Mr Bexheath: The article in the Cambridge Mathematical Journal was signed by the prisoner alone.
Professor Cayley: Certainly.
Mr Bexheath: Yet he benefited from your guidance during the entire course of the preparation of his dissertation, whose contents then went into the article?
Professor Cayley: That is the case.
Mr Bexheath: Thank you very much, Professor Cayley. I have no more questions.
Cross-examination of Professor Cayley, by Mr Haversham
Mr Haversham: Professor Cayley, you have said that you meet with each of your doctoral students regularly once a week.
Professor Cayley: I have said so, yes.
Mr Haversham: Therefore you devote more or less the same amount of time to each one. But can you say that you also devote the same amount of mathematical guidance to each one?
Professor Cayley: No, certainly not.
Mr Haversham: Some students show more independence than others?
Professor Cayley: Yes indeed.
Mr Haversham: Was the prisoner one of the more independent or the less independent-minded amongst your students?
Professor Cayley: Arthur Weatherburn was one of the most independent-minded students I have ever had.
Mr Haversham: Yet you did provide him with some guidance.
Professor Cayley: Very little apart from indicating a suitable problem to him.
Mr Haversham: What transpired during your weekly meetings, then?
Professor Cayley: Weatherburn told me what he had worked on during the course of the elapsed week, and I listened and made comments.
Mr Haversham: Would you say that Mr Weatherburn is a highly creative mathematician?
The Three-Body Problem Page 12