The Girl on the Gallows

by Q. Patrick

  A. That is not so.

  At this moment, the Solicitor General abandoned the venture for an easier, if less relevant approach. After a brief sparring match, in which Mrs. Thompson admitted she had been unhappy with her husband long before she met Freddie and explained that she had hesitated to press for a divorce because she was afraid Percy would make a scene at her place of business, Mr. Inskip returned to dig in the old, familiar, inexhaustibly rewarding mine of the letters. Immediately the atmosphere changed. Where before Edith Thompson had been in control of the situation, almost forceful, the moment the letters were introduced she lapsed back into the mood of stupid, almost meaningless evasiveness, with the same genteel phraseology and the same baffling tendency to shift all the responsibility onto Freddie.

  Q. What was the risk you were running, the risk you so often mentioned to Bywaters? Look at your letter of fourth July, Exhibit Twenty-six: “Why aren’t you sending me something—I wanted you to—you never do what I ask you darlint—you still have your own way always—If I don’t mind the risk why should you?” What risk?

  A. That was the risk of Mr. Bywaters’ sending me something instead of bringing me something.

  Q. Not a risk to receive a letter?

  A. I did not say a letter.

  Q. What was it?

  A. Whatever Mr. Bywaters suggested.

  Q. Why should you think there was a risk in his sending you somethig?

  A. I did not know that I should personally receive it.

  Q. Why should there be a risk in a friend or even a lover sending you a letter or a present?

  A. I did not say it was a letter.

  Q. What was it?

  A. Something Mr. Bywaters suggested.

  Q. Did he suggest a dangerous thing?

  A. No.

  Q. Why did you think it was a dangerous thing?

  A. I did not think it was a dangerous thing.

  Q. Why did you think there was a risk?

  A. There was a risk to anything he sent me that did not come to my hands first.

  Q. Did you think it was because somebody would think there was a liaison going on between you and him?

  A. No, only you would not like anything private being opened by somebody previous to yourself.

  Q. You were afraid somebody might have thought there were improper relations between you and him. Is that what you are referring to?

  A. No.

  Q. I understand you did not mind your husband knowing you and Mr. Bywaters were lovers?

  A. We wanted him to realize it.

  Q. The more it came to the knowledge of your husband, the more likely you were to achieve your design of divorce or separation; is that the fact?

  A. No, that is not so. The more it came to his knowledge, the more he would refuse to give it me; he had told me that.

  Q. In the passage I have read, you were asking Bywaters to send something which he had said, according to you, he was going to bring?

  A. That is so.

  Q. What was it?

  A. I have no idea.

  Q. Have you no idea?

  A. Except what he told me.

  Q. What did he tell you?

  A. He would bring me something.

  Q. Did he not say what the something was?

  A. No, he did not mention anything.

  Q. What did he lead you to think it was?

  A. That it was something for me to give my husband.

  Q. With a view to poisoning your husband?

  A. That was not the idea, that was not what I expected.

  Q. Something to give your husband that would hurt him?

  A. To make him ill.

  Q. And it was a risk for your lover to send, and for you to receive, something of that sort?

  A. It was a risk for him to send me anything he did not know came to my hands first.

  Q. And a special risk to send you something to make your husband ill. You appreciate that?

  A. Yes, I suppose it was.

  Q. You were urging Bywaters to send it instead of bringing it?

  A. That is so.

  Q. Was that in order that it might be used more quickly?

  A. I wrote that in order to make him think I was willing to do anything he might suggest, to enable me to retain his affections.

  Q. Mrs. Thompson, is that quite a frank explanation of this urging him to send instead of bring?

  A. It is, absolutely. I wanted him to think I was eager to help him.

  Mrs. Thompson had gone around in such apparently meaningless circles that it is no wonder Mr. Justice Shearman broke in at this point.

  “Eager to do what?”

  Mrs. Thompson replied stubbornly: “Eager to help him in doing anything he suggested.”

  Mr. Justice Shearman, realizing perhaps that he had already inexcusably lost his patience on several occasions, managed this time to control himself and merely commented:

  “That does not answer the question, you know.”

  And, of course, it didn’t. Whenever the crime itself came up, Mrs. Thompson could be coherent and straightforward because she knew what had happened and knew she was innocent. But, with the letters, she parried questions clumsily.

  Q. Look at the next paragraph. It is about giving your husband something bitter. I think you told your learned counsel that was an imaginary incident?

  A. Yes.

  Q. Do you mean that you imagined it, or that your husband did?

  A. I imagined it.

  Q. Do you mean you invented the incident altogether for Bywaters’ information?

  A. I did.

  Q. Can you tell me what the object of that was?

  A. Still to make him think I had done what he suggested.

  “Had done what?” Mr. Justice Shearman interposed. “Given your husband something?”

  Mrs. Thompson replied, “Yes.”

  Mr. Inskip next tried to make Mrs. Thompson admit that another quotation about “success in action” was also connected with this plan of making her husband ill, but Mrs. Thompson stated that this referred to her going away with Freddie. Mr. Inskip then moved on to the light bulb, quoting:

  Q. “I’m going to try the glass again occasionally—when it is safe. I’ve got an electric light globe this time.” When was it likely to be safe?

  A. There was no question of it being safe; I was not going to try it.

  Q. Why did you tell Bywaters you were going to try it when it was safe?

  A. Still to let him think I was willing to do what he wanted.

  Q. You are representing that this young man was seriously suggesting to you that you should poison and kill your husband?

  A. I did not suggest it.

  Q. I thought that was the suggestion.

  A. I did not suggest that.

  Q. What was your suggestion?

  A. He said he would give him something.

  Once again Mr. Justice Shearman interrupted. It was he that, during Mr. Frampton’s examination, had first made Edith admit she had discussed the possibility of making her husband ill. Having won this major point for the prosecution, he seemed eager to keep it in the forefront of the jurors’ minds. And, once again, he forced a second, even more damaging admission out of Edith.

  Q. (by Mr. Justice Shearman) Give him something in his food; you answered my question a little while ago that it was to give him something to make him ill?

  A. That is what I surmised, that I should give him something so that when he had a heart attack he would not be able to resist it.

  Q. You are suggesting now that it was Bywaters who was suggesting that to you?

  A. Yes.

  Q. And you did not do it?

  A. No, never.

  After Mr. Justice Shearman had, astonishingly, made Mrs. Thompson admit that Bywaters had suggested she should cause Percy’s death by exploiting his weak heart,

  Mr. Inskip muddled on as if nothing had happened. He brought up the episode, already covered by the defense, of Percy’s night atta
ck after the dose of “insomnia medicine” given him by the chemist. He made much of the fact that Edith, in her letter to Freddie, had mysteriously hinted that this might be useful to them later on. Then he quoted:

  Q. “It would be so easy darlint—if I had things—I do hope I shall.” What would be easy?

  A. I was asking or saying it would be better if I had things as Mr. Bywaters suggested I should have.

  Q. What would be easy?

  A. To administer them as he suggested.

  Q. “I do hope I shall.” Was that acting or was that real?

  A. That was acting for him.

  Q. You were acting to Bywaters that you wished to destroy your husband’s life?

  A. I was.

  As the gallery buzzed, Mr. Justice Shearman pounced on that point like a hawk pouncing on a sparrow. It was almost time to adjourn the court and here was an ideal place at which to break the prosecution’s case so that the jury could be left with the most damaging admission of all for their night’s reflection. Eagerly Sir Montague Shearman asked:

  “One moment, I do not want to be mistaken. Did I take you down rightly as saying: ‘I wanted him to think I was willing to take my husband’s life’?”

  Mrs. Thompson, of course, had not said that. Mr. Inskip had said it and Mrs. Thompson had listlessly confirmed it.

  In replying to the Judge’s question, Mrs. Thompson said: “I wanted him to think I was willing to do what he suggested.”

  “That is to take your husband’s life?” pressed the Judge.

  Mrs. Thompson drifted away again. “Not necessarily,” she said.

  Mr. Inskip tried to recapture the wisp of silk that had slipped through the Judge’s fingers—and succeeded.

  Q. To injure your husband, at any rate?

  A. To make him ill.

  Q. What was your object of making him ill?

  A. I had not discussed the special object.

  Q. What was in your heart the object of making him ill? So that he should not recover from his heart attacks?

  A. Yes, that was certainly the impression, yes.

  There it was. Mrs. Thompson had admitted that, in her heart, she had hoped her husband could be made ill and never recover from his heart attacks. This didn’t have a great deal to do with the case, but it sounded wonderful. Instantly Mr. Justice Shearman adjourned the court.

  The public had had its thrill, after all. Even though Mr. Inskip, through scruple or ineffectiveness, had fumbled the knife, Sir Montague Shearman had made a brilliant retrieve.

  Mrs. Thompson barely managed to walk from the witness stand. She moved like an old, old woman. Her face was gray and haggard with anguish.

  The spectators in the gallery trooped happily out of the court to take their places in the line for tomorrow’s exciting instalment.

  The fourth day of the trial was a Saturday, and it turned out to be a day of anticlimax for the gallery. Mrs. Thompson immediately resumed her place in the witness box. A night free from the hostile public eye had restored to her a little superficial vitality. Mr. Inskip opened the cross-examination on the assumption that she would now admit that all the passages in the letters about “the act” and “the thing we must do” referred to her intention of making her husband ill. He was wrong. Mrs. Thompson parried all his initial questions with the claim that “the act” and “the thing” were nothing more than her plan of running away with Freddie. It was not until the Solicitor General brought up the well-worn quotation about the “bitter taste” that she slipped once again into vague, partial admissions.

  Q. Turn to your letter of first May, Exhibit Nineteen, and look at this sentence: “You said it was enough for an elephant. Perhaps it was. But you don’t allow for the taste making only a small quantity to be taken. It sounded like a reproach, was it meant to be?” Had he in his letter to which that was an answer again referred to this plan of poisoning your husband?

  A. He probably had. That was in answer to his question.

  Q. Had he also told you that you must be very careful in anything you did not to leave any traces, any finger marks, on the boxes?

  A. Yes, he did.

  Q. Had he also written to you again about the bitter taste? In a paragraph further down you say: “Now your letter tells me about the bitter taste again.” That sentence speaks for itself. Then lower down: “Our Boy had to have his thumb operated on because he had a piece of glass in it that’s what made me try that method again—but I suppose as you say he is not normal.” Was not this proposal of poisoning your husband mentioned in every letter that Bywaters wrote to you?

  A. I think not.

  Q. In many letters?

  A. I will not say how many; I don’t remember.

  Q. In some?

  A. Probably.

  Q. Was it not also mentioned between you and him whenever he came back to England?

  A. I cannot say that for certain; I don’t remember.

  Q. Do you not ever remember that he spoke to you about it?

  A. Perhaps on one occasion.

  Q. On several occasions?

  A. I cannot say how many.

  After this barren exchange, Mr. Inskip brought up the subject of Robert Hichens’ “Bella Donna.” He tried to, make Mrs. Thompson agree with him that this book, which she had sent to Bywaters, concerned itself with a wife’s plot to murder her husband, but Mrs. Thompson either seemed or pretended to have forgotten almost everything about the book. Mr. Inskip quoted once again the sentence from it about the cumulative poison digitalin and Mrs. Thompson’s comment “Is it any use?” Didn’t this show that she was suggesting to Freddie that digitalin might be used on Percy? Mrs. Thompson parried him with stubborn obscurity. Mr. Inskip, who had broken no new ground and, in fact, had been unable to find any new ground anyway, then made one last attempt to pin Mrs. Thompson down into a recapitulation of her most damaging admissions, but once again she drifted away.

  The Solicitor General, as was his habit when he had come to the end of his resources, followed an unimportant side track. In her last letter, Mrs. Thompson had written: “He’s still well—he’s going to gaze all day long at you in your temporary home—after Wednesday.” Mr. Inskip asked Mrs. Thompson whether “he” referred to her husband. Mrs. Thompson explained that “he” was a bronze monkey that Freddie had given her, and which stood in her room opposite a sketch of the S.S. Morea—Freddie’s temporary home. The picture had been sent out to be framed and had been due to be returned on Wednesday, October fourth. So much for that.

  Mr. Inskip returned to the main theme.

  Q. At any rate, I suggest to you that your statement “I’ll still risk and try if you will” referred to the same matter which you had mentioned so often in the letters, the risk of using poison or force to your husband?

  A. I had never mentioned force to my husband.

  Q. But you had mentioned it to Bywaters?

  A. Mentioned what?

  Q. Using force, something to hurt your husband?

  A. I never mentioned the word “force.”

  Q. Did you not mention the subject to Bywaters?

  A. I do not understand what you mean.

  Q. Did you never mention in conversation with Bywaters at these tearoom visits, on September twenty-ninth, second October, and third October, the proposal of hurting your husband or of poisoning him?

  A. I had not done so.

  Q. Did Bywaters never refer to all these letters that had passed between you and him containing that proposal?

  A. I cannot say that he did. He probably did not; we did not discuss the letters when he was at home.

  Mrs. Thompson’s cross-examination had reached its unexpectedly tepid conclusion. Mr. Inskip turned to Mr. Justice Shearman and remarked:

  “That is all I have to ask.”

  The Judge asked Mr. Whiteley whether he wished to cross-examine for Bywaters. Mr. Whiteley declined. Sir Henry Curtis-Bennett then arose to re-examine.

  The cross-examination had proved far less d
isastrous than Sir Henry had feared. In spite of her absurd prevarications, Mrs. Thompson had been shaken on none of the points that really mattered. But Sir Henry, with his final address in mind, made no spectacular attempt here to trounce the prosecution. He contented himself with the sketchiest re-examination.

  He then called Avis Graydon to the witness stand. Mrs. Thompson’s sister described her discovery of the bottle of tincture of opium and her subsequent action of pouring its contents down the kitchen sink—thus showing that Edith made no attempt to preserve the nearest approach to a real poison that had ever come to her hand. Sir Henry then read to Avis Graydon the paragraph from Mrs. Thompson’s letter that he had already read to her father, concerning Percy’s stormy complaint about Freddie Bywaters to Mr. Graydon.

  Q. Is there any truth in that at all?

  A. There is none whatever.

  Q. Did it ever happen?

  A. It did not.

  Even Mr. Justice Shearman was impressed by this revelation.

  Q. (by Mr. Justice Shearman) It follows, therefore, that your sister invented the whole of this?

  A. Yes, it is pure imagination on my sister’s part.

  Sir Henry then called Edith’s mother, who testified that she had seen a distinct bump on Edith’s head when she had hurried to Kensington Gardens after the crime.

  That was all. The great event had ended, not with a bang but a whimper.

  Sir Henry turned to the bench and said:

  “That is the case for Mrs. Thompson.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Once the examination of witnesses, with its fascinating spectacle of personalities under ordeal, is over, a criminal trial takes on a different quality of excitement. It becomes a kind of steeplechase. The jury and spectators have been made familiar with the terrain. They know all the hazards of the course. They have been able to examine the case for the defense and the case for the prosecution as if they were thoroughbred horses in a paddock. They have seen all their good points and all their weak points. Now is the time for the race itself, and the learned barristers must turn into jockeys using all their cunning and experience to outdistance their opponents to the finishing line.

  In this particular race, Freddie Bywaters was by far the weakest entry. There was little that Mr. Cecil Whiteley could do for him, but in his address to the jury, which started the contest, he did that little effectively.