by Richard Hull
“In which he had already heaved half a brick at Cargate?”
“Yes. A rather naughty half a brick, because it was criticism by implication instead of being open and direct.”
“Very well then. He had the idea in mind when he went there.”
“But like Macpherson, he could not have thought it out beforehand, because he could not have known about it.”
“He might have heard talk in the village about the wasps’ nest. Not a very interesting subject of conversation, but in places like Scotney End they have to make do with what is available.”
“But the village and the hall were practically not on speaking terms.”
“What about the gardener? He knew some poison was going to be bought?”
“That’s true.”
“If he did mention it, we might put up the theory that Yockleton planned the whole thing, went and bought some potassium cyanide himself, ground it up before ever he went to see Cargate that morning, himself caused Cargate to go out of the room to fetch something, not necessarily the parish magazine, which is in any case a most improbable thing for Cargate to have read, and while he was away, all he had to do was to slip the powder in. Even so, he was a little slow, and Cargate, coming back suddenly, finds him still fingering the snuffbox, and accuses him of stealing the emerald; or at any rate got the idea of making that accusation.”
“Aren’t you,” Oliver approached the task of throwing doubts on his leader’s wisdom with hesitation, “taking rather a lot for granted? I mean, it would be too great a coincidence for Yockleton to have had some potassium cyanide handy, and if he hadn’t, where did he get it? It was only the day before, I think only the evening before, that the gardener knew—and by the way, we don’t know that he did say anything to Yockleton—and according to the register of the chemist at Great Barwick, he sold none except to Cargate. So far as I know, there isn’t anywhere else where Yockleton could have got it.”
“Those country chemists are sometimes a bit lax about their registers.”
“If you don’t mind my saying so, the fact that he did record Cargate’s purchase rather suggests that Yockleton’s would also have been put down if he had made one. And in any case Great Barwick is some distance off, and Yockleton did not have a car.”
Vernon sighed. “I’m afraid you’re right, but I insist on keeping it in mind. Now look here, what about this as an alternative idea? Suppose that Yockleton arrives in the morning, and while Cargate is fetching this parish magazine, his eye falls on this bottle with its prominent label of ‘poison’. ‘I wish that I could poison Cargate,’ he says to himself. Then he begins playing with fire. He picks up the bottle and turns it over in his hand. ‘Might come in handy,’ he says, takes an envelope from the writing-table and slips some crystals into it. Then he hears Cargate returning and he hurriedly puts it down again—in the wrong place.”
“But he knew that it was on the table. He says that Cargate mentioned it to him, and the whole trouble is that Miss Knox Forster described it as being on the window-sill just before Yockleton left.”
“Quite. He put it there.”
“But he wouldn’t then have said that it was on the table earlier on. Knowing where it was ultimately, as he did, he would have been certain either to have put it back on the table, or to have been careful to say that it was on the window-sill when he arrived.”
“Might not that be the mistake he made?”
“It might, I suppose.” Oliver did not sound very convinced.
“There you are, then. Then, having got his crystals, Cargate comes back and at once provides him with a spur to his motive by refusing finally to help this other Hardy, Scottish Hardy as he calls him. I agree with you that the accusation about the emerald would be more likely to act as a brake than the other way, but that would not be so about the village. So then Yockleton goes away thoroughly angry and disgruntled, and with the poison, and he thinks out a way of doing it at his leisure. Then, later on, he comes back.”
“But he accounted for his day.”
“But not for his night.”
“Do you mean that he might have broken in during the night? I somehow don’t think that Yockleton is a very experienced burglar.”
“Cargate thought that he was and perhaps after all he was right!”
“Well, he didn’t leave any traces. Moreover, I strongly suspect that that snuffbox was locked up during the night, and that the house was smothered all over with burglar alarms. Cargate would never have been happy without every device of that sort being in operation.”
“A competent man like Yockleton would know how to cut them,” Vernon laughingly suggested. “No, I suppose that idea is a little too far-fetched.”
“Afraid so,” Oliver answered. “Besides—I don’t know how much Blayton is going to insist on it, because the analyst’s report is very undecided, but there is a suggestion that the cyanide was in the snuff as early as 3.45 in any case. There are those very faint traces on the stamp mount. If you ask my opinion, if Blayton puts that forward tentatively, the jury will believe it to be quite true. By the way, it makes another reason why Macpherson’s part in the day’s events will have to be mentioned.”
“I see. Let’s hope that Blayton, or his junior, puts it too strongly. Macpherson is just the sort of witness one would hand over to one’s junior, and with luck he’ll make a mess of it.” The grin on Vernon’s face let Oliver know that any implication that he might take from that as to his own conduct was in the nature of a leg pull.
“Still,” Vernon went on, “that’s the merest detail. The result so far is not very helpful. We’ve got a few small points which we can use in helping to pull the prosecution’s case to pieces, and I think that we can make something of them, especially when the other side have to admit that the motive is weak. But the real thing is that in all probability we shall have to agree that it was bound to be either Miss Knox Forster or Raikes. And the Crown, having decided to accuse one of them and bring that person to trial, we shall be at liberty to suggest that it was the other. Or rather, for the reasons that I gave you before as to putting the jury’s backs up, confine ourselves to suggesting that it might just as well have been. Now let’s get through the evidence as to both of them.”
Oliver nodded. “I thought that you would say that. I’ve got it all analysed here in parallel columns. Really, the hardest thing that we’ve got to get over is the roses. If only this fellow Ley had not looked at them so hard!”
“Shall we be able to shake him do you think?”
“I doubt it. He’s a solicitor and he knows the tricks of the trade.”
“Really, really, my dear Mr. Oliver,” Vernon pretended to be shocked. “You must not refer to the skilled work of the Bar as ‘the tricks of the trade’.”
Oliver laughed. “A rose by any other name—” he began. Then he stopped. “I meant that as to ‘the tricks of the trade’, but of course really it applies even more to the case for the prosecution. Calling the rose by the wrong name is in a way exactly the point, and in a way too it was almost a question of it’s not smelling as sweet.”
“So I gathered,” Vernon answered. “You know, Ley may be a solicitor and therefore a tough nut to crack, but he isn’t a gardener and he may get muddled on that.”
“He may. But he hasn’t so far and honestly I don’t think that he will. Besides, more than one person saw those roses, and saw them correctly.”
“And if we are to win, we have got to avoid their thorns. Let’s see your analysis.”
It was a good bit of work, but the more Vernon read it, the less he liked it. Like Fenby, though he was unaware of it, he ended by murmuring: “The roses—and the bowl.”
Part V
Summing-Up
Mr. Justice Smith cleared his throat and began his charge to the jury.
“Members of the jury, the accused is charged with the murder of Launcelot He
nry Cuthbert Cargate by poisoning him by causing him to take potassium cyanide.
“Some years ago Mr. Justice Avory, in dealing with the case of Jean Pierre Vaquier, quoted these words: ‘“Of all forms of death by which human nature may be overcome, the most detestable is that of poison, because it can of all others be the least prevented either by manhood or forethought; and therefore in all cases where a man wilfully administers poison to another or lays poison for him and either he or another takes it and is killed by it, the law implies malice although no particular enmity can be proved.”’ The learned Judge then went on to say for himself: ‘Therefore in this case if you should be driven to the conclusion that the prisoner at the Bar laid this poison for the deceased, intending him to take it, it is not necessary either to search for, much less to establish a motive for his doing so.’ With those words, mutatis mutandis, I am entirely in agreement.
“Nevertheless, counsel for the prosecution has thought it to be his duty to consider the question of the motives which could have influenced the accused. He summed them up in his closing speech by concentrating upon the character of Henry Cargate, and by pointing out that it was easy to imagine that anyone living in daily touch with him might well have thought that it was a public service to rid the world of such a man. We have seen that Cargate was dishonest in that he forged stamps, and there is a suggestion, though no more than that, that he was a rogue in other similar ways. It has been brought to your attention that he founded his quite considerable fortune by means of activities which were never of direct use to the nation. This is not the proper place to consider what useful function, if any, is performed by the speculator. There is no need for you or me to decide that question. You need only remember that while some people consider that he is almost a necessity, others think that many of the ills of the present world may be laid at his door. It is part of the prosecution’s case that the accused took that view.
“Again, it is alleged that Cargate’s political outlook was both strong and peculiar, and that these were in great contrast to those of the accused, who thus conceived an antipathy so violent and irrational as to cause to come into existence a desire that Cargate should die. You have heard questions of economics and of disarmament mentioned, and you have had described to you the attitude taken by the deceased towards labour generally and the village of Scotney End in particular. Finally, you have heard that the deceased had made a contemptuous will leaving his property derisively to the nation on the somewhat curious economic ground that he desired to help his fellow men as little as possible during his lifetime, and after his death not at all, and that such a disposition of his property as was proposed would be actually harmful to everybody.
“It is not a theory to which you or I would probably wish to subscribe, but that is of no importance. All that matters is that the accused is stated to have violently disagreed with it. The prosecution’s case then is simply this—‘in the mind of the accused Cargate alive was a pest, Cargate dead was of value’, and that the accused conceived such a hatred for him that when an opportunity arose unexpectedly—and the flames of hatred were fanned by the deceased’s treatment of the Rev. Mr. Yockleton—then temptation became too powerful to be resisted, and that Cargate’s life was taken in much the same mental attitude and for very similar motives as he himself proposed to destroy the nest of wasps.
“To this the defence offer two lines of thought. In the first place they say that while this might possibly have caused the accused to leave Mr. Cargate’s service, it is not sufficient to have caused the crime of murder to have been committed; that such a decisive act was entirely inconsistent with the character of the accused. The prosecution say that it is entirely consistent. I do not think that I can add anything usefully to what has been said to you on that subject, since the procedure of the law of England forces us, for excellent reasons, to form our judgment solely on what we ourselves have observed by the demeanour of the accused in the witness box.
“But the defence are not content with this. They have taken up a second position to which to effect a partial withdrawal, if necessary. This position, however, they have cautiously not put before you in so many words, but nevertheless they have perhaps managed to convey it to your minds. It is, briefly speaking, this. That Cargate was all that the prosecution have implied, and that it was in fact an excellent thing that he has been removed—that his murderer was full of the most excellent intentions. It is a sentimental plea for your sympathy, and I must tell you that if you have formed that idea in your mind, you must dismiss it at once. In the law of England there is such a thing as justifiable homicide, but it has nothing to do with sentiment, and not for one moment does it contemplate that anyone is entitled to say ‘So-and-so is better dead. For the sake of the nation at large, I propose to kill him’. Such a proposition is pure nonsense. You have a duty to perform to the public and, as has been said before, whether it be a case of murder, or whether it be a case of petty theft, your duty is the same. You are here to convict the guilty and acquit the innocent, and if you are satisfied that the case is proved, it is your duty to convict because if crime is not detected—I am quoting again from one of my learned brethren—and conviction does not follow detection—crime flourishes.
“So much then for that point. I now want to turn to the suggestion by the defence that Cargate did not meet his death as the result of the presence of the potassium cyanide at all. You have heard the evidence of the witness Hardy, the baker of Scotney End, and it is for you to ask yourselves whether that evidence convinces you that the deceased did in fact take that pinch of snuff. If you decide that he did not, and that his death was purely due to natural causes, then there is an end of the case. That is a question of fact and you have seen the witness Hardy in the box, and you have heard what he has said.
“If you do think that the pinch of snuff was taken in whole or in part, you must next consider the medical evidence. There is no doubt but that Henry Cargate purchased one ounce of potassium cyanide from the chemist in Great Barwick and brought it away with him in a small glass bottle with a stopper to it. Nor is there any question but that he bought it in order to destroy a wasps’ nest. Nor is it disputed that the snuffbox into which it is alleged that this poison was introduced, holds up to approximately half an ounce of a powder of the same specific gravity as snuff.
“You have heard what the analyst attached to the Home Office—an entirely independent witness—has said. He analysed the sample of powder which Dr. Gardiner collected from the floor of the railway carriage at Larkingfield, and found that it consisted of about two-thirds of the type of snuff which had been supplied to Cargate; that there was a certain amount of dust from the floor naturally enough, but that the rest was potassium cyanide. Then you have had the purely medical evidence of two doctors of eminence. They both say that, should a good-sized pinch of snuff have been taken, a grain, or rather more, of potassium cyanide might well have been absorbed through the mucous membrane, and that this would have been sufficient to have caused death, allowing for the state of Henry Cargate’s health.
“This medical evidence is not contested by the defence so far. Up to this point they have confined themselves to the question of whether the snuff was ever taken at all. They have suggested that potassium cyanide is an irritating substance, and that the automatic reaction of anyone inadvertently taking it, would be to sneeze it out—would indeed act in exactly the same way as the porter’s dog acted when it came into contact with the mixture. But at this point the defence make another suggestion—that even if Cargate did take some of the snuff, he would not have taken a sufficient amount to kill himself unless he had had a weak heart. That in fact Cargate’s death was in truth due to his heart. The doctors, as no doubt you noticed, refused to commit themselves too definitely on this point. They were inclined to think that a man in normal health would also have died, but they were not positive.
“But really this is an irrelevant point.
&n
bsp; “I cannot put the matter better than was done by my learned brother, Mr. Justice Shearman, when he was trying Bywaters and Thompson. Let me read to you what he says: ‘If that meant to poison him or to make him die because he was unable to resist it in a heart attack, it is common sense to say that would be murder, just as much as the longest and strongest dose of poison. It is useless to say that because he has got a weak heart, I can give him a smaller dose and then it will be partly from his heart and partly from the dose. A man with a weak heart is entitled to be protected from poison as well as anybody else.’ With those remarks I am fully in agreement, and I do not wish to add anything to them. That, I think, is all that I can helpfully say to you on that subject.”
As Mr. Justice Smith paused for breath, John Ellis fidgeted uneasily on his hard seat in the jury box. It seemed to him that far too many points were being scored against the defence, compared with those which were mentioned as being in their favour. “May I ask a question, my lord?” he said suddenly.
There was a slight pause which made it clear that his lordship did not entirely approve of such a proceeding. Nevertheless leave to do so was given.
“What importance,” Ellis asked, “are we to give to the admission by both doctors that their post-mortem revealed no symptoms of death by poisoning—that death was in fact due to heart failure?”
“Signs, not symptoms, I believe is the correct technical word.” It was a mistake which always annoyed Mr. Justice Smith. Still, he had to admit to himself that to correct it at that juncture was unnecessary pedantry. “The jury will have to decide for themselves how much importance to attach to that point. It is not in dispute between the prosecution and the defence. The prosecution say, ‘Death by heart failure and death by poisoning with potassium of cyanide produce the same signs. Therefore the fact that this poison has left no trace, is of no importance. It would not have done so in any case.’ The defence say, ‘Well and good. But remember that there was no trace.’ It will be for you to consider how much importance to attach to those respective points of view. Does that answer your question?”