The police-pathologist, Dr. Edwards, was next in the witness-box, a small, mild-mannered man.
‘You carried out a post-mortem on the body of the deceased, Dr. Edwards?’
‘That is so,’ Dr. Edwards said. He spoke quickly in a brisk voice, with a ring of authority in it. ‘My examination,’ he went on, ‘confirmed Dr. Walsh’s earlier diagnosis. The primary cause of death was heart-failure, caused by the intake of an exceptionally large dose of cyanide. About twenty grains I should say, or its equivalent. The deceased was physically healthy, with no sign of organic disease.’ He glanced towards Phil and Thelma. ‘I’m sure you won’t require me to go into all the details of the examination I conducted, they are not relevant, sir, I assure you.’
The Coroner nodded, as he glanced at Thelma. ‘Quite,’ he said. ‘But we should like some explanation of the manner in which the poison was administered.’
‘There were some traces of some gelatinous substance still in the mouth. I gather from the police evidence that no receptacle was discovered at the scene, so I am prepared to state with reasonable certainty that the poison was taken in some sort of capsule. As has been suggested by Dr. Walsh.’
The Coroner considered this for a moment. ‘In other words it was all ready for use, in this concentrated form?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘A person having such a capsule in his or her possession would presumably know something of the possible effect?’
The man in the witness-box hesitated momentarily. ‘Almost certainly I would imagine. But knowing its effects, I should have thought there would have been some hesitation about using it.’
‘I see, Dr. Edwards,’ the Coroner said quietly. ‘It is not a pleasant way of taking life.’ He removed his pince-nez, blinked down at the papers on the table, then replaced his pince-nez once more. Glancing at the jury, his eyes then went round the court, before coming to rest on Dr. Edwards. ‘I am correct, am I not,’ he said, ‘in presuming it would be difficult for any ordinary member of the public to secure any quantity of this poison?’
‘You are quite right, sir.’
‘It is not for me to say how the deceased came to possess the poison,’ the Coroner said, ‘but there are definite regulations as to the sale of any poisonous substance, made under the Dangerous Drugs Act of 1951.’ His voice trailed off while he stared over his pince-nez at a reporter, who was busy scribbling, then turned back to the witness. ‘Your view, Dr. Edwards, is that the deceased could have taken the poison herself in the form you suggested?’
‘Yes,’ the doctor said with a nod. ‘With the reservations I have made as to its effects, which almost certainly would have been known to the deceased.’
‘Quite, quite,’ the Coroner said quickly. ‘That leads us into other aspects of this sad case, such as the state of the mind, which we still hope to investigate.’
‘One point,’ Dr. Edwards said, ‘is that during my examination I noticed some slight bruising round the nostrils and jaw. I mention it in passing, though I attach no importance to it.’
‘Can you account for those bruises?’ the Coroner asked.
‘It seemed to me that a person taking this poison in such a form, might experience some revulsion at the last moment before swallowing it. The bruises would be consistent with holding the mouth closed firmly to aid the act of swallowing.’
The Coroner nodded understandingly, then, after rustling his papers for a few seconds, he said: ‘Thank you, Dr. Edwards.’
The police-inspector was next in the witness-box. A tall man, his grey hair cropped short. He described how, on receiving the call from the policeman he had driven to Little Tiplow with a detective-sergeant. They had searched the room in which the deceased lay, and had continued their search through the cottage.
‘There was no trace of any other person having been present, apart from Mr. Stone?’
‘No, sir,’ the inspector said. ‘According to our investigations Miss Grayson had been alone before Mr. Stone arrived. I arranged for the body to be taken to the mortuary, having heard Dr. Walsh’s opinion, and informed your officer.’
‘Is there any other point about your investigation of the cottage which you wish to bring to the Court’s attention?’
‘Only the matter of the telegram, sir. Mr. Stone drew my attention to it. It had arrived that evening. It had not been opened, so I opened it. I understood from Mr. Stone that he had found it when he first entered the cottage. I questioned the postmaster at Little Tiplow post-office,’ the inspector continued. ‘The telegram was received over the telephone at 5.45 p.m. It was delivered by the postmaster’s son at Lilac Cottage at approximately 7.50. The postmaster’s son explained to me that he was delayed by a puncture to the tyre of his bicycle, and that when he got to Lilac Cottage, which is about a mile-and-a-half from the village, no one answered his knock. He thereupon pushed the telegram through the letter-box and went off.’
‘I have the telegram here,’ the Coroner said, as he took the buff form from among his papers. ‘It is addressed to Miss Julie Grayson. ‘Phil back unexpectedly,’ he read. ‘On his way down to see you this evening. Stop. Meet him station. Stop. All my love darling Thelma.’ He glanced at the jury. ‘The deceased, of course, had not read this telegram,’ he said. ‘It arrived too late. Perhaps it is unfortunate that it did so.’ He eyed the telegram for a moment over his pince-nez. Then:
‘Call Mr. Phil Stone.’
Chapter Six
The Coroner led Phil through his story up till the time of his discovery of Julie lying there dead at Lilac Cottage. The Coroner had asked him only a few questions, but now he said:
‘Let me put it this way, Mr. Stone, had anything happened in your relationship that might cause Miss Grayson to be unhappy?’
‘None that I know of, sir’ Phil said.
‘You were engaged to be married?’
‘No. I was in love with her, and intended to ask her to marry me.’
The Coroner nodded sympathetically. ‘Can you answer this question? Can you give me any reason, or do you know of any possible reason, why Miss Grayson should have taken her own life?’
‘I just can’t understand it, sir.’
The Coroner paused for a moment, a frown appearing above the glint of his pince-nez. ‘The Court has heard something of what must have happened on that tragic night, the medical and police evidence has accounted for much,’ he said. ‘Now, when you finally reached Lilac Cottage, what did you do?’
Phil told of his wretched, bedraggled state, as he fought his way through the storm, of his encounter with Dr. Walsh; of his arrival at Lilac Cottage, the light shining in the sitting-room window. He told of his disappointment at receiving no answer to his knock, and his trying the back door. He told of his discovery of the unopened telegram. ‘I went into the sitting-room,’ he said, ‘and then I found her.’
‘You found the room exactly as described by the police?’
‘Exactly,’ Phil said.
‘There is just one other question, did you know any friends of Miss Grayson?’
‘No, sir. I just knew she worked at this night-club in London, and I learned later that her sister was at the same club with her.’
And then Phil returned to his place. Now the Coroner looked directly at Thelma.
‘Miss Grayson, needless to say, you have my deep sympathy and I do not want to distress you more than you have been distressed already. But I should like you to give evidence, if you will come into the witness-box.’
Phil watched her as she took the oath, her slender fingers twisting a wispy handkerchief. Otherwise she appeared calm and composed. She wore a severely-cut black suit and a small black hat. She wore little make-up. Phil heard someone behind him whispering. Someone ghoulishly discussing the night-club girl whose sister had died violently and suddenly? he wondered.
The Coroner came quickly to the question.
‘Tell me, Miss Grayson, was there any known reason why your sister should have been unhappy? Anythin
g connected with her work for instance?’
Phil watched Thelma as she hesitated. ‘She was normally gay and friendly,’ she said.
‘You have not answered my question.’
Thelma was silent for a few moments. ‘She hadn’t been very happy lately.’
‘Yes?’ The Coroner prompted her gently.
There was a long pause, and Phil clasped his hands together. Thelma had turned to look at him, and he saw that there was an unfathomable expression in her eyes. Again he thought he observed the deliberate evasion of something in Julie’s life which Thelma did not wish him to know.
The Coroner sighed, as if to say he had arrived at the tricky stage in the proceedings. He would have to exercise all his tact and patience, all his sympathy and understanding. This was the dead girl’s sister. She probably knew the answer to everything. ‘No doubt,’ he said, striking out on a new tack, ‘your sister made a number of friends in the course of her work at this night-club?’
‘Yes.’
‘We have learned that your sister enjoyed her work, that she had no financial worries, but you have hinted that of late she had not been quite so . . . happy. Yet you have not told us why. I do not wish to distress you unduly. But this Court has to decide whether your sister took her life, and if so what caused her to do so. Please answer my questions, as best you can, Miss Grayson. Had your sister formed some romantic attachment which might have caused her unhappiness?’
There was a moment of suspended activity in the plain drab room with the morning sun, now paler, as if the day had grown chill; every eye fixed on Thelma Grayson. Phil thought he caught a quick glance from her from the corner of her eye in his direction.
‘If I must answer, I will do so.’ Her voice was almost inaudible. ‘I was worried because she had fallen in love — she had become infatuated with a certain man.’
Phil felt a pulse beating over his right eye as he heard the hesitant words, and his jaw tightened.
‘You do not mean Mr. Stone?’
‘No, sir.’
‘May we know who this man was?’
‘He owns the Black Moth,’ Thelma said quietly.
For a few moments the Coroner regarded her, then with a flickering look at his papers, he said: ‘Thank you, Miss Grayson.’ Now there was a brisk, satisfied inflexion in his tone.
Thelma looked at him from the witness-box in surprise. Phil saw the sheer relief sweeping over her face, then her face clouded as she went towards Phil to take her seat again beside him. Phil smiled crookedly at her to reassure her.
‘I’m sorry, Phil,’ she whispered as she sat down.
He pressed her hand understandingly, reassuring her again.
The Coroner was looking at the jury. ‘I formed the opinion that some explanation of this unhappy girl’s death might be found at her place of employment,’ he said. ‘Accordingly I suggested that this might be the case to the police,’ he turned to the police-inspector. ‘Has anything been done about that?’
‘Yes, sir. On your advice I telephoned the West End Central Police Station in London. An officer from there went to interview Mr. Ray Mercury, the owner of the night-club in question. Mr. Mercury said he would be here to give evidence.’
Phil heard Thelma gasp beside him, give a little moan.
‘No, no.’
‘Where is Mr. Mercury? Is he here to give his assistance?’
The police-officer glanced across to the door.
‘I was told he was on his way, sir, he should be —’
There was a sudden bustle outside the opening of the door, and everybody turned as a slim man of middle height, dark-haired, his face curiously softly moulded and yet with a ruthlessness in it, came in. He was dressed in a well-cut dove-grey suit and wore foreign-style shoes, and there was about him an air of opulence and impeccable grooming.
‘This is Mr. Mercury now, sir,’ the inspector said.
The newcomer was murmuring apologetically. Phil noted that his voice was as soft as his expression, and his whole personality was withdrawn and secret. It was a fault with his car, he explained to the Coroner, which had accounted for his delay. He did not seem to notice anyone around him, his entire attention seemed to be concentrated on the Coroner.
Phil threw an oblique glance at Thelma, as Mercury made his way into the witness-box. He was shocked at her expression as she leaned forward. Mercury had not even glanced in her direction, but her gaze was fixed on him. Her pale beautiful face was charged with hatred and her long, grey eyes glittered feverishly.
Phil turned to look at the witness-box. Did all this mean, he wondered, that it was the man standing there who had driven Julie to her death?
Ray Mercury took the oath quickly and began answering the Coroner’s questions with what appeared to be complete sincerity. Phil, trying to look at the man dispassionately had to admit it, he certainly had good looks, plus his magnetic personality. Slumping dispiritedly in his seat, Phil could not help deciding that Mercury must have a certain attraction for women.
‘She was employed by you at this club, the Black Moth. Would you say she was happy there?’
‘She seemed to me to be happy.’
‘You were friendly with her?’
‘I am friendly with all my employees.’
‘Evidence has been given to the effect that Miss Grayson died from poison, self-administered, which was probably contained in a capsule. Can you give the court any idea how such a thing could come into her possession?’
‘Why, no.’ Mercury flashed very white teeth. ‘I’m a night-club owner, not a chemist.’ He said it quietly and without any hint of sarcasm, yet there was a sudden steeliness in his tone which was unmistakable. He was making it quite clear, Phil decided, that no one was going to get away with the faintest imputation against him.
‘You can throw no light on it?’ the Coroner said. ‘We have learned that Miss Grayson had not been happy lately.’
‘I had understood that from her, and I can only imagine it was why she had left my employment.’
‘She left your club at which she was working?’
‘She left about a week ago.’
‘Did she give any reason?’
There was a little silence. Still Mercury had appeared not to be aware of Thelma. Now he spoke slowly. ‘I can only think,’ he said, ‘that she went because I told her that I didn’t reciprocate the attachment she had lately formed for me.’
‘She had formed an attachment for you?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid she had. I couldn’t help it, it was just one of those things.’
‘Miss Grayson was infatuated with you, that is what you are saying?’
He nodded. ‘I suppose you could call it that. I was willing to be on friendly terms with her. I liked her, she was a very sweet girl. But that was all there was to it, so far as I was concerned.’
‘So after you told her this, she decided to leave?’
‘That was the way of it.’
The Coroner turned to Thelma. ‘Miss Grayson,’ he said, ‘no, you need not come to the witness-box. You knew of this infatuation your sister had for Mr. Mercury?’
‘Yes,’ she said. Almost a whisper it was.
‘When she left the club she went to Little Tiplow?’
‘Yes. I encouraged her to go to the cottage. I thought it would help her to think things over, to see it all in a different perspective. I hoped she would forget this . . . him.’
Phil saw her face was enigmatic, her tone expressionless as she glanced briefly at the man in the witness-box. And now he was regarding her, as if he was seeing her for the first time, one dark eyebrow raised in slight surprise.
‘And you continued to remain in Mr. Mercury’s employ?’
Thelma nodded.
‘There was no reason why she shouldn’t,’ Mercury said. ‘Miss Thelma Grayson is a sensible girl, she’s in show-business and good at her job. And there was no need for her to be affected by her sister’s decision.’
Thelma made no
reply. She stood looking at the Coroner. She might not have heard what the man in the witness-box had said. Tension flickered round the Court like invisible lightning.
‘Thank you, Miss Grayson, that is all.’
Thelma sat down, Phil looking at her curiously, a dozen questions spinning round in his mind.
The Coroner regarded Ray Mercury for a moment, then he thanked him for his evidence, and the man left the witness-box and took a seat at the back of the court.
The Coroner turned his gaze to the jury. ‘You have heard all the evidence,’ he told the eleven impassive faces, ‘and I don’t think I need go over it all again. You have listened carefully to the witnesses, I am sure, and it is quite plain how this unfortunate girl met her death. She was young, impressionable, and had formed an unfortunate attachment which was not reciprocated. An attachment which has been frankly explained to you, for which no blame can be attributed to anyone. How far this emotional situation contributed to the deceased’s state of mind at the time of her death, is for you to say.’ He touched briefly on the evidence of the two doctors, Dr. Walsh and Dr. Edwards. He referred to the evidence consistent with Julie Grayson having administered cyanide to herself by means of a capsule; he came to the end of his summing-up. ‘Was she so worried and tormented, emotionally unstable at the time, that she decided to take her own life? That is what you have to decide. Will you please retire and consider your verdict?’
The jury rose and filed out of the room, their footsteps making a sharp clatter as they crossed the hall into a room opposite. It seemed only a short wait before the noise of their footsteps returned and they filed back into their places.
‘Members of the jury, have you considered your verdict?’
The foreman rose, his red face grim. ‘Yes, sir. We find that the deceased, Julie Grayson, killed herself while the balance of her mind was disturbed.’
Chapter Seven
The rakish-looking, low-built, yellow Duesenberg drew up outside the Weir Hotel, and Miss Frayle and Dr. Morelle got out of the car. The hotel was a modern building, low and somewhat Spanish in style with a wide veranda running round it. It was a warm afternoon, and the sun was shining on the white hotel walls.
Callers for Dr Morelle Page 4