Noose For A Lady
Gerald Verner
© Gerald Verner 1952
Gerald Verner has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in 1952 by Wright and Brown.
This edition published in 2017 by Endeavour Press Ltd.
Table of Contents
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From a window high up in the court a dusty shaft of sunlight slanted down and touched the woman in the dock. It rested, palely and without heat, across her shoulders, illuminating one side of her face, and leaving the other side in shadow. She stared straight in front of her, expressionless and without emotion, as the Clerk of Arraigns addressed the jury.
‘Members of the jury, are you agreed upon your verdict?’
The Foreman, a small, dapper man, who looked as though he might be in the Civil Service, said, nervously:
‘We are.’
‘Do you find the accused, Margaret Elizabeth Hallam, guilty or not guilty of murder?’
‘Guilty.’
A whispering rustle swept through the court, like a wind in the hush before a storm.
‘You say,’ said the Clerk of Arraigns, unemotionally, ‘that she is guilty, and is that the verdict of you all?’
‘It is,’ said the Foreman with dry lips, his eyes averted from the woman in the dock.
‘Margaret Elizabeth Hallam,’ said the Clerk of Arraigns, ‘you have pleaded not guilty to murder, and put yourself upon your country. That country has now found you guilty. Have you anything to say why sentence should not be pronounced upon you according to the law?’
‘I can only repeat that I am not guilty.’ The voice was steady and low but very clear.
‘Is that all you have to say?’ asked the Judge.
‘What else can I say?’ she answered. ‘It’s the truth. I didn’t do it … ’
The Judge’s Clerk draped the square of black silk over the judge’s wig. The chaplain stood up.
‘Margaret Elizabeth Hallam,’ said the Judge in a dry, brittle voice that was not loud but reached to every corner of the crowded court. ‘The jury have found you guilty of the murder, by poison, of your husband, John Hallam. With that verdict I entirely concur. Upon the evidence which has been placed before this court, no other verdict would be possible. There only remains for me to pass upon you the sentence prescribed by the law.’ The brittle voice paused and then went on: ‘Which is: that you be taken from this place to a lawful prison, and thence to a place of execution, and that you there be hanged by the neck until you are dead; and that your body be afterwards buried within the precincts of the prison in which you have been confined after your conviction, and may the Lord have mercy on your soul.’
‘Amen,’ murmured the chaplain.
The woman in the dock stood rigidly, staring in front of her, the shaft of sunlight now full upon her. She remained thus, as though turned to stone, until one of the wardresses touched her gently on the shoulder…
*
Old Joshua Mayhew, of Hicks, Thornley & Mayhew, peered short-sightedly across his desk at the girl who was sitting in the shabby leather chair facing him.
‘I am — er — very much afraid, Miss Hallam,’ he said, shaking his head like a venerable tortoise, ‘there is nothing more we can do. Your stepmother’s appeal has been dismissed, as you know. It is unfortunate, but there were no legal grounds upon which it could be upheld.’ He coughed, two quick, dry little coughs. ‘The Home Secretary, I regret to say, has — er — signified his unwillingness to move in the matter of a reprieve … ’
‘But surely, Mr. Mayhew,’ interrupted Jill Hallam, ‘there is still something we can do? I’m quite sure my stepmother isn’t guilty… ‘
The old lawyer took off his glasses and blinked several times. This was really very difficult — very difficult indeed.
‘Unfortunately,’ he said, ‘the evidence is all the other way. I sympathize with you very deeply. As your late father’s legal adviser for many years, you will realize that the matter is extremely painful to me. But there is nothing I can do. It would be wrong of me to hold out hope where there is none…
‘Can’t you think of anything?’ she demanded.
He moved his head slowly but firmly from side to side.
‘I’m afraid not,’ he said.
Jill Hallam frowned. She looked, he thought, very young and childish with her fair hair and blue eyes — very like her mother too … The mouth was firm, though, and the chin obstinate …
‘Do you mean,’ she said, ‘that we’ve just got to sit still and let Margaret suffer for something she didn’t do?’
Mayhew coughed. It was a habit when he was uncomfortable or embarrassed.
‘Are you sure that that will be the case?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ she answered quietly. ‘If I weren’t I shouldn’t be worrying … Oh, can’t you understand? I’ve lived with Margaret — in the same house — for over three years … You can’t do that and not know what a person’s like — really like … ’
‘Miss Hallam,’ he put in quietly, ‘it’s sometimes very difficult to — er — realize that a person we are fond of, particularly a close relation, should be capable of a terrible act like — er — murder. A great number of people have had, however, to face up to the fact…’
‘You’re quite convinced that she’s guilty, aren’t you?’ she said.
‘Yes, candidly, I am,’ he admitted.
‘Oh, I wish I could make you see … ’ She beat her knee impatiently with a gloved hand.
‘I followed the trial very closely,’ he said, ‘and there was no other conclusion to be drawn from the evidence … ’
‘But—”
‘Your father died from an overdose of barbitone,’ he went on, ‘administered in a glass of hot — er — whisky and milk. This mixture was prepared by Mrs. Hallam herself, and taken by her to your father in his study the last thing before she retired for the night. Nobody could have had access to this whisky and milk except your father and Mrs. Hallam…’
‘I know all this, Mr. Mayhew,’ said Jill impatiently. ‘What’s the use … ’
He held up a thin hand.
‘Please allow me to finish,’ he said. ‘The only fingerprints found on the glass were those of your father and Mrs. Hallam. In the remains of the whisky and milk, sufficient barbitone was found to show that the original contents must have contained a lethal dose. For some time past, Mrs. Hallam had been taking a preparation of barbitone for insomnia. She kept her supply of the drug in a locked drawer in her bedroom, the key to which she carried in her handbag. Two days before your father’s death, Mrs. Hallam purchased, on a prescription from her doctor, a fresh bottle of barbitone containing twenty-five five-grain tablets. When this bottle was found in her drawer there were only three tablets in it. She could not have used twenty-two tablets in two days, and she was unable to say what had become of them … ’
‘Why are you going over all this again?’
‘Because I want to show you how very unlikely it is that any mistake has been made.’
‘Oh, I know it all sounds as though she must have done it,’ said Jill, ‘but I’m sure there is a mistake, all the same.’
‘And I am equally sure that you are wrong,’ he answered. ‘The case for the prosecution was very strong — very strong indeed. The defence had no reasonable answer to it. The motive … ’
‘But this particular row was different,’ said Mr. Mayhew. ‘On this occasion your father threatened to alter his will. Had he done so it might have made a very considerable difference to Mrs. Hallam’s financial expectations.’
‘Father threatened all sorts of things when he was in a temper,’ she said. ‘He didn’t always mean them…’
‘Possibly,’ agreed Mr. Mayhew. ‘In this instance, however, there is evidence that he did mean to carry out his threat.’
‘You mean the appointment he made over the telephone with you?’
‘Exactly.’
‘But he didn’t say anything about his will?’
‘Not specifically … ’
‘Then he might have wanted to see you about anything…’
‘Your father was overheard by the — er — housekeeper, Mrs. Barrett, to declare his intention of altering his will. Almost immediately afterwards he rang me up to make an appointment. I think we may safely assume that it was for that purpose.’
‘You’re not being very helpful, are you?’ said Jill with a sigh.
‘I’m very, very sorry,’ said the old lawyer, ‘but you must see, my dear, there is nothing I can do. The only advice I can offer you is to accept the situation…’
‘I’m not going to,’ she said strenuously. ‘I can’t.’
‘Miss Hallam, be sensible. Everything possible has already been done…’
‘No, it hasn’t,’ she retorted, ‘There’s still something that hasn’t been done, and that’s to find out the truth. Margaret didn’t poison my father — I’m sure she didn’t. There’s been a mistake — a horrible mistake somewhere, and I’m going to try and find out where … ’
He shook his head helplessly. ‘You won’t do any good … ’
‘I can try,’ she declared. ‘I can try to find out what really happened that night at Easton Knoll, and, if I can’t get anyone to help me, I’ll do it by myself … ’
*
Superintendent Shelford looked at the filled-in form which the constable had put on his desk. ‘Jill Hallam?’ he muttered, frowning. ‘What does she want to see me for?’
‘It’s on the form, sir,’ said the constable, helpfully.
‘H’m … yes … Where is she — in the waiting room?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘All right, show her up,’ said Shelford. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He was still gently stroking his forehead when Jill was shown in.
‘Come in, Miss Hallam,’ he said. ‘Sit down, will you?’
She sat on the chair he indicated.
‘You want to see me in connection with your stepmother, Mrs. Hallam, I believe,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘You were in charge of the investigation into my father’s death, weren’t you?’ she asked.
‘That’s right, Miss Hallam,’ he replied. ‘I don’t exactly see … ’
‘Are you quite satisfied that my stepmother is guilty?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I’ve no doubt at all,’ he answered. ‘Everything pointed to her from the start, and every fresh fact we came across confirmed our original view. It was a perfectly straightforward case…’
‘I was hoping to persuade you to make further inquiries…’ she began.
‘Can’t be done, I’m afraid, Miss Hallam,’ he said.
‘But — supposing there’s been a mistake…’
‘There hasn’t,’ broke in Shelford. ‘Don’t you run away with any false notion like that, Miss Hallam. We don’t make mistakes at the Yard — not in a murder case, you know. We make pretty certain we’ve got the right person before we take any action.’
‘You could be wrong, though, couldn’t you?’ she said. ‘In this instance?’
She leaned forward, resting her hand on the desk. ‘Think how dreadful it would be if you were…’
‘Now listen, Miss Hallam,’ said Shel-ford. ‘The whole thing is over and done with. We put our case before the court, and Mrs. Hallam was found guilty. It’s nothing more to do with us. We’re out of it. If you had any fresh evidence — real evidence — to offer us — well, that’d be a different matter. Naturally we should have to take notice of that, but…’
‘But you’re not disposed to find fresh evidence yourself?’ she said.
‘I don’t think it exists,’ he answered bluntly. ‘You see, if Mrs. Hallam didn’t put that poison in the whisky and milk, someone else must have…’
‘That’s obvious,’ she said.
‘Exactly — and there just wasn’t anybody else. We went into all that thoroughly at the time. She had the opportunity, the means and the motive — she was the only person who had. The defence tried to make out that it was suicide, but there was nothing to back it up … You’re not suggesting that, are you?’
‘No, because I don’t believe it for a moment,’ she answered. ‘My father wouldn’t have done that — he always hated the thought of death…’
‘There you are, you see? So we come back to Mrs. Hallam…’
‘Or to — somebody,’ she said.
He looked at her quickly. ‘You don’t happen to have any particular person in mind, do you?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘No … no, of course not,’ she said.
‘And you can take it from me there isn’t anyone, Miss Hallam. If you’ll forgive me for saying so you’re letting sentiment blind you to the facts … ’
‘I suppose that’s how it looks to you … ’
‘There’s no other way of looking at it,’ he said. ‘If I were you, I wouldn’t think any more about it. You’ll only be wasting your time. It’s no good flogging a dead horse … ’
‘I did hope,’ she said, ‘that something could be done … ’
‘Try and convince yourself that she did do it,’ he advised. ‘She did, you know — there’s no doubt of it. You won’t find it so bad then … ’
Rather wearily she rose to her feet. There was no further use in prolonging the interview.
‘I suppose I might as well go,’ she said. ‘It was very good of you to see me, Superintendent. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.’
*
Margaret Hallam looked up as the key turned in the lock of the cell door.
‘There’s a visitor for you, Hallam,’ said the wardress curtly.
‘For me?’
‘Yes, come along … ’
Margaret hesitated, glanced at the stolid figures of the two wardresses who kept watch over her day and night, working in eight hour shifts, so that she was never left alone, and then followed the third along the stone corridor. Their footsteps echoed with a hollow unreal ring. At a door at the end, the wardress paused.
‘In here,’ she said, and ushered Margaret into the visitors’ room.
It was a bare apartment with a wide bench running down the centre. Jill looked round as her stepmother came in.
‘Hello, Margaret,’ she said.
‘Hello, Jill,’ said Margaret.
Almost unconsciously they moved towards each other, but the voice of the wardress stopped them.
‘Keep on either side of the table, please.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry — I always forget,’ Jill stopped abruptly. ‘It seems so silly…’
‘It’s regulations, miss,’ said the woman.
‘But I can’t see why,’ said Jill. ‘What harm would it do if … ’
‘Visitors must keep the regulation distance from the prisoner, miss,’ said the wardress.
‘They’re afraid you might slip me something, Jill,’ said Margaret.
‘Slip you…?’ Jill looked puzzled.
‘They take great care to see that — nothing can happen to you — prematurely,’ said Margaret bitterly.
‘Oh — I see what you mean.’
‘That’s why they’re always watching you — day and night — just in case,’ said Margaret. ‘They never leave
you alone for a second. That’s the worst part of it
— almost — never having any privacy.’
‘Yes, I should hate that,’ said Jill.
‘It’s beastly. I suppose you could get used to it in time — but they don’t give you time. Did you see Mayhew?’
‘Yes, I saw him … I’m afraid it wasn’t much good … ’
‘I didn’t think it would be,’ said Margaret quietly. ‘He never liked me, you know. He did his best to stop John marrying me — I wish to Heaven he’d succeeded … Well, there doesn’t seem to be much we can do now, does there?’
‘Mayhew can’t do anything, but I haven’t given up yet,’ said Jill.
‘What can you do, Jill, on your own?’ said Margaret. ‘There’s so little time — seven days, that’s all — just seven days…’
‘It’s not hopeless,’ Jill tried to infuse into her voice a confidence that she didn’t feel. ‘If I only had some idea where to start…’
‘I can’t help you,’ Margaret shook her head helplessly. ‘I’ve gone all over it again and again. I lie awake at night thinking and thinking — remembering every little detail and trying to find something that’s been overlooked — and there’s nothing … nothing … ’
‘There must be, Margaret,’ said Jill, ‘if we only knew where to look for it. Oh, I wish I’d been there that night — at Easton Knoll. I might have seen or heard something … ’
‘Perhaps if you’d been there it wouldn’t have happened — I don’t know — I don’t know, Jill. Even if you had been at home you’d probably have been in bed and asleep. It was late when I took John his whisky and milk — nearly midnight…’
‘What was he doing when you left him?’
‘Reading — one of those beastly books of his.’
‘Father was a queer man in some ways,’ said Jill.
‘He was very — cruel,’ said Margaret. ‘He enjoyed seeing people suffer — not physically but mentally.’ Her mouth twisted into a little smile that had no mirth in it. ‘He’d have loved this — it’s just the kind of situation he’d have revelled in … I wonder, sometimes, whether he didn’t plan it all.’
‘Oh, no, Margaret,’ Jill protested, ‘he couldn’t … ’
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