THE TRIAL BEGINS.
I am not able to describe all that took place. To begin with,
everything that happened seemed to me for some time to be happening in
a dream. When, afterwards, I read the account in the newspapers, it
came to me with all the force of novelty.
The fact was that, for ever so long, it was all I could do to prevent
myself from swooning and making a scene and spoiling it all.
It seems funny that, after having gone so much out of my way, and taken
all that trouble, I should have been such a goose; but I was.
When I begun to have my wits about me I found that the mean-looking
little man who had so keenly eyed Mrs. Tennant was making a speech.
Then I understood, not all at once, but by degrees, that he was counsel
for the Crown, that he was opening the case for the prosecution, and
that, in short, he was Sir Haselton Jardine.
So this was the father of Mr. Townsend's Dora!
Well, if the daughter in any way resembled the father, I could not say
much for Mr. Townsend's taste.
But the thing was out of the question. I was certain that he did care
for her, and it was altogether impossible that he could care for a
woman who in any way whatever resembled this shapeless, pulseless,
mummified little man. I knew my friend, the gentleman, too well. I felt
persuaded that, as regards resemblance, or rather want of resemblance,
to her father, Dora Jardine was one of nature's eccentricities.
It seemed odd when I did begin to come to myself, to notice how the
people hung upon every word which the little man was uttering--and they
had to hang if they wished to hear. He seemed to be speaking in a
whisper. His voice matched his appearance and his size. After one had
listened for awhile, however, one began to realise what a singularly
penetrating whisper it was. He never raised his voice; he made not the
slightest attempt to produce an effect. He spoke as one could fancy a
machine might speak, yet each syllable must have been audible to every
person there.
And probably his speech, as a whole, produced a strong impression on
every one who heard it. I only heard--to understand--the concluding
words, but I know that when he sat down I felt as if the first string
of the rope which ultimately was to bury the man behind me had been
woven before my eyes.
"Call Samuel Parsons!"
Samuel Parsons proved to be a big, shock-headed man of the navvy type.
He was not examined by Sir Haselton Jardine, but by another barrister,
who was as big and blustering as Sir Haselton was small and quiet.
Samuel Parsons was a ganger. He had been walking along the up line to
his morning's work, when he saw something lying among the bushes about
half-way down the bank. It was a woman. She was dead. He described the
position in which she lay, and exactly whereabouts he found her.
Tommy's counsel asked no questions.
A policeman followed. He had been informed that a woman had been found
dead on the line. Went to see her. Described the position in which she
lay. Was informed that she had not been touched before he came. She was
quite cold. Was well dressed. Her clothes were wet. It had rained
earlier in the morning. There was nothing about her to show who she
was. Examined her linen later; there were no initials or marks on it of
any kind. Her pocket was empty.
Again Tommy's counsel asked no questions.
A porter came next--Joseph Wilcox. He was examined by Sir Haselton
Jardine. Joseph Wilcox was a pleasant-faced young fellow, who gave
his evidence with a degree of assurance and an air of conviction
which--considering what his evidence was--took me aback. If ever there
was a witness who seemed convinced of the truth of his own testimony,
Joseph Wilcox was the man. And yet----
Well, this is what his evidence amounted to:--
He was the porter who had shown me into Tommy's carriage when the train
left Brighton. I had not noticed him. Indeed, I remembered nothing at
all about him. He declared that he had noticed me particularly. He
should have known me again if he had seen me anywhere. Asked what had
made him notice me, he said because I had come running up just as the
train was starting, and--this with something of a blush--because I was
so good-looking. I ought to have blushed, but I did not. Asked to
describe me, he gave a pretty glib and pretty clear description of a
woman who was not in the least like me.
I wondered what impression Joseph Wilcox's ideas of my personal
appearance made on Tommy. I guessed that they did impress him, because
presently a scrap of paper was handed from the dock to the counsel in
front.
Asked if he had seen me since, he said that he had. He had gone to East
Grinstead, and had seen me in the mortuary, dead. Had he the slightest
doubt that the woman he had seen in the mortuary dead was the same
woman he had shown into the carriage?
He had no doubt whatever.
He said this with an air which, I am persuaded, impressed every one who
heard him with the conviction that there was no doubt.
I wondered what Mr. Wilcox's feelings would be if he ever came to learn
that he had done his utmost to hang a man by the utterance of as great
a lie as ever yet was told.
Sir Haselton then asked him if he had noticed if there was any one in
the carriage into which he had shown me. There was--a gentleman. He had
occasion to notice him because he had been leaning out of the carriage
window talking to two other gentlemen who had come, apparently, to see
him off.
"Should you know him again?"
"I should." Mr. Wilcox pointed towards the dock. "This is the
gentleman."
"You are certain of that?"
"I am quite certain."
As Sir Haselton sat down I felt as if he had woven another strand.
Tommy's counsel rose.
I found out afterwards that his name was Bates, M.P., Q.C. He was tall,
well-built, grey-headed. His wig suited him. He had a bold, clear
voice, and a trick of standing with one hand under the skirt of his
gown and the other pointed towards the witness.
"You appear to have noticed this unfortunate woman very closely, Mr.
Wilcox. Can you tell us something else which you noticed about her?"
"In what way?"
"Did you notice, for instance, if she had been drinking?"
"I did not."
"Can you swear that she had not been drinking?"
"There was nothing about her which made me suppose that she had."
Mr. Bates sat down. If Tommy had told him that I had had too much to
drink he had told as big a story as was ever told.
"Call George Baxendale!"
Mr. Baxendale was the first gentlemanly-looking witness who had
appeared in the box; he was also the one who seemed to be least at his
ease. He was a tall, fair, slightly built man, with long, drooping
moustache, the ends of which he had a nervous trick of twisting. He
glanced towards the dock with what he possibly intended to be a
friendly smile. The distortion of his visage, however, which actually
took place, more strongly resembled a ghastly grin.
He was examined by Sir Haselton's colleague.
"Are you related to the prisoner?"
"I am related to his wife. I am Mrs. Tennant's cousin."
This explained the ghastly grin.
"Do you remember Sunday, the 8th of November?"
"I do."
"Where were you?"
"I was at Brighton, staying with some friends of mine."
"Did any one come to see you on that day?"
"Yes. Mr. Tennant."
"By what train did he return to town?"
"By the 8.40."
"Have you any particular reason for remembering that it was by that
train he returned to town?"
"Well, for one thing, Jack Cooper and I went up to the station to see
him off."
"What happened while you were at the station seeing him off?"
Mr. Baxendale told of my getting into Tommy's carriage. He answered the
questions which were put to him as if he was desirous of giving as
little information as he possibly could, which did not make it better
for Tommy. He had not noticed me particularly. Did not think he should
know me again. Had seen the body at East Grinstead. Had not recognised
it. Could see no likeness. Still, it might be the same woman. Could not
swear that it was, or that it was not. Had really not taken sufficient
notice of the woman who had got into the train.
His questioner sat down, leaving an impression on the minds of the
people that if the witness had not been Mrs. Tennant's cousin some of
his questions would have received different answers.
Mr. Bates stood up.
"About this woman of whom we have heard--was there nothing about her
which you noticed?"
"There was."
"What was there about her which you did notice?"
"It struck me that she had been drinking." The witness became voluble
all of a sudden. "She seemed to be in a state of excitement, which,
probably, was induced by drink. She certainly was not a lady. She
struck me as being a woman of a certain class. In fact, I was just
going to suggest to Tennant that he should get into another
compartment, when the train was off."
"Why were you going to make that suggestion to Mr. Tennant?"
"Because I knew that he was a shy, nervous sort of fellow, who easily
loses his presence of mind, and I thought that, cooped up in a
compartment alone with a woman of that sort, who was in that condition,
without a stoppage before he got to town, there might be
unpleasantness."
"You thought it probable that she might annoy him?"
"I thought it extremely probable."
When Mr. Bates sat down, the other counsel once more got up. He
proceeded to turn Mr. Baxendale inside out.
He could not swear the woman had been drinking. He only surmised it.
Could not exactly say what caused him to surmise it. She was excited.
That might have been owing to her anxiety to catch the train. Women do
get excited when they are flurried. She might have been a lady. Had
no groundwork of fact for his suggestion that she was a woman of a
certain class. It was quite true that, as he had said in his
examination-in-chief, he had not noticed her. Should not like to swear
that she was not a teetotaler and a lady of the highest birth and
breeding. In fact, he should not like to swear to anything at all. He
might get down.
He got down, looking badgered.
I owed him one.
He was followed by the Mr. Cooper with whom he had stayed at Brighton.
Mr. Cooper was a short, thick-set man, looking just what he was, a
captain in the navy. His manner was self-contained; his answers short
and to the point.
He had accompanied Mr. Baxendale to see Tommy off. Had seen me get into
his carriage. Had scarcely glanced at me. Should not know me again. Had
seen the body at East Grinstead. Could not say if it was the same
woman. Was not qualified to express an opinion.
Mr. Bates asked no questions.
Next came a porter, John Norton. He had an anxious, careworn face, and
grizzled hair. His manner was tremulous. He kept fidgeting with his
cap. More than once he had to be asked to speak up. He was examined by
Sir Haselton Jardine.
Was a porter at Victoria Station. Remembered the 8.40 from Brighton
coming in on Sunday, November 8th. It was due at Victoria at 10 p.m.
Noticed a gentleman sitting alone in a first-class carriage. It was the
prisoner. Noticed he was holding a white handkerchief to his cheek.
There were red stains on it, as of blood. Was going to open the
carriage door when a gentleman jumping out of the next carriage opened
it instead. When he passed again the gentleman was standing at the door
of the compartment speaking to the prisoner. Prisoner was holding
another handkerchief to his face--a silk one. Presently the prisoner
and the gentleman went off together. Passed the carriage again
immediately afterwards. Saw something lying on the floor. Found it was
pieces of glass. Found that the carriage was in disorder. There were
stains of blood on the cushions and the carpet. The window, in front of
which the prisoner had been sitting, was down. On pulling it up, found
that the glass was smashed to pieces. Gave information to the guard.
Efforts were made to find the prisoner, but he had left the station.
Was certain that the prisoner was the man he had seen sitting in the
empty carriage.
Mr. Bates asked no questions. I wondered what was the defence he
intended to set up. If he was going to do nothing more to earn his
money than he was doing at present, it seemed to me that Tommy might as
well have kept it in his pocket. Here was Sir Haselton Jardine twisting
the rope tighter and tighter round Tommy's neck, and Mr. Bates seemed
to be doing nothing at all to stop him.
I would have asked John Norton questions.
The guard of the train came next. John Norton had called his attention
to the broken window. He corroborated what John Norton had said as to
the condition of the carriage. He had noticed that the alarm bell
appeared untouched. Nothing had attracted his attention on the journey.
The compartment in question was in the next coach but one to his, but
he had heard nothing. Sounds would have travelled in his direction.
Still, it was difficult, when there was a wind, and the train was going
at a high speed, to hear what was taking place in the next coach but
one; for instance, if there were two persons quarrelling. At the same
time, if any one had screamed at all loudly he could scarcely have
failed to hear that. His hearing was very good. The compartment looked
to him as if somebody had been having a fight in it.
Again no questions from Mr. Bates. So far, Tommy could have managed
equally well without his help.
Though it is true that that is saying little.