I rise to speak in defence of the prisoner in circumstances in
many ways difficult and even unfortunate. This is a case which has
unfortunately been very much discussed, and very much written about,
on which many people have preconceived opinions. I had, indeed,
almost thought of appealing to your Lordship to commit at least one
well-known man of letters for Contempt of Court, for a very improper
article which appeared in yesterday’s _Daily Mail_. But, as I say,
this is a case which we cannot pretend that any of us comes fresh to.
Probably you, Gentlemen of the Jury, have some of you read about it,
but I want to point out to you that, situated as you are to-day, you
are bound by your oath to give us your decision quite irrespective of
any previous opinions which you may have held, quite irrespective of
anything that you may have read, or written, or heard; that you are
bound to give your opinions on the evidence, on the evidence which
has been offered to the Court to-day. And on that evidence I, without
a moment’s hesitation, claim an acquittal.
What is the situation? Now, apart from the formal witnesses, whose
evidence is not much disputed on either side, but to whose evidence
I shall have to refer in some detail in a moment—apart from this, we
have had two principal witnesses in the box to-day. Now it is obvious
that one or other of them is not telling the truth. That is clear
and unmistakeable. One of the questions you have to put yourselves
is, Which of them was telling the truth, and which was telling
falsehoods? You can test that in a good many ways, but whichever way,
you will come to the same conclusion—that if there was a witness who
was telling the truth it was Thomas Bazzard—if there was a witness
who was romancing, it was Miss Helena Landless. What do we know
about these two? Mr. Thomas Bazzard is a clerk in the office of a
well-known business man; Miss Helena Landless is a young lady from
Ceylon. Very much, no doubt, comes from there, but we have learned
this evening, as one of the most amazing bits of her evidence, that
the old English tavern scores come from there!
Now, let us consider first of all. What about the motives? Here is
Bazzard. Bazzard has no motive—no motive whatever—for attempting
to secure the release of the prisoner. Miss Helena Landless has
admitted in that box on her oath that her hatred of Jasper had
nothing whatever to do with the assassination of Edwin Drood. Her
hatred of Jasper does not rest on the fact that Jasper has killed
Edwin Drood at all. It rests on the fact that Jasper has treated in
an unfortunate way her brother, and her friend, Miss Rosa Bud. So
there you have her confession that she had a very real motive for
hunting down the prisoner. Miss Helena Landless has told her story.
She says she was Datchery. What is the first thing that strikes
us about that extraordinary story? I asked her whether she made
up her face, and she said she did not. Now, had she said that she
made up her face, had she said she had painted herself wrinkles,
it might have been just possible to ask a sane man to believe that
she could go about Cloisterham, where she was well known, and not
be recognised: but how can she have the effrontery to go into that
box and ask the Jury to believe that she went about the town where
she had been living for nine months, and where she was perfectly
well known—round the Nuns’ House where she had been at school; round
Canon Crisparkle’s house where she had been a visitor; and round the
Cathedral—and that, with her face absolutely unchanged, and merely a
white wig and a blue coat! And she asks you to believe that she did
that, and that she called on the people who knew her best, and that
they did not recognise her! Really, after that, can we be expected
to believe one word of her evidence? Really, that is so strong and
so monstrous an attempt on our credulity, that I am willing to waive
all the other nonsensical parts of her story. There is her way of
avoiding suspicion. She wishes to pass as an old buffer. Her idea is
to order with a gargantuan meal an enormous quantity of wine and not
to drink it! When I pressed her, she said she poured it away. Is it
reasonable? It is not necessary to the character of an old buffer
that she should drink a pint of sherry. But her whole story! I asked
her where she learned to keep tavern scores. Gentlemen, you know
what the way of keeping tavern scores means. It is the notorious old
English custom of “scoring a man up.” As many of you may know, and
as Mr. Bazzard has sworn, in evidence, it is a custom particularly
of Norfolk. That is a perfectly natural action for Bazzard. Had
Miss Landless said a Norfolk man or a countryman had told her, we
might have believed her. But she said she learned it in Ceylon! I am
rather surprised she did not say it was an accomplishment taught at
Miss Twinkleton’s! Her theory that she could act as an old buffer
is so absurd——because when she was thirteen years old she put on
her brother’s knickerbockers. It is absurd. As if that would help a
woman of 21 to pass as an old buffer! So I unhesitatingly ask you
to accept the evidence of Bazzard, and reject that of Miss Helena
Landless.
Another important aspect of the matter. If you believe the testimony
of Bazzard, which is unshaken—it has not been shaken on one point
by my learned friend, and not challenged in one single point—if you
believe the evidence of Bazzard, you must acquit the prisoner. You
must find the prisoner Not Guilty, because Bazzard has sworn that
he has seen the alleged murdered man since the attempted murder.
If you believe that, you must acquit the prisoner. But it does not
follow—and this point I want particularly to emphasise—it does not
follow that if you believe the story of Miss Helena Landless you
ought to convict the prisoner. As a matter of fact, Miss Helena
Landless has not produced, if her story is true, one little rag of
evidence in favour of the guilt of John Jasper. She has, indeed,
produced a certain amount of evidence suggesting that he planned an
attempt on Edwin Drood’s life, but the defence admit that. She has
produced a certain amount of evidence that John Jasper thought he had
murdered him; but she has produced no rag of evidence that the murder
took place. I ask you to believe the evidence of Bazzard, and I point
out that my learned friend has not challenged the evidence of Bazzard.
I took Miss Landless through the whole of her story. She was a
wonderfully good witness, but at every point she had to give some
extravagant explanation to cover herself. My learned friend, able
Counsel as he is, did not ask Bazzard one question hardly about his
story. He devoted the whole of his cross-examination to trying to
suggest that Bazzard was a great fool, that he had written a bad
tragedy which is not in evidence, and that it has not been produced.
Suppose he had produced a bad tragedy, and was vain of it. My
learned friend may have heard of Frederick the Great, who was very
vain of very bad verses. My learned friend has confined himself
to saying that he must be telling lies because he is a fool. That
is self-contradictory. We have seen him in the box subjected to
cross-examination by one of the ablest Counsel at the Bar, and I ask
you who saw him to say whether he is a liar or a fool. If he be lying
it is impossible to believe that he is not a man of very remarkable
ability. The fact that he is a man of low ability is my friend’s only
reason for calling him a liar! I ask you to believe the testimony of
Bazzard; and you must then acquit the prisoner.
But, as I was saying just now, Miss Helena Landless does not produce
any evidence; nor does Durdles; nor Canon Crisparkle; not a shred of
evidence to show that the murder took place. I had Miss Landless—an
able, determined witness—and I challenged her, could she produce one
tittle of evidence, other than the ring, to prove that Drood was
murdered? and she had to admit, unwillingly, that she could produce
none. She said she still retained her opinions. I am sure she would!
We can perfectly estimate the attitude of mind of Miss Landless
as one of bitter hatred of the prisoner and readiness to believe
anything against him. I have no doubt that if Edwin Drood walked into
court, she would still think Jasper murdered him. The only thing she
can produce is the ring. If you believe Bazzard’s evidence, there is
no mystery about the ring. It was put there by him. But suppose you
don’t believe it: there are a hundred ways by which it might have got
there. I could give you half a dozen straight away. Jasper might, in
going through Edwin’s pockets to take out the watch and chain, have
dropped the ring in the trance. Drood himself might have taken out
the ring and dropped it. There are a hundred possible explanations of
the presence of the ring, but there is no possible explanation of the
absence of everything else except the ring. Quicklime will destroy
the body, but I do ask whether it is conceivable that Edwin Drood had
absolutely no metallic objects about him of any kind. I suggest that
he might have had metal trouser buttons—unless he was a member of
some extraordinary religious community, or some hygienic body which
disapproves of anybody wearing anything of the kind!
My friend has made a great deal of the question of the enormous
risks. Miss Landless flouted her enormous risks, and Mr. Walters
flouted the enormous risks in Bazzard’s face. Mr. Bazzard, who is
supposed to be a boaster, did not see that he had run such risks. Nor
do I. One of the propositions of the prosecution is that Jasper was
an extraordinarily brilliant criminal. Of course, he was the reverse.
What is admitted by the prosecution itself is ample for my purpose.
We say that Jasper bungled the whole thing and did not kill his man;
but supposing he did kill him, there is no doubt he bungled. Just
think. This clever criminal, who kills a man, is content with his own
memory that that man had nothing on him but a watch and chain and
pin; drags them out; never thinks he might have some money, although
he is staking his neck, or chance of survival, entirely on the
assumption that everything will be destroyed by quicklime. He never
takes the ordinary precaution to see if there is anything else. It is
so amazingly absurd that it would be incredible if we did not know,
as we do know, that he was under the influence of a drug and was not
master of his faculties when the crime was being committed.
I conclude by just saying this: I am aware that I appear in one sense
at a great disadvantage because I am unable to claim any sympathy for
my client. I cannot put it to you that my client has been wronged
morally by the accusation. I cannot claim your sympathies for him.
Undoubtedly he hated his nephew, and planned his murder; undoubtedly
he is morally guilty of this murder; but, Gentlemen of the Jury,
those things are not within your province. You are not here to
judge the soul of John Jasper. You are here to decide whether he
has committed the legal crime of murder. Unless that is proved, and
proved up to the hilt, you have no right to find him guilty. And
I would just say this: if you go beyond your rightful province of
pronouncing on that simple matter of fact, you are perhaps thwarting
some purpose higher than we know of.
It may not be for nothing that this man has been reserved for this
very strange destiny, to have the moral guilt of murder on his
head, to have all the remorse for murder in his heart, and yet by a
strangely marvellous fate to keep his hand actually free from human
blood. Perhaps He who created John Jasper intended for him a destiny
more terrible than human punishment, some expiation more terrible
than the gallows; and I ask you to give the benefit of the doubt to
the prisoner in the dock. Respect upon his brow the sign of that
mysterious immunity. Let Cain pass by, for he belongs to God.
[REPLY FOR THE PROSECUTION.]
Mr. Walters then replied for the Prosecution in the following terms: