POISONS IN FICTION
Poison mysteries have ever been a favourite theme with writers of
fiction; but unfortunately the scientific knowledge of novelists is as a
rule of a very limited description, and the effects attributed by them
to certain drugs are often as fabulous as the romances of olden times.
They tell us of mysterious poisons of untold power, an infinitesimal
quantity of which will cause instantaneous death without leaving a trace
behind. They describe anæsthetics so powerful that a whiff from a bottle
is sufficient to produce immediate insensibility for any period desired.
In fact, novelists have a pharmacopœia of their own. After all, why
should we question the effects of the drugs of their imagination, and
attempt to analyse them in the prosaic test tube of modern science; for
take away the marvels and the mysteries and you kill the romance. The
novel performs its mission if it succeeds in interesting and amusing us,
and the story-teller has accomplished the object of his art when he is
successful in weaving the possible with the impossible, so that we can
scarce perceive it.
That master of fiction, Dumas, gives us an instance of this in his
ever-fascinating adventures of the _Count of Monte Cristo_. Nothing
seems impossible to this extraordinary individual, and incident after
incident of the most romantic nature crowd one upon another throughout
the story; yet it is all so beautifully blended by the wonderful
imagination of the author that it enthrals us to the end. The Count, who
is supposed to have studied the art of medicine in the East, has always
a remedy at hand for every emergency, from hashish, in which he is a
profound believer, to his mysterious stimulating elixir, described as
“of the colour of blood, preserved in a phial of Bohemian glass.” A
single drop of this marvellous fluid, if allowed to fall on the lips,
will, almost before it reaches them, restore the marble and inanimate
form to life. His pill-boxes were composed of emeralds and precious
stones of huge size, and their contents consisted of drugs whose effects
were beyond conception. His knowledge of chemistry and toxicology is
equally astonishing, as instanced in the conversation he holds with
Madame de Villefort, who, for nefarious purposes, desires to improve her
knowledge of poisons. Monte Cristo discourses on the poisonous
properties of brucine, a drug rarely used in England, but largely
employed in France.
“Suppose,” says the Count, “you were to take a millegramme of this
poison the first day, two millegrammes the second day, and so on. Well,
at the end of ten days you would have taken a centigramme: at the end of
twenty days, increasing another millegramme, you would have taken three
hundred centigrammes; that is to say, a dose you would support without
inconvenience, and which would be very dangerous for any other person
who had not taken the same precautions as yourself. Well then, at the
end of the month, when drinking water from the same carafe, you would
kill the person who had drunk this water, without your perceiving
otherwise than from slight inconvenience that there was any poisonous
substance mingled with the water.”
The Count thus explains the doctrine of immunity from a poison, by
accustoming the system to its effect in small doses for a length of
time, a process which is actually possible with some drugs, but not with
all. His satirical description of the bungling of the common poisoner,
as compared to the fine subtlety and cunning he advocates, is also worth
quoting:
“Amongst us a simpleton, possessed by the demon of hate or cupidity, who
has an enemy to destroy, or some near relation to dispose of, goes
straight to the grocer’s or druggist’s, gives a false name, which leads
more easily to his detection than his real one, and purchases, under a
pretext that the rats prevent him from sleeping, five or six pennyworth
of arsenic. If he is really a cunning fellow he goes to five or six
different druggists or grocers, and thereby becomes only five or six
times more easily traced; then, when he has acquired his specific, he
administers duly to his enemy or near kinsman a dose of arsenic which
would make a mammoth or mastodon burst, and which, without rhyme or
reason, makes his victim utter groans which alarm the whole
neighbourhood. Then arrive a crowd of policemen and constables. They
fetch a doctor, who opens the dead body, and collects from the entrails
and stomach a quantity of arsenic in a spoon. Next day a hundred
newspapers relate the fact, with the names of the victim and the
murderer. The same evening the grocer or grocers, druggist or druggists,
come and say: ‘It was I sold the arsenic to the gentleman accused,’ and
rather than not recognize the guilty purchaser, they will recognize
twenty. Then the foolish criminal is taken, imprisoned, interrogated,
confronted, confounded, condemned, and cut off by hemp or steel; or, if
she be a woman of any consideration, they lock her up for life. This is
the way in which you northerners understand chemistry.”
And so he endeavours to incite a woman, who is already anxiously
contemplating a series of terrible crimes.
The recital of the ingenious experiments of the Abbé Adelmonte is a
piece of clever construction, as the quotation will show.
“The Abbé,” said Monte Cristo, “had a remarkably fine garden full of
vegetables, flowers and fruit. From among these vegetables he selected
the most simple—a cabbage, for instance. For three days he watered this
cabbage with a distillation of arsenic; on the third, the cabbage began
to droop and turn yellow. At that moment he cut it. In the eyes of
everybody it seemed fit for table, and preserved its wholesome
appearance. It was only poisoned to the Abbé Adelmonte. He then took the
cabbage to the room where he had rabbits, for the Abbé Adelmonte had a
collection of rabbits, cats and guinea-pigs, equally fine as his
collection of vegetables, flowers, and fruit. Well, the Abbé Adelmonte
took a rabbit and made it eat a leaf out of the cabbage. The rabbit
died. What magistrate would find or even venture to insinuate anything
against this? What _procureur du roi_ has ever ventured to draw up an
accusation against M. Majendie or M. Flourens, in consequence of the
rabbits, cats and guinea-pigs they have killed. Not one. So, then, the
rabbit dies, and justice takes no notice. This rabbit dead, the Abbé
Adelmonte has its entrails taken out by his cook and thrown on the
dunghill; on this dunghill was a hen, who, pecking these intestines,
was, in her turn, taken ill, and dies next day. At the moment when she
was struggling in the convulsions of death, a vulture was flying by
(there are a good many vultures in Adelmonte’s country); this bird darts
on the dead bird and carries it away to a rock, where it dines off its
prey. Three days afterwards this poor vulture, who has been very much
indisposed since that dinner, feels very giddy suddenly whilst flying
aloft in the clouds, and falls heavily into a fish-pond. The pike, eels,
and carp eat greedily always, as everybody knows—well, they feast on the
vulture. Well, suppose the next day, one of these eels, or pike, or carp
is served at your table, poisoned as they are to the third generation.
Well then, your guest will be poisoned in the fifth generation, and die
at the end of eight or ten days, of pains in the intestines, sickness,
or abscess of the pylorus. The doctors open the body, and say, with an
air of profound learning, ‘The subject has died of a tumour on the
liver, or typhoid fever.’”
After attempting to kill half the household with brucine, Madame de
Villefort changes her particular poison for a simple narcotic,
recognized by Monte Cristo (who in this instance frustrates the murder)
as being dissolved in alcohol. The name of the latter poison is not told
us by the novelist, but on the doctor’s examination of the suspected
liquid we read, “He took from its silver case a small bottle of nitric
acid, dropped a little of it into the liquor, which immediately changed
to a blood-red colour.”
Perhaps the most curious method of poisoning ever used in fiction is
that introduced by James Payn in his novel called _Halves_. The poisoner
uses finely chopped horsehair as a medium of getting rid of her niece.
In this way she brings on a disease which puzzles the doctor, until one
day he comes across the would-be murderess pulling the horsehair out of
the drawing-room sofa, which causes him to suspect her at once. This
ingenious lady introduced the chopped horsehair into the pepper pot used
by her victim.
The inimitable Count Fosco, whom Wilkie Collins introduces into _The
Woman in White_, was supposed to possess a remarkable knowledge of
chemistry, although he says, “Only twice did I call my science to my
aid,” in working out his plot to abduct Lady Glide. His media were
simple: “A medicated glass of water and a medicated bottle of smelling
salts relieved her of all further embarrassment and alarm.” This genial
villain waxes eloquent on the science of chemistry in his confession.
“Chemistry,” he exclaims, “has always had irresistible attractions for
me from the enormous, the illimitable power which the knowledge of it
confers. Chemists—I assert it emphatically—might sway, if they pleased,
the destinies of humanity. Mind, they say, rules the world. But what
rules the mind? The body (follow me closely here) lies at the mercy of
the most omnipotent of all potentates—the chemist. Give
me—Fosco—chemistry; and when Shakespeare has conceived Hamlet, and sits
down to execute the conception—with a few grains of powder dropped into
his daily food, I will reduce his mind, by the actions of his body, till
his pen pours out the most abject drivel that has ever degraded paper.
Under similar circumstances revive me the illustrious Newton. I
guarantee that when he sees the apple fall he shall _eat it_, instead of
discovering the principle of gravitation. Nero’s dinner shall transform
Nero into the mildest of men before he has done digesting it, and the
morning draught of Alexander the Great shall make Alexander run for his
life at the first sight of the enemy the same afternoon. On my sacred
word of honour it is lucky for society that modern chemists are, by
incomprehensible good fortune, the most harmless of mankind. The mass
are worthy fathers of families, who keep shops. The few are philosophers
besotted with admiration for the sound of their own lecturing voices,
visionaries who waste their lives on fantastic impossibilities, or
quacks whose ambition soars no higher than our corns.”
In _Armadale_ the same novelist introduces us to a poisoner of the
deepest dye in the person of Miss Gwilt. This fair damsel, whose auburn
locks seemed to have possessed an irresistible attraction for the
opposite sex, was addicted to taking laudanum to soothe her troubled
nerves, and first tried to mix a dose with some lemonade she had
prepared for her husband’s namesake and friend, whom she wished out of
the way. This attempt failing, and a second one, to scuttle a yacht in
which he was sailing, proving futile also, he was finally lured to a
sanatorium in London where she had arranged for him to be placed in a
room into which a poisonous gas (presumably carbonic acid) was to be
passed. At the last moment she discovers her husband has taken the place
of her victim, and in revulsion of feeling she rescues him, and ends her
own life instead in the poisoned chamber. According to the story, the
medical investigation which followed the tragedy ended in discovering
that she had died of apoplexy; a fact which, had it occurred in real
life, would not have redounded to the credit of the medical men who
conducted it.
The heroine of Benson’s novel, _The Rubicon_, poisons herself with
prussic acid of unheard-of strength, which she discovers _among some
photographic chemicals_.
Miss Helen Mathers, in one of her novels, _The Sin of Hagar_, a story
warranted to thrill the soul of “Sweet Seventeen,” makes some
extraordinary discoveries which will be new to chemists. For instance,
she tells us of strychnine that actually _discolours_ a glass of whisky
and water. One of the characters, a frisky old dowager, professes to be
an _amateur_ chemist, and this lady, we are gravely informed by the
novelist, “detects the presence of the strychnine in the glass of whisky
and water _at a glance_.”
But Miss Mathers has still another poison, whose properties will
doubtless be a revelation to scientists, and it is with this marvellous
body the “double-dyed villainess” of the story puts an end to her woes.
For convenience she carries it about with her concealed in a ring, and
when at last she decides on committing suicide, we are told “she simply
placed the ring to her lips, a strange odour spread through the room,
and she instantly lay dead.”
Even the experienced writer of sensational fiction may often go beyond
the point of probability into impossibility when describing the use of
poisons. In a story recently published, a well-known novelist describes
a burglar who is caught by a policeman slipping out of a house in the
night. A terrible struggle ensues, with the result that they rolled
struggling into the gutter, the policeman shouting for assistance. The
burglar’s right hand flies to his jacket pocket, then swiftly to the
face of his captor who almost instantly relaxes his hold and becomes
unconscious. It is revealed afterwards that the prisoner had smashed in
his fingers a small capsule which released an asphyxiating gas; this
must indeed have been of great potency to be enclosed in a capsule to be
held between the fingers and render an individual insensible in a few
seconds. The effect of the gas, too, must have been terrible, as we are
told that the constable remained asleep in the front garden till eight
o’clock in the morning. The nearest policeman was unable to move him,
but he had to be removed in an ambulance and when brought to the station
was thought to be intoxicated until the divisional sergeant pronounced
that _he had been gassed_.
Certainly, the novelist has exceeded the scientist in producing a gas
that would have proved invaluable during the Great War.
A final instance of the poison of fiction may be quoted from a recently
published novel in which the heroine, a houri of the East, is abducted
by a fierce renegade Englishman and carried off into the desert.
She escapes from him, however, by the aid of a wonderful ring she wears,
described by the novelist as “a great hollow jewel of ancient gold set
with a green diamond.” It contained, we are told, “a poisonous drug of
which two or three grains in coffee finished off the lady’s abductor and
drugged _fifty_ others, and so she escaped.”
On the stage, “poisoning” has gone somewhat out of fashion with modern
dramatists, although it was a common thing in years gone by for the
villain of the play to swallow a cup of cold poison in the last act, and
after several dying speeches to fall suddenly flat on his back and die
to slow music. The death of Cleopatra, described by Shakespeare as
resulting from the bite of a venomous snake, is like no clinical
description of the final effects of death from the bite of any known
snake.
Beverley, in “The Gamester,” takes a dose of strong poison in the fifth
act, and afterwards makes several fairly long speeches before he
apparently feels the effects, and finally succumbs. The description of
the death of Juliet, which Shakespeare, in all probability, conceived
from reading the effects that followed the drinking of morion or
mandragora wine, is an accurate description of death from that drug. The
use of this anodyne preparation to deaden pain dates from ancient times,
and it is stated it was a common practice for women to administer it to
those about to suffer the penalty of the law by being crucified. We have
another instance of the fabulous effects ascribed to poisons by the
early playwrights, in Massinger’s play, “The Duke of Milan.” Francisco
dusts over a plant some poisonous powder and hands it to Eugenia.
Ludovico approaches, and kisses the lady’s hand but twice, and then dies
from the effects of the poison.
Sufficient eccentricities of this kind in fiction might be enumerated to
fill a volume, but we must forbear. It is perhaps hardly necessary to
state that the lady novelist is the greatest sinner in this respect, and
that stranger poisons are evolved from her fertile brain than were ever
known to man.
PART II
POISON MYSTERIES
CHAPTER I
THE MYSTERY OF LAWFORD HALL—THE STRANGE CASE OF ELIZABETH FENNING
In the spring of the year 1780, the quiet hamlet of Little Lawford in
Warwickshire, situated about three miles from Rugby, was the scene of a
tragedy which aroused great interest not only in the immediate locality,
but throughout the country.
At that time there lived at Lawford Hall Sir Theodosius Boughton, a
young baronet who had not yet attained his majority, together with his
mother, his only sister and her husband, Captain Donellan, a half-pay
officer.
The career of the latter gentleman, who plays an important part in the
story, had been an eventful one. In 1757 he was gazetted as a subaltern
in the 39th Regiment, then stationed in Madras on foreign service. There
he entered the East India Company’s service and joined in an expedition
against Masulipatam in 1758, and was wounded in action after the taking
of that place. Trouble, however, arose over the question of certain loot
that had been taken from the merchants; Donellan was court-martialled,
sentenced to be discharged from the service, and returned to England.
On his return his ambition was to shine as a beau in society. Dress and
gaming are said to have occupied his whole attention, and he eventually
became Master of the Ceremonies at the Pantheon, in Oxford Street,
London, then a fashionable resort for dancing much frequented by
Society.
Here, it is probable, he met and wooed Miss Boughton, whom he married,
and a year after the couple came to live at Lawford Hall with Lady
Boughton. At this time young Sir Theodosius was finishing his education.
After leaving Eton he had lived for a couple of years with a tutor, and
then came home to Lawford to settle down with his family.
He was a young fellow of high spirits and fond of outdoor sports, but
like other young men of his class at that time he was inclined to live a
fast life, and this had told more or less upon his health.
From the time of his residence at home, for some reason or other, he did
not get on well with his brother-in-law, Captain Donellan, and the
latter appears to have adopted a patronizing attitude towards the young
man while living in his house. According to his father’s will Sir
Theodosius did not come into his property, which was worth about £2,000
a year, until he was twenty-one, and meanwhile he was under the
guardianship of Sir Edmund Wheeler, an old friend who lived eight miles
away from Lawford. According to the will, should he die before attaining
his majority, his sister, Mrs. Donellan, was to benefit largely from the
estate.
Matters had gone thus for nearly two years when Sir Theodosius, as the
result of his former gay life, became unwell and placed himself under
the care of an apothecary in Rugby.
Donellan, who became aware of this, talked a good deal to various
friends, remarking that the young man was ruining his health, that his
life was not worth a year’s purchase, and that he could not possibly
live if he did not take more care.
The young baronet, however, appeared in good health and spirits, but the
conditions of life became so unpleasant at the Hall that he at length
decided to go and stay with a friend in Northampton until he came of
age.
About five o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon, August 29, 1780, Sir
Theodosius, accompanied by several of his menservants, set off down to
the river on a fishing expedition. During his absence a dose of medicine
in the form of a draught was delivered at the Hall from Mr. Powell, the
apothecary, which was to be taken by the young man the first thing on
the following morning. The bottle was taken upstairs and placed on a
shelf in his bedroom. Soon after Sir Theodosius had set out, his mother,
Lady Boughton, and Mrs. Donellan went into the grounds to take the air
and remained in the garden some hours. About seven o’clock they were
joined in their walk by Captain Donellan, who remarked that he had been
fishing with Sir Theodosius, and that he was afraid if he stayed out so
long in the damp he would take cold. Sir Theodosius, however, returned
home all right, somewhat later and, after having supper, retired to bed.
At six in the morning a servant called him, and he got out of bed and
spoke to him. An hour later his mother went into his bedroom to remind
him about taking his medicine. He asked her to give it to him, and she,
taking it from the shelf, poured the contents into a cup and gave it to
him. He swallowed about half and complained that it tasted so nauseous
he would be unable to retain it. He handed the cup back to his mother
who smelt it and was struck with the powerful smell of bitter almonds,
but gave it back to him again. Sir Theodosius then swallowed the
remainder and lay down, but in a few minutes he was taken very ill with
vomiting. On his becoming more composed Lady Boughton left him for about
ten minutes, thinking he would sleep. On returning to his room she found
him collapsed and foaming at the mouth. Struck with alarm at his
condition she sent a servant for the apothecary and to call Captain
Donellan. The latter came in a few minutes, and on his entering the room
Lady Boughton exclaimed: “Here is a terrible affair, I have given my son
something that was wrong instead of what the apothecary sent. I am sure
it would have killed a dog.” Donellan replied, “Why the devil did Mr.
Powell send such a medicine? Where is the bottle?” Lady Boughton pointed
to it on the mantelpiece and Donellan at once took it up, poured some
water into it, shook and rinsed it and emptied the contents into a basin
of dirty water standing near.
Astonished at his action Lady Boughton said, “Good God, what are you
doing? Let everything remain just in the same place until Mr. Powell the
apothecary arrives.” Donellan made no reply, but took an empty phial
which had contained a previous draught which was also standing on the
same shelf and rinsed that out in the same way, then, calling a servant,
ordered her to take the basin away, in spite of Lady Boughton’s
remonstrance.
Meanwhile Sir Theodosius lay dying, and expired in about thirty minutes.
Some time elapsed before Mr. Powell arrived, and he was taken up to the
room by Donellan, who explained to him that Sir Theodosius had been out
late fishing the previous night, and had no doubt taken cold, which had
caused his death. He made no mention of the effect of the draught, but
told him the young man had died in convulsions. The apothecary
apparently offered no solution as to the cause of death and left the
house.
The same morning that Sir Theodosius died Donellan wrote to Sir William
Wheeler, his guardian, informing him of his death, and stating that he
had been under the care of Mr. Powell, of Rugby, for a similar complaint
to that which he had had at Eton. Within a day or two, however, rumours
of foul play became current and Sir William Wheeler communicated these
to Donellan and insisted that to allay public suspicion a post-mortem
examination should be made. He named a Dr. Rattray and two surgeons,
Messrs. Wilmer and Snow, whom he desired to conduct the examination.
These gentlemen were accordingly sent for and arrived at Lawford Hall on
Monday evening, September 4. They were received by Captain Donellan,
who, after some conversation, showed them to the room. The body of the
unfortunate young man being in an advanced state of decomposition, the
doctors showed reluctance to proceed with the autopsy, and after a
cursory examination they left the Hall without coming to any
satisfactory conclusion, nothing having been said to them by Donellan of
any suspicion of foul play.
Donellan then wrote to Sir William Wheeler stating that the doctors had
fully satisfied the family, but Sir William was still dissatisfied, and
on hearing that no actual post-mortem had been made, insisted that two
other surgeons, viz. Messrs. Bucknell and Snow, should examine the
remains. On their arrival, however, Donellan again circumvented their
intentions and the body was duly interred. This increased the rumours
instead of dispelling them, and eventually the coroner of the district
was informed of the case and he decided to hold an inquiry.
The inquest lasted three days, and on the last day Donellan addressed a
letter to the coroner in which he stated that Sir Theodosius used to
procure arsenic to kill rats, and frequently bought as much as a pound
at a time, also that he used to make large quantities of Goulard Water.
This was to account for the suspicion of poisoning which was now rife.
After hearing the evidence the coroner ordered that the body should be
exhumed. On Saturday morning, September 9, the body was removed from the
vault and placed in the churchyard. About five hundred people had
collected to witness the gruesome sight, which in those days was
conducted in public. When all was ready a Mr. Bucknill, a young surgeon,
put on a wagoner’s smock frock that had been dipped in vinegar, and with
a napkin that had been soaked in vinegar tied over his mouth and nose,
opened the body, which was duly inspected by the doctors present and
reinterred.
As a result of the inquest Captain Donellan was arrested and charged
with the wilful murder of his brother-in-law by poisoning him with
arsenic.
The trial, which excited intense interest throughout the country on
account of the social position of the persons involved, took place at
the Warwick Assizes on March 30, 1781, before Mr. Justice Buller.
Six counsel, headed by Mr. Howarth, appeared for the Crown, and the
prisoner was represented by Mr. Newnham and two juniors. The case mainly
depended on the medical evidence, a review of which forms an interesting
picture of the state of medicine and toxicology of the time.
The first witness was Mr. Powell, the apothecary, of Rugby, who was
treating Sir Theodosius at the time of his death. He swore that the
draught he sent the baronet was quite harmless and consisted of rhubarb
and jalap, spirit of lavender, nutmeg water and simple syrup.
Dr. Rattray, of Coventry, the next medical witness, described the visit
he paid to Lawford Hall at the wish of Sir William Wheeler with the
other surgeons. The reason they did not proceed with the post-mortem, he
stated, was that they thought it too late, and that so long after death
nothing could be discovered. He was present when the body was opened in
the churchyard, and from its appearance he was now of the opinion that
poison was the cause of death.
Mr. Wilmer, a surgeon, described some experiments he had made with
laurel water. He gave an ounce to a young greyhound and to his great
surprise it died immediately. He next gave a pint and a half to a mare
and in a few moments she went into convulsions and died in fifteen
minutes. He believed that an ounce of laurel water was enough to kill a
strong man. Dr. Ash, a physician of Birmingham, next gave his opinion
that the young man had died from the effects of poison.
Further medical evidence was given by Dr. Parsons, Professor of Anatomy
at Oxford University. He stated he believed that Sir Theodosius had been
poisoned by laurel water which had been given to him instead of the
purgative draught.
Important evidence was given by a female servant named Mary Lines, who
stated that Captain Donellan had a still, which he kept in his own room
and which he used for distilling rose water.
A gardener at the Hall, named Amos, who was next called, said Captain
Donellan brought the still to him two or three days after Sir Theodosius
died. It was full of wet lime at the time and he asked him to clean it
for him. He mentioned that the lime was used for killing fleas.
For the defence Mr. John Hunter, the famous surgeon, of London, was
called to give evidence and said he had dissected some thousands of
subjects. The symptoms he had heard described were not conclusive that
the baronet had taken poison. He had never known in his practice of
laurel water being given to a human being. From the description he had
heard of the appearance of the body, he should not have drawn the
inference that death had resulted from poison. Apoplexy or epilepsy
would produce similar symptoms to those he had heard described, but he
would not swear that the deceased man died a natural death.
The judge in summing up commented on the doubt Mr. Hunter seemed to have
in giving evidence, and the failure of counsel to get from him a
conclusive opinion. On the other hand five medical men were agreed that
death had been due to the draught, and that the draught had been laurel
water. How did the poison get into the medicine bottle? Why also did the
prisoner rinse out the empty bottles and see they were taken away and
destroyed in the face of the suspicious circumstances attending the
death? The evidence concerning the still was also important, as it
proved the prisoner had a knowledge of its use and he often used it for
distilling rose and lavender waters. The deceptive way in which the
prisoner had acted was also likely to arouse suspicions as well as his
endeavour to prevent an examination of the body.
The jury after a few minutes’ consideration found the prisoner “Guilty,”
and the judge pronounced sentence of death. The prisoner’s body
afterwards to be delivered to the surgeons and be dissected and
anatomized. “The prisoner,” says a contemporary writer, “neatly dressed
in black, was driven in a coach to the gallows and was hanged.”
Thus ended the brilliant Captain Donellan, the much envied beau of
London Society in George the Third’s time.
A strange case that happened early in the nineteenth century was that of
Elizabeth Fenning.
On April 11, 1815, this girl, who was engaged as cook to a law stationer
in Chancery Lane, was tried at the Old Bailey before the Recorder on a
charge of having poisoned her employer, Mr. Olebar Turner, his wife and
his father, Robert Gregson Turner. The girl, who was only twenty years
of age, had been employed as cook in Mr. Turner’s house for six weeks,
and on March 21 had made some yeast dumplings for dinner.
The dumplings were brought to the table and partaken of by the three
persons. A few minutes after eating a portion of one, Mrs. Turner was
taken ill with violent pains and vomiting, and shortly afterwards the
two men, who had also eaten of the dumplings, were seized with pains in
the same manner. Mr. Marshall, a surgeon, was sent for several hours
afterwards, and all three persons, after some time, recovered. The girl
herself and a young apprentice in the house had also eaten of the
dumplings and were affected in the same way.
Mr. Turner said he suspected arsenic had been put in the food and made a
search next morning. In the kitchen he found a brown dish in which the
dumplings had been mixed, with what appeared to be some remnants of the
food still adhering to it. He put some water into the dish and stirred
it, and found in a few minutes a white powder or sediment fell to the
bottom, which he kept and handed to the surgeon.
He knew that arsenic was kept in a drawer in his office in two wrappers
labelled “Arsenick, Deadly Poison” and was used for killing mice. The
drawer was always unlocked. He had last seen the packet of arsenic in
the drawer on March 7, and it was now missing. He had noticed that the
knives they had used to cut the dumplings had turned black.
He had charged the girl with putting something in the dumplings, and she
had replied it was not in the dumplings but in the milk that was used to
make them which had been brought to her by Sarah Peer, a fellow-servant.
Mr. John Marshall, the surgeon who was called in, said he found the
family suffering from symptoms that would be produced by arsenic, and
the prisoner was also ill in the same way. He had examined the remnants
found in the dish by Mr. Turner and washed them with a tea-kettle of
warm water and then decanted it. He found half a teaspoonful of white
powder left. After washing it a second time he found it was arsenic.
Arsenic would turn the knives black. He had examined the remains of the
yeast used and the flour employed in making the dumplings, but found no
trace of arsenic.
The girl, in her defence, swore she was quite innocent of the whole
charge.
The jury found her guilty and she was sentenced to death.
The result of the trial excited public interest in London, and caused an
outburst of popular feeling, the general opinion being that the evidence
was insufficient to prove the girl guilty. The Prince Regent was
petitioned, also the Lord Chancellor and the Secretary of State, and
several meetings of influential persons were held, agitating for a
remission of the sentence. The girl, however, was executed at Newgate on
July 26, 1815, exclaiming, “I die innocent, but God will convince you by
a circumstance this day.” In 1834 the man Turner died in the workhouse,
but confessed before his death that he had put the arsenic into the
dumplings and falsely sworn away the girl’s life.
CHAPTER II
THE CASE OF MADAME LAFARGE
The story of Madame Lafarge, who was tried in France for the murder of
her husband in 1840, is a strange and romantic one.
Marie Fortunée Cappelle was the daughter of a captain in the Imperial
Artillery. Her parents died during her childhood, and she was placed in
the care of an aunt, who, at the earliest opportunity, determined to
relieve herself of the burden of her support by negotiating a marriage
for her. While still a girl, through the instrumentality of a
matrimonial agent in Paris, an alliance was arranged between Marie
Cappelle and one Monsieur Charles Lafarge, who was a widower and an
ironmaster of Glandier.
The marriage, which was purely a commercial transaction, took place in
Paris on August 15, 1839, after which Lafarge and his young wife set out
for his old and gloomy seigneurial château at Glandier.
From statements made afterwards, Madame Lafarge became disgusted with
her husband’s brutality before the honeymoon was over. After they
reached their own house, however, they were reconciled, and there seemed
to be every possibility of their spending a happy wedded life together.
Besides the newly married pair, there lived in the château the mother
and sister of Lafarge. His chief clerk, Denis Barbier, was a frequent
visitor there, and was apparently at liberty to walk through the place
without restriction.
In a very short time Madame Lafarge discovered that both she and her
relatives had been deceived as to the position of her husband, and that
instead of being a man of considerable fortune, he was straitened for
means. On his representations she bestowed upon him all her fortune, and
even wrote letters at his dictation to some of her wealthy friends,
asking them to aid him to find money to develop a new method he claimed
to have discovered for smelting iron. With these letters of
introduction, Lafarge set out for Paris in December, 1839, to raise
money to start his new project.
While he was away, his wife had her portrait drawn by an artist in
Glandier, and determined to send it to her absent husband. She therefore
packed it in a box, with some cakes made by his mother, together with an
affectionate letter, and despatched them to Paris. This box, which
contained nothing but the five small cakes, the portrait, and the
letter, was packed and sealed by Madame Lafarge in the presence of
several witnesses.
When it reached Paris and was opened by Lafarge, it contained only _one
large cake_, after partaking of which he was suddenly taken ill, and was
eventually compelled to return home, where he arrived on January 5,
1840. His sickness continued and increased in severity, and nine days
afterwards he died.
Shortly after his death his mother and friends, who were well aware how
the widow disliked them and also her husband, who had made her life so
unhappy, at once imputed the cause of death to poison administered by
his wife in the cake she had sent to Paris, and Marie Cappelle Lafarge
was arrested on suspicion.
When the house of the deceased man was searched, certain diamonds were
found which were supposed to have been stolen from the Vicomtesse de
Léotaud by Madame Lafarge before her marriage.
The unfortunate woman was therefore charged with the double crime of
theft and murder.
Though arrested in January, 1840, the trial of Madame Lafarge did not
commence till July 9 of the same year, and the charge of theft was first
proceeded with in her absence, and she was found guilty.
While this judgment was still under appeal, she was brought to trial on
the graver charge.
The evidence for the prosecution went to prove that the illness of
Lafarge commenced with the eating of the cake received from his home. As
already stated, when the box arrived in Paris the seals had been broken,
the five cakes had disappeared, and _a single cake “as large as a
plate”_ had been substituted for them. It was alleged by the prosecution
that this single cake had been prepared by Madame Lafarge, and secretly
placed in the box; but no evidence could be brought to prove that she
ever tampered with the box after it had been sealed. Lafarge’s clerk,
Denis Barbier, made a clandestine visit to Paris after the box had been
despatched, and he was with Lafarge when it arrived in Paris, yet no
notice seems to have been taken of this suspicious fact. It transpired,
it was he who first threw out hints on his master’s return that he was
being poisoned by arsenic, and told a brother employé that his master
would be dead within ten days. There was ample proof, however, that
there was a considerable quantity of arsenic in the house at Glandier.
It was found that Madame Lafarge had purchased some in December, stating
she required it for destroying rats; Barbier also stated in evidence
that Madame had requested him to procure her some arsenic. He bought
some, but did not give it to her. It was further stated that Madame
Lafarge was seen to stir a white powder into some chicken broth which
had been prepared for her husband, the remains of which, found in a
bowl, were said by the analyst to contain arsenic.
The medical men who conducted the post-mortem examination gave it as
their deliberate opinion that the deceased man had been poisoned by
arsenic, of which poison they professed to have found considerable
quantities. The friends of the accused then submitted the matter to
Orfila, the famous French toxicologist, who, on giving his opinion of
the methods and manner in which the analysis had been carried out, said
that owing to the antiquated and doubtful methods of detection employed
by the medical men, it was probable they _fancied_ they had found
arsenic where there was none. Thereupon the prosecution asked Orfila to
undertake a fresh analysis himself, which he consented to do, and, on
making a careful examination of the remains, stated he discovered just a
minute trace of arsenic.
This apparently sealed the doom of the accused woman, and served to
strengthen the bias of the jury.
But now another actor appeared in the drama in the person of Raspail,
another distinguished French chemist, who from the beginning had watched
the case with interest.
On September 17, 1840, a young barrister knocked at the door of
Raspail’s apartment in Paris at eleven o’clock at night. Exhausted by
thirty-six hours in a postchaise—for he had come straight from Tulle
where the trial of Madame Lafarge was being held—he handed the following
note to the chemist—
“I am innocent and most unlucky. I am suffering and make appeal to your
science and your heart.... M. Orfila has arrived and I have refallen
into the abyss. My hope, Monsieur, is in you. Lend the aid of your
knowledge to an unfortunate victim of calumny. Come and save me while
all others abandon me.—MARIE LAFARGE.”
The writer was an utter stranger to Raspail at this time, but though he
had reached the age of forty-six years and was in indifferent health, he
decided to sacrifice his night’s rest and at 2 a.m. was posting as hard
as horses could carry him on the southern high road to the scene of the
trial. When he arrived at Limoges he was in a high state of fever and
took a room to rest for an hour. The rumour reached him there that
Madame Lafarge had been acquitted, so he remained the night and the next
day posted on another fifty miles and arrived at Tulle just an hour too
late. Madame Lafarge had been found guilty and condemned to penal
servitude for life.
It was then that Raspail wrote to the presiding judge the words so often
quoted: “Give me anything you like—your own armchair—and I will find
arsenic in it.”
Raspail has left a long description of his interview with Madame Lafarge
whom he then saw. After asking to be allowed to examine the three plates
with arsenical deposits that had passed through Orfila’s hands, he asked
to be allowed to test the reagents left at Tulle by Orfila. The reply
was made that “M. Orfila left all his reagents with M. Bories, a
pharmacist, except his potash, his zinc, and the nitrate of potash by
means of which he obtained the deposit on the third plate.”
“Supposing,” continues Raspail, “I had acted like Orfila (as he did on
another occasion), applying the pretty expression of ‘ignorant crowd’ to
the host of reagents obtained from local pharmacists and bringing from
Paris a nitrate of potash capable of revealing a poison where no other
reagent could find an atom, what would the Advocate-General have said?
Would he not at once have required that the phial of nitrate from Paris
should be examined by the experts present?”
Raspail then took the zinc wire with which Orfila had experimented to
the shop where the toxicologist had procured the article, and he found
on analysis that the _zinc itself_ contained _more arsenic_ than Orfila
had detected by his examination. Orfila had used Marsh’s test, which is
infallible so long as the reagents used are free from arsenic
themselves.
As already related, Raspail reached Tulle too late to give evidence at
the trial, and the unhappy Marie Cappelle Lafarge, after a trial lasting
sixteen days, had been found guilty and condemned to imprisonment for
life with hard labour, and exposure in the pillory. Raspail, however,
would not let the matter rest, and at once set to work to save the
condemned woman. He informed Orfila that the zinc he had used was
already contaminated with arsenic, and at length got him fairly to admit
his error and join with him in a professional report to the authorities
to that effect.
After being imprisoned for twelve years, in the end, the sentence on
Madame Lafarge was reduced to five years in the Montpellier house of
detention, after which the Government sent her to the Convent of St.
Rémy, from whence she was liberated in 1852, but only to end her
wretched life a few months afterwards.
There appeared in the _Edinburgh Review_ for 1842 a careful examination
of this interesting case from a legal point of view, in which the writer
states that the strongest evidence indicated Denis Barbier and not
Madame Lafarge as the perpetrator of the crime. It was proved that this
man lived by forgery, and assisted Lafarge in some very shady
transactions to cover the latter’s insolvency. He was further known to
harbour a deadly hatred for Madame Lafarge. He was with his master in
Paris when he was seized with the sudden illness, and it transpired that
out of the 25,000 francs the ironmaster had succeeded in borrowing from
his wife’s relatives, only 3,900 could be found when he returned to
Glandier. On his own statement he was in the possession of a quantity of
arsenic, and he was the first to direct suspicion against his master’s
wife. Yet all these facts appear to have been overlooked in the efforts
of the prosecution to fasten the guilt on the unfortunate woman. That
Lafarge died from the effects of arsenical poisoning there seems little
doubt, but by whom administered has never been conclusively proved, and
the tragedy remains among the poison mysteries still unsolved.
CHAPTER III
THE CASE OF MADELINE SMITH
The case of Madeline Smith, who was charged with causing the death of
L’Angerlier by the administration of arsenic at Glasgow in 1857, excited
universal interest at the time. Owing to the social position of the
lady, the trial was a _cause célèbre_, and the circumstances of the case
were of an extraordinary character.
Miss Smith, who was a young and accomplished woman, and who resided in a
fashionable quarter of Glasgow, got entangled with a French clerk named
Pierre Emile L’Angelier. L’Angelier died very suddenly in an
unaccountable manner, and suspicion falling on Madeline Smith, who was
frequently in his company, she was arrested and charged with the crime.
The Crown case was, that she poisoned her lover so that she might be
betrothed to a personage of high social standing. That L’Angelier died
on March 23 from the effects of arsenic was amply proved, but while
suspicious acts were alleged against the accused woman, no direct
evidence was adduced to show that she administered the drug. The worst
point against her was the fact of her having possession of the poison;
and irrespective of two previous purchases of coloured arsenic, for
which she had given false reasons, it was proved that the accused had
purchased one ounce, as she said “to kill rats,” on March 18, only five
days before the death of L’Angerlier. The arsenic sold was coloured with
indigo, according to the regulations. When charged with the crime, and
required to account for the poison, she replied that she had used the
whole of it to apply to her face, arms, and neck, diluted with water,
and that a school companion had told her that arsenic was good for the
complexion. From the post-mortem examination and subsequent analysis
_eighty-eight_ grains of arsenic were found in the stomach and its
contents. Dr. Christison, the greatest toxicological expert of the time,
was called, and stated he knew of no case in which so much as
eighty-eight grains of arsenic had been found in the stomach after
death.
This was made a turning point of the defence, and it was contended that
so large a dose of arsenic could not have been swallowed unknowingly,
and, therefore, suicide was indicated. The jury accepting this view of
the case, returned a verdict of “not proven,” and Madeline Smith was
liberated, the trial having lasted ten days.
Some interesting particulars concerning the subsequent life of this lady
were published some time ago. After the trial she decided to go abroad;
but before starting she is said to have married a certain mysterious
individual named Dr. Tudor Hora. With him she lived for many years in
Perth, but few people ever saw her, and the doctor always declined to
divulge his wife’s maiden name. He kept a small surgery, and is said to
have been in receipt of about £400 a year from an unnamed source. Some
years after, believing that his wife had been recognized, he bought a
practice at Hotham, near Melbourne, and they sailed for Australia.
Shortly after their arrival, Mrs. Hora left her husband and remained
absent from Melbourne until his death. Soon afterwards she married
again, but it is said her second marriage was not by any means a happy
one. She remained unknown, and sought no society. She was an excellent
musician, and spent most of her time reading and playing. She had no
children, and died at the age of fifty-five.
Six years after the trial of Madeline Smith a case was tried at the
Chester Assizes, in which a woman named Hewitt or Holt was charged with
poisoning her mother. Although the symptoms of irritant poisoning were
very clearly marked, the country practitioner who attended the woman at
the time certified that the cause of her death was due to
gastro-enteritis. Eleven weeks after she had been buried, the body was
exhumed and examined. An analysis revealed the presence of _one hundred
and fifty-four grains_ of arsenic in the stomach alone. The possession
of a considerable quantity of arsenic was brought home to the accused,
and also direct evidence of its administration, and she was found
guilty. This case is interesting from the fact of proof being obtained
of the administration of so large a dose of arsenic, and if it had
occurred before the trial of Madeline Smith it might have demolished her
counsel’s main line of defence.
CHAPTER IV
THE BRAVO MYSTERY
Antimony has been a frequent medium with criminal poisoners, including
Dove, Smethurst, Pritchard and others, but there is probably no trial in
which antimony has figured that caused more interest than the “Bravo
Mystery” of 1876.
The story of this case begins with the marriage of Mr. Bravo, a young
barrister of about thirty years of age, to Mrs. Ricardo, who was then a
wealthy widow and a lady of considerable personal attractions. After the
marriage, which followed a very short acquaintance, the couple went to
reside at Balham. According to a statement made by Mrs. Bravo, she
informed her husband before the marriage of a former lover, and there is
little doubt that it rankled in Mr. Bravo’s mind, and he frequently
taunted his wife with the fact. He was a strong, healthy, and temperate
man, but appears to have been both weak and vain in character. On
Tuesday, April 18, 1876, after breakfast at his own house at Balham, he
drove with his wife into town. On their way, a very unpleasant
discussion took place. Arriving in town he had a Turkish bath, lunched
with a relative of his wife’s at St. James’s Restaurant, and walked on
his way home to Victoria Station with a friend and fellow-barrister,
whom he asked out for the following day. He arrived home about half-past
four. Shortly after his return, Mr. Bravo went out for a ride, in the
course of which his horse bolted and carried him a long distance, and he
got back to his home very tired and exhausted. At half-past six he was
noticed leaning forward on his chair, looking ill, and with his head
hanging down. He ordered a hot bath, and when getting into it he cried
out aloud with pain, putting his hand to his side. The bath did not
appear to relieve him much, and he seemed to be suffering pain all
through dinner, but appeared to avoid attracting the attention of his
wife and Mrs. Cox, her companion, who dined with him.
The food provided during the dinner was partaken of more or less in
common by all three, but this was not the case as regards the wine. Mr.
Bravo drank Burgundy only, while Mrs. Bravo and Mrs. Cox drank sherry
and Marsala. The wine drunk by Mr. Bravo had been decanted by the butler
some time before dinner; how long he could not say, but he noticed
nothing unusual with it.
The wine was of good quality, and Mr. Bravo, who was something of a
connoisseur, remarked nothing peculiar in its taste, but drank it as
usual. If he had Burgundy for luncheon he finished the bottle at dinner;
but if not, as on the day in question, the remains of the bottle were
put away in an unlocked cellaret in the dining-room. The butler could
not remember whether any Burgundy was left on this day or not; but,
however, none was discovered.
This cellaret was opened at least twice subsequently to this, and prior
to Mr. Bravo’s illness, once by Mrs. Cox and once by the maid.
Mr. Bravo seems to have eaten a good dinner, although he was evidently
not himself from some cause or other. It was said he was suffering from
toothache or neuralgia, and had just received a letter that had given
him some annoyance.
The dinner lasted till past eight o’clock, after which the party
adjourned to the morning-room where conversation continued up to about
nine o’clock.
Mrs. Bravo and Mrs. Cox then retired upstairs, leaving Mr. Bravo alone,
until Mrs. Cox went to fetch Mrs. Bravo some wine and water from the
dining-room.
Mrs. Bravo remained in her room and prepared for bed and drank the wine
and water brought to her by Mrs. Cox, who remained with her.
The housemaid, on taking some hot water to the ladies’ room as was her
usual custom at half-past nine, was asked by Mrs. Bravo to bring her
some more Marsala in the glass that had contained the wine and water. On
her way downstairs to the dining-room, the girl met her master at the
foot of the stairs. He looked “queer” and very strange in the face, but
did not appear to be in pain, according to her statement. He looked
twice at her, yet did not speak, though it was his custom, but passed
on.
Mr. Bravo was alone after the departure of his wife and Mrs. Cox until
the time when he passed the housemaid at the foot of the stairs. He
entered his wife’s dressing-room, and the maid Mrs. Bravo’s bedroom. In
the dressing-room, according to Mrs. Cox’s statement, Mr. Bravo spoke to
his wife in French, with reference to the wine. This had frequently been
the subject of unpleasant remarks before; but Mrs. Bravo had no
recollection of the conversation on this occasion.
After leaving his wife in her room, Mr. Bravo went to his own bedroom
and closed the door. The maid left Mrs. Bravo’s bedroom and met her
mistress in the passage partially undressed and on her way to bed. Mrs.
Bravo and Mrs. Cox entered their bedrooms and the former drank her
Marsala and went to bed.
In about quarter of an hour Mr. Bravo’s bedroom door was heard to open,
and he shouted out, “Florence! Florence! Hot water.” The maid ran into
Mrs. Bravo’s room, calling out that Mr. Bravo was ill. Mrs. Cox, who had
not yet undressed, rose hastily and ran to his room. She found him
standing in his night-gown at the open window, apparently vomiting, and
this the maid also saw. Mrs. Cox further stated that Mr. Bravo said to
her, “I have taken poison. Don’t tell Florence” (alluding to his wife);
and to this confession on the part of Mr. Bravo, Mrs. Cox adhered. After
this, Mr. Bravo was again very sick, and some hot water was brought by
the maid. After the vomiting he sank on the floor and became insensible,
and remained so for some hours. Mrs. Cox tried to raise him, and got
some mustard and water, but he could not swallow it. She then applied
mustard to his feet, and coffee was procured, but he was also unable to
swallow that. Meanwhile a doctor, who had attended Mrs. Bravo, and who
lived at some distance, was sent for. Mrs. Bravo, who was aroused from
sleep by the maid, and who seems to have been greatly excited, insisted
on a nearer practitioner being sent for, and in a short time a medical
man, living close by, arrived on the scene. The doctor found Mr. Bravo
sitting or lying on a chair, completely unconscious, and the heart’s
action almost suspended. He had him laid on the bed, and then
administered some hot brandy and water, but was unable to get him to
swallow it. In about half an hour another medical man arrived, and was
met by Mrs. Cox, who said she was sure Mr. Bravo had taken chloroform.
Both doctors came to the conclusion that the patient was in a dangerous
state, and endeavoured to administer restoratives. Realizing the
critical nature of the case, Dr. George Johnson, of King’s College
Hospital, was sent for. Meanwhile Mr. Bravo was again seized with
vomiting, mostly blood, and the doctors came to the conclusion he was
suffering from some irritant poison. About three o’clock he became
conscious and able to be questioned. He was at once asked, “What have
you taken?” But from first to last he persisted in declaring, in the
most solemn manner, that he had taken nothing except some laudanum for
toothache. In reply to other questions, asking him if there were any
poisons about the house, he replied there was only the laudanum and
chloroform for toothache, some Condy’s Fluid, and “rat poison in the
stable.” Mr. Bravo did not lose consciousness again until the time of
his death, which occurred fifty-five and a half hours after he was first
taken ill.
At an early period his bedroom was searched, but nothing was found but
the laudanum bottle, and a little chloroform and camphor liniment which
had been brought from another room. There were no remains of any solid
poison in paper, glass, or tumbler, and nothing to indicate any poison
had been taken. The post-mortem examination showed evidence of great
gastric irritation, extending downwards, but there was no appearance of
any disease in the body, or inflammation, congestion or ulceration. It
was left therefore to the chemical analysis to show what was the
irritating substance which had been introduced into the body, and supply
a key to part of the mystery. The matters which had been vomited in the
early stage of Mr. Bravo’s illness had been thrown away; but on
examination of the leads of the house beneath the bedroom window, some
portion of the matter was found undisturbed, although much rain had
fallen and the greater part must have been washed away. This was
carefully collected and handed to Professor Redwood for analysis. From
this matter he extracted a large amount of antimony. Antimony was also
discovered in the liver and other parts of the body, and it was
concluded that altogether nearly forty grains of this poison must have
been swallowed by the unfortunate man. How he came to swallow this
enormous dose, whether the design was homicidal or suicidal, there was
not the slightest evidence to show, or where the antimony was obtained.
The whole affair was shrouded in mystery, and a mystery it remains.
CHAPTER V
THE RUGELEY MYSTERY
Strychnine is one of the active principles extracted from nux vomica,
the singular disk-like seed of the _Strychnos Nux vomica_, a tree
indigenous to most parts of India, Burma, Northern Australia, and
other countries. Nux vomica was unknown to the ancients, and is said
to have been introduced into medicine by the Arabs, but there is very
little reliable record of it until the seventeenth century, when the
seeds were chiefly used for poisoning animals and birds. Strychnine
was discovered in 1818 by Pelletier and Caventou, and was first
extracted from St. Ignatius’ bean, another species of strychnos in
which it is present to the extent of about 1·5 per cent. Very soon
afterwards it was extracted from nux vomica, which, being very
plentiful, is now the chief source of the drug. It is extremely bitter
in taste, and may be distinctly detected in a solution containing no
more than one-six-hundred-thousandth part. For a considerable time
after its discovery, the detection of strychnine in the body after
death was a matter of great uncertainty, especially when only a small
quantity had been administered; but now it is possible to detect the
presence of one-five-thousandth part of a grain, and that even after
some time has elapsed. It has been used for criminal purposes by
several notorious poisoners, notably by Dove, Palmer, and Cream, but
the symptoms produced are so marked, and its presence so clearly
indicated, that detection now is almost certain.
Among the celebrated trials of the last century was that of Dr. Palmer,
who was charged with the wilful murder of John Parsons Cook, at Rugeley,
in 1855. A special Act of Parliament was passed in order to have this
case tried in London, where it was brought before Lord Chief Justice
Campbell, Mr. Baron Alderson, and Mr. Justice Cresswell, at the Central
Criminal Court, on May 14, 1856. The Attorney-General, Mr. E. James,
Q.C., with several other counsel, conducted the prosecution, and Palmer
was defended by Mr. Serjeant Shee, Messrs. Grove, Q.C., Gray and
Kenealy.
The accused, who was a country doctor, had carried on a medical practice
in Rugeley, a small town in Staffordshire, for some years. Becoming
interested in racing he made his practice over to a man named Thirlby, a
former assistant, and shortly afterwards made the acquaintance of John
P. Cook over some betting transactions. Cook was a young man of good
family, about twenty-eight years of age, and was intended for the legal
profession. He was articled to a solicitor; but after a time, inheriting
some property worth between twelve and fifteen thousand pounds, he
abandoned law and commenced to keep race-horses. Meeting Palmer at
various race-meetings, they soon became very intimate. In a very short
time Palmer got into difficulties, and was compelled to raise money on
bills. Things went from bad to worse, until he at last forged an
acceptance to a bill in the name of his mother, who was possessed of
considerable property. In 1854 he owed a large sum of money, and in the
same year his wife died, whose life, it transpired, he had insured for
£13,000. With this money he bought two race-horses; but in his betting
transactions he lost heavily, and then commenced to borrow money from
Cook, whose name he also forged on one occasion on the back of a cheque.
He insured his brother’s life for £13,000, and very shortly after _he_
died, the amount being also paid to Palmer. This money soon went, and at
length he had two writs out against him for £4,000.
In the meanwhile, Cook had been more successful than his friend in his
racing ventures, and had won a considerable amount with a race-horse
called Polestar. Polestar was entered for the Shrewsbury races on
November 14, 1855, and Cook and Palmer went there and stayed with some
friends at the same hotel in that town. On the evening of the races they
were drinking brandy-and-water together. Cook asked Palmer to have some
more, and the latter replied, “Not unless you finish your glass.” Cook,
noticing that he had some still left in his tumbler, said, “I’ll soon do
that,” and finished it at a draught. On swallowing it he immediately
exclaimed, “There’s something in it burns my throat.” Palmer took up the
glass and said, “Nonsense, there is nothing in it,” and called the
attention of the others standing by. Cook then suddenly left the room,
and was seized with violent vomiting. This became so bad that he soon
had to be taken to bed, and appeared to be very seriously ill. Two hours
later a medical man was sent for, who at once prescribed an emetic, and
then a pill. He obtained relief from these, and by the morning the
vomiting had ceased, and he was much better, though he still felt very
unwell. They returned to Rugeley together, Cook taking rooms at an hotel
directly opposite Palmer’s house. Cook was still confined to his room,
and during the next few days was constantly visited by Palmer, and after
each visit it was noticed the sickness commenced again. On one occasion
Palmer had some broth prepared, which he specially wished Cook to take.
The latter tried to swallow it, but was immediately sick. It was then
taken downstairs, and a woman at the hotel, thinking it looked nice,
took a couple of tablespoonsful of it, but within half an hour she was
taken seriously ill and was obliged to go to bed, her symptoms being
exactly like those of Cook when first taken ill at Shrewsbury. Three
days afterwards a neighbouring doctor was called in, Palmer telling him
that Cook was suffering from a bilious attack. Palmer then went off to
London, his business being to try and arrange about the settlement of
some debts that were pressing. From the time he left, it was noticed by
the doctor that Cook’s condition rapidly improved and in a day or two he
was able to leave his bed and be up and dressed. On Palmer’s return to
Rugeley he at once went to see Cook and during the rest of his illness
was constantly with him. On the evening of his return he also called on
a surgeon’s assistant, with whom he was acquainted, and purchased from
him three grains of strychnine. Cook was taking some pills which had
been prescribed by the doctor and which had done him good. They were
ordered to be taken at bed-time, and the box containing them was in his
room. He was visited by Palmer about eleven o’clock the same night, and
up to that time he was apparently well. After Palmer had left, about
twelve o’clock the whole house was aroused by violent screams proceeding
from Cook’s room. The servants rushed in and found him writhing in great
agony, shouting “Murder!” He was evidently suffering intense pain, and
soon was seized with convulsions. Palmer was at once sent for, and on
his arrival Cook was gasping for breath, and hardly able to speak. He
ran back to procure some medicine, which on his return he gave him, but
the sick man at once threw it back. The attack gradually passed off, and
by the morning he was somewhat better, but very weak. The same day
Palmer visited a chemist he knew in the town, and purchased six grains
of strychnine. During the afternoon a relative of Palmer’s, who was also
a medical man, arrived on a visit to Rugeley, and he was taken to see
Cook, and in the evening a consultation was held by the three medical
men. They agreed to prescribe some medicine for the patient in the form
of pills, which were prepared, and in the course of the evening were
handed to Palmer, who was to administer the dose the last thing at
night.
About half-past ten Palmer gave Cook two of the pills, settled him
comfortably for the night, and went home. At ten minutes to eleven Cook
roused the house with a frightful scream, calling out, “I’m going to be
ill as I was last night.” Palmer was sent for, and brought him two more
pills, which he said contained ammonia, and gave them to Cook. Very
shortly afterwards convulsions set in, which were followed by tetanus,
and the unfortunate man died in a few minutes in great agony.
The deceased man’s relatives were communicated with, and his
father-in-law soon arrived in Rugeley. On Palmer being questioned about
Cook’s affairs, he said that he held a paper drawn up by a lawyer, and
signed by Cook stating that, in respect of £4,000 worth of bills, he
(Cook) was alone liable, and Palmer had a claim for that amount against
the estate. This, with other matters, aroused suspicion, and it was
decided to hold a post-mortem examination on the body to ascertain the
cause of death. Palmer was present at the examination and by his
deliberate act the fluid contents of the stomach were lost. What
portions of the body were recovered for analysis he did all he could to
prevent from reaching the analysts. When the jars, etc., were being sent
to London for examination by the Government analyst, he intercepted
them, and offered the post-boy £10 to upset the conveyance and break
them.
The evidence offered at the trial was almost entirely circumstantial,
and the medical testimony was very conflicting. It was supposed, in the
first instance, Palmer had administered tartar emetic to his victim, but
that for the fatal dose strychnine was used. It was proved Palmer had
purchased strychnine under suspicious circumstances on the morning of
the day on which Cook died, and could not account for the purchase of
it, or state what he had done with it. The symptoms appeared at a time
which would correspond to the interval that precedes the action of
strychnine, being developed over the entire body and limbs in a few
minutes, suddenly and with violence. None of the pills could be obtained
for analysis.
Dr. Taylor, who made the analytical examination, was unable to find any
trace of strychnine in the portions submitted to him, but he found half
a grain of antimony in the blood; but judging from the clinical symptoms
before death he believed Cook died from the effects of strychnine. The
great point in the case was, did the tetanic symptoms, under which the
deceased man died, depend on disease or poison? Doctors Brodie,
Christison and Todd, and other eminent authorities of the time agreed
that when taken as a whole they were not in accordance with any form of
disease, but were in perfect accordance with the effects of strychnine.
On the other hand, medical men called for the defence testified that
tetanus might be caused by natural disease, and the deceased might have
died from angina pectoris or epilepsy. In spite of the absence of
confirmatory chemical evidence and proof of the presence of strychnine
in the body, after one hour and seventeen minutes’ deliberation, the
jury returned a verdict of “Guilty,” and Palmer was sentenced to death,
the trial having lasted twelve days.
The rigid and fixed condition of the limbs is a marked feature after
poisoning by strychnine. In the Horsford case, in which a farmer named
Walter Horsford was convicted of the murder of his cousin Annie Holmes,
at St. Neots, in 1897, 3·69 grains of strychnine were recovered from the
internal organs, after the body was exhumed, _nineteen days_ after
death. Even then, rigidity was very marked, especially in the lower
limbs and fingers. The same rigidity was remarked by Dr. Stevenson in
the case of Matilda Clover, who was poisoned by Neill Cream with
strychnine in 1891. In this case, the body had been buried _from October
until May_, and the rigidity in the limbs and fingers was still
maintained. Dr. Stevenson stated that usually when persons are suffering
from strychnine poisoning, they are very apprehensive of death. He had
known a woman say, “I am going to die” before any intimation of symptoms
had occurred. The first apprehension is, that some terrible calamity is
about to take place.
CHAPTER VI
THE CASE OF DR. PRITCHARD
The remarkable case of Dr. E. W. Pritchard, of Glasgow, who was arrested
and charged with murdering his wife and mother-in-law in that city in
the year 1865, excited great interest at the time. The respectable
position occupied by the accused man in Glasgow, and the practice as a
physician which he had been enabled to attain in the course of his six
years’ residence there, awakened an unusual degree of attention in the
public mind when the fact of his apprehension became known. The
excitement was strengthened by the mystery invariably attached to the
prosecution of all criminal inquiries in Scotland.
It transpired that for some time previous to her decease, Mrs. Pritchard
had been in a delicate state of health, and her mother, Mrs. Taylor,
wife of Mr. Taylor, a silk weaver, of Edinburgh, had gone to Glasgow to
nurse her during her illness. Mrs. Taylor took up her abode in the house
of Dr. Pritchard, and ministered to her daughter’s comfort; but while so
engaged she became ill, and died suddenly, about three weeks previous to
the day on which the accused man was apprehended. The cause of death was
assigned to apoplexy, and as the lady was about seventy years of age no
suspicions were aroused, and the body was conveyed to Edinburgh and
buried in the Grange Cemetery.
Circumstances closely following on this, however, awakened grave
suspicions. Mrs. Pritchard died shortly after her mother, and a report
was circulated that she had succumbed to gastric fever. The family grave
at the Grange cemetery was fixed on as the place of interment, and
arrangements were made for the funeral without delay. The body was taken
to Edinburgh by rail, and Dr. Pritchard accompanied it to the house of
his father-in-law, where it was to await interment. The deaths of the
two ladies occurring within so short an interval of each other, coupled
with certain hints which they had received, set the police on the alert,
and while Dr. Pritchard was absent in Edinburgh they instituted
inquiries, which led to a warrant being issued for his apprehension. On
his return to Glasgow, previous to the day fixed for the funeral, he was
arrested at the railway station in Queen Street and conveyed to the
police station.
Meanwhile the authorities had transmitted to Edinburgh information of
what had been done, and at the same time had issued a warrant for a
post-mortem examination on the body of Mrs. Pritchard. This was
entrusted to Professor Douglas Maclagan, assisted by Drs. Arthur Gamgee
and Littlejohn. The result of the post-mortem proved that death had not
resulted from natural causes, and a subsequent examination disclosed the
presence of minute particles of antimony in the liver.
The case now assumed a grave and mysterious aspect, and the authorities
resolved to carry the investigations further. The next step was to order
the exhumation of the body of Mrs. Taylor. This having been effected,
the internal organs were submitted to analysis by Professor Maclagan,
Dr. Littlejohn, and Professor Penny, of Glasgow, who, after a protracted
examination, reported that the death of Mrs. Taylor, like that of her
daughter, was due to poisoning by antimony. On these facts being
elicited, Dr. Pritchard was fully committed on the charge of murdering
Jane Taylor, his mother-in-law, and Mary Jane Pritchard, his wife.
The trial opened on July 3, 1865, at the High Court of Justiciary,
Edinburgh, before the Lord Justice-Clerk, Lord Ardmillan, and Lord
Jerviswoode, the Solicitor-General prosecuting for the Crown, while the
prisoner was defended by Messrs. A. R. Clark, Watson and Brand.
Evidence was given that Mrs. Pritchard was first taken ill in the
October of 1864, with constant vomiting, often accompanied by severe
cramp. After being treated by her husband for some time, and getting no
better, at her own request a Dr. Gardiner was called in, and her mother,
Mrs. Taylor, came from Edinburgh to nurse her.
While on this visit to her daughter, Mrs. Taylor, on February 24, 1865,
complained of feeling unwell. The next day she was found insensible,
sitting on her chair in her daughter’s room, and died the same night.
From this time, Mrs. Pritchard got gradually worse, and died within
three weeks afterwards.
Mary McLeod, a girl who had been in the service of the prisoner,
admitted that he had familiar relations with her, and that this fact was
known to Mrs. Pritchard. The doctor had also made her presents, and told
her he would marry her if his wife died.
Dr. Paterson, a medical practitioner, of Glasgow, who was called in to
see Mrs. Taylor, stated Pritchard told him the old lady was in the habit
of taking Batley’s solution of opium, and a few days before her death
she had purchased a half-pound bottle. When he saw her, he was convinced
her symptoms betokened that she was under the depressing influence of
antimony, and not opium. He therefore refused to give a certificate of
death.
Pritchard eventually signed the certificate himself, stating the primary
cause of death had been paralysis and the secondary cause apoplexy. He
further certified Mrs. Pritchard’s death as due to gastric fever.
It was proved on the evidence of two chemists, that Pritchard was in the
habit of purchasing tartarated antimony in large quantities, and also
Fleming’s tincture of aconite.
Dr. Maclagan, Professor of Medical Jurisprudence at the University of
Edinburgh, was called to give the result of the chemical examination of
the various organs of the body of Mrs. Pritchard, which had been
retained for analysis. Antimony, corresponding to one-fourth of a grain
of tartar emetic, was found in the urine, in small quantities in the
bile and the blood, and as much as four grains in the whole liver.
Evidence of the presence of antimony was also found in the spleen,
kidney, muscular substance of the heart, coats of the stomach and
rectum, the brain and uterus.
Antimony was also detected in various stains on linen and articles of
clothing, which had been worn by Mrs. Pritchard during her illness.
From these results Dr. Maclagan concluded that Mrs. Pritchard had taken
a large quantity of antimony in the form of tartar emetic, which caused
her death, and that from the extent to which the whole organs and fluids
of the body were impregnated with the drug, it must have been given in
repeated doses up to within a few hours of her decease.
The result of the chemical examination of the various organs of the body
of Mrs. Taylor, which was exhumed for this purpose, revealed the
presence of 0·279, or a little more than a quarter of a grain of
antimony in the contents of the stomach. Antimony was also found in the
blood, and 1·151 grain was recovered from the liver.
Dr. Penny, who made an independent analysis, found distinct evidence of
antimony in the liver, spleen, kidney, brain, heart, blood, and rectum,
but no trace of morphine or aconite. He also came to the conclusion that
Mrs. Pritchard’s death had resulted from the effects of antimony.
Antimony was found mixed with tapioca contained in a packet discovered
in the house, also in a bottle containing Batley’s solution of opium
found in the prisoner’s surgery.
Dr. Littlejohn, surgeon to the Edinburgh police, who was present at the
post-mortem examination of both women, gave his opinion that Mrs.
Pritchard’s death had been due to the administration of antimony in
small quantities, and that continuously. In Mrs. Taylor’s case he
believed some strong narcotic poison had been administered with the
antimony.
This opinion was further endorsed by Dr. Paterson. Evidence was offered,
that Pritchard had been in the habit of purchasing large quantities of
Batley’s solution of opium, which the manufacturers swore contained no
antimony. For the defence it was urged that there was no proof whatever
that poison had been administered by the prisoner, who had always lived
on affectionate terms with his wife, and that the motive suggested was
of the most trifling nature; that the stronger suspicion pointed to the
maidservant, Mary McLeod, on whose uncorroborated statements the chief
evidence against the prisoner lay. The senior counsel for the prisoner
(Mr. Clark) concluded his address by stating that the Crown had admitted
there were but two persons who could have committed the crime—the
prisoner and Mary McLeod. Mary McLeod’s hand had been found in
connection with every one of the acts in which poison was said to have
been administered in the food. The case against the prisoner seemed to
depend on a series of suspicions and probabilities, and not upon legal
proof, and upon these grounds he asked for a verdict of acquittal.
The summing up of the Lord Justice-Clerk occupied three hours and twenty
minutes, on the conclusion of which the jury retired to consider their
verdict. After an absence of fifty-five minutes they returned with the
following verdict, “The jury unanimously find the prisoner guilty of
both charges as libelled.”
Dr. Pritchard was thereupon sentenced to death, and was executed at
Glasgow on July 28, 1865.
There can be little doubt that he fully deserved his fate.
CHAPTER VII
THE CASE OF DR. LAMSON
The only case on record in which the active principle of aconite has
been used for the purpose of criminal poisoning is that of Dr. Lamson,
who suffered the extreme penalty of the law for administering the drug
to Percy Malcolm John, and thereby causing his death. The story is
remarkable for the cold-blooded way in which the murder was carried out.
George Henry Lamson, a surgeon in impecunious circumstances, had a
reversionary interest, through his wife, in a sum of £1,500, which would
come to him on the death of his brother-in-law, Percy Malcolm John. The
latter, a sickly youth of eighteen years of age, was paralysed in his
lower limbs from old-standing spinal disease.
At the beginning of December, 1881, Lamson went down to the school where
John had been placed as a boarder, and had an interview with him in the
presence of the head master, professing at the same time a kindly
interest in the youth and his health. During the interview he produced
some gelatine capsules, one of which he offered to the head master in
order that he might see how easily it dissolved in the mouth, and
another he filled with a white powder presumed to be sugar and gave to
his brother-in-law. Directly after seeing him swallow it he took his
departure. Within a quarter of an hour, the boy became unwell, saying he
felt the same as when Lamson had given him a quinine pill on a former
occasion, also adding “My skin feels all drawn up and my throat
burning.”
Violent vomiting soon set in, and he became unable to swallow. This was
rapidly followed by delirium, and in three hours and three-quarters
death ensued.
A post-mortem examination was ordered, and the organs of the body,
together with the remainder of the capsules, and various pills and
powders found in the boy’s room which had been sent to him at different
times by Dr. Lamson, were sent for analysis. Meanwhile from information
received by the police from another quarter Lamson was arrested and
charged with the murder of his brother-in-law.
The trial began on March 9, 1882, before Mr. Justice Hawkins, the
Solicitor-General, Mr. Poland, appearing for the prosecution, and Mr.
Montagu Williams and others for the defence.
The Solicitor-General in his opening speech stated, that the post-mortem
on the body revealed the fact, that the only sign of disease was the
old-standing curvature of the spine and evidence of paralysis in the
lower extremities. There was much, however, that called for remark in
the condition of the stomach and other organs. The conclusion that the
medical men came to was, that there was no natural cause to account for
death, but that the state of the stomach indicated that death had
resulted from poison—not what was called a local irritant poison, but
some vegetable poison which had acted upon the nerves and other centres.
Dr. Stevenson, who, together with Dr. Dupré, had conducted the analysis,
gave evidence, and began by stating that he had received besides the
organs of the body, certain packets of pills, powders, sugar, etc.
Working in collaboration with Dr. Dupré, he applied a modification of
Stas’s process to the liver, spleen and kidneys, and the result obtained
was an alkaloidal extract which contained a trace of morphine, and when
placed on the tongue gave a faint sensation like that produced by
aconitine. The contents of the stomach, treated by the same process,
also revealed an alkaloidal extract which when tasted produced the same
faint sensation as that of aconitine. “When placed on the tongue,” he
continued, “the contact caused a burning sensation which extended to the
lip, although the extract did not touch the lip. The character of the
sensation was a burning and a tingling, a kind of numbness. It is
difficult to describe. It produced a salivation, a desire to expectorate
and a sensation at the back of the throat as if it were swelling up, and
this was followed by a peculiar seared feeling as if a hot iron had been
drawn over the tongue, or some strong caustic placed upon it.
“The effect of aconitine is a burning feeling extending down towards the
stomach. It is a sickening feeling peculiar to this substance. I have
never found it in any other alkaloid, and I have tasted a great number.
“With a portion of the alkaloidal extract,” Dr. Stevenson proceeded, “I
made an experiment. I dissolved it and injected it beneath the skin of a
mouse. The animal was obviously affected in two minutes. From that time
onward it exhibited symptoms of poisoning and died in thirty minutes
from the time of the injection of the substance. I then made a similar
experiment with Morson’s preparation of aconitine, procured specially
for this purpose. I dissolved it in the same solution that I had used
for the extract and operated with it on the mouse in the same manner.
The effect was indistinguishable from that of the extract.”
This same experiment was repeated with extracts made from the different
organs, and each time the same result was obtained. On analysis of the
vomit an alkaloidal extract was again obtained. Dr. Stevenson applied
this to his tongue and found it had a very powerful result, the effect
lasting markedly for six and a half hours. On an injection being made
into the back of a mouse it was severely affected in two and a half
minutes and death resulted in fifteen minutes. “Parallel results,” he
stated, “were obtained with aconitine. In my judgment the vomit
contained a considerable quantity of aconitine. Approximately, it was
not less than one-seventh and not more than one-fourth of a grain. There
has only been one fatal case that I know of in which aconitine has
caused the death of a human being, and the quantity that proved
fatal—the quantity that actually caused death—was known not to be less
than one-thirteenth of a grain.”
Dr. Stevenson then described the results of the analysis of the various
powders, pills, etc., that had been handed to him. In the sweetmeats,
cake and sugar he found no trace of poison at all. He then turned to the
quinine powders, of which there were fourteen. “My attention,” he said,
“was called to one by Dr. Dupré. It was a little different in colour, as
also were two others, and was obvious to the trained eye. An analysis of
one revealed 0·83 gr. of aconitine and 0·93 gr. of quinine.” On testing
one of the pills also, he came to the conclusion that it contained 0·45,
or nearly half a grain of aconitine.
The capsules were handed to the judge, who remarked that the half grain
took up barely one-tenth of the space in the capsule.
In the course of the trial it transpired that the prisoner had become
possessed of aconitine a few days before the crime was committed. On the
11th of November he had been to a chemist in Oxford St., and had a
prescription made up consisting of atropine and morphine. On the 16th he
called again and asked for a grain of digitalin, saying it was for
external use. The liquid in the bottle was found to be discoloured, and
the assistant, fearing it might be impure, refused to supply it. A few
days later Dr. Lamson called again and asked for some aconitine. The
assistant, knowing this was a poison of a very dangerous character,
declined to supply it and advised him to go where he was better known.
Dr. Lamson then went on November 24th to a firm of chemists in the city
and asked for two grains of aconitine. Asked for his name, he wrote
George H. Lamson, Bournemouth, and the name being in the Medical
Directory, he was duly supplied with the required amount. When the name
of Dr. Lamson appeared in the newspapers in connection with the death of
Percy John, the assistant who had supplied the poison drew the attention
of his employers to the circumstance, and the police were communicated
with.
Mr. Montagu Williams, for the defence, urged that the results of Dr.
Stevenson’s and Dr. Dupré’s experiments were consistent with other
causes and suggested that the extracts which were so fatal to the mice
might contain certain animal poisons, the result of decomposition. He
contended that it had been admitted that very little was known of
aconitine, and that therefore these tests were not to be relied upon.
The proper verdict, he submitted, would be the Scottish one of “Non
Proven,” and as that was not possible in England, the prisoner was
entitled to an acquittal. He reminded the jury of the weak state of the
boy’s health, and the general expectation that he would not live long.
The judge, in summing up, said the question for the jury to decide was
whether they were satisfied the deceased came to his death by poison,
and if so whether the poison was administered by the prisoner. It was
for the prosecution to prove the guilt of the prisoner, and if they
failed to do so the case was at an end. The trial lasted for six days,
and after the summing up, the jury retired, returning after an absence
of twenty-five minutes, with a verdict of “Guilty.” The judge then
pronounced sentence of death on Lamson, which was duly carried out on
August 28, 1882.
According to evidence at the trial, it is probable that Lamson had made
several previous attempts on the boy’s life with aconitine in the form
of pills and powders, which he had given him under the pretence of
prescribing for his ailments. The money to which he was entitled on the
death of John doubtless supplied the motive for the crime.
Lamson, as a medical man, no doubt knew that there was no chemical test
for aconitine, and that it would not be likely to be detected during the
post-mortem. In fact, there was nothing to show after the autopsy that
the cause of death was not natural, and it was only the few words
uttered by the dying boy, alluding to his sensations, which gave the
clue to the scientific investigators.
The difficulty of proving the presence of a rare vegetable alkaloid in
the body after death was, no doubt, duly considered by Lamson when he
fixed on aconitine as the medium for his evil design, but science proved
the master of the criminal, and the evidence of the instrument by which
the crime was committed was proved indisputably.
CHAPTER VIII
THE PIMLICO MYSTERY
Chloroform belongs to the class of neurotic poisons which act on the
brain, and produce loss of sensation. It is a colourless, heavy and
volatile liquid, having a peculiar ethereal odour which cannot be easily
mistaken, and a sweet pungent taste when diluted. For producing
insensibility it requires both careful and experienced administration,
and more lives have been lost by carelessness in using than from the
noxious character of the drug.
The stories that appear from time to time, of persons who have been
rendered unconscious simply by waving a chloroformed handkerchief before
the face, usually emanate from the fertile brain of some imaginative
journalist. As an internal poison chloroform has rarely been used,
although there are many cases on record where persons have accustomed
themselves to drinking chloroform, until they have been able to swallow
it in very large quantities. The one recorded instance in which it was
alleged to have been used internally for the criminal destruction of
life was in the remarkable case known as the “Pimlico Mystery.”
The trial of Adelaide Bartlett, for the wilful murder of her husband by
administering chloroform to him, was held before Mr. Justice Wills at
the Central Criminal Court on April 12, 1886, and lasted for six days.
The case attracted considerable attention and interest throughout, which
culminated in a dramatic scene at the close, and the acquittal of the
accused woman. The strange relations which existed between Mrs. Bartlett
and her husband, with whose murder she was charged, the yet more strange
relations between her and the man who in the first instance was included
in the accusation, together with the exceptional circumstances of his
acquittal and his immediate appearance in the witness-box, formed a case
of peculiar dramatic interest.
Thomas Edwin Bartlett was a grocer, having several shops in the suburbs
of London, and at the time of his death was forty years of age. In 1875
he married a young French girl named Adelaide Blanche de la Tremoille,
who was a native of Orléans, whom he met at the house of his brother.
After the marriage he sent her to a boarding-school at Stoke Newington,
and she lived with her husband only during the vacation. At a later
period she went to a convent school in Belgium, where she remained for
about eighteen months, after which she rejoined her husband, and settled
down to live in London. During Christmas of 1881 she gave birth to a
stillborn child, which so affected her that she came to the resolution
that she would have no more children. Some four years later Mr. Bartlett
and his wife made the acquaintance of the Rev. George Dyson, a young
Wesleyan minister, who soon became on terms of great social intimacy,
visiting and dining with them frequently. The admiration for their
friend seems to have been common to both husband and wife. In 1885 Edwin
Bartlett made a will, leaving all he possessed to his wife, and making
Mr. Dyson and his solicitors his executors. Shortly afterwards the
Bartletts removed to furnished apartments in Claverton Street, Pimlico,
where they apparently lived on good terms, and were still frequently
visited by their friend Mr. Dyson.
On December 10, in the same year, Mr. Bartlett became seriously ill.
Peculiar symptoms developed, which excited the curiosity and surprise of
the medical man called in to attend him. The state of his gums suggested
to the doctor that the illness was due to mercury, which in some way was
being administered to him, and he complained of nervous depression and
sleeplessness. He appeared to be gradually recovering from this, but on
December 19 Mr. Bartlett himself suggested that a second doctor should
be called in, lest, as he put it, “his friends should suspect, if
anything happened to him, that his wife was poisoning him.” The cause
for this was put down to some ill-feeling which had formerly existed
between Mrs. Bartlett and her husband’s father. A second practitioner,
therefore, was called in, and the patient, on December 26, though still
weak, was practically well and went out for a drive.
The next day Mrs. Bartlett asked Mr. Dyson, who was constantly calling
at the house, to procure for her a considerable quantity of chloroform,
which she told him she had used before on her husband for some internal
ailment of long standing, and that this internal affection had upon
previous occasions given him paroxysms. She further expressed a belief
that he might die suddenly in one of these attacks. Dyson seems meekly
to have yielded to her request, and obtained three different lots of
chloroform, in all six ounces, from various chemists, giving the reason
that he required it for taking out grease spots, and placed it all
together in one bottle. Two days after, he met Mrs. Bartlett on the
Embankment and handed her the chloroform.
During his illness, Mr. Bartlett had slept on a camp bedstead in the
front drawing-room, his wife occupying a sofa in the same room. On
December 31 he was apparently in good health, and about half-past ten
o’clock in the evening, Mrs. Bartlett told the servant she required
nothing else and retired with her husband for the night. At four o’clock
in the morning the house was aroused by Mrs. Bartlett, and it was
discovered her husband was dead in bed.
The statement made by the lady was, that when her husband had settled
for the night she sat down at the foot of the bed with her hand resting
upon his feet. She dozed off in her chair, but awoke with a sensation of
cramp, and was horrified to find her husband’s feet were deathly cold.
She tried to pour some brandy down his throat, and then found he was
dead. She then aroused the household. The first person who entered the
room was the landlord, who noticed a peculiar smell that reminded him of
chloric ether. The doctor was promptly sent for, but from external
examination could find nothing to account for death. The only bottle
found was one that contained a drop or two of chlorodyne. A post-mortem
examination was held, and the stomach showed evidence of having
contained a considerable quantity of chloroform. There was no internal
disease or growth, the organs being quite healthy, and nothing to
account for death beyond the chloroform, which the medical men concluded
must have been the cause of death.
The coroner’s inquiry resulted in a verdict of wilful murder against
Adelaide Bartlett and George Dyson, and they were both arrested.
At the trial, the Crown decided to offer no evidence against Dyson, and,
after being indicted and pleading “Not guilty,” he was discharged by the
judge to be called as a witness.
A brilliant array of counsel were engaged on the case, Sir Charles
Russell had charge of the prosecution, while the defence of Mrs.
Bartlett was entrusted to Sir Edward Clarke, and that of Mr. Dyson to
Mr. Lockwood.
Dyson’s examination occupied nearly the whole of the second day of the
trial, during which he detailed the form of the intimacy between Mrs.
Bartlett and himself. He related how he procured the chloroform and
disposed of the bottles after hearing the result of the post-mortem by
throwing them away on Wandsworth Common while on his way to preach at
Tooting. He was in the habit of kissing Mrs. Bartlett, and usually
called her Adelaide. He had had conversations with Mr. Bartlett on the
subject of marriage, and had heard him express the opinion that a man
should have two wives, one to look after the household duties, and
another to be a companion and confidante. He had told Mr. Bartlett he
was becoming attached to his wife, but the latter seemed to encourage
it, and asked him to continue the intimacy. He did not mention the
matter of having procured the chloroform for Mrs. Bartlett until he had
heard the result of the post-mortem.
The medical man called in to attend Mr. Bartlett during his illness
described the condition in which he found him, and his recovery from the
illness. He also gave an account of a very extraordinary statement,
which was made to him by Mrs. Bartlett after the death of her husband.
It was as follows. At the age of sixteen years she was selected by Mr.
Bartlett as a wife for companionship only, and for whom no carnal
feeling should be entertained. The marriage compact was, that they
should live together simply as loving friends. This rule was faithfully
observed for about six years of their married life, and then only broken
at her earnest and repeated entreaty that she should be permitted to be
really a wife and a mother. The child was stillborn, and from that time
the two lived together, but their relations were not those of matrimony.
Her husband showed great affection for her of an ultra-platonic kind,
and encouraged her to pursue various studies, which she did to please
him. He affected to admire her, and liked to surround her with male
acquaintances, and enjoy their attentions to her. Then they became
acquainted with Dyson. Her husband conceived a great liking for him, and
threw them together. He requested them to kiss in his presence and
seemed to enjoy it, and gave her to understand that he had “given her”
to Mr. Dyson. As her husband gradually recovered from his illness he
expressed a wish that they should resume the ordinary relations of man
and wife, but she resented it. She therefore sought for some means to
prevent his desire, and for this purpose she asked Dyson to procure the
chloroform.
On the night of his death, some conversation of this kind had taken
place between them, and when he was in bed she brought the bottle of
chloroform. She gave it to him, informing him of her intention to
sprinkle some upon a handkerchief and wave it in his face, thinking that
thereby he would go peacefully to sleep. He looked at the bottle and
placed it by the side of the low bed, then, turning over on his side,
apparently went to sleep. She fell asleep also, sitting at the foot of
the bed, with her arm round his foot; she heard him snoring, then woke
again, and found he was dead.
Dr. Stevenson, who made the analysis, gave evidence as to finding eleven
and a quarter grains of pure chloroform in the stomach of the deceased,
but, judging from the time that had elapsed and the very volatile nature
of the liquid, a large quantity must have been swallowed. No other
poisons were found. The jury, after deliberating nearly two hours,
returned a verdict of “Not guilty,” and Mrs. Bartlett was acquitted.
There was no evidence to prove that chloroform had been administered to
Mr. Bartlett, and it was suggested that he had awoke, and by mistake
swallowed some of the contents of the bottle.
CHAPTER IX
THE MAYBRICK CASE
On July 31, 1889, one the most remarkable poisoning cases on record was
tried before Mr. Justice Stephen, at the Liverpool Assizes. The trial,
which lasted eight days, excited the keenest interest in the locality
and throughout the country, especially as the principal actors in the
tragedy were people of good social position and well known. The accused,
Mrs. Florence Maybrick, wife of a Liverpool merchant, was charged with
causing the death of her husband by administering arsenic to him.
About the end of April, 1889, Mr. James Maybrick, who lived at
Grassendale, near Liverpool, was seized with a peculiar illness, of
which the main symptoms consisted of a rigidity of the limbs and a
general feeling of sickness which quite prostrated him, and eventually
confined him to bed. The local medical man who was called in to attend
him, attributed the cause to extreme irritability of the stomach and
treated him accordingly. Becoming puzzled by the persistent sickness and
the rapidly increasing weakness of his patient, he called a physician in
consultation. From this time he grew considerably worse and severer
symptoms set in, which caused the doctors to suspect the cause was due
to some irritant poison. This was confirmed by the discovery that
arsenic had been placed in a bottle of meat-juice that was being
administered to the sick man. At the instance of the physician called in
consultation, trained nurses were placed in charge, and a close watch
kept on the patient, but without avail, and he died on May 11.
From statements made to the police, suspicions were aroused, Mrs.
Maybrick was arrested, and eventually charged with the wilful murder of
her husband.
From evidence given at the trial, it transpired that the relations
between husband and wife had not been of the most cordial character for
some time. There were frequent disagreements, and just before Mr.
Maybrick was taken ill there had been a serious quarrel, resulting from
his wife’s relations with another man. The lady resented the accusation,
and a separation was contemplated. The fatal illness then intervened,
during the first portion of which Mrs. Maybrick nursed her husband. A
letter addressed to her lover, which she had given to a nursemaid to
post, was opened by the girl and handed to Mr. Maybrick’s brother,
trained nurses were called in and the sick man placed in their sole
charge. This letter, which formed one of the strongest pieces of
evidence against the accused, revealed the connection between Mrs.
Maybrick and her lover, and conveyed the intelligence to him that her
husband was “sick unto death.” Evidence was also given by the servants
of fly-papers having been seen in process of maceration in water in Mrs.
Maybrick’s bedroom. The trained nurses also gave evidence concerning the
suspicious conduct of Mrs. Maybrick in tampering with the medicines and
meat-juice which were to be administered to the patient. These
suspicions culminated in the discovery of arsenic in a bottle of
meat-juice by one of the medical attendants. Considerable quantities of
arsenic were found by the police in the house, including a packet
containing seventy-one grains, mixed with charcoal, and labelled “Poison
for cats.”
The analytical examination was conducted by Dr. Stevenson and Mr. Edward
Davis, a Liverpool analyst, who discovered traces of arsenic in the
intestines, and 0·049 of a grain of arsenic in the liver, traces of the
poison being also found in the spleen. Arsenic was also found in various
medicine bottles, on handkerchiefs, in bottles of glycerin, and in the
pocket of a dressing-gown belonging to the accused. Dr. Stevenson stated
that he believed the body of the deceased at the time of death probably
contained a fatal dose of arsenic.
The scientific evidence adduced at the trial was of a very conflicting
character. On one hand, the medical men who attended the deceased, and
the Government analyst, swore they believed that death was caused from
the effects of arsenic; while on the other, Dr. Tidy, who was called for
the defence, stated as an expert that the quantity of arsenic discovered
in the body did not point to the fact that an overdose had been
administered. He believed that death had been due to gastro-enteritis of
some kind or other, but that the symptoms and post-mortem appearances
distinctly pointed away from arsenic as the cause of death. Dr.
Macnamara, ex-president of the Royal College of Surgeons, Ireland, also
stated that in his opinion Mr. Maybrick’s death had not been caused by
arsenical poisoning and that he agreed with Dr. Tidy that the cause was
gastro-enteritis, unconnected with arsenical poisoning. For the defence,
it was also urged that the deceased man had been in the habit of taking
arsenic in considerable quantities for some years. In support of this,
witnesses were called to prove that he had been in the habit of taking a
mysterious white powder, and that while living in America, he frequently
purchased arsenic from chemists, who knew he was in the habit of taking
it. A negro, who had been in the service of the deceased in America,
also deposed to seeing him take this white powder in beef tea.
Sir Charles Russell, in his speech for the defence, stated that Mr.
Maybrick had been in the habit of taking arsenic for many years, and was
a man who prided himself on his knowledge of medicine. What was more
likely than that he should have had a supply of that poison in the
house, and that he had ultimately dosed himself to death with it?
After the last witness for the defence had left the box, Sir Charles
Russell held a rapid consultation with Mrs. Maybrick. A glance of
dissatisfaction crossed his face as he turned to the judge and asked if
the prisoner might make a statement. The judge replied in the
affirmative and the accused woman rose to her feet, and in a low voice
broken by emotion read the following plea from a written paper she held
in her hand, amid the breathless silence of those in court:—
“My Lord, I wish to make a statement, as well as I can, about a few
facts in connection with the dreadful and crushing charge against me—the
charge of poisoning my husband and father of my dear children. I wish
principally to refer to the fly-paper solution. The fly-papers I bought
with the intention of using the solution as a cosmetic. Before my
marriage, and since for many years, I have been in the habit of using
this wash for the face prescribed for me by Dr. Graves, of Brooklyn. It
consisted, I believe, principally, of arsenic, tincture of benzoin,
elder-flower water, and some other ingredients. This prescription I lost
or mislaid last April, and as at the time I was suffering from an
eruption on the face, I thought I should like to try and make a
substitute myself. I was anxious to get rid of this eruption before I
went to a ball on the 30th of that month. When I had been in Germany
among my young friends there, I had seen used a solution derived from
fly-papers soaked in elder-flower water, and then applied to the face
with a handkerchief well soaked in the solution. I procured the
fly-papers and used them in the same manner, and to avoid evaporation I
put the solution into a bottle so as to avoid as much as possible the
admission of the air. For this purpose I put a plate over the
fly-papers, then a folded towel over that, and then another towel over
that. My mother has been aware for a great many years that I have used
arsenic in solution. I now wish to speak of his illness. On Thursday
night, May 9, after the nurse had given my husband medicine I went and
sat on the bed beside him. He complained to me of feeling very sick,
very weak and very restless. He implored me then again to give him a
powder which he had referred to earlier in the evening, and which I
declined to give him. I was over-wrought, terribly anxious, miserably
unhappy, and his evident distress utterly unnerved me. As he told me the
powder would not harm him, and that I could put it in his food, I then
consented. My Lord, I had not one true or honest friend in the house. I
had no one to consult, no one to advise me. I was deposed from my
position as mistress of my own house, and from the position of attending
on my husband, and notwithstanding that he was so ill, and
notwithstanding the evidence of the nurses and the servants, I may say
that he missed me whenever I was not with him; whenever I was out of the
room he asked for me, and four days before he died I was not allowed to
give him a piece of ice without its being taken out of my hand. I took
the meat-juice into the inner room. On going through the door I spilled
some of the liquid from the bottle, and in order to make up the quantity
spilled I put in a considerable quantity of water. On returning into the
room I found my husband asleep. I placed the bottle on the table near
the window. As he did not ask for anything then, and as I was not
anxious to give him anything, I removed it from the small table where it
attracted his attention and put it on the washstand where he could not
see it. There I left it. Until Tuesday, May 14, the Tuesday after my
husband’s death, till a few moments before the terrible charge was made
against me, no one in that house had informed me of the fact that a
death certificate had been refused—or that there was any reason to
suppose that my husband had died from any other than natural causes. It
was only when a witness alluded to the presence of arsenic in the
meat-juice that I was made aware of the nature of the powder my husband
had been taking. In conclusion, I only wish to say that for the love of
our children, and for the sake of their future, a perfect reconciliation
had taken place between us, and on the day before his death I made a
full and free confession to him.”
It was evident from Sir Charles Russell’s manner when he rose to make
his final appeal that Mrs. Maybrick had made her statement against his
wish, but he still fought valiantly in her cause, and urged that if it
had not been for the act of infidelity on her part there could be no
motive assigned in the case, and surely, he declared, there was a wide
difference between the grave moral guilt of unfaithfulness and the
criminal act involved in the deliberate plotting, by such wicked means,
the felonious death of her husband. He closed his eloquent and brilliant
appeal by putting two questions to the jury:—
1. Was there clear, safe and satisfactory unequivocal proof that death
was in fact caused by arsenical poisoning?
2. Had the accused woman administered that poison, if to the poison the
death of her husband was due?
On the eighth day of the trial the judge summed up the evidence and the
jury retired at 3.15, and had barely been absent thirty-eight minutes
when they returned to the court with the verdict of “Guilty.”
On being asked by the clerk if she had anything to say, Mrs. Maybrick
replied “I have been found guilty, but excepting my moral fault I am not
guilty.” The judge then passed sentence of death.
[Illustration:
[_Copyright._
BOTTLE OF MEAT JUICE AND A BOTTLE CONTAINING MEAT JUICE AND WATER
EXHIBITED IN THE MAYBRICK CASE.
]
The sentence aroused considerable feeling and the country was divided
into two parties, one protesting that Mrs. Maybrick was innocent, and
the other that she was guilty. An agitation was at once made for a
reprieve, which ended in a respite being granted and the sentence being
commuted to penal servitude for life.
For some years afterwards efforts were continually made to secure Mrs.
Maybrick’s release, and successive Home Secretaries investigated the
circumstances of the case, but always decided the conviction must stand.
Sir Charles Russell frequently affirmed his belief in Mrs. Maybrick’s
innocence, and attributed the jury’s verdict to his remarks upon the
moral aspect of the case, and even after he became Lord Chief Justice of
England he stated his personal belief that she was not guilty.
The late Lord Moulton, who was an eminent scientist as well as a great
lawyer, took a deep interest in this case, and in a letter to the
writer, written in 1899, stated:
“The point of interest was one of evidence as to the cause of death. I
have always been of opinion that—taking into consideration the fact that
the deceased was an arsenic-eater—there was no evidence that he was
poisoned. The weight of the medical testimony was in favour of that
view, but that was not the main point. In my opinion the testimony for
the prosecution entirely failed to support the onus which lay upon it.
The witnesses could not point out anything inconsistent with
non-poisoning.”
“This case,” says Sir William Willcox, “is interesting from the fact
that the proof of fatal poisoning rested on the presence of 0·049 grain
of arsenic in the liver, the minimum fatal dose being about two grains.”
Whether Mrs. Maybrick did actually administer arsenic to her husband
_with intent to kill him_ she alone could tell. On her own confession
she admitted having given him a certain white powder for which he
craved, of the nature of which, however, she said she was ignorant.
There can be no doubt this powder was arsenic. If she did not know the
powder was arsenic and did not give it with intent to kill him, then
surely such a web of circumstantial evidence has never before been woven
round one accused of having committed a terrible crime.
CHAPTER X
THE LAMBETH POISON MYSTERIES
Towards the close of the year 1891 and the early part of 1892, public
interest was excited by the mysterious deaths of several young women of
the “unfortunate class” residing in the neighbourhood of Lambeth. The
first case was that of a girl named Matilda Clover, who lived in Lambeth
Road. On the night of October 20, 1891, she spent the evening at a
music-hall in company with a man, who returned with her to her lodgings
about nine o’clock. Shortly afterwards she was seen to go out alone, and
she purchased some bottled beer, which she carried to her rooms. After a
little time the man left the house.
At three o’clock in the morning the inmates of the house were aroused by
the screams of a woman, and on the landlady entering Matilda Clover’s
room, she found the unfortunate girl lying across the bed in the
greatest agony. Medical aid was sent for, and the assistant of a
neighbouring doctor saw the girl, and judged she was suffering from the
effects of drink. He prescribed a sedative mixture, but the girl got
worse, and, after a further convulsion, died on the following morning.
The medical man whose assistant had seen her on the previous night, gave
a certificate that death was due to delirium tremens and syncope, and
Matilda Clover was buried at Tooting.
A few weeks afterwards a woman called Ellen Donworth, who resided in
Duke Street, Westminster Bridge Road, is stated to have received a
letter, in consequence of which she went out between six and seven in
the evening. About eight o’clock she was found in Waterloo Road in great
agony, and died while she was being conveyed to St. Thomas’s Hospital.
Before her death she made a statement that a man with a dark beard and
wearing a high hat had given her “two drops of white stuff” to drink. In
this case a post-mortem examination was made, and on analysis both
strychnine and morphine were found in the stomach, proving that the
woman had been poisoned.
These cases had almost been forgotten, when some six months afterwards,
attention was again aroused by the mysterious deaths of two girls named
Alice Marsh and Emma Shrivell, who lodged in Stamford Street. On the
evening of April 11, 1892, a man, whom one of the girls in her dying
testimony called “Fred” and whom she described as a doctor, called to
see them, and together they partook of tea. The man stayed till 2 a.m.,
and during the evening gave them both “three long pills.”
Half an hour after the man left the house, both girls were found in a
dying condition. While they were being removed to the hospital Alice
Marsh died in the cab, and Emma Shrivell lived for only six hours
afterwards. The result of an analysis of the stomach and organs revealed
the fact that death in each case had been caused by strychnine.
There was absolutely no evidence beyond the vague description of the man
for the police to work upon, and this case, like the others with which
at first it was not connected, seemed likely to remain among the
unsolved mysteries; when by the following curious chain of
circumstances, the perpetrator of these cold-blooded crimes was at last
brought to justice.
Some time after the deaths of the two girls Marsh and Shrivell, a Dr.
Harper, of Barnstaple, received a letter, in which the writer stated
that he had indisputable evidence that the doctor’s son, who had
recently qualified as a medical practitioner in London, had poisoned two
girls—Marsh and Shrivell—and that he, the writer, required £1,500 to
suppress it. Dr. Harper placed this letter in the hands of the police,
with the result that on June 3, 1892, a man named Thomas Neill, or Neill
Cream, was arrested on the charge of sending a threatening letter. He
was brought up at Bow Street on this charge several times, during which
it transpired that in the preceding November a well-known London
physician had also received a letter, in which the writer declared that
he had evidence to show that the physician had poisoned a Miss Clover
with strychnine, which evidence he could purchase for £2,500, and so
save himself from ruin.
Neill Cream was remanded, and in the meanwhile the body of Matilda
Clover was exhumed, and the contents of the stomach sent to Dr.
Stevenson, one of the Government analysts, for examination. He
discovered the presence of strychnine, and came to the conclusion that
some one had administered a fatal dose to her.
An inquest was then held on the body of Matilda Clover, with the result
that Thomas Neill, or Neill Cream, was committed on the charge of wilful
murder.
The man’s lodgings were searched after his arrest, and a curious piece
of paper was discovered, on which, written in pencil in his handwriting,
were the initials “M. C.” and opposite to them two dates, and then a
third date, viz. October 20, which was the date of Matilda Clover’s
death. On the same paper, in connection with the initials “E. S.,” was
also found two dates, one being April 11, which was the date of Emma
Shrivell’s death. There was also found in his possession a paper bearing
the address of Marsh and Shrivell, and it was afterwards proved that he
had said on more than one occasion that he knew them well.
In his room a quantity of small pills was discovered, each containing
from one-sixteenth to one-twenty-second of a grain of strychnine, also
fifty-four other bottles of pills, seven of which contained strychnine,
a pocket medicine case, and a bottle containing one hundred and
sixty-eight pills, each containing one-twenty-second of a grain of
strychnine. These, it is supposed, he obtained as an agent for the
Harvey Drug Co., of America. It was found he had purchased a quantity of
empty gelatine capsules from a chemist in Parliament Street, which there
is little doubt he had used to administer a number of the small pills in
a poisonous dose.
Thomas Neill, or Neill Cream, was tried for the wilful murder of Matilda
Clover at the Central Criminal Court before Mr. Justice Hawkins, on
October 18, 1892, the trial lasting five days.
It transpired that Cream, who had received some medical education and
styled himself a doctor, came to this country from America on October 1,
1891, and on arriving in London first stayed at Anderton’s Hotel, in
Fleet Street. Shortly afterwards he took apartments in Lambeth, and
became engaged to a lady living at Berkhampstead.
[Illustration:
[_Copyright._