THE VERDICT
The loutish footman, Thomason, then entered the witness box. Led by
Mr. Assidell, K.C., he repeated his evidence of the quarrel he had
heard between the two stepbrothers. At first he was very nervous about
mentioning this matter again, for he had suffered much from the butler
and the other servants because of his first statements to the police
about the quarrel--the statements upon which Frank Gough had been
arrested.
The most important part of his evidence, according to Mr. Assidell, as
manifested in his questioning, was the time of the quarrel. Here
Thomason was shaken. Whereas, before, he had said the time was nine
o’clock or thereabouts, now he said it might have been ten o’clock, or
even later. On the other hand, it might have been before nine. The
Crown prosecutor, satisfied, apparently, to have shaken the witness’s
testimony on the question of time, sat down, and Sir Courtney rose.
By dint of skilful questioning he succeeded in establishing the fact
that the butler would certainly know the limit of the time possible
for Thomason to have heard the quarrel, because part of the plate
which he had brought back from the small pantry adjoining the Prior’s
Room had to be wrapped in green baize and handed over to the butler to
lock away.
Thomason departed, and was succeeded by other servants, and then the
doctors gave their evidence. The great Government analyst, Sir Werner
Scatterhyde, testified to examining the organs of the dead baronet,
and referred to the poison he had found in the brain. He admitted that
the blow which the dead man had received was sufficient to cause
death, but he confessed that, for his part, he was inclined to the
belief that death was caused by the poison.
“Would it have been possible for the poison to have been injected
after death?” asked Mr. Assidell, and the specialist replied, after
momentary hesitation, that it might, but such a thing in his view was
improbable. Sir Courtney Caldecott made a note of the momentary
hesitation.
“In conclusion,” said Mr. Assidell, “you fully agree that the injuries
to the head were in themselves sufficient to have caused death?”
“Well, yes,” replied the specialist. “They are really more likely to
have induced violent concussion, with perhaps ultimate death, but they
might have caused death.”
“Sir Werner Scatterhyde,” began Sir Courtney, “Let me ask you this.
When the deadly poison, of whose fell properties you have so
interestingly told us, was introduced into the brain, how long would
life be possible after that?”
“Twenty seconds,” said the specialist.
“Quite so--twenty seconds,” repeated Sir Courtney with a glance at the
jury. “Now tell us, Sir Werner--we have heard a lot about the
injection of this poison being performed after death--would it have
been long after death?”
“No, certainly not,” replied the analyst. “No later than at the very
moment of death. It had received certain circulation which would cease
after death.”
“Then it must have been before death?” asked Sir Courtney.
“Well, it would have been possible at the very moment of death. I mean
that, if the person who struck the blow immediately injected the
poison, that would account for the exact position.”
“What about the blow taking place after death?” Sir Courtney asked.
“Well, yes,” said the specialist. “That is certainly possible. But,
again by the look of the head at the time, I judged that the blow was
simultaneous with death.”
“Then you think the two processes were simultaneous? That very little
time, if any, separated the blow from the injection of the poison?”
asked the K.C., and the specialist replied that that was so.
Other doctors were examined, and all testified to the adequacy of the
blow to cause death. Then the defense opened with a brilliant speech
by Sir Courtney Caldecott. He pointed out the extreme weakness of the
prosecution’s case, and outlined his answer--if the jury thought it
necessary for him to answer. There was a stir in the jury box, which
the judge quickly saw and quelled before any member of the jury could
express an opinion.
“I certainly think there is a case to answer, Sir Courtney,” he said.
Sir Courtney gracefully accepted the ruling, and immediately called:
“Mr. Frank Gough.”
Frank was led by warders round to the witness box. Wilfred Barlow,
sitting in the well of the court, felt a great pity for Frank as he
saw him stand there to face his ordeal. He remembered his hatred of
Frank because of the persecution of Jill. But, he felt now that he
wished he had not thought quite so hardly of him.
With perfect simplicity Frank told his story of the quarrel and the
reconciliation. He was definite, very sure of the order in which the
two things took place. They could not have been reversed, he said,
because from the very moment he entered his brother’s room there was
an awkwardness of manner about Jack, who was suffering under the
painful exposure of Lady Evenden’s past, coupled with the visit that
day of Laidlaw, who had been admitted to his mother.
There was nothing pleasant about the first interview. There was
nothing unpleasant about the second. In the second, the clouds of
mistrust and irritation had all been blown away, leaving a clear sky.
Jack had come to make friends, and he had welcomed his stepbrother.
The reconciliation was very real and complete.
Under cross-examination, Frank unconsciously created a great
impression, when Mr. Assidell was pressing him as to enmity between
the brothers, by replying with simple dignity and in convincing
sincerity.
“But I loved my brother,” he said, and even the judge gave one of his
almost imperceptible nods. Frank bore his cross-examination well. He
only showed a little impatience when he was pressed into the whole
story of his mother’s ordeal at the death of her first husband.
Sir Courtney Caldecott was afraid Frank was going to do irretrievable
harm by losing his temper, and he decided to intervene.
“I must protest, respectfully, my lord, against this subject being
discussed. It is absolutely irrelevant.”
“I am not quite sure,” replied Mr. Justice Titterton. “If it is said
that this story was the cause of a quarrel which led to Sir John’s
death, then it becomes very germane and relevant, and I shall
certainly rule it so.”
“But, with great respect, it is not so,” replied Sir Courtney. “There
was an interview of a most cordial nature afterwards----”
“Yes, quite so,” replied the judge. “But, it remains for you to prove
that. The prosecution say that a certain story was told which caused a
quarrel which, in turn, caused a man’s death. They must prove that.
But, they are entitled to demonstrate the potency of the story which
caused the quarrel.”
Sir Courtney subsided. He knew perfectly well that his objection was
hopeless, and had merely intervened to give Frank a breathing space.
Mr. Assidell, K.C., pegged away at the story of the tragedy at Loch
Lomond, and Frank gave the answers as well as he could. He had been
too young at the time even to remember his father. His mother had not
told him anything about it. Dr. Laidlaw he did not know from Adam, and
John and he had agreed jointly to go to their mother on the day
following their interview and assure her of their joint moral support,
in every way.
This also created a good impression.
“Are you going to call Lady Evenden?” asked the judge.
“Well, if your lordship thought it necessary,” began Sir Courtney, “we
would consult her physicians. She is most anxious to give evidence.”
He whispered a word to Mr. Benson. “With your lordship’s permission I
will call Dr. Barlow,” he said. Wilfred started in surprise. Was Mr.
Benson up to some unexpected trick to force his hand?
When he entered the box, however, and was sworn, Sir Courtney examined
him as to the state of Lady Evenden’s health. He looked at Mr. Benson,
who was gazing at him with eyes full of meaning, and suddenly he
grasped the situation and played up to what was expected.
“Lady Evenden is suffering from extreme nervous prostration,” he
declared, “and is in my opinion quite unfit to appear in this court.”
“Have you had a second opinion on that?” asked Sir Courtney.
“Yes,” replied Wilfred. “Mr. Rushton Tring, the mental specialist of
Harley Street, is at present in residence at the Priory, and
absolutely forbids her ladyship to undergo any strain.”
The judge bowed his acknowledgements, and Sir Courtney went on.
“I wish to interpose this at this stage,” he said. “My learned friend
has thought fit to expatiate upon the tragic circumstances in which
Lady Evenden lost her first husband. I objected to that matter at the
time, but your lordship saw fit to overrule me. I consider that I am
entitled in the interest of a bereaved lady whose fair name has been
wantonly attacked by my learned friend----” Mr. Assidell, purple of
face, was on his feet in a second, complaining volubly against this
perverted interpretation on the part of his colleague. Sir Courtney
insisted upon continuing, but the judge held up his hand.
“I gathered you thought you were entitled to something, Sir Courtney?”
he asked mildly, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses.
“With your lordship’s gracious permission,” said Sir Courtney, “I
consider I am entitled to place on record the fact that the death of
the first husband of Lady Evenden was duly inquired into at the time
by a Scottish Court of Inquiry, the competent court. Medical men also
gave evidence. Lady Evenden was exonerated from the slightest
suspicion of any culpability, whatever. The unfortunate man died
whilst a raving lunatic. It was impossible for his wife to remain in
the same room with him. In these remote country districts scandal soon
spreads, and frequently arises out of nothing. In this case I presume
it was because Lady Evenden, very properly loathing the associations
of the place, never went back.”
“I was going to take it upon myself, Sir Courtney, to say pretty much
what you have said. I quite endorse your words,” said the judge.
“May I say that I also am profoundly conscious of the truth of what my
learned friend says,” said Mr. Assidell, K.C. “Never for a moment did
I desire to attack the character or reputation of Lady Evenden--merely
to establish, in the course of my duty, the cause of the quarrel.”
The storm over, the trial proceeded. Counsel made their speeches and
the day ended with all finished, except the judge’s summing up. That
night Mr. Benson and Sir Courtney were in hopeful vein. Lady Evenden
was greatly excited. She seemed several times to be on the verge of
saying something of importance, when she met Mr. Tring and Mr. Benson
in the hall, after the trial. Finally she said that, whatever
happened, they must call her on the telephone, if at the last moment
there was danger of Frank suffering. In that event she would come to
the court.
Mr. Benson sincerely hoped the necessity would not arise.
The next day the court was crowded, and its approaches were blocked
thicker than ever. The judge began his summing up at once. He had
three notebooks full of notes, and he ran through them with wonderful
lucidity and system.
The prosecution, he said, had established their theory of a
quarrel--established it on the evidence of Thomason, the footman, and
the prisoner himself. The defense had established, on the evidence of
the valet, that the prisoner was telling the truth when he spoke of a
second interview. Undoubtedly there were two interviews. Which was
first? The butler’s evidence was important in the degree that it
proved that Frank Gough left the dining room to go to the Prior’s
Room. That would point to the interview in the Prior’s Room being
first. Also the butler said he locked away the silver which was
collected from the Prior’s Room by Thomason between half-past nine and
ten.
Again, in the earlier part of the brothers’ conversation, there was
nothing to drink toasts about and to cause laughter. The valet had
heard them pledge each other in a drink. Men rarely do that except on
a special occasion--men living together, he meant. That occasion might
well be the making up, between two brothers who, on all testimony, had
loved each other, of a very serious quarrel, which reflected nothing
but honor on both of them. He submitted that there were grave doubts
as to whether the quarrel was remotely connected with the death of the
late baronet at all. The poison theory remained a complete mystery. He
finally told them that where doubt lay, that doubt belonged to the
prisoner, and he was certain that in this case they would find certain
doubts.
The jury retired, and Mr. Benson gathered up his papers preparatory to
telephoning to Lady Evenden. Sir Courtney was rising to go with him.
They had chatted where they were for three minutes, when suddenly
there was a slight stirring, and the jury were back. The judge was
hastily called, and he came in straightening his stole as he walked.
Frank Gough stepped into the dock. The jury did not need to declare
their verdict--it was written on their faces.
Nevertheless, when the foreman declared, “Not guilty,” there were
resounding cheers in the court.
“It is not necessary, Frank Gough,” said Mr. Justice Titterton, “for
me to tell you that you leave this court with your good name
unsullied. You are discharged, but in your discharge I want most
whole-heartedly to associate myself with the jury’s verdict. I regret
extremely that it has been your misfortune to suffer, in the interests
of justice, what you must have undergone in the last few weeks.”
The ovation which Frank received outside was overpowering. It was
arranged that Sir Courtney Caldecott should accompany Mr. Benson and
him back to the Priory. But more than an hour had to elapse before
they could steer clear of Norwich.
The meeting between Frank and his mother was pathetic. She wept on his
shoulder, and was so overcome that she had to retire at once to her
room.
Dinner was served in state in the large dining room. At the table were
Sir Courtney Caldecott, Mr. Tring, Mr. Benson, and Frank, who did the
honors. After the meal, they went to the library, where the whole case
was put before Frank, who listened in bewilderment. When he heard of
Wilfred, he said:
“Where is he now?” Mr. Benson replied that he had not seen him since
the court rose.
“I should like to see him,” said Frank. “Is Jill still here? I mean
Miss Kilby?”
“Yes, yes,” replied Mr. Benson, “but first things first, my boy. What
are we going to do?”
It was finally decided that the specialist should remain in the house,
and do what he could with Lady Evenden to break completely the
ascendancy of Dr. Laidlaw. Frank was most emphatic about the necessity
for that.
The inquiry into the mystery of John’s death should go forward, and,
for the next few days, that Mr. Benson should continue to live at the
Priory.
Very late they went to bed, Frank seeming a little dazed by luxury and
comfort after the nerve-racking experience in the prison infirmary.
The next morning he rose early, crossed the lawn, and went through the
shrubbery for a walk. Returning by the paddock, he saw a figure that
quickened his heartbeat. It was Jill, looking sweetly pretty in a
tweed coat and skirt. She was bareheaded, and the morning sun caused a
bewitching sheen to appear upon her hair.
Frank made for her immediately.
“Jill,” he called. She turned and saw him. The color rose to her
cheeks. Instantly she remembered the experiences of old, the
persistent pursuit of her, the unscrupulous way in which he had tried
to compromise her. And, then suddenly, there flashed upon her the
vision of this young, vitally live, fine specimen of manhood, with all
his keen desires and great capacity for enjoyment, shut up behind
prison bars under the very shadow of the scaffold. The vision stirred
what was maternal in her. She felt a desire to protect him. With the
color still in her cheeks, but with the look of anger in her eyes
changed now to dangerous pity and sympathy, she put out her hand.
“I am so glad to see you,” she said softly.
Frank, where Jill was concerned, was like the Bourbons; he refused to
learn anything and he forgot nothing--nor did he want to. He only
cared that he loved this girl and wanted her. He took the outstretched
hand and, with a quick movement, drew her towards him, putting the
other arm around her shoulders and imprinting kiss after kiss upon her
violently unwilling lips.
“Don’t, don’t,” she called. “Oh, don’t! I never thought---- Oh, please
don’t!” What would have happened it would be difficult to say if there
had not been an interruption.
“I wish you two would get into the woods to do your love-making. This
sort of performance in the open may be up to date, but to me it is
positively revolting.” They both jumped back to see Mr. Benson
standing there. Jill glanced at him, and then at Frank; then she fled
towards the house, her cheeks flaming with color, a flying incarnation
of indignation and outrage. Frank looked crestfallen as Mr. Benson put
a hand on his shoulder.
“Come with me, young fellow,” he said. “I’m going to talk to you very
seriously.”