“How, When and Where—”
It was on the second day after the interrupted funeral that the
thunderbolt fell. I cannot say that it found me entirely unprepared,
for my reflections during the intervening day had filled me with
forebodings; and by Thorndyke the catastrophe was pretty plainly
foreseen. But on the others the blow fell with devastating effect.
However, I must not anticipate. Rather let me get back to a
consecutive narration of the actual events.
On the day after the visit of the coroner’s officer we had held, at my
suggestion, a sort of family committee to consider what we knew of the
circumstances and antecedents of Harold’s death, so that we might be
in a position to give our evidence clearly and readily and be in
agreement as to the leading facts. Thus we went to the coroner’s court
prepared, at least, to tell an intelligible and consistent story.
As soon as I entered the large room in which the inquest was to be
held, my forebodings deepened. The row of expectant reporters was such
as one does not find where the proceedings are to be no more than a
simple, routine inquiry. Something of public interest was anticipated,
and these gentlemen of the Press had received a hint from some
well-informed quarter. I ran my eye along the row and was somewhat
relieved to observe Mr. Holman, Thorndyke’s private reporter, seated
at the table with a large note-book and a half-dozen well-sharpened
pencils before him. His presence—as, in a sense, Thorndyke’s
deputy—gave me the reassuring feeling that, if there were to be
“complications,” I should not have to meet them with my own limited
knowledge and experience, but that there were reserves of special
knowledge and weighty counsel on which I could fall back.
The coroner’s manner seemed to me ominous. His introductory address to
the jury was curt and ambiguous, setting forth no more than the name
of the deceased and the fact that circumstances had seemed to render
an inquiry advisable; and having said this, he proceeded forthwith
(the jury having already viewed the body) to call the first witness,
the Reverend Amos Monkhouse.
I need not repeat the clergyman’s evidence in detail. When he had
identified the body as that of his brother, Harold, he went on to
relate the events which I have recorded: his visit to his sick
brother, his alarm at the patient’s appearance, his call upon Dr.
Dimsdale and his subsequent interview with Sir Robert Detling. It was
all told in a very concise, matter-of-fact manner, and I noted that
the coroner did not seek to amplify the condensed statement by any
questions.
“At about nine o’clock in the morning of the 13th,” the witness
continued, “I received a telegram from Miss Norris informing me that
my brother had died in the night. I went out at once and sent a
telegram to Sir Robert Detling informing him of what had happened. I
then went to number 16 Hilborough Square, where I saw the body of
deceased lying in his bed quite cold and stiff. I saw nobody at the
house excepting the housemaid and Mr. Mayfield. After leaving the
house I walked about the streets for several hours and did not return
to my hotel until late in the afternoon. When I arrived there, I found
awaiting me a telegram from Sir Robert Detling asking me to call on
him without delay. I set forth at once and arrived at Sir Robert’s
house at half-past five, and was shown into his study immediately. Sir
Robert then told me that he had come to the conclusion that the
circumstances of my brother’s death called for some investigation and
that he proposed to communicate with the coroner. He urged me not to
raise any objections and advised me to say nothing to any one but to
wait until the coroner’s decision was made known. I asked him for his
reasons for communicating with the coroner, but he said that he would
rather not make any statement. I heard no more until the morning of
the fifteenth, the day appointed for the funeral, when the coroner’s
officer called at my hotel to inform me that the funeral would not
take place and to serve the summons for my attendance here as a
witness.”
When Amos had concluded his statement, the coroner glanced at the
jury, and as no one offered to put any questions, he dismissed the
witness and called the next—Mabel Withers—who, at once, came forward
to the table. Having been sworn and having given her name, the witness
deposed that she had been housemaid to deceased and that it was she
who had discovered the fact of his death, relating the circumstances
in much the same words as I have recorded. When she had finished her
narrative, the coroner said: “You have told us that the candle in the
deceased’s lamp was completely burnt out. Do you happen to know how
long one of those candles would burn?”
“Yes. About four hours.”
“When did you last see deceased alive?”
“At half-past ten on Tuesday night, the twelfth. I looked in at his
room on my way up to bed to see if he wanted anything, and I gave him
a dose of medicine.”
“What was his condition then?”
“He looked very ill, but he seemed fairly comfortable. He had a book
in his hand but was not reading.”
“Was the candle alight then?”
“No, the gas was alight. I asked him if I should turn it out but he
said ‘no.’ He would wait until Miss Norris or Mr. Wallingford came.”
“Did you notice how much candle there was in the lamp then?”
“There was a whole candle. I put it in myself in the afternoon and it
had not been lit. He used to read by the gas as long as it was alight.
He only used the candle-lamp if he couldn’t sleep and the gas was
out.”
“Could you form any opinion as to how long the candle had been burnt
out?”
“It must have been out some time, for there was no smell in the room
as there would have been if it had only been out a short time. The
window was hardly open at all; only just a small crack.”
“Do you know when deceased last took food?”
“Yes, he had his supper at eight o’clock; an omelette and a tiny piece
of toast with a glass of milk.”
“Who cooked the omelette?”
“Miss Norris.”
“Why did Miss Norris cook it? Was the cook out?”
“No. But Miss Norris usually cooked his supper and sometimes made
little dishes for his lunch. She is a very expert cook.”
“Who took the omelette up to deceased?”
“Miss Norris. I asked if I should take his supper up, but she said she
was going up and would take it herself.”
“Was any one else present when Miss Norris was cooking the omelette?”
“Yes, I was present and so was the cook.”
“Did deceased usually have the same food as the rest of the
household?”
“No, he usually had his own special diet.”
“Who prepared his food, as a rule?”
“Sometimes the cook, but more often Miss Norris.”
“Now, with regard to his medicine. Did deceased usually take it
himself?”
“No, he didn’t like to have the bottle on the bedside table, as it was
rather crowded with his books and things. The bottle and the
medicine-glass were kept on the mantelpiece and the medicine was given
to him by whoever happened to be in the room when a dose was due.
Sometimes I gave it to him; at other times Mrs. Monkhouse or Miss
Norris or Mr. Wallingford.”
“Do you remember when the last bottle of medicine came?”
“Yes. It came early in the afternoon of the day before he died. I took
it in and carried it up at once.”
When he had written down this answer, the coroner ran his eye through
his previous notes and then glanced at the jury.
“Do any of you gentlemen wish to ask the witness any questions?” he
enquired; and as no one answered, he dismissed the witness with the
request that she would stay in the court in case any further testimony
should be required of her. He then announced that he would take the
evidence of Sir Robert Detling next in order to release him for his
probably numerous engagements. Sir Robert’s name was accordingly
called and a grave-looking, elderly gentleman rose from near the
doorway and walked up to the table. When the new witness had been
sworn and the formal preliminaries disposed of, the coroner said:
“I will ask you, Sir Robert, to give the jury an account of the
circumstances which led to your making a certain communication to me.”
Sir Robert bowed gravely and proceeded at once to make his statement
in the clear, precise manner of a practised speaker.
“On Friday, the 8th instant, the Reverend Amos Monkhouse called on me
to arrange a consultation with Dr. Dimsdale who was in attendance on
his brother, the deceased. I met Dr. Dimsdale by appointment the
following afternoon, the 9th, and with him made a careful examination
of deceased. I was extremely puzzled by the patient’s condition. He
was obviously very seriously—I thought, dangerously—ill, but I was
unable to discover any signs or symptoms that satisfactorily accounted
for his grave general condition. I could not give his disease a name.
Eventually, I took a number of blood-films and some specimens of the
secretions to submit to a pathologist for examination and to have them
tested for micro-organisms. I took them that night to Professor
Garnett’s laboratory, but the professor was unfortunately absent and
not returning until the following night—Sunday. I therefore kept them
until Sunday night when I took them to him and asked him to examine
them with as little delay as possible. He reported on the following
day that microscopical examination had not brought to light anything
abnormal, but he was making cultures from the secretions and would
report the result on Wednesday morning. On Wednesday morning at about
half-past nine, I received a telegram from the Reverend Amos Monkhouse
informing me that his brother had died during the night. A few minutes
later, a messenger brought Professor Garnett’s report; which was to
the effect that no disease-bearing organisms had been found, nor
anything abnormal excepting a rather singular scarcity of
micro-organisms of any kind.
“This fact, together with the death of the patient, suddenly aroused
my suspicions. For the absence of the ordinary micro-organisms
suggested the presence of some foreign chemical substance. And now, as
I recalled the patient’s symptoms, I found them consistent with the
presence in the body of some foreign substance. Instantly, I made my
way to Professor Garnett’s laboratory and communicated my suspicions
to him. I found that he shared them and had carefully preserved the
remainder of the material for further examination. We both suspected
the presence of a foreign substance, and we both suspected it to be
arsenic.
“The professor had at hand the means of making a chemical test, so we
proceeded at once to use them. The test that we employed was the one
known as Reinsch’s test. The result showed a very appreciable amount
of arsenic in the secretions tested. On this, I sealed up what was
left of the specimens, and, after notifying Mr. Monkhouse of my
intention, reported the circumstances to the coroner.”
When Sir Robert ceased speaking, the coroner bowed, and having written
down the last words, reflected for a few moments. Then he turned to
the jury and said: “I don’t think we need detain Sir Robert any longer
unless there are any questions that you would like to ask.”
At this point the usual over-intelligent juryman interposed.
“We should like to know whether the vessels in which the specimens
were contained were perfectly clean and free from chemicals.”
“The bottles,” Sir Robert replied, “were clean in the ordinary sense.
I rinsed them out with clean water before introducing the material.
But, of course, they could not be guaranteed to be chemically clean.”
“Then doesn’t that invalidate the analysis?” the juror asked.
“It was hardly an analysis,” the witness replied. “It was just a
preliminary test.”
“The point which you are raising, Sir,” said the coroner, “is quite a
sound one but it is not relevant to this inquiry. Sir Robert’s test
was made to ascertain if an inquiry was necessary. He decided that it
was, and we are now holding that inquiry. You will not form your
verdict on the results of Sir Robert’s test but on those of the post
mortem examination and the special analysis that has been made.”
This explanation appeared to satisfy the juror and Sir Robert was
allowed to depart. The coroner once more seemed to consider awhile and
then addressed the jury.
“I think it will be best to take next the evidence relating to the
examination of the body. When you have heard that you will be better
able to weigh the significance of what the other witnesses have to
tell us. We will now take the evidence of Dr. Randall.”
As the new witness, a small, dry, eminently professional-looking man,
stepped briskly up to the table, I stole a quick, rather furtive
glance at my companions and saw my own alarm plainly reflected in
their faces and bearing. Barbara, on my left hand, sat up stiffly,
rigid as a statue, her face pale and set, but quite composed, her eyes
fixed on the man who was about to be sworn. Madeline, on my right, was
ghastly. But she, too, was still and quiet, sitting with her hands
tightly clasped, as if to restrain or conceal their trembling, and her
eyes bent on the floor. As to Wallingford, who sat on the other side
of Barbara, I could not see his face, but by his foot, which I could
see and hear, tapping quickly on the floor as if he were working a
spinning-wheel, and his incessantly moving hands, I judged that his
nerves were at full tension.
The new witness deposed that his name was Walter Randall, that he was
a Bachelor of Medicine and police surgeon of the district and that he
had made a careful examination of the body of deceased and that, with
Dr. Barnes, he had made an analysis of certain parts of that body.
“To anticipate a little,” said the coroner, “did you arrive at an
opinion as to the cause of death?”
“Yes. From the post mortem examination and the analysis taken
together, I came to the conclusion that deceased died from the effects
of arsenic poisoning.”
“Have you any doubt that arsenic poisoning was really the cause of the
deceased’s death?”
“No, I have no doubt whatever.”
The reply, uttered with quiet decision, elicited a low murmur from the
jury and the few spectators, amidst which I heard Madeline gasp in a
choking whisper, “Oh! God!” and even Barbara was moved to a low cry of
horror. But I did not dare to look at either of them. As for me, the
blow had fallen already. Sir Robert’s evidence had told me all.
“You said,” the coroner resumed, “that the post mortem and the
analysis, taken together, led you to this conclusion. What did you
mean by that?”
“I meant that the appearance of the internal organs, taken alone,
would not have been conclusive. The conditions that I found were
suggestive of arsenic poisoning but might possibly have been due to
disease. It was only the ascertained presence of arsenic that
converted the probability into certainty.”
“You are quite sure that the conditions were not due to disease?”
“Not entirely. I would rather say that the effects of arsenical
poisoning were added to and mingled with those of old-standing
disease.”
“Would you tell us briefly what abnormal conditions you found?”
“The most important were those in the stomach, which showed marked
signs of inflammation.”
“You are aware that the death certificate gives old-standing chronic
gastritis as one of the causes of death?”
“Yes, and I think correctly. The arsenical gastritis was engrafted on
an already existing chronic gastritis. That is what made the
appearances rather difficult to interpret, especially as the post
mortem appearances in arsenical poisoning are extraordinarily
variable.”
“What else did you find?”
“There were no other conditions that were directly associated with the
poison. The heart was rather fatty and dilated, and its condition
probably accounts for the sudden collapse which seems to have
occurred.”
“Does not collapse usually occur in poisoning by arsenic?”
“Eventually it does, but it is usually the last of a long train of
symptoms. In some cases, however, collapse occurs quite early and may
carry the victim off at once. That is what appears from the
housemaid’s evidence to have happened in this case. Death seems to
have been sudden and almost peaceful.”
“Were there any other signs of disease?”
“Yes, the lungs were affected. There were signs of considerable
bronchial catarrh, but I do not regard this as having any connection
with the effects of the poison. It appeared to be an old-standing
condition.”
“Yes,” said the coroner. “The certificate mentions chronic bronchial
catarrh of several years’ standing. Did you find any arsenic in the
stomach?”
“Not in the solid form and only a little more than a hundredth of a
grain altogether. The stomach was practically empty. The other organs
were practically free from disease, excepting, perhaps, the kidneys,
which were congested but not organically diseased.”
“And as to the amount of arsenic present?”
“The analysis was necessarily a rather hasty one and probably shows
less than the actual quantity; but we found, as I have said, just over
a hundredth of a grain in the stomach, one and a half grains in the
liver, nearly a fifth of a grain in the kidneys and small quantities,
amounting in all to two grains, in the blood and tissues. The total
amount actually found was thus a little over three and a half grains—a
lethal dose.”
“What is the fatal dose of arsenic?”
“Two grains may prove fatal if taken in solution, as it appears to
have been in this case. Two and a half grains, in a couple of ounces
of fly-paper water, killed a strong, healthy girl of nineteen in
thirty-six hours.”
“And how long does a poisonous dose take to produce death?”
“The shortest period recorded is twenty minutes, the longest, over
three weeks.”
“Did you come to any general conclusion as to how long deceased had
been suffering from the effects of arsenic and as to the manner in
which it had been administered?”
“From the distribution of the poison in the organs and tissues and
from the appearance of the body, I inferred that the administration of
arsenic had been going on for a considerable time. There were signs of
chronic poisoning which led me to believe that for quite a long
time—perhaps months—deceased had been taking repeated small doses of
the poison, and that the final dose took such rapid effect by reason
of the enfeebled state of the deceased at the time when it was
administered.”
“And as to the mode of administration? Did you ascertain that?”
“In part, I ascertained it quite definitely. When the bearers went to
the house to fetch the body, I accompanied them and took the
opportunity to examine the bedroom. There I found on the mantelpiece a
bottle of medicine with the name of deceased on the label and brought
it away with me. It was an eight ounce bottle containing when full
eight doses, of which only one had been taken. Dr. Barnes and I,
together, analyzed the remaining seven ounces of the medicine and
obtained from it just over eleven grains of arsenic; that is a
fraction over a grain and a half in each ounce dose. The arsenic was
in solution and had been introduced into the medicine in the form of
the solution known officially as Liquor Arsenicalis, or Fowler’s
Solution.”
“That is perfectly definite,” said the coroner. “But you said that you
ascertained the mode of administration in part. Do you mean that you
inferred the existence of some other vehicle?”
“Yes. A single dose of this medicine contained only a grain and a half
of arsenic, which would hardly account for the effects produced or the
amount of arsenic which was found in the body. Of course, the
preceding dose from the other bottle may have contained the poison,
too, or it may have been taken in some other way.”
“What other way do you suggest?”
“I can merely suggest possibilities. A meal was taken about eight
o’clock. If that meal had contained a small quantity of arsenic—even a
single grain—that, added to what was in the medicine, would have been
enough to cause death. But there is no evidence whatever that the food
did contain arsenic.”
“If the previous dose of medicine had contained the same quantity of
the poison as the one that was last taken, would that account for the
death of deceased?”
“Yes. He would then have taken over three grains in four hours—more
than the minimum fatal dose.”
“Did you see the other—the empty medicine bottle?”
“No. I looked for it and should have taken possession of it, but it
was not there.”
“Is there anything else that you have to tell us concerning your
examination?”
“No, I think I have told you all I know about the case.”
The coroner cast an interrogatory glance at the jury, and when none of
them accepted the implied invitation, he released the witness and
named Dr. Barnes as his successor.
I need not record in detail the evidence of this witness. Having
deposed that he was a Doctor of Science and lecturer on Chemistry at
St. Martha’s Medical College, he proceeded to confirm Dr. Randall’s
evidence as to the analysis, giving somewhat fuller and more precise
details. He had been present at the autopsy, but he was not a
pathologist and was not competent to describe the condition of the
body. He had analyzed the contents of the medicine bottle with Dr.
Randall’s assistance and he confirmed the last witness’s statement as
to the quantity of arsenic found and the form in which it had been
introduced—Fowler’s Solution.
“What is the strength of Fowler’s Solution?”
“It contains four grains of arsenic—or, more strictly, of arsenious
acid—to the fluid ounce. So that, as the full bottle of medicine must
have contained just over twelve and a half grains of arsenious acid,
the quantity of Fowler’s Solution introduced must have been a little
over three fluid ounces; three point fourteen, to be exact.”
“You are confident that it was Fowler’s Solution that was used?”
“Yes; the chemical analysis showed that; but in addition, there was
the colour and the smell. Fowler’s Solution is coloured red with Red
Sandalwood and scented with Tincture of Lavender as a precaution
against accidents. Otherwise it would be colourless, odourless and
tasteless, like water.”
On the conclusion of Dr. Barnes’s evidence, the coroner remarked to
the jury: “I think we ought to be clear on the facts with regard to
this medicine. Let Mabel Withers be recalled.”
Once more the housemaid took her place by the table and the coroner
resumed the examination.
“You say that the last bottle of medicine came early in the afternoon.
Can you tell us the exact time?”
“It was about a quarter to three. I remember that because when I took
up the new bottle, I asked Mr. Monkhouse if he had had his medicine
and he said that his brother, Mr. Amos Monkhouse, had given him a dose
at two o’clock just before he left.”
“Did you open the fresh bottle?”
“I took off the paper wrapping and the cap but I didn’t take the cork
out.”
“Was the old bottle empty then?”
“No; there was one dose left in it. That would be due at six o’clock.”
“Do you know what became of the old bottle?”
“Yes. When I had given him his last dose—that was out of the new
bottle—I took the old bottle away and washed it at once.”
“Why did you wash the bottle?”
“The used medicine bottles were always washed and sent back to Dr.
Dimsdale.”
“Did you send back the corks, too?”
“No, the corks were usually burned in the rubbish destructor.”
“Do you know what happened to this particular cork?”
“I took it down with me in the morning and dropped it in the bin which
was kept for the rubbish to be taken out to the destructor. The cork
must have been burned with the other rubbish the same day.”
“When you gave deceased that last dose of medicine from the new
bottle, did you notice anything unusual about it? Any smell, for
instance?”
“I noticed a very faint smell of lavender. But that was not unusual.
His medicine often smelt of lavender.”
“Do you know if the previous bottle of medicine smelt of lavender?”
“Yes, it did. I noticed it when I was washing out the bottle.”
“That, gentlemen,” said the coroner, as he wrote down the answer, “is
a very important fact. You will notice that it bears out Dr. Randall’s
opinion that more than one dose of the poison had been given; that, in
fact, a number of repeated small doses had been administered. And, so
far as we can see at present, the medicine was, at least, the
principal medium of its administration. The next problem that we have
to solve is how the poison got into the medicine. If none of you wish
to put any questions to the very intelligent witness whom we have just
been examining, I think we had better call Dr. Dimsdale and hear what
he has to tell us.”
The jury had no questions to put to Mabel but were manifestly all agog
to hear Dr. Dimsdale’s evidence. The housemaid was accordingly sent
back to her seat, and the doctor stepped briskly—almost too briskly, I
thought—up to the table.