Down one dimly-lit, dreary corridor, along an other, and up a flight of
spiral stairs, I walked listlessly, with two warders at my side.
A low door opened, a breath of warm air, a hum of voices, and I was
standing in the prisoners' dock at the Central Criminal Court, Old
Bailey.
As I entered and faced the grave-looking judge, and the aldermen in
their fur-trimmed scarlet robes seated beside him, I heard the
stentorian voice of the usher cry "Silence," and immediately the clerk
rose, and with a paper in his hand, said in clear monotonous tones:
"Prisoner at the bar, you are indicted for that you did on the night of
August the fifteenth, eighteen hundred and eighty-seven, wilfully murder
Ethel Inglewood, one of Her Majesty's subjects, at Number 67, Bedford
Place, Bloomsbury, by stabbing her with a knife. Are you guilty, or not
guilty?"
Mr Roland, Q.C., who, with Mr Crane, had been retained for my defence,
rose promptly and replied, "Prisoner pleads not guilty, m'lord."
There was a dead silence.
All that could be heard was the rustling of the briefs of the great
array of counsel before me, and the busy hum and din of the city that
came through the open window, while a stray streak of dusky sunlight,
glinting across the sombre Court, fell like a bar of golden dust between
myself and the judge. The twelve benevolent-looking yet impassive
jurymen sat motionless on my left, and on my right the crowd of eager
spectators craned their necks in their curiosity to obtain a glimpse of
one who was alleged to be the author of the mysterious crime.
Mine was a celebrated case.
Three weeks had nearly elapsed since my arrest, and Scotland Yard, so
far from being idle, had succeeded in working up evidence and charging
me with a horrible murder, for which I had been committed to take my
trial by the magistrate at Bow Street.
Of Vera I had seen nothing. Both Bob and Demetrius had visited me
whilst under remand and endeavoured to cheer me, although both admitted
they had been served with subpoenas by the prosecution, but of the
nature of the evidence they wished them to give they were ignorant.
Rumours had reached me, even in my prison cell, of the intense
excitement that had been caused by the news of my capture, and the plain
facts had, I heard, become so distorted in their progress from mouth to
mouth that not only was it anticipated that my identity as the murderer
was completely established, but speculation had already planned for me
another atrocity in connection with the spot where I had been found.
The one topic of conversation was my arrest, and in private circles, as
well as in places of general meeting, little else was discussed. The
public pulse, in fact, was fevered.
With the opening of the trial the crisis had arrived.
I had been told that the counsel appearing to conduct my prosecution
were Mr Norman Ayrton, Q.C., and Mr Paget, and as I glanced at these
gentlemen seated in close consultation I instinctively dreaded the cold,
merciless face of the former, and the supercilious nonchalance of the
latter.
As perfect quietude was restored in the stifling Court with its long
tiers of white expectant faces, Mr Ayrton gave his gown a twitch, and
with a preliminary cough, rose.
The warder handed me a chair, and, seating myself, I concentrated my
attention upon the clear, concise utterances of the man who was doing
his utmost to fix the awful stigma upon me.
Turning to the judge, he said: "May it please your lordship, I appear on
behalf of the Crown to prosecute the prisoner at the bar. The case
which your lordship and gentlemen of the jury have before you to-day is
one of an abnormal and extraordinary nature. It will be within the
recollection of the Court that during the last three years a series of
mysterious and diabolical murders have been committed, absolutely, as
far as at present known, without motive. What may have been the motive
of these, however, is not the point to which I desire to call your
attention, but to one utterly unaccountable crime, as it then appeared,
which took place on the night of August the fifteenth, two years ago.
On that occasion a lady named Mrs Ethel Inglewood, residing at 67,
Bedford Place, Bloomsbury, was discovered murdered, and the connecting
link between that tragic occurrence and six of a similar character which
had preceded it was the circumstance that a seal of peculiar design,
fixed to a blank paper, was found pinned upon the breast of that lady.
Of the seal, and the mysteries surrounding it, I shall be in a position
to give your lordship and the gentlemen of the jury some further
information at a later stage in these proceedings.
"It is sufficient for my purpose at the present moment simply to
indicate the fact that the seal, connected in such a peculiar manner
with the previous outrages, was also a conspicuous object in this, and
undoubtedly proved that the crime, if not the work of the same hand,
emanated at any rate from the same source. The prisoner at the bar was
the principal witness in the discovery of the murder of Mrs Inglewood,
and gave evidence before the Coroner, when a verdict of wilful murder
against some person unknown was returned. He professed, in the
assistance which he then gave, to have been animated simply and solely
by the desire to bring the offender to justice. Considerable doubt was
entertained by the police with regard to the veracity of that statement,
and I believe, my lord, it will be in my power to prove, by most
conclusive evidence, that the prisoner then committed the crime of
perjury in addition to the greater and more hideous one for which he
stands here indicted."
Counsel then paused and examined the first folio of his brief.
To my disordered imagination it seemed as if I already stood convicted.
Again the eminent Queen's Counsel gave a preliminary cough, and
resumed:--
"If I shall be in a position to establish beyond any shadow of doubt
that the prisoner really committed the murder in Bloomsbury, the
evidence which can be adduced against him in regard to a second count,
which, however, is not on the present indictment, is even still more
indubitable. On the night of March the fourth last, the body of a
woman, which has never yet been identified, was discovered lying in a
blind alley, called Angel Court, leading from Drury Lane. She was quite
dead when discovered, having been stabbed in the throat, and on her
breast, as in the previous tragedy, was a piece of paper from which the
larger portion had evidently been roughly torn. The small piece
adhering was pinned in exactly the same fashion as upon the deceased
Mrs Inglewood, and no one could doubt that the murder which had been
committed formed one of that series of horrifying outrages of which it
formed the eighth.
"From that day till the present no clue whatever has been obtained as to
the identity of the poor woman who was then discovered, but events have
so conspired, and the police have been so vigilant, that a strange
finale has been brought about. There is an old truism, gentlemen, that
`Murder will out,' and though that expression is worn almost threadbare
by constant repetition, its force is recognised, and its truth is
applicable as much now as ever. `Murder,' in this case `did out,' by a
most fortuitous circumstance which I will briefly narrate, although the
story has been freely circulated in the public Press."
In a few terse sentences counsel explained my arrest, and the discovery
of the seal in my wallet.
"Such, my lord," he continued, "were the means by which the prisoner at
the bar came into the hands of the police, and I would impress very
strongly upon the jury, at this stage, the consideration that when
charged at the police-station prisoner not only gave a fictitious name,
but refused his address, besides giving as his excuse for his presence
in the house on the night in question, a silly story which I venture to
believe, you, gentlemen of the jury, will at once see to be outside the
bounds of credibility. In the extraordinary explanations which the
prisoner has given of his actions during the past year--strange and
improbable--none so utterly feeble as these have been advanced. He
asserts that his motive in going to the house in Angel Court, at that
hour of the evening, was the altogether monstrous one of filching from a
corpse evidence in connection--in close connection, I may say,
gentlemen--with this very crime which we are now investigating."
A murmur of surprise ran through the densely-packed Court. This was the
first time my explanation had been made public.
"Incredible as it may seem," said counsel, immediately resuming, "for
the last twelve months he says he has been actively pursuing inquiries
in regard to these crimes, and that his own life having, in some way
which he will not at present disclose, been endangered, it has given him
peculiar reason so to do. This story, of course, the jury will regard
in any light they choose, but I rather think that when the evidence
which I shall presently call is given, absolutely no credence will be
placed upon it. My remarks will be brief at the present moment, but my
learned friends who have been instructed for the defence, will, no
doubt, seek to attach great importance to the personal character of the
prisoner. Nevertheless I would ask what that character is? Two years
ago this man, who used formerly, it is true, to occupy a position of
some importance in journalism, became possessed of a fortune, and
whether it be that the possession of so much wealth suddenly turned him
into a monomaniac, or whether, previously to that time, his actions, of
which we have, at present, no record, were characterised by this mad
thirst for blood, I cannot inform you. Whatever things may have
appeared to the outside world, there is no doubt in my mind that the
prisoner has been cherishing a most intense and unnatural hatred against
mankind, and that with the accession of wealth his means for executing
his fell projects were correspondingly enhanced.
"It is true he bears the character of an English gentleman, but men of
the world, such as I see before me in the jury box, are not to be
deceived by mere detail of dress or conversation. The actions of men
are the means by which they must be judged, and, looking upon the past
life of this man by the lurid glare which the statements of the
witnesses--and which his own actions themselves afford--it will be
matter for surprise that his career has been allowed to go on so long
unchecked. When he talks of his character, gentlemen, let me ask one
question. In what was he engaged for nearly six months out of the last
twelve? Perhaps my learned friend will answer this in his defence. The
prisoner refuses, gentlemen, to give one word of explanation."
Again there was a rustle in court, and the usher interposed with his
stern command of "Silence?"
"Now, gentlemen, with these few brief observations, which I shall
supplement later on, I will proceed to call my witnesses--persons whose
veracity is unimpeachable--who will give you such an insight into his
past life that will leave not the faintest suspicion of doubt in your
minds that the prisoner at the bar has been the perpetrator of one, at
least, of that string of almost unparalleled crimes which have shocked
the whole of the civilised world."
As the leading counsel, with a significant smile at the jury, resumed
his seat, and his junior rose to call the witnesses, I folded my arms
and waited.