The Inquest
The coroner arrived a little early, and was standing on the shore with
the Chief Constable and the superintendent, the latter pointing out to
him the scene of the crime.
“Shocking, shocking!” he exclaimed in his dry, formal manner. “I have
your detailed report, Mr. Superintendent. I suppose there’s nothing
else I ought to know before we begin?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, I hope we shall catch the scoundrel,” remarked the Chief
Constable, giving a twist to his moustache, as they turned away
towards the inn. “He deserves hanging if ever a man did.”
“Precisely. He does, indeed,” replied the coroner. “That, of course,
is _your_ business. Mine is only to ascertain the circumstances and
the cause of death.” He took out his watch. “It’s about time we
began,” he went on.
When the jury filed into the bar parlour after viewing the body they
found none too much space. The room barely accommodated them, the
police, the witnesses, and representatives of the Press. Outside the
inn a little crowd of people had to be content with waiting patiently.
The coroner took his seat at the top of the table, near the
fire-place, which was in an angle of the room. Seated on his right,
facing across the table, and therefore at the other angle, was Mr.
Proctor, who had been elected by the jury as their foreman. Facing the
coroner sat the police and the doctor. On one side of the room was a
tall man with clean-shaven face and a professional manner. He was Mr.
Anthony Crosby, the lawyer from London.
The coroner opened the proceedings formally by explaining to the jury
their duties, concluding by saying:
“It will probably be necessary to adjourn this inquiry, and in that
case you will not be called upon to record your verdict this
afternoon. I think, from what I have said, you will quite understand
that the scope of this inquiry is limited to the actual cause of death
and circumstances which may throw light upon such cause. Of course, if
anything transpires which may assist the police in their
investigations, I shall exercise my prerogative in allowing it to be
brought forward. But the jury are not concerned with police
investigations other than those which threw light upon the actual
cause of death. I hope I make myself plain?”
And he turned an inquiring look upon Mr. Proctor.
The little man nodded his bald head.
“I think I can say on behalf of the jury, sir, that we all understand
perfectly.”
“Very well,” said the coroner. “Now we can proceed with the inquiry.”
Whereupon Anthony Crosby rose from his seat and said:
“I represent the late Mr. Templeton, sir—as his legal adviser.”
“Your name?” asked the coroner.
“Mr. Anthony Crosby, of Crosby and Paxton, 17b, Lincoln’s Inn Fields.”
The coroner bowed and made a note of it.
The first witness called was Jim Webb, who gave evidence of the
discovery of the body early on the previous morning. The coroner asked
him a few questions.
“You say that the deceased had arranged to go into Frattenbury on the
Saturday afternoon?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And that you were given the night off?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell me, did you know whom he was going to see?”
“The Reverend Fittleworth, sir. I guessed it afterwards.”
The coroner elevated his eyebrows.
“_Guessed_ it? What do you mean? How did you guess it?”
The man explained that he had read Canon Fittleworth’s name and
address on the letter he had posted for his master.
“Were you in the habit of prying into Mr. Templeton’s correspondence?”
asked the coroner sarcastically.
Jim Webb reddened.
“No, sir, I wasn’t,” he replied emphatically.
“Oh! How many more names and addresses did you read?”
“Not any, sir. As a matter of fact that was the only letter he ever
gave me to post.”
“You’re sure? Remember you are on oath.”
“Quite sure, sir.”
“Very well.”
Anthony Crosby interposed just as Webb was about to stand down.
“May I put a question to the witness?”
“Yes—if you wish. It should be done through me.”
“Thank you, sir. Will you ask him if he can give an account of his
actions from Saturday evening till Sunday morning?”
“You hear the question,” said the coroner to Webb; “what have you to
say?”
“Of course I can,” said the man, a little indignantly. “I was in my
uncle’s house at Frattenbury. I can bring three witnesses to prove
that.”
“Are you satisfied?” the coroner asked Crosby.
“Perfectly, thank you.”
“You ought to be grateful for that question,” said the coroner to
Webb, who was muttering something; “it clears you in the eyes of the
jury of any connection with the crime. Next witness, please.”
The next witness was the doctor, who gave his evidence tersely and
technically. Several times the coroner had to ask him to explain
surgical terms to the jury.
“How long do you consider he had been dead?” asked the coroner.
“Some hours—I would not undertake to say precisely how many.”
“Well—before or after midnight?”
“Probably before. Possibly after.”
“You will not commit yourself?”
“No.”
“You think he was stabbed with a knife?”
“I do not. I consider that the weapon was more in the form of a
dagger. The wound was distinctly triangular.”
“And that death was instantaneous?”
“Death was instantaneous.”
“There were no signs of a struggle?”
“None. I am of opinion that the deceased was probably seated on the
bunk, leaning towards the table, that he fell forward, struck his head
against the table, and then pitched onto the floor of the cabin. There
was a slight abrasion on the left temple which makes this probable.”
After one or two further questions the doctor resumed his seat. He was
followed by Tom Gale, who gave evidence as to the arrival of the yacht
and the crossing of the estuary by the murdered man. When he had
finished, the coroner addressed the superintendent.
“You have this matter in hand?” he asked.
“We have, sir. I should like to suggest that it is strictly a question
for the police at this moment.”
“Certainly,” replied the coroner. “The jury will please note it. It
may have a bearing on the case at a further stage of the inquiry. I
think that is what you mean?”
“Quite so, sir,” replied the superintendent. “Thank you.”
The superintendent himself was next called upon. Briefly and clearly
he described his visit to the yacht the previous morning,
corroborating the non-technical portion of the doctor’s evidence. The
coroner leaned back in his chair, the tips of his fingers together,
and thought for a moment. Then he said:
“A thorough investigation of the cabin was made, I presume?”
“Yes, sir. I placed it in the hands of Detective-Sergeant Colson.”
“Is there any matter in connection with that investigation which you
consider the jury ought to know?”
“At present, sir, I would rather not advance any information—except to
say that there is nothing which would assist the jury in arriving at
their verdict. And I ask for an adjournment of the inquiry when all
the witnesses called to-day have been heard.”
The coroner nodded.
“That is quite reasonable,” he said, “quite reasonable.”
Mr. Crosby rose.
“In my position,” he said, “I should naturally wish further questions
to be put to the witness, but I shall be perfectly satisfied if I have
an assurance from the police that they will give me any information
which may be of use to me.”
“You will do this?” asked the coroner.
“Most certainly,” replied the superintendent. “Our wish is only that
certain details may not become public.”
The next witness was Canon Fittleworth. He had known the coroner for
years, fairly intimately, and he smiled a little as that functionary
asked his name, address and occupation as though he were an entire
stranger. He told the jury the facts he had already put before the
superintendent. Rather a lengthy examination followed, in the course
of which the coroner asked him:
“You say the deceased informed you he had business with someone in
Frattenbury on Saturday night?”
“He did.”
“You do not know with whom?”
“No.”
“He did not tell you?”
“He did not.”
“He did not drop any hint?”
“No.”
“You knew Mr. Templeton fairly intimately—didn’t he mention anyone he
knew in Frattenbury? It is an important point.”
“I did not know him very intimately. I hadn’t seen him for some years.
So far as I am aware, he knew no one in Frattenbury except myself and
family.”
“You have no idea what this business was that he mentioned?”
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean by ‘not exactly’?”
The coroner was looking at the Canon keenly. The jury were interested.
“Only that, in the course of conversation, he mentioned that he was
glad to be getting rid of something valuable he had been carrying
about for a long time.”
“What was it?”
“He didn’t say.”
“You are sure?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Canon Fittleworth. That will do. You will allow me—and I
am sure the jury will join me in this—you will allow us to express our
very deep sympathy towards you and our family in this terrible
tragedy.”
The Canon bowed.
“Thank you,” he said. “There is—er—a statement I wish to
make—something in the way of evidence.”
“What is it?” asked the coroner.
“When I went on board the yacht yesterday morning there was something
I found in the cabin—something I ought, perhaps, to have given to the
police—but my mind was so much agitated at the time.”
The superintendent and Colson looked up quickly. The coroner asked
sharply:
“What was it?”
“A band off a cigar—lying on the floor of the cabin—here it is,” and
he laid it on the table.
The jury leaned forward—it was a moment of intense interest—the
coroner motioned for the cigar band to be passed to him, took and
examined it. Then he sat still thinking, leaning back in his chair,
his head bent down. Then he said:
“You think this important?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Because my cousin did not smoke. He told me so on Saturday evening.”
The coroner sat bolt upright in his chair, a frown on his face, his
eyes literally glaring at the Canon.
“The jury must see this. Pass it round,” he exclaimed.
Then he went on with great severity:
“You must forgive my saying, Canon Fittleworth, that I consider you
have behaved in an exceedingly careless manner. I have no doubt that
you did not think—as you say—but a man of your intelligence ought to
have thought. This should have been handed to the police immediately.
It is just such want of thought that often leads to grave hindrances
of justice. I am sorry to have to say this, but, in my position here,
it is only my duty.”
He had leaned forward as he spoke, his elbows on the table. As he
resumed his former upright position, his right elbow swept one or two
papers off the table. They fell fluttering into the fire-place. He
leaned over to the right to pick them up, but before he could do so
the foreman of the jury went down on one knee to assist him.
The coroner picked up one bit of paper, Proctor the rest.
“Thanks,” said the coroner as the foreman handed them to him.
Meanwhile, the cigar band was being passed from man to man of the
jury. Each of them examined it solemnly and portentously, one or two
shaking their heads with an air of profound wisdom. So it went round
till it reached the foreman, and his examination was the longest of
all. He pursed up his little round mouth, adjusted a pair of
spectacles on his nose, and looked carefully at the little red and
gold object. Finally, as though loath to part with it, he handed it to
two of the jurymen across the table who had not yet seen it, and they
passed it on to the coroner.
Meanwhile, the Canon was standing with burning face. It was a new and
humiliating experience for a cathedral dignitary to be soundly rated
in public, and though, in his heart of hearts, he admitted the justice
of it, he was exceedingly irritated.
“I much regret,” he said stiffly, and a little pompously—“I much
regret what you are pleased to call my indiscretion, but I am not
accustomed to experiences of this nature. I can say no more.”
“Have you anything to add?” asked the coroner, relenting a little, but
still stern.
If the worthy Canon had been feeling normal he might have said more.
But he was so acutely concerned with what he considered an undignified
situation that he merely remarked:
“Nothing. Except that the brand is that of a particular cigar which I
smoke myself.”
It was here that the foreman of the jury interposed:
“May I ask a question?”
But the coroner, after a moment’s thought, said:
“You may ask me to put a question if you please, but in the interests
of the case I imagine the police would rather you did not.”
And the Chief Constable, who had been in whispered consultation with
the superintendent and Colson, immediately exclaimed:
“Thank you. We much prefer that no questions should be asked. We
consider this matter as strictly belonging to the police—at this stage
of the inquiry.”
“I think it does,” replied the coroner. “I shall hand over this cigar
band to you, of course.”
And he laid it on the table. There was one man who never took his eyes
off it for a moment, and that was the detective, who put it in his
pocket-case a minute or two later when the inquiry was formally
adjourned.
“You may stand down, Canon Fittleworth,” said the coroner stiffly.
“Are there any more witnesses?”
There were none.
“You ask for an adjournment,” said the coroner to the superintendent,
“for how long?”
“This day fortnight, sir.”
The coroner consulted his diary. “Will Saturday week do?” he asked. “I
have a case in court on the Monday.”
“That will do very well, sir,” replied the superintendent.
The majority pressed out of the tap-room, Colson and Anthony Crosby
being among the few who remained. The doctor, who had motored Canon
Fittleworth over to Marsh Quay, was in a hurry to get back. As the
latter got into the car, the superintendent came up and said, more in
sorrow than in anger:
“You ought to have given us that cigar band at once, really you ought,
sir.”
“I know I ought,” said the Canon, whose injured pride was beginning to
thaw. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll call later on, if I may—or Colson will—we shall want to see your
particular brand of cigars.”
“Do!”
But when Colson and the superintendent made a closer examination of
that cigar band, they agreed that it might not be worth while
troubling the worthy Canon.
“These parsons aren’t much help,” said Colson sarcastically; “they’d
best stick to preaching and not mix themselves up in our business.
Bother the blighter! I say.”
“I say—how did you manage to miss that cigar band, on the yacht?”
asked the superintendent.
“I can tell you exactly, sir. I made my examination while the body was
on the floor. When they came to lay it out on the table I went on
deck—I was still there when you and the Canon came aboard, you
remember? I made a further examination afterwards, but that band must
have been under Templeton’s body in the first place. That would
account for the Canon finding it.”