The Inquest
The problem with which Dr. Hills had presented French was not so
difficult as it appeared at first sight. There could indeed be only
one solution, but that solution carried with it the proof of what
French had up to then only suspected, that Thurza Darke’s death was
the result of neither accident nor suicide, but definitely of murder.
If the water which the poor girl had swallowed were fresh, it
obviously followed that she had been drowned in fresh water, her body
having afterwards been put into the sea. Why the three fiends had
committed their revolting crime in this way French did not know, but
it was clear that the placing of the body in the sea could have been
done with but one object—to conceal the fact of murder by creating the
appearance of accident. And had it not been for the special knowledge
which French possessed, it was more than likely that the trick would
have been successful.
A further problem immediately arose, trifling in comparison to that of
the girl’s death, but still requiring a decision. Should the discovery
be mentioned at the inquest?
To allow the conspirators to suppose that their scheme had succeeded
would have the obvious advantage of making them less careful. In the
course of his career French had many times experienced the value of
lulling his adversary to complacency, if not to sleep.
On the other hand, it would be difficult to keep the matter quiet. The
doctor would certainly refuse to hold back such material evidence.
This would involve confiding in the coroner and adjourning the inquiry
on some technical ground, as that official would not allow a verdict
inconsistent with the facts to be returned. But an adjournment would
not have the effect desired by French. Until the case was finally
disposed of and a verdict of accidental death returned, the murderers
would remain on tenterhooks, alert and careful.
Eventually French came to the conclusion that it would be best to let
matters take their own course. At the same time he would try to keep
out of the affair, so that Scotland Yard’s interest in it might remain
a secret.
In this case he would not give evidence of identity. His decision
therefore plunged Sergeant Golightly into an orgy of telephoning, in
order that the inquest might be postponed until he could secure the
attendance of Mrs. Peters, the deceased girl’s landlady.
The proceedings opened in the early afternoon. French had taken his
seat amongst the crowd of loafers and other casuals who invariably
attend such gatherings, and held no converse with the police. The room
was crowded, the affair having produced a mild sensation.
The first witness was a tall, bronzed man of about thirty, named
Austin Munn. He deposed that he lived at Lee-on-the-Solent and he was
owner of the schooner yacht _Thisbe_. At about 6.30 on the previous
morning he and three yachting friends had started off in the _Thisbe_
for a long day’s sail. They were going east through Spithead and
towards Brighton. When they were passing through Stokes Bay, some
three or four miles from Lee he saw something in the water. He was at
the tiller and he altered course to pass it closely. When they came
near they saw that it was the body of a young woman. They hove to
immediately and brought it aboard. They tried artificial respiration
for over an hour, though none of them thought it would be any good.
The girl looked as if she had been dead for some hours. The body was
that on which the inquest was being held. They turned into Portsmouth
and on arrival one of his friends had gone to inform the police. The
sergeant had come down at once and arranged for the removal of the
remains.
Sergeant Golightly stated that about 8.30 on the previous morning Mr.
Lewis Pershaw, one of Mr. Munn’s yachting party, reported that his
yacht had picked up the body of a young woman when starting out for a
cruise. He, Golightly, had gone down and taken charge of the remains.
The deceased was dressed in a light fawn coat and skirt, with a white
silk blouse, flesh-coloured stockings and black patent shoes. She had
no hat. On her left wrist was a watch which had stopped at seven
minutes past one. She wore a necklace and ear-rings of imitation
pearls. Her face was calm and peaceful.
As a result of his inquiries he had learnt that the deceased was a
Miss Thurza Darke, an employee at the Milan Cinema in Oxford Street,
London. She lodged in a boarding house in Clapham and the landlady was
present and would give evidence of identity. He had been unable to
find out how the body had reached the place in which it was found.
Mrs. Peters was then called. She deposed that the remains were those
of her late lodger, Thurza Darke. The girl had lived with her for
nearly a year. She was quiet and well conducted, prompt in payment,
and popular with the other boarders. She, Mrs. Peters, had become
quite fond of her and this tragedy had come as a terrible shock.
Further questions elicited the fact that the witness believed that her
boarder had recently been in some serious trouble. For the last couple
of weeks in particular she had lost a good deal of her brightness and
seemed to have some worry on her mind. But she had not said anything
on the subject and Mrs. Peters had not tried to force her confidence.
The witness then told of the telephone call. Though this had surprised
her, never having heard Miss Darke mention any of her relations, she
had not doubted its genuineness at the time. It was not till
afterwards that she had learnt from the police that Miss Darke had not
sent it.
The fat was then in the fire. When Mrs. Peters left the box Sergeant
Golightly was recalled and asked if he had made inquiries into the
authorship of the message. His reply that he had ascertained that it
had not been sent by any of the officials at the cinema was the first
hint those present had received that the case might not be quite so
straightforward as up to then it had seemed. Interest in the
proceedings perceptibly quickened and the spectators leant forward and
fixed their eyes more intently on the witness. But except to obtain
the statement that Golightly had been unable to trace the call and had
no idea who sent it, the coroner had no further questions to ask.
Dr. Hills was the next witness. He deposed that he had at first made
an external examination of the remains, by means of which he had
satisfied himself that the deceased had died from drowning. He gave
technical details as to the condition of the body, stating that in his
opinion death had taken place some eight to nine hours previous to his
inspection. That had been made about ten o’clock and this, if he was
correct in his opinion, would place the hour of death somewhere
between one and two in the morning.
“That would agree with the time at which the watch stopped,” the
coroner remarked, turning over his notes. “The hands were pointing to
one-seven, Sergeant Golightly has told us. Now, Dr. Hills, you said
that at first you made an external examination of the remains. What
exactly did you mean by ‘at first’?”
“Last night late police came to my house. Said they were not
satisfied. Had an idea there might be foul play. Wanted a post-mortem.
I made it with Dr. Carswell.”
“And did you find anything which might be taken to support their
idea?” the coroner asked, while the recently aroused interest
intensified.
The doctor hesitated.
“Found a peculiar fact,” he answered. “Outside my province to draw
inferences.”
“And the fact?”
“Water in the lungs and stomach was fresh.”
The statement produced something in the nature of a sensation. The
faces of most of those present assumed an expression of bewilderment,
but a few seemed instantly to grasp its significance.
“And what,” went on the coroner smoothly, “did this fact convey to
you?”
Dr. Hills shrugged. “Girl was drowned,” he declared, “but not in sea.
Couldn’t have put herself into sea. Body must have been put in by
someone else. Least, strikes me that way.”
“Did the remains show any sign of force or compulsion?”
“None.”
For a moment the coroner hesitated when he had written down this
reply, his forehead wrinkled from thought.
“Now, doctor,” he said at last, “you know this country pretty well, I
take it?”
“Lived here all my life.”
“Is there, so far as you know, any river or fresh water area into
which this poor girl could have fallen and from which her body could
have been carried to the sea where it was found?”
“Don’t know of any.”
Again the coroner hesitated.
“It must be evident to you, Dr. Hills, that your evidence suggests at
least the possibility of foul play. I want to ask you now, not only
from a medical point of view, but also from your experience as a man
of the world, whether you can suggest any explanation of the facts
other than that of the murder of the deceased?”
At the ominous word a little ripple of movement passed over the
assembly, followed immediately by a silence as those present settled
down to listen even more intently. Dr. Hills shrugged again.
“Utmost respect: scarcely my province. Since you ask: private opinion:
girl was murdered.”
“But there is no definite medical evidence for that view?”
“None. Girl was drowned in fresh water. That is all.”
The coroner looked round.
“Would any member of the jury like to ask the witness a question
before he stands down?”
A small foxy-faced man like a tradesman or small shopkeeper rose to
his feet.
“I would like to ask the doctor just what the police said to him about
foul play, and then I would like to ask the sergeant just what made
him say it.”
“That is an important point and one I have already noted,” the coroner
replied. “Dr. Hills stated,”—he referred to his notes—“that he was
asked to make a post-mortem, as the police had an idea there might be
foul play. Have you anything further, Dr. Hills, to add to that
statement?”
“Nothing. That covers everything.”
“The nature of the police suspicion was not revealed?”
“No. Not in detail.”
“And was the doctor not curious? Did he not ask?” interjected the
foxy-faced juror.
The coroner frowned. “The witness has said the nature of the
suspicions was not revealed in detail,” he said coldly, glancing at
the juror. “Were you told in a general way that murder was feared?”
“In a general way, yes. No details.”
“Who spoke to you on the subject?”
This was the question French was dreading. If the matter were pressed,
there would be nothing for it but for him to give evidence.
The doctor looked as if he were going to hedge, then he seemed to
think better of it and answered:
“Sergeant Golightly and a representative, as I understood it, from
Scotland Yard.”
At this a little ripple of movement swept over the assembly. From the
spectators’ point of view things were going better and better.
“And it was the Scotland Yard man, I presume, who promulgated the
suspicion?”
“That is so.”
“You may stand down, doctor, but please don’t go away. Recall Sergeant
Golightly. You didn’t tell us, sergeant, that you had received a visit
from an officer of Scotland Yard.”
“You may rest assured, sir, that all the essential facts would have
been put before the court. As you know, sir, it is not customary for
the police to state the sources of their information.”
“I am not criticizing your conduct, sergeant, nor do I wish to
embarrass your handling of the case, but if there is further
information as to how your suspicions became aroused which you can
properly give us, we should be glad to hear it.”
The sergeant glanced at French. To the latter it seemed that less harm
would now be done if he himself gave evidence than if a mystery were
made of the affair. He therefore nodded and the sergeant replied:
“There is no mystery in the matter, sir. I can tell you everything
that occurred. I admit that no suspicion of foul play was aroused by
the finding of the body. It seemed to me a case of either accident or
suicide. But that afternoon a call was received from Scotland Yard, a
general call, sent, I understand, to all stations. This said that a
young lady was missing, giving her description and asking for a
lookout to be kept for her. When I read it I thought it probably
referred to the deceased. I telephoned so to the Yard and there was a
reply that an inspector would come down by the evening train to see if
he could identify the remains. Inspector French arrived and did so. He
said that the possibility of foul play must not be overlooked and
suggested that a post-mortem should be made. With the consent of my
superiors the matter was arranged. Inspector French then told me who
the deceased was and where I should go to get a witness of identity.”
“Has Inspector French returned to London?”
“No, sir. He’s here.”
“Here now? Then call him.”
As French entered the box the little ripple of excitement was
repeated. A full-fledged inspector of the famous C.I.D. was an
unwonted sight in the local courts and people craned forward to see
what manner of man he might be.
In the meantime French had made up his mind as to what he would say.
He would of course tell the truth, but perhaps not the whole truth. In
such matters his conscience was a trifle elastic. He justified his
conduct by considering the admirable end for which his evasions were
invariably made.
“Now, Mr. French,” the coroner went on when he had noted the witness’s
name and occupation. “Will you please tell us all you properly can of
this matter.”
“There is not much to tell, sir,” French replied in his pleasant but
respectful manner. “Some time ago I had occasion to visit the Milan
Cinema in Oxford Street, and I became acquainted with one of the young
ladies in the box office, a Miss Thurza Darke.”
French, with an admirable air of candour, made a slight pause as if he
had reached the end of a paragraph. Immediately he went on:
“Yesterday I was again at the Milan, and I noticed that Miss Darke’s
place was empty. I asked about her and what I was told did not seem
quite satisfactory. As a result I made some inquiries and learned that
Miss Darke had left the Milan at her usual time on the previous
evening, quite in her ordinary frame of mind and without making any
special remark to anyone there. From Mrs. Peters, her landlady, who
gave evidence here today, I learnt about the telephone message. The
fact that this message was a false one confirmed my suspicion that all
might not be well, particularly as no reason could be suggested for
the girl’s disappearance. Considering all the circumstances it was
judged wise to issue a circular that she was missing. This was done
and there was a reply from here, as you have heard. I came down and
saw that the deceased was Miss Darke.”
“And have you any idea as to how her body got into the sea?”
“None, sir.”
“What does the fact that fresh water was found in the deceased’s lungs
convey to you, Inspector?”
“Just what the doctor has said, sir; that she was drowned in fresh
water and that her body was afterwards put into the sea.”
“Can you account for that in any way other than that the girl was
murdered?”
“That is certainly the most probable explanation, though I think there
are others. For instance, the girl might have been drowned
accidentally or committed suicide and her body might have been found
by someone who feared that he might be accused of murder and therefore
in a moment of panic tried to get rid of it in a way that he hoped
would keep him from suspicion.”
“That doesn’t seem very probable.”
“It does not, sir, but one has to consider all possibilities.”
The coroner continued asking questions, but without learning anything
further of interest. Then he turned to the jury and made a short
speech. Having surveyed the evidence he continued:
“The questions which you have now to consider, gentlemen, are three in
number. First, you have to find the cause of death, if in your opinion
the evidence justifies you in doing so. Now to my mind there can be no
doubt of this. Dr. Hills has told us definitely that it was drowning.
Secondly, you have to decide whether this drowning was caused
accidentally or whether it was suicide or whether it was murder. Here
the evidence is not so direct. It has been established, however, that
the girl was drowned in fresh water and the body afterwards placed in
the sea, because apart from Dr. Hills’ testimony, we all know that
there is no river hereabouts into which the deceased could fall and in
that space of time be carried by the current to where she was found.
It is difficult to see with what object this could have been done save
that of hiding a crime. If you think that these views are borne out by
the evidence you will return a verdict of wilful murder. If, on the
other hand, you consider some other explanation tenable, such as the
ingenious one advanced by Inspector French, you may return that of
accidental death. If you consider that the evidence points to suicide
you will find accordingly.
“Your third question follows from the answer you give to the second.
If you find that murder has been committed you must state, if you can,
the guilty party or parties. As to this it appears to me that no
evidence of any kind has been placed before you. But here again you
must form your own opinion.”
Contrary to French’s opinion, the jury elected to retire. For half an
hour they considered the matter, then at last brought in the verdict
which had seemed to him self-evident—wilful murder by some person or
persons unknown.