A DEAD LOCK.
"The Little Busy Bee" and the other evening papers were kept very busy
that afternoon. So far as the examination of the witnesses and the
Coroner's address were concerned, the inquest was over, and it had
been expected that the verdict would soon be delivered; but although
the jury had been deliberating (some persons declared squabbling)
since three o'clock, and it was now past five, no verdict was yet
returned. It was rumoured that there was a serious difference of
opinion between them on more than one point, and it was certain that
they had obstinately refused to be guided by the Coroner, whose
authority they set at naught. In vain did he argue, remonstrate, and
expostulate with them; in vain did he draw up the form of verdict
which he said it was their duty to deliver; they refused point blank
to sign the paper.
Animated discussions took place as to what the verdict would be, and
so keen is the love of sport in the British mind that odds were laid
on this or that conclusion. A verdict of Murder against Mr. Reginald
Boyd was first favourite; two to one on it. A verdict of Murder
against some person or persons unknown was second favourite, six to
four against it. A verdict of Murder against Mr. Abel Death, fifty to
one against it. The names and the odds were freely bandied about, and
there were many persons who discussed them with a light, not to say
jovial, air; while Reginald and Florence, and Aunt and Uncle Rob
awaited the result with feelings it is not difficult to imagine.
Quick to take advantage of opportunity, the newspapers poured out
edition after edition, seizing upon the most trivial incidents as
headline-pegs upon which to hang their ingenious vapourings.
"At half-past four," records "The Little Busy Bee," "the Coroner again
asked the jury whether there was any special or knotty point upon
which they needed information or direction. The foreman replied that
they did not need direction in matters of fact, but that there was a
difference of opinion among the jury, who held such strong views upon
certain aspects of the case, that it was doubtful whether any definite
verdict would be arrived at.
"The Coroner: 'There must be a verdict of some kind. I presume there is
no doubt in your minds that a murder has been committed?'
"The Foreman: 'None whatever. We are agreed upon that.'
"The Coroner: 'You know the common form. A verdict of Murder against
some person or persons unknown would obviate the difficulty.'
"The Juror: 'It would not. I have followed the case very carefully,
and have come to a conclusion.'
"The Coroner: 'You are open to reason, I hope.'
"The Juror: 'As open as yourself, Mr. Coroner, and, strange as you may
think it, I claim to possess an average intelligence. Throughout the
whole of this inquiry it has been forced upon me that there has been
far too much dictation.'
"The Coroner: 'At whose hands, sir?'
"The Juror: 'At yours, Mr. Coroner. You have treated us like a flock
of sheep, and I, for one, object to be driven.'
"The Coroner: 'I pass over the want of respect you show in your manner
of addressing me. Gentlemen, in my long service as Coroner this is an
entirely new experience, and I greatly regret it. In view of the
serious differences of opinion between you, it is advisable that you
take your law from me.'
"The Juror: 'I shall not. I stand upon common sense.'
"The Coroner: 'Gentlemen, this is foreign to the duty you are called
upon to perform. Continue your deliberations, and arrive at your
verdict as expeditiously as the interests of justice will allow.'
"It would be obviously improper," said "The Little Busy Bee," "at this
stage of the inquiry, to make any comments upon this very unusual
scene. When the verdict is given we shall have something to say upon
the rights and privileges of coroners and juries, which seem to be
imperfectly understood."
One of the most conspicuous headlines in the journals now was,
"Deadlock among the Jury on the Catchpole Square Murder." It was weary
waiting for the parties vitally interested in the result. Florence and
Aunt Rob entreated Reginald to leave the Court, but he refused, and
Uncle Rob upheld him. "Reginald must remain till it is over," he said.
He suspected that Reginald would be followed by the police if he went
away.
Meanwhile, news of the rewards offered by Reginald for the discovery
of the murderer and of Abel Death had become widely known, and was
freely discussed. And upon the top of this came another piece of news.
All over London billstickers were pasting offers of another reward
offered by Lady Wharton's lawyers for the discovery of her jewels, of
which a detailed list was printed in the bills. Advertisements were
also inserted in the evening journals to the same effect. So the
excitement was fed and kept up.
Once, when Uncle Rob went from the court to get a little fresh air,
Detective Lambert came up and spoke to him.
"A long job," he said.
"A wickedly long job," responded Uncle Rob.
"I saw your nephew this morning," said Lambert, "sticking up the
reward bills. He's the kind of chap that nothing comes amiss to; an
all-round sort of chap; can turn his hand to anything. Just think of a
young fellow like that turning bill-sticker. Not at all a bad move.
It's a lumping reward, £500. Do you know what he said to me? 'Why not
earn it?' says he, and says it as if he meant it."
"He wouldn't have said it if he hadn't meant it."
"Will it be paid?"
"If it's earned," replied Uncle Rob, "and I hope to God it soon will
be!"
"Ah," said Lambert, and gave his brother officer a covert, sidelong
look. "See here, Robson. We had a private talk together, and I made
you a promise."
"Yes, you did," said Uncle Rob, and accustomed as he ought to have
been, as an inspector of police, to strange surprises, there was a
flutter at his heart. But then it was a beloved daughter's happiness
that was at stake.
"I promised to give you timely notice," continued Lambert, "when
something was going to happen."
"Yes."
"I never go from my word. Something _is_ going to happen. I'm only
waiting here till the verdict's given, and then----"
"And then?"
"Your son-in-law's in Court, facing it like a man," said Lambert,
branching off, "and I admire him for it. Supposing the verdict runs,
'some person or persons unknown,' he'll be coming out with the ladies
on his way home when the sheet's signed."
"Yes, he will; and if it runs the other way?"
"Meaning if it's brought against him by name?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, of course he'll be prepared."
"He's prepared for anything, Lambert; he's made up his mind to it: so
have we all." Uncle Rob spoke in a sad tone; these two men perfectly
understood each other, though the meaning of what they said would not
have been clear to a stranger.
"Step aside, Robson," said Lambert, and his voice was friendly, "and
let us talk as if it was the weather we were interested in. Cloudy
to-day, fine to-morrow; there's no telling what changes to expect in
such a blessed climate as ours. So it is with human nature; up to-day,
down to-morrow, and the other way round. All's well that ends well,
eh?"
"Yes," said Uncle Rob, mechanically.
"Prepared for anything he is," Lambert went on. "I call that sensible
and manly; but he's been that all through. So what I say is, to save a
scene, wouldn't it be a good thing to get your wife and daughter out
of the way?"
"How?"
"Well, by letting them go home by themselves. When two women are
together like that, with trouble ahead, they're a comfort to each
other. They must be tired out of their lives sitting in that stuffy
court all day. A pair of bricks I call them; I should be proud, I
should indeed, Robson, if they were my wife and daughter. Proud you
must be of them--in a melancholy way, as things are, but that's
natural under the circumstances. Wheedle them home, Robson, and let us
get the business over quietly."
Uncle Rob knew what was meant by "the business." "It's decided upon,
then," he said.
"Yes, and I've got the warrant in my pocket."
"Whatever the verdict is?"
"Whatever the verdict is."
"Is there anything against him," asked Uncle Rob, with a sinking
heart, "beyond what has come out in the inquest?"
"Nothing; but that is supposed to be enough to commence with. Get the
ladies away quietly, just whisper a word to him, and we'll walk along
as comfortably as possible, and no one the wiser. I've kept it snug on
purpose for your sake."
"It's kind of you, but there's no getting the women away; they'll not
make a scene," said Uncle Rob, huskily; he was thinking of Florence.
"We've talked it over among ourselves, and I think it would alter your
opinion if you could have heard my son-in-law this morning."
"How do you know what my opinion is?" asked Lambert, in his most
leisurely manner.
"I _don't_ know. We couldn't help seeing the way the case was going,
and if it could be done in a lawful and legal way, Reginald would not
wait to be brought before a judge. He would go himself and say, 'What
have you got against me? Here I am, ready to answer it.'"
"But it can't be done that way. There's a settled form to go through,
and we must abide by it. Well, I've given my advice, and it's a pity
the ladies should be present, but if you say it can't be helped, well,
it can't be, and there's an end of it. What do you think about giving
them a hint beforehand. It'll break the shock."
"Yes, I might do that," said Uncle Rob.
He looked up into Lambert's face; he could do that, being the shorter
man by two inches. He was well acquainted with Lambert's character,
and knew that he was kindly disposed towards him, but there was so
much more consideration evinced for his feelings than he could
reasonably have expected that it seemed to him as if Lambert was
keeping something in the background. Lambert returned his gaze
steadily and impenetrably, and passed his hand over his chin with more
than his customary thoughtfulness, but there was nothing in that
action to enlighten Uncle Rob as to what was passing in his mind.
Still he was emboldened to say,
"Speaking as we are in confidence, is there anything behind this,
Lambert, that would bring hope and comfort to my wife and daughter?"
Lambert's hand travelled from his chin to his under lip, which he
softly pinched as caressingly as if he were smoothing a favourite cat.
"Why shouldn't she hope?" he said. "What's going to be done is only
what might be expected. If her husband wasn't prepared for it of
course it would be different, but as it is----" He seemed to think the
uncompleted sentence sufficiently expressive, for he did not finish
it.
"You'll wait till the verdict's given?" said Uncle Rob.
"I'll wait a reasonable time; I can't say more than that, because I
shouldn't be surprised--and don't you be--if something happens that I
can't call to mind has ever happened before in a murder inquest, and
that is, that the jury will either give no verdict at all, or will
give one that the Coroner will refuse to accept. There's a man among
them who's bent upon having his own way, and that will stick out like
grim death if he can't bring the others to his way of thinking. He's a
kind of animal not often met with on juries, but there he is, and has
to be reckoned with. A curious point, isn't it? But you can make up
your mind to one thing. So far as justice is concerned there will be
no dead lock. I've got hold of the reins, and I'll see to that."
Uncle Rob searched his mind for a clue, and did not find it. Lambert's
voice was resolute and stern, and he was about to arrest a man to save
whose life Uncle Rob would have laid down his own; and yet here he was
unbosoming himself in a friendly and confiding way to the very person
against whose happiness he was conspiring. It would have taken a wiser
head than Uncle Rob's to solve the enigma. What Lambert said next did
not help to make matters clearer.
"And don't take it too much to heart," he said, with a soothing pat on
Uncle Rob's shoulder. "I know what I'm about, so don't take it too
much to heart. It's the advice of a friend, Robson."
"There's cold comfort in it when the charge is murder, and a man's
life is hanging to it," said Uncle Rob.
"Perhaps so, perhaps so, if you look at it only from the outside; but
there's another view."
"What is it?"
"That's _my_ secret. When I let it out you'll see what I'm driving at.
I've done one or two things in my time, and this will be the climax."
He smacked his lips with a relish, and repeated, "The climax. I put it
to you, Robson, old man, whether it isn't better that the arrest
should be made by a friendly hand than by the hand of a stranger? I'm
not the only one who's itching to get the credit of clearing up a
mystery that's set all London ringing; and we're not half done with it
yet, not half done. It's a feather in one's cap to be mixed up with
it." He rubbed his hands. "No wonder others are keen upon it, but
there's only one man in England that's got his finger on the pulse of
the mystery, and that's the man that's talking to you now, and taking
you, in a manner of speaking, into his confidence."
"And that is why you are going to arrest my son-in-law," said Uncle
Rob, rather bitterly.
"And that is why," said Lambert, cheerfully, "I am going to arrest
your son-in-law on the charge of murdering his father, Mr. Samuel
Boyd, of Catchpole Square. Before long you'll be shaking me by the
hand, and thanking me for what I'm doing."
"Then you don't believe him guilty?" said Uncle Rob, eagerly.
"Don't ask me for opinions. I've been open with you for old times'
sake, but my opinions, for the present, I keep to myself." He looked
at his watch. "What time are you due at the station, Robson."
"I must be there within the hour. I wish I'd resigned, or asked to be
suspended."
"The worst move you could have made. Duty's duty. There was a Roman
father once--I don't remember his name--that sent his own son to
execution, and looked on while it was done."
"What do you mean?" asked Uncle Rob. His voice trembled, his fingers
twined convulsively.
"It's plain enough," said Lambert, half roughly. "You're on night duty
at Bishop Street Station."
"And the charge will be laid there!" cried Uncle Rob, a cold
perspiration breaking out on his forehead.
"It's in the district; it's the nearest station. There's no help for
it; I wish there was."
"They'll never forgive me, never!" said Uncle Rob. "My own child,
Lambert, my own child! To strike a death blow at my own child!"
"Who's talking of death blows? Pull yourself together. It's better so;
you can make things easier for him. As for forgiveness, they're not
the women I take them for if they harbour a thought against you.
They're true grit, that's what they are."
"There's something going on in Court."
They hurried in together, and were present at another altercation
between Coroner and jury, the leading actors in it being, as before,
the Coroner and the recalcitrant juror. From the flushed faces of the
jurymen it was evident that there had been a heated discussion.
Finally the Coroner proposed to take the verdict of the majority, and
another difficulty presented itself.
"There's no majority," said the foreman, who appeared to be the most
helpless of the party. "As a matter of fact we are split into three
camps of equal numbers, and no one will give way."
"Is there no possibility of your agreeing?" inquired the Coroner.
"If we were locked up for a week," replied the foreman, "I don't
believe we should agree."
"Well," said the Coroner, with a motion as if he were giving up the
thing in despair, "let me know in plain terms how the matter stands,
and I will see what can be done."
"We will put it down in writing," said the foreman.
Thereupon the jury retired, and after a lapse of twenty minutes or so
returned with three documents, which were handed to the Coroner. They
revealed an extraordinary state of affairs.
The first, signed by four jurymen, was a verdict of Wilful Murder
against some person or persons unknown.
The second, signed by four other jurymen, was a verdict of Wilful
Murder against Abel Death.
When this was read out a shriek rang through the court, and Mrs.
Death, starting to her feet, screamed in wild tones,
"You wicked liars! You liars! You wicked liars!"
With great difficulty she was silenced, and restrained from rushing to
the spot where the jurymen were clustered together.
The third document, signed by other four jurymen, was a verdict of
Wilful Murder against Reginald Boyd.
"Do you present these to me in all seriousness?" asked the Coroner.
"They are the conclusions arrived at by the jury," replied the Juror.
"With eight of my colleagues I do not agree, but for all that I have
not hectored them."
"Your conduct during this inquiry is open to severe censure," said the
Coroner, "and you strangely misapprehend your duty. Gentlemen, you
have presented me with three separate verdicts, which you must have
known I cannot accept. The dissensions which have arisen amongst you
are deeply regrettable, and I tell you plainly you have not served the
cause of justice. I have placed before you a form of verdict which
would meet the general view of the case, and leave the matter open to
the proper authorities. You have declined to be guided by me, and I am
afraid it would be useless to argue any longer with you. What do you
say, Mr. Foreman?"
"From the differences that exist between us, sir, quite useless,"
replied the foreman.
"The position is a difficult one, and I must take time to consider it.
I regret, gentlemen, that I cannot discharge you from your labours,
but that is no fault of mine. You will attend this court next Thursday
morning at eleven o'clock. By that time, perhaps, something may
transpire which will settle your doubts--which I trust," he added,
"are conscientious doubts."
The announcement that their labours were not at an end was received by
the jury with murmurs of dissatisfaction.
"The remedy lies with yourselves," said the Coroner. "In a criminal
court where the jury disagree, the case may be put back and tried
again before a fresh jury, but this cannot be done in a Coroner's
Court. Before I finally discharge you, you will have to return a
verdict. You will be here this day week punctually at eleven o'clock
in the morning."
The court then broke up.
There were still a great many spectators who had waited in the
expectation that a verdict would be delivered, and they filed out
slowly, eagerly discussing the position of affairs, one man declaring
that the Catchpole Square Mystery, from first to last, was nothing but
a series of the most startling sensations, adding, "And I'm greatly
mistaken if there's not more to come." He rolled this round his
tongue, as if it were a delectable morsel. Detective Lambert, without
seeming to notice Reginald, was almost the first to leave the court,
and he stood outside, smoothing his chin, a target for all eyes, for
his fame had travelled far and wide, and it was already rumoured that
he had "taken up" the Catchpole Square Mystery. Two or three of the
jurymen still lingered within the court, and glanced with curiosity at
the Robson group and at Mrs. Death, whose state of agitation it was
pitiable to witness. Now she beat the air with her trembling hands,
now she clasped them convulsively, while inarticulate words of protest
dropped from her quivering lips. All these persons moved slowly to the
door of the courthouse.