It is impossible to read and weigh the facts in connection with
the conviction of Oscar Slater in May, 1909, at the High Court in
Edinburgh, without feeling deeply dissatisfied with the proceedings,
and morally certain that justice was not done. Under the circumstances
of Scotch law I am not clear how far any remedy exists, but it will,
in my opinion, be a serious scandal if the man be allowed upon such
evidence to spend his life in a convict prison. The verdict which led
to his condemnation to death, was given by a jury of fifteen, who
voted: Nine for “Guilty,” five for “Non-proven,” and one for “Not
Guilty.” Under English law, this division of opinion would naturally
have given cause for a new trial. In Scotland the man was condemned to
death, he was only reprieved two days before his execution, and he is
now working out a life sentence in Peterhead convict establishment.
How far the verdict was a just one, the reader may judge for himself
when he has perused a connected story of the case.
There lived in Glasgow in the year 1908, an old maiden lady named Miss
Marion Gilchrist. She had lived for thirty years in the one flat, which
was on the first floor in 15, Queen’s Terrace. The flat above hers was
vacant, and the only immediate neighbours were a family named Adams,
living on the ground floor below, their house having a separate door
which was close alongside the flat entrance. The old lady had one
servant, named Helen Lambie, who was a girl twenty-one years of age.
This girl had been with Miss Gilchrist for three or four years. By all
accounts Miss Gilchrist was a most estimable person, leading a quiet
and uneventful life. She was comfortably off, and she had one singular
characteristic for a lady of her age and surroundings, in that she
had made a collection of jewelry of considerable value. These jewels,
which took the form of brooches, rings, pendants, etc., were bought
at different times, extending over a considerable number of years,
from a reputable jeweller. I lay stress upon the fact, as some wild
rumour was circulated at the time that the old lady might herself be a
criminal receiver. Such an idea could not be entertained. She seldom
wore her jewelry save in single pieces, and as her life was a retired
one, it is difficult to see how anyone outside a very small circle
could have known of her hoard. The value of this treasure was about
three thousand pounds. It was a fearful joy which she snatched from
its possession, for she more than once expressed apprehension that she
might be attacked and robbed. Her fears had the practical result that
she attached two patent locks to her front door, and that she arranged
with the Adams family underneath that in case of alarm she would signal
to them by knocking upon the floor.
It was the household practice that Lambie, the maid, should go out
and get an evening paper for her mistress about seven o’clock each
day. After bringing the paper she then usually went out again upon
the necessary shopping. This routine was followed upon the night
of December 21st. She left her mistress seated by the fire in the
dining-room reading a magazine. Lambie took the keys with her, shut
the flat door, closed the hall door downstairs, and was gone about ten
minutes upon her errand. It is the events of those ten minutes which
form the tragedy and the mystery which were so soon to engage the
attention of the public.
According to the girl’s evidence, it was a minute or two before seven
when she went out. At about seven, Mr. Arthur Adams and his two sisters
were in their dining-room immediately below the room in which the old
lady had been left. Suddenly they heard “a noise from above, then a
very heavy fall, and then three sharp knocks.” They were alarmed at
the sound, and the young man at once set off to see if all was right.
He ran out of his hall door, through the hall door of the flats, which
was open, and so up to the first floor, where he found Miss Gilchrist’s
door shut. He rang three times without an answer. From within, however,
he heard a sound which he compared to the breaking of sticks. He
imagined therefore that the servant girl was within, and that she was
engaged in her household duties. After waiting for a minute or two,
he seems to have convinced himself that all was right. He therefore
descended again and returned to his sisters, who persuaded him to go
up once more to the flat. This he did and rang for the fourth time. As
he was standing with his hand upon the bell, straining his ears and
hearing nothing, someone approached up the stairs from below. It was
the young servant-maid, Helen Lambie, returning from her errand. The
two held council for a moment. Young Adams described the noise which
had been heard. Lambie said that the pulleys of the clothes-lines in
the kitchen must have given way. It was a singular explanation, since
the kitchen was not above the dining-room of the Adams, and one would
not expect any great noise from the fall of a cord which suspended
sheets or towels. However, it was a moment of agitation, and the girl
may have said the first explanation which came into her head. She then
put her keys into the two safety locks and opened the door.
At this point there is a curious little discrepancy of evidence. Lambie
is prepared to swear that she remained upon the mat beside young Adams.
Adams is equally positive that she walked several paces down the hall.
This inside hall was lit by a gas, which turned half up, and shining
through a coloured shade, gave a sufficient, but not a brilliant light.
Says Adams: “I stood at the door on the threshold, half in and half
out, and just when the girl had got past the clock to go into the
kitchen, a well-dressed man appeared. I did not suspect him, and she
said nothing; and he came up to me quite pleasantly. I did not suspect
anything wrong for the minute. I thought the man was going to speak to
me, till he got past me, and then I suspected something wrong, and by
that time the girl ran into the kitchen and put the gas up and said it
was all right, meaning her pulleys. I said: ‘Where is your mistress?’
and she went into the dining-room. She said: ‘Oh! come here!’ I just
went in and saw this horrible spectacle.”
The spectacle in question was the poor old lady lying upon the floor
close by the chair in which the servant had last seen her. Her feet
were towards the door, her head towards the fireplace. She lay upon
a hearth-rug, but a skin rug had been thrown across her head. Her
injuries were frightful, nearly every bone of her face and skull
being smashed. In spite of her dreadful wounds she lingered for a few
minutes, but died without showing any sign of consciousness.
The murderer when he had first appeared had emerged from one of the two
bedrooms at the back of the hall, the larger, or spare bedroom, not
the old lady’s room. On passing Adams upon the doormat, which he had
done with the utmost coolness, he had at once rushed down the stair.
It was a dark and drizzly evening, and it seems that he made his way
along one or two quiet streets until he was lost in the more crowded
thoroughfares. He had left no weapon nor possession of any sort in
the old lady’s flat, save a box of matches with which he had lit the
gas in the bedroom from which he had come. In this bedroom a number
of articles of value, including a watch, lay upon the dressing-table,
but none of them had been touched. A box containing papers had been
forced open, and these papers were found scattered upon the floor. If
he were really in search of the jewels, he was badly informed, for
these were kept among the dresses in the old lady’s wardrobe. Later, a
single crescent diamond brooch, an article worth perhaps forty or fifty
pounds, was found to be missing. Nothing else was taken from the flat.
It is remarkable that though the furniture round where the body lay was
spattered with blood, and one would have imagined that the murderer’s
hands must have been stained, no mark was seen upon the half-consumed
match with which he had lit the gas, nor upon the match-box, the box
containing papers, nor any other thing which he may have touched in the
bedroom.
We come now to the all-important question of the description of
the man seen at such close quarters by Adams and Lambie. Adams was
short-sighted and had not his spectacles with him. His evidence at the
trial ran thus:
“He was a man a little taller and a little broader than I am, not a
well-built man but well featured and clean-shaven, and I cannot exactly
swear to his moustache, but if he had any it was very little. He was
rather a commercial traveller type, or perhaps a clerk, and I did not
know but what he might be one of her friends. He had on dark trousers
and a light overcoat. I could not say if it were fawn or grey. I do
not recollect what sort of hat he had. He seemed gentlemanly and
well-dressed. He had nothing in his hand so far as I could tell. I did
not notice anything about his way of walking.”
Helen Lambie, the other spectator, could give no information about
the face (which rather bears out Adams’ view as to her position), and
could only say that he wore a round cloth hat, a three-quarter length
overcoat of a grey colour, and that he had some peculiarity in his
walk. As the distance traversed by the murderer within sight of Lambie
could be crossed in four steps, and as these steps were taken under
circumstances of peculiar agitation, it is difficult to think that any
importance could be attached to this last item in the description.
It is impossible to avoid some comment upon the actions of Helen Lambie
during the incidents just narrated, which can only be explained by
supposing that from the time she saw Adams waiting outside her door,
her whole reasoning faculty had deserted her. First, she explained
the great noise heard below: “The ceiling was like to crack,” said
Adams, by the fall of a clothes-line and its pulleys of attachment,
which could not possibly, one would imagine, have produced any such
effect. She then declares that she remained upon the mat, while Adams
is convinced that she went right down the hall. On the appearance of
the stranger she did not gasp out: “Who are you?” or any other sign
of amazement, but allowed Adams to suppose by her silence that the
man might be someone who had a right to be there. Finally, instead of
rushing at once to see if her mistress was safe, she went into the
kitchen, still apparently under the obsession of the pulleys. She
informed Adams that they were all right, as if it mattered to any
human being; thence she went into the spare bedroom, where she must
have seen that robbery had been committed, since an open box lay in the
middle of the floor. She gave no alarm however, and it was only when
Adams called out: “Where is your mistress?” that she finally went into
the room of the murder. It must be admitted that this seems strange
conduct, and only explicable, if it can be said to be explicable, by
great want of intelligence and grasp of the situation.
On Tuesday, December 22nd, the morning after the murder, the Glasgow
police circulated a description of the murderer, founded upon the joint
impressions of Adams and of Lambie. It ran thus:
“A man between 25 and 30 years of age, five foot eight or nine inches
in height, slim build, dark hair, clean-shaven, dressed in light grey
overcoat and dark cloth cap.”
Four days later, however, upon Christmas Day, the police found
themselves in a position to give a more detailed description:
“The man wanted is about 28 or 30 years of age, tall and thin, with
his face shaved clear of all hair, while a distinctive feature is that
his nose is slightly turned to one side. The witness thinks the twist
is to the right side. He wore one of the popular tweed hats known as
Donegal hats, and a fawn-coloured overcoat which might have been a
waterproof, also dark trousers and brown boots.”
The material from which these further points were gathered, came from a
young girl of fifteen, in humble life, named Mary Barrowman. According
to this new evidence, the witness was passing the scene of the murder
shortly after seven o’clock upon the fatal night. She saw a man run
hurriedly down the steps, and he passed her under a lamp-post. The
incandescent light shone clearly upon him. He ran on, knocking against
the witness in his haste, and disappeared round a corner. On hearing
later of the murder, she connected this incident with it. Her general
recollections of the man were as given in the description, and the grey
coat and cloth cap of the first two witnesses were given up in favour
of the fawn coat and round Donegal hat of the young girl. Since she
had seen no peculiarity in his walk, and they had seen none in his
nose, there is really nothing the same in the two descriptions save the
“clean-shaven,” the “slim build” and the approximate age.
It was on the evening of Christmas Day that the police came at last
upon a definite clue. It was brought to their notice that a German Jew
of the assumed name of Oscar Slater had been endeavouring to dispose of
the pawn ticket of a crescent diamond brooch of about the same value
as the missing one. Also, that in a general way, he bore a resemblance
to the published description. Still more hopeful did this clue appear
when, upon raiding the lodgings in which this man and his mistress
lived, it was found that they had left Glasgow that very night by
the nine o’clock train, with tickets (over this point there was some
clash of evidence) either for Liverpool or London. Three days later,
the Glasgow police learned that the couple had actually sailed upon
December 26th upon the Lusitania for New York under the name of Mr. and
Mrs. Otto Sando. It must be admitted that in all these proceedings
the Glasgow police showed considerable deliberation. The original
information had been given at the Central Police Office shortly after
six o’clock, and a detective was actually making enquiries at Slater’s
flat at seven-thirty, yet no watch was kept upon his movements, and he
was allowed to leave between eight and nine, untraced and unquestioned.
Even stranger was the Liverpool departure. He was known to have got
away in the south-bound train upon the Friday evening. A great liner
sails from Liverpool upon the Saturday. One would have imagined that
early on the Saturday morning steps would have been taken to block his
method of escape. However, as a fact, it was not done, and as it proved
it is as well for the cause of justice, since it had the effect that
two judicial processes were needed, an American and a Scottish, which
enables an interesting comparison to be made between the evidence of
the principal witnesses.
Oscar Slater was at once arrested upon arriving at New York, and his
seven trunks of baggage were impounded and sealed. On the face of it
there was a good case against him, for he had undoubtedly pawned a
diamond brooch, and he had subsequently fled under a false name for
America. The Glasgow police had reason to think that they had got their
man. Two officers, accompanied by the witnesses to identity--Adams,
Lambie and Barrowman--set off at once to carry through the extradition
proceedings and bring the suspect back to be tried for his offence.
In the New York Court they first set eyes upon the prisoner, and each
of them, in terms which will be afterwards described, expressed the
opinion that he was at any rate exceedingly like the person they had
seen in Glasgow. Their actual identification of him was vitiated by the
fact that Adams and Barrowman had been shown his photographs before
attending the Court, and also that he was led past them, an obvious
prisoner, whilst they were waiting in the corridor. Still, however
much one may discount the actual identification, it cannot be denied
that each witness saw a close resemblance between the man before them
and the man whom they had seen in Glasgow. So far at every stage the
case against the accused was becoming more menacing. Any doubt as to
extradition was speedily set at rest by the prisoner’s announcement
that he was prepared, without compulsion, to return to Scotland and to
stand his trial. One may well refuse to give him any excessive credit
for this surrender, since he may have been persuaded that things were
going against him, but still the fact remains (and it was never, so
far as I can trace, mentioned at his subsequent trial), that he gave
himself up of his own free will to justice. On February 21st Oscar
Slater was back in Glasgow once more, and on May 3rd his trial took
place at the High Court in Edinburgh.
But already the very bottom of the case had dropped out. The starting
link of what had seemed an imposing chain, had suddenly broken. It will
be remembered that the original suspicion of Slater was founded upon
the fact that he had pawned a crescent diamond brooch. The ticket was
found upon him, and the brooch recovered. It was not the one which was
missing from the room of the murdered woman, and it had belonged for
years to Slater, who had repeatedly pawned it before. This was shown
beyond all cavil or dispute. The case of the police might well seem
desperate after this, since if Slater were indeed guilty, it would mean
that by pure chance they had pursued the right man. The coincidence
involved in such a supposition would seem to pass the limits of all
probability.
Apart from this crushing fact, several of the other points of
the prosecution had already shown themselves to be worthless. It
had seemed at first that Slater’s departure had been sudden and
unpremeditated--the flight of a guilty man. It was quickly proved that
this was not so. In the Bohemian clubs which he frequented--he was by
profession a peddling jeweller and a man of disreputable, though not
criminal habits--it had for weeks before the date of the crime been
known that he purported to go to some business associates in America. A
correspondence, which was produced, showed the arrangements which had
been made, long before the crime, for his emigration, though it should
be added that the actual determination of the date and taking of the
ticket were subsequent to the tragedy.
This hurrying-up of the departure certainly deserves close scrutiny.
According to the evidence of his mistress and of the servant, Slater
had received two letters upon the morning of December 21st. Neither of
these were produced at the trial. One was said to be from a Mr. Rogers,
a friend of Slater’s in London, telling him that Slater’s wife was
bothering him for money. The second was said to be from one Devoto, a
former partner of Slater’s asking him to join him in San Francisco.
Even if the letters had been destroyed, one would imagine that these
statements as to the letters could be disproved or corroborated by
either the Crown or the defence. They are of considerable importance,
as giving the alleged reasons why Slater hurried up a departure which
had been previously announced as for January. I cannot find, however,
that in the actual trial anything definite was ascertained upon the
matter.
Another point had already been scored against the prosecution in that
the seven trunks which contained the whole effects of the prisoner,
yielded nothing of real importance. There were a felt hat and two
cloth ones, but none which correspond with the Donegal of the original
description. A light-coloured waterproof coat was among the outfit.
If the weapon with which the deed was done was carried off in the
pocket of the assassin’s overcoat--and it is difficult to say how else
he could have carried it, then the pocket must, one would suppose,
be crusted with blood, since the crime was a most sanguinary one. No
such marks were discovered, nor were the police fortunate as to the
weapon. It is true that a hammer was found in the trunk, but it was
clearly shown to have been purchased in one of those cheap half-crown
sets of tools which are tied upon a card, was an extremely light and
fragile instrument, and utterly incapable in the eyes of commonsense of
inflicting those terrific injuries which had shattered the old lady’s
skull. It is said by the prosecution to bear some marks of having been
scraped or cleaned, but this was vigorously denied by the defence,
and the police do not appear to have pushed the matter to the obvious
test of removing the metal work, when they must, had this been indeed
the weapon, have certainly found some soakage of blood into the wood
under the edges of the iron cheeks or head. But a glance at a facsimile
of this puny weapon would convince an impartial person that any task
beyond fixing a tin-tack, or cracking a small bit of coal, would be
above its strength. It may fairly be said that before the trial had
begun, the three important points of the pawned jewel, the supposed
flight, and the evidence from clothing and weapon, had each either
broken down completely, or become exceedingly attenuated.
Let us see now what there was upon the other side. The evidence for
the prosecution really resolved itself into two sets of witnesses for
identification. The first set were those who had actually seen the
murderer, and included Adams, Helen Lambie, and the girl Barrowman.
The second set consisted of twelve people who had, at various dates,
seen a man frequenting the street in which Miss Gilchrist lived, and
loitering in a suspicious manner before the house. All of these, some
with confidence, but most of them with reserve, were prepared to
identify the prisoner with this unknown man. What the police never
could produce, however, was the essential thing, and that was the least
connecting link between Slater and Miss Gilchrist, or any explanation
how a foreigner in Glasgow could even know of the existence, to say
nothing of the wealth, of a retired old lady, who had few acquaintances
and seldom left her guarded flat.
It is notorious that nothing is more tricky than evidence of
identification. In the Beck case there were, if I remember right,
some ten witnesses who had seen the real criminal under normal
circumstances, and yet they were all prepared to swear to the wrong
man. In the case of Oscar Slater, the first three witnesses saw their
man under conditions of excitement, while the second group saw the
loiterer in the street under various lights, and in a fashion which
was always more or less casual. It is right, therefore, that in
assigning its due weight to this evidence, one should examine it with
some care. We shall first take the three people who actually saw the
murderer.
There seems to have been some discrepancy between them from the first,
since, as has already been pointed out, the description published from
the data of Adams and Lambie, was modified after Barrowman had given
her information. Adams and Lambie said:
“A man between twenty-five and thirty years of age, 5 feet 8 or 9
inches in height, slim build, dark hair, clean-shaven, dressed in light
grey overcoat and dark cloth cap.”
After collaboration with Barrowman the description became:
“Twenty-eight or thirty years of age, tall and thin, clean-shaven, his
nose slightly turned to one side. Wore one of the popular round tweed
hats known as Donegal hats, and a fawn-coloured overcoat which might
have been a waterproof, also dark trousers and brown boots.”
Apart from the additions in the second description there are, it will
be observed, two actual discrepancies in the shape of the hat and the
colour of the coat.
As to how far either of these descriptions tallies with Slater, it may
be stated here that the accused was thirty-seven years of age, that
he was above the medium height, that his nose was not twisted, but
was depressed at the end, as if it had at some time been broken, and
finally that eight witnesses were called upon to prove that, on the
date of the murder, the accused wore a short but noticeable moustache.
I have before me a verbatim stenographic report of the proceedings
in New York and also in Edinburgh, furnished by the kindness of
Shaughnessy & Co., solicitors, of Glasgow, who are still contending
for the interests of their unfortunate client. I will here compare the
terms of the identification in the two Courts:
Helen Lambie, New York, January 26th, 1909.
Q. “Do you see the man here you saw there?”
A. “One is very suspicious, if anything.”
Q. “Describe him.”
A. “The clothes he had on that night he hasn’t got on to-day--but his
face I could not tell. I never saw his face.”
(Having described a peculiarity of walk, she was asked):
Q. “Is that man in the room?”
A. “Yes, he is, sir.”
Q. “Point him out.”
A. “I would not like to say----”
(After some pressure and argument she pointed to Slater, who had been
led past her in the corridor between two officers, when both she and
Barrowman had exclaimed: “That is the man,” or “I could nearly swear
that is the man.”)
Q. “Didn’t you say you did not see the man’s face?”
A. “Neither I did. I saw the walk.”
The reader must bear in mind that Lambie’s only chance of seeing the
man’s walk was in the four steps or so down the passage. It was never
at any time shown that there was any marked peculiarity about Slater’s
walk.
Now take Helen Lambie’s identification in Edinburgh, May 9th, 1909.
Q. “How did you identify him in America?”
A. “By his walk and height, his dark hair and the side of his face.”
Q. “You were not quite sure of him at first in America?”
A. “Yes, I was quite sure.”
Q. “Why did you say you were only suspicious?”
A. “It was a mistake.”
Q. “What did you mean in America by saying that you never saw his face
if, in point of fact, you did see it so as to help you to recognise it?
What did you mean?”
A. “Nothing.”
On further cross-examination she declared that when she said that she
had never seen the man’s face she meant that she had never seen the
“broad of it” but had seen it sideways.
Here it will be observed that Helen Lambie’s evidence had greatly
stiffened during the three months between the New York and the
Edinburgh proceedings. In so aggressively positive a frame of mind was
she on the later occasion, that, on being shown Slater’s overcoat and
asked if it resembled the murderer’s, she answered twice over: “That
is the coat,” although it had not yet been unrolled, and though it was
not light grey, which was the colour in her own original description.
It should not be forgotten in dealing with the evidence of Lambie and
Adams that they are utterly disagreed as to so easily fixed a thing as
their own proceedings after the hall door was opened, Adams swearing
that Lambie walked to nearly the end of the hall, and Lambie that she
remained upon the doormat. Without deciding which was right, it is
clear that the incident must shake one’s confidence in one or other of
them as a witness.
In the case of Adams the evidence was given with moderation, and was
substantially the same in America and in Scotland.
“I couldn’t say positively. This man (indicating Slater) is not at all
unlike him.”
Q. “Did you notice a crooked nose?”
A. “No.”
Q. “Anything remarkable about his walk?”
A. “No.”
Q. “You don’t swear this is the man you saw?”
A. “No, sir. He resembles the man, that is all that I can say.”
In reply to the same general questions in Edinburgh, he said:
“I would not like to swear he is the man. I am a little near-sighted.
He resembles the man closely.”
Barrowman, the girl of fifteen, had met the man presumed to be the
murderer in the street, and taken one passing glance at him under a
gas lamp on a wet December’s night--difficult circumstances for an
identification. She used these words in New York:
“That man here is something like him,” which she afterwards amended
to “very like him.” She admitted that a picture of the man she was
expected to identify had been shown to her before she came into the
Court. Her one point by which she claimed to recognise the man was the
crooked nose. This crooked nose was not much more apparent to others
than the peculiarity of walk which so greatly impressed Helen Lambie
that, after seeing half a dozen steps of it, she could identify it with
confidence. In Edinburgh Barrowman, like Lambie, was very much more
certain than in New York. The further they got from the event, the
easier apparently did recognition become. “Yes, that is the man who
knocked against me that night,” she said. It is remarkable that both
these females, Lambie and Barrowman, swore that though they were thrown
together in this journey out to New York, and actually shared the
same cabin, they never once talked of the object of their mission or
compared notes as to the man they were about to identify. For girls of
the respective ages of fifteen and twenty-one this certainly furnishes
a unique example of self-restraint.
These, then, are the three identifications by the only people who saw
the murderer. Had the diamond brooch clue been authentic, and these
identifications come upon the top of it, they would undoubtedly have
been strongly corroborative. But when the brooch has been shown to
be a complete mistake, I really do not understand how anyone could
accept such half-hearted recognitions as being enough to establish the
identity and guilt of the prisoner.
There remains the so-called identification by twelve witnesses who had
seen a man loitering in the street during the weeks before the crime
had been committed. I have said a “so-called” identification, for the
proceedings were farcical as a real test of recognition. The witnesses
had seen portraits of the accused. They were well aware that he was
a foreigner, and then they were asked to pick out his swarthy Jewish
physiognomy from among nine Glasgow policemen to two railway officials.
Naturally they did it without hesitation, since this man was more like
the dark individual whom they had seen and described than the others
could be.
Read their own descriptions, however, of the man they had seen, with
the details of his clothing, and they will be found in many respects
to differ from each other on one hand, and in many from Slater on the
other. Here is a synopsis of their impressions:
Mrs. M’Haffie.--“Dark. Moustached, light overcoat, not waterproof,
check trousers, spats. Black bowler hat. Nose normal.”
Miss M. M’Haffie.--“Seen at same time and same description. Was only
prepared at first to say there was some resemblance, but ‘had been
thinking it over, and concluded that he was the man.’”
Miss A. M. M’Haffie.--“Same as before. Had heard the man speak and
noticed nothing in his accent. (Prisoner has a strong German accent.)”
Madge M’Haffie (belongs to the same family).--“Dark, moustached, nose
normal. Check trousers, fawn overcoat and spats. Black bowler hat. ‘The
prisoner was fairly like the man.’”
In connection with the identification of these four witnesses it is
to be observed that neither check trousers, nor spats were found in
the prisoner’s luggage. As the murderer was described as being dressed
in dark trousers, there was no possible reason why these clothes, if
Slater owned them, should have been destroyed.
Constable Brien.--“Claimed to know the prisoner by sight. Says he was
the man he saw loitering. Light coat and a hat. It was a week before
the crime, and he was loitering eighty yards from the scene of it. He
picked him out among five constables as the man he had seen.”
Constable Walker.--“Had seen the loiterer across the street, never
nearer, and after dark in December. Thought at first he was someone
else whom he knew. Had heard that the man he had to identify was of
foreign appearance. Picked him out from a number of detectives. The man
seen had a moustache.”
Euphemia Cunningham.--“Very dark, sallow, heavy featured. Clean-shaven.
Nose normal. Dark tweed coat. Green cap with peak.”
W. Campbell.--“Had been with the previous witness. Corroborated. ‘There
was a general resemblance between the prisoner and the man, but he
could not positively identify him.’”
Alex Gillies.--“Sallow, dark haired and clean-shaven. Fawn coat. Cap.
‘The prisoner resembled him, but witness could not say he was the same
man.’”
R. B. Bryson.--“Black coat and vest. Black bowler hat. No overcoat.
Black moustache with droop. Sallow, foreign. (This witness had seen the
man the night before the murder. He appeared to be looking up at Miss
Gilchrist’s windows.)”
A. Nairn.--“Broad shoulders, long neck. Dark hair. Motor cap. Light
overcoat to knees. Never saw the man’s face. ‘Oh! I will not swear in
fact, but I am certain he is the man I saw--but I will not swear.’”
Mrs. Liddell.--“Peculiar nose. Clear complexion, not sallow. Dark,
clean-shaven, brown tweed cap. Brown tweed coat with hemmed edge.
Delicate man ‘rather drawn together.’ She believed that prisoner was
the man. Saw him in the street immediately before the murder.”
These are the twelve witnesses as to the identity of the mysterious
stranger. In the first place there is no evidence whatever that this
lounger in the street had really anything to do with the murder. It is
just as probable that he had some vulgar amour, and was waiting for
his girl to run out to him. What could a man who was planning murder
hope to gain by standing nights beforehand eighty and a hundred yards
away from the place in the darkness? But supposing that we waive this
point and examine the plain question as to whether Slater was the same
man as the loiterer, we find ourselves faced by a mass of difficulties
and contradictions. Two of the most precise witnesses were Nairn and
Bryson who saw the stranger upon the Sunday night preceding the murder.
Upon that night Slater had an unshaken alibi, vouched for not only by
the girl, Antoine, with whom he lived, and their servant, Schmalz,
but by an acquaintance, Samuel Reid, who had been with him from six
to ten-thirty. This positive evidence, which was quite unshaken in
cross-examination, must completely destroy the surmises of the stranger
and Slater. Then come the four witnesses of the M’Haffie family who are
all strong upon check trousers and spats, articles of dress which were
never traced to the prisoner. Finally, apart from the discrepancies
about the moustache, there is a mixture of bowler hats, green caps,
brown caps, and motor caps which leave a most confused and indefinite
impression in the mind. Evidence of this kind might be of some value if
supplementary to some strong ascertained fact, but to attempt to build
upon such an identification alone is to construct the whole case upon
shifting sand.
The reader has already a grasp of the facts, but some fresh details
came out at the trial which may be enumerated here. They have to be
lightly touched upon within the limits of such an argument as this,
but those who desire a fuller summary will find it in an account
of the trial published by Hodge of Edinburgh, and ably edited by
William Roughead, W.S. On this book and on the verbatim precognitions
and shorthand account of the American proceedings, I base my own
examination of case. First, as to Slater’s movements upon the day of
the crime. He began the day, according to the account of himself and
the women, by the receipt of the two letters already referred to,
which caused him to hasten his journey to America. The whole day seems
to have been occupied by preparations for his impending departure. He
gave his servant Schmalz notice as from next Saturday. Before five (as
was shown by the postmark upon the envelope), he wrote to a post office
in London, where he had some money on deposit. At 6.12 a telegram was
sent in his name and presumably by him from the Central Station to
Dent, London, for his watch, which was being repaired. According to the
evidence of two witnesses he was seen in a billiard room at 6.20. The
murder, it will be remembered, was done at seven. He remained about
ten minutes in the billiard room, and left some time between 6.30 and
6.40. Rathman, one of these witnesses, deposed that he had at the time
a moustache about a quarter of an inch long, which was so noticeable
that no one could take him for a clean-shaven man. Antoine, his
mistress, and Schmalz, the servant, both deposed that Slater dined at
home at 7 o’clock. The evidence of the girl is no doubt suspect, but
there was no possible reason why the dismissed servant Schmalz should
perjure herself for the sake of her ex-employer. The distance between
Slater’s flat and that of Miss Gilchrist is about a quarter of a mile.
From the billiard room to Slater’s flat is about a mile. He had to go
for the hammer and bring it back, unless he had it jutting out of his
pocket all day. But unless the evidence of the two women is entirely
set aside, enough has been said to show that there was no time for the
commission by him of such a crime and the hiding of the traces which it
would leave behind it. At 9.45 that night, Slater was engaged in his
usual occupation of trying to raise the wind at some small gambling
club. The club-master saw no discomposure about his dress (which was
the same as, according to the Crown, he had done this bloody crime in),
and swore that he was then wearing a short moustache “like stubble,”
thus corroborating Rathman. It will be remembered that Lambie and
Barrowman both swore that the murderer was clean-shaven.
On December 24th, three days after the murder, Slater was shown at
Cook’s Office, bargaining for a berth in the “Lusitania” for his
so-called wife and himself. He made no secret that he was going by that
ship, but gave his real name and address and declared finally that he
would take his berth in Liverpool, which he did. Among other confidants
as to the ship was a barber, the last person one would think to whom
secrets would be confided. Certainly, if this were a flight, it is
hard to say what an open departure would be. In Liverpool he took his
passage under the assumed name of Otto Sando. This he did, according to
his own account, because he had reason to fear pursuit from his real
wife, and wished to cover his traces. This may or may not be the truth,
but it is undoubtedly the fact that Slater, who was a disreputable,
rolling-stone of a man, had already assumed several aliases in the
course of his career. It is to be noted that there was nothing at all
secret about his departure from Glasgow, and that he carried off all
his luggage with him in a perfectly open manner.
The reader is now in possession of the main facts, save those which
are either unessential, or redundant. It will be observed that save
for the identifications, the value of which can be estimated, there
is really no single point of connection between the crime and the
alleged criminal. It may be argued that the existence of the hammer is
such a point; but what household in the land is devoid of a hammer?
It is to be remembered that if Slater committed the murder with this
hammer, he must have taken it with him in order to commit the crime,
since it could be no use to him in forcing an entrance. But what man
in his senses, planning a deliberate murder, would take with him a
weapon which was light, frail, and so long that it must project from
any pocket? The nearest lump of stone upon the road would serve his
purpose better than that. Again, it must in its blood-soaked condition
have been in his pocket when he came away from the crime. The Crown
never attempted to prove either blood-stains in a pocket, or the fact
that any clothes had been burned. If Slater destroyed clothes, he would
naturally have destroyed the hammer, too. Even one of the two medical
witnesses of the prosecution was driven to say that he should not have
expected such a weapon to cause such wounds.
It may well be that in this summary of the evidence, I may seem to
have stated the case entirely from the point of view of the defence.
In reply, I would only ask the reader to take the trouble to read the
extended evidence. (“Trial of Oscar Slater” Hodge & Co., Edinburgh.) If
he will do so, he will realise that without a conscious mental effort
towards special pleading, there is no other way in which the story can
be told. The facts are on one side. The conjectures, the unsatisfactory
identifications, the damaging flaws, and the very strong prejudices
upon the other.
Now for the trial itself. The case was opened for the Crown by the
Lord-Advocate, in a speech which faithfully represented the excited
feeling of the time. It was vigorous to the point of being passionate,
and its effect upon the jury was reflected in their ultimate verdict.
The Lord-Advocate spoke, as I understand, without notes, a procedure
which may well add to eloquence while subtracting from accuracy. It
is to this fact that one must attribute a most fatal mis-statement
which could not fail, coming under such circumstances from so high an
authority, to make a deep impression upon his hearers. For some reason,
this mis-statement does not appear to have been corrected at the moment
by either the Judge or the defending counsel. It was the one really
damaging allegation--so damaging that had I myself been upon the jury
and believed it to be true, I should have recorded my verdict against
the prisoner, and yet this one fatal point had no substance at all in
fact. In this incident alone, there seems to me to lie good ground for
a revision of the sentence, or a reference of the facts to some Court
or Committee of Appeal. Here is the extract from the Lord-Advocate’s
speech to which I allude:
“At this time he had given his name to Cook’s people in Glasgow as
Oscar Slater. On December 25th, the day he was to go back to Cook’s
Office--his name and his description and all the rest of it appear in
the Glasgow papers, and he sees that the last thing in the world that
he ought to do, if he studies his own safety, is to go back to Cook’s
Office as Oscar Slater. He accordingly proceeds to pack up all his
goods and effects upon the 25th. So far as we know, he never leaves
the house from the time he sees the paper, until a little after six
o’clock, when he goes down to the Central Station.”
Here the allegation is clearly made and it is repeated later that Oscar
Slater’s name was in the paper, and that, subsequently to that, he
fled. Such a flight would clearly be an admission of guilt. The point
is of enormous even vital importance. And yet on examination of the
dates, it will be found that there is absolutely no foundation for it.
It was not until the evening of the 25th that even the police heard of
the existence of Slater, and it was nearly a week later that his name
appeared in the papers, he being already far out upon the Atlantic.
What did appear upon the 25th was the description of the murderer,
already quoted: “with his face shaved clean of all hair,” &c., Slater
at that time having a marked moustache. Why should he take such a
description to himself, or why should he forbear to carry out a journey
which he had already prepared for? The point goes for absolutely
nothing when examined, and yet if the minds of the jury were at all
befogged as to the dates, the definite assertion of the Lord-Advocate,
twice repeated, that Slater’s name had been published before his
flight, was bound to have a most grave and prejudiced effect.
Some of the Lord-Advocate’s other statements are certainly surprising.
Thus he says: “The prisoner is hopelessly unable to produce a single
witness who says that he was anywhere else than at the scene of the
murder that night.” Let us test this assertion. Here is the evidence of
Schmalz, the servant, verbatim. I may repeat that this woman was under
no known obligations to Slater and had just received notice from him.
The evidence of the mistress that Slater dined in the flat at seven on
the night of the murder I pass, but I do not understand why Schmalz’s
positive corroboration should be treated by the Lord-Advocate as
non-existent. The prisoner might well be “hopeless” if his witnesses
were to be treated so. Could anything be more positive than this?
Q. “Did he usually come home to dinner?”
A. “Yes, always. Seven o’clock was the usual hour.”
Q. “Was it sometimes nearly eight?”
A. “It was my fault. Mr. Slater was in.”
Q. “But owing to your fault was it about eight before it was served?”
A. “No. Mr. Slater was in after seven, and was waiting for dinner.”
This seems very definite. The murder was committed about seven. The
murderer may have regained the street about ten minutes or quarter past
seven. It was some distance to Slater’s flat. If he had done the murder
he could hardly have reached it before half-past seven at the earliest.
Yet Schmalz says he was in at seven, and so does Antoine. The evidence
of the woman may be good or bad, but it is difficult to understand how
anyone could state that the prisoner was “hopelessly unable to produce,
etc.” What evidence could he give, save that of everyone who lived
with him?
For the rest, the Lord-Advocate had an easy task in showing that Slater
was a worthless fellow, that he lived with and possibly on a woman
of easy virtue, that he had several times changed his name, and that
generally he was an unsatisfactory Bohemian. No actual criminal record
was shown against him. Early in his speech, the Lord-Advocate remarked
that he would show later how Slater may have come to know that Miss
Gilchrist owned the jewels. No further reference appears to have been
made to the matter, and his promise was therefore never fulfilled,
though it is clearly of the utmost importance. Later, he stated that
from the appearance of the wounds, they Must have been done by a small
hammer. There is no “must” in the matter, for it is clear that many
other weapons, a burglar’s jemmy, for example, would have produced the
same effect. He then makes the good point that the prisoner dealt in
precious stones, and could therefore dispose of the proceeds of such
a robbery. The criminal, he added, was clearly someone who had no
acquaintance with the inside of the house, and did not know where the
jewels were kept. “That answers to the prisoner.” It also, of course,
answers to practically every man in Scotland. The Lord-Advocate then
gave a summary of the evidence as to the man seen by various witnesses
in the street. “Gentlemen, if that was the prisoner, how do you
account for his presence there?” Of course, the whole point lies in
the italicised phrase. There was, it must be admitted, a consensus of
opinion among the witnesses that the prisoner was the man. But what was
it compared to the consensus of opinion which wrongfully condemned Beck
to penal servitude? The counsel laid considerable stress upon the fact
that Mrs. Liddell (one of the Adams family) had seen a man only a few
minutes before the murder, loitering in the street, and identified him
as Slater. The dress of the man seen in the street was very different
from that given as the murderer’s. He had a heavy tweed mixture coat of
a brownish hue, and a brown peaked cap. The original identification
by Mrs. Liddell was conveyed in the words: “One, slightly,” when she
was asked if any of a group at the police station resembled the man
she had seen. Afterwards, like every other female witness, she became
more positive. She declared that she had the clearest recollection of
the man’s face, and yet refused to commit herself as to whether he was
shaven or moustached.
We have then the recognitions of Lambie, Adams and Barrowman, with
their limitations and developments, which have been already discussed.
Then comes the question of the so-called “flight” and the change of
name upon the steamer. Had the prisoner been a man who had never
before changed his name, this incident would be more striking. But
the short glimpse we obtain of his previous life show several changes
of name, and it has not been suggested that each of them was the
consequence of a crime. He seems to have been in debt in Glasgow and
he also appears to have had reasons for getting away from the pursuit
of an ill-used wife. The Lord-Advocate said that the change of name
“could not be explained consistently with innocence.” That may be
true enough, but the change can surely be explained on some cause less
grave than murder. Finally, after showing very truly that Slater was a
great liar and that not a word he said need be believed unless there
were corroboration, the Lord-Advocate wound up with the words: “My
submission to you is that this guilt has been brought fairly home to
him, that no shadow of doubt exists, that there is no reasonable doubt
that he was the perpetrator of this foul murder.” The verdict showed
that the jury, under the spell of the Lord-Advocate’s eloquence, shared
this view, but, viewing it in colder blood, it is difficult to see upon
what grounds he made so confident an assertion.
Mr. M’Clure, who conducted the defence, spoke truly when, in opening
his speech, he declared that “he had to fight a most unfair fight
against public prejudice, roused with a fury I do not remember to
have seen in any other case.” Still he fought this fight bravely and
with scrupulous moderation. His appeals were all to reason and never
to emotion. He showed how clearly the prisoner had expressed his
intention of going to America, weeks before the murder, and how every
preparation had been made. On the day after the murder he had told
witnesses that he was going to America and had discussed the advantages
of various lines, finally telling one of them the particular boat in
which he did eventually travel, curious proceedings for a fugitive from
justice. Mr. M’Clure described the movements of the prisoner on the
night of the murder, after the crime had been committed, showing that
he was wearing the very clothes in which the theory of the prosecution
made him do the deed, as if such a deed could be done without leaving
its traces. He showed incidentally (it is a small point, but a human
one) that one of the last actions of Slater in Glasgow was to take
great trouble to get an English five-pound note in order to send it as
a Christmas present to his parents in Germany. A man who could do this
was not all bad. Finally, Mr. M’Clure exposed very clearly the many
discrepancies as to identification and warned the jury solemnly as to
the dangers which have been so often proved to lurk in this class of
evidence. Altogether, it was a broad, comprehensive reply, though where
so many points were involved, it is natural that some few may have been
overlooked. One does not, for example, find the counsel as insistent as
one might expect upon such points as, the failure of the Crown to show
how Slater could have known anything at all about the existence of Miss
Gilchrist and her jewels, how he got into the flat, and what became of
the brooch which, according to their theory, he had carried off. It is
ungracious to suggest any additions to so earnest a defence, and no
doubt one who is dependent upon printed accounts of the matter may miss
points which were actually made, but not placed upon record.
Only on one point must Mr. M’Clure’s judgment be questioned, and
that is on the most difficult one, which a criminal counsel has ever
to decide. He did not place his man in the box. This should very
properly be taken as a sign of weakness. I have no means of saying what
considerations led Mr. M’Clure to this determination. It certainly
told against his client. In the masterly memorial for reprieve drawn
up by Slater’s solicitor, the late Mr. Spiers, it is stated with the
full inner knowledge which that solicitor had, that Slater was all
along anxious to give evidence on his own behalf. “He was advised by
his counsel not to do so, but not from any knowledge of guilt. He had
undergone the strain of a four days’ trial. He speaks rather broken
English, although quite intelligible--with a foreign accent, and he
had been in custody since January.” It must be admitted that these
reasons are very unconvincing. It is much more probable that the
counsel decided that the purely negative evidence which his client
could give upon the crime would be dearly paid for by the long recital
of sordid amours and blackguard experiences which would be drawn
from him on cross-examination and have the most damning effect upon
the minds of a respectable Edinburgh jury. And yet, perhaps, counsel
did not sufficiently consider the prejudice which is excited--and
rightly excited--against the prisoner who shuns the box. Some of this
prejudice might have been removed if it had been made more clear that
Slater had volunteered to come over and stand his trial of his own free
will, without waiting for the verdict of the extradition proceedings.
There remains the summing-up of Lord Guthrie. His Lordship threw out
the surmise that the assassin may well have gone to the flat without
any intention of murder. This is certainly possible, but in the highest
degree improbable. He commented with great severity upon Slater’s
general character. In his summing-up of the case, he recapitulated the
familiar facts in an impartial fashion, concluding with the words, “I
suppose that you all think that the prisoner possibly is the murderer.
You may very likely all think that he probably is the murderer. That,
however, will not entitle you to convict him. The Crown have undertaken
to prove that he is the murderer. That is the question you have to
consider. If you think there is no reasonable doubt about it, you will
convict him; if you think there is, you will acquit him.”
In an hour and ten minutes the jury had made up their mind. By a
majority they found the prisoner guilty. Out of fifteen, nine, as was
afterwards shown, were for guilty, five for non-proven, and one for not
guilty. By English law, a new trial would have been needed, ending,
possibly, as in the Gardiner case, in the complete acquittal of the
prisoner. By Scotch law the majority verdict held good.
“I know nothing about the affair, absolutely nothing,” cried the
prisoner in a frenzy of despair. “I never heard the name. I know
nothing about the affair. I do not know how I could be connected with
the affair. I know nothing about it. I came from America on my own
account. I can say no more.”
Sentence of death was then passed.
The verdict was, it is said, a complete surprise to most of those in
the Court, and certainly is surprising when examined after the event.
I do not see how any reasonable man can carefully weigh the evidence
and not admit that when the unfortunate prisoner cried, “I know
nothing about it,” he was possibly, and even probably, speaking the
literal truth. Consider the monstrous coincidence which is involved
in his guilt, the coincidence that the police owing to their mistake
over the brooch, by pure chance started out in pursuit of the right
man. Which is A Priori the more probable: That such an unheard-of
million-to-one coincidence should have occurred, Or, that the police,
having committed themselves to the theory that he was the murderer,
refused to admit that they were wrong when the bottom fell out of the
original case, and persevered in the hope that vague identifications of
a queer-looking foreigner would justify their original action? Outside
these identifications, I must repeat once again there is nothing to
couple Slater with the murder, or to show that he ever knew, or could
have known that such a person as Miss Gilchrist existed.
The admirable memorial for a reprieve drawn up by the solicitors for
the defence, and reproduced at the end of this pamphlet, was signed by
20,000 members of the public, and had the effect of changing the death
sentence to one of penal servitude for life. The sentence was passed on
May 6th. For twenty days the man was left in doubt, and the written
reprieve only arrived on May 26th within twenty-four hours of the time
for the execution. On July 8th Slater was conveyed to the Peterhead
Convict prison. There he has now been for three years, and there he
still remains.
I cannot help in my own mind comparing the case of Oscar Slater with
another, which I had occasion to examine--that of George Edalji. I must
admit that they are not of the same class. George Edalji was a youth of
exemplary character. Oscar Slater was a blackguard. George Edalji was
physically incapable of the crime for which he suffered three years’
imprisonment (years for which he has not received, after his innocence
was established, one shilling of compensation from the nation). Oscar
Slater might conceivably have committed the murder, but the balance
of proof and probability seems entirely against it. Thus, one cannot
feel the same burning sense of injustice over the matter. And yet I
trust for the sake of our character not only for justice, but for
intelligence, that the judgment may in some way be reconsidered and
the man’s present punishment allowed to atone for those irregularities
of life which helped to make his conviction possible.
Before leaving the case it is interesting to see how far this curious
crime may be reconstructed and whether any possible light can be
thrown upon it. Using second-hand material one cannot hope to do
more than indicate certain possibilities which may already have been
considered and tested by the police. The trouble, however, with all
police prosecutions is that, having once got what they imagine to be
their man, they are not very open to any line of investigation which
might lead to other conclusions. Everything which will not fit into the
official theory is liable to be excluded. One might make a few isolated
comments on the case which may at least give rise to some interesting
trains of thought.
One question which has to be asked was whether the assassin was after
the jewels at all. It might be urged that the type of man described
by the spectators was by no means that of the ordinary thief.
When he reached the bedroom and lit the gas, he did not at once
seize the watch and rings which were lying openly exposed upon the
dressing-table. He did not pick up a half-sovereign which was lying on
the dining-room table. His attention was given to a wooden box, the lid
of which he wrenched open. (This, I think, was “the breaking of sticks”
heard by Adams.) The papers in it were strewed on the ground. Were the
papers his object, and the final abstraction of one diamond brooch a
mere blind? Personally, I can only point out the possibility of such a
solution. On the other hand, it might be urged, if the thief’s action
seems inconsequential, that Adams had rung and that he already found
himself in a desperate situation. It might be said also that save a
will it would be difficult to imagine any paper which would account
for such an enterprise, while the jewels, on the other hand, were an
obvious mark for whoever knew of their existence.
Presuming that the assassin was indeed after the jewels, it is very
instructive to note his knowledge of their location, and also its
limitations. Why did he go straight into the spare bedroom where the
jewels were actually kept? The same question may be asked with equal
force if we consider that he was after the papers. Why the spare
bedroom? Any knowledge gathered from outside (by a watcher in the
back-yard for example) would go to the length of ascertaining which
was the old lady’s room. One would expect a robber who had gained his
information thus, to go straight to that chamber. But this man did not
do so. He went straight to the unlikely room in which both jewels and
papers actually were. Is not this remarkably suggestive? Does it not
pre-suppose a previous acquaintance with the inside of the flat and the
ways of its owner?
But now note the limitations of the knowledge. If it were the jewels
he was after, he knew what room they were in, but not in what part of
the room. A fuller knowledge would have told him they were kept in
the wardrobe. And yet he searched a box. If he was after papers, his
information was complete; but if he was indeed after the jewels, then
we can say that he had the knowledge of one who is conversant, but not
intimately conversant, with the household arrangements. To this we may
add that he would seem to have shown ignorance of the habits of the
inmates, or he would surely have chosen Lambie’s afternoon or evening
out for his attempt, and not have done it at a time when the girl was
bound to be back within a very few minutes. What men had ever visited
the house? The number must have been very limited. What friends? what
tradesmen? what plumbers? Who brought back the jewels after they had
been stored with the jewellers when the old lady went every year to the
country? One is averse to throw out vague suspicions which may give
pain to innocent people, and yet it is clear that there are lines of
inquiry here which should be followed up, however negative the results.
How did the murderer get in if Lambie is correct in thinking that she
shut the doors? I cannot get away from the conclusion that he had
duplicate keys. In that case all becomes comprehensible, for the old
lady--whose faculties were quite normal--would hear the lock go and
would not be alarmed, thinking that Lambie had returned before her
time. Thus, she would only know her danger when the murderer rushed
into the room, and would hardly have time to rise, receive the first
blow, and fall, as she was found, beside the chair, upon which she
had been sitting. That is intelligible. But if he had not the keys,
consider the difficulties. If the old lady had opened the flat door
her body would have been found in the passage. Therefore, the police
were driven to the hypothesis that the old lady heard the ring, opened
the lower stair door from above (as can be done in all Scotch flats),
opened the flat door, never looked over the lighted stair to see who
was coming up, but returned to her chair and her magazine, leaving the
door open, and a free entrance to the murderer. This is possible, but
is it not in the highest degree improbable? Miss Gilchrist was nervous
of robbery and would not neglect obvious precautions. The ring came
immediately after the maid’s departure. She could hardly have thought
that it was her returning, the less so as the girl had the keys and
would not need to ring. If she went as far as the hall door to open
it, she only had to take another step to see who was ascending the
stair. Would she not have taken it if it were only to say: “What, have
you forgotten your keys?” That a nervous old lady should throw open
both doors, never look to see who her visitor was, and return to her
dining-room is very hard to believe.
And look at it from the murderer’s point of view. He had planned out
his proceedings. It is notorious that it is the easiest thing in
the world to open the lower door of a Scotch flat. The blade of any
penknife will do that. If he was to depend upon ringing to get at his
victim, it was evidently better for him to ring at the upper door, as
otherwise the chance would seem very great that she would look down,
see him coming up the stair, and shut herself in. On the other hand, if
he were at the upper door and she answered it, he had only to push his
way in. Therefore, the latter would be his course if he rang at all.
And yet the police theory is that though he rang, he rang from below.
It is not what he would do, and if he did do it, it would be most
unlikely that he would get in. How could he suppose that the old lady
would do so incredible a thing as leave her door open and return to her
reading? If she waited, she might even up to the last instant have shut
the door in his face. If one weighs all these reasons, one can hardly
fail, I think, to come to the conclusion that the murderer had keys,
and that the old lady never rose from her chair until the last instant,
because, hearing the keys in the door, she took it for granted that the
maid had come back. But if he had keys, how did he get the mould, and
how did he get them made? There is a line of inquiry there. The only
conceivable alternatives are, that the murderer was actually concealed
in the flat when Lambie came out, and of that there is no evidence
whatever, or that the visitor was someone whom the old lady knew, in
which case he would naturally have been admitted.
There are still one or two singular points which invite comment. One
of these, which I have incidentally mentioned, is that neither the
match, the match-box, nor the box opened in the bedroom showed any
marks of blood. Yet the crime had been an extraordinarily bloody one.
This is certainly very singular. An explanation given by Dr. Adams who
was the first medical man to view the body is worthy of attention. He
considered that the wounds might have been inflicted by prods downwards
from the leg of a chair, in which case the seat of the chair would
preserve the clothes and to some extent the hands of the murderer
from blood-stains. The condition of one of the chairs seemed to him
to favour this supposition. The explanation is ingenious, but I must
confess that I cannot understand how such wounds could be inflicted by
such an instrument. There were in particular a number of spindle-shaped
cuts with a bridge of skin between them which are very suggestive.
My first choice as to the weapon which inflicted these would be a
burglar’s jemmy, which is bifurcated at one end, while the blow which
pushed the poor woman’s eye into her brain would represent a thrust
from the other end. Failing a jemmy, I should choose a hammer, but a
very different one from the toy thing from a half-crown card of tools
which was exhibited in Court. Surely commonsense would say that such
an instrument could burst an eye-ball, but could not possibly drive it
deep into the brain, since the short head could not penetrate nearly so
far. The hammer, which I would reconstruct from the injuries would be
what they call, I believe, a plasterer’s hammer, short in the handle,
long and strong in the head, with a broad fork behind. But how such
a weapon could be used without the user bearing marks of it, is more
than I can say. It has never been explained why a rug was laid over the
murdered woman. The murderer, as his conduct before Lambie and Adams
showed, was a perfectly cool person. It is at least possible that he
used the rug as a shield between him and his victim while he battered
her with his weapon. His clothes, if not his hands, would in this way
be preserved.
I have said that it is of the first importance to trace who knew of the
existence of the jewels, since this might greatly help the solution of
the problem. In connection with this there is a passage in Lambie’s
evidence in New York which is of some importance. I give it from the
stenographer’s report, condensing in places:
Q. “Do you know in Glasgow a man named ---- ----?”
A. “Yes, sir.”
Q. “What is his business?”
A. “A book-maker.”
Q. “When did you first meet him?”
A. “At a dance.”
Q. “What sort of dance?”