THE BRIEF FOR THE PROSECUTION.
'A brief for you, sir, for the assizes at Abertaff. The great murder
case.'
Mr. Prescott looked up as his clerk entered, and heard these words.
Then he silently put out his hand and took the brief, while the clerk
retired into the outer room of the chambers to make a note of the fee.
Everyone had heard of the great Porthstone murder. Mr. Prescott had
followed the papers pretty closely in their accounts of it--the
discovery, the proceedings at the inquest, before the magistrates, and
so on. The brief did not take him altogether by surprise. He had been
entrusted with several important prosecutions before this, and the
solicitor representing the Crown in the present case was a personal
friend of his own. He had, therefore, all along had expectations of
appearing in the case, and his only doubt had been whether, on account
of its unusual importance, a Queen's Counsel would be engaged along
with him, or whether he would have the charge of the case himself.
It need hardly be added that Mr. Prescott was still a member of the
'Junior Bar,' that is to say, he had not arrived at the dignity of a
Queen's Counsel. But he had been some ten years in the practice of his
profession, and occupied a foremost position among the members of the
Southern Circuit. Tall, thin, and auburn-haired, with a ruddy
complexion, his appearance was rather remarkable among the brethren of
the long robe. But he had a pattern lawyer's face, with the firm
decided chin, the pronounced nose and strongly-marked eyebrows
characteristic of the race.
Before opening the document in his hand, he took a hasty glance at the
outside. It bore the usual endorsement. At the head were the words
'MYNYDDSHIRE SUMMER ASSIZES, _Holden at_ ABERTAFF, 29th July, 1889.'
Then followed the name of the case: 'REGINA, _on the Prosecution of
Sergeant Evans_, against ELEANOR MARGARET OWEN,' and the description
of the offence: _'For Wilful Murder.'_
Next came the word 'Brief' in very large letters. _'For the
Prosecution_: Mr. Chas. Prescott, 20 guineas.'
And a little below, on one side, 'With you, Mr. F. J. Pollard.' This
was a younger man, who was to act as junior to Prescott.
Last of all came the solicitors' name at the foot, 'Pollard and
Pollard, Abertaff.' They were, as may be surmised, relations of the
young gentleman who had been favoured with the junior brief.
Mr. Prescott smiled pleasantly at the number of guineas, and
sardonically at the name of the counsel whose assistance he was to
receive. Then, pulling off the tape, he unfolded the document, and
settled down to a study of its contents.
It was headed inside by the same words as appeared in the endorsement,
down to 'wilful murder.' After that it went on to give a copy of the
indictment.
Then came the narrative itself:
'CASE FOR THE PROSECUTION.
'In this case the prisoner, Eleanor Margaret Owen, is charged with the
wilful murder of Ann Elizabeth Lewis.
'The facts of the case are as follows:
'The deceased, Miss Ann Lewis, was a maiden lady, living at
Porthstone, in Mynyddshire, a quiet little seaside place about twenty
miles from the county town, Abertaff.
'Her only surviving relative was a nephew, John Lewis, who had been
for a considerable time in Australia, but, having made some money,
returned to England, and arrived at Porthstone on the evening of the
first of June.
'The accused, Eleanor Margaret Owen, is an orphan, her father, the
late Rector of Porthstone having died two years ago.'
('Poor old Owen! I remember him well,' murmured the barrister. 'It's
well for the poor old chap that he is gone.')
'Immediately on her father's death she went to reside with Miss Lewis,
with whom her father and herself had been on friendly terms, in the
capacity of a paid companion.
'She was paid £24 a year, and had no other means of support; but
Rebecca, a servant in the house, will say that she has heard Miss
Lewis promise to remember the accused in her will.
'Deceased was rather eccentric in money matters, and invested a large
portion of her savings in valuable jewels. No one ever saw the
collection; but William Williams, a jeweller, of Abertaff, will swear
that he supplied deceased with something like a thousand pounds' worth
of jewels annually for several years past.
'It will be seen below that these jewels have entirely disappeared
since the night of the murder.
'Counsel will observe that a motive is here suggested for the crime.
'On the night of the first of June last Mr. Lewis, deceased's nephew,
left the house about 10 o'clock and did not return that night.
'Shortly after he was gone deceased was heard to retire by the
servants. These are four in number, and consist of a butler or general
man, cook, housemaid, and parlourmaid.
'The three women servants went to rest at a quarter past ten, and the
butler at half-past.
'All this time prisoner was downstairs in the drawing-room, where she
had spent the evening with deceased and Mr. Lewis.
'About eleven the butler thinks he heard her come upstairs to her
bedroom, which adjoined deceased's, with a door of communication
between. This door was never locked or bolted.
'An hour afterwards Rebecca, the parlourmaid, woke from sleep, and
heard a stifled groan somewhere below. Apparently it proceeded from
Miss Lewis's room. She did not waken the housemaid, who sleeps in the
same room. She attributed the sound at the time to troubled sleep.
'Shortly afterwards she heard a subdued sound, as if of footsteps
going downstairs. She was not alarmed, as she thought she recognised
Miss Owen's tread. She therefore roused no one, but, inspired by
curiosity, got up herself, put on some things, and crept downstairs.
'All the doors were closed as she passed. She listened outside Miss
Owen's room, but heard nothing. Just then she thought she heard the
front-door pulled gently to. She went cautiously down, and discovered
that all the bolts had been undone, and the door was fastened simply
by the latch.
'Three persons carried a latchkey--Miss Lewis, the butler, and Miss
Owen. One of the three had, therefore, gone out. Having ascertained
this, she retired to her room.'
('Now we're coming to something like evidence,' remarked Mr. Prescott,
as he made copious interlineations with a blue pencil. 'That's the
worst of Pollard; he always will write in this florid style. His
brother's speeches are just the same.')
'She did not go to sleep, however. She lay awake listening for some
time, and then she heard footsteps ascending and going into one of the
bedrooms below. Her room was immediately above that of deceased.
'In about ten minutes more, to employ the witness's own expression,
the footsteps came out again and descended to the hall for the second
time. The parlourmaid now awaked the housemaid, Lucy, who slept in the
room with her, and they both sat up and listened.
'The footsteps sounded heavier this time; the witnesses describe them
as "thumpy." Counsel will see that this would be the natural result of
someone carrying a heavy load.
'This time neither of the servants made any attempt to follow or
observe what was taking place. They say they heard the hall door
softly pulled to, but nothing more.
'Shortly afterwards they both fell asleep.
'The same night, about 12 o'clock, a fisherman of the place, named
Evan Thomas, was coming up from the beach. He had been doing some
night fishing.
'As he got on to the esplanade he observed the figure of a woman
walking swiftly away from him in the direction of Newton Bay. He knows
prisoner well, and believes it was she he saw.
'There is no further evidence as to what occurred that night.
'In the morning the housemaid Lucy was the first down, as was usually
the case. _She found the hall door locked and bolted, as the butler
left it at half-past ten the night before._
'One of the household, therefore, must have been out, and returned
after the witness Rebecca had gone back to her room.
'Putting these facts together, it is clear that the only possible
authors of the crime subsequently discovered must have been the
butler, who had a latchkey, and prisoner.
'At eight o'clock the witness Rebecca came down and took two jugs of
hot water to the ladies' doors. She knocked at each. She heard a faint
reply from prisoner, but none from deceased's room.
'At half-past eight prisoner usually came down, and deceased was
generally seen a few minutes after.
'On this morning, the second of June, neither of them had appeared by
nine o'clock.
'The witness Rebecca then remembered that Miss Lewis had not answered
when called, and feared that she had failed to waken her. She
therefore went upstairs and knocked again.
'There was no answer. Becoming alarmed, because her mistress was old
and had once suffered from some seizure, she went to Miss Owen's door
and knocked impatiently.
'Prisoner at once came and opened it. She was completely dressed, and
apparently ready to come down.
'The following conversation, or something near it, then took place:
'The witness Rebecca began by saying that she had knocked at Miss
Lewis's door, but could get no answer. "Do you know if any thing's the
matter?" she said.
'Prisoner heard her without any appearance of surprise, and merely
answered:
'"No; we had better call to her, and if she doesn't answer, I'll go
in."
'They then went together to the door on the landing, and prisoner
called out loudly: "Miss Lewis! May I come in?"
'There was again no answer. Prisoner then put her hand to the door and
turned the handle. The door, however, would not open. It was locked,
and the key was inside.
'The only possible access, therefore, was through prisoner's own room.
'It is unnecessary to draw counsel's attention to the gravity of this
circumstance.'
('Quite unnecessary,' said Prescott sarcastically to himself. 'Bless
my soul, how he piles on the agony!')
'By this time the other servants in the house had taken the alarm. The
butler, John Simons, came on the scene, followed by the cook and
housemaid. It was he who now addressed prisoner:
'"We must get in through your room, miss," he said.
'It may be well to state here that Simons had lived with the deceased
for fifteen years, and was greatly trusted.
'He now went straight into prisoner's bedroom. Prisoner now seemed
thoroughly alarmed, and ran in after him, the three women coming next.
'As he was about to take hold of the handle of the door opening into
Miss Lewis's room, he suddenly beheld a sight that made him reel back.
This was a smear of blood on the china handle. The witness Rebecca
caught sight of it at the same time, and uttered a loud scream.
'No one noticed the demeanour of the prisoner at the moment of this
discovery. But when they had recovered sufficiently to take notice,
she was leaning against a chest of drawers, deathly pale.'
('Confound the man!' exclaimed the reader, as he came to this
sentence. 'How he does go on against her! It's enough to make me think
her innocent. Poor little Eleanor! It's five years since I saw her.
She was a pretty little thing of fifteen then. I wonder what sort of
woman she has turned out. Well, well, I must stick to business.')
'Simons quickly recovered his presence of mind. Taking hold of the
handle so as to avoid touching the smear, he burst open the door, and
rushed in towards the bed.
'The bed was empty.
'It seemed to have been slept in the night before, and the clothes
were not much disarranged; but on the lower sheet, close to the
bolster, was a large stain of blood.
'The stain was about the size of a cheese-plate, dark in the centre,
and fainter round the edge. There was no other trace of violence.
'The room was then searched. All present took part in the search
except prisoner, who sat in a chair looking on.
'Deceased's clothes, worn by her the day before, were found in their
proper places, thus negativing the idea that she could have gone away
herself. Her nightdress, on the other hand, was missing. This would
point to the prisoner's having killed her in her sleep and disposed of
the body as it was.
'No further trace of violence was discovered in the room. The butler
then got them all out, and locked both doors on the outside. He then
went for the police.
'This was about half-past nine. On his way to the police-station he
met Mr. Lewis, deceased's nephew. He stopped him and related the
circumstances.
'Mr. Lewis was greatly upset. As soon as he was able to speak he
pointed out that the only possible author of the crime was Miss Owen.
He turned and accompanied Simons to the police-station.
'At the police-station they found Sergeant James Evans. To him Simons
detailed the incidents already described. Mr. Lewis then stepped
forward and said:
'"I charge Eleanor Owen with the murder of my aunt, Ann Elizabeth
Lewis. I have made some money, and, please God, I'll spend every
penny of it rather than my poor aunt shall remain unavenged."'
('All this is not evidence,' muttered the barrister, impatiently
scoring out the paragraph with his pencil. 'Why does Pollard put
in things like this? Perhaps it supplies a clue, though, to his
enthusiasm,' added Mr. Prescott thoughtfully. 'I dare say he's got
this Lewis behind him, and is bleeding him pretty freely. That
accounts for the figures on my brief, so I oughtn't to complain. But
I wish to goodness it were anybody but old Owen's daughter. Why, I
can remember kissing her when she was only six years old.')
'Sergeant Evans, who will be called as a witness, now proceeded to the
house and made a thorough search. Two important facts were now
discovered.
'The butler had left the house by the back door, but on returning with
Mr. Lewis the party entered by the front. Simons stepped forward with
his latchkey to open the door, but found the latch already lifted, and
stuck fast in its raised position.
'This was a thing which always occurred if the latch was lifted too
high. The keyhole is shaped like an inverted T, and the members of the
household who carried keys were generally careful not to push them
too far upward, lest this result should occur.
'Counsel will probably be inclined to see a sufficient explanation of
the incident in the agitation and haste by which a criminal would
naturally be overcome just after the commission of such a crime.'
('Yes; I suppose so.' The barrister paused for some time, knitted his
brows, and tried to think the matter out. 'Yes, it would be a natural
result,' he admitted at length, and resumed his reading.)
'The next discovery was equally important.
'Miss Lewis's bedroom window looked over the front garden. Immediately
below it, under the dining-room window, was a grating over a window,
which gave light to an underground scullery. This grating was
surrounded by a bed of shrubs, which concealed it from the eye of
visitors.
'Sergeant Evans's first move was to proceed to this spot. He was
rewarded by finding blood-stains on the grating. The nearest shrubs
had been roughly handled, and some of their leaves lay scattered
about.
'The inference which counsel is asked to draw is that the body--or a
portion of it--was lowered down through the window, and thence carried
away.
'This would evidently be much easier for a young woman like the
prisoner to do than to carry it downstairs.
'Her second journey down, when she appears to have been bearing a load
of some kind, may be accounted for by supposing that she returned for
the jewels. These, as already stated, have disappeared.
'During deceased's lifetime she maintained great secrecy about these
jewels. No one, not even the servants who had been with her longest,
seems to have known anything as to their whereabouts.
'It is suggested, therefore, that they were kept by deceased in a
secret hiding-place. This secret must have been disclosed to prisoner,
or found out by her.
'Probably, had deceased's nephew been home longer, he would have
learnt something about the matter.
'Counsel will doubtless have noticed the coincidence of the crime
being committed on the very night of Mr. Lewis's return. Probably this
was to anticipate any communications between aunt and nephew which
might have resulted in his obtaining access to the treasure hoard.'
('Coincidence, indeed! Some people might think it a d---- suspicious
circumstance,' said the reader. Then, shrugging his shoulders, he
added: 'Of course, she's guilty, and it's my duty to get a conviction;
but, upon my word, I never had a job to do that I liked less. It's all
Pollard's fault for writing up the brief so desperately. He and his
Lewis!')
'Sergeant Evans now proceeded to arrest the prisoner. When he charged
her with the crime she turned pale, and cried out that it was
impossible. But she shed no tears, and showed but little emotion after
the first surprise.'
('Pooh! What difference does that make? This sort of thing simply
depends on the person's character, not on whether he is guilty or
not.' And the blue pencil did some more scoring out.)
'The only remaining circumstance of the case is the disposal of the
body.
'In the afternoon of the same day, the second of June, a visitor
staying in Porthstone, named Wilfrid Meredith, was walking out to
Newton Bay. Just as he rounded the corner and came into the bay he
discovered on the edge of the waves a human hand.
'Although somewhat bruised and discoloured, this hand has been
identified as the deceased's by her nephew and the servants.
'On the fingers were several valuable rings, which deceased constantly
wore. About the identity, therefore, there can be no reasonable doubt.
'No other portion of the body has yet been found. For this reason the
Treasury have declined to take up the case, which is in the nature of
a private prosecution on the part of Mr. Lewis.
_'Call John Lewis.'_
At this point Mr. Prescott laid down his brief and leant back in his
chair. The remainder of the document consisted of the proofs or
statements of the evidence which each witness was prepared to give.
Much of it would, of course, be merely a repetition of the narrative
contained in the first part. It could therefore be looked at some
other time.
He laid down his brief and began to think over its contents. It was a
case of circumstantial evidence, evidence which all seemed to point
one way, and to fix a horrible crime upon a young girl whom he
remembered as a pretty child.
Though not a native of Mynyddshire, Charles Prescott was familiar with
the district. He had, in fact, been educated at a grammar school in
the next county, and it was while he was there that he had made the
acquaintance of the Owens.
His favourite schoolfellow, a boy a few years younger than himself,
came from the little watering-place, and a summer seldom passed
without Prescott spending some part of his holiday at his friend's
home. There it was that he had seen old Owen, the parish rector, and
had caught a few passing glimpses of the little Eleanor.
Hence his interest in the present case, and the unusual feeling
of reluctance with which he approached his task. He had not been
to Porthstone for five years now. The schoolfellows were still
friendly--in fact, they saw a good deal of each other still, having
taken up the same profession and joined the same circuit. But Prescott
had got on much better than his friend. He had had five years' start
to begin with, and his was that firm, persevering temperament which
ensures success to the lawyer. He had therefore risen steadily, and
was already making an income of twelve or fifteen hundred a year,
while his younger and erratic friend had but gained a precarious
foothold in the profession by dint of a few brilliant speeches, which
covered a very superficial acquaintance with the law.
'I wonder who will have the defence!' meditated Prescott. 'It will
surely run to something more than a docker!'
A docker, it should be explained, is the name for a retainer which is
handed direct from a prisoner in the dock to a counsel, without the
intervention of a solicitor. It is the resource of the poorer class of
offenders, who can scrape together that single guinea, but no more.
'I have it. I'll go and see Tressamer about this. He goes there
still, and ought to know all about it.'
Tressamer was the name of his old friend. His chambers were in an
adjoining court of the Temple. Prescott put on his hat, told his clerk
where he was to be found, and strolled forth.