It was a fortnight later, a hot July morning, and an unusual animation
reigned in the staid and leisurely streets of Lewes. For the Assizes
opened that day, and it was known that the first case to be tried was the
murder of which all Brighton and a large part of England had been talking
so much since Morris Assheton had been committed for trial. At the
hearing in the police-court there was not very much evidence brought
forward, but there had been sufficient to make it necessary that he
should stand his trial. It was known, for instance, that he had some very
serious reason for anger and resentment against his victim; those who had
seen him that day remembered him as being utterly unlike himself; he was
known to have been at Falmer Park that afternoon about six, and to have
driven home along the Falmer Road in his car an hour or so later. And in
a copse close by to where the body of the murdered man was found had been
discovered a thick bludgeon of a stick, broken it would seem by some
violent act, into two halves. On the top half was rudely cut with a
pen-knife M. ASSHE ... What was puzzling, however, was the apparent
motive of robbery about the crime; it will be remembered that the
victim's watch was missing, and that no money was found on him.
But since Morris had been brought up for committal at the police-court it
was believed that a quantity more evidence of a peculiarly incriminating
kind had turned up. Yet in spite of this, so it was rumoured, the
prisoner apparently did more than bear up; it was said that he was quite
cheerful, quite confident that his innocence would be established. Others
said that he was merely callous and utterly without any moral sense. Much
sympathy of course was felt for his mother, and even more for the family
of the Templetons and the daughter to whom it was said that Morris was
actually engaged. And, as much as anyone it was Mr. Taynton who was the
recipient of the respectful pity of the British public. Though no
relation he had all his life been a father to Morris, and while Miss
Madge Templeton was young and had the spring and elasticity of youth, so
that, though all this was indeed terrible enough, she might be expected
to get over it, Mr. Taynton was advanced in years and it seemed that he
was utterly broken by the shock. He had not been in Brighton on the day
on which Morris was brought before the police-court magistrates, and the
news had reached him in London after his young friend had been committed.
It was said he had fainted straight off, and there had been much
difficulty in bringing him round. But since then he had worked day and
night on behalf of the accused. But certain fresh evidence which had
turned up a day or two before the Assizes seemed to have taken the heart
out of him. He had felt confident that the watch would have been found,
and the thief traced. But something new that had turned up had utterly
staggered him. He could only cling to one hope, and that was that he knew
the evidence about the stick must break down, for it was he who had
thrown the fragments into the bushes, a fact which would come to light in
his own evidence. But at the most, all he could hope for was, that though
it seemed as if the poor lad must be condemned, the jury, on account of
his youth, and the provocation he had received, of which Mr. Taynton
would certainly make the most when called upon to bear witness on this
point, or owing to some weakness in the terrible chain of evidence that
had been woven, would recommend him to mercy.
The awful formalities at the opening of the case were gone through. The
judge took his seat, and laid on the bench in front of him a small parcel
wrapped up in tissue paper; the jury was sworn in, and the prisoner asked
if he objected to the inclusion of any of those among the men who were
going to decide whether he was worthy of life or guilty of death, and the
packed court, composed about equally of men and women, most of whom would
have shuddered to see a dog beaten, or a tired hare made to go an extra
mile, settled themselves in their places with a rustle of satisfaction at
the thought of seeing a man brought before them in the shame of
suspected murder, and promised themselves an interesting and thrilling
couple of days in observing the gallows march nearer him, and in watching
his mental agony. They who would, and perhaps did, subscribe to
benevolent institutions for the relief of suffering among the lower
animals, would willingly have paid a far higher rate to observe the
suffering of a man. He was so interesting; he was so young and
good-looking; what a depraved monster he must be. And that little package
in tissue paper which the judge brought in and laid on the bench! The
black cap, was it not? That showed what the judge thought about it all.
How thrilling!
Counsel for the Crown, opened the case, and in a speech grimly devoid of
all emotional appeal, laid before the court the facts he was prepared to
prove, on which they would base their verdict.
The prisoner, a young man of birth and breeding, had strong grounds for
revenge on the murdered man. The prosecution, however, was not concerned
in defending what the murdered man had done, but in establishing the
guilt of the man who had murdered him. Godfrey Mills, had, as could be
proved by witnesses, slandered the prisoner in an abominable manner, and
the prosecution were not intending for a moment to attempt to establish
the truth of his slander. But this slander they put forward as a motive
that gave rise to a murderous impulse on the part of the prisoner. The
jury would hear from one of the witnesses, an old friend of the
prisoner's, and a man who had been a sort of father to him, that a few
hours only before the murder was committed the prisoner had uttered
certain words which admitted only of one interpretation, namely that
murder was in his mind. That the provocation was great was not denied;
it was certain however, that the provocation was sufficient.
Counsel then sketched the actual circumstances of the crime, as far as
they could be constructed from what evidence there was. This evidence was
purely circumstantial, but of a sort which left no reasonable doubt that
the murder had been committed by the prisoner in the manner suggested.
Mr. Godfrey Mills had gone to London on the Tuesday of the fatal week,
intending to return on the Thursday. On the Wednesday the prisoner became
cognisant of the fact that Mr. Godfrey Mills had--he would not argue over
it--wantonly slandered him to Sir Richard Templeton, a marriage with the
daughter of whom was projected in the prisoner's mind, which there was
reason to suppose, might have taken place. Should the jury not be
satisfied on that point, witnesses would be called, including the young
lady herself, but unless the counsel for the defence challenged their
statement, namely that this slander had been spoken which contributed, so
it was argued, a motive for the crime it would be unnecessary to intrude
on the poignant and private grief of persons so situated, and to insist
on a scene which must prove to be so heart-rendingly painful.
(There was a slight movement of demur in the humane and crowded court at
this; it was just these heart-rendingly painful things which were so
thrilling.)
It was most important, continued counsel for the prosecution that the
jury should fix these dates accurately in their minds. Tuesday was June
21st; it was on that day the murdered man had gone to London, designing
to return on June 23d, Thursday. The prisoner had learned on Wednesday
(June 22d) that aspersions had been made, false aspersions, on his
character, and it was on Thursday that he learned for certain from the
lips of the man to whom they had been made, who was the author of them.
The author was Mr. Godfrey Mills. He had thereupon motored back from
Falmer Park, and informed Mr. Taynton of this, and had left again for
Falmer an hour later to make an appointment for Mr. Taynton to see Sir
Richard. He knew, too, this would be proved, that Mr. Godfrey Mills
proposed to return from London that afternoon, to get out at Falmer
station and walk back to Brighton. It was certain from the finding of the
body that Mr. Mills had travelled from London, as he intended, and that
he had got out at this station. It was certain also that at that hour the
prisoner, burning for vengeance, and knowing the movements of Mr. Mills,
was in the vicinity of Falmer.
To proceed, it was certain also that the prisoner in a very strange wild
state had arrived at Mr. Taynton's house about nine that evening, knowing
that Mr. Mills was expected there at about 9.30. Granted that he had
committed the murder, this proceeding was dictated by the most elementary
instinct of self-preservation. It was also in accordance with that that
he had gone round in the pelting rain late that night to see if the
missing man had returned to his flat, and that he had gone to London next
morning to seek him there. He had not, of course, found him, and he
returned to Brighton that afternoon. In connection with this return,
another painful passage lay before them, for it would be shown by one of
the witnesses that again on the Friday afternoon the prisoner had visited
the scene of the crime. Mr. Taynton, in fact, still unsuspicious of
anything being wrong had walked over the Downs that afternoon from
Brighton to Falmer, and had sat down in view of the station where he
proposed to catch a train back to Brighton, and had seen the prisoner
stop his motor-car close to the corner where the body had been found, and
behave in a manner inexplicable except on the theory that he knew where
the body lay. Subsequently to the finding of the body, which had occurred
on Saturday evening, there had been discovered in a coppice adjoining a
heavy bludgeon-like stick broken in two. The top of it, which would be
produced, bore the inscription M. ASSHE...
Mr. Taynton was present in court, and was sitting on the bench to the
right of the judge who had long been a personal friend of his. Hitherto
his face had been hidden in his hands, as this terribly logical tale
went on. But here he raised it, and smiled, a wan smile enough, at
Morris. The latter did not seem to notice the action. Counsel for the
prosecution continued.
All this, he said, had been brought forward at the trial before the
police-court magistrates, and he thought the jury would agree that it was
more than sufficient to commit the prisoner to trial. At that trial, too,
they had heard, the whole world had heard, of the mystery of the missing
watch, and the missing money. No money, at least, had been found on the
body; it was reasonable to refer to it as "missing." But here again, the
motive of self-preservation came in; the whole thing had been carefully
planned; the prisoner, counsel suggested, had, just as he had gone up to
town to find Mr. Mills the day after the murder was committed, striven to
put justice off the scent in making it appear that the motive for the
crime, had been robbery. With well-calculated cunning he had taken the
watch and what coins there were, from the pockets of his victim. That at
any rate was the theory suggested by the prosecution.
The speech was admirably delivered, and its virtue was its extreme
impassiveness; it seemed quite impersonal, the mere automatic action of
justice, not revengeful, not seeking for death, but merely stating the
case as it might be stated by some planet or remote fixed star. Then
there was a short pause, while the prosecutor for the Crown laid down his
notes. And the same slow, clear, impassive voice went on.
"But since the committal of the prisoner to stand his trial at these
assizes," he said, "more evidence of an utterly unexpected, but to us
convincing kind has been discovered. Here it is." And he held up a sheet
of blotting paper, and a crumpled envelope.
"A letter has been blotted on this sheet," he said, "and by holding it up
to the light and looking through it, one can, of course, read what was
written. But before I read it, I will tell you from where this sheet was
taken. It was taken from a blotting book in the drawing-room of Mrs.
Assheton's house in Sussex Square. An expert in handwriting will soon
tell the gentlemen of the jury in whose hand he without doubt considers
it to be written. After the committal of the prisoner to trial, search
was of course made in this house, for further evidence. This evidence was
almost immediately discovered. After that no further search was made."
The judge looked up from his notes.
"By whom was this discovery made?" he asked.
"By Superintendent Figgis and Sergeant Wilkinson, my lord. They will
give their evidence."
He waited till the judge had entered this.
"I will read the letter," he said, "from the negative, so to speak, of
the blotting paper."
"June 21st.
"TO GODFREY MILLS, ESQ.
"You damned brute, I will settle you. I hear you are coming back to
Brighton to-morrow, and are getting out at Falmer. All right; I shall be
there, and we shall have a talk.
"MORRIS ASSHETON."
A sort of purr went round the court; the kind humane ladies and gentlemen
who had fought for seats found this to their taste. The noose tightened.
"I have here also an envelope," said the prosecutor, "which was found by
Mr. Figgis and Mr. Wilkinson in the waste-paper basket in the
sitting-room of the deceased. According to the expert in handwriting,
whose evidence you will hear, it is undoubtedly addressed by the same
hand that wrote the letter I have just read you. And, in his opinion,
the handwriting is that of the prisoner. No letter was found in the
deceased man's room corresponding to this envelope, but the jury will
observe that what I have called the negative of the letter on the
blotting-paper was dated June 21st, the day that the prisoner suspected
the slander that had been levelled at him. The suggestion is that the
deceased opened this before leaving for London, and took the letter with
him. And the hand, that for the purposes of misleading justice, robbed
him of his watch and his money, also destroyed the letter which was then
on his person, and which was an incriminating document. But this sheet
of blotting paper is as valuable as the letter itself. It proves the
letter to have been written."
* * * * *
Morris had been given a seat in the dock, and on each side of him there
stood a prison-warder. But in the awed hush that followed, for the
vultures and carrion crows who crowded the court were finding
themselves quite beautifully thrilled, he wrote a few words on a slip
of paper and handed it to a warder to give to his counsel. And his
counsel nodded to him.
The opening speech for the Crown had lasted something over two hours, and
a couple of witnesses only were called before the interval for lunch. But
most of the human ghouls had brought sandwiches with them, and the court
was packed with the same people when Morris was brought up again after
the interval, and the judge, breathing sherry, took his seat. The court
had become terribly hot, but the public were too humane to mind that. A
criminal was being chased toward the gallows, and they followed his
progress there with breathless interest. Step by step all that was laid
down in the opening speech for the prosecution was inexorably proved,
all, that is to say, except the affair of the stick. But from what a
certain witness (Mr. Taynton) swore to, it was clear that this piece of
circumstantial evidence, which indeed was of the greatest importance
since the Crown's case was that the murder had been committed with that
bludgeon of a stick, completely broke down. Whoever had done the murder,
he had not done it with that stick, since Mr. Taynton deposed to having
been at Mrs. Assheton's house on the Friday, the day after the murder had
been committed, and to having taken the stick away by mistake, believing
it to be his. And the counsel for the defence only asked one question on
this point, which question closed the proceedings for the day. It was:
"You have a similar stick then?"
And Mr. Taynton replied in the affirmative.
The court then rose.
* * * * *
On the whole the day had been most satisfactory to the ghouls and
vultures and it seemed probable that they would have equally exciting and
plentiful fare next day. But in the opinion of many Morris's counsel was
disappointing. He did not cross-examine witnesses at all sensationally,
and drag out dreadful secrets (which had nothing to do with the case)
about their private lives, in order to show that they seldom if ever
spoke the truth. Indeed, witness after witness was allowed to escape
without any cross-examination at all; there was no attempt made to prove
that the carpenter who had found the body had been himself tried for
murder, or that his children were illegitimate. Yet gradually, as the
afternoon went on, a sort of impression began to make its way, that there
was something coming which no one suspected.
The next morning those impressions were realised when the adjourned
cross-examination of Mr. Taynton was resumed. The counsel for the defence
made an immediate attack on the theories of the prosecution, and it told.
For the prosecution had suggested that Morris's presence at the scene of
the murder the day after was suspicious, as if he had come back uneasily
and of an unquiet conscience. If that was so, Mr. Taynton's presence
there, who had been the witness who proved the presence of the other, was
suspicious also. What had he come there for? In order to throw the broken
pieces of Morris's stick into the bushes? These inferences were of
course but suggested in the questions counsel asked Mr. Taynton in the
further cross-examination of this morning, and perhaps no one in court
saw what the suggestion was for a moment or two, so subtly and covertly
was it conveyed. Then it appeared to strike all minds together, and a
subdued rustle went round the court, followed the moment after by an even
intenser silence.
Then followed a series of interrogations, which at first seemed wholly
irrelevant, for they appeared to bear only on the business relations
between the prisoner and the witness. Then suddenly like the dim light at
the end of a tunnel, where shines the pervading illuminating sunlight, a
little ray dawned.
"You have had control of the prisoner's private fortune since 1886?"
"Yes."
"In the year 1896 he had £8,000 or thereabouts in London and
North-Western Debentures, £6,000 in Consols, £7,000 in Government bonds
of South Australia?"
"I have no doubt those figures are correct."
"A fortnight ago you bought £8,000 of London and North-Western
Debentures, £6,000 in Consols, £7,000 in Government bonds of South
Australia?"
Mr. Taynton opened his lips to speak, but no sound came from them.
"Please answer the question."
If there had been a dead hush before, succeeding the rustle that had
followed the suggestions about the stick, a silence far more palpable now
descended. There was no doubt as to what the suggestion was now.
The counsel for the prosecution broke in.
"I submit that these questions are irrelevant, my lord," he said.
"I shall subsequently show, my lord, that they are not."
"The witness must answer the question," said the judge. "I see that there
is a possible relevancy."
The question was answered.
"Thank you, that is all," said the counsel for the defence, and Mr.
Taynton left the witness box.
It was then, for the first time since the trial began, that Morris
looked at this witness. All through he had been perfectly calm and
collected, a circumstance which the spectators put down to the
callousness with which they kindly credited him, and now for the first
time, as Mr. Taynton's eyes and his met, an emotion crossed the
prisoner's face. He looked sorry.