AFTER THE MURDER――THE INQUEST.
The terrible crime committed in Larchgrove-road, the news of which
spread like wildfire on the following morning, caused a thrill of
horror for miles around. At Broxbridge, Sulwich, and a host of other
places, it formed the sole topic of conversation.
As the cry of fire will frighten the worst sluggards from their beds,
so did the tidings of the frightful murder awaken the whole country
from its lethargy.
At the present day crimes of a like nature seem to excite but little
sympathy――indeed, it is surprising the apathy displayed by the public;
regard or pity for the victim or victims of an assassin is never for a
moment thought of. Not so, however, was it in the case of the young
farmer who met his death in a manner described in our last chapter.
Men ran through the streets and stood in knots by the corners, and sat
in circles in the alehouses.
There was but one look in their faces――there was but one thought in
their minds――this was the earnest desire that the murderer of Philip
Jamblin should not escape the fate he so justly merited.
On market day there was a mournful meeting at the ordinary, and most
of the farmers wore crape on their hats or sleeves.
The Jamblins were greatly respected, and everyone thought of the
bereaved father and the suffering sister.
“Poor Phil Jamblin――he was as brave and honest a chap as ever stepped
in shoe leather,” they said, as they shook their heads, “and never did
a morsel o’ harm to any one. I’d hang the scoundrel, whoever he may
be――hang ’im on the first tree at hand and try ’im arterwards.”
“But who could ha’ done it?” said a neighbouring farmer. “Phil never
harmed nor quarrelled wi’ a soul in his life――leastways not as I ever
heard of.”
“It must ha’ bin some stranger as did it――a tramp, perhaps,” cried
another. “There’s no saying for sartin.”
Many of the young farmers were not content with lamenting Phil, but
they scoured the country upon their hunters, examining every strange
face with suspicion, and asking questions of all the publicans in the
neighbouring villages and towns.
Throngs of persons of almost every denomination flocked to the “Carved
Lion.” It had been “noised abroad” that Brickett saw the murderer
washing his hands in a pool of water at Larchfield Green. This was
enough to bring hosts of inquirers to his house to learn the truth
from his own lips.
The worthy host of the “Lion” repeated his statement until he became
weary of the narration; but his customers would not let him have any
rest――he was forced to comply with their demands.
Every scrap of information connected with the tragedy was eagerly
sought after, and retailed afterwards to the wondering village folk.
Exaggerated stories got abroad, and numberless theories were
propounded. Somebody who remembered the thrashing Peace received at
the hands of the murdered man kindly hinted that he might have
committed the crime from motives of revenge.
Brickett was most indignant at this suggestion, which he declared to
be both false and scandalous.
It was not possible for Peace to be accused of the murder, seeing that
he was in gaol doing his four years at the time it was committed; he
was secure enough.
The constabulary took active measures to bring the guilty party within
the meshes of the law. Constables were dispatched in every possible
direction; notices were sent to the various stations, but as yet no
clue had been found to the fugitive.
Miss Jamblin was in a critical state. The surgeon who attended upon
her found her weak and dejected as a woman about to die.
Her face was furrowed by the traces of the scalding tears she had
shed; her pulse was faintly fluttering like a wounded bird.
As for her father he said but little. It was, however, but too plainly
shown that a strange change had come over him, and those about him
whispered to each other that the old gentleman would never be the same
man again.
The inquest was to take place at the “Carved Lion,” and for the
convenience of the coroner and jury the body of the murdered man was
brought from Stoke Ferry Farmhouse and placed in one of the private
rooms of Brickett’s hostelry.
There could not be a moment’s hesitation in arriving at the conclusion
as to the cause of death, but it was necessary for the usual formulæ
to be gone through.
Of late years the examination of the witnesses, and wrangling of the
legal gentlemen engaged in the case, have caused the coroner’s inquiry
to be protracted to a needless length.
It is either one of two things: the inquiry is knocked off with
unseemly haste, or else carried on beyond all reasonable limits.
The fourth of Edward the First, the original Coroner’s Act, which gave
an appointed official the right to inquire into the causes of sudden
death within his jurisdiction, was no doubt at that comparatively
lawless period an eminently necessary piece of legislation.
In those days deeds of violence, tavern brawls, and mysterious deaths,
were of daily occurrence, and doubtless this was the primary reason
for the establishment of a legal court of inquiry, and it cannot be
concealed that it is needed in our own times.
In remote districts the inevitable coroner’s inquiry, which is sure to
follow any and every case of sudden and violent death, is a
precautionary measure for the safety of her Majesty’s subjects. It
acts as a deterrent against crime, and assists the criminal courts in
arriving at just verdicts.
But it is felt in cities and large towns that the coroner’s court is
an expensive and withal fussy ante-chamber to the justice-room of the
stipendiary magistrates, and that some alteration is needed in the
conduct of these inquiries.
The old fashion mode――and indeed one which was followed in the case of
the Larchgrove-road murder――of holding coroners’ courts in the
parlours of public-houses, within hearing of the noise and ill-timed
jollity of the tap-room, and of laying the corpse in some shed at the
back yard of a beershop, among the cans and pewter pots, is very
objectionable.
The practice degrades the dignity of justice.
There are, however, still more important objections, in the lack of
legal training for which too many of our coroners are conspicuous, and
in the needless waste of public and private time and money in
examining witnesses――in speeches of counsel, who wrangle, ask
irrelevant questions, badger witnesses, and retard instead of aid the
course of justice.
This of late has grown almost insupportable.
The first inquiry in what is termed the Balham mystery was a mere
sham. The second was carried on to a most unwarrantable length――with
no good result.
And in the late Richmond murder the public had reason to deplore the
license of advocacy, and the shouts of laughter proceeding from
persons in the body of the court were a disgrace to a civilised
community.
Upon the coroner and jury assembling at the “Carved Lion” no such
unseemly merriment took place.
Everybody present conducted themselves in a becoming manner, and many
were deeply affected, as the evidence was heard in almost breathless
silence.
It was not of a nature to fix the guilt upon any one person in
particular, nevertheless the facts went far towards pointing to one
man as the guilty person.
But the links in the chain of evidence were detached. There was,
however, good reason for supposing that they would be strengthened and
be made more compact after further investigation.
The knife which the murderer had left behind was found, and was
produced by the police on the inquest. In addition to this two human
teeth were discovered at a short distance from where the body lay; one
of these was broken short off, the other was perfect.
These were considered most important facts, as in the event of the
suspected man being captured, the teeth might serve for the purpose of
identification.
Brickett was the first witness called. He deposed to the facts already
known to the reader. He said he was under the impression that the man
washing his hands in the pool at Larch-green was Giles Chudley, but he
would not undertake to swear that it was him.
Henry Adolphus gave his evidence in a very creditable manner. He
explained the circumstance of his seeing a man running across the
meadows. He appeared to be wounded, and from what he could make out
the fugitive was bleeding from the nose or mouth, he could not tell
which, as he was too far off. He was quite certain, however, that the
man was hurt in some way.
Another and more important witness was next examined.
At no very great distance from Larch-green stood a small habitation
called “Jawbone Cottage.”
This name was given to the place in consequence of the jawbones of a
whale being on either side of the gateway at its entrance.
When placed in their position they formed a pointed arch, around which
climbed honeysuckle and clematis.
No one, however, would have taken them to have been bones――certainly
not at the first glance.
In Jawbone Cottage resided a farm labourer, his wife, and two
children; the eldest of these being an intelligent little girl, of
eleven or twelve years of age. She was brought forward as a witness.
It appeared from what she said that her father and mother had gone
from home in the after part of the day on which the murder took place,
to see her elder brother off, who was going to sea.
They did not return, however, till late; the witness and her sister, a
child of five years old, went to bed at the usual time, but the
witness, who had a swollen face which was very painful, and prevented
her from sleeping, got up and looked out of the bedroom window, in the
hope of seeing her parents coming along the road.
While thus occupied she observed a great man washing his face and
hands in the pool of water on the green. She was so frightened that
she hardly durst breathe, but she watched him for some time; she saw
that his lip was cut open, and that his hands and face were covered
with blood.
After this she withdrew from the window and covered herself over with
the bedclothes. Mustering courage to go again to the window, she found
the man gone.
She was asked to describe him, and in reply said――
“He had dark bushy eyebrows and a beaky nose.”
She was then asked if she would know him again.
After some little hesitation she said she thought she should be able
to recognise him, but was not certain.
Her evidence was taken down very carefully by the coroner’s clerk, as
it was believed to be very important, as far as the after proceedings
in the case were concerned.
After the little girl’s evidence there was a pause in the proceedings.
The coroner looked at his summoning officer, who looked at the
inspector of police who had the case in hand; then there were
whisperings and a low murmur from those assembled in the court, out of
which the police inspector took his way; then he returned again, and
said something in a whisper to the coroner, who said out loud――
“In the interests of justice it is most desirable that she should be
heard; but if she is too ill, and has a doctor’s certificate to that
effect, we have no other alternative than to adjourn the inquiry.”
“I will do what I can,” answered the police-officer, who again left
the court.
In a minute or so he returned, and nodded significantly to the
coroner.
All was now so hushed, that, to make use of a common phrase, “you
might hear a pin drop.”
It was generally understood that the girl Nelly was about to make her
appearance, and everybody was on the tip-toe of expectation.
Wan and pale, and the very personification of sorrow, the unhappy girl
was now brought in by two female attendants and the police inspector.
She was placed in the space set apart for the witnesses, and seemed to
be so overcome that all present were under the impression that she was
about to swoon. She bore up, however, in a manner which surprised
everybody.
“Your name is Ellen Fulford, I believe?” said the clerk.
“Yes, sir,” she returned, in a voice which was scarcely audible to any
one save those who were in close proximity to the speaker.
“Now, don’t be alarmed, Miss Fulford,” said the coroner, in a kind
tone. I do not doubt but this is a painful ordeal for you to go
through. We will not ask needless questions or protract it longer than
may be absolutely requisite. Take your time in replying to the few
interrogations we have to put.”
Nell bent her head in acknowledgment of the consideration shown
towards her, and the examination proceeded.
She was asked if she saw Mr. Philip Jamblin on the night of the
murder, and replied in the affirmative.
She gave a long account of her conversation with him, which took place
near the workshop at one time in the occupation of Charles Peace.
Then a juryman inquired if Peace now resided in the neighbourhood.
“I believe not, sir,” said Nell.
“Oh, you believe not――you don’t know, for certain, then?”
“He has not resided in this neighbourhood for some time. He left a
little under two years ago,” said the inspector. “As far as he is
concerned we are well able to let you know. He was convicted at the
last sessions at Sheffield upon a charge of burglary, since which
period he has been doing part of his time. He was sentenced to four
years’ penal servitude.”
A murmur ran through the court at this declaration.
“What did he say?” inquired Brickett, of a policeman who stood next to
him. “Charles Peace convicted of burglary! It can’t be; I dunno
believe it.”
“Silence; order in the court!” shouted the usher.
“Well, I’m staggered――regularly dumbfounded!” murmured the landlord.
“It bean’t true.”
“Order!” was again called, and Brickett remained silent, but he had
half a mind to give an open contradiction to the inspector’s
statement.
“It’s right enough,” whispered the policeman. “He’s quodded. Hold your
row.”
“Now, Miss Fulford,” said the coroner, addressing himself to the
witness, “you have given us, I dare say, a very faithful account of
your last interview with the ill-fated young man, Mr. Philip Jamblin.
But of the warning you gave him――which, I am sure, everyone must
regret that he did not heed. You say a man was behind the hedge during
the earlier part of the conversation?”
“Yes, sir. There was a man.”
“Could you see his features?”
“Yes. Most distinctly.”
“Were they familiar to you?”
“They were.”
“Then you knew him?”
“I did. His name is Giles Chudley.”
“This you swear?”
“I do.”
“You are quite positive as to his being Chudley?”
“I am quite positive.”
“Can you describe his appearance?”
“I dunno that I can. He is a tall, strong fellow, with a brown face
and bushy eyebrows.”
“With a beaky nose?” inquired the coroner, referring to the girl’s
evidence.
“Yes, his nose is a little beaky.”
“That will do, Miss Fulford, we will not trouble you any further
to-day. You have given your evidence in a most satisfactory manner.”
Nell was taken out of court. What it cost her to go through the ordeal
was only known to herself.
The coroner summed up. He said all the evidence went in one direction,
this being to throw a dark shade of suspicion upon the man Chudley.
Still at present it was not clearly established that he was the
murderer of Mr. Jamblin, and if the jury had any doubts they had
better not declare him guilty by their verdict. This was but a
preliminary inquiry. It was clearly demonstrated beyond all cavil that
Mr. Jamblin was foully murdered; it was therefore their duty to
declare this by their verdict.
The jury were some time considering, but ultimately returned a verdict
of――
“Wilful murder against some person or persons unknown.”
Thus the proceedings ended.
“Well I never!” cried Henry Adolphus, when they had all left. “Mr.
Peace convicted of burglary!”
“Oh, there must be some mistake,” returned Brickett; “it can’t be our
Peace――’taint at all likely――’taint reasonable to s’pose such a thing.
Why, he was one of the best fellows out.”
“So everybody ses; but it’s ’ard to know people nowadays. Still, I
can’t b’lieve that tale.”
“The p’leece ought to know,” suggested a man, holding in his hand a
tankard of ale; “if they doesn’t know, who does?”
“You just shut up,” cried the landlord. “Nobody asked your ’pinion. I
tell ’ee they do not know――so that’s enough.”
“All right, guvner, I be dun; you know these matters a deal better
than what I do, I dare say.”
After the departure of the coroner, the jury, witnesses, and
constables, the people in the “Lion” threw off all restraint, and
conversed freely on the all-absorbing topic. They commented on the
evidence with great acumen――I mean rustic acumen.
Everybody agreed upon one point, this being for the murderer of young
Jamblin being brought to justice in the shortest possible space of
time.
When the funeral of the murdered man took place all the populations of
Broxbridge and the surrounding districts turned out to do honour to
the obsequies of the young farmer.
It was a touching sight to witness the crowds of men, women, and
children who swelled the throng of mourners.
[Sidenote: No. 28.]
[Illustration: PEACE IN THE TAILOR’S SHOP.]
Lord Ethalwood’s carriage followed. In this were Mr. Jakyl, Henry
Adolphus, his lordship’s housekeeper, and head gardener, and when Mr.
Jamblin bared his white head beside his son’s grave, the tears fell
thick and fast down the faces of the women and children, as well as
many of the men.
Joe Doughty sobbed convulsively, and it was indeed a day of general
mourning, which was heartfelt as it was creditable. There is something
of the old heroic chivalrous spirit yet to be found in the rustic
population of this country.
There is something of romance and legendary lore left also, but these
things are fast fading away. It would be a consolation to most of us
if we could persuade ourselves that the better instincts of our nature
were not fading away also.
Convulsions have taken place in the moral world. The people of this
country have undergone a change――whether for the better or for the
worse it is not so easy to determine.