THORNDYKE PUTS DOWN HIS PIECE
The journey down to Rochester would have been more agreeable and
interesting under different circumstances. Thorndyke kept up a flow of
lively conversation to which I should ordinarily have listened with
the keenest pleasure. But he persistently avoided any reference to the
object of our journey; and as this was the subject that engrossed my
thoughts and from which I was unable to detach them, his
conversational efforts were expended on somewhat inattentive ears. In
common politeness I tried to make a show of listening and even of some
sort of response; but the instant a pause occurred, my thoughts flew
back to the engrossing subject and the round of fruitless speculation
begun again.
What was it that Thorndyke had in his mind? He was not making this
journey to inform the coroner of Frood’s death. That could have been
done by letter; and, moreover, I was the actual witness to the dead
man’s identity. There was some point that he expected to be able to
elucidate; some evidence that had been overlooked. And that evidence
seemed to be connected with that dreadful, pitiful thing that lay in
the coffin--crying out, indeed, to Heaven for retribution, but crying
in a voice all inarticulate. But would it be inarticulate to him? He
had seemed to imply an expectation of being able to infer from the
appearance of those mouldering bones the cause and manner of death,
and even--so it had appeared to me--the very identity of the murderer.
But how could this be possible? Dr. Baines had said that the bones
showed no signs of injury. The soft structures of the body had
disappeared utterly. What suggestion as to the cause of death could
the bones offer? Chronic mineral poisoning might be ascertainable from
examination of the skeleton, but not from a mere ocular inspection;
and the question of chronic poisoning did not arise. Angelina was
alive on the Saturday evening; before the Monday morning her body was
in the wall. Again and again I dismissed the problem as an
impenetrable mystery; and still it presented itself afresh for
consideration.
A few words of explanation to the constable on duty at the mortuary
secured our admission, or, rather Thorndyke’s; for I did not go in,
but stood in the doorway, watching him inquisitively. He looked over
the objects set out on the tray and seemed to be mentally checking
them. Then he put on a pair of pince-nez and examined some of them
more closely. From the tray he presently turned to the coffin, and,
lifting off the lid, stood for a while, with his pince-nez in his
hand, looking intently at the awful relics of the dead woman. From his
face I could gather nothing. It was at all times a rather immobile
face, in accordance with his calm, even temperament. Now it expressed
nothing but interest and close attention. He inspected the whole
skeleton methodically, as I could see by the way his eyes travelled
slowly from the head to the foot of the coffin. Then, once more, he
put on his reading-glasses, and stooped to examine more closely
something in the upper part of the coffin--I judged it to be the
skull. At length he stood up, put away his glasses, replaced the
coffin-lid, and rejoined me.
“Has the sitting of the Court begun yet?” he asked the constable.
“They began about five minutes ago, sir,” was the reply; on which we
made our way to the court-room, where Thorndyke, having secured a
place at the table, beckoned to the coroner’s officer.
“Will you hand that to the coroner, please?” said he, producing from
his pocket a note in an official-looking blue envelope. The officer
took the note and laid it down before the coroner, who glanced at it
and nodded and then looked with sudden interest at Thorndyke. The
witness who was being examined at the moment was the pawnbroker’s
daughter, and her account of the mysterious man with the mole on his
nose was engaging the attention of the jury. While the examination was
proceeding, the coroner glanced from time to time at the note.
Presently he took it up and opened the envelope, and in a pause in the
evidence, took out the note and turned it over to look at the
signature. Then he ran his eyes over the contents, and I saw his
eyebrows go up. But at that moment one of the jurymen asked a
question, and the note was laid down while the answer was entered in
the depositions. At length the evidence of this witness was completed,
and the witness dismissed, when the coroner took up the note and read
it through carefully.
“Before we take the evidence of Israel Bangs, gentlemen,” said he, “we
had better consider some new facts which I think you will regard as
highly important. I have just received a communication from Dr. John
Thorndyke, who is a very eminent authority on medico-legal evidence.
He informs me that the husband of the deceased, Nicholas Frood, is
dead. It appears that he died about three months ago, but his body was
not identified until yesterday, when it was seen by Frood’s landlady
and by Dr. Strangeways, who is here and can give evidence as to the
identity. I propose that we first recall Dr. Strangeways and then ask
Dr. Thorndyke, who is also present, to give us the further
particulars.”
The jury agreed warmly to the suggestion, and I was at once recalled,
and as I took my place at the coroner’s left hand I felt that I was
fully justifying Cobbledick’s description of me as the “star witness,”
for not only was I the object of eager interest on the part of the
jury and the sergeant himself, but also of Bundy, whose eyes were
riveted on me with devouring curiosity.
There is no need for me to repeat my evidence. It was quite short. I
just briefly described the body and its situation. As to how it came
to the hospital, I had no personal knowledge, but I affirmed that it
was undoubtedly the body of Nicholas Frood. Of that I was quite
certain.
No questions were asked. There was a good deal of whispered comment,
and one indiscreet juryman remarked audibly that “this fellow seemed
to have cheated the hangman.” Then the coroner deferentially requested
Thorndyke to give the Court any information that was available, and my
friend advanced to the head of the table, where the coroner’s officer
placed a chair for him, and took the oath.
“What a perfectly awful thing this is about poor old Nicholas!”
whispered Bundy, who had crept into the chair that Thorndyke had just
vacated. “It makes one’s flesh creep to think of it.”
“It _was_ rather horrible,” I agreed, noting that my description of
the scene had evidently made _his_ flesh creep, for he was as pale as
a ghost. But there was no time to discuss the matter further, for
Thorndyke, having been sworn, and started by a general question from
the coroner, now began to give his evidence, in the form of a
narrative similar to that which I had heard from him, and accompanied
by the production of documents relating to the inquest and the
transfer of the body of the unknown deceased to the medical school.
“There is no doubt, I suppose, as to the date of this man’s death?”
the coroner asked.
“Practically none. He was seen alive on the 25th of April, and he was
found dead on the morning of the 26th. I have put in a copy of the
depositions at the inquest, which give the date and time of the
finding of the body.”
“Then, as his death occurred before the disappearance of his wife,
this inquiry is not concerned with him any further.”
Here the foreman of the jury interposed with a question. “It seems
that Dr. Thorndyke took a great deal of trouble to trace this man,
Frood. Was he acting for the police?”
“I don’t know that that is strictly our concern,” said the coroner,
looking at Thorndyke, nevertheless, with a somewhat inquiring
expression.
“I was acting,” said Thorndyke, “in pursuance of instructions from a
private client to investigate the circumstances of Mrs. Frood’s
disappearance, to ascertain whether a crime had been committed and, if
so, to endeavour to find the guilty party or parties.”
“He never told us that,” murmured Bundy; “at least--did you know,
John?”
“I did, as a matter of fact, but I was sworn to secrecy.”
Bundy looked at me a little reproachfully, I thought, and I caught a
queer glance from Cobbledick. But just then the coroner spoke again.
“Have you seen the evidence that was given yesterday?”
“Yes, I have a summary of it, which I have read.”
“Can you, from your investigations, tell us anything that was not
disclosed by that evidence?”
“Yes. I have just examined the remains of the deceased and the
articles which have been found from time to time. I think I can give
some additional information concerning them.”
“From your examination of the remains,” the coroner said somewhat
eagerly, “can you give any opinion as to the cause of death?”
“No,” replied Thorndyke. “My examination had reference chiefly to the
identity of the remains.”
The coroner looked disappointed. “The identity of the remains,” said
he, “is not in question. They have been clearly identified as those of
Angelina Frood.”
“Then,” said Thorndyke, “they have been wrongly identified. I can
swear positively that they are not the remains of Angelina Frood.”
At this statement a sudden hush fell on the Court, broken
incongruously by an audible whistle from Sergeant Cobbledick. On me
the declaration fell like a thunder-bolt, and, on looking round at
Bundy, I could see that he was petrified with astonishment. There was
a silence of some seconds’ duration. Then the coroner said, with a
distinctly puzzled air: “This is a very remarkable statement, Dr.
Thorndyke. It seems to be quite at variance with all the facts: and it
appears almost incredible that you should be able to speak with such
certainty, having regard to the condition of the remains and in spite
of the extraordinary effect of the lime.”
“It is on account of the effect of the lime that I am able to speak
with so much certainty and confidence,” Thorndyke replied.
“I don’t quite follow that,” said the coroner. “Would you kindly tell
us how you were able to determine that these remains are not those of
Angelina Frood?”
“It is a matter of simple inference,” replied Thorndyke. “On the 26th
of April last Mrs. Frood is known to have been alive. It has been
assumed that on that night or the next her body was built up in the
wall. If that had really happened, when the wall was opened on the
20th of July, the body would have been found intact and perfectly
recognizable!”
“You are not overlooking the circumstance that it was buried in a bed
of quick-lime?” said the coroner.
“No,” replied Thorndyke; “in fact that is the circumstance that makes
it quite certain that these remains are not those of Angelina Frood.
There is,” he continued, “a widely prevalent belief that quick-lime
has the property of completely consuming and destroying organic
substances such as a dead human body. But that belief is quite
erroneous. Quick-lime has no such properties. On the contrary, it has
a strongly preservative effect on organic matter. Putrefaction is a
change in organic matter which occurs only when that matter is more or
less moist. If such matter is completely dried, putrefaction is
prevented or arrested, and such dried, or mummified, matter will
remain undecomposed almost indefinitely, as we see in the case of
Egyptian mummies. But quick-lime has the property of abstracting the
water from organic substances with which it is in contact; of
rendering them completely dry. It thus acts as a very efficient
preservative. If Mrs. Frood’s body had been buried, when recently
dead, three months ago in fresh quick-lime, it would by now have been
reduced more or less to the condition of a mummy. It would not have
been even partially destroyed, and it would have been easily
recognizable.”
To this statement everyone present listened with profound attention
and equally profound surprise; and a glance at the faces of the
jurymen was sufficient to show that it had failed utterly to produce
conviction. Even the coroner was evidently not satisfied, and, after a
few moments’ reflection with knitted brows, he stated his objection.
“The belief in the destructive properties of lime,” he said, “can
hardly be accepted as a mere popular error. In the Crippen trial, you
may remember that the question was raised, and one of the expert
witnesses--no less an authority than Professor Pepper--gave it as his
considered opinion that quick-lime has these destructive properties,
and that if a body were buried in a sufficient quantity of quick-lime,
that body would be entirely destroyed. You will agree, I think, that
great weight attaches to the opinion of a man of Professor Pepper’s
great reputation.”
“Undoubtedly,” Thorndyke agreed. “He was one of our greatest
medico-legal authorities, though, on this subject, I think, his views
differed from those generally held by medical jurists. But the point
is that this was an opinion, and that no undeniable facts were then
available. But since that time, the matter has been put to the test of
actual experiment, and the results of those experiments are definite
facts. It is no longer a matter of opinion but one of incontestable
fact.”
“What are the experiments that you refer to?”
“The first practical investigation was carried out by Mr. A. Lucas,
the Director of the Government Analytical Laboratory and Assay Office
at Cairo. He felt that the question was one of great medico-legal
importance, and that it ought to be settled definitely. He accordingly
carried out a number of experiments, of which he published the
particulars in his treatise on ‘Forensic Chemistry.’ I produce a copy
of this book, with your permission.”
“Is this evidence admissible?” the foreman asked. “The witness can’t
swear to another man’s experiments.”
“It is admissible in a coroner’s court,” was the reply. “We are not
bound as rigidly by the rules of evidence as a criminal court, for
instance. It is relevant to the inquiry, and I think we had better
hear it.”
“I may say,” said Thorndyke, “that I have repeated and confirmed these
experiments; but I suggest that, as the published cases are the
recognized authority, I be allowed to quote them before describing my
confirmatory experiments.”
The coroner having agreed to this course, he continued: “The tests
were made with the fresh bodies of young pigeons, which were plucked
but not opened, and which were buried in boxes with loosely-fitted
covers, filled respectively with dry earth, slaked lime, chlorinated
lime, quick-lime, and quick-lime suddenly slaked with water. These
bodies were left thus buried for six months, the boxes being placed on
the laboratory roof at Cairo. At the end of that period the bodies
were disinterred and examined with the following results: The body
which had been buried in dry earth was found to be in a very bad
condition. There was a considerable smell of putrefaction and a large
part of the flesh had disappeared. The body which had been buried in
quick-lime was found to be in good condition; it was dry and hard, the
skin was unbroken, but the body was naturally shrunken. The other
three bodies do not concern us, but I may say that none of them was as
completely preserved as the one that was buried in quick-lime.
“On reading the account of these experiments I decided to repeat them,
partly for confirmation and partly to enable me to give direct
evidence as to the effect of lime on dead bodies. I used
freshly-killed rabbits from which the fur was removed by shaving, and
buried them in roomy boxes in the same materials as were used in the
published experiments. They were left undisturbed during the six
summer months, and were then exhumed and examined. The rabbit which
had been buried in dry earth was in an advanced stage of putrefaction;
the one which had been buried in quick-lime was free from any odour of
decomposition, the skin was intact, and the body unaltered excepting
that it was dry and rather shrivelled--mummified, in fact. It was more
completely preserved than any of the others.”
The conclusion of this statement was followed by a slightly
uncomfortable silence. The coroner stroked his chin reflectively, and
the jurymen looked at one another with obvious doubt and distrust. At
length Mr. Pilley gave voice to the collective sentiments.
“It’s all very well, sir, for this learned gentleman to explain to us
that the lime couldn’t have eaten up the body of the deceased. But it
has. We’ve seen the bare bones with our own eyes. What’s the use of
saying a thing is impossible when it has happened?”
Here Thorndyke produced from his pocket a sheet of notepaper and a
fountain pen, and began to write rapidly, noting down, as I supposed,
the jurymen’s objections; which, however, the coroner proceeded to
answer.
“Dr. Thorndyke’s statement was that these bones are not the bones of
Angelina Frood. That the body was not her body.”
“Still,” said the foreman, “it was somebody’s body, you know. And the
lime seems to have eaten it up pretty clean, possible or impossible.”
“Exactly,” said the coroner. “The destruction of this particular body
appears to be an undeniable fact; and we may assume that one body is
very much like another--in a chemical sense, at least. What do you
say, Doctor?”
“My statement,” replied Thorndyke, “had reference to Angelina Frood,
who is known to have been alive on a certain date. Of the condition of
the unknown body that was buried in the wall, I can give no opinion.”
Again there was an uncomfortable silence, during which Thorndyke,
having finished writing, folded the sheet of notepaper, tucked the end
in securely, and wrote an address on the back. Then he handed it to
his neighbour, who passed it on until it reached me. I was on the
point of opening it when I observed with astonishment that it was
addressed to Peter Bundy, Esq., to whom I immediately handed it. But
my astonishment was nothing to Bundy’s. He seemed positively
thunderstruck. Indeed, his aspect was so extraordinary as he sat
gazing wildly at the opened note, that I forgot my manners and frankly
stared at him. First he turned scarlet; then he grew deathly pale; and
then he turned scarlet again. And, for the first and only time in my
life, I saw him look really angry. But this was only a passing
manifestation. For a few moments his eyes flashed and his mouth set
hard. Then, quite suddenly, the wrath faded from his face and gave
place to a whimsical smile. He tore off the fly-leaf of the note, and,
scribbling a few words on it, folded it up small, addressed it to Dr.
Thorndyke, and handed it to me for transmission by the return route.
When it reached Thorndyke, he opened it, and, having read the brief
message, nodded gravely to Bundy, and once more turned his attention
to the foreman, who was addressing the coroner at greater length.
“The jury wish to say, sir, that this evidence is not satisfactory. It
can’t be reconciled with the other evidence. The facts before the jury
are these: On the 26th of April Angelina Frood disappeared, and was
never afterwards seen alive. On the night that she disappeared, or on
the next night, a dead body was buried in the wall. Three months later
that body was found in the wall, packed in quick-lime, and eaten away
to a skeleton. That skeleton has been examined by an expert, and found
to be that of a woman of similar size and age to Angelina Frood. With
that skeleton were found articles of clothing, jewellery, and
ornaments which have been proved to have been the clothing and
property of Angelina Frood. Other articles of clothing have been
recovered from the river; and those articles were missing from the
body when it was found in the wall. On these facts, the jury feel that
it is impossible to doubt that the remains found in the wall are the
remains of Angelina Frood.”
As the foreman concluded the coroner turned to Thorndyke with a
slightly puzzled smile. “Of course, Doctor,” said he, “you have
considered those facts that the foreman has summarized so admirably.
What do you say to his conclusion?”
“I must still contest it,” replied Thorndyke. “The foreman’s summary
of the evidence, masterly as it was, furnishes no answer to the
objection--based on established chemical facts--that the condition of
the remains when found is irreconcilable with the alleged
circumstances of the burial.”
The coroner raised his eyebrows and pursed up his lips. “I appreciate
your point, Doctor,” said he. “But we are on the horns of a dilemma.
We are between the Devil of observed fact and the Deep Sea of
scientific demonstration. Can you suggest any way out of the
difficulty?”
“I think,” said Thorndyke, “that if you were to call Mr. Bundy, he
might be able to help you out of your dilemma.”
“Mr. Bundy!” exclaimed the coroner. “I didn’t know he was concerned in
the case. Can you give us any information, Mr. Bundy?”
“Yes,” replied Bundy, looking somewhat shy and nervous. “I think I
could throw a little light on the case.”
“I wish to goodness you had said so before. However, better late than
never. We will take your evidence at once.”
On this Thorndyke returned to his seat at the table and Bundy took his
place, standing by the chair which Thorndyke had resigned.
“Let me see, Mr. Bundy,” said the coroner, “your Christian name
is----”
“The witness has not been sworn,” interrupted Thorndyke.
The coroner smiled. “We are in the hands of the regular
practitioners,” he chuckled. “We must mind our p’s and q’s. Still you
are quite right, Doctor. The name is part of the evidence.”
The witness was accordingly sworn, and the coroner then proceeded,
smilingly: “Now, Mr. Bundy, be very careful. You are making a sworn
statement, remember. What is your Christian name?”
“Angelina,” was the astounding reply.
“Angelina!” bawled Pilley. “It can’t be. Why, it’s a woman’s name.”
“We must presume that the witness knows his own name,” said the
coroner, writing it down. “Angelina Bundy.”
“No, Sir,” said the witness. “Angelina Frood.”
The coroner suddenly stiffened with the upraised pen poised in the
air; and so everyone in the room, including myself, underwent an
instantaneous arrest of movement as if we had been turned into stone;
and I noticed that the process of petrifaction had caught us all with
our mouths open. But whereas the fixed faces on which I looked,
expressed amazement qualified by incredulity, my own astonishment was
coupled with conviction. Astounding as the statement was, the moment
that it was made I knew that it was true. In spite of the
discrepancies of appearance, I realized in a flash of enlightenment,
the nature of that subtle influence that had drawn me to Bundy with a
tenderness hardly congruous with mere male friendship. Outwardly I had
been deceived, but my sub-conscious self had recognized Angelina all
the time.
The interval of breathless silence, during which the witness calmly
surveyed the court through his--or rather her--eyeglass, was at length
broken by the coroner, who asked gravely: “This is not a joke? You
affirm seriously that you are Angelina Frood?”
“Yes; I am Angelina Frood,” was the reply.
Here Mr. Pilley recovered himself and demanded excitedly: “Do we
understand this gentleman to say that he is the deceased?”
“Well,” replied the coroner, “he is obviously not deceased, and he
states that he is not a gentleman. He has declared that he is a lady.”
“But,” protested Pilley, “he says that she--at least she says that
he----”
“You are getting mixed, Pilley,” interrupted the foreman. “This
appears to be a woman masquerading as a man and playing practical
jokes on a coroner’s jury. I suggest, sir, that we ought to have
evidence of identity.”
“I agree with you, emphatically,” said the coroner. “The
identification is indispensable. Is there anyone present who can swear
to the identity of this--er--person? Mr. Japp, for instance?”
“I’d rather you didn’t bring Mr. Japp into it,” said Angelina,
hastily. “It isn’t really necessary. If you will allow me to run home
and change my clothes, Mrs. Gillow and Dr. Strangeways will be able to
identify me. And I can bring some photographs to show the jury.”
“That seems quite a good suggestion,” said the coroner. “Don’t you
think so, gentlemen?”
“It is a very proper suggestion,” said the foreman, severely. “Let her
go away and clothe herself decently. How long will she be gone?”
“I shall be back in less than half an hour,” said Angelina; and on
this understanding she was given permission to retire. I watched her
with a tumult of mixed emotions as she took up her hat, gloves, and
stick, and strolled jauntily towards the door. There she paused for an
instant and shot at me a single, swift, whimsical glance through her
monocle. Then she went out; and with her disappeared for ever the
familiar figure of Peter Bundy.