by A. J. Cronin
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She sank down on the edge of a chair, humiliated to the heart, her head bowed, tears streaming from her eyes. Ella ran to her, knelt beside her and began to whimper in sympathy. Mr. Fleming still stood silent, his eyes bent upon the carpet. Paul glanced at the bent figure of his mother. But he did not move towards her — it was almost as though, once again, he felt drawn, in sympathy, to his father.
At the table Mathry remained for some moments immobile, with wrinkled brow and drooping lids, as though, in some fashion, he had retreated into himself. But now he got heavily to his feet and moved to the door. Before he went out he swept them with his pallid eyes.
"Thirty strokes of the cat," he muttered. "That would make you blubber. That's what they served out to me."
The door slammed behind him, leaving nothing but the sound of sobs. Fleming moved to the window and looked out grimly.
"Oh dear, oh dear," Paul's mother moaned. "I wish I were dead."
Ella was crying in a frightened manner. "I don't understand. I don't understand. I thought it would be nice, like they said in the papers. I want to go home."
Paul's mother uttered a sob of assent. "We should never have come. We must leave at once."
Pastor Fleming, at the window, swung round slowly.
"No," he said, in a choked yet forbearing voice. "We must remain for the inquiry. We failed him once. We cannot do so again. It may not be too late. If we hope and pray we may save him yet."
CHAPTER XV
AT ten o'clock on Monday the twenty-fifth of March, a warm and humid morning, the High Court of Justiciary was filled to suffocation, had overflowed to the pavements of the street outside. In the public gallery the spectators were wedged together on the
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benches, packed on the steps of the passage ways, their excited faces rising, tier upon tier, to the roof. The well of the court was equally congested. On the left an army of reporters was already busy with pens and paper. On the right there was grouped a privileged audience of Wortley notables and national personalities. In the centre sat the Attorney-General, with the instructing Crown Agent, Sir Matthew Sprott, Lord Oman, and other high officials of the Crown. Immediately behind were counsel for the appellant, Mr. Nigel Grahame, K.C., his junior, and the instructing solicitor. Then came Paul and his mother, Ella and Pastor o
Fleming, Dunn, McEvoy, and a number of their friends. On the front bench, where, against the wishes of his counsel, he had chosen to sit, in full view of everyone, biting at his lip as he broodingly surveyed the scene, was the former prisoner, the fifteen-year convict from Stoneheath, Rees Mathry.
Suddenly the expectant buzz of conversation was stilled and, when perfect silence had been attained, a door swung open. Everyone stood up as the five lords of appeal, led by the Lord Chief Justice, filed into court, solemn and imposing in their flowing robes. Until they had taken their places upon the bench the hush deepened. Then, with a rustle, the court reseated itself. A moment later a voice was heard:
"Call the appeal of Rees Mathry against His Majesty's Crown."
Cramped and tense in his place, Paul drew a sharp, painful breath. Day by day, living upon his nerves, he had followed the painstaking preparation of the case by Nigel Grahame. He could scarcely believe that now, at last, the inquiry had begun. He felt his eyes cloud as Grahame rose quietly. Tall, erect, and perfectly composed, one hand clasping his lapel in the traditional attitude, the young advocate addressed himself to the bench. His tone, like his manner, was quite informal, utterly devoid of rhetoric, almost conversational.
"My lords, on December 15, 1921, and subsequent days, Rees Mathry, your petitioner, was tried at the Wortley Assizes on an indictment at the instance of Mr. Matthew Sprott, His Majesty's Prosecuting Counsel, the charge being that he did assault one Mona Spurling and did wound her with a razor and did murder
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her. Your petitioner having pleaded not guilty, the trial proceeded before a jury presided over by the Honourable Lord Oman, who, on December 23, 1921, sentenced him to be executed in Wortley Jail. Subsequently, the sentence of death passed upon your petitioner was committed to penal servitude for life, whereupon the petitioner was removed to His Majesty's prison at Stoneheath, where he was detained for fifteen years. The petitioner desires now to avail himself of the statutory provisions of the Criminal Appeal Act with a view to proving that he is innocent of the charge contained in the said indictment, that his conviction thereof was most erroneous and unjust, and constituted a grave miscarriage of justice."
Surreptitiously, Paul observed the three agents of the law who sat so near to him that he could have leaned sideways and touched each upon the shoulder. Chief Constable Dale's profile was stolidly impassive, Oman wore a haughty and absent air, Sprott, slightly sprawling in his seat, was flushed but his look was firm, determinedly indifferent. From these Paul's glance turned to the lonely and ungainly figure of his father, suffering again the ordeal of a public court, and, all at once, his heart began to beat with suffocating violence. Surely, at last, there would be vindication for this man. Quickly, lest he should break down, he turned his eyes away.
Grahame, having completed his reading of the petition, had paused for a moment, permitting his eyes to rest, gravely, upon the bench. Now, in that same controlled manner, he bes;an his opening address.
"My lords, twelve months ago, the case of Rees Mathry was buried in the dusty archives of the Department of State. For fifteen years it had been forgotten, the convicted murderer was serving his life, or should I say his death, sentence in His Majesty's prison, all was well with the world.
"Then, by the merest chance, the son of that convicted murderer, from whom all knowledge of the crime had been concealed, discovered, suddenly, the odium, the frightful stain of guilt which lay upon his father and which, of course, in some measure descended like a blight, upon himself. Overcome, he nevertheless
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trusted the forces of the law, and in trembling horror, accepted the shameful fact that this parent was a murderer. Yet, out of his deep love and affection, he was constrained, almost against his will, to seek out the awful circumstances which had led his father to do this deed. He set forth and, through months of suffering and the cruellest opposition, he uncovered, step by step, the full facts of the forgotten case. My lords, it is because of these efforts, and the results which have attended them, that we are gathered here, in this court, today."
Grahame's opening words and the quiet solemnity with which he uttered them produced a profound sensation. Paul kept his eyes fixed upon the floor. He felt himself trembling inside as, after a due pause, Grahame resumed his address, and, from time to time consulting the papers before him, proceeded to define and analyse the facts of the apprehension, the trial, and the conviction of Rees Mathry in December 1921. Familiar though he was with these searing events, Paul could not restrain a hot surge of feeling as, point by point, in unfaltering sequence, Grahame calmly took up and logically set down the details of the circumstantial evidence which had enmeshed his father.
The brilliant and masterly speech lasted, with an interval for lunch, for nearly four hours. And, at the end of it, before its manifest effect could subside, Grahame tranquilly pushed on. Unstudied and restrained, showing no signs of fatigue, he bowed to the bench, and indicated that he desired to call his witnesses.
"My lords," he declared. "I propose in the first instance to call the appellant himself. At the trial, because of the unparalleled attack upon his character made by the counsel for the Crown, Rees Mathry was not afforded full opportunity to defend himself. But he will now give evidence denying all knowledge of the crime, and answering any questions relative to the charge."
Immediately, the Attorney-General rose in protest. All through Grahame's address he had remained chafing and helpless in his seat. Now he exclaimed:
"My lords, I am anxious, nay eager, to assist legitimate inquiry in this appeal. But t
here must be no attempt to re-try the case. I strenuously oppose the motion that the accused be allowed to give evidence."
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A stir of excitement went round the court. Paul saw his father sit up, and turn his grey face strainingly towards Grahame. Their lordships, upon the bench, had bent their heads in consultation. And presently the Lord Justice General announced their decision.
"With reference to the appellant, this court is of the opinion that his evidence would amount to no more than a repetition of his plea of not guilty. In these circumstances it would be quite unreasonable to spend time over his examination now. The court therefore is not prepared to allow his evidence to be received."
Leaning forward, Mathry had followed his lordship's words with increasing agitation. And now, amidst the buzz which arose, he jumped suddenly to his feet, his heavy figure, ludicrously garbed, trembling all over. To Paul's horror he shook his fist at the bench and shouted, in hoarse tones:
"It's not right. I ought to have my say. I have everything to tell. I want you all to hear it. How I was done down. How they treated me in quod for fifteen years." His voice rose to breaking point. "You can't shut me up now . . . like they did before. I want to be heard. I want justice . . . justice."
Gesticulating wildly, Mathry was at last forced back into his seat by Grahame and several attendants of the court who had hastened to restrain him. For some minutes there was a great com-motion, followed by a sense of consternation, then by absolute silence. Shrunk into himself, Paul became aware that Ella and his mother, beside him, were in tears. Further along, Dunn and McEvoy exchanged an anxious look. Sprott and Dale, manifesting emotion for the first time, seemed grimly pleased.
Then, with great severity, the Lord Chief Justice bent his brows upon Mathry.
"We are prepared to make great allowances. But I must advise
the appellant that such conduct is not calculated to improve this
court's opinion of his case. Furthermore, if it is repeated, I must
warn him that he will be held in the most serious charge of cons'
tempt of court."
Grahame, back in his place, deftly interposed.
"My lords, on behalf of the petitioner, I offer sincere apologies to the court for this regrettable, but perhaps understandable outburst. And now, with your lordships' permission I will call my
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first witness, the eminent Home Office expert, Sir Malcolm Garrison."
Again the Attorney-General got quickly to his feet.
"My lords, once more I object. Further expert opinion is not admissible unless it arises out of fresh facts."
The Lord Chief Justice, by an inclination of his head, indicated assent.
"On what grounds, Mr. Grahame, do you desire to lead the evidence of Sir Malcolm Garrison?"
"My lords," Grahame replied, "Sir Malcolm, as you know, is our foremost criminologist. He has had a description of the injuries sustained by the murdered woman. He has seen photographs of the body taken at the time, also the razor presumed by the Crown to have been the lethal weapon, and he is definitely of the opinion that this instrument had nothing whatsoever to do with the crime."
The Lord Chief Justice frowned and took consultation with his colleagues. A few moments later he returned his beetling gaze to Grahame.
"The court must support the contention of the Attorney-General. Sir Malcolm Garrison did not view the body. Therefore, his evidence cannot be received."
Paul grew hot, then cold, with indignation. Were they to be obstructed at every turn? But Nigel Grahame merely bowed, accepting the decision of the court with perfect equanimity.
"My lords, I perceive it is your intention to limit as far as possible the number of witnesses and for that reason I shall call only five, to whom you cannot possibly take exception. Touching the question you have raised of those who saw the body, you will recollect, my lords, from your reading of the case, that Dr. Tuke, the physician who viewed the murdered woman immediately she had expired, was not summoned to give evidence at the trial. My lords, in all your experience, you cannot name one case in which the doctor who first examined the body was not asked to testify. Why, then, in this instance was this crucial witness ignored? Dr. Tuke is now dead, but his widow is here today to answer that very pertinent question."
A ripple went through the court as Mrs. Tuke's name was
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called, and a moment later she went into the witness box, a staid, elderly figure in black, a woman upon whose plain, lined face honesty and respectability were unmistakably written. She took the oath intelligently, then turned towards Grahame, who began his interrogation in an easy tone.
"You are the widow of Dr. Tuke, who died in 1933, and for a number of years prior to his death carried on practice in the Eldon district of Wortley?"
"That is correct, sir."
"You know that your husband was called to Miss Spurling's house on the night of the murder?"
"I do."
"Did he say anything to you regarding it?"
"Oh, yes, it was such a terrible event, we talked it over together on many occasions."
"Did your husband at any time express surprise to you that he had not been called as a witness at the trial?"
"Indeed he did. He said it was most remarkable. He said . . ." She broke off with a timorous glance towards the bench.
"Do not be afraid, Mrs. Tuke. The object of this court is to obtain, not to suppress, your evidence. What did he say?"
"He said the prosecutor did not regard his opinion as relevant."
Again a wave of interest went through the court and for the first time the attention of the spectators was directed towards Sir Matthew Sprott. Although Paul knew the facts so well he felt himself carried away by the rising current of excitement in the air.
"Tell us, Mrs. Tuke," Grahame resumed, "in your own words, the views which your husband expressed to you in the manv conversations which you had with him upon the subject."
There was a pause. The witness sipped from the glass of water before her.
"Well, sir," she began, "Dr. Tuke always believed that the murder could not have been committed by a razor. In his opinion the instrument was quite different — sharp-pointed and piercing, more like a surgeon's scalpel than anything else."
"How did he reach that conclusion?"
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"From a careful examination of the injuries. You see, sir, he found a deep penetrating wound at the right side of the neck, then a great slash, tapering away to the left ear."
"So he concluded that a pointed, thin-bladed weapon had first been thrust deeply into the great vessels of the neck, before the secondary slash?"
"Yes sir."
"And a razor, with its round, blunt end, could never have achieved such a result."
"That is just what he said, sir. He also believed that the assault was committed by someone very powerful, and violent. Moreover, from the disposition of the wounds, and the way the blood had splashed the rug near the body, he believed, indeed he told me he was sure, that the knife had been wielded by a left-handed man."
"A left-handed man," repeated Grahame with peculiar emphasis, and he gazed at his witness with a hint of severity. "Your recollection of that is quite clear and distinct?"
"Quite clear." The widow's lips trembled slightly. She answered with touching dignity. "Dr. Tuke was a good husband to me, sir. I respect his memory. Do you think I would put words in his mouth I believed to be untrue?"
"Not for an instant. I wished merely to make your good faith indisputably apparent to all the court."
As though sensing a challenge in these words and in the momentary glance that Grahame directed towards him, the Attorney-General responded testily.
"I am quite in the dark as to the purpose for which this witness is being examined at such length. In the meantime I have no questions."
"That will be all, then, Mrs. Tuke. We are much indebt
ed to you. And now I ask my next witness to appear."
At a sign from Mr. Grahame the old lady stepped down, and the name of Professor Valentine was called out in court.
The individual who now stepped forward was a short and officious man aged about fifty, dressed very professionally in a slightly seedy frock coat with satin lapels, high white collar and black tie. His complexion was sallow and from his high forehead
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there arose a bush of black hair which, worn long at the back, gave him the air of a second-rate impresario. When he had taken the oath he struck an attitude, one hand on his hip and the other on the ledge of the box before him, head thrown back, ready, it seemed, for every eventuality.
"Mr. Valentine," Grahame began, mildly, "you have, I understand, some knowledge of handwriting?"
"I am a professor of paleography," Valentine stated, with dignity. "I possess the diploma D.P.W. And I think I may say that my reputation as an expert is universally known."
"Excellent. At the trial I believe you testified that the note of assignation found in the murdered woman's flat had been written by Rees Mathry?"
"I did, sir ... I was called in specially by the prosecution."
"You realized at that time, I am sure, the gravity and importance of your opinion and you were perfectly convinced, I presume, that it was correct?"
"Indubitably correct, sir. I have had great experience in attesting the validity of private and public documents in cases of the most vital importance."
"Then would you tell us Mr. — I beg your pardon — Professor Valentine, how you arrived at such a very positive conclusion?"
"By the use of the magnifying glass, sir, upon the document in question and by enlarged photographs of the calligraphy, which I compared with the specimen of the prisoner's handwriting — as manifest in the post card admittedly written by the prisoner — I was able, owing to my expert knowledge, to reach the definite conclusion that the note had likewise been written, in a disguised manner, by Mathry."
