The Scandal at 23 Mount Street (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 9)

by Clara Benson

  ‘Not especially,’ replied Inspector Scott. ‘In fact, she didn’t seem upset at all. She was very calm all the time we were there.’

  ‘Did this surprise you?’

  ‘At first, but then she told us she had been separated from her husband for more than two years, which went some way to explaining it.’

  ‘Then Mr. and Mrs. Marchmont were not on good terms?’

  ‘That’s not what she told us. She said that they were not the best of friends, but that they were civil to one another.’

  The questions then moved on to the matter of the missing door key, after which everyone was left in no doubt that Mrs. Marchmont must have admitted her husband to the flat on the night of the murder, since he had not been found in possession of a key.

  Sir Benjamin now invited the defence to cross-examine. Mr. Travers was as unlike Sir Benjamin as it was possible to be, being a mere wisp of a man by comparison with the Attorney-General, and yet there was something about him that held the attention. He now rose to his feet and addressed Inspector Scott. He was very curious to know whether the police had found any sort of weapon in the flat.

  ‘No, we didn’t,’ said Inspector Scott. ‘We searched the place thoroughly but there was no trace of a gun.’

  ‘Did you ask the prisoner whether she owned a gun?’

  ‘We did, sir, and she admitted that she owned a revolver.’

  ‘Then how did she explain the fact that there was no gun in the flat?’

  ‘She couldn’t explain it. She said the murderer must have taken it.’

  ‘I see. Then there is no clue at all as to the exact nature of the weapon which was used to shoot the prisoner’s husband, is that correct?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Inspector Scott. ‘When we were searching the flat we found a bullet embedded in the wall at such an angle as to make us pretty certain that it was the one that killed David Marchmont.’

  The article in question was then produced and handed to the jury, who examined it with great outward solemnity and inward excitement.

  Mr. Travers continued:

  ‘But since we have no gun, we cannot be absolutely sure who owned the weapon that killed him, is that correct?’

  Inspector Scott admitted that this was the case, and Mr. Travers sat down. He had attained his point, and had planted a doubt about the weapon in the minds of the jury. Freddy, however, happened to be looking at Sir Benjamin at that moment, and could not but remark the satisfied smile that now spread over the Attorney-General’s face.

  ‘Hey, hey,’ he said to himself. ‘I wonder what old Ben has up his sleeve now? He looks far too pleased with himself for it to be anything we want to hear.’

  FOURTEEN

  The next witness was the doctor who had first examined the body. He gave a dry little cough and repeated for the benefit of the court his view that David Marchmont had died some time between eight o’clock on the night of Saturday the tenth of November and two o’clock in the morning on Sunday the eleventh of November. He then proceeded to explain that it was never possible to be entirely certain about time of death, and went into some little detail about the temperature of the room and the state of the body when he had seen it with respect to the advancement of rigor mortis, much of which was not understood by the majority of his listeners. Still, the point had been made and the idea was firmly fixed in the mind of the jury that an alibi was needed for the period from eight o’clock until two o’clock.

  The doctor’s evidence concluded with his initial opinion on first seeing the dead man that he had been shot in the head, but he was given no opportunity to expand on this for he was then hustled off to be replaced by Dr. Everett Menzies, the well-known pathologist, who had performed the post-mortem examination on David Marchmont. The court sat up with interest at this, for Dr. Menzies had in the past few years made quite a name for himself in the field of criminal pathology, and had, thanks to his scholarly research and confident manner of giving evidence in court, sent a number of murderers to the gallows and exonerated several others.

  Dr. Menzies was a tall, spare man with a tendency to regard people down his nose, which gave him a particularly arrogant look. As it happened this habit, which was purely physical, was not in the least bit misleading, for it matched perfectly his personality, since Dr. Menzies had never been known to countenance the mere possibility that he might be wrong about anything, and in fact was perfectly convinced that he represented a superior form of humanity. Fortunately for him, his abilities almost matched his opinion of himself, and so he and the law mostly got along very well indeed, and his was invariably the first name on everybody’s lips whenever a case involving particularly tricky medical evidence presented itself.

  In this case, however, the medical aspect was not particularly taxing. Dr. Menzies announced almost idly that according to his examination, David Marchmont had been killed by the passage of a projectile through his head. The bullet had entered the deceased’s skull through the right temporal bone, just grazing the occipital bone as it did so, and had emerged through the left frontal bone. Asked to put it more simply, Menzies explained that the bullet had gone in just behind the right ear towards the base of the skull, had passed diagonally through the dead man’s head and had emerged through the temple just above his left eyebrow. From the scorch marks on the entry wound, he continued, he judged that the shot had been fired at close range.

  ‘Do you mean that whoever killed David Marchmont shot him from behind?’ inquired Sir Benjamin.

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Menzies. ‘I should say it was more to the side and just slightly behind.’

  This was a distasteful thought, and a whisper set up in the public gallery as the spectators considered the new idea that Mrs. Marchmont had not killed her husband in a fit of rage after all, but had crept up on him and quite deliberately put a bullet in his brain. Any woman might lose her head and take a gun to a troublesome husband in the heat of a row, it was agreed, but a shot almost from behind was not fair play at all.

  ‘Silence!’ ordered someone, and the noise died down.

  The bullet was now produced again and handed to the pathologist.

  ‘Now, Dr. Menzies,’ said Sir Benjamin. ‘I should like to ask you about this bullet. You examined it as part of the evidence, did you not?’

  ‘I did,’ said Menzies.

  ‘I understand that you have made something of a study of ballistics in recent years,’ said Sir Benjamin, ‘and have published a number of papers on the subject, with particular reference to the characteristics of bullets which have already been fired from a gun.’

  ‘That is so.’

  ‘Thank you. You will remember that some few weeks ago you were asked to examine the bullet you have in your hand. Let the record state that the bullet in question is the one which was extracted from the wall in the prisoner’s flat. You will also remember that at the same time you were asked to examine a second bullet. Where was the second bullet from?’

  ‘The second bullet was one I took from the body of a man in October last. He had been shot dead—I understand under perfectly justifiable circumstances—and I was brought in by the Home Office to examine his body.’

  The second bullet was now produced and a bland Home Office functionary brought forth, who stated flatly, as though he were reading out the racing results, that this particular bullet came from a gun owned and fired by Mrs. Angela Marchmont, and that the matter had been looked into and she had been proved perfectly blameless—not to say praiseworthy, for the man she had shot was a dangerous criminal who had just attacked a woman. Here, there was a stir on the part of the public, who had, of course, read the story in the newspapers at the time. They were sternly instructed to hush, and Dr. Menzies was called to continue with his evidence, under the questioning of Sir Benjamin, who said:

  ‘Please tell the court what it was you were looking for with respect to the two bullets.’

  ‘I was asked whether it were possible to ascertain whether the bullet
retrieved last October and the one which I understand was found in the prisoner’s flat had been fired from the same gun,’ said Dr. Menzies.

  ‘And is it possible? Can such a thing be stated with certainty?’

  ‘That depends on a number of factors—in particular the state of the bullets; however, in some circumstances yes, it is possible to state with reasonable certainty that two bullets were fired by the same weapon. The grooves inside the barrel of a gun often have their own individual characteristics caused by tiny, almost imperceptible defects, which may then cause scratches on a projectile as it passes down the barrel. These scratches are invisible to the naked eye, but if we examine the bullet under a microscope, they can be clearly seen.’

  ‘And what can you tell us about the two bullets?’

  Dr. Menzies then began a long explanation about lands and grooves, faults, erosions and patches of rust, which became somewhat technical. After several minutes of this Sir Benjamin, seeing that some members of the jury were beginning to develop a glazed look, and sensing that he was losing his audience, took the first opportunity to interject.

  ‘And what was your conclusion?’ he said.

  ‘I was coming to that,’ said Menzies. ‘When I examined the two bullets side by side under a microscope, I noticed a highly distinctive, broad scratch on both of them—almost a notch—caused by a fault at the muzzle end of the gun. The two scratches were identical in every way. It was impossible to mistake it. This, together with one or two other suggestive but slightly less conclusive similarities, led me to believe that the two bullets were, in fact, fired from the same weapon.’

  ‘Are you quite certain of that?’ said Sir Benjamin.

  ‘To the extent that one can be certain of anything, yes,’ said Menzies.

  ‘So then, for the benefit of the ladies and gentlemen of the jury, and just so we are quite clear on the matter, you believe that the bullet which was found in Mrs. Marchmont’s flat was fired from the same gun that killed the man whose body you examined last October. That is, a revolver which is known to have been owned by Mrs. Marchmont herself.’

  ‘That is so,’ said Menzies, bowing his head.

  Sir Benjamin paused a moment to let this sink in, although there was no need, for everybody had understood it perfectly well. On the press bench, Freddy and Kathie looked at one another in some dismay. The absence of any weapon in Angela’s flat was a fact that might have been used by both the prosecution and the defence to support their respective cases, but now it was known for certain that it was Angela’s gun, and not some other weapon, which had been used to kill Davie Marchmont, it looked all the worse for her. Mr. Travers for the defence would most likely have to reconsider his approach, for he could no longer suggest that some unknown person had killed Davie using a different weapon. Now he would have to explain how the killer had known where to find Angela’s gun—and that would be difficult indeed.

  The Attorney-General had not finished with Menzies, however. It appeared the great pathologist had also been given an article of clothing to look at and pronounce judgment upon. It was Mrs. Marchmont’s black evening-dress—the one she had been wearing on the night of her husband’s death. On examining the dress, Dr. Menzies had found a large stain near the hem, which further analysis had revealed to be blood.

  ‘What did you deduce from that?’ asked Sir Benjamin.

  ‘Merely that whoever was wearing the dress had been in proximity to the deceased when he died or at some time soon after his death,’ said Menzies.

  Sir Benjamin had no further questions, and Mr. Travers now rose to cross-examine.

  ‘Did you find any other patches of blood apart from that one near the hem?’ he said.

  ‘I did not,’ said Dr. Menzies.

  ‘Would you have expected to find other traces of blood on it, supposing the woman it belonged to had shot a man dead while wearing it?’

  ‘I certainly might,’ conceded Menzies. ‘It would depend on a number of factors, but there might have been other traces of blood on the top half of the dress.’

  ‘The patch of blood you found—it could not have been caused by the impact of the bullet as it entered?’

  ‘No,’ said Menzies. ‘Quite apart from the fact that it was on the hem and thus near the bottom of the dress, the stain is quite inconsistent with the type of bloodstain which would be caused in the circumstances you describe. In the latter case, the bloodstain would take the form of a splatter of droplets, rather than a solid patch.’

  Mr. Travers thanked him and Dr. Menzies stepped down. Inspector Scott was now recalled.

  ‘Was the prisoner wearing the evening-dress we have just seen when you arrived at her flat?’ said Sir Benjamin.

  ‘No,’ replied Scott. ‘She was in ordinary day clothes.’

  ‘I see,’ said Sir Benjamin. ‘Now, you have told me that Mrs. Marchmont said she did not discover her husband’s body until about seven o’clock on the Sunday morning, and that she hardly went near the body. Did she have an explanation for the bloodstain on the evening dress? For it seems to imply that she did, in fact, approach her husband’s body, and that she did so on the Saturday night.’

  ‘She did, sir. She said that she had returned home after midnight feeling very tired, having drunk rather more than she was accustomed to, and so had got into bed and fallen asleep still wearing her evening-gown. The next morning, when she found Mr. Marchmont’s body, she knelt down by him briefly with the intention of looking for a pulse, but then changed her mind. She then changed into normal day things before calling us.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Sir Benjamin. ‘Now, let us pass to the evidence of the gun—or rather the absence of the gun, for it appears to be missing. Where was the gun kept?’

  ‘The prisoner told us it was always kept in the second drawer of a chest by the window.’

  ‘And we know it was not found there, or anywhere else in the flat. Was the chest of drawers tested for finger-prints?’

  ‘Yes, it was, and there were none except for those of Mrs. Marchmont, which we found on the handles of both the second drawer and the top drawer.’

  ‘That indicates that Mrs. Marchmont was the last person to open those drawers, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Has a search been made for the gun?’

  ‘As far as possible, but London is a big place and there was ample opportunity between the time of Mr. Marchmont’s death and the time we arrived for someone to have disposed of it,’ said Inspector Scott. ‘It is quite possible that it will never be found.’

  Mr. Travers began his cross-examination.

  ‘Had there been any attempt made to hide or destroy the evening-dress?’ he said.

  ‘No,’ said Scott. ‘It was thrown on a chair in the bedroom.’

  ‘If the prisoner had disposed of the gun in a calculated manner, as has been suggested by my learned friend, might not one have expected her also to dispose of the dress at the same time?’

  ‘Not if she hadn’t realized there was a bloodstain on it,’ said Scott.

  Mr. Travers nodded.

  ‘Now, then, as to the finger-prints on the chest of drawers. It’s rather odd, don’t you think, that the prisoner’s were the only ones found on it, and that it was otherwise clean? Mrs. Marchmont has a maid. Surely one would have expected there to be more than one set of prints on the chest—especially since the maid was away at the time.’

  Inspector Scott conceded that it was unusual to find so few finger-prints on an item of furniture of this kind, but suggested that perhaps the prisoner had cleaned it herself.

  ‘And then put more finger-prints on it?’ said Mr. Travers. ‘I put it to you that Mrs. Marchmont might easily have touched the chest of drawers for quite an innocent reason when she came home that evening, but that there is no reason at all for her prints to have been the only ones on the chest unless it had been deliberately wiped clean before she touched it.’

  ‘It is possible, I suppose,’ said Scott politely, although h
e was clearly not convinced by the argument.

  The defence had no further questions, and Inspector Scott stood down.

  The prosecution then set itself to looking at the alibi evidence, and called one William Tibbs, the prisoner’s chauffeur, who testified, pink in the face and looking deeply uncomfortable all the while, that he had driven his employer to a ball at Lord Wymington’s house in Lowndes Square at nine o’clock on the evening in question. Mrs. Marchmont had then sent him away, saying that he need not wait, as she did not know when she would be coming home. He had seen nothing more of her until the next day, by which time the police were already at the flat. At this point he glanced over to the prisoner, who gave him an encouraging smile, whereupon he went even pinker than before, and then he was dismissed.

  He was followed by Mr. Alfred Pearson, who stated that he had been playing cards at Burkett’s club in company with David Marchmont and one or two other men on the evening in question, and that as far as he could remember, the deceased had left the club at about nine o’clock. No, he had not said where he was going.

  The last witness for the day was Mrs. Edrys Lawrence, whose name most people present recognized from the society pages. She threw a look at Angela which was intended to be rueful and deeply sympathetic, but which emerged as a simper, and then testified, with a tendency to digression, that she had been at a charity ball with Mrs. Marchmont on the night in question, and that Angela had come to her at midnight to say that she did not feel well and would go home.

  ‘Are you certain it was midnight?’ said Sir Benjamin.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Mrs. Lawrence earnestly. ‘I remember it particularly because everybody had already started smashing the rabbit.’

  There was a puzzled pause, as perhaps nine-tenths of those present in court wondered whether this was some sort of new upper-class slang, referring to who knew what manner of debauchery, and then the Attorney-General invited her to explain. She did so in some confusion, at which those in the public gallery shook their heads at the odd things high society got up to. She was then excused, Sir Benjamin took one last glance at himself in the reflective surface of a nearby brass paper-weight, and proceedings adjourned for the day.