Family Matters

by Anthony Rolls

  The coroner (with a frown): “I am not aware of any irregularity, sir.”

  Mr. Keynes Yelford: “Pray, sir, continue. I only wished to know where we stood.”

  The coroner then read a summary of the Sunday afternoon conversation, which the reader doubtless remembers. He then proceeded:

  “You will have to decide for yourselves whether such remarks are to be taken seriously or not. There has always been a considerable difference of opinion in these matters. But I want you to notice that Mr. Kewdingham was in the habit of dosing himself with drugs and medicines, of which he had a large collection. This collection has been examined by the police, and has been found to include, among other poisonous things, a two-ounce packet of white arsenic. I will explain to you by what means this discovery was made…

  “We cannot say that the domestic life of Mr. Kewdingham was altogether happy. These are delicate matters—family matters—but it is my duty to remind you that Mrs. Kewdingham had formed a certain attachment. I do not say what particular importance you are to assign to this, but it has to be mentioned.”

  They were not to forget, he said, the purchase of an arsenious weed-killer by Mr. Kewdingham on the 3rd of March—the time when people generally bought such things. They had no evidence of the employment of this weed-killer, nor had the tin been traced, but of course it might have been used in the ordinary way. This weed-killer was coloured by means of a bright green aniline dye, so that it would be immediately visible to the eye in anything but a glass container of approximately the same, or a darker, shade of green. It had been proved that a small amount of this liquid in a green wineglass would escape detection unless the glass were moved, or examined very closely, or held up to the light. It was, to say the least of it, startling to find that Mrs. Kewdingham, on the morning of the 27th of April, had purchased a set of green wineglasses, and that she had placed those wineglasses on the dinner-table on the evening of the same date. On this particular evening the maid was out, and Mrs. Kewdingham, contrary to her usual practice, had washed the glasses immediately after dinner. That might have been because the glasses were new, and she was anxious they should not be broken. It might have been due to some other reason. The jury were sensible men, and they would have to take a sensible view of the evidence. (At this point the coroner was perceptibly uneasy.) Let them now consider what took place in Mr. Kewdingham’s house on the 27th of April.

  “What do you observe to begin with?” said the coroner. “You observe that Mr. Kewdingham is extremely ill and depressed; that he is, in fact, suffering from what has the appearance of an attack of dysentery. Perhaps it should be noted that the symptoms of dysentery resemble, in some ways, the symptoms caused by an irritant poison. What then?

  “At about six o’clock a gentleman, who has been invited to dinner, comes to the house—Mr. John Harrigall, who is, we are told, an author. Now this Mr. Harrigall is the cousin and the intimate personal friend of Mr. Kewdingham, and he tells us that he is greatly shocked when he notices Mr. Kewdingham’s appearance. He endeavours to divert his cousin, to cheer him up, if he can, by talking about his collection of—of curios. He does not see Mrs. Kewdingham, who, at that time, is changing her dress. Then he remembers that he has to post a letter, and he runs out to do so. He is absent from the house for about three minutes. When he comes back he is glad to see that Mr. Kewdingham is rather more cheerful—apparently he has remained in the drawing-room while Mr. Harrigall is posting his letter. Mrs. Kewdingham has not yet left her bedroom. Mr. Robert Henry Kewdingham, who is out, has not yet returned; he comes in a little later.

  “At half-past six Mrs. Kewdingham leaves her bedroom and comes into the drawing-room, and she then goes down to the kitchen in order to prepare the dinner. At seven o’clock Mr. Harrigall goes to the bathroom to wash his hands. He happens to notice, among other things on a shelf, a glass tumbler. I want you to remember this particularly. He leaves the bathroom, and Mr. Kewdingham goes there in his turn. But you will observe that Mr. Kewdingham remains in the bathroom for a somewhat unusual length of time, about ten minutes. Then these two gentlemen resume their conversation in the drawing-room. At about half-past seven Mrs. Kewdingham tells them that dinner is ready.

  “Coming now to the dinner-table, you have Mr. and Mrs. Kewdingham, Mr. Robert Henry Kewdingham and Mr. John Harrigall. No one else is present; no one else is in the house.

  “Now I want you to notice that all these people eat the same food, and the three gentlemen help themselves to burgundy from a decanter which is standing on the table. They pour their burgundy into green glasses—the very glasses which have been purchased in the morning by Mrs. Kewdingham. No one, apparently, makes any comment on the fact of these glasses being new; but there they are.

  “After dinner, old Mr. Kewdingham retires to his room, and Mrs. Kewdingham remains downstairs, to prepare the coffee. It is now about eight-fifteen.

  “Pray observe closely. As they proceed to the drawing-room, Mr. Harrigall notices an unsteadiness in the gait of Mr. Kewdingham. But Mr. Kewdingham is a very temperate man, and he has only had one glass of burgundy. Mr. Harrigall also notices a change in his cousin’s voice, which is now peculiarly hoarse.

  “You will have to pay attention to this. There are many things which may cause a man to be unsteady on his legs and which may give him a husky voice, but you have been told what symptoms are likely to appear within one hour of taking a dose of a certain poison. Of course the idea of poisoning could not have entered the mind of Mr. Harrigall, and it is remarkable that he should have observed these symptoms and should have described them to Doctor Bagge, and also to a police officer in London.”

  The coroner then reviewed in detail the events preceding and following the death of Mr. Kewdingham. He continued:

  “Doctor Bagge, though not anticipating the symptoms which have been described, attributes the death to obvious natural causes, and he therefore prepares a certificate in accordance with his belief. In the meantime a very singular thing has occurred. Old Mr. Kewdingham has removed from the table in the bedroom a bottle of medicine prepared by Doctor Bagge.

  “Why has he done this? Gentlemen of the jury, I cannot tell you; for I do not know. He is badly shaken by the sudden death of his son. He takes this bottle to the police, and they are eventually led to make certain enquiries.

  “Then you have the doctor, a few days after the death of Mr. Kewdingham, recalling those peculiar symptoms. He is puzzled; and so he determines, like an honest man, to find out if there is the possibility of an explanation, even if it should involve the admission of a mistake and the uncertain consequences of an enquiry. You will agree with me, gentlemen of the jury, that Doctor Bagge’s procedure is highly honourable and courageous. It occurs to him that Mr. Kewdingham may have neglected to take his proper medicine, and may have been treating himself with drugs, or quack mixtures, or something equally risky. He therefore goes to Mrs. Kewdingham and asks her to show him her husband’s private medicine-cupboard. You know what he discovers, and why he thinks it necessary to go at once to the police.”

  In discussing the medical evidence, the most extraordinary which had ever come to his knowledge, the coroner said frankly that he did not see how it was possible to assign the death to a single indisputable cause. Two fatal doses—one of arsenic and one of atropine—had been taken at approximately the same time, or at any rate within a few minutes of each other: a case absolutely unique, so far as he knew, in the history of medicine.

  Let them consider the possible alternatives. Kewdingham might have taken both poisons intentionally, for the purpose of committing suicide. On the other hand, he might have taken both accidentally, or in ignorance of the consequences. Both poisons might have been given to him by another person or persons, either with intention to kill or by accident; or in one case with intention to kill and in the other case by accident. Or Kewdingham might have taken one, and someone else might have given him the ot
her, the question of design or accident being still undecided. Common sense, however, would rule out the idea that he took either or both by mistake or in ignorance. Taking a rational view of the case, it was more likely that Kewdingham took one of these poisons with the intention of committing suicide, and some one else gave him the other with the intention of causing injury or death. Obviously, if poison was administered to Kewdingham, it was administered by some person who was in the house on the evening of the 27th of April. But they had to remember that Kewdingham was in the bathroom for ten minutes, and in the bathroom he had both arsenic and atropine. He had also a tumbler, in which he might have prepared a fatal dose. If the jury believed that someone else gave him poison with the intention of causing death, they would have to assume a motive powerful enough to account for so terrible a deed, they would have to consider if anyone in the house could have been driven by such a motive. But they would have to remember that they were not trying anyone; nobody had been accused; there was all the difference in the world between a coroner’s jury and the jury in a criminal court. There might be evidence of suspicion; but if that was all, it was not enough to justify them in forcing a charge. In his own view, said the coroner, they had no such thing, in the present case, as a chain of evidence establishing the fact of murder. It had been his duty faithfully to present the evidence which the police had set before him, and he trusted that he had done so. Although he refrained from giving positive instructions, he clearly anticipated an open verdict. He said finally:

  “You are not to examine this evidence with any preconceived ideas in your minds. Evidence has to be taken as a whole. You will first have to examine each fact in order, and you will then have to see whether you are justified in deriving from those facts, and from them alone, a reasonable conclusion.

  “Now, gentlemen, you will retire and you will consider your verdict.”

  2

  In the court there was a moment of silence in which could be heard the dull sound of footfalls in the echoing corridor. Then there was a slight movement of relaxation. Mr. Keynes Yelford got up and stood below the coroner’s desk and began to talk to him in a fluent subdued voice. The two solicitors remained seated at their table, whispering occasionally as they looked at their papers. Professor Pulverbatch made diagrams of something on the cover of a note-book, closely watched by Doctor Paul Dinham.

  “They won’t be long,” said Uncle Richard, sotto voce, to John. “There’s only one possible verdict.”

  “I hope you are right,” said John, who was now pale and shaken. “I don’t like the look of things altogether.”

  3

  The jury entered their room without saying a word. It was a room less depressing than the others, with handsome photographs of the Mayors of Shufflecester upon the walls. There was also a twenty-five-inch map of the city, hanging on a black roller, and a portrait of Jonas Havergill, the celebrated Shufflecastrian who, in 1543, greatly improved the mechanism of the ducking-stool. Chairs were placed at a long table, and on the table were sheets of paper embossed with the Shufflecester arms—a mermaid perching on an oak-tree. At this table the jurymen seated themselves.

  “Well, Mr. Quatt,” said Moggerdill the butcher, “I think we are all agreed as you shall be foreman. Is that right, boys?”

  A buzz of assent, a sniffing of noses, and a little coughing.

  “Very good, then,” said Mr. Quatt, a portly, wholesome fellow. “Let’s get on with the job. I’m sure none of us wants to be kept here longer than need be.”

  He looked round at the uninspired faces of his fellow townsmen, and a happy thought came into his mind.

  “There won’t be no objection if we have a smoke, boys; and maybe it’ll help us to think. But, mind—no spitting.”

  Pipes and cigarettes were produced with grateful alacrity. Some little tin boxes, miraculously discovered, were used as ash-trays. A blue, convivial haze rose in the still air of the room.

  “After all,” said Mr. Woolhanger, a coal merchant, “there isn’t much to think about, is there? Our coroner has put the case pretty clear for us. It’s an open verdict, I reckon.”

  “Oh, I’m not so sure, not so sure at all!” said Mr. Bimble, the tobacconist. “It’s a very queer case indeed. There’s one or two things I’d like to mention.”

  “Well, Joe,” said Mr. Quatt, winking at the others, “what is it, my lad?”

  “This Harrigall—I’ve took a dislike to him, somehow. You see, what I want to know is this. He goes out to post a letter, so he says. But why does he want to post a letter, and how do we know that he did post one?”

  “It seems to me quite natural,” said Mr. Quatt. “Why shouldn’t he have done what he said?”

  “I think it’s a bit funny as Kewdingham should have been poisoned on the very evening when this Harrigall comes to dinner. He says he went out to post a letter, but how do we know where he went to or what he did?”

  “Now, look here, Joe,” said Mr. Quatt, with a patient smile, “be sensible—there’s a good fellow—”

  “I don’t want to make no difficulties or keep you chaps here longer as can be helped, but I reckon I’ve got to say what’s on my mind.” Mr. Bimble looked rather like an obstinate sheep. “It’s like this. Comes into my ’ead as this Harrigall might have been up to some game or other. Perhaps he’s the gent as Mrs. Kewdingham is in love with. That letter was pretty hot stuff, you know, wasn’t it?”

  A murmur of protest, with by-play of winking and nudging, from several of the jury.

  “Well, it’s not impossible. I’m here to do my duty, the same as the rest of us.”

  Mr. Vingoe, Mr. Twamley and Mr. Hayles, all respectable tradesmen, nodded their heads approvingly.

  “We’ve got to think for ourselves, haven’t we, chaps? Now—if this Harrigall wants to poison this Kewdingham—just by way of argument, I mean—”

  “It’s twenty to four already, Joe,” said Mr. Quatt.

  Bimble was firm. Evidently he was fascinated by his own theory. “Then, you see, this Harrigall pretends he has to post a letter, and he goes out of the room—and—he—well—he—”

  “He goes down the stairs, per’aps,” Mr. Quatt suggested with a twinkle.

  Mr. Twamley was more inclined to be serious. “I’m bound to say I thought it was rather queer.”

  “Oh, come, come!” said Mr. Quatt. “Whatever is you chaps thinking about? Let’s have it out. You think Harrigall goes out of the room to poison Kewdingham. Very well—how does he do it?”

  “Why, he goes into the dining-room and he puts the stuff into one of them green glasses.”

  This ingenious theory, which had already occupied the attention of New Scotland Yard for a very considerable time, did not appeal to more than three or four of the jurymen. The general opinion, undoubtedly, was that Kewdingham, depressed, cantankerous and feeble, had taken the atropine with the intention of killing himself. This might have been the result of premeditation, or he might have given way to a fatal impulse in the bathroom just before dinner. Possibly (if he was jealous in addition to being mad) he had chosen that particular evening in order that he might involve John Harrigall and his wife in a dreadful suspicion. In support of this view, several instructive cases from the Sunday papers were quoted by the foreman. It was a plausible theory, anyhow. Kewdingham was an odd man with odd notions—he was, in the words of Mr. Quatt, definitely off his rocker. As for the dose of arsenic, that was not so easy to explain. But there were cases—Mr. Quatt knew of them—in which the suicide had employed more than one agent of self-destruction. For example, there was a man in Liverpool who first of all poisoned himself and then jumped out of a window! But this was not regarded as very convincing.

  What could they make of the green glasses and the curious disappearance of the green weed-killer? Was it a mere coincidence? Then why had the coroner insisted upon a demonstration? Obviously he had done so in ac
cordance with the wishes of the police. Therefore, the police had an idea that Mrs. Kewdingham might have intended to murder her husband by putting a small but sufficient amount of green weed-killer into his wineglass.

  “Or somebody else might have put it,” said Mr. Bimble.

  Plausible again; but where was the evidence?

  The medical experts had been unable to decide which of the two poisons was the immediate cause of death, but Mr. Quatt gave it as his opinion that the atropine, having got a start, was probably the winner.

  On this point, however, there was no agreement. As the deliberations proceeded it was evident that a party hostile to Mrs. Kewdingham was rapidly gaining adherents, in spite of the neutral attitude of Mr. Quatt. According to Mr. Moggerdill, there had been a lot of gossip—

  “We can’t listen to no gossip here,” said Mr. Quatt, showing for the first time considerable heat. “I know what’s been said, and it’s little credit to them who tell such tales. Mrs. Kewdingham is left very poor, and she’ll have a hard time of it, and I, for one, am very sorry for her. I’ve had many a talk with old Jimmy Morgan, the bootmaker, and he’s told me what a nice lady Mrs. Kewdingham is, and how kind she was to them when they had the influenza so bad, so I don’t want to hear nothing about gossip and that sort of thing. We’ve been here a long time already, and they’ll be expecting us back in the court. It doesn’t look well, nor it isn’t very polite to the coroner, having a terrible long discussion like this. I think we should agree as we decide we can’t come to any decision.”

  The weight and authority of Mr. Quatt, and also his appeal to decency, tilted the balance in his favour. Most of the jurymen now said they would be inclined to consider an open verdict. There was a silence.

  Mr. Quatt rose to his feet.

  “Anyone else got anything to say?”

  Continued silence, broken only by the scratch of matches, the gurgle of suction in foul pipes and a few throaty noises. Then Mr. Beerhouse, a draper, was heard to observe in a quiet though very audible voice: