“When the dissection was done, Crippen proceeded to remove the flesh from the bones. This, too, was a formidable task. But he undertook it because he proposed to bury the flesh, but burn the bones. He could not trust his lime to destroy the bones: and he could not trust the fire to destroy the flesh. By now the monster was working stripped to the waist, for the labour was very heavy, and he was up against time.
“As he removed the flesh, he took the pieces and laid them in the grave. They were difficult to handle – they slipped: so he used the top of his pyjamas, to carry them in. But one piece of flesh, he laid aside. For he dared not trust that piece even to lime.
“Years before, Belle Elmore had had an operation which women sometimes have. It was a major operation. And the scar which it left ran right up the middle of the abdomen. When the operation was performed, she may have been slim. But as she grew stout, the scar stretched, until it became a thin, isosceles triangle – I should say, eight inches in length. Such a scar may fairly be termed ‘a distinguishing mark’. So Crippen had to make sure that that scar was destroyed. Accordingly, from the abdomen he cut out a slab of flesh some ten inches square. And this, as I have said, he laid to one side.
“For hours the work went on. At six o’clock in the morning, he’d very nearly done. And then something – no one will ever know what – something occurred, to make Crippen lose his nerve. I always think it likely that it was some sound – a milkman’s cry, perhaps…which showed that the world was stirring…that people were waking up. Be that as it may, panic was Crippen’s portion for half an hour. And his one idea was to get what was left away and out of sight. Almost all the flesh was gone, except the slab which was bearing the tell-tale scar. In his frenzy, he snatched this up and thrust it into the grave. It was, in fact, the very last piece of flesh which he put in. In went his pyjama-top, too, and Belle Elmore’s underclothes, and tufts of hair, some false as well as real. But never a bone.
“And now let’s go back for a moment.
“I told you that he had ready two sacks of lime. One sack was in the cellar, ready and open for use. And each time he laid a portion of flesh in the grave, he sprinkled it lavishly with lime. He had also a bucket of water. And so often as he sprinkled his lime, he soused that lime with water – he slaked his lime. The lime he had bought was quick lime: by sousing it with water, he turned it into slack lime. He did this thoroughly. He knew what lime could do.
“Well, the last slab of flesh went in, with the other bits and pieces as I have said. Then he threw in lime by the handful, covering everything thick and thrusting lime down by the sides of the shocking heap. And then he slaked the lime, drenching it all with water, as fast as he could. He had some earth ready, some earth he had taken out, when he dug the grave. In this went, on the top and down the sides: and when all was tight and level, back went the bricks with which the cellar was floored. He laid these roughly in lime, for the lime was there. Then he smeared the coal-dust over the top of the grave. Where he hid the bones for the moment, I’ve no idea. But during the days that followed he burned them in the back-garden, bit by bit.
“And that was the end of Belle Elmore – as Crippen thought. In fact, he was wrong; for he’d made one shocking mistake, which, as a medical man, he should never have made. As I have said, he knew what lime could do. He knew that lime consumes – devours human flesh. In the old days, the bodies of men who were hanged were buried in lime. But not in slack lime: in quick lime. Quick lime destroys and devours. But slack lime preserves…
“The lime in the sacks was quick lime. Had he put it in, as it was, in a very short space of time the remains would have disappeared. The tell-tale scar, the organs containing poison – all would have gone to dust. But Crippen was very careful to slake his lime… By doing which, he preserved, in perfect condition, all that he meant to destroy. When, nearly six months later, the grave was opened up, all that was in the grave was as good as new.”
“The finger of God,” said Berry.
“I’ve always thought so, too.
“Well, Crippen resumed his life, and the weeks went by. But he had to account for Belle Elmore’s disappearance. After all, as I have said, she had many friends. So he gave out that she had received an urgent summons from her sister, who was in America; and had left precipitately for the United States. Well, that would serve for the moment: but he had to do better than that. So, after a while, Crippen went into mourning. When people asked him why, he was overcome with emotion. Belle was dead… Belle, his beloved wife…he had had a letter from her sister, just stating the fact. He knew no details at all. But Belle was dead. At the end of the painful recital, he sometimes wept.”
“The little darling,” said Berry. “Why aren’t such people struck dead?”
“I’m damned if I know,” said I. “But Crippen wasn’t human. I once saw him laugh in court – throw back his head and laugh, at something his solicitor said. He opened his mouth wide and bared his teeth. He looked like a cat, or a tiger – you know how a cat, when it cries, will open wide its mouth and bare its teeth. I was quite close to him, and the startling similarity hit me between the eyes. Crippen was animal.
“Well, his story was generally accepted. After another six weeks, le Neve went to Hilldrop Crescent, to live with him. Presently she appeared in bits and pieces of clothing which Mrs Crippen had worn. People shrugged their shoulders and left it there. ‘Men will be men.’ There was only one lady who did not leave it there. She was a music-hall artiste, considerably younger than Belle, of whom she had been very fond. Her stage-name, I forget, although she was in demand. Her husband appeared with her. Her private name was Nash. I remember her in the box, a very fine figure of a woman, attractive and full of drive. And she was not satisfied. She had never taken to Crippen, as had most of her friends. (‘He had such charming manners,’ they used to say. Perhaps he had. To my mind, he was repulsive: but most women seemed to like him, and that’s the truth.) And she continually insisted that Belle would never have gone without telling her and that she was perfectly sure that some dirty work had been done. These convictions she declared to her husband, until he was sick and tired. And when he implored her to put the business out of her mind, she always replied as follows. ‘If you were half a man, you’d go to Scotland Yard.’ Well, Nash was very much more than half a man, but he had all the husband’s reluctance to make a fool of himself on behalf of his wife. In July, however, the camel’s back gave way. Nash could no longer endure the reproaches of Mrs Nash. So he went to Scotland Yard. He asked to see an Inspector of the CID and was taken upstairs to Chief Inspector Dew. Shamefacedly, he told his story. ‘I don’t suppose,’ he concluded, ‘that there is anything in it – you know what women are. But now that I can say that I’ve told you, perhaps I shall have some peace.’ Dew quite agreed. There was probably nothing in it. Still, he’d look into the matter, in case there was.
“Dew was as good as his word. A day or two later, he went to Hilldrop Crescent and, finding Crippen there, desired some information about his wife. ‘People are talking, Dr Crippen. They find your wife’s disappearance rather abrupt.’ ‘Well,’ says Crippen, ‘to you, I can tell the truth. So far as I know, Mrs Crippen isn’t dead. The plain truth is that she’s left me. We had a hell of a row and she left the house. Oh, more than five months ago. She never said where she was going: she just cleared out. I thought, of course, she’d come back. But, when she didn’t, I had to explain her absence. But I was ashamed to tell her friends the truth, and so I made up the story that she was dead.’
“‘Well, where’s she gone?’ said Dew.
“‘I’ve not the faintest idea. From that day to this, she’s never written a word.’
“Well, Dew told him what he was fit for, for telling so foolish a lie. And Crippen admitted his folly and asked what he was to do.
“‘I must think this over,’ said Dew. ‘It’s a curious case. Will you be here tomorrow about eleven o’clock?’
“‘Tomorrow’ was Satur
day.
“‘I shall,’ says Crippen. ‘And if you can help me, Chief Inspector, I shall be very grateful.’
“‘I’ll tell you tomorrow,’ says Dew.
“Now, why did Dew want time? He told me himself. ‘Because,’ he said, ‘the moment I entered that house, I felt there was something there that shouldn’t be there. And I was troubled. And I felt that I must have time to think things out.’
“So much for intuition. First, Mrs Nash and then Dew. Each of those people felt there was something wrong.
“Well, Dew went back the next day. And, after a talk with Crippen, he asked to see over the house. He went into every room, and he entered the coal-cellar, beneath which lay the grave. And, while he was talking with Crippen, he tapped the bricks with his heel: but none of them moved. The house disclosed nothing at all that Dew could suspect: but the feeling that ‘something’ was there was strong upon him. They, then, returned to the parlour, there to sit down.
“After some discussion–
“‘Dr Crippen,’ said Dew, ‘you must set about finding your wife. Only by finding your wife, can you silence this talk.’
“‘I quite see that,’ said Crippen, ‘but how shall I go to work?’
“‘You’d better advertise. What papers used she to read?’
“‘The News of the World and The Era.’
“‘Then advertise in those. If it will help you, I’ll draft an advertisement.’
“‘If you please,’ said Crippen.
“Dew took out of his pocket a foolscap sheet. It was the paper used at Scotland Yard – azure in colour, with the Royal Arms at the head. On that he wrote out an advertisement. And Crippen was much obliged. He read it through and laid it down on the table. ‘It’s too late now,’ he said. ‘But the first thing on Monday morning, in it goes.’
“‘Right,’ said Dew. He rose. ‘I’ll look in again towards the end of next week.’
“But Dew didn’t wait so long, for he wasn’t satisfied. On Tuesday he called again – to find the house deserted. The kitchen-range was cold. Stuff unwashed on Saturday still stood unwashed. The bedrooms betrayed every sign of precipitate flight: doors and drawers were open and clothes were upon the floor. A bag, half-packed, was gaping, and shoes were lying where they had fallen or been dropped. And down stairs, in the parlour, the foolscap sheet was lying upon the table, exactly as Crippen had left it, three days before.
“Be sure Dew wasted no time. Within the hour his men were within the house. It was searched from bottom to top. Any wall that rang hollow was opened. But nothing was found. Then they turned to the garden, while others interviewed neighbours – to learn that, some months before, Crippen tended a fire in the garden which sent forth offensive smoke. But the garden itself gave them nothing: and after three days of hard labour, Dew threw in his hand. That his intuition was good, he still believed. In fact he now was sure that Crippen had murdered his wife. But evidence was denied him. No warrant would ever be granted just because Crippen had fled. And the Assistant Commissioner was getting restive – Dew and his men were needed for other things.
“So, after another fruitless morning, he sent the squad back to the Yard, with orders to send one car back, for his sergeant and him.
“Now what immediately follows, Dew told me himself. So far as I know, he never told anyone else – outside the Yard.
“He and his sergeant were sitting in the kitchen in silence, waiting for the car to return. Both were depressed. They had been so certain that ‘something’ was there to be found. And neither wanted to leave, for Dew still had the feeling that ‘something’ was there. And then he noticed a poker, lying on the top of the range – an ordinary kitchen-poker, which, after years of use, had worn very thin. (Later, he showed me the poker and I examined it.) Dew rose and picked it up. Then, ‘Light the lantern,’ he said. ‘We’ll test that cellar again, and this is just what we want.’ While the sergeant was lighting the lantern, Dew found a broom…
“The coal-cellar was very inconveniently shaped, as many small coal-cellars were. As I remember it, it was some nine feet high and some seven feet long: but it was very narrow, less, I should say than three feet. There was a plate in its ceiling, through which the coal was shot. The door was some five feet high, by two feet wide. Happily, it was not full: it was very nearly empty.
“While his sergeant shed the light, Dew brushed the coal-dust away. Then he sought to thrust the poker between the bricks. After two or three shots, he managed to force it in. Then he tried to prize up a brick: but the brick would not budge.
“Let me use his own words.
“‘Then I got it in again, in a different place: and after a lot of prizing, the brick began to come up. I pulled it out. The next wasn’t quite so hard, and the third came away in my hand. I just pulled out another six. Then I sent — for a shovel. Before I’d got out two scoops, I knew we were home… And there you are. If Crippen had taken the trouble to order a ton of coal, he’d be a free man today. The police aren’t coal-heavers, and to empty that cellar, when full, would have been a fearful job.’
“The handbill went out that night, and the hunt was up. The sensation it caused was immense. Crippen became world-famous within twelve hours.
“On the 25th July the Master of the s.s. Montrose was pacing his bridge. The weather was fair and the ship was two days out. She was bound for Canada, and had sailed from Amsterdam. Among the passengers were a father and son. From the bridge, the Captain saw them, leaning over the taffrail, engaged in talk. He gave them a passing glance, and then he resumed his stroll. The next time he looked at them, his brows drew into a frown. For a little he stood, just looking. Then he called the mate. He pointed to the two, whose backs were, of course, towards him. ‘Father and son,’ he said. ‘Have you ever seen a boy with a behind like that?’ The mate considered the case. Then, ‘You’re right, sir,’ he said. ‘That isn’t a boy: it’s a girl.’ The Captain left the bridge and went down to the deck. When father and son moved, he engaged them in talk. Ten minutes later, he entered the wireless cabin. ‘Get London,’ he said. ‘A message for Scotland Yard. Say that we think that Crippen and le Neve are on board.’
“Now that is the plain truth.
“The signal was received in London. Questions were sent in reply and the answers came back. The answers were good enough for Dew to board a liner bound for Quebec. She was faster than the Montrose, and she came to Father Point the day before. There Dew disembarked. When the Montrose arrived, Dew put on a pilot’s rig and went off in the pilots’ boat. As he gained the deck, he saw Crippen, standing alone. He went straight up to him. ‘Well, Dr Crippen,’ he said, and took off his cap. Crippen stood still as death. Then le Neve appeared, saw Dew and fell down in a faint.
“Until Crippen had landed and had been lodged in some jail, he could hardly be searched. When he was searched, they found Belle Elmore’s jewellery stitched to his vest. I saw it in Court, with the pieces of vest still attached. Brooches and rings. And very fine diamonds, too. I can’t remember their value, but they were worth quite a lot.
“On August 1st the arrests were announced in the Press.
“At that particular moment I was at Canterbury. I was playing for The Old Stagers, and the Canterbury Week was nearing its handsome end. I had meant to go on to White Ladies. But when I read the news, I altered my plans. I had been in Treasury Chambers for the best part of a year: and in that time I had learned all sorts of things. And so I was ready to swear that the brief in the Crippen Case would be sent to Travers Humphreys. Travers Humphreys, I knew, was away, because the vacation was on. So were all his devils, including myself. Now it was a tradition of the Bar that the devil or pupil that first got his hands on a brief had the right to stick to that brief and to act as his master’s junior throughout the case. And so, on Sunday evening, I took the train for London: and on Monday morning I walked into Paper Buildings at ten o’clock. The clerks looked much surprised. ‘Good morning, Hollis,’ I said. ‘Have any papers
come in?’ ‘Only Crippen, sir.’ ‘Crippen will do,’ I said, and walked into Humphreys’ room. ‘Bring the papers in.’
“Travers Humphreys returned on Friday: but by that time, I had got the case into shape. I had worked all day for four days on the statements which kept coming in. And the Treasury was delighted to find there was someone there. The senior solicitor, Williamson – one of the nicest of men – rang me up time and again. ‘We’ve tied up that end, Pleydell. The statement’s coming along. And Wilcox is doing the analysis. That’ll take two or three days.’ And so on. Then Travers Humphreys came back, thanked me for what I had done, and we took off our coats.
“Day after day, we worked damned hard on that case. Sometimes we dined at The Cock and then went back to The Temple, to work till eleven o’clock. One night we got fed up, and went to The Empire, instead. I may be wrong, but I think the Inquest was held before Crippen got back. We attended every hearing, and I always took the note. (The ‘note’ is a longhand report of everything that is said. So you have to write pretty fast. I always say that the Crippen Case ruined my hand. Be that as it may, after every hearing, the reporters crowded about me to check their notes with mine.) We visited Hilldrop Crescent and went all over the house. I always remember one thing. A glass full of water on a washstand, and a tooth-brush lying across it, with the tooth-paste still on the bristles, waiting to be used. By the time that Crippen arrived, the case was nearly ready – very much more than ready for the first hearing of all. In such a case, the first time the prisoner appears, evidence of arrest is given and nothing else. Then a remand is ordered, mostly for seven days.
“The prisoners, with Dew in charge, landed at Liverpool on a Saturday afternoon. Leaving the boat-train at Euston, they entered, I think, a police car. As it left the station, a crowd of several thousand hooted and booed. Before this demonstration Crippen lost his nerve and tried to leave the car. I forget where they were lodged for the next two nights. They were due to be brought up at Bow Street on the following Monday morning, at ten o’clock.
As Berry and I Were Saying Page 27
