The witness reflected a few moments and then began his statement.
“At ten fifteen on the morning of the twenty-second of August, Inspector Budge called on me and asked me to come round to the police station to examine the contents of a case, in which he said were certain human remains. I went with him and was shown a wooden case, strengthened by iron straps. It had a hinged lid which was further secured by eight screws, which, however, had been extracted. On raising the lid, I saw what looked like the top of a man’s head, surrounded by rags and articles of clothing which had been packed tightly round it. With the Inspector’s assistance I removed the packing material until it was possible to lift out the head, which I then took to a table by the window where I was able to make a thorough examination.
“The head appeared to be that of a man, although there was hardly any visible beard or moustache and no signs of his having been shaved.”
“You say that the head appeared to be that of a man. Do you feel confident that deceased was a man, or do you think that the head may possibly be that of a woman?”
“I think there is no doubt that deceased was a man. The general appearance was masculine, and the hair was quite short and arranged like a man’s hair.”
“That,” remarked the coroner, “is not a very safe criterion in these days. I have seen a good many women who would have passed well enough for men excepting for their clothes.”
“Yes, that is true,” the witness admitted, “but I had the present fashion in mind when I formed my opinion; and, although there was extremely little hair on the face, there was more than one usually finds on the face of a woman—a young woman, at any rate.”
“Then, are we to understand that this head was that of a young person?”
“The exact age was rather difficult to determine, but I should say that deceased was not much, if any, over thirty.”
“What made it difficult to estimate the age of deceased?”
“There were two circumstances that made it difficult to judge the age. One was the physical condition of the head, and the other was the extraordinary facial character of this person.”
“By the physical condition, do you mean that it had undergone considerable putrefactive changes?”
“No, not at all. It was not in the least decomposed. It had been thoroughly embalmed, or, at least, treated with preservative substances—principally formalin, I think. There was quite a distinct odour of formalin vapour.”
“Then it would appear that it was in quite a good state of preservation, which ought to have helped rather than hindered your examination.”
“Yes, but the effect of the formalin was to produce a certain amount of shrinkage of the tissues, which naturally resulted in some distortion of the features. But it was not easy to be sure how much of the distortion was due to the formalin and how much to the natural deformity.”
“Was the shrinkage in any way due to drying of the tissues?”
“No. The tissues were not in the least dry. It appeared to me that the formalin had been mixed with glycerine; and, as glycerine does not evaporate, the head has remained perfectly moist, but without any tendency to decompose.”
“How long do you consider that deceased has been dead?”
“That,” replied the doctor, “is a question upon which I could form no opinion whatever. The head is so perfectly preserved that it will last in its present condition for an almost indefinite time; and, of course, what applies to the future applies equally to the past. One can estimate the time that has elapsed since death only by the changes that have occurred in the interval. But, if there are no changes, there is nothing on which to form an opinion.”
“Do you mean to say that deceased might have been dead for a year?”
“Yes, or even longer than that. A year ago the head would have looked exactly as it looks now, and as it will look a year hence. The preservatives have rendered it practically unchangeable.”
“That is very remarkable,” said the coroner, “and it introduces a formidable difficulty into this inquiry. For we have to discover, if we can, how, when and where this person met with his death. But it would seem that the ‘when’ is undiscoverable. You could give no limit to the time that has elapsed since death took place?”
“No. I could make no suggestion as to the time.”
The coroner wrote this down and looked at what he had written with an air of profound dissatisfaction. Then he turned to the witness and opened a new subject.
“You spoke just now of the remarkable facial peculiarities of deceased. Can you describe those peculiarities?”
“I will try. Deceased had a most extraordinary and perfectly hideous face. The peculiar appearance was due principally to the overgrown condition of the lower part, especially the lower jaw. In shape, the face was like an egg with the small end upwards; and the jaw was not only enormously broad, but the chin stuck out beyond the upper lip and the lower teeth were spread out and projected considerably in front of the upper ones. Then the nose was thick and coarse and the ears stood out from the head; but they were not like ordinary outstanding ears, which tend to be thin and membranous. They were thick and lumpy and decidedly misshapen. Altogether, the appearance of the face was quite abnormal.”
“Should you regard this abnormality as a deformity, or do you think it was connected with deceased’s state of health?”
“I should hardly like to give an opinion without seeing the rest of the body. There is no doubt about the deformity; but whether it was congenital or due to disease, I should not like to say: There are several rather rare diseases which tend to produce malformations of different parts of the body.”
“Well,” said the coroner, “medical details of that kind are a little outside the scope of this inquiry. The fact which interests us is that deceased was a very unusual-looking person, so that there ought not to be much difficulty in identifying him. To come to another question; from your examination of this head, should you say that there is any evidence of special skill or knowledge in the way in which the head has been separated from the trunk?”
“I think that there is a suggestion of some skill and knowledge. Not necessarily very much. But the separation was effected in accordance with the anatomical relations, not in the way in which it would have been done by an entirely ignorant and unskilful person. The head had been separated from the spinal column—that is, from the top of the backbone—by cutting through the ligaments that fasten the backbone to the skull; whereas a quite ignorant person would almost certainly have cut through the neck and through the joint between two of the neck vertebrae.”
“You think that it would not require much skill to take the head off in the manner in which it was done?”
“No; it would be quite easy if one knew where to make the cut. But most people do not.”
“You think, then, that the person who cut off this head must have had some anatomical knowledge?”
“Yes; but a very little knowledge of anatomy would suffice.”
“Do you think that such knowledge as a butcher possesses would be sufficient?”
“Certainly. A butcher doesn’t know much anatomy, but he knows where to find the joints.”
“And now, to take another question; can you give us any information as to the cause of death?”
“No,” was the very definite reply. “I examined the head most carefully with this question in view, but I could find no trace of any wound, bruise, or mark of violence, or even of rough treatment. There was no clue whatever to the cause or mode of death.”
There was a brief pause while the coroner glanced through his notes. Then, looking up at the jury, he said:
“Well, gentlemen, you have heard what the doctor has to tell us. It doesn’t get us on very far, but, of course, that is not the doctor’s fault. He can’t make evidence. Would any of you like to ask him any further questions? If not, I think we need not occupy any more of his time.”
Once more he paused with his eyes on the jury
; then, as no one made any sign, he thanked the witness and gave him his dismissal.
The next witness was a smart-looking uniformed inspector of the City Police who stepped up to his post with the brisk, confident air of one familiar with the procedure. He stated that his name was William Budge, and, having rattled through the preliminaries, gave a precise and business-like account of the circumstances in which he made the acquaintance of the “remains” in the cloak room. From this he proceeded to the examination of the case in collaboration with the medical officer. His description of the case tallied with that given by Mr. Crump, but he was able to supply a few further details.
“Mr. Crump referred in his evidence,” said the coroner, “to a private label on this case. You examined that, of course?”
“Yes. It was a piece of card—half of a stationer’s postcard—fastened to the lid of the case with four tacks. It had a name and address written on it in plain block letters with a rather fine pen. The name was J. Dobson and the address was 401 Argyle Square, King’s Cross, London.”
“Four hundred and one!” exclaimed the coroner.
The witness smiled. “Yes, sir. Of course, there’s no such number, but I went there to make sure.”
“You did not extract any other information from the label?”
“I did not make a particular examination of it. I took it off carefully with the proper precautions and handed it to the superintendent.”
“You did not test it for fingerprints?”
“No, sir. That would not be in my province.”
“Exactly!” said the coroner, “and it is not really in ours.” He paused for a few moments and then asked:
“Have you any idea, Inspector, where this case might have come from, or what its original contents might have been?”
“I should say,” was the reply, “that it originally contained some kind of provisions and that it formed part of a ship’s stores. It is very usual for firms who supply provisions to ships to send them out in cases of this kind. The lids are screwed down for security in transit, but furnished with hinges for convenience when they are in use on board. There was no mark on the wood to indicate where the case came from. The issuer’s name and address was probably on a label which has been taken off.”
“Did you find anything that seemed to confirm your surmise that this case had formed part of a ship’s stores?”
“Yes. When the doctor had taken the head out, I took out the clothes and rags that had been used for packing and went over them carefully. Most of them seemed to be connected with a vessel of some sort. I made out a list, which I have with me.”
He produced an official-looking note book, and, at the coroner’s request, read out the list of items.
“At the top, immediately surrounding the head, was a very old, ragged blue jersey, such as fishermen wear. There was no mark of any kind on it, but there were some ends of thread that looked as if a linen tab had been cut off. Next, there was a pair of brown canvas trousers, a good deal worn and without any marks or any name on the buttons, and an old brown canvas jumper. Then there were several worn-out cotton swabs such as they use on board ship, three longish ends of inch-and-a-half manilla rope, and, at the bottom of the case, a ragged oil-skin coat. So the whole contents looked like the throw-outs collected from some ship’s fo’c’sle, or from the cabin of a barge or some other small craft.”
“Do you associate these cast-off things with any particular kind of vessel?”
“As far as the things themselves are concerned, I do not. But the case rather suggests a deep-water craft. A barge or a coaster can pick up her provisions at the various ports of call, and hardly needs the quantity of stores that this case suggests.”
“And what about the other case—the case that was stolen? Do you connect it with the one that contained the head?”
The Inspector reflected. “There is not much information available at present,” said he, “and what there is you have had in Crump’s evidence. It appears that the two cases were exactly alike; and, if that is so, they might have come from the same source. Evidently, the man who brought in the case with the head in it knew all about the other case, and what was in it.”
“Which, I take it, is more than you do?”
The Inspector smiled and admitted that the unknown man had the advantage of the police at present; and, with that admission his evidence came to an end and he retired to his seat. There followed a pause, during which the coroner once more looked over his notes and the jury exchanged remarks in an undertone. At length, when he had run his eye over the depositions, the coroner leaned back in his chair, and, taking a general survey of the jury, began his summing-up.
“This inquiry, gentlemen,” he began, “is a very remarkable one, and as unsatisfactory as it is unusual in character. It is unsatisfactory in several respects. We are inquiring into the circumstances surrounding the death of a deceased person. But we are not in possession of the body of that person but of only a part of it; and that part gives us no information on either of the three headings of our inquiry—the time, the place and the manner. We are seeking to discover:—first, When this person died; second, In what place he died; and, third, In what manner and by what means he came by his death. But, owing to the incomplete nature of the remains, the strange circumstances in which they were discovered, and the physical condition of the remains themselves, we can answer none of these questions. We do not even know who the deceased is. All that we can do is to consider the whole body of facts which are known to us and draw what reasonable conclusions we can from them.
“Let us begin by taking a glance at the succession of events in the order of their occurrence. First, on the Saturday night, comes a man with a heavy case which, according to his subsequent admission, contains property of great value. He leaves this case in the cloak room for the weekend. Then, on the Sunday, comes another man with another case which appears to be identically similar to the first. He very adroitly manages to exchange this case for the one containing the valuable property. Then, on the Monday, comes the first man to claim his property. He sees that some substitution appears to have occurred, and, in order to make sure, opens the case. Then he discovers the head of the deceased and is, naturally enough, horrified. Instantly, he rushes out of the station, ostensibly in search of a policeman, but actually, to make his escape, as becomes evident when he does not return. That is the series of events which are known to us, and which form, in effect, the whole sum of our knowledge. Let us see what conclusions we can draw from them.
“The first question that we ask ourselves is:—Why did that man not come back? The case which had been stolen contained, according to what was probably a hasty, unguarded statement, property worth several thousand pounds. Without committing ourselves to a legal opinion, we may say that he could have made a claim on the railway company for the value of that property. Yet, at the sight of that dead man’s head, he rushed out and disappeared. What are we to infer from that? There are several inferences that suggest themselves. First, although it is evident that the head in the case came to him as a complete surprise, it is possible that, as soon as he saw it, he recognized it as something with which he had a guilty association. That is one possibility. Then there is the question as to what was in his own case. It was property of great value. But whose property was it? There is in the behaviour of this man a strong suggestion that the valuable contents of that case may have been stolen property, of which he was not in a position to give any account. That appears to be highly probable; but it does not greatly concern us, excepting that it suggests a criminal element in the transaction as a whole—a suggestion that is strengthened by the apparent connexion between the two men.
“When we come to the second man, the criminal element is unmistakeable. To say nothing of the theft which he undoubtedly committed, the fact that he was going about with the head of a dead man in a box, definitely puts upon him the responsibility for the mutilation of a human body, to say the least. The question
of any further guilt depends on the view that is taken of that mutilation. And that brings us to the question as to the manner in which the deceased came by his death.
“Now, we have to recognize that we have no direct evidence on this point. The doctor’s careful and expert examination failed to elicit any information as to the cause of death; which was what might have been expected from the very insufficient means at his disposal. But, if we have no direct evidence as to the actual cause of death, we have very important indirect evidence as to some of the circumstances surrounding his death. We know, for instance, that the body had been mutilated, or at least decapitated; and we know that some person was in possession of the separated head—and, probably, of the mutilated remainder of the corpse.
“But these are very material facts. What does our common sense, aided by experience, suggest in the case of a corpse which has been mutilated and a part packed in a box and planted in a railway cloak room? What is the usual object of dismembering a corpse and of disposing of the dismembered remains in this way? In all the numerous cases which have occurred from time to time, the object has been the same; to get rid of the body of a person who has been murdered, in order to cover up the fact and the circumstances of the crime. No other reason is imaginable. There could be no object in thus making away with the body of a person who had died a natural death.
“That, however, is for you to consider in deciding on your verdict. The other known facts do not seem to be helpful. The singular and rather repulsive appearance of deceased does not concern us, although it may be important to the police. As to the curious use of a preservative, the object of that seems to be fairly obvious. Mutilated remains have been commonly discovered by the putrefactive odour which they have exhaled. If this head had not been preserved, it would have been impossible for it to have been left in the cloak room for twenty-four hours without arousing suspicion. But, as I have said, the fact, though curious, is not material to our inquiry. The material facts are those which suggest an answer to the question, How did deceased come by his death? Those facts are in your possession; and I shall now leave you to consider your verdict.”
The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack Page 140
