“Was he already dead?”
“He must have been; but his legs were moving slightly with a sort of twitching movement. They continued to move for nearly half a minute.”
“Can you explain how it happened that you did not notice that you were putting on the wrong clothes?”
“There was not much to notice. The clothes were almost identical with my own, and they fitted me. But I was so shaken and horrified by what had just happened that I hardly knew what I was doing. As I was dressing, I still had my eyes on the corpse. The only thing that I noticed was the hat, and I did not stop to ask myself how it happened that Ronald was lying on mine.”
Andrew then described how he had hurried away from the Gap intending to seek assistance or give information, and how he had missed the road and wandered about in the country, reaching Crompton only after night had fallen, and how he had made his way straight to the police station and had encountered the police notice.
“Did you stop to read the bill?”
“No. I was feeling very confused and shaken and I stopped to think over what I had to tell, and how I should explain my presence in Crompton, and also whether I ought to say anything about the affair of the motor bandits. Then, as I was standing opposite the bill, my eye caught the words, ‘Kibble’s Cross,’ and I glanced quickly through the notice to see what had happened. Then I saw the heading, ‘Wanted for Murder,’ and reading down further, I read the description of myself and the statement that I had been seen to fire the shot.”
“You read the notice which directly accused you of having committed the murder. Were you particularly alarmed?”
“I was terrified. For the notice not only accused me but stated, on the evidence of an eye-witness, that I had been seen to fire the shot that had killed the man.”
“Did you think that you were likely to be convicted of this murder?”
“I thought that I was certain to be. This lady was prepared to swear that she had seen me fire the shot, and I had no answer but a bare denial. I thought that if I was caught I was bound to be condemned.”
“And did you think it likely that you would be caught?”
“I considered it a certainty that I should be, as the disfigurement of my nose, which was described on the bill, made me so very easy to recognize. Anyone who had read the bill who should see me would know instantly who I was. And my spectacles, which were the only means of any sort of disguise, were in the pocket of the clothes that had been under the body of my cousin.”
The account went on to relate how Andrew had sneaked up the dark street, keeping in the deepest shadow and avoiding the street lamps, and how he had stumbled on the premises of Professor Booley and had then had the sudden idea that the Professor might be able to produce some sort of disguise. “Had you anything definite in your mind when you decided to apply to Professor Booley?”
“No. I realized that the disfigurement of my nose was the great source of danger as I could not cover it up and anyone would notice it at the first glance. I thought it possible that Professor Booley might be able to do something—even a temporary disguise—which would give me a chance to escape.”
“So you decided to see if he could do anything for you. Now tell us exactly what happened.”
Andrew proceeded with the description of his interview with the Professor, brought up repeatedly by Thorndyke for the filling in of some apparently trivial detail. He spoke confidently and clearly; and, as he told that strange story, the entire court, judge, jury and spectators alike, listened in breathless silence. He described the Professor’s reluctance, changing suddenly into enthusiasm and even eagerness; the consulting-room with its chair and instruments and the cake of wax that had been shown to him and the various preparations for the operation, the operation itself, his agonies in the operating-chair, and the climax, when the Professor bade him look in the mirror. “And when you looked in the mirror, what did you see?”
“I saw the face of my cousin Ronald.”
“You mean that your face now resembled the face of your cousin?”
“That, I suppose, is the fact. It must have been. But the resemblance was so complete that it seemed like some magical illusion. What I saw was not my own face but Ronald’s. I could hardly believe my eyes.”
“Do you now think that the transformation was so very wonderful?”
“No. Since I have had time to think it over, I have realized that it was quite natural. Ronald and I were extraordinarily alike in every respect but our noses. Ronald had a Roman nose and my nose was straight; and after my accident, the difference was much more striking. But Professor Booley, in filling up the notch in my nose, happened to model the patch which he put in so that the repaired bridge was almost exactly the shape of Ronald’s. The result was that the only appreciable difference between us was done away with. If Ronald had been alive, he and I would have looked like a pair of twins.”
“Professor Booley’s magic has had some rather embarrassing effects. What did you do when you recovered from the operation?”
Andrew described the visit to the restaurant and his examination of himself in the mirror, and explained how the complete transformation in his appearance made it impossible for him to go home; how the necessity for recovering his attache case compelled him to go to Ronald’s lodgings, and how, while waiting for an opportunity to enter unobserved, he had halted at the police station to read the bill and had thus been present when the cart arrived bearing his cousin’s body. With occasional assistance from Thorndyke in explaining and elucidating the incidents and emphasizing their significance, he continued the narrative, including his life at Hampstead, his visit to Molly, his meeting with Mrs. Kempster and so on up to the moment of his arrest and his committal for trial on the charge of fraud and personation.
When the examination in chief had thus brought the story up to his consignment to prison, Thorndyke sat down and Sir Oliver rose to cross-examine; and Andrew realized that the period of plain sailing was over. He had to brace himself up for some difficult questions. The learned counsel discreetly refrained from challenging statements of fact and attacked the evidence from the psychological side. “Your explanation of the mystery that was made about the visit to Crompton is difficult to follow. What prevented you from giving your wife a straightforward statement of what you intended to do?”
“Nothing but my own stupidity,” replied Andrew. “There was not the least necessity for any deception.”
“You have described your state of extreme panic on reading the police notice. But what occasion was there for panic? You would surely know that a charge of this kind could not be entertained in the case of a man of good position and known respectability?”
“I did not know it. I supposed that the sworn evidence of a respectable eye-witness would be conclusive. This lady said that she saw me kill Mr. Hudson. There seemed no answer to that!”
“Can you explain why, in all this time, you made no attempt to communicate with your wife?”
“Seeing that I was wanted for murder, I did not dare to disclose my identity. I felt sure that, if I told this story to her, she would reject it as an attempt at imposture and communicate with the police; and I could not risk any dealings with them.”
“Again, you actually state that you had an interview with your wife and that she did not recognize you, though she noticed your resemblance to her husband. It seems perfectly incredible that she should have failed to recognize her own husband. But allowing that she did, what prevented you from simply telling her who you were?”
“In the first place, she evidently recognized me as Ronald, and she appeared to be distinctly distrustful of Ronald. Then she believed that she had seen the dead body of her husband, and she had attended his funeral only a few days before. Moreover, I found that she was convinced that the person who was with him at Hunstone had murdered him. But I should have had to begin by telling her that I was one of the two persons who were at Hunstone. I thought, and still think, that she would hav
e gone straight out and informed the police.”
“There is then the case of the woman, Elizabeth Kempster. You admit that she, having seen and talked with you, was firmly convinced that you were her husband, Anthony Kempster. You admit that there can be no doubt that Anthony Kempster and Ronald Barton are one and the same person. You admit that this woman still believes that you are her husband, Ronald Barton. See, then, what it is that you are asking us to believe. On the one hand, you assert that you had a long interview with your own wife and that she never even suspected that you were her husband. On the other hand, you had an interview of some length with Elizabeth Kempster and she was then convinced, and still remains convinced, that you are her husband. And both these women are convinced that you are Ronald Barton. Do you still maintain and ask the jury to believe that you are not Ronald Barton, which both of these women are convinced that you are, and that you are Andrew Barton, which Andrew Barton’s wife is convinced that you are not?”
“I have declared on oath, and I repeat, that I am Andrew Barton.”
The learned counsel raised his eyebrows (whereby it became necessary for him to catch his eyeglass as it dropped from his eye; which he did with an expertness born of long practice), and, after a pause to give effect to that gesture of incredulity, continued his cross-examination, skilfully picking out all the improbabilities and apparent contradictions. It was cleverly done and it served, at least, to save the face of the prosecution. But it was all very inconclusive since it left all the evidence on the main questions of fact untouched. Those questions Sir Oliver was too wise to attack. His long experience in the courts would have taught him that technical evidence from Dr. John Thorndyke was best left alone. Moreover, he probably suspected that Thorndyke had not played his last card.
And so it turned out when the long cross-examination was ended. For the next witness whose name was called was Dr. Christopher Jervis; and it soon appeared that Dr. Jervis belonged to the heavy division of the defence’s artillery. Having elicited his name and qualifications, Thorndyke began: “Can you tell us anything about the block of chalk which was found on the body of the dead man who has been described as Andrew Barton?”
“Yes. On the 13th of November I went to Hunstone Gap with the witness, William Cox. He showed me the place where the body was found and the position of the head, which was marked by some splashes of blood which had soaked into the chalk at the foot of the cliff. He also showed me the block of chalk, which was still lying where he had dropped it. Looking up the cliff, I could see the spot from which the block had broken away. It was quite clearly distinguishable as a squarish cavity. I measured, with a sextant, the height of this cavity above the beach and found it to be sixty-three feet. I tested, with a plumb-line, the position of this cavity in relation to the blood-mark at the foot of the cliff and found that they were both exactly in the same vertical line. The head of the deceased must, therefore, have been exactly on the spot on to which the block would have fallen. I tested the weight of the block by lifting it. With great difficulty, I was able to lift it a few inches from the ground, but was able to hold it for only a very few seconds owing to the absence of anything for the fingers to grasp.”
“Could you have lifted it two or three feet?”
“No, certainly not.”
“Are you a fairly strong man?”
“Yes. I am rather above the average of strength for a man of my size. I am just under six feet two inches in height.”
“You have heard the suggestions of the prosecution as to the method employed in committing this alleged murder. Do you consider, judging by your experience of the block, that the method suggested is physically practicable?”
“No. I am certain that it would be impossible for even a strong man to lift that block two or three feet from the ground several times in succession.”
“Were you present when Sir Artemus Pope made his examination of the body which is alleged to be that of Andrew Barton?”
“Yes; and I was authorized to make any independent examination that I considered necessary.”
“What observations did you make?”
“I paid particular attention to the condition of the nasal bones. The description of Andrew Barton made it clear that he had suffered from a severe depressed fracture of the nasal bones, caused by a blow from a cricket-ball. I searched carefully for traces of that fracture and the callus thrown up in the processes of bone repair. I could find no such traces. The bones were fractured in several places, but these were new fractures. There was not a sign that the bones had ever been fractured before. I carefully separated out the broken pieces and fitted them together on a wax support. I had no authority to bring them away to produce in evidence but I made a plaster cast of the joined fragments on the wax. I produce the cast for inspection; and I have also brought a normal skull for comparison. The cast shows clearly the new fractures in the bones, but it also shows clearly that there are no traces whatever of any old fractures or of any callus or signs of repair. The bones in the cast are perfectly normal, as can be seen by comparing them with the uninjured bones of the skull.”
“What do you infer from this?”
“I infer that it is quite impossible that the body which I examined could have been the body of Andrew Barton.”
“Are you quite certain that it was not the body of Andrew Barton?”
“I am quite certain that it was not. It is a physical impossibility that his nasal bones could have been perfectly normal in appearance as the bones are seen to be in the cast.”
On receiving this answer, Thorndyke paused for a few moments to complete his notes and then proceeded: “Have you made any examination of the prisoner?”
“Yes. I have examined his nose with the naked eye, with ordinary electric light and with X-rays and also by the sense of touch. To the naked eye it appears to be a completely normal nose of the Roman type with a rather high bridge. To the sense of touch it is hard and smooth in the upper part with some irregular masses at the base. I was unable to feel the lower edges of the nasal bones or the median cartilage. On examination with electric light or sunlight, it is seen that the bridge of the nose is not composed of bone but of some translucent substance which I believe to be paraffin wax.”
“What are your reasons for believing it to be paraffin wax?”
“It has all the properties of paraffin wax and no other substance is known to me which could be introduced into that situation and formed into that shape.”
“What methods did you use in respect of the X-rays?”
“I took an X-ray photograph of the prisoner and another of myself for comparison as our noses are somewhat alike in shape. I produce those photographs. Each is signed by me and countersigned by John Thorndyke and I swear that they are the photographs of the persons whose names are written on them. On the one of myself it can be seen that the nasal bones are clearly visible occupying the bridge of the nose and corresponding to its outline. In the photograph of the prisoner the outline of the bridge is faintly seen but there are no nasal bones there. At the base is an irregular mass of bone which corresponds to no normal structure. It looks like an old depressed fracture of which the fragments are cemented together with callus, or new bone.”
“What conclusions do you draw from these photographs?”
“The photograph of the prisoner shows a condition which exactly agrees with the description of Andrew Barton, plus the shadowy indication of the mass of wax forming the bridge. Disregarding the wax, which is really a foreign body and no part of the prisoner’s person, the photograph is that of a man who is identical in appearance with Andrew Barton, according to the various descriptions of him which have been given in evidence, including the surgeon’s certificate referred to by Mrs. Barton.”
This completed the examination in chief. As Thorndyke sat down, Mr. Horace Black, Sir Oliver’s junior, rose to cross-examine. But he had a thankless task, for Jervis’s evidence dealt almost entirely with observed facts which could not be d
isputed or even questioned; and when the learned counsel mildly hinted at errors of observation or mistaken inferences, Jervis blandly offered him the cast or the photographs, which the counsel smilingly waved away as matters outside the province of a mere lawyer.
The next witness came as a surprise to most of the persons present, including Andrew; for the name that was called was that of Elizabeth Kempster. As the lady stepped into the box and looked nervously at Thorndyke, a certain redness around the eyes and a handkerchief held in the hand suggested that the occasion was, for her, not a happy one. When the preliminaries had been disposed of, Thorndyke opened his examination with the request: “Will you kindly look at the prisoner, Mrs. Kempster, and tell us whether you recognize him?”
The witness cast a deprecating glance at Andrew and replied: “Yes, I recognize him.”
“Can you tell us who he is?”
“I don’t think I can,” she replied. “He looks like my husband, Anthony Kempster, but from what I have just heard, he can’t be.”
“But, disregarding the evidence that you have heard, who do you say he is?”
“Well, he looks exactly like my husband.”
“Have you previously identified him on oath as your husband?”
“Yes. I swore to him as my husband at the police station and in the police court. But,” she added with a catch in her voice and an application of her handkerchief to her eyes, “I didn’t know that I was letting him in for this.”
“When you identified him at the police court, had you at any time any doubt that he was really your husband?”
“Yes. I did think, just for a moment or two, that I might have made a mistake. But then they found in his pocket-book a tradesman’s bill addressed to A. Kempster, Esq., and that convinced me that I was not mistaken.”
The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack Page 186
