‘Now, look here, Bradstreet, just confine yourself to what you’re asked. D’you see? Just what I ask you and no more.’
‘Well, so I am, but I was just going to—’
‘Never mind what you were going to do. Listen to me and answer my questions. Now, on yesterday morning did you carry out your work at the office?’
‘I did an’ I didn’t, if so be that you understand me. I began to work as usual, but w’en I found the boss I stopped pretty quick. I didn’t do nothing more after—’
‘You found the boss? You mean the deceased, I suppose?’
‘I mean Mr Carey. After I’d found ’im I wasn’t on for work, as you might understand. It didn’t ’alf—’
‘Now, will you tell the jury just what you found?’
‘Well, the blinds was down, like they always was, an’ I went for to raise them so as there’d be light for me to do the fire. An’ w’en I raised them, there didn’t I see the boss, ’anging there from the roof.’
‘And what did you do?’
‘I sez to myself, “Oh, my, oh, my,” or words to that effect, an’ I went over to look at ’im for to see if maybe ’e might he alive. But ’e weren’t. ’E were dead, an’ ’e’d been dead for some time, for I felt ’im an’ ’e were cold, as cold as ice.’
‘And what did you do then?’
‘W’y, I stood an’ thought wot I’d best do, an’ then I thought I’d—’
‘Look here, Bradstreet, did you tell anyone what you’d seen?’
‘That’s right, sir. I ran out, shutting the door after me, an’ I ran to Alf Whitaker, that’s the storesman, an’ I said, “I’ll be jiggered, Alf, if the boss ain’t been an’ ’anged ’imself.” An’ Alf said—’
‘Did you then go back to the office?’
‘Yes, as soon as Alf Whitaker ’ad rung up the police, we both went back. ’E couldn’t scarcely believe ’is eyes, Alf couldn’t. ’E—’
‘Did you remain in the office till the police came?’
‘That’s right, we waited—’
‘Now, one other question, Bradstreet. From the time you first made the discovery until the police arrived, was anything touched in the room?’
‘No, there weren’t nothing touched. I felt the body for to see if it were cold, but there weren’t nothing else touched. I—’
The coroner looked round. ‘Does any gentleman wish to ask the witness a question?’
No one else desiring to restart the flood of Bradstreet’s eloquence, he was told to stand down, which he did with unwillingness and an aggrieved expression.
Sergeant Emery was the next witness. On the coroner’s suggestion he gave his evidence in the form of a statement.
‘Yesterday about 8.5 a.m.,’ he began, ‘I received a telephone message from this yard, informing me that the chief engineer had just been found dead in his office. I proceeded to the place and found the deceased as stated. He was hanging by a rope from the beam of the roof and had been dead for a considerable time, the body being quite cold. His toes were swinging about three inches above the floor. A tall office stool lay on its side on the floor beside the body, just out of reach of the feet. It looked to me as if the deceased had stood on the stool while fixing the rope about his neck, and had then kicked away the stool.’
‘There were no other marks of violence, either on the body or in the room?’
‘No, sir. I didn’t see any marks on the body, but Dr Willcox is here and will tell you definitely. There were no traces of violence in the room.’
‘Yes, sergeant. What did you do then?’
‘I had telephoned for Dr Willcox before leaving the station, and he turned up shortly. We cut the body down and he made his examination of it while I went over the room. I found nothing to disprove my belief that the deceased had committed suicide. On the other hand I found nothing to suggest his motive for doing so.’
‘And then, sergeant?’
‘Then, sir, I made certain inquiries. I did not learn a great deal, but as a result I have some other witnesses to put before you.’
‘Well, sergeant, we’ll hear them now.’ Mr Latimer went on asking questions, but the sergeant had evidently told all he knew, and presently Dr Willcox was called.
The doctor had not much to say. He had been summoned to the contractors’ office on the previous morning and had there found a man hanging from the roof, as the previous witness had described. The man was dead, and had been dead, so far as he could estimate, for about twelve hours. He must, however, point out that this figure was quite approximate and that is was not possible to state definitely the hour of death. The man had died from asphyxiation, and his condition and the injuries to his throat were consistent with death from hanging. There was no other wound upon the body or sign of any struggle.
Lowell was next called. He described briefly the life in the office and the excellent relations which had obtained between the deceased and the other members of the staff. He was with Carey off and on during the day of the tragedy. Carey seemed absolutely normal and he, Lowell, had no inkling that all was not well with him.
Lowell then went on to describe the events of the previous evening. Shortly before closing time all the members of the staff were in the office. About half-past five the deceased said he was going over to the railway hut to see Bragg, and if the others were done before he returned they need not wait for him. He went out and shortly afterwards Templeton put away his papers and followed. Lowell completed his work about a quarter to six and left the office, Pole, who had not quite finished, remaining behind. Having a headache he, Lowell, went for a short walk before returning to ‘Serque’, the house where the three of them were staying. He was troubled with these headaches and often found a walk helped them. When he reached ‘Serque’ Pole had already arrived, having walked direct from the office. As Carey did not turn up they waited dinner for a few minutes, then supposing he had gone to dine elsewhere, they went on without him He, Lowell, and Pole stayed in all the evening, reading novels. Next morning at breakfast Carey did not appear, and on Lowell going up to look for him, he found that his bed had not been slept in. Even then no suspicion that anything was wrong entered their minds; they simply supposed Carey had met friends and stayed with them all night. The first intimation he, Lowell, had of the tragedy, was his finding the police in charge at the office.
Lowell had been led through this evidence by questions from the coroner, and now a juror asked him whether Carey had ever before failed to turn up for dinner without sending a message. Lowell thought not: at least, he could not remember any such case. The juryman then asked was it not strange, in these unprecedented circumstances, that none of them had made any search for Carey. Lowell admitted that they might have been too ready to take things for granted, and said he was not trying to justify their action, but simply stating what had taken place.
Once again Parry felt a little surprised by Lowell’s manner. He still seemed self-conscious and uneasy, not to say apprehensive. These manifestations were slight, and Parry did not think that a stranger to Lowell would have noticed anything amiss. But to him there did certainly seem to be something unusual on Lowell’s mind.
Pole was then examined. He briefly confirmed Lowell’s general statement, saying that he had left the office about five minutes after Lowell and gone straight to ‘Serque’. Carey had not returned to the office when he left it.
The next witness was Bragg. After answering a few questions as to the good relations which had obtained between the contractors’ and railway staffs, he described Carey’s visit to his office, referred to by the previous witnesses. It was about blasting at the tunnel. Carey had gone about five minutes to six. Bragg had then left, Parry remaining behind.
Parry was then called. Asked several general questions, he confirmed what Lowell, Pole and Bragg had said. Then Mr Latimer took him to the night of the tragedy.
‘After Mr Bragg left your office, what did you do?’
‘During the day I had overlo
oked sending a plan to Inspector Holford, our Permanent Way inspector. As he wanted it the next morning it had to go out that night. I turned up the plan and wrote on it some special memoranda which the inspector required.’
‘Then you left the office.’
‘Yes.’
‘At that time the tradesmen’s work was normally over for the day and the yard was closed?’
‘That is so.’
‘I understand there is a watchman on duty at night? Did you see him on your way out?’
‘Yes, he opened the gate for me.’
‘Now, Mr Parry, between the time you left your office and the time you met the watchman, did you see anyone else in the yard?’
‘I did,’ said Parry, and he told his story about the silhouetted figure.
Interest in the proceedings, which had waned slightly, waxed once more. But only for a moment. Parry reiterated his former statement that he could not say who the man was, and Mr Latimer did not press him. Parry was the last witness and when he stood down the coroner began his address to the jury.
After a word of introduction Mr Latimer reviewed the evidence, and Parry was struck, as he had been struck on the previous occasion, with the fair way the facts were presented. Then in a sort of charge the coroner went on to give his own views, repeating a good deal of what he had said in the Ackerley case. Three possibilities were to be considered: accident, suicide or murder. Fortunately for the jury, he did not think they would have much difficulty in deciding to which of these categories the present case belonged. Accident, he suggested, might be dismissed at once. He did not see with what object, other than self-destruction, the deceased could have tied the rope to the roof principal, even if he might have accidentally got it round his neck and fallen off the stool. The jury would, of course, consider these possibilities, but if they rejected them, they would proceed to consider the alternatives of suicide and murder.
For murder, he suggested, there was no evidence whatever. Murder by hanging in circumstances such as this was practically unknown, and for a very good reason: its extreme difficulty. In fact, except in the case of a particularly weak and puny victim, it might be taken as impossible. Here the victim was anything but weak or puny.
‘It is true,’ went on Mr Latimer, ‘that many murdered persons are found hanging. But they are almost invariably murdered beforehand by some other method, and swung up with the object of misleading the police. Now, in the present case the doctor has told you, not only that the state of the remains was consistent with hanging, but that there was no other wound upon the body.
‘You have also to remember, though this is neither so important nor so conclusive, that no possible motive has been suggested by which anyone might have desired the deceased’s death. On the other hand, all the evidence we have tends to show that he had no serious enemies.
‘If then, members of the jury, you conclude that a murder verdict is inadmissable, you will turn your thoughts to suicide.
‘In this theory you will, I think, find a completely satisfactory explanation of the death. Hanging is a method frequently adopted by suicides, and the more you consider the actual details in this case, the more, I think, you will see that every one of them is consistent with this hypothesis. The deed done in the man’s own office after everyone had left. The rope, taken from a place deceased knew of, namely, from round a bundle of large pegs. The use of the office stool, lying where it would lie if it had been kicked aside. In short, had suicide been committed, you would naturally expect to find just what was found.
‘There is just one remark which I still wish to make in connection with the man who was seen to enter the hut with a key. I do not think you need let this matter weigh with you. Unless you are satisfied that murder was committed, it is of little importance to you who this individual was. Your duty is confined to three questions: first, what was the cause of death? second, was the death due to accident, suicide, or murder? and third, if murder, you can, if you like, add an expression of your opinion as to the guilty party. Now, members of the jury, will you please withdraw and consider your verdict.’
In five minutes the jury returned. The verdict was a foregone conclusion to everyone present. It was that Michael John Carey had committed suicide while temporarily insane by hanging himself in his office on the evening or night of Tuesday, the 24th of November.
Two days later Carey’s funeral took place. It was supposed to be private, but in the end was largely attended. Though he hadn’t been particularly popular, the dead man had performed many a kindness and these were now remembered. Parry and Bragg went as a matter of course, as did also most of the men in the yard. To everyone’s surprise, Mr Spence, the partner who had given evidence at the inquest, came down from London in order to be present.
Not entirely to be present, however. It was afterwards found that Mr Spence had another and a more pleasant motive in making the journey. When the funeral was over, so Parry heard later, he called Lowell into the private office, and after a long conversation about the Widening, told him that the firm was satisfied with the way in which he had done his work up to the present, and proposed to offer him Carey’s position, subject on account of his youth to more frequent inspections from headquarters.
It was, as a matter of fact, a wise move of the partners. Not only was Lowell thoroughly competent from a professional point of view, but he also had enough character to carry his decisions through. Moreover, he had made himself popular with all concerned.
Parry was really glad at the promotion and said so in no uncertain terms, as also did Bragg. As Bragg pointed out, they might have got some crooked old fellow from town who would have stood on his dignity and given them no end of trouble. Bragg in fact was delighted.
When Parry returned to the office on the Monday morning after the funeral and greeted Lowell in his new position, it seemed to him as if a page of his life had somehow been turned. This terrible period of tragedies was surely over. It could not go on for ever. He felt brighter and more hopeful than at any period since the death of Ackerley.
Yet on that very day was to be enacted the first scene of a fresh drama, in one sense less dreadful than those which had preceded it, but which still was to take its toll in perplexity and suffering, not only from Parry, but from many another, both within and without the Widening.
10
The Torn Print
Parry began work that morning in the usual way, with the correspondence. He was alone in the office. Ashe had been sent to an outlying station to make a survey and would not be back for two or three days. Bragg would be down later, but in the morning he had some engagement in Lydmouth. At the moment work in the Widening office was slack, but in four or five days measuring up for the next certificate would begin.
There was not much in the letter-box and Parry soon passed on to his next job; looking over his engagements and arranging his programme for the day. In the afternoon Bragg and he were going to walk over the Widening. He had no special interviews for the morning and he need not, therefore, go out at present. He decided that he would spend his time till Bragg arrived in finishing a small supplementary plan of certain modifications to a culvert wingwall, which, though it was not required at present, soon would be.
He set to work, therefore, at his drawing-board. Practically all the office drawings were done in pencil on paper, then were traced in ink on linen, using a standard sized sheet, of which there were a number of different sizes. The pencil drawing was then destroyed and the linen became the original and was kept in the drawing-office files. The drawings actually in use on the various jobs were photo prints, taken from these linen tracings. As the linen original was never allowed out of the office, it was possible at any time to obtain as many fresh and identical copies as might be required.
Parry had finished the pencil drawing and was unrolling the cloth for the tracing when the door was pushed open and Lowell came in.
‘Hullo, Parry. By yourself?’
‘Yes, Bragg won�
�t be down till the 12.55.’
‘We’re going to start concreting at Arch III tomorrow,’ Lowell went on. ‘Do you want to O.K. the reinforcement before we do so?’
‘It’s all right,’ said Parry. ‘Bragg and I were over it three or four days ago.’
‘Right.’
The two men discussed a number of other items connected with the work. Then Lowell held up a sheet of paper.
‘I must congratulate you people on your tidiness and care,’ he announced. ‘See what I’ve just found kicking about our office.’
Parry took the paper. It was triangular shaped, a corner torn off a larger sheet. A photo print, it was ruled in squares and bore one or two coloured cross sections showing cutting. It was dusty and crumpled.
‘Good Lord!’ said Parry, ‘that’s out of our book of sections. See, there’s one of Ackerley’s notes on it.’ He pointed to a faintly written pencil note that Bridge 986 was 15 ft. 9 in. east of Section 48. ‘Where was it?’ he went on.
‘Among a lot of other papers in one of Carey’s drawers. I’ve been turning them out.’
Parry nodded. He got up and went to the cupboard in the inner office. ‘Here’s our copy,’ he said, slamming down a book on the desk.
This was the book which Bragg had produced when French was inquiring into his alibi. It consisted of a stout Manilla binder containing some seventy or eighty sheets of photo print paper. The sheets were about 18ins. by 12ins. in size, their working area being squared with 1/10in. squares. Each sheet bore from one to six cross sections, depending on the depth of the cut or fill. These cross sections had been taken every hundred feet along the whole line and were numbered from 0 to 188. They were doubly coloured on the prints, firstly, with a faint wash of red or blue to show the total area of cutting or filling to be done, and secondly, with various other stronger colours, to indicate the amount of such cutting or filling which had been completed up to various given dates.
Death on the Way Page 13
