by Fergus Hume
A. No, because I went back to the ball-room with her; then I came out myself to look for the bottle, but it was gone.
Q. You have never seen it since.
A. No, it must have been picked up by someone who was ignorant of its contents.
Q. By your own showing, M. Vandeloup, Miss Marchurst had no poison with her when she left Mr Meddlechip’s house. How, then, could she commit this crime?
A. She told me she still had some poison left; that she divided the contents of the bottle she had taken from my desk, and that she still had enough left at home to poison Mrs Villiers.
Q. Did she say she would poison Mrs Villiers?
A. Yes, sooner than see her married to me. (Sensation.)
Q. Do you believe she went away from you with the deliberate intention of committing the crime.
A. I do.
M. Vandeloup then left the box amid great excitement, and Kilsip was again examined. He deposed that he had searched Miss Marchurst’s room, and found half a bottle of extract of hemlock. The contents of the bottle had been analysed, and were found identical with the conia discovered in the stomach of the deceased.
Q. You say the bottle was half empty?
A. Rather more than that: three-quarters empty.
Q. Miss Marchurst told M. Vandeloup she had poured half the contents of one bottle into the other. Would not this account for the bottle being three-quarters empty?
A. Possibly; but if the first bottle was full, it is probable she would halve the poison exactly; so if it had been untouched, it ought to be half full.
Q. Then you think some of the contents of this bottle were used?
A. That is my opinion.
Vandeloup was recalled, and deposed that the bottle Kitty took from his desk was quite full; and moreover, when the other bottle which had been found in her room, was shown to him, he declared that it was as nearly as possible the same size as the missing bottle. So the inference drawn from this was that the bottle produced being three-quarters empty, some of the poison had been used.
The question now arose that as the guilt of Miss Marchurst seemed so certain, how was it that Selina Sprotts was poisoned instead of her mistress; but this was settled by Madame Midas, who being recalled, deposed that Kitty did not know Selina slept with her on that night, and the curtains being drawn, could not possibly tell two people were in the bed.
This was all the evidence obtainable, and the coroner now proceeded to sum up.
The case, he said, was a most remarkable one, and it would be necessary for the jury to consider very gravely all the evidence laid before them in order to arrive at a proper conclusion before giving their verdict. In the first place, it had been clearly proved by the Government analyst that the deceased had died from effects of conia, which was, as they had been told, the alkaloid of hemlock, a well-known hedge plant which grows abundantly in most parts of Great Britain. According to the evidence of Dr Chinston, the deceased had died from serous apoplexy, and from all the post-mortem appearances this was the case. But they must remember that it was almost impossible to detect certain vegetable poisons, such as aconite and atropia, without minute chemical analysis. They would remember a case which startled London some years ago, in which the poisoner had poisoned his brother-in-law by means of aconite, and it taxed all the ingenuity and cleverness of experts to find the traces of poison in the stomach of the deceased. In this case, however, thanks to Dr Gollipeck, who had seen the similarity of the symptoms between the post-mortem appearance of the stomach of Adele Blondet and the present case, the usual tests for conia were applied, and as they had been told by the Government analyst, the result was conia was found. So they could be quite certain that the deceased had died of poison—that poison being conia. The next thing for them to consider was how the poison was administered. According to the evidence of Miss Marchurst, some unknown person had been standing outside the window and poured the poison into the glass on the table. Mrs Villiers had stated that the window was open all night, and from the position of the table near it—nothing would be easier than for anyone to introduce the poison into the glass as asserted by Miss Marchurst. On the other hand, the evidence of the detective Kilsip went to show that no marks were visible as to anyone having been at the window; and another thing which rendered Miss Marchurst’s story doubtful was the resemblance it had to a drama in which she had frequently acted, called ‘The Hidden Hand’. In the last act of that drama poison was administered to one of the characters in precisely the same manner, and though of course such a thing might happen in real life, still in this case it was a highly suspicious circumstance that a woman like Miss Marchurst, who had frequently acted in the drama, should see the same thing actually occur off the stage. Rejecting, then, as improbable the story of the hidden hand, seeing that the evidence was strongly against it, the next thing was to look into Miss Marchurst’s past life and see if she had any motive for committing the crime. Before doing so, however, he would point out to them that Miss Marchurst was the only person in the room when the crime was committed. The window in her own room and one of the windows in Mrs Villiers’ room were both locked, and the open window had a table in front of it, so that anyone entering would very probably knock it over, and thus awaken the sleepers. On the other hand, no one could have entered in at the door, because they would not have had time to escape before the crime was discovered. So it was clearly shown that Miss Marchurst must have been alone in the room when the crime was committed. Now to look into her past life—it was certainly not a very creditable one. M. Vandeloup had sworn that she had been his mistress for over a year, and had taken the poison manufactured by himself out of his private desk. Regarding M. Vandeloup’s motives in preparing such a poison he could say nothing. Of course, he probably did it by way of experiment to find out if this colonial grown hemlock possessed the same poisonous qualities as it did in the old world. It was a careless thing of him, however, to leave it in his desk, where it could be obtained, for all such dangerous matters should be kept under lock and key. To go back, however, to Miss Marchurst. It had been proved by M. Vandeloup that she was his mistress, and that they quarrelled. She produced this poison, and said she would kill herself. M. Vandeloup persuaded her to abandon the idea, and she subsequently left him, taking the poison with her. She then went on the stage, and subsequently left it in order to live with Mrs Villiers as her companion. All this time she still had the poison, and in order to prevent her losing it she put half of it into another bottle. Now this looked very suspicious, as, if she had not intended to use it she certainly would never have taken such trouble over preserving it. She meets M. Vandeloup at a ball, and, hearing that he is going to marry Mrs Villiers, she loses her head completely, and threatens to poison herself. M. Vandeloup tries to wrench the poison from her, whereupon she flings it into the garden. This bottle has disappeared, and the presumption is that it was picked up. But if the jury had any idea that the poison was administered from the lost bottle, they might as well dismiss it from their minds, as it was absurd to suppose such an improbable thing could happen. In the first place no one but M. Vandeloup and Miss Marchurst knew what the contents were, and in the second place what motive could anyone who picked it up have in poisoning Mrs Villiers, and why should they adopt such an extraordinary way of doing it, as Miss Marchurst asserted they did? On the other hand, Miss Marchurst tells M. Vandeloup that she still has some poison left, and that she will kill Mrs Villiers sooner than see her married to him. She declares to M. Vandeloup that she will kill her, and leaves the house to go home with, apparently, all the intention of doing so. She comes home filled with all the furious rage of a jealous woman, and enters Mrs Villiers’ room, and here the jury will recall the evidence of Mrs Villiers, who said Miss Marchurst did not know that the deceased was sleeping with her. So when Miss Marchurst entered the room, she naturally thought that Mrs Villiers was by herself, and would, as a matter of course, refrain from drawing the curtains and looking into the bed, in case s
he should awaken her proposed victim. There was a glass with drink on the table; she was alone with Mrs Villiers, her heart filled with jealous rage against a woman she thinks is her rival. Her own room is a few steps away— what, then, was easier for her than to go to her own room, obtain the poison, and put it into the glass? The jury will remember in the evidence of Mr Kilsip, the bottle was three-quarters empty, which argued some of it had been used. All the evidence against Miss Marchurst was purely circumstantial, for if she committed the crime, no human eye beheld her doing so. But the presumption of her having done so, in order to get rid of a successful rival, was very strong, and the weight of evidence was dead against her. The jury would, therefore, deliver their verdict in accordance with the facts laid before them.
The jury retired, and the court was very much excited. Everyone was quite certain that Kitty was guilty, but there was a strong feeling against M. Vandeloup as having been in some measure the cause, though indirectly, of the crime. But that young gentleman, in accordance with his usual foresight, had left the court and gone straight home, as he had no wish to face a crowd of sullen faces, and perhaps worse. Madame Midas sat still in the court awaiting the return of the jury, with the calm face of a marble sphinx. But, though she suffered, no appearances of suffering were seen on her serene face. She never had believed in human nature, and now the girl whom she had rescued from comparative poverty and placed in opulence had wanted to kill her. M. Vandeloup, whom she admired and trusted, what black infamy he was guilty of—he had sworn most solemnly he never harmed Kitty, and yet he was the man who had ruined her. Madame Midas felt that the worst had come—Vandeloup false, Kitty a murderess, her husband vanished, and Selina dead. All the world was falling into ruins around her, and she remained alone amid the ruins with her enormous fortune, like a golden statue in a deserted temple. With clasped hands, aching heart, but impassive face, she sat waiting for the end.
The jury returned in about half an hour, and there was a dead silence as the foreman stood up to deliver the verdict.
The jury found as follows:—
That the deceased, Selina Jane Sprotts, died on the 21st day of November, from the effects of poison, namely, conia, feloniously administered by one Katherine Marchurst, and the jury, on their oaths, say that the said Katherine Marchurst feloniously, wilfully, and maliciously did murder the said deceased.
That evening Kitty was arrested and lodged in the Melbourne Gaol, to await her trial on a charge of wilful murder.
CHAPTER XV. KISMET
Of two evils it is always best to choose the least, and as M. Vandeloup had to choose between the loss of his popularity or his liberty, he chose to lose the former instead of the latter. After all, as he argued to himself, Australia at large is a small portion of the world, and in America no one would know anything about his little escapade in connection with Kitty. He knew that he was in Gollipeck’s power, and that unless he acceded to that gentleman’s demand as to giving evidence he would be denounced to the authorities as an escaped convict from New Caledonia, and would be sent back there. Of course, his evidence could not but prove detrimental to himself, seeing how badly he had behaved to Kitty, but still as going through the ordeal meant liberty, he did so, and the result was as he had foreseen. Men, as a rule, are not very squeamish, and view each other’s failings, especially towards women, with a lenient eye, but Vandeloup had gone too far, and the Bachelors’ Club unanimously characterised his conduct as ‘damned shady’, so a letter was sent requesting M. Vandeloup to take his name off the books of the club. He immediately resigned, and wrote a polite letter to the secretary, which brought uneasy blushes to the cheek of that gentleman by its stinging remarks about his and his fellow clubmen’s morality. He showed it to several of the members, but as they all had their little redeeming vices, they determined to take no notice, and so M. Vandeloup was left alone. Another thing which happened was that he was socially ostracised from society, and his table, which used to be piled up with invitations, soon became quite bare. Of course, he knew he could force Meddlechip to recognise him, but he did not choose to do so, as all his thoughts were fixed on America. He had plenty of money, and with a new name and a brand new character, Vandeloup thought he would prosper exceedingly well in the States. So he stayed at home, not caring to face the stony faces of friends who cut him, and waited for the trial of Kitty Marchurst, after which he intended to leave for Sydney at once, and take the next steamer to San Francisco. He did not mind waiting, but amused himself reading, smoking, and playing, and was quite independent of Melbourne society. Only two things worried him, and the first of these was the annoyance of Pierre Lemaire, who seemed to have divined his intention of going away, and haunted him day and night like an unquiet spirit. Whenever Vandeloup looked out, he saw the dumb man watching the house, and if he went for a walk, Pierre would slouch sullenly along behind him, as he had done in the early days. Vandeloup could have called in the aid of a policeman to rid himself of this annoyance, but the fact was he was afraid of offending Pierre, as he might be tempted to reveal what he knew, and the result would not be pleasant. So Gaston bore patiently with the disagreeable system of espionage the dumb man kept over him, and consoled himself with the idea that once he was on his way to America, it would not matter two straws whether Pierre told all he knew, or kept silent. The other thing which troubled the young man were the words Kitty had made use of in Mrs Villiers’ drawing- room regarding the secret she said she knew. It made him uneasy, for he half guessed what it was, and thought she might tell it to someone out of revenge, and then there would be more troubles for him to get out of. Then, again, he argued that she was too fond of him ever to tell anything likely to injure him, even though he had put a rope round her neck. If he could have settled the whole affair by running away, he would have done so, but Gollipeck was still in Melbourne, and Gaston knew he could not leave the town without the terrible old man finding it out, and bringing him back. At last the torture of wondering how much Kitty knew was too much for him, and he determined to go to the Melbourne gaol and interview her. So he obtained an order from the authorities to see her, and prepared to start next morning. He sent the servant out for a hansom, and by the time it was at the door, M. Vandeloup, cool, calm, and well dressed, came down stairs pulling on his gloves. The first thing he saw when he got outside was Pierre waiting for him with his old hat pulled down over his eyes, and his look of sullen resignation. Gaston nodded coolly to him, and told the cabby he wanted to go to the Melbourne gaol, whereupon Pierre slouched forward as the young man was preparing to enter the cab, and laid his hand on his arm.
‘Well,’ said Vandeloup, in a quiet voice, in French, shaking off the dumb man’s arm, ‘what do you want?’
Pierre pointed to the cab, whereupon M. Vandeloup shrugged his shoulders. ‘Surely you don’t want to come to the gaol with me,’ he said, mockingly, ‘you’ll get there soon enough.’
The other nodded, and made a step towards the cab, but Vandeloup pushed him back.
‘Curse the fool,’ he muttered to himself, ‘I’ll have to humour him or he’ll be making a scene—you can’t come,’ he added aloud, but Pierre still refused to go away.
This conversation or rather monologue, seeing M. Vandeloup was the only speaker, was carried on in French, so the cabman and the servant at the door were quite ignorant of its purport, but looked rather astonished at the conduct of the dirty tramp towards such an elegant-looking gentleman. Vandeloup saw this and therefore determined to end the scene.
‘Well, well,’ he said to Pierre in French, ‘get in at once,’ and then when the dumb man entered the cab, he explained to the cabman in English:—‘This poor devil is a pensioner of mine, and as he wants to see a friend of his in gaol I’ll take him with me.’
He stepped into the cab which drove off, the cabman rather astonished at the whole affair, but none the less contented himself with merely winking at the pretty servant girl who stood on the steps, whereupon she tossed her head and went ins
ide.
As they drove along Vandeloup said nothing to Pierre, not that he did not want to, but he mistrusted the trap-door in the roof of the cab, which would permit the cabman to overhear everything. So they went along in silence, and when they arrived at the gaol Vandeloup told the cabman to wait for him, and walked towards the gaol.
‘You are coming inside, I suppose,’ he said, sharply, to Pierre, who still slouched alongside.
The dumb man nodded sullenly.
Vandeloup cursed Pierre in his innermost heart, but smiled blandly and agreed to let him enter with him. There was some difficulty with the warder at the door, as the permission to see the prisoner was only made out in the name of M. Vandeloup, but after some considerable trouble they succeeded in getting in.
‘My faith!’ observed Gaston, lightly, as they went along to the cell, conducted by a warder, ‘it’s almost as hard to get into gaol as to get out of it.’
The warder admitted them both to Kitty’s cell, and left them alone with her. She was seated on the bed in the corner of the cell, in an attitude of deepest dejection. When they entered she looked up in a mechanical sort of manner, and Vandeloup could see how worn and pinched-looking her face was. Pierre went to one end of the cell and leaned against the wall in an indifferent manner, while Vandeloup stood right in front of the unhappy woman. Kitty arose when she saw him, and an expression of loathing passed over her haggard-looking face.
‘Ah!’ she said, bitterly, rejecting Vandeloup’s preferred hand, ‘so you have come to see your work; well, look around at these bare walls; see how thin and ugly I have grown; think of the crime with which I am charged, and surely even Gaston Vandeloup will be satisfied.’
The young man sneered.
‘Still as good at acting as ever, I see,’ he said, mockingly; ‘cannot you even see a friend without going into these heroics?’
