‘I’m at a loss to account for his actions. But what is becoming clear to me is that you are suggesting that Mr Stonex was murdered by this mysterious brother.’
‘Indeed, I most certainly am not, Mr Coroner. I have an even stranger explanation than that.’
I was gratified to hear gasps of astonishment from the spectators.
‘You amaze me, Dr Courtine. I thought you had an explanation which accounted for everything. If the old gentleman was killed by a legitimate brother, then the motive was obviously to inherit his estate.’
‘As a historian I have learnt to distrust the obvious, Mr Coroner. That explanation, of course, occurred to me but it does not explain the crucial mysteries: the fact that Mr Stonex gave the package containing blood-stained banknotes to Perkins, that the face of the corpse was unnecessarily battered, that the old gentleman was searching for something earlier that afternoon, that he had an obsession with the time, and that he changed the date of the tea-party at short notice. Of all of these, the strangest mystery is why the face was beaten in and I believe that I can explain that in such a way that the other puzzles will then resolve themselves.’ I paused until there was complete silence – a rhetorical device perfected during my years as a lecturer. ‘There could have been only one motive: To disguise the identity of the corpse.’
I saw members of the audience and of the jury turn to each other in astonishment.
‘But the corpse has been identified as that of Mr Stonex,’ said the Coroner.
‘The corpse is certainly wearing his clothes and is that of a man of his age, height and approximate appearance. And yet if the face was destroyed in order to disguise his identity, then it follows that the corpse cannot be that of Mr Stonex.’
The Coroner stared at me in amazement. As the murmurs of the audience rose to a pitch, he had to bang his gavel. I noticed Slattery grip Austin’s arm and whisper something.
‘In that case, who in heaven’s name is it?’
‘Who but someone of the same age and general appearance: his brother.’
Many of the spectators gasped.
‘Pray go on, Dr Courtine,’ the Coroner said, shaking his head. ‘I confess I am completely at sea now.’
‘The brother arrived after Mr Fickling and I had left. He possibly entered by the back-door while the unfortunate Perkins was knocking at the street-door. I suggest that Mr Stonex killed him by strangulation.’
There was a moment’s stunned silence and then a surge of noise from the spectators. The Coroner banged for silence and after a few moments I was able to go on: ‘Mr Stonex then put his own clothes on the dead body and destroyed its face.’
‘But Dr Courtine, I simply don’t understand what motive he had for this.’
‘That brings me back to the will. The reason why he needed to find and destroy it was in order to prevent the estate from passing to the Cathedral Foundation. If no will were found, it would pass to his next of kin.’ I paused triumphantly.
‘I must be rather obtuse for I don’t follow your meaning.’
‘Who was his next of kin but his brother? And so he intended to assume his brother’s identity and claim the estate.’
There was silence. Someone in the audience tittered but the sound was quickly stifled. Mr Attard stared at me. ‘He intended to return disguised as his brother?’
‘Exactly,’ I said. Even as I spoke I could see how preposterous the idea was. And yet it explained so much. I was sure that impersonation played a part in this story.
I heard one of the audience stifling giggles.
‘What about his sister? Surely she has a better claim as his acknowledged sibling?’
‘I assume she is dead. Or if the elder brother had proof that his younger half-brother and sister are illegitimate, then Mr Stonex will be able to use that to exclude her from the inheritance.’
The Coroner stared at me in amazement.
At that moment Mr Thorrold stood up: ‘As the lawyer acting for the estate of the deceased ...’ He broke off and smiled at me: ‘The presumed deceased, I should say, since doubts have been raised on that score, I am bound to say that although I have heard nothing yet to shake my belief that the body found yesterday is that of my late client, Mr Stonex, I believe that this point should be resolved beyond the possibility of dispute, and I therefore suggest that his physician be asked to give evidence on this issue.’ He sat down again.
‘I was about to do precisely that, Mr Thorrold,’ the Coroner said rather testily. ‘It is the first requirement of an inquest that it establish the identity of the deceased.’
The solicitor rose and bowed. ‘I had no wish to anticipate you, Mr Coroner. I made the point simply because a very considerable estate is at issue.’
The Coroner nodded at him and then said: ‘Is Dr Carpenter still present?’
The young doctor rose to his feet.
‘Do you have any doubt, Dr Carpenter, that the body you examined and on which you later carried out an autopsy was that of Mr Stonex?’
‘None whatsoever. He was a patient of mine for two years and I treated him for a variety of ailments. During the autopsy I recognized a number of unmistakable features including scars and discolorations of the skin. The idea that the body was that of Mr Stonex’s brother – or even an identical twin! – is, frankly, quite absurd.’ As he spoke those words he glanced at me and, as the audience laughed at his remark, I felt myself blushing.
‘Thank you, Dr Carpenter,’ said the Coroner. He looked at the lawyer: ‘Does that satisfy you, Mr Thorrold?’
He stood again. ‘On that point, very fully, Mr Coroner. But there is another issue. The present witness has referred to what he takes to be the discovery of the will of the deceased and I would like your permission to ask him about that incident.’
‘Indeed. But before you do so, I wish to put a question to you. You have said that the only relative the deceased is known to have had was a sister who may or may not be living and might have a son. What of the suggestion that the deceased had an elder brother or half-brother?’
Mr Thorrold smiled. ‘I have never heard of it. My father and grandfather acted for the father of the late Mr Stonex and I am certain they had no knowledge of a legitimate brother.’
‘Could there have been a natural son?’ Mr Attard asked.
The lawyer smiled again. ‘There might very well have been one but he would have no claim. However, the point I wished to make is that since the testament which I myself drew up has not been found, it is of the utmost importance to establish what might have become of it.’
‘To what purpose, Mr Thorrold?’ the Coroner asked.
‘It is premature to speak of this now, but if the deceased had it in his possession just before his death but it was missing when he was found robbed and murdered, then it is a reasonable assumption that it was destroyed by whoever murdered him.’
‘And what consequences might follow from that?’
‘Very significant ones. In English law a will is literally that – the will of the testator. It need not even be written so long as it satisfies certain conditions. It is important to establish what the testator’s final intentions were and if it can be proved that he had no thought of revoking his will and that it was stolen and illegally destroyed, then it could be executed.’
‘Executed? How?’
‘I believe I am able to recall its terms very precisely both from memory and from notes made at the time.’
‘I understand. In that case, what question would you like to put to the witness?’
The lawyer turned to me. ‘It would be very useful, Dr Courtine, if you could remember anything that proved that the document you saw was indeed the will of Mr Stonex.’
‘I’m afraid I can tell you no more than I have said: he put something in his pocket which I believed he had found in the clockcase.’
Mr Thorrold put his head on one side and, accompanying his words with a charming smile, said: ‘He put it carefully away in his pocket as i
f he was going to cherish it rather than thrust it in as if it were of little importance?’
‘I can’t go beyond what I’ve said,’ I answered.
The lawyer thanked me very affably and then sat down and conferred quietly with Dr Locard.
At that moment Sergeant Adams stood up and the Coroner asked him: ‘Do you wish to put a question to the witness?’
‘Yes, sir. I’ve been listening with great interest, Dr Courtine, and I believe you may have hit upon part of the truth. But there are some important matters that are still unaccounted for. Why do you think Mr Stonex left the chalked message for Perkins with those instructions?’
‘He needed someone to be blamed for the murder. And so he intended to collect the package himself disguised as a mysterious stranger. But for some reason he had to abandon that part of the plan.’
‘I see. And why did he put blood-stained money into the package?’
‘So that if he did not collect it, then Perkins himself would be suspected of the murder.’
‘I thought you would say that, sir, and my own suspicions were taking me in that direction.’ He paused as if embarrassed by what he was about to say. ‘Finally, Dr Courtine, can you throw any light on Dr Carpenter’s belief that the deceased died at about four o’clock?’
I was disconcerted myself by this question for it had crossed my mind that the doctor must have been bribed into giving that extraordinary evidence, although remembering the young man’s arrogance in the Cathedral that morning, I would have thought he was too proud to compromise his integrity for money. ‘I can only suppose’, I ventured, ‘that Dr Carpenter’s confidence in his expertise has on this occasion – if on no other – proved somewhat premature.’
I was gratified by a few titters from the spectators and a thin smile from the Coroner. Adams, looking disappointed, resumed his seat.
‘Thank you, Sergeant,’ Mr Attard said and turned to me: ‘And thank you, as well, Dr Courtine. I don’t think we need detain you any longer. Your evidence has given the court much to think about.’
As I stepped down I reflected on the Sergeant’s last question and rather wished I had not exercised my wit at the expense of the young surgeon. Yet he must be mistaken. And it was precisely at that moment that a strange idea – even stranger than the one that I had explained to the Coroner – began to take shape in my mind and I felt my face burn with excitement as I pondered its implications. If I was right, then I knew why Mr Stonex had changed the date of the tea-party: it was because he wanted Austin and myself to be there as witnesses.
My mind was on that as Austin was now called and he shuffled into the witness-box unsteady and shaking, like an old man.
‘Was anything that you saw at the New Deanery on Thursday afternoon untoward or suspicious?’ Mr Attard asked him.
‘Nothing.’
‘Then do you have anything to add to what Dr Courtine has said?’
‘Only that I saw no indication that the house had been ransacked when we arrived. It’s true that the old gentleman told us he had been looking for the manuscript describing Freeth’s death, but he was certainly not responsible for the disorder I saw when I went back later that day.’
His answer surprised me. The houseplace was in turmoil when we entered it. He was clearly not himself, for he was speaking slowly and very carefully.
‘Did you notice the deceased take something out of the case of a grandfather clock?’
Austin smiled: a horrible grimace intended to suggest amusement. ‘I would most assuredly have remembered such an odd proceeding. No, I did not.’
That was extraordinary! After all, it was he who had suggested looking there!
‘What about the message chalked on the slate which the deceased rubbed out?’
‘I did not see that either. That is to say, I noticed the slate but to my certain recollection there was nothing written on it. Mr Stonex merely picked it up and absent-mindedly stroked it.’
‘And what of Dr Courtine’s testimony that the deceased mentioned a brother?’
‘I did not hear such a reference. I believe Dr Courtine must have misheard the old gentleman. He certainly referred to his sister.’
‘Thank you, Mr Fickling. You may resume your seat.’
For the sake of the hypothesis that was taking shape in my mind, it was important to clear up a point on which the Sergeant must have misunderstood Austin. I stood up.
Austin halted in his progress from the witness-box and gazed at me in amazement.
‘Do you wish to put a question to Mr Fickling?’ the Coroner asked me in surprise.
‘I do, Mr Attard. I’d like to ask about something that the Sergeant said.’ I turned to Austin: ‘You told him that Mr Stonex met you by chance on Wednesday evening and informed you that he wished to bring forward our appointment for tea to yesterday?’ Austin nodded cautiously. ‘You said the reason he gave was the postponement of the ceremony for the organ?’ He nodded again. ‘Can you explain that?’
‘He said that his Bank had been going to close on Friday afternoon but now that it had been cancelled, he would be at work.’
That could not be right. ‘At what time did you meet him on Wednesday?’ I asked.
Austin hesitated. ‘It must have been early that evening.’
I was astonished. Austin was clearly very confused. ‘Your recollection must be at fault. It was I who told you about the organ and that was very late that evening.’ He opened his mouth as if to speak but said nothing. ‘Do you not remember’, I went on, ‘the conversation that you and I had that evening?’
‘The conversation?’
‘The discussion we had of events twenty years ago.’
He nodded.
‘Then do you not recall that it was after that that I mentioned going into the Cathedral on my way back from dinner and learning of the delay to the organ?’
Austin stared at me for several seconds. ‘Yes, that must be so. I was mistaken about the time but I remember the whole thing very distinctly. It was after our conversation. I found I could not sleep that night and so I went out for a constitutional after you had gone to bed and met Mr Stonex then.’
‘Where did you meet him?’ I asked.
‘As I came out of my house and was passing the back of the New Deanery, he was about to enter.’
He was lying. He could not be confused about that. However much he had had to drink that night. Or earlier today. And if he was lying he had a reason and that raised some disquieting possibilities. It was not forgetfulness or intoxication that had made him deny the incidents I had described. I suddenly felt a desire to expose the truth whatever it cost.
‘And where did you go after that?’ I asked. I knew he would be gravely embarrassed by this public allusion to the visit he had made in the middle of the night.
‘Dr Courtine,’ the Coroner interrupted, ‘I hardly think that can be relevant.’
‘I have a reason for putting the question, Mr Coroner, if you will bear with me for a moment I think it will become evident.’
Mr Attard nodded. Austin stared back, his hands gripping the edge of the box. ‘Where did I go? I went nowhere. I merely walked around the town for twenty minutes and came home.’
‘You did not go into a house?’
He looked at me in dismay. ‘No. No, I did not.’
‘That’s very strange. You see, I, too, found myself unable to sleep that night and when I heard you go down the stairs I left the house myself.’ I could see from his face that he had had no idea and that this revelation horrified him. ‘I meant to catch you up, but you were too quick for me and disappeared into that alleyway that runs from the Close into Orchard Street.’
The room was absolutely silent.
Austin was frightened. Clearly there was something in what I saw on Wednesday night that alarmed him. I wished I could work out what it was but I could not see how everything connected: the mysterious woman seen by Appleton, the brother of the victim, the ransacking of the house. It occur
red to me that there was another mysterious woman in the case – the one who had been in the house in Orchard Street in the early hours of Thursday morning – but I could not imagine how she might be related to Austin’s evident anxiety.
I turned to Mr Attard: ‘Mr Coroner, I think I know how the murder was committed in such a way as to confuse all of us about the time of its occurrence. I believe the victim was killed much earlier than has been assumed.’
Austin stared at me white-faced. I noticed that Sergeant Adams had leant forward to gaze at me intently while the Coroner looked at me, his pen poised motionless in his hand.
I turned back to Austin: ‘I believe the victim was lying dead in another room of that house before you and I even arrived for tea.’
There was a buzz among the spectators. The noise was so loud that I believed I was the only person who heard Austin exclaim: ‘In that case, who was it who gave us tea?’
I was astonished by the remark. It made no sense. My eye happened to fall on Slattery who was staring at Austin with an expression of terrifying intensity and mouthing something I could not make out.
‘I see what you are trying to do!’ Austin shouted. ‘But I had nothing to do with it. I was teaching all afternoon – as dozens of witnesses can prove. I was in front of my class until after four o’clock and then I was with you from the moment the Library closed until the body was found by the police.’
‘Gentlemen, please,’ said the Coroner. ‘Mr Fickling, please calm yourself.’
Austin turned to him: ‘This man has a grudge against me for an imagined wrong that goes back more than twenty years.’
‘That is not true,’ I exclaimed. ‘If I had not forgiven you many years ago I would not have come to visit you.’
‘You forgave me,’ Austin repeated mockingly. ‘How generous of you.’
I looked at his jeering, drunken face filled with venom and wondered how I had ever convinced myself that I had forgiven him. Or that he had ever intended anything but harm to me.
‘You may take your seat, Mr Fickling,’ the Coroner said.
Fickling shuffled back to his seat while Mr Attard turned to me and said: ‘Dr Courtine, I don’t understand what you meant just now when you said that the victim was dead before you arrived at the house.’
The Unburied Page 29
