“On that Saturday morning, the Saturday he died.”
“Will you tell us what you observed?”
She was calm enough now, under Mr. Lawton’s hypnotic manner. She spoke in a low but quite audible voice. At first she did not know what to do with her hands: putting them on and off the rail of the dock, and finally clasping them determinedly on the rail. When she spoke of the letter she had helped to write, her eyes had a dry and sanded look; she was keeping back tears with difficulty.
“It was like this,” she began. “On Friday it had been arranged that Dr. Spencer Hume and I should go down and spend the weekend with Mary’s friends in Sussex. It was to congratulate Mary in person, really. We were to drive down; but we could not start until late Saturday afternoon, because Dr. Hume is attached to the staff of St. Praed’s Hospital, and could not get away until late. On Friday evening Mary rang up her father on the telephone from Sussex, and I told her about it. I must tell you all this because—”
Counsel urged her along gently. “Was Mr. Avory Hume to go with you and the doctor on this weekend?”
“No, he could not. He had some business to do on Sunday, I think it was Presbyterian Church accounts or the like; and he could not. But he said to give everyone his regards, and we were going to bring Mary back with us.”
“I see. And on Saturday morning, Miss Jordan?”
“On Saturday morning,” answered the witness, pouring out what had been on her mind for a long time, “at the breakfast-table, there was a letter from Mary. I knew it was from Mary because of the handwriting. And I wondered why she had written, because she had talked to her father last night.”
“What has become of that letter?”
“I don’t know. We looked for it afterwards, but we could not find it anywhere.”
“Just tell us what Mr. Hume did or said.”
“After he had read it, he got up rather quickly, and put the letter in his pocket, and walked over to the window.”
“Yes?”
“I said, is anything wrong?’ He said, ‘Mary’s fiancé has decided to come to town today, and wants to see us.’ I said, ‘Oh, then we will not go to Sussex after all,’—meaning, of course, that we must meet Mr. Answell, and entertain him to dinner. He turned round from the window and said, ‘Be good enough to do as you are told; you will go exactly as you had planned.’”
“What was his manner when he said this?”
“Very cold and curt, which is a dangerous sign with him.”
“I see. What happened then?”
“Well, I said, ‘But surely you will invite him to dinner?’ He looked at me for a second and said, ‘We will not invite him to dinner, or anywhere else.’ Then he walked out of the room.”
Slowly counsel leaned back against the bench. The man in the dock looked up briefly.
“Now, Miss Jordan, I understand that about 1:30 on Saturday afternoon you were passing the door of the drawing-room in the hall?”
“Yes.”
“And you heard Mr. Hume speaking to the telephone in the drawing-room?”
“Yes.”
“Did you look into the room?”
“Yes. He was sitting over at the little table between the windows, where the telephone is. He had his back to me.”
“Will you repeat, as nearly as you can, the exact words you heard him speak?”
The witness inclined her head calmly. “He said, ‘Considering what I have heard, Mr. Answell—’”
“You will swear to the words, ‘Considering what I have heard—’?”
“I will.”
“Go on, please.”
“‘Considering what I have heard, I think it best that we should settle matters concerning my daughter.’”
The judge turned his small eyes towards counsel and spoke in the same unhurried voice.
“Mr. Lawton, do you propose to establish that it was the prisoner speaking at the other end of the telephone?”
“My lord, with your permission, we shall produce a witness who overheard both sides of the conversation on an extension of the telephone at the end of the hall; and will, I think, be willing to testify as to whether or not it was the prisoner’s voice speaking.”
From the left side of the front bench issued a vast throat-clearing. It had an evil and war-hunting quality. Up rose H.M., leaning his knuckles on the desk. For some reason the tail of his wig seemed to stick up straight behind like a pigtail. His voice was the first human sound we had heard here.
“Me lord,” rumbled H.M., “if it’s goin’ to save the court’s time any, we’re ready to admit that it was the prisoner speakin’. In fact, we’re goin’ to insist on it.”
After bows, and a curious feeling of wonder in the court, he thumped down. Under iron politeness the amusement among counsel communicated itself to Mr. Lawton’s grave bow.
“You may proceed, Mr. Lawton,” said the judge.
Counsel turned to the witness. “You have told us that the deceased said, ‘Considering what I have heard, Mr. Answell, I think it best that we should settle matters concerning my daughter.’ What else did he say?” “He said, ‘Yes, I quite appreciate that,’—waiting, you see, as though the other person had said something in the meaning—’but this is not the place to discuss it. Can you arrange to call at my home?’ Then, ‘Would six o'clock this evening be convenient?’”
“What was his tone when he said this?”
“Very curt and formal.”
“And what happened then?”
“He put up the receiver quite quietly, and looked at the phone for a moment, and then he said, ‘My dear Answell, I’ll settle your hash, damn you.’”
Pause.
“And how did he speak these words?”
“The same way he had spoken before, only more satisfied.”
“You gathered that he was talking to himself: that is to say, speaking his thoughts aloud?”
“Yes.”
Like most witnesses, when coming to tell a story or quoting actual words, she was on the defensive. She seemed to feel that each word she said might be picked up and used against her. Under the shadow of the black hat, with its brim like the peak of a cap, her faded good-looks and fashionable glasses seemed to withdraw. If there is such a thing as a severely practical clinging vine, it was Amelia Jordan. She had a singularly sweet voice, which gave even the mild expletive “damn” a sound of incongruity.
“What did you do after you had heard this?”
“I went away quickly.” Hesitation. “I was so—well, so shocked at all this sudden change, and the way he spoke about Mr. Answell, that I did not know what to think; and I did not want him to see me.”
“Thank you.” Counsel reflected. “‘Considering what I have heard,’” repeated Lawton, in a ruminating way, but with very distinct pronunciation. “Was it your impression that Mr. Hume had heard something against the prisoner which had caused him to change his mind so forcibly?”
The judge spoke without a muscle seeming to move in his face.
“Mr. Lawton, I cannot allow that. Counsel has already stated that the Crown attempt to show no definite cause in this matter. You will therefore refrain from implying one.”
“Beg-lordship’s-pardon,” said the other with hearty humility, and an immediate turn. “I assure your Lordship that it was far from my intention. Let me try again. Miss Jordan: should you describe Mr. Hume as a man whose conduct was governed by whims?”
“No, of all people.”
“He was a reasonable man, influenced by reasons?”
“Yes.”
“If (let us say) he thought John Smith an intelligent man on Monday, he would not think him a complete imbecile on Tuesday unless he had discovered some good reason for thinking so?”
The judge’s soft voice silenced every creak in the court.
“Mr. Lawton, I must insist that you stop leading the witness.” Counsel, in gentlemanly humility, muttered, “If-yr-ludship-pleases,” and went on: “Now, Miss Jordan, let us co
me to the evening of January 4. At six o'clock on that evening, how many people (to your knowledge) were in the house?”
“There was Mr. Hume, and Dyer, and myself.”
“Are there no other occupants?”
“Yes, Dr. Hume and a cook and a maid. But the cook and the maid had the evening off. And I was to pick up Dr. Hume in the car at St. Praed’s Hospital as near 6:15 as I could, because we were driving straight down to Sussex from there—”
“Quite, Miss Jordan,” interposed counsel, smoothing away the volubility of nervousness. “Where were you at about 6:10?”
“I was upstairs, packing up. Dr. Hume had asked me whether I would put a few things into a suitcase for him, because he did not have time to come home from the hospital to get them; and I was packing my own valise—”
“Exactly; we quite understand. I believe that at about 6:10 you heard the front doorbell ring?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
“I ran out to the stairs and looked over the banisters.”
“Did you see the prisoner come in?”
“Yes. I—I peeped through the lower part of the banisters,” said the witness, and flushed. She added: “I wanted to see what he looked like.”
“Quite natural. Will you describe what happened?”
“Dyer opened the door. The—that man over there,” with a quick look, “came in. He said his name was Answell, and that Mr. Hume was expecting him. He dropped his hat on the floor. Dyer asked him for his hat and coat, and he said he preferred to keep his coat on.”
“He preferred to keep his overcoat on,” said counsel slowly. “What was his demeanor then?”
“He spoke very angrily.”
“And after that?”
“Dyer took him down the hall, and round the bend of the little passage that goes to the study. He looked up at me as he went past. They went into the study, and that is all I saw. I went upstairs to finish packing. I did not know what to think.”
“Just tell us what you did, Miss Jordan; that will be sufficient. Let us go on to a few minutes before half-past six. Where were you then?”
“I put on my hat and coat and picked up the bags and came downstairs. Dyer had been told to bring the car round from the garage in Mount Street and put it at the door. I had been expecting him to call me, but when I came downstairs I could not find anyone. I went down to the study door to find out whether Mr. Hume had any last messages or instructions before I left.”
“He had no ‘last messages,’ Miss Jordan,” commented Mr. Lawton, with unscrupulous grimness. “What did you do?”
“I was going to knock at the door when I heard someone behind it say, ‘Get up, damn you.’” Again the word fell with some incongruity from her lips. She pronounced it self-consciously, as people do in public.
“Anything else?”
“Yes, I think it also said, ‘Get up off that floor and say something.’”
“Was it a loud voice?”
“Rather loud.”
“Was it the prisoner’s voice?”
“I know now it was. I hardly recognized it then. I associated it somehow with what I had heard Mr. Hume say that morning—”
“Did you try the door?”
“Yes, for a second.”
“Was it bolted on the inside?”
“Well, I did not think about its being bolted then. It was locked some-how.”
“And then?”
“Just then Dyer came round the corner of the passage with his hat and overcoat. I ran to him and said, ‘They are fighting; they are killing each other; go and stop them.’ He said, ‘I will go for a constable.’ I said, ‘You are a coward: run next door and fetch Mr. Fleming.’”
“What were you doing then?”
“I was dancing up and down, I think. He would not go; he said that I had better go in case anything happened, and with me alone in the house. So I did.”
“You found Mr. Fleming quickly?”
“Yes, he was just coming down the steps of his house.”
“He returned to the house with you?”
“Yes, and we found Dyer coming from the back of the hall with a poker in his hand. Mr. Fleming said, ‘What is happening?’ Dyer said, it is very quiet in there.’”
“The three of you went to the study door, I understand?”
“Yes, and Dyer knocked. Then Mr. Fleming knocked and hit harder.”
“And then?”
“Well, we heard steps, like, inside; and then someone started to draw the bolt.”
“You are positive that the door was then bolted, and that the bolt had to be withdrawn?”
“Yes, to judge by the sound of it. It worked about a bit, you know; and slid, and the door thumped a little.”
“How long a time should you say elapsed between the time of the knocking and the time the bolt was drawn?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps it was not very long, but it seemed like ages.”
“A full minute, should you say?”
“Maybe.”
“Please tell the jury what happened then.”
She did not tell the jury. She looked at her hands on the edge of the rail. “The door opened a few inches, and someone looked out. I saw it was that man. Then he opened the door up and said, ‘All right; you had better come in.’ Mr. Fleming ran in, and Dyer walked after him.”
“Did you go into the room?”
“No, I stayed by the door.”
“Just say exactly what you saw.”
“I saw Avory lying beside the desk, on his back, with his feet towards me.”
“Have you seen these photographs?” He indicated. “I think you nodded, Miss Jordan? Yes. Thank you. Just take that in your hand, if you will.”
The yellow booklet was handed up to her.
“Look at photograph number 5, please. Is that how he was lying?”
“Yes. I think so.”
“Believe me, I deeply...yes, you may hand it down. How near the body did you go?”
“No nearer than the door. They said he was dead.”
“Who said he was dead?”
“Mr. Fleming, I think.”
“Do you recall anything the accused said?”
“I remember the first part of it. Mr. Fleming asked him who did it, and the accused said, I suppose you will say I did it.’ Mr. Fleming said, ‘Well, you have finished him; we had better send for the police.’ I remember what I saw very well, but I cannot remember much of what I heard. I was not feeling quite right.”
“What was the accused’s demeanor?”
“Very calm and collected, I thought, except that his necktie was hanging out over his overcoat.”
“What did the accused do when Mr. Fleming spoke of sending for the police?”
“He sat down in a chair by the desk, and got a cigarette case out of his inside pocket, and took out a cigarette and lighted it.”
Mr. Huntley Lawton put the tips of his fingers on his desk, remained quiet for a moment, and then bent down to confer with his leader; but I thought that this was a conference for emphasis. The end of that recital was like coming up from under water: you could feel the air drawn into your lungs. At one time or another everyone in court, I think—except the judge—had glanced at the prisoner; but it was a quick and unpleasantly furtive look, which made you glance back from the dock again. Mr. Justice Bodkin finished making his neat notes, the pen traveling steadily; he looked up, and waited. The witness now had an air of feeling that she must remain in the box forever, and of trying to prepare herself for that.
Mr. Huntley Lawton had only one more thrust. A quick rustle, as of settling back, went through the court when he addressed the witness again.
“I believe, Miss Jordan, that soon after the discovery of the body you were sent in the car to bring back Dr. Spencer Hume from St. Praed’s Hospital in Praed Street?”
“Yes, Mr. Fleming took me by the shoulder and said to drive over there and get him quickly, because if he had an operatio
n or anything they would not give him a message.”
“You are unable to tell us anything more of the subsequent events of that night?”
“No.”
“Is this because, on the way back from the hospital, you were taken ill with brain fever and were not able to leave your room for a month?”
“Yes.”
Counsel moved his hand over the white sheets of the brief. “I ask you to consider carefully, Miss Jordan. Is there anything further you can tell us, anything at all, that you heard the accused say? Did he say anything when he sat down in the chair, and lighted his cigarette?”
“Yes, he answered something: a question or a statement, I think.”
“What was the question?”
“Someone said, ‘Are you made of stone?’”
“‘Are you made of stone.’ And he answered?”
“He said, ‘Serves him right for doctoring my whisky.’”
For a brief space of time counsel remained looking at her. Then he sat down.
Sir Henry Merrivale rose to cross-examine for the defense.
III—“In the Little Dark Passage”
JUST what line the defense would take nobody could tell: there was a frail ghost in insanity or even in manslaughter: but, knowing H.M., I could not believe he would try anything so half-hearted as that. It was possible that his first cross-examination might give some indication.
He rose majestically—an effect which was somewhat marred by the fact that his gown caught on something, probably himself. It tore with a ripping noise so exactly like a raspberry that for one terrible second I thought he had given one. He squared himself. However rusty his legal talents had become, it was in cross-examination, where leading questions are permitted and almost anything within reason may be brought up, that his usual rough-and-tumble tactics would be most deadly. But that was the trouble. This woman had won the sympathy of everyone, including the jury: to pitch into her would have been unwise. We need not have been uneasy. After one malevolent glance over his shoulder at the torn gown, showing the glasses pulled down on his broad nose, he addressed her as gently as Huntley Lawton—if a trifle more abruptly. His big voice put the witness and the court at ease. It was in a tone of sit-down-and-have-a-drink-and-let’s-talk-this-thing-over.
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