Death At The Bar

Chapter VI Inquest

i

The Illington coroner was James Mordant, Esq., M.D. He was sixty-seven years old and these years sat heavily upon him, for he suffered from dyspepsia. He seemed to regard his fellow men with brooding suspicion, he sighed a great deal, and had a trick of staring despondently at the merest acquaintances. He had at one time specialized in bacteriology and it was said of him that he saw human beings as mere playgrounds for brawling micrococci. It was also said that when Dr. Mordant presided over an inquest, the absence in court of the corpse was not felt. He sat huddled up behind his table and rested his head on his hand with such a lack-lustre air that one might have thought he scarcely listened to the evidence. This was not the case, however. He was a capable man.

On the morning of the inquest on Luke Watchman, the third day after his death, Dr. Mordant, with every appearance of the deepest distrust, heard his jury sworn and contemplated the witnesses. The inquest was held in the Town Hall, and because of the publicity given to Watchman’s death in the London paper, was heavily attended by the public. Watchman’s solicitor, who in the past had frequently briefed him, had come down from London. So had Watchman’s secretary and junior, and a London doctor who had attended him recently. There was a fair sprinkling of London pressmen. Dr. Mordant, staring hopelessly at an old man in the front row, charged the jury to determine how, when, where, and by what means, deceased came by his death; and whether he died from criminal, avoidable, or natural causes. He then raised his head and stared at the jury.

“Is it your wish to view the body?” he sighed.

The jury whispered and huddled, and its foreman, an auctioneer, said they thought perhaps under the circumstances they should view the body.

The coroner sighed again and gave an order to his officer. The jury filed out and returned in a few minutes looking unwholesome. The witnesses were then examined on oath by the coroner.

P. C. Oates gave formal evidence of the finding of the body. Then Sebastian Parish was called and identified the body. Everybody who had seen his performance of a bereaved brother, in the trial scene of a famous picture, was now vividly reminded of it. But Parish’s emotion, thought Cubitt, could not be purely histrionic unless, as he had once declared, he actually changed colour under the stress of a painful scene. Sebastian was now very pale indeed, and Cubitt wondered uneasily what he thought of this affair, and how deeply he regretted the loss of his cousin. He gave his evidence in a low voice but it carried to the end of the building, and when he faltered at the description of Watchman’s death, at least two of the elderly ladies in the public seats were moved to tears. Parish wore a grey suit, a soft white shirt and a black tie. He looked amazingly handsome, and on his arrival had been photographed several times.

Cubitt was called next and confirmed Parish’s evidence.

Then Miss Darragh appeared. The other witnesses exuded discomfort and formality but Miss Darragh was completely at her ease. She took the oath with an air of intelligent interest. The coroner asked her if she had remembered anything that she hadn’t mentioned in her first statement, or if there was any point that had been missed by the previous witness.

“There is not,” said Miss Darragh. “I told the doctor, Dr. Shaw ’twas all I had seen; and when the policeman, Constable Oates ’twas, came up on the morning after the accident, I told ’um all I knew all over again. If I may be allowed to say so, it is my opinion that the small wound Mr. Watchman had from the dart had nothing whatever to do with his death.”

“What makes you think that, Miss Darragh?” asked the coroner with an air of allowing Miss Darragh a certain amount of latitude.

“Wasn’t it a small paltry prick from a brand-new dart that couldn’t hurt a child. As Mr. Parish said at the time, he was but frightened at the sight of his own blood. That was my own impression. ’Twas later that he became so ill.”

“When did you notice the change in his condition?”

“Later.”

“Was it after he had taken the brandy?”

“It was. Then, or about then, or after.”

“He took the brandy after Mr. Pomeroy put iodine on his finger?”

“He did.”

“You agree for the rest with the previous statement?”

“I do.”

“Thank you, Miss Darragh.”

Decima Moore came next. Decima looked badly shaken but she gave her evidence very clearly and firmly. The coroner stopped her when she came to the incident of the brandy. He had a curious trick of prefacing many of his questions with a slight moan, rather in the manner of a stage parson.

“N-n-n you say, Miss Moore, that the deceased swallowed some of the brandy.”

“Yes,” said Decima.

“N-n-now you are positive on that point?”

“Yes.”

“Yes. Thank you. What happened to the glass?”

“He knocked it out of my hand on to the floor.”

“Did you get the impression that he did this deliberately?”

“No. It seemed to be involuntary.”

“And was the glass broken?”

“Yes.” Decima paused. “At least—”

“N-n-n-yes?”

“It was broken, but I don’t remember whether that happened when it fell, or afterwards when the light went out. Everybody seemed to be treading on broken glass after the lights went out.”

The coroner consulted his notes.

“And for the rest, Miss Moore, do you agree with the account given by Mr. Parish, Mr. Cubitt and Miss Darragh?”

“Yes.”

“In every particular?”

Decima was now very white indeed. She said: “Everything they said is quite true, but there is one thing they didn’t notice.”

The coroner sighed.

“What is that, Miss Moore?” he asked.

“It was after I gave him the brandy. He gasped and I thought he spoke. I thought he said one word.”

“What was it?”

“ ‘Poisoned,’ ” said Decima.

A sort of rustling in the room seemed to turn the word into an echo.

The coroner added to his notes.

“You are sure of this?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Yes. And then?”

“He clenched his teeth very hard. I don’t think he spoke again.”

“Are you positive that it was Mr. Watchman’s own glass that you gave him?”

“Yes. He put it on the table when he went to the dart board. It was the only glass there. I poured a little into it from the bottle. The bottle was on the bar.”

“Had anyone but Mr. Watchman touched the glass before you gave him the brandy?”

Decima said: “I didn’t notice anyone touch it.”

“Quite so. Have you anything further to tell us? Anything that escaped the notice of the previous witnesses?”

“Nothing,” said Decima.

Her deposition was read to her, and, like Parish and Cubitt, she signed it.

Will Pomeroy took the oath with an air of truculence and suspicion, but his statement differed in no way from the others, and he added nothing material to the evidence. Mr. Robert Legge was the next to give evidence on the immediate circumstances surrounding Watchman’s death.

On his appearance there was a tightening of attention among the listeners. The light from a high window shone full on Legge. Cubitt looked at his white hair, the grooves and folds of his face, and the calluses on his hands. He wondered how old Legge was and why Watchman had baited him, and exactly what sort of background he had. It was impossible to place the fellow. His clothes were good; a bit antiquated as to cut perhaps, but good. He spoke like an educated man and moved like a labourer. As he faced the coroner he straightened up and held his arms at his side almost in the manner of a private soldier. His face was rather white and his fingers twitched, but he spoke with composure. He agreed that the account given by the previous witnesses was correct. The coroner clasped his hands on the table and gazed at them with an air of distaste.

“About this n-n-n-experiment with the darts, Mr. Legge,” he said. “When was it first suggested?”

“I believe on the night of Mr. Watchman’s arrival. I mentioned, I think, that I had done the trick and he said something to the effect that he wouldn’t care to try. I think he added that he might, after all, like to see me do it.” Legge moistened his lips. “Later on that evening, I did the trick in the public tap-room, and he said that if I beat him at Round-the-Clock he’d let me try it on him.”

“What,” asked the coroner, drearily, “is Round-the-Clock?”

“You play into each segment of the dart board, beginning at Number One. As soon as you miss a shot the next player has his turn. You have three darts, that is three chances to get a correct opening shot, but after that you carry on until you do miss. You have to finish with fifty.”

“You all played this game?”

Legge hesitated: “We were all in it except Miss Darragh. Miss Moore began. When she missed, Mr. Cubitt took the next turn; then I came.”

“Yes?”

“I didn’t miss.”

“You mean you n-n-ran out in one turn?”

“Yes.”

“And then?”

“Mr. Watchman said he believed he would trust me to do the hand trick.”

“And did you do it?”

“No. I was not anxious to do it and turned the conversation. Later, as I have said, I did it in the public room.”

“But the following night, last Friday, you attempted it on the deceased?”

“Yes.”

“Will you tell us how this came about?”

Legge clenched his fingers and stared at an enlargement of a past mayor of Illington.

“In much the same circumstances. I mean, we were all in the private bar. Mr. Watchman proposed another game of Round-the-Clock and said definitely that, if I beat him, I should try the trick with the hand. I did win and he at once insisted on the experiment.”

“Were you reluctant?”

“I — No. I have done the trick at least fifty times and I have only failed once before. On that occasion no harm was done. The dart grazed the third finger, but it was really nothing. I told Mr. Watchman of this incident, but he said he’d stick to his bargain, and I consented.”

“Go on, please, Mr. Legge.”

“He put his hand against the dart board with the fingers spread out as I suggested. There were two segments of the board showing between the fingers in each instance.” Legge paused and then said: “So you see it’s really easier than Round-the-Clock. Twice as easy.”

Legge stopped and the coroner waited.

“Yes?” he said to his blotting paper.

“I tried the darts, which were new ones, and then began. I put the first dart on the outside of the little finger and the next between the little and third fingers and the next between the third and middle.”

“It was the fourth dart, then, that miscarried?”

“Yes.”

“How do you account for that?”

“At first I thought he had moved his finger. I am still inclined to think so.”

The coroner stirred uneasily.

“Would you not be positive on this point if it was so? You must have looked fixedly at the fingers.‘’

“At the space between,” corrected Legge.

“I see.” Dr. Mordant looked at his notes.

“The previous statements,” he said, “mention that you had all taken a certain amount of a vintage brandy. Exactly how much brandy, Mr. Legge, did you take?”

“Two nips.”

“How large a quantity? Mr. William Pomeroy states that a bottle of Courvoisier ’87 was opened at Mr, Watchman’s request, and that the contents were served out to everyone but himself, Miss Darragh, and Miss Moore. That would mean a sixth of a bottle to each of the persons who took it?”

“Er — yes. Yes.”

“Had you finished your brandy when you threw the dart?”

“Yes.”

“Had you taken anything else previously?”

“A pint of beer,” said Legge unhappily.

“N-n-n-yes. Thank you. Now, where did you put the darts you used for this experiment?”

“They were new darts. Mr. Pomeroy opened the package and suggested—” Legge broke off and wetted his lips. “He suggested that I should christen the new darts,” he said.

“Did you take them from Mr. Pomeroy?”

“Yes. He fitted the flights while we played Round-the-Clock and then gave them to me for the experiment.”

“No one else handled them?”

“Mr. Will Pomeroy and Mr. Parish picked them up and looked at them.”

“I see. Now, for the sequel, Mr. Legge.”

But again Legge’s story followed the others. His deposition was read to him and he signed it, making rather a slow business of writing his name. The coroner called Abel Pomeroy.

ii

Abel seemed bewildered and nervous. His habitual cheerfulness had gone and he gazed at the coroner as at a recording angel of peculiar strictness. When they reached the incident of the brandy, Dr. Mordant asked Abel if he had opened the bottle. Abel said he had.

“And you served it, Mr. Pomeroy?”

“ ’Ess, sir.”

“Will you tell us from where you got the glasses and how much went into each glass?”

“ ’Ess, sir. I got glasses from cupboard under bar. They was the best glasses. Mr. Watchman said we would kill the bottle in two halves, sir. So I served half-bottle round. ’Twas about two fingers each. Us polished that off and then they played Round-the-Clock, sir, and then us polished off t’other half. ’Least, sir, I didn’t take my second tot. Tell the truth, sir, I hadn’t taken no more than a drop of my first round and that was enough for me. I’m not a great drinker,” said old Abel innocently, “and I mostly bides by beer. But I just took a drain to pleasure Mr. Watchman. I served out for the rest of the company ’cepting my Will and Miss Darragh and Miss Dessy — Miss Moore, sir. But I left fair drain in bottle.”

“Why did you do that?”

Abel rubbed his chin and glanced uncomfortably at the other witnesses.

“Seemed like they’d had enough, sir.”

“This was before the experiment with the deceased’s hand, of course,” said the ooroner to the jury. “Yes, Mr. Pomeroy? How much was in the glasses on the second round?”

“ ’Bout a finger and half, sir, I reckon.”

“Did you hand the drinks round yourself?”

Abel said: “I don’t rightly remember. Wait a bit, though. I reckon Mr. Watchman handed first round to everyone.” Abel looked anxiously at Will, who nodded. “ ’Ess, sir. That’s how ’twas.”

“You must not communicate with other persons, Mr. Pomeroy, before giving your answers,” said Dr. Mordant darkly. “And the second round?”

“Ah. I poured it out and left glasses on bar,” said Abel thoughtfully, “Company was fairly lively by then. There was a lot of talk. I reckon each man took his own, second round. Mr. Watchman carried his over to table by dart board.”

“Would you say that at this juncture the men who had taken brandy were sober?”

“Not to say sober, sir, and not to say proper drunk. Bosky-eyed, you might say, ’cepting old George Nark and he was proper soaked. ’Ess, he was drunk as a fish was George Nark.”

Two of the jury men laughed at this and several of the public. The coroner looked about him with an air of extreme distaste and silence set in immediately.

“Is it true,” said the coroner, “that you have been poisoning rats in your garage, Mr. Pomeroy?”

Old Abel turned very white and said, “Yes.”

“What did you use?”

“ ’Twas some stuff from chemist.”

“Yes. Did you purchase it personally?”

“No, sir. It was got for me.”

“By whom?”

“By Mr. Parish, sir. I axed him and he kindly fetched it. I would like to say, sir, that when he give it to me ’twas all sealed up, chemist-fashion.”

“N-n-n-yes. Do you know the nature of this poison?”

“I do believe, sir, it was in the nature of prussic acid. It’s not marked anything but poison.”

“Please tell the jury how you used this substance and when.”

Abel wetted his lips and repeated his story. He had used the rat-poison on Thursday evening, the evening of Watchman’s arrival. He had taken great care and used every precaution. A small vessel had been placed well inside the mouth of the rat-hole and some of the fluid poured into it. The hole was plugged up with rags and the bottle carefully corked. No waste drop of the fluid had escaped. Abel had worn old gloves which he afterwards threw on the fire. He had placed the bottle in a corner cupboard in the inglenook. It had stood alone on the shelf and the label POISON could be seen through the glass door. Everyone in the house was aware of the bottle and its contents.

“We have heard that the iodine was taken from a cupboard in the inglenook. Was this the same cupboard?”

“ ’Ess fay,” said Abel quickly, “but ’twasn’t same shelf, sir. ’Twas in a tin box in another shelf and with a different door, but same piece of furniture.”

“You fetched the iodine?”

“So I did, then, and it was snug and tight in first-aid tin, same as it always is. And, axing your pardon, sir, I used to dab of that same iodine on Bob Legge’s chin only that evening, and there the man is as fit as a flea to bear witness.”

“Quite. Thank you, Mr. Pomeroy. Call Bernard Noggins, chemist, of Illington.”

Mr. Bernard Noggins could have been called nothing else. His eyes watered, his face was pink, his mouth hung open, and he suffered from hay fever. He was elderly and vague, and he obviously went in great terror of the coroner. He was asked if he remembered Mr. Parish’s visit to his shop. He said he did.

“Mr. Parish asked you for a rat-poison?”

“Yes. Yes, he did.”

“What did you supply?”

“I — er — I had no proprietary rat-bane in stock,” began Mr. Noggins miserably, “and no arsenic. So I suggested that the fumes of a cyanide preparation might prove beneficial.”

“Might prove what?”

“Efficacious. I suggested Scheele’s acid.”

“You sold Mr. Parish Scheele’s acid?”

“Yes. No — I—actually — I diluted — I mean I added — I mean I produced a more concentrated solution by adding HCN. I — er — I supplied a fifty per cent solution. Yes.”

The coroner dropped his pen and gazed at Mr. Noggins, who went on in a great hurry:

“I warned Mr. Parish. He will agree I warned him most carefully and he signed the register — every formality and precaution — most particular. Full instructions. Label.”

The coroner said: “Why did you make this already lethal fluid so much more deadly?”

“Rats,” said Mr. Noggins. “I mean, Mr. Parish said it was for rats, and that Mr. Pomeroy had tried a commercial rat-bane without success. Mr. Parish suggested — suggested — I should—”

“Should what, Mr. Noggins?”

“That I should ginger it up a bit, as he put it.” Mr. Noggins, in the excess of his discomfort, uttered a mad little laugh. The coroner turned upon him a face sickly with disapprobation and told him he might stand down. Dr. Mordant then addressed the jury.

“I think, gentlemen, we have heard enough evidence as to fact and circumstance surrounding this affair and may now listen to the medical evidence. Dr. Shaw, if you please.”

Dr. Shaw swore himself in very briskly and, at the coroner’s invitation, described the body as it was when he first saw it. The coroner’s attitude of morbid introspection increased but he and Dr. Shaw seemed to understand each other pretty well.

“The eyes were wide open and the pupils widely dilated, the jaws tightly clenched…” Dr. Shaw droned on and on. Parish and Cubitt, who had remained in court, both looked rather sick. Legge eyed Dr. Shaw with a sort of mesmerized glare. Will Pomeroy held Decima’s hand, and old Abel stared at his boots. Mr. Nark, who had expected to be called, looked alternately huffy and sheepish. A large, bald man, who looked as if he ought to be in uniform, seemed to prick up his ears. He was Superintendent Harper of the Illington Police Force.

“You have performed an autopsy?” asked the coroner.

“Yes.”

“What did you find?”

“I found the blood much engorged and brilliant in colour. I found nothing unusual in the condition of the stomach. I sent the contents to be analyzed, however, and the report has reached me. Nothing unexpected has been found. I also sent a certain quantity of the blood to be analyzed.”

Dr. Shaw paused.

“N-n-yes?”

“In the case of the sample of blood, the analyst has found definite traces of hydrocyanic acid. These traces point to the presence of at least a grain and a half of the acid in the blood stream.”

“And the fatal dose?”

“One may safely say less than a grain.”

“Did you send the brandy bottle and the iodine bottle, which was found under the bench, to the analyst?”

“Yes.”

“What was the result, Dr. Shaw?”

“The test was negative. The analyst can find no trace of hydrocyanic acid in either bottle.”

“And the dart?”

“The dart was also tested for traces of hydrocyanic acid.” Dr. Shaw looked directly at the coroner and said crisply, “Two tests were used. The first was negative. The second positive. Indications of a very slight trace of hydrocyanic acid were found upon the dart.”

iii

There was only one other witness, a representative of the firm that made the darts. He stated with considerable emphasis that at no stage of their manufacture did they come in contact with any form of cyanide, and that no cyanic preparation was to be found in the entire factory.

The coroner summed up at considerable length and with commendable simplicity. His manner suggested that the jury as a whole was certifiable as mentally unsound, but that he knew his duty and would perform it in the teeth of stupidity. He surveyed the circumstances surrounding Watchman’s death. He pointed out that the only word spoken by the deceased, the word “poisoned,” overheard by one witness alone, should not weigh too heavily in the minds of the jury. In the first place the evidence might be regarded as hearsay, and therefore inadmissible at any other court. In the second, there was nothing to show why the deceased had uttered this word or whether his impression had been based on any actual knowledge. They might attach considerable importance to the point that the post-mortem analysis gave positive signs of the presence of some kind of cyanide in the blood. They might, while remembering the presence of a strong solution of hydrocyanic acid in the room, also note the assurance given by several of the witnesses that all reasonable precaution had been taken in the use and disposal of the bottle. They would very possibly consider that the use, for domestic purposes, of so dangerous a poison, was extremely ill-advised. He reminded them of Watchman’s idiosyncrasy for the acid. He delivered a short address on the forms in which this, the most deadly of the cerebral depressants, was usually found. He said that, since hydrogen cyanide is excessively volatile, the fact that none was found in the stomach did not preclude the possibility that the deceased had taken it by the mouth. He reminded them again of the expert evidence. No cyanide had been found in the brandy bottle or the iodine bottle. The fragments of the broken brandy glass had also given a negative result in the test for cyanide, but they might remember that as these fragments were extremely minute, the test, in this instance, could not be considered conclusive. They would of course note that the point of the dart had yielded a positive result in the second test made by the analyst. This dart was new, but had been handled by three persons before Mr. Legge used it. He wound up by saying that if the jury came to the conclusion that the deceased died of cyanide poisoning but that there was not enough evidence to say, positively, how he took the poison, they might return a verdict to this effect.

Upon this hint the jury retired for ten minutes and came back to deliver themselves, as well as they could remember them, in Dr. Mordant’s own words. They added a shocked and indignant remark on the subject of prussic acid in the home.

The inquest on Luke Watchman was ended and his cousin was free to bury his body.