The Judas Window

'I repeat, Mr Fleming, what did he do?'

'Nothing much,' said the witness in a heavy growl. 'He caught me off balance. He gave me a sort of shove with his open hand. My feet were off balance, and I went over against the wall and fell down a bit.'

'A sort of shove. I see. What was his manner when he did this: angry?'

'Yes, he was in a devil of a rage all of a sudden. We were trying to hold his arms down so we could get his prints.'

'He gave you a "sort of shove" and you "fell down a bit". In other words, he struck hard and quickly?'

'He caught me off balance.'

'Just answer the question, please. All of a sudden he struck hard and quickly. Is that so?'

'Yes, or he wouldn't have caught me off balance.'

'Very well. Now, Mr Fleming, did you examine the place on the wall of the room, shown in photograph 8, from which the arrow had been taken down?'

'Yes, I went all over it.'

'Did the small staples - the staples that held the arrow to the wall - show signs of having been wrenched out violently, as though the arrow had been suddenly jerked down?'

'Yes, they were all over the floor.'

Counsel consulted his brief. After this little brush, Fleming squared his shoulders, lifted his elbow, and put one fist on the rail of the witness-box. He took a good survey of the court, as though challenging anyone to question his answers; but his forehead was ruffled with small wrinkles. Once, I remember, he happened to look straight into my eyes from across the room. And I wondered, as you always do on these occasions, 'What's that fellow really thinking?'

Or, for that matter, you might wonder what the prisoner was really thinking. He was much more restless this afternoon than he had been this morning. Whenever a man in the dock moves in his chair, you are conscious of it; like a movement on an empty dance-floor such as the dock resembled. A shifting, an unquiet stealing of the hands, seems to come close to you. Often he would glance towards the solicitors' table - in the direction, it seemed, of the grave and cynically preoccupied Reginald Answell. The prisoner's eyes looked rather wild and worried; his big shoulders were stooped. Lollypop, H.M.'s secretary, was now at the solicitors' table, wearing her paper cuffs and poring over a typewritten sheet.

Counsel cleared his throat to resume.

'You have told us, Mr Fleming, that you are a member of several archery societies, and have been an archer for many years?'

'That's so.'

'So that you could describe yourself as something of an authority on the subject?'

'Yes, I think I could safely say that,' returned the witness, with a grave nod and a bull-frog swell of the throat.

'I want you to look at this arrow and describe it.'

Fleming seemed puzzled. 'I don't know what you want me to say, exactly. It's the standard type of men's arrow: red pinewood, twenty-eight inches long, quarter of an inch thick, iron pile or point footed with bullet-tree wood, nock made of horn -' He turned it over in his hands.

'The nock, yes. Will you explain what the nock is?'

'The nock is this little wedge-shaped piece of horn at the end of the arrow. There's a notch in it - here. That's how you fit the arrow to the bow-string. Like this.'

He illustrated with a backward gesture, and banged his hand against the post supporting the roof of the witness-box: to his evident surprise and annoyance.

'Could that arrow have been fired?'

'It could not. Out of the question.'

'You would call it definitely impossible?'

'Of course it's impossible. Besides, the fellow's fingerprints were the only marks on -'

'I must ask you not to anticipate the evidence, Mr Fleming. Why is it impossible that the arrow could have been fired?'

'Look at the nockl It's been bent over and twisted so much that you couldn't possibly fit it to a string.'

'Was the nock in this condition when you first saw it in the deceased's body?'

'Yes, it was.'

'Will you just pass that along for the inspection of the jury? Thank you. Having established that the arrow could not have been fired: in the coating of dust you tell us you observed on the arrow, did you observe anywhere - anywhere - any marks except those which you knew to be finger-prints?'

'I did not.'

'That is all.'

He sat down. While the arrow travelled among the jury, a long and rumbling throat-clearing preceded the rise of H.M. There are sounds and sounds; and this one indicated war. It struck several people, for Lollypop made a quietly fiendish sign of Warning, and for some reason held up the typewritten sheet over which she had been poring. Trouble blew into that room as palpably as a wind, but H.M.'s opening was mild enough.

'You've told us that on that Saturday night you were goin' next door to play chess with the deceased.'

'That's right.' (Fleming's truculent tone added, 'And what of it?')

'When did the deceased make an appointment with you?'

'About three o'clock in the afternoon.'

'Uh-huh. For what time that night?'

'He said to drop in about a quarter to seven, and we'd have a bit of cold dinner together, since everybody else in the house was out.'

'When Miss Jordan ran over and brought you, you've told us you were already on your way to keep that appointment?'

'Yes. I was a bit early. Better early than late.'

'Uh-huh. Now take a dekko - HURRUM- just glance at that arrow again. Look at those three feathers. I think I'm right in statin' that they're fixed edgeways to the arrow about an inch from the nock-end, and they're about two and a half inches long?'

'Yes. The size of the feather varies, but Hume preferred the biggest ones.'

'You notice that the middle feather is torn off pretty .clearly about half-way down. Was it like that when you found the body?'

Fleming looked at him suspiciously, on guard behind his red moustache.

'Yes, that's how it was.'

'You've heard the witness Dyer testify that all the feathers were intact and whole at the time the accused went into the study at 6.10?'

'I've heard it.'

'Sure. We all did. Consequently, the feather must 'a' been broken off between then and the discovery of the body?'

'Yes.'

'If the accused grabbed that arrow down off the wall and struck Hume, holdin' the arrow half-way down the shaft, how do you think the feather got torn off?'

'I don't know. In the struggle, probably. Hume made a grab at the arrow when he saw it coming -'

'He made a grab at the end of the arrow opposite the end that was threatenin' him?'

'He might have. Or it might have been torn off when the arrow was pulled off the wall, from those little staples.'

'That's another theory. The piece of feather was broken off either (1) in a struggle; or (2) when the arrow was pulled down. Uh-huh. In either case, where is it? Did you find it when you searched the room?'

'No, I did not; but a little piece of feather -'

'I'm suggestin' to you that this "little piece of feather" was an inch and a quarter long by an inch broad. A whole lot bigger than half a crown. You'd have noticed half a crown on the floor, wouldn't you?'

'Yes, but this didn't happen to be half a crown.'

'I've said it was a lot bigger. And it was painted bright blue, wasn't it?'

‘I suppose so.'

'What was the colour of the carpet?'

'I can't say I can swear to that.'

'Then I'll tell you: it was light brown. You accept that? Yes. And you agree that there was very little furniture? Uh-huh. But you made an intensive search of that room, and you still didn't find the missin' piece?' Hitherto the witness had seemed rather pleased at his own wit, set to shine, and at intervals tickling up the corners of his moustache. Now he was impatient.

'How should I know? Maybe it got lodged somewhere; maybe it's still there. Why don't you ask the police-inspector?'

‘I’m goin' to. Now let's draw on your fund of information about archery. Take those three feathers at the end of the arrow. Have they got any kind o' useful purpose, -or are they only decorative?'

Fleming seemed surprised. 'Certainly they have a purpose. They're set at equal intervals, parallel to the line of flight; you can see that. The natural curve of the feathers gives that arrow a rotary motion in the air - zzzl - like that. Like a rifle-bullet.'

'Is one feather always a different colour from the rest, like this?'

'Yes, the guide feather; it shows you where to fit the arrow on the string.'

'When you buy these arrows,' pursued H.M., in a rumbling and dreamy tone, while the other stared at him, 'are the feathers already attached, or do you fasten on your own?'

'As a rule they're already attached. Naturally. But some people prefer to put on their own type of feathers.' 'Am I right in thinkin' the deceased did?'

'Yes. I don't know how you know it; but he used a different type. Most arrows have turkey-feathers. Hume preferred goose-feathers, and put them on himself: I suppose he liked the old grey-goose-feather tradition. These are goose-feathers. Old Shanks, the odd-jobs man, usually fastened them on.'

'And this little joker here: the guide-feather, you call it. Am I rightly instructed when I say he used a special type of dye, of his own invention, to colour the guide-feather?'

'Yes, he did. In his workshop -'

'His workshop I' said H.M., coming to life. 'His workshop! Just where was this workshop? Get the plan of the house and show us.'

There was a general ruffling and unrolling of plans among the jury. Several of us stirred in our seats, wondering what the old man might have up the sleeve of that disreputable gown. Randolph Fleming, with a hairy red finger on the plan, looked up and frowned.

'It's here. It's a little detached building in the back garden, about twenty yards from the house. I think it was intended to be a greenhouse once; but Hume didn't care, for that sort of thing. It's partly glass.'

H.M. nodded. 'What did the deceased keep there?'

'His archery equipment. Bows, strings, arrows, drawing-gloves; things like that. The odd-jobs man dyed the feathers there, too.'

'What else?'

'If you want the whole catalogue,' retorted the witness, 'I'll give it to you. Arm-guards, waist-belts for the arrows, worsted tassels to clean the points with, a grease-pot or two for the drawing-fingers of die glove - and a few tools, of course. Hume was a good man with his hands.'

'Nothing else?'

'Nothing that I remember.'

'You're sure of that, now?'

The witness snorted.

'So. Now, you've testified that that arrow couldn't 'a' been fired. I suggest to you that that statement wasn't what you meant at all. You'll agree that the arrow could have been projected?'

'I don't see what you mean. What's the difference?'

'What's the difference? Looky here I You see this inkwell? Well, if I threw it at you right now, it wouldn't be fired from a bow; but you'll thoroughly agree that it would be projected. Wouldn't it?'

'Yes.'

'Yes. And you could take that arrow and project it at me?'

'I could!' said the witness.

His tone implied: 'And, by God, I'd like to.' Both of them had powerful voices, which were growing steadily more audible. At this point Sir Walter Storm, the Attorney-General, rose with a clearing of the throat.

'My lord,' said Sir Walter, in tones whose richness and calm would have rebuked a bishop, 'I do not like to interrupt my learned friend. But I should only like to enquire whether my learned friend is suggesting that this arrow, which weighs perhaps three ounces, could have been thrown so as to penetrate eight inches into a human body? -1 can only suggest that my learned friend appears to be confusing an arrow with an assegai, not to say a harpoon.'

The back of H.M.'s wig began to bristle.

Lollypop made a fierce wig-wagging gesture.

'Me lord,' replied H.M., with a curious choking noise, 'what I meant will sort of emerge in my next question to the witness.'

'Proceed, Sir Henry.'

H.M. got his breath. 'What I mean is this,' he said to Fleming. 'Could this arrow have been fired from a crossbow?’

There was a silence. The judge put down his pen carefully. He turned his round face with the effect of a curious moon.

'I still do not understand, Sir Henry,' interposed Mr Justice Rankin. 'What exactly is a cross-bow?'

T got one right here,' said H.M.

From under his desk he dragged out a great cardboard box such as those which are used to pack suits. From this he took a heavy, deadly-looking mechanism whose wood and steel shone with some degree of polish. It was not long in the stock, which was shaped like that of a dwarf rifle: sixteen inches at most. But at the head was a broad semi-circle of flexible steel, to each end of which was attached a cord running back to a notched windlass, with an ivory handle, on the stock. A trigger connected with this windlass. Down the centre of the flat barrel ran a groove. The cross-bow, whose stock was inlaid with mother-of-pearl, should have seemed incongruous in H.M.'s hands under all those peering eyes. It was not. It suddenly looked more like a weapon of the future than a weapon of the past.

'This one,' pursued H.M., completely unselfconscious like a child with a toy, 'is the short "stump" cross-bow. Sixteenth-century French cavalry. Principle's this, y'see. It's wound up - like this.' He began to turn the handle. To the accompaniment of an ugly clicking noise, the cords began to move and pull back the corners of the steel horns. 'Down that groove goes a steel bolt called a quarrel. The trigger's pressed, and releases it like a catapult. Out goes the bolt with all the weight of Toledo steel released behind it... The bolt's shorter than an arrow. But it could fire an arrow.'

He snapped the trigger, with some effect. Sir Walter Storm rose. The Attorney-General's voice quieted an incipient buzz.

'My lord,' he said gravely, 'all this is very interesting -whether or not it is evidence. Does my learned friend put forward as an alternative theory that this crime was committed with the singular apparatus he has there?'

He was a trifle amused. The judge was not.

'Yes; I was about to ask you that, Sir Henry.'

H.M. put down the cross-bow on his desk. 'No, my lord. This bow comes from the Tower of London. I was illustratin'.' He turned towards the witness again. 'Did Avory Hume ever own any cross-bows?'

'As a matter of fact, he did,' replied Fleming.

From the press box just under the jury, two men who had to make early afternoon editions got up and tiptoed out on egg-shells. The witness looked irritated but interested.

'Long time ago,' he added with a growl. 'The Woodmen of Kent experimented with cross-bows one year. They weren't any good. They were cumbersome, and they hadn't got any range compared to arrows.'

'Uh-huh. How many cross-bows did the deceased own?'

'Two or three, I think.'

'Was any of 'em like this?'

‘I believe so. That was three years ago, and -'

'Where did he keep the bows?'

'In that shed in the back garden.'

'But you forgot that a minute ago, didn't you?'

'It slipped my mind, yes. Naturally.'

They were both bristling again. Fleming's heavy nose and jaw seemed to come together like Punch's.

'Now let's have your opinion as an expert: could that arrow have been fired from a bow like this?'

'Not with any accuracy. It's too long, and it would fit too loosely. You'd send the shot wild at twenty yards.'

'Could it have been fired, I'm asking you?'

‘I suppose it could.'

'You SUPPOSE it could? You know smackin' well it could, don't you? Here, gimme that arrow and I'll show you.'

Sir Walter Storm was on his feet, suavely. 'A demonstration will not be necessary, my lord. We accept my learned friend's statement. We also appreciate that the witness is merely attempting to express an honest opinion under somewhat trying circumstances.'

('This is what I meant,' Evelyn whispered to me. 'You see? They'll bait the old bear until he can't see the ring for blood.')

It was certainly the general impression that H.M. had badly mismanaged things, in addition to proving nothing. His last two questions were asked in an almost plaintive tone.

'Never mind its accuracy at twenty yards. Would it be accurate at a very short distance - a few feet?' 'Probably.'

'In fact, you couldn't miss?' 'Not at two or three feet, no.' "That's all.’

The Attorney-General's brief re-examination disposed of this suggestion and cut it off at the root

'In order to kill the deceased in the way my learned friend has suggested, the person using the cross-bow must have been within two or three feet of the victim?'

'Yes,' returned Fleming, thawing a little.

'In other words, actually in the room?'

'Yes.'

'Exactly. Mr Fleming, when you entered this locked and sealed room -'

'Now, we'll object to that,' said H.M., suddenly rearing up again with a wheeze and a flutter of papers.

For the first time Sir Walter was a trifle at a loss. He turned towards H.M., and we got a look at his face. It was long and strong, dark-browed despite its slight ruddiness: a powerful face. But both he and H.M. addressed the judge as though speaking to each other through an interpreter.

'My lord, what is it to which my learned friend takes exception?'

'"Sealed."

The judge was looking at H.M. with bright and steady eyes of interest; but he spoke dryly. 'The term was perhaps a little fanciful, Sir Walter.'

'I readily withdraw it, my lord. Mr Fleming: when you entered this unsealed room to which every possible entrance or exit was barred on the inside -'

'Object again,' said H.M.

'Ahem. When you entered,' said the other, his voice beginning to sound with "far-off thunder in spite of himself, 'this room whose door was firmly bolted on the inside, and its windows closed with locked shutters, did you find any such singular apparatus as that?'

He pointed to the cross-bow.

'No, I did not'

'It is not a thing that could be readily overlooked, is it?'

'It certainly is not,' replied the witness, with jocularity.

'Thank you.'

'Call Dr Spencer Hume.'

VII

'Standing Near the Ceiling -

FIVE minutes later they were still looking for Dr Spencer Hume, and we knew that something was wrong. I saw H.M.'s big hands close, though he gave no other sign. Huntley Lawton rose.

'My lord, the witness appears to be - er - missing. We -ah-'

'So I observe, Mr Lawton. What is the position? Do I understand that you move an adjournment until the witness shall be found?'

A conference ensued, in which several glances were directed towards H.M. Then Sir Walter Storm got up.

'My lord, the nature of the Crown's case is such that we believe we can save the time of the court by dispensing with his testimony and continuing with our evidence in the ordinary course.'

'The decision must rest with you, Sir Walter. At the same time, if the witness is under subpoena, he should be here. I think the matter should be investigated, and I will have steps taken in that direction.'

'Of course, my lord ..."

'Call Frederick John Hardcastle.'

Frederick John Hardcastle, a police-constable, testified as to the discovery of the body. While he was on duty in Grosvenor Square at six-forty-five, a man whom he now knew to be Dyer approached him and said: 'Officer, come in; something terrible has happened.'

As he went into the house, a car drove up; the car contained Dr Hume and a woman (Miss Jordan) who seemed to have fainted. In the study he found the prisoner and a man who introduced himself as Mr Fleming. P.C. Hardcastle said to the prisoner: 'How did this happen?' The prisoner replied: 'I know nothing at all about it and would say nothing more. The witness then telephoned to his divisional police-station, and remained on guard until the arrival of the inspector.

There was no cross-examination. The prosecution then; called Dr Philip McLane Stocking.

Dr Stocking was a lean and bushy-haired man with a hard, narrow mouth but a curiously sentimental look about him. He got hold of the dock-rail and never let go of it. He had an untidy string-tie done into a bow, and a black suit which did not fit too well; but his hands were so clean that they looked polished.

'Your name is Philip McLane Stocking, and you are Professor of Forensic Medicine at the University of Highgate, and advising surgeon to C Division of the Metropolitan Police?'

'I am.'

'On January 4th last, were you called into 12 Grosvenor Street, and did you arrive there at about seven-forty-five?'

'I did.'

"When you arrived, what did you find in the study?'

'I found the dead body of a man lying between the window and the desk, face upwards, and very close to the desk.' The witness had a rather thick voice, which he had difficulty in keeping clear. 'Dr Hume was present, and Mr Fleming, and the prisoner. I said: "Has he been moved?" The prisoner answered: "I turned him over on his back. He was lying on his left side with his face almost against the desk." The hands were growing cold; the upper arms and the body were quite warm. Rigor mortis was setting in in the lower part of the left arm and in the neck. I judged he had been dead well over an hour.'

'It is impossible to be more definite than that?'

'I should say death occurred between six and six-thirty. I cannot say closer than that.'

'You performed a post-mortem examination of this-body?'

'Yes. Death was caused by the iron point of an arrow penetrating eight inches through the wall of the chest and piercing the heart.'

'Was death instantaneous?'

'Yes, it must have been absolutely instantaneous. Like that,' added the witness, suddenly snapping his fingers with the effect of a conjuring trick.

'Could he have moved or taken a step backwards? What I wish to put to you,' insisted Sir Walter, extending his arm, 'is whether he would have had strength enough to bolt a door or a window after being struck?'

'It is definitely impossible. He fell almost literally in his tracks.'

'What conclusion did you form from the nature of the wound?'

‘I formed the conclusion that the arrow had been used as a dagger, and that a powerful blow had been struck by a powerful man.'

'Such as the prisoner?'

'Yes,' agreed Dr Stocking, giving a brief and sharp look at Answell.

'What were your reasons for this conclusion?'

'The direction of the wound. It entered high - here,' he illustrated, 'and sloped down in an oblique direction to penetrate the heart.'

'At a sharp angle, you mean? A downward stroke?'

'Yes.'

'What do you think of any suggestion that the arrow might have been fired at him?'

'If you ask me for an expression of a personal opinion, I should call it so unlikely as to be almost impossible/

'Why?'

'If the arrow had been fired at him, I should have expected it to have penetrated in more or less a straight line; but certainly not at any such angle as the arrow stood.'

Sir Walter lifted two fingers. 'In other words, doctor, if the arrow had been fired at him, the person who fired it must have been standing somewhere up near the ceiling - aiming downwards?'

It seemed to me that he just refrained from adding, 'like Cupid?' There were overtones in Sir Walter's voice that piled thick ridicule without a word being said. I could have sworn for a second a brief and fishy smile appeared on the face of one of the jury, who usually sat as though they were stuffed. The atmosphere was getting colder.

'Yes, something like that. Or else the victim must have been bent forward almost double, as though he were giving a low bow to the murderer.'

'Did you find any signs of a struggle?'

'Yes. The deceased man's collar and tie were rumpled; his jacket was humped up a little about his neck; his hands were dirty and there was a small scratch on the palm of the right hand.'

'What might have caused this scratch?'

'I cannot say. The point of the arrow might have caused it.'

'As though he had put out a hand to defend himself, you mean?' 'Yes.'

'Was there any blood from this scratch on the dead man's hand?' 'It bled a little, yes.'

'Did you, in the course of your examination, find a stain of blood on any other object in the room?' 'No.'

'Therefore it is likely that the scratch was, in fact, caused by the arrow?' 'I should deduce so.'

'Will you tell us, doctor, what took place immediately after your first examination of the body in the study?'

Again the bushy-haired witness glanced at the prisoner; his mouth had an expression of distaste. 'Dr Spencer Hume, with whom I have some acquaintance, asked me whether I would look at the prisoner.'

'Look at him?'

'Examine him. Dr Hume said: "He tells us some absurd story about having swallowed a drug; I have just examined him and I can find nothing to support it."'

'What was the prisoner's demeanour during this time?'

'It was collected, much too calm and collected; except that he would occasionally run his hand through his hair, like this. He was not nearly so much affected as I was myself.'

'Did you examine him?'

'In a cursory way. His pulse was rapid and irregular; not depressed as it would have been had he taken a narcotic. The pupils of the eyes were normal.'

'In your opinion, had he taken a drug?'

'In my opinion, he had not.'

'Thank you; that is all.'

('That's torn it,' said Evelyn. The prisoner's white face now wore an expression of puzzlement; once he half rose in his chair as though to make an audible protest, and the two warders with him jerked to watchfulness. I saw his lips move soundlessly. The hounds were baying loudly now; and, if he were really innocent, what he must have been feeling was horror.)

H.M. lumbered to his feet and for a full half minute stood staring at the witness.

'So you examined him "in a cursory way", did you?'

H.M.'s voice made even the judge look up.

'Do you examine all your patients "in a cursory way"?'

'That is neither here nor there.'

'It is if they die, ain't it? Do you think a man's life should depend on an examination "in a cursory way"?'

'No.'

'Or that sworn testimony in a court of law should depend on it?'

Dr Stocking's mouth grew tighter. 'It was my duty to examine the body; not to take a blood-test of the prisoner. Dr Spencer Hume, I consider, is an authority sufficiently well known for me to accept his considered opinion.'

'I see. So you can't give first-hand evidence yourself? It's all based on what Dr Hume thought - Dr Hume, by the way, not bein' here now?'

'My lord, I must protest against that implication,' cried Sir Walter Storm.

'You will please confine yourself to what the witness says, Sir Henry.'

'Begludship's pardon,' growled H.M. 'I understood that the witness was confinin' himself pretty closely to what Dr Hume said ... Will you swear from your own knowledge that he had not taken a drug?'

'No,' snapped the witness, 'I am not going to swear; I am going to give an opinion; and I swear that the opinion I give shall be an honest one.'

The judge's soft, even Voice intervened. 'I still do not understand. You think it impossible that the prisoner should have taken a drug? That is the matter before us.'

'No, my lord, I 'do not say it is impossible; that would be going too far.'

'Why would it be going too far?'

'My lord, the prisoner told me that he took this drug, whatever it was, at about fifteen minutes past six. I did not examine him until nearly eight o'clock. If by any chance he had taken one, the effect would be largely worn off. However, Dr Hume examined him before seven o'clock -'

'Dr Hume's opinion has not been presented to us,' said Mr Justice Rankin. 'I should like to be quite clear about this, since the matter is vital. If the effect of this mysterious drug would have worn off in any case, I take it that you are hardly in a position to say a great deal about it?

'My lord, I have said that I can only give an opinion.'

'Very well. Proceed, Sir Henry.'

H.M., clearly well pleased, went on to other matters.

'Dr Stocking, there's another side of this business that you've called unlikely to the edge of impossible: I mean any suggestion that the arrow might 'a' been projected. Let's take this question of the position of the body. Do you accept the accused's statement that, at the beginnin', the body was lyin' on its left side facing the side of the desk?'

The doctor smiled grimly. ‘I believe it is the accused's statements that we are here to examine; not to accept.'

'Not under any circumstances, it'd seem. But could you bring yourself to agree with that particular one?'

‘I might.'

Ts there anything you know of to contradict it?'

'No, I cannot say that there is.'

'For the sake of argument, then. Suppose the deceased had been standing on that side of the desk - which would be (look at your plan, there) facin' the sideboard across the room. Suppose he had been bendin' over to look at something on the desk. If while he had been bent forward, the arrow had been discharged at him from the direction of the sideboard: might it have gone into the body just the way it did?'

'It is remotely possible.'

'Thanks; nothing else.'

H.M. plumped down. The Attorney-General was curt in his re-examination.

'Had matters taken place in any such fashion as my learned friend suggests,' observed Sir Walter Storm, 'would there have been any signs of a struggle?'

T should not have expected to find any.'

'You would not have expected to find the rumpled collar and tie, the disarranged coat, the grimy hands, the cut on the palm of the right hand?'

'No.'

'Can we believe that the cut on the palm of the hand was caused by any attempt to seize in the air at an arrow fired at the deceased?'

'Personally, I should call it ridiculous.'

'Do you consider it likely that a murderer, equipped with a large cross-bow, was lurking in the sideboard itself?'

‘No.'

'Finally, doctor, with regard to your qualifications to pronounce on whether or not a drug had been swallowed by the prisoner: you were for twenty years on the staff of St Praed's Hospital, Praed Street?'

'I was.'

The doctor was allowed to stand down, and the Crown then called its most damning witness - Harry Ernest Mottram.

Inspector Mottram had been sitting at the solicitors' table. I had noticed him a number of times without knowing who he was. Inspector Mottram was slow-footed, surefooted, careful of both manner and speech. He was comparatively young, not more than forty; but his smooth style of replying to questions, never in a hurry to get out an answer too quickly, indicated some experience of court. His manner, as he stood at attention, seemed to say: 'I don't particularly like putting a rope around anyone's neck; but let's not have any nonsense; murder is always murder, and the quicker we dispatch a criminal the better it will be for society.' He had a square face and a short nose, a face running to jaw, and the expression of his eyes indicated either that they were very sharply penetrating or that he needed glasses. The air of a well-brushed family man, defending society, invaded the court. He took the oath in a strong voice, and fixed his penetrating or near-sighted eyes on counsel.

'I am a Divisional Detective-Inspector of the Metropolitan Police. In consequence of what I was told, I proceeded to 12 Grosvenor Street and arrived there at six-fifty-five p.m. on January 4th.'

'What happened?'

'I was conducted to the room called the study, where I found the accused in company with Mr Fleming, the butler, and Police-Constable Hardcastle. I questioned the last three, who told me what they have already testified to here. I then asked the accused if he had anything to say. He replied: "If you will get these harpies out of the room, I will try to tell you what happened." I asked the others to leave the room. Then I shut the door and sat down opposite the accused.'

The statement made by the prisoner, as the inspector quoted it, was much the same as that which had been read by the Attorney-General in his opening speech. As Mottram repeated it in dispassionate tones, it sounded even balder and thinner. When it came to the part about the drugging of the whisky, Sir Walter intervened.

'The prisoner told you that the deceased had given him a glass of whisky-and-soda; that he had drunk over half of it, and then put the glass down on the floor?'

'Yes, by his chair.'

'I think, Inspector Mottram, that you are a teetotaller?' 'Yes.'

'And,' said counsel very gently, 'was there any smell of whisky on the prisoner's breath?' 'None whatever.'

The thing was so simple, so obvious, that I believe the Crown had been reserving it for a bombshell. It certainly had that effect, for it was a practical and everyday point which came home to the jury.

'Go on, Inspector.'

'When he had finished making this statement, I said to him: "You realize that what you tell me cannot possibly be true?" He replied: "It is a frame-up, Inspector; I swear to God it is a frame-up; but I cannot see how they can all be crooked, or why they should have it in for me, anyway." '

'What did you understand him to mean by this?'

'I understood that he referred to the other people in the house. He made no difficulty in talking to me; I should describe him as friendly and almost eager. But he ap-eared to have strong suspicions of every member of the household, or friend of the family, who came near him. I then said to him: "If you acknowledge that the door was bolted on the inside, and the windows were also locked, how can anyone else have done what you say?"'

'What did he say to this?'

The witness looked mildly bothered. 'He began speaking about detective stories, and ways of bolting doors or locking windows from the outside - with bits of string or wire, and things like that.'

'Are you a reader of detective fiction, Inspector?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Do you know of any such methods as he referred to?'

"Well, sir, I have heard of one or two; and, with a whole lot of luck, they might be practical.' Inspector Mottram looked hesitant and then a little apologetic. 'But none of them could possibly apply in this case.'

At counsel's signal, the exhibit of the dummy shutters was again brought forward, and this time the door as well: a solid piece of oak attached to a practical frame.

'I understand that the same evening you removed the shutters and the door, assisted by Detective-Sergeant Raye, and took them to the police-station for purposes of experiment?'

‘I did.'

'Will you tell us why no such method could apply here?'

It was the old story; but it stood up solid and unbreakable as the Old Bailey itself when Mottram explained.

'After you had questioned him about the door and the windows, Inspector, what did you do?'

'I asked him if he would object to being searched. I observed, when he stood up - he had been sitting down most of the time - a kind of bulge on his right hip under the overcoat.'

'What did he say?'

'He said: "It won't be necessary; I know what you want." And he opened his overcoat, and reached into his hip pocket, and gave it to me.'

'Gave what to you?'

'A '38-calibre automatic pistol, fully loaded,' said the witness.

VIII

'The Old Bear Was Not Blind'

A -38-CALIBRE Webley-Scott automatic was handed up for inspection and identification. Someone behind us began softly to hum: 'O Who Will O'er the Downs with Me?' to words which sounded like: 'O Who Said He was Inn-o-cent?' The atmosphere of scepticism was now so heavy that you could feel it in people's very gravity. At the moment I happened to be looking at Reginald Answell, and for the first time an exhibit seemed to interest the prisoner's cousin. He looked up briefly; but his saturnine good looks betrayed nothing except a certain superciliousness. He fell again to playing with the water-carafe on the solicitors' table.

'Is this the pistol he had in his pocket?' pursued Sir Walter Storm. 'Yes. Did the prisoner explain how he happened to come for a peaceful discussion of his prospective marriage with a weapon like that in his pocket?'

'He denied that he had brought it. He said that someone must have put it there while he was unconscious.'

'Someone must have put it there while he was unconscious. I see. Could he identify the weapon?'

'The accused said to me: "I know it very well. It belongs to my cousin Reginald. When he is not in the East he always stays at my flat, and I believe that the last time I saw the pistol was a month ago, in the drawer of the sitting-room table. I have not seen it since."'

After lengthy and convincing testimony had been made as to an examination of the room, the witness was taken to a summing-up.

'What conclusion did you form, from this, as to the way in which the crime had been committed?

'From the way in which the arrow had been pulled down from the wall, I concluded that it had been dragged from right to left, by a hand holding the arrow in the position where the finger-prints are. This would have put the person who pulled it down on the side of the room a little towards the sideboard. Under these circumstances, I concluded that the deceased had run round the desk, on the left-hand side towards the front of it, in order to get away from his assailant -'

'In other words, to put the desk between himself and his assailant?'

'Yes, like that,' agreed Inspector Mottram, making a boxed motion with his hands, and moving them to illustrate. 'I concluded that the assailant had then run round the front of the desk. There was then a struggle, with the deceased standing in a position very close to the desk and facing the sideboard. In this struggle the missing piece of feather was broken off, and the deceased also acquired the cut on his hand. The victim was then struck. He fell down beside the desk, getting the dust on his hand when he - he pawed at the carpet just before he died. That is how I believed it to happen.'

'Or might he have seized at the arrow, and caught at the shaft to get dust on his hands? What I mean is that there was a part of the arrow you could not test for fingerprints, since it was buried in the deceased's body?'

'Yes.'

'The dust on the hands may have come from there?' 'Quite possibly.'

'Finally, Inspector. I believe you are a qualified fingerprint expert, and were trained for this branch of the service?'

'Yes, that is so.'

'Did you take a record of the prisoner's finger-prints: first in Grosvenor Street, using the pad of violet ink provided there, and later at the district police-station?'

'I did.’

'Did you compare these with the finger-prints on the shaft of the arrow?' 'I did.'

'Please identify these photographs, showing the various sets of prints, and explain the points of agreement to the jury ... Thank you. Were the prints on the arrow made by the prisoner? 'They were.'

'Were any finger-prints found in the room other than those of the deceased and the prisoner?' 'No.'

'Were any finger-prints found on the decanter of whisky, the syphon, or the four glasses?' 'No.'

'Where else were finger-prints of the prisoner found?'

'On the chair in which he was sitting, on the desk - and on the bolt of the door.'

After a few more questions relating to the final arrest of Answell, the examination was finished. It had been, in its way, a tightening and summing-up of the whole case. If H.M. had any attack to launch, now was the time to launch it. The clock on the wall up over our heads must be crawling on; for it was growing dark outside, and a few whips of rain struck the glass roof. The white-and-oak of the court-room acquired a harder brilliance from its lights. H.M. got up, spread out his hands on the desk, and asked the following abrupt question:

'Who bolted the door?'

'Excuse me, I did not quite catch that?'

'I said, who bolted the door on the inside?'

Inspector Mottram did not blink. 'The prisoner's finger-prints were on the bolt, sir.'

'We're not denyin' that he unbolted it. But who bolted it? Were there any other prints on the bolt besides the prisoner's?'

'Yes, the deceased man's.'

'So the deceased might 'a' bolted it just as well as the prisoner?' 'Yes, he might quite easily.'

'Now, let's get this story of the crime quite clear. The witness Dyer has testified that at about six-fourteen he heard the deceased say: "Man, what's wrong with you?

Have you gone mad?" and then sounds like a scuffle: hey? ... In your opinion, was this the scuffle where Hume got killed?’

Inspector Mottram was not to be caught in any such trap as that. He shook his head, narrowed his eyes, and gave the matter grave attention.

'You want my opinion, sir?'

'Yes.’

'From the evidence I have submitted, we concluded that this scuffle was a brief one, terminated when the witness Dyer knocked at the door and asked what was wrong. The door was then bolted on the inside -'

'So that they could continue their fight in peace and comfort, you mean?'

'I cannot say as to that,' returned the witness, completely unruffled. 'So that no one could go in.'

'And they then went on fightin' for fifteen minutes?'

'No, the quarrel may have broken out again fifteen minutes later.'

'I see. But if the prisoner bolted the door at six-fifteen, it must have meant that he was ready for business, mustn't it? Would he have bolted the door and then sat down to talk peacefully afterwards?'

'He might.'

'You expect the jury to believe that?'

'I expect the jury to believe what my lord tells them is evidence, sir. You are only asking for my opinion. Besides, I have said that the deceased himself might have bolted the door -'

'Oh?' roared H.M. 'In fact, you think it likely that he did?'

'Well, yes,' admitted the inspector, and squared himself.

'Good. Now, we're asked to believe that the accused went to that house with a loaded gun in his pocket. That'd show premeditation, wouldn't it?'

'People do not usually carry weapons unless they think they may have a use for them.'

'But he didn't use that gun?'

'No.'

"Whoever killed the victim ran across the room, yanked down an arrow off the wall, and attacked the deceased with it?'

'That is our belief, yes.'

'In fact, it's your whole case, ain't it?' demanded H.M., leaning across the desk. 'It is a part of the case; not the whole of it.' 'But a vital part?' 'I leave that up to my lord.'

H.M. put his hands up to his wig; and lifted one hand and patted the top of his wig with it, as though to cork himself before exploding to the ceiling. The witness's dry, precise voice was never hurried: Inspector Mottram would not say more or less than what he meant.

'Let's take the missin' piece of feather,' pursued H.M. in a gentle growl. 'You didn't find it anywhere, did you?'

'No.'

'Did you search the room thoroughly?' "Very thoroughly.'

'So it couldn't 'a' got away from you if it had been there, eh? No? You agree to that? Where was it, then?’

Inspector Mottram came as near to a smile as the nature of the place would permit. He was watching H.M. warily out of those near-sighted eyes, for foolish testimony in the witness-box will break a police officer; but he seemed to have been prepared for this.

'That had occurred to us, sir,' he replied dryly. 'Unless, of course, it was removed from the room by someone else -'

'Stop a bit,' said H.M. instantly. 'Someone else? But in that case it'd have to be by one of the people who have already testified here?'

'Yes, I suppose it would.'

'In which case, one of them witnesses was lying, wasn't he? And the case against the accused is partly built on lies?'

The inspector had begun to hit back. 'You did not let me finish my answer. I said it only to exclude everything, sir - as we have to do.'

'Well, what were you goin' to say?'

'I was going to say that it must have been carried out of the room in the prisoner's clothes. He was wearing his overcoat, a heavy overcoat. The pieces of feather could have been entangled in his clothes, unknown to himself.'

'Which,' said H.M., pointing, 'makes it pretty certain it was torn off in a struggle?'

'Yes.'

H.M. made a sign towards the solicitors' table. He now seemed to radiate a sort of evil glee. 'Inspector, you're a pretty strong man, aren't you? Powerful?'

'As strong as most, I suppose.'

'Right. Now, look at what they're holdin' up to you. Do you know what it is? It's a feather - a goose-feather. We got other kinds here; too, if you want 'em. I'd like you to take that feather in your hands and tear it in half. Try to break it, twist it, pull it, rip it: do anything you like: but break it in half for us.'

Inspector Mottram's knuckly hands closed round the feather, and his shoulders opened. He swung from one side to the other, in the midst of a vast silence, and nothing happened.

'Havin' trouble, son?' said H.M. meekly.

The other gave him a look from under jutting brows.

'Lean across to the foreman of the jury,' pursued H.M., raising his voice, 'and have a try at it as though you were strugglin'. Be careful; don't pull each other over the rail ... Ah, that's got it!'

The foreman of the jury was a striking-looking man with a grey moustache, but suspiciously vivid brown hair which was parted in the middle. The tug-of-war almost sent him out of the box like a fish on a line. But when the feather eventually began to part it shredded in long wisps and bits which not so much broke the feather as made it resemble a squashed spider.

'In fact,' said H.M., in the midst of a startled pause,

'it can't be done like that, can it? I use 'em for cleaning pipes, and I know. Now take a look at the broken feather on the arrow that was used for the murder. See it? The break is uneven, but it's absolutely clean and there's not a strand of the feather out of line. You see that?'

'I see it,' replied Mottram evenly.

'Will you acknowledge now that the piece of feather couldn't have been broken off like that in a struggle?'

('My God,' whispered Evelyn, 'he's done it I')

Mottram did not say anything; he was too honest to comment. He stood looking from the shredded pieces of the feather to H.M., and shifted his feet. For the first time the prosecution had received a check. Whatever excitement might have been felt was doused by the cold sanity of Sir Walter Storm.

'My lord, I suggest that my learned friend's test is more spectacular than conclusive. May I see that feather which was used for the test?'

It was passed over to him, while he and H.M. nodded to each other. And now the prosecution was going to fight. So far they had experienced such a complete walkover that the business looked perfunctory.

H.M. made a rumbling noise in his throat.

'If you got any doubts of it, Inspector, just try the same game on one of the other feathers in the arrow ... I repeat: will you acknowledge it could not have been broken off as you said it was?'

'I don't know; I can't say,' retorted Mottram honestly.

'But you're a strong man, and you couldn't?'

'All the same -'

'Just keep to my questions. The feather WAS broken off: how was it broken off?'

'The guide-feather in that arrow was old and - brittle, like. Dried up. So if -'

'How was it broken off?'

'I can't answer you; sir, if you don't give me a chance to. I don't suppose a feather is any irresistible force that can't be broken in two.'

'Could you do it?'

'No, not with the feather you gave me.'

'Try it with one of those two remainin' old and brittle feathers. Can you manage it? No. All right. Now look at this.' He held up the cross-bow. 'Suppose you were fittin' an arrow into this bow. You'd put the guide-feather in the middle when you put the arrow into this groove. Wouldn't you?'

Mottram was a trifle rattled. 'You might; I can't say.'

'I put it to you: you'd shove this arrow back in the groove until it fitted against the projectin' mechanism?'

'You might.'

'And consequently, when you wound up the bow, I suggest to you that these teeth on the revolving drum would catch the end of the feather and grip it?'

'I don't know anything about cross-bows.'

'But I'm showin' one to you. Here it is. Finally,' roared H.M., before counsel could make any objection, I suggest that the only way a clean break could have been made in that feather - a clean break like the one there - was when the weight of a Toledo-steel catapult flew out and snapped it in two?’

He released the trigger of the cross-bow. There was a vicious snap, and the cords banged across the head of the bow.

‘Where is that feather?' enquired H.M.

'Sir Henry,' said the judge, 'you will please question: not argue.'

'If yrludshippleases,' growled H.M.

'I further take it that these questions have some relevancy?'

‘We think so,' said H.M., unmasking his batteries. 'At the proper time we're goin' to produce the cross-bow with which we'll suggest that the crime was really committed.'

An epidemic of creaking seemed to have afflicted the yellow furniture in the court. Someone coughed. Mr Justice Rankin remained looking steadily at H.M. for a short space; then he peered back at his notes, and the pen in his plump hand continued to travel. Even the prisoner was looking at H.M., but as though startled and only half 'interested.

H.M. turned back to Inspector Mottram, who was waiting quietly.

'Take this arrow itself. You examined it as soon as you arrived at Grosvenor Street?'

'I did,' answered the Inspector, clearing his throat.

'You've testified, too, that the dust on the arrow wasn't smudged except where you found the finger-prints?'

'That is correct.'

'Look at photograph Number 3 in the book, and tell me if you were speakin' the literal truth. What about that pretty thin vertical line that runs down the shaft of the arrow - blurred a little - where there's no dust?'

'I said that there were no other marks in the dust. That was true. There never was any dust in the mark you refer to. That was where the arrow had hung against the wall, and accumulated no dust. Like the back of a picture hanging flat against the wall, you know.'

'Like the back of a picture, you say. Did you at any time see this arrow when it was hanging against the wall?'

'Naturally not.'

'Oh? But you heard the witness Dyer testify that this arrow did not hang flat and dead against the wall; you heard him say it was set out a little on the staples?'

Pause. 'I know from my own observation that the other two arrows were flat against the wall.'

'Yes. They were two sides to a triangle; they had to be held upright and flat so that they'd stay like that. But what about this one that was the base of the triangle?'

'I do not understand your question.'

'Lemme put it like this. Two sides of that triangle were flat on the wall, hey? The third side, the base, crossed the bases of the other two arrows. Consequently, it was supported against those arrows and was about a quarter of an inch or more out from the wall. Will you accept Dyer's statement about that?'

'If my lord has admitted it as evidence, I accept it, yes.'

'Exactly,' rumbled H.M. 'But if it was a quarter of an inch out from the wall, it wouldn't be protected from dust, would it?'

'Not entirely.'

'Not entirely? You agree it wasn't against the wall? Yes. Then the whole shaft of that arrow would 'a' been covered with dust, wouldn't it?'

'It is a difficult question.'

'It is. And the whole shaft of the arrow wasn't covered with dust, was it?' 'No.'

'There was a thin vertical line smudged all the way down.the shaft?' ‘Yes.'

'I put it to you,' said H.M., holding out the cross-bow, 'that the only way a mark like that could 'a' been caused would have been if it had been put into the groove of a cross-bow and fired?'

Still holding out the cross-bow, he drew one finger down the groove in the bow, looked so malevolently round the court that we could see his face, and then sat down.

'Bah,'said H.M.

There was a slight sign of released breath in the court. The old bear was not yet blind with blood, and he had made an impression. Inspector Mottram, a quite sincere witness, had been given a bad time. It had not shaken him unduly; it had only solidified the lines of his jaw, and given him a look as though he wished for a give-and-take with claws on more equal terms; but he seemed anxious to receive the Attorney-General's questions in re-examination.

'We have heard several times,' began Sir Walter abruptly, 'about the "only way" a certain effect could have been produced. I call your attention to certain evidence in the photographs. It is clear to you that, when the arrow was snatched off the wall, it was jerked violently from left to right? You have already testified as to that?' "Yes, sir.'

'Wrenched so violently that the staples were pulled out?' 'That is so.'

'If you were making a motion like that, you would wrench and shake the arrow, and then pull it sideways?'

'Yes, that is what would be done.'

'Consequently, you would pull the arrow along the wall - and make a mark like the one indicated?'

'Yes, you would.'

Mr Justice Rankin looked down over his spectacles. 'There seems to be some confusion here, Sir Walter. According to my notes, there was first no dust at all. Now ' we hear that the dust might have been scraped off. Which of these two alternatives are you suggesting?'

'The matter is simple, my lord. Like my learned friend with his cross-bow, I was illustrating. My learned friend insists on speaking of the only way a thing could have been done. He can hardly object if I give him way upon way ... Now, Inspector. In your own home, I presume, there are pictures on the wall?'

'Pictures, sir? Plenty of pictures.'

They do not hang absolutely flat against the wall, do they?'

'No, they have to be hung up.'

'And yet,' said the other, glancing towards the women on the jury, 'they accumulate practically no dust at the back of the frame?'

'Very little, I should say.'

'Thank you. With regard to the only way - the only way in the world a feather can be torn in half,' counsel went on, with rich and sardonic politeness, ‘I understand that in preparing this case you acquired some information about archery?'

'I did.'

'Yes. I believe that the guide-feather of an arrow - in this case, the one broken off - receives much more wear and tear than the others? What I wish to suggest to you is that it guides the end of the arrow to the string; and is therefore more apt to be chafed and damaged by hand or bow-string?'

'That is so. They have often to be replaced.'

'Is it impossible that in a struggle for this arrow between two men, one of them fighting for his life, the central feather should have been broken off?'

'Not at all impossible, I should say; though I will admit -'

'That is all,' snapped Sir Walter. He allowed an impressive pause while the witness left the box, and then turned to the judge. 'That, my lord, with the accused's statement, concludes the evidence for the Crown.'

The worst was over. Despite this re-examination, there had been a very slight lessening of the case against the prisoner: more a feeling of wonder than anything else. But wonder is the beginning of the reasonable doubt. Under cover of the noise, Evelyn whispered excitedly:

'Ken, H.M. is going to bring it off. I tell you I know it! That re-examination was weak. It sounded well, but it was weak; he shouldn't have brought up that business about dust on the backs of pictures. Of course there's dust on the backs of pictures, oodles of it. I was looking at the women on the jury, and I could tell what they were thinking. A little thing like that arrow would have been dusty all over unless it had been absolutely flat on the wall. Can't you feel that they're not certain at all now?'

'Ss - t! Quiet!'

The judge was looking at the clock while the clerk's sonorous voice rose:

'Members of the jury, when the prisoner was before the magistrates, he was asked if he had anything to say in answer to the charge; and being told that he need not say anything, but that if he did it would be taken down in writing and used in evidence at his trial, he said: "I plead not guilty to the charge made against me, and I am advised to reserve my defence. Through this charge I have lost everything in life that was of any value to me; so do what you like; but I am still not guilty. That is all I have to say."'

'If Sir Henry has no objections’ said Mr Justice Rankin briskly, 'we will adjourn the court until to-morrow.'

Bumping, shuffling, we all got to our feet as the judge rose.

'All persons who have anything more to do before my Lords the King's Justices of Oyer and Terminer, and general gaol delivery for the jurisdiction of the Central Criminal Court' - the rain was pattering steadily on the glass roof; it was the tired hour when you think of cocktails - 'may depart hence and give their attendance here again to-morrow, at ten-thirty o'clock.'

'God Save the King, and my Lords the King's Justices.'

Again the pause broke. The judge turned round, and went stumping along behind the bench at his brisk and pigeon-toed walk. Court-room Number One broke up into individuals, all with lives and thoughts of their own, moving round hats and homes. Someone yawned audibly, and then a voice spoke suddenly with great distinctness:

'Watch him, Joe!'

It came with a shock. We all turned round at the commotion in the dock. The two warders bad sprung forward with their hands on the shoulders of the prisoner. Nearly at the trap leading down into the cells, Answell had turned round and walked swiftly towards the rail again. We heard his footsteps rap on that dance-floor which, has been polished by the feet of so many now dead. But he did not attempt any action. He stood with his hands on the edge of the dock, and spoke with fierce clarity. To hear his voice was like hearing a deaf-and-dumb man speak.

'What's the use of going on with this? That piece of feather broke off the arrow when I stabbed him. I killed the old swine, and I admit it; so let's get this over with and call it a day.'

IX

'Red Robes Without Hurry'

IF anybody had asked me what would probably happen in case of a commotion like this, I should have thought of every contingency except what really happened. We all looked at the judge, since the prisoner was speaking to him. By this time Mr Justice Rankin had nearly reached the door, at the right-hand side behind the bench, by which he entered and left. For perhaps a tenth of a second his brisk step hesitated. For perhaps a tenth of a second he turned his head slightly, with a blank gaze of deafness and non-recognition. Then his red robes - without any hurry - disappeared through the door, and it closed behind his tie-wig.

He 'had not heard' the words which the prisoner, with fierce distinctness, was shouting across that void. So we did not hear them either. Like a room of mutes we bent to gather up our hats, our umbrellas, our parcels; we shuffled our papers, and looked at the floor, and pretended to say something to the person beside us ...

'My God, won't anybody listen to me? Don't you hear what I'm saying? You - listen -' The jury were going out on sheep-fashion, and not one of them looked round, except one scared woman who was touched on the arm by their guardian. 'Please, for God's sake listen to me I killed him; I'm admitting it; I want you to -'

The soothing mutter of the warder droned. 'All right, my lad; all right; down here; easy does it; take him easy, Joe - ce - easy –‘

Answell stopped, and seemed to be looking from one warder to the other. Our glances did not go higher than the buttons of his waistcoat, yet you had an impression that he felt more trapped now than he had ever been before. His eyes looked hot and puzzled when they hauled him across to the trap.

'But listen! - wait, I don't want to go - no; wait a bit -I - aren't they going to listen to me? I admit it, d'ye hear?'

'Sure, my lad; plenty of time, e-easy there; mind that step -'

We went out in good order, leaving a dead schoolroom full of yellow furniture, and we did not comment. Lolly-pop, looking white, made a sign to me which I interpreted as: 'Downstairs'; I could not see H.M.in the crowd. They began to switch out the lights. A sort of network of shuffling whispers caught us all together.

Someone said in my ear: '- and all over but the hanging.'

'I know,' muttered another voice. 'And yet, for a couple of seconds there, I almost thought -'

'That he mightn't have done it?'

'I don't know: not exactly: and yet -'

Outside Evelyn and I conferred. 'They're probably right,' she admitted; 'and I don't feel so well. I say, I've got to go, Ken. I promised Sylvia to be there at six-thirty. Are you coming?'

'No, I've got a message for H.M. Simply "yes" from the Hume girl. I'll wait.'

Evelyn drew her fur coat closer. 'I don't want to stay now. Oh, blast it all, Ken; why did we have to come here? That - that cooks his goose, rather, doesn't it?'

'Depends on whether it's evidence, and apparently it isn't."

'Oh, evidence -!' said Evelyn contemptuously. 'Bother evidence I What would you have felt if you had been on that jury? That's what counts. I wish we hadn't come here; I wish we'd never even heard of the case! What is the girl like? No, don't tell me. I don't want to know. That last business - G'bye, darling. See you later.'

She hurried away into the rain, and I was left glowering in the crowd. People were scuttling like chickens at the door of the Old Bailey, though the rain had almost ceased. There was a now-we're-out-of-school look about it. A bitter wind whisked round the corner of the building, and the lines of gas-lamps in Newgate Street were palely solemn. Among the crush of cars waiting for their dignitaries I found H.M.'s closed Vauxhall (not a certain Lanchester of weird memory), with his chauffeur Luigi. I leaned on the car and tried to smoke a cigarette against the wind. Memories were strong to-night. Up there, past St Sepulchre's Church, ran Giltspur Street: off Giltspur Street was Plague Court, among whose ghosts H.M. and I had walked some years ago: and at that time there had been no thought of murder in James Caplon Answell's mind. The crowd from the Old Bailey thinned slowly. After a general shooting of bolts had begun, a couple of City-of-London policemen - with their humped helmets like firemen's hats in blue cloth - came out and looked the situation over. H.M. was almost the last to leave. He came stumping out with his own unwieldy top-hat stuck on the back of his head, his overcoat with the moth-eaten fur collar flying out behind; and I could tell by the profane movements of his lips that he had been having a talk with Answell.

He pushed me into the car.

'Grub,' H.M. said succinctly. He added: 'Oh, my eye, the young assl That's torn it.' 'So he's really guilty after all?'

'Guilty? No. Not him. He was only bein' a decent young feller. I got to get him out of this, Ken,' said H.M. sombrely. 'He's worth saving.'

A passing car, as we turned into Newgate Street, merely brushed our mudguard; and H.M. leaned out of the window and cursed with such resonance and imaginativeness that it was an index to his state of mind.

'I suppose,' H.M. went on, 'he thought he'd only got to come out and confess, and the judge would say: "O.K., son, that's enough; take him out and string him up," straightaway, d'ye see?'

'But why confess? And, anyway, is it evidence?'

H.M.'s attitude towards this was much like Evelyn's. 'Of course it ain't evidence. The point is the effect it's goin' to have, even if old Balmy Rankin tells 'em to disregard it. I got great faith in Balmy, Ken ... But did I hear you thinking the worst is over when the Crown gets -through with its evidence? Son, our troubles haven't begun. It's the cross-examination of Answell that I'm dreadin’. You ever hear Walt Storm cross-examine? He takes 'era to pieces like a clock and then dares you to put all the little wheels back into place. I'm not legally bound to put Answell into the box; but if I don't I'm wide open to any comments Storm wants to make, and the story of this murder can't be complete unless I do put the feller there. What I'm afraid of is that my own witness may go back on me. If he stands up there and swears what he just said a while ago - well, that will be evidence and the old man's licked.'

'But I repeat (this damned court-room manner is getting infectious): why did Answell confess?'

H.M. grunted. He was silting back against the cushion, his unwieldy top-hat tilted over his eyes and his thick arms folded.

'Because somebody's communicated with him. I'm not sure how, but I'm pretty sure who. I mean Our Reginald. Did you notice how he and Reginald kept exchangin' significant glances all afternoon? But you don't know Reginald.'

'Yes, I met him this afternoon, at the Humes' place.’

A sharp little eye swung round towards me. 'So?' said H.M. with heavy inflection. 'What d'you think of him?'

'Well - all right. A little on the oh-really and supercilious side, but decent enough.'

The eye turned back again. 'Uh-huh. And, incidentally, what was the message from the gal?'

'She said to tell you yes, emphatically.'

'Good gal,' said H.M. He stared at the glass partition from under the brim of his tilted hat. 'It may work out well enough. I had some passable luck this afternoon, and also a few nasty jolts. The worst of the jolts was when Spencer Hume didn't turn up as a witness. I was countin' on him: if I had any hair, it'd 'a' been greyer when I heard that. Burn me, I wonder if he's turned tail, I wonder I ' He considered. 'People think I ain't got any dignity. Fine spectacle it is, hey, of Lillypop and me running about gettin' our witnesses and doin' all the dirty work that ought to be done by solicitors. Nice thing for a barrister, I ask you -'

'Frankly,' I said, 'the real reason is that you wouldn't work with a solicitor, H.M. You're too anxious to run the whole show yourself.'

This, unfortunately, was so true that it provoked a fiendish outburst, especially as his grousing a moment ago indicated that he was worried about something else.

'So that's all the thanks I get, is it? That's all the thanks I get? After all the trouble I had runnin' round that railway station like a porter -'

'What railway station?'

'Never mind what railway station,' said H.M., checking himself abruptly in mid-flight, and looking austere. But he was so pleased at having caused another point of mystification that he cooled off a little. 'Humph. I say, Ken: on the evidence you've heard to-day, what railway station would you have gone to?'

'To take what train? How the subject of railway stations got into this conversation at all,' I said, 'is not quite clear; but is this a subtle way of hinting that Dr Hume may have done a bunk?'

'He may have. Burn me, now, I wonder -' For a moment he stared at the glass partition, and then he turned excitedly. 'Did you by any chance see Dr Hume at their place this afternoon?'

'Yes, he was there, full of platitudes and benevolence.'

'Did you follow my instructions about spreadin' a little mysterious disquiet?'

'Yes, and I thought I succeeded remarkably well; though what I said that was so effective I can't tell you. Anyway, he certainly told us he was going to testify this afternoon. He said he'd put over a strong intimation that

Answell is insane; and, by the way, there was a mental specialist with him, a Dr Tregannon -'

H.M.'s hat slid so slowly down over his nose and outwards that it was as though he had attempted a balancing-trick with it. He is proud of that hat; but he did not notice when it tumbled to the floor.

'Tregannon?' he repeated blankly. 'Dr Tregannon. Oh, Lord love a duck! I wonder if I'd better go round there?'

'I hope we're not out to rescue any heroines,' I said. 'Look here, what's up? Are you thinking of the sinister uncle again, or what he might do to Mary Hume for testifying on the side of the defence? I thought of all that too; but it's rubbish. Plain cases, H.M., and sticking closely to the Facts of Life: you don't suppose he'd hurt his own niece?'

H.M. reflected. 'No, I don't suppose he would,' he replied seriously. 'But he's fightin' for his respectability. And psalm-singing Uncle Spencer may turn awful nasty if he discovers she can't find his Turkish slippers ... Now, now!'

'Is this allied with the secret and sinister connection between an ink-pad and a railway station and a Judas window and a golf-suit?'

'It is. But never mind. I suppose she's all right, and what I want is grub.'

It was some time before he got his wish. As the car drew up before H.M.'s house in Brook Street, a woman was mounting the steps. She wore a fur coat, and her hat was put on crookedly. Then she ran down the steps, rummaging in her handbag. We saw the eager blue eyes of Mary Hume: she was now breathless and on the edge of tears.

'It's all right,' she said. 'We've saved Jim.'

H.M.'s face wore a rather ghoulish expression. 'I don't believe it,' he said. 'Burn me, it ain't possible for us to have any luck! The blinkin' awful cussedness of things in general has simply decided that that lad couldn't have a decent stroke of luck if -'

--'But he has! It's Uncle Spencer. He's run away, and he's left mc a letter, and it practically confesses -'

She was rummaging in her handbag, spilling a lipstick and a handkerchief out on the pavement. When she held out the letter, the wind took it out of her hand, and it was only with a flying catch that I retrieved it.

'Inside,' said H.M.

H.M.'s house is one of those ornate and chilly places which seem to exist only to give receptions, and most of the time is occupied only by H.M. and the servants: his wife and two daughters being usually in the south of France. Again, as usual, he had forgotten his latch-key; so he pounded on the door and shouted murderously until the butler came out and asked him if he wanted to get in. In a chilly back-library he seized the letter out of the girl's hand and spread it out on a table under the lamp. It was several sheets of note-paper closely written in a fine and unhurried hand.

Monday, 2 p.m.

DEAR MARY:

By the time you receive this I shall be outward-bound; and it will, I think, be difficult for anyone to trace me. I cannot help feeling bitter about this, for I have done nothing - absolutely nothing - of which I need be ashamed: on the contrary, I have tried to do you a good turn. But Tregannon suspects that Merrivale has got at Quigley, and will put him into the witness-box to-morrow; and pertain things I overheard at the house this afternoon lead me to the same belief.

I do not wish you to think too hardly of your old uncle. Believe mc, if I could have done the least good I should have spoken before. About certain parts of this business I am feeling rather wretched. I can tell you now that it was I who supplied the drug which went into Answell's whisky. It is 'brudine', a derivative of scopolamine or twilight-sleep, with which we have been experimenting at the hospital –

'Wow!' roared H.M., bringing his fist down on the table. 'This has got it, my wench.'

Her eyes were searching his face. 'You think that will clear him?'

'It's half of what we want. Now be quiet, dammit!'

- its effects are almost instantaneous, and it ensures unconsciousness for a little under half an hour. Answell woke up a few minutes sooner than had been intended: probably due to the fact that he had to be propped up while the mint extract was poured down his throat to take away the smell of whisky.

'Do you remember what Answell said himself?' demanded H.M. 'The first thing the feller noticed when he woke up was that there was an awful taste of mint in his mouth, and he seemed to have slobbered it a good deal. Ever since the Bartlett case there's been arguments as to whether you could pour liquid down the throat of a sleepin' man without choking him.'

I still could not make head or tail of it. 'But who drugged him? And why? And what in blazes were they trying to do? Either Avory Hume liked Answell or he hated him like poison: but which was it?'

I thought at the time that it was a mistake to load the whole decanter of whisky with the stuff, instead of merely putting it into a glass; because it meant getting rid of the decanter afterwards. Believe me, Mary, the thought that someone afterwards might find the decanter has given me some horribly unpleasant moments.

Finally, I arranged with Tregannon and Quigley to do what was to be done. That is the limit of my dereliction. It is not my fault that my well-meant efforts produced such unfortunate results. But you will see why I could not speak. .

At this point, as H.M. turned over the page, a strangled noise escaped him; and then it became a groan. Our hopes went down with a clang like a broken lift.

Of course, if Answell had really been innocent, I should have been compelled to speak out and tell the truth. You must believe that. But, as I told you, even the truth would do him no good. He is guilty, my dear - guilty as hell. He killed your father in one of those rages for which his family has been noted for a long time, and I cheerfully let him go to the hangman rather than set him loose on you. Perhaps his protestations of innocence are quite sincere. He may not even know that he killed your father. 'Brudine’ Is still a comparatively unknown quantity. It is quite harmless; but when its effect begins to wear off it often leaves the patient with a partial gap in the memory. I know this will be terrible news for you, but please let me tell you what really happened. Answell thought that your father was drugging him and tricking him in some way. He knew that his drink was drugged as soon as he felt the effects coming on. It remained in his memory, and it was the first thing he remembered when he began to wake up - farther back than his own memory extends now. They had been talking, unfortunately, about killing people with arrows. He got that arrow and stabbed your father before poor Avory knew what was happening: that is how this dear fiance of yours came to be sitting up in the chair when his memory returned to him. He had just finished his work.

Before God, Mary, this is what really happened. I saw it with my own eyes. Good-bye, and bless you for ever even if I do not see you again. °

Your affectionate uncle, SPENCER

H.M. put his hands up to his eyes and pressed his forehead. He lumbered up and down beside the table; finally he sat down in a chair. The little worm of doubt was in all of us now.

'But won't it -?' the girl cried.

'Save him?' asked H.M., lifting a dull face. 'My dear good wench, if you took that letter into court nothin' in the world could save him. I'm wondering if anything can save him now. Oh, my eye!'

'But couldn't we cut off the last part of the letter and just show them the first part? That's what I thought of.'

H.M. regarded her sourly. She was a very pretty piece, and very much more intelligent than this suggestion sounded.

'No, we couldn't,' he told her. 'Not that I'm above hocus-pocus; but the blazin' bad part of that letter is on the back of the sheet that tells about the drugged whisky. Here's proof - here's evidence - and, burn me, we don't dare use it! Tell me something, my wench. In the face of that letter, do you still believe he's innocent?'

'I most certainly ... Oh, I don't know I Yes. No. All I do know is that I love him, and you've got to get him off somehow! You're not going back on me, are you?'

H.M. sat twiddling his thumbs over his paunch and staring at the floor. He sniffed.

'Me? Oh, no. I'm a glutton for punishment, I am. They get the old man in a corner and whack him over the head with a club; and every so often they'll say: "What, ain't you unconscious yet? Soak him another one"; and yet -burn me, why should that chap lie? I mean your good old uncle. He admits it about the whisky. I was lookin’ forward, you see, to cross-examinin' him to-day. I was all ready to tear him to pieces and show up the truth. I could 'a' sworn he knew the truth, and even knew who the real murderer is. But here he is swearin' that Answell ..." H.M. brooded. ' "I saw it with my own eyes." That's the part I can't get over. Curse it all, how could he have seen it with his own eyes? He couldn't. He was at the hospital when it happened. He's got an alibi as big as a house; we tested all that. He's lyin' - but if I prove he's lyin' about that, the first part of the letter isn't worth firewood. We can't have it both ways.'

'Even at this late date,' I said, 'will you still keep from giving a hint as to how you mean to defend him? What are you going to say when you get up there to-morrow? What the devil is there to say?'

An expression of evil glee stole over H.M.'s face.

'You don't think the old man can be eloquent, do you?' he enquired. 'Just you watch me. I'm going to get up there and look 'em in the face, and I'm goin’ to say -

X

Call the Prisoner1

'ME lord; members of the jury.'

With one hand behind his back, and his feet planted wide apart, H.M. was certainly looking them in the eye. But I could have wished that his manner was not so much that of a lion-tamer entering a cage with whip and pistol, or at least that he would abate his murderous glare at the jury.

Court-room Number One was packed. The rumour of sensational developments had been all over town: since seven o'clock in the morning there had been a queue outside the door to the public gallery up over our heads. Where there had been only a few newspapermen in attendance yesterday, to-day every paper in London seemed to have put a man in the somewhat inadequate space provided for the press. Before the sitting of the court, Lollypop had spent some time talking with the prisoner over the rail of the dock; he looked shaken but composed, and ended by shrugging his shoulders wearily. This conversation appeared to interest the saturnine Captain Reginald Answell, who was watching them. It was just twenty minutes to eleven when Sir Henry Merrivale rose to open the case for the defence.

H.M. folded his arms.

'Me lord; members of the jury. You're probably won-derin' what sort of defence we're here to offer. Well, I'll tell you,' said H.M. magnanimously. 'First of all, we'll try to show that not one single one of the statements made by the prosecution could possibly be true.'

Sir Walter Storm rose with a dry cough.

'My lord, the assertion is so breath-taking that I should like to be quite clear about it,' he said. 'I presume my learned friend does not deny that the deceased is dead?'

'Ss-s-t!' hissed Lollypop, as H.M. lifted both fists. Well, Sir Henry?'

'No, my lord,' said H.M. 'We'll concede that as bein' the only thing the Attorney-General has been able to find out about this case unaided. We'll also concede that zebras have stripes and hyenas can howl. Without drawin' any more personal comparisons between hyenas and-'

The zoology of the matter does not concern us,' said . Mr Justice Rankin, without batting an eyelid. 'Proceed, Sir Henry.'

T beg your lordship's pardon and withdraw the question,' said the Attorney-General gravely; 'submitting the accepted fact that hyenas do not howl: they merely laugh.'

'Hyenas - Where was I? Ah, I got it. Members of the jury,' pursued H.M., leaning his hands on the desk, 'the Crown have presented their case to you on two counts. They've said to you: "If the prisoner didn't commit this crime, who did?" They've also said: "It's true we can't show you any shadow of a motive for this crime; but therefore the motive must have been a very powerful one." Both of those counts are pretty dangerous for you to go on. They've based their case on a culprit they can't find and a motive they don't know.

'Let's take first this question of motive. You're asked to believe that the prisoner went to Avory Hume's house with a loaded pistol in his pocket. Why? Well, the police-officer in charge of the case says: "People do not usually carry weapons unless they think they may have a use for them." In other words, you're subtly asked to believe that the prisoner went there with the straight intention of murdering Avory Hume. But why? As a prelude to married life, it's a little drastic. And what prompted the feller to do that? The only thing you've heard is a telephone conversation - where, mind you, there wasn't one bitter or flamin' word spoken the whole time. "Considerin' what I have heard, I think it best that we should settle matters concerning my daughter. Can you manage to come to my house at six o'clock" and all the rest of it. Did he say to the prisoner: "I'll settle your hash, damn you"? He did not. He said it to a dead phone; he said it to himself. All the prisoner heard - all anyone says he heard - was a cold and formal voice invitin' him to the house. And ' therefore, you're asked to believe, therefore he grabbed up someone else's gun and rushed round to the house with murder written all over his face.

'Why? The suggestion creeps in that the victim heard something pretty bad about the prisoner. You haven't heard what it was; you've heard only that they can't tell you what it was. They simply say: "Where there's smoke there must be some fire"; but you haven't even heard about any smoke. They can't supply any reason why Avory Hume suddenly seemed to act like a lunatic. 'But, d'ye see,I can.'

There was no doubt that he had caught his audience. He was speaking almost off-handedly, his fists on his hips, and glaring over his spectacles.

'The facts, the actual physical facts in this case, aren't in doubt. It's the causes for these facts that we're goin' to question. We're goin' to show you the real reason for the victim's conduct: we're goin' to show you that it had nothing whatever to do with the prisoner: and we're goin' to suggest that the whole case against this man was a deliberate frame-up from end to end. The Crown can't supply any motive for anybody's actions; we can. The Crown can't tell you what happened to a large piece of feather that mysteriously vanished; we can. The Crown can't tell you how anyone except the prisoner could have committed the crime; we WILL.

‘I said a minute ago that the case has been presented to you: "If the prisoner didn't commit the crime, who did?" But you can't say to yourselves: "It is very difficult to think that he didn't do it"; if that's what you think, you'll have to acquit him. But I don't mean to bother with merely provin' a reasonable doubt of his guilt; we mean to show that there's no reasonable doubt of his innocence. Why, burn me -'

Lollypop warningly flourished that curious typewritten sheet as H.M. began to thrust out his neck.

'All right, all right I In other words, you'll hear an alternative explanation. Now, it's not my business to indicate who really committed this murder, if the prisoner didn't. That's outside our inquiry. But I'll show you two pieces of a feather, hidden in a place so obvious that nobody in this dazzlin' investigation has thought of looking there; and I'll ask you where you really think the murderer was standin' when Avory Hume was killed. You've heard a whole lot of views and opinions. You've heard all about the prisoner's sinister leers and erratic conduct: first they tell you he's so nervous he can't hold on to his hat, and next he's so coldly cynical that he smokes a cigarette: though why either of them acts should be suspicious is beyond my simple mind. You've heard how first he was supposed to threaten Hume with murder, and then how Hume got up and bolted the door so that he could do it more conveniently. You've heard what he might have done and what he probably did and what he never could have done in this broad green world; and now, by the flaming horns o' Tophet, it's time you heard the truth. I call the prisoner.'

While H.M. gobbled at a glass of water, one of the warders in the dock touched Answell's arm. The door in the dock was unlocked, and he was led down through the well of the court. He walked nervously, without looking at the jury as he passed. His neck-tie was a little loose from much fingering; and his hand would go up to it frequently. Again we had an opportunity of studying someone under fire. Answell's^ light hair was parted on one side; he had good features which showed imagination and sensitiveness rather than a high intelligence; and his only movement, aside from touching his tie or moving his big shoulders slightly, was to glance up at the roof of the witness-box. In this roof there is a concealed mirror - a relic of the days when light was thus focused - and it seemed to fascinate him at times. His eyes looked a little sunken and completely fixed.

Despite H.M.'s truculence - he was drinking water with the effect of gargling it -1 knew he was worried. This was the turn of the case. During the time a prisoner is in the box (usually more than an hour and sometimes a day) he carries his fate in his mouth every second. It is a good man who will not falter before the pulverizing cross-examination that is waiting for him.

H.M.'s manner was deceptively easy.

'Now, son. Your name?'

'James Caplon Answell,' said the other.

Although he was speaking in a very low tone, hardly audible, his voice flew off at a tangent. He cleared his throat a few times, turning his head away to do so, and then gave a half-guilty glance at the judge.

'You've got no occupation, and you live at 23 Duke Street?'

'Yes. That is - I lived there.'

'At about the end of December last, did you become engaged to be married to Miss Mary Hume?' 'Yes.'

'Where were you then?'

'At Mr and Mrs Stoneman's house at Frawnend, in Sussex.'

H.M. led him gently through the part about the letters, but it did not put him at his ease. 'On the Friday - that's January 3rd - did you decide to go up to town next day?'

'Yes.'

"Why did you decide to do that?' An indistinguishable mutter.

'You will have to speak up,' said the judge sharply. 'We cannot hear a word you are saying.'

Answell looked round; but the fixed, sunken expression of his eyes never altered. With some effort he found his voice, and seemed to catch up things in the middle of a sentence. and I wanted to buy an engagement ring. I had not got one yet'

'You wanted to buy an engagement ring’ repeated H.M., keeping his tone to an encouraging growl. 'When did you decide to go? I mean, what part of Friday d'you decide this?'

'Late Friday night.'

'Uh-huh. What made you think of this trip?'

'My cousin Reg was going up to town that evening, and he asked me whether he could get an engagement ring for me.' A long pause. 'It was the first time I had thought of it.' Another long pause. 'I suppose I should have thought of it sooner.'

'Did you tell Miss Hume you were goin'?'

'Yes, naturally,' replied Answell, with a sudden and queer ghost of a smile which vanished immediately.

'Did you know that on this Friday evening she had put through a telephone-call to her father in London?'

'No, I did not know it then. I learned it afterwards.'

'Was it before or after this call that you decided to come to town next day?'

'Afterwards.'

'Yes. What happened then?'

'Happened? Oh, I see what you mean,' said the other, as though with relief. 'She said she would write a note to her father, and she sat down and wrote one.'

'Did you see this note?'

‘Yes.’

'In this note, did it mention what train you were takin' in the morning?'

'Yes, the nine o'clock from Frawnend station.'

'That's about an hour and three-quarters' run, ain't it? Thereabouts?'

'Yes, on a fast train. It is not quite as far as Chichester.'

'Did the note mention both the time of departure and the time of gettin' there?'

‘Yes, ten-forty-five at Victoria. It's the train Mary herself always takes when she goes up.'

'So he knew the train pretty well, eh?' 'He must have.'

H.M. was allowing him plenty of time, and handling him with the softest of gloves. Answell, with the same fixed and sunken look, usually started off a sentence clearly, but allowed it to tail off.

'What'd you do after you got to London?'

'I - I went and bought a ring. And some other business.'

'And after that?'

'I went to my flat.'

'What time did you get there?'

'About twenty-five minutes past one.'

'Was that when the deceased rang you up?'