Ричард Марш
The Crime and the Criminal
CHAPTER XXX
MR. TAUNTON'S EVIDENCE
"Call Alexander Taunton!"
He came not, though they called.
Instead there was an interval for refreshment. A buzz of talking rose in the court. With one hand the judge pressed his spectacles more firmly in their place. He took a bird's-eye view of the proceedings.
"I think," he observed, "that before taking the evidence of the next witness, it might be convenient if we were to adjourn for luncheon."
So we adjourned. At least, some of us did. The prisoner was taken away. I heard them removing him behind me. Most of the counsel removed themselves, and some of the people. The greater part of us who stayed set to eating. Sandwiches were produced and other things. Mysterious refreshments were brought in from without. I had my own little store. Everybody chattered. It was quite a festive scene.
"Call Alexander Taunton!"
Proceedings recommenced by a repetition of the words. But again he did not come.
"Alexander Taunton!"
One heard the name shouted by different voices, apparently in different passages and at different doors. Still none answered. The delay ruffled the judge's feelings.
"What does this witness mean by keeping the court waiting? Where is he?"
Sir Haselton Jardine's colleague rose with the apparent intention of personally assisting in the search.
"Here he is," said some one.
And there he was. I almost dropped from my seat.
Who should get into the box but Reginald Townsend's Corsican brother, Jack Haines's private detective, who had told me that his name was Stewart Trevannion.
I could scarcely believe my own eyes at first. But it was the man-if one had seen him once, there was no mistaking him. To me he seemed to be peculiarly ill at ease-an uneasiness which was not by any means concealed by an attempt to carry things off with a flourish. He bowed to the judge, he bowed to the jury; I believe he was going to bow to the lawyers too, only at the last moment he changed his mind. He placed his silk hat on the rail at his side. He took off one of his brand-new gloves. Unbuttoning his overcoat, he opened it so as to display his chest. There was something about him which destroyed the effect he evidently intended to produce-it made the people smile.
The judge was serious enough.
"What do you mean by keeping the court waiting?"
Alexander Taunton-or whatever his name was-pressed the finger-tips of his left hand against his chest.
"I beg your lordship's pardon. I had just that moment stepped outside."
I could have wagered he had stepped outside to drink just another drop to help him to keep his courage up. The more I looked at him the plainer I saw that there was quite a hunted look about his eyes.
The story he told in response to Sir Haselton Jardine's questions filled me with something more than amazement. Of course he was the Taunton whose evidence at the examination before the magistrates one had read in the papers, but I had never for an instant suspected-who would have done? – that the two men were, or could be, one and the same. By the time he had finished he had hammered every nail in Tommy's coffin. And the strangest part about it was that-as none knew better than I-certainly the larger portion of what he said was true.
He had travelled from Brighton in the next compartment to Tommy and I. Think of it! On that fateful Sunday night I had journeyed with one brother half the way and with the other brother the rest of the way to town.
He had heard us having our little discussion. He had heard some of the things we had said to each other-especially some of the very strongest. He had heard the banging of the door as I fell. According to him, the sound had so agitated him that he had not known what to do. He suspected that something had happened, but he had not known what. He owned now that he ought to have given the alarm and stopped the train, but at the moment he lost his presence of mind. On reaching Victoria he found Tommy sitting in the next compartment alone. Blood was flowing from a wound in his cheek. Prisoner's own handkerchief being soaked with blood, witness lent him one of his own-a silk one. On which prisoner threw his bloodstained handkerchief out of the window.
At this point, altogether unexpectedly, Sir Haselton Jardine sat down. Mr. Bates got up. As he did so, the witness looked over his shoulder as if he would have liked to have turned tail and run.
I saw that Mr. Bates was going to do something to earn his money at last.
The witness saw it too.
"My learned brother, Mr. Taunton, has brought your story to a point at which it reminds one of those sensational tales which are to be continued in our next. With your permission we will continue it together. You have told us of your charitable loan of a handkerchief-a silk handkerchief. May I take it that you then communicated with the police?"
"No."
"Then what did you do?"
"I had no actual knowledge that a crime had been committed."
"I ask you, Mr. Taunton, when you had lent the silk handkerchief, what you did."
"I saw the prisoner to a cab."
"Then did you communicate with the police?"
"I did not."
"Then what did you do?"
"I accompanied him a short distance in the cab."
"Did he give you anything when you parted?"
"He gave me his address."
"Did he give you anything else?"
"He gave me a deposit on my silk handkerchief."
"He gave you a deposit on your silk handkerchief. I see. What was the amount of the deposit?"
The witness hesitated.
"Ten shillings."
"Do you swear it was not more than ten shillings?"
"It might have been a pound."
"Do you swear it was not more than a pound?"
"It might have been thirty shillings. I don't exactly remember."
"I see. For the first time your memory begins to fail you. Then did you communicate with the police?"
"I did not."
"What did you do?"
"The next day I called on the prisoner at his office at Austin Friars."
"Yes. And then?"
"I charged him with the murder."
"You charged him with the murder. Of course, then, you did communicate with the police?"
The witness seemed to find the reiteration trying. He looked around him, as if seeking shelter.
"Unfortunately, I did not."
"Unfortunately? I see. Unfortunately, what did you do?"
"At that time I was very pressed for money. I yielded to the pressure of my necessities."
"By which you mean?"
"That I accepted a small loan."
"You accepted a small loan. Did you not levy blackmail? Did you not extort blood-money, sir? Did you not demand a sum of money in exchange for your silence?"
Mr. Bates raised his voice very considerably. The witness quivered.
"I believe I did suggest that a small loan should be made to me."
"And you got it?"
"I did."
"What was the amount of this small loan?"
"A hundred pounds."
"A hundred pounds?" This from the judge.
The witness, "Yes, my lord."
"You call that a small loan? Well, go on."
Mr. Bates went on.
"Then what did you do?"
"I called again at the prisoner's office. When I found he was not there on this Friday I called at his private house."
"On which occasion you found him ill in bed?"
"I found him in bed."
"In the presence of Mrs. Tennant you suggested that another small loan should be made you?"
"I might have done."
"You did not get it?"
"I did not."
"You were shown to the door instead?"
"I left the house, resolving to tamper no more with my conscience."
"Having been refused another small loan?"
"I went at once to the police, and told them everything."
"Including the incident of the small loan?"
"I don't know that I told them about that."
"I think it probable that you did not. Mr. Taunton, what is your profession?"
The witness gripped the rail in front of him.
"I have none."
"May I ask, then, how you earn your living?"
"As best I can."
Mr. Bates turned to the judge.
"I think it possible, my lord, that I may be able to throw a flood of light upon what the witness means by saying that he earns his living as best he can. Mr. Taunton, when did you last come out of gaol?"
Obviously the witness gripped the rail in front of him still tighter. The moisture gleamed upon his forehead.
"That has nothing to do with it."
The judge interposed. "Answer the question, sir."
The witness turned his twitching countenance towards the judge.
"I would respectfully suggest, my lord, that it has nothing to do with the present case."
Mr. Bates struck in.
"With your lordship's permission, I may be able to render the witness material assistance. Mr. Taunton, at York Assizes, five years ago this month, under the name of Arthur Stewart, were you not sentenced to five years' penal servitude by Mr. Justice Hunter?"
The judge pressed his spectacles into their place.
"I thought I had seen the man before. I remember him very well. Was it a case of bigamous intermarriage?"
"The man-this man-was found guilty of having married four women, one after the other, of robbing them of all they had, and then deserting them. Possibly, also, your lordship will remember that no less than three previous convictions were proved against him."
"I remember the case very well. And I remember the man. It was one of the worst cases of the kind I had ever encountered. I believe I said so at the time."
"Your lordship did. Strangely enough, while your lordship was judge, I was for the prosecution. I recognised the man directly he stepped into the box. I have no doubt that he recognised me."
Mr. Bates sat down.
"When did this man come out of prison?"
Some one spoke from the side of the court.
"He was released on ticket-of-leave, my lord. The ticket has just run out."
"Was there any police supervision?"
"I believe not, my lord."
"Then I hope that the police will keep their eyes upon him." He turned to the witness. "According to your own statement, you appear to have been guilty of an offence as heinous as any of your previous ones. Your conduct has been as bad as it could have been. I may consider it to be my duty to recommend your prosecution. As I have said, I hope the police will keep their eyes on you. Go down!"
The witness went down-all the flourish gone clean out of him. He looked more dead than alive.
It may seem queer, but I felt quite sorry for the wretch.
CHAPTER XXXI
THE CASE FOR THE CROWN CONCLUDES
After that the court adjourned till to-morrow. Mr. Alexander Taunton's performance wound up the programme of the day's entertainment, as it appeared to me, with adequate spirit.
At the inn or hotel, or whatever they called it, at which I was stopping, every one was talking of the trial. The chambermaid, who waited on me at dinner, could talk of nothing else. She went gabble, gabble all the time that she was in the room, and it seemed to me that she stopped in the room as much as she possibly could. Her manners, if rustic, were familiar.
She had witnessed Tommy's arrival at the court.
"A more dreadful-looking wretch I never saw. It gave me quite a feeling to look at him. He's got pig's eyes. And cruel! There was cruelty all over him!"
Poor Tommy! She must have had an insufficient view, or she was prejudiced. A milder-mannered man was never charged with having cut a throat, nor, I verily believe, a tenderer-hearted one.
"And they tell me his wife was in court. I never! She must be a one! I'd have drowned myself sooner than let people know I was the wife of a man like that. She must be almost as bad as he is, or she would never have dared to show her face."
Alas for the rarity of Christian charity! Dear, dear, how these Christians do love each other! To think that that sweet-faced, true-hearted woman should have been spoken of like that!
"They're sure to hang him, that's one comfort. I think it's a shame they don't hang him out of hand, without making all this fuss about it. I think such creatures ought to be hung directly they catch 'em."
"Before ascertaining if they are guilty?"
"He's guilty, safe enough. The wretch!"
Well, of course, she knew best. Still, what a funny world it is.
At dinner I ordered a bottle of wine. The landlord brought it up himself, as an excuse for a gossip. He was a shrivelled-up little man, about sixty, not at all like the typical Boniface.
"I thought that I should have been on the jury. But I was on the jury yesterday instead. But there are two cousins of mine who are-got heads screwed on their shoulders both of 'em."
"Indeed? Will you have a glass of wine?"
"Thank you, ma'am, you're very kind. I don't mind if I do." He did not mind.
"I can recommend this port wine. I've had it in my cellars over twenty years. Your very good health, ma'am. Yes." He shook his head. "Neither of them holds with this chap's little games." I had not the faintest notion to what little games he alluded. "I saw you in court, ma'am. Might I ask if you're interested in any of the parties?"
"Not at all. I am an American. While I was staying in England I thought that I would not lose an opportunity of seeing one of your great trials."
"Ay, this is a very great trial, this is. It won't soon be forgotten. Do you think he's guilty?"
"Do you?"
"Well, what I say is just this. I wouldn't be locked up alone with a strange woman in a railway carriage all the way from Brighton to London, not for-not for any amount of money."
"You are flattering."
"I don't mean nothing-not at all. Only, in this case, how are we to say what happened? He seems to be a decent kind of chap. She might have been nasty, there might have been a rumpus, he might have tried to get away from her, she might have fallen out upon the line. How is any one to tell?"
My friend, the landlord, in spite of his somewhat unpromising appearance, seemed to be one of the few sensible persons I had recently encountered. I pressed him to take another glass of wine. He yielded to the pressure.
"Don't you think they'll find him guilty, then?"
"Oh, they'll find him guilty, safe enough, and I daresay they'll hang him, too. That's just the best of it. When a man gets mixed up with a woman in a thing like this they're sure to think the worse of him. But it doesn't follow that he did it, any the more for that. As for that chap Taunton, I'd hang him!"
It seemed that my friend the gentleman had good cause to congratulate himself on the possession of such a relative. He seemed to be held in general esteem.
When the court reopened the next day I changed my seat. I had taken careful stock of the scene of action the day before. The result had been that I came to one or two conclusions. I perceived, for one thing, that one might very easily sit upon the bench and yet preserve one's anonymity. If I wore a cloak, kept my veil down, sat on the back row, and kept myself in the shade, I need fear no recognition from Tommy.
I quite hungered for a sight of the prisoner. I had not dared to turn and look at him from where I sat the day before. The action might not improbably have attracted his attention.
Besides, I wanted to have a good view of what might, not improperly, be described as the closing tableau.
So when I entered the court this time I presented the usher with a sovereign for a seat on the bench. I had a seat on the bench-quite in the shade.
The place was, if anything, more crowded than ever. It was understood that the trial was to conclude in the course of the day. Perhaps that proved an extra attraction. Anyhow, we were uncomfortably crowded on the bench, and the court, everywhere, was as full as it could hold. I wondered how much-in a theatrical sense-the house was worth to a some one-say the usher.
The judge came in. Then Tommy. They let him have a chair. I had a good look at him. He badly wanted shaving; there was a month's growth of hair upon his cheeks and chin. But he looked better than I expected-and braver. His wife sat in front of him, as she had done the day before. She turned as he came in, and greeted him with a smile. Such a brave one! Without a suspicion of a tear! He smiled back at her.
Poor dears! Their smiling days were nearly done.
When he was seated and had recovered from the excitement of his entry, after all, the expression began to creep into his face, which I had expected to see there all along. The expression of stupor, of mental paralysis, of shame, of horror at the position in which he found himself, and at the things which were to come.
Poor, dear Tommy! He looked to me as if there was no fight left in him.
I need not have feared his recognition. He never looked at any one. He just glanced now and then at his wife, and every time he did so there came into his face a something which was a curious commingling of pleasure with pain. But, with the exception of Mrs. Tennant, I doubt if he clearly realised the personality of any other creature there.
The first witness called was a man named Stephen Rodman. He said he was a "tapper," which, I suppose, had something to do with railway work, though I don't know what. Early on the morning of Monday, November 9th, he was walking in the six-foot way of the arrival platform of Victoria Station. He saw a handkerchief lying on the ground. He picked it up. It was soaked with blood, and was still damp. In the corner was a name, "T. Tennant." The 8.40 from Brighton had been drawn up at that platform the night before. Sir Haselton Jardine's colleague, who was examining, handed witness a handkerchief-still unwashed. That was the one he found.
Jane Parsons followed, actually the girl who had been in Mrs. Tennant's service and who had applied for my situation. Certainly the prosecution were fitting the rope round Tommy's neck, as if they did not mean to leave him a loophole of escape. I wondered what she had to say.
Not much. She began by showing an inclination to cry, which inclination she presently gave way to. The tears trickled down her cheeks. She kept dabbling at them with a handkerchief, which she had squeezed into the shape and size of a penny ball.
She was a parlourmaid. Had been, till recently, in Mrs. Tennant's service. Remembered November 8th. Mr. Tennant went to spend the day at Brighton. Mrs. Tennant told her he had gone. Miss Minna was not well, so missus stayed to nurse her. Admitted Mr. Tennant on his return. It was pretty late. After eleven. Mr. Tennant did not seem to be himself at all. He seemed all anyhow-as if he had been fighting. There was a great cut on his cheek. Helped him off with his overcoat. It was all torn and rumpled about the collar. The top button had been torn right off, and a piece of cloth torn with it. It was spotted with blood. Shown an overcoat; recognised it as the overcoat which Mr. Tennant had worn. His collar and tie were disarranged. As a rule he was a most particular gentleman about his clothes.
Mr. Bates asked a question or two.
Had been in Mrs. Tennant's employ more than two years. Mr. Tennant was a very good master-no one could want a better. Lived a quiet, regular life. Was very fond of his wife, and she of him. Made a perfect idol of his little girl.
At this point poor Tommy covered his face with his hands.
She didn't believe he had ever done it, and she never would-she didn't care what nobody said. This statement was volunteered, amidst a burst of sobbing. Mr. Tennant was very nervous. They used to make a joke of it in the kitchen. The least thing put him off. She meant that he was easily flustered. He was a tender and a loving husband and father, a gentle and a kind master, and she didn't believe that, willingly, he would hurt a fly. Jane's tears burst forth afresh.
Mr. Bates sat down.
The detective who had arrested Tommy next appeared. His name was Matthew Holman. He was a sinewy, greybearded, greyheaded, not unkindly-looking man, looking more like a sailor than anything else. His evidence was purely cut and dried, and formal. Prisoner had made no statement on being arrested. All efforts to trace the identity of the dead woman had been unsuccessful. Mr. Bates allowed the witness to depart unquestioned.
The medical evidence which followed revived the flagging interest. It roused Tommy more than anything which had gone before. As well it might.
Two doctors were called. The first was a country doctor. A middle-aged man, with a fatherly sort of manner, and something of the milk of human kindness about his mouth, and in the twinkling of his eyes. His name was Gresham.
Dr. Gresham had examined the body twice. First at the Three Bridges, afterwards in the mortuary at East Grinstead. The first occasion was between nine and ten on the morning of Monday, November 9th. Life had been extinct some hours, probably twelve. The body was that of a well-nourished, healthy young woman, probably under twenty-one years of age.
When he heard this Tommy started. Certainly no doctor could have mistaken me for under one-and-twenty.
She was far advanced in pregnancy.
Tommy started again. I fancied that Mrs. Tennant started too.
The cause of death was strangulation.
Tommy started more and more. Leaning over the rail of the dock, he stared at the witness with all his eyes.
He was sure of it. He had no doubt upon the point whatever. Unfortunately, there was no room for doubt. She had been killed by the pressure of a man's hands and fingers. Great violence must have been used. In fact, extraordinary violence. The skin of the throat was discoloured. Marks of a man's hands and fingers were most distinct. Indeed, so distinct, that when he first saw them they amounted almost to a model. There were slight bruises on the body, such as might have been caused by a fall. There was a livid bruise which ran from shoulder to shoulder across the back. It had probably been caused by pressure. For instance, by pressure against the edge of a carriage seat. His theory was that she had been forced back against the edge of the carriage seat, and in that position strangled. Falling from the train had not been the cause of death. The fall had nothing to do with it.
When Sir Haselton Jardine sat down Tommy and Mr. Bates had quite a long confabulation. Tommy seemed half beside himself with excitement-I very well knew why! It struck me, however, that Mr. Bates did not seem very much impressed.
Still, acting no doubt on his client's strenuous instructions, he subjected the doctor to a rigorous cross-examination.
But it was all in vain.
Poor Tommy!
Mr. Bates first of all suggested, as it were, casually, that the woman was more than one-and-twenty. The doctor did not think it possible. Everything went to show that she was not. Then, after some fencing, he tried to induce the doctor to admit that she might have been strangled after she had fallen from the train. That she might have fallen from the train by accident. Been stupefied by the fall, and, on recovering from her stupor, that some one might have come along and strangled her. The doctor would have none of it, He deemed the thing incredible. Mr. Bates hammered away, but the doctor held his own.
Tommy was done!
He was done still more when it came to the second doctor's turn. He was a Dr. Braithwaite, a great swell from London. He had examined the body at East Grinstead. He corroborated all that Dr. Gresham had had to say, putting things, if anything, a little stronger against poor Tommy. He declined to move a hair's-breadth from his fixed conviction that the woman had been strangled-in the train.
When he left the box every creature in court was aware that, unless something amounting almost to a miracle intervened, Tommy's fate was sealed.
Sir Haselton Jardine, half rising from his seat, announced that that was the case for the Crown.
