The 12.30 from Croydon (36 page)

The speech unquestionably was having its effect on the jury. Except in the case of the foreman that dreadful expression of a mind made up had gone from their faces. They now looked, most of them, open to conviction. Two or three looked doubtful and puzzled. Charles hugged himself. Things indeed were going well.

‘Now,’ went on the persuasive voice, ‘the prosecution went to a great deal of trouble to prove that the accused had a motive for murdering his uncle. They might have saved it all. How did they get to know about this motive in the first instance? Was it from police inquiries or clever detective work? It was not. It was from the accused himself. In his original statement which you heard read, he
volunteered
it. He admitted in the fullest way that he had an adequate motive for the crime. But that’s a very different thing to saying he committed it.

‘I’ll prove that for you in a few words. In addition to the accused, four other people had a similar motive for the crime. Mr Peter Morley had an even more powerful motive. Both he and the accused had asked the deceased for help, but whereas the accused got the help, Mr Peter Morley did not. Therefore his motive was actually greater than that of the accused. Mrs Pollifex and Miss Pollifex and the late John Weatherup, the butler, had also a motive for the murder. They stood to gain by Mr Andrew Crowther’s death, and though they didn’t stand to gain so much as the other two, for all we know to the contrary any one of them may have been in greater need.

‘Now here are five persons who had a motive for murdering the deceased. They can’t all have done it. Therefore some of them – four of them if not all five – are innocent. My point is that those four who are innocent had, equally with the guilty one, a motive for the crime. Therefore motive alone is no argument for guilt, and I put it to you that you may dismiss the question of motive from your thoughts. It cuts in too many ways. Let us therefore come to the next point: the administration of a poisoned pill.’

Mr Heppenstall here made an effective little pause. He stooped to consult his brief, had a perfect orgy of manipulation of his eyeglass, glanced in a friendly way at the jury, and resumed:

‘Now on this point I confess to some surprise at the attitude of my learned friend, the leader of the prosecution. It is not like him to put up such an entirely baseless piece of assertion as that the accused put the poison into a pill and administered it to his uncle. That is a fundamental of the case; in fact I might fairly call it
the
fundamental of the case. I’m sure you were as much surprised as I was to find that on this fundamental point not one single iota of evidence was given. What does my learned friend say about it? I quote from his speech. “It must have been obvious to him – that is, the accused – that
if
poison could be inserted into a pill and
if
that poisoned pill could be introduced into Andrew Crowther’s bottle, he would sooner or later take that pill and die.” There,’ cried Heppenstall in ringing tones and with a striking gesture, ‘there is what you are asked to convict this man on! The mention of a possibility, without the slightest supporting evidence! For though my learned friend went on to say that he would prove that the poison was inserted into one of these pills and the pill introduced into the deceased’s bottle, and that the deceased took that pill and died as the result – though he said he could prove all these, I submit that he did not do so. He did not prove a single one of these statements.

‘Because please remember that the fact that the deceased may have taken
a
poisoned pill does not in any way connect my client with his death. Members of the jury, I ask you would you convict a dog on such evidence? To take a human life on it is unthinkable.

‘It is argued that because the accused was alone with the deceased after dinner on the 25th of August, that he must have put the poisoned pill into the deceased’s bottle, or changed the deceased’s bottle for another containing the poisoned pill. I ask you to examine this argument and I ask you to disregard it for two reasons. In the first place it is logically unsound. If it were sound it would follow that everyone who had been alone with the deceased must have put a poisoned pill into his bottle – an absurd conclusion. In the second place, the accused was not the only one to be alone with the deceased. You heard in evidence that on the night Mr Peter Morley and Mr Crosby dined at The Moat, Mr Crosby left the dining-room to get papers, leaving Mr Morley alone with the deceased. Why not argue, therefore, that Mr Morley put in the pill? And we may be certain from the nature of the case that the butler, John Weatherup, and the other inmates of the house, Mrs and Miss Pollifex, were also, or could have been, alone with the deceased after his meals. That, however, is no reason for supposing them to be guilty of his murder. Here again I put it to you that you cannot say that my client was the guilty person, rather than one of these other persons.

‘My learned friend tells us that the spilling of the wine is an argument for supposing my client changed the bottles. It might conceivably tend in that direction if my learned friend had proved that the accused spilled it. He did not do so. No evidence connecting my client with that spilled wine has been put before you. How much more likely that the wine should have been upset by the deceased, who was old and feeble and in poor health, and whose hand was probably pretty shaky? For the matter of that, how do you know that the wine was not spilled by Weatherup?

‘I needn’t worry you with further details. The matters of the pictures and of the further loan for five thousand, of which so much was made, are quite beside the point. As I have said, the accused never made any secret of the fact that he was short of cash. The same applies to his holiday. Why should he not have had a holiday if he wanted it? It shows to what straits the prosecution were reduced when they made a point out of the date on which he booked. Just consider. He got information about cruises on the 23rd of August. He booked on the 26th. What more natural? Did any of you, members of the jury, ever book on a cruise without getting information as to the possibilities before making up your mind? My client wanted a holiday, he had the opportunity, and he took the holiday, just as you or I would have done in similar circumstances. I submit also that Miss Una Mellor’s evidence was quite irrelevant to the case, and I deplore the fact that the prosecution thought it necessary to give her and the accused so much unnecessary pain.’

Once again Heppenstall made an impressive pause, but only for a moment. Then he continued:

‘Allow me, members of the jury, to summarize my case. It is, in a word, that the prosecution have failed to connect my client with the murder. Someone bought cyanide, but there is no proof that it was my client. Mr Peabody’s evidence – the
only
evidence on this vital point – is unreliable from its very nature. All the other evidence is beside the question, as it cuts in several directions.

‘That, members of the jury, is all I have to say to you, except confidently to ask you for a verdict of not guilty.’

Mr Heppenstall sat down and the hearing was adjourned for the night. Charles once again was wholly optimistic. This case for the defence was unanswerable. No jury could possibly get over it. So great was the reaction from his former despair that he wanted to get up and sing and shout and wave his arms. He was safe! They couldn’t convict against that! The remainder of the proceedings would be merely formal.

When Charles came into court next morning a good deal of his optimism had evaporated. He was thankful that the end of his terrible period of suspense was approaching, but at the same time little waves of fear kept sweeping over him as he realized what that end might involve. Then he rallied himself. After such a defence there could be no doubt of the issue. That evening would see him cleared at least of this charge. Unless… But he would not allow himself to think of that alternative.

He had not time, however, to think very long about anything. Immediately on the reopening of the proceedings Sir Richard stood up to deliver the closing speech for the Crown. Like Heppenstall he also spoke quietly and addressed the jury as if they were his oldest friends, of whose good-will and cordiality he was profoundly assured.

‘May it please Your Lordship, members of the jury,’ he began, ‘I am sure you are as greatly impressed by the brilliance of my learned friend’s speech for the defence as I am. Only those who do that kind of work can appreciate the amount of thought and time and skill which that speech represents.

‘At the same time, members of the jury, you must remember that my friend’s recognized object was not to put before you an unbiased view of the case. It was his business to clear his client, if he could. While at all times strictly fair, the view he gave you was intentionally one-sided. It is now my business to examine how far his arguments are convincing and to give you the other side of the case, when his Lordship will hold the balance between us. I shall be very brief in my remarks.

‘Now my learned friend admits that if Mr Peabody’s identification of the prisoner as the man who bought the potassium cyanide in his shop is accurate, you must find him guilty. Necessarily therefore he was bound to throw doubts upon that identification. And extraordinarily well, if I may say so, he did it. But you, members of the jury, who have to found your verdict upon your own interpretation of the facts and not upon Mr Heppenstall’s or mine, you must not allow yourselves to be misled by these brilliant but specious arguments. Let us for a moment consider them.

‘Now first of all, my learned friend says the day was dark and Mr Peabody’s shop was dark. Let us admit both statements. But, members of the jury, will you please remember what Mr Heppenstall omitted to point out to you, and that is that our eyes have the power of adjusting themselves to their surroundings. In dark surroundings the pupils open wider and admit more light. So that on going into a dark room from the light we see little, whereas if we remain all day in that dark room we see very much better indeed. Mr Peabody had been in that shop since early morning. His eyes had become accustomed to the light. He was accustomed, moreover, to work there. All his dispensing, the delicate weighing and measuring of small amounts, was done in the same light. The writing on a visiting card was not too easy to see, yet Mr Peabody had no difficulty in reading that handed over by the purchaser.

‘Then Mr Heppenstall told you that Mr Peabody was short-sighted, but he didn’t point out that that short sight was corrected by the very spectacles to which he drew your attention. From the witness-box to the dock in this court is a distance of about twelve feet. At that distance Mr Peabody told you that he could clearly see the accused. Now if his short sight allowed him to see clearly at a distance of twelve feet, would it not have allowed him to see across a counter in a shop? Of course it would.

‘Mr Heppenstall has argued that because Mr Peabody could only have seen the purchaser of the poison for one or two minutes, he could not recognize him again. Members of the jury, your own experience will tell you that a few seconds’ glance at a face is all that is necessary to fix its features in the memory. Think of your own experience and you will agree that I am right.

‘When we meet a person for the first time, it is at his face that we look. We do not at first examine his coat or his hat or his gloves. We look at his face. That was what Mr Peabody did on that morning in his shop. He looked at his customer’s face, and the fact that he was not sure of the shape of the hat and so on is no argument whatever that he had not seen the face. This also you know from your own experience.

‘In fact, members of the jury, no real argument has been adduced to disprove this identification. But what I want to call your attention to is this: no argument of this kind really affects the question at all. Mr Peabody is the authority as to whether he did see this man’s face or whether he did not. He tells you that he did. He tells you that he saw the man clearly in his shop, and he looks at the prisoner and he tells you that he is the man.

‘Now, Mr Peabody is either telling you the truth or he is telling you a lie. If you think he is telling you a lie, then you will no doubt conclude that the accused is innocent. If you think he is telling you the truth, I do not see how a verdict of guilty can be avoided.

‘And you must not be misled by the suggestion that Mr Peabody made a mistake. He knows his liability to make a mistake under the circumstances, and he tells you he did not do so. He knows the seriousness of the consequences which may result from his evidence, and still he tells you he did not do so. Here you have to consider his statement and decide for yourselves as to its reliability.’

As Charles listened to this measured discourse a cold weight of horror crept gradually down on his mind. Gone was his brief period of optimism. Why, there was nothing in Heppenstall’s argument after all. Oh, if the case could have stopped at the end of Heppenstall’s speech! It had left the jury in doubt, but already Charles could see that look of doubt disappearing from their features, and one of determination taking its place. Oh, if only this man with his quiet, relentless voice could be stopped!

‘Now I must also ask you,’ went on the voice, ‘to put out of your mind entirely the suggestion that the identification which was carried out in Cold Pickerby was in any way unfair. If the police had said to Mr Peabody, “There is the man we suspect. Was he in your shop?” I agree that what Mr Heppenstall suggested might have taken place. But you know as well as I, that the police never do anything like that. Always the accused is brought into the presence of the witness with a number of other persons, and the witness has to pick him out. The process is perfectly fair. And, in any case, here again it is a question of believing Mr Peabody’s statement or not believing it.

‘Now, Mr Heppenstall has chosen the objectionable method of trying to divert suspicion from his client by throwing it on two other persons, a particularly objectionable method in the case of John Weatherup, who cannot defend himself. Now surely my learned friend does not think the jury don’t know that before bringing such a charge against the accused, the police would have explored these obvious by-paths. You may be very sure that if evidence existed against Mr Peter Morley, he would now be standing in that dock.