The 12.30 from Croydon (37 page)

‘My learned friend tried to discredit the evidence as to the accused’s state of mind while on the cruise. Naturally he did so, because this evidence is disastrous for his case. I leave it to you, members of the jury, to say whether Mrs Shearman and the clerk could or could not have noticed signs of eagerness and anxiety on the part of the prisoner. In their places could you have done it? I think there can be no doubt that you could, and that they could, and did.

‘But if the prisoner was perturbed and anxious, what could have caused that anxiety? Not the condition of his works, as Mr Heppenstall so cleverly suggested. If he had been as anxious as all that about his works, he would not have left them for three weeks. No, I submit he was upset and anxious because he was awaiting news of the death of Andrew Crowther. I submit, moreover, that this was the only thing which could have accounted for his condition.

‘Just one word more and I have done. Mr Heppenstall stated that we had failed to connect the prisoner with the pill, and that we didn’t even know how the pill could have been administered. I am sorry if I did not make this part of the case for the prosecution sufficiently clear. I thought I had done so. However, I shall now try to remedy that error.

‘Let me begin by reminding you of the reasons why we know that the deceased died from taking a poisoned pill. They are four in number.

‘First, he was seen by Mr Peter Morley to take a pill after lunch in the plane. You heard Mr Morley describe how he leant forward to speak to the deceased, and saw him do it.

‘Second, Mr Gavin Grant has told us that the remains contained none of the substances composing the Anti-Indigestion Pills, and that it therefore followed – as you can see for yourselves – that the pill taken was not one of these.

‘Third, the deceased died from taking just the amount of potassium cyanide which could be put into one of these pills.

‘Fourth, Mr Morley told you further that the deceased took his pill after lunch was over. This poison, you have heard from the doctor, acts with great rapidity, so that it is unlikely in the extreme that it could have been contained in any substance taken at lunch. If it had been, we may be sure that the deceased would have been unable to take the pill.

‘I put it to you that the only reasonable explanation of these facts is that the pill the deceased took contained the poison.

‘I admit I cannot prove to you exactly how the poisoned pill was introduced into the deceased’s bottle: if I could, there would have been no need for this trial to have lasted three days. But I can suggest what was done. I suggest that the accused bought a second bottle of pills into which, near the bottom, he inserted the poisoned pill. I suggest that on that evening of the 25th of August, when he was last at The Moat, he changed the deadly bottle he had brought for the harmless one belonging to his uncle. This would have been easy. Andrew Crowther took the pills after meals, and he doubtless took one after that dinner. At that time the two men were alone in the dining-room. What easier than to distract the old man’s attention, and while he was thus occupied, to exchange the bottles?

‘Now, in this connexion I wish to draw your special attention to the spilling of the glass of wine. The spilling of a glass of wine is a most uncommon event, at least at a quiet dinner where no question of rowdiness or of taking too much could arise. It is difficult to see how under ordinary conditions it could have happened. But if that wine had been upset to distract the old man’s attention while the bottles of pills were exchanged, the occurrence is immediately explained. Members of the jury, I admit again that I can’t prove that these bottles were changed in this way. How could I? It isn’t very likely that the accused would do such a thing in the presence of witnesses. But I ask you to consider again the following facts:

‘First. The evidence of Mr Peter Morley and the analyst proves that the deceased died from potassium cyanide poisoning, administered in a pill.

‘Second. Two days before this dinner the prisoner bought potassium cyanide in London by a fraudulent trick.

‘Third. At this dinner he had an opportunity – and the only opportunity – of introducing the poison into the deceased’s bottle of pills and while he and the deceased were alone, the wine was spilled.

‘Fourth. The accused had no reason for paying this visit to The Moat, other than to substitute the pills.

‘Fifth. On the morning following he arranged to start on the first available cruise.

‘I submit that these facts are overwhelming evidence that the accused did put the poisoned pill into the deceased’s bottle. It is for you, members of the jury, to say whether or not my submission is correct.

‘Summarizing, my case is that the accused had a powerful motive to carry out the crime; that he had an adequate opportunity; that several of his actions can only be explained on the hypothesis of his guilt; and that no other explanation of the deceased’s death can be suggested.’

Sir Richard made a short peroration pointing out the necessity for the jury to do their duty without fear or favour if human life was to be safe ‘in this grand old England of ours’, and then sat down abruptly.

Once again a ripple of movement passed over the court. Here was the completion of another stage of this endless terrible drama. Once again Charles was sunk in an agony of doubt and fear. The issue now would depend on the kind of lead the judge gave in his summing up. And Mr Justice Herriott, though fair, was known to be hard…

But the little old gentleman was moving. He was turning slightly sideways, the better to address the jury. Without haste, but without delay, he began to speak, his low but clear voice penetrating to every corner of the room.

‘Members of the jury,’ he said, ‘the indictment in this case is that of this man for wilful murder. Before coming to the actual details of the evidence, I wish to say a few words to you on the question of your duty in the matter.

‘You have in point of fact two duties, the duty of convicting the guilty and of acquitting the innocent. These duties are equally important. I need not tell you how important it is that if this man is innocent, he should be cleared of this dreadful charge and leave this court without a stain on his character. But I must remind you that it is equally important that if he is guilty he should suffer for his crime, for if guilty persons were not detected and punished, crime would abound and neither life nor property would be safe. So, as counsel for the defence has rightly said, you have your duty towards the accused and your duty towards your country. I am certain that you will consider very earnestly and carefully the evidence, so that you may not fail in either of these duties.

‘I come now to the circumstances of the case. This man, Charles Hargrave Swinburn—’ and once again the whole wearisome business was gone through; the history of the Crowther family and of the works; the financial difficulties of Charles; the possible way of escape therefrom; the purchase of the poison; the theory of the pills; Charles’s holiday…

Mercifully Charles himself was beginning to feel numb. For him horror was mounting on horror. He was astonished at the irrelevant details which filled his mind, sometimes even to the exclusion of that low voice with its sentences of life and death. There was a crack in the sheeting of the railing before which he sat, and he followed this crack from one end of the board to the other, as indeed he had followed it on previous occasions during his two days of trial. A second crack joined a few inches down the board, and lower still it curved wildly round a knot. Charles knew every curve and irregularity of those cracks. There was a tiny spider crawling on the same board, which became almost more important to him than the case itself. He watched it approach the crack. Would it cross it? Almost breathlessly he watched. It did! It hesitated when it came to it, but it crossed it. It went on and disappeared between that board and the next…

Still the low voice droned on. It was all extraordinarily fair, extraordinarily impartial. There was no lead given to the jury. They were going to have to make up their own minds without help from anyone. Hope and despair alternated in Charles’s mind.

‘Both prosecution and defence,’ went on the calm thin tones, ‘have rightly stressed the importance of Mr Peabody’s evidence. Whether you accept Mr Peabody’s statement that the man who bought the poison was the accused, or whether you think it was some other person, will influence you a good deal in your verdict. Now to settle this point you will depend rather upon your own common sense and knowledge of shops and persons and life, than upon the arguments of the two distinguished leaders to whom you have listened. Picture yourself, each one of you, in that shop of Mr Peabody’s under the conditions described, and consider whether you yourself would have been able or unable to identify the customer nearly ten weeks later. It’s a matter of common sense and experience rather than of argument.

‘If you are satisfied that the accused really did purchase the poison, you will probably find that you will be forced to bring in a verdict of guilty, because if the accused bought it, intending to use it for some other purpose, this would almost certainly have been brought out by the defence. If, on the other hand, you are doubtful whether the accused did buy the poison, you will then have to consider all the other facts and decide whether they are or are not sufficient to lead you to a conclusion.

‘You will now retire and consider your verdict, and if there is any point of law on which you should desire further guidance, I shall be pleased to give it to you.’

At this the jurors filed out and Charles was led once again down the sinister staircase.

He had received but little comfort from the judge’s charge. It had not been against him. Everything which could be said for him had been pointed out. He felt he had no grievance in the summing up. But equally it had not been in his favour. Every point which told against him had been relentlessly brought forward. None had been stressed: either for him or against him.

Nor had he learned much from the faces of the jurors. The foreman still looked as if his decision would be Guilty, but the others were not so easily read. If the foreman were a strong man it looked badly. And narrow-minded men often were strong for that very reason.

Since Charles had first conceived the idea of murdering his uncle, he had learned on occasion after occasion how appallingly slowly time can crawl. But never had he experienced anything like that time in the waiting cell under the county court-house. Again and again he found himself almost wishing for any verdict, even an unfavourable one, if only this awful suspense could be ended. Then he would once more realize what an unfavourable verdict would really mean, and be filled with panic and loathing and dread.

The warders in a somewhat rough way were kind to him. They gave him tea, which he drank thirstily, avidly. They told him to keep up his pecker and that all was not lost: that even if the verdict went against him he’d have an appeal.

As time dragged on and nothing happened, Charles sank into a kind of stupor. Once again he had that curious feeling of being outside his own body – as if from a distance he was looking down upon himself and as if his experiences were those of some other person. His thoughts went back to certain incidents in his life. Now he would give everything he had if he could have lived them differently. How thankful now would he not be if he could have a clear conscience, his freedom, and poverty! And Una! He had sacrificed himself for Una, and at the first breath of trouble she had let him down! To think of Una was only adding to his pain.

Endless hour passed after endless hour and still no move was made. The warders discussed the possibility of the jury being locked up for the night and sentence being postponed till next day. Charles felt that if this were to happen he should go mad. He did not believe that his mind could stand the suspense all night.

Then suddenly he was once more climbing the staircase. The jury were coming back!

One glance at their faces told Charles the truth! He was lost!

Mercifully the numbness settled down on him, and he felt himself only partially conscious of what was taking place. The fateful question was asked. The jurors were agreed on their verdict. That verdict was Guilty.

In a sort of dream Charles heard someone asking him – or was it someone else standing there in the dock? – had he anything to say why the sentence of the court should not be passed on him? Were they speaking to him? He hardly knew: he hardly cared. He didn’t answer. What did it matter? They were going to hang him. Nothing that he could say would matter. There was a pause. He heard the awful sentence. It was over! The warders were pointing to that staircase. They were supporting him. Half unconscious, he was helped down.

One evening a few weeks after that last tragic day of the trial a little party met in a private room in a London hotel. It consisted of five persons: Julian Heppenstall, Everard Byng, Alexander Quilter, Superintendent Lucas, and Inspector French. It was not a purely social function. It had indeed been engineered by Byng for his own purposes.

The Cold Pickerby case had gone swiftly to its appointed end. There had been the usual appeal, but it had been dismissed, and Charles Swinburn had met the fate he had tried so desperately to avoid.

Interest in the affair, other than of the mere academic kind, was now confined to Byng. Byng in his spare time was a writer. Under a
nom de plume
he wrote works on criminology. Four of the Famous Trials series were from his pen, and he had been commissioned by his publishers to do a similar account of this Cold Pickerby case. It was to collect matter for this book that he was now anxious.

He had had a brain-wave which had received the enthusiastic approval of his publishers. He proposed, if he could manage it, to add a chapter to the book, which should contain a short history of the detection of the case. The entire affair would be described as it presented itself to the police. It would begin with the facts which first raised suspicion of foul play, go on to give the lines of inquiry which presented themselves, then the results of those inquiries, and finally the conclusions reached therefrom. It might be impossible for various reasons to make public every fact which had entered into the police calculations, but the general evolution of the affair from suspicion to certainty could be described. It would in fact be a detective story from real life. Byng did not know how far the thing would prove possible, but he wanted to see what he could do.