The Nightingale Shore Murder (20 page)

One potential clue that caught the public's attention was the discovery of a bloodstained khaki handkerchief, found lying beside the railway line north of Wivelsfield. But its importance was soon down-played by the police, who pointed out that these were very common items amongst ex-servicemen, and so unlikely to be useful for identification purposes.

There was a brief burst of excitement at the end of January when the Press Association reported that a soldier returning to his barracks in London had made a statement confessing to having murdered a woman in a train. Scotland Yard interviewed him, but quickly issued a statement saying that officers were satisfied that he had had nothing to do with Florence Shore's murder. He was handed over to the military as a deserter.

With no witnesses, no weapon and no sign of the main suspect, the case appeared to be unsolvable, in spite of the bravado of the Eastbourne newspaper on behalf of the local constabulary:

In spite of all this effort, Offley Shore, in America, had no confidence that his sister's killer would be brought to justice. He wrote to his cousin Clarence that

Then, at the end of January, a new crime put the spotlight back onto the case. It brought a possible murder weapon to light, and required the expertise of one of the most eminent men of the day: Dr Bernard Spilsbury.

Sir Bernard Spilsbury is known as the ‘father of forensic science'. He is credited with giving scientific respectability to what had formerly been a rather random and undervalued contribution to justice. After graduating from Magdalen College Oxford, he finished his medical training at St Mary's Hospital in London, and almost immediately chose pathology as his specialism. Recognised for his potential by his mentors and colleagues at St Mary's – the leading institution for forensic expertise – he was appointed resident assistant pathologist at the hospital in 1905.

The case that brought him to public attention was that of Dr Crippen in 1910. Spilsbury identified the decaying human remains buried in the cellar as that of Crippen's wife, by finding a distinctive operation scar on a piece of skin. He went on to deduce how the ‘brides in the bath' murderer, George Joseph Smith, had made three wives' deaths from drowning each look like an accident.

The Scotland Yard detective in charge of that case, Inspector Arthur Neil, tested Spilsbury's theory himself. By removing the baths from the scenes of the deaths, bringing them to London and conducting experiments using women in swimming costumes, he showed that pulling a person suddenly under the water by lifting their legs up caused water to rush into the nose and led to death by sudden inhibition of the vagal reflex. This did away with the need to hold the victim under the water, and meant there were none of the marks of struggle on the body or in the scene, to rouse the suspicion of deliberate drowning. (Only one of the volunteers came to harm in the experiments, and she was successfully revived.)

In 1920, Spilsbury was at the height of his fame, testifying in the trials of many notorious murderers. He would be knighted in 1923, but at the time of Florence's death he was still simply Dr Bernard Spilsbury, Home Office Pathologist. He carried out the post mortem examination of Florence's body, and would later testify at her inquest. Before that, he was asked to give his professional opinion as a forensic scientist on the only tangible piece of evidence possibly related to the attack ever to come to light.

The new crime which provided the evidence was an attempted burglary which took place in Eastbourne on Thursday 22
^nd
January, and which the papers called ‘the Arlington Road affair'. The household at 31 Arlington Road was preparing for bed at about half past ten when Edith Williams, the parlourmaid, rushed screaming into the kitchen from the coal-house. She had gone out to fetch some wood, and was reaching up to take some from a shelf when she heard the noise of something falling, and saw ‘something black' moving towards her. The other servants in the kitchen – the cook Mrs Carter and Elsie Brooks the nursery maid – took little notice at first, assuming she had bveen frightened by a mouse. When Mrs Carter looked outside, however, she realised that the situation was much more serious.

This was probably not the way the would-be burglar had envisaged the crime taking place. Clearly deciding that the onslaught was too much for him, he attempted to get away from the house.

The burglar did not get far. The Arlington Road household had phoned for the police, and Inspector Cunnington responded. Cunnington called up Chief Detective Inspector Wells, and the two officers searched the local streets. They found a man on Orchard Road who looked as if he had been running, and was hatless. When questioned he gave his name as Billy Enyon, and said he had been to a ball at St George's Hall – a venue that was in Brighton, not Eastbourne. He produced a card with the name Billy Enyon, and ‘boxer' on it. The two detectives handed the man over to a constable for transfer to the Central Police Station, and went into the house at 31 Arlington Road to hear from the witnesses. There they were given the revolver that the cook had taken from the man, as well as a dented bowler hat found in the scullery.

The next day, Friday, the man was charged with housebreaking at 31 Arlington Road. But the police were already suspicious that he might be guilty of much worse: the attack on Florence Shore on the Hastings train.

William Ernest Clements – which, the police soon established, was the man's real name – matched the descriptions given by Mabel Rogers and Henry Duck of the man who had shared Florence's carriage, and left the train at Lewes. He was aged about 28, around 5ft 7ins in height, slimly built and ‘well set-up and bearing signs of Army training', according to the newspaper report. He had been carrying a large Webley service revolver which could have caused Florence's injuries, and which was bloodstained. When he was interrogated about his movements in the previous week, he could not give satisfactory replies, and he refused to say anything about his whereabouts on the day that Florence was attacked. On Saturday 24
^th
January, police recovered a bloodstained suit from a house in Brighton where Clements was said to have lodged.

Instead of appearing before magistrates on the Monday to face the housebreaking charge, Clements was to be subjected to a different form of scrutiny. Mabel Rogers was asked to see if she could identify him as the man who entered Florence's carriage at Victoria.

Meanwhile, the bloodstained revolver was sent to Bernard Spilsbury for his forensic opinion. The details of Spilsbury's examination of the revolver are recorded on the hand-written index cards which Spilsbury used to document his cases. More than 4,000 of these cards remain, stored in the Wellcome Library in London, covering cases from 1905 to 1932. It is thought that the pathologist intended them for a textbook on forensic medicine; but he never wrote one. In fact, his career began to decline from the mid-1920s. In later years he was perceived as arrogant and inflexible, and some of his conclusions – even on cases that had led to hangings – were questioned. The deaths of two of his sons, failing health and a declining career were all thought to have contributed to his suicide: he poisoned himself with gas from the Bunsen burners in his rooms at the hospital in December 1947.

But in 1920, Spilsbury was still recording the key points of all his cases on index cards for posterity. The cards that relate to Florence's death include information on the attempted burglary:

What the police needed was a match between Florence's blood and that on the gun, to prove that this was indeed the likely murder weapon. Then, they hoped, a positive identification of Clements by Mabel as the man who had been on the train would make an even firmer connection between him and the crime.

On the second point, they had already been frustrated by the station staff. Spilsbury's notes add tantalisingly that ‘S
tation officials said he closely resembled man seen to leave that part of that train at a station some distance from Hastings. He could not be positively identified ...'
The police had to hope that Mabel would more positive when she saw Clements.

Then Spilsbury examined the gun itself. It was a revolver with six chambers, and contained several blank cartridges. There was a small red stain on the back of the revolving barrel, and similar stains on the lower surface of the gun facing the back of the barrel. One of the cartridges also bore a small stain. The differentiation of human from animal blood had been possible since the turn of the century, when a German scientist, Paul Uhlenhuth, had invented a method of doing so using rabbit serums. So Spilsbury undertook tests to determine whether the red stains were in fact blood; and whether it was human blood that contaminated the suspect revolver.

The first results were encouraging for the police: all the stains reacted positively to preliminary chemical tests for blood. Spilsbury proceeded to examine the stains under his microscope. He recorded that all of the red cells were mammalian, and of a size corresponding with human blood. But was it Florence's blood – or at least the right group to be potentially hers? On that crucial point for the police, there was no help from the evidence. The pathologist's notes end with the words: ‘
Spectroscope and biological tests could not be used
.'

Whether it was the size or quality of the sample, the time elapsed since the blood was fresh, or some other cause is unknown. But Spilsbury was unable to confirm or rule out the possibility that this was Florence's blood, and that the likely murder weapon had been found. There was no forensic evidence to link the gun to the crime.

The other potential link in the circumstantial chain did not hold either. Mabel could not positively identify Clements as the man on the train. On the following Wednesday, six days after the burglary, the local paper reported cryptically that:

Perhaps the lvocal police continued to believe that Clements, who had a number of previous convictions, was in fact guilty, though they couldn't prove it. But he had said enough to convince Scotland Yard of his innocence. The Arlington Road burglar was never charged with murder. Nor did he ever explain how human blood came to be on his revolver, or from whom.

The Sessions Court in the Town Hall at Hastings was again full of uniforms when the inquest resumed on 4
^th
February. In front of the Coroner, W J Glenister, and Deputy Coroner H Davenport Jones, was an array of officials. The Coroner's officer Detective Inspector Ruse was present, along with the Scotland Yard detective Haigh, Superintendent Vine from the East Sussex Constabulary, and the Chief Constable, Mr F James. The Chief of Police for the railway company, J J Jarvis, was also there, with Sergeant Conlon, and the LB&SCR solicitor, E Capel Rutherford. Also from the Company this time was Mr T A Dryden, the assistant to the Chief Engineer of the Company, Sir James Ball. Two of the train guards, Henry Duck and George Walters, were in place as witnesses, alongside the three railway workmen who had got into the carriage with Florence. And with them sat Mabel Rogers, once again the first witness to the inquiry.

With the eleven men of the jury sworn in, the evidence that Mabel had given at the first hearing, establishing Florence's identity, was read over and confirmed. Then the Coroner questioned Mabel again about the brief encounter she had had with the man who joined Florence in the compartment while the train was at Victoria station. Mabel reiterated that she had not seen the man since that moment. She described how he had entered the compartment, and first sat down alongside Florence, but then got up again. When Mabel was getting out of the carriage, the man stood up and offered to help, saying ‘Allow me.' But Mabel, already leaning out of the window to open the door from the outside, declined, saying ‘It's alright.' She described the man again: medium height, about 28 to 30 years old, of slight build, with brownish hair. He wore a brown suit, and was not wearing an overcoat, though he might have had one over his arm.

‘Did he have a stick or umbrella?' the Coroner pressed.

‘I did not see one,' Mabel replied, ‘and I did not notice anything in his hand. He passed quite easily between us, and I did not notice. He had no luggage.'

‘In what class of life would you suppose him to be?' the Coroner asked next. Mabel answered ‘A clerk, or something like that.' It was a question and answer that would become much more important later in the investigation.

In answer to questions about how much money Florence had with her on the journey, Mabel described how she had stood by while Florence queued to buy her ticket, and thought Florence had about three pounds with her, in a purse in her vanity bag. They had been shopping together that morning, and Florence had remarked that she ‘
must not spend any more or she would not have enough for the journey'
. Mabel also described Florence's jewellery: when she left Carnforth Lodge, she had been wearing a platinum ring with six diamonds and a sapphire, and a gold ring with turquoise and small diamonds; a gold, expanding wristlet watch; and a gold necklace with an amethyst pendant. The very last piece of information Mabel could give about Florence's fateful departure from London was poignant. The man in the brown suit, Mabel said, had been standing at the window of the carriage when the train started to move. So Mabel, waiting on the platform to see Florence off, found her view blocked. ‘I could not see her face,' she testified simply.

Thomas Dryden, assistant to the chief engineer, was the next witness. He produced a plan of Lewes station, showing how the long train would overlap the platform, so that people too impatient to wait for the train to move up would need to descend from the rear two coaches directly onto the tracks, rather than onto the platform. The plans were handed to the jury for them to inspect. Then the Coroner called the first of the platelayers, the railway workers who had discovered Florence injured in the carriage.

George Cloutt was a local man from Bexhill. On that Monday, 12
^th
January, he had been working at Hampden Park Railway, and left at 4.30pm, joining the two other platelayers on the 5 o'clock train from Polegate Junction to Bexhill. This was the 3.20 train from London's Victoria station. He testified that he had got into the train near the back, in the next to last carriage, with his two colleagues, Ransom and Thomas. He and Thomas sat down with their backs to the engine; Ransom sat on the same side as Florence, facing the engine.

‘Did you notice a lady there?' the Coroner asked Cloutt.

‘I saw someone there in the further right hand corner facing the engine.'

‘Was it dark when you got into the carriage?'

‘Nearly.'

‘How was the carriage lighted?'

‘Poorly lighted.'

‘Incandescent gas, I suppose?'

‘Yes.'

‘After you sat down you saw somebody?' the Coroner prompted.

‘After about ten minutes, after we had gone about a mile, I noticed the person was a lady.'

‘How was she sitting?'

‘Leaning back in the carriage with her head on the padded back.'

‘Did you notice her hands?'

‘I could not see her hands, they were under the corner of her coat.'

‘Were her feet on the floor?'

‘Yes.'

‘When did you next look at her?'

‘About half-way between Polegate and Pevensey.'

‘What did you see?'

‘I saw there was something wrong with her.'

‘Why?'

‘From the position in which she was.'

‘What next?'

‘I could see blood on her face.'

‘Fresh blood?'

‘I could not say.'

‘Was there much?'

‘There was a lot.'

‘Was it running down?'

‘I could not say.'

‘What did you do?'

‘I said to Ransom that something is wrong with that lady in the corner. I think I said “She has had a nasty knock of some kind”. He did not seem to hear what I said. He had a cold.'

‘Did you speak to Thomas?'

‘No.'

‘Why didn't you?'

‘I did not say anything further about it until we got to Bexhill.'

‘Did you do anything?'

‘No, sir. Not until we got to Bexhill.'

‘Why didn't you?'

‘I did not think it was so serious.'

‘Did you notice whether the lady was breathing?'

‘Yes, she was, and appeared to be reading.'

‘Were her eyes open?'

‘They kept opening and closing.'

‘Spasmodically?'

‘Yes.'

The train ran non-stop between Polegate and Bexhill, a journey of about fifteen minutes. At Bexhill, the platelayer could at last act on his concerns. ‘I said to a porter', he explained, ‘”There appears to be something doing up there.” I stayed at the carriage door to prevent anyone else getting in. Ransom went to the rear of the train and another man went to the guard in front.'

Still apparently mystified that the workmen had not been more alarmed, the Coroner returned to the state of the carriage when the men had joined it. ‘You told me you noticed blood on the lady's face. Did you see any about the carriage?'

‘I did not.'

‘Did you notice any luggage?'

‘There was a small portmanteau on the side of the seat by the lady and a lady's hat on it.'

‘When you got in at Polegate were the windows closed?'

‘Both windows and both doors were closed.'

‘There was the usual communication cord?'

‘Yes.'

‘You did not pull it?'

‘I never thought about it.'

‘Were the blinds down?'

‘They were not.'

‘Did there seem to you to be any sign of disturbance?'

‘No.'

‘What sort of an evening was it?'

‘I could not say; it had been a rough, dirty day.'

The jury spoke up at this point, through their Foreman, Frederick Wicks, to confirm that the carriage door could not be opened from the inside. One of the jurors raised the question of the windows being closed: it was not usual for anybody to get out and then shut the window, he suggested. So it was strange that the windows were shut after someone had allegedly left the train hurriedly at Lewes, if there was only an injured and helpless woman inside. The Coroner was not impressed.

‘This witness knows nothing about that', he stated firmly. ‘I have travelled a good deal on various railways, and it is quite a common occurrence. I quite appreciate what you mean, but that is just what a man who wanted to hide his actions would do.' Returning to the witness, George Cloutt, the Coroner resumed his questioning about the state that they had found ‘the lady' in.

‘Did the lady make any noise?'

‘I did not hear any.'

‘She did not mutter?'

‘No.'

The next two witnesses were Ernest Thomas and William Ransom, the other two platelayers, who corroborated everything George Cloutt had said. They had all got into the train at Polegate, and had noticed the lady in the corner seat but had not realised anything was seriously wrong. None thought to pull the communication cord to alert the train guard. Thomas did have more details to add about Florence's position; he thought she looked as if she was slipping down in her seat, and there were marks on the back of the seat behind her. With regard to Florence's injuries, he told the inquest that he had thought at first that the lady was wearing a veil over her face. Later he realised that it was dried blood that covered her features. Ransom added that the lady's eyes were moving.

When the train stopped at Bexhill station, the workmen took the initiative and went to fetch someone to look at Florence. Ransom went to look for the stationmaster, and, not finding him, called on the guard instead. Here, the next witness and a future witness would give different stories.

George Walters, in his smart dark railway uniform, with a peaked cap bearing the Company's badge and a watch chain across his jacket, was sworn in. He was another local man, from St Leonards, and had been working as a guard on the 3.20 train from Victoria. According to his evidence, it was he who was called on by Ransom at Bexhill, and he who was first into the compartment where Florence was sitting. His description of what he found was more graphic than that of the workmen, and more distressing.

‘She was sitting in a sloping position facing the engine,' Walters told the inquest. ‘Her head was back on the padding, and her legs were pushed forward and showing to the knees, because of her having slipped down. Her hands were in front of her, and her fingers kept moving. She put one hand up several times, her fingers moved, and she appeared to be looking at her hands.'

The scene that Walters described was a shocking one. Rather than having been found unconscious, as the papers had originally reported, it was now being suggested that Florence might have had some awareness of what had happened to her. Unable to speak, and with her face covered in blood, was she aware that the men travelling with her had not noticed her plight? Was she looking at her hands because she knew her rings had been taken off her fingers? After just a few more questions, the Coroner postponed the inquiry.

Throughout the weeks since the attack, national and local newspapers had been following the story. There was great interest in the heroic ‘war nurse', and great indignation that she should suffer such a fate. Local papers reported the inquest hearings in detail, reproducing the witnesses' statements verbatim. Meanwhile the national papers were following the police investigation, and seemed to find no difficulty in getting statements, and stories of variable accuracy, from a variety of witnesses. On Thursday 15
^th
January, while Florence was still in a coma in the East Sussex Hospital, the Daily Mail was speculating on her journey and the likely scene of the attack:

The next day, Friday 16
^th
January, the same paper was berating the police for not giving them the story earlier, which would have allowed them to help by publicising the hunt for the attacker. Under the bold headline ‘Where the police fail', the paper stated: