When Last I Died Read online

  "She was nothing much to look at," the barber replied, "except she was big and heavy enough to have done it. One of those local permanent waves, and not set fit to speak of, but perhaps she'd had no chance to do much with it while she was awaiting her trial. I am not informed as to that, although you'd have thought that anybody would just have gone in and touched it up for such an important occasion."

  "Ah!" said Mrs. Bradley, interested in this professional point of view.

  "Yes. About a twenty-five to a thirty-shilling touch," the barber continued. "Not that I do ladies now, but I used to be a ladies' hairdresser when my old father was alive. Ours is a family business, you see, and he always did the gentlemen himself, right up to the last. He only retired four years back, and died last year, so I got a good knowledge of the ladies' side of the business, being in it twenty-two years, and also of all the other little extras that go with it, manicure, face-packs—Ah, and that reminds me, speaking of this Bella Foxley. She could have done with a mud-pack or two herself, and some mercolised wax, but that's neither here nor there."

  Mrs. Bradley rang up Mr. Pratt and invited him to spend another week-end at the Stone House. Mr. Pratt accepted gracefully, and on the following Friday evening came down from London in time for dinner.

  "More Foxleyana?" he inquired, lighting one of the special cigars selected by Ferdinand for his mother's guests (including himself) and then lying back in the very comfortable chair. "What have you been doing since I left you here last time?"

  "Talking to my son on the telephone, and to his barber in person," Mrs. Bradley replied. "The barber was on the jury which acquitted Bella Foxley."

  "The deuce he was!" said Mr. Pratt, deeply interested. "Did he give any special reason for the acquittal?"

  "It appears that the judge was in the prisoner's favour and almost instructed the jury to bring in the verdict which was pronounced as the result of the trial. The barber himself was not at first in favour of acquitting her. He thought her face was against her."

  "So it was, but that's not evidence."

  "He said it was. After all, he is a student of personal appearance, don't forget."

  Mr. Pratt chuckled.

  "I've brought a book with me," he said. "It's the reminiscences of Cotter, the prosecuting counsel in the Foxley case. He's got a chapter—half a chapter, actually—about Bella. I thought you might like to read it. I don't agree with all he says, but there's no doubt that if they could only have proved motive (which, he hints, they could have done if only they could have referred to the death of the aunt) they would have got Bella hanged all right."

  "So the prosecution had got hold of the grated carrot, had they?" said Mrs. Bradley. "From the report of the inquest, I suppose?"

  "Must have been—unless one of their witnesses spilt a few beans in private which they couldn't very well spill in court."

  Meanwhile, there was Mr. Cotter's book, and whilst the ex-journalist and Ferdinand played golf on Sunday morning, she spent an interesting time with Catalogue of Crime (a handsome twelve and sixpenny volume), and obtained, she told Ferdinand later, Counsel's opinion upon the case.

  The eminent gentleman had intended a popular book, and had attempted to govern his literary style in accordance with this aspiration. His matter, however, was sufficiently interesting to be erected on almost any foundation or to carry almost any superstructure, and she not only read his remarks upon the Foxley case (to which he had given the title Ghaists or Bogles or——), but his reports and remarks upon a dozen other cases, with close interest.

  Of Bella Foxley he said: "We were concerned throughout almost the whole of this baffling case with the contradictory testimony of the medical witnesses, and our hands were tied because we could not allow what, in some circumstances, might have been a telling point against the prisoner, namely, the extraordinary death (by natural causes) of her aunt, to be used in evidence. This deprived us of the possibility of showing a more powerful motive for the death of the cousin than that of a determination to be rid of a blackmailer. This motive, had it been put before the jury, must inevitably have influenced them when they came to consider their verdict.

  The aunt, a woman approaching eighty years of age, had died as a result of choking herself with some grated carrot prepared for her by the prisoner, who inherited almost the whole of the aunt's fortune—a considerable amount for one who had always earned her own living. The cousin may have had some information about the aunt's death which he did not disclose but for which he died.

  Still, these are but speculations. It is likely that the old lady's death was as accidental as the coroner said, but, lacking ability to show what, in the opinion of the jury, could be regarded as a powerful motive, our case was made very difficult from the outset.

  The arrest of Bella Foxley was fully justified, however, and the evidence was clear. It was stated that she had visited the 'haunted house' as the newspapers called it, between those times when, according to all the medical witnesses (whether they had been called for the prosecution or for the defence) death could have taken place, and she could give no convincing denial, as it was known she had been there before.

  In spite of the fact that there was some slight suggestion of a love affair between her and her cousin, the evidence of the wife went to show that she herself was fully cognisant of this visit, and, apart from the fact that she 'thought Bella was foolish to go,' had made no objection to it, except that she 'thought Bella was rather rough with her, the way she threw her down on the bed.'

  The fact of this first visit, which was paid on March 11, was not denied by the prisoner, but she contested the further statement by Mrs. Turney that, later, similar visits had been paid, ending with the one which resulted in the death.

  The defence attempted to show that no wife would have countenanced assignments with her husband in an empty house at such an hour, but we replied—I think with justice—that the prospect of monetary gain would overcome all such scruples.

  However, to revert to the question of what we felt sure in our minds was the true motive for Thomas Turney's murder, it is reasonable to suppose that, at the inquest upon Mr. Turney, the coroner, an experienced man and a solicitor, had conducted his enquiry properly. There was no doubt, however, that the very evidence which the prosecution could not use at the trial, that is, the wife's evidence referring to the aunt's death, was, if not admitted, at least expressed at the inquest, and, although the coroner had begged the jury there to disregard it, it is perfectly certain that, being sensible men, they did not.

  The wife, who had 'turned against' Bella Foxley (to use the prisoner's own words), had let her tongue run away with her at the inquest in a way which was deplorable but undoubtedly interesting, and this tattle, coupled with the evidence of the police doctor (who was also called at the trial), caused the examining magistrates to commit Bella Foxley for trial.

  Her counsel (wisely, in my opinion) decided to put her in the box. She made a fairly convincing witness, and stressed that she had gone to the 'haunted house' that first night merely to make certain that the deceased was 'all right.' Her story was that she left as soon as he (speaking out of the window) had convinced her that all was well. Beyond that she refused (either on advice, or from sheer commonsense combined with a strong instinct for self-preservation) to be budged. The case for the defence was, quite simply, that the prisoner's declaration that that was the only night she had gone to the house ought to be believed, and that there never had been any case to go before the jury. From this position they did not permit themselves to be shaken, for my good friend Godfrey Wenham, now Sir Godfrey, who led for the defence, absolutely refused to allow us to jockey him into the position of trying to prove his client's innocence. It was for us to prove guilt, and, in spite of the testimony of our medical witnesses, who demonstrated clearly that the dead man had been attacked and had received a severe blow on the head before he fell from the window, we were unable to do this.

  Nevertheless, I believed fu
lly that the prisoner was guilty, and, although we lost, I shall always regard it as one of my most interesting cases. I was further cheered by the announcement to me (in private) by Sir Godfrey that he had not anticipated an acquittal, and thought that they had been very lucky to obtain one.

  Such evidence as was offered against the prisoner by the wife of the dead man, Mrs. Muriel Turney, prejudiced the jury by showing too great an animosity. Had it not been entirely necessary to call her in order to establish the time at which Bella Foxley left the inn, and the fact that more than one such visit had been paid, together with the secondary motive for the crime, I should have been in favour of keeping her out of the box, for she was that most difficult and unsatisfactory type of witness, an hysterical subject. This, added to her unconcealed hatred of the prisoner, went sadly against us. Remarks made afterwards proved that, even without the conflicting testimony of the medical witnesses, she probably damaged our case irretrievably.

  Another controversial point of which much was made on both sides by the use of those two-edged tools, the expert witnesses, was that of the button found in the dead man's hand. Even now I am not convinced in my own mind which side was right over this. The defence claimed, possibly quite justly, that a man falling from a height instinctively opens his hands to make clutching movements as he falls. This theory, of course, depended upon their premise that the man was alive when he began to fall.

  Our own point was that, even if they were right in their 'clutching' theory, the man was already dead when he fell and that, therefore, his hand, clenched round the button from the murderer's coat, would remain closed. This suggestion was weakened by the evidence of one of our own witnesses, the police doctor, who was compelled to disclose that the button was not so much clenched in the dead man's hand as resting lightly on the palm which was 'slightly folded over it.'

  The testimony of the youth who found the body was of no help to either side on this point, as he deposed that he 'was frightened to see the poor chap lying there all knocked out,' and went at once for help. Incidentally, we were unfortunate with this witness, too, for he was so flustered that throughout his evidence he often confused the two occasions on which he had found Mr. Turney lying on the path. Help, on both occasions, was not immediately forthcoming, for the superstitious villagers, who have always believed the house to be haunted, refused to go anywhere near it when they heard that someone had been found hurt there, and the only person at first to respond was the village policeman.

  An interesting detail contributed by the prisoner herself was that the cardigan from which the button came had been given by her to Mrs. Muriel Turney, and that when she presented it all the buttons were in place, although she agreed that it was not then a new garment but was 'one she did not like the colour of, and Cousin Muriel fancied it.'

  Mrs. Turney, on the other hand, while not denying the gift, stated that when Bella Foxley left the inn in such a hurry that night she said, 'Oh, my coat's downstairs; never mind; this will do.' As she said this she snatched up the cardigan from the foot of Mrs. Turney's bed (the women were sharing a room at the inn), and put it on. In reply to a question from the judge, she said that Bella was fully dressed, except that she had not troubled to put on her stockings, and, in reply to a question from the defending counsel, she agreed that both of them had gone to bed previous to Bella Foxley's having left the inn, and that Bella had awakened her by her preparations for going. 'She did not tell me what she intended to do, until I asked her,' the witness continued, 'and it is my belief that she proposed to sneak out without letting me know where she was going. Unfortunately for her, I am a light sleeper, and I woke up and asked her what was the matter. She said she was worried about Tom, and was going to see if he was all light. As Tom had already once fallen out of the window, I could see what she had in mind.'

  In reply to another question she said, 'Yes, of course I offered to go with her. It is all nonsense for her to say I was too nervous to go. She said it would take me too long to get ready, and that by then the mischief would have been done. She then pushed me back on the bed.'

  She was asked what she thought this remark about mischief meant, and replied that she supposed at the time that it referred either to the hauntings, or to Tom's previous fall. She added that they had had a good deal of trouble with poltergeist phenomena, for which reason she and the prisoner had gone to the inn, being unable to stand the continual nervous strain.

  Being asked, further, whether she had ever considered that what she called the poltergeist was more probably some mischievous person who was taking advantage of the fact that the house had a ghostly reputation among the villagers, she replied that she ' had thought of it, of course,' and added, ' We always investigated each house we took of this kind to make sure nobody was playing about. My husband was quite experienced with haunted houses. He made his living by them, and had to be careful.'

  Explanation of these statements took up what I regarded as an unnecessary amount of the court's time, but the judge ruled that all was admissible. Sir Godfrey Wenham was justified, of course, in exploiting this witness to the full, for she prejudiced our case with almost every word she spoke, although she was our witness. Incidentally, she blamed me bitterly afterwards for not having secured a conviction.

  A curious point which did not come out in court but was told to Bella Foxley's solicitors by the youth Hodge who discovered the body, was that the 'hauntings' were always believed to take the form of a headless huntsman dressed 'like Robin Hood,' but having deer's antlers sprouting from his shoulders—a local variant of the legend of Herne the Hunter, apparently. The poltergeist phenomena were 'a new one on we,' the youth averred. He proved to be an earnest patron of the nearest cinema. He added that cries, groans and a kind of miserable wailing had been heard to come from the haunted house a few days previous to Thomas Turney's death, and that when people heard of the death they 'said there had been warning of it.'

  The sequel to the case is well known, but it deserves to be detailed here, if only to show that in prosecuting Bella Foxley for the murder of her cousin the Crown was not entirely in the wrong, despite her acquittal by the jury. Almost a year after her release she was found dead in the village pond which was near the house she had taken in a remote part of Hampshire, far from all her old haunts, and where, presumably, she thought the past could be safely forgotten.

  It was explained at the inquest that anonymous letters were the cause of her suicide, but it seems more likely that remorse had at last overtaken her, and that she had expiated her crime in the only manner which was in keeping with what she knew were her just deserts."

  Mrs. Bradley shook her head in denial of this conclusion and returned the book to its owner when he and Ferdinand returned from golf. She announced that she was going to solve the mystery of Bella Foxley.

  "Oh, Mother! That wretched woman! After all, she's dead and buried. Why don't you leave well alone?" enquired her son.

  "So said the ghost of Joan of Arc to George Bernard Shaw," Mrs. Bradley replied, with a chuckle.

  Chapter Four

  THE WIDOW'S MITE

  Who can tell what thief or foe, In the covert of the night, For his prey will work my woe, Or through wicked foul despite? So may I die unredrest, Ere my long love be possest.

  CAMPION.

  THERE were several avenues of approach (as the politicians might say) and it remained to arrange them in order. Mrs. Bradley gave this arrangement some thought whilst enjoying to the full the delightful early summer and the no less delightful results of it which were to be found in the garden of the Stone House and in the country around Wandles Parva.

  At the end of a week she had made her decision, having put before herself in judicial manner all the alternatives.

  There was the widow of Cousin Tom, the prejudiced and apparently spiteful Muriel. It was more than probable that she knew more than she had been permitted to disclose either at the inquest or the trial. It would be interesting to find out where she wa
s living—Eliza Hodge might know—and to find out, too, whether, with the passing of time, her views had become modified in any way.

  Then there was the sister Tessa, who had inherited all the aunt's money following Bella's barely comprehensible suicide. Mrs. Bradley would have said that the suicide was entirely incomprehensible but for the evidence of the diary which revealed its author as anti-social, introverted and somewhat defeatist by nature. Possibly the sister could throw more light upon these idiosyncrasies.

  There remained the Institution. There Bella had worked as housekeeper and she had hated it with great intensity. Fortunately Mrs. Bradley was in a position to re-introduce herself there without being under the necessity to state her real errand.