Collected works of j s f.., p.828
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 828
‘Well, I’ll tell you what my opinion is, Mr Foreman, in a very few words,’ he said. ‘My opinion, sir, is just this here — I believe that if yon lad in the dock didn’t do it — and I don’t say that he did, for, mind you, I’m more than doubtful on that point — but if he didn’t, well, sir, and gentlemen all, he knows who did! And it’s my opinion too, Mr Foreman, that he got that sovereign from the fellow who did — whoever he may be! What that young fellow’s doing, gentlemen, is this here — he’s shielding the real murderer. And why? — that’s what I want to know. Whatever any of the rest of you may think I believe that the sovereign with the hole in it, which young Radford gave to Fardale, is the sovereign that Collingwood gave to Maidment. I don’t see no way, sir, of getting round the evidence of Collingwood and Fardale on that point. And I say again, I think young Radford could say who did kill Maidment. That’s what I’ve got to say, sir! — short and sweet!’
Mr Maydue leaned back in his chair, satisfied and determined. I had to bring him to the point.
‘I’m afraid we’re not called on for opinions of that sort, Mr Maydue,’ I said gently. ‘What we’ve got to decide is — did Richard Radford kill Roger Maidment? — yes or no? That’s all we’re concerned with. Now, what’s your opinion on that issue?’
Mr Maydue shook his head.
‘Oh — ah — well!’ he said. ‘If I’m to give a plain answer to that, Mr Foreman, all I can say is — no, I don’t believe he did!’
I looked at Mr Maydue’s right-hand neighbour, Mr Jennings, the publican from Petherton Magna.
‘What does Mr Jennings think?’ I asked.
Mr Jennings was as slow to speak as Mr Maydue, his fellow-villager, had been ready.
‘Well, Mr Foreman,’ he replied hesitatingly, ‘I think this is one of them cases in which there’s a deal to be said on all sides. It’s my opinion that them lawyer gentlemen has left a deal out that ought to ha’ been put in. And I think this young man could tell a lot if he would. And I would like to know, sir, before we go any further, if there isn’t any way of making the young fellow speak. Couldn’t his lordship make him tell what he knows? For I’m sure he knows a good deal.’
‘I’m afraid that’s impossible, Mr Jennings,’ I replied. ‘Not all the judges on the bench can make a prisoner give evidence if he doesn’t want to. We must leave that suggestion alone.’
‘Aye, well, it’s a pity, in my opinion,’ continued Mr Jennings. ‘I would like to hear what that young fellow has to say. As for the rest of it, I’m a good deal in agreement with my friend Mr Maydue. I think this lad’s shielding somebody — the somebody who did it. And of course, if I think that, I don’t think the lad did it himself. And — and — well, I don’t know that I’ve any more to say, Mr Foreman, except that it’s a very queer business altogether.’
‘Mr Ewbank,’ I said.
Mr Ewbank was well known in our neighbourhood as an estate agent managing several considerable properties, and as a businesslike, level-headed man, and I was very anxious to hear his views.
‘It seems to me, Mr Foreman,’ said Mr Ewbank, ‘that there is no need for us to go outside the evidence put before us by the prosecution. We can’t, indeed, go outside it if we would — our oath confines us to the evidence brought forward in court. Now in my opinion you can boil down the evidence against Richard Radford to this: Was the money, the actual notes and gold, which he admits giving to Fardale — —’
‘When did he admit that?’ asked Mr Chettle. ‘He hasn’t given evidence!’
‘That came out in Superintendent Henderson’s evidence,’ replied Mr Ewbank. ‘Richard Radford stated, explicitly, more than once, that he did pay Fardale fifty-one pounds on the morning of October 18. Well, I say, was that money the actual notes and gold, so paid by him to Fardale, the same money, the same so much paper, so much coin, which Maidment received from the tenants at Hagsdene Park? If it was, then we want to know — the Law wants to know — how Richard Radford became possessed of it. Did he murder Maidment for it? Did he find Maidment murdered by somebody else, and, being hard up for money, possess himself of Maidment’s money? He refuses to say — anything. Well, it goes back to my question — were the banknotes, were the sovereigns paid to Fardale, those paid to Maidment by the various tenants at Hagsdene Park? Let us leave the sovereigns aside for the moment and give our attention to the banknotes. Now what was the evidence about these? — I mean about the banknotes paid to Maidment? Gentlemen, the banknotes paid to Maidment by the Hagsdene Park tenants were, according to their sworn evidence, nearly all brand-new ones! But the notes handed to Fardale were all old, well-used ones. Therefore the notes paid to Fardale by Richard Radford were certainly not the notes paid to Maidment at Hagsdene Park. That is certain!’
Mr Ewbank paused for a moment to look round the table. Most of us nodded our approval. But Mr Heaviside made a grunt of dissent.
‘Well,’ continued Mr Ewbank, ‘I think that disposes of the notes. But there has been a suggestion made that Maidment may have been carrying money other than that which he collected at Hagsdene Park; that he may have had two or three hundred pounds on him. But the prosecution brought forward no evidence whatever to that effect! If Maidment had been collecting rents or payments elsewhere than Hagsdene Park on October 17 and had, in consequence, a lot of money in his pockets, why didn’t the prosecution bring evidence to prove that? The prosecution brought no evidence. So we can throw that suggestion aside. Then we come to the marked sovereign — or, rather, the perforated sovereign. Well, with all respect to both of them, I must say that I was surprised that either Mr Collingwood or Mr Fardale would positively swear on that point! We every one of us know that it — as the defence suggested — is no uncommon thing for men to wear a sovereign as a pendant to a watch-chain, and how any man can swear that a sovereign is the sovereign seems to me as foolish as swearing that a pea is the pea. And — —’
‘But you’ll excuse me, Mr Ewbank,’ interrupted Mr Heaviside from his end of the table. ‘Fardale swore that when he received that sovereign from Radford junior, he put it in a certain pocket and never touched it again until Collingwood told him of the murder. How do you get over that, now?’
‘I get over it,’ replied Mr Ewbank coolly, ‘by saying, first, that Mr Fardale is as liable to make a mistake in matters of memory as any other man, and, second, that if Richard Radford did give Fardale a perforated sovereign it was no proof that it was the identical sovereign with a hole drilled in it which was given by Collingwood to Maidment. There is such a thing as coincidence in this world, gentlemen, and just to show you that there is, I myself have one sovereign in my pocket which has a hole in it, and I have another — here!’
With these words Mr Ewbank snapped off his watch-chain and threw it on the table before him; after which he produced another sovereign from his pocket. A murmur went round the table and somebody became vocal.
‘There are lots of ’em about — my father always carried one on his chain. Said it would come in handy if he was ever broke!’
‘Well, gentlemen,’ continued Mr Ewbank, resuming possession of his exhibits, ‘I think it would be a very foolish thing to find a man, and a young man, guilty of murder on evidence of that sort. But there is another matter — that of the stick; it has been referred to before, but I want to refer to it myself. The prosecution produced an oak stick — the sort of common oak walking-stick that you can buy anywhere for a shilling — which was discovered hidden away in Hagsdene Wood, and they suggest that it was with that stick that Maidment was done to death and that it — that particular stick — was one which had been given by Hebb, Mr Radford senior’s clerk, to young Richard Radford: Hebb identified it as such. Now I don’t believe that Hebb could identify that stick! You could buy sticks like that, as the witness Shillaker said, by the score. But there’s something more than that. Young Radford undoubtedly had a stick with him when he entered Hagsdene Wood: I see no reason to doubt the evidence of James Collier and Ellen Hopkinson on that point. But what stick? Now we have evidence that what he fastened on his bicycle when he left his father’s house was an ash-plant stick. That evidence was given by his sister, Miss Audrey Radford. Hers was straightforward evidence. An ash-plant stick! — well, where is it? I think I know. Richard Radford left that ash-plant in the house where he stopped the night — in the house of the person he’s shielding!’
‘Ah — then you agree he is shielding somebody, Mr Ewbank?’ exclaimed Mr Jennings. ‘You think that, sir — just as I do?’
‘I certainly think that,’ replied Mr Ewbank. ‘I — —’
‘Shielding the actual murderer?’ persisted Mr Jennings.
‘No!’ said Mr Ewbank. ‘He’s shielding some woman! Mr Foreman, my opinion, my considered opinion, after hearing all the evidence, is that young Radford knows nothing whatever about the actual murder, did not get the banknotes nor the sovereign from Maidment, dead or alive, and that his presence near the scene of the crime is mere coincidence. I am for a verdict of not guilty!’
This was direct enough, and once more I felt that we should not be long in arriving at a decision. But there was still other members of the jury left to speak, and I called on the next.
‘Mr Coward!’
Mr Coward turned an inquiring eye on me.
‘I don’t know if I should be in order in referring to a little matter which didn’t exactly come in evidence before us, Mr Foreman?’ he said. ‘But there is something — perhaps there’s one or two things — that I could mention that might throw a bit of light, though, of course, I don’t want to do or say anything irregular.’
‘All friends here!’ said somebody. ‘Confidential!’
‘What is it, Mr Coward?’ I replied. ‘If it relates to the case — and, even indirectly, to the evidence — —’
‘Well, it’s just this, Mr Foreman,’ continued Mr Coward. ‘You see, there’s been a suggestion that Maidment might have had money on him other than that he got from those people at Hagsdene Park. Well, now, I knew Maidment very well indeed — being an accountant myself, I had business dealings with him, and, as a matter of fact, before Maidment set up for himself at Ullathwaite he was in my employ as a clerk for a time. Now I’m quite sure, from what I know of him and his habits, that when he set out to Hagsdene Park that night, to collect the rents there, he wouldn’t carry money with him. If he’d collected any money that day, or had had money paid in to him at his office, it wouldn’t be in his pockets! He was a careful chap about money. And the prosecution, mind you, didn’t bring forward a single scrap of evidence to show that he had other money on him — it was nothing but a suggestion, unsupported by any evidence. I think we may take it as certain that all that Maidment had about him, when he was murdered, was the hundred and ten pounds in cheques, notes, and gold, which he’d just collected at Hagsdene Park. Well, now, there’s no doubt whatever, as far as I can see, that the banknotes which this young Radford handed over to Mr Fardale, the bookmaker, were certainly not the banknotes collected from various tenants by Maidment. So I think there’s clear proof that that bit of evidence has nothing in it, and that Radford did not get his money from that source. Is that relative to what we heard downstairs, Mr Foreman?’
‘I think it is,’ I replied. ‘Decidedly so, Mr Coward.’
‘Well, I don’t suppose what I’m going to say now is, though,’ responded Mr Coward. ‘But I’ll say it, for all that. Perhaps I ought to have told the police of something I know, but then I imagined they’d find it out for themselves. It’s this — I happen to know, for a fact, that Maidment carried a revolver, all ready loaded. He bought it when he was with me, because he used to collect rents at night in those days, out in the country, and he wanted something to protect himself with. And I say this, Mr Foreman, because I think it shows that Maidment was laid in wait for and struck down suddenly in Hagsdene Wood — —’
‘I’m afraid we’ve no evidence of that before us, Mr Coward,’ I interrupted. ‘All we know is that he was struck down. And our duty is to say by whose hand, or, rather, if it was by the hand of the prisoner in our charge.’
‘Very well, sir,’ said Mr Coward, ‘then I’ll say that I can’t persuade myself that it was! The dissimilarity in the notes is enough for me, and I pay no attention to the marked coin.’
Mr Coward sat down, and I looked at his right-hand neighbour, Mr Heaviside. Mr Heaviside, it will be remembered, was the man who, as soon as we had assembled ourselves round the table, had gruffly remarked that he saw no reason for any talking, that the case was clear as crystal, and that he considered Richard Radford guilty. And while the successive opinions were being given I had been watching Mr Heaviside, for I foresaw trouble with him. He was the sort of man, in my view, who would make trouble anywhere — surly, stupid, bad-tempered. While his fellow-jurymen had said their say, he had kept up a ceaseless comment of grunts, groans, and sighs, indicative of his intense disapproval. And now, when his turn came, he lost no time in showing us the state of his feelings.
‘It’s a fair marvel to me that all this talk should go on, Mr Foreman!’ he exclaimed irritably. ‘I’ve sat on a many juries in my time, and heard some queer evidence for and against, but I’ve never heard no clearer than I heard yesterday and this morning in yon court! There can’t but be one verdict in this case, and that verdict’s — guilty! I’ve been naught less than amazed to hear what’s been said by some of you gentlemen sitting round this table — I should ha’ thought you’d ha’ made up your minds in five minutes. Yon there young rapscallion murdered and robbed Maidment, and that’s the long and short of it. God bless my soul! — to hear the opinions that’s just been expressed, Mr Foreman, you’d think that them as expressed ’em had no idea of the value of evidence. Now you can’t put me down!’ added Mr Heaviside as ominous murmurs of dissent and disapprobation arose round the table. ‘I’ve as much right to my opinion as what you have, and I shan’t be silenced by nobody. As I said to start with, it’s a fair marvel to me that there should be aught but one opinion in this case. Was Maidment murdered? Is there any doubt of it? Was Maidment robbed of his money? There’s no doubt about that, neither! Was this here young Radford — a bad lot at all times! — hanging around yon Hagsdene Wood at what we’ll call the critical moment? We know that he was. Was he hard up for money? It’s admitted. Did he pay Fardale fifty-one pounds next morning? We know he did. Where did he get it? — he’d not got it the day before — where did he get it between then and next morning? Did he give Fardale a certain marked coin that Mr Collingwood of Hagsdene Park had paid to Maidment? I believe that he did — and I say he’s guilty! I’ve been on a many juries, Mr Foreman, but I never knew such what I may term inability to face facts as I’ve seen to-day — I should ha’ thought that every one of you when you came out o’ that jury-box to this room — a proceeding that I consider sheer waste of time, and absolutely unnecessary — would ha’ been agreed upon a verdict, and that verdict what I say — guilty! Anyway, I know the value of evidence when I hear it, and I say guilty, and I shall go on saying it if I sit here till Doomsday! Guilty o’ murder — that’s my verdict!’
Mr Heaviside ceased his exordium among further deprecating murmurs. I turned to the man on his right hand.
‘Mr Milford!’
Mr Milford, a clerk in a wholesale warehouse, was a nervous, timid little person, obviously without any relish for the duties thrust upon him. He edged away from his neighbour, as if afraid of him.
‘I — I — I’m afraid I can’t agree with Mr Heaviside, Mr Foreman,’ he began. ‘I — the fact is, sir, I can’t get over the evidence about the banknotes, sir, and I don’t feel satisfied about the sovereign with a hole in it. I don’t think the evidence is conclusive, sir — —’
‘More fool you!’ snapped out Mr Heaviside. ‘Clear as daylight!’
‘Mr Heaviside!’ I said, as sternly as possible. ‘I must call you to order. You must not interrupt these proceedings, nor comment on the opinions of others while they are being given. Yes, Mr Milford?’
‘Well, sir,’ resumed Mr Milford, ‘I — I’ve only got to say that I agree with most of the gentlemen who have spoken. I — shouldn’t feel justified in saying the young man was guilty, sir — on the evidence.’
‘Thank you, Mr Milford,’ I said. ‘Now — Mr Williams.’
Mr Williams was a bluff, cheery-faced man, a saddler by trade; he had a hearty open-air look about him, and he gave us all a sort of well-now-come-let’s-be-a-bit-merciful smile as he responded to my invitation.
‘Well, Mr Foreman!’ he said, as if he were pleading for indulgence for some erring child. ‘What bit I’ve got to say is just this, and as we’re all more or less of sportsmen, I reckon you’ll understand my meaning. It seems to me we’re in the position of umpires at cricket: it’s for us to say “out” or “not out”! Now, as you all very well know, whenever there’s a doubt about a decision at cricket, the batsman’s entitled to the benefit of it. That’s fair — that’s sport, ‘cause he’s one against eleven. Now, in my opinion, there’s a considerable doubt in this case, and, that being so, I think the young fellow downstairs ought to have the benefit of it. I’m for letting him off — I don’t agree with Mr Heaviside at all. I say not guilty!’
‘Who cares whether you agree with me or no?’ growled Mr Heaviside. ‘I would like to know which is the best judge — me or you? I’ve been — —’
‘Order, order!’ I said sternly. ‘We have still two more opinions to listen to. Mr Crabtree — what do you say?’
Mr Crabtree was even shyer and more nervous than Mr Milford. He was a heavy, sleepy sort of man, who up to then had sat, open-mouthed, twiddling his two big thumbs and staring anxiously at each successive speaker. On my addressing him, he started, and shook his head.
‘Well, Mr Foreman, sir,’ he said diffidently, ‘I’m no great scholar, and I would ha’ liked to be out o’ this job — it’s not in my line at all. But I listened careful downstairs, and I’ve listened careful here, sir, and I’m inclined to side with Mr Williams there. It seems to me, sir, that there’s a deal o’ doubt about this case, and I think the young man ought to have the benefit. I wouldn’t like to say that I consider him guilty, myself. That’s all that I can think of to say, Mr Foreman — as I say, I’m no scholar, and no lawyer, but, wanting to be fair and right, such is my opinion, sir.’
