B-Berry and I Look Back (8 page)

“Oh, dear,” said Daphne.

Berry leaned forward.

“You’ll never look it, but be your age, my love. The state of things in half the world today is more absurd than anything Gilbert wrote.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And please remember the adage – ‘Whom God wishes to destroy, he first sends mad.’”

Jonah looked at me.

“Capital punishment,” he said.

I smiled.

“I don’t think I’m qualified to express an opinion on that.”

“Allow me to say,” said Berry, “that capital punishment is one of the very few things upon which you are qualified to speak. I’ll tell you why. First, for two full years you had a close acquaintance with crime. You were able to observe the demeanour of several murderers and of very many felons, charged with offences less grave. Yet the law has not been your profession for forty years. During those years you have almost certainly lost any bias you may have had: yet you have always retained the legal mind. Secondly, all your life you have studied human nature as have very few men.”

“So be it,” said I. “One moment… No, I’m sorry. I can’t remember something. Never mind. I once had a very good text-book on Criminal Law; and I remember that it had a chapter on Punishment. I also remember that it set out the four objects of punishment. Unfortunately, I can only remember three of them. Here they are…

“First, to deter the potential criminal. Secondly, to inflict upon the offender a just penalty for his crime. Thirdly, to assuage the feelings of the person or persons injured by the crime.”

“Very interesting,” said Berry. “And if you ventured to declare that last object in public today, you would be branded as a barbarian.”

“I know. Such hypocrisy is the vogue. To desire that the brute who saw fit to murder your wife or child should receive his deserts is a natural, healthy emotion, of which no man need be ashamed. It is, of course, a priest’s duty to remind the bereaved that they must try to forgive him: but it ill becomes the odd layman to denounce as improper an outlook which many a priest would find it hard to condemn.

“But that is all by the way.

“Arguments for and against the rope bring us straight to the old, old question –
Which of the two do you propose to consider, the community or the convict?
Boil it down and skim off the emotional scum, and it’s just as simple as that. If you are to consider the community, then, for every reason, the man should be hanged.

“Before I go any further, perhaps I should say just this. In such a matter, statistics prove nothing at all. They are completely valueless, and as such not evidence.

“Hanging is an immense deterrent: of that, to my mind, there is no question at all. And I think I know the outlook of the criminal class rather better than the most fervent abolitionists. Those who insist that hanging is barbarous, seem to ignore the barbarity committed by felons every day – murder, attempted murder, grievous bodily harm, aggravated assault and the rest. If these crimes are to be discouraged, then not only should hanging be retained, but flogging should be commonly awarded. ‘Barbarous’ again, of course. But I am thinking of the community. And I say here and now that if murderers were regularly hanged and flogging was awarded for all other brutal crimes, in six months’ time the crimes of violence would have fallen by eighty per cent. Of that, I am as certain as that I’m sitting here.

“Finally, the question of mistake. It is, of course, perfectly clear that, once a man has been hanged, you cannot restore him to life: so that, if a mistake has been made, it is irreparable. On this point let me say, first, that I have yet to learn that in the last sixty years any innocent man has been hanged. And that, secondly, bearing in mind the value of hanging as a deterrent, it is better that one innocent man should suffer that shameful death than that scores of innocent people should lose their lives at the hands of brutes who have no gallows to fear.

“Now, if some people were to hear what I’ve said, they would load me with abuse, quote from Holy Writ and support with a cloud of clichés their horror and indignation. My withers would be unwrung. To such, I would suggest that they apply to Scotland Yard for permission to inspect the photographs, now usually taken, of the unhappy subject of murder before their poor clay is removed. That might divert a little of the sympathy which they lavish upon a convict, who is unfit to live, to his innocent victim and the family so brutally bereft. They might even compare in their minds the quick, clean end on the scaffold with the agony of the death struggles to which their hero has subjected his prey.

Certain politicians still flaunt that catch-penny jewel of jargon, ‘To make the world safe for democracy’ – incidentally, I do hope they’re pleased with the results they have so far achieved: but if we were to flog and hang, we should at least make England safe for honest men.”

“Insanity,” said Jonah.

“Ah,” said I. “More than two-thirds of the murderers found insane are no more insane than you or I. They plead insanity in the hope of avoiding the gallows.”

“And the remedy for that?”

“Is very simple. First, can anyone suggest that a homicidal maniac is fit to live? Well, the obvious answer is ‘No’. But if he is truly insane, then it is unfair to stigmatize him with the rope. So a modified sentence of death should be passed and he should be painlessly destroyed in some other way. Secondly, make the plea of insanity equivalent to a plea of guilty. You wouldn’t get many pleas of insanity then: and quite a lot of felons would come to their proper end.”

“Allow me,” said Berry, “to felicitate you upon every word that you’ve said. Many people would call you outspoken and worse than that. The truth is that all you have said is hard, common sense. But few today have the courage to face the facts.”

“I wholly agree,” said Jonah. “It simply amounts to this. Crimes of violence are barbarous crimes. As such, they are committed by barbarous men. Barbarous men fear corporal punishment, as they fear nothing else. If, therefore, they know that crimes of violence will meet with the rope or the lash, they will not commit them. That’s all.”

“I entirely agree. And now let’s forget the matter. I remember a case with which I had something to do. And it has a curious tail-piece, to which only I can speak. The trouble is that, while I can remember the details, I can’t remember the form which the action took.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said Berry.

“It does to me. If I get it wrong, in a lawyer’s eyes it will vitiate the reminiscence.”

“You’re not drawing an indictment,” said Jonah.

“I know; but—”

“Darling,” said Jill, “your memory is terribly good but who could look back forty years and never make a mistake?”

“Some people can, my sweet. Or used to be able to. Modern conditions don’t favour remembrance. But Asquith, for instance, had an astonishing memory.”

“That I can believe,” said Jonah. “Did he never refer to his brief?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” I said. “I never saw him in court. But somewhere or other I read that he once performed a truly astonishing feat – so astonishing that, if one may take it as a sample of what he could do, even for his great days he must have been outstanding.”

“Let’s have it,” said Berry.

I hesitated.

“All right,” I said, “but we’d better not put it in. I don’t think I read it in a book: I think I read it in a letter which somebody wrote to some paper: but, although I’m sure it’s quite true, we must not run the risk of its being already in print.”

“If we haven’t heard it, I think you might chance that,” said Jonah.

“Well, we’ll see. I think it occurred at a house-party at his home, two or three years after the end of the first great war. Several people were gathered about the fire and were discussing racing. Asquith, who had probably never been on a race-course, held his peace. Presently an argument arose as to what had won the Derby in, say, 1902. Nobody could be sure, but somebody suggested Rock Sand. Then a quiet voice said, ‘Ard Patrick. Rock Sand won the Derby in 1903.’ Yes, it was Asquith. As soon as he could speak, ‘Are you quite sure?’ said someone. ‘Quite sure,’ said Asquith, and, with that, he proceeded to name every single Derby winner from 1890 on. Naturally, everyone was staggered – and I don’t blame them at all. I can only suppose that he’d always seen the name on the posters or in
The Times
and that every year it had passed automatically into a special compartment in his memory. The real marvel was that he could identify that compartment and could draw upon it when he pleased.”

“A great achievement,” said Jonah. “The astonishing thing being that racing meant nothing to him. How many million compartments did such a memory hold? I daresay Winston could do it: but then he likes racing – and has always been far more human than ever Asquith was. But with that great exception, I find it hard to believe that there is anyone, other than an expert, who could do such a thing today.”

“Or I, either,” said Berry. “Didn’t Rock Sand win the Triple Crown?”

“Yes,” said Jonah. “It was won three times in five years – by Flying Fox, Diamond Jubilee and Rock Sand – but thirty-two years went by before it was won again. Then Bahram brought it off. I don’t count the war years, of course, for the courses were not the true ones.”

“Has a filly ever won it?” said Daphne.

“I don’t think so. Sceptre came very near.”

“I’m sorry,” said Jill, “but what is the Triple Crown?”

“There are five classic races,” said Jonah. “The Two Thousand Guineas, The One Thousand Guineas, The Derby, The Oaks and The St Leger. To win the Triple Crown, a horse must win The Two Thousand Guineas, The Derby and The St Leger. Sceptre won every classic, except The Derby – a really wonderful show. And now let’s get back to the Old Bailey.”

“Not the Old Bailey,” I said. “The High Court. I believe this was called an action for an account. That doesn’t sound right somehow; but I will explain what I mean. Incidentally, if justice could have been done, this case would have been tried at the Old Bailey. But that’s by the way.

“There was once a wealthy young waster, aged about twenty-five. He was not the type that takes the bit in his teeth, but he was just hopeless. His family could do nothing with him. He had, I need hardly say, an unswerving belief in the virtue of alcohol.

“Well, he had his own money, so the family couldn’t cut him off. But if they could have taken such action, he’d simply have sunk into death. The poor fellow was docile enough, but he had no guts. So the family decided that he should make a world tour – in sober company. Money, I may say, was no object. Accordingly, they procured a tutor. His references satisfied them that he was a dependable man. The case was explained to him: he proved to be most understanding; and the youth was committed to his charge. The two were to do the thing properly. They were to proceed to the East, visiting Cairo and Colombo on the way to China and Japan. They were then to make for Honolulu and from there proceed to the Americas, South and North. The tutor was to render reports and to discharge such expenses as were incurred. In other words, he was to hold the purse, for to give the youth money was to cast it into the draught.

“Well, the two set out. No expense was to be spared, so they travelled in luxury. The tutor quite understood that the youth was to have the best that money could buy… The weeks went by, and at every port at which the liner touched the tutor posted a report upon their progress. The reports were comfortable. Three weeks at Cairo had proved extremely expensive, but the youth was enjoying himself and behaving well. The relations, sitting at home, cabled more money to Colombo with sighs of content.

“At last the two reached Honolulu. After a fortnight there, the tutor reported by cable that his charge found the spot so attractive that, if there was no objection, they proposed to extend their stay. ‘But, of course, it is very expensive.’ ‘Never mind that,’ said the relatives, and cabled another thousand there and then.

“Ten days later, the tutor reported by cable that his charge had unhappily died.

“More money was cabled for the funeral and ‘to settle outstanding accounts’ and the tutor was instructed to return to England at once.

“On his return, he, of course, reported in person. But the interview, though protracted, was unsatisfactory; and it was then, for the first time, that the relatives began to wonder whether, after all, their estimate of the tutor had been at fault. So they called their solicitors in…

“Of course, there are people like that. At least, there were. Rich, fond, trusting – fair game for any rogue.

“The first thing the solicitors did was to cable to Honolulu for a copy of the death certificate. This revealed that the youth had died of drink. When the tutor was confronted with the damning document, his explanation was so halting and so patently valueless that the solicitors were given a free hand. So they instructed a reliable private detective to make the very same tour. They were rather afraid that the scent, so to speak, might be cold; but as money was still no object and the furious suspicions of the relatives were mounting every day, they felt that they might as well try. They need have had no fear. Cairo, Colombo and the East had by no means forgotten the visits paid by the two gentlemen; they were, indeed, memorable. Seldom had such riotous living ever been witnessed before. It was the same thing at every port at which the liners had touched. Again and again, the two had had to be carried on to the ships. One might have been forgiven for thinking that to paint Honolulu red would present considerable difficulty. One would have been mistaken. The two had taken that formidable fence in their stride. Here a certain lady had taken them into her house. Let us say they became her guests – no doubt, though the tutor denied this, her handsomely paying guests. Be that as it may, the parties she threw for them went on for days at a time. I must be careful here, so I’ll call her Margery Daw. And then the detective found himself out of his depth. Perhaps it would be better to say that he ran into fog. Fact dissolved into rumour and rumour was denied. The lady herself was not available. People found themselves unable to remember. Even the doctor was extremely vague. However, the evidence collected was very much more than enough to brand the tutor as a callous and unprincipled rogue, who had aided and abetted the youth to run his tragic course.