The Blotting Book (14 page)

Morris had been given a seat in the dock, and on each side of him there
stood a prison-warder. But in the awed hush that followed, for the
vultures and carrion crows who crowded the court were finding
themselves quite beautifully thrilled, he wrote a few words on a slip
of paper and handed it to a warder to give to his counsel. And his
counsel nodded to him.

The opening speech for the Crown had lasted something over two hours, and
a couple of witnesses only were called before the interval for lunch. But
most of the human ghouls had brought sandwiches with them, and the court
was packed with the same people when Morris was brought up again after
the interval, and the judge, breathing sherry, took his seat. The court
had become terribly hot, but the public were too humane to mind that. A
criminal was being chased toward the gallows, and they followed his
progress there with breathless interest. Step by step all that was laid
down in the opening speech for the prosecution was inexorably proved,
all, that is to say, except the affair of the stick. But from what a
certain witness (Mr. Taynton) swore to, it was clear that this piece of
circumstantial evidence, which indeed was of the greatest importance
since the Crown's case was that the murder had been committed with that
bludgeon of a stick, completely broke down. Whoever had done the murder,
he had not done it with that stick, since Mr. Taynton deposed to having
been at Mrs. Assheton's house on the Friday, the day after the murder had
been committed, and to having taken the stick away by mistake, believing
it to be his. And the counsel for the defence only asked one question on
this point, which question closed the proceedings for the day. It was:

"You have a similar stick then?"

And Mr. Taynton replied in the affirmative.

The court then rose.

On the whole the day had been most satisfactory to the ghouls and
vultures and it seemed probable that they would have equally exciting and
plentiful fare next day. But in the opinion of many Morris's counsel was
disappointing. He did not cross-examine witnesses at all sensationally,
and drag out dreadful secrets (which had nothing to do with the case)
about their private lives, in order to show that they seldom if ever
spoke the truth. Indeed, witness after witness was allowed to escape
without any cross-examination at all; there was no attempt made to prove
that the carpenter who had found the body had been himself tried for
murder, or that his children were illegitimate. Yet gradually, as the
afternoon went on, a sort of impression began to make its way, that there
was something coming which no one suspected.

The next morning those impressions were realised when the adjourned
cross-examination of Mr. Taynton was resumed. The counsel for the defence
made an immediate attack on the theories of the prosecution, and it told.
For the prosecution had suggested that Morris's presence at the scene of
the murder the day after was suspicious, as if he had come back uneasily
and of an unquiet conscience. If that was so, Mr. Taynton's presence
there, who had been the witness who proved the presence of the other, was
suspicious also. What had he come there for? In order to throw the broken
pieces of Morris's stick into the bushes? These inferences were of
course but suggested in the questions counsel asked Mr. Taynton in the
further cross-examination of this morning, and perhaps no one in court
saw what the suggestion was for a moment or two, so subtly and covertly
was it conveyed. Then it appeared to strike all minds together, and a
subdued rustle went round the court, followed the moment after by an even
intenser silence.

Then followed a series of interrogations, which at first seemed wholly
irrelevant, for they appeared to bear only on the business relations
between the prisoner and the witness. Then suddenly like the dim light at
the end of a tunnel, where shines the pervading illuminating sunlight, a
little ray dawned.

"You have had control of the prisoner's private fortune since 1886?"

"Yes."

"In the year 1896 he had £8,000 or thereabouts in London and
North-Western Debentures, £6,000 in Consols, £7,000 in Government bonds
of South Australia?"

"I have no doubt those figures are correct."

"A fortnight ago you bought £8,000 of London and North-Western
Debentures, £6,000 in Consols, £7,000 in Government bonds of South
Australia?"

Mr. Taynton opened his lips to speak, but no sound came from them.

"Please answer the question."

If there had been a dead hush before, succeeding the rustle that had
followed the suggestions about the stick, a silence far more palpable now
descended. There was no doubt as to what the suggestion was now.

The counsel for the prosecution broke in.

"I submit that these questions are irrelevant, my lord," he said.

"I shall subsequently show, my lord, that they are not."

"The witness must answer the question," said the judge. "I see that there
is a possible relevancy."

The question was answered.

"Thank you, that is all," said the counsel for the defence, and Mr.
Taynton left the witness box.

It was then, for the first time since the trial began, that Morris
looked at this witness. All through he had been perfectly calm and
collected, a circumstance which the spectators put down to the
callousness with which they kindly credited him, and now for the first
time, as Mr. Taynton's eyes and his met, an emotion crossed the
prisoner's face. He looked sorry.

For the rest of the morning the examination of witnesses for the
prosecution went on, for there were a very large number of them, but when
the court rose for lunch, the counsel for the prosecution intimated that
this was his last. But again, hardly any but those engaged officially,
the judge, the counsel, the prisoner, the warder, left the court. Mr.
Taynton, however, went home, for he had his seat on the bench, and he
could escape for an hour from this very hot and oppressive atmosphere.
But he did not go to his Lewes office, or to any hotel to get his lunch.
He went to the station, where after waiting some quarter of an hour, he
took the train to Brighton. The train ran through Falmer and from his
window he could see where the Park palings made an angle close to the
road; it was from there that the path over the Downs, where he had so
often walked, passed to Brighton.

Again the judge took his seat, still carrying the little parcel wrapped
up in tissue paper.

There was no need for the usher to call silence, for the silence was
granted without being asked for.

The counsel for the defence called the first witness; he also unwrapped a
flat parcel which he had brought into court with him, and handed it to
the witness.

"That was supplied by your firm?"

"Yes sir."

"Who ordered it?"

"Mr. Assheton."

"Mr. Morris Assheton, that is. Did he order it from you, you yourself?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did he give any specific instructions about it?"

"Yes, sir."

"What were they?"

"That the blotting book which Mrs. Assheton had already ordered was to be
countermanded, and that this was to be sent in its stead on June 24th."

"You mean not after June 24th?"

"No, sir; the instructions were that it was not to be sent before
June 24th."

"Why was that?"

"I could not say, sir. Those were the instructions."

"And it was sent on June 24th."

"Yes, sir. It was entered in our book."

The book in question was produced and handed to the jury and the judge.

"That is all, Mrs. Assheton."

She stepped into the box, and smiled at Morris. There was no murmur of
sympathy, no rustling; the whole thing was too tense.

"You returned home on June 24th last, from a visit to town?"

"Yes."

"At what time?"

"I could not say to the minute. But about eleven in the morning."

"You found letters waiting for you?"

"Yes."

"Anything else?"

"A parcel."

"What did it contain?"

"A blotting-book. It was a present from my son on my birthday."

"Is this the blotting-book?"

"Yes."

"What did you do with it?"

"I opened it and placed it on my writing table in the drawing-room."

"Thank you; that is all."

There was no cross-examination of this witness, and after the pause, the
counsel for the defence spoke again.

"Superintendent Figgis."

"You searched the house of Mrs. Assheton in Sussex Square?"

"Yes, sir."

"What did you take from it?"

"A leaf from a blotting-book, sir."

"Was it that leaf which has been already produced in court, bearing the
impress of a letter dated June 21st?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where was the blotting-book?"

"On the writing-table in the drawing-room, sir."

"You did not examine the blotting-book in any way?"

"No, sir."

Counsel opened the book and fitted the torn out leaf into its place.

"We have here the impress of a letter dated June 21st, written in a new
blotting-book that did not arrive at Mrs. Assheton's house from the shop
till June 24th. It threatens—threatens a man who was murdered,
supposedly by the prisoner, on June 23d. Yet this threatening letter was
not written till June 24th, after he had killed him."

Quiet and unemotional as had been the address for the Crown, these few
remarks were even quieter. Then the examination continued.

"You searched also the flat occupied by the deceased, and you found there
this envelope, supposedly in the handwriting of the prisoner, which has
been produced by the prosecution?"

"Yes, sir."

"This is it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you. That is all."

Again there was no cross-examination, and the superintendent left the
witness box.

Then the counsel for the defence took up two blank envelopes in addition
to the one already produced and supposedly addressed in the handwriting
of the prisoner.

"This blue envelope," he said, "is from the stationery in Mrs.
Assheton's house. This other envelope, white, is from the flat of the
deceased. It corresponds in every way with the envelope which was
supposed to be addressed in the prisoner's hand, found at the flat in
question. The inference is that the prisoner blotted the letter dated
June 21st on a blotting pad which did not arrive in Mrs. Assheton's house
till June 24th, went to the deceased's flat and put it an envelope
there."

These were handed to the jury for examination.

"Ernest Smedley," said counsel.

Mills's servant stepped into the box, and was sworn.

"Between, let us say June 21st and June 24th, did the prisoner call at
Mr. Mills's flat?"

"Yes, sir, twice."

"When?"

"Once on the evening of June 23d, and once very early next morning."

"Did he go in?"

"Yes, sir, he came in on both occasions."

"What for?"

"To satisfy himself that Mr. Mills had not come back."

"Did he write anything?"

"No, sir."

"How do you know that?"

"I went with him from room to room, and should have seen if he had done
so."

"Did anybody else enter the flat during those days?"

"Yes, sir."

"Who?"

"Mr. Taynton."

The whole court seemed to give a great sigh; then it was quiet again. The
judge put down the pen with which he had been taking notes, and like the
rest of the persons present he only listened.

"When did Mr. Taynton come into the flat?"

"About mid-day or a little later on Friday."

"June 24th?"

"Yes, sir."

"Please tell the jury what he did?"

The counsel for the prosecution stood up.

"I object to that question," he said.

The judge nodded at him; then looked at the witness again. The
examination went on.

"You need not answer that question. I put it to save time, merely. Did
Mr. Taynton go into the deceased's sitting-room?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did he write anything there?"

"Yes, sir."

"Was he alone there?"

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you."

Again the examining counsel paused, and again no question was asked by
the prosecution.

"Charles Martin," said the counsel for defence.

"You are a servant of the prisoner's?"

"Yes, sir."

"You were in his service during this week of June, of which Friday was
June 24th?"

"Yes, sir."

"Describe the events—No. Did the prisoner go up to town, or elsewhere on
that day, driving his motorcar, but leaving you in Brighton?"

"Yes, sir."

"Mrs. Assheton came back that morning?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did anyone call that morning? If so, who?"

"Mr. Taynton called."

"Did he go to the drawing-room?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did he write anything there?"

"Yes, sir; he wrote a note to Mrs. Assheton, which he gave me when he
went out."

"You were not in the drawing-room, when he wrote it?"

"No, sir."

"Did he say anything to you when he left the house?"

"Yes, sir,"

"What did he say?"

The question was not challenged now.

"He told me to say that he had left the note at the door."

"But he had not done so?"

"No, sir; he wrote it in the drawing-room."

"Thank you. That is all."

But this witness was not allowed to pass as the others had done. The
counsel for the prosecution got up.

"You told Mrs. Assheton that it had been left at the door?"

"Yes, sir."

"You knew that was untrue?"

"Yes, sir."

"For what reason did you say it, then?"

Martin hesitated; he looked down, then he looked up again, and was
still silent.