Cyril Hare - Untimely Death aka He Should Have Died Hereafter

“I went to bed for two days with a high temperature,” he said, and he contrived to put into his tone exactly what he was feeling.

Puffkins gave him a long, hard look. Then, astonishingly, he smiled.

“I’m not altogether surprised,” he said. “And when you finally got out of bed, you decided that nobody was likely to believe you. That does not surprise me either. After all, I have had some difficulty in believing you myself. But I do believe you, Mr. Pettigrew. Thank you, Mr. Manktelow. Do you cross-examine, Mr. Twentyman?”

Twentyman’s cross-examination was little more than a formality, and Pettigrew escaped thankfully from the box.

“My lord,” said Manktelow, “my next witness is Detective-Inspector Parkinson.”

The Judge looked disappointed. “I hoped it was going to be Mr. Joliffe,” he said.

“My lord, my clients have elected not to call him. They were conscious of the probability that Mr. Joliffe might object to answering questions tending to incriminate himself-”

Mr. Justice Pomeroy, who was something of an antiquarian, murmured something about exhibiting a pardon under the Great Seal.

“I think that I shall be in a position to satisfy your lordship without recourse to that. The police officer in the course of his investigations has taken a statement in writing from Mr. Joliffe-”

“I shan’t admit it. Why should I? It’s only secondary evidence at the best, and the man who made the statement is actually in court.”

“None the less, if your lordship will be good enough to hear the officer, I think that those parts of his evidence which are plainly admissible will make it abundantly clear-”

By this time the hapless Parkinson, waiting to take the oath, had become horribly nervous. He was used to holding his local Petty Sessions in the hollow of his hand; Recorders and even Judges of Assize he could confront with assurance; but the mysterious proceedings of the High Court of Chancery filled him with alarm. The first ten minutes of his evidence, therefore, punctuated as they were by caustic comments from the Bench and by two or three successful objections from Twentyman, were thoroughly unhappy. But after that things improved. Pomeroy began to be impressed by the story that Parkinson had to tell, and when the officer produced a highly technical report from the Forensic Science Laboratory, with accompanying exhibits, he was completely captivated. It is not every day that a Judge of the Chancery Division finds himself plunged into the hurly-burly of police work, and Puffkins forgot even the refined delights of the base fee in contemplation of detection in real life.

“Fascinating, fascinating!” he murmured, toying with a magnifying glass. “Let me see that I have this right, Inspector. The contents of envelope ‘A’ are fragments of sawdust from the cold store of Mr. Joliffe’s butcher’s shop; the contents of envelope ‘B’, dust and other material from the floor of Mr. Joliffe’s van; the contents of envelope ‘C consists of material taken from the deceased’s jacket, consisting partly of sawdust identical with exhibit ‘A’, partly of dust identical with exhibit ‘B’. ‘A’, ‘B’ and ‘C’ alike are impregnated with blood, which, on analysis, proves to be animal, but not human.”

“Quite right, my lord.”

“Good! Now let me see if I appreciate the significance of the button. That was found at Satcherley Way, I think you said?”

“About half a mile to the west of Satcherley Way, my lord. On the edge of the road.”

“A button identical with those on the deceased’s clothing. Your theory is that the deceased met his death at that spot. How, by the way?”

“I’m not in a position to say, my lord.”

“Pity. Never mind, that is a side issue. Having died there, he was taken to the cold store, via Bolter’s Tussock. Curious, that. Why stop half-way?”

“Mr. Joliffe’s statement, my lord-”

“Tut, tut! I can’t have that. If you can’t answer the question, you can’t answer it. Now can you answer this one? Granted that you can prove that the body was in the van and in the cold store, how do you prove that it was there before Sunday, when Mr. Gilbert Gorman died?”

“The butcher’s premises were shut from the close of business on Saturday until Tuesday morning, my lord. If the body didn’t get in there by Saturday evening, it didn’t get there at all.”

Mr. Justice Pomeroy nodded. Then he looked at the clock. A tidy-minded man, he disliked leaving the fag-end of a case to be finished on the second day. At the same time, he disliked sitting beyond his accustomed time.

“Well, Mr. Twentyman?” he said.

“If your lordship will allow me one moment,” said Twentyman.

He consulted briefly with the solicitors instructing him and then announced that on behalf of the trustees of the settlement he did not propose to contest the case any further. Subject to his costs being provided for, he was prepared to consent to the declaration claimed by the Plaintiff.

“Very well, Mr. Twentyman. I think you are wise. There will be a declaration as prayed.”

Mrs. Gorman stood up.

“Then who has won the day, my lord?” she asked.

“Mr. Dick Gorman has won the day, madam, just as you said he would. Whether his victory is any profit to him depends on what happens on another day-in the third week in June, I think you said?”

Mrs. Gorman nodded silently and walked out of court. Pettigrew, following her with his eyes, was pleased to see Dick Gorman catch her up and engage her in what seemed a friendly conversation. Mr. Joliffe followed them out, and turned down the corridor in the opposite direction. He was quite alone.

Pettigrew did not wait to talk to Manktelow or to Mallett, or to anyone else. He felt suddenly in urgent need of fresh air, and made his way straight out of the building. Once beyond the doors, he halted, irresolute. Eleanor, he suddenly remembered, had decided to come to London to join Hester Greenway, who was making one of her very rare descents on the metropolis on some obscure expedition. Had he arranged to meet Eleanor, and if so, where and when? Feeling thoroughly stupid, he dawdled there, his mind a complete blank, while homing barristers, witnesses and solicitors’ clerks, swirled past him.

“Well, Frank! Thank goodness you waited for us- I thought we were never going to get out of that place.”

Pettigrew turned to see his wife coming towards him, accompanied by a weatherbeaten woman who could only be Hester Greenway.

“Where do you come from?” he asked in surprise.

“From the public gallery in the Court, of course. Do you mean to say you never saw us?”

“No,” said Pettigrew rather shaken. “I didn’t.” As a good witness should, he had turned towards the bench to give his evidence. The public gallery, in any event, was the last place to which a man of his training would think of giving his attention. “You never told me you were coming,” he added reproachfully.

“I didn’t know I was. It was Hester’s idea. Oh, that reminds me-”

She introduced her husband to Hester in due form.

“I thought you put up a jolly good show,” said Hester, shaking Pettigrew’s hand warmly. “I wanted to clap, but Ellie said I’d only put you off. Do tell me one thing, though. Did the pony bolt with you?”

“It did,” said Pettigrew. “How did you know?” To his great surprise, he found himself thinking that he was going to like Miss Greenway very much.

“Well, for one thing, those Gorman ponies always will if you give them half a chance. Mind you, I don’t blame you for not telling the judge, when he was asking all those silly questions, but I think he ought to have guessed that was why you didn’t stop to look at the body.”