The mystery of Angelina Frood 17 – Freeman · Verses Across
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The mystery of Angelina Frood 17Thorndyke Puts Down His Piece
18
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The mystery of Angelina Frood 17
Thorndyke Puts Down His Piece
FreemanEnglish
The journey down to Rochester would have been more agreeable and interesting under different circumstances. Thorndyke kept up a flow of lively conversation to which I should ordinarily have listened with the keenest pleasure. But he persistently avoided any reference to the object of our journey; and as this was the subject that engrossed my thoughts and from which I was unable to detach them, his conversational efforts were expended on somewhat inattentive ears. In common politeness I tried to make a show of listening and even of some sort of response; but the instant a pause occurred, my thoughts flew back to the engrossing subject and the round of fruitless speculation begun again.
What was it that Thorndyke had in his mind? He was not making this journey to inform the coroner of Frood’s death. That could have been done by letter; and, moreover, I was the actual witness to the dead man’s identity. There was some point that he expected to be able to elucidate; some evidence that had been overlooked. And that evidence seemed to be connected with that dreadful, pitiful thing that lay in the coffin--crying out, indeed, to Heaven for retribution, but crying in a voice all inarticulate. But would it be inarticulate to him? He had seemed to imply an expectation of being able to infer from the appearance of those mouldering bones the cause and manner of death, and even--so it had appeared to me--the very identity of the murderer. But how could this be possible? Dr. Baines had said that the bones showed no signs of injury. The soft structures of the body had disappeared utterly. What suggestion as to the cause of death could the bones offer? Chronic mineral poisoning might be ascertainable from examination of the skeleton, but not from a mere ocular inspection; and the question of chronic poisoning did not arise. Angelina was alive on the Saturday evening; before the Monday morning her body was in the wall. Again and again I dismissed the problem as an impenetrable mystery; and still it presented itself afresh for consideration.
A few words of explanation to the constable on duty at the mortuary secured our admission, or, rather Thorndyke’s; for I did not go in, but stood in the doorway, watching him inquisitively. He looked over the objects set out on the tray and seemed to be mentally checking them. Then he put on a pair of pince-nez and examined some of them more closely. From the tray he presently turned to the coffin, and, lifting off the lid, stood for a while, with his pince-nez in his hand, looking intently at the awful relics of the dead woman. From his face I could gather nothing. It was at all times a rather immobile face, in accordance with his calm, even temperament. Now it expressed nothing but interest and close attention. He inspected the whole skeleton methodically, as I could see by the way his eyes travelled slowly from the head to the foot of the coffin. Then, once more, he put on his reading-glasses, and stooped to examine more closely something in the upper part of the coffin--I judged it to be the skull. At length he stood up, put away his glasses, replaced the coffin-lid, and rejoined me.
“Has the sitting of the Court begun yet?” he asked the constable.
“They began about five minutes ago, sir,” was the reply; on which we made our way to the court-room, where Thorndyke, having secured a place at the table, beckoned to the coroner’s officer.
“Will you hand that to the coroner, please?” said he, producing from his pocket a note in an official-looking blue envelope. The officer took the note and laid it down before the coroner, who glanced at it and nodded and then looked with sudden interest at Thorndyke. The witness who was being examined at the moment was the pawnbroker’s daughter, and her account of the mysterious man with the mole on his nose was engaging the attention of the jury. While the examination was proceeding, the coroner glanced from time to time at the note. Presently he took it up and opened the envelope, and in a pause in the evidence, took out the note and turned it over to look at the signature. Then he ran his eyes over the contents, and I saw his eyebrows go up. But at that moment one of the jurymen asked a question, and the note was laid down while the answer was entered in the depositions. At length the evidence of this witness was completed, and the witness dismissed, when the coroner took up the note and read it through carefully.
“Before we take the evidence of Israel Bangs, gentlemen,” said he, “we had better consider some new facts which I think you will regard as highly important. I have just received a communication from Dr. John Thorndyke, who is a very eminent authority on medico-legal evidence. He informs me that the husband of the deceased, Nicholas Frood, is dead. It appears that he died about three months ago, but his body was not identified until yesterday, when it was seen by Frood’s landlady and by Dr. Strangeways, who is here and can give evidence as to the identity. I propose that we first recall Dr. Strangeways and then ask Dr. Thorndyke, who is also present, to give us the further particulars.”
The jury agreed warmly to the suggestion, and I was at once recalled, and as I took my place at the coroner’s left hand I felt that I was fully justifying Cobbledick’s description of me as the “star witness,” for not only was I the object of eager interest on the part of the jury and the sergeant himself, but also of Bundy, whose eyes were riveted on me with devouring curiosity.
There is no need for me to repeat my evidence. It was quite short. I just briefly described the body and its situation. As to how it came to the hospital, I had no personal knowledge, but I affirmed that it was undoubtedly the body of Nicholas Frood. Of that I was quite certain.
No questions were asked. There was a good deal of whispered comment, and one indiscreet juryman remarked audibly that “this fellow seemed to have cheated the hangman.” Then the coroner deferentially requested Thorndyke to give the Court any information that was available, and my friend advanced to the head of the table, where the coroner’s officer placed a chair for him, and took the oath.
“What a perfectly awful thing this is about poor old Nicholas!” whispered Bundy, who had crept into the chair that Thorndyke had just vacated. “It makes one’s flesh creep to think of it.”
“It was rather horrible,” I agreed, noting that my description of the scene had evidently made his flesh creep, for he was as pale as a ghost. But there was no time to discuss the matter further, for Thorndyke, having been sworn, and started by a general question from the coroner, now began to give his evidence, in the form of a narrative similar to that which I had heard from him, and accompanied by the production of documents relating to the inquest and the transfer of the body of the unknown deceased to the medical school.
“There is no doubt, I suppose, as to the date of this man’s death?” the coroner asked.
“Practically none. He was seen alive on the 25th of April, and he was found dead on the morning of the 26th. I have put in a copy of the depositions at the inquest, which give the date and time of the finding of the body.”
“Then, as his death occurred before the disappearance of his wife, this inquiry is not concerned with him any further.”
Here the foreman of the jury interposed with a question. “It seems that Dr. Thorndyke took a great deal of trouble to trace this man, Frood. Was he acting for the police?”
“I don’t know that that is strictly our concern,” said the coroner, looking at Thorndyke, nevertheless, with a somewhat inquiring expression.
“I was acting,” said Thorndyke, “in pursuance of instructions from a private client to investigate the circumstances of Mrs. Frood’s disappearance, to ascertain whether a crime had been committed and, if so, to endeavour to find the guilty party or parties.”
“He never told us that,” murmured Bundy; “at least--did you know, John?”
“I did, as a matter of fact, but I was sworn to secrecy.”
Bundy looked at me a little reproachfully, I thought, and I caught a queer glance from Cobbledick. But just then the coroner spoke again.
“Have you seen the evidence that was given yesterday?”
“Yes, I have a summary of it, which I have read.”
“Can you, from your investigations, tell us anything that was not disclosed by that evidence?”
“Yes. I have just examined the remains of the deceased and the articles which have been found from time to time. I think I can give some additional information concerning them.”
“From your examination of the remains,” the coroner said somewhat eagerly, “can you give any opinion as to the cause of death?”
“No,” replied Thorndyke. “My examination had reference chiefly to the identity of the remains.”
The coroner looked disappointed. “The identity of the remains,” said he, “is not in question. They have been clearly identified as those of Angelina Frood.”
“Then,” said Thorndyke, “they have been wrongly identified. I can swear positively that they are not the remains of Angelina Frood.”
At this statement a sudden hush fell on the Court, broken incongruously by an audible whistle from Sergeant Cobbledick. On me the declaration fell like a thunder-bolt, and, on looking round at Bundy, I could see that he was petrified with astonishment. There was a silence of some seconds’ duration. Then the coroner said, with a distinctly puzzled air: “This is a very remarkable statement, Dr. Thorndyke. It seems to be quite at variance with all the facts: and it appears almost incredible that you should be able to speak with such certainty, having regard to the condition of the remains and in spite of the extraordinary effect of the lime.”
“It is on account of the effect of the lime that I am able to speak with so much certainty and confidence,” Thorndyke replied.
“I don’t quite follow that,” said the coroner. “Would you kindly tell us how you were able to determine that these remains are not those of Angelina Frood?”
“It is a matter of simple inference,” replied Thorndyke. “On the 26th of April last Mrs. Frood is known to have been alive. It has been assumed that on that night or the next her body was built up in the wall. If that had really happened, when the wall was opened on the 20th of July, the body would have been found intact and perfectly recognizable!”
“You are not overlooking the circumstance that it was buried in a bed of quick-lime?” said the coroner.
“No,” replied Thorndyke; “in fact that is the circumstance that makes it quite certain that these remains are not those of Angelina Frood. There is,” he continued, “a widely prevalent belief that quick-lime has the property of completely consuming and destroying organic substances such as a dead human body. But that belief is quite erroneous. Quick-lime has no such properties. On the contrary, it has a strongly preservative effect on organic matter. Putrefaction is a change in organic matter which occurs only when that matter is more or less moist. If such matter is completely dried, putrefaction is prevented or arrested, and such dried, or mummified, matter will remain undecomposed almost indefinitely, as we see in the case of Egyptian mummies. But quick-lime has the property of abstracting the water from organic substances with which it is in contact; of rendering them completely dry. It thus acts as a very efficient preservative. If Mrs. Frood’s body had been buried, when recently dead, three months ago in fresh quick-lime, it would by now have been reduced more or less to the condition of a mummy. It would not have been even partially destroyed, and it would have been easily recognizable.”
To this statement everyone present listened with profound attention and equally profound surprise; and a glance at the faces of the jurymen was sufficient to show that it had failed utterly to produce conviction. Even the coroner was evidently not satisfied, and, after a few moments’ reflection with knitted brows, he stated his objection.
“The belief in the destructive properties of lime,” he said, “can hardly be accepted as a mere popular error. In the Crippen trial, you may remember that the question was raised, and one of the expert witnesses--no less an authority than Professor Pepper--gave it as his considered opinion that quick-lime has these destructive properties, and that if a body were buried in a sufficient quantity of quick-lime, that body would be entirely destroyed. You will agree, I think, that great weight attaches to the opinion of a man of Professor Pepper’s great reputation.”
“Undoubtedly,” Thorndyke agreed. “He was one of our greatest medico-legal authorities, though, on this subject, I think, his views differed from those generally held by medical jurists. But the point is that this was an opinion, and that no undeniable facts were then available. But since that time, the matter has been put to the test of actual experiment, and the results of those experiments are definite facts. It is no longer a matter of opinion but one of incontestable fact.”
“What are the experiments that you refer to?”
“The first practical investigation was carried out by Mr. A. Lucas, the Director of the Government Analytical Laboratory and Assay Office at Cairo. He felt that the question was one of great medico-legal importance, and that it ought to be settled definitely. He accordingly carried out a number of experiments, of which he published the particulars in his treatise on ‘Forensic Chemistry.’ I produce a copy of this book, with your permission.”
“Is this evidence admissible?” the foreman asked. “The witness can’t swear to another man’s experiments.”
“It is admissible in a coroner’s court,” was the reply. “We are not bound as rigidly by the rules of evidence as a criminal court, for instance. It is relevant to the inquiry, and I think we had better hear it.”
“I may say,” said Thorndyke, “that I have repeated and confirmed these experiments; but I suggest that, as the published cases are the recognized authority, I be allowed to quote them before describing my confirmatory experiments.”
The coroner having agreed to this course, he continued: “The tests were made with the fresh bodies of young pigeons, which were plucked but not opened, and which were buried in boxes with loosely-fitted covers, filled respectively with dry earth, slaked lime, chlorinated lime, quick-lime, and quick-lime suddenly slaked with water. These bodies were left thus buried for six months, the boxes being placed on the laboratory roof at Cairo. At the end of that period the bodies were disinterred and examined with the following results: The body which had been buried in dry earth was found to be in a very bad condition. There was a considerable smell of putrefaction and a large part of the flesh had disappeared. The body which had been buried in quick-lime was found to be in good condition; it was dry and hard, the skin was unbroken, but the body was naturally shrunken. The other three bodies do not concern us, but I may say that none of them was as completely preserved as the one that was buried in quick-lime.
“On reading the account of these experiments I decided to repeat them, partly for confirmation and partly to enable me to give direct evidence as to the effect of lime on dead bodies. I used freshly-killed rabbits from which the fur was removed by shaving, and buried them in roomy boxes in the same materials as were used in the published experiments. They were left undisturbed during the six summer months, and were then exhumed and examined. The rabbit which had been buried in dry earth was in an advanced stage of putrefaction; the one which had been buried in quick-lime was free from any odour of decomposition, the skin was intact, and the body unaltered excepting that it was dry and rather shrivelled--mummified, in fact. It was more completely preserved than any of the others.”
The conclusion of this statement was followed by a slightly uncomfortable silence. The coroner stroked his chin reflectively, and the jurymen looked at one another with obvious doubt and distrust. At length Mr. Pilley gave voice to the collective sentiments.
“It’s all very well, sir, for this learned gentleman to explain to us that the lime couldn’t have eaten up the body of the deceased. But it has. We’ve seen the bare bones with our own eyes. What’s the use of saying a thing is impossible when it has happened?”
Here Thorndyke produced from his pocket a sheet of notepaper and a fountain pen, and began to write rapidly, noting down, as I supposed, the jurymen’s objections; which, however, the coroner proceeded to answer.
“Dr. Thorndyke’s statement was that these bones are not the bones of Angelina Frood. That the body was not her body.”
“Still,” said the foreman, “it was somebody’s body, you know. And the lime seems to have eaten it up pretty clean, possible or impossible.”
“Exactly,” said the coroner. “The destruction of this particular body appears to be an undeniable fact; and we may assume that one body is very much like another--in a chemical sense, at least. What do you say, Doctor?”
“My statement,” replied Thorndyke, “had reference to Angelina Frood, who is known to have been alive on a certain date. Of the condition of the unknown body that was buried in the wall, I can give no opinion.”
Again there was an uncomfortable silence, during which Thorndyke, having finished writing, folded the sheet of notepaper, tucked the end in securely, and wrote an address on the back. Then he handed it to his neighbour, who passed it on until it reached me. I was on the point of opening it when I observed with astonishment that it was addressed to Peter Bundy, Esq., to whom I immediately handed it. But my astonishment was nothing to Bundy’s. He seemed positively thunderstruck. Indeed, his aspect was so extraordinary as he sat gazing wildly at the opened note, that I forgot my manners and frankly stared at him. First he turned scarlet; then he grew deathly pale; and then he turned scarlet again. And, for the first and only time in my life, I saw him look really angry. But this was only a passing manifestation. For a few moments his eyes flashed and his mouth set hard. Then, quite suddenly, the wrath faded from his face and gave place to a whimsical smile. He tore off the fly-leaf of the note, and, scribbling a few words on it, folded it up small, addressed it to Dr. Thorndyke, and handed it to me for transmission by the return route.
When it reached Thorndyke, he opened it, and, having read the brief message, nodded gravely to Bundy, and once more turned his attention to the foreman, who was addressing the coroner at greater length.
“The jury wish to say, sir, that this evidence is not satisfactory. It can’t be reconciled with the other evidence. The facts before the jury are these: On the 26th of April Angelina Frood disappeared, and was never afterwards seen alive. On the night that she disappeared, or on the next night, a dead body was buried in the wall. Three months later that body was found in the wall, packed in quick-lime, and eaten away to a skeleton. That skeleton has been examined by an expert, and found to be that of a woman of similar size and age to Angelina Frood. With that skeleton were found articles of clothing, jewellery, and ornaments which have been proved to have been the clothing and property of Angelina Frood. Other articles of clothing have been recovered from the river; and those articles were missing from the body when it was found in the wall. On these facts, the jury feel that it is impossible to doubt that the remains found in the wall are the remains of Angelina Frood.”
As the foreman concluded the coroner turned to Thorndyke with a slightly puzzled smile. “Of course, Doctor,” said he, “you have considered those facts that the foreman has summarized so admirably. What do you say to his conclusion?”
“I must still contest it,” replied Thorndyke. “The foreman’s summary of the evidence, masterly as it was, furnishes no answer to the objection--based on established chemical facts--that the condition of the remains when found is irreconcilable with the alleged circumstances of the burial.”
The coroner raised his eyebrows and pursed up his lips. “I appreciate your point, Doctor,” said he. “But we are on the horns of a dilemma. We are between the Devil of observed fact and the Deep Sea of scientific demonstration. Can you suggest any way out of the difficulty?”
“I think,” said Thorndyke, “that if you were to call Mr. Bundy, he might be able to help you out of your dilemma.”
“Mr. Bundy!” exclaimed the coroner. “I didn’t know he was concerned in the case. Can you give us any information, Mr. Bundy?”
“Yes,” replied Bundy, looking somewhat shy and nervous. “I think I could throw a little light on the case.”
“I wish to goodness you had said so before. However, better late than never. We will take your evidence at once.”
On this Thorndyke returned to his seat at the table and Bundy took his place, standing by the chair which Thorndyke had resigned.
“Let me see, Mr. Bundy,” said the coroner, “your Christian name is----”
“The witness has not been sworn,” interrupted Thorndyke.
The coroner smiled. “We are in the hands of the regular practitioners,” he chuckled. “We must mind our p’s and q’s. Still you are quite right, Doctor. The name is part of the evidence.”
The witness was accordingly sworn, and the coroner then proceeded, smilingly: “Now, Mr. Bundy, be very careful. You are making a sworn statement, remember. What is your Christian name?”
“Angelina,” was the astounding reply.
“Angelina!” bawled Pilley. “It can’t be. Why, it’s a woman’s name.”
“We must presume that the witness knows his own name,” said the coroner, writing it down. “Angelina Bundy.”
“No, Sir,” said the witness. “Angelina Frood.”
The coroner suddenly stiffened with the upraised pen poised in the air; and so everyone in the room, including myself, underwent an instantaneous arrest of movement as if we had been turned into stone; and I noticed that the process of petrifaction had caught us all with our mouths open. But whereas the fixed faces on which I looked, expressed amazement qualified by incredulity, my own astonishment was coupled with conviction. Astounding as the statement was, the moment that it was made I knew that it was true. In spite of the discrepancies of appearance, I realized in a flash of enlightenment, the nature of that subtle influence that had drawn me to Bundy with a tenderness hardly congruous with mere male friendship. Outwardly I had been deceived, but my sub-conscious self had recognized Angelina all the time.
The interval of breathless silence, during which the witness calmly surveyed the court through his--or rather her--eyeglass, was at length broken by the coroner, who asked gravely: “This is not a joke? You affirm seriously that you are Angelina Frood?”
“Yes; I am Angelina Frood,” was the reply.
Here Mr. Pilley recovered himself and demanded excitedly: “Do we understand this gentleman to say that he is the deceased?”
“Well,” replied the coroner, “he is obviously not deceased, and he states that he is not a gentleman. He has declared that he is a lady.”
“But,” protested Pilley, “he says that she--at least she says that he----”
“You are getting mixed, Pilley,” interrupted the foreman. “This appears to be a woman masquerading as a man and playing practical jokes on a coroner’s jury. I suggest, sir, that we ought to have evidence of identity.”
“I agree with you, emphatically,” said the coroner. “The identification is indispensable. Is there anyone present who can swear to the identity of this--er--person? Mr. Japp, for instance?”
“I’d rather you didn’t bring Mr. Japp into it,” said Angelina, hastily. “It isn’t really necessary. If you will allow me to run home and change my clothes, Mrs. Gillow and Dr. Strangeways will be able to identify me. And I can bring some photographs to show the jury.”
“That seems quite a good suggestion,” said the coroner. “Don’t you think so, gentlemen?”
“It is a very proper suggestion,” said the foreman, severely. “Let her go away and clothe herself decently. How long will she be gone?”
“I shall be back in less than half an hour,” said Angelina; and on this understanding she was given permission to retire. I watched her with a tumult of mixed emotions as she took up her hat, gloves, and stick, and strolled jauntily towards the door. There she paused for an instant and shot at me a single, swift, whimsical glance through her monocle. Then she went out; and with her disappeared for ever the familiar figure of Peter Bundy.
