The First R. Austin Freeman MEGAPACK ®. R. Austin Freeman
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He was on his way to the extemporized mortuary to make the post-mortem examination of the murdered man’s body. Thorndyke, having notified the coroner that he was watching the case on behalf of the accused, had been authorized to be present at the autopsy; but the authorization did not include me, and, as Dr. Burrows did not issue any invitation, I was not able to be present. I met them, however, as they were returning, and it seemed to me that Dr. Burrows appeared a little huffy.
“Your friend,” said he, in a rather injured tone, “is really the most outrageous stickler for forms and ceremonies that I have ever met.”
Thorndyke looked at him with an amused twinkle, and chuckled indulgently.
“Here was a body,” Dr. Burrows continued irritably, “found under circumstances clearly indicative of murder, and bearing a knife-wound that nearly divided the arch of the aorta; in spite of which, I assure you that Dr. Thorndyke insisted on weighing the body, and examining every organ—lungs, liver, stomach, and brain—yes, actually the brain!—as if there had been no clue whatever to the cause of death. And then, as a climax, he insisted on sending the contents of the stomach in a jar, sealed with our respective seals, in charge of a special messenger, to Professor Copland, for analysis and report. I thought he was going to demand an examination for the tubercle bacillus, but he didn’t; which,” concluded Dr. Burrows, suddenly becoming sourly facetious, “was an oversight, for, after all, the fellow may have died of consumption.”
Thorndyke chuckled again, and I murmured that the precautions appeared to have been somewhat excessive.
“Not at all,” was the smiling response. “You are losing sight of our function. We are the expert and impartial umpires, and it is our business to ascertain, with scientific accuracy, the cause of death. The prima facie appearances in this case suggest that the deceased was murdered by Draper, and that is the hypothesis advanced. But that is no concern of ours. It is not our function to confirm an hypothesis suggested by outside circumstances, but rather, on the contrary, to make certain that no other explanation is possible. And that is my invariable practice. No matter how glaringly obvious the appearances may be, I refuse to take anything for granted.”
Dr. Burrows received this statement with a grunt of dissent, but the arrival of his dogcart put a stop to further discussion.
Thorndyke was not subpoenaed for the inquest. Dr. Burrows and the sergeant having been present immediately after the finding of the body, his evidence was not considered necessary, and, moreover, he was known to be watching the case in the interests of the accused. Like myself, therefore, he was present as a spectator, but as a highly interested one, for he took very complete shorthand notes of the whole of the evidence and the coroner’s comments.
I shall not describe the proceedings in detail. The jury, having been taken to view the body, trooped into the room on tiptoe, looking pale and awe-stricken, and took their seats; and thereafter, from time to time, directed glances of furtive curiosity at Draper as he stood, pallid and haggard, confronting the court, with a burly rural constable on either side.
The medical evidence was taken first. Dr. Burrows, having been sworn, began, with sarcastic emphasis, to describe the condition of the lungs and liver, until he was interrupted by the coroner.
“Is all this necessary?” the latter inquired. “I mean, is it material to the subject of the inquiry?”
“I should say not,” replied Dr. Burrows. “It appears to me to be quite irrelevant, but Dr. Thorndyke, who is watching the case for the defence, thought it necessary.”
“I think,” said the coroner, “you had better give us only the facts that are material. The jury want you to tell them what you consider to have been the cause of death. They don’t want a lecture on pathology.”
“The cause of death,” said Dr. Burrows, “was a penetrating wound of the chest, apparently inflicted with a large knife. The weapon entered between the second and third ribs on the left side close to the sternum or breast-bone. It wounded the left lung, and partially divided both the pulmonary artery and the aorta—the two principal arteries of the body.”
“Was this injury alone sufficient to cause death?” the coroner asked.
“Yes,” was the reply; “and death from injury to these great vessels would be practically instantaneous.”
“Could the injury have been self-inflicted?”
“So far as the position and nature of the wound are concerned,” replied the witness, “self-infliction would be quite possible. But since death would follow in a few seconds at the most, the weapon would be found either in the wound, or grasped in the hand, or, at least, quite close to the body. But in this case no weapon was found at all, and the wound must therefore certainly have been homicidal.”
“Did you see the body before it was moved?”
“Yes. It was lying on its back, with the arms extended and the legs nearly straight; and the sand in the neighbourhood of the body was trampled as if a furious struggle had taken place.”
“Did you notice anything remarkable about the footprints in the sand?”
“I did,” replied Dr. Burrows. “They were the footprints of two persons only. One of these was evidently the deceased, whose footmarks could be easily identified by the circular rubber heels. The other footprints were those of a person—apparently a man—who wore shoes, or boots, the soles of which were studded with nails; and these nails were arranged in a very peculiar and unusual manner, for those on the soles formed a lozenge or diamond shape, and those on the heel were set out in the form of a cross.”
“Have you ever seen shoes or boots with the nails arranged in this manner?”
“Yes. I have seen a pair of shoes which I am informed belong to the accused; the nails in them are arranged as I have described.”
“Would you say that the footprints of which you have spoken were made by those shoes?”
“No; I could not say that. I can only say that, to the best of my belief, the pattern on the shoes is similar to that in the footprints.”
This was the sum of Dr. Burrows’ evidence, and to all of it Thorndyke listened with an immovable countenance, though with the closest attention. Equally attentive was the accused man, though not equally impassive; indeed, so great was his agitation that presently one of the constables asked permission to get him a chair.
The next witness was Arthur Jezzard. He testified that he had viewed the body, and identified it as that of Charles Hearn; that he had been acquainted with deceased for some years, but knew practically nothing of his affairs. At the time of his death deceased was lodging in the village.
“Why did he leave the yacht?” the coroner inquired. “Was there any kind of disagreement!”
“Not in the least,” replied Jezzard. “He grew tired of the confinement of the yacht, and came to live ashore for a change. But we were the best of friends, and he intended to come with us when we sailed.”
“When did you see him last?”
“On the night before the body was found—that is, last Monday. He had been dining on the yacht, and we put him ashore about midnight. He said as we were rowing him ashore that he intended to walk home along the sands us the tide was out. He went up the stone steps by the watch-house, and turned at the top to wish us good-night. That was the last time I saw him alive.”
“Do you know anything of the relations between the accused and the deceased?” the coroner asked.
“Very little,” replied Jezzard. “Mr. Draper was introduced to us by the deceased about a month ago. I believe they had been acquainted some years, and they appeared to be on excellent terms. There was no indication of any quarrel or disagreement between them.”
“What time did the accused leave the yacht on the night of the murder?”
“About ten o’clock. He said that he wanted to get home early, as his housekeeper was away and he did not