The magic casket
communicated with him and served a summons to attend this inquest.”
“With regard to the ditch in which you found the body,” said the
coroner, “can you tell us how deep it is?”
“Yes; I measured it with Moffet’s crook and a tape measure. In the
deepest part, where the body was lying, it is four feet two inches
deep. From there it slopes up pretty sharply to the bank.”
“So far as you can judge, if a grown man fell into the ditch by
accident, would he have any difficulty in getting out?”
“None at all, I should say, if he were sober and in ordinary health. A
man of medium height, standing in the middle at the deepest part would
have his head and shoulders out of water; and the sides are not too
steep to climb up easily, especially with the grass and rushes on the
bank to lay hold of.”
“You say there were no signs of disturbance on the bank. Were there
any in the ditch itself?”
“None that I could see. But, of course, signs of disturbance soon
disappear in water. The duck-weed drifts about as the wind drives it,
and there are creatures moving about on the bottom. I noticed that
deceased had some weed grasped in one hand.”
This concluded the sergeant’s evidence, and as he retired, the name of
Dr. Albert Parton was called. The new witness was a young man of grave
and professional aspect, who gave his evidence with an extreme regard
for clearness and accuracy.
“I have made an examination of the body of the deceased,” he began,
after the usual preliminaries. “It is that of a healthy man of about
forty-five. I first saw it about two hours after it was found. It had
then been dead from twelve to fifteen hours. Later I made a complete
examination. I found no injuries, marks of violence or any definite
bruises, and no signs of disease.”
“Did you ascertain the cause of death?” the coroner asked.
“Yes. The cause of death was drowning.”
“You are quite sure of that?”
“Quite sure. The lungs contained a quantity of water and duck-weed,
and there was more than a quart of water mixed with duck-weed and
water-weed in the stomach. That is a clear proof of death by drowning.
The water in the lungs was the immediate cause of death, by making
breathing impossible, and as the water and weed in the stomach must
have been swallowed, they furnish conclusive evidence that deceased
was alive when he fell into the water.”
“The water and weed could not have got into the stomach after death?”
“No, that is quite impossible. They must have been swallowed when the
head of the deceased was just below the surface; and the water must
have been drawn into the lungs by spasmodic efforts to breathe when
the mouth was under water.”
“Did you find any signs indicating that deceased might have been
intoxicated?”
“No. I examined the water from the stomach very carefully with that
question in view, but there was no trace of alcohol--or, indeed, of
anything else. It was simple ditch-water. As the point is important I
have preserved it, and----” here the witness produced a paper parcel
which he unfastened, revealing a large glass jar containing about a
quart of water plentifully sprinkled with duck-weed. This he presented
to the coroner, who waved it away hastily and indicated the jury; to
whom it was then offered and summarily rejected with emphatic
head-shakes. Finally it came to rest on the table by the place where I
was sitting with my colleague, Dr. Thorndyke, and our client, Mr.
Wilfred Pedley. I glanced at it with faint interest, noting how the
duck-weed plants had risen to the surface and floated, each with its
tassel of roots hanging down into the water, and how a couple of tiny,
flat shells, like miniature ammonites, had sunk and lay on the bottom
of the jar. Thorndyke also glanced at it; indeed, he did more than
glance, for he drew the jar towards him and examined its contents in
the systematic way in which it was his habit to examine everything.
Meanwhile the coroner asked:
“Did you find anything abnormal or unusual, or anything that could
throw light on how deceased came to be in the water?”
“Nothing whatever,” was the reply. “I found simply that deceased met
his death by drowning.”
Here, as the witness seemed to have finished his evidence, Thorndyke
interposed.
“The witness states, sir, there were no definite bruises. Does he mean
that there were any marks that might have been bruises?”
The coroner glanced at Dr. Parton, who replied:
“There was a faint mark on the outside of the right arm, just above
the elbow, which had somewhat the appearance of a bruise, as if the
deceased had been struck with a stick. But it was very indistinct. I
shouldn’t like to swear that it was a bruise at all.”
This concluded the doctor’s evidence, and when he had retired, the
name of our client, Wilfred Pedley, was called. He rose, and having
taken the oath and given his name and address, deposed:
“I have viewed the body of deceased. It is that of my brother, Cyrus
Pedley, who is forty-three years of age. The last time I saw deceased
alive was on Tuesday morning, the day before the body was found.”
“Did you notice anything unusual in his manner or state of mind?”
The witness hesitated but at length replied:
“Yes. He seemed anxious and depressed. He had been in low spirits for
some time past, but on this occasion he seemed more so than usual.”
“Had you any reason to suspect that he might contemplate taking his
life?”
“No,” the witness replied, emphatically, “and I do not believe that he
would, under any circumstances, have contemplated suicide.”
“Have you any special reason for that belief?”
“Yes. Deceased was a highly conscientious man and he was in my debt.
He had occasion to borrow two thousand pounds from me, and the debt
was secured by an insurance on his life. If he had committed suicide
that insurance would be invalidated and the debt would remain unpaid.
From my knowledge of him, I feel certain that he would not have done
such a thing.”
The coroner nodded gravely, and then asked:
“What was deceased’s occupation?”
“He was employed in some way by the Foreign Office, I don’t know in
what capacity. I know very little about his affairs.”
“Do you know if he had any money worries or any troubles or
embarrassments of any kind?”
“I have never heard of any; but deceased was a very reticent man. He
lived alone in his flat, taking his meals at his club, and no one
knew--at least, I did not--how he spent his time or what was the state
of his finances. He was not married, and I am his only near relative.”
“And as to deceased’s habits. Was he ever addicted to taking more
stimulants than was good for him?”
“Never,” the witness replied emphatically. “He was a most temperate
and abstemious man.”
“Was he subject to fits of any kind, or fainting attacks?”
“I have never heard that he was.”
“Can you account for his being in this solitary place at this
time--apparently about eight o’clock at night?”
“I cannot. It is a complete mystery to me. I know of no one with whom
either of us was acquainted in this district. I had never heard of the
place until I got the summons to the inquest.”
This was the sum of our client’s evidence, and, so far, things did not
look very favourable from our point of view--we were retained on the
insurance question, to rebut, if possible, the suggestion of suicide.
However, the coroner was a discreet man, and having regard to the
obscurity of the case--and perhaps to the interests involved--summed
up in favour of an open verdict; and the jury, taking a similar view,
found that deceased met his death by drowning, but under what
circumstances there was no evidence to show.
“Well,” I said, as the court rose, “that leaves it to the insurance
people to make out a case of suicide if they can. I think you are
fairly safe, Mr. Pedley. There is no positive evidence.”
“No,” our client replied. “But it isn’t only the money I am thinking
of. It would be some consolation to me for the loss of my poor brother
if I had some idea how he met with his death, and could feel sure that
it was an unavoidable misadventure. And for my own
satisfaction--leaving the insurance out of the question--I should like
to have definite proof that it was not suicide.”
He looked half-questioningly at Thorndyke, who nodded gravely.
“Yes,” the latter agreed, “the suggestion of suicide ought to be
disposed of if possible, both for legal and sentimental reasons. How
far away is the mortuary?”
“A couple of minutes’ walk,” replied Mr. Pedley. “Did you wish to
inspect the body?”
“If it is permissible,” replied Thorndyke; “and then I propose to have
a look at the place where the body was found.”
“In that case,” our client said, “I will go down to the Station Hotel
and wait for you. We may as well travel up to town together, and you
can then tell me if you have seen any further light on the mystery.”
As soon as he was gone, Dr. Parton advanced, tying the string of the
parcel which once more enclosed the jar of ditch-water.
“I heard you say, sir, that you would like to inspect the body,” said
he. “If you like, I will show you the way to the mortuary. The
sergeant will let us in, won’t you, sergeant? This gentleman is a
doctor as well as a lawyer.”
“Bless you, sir,” said the sergeant, “I know who Dr. Thorndyke is, and
I shall feel it an honour to show him anything he wishes to see.”
Accordingly we set forth together, Dr. Parton and Thorndyke leading
the way.
“The coroner and the jury didn’t seem to appreciate my exhibit,” the
former remarked with a faint grin, tapping the parcel as he spoke.
“No,” Thorndyke agreed; “and it is hardly reasonable to expect a
layman to share our own matter-of-fact outlook. But you were quite
right to produce the specimen. That ditch-water furnishes conclusive
evidence on a vitally material question. Further, I would advise you
to preserve that jar for the present, well covered and under lock and
key.”
Parton looked surprised.
“Why?” he asked. “The inquest is over and the verdict pronounced.”
“Yes, but it was an open verdict, and an open verdict leaves the case
in the air. The inquest has thrown no light on the question as to how
Cyrus Pedley came by his death.”
“There doesn’t seem to me much mystery about it,” said the doctor.
“Here is a man found drowned in a shallow ditch which he could easily
have got out of if he had fallen in by accident. He was not drunk.
Apparently he was not in a fit of any kind. There are no marks of
violence and no signs of a struggle, and the man is known to have been
in an extremely depressed state of mind. It looks like a clear case of
suicide, though I admit that the jury were quite right, in the absence
of direct evidence.”
“Well,” said Thorndyke, “it will be my duty to contest that view if
the insurance company dispute the claim on those grounds.”
“I can’t think what you will have to offer in answer to the suggestion
of suicide,” said Parton.
“Neither can I, at present,” replied Thorndyke. “But the case doesn’t
look to me quite so simple as it does to you.”
“You think it possible that an analysis of the contents of this jar
may be called for?”
“That is a possibility,” replied Thorndyke. “But I mean that the case
is obscure, and that some further inquiry into the circumstances of
this man’s death is by no means unlikely.”
“Then,” said Parton, “I will certainly follow your advice and lock up
this precious jar. But here we are at the mortuary. Is there anything
in particular that you want to see?”
“I want to see all that there is to see,” Thorndyke replied. “The
evidence has been vague enough so far. Shall we begin with that bruise
or mark that you mentioned?”
Dr. Parton advanced to the grim, shrouded figure that lay on the