The mystery of Angelina Frood
course, he knows nothing of the circumstances of her death.”
By this time we had arrived at the Guildhall, and here we encountered
Sergeant Cobbledick, who was evidently on the look-out for me.
“I am glad you came early, Doctor,” said he. “I want you just to pop
round to the mortuary. You know the way. There’s a tray by the side of
the coffin with all her belongings on it. I’ll get you to take a
careful look at them, so that you can tell the jury that they are
really her things. And you had better run your eye over the remains.
You might be able to spot something of importance. At any rate, they
will expect you to have viewed the body, as you are the principal
witness to its identity. I’ve told the constable on duty to let you
in. And, of course, you can go in, too, Mr. Bundy, if you want to.”
“I don’t think I do, thank you,” replied Bundy. But he walked round
with me to the mortuary, where the constable unlocked the door as he
saw us approaching. I mentioned my name to the officer, but he knew me
by sight, and now held the door open and followed me in, while Bundy
halted at the threshold, and stood, rather pale and awe-stricken,
looking in at the long table and its gruesome burden.
The tray of which Cobbledick had spoken was covered with a white
table-cloth, and on this the various objects were arranged
symmetrically like the exhibits in a museum. At the top was the hat,
flanked on either side by a silver-headed hat-pin. The carefully
smoothed scarf was spread across horizontally, the six coat-buttons
were arranged in a straight vertical line, and the two shoes were
placed at the bottom centre. At one side was the hand-bag, and at the
other, to balance it, the handkerchief with its neatly-embroidered
initials; and on this were placed the Zodiac ring, the wedding ring,
the box of tablets, and the brooch. On the lateral spaces the various
other objects were arranged with the same meticulous care for
symmetrical effect: a neat row of hair pins, a row of hooks and eyes,
one or two rows of buttons from the dress and under-garments, the
little metal jaws of the purse, two rows of coins, silver and bronze,
a pair of glove-fasteners with scorched fragments of leather adhering,
a little pearl-handled knife, a number of metal clasps and fastenings
and other small metallic objects derived from the various garments,
and a few fragments of textiles, scorched as if by fire; a couple of
brown shreds, apparently from the stockings, a cindery fragment of the
brown coat, and a few charred and brittle tatters of linen.
I looked over the pitiful collection while the constable stood near
the door and probably watched me. There was something unspeakably
pathetic in the spectacle of these poor fragments of wreckage, thus
laid out, and seeming, in the almost grotesque symmetry of their
disposal, to make a mute appeal for remembrance and justice. This was
all that was left of her; this and what was in the coffin.
So moved was I by the sight of these relics, thus assembled and
presented in a sort of tragic synopsis, that it was some time before I
could summon the resolution to look upon her very self, or at least
upon such vestiges of her as had survived the touch of “decay’s
effacing fingers.” But the time was passing, and it had to be. At last
I turned to the coffin, and, lifting the unfastened lid, looked in.
It could have been no different from what I had expected; but yet the
shock of its appearance seemed to strike me a palpable blow. Someone
had arranged the bones in their anatomical order; and there the
skeleton lay on the bottom of the coffin, dry, dusty, whitened with
the powder of lime, such a relic as might have been brought to light
by the spade of some excavator in an ancient barrow or prehistoric
tomb. And yet this thing was she--Angelina! That grisly skull had once
been clothed by her rich, abundant hair! That grinning range of long
white teeth had once sustained the sweet, pensive mouth that I
remembered so well. It was incredible. It was horrible. And yet it was
true.
For some moments I stood as if petrified, holding up the coffin lid
and gazing at the fearful shape in a trance of horror. And then
suddenly I felt, as it were, a clutching at my throat and the vision
faded into a blur as my eyes filled. Hastily I clapped down the coffin
lid and strode towards the door with the tears streaming down my face.
Vaguely I was aware of Bundy taking my arm and pressing it to his
side, of his voice as he murmured shakily, “Poor old John!” Passively
I allowed him to lead me to a quiet corner above a flight of steps
leading down to the river, where I halted to wipe my eyes, faintly
surprised to note that he was wiping his eyes too; and that his face
was pale and troubled. But if I was surprised, I was grateful, too;
and never had my heart inclined more affectionately towards him than
in this moment of trial that had been lightened by his unobtrusive
sympathy and perfect understanding.
We stayed for a few minutes, looking down on the river and talking of
the dead woman and the sad and troubled life from which this hideous
crime had snatched her; then, as the appointed time approached, we
made our way to the room in which the inquiry was to be held. As we
entered, a pleasant-looking, shrewd-faced man, who looked like a
barrister and who had been standing by a constable, approached and
accosted me.
“Dr. Strangeways? My name is Anstey. I do most of the court work in
connexion with Thorndyke’s cases, and I am representing him here
to-day. He had hoped to come down, himself, but he had to go into the
country on some important business, so I have to come to keep the nest
warm--to watch the proceedings and make a summary of the evidence. You
mentioned to him that the case would take more than one day.”
“Yes,” I answered, “that is what I understand. Will Dr. Thorndyke be
here to-morrow?”
“Yes; he has arranged definitely to attend to-morrow. And I think he
expects by then to have some information of importance to
communicate.”
“Indeed!” I said eagerly. “Do you happen to know the nature of it?”
Anstey laughed. “My dear Doctor,” said he, “you have met Thorndyke,
and you must know by now that he is about as communicative as a
Whitstable native. No one ever knows what cards he holds.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “he is extraordinarily secretive. Unnecessarily so,
it has seemed to me.”
Anstey shook his head. “He is perfectly right, Doctor. He knows his
own peculiar job to a finish. He is, in a way, like some
highly-specialized animal, such as the three-toed sloth, for instance;
which seems an abnormal sort of beast until you see it doing, with
unapproachable perfection, the thing that nature intended it to do.
Thorndyke is a case of perfect adaptation to a special environment.”
“Still,” I objected, “I don’t see the use of such extreme secrecy.”
“You would if you followed his cases. A secret move is a move against
which the other player--if there is one--can make no provision or
defence or counter-move. Thorndyke plays with a wooden face and
without speaking. No one knows what his next move will be. But when it
comes, he puts down his piece and says ‘check’; and you’ll find it is
mate.”
“But,” I still objected, “you are talking of an adversary and of
counter-moves. Is there any adversary in this case?”
“Well, isn’t there?” said he. “There has been a crime committed.
Someone has committed it; and that someone is not advertising his
identity. But you can take it that he has been keeping a watchful eye
on his pursuers, ready, if necessary, to give them a lead in the wrong
direction. But it is time for us to take our places. I see the jury
have come back from viewing the body.”
We took our places at the long table, one side of which was allocated
to the jury and the other to witnesses in waiting, the police
officers, the press-men, and other persons interested in the case. A
few minutes later, the coroner opened the proceedings by giving a very
brief statement of the circumstances which had occasioned the inquiry,
and then proceeded to call the witnesses.
The first witness was Sergeant Cobbledick, whose evidence took the
form of a statement covering the whole history of the case, beginning
with Mr. Japp’s notification of the disappearance of Mrs. Frood and
ending with the opening of the wall and the discovery of the remains.
The latter part of the evidence was given in minute detail and
included a complete list of the objects found with the remains.
“Does any juryman wish to ask the witness any questions?” the Coroner
inquired when the lengthy statement was concluded. He looked from one
to the other, and when nobody answered he called the next witness.
This was Dr. Baines, a somewhat dry-looking gentleman, who gave his
evidence clearly, concisely, and with due scientific caution.
“You have examined the remains which form the subject of this
inquiry?” the coroner asked.
“Yes. I have examined the skeleton which is now lying in the mortuary.
It is that of a rather strongly-built woman, five feet seven inches in
height, and about thirty years of age.”
“Were you able to form any opinion as to the cause of death?”
“No; there were no signs of any injury nor of disease.”
“Are we to understand,” asked one of the jurymen, “that you consider
deceased to have died a natural death?”
“I have no means of forming any opinion on the subject.”
“But if she died from violence, wouldn’t there be some signs of it?”
“That would depend on the nature of the violence.”
“Supposing she had been shot with a revolver?”
“In that case there might be a fracture of one or more bones, but
there might be no fracture at all. Of course, there would be a
bullet.”
“Did you find a bullet?”
“No. I did not see the bones until they had been brought to the
mortuary.”
“There has been no mention of a bullet having been found,” the coroner
interposed, “and you heard Sergeant Cobbledick say that the lime had
all been sifted through a fine sieve. We must take it that there was
no bullet. But,” he continued, addressing the witness, “the conditions
that you found would not exclude violence, I presume?”
“Not at all. Only violence that would cause injury to the bones.”
“What kinds of violence would be unaccompanied by injury to the
bones?”
“Drowning, hanging, strangling, suffocation, stabbing; and, of course,
poisoning usually leaves no traces on the bones.”
“Can you give us no suggestion as to the cause of death?”
“None whatever,” was the firm reply.
“You have heard the description of the missing woman, Mrs. Frood. Do
these remains correspond with that description?”
“They are the remains of a woman of similar stature and age to Mrs.
Frood, so far as I can judge. I can’t say more than that. The
description of Mrs. Frood was only approximate; and the estimate of
the stature, and especially the age, of a skeleton can only be
approximate.”
This being all that could be got out of the witness, who was concerned
only with the skeleton, and naturally refused to budge from that
position, the coroner glanced at his list and then called my name. I
rose and took my place at the top corner of the table, when I was duly
sworn, and gave my name and description.
“You heard Sergeant Cobbledick’s description of the articles which
have been found, and which are now lying in the mortuary?” the coroner
began.
I replied “Yes,” and he continued: “Have you examined those articles,
and, if so, can you tell us anything about them?”
“I have examined the articles in the mortuary, and I recognized them
as things I know to have been the property of Mrs. Angelina Frood.”
Here I described the articles in detail, and stated when and where I
had seen them in her possession.