They Hanged My Saintly Billy

eat, are suspect as serving to conceal such forbidden objects as bottles of

spirits, rope-ladders, and weapons of destruction, smuggled in with the grain.

When Dr Palmer reached the Gaol, he still felt ill; and, immediately donning nightcap and nightshirt, went to bed again. Major Fulford, the Governor, took advantage of this removal of his clothes to remove them even farther, fearing that poison might be concealed in them. He ordered another suit to be made for Dr Palmer, not of prison- grey, since he was not yet a convict, but of a sober broadcloth. However, he declined to wear these new clothes, insisting that the Governor had no right to force them on him, and that they were badly cut. His wilfulness convinced the prison officers that poison must surely lurk in the seams or corners of coat, waistcoat or trousers; two or three grains of prussic acid or strychnine would, of course, suffice to end his life. When, a fortnight later, his own clothes were at last returned, every garment had been searched with a fine comb and beaten hard to dislodge any powder. All the seams had also been opened; all the buttons examined lest one of them should serve as a miniature poison-box; the heels unfastened from his boots, lest these too should serve as receptacles for poison, and put back after careful scrutiny.

Much as Dr Palmer hated sleeping alone, almost more he hated being cut off from the racing news; but the Governor had strong views on the subject of horse-racing and gambling and let him read no newspaper which contained any talk of 'form' and 'odds'. In his despondency, Dr Palmer determined on self-destruction. No easy means offered, however, since he might use neither knife nor fork for his meals, ate off a tin plate and drank from a tin mug. He therefore resolved on starvation, simply sipping a little water from time to time, and lying motionless in bed, his face turned towards the wall. The Governor, during his usual morning visit, became alarmed by this behaviour, and tried to argue him into eating. Dr Palmer replied courteously that he was not hungry, and wanted nothing. Since, by the seventh day of this obstinate abstention from food, his prisoner had lost a stone of weight and seemed in danger of making good his resolve, the Governor had a savoury bowl of soup prepared, and sent for a spoon and a stomach-pump.

He told Dr Palmer that, according to the prison doctor, his pulse was regular, his looks those of a healthy man, and there seemed no reason why he should not partake of this succulent soup.

'It's only that I have no appetite for coarse food,' Dr Palmer murmured faintly.

'Then, Sir,' cried the Governor, 'you shall choose between this spoon and that other instrument! I don't care a fig (let me be frank) whether you live or die, except in so far as my own appointment is concerned. But if I pander to your desire for self-extinction, my superiors will punish me severely; which I do not intend to happen. You have five minutes to decide whether you will drain your bowl, or oblige me to take compulsory measures. In the latter case, I shall summon a force of officers, of whom I have fifty at my orders, wedge open your jaws, drop the tube of this pump down the gullet, and pretty soon soup will be warming your stomach. It is by no means the pleasantest way of eating, but what other recourse have I?'

Dr Palmer said: 'I had not considered, Sir, that my loss of appetite might endanger your appointment here. And though I don't welcome your poor opinion of me—which I find unbecoming when I'm not yet pronounced guilty, and won't be, neither— nevertheless, if you insist, I'll consent to drink the damned beverage with your greasy spoon.'

He gave no further trouble in this respect, beyond asking one day that meals might be sent to him from his own kitchen. The Governor refused this, for fear poison might be conveyed in the dishes, but told him that he was at liberty to order what victuals he pleased, within reason, for cooking in the debtors' kitchen. 'Ah, but it's not the same,' sighed Dr Palmer. 'Your prison cooks murder good food.'

'I trust at least that they do not poison it,' tartly retorted the Governor.

Meanwhile, numerous bills fell due which Dr Palmer could not, and old Mrs Palmer would not, meet. One morning Mr Wright, a solicitor from Birmingham, arrived at Dr Palmer's house and demanded admittance in virtue of a bill of sale to the amount of ?10,400 given by Palmer some six months before for his horses, furniture, and all other movable property.

Mr Bergen, the Rural Superintendent of Police, who was now charged with safeguarding the papers, drugs, and other contents of the house, refused to admit Mr Wright; however, one of Mr Wright's men presently gained an entry by breaking a pane of glass in the scullery window and unlatching it. Once inside the house, the Law protected Mr Wright, and arrangements were soon made for selling off the Doctor's effects by public auction.

We gather from Mrs Bennett, a next-door neighbour whose husband is a shoemaker, that if it had been Prince Albert's own sale there couldn't have been more folks about. They flocked in from Birmingham and all around, coming only to gaze, not to buy. The sale, according to the catalogue, should have occupied three days, but was got over in ten hours.

'The business was altogether too hurried,' Mrs Bennett told us. 'If the things had been brought out into the open air they would have fetched more; but the auctioneer didn't allow the bidders time. It was along of the crowds that tramped through the house and prevented dealers from examining the articles at leisure. Nobody could see what was what, and the auctioneer wanted to get done quickly; even so, a mort of small things got stolen as souvenirs. The books, most of them new and up to date, were almost given away. And the furniture was beautiful!'

Mr Fawcus, a cabinet-maker, who stood waiting for Mr Bennett to finish cobbling a pair of boots, agreed with Mrs Bennett. 'Yes, Sir, the furniture was very good indeed, and not merely the pieces that I made at his orders according to Sheraton's models. I know he paid forty guineas for a sideboard—that's large money —and sixteen for a chiffonier. He had excellent taste in furniture.'

Mrs Bennett fetched us the catalogue: Contents of drawing-room: one fine-toned semi-grand pianoforte in rosewood by a celebrated London maker.'Poor Mrs Palmer used to accompany herself on that, while singing Thomas Moore's Irish Songs,' Mrs Bennett said.' She had a sweet voice. But the pianoforte went for a song—no joke intended.'

Rosewood couch with spring seat, squab and pillow in blue damask, and six elegant rosewood chairs in suite. 'My work,' said Mr Fawcus. 'Bought at the sale by Mr Bergen, the Rural Superintendent of Police, whose daughter took a fancy to them. He'd have bidden up to the original price, he would, but there was no competition —there isn't likely to be when Mr Bergen bids—so he got them cheap, and afterwards told me: 'Fawcus, these people here, they don't know good stuff when they see it.' He's a very knowing gentleman.'

Handsome mahogany bookcase, six foot by nine foot long, with plate-glass and sliding shelves. 'That went at a better price to the Hon.

Mr Curzon's steward.' Pair of handsome chimney-glasses. 'Those were in the same lot,' remarked Mr Fawcus, 'big as chimney-pots, and real cut crystal.'

Contents of best bedroom: handsome German bedstead with panelled footboard, carved cornice andfringe, andfigured damask hangings. 'Ah,' said Mrs Bennett, ' that's where poor Mrs Palmer bore her unfortunate children, and where she died, and where the Doctor was lying when arrested.'

'It's a good deal too heavy and fanciful for my taste,' confessed Mr Fawcus, 'but then I'm English, as you see. It was old Mrs Palmer's wedding gift to the Doctor, and she bought it back. I think she wished to show that she hasn't lost faith in her son, despite all the ugly rumours.'

'Which I don't believe, neither,' cried Mrs Bennett, 'whatever the Coroner may say, and the Judge, and the jury, and Captain Hatton, and Mr Bergen and all! It made my ears burn to hear some of the comments, dropped by those ill-mannered Birmingham folks as they roamed the house. They'd whisper: 'That's where the wicked devil used to sleep with his mistresses.' And when they came to the surgery, the remarks they passed about the bottles there was perfectly sinful!'

Contents of dining-room: eight fine Elizabethan carved oak chairs with seats upholstered in purple plush velvet. Also two valuable oil paintings: 'Charles Marlow, the jockey, with Nettle' and ‘Goldfinder’, Winner of the Queens Plate at Shrewsbury''Twenty-five shillings a chair, just imagine!' exclaimed Mr Fawcus, 'originally purchased by the Doctor for four guineas, and a bargain at that! And the pictures went for five shillings, the frames alone being worth a guinea.'

'All that I bought,' said Mrs Bennett, 'was a nice deal box containing fishing tackle and pills. The Police didn't seem to mind the pills being sold and, of course, I burned them in the grate to keep them out of the children's clutches. 'A box of fishing tackle is a funny place to put pills in,' the auctioneer told us. But the tackle was a bargain