Death In Hyde Park

Sims threw up his hands with a great show of weariness and spoke to the judge. “I’ll withdraw my question, my lord, rather than prolong these proceedings unnecessarily.” He turned back to the witness and said snappishly, “Having read the article, Inspector, did you take any action?”

It had been his duty to act, the inspector replied with calm assurance. After the article appeared, each of the key members of the Clarion staff was placed under police survillance. He himself had kept a close watch over the activities of the paper’s editor, Miss Charlotte Conway, and had assigned experienced detectives to the others. Then one of the employees, a young Anarchist named Yuri Messenko, had died in a violent bomb explosion in Hyde Park on Coronation Day. Fearing that the Clarion was the center of a dangerous bomb- making ring, the inspector had ordered a raid on the newspaper and taken the suspects into custody to prevent their flight to the Continent. When one of the suspects, Pierre Mouffetard, was searched, he was discovered to have on his person a letter containing certain bomb-making instructions.

“I show you Exhibit A,” the prosecutor said. “Is this the letter?”

The inspector peered at it. “It is a translation of the letter, yes. And quite detailed, too. Anybody could make a bomb, following these instructions.”

“Very well. Go on.”

It was at that point, the inspector said, that he had perceived that the Clarion was an immediate danger to the safety and security of British citizens, and had ordered its type and equipment destroyed and the office closed. All the primary suspects had been placed under arrest, except (unfortunately) for Miss Conway herself, who had managed to escape and was now a fugitive from justice. Search warrants had been obtained for the living quarters of the accused men, each of the premises searched, and certain evidence retrieved, including three bombs that-

Sims held up his hand, his two gold rings flashing. “That will be all, Inspector Ashcraft.” Turning to the jury, he remarked, with a rather paternalistic air, “You see, gentlemen, Inspector Ashcraft was not present when the searches were conducted. Only the officer who actually searched the defendants’ quarters may testify to what he found.”

Mr. Savidge rose to cross-examine the witness. Frowning, he said, “Your informant, Inspector, the one who originally brought Mr. Kopinski to your attention as a ‘dangerous’ man. What is his name?”

“I regret that I cannot say, sir,” the inspector replied, in a tone that did not seem to Kate at all regretful. “This man continues to be useful to the police, and revealing his identity would jeopardize future investigations.”

Savidge appealed to the judge to compel the witness to answer, but before he could rule, the prosecutor stood.

“Claim public-interest privilege,” he said smugly. “Confidentiality in this matter is essential to the functioning of the police.”

There was a momentary flurry in the courtroom. Furrowing his brow and pursing his lips, the judge deliberated for a moment or two, then ruled that the authorities’ need to conceal a valuable source of information took precedence, in his opinion, over the accused’s right to confront an accuser. Kate felt a quick stab of anger. Protecting informants could lead to all kinds of problems, couldn’t it? What if the informant wasn’t trustworthy? What if he were lying? She glanced at Charles and saw that he was frowning and writing something in a notebook. Mr. Savidge, clearly angry and disappointed, turned to the jury.

“It is my obligation to point out that Inspector Ashcraft is testifying only to his belief that the informant told him the truth. Since we are unable to question this so-called informant directly, we have no means of discerning whether-”

“I believe the jury quite understand the issue, Mr. Savidge,” the judge interrupted. “Go on with your questions.”

Scowling, Mr. Savidge complied. “Very well, Inspector,” he said. “Tell us what charges have been made against Miss Conway.”

“She is wanted as a material witness,” the inspector replied. “A warrant has been issued for her arrest.”

“But there are no criminal charges against her?” Mr. Savidge persisted. He glanced at the prosecutor. “She has not, for instance, been charged with sedition?”

The inspector colored. “Not at this time.”

“Then it was judged by you or your superiors that the article of seventeen July-the one you read out a few moments ago-was not sufficient grounds on which to pursue a charge of sedition?”

“I did not pursue a charge,” the inspector said stiffly.

“Because the editor of the Clarion was merely exercising her right to speak freely?”

“May it please your lordship,” Sims objected, “the witness has already answered.”

“Sustained,” the judge said, frowning at Savidge. “Counsel will refrain from badgering the witness.”

Savidge’s face tightened. “Thank you, Your Honor. Inspector, prior to the raid on the newspaper, you ordered the employees to be followed. You observed Miss Conway, you say?”

“I took it to be my duty to do so. And Yuri Messenko. The Hyde Park bomber,” he added.

“Ah, yes.” Savidge grinned bleakly. “You were there when the bomb exploded, I understand.”

“I was. Some hundred paces behind. It happened at Hyde Park Corner, not far from Buckingham Palace,” the inspector added helpfully.

“I see,” Savidge said. “Messenko was carrying a satchel, was he not?”

“Yes.”

Savidge leaned forward. “Well, then, Inspector, tell the jury why, if you knew this satchel-carrying Anarchist to pose a dangerous threat, you allowed him to approach Buckingham Palace. The King and Queen were arriving back from the Cathedral just at this time, were they not?”

The inspector frowned uncomfortably. “Messenko wasn’t that close to the Palace. Quite a distance, actually.”

“But you were not close enough to him to prevent him from exploding his bomb.”

“Well, no, I-”

Savidge smiled tightly. “Just out of curiosity, Inspector, how close to the Palace would you have allowed this dangerous bomber to approach?”

A titter went around the courtroom. Inspector Ashcraft flushed. Sims jumped up. “Object, my lord! Calls for the witness to speculate.”

Savidge raised his eyebrows. “I wasn’t asking the inspector to speculate, my lord. I quite naturally assumed that he had some sort of plan to keep this dangerous man from approaching too near the King and Queen. However, I do not wish to embarrass him.”

Kate smiled. The man next to her guffawed, and another titter made the rounds.

“If Mr. Savidge is through with this witness,” the judge said, “the inspector may step down.”

“Just one thing more, my lord,” Savidge said. He was shuffling the papers in front of him as if he were looking for something. “It is true, Inspector, that you did not accompany the officers who made the searches?”

“Yes,” the inspector said, obviously relieved at the change of subject. “I was otherwise engaged. On important police business.”

“I see,” Savidge said. Still looking down at the table and riffling papers, he said, “Then you have not handled any of the evidence that the officers discovered?”

Inspector Ashcraft shook his head.

Savidge looked up. “I didn’t quite hear you, Inspector. Could you repeat your answer?”

“No,” the inspector snapped, out of patience. “I did not handle any of the evidence.”

“Thank you,” Savidge said absently, moving his papers around again. “That will be all for the moment.” As the inspector stepped out of the box, Savidge added, “I reserve the right, however, to recall this witness.” He glanced at Sims. “If my esteemed friend has no objection.”

The prosecutor looked amused. “No objection at all,” he said in a supercilious tone, and called Detective Finney, who was sworn in. In a series of questions, Sims took the detective through the surveillance, the raid on the Clarion, and the subsequent searches of the living quarters of the men arrested at the newspaper, during which the bombs had been discovered, in each case hidden under the bed.

“And are these the bombs themselves?” the prosecutor inquired, gesturing at the three ginger-beer bottles he had placed in evidence as Exhibit B. The bottles, Kate saw, were quite ordinary stoneware bottles with what appeared to be screw-on caps. Kate saw that Charles was leaning forward, looking at them intently.

“Objection,” Savidge said. “My honorable friend has not yet demonstrated that these so-called bombs are anything other than what they appear to be-that is, ginger-beer bottles.”

“I will rephrase,” Sims said with an upward roll of his eyes. “You collected these three pieces of evidence in the rooms of the defendants, did you not?”

“I did,” Finney said.

“And did you assume, when you saw them, that they might… blow up?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” said Finney earnestly. “They could’ve contained shock-sensitive explosives, y’see. Nitroglycerine, maybe.”

“What did you do? I mean, how exactly did you handle these objects, which you assumed to be dangerous?”

“I labeled each bottle with the date and location. The bottle found in Mr. Mouffetard’s room is labeled one. That found in Mr. Kopinski’s room, two. In Mr. Gould’s flat, three. Mouffetard and Kopinski live in the same rooming house, in Halsey Street,” he added.

Sims indicated the bottles. “These are your labels?”

“Right, sir. Then I placed each bottle in a straw-lined crate and put the crate into a bomb box.”

“A bomb box?” the prosecutor asked, widening his eyes dramatically. “Please tell the jury what you mean by that term.”

“It’s a box made of special, heavy-duty metal, designed to contain a possible explosion. The boxes were transported to the Yard, where an expert chemist examined the bottles and their contents, which turned out to be-”

“Thank you,” Sims said, holding up his hand. “We’ll let the chemist tell us what he found.” He pointed to a stack of papers and several books. “This Anarchist literature, which I have entered as Exhibit C-you found it in Mr. Kopinski’s room?”

“Yes. The papers advertise an Anarchist meeting. The books are by Anarchists named Kropotkin and Bakunin.”

“Books advocating violence against the state?”

Finney nodded violently. “Oh, yes, indeed, sir. Very much so, sir.”

“And one more found object.” Sims pointed to another bottle. “Exhibit D. Please tell his lordship and the members of the jury what it is and where you found it.”

“Bottle of glycerine, sir. Doctor Gabriel’s Pure Medicinal Glycerine. I found it when I searched the newspaper office.”

“Thank you,” said Sims. “You may step down-unless, of course, my estimable friend Mr. Savidge has questions.”

“I suppose I may have one or two,” Savidge said, rising slowly. “Prior to the raid on the Clarion, the newspaper’s employees were followed. How long did you say you followed the suspects, Detective Finney?”

Finney thought. “For about a fortnight, I’d say.”

“A fortnight before the explosion in Hyde Park?”

“Yes. Maybe more.”

“So you were following these persons for a fortnight or more for no other reason than that they wished to exercise the right of the free press?” As he spoke, his voice rose. The last few words were spoken with a flinty emphasis.

Finney looked uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“I would,” Savidge said. “I certainly would. But never mind. Let’s talk about these three ginger-beer bottles that have been entered into evidence. Did either of the officers with you handle the bottles?”