“You ask me that I shall write down the number which is on the dagger which killed Mr Bourton?”
“Yes, if you please.”
“But I cannot do it. I saw only a hilt, as I am telling you. Also you will realise that I saw it in floodlighting which made many dark shadows. I did not touch the weapon and I do not propose to make any attempt to identify it, as it is similar to another which you show me.”
The coroner accepted this without comment and called the police surgeon. That official was also consultant to the local hospital and had been present when the dagger had been removed from Bourton’s body. He confirmed that the victim had suffered an immense internal haemorrhage and he made no bones about identifying the lethal dagger. The number he wrote down was handed to the coroner by the clerk. The coroner looked at it and asked sharply:
“Did you handle the dagger at the hospital, Doctor?”
“No. I supervised its removal and then examined the deceased.”
“You at no time handled the dagger?”
“I believe not. In fact I am sure not.”
“Thank you, Doctor. It seems that Doctor Delahague’s reluctance to identify the dagger she saw was founded on sound judgment.”
Dame Beatrice saw the police inspector, who was seated next to Marcus Lynn at the witnesses’ table, suddenly stiffen. Then he wrote something down and beckoned to the coroner’s officer. That official received the slip of paper and passed it to the coroner’s clerk who handed it to the coroner. Dame Beatrice, seated in the public gallery next to Deborah, murmured:
“The consultant surgeon has identified the wrong dagger.”
The coroner returned to the witness and asked for a further description of the injury which had resulted in Bourton’s death ‘with as few technicalities as possible, please’. Keeping this last request in mind, the consultant explained that the wound had been delivered from the front, had slanted backwards and downwards and had made a large slit from which blood had poured internally into the cavity of the chest.
“Were there no signs of external bleeding?”
“None.”
“Did you find that surprising?”
“No. I was told that the body was in a prone or semi-prone position when the blow was struck. All the bleeding was internal, a really massive haemorrhage in the cavity of the chest. There is a case in Professor Keith Simpson’s autobiography—”
“Thank you, Doctor. Call Jonathan Bradley.”
After Jonathan, Tom Woolidge was called. Each was asked to identify the dagger he had worn during the performances. These two daggers were then removed, leaving three which, in their sheaths, looked very much alike. Yorke was called.
“You produced the play?”
“And directed it, pretty much.”
“Where were the theatrical properties kept when they were not in use?”
“Our performances were held out of doors in a private garden. All the costumes and the bits and pieces were kept up at the house.”
“So how many people had access to them?”
“Nobody but our sponsor who, incidentally, had renewed the licence which permitted us to charge for seats at the play.”
“Very proper, but that is not the concern of this enquiry. What the court would wish to know is how a dangerous weapon was substituted for the theatrical dagger which we assume had been used with perfect safety at the previous performances.”
“At the dress rehearsal, too,” said the witness. “Rinkley tried it out on the table before he trusted it enough to use it on himself and, when he did, he struck himself with it so gingerly that I had to encourage him to make the blow look a bit more like the real thing. The way he used the dagger, it wasn’t even going to stay upright and, although the play was a comedy, I didn’t want laughs in the wrong place.”
“In the wrong place, Mr Yorke?”
“Yes. I didn’t want the audience giggling as the dagger teetered slowly to the floor. For one thing, it would have spoilt Thisbe’s entrance and we should have lost the bit of by-play where she plucks the dagger out of Pyramus and sticks it in her own tummy.”
“Perhaps we could return to the point at issue. How did the lethal dagger get substituted for it?”
“That’s just what I myself would like to know. Also, who kicked the theatrical dagger under the table instead of picking it up and putting it back into its belt.”
“You can offer no explanation?”
“None at all. I helped Lynn and his son to carry the things down after we had dished out the costumes to the actors, and I helped them carry the oddments back at the end of each performance. I waited with him while the actors returned their costumes and then the room we used as a wardrobe was locked up. The props were locked up in a cupboard in the same room and Lynn held both keys, the ones to the cupboard and the room.”
“Were there no duplicate keys?”
“No,” said Jonathan, from his seat. “As the present occupier of the house I can assure you that there were no duplicate keys.”
