Among the first was Mr. Goyles, who testified that he had found Cathcart already dead at 3 a.m., with his head close to the water-trough which stood near the well. Ellen, the maidservant, next confirmed James Fleming’s evidence with regard to the postbag, and explained how she changed the blotting-paper in the study every day.
The evidence of Detective-Inspector Parker aroused more interest and some bewilderment. His description of the discovery of the green-eyed cat was eagerly listened to. He also gave a minute account of the footprints and marks of dragging, especially the imprint of a hand in the flowerbed. The piece of blotting-paper was then produced, and photographs of it circulated among the peers. A long discussion ensued on both these points, Sir Impey Biggs endeavoring to show that the imprint on the flowerbed was such as would have been caused by a man endeavoring to lift himself from a prone position, Sir Wigmore Wrinching doing his best to force an admission that it might have been made by deceased in trying to prevent himself from being dragged along.
“The position of the fingers being towards the house appears, does it not, to negative the suggestion of dragging?” suggested Sir Impey.
Sir Wigmore, however, put it to the witness that the wounded man might have been dragged head foremost.
“If, now,” said Sir Wigmore. “I were to drag you by the coat-collar—my lords will grasp my contention—”
“It appears,” observed the Lord High Steward, “to be a case for solvitur ambulando.” (Laughter.) “I suggest that when the House rises for lunch, some of us should make the experiment, choosing a member of similar height and weight to the deceased.” (All the noble lords looked round at one another to see which unfortunate might be chosen for the part.)
Inspector Parker then mentioned the marks of forcing on the study window.
“In your opinion, could the catch have been forced back by the knife found on the body of the deceased?”
“I know it could, for I made the experiment myself with a knife of exactly similar pattern.”
After this the message on the blotting-paper was read backwards and forwards and interpreted in every possible way, the defense insisting that the language was French and the words “Je suis fou de douleur,” the prosecution scouting the suggestion as farfetched, and offering an English interpretation, such as “is found” or “his foul.” A handwriting expert was then called, who compared the handwriting with that of an authentic letter of Cathcart’s, and was subsequently severely handled by the prosecution.
These knotty points being left for the consideration of the noble lords, the defense then called a tedious series of witnesses: the manager of Cox’s and Monsieur Turgeot of the Crédit Lyonnais, who went with much detail into Cathcart’s financial affairs; the concierge and Madame Leblanc from the Rue St. Honoré; and the noble lords began to yawn, with the exception of a few of the soap and pickles lords, who suddenly started to make computations in their notebooks, and exchanged looks of intelligence as from one financier to another.
Then came Monsieur Briquet, the jeweler from the Rue de la Paix, and the girl from his shop, who told the story of the tall, fair, foreign lady and the purchase of the green-eyed cat—whereat everybody woke up. After reminding the assembly that this incident took place in February, when Cathcart’s fiancée was in Paris, Sir Impey invited the jeweler’s assistant to look round the house and tell them if she saw the foreign lady. This proved a lengthy business, but the answer was finally in the negative.
“I do not want there to be any doubt about this,” said Sir Impey, “and, with the learned Attorney-General’s permission, I am now going to confront this witness with Lady Mary Wimsey.”
Lady Mary was accordingly placed before the witness, who replied immediately and positively: “No, this is not the lady; I have never seen this lady in my life. There is the resemblance of height and color and the hair bobbed, but there is nothing else at all—not the least in the world. It is not the same type at all. Mademoiselle is a charming English lady, and the man who marries her will be very happy, but the other was belle à se suicider—a woman to kill, suicide one’s self, or send all to the devil for, and believe me, gentlemen” (with a wide smile to her distinguished audience), “we have the opportunity to see them in my business.”
There was a profound sensation as this witness took her departure, and Sir Impey scribbled a note and passed it down to Mr. Murbles. It contained the one word, “Magnificent!” Mr. Murbles scribbled back:
“Never said a word to her. Can you beat it?” and leaned back in his seat smirking like a very neat little grotesque from a Gothic corbel.
The witness who followed was Professor Hébert, a distinguished exponent of international law, who described Cathcart’s promising career as a rising young diplomat in Paris before the war. He was followed by a number of officers who testified to the excellent war record of the deceased. Then came a witness who gave the aristocratic name of du Bois-Gobey Houdin, who perfectly recollected a very uncomfortable dispute on a certain occasion when playing cards with le Capitaine Cathcart, and having subsequently mentioned the matter to Monsieur Thomas Freeborn, the distinguished English engineer. It was Parker’s diligence that had unearthed this witness, and he looked across with an undisguised grin at the discomfited Sir Wigmore Wrinching. When Mr. Glibbery had dealt with all these the afternoon was well advanced, and the Lord High Steward accordingly asked the lords if it was their pleasure that the House be adjourned till the next day at 10:30 of the clock in the forenoon, and the lords replying “Aye” in a most exemplary chorus, the House was accordingly adjourned.
A
