The Judas Window

'I did not know what to make of it, sir. I looked over at the sideboard and said: 'What whisky?' He pointed his cigarette at me and said: 'Now listen. When I came in here he gave me a whisky-and-soda. There was something in it, a drug. It knocked me out and someone came in and killed him. This is a frame-up, and you know it.''

'Did you go over and look at the sideboard?'

For the first time the witness put his hands on the rail of the box.

'I did. The decanter of whisky was just as full as when I had left it, and the syphon of soda was also full: there was the little paper fastener still over the nozzle. The glasses gave no sign of being used.'

'Did the accused exhibit any sign or symptom which led you to think he had been under the influence of a drug?'

Dyer frowned.

'Well, sir, I cannot say as to that.' He raised eyes of candour; he violated the rules, he was instantly corrected for it, and he drove a long nail into the scaffold of James Answell. 'But,' said Dyer, 'I overheard your police-doctor say the accused had not taken any drug at all.'

IV

'Either There is a Window, or There Isn't'

AT shortly past one o'clock, when the court adjourned for lunch, Evelyn and I went downstairs gloomily. The Old Bailey, full of those shuffling echoes which are thrown back from marble or tile, was crowded. We got into the centre of a crush converging at the head of the stairs to the Central Hall.

I voiced a mutual view. 'Though why the blazes we should feel so much prejudiced in his favour I don't know, unless it's because H.M. is defending him. Or unless it's because he looks so absolutely right: that is, he looks as though he'd lend you a tenner if you needed it, and stand by you if you got into trouble. The trouble is, they all look guilty in the dock. If they're calm, it's a bad sign. If they're wild, it's a still worse sign. This may be due to our rooted and damnable national belief that if they weren't guilty they probably wouldn't be in the dock at all.'

'H'm,' said my wife, her face wearing that concentrated expression which betokens wild ideas. 'I've been think-ing ...'

'It's inadvisable.'

'Yes, I know. But do you know, Ken, while they were stringing out'all that evidence, I kept thinking that nobody could possibly be as loony as that chap seems to be unless he were innocent. But then along came that business of his having taken no sleeping-drug at all. If they can prove that by medical evidence ... well... unless H.M. will try to prove insanity after all.'

What H.M. wished to prove was not apparent. He had subjected Dyer to a singularly long and singularly uninspired cross-examination, directed chiefly to proving that on the day of the murder Hume had been attempting to get in touch with Answell by telephone as early as nine o'clock in the morning. H.M.'s one good point concerned the arrow with which the crime had been committed, and even this was left enigmatic. H.M. called attention to the fact that half of the blue feather attached to it had been broken off. Was that feather intact when Dyer had seen the arrow on the wall before the crime? Oh, yes. Sure? Positive. But the piece of feather was missing when they discovered the body? Yes. Did they find the other half anywhere in the room? No; they had searched as a matter of form, but they could not find it.

H.M.'s last attack was still more obscure. Were the three arrows hung flat against the wall? Not all of them, Dyer replied. The two arrows making the sides of the triangle lay flat on the wall; but the base of it, crossing the other two, had been set out on steel staples about a quarter of an inch.

'And all that,' Evelyn commented, 'H.M. asked as quietly as a lamb. I tell you, Ken, it's unnatural. He buttered up that little butler as though he were his own witness. I say, do you think we could see H.M.?'

'I doubt it. He'll probably be having lunch at the Bar Mess.'

At this point our attention was forcibly called. Who the man was (whether he was someone attached to the courts or an outsider with a thirst for imparting information) we never learned. With an effect like a Maskelyne illusion, a little man thrust himself out of the crowd and tapped me on the shoulder.

. 'Want to see two of the Ones in the Big Case?' he asked in a whisper. 'Just ahead of you! That there on the right is Dr Spencer Hume, and that there on the left is Reginald Answell, 'is cousin. They're right amongst us, and they'll 'ave to go downstairs together. Ss-t!'

Back went the head. By the convergence of the crowd on the big marble stairs, the two men he indicated were swept to a stiff march side by side. The bleak March light showed them not too favourably. Dr Hume was a middle-sized, rather tubby man with greying black hair parted and combed to such nicety on his round head that it gave the effect of a wheel. He turned his head sideways for a brief look; we saw a nose radiating self-confidence, and a gravely pursed-up mouth. He carried, incongruously, a top-hat, which he was trying to prevent being squashed.

His companion I recognized as the young man whom I had seen sitting at the solicitors' table, and to whom Dyer had given a sign of recognition. He was a good type; lean, with a fine carriage of the shoulders and sharply defined jaws. The tailor had done well by him, and he was absently hitting the edge of his hand on a bowler hat.

The two took a quick look at each other, and descended with that shuffle-fall which is the march of the Old Bailey. They decided to notice each other's presence. I wondered whether the atmosphere would be hostile; but, as they spoke, they appeared to decide. The atmosphere between them, palpable and sticky as glue, was hypocrisy.

Reginald Answell spoke in that tone exclusively reserved for funerals.

'How is Mary taking it?' he inquired in a hoarse whisper.

'Pretty badly, I'm afraid,' said the doctor, shaking his head. 'Too bad!' 'Yes, unfortunately.' They descended another step.

'I didn't see her in court,' observed Reginald out of the side of his mouth. 'Are they calling her as a witness?'

'The prosecution aren't,' said Dr Hume in a curious tone. He looked sideways. 'And I notice they're not calling you?'

'Oh, no. I'm not concerned in it. The defence aren't calling me either. I couldn't do him any good. I only got to the house after he - you know, fainted. Poor old Jim. I thought he was made of stronger stuff than that, big as he is. Mad as a coot, of course.'

'Believe me, I quite appreciate that,' murmured Dr

Hume, looking quickly over his shoulder; 'and I myself should have been only too willing to testify - but there seems to be some doubt on the part of the Crown, and he himself, you know, says -' He stopped. 'No hard feelings?'

'No. Oh, no. There is insanity in the family, you know.'

They descended nearly the whole flight.

'Nothing much, of course. Only like a touch of the tar-brush a few generations back. I wonder what he's eating?'

The doctor was sententious. 'Ah, that's difficult to say. I expect ''He's drinking bitter beer alone,' the colour-sergeant said.''

'Why the hell,' asked the other quietly, 'do you bring up the army?'

They stopped.

'My dear fellow, it was only in a manner of speaking! Besides, I didn't know you were any longer concerned with the army,' Dr Hume told him, with an air of concern. They stopped under the great rotunda and dim mural paintings of the Central Hall; Dr Hume became gravely kind. 'Now let's face it. It's a sad business. I've lost a brother myself, you know. But there it is: the world must keep on, and men must work, and women must weep, as they say. So the most sensible thing to do is to get this unpleasant matter off our minds and forget it as soon as possible, eh? Good-bye, captain. I'd better not be seen shaking hands with you; it wouldn't look seemly, under the circumstances.'

He bustled off.

For they've done with Danny Deever;

you can hear the Dead March play;

The regiment's in column, and they're marching them away -

There is something about the atmosphere of this place which impels people to moralize in just the way those