'The judge looks - tough.'
'He is tough. He is also one of the most intelligent men in England.'
'Then if this fellow is guilty,' said Evelyn. She mentioned the unmentionable subject. 'Do you think he did it?'
Her tone took on the furtive note with which this is mentioned by spectators. Privately, I thought Answell was either guilty or crazy or both. I was fairly sure that they would hang him. He had certainly done as much as possible to hang himself. But there was no time to reflect on this. The last of the jurors, including two women, had now been sworn without a challenge. The indictment was again read over to the prisoner. There was a throat-clearing. And Sir Walter Storm, the Attorney-General, rose to open the case for the Crown.
'May it please your Lordship, members of the jury.'
There was a silence, through which Sir Walter Storm's rich voice rose with a curious effect of seeming to come from a gulf. The woolly top of his wig confronted us as he tilted his chin. I do not think that throughout the entire trial we saw his face more than once, when he twisted round: it was long, long-nosed, and ruddy, with an arresting eye. He was completely impersonal, and completely deadly. Often he had the air of a considerate schoolmaster questioning slightly feeble-minded charges. In his course of remaining impartial, his voice took on a heavy and modulated e-nun-ci-ation like an actor's.
'May it please your Lordship, members of the jury,', began the Attorney-General. 'The charge against the prisoner, as you have heard, is murder. It is my duty to indicate to you here the course that will be followed by the evidence for the Crown. You may well believe that it is often with reluctance that a prosecutor takes up his duties. The victim of this crime was a man universally respected, for many years an official of the Capital Counties bank; and later, I think, a member of the board of directors of that bank. The man who stands accused of having committed it is one of good family, good upbringing, and of considerable material fortune, having a great many of this world's advantages denied to others. But the facts will be presented to you; and these facts, I shall suggest to you, can lead to no other conclusion but that Mr Avory Hume was brutally murdered by the prisoner at the bar.
'The victim was a widower, and at the time of his death was living at Number is Grosvenor Street with his daughter, Miss Mary Hume; his brother, Dr Spencer Hume; and his confidential secretary, Miss Amelia Jordan. During the fortnight of December 23rd to January 5th, last, Miss Mary Hume was absent from this house, visiting friends in Sussex. You will hear that on the morning of December 31st, last, the deceased received a letter from Miss Hume. This letter announced that Miss Hume had become engaged to be married to James Answell, the prisoner at the bar, whom she had met at the home of her friends.
'You will hear that, on receiving the news, the deceased was at first well pleased. He expressed himself in terms of the warmest approval. He wrote a letter of congratulation to Miss Hume; and conducted at least one telephone conversation with her on the subject. You might think that he had reason to be satisfied, considering the prisoner's prospects. But I must draw your attention to the sequel. At some time between December 31st and January 4th, the deceased's attitude towards this marriage (and towards the prisoner) underwent a sudden and complete change.
'Members of the jury - when this change occurred, or why, the Crown do not attempt to say. But the Crown will ask you to consider whether or not such a change had any effect on the prisoner at the bar. You will hear that on the morning of Saturday, January 4th, the deceased received another letter from Miss Hume. This letter stated that the prisoner would be in London on that day. Mr Hume lost little time in communicating with the prisoner. At 1.30 on Saturday afternoon he telephoned to the prisoner at the latter's flat in Duke Street. The deceased's words were overheard on this occasion by two witnesses. You will hear in what terms, and with what acerbity, he spoke to the prisoner. You will hear that, as the deceased replaced the receiver of the telephone, he said aloud: 'My dear Answell, I'll settle your hash, damn you.'
Sir Walter Storm paused.
He spoke the words unemotionally, consulting his papers as though to make sure of having them right. A number of people glanced automatically at the prisoner, who was now sitting down in the dock with a warder sitting on either side of him. The prisoner, I thought, seemed to have been prepared for this.
'In the course of this telephone conversation, the deceased asked the prisoner to come to his house in Grosvenor Street at six o'clock that evening. Later, as you will hear, he told the butler that he was expecting at six a visitor who (in his own words) 'might give some trouble, for he is not to be trusted'.
'At about 5.15 the deceased retired to his study, or office, at the rear of the house. I must explain to you that - during this long term of service with the bank - he had constructed for himself a private office at home suited to his needs. You will see that there are only three entrances to this room: a door and two windows. The door was a heavy and tight-fitting one, fastened on the inside with a bolt. There was not even a keyhole: the door being fastened on the outside with a Yale lock. Each of the windows could be covered with folding steel shutters, which, as you will hear, were of a burglar-proof variety. Here the deceased had been accustomed to keep such valuable documents or letters as he had once been obliged to bring home with him. But for several years this study had not been used as a 'strong-room'; and the deceased had not considered it necessary to lock up the room either with door or with shutters.
'Instead, he kept there only his 'trophies'. This, members of the jury, refers to the fact that the deceased had been a keen follower of the pastime of archery. He was a member of the Royal Toxophilite Society and of the Woodmen of Kent, societies which exist for the furtherance of this good old sport. On the wall of his study hung some prizes of the annual matches of the Woodmen of Kent. These consisted of three arrows - inscribed respectively with the dates on which they had been won, 1928, 1932, 1934 - and a bronze medal presented by the Woodmen of Kent for a record number of points, or hits, in 1934-
'With this background, then; the deceased went into his study at about 5.15 on the evening of January 4th. Now mark what follows. At this time the deceased called to Dyer, the butler, and instructed him to close and lock the shutters. Dyer said: 'The shutters?' - expressing surprise, since this had not been done since the deceased had
left off using the room as an office. The deceased said: 'Do as I tell you; do you think I want Fleming to see that fool making trouble?'
'You will hear that this referred to Mr Randolph Fleming, a fellow archery-enthusiast and a friend of the deceased, who lived next door: in fact, in the house across the narrow paved passage outside the study windows. Dyer followed the deceased's instruction, and securely barred the shutters. It is worthy of note that the two sash- windows were also locked on the inside. Dyer, making sure that everything was in order in the room, then observed on a sideboard a decanter full to the stopper of whisky, an unused syphon of soda-water, and four clean -tumblers. Dyer left the room.
'At 6.10 o'clock the prisoner arrived. You will hear evidence which will enable you to decide whether he was or was not in an extremely agitated frame of mind. He then refused to remove his overcoat, and asked to be taken at once to Mr Hume. Dyer took him to the study and then left the room, closing the door.
'At about 6.18 Dyer, who had remained in the little passage outside the door, heard the prisoner say: 'I did not come here to kill anyone unless it- becomes absolutely necessary.' Some minutes later he heard Mr Hume cry out, 'Man, what is wrong with you? Have you gone mad?' And he heard certain noises which will be described to you.'
This time the Attorney-General's pause was of the slightest. Sir Walter Storm was warming up: though he remained fluently impersonal, and still read out quotations with the same painstaking articulation. His only gesture was to move his forefinger slowly at the jury at each word he read. Sir Walter is a tall man, and the sleeve of his black gown flapped a little:
'At this point, members of the jury, Dyer knocked at the door and asked whether anything was wrong. His employer replied: 'No, I can deal with this; go away' - which he did.
'At 6.30 Miss Amelia Jordan came downstairs, on her way out of the house, and went to the study. She was about to knock at the door when she heard the voice of the prisoner say: 'Get up I Get up, damn you!' Miss Jordan tried the knob of the door, and found that it was bolted on the inside. She then ran down the passage, meeting Dyer who was just coming into it. She said to him: 'They are fighting; they are killing each other; go and stop them.' Dyer said that it might be better to get a policeman. Miss Jordan then said: 'You are a coward; run next door and fetch Mr Fleming.' Dyer suggested that Miss Jordan had better not be left alone in the house at that moment, and that she herself had better go after Mr Fleming.
'This she did, finding Mr Fleming just leaving his house to go out. Mr Fleming returned with her. They found
