The Judas Window

there under the glow of the yellow light, with the oak panelling, and the yellow furniture, and the tiers of people who were now frankly standing up. Even the white wigs and black gowns of counsel had reared up furtively to obscure our view. At the core of all this, as though in a spotlight under the white dome of the Old Bailey, Inspector Mottram stood looking from the screw-driver to the spindle.

'My lord,' he said, 'there appears to be a piece of black thread tied to the hole in the spindle, and then wound a few lengths round -'

The judge made a note in his careful handwriting.

'I see. Proceed, Sir Henry.'

'And next, Inspector,' pursued H.M., 'just push the spindle through with your finger - use the point of the screw-driver if it's more convenient - and take the whole thing out. Ah, that's got it We want to see the Judas window, and ... ah, you've found somethin', haven't you? There's somethin' lodged in the opening between the spindle and the Judas window, stuck there? Quick, what is it?'

Inspector Mottram straightened up from inspecting something, in the palm of his hand.

'It would appear,' he said carefully, 'to be a small piece of blue-coloured feather, about a quarter of an inch, triangular in shape, evidently torn off something -'

Every board in the hardwood floor, every bench, every chair seemed to have its own separate creaking. At my side Evelyn suddenly sat down again, expelling her breath.

'And that, my lord,' said H.M. quite mildly, 'together with the identification of the last piece of feather, will conclude the evidence for the defence. Bah!'

XVIII

'The Verdict of You All

4.15 p.m.-4.32 p.m. From the Closing Speech for the Defence, by Sir Henry Merrivale

'... and so, in what I've just spoken to you about, I've tried to outline what we'll call the outlying phases of this case. You have been told, and I think you believe, that this man was the victim of a deliberate frame-up. You have heard now that, far from taking a pistol to that house, he was goin' to see the one man in the world he wanted most to please. You have heard the details that twisted up everything he said to an extent that will make me, for one, walk warily henceforward. That frame-up has been concealed and elaborated by several people - notably one you heard speak right up before you, and in his own malice try to send this man to the rope. That's a pretty thought to take with you when you consider your verdict.

'But you have nothing to do with pity or sympathy. Your business is justice, plain justice, and that's all I'm asking for. Therefore I'm goin' to submit that the whole point of this case depends on two things: a piece of feather and a cross-bow.

'The Crown ask you to believe that this man - with no motive - suddenly grabbed an arrow down from the wall and stabbed Avory Hume. It's a simple case, and makes a simple issue. Either he did do that, or he didn't. If he did do that, he's guilty. If he unquestionably did not do it, he's unquestionably innocent.

'Take first the feather. When Dyer left the prisoner in that study, alone with Avory Hume, the feather was on the arrow - all of it - intact. That's a simple fact which hasn't been disputed by anyone, and the Attorney-General will acknowledge it to you. When the door was unbolted, and Dyer and Mr Fleming went into that room, half that feather was gone from the arrow. They searched the room immediately, and the feather was not there: that's also a simple fact. Inspector Mottram searched the room, and the feather was not there, and that's a simple fact too. All this time, you remember, the accused had not left the study.

'Where was the feather? The only suggestion the police can make is that it was unconsciously carried away in the prisoner's clothes. Now, I submit to you simply that this couldn't possibly be true. There are two reasons. First of all, you saw it demonstrated here that two people could not possibly tear that feather - in a struggle - in the way it was torn; therefore there wasn't any struggle, and what becomes of the prosecution's case on that score alone? Second, and even more important, we know where the feather actually was.

'You've heard it testified by the manager of the Left-Luggage Department at Paddington that a certain person - not the prisoner - left a suitcase at the station early in the evening of January 4th. (In any case, the prisoner was not in a position to go on any errands, having been under the eye of the police from the time the murder was discovered until the followin' morning.) That suitcase contained the cross-bow you've seen; and stuck into the teeth of the windlass was a big part of the missing piece of feather.

'We can't doubt, I think, that this was a part of the feather on the arrow. You've seen micro-photographs in which you can compare every detail, you've heard it identified by the man who attached it to the arrow: in short - as in other things in this case - you've been able to see and decide for yourselves. Well, how did that feather get there? How does this fact square with the prosecution's theory that the prisoner dragged down the arrow and used it as a dagger? That's the picture, I submit, you've got to keep in your minds. If he stabbed the deceased, there are a lot of things I'll submit with my hand on my heart that he didn't do it. He didn't tear the feather apart with a power beyond him. He didn't shove one end of it into the teeth of a crossbow. He assuredly didn't put the whole apparatus into Spencer Hume's suitcase - which, you recall, was not even packed or brought downstairs until six-thirty.

'Just a word about that suitcase. I'll suggest to you that in itself it destroys any reasonable doubt of this man's innocence. I'm not suggestin' that Miss Jordan packed a week-end cross-bow among the collar-studs and the slippers. No; I mean that it was standin' downstairs in the hall, and someone used it. But how does this apply to the prisoner? The suitcase was packed and brought downstairs at six-thirty. From that time until the time the three witnesses entered the study, it was always under somebody's eye. Did the prisoner leave the study at any time? He did not. You've heard that too frequently -especially from the prosecution. Did he approach the suitcase, to put in a cross-bow or a decanter or anything else (which, I suggest, were already somewhere else waiting to be put in)? Did he, in short, have anything to do with the suitcase? He did not have an opportunity before the crime was discovered, and he most certainly didn't have an opportunity afterwards.

'Why, burn me — HURRUM — members of the jury, I'll call your attention to another point. Part of the missin' feather is in a suitcase which, we can decide, James Answell's ghost didn't take to Paddington Station. But there's another part of that feather. You know where it was, and is. You saw it there. It was in what, for the sake of convenience, I've called the Judas window. Still keepin' in mind the prosecution's belief that Answell used the arrow as a dagger, how does this square with the presence of the feather in the Judas window?

'It doesn't. There's no doubt the feather is there. There's no doubt it got there at the time of the murder. Inspector Mottram, as you've heard, took away that door on the night of the murder, and has kept it at the police- station ever since. From the time the murder was discovered to the time Inspector Mottram took the door away, there was always somebody in the study; so the feather couldn't have landed there at any time except the time of the murder. Only a minute ago you saw Professor Parker recalled to the witness-box; you heard him identify this feather as undoubtedly the last missin' piece; and he told you why he thought so. It is the feather, then, and it was there. Well, how does my learned friend say it got there? Now, I'm not here to toss dull ridicule at a group of men like Counsel for the Crown, who've conducted their case with scrupulous fairness towards the accused, and given the defence all the latitude we could hope for. But what can I say? Just fix your minds on the stupefyin' suggestion that James Answell wildly arose and killed Avory Hume, and at the same time a bit of feather off that arrow managed to get into that hole that supports the knob-spindle in the door. Can you think of any reason for it, however ingenious, that doesn't become mere roar-in' comedy?

'You've already heard reasons why the prisoner could not conceivably have come near the cross-bow or the suitcase; in fact, it's never been suggested that he has. The same, in general, applies to the feather in the door and the little mechanism of thread on the spindle. That little mechanism. I think you'll agree, was prepared beforehand. Answell had never been in the house before in his life. That little mechanism was meant to work only from outside, to let the knob down from the other end. Answell was inside the room, with the door bolted. As I say, merely to ridicule is useless; but I'm convinced that the more you think of it the more out of question it will become, or you're a greater group of fat-hea - URR -or you're not the intelligent English jury I know you are.

'Still, the feather was there. It got there somehow; and it's not exactly a common place to find one. I'll venture to suggest that you could go home to-night and take the knobs out of all the doors in your own house: and all down the street through your neighbours' houses: and still you wouldn't End a feather in the Judas window. I'll further venture to suggest that there's only one set of circumstances in which you could find both the feather and the thread-mechanism in the Judas window. It's got nothing to do with an arrow snatched down from the wall to