Beyond this place (32 page)

"You have every reason to reproach us. We can only throw ourselves upon your mercy and ask you to forgive us."

Mathry bent his forbidding gaze on Fleming.

"You haven't changed ... I remember you quite well. I want none of your mealy-mouthed slush. I put up with so much of it in

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the old days. Forgiveness!" His chapped lips drew back in a kind of snarl. "There was a warder in there by the name of Hicks. One day we were at the quarries. It was my first month, I was green at the work, and it was half killing me. But Hicks was there, right beside me, driving me on. The sweat was running into my eyes, I could scarcely see. As I swung my pick it shot off the granite and went into his boot. It never even scratched him, it only cut the uppers of his boot. Did he forgive me? He swore I'd tried to kill him. He had me before the governor. Even then he wasn't satisfied. He kicked and bullied me, spat in my skilly, got me solitary, watched me at every turn, for fifteen years he made my life a hell. And you talk to me about forgiveness."

"I know you've suffered," Fleming said weakly. "You've suffered horribly. All the more reason why we should help you to reestablish yourself, to find peace, back in the bosom of your own family."

"I have other ideas." Mathry's face assumed the same dogged insistence which had stamped it when he was selecting his new clothes. "I'm not done yet. I'm going to enjoy my life."

"How?"

"You just wait and see, you bleating hypocrite. They've had their fun with me. Now it's my turn."

Drawn up short, Fleming gazed almost helplessly at Paul's mother who, with parted lips, and an aghast expression, was staring at Mathry. So far she had not said a word. She was indeed, incapable of speech. But now, compelled by an unknown emotion, perhaps by some prompting from the distant past, she gave a quivering cry and held out her hands.

"Rees ... let us try to start over again."

His look repulsed her even before she advanced.

"None of that." He struck the table with his fist. "It's all finished between us. I want somebody younger, with some blood in them.' His eyes roved towards Ella, who blushed shamefully, then he returned his gaze to his wife, his lips drawn in a broken bitterness. "In anv case, you were always snivelling, whining after me to go to meeting when all I wanted was to have my pals in for a glass of beer. I wouldn't come near you now if you were the last woman in the world."

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She sank down on the edge of a chair, humiliated to the heart, her head bowed, tears streaming from her eyes. Ella ran to her, knelt beside her and began to whimper in sympathy. Mr. Fleming still stood silent, his eyes bent upon the carpet. Paul glanced at the bent figure of his mother. But he did not move towards her — it was almost as though, once again, he felt drawn, in sympathy, to his father.

At the table Mathry remained for some moments immobile, with wrinkled brow and drooping lids, as though, in some fashion, he had retreated into himself. But now he got heavily to his feet and moved to the door. Before he went out he swept them with his pallid eyes.

"Thirty strokes of the cat," he muttered. "That would make you blubber. That's what they served out to me."

The door slammed behind him, leaving nothing but the sound of sobs. Fleming moved to the window and looked out grimly.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Paul's mother moaned. "I wish I were dead."

Ella was crying in a frightened manner. "I don't understand. I don't understand. I thought it would be nice, like they said in the papers. I want to go home."

Paul's mother uttered a sob of assent. "We should never have come. We must leave at once."

Pastor Fleming, at the window, swung round slowly.

"No," he said, in a choked yet forbearing voice. "We must remain for the inquiry. We failed him once. We cannot do so again. It may not be too late. If we hope and pray we may save him yet."

CHAPTER XV

AT ten o'clock on Monday the twenty-fifth of March, a warm and humid morning, the High Court of Justiciary was filled to suffocation, had overflowed to the pavements of the street outside. In the public gallery the spectators were wedged together on the

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benches, packed on the steps of the passage ways, their excited faces rising, tier upon tier, to the roof. The well of the court was equally congested. On the left an army of reporters was already busy with pens and paper. On the right there was grouped a privileged audience of Wortley notables and national personalities. In the centre sat the Attorney-General, with the instructing Crown Agent, Sir Matthew Sprott, Lord Oman, and other high officials of the Crown. Immediately behind were counsel for the appellant, Mr. Nigel Grahame, K.C., his junior, and the instructing solicitor. Then came Paul and his mother, Ella and Pastor o

Fleming, Dunn, McEvoy, and a number of their friends. On the front bench, where, against the wishes of his counsel, he had chosen to sit, in full view of everyone, biting at his lip as he broodingly surveyed the scene, was the former prisoner, the fifteen-year convict from Stoneheath, Rees Mathry.

Suddenly the expectant buzz of conversation was stilled and, when perfect silence had been attained, a door swung open. Everyone stood up as the five lords of appeal, led by the Lord Chief Justice, filed into court, solemn and imposing in their flowing robes. Until they had taken their places upon the bench the hush deepened. Then, with a rustle, the court reseated itself. A moment later a voice was heard:

"Call the appeal of Rees Mathry against His Majesty's Crown."

Cramped and tense in his place, Paul drew a sharp, painful breath. Day by day, living upon his nerves, he had followed the painstaking preparation of the case by Nigel Grahame. He could scarcely believe that now, at last, the inquiry had begun. He felt his eyes cloud as Grahame rose quietly. Tall, erect, and perfectly composed, one hand clasping his lapel in the traditional attitude, the young advocate addressed himself to the bench. His tone, like his manner, was quite informal, utterly devoid of rhetoric, almost conversational.

"My lords, on December 15, 1921, and subsequent days, Rees Mathry, your petitioner, was tried at the Wortley Assizes on an indictment at the instance of Mr. Matthew Sprott, His Majesty's Prosecuting Counsel, the charge being that he did assault one Mona Spurling and did wound her with a razor and did murder

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her. Your petitioner having pleaded not guilty, the trial proceeded before a jury presided over by the Honourable Lord Oman, who, on December 23, 1921, sentenced him to be executed in Wortley Jail. Subsequently, the sentence of death passed upon your petitioner was committed to penal servitude for life, whereupon the petitioner was removed to His Majesty's prison at Stoneheath, where he was detained for fifteen years. The petitioner desires now to avail himself of the statutory provisions of the Criminal Appeal Act with a view to proving that he is innocent of the charge contained in the said indictment, that his conviction thereof was most erroneous and unjust, and constituted a grave miscarriage of justice."

Surreptitiously, Paul observed the three agents of the law who sat so near to him that he could have leaned sideways and touched each upon the shoulder. Chief Constable Dale's profile was stolidly impassive, Oman wore a haughty and absent air, Sprott, slightly sprawling in his seat, was flushed but his look was firm, determinedly indifferent. From these Paul's glance turned to the lonely and ungainly figure of his father, suffering again the ordeal of a public court, and, all at once, his heart began to beat with suffocating violence. Surely, at last, there would be vindication for this man. Quickly, lest he should break down, he turned his eyes away.

Grahame, having completed his reading of the petition, had paused for a moment, permitting his eyes to rest, gravely, upon the bench. Now, in that same controlled manner, he bes;an his opening address.

"My lords, twelve months ago, the case of Rees Mathry was buried in the dusty archives of the Department of State. For fifteen years it had been forgotten, the convicted murderer was serving his life, or should I say his death, sentence in His Majesty's prison, all was well with the world.

"Then, by the merest chance, the son of that convicted murderer, from whom all knowledge of the crime had been concealed, discovered, suddenly, the odium, the frightful stain of guilt which lay upon his father and which, of course, in some measure descended like a blight, upon himself. Overcome, he nevertheless

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trusted the forces of the law, and in trembling horror, accepted the shameful fact that this parent was a murderer. Yet, out of his deep love and affection, he was constrained, almost against his will, to seek out the awful circumstances which had led his father to do this deed. He set forth and, through months of suffering and the cruellest opposition, he uncovered, step by step, the full facts of the forgotten case. My lords, it is because of these efforts, and the results which have attended them, that we are gathered here, in this court, today."

Grahame's opening words and the quiet solemnity with which he uttered them produced a profound sensation. Paul kept his eyes fixed upon the floor. He felt himself trembling inside as, after a due pause, Grahame resumed his address, and, from time to time consulting the papers before him, proceeded to define and analyse the facts of the apprehension, the trial, and the conviction of Rees Mathry in December 1921. Familiar though he was with these searing events, Paul could not restrain a hot surge of feeling as, point by point, in unfaltering sequence, Grahame calmly took up and logically set down the details of the circumstantial evidence which had enmeshed his father.

The brilliant and masterly speech lasted, with an interval for lunch, for nearly four hours. And, at the end of it, before its manifest effect could subside, Grahame tranquilly pushed on. Unstudied and restrained, showing no signs of fatigue, he bowed to the bench, and indicated that he desired to call his witnesses.

"My lords," he declared. "I propose in the first instance to call the appellant himself. At the trial, because of the unparalleled attack upon his character made by the counsel for the Crown, Rees Mathry was not afforded full opportunity to defend himself. But he will now give evidence denying all knowledge of the crime, and answering any questions relative to the charge."

Immediately, the Attorney-General rose in protest. All through Grahame's address he had remained chafing and helpless in his seat. Now he exclaimed:

"My lords, I am anxious, nay eager, to assist legitimate inquiry in this appeal. But there must be no attempt to re-try the case. I strenuously oppose the motion that the accused be allowed to give evidence."

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A stir of excitement went round the court. Paul saw his father sit up, and turn his grey face strainingly towards Grahame. Their lordships, upon the bench, had bent their heads in consultation. And presently the Lord Justice General announced their decision.

"With reference to the appellant, this court is of the opinion that his evidence would amount to no more than a repetition of his plea of not guilty. In these circumstances it would be quite unreasonable to spend time over his examination now. The court therefore is not prepared to allow his evidence to be received."

Leaning forward, Mathry had followed his lordship's words with increasing agitation. And now, amidst the buzz which arose, he jumped suddenly to his feet, his heavy figure, ludicrously garbed, trembling all over. To Paul's horror he shook his fist at the bench and shouted, in hoarse tones:

"It's not right. I ought to have my say. I have everything to tell. I want you all to hear it. How I was done down. How they treated me in quod for fifteen years." His voice rose to breaking point. "You can't shut me up now . . . like they did before. I want to be heard. I want justice . . . justice."

Gesticulating wildly, Mathry was at last forced back into his seat by Grahame and several attendants of the court who had hastened to restrain him. For some minutes there was a great com-motion, followed by a sense of consternation, then by absolute silence. Shrunk into himself, Paul became aware that Ella and his mother, beside him, were in tears. Further along, Dunn and McEvoy exchanged an anxious look. Sprott and Dale, manifesting emotion for the first time, seemed grimly pleased.

Then, with great severity, the Lord Chief Justice bent his brows upon Mathry.

"We are prepared to make great allowances. But I must advise

the appellant that such conduct is not calculated to improve this

court's opinion of his case. Furthermore, if it is repeated, I must

warn him that he will be held in the most serious charge of cons'

tempt of court."

Grahame, back in his place, deftly interposed.

"My lords, on behalf of the petitioner, I offer sincere apologies to the court for this regrettable, but perhaps understandable outburst. And now, with your lordships' permission I will call my

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first witness, the eminent Home Office expert, Sir Malcolm Garrison."

Again the Attorney-General got quickly to his feet.

"My lords, once more I object. Further expert opinion is not admissible unless it arises out of fresh facts."

The Lord Chief Justice, by an inclination of his head, indicated assent.

"On what grounds, Mr. Grahame, do you desire to lead the evidence of Sir Malcolm Garrison?"

"My lords," Grahame replied, "Sir Malcolm, as you know, is our foremost criminologist. He has had a description of the injuries sustained by the murdered woman. He has seen photographs of the body taken at the time, also the razor presumed by the Crown to have been the lethal weapon, and he is definitely of the opinion that this instrument had nothing whatsoever to do with the crime."

The Lord Chief Justice frowned and took consultation with his colleagues. A few moments later he returned his beetling gaze to Grahame.

"The court must support the contention of the Attorney-General. Sir Malcolm Garrison did not view the body. Therefore, his evidence cannot be received."