The Best of Gerald Kersh (18 page)

They went to a café not far away. Jacket was aware of Mr Wainewright’s wretchedness: it was twitching at the
corners of the nondescript mouth and dragging down the lids of the colourless eyes. ‘What’s up?’ he asked, as if he did not know.

‘Nothing. I simply wondered … I wondered …’

‘About that story? Take it easy, George. What is there that I can do? Bigger things have happened. As for this Tooth murder case – if you can call it a case. Martha Tooth is certain to get off lightly. Especially with
Concord
defending. I must get back to the office.’

In Fleet Street Mr Wainewright asked him: ‘Is the trial likely to be reported?’

‘Sure,’ said Jacket.

‘I suppose I’ll be called, as witness?’

‘Of course.’

‘But I’m detaining you, J-Jack.’

‘Not at all, George. Good-bye.’

‘Good-bye, sir.’

Jacket hurried eastwards. Mr Wainewright walked deliberately in the direction of the Strand.

*

Sumner Concord was perhaps the greatest defender of criminals the world had ever known. He could combine the crafty ratiocination of a Birkett with the dialectical oratory of a Marshall Hall, and act like John
Barrymore
– whom he closely resembled. The louder he sobbed the closer he observed you. In cross-examination he was suave and murderous. Birkenhead himself was afraid of Sumner Concord. Yet Concord was an honest man. He would defend no one whom he believed to be guilty.

‘Tell me about it,’ he said, to Martha Tooth.

‘What do you want me to tell you?’ she asked.

‘You must tell me exactly what happened that
evening
at Number 77, Bishop’s Square. The truth, Mrs Tooth. I want to help you. How can I help you if you do not tell me the truth?’

She said: ‘There isn’t anything to tell.’

‘Now you are charged——’ began Sumner Concord.

‘Oh, what do I care? What do I care?’ cried Martha Tooth. ‘Charge me, hang me – leave me alone!’

Sumner Concord had strong tea brought in before he continued. ‘Tell me, Mrs Tooth. Why did you visit your husband that night?’

Martha Tooth said: ‘I wasn’t well. I couldn’t work. There were the children. I wanted Sid to do something about the children. I
was
his wife. He
was
my husband, after all…. I only wanted him to give me some money, just a little, till I could work again.’

‘Work again at what, Mrs Tooth?’

‘I’d been doing housework.’

‘And it had been some time since your husband had given you any money?’

‘Three years.’

‘You had been supporting yourself and your two
children
all that time?’

‘Yes.’

‘He had sent you nothing?’

‘Not a penny. I left Sid over three years ago.’

‘Why did you leave him, Mrs Tooth?’

‘He used to beat me. I couldn’t stand him beating me in front of the children. Then – it was when we had two rooms in Abelard Street near the British Museum – he brought a woman in.’

‘Are there, Mrs Tooth, by any chance, any witnesses who could testify to that?’

‘Mrs Ligo had the house. Then there was Miss
Brundidge
; she lived downstairs. I ran away with the children and went to my aunt’s place. She still lives there: Mrs Lupton, 143, Novello Road, Turners Green. Her friend, Mrs Yule, she lives there too. They both know. We stayed with them once. Sid used to knock me about. The police had to be called in twice. He wanted to kill me when he’d been drinking.’

‘…
In
twice
,’
wrote Sumner Concord. ‘Novello Road. Novello Street Police Station, um? Take your time. Have some more tea. A cigarette. You don’t smoke? Wise of you, wise. He was a violent and dangerous man, this husband of yours, then?’

‘Yes.’

‘He threatened, for instance, to kill you, no doubt?’

‘No,’ said Martha Tooth, ‘he never threatened. He just hit.’

‘And on this last occasion. You called to see him. Hm?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘You hadn’t seen him for some time?’

‘About three years.’

‘How did you find out his address?’

‘From his firm, Poise Weighing Machines.’

‘You hadn’t tried to find out his address before, eh?’

‘All I cared about was that Sid shouldn’t find out my address.’

‘But you were at the end of your tether, hm?’

‘I was supposed to be having an operation. I’ve still got to have an operation. And I thought Sid might let me have something …’

‘There-there, now-now! Calm. Tears won’t help, Mrs Tooth. We
must
be calm. You saw Sid. Yes?’

‘Yes, sir. But … he’d been drinking, I think.’

‘Tell me again exactly what happened.’

‘I called. A lady let me in. I went up, and Sid was there. He said: “What, you?” I said: “Yes, me.” Then he said – he said——’

‘Take your time, Mrs Tooth.’

‘He said: “What a sight you look.”’

‘And then?’

‘I suppose I started crying.’

‘And he?’

‘He told me to shut up. And so I did. I think I did, sir. I tried to. I asked him to let me have some money. He said that I’d had as much money as I was ever going to get out of him – as if I’d ever had anything out of him!’ cried Mrs Tooth, between deep, shuddering sobs.

‘There, there, my dear Mrs Tooth. You must drink your tea and be calm. Everything depends on your being calm. Now.’

‘I said I’d go to his firm. I told him I was ill. I told him I’d go to his firm in the City. Then he hit me, sir.’

‘Where?’

‘In the face – a slap. I started to cry again. He hit me again, and he laughed at me.’

‘He hit you in the face again?’

‘Yes, with his hand.’

‘This is very painful to you, Mrs Tooth, but we must have everything clear. Your hand was wounded. How did you hurt your hand?’

‘All of a sudden … I didn’t want to keep on living. I was so miserable –I was so miserable – I was——’

Sumner Concord waited. In a little while Martha Tooth could speak again.

‘You hurt your hand.’

‘I wanted to kill myself. There was a knife, or
something
. I picked it up. I meant to stick it in myself. But Sid was quick as lightning.’

There was a ring of pride in her voice, at which Sumner Concord shuddered, although he had heard it before.

‘What happened then?’ he asked.

‘He hit me again and knocked me over.’

‘You fell?’

‘Against the bed, sir. Then Sid hit me some more and told me to get out. He said: “I hate the sight of you, get out of my sight,” he said.’

‘Above all, be calm, Mrs Tooth. What happened after that?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘After he hit you the last time – think.’

‘I don’t know, sir.’

‘You got up?’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘You can’t remember. Do you remember going out of the room?’

‘I sort of remember going out of the room.’

‘You got back to your home?’

‘Yes.’

‘You remember that?’

‘Yes, sir. I know, because I washed my face in cold water, and moved quietly so as not to wake the children up.’

‘That, of course, was quite reasonable. That would account for the blood in the water in the wash-bowl.’

‘I dare say.’

‘Your throat was bruised, Mrs. Tooth. Did your husband try to strangle you?’

‘He got hold of me to keep me quiet, I should think, sir.’

‘Before you picked up this knife, or whatever it was? Or after?’

‘I couldn’t say. I don’t know. I don’t care.’

‘I suggest that you picked up this sharp instrument, knife, scissors, or whatever it may have been,
after
your husband took you by the throat.’

‘Very likely,’ said Martha Tooth, drearily, ‘I don’t know. I don’t care.’

‘You must pull yourself together, Mrs Tooth. How can I help you if you will not help yourself? You picked up this knife, or pair of scissors,
after
your husband began to strangle you with his hands. Is that so?’

‘I should think so.’

‘He was an extremely powerful man, I think?’

‘My Sid? Sid was as strong as a bull, sir.’

‘Yes. Now can you give me a list of the places – rooms, flats, houses, hotels, any places – in which you and your husband lived together from the date of your marriage until the date of your separation?’

‘Yes, I think I could, sir.’

‘You lived together for several years, didn’t you?’

‘Nearly seven years, off and on.’

‘He ill-treated you from the start?’

Martha Tooth laughed. ‘He beat me the first time two days after we were married,’ she said.

‘However, you managed to keep this matter secret?’

‘Oh, everybody knew.’

‘Hush, hush, Mrs Tooth. Everything depends upon your self-control! He can’t hurt you now.’

‘I’m not crying because of that …’ Martha Tooth bit her sleeve and pressed the fingers of her free hand
into her eyes. Still, tears came out between her fingers.

‘Why are you crying, then?’

‘You’re so good to me!’

‘You
must
be
calm,’
said Sumner Concord, in a cold, hard voice.

She stopped crying. ‘Everybody knew how he treated me,’ she said.

‘You must try and remember everyone who might make a statement concerning the manner in which your husband treated you, Mrs Tooth. You must try and
remember
. Is that quite clear?’

‘Yes, sir, but I’m afraid. I’m afraid of being in the court. They’ll make me swear black is white. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. I don’t——’

Sumner Concord stopped her with a gentle, but
imperious
gesture, and said: ‘Mrs Tooth, you mustn’t persuade yourself that there is anything to be afraid of. You will be given a perfectly fair trial. The clerk of the court will say to you: “Martha Tooth, you are charged with the murder of Sidney Tooth on the 7th May of this year. Are you guilty or not guilty?” And you will say: “Not guilty.” This I believe to be the truth. I believe that you are not guilty of the murder of your husband. I believe that, desperate with grief and pain and terror, you picked up the scissors intending to kill yourself, and not to kill your husband.’

Martha Tooth stared at him in blank astonishment and said: ‘Me, pick up a pair of scissors to kill Sid? I shouldn’t have dared to raise a hand to Sid.’

‘Just so. He had you by the throat, Mrs Tooth. He was shaking you. Your head was spinning. You struck out wildly, blindly, Mrs Tooth, and it happened that the point of that sharp pair of scissors struck him in the
soft part of his neck and penetrated the subclavian artery. You had not the slightest intention of hurting him in any way,’ said Sumner Concord, holding her with his keen, calm, hypnotic eyes. ‘What happened after that, Mrs Tooth?’

‘I don’t know what happened,’ she cried. ‘As he let go of my neck, I ran away from him, that’s all I know.’

‘Exactly. You ran away blindly, neither knowing or caring where you were going. Is that not so? And later they found you wringing your ice-cold hands and crying, while the children lay asleep in your poor furnished room. Is that not so?’

‘My hands were ice-cold,’ said Martha Tooth in a wondering undertone. ‘How did you know my hands were ice-cold?’

Sumner Concord smiled sadly and with pity. ‘Be calm, my dear lady, be calm.’

‘But how did you know my hands were ice-cold?’

‘They frequently are in such cases,’ said Sumner
Concord
. ‘And now you must eat your meals and rest and get your poor nerves in order again, Mrs Tooth. You are to banish this matter from your mind until it is necessary for us to talk about it again. You are to leave everything in my hands. I believe that you have been telling me the truth, and in that case I give you my word of honour that I believe that no great harm can come to you. Now you must rest.’

‘I don’t care what happens to me, sir, but the children – what about the children?’ asked Martha Tooth, twisting her wet handkerchief in her skinny, little chapped hands.

‘Put your mind at rest, they are being well looked after, I promise you.’

A shocking thought seemed suddenly to strike her and she gasped: ‘They can send me to prison for years. And then what would happen to them?’

Rising, and laying large, gentle hands on her shoulders, Sumner Concord replied: ‘Even if you had known that you were striking your husband, you would have been striking him without premeditation, and in self-defence, because in the hands of this crazy drunken brute you were in peril of your life, and if there is any justice in the world, you need not necessarily go to prison at all.’

Then he went away and obtained the statements of Mrs Ligo, Miss Brundidge, Mrs Lupton, Mrs Yule, and half a dozen others. He obtained certain evidence from the police at the Novello Street Police Station. A few days later, everybody began to take it for granted that Martha Tooth would get away scot-free.

*

Because it was Sumner Concord who was defending Martha Tooth, the Central Criminal Court was crowded. Mr Wainewright, glancing timidly from wig to
horsehair
wig, felt his heart contract and his stomach shrink, and when his fascinated gaze fell upon the hard, white, turtle-face of Mr Justice Claverhouse, who sat in his great robes under the sword, he was seized by an insane impulse to run away and hide. Yet, at the same time, he was aware of a certain spiritual exaltation as witness for the prosecution in Rex v. Tooth.

Mr Sherwood’s speech for the prosecution was longer than one might have expected. He had put a lot of work into it. If he could hang Martha Tooth, snatching her from the protective arms of Sumner Concord, he was a
made man. His manner was cold and precise. His voice was – as one journalist described it – winter sunlight made articulate. As he spoke, members of the public who had hitherto believed that Martha Tooth could not possibly be convicted changed their minds. One or two sportsmen who had laid five to four on her acquittal began furtively to try to hedge their bets. Mr Sherwood’s sentences struck home like so many jabs of an ice-pick. Here was an angry woman, may it please His Lordship and the members of the jury. Here was an embittered woman, a jealous woman. Here was a woman scorned. She had brooded over her real or imaginary wrongs until at last she had decided on a bloody revenge. Under the cover of the gathering darkness, she had gone stealthily out of her house, to the house of her husband. And there she had stabbed him to death with this pair of scissors, paper-cutting scissors with a shagreen handle. (The pair of scissors was unwrapped from some tissue paper in a little cardboard box, into which they had been packed with loving care.) She left the scissors in the wound, knowing that no fingerprints would be visible on the rough shagreen handle. Then she slunk out of the house. But her cunning had not been quite deep enough. She had forgotten to wipe her fingerprints from the door-knob on the inside of Mr Tooth’s
bed-sitting-room
door. There were witnesses who could swear to having seen her come and seen her go. Medical evidence would prove that this murderous stab in the throat, which had gone down through the subclavian artery, had been inflicted at such-and-such a time. She was arrested almost literally red-handed, for she had not yet had time to empty certain blood-stained water from a basin in her room. While her husband’s innocent
children lay asleep in her bed, the murderess had crept back to wash away the evidence of her guilt, and so on and so forth. And now with the assistance of his learned friend, Mr Bottle, he would call the evidence before the court.