Trial and Error (30 page)

The judge whispered to the clerk of the court, the clerk whispered to an usher, the usher whispered to one of the friendly policemen, and the policeman lumbered into the dock and touched Mr Todhunter on the shoulder.

“Lawrence Butterfield Todhunter, I arrest you for the murder of Ethel May Binns, on the night of twenty-eight September last, and I warn you that anything . . . that is . . . and . . . and . . .”

“And about time too,” suggested Mr Todhunter.

PART V

Gothic

DUNGEON CELL

CHAPTER XIX

To say that the verdict on Mr Todhunter caused a sensation in the country would be to put it mildly.

Everybody had always told the British (and the British had always told everybody) that their judicial system was the best in the world; yet here were two persons lying under sentence of death for the same crime, and one of them must be innocent. Did the incomparable British judicial system then contain such traps as might catch an innocent man and let the guilty escape?

The Times
had a thoughtful leader proving that there was nothing wrong with the system and inclined to deplore the fact that, in spite of the cautious attitude of the judge, Mr Todhunter should have got himself convicted, at the same time equally deprecating the fact that Vincent Palmer had not somehow managed to get himself acquitted. The
Daily Telegraph
had an equally thoughtful leader saying at some length exactly nothing at all. The
Morning Post
was inclined to believe that some subtle Communist propaganda had been at work. The
News Chronicle
was more certain than ever that the civil war in Spain was the indirect outcome of the whole unfortunate affair. The popular press openly and vociferously exulted and called the jury by every flattering superlative it could dig out of its vocabulary. For some reason unknown to him, the popular press had been Mr Todhunter's champion from the beginning.

The public as usual waited for a lead. And the government, equally as usual, waited for a lead from the public.

In point of fact the public wavered for exactly forty-eight hours. During that period opinion was about equally divided between the two alternatives of Mr Todhunter's guilt and his altruistic innocence, with perhaps a tiny balance in favour of the latter as being the more romantically sentimental.

The turning point was characteristic. Somehow, somewhere, from some unknown source the whisper went round: Fascism! Mr Todhunter had decided, all on his own, that someone ought to be killed and had set about killing her. If that wasn't Fascism, what was? Never mind whether he had actually done the deed himself or not; he had intended, and that was just as bad. Anyhow, a jury had said he did do it, hadn't they? What was good enough for a jury was good enough for us. Un-British! Fascism!

The
Daily Telegraph,
in an inspired leader, drew a most interesting parallel between the habits of Fascist dictators in ridding themselves of persons they disliked and Mr Todhunter's action.

In the relieved indignation the slur on the British judicial system was quite forgotten.

The government, with the people now solid behind it, could go on comfortably to hang Mr Todhunter with an easy political conscience.

2

Of all these developments Mr Todhunter knew nothing. In any case, now that his anxieties were over he was far too interested in the routine in which he was now caught up to bother about such trivialities as public opinion. Mr Todhunter doubted whether a really intelligent person had ever had the chance before of observing at first hand the exact procedure followed by a condemned murderer between his conviction and execution, and he realised his responsibility.

It was therefore with an alert interest that he prepared to leave his friends in the dock and follow the warder who had now attached himself. That he was leaving these friends and all they stood for, forever, did not worry him. The novelty, to say nothing of the exaltation, of finding himself a condemned prisoner made Mr Todhunter only agog with curiosity.

There had been a brief scene of jubilation following the end of the proceedings, with Sir Ernest and Mr Todhunter mutually congratulating each other and the beaming Mr Chitterwick congratulating them both; so that one would have said it was a wedding and not a funeral for which Mr Todhunter was bound. The doctor, too, had taken the opportunity of having a word with the warder, to warn him that Mr Todhunter was in a very precarious state of health and was not to be allowed to walk fast, to lift or carry anything or to undergo any exertion at all, or otherwise the warder would find a corpse instead of a live prisoner on his hands; and the warder, impressed, had promised to pass this information on to Mr Todhunter's next guardian. It was all very friendly and informal, and Mr. Todhunter's farewells were no less casual than those of a week-end visitor.

The warder, who was oldish and amicable, led Mr Todhunter through a door with a glass top which led into an inclined passage, or ramp, floored with concrete. A short way down this ramp was an iron gate which the warder opened and then closed carefully behind them. A few yards beyond this gate the ramp led into a long, narrow, stone-flagged corridor. Along the corridor were rows of doors, each with a glass top, and behind them Mr Todhunter could see dim forms and faces which peered at him dumbly.

“Prisoners, I suppose?” he asked pleasantly.

“That's right,” nodded the warder. “Convicted or awaiting trial.”

“Oh, they keep them here before they're tried too? That seems a little hard.”

“There's nowhere else.”

“Well, there ought to be,” said Mr Todhunter and made a mental note for the series of articles he was planning.

Mr Todhunter himself was then placed in one of these dark little cells and duly locked in. The friendly warder professed himself without knowledge as to how long his stay would be.

Mr Todhunter leant his nose up against the glass of his door and watched the warders, the convicted and the as yet untried, passing and repassing along the gloomy corridor with occasionally a barrister in wig and gown sweeping importantly by.

“Most interesting,” observed Mr Todhunter to himself. “Crime does not pay.”

In due course he found himself conducted down the corridor once more. At the far end there was a kind of office in which a police official with grey hair was making mysterious marks on a slate with a piece of chalk. Mr Todhunter asked what he was doing and was informed that the marks referred to the various Black Marias waiting in the yard, and their complements.

“Ah, the Black Maria,” said Mr. Todhunter, pleased, as he looked out at the shining black vehicles standing ready to convey the convicts to the various prisons.

He became aware that his warder, with a slightly apologetic air, was jingling something metallic.

“Oh yes,” said Mr Todhunter. “Handcuffs. That is necessary in the circumstances?”

“I don't know anything about circumstances,” muttered the warder. “It's the regulation.”

“Heaven forbid that I should offend against a regulation,” replied Mr Todhunter pleasantly and held out his wrists. He looked at the results with interest. “Well, well, well. So this is what it feels like. Most interesting.

He was then booked through the clearing office and invited to take his seat in one of the vehicles.

To his surprise Mr Todhunter found that the interior of the vehicle was divided into miniature cells. Locked into one of these, there was just room for him to sit down. He disposed himself as well as possible on the little seat provided and considered the business somewhat barbaric. From the sounds around him it was clear that the other cells were being similarly filled; and after a short wait the vehicle set off. Mr Todhunter knew its designation: the famous prison to which convicts from the area north of the Thames were invariably sent. Had Miss Norwood lived on the other bank, Mr Todhunter would now have been on his way to Wandsworth.

“It's lucky,” he ruminated, “that I don't suffer from claustrophobia. The lack of ventilation is disgraceful.”

At last the plain van came to a halt. Mr Todhunter, straining his ears, could hear great gates being opened and shut. The vehicle moved on a little further. Then his unseen fellow passengers could be heard disembarking.

Mr Todhunter had arrived.

3

The routine for prisoners condemned to death is rigid. It is laid down in the prison rules thus:

“Every prisoner under warrant or order for execution shall immediately on his arrival in the prison after sentence, be searched by or by the orders of the Governor, and all articles shall be taken from him which the Governor deems dangerous or inexpedient to leave in his possession. He shall be confined in a cell apart from all other prisoners, and shall be placed by day and by night under the constant charge of an officer. He shall be allowed such dietary and amount of exercise as the Governor, with the approval of the Commissioners, may direct. The Chaplain shall have free access to every such prisoner, unless the prisoner is of a religious persuasion differing from that of the Established Church, and is visited by a minister of that persuasion, in which case the minister of that persuasion shall have free access to him. With the above exception, no person, not being a member of the visiting committee or an officer of the prison shall have access to the prisoner except in pursuance of an order from a Prison Commissioner or member of the visiting committee.

“During the preparation for an execution, and the time of the execution, no person shall enter the prison unless legally entitled to do so.

“A prisoner under sentence of death may be visited by such of his relations, friends, and legal advisers as he desires to see, and are authorised to visit him by an order in writing from a member of the visiting committee.

“If any person makes it appear to a member of the visiting committee that he has important business to transact with a prisoner under sentence of death, that member may grant permission in writing to that person to have a conference with the prisoner.”

Into this routine Mr Todhunter found himself duly caught up.

He was now a man set apart from his fellows. Not until all the others had been removed from sight was he allowed to emerge from the van. He would have liked then to pause a minute and do justice to his first view of prison walls from the wrong side, but such amenities were no longer to be permitted. With a firm but kindly grasp on his arm Mr Todhunter found himself being conducted across the court, through passages, across an exercise yard and so into his last habitation which, except for brief periods of fresh air, he was never to leave.

“And this is the condemned cell?” Mr Todhunter asked with great interest.

“This is where you'll be,” evaded the warder.

Mr Todhunter looked round him. Though not altogether ignorant of modern prison conditions, as with most subjects of social reform, he was surprised at the comparative comfort and spaciousness about him. The place was a room, rather than a cell. A window, barred and set high in the wall but of ample size, admitted plenty of light and air. There were chairs and a fairsized table, and at one end of the room was a bed which looked comfortable, with clean sheets and pillow cases, blankets and a coverlet. Facing the bed there hung a large picture of the Crucifixion, and other brightly coloured pictures hung on the other walls. In a neat little fireplace a fire was burning cheerfully.

“But this is delightful,” said Mr Todhunter.

“The governor'll be along in a minute,” said the warder, removing Mr Todhunter's handcuffs.

Mr Todhunter took off his hat and threw his overcoat over a chair before sitting down and clasping his knees.

The next minute there was the sound of a key turning in the lock (Mr Todhunter had hardly realised they were locked in this pleasant room), and there entered a tall man with greying hair and a military-looking grey moustache, a short man with dark hair and a roundabout figure and a second warder. Mr Todhunter stood up.

“The governor,” announced the first warder and stood smartly at attention.

“How do you do?” said Mr Todhunter politely.

“Erh'rrm,” replied the governor and pulled at his moustache. He looked a little ill at ease. “This is the doctor, Doctor Farthingale.”

Mr Todhunter bowed.

“Well, we know all about
you
” said the doctor cheerfully. “I want to have a look at that aneurism of yours. Your man's just been on the telephone to me about it.”

“I understand it's in a somewhat precarious state,” Mr Todhunter said somewhat deprecatingly.

“Oh, we'll look after it.”

Mr Todhunter cackled. “Yes indeed. It would be most unfortunate if it failed to last another month, wouldn't it?”

The governor frowned. “Now, Todhunter, you must understand . . . certain regulations . . . hope you're going to be sensible. . .”

“I shall be happy,” replied Mr Todhunter with an old-fashioned little bow, “to conform to all the necessary regulations. Indeed I trust you will find me a model prisoner.”

“Yes, yes. Well, first you have to be searched. Pure formality, no doubt, in your case, but there it is. I thought you'd prefer me to do it myself, as the regulations permit. And I must ask you to hand over all personal articles you have on you for inspection.”

“I'll put them on the table,” said Mr Todhunter obligingly and duly laid out his fountain pen, pencil, notebook and gold hunter watch. “I shall also ask you for permission to retain them.”

“That's all you have?”

“Yes. I've already given everything else to my solicitor.”

“Very well. You can keep these. Just stand quite still.”

Mr Todhunter stood still while a pair of knowledgeable hands passed briskly over him.

“Yes. Well, now, if you'll undress, behind the screen if you like, the doctor will run over you, and then you can get into the regulation clothing.” The governor hesitated. “You're supposed really to take a bath on admission, but I think perhaps we might dispense with that.”

“I had one this morning,” Mr Todhunter concurred.

“Exactly.” With a brief nod the governor let himself out.

One of the warders had drawn a white painted screen across a corner of the room near the fireplace. Feeling grateful for this concession to modesty, Mr Todhunter retired behind it.

“Just coat and shirt off first,” called the doctor.

In due course Mr Todhunter was sounded gently, thumped and submitted to all the usual processes of a thorough medical examination. His aneurism of course came in for special attention, and the doctor took it with becoming respect.