CHAPTER XVI
Sir Herbert Templewood did not believe the evidence of the specialist,and he did not think the witness believed it himself. Sir Herbert didnot think any the worse of the witness on that account. It was one ofthe recognised rules of the game to allow witnesses to stretch a pointor two in favour of the defence where the social honour of highlyrespectable families was involved.
Sir Herbert saw in the present defence the fact that the hand of hisvenerable friend, Mr. Oakham, had not lost its cunning. Mr. Oakham was avery respectable solicitor, acting for a very respectable client, and hehad called a very respectable Harley Street specialist--who, by a mostfortuitous circumstance, had been staying at the same hotel as theaccused shortly before the murder was committed--to convince the jurythat the young man was insane, and that his form of insanity wasepilepsy, a disease which had prolonged lucid intervals.
A truly ingenious and eminently respectable defence, and one which, inhis heart of hearts, perhaps, Sir Herbert might not have been sorry tosee succeed, for he knew Sir James Penreath of Twelvetrees, and wassorry to see his son in such a position. But he had his duty to perform,and that duty was to discredit in the eyes of the jury the evidence ofthe witness in the box, because juries were prone to look uponspecialists as men to whom all things had been revealed, and return averdict accordingly.
Sir Herbert made one mistake in his analysis of the defence. Sir Henry,at least, believed in his own evidence and took himself very seriouslyas a specialist. Like most stupid men who have got somewhere inlife, Sir Henry became self-assertive under the least semblanceof contradiction, and he grew violent and red-faced undercross-examination. He would not hear of the possibility of a mistake inhis diagnosis of the accused's symptoms, but insisted that the accused,when he saw him at the Durrington hotel, was suffering from an epilepticseizure, combined with _furor epilepticus_, and was in a state of mindwhich made him a menace to his fellow creatures. It was true hequalified his statements with the words "so far as my observation goes,"but the qualification was given in a manner which suggested to the jurythat five minutes of Sir Henry Durwood's observation were worth amonth's of a dozen ordinary medical men.
Sir Henry's vehement insistence on his infallibility struck Sir Herbertas a flagrant violation of the rules of the game. He did not accept theprotestations as genuine; he thought Sir Henry was overdoing his part,and playing to the gallery. He grew nettled in his turn, and, with asudden access of vigour in his tone, said:
"You told my learned friend that it is quite consistent with theprisoner's malady that he could have committed the crime with which hestands charged, and remember nothing about it afterwards. Is that afact?"
"Certainly."
"In that case, will you kindly explain how the prisoner came to leavethe inn hurriedly, before anybody was up, the morning after the murderwas committed? Why should he run away if he had no recollection of hisact?"
"I must object to my learned friend describing the accused's departurefrom the inn as 'running away,'" said Mr. Middleheath, with a blandsmile of protest. "It is highly improper, as nobody knows better thanthe Crown Prosecutor, and calculated to convey an altogether erroneousimpression on the minds of the jury. There is not the slightest evidenceto support such a statement. The evidence is that he saw the servant andpaid his bill before departure. That is not running away."
"Very well, I will say hastened away," replied Sir Herbert impatiently."Why should the accused hasten away from the inn if he retained norecollection of the events of the night?"
"He may have had a hazy recollection," replied Sir Henry. "Not of theact itself, but of strange events happening to him in thenight--something like a bad dream, but more vivid. He may have foundsomething unusual--such as wet clothes or muddy boots--for which hecould not account. Then he would begin to wonder, and then perhaps therewould come a hazy recollection of some trivial detail. Then, as he cameto himself, he would begin to grow alarmed, and his impulse, as hisnormal mind returned to him, would be to leave the place where he was assoon as he could. This restlessness is a characteristic of epilepsy. Inmy opinion, it was this vague alarm, on finding himself in a positionfor which he could not account, which was the cause of the accusedleaving the Durrington hotel. His last recollection, as he told me atthe time, was entering the breakfast-room; he came to his senses in hisbedroom, with strangers in the room."
"Does not recollection return completely in attacks of petit mal?"
"Sometimes it does; sometimes not. I remember a case in my student dayswhere an epileptic violently assaulted a man in the street--almostmurdered him in fact--then assaulted a man who tried to detain him, ranaway, and remembered nothing about it afterwards."
"Is it consistent with petit mal, combined with _furor epilepticus_, fora man to commit murder, conceal the body of his victim, and remembernothing about it afterwards?"
"Quite consistent, though the probability is, as I said before, for himto have some hazy recollection when he came to his senses, which wouldlead to his leaving that place as quickly as he could."
"Would it be consistent with petit mal for a man to take a weapon awaybeforehand, and then, during a sudden fit of petit mal, use it upon theunfortunate victim?"
"If he took the weapon for another purpose, it is quite possible that hemight use it afterwards."
"I should like to have that a little clearer," said the judge,interposing. "Do you mean to get the weapon for another, possibly quiteinnocent purpose, and then use it for an act of violence?"
"Yes, my lord," replied Sir Henry. "That is quite consistent with anattack of petit mal."
"When a man has periodical attacks of petit mal, would it not bepossible, by observation of him between the attacks, or when he wassuffering from the attacks, to tell whether he had a tendency to them?"
"No, only in a very few and exceptional cases."
"In your opinion epilepsy is an hereditary disease?"
"Undoubtedly."
"Are you aware that certain eminent French specialists, including Marie,are of the opinion that hereditary influences play a very small part inepilepsy?"
"That may be." Sir Henry dismissed the views of the French specialistswith a condescending wave of his fat white hand.
"That does not alter your own opinion?"
"Certainly not."
"And do you say that because this man's mother suffered from epilepsythe chances are that he is suffering from it?"
"Pardon me, I said nothing of the kind. I think the chances are that hewould have a highly organised nervous system, and would probably sufferfrom some nervous disease. In the case of the prisoner, I should saythat shell-shock increased his predisposition to epilepsy."
"Do you suggest that shell-shock leads to epilepsy?"
"In general, no; in this particular case, possibly. A man may haveshell-shock, and injury to the brain, which is not necessarilyepileptic."
"It is possible for shell-shock alone to lead to a subsequent attack ofinsanity?" asked the judge.
"It is possible--certainly."
"How often do these attacks of petit mal occur?" asked Sir Herbert.
"They vary considerably according to the patient--sometimes once a week,sometimes monthly, and there have been cases in which the attacks areseparated by months."
"Are not two attacks in twenty-four hours unprecedented?"
"Unusual, but not unprecedented. The excitement of going from one placeto another, and walking miles to get there, would be a predisposingfactor. Prisoner would have been suffering from the effects of the firstattack when he left the Durrington hotel, and the excitement of thechange and the fatigue of walking all day would have been veryprejudicial to him, and account for the second and more violent attack."
"How long do the after effects last--of an attack of petit mal, I mean."
"It depends on the violence of the attack. Sometimes as long as five orsix hours. The recovery is generally attended with general lassitude."
"There is no evidenc
e to show that the prisoner displayed any symptomsof epilepsy before the attack which you witnessed at the Durringtonhotel. Is it not unusual for a person to reach the age of twenty-eightor thereabouts without showing any previous signs of a disease likeepilepsy?"
"There must be a first attack--that goes without saying," interposed thejudge testily.
That concluded the cross-examination. Mr. Middleheath, inre-examination, asked Sir Henry whether foam at the lips was adistinguishing mark of epilepsy.
"It generally indicates an epileptic tendency," replied Sir HenryDurwood.
At the conclusion of Sir Henry Durwood's evidence Mr. Middleheath calledan official from the War Office to prove formally that Lieutenant JamesPenreath had been discharged from His Majesty's forces suffering fromshell-shock.
"I understand that, prior to the illness which terminated his militarycareer, Lieutenant Penreath had won a reputation as an exceedinglygallant soldier, and had been awarded the D.S.O," said Mr. Middleheath.
"That is so," replied the witness.
"Is that the case?" asked the judge.
"That, my lord, is the case," replied Mr. Middleheath.
Sir Herbert Templewood, on behalf of the Crown, proceeded to callrebutting medical evidence to support the Crown contention that theaccused was sane and aware of the nature of his acts. The first witnesswas Dr. Henry Manton, of Heathfield, who said he saw the accused when hewas brought into the station from Flegne by Police Constable Queensmead.He seemed perfectly rational, though disinclined to talk.
"Did you find any symptom upon him which pointed to his having recentlysuffered from epilepsy of any kind?" asked Sir Herbert.
"No."
"Do you agree with Sir Henry Durwood that between attacks of epilepsythe patient would exhibit no signs of the disease?" asked Mr.Middleheath.
"What do you mean by between the attacks?"
"I mean when he had completely recovered from one fit and before thenext came on," explained counsel.
"I quite agree with that," replied the witness.
"How long does it usually take for a man to recover from an attack ofepilepsy?"
"It depends on the severity of the attack."
"Well, take an attack serious enough to cause a man to commit murder."
"It may take hours--five or six hours. He would certainly be drowsy andheavy for three or four hours afterwards."
"But not longer--he would not show symptoms for thirty-six hours?"
"Certainly not."
"Then, may I take it from you, doctor, that after the five or six hoursrecovery after a bad attack an epileptic might show no signs of thedisease--not even to medical eyes--till the next attack?"
"I should say so," replied the witness. "But I am not an authority onmental diseases."
"Thank you."
The next witness was Dr. Gilbert Horbury, who described himself asmedical officer of His Majesty's prison, Norwich, and formerly medicalofficer of the London detention prison. In reply to Sir HerbertTemplewood, he said he had had much experience in cases of insanity andalleged insanity. He had had the accused in the present case underobservation since the time he had been brought to the gaol. He was verytaciturn, but he was quiet and gentlemanly in his behaviour. Histemperature and pulse were normal, but he slept badly, and twice hecomplained of pains in the head. Witness attributed the pains in thehead to the effect of shell-shock. He had seen no signs which suggested,to his mind, that prisoner was an epileptic. In reply to a directquestion by Sir Herbert Templewood, he expressed his deliberateprofessional opinion that the accused was not suffering from epilepsy inany form. Epilepsy did not start off with a bad attack ending inviolence--or murder. There were premonitory symptoms and slight attacksextending over a considerable period, which must have manifestedthemselves, particularly in the case of a man who had been through anarduous military campaign. His illness might have had a bad effect onthe brain, but if it had led to mental disease he would have expected itto show itself before.
From this point of view the witness, a dour, grey figure of a man,refused to be driven by cross-examination. His many professional yearswithin the sordid atmosphere of gaol walls had taught him that mostcriminals were malingerers by instinct, and that pretended insanity wasthe commonest form of their imposition to evade the consequence oftheir misdeeds. The number of false cases which had passed through hishands had led him to the very human conclusion that all such defenceswere merely efforts to defraud the law, and, as a zealous officer of thelaw, he took a righteous satisfaction in discomfiting them, particularlywhen--as in the present instance--the defence was used to shield anaccused of some social standing. For Dr. Horbury's political tendencieswere levelling and iconoclastic, and he had a deep contempt for caste,titles, and monarchs.
He was too sophisticated as a witness to walk into Mr. Middleheath'strap and contradict Sir Henry's evidence directly, but he contrived toconvey the impression that his own observation of accused, covering aperiod of nine days, was a better guide for the jury in arriving at aconclusion as to the accused's state of mind than Sir Henry's opinion,formed after a single and limited opportunity of diagnosing the case. Healso managed to infer, in a gentlemanly professional way, that Sir HenryDurwood was deservedly eminent in the medical world as a nervespecialist, rather than as a mental specialist, whereas witness's ownexperience in mental cases had been very wide. He talked learnedly ofthe difficulty of diagnosing epilepsy except after prolongedobservation, and cited lengthily from big books, which a court constablebrought into court one by one, on symptoms, reflex causes, auras, grandmal, petit mal, Jacksonian epilepsy, and the like.
The only admission of any value that Mr. Middleheath could extract fromDr. Horbury was a statement that while he had seen no symptoms in theprisoner to suggest that he was an epileptic, epileptics did not, as arule, show symptoms of the disease between the attack.
"Therefore, assuming the fact that Penreath is subject to epilepsy, youwould not necessarily expect to find any symptoms of the disease duringthe time he was awaiting trial?" asked Mr. Middleheath, eagerlyfollowing up the opening.
"Possibly nothing that one could swear to," rejoined the witness, in anexceedingly dry tone.
Mr. Middleheath essayed no more questions, but got the witness out ofthe box as quickly as possible, trusting to his own address to removethe effect of the evidence on the mind of the jury. At the outset ofthat address he pointed out that the case for the Crown rested uponpurely circumstantial evidence, and that nobody had seen the prisonercommit the murder with which he was charged. The main portion of hisremarks was directed to convincing the jury that the prisoner was theunhappy victim of epileptic attacks, in which he was not responsible forhis actions. He scouted the theory of motive, as put forward by theCrown. It was not fair to suggest that the Treasury note which theaccused paid to the servant at the inn was necessarily part of the deadman's money which had disappeared on the night of the murder and had notsince been recovered. The fact that the accused had been turned out ofthe Grand Hotel, for not paying his hotel bill, was put forward by theCrown to show that he was in a penniless condition, but that assumptionwent too far. It might well be that a man in the accused's socialstanding would have a pound or two in his pocket, although he might notbe able to meet an hotel bill of L30.
"Can you conceive this young man, this gallant soldier, this heir to anold and honourable name, with everything in life to look forward to,committing an atrocious murder for L300?" continued Mr. Middleheath."The traditions of his name and race, his upbringing, his recent gallantcareer as a soldier, alike forbid the sordid possibility. Moreover, hehad no need to commit a crime to obtain money. His father, his friends,or the woman who was to be his wife, would have instantly supplied himwith the money he needed, if they had known he was in want. To a youngman in his station of life L300 is a comparatively small sum. Is itlikely that he would have committed murder to obtain it?"
"On the other hand, the prisoner's actions, since returning to England,strongly
suggest that his mind has been giving way for some time past.He was invalided from the Army suffering from shell-shock, with theresult that his constitution became weakened, and the fatal taint ofinherited epilepsy, which was in his blood, began to manifest itself.His family doctor and his fiancee have told you that his behaviour wasstrange before he left for Norfolk; since coming to Norfolk it has beenunmistakably that of a man who is no longer sane. Was it the conduct ofa sane man to conceal his whereabouts from his friends, and stay at anhotel without money till he was turned out, when he might have hadplenty of money, or at all events saved himself the humiliation of beingturned out of the hotel, at the cost of a telegram? And why did hesubsequently go miles across country to a remote and wretched inn, wherehe had never been before, and beg for a bed for the night? Were thesethe acts of a sane man?"
In his peroration Mr. Middleheath laid particular emphasis on theevidence of Sir Henry Durwood, whose name was known throughout Englandas one of the most eminent specialists of his day. Sir Henry Durwood,Mr. Middleheath pointed out, had seen the prisoner in a fit at theDurrington hotel, and he emphatically declared that the accused was anepileptic, with homicidal tendencies. Such an opinion, coming from sucha quarter, was, to Mr. Middleheath's mind, incontrovertible proof ofthe prisoner's insanity, and he did not see how the jury could go behindit in coming to a decision.
Sir Herbert Templewood's address consisted of a dry marshalling of thefacts for and against the theory of insanity. Sir Herbert contended thatthe defence had failed to establish their contention that the accusedman was not in his right mind. He impressed upon the jury the decidedopinion of Dr. Horbury, who, as doctor of the metropolitan receivinggaol, had probably a wider experience of epilepsy and insanity than anyspecialist in the world. Dr. Horbury, after nine days close observationof the accused, had come to the conclusion that he was perfectly saneand responsible for his actions.
The general opinion among the bunch of legal wigs which gatheredtogether at the barristers' table as Sir Herbert Templewood resumed hisseat was that the issue had been very closely fought on both sides, andthat the verdict would depend largely upon the way the judge summed up.
His lordship commenced his summing up by informing the jury that in thefirst place they must be satisfied that the prisoner was the person whokilled Mr. Glenthorpe. He did not think they would have much difficultyon that head, because, although the evidence was purely circumstantial,it pointed strongly to the accused, and the defence had not seriouslycontested the charge. Therefore, if they were satisfied that the accuseddid, in fact, cause the death of Mr. Glenthorpe, the only question thatremained for them to decide was the state of the prisoner's mind at thetime. If they were satisfied that he was not insane at the time, theymust find him guilty of murder. If, however, they came to the conclusionthat he was insane at the time he committed the act, they would returna verdict that he was guilty of the act charged against him, but that hewas insane at the time.
His lordship painstakingly defined the difference between sanity andinsanity in the eyes of the law, but though his precise and legaldefinition called forth appreciative glances from the lawyers below him,it is doubtful whether the jury were much wiser for the explanation.After reviewing the evidence for the prosecution at considerable length,his lordship then proceeded, with judicial impartiality, to state thecase for the defence. The case for the prisoner, he said, was that hehad been strange or eccentric ever since he returned from the frontsuffering from shell-shock, that his eccentricity deepened intohomicidal insanity, and that he committed the act of which he stoodcharged while suffering under an attack of epilepsy, which produced astate of mind that led the sufferer to commit an act of violence withoutunderstanding what he was doing. In view of the nature of this defencethe jury were bound to look into the prisoner's family and hereditaryhistory, and into his own acts before the murder, before coming to aconclusion as to his state of mind.
The defence, he thought, had proved sufficient to enable the jury todraw the conclusion that Lady Penreath, the mother of the prisoner, wasan epileptic. The assertion that the prisoner was an epileptic restedupon the evidence of Sir Henry Durwood, for the evidence of MissWilloughby and the family doctor went no further than to suggest aslight strangeness or departure from the prisoner's usual demeanour. SirHenry Durwood, by reason of his professional standing, was entitled tobe received with respect, but he had himself admitted that he had had noprevious opportunity of diagnosing the case of accused, and that it wasdifficult to form an exact opinion in a disease like epilepsy. Dr.Horbury, on the other hand, had declared that the prisoner showednothing symptomatic of epilepsy while awaiting remand. In Dr. Horbury'sopinion, he was not an epileptic. Therefore the case resolved itselfinto a direct conflict of medical testimony, and it was for the jury todecide, and form a conclusion as to the man's state of mind inconjunction with the other evidence.
"The contention for the defence," continued his lordship, leaningforward and punctuating his words with sharp taps of his fountain pen onthe desk in front of him, "is this: 'Look at this case fairly andclearly, and you are bound to come to the conclusion that this man isnot in a sound frame of mind.' The prosecution, on the other hand, say,'The facts of this case do not point to insanity at all, but todeliberate murder for gain.' The defence urge further, 'You have got tolook at the probabilities. No man in prisoner's position, a gentleman bybirth and upbringing, the heir of an old and proud name, with a hithertounblemished reputation, and the prospects of a long and notinconspicuous career in front of him, would in his senses have murderedthis old man.' That is a matter for you to consider, because we do knowthat brutal crimes are committed by the most unlikely persons. But theprosecution also allege motive, and you must consider the question ofmotive. It is suggested, and it is for you to consider whether rightlyor wrongly suggested, that there was a motive in killing this man,because the prisoner was absolutely penniless and wanted to get money."
"Gentlemen, you will first apply your minds to considering all theevidence, and you will next consider whether you are satisfied that theprisoner knew the difference between right and wrong so far as the actwith which he is charged is concerned. You must decide whether he knewthe nature and quality of the act, and whether he knew the differencebetween that act being right, and that act being wrong. I have alreadypointed out to you that the law presumes him to be of sane mind, andable to distinguish between right and wrong, and it is for him tosatisfy you, if he is to escape responsibility for this act, that hecould not tell whether it was right or wrong. If you are satisfied ofthat, you ought to say that he is guilty of the act alleged, but insaneat the time it was committed. If you are not satisfied on that point,then it is your duty to find him guilty of murder. Gentlemen, you willkindly retire and consider your verdict."
The jury retired, and there ensued a period of tension, which thelawyers employed in discussing the technicalities of the case and theprobabilities of an acquittal. Mr. Oakham thought an acquittal was acertainty, but Mr. Middleheath, with a deeper knowledge of the ways ofprovincial juries, declared that the defence would have stood a betterchance of success before a London jury, because Londoners had moreimagination than other Englishmen.
"You never can tell how a d----d muddle-headed country jury will decidea highly technical case like this," said the K.C. peevishly. "I've loststronger cases than this before a Norfolk jury. Norfolk men areclannish, and Horbury's evidence carried weight. He is a Norfolk man,though he has been in London. One never knows, of course. If the juryremain out over an hour I think we will pull it off."
But the jury returned into court after an absence of forty minutes. Thejudge, who was waiting in his private room, was informed, and he enteredthe court and resumed his seat. The jury answered to their names, andthen the Clerk of Arraigns, in a sing-song voice, said:
"Gentlemen, have you agreed upon your verdict? Do you find the prisonerguilty or not guilty of wilful murder?"
"Guilty!" answered the foreman, in a loud, clear voice.
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"You say that he is guilty of murder, and that is the verdict of youall?"
"That is the verdict of us all," was the response.
"James Ronald Penreath," continued the clerk, turning to the accusedman, and speaking in the same sing-song tones of one who repeated aformula by rote, "you stand convicted of the crime of wilful murder.Have you anything to say for yourself why the Court should not give youjudgment of death according to law?"
The man in the dock, who had turned very pale, merely shook his head.
The judge, with expressionless face and in an expressionless voice,pronounced sentence of death.