the photographs against the light. Then the chairman asked: “Are these all the facts, or have you something more to tell us?” He was evidently anxious to get the key to this riddle.
“There is more evidence, your Worship,” said Anstey. “The witness examined the body of deceased.” Then, turning to Thorndyke, he asked:
“You were present at the post-mortem examination?”
“I was.”
“Did you form any opinion as to the cause of death?”
“Yes. I came to the conclusion that death was occasioned by an overdose of morphia.”
A universal gasp of amazement greeted this statement. Then the presiding magistrate protested breathlessly:
“But there was a wound, which we have been told was capable of causing instantaneous death. Was that not the case?”
“There was undoubtedly such a wound,” replied Thorndyke. “But when that wound was inflicted the deceased had already been dead from a quarter to half an hour.”
“This is incredible!” exclaimed the magistrate. “But, no doubt, you can give us your reasons for this amazing conclusion?”
“My opinion,” said Thorndyke, “was based on several facts. In the first place, a wound inflicted on a living body gapes rather widely, owing to the retraction of the living skin. The skin of a dead body does not retract, and the wound, consequently, does not gape. This wound gaped very slightly, showing that death was recent, I should say, within half an hour. Then a wound on the living body becomes filled with blood, and blood is shed freely on the clothing. But the wound on the deceased contained only a little blood-clot. There was hardly any blood on the clothing, and I had already noticed that there was none on the sand where the body had lain.”
“And you consider this quite conclusive?” the magistrate asked doubtfully.
“I do,” answered Thorndyke. “But there was other evidence which was beyond all question. The weapon had partially divided both the aorta and the pulmonary artery—the main arteries of the body. Now, during life, these great vessels are full of blood at a high internal pressure, whereas after death they become almost empty. It follows that, if this wound had been inflicted during life, the cavity in which those vessels lie would have become filled with blood. As a matter of fact, it contained practically no blood, only the merest oozing from some small veins, so that it is certain that the wound was inflicted after death. The presence and nature of the poison I ascertained by analyzing certain secretions from the body, and the analysis enabled me to judge that the quantity of the poison was large; but the contents of the stomach were sent to Professor Copland for more exact examination.”
“Is the result of Professor Copland’s analysis known?” the magistrate asked Anstey.
“The professor is here, your Worship,” replied Anstey, “and is prepared to swear to having obtained over one grain of morphia from the contents of the stomach; and as this, which is in itself a poisonous dose, is only the unabsorbed residue of what was actually swallowed, the total quantity taken must have been very large indeed.”
“Thank you,” said the magistrate. “And now, Dr. Thorndyke, if you have given us all the facts, perhaps you will tell us what conclusions you have drawn from them.”
“The facts which I have stated,” said Thorndyke, “appear to me to indicate the following sequence of events. The deceased died about midnight on September 27, from the effects of a poisonous dose of morphia, how or by whom administered I offer no opinion. I think that his body was conveyed in a boat to Sundersley Gap. The boat probably contained three men, of whom one remained in charge of it, one walked up the Gap and along the cliff towards St. Bridget’s Bay, and the third, having put on the shoes of the deceased, carried the body along the shore to the Bay. This would account for the great depth and short stride of the tracks that have been spoken of as those of the deceased. Having reached the Bay, I believe that this man laid the corpse down on his tracks, and then trampled the sand in the neighbourhood. He next took off deceased’s shoes and put them on the corpse; then he put on a pair of boots or shoes which he had been carrying—perhaps hung round his neck—and which had been prepared with nails to imitate Draper’s shoes. In these shoes he again trampled over the area near the corpse. Then he walked backwards to the Shepherd’s Path, and from it again, still backwards, to the face of the cliff. Here his accomplice had lowered a rope, by which he climbed up to the top. At the top he took off the nailed shoes, and the two men walked back to the Gap, where the man who had carried the rope took his confederate on his back, and carried him down to the boat to avoid leaving the tracks of stockinged feet. The tracks that I saw at the Gap certainly indicated that the man was carrying something very heavy when he returned to the boat.”
“But why should the man have climbed a rope up the cliff when he could have walked up the Shepherd’s Path?” the magistrate asked.
“Because,” replied Thorndyke, “there would then have been a set of tracks leading out of the Bay without a corresponding set leading into it; and this would have instantly suggested to a smart police-officer—such as Sergeant Payne—a landing from a boat.”
“Your explanation is highly ingenious,” said the magistrate, “and appears to cover all the very remarkable facts. Have you anything more to tell us?”
“No, your Worship,” was the reply, “excepting” (here he took from Polton the last pair of moulds and passed them up to the magistrate) “that you will probably find these moulds of importance presently.”
As Thorndyke stepped from the box—for there was no cross-examination—the magistrates scrutinized the moulds with an air of perplexity; but they were too discreet to make any remark.
When the evidence of Professor Copland (which showed that an unquestionably lethal dose of morphia must have been swallowed) had been taken, the clerk called out the—to me—unfamiliar name of Jacob Gummer. Thereupon an enormous pair of brown dreadnought trousers, from the upper end of which a smack-boy’s head and shoulders protruded, walked into the witness-box.
Jacob admitted at the outset that he was a smack-master’s apprentice, and that he had been “hired out” by his master to one Mr. Jezzard as deck-hand and cabin-boy of the yacht Otter.
“Now, Gummer,” said Anstey, “do you remember the prisoner coming on board the yacht?”
“Yes. He has been on board twice. The first time was about a month ago. He went for a sail with us then. The second time was on the night when Mr. Hearn was murdered.”
“Do you remember what sort of boots the prisoner was wearing the first time he came?”
“Yes. They were shoes with a lot of nails in the soles. I remember them because Mr. Jezzard made him take them off and put on a canvas pair.”
“What was done with the nailed shoes?”
“Mr. Jezzard took ’em below to the cabin.”
“And did Mr. Jezzard come up on deck again directly?”
“No. He stayed down in the cabin about ten minutes.”
“Do you remember a parcel being delivered on board from a London boot-maker?”
“Yes. The postman brought it about four or five days after Mr. Draper had been on board. It was labelled ‘Walker
