The Lost Casebooks of Sherlock Holmes (97 page)

‘Just so. All he has gained is three more months in a squalid prison cell. He eats, sleeps, and breathes next to the room where he will be hanged. The gallows remain so close to his bunk that, were it not for the wall, he might reach out and touch them. Mr. Holmes, I speak as a man and not as a lawyer. I believe William Gardiner to be innocent, upon my life I do, while most of Suffolk prefer him to be guilty. He will never be found innocent at Ipswich assize court in the face of such prejudice and insinuation as he now faces.'

‘Surely,' said Holmes, drawing his pipe from his mouth, ‘surely he is fortunate in his defender.'

Our visitor smiled awkwardly and shook his head.

‘No, Mr. Holmes. I have taken on more than I should in a case like this. Gardiner needs more than a junior barrister; at the least his case requires a man who has taken silk and is a King's Counsel. That was why I came straight to London last night after the verdict and called upon Sir Charles Gill and Sir Edward Clarke. If either of them would lead for the defence of Gardiner at a retrial, I should be honoured to act as their junior counsel.'

‘And they will not?' Holmes raised his eyebrows, though scarcely in surprise. ‘There again, Sir Charles and Sir Edward are two of the busiest men at the bar. I see that Sir Charles is leading counsel in the Marylebone Railway inquiry and Sir Edward Clarke leads for the defence in the Dunwich by-election petition. As for Sir Edward Marshall Hall.…'

‘Mr. Holmes, the retrial will come on in a few weeks. Such men are fully booked, as they say, for many months and cannot alter their arrangements. They say that they could not give Gardiner's defence the time and attention it deserves, nor could they get up the facts of the case as thoroughly as I have already done. Yet, as you will know, a junior counsel without a leader carries less weight with a jury and far less weight with a judge.'

Holmes laid down his pipe and nodded sympathetically.

‘Mr. Justice Lawrence had no business to make those interjections of his during your speech to the jury yesterday. However, I do not see how I can be called to the bar and equipped with a knighthood as a King's Counsel before the retrial of Gardiner takes place.'

Wild folded and unfolded his hands.

‘No, sir. Yet it remains within the power of the solicitor-general to call a halt to the prosecution of William Gardiner. In other words, to enter a writ of
nolle prosequi
.'

I saw Sherlock Holmes tighten his nostrils, one of those small gestures of skepticism.

‘I cannot believe that the solicitor-general will abandon a case in which eleven men out of twelve have found the accused guilty of murder—a murder that was little less than butchery. Suppose for a moment that Gardiner was the murderer and is now set free—and murders again?'

Wild shook his head.

‘My hope is that Gardiner may be judged in a tribunal quite different to that which he has faced so far. One that may persuade the solicitor-general to stay his hand. The case against this man is based entirely on a mass of circumstantial evidence and scandal. There is not a shred of direct evidence that connects the accused man with the murder of Rose Harsent. Yet circumstantial evidence has been fueled by a previous scandal. That is enough to prejudice any jury and carry the day against him. Even his own good character may destroy him.'

Holmes contracted his brows sharply.

‘But is not your defence based, in part, on the fact that Gardiner is a man of principle and morality, a man of religion who is assistant steward, Sunday school superintendent, and choirmaster in his Methodist congregation?'

‘Precisely,' said Wild, bringing his hand down on his knee. ‘A rogue would be easier to deal with! Among the malicious, his nickname in the village before the scandal was Holy Willie, and I can see why. When Gardiner is in the witness-box, he is almost master of the courtroom as a revivalist preacher might be. That is the problem. He believes he is master and will endure no insinuation. When I questioned him in the witness-box about Wright's story of the alleged misconduct with Rose Harsent at the Doctor's Chapel, Gardiner fairly rounded on me and told the court it was a vicious lie from beginning to end. Very well. I daresay it was. Then I asked him about the evidence of Mr. Rouse, the preacher who said that he had seen Gardiner and Rose Harsent walking quite innocently along the road to Peasenhall together. “A downright lie!” he said. His neighbour recalled that Gardiner had lit a fire in his washhouse the morning after the murder. “A deliberate lie!” snaps Gardiner.'

He paused and then resumed.

‘You see where this leads, Mr. Holmes? He will brook no contradiction. Gardiner will never say that a man or woman may be in error, that his neighbour must have mistaken the day on which the fire was lit in the washhouse, for example. The village folk are all downright or deliberate liars when they contradict his account. Small wonder if he was unpopular. But imagine the effect of all this on a jury.'

Taking the pipe from his mouth, Holmes began quietly to play act a courtroom scene of cross-examination. As I listened, I thought, not for the first time, what a ferocious antagonist my friend might have been, had he chosen a career at the criminal bar.

‘“I see, Mr. Gardiner,” says the cross-examiner gently. “So all these other witnesses are liars, are they, including some who have been your friends in the past? Tell me, what reason have all these good people for telling lies about you? You cannot name a single reason—and yet they are all liars! You alone are telling the truth? And you ask my lord and the jurors to believe that?”'

Holmes put down his pipe and then continued in the voice of an imaginary prosecutor.

‘“Unlike those whose evidence is against you, the truth that you alone tell has hardly a shred of corroboration? And you ask my lord and the jury to believe that?”'

He paused again, for effect, and then concluded in the same voice.

‘“All these people, some of whom, like Mr. Rouse, have supported you in the past, now combine together to tell lies about you for this mysterious reason that you cannot name? And you also ask my lord and the jury to believe that, do you?”'

Mr. Wild winced and Holmes inquired sympathetically, ‘It goes something along those lines, I suppose, Mr. Wild?'

‘It goes like that almost word for word, sir.'

‘Of course it does,' said Holmes with a sigh.

‘The facts of the case, sir, are becoming lost in slander and innuendo—and I almost fear that I may become lost with them!'

The facts of the Peasenhall murder! Such as they were, they became our constant companions in weeks to come. Indeed, there were now embellishments of the original story, all of them to William Gardiner's prejudice. Skinner had claimed he went to a hedge near the Doctor's Chapel with Wright and had listened to a couple engaged in an immoral act. He now remembered that the man and woman had jokingly discussed passages from the Book of Genesis, which may have a lewd interpretation in certain minds. He and Wright had already recalled that, as they waited, they saw quite plainly Rose Harsent come out after some time, followed by Gardiner a little while later. It was not only the voices of the guilty couple, but their appearances as well, to which these wretched youths were prepared to swear.

Whatever was believed in court, the ‘truth' that circulated in the neighbourhood, through the little villages, seemed to be unquestioned. The Peeping Toms were believed. Gardiner had been the girl's lover. She had conceived a child by him, and, in order to conceal his guilt and avoid a paternity summons, he had murdered her in the most brutal fashion. This also carried the comforting hope that if William Gardiner could be made to bear the guilt, the rest of the neighbourhood would breathe freely again.

I have put the facts that Mr. Wild gave us into a nutshell, for it took him a good hour and more to explain the entire case. When he had finished, he sat back in his chair and looked at each of us in turn. Sherlock Holmes got to his feet, crossed to the sideboard, and refilled his pipe from the tobacco jar.

‘I sympathize entirely, Mr. Wild. I see the threat of a great injustice here, though I am not convinced of Gardiner's innocence. I do not entirely see, however, what it is that you would like me to do.'

The young man looked him straight in the eyes.

‘I would ask you to fight a duel, Mr. Holmes.'

Despite the solemnity of the case, my friend threw back his head and laughed as he took his seat once more.

‘Would you have singlestick or pistols for two?'

Ernest Wild did not smile.

‘I do not believe that William Gardiner can receive justice at the assize court where he now stands, though it is heresy for me to say so. His only hope must lie in another arena.'

‘Of what possible use would that be?' I interposed.

The young lawyer turned to me.

‘Dr. Watson, William Gardiner's last hope may lie in the Crown withdrawing the prosecution because they see that the man is innocent. It is in their power to do that, whatever local prejudice may say.'

I almost gasped at the audacity of it.

‘The Crown has won eleven of the twelve jurors to its side and might have got the other had he not been an eccentric! Why should they withdraw from the case?'

‘One moment,' said Holmes. ‘Tell us, if you please, Mr. Wild, a little about this other arena, where it seems I am to fight my duel.'

The young advocate let out a long breath, as if he knew that he had won my friend to his side at last.

‘Mr. Holmes, it is no secret that you count among your associates—if I may call them that—some of the best men at Scotland Yard.'

‘They would not have to be so very good to be the best of a bad bunch. No matter. Pray continue, sir.'

‘Let their best man be chosen. Let the two of you sift the evidence and the witnesses, free from all slander, prejudice, intimidation. Work together if you wish, fight it out if you must. When that is done, your findings shall be presented to the Director of Public Prosecutions or the solicitor-general, or the Home Secretary himself for that matter. If you can carry the day, your reputation is such that I believe a plea of
nolle prosequi
may be entered by the Crown and the agony of William Gardiner brought to an end. No less than that, the agony of his wife and children too.'

‘And if I do not carry the day,' said Holmes nonchalantly, ‘my reputation and much else shall end in the mud. And I must warn you that if I investigate the evidence, you, Mr. Wild, may not get the answer you are hoping for.'

‘Whatever fee you may think fit shall be paid. I have undertakings as to the expenses of the case from two newspapers, the
Sun
and the
East Anglian Times
.'

It seemed to me that Holmes bridled a little at this.

‘A man does not take money for seeing that justice is done. Before I move a single inch in this matter, however, I must take sight of William Gardiner. Even then, I do not suppose that Scotland Yard or the solicitor-general will look favorably on what you propose.'

Ernest Wild looked a little awkward.

‘Sir Charles Gill and Sir Edward Clarke were unable to accept a brief in the case. However, both men sit in parliament, and they have assured me that in the circumstances they will urge Sir Edward Carson, as solicitor-general, to permit such an investigation, independent of the Suffolk constabulary. These two are men of great influence at the bar and well known to him. Sir Edward Clarke was solicitor-general before him and afterwards led for Oscar Wilde against the Marquess of Queensberry in the notorious trial. Carson led for Queensberry with Sir Charles Gill as his junior. You see? I think Carson will not lightly dismiss advice from two such learned friends. Meantime Gardiner cannot be released, of course. If you must see him first, I will obtain a visitor's warrant and you may travel down to Ipswich Gaol.'

‘To the ends of the earth, if necessary,' Holmes said quietly. His voice was so soft, as he stood gazing at the drizzle of rain and soot falling across the roofs of Baker Street and beyond, that I was not quite sure if there was irony or resolve in his tone. Only when he turned round could I see that his eyes were bright with a strange chivalry of justice.

3

As the train carried us north from Liverpool Street to Ipswich three days later, I asked my friend how he knew that Ernest Wild would come to us so promptly.

‘I have deceived you again, Watson,' he said, drawing up the strap and closing the carriage window against the draft. ‘I have followed the events of this case in the papers. I thought it might come to such a point as this. The night before we entertained our visitor, I received a note from Sir Edward Clarke, just before dinner. He informed me he had been unable to accommodate Mr. Wild but that they had discussed such an arrangement as is now proposed. Sir Edward too had misgivings about this case. He asked me to see the young man. I replied at once and suggested an early hour next morning. After the first case at the assizes, I rather thought that the defence would get itself into a scrape. Once again you have trusted me too far in supposing that I can perform miracles.'

He gazed out across the damp ploughland north of London, and added without prompting:

‘I have disliked this business from the start. Gardiner may be the murderer of Rose Harsent. It seems someone in the village surely is. Yet here is a man who has raised himself by his own efforts, acquiring the arts of reading and writing on the way. He is surrounded by many who have done nothing to improve their minds or skills, some of whom are no doubt envious clodhoppers. Of course, I do not think such jealousies make him innocent of murder. He is a man of resolve and so perhaps he has the resolve for such a crime. To be sure, he is a man of religion. Primitive Methodism, as I understand it, is a faith of the poor and the simple. It has no charms for me, Watson, yet I honour those who embrace it. But too many men of religion have committed murder. Therefore I cannot suppose that a sense of self-righteousness makes him innocent either.'