Read The Three-Body Problem Online
Authors: Catherine Shaw
The Three-Body Problem (18 page)
Further tittering in the public. The judge tapped his gavel lightly upon his desk.
Mr Bexheath:
Now, sir, is it true that you told both Miss Duncan upon that evening, and Mr Withers on the following day, that you had come upon a new and exciting proof of some mathematical result?
Arthur:
Yes, it is true. How long ago it seems!
Mr Bexheath:
I submit that you proved a result connected with the n-body problem, and that your proof was based on information obtained from Mr Akers.
Arthur:
No, absolutely not.
Mr Bexheath:
Then what was the result which you proved?
Arthur:
It was about normal forms of matrices, whatever that may signify to you.
Mr Bexheath:
Have you any proof of that? Have you written something?
Arthur:
Not yet.
Mr Bexheath:
Ah, not yet. Quite. So you cannot prove your assertion. As far as proof is concerned, you may well have proved something concerning the n-body problem, in which case you would have every reason to keep it secret.
Arthur:
That could be true, but it happens to be false.
Mr Bexheath:
Let us now turn to the murder of Mr Beddoes. Recall your dinner in the Irish pub. What did you eat?
Arthur:
We had the same thing as the other time. It is the speciality of the house.
Mr Bexheath:
Upon what subject did your conversation with Mr Beddoes turn, during your dinner together?
Arthur:
Upon mathematics and other mathematicians.
Mr Bexheath:
Did you discuss the famous n-body problem?
Arthur:
Not directly. Beddoes asked me a rather technical question, how one formula should imply another, and we tried to work it out together, but we did not succeed. He wrote down the formulae; they looked to me as though they had some relations with the partial differential equations involved in the n-body problem, but he did not actually say anything about it.
Mr Bexheath:
Did you ask him about the source of the formulae he was trying to understand?
Arthur:
I did, but he did not really answer. He said they had come up in discussions with others. He mentioned Mr Crawford, with whom we should have been dining in any case.
Mr Bexheath:
Ah yes, that famous story. You claim that the original dinner invitation of that evening, the 30th of April, actually originated with Mr Crawford, who then in the early evening claimed an indisposition and sent a note to Mr Beddoes and to yourself inviting you to go without him.
Arthur:
Yes.
Mr Bexheath:
Do you have the note?
Arthur:
No, I d-did not keep it.
Mr Bexheath:
Quite so. So that your statement cannot be independently established.
Arthur:
It seems not.
Mr Bexheath:
After dinner, you then accompanied Mr Beddoes to his garden gate.
Arthur:
Yes.
Mr Bexheath:
But you did not enter the garden?
Arthur:
He opened the gate, and we stood in the gateway, shaking hands.
Mr Bexheath:
You are aware that the traces of earth on your shoes prove that
YOU WERE IN THE GARDEN
?
Arthur:
I must have picked them up standing just inside the gateway.
Mr Bexheath:
But the gateway opens onto a path leading to the house, and the path is paved.
Arthur:
In a garden, I suppose earth frequently lies over the flagstones.
Mr Bexheath:
Mrs Beddoes keeps a well-swept path.
Arthur:
There is no real answer to that.
Mr Bexheath:
So, were you actually within Mr Beddoes’ garden?
Arthur:
Just inside the gateway.
Mr Bexheath:
DID YOU, SIR, TAKE UP A HEAVY ROCK EMBEDDED IN THE EARTH NEAR THE PATH, AND STRIKE MR BEDDOES WITH IT
?
Arthur:
N-N-No! No. No. No.
Mr Bexheath:
Very well. Very well, then. Very well. In that case, let us turn to the death of Mr Crawford. Is it true that you visited him on occasion in his rooms?
Arthur:
I have entered his rooms on two occasions within the last few months.
Mr Bexheath:
Did you have anything to drink there?
Arthur:
No.
Mr Bexheath:
No red wine?
Arthur:
No.
Mr Bexheath:
Can you recall the dates of your visits?
Arthur:
I went once in March, after a lecture of Mr Crawford, to bring him a book which he had accidentally left in the lecture room. I do not remember the exact date. I went another time in April, to collect Mr Crawford on the way to high table.
Mr Bexheath:
On both occasions, Mr Crawford was in his rooms?
Arthur:
Yes.
Mr Bexheath:
Did he keep his door locked?
Arthur:
No.
Mr Bexheath:
Did you knock, or simply enter?
Arthur:
I knocked, and he opened.
Mr Bexheath:
DID YOU POUR THE DIGITALIN INTO HIS BOTTLE OF WHISKY UPON ONE OF THESE OCCASIONS
?
Arthur:
No!
Mr Bexheath:
You are on oath, sir.
Arthur:
I know it.
Mr Bexheath:
In that case I have nothing more to say.
Arthur sat down in the dock and my heart went out to him, in a great turmoil and commotion of distress and tenderness. That monstrous Mr Bexheath tried every underhanded way, even making use of Arthur’s unfortunate (although endearing) stammer, to influence the jury’s thinking. I stared miserably into their dull faces, but could read nothing of their reactions. The things that are happening in this court do not represent anything like law and justice! I am so worried. Can they possibly find something incriminating in Arthur’s statements?
Your fearful
Vanessa
Oh, dear Dora –
The trial has taken a disastrous turn! I have a horrible feeling, which is positively physical: watery bones.
All began much as usual. Judge and jury filed to their places, the barristers sat at their tables, the witnesses along their benches, the public in their gallery, and last but not least, Arthur appeared between two policemen and was escorted, like a dangerous criminal, into the dock. Our eyes met briefly, but he looked down directly; sometimes I suspect that my presence here, observing the unendurable, must make it even worse for him, but I could not bear not to be here, and such is the nature of things.
The judge began by turning to Mr Haversham, and asking him if he wished to continue presenting the witnesses for the defence, when Mr Bexheath arose from his place, and intervened, addressing the judge respectfully.
‘I have a request to make, my Lord, which I hope the court will look upon favourably.’
‘Yes, what is it?’ enquired Mr Justice Penrose.
‘My Lord, in principle, I have finished presenting the witnesses assembled in support of the Crown. However, my personal researches upon the important questions of facts raised here have led to the discovery of two new witnesses, who are able to provide a
capital
piece of evidence in favour of the Crown.’
A great murmur and commotion ran all around the courtroom, as everybody wondered what this new, revealing piece of evidence could be. I felt my breast contract and tighten with strain, and looked anxiously at Mr Morrison. Instead of smiling encouragingly at me, he stared back at me with dismay.
‘Counsel for the defence, do you accept the interrogation of these new witnesses for the prosecution, before continuing with the regular series of your own witnesses?’ the judge asked Mr Haversham politely.
I dearly hoped he would refuse, but of course, the question was a mere formality, and he had no real possibility of doing so. He acquiesced as graciously as possible, and Mr Bexheath said, ‘Then I would like to request Miss Pamela Simpson to take the stand!’
A door opened, and the bailiff ushered a young lady into
the courtroom, and guided her to the witness stand, where she stood, her head thrown back, an air of frank curiosity and amusement upon her face.
Dora, dear, I really do not know how to describe such a person! If I dared, I would imagine that she is the exact type of what certain ladies of our acquaintance would have termed ‘a creature’. Bold, brazen, laughing, daring, hard, devil-may-care, every word and every movement betraying a conscious desire to produce a specific effect – she seemed as out of place in the solemn courtroom as a brilliant bird of paradise. She stood, half-smiling, in a position of insolent ease, in her bright clothes, and waited. The court clerk appeared with his Bible and swore her in. Her hand upon the Bible, she took the oath with clear, ringing tones, so that it did not seem that the suspicion of incorrectness naturally aroused by her appearance need necessarily apply to her veracity.
Direct examination of Miss Pamela Simpson,
by Mr Bexheath
Mr Bexheath:
Tell us your name, please.
Miss Simpson:
Pamela Simpson.
Mr Bexheath:
Your age?
Miss Simpson:
Twenty-two last January.
Mr Bexheath:
Where do you reside, Miss Simpson?
Miss Simpson:
In London, just behind King’s Cross.
Mr Bexheath:
Miss Simpson, were you acquainted with the late Mr Jeremy Crawford, Lecturer in Mathematics at the University of Cambridge?
Miss Simpson:
Yes, I was acquainted with him. He was a nice man. I’m very sorry he’s dead.
Mr Bexheath:
Can you tell us if you saw Mr Crawford on February 14th last?
Miss Simpson:
Yes, I did.
Mr Bexheath:
Are you aware that that was the day of the murder of the mathematician Mr Geoffrey Akers?
Miss Simpson:
Well, I wasn’t then, but I know it now.
Commotion and murmuring in the court. The judge banged his gavel until silence was restored.
Mr Bexheath:
Can you tell us what part of the day of February the 14th you spent with Mr Crawford?
Miss Simpson:
The whole evening, from eight o’clock, and the whole night, until the next morning.
Commotion and murmuring in the court. The judge banged his gavel and said ‘If silence is not kept I will clear the court!’
Mr Bexheath:
Where did you spend those hours with Mr Crawford, Miss Simpson?
Miss Simpson:
Well, in my rooms, except when we dined.
Mr Bexheath:
You are referring to your rooms in London, behind King’s Cross Station?
Miss Simpson:
Yes.
Mr Bexheath:
And where did you dine?
Miss Simpson:
We dined at Jenny’s Corner, a small restaurant situated near to my rooms.
Mr Bexheath:
Jenny’s Corner is run by a Miss Jenny Pease?
Miss Simpson:
Yes.
Mr Bexheath:
She is a friend of yours?
Miss Simpson:
Yes.
Mr Bexheath:
You are aware that Miss Pease is present today, and will be examined with a view to confirming, for the benefit of the jury, the veracity of your statements?
Miss Simpson:
What, sir? Excuse me?
Mr Bexheath:
You know that Miss Pease is here, and that she will be questioned as to your dinner of February 14th?
Miss Simpson:
Oh! Yes, I know that, of course. We came up here together.
Mr Bexheath:
Now, Miss Simpson, do you know how Mr Crawford came from Cambridge to London?
Miss Simpson:
Yes, I know that. He came down by the train, for I fetched him myself at the station at about seven-thirty, and we came home together.
Mr Bexheath:
And did you and Mr Crawford separate for any length of time during the evening of February 14th?
Miss Simpson:
No, sir, absolutely not. We were stuck together like two peas in a pod the whole livelong evening, and the night, too.
Mr Bexheath:
So there is no possibility whatsoever that Mr Crawford could have been assassinating a man, in Cambridge, on the evening of February the 14th.
Miss Simpson:
Absolutely not!
Mr Bexheath:
Remember now, Miss Simpson, that your testimony is of vital importance, and you are on oath. You are absolutely certain of what you are saying?
Miss Simpson:
Oh, yes. I realise that what I’m saying shows that Mr Crawford did not kill that Mr Akers, and that makes it seem like it must be the poor young man in the dock over there that did it. I feel very sorry for him and hope it wasn’t him, but I can’t help what I’m saying, as it is true.
Mr Bexheath:
Thank you very much, Miss Simpson.
Mr Justice Penrose:
Mr Haversham, would you like to cross-examine this witness?
Mr Haversham:
Most certainly, my Lord.
Cross-examination of Miss Pamela Simpson,
by Mr Haversham
Mr Haversham:
Miss Simpson, may I enquire what your profession is?
Miss Simpson:
(
absolutely composed
) I’m afraid I’ve got none, Mr Barrister.
Mr Haversham:
But you must have money to live on, don’t you? How do you pay for your rent, and your meals?
Miss Simpson:
Oh, I get money where I can, as gifts, often enough.
Mr Haversham:
And who gives you such kind gifts?
Miss Simpson:
Friends.
Mr Haversham:
And what service do you render these friends, that they are so kindly disposed towards you?
Miss Simpson:
Mr Barrister, if you’re trying to shame me, it won’t work. For I’m ready to say right out that I take good care of my gentlemen friends, and they takes good care of me.
Mr Haversham:
Oh! I see. So you have come to a satisfactory arrangement with your gentlemen friends?
Miss Simpson:
You’re right I have.
Mr Haversham:
And how many of these friends do you have?
Miss Simpson:
I’ve never counted them!
Mr Haversham:
So there are too many to estimate, say, on the fingers of one hand.
Miss Simpson:
Oh Lord, yes.
Mr Haversham:
Quite. Now, let us discuss your acquaintance with Mr Crawford.
Miss Simpson:
I’m ready to when you are.
Mr Haversham:
Can you tell us when and how you first met Mr Crawford?
Miss Simpson:
I met him in London, some years ago. It’s hard for me to remember exactly when – probably three or four years ago.
Mr Haversham:
And where did you meet him?
Miss Simpson:
In the train station.
Mr Haversham:
Would you like to tell us the circumstances of that meeting?
Miss Simpson:
Well – he come out of the train, with his bags, and I see he looks like a nice kind of man, so I goes up to him and says ‘Hello, sir, looking for a nice place to stay while you visit London?’ and he smiles at me and says ‘Well, that might be, my dear, it might be.’ So he did.
Mr Haversham:
So he did what?
Miss Simpson:
Stay at my place. It’s a nice place, isn’t it?
Mr Haversham:
And at that time, you already had a number of friends, as you call them?
Miss Simpson:
Not as many as now.
Mr Haversham:
Yes. And was that your regular method for making new friends?
Miss Simpson:
Well, I’ve never been shy about speaking to people I see that look nice.
Mr Haversham:
And how often did you see Mr Jeremy Crawford?
Miss Simpson:
Oh, he’d come down to London and see me fairly regularly.
Mr Haversham:
How regularly?
Miss Simpson:
Maybe every month or so. Pretty much every month. It’s hard for a man to be alone all the time, they risks turning into dry sticks. You ought to know that, by the look of you.
Laughter in the court. The judge banged his gavel.
Mr Haversham:
Miss Simpson, did Mr Crawford have a regular date or day of the week on which he would come down to see you?
Miss Simpson:
No.
Mr Haversham:
So how can you be so sure that the day he came to see you last February was exactly the 14th?
Miss Simpson:
Oh, that’s easy. For one thing, it was Saint Valentine’s day. That’s a romantic day, you know. We joked about it. But anyway, I have his letter.
Mr Haversham:
What letter is that?
Miss Simpson:
Well, when he thought he had a free day to come down, you know, he’d simply write me, and I’d write back, if it was all right.
Mr Haversham:
You mean, if you were not busy with another friend on that day?
Miss Simpson:
You’ve hit it on the nose, Mr Barrister. So he wrote me about the 14th of February, and I wrote back it was all right, and here is the letter.
Mr Haversham:
This is the letter he wrote to you?
Miss Simpson:
Yes.
Mr Haversham:
But we do not appear to be in possession of your affirmative answer, so this does not really constitute a proof that he came on that day.
Miss Simpson:
No, I doubt he kept my notes, but there’s this letter, and there’s what I remember and have sworn to, and Jenny remembers too.
Mr Haversham:
So our establishment of the date
depends essentially on your memory and your ability to distinguish between your different friends, and the different days upon which you received them.
Miss Simpson:
Oh, no, Mr Barrister. Don’t try to make out that I’m all confused. I remember rightly about the 14th, and this letter says so too, and Jenny will as well.
Mr Haversham:
Very well. You may stand down.
