"She said her prayers," replied the barber, "and, somehow, that seemed to me unnatural."
"Interesting," said Mrs. Bradley. "And was she—in spite of the fact that you did not like her appearance—a striking-looking woman? Should you know her anywhere, as the saying is?"
"She was nothing much to look at," the barber replied, "except she was big and heavy enough to have done it. One of those local permanent waves, and not set fit to speak of, but perhaps she'd had no chance to do much with it while she was awaiting her trial. I am not informed as to that, although you'd have thought that anybody would just have gone in and touched it up for such an important occasion."
"Ah!" said Mrs. Bradley, interested in this professional point of view.
"Yes. About a twenty-five to a thirty-shilling touch," the barber continued. "Not that I do ladies now, but I used to be a ladies' hairdresser when my old father was alive. Ours is a family business, you see, and he always did the gentlemen himself, right up to the last. He only retired four years back, and died last year, so I got a good knowledge of the ladies' side of the business, being in it twenty-two years, and also of all the other little extras that go with it, manicure, face-packs—Ah, and that reminds me, speaking of this Bella Foxley. She could have done with a mud-pack or two herself, and some mercolised wax, but that's neither here nor there."
Mrs. Bradley rang up Mr. Pratt and invited him to spend another week-end at the Stone House. Mr. Pratt accepted gracefully, and on the following Friday evening came down from London in time for dinner.
"More Foxleyana?" he inquired, lighting one of the special cigars selected by Ferdinand for his mother's guests (including himself) and then lying back in the very comfortable chair. "What have you been doing since I left you here last time?"
"Talking to my son on the telephone, and to his barber in person," Mrs. Bradley replied. "The barber was on the jury which acquitted Bella Foxley."
"The deuce he was!" said Mr. Pratt, deeply interested. "Did he give any special reason for the acquittal?"
"It appears that the judge was in the prisoner's favour and almost instructed the jury to bring in the verdict which was pronounced as the result of the trial. The barber himself was not at first in favour of acquitting her. He thought her face was against her."
"So it was, but that's not evidence."
"He said it was. After all, he is a student of personal appearance, don't forget."
Mr. Pratt chuckled.
"I've brought a book with me," he said. "It's the reminiscences of Cotter, the prosecuting counsel in the Foxley case. He's got a chapter—half a chapter, actually—about Bella. I thought you might like to read it. I don't agree with all he says, but there's no doubt that if they could only have proved motive (which, he hints, they could have done if only they could have referred to the death of the aunt) they would have got Bella hanged all right."
"So the prosecution had got hold of the grated carrot, had they?" said Mrs. Bradley. "From the report of the inquest, I suppose?"
"Must have been—unless one of their witnesses spilt a few beans in private which they couldn't very well spill in court."
Meanwhile, there was Mr. Cotter's book, and whilst the ex-journalist and Ferdinand played golf on Sunday morning, she spent an interesting time with Catalogue of Crime (a handsome twelve and sixpenny volume), and obtained, she told Ferdinand later, Counsel's opinion upon the case.
The eminent gentleman had intended a popular book, and had attempted to govern his literary style in accordance with this aspiration. His matter, however, was sufficiently interesting to be erected on almost any foundation or to carry almost any superstructure, and she not only read his remarks upon the Foxley case (to which he had given the title Ghaists or Bogles or——), but his reports and remarks upon a dozen other cases, with close interest.
Of Bella Foxley he said: "We were concerned throughout almost the whole of this baffling case with the contradictory testimony of the medical witnesses, and our hands were tied because we could not allow what, in some circumstances, might have been a telling point against the prisoner, namely, the extraordinary death (by natural causes) of her aunt, to be used in evidence. This deprived us of the possibility of showing a more powerful motive for the death of the cousin than that of a determination to be rid of a blackmailer. This motive, had it been put before the jury, must inevitably have influenced them when they came to consider their verdict.
The aunt, a woman approaching eighty years of age, had died as a result of choking herself with some grated carrot prepared for her by the prisoner, who inherited almost the whole of the aunt's fortune—a considerable amount for one who had always earned her own living. The cousin may have had some information about the aunt's death which he did not disclose but for which he died.
Still, these are but speculations. It is likely that the old lady's death was as accidental as the coroner said, but, lacking ability to show what, in the opinion of the jury, could be regarded as a powerful motive, our case was made very difficult from the outset.
The arrest of Bella Foxley was fully justified, however, and the evidence was clear. It was stated that she had visited the 'haunted house' as the newspapers called it, between those times when, according to all the medical witnesses (whether they had been called for the prosecution or for the defence) death could have taken place, and she could give no convincing denial, as it was known she had been there before.
In spite of the fact that there was some slight suggestion of a love affair between her and her cousin, the evidence of the wife went to show that she herself was fully cognisant of this visit, and, apart from the fact that she 'thought Bella was foolish to go,' had made no objection to it, except that she 'thought Bella was rather rough with her, the way she threw her down on the bed.'
The fact of this first visit, which was paid on March 11, was not denied by the prisoner, but she contested the further statement by Mrs. Turney that, later, similar visits had been paid, ending with the one which resulted in the death.
The defence attempted to show that no wife would have countenanced assignments with her husband in an empty house at such an hour, but we replied—I think with justice—that the prospect of monetary gain would overcome all such scruples.
However, to revert to the question of what we felt sure in our minds was the true motive for Thomas Turney's murder, it is reasonable to suppose that, at the inquest upon Mr. Turney, the coroner, an experienced man and a solicitor, had conducted his enquiry properly. There was no doubt, however, that the very evidence which the prosecution could not use at the trial, that is, the wife's evidence referring to the aunt's death, was, if not admitted, at least expressed at the inquest, and, although the coroner had begged the jury there to disregard it, it is perfectly certain that, being sensible men, they did not.
The wife, who had 'turned against' Bella Foxley (to use the prisoner's own words), had let her tongue run away with her at the inquest in a way which was deplorable but undoubtedly interesting, and this tattle, coupled with the evidence of the police doctor (who was also called at the trial), caused the examining magistrates to commit Bella Foxley for trial.
Her counsel (wisely, in my opinion) decided to put her in the box. She made a fairly convincing witness, and stressed that she had gone to the 'haunted house' that first night merely to make certain that the deceased was 'all right.' Her story was that she left as soon as he (speaking out of the window) had convinced her that all was well. Beyond that she refused (either on advice, or from sheer commonsense combined with a strong instinct for self-preservation) to be budged. The case for the defence was, quite simply, that the prisoner's declaration that that was the only night she had gone to the house ought to be believed, and that there never had been any case to go before the jury. From this position they did not permit themselves to be shaken, for my good friend Godfrey Wenham, now Sir Godfrey, who led for the defence, absolutely refused to allow us to jockey him into the position of trying to prove his client's innocence. It was for us to prove guilt, and, in spite of the testimony of our medical witnesses, who demonstrated clearly that the dead man had been attacked and had received a severe blow on the head before he fell from the window, we were unable to do this.