Read Richardson's First Case for Free Online

legal light of the building.
    â€œI thought you would like to see Mr. Foster yourself, sir. He has brought his report with him.”
    â€œOn the murder of that woman in Marylebone?”
    â€œYes, sir,” replied Foster. “Mrs. Catchpool.”
    â€œYou’ve no doubt it was a murder, then?”
    â€œI have the surgeon’s report with me, sir. He says that the woman died from shock resulting from strangulation. He found the marks of fingers on her throat; the hyoid bone was fractured.”
    â€œI suppose you’ve formed some theory.”
    â€œIt’s a puzzling case, sir. The husband and wife had separated years ago and were on bad terms. The husband had given her notice to quit her flat, and she didn’t want to move; that accounts for her having been to his shop. The husband was knocked down and killed by a motorcar at five-thirty on Tuesday afternoon. He had the only key to the shop, but no key was found on him, nor were there any marks of breaking in; yet the body of his wife was found in the office behind the shop. How did it get there?”
    â€œThat seems an easy question to answer; she must have visited her husband before he left the shop and either he or a third person must have strangled her. I take it that that is the police view that you will put before the coroner?”
    Beckett broke in. “The coroner has already had that view from the press—double headlines and all. As the husband’s dead they haven’t to think of the law of libel; they pitched it hot and strong. They’ve interviewed the dead woman’s servant and the housekeeper, who both played into their hands. Now if the jury finds that it was murder and suicide we can wash our hands of the case.”
    â€œExcuse me, Mr. Beckett,” said Foster mildly. “There are one or two complications. First, we haven’t found the key of the shop; second, P.C. Richardson found a witness in the street who said she heard the old man cry out, ‘Very well, then, I’ll call a policeman,’ just before he dashed into the road. I’ve seen the woman myself and I’m sure she’s telling the truth. She didn’t see who the old man was speaking to—the pavement was crowded at the time—but she heard him say that. Thirdly, there’s this young man, Arthur Harris. Catchpool was a registered moneylender. He had Harris’s address in his pocket, and the nephew says that his uncle was going to that address when he was knocked down and killed. I’ve seen young Harris, and he sticks to it that he didn’t know the deceased; the nephew says that he knew him quite well. Fourthly, we found the moneylender’s ledger—pretty well kept, it was—with a page headed ‘Arthur Harris’ and an entry of a loan of £200. On the other side there were two payments on account. Now the only drawer open in the desk was the drawer containing the notes of hand. We compared them with the ledger; they were all there except Arthur Harris’s. On the other hand, he’s brought a witness to prove that he had motored down to Oxford that afternoon.”
    â€œHarris is a liar, then, but he may have had another motive for lying. Young men who slip off to moneylenders are generally shy about letting their parents know about it,” said Morden.
    â€œYes,” Beckett agreed; “and as to the witness who heard Catchpool say ‘Very well, then, I’ll call a policeman,’ she may be telling the truth. He was an eccentric old man by all accounts; probably he was brooding over what he’d done and may have intended to give himself up. This evidence of the nephew, Reece, and the dead woman’s maidservant about the quarrels between the husband and wife seems to me convincing evidence of motive. I don’t see that you want any more for the coroner, Mr. Foster.”
    â€œThere’s one other thing, sir, that I ought to mention. On the floor