The Case for the Defence

after Graham Greene

It was a very strange murder trial. I have never attended such a strange trial. They named it the Northwood murder in the headlines, because the house, where the old woman was found battered to death at two o'clock in the morning, was in Northwood Street. The murderer was found immediately: and now no one present at the trial believed that the man in the dock had any chance of being acquitted.

He was a stout man with bulging eyes. Yes, an ugly customer, one you wouldn't forget. The Crown counsel proposed to call four witnesses who had seen him hurrying away from the little house in Northwood Street soon after two that morning.

Mrs Salmon, a neighbour and one of the witnesses, was unable to sleep that night: she heard the gate shut and thought it was her own gate. So she went to the window and saw Adams (that was his name) on the steps of Mrs Parker's house. He had just come out and he was wearing gloves. He had a hammer in his hand and she saw him drop it into the bushes by the front gate. But before he moved away, he had instinctively looked up – at her window. Mrs Salmon could see him clearly in the light of a street lamp.

Mr MacDougall, another witness, had been driving home late and nearly ran Adams down at the corner of Northwood Street. Adams was walking in the middle of the road looking dazed.

And old Mr Weeler, who lived next door to Mrs Parker, was wakened by a noise – like a chair falling – through the wall, thin as paper. He got up and looked out of the window, just as Mrs Salmon did, saw Adam's back and, as he turned, those bulging eyes.

In Laurel Avenue Adams had been seen by another witness – his luck was badly out.

– I understand, counsel said, – that the defence proposes to plead mistaken identity. Adams's wife will tell you that he was with her at two in the morning on February 14, but after you have heard the witnesses for the Crown and examined carefully the features of the prisoner, I do not think you will be prepared to admit the possibility of a mistake.

After the formal evidence had been given by-the policeman who had found the body and the surgeon who examined it, Mrs Salmon was called. She was the ideal witness, with her expression of honesty, care and kindness.

She spoke very firmly. There was no fear in her, and no sense of importance. She was standing calmly there in the Central Criminal Court. She was not afraid of the judge in scarlet who interrogated her. She was not afraid of the numerous reporters who impatiently wrote down every word of her evidence. Yes, she said, and then she had gone downstairs and rung up the police station.

– And do you see the man here in court?

She looked straight at the big man in the dock, who stared at her with his bulging eyes without emotion.

– Yes, she said. There he is. – Are you quite certain?

– I couldn't be mistaken, sir.

– Thank you, Mrs Salmon.

Counsel for the defence rose to cross examine.

– Now, Mrs Salmon, you must remember that a man's life may depend on your evidence.

– I do remember it, sir.

– Is your eyesight good?

– I do not have to wear spectacles, sir.

– You are a woman of fifty-five?

– Fifty-six, sir.

– And the man you saw was on the other side of the road?

– Yes, sir.

– And it was two o'clock in the morning. You must have remarkable eyes, Mrs Salmon?

– No, sir. There was moonlight, and when the man looked up, he had the lamplight on his face.

– And you have no doubt that the man you saw is the prisoner?

I couldn't make out what he was at.

– No doubt whatever, sir. It isn't a face one forgets.

Counsel took a look round the court for a moment. Then he said,

– Do you mind, Mrs Salmon, examining again the people in court? No, not the prisoner. Stand up, please, Mr Adams.

And there at the back of the court stood up the exact image of the man in the dock, with stout body, muscular legs and bulging eyes. He was dressed the same tight blue suit and striped tie.

– Now think very carefully, Mrs Salmon. Can you still swear that the man you saw drop the hammer in Mrs Parker's garden is the prisoner – and not this man, who is his twin brother?

Of course, she couldn't. She looked from one to the other and didn't say a word.

There the big man sat in the dock with his legs crossed, and there he stood too at the back of the court and they both stared at Mrs Salmon. She shook her head.

What we saw then was the end of the case. There wasn't a witness prepared to swear that it was the prisoner he had seen. And the brother? He had his alibi, too; he was with his wife.

And so the man was acquitted for lack of evidence. And nobody knew who did the murder.

That extraordinary day had an extraordinary end. I followed Mrs Salmon out of court and we got in the crowd who were waiting, of course, for the twins. The police tried to drive the crowd away. But all they could do was keep the road clear for traffic. I learned later that they tried to get the twins to leave by a back way, but the twins did not want to. One of them – no one knew which – said, «I've been acquitted, haven't I?» and they walked out of the front entrance. Then it happened. I don't know how, though 1 was only six feet away. The crowd moved and somehow one of the twins got pushed on to the road in front of a bus.

He gave a squeal like a rabbit and that was all; he was dead, his scull smashed just as Mrs Parker's had been. Divine vengeance? I wish I knew. There was the other Adams getting on his feet from beside the body and looking straight over at Mrs Salmon. He was crying, but whether he was the murderer or the innocent man nobody will ever be able to tell. But if you were Mrs Salmon, could you sleep that night?