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Collins' follow-up article which includes discussion of the "Crick Tunnel mystery:"
The National Review, Volume 47, March 1906, Pages 145-159
THE MERSTHAM AND CRICK TUNNEL MYSTERIES: A COMPARATIVE STUDY
by J. Churton Collins
"You don't believe in the detective police?" "No, who can believe in them who reads his newspaper and remembers what he reads. Fortunately for the detective department the public in general forgets what it reads. Go to your club and look at the criminal history of our own time, recorded in the newspapers. Every crime is more or less a mystery. You will see that the mysteries which the police discover are, almost without exception, mysteries made penetrable by the commonest capacity through the extraordinary stupidity exhibited in the means taken to hide the crime. On the other hand, let the guilty man or woman be a resolute and intelligent person, capable of setting his (or her) wits fairly against the wits of the police—-in other words, let the mystery really be a mystery—-and cite me a case, if you can (a really difficult and perplexing case) in which the criminal has not escaped. Mind! I don't charge the police with neglecting their work. No doubt they do their best and take the greatest pains in following the routine to which they have been trained. It is their misfortune, not their fault, that there is no man of superior intelligence among them—-I mean, no man who is capable in great emergencies of placing himself above conventional methods and following a new way of his own."
—-So wrote Wilkie Collins nearly thirty years ago, and so writing he expressed what must be mournfully acknowledged to be no more than the truth—-truth which has during the last three months found very striking and very exasperating corroboration. When in these pages attention was drawn to the deplorable mismanagement of the Merstham case we were not at all surprised that no notice whatever was taken of the facts incontestably established by us, but we were, we own, surprised at the blind obstinacy with which adherence to demonstrably untenable theories on the part of responsible officials rendered, and still renders, all effort to re-open that inquiry nugatory. And now comes this second case, which, bungled in its first stage as miserably as its predecessor, would, but for the intervention of the Press, have gone the same way. Indeed, the indifference or incompetence of those who are officially entrusted with these inquiries has come to such a pass that if it were not for the newspapers no proper investigation of these tragical problems would be so much as attempted. But for the Press the Merstham mystery would have found a ridiculous solution in suicide. To a London daily paper it is solely owing that Mdlle. Rochaïd's death has attracted the attention it deserves. Whether it swelled the list of the atrocious crimes which the imbecility or carelessness of the police and of coroners have allowed to go unpunished, or whether it was the result of suicide or of accident, appears to have been a matter of profound unconcern to those whose duty it was to spare no pains to ascertain.
And now let us see what this means. The general public, naturally interested in anything which is sensational, and losing all confidence in those who are officially responsible for the conduct of these inquiries, encourage the Press to substitute its representatives for the representatives of the law. A trained journalist, with his keen powers of observation, his susceptibility of impression, and his plastic intelligence, is indeed likely to see very much further into such complicated problems as these cases present, than the most experienced detectives of the average order would be likely to do. Such officers are the slaves of habit and routine, and of all trainings for the solution of nice and difficult problems this is the worst. Their minds and tempers taking their ply from a constantly recurring circle of work and experience, cannot indeed fail to become stereotyped and mechanical. But intelligence without authority is of little avail, and that this interference on the part of the laity should be resented by those who have official dignity to preserve is natural enough. The one thing which would be desirable, but which appears to be impossible, is co-operation ; the two things which, unfortunately for the public interests, are only too glaringly apparent, are mutual distrust and mutual opposition. That the researches instituted by the Press in the Merstham case elicited new and most valuable information, that they furnished fresh clues, and that they also fully and clearly indicated where further clues, which the police only could follow up, might be found, is indisputable, is indeed matter of certain and common knowledge. But how did all this fare? Precisely as the evidence elicited at the inquest fared. Officialdom, ignoring and in defiance of what the Press had discovered, had made up its mind that Miss Money's death was the result of suicide, though the jury very properly returned an open verdict. Investigations were continued. With the assistance of the Press the additional evidence, to which I have referred, demonstrated with absolute •conclusiveness not merely the untenableness of the theory, but the probability in the very highest degree, of murder. Officialdom, however, was not to be shaken. Everything which could be perverted into giving plausibility to the theory adopted by it—-the theory of suicide—-was accepted, everything which demonstrated the impossibility of maintaining such a theory was ignored. Protest and plea were, and still are, unheeded, and in vain. Officialdom was on its dignity, and in consequence, as is all but certain, a murderer is at large.
No one would wish to speak disrespectfully of any staff officer belonging to our central detective department. A more intelligent, painstaking, and conscientious body of men, taking them as a whole, does not exist; but they have their limitations, and, what is more, though on attaining a certain rank they have equal weight and authority, the differences between them in point of competence and capacity are so extraordinary as to be scarcely conceivable. In the Merstham case, more than a week elapsed before assistance from Scotland Yard was applied for, and no blame, therefore, can be attached either to its chiefs or to its staff for the gross mismanagement of the inquiry at its initial stages. That belongs solely to those who were responsible for what occurred during the period intervening between the discovery of the body and the first inquest, and for the conduct of the inquest itself. But for what immediately preceded, accompanied, and followed the adjourned inquest and verdict, the official representative of Scotland Yard must certainly be held mainly responsible. The decision at which he arrived, and to which he obstinately adhered in the teeth of the evidence, in defiance of the equally incontestable testimony elicited by subsequent investigation, as well as of probability or, rather, of possibility, has effectually put the closure on further inquiry. An official, all officials to a man stand by him; in authority, all in authority are with him. The rest is silence.
Let us glance at the evidence. What said the two doctors who conducted the post-mortem examination of Miss Money's body?
There was a bruise on the upper part of the left arm and inside the forearm. Also a bruise on front part of upper part of right arm, and also another bruise on the inner side of the forearm. Several bruises on right hand and wrists, as if done by her being gripped. There was a reddish mark on the right side of the lower lip, close to the mouth;
—it will be remembered that when the body was found "ten or twelve inches " of the silk scarf which the poor girl was wearing were pulled out of the mouth, and pulled out with some difficulty, leading to the supposition that it had been jammed into the mouth presumably for the purpose of gagging her—-
these injuries are consistent with something having been pushed into the mouth.
So deposed the first doctor, Dr. Halkeyt Crickett. What said the expert from the Home Office?
There were three very distinct bruises around the mouth. The bruises were small, about half an inch in diameter, slightly raised on the surface and pale red in colour. One was on the upper lip, a little to the right of the middle line. One was close to the angle of the mouth on the right side. One was on the upper lip to the right of the middle line; this was distinct, but less pronounced than the corresponding bruise on the upper lip. ... I attac [sic] great importance to the slight but distinct bruises of a pale red or bluish colour present on the right arm and hand; also to the broken nail on the right forefinger; to the bruise under the right clavicle; to the scratches on the right shoulder and the bruise below, and also to the bruises round the mouth. These have not the appearance of being produced by a fall from the train. They are such as might have been caused by firm pressure, e.g., the grip of the fingers in a struggle with some person, or received as injuries in a struggle. It is significant that the above injuries should be present on the right hand and arm and around the mouth, while the bruises of this character are absent from the left hand and arm. It is usual to find more bruising on the right side in cases of a struggle where the right hand is used in self-defence.
Such was the medical evidence. The impossibility of opening the door of the railway-carriage more than eight inches at that part of the tunnel where the body was found; the marks on the walls of the tunnel; and the absence of any thick coating of grime on the gloves, as the expert from the Home Office pointed out, show that the unfortunate girl was either precipitated or tipped backwards through the window. That she got on to the line through the open door was demonstrated to be a physical impossibility. The evidence showed as conclusively, as any evidence short of ocular testimony could show, that her death succeeded a struggle with some powerful assailant, who either threw her or dropped her into the tunnel through the open window. It is all but certain that the train by which she travelled was the 9.13 from London Bridge. Now, a few miles from where the body was found a signalman saw in one of the compartments of that train a man and a woman who appeared to be struggling.
The man standing up and trying to force the woman on the seat. . . . The woman was about five feet four or five, stoutly built. I think she had on a black dress. I think the hat was black. She appeared to be wearing something white, which was hanging down from the back of her hat. The man had on a bowler hat and was broad.
This was an exact description of the deceased woman, the "something white" corresponding to a long white scarf whioh she was wearing when she left home, and which, or rather a portion of which, was found jammed in her mouth after her death. The way in which this important witness's evidence was received, and the comments which it elicited, are an excellent illustration of how this case fared generally with those who conducted it. It was assumed that, in a train passing the signalbox where he was stationed at thirty miles an hour, it was impossible for him to see what he alleged he did see. Now it would be no exaggeration to say, as every man on signal-service knows, that in a lighted train much exceeding that speed it is not only possible to see all that this witness asserts he saw, but very much more. If attention happened to be directed to a particular compartment in a carriage, any one could easily be identified; it could even be discerned whether a man had a moustache or not, or whether his complexion was fair or dark. The least that those who discredited the evidence of this witness could have done would have been to test his credibility by personal experiment.
With all this pointing to murder, what iota of evidence or indication is there pointing to suicide? By the general consent of literally every one who was intimately acquainted with the deceased woman,—-her companion and colleague who was with her on the day of her death, her employers, her many friends, her mother and her brothers, she was as contented and happy as any human being could possibly be. She had money in the bank, was in robust health, and had nothing to depress or disturb her. But assuming that all this evidence against such a theory did not exist, and that she might for some inscrutable reason have wished to destroy herself—-is it within the bounds of credibility that she would have left Clapham Junction and taken a ticket to Victoria or to London Bridge deliberately changed into another carriage at Croydon, and all this that she might hurl herself from a train when so many equally certain and less painful and revolting forms of death were within her choice? Is it conceivable that she would have thrown herself, and thrown herself backwards, out of the window, for that she went out of the window is certain, and that she went backwards out of it is all but certain?
Is it too much to say that a sane man who contended that this was a case of suicide must either have been lamentably ignorant of the facts, or if acquainted with them, as incompetent as Dogberry or Bumble to reason on them, or appear to be recklessly running some danger of justly exposing himself to sinister suspicion. As neither of these alternatives can, in fact, be the case, sheer perplexity at the turn things have taken is all that is left to us. What is certain is this. The acceptation of the theory of suicide on the part of those without whose assistance no really furthering steps towards the elucidation of this mystery can be taken, has paralysed every attempt to unravel it. Private investigation has since elicited fresh testimony of the utmost importance, but officialism is deaf to it. So inadequate and perfunctory was tht inquiry that there was scarcely a witness called who has not much, and very much, to add to what he then deposed. The family of the deceased girl are in possession of facts which they had no opportunity of communicating. But all was, and is, of no avail. The monstrous theory adopted by the officer who had all the weight and authority incident to his position gave the wrong turn to this inquiry at its most critical stage, and at no later stage is it likely, at least in official hands, to take the right one.
That the unfortunate woman met her death directly or indirectly at the hands, or in consequence of the conduct, of some one with whom she was travelling is as certain as anything dependent on circumstantial evidence can be; that she was, where she was when she met her death, by appointment; that that appointment had been made not by letter or telegram but by word of mouth; that it had been made with her assailant who was well known to her,that he was a broad man, in a bowler hat and a grey suit;* and that immediately before her journey she had had some meal at an hotel or restaurant, rests on evidence almost equally certain. It will be seen that we have here important particulars which, if properly investigated, might have furnished clues. How did this evidence fare? First, as we have seen, the whole of it was discredited by the adoption of the theory of suicide, the consequence being that the most crucial part of the inquiry was conducted, if my information be correct, in an incredibly loose and perfunctory way. What might have greatly assisted the identification of the murderer—-the evidence of the signalman—-was ignored on the assumption that it was physically impossible for him to see what he alleged he saw. The futility of the method adopted for ascertaining whether the deceased woman and her companion visited any restaurant on the night of the tragedy speaks for itself. Is it likely, considering what such an admission would involve, that any proprietor or waiter in such places as these would, if they possessed it, volunteer such information? Obtained it could be, no doubt, but only as it is obtained in Germany and France. The result of all has been exactly what might have been anticipated; another murderer is at large, another atrocious crime has been added to the ghastly list of its predecessors.
[Note:] •This detail was not given, or at least recorded, at the inquest, but was communicated by the witness to the present writer.
In this case, and herein lies its importance, we have a comprehensive illustration of the infirmities, or, to speak more correctly, of the imbecility of the present methods of criminal investigation. A body is found under circumstances which point conclusively to suicide or murder. The first thing done is to obliterate testimony which would have settled beyond doubt whether it was a case of the first or a case of the second by a stupid constable dragging out of the mouth of the corpse the long folds of a scarf, thus rendering it impossible to determine with certainty whether it had been forced in by external violence or whether it had worked itself in by some other means. Next the body is allowed to lie without any medical man being called to inspect it, until far past the noon of the day succeeding its discovery. Then comes the inquest. Though the case is confessedly pregnant with suspicion, the utmost laxity characterises the proceedings. One of the principal witnesses is not cross-examined at all; the statements of another, not less important, though plainly difficult to reconcile with probability, and certainly requiring corroboration, are accepted without question; that of a third, though of the utmost significance, is dismissed with ignorant contempt as irreconcilable with possibility; the evidence of the doctor who conducted the post-mortem examination, as well as that of an expert from the Home Office who assisted in that examination, is simply ignored. Everything points to murder, nothing points to suicide; but for some mysterious reason, "the officers in charge of the case" are adamant against the probability of the first and equally in favour of the probability of the second. The whole case cries aloud for further adjournment, at every step in it additional evidence being wanted and, it may be added, easy to procure.
Mismanagement and misdirection in the earlier stages of such inquiries as these, in the period, that is to say, preceding the inquest and at the inquest itself, are commonly irreparable. In a few days the scent cools, the tracks are covered; impressions made on witnesses become blurred; and, what is worse, mingled and confounded with impressions subsequently formed. The value of evidence, especially in the case of unskilled witnesses, is in exact proportion to its proximity to the experience of which it is the testimony. Nor should it be forgotten, as in these inquiries it too commonly is, that in the case of the great majority of witnesses the chances are that the evidence which is most important will not, for various reasons, be volunteered but must be elicited. Had this been remembered in the present case, had every witness-in-chief been closely and judiciously questioned, a very different issue would, in all probability, have resulted. Certainly the preposterous theory which is mainly responsible for the perverted turn things have taken would have been exploded.
There is, I repeat, no mystery about the manner in which Miss Money met her death. All the evidence adduced at the inquest, and all the evidence which has been collected since, place it beyond doubt that she was murdered, possibly deliberately, probably under circumstances which might conceivably reduce the crime to manslaughter.
But the death of Mdlle. Rochaïd is a mystery indeed. It may be questioned whether a problem of this kind, so elaborately complicated and so apparently insoluble, has ever before presented itself in real life. At first sight it might seem to have many analogies, and to admit of a very simple solution. But closer inspection will very soon disabuse us of any such idea, and the further we proceed in inquiry the greater becomes our perplexity. Its early history is the history of the Merstham case over again. A scandalously perfunctory inquiry—-uncomplicated, however, with ridiculous theories—-closing prematurely in an open verdict, would, but for the efforts of the Daily Mail, have relegated this tragedy to the limbo of undistinguished and unremembered casualties. Once again we owe to the Press what we have a right to expect, but too often expect in vain, from official responsibility—-the proper investigation of matters which are of the deepest concern to the security of society and the revision of misdirection.
As this extraordinary case is still under investigation, and as Mdlle. Rochaïd's friends and family do not yet despair of a solution of the mystery, it may be well to state the facts, disengaging them from the fictions which have already entangled them. Our readers may rest satisfied that no pains have been spared to secure exact accuracy in all the details here given. I am indebted for some, and for the verification of others, to the Vicomte de la Chapelle, and to personal interviews with almost every one, whether officials or private persons, who have been able of their own experience to assist inquiry.
Mdlle. Lily Yolande Marie Rochaïd was the only daughter of Count Rochaïd, Sans Souci, Dinard. She was eighteen years of age, and was a remarkably bright, healthy, and intelligent girl. For some two years and a half she had lived in England at Princethorpe Priory, the well-known Roman Catholic seminary, about eight miles from Rugby, where she was being educated. To Princethorpe and to her teachers and fellow pupils there she was warmly, indeed passionately, attached, regarding the Prioress as a second mother and the Priory as her home. Her Christmas holidays she spent in France, partly in Paris and partly with her father at Dinard. Her letters show that she was longing to return to Princethorpe, and early in the third week in January she was joyfully beginning to prepare for her journey. But before leaving Dinard she took rather a strange step. She visited the cemetery with a servant and selected a plot of ground, saying she would like to be buried there, "with plenty of white flowers," supposing "anything happened." She also requested an intimate friend to see that masses were said for her in the event of "anything happening," and further emphasising this request, instructed a servant to take some of her money from the bank for that purpose "should it be necessary." But this need not be supposed to have any particular significance, as she had recently been greatly depressed at the Hilda disaster, witnessing the funerals of the bodies washed up near Dinard and attending one of them. On Wednesday, January 24, she left St. Malo for Southampton, her father accompanying her to the boat. While on the boat she made the acquaintance of Miss Scally, a London lady, who was a hospital nurse and who had been staying at Dinard. "We were," said Miss Scally, "chatting together during the passage and she talked to me about Princethorpe and her friends there, and how she was looking forward to seeing them. She seemed to me a bright, level-headed girl, in no way worried, distressed, or agitated. The only fear she expressed was that the boat would be late and that she would miss the 12.15 train from Euston, and to this she referred more than once." It may be explained that if she missed that train she would lose the connection with the train which would take her from Rugby to Marton, and this, unless she chose to wait at Rugby or drive some nine miles, would involve a long wait of more than two hours at Euston. Miss Scally did not travel in the same carriage with her when the train left Southampton for Waterloo, but on arriving at that station, a minute or two before twelve o'clock, she saw her on the platform getting her luggage together preparatory to calling a cab. "We shook hands," said Miss Scally, "and said good-bye. She was in good spirits and gave no indication of agitation." A cab was procured and she was driven straight to Euston. The cabman who drove her says that "she was in good spirits and seemed a bright, businesslike girl used to travelling alone." On arriving at Euston she found she had missed the 12.15 train, and at once sent a telegram to Princethorpe. It was open to her to leave for Rugby either by the 1.30 or the 2 o'clock train, and the fact that she did not do so, though accounted for by the broken connection with Marton, is perhaps a little strange, especially when read in the light of what followed. It was certainly open to her to take a conveyance from Rugby to Princethorpe, as she had done, it seems, before, and Father Hand, who is the rector of Princethorpe, in his evidence expressed surprise that she had not taken this step. That her preference for a long wait at Euston was deliberate is proved by her telegram requesting that a cab should meet her at Marton at 5.20.
Everything which can throw light on her movements and on her state of mind between her arrival at Euston and her departure is obviously of the utmost importance. And these facts are certain. The remarkably firm and steady handwriting displayed in the original draft of the telegram despatched from Euston shows no sign of excitement or agitation, and in a young woman of Mdlle. Rochaïd's sensitive and somewhat neurotic temperament, this could not have failed to express itself had any such emotions possessed her. At Euston at least six persons, beside the cabman who drove her from Waterloo, had communication with her, five of whom have proffered evidence: the porter who conveyed her luggage from the cab, the porter who conveyed it to the train, the interpreter who conversed in French with her.the woman in charge of the ladies' waiting-room, the ticket-collector, and an unknown person who had a long conversation with her on the platform not long before the train started. With the exception of the ticket-collector, all these witnesses, except, of course, the unknown person who has not come forward, agree in saying that they noticed nothing unusual in her manner or expression. But this is obviously of no significance one way or the other. Porters confine themselves to their duties and are not observant; with the interpreter she exchanged only a few sentences. In one of the ladies' waiting-rooms she sat, indeed, for upwards of an hour, but her intercourse with the attendant began and ended with a request that she might wash her hands and brush her hair; and as the attendant happens to be a very old woman utterly indifferent to everything but her ordinary functions, it is not surprising that all she can communicate is of a negative kind. But two witnesses are able to communicate what may possibly contribute importantly to the solution of the mystery. Not very long before the train started a porter saw her in conversation with a lady, of whose appearance and dress he can give a very exact description. He watched them for some moments, and then, having to attend to his duties, he lost sight of them. What became of the unknown lady he does not know, but he is inclined to think she must have entered the train in which Mdlle. Rochaïd travelled, as he did not see her on the platform when the train left the station. Every effort has been made to trace and induce this lady to come forward, but without success. It is this circumstance which makes the evidence of the other witness, the ticket collector, who saw and talked with Mdlle. Rochaïd immediately after her interview with the stranger, so significant. I may preface what follows by observing that the testimony of this witness is the more valuable because of the proof he gave collaterally of the deliberation and accuracy of his observation. He said that he noticed on the seat near Mdlle. Rochaïd a newspaper, and he believed, though he could not certainly say, that it was the Daily Mail. It came out at the inquest that a newspaper was on the seat beside her, and it was that particular paper. I will give his evidence exactly as he gave it to me.
Mdlle. Rochaïd was in such an excited and agitated state that I could not help noticing it. I had to ask her twice for her ticket, and after I had examined and clipped it, I had again to direct her attention to the fact that I was returning it. She had a crumpled newspaper on the seat beside her, as though she had crumpled it up. She asked at what stations the train stopped between Euston and Rugby, and how long it would be before it stopped, and what time it got in—-and I told her. When I closed the door, I stood a short way from the carriage on the platform; I noticed that she got up from her seat two or three times, and looked out of both the windows, but kept looking out of the window next the platform, up and down the platform, and as the train moved out of the station she was still looking up and down the platform.
We have thus ample warrant for assuming that when she arrived at Euston she was perfectly cheerful and collected, but that when she was there something occurred which disturbed and excited her, and till the lady who had the interview with her comes forward and explains we are justified in supposing that her excitement was occasioned by something which passed in that interview. Her nervous and anxious scrutiny of the platform seems to imply that she wished to ascertain whether this person was remaining behind or had entered the train. She was in.the first compartment, second-class, facing the engine of the carriage in which she travelled, next behind it was a luggage box, and behind that a first-class, and then a second class smoking compartment, and these made up the coach, which was numbered 1156. Her seat faced the engine and would, on the train leaning the station, look on to the six-foot way, being however next the platform at Euston, Northampton, and Rugby, so that the door out of which she fell on to the line was the door nearest to her when she left Euston. She was certainly alone when she left Euston, unless some passenger was concealed under the seat, which was physically possible, as the space upwards from the floor was 9 1/2 inches, but improbable in the highest degree. Whether any one got in at Willesden, the first stop, cannot be ascertained. At Bletchley, the next stop, as there was a great rush of passengers for Northampton, it is probable that more than one passenger entered the carriage. Whether she was alone between Northampton and Crick is the all important point. This only is known. The station-master at Northampton was on the platorra when the train came in, but neither he, the guard, nor any of the station officials noticed any young woman in a second-class carriage, nor was any one seen to enter such a compartment at that station. Three second-class tickets were issued for the train at Northampton, but the owners, if I am rightly informed, have been identified. Of one thing the station-master was quite certain, that no carriage door was open, but that all the handles were in place and secure when the train left the station, and this was corroborated by the guard. The train entered the Crick tunnel at its usual high speed at or about 4.40. At 4.47 it steamed into Rugby, wh«n it was observed that the door of a second-class compartment was swinging wide open. On the carriage being inspected a handbag bearing Mdlle. Rochaïd's initials and a newspaper were found on the seat. There was not the slightest indication of any struggle, not the slightest misplacement of the carpet or of the cushions, nor has subsequent minute scrutiny discovered anything indicative of disturbance. It must, however, be noted that the carriage was not retained, but, going on with the train, continued to be used for ordinary traffic, so that it was not submitted to expert examination till all traces of any slight derangement would naturally have disappeared.
About six o'clock that evening the body of Mdlle. Rochaïd was found in Crick Tunnel. It was lying with the head against the rail of the up-line about 190 yards from the Northampton end. It had evidently been dragged about thirty yards from where it had first struck the ground, for at that distance from it there was a distinct indentation in the loose granite and rubble of the permanent way, while displaced stones marked the course of its terrible career. If she had been murdered robbery had not been the motive, for the money in her two purses was intact, and of her ornaments nothing was missing but one small and not valuable bracelet and a silver medal attached to a thin gold chain recording her admission to a religious guild. Nor, as the post-mortem inspection showed, had she been criminally assaulted. There were also—-such at least is the medical report—-no indications that she had received any injuries except those which could be accounted for by her fall from the train. It must, however, be remembered, and we may add regretted, that the autopsy was not conducted by an expert. All we have to rely on for evidence on which so much depended, is the report of a general practitioner casually called in and quite unassisted. Two things seem clear. So mutilated was the poorgirl's body,so torn, dishevelled,and soiled her clothes that had she had any struggle with an assailant its effects would have been indistinguishable from the effects resulting from the dragging by the train; and, secondly, as the front part of the body was comparatively free from injuries it seems highly probable that she must have been precipitated backwards on to the line.
Such is the evidence on which any attempted solution of this problem must be based: obviously all that can be deduced from it is the determination of the direction in which the balance of probability inclines. Mdlle. Rochaïd's terrible death must have been the result either of accident or of panic terror inducing her to fling herself on to the line, or of suicide deliberate or impulsive, or finally of murder. Accident, may surely be eliminated. We have it on evidence which cannot be questioned that when the train left Northampton all the doors of the carriages were closed and the door handles in place and secure. When the train arrived at Rugby the glass window of the carriage in which she travelled was up, therefore she could not have fallen out in her attempt to raise it on entering the tunnel, for the act could not possibly have been completed on her fall. Mr. G. R. Sims's ingenious theory that she fell on the line in attempting to disengage her dress, on a portion of which a passenger alighting at Northampton had closed the door, is surely equally improbable. In the first place, she was wearing a tight-fitting body [?] which closely compressed her dress, and so made such an accident practically impossible. In the second place, supposing some part of it the dress had got loose and become impeded, is it likely that she would have travelled some fifteen miles before she discovered the impediment. Had she opened the door, too, less than an inch—-which can be done in that tunnel, or in any tunnel, with perfect ease and safety—-it would have sufficed for her purpose, and we have it on evidence that she was used to travelling and remarkably self-possessed. It may therefore be questioned whether she would have taken such a step at all, if she took it we may be quite sure she would, knowing the peril she incurred, have been very cautious. The handle of the door, which is a double-locking safety handle, and somewhat stiff, too, in its working, could not by any;conceivable accident have got turned. The door must have been deliberately opened. That she jumped out through the panic caused by a sudden attack of claustrophobia is an hypothesis absolutely untenable, and by the general testimony of all who knew her most intimately too absurd to be discussed. Of such a disease, though constantly in positions where, had it existed, it could not have failed to disclose itself, she never showed the slightest symptom.
But the theory that she may have been alarmed by some one in the carriage is by no means improbable. Such a person might have entered at any stage in her journey, as there is no evidence that she was alone after leaving Willesden. If this was the case, the person responsible for what l«d to her death must have left the carriage between Crick Tunnel and Rugby. This was certainly possible, but the possibility is limited. The speed at which the train was running would have effectually prevented escape till the platform at Rugby was reached. The inspector who saw the opened door, as soon as the train came in, is confident no one left the carriage at any part of the platform within his view, and that no one could have left it by the off door, because an engine, with its driver and stoker, was standing on the off-rails, and there were other men about who must have seen any one descend. If such an escape was made, it must have been at the extreme end of the platform, when the train would have slackened speed to about six miles an hour. A person so descending would have been a conspicuous object, dusk though it was, and could not, moreover, unless hew as an expert, have done so without great peril of serious injury, for he must have left from the footboard, a distance 4 1/2 feet from the ground. It may, therefore, be assumed that if the carriage was left after Crick Tunnel was passed, it could only have been left by some one who was accustomed to such exploits, or who had studied the art of them, possibly by the foot-board into another compartment of the coach—-those next and next but one to Mile. Rochaïd were empty-—possibly on to the extreme end of the platform, or even before that was reached. A man who is accustomed to such things can easily alight from a train when it is running from twelve to fourteen miles an hour; a man who is not would incur peril if its speed exceeded four. On the whole, then, we may feel pretty sure that the person, if such person there was, who wished to escape from the consequences of having occasioned Mdlle. Rochaïd's death was no ordinary passenger.
In all these hypotheses we have not probability even in a low degree. But the evidence and presumption pointing to the probability of suicide or of murder by some one who was either used to, or who had studied the art of, leaping from a train travelling from six to eight miles an hour are much stronger, and certainly justify very serious consideration.
It is quite clear that Mdlle. Rochaïd was of a highly sensitive, keenly susceptible, impulsive, and if "self-possessed" yet of somewhat neurotic temperament. There is ample testimony that radiant and sunny as her disposition was, she suffered at times from great depression. Her action in the cemetery at Dinard a few days before her death, and her requests to one of her friends and to her servant, though capable of an explanation which may have no significance in this direction, are at least indicative of a certain morbidness. That she left Euston in a very agitated state cannot be doubted. Her passionate attachment to Princethorpe and to her teachers and fellow pupils there, in whom her strongest affections were evidently centred, seem to have inspired her with a passionate, haunting sense of regret that the time was not far off when she must leave them, and she was leaving them, it seems, at midsummer. If all this was in her mind, if, moreover, there was anything associated with the memories of the place, disturbing or distressing, it would be then, as she was nearing it, that, impulse would be most tyrannous. She must have known that tunnel well, for she had frequently passed through it, and had self-destruction occurred to her it was there that it would have been likely to have suggested itself. But to all this there is much, and very much, to oppose. There is no evidence at all that the idea of suicide had ever been in her mind, or that she had ever had any reason for entertaining it. She was not merely religious, but enthusiastically religious, and her religion must have taught her that such an act would be a sin of the greatest magnitude. There is, it is true, no accounting for the turn which impulsive natures, under a great stress of excitement, will take; even religion will be perverted into the justification of what it most condemns. But the balance of probability surely inclines, and inclines very decidedly, towards the theory which involves none of the difficulties involved in the theory of suicide. We have only to assume that her death was caused by a person who could descend from a train travelling from twelve to fourteen, or even from six to eight miles an hour, or who could, when it was in mid career, make his way along the footboard from one carriage to another. The man may have been a homicidal maniac, or he may have been a sane man with some definite object in making away with her. That many such miscreants as the first are at large is certain, and the police know it.
But putting aside the theory of homicidal mania, it surely ought to be ascertained whether any one had anything to gain by the death of Mdlle. RochaId. And no pains ought to be spared to identify the stranger who conversed with her at Euston, and whose conversation appears so greatly to have upset her. It is certainly within the limits of possibility that that person was a man in disguise, and that that person entering the train got access in the course of the journey to the compartment in which she travelled, and was her murderer. That if probabilities be weighed and balanced, probability points, and points decidedly, to murder, can admit of no question.
----end
The National Review, Volume 47, March 1906, Pages 145-159
THE MERSTHAM AND CRICK TUNNEL MYSTERIES: A COMPARATIVE STUDY
by J. Churton Collins
"You don't believe in the detective police?" "No, who can believe in them who reads his newspaper and remembers what he reads. Fortunately for the detective department the public in general forgets what it reads. Go to your club and look at the criminal history of our own time, recorded in the newspapers. Every crime is more or less a mystery. You will see that the mysteries which the police discover are, almost without exception, mysteries made penetrable by the commonest capacity through the extraordinary stupidity exhibited in the means taken to hide the crime. On the other hand, let the guilty man or woman be a resolute and intelligent person, capable of setting his (or her) wits fairly against the wits of the police—-in other words, let the mystery really be a mystery—-and cite me a case, if you can (a really difficult and perplexing case) in which the criminal has not escaped. Mind! I don't charge the police with neglecting their work. No doubt they do their best and take the greatest pains in following the routine to which they have been trained. It is their misfortune, not their fault, that there is no man of superior intelligence among them—-I mean, no man who is capable in great emergencies of placing himself above conventional methods and following a new way of his own."
—-So wrote Wilkie Collins nearly thirty years ago, and so writing he expressed what must be mournfully acknowledged to be no more than the truth—-truth which has during the last three months found very striking and very exasperating corroboration. When in these pages attention was drawn to the deplorable mismanagement of the Merstham case we were not at all surprised that no notice whatever was taken of the facts incontestably established by us, but we were, we own, surprised at the blind obstinacy with which adherence to demonstrably untenable theories on the part of responsible officials rendered, and still renders, all effort to re-open that inquiry nugatory. And now comes this second case, which, bungled in its first stage as miserably as its predecessor, would, but for the intervention of the Press, have gone the same way. Indeed, the indifference or incompetence of those who are officially entrusted with these inquiries has come to such a pass that if it were not for the newspapers no proper investigation of these tragical problems would be so much as attempted. But for the Press the Merstham mystery would have found a ridiculous solution in suicide. To a London daily paper it is solely owing that Mdlle. Rochaïd's death has attracted the attention it deserves. Whether it swelled the list of the atrocious crimes which the imbecility or carelessness of the police and of coroners have allowed to go unpunished, or whether it was the result of suicide or of accident, appears to have been a matter of profound unconcern to those whose duty it was to spare no pains to ascertain.
And now let us see what this means. The general public, naturally interested in anything which is sensational, and losing all confidence in those who are officially responsible for the conduct of these inquiries, encourage the Press to substitute its representatives for the representatives of the law. A trained journalist, with his keen powers of observation, his susceptibility of impression, and his plastic intelligence, is indeed likely to see very much further into such complicated problems as these cases present, than the most experienced detectives of the average order would be likely to do. Such officers are the slaves of habit and routine, and of all trainings for the solution of nice and difficult problems this is the worst. Their minds and tempers taking their ply from a constantly recurring circle of work and experience, cannot indeed fail to become stereotyped and mechanical. But intelligence without authority is of little avail, and that this interference on the part of the laity should be resented by those who have official dignity to preserve is natural enough. The one thing which would be desirable, but which appears to be impossible, is co-operation ; the two things which, unfortunately for the public interests, are only too glaringly apparent, are mutual distrust and mutual opposition. That the researches instituted by the Press in the Merstham case elicited new and most valuable information, that they furnished fresh clues, and that they also fully and clearly indicated where further clues, which the police only could follow up, might be found, is indisputable, is indeed matter of certain and common knowledge. But how did all this fare? Precisely as the evidence elicited at the inquest fared. Officialdom, ignoring and in defiance of what the Press had discovered, had made up its mind that Miss Money's death was the result of suicide, though the jury very properly returned an open verdict. Investigations were continued. With the assistance of the Press the additional evidence, to which I have referred, demonstrated with absolute •conclusiveness not merely the untenableness of the theory, but the probability in the very highest degree, of murder. Officialdom, however, was not to be shaken. Everything which could be perverted into giving plausibility to the theory adopted by it—-the theory of suicide—-was accepted, everything which demonstrated the impossibility of maintaining such a theory was ignored. Protest and plea were, and still are, unheeded, and in vain. Officialdom was on its dignity, and in consequence, as is all but certain, a murderer is at large.
No one would wish to speak disrespectfully of any staff officer belonging to our central detective department. A more intelligent, painstaking, and conscientious body of men, taking them as a whole, does not exist; but they have their limitations, and, what is more, though on attaining a certain rank they have equal weight and authority, the differences between them in point of competence and capacity are so extraordinary as to be scarcely conceivable. In the Merstham case, more than a week elapsed before assistance from Scotland Yard was applied for, and no blame, therefore, can be attached either to its chiefs or to its staff for the gross mismanagement of the inquiry at its initial stages. That belongs solely to those who were responsible for what occurred during the period intervening between the discovery of the body and the first inquest, and for the conduct of the inquest itself. But for what immediately preceded, accompanied, and followed the adjourned inquest and verdict, the official representative of Scotland Yard must certainly be held mainly responsible. The decision at which he arrived, and to which he obstinately adhered in the teeth of the evidence, in defiance of the equally incontestable testimony elicited by subsequent investigation, as well as of probability or, rather, of possibility, has effectually put the closure on further inquiry. An official, all officials to a man stand by him; in authority, all in authority are with him. The rest is silence.
Let us glance at the evidence. What said the two doctors who conducted the post-mortem examination of Miss Money's body?
There was a bruise on the upper part of the left arm and inside the forearm. Also a bruise on front part of upper part of right arm, and also another bruise on the inner side of the forearm. Several bruises on right hand and wrists, as if done by her being gripped. There was a reddish mark on the right side of the lower lip, close to the mouth;
—it will be remembered that when the body was found "ten or twelve inches " of the silk scarf which the poor girl was wearing were pulled out of the mouth, and pulled out with some difficulty, leading to the supposition that it had been jammed into the mouth presumably for the purpose of gagging her—-
these injuries are consistent with something having been pushed into the mouth.
So deposed the first doctor, Dr. Halkeyt Crickett. What said the expert from the Home Office?
There were three very distinct bruises around the mouth. The bruises were small, about half an inch in diameter, slightly raised on the surface and pale red in colour. One was on the upper lip, a little to the right of the middle line. One was close to the angle of the mouth on the right side. One was on the upper lip to the right of the middle line; this was distinct, but less pronounced than the corresponding bruise on the upper lip. ... I attac [sic] great importance to the slight but distinct bruises of a pale red or bluish colour present on the right arm and hand; also to the broken nail on the right forefinger; to the bruise under the right clavicle; to the scratches on the right shoulder and the bruise below, and also to the bruises round the mouth. These have not the appearance of being produced by a fall from the train. They are such as might have been caused by firm pressure, e.g., the grip of the fingers in a struggle with some person, or received as injuries in a struggle. It is significant that the above injuries should be present on the right hand and arm and around the mouth, while the bruises of this character are absent from the left hand and arm. It is usual to find more bruising on the right side in cases of a struggle where the right hand is used in self-defence.
Such was the medical evidence. The impossibility of opening the door of the railway-carriage more than eight inches at that part of the tunnel where the body was found; the marks on the walls of the tunnel; and the absence of any thick coating of grime on the gloves, as the expert from the Home Office pointed out, show that the unfortunate girl was either precipitated or tipped backwards through the window. That she got on to the line through the open door was demonstrated to be a physical impossibility. The evidence showed as conclusively, as any evidence short of ocular testimony could show, that her death succeeded a struggle with some powerful assailant, who either threw her or dropped her into the tunnel through the open window. It is all but certain that the train by which she travelled was the 9.13 from London Bridge. Now, a few miles from where the body was found a signalman saw in one of the compartments of that train a man and a woman who appeared to be struggling.
The man standing up and trying to force the woman on the seat. . . . The woman was about five feet four or five, stoutly built. I think she had on a black dress. I think the hat was black. She appeared to be wearing something white, which was hanging down from the back of her hat. The man had on a bowler hat and was broad.
This was an exact description of the deceased woman, the "something white" corresponding to a long white scarf whioh she was wearing when she left home, and which, or rather a portion of which, was found jammed in her mouth after her death. The way in which this important witness's evidence was received, and the comments which it elicited, are an excellent illustration of how this case fared generally with those who conducted it. It was assumed that, in a train passing the signalbox where he was stationed at thirty miles an hour, it was impossible for him to see what he alleged he did see. Now it would be no exaggeration to say, as every man on signal-service knows, that in a lighted train much exceeding that speed it is not only possible to see all that this witness asserts he saw, but very much more. If attention happened to be directed to a particular compartment in a carriage, any one could easily be identified; it could even be discerned whether a man had a moustache or not, or whether his complexion was fair or dark. The least that those who discredited the evidence of this witness could have done would have been to test his credibility by personal experiment.
With all this pointing to murder, what iota of evidence or indication is there pointing to suicide? By the general consent of literally every one who was intimately acquainted with the deceased woman,—-her companion and colleague who was with her on the day of her death, her employers, her many friends, her mother and her brothers, she was as contented and happy as any human being could possibly be. She had money in the bank, was in robust health, and had nothing to depress or disturb her. But assuming that all this evidence against such a theory did not exist, and that she might for some inscrutable reason have wished to destroy herself—-is it within the bounds of credibility that she would have left Clapham Junction and taken a ticket to Victoria or to London Bridge deliberately changed into another carriage at Croydon, and all this that she might hurl herself from a train when so many equally certain and less painful and revolting forms of death were within her choice? Is it conceivable that she would have thrown herself, and thrown herself backwards, out of the window, for that she went out of the window is certain, and that she went backwards out of it is all but certain?
Is it too much to say that a sane man who contended that this was a case of suicide must either have been lamentably ignorant of the facts, or if acquainted with them, as incompetent as Dogberry or Bumble to reason on them, or appear to be recklessly running some danger of justly exposing himself to sinister suspicion. As neither of these alternatives can, in fact, be the case, sheer perplexity at the turn things have taken is all that is left to us. What is certain is this. The acceptation of the theory of suicide on the part of those without whose assistance no really furthering steps towards the elucidation of this mystery can be taken, has paralysed every attempt to unravel it. Private investigation has since elicited fresh testimony of the utmost importance, but officialism is deaf to it. So inadequate and perfunctory was tht inquiry that there was scarcely a witness called who has not much, and very much, to add to what he then deposed. The family of the deceased girl are in possession of facts which they had no opportunity of communicating. But all was, and is, of no avail. The monstrous theory adopted by the officer who had all the weight and authority incident to his position gave the wrong turn to this inquiry at its most critical stage, and at no later stage is it likely, at least in official hands, to take the right one.
That the unfortunate woman met her death directly or indirectly at the hands, or in consequence of the conduct, of some one with whom she was travelling is as certain as anything dependent on circumstantial evidence can be; that she was, where she was when she met her death, by appointment; that that appointment had been made not by letter or telegram but by word of mouth; that it had been made with her assailant who was well known to her,that he was a broad man, in a bowler hat and a grey suit;* and that immediately before her journey she had had some meal at an hotel or restaurant, rests on evidence almost equally certain. It will be seen that we have here important particulars which, if properly investigated, might have furnished clues. How did this evidence fare? First, as we have seen, the whole of it was discredited by the adoption of the theory of suicide, the consequence being that the most crucial part of the inquiry was conducted, if my information be correct, in an incredibly loose and perfunctory way. What might have greatly assisted the identification of the murderer—-the evidence of the signalman—-was ignored on the assumption that it was physically impossible for him to see what he alleged he saw. The futility of the method adopted for ascertaining whether the deceased woman and her companion visited any restaurant on the night of the tragedy speaks for itself. Is it likely, considering what such an admission would involve, that any proprietor or waiter in such places as these would, if they possessed it, volunteer such information? Obtained it could be, no doubt, but only as it is obtained in Germany and France. The result of all has been exactly what might have been anticipated; another murderer is at large, another atrocious crime has been added to the ghastly list of its predecessors.
[Note:] •This detail was not given, or at least recorded, at the inquest, but was communicated by the witness to the present writer.
In this case, and herein lies its importance, we have a comprehensive illustration of the infirmities, or, to speak more correctly, of the imbecility of the present methods of criminal investigation. A body is found under circumstances which point conclusively to suicide or murder. The first thing done is to obliterate testimony which would have settled beyond doubt whether it was a case of the first or a case of the second by a stupid constable dragging out of the mouth of the corpse the long folds of a scarf, thus rendering it impossible to determine with certainty whether it had been forced in by external violence or whether it had worked itself in by some other means. Next the body is allowed to lie without any medical man being called to inspect it, until far past the noon of the day succeeding its discovery. Then comes the inquest. Though the case is confessedly pregnant with suspicion, the utmost laxity characterises the proceedings. One of the principal witnesses is not cross-examined at all; the statements of another, not less important, though plainly difficult to reconcile with probability, and certainly requiring corroboration, are accepted without question; that of a third, though of the utmost significance, is dismissed with ignorant contempt as irreconcilable with possibility; the evidence of the doctor who conducted the post-mortem examination, as well as that of an expert from the Home Office who assisted in that examination, is simply ignored. Everything points to murder, nothing points to suicide; but for some mysterious reason, "the officers in charge of the case" are adamant against the probability of the first and equally in favour of the probability of the second. The whole case cries aloud for further adjournment, at every step in it additional evidence being wanted and, it may be added, easy to procure.
Mismanagement and misdirection in the earlier stages of such inquiries as these, in the period, that is to say, preceding the inquest and at the inquest itself, are commonly irreparable. In a few days the scent cools, the tracks are covered; impressions made on witnesses become blurred; and, what is worse, mingled and confounded with impressions subsequently formed. The value of evidence, especially in the case of unskilled witnesses, is in exact proportion to its proximity to the experience of which it is the testimony. Nor should it be forgotten, as in these inquiries it too commonly is, that in the case of the great majority of witnesses the chances are that the evidence which is most important will not, for various reasons, be volunteered but must be elicited. Had this been remembered in the present case, had every witness-in-chief been closely and judiciously questioned, a very different issue would, in all probability, have resulted. Certainly the preposterous theory which is mainly responsible for the perverted turn things have taken would have been exploded.
There is, I repeat, no mystery about the manner in which Miss Money met her death. All the evidence adduced at the inquest, and all the evidence which has been collected since, place it beyond doubt that she was murdered, possibly deliberately, probably under circumstances which might conceivably reduce the crime to manslaughter.
But the death of Mdlle. Rochaïd is a mystery indeed. It may be questioned whether a problem of this kind, so elaborately complicated and so apparently insoluble, has ever before presented itself in real life. At first sight it might seem to have many analogies, and to admit of a very simple solution. But closer inspection will very soon disabuse us of any such idea, and the further we proceed in inquiry the greater becomes our perplexity. Its early history is the history of the Merstham case over again. A scandalously perfunctory inquiry—-uncomplicated, however, with ridiculous theories—-closing prematurely in an open verdict, would, but for the efforts of the Daily Mail, have relegated this tragedy to the limbo of undistinguished and unremembered casualties. Once again we owe to the Press what we have a right to expect, but too often expect in vain, from official responsibility—-the proper investigation of matters which are of the deepest concern to the security of society and the revision of misdirection.
As this extraordinary case is still under investigation, and as Mdlle. Rochaïd's friends and family do not yet despair of a solution of the mystery, it may be well to state the facts, disengaging them from the fictions which have already entangled them. Our readers may rest satisfied that no pains have been spared to secure exact accuracy in all the details here given. I am indebted for some, and for the verification of others, to the Vicomte de la Chapelle, and to personal interviews with almost every one, whether officials or private persons, who have been able of their own experience to assist inquiry.
Mdlle. Lily Yolande Marie Rochaïd was the only daughter of Count Rochaïd, Sans Souci, Dinard. She was eighteen years of age, and was a remarkably bright, healthy, and intelligent girl. For some two years and a half she had lived in England at Princethorpe Priory, the well-known Roman Catholic seminary, about eight miles from Rugby, where she was being educated. To Princethorpe and to her teachers and fellow pupils there she was warmly, indeed passionately, attached, regarding the Prioress as a second mother and the Priory as her home. Her Christmas holidays she spent in France, partly in Paris and partly with her father at Dinard. Her letters show that she was longing to return to Princethorpe, and early in the third week in January she was joyfully beginning to prepare for her journey. But before leaving Dinard she took rather a strange step. She visited the cemetery with a servant and selected a plot of ground, saying she would like to be buried there, "with plenty of white flowers," supposing "anything happened." She also requested an intimate friend to see that masses were said for her in the event of "anything happening," and further emphasising this request, instructed a servant to take some of her money from the bank for that purpose "should it be necessary." But this need not be supposed to have any particular significance, as she had recently been greatly depressed at the Hilda disaster, witnessing the funerals of the bodies washed up near Dinard and attending one of them. On Wednesday, January 24, she left St. Malo for Southampton, her father accompanying her to the boat. While on the boat she made the acquaintance of Miss Scally, a London lady, who was a hospital nurse and who had been staying at Dinard. "We were," said Miss Scally, "chatting together during the passage and she talked to me about Princethorpe and her friends there, and how she was looking forward to seeing them. She seemed to me a bright, level-headed girl, in no way worried, distressed, or agitated. The only fear she expressed was that the boat would be late and that she would miss the 12.15 train from Euston, and to this she referred more than once." It may be explained that if she missed that train she would lose the connection with the train which would take her from Rugby to Marton, and this, unless she chose to wait at Rugby or drive some nine miles, would involve a long wait of more than two hours at Euston. Miss Scally did not travel in the same carriage with her when the train left Southampton for Waterloo, but on arriving at that station, a minute or two before twelve o'clock, she saw her on the platform getting her luggage together preparatory to calling a cab. "We shook hands," said Miss Scally, "and said good-bye. She was in good spirits and gave no indication of agitation." A cab was procured and she was driven straight to Euston. The cabman who drove her says that "she was in good spirits and seemed a bright, businesslike girl used to travelling alone." On arriving at Euston she found she had missed the 12.15 train, and at once sent a telegram to Princethorpe. It was open to her to leave for Rugby either by the 1.30 or the 2 o'clock train, and the fact that she did not do so, though accounted for by the broken connection with Marton, is perhaps a little strange, especially when read in the light of what followed. It was certainly open to her to take a conveyance from Rugby to Princethorpe, as she had done, it seems, before, and Father Hand, who is the rector of Princethorpe, in his evidence expressed surprise that she had not taken this step. That her preference for a long wait at Euston was deliberate is proved by her telegram requesting that a cab should meet her at Marton at 5.20.
Everything which can throw light on her movements and on her state of mind between her arrival at Euston and her departure is obviously of the utmost importance. And these facts are certain. The remarkably firm and steady handwriting displayed in the original draft of the telegram despatched from Euston shows no sign of excitement or agitation, and in a young woman of Mdlle. Rochaïd's sensitive and somewhat neurotic temperament, this could not have failed to express itself had any such emotions possessed her. At Euston at least six persons, beside the cabman who drove her from Waterloo, had communication with her, five of whom have proffered evidence: the porter who conveyed her luggage from the cab, the porter who conveyed it to the train, the interpreter who conversed in French with her.the woman in charge of the ladies' waiting-room, the ticket-collector, and an unknown person who had a long conversation with her on the platform not long before the train started. With the exception of the ticket-collector, all these witnesses, except, of course, the unknown person who has not come forward, agree in saying that they noticed nothing unusual in her manner or expression. But this is obviously of no significance one way or the other. Porters confine themselves to their duties and are not observant; with the interpreter she exchanged only a few sentences. In one of the ladies' waiting-rooms she sat, indeed, for upwards of an hour, but her intercourse with the attendant began and ended with a request that she might wash her hands and brush her hair; and as the attendant happens to be a very old woman utterly indifferent to everything but her ordinary functions, it is not surprising that all she can communicate is of a negative kind. But two witnesses are able to communicate what may possibly contribute importantly to the solution of the mystery. Not very long before the train started a porter saw her in conversation with a lady, of whose appearance and dress he can give a very exact description. He watched them for some moments, and then, having to attend to his duties, he lost sight of them. What became of the unknown lady he does not know, but he is inclined to think she must have entered the train in which Mdlle. Rochaïd travelled, as he did not see her on the platform when the train left the station. Every effort has been made to trace and induce this lady to come forward, but without success. It is this circumstance which makes the evidence of the other witness, the ticket collector, who saw and talked with Mdlle. Rochaïd immediately after her interview with the stranger, so significant. I may preface what follows by observing that the testimony of this witness is the more valuable because of the proof he gave collaterally of the deliberation and accuracy of his observation. He said that he noticed on the seat near Mdlle. Rochaïd a newspaper, and he believed, though he could not certainly say, that it was the Daily Mail. It came out at the inquest that a newspaper was on the seat beside her, and it was that particular paper. I will give his evidence exactly as he gave it to me.
Mdlle. Rochaïd was in such an excited and agitated state that I could not help noticing it. I had to ask her twice for her ticket, and after I had examined and clipped it, I had again to direct her attention to the fact that I was returning it. She had a crumpled newspaper on the seat beside her, as though she had crumpled it up. She asked at what stations the train stopped between Euston and Rugby, and how long it would be before it stopped, and what time it got in—-and I told her. When I closed the door, I stood a short way from the carriage on the platform; I noticed that she got up from her seat two or three times, and looked out of both the windows, but kept looking out of the window next the platform, up and down the platform, and as the train moved out of the station she was still looking up and down the platform.
We have thus ample warrant for assuming that when she arrived at Euston she was perfectly cheerful and collected, but that when she was there something occurred which disturbed and excited her, and till the lady who had the interview with her comes forward and explains we are justified in supposing that her excitement was occasioned by something which passed in that interview. Her nervous and anxious scrutiny of the platform seems to imply that she wished to ascertain whether this person was remaining behind or had entered the train. She was in.the first compartment, second-class, facing the engine of the carriage in which she travelled, next behind it was a luggage box, and behind that a first-class, and then a second class smoking compartment, and these made up the coach, which was numbered 1156. Her seat faced the engine and would, on the train leaning the station, look on to the six-foot way, being however next the platform at Euston, Northampton, and Rugby, so that the door out of which she fell on to the line was the door nearest to her when she left Euston. She was certainly alone when she left Euston, unless some passenger was concealed under the seat, which was physically possible, as the space upwards from the floor was 9 1/2 inches, but improbable in the highest degree. Whether any one got in at Willesden, the first stop, cannot be ascertained. At Bletchley, the next stop, as there was a great rush of passengers for Northampton, it is probable that more than one passenger entered the carriage. Whether she was alone between Northampton and Crick is the all important point. This only is known. The station-master at Northampton was on the platorra when the train came in, but neither he, the guard, nor any of the station officials noticed any young woman in a second-class carriage, nor was any one seen to enter such a compartment at that station. Three second-class tickets were issued for the train at Northampton, but the owners, if I am rightly informed, have been identified. Of one thing the station-master was quite certain, that no carriage door was open, but that all the handles were in place and secure when the train left the station, and this was corroborated by the guard. The train entered the Crick tunnel at its usual high speed at or about 4.40. At 4.47 it steamed into Rugby, wh«n it was observed that the door of a second-class compartment was swinging wide open. On the carriage being inspected a handbag bearing Mdlle. Rochaïd's initials and a newspaper were found on the seat. There was not the slightest indication of any struggle, not the slightest misplacement of the carpet or of the cushions, nor has subsequent minute scrutiny discovered anything indicative of disturbance. It must, however, be noted that the carriage was not retained, but, going on with the train, continued to be used for ordinary traffic, so that it was not submitted to expert examination till all traces of any slight derangement would naturally have disappeared.
About six o'clock that evening the body of Mdlle. Rochaïd was found in Crick Tunnel. It was lying with the head against the rail of the up-line about 190 yards from the Northampton end. It had evidently been dragged about thirty yards from where it had first struck the ground, for at that distance from it there was a distinct indentation in the loose granite and rubble of the permanent way, while displaced stones marked the course of its terrible career. If she had been murdered robbery had not been the motive, for the money in her two purses was intact, and of her ornaments nothing was missing but one small and not valuable bracelet and a silver medal attached to a thin gold chain recording her admission to a religious guild. Nor, as the post-mortem inspection showed, had she been criminally assaulted. There were also—-such at least is the medical report—-no indications that she had received any injuries except those which could be accounted for by her fall from the train. It must, however, be remembered, and we may add regretted, that the autopsy was not conducted by an expert. All we have to rely on for evidence on which so much depended, is the report of a general practitioner casually called in and quite unassisted. Two things seem clear. So mutilated was the poorgirl's body,so torn, dishevelled,and soiled her clothes that had she had any struggle with an assailant its effects would have been indistinguishable from the effects resulting from the dragging by the train; and, secondly, as the front part of the body was comparatively free from injuries it seems highly probable that she must have been precipitated backwards on to the line.
Such is the evidence on which any attempted solution of this problem must be based: obviously all that can be deduced from it is the determination of the direction in which the balance of probability inclines. Mdlle. Rochaïd's terrible death must have been the result either of accident or of panic terror inducing her to fling herself on to the line, or of suicide deliberate or impulsive, or finally of murder. Accident, may surely be eliminated. We have it on evidence which cannot be questioned that when the train left Northampton all the doors of the carriages were closed and the door handles in place and secure. When the train arrived at Rugby the glass window of the carriage in which she travelled was up, therefore she could not have fallen out in her attempt to raise it on entering the tunnel, for the act could not possibly have been completed on her fall. Mr. G. R. Sims's ingenious theory that she fell on the line in attempting to disengage her dress, on a portion of which a passenger alighting at Northampton had closed the door, is surely equally improbable. In the first place, she was wearing a tight-fitting body [?] which closely compressed her dress, and so made such an accident practically impossible. In the second place, supposing some part of it the dress had got loose and become impeded, is it likely that she would have travelled some fifteen miles before she discovered the impediment. Had she opened the door, too, less than an inch—-which can be done in that tunnel, or in any tunnel, with perfect ease and safety—-it would have sufficed for her purpose, and we have it on evidence that she was used to travelling and remarkably self-possessed. It may therefore be questioned whether she would have taken such a step at all, if she took it we may be quite sure she would, knowing the peril she incurred, have been very cautious. The handle of the door, which is a double-locking safety handle, and somewhat stiff, too, in its working, could not by any;conceivable accident have got turned. The door must have been deliberately opened. That she jumped out through the panic caused by a sudden attack of claustrophobia is an hypothesis absolutely untenable, and by the general testimony of all who knew her most intimately too absurd to be discussed. Of such a disease, though constantly in positions where, had it existed, it could not have failed to disclose itself, she never showed the slightest symptom.
But the theory that she may have been alarmed by some one in the carriage is by no means improbable. Such a person might have entered at any stage in her journey, as there is no evidence that she was alone after leaving Willesden. If this was the case, the person responsible for what l«d to her death must have left the carriage between Crick Tunnel and Rugby. This was certainly possible, but the possibility is limited. The speed at which the train was running would have effectually prevented escape till the platform at Rugby was reached. The inspector who saw the opened door, as soon as the train came in, is confident no one left the carriage at any part of the platform within his view, and that no one could have left it by the off door, because an engine, with its driver and stoker, was standing on the off-rails, and there were other men about who must have seen any one descend. If such an escape was made, it must have been at the extreme end of the platform, when the train would have slackened speed to about six miles an hour. A person so descending would have been a conspicuous object, dusk though it was, and could not, moreover, unless hew as an expert, have done so without great peril of serious injury, for he must have left from the footboard, a distance 4 1/2 feet from the ground. It may, therefore, be assumed that if the carriage was left after Crick Tunnel was passed, it could only have been left by some one who was accustomed to such exploits, or who had studied the art of them, possibly by the foot-board into another compartment of the coach—-those next and next but one to Mile. Rochaïd were empty-—possibly on to the extreme end of the platform, or even before that was reached. A man who is accustomed to such things can easily alight from a train when it is running from twelve to fourteen miles an hour; a man who is not would incur peril if its speed exceeded four. On the whole, then, we may feel pretty sure that the person, if such person there was, who wished to escape from the consequences of having occasioned Mdlle. Rochaïd's death was no ordinary passenger.
In all these hypotheses we have not probability even in a low degree. But the evidence and presumption pointing to the probability of suicide or of murder by some one who was either used to, or who had studied the art of, leaping from a train travelling from six to eight miles an hour are much stronger, and certainly justify very serious consideration.
It is quite clear that Mdlle. Rochaïd was of a highly sensitive, keenly susceptible, impulsive, and if "self-possessed" yet of somewhat neurotic temperament. There is ample testimony that radiant and sunny as her disposition was, she suffered at times from great depression. Her action in the cemetery at Dinard a few days before her death, and her requests to one of her friends and to her servant, though capable of an explanation which may have no significance in this direction, are at least indicative of a certain morbidness. That she left Euston in a very agitated state cannot be doubted. Her passionate attachment to Princethorpe and to her teachers and fellow pupils there, in whom her strongest affections were evidently centred, seem to have inspired her with a passionate, haunting sense of regret that the time was not far off when she must leave them, and she was leaving them, it seems, at midsummer. If all this was in her mind, if, moreover, there was anything associated with the memories of the place, disturbing or distressing, it would be then, as she was nearing it, that, impulse would be most tyrannous. She must have known that tunnel well, for she had frequently passed through it, and had self-destruction occurred to her it was there that it would have been likely to have suggested itself. But to all this there is much, and very much, to oppose. There is no evidence at all that the idea of suicide had ever been in her mind, or that she had ever had any reason for entertaining it. She was not merely religious, but enthusiastically religious, and her religion must have taught her that such an act would be a sin of the greatest magnitude. There is, it is true, no accounting for the turn which impulsive natures, under a great stress of excitement, will take; even religion will be perverted into the justification of what it most condemns. But the balance of probability surely inclines, and inclines very decidedly, towards the theory which involves none of the difficulties involved in the theory of suicide. We have only to assume that her death was caused by a person who could descend from a train travelling from twelve to fourteen, or even from six to eight miles an hour, or who could, when it was in mid career, make his way along the footboard from one carriage to another. The man may have been a homicidal maniac, or he may have been a sane man with some definite object in making away with her. That many such miscreants as the first are at large is certain, and the police know it.
But putting aside the theory of homicidal mania, it surely ought to be ascertained whether any one had anything to gain by the death of Mdlle. RochaId. And no pains ought to be spared to identify the stranger who conversed with her at Euston, and whose conversation appears so greatly to have upset her. It is certainly within the limits of possibility that that person was a man in disguise, and that that person entering the train got access in the course of the journey to the compartment in which she travelled, and was her murderer. That if probabilities be weighed and balanced, probability points, and points decidedly, to murder, can admit of no question.
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