4: Court Proceedings Commence

Eight weeks went by. Once more I took the ferry to St. Peter Port and spent an hour in Fenlon’s cell, reassuring him as best I could that all would go well. Holmes would be arriving on the morrow for the start of proceedings. The next day I arrived early at the Royal Courts to guarantee myself a front-row seat in the public gallery, placing my bowler hat and ulster on the adjacent seat to keep it free for Holmes’s arrival straight from the night ferry. A grinning man waved to me from the press gallery. It was Howard Hensman, the special correspondent who had covered the Battle of Maiwand for the Allahabad Pioneer. At his side was another face I recognised from Afghanistan, the newspaperman Hector Macpherson of The Standard, and next to him, Horace Harker of the Central Press Syndicate. My heart sank. It seemed half the world’s press intended to cover the event.

Fenlon was brought through an underground tunnel. from his cell into the chamber. In military uniform, complete with sabre, he looked every inch the beau sabreur, further accentuated by the soldierly moustache he had grown during his incarceration in the Island gaol. His face fell at the sight of the empty space beside me. The repeated withdrawal and re-tucking of a handkerchief into his sleeve was the only hint of how overwhelmed he felt by the ordeal he was about to undergo.

There was no sign of Holmes. I bent forward to scrutinise the rows of chairs beneath the gallery. He should be in the building by now. Had he missed the overnight ferry?

Sir Thomas Godfrey Carey, the Bailiff, entered and took the seat reserved for judges, flanked by the quorate of Jurats in pink robes. Both Carey’s and the Jurats’ names showed they were distinguished members of the Island’s most ancient families – Martels, Careys, Domailles, Brouards, Le Cocqs, Mainguys. The case for the Crown was headed by the Queen’s Procurer Mr. Godfrey De Garis and the Queen’s Comptroller Mr. E. C. Ozanne. In Guernsey legal proceedings are usually in French. Counsel for the Defence, Advocate William Giffard, explained to Sir Thomas that while Colonel Fenlon spoke fluent Pashto and Hindko, his French was hesitant. The court therefore agreed proceedings would be conducted in English. Defence Counsel Giffard then clarified his client would not be entering a plea. After a confirmatory nod from Fenlon, Sir Thomas said, “For the record, on October 10, 1896 the trial of Colonel Michael Fenlon on a charge of murder is commencing. He has chosen not to enter a plea and as is now customary in these circumstances the plea of Not Guilty will be entered on his behalf.”

The proceedings were momentarily halted when the

Greffier (Her Majesty’s Clerk) brought in a note for Defence Advocate Giffard who read it, nodded his thanks to the clerk, and placed it in a pocket.

The Queen’s Comptroller Ozanne outlined the Prosecution’s charge against the Defendant, namely Malice prépensée, in the present instance administering a substance with intent to kill, The Comptroller related how at around 8 p.m. on the evening in question Brigadier-General Delves and Colonel Fenlon embarked on a tour of pubs, commencing in St. Peter Port and arriving towards 10 p.m. for a last drink at the New Moon Inn in the parish of St. Martin. The New Moon landlord Woodland took the stand. He described how two men in military uniform arrived at his pub. The senior officer, a Brigadier-General, produced a bottle of arrack from a carrier-bag and asked him to mix it with equal amounts of brandy from the bar, proclaiming old times’ sake. Questioned on the atmosphere between the two men, the landlord described the Brigadier-General conspicuously engaging the Defendant Colonel Fenlon in the most friendly and animated way.

At around 10 o’clock the pair left the New Moon Inn for their hotel. Within minutes of their departure, news was brought to the pub that the Brigadier-General lay comatose in the grounds of Morley Chapel, a short distance down the road to St. Peter Port. He was subsequently rushed by pony and trap to the hospital emergency ward where he died.

“The case for the Crown,” the Queen’s Comptroller continued, “will start with a significant and disturbing finding. An empty glass phial was discovered under a chair at the New Moon Inn, the sort of bottle chemists use to dispense various concoctions and patent medicines. Fingermarks on it have proved to be those of the Defendant.”

Looking directly at the Jurats, he added, “|Unfortunately Colonel Fenlon has refused to offer any information on the matter. Under the Law as it presently stands, the Prosecution is not able to put the Defendant in the Dock to question him. He has the advantage that while a new Criminal Evidence Act to reverse his right to refuse cross examination passed on to the statute books in August this year, it will not come into force until New Year’s Day.”

Three principal medical witnesses were brought to the stand in quick succession, starting with Drs. George Ryan and Thomas Thornhill who had been on duty at the hospital when the Brigadier-General was brought in. Both told the court they had initially judged he died from alcoholic poisoning. Death from alcoholic poisoning was not, “after all is said and done”, an uncommon assumption for men in the services. That would have been the end of the unfortunate matter except the stomach had been removed and sent to the States Official Analyst, for rigorous testing.

“This was not because of any suspicion of poisoning,” Dr. Thornhill added, “but a matter of form,” given the high status of the deceased.

Official Analyst John Nickolls was brought to the witness box and sworn in. He confirmed he had carried out the inspection on the stomach contents.

“I expected it to be a routine inspection,” he told the Court, “but to my surprise, in addition to the copious amount of alcohol in his system, the stomach contents included peppermint, ether, sugar, chloroform and morphia, principal ingredients of Chlorodyne, a patent medicine.”

“In your opinion, therefore,” the Comptroller asked, “the copious quantities of alcohol combined with a phial of the size found at the New Moon Inn containing up to 44 grammes of Chlorodyne was the probable cause of Delves’s death?”

“Especially considering the rapid onset of death, yes,” came the reply. “It would be additive.”

The Queen’s Comptroller asked, “Mr Nickolls, for those of us not acquainted with Chlorodyne, could you kindly explain exactly what it is?”

“It’s a patent medicine which usually includes laudanum – opium being its chief ingredient – chloroform and cannabis,” Nickolls replied. “Chlorodyne was first developed in India during an outbreak of cholera in 1848 as an anti-diarrhoeal remedy by British Army surgeon J. Collis Browne.”

The Prosecuting Counsel looked pointedly at the Jurats before turning back to the witness.

“Developed in India, you say? And you imply it can be lethal in combination with alcohol?”

“If both quantities are sufficient,” Nickolls repeated. “The effects of the depressive drug in the Chlorodyne would take around 20 to 30 minutes to develop and would be additive with ethanol. Respiratory arrest would occur.”

“Meaning?”

“The individual would simply stop breathing and die,”

Nickolls replied.

Comptroller Ozanne resumed, “We have heard that Brigadier-General Delves drank quantities of rum at an earlier pub followed by a considerable amount of arrack and brandy at the New Moon Inn. Combined with Chlorodyne would that be sufficient alcohol to be lethal?”

“Certainly,” came the reply. “Arrack contains a large amount of methanol. When ingested, the body metabolises methanol into formaldehyde and formic acid. Methanol poisoning alone can cause blindness, organ failure, coma, and death.”

“So the addition of a phial of Chlorodyne on top of rum, arrack and brandy would cause death to come quicker and with more certainty than through alcoholic poisoning alone?”

“It would.”

“As quickly as it did in the case of the deceased?”

“Yes.”

“So can we say death may not have occurred without the Chlorodyne?”

“Conceivably,” Nickolls replied. “If the deceased had drunk a large quantity of the alcohol without the addition of the other substances, he may have been saved.”

Assistant Constable Renouf replaced the Official Analyst on the witness stand. Renouf had made a round of the three pubs on the two men’s itinerary, ending with a journey to the New Moon Inn to speak to the Woodlands – the father, mother and daughter – who ran the pub.

“Mr. Woodland told me they arrived at the New Moon Inn sometime around 9 in the evening and left around 10,” Renouf explained. “The following morning when Mrs. Woodland was cleaning the bar-room floor she found a phial where Colonel Fenlon had been sitting. It carried no label, only the letters WD and an arrow etched on the glass.”

Mrs. Woodland was invited to the witness box. She repeated what she had told Assistant Constable Renouf. While sweeping up the wood-shavings and cleaning the floor she came across the glass phial. She picked it up and left it on a kitchen shelf in case it might be reclaimed. She was asked why her own finger-marks had not been found on the glass surface.

“Cleaning the tables means using carbolic,” she explained, “so I always wear gloves.”

Her daughter was called to give evidence. She said she ‘thought’ she had seen Colonel Fenlon briefly bend down under the table that night.

The Queen’s Procurer pulled on a glove. With a dramatic gesture he produced an empty glass phial and held it up.

“This is the phial Mrs. Woodland found under a chair at the New Moon Inn – the very chair on which the Defendant sat that evening! The bottle is now empty. However, you heard the testimony of the Official Analyst. This phial recently contained up to 44 grammes of Chlorodyne. That potion in that quantity, let alone combined with alcohol, can kill a man quickly. You have heard that after stringent testing, the stomach of the victim was found to contain peppermint, ether and sugar but above all, chloroform and morphia, the principal ingredients of Chlorodyne. You also heard the Assistant Constable testify that the phial in question – this one – was etched with an arrow and the initials WD. The arrow and those letters show it is a War Department bottle!”

The Queen’s Procurer pointed an accusing finger at the prisoner: “Colonel Fenlon had years of service in India, a country prone to outbreaks of cholera. He would be well aware of the ingredients of Chlorodyne – after all, it was invented by a doctor in the British Indian Army. Moreover,” he added, turning again to look directly at the Jurats, “there is a partial forefinger mark and a partial thumb mark on the glass. The police have compared them with fresh prints taken from the accused and pronounced them identical. Combined with the Defendant’s inexplicable refusal to assert his innocence, I suggest this all constitutes conclusive evidence of guilt.”

With a theatrical motion the prosecuting counsel turned to look up at the Bailiff.

“Your Honour, to confirm this match of prints beyond any possible doubt, I am about to bring in one further witness, a world expert on fingermarks.”

During the proceedings Fenlon had been seated expressionless in the dock. Every few minutes he raised his hands towards me as though to ask “What of Holmes?”. Again he looked across the chamber to where I sat, giving a wan smile.

I too was growing alarmed. Everyone present in the court, including the public around me, seemed to be being swept along to the conclusion that Fenlon was guilty. Unquestionably Fenlon knew the value (and danger) of Chlorodyne from his days on the North-West Frontier, just as I did in my role as medical surgeon. Combined with the evidence of the Woodlands family at the New Moon Inn and the medical testimony, the prints on the bottle were damning.

Bailiff Carey looked down at the Queen’s Comptroller.

“Mr. Ozanne, we have had a long morning. You repeatedly refer to prints on the bottle and assert they are the Defendant’s. You now plan to bring in a world expert on fingermarks, to assure the court beyond doubt there is no chance of mistaken identification. May I ask how long we have to wait for this witness to arrive? If he’s to hand, kindly bring him in at once. Any further delay and I suggest we take a recess.”

Ozanne looked across at the Greffier standing at the door of the chamber. The Greffier nodded. Ozanne looked up at the Bailiff.

“I am told our expert is here, Monsieur Le Bailif...” he said.

In an overly exaggerated manner Ozanne turned towards the entryway and called out loudly, “...and I now invite Europe’s premier Connoisseur of malefaction to be sworn in as my final witness for the Prosecution!”

Like an actor emerging from the wings, Sherlock Holmes strode into the court. My jaw dropped. Uproar erupted in the public and press galleries. All around me people were clambering to their feet to get a better view. I could hear the rasp of charcoal as the newspaper artist frantically sketched the new arrival. On hearing the words ‘as witness for the Prosecution’, Fenlon gave a yelp of dismay. He had gone white with shock.