The Greatest Thrillers of Fergus Hume. Fergus Hume

of hat was it he wore—a wide-awake?

      A. Yes. The brim was turned down, and I could see only his mouth and moustache.

      Q. What did he say when you asked him if he knew the deceased?

      A. He said he didn’t; that he had just picked him up.

      Q. And afterwards he seemed to recognise him?

      A. Yes. When the deceased looked up he said “You!” and let him fall on to the ground; then he walked away towards Bourke Street.

      Q. Did he look back?

      A. Not that I saw.

      Q. How long were you looking after him?

      A. About a minute.

      Q. And when did you see him again?

      A. After I put deceased into the cab I turned round and found him at my elbow.

      Q. And what did he say?

      A. I said, “Oh! you’ve come back,” and he said, “Yes, I’ve changed my mind, and will see him home,” and then he got into the cab, and told me to drive to St. Kilda.

      Q. He spoke then as if he knew the deceased?

      A. Yes; I thought that he recognised him only when he looked up, and perhaps having had a row with him walked away, but thought he’d come back.

      Q. Did you see him coming back?

      A. No; the first I saw of him was at my elbow when I turned.

      Q. And when did he get out? A. Just as I was turning down by the Grammar School on the St. Kilda Road.

      Q. Did you hear any sounds of fighting or struggling in the cab during the drive?

      A. No; the road was rather rough, and the noise of the wheels going over the stones would have prevented my hearing anything.

      Q. When the gentleman in the light coat got out did he appear disturbed?

      A. No; he was perfectly calm.

      Q. How could you tell that?

      A. Because the moon had risen, and I could see plainly.

      Q. Did you see his face then?

      A. No; his hat was pulled down over it. I only saw as much as I did when he entered the cab in Collins Street.

      Q. Were his clothes torn or disarranged in any way?

      A. No; the only difference I remarked in him was that his coat was buttoned.

      Q. And was it open when he got in?

      A. No; but it was when he was holding up the deceased.

      Q. Then he buttoned it before he came back and got into the cab?

      A. Yes. I suppose so.

      Q. What did he say when he got out of the cab on the St. Kilda Road?

      A. He said that the deceased would not let him take him home, and that he would walk back to Melbourne.

      Q. And you asked him where you were to drive the deceased to?

      A. Yes; and he said that the deceased lived either in Grey Street or Ackland Street, St. Kilda, but that the deceased would direct me at the Junction.

      Q. Did you not think that the deceased was too drunk to direct you?

      A. Yes, I did; but his friend said that the sleep and the shaking of the cab would sober him a bit by the time I got to the Junction.

      Q. The gentleman in the light coat apparently did not know where the deceased lived?

      A. No; he said it was either in Ackland Street or Grey Street.

      Q. Did you not think that curious?

      A. No; I thought he might be a club friend of the deceased.

      Q. For how long did the man in the light coat talk to you?

      A. About five minutes.

      Q. And during that time you heard no noise in the cab?

      A. No; I thought the deceased had gone to sleep.

      Q. And after the man in the light coat said “good-night” to the deceased, what happened?

      A. He lit a cigarette, gave me a half-sovereign, and walked off towards Melbourne.

      Q. Did you observe if the gentleman in the light coat had his handkerchief with him?

      A. Oh, yes; because he dusted his boots with it. The road was very dusty.

      Q. Did you notice any striking peculiarity about him?

      A. Well, no; except that he wore a diamond ring.

      Q. What was there peculiar about that?

      A. He wore it on the forefinger of the right hand, and I never saw it that way before.

      Q. When did you notice this?

      A. When he was lighting his cigarette.

      Q. How often did you call to the deceased when you got to the Junction?

      A. Three or four times. I then got down, and found he was quite dead.

      Q. How was he lying?

      A. He was doubled up in the far corner of the cab, very much in the same position as I left him when I put him in. His head was hanging on one side, and there was a handkerchief across his mouth. When I touched him he fell into the other corner of the cab, and then I found out he was dead. I immediately drove to the St. Kilda police station and told the police.

      At the conclusion of Royston’s evidence, during which Gorby had been continually taking notes, Robert Chinston was called. He deposed:—

      I am a duly qualified medical practitioner, residing in Collins Street East. I made a POST-MORTEM examination of the body of the deceased on Friday.

      Q. That was within a few hours of his death?

      A. Yes, judging from the position of the handkerchief and the presence of chloroform that the deceased had died from the effects of ANAESTHESIA, and knowing how rapidly the poison evaporates I made the examination at once.

      Coroner: Go on, sir.

      Dr. Chinston: Externally, the body was healthy-looking and well nourished. There were no marks of violence. The staining apparent at the back of the legs and trunk was due to POST-MORTEM congestion. Internally, the brain was hyperaemic, and there was a considerable amount of congestion, especially apparent in the superficial vessels. There was no brain disease. The lungs were healthy, but slightly congested. On opening the thorax there was a faint spirituous odour discernible. The stomach contained about a pint of completely digested food. The heart was flaccid. The right-heart contained a considerable quantity of dark, fluid blood. There was a tendency to fatty degeneration of that organ.

      I am of opinion that the deceased died from the inhalation of some such vapour as chloroform or methylene.

      Q. You say there was a tendency to fatty degeneration of the heart? Would that have anything to do with the death of deceased?

      A. Not of itself. But chloroform administered while the heart was in such a state would have a decided tendency to accelerate the fatal result. At the same time, I may mention that the POST-MORTEM signs of poisoning by chloroform are mostly negative.

      Dr. Chinston was then permitted to retire, and Clement Rankin, another hansom cabman, was called. He deposed: I am a cabman, living in Collingwood, and usually drive a hansom cab. I remember Thursday last. I had driven a party down to St. Kilda, and was returning about half-past one o’clock. A short distance past the Grammar School I was hailed by a gentleman in a light coat; he was smoking a cigarette, and told me to drive him to Powlett Street, East Melbourne. I did so, and he got out at the corner of Wellington Parade and Powlett