inquests are held there, but it is up to the discretion of the coroner where he holds court. In rural areas it is often in a public house. In this case, it will be at Ho’s.”
“Ho’s?” I asked. “You mean he has not opened his tearoom again?”
“He never had the chance. After we left yesterday, the coroner arrived and ordered Poole to seal the room. I assume that was in order for the jurymen to see the tunnel and how everything is situated there. The coroner is Dr. Vandeleur.”
Vandeleur had been in our first case together. I could never forget how he had wanted to cut up a corpse because the victim had been crucified and he desired to write a piece about it for The Lancet. Now it would be we who were vivisected, if only in the dock as witnesses.
At two o’clock, Dr. Vandeleur was sitting behind a table facing the jury, in a spotless black frock coat, while a chair was reserved on the side of his table for witnesses. We and other interested persons sat in chairs along the sides of the room. I was rather nervous, knowing I must eventually give evidence in front of a crowd, but at the same time it was rather thrilling. Then I remembered why I was there—poor Bainbridge—and I was ashamed of my feelings. His widow, it was reported, had suffered nervous collapse and been sedated with laudanum. She would not be in attendance.
Vandeleur called the inquest to order and gave preliminary instructions to the thirteen men of the jury. Being a medical man rather than a legal one like most coroners, Vandeleur gave them all a brief lecture of what he had discovered during the postmortem. As expected, the cause of death had been due to the one bullet through the brain and Bainbridge had been in perfect health for a man of his age.
Next, the jury was taken back to the tunnel and the pertinent facts were presented. I am certain that the gentlemen were mystified as to how Ho’s was run and what its exact purpose was. Vandeleur and Poole were interested in that themselves.
I was called as the first witness and moved to the chair, feeling nervous. Barker had counseled me to keep my usual levity in my pocket for once, and I told the main features of the case as lucidly as possible. Also, on his advice, I left out any mention of the book. Perhaps it was because I went first, but there were comparatively few questions asked me by the coroner and none from the jurymen. Soon Vandeleur dismissed me and I crossed the room to my seat again.
Barker was interviewed next. He had replaced his dark spectacles with a simpler pair, with plain leather strips covering the sides. The attempt was to make him look like any other Londoner; and, as might be expected, it failed. His appearance created a murmur in the court which Vandeleur had to suppress with his gavel. For once, Barker was not as lucky as I. They asked him about the book almost immediately.
“Mr. Barker, would you please give us your history with Inspector Bainbridge?”
“A year ago the inspector was in charge of the investigation of the murder of my assistant Mr. Quong,” the Guv said in his Lowland Scots accent. “The case had never been resolved. Inspector Bainbridge came to my offices Wednesday morning, the fourth of February, 1885, having discovered a pawn ticket among the effects of my late assistant. With my assistant, Mr. Llewelyn, we proceeded to the establishment at 21 East India Dock Road and redeemed the ticket for a book on Chinese boxing.”
“Do you mean a book in Chinese or in English?”
“In Chinese. The book gave every indication of belonging to a monastery, so we took it to Mr. Ho to look at it, for he is a former monk. We discussed the book but came to no conclusion as to its worth or what we should do with it. Returning through the tunnel, Inspector Bainbridge was fatally shot and Mr. Llewelyn had a lantern shot out of his hand.”
A man spoke up from the side of the court. “I have a question, sir, about the book—”
“Might I know who the
“Ho’s?” I asked. “You mean he has not opened his tearoom again?”
“He never had the chance. After we left yesterday, the coroner arrived and ordered Poole to seal the room. I assume that was in order for the jurymen to see the tunnel and how everything is situated there. The coroner is Dr. Vandeleur.”
Vandeleur had been in our first case together. I could never forget how he had wanted to cut up a corpse because the victim had been crucified and he desired to write a piece about it for The Lancet. Now it would be we who were vivisected, if only in the dock as witnesses.
At two o’clock, Dr. Vandeleur was sitting behind a table facing the jury, in a spotless black frock coat, while a chair was reserved on the side of his table for witnesses. We and other interested persons sat in chairs along the sides of the room. I was rather nervous, knowing I must eventually give evidence in front of a crowd, but at the same time it was rather thrilling. Then I remembered why I was there—poor Bainbridge—and I was ashamed of my feelings. His widow, it was reported, had suffered nervous collapse and been sedated with laudanum. She would not be in attendance.
Vandeleur called the inquest to order and gave preliminary instructions to the thirteen men of the jury. Being a medical man rather than a legal one like most coroners, Vandeleur gave them all a brief lecture of what he had discovered during the postmortem. As expected, the cause of death had been due to the one bullet through the brain and Bainbridge had been in perfect health for a man of his age.
Next, the jury was taken back to the tunnel and the pertinent facts were presented. I am certain that the gentlemen were mystified as to how Ho’s was run and what its exact purpose was. Vandeleur and Poole were interested in that themselves.
I was called as the first witness and moved to the chair, feeling nervous. Barker had counseled me to keep my usual levity in my pocket for once, and I told the main features of the case as lucidly as possible. Also, on his advice, I left out any mention of the book. Perhaps it was because I went first, but there were comparatively few questions asked me by the coroner and none from the jurymen. Soon Vandeleur dismissed me and I crossed the room to my seat again.
Barker was interviewed next. He had replaced his dark spectacles with a simpler pair, with plain leather strips covering the sides. The attempt was to make him look like any other Londoner; and, as might be expected, it failed. His appearance created a murmur in the court which Vandeleur had to suppress with his gavel. For once, Barker was not as lucky as I. They asked him about the book almost immediately.
“Mr. Barker, would you please give us your history with Inspector Bainbridge?”
“A year ago the inspector was in charge of the investigation of the murder of my assistant Mr. Quong,” the Guv said in his Lowland Scots accent. “The case had never been resolved. Inspector Bainbridge came to my offices Wednesday morning, the fourth of February, 1885, having discovered a pawn ticket among the effects of my late assistant. With my assistant, Mr. Llewelyn, we proceeded to the establishment at 21 East India Dock Road and redeemed the ticket for a book on Chinese boxing.”
“Do you mean a book in Chinese or in English?”
“In Chinese. The book gave every indication of belonging to a monastery, so we took it to Mr. Ho to look at it, for he is a former monk. We discussed the book but came to no conclusion as to its worth or what we should do with it. Returning through the tunnel, Inspector Bainbridge was fatally shot and Mr. Llewelyn had a lantern shot out of his hand.”
A man spoke up from the side of the court. “I have a question, sir, about the book—”
“Might I know who the
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