Dr. Morelle Investigates by Ernest Dudley

Author:Ernest Dudley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: traditional British mystery, crime, mystery, murder, detective
ISBN: 9781434448088
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2012-09-13T16:00:00+00:00

ACT OF VIOLENCE

(Adapted from the radio play by Ernest Dudley)

In the courtroom of the Old Bailey there came the sound of the shuffling of feet as the Jury returned. The Clerk of the Court cleared his throat, then his voice came clearly:

“Members of the Jury, are you agreed upon your verdict?”

“We are.” The Foreman of the Jury answered.

“Do you find the prisoner, Robert Griffiths, Guilty or Not Guilty of murder?” the Clerk asked.

“Guilty.”

“You find the prisoner Guilty and that is the verdict of you all?” the Clerk pressed.

“That is our unanimous verdict,” the Foreman confirmed.

The Clerk turned to look at the accused man. “Prisoner at the bar, you stand convicted of murder; have you anything to say why sentence of death should not be passed upon you according to law?”

An anguished expression passed over Robert Griffith’s face. “I’m innocent. I’m absolutely innocent!” he pleaded.

Above and to one side of him the Judge looked down at him, stone-faced and unmoved. “Robert James Griffiths,” he said implacably, “the sentence of the Court upon you is that you be taken from this place to a lawful prison and thence to a place of execution and that you be hanged by the neck until you are dead....”

* * * * * * *

Miss Frayle answered the telephone. “Hello? This is Dr. Morelle’s secretary.”

She listened as a Welsh voice sounded in the receiver. “Is that Dr. Morelle’s house in Conway?”

“Yes; who is that?”

“Professor Owen,” the caller answered. “I’m speaking from Little Conway.”

“Oh, hello, Professor.” Miss Frayle recognized the caller. “This is Miss Frayle. I’m up here with Dr. Morelle.”

“I thought he was staying at Conway for a holiday,” Owen said, puzzled.

“That was the original idea,” Miss Frayle conceded. “Then he decided there was some work he must do, and here I am.” She added, dryly: “It makes a change from London, anyway.”

“I was going to ask him to come over for dinner this evening,” Owen said uncertainly.

“I’m sure he’d like to,” Miss Frayle said reassuringly. “He’s working with the dictaphone at the moment, shall I get him for you?”

“I don’t want to disturb him. If he can’t come this evening, what about tomorrow evening?”

“Tomorrow—that’s Saturday, isn’t it, Professor Owen?”

“Is it? Oh, yes, so it is.”

Miss Frayle smiled. “I think you’d better hold on, while I get the Doctor.”

“If you’re sure it’s not bothering him?”

“Of course not, he’d like to speak to you.” Miss Frayle laid the receiver down, and went in search of Dr. Morelle in the next room.

Dr. Morelle was murmuring into a Dictaphone: “A certain Australian tribe buries the murdered victim’s corpse and smoothes the earth round the grave, A watch is kept on the grave, and the first insect that runs over it, shows the direction in which to look for the murderer....” He broke off as the door opened, and his secretary entered.

“Oh, Dr. Morelle— It’s Professor Owen on the phone for you.”

“Let me switch off the machine.”

Miss Frayle waited respectfully, then said: “He wants to know if you can go over for dinner this evening.

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