Cook’s own conduct afterwards proved that his illness was owing to his having drunk too much. He got up in the morning, breakfasted with Palmer, was good friends with him, and went with him to Rugeley. At Rugeley they received Pratt’s letter of the 13th, in consequence of which Palmer wrote to Pratt to say that some one would call upon him and pay him £200, and Cook wrote to Fisher and asked him to call on Pratt and pay this money. Does that look as though he thought there had been an attempt to poison him? Mrs. Brooks, who gave her evidence in a most creditable manner, proved that there was much sickness among the strangers who were at Shrewsbury; and the rest of her evidence did not tell much against Palmer, who might, after Cook’s complaint, very naturally have been looking at the tumbler to see if anything had been put into it. Cook got worse, and at last had the good sense to put his money into Fisher’s hands and go to bed. He was still very sick, and a doctor was sent for, who recommended an emetic. Cook made himself sick by drinking warm water and putting the handle of a toothbrush down his throat. He took a pill and a black draught, went to sleep, and next morning was quite well. This is really too ludicrous to receive a moment’s consideration. A person named Myatt was in the room at the Raven all the evening. He has been put into the box, but I shall call him, and you will hear his account. Palmer and Cook having got back to Rugeley the history of the slow poisoning continues. They went there together, and probably talked on the way of their difficulties and the mode of getting out of them, and of the small way that the winnings at Shrewsbury would go to effect that object, both seeing ruin staring them in the face unless the Prince of Wales Insurance-office could be made to pay the money which was due, and they could meanwhile remain free from all suspicion of insolvency or any sort of misconduct. When they got to Rugeley they provided for the temporary difficulty by sending £200 to Pratt. They were then evidently on friendly terms, Cook’s winnings being at Palmer’s service, and probably both effecting their objects, because, as it would appear from what Palmer said, Cook had some interest in the bills which were outstanding. Probably his name might not be upon them, but as they were engaged in these racing transactions, were joint owners of one horse and had the same trainer, they were very probably equally interested in these bills—were in fact what I remember to have once heard a nobleman well known upon the turf call “confederates.” The frequency of Palmer’s visits to Cook during the illness of the latter at Rugeley affords no ground of suspicion against the prisoner. On the contrary, it tells in his favour. Cook had no friend in the town but Palmer, with whom he may almost be said to have been on a visit; for though he did not sleep in Palmer’s house Palmer was in continual attendance on him, and, owing to the close proximity of his own residence, was enabled to bring him many little delicacies not easily attainable at an inn. Had he neglected the sick man, and only visited him occasionally, the inference of the Crown would probably have been that he was a black-hearted scoundrel, who only looked in now and then to give him his poison; but as he was zealously and laboriously attentive to him the conclusion is that he must have murdered him!
It is said that Palmer was guilty of a falsehood in representing Cook as suffering from diarrhœa; but that is to put a very violent and a very uncharitable construction on his words, for you will remember that Bamford swore to Cook having told him that his bowels had been affected twice or three times on Sunday. But, leaving these minor points, I come to one which in this case of circumstantial evidence is of the very last importance, and should be deemed decisive of the prisoner’s innocence. The supposition of the Crown is, that Palmer intended to dose Cook with antimony—to keep his stomach in continual irritation by vomiting, in order that he might the more surely despatch him with strychnine; and that during Sunday, the day on which he insisted on his taking the broth, Cook was under the influence of this insidious treatment. Now, supposing this to be true, and assuming it to be the fact that Palmer was indeed bent upon destroying Cook by this singular process, is it not manifest that there is one man who of all the men in the world would have been the very last whom he would have selected to be a witness of his proceedings? That man is a surgeon in the prime of life, a man intimately acquainted with Cook, and very much attached to him—Mr. Jones, of Lutterworth. Yet this is the very man to whom, when he is about to set out for London, Palmer writes a letter informing him that Cook is ill, and urging him to come over and see him without delay. I entreat of you to appreciate the full importance of that fact. The more you think of it the more profound will become your conviction that it affords evidence irrefragable of Palmer’s innocence. The imputation is that Palmer meant to kill Cook to possess himself of his winnings. Who was with Cook when the race was won? Who was by his side on the Shrewsbury racecourse for the three minutes that he was speechless? Who saw him take out his pocketbook and count up his winnings? Who but Jones?—Jones, who was his bosom friend, his companion, his confidant, and who knew to the last farthing the amount of his gains. Jones was of all men living the most likely to be the recipient of Cook’s confidence, and the man who was bound by every consideration of honour, friendship, and affection to protect him, to vindicate his cause, and to avenge his death. Yet this was the man for whom Palmer sent, that he might converse with Cook, receive his confidences, minister to him in his illness, and even sleep in the same room with him!
How, if Palmer is the murderer they represent him, are you to account for his summoning Jones to the bedside of the sick man? If Cook really suspected—which we are assured he did—that Palmer was poisoning him, Jones was the man to whom he would most willingly have unbosomed himself, and in whose faithful ear he would have most eagerly disburdened the perilous stuff that weighed upon his own brain. Palmer and Jones were both medical men; and it is not improbable that, in the course of his studies, the latter may have noted in his classbook the very passages respecting the operation of strychnine which also attracted the attention of the former. Is it conceivable that if Palmer meant to slay Cook with poison in the dead of the night he would have previously ensured the presence, in his victim’s bed-room, of a medical witness, who would know from the symptoms that the man was not dying a natural death? He brings a medical man into the room, and makes him lie within a few inches of the sick man’s bed, that he may hear his terrific shrieks, and witness those agonising convulsions which indicate the fatal potency of poison! Can you believe it? He might have despatched him by means that would have defied detection, for Cook was taking morphia medicinally, and a grain or two more would have silently thrown him into an eternal sleep. But, instead of doing so, he sends to Lutterworth for Jones. You have been told that this was done to cover appearances. Done to cover appearances! No—no—no! You cannot believe it. It is not in human nature. It cannot be true. You cannot find him guilty—you dare not find him guilty on the supposition of its truth. The country will not stand by you if you believe it to be true. You will be impeached before the world if you say that it is true. I believe in my conscience that it is false, and that, consistently with the rules that govern human nature, it cannot possibly be true. [Sensation and murmurs of applause.] With respect to the interviews and dialogues that took place between the prisoner and Mr. Stevens, I contend that, so far from telling against the former, they are in his favour. There is nothing but the evidence of a kind and considerate nature in the fact of his having ordered “a shell and a strong oak coffin” for the deceased; nor is it possible to torture into a presumption of guilt the few words of irritation that may have fallen from the prisoner in the course of a conversation in which Mr. Stevens treated him with scorn, not to say insolence.
With respect to the betting-book, many persons had access to Cook’s room—servants, both men and women, undertaker’s men, and barbers; and though I do not venture to mark out any particular person for suspicion, any one of them may have purloined the book and been afraid to return it. It is not fair in a case of this momentous importance to affix the opprobrium on a man who is not proved to have ever had it in his hand. The Crown had no doubt originally intended to rely upon the prisoner’s medical books as affording damning proof of his guilt; but I will refer to those volumes for evidences that will speak eloquently in his favour. In youth and early manhood there is no such protection for a man as the society of an innocent and virtuous woman to whom he is sincerely attached. If you find a young man devoted to such a woman, loving her dearly, and marrying her for the love he bears her, you may depend upon it that he is a man of a humane and gentle nature, little prone to deeds of violence. To such a woman was Palmer attached in his youth, and I will bring you proof positive to show that the volumes cited against him were the books he used when a student, and that the manuscript passages are in the handwriting of his wife. His was a marriage of the heart. He loved that young and virtuous woman with a pure and generous affection; he loved her as he now loves her first-born, who awaits with trembling anxiety the verdict that will restore him to the arms of his father, or drive that father to an ignominious death upon the scaffold. [The prisoner here covered his face with his hands and shed tears.] Here in this book I have conclusive evidence of the kind of man that Palmer was seven years ago. I find in its pages the copy of a letter addressed by him while still a student to the woman whom he afterwards made his wife. It is as follows:—
“My dearest Annie,—I snatch a moment from my studies to write to your dear, dear little self. I need scarcely say that the principal inducement I have to work is the desire of getting my studies finished, so as to be able to press your dear little form in my arms. With best, best love, believe me, dearest Annie,
Your own William.”
Now this is not the sort of letter that is generally read in courts of justice. It was no part of my instructions to read that letter, but the book was put in to prove that this man is a wicked, heartless, savage desperado; and I show you what he was seven years ago—that he was a man who loved a young woman for her own sake—loved her with a pure and virtuous affection—such an affection as would, in almost all natures, be a certain antidote against guilt. Such is the man whom it has been my duty to defend upon this occasion, and upon the evidence that is before you I cannot believe him to be guilty. Don’t suppose, gentlemen, that he is unsupported in this dreadful trial by his family and his friends. An aged mother, who may have disapproved of some part of his conduct, awaits with trembling anxiety your verdict; a dear sister can scarcely support herself under the suspense which now presses upon her; a brave and gallant brother stands by him to defend him, and spares neither time nor trouble to save him from an awful doom. I call upon you, gentlemen, to raise your minds to a capacity to estimate the high duty which you have to perform. You have to stem the torrent of prejudice; you have to vindicate the honour and character of your country; you have, with firmness and courage, to do your duty, and to find a verdict for the Crown if you believe that guilt is proved; but, if you have a doubt on that point, depend upon it that the time will come when the innocence of that man will be made apparent, and then you will deeply regret any want of due and calm consideration of the case which it has been my duty to lay before you.
The speech of the learned Serjeant occupied exactly eight hours in its delivery. There were some slight indications of an attempt to applaud at its conclusion, but they were instantly repressed.
The Court then adjourned till 10 o’clock next morning.