A tall, handsome woman, fashionably attired, stepped into the witness-box and took the oath. In response to the question put her by the counsel for the defence, she stated that her name was Wilhelmina Montgomery, and that she was the widow of George Montgomery, late of Sheffield. “I live at No. 13, Bridgeworth Road, Richmond,” she continued. “I first met the witness, Victor Fensden, at Baden, while travelling with some friends, in December last. We became very intimate, and, when he returned to England early in March, he called upon me at my house. Eventually he asked me to marry him, and after some hesitation I consented to do so. I have three thousand a year invested in Consols, and a considerable amount of ready money lying idle at the bank. This may or may not have been his motive, but I have no knowledge of that. Mr. Fensden was anxious for an immediate marriage, but to this I would not consent. I knew that he was in the hands of the Jews, but I would have paid off his indebtedness after marriage. He stayed at my house on several occasions, as did others of my friends. One day I went out to do some shopping, and on my return discovered him in my boudoir. He held a piece of yellow soap in his hand and a large number of door-keys were spread out on the table before him. I asked him what he was doing, and he answered that he was endeavouring to find a key similar to the one he had lost. My housekeeper had furnished him with several, and he had at last found one that fitted the imprint in the soap. On the night of the murder he informed me that it would be necessary for him to attend an important meeting, and that it was just possible he would not be back until late. As a matter of fact, it was considerably after one o’clock, perhaps half-past one, when he returned. On the Saturday following he left me to go down to Midlandshire to pay a visit to an old friend, he said, who was about to be married. Before he went he once more pressed me for an early marriage, suggesting, knowing that I am fond of travelling, that we should immediately set off for a long trip round the world.”
The box which had contained the hands was then handed to her, and she was asked if she recognised it.
“Yes,” she answered immediately. “If you look underneath I think you will find a large inkstain. (This proved to be the case.) I brought some things in it from Vienna. How Mr. Fensden obtained possession of it, however, I do not know.”
The counsel for the prosecution having no questions to ask, the witness was allowed to stand down.
“Call Joseph Hodder,” said Mr. Rolland, and, to Godfrey’s amazement, one of his own under-gardeners entered the box. Having taken the oath, he stated, in reply to the counsel’s question, that, on the Sunday following the murder, it was his duty to attend to the stoking of the fires of the various conservatories at the Hall. He knew that his master and the ladies had gone to Church, because he had passed them in the park, and that the strange gentleman had remained at home, because, when he had passed the drawing-room window on his way to his work, he saw him sitting before the fire reading. Having attended to the fires in the vineries and other garden-houses, he returned to the Hall itself to look after the heat in the new winter garden that Mr. Henderson had built. From this house in question it is quite possible to see into the studio, and, to his surprise, he discovered the gentleman visitor was no longer in the drawing-room, but was kneeling beside the big bookcase near the fireplace in the studio. It looked as if he were feeling for something behind it, but what that something was he had no idea. When he was asked why he had not given information on this matter before, he replied that he had not attached any importance to it until he had talked it over with the head gardener on the day following the search by the police. Then he had gone to Miss Henderson, and had told her. She had written at once to his master’s lawyer, and that was all he knew about it.
“The evidence of this man,” said Mr. Rolland, “completes my case.”
The words had scarcely left his lips before Victor Fensden was seen to spring to his feet. Once more he opened his mouth as if to speak, and once more he failed to utter a word. Then, with a loud cry, he fell forward in a swoon. Two of the policemen near at hand ran forward to pick him up. Between them, they carried him out of the Court to an adjoining room. In the Court itself at that moment, it would have been possible to have heard a pin drop. Then the judge found his voice.
“Gentlemen,” he said, addressing the jury, “after the astounding evidence you have just heard, I am thankful to say that, in my opinion, there is not the least shadow of a reason for continuing the case against the prisoner at the bar. In this I feel sure you will concur with me.”
The foreman of the jury entirely agreed with his lordship, and at the same time desired to express, on behalf of himself and his brother jurymen, their great regret that a gentleman of Mr. Henderson’s position should, by another man’s action, have been placed in such an unhappy predicament.