The “information” was read by the clerk, in which I was charged with culpable negligence and wilfully doing certain things that caused the death of Blanche Colford. I stood there in the dock listening, and wondering what possible evidence could be adduced against me in support of such a charge. After the formal witnesses, relations and doctors, who testified to my being called in to attend on Lady Colford, to the course of the illness and the cause of death, etc., Sir John Bell was called. “Now,” I thought to myself, “this farce will come to an end, for Bell will explain the facts.”
The counsel for the prosecution began by asking Sir John various questions concerning the terrible malady known as puerperal fever, and especially with reference to its contagiousness. Then he passed on to the events of the day when I was called in to attend upon Lady Colford. Sir John described how he had visited my late wife, and, from various symptoms which she had developed somewhat suddenly, to his grief and surprise, had come to the conclusion that she had fallen victim to puerperal fever. This evidence, to begin with, was not true, for although he suspected the ailment on that afternoon he was not sure of it until the following morning.
“What happened then, Sir John?” asked the counsel.
“Leaving my patient I hurried downstairs to see Dr. Therne, and found him just stepping from his consulting-room into the hall.”
“Did he speak to you?”
“Yes. He said ‘How do you do?’ and then added, before I could tell him about his wife, ‘I am rather in luck to-day; they are calling me in to take Lady Colford’s case.’ I said I was glad to hear it, but that I thought he had better let some one else attend her ladyship. He looked astonished, and asked why. I said, ‘Because, my dear fellow, I am afraid that your wife has developed puerperal fever, and the nurse tells me that you were in her room not long ago.’ He replied that it was impossible, as he had looked at her and thought her all right except for a little headache. I said that I trusted that I might be wrong, but if nearly forty years’ experience went for anything I was not wrong. Then he flew into a passion, and said that if anything was the matter with his wife it was my fault, as I must have brought the contagion or neglected to take the usual antiseptic precautions. I told him that he should not make such statements without an atom of proof, but, interrupting me, he declared that, fever or no fever, he would attend upon Lady Colford, as he could not afford to throw away the best chance he had ever had. I said, ‘My dear fellow, don’t be mad. Why, if anything happened to her under the circumstances, I believe that, after I have warned you, you would be liable to be criminally prosecuted for culpable negligence.’ ‘Thank you,’ he answered, ‘nothing will happen to her, I know my own business, and I will take the chance of that’; and then, before I could speak again, lifting up his bag from the chair on which he had placed it, he opened the front door and went out.”
I will not attempt, especially after this lapse of years, to describe the feelings with which I listened to this amazing evidence. The black wickedness and the cold-blooded treachery of the man overwhelmed and paralysed me, so that when, after some further testimony, the chairman asked me if I had any questions to put to the witness, I could only stammer:—
“It is a lie, an infamous lie!”
“No, no,” said the chairman kindly, “if you wish to make a statement, you will have an opportunity of doing so presently. Have you any questions to ask the witness?”
I shook my head. How could I question him on such falsehoods? Then came the nurse, who, amidst a mass of other information, calmly swore that, standing on the second landing, whither she had accompanied Sir John from his patient’s room, she heard a lengthy conversation proceeding between him and me, and caught the words, “I will take the chance of that,” spoken in my voice.