He died early in March, in the presence of Dr. Morlandson and one of the nurses, without regaining consciousness. A cousin of Lord Whatley’s, who happened to be his nearest relative, was in the house, and Morlandson informed him that he would return home and bring the necessary certificate with him later in the day. Morlandson, who lived about a mile away, started to walk home. When he had almost reached his own house, he heard a sound of confused shouting, and saw a runaway horse attached to a milk-cart, coming towards him. Without a moment’s hesitation he rushed for the horse’s head, and had almost succeeded in stopping him, when he slipped and fell. One of the horse’s hoofs struck him on the head and he was left unconscious on the road.
The spectators of the accident picked him up, and he was carried into his own house. A colleague was summoned, and declared that he was suffering from severe concussion. This diagnosis proved correct, and Morlandson lay in a state of semi-consciousness for nearly a week. On his recovery, he found the house in possession of the police.
Lord Whatley’s cousin, hearing of the accident to Dr. Morlandson, and learning that he could not possibly attend to his duties for some time to come, was at a loss for the want of a death certificate. He therefore sent for another doctor—not the man who was attending Morlandson—and asked him to sign the certificate. This the doctor would have done, had not one of the nurses, whom Morlandson had reprimanded for some breach of duty, made some vague insinuation that everything was not as it should be. The doctor insisted upon examining the body, and as a result of this examination he communicated with the authorities. A post-mortem was held, and Lord Whatley was proved to have died of an overdose of morphia. The experts gave it as their opinion that the deceased would not have died of the disease from which he was suffering for another year at least. A warrant was immediately issued for Dr. Morlandson’s arrest.
When Lord Whatley’s will came to be read, it was found that he had left the sum of ten thousand pounds to Morlandson, conditional upon his being his medical attendant at the time of his death. This bequest was contained in a codicil executed early in February.
Morlandson came up for trial at the Old Bailey in July. The prosecution alleged that the codicil disclosed the motive for the murder, and submitted that Morlandson, fearing lest Lord Whatley should change his doctor before he died, had made certain of securing the legacy by poisoning him. They pointed out that, but for Morlandson’s accident, he would have been able to certify cancer as the cause of Lord Whatley’s death, and no suspicion would have been aroused.
Dr. Morlandson’s counsel put in a very striking defence. In effect, he pleaded guilty to the act of poisoning, but affirmed that this was done at Lord Whatley’s express command. He had already suffered considerably and undergone an ineffectual operation, and refused to contemplate the further agony to which he was condemned. As soon as Morlandson had informed him that his case was hopeless, he had begged him to put a end to his sufferings at once, pointing out that such a course would cause no grief or inconvenience to anyone. Morlandson had at first refused, but at last, upon the solemn assurance of Lord Whatley that he would find some means of committing suicide unless his wishes were complied with, he consented to inject morphia in increasing doses. This Lord Whatley agreed to, and whenever he was conscious Morlandson begged him to reconsider his determination. Finally, knowing that the disease was incurable, and that the man he cared for as his friend could only endure months of suffering under his very eyes, he bade him farewell and administered the fatal dose. The news of the bequest came as a complete surprise to him.
Morlandson’s defence raised in an acute form a controversy which had been going on for many years. Many people held that he was completely justified in his action, that his offence was purely technical, and that at the most it merited a short term of imprisonment. But the jury, in spite of a hint from the judge, found Morlandson guilty of murder and refused to add a rider recommending him to mercy. Sentence of death was duly pronounced, but the Home Secretary, the Court of Criminal Appeal not being then in existence, ordered a reprieve, and the sentence was commuted to one of twenty years’ penal servitude. Morlandson’s wife, to whom he was deeply attached, died before a year of it had expired.
This was the substance of the notes which Harold Merefield brought back to Dr. Priestley. The latter read them through carefully, then gave them back to his secretary. “Yes, I thought that I was not mistaken,” he said. “The facts of the case come back to me very clearly now. It made a considerable sensation at the time, owing to the principle involved. Right or wrong, Morlandson was acting in accordance with his lights. His evidence, I remember, was given with an air of passionate conviction. This Lord Whatley was his friend, and he had saved him from suffering at the expense of twenty years of his own life. I wonder whether he survived his sentence? It would be most interesting to learn.”
The Professor relapsed into his favourite attitude of thought, his eyes fixed upon the ceiling, his hands, with the tips of the fingers touching, laid upon the table in front of him. He remained like this for many minutes before he spoke again.
“It would be so interesting that I feel impelled to take steps to discover the facts,” he said. “After lunch I shall visit the record department of Scotland Yard. While I am away, you can complete the filing of those papers I gave you yesterday, relating to the work which we have just completed.”