He unwrapped the parcel, and slowly opened the horse lancet out to its full length. It was a vicious instrument, made the more so by the contrast between the bluntness of the straight section and the honed edge on the lethal curve – which was indeed as sharp as sharp could be.
'Bestial,' said Arthur. 'May I ask-'
But his secretary cut off the enquiry with a shake of the head. Sir Arthur couldn't have it both ways, first not knowing and then choosing to know.
George Edalji wrote to say that he had no memory of the Sharp brothers, either at school or subsequently; nor could he think of a reason why they might bear any animus against himself or his father.
More satisfactory was a letter from Mr Mitchell detailing Royden Sharp's scholastic record:
Xmas, 1890. Lower 1. Order, 23rd out of 23. Very backward and weak. French and Latin not attempted.
Easter, 1891. Lower 1. Order, 20th out of 20. Dull, homework neglected, begins to improve in Drawing.
Midsummer, 1891. Lower 1. Order, 18th out of 18. Beginning to progress, caned for misbehaviour in class, tobacco chewing, prevarication, and nicknaming.
Xmas, 1891. Lower 1. Order, 16th out of 16. Unsatisfactory, often untruthful. Always complaining or being complained of. Detected cheating, and frequently absent without leave. Drawing improved.
Easter, 1892. Form 1. Order, 8th out of 8. Idle and mischievous, caned daily, wrote to father, falsified school-fellows' marks, and lied deliberately about it. Caned 20 times this term.
Midsummer, 1892. Played truant, forged letters and initials, removed by his father.
There we are, thought Arthur: forging, cheating, lying, nicknaming, general mischief. And further, note the date of the expulsion or removal, whichever you prefer: Midsummer 1892. That was when the campaign had begun, against the Edaljis, against Brookes and against Walsall School. Arthur felt his irritation rising – that he could find such things out by a normal process of logical inquiry, whereas those dunderheads… He would like to set the Staffordshire Constabulary up against a wall, from the Chief Constable and Superintendent Barrett through Inspector Campbell and Sergeants Parsons and Upton down to the humblest novice in the force, and ask them a simple question. In December 1892 a large key belonging to Walsall School was stolen from the premises and transported to Great Wyrley. Who might be the more plausible suspect: a boy who a few months previously had been ignominiously removed from the school after a career there of stupidity and malice; or the studious and academically promising son of a Vicar, who had never attended Walsall School, never visited its premises, and bore no more grudge against the establishment than did the Man in the Moon? Answer me that, Chief Constable, Superintendent, Inspector, Sergeant and PC Cooper. Answer me that, you twelve good men and true at the Court of Quarter Sessions.
Harry Charlesworth sent an account of an incident which had taken place in Great Wyrley in the late autumn or early winter of 1903. Mrs Jarius Handley was coming from Wyrley Station one evening, having gone there to buy some papers for sale. She was accompanied by her young daughter. They were accosted in the road by two men. One of them caught the girl by the throat, and held something in his hand which gleamed. Both mother and child screamed, whereupon the man ran away, crying to his comrade who had gone on, 'All right, Jack, I am coming.' The girl declared that her mother had been stopped once before by the same man. He was described as having a round face, no moustache, about 5ft 8ins in height, a dark suit, a shiny peaked cap. This description fitted that of Royden Sharp, who at the time wore a sailor-like costume, which he had subsequently abandoned. It was further suggested that 'Jack' was Jack Hart, a dissolute butcher and known companion of Sharp's. The police had been informed, but there was no arrest made in the case.
Harry added in a post-scriptum that Fred Wynn had been in touch with him again and that in exchange for a pint of stout recalled something which had previously escaped him. When he and Brookes and Speck had all attended Walsall School, one thing generally known about Royden Sharp was that he could not be left in a railway carriage without turning up the cushion and slitting it on the underside with a knife, so as to let the horse hair out. Then he would laugh wildly and turn the cushion back again.
On Friday March 1st, after a six-week delay intended perhaps to show that the Home Secretary was not responding to pressure from any one known source, a Committee of Inquiry was announced. Its purpose was to consider various matters in the Edalji Case which had given rise to public disquiet. The Home Office wished to emphasize, however, that the Committee's deliberations in no wise amounted to a retrial of the case. Witnesses would not be called, nor would Mr Edalji's presence be required. The Committee would examine such materials as were in the possession of the Home Office and adjudicate on certain procedural matters. Sir Arthur Wilson KCIE, the Right Hon. John Lloyd Wharton, Chairman of the Quarter Sessions for the County of Durham, and Sir Albert de Rutzen, the Chief Magistrate in London, would report to Mr Gladstone as speedily as possible.
Arthur decided that these gentlemen should not be left to jaw at one another complacently about 'certain procedural matters'. To his reworked Telegraph articles – which would themselves prove George's innocence – he would append a private memorandum setting out the case against Royden Sharp. He would describe his investigation, summarize his evidence, and list those from whom further testimony might be obtained: specifically the butcher Jack Hart of Bridgetown, and Harry Green, now of South Africa. Also Mrs Royden Sharp, who could confirm the effect of the new moon upon her husband. He would send George a copy of the memorandum, inviting his comments. He would also keep Anson on the hop. Every so often, as he remembered that long wrangle over brandy and cigars, an unstoppable growl would rise in his throat. Their exchange had been noisy but largely futile – like that of two Scandinavian elks locking antlers in the forest. Even so, he had been shocked by the complacency and prejudice of a man who ought to have known better. And then, at the last, for Anson to try scaring him with stories of ghosts. How very little the Chief Constable knew his man. In his study, Arthur took out the horse lancet, opened it up and drew round the blade's outline on a sheet of tracing paper. He would send the drawing – marked 'life size' – to the Chief Constable, asking for his views.
'Well, you have your Committee,' said Wood, as they pulled their cues from the rack that evening.
'I would rather say that they have their Committee.'
'By which you indicate that you are less than satisfied?'
'I have some hope that even these gentlemen cannot fail to acknowledge what is staring them in the face.'
'But?'
'But – you know who Albert de Rutzen is?'
'The Chief Magistrate of London, my newspaper informs me.'
'He is that, he is that. He is also the cousin of Captain Anson.'
George amp; Arthur
George had read the Telegraph articles several times before writing to thank Sir Arthur; and he read them once again before their second meeting at the Grand Hotel, Charing Cross. It was most disconcerting to see oneself described not by some provincial penny-a-liner but by the most famous writer of the day. It made him feel like several overlapping people at the same time: a victim seeking redress; a solicitor facing the highest tribunal in the country; and a character in a novel.