“Not a bit, I don’t,” said Tribble most impudent. “I knows a deal of how the law works. You got to prove it against me. So I denies it all!”
Those in the courtroom did not like this, indeed did not like Tribble. A resentful rumble went round the benches. Had he, at that moment, been turned over to those assembled, I do not think he would have survived longer than a few minutes’ time.
“I should think,” said Sir John, “that we were well on our way to proving it with Mr. Fuller’s account. It was reasonable. He did not claim to have seen or heard more than he did. But perhaps another witness. The logical choice would be Mr. Lemuel Tinker. So speak up, Mr. Tinker, was the constable’s account of what passed between you and Mr. Tribble an accurate one? Would you care to enlarge upon it?”
“It was remarkable accurate, sir,” said he, a small weasel-faced fellow, “right down to the very words was used. What went before was this fellow was in the room when us three come in after payin’ a shilling each to the landlord. He says to us. This is a great crime has been committed here. It will be historical. This poor darlin’ was my wife, and much as it pains me to do it, I shall offer to sell these parts of her that was cut out by him who committed this foul murder upon her. I do this for to raise money to give her a proper Christian burial.’ He made it seem like we’d be doin’ charity if we bought something of her. I swear to God he did, sir. Her heart he put a great price on, asking a ned for it, the liver ten shillings, and the smaller part he offered me five shillings. I talked him down to three. I was the only one of us with money to spare. And the rest of what was said went just like the constable told it.”
Then said Sir John, “There is but one of you three who were found inside with Tribble whom we have not heard from, and that is Thomas Cobum. So let me direct this question to you, Mr. Cobum. Did you see evidence that Tribble had sold any of the organs before you entered the room?”
Thomas Cobum spoke low and rather reluctantly — or so it seemed to me. He began once, and then again when Sir John ordered him to speak louder. “Sir,” said he, “I am very ashamed to be here, and even more ashamed to have gone into that place of horror. I wish I had not, sir. But I will do me best to answer your question.” He came then to a complete halt, took a deep breath, then continued: “Us three stood in line, held back by the landlord till others cleared out of the room. Two came out. One of them, sir, was a great large fellow, near as wide as he was tall, with a patch over one eye. He held up for all to see a bloody gobbet of something, then made as if to eat it, making a great joke of it, he was. Some laughed, and some did not. Having seen that, I should not have gone inside, and I would not if I had not paid my shilling.”
Sir John nodded, satisfied. “AH three of you have been quite forthcoming as witnesses. I note this and am grateful, but just to calm my nagging doubts about you, will Sat-terthwait, Cobum, and Tinker raise your hands, palms out? Now, Mr. Fuller, will you inspect those hands and tell me if you see any traces of dried blood on them?”
The constable did as his chief directed and took the task most seriously. He went to each one and looked closely at each hand, front and back. Then, having concluded, he made a sharp tum and went front and center before the bench.
“Make your report, Mr. Fuller.”
“Well, sir, ain’t one of them got what I’d call clean hands, but I don’t see no blood on any of them.”
“Very well. Now satisfy me further and inspect Mr. Tribble’s hands, if you will.”
That was done as well, though the constable was forced to handle him rather rough to get a proper look.
“Quite soiled with crimson they are, sir — both hands. Even got it caked under his fingernails, he has.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fuller,” said Sir John. “Now, as to you three — Satterthwait, Cobum, and Tinker — I accept that your actions within that room were just as you presented them. You were there to gape and gawk, chiefly. Mr. Tinker was tempted to buy one of the unholy relics offered to him for sale by Tribble. Lucky for him he did not. His punishment would have been greater had he done so. And yes, there will be punishment, for if Mr. Palgrave offered a lewd and obscene show for personal gain, you three paid your money and attended that show. And for your attendance at it, I sentence you to thirty days each in the Fleet Prison. It is also true that by your very presence in that room you impeded the inquiry into the death of the victim of that ghastly murder. And so I thus charge you further and find you three guilty. That sentence, too, like the first, is thirty days in the Fleet Prison, but it shall run concurrently with the first. In other words, at the same time. One of you has already expressed sorrow and shame at his actions. I would advise the other two to use the month ahead to meditate upon the moral wrong you have done.”
With that. Sir John slammed down his gavel, indicating that matter was concluded.
“Now to you, Mr. Edward Tribble,” said the magistrate. “Yours is by far the gravest offense, as I’m sure all those in this room would agree. When I first was told what you had done, my wits balked at what my ears heard. I thought surely I had misunderstood. Thus does the mind boggle at the nature of your crime. When you come before the judge, I advise you to use as your defense that bit of humbug you tried upon these three misguided men. Tell him that you were selling her parts that you might give the rest of her a decent Christian burial. Who knows? He may accept that. The jury may believe you. I, for one, do not. That, however, matters little, for in this instance, my only duty is to charge you and bind you over for trial.”
“Wot?” screeched the prisoner. “You mean I ain’t goin’ to the Fleet with the rest?”
“No, you are not. You are to be sent to Newgate where you will await trial at the Old Bailey.”
“On what charge?”
“Disturbing the dead.”
There was an immediate hush in the courtroom.
“But…” Tribble sought words, unable for a moment to find them. “But that’s like grave-robbing, ain’t it? I never done that. She weren’t in the ground.”
“No,” said Sir John, “you did not even wait until she was beneath the ground until you insulted her corpus. To my mind, what you did was at least as bad and probably worse.”
“Disturbing the dead — that’s a hanging offense!”
“It is, but I offer you this hope. If you cooperate with my constables in the recovery of the organs you sold — and I believe you know the buyers — then I shall recommend transportation. Judges at the Old Bailey accept my recommendations in sentencing — nearly always.”
Edward Tribble looked about him wildly, yet uttered not a word.
“Mr. Fuller,” said Sir John, “take these five to the strong room and bring forth him who is inside. While that is attended to, I declare this court in recess and give permission to talk and walk about. And I summon to the bench Mr. Oliver Goldsmith and Master Jeremy Proctor.”
This was a right rare occurrence. I had never before been called before him in court except at our first meeting when I, a boy of thirteen, had been falsely accused of theft. And now, to be summoned in the company of one so well known as Oliver Goldsmith was a sign of how my estate had risen in the past two years. Nevertheless, I had no notion of what we two might have in common.
When, however, I reached Sir John, delayed somewhat by the milling crowd, I recognized the man who was leaning over in deep conversation with the magistrate. Was this then Oliver Goldsmith? It was the same man who had spoken out in defense of Ormond Neville when Constable Perkins had arrested that poet cum journalist at the Goose and Gander. If this indeed be Goldsmith, he was about my same size, near bald on his head (which he made no effort to disguise with a wig), and most Irish in appearance.