Richardson's First Case by Basil Thomson

seemed to me to come from an oil lamp on the table. At any rate it was low down.”
    â€œDid it throw any shadow on the red blind as if some person was standing between the lamp and the door?”
    â€œYes, sir, it did; it threw a tall shadow as if the person was standing, not sitting.”
    â€œDid the shadow appear to be that of a man or of a woman?”
    â€œI couldn’t say, sir. You know how shadows are distorted. All I could see was the outline of the shoulder and arm and they moved a little. Whichever it was—man or woman—it seemed to me to be tall.”
    â€œIn the voices you heard did you distinguish the voices of a man and a woman?”
    â€œI believe that I heard a woman’s voice cry out two or three words before she screamed, but I was so frightened that I find it difficult to remember exactly what I did hear.”
    â€œYou didn’t stop within view of the shop to see whether anyone came out?”
    â€œNo, I went home as fast as my legs could carry me.” Foster embodied these replies in a few sentences which he added to the statement, read them over to Cronin, and pushed the paper towards him for his signature. He signed it in a rather tremulous script.
    â€œNow, Mr. Cronin, we must keep in touch with you; you must not change your address without letting me know.”
    â€œShall I have to give evidence, sir?”
    â€œYes, if the coroner decides to call you, but if your statement is true, as you say, that need not upset you.”
    â€œThere’s one thing I wish you would do for me, sir—let me have that picture back. I could repay what the old man gave me for it and even a little more. I’ve just delivered some work and got paid for it.”
    â€œThat’s a matter for the executor to the dead man’s will, not for the police. If you like to call in here tomorrow about this time I may be able to tell you whether you can have it.”
    â€œOh, thank you, sir; if only you can do that for me I shall be grateful to you for the rest of my life.”
    As soon as the footsteps had stumbled down the steep stairs, Inspector Foster looked into the sergeant’s room. “I can’t touch those diaries tonight, Reed; I’ve got to go down to C.O. with a statement I’ve just taken. You might put them on my table and I’ll run through them last thing.”
    Fifteen minutes later he found himself in Beckett’s room.
    â€œWell, how are you getting on with that case of yours?”
    â€œIf you’ll kindly read that statement, Mr. Beckett, you’ll see that things are moving.”
    Beckett read it through with attention, and his brow cleared. “I see he fixes the time at five o’clock. That brings us back to the opinion I’ve held all through. Would he make a good witness under cross-examination, do you think?”
    â€œWell, sir, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. Of course, I warned him of the danger of putting in anything that wasn’t true, and he stuck to it that he hadn’t, but if he was taken on by a sharp counsel his nerves are in such a state that he might say anything.”
    â€œWell, after all, that’s a matter for the D. of P.P.—not for us. We find him the evidence, and he can take it or leave it—that is, if it comes to a criminal prosecution. At the inquest there’s not likely to be any cross-examination, so he will do, but we must get something better than this to put before the coroner.”
    â€œI quite see that, sir. He wants very badly to get that picture back, and I promised that I’d put his request forward.”
    â€œNo good coming to me; I’m no lawyer. Here, take the statement in to the D.A.C.C. and ask him.”
    This time Morden was in his room. He read the statement and looked doubtful. “How did he strike you, Mr. Foster?”
    â€œWell, sir, he’s a bit shaky with drink, but the answers he gave to my test questions