EMINENT NOVELIST ON THE ROUSE MURDER CASE

Stratford Evening Post, Volume I, Issue 81, 14 March 1931, Page 3

EMINENT NOVELIST ON THE ROUSE MURDER CASE

A A. MILNE SAYS ACCUSED CONVICTED HIMSELF IN THE WITNESS-BOX

"INHERE is no doubt that Rouse convicted himself in the witness-box; no doubt that the impression which be made there upon these who heard him and watched him was even worse than the impression which his palpably false evidence made upon those who merely read it. But that, ot course, does not prove that he way guilty of murder.

It is time that this question of calling an accused man as witness was reconsidered. We have been told continually that an innocent man has nothing to fear, and that his chance of proving his innocence is increased if he submits to the ordeal of crossexamination. That may be true; but only! if we give the widest possible interpretation to the word "innocent." if Mr. Birkett (for the prosecution), if the Judge, if I, were falsely accused of murder, should we mind going into the witness-box? Of course not. But then we really are "innocent." Rouso was not. He had committed bigamy.

"Why did he not go to the police?" cries Mr. Birkett, dramatically. "An innocent man had nothing to fear!" Exactly. But Rouse was not innocent. Really, one wonders sometimes if eminent counsel lose all use of the intelligence and the imagination when they become dramatic.

Rouse had everything to fear if he went to the police—except the death penalty; and nobody really fears that until the last words have been said by the Judge. "If his story were true, why did he not go to the police?" Well, assume that it was true, and that he did go to the police. What do the police say? "Hard luck, Mr. Rouse. Still, I hope the car's insured. Now you go straight off home to bed and have a nice rest, and if you.care to leave us your address we'll let you know when the funeral is?"

Did Mr. Birkett hear them saying that? Hardly. Murder is not quite so simple. And if any of us reports an unusual accidental death which has happened to a man in our com-

pany at two o'clock in the morning, the police (fortunately for the safety of good citizens) will not take our word for it. They will make inquiries. " , Sf * * And in Rouse's case the inquiries would have led, and in fact, did lead, straight back to bigamy. If he had been acquitted of murder he would have been tried for bigamy; if he had never been tried for murder he would have been tried for bigamy. And so, if we can imagine for ourselves any set of circumstances which would have "put Rouse in the company of a dead man at two o'clock in the morning, then we can understand how it was that he had to lie and lie and lie his way out of the prison gates which from that moment were closing in on him.

Can we imagine any such set of circumstances? I can see Rouse, sick of this tramp's company, stopping his car, giving the fellow half a crown, and telling him that this was where he got off. I can see the tramp becoming truculent; Rouse himself getting out, as if argument were now at an end, and busying himself nervously with a mallet and a petrol can, hoping that when he turned round the fellow would have gone. I can see the tramp telling himself that here were a car and money for the taking; jumping at Rouse; Rouse defending himself with .the mallet; I can see a dead man on the ground, or at least a man who seemed very dead.

Does Rouse, looking down at him, see those prison gates, remember that bigamy? Realising that he can't go to the police, does he cram the body into the car and drive hastily into a side lane, where he can think the thing out safely and at leisure? Does he fjrst, quickly, throw the fatal mallet away? No danger in that, for the fire has not yet occurred to him, and the body will not be found here. Where? Somewhere on the main road, where it might have been knocked down. ... In a chalk pit or quarry. . . . Yes. . . . * * . * And then, perhaps, the first idea of

fire. For it is possible that that policeman who spoke about the rear light would recognise the dead man, would have taken the number of the car, would . . . Yes, the body must be unrecognisable. . . . * * * And then the other possibilities crowding into his mind. If unrecognisable, it will be mistaken for himself. .. . Insurance. . . A thousand pounds, one of his numerous wives getting the money for* him. Anyhow, the money back on the car, for which he has not yet paid, and cannot pay. A ntw life. . . More wives. . . • Which reminds him — may as well have that halt-crown back to begin with. . . . And the wallet lies there forgotten as he plans it out. ... * * # Is that what happened? Probably not. But at least it is more likely than the improbable stories told by the Prosecution and the defence. But. not a story to tell to the jury. "Why did you do all these extraordinary things?" "Because I was afraid my past would come out?" Not so good. There must be no talk of a "past" in the witness-box. Even the prosecu tion recognises that that would be unfair. * * * And so, with the incurable optimism of the Rouses of this world, he invents an entirely new story; a really good, one, worthy of the Great Rouse . . . until he gets into the Witnessbox and sees what a poor one it is, and realises that the manner which impresses servant girls somewhat fails to impress policemen and juries. Is that what happened? Nobody knows but Rouse. But t.\vo things seem certain. One is that' neither the prosecution or the defence told the true story of that night; the other that, though the guilt of you or me, Mr. Birkett or the Judge, of any "innocent" man, would have shone* clear on that evidence, the guilt'of a criminal like Rouse, was very far from being proved.