THE EVIDENCE OF THE CIGARETTE-END
I suppose I have my fair share of self-confidence, but there have been
occasions when I have felt intuitively that the only chance of success
was to have Quarles with me from the beginning. The Kew mystery was a
case in point.
It was half-past nine when the telephone bell rang. At first the
inspector on duty at the station could only hear a buzzing sound,
followed by a murmur of voices, which might have come from the
exchange; then came the single word, "Police!" As soon as he had
answered in the affirmative the message came in quick gasps in a
woman's voice:
"Hambledon Road--fourteen--come--it's murder! Quick, I'm being----"
There was a faint cry, as though the woman had been suddenly dragged
from the instrument.
The inspector at once sent off a constable, who, with Constable Baker,
the man on the Hambledon Road beat at the time, went to No. 14. Their
knock was not answered very promptly. A servant came to the door,
still fidgeting with her cap and apron, as though she had put them on
hastily, and she gave a start when she saw the policeman. She said her
mistress--a Mrs. Fitzroy--was at home, but she seemed a little
reluctant to let the officers walk into the dining-room without a
preliminary announcement, which was only natural, perhaps. They
entered to find the room empty. Mrs. Fitzroy was not in the house. The
servant knew nothing about the telephone call. She said it was her
night out, that she had come in by the back door, as usual, and was
upstairs taking off her hat and jacket when the policeman knocked.
This was the outline of the mystery which I gave to Christopher
Quarles as we walked from Kew Gardens Railway Station to Hambledon
Road. The investigation had only been placed in my hands that morning,
and I knew no details myself.
"Shall we find Constable Baker at the house?" he asked presently.
"Yes; I have arranged that," I answered.
The house was a fair size, semi-detached, with half a dozen steps up
to the front door, and it had a basement. There was a small window on
the right of the door which gave light to a wide passage hall, and on
the other side was the large window of the dining-room.
Baker opened the door for us.
"No news of Mrs. Fitzroy?" I asked.
"None, sir." He was a smart man. I had worked with him before.
"What time was it when you entered the house last night?" asked
Quarles.
"Ten o'clock, sir. A clock struck while we were standing on the
steps."
"Was the light burning in the hall and in the dining-room?"
"Yes, sir; full on."
"And the dining-room door was shut?"
"Yes, sir."
"You searched the house for Mrs. Fitzroy?"
"We did. Have you just come from the police station?"
"No."
"I have reported one or two points," said Baker. "The gardens of these
houses all have a door opening onto a footpath, on the other side of
which there is a tennis club ground.
"The path ends in a blank wall at one end; the other end comes out
into Melbury Avenue, a road running at right angles to Hambledon Road.
I found the garden gate here unbolted, and the servant, Emma Lewis,
says she has never known it to be unfastened before. Also in Melbury
Avenue last evening I saw a taxi waiting. I saw it first at about
eight o'clock, and it was still there at a quarter past nine, when I
spoke to the driver. He said he had brought a gentleman down, who had
told him to wait there, and had then walked up Melbury Avenue. It was
not the first time he had driven him to the avenue, and the driver
supposed it was a clandestine love affair. After we found that Mrs.
Fitzroy was missing, I went to look for the taxi. It had gone. I had
noticed the number, however, and they are making inquiries at the
police station."
"Good," said Quarles. "Now let us look at the dining-room. Nothing has
been moved, I suppose."
"It's just as we found it last night," Baker returned.
It was a well-furnished room. An easy chair was close to the hearth,
and an ordinary chair was turned sideways to the table. A swivel-chair
was pushed back from the writing-table, which was in the window, and
the telephone, which evidently stood on this table as a rule, was
hanging over it, suspended by the cord, the receiver being upon its
hook. The telephone directory lay open on the blotting-pad. For some
time Quarles was interested in the telephone, the directory, and the
pad, then he turned to take in the general aspect of the room.
"Some man was here, evidently," I said, pointing to the ashes on the
tiled hearth, "and was smoking. It looks as if he had smoked at his
ease for some time."
"Seated in one of those chairs probably," said Quarles. "Some ash is
on the writing-table, too."
He took up a sheet of paper and scooped up a little of the ash from
the hearth and examined it under his lens; and, having done this, he
raked about in the cinders, but found nothing to interest him.
"I want a cigarette-end," he said, looking first in the coal-box, then
along the mantelpiece and in the little ornaments there, and, finally,
in the paper basket. "Ah, here is one. Thrown here, it suggests that
the smoker might have been seated at the table, doesn't it? We
progress, Wigan; we progress."
It was always impossible to tell whether the professor's remarks
expressed his real opinion, or whether they were merely careless words
spoken while his mind was busy in an altogether different direction. I
hardly saw where our progression came in. I examined the carpet. If
anyone had entered in a hurry to kidnap Mrs. Fitzroy he would not have
spent much time in wiping his boots. I found a little soil on the
hearthrug and by the writing-table. I pointed it out to the professor,
who was still looking at the cigarette which lay in the palm of his
hand.
"Yes, very interesting," said Quarles. "I expect the man came by way
of the garden and brought a little earth from that pathway with him.
What do you make of this cigarette?"
"A cheap kind. Perhaps the lady smokes."
"We'll ask the servant. By the way, Baker, do you happen to know Mrs.
Fitzroy?"
"I've seen a lady come out of this house on one or two occasions,"
answered the constable. "I described her to the servant, and have no
doubt it was Mrs. Fitzroy. She is rather good-looking, fifty or
thereabouts, but takes some pains to appear younger, I fancy."
"You are observant," Quarles remarked. "Shall we have the servant in,
Wigan?"
Emma Lewin told us that she had been with Mrs. Fitzroy for over three
years. Last night she had gone out as usual about six o'clock. She had
left by the back door and had taken the key with her. She always did
so. She returned just before ten, and had gone straight upstairs to
take off her hat and jacket. She always did this before going in to
see whether her mistress required anything.
"Was the dining-room door shut when you went upstairs?" I asked.
"Yes."
"You did not go by the garden gate last night?"
"No. I never go that way. The gate is never used."
"Did Mrs. Fitzroy have many visitors?"
"None to speak of. Not half a dozen people have called upon her since
I have been here. I believe she had no relations. Once or twice a week
she would be out all day, and occasionally she has been away for a
night or two."
"Where has she gone on these occasions?" I asked.
"I do not know."
"And her correspondence--was it large?"
"She received very few letters," the servant answered; "whether she
wrote many, I cannot say. I certainly didn't post them."
"Did she use the telephone much?"
"She gave orders to the tradesmen sometimes, and I have heard the bell
ringing occasionally. You see, the kitchen is a basement one, and the
bell might often ring without my hearing it."
"Did your mistress smoke?" Quarles asked suddenly.
"No, sir."
"How do you know she didn't?"
"I have heard her say she didn't agree with women smoking. Besides,
when doing the rooms I should have found cigarette-ends."
"That seems conclusive," said Quarles. "Yesterday was Wednesday, your
night out?"
"Yes, sir."
"Is Wednesday always your night out?"
"It is."
"From six to ten?"
"Yes; it is a standing arrangement; nothing ever interferes with it."
"Very interesting," said the professor. "Now, of course you know what
your mistress was wearing when you left her alone in the house last
night?"
"A brown dress with----"
"I don't want to know," Quarles interrupted. "But I want you to go to
your mistress's room and find out what hat and coat and what kind of
boots she put on last night. She wouldn't be likely to go out dressed
as you left her. You had better go with the young woman, Baker."
He spoke in rather a severe tone, and, when the girl had left the room
with the constable, I asked him if he suspected her of complicity in
the affair.
"My dear Wigan, as yet I am only gathering facts," he answered, "facts
to fit theories. We may take the following items as facts: Mrs.
Fitzroy did not smoke. She had few visitors. She received few letters.
Once or twice a week she was out all day. The servant's night out is
Wednesday. Yesterday, being Wednesday, a taxi waited for a
considerable time in Melbury Avenue. The driver has brought his fare
to Melbury Avenue on previous occasions."
"And the theory?" I asked.
"Theories," he corrected; "there are many. If the taxi came on
Wednesdays on the other occasions, the fare may have smoked this kind
of cigarette. If so, he may be the man who kidnapped Mrs. Fitzroy. He
may have been hurrying the lady down the narrow path while Baker and
his companion were standing on the front door step. Out of such
theories a score of others come naturally."
"By this time they may have heard of the driver at the police station.
Shall I telephone?"
"Not yet," said Quarles. "We will try and discover how Mrs. Fitzroy
was dressed first."
"And meanwhile we are giving our quarry time to escape," I said.
"We must risk something, and we haven't got enough facts to support
any theory yet. I wonder whether Mrs. Fitzroy did use the telephone
much?"
The speculation threw him into a reverie until Emma Lewin returned
with the information that her mistress must have gone out dressed just
as she had left her. No hat nor jacket nor wrap of any kind was
missing, and she had not changed her indoor shoes.
"Thank you; that helps us very much. I don't think you can help us any
more at present." And then, when the girl had gone, Quarles turned to
Baker. "I understand you searched the house last night for Mrs.
Fitzroy?"
"We did."
"Was it a thorough search--I mean did you look into every corner,
every drawer, every cupboard for some sign of her? Did you explore the
cellars, which, I expect, are large?"
"It was not quite as thorough as that," said Baker, trying to suppress
a smile at the idea of finding Mrs. Fitzroy in a drawer, I suppose.
"You expected to find the lady lying on the carpet here?"
"Well, sir, I thought it likely at first; but, with the garden gate
unfastened and the taxi in Melbury Avenue, I don't doubt the lady went
that way."
"After telephoning to the police that she was being murdered?" said
Quarles.
"I don't suggest that she went willingly," said Baker.
"But you do suggest that, being convinced she had gone, your search of
the house was not very thorough?"
"I didn't mean to suggest that, either, sir," answered Baker, some
resentment in his tone.
"We want Zena here, Wigan, to ask one of her absurd questions,"
Quarles went on. "I'll ask one in her place. Why was the police
station rung up at all?"
"The woman rushed to the 'phone for help, and----"
"My dear Wigan, the directory is open at the page giving the number of
the police station. What was her assailant doing while she turned up
the number and rang up the exchange?"
"Probably he wasn't in the room, and her woman's wit----"
"Ah, you've been reading sensational fiction," he interrupted. "Let us
stick to facts. The call must have been a deliberate one and would
take time. There was evidently no desperate struggle in this room last
night. The position of the two chairs by the hearth suggests that two
persons at some time during the evening were sitting here
together--one of them a man, since the hearth shows that he smoked.
The time would be somewhere between six o'clock, when the servant went
out, and nine-thirty, when the telephone message was received. If
Baker can fix the time of the taxi's arrival in Melbury Avenue,
perhaps we can be even more accurate."
"The taxi wasn't there at half-past seven," said the constable.
"Then we may say between seven-thirty and nine-thirty," said Quarles.
"Now the only thing which suggests violence of any kind is the
instrument hanging over the table. Had the person using it been
forcibly dragged away, the instrument might have fallen in that
position, but it would have been a stupendous miracle if the receiver
had swung to its place on the hook. No, Wigan, the receiver was
replaced carefully to cut the connection, and the instrument was
probably hung as it is deliberately to attract attention. I come back
to my question, then: Why was the police station rung up at all?"
I did not answer, and Baker shook his head in sympathy.
"I do not attempt to suggest what occurred while the two sat here by
the fire," said Quarles, "but whatever it was, somebody wished it to
be known that something had happened. That is my answer to the
question. The message suggests murder. As the house has not yet been
thoroughly searched, murder may actually have taken place."
Baker started, and I looked at the professor in astonishment.
"You think Mrs. Fitzroy is lying dead somewhere in this house?" I
said.
"I have a theory which we may put to the test at once," returned
Quarles.
"In the cellars, I suppose?"
"No, Wigan; we'll look everywhere else first. I expect to find a body,
and not very securely hidden either; there wouldn't be much time; and,
besides, I believe it is meant to be found. Still I do not expect to
find Mrs. Fitzroy's body. I expect to find a dead man. Shall we go and
look?"
A man in my profession perforce gets used to coming in contact with
death in various forms, but there is always a certain thrill in doing
so, and in the present search there was something uncanny. The quest
was not a long one. In a small bedroom on the first floor, sparsely
furnished and evidently used chiefly as a box-room, we found the body
of a man under the bed. A cord had been thrown round his neck and he
had been strangled fiercely and with powerful hands at the work.
"Not a woman's doing," said Quarles as he knelt down to examine the
corpse.
There were no papers of any kind in the pockets, but there was money
and a cigar case.
"Time is precious now, Wigan," said the professor. "You might
telephone to the station and ask if they have found the driver of the
taxi. I want to know if this poor fellow is the man he drove to
Melbury Avenue last evening, also whether it has always been a
Wednesday when he has brought him into this neighborhood; and, of
course, you must ask him any questions which may lead to the
identification of the dead man. I don't suppose he will be able to
help you much in that direction. You will find, I fancy, that the
driver got tired of waiting for his fare last night and drove away."
"Or took another fare--the murderer," I suggested.
"I don't think so," said Quarles. "You might also ask the inspector at
the station whether he is prepared to swear that the first voice he
heard over the 'phone--the voice which said 'police'--was a woman's.
What time does it grow dark now, constable?"
"Early--half-past four, sir."
"I'll go, Wigan. I want to think the matter out before dark. Seven
o'clock to-night--meet me at the top of the road at that time, and
somewhere close have half a dozen plain clothes men ready for a raid.
Now that we know murder has been done, you couldn't suggest a house to
raid, I suppose, constable."
"I couldn't, sir."
"Nor can I at present. Seven o'clock to-night, Wigan."
The professor's manner, short, peremptory, self-sufficient, was at
times calculated to disturb the serenity of an archangel. I had been
on the point of quarreling with him more than once that morning, but
the sudden demonstration of what seemed to be the wildest theory left
me with nothing to say. Constable Baker had an idea of putting the
case adequately, I think, when he remarked: "He ain't human, that's
what he is."
The taxi driver had been found, and, when taken to Hambledon Road,
recognized the dead man as his fare. He had driven him to Melbury
Avenue on four occasions, and each time it had been a Wednesday. Of
course, the gentleman might have come more than four times, and on
other days besides Wednesdays for all he knew. On each occasion he had
been called off a rank in Trafalgar Square. His fare had paid him for
the down journey before walking up the avenue, and had never kept him
waiting so long before, so he gave up the job and went back to town.
He had not picked up another fare until he got to Kensington.
The inspector at the station was certain the message he had received
was in a woman's voice, but he was not sure that the word "police" was
in the same voice, or that it was a woman who spoke it.
At seven o'clock I was waiting for Quarles at the top of Hambledon
Road. He was punctual to the minute.
"You've got the men, Wigan?"
"They are hanging about in Melbury Avenue."
"It may be there is hot work in front of us," said Quarles, "and the
first move is yours. No. 6 Hambledon Road is the house we want, and
you will go to the front door and ask to see the master. I fancy a
maidservant will answer the door, but I am not sure. Whoever it is,
prevent an alarm being given, and get into the house with the two men
who will accompany you. That done, get the door into the garden open,
and I will join you with the rest of the men. If there is any attempt
at escape it will be by the garden, and we shall be waiting for them.
Utter silence; that is imperative. Of course, they may be prepared,
but probably they are not. If it is necessary to shoot, you must, and
we will force our way in as best we can and take our part in the
struggle. Come along, let's get the men together."
A few minutes later I had knocked at the door of No. 6; an elderly
woman-servant came to the door, and I saw suspicion in her eyes. Even
as I inquired for her master I seized her, and so successfully that
she hadn't an opportunity to utter a sound. I asked her no question,
certain that she would mislead me, and, leaving one of the men with
her in the hall, I hastened with the other two to the door leading
into the garden, fully expecting to be attacked. We saw no one, heard
no movement; either the professor had made a mistake or the
conspirators considered themselves secure.
Quarles and the men came in like shadows, so silent were they, and it
was evident that the professor had given his companions instructions,
for two of them quickly went toward the hall.
"The cellars, Wigan," he whispered. "I think it will be the cellars."
The house was a basement one, similar to No. 14, and from a stone
passage we found a door giving on to a dozen steep steps. It was pitch
dark below.
"Don't show a light," said Quarles as he pushed me gently to go
forward. I didn't know it at the time, but only one man came down with
us.
At the foot of the stairs a passage ran to right and left, and to the
left, which was toward the garden side of the house, a thin line of
light showed below a door. On tiptoe, ready for emergencies, and
hardly daring to breathe, we approached it, and with one accord the
professor and I put our ears to the door. For a while no sound came,
then a paper rustled and a foot scraped lightly on the stone floor. We
had chanced to arrive during a pause in the conversation, for
presently a voice, pitched low and monotonous in its tone, went on
with an argument:
"I can find no excuse for you in that, Bertha Capracci. It is not
admitted that your husband found death at the hands of his associates,
but, were it so, it is no more than just. There are papers here
proving beyond all doubt that he betrayed his friends."
"I have already said that is untrue," came the answer in a woman's
voice.
"There is no doubt," said another man.
"None," said a third.
Three men at least were sitting in judgment upon this woman, and it
was evident they were not English.
"Besides, I am not one of you," said the woman.
"In name, no; in reality, yes; since your husband must have let you
into many secrets," returned the first speaker. "Your woman's wit has
outplayed our spies until recently, but, once discovered, you have
been constantly watched. We cannot prove that the failure of some of
our plans, costing the lives of good comrades, has been due to your
interference, but we suspect it. We found you in constant
communication with this English Jew, Jacob Morrison, who is in the pay
of the Continental police. He is dead, a warning to others, killed in
your house, and busy eyes are now looking for you as his murderess.
You have hidden your identity so entirely that all inquiry must
speedily be baffled, and so you have played into our hands. Your
disappearance will hardly reach to a nine days' wonder, and who will
think to look for your body under the flags of this cellar? Death is
the sentence of the Society, and forthwith."
I waited to hear a cry of terror, but it did not come. Nor was there a
movement to suggest that the men had risen at once to the work, or,
in spite of the restraining hand the professor laid on my arm, I
should have been beating at the door to break it down.
"I offer you one chance of life," the man's voice droned on after a
pause. "Confess everything. Give me the names of all those to whom you
have given information concerning us, and you shall have your
miserable life."
"You have killed the only man who knew anything from me," she
answered.
"It's a lie," came the hissing reply. "Your cursed husband told you so
much about us, he may have explained some of the means we employ to
make unwilling tongues speak. I'll have the truth out of you."
One of the men must have sat close to her, for her sudden cry of fear
was instantly smothered, and there was the sound of struggle and rough
usage.
"Now--quickly," whispered Quarles; and the man who had followed us to
the cellars had struck with a stout piece of iron between the door and
its framework. The wood splintered immediately, and, almost before I
was prepared, we were facing our enemies, and Quarles was shouting for
the other men in the house to come to us.
"Hands up!" I cried.
They were unprepared, that was our salvation. Not one of the three had
any intention of surrender, that was evident in a moment, but they had
to get their hands on their weapons, and, fortunately, only one of
them had a revolver. The other two rushed upon us with knives.
I think Quarles was the first to fire, and he was not a thought too
soon. He said afterward that he meant to maim and not to kill, but his
bullet passed through the man's brain, and he dropped like a stone.
He was the one with the revolver, and, regardless of his own safety,
he meant to silence the woman for ever.
The weapon was at her head when the villain dropped, and I have
sometimes thought that, whatever his intention the moment before, in
the act of pressing the trigger the professor realized that only the
man's death could save the woman.
It was hot work for a moment. The man who had burst open the door got
a nasty knife thrust, and I had been obliged to fire at my assailant
before our comrades rushed to our aid. There is no enemy more
dangerous than a man armed with a knife when he knows how to use it,
and when the space to fight in is so confined that to use firearms is
to endanger your friends. Indeed, I thought the woman had been shot,
but she had only fainted, although it was quite impossible to question
her fully until next day.
"Those papers may be useful," said Quarles, when our captives had been
taken to the police station, pointing to the documents which had
fallen from a little table pushed aside in the struggle. "The ends of
a big affair are in our hands, I fancy, and, with the help of Mrs.
Fitzroy, we may get several more dangerous fanatics under lock and
key."
Late that night I was with the professor in Chelsea. He had gone
straight home from Hambledon Road, and, after a visit to the police
station and a long consultation with Scotland Yard over the 'phone, I
followed him. There were several questions I wanted to ask, for his
handling of this affair seemed to me so near to the marvelous that I
wondered whether he had had some knowledge of this gang before we had
heard of the house in Kew.
"No, Wigan, no," he said, in reply to my question. "I did not even
know there was such a place as Hambledon Road."
"I am altogether astonished."
"And not for the first time, eh, Wigan? Yet this case has been worked
upon facts chiefly. It was clear that the idea of the woman going
suddenly to the telephone to call for help was absurd, and, therefore,
it was at least possible that she had spoken that message under
compulsion. When the revolver was held to her head in the cellar
to-night, it was probably not for the first time. As I said this
morning, there was a desire to put the authorities on the scent. This
suggested a conspiracy. So much for theory, now for facts."
"But we did not know murder had been committed then," I said.
"Mrs. Fitzroy said so in her message," Quarles answered, "and it was
unlikely the police would have been called unless they were meant to
discover something. But we had facts to go upon. It was evident that
two persons had sat by the fire, the position of the chairs, the cigar
ash on the hearth----"
"Cigarette, you mean."
"It was a cigar ash on the hearth, and I looked for a cigar end among
the cinders and could not find one. It was cigarette ash on the
writing-table, and I found the cigarette end, you will remember. It
was possible, of course, that the same man had smoked a cigarette as
well as a cigar, but the different position of the ash was
significant. I concluded there were two men, one who had sat smoking a
cigar by the fire, one who, in leaning over to ring up the police, had
dropped ash from a cigarette on to the writing-table. I concluded
that the cigar smoker was the murdered man, and you will remember
there was a cigar case in the pocket of the man we found. I think we
shall discover that it was the cigarette smoker who killed him, and
then compelled Mrs. Fitzroy to send that message. No doubt he had a
companion with him, perhaps more than one, and I believe they have
been living at No. 6 for some time watching Mrs. Fitzroy. We have
heard to-night who Jacob Morrison was, and it was on Wednesday
evenings that he came to No. 14. Possibly the watchers had not become
aware of his visits until that evening; they may have kept watch in
the Hambledon Road, whereas Mrs. Fitzroy unbolted the gate at the
bottom of the garden for him as soon as the servant went out. You
remember the cigarette end?"
"Yes, it was a cheap kind."
"And foreign," said Quarles; "Spagnolette Nationale. You can buy them
done up in a gray paper case at any shop which sells tobacco in Italy,
trenta centesimi for ten, I believe, and you can get them at certain
places in Soho. You heard me ask Baker what time it grew dark. I had
something to do then, but much to do first. To begin with, I had to
find out what days the dust was collected, then to make judicious
inquiries about foreigners living in the neighborhood. You see, since
Mrs. Fitzroy had been taken away just as she was, and since Baker had
only seen that one taxi waiting, I concluded the lady had not been
taken far. The only house containing foreigners which seemed to suit
my purpose was No. 6, and, when it was dark, I went to examine the
dust-bin. There I found two or three of these cases of gray paper. You
see, Wigan, the case was comparatively an easy one."
"It is a marvel to me that Mrs. Fitzroy was not murdered before we
found her," I said.
"I knew there was a risk, but we were helpless," Quarles answered. "I
had heard of No. 6 and its inhabitants soon after one o'clock, but if
we had gone to the house in daylight we should only have hurried a
tragedy probably. Besides, I had a theory. These villainous societies
almost invariably have methods and rules. If a member is dispatched,
some semblance of justice is given to his sentence. I thought the men
who had done the kidnapping were not of the first importance, and that
Mrs. Fitzroy would not be done away with before she had been
confronted with some chief member of the gang. It was very necessary
they should wring a confession from her if they could."
Early next morning two houses in Soho were raided and a number of
arrests made; but, except for the two men we had taken in Hambledon
Road, I do not think we got hold of anybody of importance. The raid,
at any rate, did something to disturb a nest of anarchists, and, with
the information in the hands of the Continental police through Jacob
Morrison, and with what Mrs. Fitzroy could tell us, the society was
scattered, and their efforts are likely to be moribund for some time.
Mrs. Fitzroy was an Englishwoman married to an Italian, who had been a
member of the society and had been done to death by his associates
some four years ago. She said he was innocent and was determined to
avenge him. The man who had killed Morrison had been shot by Quarles.
He was the cigarette smoker. His two companions whom we had captured
got terms of imprisonment, and will be deported on their release. I
can only trust that Mrs. Fitzroy will keep out of their way then.