THE WILL OF THE ECCENTRIC MR. FRISBY
I have said that, owing to Quarles's dislike of publicity, I was
constantly receiving praise which I did not merit; but in the curious
affair of Mr. Frisby's will, although I received substantial benefits,
the professor was obliged to put up with the eulogy. The case was
never in my hands professionally; indeed, strictly speaking, there was
no case for the police to deal with. All I really did was to use my
position to clear away difficulties and give Quarles a clear field for
his investigations. He declared that he went into the thing for the
sake of the reward which was offered, but it was undoubtedly the
intricacy of the problem which attracted him.
I will tell Mr. Frisby's history as a connected narrative at once;
but, of course, the theory was not complete when Quarles decided to
attempt the solution of the difficulty. We got the outline from
newspaper paragraphs and comments; but some of the details, such as
the tenor of Mr. Frisby's letter to his nephew, were only filled in
after we had taken up the case seriously.
James Frisby, a native of Boston, in Lincolnshire, was apparently a
very ordinary young man indeed. He was a clerk in the office of a
solicitor in the town, named Giles, and in his leisure hours was
inclined to consort with the most undesirable companions, and to be a
too frequent visitor to the public-house bars. Without his doing
anything very outrageous, the position of black sheep of his family
was assigned to him, and a too puritanical spirit, perhaps, had judged
him to be well on the downward path, when a girl named Edith Turner,
the daughter of a small but prosperous farmer at Spilsby, came into
his circle. According to all accounts, she was the sort of girl any
man might fall in love with; exactly what she saw in James Frisby was
not so apparent. However, there was undoubtedly mutual affection; but
the girl's family strongly objected to the friendship, and the girl
herself was not to be persuaded to act in opposition to her father's
wishes. Frisby pleaded, made all sorts of promises for the future,
and, when these proved of no avail, he threw up his situation and went
to Australia.
There was evidently more in him than people gave him credit for. Some
twenty-five years afterward he returned to Boston an exceedingly
wealthy man, and an eccentric one. He immediately entered into
negotiations to purchase the Towers, a large house some three miles
out of Boston on the Spilsby Road. It had stood empty a long time, and
he spent an immense amount of money upon alterations and in furnishing
it, giving no information to anyone concerning himself or his
intentions.
Twenty-five years had brought many changes. The old town nestling, and
dozing a little perhaps, under the great church with its high tower, a
landmark far across the fen country and out to sea, was much the same;
but a new generation of people lived in it. Frisby's friends had gone,
were dead or scattered about the world, and he had only one relation
living, a nephew, the son of an elder sister. Frisby Morton was in
business in London, was married and doing fairly well, and had so lost
touch with his native place that he heard nothing about his uncle's
return until James Frisby had settled at the Towers.
Five or six years after Frisby had left Boston, Edith Turner had
become Edith Oglethorpe, the wife of a farmer. There was nothing to
show that she had grieved very much for her first lover, no suggestion
that she had not been a happy wife and mother. Both she and her
husband were dead when Frisby returned, and their later years had been
clouded with misfortune. Bad harvests and ill-luck had eaten up their
savings, and they had been able to do very little for their only son.
They appear to have had many ambitions for him, all of which remained
unfulfilled.
James Frisby found the lad, then between seventeen and eighteen, in a
grocer's shop in Wide Bargate, one of the main thoroughfares of the
town, and at once proposed to adopt him. It was natural that Frisby
should be interested in the son of the woman he had loved; it was
natural, too, that the boy should jump at the prospect which opened
out to him, but it was curious how quickly these two came to love each
other. For Frisby probably there was in the son something of what he
had loved in the mother; and the lad, no doubt, saw in the man all
those good and lovable qualities which Frisby took no trouble to
exhibit to the world.
A tutor came to the Towers; in due course young Oglethorpe went to
Cambridge, and came home to be the constant companion of his adopted
father. Such a life would have been bad for most young men, but Edward
Oglethorpe appeared to be an exception to the rule. He had everybody's
good word, not because of his wealthy position, but for his own sake.
That he would come into all Frisby's money no one doubted.
There are few who are not attracted by wealth, and it was only natural
that Frisby Morton should take an early opportunity of making himself
known to his uncle. He was his only kith and kin; he might reasonably
hope to reap some advantage from his wealthy relative. Whether he
approached his uncle in too open a manner, or whether James Frisby had
something against his sister or brother-in-law, some injury which he
had nursed all these years and had not forgiven, was not known. The
one thing certain was that Frisby disliked his nephew and took some
trouble to make his adopted son dislike him too. Morton persistently
paid flying visits to the Towers, getting small welcome, and on one
occasion there was a quarrel, entirely of his uncle's making, Morton
declared. That there was some truth in this seemed probable, for
shortly afterward James Frisby wrote to him. It may be he considered
the letter a sort of apology. He said frankly that he did not like
him, and that he didn't want to have anything more to do with him.
"It isn't your fault, and it isn't mine. It just happens," he wrote.
"Still, I do realize that you are my nephew, I do understand that you
have some reason for thinking that you have a claim upon me. That I am
a rich man is my attraction for you. I know it; you need not scruple
to admit it. My money will all go to my adopted son, Edward
Oglethorpe; but, as I have said, you are my nephew, and the enclosed
check recognizes the relationship, and pays for it. Please understand
that it is all you will ever get."
The ungracious tone of the letter lost some of its sting by reason of
the largeness of the check, which was for ten thousand pounds.
Morton's credit was none too strong, so it suited his purpose to make
no secret of the gift. To one or two persons in Boston he showed Mr.
Frisby's letter, which suggested that he realized the finality of the
transaction, and seemed content to drop his uncle's acquaintance.
Whether he really gave up all hope of further advantage was another
matter.
James Frisby's death, which occurred about ten years after his return
to England, caused a sensation not only in Lincolnshire, but
throughout the country. When he was taken ill it was not thought that
anything serious was the matter with him, but a stroke followed, and
the doctor pronounced his condition to be grave. Oglethorpe
immediately telegraphed to Morton. Apparently he had not troubled
either to like or dislike him, and thought it only right that the
nephew should know of his uncle's condition. That Morton had received
ten thousand pounds he was aware, but he knew nothing of the letter
which accompanied the gift, or he might have hesitated to send for
him. Morton came to the Towers and stayed there. His uncle had lost
all power of speech, hardly seemed to recognize those about him, yet
it was evident that something troubled him. They thought it was the
light in the room. They darkened it, and, that having no effect, they
increased it, but failed to satisfy the old man, who worked his hands
backward and forward as if he were wringing them at the inability of
those by his bedside to comprehend him. In this manner James Frisby
passed out of life.
The first note of sensation came quickly. No will could be found, and
it was soon rumored that no will had been made. Mr. Giles, the chief
solicitor in Boston, son of the Giles in whose office Mr. Frisby had
started life, had no will in his possession, nor had any other
solicitor in the town; and the advertisements which appeared in the
London and provincial papers failed to produce any solicitor who had.
Diligent search in the house was without result. Not only was there no
will, but there was not even a scrap of paper of any kind to indicate
what the old man's wishes were. Mr. Giles, with an eye to business in
the future, made himself agreeable to Frisby Morton, who, if no will
were forthcoming, would come into the property as next of kin. The
general opinion was that no will had been made, but a servant at the
Towers declared that he and another servant had witnessed their
master's signature to some document soon after Edward Oglethorpe had
come there to live. The other witness had recently left the Towers,
but was easily found in Lincoln. That they had witnessed the signature
to a will neither of them could affirm; their master had not said what
the document was, but they had supposed it was his will. They both
agreed as to what the paper was like. Moreover, the man who had taken
another situation in Lincoln gave an item of information which added
to the sensation. Some little time after he had witnessed the
signature, he chanced to meet Mr. Frisby Morton in Boston, and in the
course of conversation had mentioned what he had done. He could not
say that Mr. Morton was particularly interested, but he asked several
questions about Mr. Frisby and young Mr. Oglethorpe. Gossip in a
provincial town, especially when it concerns an affair which everyone
is talking about, is apt to become a serious matter. It did in this
case. It only required someone to say that Morton had been told of a
will for someone else to suggest that he might know where the will
was at the present moment. This gossip found its way into Mr. Giles's
office, and the solicitor gave immediate advice to his client. Frisby
Morton was furious. Rumors of libel actions were in the air, not one
but many, and Morton declared that the foul insinuation could only
have come from one source, and expressed his conviction that
Oglethorpe was responsible for it. Oglethorpe, in his turn, was
indignant at being considered capable of such a thing, and put himself
into the hands of Messrs. Lacey, a London firm of solicitors. It was
by their advice that a reward of a thousand pounds was offered to
anyone who should find the will, or should give such information as
would lead to its discovery.
It was the publication of this reward which attracted Quarles's
attention.
"A thousand pounds, Wigan," he remarked. "Shall we go for it?"
I laughed; I thought he was joking.
"You are not busy, are you; you could give the time?" he queried.
"It is hardly in my line, is it?"
"Money is in everybody's line," he returned. "A thousand divided by
three is three hundred and thirty-three pounds six shillings and eight
pence. Zena shall go with us. Let's get Bradshaw."
Two days later we were in Boston, comfortably housed at an
old-fashioned hostelry called the Heron. Before leaving London I had
got the outline of the case, and a few hours in Boston enabled me to
fill in the details of the story as I have set it down here.
We had a small sitting-room at the Heron, as crammed full of furniture
as the room in Chelsea was empty.
"Who could really think in a room like this?" said Quarles.
"I don't know whether it's the fault of the room," I answered, "but I
have no ideas at all about this affair."
Zena laughed.
"Oh! there are plenty of ideas to be had; the most obvious is that Mr.
Frisby never made a will. That would be my verdict but for one fact:
we have an eccentric to deal with."
Quarles looked at her fixedly.
"The man who could send ten thousand pounds to his nephew in the way
he did would hardly be likely to leave any chance open of his ever
getting a penny more," Zena said. "If he hadn't made a will before, I
think he would have sat down and made it the moment after drawing that
check."
"The room doesn't affect her, Wigan," said the professor. "There's
something in the argument, but I shall have to get a lonely walk
before I can see anything clearly. An eccentric; yes, I think that is
a point to bear in mind."
Quarles had his walk before breakfast next day, and afterward he and I
called upon Mr. Giles. The solicitor was evidently not pleased to see
us. Since the reward had been offered by Edward Oglethorpe he looked
upon us as antagonists; but as the professor argued, in his most suave
manner, the finding of the will, if it existed, must be a satisfaction
to everybody, and might save immense trouble in the future. Possibly
Mr. Giles did not perceive the cynicism in this argument.
"There is no will," he said with conviction.
"Do you imagine the servants' statement to be a fabrication, then?"
"No, but a man wants his signature witnessed to other documents
besides a will. The fact that servants witnessed this document,
whatever it was, suggests a careless and haphazard way of doing
business, a tendency to leave things to the last moment. I believe Mr.
Frisby was that kind of man, and he would be quite likely to put off
making his will until it was too late."
"It is possible," said Quarles.
"Probable, sir, almost a certainty. If there is a will I shall be more
surprised than I have been at anything in my professional career."
"Naturally, your conviction greatly impresses me," said Quarles.
"Why, sir, his manner on his deathbed confirms my view," the solicitor
went on. "He was speechless, practically unconscious, yet undoubtedly
troubled about something. He had left his will too late, sir; that was
the trouble, depend upon it."
"Your client--I think you act for Mr. Morton--will profit by the
omission. I suppose there is no doubt whatever that, if a will were
found, he would not be mentioned in it. He had already received his
money, I understand."
"I have grave doubts on the subject," Giles answered. "If Mr. Frisby
had ever sat down to make a will, I am inclined to think he would have
repented of the way in which he had treated his nephew. Personally, if
a will exists, I should not be surprised to find my client residuary
legatee."
"Our friend Giles has missed his vocation, Wigan," said Quarles, as he
walked back to the Heron, where he had ordered a carriage to drive us
over to the Towers; "he should have turned his hand to writing
romances instead of writing obscure English in legal documents."
"I have no doubt he will do exceedingly well if no will is found," I
answered.
"No doubt. A mean man, Wigan, one who cannot help resenting the
success of others. He does not forget that James Frisby was once a
clerk in his father's office."
"Still, it seems to me there is a great deal of force in what he
says," I remarked.
"It would interest me more to know what he really thinks," Quarles
returned.
The Towers, exteriorly, was a barrack of a place, deriving its name
from two square excrescences at either end of its long facade. Within
it was a treasure house. Furniture, pictures, china, silver, books,
all were good. The taste displayed was cosmopolitan, even bizarre. Not
in a single room was there any attempt at uniformity, nor any fixed
plan of decoration. Jacobean furniture, Georgian, examples of
Sheraton, Heppelwhite, and other English worthies in the art, rubbed
shoulders with the work of the master makers of Italy and France, and
were crowded together with marvelous specimens from the East, from
India and Japan. The paintings were of many schools; the china, as a
private collection, would be hard to beat; much of the silver was
unique, and rare books shared shelf room with the modern productions
of the printers' and binders' arts.
"An eccentric, Wigan," said Quarles, glancing rapidly around him.
"Zena was right in emphasizing that fact. We must bear it in mind."
Before leaving town I had taken the precaution of seeing Messrs.
Lacey, the solicitors, and in consequence Edward Oglethorpe was
prepared for our visit and welcomed it. His appearance went to confirm
the reports we had heard of him. He was an upstanding, straightforward
young Englishman of the best type, one with whom it seemed impossible
to associate any kind of meanness.
The professor came to the point at once.
"May I take it, Mr. Oglethorpe, you have no reason to suspect that
Frisby Morton has had anything to do with the disappearance of this
will?"
"The idea never suggested itself to me until he accused me of making
such a statement, then----"
"Quite naturally a doubt was raised in your mind," said Quarles. "Did
it ever occur to you that Mr. Frisby had treated his nephew badly?"
"No; I knew he did not care for him, but I also knew he had given him
ten thousand pounds. Only since his death have I known of the letter
he sent with that check. I was, therefore, not aware that he intended
to leave him out of his will."
"You feel confident there was a will?"
"Mr. Frisby told me I was his heir, and I took it for granted there
was a will. I never saw, I do not think he actually told me he had
made it. As it is, of course, I naturally have doubts whether it ever
was made."
Quarles nodded.
"I cannot explain what my adopted father was to me," Oglethorpe went
on, "nor how keenly I feel his death. The question of his wealth never
troubled me. I was too happy and contented with him to give a thought
to what my future would be without him. You can understand how hateful
this business, this quarreling about his money, is to me."
"I can, I can," said Quarles, with ready sympathy, and with a few
dexterous questions he set Oglethorpe talking about the dead man.
Never surely has a man had his virtues treated more lovingly or his
faults so little remembered. To illustrate some reminiscence of his
adopted father, Oglethorpe led us from room to room to show us some
cabinet or picture. It seemed to me, as I looked round, that there
were a thousand places where a will might be securely hidden, and my
sympathy went out to this young fellow who stood to lose what there
could be no doubt he was intended to possess.
We came presently to the old man's sanctum. Quarles had not asked to
see it. He had followed Oglethorpe, content to listen to him, and only
asking a short question at intervals. He seemed to grow keener in this
room.
"Was he here a great deal?" the professor asked, looking round.
"He did all his business here, and if he wanted to talk to me
seriously we came in here. He always put down the check for my college
expenses on this table with, 'There, my dear boy, don't spend it
foolishly and don't get into debt'--always the same words. I can hear
them now. It is a comfort to me to remember that I gave him no anxiety
on that score."
"Of course this room has been searched very thoroughly?"
"The whole house has been searched from garret to cellar, but you are
at liberty to look where you please."
"It would be superfluous labor, no doubt," Quarles answered. "Tell me,
Mr. Oglethorpe, during this search were there any surprises? It seems
certain that if a will exists it must be in an altogether unexpected
place. Now were things generally found in unexpected places? For
example, there is a safe in that corner, I see; did you by any chance
find a pair of old slippers securely locked up in it?"
"There was nothing so eccentric as that," said Oglethorpe, "but
certainly we did come across unexpected things. Some old pipes were
locked in a cabinet in the drawing-room. We found a mass of worthless
papers in that safe, while some valuable documents were under some old
clothes at the bottom of a drawer in his bedroom. In that chest by the
window, which a burglar would find difficult to pick, he had locked
some fragments of a worthless china vase, and in this table drawer,
which has no lock at all, he kept the few letters he had received from
my mother. He looked upon them as one of the greatest treasures he
possessed, yet anyone might have opened the drawer and read the
letters. Yes, the dear old man was a little eccentric in that way."
"Kept his old clothes, useless papers, broken fragments. He did not
like throwing things away."
"That is true."
"I suppose this room is much as he left it," said Quarles, picking up
the waste-paper basket and turning over the papers in it.
"Yes; practically nothing has been moved or altered in the whole
house. I had everything put back exactly where it was found. You
notice that even the paper basket has not been emptied."
"May I open one or two drawers?" asked Quarles.
"You may search wherever you like," said Oglethorpe.
For a few minutes Quarles wandered round the room, opening a drawer
here, a cabinet there, and apparently looking at the contents in a
casual manner.
"I should like to see the room where Mr. Frisby died, if I may," he
said presently.
We went upstairs, and with a slow glance round it, Quarles seemed to
take in every item it contained and every corner that was in it. Here,
too, he opened several drawers.
"He died in the evening, I understand," said the professor.
"Just before midnight," Oglethorpe returned.
"He was unconscious, wasn't he?"
"He could not speak, but I do not think he was altogether unconscious.
I believe he knew me."
"It has been suggested that he appeared to have something on his
mind," said Quarles.
"I think it was the light that troubled him, but whether he wanted
more or less in the room we could not determine. We tried both without
being able to satisfy him."
"Reviewing the circumstances of those last few hours, was there
anything which might point to the cause of this trouble?"
"I do not think so," Oglethorpe answered. "He moved his hands
continuously, but not in the least as if he were anxious to write.
Such an idea did not occur to any of us. It was only afterward that we
wondered whether he was troubled about his will."
"Who first started that idea?"
"I think it was Morton, but I am not sure."
"How did Mr. Frisby move his hands?"
"Like this, very slowly and feebly."
Oglethorpe held his hands before him an inch or two apart, the
knuckles uppermost. The left hand he tilted slowly forward and
downward; the right upward and backward.
"You are quite sure that those were the exact movements?" said Quarles
after watching him closely.
"Quite sure."
"They were the same the whole time? He did not vary them?"
"Not once."
Quarles turned and walked out of the room, and we followed him. He
paused to examine a bronze figure standing on a pedestal on the
landing.
"Do you intend to begin your search at once?" Oglethorpe asked.
The professor did not answer.
"You can do so when you like," Oglethorpe went on.
"No," said Quarles with a start. He was not really examining the
bronze, he was lost in thought. "No, not at once. I must think it out
first. To-morrow, perhaps. I cannot say for certain."
It was by no means a hopeful answer, and I wondered if Quarles had
already made some discovery which entirely destroyed his theory. His
questions and his insistency on certain points told me that he had
some theory.
We had kept our carriage waiting.
"I'm going to walk, Wigan," said the professor. "I must be alone. That
road looks pretty flat and uninteresting; I shall go that way. It's
impossible to think in that room at the Heron. I may be some hours. By
the way, you might try and find out if Frisby Morton is in Boston. I
might want to see him."
I drove back to the Heron, and in the afternoon I made inquiries about
Morton. I found that a rumor had already been circulated in the town
that a great detective had come to the Towers, and there was some
excitement as to the reason of his visit. Mr. Giles must surely have
mentioned our call, I thought. I also heard that Frisby Morton had
left for London by the mid-day train, and I wondered if there was any
significance in the fact of his departure coinciding with Quarles's
arrival.
The professor did not return to the Heron until late. He was tired and
hungry, and would neither talk nor listen to me until he had made a
square meal.
"I found a splendid spot to think in, Wigan," he said, when the three
of us were in our sitting-room. "A disused gravel-pit. I shared it
with a frog for a time, but he worried me so I took him by the leg and
threw him out. I looked for him afterward with the intention of
throwing him in again. I could not find him, but as I was turning
away, would you believe it, he hopped in again of his own accord."
I was not in the mood for an AEsop fable, and with some impatience I
told him the results of my inquiries that afternoon.
"Gone, has he? Business called him to town, I presume?"
"Perhaps his solicitor wanted him to be out of reach of questions," I
suggested.
"Our friend Giles is quite capable of it," Quarles returned. "He has
not impressed me; but to return to my frog. There were quite a number
of places near that gravel-pit which would have suited him equally
well; but no, he would get back to the pit. I cannot say he gave me an
idea, but he helped to confirm one. The mind, be it frog's or man's,
is certain to be biased by circumstances and environment. If you
watched a frog through a period of time, apart from his actions
necessary to life and well-being, you would find him doing certain
other things, doing them to-day because he did them yesterday. He
acquires a habit. Men do the same. The more curious these actions are,
the more eccentric the individual becomes. You remember Zena warned us
that we had to do with an eccentric in this affair, and therefore was
inclined to believe in the existence of a will."
Zena nodded.
"She based her belief on one point. When Mr. Frisby gave his nephew
such a large sum of money, disliking him as he did, he would take
special care that he should never touch another penny. A strong
argument. Besides, there was the testimony of the two servants who had
witnessed their master's signature to some document. On the other side
was the outstanding fact that no will was forthcoming. Men do not put
off making their wills until too late. A man like Mr. Frisby, it might
reasonably be argued, when making his will, would go to a solicitor.
He had a very large fortune to dispose of; he wished to benefit a
person who had no legal claim on him; he was particularly anxious that
his nephew should not get anything more. His early years in a lawyer's
office would have shown him something of the pitfalls which await the
amateur in legal matters. Further, there was the obvious distress of
the dying man which might mean that he had neglected to make a will.
On the whole, perhaps, the weight of evidence was against the
existence of a will."
"He was eccentric," murmured Zena.
"And more than that--he had made a fortune," said Quarles. "Now, to
make money a man usually requires to be business-like; and since he
was smart enough to make money, he would probably be smart enough to
see that it was disposed of as he wished. Rich and eccentric. In his
case these two facts meant much. I came to the conclusion, Wigan, that
there was a will. If I was right three possibilities existed. It might
have been destroyed, it might have been stolen, or it was concealed in
some unexpected place. That Mr. Frisby could destroy it by mistake was
hardly worth consideration, but he might destroy it purposely either,
as Giles hinted, because he felt he had treated his nephew badly, or
because he was dissatisfied with his adopted son. There is nothing to
suggest that his feelings toward either of these persons had changed
in the least. I think Oglethorpe's conversation to-day bears that out,
Wigan."
"Certainly," I answered.
"It might have been stolen. Such a theft could only profit one
person--Frisby Morton, and incidentally, of course, Mr. Giles, since
he would be able to run up a handsome bill of costs and secure a
wealthy client. We may not like Mr. Giles, but I do not think he would
do anything illegal. What we hear of Frisby Morton does not tend to
prepossess us in his favor. Having worried his uncle a great deal, he
was quickly upon the scene when he heard that no will had been found.
He knew of the signing of a document from one of the witnesses. There
is a possibility that his conversation with the servant might have
given him an idea where the document was placed afterward. Further,
Mr. Morton was almost suspiciously ready to resent all gossip
concerning himself, and at once attributed it to Edward Oglethorpe. At
the same time, it must be remembered that he was Mr. Frisby's only
living relative, that, in a sense, young Oglethorpe was an
interloper, that at least he might expect something substantial from
his uncle. He got it, and appears not to have troubled his uncle any
more. When Mr. Frisby died, apparently intestate, it was only natural
he should come forward; in his peculiar position it was natural he
should resent the gossip. Any man would. Oglethorpe was nothing to
him. From his point of view he had got more right to the fortune than
Oglethorpe, and if chance was to give him his rights so much the
better."
"But he would probably have acted in the same way if he had stolen the
will," I said.
"True, but I have not ended my argument," said Quarles. "What
opportunity had he for stealing it? He was an unwelcome visitor at the
Towers, and does not appear to have stayed there during his uncle's
lifetime. An accomplice is possible, but not probable. However, we
cannot altogether dismiss Frisby Morton from our calculations, that is
why I asked you to find out whether he was in Boston, Wigan."
"And he left when you came, perhaps because you came."
"At the instigation of friend Giles?" asked Quarles.
"Possibly."
"Let us examine the third proposition before we apply for a warrant,"
said Quarles. "The will may have been hidden. If so, it must be in an
unexpected place, all the likely places having been looked into. We
must try and look into the mind of an eccentric. For a moment let us
take any ordinary man, and you will find that he exhibits certain
peculiarities. He is a creature of sequences, and he goes on repeating
himself. He will continue to wear the same kind of clothes, even
though the fashion changes. He will always put certain things into a
certain pocket. He will arrange his papers, not in the best way, but
in the way he has always arranged them. He can only write on a certain
kind of paper with a particular make of pen. Such habits as these are
acquired by quite an ordinary man, and no one thinks much about them.
Now take a man not quite so ordinary. He gets a mania for storing up
useless odds and ends, dislikes destroying anything, touches every
second post he passes in his walks, lives on one meal a day, perhaps,
or becomes a vegetarian. We say of this man that he is rather
eccentric. In short, we notice him because he exaggerates our own
peculiarities. Man repeats himself, that is the point. He does a thing
his way, not yours. Now take a really eccentric man--Mr. Frisby. We
may speak of specific peculiarities in his case, Wigan. He accumulated
useless papers and locked them up. He left valuable papers in an open
drawer. Broken fragments he carefully concealed in a chest; letters
which he treasured he left where anyone might find them. Even if he
did destroy a paper he did not tear it up, he twisted it up. Some men
invariably tear paper across and across, others crumple it into a
ball. Mr. Frisby twisted it. You remember my looking into the paper
basket. There were no torn pieces in it, nor crumpled; they were all
twisted. A small thing, but significant. I looked into several
drawers, you remember. In one was a duster, not just thrown in as you
would do, but twisted up. In his bedroom an old alpaca coat had been
thrown into a drawer, twisted up. Twisting was a habit of his. How it
was acquired I cannot say, but I should guess that in Australia the
act of twisting or turning something was a necessary part of his day's
work. I have known many sailors acquire the habit. This habit, I
argued, might help us in our search. The will was not under lock and
key, Mr. Frisby did not keep his valuables like that; unless the
search was incomplete it was not lying in an unlocked drawer. Was it
twisted up somewhere?"
"His hands," I said excitedly, moving my own as I had seen Oglethorpe
move his.
"Exactly, Wigan, twisting, and more. You are making the motion
correctly, I was careful to ascertain that. It is the action of
unscrewing. The will was screwed into something, and the dying man was
trying to make them understand that something had to be unscrewed."
"What is that something, dear?" asked Zena.
"They thought it was the light that troubled him," Quarles went on.
"We'll go to the Towers to-morrow, Wigan, and I think we shall find
some candelabrum, or, more likely, some old silver candlestick which
unscrews. If we do not, I think we shall have to get an interview with
Frisby Morton somehow. That is why I wanted to know if he were in
Boston. You see, there was a riddle to read, and a bare possibility
exists that Morton has read it already."
I thought this most unlikely, but the fact that Quarles had conceived
the possibility showed how exceedingly careful he was of details. The
will, a very short one, leaving everything to Edward Oglethorpe, was
found in an old silver candlestick, which stood, as a rule, on a table
in Mr. Frisby's dressing-room.
It was a heavy candlestick which unscrewed just below the cup which
held the candle, and the will was in the hollow stem.
Christopher Quarles insisted on dividing the reward into three parts.
Zena certainly had had a definite conviction about the affair from the
first, so perhaps earned her share; but I am very sure I did nothing
to deserve mine.