The House of Mystery
Half-past nine on the following morning found us spinning along the
Albert Embankment in a hansom to the pleasant tinkle of the horse's
bell. Thorndyke appeared to be in high spirits, though the full
enjoyment of the matutinal pipe precluded fluent conversation. As a
precaution, he had put my notebook in his pocket before starting, and
once or twice he took it out and looked over its pages; but he made no
reference to the object of our quest, and the few remarks that he
uttered would have indicated that his thoughts were occupied with other
matters.
Arrived at Vauxhall Station, we alighted and forthwith made our way to
the bridge that spans Upper Kennington Lane near its junction with
Harleyford Road.
"Here is our starting point," said Thorndyke. "From this place to the
house is about three hundred yards--say four hundred and twenty
paces--and at about two hundred paces we ought to reach our patch of new
road-metal. Now, are you ready? If we keep step we shall average our
stride."
We started together at a good pace, stepping out with military
regularity and counting aloud as we went. As we told out the hundred and
ninety-fourth pace I observed Thorndyke nod towards the roadway a little
ahead, and, looking at it attentively as we approached, it was easy to
see by the regularity of surface and lighter colour, that it had
recently been re-metalled.
Having counted out the four hundred and twenty paces, we halted, and
Thorndyke turned to me with a smile of triumph.
"Not a bad estimate, Jervis," said he. "That will be your house if I am
not much mistaken. There is no other mews or private roadway in sight."
He pointed to a narrow turning some dozen yards ahead, apparently the
entrance to a mews or yard and closed by a pair of massive wooden gates.
"Yes," I answered, "there can be no doubt that this is the place; but,
by Jove!" I added, as we drew nearer, "the nest is empty! Do you see?"
I pointed to a bill that was stuck on the gate, bearing, as I could see
at this distance, the inscription "To Let."
"Here is a new and startling, if not altogether unexpected,
development," said Thorndyke, as we stood gazing at the bill; which set
forth that "these premises, including stabling and workshops," were "to
be let on lease or otherwise," and referred inquiries to Messrs. Ryebody
Brothers, house-agents and valuers, Upper Kennington Lane. "The question
is, should we make a few inquiries of the agent, or should we get the
keys and have a look at the inside of the house? I am inclined to do
both, and the latter first, if Messrs. Ryebody Brothers will trust us
with the keys."
We proceeded up the lane to the address given, and, entering the
office, Thorndyke made his request--somewhat to the surprise of the
clerk; for Thorndyke was not quite the kind of person whom one naturally
associates with stabling and workshops. However, there was no
difficulty, but as the clerk sorted out the keys from a bunch hanging
from a hook, he remarked:
"I expect you will find the place in a rather dirty and neglected
condition. The house has not been cleaned yet; it is just as it was left
when the brokers took away the furniture."
"Was the last tenant sold up, then?" Thorndyke asked.
"Oh, no. He had to leave rather unexpectedly to take up some business in
Germany."
"I hope he paid his rent," said Thorndyke.
"Oh, yes. Trust us for that. But I should say that Mr. Weiss--that was
his name--was a man of some means. He seemed to have plenty of money,
though he always paid in notes. I don't fancy he had a banking account
in this country. He hadn't been here more than about six or seven months
and I imagine he didn't know many people in England, as he paid us a
cash deposit in lieu of references when he first came."
"I think you said his name was Weiss. It wouldn't be H. Weiss by any
chance?"
"I believe it was. But I can soon tell you." He opened a drawer and
consulted what looked like a book of receipt forms. "Yes; H Weiss. Do
you know him, sir?"
"I knew a Mr. H. Weiss some years ago. He came from Bremen, I
remember."
"This Mr. Weiss has gone back to Hamburg," the clerk observed.
"Ah," said Thorndyke, "then it would seem not to be the same. My
acquaintance was a fair man with a beard and a decidedly red nose and he
wore spectacles."
"That's the man. You've described him exactly," said the clerk, who was
apparently rather easily satisfied in the matter of description.
"Dear me," said Thorndyke; "what a small world it is. Do you happen to
have a note of his address in Hamburg?"
"I haven't," the clerk replied. "You see we've done with him, having got
the rent, though the house is not actually surrendered yet. Mr Weiss's
housekeeper still has the front-door key. She doesn't start for Hamburg
for a week or so, and meanwhile she keeps the key so that she can call
every day and see if there are any letters."
"Indeed," said Thorndyke. "I wonder if he still has the same
housekeeper."
"This lady is a German," replied the clerk, "with a regular jaw-twisting
name. Sounded like Shallybang."
"Schallibaum. That is the lady. A fair woman with hardly any eyebrows
and a pronounced cast in the left eye."
"Now that's very curious, sir," said the clerk. "It's the same name, and
this is a fair woman with remarkably thin eyebrows, I remember, now that
you mention it. But it can't be the same person. I have only seen her a
few times and then only just for a minute or so; but I'm quite certain
she had no cast in her eye. So, you see, sir, she can't be the same
person. You can dye your hair or you can wear a wig or you can paint
your face; but a squint is a squint. There's no faking a swivel eye."
Thorndyke laughed softly. "I suppose not; unless, perhaps, some one
might invent an adjustable glass eye. Are these the keys?"
"Yes, sir. The large one belongs to the wicket in the front gate. The
other is the latch-key belonging to the side door. Mrs. Shallybang has
the key of the front door."
"Thank you," said Thorndyke. He took the keys, to which a wooden label
was attached, and we made our way back towards the house of mystery,
discussing the clerk's statements as we went.
"A very communicable young gentleman, that," Thorndyke remarked. "He
seemed quite pleased to relieve the monotony of office work with a
little conversation. And I am sure I was very delighted to indulge him."
"He hadn't much to tell, all the same," said I.
Thorndyke looked at me in surprise. "I don't know what you would have,
Jervis, unless you expect casual strangers to present you with a
ready-made body of evidence, fully classified, with all the inferences
and implications stated. It seemed to me that he was a highly
instructive young man."
"What did you learn from him?" I asked.
"Oh, come, Jervis," he protested; "is that a fair question, under our
present arrangement? However, I will mention a few points. We learn that
about six or seven months ago, Mr. H. Weiss dropped from the clouds into
Kennington Lane and that he has now ascended from Kennington Lane into
the clouds. That is a useful piece of information. Then we learn that
Mrs. Schallibaum has remained in England; which might be of little
importance if it were not for a very interesting corollary that it
suggests."
"What is that?"
"I must leave you to consider the facts at your leisure; but you will
have noticed the ostensible reason for her remaining behind. She is
engaged in puttying up the one gaping joint in their armour. One of them
has been indiscreet enough to give this address to some
correspondent--probably a foreign correspondent. Now, as they obviously
wish to leave no tracks, they cannot give their new address to the Post
Office to have their letters forwarded, and, on the other hand, a letter
left in the box might establish such a connection as would enable them
to be traced. Moreover, the letter might be of a kind that they would
not wish to fall into the wrong hands. They would not have given this
address excepting under some peculiar circumstances."
"No, I should think not, if they took this house for the express purpose
of committing a crime in it."
"Exactly. And then there is one other fact that you may have gathered
from our young friend's remarks."
"What is that?"
"That a controllable squint is a very valuable asset to a person who
wishes to avoid identification."
"Yes, I did note that. The fellow seemed to think that it was absolutely
conclusive."
"And so would most people; especially in the case of a squint of that
kind. We can all squint towards our noses, but no normal person can turn
his eyes away from one another. My impression is that the presence or
absence, as the case might be, of a divergent squint would be accepted
as absolute disproof of identity. But here we are."
He inserted the key into the wicket of the large gate, and, when we had
stepped through into the covered way, he locked it from the inside.
"Why have you locked us in?" I asked, seeing that the wicket had a
latch.
"Because," he replied, "if we now hear any one on the premises we shall
know who it is. Only one person besides ourselves has a key."
His reply startled me somewhat. I stopped and looked at him.
"That is a quaint situation, Thorndyke. I hadn't thought of it. Why she
may actually come to the house while we are here; in fact, she may be in
the house at this moment."
"I hope not," said he. "We don't particularly want Mr. Weiss to be put
on his guard, for I take it, he is a pretty wide-awake gentleman under
any circumstances. If she does come, we had better keep out of sight. I
think we will look over the house first. That is of the most interest to
us. If the lady does happen to come while we are here, she may stay to
show us over the place and keep an eye on us. So we will leave the
stables to the last."
We walked down the entry to the side door at which I had been admitted
by Mrs. Schallibaum on the occasion of my previous visits. Thorndyke
inserted the latch-key, and, as soon as we were inside, shut the door
and walked quickly through into the hall, whither I followed him. He
made straight for the front door, where, having slipped up the catch of
the lock, he began very attentively to examine the letter-box. It was a
somewhat massive wooden box, fitted with a lock of good quality and
furnished with a wire grille through which one could inspect the
interior.
"We are in luck, Jervis," Thorndyke remarked. "Our visit has been most
happily timed. There is a letter in the box."
"Well," I said, "we can't get it out; and if we could, it would be
hardly justifiable."
"I don't know," he replied, "that I am prepared to assent off-hand to
either of those propositions; but I would rather not tamper with another
person's letter, even if that person should happen to be a murderer.
Perhaps we can get the information we want from the outside of the
envelope."
He produced from his pocket a little electric lamp fitted with a
bull's-eye, and, pressing the button, threw a beam of light in through
the grille. The letter was lying on the bottom of the box face upwards,
so that the address could easily be read.
"Herrn Dr. H. Weiss," Thorndyke read aloud. "German stamp, postmark
apparently Darmstadt. You notice that the 'Herrn Dr.' is printed and the
rest written. What do you make of that?"
"I don't quite know. Do you think he is really a medical man?"
"Perhaps we had better finish our investigation, in case we are
disturbed, and discuss the bearings of the facts afterwards. The name of
the sender may be on the flap of the envelope. If it is not, I shall
pick the lock and take out the letter. Have you got a probe about you?"
"Yes; by force of habit I am still carrying my pocket case."
I took the little case from my pocket and extracting from it a jointed
probe of thickish silver wire, screwed the two halves together and
handed the completed instrument to Thorndyke; who passed the slender rod
through the grille and adroitly turned the letter over.
"Ha!" he exclaimed with deep satisfaction, as the light fell on the
reverse of the envelope, "we are saved from the necessity of theft--or
rather, unauthorized borrowing--'Johann Schnitzler, Darmstadt.' That is
all that we actually want. The German police can do the rest if
necessary."
He handed me back my probe, pocketed his lamp, released the catch of the
lock on the door, and turned away along the dark, musty-smelling hall.
"Do you happen to know the name of Johann Schnitzler?" he asked.
I replied that I had no recollection of ever having heard the name
before.
"Neither have I," said he; "but I think we may form a pretty shrewd
guess as to his avocation. As you saw, the words 'Herrn Dr.' were
printed on the envelope, leaving the rest of the address to be written
by hand. The plain inference is that he is a person who habitually
addresses letters to medical men, and as the style of the envelope and
the lettering--which is printed, not embossed--is commercial, we may
assume that he is engaged in some sort of trade. Now, what is a likely
trade?"
"He might be an instrument maker or a drug manufacturer; more probably
the latter, as there is an extensive drug and chemical industry in
Germany, and as Mr. Weiss seemed to have more use for drugs than
instruments."
"Yes, I think you are right; but we will look him up when we get home.
And now we had better take a glance at the bedroom; that is, if you can
remember which room it was."
"It was on the first floor," said I, "and the door by which I entered
was just at the head of the stairs."
We ascended the two flights, and, as we reached the landing, I halted.
"This was the door," I said, and was about to turn the handle when
Thorndyke caught me by the arm.
"One moment, Jervis," said he. "What do you make of this?"
He pointed to a spot near the bottom of the door where, on close
inspection, four good-sized screw-holes were distinguishable. They had
been neatly stopped with putty and covered with knotting, and were so
nearly the colour of the grained and varnished woodwork as to be hardly
visible.
"Evidently," I answered, "there has been a bolt there, though it seems a
queer place to fix one."
"Not at all," replied Thorndyke. "If you look up you will see that there
was another at the top of the door, and, as the lock is in the middle,
they must have been highly effective. But there are one or two other
points that strike one. First, you will notice that the bolts have been
fixed on quite recently, for the paint that they covered is of the same
grimy tint as that on the rest of the door. Next, they have been taken
off, which, seeing that they could hardly have been worth the trouble of
removal, seems to suggest that the person who fixed them considered that
their presence might appear remarkable, while the screw-holes, which
have been so skilfully and carefully stopped, would be less conspicuous.
"Then, they are on the outside of the door--an unusual situation for
bedroom bolts--and were of considerable size. They were long and thick."
"I can see, by the position of the screw-holes, that they were long; but
how do you arrive at their thickness?"
"By the size of the counter-holes in the jamb of the door. These holes
have been very carefully filled with wooden plugs covered with knotting;
but you can make out their diameter, which is that of the bolts, and
which is decidedly out of proportion for an ordinary bedroom door. Let
me show you a light."
He flashed his lamp into the dark corner, and I was able to see
distinctly the portentously large holes into which the bolts had fitted,
and also to note the remarkable neatness with which they had been
plugged.
"There was a second door, I remember," said I. "Let us see if that was
guarded in a similar manner."
We strode through the empty room, awakening dismal echoes as we trod the
bare boards, and flung open the other door. At top and bottom, similar
groups of screw-holes showed that this also had been made secure, and
that these bolts had been of the same very substantial character as the
others.
Thorndyke turned away from the door with a slight frown.
"If we had any doubts," said he, "as to what has been going on in this
house, these traces of massive fastenings would be almost enough to
settle them."
"They might have been there before Weiss came," I suggested. "He only
came about seven months ago and there is no date on the screw-holes."
"That is quite true. But when, with their recent fixture, you couple the
facts that they have been removed, that very careful measures have been
taken to obliterate the traces of their presence, and that they would
have been indispensable for the commission of the crime that we are
almost certain was being committed here, it looks like an excess of
caution to seek other explanations."
"But," I objected, "if the man, Graves, was really imprisoned, could not
he have smashed the window and called for help?"
"The window looks out on the yard, as you see; but I expect it was
secured too."
He drew the massive, old-fashioned shutters out of their recess and
closed them.
"Yes, here we are." He pointed to four groups of screw-holes at the
corners of the shutters, and, once more producing his lamp, narrowly
examined the insides of the recesses into which the shutters folded.
"The nature of the fastening is quite evident," said he. "An iron bar
passed right across at the top and bottom and was secured by a staple
and padlock. You can see the mark the bar made in the recess when the
shutters were folded. When these bars were fixed and padlocked and the
bolts were shot, this room was as secure, for a prisoner unprovided with
tools, as a cell in Newgate."
We looked at one another for awhile without speaking; and I fancy that
if Mr. H. Weiss could have seen our faces he might have thought it
desirable to seek some retreat even more remote than Hamburg.
"It was a diabolical affair, Jervis," Thorndyke said at length, in an
ominously quiet and even gentle tone. "A sordid, callous, cold-blooded
crime of a type that is to me utterly unforgivable and incapable of
extenuation. Of course, it may have failed. Mr. Graves may even now be
alive. I shall make it my very especial business to ascertain whether he
is or not. And if he is not, I shall take it to myself as a sacred duty
to lay my hand on the man who has compassed his death."
I looked at Thorndyke with something akin to awe. In the quiet
unemotional tone of his voice, in his unruffled manner and the stony
calm of his face, there was something much more impressive, more
fateful, than there could have been in the fiercest threats or the most
passionate denunciations. I felt that in those softly spoken words he
had pronounced the doom of the fugitive villain.
He turned away from the window and glanced round the empty room. It
seemed that our discovery of the fastenings had exhausted the
information that it had to offer.
"It is a thousand pities," I remarked, "that we were unable to look
round before they moved out the furniture. We might have found some clue
to the scoundrel's identity."
"Yes," replied Thorndyke; "there isn't much information to be gathered
here, I am afraid. I see they have swept up the small litter from the
floor and poked it under the grate. We will turn that over, as there
seems to be nothing else, and then look at the other rooms."
He raked out the little heap of rubbish with his stick and spread it out
on the hearth. It certainly looked unpromising enough, being just such a
rubbish heap as may be swept up in any untidy room during a move. But
Thorndyke went through it systematically, examining each item
attentively, even to the local tradesmen's bills and empty paper bags,
before laying them aside. Another rake of his stick scattered the bulky
masses of crumpled paper and brought into view an object which he picked
up with some eagerness. It was a portion of a pair of spectacles, which
had apparently been trodden on, for the side-bar was twisted and bent
and the glass was shattered into fragments.
"This ought to give us a hint," said he. "It will probably have belonged
either to Weiss or Graves, as Mrs. Schallibaum apparently did not wear
glasses. Let us see if we can find the remainder."
We both groped carefully with our sticks amongst the rubbish, spreading
it out on the hearth and removing the numerous pieces of crumpled paper.
Our search was rewarded by the discovery of the second eye-piece of the
spectacles, of which the glass was badly cracked but less shattered than
the other. I also picked up two tiny sticks at which Thorndyke looked
with deep interest before laying them on the mantelshelf.
"We will consider them presently," said he. "Let us finish with the
spectacles first. You see that the left eye-glass is a concave
cylindrical lens of some sort. We can make out that much from the
fragments that remain, and we can measure the curvature when we get them
home, although that will be easier if we can collect some more fragments
and stick them together. The right eye is plain glass; that is quite
evident. Then these will have belonged to your patient, Jervis. You said
that the tremulous iris was in the right eye, I think?"
"Yes," I replied. "These will be his spectacles, without doubt."
"They are peculiar frames," he continued. "If they were made in this
country, we might be able to discover the maker. But we must collect as
many fragments of glass as we can."
Once more we searched amongst the rubbish and succeeded, eventually, in
recovering some seven or eight small fragments of the broken
spectacle-glasses, which Thorndyke laid on the mantelshelf beside the
little sticks.
"By the way, Thorndyke," I said, taking up the latter to examine them
afresh, "what are these things? Can you make anything of them?"
He looked at them thoughtfully for a few moments and then replied:
"I don't think I will tell you what they are. You should find that out
for yourself, and it will be well worth your while to do so. They are
rather suggestive objects under the circumstances. But notice their
peculiarities carefully. Both are portions of some smooth, stout reed.
There is a long, thin stick--about six inches long--and a thicker piece
only three inches in length. The longer piece has a little scrap of red
paper stuck on at the end; apparently a portion of a label of some kind
with an ornamental border. The other end of the stick has been broken
off. The shorter, stouter stick has had its central cavity artificially
enlarged so that it fits over the other to form a cap or sheath. Make a
careful note of those facts and try to think what they probably mean;
what would be the most likely use for an object of this kind. When you
have ascertained that, you will have learned something new about this
case. And now, to resume our investigations. Here is a very suggestive
thing." He picked up a small, wide-mouthed bottle and, holding it up for
my inspection, continued: "Observe the fly sticking to the inside, and
the name on the label, 'Fox, Russell Street, Covent Garden.'"
"I don't know Mr. Fox."
"Then I will inform you that he is a dealer in the materials for
'make-up,' theatrical or otherwise, and will leave you to consider the
bearing of this bottle on our present investigation. There doesn't seem
to be anything else of interest in this El Dorado excepting that screw,
which you notice is about the size of those with which the bolts were
fastened on the doors. I don't think it is worth while to unstop any of
the holes to try it; we should learn nothing fresh."
He rose, and, having kicked the discarded rubbish back under the grate,
gathered up his gleanings from the mantelpiece, carefully bestowing the
spectacles and the fragments of glass in the tin box that he appeared
always to carry in his pocket, and wrapping the larger objects in his
handkerchief.
"A poor collection," was his comment, as he returned the box and
handkerchief to his pocket, "and yet not so poor as I had feared.
Perhaps, if we question them closely enough, these unconsidered trifles
may be made to tell us something worth learning after all. Shall we go
into the other room?"
We passed out on to the landing and into the front room, where, guided
by experience, we made straight for the fire-place. But the little heap
of rubbish there contained nothing that even Thorndyke's inquisitive eye
could view with interest. We wandered disconsolately round the room,
peering into the empty cupboards and scanning the floor and the corners
by the skirting, without discovering a single object or relic of the
late occupants. In the course of my perambulations I halted by the
window and was looking down into the street when Thorndyke called to me
sharply:
"Come away from the window, Jervis! Have you forgotten that Mrs.
Schallibaum may be in the neighbourhood at this moment?"
As a matter of fact I had entirely forgotten the matter, nor did it now
strike me as anything but the remotest of possibilities. I replied to
that effect.
"I don't agree with you," Thorndyke rejoined. "We have heard that she
comes here to look for letters. Probably she comes every day, or even
oftener. There is a good deal at stake, remember, and they cannot feel
quite as secure as they would wish. Weiss must have seen what view you
took of the case and must have had some uneasy moments thinking of what
you might do. In fact, we may take it that the fear of you drove them
out of the neighbourhood, and that they are mighty anxious to get that
letter and cut the last link that binds them to this house."
"I suppose that is so," I agreed; "and if the lady should happen to pass
this way and should see me at the window and recognize me, she would
certainly smell a rat."
"A rat!" exclaimed Thorndyke. "She would smell a whole pack of foxes,
and Mr. H. Weiss would be more on his guard than ever. Let us have a
look at the other rooms; there is nothing here."
We went up to the next floor and found traces of recent occupation in
one room only. The garrets had evidently been unused, and the kitchen
and ground-floor rooms offered nothing that appeared to Thorndyke worth
noting. Then we went out by the side door and down the covered way into
the yard at the back. The workshops were fastened with rusty padlocks
that looked as if they had not been disturbed for months. The stables
were empty and had been tentatively cleaned out, the coach-house was
vacant, and presented no traces of recent use excepting a half-bald
spoke-brush. We returned up the covered way and I was about to close the
side door, which Thorndyke had left ajar, when he stopped me.
"We'll have another look at the hall before we go," said he; and,
walking softly before me, he made his way to the front door, where,
producing his lamp, he threw a beam of light into the letter-box.
"Any more letters?" I asked.
"Any more!" he repeated. "Look for yourself."
I stooped and peered through the grille into the lighted interior; and
then I uttered an exclamation.
The box was empty.
Thorndyke regarded me with a grim smile. "We have been caught on the
hop, Jervis, I suspect," said he.
"It is queer," I replied. "I didn't hear any sound of the opening or
closing of the door; did you?"
"No; I didn't hear any sound; which makes me suspect that she did. She
would have heard our voices and she is probably keeping a sharp look-out
at this very moment. I wonder if she saw you at the window. But whether
she did or not, we must go very warily. Neither of us must return to the
Temple direct, and we had better separate when we have returned the keys
and I will watch you out of sight and see if anyone is following you.
What are you going to do?"
"If you don't want me, I shall run over to Kensington and drop in to
lunch at the Hornbys'. I said I would call as soon as I had an hour or
so free."
"Very well. Do so; and keep a look-out in case you are followed. I have
to go down to Guildford this afternoon. Under the circumstances, I shall
not go back home, but send Polton a telegram and take a train at
Vauxhall and change at some small station where I can watch the
platform. Be as careful as you can. Remember that what you have to
avoid is being followed to any place where you are known, and, above
all, revealing your connection with number Five A, King's Bench Walk."
Having thus considered our immediate movements, we emerged together from
the wicket, and locking it behind us, walked quickly to the
house-agents', where an opportune office-boy received the keys without
remark. As we came out of the office, I halted irresolutely and we both
looked up and down the lane.
"There is no suspicious looking person in sight at present," Thorndyke
said, and then asked: "Which way do you think of going?"
"It seems to me," I replied, "that my best plan would be to take a cab
or an omnibus so as to get out of the neighbourhood as quickly as
possible. If I go through Ravensden Street into Kennington Park Road, I
can pick up an omnibus that will take me to the Mansion House, where I
can change for Kensington. I shall go on the top so that I can keep a
look-out for any other omnibus or cab that may be following."
"Yes," said Thorndyke, "that seems a good plan. I will walk with you and
see that you get a fair start."
We walked briskly along the lane and through Ravensden Street to the
Kennington Park Road. An omnibus was approaching from the south at a
steady jog-trot and we halted at the corner to wait for it. Several
people passed us in different directions, but none seemed to take any
particular notice of us, though we observed them rather narrowly,
especially the women. Then the omnibus crawled up. I sprang on the
foot-board and ascended to the roof, where I seated myself and surveyed
the prospect to the rear. No one else got on the omnibus--which had not
stopped--and no cab or other passenger vehicle was in sight. I continued
to watch Thorndyke as he stood sentinel at the corner, and noted that no
one appeared to be making any effort to overtake the omnibus. Presently
my colleague waved his hand to me and turned back towards Vauxhall, and
I, having satisfied myself once more that no pursuing cab or hurrying
foot-passenger was in sight, decided that our precautions had been
unnecessary and settled myself in a rather more comfortable position.