THE FINDING OF THE RELIQUARY
I awoke on the following morning to a dim consciousness of something
unusual, and, as my wits returned with the rapidity that is natural to
the young and healthy, the surprising events of the previous night
reconstituted themselves and once more set a-going the train of
speculation. Vividly I saw with my mind’s eye the motionless figure
lying limp and inert with the pitiless rain beating down on it; the
fixed pupils, the insensitive eyeballs, the pulseless wrist and the
sprawling posture. And again I saw the streaming path, void of its
dreadful burden, the suspicious inspector, the incredulous sergeant;
and the unanswerable questions formulated themselves anew.
Had I, after all, mistaken a living man for a dead body? It was in the
highest degree improbable, and yet it was not impossible. Or had the
body been spirited away without leaving a trace? That also was highly
improbable and yet, not absolutely impossible. The two contending
improbabilities cancelled one another. Each was as unlikely as the
other.
I turned the problem over again and again as I shaved and took my
bath. I pondered upon it over a late and leisurely breakfast. But no
conclusion emerged from these reflections. The man, living or dead,
had been lying motionless in the lane all the time that I was
sheltering, and probably for some time before. In the interval of my
absence he had vanished. These were actual facts despite the open
incredulity of the police. How he had come there, what had occasioned
his death or insensibility, how he had disappeared and whither he had
gone; were questions to which no answer seemed possible.
The fatigues of the previous night had left me somewhat indolent.
There was no occasion for me to go to the hospital to-day. It was
vacation time; the school was closed; the teaching staff were mostly
away, and there was little doing in the wards. I decided to take a
holiday and spend a quiet day rambling about the Heath, and, having
formed this resolution, I filled my pipe, slipped a sketch-book into
my pocket, and set forth.
Automatically my feet turned towards Millfield Lane. It was, as I have
said, my usual walk, and on this morning, with last night’s
recollections fresh in my mind, it was natural that I should take my
way thither.
Very different was the aspect of the lane this morning from that which
I had last looked upon. The gloom and desolation of the night had
given place to the golden sunshine of a lovely autumn day. The elms,
clothed already in the sober livery of the waning year, sighed with
pensive reminiscence of the summer that was gone; the ponds repeated
the warm blue of the sky; and the lane itself was a vista of
flickering sunlight and cool, reposeful shadow.
The narrow continuation beyond the posts was wrapped as always, in a
sombre shade, save where a gleam of yellow light streamed through a
chink between the boards of the fence. I made my way straight to the
spot where the body had lain and stooped over it, examining each
pebble with the closest scrutiny. But not a trace remained. The hard,
gravelly soil retained no impress either of the body or even of our
footsteps; and as for the stain of blood, if there had ever been any,
it would have been immediately removed by the falling rain, for the
ground here had a quite appreciable slope and must have been covered
last night by a considerable flowing stream.
I went on to the break in the fence--it was on the right-hand side of
the path--and was at once discouraged by the aspect of the ground; for
even our rough tramplings had left hardly a trace behind. After an
aimless walk across the meadow, now occupied by a flock of sheep, I
returned to the lane and walked slowly back past the place where I had
sheltered from the rain. And then it was that I discovered the first
hint of any clue to the mystery. I had retraced my steps some little
distance past the spot where I had seen the body, when my eye was
attracted by a darkish streak on the upper part of the high fence. It
was quite faint and not at all noticeable on the weather-stained oak,
but it chanced to catch my eye and I stopped to examine it. The fence
which bore it was the opposite one to that in which the break
occurred, and, since I had sheltered under it, the side of it which
looked towards the lane must have been the lee side and thus less
exposed to the rain.
I looked at the stain attentively. It extended from the top of the
fence--which was about seven feet high--half-way to the ground, fading
away gradually in all directions. The colour was a dull brown, and the
appearance very much that of blood which had run down a wet surface.
The board which bore the stain was traversed by a vertical crack near
one edge, so that I was able to break off a small piece without much
difficulty; and on examining that portion of the detached piece which
had formed the side of the crack, I found it covered with a
brownish-red, shiny substance, which I felt little doubt was dried
blood, here protected by the crack and so less altered by contact with
water.
Naturally, my next proceeding was to scrutinize very carefully the
ground immediately beneath the stain. At the foot of the fence, a few
tussocks of grass and clumps of undergrown weeds struggled for life in
the deep shade. The latter certainly had, on close examination, the
appearance of having been trodden on, though it was not very evident.
But while I was considering an undoubted bruise on the stalk of a
little dead-nettle, my eye caught the glint of some bright object
among the leaves. I picked it out eagerly and held it up to look at
it; and a very curious object it was; evidently an article of
jewellery of some kind, but quite unlike anything I had ever seen
before. It appeared to be a little elongated, gold case, with eight
sides and terminating at either end in a blunt octagonal pyramid with
a tiny ring at its apex, so that it seemed to have been part of a
necklace. Of the eight flat sides, six were ornamented with sunk
quatrefoils, four on each side; the other two sides were plain except
that each had a row of letters engraved on it--A.M.D.G. on one side,
and S.V.D.P. on the other. There was no hall-mark and, as far as I
could see, no means of opening the little case. It seemed to have been
suspended by a thin silk cord, a portion of which remained attached to
one ring and showed a frayed end where it had broken or chafed
through.
I wrapped the little object and the detached fragment of the fence in
my handkerchief (for I had broken off the latter with the idea of
testing it chemically for blood-pigment), and then resumed my
investigations. The appearances suggested that the body had been
lifted over the fence, and the question arose, What was on the other
side? I listened attentively for a few seconds, and then, hearing no
sound of footsteps, I grasped the top of the fence, gave a good spring
and hoisting myself up, sat astride and looked about me. The fence
skirted the margin of a small lake much overgrown with weeds, amidst
which I could see a couple of waterhens making off in alarm at my
appearance, and beyond the lake rose the dark mass of Ken Wood. The
ground between the fence and the lake was covered with high, reedy
grass, which, immediately below my perch, bore very distinct
impressions of feet, and an equally distinct set of tracks led away
towards the wood--or from the wood to the fence; it was impossible to
say which. But in any case, as there were no other tracks, it was
certain that the person who made them had climbed over the fence. I
dropped down on the grass and, having examined the ground attentively
without discovering anything fresh, set off to follow the tracks.
For some distance they continued through high grass in which the
impressions were very distinct: then they entered the wood, and here
also, in the soft humus, lightly sprinkled with fallen leaves, the
footprints were deep and easy to follow. But presently they struck a
path, and, as they did not reappear on the farther side, it was
evident that the unknown person had proceeded along it. The path was
an old one, well made of hard gravel, and, where it passed through the
deeper shade of the wood, was covered with velvety moss and grey-green
lichen; on which I made out with some difficulty, the imprints of
feet. But these were no longer distinct; they did not form a connected
track; nor was it possible to distinguish them from the footprints of
other persons who might have passed along the path. Even these I soon
lost where I had halted irresolutely under a noble beech that rose
from a fantastic coil of roots, and was considering how, if at all, I
should next proceed, when, there appeared round a curve of the path a
man in cord breeches and gaiters, evidently a keeper. He touched his
hat civilly and ventured to enquire my business.
“I am afraid I have no business here at all,” I replied, for I did not
think it expedient to tell him what had brought me into the wood. “I
suppose I am trespassing.”
“Well, sir, it is private property,” he rejoined, “and being so near
London we have to be rather particular. Perhaps you would like me to
show you the way out on to the Heath.”
I accepted his offer with many thanks for his courteous method of
ejecting a trespasser, and we walked together through the beautiful
woodland until the path terminated at a rustic turnstile.
“That will be your way, sir,” he said, as he let me out, indicating a
track that led down to the Vale of Health. I thanked him once more and
then asked:
“Is that a private house or does it belong to your estate?” I pointed
to a small house or large cottage that stood within a fenced enclosure
not far from the edge of the wood.
“That, sir,” he replied, “was formerly a keeper’s lodge. It is now let
for a short term to an artist gentleman who is making some pictures of
the Heath, but I expect it will be pulled down before long, as there
is some talk of the County Council taking over that piece of land to
add to the public grounds. Good-morning, sir,” and the keeper, with a
parting salute, turned back into the wood.
As I took my way homeward by the Highgate Ponds I meditated on the
relation of my new discoveries to the mystery of the preceding night.
It was a strange affair, and sinister withal.
That the tracks led from the lane to the wood and not from the wood to
the lane, I felt firmly convinced; and equally so that the body of the
unknown priest or clergyman had undoubtedly been spirited away. But
whither had it been carried? Presumably to some sequestered spot in
the wood. And what better hiding-place could be found? There, buried
in the soft leaf-mould, it might lie undisturbed for centuries,
covered only the deeper as each succeeding autumn shed its russet
burden on the unknown grave.
And what, I wondered, was the connection between this mysterious
tragedy and the queer little object that I had picked up? Perhaps
there was none. Its presence at that particular spot might be nothing
but a coincidence. I took it from my handkerchief and examined it
afresh. It was a very curious object. As to its use or meaning, I
could only form vague surmises. Perhaps it was some kind of locket,
enclosing a wisp of hair; the hair perhaps of some dead child or wife
or husband or even lover. It was impossible to say. Of course, this
question could be settled by taking it to pieces, but I was loth to
injure the pretty little bauble; besides it was not mine. In fact, I
felt that I ought to notify publicly that I had found it, though the
circumstances did not make this very advisable. But if it had any
connection with the tragedy, what was the nature of that connection?
Had it dropped from the dead man or from the murderer--as I assumed
the other man to be? Either was equally possible, though the two
possibilities had very different values.
Then the question arose as to what course I should pursue. Clearly it
would be my duty to inform the police of the mark on the fence and the
tracks through the grass. But should I hand over the mysterious
trinket to them? It seemed the correct thing to do, and yet there
might after all be no connection between it and the crime. In the end
I left the matter to be decided by the attitude of the police
themselves.
I called at the station on my way home and furnished the inspector
with an account of my new discoveries; of which he made a careful
note, assuring me that the affair should be looked into. But his
manner expressed frank disbelief, and was even a trifle hostile; and
his emphatic request that I would abstain from mentioning the matter
to anyone left me in no doubt that he regarded both my communications
as wild delusions if not as a deliberate hoax. Consequently, though I
frequently reproached myself afterwards with the omission, I said
nothing about the trinket, and when I left the station I carried it in
my pocket.
No communication on the subject of this mysterious affair ever reached
me from the police. That they did actually make some perfunctory
investigations, I learned later, as will appear in this narrative. But
they gave no publicity to the affair and they sought no further
information from me. For my own part, I could, naturally, never forget
so strange an experience; but time and the multitudinous interests of
my opening life tended to push it farther into the background of
memory, and there it might have remained for ever had not subsequent
events drawn it once more from its obscurity.