Dr. Japix Speaks
Octavius Fanks had no difficulty in finding the residence of Dr. Jacob
Japix, for that kind-hearted gentleman was well known in Ironfields,
not alone in the village suburb, but throughout the great city itself,
where his beaming face, his cheery words, and his open hand were much
appreciated, especially in the quarters of the poor. Not a
professional philanthropist, this large man with the large heart, for
he laboured among poverty and vice from an innate desire to do good,
and not from any hope that his works would be blazoned forth in the
papers. He had no wife, no family, no relations, so he devoted his
money, his time, and his talents to the service of paupers who could
not afford to give anything in return except gratitude, and did not
always give even that.
Of course, he had rich patients also. Oh, yes! many rich people came
to Jacob Japix to be cured, and generally went away satisfied, for he
was a clever physician, having the eye of a hawk and the intuition of
a Galen for all kinds of mysterious diseases. But the money which the
rich took from the poor in the way of scant payment for labour done
went back to the pockets of the poor via Dr. Japix, so he illustrated
in his own small way the law of compensation.
Mr. Fanks knew this doctor very well, having met him in connection
with a celebrated poisoning case at Manchester, where he had attended
as a witness in the character of an expert. Octavius, therefore, was
very much delighted at chance having thrown Japix in his way for this
special affair, as he was beginning to be troubled with vague fears
the existence of which he persistently refused to acknowledge to
himself.
Dr. Japix, being a big man, inhabited a big house just on the
outskirts of the town, and on ringing a noisy bell, Octavius was
admitted by a big footman, who said, in a big voice, that the Doctor
was engaged at present, but would be at liberty soon. And soon it
was, for just as the big footman was about to show Fanks into the
waiting-room--on the right--a party of three (two ladies and one
gentleman), accompanied by Japix, emerged from a door on the left.
One lady was tall, dark, and stately, with a serious cast of
countenance; the other, small, fair, and vivacious, a veritable fairy,
all sparkle and sunshine; and the gentleman was a long, lean man with
a saturnine expression, not by any means prepossessing. Burly Dr.
Japix with his big frame, his big voice, and his big laugh,
accompanied the trio to the door, talking in a subdued roar the whole
time.
"We'll set him up--set him up, Miss Florry, never fear--nerves--pooh!
ha! ha! ha! nerves in a bridegroom. Who ever heard of such a thing?"
"Ah, but you see you're a bachelor," said the golden-haired fairy,
gaily; "a horrid old bachelor, who doesn't know anything except how to
give people nasty medicine."
"Hey! now, ha! ha! that's too bad. I always make your medicine nice.
Wait till you're a matron, I'll make it nasty."
"When I'm a matron," said Miss Florry, demurely, "I'll take no
medicine except Spolger's Soother," at which speech the Doctor
laughed, the lean man scowled, and the two ladies attended by the
scowl, departed, while the Doctor turned to greet his new visitor.
"Well, sir--well, sir--ha! may I be condemned to live on my own physic
if it isn't M. Vidocq."
"Eh, my dear Doctor, me voici. Dumas, my dear physician; you've read
'The Three Musqueteers,' of course."
"Ha! ha! if you start quoting already," roared Japix, rolling
ponderously into his study, followed by Fanks, "I give in at once;
your memory, Mr. Thief-catcher, is cast-iron, and mine isn't. So I
surrender at discretion. Now I'll be bound," continued the Doctor,
waggishly, sitting in his huge chair, "you don't know where the
quotation comes from."
"I don't," replied Fanks, after a moment's thought, sitting down; "you
score one, my dear Doctor. By the way, don't call me Thief-catcher."
"Certainly not, Jonathan Wild."
"Nor that either."
"Why not, M. Fouche?"
"The third is the worst of all. At present I'm nothing but Mr.
Rixton--my own name, Dr. Japix, as I told you."
"And Octavius Fanks?"
"Is in the Seventh Circle of Hell--at the back of the North Wind--in
Nubibus--anywhere except where Mr. Rixton is."
"Ha! ha! hey! You're down here on business!"
"Private business."
"Ho! ho! and her name?"
"Mary Anne. She's a housemaid, and I love her, oh, I love her, and her
heart I would discover! Pish! pshaw! 'Hence, vain deluding joys.'
Milton, my dear Doctor! his best poem. But really, I want to be
serious."
"Be serious, by all means," said Japix, complacently; "business first,
pleasure afterwards. Dine with me to-night!"
"No, I've got an engagement. Say seven to-morrow, and I accept."
"'When found make a note of,'" remarked the Doctor, and scribbled a
few lines in his memoranda-book. "Eh! Author?"
"Dickens' Captain Cuttle."
"Very good--go up top."
"Are you going to be serious?" said Fanks, in despair.
"My dear Rixton, I am serious," replied Dr. Japix, composing his
features; "proceed!"
"First, who were the people who left as I came in?"
"Now what the deuce do you want to know that for?" said Japix, looking
puzzled.
"Because I think one lady is Miss Judith Varlins, and the other Miss
Florry Marson."
"Correct so far; but how the--"
"And the gentleman's name, Japix? The lean, lank man that looks like
the Ancient Mariner in his shore clothes."
"Jackson Spolger, a patent medicine millionaire. Inherited it from
Papa Spolger. Large fortune, disagreeable man, engaged to marry Miss
Marson."
"Biography in a nutshell," said Fanks, calmly; "but surely not
engaged."
"Why not? Are you in love with her yourself?"
"No; but I thought Sebastian Melstane--"
Dr. Japix uttered an ejaculation not complimentary to Mr. Melstane,
and turned fiercely on Fanks.
"Sebastian Melstane be--"
"Don't," interrupted Octavius, holding up a warning hand; "perhaps he
is already."
"What do you mean?"
"He is dead."
"Dead!"
"Yes; haven't you read the Jarlchester Mystery?"
"That suicide business. Of course; but I did not think--"
"The dead man was Melstane. Neither did I until an hour ago."
"How did you find out?" asked Japix, gravely.
"By means of this," answered Fanks, placing the pill-box on the table.
"Tonic pills," read Dr. Japix, wonderingly, "eh! Oh, yes, of course; I
prescribed tonic pills for Melstane's nerves. But I don't see how you
found out his name by this, nor how you connect the name of that scamp
Melstane with the man who died at Jarlchester."
"Was Melstane a scamp?"
"Out and out," said Japix, emphatically.
"He must have been bad if you speak ill of him," observed Fanks,
reflectively; "kind of man to have enemies, I suppose?"
"I should say plenty."
"Humph! I dare say."
"Dare say what? Talk about the Jarlchester Mystery, what are you?"
"A mystery also, eh, Doctor?" said Fanks, with a smile. "Well, I won't
give you the trouble of guessing me. I'll explain myself."
The Doctor settled himself in his large chair, placed his large hands
on each of his large knees, and observed in his large voice:
"Now then!"
Whereupon Octavius told him his experience during the Jarlchester
inquest, suppressed the conversation and the name of Roger Axton, and
finished up by describing how he had discovered the dead man's name
from Wosk & Co.
"So you see, Japix," said the detective, decisively, "I saw your name
on the prescription, and came at once to see you, as I want you to
analyse these eight pills. According to your prescription, according
to Mr. Wosk, according to the assistant, twelve pills were made up and
delivered to Melstane. I can account for half of the twelve, so that
ought to leave six; but in that box you will find eight. Now that is
not right!"
"Certainly not!" remarked the Doctor, gravely regarding the pills;
"six from twelve do not leave eight--at least, not by the rules of any
arithmetic I'm acquainted with."
"So there are two extra pills."
"So I see! Two extra pills not made up by Wosk & Co."
"Now the question is," said Fanks, seriously, laying his hand on one
of the Doctor's large knees, "the question is: What do those two extra
pills mean?"
The Doctor said nothing, but looked inquiringly at the pill-box, as if
he expected it to answer.
"I own," resumed Fanks, leaning back in his chair, "I own that I was
half inclined to agree with the verdict of the jurors; it looked like
suicide, but I had a kind of uneasy feeling that looks in this case
were deceptive, so I thought I would like to know the name of the dead
man, in order to find out if there was anything in his past life
likely to lead him to self-destruction. I found the name, as I have
told you, and I also discovered that there are two extra pills in that
box, which have been added after it left the hands of Wosk & Co.--you
understand."
"Perfectly."
"Now, those pills cannot have been added by Melstane, as he had no
reason to do so. Twelve pills are enough for a man even with nerves,
so why should he make those twelve into fourteen?"
"Ah, why, indeed?" said Japix, ponderously. "And your theory?"
"Is simply this. You say Melstane was a scamp; naturally he must have
had enemies. Now I firmly believe that the two extra pills contain
poison--say morphia, of which Melstane died--and they were placed in
the box surreptitiously by one of his enemies."
"Natural enough."
"Melstane," continued Fanks, impressively, leaning forward, "took one
of those extra pills, according to his usual custom, before going to
bed, quite innocent of doing himself any harm. In the morning Melstane
is found dead, and there is no evidence to show how he came by his
death."
"Horrible! Horrible!"
"But observe," said Fanks, emphasizing his remarks with his
forefinger, "observe how 'vaulting ambition o'er-leaps itself.' Again
our divine William, Doctor. In other words, observe how the anxiety of
the murderer to ensure the death of his victim has led to a danger of
his own discovery. If he--I allude to the murderer--had put in one
pill, making thirteen--which would have been a lucky number for our
undiscovered criminal--the victim would have taken it, and absolutely
no trace could have been discovered. Unluckily, however, for the
criminal, he, afraid one morphia pill may not effectively do the work,
puts in two morphia pills. Result, Sebastian Melstane, in perfect
innocence, takes one and dies. The other pill--damning evidence, my
dear Doctor--is one of the eight in that box, and I want you to
analyse the whole eight pills in order to find that special one."
"And suppose I don't find it?" said Japix, putting the box on the
table.
"In that case my theory falls to the ground, and Sebastian Melstane's
death will remain a mystery to all men. But as sure as I sit here, Dr.
Japix, you will find a deadly morphia pill among those seven harmless
tonic pills."
"Your theory," remarked Japix, heavily, "is remarkably ingenious, and
may--mind you, I don't say it is--but may be correct. I will analyse
these pills, and let you know the result to-morrow. If I find here,"
said the Doctor, laying one massive hand on the pill-box, "if I find
here a morphia pill, it will establish your theory in a certain
sense."
"I think it will establish my theory in every sense," retorted Fanks,
impetuously.
Dr. Japix shook his large head slowly, and delivered himself
oracularly:
"Let us not," he said, looking at Fanks from under his shaggy
eyebrows, "let us not jump to conclusions. I may find a morphia pill,
but harmless."
"Deadly."
"Possibly harmless," said Japix, firmly.
"Probably deadly," rejoined Octavius, stubbornly.
"If deadly," continued the Doctor, quietly, "I grant your theory is a
correct one, and that Sebastian Melstane met his death at the hands of
the person who put those two extra pills in the box. If harmless,
however," said Japix, raising his voice, "it establishes nothing.
Melstane may have suffered from sleeplessness. Seeing his nerves were
all wrong, I should say it was very probable he did, and taken morphia
pills--purchased from, perhaps, a London chemist--in order to get a
good night's rest."
"But why two morphia pills?" objected Octavius, earnestly. "Chemists
don't sell morphia pills in twos."
"Your objection, sir, is not without some merit," said Japix,
approvingly. "Still these two pills may have been the balance of
another box, and placed in this one so as to obviate the trouble of
carrying two boxes."
"Possible, certainly, but not probable. No, no, my dear Doctor, you
need not try to upset my theory. Wait till you analyse those pills."
"I shall do so to-night, and to-morrow you will have my answer."
"I suppose you didn't give Melstane any morphia pills?" said Fanks, as
he arose to take his leave.
"No; I don't believe in morphia pills for sleepless people, except in
extreme cases. I generally give chloral, as I did to Mr. Jackson
Spolger to-day."
"Oh, the Ancient Mariner," said Octavius, carelessly. "Does he suffer
from sleeplessness?"
"Yes; on account of his approaching marriage, I presume."
"With Miss Marson?"
"Exactly."
"By the way," observed Fanks, suddenly, "was she not engaged to
Melstane?"
"No, not engaged exactly," replied Japix, thoughtfully; "but she was
in love with him. Strange how women adore scamps. But it's a long
story, my dear Rixton. To-morrow night, when we both dine, across the
walnuts and the wine, I'll tell to thee the tale divine. Ha, ha! you
see I'm a poet, eh?"
"Yes, and a plagiarist also. The second line is Tennyson."
"Really, Mr. Bucket--Dickens, you observe--you're as sharp after a
rhyme, as after a thief. With your active brain, I wonder you don't
suffer from insomnia."
"When I do I'll come to you for morphia pills," said Octavius,
laughing: "not the sort in that box, though. I don't want to die yet."
"I don't believe in morphia pills," remarked Japix, rising to
accompany his guest to the door. "I never prescribe them. Oh, yes, by
the way, I did prescribe some for a Mr. Axton."
Octavius, who was going out of the door, turned suddenly round with a
cry of horror.
"Roger Axton!"
"Yes; do you know him? Why, good gracious, what's the matter?"
For Octavius Fanks, trembling in every limb, had sunk into a chair
near the door.
"Are you ill? Are you ill?" roared the Doctor, anxiously. "Here, let
me get you some brandy."
"No, no!" said Fanks, recovering himself with a great effort, though
his face was as pale as death. "I'm all right. I--I used to know Roger
Axton, and the name startled me."
"Unpleasant associations," growled Japix, rubbing his large head in a
vexed manner. "I hope not--dear, dear--I trust not. I liked the young
fellow. A good lad--a very good lad."
Fanks at once hastened to dispel the Doctor's distrust.
"No! nothing unpleasant," he said, hurriedly: "he was my schoolfellow,
and I haven't seen him for ten years."
Not a word about the meeting at Jarlchester, even to genial Dr. Japix,
for the vague fears which had haunted the detective's mind were now
taking a terrible shape--terrible to himself, more terrible to Roger
Axton.
"I did not know Axton had been at Ironfields," he said at length, in a
hesitating manner.
"Oh, yes, bless you! he was here for some time," cried Japix,
cheerily; "I saw a good deal of him."
"What was his reason for staying down here?"
"Aha, aha!" thundered Japix, roguishly, "eh! you saw the reason leave
my house to-day. A dark, queenly reason, and as good as gold."
"You allude to Miss Varlins."
"Of course. Ho! ho! 'Love's young dream.' Tommy Moore's remark, eh!
'Nothing half so sweet in life.' No doubt. I have no practical
experience of it myself, being a bachelor; but Axton! ah! he thought
Moore was right, I'll swear, when he was beside Judith Varlins."
Every word that dropped from the good Doctor's lips seemed to add to
that hideous terror in the detective's mind, and he could hardly frame
his next question, so paralysed he was by the fearful possibility of
"what might be."
"I suppose she loves him?"
"Dear, dear! Now that's exactly what I don't know," said Japix, in a
vexed tone; "she does and she doesn't. I was afraid she loved Mr.
Scamp Melstane, you know. Women are riddles, eh--yes, worse than the
Sphinx. She was with him a good deal, she wrote him letters and all
that sort of thing, but it might have been friendship. I don't
understand women, you see, I'm a bachelor."
This last speech of the Doctor's seemed too much for Octavius, and he
felt anxious to get outside even into the fog and rain in order to
breathe. He was so confused by what he had heard that he was afraid to
open his lips, lest some word detrimental to his old schoolfellow
should escape them. Hastily shaking the Doctor by the hand, he made a
hurried promise to see him on the morrow.
"Fog and rain," roared the physician, as Octavius stepped outside;
"must expect that now. Eh! ha! ho! ha! November smiles and November
tears--principally tears. Yes. Don't forget to-morrow night--the
pills--certainly. I will remember. Good-bye. Keep your feet dry. Warm
feet and good repose, slam the door on the doctor's nose."
And Japix illustrated his little rhyme by slamming his own door,
behind which his big voice could still be heard like distant thunder.
In the fog, in the rain, in the darkness, Octavius Fanks, stopping by
a lighted shop-window, pulled out his pocket-book and looked at the
memorandum--in shorthand--he had made of his conversation with Roger
Axton.
In another moment he had restored the book to its former place, and
from his lips there came a low cry of anguish:
"Oh, my old schoolfellow, has it come to this?"
Extracts From A Detectives Note-Book
"It is too terrible . . . I can't believe it . . . He did lie to me,
as I thought . . . He has been to Ironfields. He knew the name of
Melstane . . . What was he doing at Jarlchester? . . . Why was he
there at the same time, in the same house as Melstane? . . . He must
have known that the man who died was Melstane . . . He slept in the
next room on the night of the murder . . . The door of Melstane's room
was ajar in the morning . . . Could Roger have gone into the room and
. . . No, no; I can't believe it . . . He would not commit a crime
. . . And yet he had morphia pills in his possession . . . What
prevented him from getting two pills made extra strong . . . going
into Melstane's room at night, and placing them in the box? . . . His
motive for doing such a thing? . . . Dr. Japix supplies even that
. . . He saw in Melstane a possible rival and wanted him out of the
way . . . But what am I writing? . . . He cannot be guilty of this
terrible crime . . . Yet everything points to it . . . his presence at
Jarlchester . . . his possession of morphia . . . his evasive answers
. . . I must find out the truth . . . I can't believe he would act
thus, and yet . . .
"_Mem_.--To write to Axton's London address at once."