He rose, and relit his pipe with a spill. Then he chatted for some
minutes with Joseph, all the time, it seemed, reflecting upon what he
should say to me. At last, reseating himself in his old-fashioned
chair, he again looked me straight in the face and said:
"You have given me your promise of silence, Mr. Holford. I accept it
from one whom I have watched closely for a long time, and whom I know to
be a gentleman. Now I am going to tell you something which will
probably alarm you. A crime, a very serious crime, has been committed
in London during the past forty-eight hours, and I, Kershaw Kirk, am
implicated in it--or, rather, suspected of it!"
I sat staring at the man before me, too surprised to reply. He had
always been an enigma, and the mystery about him was increasing.
"Tell me more," I urged at last, looking into the face of the suspected
criminal. "Who is the victim?"
"At present I am keeping the affair a strict secret," he said. "There
are reasons, very potent reasons, why the public should not know of the
tragedy. Nowadays publicity is the curse of life. At last the Home
Office have recognised this. I told you that I am a holder of secrets.
Well, besides myself, not more than three persons are aware of the
astounding affair."
"And you are suspected as the assassin?" I remarked.
"Unfortunately, I shall be," was his reply, and I saw that his
countenance fell; "I foresee it. That is why I require your aid--the
aid of a man who is honest, and who is a gentleman as well."
And he broke off again to chatter to Joseph, who was keeping up a
continual screeching.
"I am anxious to hear details of the affair," I said eagerly.
"I wish I could tell you the details," he answered, with a bitter smile;
"but I am not aware of them myself. The affair is a mystery--one of
which even the police must be kept in ignorance."
"Haven't the police been informed?"
"No," was his prompt reply. "In certain cases information to the police
means publicity. In this case, as I've already told you, there must be
no publicity. Therefore, though a crime has been committed, it is being
kept from the police, who, not knowing the facts, must only bungle the
inquiries, and whose limited scope of inquiry would only result in
failure."
"You interest me, Mr. Kirk. Relate the known facts to me," I said.
"Why, pray, will you be suspected of being a murderer?"
"Well," he said, with a long-drawn sigh, "because--well, because I had
everything to gain by the death of the murdered person. He had filched
from me a very valuable secret."
"Then the murdered person was not your friend?"
"No; my enemy," he replied. "You, Mr. Holford, as an Englishman, will
no doubt think it impossible that I may be arrested, tried in secret,
and sent to penal servitude for life for a crime of which I am innocent.
You believe that every man in this isle of unrest of ours must have a
fair trial by judge and jury. Yet I tell you that there are exceptions.
There are certain men in England who would never be brought before a
criminal court. I am one of them."
At first I was inclined to regard Kirk as a madman, yet on looking into
his face I saw an expression of open earnestness, and somehow I felt
that he was telling me the curious truth.
"I certainly thought there were no exceptions," I said.
"I am one of the few," he replied. "They dare not place me in a
criminal dock."
"Why?"
"For certain reasons"--and he smiled mysteriously--"reasons which you,
if you become my friend, may some day discover. I live here in this
by-road of a London suburb, but this is not my home. I have another--a
long way from here."
And, turning from me suddenly, he addressed questions to Joseph, asking
him his opinion of me.
"Where's your coat?" screeched the bird. "Where's your coat? Good
night!"
The whole scene was strangely weird and incongruous. Kirk at one moment
speaking of a remarkable tragedy and at the next chaffing his pet.
At last, however, I fixed my host to the point, and asked him straight
out what had occurred.
"Well," he said, placing down his pipe and resting His protruding chin
upon his right hand, as he gazed across at me, "just follow me for a few
moments, and I'll describe, as best I can, all that is known of the
affair--or, rather, all I know of it. Do you happen to know Sussex
Place, Regent's Park?"
I replied in the affirmative. It was, as you probably know yourself, a
highly respectable crescent of large houses overlooking the park.
Entrance was gained from the road in the rear, for the houses faced the
park, perhaps one of the pleasantest rows of residences in London. The
occupiers were mostly City merchants or well-to-do ladies.
"Well," he said, "in one of those houses there has lived for the past
five years or so Professor Ernest Greer, the well-known chemist, who,
among other appointments, holds the Waynflete Professorship of Chemistry
at Oxford University. Though his age is only about fifty-five, his
whole career has been devoted to scientific research, with the result
that he has amassed a considerable fortune from royalties gained from
the new process he patented four years ago for the hardening of steel.
I dare say you've often seen his name mentioned in the papers. He was a
most popular man, and, with his daughter Ethelwynn, often went into
society. In addition to the Regent's Park house, they had a pretty
seaside cottage down at Broadstairs."
"I've seen the Professor's name very often in the papers," I remarked,
"in connection, I think, with the British Association. I read, not long
ago, an account of one of his interesting lectures at the London
Institution."
"Then you realise his high standing," said Kirk, interpolating an aside
to Joseph. "Well, Mrs. Greer is dead, and the household at Regent's
Park consists of the Professor, Ethelwynn, her maid Morgan, two
housemaids, a female cook, and the butler Antonio Merli, an elderly
Italian, who has been in the Professor's service for nearly twenty
years. On the evening before last--that was Sunday--at twenty minutes
to five o'clock, the Professor and his daughter were together in the
large upstairs drawing-room, which overlooks the park, where Antonio
served tea. Five minutes later Antonio re-entered and handed his master
a telegram. The Professor, having read it, placed it upon the fire, and
remarked that he would be compelled to go to Edinburgh that night by the
11:30 from King's Cross, but would return in three days' time, for the
girl had accepted an invitation for the grand ball at Sutherland House
to-morrow."
"The Professor sent no reply to the message?" I asked, much interested.
"No; but half an hour later his actions struck his daughter as somewhat
peculiar, for, having suddenly glanced up at the clock, he rose, crossed
to one of the three long windows--the end one--and drew up the blind.
Then, after a pause, he lowered it again. Then twice he pulled it up
and down quickly, and returned again to where he was sitting. At least,
that is his daughter's story."
"He signalled to somebody--using the Morse code, I should say."
"Exactly my theory, Mr. Holford. I note that you follow me," exclaimed
the friendless man. "You possess a keen sense of deduction, I see!"
"Apparently you don't believe this statement of Miss Ethelwynn's?" I
said.
He sniffed quickly, but did not at first reply.
"The fact that he drew the blinds up and down at a preconcerted hour
shows that he communicated with somebody who was awaiting the signal
outside in Regent's Park," he remarked at last.
"Well, what then?"
"At eight he dined, as usual, with his daughter, and after dinner the
faithful Antonio packed his kit-bag and suit-case, putting in only
sufficient clothes for a stay of three days. At her father's order
Ethelwynn telephoned to the station-master's office at King's Cross and
secured a sleeping berth in the 11:30 express for Edinburgh. At a
quarter to eleven o'clock he kissed his daughter good night, and went
away in a cab to the station, promising faithfully to be back to take
her to the ball."
"And he disappeared--I suppose?"
"No, he didn't," my companion exclaimed, as, turning to the bird, he
said, "Mr. Holford jumps to conclusions just a little too quickly,
doesn't he, Joseph?" And he slowly relit his pipe, which had again gone
out.
"First," he went on, "let me tell you of the arrangement of the
Professor's house. The whole of the ground and first floors are devoted
to reception rooms. The remaining two floors and attics are bedrooms.
Now, on the first floor, reached by passing through what is known as the
Red Room, a small boudoir at the back, and then through a short passage,
one comes to a large and spacious studio, an addition made by a former
owner, a well-known artist. The only entrance is through the Red Room.
The Professor rented the house on account of this studio, and had it
fitted up as a laboratory. Here, secure from intrusion, he frequently
carried on his experiments, making those remarkable discoveries which
have rendered him world-famous. The laboratory is shut off from the
boudoir by this short passage, there being two doors, one in the boudoir
itself and one at the entrance to the Professor's workshop. To both
these doors are patent locks, of which the Professor keeps the keys,
carrying them upon his watch-chain. No one else has a key, while the
door from the conservatory over the porch is walled up. This is in
order that no prying person shall enter in his absence and discover what
experiments are in progress--a very natural precaution."
"Then they were secret experiments he was making?" I remarked.
"Yes. And now for the mysterious sequence of facts. They are as
follows: Next morning, when the servants opened the house, one of the
maids found, lying upon the hall table, a note addressed to Miss Greer.
When Ethelwynn opened it, she found it to be from her father, telling
her with regret that he must be absent abroad for several months, but
that she was not to feel uncomfortable, and giving her certain
directions, as well as how to obtain money during his enforced absence."
"Well?"
Joseph, the parrot, set up a loud screeching, trying to attract his
master's attention.
"Two hours later Antonio discovered upon the stairs leading up to the
drawing-room a curious little gold and enamel charm in the form of a
child's old-fashioned wooden doll--a beautifully-made little thing," he
went on; "and half an hour later a maid, while cleaning the boudoir
outside the locked door giving entrance to the laboratory, was surprised
to find a small spot of blood upon the white goat-skin mat. This seems
to have aroused Antonio's apprehensions. A telegram to the Professor at
the North British Hotel in Edinburgh, sent by his daughter, brought,
about three o'clock in the afternoon, a reply stating that he was quite
well, and it was not until seven o'clock last evening that Ethelwynn
communicated with me, her father having suggested this in the note she
had received. I called upon her at once, and was shown the note, the
little golden doll, and the ugly stain upon the mat. By then my
curiosity became aroused. I went out to a telephone at a neighbouring
public-house, and, unknown to anybody, got on to the reception clerk at
the North British Hotel in Edinburgh. In answer to my inquiry, the
young lady said that during the day a telegram had arrived addressed to
Professor Greer, and it had been placed upon the board where telegrams
were exhibited. Somebody had claimed it, but no one of the name was
staying in the hotel."
"You have now said that the Professor was your friend," I remarked. "I
understood you to say that he was an enemy."
"I'll explain that later," said my companion impatiently, drawing hard
at his pipe. "Let me continue to describe the situation. Well, on
hearing this from Edinburgh, I drove to King's Cross, and, somewhat to
my surprise, found that Professor Greer had left London by the train he
had intended. The sleeping-car attendant who had travelled with him up
North was just back, and he minutely described his passenger, referring
to the fact that he refused to have an early cup of tea, because tea had
been forbidden by his doctor."
"A perplexing situation," I said. "How did you account for the
bloodstain? Had any of the servants met with an accident?"
"No, none. Neither dog, nor cat, nor any other pet was kept, therefore
the stain upon the mat was unaccountable. It was that fact which caused
me, greatly against Miss Ethelwynn's consent, to seek a locksmith and
take down the two locked doors of the laboratory."
And he paused, gazing once more straight into the flames, with a curious
expression in those deep-set brown eyes.
"And what did you find?" I eagerly inquired.
"I discovered the truth," he said in a hard, changed tone. "The doors
gave us a good deal of trouble. At the end of the laboratory, huddled
in a corner, was the body of the Professor. He had been stabbed to the
heart, while his face presented a horrible sight, the features having
been burned almost beyond recognition by some terribly corrosive fluid--
a crime which in every phase showed itself to be due to some fiendish
spirit of revenge."
"But that is most extraordinary!" I gasped, staring at the speaker.
"The sleeping-car conductor took him to Edinburgh! Besides, how could
the two doors be locked behind the assassin? Were the keys still upon
the victim?"
"They are still upon the dead man's watch-chain," he said. "But, mark
you, there is still a further feature of mystery in the affair. After
her father's departure for the station, his daughter put on a
dressing-gown and, sending Morgan to bed, seated herself in her
arm-chair before the fire in the Red Room, or boudoir, and took a novel.
She read until past four o'clock, being in the habit of reading at
night, and then, not being sleepy, sat writing letters until a
drowsiness fell upon her. She did not then awake until a maid entered
at seven to draw up the blinds."
"Then she was actually at the only entrance to the laboratory all the
night!"
"Within a yard and a half of it," said Kershaw Kirk. "But the affair
presents many strange features," he went on. "The worst feature of it
all, Mr. Holford, is that a motive--a very strong motive--is known to
certain persons why I myself should desire to enter that laboratory.
Therefore I must be suspected of the crime, and--well, I admit at once
to you I shall be unable to prove an alibi!"