I POSSESS MYSELF OF THE SECRET OF JAMES BAKEWELL GREEN
When I look back upon that moment I find myself wondering at the
singular effect which the discovery of the dead man’s identity had
upon my nerves. It turned them in a second’s space from quivering and
twitching strings to cords of iron. It acted upon the brain as a cold
douche acts upon the body. It was as if a man had staggered heavy with
drink to a pump, and after once dipping his head under the tap had come
up perfectly sober. And the mental effect was equally curious. I do
not think I am in the general way unsympathetic, or indifferent to the
misfortunes of others, but on this occasion I found myself as coldly
calculating the possible advantages and disadvantages to myself of
Green’s untimely end as if I had been a housewife reckoning up what she
had made or lost by the sale of eggs.
My first procedure was to secure the piece of paper which I had found
in the bottle. “I may want Captain Shannon’s autograph one of these
days,” I said to myself, “and even were it not so I should be unwise to
leave this document upon the scene. If, when the body is found, it is
believed that Green was drowned by misadventure there is less chance
of awkward questions being asked and inconvenient inquiries made. Such
inquiries might bring to light the fact that he was engaged, by my
directions, in investigating Mullen’s antecedents, and the matter might
come to the ears of Mullen himself.
“And now another thing. I’m afraid Green’s papers have been taken by
the murderer, otherwise I ought to secure them. They might contain a
clue to the secret to which the poor man attached such importance. Ah!
I thought so; they’ve gone, for the pocket-book which I know he carried
is missing, although his watch, chain, money, and other belongings are
left. But stop a minute. When I gave Green my address I remember he
took out his cigar-case, removed the cigars, and showed me that the
case had a secret pocket for papers. He said that he never carried
important papers in a pocket-book, which is the first thing a thief or
a rogue who wishes to abstract a document goes for, and that he had had
his taken from him twice--once by force and once by a cunning theft.
“But Mullen would not know that Green kept documents in his cigar-case,
and probably wouldn’t trouble to take it. Let me see. Yes, here it is,
in the breast pocket, and I _think_ I can feel papers inside the silk
lining. We’ll look at them by-and-bye. Anything else in his pockets
that I might require? No. Then I’ll slide the body back into the water.
He’s evidently been dead many hours, and it can make no difference to
him, poor fellow. That’s it. He’s just as he was when I found him. Now
I’ll be off. Good night, Mr. James Bakewell Green. I won’t press you
for that I O U.”
Still wondering at my heartlessness, I turned and walked in the
direction of Yarby. But I had more important matters than my own
mental attitude to consider, for the first thing which I had to ask
myself was, “By whose hand did Green meet his end?” It was, of course,
possible either that he had committed suicide, or that the paper
bearing the signature of “Captain Shannon” had been placed where I
found it by some one who, for reasons of his own, had taken Green’s
life, and hoped by attributing the crime to Captain Shannon to divert
suspicion from himself. But I soon decided that neither of these
alternatives was worth consideration. For the motive of the crime
one had not far to look. Green had, on his own showing, discovered
something which might lead to Captain Shannon’s arrest, and there could
be no doubt that, should the fugitive get wind of this, his first step
would be to rid himself of so dangerous an enemy.
From the circumstance under which I discovered the body of my
unfortunate agent, I came to the conclusion that he was on board a
yacht when the crime was effected.
Having often yachted off Yarby I was tolerably familiar with the coast,
and knew that the place where I found the body was the very spot
towards which, with every incoming tide, a strong current sets. And
as matters stood it looked as if the corpse had been carried thither
from the open sea. That it had not been placed where it was by any
one on the shore--at all events since the outgoing tide--was evident
from the fact that my own were the only footmarks on the soft smooth
stretch of sandy mud which led down to the water’s edge. But what
struck me as especially strange was that, though Green was otherwise
fully dressed, he was wearing no boots. It was very unlikely that he
had walked two miles along a rocky beach with unprotected feet. But
if he had, for any reason, been persuaded to go upon a yacht, it was
quite possible that he might take his boots off--firstly, because no
yacht owner who prides himself upon the trimness of his craft and the
whiteness of her decks cares to have a visitor tramping about in heavy
and perhaps muddy boots; and secondly, because a landsman who is so
shod would find it difficult to get a safe foothold upon the slippery
decks of a small vessel. My theory was that Green had been decoyed
upon a yacht under some pretext, or that he had been foolhardy enough
to go on board of his own accord, perhaps in the hope of obtaining
further and final evidence of Mullen’s identity, or, it may be, with
the idea of achieving the fugitive’s arrest. Once on board, he had in
all probability been the victim of foul play. Very likely he had been
rendered insensible by a blow on the head given from behind, after
which he had been carried out to sea, where he could be despatched
at leisure, and without any risk of his cries being heard or the
act witnessed, as might be the case on land. After that the bottle
containing the paper inscribed “By order.--Captain Shannon,” had been
fastened to his wrist and the body cast adrift, to serve as a warning
to others like him who might elect to enter the lists against the
arch-assassin. But apart from the question of how Green met his end,
I had to recognise that if the body were found while I was in the
neighbourhood, and foul play were suspected, I, as a stranger, might
be called on to give an account of myself, and might even be arrested
on suspicion. Hence I decided to return to town at once, but as the
crime might at any moment be discovered and an alarm raised, I thought
it highly inadvisable to carry about with me anything which could be
identified as the dead man’s property, and that I should do well to
investigate the cigar-case at once and get it out of my possession.
Two neatly-folded sheets of paper--a diagram and a letter--were
concealed in the secret pocket, and one glance at them satisfied me
that they were the documents of which I was in search.