listened. The door of communication was shut, but through it I could
distinctly hear someone moving about and could occasionally detect the
chink of metal. I ran back to the museum--my felt-soled bedroom slippers
made no sound--and, taking the 'concussor' from the drawer in which I
had concealed it, thrust it through the waist-band of my pajamas. Then I
crept back to the door.
"The sounds had now ceased. I inferred that the burglar--for he could be
none other--had gone to the pantry, where the plate-chest was kept. On
this I turned the Yale latch and softly opened the door. It is my habit
to keep all locks and hinges thoroughly oiled, and consequently the door
opened without a sound. There was no one in the dining-room; but one
burner of the gas was alight and various articles of silver plate were
laid on the table, just as they had been when my wife was murdered. I
drew the museum door to--I could not shut it because of the noise the
spring latch would have made--and slipped behind a Japanese screen that
stood near the dining-room door. I had just taken my place when a
stealthy footstep approached along the hall. It entered the room and
then there was a faint clink of metal. I peeped cautiously round the
screen and looked on the back of a man who was standing by the table on
which he was noiselessly depositing a number of spoons and forks and a
candlestick. Although his back was towards me, a mirror on the opposite
wall gave me a good view of his face; a wooden, expressionless face,
such as I have since learned to associate with the English habitual
criminal; the penal servitude face, in fact.
"He was a careful operator. He turned over each piece thoroughly,
weighing it in his hand and giving especial attention to the hall-mark.
And, as I watched him, the thought came into my mind that, perchance,
this was the very wretch who had murdered my wife, come back for the
spoil that he had then had to abandon. It was quite possible, even
likely, and at the thought I felt my cheeks flush and a strange, fierce
pleasure, such as I had never felt before, swept into my consciousness.
I could have laughed aloud, but I did not. Also, I could have knocked
him down with perfect ease as he stood, but I did not. Why did I not?
Was it a vague, sporting sense of fairness? Or was it a catlike instinct
impelling me to play with my quarry? I cannot say. Only I know that the
idea of dealing him a blow from behind did not attract me.
"Presently he shuffled away (in list slippers) to fetch a fresh cargo.
Then some ferociously playful impulse led me to steal out of my
hiding-place and gather up a number of spoons and forks, a salt-cellar,
a candlestick and an entree-dish and retire again behind the screen.
Then my friend returned with a fresh consignment; and as he was
anxiously looking over the fresh pieces, I crept silently out at the
other end of the screen, out of the open doorway and down the hall to
the pantry. Here a lighted candle showed the plate-chest open and half
empty, with a few pieces of plate on a side table. Quickly but silently
I replaced in the chest the spoons and other pieces that I had
collected, and then stole back to my place behind the screen and resumed
my observations.
"My guest was quite absorbed in his task. He had a habit--common, I
believe, among 'old lags'--of talking to himself; and very poor stuff
his conversation was, though it was better than his arithmetic, as I
gathered from his attempts to compute the weight of the booty. Anon, he
retired for another consignment, and once more I came out and gathered
up a little selection from his stock; and when he returned laden with
spoil, I went off, as before, and put the articles back in the
plate-chest.
"These manoeuvres were repeated a quite incredible number of times. The
man must have been an abject blockhead, as I believe most professional
criminals are. His lack of observation was astounding. It is true that
he began to be surprised and rather bewildered. He even noted that
'there seemed a bloomin' lot of 'em;' and the quality of his
arithmetical feats and his verbal enrichments became, alike,
increasingly lurid. I believe he would have gone on until daylight if I
had not tried him too often with a Queen Anne teapot. It was that
teapot, with its conspicuous urn design, that finally disillusioned him.
I had just returned from putting it back in the chest for the third time
when he missed it; and he announced the discovery with a profusion of
perfectly unnecessary and highly inappropriate adjectives.
"'Naa, then!' he exclaimed truculently, 'where's that blimy teapot gone
to? Hay? I put that there teapot down inside that there hontry-dish--and
where's the bloomin' hontry? Bust me if that ain't gone to!'
"He stood by the table scratching his bristly head and looking the
picture of ludicrous bewilderment. I watched him and meanwhile debated
whether or not I should take the opportunity to knock him down. That was
undoubtedly the proper course. But I could not bring myself to do it. A
spirit of wild mischief possessed me; a strange, unnatural buoyancy and
fierce playfulness that impelled me to play insane, fantastic tricks.
It was a singular phenomenon. I seemed suddenly to have made the
acquaintance of a hitherto unknown moiety of a dual personality.
"The burglar stood awhile, muttering idiotically, and then shuffled off
to the pantry. I followed him out into the dark hall and, taking my
stand behind a curtain, awaited his return. He came back presently, and,
by the glimmer of light from the open door, I could see that he had the
teapot and the 'hontry.' Now some previous tenant had fitted the
dining-room door with two external bolts; I cannot imagine why; but the
present circumstances suggested a use for them. As soon as the burglar
was inside, I crept forward and quietly shut the door, shooting the top
bolt.
"That roused my friend. He rushed at the door and shook it like a
madman; he cursed with incredible fluency and addressed me in terms
which it would be inadequate to describe as rude. Then I silently shot
the bottom bolt and noisily drew back the top one. He thought I had
unbolted the door, and when he found that I had not, his language
became indescribable.
"There was a second door to the dining-room also opening into the hall
at the farther end. My captive seemed suddenly to remember this, for he
made a rush for it. But so did I; and, the hall being unobstructed by
furniture, I got there first and shot the top bolt. He wrenched
frantically at the handle and addressed me with strange and unseemly
epithets. I repeated the manoeuvre of pretending to unbolt the door, and
smiled as I heard him literally dancing with frenzy inside. It seemed
highly amusing at the time, though now, viewed retrospectively, it looks
merely silly.
"Quite suddenly his efforts ceased and I heard him shuffle away. I
returned to the other door, but he made no fresh attempt on it. I
listened, and hearing no sound, bethought me of the open door of the
museum. Probably he had gone there to look for a way out. This would
never do. The plate I cared not a fig for, but the museum specimens were
a different matter; and he might damage them from sheer malice.
"I unbolted the door, entered and shut it again, locking it on the
inside and dropping the key into my pocket. I had just done so when he
appeared at the museum door, eyeing me warily and unobtrusively slipping
a knuckle-duster on his left hand. I had noted that he was not
left-handed and drew my own conclusions as to what he meant to do with
his right. We stood for some seconds facing each other and then he began
to edge towards the door. I drew aside to let him pass and he ran to the
door and turned the handle. When he found the door locked he was
furious. He advanced threateningly with his left hand clenched, but then
drew back. Apparently, my smiling exterior, coupled with my previous
conduct, daunted him. I think he took me for a lunatic; in fact, he
hinted as much in coarse, ill-chosen terms. But his vocabulary was very
limited, though quaint.
"We exchanged a few remarks and I could see that he did not like the
tone of mine. The fact is that the sight of the knuckle-duster had
changed my mood. I no longer felt playful. He had recalled me to my
original purpose. He expressed a wish to leave the house and to know
'what my game was.' I replied that he was my game and that I believed
that I had bagged him, whereupon he rushed at me and aimed a vicious
blow at my head with his armed left fist, which, if it had come home,
would have stretched me senseless. But it did not. I guarded it easily
and countered him so that he staggered back gasping.
"That made him furious. He came at me like a wild beast, with his mouth
open and his armed fist flourished aloft as if he would annihilate me. I
tried to deal with him by the methods of Mr. Slimy Cohen, but it was
useless. He was no boxer and he had a knuckle-duster. Consequently we
grabbed one another like a pair of monkeys and sought to inflict
unorthodox injuries. He struggled and writhed and growled and kicked and
even tried to bite; while I kept, as far as I could, control of his
wrists and waited my opportunity. It was a most undignified affair. We
staggered to and fro, clawing at one another; we gyrated round the room
in a wild, unseemly waltz; we knocked over the chairs, we bumped
against the table, we banged each other's heads against the walls; and
all the time, as my adversary growled and showed his teeth like a savage
dog, I was sensible of a strange feeling of physical enjoyment such as
one might experience in some strenuous game. I seemed to have acquired a
new and unfamiliar personality.
"But the knuckle-duster was a complication; for it was his right hand
that I had to watch; and yet I could not afford to free for an instant
his left, armed as it was with that shabbiest of weapons. Hence I hung
on to his wrists while he struggled to wrench them free, and we pulled
one another backwards and forwards and round and round in the most
absurd and amateurish manner, each trying to trip the other up and
failing at every attempt. At last, in the course of our gyrations, we
bumped through the open door into the passage leading to the museum; and
here we came down together with a crash that shook the house.
"As ill luck would have it, I was underneath; but, in spite of the shock
of the fall, I still managed to keep hold of his wrists, though I had
some trouble to prevent him from biting my hands and face. So our
position was substantially unchanged, and we were still wriggling
chaotically when a hasty step was heard descending the stairs. The
burglar paused for an instant to listen and then, with a sudden effort,
wrenched away his right hand, which flew to his hip-pocket and came out
grasping a small revolver. Instantly I struck up with my left and caught
him a smart blow under the chin, which dislodged him; and as he rolled
over there was a flash and a report, accompanied by the shattering of
glass and followed immediately by the slamming of the street door. I let
go his left hand, and, rising to my knees, grabbed the revolver with my
own left, while, with my right, I whisked out the concussor and aimed a
vigorous blow at the top of his head. The padded weight came down
without a sound--excepting the click of his teeth--and the effect was
instantaneous. I rose, breathing quickly and eminently satisfied with
the efficiency of my implement until I noticed that the unconscious man
was bleeding slightly from the ear; which told me that I had struck too
hard and fractured the base of the skull.
"However, my immediate purpose was to ascertain whether this was or was
not the man whom I wanted. In the passage it was too dark to see either
his finger-tips or the minute texture of his hair; but my candle-lamp,
with its parabolic reflector, would give ample light. I ran through into
the museum, where it was still burning, and, catching it up, ran back
with it; but I had barely reached the prostrate figure when I heard
someone noisily opening the street door with a latch-key. The charwoman
had returned, no doubt, with the police.
"I am rather obscure as to what I meant to do. I think I had no
definitely-formed intentions but acted more or less automatically,
impelled by the desire to identify the burglar. What I did was to close
the museum door very quietly, with the aid of the key, unlock the
dining-room door and open it.
"A police sergeant, a constable and a plain-clothes officer entered and
the charwoman lurked in the dark background.
"'Have they got away?' the sergeant demanded.
"'There was only one,' I said.
"At this the officers bustled away and I heard them descending to the
basement. The charwoman came in and looked gloatingly at my battered
countenance, which bore memorials of every projecting corner of the
room.
"'It's a pity you come down, sir,' said she. 'You might have been
murdered same as what your poor lady was. It's better to let them sort
of people alone. That's what I say. Let 'em alone and they'll go home,
as the sayin' is.'
"There was considerable truth in these observations, especially the
last. I acknowledged it vaguely, while the woman cast fascinated glances
round the disordered room. Then two of the officers returned and took up
the enquiry to an accompaniment of distant police whistles from the back
of the house.
"'I needn't ask if you saw the man,' said the plain-clothes officer,
with a faint grin.
"'No, you're right,' said the sergeant. 'He set upon you properly, sir.
Seems to have been a lively party.' He glanced round the room and added:
'Fired a pistol, too, your housekeeper tells me.'
"I nodded at the shattered mirror but made no comment, and the officer,
remarking that I 'seemed a bit shaken up,' proceeded with his
investigations. I watched the two men listlessly. I was not much
interested in them. I was thinking of the man on the other side of the
museum door and wondering if he had ringed hair.
"Presently the plain-clothes officer made a discovery. 'Hallo,' said he,
'here's a carpet bag.' He drew it out from under the table and hoisted
it up under the gaslight to examine it; and then he burst into a loud
and cheerful laugh.
"'What's up?' said the sergeant.
"'Why, it's Jimmy Archer's bag.'
"'No!'
"'Fact. He showed it to me himself. It was given to him by the
'Discharged Prisoners' Aid Society' to carry his tools in. Ha! Ha! O
Lord!'
"The sergeant examined the bag with an appreciative grin, which
broadened as his colleague lifted out a brace, a pad of bits, a folding
jimmy and a few other trifles. I made a mental note of the burglar's
name, and then my interest languished again. The two officers looked
over the room together, tried the museum door and noted that it had not
been tampered with; turned over the plate and admonished me on the folly
of leaving it so accessible; and finally departed with the promise to
bring a detective-inspector in the morning, and meanwhile to leave a
constable to guard the house.
"I would gladly have dispensed with that constable, especially as he
settled himself in the dining-room and seemed disposed to converse,
which I was not. His presence shut me off from the museum. I could not
open the door, for the burglar was lying just inside. It was extremely
annoying. I wanted to make sure that the man was really dead, and,
especially, I wanted to examine his hair and to compare his
finger-prints with the set that I had in the museum. However, it could
not be helped. Eventually I took my candle-lamp from the sideboard and
went up to bed, leaving the constable seated in the easy-chair with a
box of cigars, a decanter of whiskey and a siphon of Apollinaris at his
elbow.
"I remained awake a long time cogitating on the situation. Was the man
whom I had captured the right man? Had I accomplished my task, and was I
now at liberty to 'determine,' as the lawyers say, the lease of my
ruined life? That was a question which the morning light would answer;
and meanwhile one thing was clear: I had fairly committed myself to the
disposal of the dead burglar. I could not produce the body now; I should
have to get rid of it as best I could.
"Of course, the problem presented no difficulty. There was a fire-clay
furnace in the laboratory in which I had been accustomed to consume the
bulky refuse of my preparations. A hundredweight or so of anthracite
would turn the body into undistinguishable ash; and yet--well, it seemed
a wasteful thing to do. I have always been rather opposed to cremation,
to the wanton destruction of valuable anatomical material. And now I was
actually proposing, myself, to practice that which I had so strongly
deprecated. I reflected. Here was a specimen delivered at my very door,
nay, into the very precincts of my laboratory. Why should I destroy it?
Could I not turn it to some useful account in the advancement of
science?
"I turned this question over at length. Here was a specimen. But a
specimen of what? I am no mere curio-monger, no collector of frivolous
and unmeaning trifles. A specimen must illustrate some truth. Now what
truth did this specimen illustrate? The question, thus stated, brought
forth its own answer in a flash.
"Criminal anthropology is practically an unillustrated science. A few
paltry photographs, a few mouldering skulls of forgotten delinquents
(such as that of Charlotte Corday), form the entire material on which
criminal anthropologists base their unsatisfactory generalizations. But
here was a really authentic specimen with a traceable life-history. It
ought not to be lost to science. And it should not be.
"Presently my thoughts took a new turn. I had been deeply interested in
the account that I had read of the ingenious method by which the
Mundurucús used to preserve the heads of their slain enemies. The book
was unfortunately still in the museum, but I had read the account
through, and now recalled it. The Mundurucú warrior, when he had killed
an enemy, cut off his head with a broad bamboo knife and proceeded to
preserve it thus: First he soaked it for a time in some non-oxidizable
vegetable oil; then he extracted the bone and the bulk of the muscles
somewhat as a bird-stuffer extracts the body from the skin. He then
filled up the cavity with hot pebbles and hung the preparation up to
dry.
"By repeating the latter process many times, a gradual and symmetrical
shrinkage was produced until the head had dwindled to the size of a
man's fist or even smaller, leaving the features, however, practically
unaltered. Finally he decorated the little head with bright-colored
feathers--the Mundurucús were very clever at feather work--and fastened
the lips together with a string, by which the head was suspended from
the eaves of his hut or from the beams of the council house.
"It was highly ingenious. The question was whether heads so preserved
would be of any use for the study of facial characters. I had intended
to get a dead monkey from Jamrach's and experiment in the process. But
now it seemed that the monkey would be unnecessary if only the
preparation could be produced without injuring the skull; and I had no
doubt that, with due care and skill, it could.
"At daybreak I went down to the dining-room. The policeman was dozing in
his chair; there was a good deal of cigar-ash about, and the
whiskey-decanter was less full than it had been, though not unreasonably
so. I roused up the officer and dismissed him with a final cigar and
what he called an 'eye-opener'--about two fluid-ounces. When he had gone
I let myself into the museum lobby. The burglar was quite dead and
beginning to stiffen. That was satisfactory; but was he the right man? I
snipped off a little tuft of hair and carried it to the laboratory where
the microscope stood on the bench under its bell-glass. I laid one or
two hairs on a slide with a drop of glycerine and placed the slide on
the stage of the microscope. Now was the critical moment. I applied my
eye to the instrument and brought the objective into focus.
"Alas! The hairs were uniformly colored with brown pigment! He was the
wrong man.
"It was very disappointing. I really need not have killed him, though
under the circumstances there was nothing to regret on that score. He
would not have died in vain. Alive he was merely a nuisance and a danger
to the community, whereas in the form of museum preparations he might be
of considerable public utility.
"Under the main bench in the laboratory was a long cupboard containing a
large zinc-lined box or tank in which I had been accustomed to keep the
specimens which were in process of preparation. I brought the burglar
into the laboratory and deposited him in the tank, shutting the
air-tight lid and securing it with a padlock. For further security I
locked the cupboard, and, when I had washed the floor of the lobby and
dried it with methylated spirit, all traces of the previous night's
activities were obliterated. If the police wanted to look over the
museum and laboratory, they were now quite at liberty to do so.
"I have mentioned that, during the actual capture of this burglar, I
seemed to develop an entirely alien personality. But the change was only
temporary, and I had now fully recovered my normal temperament, which is
that of a careful, methodical and eminently cautious man. Hence, as I
took my breakfast and planned out my procedure, an important fact made
itself evident. I should presently have in my museum a human skeleton
which I should have acquired in a manner not recognized by social
conventions or even by law. Now, if I could place myself in a position
to account for that skeleton in a simple and ordinary way, it might, in
the future, save inconvenient explanations.
"I decided to take the necessary measures without delay, and
accordingly, after a rather tedious interview with the
detective-inspector (whom I showed over the entire house, including the
museum and laboratory), I took a cab to Great St. Andrew Street, Seven
Dials, where resided a well-known dealer in osteology. I did not, of
course, inform him that I had come to buy an understudy for a deceased
burglar. I merely asked for an articulated skeleton, to stand and not to
hang (hanging involves an unsightly suspension ring attached to the
skull). I looked over his stock with a steel measuring-tape in my hand,
for a skeleton of about the right size--sixty-three inches--but I did
not mention that size was a special object. I told him that I wished for
one that would illustrate racial characters, at which he smiled--as well
he might, knowing that his skeletons were mostly built up of assorted
bones of unknown origin.
"I selected a suitable skeleton, paid for it, (five pounds) and took
care to have a properly drawn invoice, describing the goods and duly
dated and receipted. I did not take my purchase away with me; but it
arrived the same day, in a funeral box, which the detective-inspector,
who happened to be in the house at the time, kindly assisted me to
unpack.
"My next proceeding was to take a set of photographs of the deceased,
including three views of the face, a separate photograph of each ear,
and two aspects of the hands. I also took a complete set of
finger-prints. Then I was ready to commence operations in earnest."
The rest of Challoner's narrative relating to Number One is of a highly
technical character and not very well suited to the taste of lay
readers. The final result will be understood by the following quotation
from the museum catalogue:
"Specimens Illustrating Criminal Anthropology.
"Series A. Osteology.
"1. Skeleton of burglar, aged 37. [symbol: male]. Height 63 inches.
(James Archer.)
"This specimen was of English parentage, was a professional burglar, a
confirmed recidivist, and--since he habitually carried firearms--a
potential homicide. His general intelligence appears to have been of a
low order, his manual skill very imperfect (he was a gas-fitter by trade
but never regularly employed). He was nearly illiterate and
occasionally but not chronically alcoholic.
"Cranial capacity 1594 cc. Cephalic index 76.8.
"For finger-prints see Album D 1, p. 1. For facial characters see Album
E 1, pp. 1, 2 and 3, and Series B (dry, reduced preparations). Number
1."
* * * * *