farce, and so, I may confess, I regarded it. The idea of a burglar
proceeding against a householder for hindering him in the execution of
his private business might have emanated from the whimsical brain of the
late W.S. Gilbert. The quaint topsy-turveydom of it caused me many a
chuckle of amusement when I recalled the interview during the next few
days; but, of course, I never dreamed of any actual attempt to carry out
the threat.
"Imagine, therefore, my astonishment when I realized that not only had
the complaint been made, but the law had actually been set--at least
tentatively--in motion.
"The stunning discovery descended on me with the force of a concussor
three days after the interview with Number Five's cousin. I was sitting
in my study reading Chevers' 'Crime against the Person' when the
housemaid entered with a visiting card. 'A gentleman wished to see me to
discuss certain scientific matters with me.'
"I looked at the card. It bore the name of 'Mr. James Ramchild,' a name
quite unknown to me. It was very odd. A scientific colleague would
surely have written for an appointment and stated the object of his
visit. I looked at the card again. It was printed from script type
instead of the usual engraved plate and it bore an address in Kennington
Park Road. These were weighty facts and a trifle suspicious. I seemed to
scent a traveler from beyond the Atlantic; a traveler of commercial
leanings.
"'Show Mr. Ramchild up here,' I said, and the housemaid departed, to
return anon accompanied by a tall, massive man of a somewhat military
aspect.
"I could have laughed aloud, but I did not. It would not have been
politic and it would certainly not have been polite. But I chuckled
inwardly as I offered my visitor a chair. '_Experientia docet!_' I had
seen quite a number of plain-clothes police officers in the last few
months and the present specimen would have been typical even without his
boots. I prepared to enjoy myself.
"'I have taken the liberty of calling on you, Mr. Challoner,' my visitor
began, 'to make a few enquiries concerning--er--skeletons.'
"'I nodded gravely and smothered a giggle. He was a simple soul, this
Ramchild. 'Concerning skeletons!' What an expression for a man of
science to use! An artless creature indeed! A veritable Ramchild of
nature, so to speak.
"'I understand,' he continued, 'that you have a famous collection
of--er--skeletons.' I nodded again. Of course I had not anything of the
kind. Mine was only a little private collection. But it was of no
consequence. 'So,' he concluded, 'I have called to ask if you would be
so kind as to let me see them.'
"'From whom did you hear of my collection?' I asked.
"'It was mentioned to me by my friend Mr.--er--Mr. Winterbottom, of
Cambridge.'
"'Ah,' said I, 'I remember Winterbottom very well. How is he?'
"'He's very well, thank you,' replied the detective, looking mightily
surprised; and not without reason, seeing that he had undoubtedly
invented the name Winterbottom on the spur of the moment.
"'Is there any branch of the subject that you are especially interested
in?' I asked, purposely avoiding giving him a lead.
"'No,' he replied. 'No, not particularly. The fact is that I thought of
starting a collection myself if it wouldn't be too expensive. But you
have a regular museum, haven't you?'
"'Yes. Come and have a look at it.'
"He rose with alacrity and I led him through the dining-room to the
museum wing, and I noticed that, if he did not know much about
osteology, he was uncommonly observant of the details of
house-construction. He looked very hard at the safe, the mahogany
casing of which failed to disguise its nature from the professional eye,
and noted the massive door that gave entrance to the museum wing and the
Yale lock that secured it. In the museum his eye riveted itself on the
five human skeletons in the great wall-case, but I perversely led him to
the case containing my curious collection of abnormal and deformed
skeletons of the lower animals.
"'There,' I said complacently, 'that is my little hoard. Is there any
specimen that you would like to take out and examine?'
"He gazed vaguely into the case and murmured that 'they were all very
interesting,' and again I caught his eye wandering to the great case
opposite. I was in the act of reaching out a porcupine with an ankylosed
knee-joint, when he plucked up courage to say frankly, 'The fact is, I
am principally interested in human skeletons.'
"I replaced the porcupine and walked across to the great wall-case. 'I
am sorry I have not more to show you,' I said apologetically. 'This is
only the beginning of a collection, you see; but still, the specimens
are of considerable interest. Don't you find them so?'
"Apparently he did, for he scrutinized the dates on the dwarf-pedestals
with the deepest attention and finally remarked, 'I see you have written
a date on each of these. What does that signify?'
"'The dates are those on which I acquired the respective specimens,' I
answered.
"'Oh, indeed.' He reflected, with a profoundly speculative eye on Number
Five. I judged that he was trying to recall a date furnished by Number
Five's cousin and that he would have liked to consult his note-book.
"'The particulars,' I said, 'are too lengthy to put on the labels, but
they are set out in detail in the catalogue.'
"'Can I see the catalogue?' he asked eagerly.
"'Certainly.' I produced a small manuscript volume--not the catalogue
which is attached to the 'Archives,' but a dummy that I had prepared for
such a contingency as had arisen--and handed it to him. He opened it
with avidity, and, turning at once to Number Five, began, with manifest
disappointment, to read the description aloud.
"'5. Male skeleton of Teutonic type exhibiting well-marked characters of
degeneration. The skull is asymmetrical, subdolichocephalic.' (He
pronounced this word subdolichocolophalic' and paused abruptly, turning
rather red. It _is_ an awkward word.) 'Yes,' he said, closing the
catalogue, 'very interesting, very remarkable. Exceedingly so. I should
very much like to possess a skeleton like that.'
"'You are much better off with the one you have got,' I remarked.
"'Oh, I don't mean that,' he rejoined hastily. 'I mean that I should
like to acquire a specimen like this Number Five for my proposed
collection. Now how could I get one?'
"'Well,' I said reflectively, 'there are several ways.' I paused and he
gazed at me expectantly. 'You could, for instance,' I continued slowly,
'provide yourself with a lasso and take a walk down Whitechapel High
Street.'
"'Good gracious!' he exclaimed excitedly; 'do you really mean to say
that--'
"'Certainly,' I interrupted. 'You would find an abundance of material.
For my own part, not being gifted with your exceptionally fine physique,
I have to adopt the more prosaic and expensive plan of buying my
specimens from the dealers.'
"'Quite so, quite so,' he agreed. He was deeply disappointed and
inclined to be huffy. 'Of course you were joking about the lasso. But
would you mind giving me the address of the dealer from whom you
obtained this specimen?' And once more he pointed to Cousin Bill.
"He thought he had cornered me; and so he would have done if I had been
less cautious. I congratulated myself on the wisdom and foresight that
had led me to provide myself with those dummy skeletons. For now I held
him in the hollow of my hand.
"'That specimen?' I said, scanning the date on the pedestal; 'I fancy I
got it from Hammerstein. You know his place in the Seven Dials, no
doubt. A very useful man. I get most of my human osteology from him.' I
fetched my receipt file and turned over the papers in leisurely fashion
while he gnawed his lips with impatience. At last I found the receipted
invoice and he read it aloud with a ludicrous expression of
disappointment.
"'Complete set superfine human osteology strongly articulated with best
brass wire and screw-bolts, with springs to mandible and stout iron
supporting rod. All bones guaranteed to be derived from the same
subject. £5.3.4.'
"The invoice was headed, 'Oscar Hammerstein, Dealer in Osteology, Great
St. Andrew Street, London, W.C.,' and was dated 4th February, 1891.
"The detective entered the name and address in a black-bound note-book
of official aspect, compared the date with that on Cousin Bill's
pedestal and prepared to depart.
"'There is one thing I must point out to you,' I said, anticipating an
early visit on my friend's part to Mr. Hammerstein; 'the skeletons as
you get them from the dealers are not always up to museum style in point
of finish. They are often of a bad color and may be stained with grease.
If they are, you will have to disarticulate them, clean them with
benzol and, if necessary, remacerate and bleach; but whatever you do,' I
concluded solemnly, 'be careful with the chlorinated soda or you will
spoil the appearance of the bones and make them brittle. Good bye!' I
shook his hand effusively and he took his departure very glum and
crestfallen.
"As long as he had been with me, something of the old buoyant spirit of
playfulness--that was my ordinary mood until my great trouble
befell--had been revived by the absurdity of the situation. But his
departure left me rather depressed, for his visit marked the final
collapse of my scheme. Even if the criminal classes had been willing to
continue the supply of anthropological material, my methods could not
have been carried out under the watchful and disapproving eyes of the
police.
"What then was to be done? This was the question that I asked myself
again and again. As to abandoning my activities, of course, such an idea
never occurred to me. I remained alive for a definite purpose: to search
for the man who had murdered my wife and to exact from him payment of
his debt. Of this purpose, the collection had been, at first, a mere
by-product; and though it was gradually taking such hold of me as to
become a purpose in itself, it was but a minor purpose. The discovery of
that unknown wretch was the Mecca of my earthly pilgrimage, from which
no difficulties or obstacles should divert me.
"The hint that ultimately guided me into new fields of research came to
me by the merest chance. A few days after the visit of the detective I
received a letter from one of my few remaining friends, a Dr. Grayson,
who had formerly practiced in London as a physician, but who, owing to
age and infirmity, had retired to his native place, the village of
Shome, near Rochester. Grayson asked me to spend a day with him, that we
might talk over some matters in which we were both interested; and,
being now rather at a loose end, I accepted the invitation, but declined
to sleep away from home and my collection.
"It is significant of my state of mind at this time that, before
starting, I considered what weapon I should take with me. Formerly I
should no more have thought of arming myself for a simple railway
journey than of putting on a coat of mail; but now a train suggested a
train robber--a Lefroy, with a very unsubmissive Mr. Gold--and the long
tunnel near Strood was but the setting of a railway tragedy. My ultimate
choice of weapon, too, is interesting. The familiar revolver I rejected
utterly. There must be no noise. My quarrel with the criminal was a
personal one in which no outsiders must be allowed to meddle. I should
have preferred the concussor, which I now handled with skill, but it was
hardly a portable tool, and my choice ultimately fell on a very fine
swordstick, supplemented by a knuckle-duster which had been bequeathed
to me by one of my clients after trial on my own countenance.
"And after all, nothing happened. I got into an empty first-class
compartment and when, just as the train was starting, a burly fellow
dashed in and slammed the door, I eyed him suspiciously and waited for
developments. But there were none. The fellow sat huddled in a corner,
watching me and keeping an eye on the handle of the alarm over his
head; but he made no sign. When we emerged from the long tunnel he was
as white as a ghost and he hopped out on to Strood platform almost
before the train had begun to slow down.
"I reached my bag down from the rack and got out after him, smiling at
my own folly. The criminal was becoming an obsession of which I must
beware if I would not end my days in an asylum; a fact which was further
impressed on me when I saw my late fellow-passenger, who had just caught
sight of me, 'legging it' down the station approach like a professional
pedestrian and looking back nervously over his shoulder. Resolving
firmly to put the subject out of my mind, I walked slowly into the town
and betook myself to the London Road; and though, as I passed the
Falstaff Inn and crossed Gad's Hill, fleeting reminiscences of Prince
Henry and the men in buckram came unsought, with later suggestions of a
stagecoach struggling up the hill in the dark and masked figures
creeping down the banks into the sunken road, I kept to my good
resolution. The bag was a little cumbersome--it contained a large
parcel of bulbs from Covent Garden that Grayson had asked me to
bring--and yet it was pleasant to break off from the high road and stray
by well-remembered tracks and footpaths across the fields. It was all
familiar ground; for in years gone by, when Grayson was in practice, we
would come down together for weekends to his little demesne, and often I
would stay on alone for a week or so and ramble about the country by
myself. So I knew every inch of the country side and was so much
interested in renewing my acquaintance with it that I was twenty minutes
late for lunch.
"I had a most agreeable day with Grayson (who was working at the
historical aspects of disease), and would have stayed later than I did.
But at about half-past eight--we had dined at seven--Grayson began to be
restless and fidgetty and at last said apologetically:
"'Don't think me inhospitable, Challoner, but if you aren't going to
stay the night you had better be going. And don't go by Gad's Hill.
Take the road down to Higham and catch the train there.'
"'Why, what is the matter with Gad's Hill?' I asked.
"'Nothing much by daylight, but a great deal at night. It has always
been an unsafe spot and is especially just now. There has been quite an
epidemic of highway robberies lately. They began when the hoppers were
here last autumn, but some of those East-end ruffians seem to have
settled in the neighborhood. I have seen some very queer-looking
characters even in this village; aliens, apparently, of the kind that
you see about Stepney and Whitechapel.
"'Now, you get down to Higham, like a good fellow, before the country
settles down for the night.'
"Needless to say, the prowling alien had no terrors for me, but as
Grayson was really uneasy, I made no demur and took my leave almost
immediately. But I did not make directly for Higham. The moon was up and
the village looked very inviting. Tree and chimney-stack, thatched roof
and gable-end cut pleasant shapes of black against the clear sky, and
patches of silvery light fell athwart the road on wooden palings and
weather-boarded fronts. I strolled along the little street, carrying the
now light and empty bag and exchanging greetings with scattered
villagers, until I came to the lane that turns down towards the London
Road. Here, by a triangular patch of green, I halted and mechanically
looked at my watch, holding it up in the moonlight. I was about to
replace it when a voice asked:
"'What's the right time, mister?'
"I looked up sharply. The man who had spoken was sitting on the bank
under the hedge and in such deep shadow that I had not noticed him. Nor
could I see much of him now, though I observed that he seemed to be
taking some kind of refreshment; but the voice was not a Kentish voice,
nor even an English one; it seemed to engraft an unfamiliar, guttural
accent on the dialect of East London.
"I told the man the time and asked him if the road--pointing to the
ridgway--would take me to Higham. Of course I knew it would not and I
have no very distinct idea why I asked. But he answered promptly
enough, 'Yus. Straight down the road. Was you wantin' to get to the
station?'
"I replied that I was, and he added, 'You go straight down the road a
mile and a half and you'll see the station right in front of you.'
"Now, here was a palpable misdirection. Obviously intentional, too, for
the circumstantiality excluded the idea of a mistake. He was
deliberately sending me--an ostensible stranger--along a solitary
side-road that led into the heart of the country. With what object? I
had very little doubt, and that doubt should soon be set at rest.
"I thanked him for his information and set out along the road at an easy
pace; but when I had gone a little way, I lengthened my stride so as to
increase my speed without altering the rhythm of my footfalls. As I
went, I speculated on the intentions of my friend and noted with
interest and a little surprise that I was quite without fear of him. I
suspected him of being a footpad, one of the gang of which Grayson had
spoken, and I had set forth along this unfrequented road in a spirit of
mere curiosity to see if it were really so.
"Presently I came to a gate at the entrance of a cart-track and here I
halted to listen. From the road behind me came the sound of footsteps;
quick steps but not sharp and crisp; rather of a shuffling, stealthy
quality. I climbed quietly over the gate and took up a position behind
the trunk of an elm that grew in the hedgerow. The footsteps came on
apace. Soon round a bend of the moon-lighted road a figure appeared
moving forward rapidly and keeping in what shadow there was. I watched
it through the thick hedge as it approached and resolved itself into a
seedy-looking man carrying a thick knobbed stick.
"Opposite the gate the man halted and, as I could see by his shadow,
looked across the silvery fields that stretched away down to the valley
and listened, but only for a few moments. Then he started forward again
at something between a quick walk and a slow trot.
"As soon as he had gone I came out and began to walk down the
cart-track. My figure must have stood out conspicuously on the bare
field and must have been plainly visible from the ridge-way. I did not
hurry. Pursuing my way quietly down the gentle slope, I went on for some
three hundred yards until the ground fell away more steeply; and here,
before descending, I looked over my shoulder.
"A man was getting over the gate.
"I walked on more quickly now until I topped a second rise and then I
again looked back. The figure of the man stood out on the brow of the
hill, black against the moonlit sky. And now he was hurrying forward in
undisguised pursuit.
"I quickened my pace and looked about me. The night was calm and lovely,
the fields bathed in silvery light and the wooded uplands shrouded in a
soft, gray shadow, from the heart of which a single lighted window
gleamed forth, a spot of rosy warmth. The bark of a watch-dog came
softened by distance from some solitary farmstead, and far away below,
the hoot of a steamer, creeping up the river to the twinkling anchorage.
"Presently I came to a spot where the rough road divided. One well-worn
track led down towards the footpath that ultimately enters the London
Road; a fainter track led, as I knew, to an old chalk-pit where, in
mysterious caverns, the farm carts rested through the winter months.
Here I halted for a moment as if in doubt. The man was now less than a
hundred yards behind me and walking as fast as he could. I turned round
and looked at him, he appeared once more to hesitate, and then started
at a run along the track to the chalk-pit.
"There was no disguise about the man's intentions. As I started off, he
broke into a run and followed, but he did not hail me to stop. I suppose
he knew whither the path led. But if his purpose was definite, so was
mine. And again I noted with faint surprise that I had no feeling of
nervousness. My contact with the criminal class had left me with nothing
but a sentiment of hostile contempt. That a criminal might kill me never
presented itself as a practical possibility. I was only concerned in
inducing him to give me a fair pretext for killing him. So I ran on,
wondering if my pursuer had ringed hair; if it were possible that, in
this remote place and by this chance meeting, I might find the object of
my quest; and conscious of that fierce, playful delight that always came
over me when I was hunting the enemies of my race. For, of course, I was
now hunting the fellow behind me, although the poor devil supposed he
was hunting me.
"When the track approached the chalk-pit, it descended rather suddenly. I
ran down between two clumps of bushes, into the weed-grown area at the
bottom, past the row of caverns wherein the wagons were even now lurking
unseen, and on until the track ended among a range of mole-hills in a
sort of bay encompassed by the time-stained cliff. Here I wheeled about,
putting down my bag, and faced my pursuer.
"'Stand off!' I said sharply. 'What are you following me for?'
"The man stopped and then approached more slowly. 'Look 'ere, mister,'
said he, 'I don't want to hurt yer. You needn't be afeared of me.'
"'Well,' said I, 'What do you want?'
"'I'll tell yer,' he said confidentially. 'I'm a pore man, I am; I
ain't got no watch, I ain't got no money and I can't get no work. Now
you're a rich man. You've got a very 'andsome watch--I see it--and lots
more at 'ome, I dessay. Well, you makes me a present o' that watch,
that's what you do; and any small change that you've got about yer. You
do that and I'll let yer go peaceable.'
"'And supposing I don't?'
"'Then some o' them farm blokes 'ill find a dead man in a chalk-pit. And
it ain't no good for you to holler. There ain't no one within a mile of
this place. So you pass over that watch and turn out yer bloomin'
pockets.'
"'Do I understand--' I began; but he interrupted me savagely:
"'Oh, shut yer face and hand over! D'yer hear?' He advanced
threateningly, grasping his bludgeon by the smaller end, but when he had
approached within a couple of paces I made a sudden lunge with my stick,
introducing its ferrule to his abdomen about the region of the solar
plexus. He sprang back with an astonished yelp--which sounded like
'Ow--er!'--and stood gasping and rubbing his abdomen. As he recovered,
he broke out into absurd and disgusting speech and began cautiously to
circle round me, balancing his club in readiness for a smashing blow.
"'You wait till I done with yer,' said he, watching for a chance. 'I'll
make yer pay for that. I'm a-goin' to do yer in, I am. You'll look ugly
when I've finished--Ow--er!' The concluding exclamation was occasioned
by the ferrule of my stick impinging on the fleshy part of his chest,
and as he uttered it he sprang back out of range.
"After this he kept a greater distance, but continued to circle round
and pour out an unceasing torrent of foul words. But he had not the
faintest idea how to use a stick, whereas my practice with the foils at
the gymnasium had made me quite skilful. From time to time he raised his
bludgeon and ran in at me, but a sharp prod under the upraised arm
always sent him leaping back out of reach with the inevitable 'Ow--er!'
"His lack of skill deprived the encounter of much of its interest. I
think he felt this himself, for I saw him looking about furtively as if
in search of something. Then he espied a large and knobbly flint and
would have picked it up; but as he was stooping I plied the point of my
stick so vigorously that he staggered back with yelps of pain.
"And now it was suddenly borne in upon me that he had had enough. I
realized it just in time to plant myself on the track between him and
the entrance to the chalk-pit. He was still as savage and murderous as
ever, but his nerve was gone. He shrank away from me and as I followed
closely he tried again and again to dodge past towards the opening.
"'Look 'ere, mister,' he said at length, 'you chuck it and I'll let yer
go peaceable.'
"Let me go! I laughed scornfully, but stood my ground. And yet it was
unpleasant. One cannot go on hammering a beaten man and it is difficult
to refuse a surrender. On the other hand, it was out of the question to
let this fellow go. He had come here prepared to murder me for a paltry
watch and a handful of loose change. Common justice and my duty to my
fellow men demanded his elimination. Besides, if I let him escape into
the open, what would happen? The fields were sprinkled with big flints.
It was practically certain that I should never leave the neighborhood
alive.