THE NEW ALLIANCE
The "Great Lexicographer"--tutelary deity of my adopted habitat--has
handed down to shuddering posterity a definition of the act of eating
which might have been framed by a dyspeptic ghoul. "Eat: to devour with
the mouth." It is a shocking view to take of so genial a function:
cynical, indelicate, and finally unforgivable by reason of its very
accuracy. For, after all, that is what eating amounts to, if one must
needs express it with such crude brutality. But if "the ingestion of
alimentary substances"--to ring a modern change upon the older
formula--is in itself a process material even unto carnality, it is
undeniable that it forms a highly agreeable accompaniment to more
psychic manifestations.
And so, as the lamplight, re-enforced by accessory candles, falls on the
little table in the first-floor room looking on Fetter Lane--only now
the curtains are drawn--the conversation is not the less friendly and
bright for a running accompaniment executed with knives and forks, for
clink of goblet and jovial gurgle of wine-flask. On the contrary, to one
of us, at least--to wit, Godfrey Bellingham--the occasion is one of
uncommon festivity, and his boyish enjoyment of the simple feast makes
pathetic suggestions of hard times, faced uncomplainingly, but keenly
felt nevertheless.
The talk flitted from topic to topic, mainly concerning itself with
matters artistic, and never for one moment approaching the critical
subject of John Bellingham's will. From the stepped pyramid of Sakkara
with its encaustic tiles to mediaeval church floors; from Elizabethan
woodwork to Mycaenaean pottery, and thence to the industrial arts of the
Stone Age and the civilisation of the Aztecs. I began to suspect that my
two legal friends were so carried away by the interest of the
conversation that they had forgotten the secret purpose of the meeting,
for the dessert had been placed on the table (by Mrs. Gummer with the
manner of a bereaved dependant dispensing funeral bakemeats), and still
no reference had been made to the "case." But it seemed that Thorndyke
was but playing a waiting game; was only allowing the intimacy to ripen
while he watched for the opportunity. And that opportunity came, even as
Mrs. Gummer vanished spectrally with a tray of plates and glasses.
"So you had a visitor last night, Doctor," said Mr. Bellingham. "I mean
my friend Jellicoe. He told us he had seen you, and mighty curious he
was about you. I have never known Jellicoe to be so inquisitive before.
What did you think of him?"
"A quaint old cock. I found him highly amusing. We entertained one
another for quite a long time with cross questions and crooked answers;
I affecting eager curiosity, he replying with a defensive attitude of
universal ignorance. It was a most diverting encounter."
"He needn't have been so close," Miss Bellingham remarked, "seeing that
all the world will be regaled with our affairs before long."
"They are proposing to take the case into Court, then?" said Thorndyke.
"Yes," said Mr. Bellingham. "Jellicoe came to tell me that my cousin,
Hurst, has instructed his solicitors to make the application and to
invite me to join him. Actually he came to deliver an ultimatum from
Hurst--But, I mustn't disturb the harmony of this festive gathering with
litigious discords."
"Now, why mustn't you?" asked Thorndyke. "Why is a subject in which we
are all keenly interested to be _tabu_? You don't mind telling us about
it, do you?"
"No, of course not. But what do you think of a man who buttonholes a
doctor at a dinner-party to retail a list of his ailments?"
"It depends on what his ailments are," replied Thorndyke. "If he is a
chronic dyspeptic and wishes to expound the virtues of Doctor Snaffler's
Purple Pills for Pimply People, he is merely a bore. But if he chances
to suffer from some rare and choice disease, such as Trypanosomiasis or
Acromegaly, the doctor will be delighted to listen."
"Then are we to understand," Miss Bellingham asked, "that we are rare
and choice products, in a legal sense?"
"Undoubtedly," replied Thorndyke. "The case of John Bellingham is, in
many respects, unique. It will be followed with the deepest interest by
the profession at large, and especially by medical jurists."
"How gratifying that should be to us!" said Miss Bellingham. "We may
even attain undying fame in textbooks and treatises; and yet we are not
so very much puffed up with our importance."
"No," said her father; "we could do without the fame quite well, and
so, I think, could Hurst. Did Berkeley tell you of the proposal that he
made?"
"Yes," said Thorndyke; "and I gather from what you say that he has
repeated it."
"Yes. He sent Jellicoe to give me another chance, and I was tempted to
take it; but my daughter was strongly against any compromise, and
probably she is right. At any rate, she is more concerned than I am."
"What view did Mr. Jellicoe take?" Thorndyke asked.
"Oh, he was very cautious and reserved, but he didn't disguise his
feeling that I should be wise to take a certainty in lieu of a very
problematical fortune. He would certainly like me to agree, for he
naturally wishes to get the affair settled and pocket his legacy."
"And have you definitely refused?"
"Yes; quite definitely. So Hurst will apply for permission to presume
death and prove the will, and Jellicoe will support him; he says he has
no choice."
"And you?"
"I suppose I shall oppose the application, though I don't quite know on
what grounds."
"Before you take any definite steps," said Thorndyke, "you ought to give
the matter very careful consideration. I take it that you have very
little doubt that your brother is dead. And if he is dead, any benefit
that you may receive under the will must be conditional on the previous
assumption or proof of death. But perhaps you have taken advice?"
"No, I have not. As our friend the Doctor has probably told you, my
means--or rather, the lack of them--do not admit of my getting
professional advice. Hence my delicacy about discussing the case with
you."
"Then do you propose to conduct your case in person?"
"Yes; if it is necessary for me to appear in Court, as I suppose it will
be, if I oppose the application."
Thorndyke reflected for a few moments, and then said gravely:
"You had much better not appear in person to conduct your case, Mr.
Bellingham, for several reasons. To begin with, Mr. Hurst is sure to be
represented by a capable counsel, and you will find yourself quite
unable to meet the sudden exigencies of a contest in Court. You will be
out-manoeuvred. Then there is the judge to be considered."
"But surely one can rely on the judge dealing fairly with a man who is
unable to afford a solicitor and counsel?"
"Undoubtedly, as a rule, a judge will give an unrepresented litigant
every assistance and consideration. English judges in general are
high-minded men with a deep sense of their great responsibilities. But
you cannot afford to take any chances. You must consider the exceptions.
A judge has been a counsel, and he may carry to the bench some of the
professional prejudices of the bar. Indeed, if you consider the absurd
licence permitted to counsel in their treatment of witnesses, and the
hostile attitude adopted by some judges towards medical and other
scientific men who have to give their evidence, you will see that the
judicial mind is not always quite as judicial as one would wish,
especially when the privileges and immunities of the profession are
concerned. Now, your appearance in person to conduct your case must,
unavoidably, cause some inconvenience to the Court. Your ignorance of
procedure and legal details must occasion some delay; and if the judge
should happen to be an irritable man he might resent the inconvenience
and delay. I don't say that that would affect his decision--I don't
think it would--but I am sure that it would be wise to avoid giving
offence to the judge. And, above all, it is most desirable to be able to
detect and reply to any manoeuvres on the part of the opposing counsel,
which you certainly would not be able to do."
"This is excellent advice, Doctor Thorndyke," said Bellingham, with a
grim smile; "but I am afraid I shall have to take my chance."
"Not necessarily," said Thorndyke. "I am going to make a little
proposal, which I will ask you to consider without prejudice as a mutual
accommodation. You see, your case is one of exceptional interest--it
will become a textbook case, as Miss Bellingham has prophesied; and,
since it lies within my specialty, it will be necessary for me, in any
case, to follow it in the closest detail. Now, it would be much more
satisfactory to me to study it from within than from without, to say
nothing of the credit which would accrue to me if I should be able to
conduct it to a successful issue. I am therefore going to ask you to put
your case in my hands and let me see what can be done with it. I know
this is an unusual course for a professional man to take, but I think it
is not improper under the circumstances."
Mr. Bellingham pondered in silence for a few moments, and then, after a
glance at his daughter, began rather hesitatingly: "It is exceedingly
generous of you, Doctor Thorndyke--"
"Pardon me," interrupted Thorndyke, "it is not. My motives, as I have
explained, are purely egoistic."
Mr. Bellingham laughed uneasily and again glanced at his daughter, who,
however, pursued her occupation of peeling a pear with calm deliberation
and without lifting her eyes. Getting no help from her, he asked: "Do
you think that there is any possibility whatever of a successful issue?"
"Yes, a remote possibility--very remote, I fear, as things look at
present; but if I thought the case absolutely hopeless I should advise
you to stand aside and let events take their course."
"Supposing the case to come to a favourable termination, would you allow
me to settle your fees in the ordinary way?"
"If the choice lay with me," replied Thorndyke, "I should say 'yes' with
pleasure. But it does not. The attitude of the profession is very
definitely unfavourable to 'speculative' practice. You may remember the
well-known firm of Dodson and Fogg, who gained thereby much profit, but
little credit. But why discuss contingencies of this kind? If I bring
your case to a successful issue I shall have done very well for myself.
We shall have benefited one another mutually. Come now, Miss Bellingham,
I appeal to you. We have eaten salt together, to say nothing of pigeon
pie and other cates. Won't you back me up, and at the same time do a
kindness to Doctor Berkeley?"
"Why, is Doctor Berkeley interested in our decision?"
"Certainly he is, as you will appreciate when I tell you that he
actually tried to bribe me secretly out of his own pocket."
"Did you?" she asked, looking at me with an expression that rather
alarmed me.
"Well, not exactly," I replied, mighty hot and uncomfortable, and
wishing Thorndyke at the devil with his confidences. "I merely mentioned
that the--the--solicitor's costs, you know, and that sort of thing--but
you needn't jump on me, Miss Bellingham; Doctor Thorndyke did all that
was necessary in that way."
She continued to look at me thoughtfully as I stammered out my excuses,
and then said: "I wasn't going to. I was only thinking that poverty has
its compensations. You are all so very good to us; and, for my part, I
should accept Doctor Thorndyke's generous offer most gratefully, and
thank him for making it so easy for us."
"Very well, my dear," said Mr. Bellingham; "we will enjoy the sweets of
poverty, as you say--we have sampled the other kind of thing pretty
freely--and do ourselves the pleasure of accepting a great kindness,
most delicately offered."
"Thank you," said Thorndyke. "You have justified my faith in you, Miss
Bellingham, and in the power of Doctor Berkeley's salt. I understand
that you place your affairs in my hands?"
"Entirely and thankfully," replied Mr. Bellingham. "Whatever you think
best to be done we agree to beforehand."
"Then," said I, "let us drink success to the Cause. Port, if you please,
Miss Bellingham; the vintage is not recorded, but it is quite wholesome,
and a suitable medium for the sodium chloride of friendship." I filled
her glass, and, when the bottle had made its circuit, we stood up and
solemnly pledged the new alliance.
"There is just one thing that I would say before we dismiss the subject
for the present," said Thorndyke. "It is a good thing to keep one's own
counsel. When you get formal notice from Mr. Hurst's solicitors that
proceedings are being commenced, you may refer them to Mr. Marchmont of
Gray's Inn, who will nominally act for you. He will actually have
nothing to do, but we must preserve the fiction that I am instructed by
a solicitor. Meanwhile, and until the case goes into Court, I think it
very necessary that neither Mr. Jellicoe nor anyone else should know
that I am to be connected with it. We must keep the other side in the
dark, if we can."
"We will be as secret as the grave," said Mr. Bellingham; "and, as a
matter of fact, it will be quite easy, since it happens, by a curious
coincidence, that I am already acquainted with Mr. Marchmont. He acted
for Stephen Blackmore, you remember, in that case that you unravelled so
wonderfully. I knew the Blackmores."
"Did you?" said Thorndyke. "What a small world it is! And what a
remarkable affair that was! The intricacies and cross-issues made it
quite absorbingly interesting; and it is noteworthy for me in another
respect, for it was one of the first cases in which I was associated
with Doctor Jervis."
"Yes, and a mighty useful associate I was," remarked Jervis, "though I
did pick up one or two facts by accident. And, by the way, the Blackmore
case had certain points in common with your case, Mr. Bellingham. There
was a disappearance and a disputed will, and the man who vanished was a
scholar and an antiquarian."
"Cases in our specialty are apt to have certain general resemblances,"
said Thorndyke; and as he spoke he directed a keen glance at his junior,
the significance of which I partly understood when he abruptly changed
the subject.
"The newspaper reports of your brother's disappearance, Mr. Bellingham,
were remarkably full of detail. There were even plans of your house and
that of Mr. Hurst. Do you know who supplied the information?"
"No, I don't," replied Mr. Bellingham. "I know that I didn't. Some
newspaper men came to me for information, but I sent them packing. So, I
understand, did Hurst; and as for Jellicoe, you might as well
cross-examine an oyster."
"Well," said Thorndyke, "the Press-men have queer methods of getting
'copy'; but still, someone must have given them that description of your
brother and those plans. It would be interesting to know who it was.
However, we don't know; and now let us dismiss these legal topics, with
suitable apologies for having introduced them."
"And perhaps," said I, "we may as well adjourn to what we will call the
drawing-room--it is really Barnard's den--and leave the housekeeper to
wrestle with the debris."
We migrated to the cheerfully shabby little apartment, and, when Mrs.
Gummer had served coffee, with gloomy resignation (as who should say:
"If you will drink this sort of stuff I suppose you must, but don't
blame _me_ for the consequences"), I settled Mr. Bellingham in Barnard's
favourite lop-sided easy chair--the depressed seat of which suggested
its customary use by an elephant of sedentary habits--and opened the
diminutive piano.
"I wonder if Miss Bellingham would give us a little music?" I said.
"I wonder if she could?" was the smiling response. "Do you know," she
continued, "I have not touched a piano for nearly two years? It will be
quite an interesting experiment--to me; but if it fails, you will be the
sufferers. So you must choose."
"My verdict," said Mr. Bellingham, "is _fiat experimentum_, though I
won't complete the quotation, as that would seem to disparage Doctor
Barnard's piano. But before you begin, Ruth, there is one rather
disagreeable matter that I want to dispose of, so that I may not disturb
the harmony with it later."
He paused, and we all looked at him expectantly.
"I suppose, Doctor Thorndyke," he said, "you read the newspapers?"
"I don't," replied Thorndyke. "But I ascertain, for purely business
purposes, what they contain."
"Then," said Mr. Bellingham, "you have probably met with some accounts
of the finding of certain human remains, apparently portions of a
mutilated body?"
"Yes, I have seen those reports and filed them for future reference."
"Exactly. Well, now, it can hardly be necessary for me to tell you that
those remains--the mutilated remains of some poor murdered creature, as
there can be no doubt they are--have seemed to have a very dreadful
significance for me. You will understand what I mean; and I want to ask
you if--if they have made a similar suggestion to you."
Thorndyke paused before replying, with his eyes bent thoughtfully on
the floor, and we all looked at him anxiously.
"It is very natural," he said at length, "that you should associate
these remains with the mystery of your brother's disappearance. I should
like to say that you are wrong in doing so, but if I did I should be
uncandid. There are certain facts that do, undoubtedly, seem to suggest
a connection, and, up to the present, there are no definite facts of a
contrary significance."
Mr. Bellingham sighed deeply and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"It is a horrible affair!" he said huskily; "horrible! Would you mind,
Doctor Thorndyke, telling us just how the matter stands in your
opinion--what the probabilities are, for and against?"
Again Thorndyke reflected awhile, and it seemed to me that he was not
very willing to discuss the subject. However, the question had been
asked pointedly, and eventually he answered:
"At the present stage of the investigation it is not very easy to state
the balance of probabilities. The matter is still quite speculative. The
bones which have been found hitherto (for we are dealing with a
skeleton, not with a body) have been exclusively those which are useless
for personal identification; which is, in itself, a rather curious and
striking fact. The general character and dimensions of the bones seem to
suggest a middle-aged man of about your brother's height, and the date
of deposition appears to be in agreement with the date of his
disappearance."
"Is it known, then, when they were deposited?" Mr. Bellingham asked.
"In the case of those found at Sidcup it seems possible to deduce an
approximate date. The watercress-bed was cleaned out about two years
ago, so they could not have been lying there longer than that; and their
condition suggests that they could not have been there much less than
two years, as there is apparently not a vestige of the soft structures
left. Of course, I am speaking from the newspaper reports only; I have
no direct knowledge of the matter."
"Have they found any considerable part of the body yet? I haven't been
reading the papers myself. My little friend, Miss Oman, brought a great
bundle of 'em for me to read, but I couldn't stand it; I pitched the
whole boiling of 'em out of the window."
I thought I detected a slight twinkle in Thorndyke's eye, but he
answered quite gravely:
"I think I can give you the particulars from memory, though I won't
guarantee the dates. The original discovery was made, apparently quite
accidentally, at Sidcup on the fifteenth of July. It consisted of a
complete left arm, minus the third finger and including the bones of the
shoulder--the shoulder-blade and collar-bone. This discovery seems to
have set the local population, especially the juvenile part of it,
searching all the ponds and streams of the neighbourhood--"
"Cannibals!" interjected Mr. Bellingham.
"With the result that there was dredged up out of a pond near St. Mary
Cray, in Kent, a right thigh-bone. There is a slight clue to identity in
respect of this bone, since the head of it has a small patch of what is
called 'eburnation'--that is a sort of porcelain-like polish that occurs
on the parts of bones that form a joint when the natural covering of
cartilage is destroyed by disease. It is produced by the unprotected
surface of one bone grinding against the similarly unprotected surface
of another."
"And how," Mr. Bellingham asked, "would that help the identification?"
"It would indicate," replied Thorndyke, "that the deceased had probably
suffered from rheumatoid arthritis--what is commonly known as rheumatic
gout--and he would probably have limped slightly and complained of some
pain in the right hip."
"I am afraid that doesn't help us much," said Mr. Bellingham; "for, you
see, John had a pretty pronounced limp from another cause, an old injury
to his left ankle; and as to complaining of pain--well, he was a hardy
old fellow and not much given to making complaints of any kind. But
don't let me interrupt you."
"The next discovery," continued Thorndyke, "was made near Lee, by the
police this time. They seem to have developed sudden activity in the
matter, and in searching the neighbourhood of West Kent they dragged out
of a pond near Lee the bones of a right foot. Now, if it had been the
left instead of the right we might have had a clue, as I understand that
your brother had fractured his left ankle, and there might have been
some traces of the injury on the foot itself."
"Yes," said Mr. Bellingham, "I suppose there might. The injury was
described as a Pott's fracture."
"Exactly. Well, now, after this discovery at Lee it seems that the
police set on foot a systematic search of all the ponds and small pieces
of water around London, and on the twenty-third, they found in the
Cuckoo Pits in Epping Forest, not far from Woodford, the bones of a
right arm (including those of the shoulder, as before), which seem to be
part of the same body."
"Yes," said Mr. Bellingham, "I heard of that. Quite close to my old
house. Horrible! horrible! It gave me the shudders to think of it--to
think that poor old John may have been waylaid and murdered when he was
actually coming to see me. He may even have got into the grounds by the
back gate, if it was left unfastened, and been followed in there and
murdered. You remember that a scarab from his watch-chain was found
there? But is it clear that this arm was the fellow of the arm that was
found at Sidcup?"
"It seems to agree in character and dimensions," said Thorndyke, "and
the agreement is strongly supported by a discovery that was made two
days later."
"What is that?" Mr. Bellingham demanded.
"It is the lower half of a trunk which the police dredged out of a
rather deep pond on the skirts of the forest at Loughton--Staple's Pond,
it is called. The bones found were the pelvis--that is, the two
hipbones--and six vertebrae, or joints of the backbone. Having
discovered these, the police dammed the stream and pumped the pond dry,
but no other bones were found; which is rather odd, as there should have
been a pair of ribs belonging to the upper vertebra--the twelfth dorsal
vertebra. It suggests some curious questions as to the method of
dismemberment; but I mustn't go into unpleasant details. The point is
that the cavity of the right hip-joint showed a patch of eburnation
corresponding to that on the head of the right thigh-bone that was found
at St. Mary Cray. So there can be very little doubt that these bones are
all part of the same body."
"I see," grunted Mr. Bellingham; and he added, after a moment's
thought: "Now, the question is, Are these bones the remains of my
brother John? What do you say, Doctor Thorndyke?"
"I say that the question cannot be answered on the facts at present
known to us. It can only be said that they may be, and that some of the
circumstances suggest that they are. But we can only wait for further
discoveries. At any moment the police may light upon some portion of the
skeleton which will settle the question definitely one way or the
other."
"I suppose," said Mr. Bellingham, "I can't be of any service to you in
the matter of identification?"
"Indeed you can," said Thorndyke, "and I was going to ask you to assist
me. What I want you to do is this: Write down a full description of your
brother, including every detail known to you, together with an account
of every illness or injury from which you know him to have suffered; and
also the names and, if possible, the addresses of any doctors, surgeons,
or dentists who may have attended him at any time. The dentists are
particularly important, as their information would be invaluable if the
skull belonging to these bones should be discovered."
Mr. Bellingham shuddered.
"It's a shocking idea," he said; "but, of course, you are quite right.
You must have the facts if you are to form an opinion. I will write out
what you want and send it to you without delay. And now, for God's sake,
let us throw off this nightmare, for a little while, at least! What is
there, Ruth, among Doctor Barnard's music that you can manage?"
Barnard's collection in general inclined to the severely classical, but
we disinterred from the heap a few lighter works of an old-fashioned
kind, including a volume of Mendelssohn's _Lieder ohne Worte_, and with
one of these Miss Bellingham made trial of her skill, playing it with
excellent taste and quite adequate execution. That, at least, was her
father's verdict; for, as to me, I found it the perfection of happiness
merely to sit and look at her--a state of mind that would have been in
no wise disturbed even by _Silvery Waves_ or _The Maiden's Prayer_.
Thus with simple, homely music, and conversation always cheerful and
sometimes brilliant, slipped away one of the pleasantest evenings of my
life, and slipped away all too soon. St. Dunstan's clock was the fly in
the ointment, for it boomed out intrusively the hour of eleven just as
my guests were beginning thoroughly to appreciate one another; and
thereby carried the sun (with a minor paternal satellite) out of the
firmament of my heaven. For I had, in my professional capacity, given
strict injunctions that Mr. Bellingham should on no account sit up late;
and now, in my social capacity, I had smilingly to hear "the doctor's
orders" quoted. It was a scurvy return for all my care.
When Mr. and Miss Bellingham departed, Thorndyke and Jervis would have
gone too; but noting my bereaved condition, and being withal
compassionate and tender of heart, they were persuaded to stay awhile
and bear me company in a consolatory pipe.