"It was dreadful of her," continued Mrs. Hanshaw, "but she is half mad,
poor thing. You might run up and say a few kind words to poor Lucy while
I make the tea."
I went up at once and knocked at Miss Haldean's door, and, being bidden
to enter, found her lying on the sofa, red-eyed and pale, the very ghost
of the merry, laughing girl who had gone out with me in the morning. I
drew up a chair, and sat down by her side, and as I took the hand she
held out to me, she said:
"It is good of you to come and see a miserable wretch like me. And Jane
has been so sweet to me, Dr. Jervis; but Aunt Mabel thinks I have killed
Freddy--you know she does--and it was really my fault that he was lost.
I shall never forgive myself!"
She burst into a passion of sobbing, and I proceeded to chide her
gently.
"You are a silly little woman," I said, "to take this nonsense to heart
as you are doing. Your aunt is not responsible just now, as you must
know; but when we bring the boy home she shall make you a handsome
apology. I will see to that."
She pressed my hand gratefully, and as the bell now rang for tea, I bade
her have courage and went downstairs.
"You need not trouble about the practice," said Mrs. Hanshaw, as I
concluded my lightning repast, and Thorndyke went off to get our
bicycles. "Dr. Symons has heard of our trouble, and has called to say
that he will take anything that turns up; so we shall expect you when we
see you."
"How do you like Thorndyke?" I asked.
"He is quite charming," she replied enthusiastically; "so tactful and
kind, and so handsome, too. You didn't tell us that. But here he is.
Good-bye, and good luck."
She pressed my hand, and I went out into the drive, where Thorndyke and
the coachman were standing with three bicycles.
"I see you have brought your outfit," I said as we turned into the road;
for Thorndyke's machine bore a large canvas-covered case strapped on to
a strong bracket.
"Yes; there are many things that we may want on a quest of this kind.
How did you find Miss Haldean?"
"Very miserable, poor girl. By the way, have you heard anything about
her pecuniary interest in the child's death?"
"Yes," said Thorndyke. "It appears that the late Mr. Haldean used up all
his brains on his business, and had none left for the making of his
will--as often happens. He left almost the whole of his property--about
eighty thousand pounds--to his son, the widow to have a life-interest in
it. He also left to his late brother's daughter, Lucy, fifty pounds a
year, and to his surviving brother Percy, who seems to have been a
good-for-nothing, a hundred a year for life. But--and here is the utter
folly of the thing--if the son should die, the property was to be
equally divided between the brother and the niece, with the exception of
five hundred a year for life to the widow. It was an insane
arrangement."
"Quite," I agreed, "and a very dangerous one for Lucy Haldean, as things
are at present."
"Very; especially if anything should have happened to the child."
"What are you going to do now?" I inquired, seeing that Thorndyke rode
on as if with a definite purpose.
"There is a footpath through the wood," he replied. "I want to examine
that. And there is a house behind the wood which I should like to see."
"The house of the mysterious stranger," I suggested.
"Precisely. Mysterious and solitary strangers invite inquiry."
We drew up at the entrance to the footpath, leaving Willett the coachman
in charge of the three machines, and proceeded up the narrow track. As
we went, Thorndyke looked back at the prints of our feet, and nodded
approvingly.
"This soft loam," he remarked, "yields beautifully clear impressions,
and yesterday's rain has made it perfect."
We had not gone far when we perceived a set of footprints which I
recognized, as did Thorndyke also, for he remarked: "Miss
Haldean--running, and alone." Presently we met them again, crossing in
the opposite direction, together with the prints of small shoes with
very high heels. "Mrs. Haldean on the track of her niece," was
Thorndyke's comment; and a minute later we encountered them both again,
accompanied by my own footprints.
"The boy does not seem to have crossed the path at all," I remarked as
we walked on, keeping off the track itself to avoid confusing the
footprints.
"We shall know when we have examined the whole length," replied
Thorndyke, plodding on with his eyes on the ground. "Ha! here is
something new," he added, stopping short and stooping down eagerly--"a
man with a thick stick--a smallish man, rather lame. Notice the
difference between the two feet, and the peculiar way in which he uses
his stick. Yes, Jervis, there is a great deal to interest us in these
footprints. Do you notice anything very suggestive about them?"
"Nothing but what you have mentioned," I replied. "What do you mean?"
"Well, first there is the very singular character of the prints
themselves, which we will consider presently. You observe that this man
came down the path, and at this point turned off into the wood; then he
returned from the wood and went up the path again. The imposition of the
prints makes that clear. But now look at the two sets of prints, and
compare them. Do you notice any difference?"
"The returning footprints seem more distinct--better impressions."
"Yes; they are noticeably deeper. But there is something else." He
produced a spring tape from his pocket, and took half a dozen
measurements. "You see," he said, "the first set of footprints have a
stride of twenty-one inches from heel to heel--a short stride; but he is
a smallish man, and lame; the returning ones have a stride of only
nineteen and a half inches; hence the returning footprints are deeper
than the others, and the steps are shorter. What do you make of that?"
"It would suggest that he was carrying a burden when he returned," I
replied.
"Yes; and a heavy one, to make that difference in the depth. I think I
will get you to go and fetch Willett and the bicycles."
I strode off down the path to the entrance, and, taking possession of
Thorndyke's machine, with its precious case of instruments, bade Willett
follow with the other two.
When I returned, my colleague was standing with his hands behind him,
gazing with intense preoccupation at the footprints. He looked up
sharply as we approached, and called out to us to keep off the path if
possible.
"Stay here with the machines, Willett," said he. "You and I, Jervis,
must go and see where our friend went to when he left the path, and what
was the burden that he picked up."
We struck off into the wood, where last year's dead leaves made the
footprints almost indistinguishable, and followed the faint double track
for a long distance between the dense clumps of bushes. Suddenly my eye
caught, beside the double trail, a third row of tracks, smaller in size
and closer together. Thorndyke had seen them, too, and already his
measuring-tape was in his hand.
"Eleven and a half inches to the stride," said he. "That will be the
boy, Jervis. But the light is getting weak. We must press on quickly, or
we shall lose it."
Some fifty yards farther on, the man's tracks ceased abruptly, but the
small ones continued alone; and we followed them as rapidly as we could
in the fading light.
"There can be no reasonable doubt that these are the child's tracks,"
said Thorndyke; "but I should like to find a definite footprint to make
the identification absolutely certain."
A few seconds later he halted with an exclamation, and stooped on one
knee. A little heap of fresh earth from the surface-burrow of a mole had
been thrown up over the dead leaves; and fairly planted on it was the
clean and sharp impression of a diminutive foot, with a rubber heel
showing a central star. Thorndyke drew from his pocket a tiny shoe, and
pressed it on the soft earth beside the footprint; and when he raised it
the second impression was identical with the first.
"The boy had two pairs of shoes exactly alike," he said, "so I borrowed
one of the duplicate pair."
He turned, and began to retrace his steps rapidly, following our own
fresh tracks, and stopping only once to point out the place where the
unknown man had picked the child up. When we regained the path we
proceeded without delay until we emerged from the wood within a hundred
yards of the cottage.
"I see Mrs. Haldean has been here with Giles," remarked Thorndyke, as he
pushed open the garden-gate. "I wonder if they saw anybody."
He advanced to the door, and having first rapped with his knuckles and
then kicked at it vigorously, tried the handle.
"Locked," he observed, "but I see the key is in the lock, so we can get
in if we want to. Let us try the back."
The back door was locked, too, but the key had been removed.
"He came out this way, evidently," said Thorndyke, "though he went in at
the front, as I suppose you noticed. Let us see where he went."
The back garden was a small, fenced patch of ground, with an earth path
leading down to the back gate. A little way beyond the gate was a small
barn or outhouse.
"We are in luck," Thorndyke remarked, with a glance at the path.
"Yesterday's rain has cleared away all old footprints, and prepared the
surface for new ones. You see there are three sets of excellent
impressions--two leading away from the house, and one set towards it.
Now, you notice that both of the sets leading _from_ the house are
characterized by deep impressions and short steps, while the set leading
_to_ the house has lighter impressions and longer steps. The obvious
inference is that he went down the path with a heavy burden, came back
empty-handed, and went down again--and finally--with another heavy
burden. You observe, too, that he walked with his stick on each
occasion."
By this time we had reached the bottom of the garden. Opening the gate,
we followed the tracks towards the outhouse, which stood beside a
cart-track; but as we came round the corner we both stopped short and
looked at one another. On the soft earth were the very distinct
impressions of the tyres of a motor-car leading from the wide door of
the outhouse. Finding that the door was unfastened, Thorndyke opened it,
and looked in, to satisfy himself that the place was empty. Then he fell
to studying the tracks.
"The course of events is pretty plain," he observed. "First the fellow
brought down his luggage, started the engine, and got the car out--you
can see where it stood, both by the little pool of oil, and by the
widening and blurring of the wheel-tracks from the vibration of the free
engine; then he went back and fetched the boy--carried him pick-a-back,
I should say, judging by the depth of the toe-marks in the last set of
footprints. That was a tactical mistake. He should have taken the boy
straight into the shed."
He pointed as he spoke to one of the footprints beside the wheel-tracks,
from the toe of which projected a small segment of the print of a little
rubber heel.
We now made our way back to the house, where we found Willett pensively
rapping at the front door with a cycle-spanner. Thorndyke took a last
glance, with his hand in his pocket, at an open window above, and then,
to the coachman's intense delight, brought forth what looked uncommonly
like a small bunch of skeleton keys. One of these he inserted into the
keyhole, and as he gave it a turn, the lock clicked, and the door stood
open.
The little sitting-room, which we now entered, was furnished with the
barest necessaries. Its centre was occupied by an oilcloth-covered
table, on which I observed with surprise a dismembered "Bee" clock (the
works of which had been taken apart with a tin-opener that lay beside
them) and a box-wood bird-call. At these objects Thorndyke glanced and
nodded, as though they fitted into some theory that he had formed;
examined carefully the oilcloth around the litter of wheels and pinions,
and then proceeded on a tour of inspection round the room, peering
inquisitively into the kitchen and store-cupboard.
"Nothing very distinctive or personal here," he remarked. "Let us go
upstairs."
There were three bedrooms on the upper floor, of which two were
evidently disused, though the windows were wide open. The third bedroom
showed manifest traces of occupation, though it was as bare as the
others, for the water still stood in the wash-hand basin, and the bed
was unmade. To the latter Thorndyke advanced, and, having turned back
the bedclothes, examined the interior attentively, especially at the
foot and the pillow. The latter was soiled--not to say grimy--though the
rest of the bed-linen was quite clean.
"Hair-dye," remarked Thorndyke, noting my glance at it; then he turned
and looked out of the open window. "Can you see the place where Miss
Haldean was sitting to sketch?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied; "there is the place well in view, and you can see
right up the road. I had no idea this house stood so high. From the
three upper windows you can see all over the country excepting through
the wood."
"Yes," Thorndyke rejoined, "and he has probably been in the habit of
keeping watch up here with a telescope or a pair of field-glasses. Well,
there is not much of interest in this room. He kept his effects in a
cabin trunk which stood there under the window. He shaved this morning.
He has a white beard, to judge by the stubble on the shaving-paper, and
that is all. Wait, though. There is a key hanging on that nail. He must
have overlooked that, for it evidently does not belong to this house. It
is an ordinary town latchkey."
He took the key down, and having laid a sheet of notepaper, from his
pocket, on the dressing-table, produced a pin, with which he began
carefully to probe the interior of the key-barrel. Presently there came
forth, with much coaxing, a large ball of grey fluff, which Thorndyke
folded up in the paper with infinite care.
"I suppose we mustn't take away the key," he said, "but I think we will
take a wax mould of it."
He hurried downstairs, and, unstrapping the case from his bicycle,
brought it in and placed it on the table. As it was now getting dark, he
detached the powerful acetylene lamp from his machine, and, having
lighted it, proceeded to open the mysterious case. First he took from it
a small insufflator, or powder-blower, with which he blew a cloud of
light yellow powder over the table around the remains of the clock. The
powder settled on the table in an even coating, but when he blew at it
smartly with his breath, it cleared off, leaving, however, a number of
smeary impressions which stood out in strong yellow against the black
oilcloth. To one of these impressions he pointed significantly. It was
the print of a child's hand.
He next produced a small, portable microscope and some glass slides and
cover-slips, and having opened the paper and tipped the ball of fluff
from the key-barrel on to a slide, set to work with a pair of mounted
needles to tease it out into its component parts. Then he turned the
light of the lamp on to the microscope mirror and proceeded to examine
the specimen.
"A curious and instructive assortment this, Jervis," he remarked, with
his eye at the microscope: "woollen fibres--no cotton or linen; he is
careful of his health to have woollen pockets--and two hairs; very
curious ones, too. Just look at them, and observe the root bulbs."
I applied my eye to the microscope, and saw, among other things, two
hairs--originally white, but encrusted with a black, opaque, glistening
stain. The root bulbs, I noticed, were shrivelled and atrophied.
"But how on earth," I exclaimed, "did the hairs get into his pocket?"
"I think the hairs themselves answer that question," he replied, "when
considered with the other curios. The stain is obviously lead sulphide;
but what else do you see?"
"I see some particles of metal--a white metal apparently--and a number
of fragments of woody fibre and starch granules, but I don't recognize
the starch. It is not wheat-starch, nor rice, nor potato. Do you make
out what it is?"
[Illustration: FLUFF FROM KEY-BARREL, MAGNIFIED 77 DIAMETERS.]
Thorndyke chuckled. "Experientia does it," said he. "You will have,
Jervis, to study the minute properties of dust and dirt. Their
evidential value is immense. Let us have another look at that starch; it
is all alike, I suppose."
It was; and Thorndyke had just ascertained the fact when the door burst
open and Mrs. Haldean entered the room, followed by Mrs. Hanshaw and the
police inspector. The former lady regarded my colleague with a glance of
extreme disfavour.
"We heard that you had come here, sir," said she, "and we supposed you
were engaged in searching for my poor child. But it seems we were
mistaken, since we find you here amusing yourselves fiddling with these
nonsensical instruments."
"Perhaps, Mabel," said Mrs. Hanshaw stiffly, "it would be wiser, and
infinitely more polite, to ask if Dr. Thorndyke has any news for us."
"That is undoubtedly so, madam," agreed the inspector, who had
apparently suffered also from Mrs. Haldean's impulsiveness.
"Then perhaps," the latter lady suggested, "you will inform us if you
have discovered anything."
"I will tell you." replied Thorndyke, "all that we know. The child was
abducted by the man who occupied this house, and who appears to have
watched him from an upper window, probably through a glass. This man
lured the child into the wood by blowing this bird-call; he met him in
the wood, and induced him--by some promises, no doubt--to come with him.
He picked the child up and carried him--on his back, I think--up to the
house, and brought him in through the front door, which he locked after
him. He gave the boy this clock and the bird-call to amuse him while he
went upstairs and packed his trunk. He took the trunk out through the
back door and down the garden to the shed there, in which he had a
motor-car. He got the car out and came back for the boy, whom he carried
down to the car, locking the back door after him. Then he drove away."
"You know he has gone," cried Mrs. Haldean, "and yet you stay here
playing with these ridiculous toys. Why are you not following him?"
"We have just finished ascertaining the facts," Thorndyke replied
calmly, "and should by now be on the road if you had not come."
Here the inspector interposed anxiously. "Of course, sir, you can't give
any description of the man. You have no clue to his identity, I
suppose?"
"We have only his footprints," Thorndyke answered, "and this fluff which
I raked out of the barrel of his latchkey, and have just been examining.
From these data I conclude that he is a rather short and thin man, and
somewhat lame. He walks with the aid of a thick stick, which has a knob,
not a crook, at the top, and which he carries in his left hand. I think
that his left leg has been amputated above the knee, and that he wears
an artificial limb. He is elderly, he shaves his beard, has white hair
dyed a greyish black, is partly bald, and probably combs a wisp of hair
over the bald place; he takes snuff, and carries a leaden comb in his
pocket."
As Thorndyke's description proceeded, the inspector's mouth gradually
opened wider and wider, until he appeared the very type and symbol of
astonishment. But its effect on Mrs. Haldean was much more remarkable.
Rising from her chair, she leaned on the table and stared at Thorndyke
with an expression of awe--even of terror; and as he finished she sank
back into her chair, with her hands clasped, and turned to Mrs. Hanshaw.
"Jane!" she gasped, "it is Percy--my brother-in-law! He has described
him exactly, even to his stick and his pocket-comb. But I thought he was
in Chicago."
"If that is so," said Thorndyke, hastily repacking his case, "we had
better start at once."
"We have the dogcart in the road," said Mrs. Hanshaw.
"Thank you," replied Thorndyke. "We will ride on our bicycles, and the
inspector can borrow Willett's. We go out at the back by the cart-track,
which joins the road farther on."
"Then we will follow in the dogcart," said Mrs. Haldean. "Come, Jane."
The two ladies departed down the path, while we made ready our bicycles
and lit our lamps.
"With your permission, inspector," said Thorndyke, "we will take the key
with us."
"It's hardly legal, sir," objected the officer. "We have no authority."
"It is quite illegal," answered Thorndyke; "but it is necessary; and
necessity--like your military J.P.--knows no law."
The inspector grinned and went out, regarding me with a quivering eyelid
as Thorndyke locked the door with his skeleton key. As we turned into
the road, I saw the light of the dogcart behind us, and we pushed
forward at a swift pace, picking up the trail easily on the soft, moist
road.
"What beats me," said the inspector confidentially, as we rode along,
"is how he knew the man was bald. Was it the footprints or the
latchkey? And that comb, too, that was a regular knock-out."
These points were, by now, pretty clear to me. I had seen the hairs with
their atrophied bulbs--such as one finds at the margin of a bald patch;
and the comb was used, evidently, for the double purpose of keeping the
bald patch covered and blackening the sulphur-charged hair. But the
knobbed stick and the artificial limb puzzled me so completely that I
presently overtook Thorndyke to demand an explanation.
"The stick," said he, "is perfectly simple. The ferrule of a knobbed
stick wears evenly all round; that of a crooked stick wears on one
side--the side opposite the crook. The impressions showed that the
ferrule of this one was evenly convex; therefore it had no crook. The
other matter is more complicated. To begin with, an artificial foot
makes a very characteristic impression, owing to its purely passive
elasticity, as I will show you to-morrow. But an artificial leg fitted
below the knee is quite secure, whereas one fitted above the knee--that
is, with an artificial knee-joint worked by a spring--is much less
reliable. Now, this man had an artificial foot, and he evidently
distrusted his knee-joint, as is shown by his steadying it with his
stick on the same side. If he had merely had a weak leg, he would have
used the stick with his right hand--with the natural swing of the arm,
in fact--unless he had been very lame, which he evidently was not.
Still, it was only a question of probability, though the probability was
very great. Of course, you understand that those particles of woody
fibre and starch granules were disintegrated snuff-grains."
This explanation, like the others, was quite simple when one had heard
it, though it gave me material for much thought as we pedalled on along
the dark road, with Thorndyke's light flickering in front, and the
dogcart pattering in our wake. But there was ample time for reflection;
for our pace rather precluded conversation, and we rode on, mile after
mile, until my legs ached with fatigue. On and on we went through
village after village, now losing the trail in some frequented street,
but picking it up again unfailingly as we emerged on to the country
road, until at last, in the paved High Street of the little town of
Horsefield, we lost it for good. We rode on through the town out on to
the country road; but although there were several tracks of motors,
Thorndyke shook his head at them all. "I have been studying those tyres
until I know them by heart," he said. "No; either he is in the town, or
he has left it by a side road."
There was nothing for it but to put up the horse and the machines at the
hotel, while we walked round to reconnoitre; and this we did, tramping
up one street and down another, with eyes bent on the ground,
fruitlessly searching for a trace of the missing car.
Suddenly, at the door of a blacksmith's shop, Thorndyke halted. The shop
had been kept open late for the shoeing of a carriage horse, which was
just being led away, and the smith had come to the door for a breath of
air. Thorndyke accosted him genially.
"Good-evening. You are just the man I wanted to see. I have mislaid the
address of a friend of mine, who, I think, called on you this
afternoon--a lame gentleman who walks with a stick. I expect he wanted
you to pick a lock or make him a key."
"Oh, I remember him!" said the man. "Yes, he had lost his latchkey, and
wanted the lock picked before he could get into his house. Had to leave
his motor-car outside while he came here. But I took some keys round
with me, and fitted one to his latch."
He then directed us to a house at the end of a street close by, and,
having thanked him, we went off in high spirits.
"How did you know he had been there?" I asked.
"I didn't; but there was the mark of a stick and part of a left foot on
the soft earth inside the doorway, and the thing was inherently
probable, so I risked a false shot."
The house stood alone at the far end of a straggling street, and was
enclosed by a high wall, in which, on the side facing the street, was a
door and a wide carriage-gate. Advancing to the former, Thorndyke took
from his pocket the purloined key, and tried it in the lock. It fitted
perfectly, and when he had turned it and pushed open the door, we
entered a small courtyard. Crossing this, we came to the front door of
the house, the latch of which fortunately fitted the same key; and this
having been opened by Thorndyke, we trooped into the hall. Immediately
we heard the sound of an opening door above, and a reedy, nasal voice
sang out:
"Hello, there! Who's that below?"
The voice was followed by the appearance of a head projecting over the
baluster rail.
"You are Mr. Percy Haldean, I think," said the inspector.
At the mention of this name, the head was withdrawn, and a quick tread
was heard, accompanied by the tapping of a stick on the floor. We
started to ascend the stairs, the inspector leading, as the authorized
official; but we had only gone up a few steps, when a fierce, wiry
little man danced out on to the landing, with a thick stick in one
hand and a very large revolver in the other.
"Move another step, either of you," he shouted, pointing the weapon at
the inspector, "and I let fly; and mind you, when I shoot I hit."
[Illustration: THE STRANGER IS RUN TO EARTH.]
He looked as if he meant it, and we accordingly halted with remarkable
suddenness, while the inspector proceeded to parley.
"Now, what's the good of this, Mr. Haldean?" said he. "The game's up,
and you know it."
"You clear out of my house, and clear out sharp," was the inhospitable
rejoinder, "or you'll give me the trouble of burying you in the garden."
I looked round to consult with Thorndyke, when, to my amazement, I found
that he had vanished--apparently through the open hall-door. I was
admiring his discretion when the inspector endeavoured to reopen
negotiations, but was cut short abruptly.
"I am going to count fifty," said Mr. Haldean, "and if you aren't gone
then, I shall shoot."
He began to count deliberately, and the inspector looked round at me in
complete bewilderment. The flight of stairs was a long one, and well
lighted by gas, so that to rush it was an impossibility. Suddenly my
heart gave a bound and I held my breath, for out of an open door behind
our quarry, a figure emerged slowly and noiselessly on to the landing.
It was Thorndyke, shoeless, and in his shirt-sleeves.
Slowly and with cat-like stealthiness, he crept across the landing until
he was within a yard of the unconscious fugitive, and still the nasal
voice droned on, monotonously counting out the allotted seconds.
"Forty-one, forty-two, forty-three--"
There was a lightning-like movement--a shout--a flash--a bang--a shower
of falling plaster, and then the revolver came clattering down the
stairs. The inspector and I rushed up, and in a moment the sharp click
of the handcuffs told Mr. Percy Haldean that the game was really up.
* * * * *
Five minutes later Freddy-boy, half asleep, but wholly cheerful, was
borne on Thorndyke's shoulders into the private sitting-room of the
Black Horse Hotel. A shriek of joy saluted his entrance, and a shower of
maternal kisses brought him to the verge of suffocation. Finally, the
impulsive Mrs. Haldean, turning suddenly to Thorndyke, seized both his
hands, and for a moment I hoped that she was going to kiss him, too. But
he was spared, and I have not yet recovered from the disappointment.