A Conference with Dr. Thorndyke
The sound of the closing door seemed, as it were, to punctuate my
experiences and to mark the end of a particular phase. So long as Miss
D’Arblay was present, my attention was entirely taken up by her grief
and distress; but now that I was alone I found myself considering at
large the events of this memorable morning. What was the meaning of
this tragedy? How came this man to be lying dead in that pool? No
common misadventure seemed to fit the case. A man may easily fall into
deep water and be drowned; may step over a quay-side in the dark or
trip on a mooring-rope or ring-bolt. But here there was nothing to
suggest any possible accident. The water was hardly two feet deep
where the body was lying and much less close to the edge. If he had
walked in in the dark, he would simply have walked out again. Besides,
how came he there at all? The only explanation that was intelligible
was that he went there with the deliberate purpose of making away with
himself.
I pondered this explanation, and found myself unwilling to accept it,
notwithstanding that his daughter’s presence in the wood, her obvious
apprehension, and her terrified searching among the underwood seemed
to hint at a definite expectation on her part. But yet that
possibility was discounted by what his daughter had told me of him.
Little as she had said, it was clear that he was a man universally
beloved. Such men, in making the world a pleasant place for others,
make it pleasant for themselves. They are usually happy men; and happy
men do not commit suicide. Yet, if the idea of suicide were rejected,
what was left? Nothing but an insoluble mystery.
I turned the problem over again and again as I sat on the top of the
tram (where I could keep my wet trousers out of sight), not as a
matter of mere curiosity but as one in which I was personally
concerned. Friendships spring up into sudden maturity under great
emotional stress. I had known Marion D’Arblay but an hour or two, but
they were hours which neither of us would ever forget; and in that
brief space she had become to me a friend who was entitled, as of
right, to sympathy and service. So, as I revolved in my mind the
mystery of this man’s death, I found myself thinking of him not as a
chance stranger but as the father of a friend; and thus it seemed to
devolve upon me to elucidate the mystery, if possible.
It is true that I had no special qualifications for investigating an
obscure case of this kind, but yet I was better equipped than most
young medical men. For my hospital, St. Margaret’s, though its medical
school was but a small one, had one great distinction; the chair of
Medical Jurisprudence was occupied by one of the greatest living
authorities on the subject, Dr. John Thorndyke. To him and his
fascinating lectures my mind naturally turned as I ruminated on the
problem; and presently, when I found myself unable to evolve any
reasonable suggestion, the idea occurred to me to go and lay the facts
before the great man himself.
Once started, the idea took full possession of me, and I decided to
waste no time but to seek him at once. This was not his day for
lecturing at the hospital, but I could find his address in our school
calendar; and as my means, though modest, allowed of my retaining him
in a regular way, I need have no scruples as to occupying his time. I
looked at my watch. It was even now but a little past noon. I had time
to change and get an early lunch and still make my visit while the day
was young.
A couple of hours later found me walking slowly down the pleasant,
tree-shaded footway of King’s Bench-walk in the Inner Temple, looking
up at the numbers above the entries. Dr. Thorndyke’s number was 5a,
which I presently discovered inscribed on the keystone of a fine,
dignified brick portico of the seventeenth century, on the jamb
whereof was painted his name as the occupant of the “1st pair.” I
accordingly ascended the first pair, and was relieved to find that my
teacher was apparently at home; for a massive outer door, above which
his name was painted, stood wide open, revealing an inner door,
furnished with a small, brilliantly burnished brass knocker, on which
I ventured to execute a modest rat-tat. Almost immediately the door
was opened by a small, clerical-looking gentleman who wore a black
linen apron—and ought, from his appearance, to have had black gaiters
to match—and who regarded me with a look of polite inquiry.
“I wanted to see Dr. Thorndyke,” said I, adding discreetly, “on a
matter of professional business.”
The little gentleman beamed on me benevolently. “The doctor,” said he,
“has gone to lunch at his club, but he will be coming in quite
shortly. Would you like to wait for him?”
“Thank you,” I replied, “I should, if you think I shall not be
disturbing him.”
The little gentleman smiled; that is to say, the multitudinous
wrinkles that covered his face arranged themselves into a sort of
diagram of geniality. It was the crinkliest smile that I have ever
seen, but a singularly pleasant one.
“The doctor,” said he, “is never disturbed by professional business.
No man is ever disturbed by having to do what he enjoys doing.”
As he spoke, his eyes turned unconsciously to the table, on which
stood a microscope, a tray of slides and mounting material, and a
small heap of what looked like dressmaker’s cuttings.
“Well,” I said, “don’t let me disturb you, if you are busy.”
He thanked me very graciously, and, having installed me in an easy
chair, sat down at the table and resumed his occupation, which
apparently consisted in isolating fibres from the various samples of
cloth and mounting them as microscopic specimens. I watched him as he
worked, admiring his neat, precise, unhurried methods, and speculating
on the purpose of his proceedings; whether he was preparing what one
might call museum specimens, to be kept for reference, or whether
these preparations were related to some particular case. I was
considering whether it would be admissible for me to ask a question on
the subject when he paused in his work, assuming a listening attitude,
with one hand—holding a mounting-needle—raised and motionless.
“Here comes the doctor,” said he.
I listened intently and became aware of footsteps, very faint and far
away, and only barely perceptible. But my clerical friend—who must
have had the auditory powers of a watch-dog—had no doubts as to their
identity, for he began quietly to pack all his material on the tray.
Meanwhile the footsteps drew nearer; they turned in at the entry and
ascended the “first pair,” by which time my crinkly-faced acquaintance
had the door open. The next moment Dr. Thorndyke entered and was duly
informed that “a gentleman was waiting to see” him.
“You under-estimate my powers of observation, Polton,” he informed his
subordinate, with a smile. “I can see the gentleman distinctly with
the naked eye. How do you do, Gray?”—and he shook my hand cordially.
“I hope I haven’t come at the wrong time, sir,” said I. “If I have,
you must adjourn me. But I want to consult you about a rather queer
case.”
“Good,” said Thorndyke. “There is no wrong time for a queer case. Let
me hang up my hat and fill my pipe and then you can proceed to make my
flesh creep.”
He disposed of his hat, and when Mr. Polton had departed with his tray
of material he filled his pipe, laid a note block on the table, and
invited me to begin; whereupon I gave him a detailed account of what
had befallen me in the course of the morning, to which he listened
with close attention, jotting down an occasional note, but not
interrupting my narrative. When I had finished he read through his
notes and then said:
“It is, of course, evident to you that all the appearances point to
suicide. Have you any reasons, other than those you have mentioned,
for rejecting that view?”
“I am afraid not,” I replied gloomily. “But you have always taught us
to beware of too ready acceptance of the theory of suicide in doubtful
cases.”
He nodded approvingly. “Yes,” he said, “that is a cardinal principle
in medico-legal practice. All other possibilities should be explored
before suicide is accepted. But our difficulty in this case is that we
have hardly any of the relevant facts. The evidence at the inquest may
make everything clear. On the other hand it may leave things obscure.
But what is your concern with the case? You are merely a witness to
the finding of the body. The parties are all strangers to you, are
they not?”
“They were,” I replied. “But I feel that some one ought to keep an eye
on things for Miss D’Arblay’s sake, and circumstances seem to have put
the duty on me. So, as I can afford to pay any costs that are likely
to be incurred, I proposed to ask you to undertake the case—on a
strict business footing, you know, sir.”
“When you speak of my undertaking the case,” said he, “what is it that
is in your mind? What do you want me to do in the matter?”
“I want you to take any measures that you may think necessary,” I
replied, “to ascertain definitely, if possible, how this man came by
his death.”
He reflected awhile before answering. At length he said:
“The examination of the body will be conducted by the person whom the
coroner appoints, probably the police surgeon. I will write to the
coroner for permission to be present at the post-mortem examination.
He will certainly make no difficulties. I will also write to the
police surgeon, who is sure to be quite helpful. If the post-mortem
throws no light on the case—in fact, in any event—I will instruct a
first-class shorthand writer to attend at the inquest and make a
verbatim report of the evidence; and you, of course, will be present
as a witness. That, I think, is about all that we can do at present.
When we have heard all the evidence, including that furnished by the
body itself, we shall be able to judge whether the case calls for
further investigation. How will that do?”
“It is all that I could wish,” I answered, “and I am most grateful to
you, sir, for giving your time to the case. I hope you don’t think I
have been unduly meddlesome.”
“Not in the least,” he replied warmly. “I think you have shown a very
proper spirit in the way you have interpreted your neighbourly duties
to this poor, bereaved girl, who, apparently, has no one else to watch
over her interests. And I take it as a compliment from an old pupil
that you should seek my help.”
I thanked him again, very sincerely, and had risen to take my leave,
when he held up his hand.
“Sit down, Gray, if you are not in a hurry,” said he. “I hear the
pleasant clink of crockery. Let us follow the example of the eminent
Mr. Pepys—though it isn’t always a safe thing to do—and taste of the
‘China drinke called Tee,’ while you tell me what you have been doing
since you went forth from the fold.”
It struck me that the sense of hearing was uncommonly well developed
in this establishment, for I had heard nothing; but a few moments
later the door opened very quietly, and Mr. Polton entered with a tray
on which was a very trim, and even dainty, tea service, which he set
out noiselessly and with a curious neatness of hand, on a small table
placed conveniently between our chairs.
“Thank you, Polton,” said Thorndyke. “I see you diagnosed my visitor
as a professional brother.”
Polton crinkled benevolently and admitted that he “thought the
gentleman looked like one of us’; and with this he melted away,
closing the door behind him without a sound.
“Well,” said Thorndyke, as he handed me my tea-cup, “what have you
been doing with yourself since you left the hospital?”
“Principally looking for a job,” I replied; “and now I’ve found one—a
temporary job, though I don’t know how temporary. To-morrow I take
over the practice of a man named Cornish in Mecklenburgh-square.
Cornish is a good deal run down, and wants to take a quiet holiday on
the East Coast. He doesn’t know how long he will be away. It depends
on his health; but I have told him that I am prepared to stay as long
as he wants me to. I hope I shan’t make a mess of the job, but I know
nothing of general practice.”
“You will soon pick it up,” said Thorndyke; “but you had better get
your principal to show you the ropes before he goes, particularly the
dispensing and bookkeeping. The essentials of practice, you know, but
the little practical details have to be learnt, and you are doing well
to make your first plunge into professional life in a practice that is
a going concern. The experience will be valuable when you make a start
on your own account.”
On this plane of advice and comment our talk proceeded until I thought
that I had stayed long enough, when I once more rose to depart. Then,
as we were shaking hands, Thorndyke reverted to the object of my
visit.
“I shall not appear in this case unless the coroner wishes me to,”
said he. “I shall consult with the official medical witness, and he
will probably give our joint conclusions in his evidence; unless we
should fail to agree, which is very unlikely. But you will be present,
and you had better attend closely to the evidence of all the witnesses
and let me have your account of the inquest as well as the shorthand
writer’s report. Good-bye, Gray. You won’t be far away if you should
want my help or advice.”
I left the precincts of the Temple in a much more satisfied frame of
mind. The mystery which seemed to me to surround the death of Julius
D’Arblay would be investigated by a supremely competent observer, and
I need not further concern myself with it. Perhaps there was no
mystery at all. Possibly the evidence at the inquest would supply a
simple explanation. At any rate, it was out of my hands and into those
of one immeasurably more capable and I could now give my undivided
attention to the new chapter of my life that was to open on the
morrow.