A Chapter of Surprises
In answer to my knock the studio door was opened by Polton; and as I
met his eyes for a moment I was conscious of something unusual in his
appearance. I had scanty opportunity to examine him, for he seemed to
be in a hurry, bustling away after a few hasty words of apology and
returning whence he had come. Following close on his heels, I saw what
was the occasion of his hurry. He was engaged with a brush and a pot
of melted wax in painting a layer of the latter on the insides of the
moulds of a pair of arms, while Marion, seated on a high stool, was
working at a wax bust, which was placed on a revolving
modelling-stand, obliterating the seams and other irregularities with
a steel tool which she heated from time to time at a small spirit
lamp.
When I had made my salutations, I offered my help to Polton, which he
declined—without looking up from his work—saying that he wanted to
carry the job through by himself. I sympathized with this natural
desire, but it left me without occupation; for the work which Marion
was doing was essentially a one-person job, and in any case was far
beyond the capabilities of either of the apprentices. For a minute or
two I stood idly looking on at Polton’s proceedings, but, noticing
that my presence seemed to worry him, I presently moved away—again
with a vague impression that there was something unusual in his
appearance—and, drawing up another high stool beside Marion’s, settled
myself to take a lesson in the delicate and difficult technique of
surface finishing.
We were all very silent. My two companions were engrossed by their
respective occupations, and I must needs refrain from distracting them
by untimely conversation; so I sat, well content to watch the magical
tool stealing caressingly over the wax surface, causing the
disfiguring seams to vanish miraculously into an unbroken contour. But
my own attention was somewhat divided; for even as I watched the
growing perfection of the bust there would float into my mind now and
again an idle speculation as to the change in Polton’s appearance.
What could it be? It was something that seemed to have altered, to
some extent, his facial expression. It couldn’t be that he had shaved
off his moustache or whiskers, for he had none to shave. Could he have
parted his hair in a new way? It seemed hardly sufficient to account
for the change; and looking round at him cautiously I could detect
nothing unfamiliar about his hair.
At this point he picked up his wax-pot and carried it away to the
farther end of the studio to exchange it for another which was heating
in a water-bath. I took the opportunity to lean towards Marion and ask
in a whisper:
“Have you noticed anything unusual about Polton?”
She nodded emphatically, and cast a furtive glance over her shoulder
in his direction.
“What is it?” I asked in the same low tone.
She took another precautionary glance, and then leaning towards me
with an expression of exaggerated mystery, whispered:
“He has cut his eyelashes off.”
I gazed at her in amazement, and was about to put a further question,
but she held up a warning forefinger and turned again to her work.
However, my curiosity was now at boiling-point. As soon as Polton
returned to his bench, I slipped off my stool and sauntered over to it
on the pretence of seeing how his wax cast was progressing.
Marion’s report was perfectly correct. His eyelids were as bare of
lashes as those of a marble bust. And this was not all. Now that I
came to look at him critically, his eyebrows had a distinctly
moth-eaten appearance. He had been doing something to them, too.
It was an amazing affair. For one moment I was on the point of
demanding an explanation, but good sense and good manners conquered
the inquisitive impulse in time. Returning to my stool I cast an
enquiring glance at Marion, from whom, however, I got no enlightenment
but such as I could gather from a most alluring dimple that hovered
about the corner of her mouth and that speedily diverted my thoughts
into other channels.
My two companions continued for some time to work silently, leaving me
to my meditations—which concerned themselves alternately with Polton’s
eyelashes and the dimple aforesaid. Suddenly Marion turned to me and
asked:
“Has Mr. Polton told you that we are all to have a holiday to-morrow?”
“No,” I answered; “but Dr. Thorndyke mentioned that Mr. Polton might
have something to tell us. Why are we all to have a holiday?”
“Why, you see, sir,” said Polton, standing up and forgetting all about
his eyelashes, “the Doctor instructed me to make an appointment with
those two ladies, Miss Dewsnep and Miss Bonington, to come to our
chambers on a matter of identification. I have made the appointment
for ten o’clock to-morrow morning; and as the Doctor wants you to be
present at the interview and wants me to be in attendance, and we
can’t leave Miss D’Arblay here alone, we have arranged to shut up the
studio for to-morrow.”
“Yes,” said Marion; “and Arabella and I are going to spend the morning
looking at the shops in Regent-street, and then we are coming to lunch
with you and Dr. Thorndyke. It will be quite a red-letter day.”
“I don’t quite see what these ladies are coming to the chambers for,”
said I.
“You will see, all in good time, sir,” replied Polton; and, as if to
head me off from any further questions, he added: “I forgot to ask how
your little party went off this morning.”
“It went off with a bang,” I answered. “We got the coffin up all
right, but Mr. Fox wasn’t at home. The coffin was empty.”
“I rather think that was what the Doctor expected,” said Polton.
Marion looked at me with eager curiosity. “This sounds rather
thrilling,” she said. “May one ask who it was that you expected to
find in that coffin?”
“My impression is,” I replied, “that the missing tenant was a person
who bore a strong resemblance to that photograph that I showed you.”
“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed. “What a pity! I wish that coffin hadn’t
been empty. But, of course, it could hardly have been occupied, under
the circumstances. I suppose I mustn’t ask for fuller details?”
“I don’t imagine that there is any secrecy about the affair, so far as
you are concerned,” I answered; “but I would rather that you had the
details from Dr. Thorndyke, or, at least, with his express authority.
He is conducting the investigations, and what I know has been imparted
to me in confidence.”
This view was warmly endorsed by Polton (who had by now either
forgotten his eyelashes or abandoned concealment as hopeless). The
subject was accordingly dropped, and the two workers resumed their
occupations. When Polton had painted a complete skin of wax over the
interior of both pairs of moulds, I helped him to put the latter
together and fasten them with cords. Then into each completed mould we
poured enough melted wax to fill it, and after a few seconds poured it
out again, leaving a solid layer to thicken the skin and unite the two
halves of the wax cast. This finished Polton’s job, and shortly
afterwards he took his departure. Nor did we remain very much longer,
for the final stages of the surface finishing were too subtle to be
carried out by artificial light, and had to be postponed until
daylight was available.
As we walked homewards we discussed the situation so far as was
possible without infringing Thorndyke’s confidences.
“I am very confused and puzzled about it all,” she said. “It seems
that Dr. Thorndyke is trying to get on the track of the man who
murdered my father. But whenever I hear any details of his
investigations they always seem to be concerned with somebody else or
with something that has no apparent connexion with the crime.”
“That is exactly my condition,” said I. “He seems to be busily working
at problems that are totally irrelevant. As far as I can make out, the
murderer has never once come into sight, excepting when he appeared at
the studio that terrible night. The people in whom Thorndyke has
interested himself are mere outsiders—suspicious characters, no doubt,
but not suspected of the murder. This man, Crile, for instance, whose
empty coffin we dug up, was certainly a shady character. But he was
not the murderer, though he seems to have been associated with the
murderer at one time. Then there is that fellow Morris, whose mask we
found at the studio. He is another queer customer. But he is certainly
not the murderer, though he was also probably an associate. Thorndyke
has taken an immense interest in him. But I can’t see why. He doesn’t
seem to me to be in the picture, or, at any rate, not in the
foreground of it. Of the actual murderer we seem to know nothing at
all—at least, that is my position.”
“Do you think Dr. Thorndyke has really got anything to go on?” she
asked.
“My dear Marion,” I exclaimed, “I am confident that he has the whole
case cut and dried and perfectly clear in his mind. What I was saying
referred only to myself. _My_ ideas are all in confusion, but _his_
are not. He can see quite clearly who is in the picture and in what
part of it. The blindness is mine. But let us wait and see what
to-morrow brings forth. I have a sort of feeling—in fact, he
hinted—that this interview is the final move. He may have something to
tell you when you arrive.”
“I do hope he may,” she said earnestly; and with this we dismissed the
subject. A few minutes later we parted at the gate of Ivy Cottage, and
I took my way (by the main thoroughfares) home to my lodgings.
On the following morning I made a point of presenting myself at
Thorndyke’s chambers well in advance of the appointed time in order
that I might have a few words with him before the two ladies arrived.
With the same purpose, no doubt, Superintendent Miller took a similar
course, the result being that we converged simultaneously at the entry
and ascended the stairs together. The “oak” was already open, and the
inner door was opened by Thorndyke, who smilingly remarked that he
seemed thereby to have killed two early birds with one stone.
“So you have, Doctor,” assented the Superintendent—“two early birds
who have come betimes to catch the elusive worm—and I suspect they
won’t catch him.”
“Don’t be pessimistic, Miller,” said Thorndyke with a quiet chuckle.
“He isn’t such a slippery worm as that. I suppose you want to know
something of the programme?”
“Naturally, I do, and so, I suppose, does Dr. Gray.”
“Well,” said Thorndyke, “I am not going to tell you much——”
“I knew it,” groaned Miller.
“Because it will be better for every one to have an open mind——”
“Well,” interposed Miller, “mine is open enough. Wide open, and
nothing inside.”
“And then,” pursued Thorndyke, “there is the possibility that we shall
not get the result we hoped for, and in that case the less you expect
the less you will be disappointed.”
“But,” persisted Miller, “in general terms, what are we here for? I
understand that those two ladies, the witnesses to Bendelow’s will,
are coming presently. What are they coming for? Do you expect to get
any information out of them?”
“I have some hopes,” he replied, “of learning something from them. In
particular, I want to test them in respect of their identification of
Bendelow.”
“Ha! Then you have got a photograph of him?”
Thorndyke shook his head. “No,” he replied. “I have not been able to
get a photograph of him.”
“Then you have an exact description of him?”
“No,” was the reply. “I have no description of him at all.”
The Superintendent banged his hat on the table. “Then what the deuce
have you got, sir?” he demanded distractedly. “You must have
something, you know, if you are going to test these witnesses on the
question of identification. You haven’t got a photograph, you haven’t
got a description, and you can’t have the man himself because he is at
present reposing in a little terra-cotta pot in the form of bone-ash.
Now, what have you got?”
Thorndyke regarded the exasperated Superintendent with an inscrutable
smile and then glanced at Polton, who had just stolen into the room
and was now listening with an expression of such excessive crinkliness
that I wrote him down an accomplice on the spot.
“You had better ask Polton,” said Thorndyke. “He is the stage manager
on this occasion.”
The Superintendent turned sharply to confront my fellow apprentice,
whose eyes thereupon disappeared into a labyrinth of crow’s-feet.
“It’s no use asking me, sir,” said he. “I’m only an accessory before
the fact, so to speak. But you’ll know all about it when the ladies
arrive—and I rather think I hear ’em coming now.”
In corroboration, light footsteps and feminine voices became audible,
apparently ascending our stairs. We hastily seated ourselves while
Polton took his station by the door and Thorndyke said to me in a low
voice:
“Remember, Gray, no comments of any kind. These witnesses must act
without any sort of suggestion from anybody.”
I gave a quick assent, and at that moment Polton threw open the door
with a flourish and announced majestically:
“Miss Dewsnep, Miss Bonington.”
We all rose, and Thorndyke advanced to receive his visitors, while
Polton placed chairs for them.
“It is exceedingly good of you to take all this trouble to help us,”
said Thorndyke. “I hope it was not in any way inconvenient to you to
come here this morning.”
“Oh, not at all,” replied Miss Dewsnep; “only we are not quite clear
as to what it is that you want us to do.”
“We will go into that question presently,” said Thorndyke. “Meanwhile,
may I introduce to you these two gentlemen, who are interested in our
little business—Mr. Miller and Dr. Gray?”
The two ladies bowed; and Miss Dewsnep remarked:
“We are already acquainted with Dr. Gray. We had the melancholy
pleasure of meeting him at Mrs. Morris’ house on the sad occasion when
he came to examine the mortal remains of poor Mr. Bendelow, who is now
with the angels.”
“And no doubt,” added Miss Bonington, “in extremely congenial
society.”
At this statement of Miss Dewsnep’s the Superintendent turned and
looked at me sharply with an expression of enlightenment; but he made
no remark, and the latter lady returned to her original inquiry.
“You were going to tell us what it is that you want us to do.”
“Yes,” replied Thorndyke. “It is quite a simple matter. We want you to
look at the face of a certain person who will be shown to you, and to
tell us if you recognize and can give a name to that person.”
“Not an insane person, I hope!” exclaimed Miss Dewsnep.
“No,” Thorndyke assured her, “not an insane person.”
“Nor a criminal person in custody, I trust,” added Miss Bonington.
“Certainly not,” replied Thorndyke. “In short, let me assure you that
the inspection of this person need not cause you the slightest
embarrassment. It will be a perfectly simple affair, as you will see.
But perhaps we had better proceed at once. If you two gentlemen will
follow Polton, I will conduct the ladies upstairs myself.”
On this we rose, and Miller and I followed Polton out on to the
landing, where he turned and began to ascend the stairs at a slow and
solemn pace, as if he were conducting a funeral. The Superintendent
walked at my side and muttered as he went, being evidently in a state
of bewilderment fully equal to my own.
“Now, what the blazes,” he growled, “can the Doctor be up to now? I
never saw such a man for springing surprises on one. But who the deuce
can he have up there?”
At the top of the second flight we came on to a landing and,
proceeding along it, reached a door which Polton unlocked and opened.
“You understand, gentlemen,” he said, halting in the doorway, “that no
remarks or comments are to be made until the witnesses have gone.
Those were my instructions.”
With this he entered the room, closely followed by Miller, who, as he
crossed the threshold, set at naught Polton’s instructions by
exclaiming in a startled voice: “Snakes!”
I followed quickly, all agog with curiosity, but whatever I had
expected to see—if I had expected anything—I was totally unprepared
for what I did see.
The room was a smallish room, completely bare and empty of furniture
save for four chairs—on two of which Polton firmly seated us; and in
the middle of the floor, raised on a pair of trestles, was a coffin
covered with a black linen cloth. At this gruesome object Miller and I
gazed in speechless astonishment, but, apart from Polton’s injunction,
there was no opportunity for an exchange of sentiments; for we had
hardly taken our seats when we heard the sound of ascending footsteps
mingled with Thorndyke’s bland and persuasive accents. A few moments
later the party reached the door; and as the two ladies came in sight
of the coffin, both started back with a cry of alarm.
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Miss Dewsnep, “it’s a dead person! Who is it,
sir? Is it any one we know?”
“That is what we want you to tell us,” Thorndyke replied.
“How mysterious!” exclaimed Miss Bonington, in a hushed voice. “How
dreadful! Some poor creature who has been found dead, I suppose? I
hope it won’t be very—er—you know what I mean, sir—when the coffin is
opened.”
“There will be no need to open the coffin,” Thorndyke reassured her.
“There is an inspection window in the coffin-lid through which you can
see the face. All you have to do is to look through the window and
tell us if the face that you see is the face of any one who is known
to you. Are you ready, Polton?”
Polton replied that he was, having taken up his position at the head
of the coffin with an air of profound gravity, approaching to gloom.
The two ladies shuddered audibly, but their nervousness being now
overcome by a devouring curiosity, they advanced, one on either side
of the coffin, and, taking up a position close to Polton, gazed
eagerly at the covered coffin. There was a solemn pause as Polton
carefully gathered up the two corners of the linen pall. Then, with a
quick movement, he threw it back. The two witnesses simultaneously
stooped and peered in at the window. Simultaneously their mouths
opened, and they sprang back with a shriek.
“Why, it’s Mr. Bendelow!”
“You are quite sure it is Mr. Bendelow?” Thorndyke asked.
“Perfectly,” replied Miss Dewsnep. “And yet,” she continued with a
mystified look, “it can’t be; for I saw him passed through the bronze
doors into the cremation furnace. I saw him with my own eyes,” she
added, somewhat unnecessarily. “And what’s more, I saw his ashes in
the casket.”
She gazed with wide-open eyes at Thorndyke, and then at her friend,
and the two women tiptoed forward and once more stared in at the
window with starting eyes and dropped chins.
“It is Mr. Bendelow,” said Miss Bonington, in an awe-stricken voice.
“But it can’t be,” Miss Dewsnep protested in tremulous tones. “You saw
him put through those doors yourself, Susan, and you saw his ashes
afterwards.”
“I can’t help that, Sarah,” the other lady retorted. “This is Mr.
Bendelow. You can’t deny that it is.”
“Our eyes must be deceived,” said Miss Dewsnep, the said eyes being
still riveted on the face within the window. “It can’t be—and yet it
is—but yet it is impossible——”
She paused suddenly, and raised a distinctly alarmed face to her
friend.
“Susan,” she said, in a low, rather shaky voice, “there is something
here with which we, as Christian women, are better not concerned.
Something against nature. The dead has been recalled from a burning
fiery furnace by some means which we may not inquire into. It were
better, Susan, that we should now depart from this place.”
This was evidently Susan’s opinion, too, for she assented with
uncommon alacrity and with a distinctly uncomfortable air; and the
pair moved with one accord towards the door. But Thorndyke gently
detained them.
“Do we understand,” he asked, “that, apart from the apparently
impossible circumstances, the body in that coffin is, in your opinion,
the body of the late Simon Bendelow?”
“You do,” Miss Dewsnep replied in a resentfully nervous tone and
regarding Thorndyke with very evident alarm. “If it were possible that
it could be, I would swear that those unnatural remains were those of
my poor friend, Mr. Bendelow. As it’s not possible, it cannot be.”
“Thank you,” said Thorndyke with the most extreme suavity of manner.
“You have done us a great service by coming here to-day, and a great
service to humanity—how great a service you will learn later. I am
afraid it has been a disagreeable experience to both of you, for which
I am sincerely sorry; but you must let me assure you that there is
nothing unlawful or supernatural in what you have seen. Later, I hope
you will be able to realize that. And now I trust that you will allow
Mr. Polton to accompany you to the dining-room and offer you a little
refreshment.”
As neither of the ladies raised any objection to this programme, we
all took our leave of them, and they departed down the stairs,
escorted by Polton. When they had gone, Miller stepped across to the
coffin and cast a curious glance in at the window.
“So that is Mr. Bendelow,” said he. “I don’t think much of him, and I
don’t see how he is going to help us. But you have given those two old
girls a rare shake-up, and I don’t wonder. Of course, this can’t be a
dead body that you have got in this coffin, but it is a most lifelike
representation of one, and it took in those poor old Judies properly.
What have you got to tell us about this affair, Doctor? I can see that
your scheme, whatever it was, has come off. They always do. But what
about it? What has this experiment proved?”
“It has turned a mere name into an actual person,” was the reply.
“Yes, I know,” rejoined Miller. “Very interesting, too. Now we know
exactly what he looked like. But what about it? And what is the next
move?”
“The next move on my part is to lay a sworn information against him as
the murderer of Julius D’Arblay; which I will do now, if you will
administer the oath and witness my signature.” As he spoke Thorndyke
produced a paper from his pocket and laid it on the coffin.
The Superintendent looked at the paper with a surprised grin.
“A little late, isn’t it,” he said, “to be swearing an information? Of
course you can if you like; but when you’ve done it, what then?”
“Then,” replied Thorndyke, “it will be for you to arrest him and bring
him to trial.”
At this reply the Superintendent’s eyes opened until his face might
have been a symbolic mask of astonishment. Grasping his hair with both
hands, he rose slowly from his chair, staring at Thorndyke as if at
some alarming apparition.
“You’ll be the death of me, Doctor!” he exclaimed. “You really will. I
am not fit for these shocks at my time of life. What is it you ask me
to do? I am to arrest this man! What man? Here is a wax-work gentleman
in a coffin—at least, I suppose that is what he is—that might have
come straight from Madame Tussaud’s. Am I to arrest him? And there is
a casket full of ashes somewhere. Am I to arrest those? Or am I off my
head or dreaming?”
Thorndyke smiled at him indulgently. “Now, Miller,” said he, “don’t
pretend to be foolish, because you are not. The man whom you are to
arrest is a live man, and what is more, he is easily accessible
whenever you choose to lay your hands on him.”
“Do you know where to find him?”
“Yes,” Thorndyke replied. “I, myself, will conduct you to his house,
which is in Abbey-road, Hornsey, nearly opposite Miss D’Arblay’s
studio.”
I gave a gasp of amazement on hearing this, which directed the
Superintendent’s attention to me.
“Very well, Doctor,” he said, “I will take your information, but you
needn’t swear to it: just sign your name. I must be off now, but I
will look in to-night about nine, if that will do, to get the
necessary particulars and settle the arrangements with you. Probably
to-morrow afternoon will be a good time to make the arrest. What do
you think?”
“I should think it would be an excellent time,” Thorndyke replied;
“but we can settle definitely to-night.”
With this, the Superintendent, having taken the signed paper from
Thorndyke, shook both our hands and bustled away with the traces of
his late surprise still visible on his countenance.
The recognition of the tenant of the coffin as Simon Bendelow had come
on me with almost as great a shock as it had on the two witnesses, but
for a different reason. My late experiences enabled me to guess at
once that the mysterious tenant was a wax-work figure, presumably of
Polton’s creation. But what I found utterly inexplicable was that such
a wax-work should have been produced in the likeness of a man whom
neither Polton nor Thorndyke had ever seen. The astonishing
conversation between the latter and Miller had, for the moment, driven
this mystery out of my mind; but as soon as the Superintendent had
gone, I stepped over to the coffin and looked in at the window. And
then I was more amazed than ever. For the face that I saw was not the
face that I had expected to see. There, it is true, was the old
familiar skull-cap, which Bendelow had worn, pulled down over the
temples above the jaw-bandage. But it was the wrong face (incidentally
I now understood what had become of Polton’s eyelashes. That
conscientious realist had evidently taken no risks.).
“But,” I protested, “this is not Bendelow. This is Morris.”
Thorndyke nodded. “You have just heard two competent witnesses declare
with complete conviction and certainty that this is Simon Bendelow;
and, as you, yourself, pointed out, there can be no doubt as to their
knowledge of Bendelow since they recognized the photograph of him that
was shown to them by the American detective.”
“That is perfectly true,” I admitted. “But it is a most
incomprehensible affair. This is not the man who was cremated.”
“Evidently not, since he is still alive.”
“But these two women saw Bendelow cremated—at least they saw him
passed through into the crematorium, which is near enough. And they
had seen him in the coffin a few minutes before I saw him in the
coffin, and they saw him again a few minutes after Cropper and Morris
and I had put him back in the coffin. And the man whom we put into the
coffin was certainly not this man.”
“Obviously not, since he helped you to put the corpse in.”
“And again,” I urged; “if the body that we put into the coffin was not
the body that was cremated, what has become of it? It wasn’t buried,
for the other coffin was empty. Those women must have made some
mistake.”
He shook his head. “The solution of the mystery is staring you in the
face,” said he. “It is perfectly obvious, and I am not going to give
you any further hints now. When we have made the arrest you shall have
a full exposition of the case. But tell me, now; did those two women
ever meet Morris?”
I considered for a few moments and then replied: “I have no evidence
that they ever met him. They certainly never did in my presence. But
even if they had, they would hardly have recognized him as the person
whom they have identified to-day. He had grown a beard and moustache,
you will remember, and his appearance was very much altered from what
it was when I first saw him.”
Thorndyke nodded. “It would be,” he agreed. Then, turning to another
subject, he said: “I am afraid it will be necessary for you to be
present at the arrest. I would much rather that you were not, for he
is a dangerous brute and will probably fight like a wild cat; but you
are the only one of us who really knows him by sight in his present
state.”
“I should like to be in at the death,” I said eagerly.
“That is well enough,” said he, “so long as it is his death. You must
bring your pistol, and don’t be afraid to use it.”
“And how shall I know when I am wanted?” I asked.
“You had better go to the studio to-morrow morning,” he replied. “I
will send a note by Polton giving you particulars of the time when we
shall call for you. And now we may as well help Polton to prepare for
our other visitors; and I think, Gray, we will say as little as
possible about this morning’s proceedings or those of to-morrow.
Explanations will come better after the event.”
With this, we went down to the dining-room, where we found Polton
sedately laying the table, having just got rid of the two ladies. We
made a show of assisting him, and I ventured to inquire:
“Who is doing the cooking to-day, Polton? Or is it to be a cold
lunch?”
He looked at me almost reproachfully as he replied:
“It is to be a hot lunch, and I am doing the cooking, of course.”
“But,” I protested, “you have been up to your eyes in other affairs
all the morning.”
He regarded me with a patronizing crinkle. “You can do a good deal,”
said he, “with one or two casseroles, a hay-box, and a four-story
cooker on a gas stove. Things don’t cook any better for your standing
and staring at them.”
Events went to prove the soundness of Polton’s culinary principles;
and the brilliant success of their application in practice gave a
direction to the conversation which led it comfortably away from other
and less discussable topics.