lead bars are essential to our case? They prove that the gold bars
were never landed and that they are consequently still on the ship.
Which empowers us to detain any gold that we may find on her.”
“There, now, Badger,” said the superintendent, “it’s no use for you to
argue with the doctor. He’s like a giraffe. He can see all round him
at once. Let us get on to the Docks.”
Having locked the room, we all sallied forth, and, taking a train at
Charing Cross Station, made our way by Mark Lane and Fenchurch Street
to Wapping, where, following Thorndyke, we entered the Docks and
proceeded straight to a wharf near the Wapping entrance. Here
Thorndyke exchanged a few words with a Customs official, who hurried
away and presently returned accompanied by an officer of higher rank.
The latter, having saluted Thorndyke and cast a slightly amused glance
at our little party, said: “They’ve landed that package that you spoke
about. I’ve had it put in my office for the present. Will you come and
have a look at it?”
We followed him to his office behind a long row of sheds, where, on a
table, was a strong wooden case, somewhat larger than the “bullion”
case, while, on the desk a large, many-leaved document lay open.
“This is your case, I think,” said the official; “but you had better
check it by the manifest. Here is the entry: ‘One case containing
seventeen and three-quarter dozen brass six-inch by three-eighths
screw-bolts with nuts. Dimensions, sixteen inches by thirteen by nine.
Gross weight a hundred and nineteen pounds; net weight a hundred and
thirteen pounds.’ Consigned to ‘Jackson and Walker, 593, Great Alie
Street, London, E.’ Is that the one?”
“That is the one,” Thorndyke replied.
“Then,” said our friend, “we’ll get it open and have a look at those
brass screw-bolts.”
With a dexterity surprising in an official of such high degree, he had
the screws out in a twinkling, and prizing up the lid, displayed a
fold of coarse canvas. As he lifted this the two police officers
peered eagerly into the case; and suddenly the eager expression on
Badger’s face changed to one of bitter disappointment.
“You’ve missed fire this time, sir,” he snapped. “This is just a case
of brass bolts.”
“Gold bolts, Inspector,” Thorndyke corrected, placidly. He picked out
one and handed it to the astonished detective. “Did you ever feel a
brass bolt of that weight?” he asked.
“Well, it certainly is devilish heavy,” the inspector admitted,
weighing it in his hand and passing it on to Miller.
“Its weight, as stated on the manifest,” said Thorndyke, “works out at
well over eight and a half ounces, but we may as well check it.” He
produced from his pocket a little spring balance, to which he slung
the bolt. “You see,” he said, “it weighs eight ounces and two-thirds.
But a brass bolt of the same size would weigh only three ounces and
four-fifths. There is not the least doubt that these bolts are gold;
and as you see that their aggregate weight is a hundred and thirteen
while the weight of the four missing bars is a hundred and thirteen
pounds, two ounces, it is a reasonable inference that these bolts
represent those bars; and an uncommonly good job they made of the
melting to lose only two ounces. Has the consignee’s agent turned up
yet?”
“He is waiting outside,” replied the officer, with a pleased smile,
“hopping about like a pea in a frying-pan. I’ll call him in.”
He did so, and a small, seedy man of strongly Semitic aspect
approached the door with nervous caution and a rather pale face. But
when his beady eye fell on the open case and the portentous assembly
in the office, he turned about and fled along the wharf as if the
hosts of the Philistines were at his heels.
“Of course it is all perfectly simple, as you say,” I replied to
Thorndyke as we strolled back up Nightingale Lane, “but I don’t see
where you got your start. What made you think that the stolen case was
a dummy?”
“At first,” Thorndyke replied, “it was just a matter of alternative
hypotheses. It was purely speculative. The robbery described by
Halethorpe was a very crude affair. It was planned in quite the wrong
way. Noting this, I naturally asked myself: What is the right way to
steal a case of gold ingots? Now, the outstanding difficulty in such a
robbery arises from the ponderous nature of the thing stolen, and the
way to overcome that difficulty is to get away with the booty at
leisure before the robbery is discovered--the longer the better. It is
also obvious that if you can delude some one into stealing your dummy
you will have covered up your tracks most completely; for if that some
one is caught, the issues are extremely confused, and if he is not
caught, all the tracks lead away from you. Of course, he will discover
the fraud when he tries to dispose of the swag, but his lips are
sealed by the fact that he has, himself, committed a felony. So that
is the proper strategical plan; and, though it was wildly improbable,
and there was nothing whatever to suggest it, still the possibility
that this crude robbery might cover a more subtle one, had to be borne
in mind. It was necessary to make absolutely certain that the gold
bars were really in the case when it left Bellhaven. I had practically
no doubt that they were. Our visit to the Custom House was little more
than a formality, just to give us an undeniable datum from which to
make our start. We had to find somebody who had actually seen the case
open and verified the contents; and when we found that man--Mr.
Byrne--it instantly became obvious that the wildly improbable thing
had really happened. The gold bars had already disappeared. I had
calculated the approximate size of the real bars. They would contain
forty-two cubic inches, and would be about seven inches by three by
two. The dimensions given by Byrne--evidently correct, as shown by
those of the case, which the bars fitted pretty closely--were
impossible. If those bars had been gold, they would have weighed two
hundred pounds, instead of the hundred and thirteen pounds shown on
his report. The astonishing thing is that Byrne did not observe the
discrepancy. There are not many Customs officers who would have let it
pass.”
“Isn’t it rather odd,” I asked, “that the thieves should have gambled
on such a remote chance?”
“It is pretty certain,” he replied, “that they were unaware of the
risk they were taking. Probably they assumed--as most persons would
have done--that a case of bullion would be merely inspected and
passed. Few persons realize the rigorous methods of the Customs
officers. But to resume: It was obvious that the ‘gold’ bars that
Byrne had examined were dummies. The next question was, where were the
real bars? Had they been made away with, or were they still on the
ship? To settle this question I decided to go through the manifest and
especially through the column of net weights. And there, presently, I
came upon a package the net weight of which was within two ounces of
the weight of the stolen bars. And that package was a parcel of brass
screw-bolts--on a homeward-bound ship! But who on earth sends brass
bolts from Africa to London? The anomaly was so striking that I
examined the entry more closely, and then I found--by dividing the net
weight by the number of bolts--that each of these little bolts weighed
over half a pound. But, if this were so, those bolts could be of no
other metal than gold or platinum, and were almost certainly gold.
Also, their aggregate weight was exactly that of the stolen bars, less
two ounces, which probably represented loss in melting.”
“And the scrivelloes,” said I, “and the gum copal and the kola nuts;
what was their bearing on the inquiry? I can’t, even now, trace any
connection.”
Thorndyke cast an astonished glance at me, and then replied with a
quiet chuckle: “There wasn’t any. Those notes were for the benefit of
the shipping gentleman. As he would look over my shoulder, I had to
give him something to read and think about. If I had noted only the
brass bolts, I should have virtually informed him of the nature of my
suspicions.”
“Then, really, you had the case complete when we left Bellhaven?”
“Theoretically, yes. But we had to recover the stolen case, for,
without those lead ingots we could not prove that the gold bolts were
stolen property, any more than one could prove a murder without
evidence of the death of the victim.”
“And how do you suppose the robbery was carried out? How was the gold
got out of the ship’s strong-room?”
“I should say it was never there. The robbers, I suspect, are the
ship’s mate, the chief engineer and possibly the purser. The mate
controls the stowage of cargo, and the chief engineer controls the
repair shop and has the necessary skill and knowledge to deal with the
metal. On receiving the advice of the bullion consignment, I imagine
they prepared the dummy case in agreement with the description. When
the bullion arrived, the dummy case would be concealed on deck and the
exchange made as soon as the bullion was put on board. The dummy would
be sent to the strong-room and the real case carried to a prepared
hiding-place. Then the engineer would cut up the bars, melt them
piecemeal and cast them into bolts in an ordinary casting-flask, using
an iron bolt as a model, and touching up the screw-threads with a die.
The mate could enter the case on the manifest when he pleased, and
send the bill of lading by post to the nominal consignee. That is what
I imagine to have been the procedure.”
Thorndyke’s solution turned out to be literally correct. The
consignee, pursued by Inspector Badger along the quay, was arrested at
the dock gates and immediately volunteered King’s evidence. Thereupon
the mate, the chief engineer and the purser of the steamship _Labadi_
were arrested and brought to trial; when they severally entered a plea
of guilty and described the method of the robbery almost in
Thorndyke’s words.
VII.
THE FUNERAL PYRE
Thorndyke did not often indulge in an evening paper, and was even
disposed to view that modern institution with some disfavour; whence
it happened that when I entered our chambers shortly before dinner
time with a copy of the _Evening Gazette_ in my hand, he fixed upon
the folded news-sheet an inquiring and slightly disapproving eye.
“’Orrible discovery near Dartford,” I announced, quoting the juvenile
vendor.
The disapproval faded from his face, but the inquiring expression
remained.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied; “but it seems to be something in our line.”
“My learned friend does us an injustice,” he rejoined, with his eye
riveted on the paper. “Still, if you are going to make my flesh creep,
I will try to endure it.”
Thus invited, I opened the paper and read out as follows:
“A shocking tragedy has come to light in a meadow about a mile from
Dartford. About two o’clock this morning, a rural constable observed a
rick on fire out on the marshes near the creek. By the time he reached
it the upper half of the rick was burning fiercely in the strong wind
and, as he could do nothing alone, he went to the adjacent farm-house
and gave the alarm. The farmer and two of his sons accompanied the
constable to the scene of the conflagration, but the rick was now a
blazing mass, roaring in the wind and giving out an intense heat. As
it was obviously impossible to save any part of it, and as there were
no other ricks near, the farmer decided to abandon it to its fate and
went home.
“At eight o’clock he returned to the spot and found the rick still
burning, though reduced to a heap of glowing cinders and ashes, and
approaching it, he was horrified to perceive a human skull grinning
out from the cindery mass. Closer examination showed other bones--all
calcined white and chalky--and close to the skull a stumpy clay pipe.
The explanation of this dreadful occurrence seems quite simple. The
rick was not quite finished, and when the farm hands knocked off work
they left the ladder in position. It is assumed that some tramp, in
search of a night’s lodging, observed the ladder, and climbing up it,
made himself comfortable in the loose hay at the top of the rick,
where he fell asleep with his lighted pipe in his mouth. This ignited
the hay and the man must have been suffocated by the fumes without
awakening from his sleep.”
“A reasonable explanation,” was Thorndyke’s comment, “and quite
probable; but of course it is pure hypothesis. As a matter of fact,
any one of the three conceivable causes of violent death is possible
in this case--accident, suicide or homicide.”
“I should have supposed,” said I, “that we could almost exclude
suicide. It is difficult to imagine a man electing to roast himself to
death.”
“I cannot agree with my learned friend,” Thorndyke rejoined. “I can
imagine a case--and one of great medico-legal interest--that would
exactly fit the present circumstances. Let us suppose a man,
hopelessly insolvent, desperate and disgusted with life, who decides
to provide for his family by investing the few pounds that he has left
in insuring his life heavily and then making away with himself. How
would he proceed? If he should commit suicide by any of the orthodox
methods he would simply invalidate his policy. But now, suppose he
knows of a likely rick; that he provides himself with some
rapidly-acting poison, such as potassium cyanide--he could even use
prussic acid if he carried it in a rubber or celluloid bottle, which
would be consumed in the fire; that he climbs on to the rick; sets
fire to it, and as soon as it is fairly alight, takes his dose of
poison and falls back dead among the hay. Who is to contest his
family’s claim? The fire will have destroyed all traces of the poison,
even if they should be sought for. But it is practically certain that
the question would never be raised. The claim would be paid without
demur.”
I could not help smiling at this calm exposition of a practicable
crime. “It is a mercy, Thorndyke,” I remarked, “that you are an honest
man. If you were not----”
“I think,” he retorted, “that I should find some better means of
livelihood than suicide. But with regard to this case: it will be
worth watching. The tramp hypothesis is certainly the most probable;
but its very probability makes an alternative hypothesis at least
possible. No one is likely to suspect fraudulent suicide; but that
immunity from suspicion is a factor that increases the probability of
fraudulent suicide. And so, to a less extent, with homicide. We must
watch the case and see if there are any further developments.”
Further developments were not very long in appearing. The report in
the morning paper disposed effectually of the tramp theory without
offering any other. “The tragedy of the burning rick,” it said, “is
taking a somewhat mysterious turn. It is now clear that the unknown
man, who was assumed to have been a tramp, must have been a person of
some social position, for careful examination of the ashes by the
police have brought to light various articles which would have been
carried only by a man of fair means. The clay pipe was evidently one
of a pair--of which the second one has been recovered--probably silver
mounted and carried in a case, the steel frame of which has been
found. Both pipes are of the ‘Burns Cutty’ pattern and have neatly
scratched on the bowls the initials ‘R.R.’ The following articles have
also been found:--Remains of a watch, probably gold, and a rather
singular watch-chain, having alternate links of platinum and gold. The
gold links have partly disappeared, but numerous beads of gold have
been found, derived apparently from the watch and chain. The platinum
links are intact and are fashioned of twisted square wire. A bunch of
keys, partly fused; a rock crystal seal, apparently from a ring; a
little porcelain mascot figure, with a hole for suspension--possibly
from the watch-chain--and a number of artificial teeth. In connection
with the latter, a puzzling and slightly sinister aspect has been
given to the case by the finding of an upper dental plate by a ditch
some two hundred yards from the rick. The plate has two gaps and, on
comparison with the skull of the unknown man, these have been found by
the police surgeon to correspond with two groups of remaining teeth.
Moreover, the artificial teeth found in the ashes all seem to belong
to a lower plate. The presence of this plate, so far from the scene of
the man’s death, is extremely difficult to account for.”
As Thorndyke finished reading the extract he looked at me as if
inviting some comment.
“It is a most remarkable and mysterious affair,” said I, “and
naturally recalls to my mind the hypothetical case that you suggested
yesterday. If that case was possible then, it is actually probable
now. It fits these new facts perfectly, not only in respect of the
abundant means of identification, but even to this dental plate--if we
assume that he took the poison as he was approaching the rick, and
that the poison was of an acrid or irritating character which caused
him to cough or retch. And I can think of no other plausible
explanation.”
“There _are_ other possibilities,” said Thorndyke, “but fraudulent
suicide is certainly the most probable theory on the known facts. But
we shall see. As you say, the body can hardly fail to be identified at
a pretty early date.”
As a matter of fact it was identified in the course of that same day.
Both Thorndyke and I were busily engaged until evening in the courts
and elsewhere and had not had time to give this curious case any
consideration. But as we walked home together, we encountered Mr.
Stalker of the Griffin Life Assurance Company pacing up and down
King’s Bench Walk near the entry of our chambers.
“Ha!” he exclaimed, striding forward to meet us near the Mitre Court
gateway, “you are just the very men I wanted to see. There is a little
matter that I want to consult you about. I shan’t detain you long.”
“It won’t matter much if you do,” said Thorndyke. “We have finished
our routine work for the day and our time is now our own.” He led the
way up to our chambers, where, having given the fire a stir, he drew
up three arm-chairs.
“Now, Stalker,” said he. “Warm your toes and tell us your troubles.”
Mr. Stalker spread out his hands to the blaze and began reflectively:
“It will be enough, I think, if I give you the facts--and most of them
you probably know already. You have heard about this man whose remains
were found in the ashes of a burnt rick? Well, it turns out that he
was a certain Mr. Reginald Reed, an outside broker, as I understand;
but what is of more interest to us is that he was a client of ours. We
have issued a policy on his life for three thousand pounds. I thought
I remembered the name when I saw it in the paper this afternoon, so I
looked up our books, and there it was, sure enough.”
“When was the policy issued?” Thorndyke asked.
“Ah!” exclaimed Stalker. “That’s the exasperating feature of the case.
The policy was issued less than a year ago. He has only paid a single
premium. So we stand to drop practically the whole three thousand. Of
course, we have to take the fat with the lean, but we don’t like to
take it in such precious large lumps.”
“Of course you don’t,” agreed Thorndyke. “But now: you have come to
consult me--about what?”
“Well,” replied Stalker, “I put it to you: isn’t there something
obviously fishy about the case? Are the circumstances normal? For
instance, how the devil came a respectable city gentleman to be
smoking his pipe in a haystack out in a lonely meadow at two o’clock
in the morning, or thereabouts?”
“I agree,” said Thorndyke, “that the circumstances are highly
abnormal. But there is no doubt that the man is dead. Extremely dead,
if I may use the expression. What is the point that you wish to
raise?”
“I am not raising any point,” replied Stalker. “We should like you to
attend the inquest and watch the case for us. Of course, in our
policies, as you know, suicide is expressly ruled out; and if this
should turn out to have been a case of suicide----”
“What is there to suggest that it was?” asked Thorndyke.
“What is there to suggest that it wasn’t?” retorted Stalker.
“Nothing,” rejoined Thorndyke. “But a negative plea is of no use to
you. You will have to furnish positive proof of suicide, or else pay
the claim.”
“Yes, I realize that,” said Stalker, “and I am not suggesting--but
there, it is of no use discussing the matter while we know so little.
I leave the case in your hands. Can you attend the inquest?”
“I shall make it my business to do so,” replied Thorndyke.
“Very well,” said Stalker, rising and putting on his gloves, “then we
will leave it at that; and we couldn’t leave it in better case.”
When our visitor had gone I remarked to Thorndyke: “Stalker seems to
have conceived the same idea as my learned senior--fraudulent
suicide.”
“It is not surprising,” he replied. “Stalker is a shrewd man and he
perceives that when an abnormal thing has happened we may look for an
abnormal explanation. Fraudulent suicide was a speculative possibility
yesterday: to-day, in the light of these new facts, it is the most
probable theory. But mere probabilities won’t help Stalker. If there
is no direct evidence of suicide--and there is not likely to be
any--the verdict will be Death by Misadventure, and the Griffin
Company will have to pay.”
“I suppose you won’t do anything until you have heard what transpires
at the inquest?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I think we should do well to go down and just go
over the ground. At present we have the facts at third hand, and we
don’t know what may have been overlooked. As to-morrow is fairly free
I propose that we make an early start and see the place ourselves.”
“Is there any particular point that you want to clear up?”
“No; I have nothing definite in view. The circumstances are compatible
with either accident, suicide or homicide, with an undoubted leaning
towards suicide. But, at present, I have a completely open mind. I am,
in fact, going down to Dartford in the hope of getting a lead in some
definite direction.”
When we alighted at Dartford Station on the following morning,
Thorndyke looked enquiringly up and down the platform until he espied
an inspector, when he approached the official and asked for a
direction to the site of the burnt rick.
The official glanced at Thorndyke’s canvas-covered research-case and
at my binocular and camera as he replied with a smile: “You are not
the first, by a long way, that has asked that question. There has been
a regular procession of Press gentlemen that way this morning. The
place is about a mile from here. You take the foot-path to Joyce Green
and turn off towards the creek opposite Temple Farm. This is about
where the rick stood,” he added, as Thorndyke produced his one-inch
ordnance map and a pencil, “a few yards from that dyke.”
With this direction and the open map we set forth from the station,
and taking our way along the unfrequented path soon left the town
behind. As we crossed the second stile, where the path rejoined the
road, Thorndyke paused to survey the prospect. “Stalker’s question,”
he remarked, “was not unreasonable. This road leads nowhere but to the
river, and one does rather wonder what a city man can have been doing
out on these marshes in the small hours of the morning. I think that
will be our objective, where you see those men at work by the
shepherd’s hut, or whatever it is.”
We struck off across the level meadows, out of which arose the red
sails of a couple of barges, creeping down the invisible creek; and as
we approached our objective the shepherd’s hut resolved itself into a
contractor’s office van, and the men were seen to be working with
shovels and sieves on the ashes of the rick. A police inspector was
superintending the operations, and when we drew near he accosted us
with a civil inquiry as to our business.
Thorndyke presented his card and explained that he was watching the
case in the interests of the Griffin Assurance Company. “I suppose,”
he added, “I shall be given the necessary facilities?”
“Certainly,” replied the officer, glancing at my colleague with an odd
mixture of respect and suspicion; “and if you can spot anything that
we’ve overlooked, you are very welcome. It’s all for the public good.
Is there anything in particular that you want to see?”
“I should like to see everything that has been recovered so far. The
remains of the body have been removed, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir. To the mortuary. But I have got all the effects here.”
He led the way to the office--a wooden hut on low wheels--and
unlocking the door, invited us to enter. “Here are the things that we
have salved,” he said, indicating a table covered with white paper on
which the various articles were neatly set out, “and I think it’s
about the lot. We haven’t come on anything fresh for the last hour or
so.”
Thorndyke looked over the collection thoughtfully; picked up and
examined successively the two clay pipes--each with the initials
“R.R.” neatly incised on the bowl--the absurd little mascot figure, so
incongruous with its grim surroundings and the tragic circumstances,
the distorted keys, the platinum chain-links to several of which
shapeless blobs of gold adhered, and the crystal seal; and then,
collecting the artificial teeth, arranged them in what appeared to be
their correct order, and compared them with the dental plate.
“I think,” said he, holding the latter in his fingers, “that as the
body is not here, I should like to secure the means of comparison of
these teeth with the skull. There will be no objection to that, I
presume?”
“What did you wish to do?” the inspector asked.
“I should like to take a cast of the plate and a wax impression of the
loose teeth. No damage will be done to the originals, of course.”
The inspector hesitated, his natural, official tendency to refuse
permission apparently contending with a desire to see with his own
eyes how the famous expert carried out his mysterious methods of
research. In the end the latter prevailed and the official sanction
was given, subject to a proviso. “You won’t mind my looking on while
you do it?”
“Of course not,” replied Thorndyke. “Why should I?”
“I thought that perhaps your methods were a sort of trade secret.”
Thorndyke laughed softly as he opened the research-case. “My dear
Inspector,” said he, “the people who have trade secrets are those who
make a profound mystery of simple processes that any schoolboy could
carry out with once showing. That is the necessity for the secrecy.”
As he was speaking he half-filled a tiny aluminium saucepan with
water, and having dropped into it a couple of cakes of dentist’s
moulding composition, put it to heat over a spirit-lamp. While it was
heating he greased the dental plate and the loose teeth, and prepared
the little rubber basin and the other appliances for mixing the
plaster.
The inspector was deeply interested. With almost ravenous attention he
followed these proceedings, and eagerly watched Thorndyke roll the
softened composition into the semblance of a small sausage and press
it firmly on the teeth of the plate; peered into the plaster tin, and
when the liquid plaster was mixed and applied, first to the top and
then to the lower surface of the plate, not only observed the process
closely but put a number of very pertinent questions.
While the plaster and composition were setting Thorndyke renewed his
inspection of the salvage from the rick, picking out a number of iron
boot protectors which he placed apart in a little heap.
Then he proceeded to roll out two flat strips of softened composition,
into one of which he pressed the loose teeth in what appeared to be
their proper order, and into the other the boot protectors--eight in
number--after first dusting the surface with powdered French chalk. By
this time the plaster had set hard enough to allow of the mould being
opened and the dental plate taken out. Then Thorndyke, having painted
the surfaces of the plaster pieces with knotting, put the mould
together again and tied it firmly with string, mixed a fresh bowl of
plaster and poured it into the mould.
While this was setting Thorndyke made a careful inventory, with my
assistance, of the articles found in the ashes and put a few discreet
questions to the inspector. But the latter knew very little about the
case. His duty was merely to examine and report on the rick for the
information of the coroner. The investigation of the case was
evidently being conducted from head-quarters. There being no
information to be gleaned from the officer we went out and inspected
the site of the rick. But here, also, there was nothing to be learned;
the surface of the ground was now laid bare and the men who were
working with the sieves reported no further discoveries. We
accordingly returned to the hut, and as the plaster had now set hard
Thorndyke proceeded with infinite care to open the mould. The
operation was a complete success, and as my colleague extracted the
cast--a perfect replica, in plaster, of the dental plate--the
inspector’s admiration was unbounded. “Why,” he exclaimed, “excepting
for the colour you couldn’t tell one from the other; but all the same,
I don’t quite see what you want it for.”
“I want it to compare with the skull,” replied Thorndyke, “if I have
time to call at the mortuary. As I can’t take the original plate with
me, I shall need this copy to make the comparison. Obviously, it is
most important to make sure that this is Reed’s plate and not that of
some other person. By the way, can you show us the spot where the
plate was picked up?”
“Yes,” replied the inspector. “You can see the place from here. It was
just by that gate at the crossing of the ditch.”
“Thank you, Inspector,” said Thorndyke. “I think we will walk down and
have a look at the place.” He wrapped the new cast in a soft cloth,
and having repacked his research case, shook hands with the officer
and prepared to depart.
“You will notice, Jervis,” he remarked as we walked towards the gate,
“that this denture was picked up at a spot beyond the rick--farther
from the town, I mean. Consequently, if the plate is Reed’s, he must
have dropped it while he was approaching the rick from the direction
of the river. It will be worth while to see if we can find out whence
he came.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “But the dropping of the plate is a rather mysterious
affair. It must have happened when he took the poison--assuming that
he really did poison himself; but one would have expected that he
would wait until he got to the rick to take his dose.”
“We had better not make too many assumptions while we have so few
facts,” said Thorndyke. He put down his case beside the gate, which
guarded a bridge across a broad ditch, or drainage dyke, and opened
his map.
“The question is,” said he, “did he come through this gate or was he
only passing it. This dyke, you see, opens into the creek about
three-quarters of a mile farther down. The probability is, therefore,
that if he came up from the river across the marshes he would be on
this side of the ditch and would pass the gate. But we had better try
both sides. Let us leave our things by the gate and explore the ground
for a few hundred yards, one on either side of the ditch. Which side
will you take?”
I elected to take the side nearer the creek and, having put my camera
down by the research case, climbed over the padlocked gate and began
to walk slowly along by the side of the ditch, scanning the ground for
footprints showing the impression of boot-protectors. At first the
surface was far from favourable for imprints of any kind, being, like
that immediately around the gate, covered with thick turf. About a
hundred and fifty yards down, however, I came upon a heap of
worm-casts on which was plainly visible the print of a heel with a
clear impression of a kidney-shaped protector such as I had seen in
the hut. Thereupon I hailed Thorndyke and, having stuck my stick in
the ground beside the heel-print, went back to meet him at the gate.
“This is rather interesting, Jervis,” he remarked, when I had
described my find. “The inference seems to be that he came from the
creek--unless there is another gate farther down. We had better have
our compo impressions handy for comparison.” He opened his case and
taking from it the strip of composition--now as hard as bone--on which
were the impressions of the boot-protectors, slipped it into his outer
pocket. We then took up the case and the camera and proceeded to the
spot marked by my stick.
“Well,” said Thorndyke, “it is not very conclusive, seeing that so
many people use boot-protectors, but it is probably Reed’s footprint.
Let us hope that we shall find something more distinctive farther on.”
We resumed our march, keeping a few yards apart and examining the
ground closely as we went. For a full quarter of a mile we went on
without detecting any trace of a footprint on the thick turf. Suddenly
we perceived ahead of us a stretch of yellow mud occupying a slight
hollow, across which the creek had apparently overflowed at the last
spring tide. When we reached it we found that the mud was nearly dry,
but still soft enough to take an impression; and the surface was
covered with a maze of footprints.
We halted at the edge of the patch and surveyed the complicated
pattern; and then it became evident that the whole group of prints had
been produced by two pairs of feet, with the addition of a row of
sheep-tracks.
“This seems to raise an entirely new issue,” I remarked.
“It does,” Thorndyke agreed. “I think we now begin to see a definite
light on the case. But we must go cautiously. Here are two sets of
footprints, of which one is apparently Reed’s--to judge by the
boot-protectors--while the other prints have been made by a man, whom
we will call X, who wore boots or shoes with rubber soles and heels.
We had better begin by verifying Reed’s.” He produced the composition
strip from his pocket, and, stooping over one pair of footprints,
continued: “I think we may assume that these are Reed’s feet. We have
on the compo strip impressions of eight protectors from the rick, and
on each footprint there are four protectors. Moreover, the individual
protectors are the same on the compo and on the footprints. Thus the
compo shows two pairs of half-protectors, two single edge-pieces, and
two kidney-shaped protectors; while each footprint shows a pair of
half-protectors on the outside of the sole, a single one on the inside
and a kidney-shaped piece on the heel. Furthermore, in both cases the
protectors are nearly new and show no appreciable signs of wear. The
agreement is complete.”
“Don’t you think,” said I, “that we ought to take plaster records of
them?”
“I do,” he replied, “seeing that a heavy shower or a high tide would
obliterate them. If you will make the casts I will, meanwhile, make a
careful drawing of the whole group to show the order of imposition.”
We fell to work forthwith upon our respective tasks, and by the time I
had filled four of the clearest of the footprints with plaster,
Thorndyke had completed his drawing with the aid of a set of coloured
pencils from the research case. While the plaster was setting he
exhibited and explained the drawing.
“You see, Jervis, that there are four lines of prints and a set of
sheep-tracks. The first in order of time are these prints of X, drawn
in blue. Then come the sheep, which trod on X’s footprints. Next comes
Reed, alone and after some interval, for he has trodden both on the
sheep-tracks and on the tracks of X. Both men were going towards the
river. Then we have the tracks of the two men coming back. This time
they were together, for their tracks are parallel and neither treads
into the prints of the other. Both tracks are rather sinuous as if the
men were walking unsteadily, and both have trodden on the sheep-tracks
and on the preceding tracks. Next, we have the tracks of X going alone
towards the river and treading on all the others excepting number
four, which are the tracks of X coming from the river and turning off
towards that gate, which opens on to the road. The sequence of events
is therefore pretty clear.
“First, X came along here alone to some destination which we have yet
to discover. Later--how much later we cannot judge--came Reed, alone.
The two men seem to have met, and later returned together, apparently
the worse for drink. That is the last we see of Reed. Next comes X,
walking back--quite steadily, you notice--towards the river. Later, he
returns; but this time, for some reason--perhaps to avoid the
neighbourhood of the rick--he crosses the ditch at that gate,
apparently to get on the road, though you see by the map that the road
is much the longer route to the town. And now we had better get on and
see if we can discover the rendezvous to and from which these two men
went and came.”
As the plaster had now set quite hard I picked up the casts, and when
I had carefully packed them in the case we resumed our progress
riverwards. I had already noticed, some distance ahead, the mast of
what looked like a small cutter yacht standing up above the marshes,
and I now drew Thorndyke’s attention to it. But he had already
observed it and, like me, had marked it as the probable rendezvous of
the two men. In a few minutes the probability became a certainty, for
a bend in the creek showed us the little vessel--with the name
_Moonbeam_ newly painted on the bow--made fast alongside a small
wooden staging; and when we reached this the bare earth opposite the
gangway was seen to be covered with the footprints of both men.
“I wonder,” said I, “which of them was the owner of the yacht.”
“It is pretty obvious, I think,” said Thorndyke, “that X was the owner
if either of them was. He came to the yacht alone, and he wore
rubber-soled shoes such as yachtsmen favour; whereas Reed came when
the other man was there, and he wore iron boot-protectors, which no
yacht owner would do if he had any respect for his deck-planks. But
they may have had a joint interest; appearances suggest that they were
painting the woodwork when they were here together, as some of the
paint is fresh and some of it old and shabby.” He gazed at the yacht
reflectively for some time and then remarked: “It would be
interesting--and perhaps instructive--to have a look at the inside.”
“It would be a flagrant trespass, to put it mildly,” said I.
“It would be more than trespass if that padlock is locked,” he
rejoined. “But we need not take a pedantic view of the legal position.
My learned friend has a serviceable pair of glasses and commands an
unobstructed view of a mile or so; and if he maintains an observant
attitude while I make an inspection of the premises any trifling
irregularity will be of no consequence.” As he spoke he felt in his
pocket and produced an instrument which our laboratory assistant,
Polton, had made from a few pieces of stiff steel wire, and which was
euphemistically known as a smoker’s companion. With this appliance in
his hand he dropped down on to the yacht’s deck, and after a quick
look round, tried the padlock. Finding it locked he proceeded to
operate on it with the smoker’s companion, and in a few moments it
fell open, when he pushed back the sliding hatch and stepped down into
the little cabin.
His exploration did not take long. In a few minutes he reappeared and
climbed the short ladder to the staging. “There isn’t much to see,” he
reported, “but what there is is highly suggestive. If you slip down
and have a look round, I think you will have no difficulty in forming
a plausible reconstruction of the recent events. You had better take
the camera. There is light enough for a time exposure.”
I handed him the glasses, and dropping on to the deck, stepped down
through the open hatch into the cabin. It was an absurd little cave,
barely four feet high from the floor to the coach-roof, open to the
forepeak and lighted by a little skylight and two port-holes. Of the
two sleeping berths, one had evidently been used as a seat, while the
other appeared to have been slept in, to judge by the indented pillow
and the tumbled blankets, left just as the occupant had crawled out of
them. But the whole interior was in a state of squalid disorder.
Paint-pots and unwashed brushes lay about the floor, in company with a
couple of whisky-bottles--one empty and one half-full--two tumblers, a
pair of empty siphons and a litter of playing cards scattered
broadcast and evidently derived from two packs. It was, as Thorndyke
had said, easy to reconstruct the scene of sordid debauchery that the
light of the two candles--each in its congealed pool of grease--must
have displayed on that night of horror whose dreadful secret had been
disclosed by the ashes of the rick. But I could see nothing that would
enable me to give a name to the dead man’s mysterious companion.
When I had completed my inspection and taken a photograph of the
interior, I rejoined Thorndyke, who then descended and replaced the
padlock on the closed hatch, relocking it with the invaluable smoker’s
companion.
“Well, Jervis,” said he, as we turned our faces towards the town, “it
seems as if we had accomplished our task, so far as Stalker is
concerned. It is still possible that this was a case of suicide, but
it is no longer probable. All the appearances point to homicide. I
think my learned friend will agree with me in that.”
“Undoubtedly,” I replied. “And to me there is a strong suggestion of
premeditation. I take it that X, the owner of the yacht, enticed Reed
out here, possibly to prepare for a cruise; that the two men worked at
the repainting while the daylight lasted and then spent the evening
drinking and gambling. The fact that they used two packs of cards
suggests that they played for pretty heavy stakes. Then, I think, Reed
became drunk and X offered to see him safely off the marshes. It is
evident that X was not drunk, because, although both tracks appear
unsteady when the men were walking together, the tracks of X,
returning to the yacht are quite steady and straight. I should say
that the actual murder took place just after they had got over the
gate; that Reed’s false teeth fell out while his body was being
dragged to the rick, and that this was unnoticed by X owing to the
darkness. Then X dragged the body up the ladder and laid it in the
middle of the rick at the top, set fire to the rick--probably on the
lee side--and at once made off back to the yacht. There he passed the
night, and in the morning he returned to the town along the road,
giving the neighbourhood of the rick a wide berth. That is my reading
of the evidence.”
“Yes,” said Thorndyke, “that seems to be the interpretation of the
facts. And now all that remains is to give a name to the mysterious X,
and I should think that will present no difficulties.”
“Are you proposing to inspect the remains at the mortuary?” I asked.
“No,” he replied. “It would be interesting, but it is not necessary.
We have all the available data for identification, and our concern is
now not with Reed but with X. We had better get back to London.”
On our arrival at the station, we found the book-stall keeper in the
act of sticking up a placard of the evening paper on which was the
legend:
“_Rick tragedy; Sensational development._”
We immediately provided ourselves each with a copy of the paper, and
sitting down on a seat, proceeded to read the heavily-leaded report.
“A new and startling aspect has been given to the rick tragedy by some
further inquiries that the police have made. It seems that the dead
man, Reed, was a member of the firm of Reed and Jarman, outside
brokers, and it now transpires that his partner, Walter Jarman, is
also missing. There has been no one at the office this week, but the
caretaker states that on Monday evening at about eight o’clock, he saw
Mr. Jarman let himself into the office with his key (the rick was
first seen to be on fire at two o’clock on Monday morning). It appears
that three cheques, payable to the firm and endorsed by Jarman, were
paid into the bank--Patmore’s--by the first post on Tuesday morning,
and that, also on Tuesday morning, Jarman purchased a parcel of
diamonds of just over a thousand pounds in value from a diamond
merchant in Hatton Garden, who accepted a cheque in payment after
telephoning to the bank. It further appears that on the previous
Saturday morning, Reed and Jarman visited the bank together and drew
out in cash practically their whole balance, leaving only thirty-two
pounds. The diamond merchant’s cheque was met by the cheques that had
just been paid in. It is premature to make any comments, but we may
expect some strange disclosures at the inquest, which will be held at
Dartford the day after to-morrow.”
“I assume,” said I, “that the identity of X is no longer a mystery. It
looks as if these two men had agreed to realize their assets and
abscond, and had then spent the night gambling for the swag, and oddly
enough, Reed appears to have been the winner, for otherwise there
would have been no need to murder him.”
“That is so,” Thorndyke agreed, “assuming that X is Jarman, which is
probable, though not certain. But we mustn’t go beyond our facts, and
we mustn’t construct theories from newspaper reports. I think we had
better call at Scotland Yard on our way home and verify those
particulars.”
The report and our own observations occupied us during the journey to
London, though our discussion produced no further conclusions. As soon
as we arrived at Charing Cross, Thorndyke sprang out of the train, and
emerging from the station, walked swiftly towards Whitehall.
Our visit was fortunately timed, for as we approached the entrance to
the headquarters, our old friend, Superintendent Miller, came out. He
smiled as he saw us and halted to utter the laconic query: “Rick
Case?”
“Yes,” replied Thorndyke. “We have come to verify the particulars
given in the evening paper. Have you seen the report?”
“Yes; and you may take it as correct. Anything else?”
“I should have liked to look over a series of the cheques drawn by the
firm. The last two, I suppose, are inaccessible?”
“Yes. They will be at the bank, and we couldn’t inspect them without
an order of the Court. But, as to the others, if they are at the
office, I think you could see them. I’ll come along with you now if
you like, and have a look round myself. Our people are in possession.”
We at once closed with the superintendent’s offer and proceeded with
him by the Underground Railway to the Mansion House, from whence we
made our way to Queen Victoria Street, where Reed and Jarman had their
offices. A sergeant was in charge at the moment, and to him the
superintendent addressed himself.
“Have you found any returned cheques?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the sergeant; “lots of ’em. We’ve been through
them all.”
As he spoke he produced several bundles of cheques and laid them on a
desk, the drawers of which all stood open.
“Well,” said Miller, “there they are, Doctor. I don’t know what you
want to find out, but I expect you do.” He placed a chair by the desk,
and as Thorndyke sat down and proceeded to turn the cheques over, he
watched him with politely-suppressed curiosity.
“It appears,” said Thorndyke, “as if these two men had mixed up their
private affairs with the business account. Here, for instance, is a
cheque drawn by Reed for the Picardy Wine Company. But that company
could hardly have been a client. And this one of Jarman’s for the
Secretary of the St. John’s Nursing Home must be a private cheque, and
so I should say are these two for F. Waller, Esq., F.R.C.S., and for
Andrew Darton, Esq., L.D.S. They are drawn for professional men and
both are--like the Nursing Home cheque--stated in even amounts of
guineas, whereas the business cheques are in uneven amounts of pounds,
shillings and pence.”
“I think you are right, sir,” said Miller. “The business seems to have
been conducted in a very casual manner. And just look at those
signatures! Never twice alike. The banks hate that sort of thing,
naturally. When a customer signs in the signature book he has given a
specimen for reference and he ought to keep to it strictly. A man who
varies his signature is asking for trouble.”
“He is,” Thorndyke agreed, as he rapidly entered a few particulars of
the cheques in his note-book; “particularly in the case of a firm with
a staff of clerks.”
He stood up, and having pocketed his notebook, held out his hand.
“I am very much obliged to you, Superintendent,” he said.
“Seen all that you wanted to see?” Miller asked.
“Thank you, yes,” Thorndyke replied.
“I should very much like to know what you _have_ seen,” Miller
rejoined; to which my colleague replied by waving his hand towards the
cheques, as he turned to go.
“I don’t quite see the bearing of those cheques on our inquiry,” I
said, as we took our way homeward along Cheapside.
“It is not very direct,” Thorndyke replied; “but the cheques help us
to understand the characters of these two men and their relations with
one another; which may be very necessary when we come to the inquest.”
During the following day I saw very little of Thorndyke, for our
excursion to Dartford had put our work somewhat in arrear and we had
to secure a free day for the inquest on the morrow. We met at dinner
after the day’s work, but, beyond settling the programme for the next
day, nothing of importance passed with reference to the “Rick Case.”
The opening phases of the inquest, though of thrilling interest to the
numerous spectators and Press men, did not particularly concern us.
The evidence of the rural constable, the farmer and the police
inspector--with whom Thorndyke had a little confidential talk and
apparently surprised the officer considerably--merely amplified what
we knew already. Of more interest was that of a local dentist who
testified to having examined the dental plate and to having compared
it with the skull of the dead man. “The plate and the jaw of
deceased,” he said, “agree completely. The jaw contains five natural
teeth in two groups, and the plate has two spaces which exactly
correspond to those two groups of teeth. I have tried the plate on the
jaw and have no doubt whatever that it belonged to deceased.”
“That is a very important fact,” Thorndyke remarked to me as the
witness retired. “It is the indispensable link in the chain.”
“But surely it was obvious?” said I.
“No doubt,” he replied. “But now it is proved and in evidence.”
I was somewhat puzzled by Thorndyke’s remark, but the appearance of a
new witness forbade discussion. Mr. Arthur Gerrard was an
alert-looking, rather tall man, with bushy, Mephistophelian eyebrows
and a small, dark moustache, who wore a pair of large bifocal
spectacles, and to whom a small mole at the corner of the mouth
imparted the effect of a permanent one-sided smile.
“It was on your information,” said the coroner, “that the identity of
the deceased was established.”
“Yes,” replied the witness, who spoke with a slight, but perceptible,
Irish accent. “I saw the description in the papers of the things that
had been found in the rick and at once recognized them as Reed’s. I
knew deceased intimately and had often noticed his peculiar
watch-chain and the little china mascot and seen him smoking the clay
pipe with his initials scratched on it; and I knew that he wore false
teeth.”
“Did you meet him frequently?”
“Oh, yes. For more than a year he was my partner in business, and we
remained friends after I had dissolved the partnership.”
“Why did you dissolve the partnership?”
“I had to. Reed was impossible in a business sense. He gambled
incessantly in stocks and I had to pay his losses. I lent him, for
this purpose, at one time and another, over two thousand pounds. He
gave me bills for the loans, but he was never able to meet them, and
in the end, when we dissolved, I got him to insure his life for three
thousand pounds and to draw up a document making his debt to me the
first charge on his estate in the event of his death.”
“Had you ever any reason to suppose that he contemplated suicide?”
“None whatever. After he left me, he entered into partnership with a
Mr. Walter Jarman, and whenever I met him, he seemed to be quite happy
and contented, though I gathered that he was still gambling a good
deal. I saw him a week ago to-day and he then told me that he proposed
to take a short yachting holiday with his partner, who owned a small
cutter. That was the last time that I saw him alive.”
As the witness was about to retire, Thorndyke rose, and having
obtained the coroner’s permission to cross-examine, asked:
“You have spoken of a yacht. Do you know what her name is and where
she has been kept lately?”
“Her name is the _Moonbeam_, and I believe Jarman kept her somewhere
in the Thames, but I don’t know where.”
“And as to Jarman himself: what do you know about him, as to his
character, for instance?”
“I knew him very slightly. He appeared to be rather a dissipated man.
Drank a good deal, I should say, and I think he was a bit of a
gambler.”
“Do you know if he was a heavy smoker?”
“He didn’t smoke at all, but he was an inveterate snuff-taker.”
At this point the foreman of the jury interposed with the audible
remark that “he didn’t see what this had to do with the inquiry,” and
the coroner looked dubiously at Thorndyke; but as my colleague sat
down, the objection was not pursued.
The next witness was the caretaker of the building in which Reed and
Jarman’s office was situated. His evidence was to the effect that on
the previous Monday evening at about eight o’clock, he saw Mr. Jarman
let himself into the office with his key. “I don’t know how long he
stayed there,” he continued, in reply to the coroner’s question. “I
had finished my work and was going up to my rooms at the top of the
building. I didn’t see him again.”
“Did you notice anything unusual in his appearance?” asked Thorndyke,
rising to cross-examine. “Was his face at all flushed, for instance?”
“I couldn’t say. I was going up the stairs and I just looked back over
my shoulder when I heard him. His face was turned away from me.”
“But you had no difficulty in recognizing him?”
“No: I should have known him a mile off. He had his overcoat on, and
it is a very peculiar overcoat--light brown with a sort of greenish
check. You couldn’t possibly mistake it.”
“What should you say was Mr. Jarman’s height?”
“About five feet nine or ten, I should say.”
Here the foreman of the jury again interposed. “Aren’t we wasting
time, sir?” he inquired impatiently. “These details about Jarman may
be very important to the police, but they don’t concern us. We are
inquiring into the death of Mr. Reginald Reed.”
The coroner looked deprecatingly at Thorndyke and remarked: “There is
some truth in what the foreman says.”
“I submit, sir,” replied Thorndyke, “that there is no truth in it at
all. We are not inquiring into the death of Reginald Reed, but into
that of a man whose remains were found in a burned rick.”
“But the body has been identified as that of Reginald Reed.”
“Then,” said Thorndyke, “I submit that it has been wrongly identified.
I suggest that the body is that of Walter Jarman and I am prepared to
produce witnesses who will prove that it is.”
“But,” exclaimed the coroner, “we have just heard the evidence of a
witness who states that he saw Jarman alive eighteen hours after the
rick was fired.”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Thorndyke. “We have heard the witness
say that he saw Jarman’s overcoat. He expressly stated that he did not
see the man’s face.”
The coroner hastily conferred with the jury--who openly scoffed at
Thorndyke’s suggestion--and then said: “I find what you say perfectly
incredible and so do the jury. It is utterly irreconcilable with the
facts. You had better call your witnesses and let us dispose of this
extraordinary suggestion.”
Thorndyke bowed to the coroner and called Mr. Andrew Darton; whereupon
a middle-aged man of markedly professional aspect came forward and,
having been sworn, gave evidence as follows:
“I am a dental surgeon. A little over two years ago, Mr. Walter Jarman
was under my care. I extracted some loose teeth from both jaws and
made him two plates--an upper and a lower.”
“Could you identify those plates?”
“Yes. I have with me the plaster model on which those plates were
made.” He opened a bag and produced a plaster cast of a pair of jaws
fitted with a brass hinge so that the jaws could be opened and shut.
On the upper jaw were two groups of teeth separated by a space of bare
gums, while the lower jaw bore a single group of four front teeth.
“This model,” the witness explained, “is an exact replica of the
patient’s jaws, and the two plates were actually moulded on it.” He
picked up the dental plate from the table, and amidst a hush of
breathless expectancy, opened the mouth of the model and applied the
plate to the upper jaw. At a glance, it was obvious that it fitted
perfectly. The two groups of the plaster teeth slipped exactly into
the spaces on the plate, making a complete row of teeth. Then the
witness covered the lower gums with strips of plastic wax and taking
the loose teeth from the table, attached them to the wax; and again
the correspondence was evident. The teeth thus applied exactly filled
the vacant spaces.
“Can you now identify that plate?” Thorndyke asked.
“Yes,” was the reply. “I am quite certain that this is the plate I
made for Mr. Jarman and that those loose teeth are from his lower
plate.”
Thorndyke looked at the coroner, who nodded emphatically. “This
evidence seems perfectly conclusive,” he admitted. “What do you say,
gentlemen?” he added, turning to the jury.
There was no doubt as to their sentiments. With one voice they
declared their complete conviction. Had they not seen the
demonstration with their own eyes?
“And now, sir,” said the coroner, “as you appear to know more than any
one else about this case, and as it is perfectly incomprehensible to
me, and probably also to the jury, I suggest that you give us an
explanation. And you had better make it a sworn statement, so that it
can go into the depositions.”
“Yes,” Thorndyke agreed, “especially as I have some evidence to give.”
He was accordingly sworn and then proceeded to make the following
statement:
“The first thing that struck me on reading the report of this case,
was the very remarkable character of the objects found in the ashes of
the rick. They included objects composed of platinum, of pipe-clay, of
iron and of porcelain--all substances practically indestructible by
fire. And these imperishable objects were all highly distinctive and
easily identifiable, and two of them actually bore the initials of
their owner. There was almost a suggestion of the body having been
prepared for identification after burning. This mere suggestion,
however, gave place to definite suspicion when I saw the dental plate.
That plate presented a most striking discrepancy. Here it is, sir, and
you see that it is a clean polished plate of red vulcanite, with not a
trace of stain or discoloration. But associated with that plate were
two clay pipes. Now the man who smokes a clay pipe is not only--as a
rule--a heavy smoker, but he smokes strong and dark-coloured tobacco.
And if he wears a dental plate, that plate becomes encrusted with a
black deposit which is very difficult to remove. There is, as you see,
no trace of any such deposit or of any tobacco stain in the
interstices of the teeth. It appeared to be almost certainly the plate
of a non-smoker. But if that were so, it could not be Reed’s. But it
had been ascertained by the police surgeon that it fitted the jaw of
the skull and undoubtedly belonged to the burned body. Consequently if
the plate was not Reed’s plate, the skull was not Reed’s skull, and
the body was not Reed’s body. But the watch-chain was Reed’s, the
pipes were his and the mascot was his. That is to say that the very
identifiable and fireproof property of Reed was associated with the
burned body of some other person; that, in other words, the body of
some unknown person had been deliberately prepared to counterfeit the
body of Reed. This offered a further suggestion and raised a question.
The suggestion was that the unknown person had been
murdered--presumably somewhere near the spot where the dental plate
was found. The question was--What was the object of causing the body
to counterfeit that of Reed?
“Now, I knew, from the assurance company, that Reed had insured his
life for three thousand pounds. Therefore, somebody stood to gain
three thousand pounds by his death. The question was--Who was that
somebody? I proceeded to make certain investigations on the spot;” and
here Thorndyke gave a summary of our discoveries on the marsh and on
the yacht. “It thus appeared,” he continued, “that there were two men
on the marshes that night, going towards the rick. One of them was the
person whose body was found in the ashes; the other, who went back
alone to the yacht, was presumably the person who stood to gain three
thousand pounds by Reed’s death.”
“Have you formed any opinion as to who that person was?” the coroner
asked.
“Yes,” replied Thorndyke. “I have very little doubt that he was
Reginald Reed.”
“But,” exclaimed the coroner, “we have heard in evidence that it was
Mr. Arthur Gerrard who stood to gain the three thousand pounds!”
“Precisely,” said Thorndyke; and for awhile he and the coroner looked
at one another without speaking.
Suddenly the latter cast a searching look around the court. “Where
_is_ Mr. Gerrard?” he demanded.
“He left the court about ten minutes ago,” said Thorndyke; “and the
police inspector left immediately afterwards. I had advised him not to
lose sight of Mr. Gerrard.”
“Then I take it that you suspect Gerrard of being in collusion with
Reed?”
“I suspect that Arthur Gerrard and Reginald Reed are one and the same
person.”
As Thorndyke made this statement, a murmur of astonishment arose from
the jurymen and the spectators. The coroner, after a few moments’
puzzled reflection, remarked: “You are not forgetting that Reed’s
caretaker was present while Gerrard was giving his evidence?” Then,
turning to the caretaker, he asked: “What do you say? Was that Mr.
Reed who gave evidence under the name of Gerrard?”
The caretaker, who had evidently been thinking furiously, was by no
means confident. “I should say not,” he replied, “unless he was made
up a good deal. He was certainly about the same height and build and
colour; but he had a moustache, whereas Mr. Reed was clean-shaved; he
had a mole on his face, which Mr. Reed hadn’t; he had bushy eyebrows,
whereas Mr. Reed had hardly any eyebrows to speak of; and he wore
spectacles, which Mr. Reed didn’t, and he spoke like an Irishman,
whereas Mr. Reed was English. Still it is possible----”
Before he could finish, the door rattled to a heavy concussion. Then
it flew open, and Mr. Gerrard staggered into the room, thrust forward
by the police inspector. His appearance was marvellously changed, for
he had lost his spectacles, and one of his eyebrows had disappeared,
as had also the mole and a portion of the built-up moustache. The
caretaker started up with an exclamation, but at this moment Gerrard,
with a violent effort, wrenched himself free. The inspector sprang
forward to recapture him. But he was too late. The prisoner’s hand
flew upwards; there was a ringing report; and Arthur Gerrard--or
Reginald Reed--fell back across a bench with a trickle of blood on his
temple and a pistol still clutched in his hand.
“And so,” said Stalker, when he called on us the next day for details,
“it was a suicide after all. Very lucky, too, seeing that there was no
provision in the policy for death by judicial hanging.”