Coroner, after a short interchange of whispers with his officer,
glanced at a group of professional-looking men behind the witness-box.
"Call Dr. Mirandolet!" he directed.
Purdie at that moment caught Ayscough's eye. And the detective winked
at him significantly as a strange and curious figure came out from the
crowd and stepped into the witness-box.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
WHAT MANNER OF DEATH?
One of the three companions who stood curiously gazing at the new
witness as he came into full view of the court had seen him before.
Lauriston, who, during his residence in Paddington, had wandered a good
deal about Maida Vale and St. John's Wood, instantly recognized Dr.
Mirandolet as a man whom he had often met or passed in those excursions
and about whom he had just as often wondered. He was a notable and
somewhat queer figure--a tall, spare man, of striking presence and
distinctive personality--the sort of man who would inevitably attract
attention wherever he was, and at whom people would turn to look in the
most crowded street. His aquiline features, almost cadaverous
complexion, and flashing, deep-set eyes, were framed in a mass of
raven-black hair which fell in masses over a loosely fitting,
unstarched collar, kept in its place by a voluminous black silk cravat;
his thin figure, all the sparer in appearance because of his broad
shoulders and big head, was wrapped from head to foot in a mighty
cloak, raven-black as his hair, from the neck of which depended a
hood-like cape. Not a man in that court would have taken Dr. Mirandolet
for anything but a foreigner, and for a foreigner who knew next to
nothing of England and the English, and John Purdie, whose interest was
now thoroughly aroused, was surprised as he heard the witness's answer
to the necessary preliminary questions.
Nicholas Mirandolet--British subject--born in Malta--educated in
England--a licentiate of the Royal College of Surgeons and of the Royal
College of Physicians--in private practice at Portsdown Road, Maida
Vale, for the last ten years.
"I believe you were called to the deceased by the last witness, Dr.
Mirandolet?" asked the Coroner. "Just so! Will you tell us what you
found?"
"I found the deceased lying on the pavement, about a dozen yards from
my house," answered Dr. Mirandolet, in a sharp, staccato voice. "A
policeman was bending over him. Mr. Gardiner hurriedly told us what he
had seen. My first thought was that the man was in what is commonly
termed a fit--some form of epileptic seizure, you know. I hastily
examined him--and found that my first impression was utterly wrong."
"What did you think--then?" enquired the Coroner.
Dr. Mirandolet paused and began to drum the edge of the witness-box
with the tips of his long, slender white fingers. He pursed his
clean-shaven lips and looked meditatively around him--leisurely
surveying the faces turned on him. Finally he glanced at the Coroner,
and snapped out a reply.
"I do not know what I thought!"
The Coroner looked up from his notes--in surprise.
"You--don't know what you thought?" he asked.
"No!" said Dr. Mirandolet. "I don't. And I will tell you why. Because I
realized--more quickly than it takes me to tell it--that here was
something that was utterly beyond my comprehension!"
"Do you mean--beyond your skill?" suggested the Coroner.
"Skill?" retorted the witness, with a queer, twisting grimace. "Beyond
my understanding! I am a quick observer--I saw within a few seconds
that here was a man who had literally been struck down in the very
flush of life as if--well, to put it plainly, as if some extraordinary
power had laid a blasting finger on the very life-centre within him. I
was--dumfounded!"
The Coroner sat up and laid aside his pen.
"What did you do?" he asked quietly.
"Bade the policeman get help, and an ambulance, and hurry the man to
St. Mary's Hospital, all as quickly as possible," answered Dr.
Mirandolet. "While the policeman was away, I examined the man more
closely. He was dying then--and I knew very well that nothing known to
medical science could save him. By that time he had become perfectly
quiet; his body had relaxed into a normal position; his face, curiously
coloured when I first saw it, had become placid and pale; he breathed
regularly, though very faintly--and he was steadily dying. I knew quite
well what was happening, and I remarked to Mr. Gardiner that the man
would be dead within half-an-hour."
"I believe you got him to the hospital within that time?" asked the
Coroner.
"Yes--within twenty-five minutes of my first seeing him," said the
witness. "I went with the ambulance. The man died very soon after
admission, just as I knew he would. No medical power on earth could
have saved him!"
The Coroner glanced at the little knot of professional men in the rear
of the witness-box and seemed to be debating within himself as to
whether he wanted to ask Dr. Mirandolet any more questions. Eventually
he turned again to him.
"What your evidence amounts to, Dr. Mirandolet, is this," he said. "You
were called to the man and you saw at once that you yourself could do
nothing for him, so you got him away to the hospital as quickly as you
possibly could. Just so!--now, why did you think you could do nothing
for him?"
"I will tell you--in plain words," answered Dr. Mirandolet. "Because I
did not recognize or understand one single symptom that I saw! Because,
frankly, I knew very well that I did not know what was the matter! And
so--I hurried him to people who ought to know more than I do and are
reputedly cleverer than I am. In short--I recognized that I was in the
presence of something--something!--utterly beyond my skill and
comprehension!"
"Let me ask you one or two further questions," said the Coroner. "Have
you formed any opinion of your own as to the cause of this man's death?"
"Yes!" agreed the witness, unhesitatingly. "I have! I believe him to
have been poisoned--in a most subtle and cunning fashion. And"--here
Dr. Mirandolet cast a side-glance at the knot of men behind him--"I
shall be intensely surprised if that opinion is not corroborated.
But--I shall be ten thousand times more surprised if there is any
expert in Europe who can say what that poison was!"
"You think it was a secret poison?" suggested the Coroner.
"Secret!" exclaimed Dr. Mirandolet. "Aye--secret is the word.
Secret--yes! And--sure!"
"Is there anything else you can tell us?" asked the Coroner.
"Only this," replied the witness, after a pause. "It may be material.
As I bent over this man as he lay there on the pavement I detected a
certain curious aromatic odour about his clothes. It was strong at
first; it gradually wore off. But I directed the attention of the
policeman and Mr. Gardiner to it; it was still hanging about him, very
faintly, when we got him to the hospital: I drew attention to it there."
"It evidently struck you--that curious odour?" said the Coroner.
"Yes," answered Dr. Mirandolet. "It did. It reminded me of the East--I
have lived in the East--India, Burmah, China. It seemed to me that this
man had got hold of some Eastern scent, and possibly spilt some on his
clothes. The matter is worth noting. Because--I have heard--I cannot
say I have known--of men being poisoned in inhalation."
The Coroner made no remark--it was very evident from his manner that he
considered Dr. Mirandolet's evidence somewhat mystifying. And Dr.
Mirandolet stepped down--and in response to the official invitation Dr.
John Sperling-Lawson walked into the vacated witness-box.
"One of the greatest authorities on poisons living," whispered
Lauriston to Purdie, while Dr. Sperling-Lawson was taking the oath and
answering the formal questions. "He's principal pathologist at that
hospital they're talking about, and he constantly figures in cases of
this sort. He's employed by the Home Office too--it was he who gave
such important evidence in that Barnsbury murder case not so long
since--don't you remember it?"
Purdie did remember, and he looked at the famous expert with great
interest. There was, however, nothing at all remarkable about Dr.
Sperling-Lawson's appearance--he was a quiet, self-possessed,
plain-faced gentleman who might have been a barrister or a banker for
all that any one could tell to the contrary. He gave his evidence in a
matter-of-fact tone--strongly in contrast to Dr. Mirandolet's somewhat
excited answers--but Purdie noticed that the people in court listened
eagerly for every word.
He happened to be at the hospital, said Dr. Sperling-Lawson, when the
man Parslett was brought in, and he saw him die. He fully agreed with
Dr. Mirandolet that it was impossible to do anything to save the man's
life when he was brought to the hospital, and he was quite prepared to
say that the impossibility had existed from the moment in which
Gardiner had seen Parslett collapse. In other words, when Parslett did
collapse, death was on him.
"And--the cause of death?" asked the Coroner.
"Heart failure," replied the witness.
"Resulting from--what?" continued the Coroner.
Dr. Sperling-Lawson hesitated a moment--amidst a deep silence.
"I cannot answer that question," he said at last. "I can only offer an
opinion. I believe--in fact, I am sure!--the man was poisoned. I am
convinced he was poisoned. But I am forced to admit that I do not know
what poison was used, and that after a most careful search I have not
yet been able to come across any trace or sign of any poison known to
me. All the same, I am sure he died from the effects of poison, but
what it was, or how administered, frankly, I do not know!"
"You made a post-mortem examination?" asked the Coroner.
"Yes," replied the specialist, "in company with Dr. Seracold. The
deceased was a thoroughly healthy, well-nourished man. There was not a
trace of disease in any of the organs--he was evidently a temperate
man, and likely to live to over the seventy years' period. And, as I
have said, there was not a trace of poison. That is, not a trace of any
poison known to me."
"I want to ask you a particularly important question," said the
Coroner. "Are there poisons, the nature of which you are unacquainted
with?"
"Yes!" answered the specialist frankly. "There are. But--I should not
expect to hear of their use in London."
"Is there any European expert who might throw some light on this case?"
asked the Coroner.
"Yes," said Dr. Sperling-Lawson. "One man--Professor Gagnard, of Paris.
As a matter of fact, I have already sent certain portions of certain
organs to him--by a special messenger. If he cannot trace this poison,
then no European nor American specialist can. I am sure of this--the
secret is an Eastern one."
"Gentlemen," said the Coroner, "we will adjourn for a week. By that
time there may be a report from Paris."
The crowd surged out into the damp November morning, eagerly discussing
the evidence just given. Purdie, Lauriston, and Guyler, all equally
mystified, followed, already beginning to speculate and to theorize.
Suddenly Melky Rubinstein hurried up to them, waving a note.
"There was a fellow waiting outside with this from Zillah," said Melky.
"She'd heard you were all here, and she knew I was. We're to go there
at once--she's found some letters to her grandfather from that man
Purvis! Come on!--it's another step forward!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MR. KILLICK GOES BACK
Ayscough and the man from New Scotland Yard came out of the court at
that moment in close and serious conversation: Melky Rubinstein left
the other three, and hurried to the two detectives with his news;
together, the six men set off for Praed Street. And Purdie, who by this
time was developing as much excited interest as his temperament and
business habits permitted, buttonholed the Scotland Yard man and walked
alongside him.
"What's your professional opinion about what we've just heard in
there?" he asked. "Between ourselves, of course."
The detective, who had already had several long conversations with
Purdie at headquarters during the previous afternoon and evening, and
knew him for a well-to-do young gentleman who was anxious to clear his
friend Lauriston of all suspicion, shook his head. He was a quiet,
sagacious, middle-aged man who evidently thought deeply about whatever
he had in hand.
"It's difficult to say, Mr. Purdie," he answered. "I've no doubt that
when we get to the bottom of this case it'll turn out to be a very
simple one--but the thing is to get to the bottom. The ways are
complicated, sir--uncommonly so! At present we're in a maze--seeking
the right path."
"Do you think that this Parslett affair has anything to do with the
Multenius affair?" asked Purdie.
"Yes--undoubtedly!" answered the detective. "There's no doubt whatever
in my own mind that the man who poisoned Parslett is the man who caused
the old pawnbroker's death--none! I figure it in this way. Parslett
somehow, caught a glimpse of that man leaving Multenius's shop--by the
side-door, no doubt--and knew him--knew him very well, mind you! When
Parslett heard of what had happened in Multenius's back-parlour, he
kept his knowledge to himself, and went and blackmailed the man. The
man gave him that fifty pounds in gold to keep his tongue quiet--no
doubt arranging to give him more, later on--and at the same time he
cleverly poisoned him. That's my theory, Mr. Purdie."
"Then--the only question now is--who's the man?" suggested Purdie.
"That's it, sir--who's the man?" agreed the detective. "One thing's
quite certain--if my theory's correct. He's a clever man--and an expert
in the use of poisons."
Purdie walked on a minute or two in silence, thinking.
"It's no use beating about the bush," he said at last. "Do you suspect
Mr. Levendale--after all you've collected in information--and after
what I told you about what his butler saw--that bottle and phial?"
"I think that Levendale's in it," replied the detective, cautiously.
"I'm sure he's in it--in some fashion. Our people are making no end of
enquiries about him this morning, in various quarters--there's
half-a-dozen of our best men at work in the City and the West End, Mr.
Purdie. He's got to be found! So, too, has this man Stephen
Purvis--whoever he is. We must find him, too."
"Perhaps these letters that Melky Rubinstein speaks of may throw some
light on that," said Purdie. "There must be some way of tracing him,
somewhere."
They were at the pawnshop by that time, and all six trooped in at the
side-entrance. Old Daniel Multenius, unconscious of all the fuss and
bother which his death had caused, was to be quietly interred that
afternoon, and Zillah and Melky were already in their mourning
garments. But Zillah had lost none of her business habits and
instincts, and while the faithful Mrs. Goldmark attended to the funeral
guests in the upstairs regions, she herself was waiting in the
back-parlour for these other visitors. On the table before her,
evidently placed there for inspection, lay three objects to which she
at once drew attention--one, an old-fashioned, double-breasted fancy
waistcoat, evidently of considerable age, and much worn, the others,
two letters written on foreign notepaper.
"It never occurred to me," said Zillah, plunging into business at once,
"at least, until an hour or two ago, to examine the clothes my
grandfather was wearing at the time of his death. As a matter of fact
he'd been wearing the same clothes for months. I've been through all
his pockets. There was nothing of importance--except these letters. I
found those in a pocket in the inside of that waistcoat--there! Read
them."
The men bent over the unfolded letters, and Ayscough read them aloud.
"MACPHERSON'S HOTEL, CAPE TOWN,
"_September 17th_, 1912.
"Dear Sir,--I have sent the little article about which I have already
written you and Mr. L. fully, to your address by ordinary registered
post. Better put it in your bank till I arrive--shall write you later
about date of my arrival. Faithfully yours,
"Stephen Purvis."
"That," remarked Ayscough, glancing at the rest, "clearly refers to
whatever it was that Mr. Multenius took from his bank on the morning of
his death. It also refers to Mr. Levendale--without doubt."
He drew the other letter to him and read it out.
"CAPE TOWN,
"_October 10th_, 1912.
"Dear Sir,--Just a line to say I leave here by s.s. _Golconda_ in a day
or two--this precedes me by today's mail. I hope to be in England
November 15th--due then, anyway--and shall call on you immediately on
arrival. Better arrange to have Mr. S. L. to meet you and me at once.
Faithfully,
"Stephen Purvis."
"November 15th?" remarked Ayscough. "Mr. Multenius died on November
19th. So--if Purvis did reach here on the 15th he'd probably been about
this quarter before the 19th. We know he was at Mrs. Goldmark's
restaurant on the 18th, anyway! All right, Miss Wildrose--we'll take
these letters with us."
Lauriston stopped behind when the rest of the men went out--to exchange
a few words alone with Zillah. When he went into the street, all had
gone except Purdie, who was talking with Melky at the entrance to the
side-alley.
"That's the sure tip at present, mister," Melky was saying. "Get that
done--clear that up. Mr. Lauriston," he went on, "you do what your
friend says--we're sorting things out piece by piece."
Purdie took Lauriston's arm and led him away.
"What Melky says is--go and find out what Mr. Killick can prove," he
said. "Best thing to do, too, Andie, for us. Now that these detectives
are fairly on the hunt, and are in possession of a whole multitude of
queer details and facts, we'll just do our bit of business--which is to
clear you entirely. There's more reasons than one why we should do
that, my man!"
"What're you talking about, John?" demanded Lauriston. "You've some
idea in that head of yours!"
"The idea that you and that girl are in love with each other!" said
Purdie with a sly look.
"I'll not deny that!" asserted Lauriston, with an ingenuous blush. "We
are!"
"Well, you can't ask any girl to marry you, man, while there's the
least bit of suspicion hanging over you that you'd a hand in her
grandfather's death!" remarked Purdie sapiently. "So we'll just eat a
bit of lunch together, and then get a taxi-cab and drive out to find
this old gentleman that gave your mother the rings. Come on to the
hotel."
"You're spending a fine lot of money over me, John!" exclaimed
Lauriston.
"Put it down that I'm a selfish chap that's got interested, and is
following his own pleasure!" said Purdie. "Man alive!--I was never
mixed up in a detective case before--it beats hunting for animals, this
hunting for men!"
By a diligent search in directories and reference books early that
morning, Purdie and Lauriston had managed to trace Mr. Edward Killick,
who, having been at one time a well-known solicitor in the City, had
followed the practice of successful men and retired to enjoy the fruit
of his labours in a nice little retreat in the country. Mr. Killick had
selected the delightful old-world village of Stanmore as the scene of
his retirement, and there, in a picturesque old house, set in the midst
of fine trees and carefully trimmed lawns, Purdie and Lauriston found
him--a hale and hearty old gentleman, still on the right side of
seventy, who rose from his easy chair in a well-stocked library to look
in astonishment from the two cards which his servant had carried to him
at the persons and faces of their presenters.
"God bless my soul!" he exclaimed. "Are you two young fellows the sons
of old friends of mine at Peebles?"
"We are, sir," answered Purdie. "This is Andrew Lauriston, and I am
John Purdie. And we're very glad to find that you remember something
about our people, Mr. Killick."
Mr. Killick again blessed himself, and after warmly shaking hands with
his visitors, bade them sit down. He adjusted his spectacles, and
looked both young men carefully over.
"I remember your people very well indeed!" he said. "I used to do a bit
of fishing in the Tweed and in Eddleston Water with your father, Mr.
Purdie--and I stopped some time with your father and mother, at their
house, Mr. Lauriston. In fact, your mother was remarkably kind to
me--she nursed me through an illness with which I was seized when I was
in Peebles."
Lauriston and Purdie exchanged glances--by common consent Purdie became
spokesman for the two.
"Mr. Killick," he said, "it's precisely about a matter arising out of
that illness of yours that we came to see you! Let me explain something
first--Andie Lauriston here has been living in London for two
years--he's a literary gift, and he hopes to make a name, and perhaps a
fortune. I've succeeded to my father's business, and I'm only here in
London on a visit. And it's well I came, for Andie wanted a friend.
Now, Mr. Killick, before I go further--have you read in the newspapers
about what's called the Praed Street Mystery?"
The old gentleman shook his head.
"My dear young sir!" he answered, waving his hand towards his books.
"I'm not a great newspaper reader--except for a bit of politics. I
never read about mysteries--I've wrapped myself up in antiquarian
pursuits since I retired. No!--I haven't read about the Praed Street
Mystery--nor even heard of it! I hope neither of you are mixed up in
it?"
"Considerably!" answered Purdie. "In more ways than one. And you can be
of great help. Mr. Killick--when you left Peebles after your illness,
you sent Mrs. Lauriston a present of two valuable rings. Do you
remember?"
"Perfectly--of course!" replied the old gentleman. "To be sure!"
"Can you remember, too, from whom you bought those rings?" enquired
Purdie eagerly.
"Yes!--as if it were yesterday!" said Mr. Killick. "I bought them from
a City jeweller whom I knew very well at that time--a man named Daniel
Molteno!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MR. KILLICK'S OPINION
The old solicitor's trained eye and quick intelligence saw at once that
this announcement immediately conveyed some significant meaning to his
two young visitors. Purdie and Lauriston, in fact, had immediately been
struck by the similarity of the names Molteno and Multenius, and they
exchanged another look which their host detected and knew to convey a
meaning. He leaned forward in his chair.
"Now, that strikes you--both!" he said. "What's all this about? Better
give me your confidence."
"That's precisely what we came here to do, sir," responded Purdie, with
alacrity. "And with your permission I'll tell you the whole story. It's
a long one, and a complicated one, Mr. Killick!--but I daresay you've
heard many intricate stories in the course of your legal experience,
and you'll no doubt be able to see points in this that we haven't seen.
Well, it's this way--and I'll begin at the beginning."
The old gentleman sat in an attitude of patient and watchful attention
while Purdie, occasionally prompted and supplemented by Lauriston, told
the whole story of the Praed Street affair, from Lauriston's first
visit to the pawnshop up to the events of that morning. Once or twice
he asked a question; one or twice he begged the narrator to pause while
he considered a point: in the end he drew out his watch--after which he
glanced out of his window.
"Do I gather that the taxi-cab which I see outside there is being kept
by you two young men?" he asked.
"It is," answered Purdie. "It's important that we should lose no time
in getting back to town, Mr. Killick."
"Just so!" agreed Mr. Killick, moving towards his library door. "But
I'm going with you--as soon as I've got myself into an overcoat. Now!"
he added, a few minutes later, when all three went out to the cab.
"Tell the man to drive us straight to that police-station you've been
visiting of late--and till we get there, just let me think quietly--I
can probably say more about this case than I'm yet aware of. But--if it
will give you any relief, I can tell you this at once--I have a good
deal to tell. Strange!--strange indeed how things come round, and what
a small world this is, after all!"
With this cryptic utterance Mr. Killick sank into a corner of the cab,
where he remained, evidently lost in thought, until, nearly an hour
later, they pulled up at the door of the police-station. Within five
minutes they were closeted with the chief men there--amongst whom were
Ayscough and the detective from New Scotland Yard.