The next morning (Thursday) Mr. Henry Colson was an early caller at
Dorrington's office. Mr. Colson was a thin, grizzled man of sixty or
thereabout, who had been a close friend--the only intimate friend,
indeed--of Mr. Loftus Deacon. He was a widower, and he lived in rooms
scarce two hundred yards distant from Bedford Mansions, where his
friend had died.
"My business, Mr. Dorrington," he said, "is in connection with the
terrible death of my old friend Mr. Loftus Deacon, of which you no
doubt have heard or read in the morning papers."
"Yes," Dorrington assented, "both in this morning's papers and the
evening papers of yesterday."
"Very good. I may tell you that I am sole executor under Mr. Deacon's
will. The will indeed is in my possession (I am a retired solicitor),
and there happens to be a sum set apart in that will out of which I am
to defray any expenses that may arise in connection with his death.
It really seems to me that I should be quite justified in using some
part of that sum in paying for inquiries to be conducted by such
an experienced man as yourself, into the cause of my poor friend's
death. At any rate, I wish you to make such inquiries, even if I have
to pay the fees myself. I am convinced that there is something very
extraordinary--something very deep--in the tragedy. The police are
pottering about, of course, and keeping very mysterious as to the
matter, but I expect that's simply because they know nothing. They have
made no arrest, and perhaps every minute of delay is making the thing
more difficult. As executor, of course, I have access to the rooms. Can
you come and look at them now?"
"Oh yes," Dorrington answered, reaching for his hat. "I suppose there's
no doubt of the case being one of murder? Suicide is not likely, I take
it?"
"Oh no--certainly not. He was scarcely the sort of man to commit
suicide, I should say. And he was as cheerful as he could be the
afternoon before, when I last saw him. Besides, the surgeon says it's
nothing of the kind. A man committing suicide doesn't gash himself
twice over the head, or even once. And in this case the first blow
would have made him incapable of another."
"I have heard nothing about the weapon," Dorrington remarked, as they
entered a cab. "Has it been found?"
"That's a difficulty," Mr. Colson answered. "It would seem not. Of
course there are numbers of weapons about the place--Japanese swords
and what not--any one of which _might_ have caused such injuries. But
there are no bloodstains on any of them."
"Is any article of value missing?"
"I believe not. Everything seemed to be in its place, so far as I
noticed yesterday. But then I was not there long, and was too much
agitated to notice very particularly. At any rate the old gold and
silver plate had not been disturbed. He kept that in a large case in
his sitting-room, and it would certainly be the plate that the murderer
would have made for first, if robbery had been his object."
Mr. Colson gave Dorrington the other details of the case, already set
forth in this account, and presently the cab stopped before No. 2,
Bedford Mansions. The body, of course, had been removed, but otherwise
the rooms had not been disturbed. The porter let them into the chambers
by aid of the housekeeper's key.
"They don't seem to have found his keys," Mr. Colson explained, "and
that will be troublesome for me, I expect, presently. He usually
carried them with him, but they were not on the body when found."
"That may be important," Dorrington said. "But let us look at the
rooms."
They walked through the large apartments one after the other, and
Dorrington glanced casually about him as he went. Presently Mr. Colson
stopped, struck with an idea. "Ah!" he said, more to himself than to
Dorrington. "I will just see."
He turned quickly back into the room they had just quitted, and made
for the broad shelf that ran the length of the wall at about the height
of an ordinary table. "Yes!" he cried. "It is! It's gone!"
"What is gone?"
"The sword--the Masamuné!"
The whole surface of the shelf, covered with a silk cloth, was occupied
by Japanese swords and dirks with rich mountings. Most lay on their
sides in rows, but two or three were placed in the lacquered racks.
Mr. Colson stood and pointed at a rack which was standing alone and
swordless. "That is where it was," he said. "I saw it--was talking
about it, in fact--the afternoon before. No, it's nowhere about. It's
not like any of the others. Let me see." And Mr. Colson, much excited,
hurried from room to room wherever swords were kept, searching for the
missing specimen.
"No," he said at last, looking strangely startled; "It's gone. And I
think we are near the soul of the mystery." He spoke in hushed, uneasy
tones, and his eyes gave token of strange apprehension.
"What is it?" Dorrington asked. "What about this sword?"
"Come into the sitting-room." Mr. Colson led Dorrington away from the
scene of Mr. Deacon's end, away from the empty sword rack and from
under the shadow of the grinning god with its four arms, its snake,
and its threatening sword. "I don't think I'm very superstitious," Mr.
Colson proceeded, "but I really feel that I can talk more freely about
the matter in here."
They sat at the table, over against the case of plate, and Mr. Colson
went on. "The sword I speak of," he said, "was much prized by my
poor friend, who brought it with him from Japan nearly twenty years
back--not many years after the civil war there, in fact. It was a very
ancient specimen--of the fourteenth century, I think--and the work of
the famous swordsmith Masamuné. Masamuné's work is very rarely met
with, it seems, and Mr. Deacon felt himself especially fortunate
in securing this example. It is the only piece of Masamuné's work
in the collection. I may tell you that a sword by one of the great
old masters is one of the rarest of all the rarities that come from
Japan. The possessors of the best keep them rather than sell them at
any price. Such swords were handed down from father to son for many
generations, and a Japanese of the old school would have been disgraced
had he parted with his father's blade even under the most pressing
necessity. The mounts he might possibly sell, if he were in very bad
circumstances, but the blade never. Of course, such a thing _has_
occurred--and it occurred in this very case, as you shall hear. But
as an almost invariable rule the Japanese _samurai_ would part with
his life by starvation rather than with his father's sword by sale.
Such swords would never be stolen, either, for there was a firm belief
that a faithful spirit resided in each, which would bring terrible
disaster on any wrongful possessor. Each sword had its own name, just
as the legendary sword of King Arthur had, and a man's social standing
was judged, not by his house nor by his dress, but by the two swords
in his girdle. The ancient sword-smiths wore court dress and made
votive offerings when they forged their best blades, and the gods were
supposed to assist and to watch over the career of the weapon. Thus you
will understand that such an article was apt to become an object almost
of worship among the _samurai_ or warrior-class in Old Japan. And now
to come to the sword in question. It was a long sword or _katana_ (the
swords, as you know, were worn in pairs, and the smaller was called
the _wakizashi_), and it was mounted very handsomely with fittings by
a great metal worker of the Goto family. The signature of the great
Masamuné himself was engraved in the usual place--on the iron tang
within the hilt. Mr. Deacon bought the weapon of its possessor, a man
of some distinction before the overthrow of the Shogun in 1868, but
who was reduced to deep poverty by the change in affairs. Mr. Deacon
came across him in his direst straits, when his children were near to
starvation, and the man sold the sword for a sum that was a little
fortune to him, though it only represented some four or five pounds of
our money. Mr. Deacon was always very proud of his treasure--indeed
it was said to be the only blade by Masamuné in Europe; and the two
Japanese things that he had always most longed for, I have heard him
say, were a Masamuné sword and a piece of violet lacquer--that precious
lacquer the secret of making which died long ago. The Masamuné he
acquired, as I have been telling you, but the violet lacquer he never
once encountered.
"Six months or so back, Deacon received a visit from a Japanese--taller
than usual for a Japanese (I have seen him myself) and with the refined
type of face characteristic of some of the higher class of his country.
His name was Keigo Kanamaro, his card said, and he introduced himself
as the son of Keigo Kiyotaki, the man who had sold Deacon his sword.
He had come to England and had found my friend after much inquiry, he
said, expressly to take back his father's _katana_. His father was
dead, and he desired to place the sword in his tomb, that the soul of
the old man might rest in peace, undisturbed by the disgrace that had
fallen upon him by the sale of the sword that had been his and his
ancestors' for hundreds of years back. The father had vowed when he had
received the sword in his turn from Kanamaro's grandfather, never to
part with it, but had broken his vow under pressure of want. He (the
son) had earned money as a merchant (an immeasurable descent for a
_samurai_ with the feelings of the old school), and he was prepared to
buy back the Masamuné blade with the Goto mountings for a much higher
price than his father had received for it."
"And I suppose Deacon wouldn't sell it?" Dorrington asked.
"No," Mr. Colson replied. "He wouldn't have sold it at any price, I'm
sure. Well, Kanamaro pressed him very urgently, and called again and
again. He was very gentlemanly and very dignified, but he was very
earnest. He apologised for making a commercial offer, assured Deacon
that he was quite aware that he was no mere buyer and seller, but
pleaded the urgency of his case. 'It is not here as in Japan,' he
said, 'among us, the _samurai_ of the old days. You have your beliefs,
we have ours. It is my religion that I must place the _katana_ in my
father's grave. My father disgraced himself and sold his sword in order
that I might not starve when I was a little child. I would rather that
he had let me die, but since I am alive, and I know that you have the
sword, I must take it and lay it by his bones. I will make an offer.
Instead of giving you money, I will give you another sword--a sword
worth as much money as my father's--perhaps more. I have had it sent
from Japan since I first saw you. It is a blade made by the great
Yukiyasu, and it has a scabbard and mountings by an older and greater
master than the Goto who made those for my father's sword.' But it
happened that Deacon already had two swords by Yukiyasu, while of
Masamuné he had only the one. So he tried to reason the Japanese out
of his fancy. But that was useless. Kanamaro called again and again
and got to be quite a nuisance. He left off for a month or two, but
about a fortnight ago he appeared again. He grew angry and forgot his
oriental politeness. 'The English have the English ways,' he said,
'and we have ours--yes, though many of my foolish countrymen are in
haste to be the same as the English are. We have our beliefs, and we
have our knowledge, and I tell you that there are things which you
would call superstition, but which are very real! Our old gods are not
all dead yet, I tell you! In the old times no man would wear or keep
another man's sword. Why? Because the great sword has a soul just as
a man has, and it knows and the gods know! No man kept another's
sword who did not fall into terrible misfortune and death, sooner or
later. Give me my father's _katana_ and save yourself. My father weeps
in my ears at night, and I must bring him his _katana!_' I was talking
to poor Deacon, as I told you, only on Tuesday afternoon, and he told
me that Kanamaro had been there again the day before, in a frantic
state--so bad, indeed, that Deacon thought of applying to the Japanese
legation to have him taken care of, for he seemed quite mad. 'Mind,
you foolish man!' he said. 'My gods still live, and they are strong!
My father wanders on the dark path and cannot go to his gods without
the swords in his girdle. His father asks of his vow! Between here and
Japan there is a great sea, but my father may walk even here, looking
for his _katana_, and he is angry! I go away for a little. But my gods
know, and my father knows!' And then he took himself off. And now"--Mr.
Colson nodded towards the next room and dropped his voice--"now poor
Deacon is dead and the sword is gone!"
[Illustration: "GIVE ME MY FATHER'S KATANA, AND SAVE YOURSELF."]
"Kanamaro has not been seen about the place, I suppose, since the visit
you speak of, on Monday?" Dorrington asked.
"No. And I particularly asked as to yesterday morning. The hall-porter
swears that no Japanese came to the place."
"As to the letters, now. You say that when Mr. Deacon came back, after
having left, apparently to get his lunch, he said he came for forgotten
letters. Were any such letters afterwards found?"
"Yes--there were three, lying on this very table, stamped ready for
postage."
"Where are they now?"
"I have them at my chambers. I opened them in the presence of the
police in charge of the case. There was nothing very important about
them--appointments and so forth, merely--and so the police left them in
my charge, as executor."
"Nevertheless I should like to see them. Not just now, but presently.
I think I must see this man presently--the man who was painting in the
basement below the window that is supposed to have been shut by the
murderer in his escape. That is if the police haven't frightened him."
"Very well, we'll see after him as soon as you like. There was just
one other thing--rather a curious coincidence, though of course there
can't be anything in such a superstitious fancy--but I think I told
you that Deacon's body was found lying at the feet of the four-handed
god in the other room?"
"Yes."
"Just so." Mr. Colson seemed to think a little more of the
superstitious fancy than he confessed. "Just so," he said again. "At
the feet of the god, and immediately under the hand carrying the sword;
it is not wooden, but an actual steel sword, in fact."
"I noticed that."
"Yes. Now that is a figure of Hachiman, the Japanese god of war--a
recent addition to the collection and a very ancient specimen. Deacon
bought it at Copleston's only a few days ago--indeed it arrived here on
Wednesday morning. Deacon was telling me about it on Tuesday afternoon.
He bought it because of its extraordinary design, showing such signs of
Indian influence. Hachiman is usually represented with no more than the
usual number of a man's arms, and with no weapon but a sword. This is
the only image of Hachiman that Deacon ever saw or heard of with four
arms. And after he had bought it he ascertained that this was said to
be one of the idols that carry with them ill-luck from the moment they
leave their temples. One of Copleston's men confided to Deacon that
the lascar seamen and stokers on board the ship that brought it over
swore that everything went wrong from the moment that Hachiman came
on board--and indeed the vessel was nearly lost off Finisterre. And
Copleston himself, the man said, was glad to be quit of it. Things had
disappeared in the most extraordinary and unaccountable manner, and
other things had been found smashed (notably a large porcelain vase)
without any human agency, after standing near the figure. Well," Mr.
Colson concluded, "after all that, and remembering what Kanamaro said
about the gods of his country who watch over ancient swords, it _does_
seem odd, doesn't it, that as soon as poor Deacon gets the thing he
should be found stricken dead at its feet?"
Dorrington was thinking. "Yes," he said presently, "it is certainly a
strange affair altogether. Let us see the odd-job man now--the man who
was in the basement below the window. Or rather, find out where he is
and leave me to find him."
Mr. Colson stepped out and spoke with the hall-porter. Presently he
returned with news. "He's gone!" he said. "Bolted!"
"What--the man who was in the basement?"
"Yes. It seems the police questioned him pretty closely yesterday, and
he seized the first opportunity to cut and run."
"Do you know what they asked him?"
"Examined him generally, I suppose, as to what he had observed at the
time. The only thing he seems to have said was that he heard a window
shut at about one o'clock. Questioned further, he got into confusion
and equivocation, more especially when they mentioned a ladder which
is kept in a passage close by where he was painting. It seems they
had examined this before speaking to him, and found it had been just
recently removed and put back. It was thick with dust, except just
where it had been taken hold of to shift, and there the hand-marks
were quite clean. Nobody was in the basement but Dowden (that is the
man's name), and nobody else could have shifted that ladder without his
hearing and knowing of it. Moreover, the ladder was just the length
to reach Deacon's window. They asked if he had seen anybody move the
ladder, and he most anxiously and vehemently declared that he had not.
A little while after he was missing, and he hasn't reappeared."
"And they let him go!" Dorrington exclaimed. "What fools!"
"He _may_ know something about it, of course," Colson said dubiously;
"but with that sword missing, and knowing what we do of Kanamaro's
anxiety to get it at any cost, and--and"--he glanced toward the other
room where the idol stood--"and one thing and another, it seems to me
we should look in another direction."
"We will look in all directions," Dorrington replied. "Kanamaro may
have enlisted Dowden's help. Do you know where to find Kanamaro?"
"Yes. Deacon has had letters from him, which I have seen. He lived in
lodgings near the British Museum."
"Very well. Now, do you happen to know whether a night porter is kept
at this place?"
"No, there is none. The outer door is shut at twelve. Anybody coming
home after that must ring up the housekeeper by the electric bell."
"The tenants do not have keys for the outer door?"
"No; none but keys for their own rooms."
"Good. Now, Mr. Colson, I want to think things over a little. Would
you care to go at once and ascertain whether or not Kanamaro is still
at the address you speak of?"
"Certainly, I will. Perhaps I should have told you that, though he
knows me slightly, he has never spoken of his father's sword to me, and
does not know that I know anything about it. He seems, indeed, to have
spoken about it to nobody but Deacon himself. He was very proud and
reticent in the matter; and now that Deacon is dead, he probably thinks
nobody alive knows of the matter of the sword but himself. If he is at
home what shall I do?"
"In that case keep him in sight and communicate with me, or with the
police. I shall stay here for a little while. Then I shall get the
hall-porter (if you will instruct him before you go) to show me the
ladder and the vicinity of Dowden's operations. Also, I think I shall
look at the back staircase."
"But that was found locked, with the key inside."
"Well, well, there _are_ ways of managing that, as you would know if
you knew as much about housebreaking as I do. But we'll see."