Both men searched eagerly through the drawers of the writing-table to
see if the dead man had left another envelope addressed to his friend.
Two of the drawers were locked, but these they opened with the key which
they found upon poor Jerrold's watch-chain which he was wearing.
Some private papers, accounts and ledgers, were in the drawers, but the
envelope of which they were in search they failed to discover.
It seemed evident that Jerome Jerrold had written the envelope in which
he had enclosed a letter, but, on reflection, he had torn it up. Though
the crumpled fragments of the envelope were there, yet the letter--
whatever it might have been--was missing. And their careful examination
of the waste-paper basket revealed nothing, whereupon Sir Houston Bird
remarked--
"He may, of course, have changed his mind, and burned it, after all!"
"Perhaps he did," Jack agreed. "But I wonder what could have been the
message he wished to give me a year after his death? Why not now?"
"People who take their own lives sometimes have curious hallucinations.
I have known many. Suicide is a fascinating, if very grim study."
"Then you really think this is a case of suicide?"
"I can, I fear, give no opinion until after the post-mortem, Mr
Sainsbury," was Sir Houston's guarded reply, his face grave and
thoughtful.
"But it is all so strange, so remarkable," exclaimed the younger man.
"Why did he tell me that he'd been shot, if he hadn't?"
"Because to you, his most intimate friend, he perhaps, as you suggested,
wished to conceal the fact that he had been guilty of the cowardly
action of taking his own life," was the reply.
"It is a mystery--a profound mystery," declared Jack Sainsbury. "Jerome
dined with Mr Trustram, and the latter came back here with him.
Meanwhile, Mr Lewin Rodwell was very anxious concerning him. Why? Was
Rodwell a friend of Jerome's? Do you happen to know that?"
"I happen to know to the contrary," declared the great pathologist.
"Only a week ago we met at Charing Cross Hospital, and some chance
remark brought up Rodwell's name, when Jerrold burst forth angrily, and
declared most emphatically that the man who posed as such a patriotic
Englishman would, one day, be unmasked and exposed in his true colours.
In confidence, he made an allegation that Lewin Rodwell's real name was
Ludwig Heitzman, and that he was born in Hanover. He had become a
naturalised Englishman ten years ago in Glasgow, and had, by deed-poll,
changed his name to Lewin Rodwell."
Jack Sainsbury stared the speaker full in the face.
Lewin Rodwell, the great patriot who, since the outbreak of war, had
been in the forefront of every charitable movement, who had been
belauded by the Press, and to whom the Prime Minister had referred in
the most eulogistic terms in the House of Commons, was a German!
"That's utterly impossible," exclaimed Jack. "He is one of the
directors of the Ochrida Copper Corporation, in whose office I am. I
know Mr Rodwell well. There's no trace whatever of German birth about
him."
"Jerrold assured me that his real name was Heitzman, that he had been
born of poor parents, and had been educated by an English shipping-agent
in Hamburg, who had adopted him and sent him to England. On the
Englishman's death he inherited about two thousand pounds, which he made
the nucleus of his present fortune."
"That's all news to me," said Jack reflectively; "and yet--"
"What? Do you know something regarding Rodwell then?" inquired Sir
Houston quickly.
"No," he replied. "Nothing very extraordinary. What you have just told
me surprises me greatly."
"Just as it surprised me. Yet, surely, his case is only one of many
similar. Thousands of Germans have come here, and become naturalised
Englishmen."
"A German who becomes a naturalised Englishman is a traitor to his own
country, while he poses as our friend. I contend that we have no use
for traitors of any sort in England to-day," declared Jack vehemently;
both men being still engaged in searching the dead man's room to
discover the message which it appeared had been his intention to leave
after his death. They had carefully examined the grate, but found no
trace of any burnt paper. Yet, from the fact that a piece of red
sealing-wax and a burnt taper lay upon the writing-table, it appeared
that something had been recently sealed, though the torn envelope bore
no seal.
If an envelope had been sealed, then where was it?
"We shall, no doubt, be able to establish the truth of Jerrold's
allegation by reference to the register of naturalised Germans kept at
the Home Office," Sir Houston said at last.
Jack was silent for a few moments, and then answered:
"That, I fear, may be a little difficult. Jerrold has often told me how
it had been discovered that it was a favourite dodge of Germans, after
becoming naturalised and changing their names by deed-poll, to adopt a
second and rather similar name, in order to avoid any inquiry along the
channel which you have just suggested. As an example, if Ludwig
Heitzman became naturalised, then it is more than probable that when he
changed his name by deed-poll he did not adopt the name of Lewin
Rodwell, but something rather near it."
"Very likely," was the great doctor's remark.
Suddenly Jack Sainsbury paused and, facing his companion, said:
"Look here, Sir Houston. In this tragic affair I believe there's
something more than suicide. That's my firm opinion. Reflect for one
moment, and follow my suspicions. Poor Jerome, in addition to his
profession, has for some years been unofficially assisting the
Intelligence Department of the War Office. He was one of the keenest
and cleverest investigators in England. He scented acts of espionage as
a terrier does a rat, and by his efforts half a dozen, or so, dangerous
spies have been arrested and punished. In a modest way I have been his
assistant, and have helped to watch and follow suspected persons.
Together, we have traced cases of petrol-running to the coast,
investigated night-signalling in the southern counties, and other
things, therefore I happen to know that he was keen on the work.
Curious that he never told me of his grave suspicions regarding Mr
Rodwell."
"Perhaps he had a reason for concealing them from you," was the other's
reply.
"But he was always so frank and open with me, because I believe that he
trusted in my discretion to say nothing."
"Probably he had not verified his facts, and intended to do so before
revealing the truth to you."
"Yes, he was most careful always to obtain corroboration of everything,
before accepting it," was Jack's reply. "But certainly what you have
just told me arouses a grave suspicion."
"Of what?"
"Well--that our poor friend, having gained knowledge of Lewin Rodwell's
birth and antecedents, may, in all probability, have probed further into
his past and--"
"Into his present, I think more likely," exclaimed the great doctor.
"Ah! I quite see the line of your argument," he added quickly. "You
suggest that Rodwell may have discovered that Jerrold knew the truth,
and that, in consequence, death came suddenly and unexpectedly--eh?"
Jack Sainsbury nodded in the affirmative. "But surely Trustram, who was
one of Jerrold's most intimate friends, could not have had any hand in
foul play! He was the last man who saw him alive. No," he went on.
"My own experience shows me that poor Jerrold has died of poisoning, and
as nobody has been here, or could have escaped from the room, it must
have been administered by his own hand."
"But do you not discern the motive?" cried Sainsbury. "Rodwell has
risen to a position of great affluence and notoriety. He is a bosom
friend of Cabinet Ministers, and to him many secrets of State are
confided. He, and his friend Sir Boyle Huntley, play golf with
Ministers, and the name of Lewin Rodwell is everywhere to-day one to
conjure with. He has, since the war, risen to be one of the most
patriotic Englishmen--a man whose unselfish efforts are praised and
admired from one end of Great Britain to another. Surely he would have
become desperate if he had the least suspicion that Jerome Jerrold had
discovered the truth, and intended to unmask him--as he had openly
declared to you."
"Yes, yes, I see," Sir Houston replied dubiously. "If there were any
traces of foul play I should at once be of the same opinion. But you
see they do not exist."
"Whether there are traces, or whether there are none, nothing will shake
my firm opinion, and that is that poor Jerome has been assassinated, and
the motive of the crime is what I have already suggested."
"Very well; we shall clear it up at the post-mortem," was the doctor's
reply, while at that moment Thomasson re-entered, followed by a
police-officer in plain clothes and two constables in uniform.
On their entry, Sainsbury introduced Sir Houston Bird, and told them his
own name and that of his dead friend.
Then the officer of the local branch of the Criminal Investigation
Department sat down at the dead man's writing-table and began to write
in his note-book the story of the strange affair, as dictated by Jack.
Sir Houston also made a statement, this being followed by the man
Thomasson, who detailed his master's movements prior to his death--as
far as he knew them.
His master, he declared, had seemed in excellent spirits all day. He
had seen patients in the morning, had lunched frugally at home, and had
gone down to Guy's in the car to see the wounded, as was his daily
round. At six he had returned, dressed, and gone forth in a taxi to
meet his friend, Mr Trustram of the Admiralty. They having dined
together returned, and afterwards Mr Trustram had left and the doctor,
smoking his pipe, had retired to his room to write. Nothing further was
heard, Thomasson said, till the arrival of Mr Sainsbury, when the door
of the room was found locked.
"You heard no one enter the house--no sounds whatever?" asked the
detective inspector, Rees by name, a tall, clean-shaven,
fresh-complexioned man, with rather curly hair.
"I didn't hear a sound," was the servant's reply. "The others were all
out, and, as a matter of fact, I was in the waiting-room, just inside
the door, looking at the newspapers on the table. So I should have
heard anyone go up or down the stairs."
Inspector Rees submitted Thomasson to a very searching
cross-examination, but it was quite evident to all in the room that he
knew nothing more than what he had already told. He and his wife had
been in Dr Jerrold's service for eight years. His wife, until her
death, a year ago, had acted as cook-housekeeper.
"Did you ever know of Mr Lewin Rodwell visiting the doctor?" asked Sir
Houston.
"Never, as far as I know, sir. He, of course, might have come to
consult him professionally when I've been out, and the maid has
sometimes opened the door and admitted patients."
"Have you ever heard Mr Rodwell's name?"
"Only on the telephone to-night--and of course very often in the
papers," replied the man.
"Your master was very intimate with Mr Trustram?" inquired the
detective.
"Oh yes. They first met about three months ago, and after that Mr
Trustram came here several times weekly. The doctor went to stay at his
country cottage near Dorking for the week-end, about a fortnight ago."
"Did you ever discover the reason of those conferences?" Jack Sainsbury
asked. "I mean, did you ever overhear any of their conversations?"
"Sometimes, sir. But not very often," was Thomasson's discreet reply.
"They frequently discussed the war, and the spy-peril, in which--as you
know--the doctor was actively interesting himself."
Upon Jack Sainsbury's countenance a faint smile appeared. He now
discerned the reason of the visits of that Admiralty official to the man
who had been so suddenly and mysteriously stricken down.
He exchanged glances with Sir Houston, who, a moment before, had been
searching a cigar cabinet which had hitherto escaped their notice.
At Rees's suggestion, Jack Sainsbury went to the telephone and rang up
Charles Trustram, to whom he briefly related the story of the tragic
discovery.
Within twenty minutes Trustram arrived, and, to the detective, told the
story of the events of the evening: how they had met by appointment at
Prince's Restaurant at half-past seven, had dined together, and then he
had accompanied the doctor back to Wimpole Street about half-past nine,
where they had sat smoking and chatting.
"Jerrold seemed in quite good spirits over the result of an inquiry he
had been making regarding a secret store of petrol established by the
enemy's emissaries somewhere on the Sussex coast," Mr Trustram
explained. "He had, he told me, disclosed it to the Intelligence
Department, and they were taking secret measures to watch a certain barn
wherein the petrol was concealed, and to arrest those implicated in the
affair. He also expressed some anxiety regarding Mr Sainsbury, saying
that he wished he could see him to-night." Then, turning to Jack, he
added: "At his request I rang up your flat at Hampstead, but you were
not in."
"Why did he wish to see me?"
"Ah! that I don't know. He told me nothing," was the Admiralty
official's reply. "While I was sitting here with him I was rung up
three times--twice from my office, and once by a well-known man I had
met for the first time that afternoon--Mr Lewin Rodwell."
At mention of Rodwell all present became instantly interested.
"How did Mr Rodwell know that you were here?" inquired the detective
quickly. "That's a mystery. I did not tell him."
"He might have rung up your house, and your servant may possibly have
told him that you were dining with Jerrold," Sir Houston suggested.
"That may be so. I will ask my man."
"What did Mr Rodwell want?" Rees asked.
"He told me that he had that evening been in consultation with his
friend Sir Boyle Huntley, and that, between them they had resolved to
commence a propaganda for the internment of all alien enemies--
naturalised as well as unnaturalised--and he asked whether I would meet
them at the club to-morrow afternoon to discuss the scheme. To this I
readily consented. When I returned to this room I found the doctor in
the act of sealing an envelope. After he had finished he gave the
envelope to me, saying `This will be safer in your care than in mine, my
dear Trustram. Will you please keep it in your safe?' I consented, of
course, and as I took it I saw that it was a private letter addressed to
Mr Sainsbury, with instructions that it was not to be opened till a
year after his death."
"Then you have the letter!" cried Jack excitedly.
"Yes, I have it at home," replied Mr Trustram; who, proceeding, said:
"At first I was greatly surprised at being given such a letter, and
chaffingly remarked that I hoped he wouldn't die just yet; whereat he
laughed, refilled his pipe and declared that life was, after all, very
uncertain. `I want my friend Sainsbury to know something--but not
before a year after I'm gone. You understand, Trustram. I give you
this, and you, on your part, will give me your word of honour that,
whatever occurs, you will safely guard it, and not allow it to be opened
till a year has elapsed after my death.' He seemed to have suddenly
grown serious, and I confess I was not a little surprised at his curious
change of manner."
"Did it strike you at all that he might be contemplating suicide?"
"No, not in the least. Such an idea never entered my head. I regarded
his action just as that of a man who makes his will--that's all. I took
the envelope and, about five minutes later, left him, as I had been
called down to the Admiralty upon an urgent matter."
"A quarter of an hour afterwards Mr Sainsbury called and we could not
get into the room," Thomasson remarked. "That is all we know."