MR. TORRY'S THEORY
"The Blue Mummy," repeated Darrel wonderingly; "what do you mean?"
"Why!" said the detective, "I should rather say, the clue of the
_two_ Blue Mummies. Here they are."
Out of his pocket, Torry produced two little clay images in the shape
of mummies, each six inches in length, and coloured a deep blue. The
lifeless faces, the swathings and bandages of the rigid forms, were
perfectly modelled in clay, and on the breast of each was a
representation of the sun rayed round with spiral flames. These
idols--as they doubtless were--appeared to be of great antiquity, and
were, undoubtedly, fine specimens of ceramic art. That the relics of a
dead and gone civilisation should be connected with a modern criminal
case, amazed Frank not a little.
"Egyptian workmanship without doubt," said he, examining one of the
little figures, "although I am not learned in such matters. Where did
you get them?"
"One was found in the pocket of the dead woman, the other on the
ground near the body of the man. Another proof, to my mind, that there
is a connection between the two crimes."
"Curious," murmured Darrel, his eyes fixed on one of the images. "I
wonder what they symbolise. If we could learn we might discover the
motive for this double crime."
"You don't know the meaning of these idols, I suppose, sir?"
Darrel shook his head. "No," said he, "but I am acquainted with an
Egyptologist who might tell us all about them. I'll take them to him
if you like, Mr. Torry."
"Take one, as they are precisely the same," replied the prudent
detective, "and ask your friend what it represents; some god no doubt.
But look here, Mr. Darrel," added Torry in a livelier tone, "I have
answered all your questions, now you must reply to some of mine."
"Willingly. What is it you wish to know?"
"Tell me all that took place, from the time you saw the red-headed man
in Drury-lane until the moment you discovered his dead body."
To this natural request Darrel assented at once, and narrated his
Saturday night, or rather Sunday morning, adventure in Drury-lane. The
detective listened in silence, his keen eyes fixed on the narrator,
and when Darrel ceased he put a series of questions to him, noting the
replies to the same in a little book. It may be here remarked that Mr.
Torry used a cypher known to no one but himself; so, even if he lost
his pocket-book, there was no chance of its contents becoming known.
"You say that this man spoke like an educated gentleman?"
"Certainly; his accent was most refined."
"At what time did he address you first?"
"Shortly after twelve o'clock."
"How long did it take you to walk to Mortality-lane?"
"Ten minutes, more or less, I should think. Altogether it was twenty
minutes past midnight when he left me."
"The drive to throw you off the scent took some time, I suppose?"
Darrel calculated. "About forty minutes, more or less," he said. "We
got back to Mortality-lane shortly after the clock struck one. Then I
had some talk with the cabman who had misled me, according to
instructions, and I remember him saying he was going home, because it
was after one o'clock."
"Then the murder must have been committed between half-past twelve and
one o'clock in the morning?"
"Yes, I am sure it was. Bike and myself found the corpse shortly after
one o'clock. It was still warm," said Darrel, with a shudder.
"The red-haired man was not at his ease with you, I suppose?"
"On the contrary, he kept a safe distance between us, and all the time
he had his right hand in the breast of his coat."
"Oh, that was a revolver," said Torry indifferently, "we found it when
the body was searched. But," added the detective with emphasis, "we
did not find the valuables he carried."
"Valuables! What valuables?"
"I can't say. Papers, or jewels, or money; one of the three, I am
certain!"
"But what reason have you to think that he carried valuables?" asked
Darrel becoming the questioner in his turn.
Torry shrugged his plump shoulders. "He wouldn't have carried a
revolver else," he remarked.
"That might have been to protect himself against bad characters, such
as he suspected me to be," objected Frank captiously.
"No," replied Torry decisively, "I don't think so. He purposely
assumed shabby clothes so that there would be nothing in his
appearance to suggest that he was worth robbing. A threadbare vagrant
slinking through the midnight streets, would attract no notice save
that of a policeman, and he would not dare to use his revolver in that
case."
"Why not?" asked Darrel rather obtusely.
"Because he would have run the risk of arrest, and his real
name--which, obviously, he was anxious to conceal--would have come
out. No, Mr. Darrel, the dead man had some valuable object, or
perhaps, some money, in his possession, and carried the revolver to
protect himself against possible robbery; and that supposition,"
concluded the detective, rubbing his plump knees "brings me to my
theory."
"To your theory?"
Torry pointed to the image held by Darrel, "To be precise I should say
to my clue--the clue of the Blue Mummy."
"I don't quite see how you bring this into the matter."
"Well," said Torry, "it is all theory, I admit; but my belief is this:
The red-haired man carried some valuables, money, jewels, or papers,
to the woman in Mortality-lane. When he delivered up the jewel--for
the sake of clearness we'll say jewel--she gave him the Blue Mummy."
"Why?"
"As a kind of receipt, I suppose. Red-hair took the image in his right
hand intending to put it into his pocket. At that moment, having the
jewel in her possession, the woman struck at him with the knife she
carried, and he, thrusting out his left hand to protect himself,
caught at and tore the lace of her mantle. Naturally, as he had
received his death-wound--he was stabbed to the heart, you know--the
Blue Mummy fell from his clasp and was found on the ground near his
body."
"Very ingenious," admitted Darrel sceptically, "But pure theory."
"No doubt. Every detective must theorise to some extent, in order to
have a basis to work on. But you must admit that my theory is a
feasible one."
"Certainly, but as regards this second Blue Mummy."
"Oh! I believe that, after committing the murder, this woman went off
to meet her assassin near Cleopatra's Needle. She gave him the jewels
which he doubtless expected to receive, and he gave her, also as a
receipt, the image of the second mummy. This she put in her pocket,
and was turning away when he stabbed her. Then he tried to throw the
body into the water, but, being interrupted, fled, leaving the work
undone."
"But," objected Darrel, finding flaws with the true instinct of
criticism, "why do you suppose that the assassin gave this image to
his victim? in the other case when she was the assassin, she gave the
mummy to red-hair; it is possible, therefore, that she had this second
one in her pocket."
"Not if my theory is correct," retorted Torry, nettled. "The woman
gave the mummy to red-hair as a receipt for the jewel; in her turn she
received the second figure on delivering up the jewel to her assassin.
"Well, admitting as much, why having obtained what he wanted, should
he have killed her?"
"Find out that and I'll find the murderer," said Torry grimly. "Well,
Mr. Darrel, here is your detective novel in real life. What do you
think of the plot provided by chance?"
"Plot!" echoed Darrel. "I should rather call it a riddle--and one
quite impossible to guess."
"Ah, sir, you'll never make a detective if this mystery discourages
you so early."
"But I don't see how you intend to begin."
"Well," said Torry, "in the first place there is the clue of the
initials. I'll go to that shop in Bond-street and find out what the
letters 'J.G.,' stand for. Thus I may arrive at the identity of the
man, and thereby be able to learn about his past life. In his past
life I may discover the motive for the crime. In itself the marked
shirt is a good starting point, but there is also the clue of the
four-wheeler."
"The four-wheeler?" repeated Frank. "The one driven by Henry which the
red-haired man used as a blind, or the second owned by Bike in which I
followed?"
"Neither. I am alluding to the third cab which was not on the stand
when you returned at one o'clock."
"I don't see what that cab has to do with the business."
"Mr. Darrel! Mr. Darrel!" cried Torry gently. "You may be a good
novelist, but, if you'll pardon my saying so, sir, you are a very bad
detective. Is it not reasonable to suppose that the woman, anxious to
get as far as possible from the scene of her crime would come up
Mortality-lane and jump into the third cab? Also you must not forget
that she had a rendezvous at Cleopatra's Needle, and, perhaps had to
drive quickly to be in time."
"Yes; but coming into contact with a cabman she ran the risk of
being--recognised. She must have known that when the murder was
discovered the police would probably guess her flight in the
four-wheeler, and inquire about her from the driver. He would give her
description and----"
"Oh, that is very well!" said Torry, dismissing this objection with a
wave of his plump hand, "but the woman never guessed for a moment that
chance would intervene; and that by means of her death we should
obtain evidence of her crime. She thought she would escape scot-free;
also I daresay she was disguised. Or it might be that she was too
agitated to pay attention to the risk she ran.
"Anyhow, I am certain that she used the third cab to get away; and I
am going to look up the driver."
"How will you find him?"
"By questioning Henry and Bike. Moreover, he may be on the cab-stand
himself. I tell you what. Mr. Darrel," cried Torry, getting on his
short legs, "let us make a division of labour. You go to Harcot and
Harcot in Bond-street to find out what is the name attached to the
letters, 'J.G.,' and I'll see to the cabman."
"Very good, Mr. Torry. When and where am I to see you?"
The detective pencilled an address on his card, and threw it across
the table. "My private office, where we won't be disturbed," said he.
"Eighty Craven-street, Strand. Come at four o'clock this afternoon. By
the way, you might then be able to give me some information about the
idol there."
"I'll try," said Darrel. "My friend lives near the British Museum, so
I shall have time to run up and see him. But there is one thing you
are not certain of yet."
"Sir," replied Mr. Torry drily, "there are many things of which I am
not certain. But this special thing----"
"You don't know if the individual who killed the woman at Cleopatra's
Needle is male or female."
"A male--a man, I'll stake my professional reputation on it."
"Why are you so sure?"
"Why?" echoed the detective, "because the woman ran too great a risk
in committing the murder--she would only risk so much for a man."