THE FIVE CONCLUSIONS
We who sat round that table during the next hour or so must have made a
strange group. Mr. Raven, always a little nervous and flustered in manner;
his niece, fresh and eager, in her pretty dinner dress, a curious contrast
to the antiquated garb and parchment face of old Cazalette, who sat by
her, watchful and doubting; the officialdom-suggesting figure of the
police-inspector, erect and rigid in his close-fitting uniform; the
detective, rubicund and confident, though of what one scarcely knew;
Lorrimore and myself, keen listeners and watchers, and last, but not by
any means the least notable, the bland, suave Chinaman in his neat native
dress, sitting modestly in the background, inscrutable as an image carved
out of ivory. I do not know what the rest thought, but it lay in my own
mind that if there was one man in that room who might be trusted to find
his way out of the maze in which we were wandering, that man was Dr.
Lorrimore's servant.
It was Lorrimore who, at the detective's request, explained to Wing
why we had sent for him. The Chinaman nodded a grave assent when
reminded of the Salter Quick affair--evidently he knew all about it.
And--if one really could detect anything at all in so carefully-veiled
a countenance--I thought I detected an increased watchfulness in his
eyes when Scarterfield began to ask him questions arising out of what
Lorrimore had said.
"There is evidence," began the detective, "that this man Salter Quick,
and his brother Noah Quick, were mixed up in some affair that had
connection with a trading steamer, the _Elizabeth Robinson_, believed
to have been lost in the Yellow Sea, between Hong-Kong and Chemulpo,
in October 1907. On board that steamer was a certain Chinaman, who,
two years later, turned up in London. Now, Dr. Lorrimore tells me that
when you and he were in London, some little time ago, you spent a good
deal of time amongst your own people in the East End, and that you
also visited some of them in Liverpool, Cardiff, and Swansea. So I
want to ask you--did you ever hear, in any of these quarters, of a man
named Chuh Fen? Here--in London--two years after the _Elizabeth
Robinson_ affair--that's three years back from now."
The Chinaman moved his head very slightly.
"No," he answered. "Not in London--nor in England. But I knew a man
named Chuh Fen ten, eleven, years ago, before I went to Bombay and
entered my present service."
"Where did you know him?" asked Scarterfield.
"Two--perhaps three places," said Wing. "Singapore, Penang, perhaps
Rangoon, too. I remember him."
"What was he?"
"A cook--very good cook."
"Would you be surprised to hear of his being in England three years
ago?"
"Not at all. Many Chinamen come here. I myself--why not others? If
Chuh Fen came here, three years ago, perhaps he came as cook on some
ship trading from China or Burma. Then--go back again."
"I wonder if he did!" muttered the detective. "Still," he continued,
turning to Wing, "a lot of your people when they come here, stop,
don't they?"
"Many stop in this country," said Wing.
"Laundry business, eating-houses, groceries, and so on?" suggested
Scarterfield. "And chiefly in the places I've mentioned, eh?--the East
End of London, Liverpool, and the two big Welsh towns? Now, I want to
ask you a question. This man I'm talking of, Chuh Fen, was certainly
in London three years ago. Are there places and people in London where
one could get to hear of him?"
"Where I could get to hear of him--yes," answered Wing.
"You say--where you could get to hear of him," remarked Scarterfield.
"Does that mean that you would get information which I shouldn't get?"
The very faintest ghost of a smile showed itself in the wrinkles about
the Chinaman's eyes. He inclined his head a little, politely, and
Lorrimore stepped into the arena.
"What Wing means is that being a Chinaman himself, naturally he could
get news of a fellow-Chinaman from fellow-Chinamen where you, an
Englishman, wouldn't get any at all!" he said with a laugh. "I dare
say that if you, Mr. Scarterfield, went down Limehouse way seeking
particulars about Chuh Fen, you'd be met with blank faces and stopped
ears."
"That's just what I'm suggesting, doctor," answered the detective,
good-humouredly. "I'll put the thing in a nutshell--my profound belief
is that if we want to get at the bottom of these two murders we've got
to go back a long way, to the _Elizabeth Robinson_ time, and that Chuh
Fen is the only person I've heard of, up to now, who can throw a light
on that episode. And it seems to me, to be plain about it, that Mr.
Wing there could be extremely useful."
"How?" asked Lorrimore. "He's at your service, I'm sure."
"Well, by finding out if this Chuh Fen, when he was here, three years
since, made any revelations to his Chinese brethren in Limehouse or
elsewhere," replied Scarterfield. "He may have known something about
the brothers Quick and concerning that _Elizabeth Robinson_ affair
that would help immensely. Any little thing!--a mere scrap of
information--just a bit of chance gossip--a hint--you don't know how
valuable these things are. The mere germ of a clue--you know!"
"I know," said Lorrimore. He turned to his servant and addressed him
in some strange tongue in which Wing at once responded: for some
minutes they talked together, volubly: then Lorrimore looked round at
Scarterfield.
"Wing says that if Chuh Fen was in London three years ago he can
engage to find out how long he was here, whence he came and why, and
where he went," he said. "I gather that there's a sort of freemasonry
amongst these men--naturally, they seek each other out in strange
lands, and there are places in London and the other parts to which a
Chinaman resorts if he happens to land in England. This he can do for
you--he's no doubt of it."
"There's another thing," said Scarterfield. "If Chuh Fen is still in
England--as he may be--can he find him?"
Wing's smooth countenance, on hearing this, showed some sign of
animation. Instead of replying to the detective, he again addressed
his master in the foreign tongue. Lorrimore nodded and turned to
Scarterfield with a slightly cynical smile.
"He says that if Chuh Fen is anywhere in England he can lay hands on
him, quickly," said Lorrimore. "But--he adds that it might not be at
all convenient to Chuh Fen to come into the full light of day: Chuh
Fen may have reasons of his own for desiring strict privacy."
"I take you!" said Scarterfield, with a wink. "All right, doctor! If
Mr. Wing can unearth Mr. Chuh Fen and that mysterious gentleman can
give me a tip, I'll respect his privacy! So now--do we get at
something? Do I understand that your man will help us by trying to
find out some particulars of Chuh Fen, or laying hands on Chuh Fen
himself? All expenses defrayed, you know," he went on, turning to
Wing, "and a handsome remuneration if it leads to results. And--follow
your own plans! I know you Chinamen are smart and deep at this sort of
thing!"
"Leave it to him," said Lorrimore. "To him and to me. If there's news
to be had of this man Chuh Fen, he'll get it."
"Then that is something done!" exclaimed Scarterfield, rubbing his
hands. "Good!--I like to see even a bit of progress. But now, while
I'm here, and while we're at business--and I hope this young lady
doesn't find it dull business!--there's another matter. The inspector
tells me there have been alarums and excursions about a certain
tobacco-box which was found on Salter Quick, that Mr. Cazalette--you,
sir, I think--had had various experiments in connection with it, and
that the thing has been stolen. Now, I want to know all about
that!--who can tell me most?"
Mr. Cazalette was sitting between Miss Raven and myself; I leaned
close to him and whispered, feeling that now was the time to bring
every known fact to light.
"Tell all--all--you told me just before dinner!" I urged upon him.
"Table the whole pack of cards: let us get at something--now!"
He hesitated, looking half-suspiciously from one to the other of those
opposite.
"D'ye think I'd be well advised, Middlebrook?" he whispered. "Is it
wise policy to show all the cards you're holding?"
"In this case, yes!" I said. "Tell everything!"
"Well," he said. "Maybe. But--it's on your advice, you'll remember,
and I'm not sure this is the time, nor just the company. However--"
So, for the second time that day, Mr. Cazalette told the story of the
tobacco-box and of his pocket-book, and produced his photograph. It
came as a surprise to all there but myself, and I saw that Mr. Raven
in particular was much perturbed by the story of the theft that
morning. I knew what he was thinking--the criminal or criminals were
much too close at hand. He cut in now and then with a question--but
the detective listened in grim, absorbed silence.
"Now, you know, this is really about the most serious and important
thing I've heard, so far," he said, when Mr. Cazalette had finished.
"Just let's sum it up. Salter Quick is murdered in a strange and
lonely place. Not for his goods, for all his money and his
valuables--not inconsiderable--are found on him. But the murderer was
in search of something that he believed to be on Salter Quick, for he
thoroughly searched his clothing, slashed its linings, turned his
pockets out--and probably, no, we may safely say certainly, failed in
his search. He did not get what he was after--any more than his
fellow-murderer who slew Noah Quick, some hundreds of miles away from
here, about the very same time, got what he was after. But now comes
in Mr. Cazalette. Mr. Cazalette, inadvertently, never thinking what he
was doing, draws public attention to certain marks and scratches,
evidently made on purpose, in Salter Quick's tobacco-box. Do you see
my point, gentlemen? The murderer hears of this and says to himself,
'That box is the thing I want!' So--he appropriates it, at the
inquest! But even then, so faint and almost illegible are the marks
within the lid, he doesn't find exactly what he wants. But he knows
that Mr. Cazalette was going to submit his photograph to an enlarging
process, which would make the marks clearer; he also knows Mr.
Cazalette's habits (a highly significant fact!) so he sets himself to
steal Mr. Cazalette's pocket-book, theorizing that Mr. Cazalette
probably has a copy of the enlarged photograph within it. And, this
morning, while Mr. Cazalette is bathing, he gets it! Gentlemen!--what
does this show? One thing as a certainty--the murderer is close at
hand!"
There was a dead silence--broken at last by a querulous murmur from
Mr. Cazalette himself.
"Ye may be as sure o' that, my man, as that Arthur's Seat o'erlooks
Edinbro'!" he said. "I wish I was as sure o' his identity!"
"Well, we know something that's gradually bringing us toward
establishing that," remarked Scarterfield. "Let me see that photograph
again, if you please."
The rest of us watched Scarterfield as he studied the thing over which
Mr. Cazalette and I had exercised our brains in the half-hour before
dinner. He seemed to get no more information from a long perusal of it
than we had got, and he finally threw it away from him across the
table, with a muttered exclamation which confessed discomfiture. Miss
Raven picked up the photograph.
"Aye!" mumbled Mr. Cazalette. "Let the lassie look at it! Maybe a
woman's brains is more use than a man's whiles."
"Often!" said the detective. "And if Miss Raven can make anything of
that----"
I saw that Miss Raven was already wishful to speak, and I hastened to
encourage her by throwing a word to Scarterfield.
"You'd be infinitely obliged to her, I'm sure," I put in. "It would be
a help?"
"No slight one!" said he. "There's something in that diagram.
But--what?"
Miss Raven, timid, and a little shy of concentrated attention, laid
the photograph again on the table.
"Don't--don't you think there may be some explanation of this in what
Salter Quick said to Mr. Middlebrook when they met on the cliffs?" she
asked. "He told Mr. Middlebrook that he wanted to find a churchyard
where there were graves of people named Netherfield, but he didn't
know exactly where it was, though it was somewhere in this locality.
Now supposing this is a rough outline of that churchyard? These outer
lines may be the wall--then these little marks may show the situation
of the Netherfield graves. And that cross in the corner--perhaps there
is something buried, hidden, there, which Salter Quick wanted to
find?"
The detective uttered a sharp exclamation and snatched up the
photograph again.
"Good! Good!" he said. "Upon my word, I shouldn't wonder! To be sure,
that may be it. What's against it?"
"This," remarked Mr. Cazalette solemnly. "That there isn't anybody of
the name of Netherfield buried between Alnmouth and Budle Bay! That's
a fact."
"Established," added the police-inspector, "by as an exhaustive
inquiry as anybody could make. It is a fact--as Mr. Cazalette says."
"Well," observed Scarterfield, "but Salter Quick may have been wrong
in his locality. You can be sure of this--whatever secret he held was
got from somebody else. He may have been twenty, thirty, even fifty
miles out. But we know something--the Netherfield who was with him on
the _Elizabeth Robinson_ hailed from Blyth, in this county. I'm going
to Blyth myself--tomorrow; I'll find out if there are Netherfields
buried about there. Personally, I believe Miss Raven's hit the nail on
the head--this is a rough chart of a spot Salter Quick wanted to
find--where, no doubt, something is hidden. What? Who knows?
But--judging from the fact that two men have been murdered for the
secret of it--something of great value. Buried treasure, no doubt."
"That's precisely what I've been thinking from the very first,"
murmured Mr. Cazalette. "And ye'll have to go back--to go back, my
man!"
"It's certainly the only way of going forward," agreed Scarterfield
with a laugh. "But now, before we part, gentlemen, let us see where
we've got to. I, for myself, have drawn five distinct conclusions
about this affair:
"_First_--That the Quicks, Noah and Salter, were in possession of a
secret, which was probably connected with their shipmate of the
_Elizabeth Robinson_, Netherfield, who hailed from Blyth;
"_Second_--That certain men knew the Quicks to be in possession of
that secret and murdered both to get hold of it;
"_Third_--That they failed to get it from either Noah or Salter;
"_Fourth_--That Mr. Cazalette's zeal about the tobacco-box, publicly
expressed, put the criminals on a new scent, and that they, in
pursuance of it, stole both the tobacco-box and Mr. Cazalette's
pocket-book;
"_Fifth_--That the criminals are--or were very recently, in fact, this
very morning--in the vicinity of this place.
"So," he continued, looking round, "the thing's narrowing. Let Mr.
Wing there help by getting some news of Chuh Fen, if possible; as for
me, I'm going to follow up the Netherfield line. I think we shall
track these fellows yet--you never know how unexpectedly a clue may
turn up."
"You've not said anything about the handkerchief that I found,"
observed Mr. Cazalette. "There's a clue, surely!"
"Difficult to follow up, sir," replied Scarterfield. "There is such a
thing as little articles of that sort being lost at the laundry, put
into the wrong basket, and so on. Now if we could trace the owner of
the handkerchief and find where he gets his washing done, and a great
deal more--you see? But we'll not lose sight of it, Mr.
Cazalette--only, there are more important clues than that to go on in
the meantime. The great thing is--what was this precious secret that
the Quicks shared, and that certainly had to do with some place here
in Northumberland? Let's get at that--if we can."
The two police officials went away with Dr. Lorrimore and his servant,
all in deep converse, and the four of us who were left behind
endeavoured to settle our minds for the repose of the night. But I saw
that Mr. Raven had been upset by the recent talk: he had got it firmly
fixed in his consciousness that the murderer of Salter Quick was, as
it were, in our very midst.
"How do I know that the guilty man mayn't be one of my own servants?"
he muttered, as he, Mr. Cazalette and I took up our candles. "There
are six men in the house--all strangers to me--and several employed
outside. The idea's deucedly unpleasant!"
"Ye may put it clear away from you, Raven," said Mr. Cazalette. "The
murderer may be within bow-shot, but he's none o' yours. Ye'll look
deeper, far, far deeper than that--this is no ordinary affair, and no
ordinary men at the bottom of it." Then, when he and I had left our
host, and were going along one of the upstairs passages towards our
own rooms, he added: "No ordinary man, Middlebrook! but you see how
ordinary folk are suspicioned! Raven'll be doubting the _bona fides_
of his own footmen and his own garden lads next. No--no! it'll be
deeper down than that, my lad!"
"The mystery is deep," I agreed.
"Aye--and I'm wondering if it was well to let yon Chinese fellow into
all of it," he muttered significantly. "I'm no great believer in
Orientals, Middlebrook."
"Lorrimore answers for him," said I.
"And who answers for Lorrimore?" he demanded. "What do you or I know
of Lorrimore? I'm thinking yon Lorrimore was far too glib of his
tongue--and maybe I was too ready myself and talked beyond reason to
strangers. I don't know Lorrimore--nor his Chinaman."
From which I gathered that Mr. Cazalette himself was not superior to
suspicions.