Suddenly I heard Thorndyke call out sharply:
"Keep out of the way, Polton!" At the same moment I caught sight of our artificer, skirmishing round at Miller’s side, with his eyes riveted on the pistol. Almost as Thorndyke spoke, a pair of large crucible-tongs came into view, reaching out towards the hand which held the weapon. There was a quick but unhurried movement, and the tongs took firm hold of the pistol by its flat stock. Then the long handles were quietly raised and twisted the weapon irresistibly out of the prisoner’s grasp.
The removal of the pistol brought the struggle virtually to an end. I did, indeed, feel the hand which I controlled thrusting towards the waist-belt. But I had already detected the presence there of a sheath-knife of formidable size, and I easily circumvented the movement. And, when Thorndyke seized both the prisoner’s wrists and held them together, Miller was able to snap on the handcuffs. Even then, our prisoner continued to struggle violently; and it was not until Thorndyke had encircled his legs and pinioned his arms with a couple of document straps (which he had, apparently, put in his pocket for that purpose) that his resistance ceased. Then we sat him in a chair, and, while we recovered our breath, considered the next move.
"I think," said Miller, "I will just run across to the churchyard and relieve my men. They may be able to produce some sort of transport. If not, I shall have to borrow Mr. Woodburn’s car. I leave the prisoner in your custody, Doctor."
As soon as he had gone, Woodburn proceeded to light the two hanging lamps which swung by long chains from beams in the gallery ceiling—for there was neither gas nor electric light in the house—when we were able to survey one another and examine our prisoner. Woodburn was the only one of us who had suffered visibly from the encounter, having an undeniable black eye. But the prisoner was a sorry spectacle, and, villain as he was, I could not but feel some twinges of compunction as I looked at him. His face was badly bruised and bleeding; at which I was not surprised, when I picked up the missile that had struck him and recognized it as Polton’s "case-opener." But what most contributed to his forlorn and wretched aspect was his bald head, from which the wig had been dislodged during the fray. It was not a common, natural, and decent bald head, which would have been normal enough, but the baldness was in large patches with separating areas of stubble; the condition, in fact, known to our profession as Alopecia areata.
I picked up the wig and carefully replaced it on his head, disregarding his profane and furious protests. Then I went with Thorndyke to the workshop, where the research case had been deposited, to fetch the little first-aid case that was part of its permanent equipment, and, as I was thus engaged, Thorndyke proceeded to moralize.
"That Alopecia is interesting," he remarked. "I mean, as an illustration of the incalculability of human affairs. If be had not been compelled to wear a wig, be would probably never have thought of personating Dobey. Probably, too, he would not have murdered Badger—at any rate not in that way; and he might not have murdered Toke. Evidently, the course of his criminal career has been largely influenced by his Alopecia. He had to wear a wig, but he could wear any kind of wig that he pleased and change it at any time for any other kind that circumstances seemed to require."
"Yes," I agreed; "a disguise which has to be habitually worn naturally suggests additions and variations."
I took the little emergency case and a basin of water, and we went back to the prisoner. As I was mixing some lotion while Thorndyke prepared a dressing, the patient watched him with a glare of the most concentrated malice.
"Don’t you touch me, you devil!" he exclaimed, huskily, "or I’ll bite you. I ought to have settled with you years ago."
In different circumstances it might have been permissible to remind him that he had made three pretty determined attempts. Nevertheless, as a matter of policy, he was certainly right. But for Thorndyke, be would have been, at this moment, at large and unsuspected.
I had hardly finished attending to his damaged face when Miller returned.
"We shall be able to manage quite well," he announced. "My men discovered a car in that lane—heard it arrive, in fact. So I shan’t want Mr. Woodburn’s. We can take him to London in his own car."
Here the two officers entered, and, advancing up the gallery, took a long and curious look at the prisoner. Then Miller proceeded to make the formal charge.
"I arrest you, Walter Hornby, for the murder of Mr. Didbury Toke; and I caution you that anything you say will be taken down in writing and may be used against you—"
"Oh, go to blazes!" interrupted Hornby. "Do you think I am a cackling old woman? I am not going to say anything."
Nevertheless, in spite of his bravado, I had the impression that the nature of the charge came as an appalling shock. I think he had expected to be charged only with breaking and entering, for after this outburst he settled down into sullen silence and submitted passively to being carried away by the two officers. Only once, as he was borne out, he turned his head to bestow on Thorndyke a look of the most concentrated malignancy.
When the grim procession, accompanied by the Superintendent, had passed out and the footsteps had died away, Thorndyke turned to his faithful henchman and laid his hand on his shoulder.
"It was fortunate for me, Polton," said he, "that you would not go to bed. But for that remarkable shot of yours, I think Hornby would have settled his account with me, after all."
Polton crinkled apologetically and gave a little embarrassed cough as he replied:
"Yes, sir, I thought I might be useful. You see, sir, when I was younger, I used to take a good deal of practice at the coco-nuts on Hampstead Heath. I got to be quite a dab at ‘em; and the Aunt Sallies, too."
At this moment, the gallery door opened, and Mrs. Gibbins entered spectrally, bearing a lighted candle in a bedroom candlestick.
"I’ve come to tell you, sir," she said, addressing Woodburn, "that I have laid supper in the dining-room. Mr. Miller is coming back to join you when he has seen the other officers off in the car."
It was an undeniably welcome announcement; and, when Woodburn had extinguished the lamps, we switched on our electric lanterns and followed the housekeeper along the winding corridor.
XVIII. POSTSCRIPT
With the arrest of Walter Hornby, this history—which is that of an investigation—naturally comes to an end. In the course of the events that followed, nothing transpired that could be regarded as a new discovery. Certain details were filled in, and certain conclusions which had been arrived at by inference were confirmed by actual demonstration. Thus, at the inquest, it was proved that Mr. Toke had died from a deep knife wound, and the evidence left no doubt that it had been inflicted, as Thorndyke had suggested, just as he was in the act of emerging from the tomb. The wound corresponded exactly with the knife which was on Hornby’s person when he was arrested. And, though that knife had been carefully washed, when Polton, under Thorndyke’s supervision, unriveted and removed the wooden handle, considerable traces of blood were discovered; sufficient, in fact, to admit of a biochemical test which showed it to be human blood.
At the trial, there was practically no defence, nor was there any appeal from the conviction and sentence. The prisoner was indicted for the murder of Mr. Toke, the other crime being held back for a further indictment in the unlikely event of an acquittal. But of an acquittal there was never the remotest chance. For, in addition to the profoundly incriminating fact that Hornby had been captured in actual occupation of the murdered man’s premises and in command of the secret passages in which the body was concealed, there was the utterly damning fact that Mr. Toke’s signet ring was found in his pocket when he was searched after his arrest.
It was unavoidable that the trial and its dreadful sequel should be a cause of pain to many estimable people, including his cousin Reuben—against whom he had hatched such a dastardly plot in the years gone by. To my wife, who had been almost in the position of a relative, the whole sordidly tragic affair was so harrowing that we tacitly
agreed not to speak of it. Even I, who had known the man in the days of his prosperity and respectability, could hardly bring myself to contemplate his present terrible plight; and I was almost disposed to resent Thorndyke’s calm, impersonal interest in the trial and his satisfaction at the conviction and the sentence. For a man so kindly by nature, this callousness—as it appeared to me—seemed surprising and hardly natural. I think I must have given expression to some such sentiments on the day, I remember, when the execution had just taken place, and he was calmly collecting the notes and memoranda of the case to put away in the files where the records were kept. His reply was characteristic and, looking back, I am not much disposed to cavil at it.
"I understand, Jervis," said he, "your personal discomfort in contemplating this tragedy; the shipwreck of a life that started with so much promise and had such potentialities of usefulness and success. But it is a mistake to grow sentimental over the Nemesis that awaits the criminal. The most far-reaching mercy that can be exercised in social life is to safeguard the liberties of those who respect the liberties of others. Believe me, Jervis, the great purveyor of human happiness is not philanthropy, which seeks to soften the lot of the unworthy, but justice, which secures to the worthy the power to achieve their own happiness, by protecting them from the wrong-doer and the social parasite."
THE END
DR. THORNDYKE INTERVENES
First Published 1933
In DR. THORNDYKE INTERVENES, the famous medico-legal sleuth, Dr. Thorndyke, unravels one of the most intricate and thrilling cases of his entire career. It all started in a comparatively innocuous manner. Mr. Christopher Pippet, an American gentleman, is bringing suit to presume the death of the Earl of Winsborough, to whose title and estates he claims to be heir presumptive. But Mr. Pippet is unfortunate in his choice of a legal advisor and falls into the hands of a shady lawyer who tries to fake the evidence and thereby exposes himself to a criminal charge. Dr. Thorndyke is consulted. He suspects the lawyer's intentions, but finds more than he expected. He is looking for a fraud, and not only detects this, but also discovers a clue to a notorious robbery, and later, to a mysterious murder. Meanwhile, the peerage claim is settled; but, afterward, there is a further and more thrilling surprise for the reader.
R. Austin Freeman, unquestionably one of the best and most popular present-day detective story writers, has here achieved one of his very finest plots. Dominated by the genial personality of Dr. Thorndyke, it moves swiftly and surely, becoming always increasingly dramatic until it reaches the final astonishing denouement.
CONTENTS
I. Of a Strange Treasure Trove and a Double Life
II. Mr. Buffham's Legal Friend
III. Mr. Pippet Gives Evidence
IV. The Finding of the Jury
V. The Great Platinum Robbery
VI. Mr. Brodribb's Dilemma
VII. The Final Preparations
VIII. The Opening of the Case
IX. The Evidence of Christopher J. Pippet
X. Josiah?
XI. Plumber's Oddments and Other Matters
XII. Thorndyke Becomes Interested
XIII. The Dene Hole
XIV. Dr. Thorndyke's Evidence
XV. A Journey and a Discussion
XVI. The Statement of Frederick Bunter
XVII. The Unconscious Receivers
XVIII. The End of the Case and Other Matters
XIX. Josiah?
XX. Thorndyke Resolves a Mystery
XXI. Jervis Completes the Story
I. OF A STRANGE TREASURE TROVE AND A DOUBLE LIFE
The attendant at the cloak room at Fenchurch Street Station glanced at the ticket which had just been handed to him by a tall, hawk-faced and rather anxious-looking man, and ran an inquiring eye over the assemblage of trunks, bags and other objects that crowded the floor of the room.
"Wooden, iron-bound case, you said?" he remarked.
"Yes. Name of Dobson on the label. That looks like the one," he added, craning over the barrier and watching eagerly as the attendant threaded his way among the litter of packages.
"Dobson it is," the man confirmed, stooping over the case, and, with an obviously puzzled expression, comparing the ticket that had been pasted on it with the counterfoil which he held in his hand. "Rum affair, though," he added. "It seems to be your case but it has got the wrong number on it. Will you come in and have a look at it and see that it is all right?"
The presumptive owner offered no objection. On the contrary, he raised the bar of the barrier with the greatest alacrity and took the shortest route among the trunks and portmanteaux until he arrived at the place where the case was standing. And then his expression became even more puzzled than that of the attendant.
"This is very extraordinary," he exclaimed.
"What is?" demanded the attendant.
"Why!" the other explained, "it is the right name and the same sort of case; but this is not the label that I wrote and I don't believe that it is the same case."
The attendant regarded him with a surprised grin and again remarked that "it was a rum affair," adding, after a reflective pause: "It rather looks as if there had been some mistake, as there easily might be with two cases exactly alike and the same name on both. Were the contents of your case of any particular value?"
"They were, indeed!" the owner exclaimed in an agitated tone. "That case contained property worth several thousand pounds."
The attendant whistled and apparently began to see things in a new light, for he asked a little anxiously: "When do you say you deposited the case?"
"Late on Saturday evening."
"Yes, I thought I remembered," said the attendant. "Then the muddle, if there has been one, must have happened yesterday. I wasn't here then. It was my Sunday off. But are you quite sure that this is really not your case?"
"It certainly is not the label that I wrote," was the reply. "But I won't swear that it is a different case; though I don't think that it is the right one. But you see, as the name on the label is my name and the address is my address, it can't be a matter of a simple mistake. It looks like a case of deliberate substitution. And that seems to be borne out by the fact that the change must have been made on a Sunday when the regular attendant was not here."
"Yes," the other agreed, "there's no denying that it does look a bit fishy. But look here, sir; if your name and address is on the label, you are entitled to assume that this is your case. As you say, it is either yours or it is a deliberate substitute, and, in either case, you have the right to open it and see if your property is inside. That will settle the question right away. I can lend you a screw-driver."
The presumptive owner caught eagerly at the suggestion and began forthwith to untie the thick cord which surrounded the case. The screw-driver was produced, and, while the official turned away to attend to two other clients, it was plied vigorously on the eight long screws by which the lid of the case was secured.
The two newcomers, of whom one appeared to be an American and the other an Englishman, had come to claim a number of trunks and travelling-bags; and as some of these, especially those belonging to the American gentleman, were of imposing dimensions, the attendant prudently admitted them that they might identify their packages and so save unnecessary hauling about. While they were carrying out their search he returned to Mr. Dobson and watched him as he extracted the last of the screws.
"Now we shall see whether there has been any jiggery pokery," he remarked, when the screw had been laid down with the others, and Mr. Dobson prepared to raise the lid. And in fact they did see; and a very singular effect the sight had on them both. Mr. Dobson sprang back with a gasp of horror and the attendant uttered the single word "Golly!"
After staring into the case incredulously for a couple of amazed seconds, Dobson slammed down the lid and demanded, breathlessly, "Where can I find a policeman?"
"You'll find one somewhere near the barrier or else just outside the station. Or you could get on the phone an
d—"
Mr. Dobson did not wait to hear the conclusion of the sentence but darted out towards the barrier and disappeared in the direction of the main entrance. Meanwhile, the two strangers, who had apparently overheard Mr. Dobson's question, abandoned for the time being the inspection of their luggage and approached the case, on which the attendant's eyes were still riveted.
"Anything amiss?" the Englishman asked.
The attendant made no reply but silently lifted the lid of the case, held it up for a moment or two and then let it drop.
"Good Lord!" exclaimed the Englishman, "it looks like a man's head!"
"It is a man's head," the attendant confirmed. And, in fact, there was no doubt about it, though only a hairy crown was visible, through a packing of clothes or rags.
"Who is the chappie who has just bolted out?" the Englishman inquired. "He seemed mightily taken aback."
"So would you have been," the attendant retorted, "if you had come to claim a package and found this in its place." He followed up this remark with a brief summary of the circumstances.
"Well!" observed the American, "I have heard it said that exchange is no robbery, but I guess that the party who made this exchange got the best of the deal."
The Englishman grinned. "You are right there, Mr. Pippet," said he. "I've heard of a good many artful dodges for disposing of a superfluous corpse, but I have never heard of a murderer swapping it for a case of jewellery or bullion."
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