The learned counsel was, however, disposed to insist and the question was accordingly ruled out.
“Apart from any inferences,” said Anstey, “what facts have your investigations disclosed?”
“They have disclosed the fact,” replied Thorndyke, “that on the 9th of August, 1794, the day on which the Earl, George Augustus was born at Winsborough Castle, there was born at ‘The Castle’ at Winsborough an individual named Josiah whose mother subsequently married Nathaniel Pippet.”
“That fact is the sum of what you discovered?”
“Yes.”
“And what relation does that bear to the imaginary set of circumstances of which you have told us?”
“The circumstances that thus came to light were substantially identical with those which I had postulated theoretically.”
Anstey noted down this answer and then proceeded:
“You were present at the exhumation of the coffin of Josiah Pippet with the other persons who have been mentioned?”
“I was.”
“Did the appearances which you observed seem to you to agree with the conditions which were assumed to exist—that this coffin had lain undisturbed in this vault for eighty years?”
“No. In my opinion, the appearances were not reconcilable with that assumption.”
“In what respect did the appearances disagree with the ostensible conditions?”
“There were three respects in which the appearances disagreed with the conditions which were assumed to exist. The disagreements were concerned with the dust in the vault, the coffin, and the contents of the coffin.”
“Let us take those disagreements in order. First, as to the dust. Do you say that there were signs that it had been disturbed?”
“No. The dust that was there had not been disturbed since it was deposited. But it had not the characteristics of ancient dust, or of any dust which might have become deposited in a vault above ground which was situated in an open burial ground, remote from any dwelling house.”
“What are the distinguishing peculiarities of such ancient dust?”
“The dust which would be deposited in a vault over a period of eighty years would consist of very light and minute particles of matter, such as would be capable of floating in still air. There would be no mineral particles excepting excessively minute particles of the lighter minerals, and very few of these. Practically the whole of the dust would consist of tiny fragments of organic matter, of which a large part would be derived from textiles. As these fragments would be of all sorts of colours, the resulting dust would be of no colour at all; that is to say, of a perfectly neutral grey. But this dust was not of a perfectly neutral grey. It had a very faint tinge of red; and this extremely faint tinge of colour was distinguishable in the whole of the dust, not only in one part. I accordingly took two samples for examination, one from the coffin and one from the shelf on which it rested; and I have since made a microscopical examination of each of these samples separately.”
“And what conclusion did you arrive at as a result of your examination?”
“I came to the conclusion that the whole of this dust had been derived from a single room. That room was covered with a carpet which had a red ground with a pattern principally of green and blue with a little black. There was also in this room a cotton drapery of some kind—either a table-cloth or curtains—dyed a darkish blue.”
“Those are your conclusions. Can you give us the actual facts which you observed?”
“On examining the dust through the microscope, I observed that it consisted chiefly of woollen fibres dyed a bright red. There were also woollen fibres dyed green and blue, but smaller in number than the red, and a still smaller number of woollen fibres dyed black, together with a few cotton fibres dyed a darkish blue. In addition to the fibres there were rather numerous particles of coal and some other minerals, very small in size, but much too large to float in still air. I have here two samples of the dust mounted and arranged in small hand microscopes. On holding the microscopes up to the light, it is quite easy to see the fibres which I have described and also one or two particles of coal.”
He handed the two little instruments (in which I recognized the handiwork of the ingenious and indefatigable Polton) to the usher, who passed them up to the judge. His lordship examined each of them with deep interest and then returned them to the usher, by whom they were handed, first to McGonnell and then to the other parties to the case. Eventually, they came to me; and I was surprised to see how efficiently these little instruments served their purpose. On turning them towards the window, the coloured fibres were visible with brilliant distinctness, in spite of the low magnification. And their appearance, corresponding exactly with Thorndyke’s description, was absolutely convincing, as I gathered from the decidedly glum expression that began to spread over Mr. McGonnell’s countenance.
When the dust had been inspected, Anstey resumed his examination.
“Can you account for the presence of this dust in the vault?”
“Only in general terms. Since it was obviously not derived from anything in the vault, itself, or the immediate neighbourhood of the vault, it must have been brought there from some other place.”
“Can you suggest a method or procedure which would have produced the appearances which you observed?”
“A possible method, and the one which I have no doubt was employed, would be this: First, the sweepings from the room, or more probably the accumulations from the receiver of a vacuum-cleaner, would be collected and conveyed to the vault. There, the dust could be blown into the air of the upper part of the vault by means of a vacuum-cleaner with the valve reversed, or more conveniently by means of a common pair of bellows, the dust being fed into the valve-hole. If it were blown up towards the roof, it would float in the air and settle down slowly, falling eventually in a perfectly even manner on the coffin, the shelf, and the floor, producing exactly the appearance that was seen.”
“You are not prepared to swear that this was the method actually employed?”
“No; but it would be a possible method, and I cannot think of any other.”
“Well,” said Anstey, “the method is not important. We will let it go and come to another matter.
“You referred to three discrepancies in the appearances; the dust, the coffin, and the contents of the latter. In what way did the coffin disagree with the ostensible conditions?”
“The coffin was assumed to have been lying undisturbed in the vault for eighty years. That was not the case. If this was the original coffin, it had certainly been opened and re-closed since the year 1854.”
“How are you able to fix the date so exactly?”
“By the screws with which the lid was fastened down. These screws are in the possession of Detective-Superintendent Miller, who is now in court.”
Here the Superintendent rose, and, producing an envelope, handed it to the usher, who passed it up to the judge. He then evicted Thorndyke from the witness-box, and, taking his place, was duly sworn, and, in reply to a question from Anstey, declared that the screws in the envelope were the screws which had been extracted in his presence from the coffin of Josiah Pippet.
The judge opened the envelope and tipped the screws out into the palm of his hand. Then he remarked—in almost the very words that I had heard the Superintendent use—that he did not see anything at all unusual about them. “To my unsophisticated eye,” he concluded, “they look like the kind of screws that one could buy at any ironmonger’s.”
“That, my lord,” said Thorndyke—who had, in his turn, evicted the Superintendent and resumed his place in the witness-box—“is exactly what they are, and that is the fact which gives them their evidential importance. This coffin was supposed to have been screwed down in the year 1843. But in that year you could not have bought screws like these at any ironmonger’s. There were no such screws in existence. At that time, wood screws were like metal screws, excepting as to their threads. They were flat-ended, so
that, in order to drive them in, it was necessary to bore a hole as deep as the screw was long. But, about 1850, an American inventor devised and patented a sharp-pointed, or gimlet-ended screw, which would find its own way through wood, regardless of the depth of the hole. Later, he came to England to dispose of his patent rights, and in 1854 he sold them to Chamberlain and Nettlefolds, who thereupon acquired the virtual monopoly of the manufacture of wood screws; for, owing to the great superiority of the sharp-pointed screw, the old, blunt-ended screw went completely out of use. I am able, by the kindness of the Master of the Worshipful Company of Ironmongers, to show a set of the old type of screws, the date of manufacture being 1845.”
Here he produced a wooden tablet to which were secured six screws of various sizes with blunt, flattened ends like the screws still used by metal workers. The tablet was passed up to the judge, who inspected it curiously and compared the screws on it with those from the envelope.
“It is always easy,” he moralized, “to be wise after the event; but it does really seem astonishing that mankind should have had to wait until 1854 for so obvious an improvement.”
With this he returned the coffin screws to the envelope and handed the latter and the museum tablet to the usher, who proceeded to pass them round for inspection. I watched their progress with considerable interest, noting their effect on the different parties to the case. Particularly interested was I to observe the expression on Mr. McGonnell’s face as he compared the two exhibits. There was no question as to his recognition of their significance; and, by the flush that rose to his face, and the unmistakeable expression of anger, I judged that Mr. Gimbler had not taken him into his confidence and that these revelations were coming to him as a very disagreeable surprise.
When the screws had been inspected by the principal parties, Anstey resumed his examination.
“When you stated the latest date at which this coffin could have been screwed down, you used the qualification, ‘If this was the original coffin.’ Did you mean to express a doubt that this was the original coffin?”
“Yes. My opinion is that it is not the original coffin, but a new one to which the brass name plate and other metal ‘furniture’ from the original coffin have been screwed. The plate and handles appeared to me to be the original ones, and they appeared to be fastened on with the original brass screws. The slots of those screws showed clear indications of their having been unscrewed quite recently.”
“What were your reasons for believing that this was a new coffin rather than the old one, opened and reclosed?”
“There were several reasons. First, there were the screws. These were modern screws, apparently artificially rusted. At any rate, they were rusty. But if the original coffin had been opened and re-closed, it would be natural for the screws which had been extracted to be used to fasten down the lid. There would be no object in obtaining rusty screws to use in their place. Then the coffin did not look old. It was much discoloured; but the discolouration did not look like the effect of age but rather like that of staining. Further, the coffin was covered, both inside and out with a thick coating of mildew. But there was nothing to account for this mildew. The wood was not damp, and it had the character of new wood. The mildew had the appearance of having been produced artificially by coating the surface with some substance such as size, mixed with sugar or glycerine. Moreover, on the assumption that some substitution had been made—which all the appearances indicated—it would obviously be more convenient to use a new coffin than to open and remove the contents of the old, particularly if the old one should have happened to contain a body. But that is a matter of inference. Taking only the appearances observed, I consider that they indicated that this was a new coffin.”
“Then,” said Anstey, “we now come to the third set of disagreements, the contents of the coffin. What have you to tell us about those?”
“The contents of the coffin,” Thorndyke replied, “were, according to the traditional account, a roll of sheet lead and some plumber’s oddments, which had been left over from some repairs. Now, sheet lead, removed in 1843, or earlier, from the roof of a house, would, even then, be old lead. It would certainly be cast sheet—cast upon a sand casting table; and it would certainly contain a considerable proportion of silver. But the sheet of lead which was found in the coffin was the ordinary milled sheet which has, in recent times, replaced the old cast sheet. As to the amount of silver that it contained, I could form no opinion. I therefore suggested that an assay should be made to ascertain the silver content. This proposal was contested by Mr. Gimbler on the ground that we had no authority to make an assay, and by Mr. McGonnell on the ground that the evidence was of a kind that would not be taken seriously by the court. And Mr. Brodribb objected, apparently on the ground that the proceeding would seem to throw doubt on the good faith of the applicant. Accordingly, I did not press my proposal, but I made a careful examination of the contents of the coffin, with very surprising results. in addition to the sheet lead, the coffin contained four hemispherical lumps of metal which had apparently solidified in a plumber’s melting pot, which we may call pot-leavings. There were four of these; one large and three smaller. The large one had the appearance and all the visible and palpable properties of lead, and I had no doubt that it was lead. The other three were evidently not lead, but had the appearance and properties of an alloy of lead and some other metal.”
“Did you form any opinion as to the nature of the other metal?”
“I did, but with the reservation that the inference seemed so incredible that I was doubtful about accepting it.”
“What was the opinion that you formed as to the nature of these lumps of lead alloy?”
“I was forced to the conclusion that they were composed of an alloy of lead and platinum.”
“Platinum!” exclaimed the judge. “But is not platinum a very rare and precious metal?”
“It is always a precious metal,” Thorndyke replied, “and since the war it has become extremely scarce and its value has gone up to an extravagant extent. At present, it is several times more valuable than gold.”
“And how much platinum did you consider to be present in these lumps of alloy?” the judge asked.
“I estimated the weight of the three lumps together at about a hundredweight, and, about half that weight appeared to be platinum.”
“Half a hundredweight of platinum!” exclaimed the judge. “It does indeed seem incredible. Why, it is a fortune. What do you suppose the value of that amount would be?”
“At the present inflated prices,” replied Thorndyke, “I should put it at anything from fifteen to seventeen thousand pounds.”
“It is beyond belief,” said the judge. “However, we shall see,” and with this he sat back in his chair and glanced at Anstey.
“As this opinion seems to be so utterly incredible, even to yourself,” said Anstey, resuming his examination, “perhaps you might explain to us how you arrived at it.”
“It was principally a question of weight,” Thorndyke replied.
“But,” said Anstey, “have you had sufficient experience to be able to detect platinum in an alloy by the sense of weight to the hand?”
“No,” Thorndyke answered, “but it was not a case of absolute weight, or I should have been still less confident. There was a term of comparison. When I picked up the big lump, it felt just as I should expect a lump of lead of that size to feel. But when I then picked up the first of the smaller ones, I received a shock; for, though it was little more than half the size of the big one, it was nearly as heavy. Now, there are not many metals that are much heavier than lead. For practical purposes, ignoring the rare metals, there are only two—gold and platinum. This did not look like gold, but it might have been; a mass of gold, for instance, with a lead casing. On the other hand, its colour—a faint, purplish grey—was exactly that of a lead-platinum alloy. So there seemed to be no escape from the conclusion that that was what it was.”
While this evidence
was being given, I kept my eyes on Mr. Gimbler and his leading counsel. The latter listened in undisguised astonishment and little less disguised displeasure. Obviously, he had begun to smell a rat; and, as it was not his rat, he naturally resented its presence. But even Gimbler failed to maintain the aspect of wooden indifference that he had preserved hitherto. This disclosure had evidently sprung on him a complete surprise; and, as I looked at him and noted the dismay which he struggled in vain to conceal, I found myself wondering whether, by any chance, the expression of consternation on his face might have some significance other than mere surprise. But my speculations were cut short by Anstey, who was continuing his examination.
“Have you anything more to tell us about the contents of this coffin?”
“No,” was the reply. “That is all the information that I have to give.”
On receiving this reply, Anstey sat down and McGonnell was rising to cross-examine when the judge interposed.
“Before we pass on to other matters,” said he, “we ought to be a little more clear about the nature of this metal which was found in the coffin. That is a question which is highly relevant to the issues which are before the court. But it is also relevant to certain other issues concerned with public policy. Dr. Thorndyke is not prepared to say definitely that this is actually platinum; but he is evidently convinced—and on apparently sufficient grounds—that it is. But the question cannot be left at that. It can be settled with certainty, and it should be. Do I understand that this metal, worth, possibly, many thousands of pounds, is still lying in that coffin?”
This question was addressed to Thorndyke, who accordingly replied:
“No, my lord. As my proposal of an assay was rejected, and in view of the questions of public policy to which your lordship has referred, I informed Mr. Superintendent Miller that, in my opinion, an examination of the pot-leavings would yield information of great importance to the police. The Superintendent thereupon took possession of the whole of the contents of the coffin and conveyed them to the premises of Mr. Daniels, the eminent assayist, and left them there for an assay to be made.”
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