Christopher Quarles: College Professor and Master Detective

by Percy James Brebner

  CHAPTER IV

  THE STRANGE CASE OF MICHAEL HALL

  Quarles was professedly a theorist, and I admit that he often outragedmy practical mind. I believe the practical people govern the affairsof the world, but occasionally one is brought face to face with suchstrange occurrences that it is impossible not to speculate what wouldhappen had not the world its theorists and dreamers too.

  Early one morning about a week after the mad burglar's case, Ireceived a wire from Zena Quarles, asking me to go to Chelsea as soonas possible. A request from her was a command to me, and, dispensingwith breakfast, except for a hasty cup of coffee, I started at once.She came to the door herself.

  "Come in here for a minute," she said, leading the way into thedining-room and closing the door. "Grandfather does not know I havesent for you. I am troubled about him. For the last three days he hasnot left his room. He will not let me go to him. His door is notlocked, but he commanded me, quite irritably, not to come until hecalled for me. For three days he has not wanted my companionship, andnever before do I remember so long an isolation."

  "What is he doing?" I asked.

  She did not answer at once, and when she did the words came with somehesitation.

  "Of course, he is an extraordinary man, with powers which one cannotexactly define, powers which--don't think me foolish--powers whichmight prove dangerous. In a way, you and I understand him, but I thinkthere is a region beyond into which we are not able to follow him. Iadmit there have been times when I have been tempted to think thatsome of his philosophical reasonings and fantastic statements weremerely the eccentricities of a clever man--intentional mystifications,a kind of deceptive paraphernalia."

  "I have thought so too," I said.

  "We are wrong," she said decisively. "He wanders into regions intowhich we cannot follow--where he touches something which is outsideordinary understanding, and when he is only dimly conscious of theactualities about him. Don't you remember his saying once that weought to strive toward the heights, and see the truth which liesbehind what we call truth? He does climb there, I believe, and, inorder that he may do so, his empty room and isolation are necessary. Iwonder whether there is any peril in such a journey?"

  I did not venture to answer. Being a practical man, a discussion onthese lines was beyond me.

  As I went to the professor's room I framed a knotty, if unnecessary,problem out of a case upon which I was engaged; but I was not topropound it.

  I was suddenly plunged into a mystery which led to one of the mostcurious investigations I have ever undertaken, and showed a new phaseof the professor's powers.

  Christopher Quarles was sitting limply in the arm-chair, but hestarted as I entered, and looked at me with blinking eyes, as thoughhe did not recognize me.

  Energy returned to him suddenly, and he sat up.

  "Paper and pencil," he said, pointing to the writing-table. I handedhim a pencil and a writing-block.

  By a gesture he intimated that he wanted me to watch him.

  Quarles was no draughtsman. He had told me so--quite unnecessarily,because I had often seen him make a rough sketch to illustrate someargument, and he always had to explain what the various parts of thedrawing stood for. Yet, as I watched him now, he began to draw withfirm, determined fingers--a definite line here, another there,sometimes pausing for a moment as if to remember the relative positionof a line or the exact curve in it.

  For a time there seemed no connection between the lines, no meaning inthe design.

  I have seen trick artists at a music-hall draw in this way, beginningwith what appeared to be the least essential parts, and then, with twoor three touches, causing all the rest to fall into proper perspectiveand a complete picture. So it was with Quarles. Two or three quicklines, and the puzzle became a man's head and shoulders. No one coulddoubt that it was a portrait with certain characteristics exaggerated,not into caricature, but enough to make it impossible not to recognizethe original from the picture. It was an attractive face, but set andrather tragic in expression.

  Quarles did not speak. He surveyed his work for a few moments,slightly corrected the curve of the nostril, and then very swiftlydrew a rope round the neck, continuing it in an uncertain line almostto the top of the paper. The sudden stoppage of the pencil give ajagged end to the line. The rope looked as if it had been broken. Theeffect was startling.

  "Three times he has visited me," said Quarles. "First, just as thedusk was falling he stood in the window there, little more than a darkshadow against the light outside. The second time was when the lampwas lighted. I looked up suddenly, and he was standing there by thefireplace gazing at me intently. He was flesh and blood, real, not aghost, no shape of mist trailing into my vision. An hour ago, at leastit seems only an hour ago, he came again. The door opened, and heentered. He stood there just in front of me, as clearly visible in thedaylight as you are, and as real. When you opened the door, I thoughtmy visitor had come a fourth time."

  "And what is the meaning of this--this broken rope?" I said, pointingto the drawing.

  "Broken?" and he looked at the paper closely. "My hand stoppedinvoluntarily. It is a good sign--encouraging--but the rope is notreally broken yet. That is for us to accomplish."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that in one of His Majesty's prisons this man lies undersentence of death, that he is innocent of the crime, that he has beenpermitted to come to me for help."

  "But----?"

  Quarles sprang from his chair.

  "Ah, leave questioning alone. I do not know how much time we have toprevent injustice being done. Take this drawing, Wigan, find out wherethe man is, work night and day to get the whole history, and then cometo me. We must not lose a moment. Providence must have sent you toChelsea this morning--another sign of encouragement."

  I did not explain how I came to be there, nor say there was nofoundation for encouragement in my unexpected arrival. Indeed, butfor my talk with Zena that morning, I should have been inclined toargue with him. As it was, I left Chelsea only half convinced that Iwas not being misled by the fantastic dream of a man not in his usualstate of health.

  I was soon convinced of my error.

  Quarles's drawing was the portrait of a real man. He was lying undersentence of death in Worcestershire, the case against him so clearthat there seemed to be no doubt about his guilt. The story was asordid one, had created no sensation, had presented no difficultproblem. But, under the peculiar circumstances, it was only naturalthat I should work with feverish haste to learn all the details of thecrime, and I intimated to the authorities that facts had come to myknowledge which threw a doubt on the justice of the sentence, and thata postponement at least of the last penalty of the law would beadvisable. This advice was not the outcome of anything I discovered;it was given entirely on my faith in Christopher Quarles.

  Later I told the following story to the professor and Zena in theempty room.

  "Michael Hall, the condemned man, is an artist," I said. "The portraitof him, Professor, is a good one. I have seen him, and he impressesyou at once as possessing the artistic temperament. Whether he hasanything beyond the temperament, I cannot judge, but the fact remainsthat he has had little success. He is a gentleman, and there issomething convincing in the manner in which he protests his innocence.Yet I am bound to say that every circumstance points to his guilt.Possessed of two or three hundred pounds, and an unlimited faith inhimself, he married. There is one child, three years old. The moneydwindled rapidly, and a year ago, to cut down expenses, he went tolive at Thornfield, a village near Pershore, in Worcestershire. AtThornfield he became acquainted with an elderly gentleman namedParrish, a bookworm, something of a recluse, and an eccentric. For noparticular reason, and apparently without any foundation, Mr. Parrishhad the reputation of being a rich man. Generally speaking, theinhabitants of Thornfield are humble people, and the fact that Parrishhad a little old silver may have given rise to the idea of his wealth.He does not appear to have had even a banking a
ccount.

  "The old gentleman welcomed a neighbor of his own class, and Hall wasconstantly in his house. That Hall should come to Thornfield and livein a tiny cottage might suggest to anyone that he was not overburdenedwith this world's goods, but Hall declares that Parrish had noknowledge of his circumstances. Only on one occasion was Parrish inhis cottage, and money was never mentioned between them. Yet Hall wasin difficulties. He pawned several things in Pershore--small articlesof jewelry belonging to his wife--giving his name as George Cross, andan address in Pershore. One evening--a Sunday evening--Hall was withParrish. The housekeeper--Mrs. Ashworth, an elderly woman--the onlyservant living in the house, said in her evidence that Hall came atseven o'clock. The church clock struck as he came in. Her masterexpected him to supper. Hall says that he left at half-past nine, butMrs. Ashworth said it was midnight when he went. She had gone to bedat nine--early hours are the rule in Thornfield--and had been asleep.She was always a light sleeper. She was roused by the stealthy closingof the front door, and just then midnight struck. Early nextmorning--they rise early in Thornfield--Mrs. Ashworth came down andfound her master upon the floor of his study--dead. He had been struckdown with a life-preserver, which was found in the room and belongedto Hall. The housekeeper ran out into the village street, but it seemsthere was nobody about, and some twenty minutes elapsed before anyonecame to whom she could give the alarm.

  "Hall's arrest followed. From the first he protested his innocence,but the only point in his favor appears to be the fact that he wasfound at his cottage, and had not attempted to run away. Everythingelse seems to point to his guilt. Although he says he left Parrish'shouse at half-past nine, he did not arrive home until after midnight.His wife innocently gave this information, and Hall, who had notvolunteered it, explained his late return by saying that he wasworried financially, and had gone for a lonely walk to think mattersover. He admits that the life-preserver belonged to him. Mr. Parrishhad spoken once or twice of the possibility of his being robbed, andthat evening Hall had made him a present of the weapon, but had nottold his wife that he was going to do so. The police discovered thattwo days before the murder a valuable silver salver belonging toParrish had been pawned in Pershore in the name of M. Hall, and thepawnbroker's assistant identified Hall. A search among Parrish'spapers after the murder resulted in the discovery of a recent will,under which all the property was left to Hall. The condemned mandeclared he was ignorant of this fact, but the prosecution suggestedthat his knowledge of it and the straits he was in for money were themotive for the crime. Except on the assumption that Hall is guiltythere appears to be no motive for the murder. Nothing but this silversalver was missing."

  Quarles had not interrupted me. He had listened to my narrative, hisfeatures set, his eyes closed, the whole of his mind evidentlyconcentrated on the story. As I stopped I looked at Zena.

  "I wonder the housekeeper did not look out of her bedroom window tosee that it was Michael Hall who left the house," Zena said slowly.

  "She slept at the back of the house," I returned.

  "I had not thought of that." And then, after a pause, during which hergrandfather's eyes remained fixed upon her as though he would compelher to say more, she went on: "How was it, since they are early risersin Thornfield, that Mrs. Ashworth had to wait twenty minutes beforeanyone came? The house isn't isolated, is it?"

  "No. I understand it is in the middle of the village street."

  "There may be something in that question, Wigan," said Quarles,becoming alert. "Tell me, are the house and its contents stilluntouched?"

  "I believe so. According to Mrs. Ashworth, Mr. Parrish appears to havehad only one relation living--a nephew, named Charles Eade. He livesin Birmingham, and at the trial said he knew nothing whatever abouthis uncle, and had not seen him for years."

  "Any reason?"

  "No; the family had drifted apart. I am simply stating what came outin the evidence."

  "About the will," said Quarles. "Was any provision made for Mrs.Ashworth in it?"

  "No; it leaves everything to Hall, and there is a recommendation tosell the books in London, except a few which are specially mentionedas being of no value intrinsically, and which Hall is advised to read.According to Hall, the old gentleman talked much about literature, anddeclared that the whole philosophy of life was contained in about ascore of books. I have a copy of the list given in the will."

  "Who witnessed the signature to the will?" Quarles asked.

  "A lawyer in Pershore and his clerk. This was the only businesstransaction the lawyer had had with Mr. Parrish, and he knew littleabout him."

  "I think we must go to Birmingham," said Quarles. "Sometimes there isonly one particular standpoint from which the real facts can be seen,and I fancy Birmingham represents that standpoint for us. I supposeyou can arrange for us to have access to Mr. Parrish's house atThornfield, Wigan?"

  "I will see about that," I answered.

  "Are you sure Michael Hall is not guilty?" asked Zena.

  "Were he guilty I should not have seen him," answered Quarlesdecidedly.

  "His poor wife!" said Zena.

  "Pray, dear, that we may carry sunlight to her again," said theprofessor solemnly.

  I thought that our journey to Birmingham was for the purpose ofinterviewing Parrish's nephew, but it was not. Quarles got a list ofthe leading secondhand booksellers there.

  "A bookworm, Wigan, remains a bookworm to the end of his days.Although nothing has been said about it, I warrant Mr. Parrish boughtbooks and had them sent to Thornfield."

  "He might have bought them in London," I said.

  "I think it was Birmingham," said Quarles.

  So far he was right. It was the third place we visited. Baines and Sonwas the firm, and we saw old Mr. Baines. He had constantly sold booksto Mr. Parrish, of Thornfield, who had been to his shop several times,but their intercourse was chiefly by correspondence. Good books!Certainly. Mr. Parrish knew what he was doing, and never boughtrubbish.

  "His purchases might be expected to increase in value?" asked Quarles.

  "Yes; but, forgive me, why these questions?"

  "Ah! I supposed you would have heard. Mr. Parrish is dead."

  "Indeed! I am very sorry to hear it."

  "We are looking into his affairs," Quarles went on. "Is there anymoney owing to you?"

  "No."

  "The fact is, Mr. Parrish was murdered."

  "Murdered!" exclaimed Baines, starting from his chair. "Do you meanfor some treasured volume he possessed? Do you mean by somebibliomaniac?"

  "You think he may have had such a treasure, then?"

  "I know he had many rare and valuable books," Baines answered.

  "You don't happen to know a bibliomaniac who might commit murder?"said Quarles.

  "No."

  "Such information would help us, because a young man has beencondemned for the murder, a man named Hall--Michael Hall."

  "I never heard of him," said Baines. "I wonder I did not see the casein the paper."

  "It caused little sensation," said Quarles. "At present it seems oneof those crimes committed for small gain."

  "Mr. Parrish must have been a man of considerable means," said thebookseller; "considerable means, although he was eccentric aboutmoney. He always sent me cash, or some check he had received, with arequest that I would return him the balance in cash. Indeed, I haveconstantly acted as his banker. He has sent me checks and asked me tosend him notes for them."

  "Where did those checks come from--I mean whose were they? Were theyfor dividends?"

  "Possibly, one or two of them, I do not remember; but I fancy he soldbooks sometimes, and the checks represented the purchase money."

  We thanked Mr. Baines, and then, just as we were leaving, Quarlessaid:

  "By the way, do you happen to know a Mr. Charles Eade?"

  "A solicitor?" queried the bookseller.

  "I didn't know he was a solicitor, but he is a relation of Mr.Parrish's, I believe," Quarles answered.
/>   "I was not aware of that," Baines returned. "Mr. Eade's office is inWest Street--No. 40, I think. He comes in here occasionally to makesmall purchases."

  "Not a bookworm like his uncle, eh?"

  "Neither the taste nor the money, I should imagine," said Baines.

  As soon as we were in the street the professor turned to me.

  "That has been an interesting interview, Wigan. What do you think ofthe bibliomaniac idea?"

  "I suppose it goes to confirm your theory?" I said.

  "On the contrary, it was a new idea to me. It would be an idea wellworth following if we found that one or two of Parrish's valuablebooks were missing; but we'll try another trail first. I think we willgo to Pershore next."

  "How about Charles Eade?"

  "I expect he is in his office in West Street. I don't want to see him.Do you?"

  "We might call upon him so as to leave no stone unturned. I don'tthink you quite appreciate the difficulty of this case. The man may beinnocent, but we have got to prove it."

  "My dear Wigan, if Baines had said that Eade was a bibliomaniac Ishould have gone to West Street at once. Since he is only a lawyer, Iam convinced we should get no useful information out of him. Besides,he might very reasonably resent our interference in his uncle'saffairs. It will be time enough to communicate with him when we havemade some discovery which will help Michael Hall."

  Next morning we journeyed to Pershore.

  "Yesterday you suggested that I had a theory, Wigan," said Quarles,who had been leaning back in the corner of the railway carriageapparently asleep, but now became mentally energetic. "As a fact, mytheory went no further than this: A bookworm in all probability buysbooks; to buy books requires money; therefore he must have money. InThornfield Mr. Parrish was considered a man of means; our friendBaines confirms that belief. My theory is established."

  "It doesn't carry us very far," I said.

  "It provides another motive for the murder--robbery. The bookseller'sstory suggests that Parrish must have kept a considerable sum of moneyin the house. It is said nothing was taken, but a large amount innotes may be stolen without leaving any noticeable space vacant. Justone step forward we may take. If such a sum existed, as is probable,remember Parrish might at times think of burglars, might havementioned his fears, without giving a reason, to Hall, and Hall,having a life-preserver, might make a present of it to his friend."

  I did not contradict him, but, personally, I was not at all convinced.

  From the station we went straight to the pawnbroker's and had aninterview with the assistant who had identified Hall as the man whopawned the salver. We arranged that I was a detective helping theprofessor, who was interested in Hall, and could not believe that hewas guilty. It proved an excellent line to adopt, for it brought outthe young fellow's sympathy. I asked questions, after stating ourposition, and for a time Quarles remained an interested listener. Theassistant described Hall fairly accurately.

  "He had pawned things before, hadn't he?" I asked.

  "Yes."

  "You recognized Hall at once?"

  "Yes----"

  "There is one very curious point," I said: "so long as the articleswere his own, and he had a right to pawn them, he gave a false name;yet, when he pawns an article he had stolen, he gave his own name."

  "I think it seems more curious than it is," was the answer. "Myexperience is that whenever an important article is pawned the correctname is given. The affair becomes a financial transaction which thereis no reason to be ashamed of."

  "I understood that Hall had pawned things of some value before thissalver," said Quarles; "jewelry belonging to his wife, for instance.Why didn't he give his own name then?"

  "It is rather the importance of the article which counts than itsactual value," said the assistant. "In this case I have no doubt theprisoner would have said that he had temporarily borrowed the salver.He must redeem it presently; it was an important matter, and by givinghis own name the transaction seemed almost honest."

  Quarles nodded, as though this argument impressed him; then he saidsuddenly:

  "What is George Cross like?"

  "That was the false name Hall used."

  "Did you comment upon the fact when he pawned the salver in his ownname?"

  "No."

  "It would have been natural to do so, wouldn't it?"

  "Perhaps; but we were busy at the time, and----"

  "And it didn't occur to you," said Quarles. "Now I suggest that whenyou picked out Hall you were really identifying the man you knew asGeorge Cross, and that the man who pawned the salver and gave the nameHall was a different person altogether."

  "No."

  "Are you sure the salver was not pawned by a woman?"

  "Certain."

  "But you might reconsider your original statement if I producedanother man?"

  "If such a person exists, why has it not been suggested to me, say, bya photograph?"

  The professor nodded and smiled, but I could get nothing out of himthat evening, not even whether he was hopeful or not.

  Next morning we went to Thornfield. I had arranged that we should beallowed to visit the house. For the time being, the local constablehad the keys, and we went to his house first. Quarles set him talkingabout the crime at once.

  "Is Mrs. Hall still in the village?" he asked.

  "Yes, sir. That's her cottage yonder," and he pointed down the villagestreet. "Poor thing, we all sympathize with her."

  "And Mrs. Ashworth, is she still here?"

  "No, sir. She was willing, I believe, to remain in charge of Mr.Parrish's house, but it was decided that I should have the keys andlook after it. She took a room in the village until after the trial;then she left."

  "How long had she been with Mr. Parrish, constable?"

  "About a year, sir. You're not thinking she had anything to do withthe murder, are you? She wasn't equal to it. She is a little bit of awoman, and it was a tremendous blow which killed Mr. Parrish."

  "It was quite early in the morning when she discovered the dead man,wasn't it?"

  "Yes; before the village was awake."

  "What do you know about Mr. Parrish's nephew?"

  "I understand he claims the property as next-of-kin," said theconstable; "but he hasn't been near the place, so I don't suppose heexpects to be much richer for his uncle's death."

  Quarles and I went through the village to Parrish's house, which wasthe most important in the street, but was of no great size. The roomin which the dead man had been found was lined with books, and, withsome excitement manifest in his face, Quarles took several volumesfrom the shelves and examined them.

  "Value here, Wigan. The old gentleman knew what he was buying. Theseshelves represent a lot of money, even if he had no other investments.Have you the list of the books Hall was recommended to keep?"

  I had. There were eighteen books in all, such classics as "Lamb'sEssays," "Reynold's Discourses," and "Pope's Homer." We found only tenof them, and careful search convinced us that the others were not onthe shelves.

  "If you are looking for a cryptogram--a key to the hiding place of afortune--the missing books spoil it," I said.

  "I confess that something of the kind was in my mind," said Quarksexcitedly, "but the missing books are going to help us. The oldgentleman had not read these books himself. See, Wigan, uncut pages;at least"--he took out a penknife--"not uncut, but carefully gummedtogether. I hadn't thought of this."

  He slit the pages apart, and from between them took a ten-pound note.Other pages, when unfastened, yielded other notes--five pounds, twentypounds, and one was for fifty pounds.

  "Enough, Wigan!" he exclaimed. "We've something better to do than findbank-notes. You must see the constable at once, and tell him there istreasure in this house which requires special protection. Thencommunicate with the Birmingham police, and tell them not to losesight of Charles Eade, and let them also have a description of Mrs.Ashworth. I expect she is lying low in Birmingham."

  "I do
n't follow your line of reasoning, professor."

  "I had no very definite theory beyond thinking that Mr. Parrish mustbe a man of considerable means," said Quarles. "That fact onceestablished, we had a motive for the murder, which did not seemapplicable to Michael Hall. It was said that nothing beyond the salverwas missing. Only Mrs. Ashworth could establish that fact. Youremember Zena's question: 'How was it, since people were such earlyrisers in Thornfield, that Mrs. Ashworth had to wait so long beforeanyone came?' There was one obvious answer. She was up much earlierthan usual that morning, perhaps had not been to bed that night. Theconstable had said that the village was not awake. Again, it was Mrs.Ashworth who gave information about the nephew in Birmingham. It ispossible Parrish may have mentioned him to his housekeeper, but, sinceshe had only been with him a year, and the old gentleman held nocommunication with his nephew, it is unlikely. Once more, thehousekeeper was a little too definite about the time. She had a storyto tell. The precision might be the result of careful rehearsal. Thesepoints were in my mind from the first, but they were too slight forevidence. Now the missing volumes give us the link we want. Who couldhave taken them? Either Mrs. Ashworth, or someone with her connivance.I don't think it was Mrs. Ashworth. I believe it was the man whomurdered Mr. Parrish."

  "His nephew?"

  "Charles Eade; but I do not think he is his nephew. Let me reconstructthe plot. Supposing Eade, either from Mr. Baines or from someassistant in his shop, heard of Parrish and his eccentricities, hewould naturally assume that a lot of money was kept in this house.When, a year ago, Mr. Parrish wanted a housekeeper the opportunitycame to establish a footing here; so Mrs. Ashworth, the accomplice,came to Thornfield. A man like Parrish would be secretive, not easyto watch; but in time the housekeeper would find out where he hid hismoney, and would note the books. She would only be able to note thoseused during the past year--the eight books which are missing, Wigan.Now the robbery had to be carefully arranged, suspicion must be thrownupon someone, and Hall was at hand. To emphasize his need of money,the salver was pawned, I thought by Mrs. Ashworth, but doubtless Eadedid it himself, choosing a busy time. The scoundrels chose the nightwhen Hall was having supper with the old man, and whether the originalintention was robbery only or murder, everything worked in theirfavor. Eade took the eight books away that night, and the housekeeperstayed to give the alarm and tell her story. Now, mark what happens.After the murder a will is found in which eighteen books arementioned, and immediately we hear through Mrs. Ashworth that Mr.Parrish has a nephew living, who, as the constable tells us, had laidclaim to the property. The villains are greedy, and want the other tenvolumes."

  "Is there any real evidence to support the story, professor?"

  "Yes; those eight missing books, which will be found in the possessionof Charles Eade."

  * * * * *

  Few men have received less sympathy than Charles Eade when he paid thelast penalty of the law. He was not only a murderer, but had intendedto let an innocent man suffer. The missing volumes were found, andsome of the money saved; and it was a satisfaction that Mrs. Ashworth,who was sentenced to a long term of imprisonment, confessed. Her storyagreed with Quarles's theory in almost every particular, even to thefact that Eade was no relation to the dead man.

  Quarles and I visited the Halls afterward, and the professor verysimply told them of his experience, offering no explanation,expressing no opinion.

  But as we traveled back to London, he said to me:

  "If men were ready to receive them, such manifestations of mercy wouldbe constant experiences. Is it not only natural they should be? Take achild; he is only happy and secure because every moment of his lifehis parents help him, protect him, think for him. Without such careand thought, would he live to become a man? It is a marvelous thingthat, whereas a child learns to lean wholly on the wisdom of hisparents, man, as a rule, seems incapable of wholly trusting anAlmighty wisdom; and, when he is forced to realize it, calls itmiraculous. The miracle would be if these things did not happen."

  I did not answer. We were both silent until the train ran intoPaddington.