John Thorndyke's Cases

John Thorndyke's Cases Page 7

by R. Austin Freeman

  VII

  THE ALUMINIUM DAGGER

  The "urgent call"--the instant, peremptory summons to professionalduty--is an experience that appertains to the medical rather than thelegal practitioner, and I had supposed, when I abandoned the clinicalside of my profession in favour of the forensic, that henceforth Ishould know it no more; that the interrupted meal, the broken leisure,and the jangle of the night-bell, were things of the past; but inpractice it was otherwise. The medical jurist is, so to speak, on theborderland of the two professions, and exposed to the vicissitudes ofeach calling, and so it happened from time to time that the professionalservices of my colleague or myself were demanded at a moment's notice.And thus it was in the case that I am about to relate.

  The sacred rite of the "tub" had been duly performed, and thefreshly-dried person of the present narrator was about to be insinuatedinto the first instalment of clothing, when a hurried step was heardupon the stair, and the voice of our laboratory assistant, Polton, aroseat my colleague's door.

  "There's a gentleman downstairs, sir, who says he must see you instantlyon most urgent business. He seems to be in a rare twitter, sir--"

  Polton was proceeding to descriptive particulars, when a second andmore hurried step became audible, and a strange voice addressedThorndyke.

  "I have come to beg your immediate assistance, sir; a most dreadfulthing has happened. A horrible murder has been committed. Can you comewith me now?"

  "I will be with you almost immediately," said Thorndyke. "Is the victimquite dead?"

  "Quite. Cold and stiff. The police think--"

  "Do the police know that you have come for me?" interrupted Thorndyke.

  "Yes. Nothing is to be done until you arrive."

  "Very well. I will be ready in a few minutes."

  "And if you would wait downstairs, sir," Polton added persuasively, "Icould help the doctor to get ready."

  With this crafty appeal, he lured the intruder back to the sitting-room,and shortly after stole softly up the stairs with a small breakfasttray, the contents of which he deposited firmly in our respective rooms,with a few timely words on the folly of "undertaking murders on an emptystomach." Thorndyke and I had meanwhile clothed ourselves with acelerity known only to medical practitioners and quick-change artists,and in a few minutes descended the stairs together, calling in at thelaboratory for a few appliances that Thorndyke usually took with him ona visit of investigation.

  As we entered the sitting-room, our visitor, who was feverishly pacingup and down, seized his hat with a gasp of relief. "You are ready tocome?" he asked. "My carriage is at the door;" and, without waiting foran answer, he hurried out, and rapidly preceded us down the stairs.

  The carriage was a roomy brougham, which fortunately accommodated thethree of us, and as soon as we had entered and shut the door, thecoachman whipped up his horse and drove off at a smart trot.

  "I had better give you some account of the circumstances, as we go,"said our agitated friend. "In the first place, my name is Curtis, HenryCurtis; here is my card. Ah! and here is another card, which I shouldhave given you before. My solicitor, Mr. Marchmont, was with me when Imade this dreadful discovery, and he sent me to you. He remained in therooms to see that nothing is disturbed until you arrive."

  "That was wise of him," said Thorndyke. "But now tell us exactly whathas occurred."

  "I will," said Mr. Curtis. "The murdered man was my brother-in-law,Alfred Hartridge, and I am sorry to say he was--well, he was a bad man.It grieves me to speak of him thus--_de mortuis_, you know--but, still,we must deal with the facts, even though they be painful."

  "Undoubtedly," agreed Thorndyke.

  "I have had a great deal of very unpleasant correspondence withhim--Marchmont will tell you about that--and yesterday I left a note forhim, asking for an interview, to settle the business, naming eighto'clock this morning as the hour, because I had to leave town beforenoon. He replied, in a very singular letter, that he would see me atthat hour, and Mr. Marchmont very kindly consented to accompany me.Accordingly, we went to his chambers together this morning, arrivingpunctually at eight o'clock. We rang the bell several times, and knockedloudly at the door, but as there was no response, we went down andspoke to the hall-porter. This man, it seems, had already noticed, fromthe courtyard, that the electric lights were full on in Mr. Hartridge'ssitting-room, as they had been all night, according to the statement ofthe night-porter; so now, suspecting that something was wrong, he cameup with us, and rang the bell and battered at the door. Then, as therewas still no sign of life within, he inserted his duplicate key andtried to open the door--unsuccessfully, however, as it proved to bebolted on the inside. Thereupon the porter fetched a constable, and,after a consultation, we decided that we were justified in breaking openthe door; the porter produced a crowbar, and by our unified efforts thedoor was eventually burst open. We entered, and--my God! Dr. Thorndyke,what a terrible sight it was that met our eyes! My brother-in-law waslying dead on the floor of the sitting-room. He had beenstabbed--stabbed to death; and the dagger had not even been withdrawn.It was still sticking out of his back."

  He mopped his face with his handkerchief, and was about to continue hisaccount of the catastrophe when the carriage entered a quiet side-streetbetween Westminster and Victoria, and drew up before a block of tall,new, red-brick buildings. A flurried hall-porter ran out to open thedoor, and we alighted opposite the main entrance.

  "My brother-in-law's chambers are on the second-floor," said Mr. Curtis."We can go up in the lift."

  The porter had hurried before us, and already stood with his hand uponthe rope. We entered the lift, and in a few seconds were discharged onto the second floor, the porter, with furtive curiosity, following usdown the corridor. At the end of the passage was a half-open door,considerably battered and bruised. Above the door, painted in whitelettering, was the inscription, "Mr. Hartridge"; and through the doorwayprotruded the rather foxy countenance of Inspector Badger.

  "I am glad you have come, sir," said he, as he recognized my colleague."Mr. Marchmont is sitting inside like a watch-dog, and he growls if anyof us even walks across the room."

  The words formed a complaint, but there was a certain geniality in thespeaker's manner which made me suspect that Inspector Badger was alreadynavigating his craft on a lee shore.

  We entered a small lobby or hall, and from thence passed into thesitting-room, where we found Mr. Marchmont keeping his vigil, in companywith a constable and a uniformed inspector. The three rose softly as weentered, and greeted us in a whisper; and then, with one accord, we alllooked towards the other end of the room, and so remained for a timewithout speaking.

  There was, in the entire aspect of the room, something very grim anddreadful. An atmosphere of tragic mystery enveloped the most commonplaceobjects; and sinister suggestions lurked in the most familiarappearances. Especially impressive was the air of suspense--of ordinary,every-day life suddenly arrested--cut short in the twinkling of an eye.The electric lamps, still burning dim and red, though the summersunshine streamed in through the windows; the half-emptied tumbler andopen book by the empty chair, had each its whispered message of swiftand sudden disaster, as had the hushed voices and stealthy movements ofthe waiting men, and, above all, an awesome shape that was but a fewhours since a living man, and that now sprawled, prone and motionless,on the floor.

  "This is a mysterious affair," observed Inspector Badger, breaking thesilence at length, "though it is clear enough up to a certain point. Thebody tells its own story."

  We stepped across and looked down at the corpse. It was that of asomewhat elderly man, and lay, on an open space of floor before thefireplace, face downwards, with the arms extended. The slender hilt of adagger projected from the back below the left shoulder, and, with theexception of a trace of blood upon the lips, this was the onlyindication of the mode of death. A little way from the body a clock-keylay on the carpet, and, glancing up at the clock on the mantelpiece, Iperceived that the glass front was ope
n.

  "You see," pursued the inspector, noting my glance, "he was standing infront of the fireplace, winding the clock. Then the murderer stole upbehind him--the noise of the turning key must have covered hismovements--and stabbed him. And you see, from the position of the daggeron the left side of the back, that the murderer must have beenleft-handed. That is all clear enough. What is not clear is how he gotin, and how he got out again."

  "The body has not been moved, I suppose," said Thorndyke.

  "No. We sent for Dr. Egerton, the police-surgeon, and he certified thatthe man was dead. He will be back presently to see you and arrange aboutthe post-mortem."

  "Then," said Thorndyke, "we will not disturb the body till he comes,except to take the temperature and dust the dagger-hilt."

  He took from his bag a long, registering chemical thermometer and aninsufflator or powder-blower. The former he introduced under the deadman's clothing against the abdomen, and with the latter blew a stream offine yellow powder on to the black leather handle of the dagger.Inspector Badger stooped eagerly to examine the handle, as Thorndykeblew away the powder that had settled evenly on the surface.

  "No finger-prints," said he, in a disappointed tone. "He must have worngloves. But that inscription gives a pretty broad hint."

  He pointed, as he spoke, to the metal guard of the dagger, on which wasengraved, in clumsy lettering, the single word, "TRADITORE."

  "That's the Italian for 'traitor,'" continued the inspector, "and I gotsome information from the porter that fits in with that suggestion.We'll have him in presently, and you shall hear."

  "Meanwhile," said Thorndyke, "as the position of the body may be ofimportance in the inquiry, I will take one or two photographs and make arough plan to scale. Nothing has been moved, you say? Who opened thewindows?"

  "They were open when we came in," said Mr. Marchmont. "Last night wasvery hot, you remember. Nothing whatever has been moved."

  Thorndyke produced from his bag a small folding camera, a telescopictripod, a surveyor's measuring-tape, a boxwood scale, and asketch-block. He set up the camera in a corner, and exposed a plate,taking a general view of the room, and including the corpse. Then hemoved to the door and made a second exposure.

  "Will you stand in front of the clock, Jervis," he said, "and raiseyour hand as if winding it? Thanks; keep like that while I expose aplate."

  I remained thus, in the position that the dead man was assumed to haveoccupied at the moment of the murder, while the plate was exposed, andthen, before I moved, Thorndyke marked the position of my feet with ablackboard chalk. He next set up the tripod over the chalk marks, andtook two photographs from that position, and finally photographed thebody itself.

  The photographic operations being concluded, he next proceeded, withremarkable skill and rapidity, to lay out on the sketch-block aground-plan of the room, showing the exact position of the variousobjects, on a scale of a quarter of an inch to the foot--a process thatthe inspector was inclined to view with some impatience.

  "You don't spare trouble, Doctor," he remarked; "nor time either," headded, with a significant glance at his watch.

  "No," answered Thorndyke, as he detached the finished sketch from theblock; "I try to collect all the facts that may bear on a case. They mayprove worthless, or they may turn out of vital importance; one neverknows beforehand, so I collect them all. But here, I think, is Dr.Egerton."

  The police-surgeon greeted Thorndyke with respectful cordiality, and weproceeded at once to the examination of the body. Drawing out thethermometer, my colleague noted the reading, and passed the instrumentto Dr. Egerton.

  "Dead about ten hours," remarked the latter, after a glance at it. "Thiswas a very determined and mysterious murder."

  "Very," said Thorndyke. "Feel that dagger, Jervis."

  I touched the hilt, and felt the characteristic grating of bone.

  "It is through the edge of a rib!" I exclaimed.

  "Yes; it must have been used with extraordinary force. And you noticethat the clothing is screwed up slightly, as if the blade had beenrotated as it was driven in. That is a very peculiar feature, especiallywhen taken together with the violence of the blow."

  "It is singular, certainly," said Dr. Egerton, "though I don't know thatit helps us much. Shall we withdraw the dagger before moving the body?"

  "Certainly," replied Thorndyke, "or the movement may produce freshinjuries. But wait." He took a piece of string from his pocket, and,having drawn the dagger out a couple of inches, stretched the string ina line parallel to the flat of the blade. Then, giving me the ends tohold, he drew the weapon out completely. As the blade emerged, the twistin the clothing disappeared. "Observe," said he, "that the string givesthe direction of the wound, and that the cut in the clothing no longercoincides with it. There is quite a considerable angle, which is themeasure of the rotation of the blade."

  "Yes, it is odd," said Dr. Egerton, "though, as I said, I doubt that ithelps us."

  "At present," Thorndyke rejoined dryly, "we are noting the facts."

  "Quite so," agreed the other, reddening slightly; "and perhaps we hadbetter move the body to the bedroom, and make a preliminary inspectionof the wound."

  We carried the corpse into the bedroom, and, having examined the woundwithout eliciting anything new, covered the remains with a sheet, andreturned to the sitting-room.

  "Well, gentlemen," said the inspector, "you have examined the body andthe wound, and you have measured the floor and the furniture, and takenphotographs, and made a plan, but we don't seem much more forward.Here's a man murdered in his rooms. There is only one entrance to theflat, and that was bolted on the inside at the time of the murder. Thewindows are some forty feet from the ground; there is no rain-pipe nearany of them; they are set flush in the wall, and there isn't a footholdfor a fly on any part of that wall. The grates are modern, and thereisn't room for a good-sized cat to crawl up any of the chimneys. Now,the question is, How did the murderer get in, and how did he get outagain?"

  "Still," said Mr. Marchmont, "the fact is that he did get in, and thathe is not here now; and therefore he must have got out; and therefore itmust have been possible for him to get out. And, further, it must bepossible to discover how he got out."

  The inspector smiled sourly, but made no reply.

  "The circumstances," said Thorndyke, "appear to have been these: Thedeceased seems to have been alone; there is no trace of a secondoccupant of the room, and only one half-emptied tumbler on the table. Hewas sitting reading when apparently he noticed that the clock hadstopped--at ten minutes to twelve; he laid his book, face downwards, onthe table, and rose to wind the clock, and as he was winding it he methis death."

  "By a stab dealt by a left-handed man, who crept up behind him ontiptoe," added the inspector.

  Thorndyke nodded. "That would seem to be so," he said. "But now let uscall in the porter, and hear what he has to tell us."

  The custodian was not difficult to find, being, in fact, engaged at thatmoment in a survey of the premises through the slit of the letter-box.

  "Do you know what persons visited these rooms last night?" Thorndykeasked him, when he entered looking somewhat sheepish.

  "A good many were in and out of the building," was the answer, "but Ican't say if any of them came to this flat. I saw Miss Curtis pass inabout nine."

  "My daughter!" exclaimed Mr. Curtis, with a start. "I didn't know that."

  "She left about nine-thirty," the porter added.

  "Do you know what she came about?" asked the inspector.

  "I can guess," replied Mr. Curtis.

  "Then don't say," interrupted Mr. Marchmont. "Answer no questions."

  "You're very close, Mr. Marchmont," said the inspector; "we are notsuspecting the young lady. We don't ask, for instance, if she isleft-handed."

  He glanced craftily at Mr. Curtis as he made this remark, and I noticedthat our client suddenly turned deathly pale, whereupon the inspectorlooked away again quickly, as though he had not observe
d the change.

  "Tell us about those Italians again," he said, addressing the porter."When did the first of them come here?"

  "About a week ago," was the reply. "He was a common-looking man--lookedlike an organ-grinder--and he brought a note to my lodge. It was in adirty envelope, and was addressed 'Mr. Hartridge, Esq., BrackenhurstMansions,' in a very bad handwriting. The man gave me the note and askedme to give it to Mr. Hartridge; then he went away, and I took the noteup and dropped it into the letter-box."

  "What happened next?"

  "Why, the very next day an old hag of an Italian woman--one of themfortune-telling swines with a cage of birds on a stand--came and set upjust by the main doorway. I soon sent her packing, but, bless you! shewas back again in ten minutes, birds and all. I sent her off again--Ikept on sending her off, and she kept on coming back, until I wasreg'lar wore to a thread."

  "You seem to have picked up a bit since then," remarked the inspectorwith a grin and a glance at the sufferer's very pronounced bow-window.

  "Perhaps I have," the custodian replied haughtily. "Well, the next daythere was a ice-cream man--a reg'lar waster, _he_ was. Stuck outside asif he was froze to the pavement. Kept giving the errand-boys tasters,and when I tried to move him on, he told me not to obstruct hisbusiness. Business, indeed! Well, there them boys stuck, one after theother, wiping their tongues round the bottoms of them glasses, until Iwas fit to bust with aggravation. And _he_ kept me going all day.

  "Then, the day after that there was a barrel-organ, with a mangy-lookingmonkey on it. He was the worst of all. Profane, too, _he_ was. Keptmixing up sacred tunes and comic songs: 'Rock of Ages,' 'Bill Bailey,''Cujus Animal,' and 'Over the Garden Wall.' And when I tried to move himon, that little blighter of a monkey made a run at my leg; and then theman grinned and started playing, 'Wait till the Clouds roll by.' I tellyou, it was fair sickening."

  He wiped his brow at the recollection, and the inspector smiledappreciatively.

  "And that was the last of them?" said the latter; and as the porternodded sulkily, he asked: "Should you recognize the note that theItalian gave you?"

  "I should," answered the porter with frosty dignity.

  The inspector bustled out of the room, and returned a minute later witha letter-case in his hand.

  "This was in his breast-pocket," said he, laying the bulging case on thetable, and drawing up a chair. "Now, here are three letters tiedtogether. Ah! this will be the one." He untied the tape, and held out adirty envelope addressed in a sprawling, illiterate hand to "Mr.Hartridge, Esq." "Is that the note the Italian gave you?"

  The porter examined it critically. "Yes," said he; "that is the one."

  The inspector drew the letter out of the envelope, and, as he opened it,his eyebrows went up.

  "What do you make of that, Doctor?" he said, handing the sheet toThorndyke.

  Thorndyke regarded it for a while in silence, with deep attention. Thenhe carried it to the window, and, taking his lens from his pocket,examined the paper closely, first with the low power, and then with thehighly magnifying Coddington attachment.

  "I should have thought you could see that with the naked eye," said theinspector, with a sly grin at me. "It's a pretty bold design."

  "Yes," replied Thorndyke; "a very interesting production. What do yousay, Mr. Marchmont?"

  The solicitor took the note, and I looked over his shoulder. It wascertainly a curious production. Written in red ink, on the commonestnotepaper, and in the same sprawling hand as the address, was thefollowing message: "You are given six days to do what is just. By thesign above, know what to expect if you fail." The sign referred to was askull and crossbones, very neatly, but rather unskilfully, drawn at thetop of the paper.

  "This," said Mr. Marchmont, handing the document to Mr. Curtis,"explains the singular letter that he wrote yesterday. You have it withyou, I think?"

  "Yes," replied Mr. Curtis; "here it is."

  He produced a letter from his pocket, and read aloud:

  "'Yes: come if you like, though it is an ungodly hour. Your threatening letters have caused me great amusement. They are worthy of Sadler's Wells in its prime.

  "'ALFRED HARTRIDGE.'"

  "Was Mr. Hartridge ever in Italy?" asked Inspector Badger.

  "Oh yes," replied Mr. Curtis. "He stayed at Capri nearly the whole oflast year."

  "Why, then, that gives us our clue. Look here. Here are these two otherletters; E.C. postmark--Saffron Hill is E.C. And just look at that!"

  He spread out the last of the mysterious letters, and we saw that,besides the _memento mori_, it contained only three words: "Beware!Remember Capri!"

  "If you have finished, Doctor, I'll be off and have a look round LittleItaly. Those four Italians oughtn't to be difficult to find, and we'vegot the porter here to identify them."

  "Before you go," said Thorndyke, "there are two little matters that Ishould like to settle. One is the dagger: it is in your pocket, I think.May I have a look at it?"

  The inspector rather reluctantly produced the dagger and handed it to mycolleague.

  "A very singular weapon, this," said Thorndyke, regarding the daggerthoughtfully, and turning it about to view its different parts."Singular both in shape and material. I have never seen an aluminiumhilt before, and bookbinder's morocco is a little unusual."

  "The aluminium was for lightness," explained the inspector, "and it wasmade narrow to carry up the sleeve, I expect."

  "Perhaps so," said Thorndyke.

  He continued his examination, and presently, to the inspector's delight,brought forth his pocket lens.

  "I never saw such a man!" exclaimed the jocose detective. "His mottoought to be, 'We magnify thee.' I suppose he'll measure it next."

  The inspector was not mistaken. Having made a rough sketch of the weaponon his block, Thorndyke produced from his bag a folding rule and adelicate calliper-gauge. With these instruments he proceeded, withextraordinary care and precision, to take the dimensions of the variousparts of the dagger, entering each measurement in its place on thesketch, with a few brief, descriptive details.

  "The other matter," said he at length, handing the dagger back to theinspector, "refers to the houses opposite."

  He walked to the window, and looked out at the backs of a row of tallbuildings similar to the one we were in. They were about thirty yardsdistant, and were separated from us by a piece of ground, planted withshrubs and intersected by gravel paths.

  "If any of those rooms were occupied last night," continued Thorndyke,"we might obtain an actual eyewitness of the crime. This room wasbrilliantly lighted, and all the blinds were up, so that an observer atany of those windows could see right into the room, and very distinctly,too. It might be worth inquiring into."

  "Yes, that's true," said the inspector; "though I expect, if any of themhave seen anything, they will come forward quick enough when they readthe report in the papers. But I must be off now, and I shall have tolock you out of the rooms."

  As we went down the stairs, Mr. Marchmont announced his intention ofcalling on us in the evening, "unless," he added, "you want anyinformation from me now."

  "I do," said Thorndyke. "I want to know who is interested in this man'sdeath."

  "That," replied Marchmont, "is rather a queer story. Let us take a turnin that garden that we saw from the window. We shall be quite privatethere."

  He beckoned to Mr. Curtis, and, when the inspector had departed with thepolice-surgeon, we induced the porter to let us into the garden.

  "The question that you asked," Mr. Marchmont began, looking up curiouslyat the tall houses opposite, "is very simply answered. The only personimmediately interested in the death of Alfred Hartridge is his executorand sole legatee, a man named Leonard Wolfe. He is no relation of thedeceased, merely a friend, but he inherits the entire estate--abouttwenty thousand pounds. The circumstances are these: Alfred Hartridgewas the elder of two brothers, of whom the younger, Charles, died beforehis father, leaving a widow and th
ree children. Fifteen years ago thefather died, leaving the whole of his property to Alfred, with theunderstanding that he should support his brother's family and make thechildren his heirs."

  "Was there no will?" asked Thorndyke.

  "Under great pressure from the friends of his son's widow, the old manmade a will shortly before he died; but he was then very old and ratherchildish, so the will was contested by Alfred, on the grounds of undueinfluence, and was ultimately set aside. Since then Alfred Hartridge hasnot paid a penny towards the support of his brother's family. If it hadnot been for my client, Mr. Curtis, they might have starved; the wholeburden of the support of the widow and the education of the children hasfallen upon him.

  "Well, just lately the matter has assumed an acute form, for tworeasons. The first is that Charles's eldest son, Edmund, has come ofage. Mr. Curtis had him articled to a solicitor, and, as he is now fullyqualified, and a most advantageous proposal for a partnership has beenmade, we have been putting pressure on Alfred to supply the necessarycapital in accordance with his father's wishes. This he had refused todo, and it was with reference to this matter that we were calling on himthis morning. The second reason involves a curious and disgracefulstory. There is a certain Leonard Wolfe, who has been an intimate friendof the deceased. He is, I may say, a man of bad character, and theirassociation has been of a kind creditable to neither. There is also acertain woman named Hester Greene, who had certain claims upon thedeceased, which we need not go into at present. Now, Leonard Wolfe andthe deceased, Alfred Hartridge, entered into an agreement, the terms ofwhich were these: (1) Wolfe was to marry Hester Greene, and inconsideration of this service (2) Alfred Hartridge was to assign toWolfe the whole of his property, absolutely, the actual transfer to takeplace on the death of Hartridge."

  "And has this transaction been completed?" asked Thorndyke.

  "Yes, it has, unfortunately. But we wished to see if anything could bedone for the widow and the children during Hartridge's lifetime. Nodoubt, my client's daughter, Miss Curtis, called last night on a similarmission--very indiscreetly, since the matter was in our hands; but, youknow, she is engaged to Edmund Hartridge--and I expect the interview wasa pretty stormy one."

  Thorndyke remained silent for a while, pacing slowly along the gravelpath, with his eyes bent on the ground: not abstractedly, however, butwith a searching, attentive glance that roved amongst the shrubs andbushes, as though he were looking for something.

  "What sort of man," he asked presently, "is this Leonard Wolfe?Obviously he is a low scoundrel, but what is he like in other respects?Is he a fool, for instance?"

  "Not at all, I should say," said Mr. Curtis. "He was formerly anengineer, and, I believe, a very capable mechanician. Latterly he haslived on some property that came to him, and has spent both his time andhis money in gambling and dissipation. Consequently, I expect he ispretty short of funds at present."

  "And in appearance?"

  "I only saw him once," replied Mr. Curtis, "and all I can remember ofhim is that he is rather short, fair, thin, and clean-shaven, and thathe has lost the middle finger of his left hand."

  "And he lives at?"

  "Eltham, in Kent. Morton Grange, Eltham," said Mr. Marchmont. "And now,if you have all the information that you require, I must really be off,and so must Mr. Curtis."

  The two men shook our hands and hurried away, leaving Thorndyke gazingmeditatively at the dingy flower-beds.

  "A strange and interesting case, this, Jervis," said he, stooping topeer under a laurel-bush. "The inspector is on a hot scent--a mostpalpable red herring on a most obvious string; but that is his business.Ah, here comes the porter, intent, no doubt, on pumping us, whereas--"He smiled genially at the approaching custodian, and asked: "Where didyou say those houses fronted?"

  "Cotman Street, sir," answered the porter. "They are nearly alloffices."

  "And the numbers? That open second-floor window, for instance?"

  "That is number six; but the house opposite Mr. Hartridge's rooms isnumber eight."

  "Thank you."

  Thorndyke was moving away, but suddenly turned again to the porter.

  "By the way," said he, "I dropped something out of the window justnow--a small flat piece of metal, like this." He made on the back of hisvisiting card a neat sketch of a circular disc, with a hexagonal holethrough it, and handed the card to the porter. "I can't say where itfell," he continued; "these flat things scale about so; but you mightask the gardener to look for it. I will give him a sovereign if hebrings it to my chambers, for, although it is of no value to anyoneelse, it is of considerable value to me."

  The porter touched his hat briskly, and as we turned out at the gate, Ilooked back and saw him already wading among the shrubs.

  The object of the porter's quest gave me considerable mental occupation.I had not seen Thorndyke drop any thing, and it was not his way tofinger carelessly any object of value. I was about to question him onthe subject, when, turning sharply round into Cotman Street, he drew upat the doorway of number six, and began attentively to read the names ofthe occupants.

  "'Third-floor,'" he read out, "'Mr. Thomas Barlow, Commission Agent.'Hum! I think we will look in on Mr. Barlow."

  He stepped quickly up the stone stairs, and I followed, until wearrived, somewhat out of breath, on the third-floor. Outside theCommission Agent's door he paused for a moment, and we both listenedcuriously to an irregular sound of shuffling feet from within. Then hesoftly opened the door and looked into the room. After remaining thusfor nearly a minute, he looked round at me with a broad smile, andnoiselessly set the door wide open. Inside, a lanky youth of fourteenwas practising, with no mean skill, the manipulation of an applianceknown by the appropriate name of diabolo; and so absorbed was he in hisoccupation that we entered and shut the door without being observed. Atlength the shuttle missed the string and flew into a large waste-paperbasket; the boy turned and confronted us, and was instantly coveredwith confusion.

  "Allow me," said Thorndyke, rooting rather unnecessarily in thewaste-paper basket, and handing the toy to its owner. "I need not ask ifMr. Barlow is in," he added, "nor if he is likely to return shortly."

  "He won't be back to-day," said the boy, perspiring with embarrassment;"he left before I came. I was rather late."

  "I see," said Thorndyke. "The early bird catches the worm, but the latebird catches the diabolo. How did you know he would not be back?"

  "He left a note. Here it is."

  He exhibited the document, which was neatly written in red ink.Thorndyke examined it attentively, and then asked:

  "Did you break the inkstand yesterday?"

  The boy stared at him in amazement. "Yes, I did," he answered. "How didyou know?"

  "I didn't, or I should not have asked. But I see that he has used hisstylo to write this note."

  The boy regarded Thorndyke distrustfully, as he continued:

  "I really called to see if your Mr. Barlow was a gentleman whom I usedto know; but I expect you can tell me. My friend was tall and thin,dark, and clean-shaved."

  "This ain't him, then," said the boy. "He's thin, but he ain't tall ordark. He's got a sandy beard, and he wears spectacles and a wig. I knowa wig when I see one," he added cunningly, "'cause my father wears one.He puts it on a peg to comb it, and he swears at me when I larf."

  "My friend had injured his left hand," pursued Thorndyke.

  "I dunno about that," said the youth. "Mr. Barlow nearly always wearsgloves; he always wears one on his left hand, anyhow."

  "Ah well! I'll just write him a note on the chance, if you will give mea piece of notepaper. Have you any ink?"

  "There's some in the bottle. I'll dip the pen in for you."

  He produced, from the cupboard, an opened packet of cheap notepaper anda packet of similar envelopes, and, having dipped the pen to the bottomof the ink-bottle, handed it to Thorndyke, who sat down and hastilyscribbled a short note. He had folded the paper, and was about toaddress the envelope, when he appeared suddenly t
o alter his mind.

  "I don't think I will leave it, after all," he said, slipping the foldedpaper into his pocket. "No. Tell him I called--Mr. Horace Budge--and sayI will look in again in a day or two."

  The youth watched our exit with an air of perplexity, and he even cameout on to the landing, the better to observe us over the balusters;until, unexpectedly catching Thorndyke's eye, he withdrew his head withremarkable suddenness, and retired in disorder.

  To tell the truth, I was now little less perplexed than the office-boyby Thorndyke's proceedings; in which I could discover no relevancy tothe investigation that I presumed he was engaged upon: and the laststraw was laid upon the burden of my curiosity when he stopped at astaircase window, drew the note out of his pocket, examined it with hislens, held it up to the light, and chuckled aloud.

  "Luck," he observed, "though no substitute for care and intelligence, isa very pleasant addition. Really, my learned brother, we are doinguncommonly well."

  When we reached the hall, Thorndyke stopped at the housekeeper's box,and looked in with a genial nod.

  "I have just been up to see Mr. Barlow," said he. "He seems to have leftquite early."

  "Yes, sir," the man replied. "He went away about half-past eight."

  "That was very early; and presumably he came earlier still?"

  "I suppose so," the man assented, with a grin; "but I had only just comeon when he left."

  "Had he any luggage with him?"

  "Yes, sir. There was two cases, a square one and a long, narrow one,about five foot long. I helped him to carry them down to the cab."

  "Which was a four-wheeler, I suppose?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Mr. Barlow hasn't been here very long, has he?" Thorndyke inquired.

  "No. He only came in last quarter-day--about six weeks ago."

  "Ah well! I must call another day. Good-morning;" and Thorndyke strodeout of the building, and made directly for the cab-rank in the adjoiningstreet. Here he stopped for a minute or two to parley with the driver ofa four-wheeled cab, whom he finally commissioned to convey us to a shopin New Oxford Street. Having dismissed the cabman with his blessing anda half-sovereign, he vanished into the shop, leaving me to gaze at thelathes, drills, and bars of metal displayed in the window. Presently heemerged with a small parcel, and explained, in answer to my inquiringlook: "A strip of tool steel and a block of metal for Polton."

  His next purchase was rather more eccentric. We were proceeding alongHolborn when his attention was suddenly arrested by the window of afurniture shop, in which was displayed a collection of obsolete Frenchsmall-arms--relics of the tragedy of 1870--which were being sold fordecorative purposes. After a brief inspection, he entered the shop, andshortly reappeared carrying a long sword-bayonet and an old Chassepotrifle.

  "What may be the meaning of this martial display?" I asked, as we turneddown Fetter Lane.

  "House protection," he replied promptly. "You will agree that adischarge of musketry, followed by a bayonet charge, would disconcertthe boldest of burglars."

  I laughed at the absurd picture thus drawn of the strenuoushouse-protector, but nevertheless continued to speculate on the meaningof my friend's eccentric proceedings, which I felt sure were in some wayrelated to the murder in Brackenhurst Chambers, though I could not tracethe connection.

  After a late lunch, I hurried out to transact such of my business as hadbeen interrupted by the stirring events of the morning, leavingThorndyke busy with a drawing-board, squares, scale, and compasses,making accurate, scaled drawings from his rough sketches; while Polton,with the brown-paper parcel in his hand, looked on at him with an air ofanxious expectation.

  As I was returning homeward in the evening by way of Mitre Court, Iovertook Mr. Marchmont, who was also bound for our chambers, and wewalked on together.

  "I had a note from Thorndyke," he explained, "asking for a specimen ofhandwriting, so I thought I would bring it along myself, and hear if hehas any news."

  When we entered the chambers, we found Thorndyke in earnest consultationwith Polton, and on the table before them I observed, to my greatsurprise, the dagger with which the murder had been committed.

  THE ALUMINIUM DAGGER.]

  "I have got you the specimen that you asked for," said Marchmont. "Ididn't think I should be able to, but, by a lucky chance, Curtis keptthe only letter he ever received from the party in question."

  He drew the letter from his wallet, and handed it to Thorndyke, wholooked at it attentively and with evident satisfaction.

  "By the way," said Marchmont, taking up the dagger, "I thought theinspector took this away with him."

  "He took the original," replied Thorndyke. "This is a duplicate, whichPolton has made, for experimental purposes, from my drawings."

  "Really!" exclaimed Marchmont, with a glance of respectful admiration atPolton; "it is a perfect replica--and you have made it so quickly, too."

  "It was quite easy to make," said Polton, "to a man accustomed to workin metal."

  "Which," added Thorndyke, "is a fact of some evidential value."

  At this moment a hansom drew up outside. A moment later flying footstepswere heard on the stairs. There was a furious battering at the door,and, as Polton threw it open, Mr. Curtis burst wildly into the room.

  "Here is a frightful thing, Marchmont!" he gasped. "Edith--mydaughter--arrested for the murder. Inspector Badger came to our houseand took her. My God! I shall go mad!"

  Thorndyke laid his hand on the excited man's shoulder. "Don't distressyourself, Mr. Curtis," said he. "There is no occasion, I assure you. Isuppose," he added, "your daughter is left-handed?"

  "Yes, she is, by a most disastrous coincidence. But what are we to do?Good God! Dr. Thorndyke, they have taken her to prison--to prison--thinkof it! My poor Edith!"

  "We'll soon have her out," said Thorndyke. "But listen; there is someoneat the door."

  A brisk rat-tat confirmed his statement; and when I rose to open thedoor, I found myself confronted by Inspector Badger. There was a momentof extreme awkwardness, and then both the detective and Mr. Curtisproposed to retire in favour of the other.

  "Don't go, inspector," said Thorndyke; "I want to have a word with you.Perhaps Mr. Curtis would look in again, say, in an hour. Will you? Weshall have news for you by then, I hope."

  Mr. Curtis agreed hastily, and dashed out of the room with hischaracteristic impetuosity. When he had gone, Thorndyke turned to thedetective, and remarked dryly:

  "You seem to have been busy, inspector?"

  "Yes," replied Badger; "I haven't let the grass grow under my feet; andI've got a pretty strong case against Miss Curtis already. You see, shewas the last person seen in the company of the deceased; she had agrievance against him; she is left-handed, and you remember that themurder was committed by a left-handed person."

  "Anything else?"

  "Yes. I have seen those Italians, and the whole thing was a put-up job.A woman, in a widow's dress and veil, paid them to go and play the fooloutside the building, and she gave them the letter that was left withthe porter. They haven't identified her yet, but she seems to agree insize with Miss Curtis."

  "And how did she get out of the chambers, with the door bolted on theinside?"

  "Ah, there you are! That's a mystery at present--unless you can give usan explanation." The inspector made this qualification with a faintgrin, and added: "As there was no one in the place when we broke intoit, the murderer must have got out somehow. You can't deny that."

  "I do deny it, nevertheless," said Thorndyke. "You look surprised," hecontinued (which was undoubtedly true), "but yet the whole thing isexceedingly obvious. The explanation struck me directly I looked at thebody. There was evidently no practicable exit from the flat, and therewas certainly no one in it when you entered. Clearly, then, _themurderer had never been in the place at all_."

  "I don't follow you in the least," said the inspector.

  "Well," said Thorndyke, "as I have finished with the case, and amhanding it ove
r to you, I will put the evidence before you _seriatim_.Now, I think we are agreed that, at the moment when the blow was struck,the deceased was standing before the fireplace, winding the clock. Thedagger entered obliquely from the left, and, if you recall its position,you will remember that its hilt pointed directly towards an openwindow."

  "Which was forty feet from the ground."

  "Yes. And now we will consider the very peculiar character of the weaponwith which the crime was committed."

  He had placed his hand upon the knob of a drawer, when we wereinterrupted by a knock at the door. I sprang up, and, opening it,admitted no less a person than the porter of Brackenhurst Chambers. Theman looked somewhat surprised on recognizing our visitors, but advancedto Thorndyke, drawing a folded paper from his pocket.

  "I've found the article you were looking for, sir," said he, "and a rarehunt I had for it. It had stuck in the leaves of one of them shrubs."

  Thorndyke opened the packet, and, having glanced inside, laid it on thetable.

  "Thank you," said he, pushing a sovereign across to the gratifiedofficial. "The inspector has your name, I think?"

  "He have, sir," replied the porter; and, pocketing his fee, he departed,beaming.

  "To return to the dagger," said Thorndyke, opening the drawer. "It was avery peculiar one, as I have said, and as you will see from this model,which is an exact duplicate." Here he exhibited Polton's production tothe astonished detective. "You see that it is extraordinarily slender,and free from projections, and of unusual materials. You also see thatit was obviously not made by an ordinary dagger-maker; that, in spite ofthe Italian word scrawled on it, there is plainly written all over it'British mechanic.' The blade is made from a strip of commonthree-quarter-inch tool steel; the hilt is turned from an aluminium rod;and there is not a line of engraving on it that could not be produced ina lathe by any engineer's apprentice. Even the boss at the top ismechanical, for it is just like an ordinary hexagon nut. Then, noticethe dimensions, as shown on my drawing. The parts A and B, which justproject beyond the blade, are exactly similar in diameter--and suchexactness could hardly be accidental. They are each parts of a circlehaving a diameter of 10.9 millimetres--a dimension which happens, by asingular coincidence, to be exactly the calibre of the old Chassepotrifle, specimens of which are now on sale at several shops in London.Here is one, for instance."

  He fetched the rifle that he had bought, from the corner in which it wasstanding, and, lifting the dagger by its point, slipped the hilt intothe muzzle. When he let go, the dagger slid quietly down the barrel,until its hilt appeared in the open breech.

  "Good God!" exclaimed Marchmont. "You don't suggest that the dagger wasshot from a gun?"

  "I do, indeed; and you now see the reason for the aluminium hilt--todiminish the weight of the already heavy projectile--and also for thishexagonal boss on the end?"

  "No, I do not," said the inspector; "but I say that you are suggestingan impossibility."

  "Then," replied Thorndyke, "I must explain and demonstrate. To beginwith, this projectile had to travel point foremost; therefore it had tobe made to spin--and it certainly was spinning when it entered the body,as the clothing and the wound showed us. Now, to make it spin, it had tobe fired from a rifled barrel; but as the hilt would not engage in therifling, it had to be fitted with something that would. That somethingwas evidently a soft metal washer, which fitted on to this hexagon, andwhich would be pressed into the grooves of the rifling, and so spin thedagger, but would drop off as soon as the weapon left the barrel. Hereis such a washer, which Polton has made for us."

  He laid on the table a metal disc, with a hexagonal hole through it.

  "This is all very ingenious," said the inspector, "but I say it isimpossible and fantastic."

  "It certainly sounds rather improbable," Marchmont agreed.

  "We will see," said Thorndyke. "Here is a makeshift cartridge ofPolton's manufacture, containing an eighth charge of smokeless powderfor a 20-bore gun."

  He fitted the washer on to the boss of the dagger in the open breech ofthe rifle, pushed it into the barrel, inserted the cartridge, and closedthe breech. Then, opening the office-door, he displayed a target ofpadded strawboard against the wall.

  "The length of the two rooms," said he, "gives us a distance ofthirty-two feet. Will you shut the windows, Jervis?"

  I complied, and he then pointed the rifle at the target. There was adull report--much less loud than I had expected--and when we looked atthe target, we saw the dagger driven in up to its hilt at the margin ofthe bull's-eye.

  "You see," said Thorndyke, laying down the rifle, "that the thing ispracticable. Now for the evidence as to the actual occurrence. First, onthe original dagger there are linear scratches which exactly correspondwith the grooves of the rifling. Then there is the fact that the daggerwas certainly spinning from left to right--in the direction of therifling, that is--when it entered the body. And then there is this,which, as you heard, the porter found in the garden."

  He opened the paper packet. In it lay a metal disc, perforated by ahexagonal hole. Stepping into the office, he picked up from the floorthe washer that he had put on the dagger, and laid it on the paperbeside the other. The two discs were identical in size, and the marginof each was indented with identical markings, corresponding to therifling of the barrel.

  The inspector gazed at the two discs in silence for a while; then,looking up at Thorndyke, he said:

  "I give in, Doctor. You're right, beyond all doubt; but how you came tothink of it beats me into fits. The only question now is, Who fired thegun, and why wasn't the report heard?"

  "As to the latter," said Thorndyke, "it is probable that he used acompressed-air attachment, not only to diminish the noise, but also toprevent any traces of the explosive from being left on the dagger. As tothe former, I think I can give you the murderer's name; but we hadbetter take the evidence in order. You may remember," he continued,"that when Dr. Jervis stood as if winding the clock, I chalked a mark onthe floor where he stood. Now, standing on that marked spot, and lookingout of the open window, I could see two of the windows of a house nearlyopposite. They were the second- and third-floor windows of No. 6,Cotman Street. The second-floor is occupied by a firm of architects; thethird-floor by a commission agent named Thomas Barlow. I called on Mr.Barlow, but before describing my visit, I will refer to another matter.You haven't those threatening letters about you, I suppose?"

  "Yes, I have," said the inspector; and he drew forth a wallet from hisbreast-pocket.

  "Lot us take the first one, then," said Thorndyke. "You see that thepaper and envelope are of the very commonest, and the writingilliterate. But the ink does not agree with this. Illiterate peopleusually buy their ink in penny bottles. Now, this envelope is addressedwith Draper's dichroic ink--a superior office ink, sold only in largebottles--and the red ink in which the note is written is an unfixed,scarlet ink, such as is used by draughtsmen, and has been used, as youcan see, in a stylographic pen. But the most interesting thing aboutthis letter is the design drawn at the top. In an artistic sense, theman could not draw, and the anatomical details of the skull areridiculous. Yet the drawing is very neat. It has the clean, wiry line ofa machine drawing, and is done with a steady, practised hand. It is alsoperfectly symmetrical; the skull, for instance, is exactly in thecentre, and, when we examine it through a lens, we see why it is so, forwe discover traces of a pencilled centre-line and ruled cross-lines.Moreover, the lens reveals a tiny particle of draughtsman's soft, red,rubber, with which the pencil lines were taken out; and all these facts,taken together, suggest that the drawing was made by someone accustomedto making accurate mechanical drawings. And now we will return to Mr.Barlow. He was out when I called, but I took the liberty of glancinground the office, and this is what I saw. On the mantelshelf was atwelve-inch flat boxwood rule, such as engineers use, a piece of soft,red rubber, and a stone bottle of Draper's dichroic ink. I obtained, bya simple ruse, a specimen of the office notepaper and the ink. We will
examine it presently. I found that Mr. Barlow is a new tenant, that heis rather short, wears a wig and spectacles, and always wears a glove onhis left hand. He left the office at 8.30 this morning, and no one sawhim arrive. He had with him a square case, and a narrow, oblong oneabout five feet in length; and he took a cab to Victoria, and apparentlycaught the 8.51 train to Chatham."

  "Ah!" exclaimed the inspector.

  "But," continued Thorndyke, "now examine those three letters, andcompare them with this note that I wrote in Mr. Barlow's office. You seethat the paper is of the same make, with the same water-mark, but thatis of no great significance. What is of crucial importance is this: Yousee, in each of these letters, two tiny indentations near the bottomcorner. Somebody has used compasses or drawing-pins over the packet ofnotepaper, and the points have made little indentations, which havemarked several of the sheets. Now, notepaper is cut to its size after itis folded, and if you stick a pin into the top sheet of a section, theindentations on all the underlying sheets will be at exactly similardistances from the edges and corners of the sheet. But you see thatthese little dents are all at the same distance from the edges and thecorner." He demonstrated the fact with a pair of compasses. "And nowlook at this sheet, which I obtained at Mr. Barlow's office. There aretwo little indentations--rather faint, but quite visible--near thebottom corner, and when we measure them with the compasses, we find thatthey are exactly the same distance apart as the others, and the samedistance from the edges and the bottom corner. The irresistibleconclusion is that these four sheets came from the same packet."

  The inspector started up from his chair, and faced Thorndyke. "Who isthis Mr. Barlow?" he asked.

  "That," replied Thorndyke, "is for you to determine; but I can give youa useful hint. There is only one person who benefits by the death ofAlfred Hartridge, but he benefits to the extent of twenty thousandpounds. His name is Leonard Wolfe, and I learn from Mr. Marchmont thathe is a man of indifferent character--a gambler and a spendthrift. Byprofession he is an engineer, and he is a capable mechanician. Inappearance he is thin, short, fair, and clean-shaven, and he has lostthe middle finger of his left hand. Mr. Barlow is also short, thin, andfair, but wears a wig, a beard, and spectacles, and always wears a gloveon his left hand. I have seen the handwriting of both these gentlemen,and should say that it would be difficult to distinguish one from theother."

  "That's good enough for me," said the inspector. "Give me his address,and I'll have Miss Curtis released at once."

  * * * * *

  The same night Leonard Wolfe was arrested at Eltham, in the very act ofburying in his garden a large and powerful compressed-air rifle. He wasnever brought to trial, however, for he had in his pocket a moreportable weapon--a large-bore Derringer pistol--with which he managedto terminate an exceedingly ill-spent life.

  "And, after all," was Thorndyke's comment, when he heard of the event,"he had his uses. He has relieved society of two very bad men, and hehas given us a most instructive case. He has shown us how a clever andingenious criminal may take endless pains to mislead and delude thepolice, and yet, by inattention to trivial details, may scatter cluesbroadcast. We can only say to the criminal class generally, in bothrespects, 'Go thou and do likewise.'"

  VIII

  A MESSAGE FROM THE DEEP SEA

  The Whitechapel Road, though redeemed by scattered relics of a morepicturesque past from the utter desolation of its neighbour theCommercial Road, is hardly a gay thoroughfare. Especially at its easternend, where its sordid modernity seems to reflect the colourless lives ofits inhabitants, does its grey and dreary length depress the spirits ofthe wayfarer. But the longest and dullest road can be made delightful bysprightly discourse seasoned with wit and wisdom, and so it was that, asI walked westward by the side of my friend John Thorndyke, the long,monotonous road seemed all too short.

  We had been to the London Hospital to see a remarkable case ofacromegaly, and, as we returned, we discussed this curious affection,and the allied condition of gigantism, in all their bearings, from theorigin of the "Gibson chin" to the physique of Og, King of Bashan.

  "It would have been interesting," Thorndyke remarked as we passed upAldgate High Street, "to have put one's finger into His Majesty'spituitary fossa--after his decease, of course. By the way, here isHarrow Alley; you remember Defoe's description of the dead-cart waitingout here, and the ghastly procession coming down the alley." He took myarm and led me up the narrow thoroughfare as far as the sharp turn bythe "Star and Still" public-house, where we turned to look back.

  "I never pass this place," he said musingly, "but I seem to hear theclang of the bell and the dismal cry of the carter--"

  He broke off abruptly. Two figures had suddenly appeared framed in thearchway, and now advanced at headlong speed. One, who led, was a stout,middle-aged Jewess, very breathless and dishevelled; the other was awell-dressed young man, hardly less agitated than his companion. As theyapproached, the young man suddenly recognized my colleague, and accostedhim in agitated tones.

  "I've just been sent for to a case of murder or suicide. Would you mindlooking at it for me, sir? It's my first case, and I feel rathernervous."

  Here the woman darted back, and plucked the young doctor by the arm.

  "Hurry! hurry!" she exclaimed, "don't stop to talk." Her face was aswhite as lard, and shiny with sweat; her lips twitched, her hands shook,and she stared with the eyes of a frightened child.

  "Of course I will come, Hart," said Thorndyke; and, turning back, wefollowed the woman as she elbowed her way frantically among thefoot-passengers.

  "Have you started in practice here?" Thorndyke asked as we hurriedalong.

  "No, sir," replied Dr. Hart; "I am an assistant. My principal is thepolice-surgeon, but he is out just now. It's very good of you to comewith me, sir."

  "Tut, tut," rejoined Thorndyke. "I am just coming to see that you docredit to my teaching. That looks like the house."

  We had followed our guide into a side street, halfway down which wecould see a knot of people clustered round a doorway. They watched us aswe approached, and drew aside to let us enter. The woman whom we werefollowing rushed into the passage with the same headlong haste withwhich she had traversed the streets, and so up the stairs. But as sheneared the top of the flight she slowed down suddenly, and began tocreep up on tiptoe with noiseless and hesitating steps. On the landingshe turned to face us, and pointing a shaking forefinger at the door ofthe back room, whispered almost inaudibly, "She's in there," and thensank half-fainting on the bottom stair of the next flight.

  I laid my hand on the knob of the door, and looked back at Thorndyke. Hewas coming slowly up the stairs, closely scrutinizing floor, walls, andhandrail as he came. When he reached the landing, I turned the handle,and we entered the room together, closing the door after us. The blindwas still down, and in the dim, uncertain light nothing out of thecommon was, at first, to be seen. The shabby little room looked trim andorderly enough, save for a heap of cast-off feminine clothing piled upona chair. The bed appeared undisturbed except by the half-seen shape ofits occupant, and the quiet face, dimly visible in its shadowy corner,might have been that of a sleeper but for its utter stillness and for adark stain on the pillow by its side.

  Dr. Hart stole on tiptoe to the bedside, while Thorndyke drew up theblind; and as the garish daylight poured into the room, the youngsurgeon fell back with a gasp of horror.

  "Good God!" he exclaimed; "poor creature! But this is a frightful thing,sir!"

  The light streamed down upon the white face of a handsome girl oftwenty-five, a face peaceful, placid, and beautiful with the austere andalmost unearthly beauty of the youthful dead. The lips were slightlyparted, the eyes half closed and drowsy, shaded with sweeping lashes;and a wealth of dark hair in massive plaits served as a foil to thetranslucent skin.

  Our friend had drawn back the bedclothes a few inches, and now there wasrevealed, beneath the comely face, so serene and inscrutable, and yet sodreadful in its
fixity and waxen pallor, a horrible, yawning wound thatalmost divided the shapely neck.

  Thorndyke looked down with stern pity at the plump white face.

  "It was savagely done," said he, "and yet mercifully, by reason of itsvery savagery. She must have died without waking."

  "The brute!" exclaimed Hart, clenching his fists and turning crimsonwith wrath. "The infernal cowardly beast! He shall hang! By God, heshall hang!" In his fury the young fellow shook his fists in the air,even as the moisture welled up into his eyes.

  Thorndyke touched him on the shoulder. "That is what we are here for,Hart," said he. "Get out your notebook;" and with this he bent down overthe dead girl.

  At the friendly reproof the young surgeon pulled himself together, and,with open notebook, commenced his investigation, while I, at Thorndyke'srequest, occupied myself in making a plan of the room, with adescription of its contents and their arrangements. But this occupationdid not prevent me from keeping an eye on Thorndyke's movements, andpresently I suspended my labours to watch him as, with hispocket-knife, he scraped together some objects that he had found on thepillow.

  "What do you make of this?" he asked, as I stepped over to his side. Hepointed with the blade to a tiny heap of what looked like silver sand,and, as I looked more closely, I saw that similar particles weresprinkled on other parts of the pillow.

  "Silver sand!" I exclaimed. "I don't understand at all how it can havegot there. Do you?"

  Thorndyke shook his head. "We will consider the explanation later," washis reply. He had produced from his pocket a small metal box which healways carried, and which contained such requisites as cover-slips,capillary tubes, moulding wax, and other "diagnostic materials." He nowtook from it a seed-envelope, into which he neatly shovelled the littlepinch of sand with his knife. He had closed the envelope, and waswriting a pencilled description on the outside, when we were startled bya cry from Hart.

  "Good God, sir! Look at this! It was done by a woman!"

  He had drawn back the bedclothes, and was staring aghast at the deadgirl's left hand. It held a thin tress of long, red hair.

  Thorndyke hastily pocketed his specimen, and, stepping round the littlebedside table, bent over the hand with knitted brows. It was closed,though not tightly clenched, and when an attempt was made gently toseparate the fingers, they were found to be as rigid as the fingers of awooden hand. Thorndyke stooped yet more closely, and, taking out hislens, scrutinized the wisp of hair throughout its entire length.

  "There is more here than meets the eye at the first glance," heremarked. "What say you, Hart?" He held out his lens to his quondampupil, who was about to take it from him when the door opened, and threemen entered. One was a police-inspector, the second appeared to be aplain-clothes officer, while the third was evidently the divisionalsurgeon.

  "Friends of yours, Hart?" inquired the latter, regarding us with somedisfavour.

  Thorndyke gave a brief explanation of our presence to which the newcomerrejoined:

  "Well, sir, your _locus standi_ here is a matter for the inspector. Myassistant was not authorized to call in outsiders. You needn't wait,Hart."

  With this he proceeded to his inspection, while Thorndyke withdrew thepocket-thermometer that he had slipped under the body, and took thereading.

  The inspector, however, was not disposed to exercise the prerogative atwhich the surgeon had hinted; for an expert has his uses.

  "How long should you say she'd been dead, sir?" he asked affably.

  "About ten hours," replied Thorndyke.

  The inspector and the detective simultaneously looked at their watches."That fixes it at two o'clock this morning," said the former. "What'sthat, sir?"

  The surgeon was pointing to the wisp of hair in the dead girl's hand.

  "My word!" exclaimed the inspector. "A woman, eh? She must be a toughcustomer. This looks like a soft job for you, sergeant."

  "Yes," said the detective. "That accounts for that box with the hassockon it at the head of the bed. She had to stand on them to reach over.But she couldn't have been very tall."

  "She must have been mighty strong, though," said the inspector; "why,she has nearly cut the poor wench's head off." He moved round to thehead of the bed, and, stooping over, peered down at the gaping wound.Suddenly he began to draw his hand over the pillow, and then rub hisfingers together. "Why," he exclaimed, "there's sand on thepillow--silver sand! Now, how can that have come there?"

  The surgeon and the detective both came round to verify this discovery,and an earnest consultation took place as to its meaning.

  "Did you notice it, sir?" the inspector asked Thorndyke.

  "Yes," replied the latter; "it's an unaccountable thing, isn't it?"

  "I don't know that it is, either," said the detective, he ran over tothe washstand, and then uttered a grunt of satisfaction. "It's quite asimple matter, after all, you see," he said, glancing complacently at mycolleague. "There's a ball of sand-soap on the washstand, and the basinis full of blood-stained water. You see, she must have washed the bloodoff her hands, and off the knife, too--a pretty cool customer she mustbe--and she used the sand-soap. Then, while she was drying her hands,she must have stood over the head of the bed, and let the sand fall onto the pillow. I think that's clear enough."

  "Admirably clear," said Thorndyke; "and what do you suppose was thesequence of events?"

  The gratified detective glanced round the room. "I take it," said he,"that the deceased read herself to sleep. There is a book on the tableby the bed, and a candlestick with nothing in it but a bit of burnt wickat the bottom of the socket. I imagine that the woman came in quietly,lit the gas, put the box and the hassock at the bedhead, stood on them,and cut her victim's throat. Deceased must have waked up and clutchedthe murderess's hair--though there doesn't seem to have been much of astruggle; but no doubt she died almost at once. Then the murderesswashed her hands, cleaned the knife, tidied up the bed a bit, and wentaway. That's about how things happened, I think, but how she got inwithout anyone hearing, and how she got out, and where she went to, arethe things that we've got to find out."

  "Perhaps," said the surgeon, drawing the bedclothes over the corpse, "wehad better have the landlady in and make a few inquiries." He glancedsignificantly at Thorndyke, and the inspector coughed behind his hand.My colleague, however, chose to be obtuse to these hints: opening thedoor, he turned the key backwards and forwards several times, drew itout, examined it narrowly, and replaced it.

  "The landlady is outside on the landing," he remarked, holding the dooropen.

  Thereupon the inspector went out, and we all followed to hear the resultof his inquiries.

  "Now, Mrs. Goldstein," said the officer, opening his notebook, "I wantyou to tell us all that you know about this affair, and about the girlherself. What was her name?"

  The landlady, who had been joined by a white-faced, tremulous man, wipedher eyes, and replied in a shaky voice: "Her name, poor child, was MinnaAdler. She was a German. She came from Bremen about two years ago. Shehad no friends in England--no relatives, I mean. She was a waitress at arestaurant in Fenchurch Street, and a good, quiet, hard-working girl."

  "When did you discover what had happened?"

  "About eleven o'clock. I thought she had gone to work as usual, but myhusband noticed from the back yard that her blind was still down. So Iwent up and knocked, and when I got no answer, I opened the door andwent in, and then I saw--" Here the poor soul, overcome by the dreadfulrecollection, burst into hysterical sobs.

  "Her door was unlocked, then; did she usually lock it?"

  "I think so," sobbed Mrs. Goldstein. "The key was always inside."

  "And the street door; was that secure when you came down this morning?"

  "It was shut. We don't bolt it because some of the lodgers come homerather late."

  "And now tell us, had she any enemies? Was there anyone who had a grudgeagainst her?"

  "No, no, poor child! Why should anyone have a grudge against her? No,she had no
quarrel--no real quarrel--with anyone; not even with Miriam."

  "Miriam!" inquired the inspector. "Who is she?"

  "That was nothing," interposed the man hastily. "That was not aquarrel."

  "Just a little unpleasantness, I suppose, Mr. Goldstein?" suggested theinspector.

  "Just a little foolishness about a young man," said Mr. Goldstein. "Thatwas all. Miriam was a little jealous. But it was nothing."

  "No, no. Of course. We all know that young women are apt to--"

  A soft footstep had been for some time audible, slowly descending thestair above, and at this moment a turn of the staircase brought thenewcomer into view. And at that vision the inspector stopped short as ifpetrified, and a tense, startled silence fell upon us all. Down theremaining stairs there advanced towards us a young woman, powerfulthough short, wild-eyed, dishevelled, horror-stricken, and of a ghastlypallor: and her hair was a fiery red.

  Stock still and speechless we all stood as this apparition came slowlytowards us; but suddenly the detective slipped back into the room,closing the door after him, to reappear a few moments later holding asmall paper packet, which, after a quick glance at the inspector, heplaced in his breast pocket.

  "This is my daughter Miriam that we spoke about, gentlemen," said Mr.Goldstein. "Miriam, those are the doctors and the police."

  The girl looked at us from one to the other. "You have seen her, then,"she said in a strange, muffled voice, and added: "She isn't dead, isshe? Not really dead?" The question was asked in a tone at once coaxingand despairing, such as a distracted mother might use over the corpse ofher child. It filled me with vague discomfort, and, unconsciously, Ilooked round towards Thorndyke.

  To my surprise he had vanished.

  Noiselessly backing towards the head of the stairs, where I couldcommand a view of the hall, or passage, I looked down, and saw him inthe act of reaching up to a shelf behind the street door. He caught myeye, and beckoned, whereupon I crept away unnoticed by the party on thelanding. When I reached the hall, he was wrapping up three smallobjects, each in a separate cigarette-paper; and I noticed that hehandled them with more than ordinary tenderness.

  "We didn't want to see that poor devil of a girl arrested," said he, ashe deposited the three little packets gingerly in his pocket-box. "Letus be off." He opened the door noiselessly, and stood for a moment,turning the latch backwards and forwards, and closely examining itsbolt.

  I glanced up at the shelf behind the door. On it were two flat chinacandlesticks, in one of which I had happened to notice, as we came in, ashort end of candle lying in the tray, and I now looked to see if thatwas what Thorndyke had annexed; but it was still there.

  I followed my colleague out into the street, and for some time we walkedon without speaking. "You guessed what the sergeant had in that paper,of course," said Thorndyke at length.

  "Yes. It was the hair from the dead woman's hand; and I thought that hehad much better have left it there."

  "Undoubtedly. But that is the way in which well-meaning policemendestroy valuable evidence. Not that it matters much in this particularinstance; but it might have been a fatal mistake."

  "Do you intend to take any active part in this case?" I asked.

  "That depends on circumstances. I have collected some evidence, but whatit is worth I don't yet know. Neither do I know whether the police haveobserved the same set of facts; but I need not say that I shall doanything that seems necessary to assist the authorities. That is amatter of common citizenship."

  The inroads made upon our time by the morning's adventures made itnecessary that we should go each about his respective business withoutdelay; so, after a perfunctory lunch at a tea-shop, we separated, and Idid not see my colleague again until the day's work was finished, and Iturned into our chambers just before dinner-time.

  Here I found Thorndyke seated at the table, and evidently full ofbusiness. A microscope stood close by, with a condenser throwing a spotof light on to a pinch of powder that had been sprinkled on to theslide; his collecting-box lay open before him, and he was engaged,rather mysteriously, in squeezing a thick white cement from a tube on tothree little pieces of moulding-wax.

  "Useful stuff, this Fortafix," he remarked; "it makes excellent casts,and saves the trouble and mess of mixing plaster, which is aconsideration for small work like this. By the way, if you want to knowwhat was on that poor girl's pillow, just take a peep through themicroscope. It is rather a pretty specimen."

  I stepped across, and applied my eye to the instrument. The specimenwas, indeed, pretty in more than a technical sense. Mingled withcrystalline grains of quartz, glassy spicules, and water-worn fragmentsof coral, were a number of lovely little shells, some of the texture offine porcelain, others like blown Venetian glass.

  THE SAND FROM THE MURDERED WOMAN'S PILLOW, MAGNIFIED 25DIAMETERS.]

  "These are Foraminifera!" I exclaimed.

  "Yes."

  "Then it is not silver sand, after all?"

  "Certainly not."

  "But what is it, then?"

  Thorndyke smiled. "It is a message to us from the deep sea, Jervis;from the floor of the Eastern Mediterranean."

  "And can you read the message?"

  "I think I can," he replied, "but I shall know soon, I hope."

  I looked down the microscope again, and wondered what message these tinyshells had conveyed to my friend. Deep-sea sand on a dead woman'spillow! What could be more incongruous? What possible connection couldthere be between this sordid crime in the east of London and the deepbed of the "tideless sea"?

  Meanwhile Thorndyke squeezed out more cement on to the three littlepieces of moulding-wax (which I suspected to be the objects that I hadseen him wrapping up with such care in the hall of the Goldsteins'house); then, laying one of them down on a glass slide, with itscemented side uppermost, he stood the other two upright on either sideof it. Finally he squeezed out a fresh load of the thick cement,apparently to bind the three objects together, and carried the slidevery carefully to a cupboard, where he deposited it, together with theenvelope containing the sand and the slide from the stage of themicroscope.

  He was just locking the cupboard when a sharp rat-tat on our knockersent him hurriedly to the door. A messenger-boy, standing on thethreshold, held out a dirty envelope.

  "Mr. Goldstein kept me a awful long time, sir," said he; "I haven't beena-loitering."

  Thorndyke took the envelope over to the gas-light, and, opening it, drewforth a sheet of paper, which he scanned quickly and almost eagerly;and, though his face remained as inscrutable as a mask of stone, I felta conviction that the paper had told him something that he wished toknow.

  The boy having been sent on his way rejoicing, Thorndyke turned to thebookshelves, along which he ran his eye thoughtfully until it alightedon a shabbily-bound volume near one end. This he reached down, and as helaid it open on the table, I glanced at it, and was surprised to observethat it was a bi-lingual work, the opposite pages being apparently inRussian and Hebrew.

  "The Old Testament in Russian and Yiddish," he remarked, noting mysurprise. "I am going to get Polton to photograph a couple of specimenpages--is that the postman or a visitor?"

  It turned out to be the postman, and as Thorndyke extracted from theletter-box a blue official envelope, he glanced significantly at me.

  "This answers your question, I think, Jervis," said he. "Yes; coroner'ssubpoena and a very civil letter: 'sorry to trouble you, but I had nochoice under the circumstances'--of course he hadn't--'Dr. Davidson hasarranged to make the autopsy to-morrow at 4 p.m., and I should be gladif you could be present. The mortuary is in Barker Street, next to theschool.' Well, we must go, I suppose, though Davidson will probablyresent it." He took up the Testament, and went off with it to thelaboratory.

  We lunched at our chambers on the following day, and, after the meal,drew up our chairs to the fire and lit our pipes. Thorndyke wasevidently preoccupied, for he laid his open notebook on his knee, and,gazing meditatively into the fire, m
ade occasional entries with hispencil as though he were arranging the points of an argument. Assumingthat the Aldgate murder was the subject of his cogitations, I venturedto ask:

  "Have you any material evidence to offer the coroner?"

  He closed his notebook and put it away. "The evidence that I have," hesaid, "is material and important; but it is disjointed and ratherinconclusive. If I can join it up into a coherent whole, as I hope to dobefore I reach the court, it will be very important indeed--but here ismy invaluable familiar, with the instruments of research." He turnedwith a smile towards Polton, who had just entered the room, and masterand man exchanged a friendly glance of mutual appreciation. Therelations of Thorndyke and his assistant were a constant delight to me:on the one side, service, loyal and whole-hearted; on the other, frankand full recognition.

  "I should think those will do, sir," said Polton, handing his principala small cardboard box such as playing-cards are carried in. Thorndykepulled off the lid, and I then saw that the box was fitted internallywith grooves for plates, and contained two mounted photographs. Thelatter were very singular productions indeed; they were copies each of apage of the Testament, one Russian and the other Yiddish; but thelettering appeared white on a black ground, of which it occupied onlyquite a small space in the middle, leaving a broad black margin. Eachphotograph was mounted on a stiff card, and each card had a duplicatephotograph pasted on the back.

  Thorndyke exhibited them to me with a provoking smile, holding themdaintily by their edges, before he slid them back into the grooves oftheir box.

  "We are making a little digression into philology, you see," heremarked, as he pocketed the box. "But we must be off now, or we shallkeep Davidson waiting. Thank you, Polton."

  The District Railway carried us swiftly eastward, and we emerged fromAldgate Station a full half-hour before we were due. Nevertheless,Thorndyke stepped out briskly, but instead of making directly for themortuary, he strayed off unaccountably into Mansell Street, scanning thenumbers of the houses as he went. A row of old houses, picturesque butgrimy, on our right seemed specially to attract him, and he slowed downas we approached them.

  "There is a quaint survival, Jervis," he remarked, pointing to a crudelypainted, wooden effigy of an Indian standing on a bracket at the door ofa small old-fashioned tobacconist's shop. We halted to look at thelittle image, and at that moment the side door opened, and a woman cameout on to the doorstop, where she stood gazing up and down the street.

  Thorndyke immediately crossed the pavement, and addressed her,apparently with some question, for I heard her answer presently: "Aquarter-past six is his time, sir, and he is generally punctual to theminute."

  "Thank you," said Thorndyke; "I'll bear that in mind;" and, lifting hishat, he walked on briskly, turning presently up a side-street whichbrought us out into Aldgate. It was now but five minutes to four, so westrode off quickly to keep our tryst at the mortuary; but although wearrived at the gate as the hour was striking, when we entered thebuilding we found Dr. Davidson hanging up his apron and preparing todepart.

  "Sorry I couldn't wait for you," he said, with no great show ofsincerity, "but a _post-mortem_ is a mere farce in a case like this; youhave seen all that there was to see. However, there is the body; Harthasn't closed it up yet."

  With this and a curt "good-afternoon" he departed.

  "I must apologize for Dr. Davidson, sir," said Hart, looking up with avexed face from the desk at which he was writing out his notes.

  "You needn't," said Thorndyke; "you didn't supply him with manners; anddon't let me disturb you. I only want to verify one or two points."

  Accepting the hint, Hart and I remained at the desk, while Thorndyke,removing his hat, advanced to the long slate table, and bent over itsburden of pitiful tragedy. For some time he remained motionless, runninghis eye gravely over the corpse, in search, no doubt, of bruises andindications of a struggle. Then he stooped and narrowly examined thewound, especially at its commencement and end. Suddenly he drew nearer,peering intently as if something had attracted his attention, and havingtaken out his lens, fetched a small sponge, with which he dried anexposed process of the spine. Holding his lens before the dried spot, heagain scrutinized it closely, and then, with a scalpel and forceps,detached some object, which he carefully washed, and then once moreexamined through his lens as it lay in the palm of his hand. Finally, asI expected, he brought forth his "collecting-box," took from it aseed-envelope, into which he dropped the object--evidently somethingquite small--closed up the envelope, wrote on the outside of it, andreplaced it in the box.

  "I think I have seen all that I wanted to see," he said, as he pocketedthe box and took up his hat. "We shall meet to-morrow morning at theinquest." He shook hands with Hart, and we went out into the relativelypure air.

  On one pretext or another, Thorndyke lingered about the neighbourhood ofAldgate until a church bell struck six, when he bent his steps towardsHarrow Alley. Through the narrow, winding passage he walked, slowly andwith a thoughtful mien, along Little Somerset Street and out intoMansell Street, until just on the stroke of a quarter-past we foundourselves opposite the little tobacconist's shop.

  Thorndyke glanced at his watch and halted, looking keenly up the street.A moment later he hastily took from his pocket the cardboard box, fromwhich he extracted the two mounted photographs which had puzzled me somuch. They now seemed to puzzle Thorndyke equally, to judge by hisexpression, for he held them close to his eyes, scrutinizing them withan anxious frown, and backing by degrees into the doorway at the side ofthe tobacconist's. At this moment I became aware of a man who, as heapproached, seemed to eye my friend with some curiosity and moredisfavour; a very short, burly young man, apparently a foreign Jew,whose face, naturally sinister and unprepossessing, was furtherdisfigured by the marks of smallpox.

  "Excuse me," he said brusquely, pushing past Thorndyke; "I live here."

  "I am sorry," responded Thorndyke. He moved aside, and then suddenlyasked: "By the way, I suppose you do not by any chance understandYiddish?"

  "Why do you ask?" the newcomer demanded gruffly.

  "Because I have just had these two photographs of lettering given tome. One is in Greek, I think, and one in Yiddish, but I have forgottenwhich is which." He held out the two cards to the stranger, who tookthem from him, and looked at them with scowling curiosity.

  "This one is Yiddish," said he, raising his right hand, "and this otheris Russian, not Greek." He held out the two cards to Thorndyke, who tookthem from him, holding them carefully by the edges as before.

  "I am greatly obliged to you for your kind assistance," said Thorndyke;but before he had time to finish his thanks, the man had entered, bymeans of his latchkey, and slammed the door.

  Thorndyke carefully slid the photographs back into their grooves,replaced the box in his pocket, and made an entry in his notebook.

  "That," said he, "finishes my labours, with the exception of a smallexperiment which I can perform at home. By the way, I picked up a morselof evidence that Davidson had overlooked. He will be annoyed, and I amnot very fond of scoring off a colleague; but he is too uncivil for meto communicate with."

  * * * * *

  The coroner's subpoena had named ten o'clock as the hour at whichThorndyke was to attend to give evidence, but a consultation with awell-known solicitor so far interfered with his plans that we were aquarter of an hour late in starting from the Temple. My friend wasevidently in excellent spirits, though silent and preoccupied, fromwhich I inferred that he was satisfied with the results of his labours;but, as I sat by his side in the hansom, I forbore to question him, notfrom mere unselfishness, but rather from the desire to hear hisevidence for the first time in conjunction with that of the otherwitnesses.

  The room in which the inquest was held formed part of a school adjoiningthe mortuary. Its vacant bareness was on this occasion enlivened by along, baize-covered table, at the head of which sat the coroner, whileone side was occupied by the jury; a
nd I was glad to observe that thelatter consisted, for the most part, of genuine working men, instead ofthe stolid-faced, truculent "professional jurymen" who so often gracethese tribunals.

  A row of chairs accommodated the witnesses, a corner of the table wasallotted to the accused woman's solicitor, a smart dapper gentleman ingold pince-nez, a portion of one side to the reporters, and severalranks of benches were occupied by a miscellaneous assembly representingthe public.

  There were one or two persons present whom I was somewhat surprised tosee. There was, for instance, our pock-marked acquaintance of MansellStreet, who greeted us with a stare of hostile surprise; and there wasSuperintendent Miller of Scotland Yard, in whose manner I seemed todetect some kind of private understanding with Thorndyke. But I hadlittle time to look about me, for when we arrived, the proceedings hadalready commenced. Mrs. Goldstein, the first witness, was finishing herrecital of the circumstances under which the crime was discovered, and,as she retired, weeping hysterically, she was followed by looks ofcommiseration from the sympathetic jurymen.

  The next witness was a young woman named Kate Silver. As she steppedforward to be sworn she flung a glance of hatred and defiance at MiriamGoldstein, who, white-faced and wild of aspect, with her red hairstreaming in dishevelled masses on to her shoulders, stood apart incustody of two policemen, staring about her as if in a dream.

  "You were intimately acquainted with the deceased, I believe?" said thecoroner.

  "I was. We worked at the same place for a long time--the EmpireRestaurant in Fenchurch Street--and we lived in the same house. She wasmy most intimate friend."

  "Had she, as far as you know, any friends or relations in England?"

  "No. She came to England from Bremen about three years ago. It was thenthat I made her acquaintance. All her relations were in Germany, but shehad many friends here, because she was a very lively, amiable girl."

  "Had she, as far as you know, any enemies--any persons, I mean, who boreany grudge against her and were likely to do her an injury?"

  "Yes. Miriam Goldstein was her enemy. She hated her."

  "You say Miriam Goldstein hated the deceased. How do you know that?"

  "She made no secret of it. They had had a violent quarrel about a youngman named Moses Cohen. He was formerly Miriam's sweetheart, and I thinkthey were very fond of one another until Minna Adler came to lodge atthe Goldsteins' house about three months ago. Then Moses took a fancy toMinna, and she encouraged him, although she had a sweetheart of her own,a young man named Paul Petrofsky, who also lodged in the Goldsteins'house. At last Moses broke off with Miriam, and engaged himself toMinna. Then Miriam was furious, and complained to Minna about what shecalled her perfidious conduct; but Minna only laughed, and told her shecould have Petrofsky instead."

  "And what did Minna say to that?" asked the coroner.

  "She was still more angry, because Moses Cohen is a smart, good-lookingyoung man, while Petrofsky is not much to look at. Besides, Miriam didnot like Petrofsky; he had been rude to her, and she had made her fathersend him away from the house. So they were not friends, and it was justafter that that the trouble came."

  "The trouble?"

  "I mean about Moses Cohen. Miriam is a very passionate girl, and she wasfuriously jealous of Minna, so when Petrofsky annoyed her by tauntingher about Moses Cohen and Minna, she lost her temper, and said dreadfulthings about both of them."

  "As, for instance--?"

  "She said that she would kill them both, and that she would like to cutMinna's throat."

  "When was this?"

  "It was the day before the murder."

  "Who heard her say these things besides you?"

  "Another lodger named Edith Bryant and Petrofsky. We were all standingin the hall at the time."

  "But I thought you said Petrofsky had been turned away from the house."

  "So he had, a week before; but he had left a box in his room, and onthis day he had come to fetch it. That was what started the trouble.Miriam had taken his room for her bedroom, and turned her old one into aworkroom. She said he should not go to her room to fetch his box."

  "And did he?"

  "I think so. Miriam and Edith and I went out, leaving him in the hall.When we came back the box was gone, and, as Mrs. Goldstein was in thekitchen and there was nobody else in the house, he must have taken it."

  "You spoke of Miriam's workroom. What work did she do?"

  "She cut stencils for a firm of decorators."

  Here the coroner took a peculiarly shaped knife from the table beforehim, and handed it to the witness.

  "Have you ever seen that knife before?" he asked.

  "Yes. It belongs to Miriam Goldstein. It is a stencil-knife that sheused in her work."

  This concluded the evidence of Kate Silver, and when the name of thenext witness, Paul Petrofsky, was called, our Mansell Street friend cameforward to be sworn. His evidence was quite brief, and merelycorroborative of that of Kate Silver, as was that of the next witness,Edith Bryant. When these had been disposed of, the coroner announced:

  "Before taking the medical evidence, gentlemen, I propose to hear thatof the police-officers, and first we will call Detective-sergeant AlfredBates."

  The sergeant stepped forward briskly, and proceeded to give his evidencewith official readiness and precision.

  "I was called by Constable Simmonds at eleven-forty-nine, and reachedthe house at two minutes to twelve in company with Inspector Harris andDivisional Surgeon Davidson. When I arrived Dr. Hart, Dr. Thorndyke, andDr. Jervis were already in the room. I found the deceased woman, MinnaAdler, lying in bed with her throat cut. She was dead and cold. Therewere no signs of a struggle, and the bed did not appear to have beendisturbed. There was a table by the bedside on which was a book and anempty candlestick. The candle had apparently burnt out, for there wasonly a piece of charred wick at the bottom of the socket. A box had beenplaced on the floor at the head of the bed and a hassock stood on it.Apparently the murderer had stood on the hassock and leaned over thehead of the bed to commit the murder. This was rendered necessary by theposition of the table, which could not have been moved without makingsome noise and perhaps disturbing the deceased. I infer from thepresence of the box and hassock that the murderer is a short person."

  "Was there anything else that seemed to fix the identity of themurderer?"

  "Yes. A tress of a woman's red hair was grasped in the left hand of thedeceased."

  As the detective uttered this statement, a simultaneous shriek of horrorburst from the accused woman and her mother. Mrs. Goldstein sankhalf-fainting on to a bench, while Miriam, pale as death, stood as onepetrified, fixing the detective with a stare of terror, as he drew fromhis pocket two small paper packets, which he opened and handed to thecoroner.

  "The hair in the packet marked _A_," said he, "is that which was foundin the hand of the deceased; that in the packet marked _B_ is the hairof Miriam Goldstein."

  Here the accused woman's solicitor rose. "Where did you obtain the hairin the packet marked _B_?" he demanded.

  "I took it from a bag of combings that hung on the wall of MiriamGoldstein's bedroom," answered the detective.

  "I object to this," said the solicitor. "There is no evidence that thehair from that bag was the hair of Miriam Goldstein at all."

  Thorndyke chuckled softly. "The lawyer is as dense as the policeman," heremarked to me in an undertone. "Neither of them seems to see thesignificance of that bag in the least."

  "Did you know about the bag, then?" I asked in surprise.

  "No. I thought it was the hair-brush."

  I gazed at my colleague in amazement, and was about to ask for someelucidation of this cryptic reply, when he held up his finger and turnedagain to listen.

  "Very well, Mr. Horwitz," the coroner was saying, "I will make a note ofyour objection, but I shall allow the sergeant to continue hisevidence."

  The solicitor sat down, and the detective resumed his statement.

  "I have examined an
d compared the two samples of hair, and it is myopinion that they are from the head of the same person. The only otherobservation that I made in the room was that there was a small quantityof silver sand sprinkled on the pillow around the deceased woman'shead."

  "Silver sand!" exclaimed the coroner. "Surely that is a very singularmaterial to find on a woman's pillow?"

  "I think it is easily explained," replied the sergeant. "The wash-handbasin was full of bloodstained water, showing that the murderer hadwashed his--or her--hands, and probably the knife, too, after the crime.On the washstand was a ball of sand-soap, and I imagine that themurderer used this to cleanse his--or her--hands, and, while dryingthem, must have stood over the head of the bed and let the sandsprinkle down on to the pillow."

  "A simple but highly ingenious explanation," commented the coronerapprovingly, and the jurymen exchanged admiring nods and nudges.

  "I searched the rooms occupied by the accused woman, Miriam Goldstein,and found there a knife of the kind used by stencil cutters, but largerthan usual. There were stains of blood on it which the accused explainedby saying that she cut her finger some days ago. She admitted that theknife was hers."

  This concluded the sergeant's evidence, and he was about to sit downwhen the solicitor rose.

  "I should like to ask this witness one or two questions," said he, andthe coroner having nodded assent, he proceeded: "Has the finger of theaccused been examined since her arrest?"

  "I believe not," replied the sergeant. "Not to my knowledge, at anyrate."

  The solicitor noted the reply, and then asked: "With reference to thesilver sand, did you find any at the bottom of the wash-hand basin?"

  The sergeant's face reddened. "I did not examine the wash-hand basin,"he answered.

  "Did anybody examine it?"

  "I think not."

  "Thank you." Mr. Horwitz sat down, and the triumphant squeak of hisquill pen was heard above the muttered disapproval of the jury.

  "We shall now take the evidence of the doctors, gentlemen," said thecoroner, "and we will begin with that of the divisional surgeon. You sawthe deceased, I believe, Doctor," he continued, when Dr. Davidson hadbeen sworn, "soon after the discovery of the murder, and you have sincethen made an examination of the body?"

  "Yes. I found the body of the deceased lying in her bed, which hadapparently not been disturbed. She had been dead about ten hours, andrigidity was complete in the limbs but not in the trunk. The cause ofdeath was a deep wound extending right across the throat and dividingall the structures down to the spine. It had been inflicted with asingle sweep of a knife while deceased was lying down, and was evidentlyhomicidal. It was not possible for the deceased to have inflicted thewound herself. It was made with a single-edged knife, drawn from left toright; the assailant stood on a hassock placed on a box at the head ofthe bed and leaned over to strike the blow. The murderer is probablyquite a short person, very muscular, and right-handed. There was no signof a struggle, and, judging by the nature of the injuries, I should saythat death was almost instantaneous. In the left hand of the deceasedwas a small tress of a woman's red hair. I have compared that hair withthat of the accused, and am of opinion that it is her hair."

  "You were shown a knife belonging to the accused?"

  "Yes; a stencil-knife. There were stains of dried blood on it which Ihave examined and find to be mammalian blood. It is probably humanblood, but I cannot say with certainty that it is."

  "Could the wound have been inflicted with this knife?"

  "Yes, though it is a small knife to produce so deep a wound. Still, itis quite possible."

  The coroner glanced at Mr. Horwitz. "Do you wish to ask this witness anyquestions?" he inquired.

  "If you please, sir," was the reply. The solicitor rose, and, havingglanced through his notes, commenced: "You have described certainblood-stains on this knife. But we have heard that there wasblood-stained water in the wash-hand basin, and it is suggested, mostreasonably, that the murderer washed his hands and the knife. But if theknife was washed, how do you account for the bloodstains on it?"

  "Apparently the knife was not washed, only the hands."

  "But is not that highly improbable?"

  "No, I think not."

  "You say that there was no struggle, and that death was practicallyinstantaneous, but yet the deceased had torn out a lock of themurderess's hair. Are not those two statements inconsistent with oneanother?"

  "No. The hair was probably grasped convulsively at the moment of death.At any rate, the hair was undoubtedly in the dead woman's hand."

  "Is it possible to identify positively the hair of any individual?"

  "No. Not with certainty. But this is very peculiar hair."

  The solicitor sat down, and, Dr. Hart having been called, and havingbriefly confirmed the evidence of his principal, the coroner announced:"The next witness, gentleman, is Dr. Thorndyke, who was present almostaccidentally, but was actually the first on the scene of the murder. Hehas since made an examination of the body, and will, no doubt, be ableto throw some further light on this horrible crime."

  Thorndyke stood up, and, having been sworn, laid on the table a smallbox with a leather handle. Then, in answer to the coroner's questions,he described himself as the lecturer on Medical Jurisprudence at St.Margaret's Hospital, and briefly explained his connection with thecase. At this point the foreman of the jury interrupted to ask that hisopinion might be taken on the hair and the knife, as these were mattersof contention, and the objects in question were accordingly handed tohim.

  "Is the hair in the packet marked _A_ in your opinion from the sameperson as that in the packet marked _B_?" the coroner asked.

  "I have no doubt that they are from the same person," was the reply.

  "Will you examine this knife and tell us if the wound on the deceasedmight have been inflicted with it?"

  Thorndyke examined the blade attentively, and then handed the knife backto the coroner.

  "The wound might have been inflicted with this knife," said he, "but Iam quite sure it was not."

  "Can you give us your reasons for that very definite opinion?"

  "I think," said Thorndyke, "that it will save time if I give you thefacts in a connected order." The coroner bowed assent, and he proceeded:"I will not waste your time by reiterating facts already stated.Sergeant Bates has fully described the state of the room, and I havenothing to add on that subject. Dr. Davidson's description of the bodycovers all the facts: the woman had been dead about ten hours, the woundwas unquestionably homicidal, and was inflicted in the manner that hehas described. Death was apparently instantaneous, and I should say thatthe deceased never awakened from her sleep."

  "But," objected the coroner, "the deceased held a lock of hair in herhand."

  "That hair," replied Thorndyke, "was not the hair of the murderer. Itwas placed in the hand of the corpse for an obvious purpose; and thefact that the murderer had brought it with him shows that the crime waspremeditated, and that it was committed by someone who had had access tothe house and was acquainted with its inmates."

  As Thorndyke made this statement, coroner, jurymen, and spectators alikegazed at him in open-mouthed amazement. There was an interval of intensesilence, broken by a wild, hysteric laugh from Mrs. Goldstein, and thenthe coroner asked:

  "How did you know that the hair in the hand of the corpse was not thatof the murderer?"

  "The inference was very obvious. At the first glance the peculiar andconspicuous colour of the hair struck me as suspicious. But there werethree facts, each of which was in itself sufficient to prove that thehair was probably not that of the murderer.

  "In the first place there was the condition of the hand. When a person,at the moment of death, grasps any object firmly, there is set up acondition known as cadaveric spasm. The muscular contraction passesimmediately into _rigor mortis_, or death-stiffening, and the objectremains grasped by the dead hand until the rigidity passes off. In thiscase the hand was perfectly rigid, but it did no
t grasp the hair at all.The little tress lay in the palm quite loosely and the hand was onlypartially closed. Obviously the hair had been placed in it after death.The other two facts had reference to the condition of the hair itself.Now, when a lock of hair is torn from the head, it is evident that allthe roots will be found at the same end of the lock. But in the presentinstance this was not the case; the lock of hair which lay in the deadwoman's hand had roots at both ends, and so could not have been tornfrom the head of the murderer. But the third fact that I observed wasstill more conclusive. The hairs of which that little tress was composedhad not been pulled out at all. They had fallen out spontaneously. Theywere, in fact, shed hairs--probably combings. Let me explain thedifference. When a hair is shed naturally, it drops out of the littletube in the skin called the root sheath, having been pushed out by theyoung hair growing up underneath; the root end of such a shed hair showsnothing but a small bulbous enlargement--the root bulb. But when a hairis forcibly pulled out, its root drags out the root sheath with it, andthis can be plainly seen as a glistening mass on the end of the hair. IfMiriam Goldstein will pull out a hair and pass it to me, I will show youthe great difference between hair which is pulled out and hair which isshed."

  _A_, SHED HAIRS SHOWING THE NAKED BULB, MAGNIFIED 32DIAMETERS.

  _B_, HAIRS PLUCKED FROM SCALP, SHOWING THE ADHERENT ROOT-SHEATHS,MAGNIFIED 20 DIAMETERS.]

  The unfortunate Miriam needed no pressing. In a twinkling she hadtweaked out a dozen hairs, which a constable handed across to Thorndyke,by whom they were at once fixed in a paper-clip. A second clip beingproduced from the box, half a dozen hairs taken from the tress which hadbeen found in the dead woman's hand were fixed in it. Then Thorndykehanded the two clips, together with a lens, to the coroner.

  "Remarkable!" exclaimed the latter, "and most conclusive." He passed theobjects on to the foreman, and there was an interval of silence whilethe jury examined them with breathless interest and much facialcontortion.

  "The next question," resumed Thorndyke, "was, Whence did the murdererobtain these hairs? I assumed that they had been taken from MiriamGoldstein's hair-brush; but the sergeant's evidence makes it prettyclear that they were obtained from the very bag of combings from whichhe took a sample for comparison."

  "I think, Doctor," remarked the coroner, "you have disposed of the hairclue pretty completely. May I ask if you found anything that might throwany light on the identity of the murderer?"

  "Yes," replied Thorndyke, "I observed certain things which determine theidentity of the murderer quite conclusively." He turned a significantglance on Superintendent Miller, who immediately rose, stepped quietlyto the door, and then returned, putting something into his pocket. "WhenI entered the hall," Thorndyke continued, "I noted the following facts:Behind the door was a shelf on which were two china candlesticks. Eachwas fitted with a candle, and in one was a short candle-end, about aninch long, lying in the tray. On the floor, close to the mat, was a spotof candle-wax and some faint marks of muddy feet. The oil-cloth on thestairs also bore faint footmarks, made by wet goloshes. They wereascending the stairs, and grew fainter towards the top. There were twomore spots of candle-wax on the stairs, and one on the handrail; a burntend of a wax match halfway up the stairs, and another on the landing.There were no descending footmarks, but one of the spots of wax close tothe balusters had been trodden on while warm and soft, and bore the markof the front of the heel of a golosh descending the stairs. The lock ofthe street door had been recently oiled, as had also that of the bedroomdoor, and the latter had been unlocked from outside with a bent wire,which had made a mark on the key. Inside the room I made two furtherobservations. One was that the dead woman's pillow was lightly sprinkledwith sand, somewhat like silver sand, but greyer and less gritty. Ishall return to this presently.

  "The other was that the candlestick on the bedside table was empty. Itwas a peculiar candlestick, having a skeleton socket formed of eightflat strips of metal. The charred wick of a burnt-out candle was at thebottom of the socket, but a little fragment of wax on the top edgeshowed that another candle had been stuck in it and had been taken out,for otherwise that fragment would have been melted. I at once thought ofthe candle-end in the hall, and when I went down again I took that endfrom the tray and examined it. On it I found eight distinct markscorresponding to the eight bars of the candlestick in the bedroom. Ithad been carried in the right hand of some person, for the warm, softwax had taken beautifully clear impressions of a right thumb andforefinger. I took three moulds of the candle-end in moulding wax, andfrom these moulds have made this cement cast, which shows both thefingerprints and the marks of the candlestick." He took from his box asmall white object, which he handed to the coroner.

  "And what do you gather from these facts?" asked the coroner.

  "I gather that at about a quarter to two on the morning of the crime, aman (who had, on the previous day visited the house to obtain the tressof hair and oil the locks) entered the house by means of a latchkey. Wecan fix the time by the fact that it rained on that morning fromhalf-past one to a quarter to two, this being the only rain that hasfallen for a fortnight, and the murder was committed at about twoo'clock. The man lit a wax match in the hall and another halfway up thestairs. He found the bedroom door locked, and turned the key fromoutside with a bent wire. He entered, lit the candle, placed the box andhassock, murdered his victim, washed his hands and knife, took thecandle-end from the socket and went downstairs, where he blew out thecandle and dropped it into the tray.

  "The next clue is furnished by the sand on the pillow. I took a littleof it, and examined it under the microscope, when it turned out to bedeep-sea sand from the Eastern Mediterranean. It was full of the minuteshells called 'Foraminifera,' and as one of these happened to belong toa species which is found only in the Levant, I was able to fix thelocality."

  "But this is very remarkable," said the coroner. "How on earth coulddeep-sea sand have got on to this woman's pillow?"

  "The explanation," replied Thorndyke, "is really quite simple. Sand ofthis kind is contained in considerable quantities in Turkey sponges. Thewarehouses in which the sponges are unpacked are often strewn with itankle deep; the men who unpack the cases become dusted over with it,their clothes saturated and their pockets filled with it. If such aperson, with his clothes and pockets full of sand, had committed thismurder, it is pretty certain that in leaning over the head of the bed ina partly inverted position he would have let fall a certain quantity ofthe sand from his pockets and the interstices of his clothing. Now, assoon as I had examined this sand and ascertained its nature, I sent amessage to Mr. Goldstein asking him for a list of the persons who wereacquainted with the deceased, with their addresses and occupations. Hesent me the list by return, and among the persons mentioned was a manwho was engaged as a packer in a wholesale sponge warehouse in theMinories. I further ascertained that the new season's crop of Turkeysponges had arrived a few days before the murder.

  "The question that now arose was, whether this sponge-packer was theperson whose fingerprints I had found on the candle-end. To settle thispoint, I prepared two mounted photographs, and having contrived to meetthe man at his door on his return from work, I induced him to look atthem and compare them. He took them from me, holding each one between aforefinger and thumb. When he returned them to me, I took them home andcarefully dusted each on both sides with a certain surgicaldusting-powder. The powder adhered to the places where his fingers andthumbs had pressed against the photographs, showing the fingerprintsvery distinctly. Those of the right hand were identical with the printson the candle, as you will see if you compare them with the cast." Heproduced from the box the photograph of the Yiddish lettering, on theblack margin of which there now stood out with startling distinctness ayellowish-white print of a thumb.

  Thorndyke had just handed the card to the coroner when a very singulardisturbance arose. While my friend had been giving the latter part ofhis evidence, I had observed the man Petrofsky rise from his seat andwalk s
tealthily across to the door. He turned the handle softly andpulled, at first gently, and then with more force. But the door waslocked. As he realized this, Petrofsky seized the handle with bothhands and tore at it furiously, shaking it to and fro with the violenceof a madman, and his shaking limbs, his starting eyes, glaring insanelyat the astonished spectators, his ugly face, dead white, running withsweat and hideous with terror, made a picture that was truly shocking.

  Suddenly he let go the handle, and with a horrible cry thrust his handunder the skirt of his coat and rushed at Thorndyke. But thesuperintendent was ready for this. There was a shout and a scuffle, andthen Petrofsky was born down, kicking and biting like a maniac, whileMiller hung on to his right hand and the formidable knife that itgrasped.

  SUPERINTENDENT MILLER RISES TO THE OCCASION.]

  "I will ask you to hand that knife to the coroner," said Thorndyke, whenPetrofsky had been secured and handcuffed, and the superintendent hadreadjusted his collar. "Will you kindly examine it, sir," he continued,"and tell me if there is a notch in the edge, near to the point--atriangular notch about an eighth of an inch long?"

  The coroner looked at the knife, and then said in a tone of surprise:"Yes, there is. You have seen this knife before, then?"

  "No, I have not," replied Thorndyke. "But perhaps I had better continuemy statement. There is no need for me to tell you that the fingerprintson the card and on the candle are those of Paul Petrofsky; I willproceed to the evidence furnished by the body.

  "In accordance with your order, I went to the mortuary and examined thecorpse of the deceased. The wound has been fully and accuratelydescribed by Dr. Davidson, but I observed one fact which I presume hehad overlooked. Embedded in the bone of the spine--in the lefttransverse process of the fourth vertebra--I discovered a small particleof steel, which I carefully extracted."

  He drew his collecting-box from his pocket, and taking from it aseed-envelope, handed the latter to the coroner. "That fragment of steelis in this envelope," he said, "and it is possible that it maycorrespond to the notch in the knife-blade."

  Amidst an intense silence the coroner opened the little envelope, andlet the fragment of steel drop on to a sheet of paper. Laying the knifeon the paper, he gently pushed the fragment towards the notch. Then helooked up at Thorndyke.

  "It fits exactly," said he.

  There was a heavy thud at the other end of the room and we all lookedround.

  Petrofsky had fallen on to the floor insensible.

  * * * * *

  "An instructive case, Jervis," remarked Thorndyke, as we walkedhomewards--"a case that reiterates the lesson that the authorities stillrefuse to learn."

  "What is that?" I asked.

  "It is this. When it is discovered that a murder has been committed, thescene of that murder should instantly become as the Palace of theSleeping Beauty. Not a grain of dust should be moved, not a soul shouldbe allowed to approach it, until the scientific observer has seeneverything _in situ_ and absolutely undisturbed. No tramplings ofexcited constables, no rummaging by detectives, no scrambling to and froof bloodhounds. Consider what would have happened in this case if we hadarrived a few hours later. The corpse would have been in the mortuary,the hair in the sergeant's pocket, the bed rummaged and the sandscattered abroad, the candle probably removed, and the stairs coveredwith fresh tracks.

  "There would not have been the vestige of a clue."

  "And," I added, "the deep sea would have uttered its message in vain."

  THE END.

 

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