More Rivals of Sherlock Holmes

by Nick Rennison

  ‘“What will you give me for it?” demanded Parratt, breaking out into a cold sweat at the prospect of a final refusal.

  ‘The dealer felt in his pocket, drew out a couple of francs, and held them out.

  ‘“Very well,” said Parratt. He took the money as calmly as he could, and marched out of the shop, with a gasp of relief, leaving the pendant in the dealer’s hand.

  ‘The jewel was hung up in a glass case, and nothing more was thought about it until some ten days later, when an English tourist, who came into the shop, noticed it and took a liking to it. Thereupon the dealer offered it to him for five pounds, assuring him that it was a genuine pearl, a statement that, to his amazement, the stranger evidently believed. He was then deeply afflicted at not having asked a higher price, but the bargain had been struck, and the Englishman went off with his purchase.

  ‘This was the story told by Captain Raggerton’s friend, and I have given it to you in full detail, having read the manuscript over many times since it was given to me. No doubt you will regard it as a mere traveller’s tale, and consider me a superstitious idiot for giving any credence to it.’

  ‘It certainly seems more remarkable for picturesqueness than for credibility,’ Thorndyke agreed. ‘May I ask,’ he continued, ‘whether Captain Raggerton’s friend gave any explanation as to how this singular story came to his knowledge, or to that of anybody else?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ replied Calverley; ‘I forgot to mention that the seaman, Parratt, very shortly after he had sold the pearl, fell down the hatch into the hold as the ship was unloading, and was very badly injured. He was taken to the hospital, where he died on the following day; and it was while he was lying there in a dying condition that he confessed to the murder, and gave this circumstantial account of it.’

  ‘I see,’ said Thorndyke; ‘and I understand that you accept the story as literally true?’

  ‘Undoubtedly.’

  Calverley flushed defiantly as he returned Thorndyke’s look, and continued:

  ‘You see, I am not a man of science: therefore my beliefs are not limited to things that can be weighed and measured. There are things, Dr Thorndyke, which are outside the range of our puny intellects; things that science, with its arrogant materialism, puts aside and ignores with close-shut eyes. I prefer to believe in things which obviously exist, even though I cannot explain them. It is the humbler and, I think, the wiser attitude.’

  ‘But, my dear Fred,’ protested Mr Brodribb, ‘this is a rank fairy-tale.’

  Calverley turned upon the solicitor. ‘If you had seen what I have seen, you would not only believe: you would know.’

  ‘Tell us what you have seen, then,’ said Mr Brodribb.

  ‘I will, if you wish to hear it,’ said Calverley. ‘I will continue the strange history of the Mandarin’s Pearl.’

  He lit a fresh cigarette and continued:

  ‘The night I came to Beechhurst – that is my cousin’s house, you know – a rather absurd thing happened, which I mention on account of its connection with what has followed. I had gone to my room early, and sat for some time writing letters before getting ready for bed. When I had finished my letters, I started on a tour of inspection of my room. I was then, you must remember, in a very nervous state, and it had become my habit to examine the room in which I was to sleep before undressing, looking under the bed, and in any cupboards and closets that there happened to be. Now, on looking round my new room, I perceived that there was a second door, and I at once proceeded to open it to see where it led to. As soon as I opened the door, I got a terrible start. I found myself looking into a narrow closet or passage, lined with pegs, on which the servant had hung some of my clothes; at the farther end was another door, and, as I stood looking into the closet, I observed, with startled amazement, a man standing holding the door half open, and silently regarding me. I stood for a moment staring at him, with my heart thumping and my limbs all of a tremble; then I slammed the door and ran off to look for my cousin.

  ‘He was in the billiard-room with Raggerton, and the pair looked up sharply as I entered.

  ‘“Alfred,” I said, “where does that passage lead to out of my room?”

  ‘“Lead to?” said he. “Why, it doesn’t lead anywhere. It used to open into a cross corridor, but when the house was altered, the corridor was done away with, and this passage closed up. It is only a cupboard now.”

  ‘“Well, there’s a man in it – or there was just now.”

  ‘“Nonsense!” he exclaimed; “impossible! Let us go and look at the place.”

  ‘He and Raggerton rose, and we went together to my room. As we flung open the door of the closet and looked in, we all three burst into a laugh. There were three men now looking at us from the open door at the other end, and the mystery was solved. A large mirror had been placed at the end of the closet to cover the partition which cut it off from the cross corridor.

  ‘This incident naturally exposed me to a good deal of chaff from my cousin and Captain Raggerton; but I often wished that the mirror had not been placed there, for it happened over and over again that, going to the cupboard hurriedly, and not thinking of the mirror, I got quite a bad shock on being confronted by a figure apparently coming straight at me through an open door. In fact, it annoyed me so much, in my nervous state, that I even thought of asking my cousin to give me a different room; but, happening to refer to the matter when talking to Raggerton, I found the Captain so scornful of my cowardice that my pride was touched, and I let the affair drop.

  ‘And now I come to a very strange occurrence, which I shall relate quite frankly, although I know beforehand that you will set me down as a liar or a lunatic. I had been away from home for a fortnight, and as I returned rather late at night, I went straight to my room. Having partly undressed, I took my clothes in one hand and a candle in the other, and opened the cupboard door. I stood for a moment looking nervously at my double, standing, candle in hand, looking at me through the open door at the other end of the passage; then I entered, and, setting the candle on a shelf, proceeded to hang up my clothes. I had hung them up, and had just reached up for the candle, when my eye was caught by something strange in the mirror. It no longer reflected the candle in my hand, but instead of it, a large coloured paper lantern. I stood petrified with astonishment, and gazed into the mirror; and then I saw that my own reflection was changed, too; that, in place of my own figure, was that of an elderly Chinaman, who stood regarding me with stony calm.

  ‘I must have stood for near upon a minute, unable to move and scarce able to breathe, face to face with that awful figure. At length I turned to escape, and, as I turned, he turned also, and I could see him, over my shoulder, hurrying away. As I reached the door, I halted for a moment, looking back with the door in my hand, holding the candle above my head; and even so he halted, looking back at me, with his hand upon the door and his lantern held above his head.

  ‘I was so much upset that I could not go to bed for some hours, but continued to pace the room, in spite of my fatigue. Now and again I was impelled, irresistibly, to peer into the cupboard, but nothing was to be seen in the mirror save my own figure, candle in hand, peeping in at me through the half-open door. And each time that I looked into my own white, horror-stricken face, I shut the door hastily and turned away with a shudder; for the pegs, with the clothes hanging on them, seemed to call to me. I went to bed at last, and before I fell asleep I formed the resolution that, if I was spared until the next day, I would write to the British Consul at Canton, and offer to restore the pearl to the relatives of the murdered mandarin.

  ‘On the following day I wrote and despatched the letter, after which I felt more composed, though I was haunted continually by the recollection of that stony, impassive figure; and from time to time I felt an irresistible impulse to go and look in at the door of the closet, at the mirror and the pegs with the clothes hanging from them. I told my cous
in of the visitation that I had received, but he merely laughed, and was frankly incredulous; while the Captain bluntly advised me not to be a superstitious donkey.

  ‘For some days after this I was left in peace, and began to hope that my letter had appeased the spirit of the murdered man; but on the fifth day, about six o’clock in the evening, happening to want some papers that I had left in the pocket of a coat which was hanging in the closet, I went in to get them. I took in no candle as it was not yet dark, but left the door wide open to light me. The coat that I wanted was near the end of the closet, not more than four paces from the mirror, and as I went towards it I watched my reflection rather nervously as it advanced to meet me. I found my coat, and as I felt for the papers, I still kept a suspicious eye on my double. And, even as I looked, a most strange phenomenon appeared: the mirror seemed for an instant to darken or cloud over, and then, as it cleared again, I saw, standing dark against the light of the open door behind him, the figure of the mandarin. After a single glance, I ran out of the closet, shaking with agitation; but as I turned to shut the door, I noticed that it was my own figure that was reflected in the glass. The Chinaman had vanished in an instant.

  ‘It now became evident that my letter had not served its purpose, and I was plunged in despair; the more so since, on this day, I felt again the dreadful impulse to go and look at the pegs on the walls of the closet. There was no mistaking the meaning of that impulse, and each time that I went, I dragged myself away reluctantly, though shivering with horror. One circumstance, indeed, encouraged me a little; the mandarin had not, on either occasion, beckoned to me as he had done to the sailors, so that perhaps some way of escape yet lay open to me.

  ‘During the next few days I considered very earnestly what measures I could take to avert the doom that seemed to be hanging over me. The simplest plan, that of passing the pearl on to some other person, was out of the question; it would be nothing short of murder. On the other hand, I could not wait for an answer to my letter; for even if I remained alive, I felt that my reason would have given way long before the reply reached me. But while I was debating what I should do, the mandarin appeared to me again; and then, after an interval of only two days, he came to me once more. That was last night. I remained gazing at him, fascinated, with my flesh creeping, as he stood, lantern in hand, looking steadily in my face. At last he held out his hand to me, as if asking me to give him the pearl; then the mirror darkened, and he vanished in a flash; and in the place where he had stood there was my own reflection looking at me out of the glass.

  ‘That last visitation decided me. When I left home this morning the pearl was in my pocket, and as I came over Waterloo Bridge, I leaned over the parapet and flung the thing into the water. After that I felt quite relieved for a time; I had shaken the accursed thing off without involving anyone in the curse that it carried. But presently I began to feel fresh misgivings, and the conviction has been growing upon me all day that I have done the wrong thing. I have only placed it for ever beyond the reach of its owner, whereas I ought to have burnt it, after the Chinese fashion, so that its non-material essence could have joined the spiritual body of him to whom it had belonged when both were clothed with material substance.

  ‘But it can’t be altered now. For good or for evil, the thing is done, and God alone knows what the end of it will be.’

  As he concluded, Calverley uttered a deep sigh, and covered his face with his slender, delicate hands. For a space we were all silent and, I think, deeply moved; for, grotesquely unreal as the whole thing was, there was a pathos, and even a tragedy, in it that we all felt to be very real indeed.

  Suddenly Mr Brodribb started and looked at his watch.

  ‘Good gracious, Calverley, we shall lose our train.’

  The young man pulled himself together and stood up. ‘We shall just do it if we go at once,’ said he. ‘Goodbye,’ he added, shaking Thorndyke’s hand and mine. ‘You have been very patient, and I have been rather prosy, I am afraid. Come along, Mr Brodribb.’

  Thorndyke and I followed them out on to the landing, and I heard my colleague say to the solicitor in a low tone, but very earnestly: ‘Get him away from that house, Brodribb, and don’t let him out of your sight for a moment.’

  I did not catch the solicitor’s reply, if he made any, but when we were back in our room I noticed that Thorndyke was more agitated than I had ever seen him.

  ‘I ought not to have let them go,’ he exclaimed. ‘Confound me! If I had had a grain of wit, I should have made them lose their train.’

  He lit his pipe and fell to pacing the room with long strides, his eyes bent on the floor with an expression sternly reflective. At last, finding him hopelessly taciturn, I knocked out my pipe and went to bed.

  * * * * *

  As I was dressing on the following morning, Thorndyke entered my room. His face was grave even to sternness, and he held a telegram in his hand.

  ‘I am going to Weybridge this morning,’ he said shortly, holding the ‘flimsy’ out to me. ‘Shall you come?’

  I took the paper from him, and read:

  ‘Come, for God’s sake! FC is dead. You will understand.– BRODRIBB.’

  I handed him back the telegram, too much shocked for a moment to speak. The whole dreadful tragedy summed up in that curt message rose before me in an instant, and a wave of deep pity swept over me at this miserable end to the sad, empty life.

  ‘What an awful thing, Thorndyke!’ I exclaimed at length. ‘To be killed by a mere grotesque delusion.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ he asked dryly. ‘Well, we shall see; but you will come?’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied; and as he retired, I proceeded hurriedly to finish dressing.

  Half an hour later, as we rose from a rapid breakfast, Polton came into the room, carrying a small roll-up case of tools and a bunch of skeleton keys.

  ‘Will you have them in a bag, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ replied Thorndyke; ‘in my overcoat pocket. Oh, and here is a note, Polton, which I want you to take round to Scotland Yard. It is to the Assistant Commissioner, and you are to make sure that it is in the right hands before you leave. And here is a telegram to Mr Brodribb.’

  He dropped the keys and the tool-case into his pocket, and we went down together to the waiting hansom.

  At Weybridge Station we found Mr Brodribb pacing the platform in a state of extreme dejection. He brightened up somewhat when he saw us, and wrung our hands with emotional heartiness.

  ‘It was very good of you both to come at a moment’s notice,’ he said warmly, ‘and I feel your kindness very much. You understood, of course, Thorndyke?’

  ‘Yes,’ Thorndyke replied. ‘I suppose the mandarin beckoned to him.’

  Mr Brodribb turned with a look of surprise. ‘How did you guess that?’ he asked; and then, without waiting for a reply, he took from his pocket a note, which he handed to my colleague.

  ‘The poor old fellow left this for me,’ he said. ‘The servant found it on his dressing-table.’

  Thorndyke glanced through the note and passed it to me. It consisted of but a few words, hurriedly written in a tremulous hand.

  ‘He has beckoned to me, and I must go. Goodbye, dear old friend.’

  ‘How does his cousin take the matter?’ asked Thorndyke.

  ‘He doesn’t know of it yet,’ replied the lawyer. ‘Alfred and Raggerton went out after an early breakfast, to cycle over to Guildford on some business or other, and they have not returned yet. The catastrophe was discovered soon after they left. The maid went to his room with a cup of tea, and was astonished to find that his bed had not been slept in. She ran down in alarm and reported to the butler, who went up at once and searched the room; but he could find no trace of the missing one, except my note, until it occurred to him to look in the cupboard. As he opened the door he got rather a start from his own reflection in the mirror; and then he
saw poor Fred hanging from one of the pegs near the end of the closet, close to the glass. It’s a melancholy affair – but here is the house, and here is the butler waiting for us. Mr Alfred is not back yet, then, Stevens?’

  ‘No, sir.’ The white-faced, frightened-looking man had evidently been waiting at the gate from distaste of the house, and he now walked back with manifest relief at our arrival. When we entered the house, he ushered us without remark up on to the first floor, and, preceding us along a corridor, halted near the end. ‘That’s the room, sir,’ said he; and without another word he turned and went down the stairs.

  We entered the room, and Mr Brodribb followed on tiptoe, looking about him fearfully, and casting awestruck glances at the shrouded form on the bed. To the latter Thorndyke advanced, and gently drew back the sheet.

  ‘You’d better not look, Brodribb,’ said he, as he bent over the corpse. He felt the limbs and examined the cord, which still remained round the neck, its raggedly-severed end testifying to the terror of the servants who had cut down the body. Then he replaced the sheet and looked at his watch. ‘It happened at about three o’clock in the morning,’ said he. ‘He must have struggled with the impulse for some time, poor fellow! Now let us look at the cupboard.’

  We went together to a door in the corner of the room, and, as we opened it, we were confronted by three figures, apparently looking in at us through an open door at the other end.

  ‘It is really rather startling,’ said the lawyer, in a subdued voice, looking almost apprehensively at the three figures that advanced to meet us. ‘The poor lad ought never to have been here.’

  It was certainly an eerie place, and I could not but feel, as we walked down the dark, narrow passage, with those other three dimly-seen figures silently coming towards us, and mimicking our every gesture, that it was no place for a nervous, superstitious man like poor Fred Calverley. Close to the end of the long row of pegs was one from which hung an end of stout box-cord, and to this Mr Brodribb pointed with an awestruck gesture. But Thorndyke gave it only a brief glance, and then walked up to the mirror, which he proceeded to examine minutely. It was a very large glass, nearly seven feet high, extending the full width of the closet, and reaching to within a foot of the floor; and it seemed to have been let into the partition from behind, for, both above and below, the woodwork was in front of it. While I was making these observations, I watched Thorndyke with no little curiosity. First he rapped his knuckles on the glass; then he lighted a wax match, and, holding it close to the mirror, carefully watched the reflection of the flame. Finally, laying his cheek on the glass, he held the match at arm’s length, still close to the mirror, and looked at the reflection along the surface. Then he blew out the match and walked back into the room, shutting the cupboard door as we emerged.