The Mystery of 31 New Inn

by R. Austin Freeman

  Chapter XII

  The Portrait

  The state of mind which Thorndyke had advised me to cultivate was onethat did not come easily. However much I endeavoured to shuffle thefacts of the Blackmore case, there was one which inevitably turned up onthe top of the pack. The circumstances surrounding the execution ofJeffrey Blackmore's will intruded into all my cogitations on the subjectwith hopeless persistency. That scene in the porter's lodge was to mewhat King Charles's head was to poor Mr. Dick. In the midst of mypraiseworthy efforts to construct some intelligible scheme of the case,it would make its appearance and reduce my mind to instant chaos.

  For the next few days, Thorndyke was very much occupied with one or twocivil cases, which kept him in court during the whole of the sitting;and when he came home, he seemed indisposed to talk on professionaltopics. Meanwhile, Polton worked steadily at the photographs of thesignatures, and, with a view to gaining experience, I assisted him andwatched his methods.

  In the present case, the signatures were enlarged from their originaldimensions--rather less than an inch and a half in length--to a lengthof four and a half inches; which rendered all the little peculiaritiesof the handwriting surprisingly distinct and conspicuous. Each signaturewas eventually mounted on a slip of card bearing a number and the dateof the cheque from which it was taken, so that it was possible to placeany two signatures together for comparison. I looked over the wholeseries and very carefully compared those which showed any differences,but without discovering anything more than might have been expected inview of Mr. Britton's statement. There were some trifling variations,but they were all very much alike, and no one could doubt, on looking atthem, that they were all written by the same hand.

  As this, however, was apparently not in dispute, it furnished no newinformation. Thorndyke's object--for I felt certain that he hadsomething definite in his mind--must be to test something apart from thegenuineness of the signatures. But what could that something be? I darednot ask him, for questions of that kind were anathema, so there wasnothing for it but to lie low and see what he would do with thephotographs.

  The whole series was finished on the fourth morning after my adventureat Sloane Square, and the pack of cards was duly delivered by Poltonwhen he brought in the breakfast tray. Thorndyke took up the packsomewhat with the air of a whist player, and, as he ran through them, Inoticed that the number had increased from twenty-three to twenty-four.

  "The additional one," Thorndyke explained, "is the signature to thefirst will, which was in Marchmont's possession. I have added it to thecollection as it carries us back to an earlier date. The signature ofthe second will presumably resembles those of the cheques drawn aboutthe same date. But that is not material, or, if it should become so, wecould claim to examine the second will."

  He laid the cards out on the table in the order of their dates andslowly ran his eye down the series. I watched him closely and venturedpresently to ask:

  "Do you agree with Mr. Britton as to the general identity of characterin the whole set of signatures?"

  "Yes," he replied. "I should certainly have put them down as being allthe signatures of one person. The variations are very slight. The latersignatures are a little stiffer, a little more shaky and indistinct, andthe B's and k's are both appreciably different from those in the earlierones. But there is another fact which emerges when the whole series isseen together, and it is so striking and significant a fact, that I amastonished at its not having been remarked on by Mr. Britton."

  "Indeed!" said I, stooping to examine the photographs with freshinterest; "what is that?"

  "It is a very simple fact and very obvious, but yet, as I have said,very significant. Look carefully at number one, which is the signatureof the first will, dated three years ago, and compare it with numberthree, dated the eighteenth of September last year."

  "They look to me identical," said I, after a careful comparison.

  "So they do to me," said Thorndyke. "Neither of them shows the changethat occurred later. But if you look at number two, dated the sixteenthof September, you will see that it is in the later style. So is numberfour, dated the twenty-third of September; but numbers five and six,both at the beginning of October, are in the earlier style, like thesignature of the will. Thereafter all the signatures are in the newstyle; but, if you compare number two, dated the sixteenth of Septemberwith number twenty-four, dated the fourteenth of March of this year--theday of Jeffrey's death--you see that they exhibit no difference. Bothare in the 'later style,' but the last shows no greater change than thefirst. Don't you consider these facts very striking and significant?"

  I reflected a few moments, trying to make out the deep significance towhich Thorndyke was directing my attention--and not succeeding verytriumphantly.

  "You mean," I said, "that the occasional reversions to the earlier formconvey some material suggestion?"

  "Yes; but more than that. What we learn from an inspection of thisseries is this: that there was a change in the character of thesignature; a very slight change, but quite recognizable. Now that changewas not gradual or insidious nor was it progressive. It occurred at acertain definite time. At first there were one or two reversions to theearlier form, but after number six the new style continued to the end;and you notice that it continued without any increase in the change andwithout any variation. There are no intermediate forms. Some of thesignatures are in the 'old style' and some in the 'new,' but there arenone that are half and half. So that, to repeat: We have here two typesof signature, very much alike, but distinguishable. They alternate, butdo not merge into one another to produce intermediate forms. The changeoccurs abruptly, but shows no tendency to increase as time goes on; itis not a progressive change. What do you make of that, Jervis?"

  "It is very remarkable," I said, poring over the cards to verifyThorndyke's statements. "I don't quite know what to make of it. If thecircumstances admitted of the idea of forgery, one would suspect thegenuineness of some of the signatures. But they don't--at any rate, inthe case of the later will, to say nothing of Mr. Britton's opinion onthe signatures."

  "Still," said Thorndyke, "there must be some explanation of the changein the character of the signatures, and that explanation cannot be thefailing eyesight of the writer; for that is a gradually progressive andcontinuous condition, whereas the change in the writing is abrupt andintermittent."

  I considered Thorndyke's remark for a few moments; and then alight--though not a very brilliant one--seemed to break on me.

  "I think I see what you are driving at," said I. "You mean that thechange in the writing must be associated with some new conditionaffecting the writer, and that that condition existed intermittently?"

  Thorndyke nodded approvingly, and I continued:

  "The only intermittent condition that we know of is the effect of opium.So that we might consider the clearer signatures to have been made whenJeffrey was in his normal state, and the less distinct ones after a boutof opium-smoking."

  "That is perfectly sound reasoning," said Thorndyke. "What furtherconclusion does it lead to?"

  "It suggests that the opium habit had been only recently acquired, sincethe change was noticed only about the time he went to live at New Inn;and, since the change in the writing is at first intermittent and thencontinuous, we may infer that the opium-smoking was at first occasionaland later became a a confirmed habit."

  "Quite a reasonable conclusion and very clearly stated," said Thorndyke."I don't say that I entirely agree with you, or that you have exhaustedthe information that these signatures offer. But you have started in theright direction."

  "I may be on the right road," I said gloomily; "but I am stuck fast inone place and I see no chance of getting any farther."

  "But you have a quantity of data," said Thorndyke. "You have all thefacts that I had to start with, from which I constructed the hypothesisthat I am now busily engaged in verifying. I have a few more data now,for 'as money makes money' so knowledge begets knowledge, and I put myorigi
nal capital out to interest. Shall we tabulate the facts that arein our joint possession and see what they suggest?"

  I grasped eagerly at the offer, though I had conned over my notes againand again.

  Thorndyke produced a slip of paper from a drawer, and, uncapping hisfountain-pen, proceeded to write down the leading facts, reading eachaloud as soon as it was written.

  "1. The second will was unnecessary since it contained no new matter,expressed no new intentions and met no new conditions, and the firstwill was quite clear and efficient.

  "2. The evident intention of the testator was to leave the bulk of hisproperty to Stephen Blackmore.

  "3. The second will did not, under existing circumstances, give effectto this intention, whereas the first will did.

  "4. The signature of the second will differs slightly from that of thefirst, and also from what had hitherto been the testator's ordinarysignature.

  "And now we come to a very curious group of dates, which I will adviseyou to consider with great attention.

  "5. Mrs. Wilson made her will at the beginning of September last year,without acquainting Jeffrey Blackmore, who seems to have been unaware ofthe existence of this will.

  "6. His own second will was dated the twelfth of November of last year.

  "7. Mrs. Wilson died of cancer on the twelfth of March this presentyear.

  "8. Jeffrey Blackmore was last seen alive on the fourteenth of March.

  "9. His body was discovered on the fifteenth of March.

  "10. The change in the character of his signature began about Septemberlast year and became permanent after the middle of October.

  "You will find that collection of facts repay careful study, Jervis,especially when considered in relation to the further data:

  "11. That we found in Blackmore's chambers a framed inscription of largesize, hung upside down, together with what appeared to be the remains ofa watch-glass and a box of stearine candles and some other objects."

  He passed the paper to me and I pored over it intently, focusing myattention on the various items with all the power of my will. But,struggle as I would, no general conclusion could be made to emerge fromthe mass of apparently disconnected facts.

  "Well?" Thorndyke said presently, after watching with grave interest myunavailing efforts; "what do you make of it?"

  "Nothing!" I exclaimed desperately, slapping the paper down on thetable. "Of course, I can see that there are some queer coincidences. Buthow do they bear on the case? I understand that you want to upset thiswill; which we know to have been signed without compulsion or evensuggestion in the presence of two respectable men, who have sworn to theidentity of the document. That is your object, I believe?"

  "Certainly it is."

  "Then I am hanged if I see how you are going to do it. Not, I shouldsay, by offering a group of vague coincidences that would muddle anybrain but your own."

  Thorndyke chuckled softly but pursued the subject no farther.

  "Put that paper in your file with your other notes," he said, "and thinkit over at your leisure. And now I want a little help from you. Have youa good memory for faces?"

  "Fairly good, I think. Why?"

  "Because I have a photograph of a man whom I think you may have met.Just look at it and tell me if you remember the face."

  He drew a cabinet size photograph from an envelope that had come by themorning's post and handed it to me.

  "I have certainly seen this face somewhere," said I, taking the portraitover to the window to examine it more thoroughly, "but I can't, at themoment, remember where."

  "Try," said Thorndyke. "If you have seen the face before, you should beable to recall the person."

  I looked intently at the photograph, and the more I looked, the morefamiliar did the face appear. Suddenly the identity of the man flashedinto my mind and I exclaimed in astonishment:

  "It can't be that poor creature at Kennington, Mr. Graves?"

  "I think it can," replied Thorndyke, "and I think it is. But could youswear to the identity in a court of law?"

  "It is my firm conviction that the photograph is that of Mr. Graves. Iwould swear to that."

  "No man ought to swear to more," said Thorndyke. "Identification isalways a matter of opinion or belief. The man who will swearunconditionally to identity from memory only is a man whose evidenceshould be discredited. I think your sworn testimony would besufficient."

  It is needless to say that the production of this photograph filled mewith amazement and curiosity as to how Thorndyke had obtained it. But,as he replaced it impassively in its envelope without volunteering anyexplanation, I felt that I could not question him directly.Nevertheless, I ventured to approach the subject in an indirect manner.

  "Did you get any information from those Darmstadt people?" I asked.

  "Schnitzler? Yes. I learned, through the medium of an officialacquaintance, that Dr. H. Weiss was a stranger to them; that they knewnothing about him excepting that he had ordered from them, and beensupplied with, a hundred grammes of pure hydrochlorate of morphine."

  "All at once?"

  "No. In separate parcels of twenty-five grammes each."

  "Is that all you know about Weiss?"

  "It is all that I actually know; but it is not all that I suspect--onvery substantial grounds. By the way, what did you think of thecoachman?"

  "I don't know that I thought very much about him. Why?"

  "You never suspected that he and Weiss were one and the same person?"

  "No. How could they be? They weren't in the least alike. And one was aScotchman and the other a German. But perhaps you know that they werethe same?"

  "I only know what you have told me. But considering that you never sawthem together, that the coachman was never available for messages orassistance when Weiss was with you; that Weiss always made hisappearance some time after you arrived, and disappeared some time beforeyou left; it has seemed to me that they might have been the sameperson."

  "I should say it was impossible. They were so very different inappearance. But supposing that they were the same; would the fact be ofany importance?"

  "It would mean that we could save ourselves the trouble of looking forthe coachman. And it would suggest some inferences, which will occur toyou if you think the matter over. But being only a speculative opinion,at present, it would not be safe to infer very much from it."

  "You have rather taken me by surprise," I remarked. "It seems that youhave been working at this Kennington case, and working pretty actively Iimagine, whereas I supposed that your entire attention was taken up bythe Blackmore affair."

  "It doesn't do," he replied, "to allow one's entire attention to betaken up by any one case. I have half a dozen others--minor cases,mostly--to which I am attending at this moment. Did you think I wasproposing to keep you under lock and key indefinitely?"

  "Well, no. But I thought the Kennington case would have to wait itsturn. And I had no idea that you were in possession of enough facts toenable you to get any farther with it."

  "But you knew all the very striking facts of the case, and you saw thefurther evidence that we extracted from the empty house."

  "Do you mean those things that we picked out from the rubbish under thegrate?"

  "Yes. You saw those curious little pieces of reed and the pair ofspectacles. They are lying in the top drawer of that cabinet at thismoment, and I should recommend you to have another look at them. To methey are most instructive. The pieces of reed offered an extremelyvaluable suggestion, and the spectacles enabled me to test thatsuggestion and turn it into actual information."

  "Unfortunately," said I, "the pieces of reed convey nothing to me. Idon't know what they are or of what they have formed a part."

  "I think," he replied, "that if you examine them with due consideration,you will find their use pretty obvious. Have a good look at them and thespectacles too. Think over all that you know of that mysterious group ofpeople who lived in that house, and see if you cannot form some coherentt
heory of their actions. Think, also, if we have not some information inour possession by which we might be able to identify some of them, andinfer the identity of the others. You will have a quiet day, as I shallnot be home until the evening; set yourself this task. I assure you thatyou have the material for identifying--or rather for testing theidentity of--at least one of those persons. Go over your materialsystematically, and let me know in the evening what furtherinvestigations you would propose."

  "Very well," said I. "It shall be done according to your word. I willaddle my brain afresh with the affair of Mr. Weiss and his patient, andlet the Blackmore case rip."

  "There is no need to do that. You have a whole day before you. An hour'sreally close consideration of the Kennington case ought to show you whatyour next move should be, and then you could devote yourself to theconsideration of Jeffrey Blackmore's will."

  With this final piece of advice, Thorndyke collected the papers for hisday's work, and, having deposited them in his brief bag, took hisdeparture, leaving me to my meditations.