The Vanishing Man

by R. Austin Freeman

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE ACCUSING FINGER

  Of my wanderings after I left the Museum on that black and dismal _diesirae_, I have but a dim recollection. But I must have travelled a quiteconsiderable distance, since it wanted an hour or two to the time forreturning to the surgery, and I spent the interval walking swiftlythrough streets and squares, unmindful of the happenings around, intentonly on my present misfortune, and driven by a natural impulse to seekrelief in bodily exertion. For mental distress sets up, as it were, asort of induced current of physical unrest; a beneficent arrangement, bywhich a dangerous excess of emotional excitement may be transformed intomotor energy, and so safely got rid of. The motor apparatus acts as asafety-valve to the psychical; and if the engine races for a while, withthe onset of bodily fatigue the emotional pressure-gauge returns to anormal reading.

  And so it was with me. At first I was conscious of nothing but a senseof utter bereavement, of the shipwreck of all my hopes. But, by degrees,as I threaded my way among the moving crowds, I came to a better andmore worthy frame of mind. After all, I had lost nothing that I had everhad. Ruth was still all that she had ever been to me--perhaps even more;and if that had been a rich endowment yesterday, why not to-day also?And how unfair it would be to her if I should mope and grieve over adisappointment that was no fault of hers and for which there was noremedy! Thus I reasoned with myself, and to such purpose that, by thetime I reached Fetter Lane, my dejection had come to quite manageableproportions and I had formed the resolution to get back to the _statusquo ante bellum_ as soon as possible.

  About eight o'clock, as I was sitting alone in the consulting-room,gloomily persuading myself that I was now quite resigned to theinevitable, Adolphus brought me a registered packet, at the handwritingon which my heart gave such a bound that I had much ado to sign thereceipt. As soon as Adolphus had retired (with undissembled contempt ofthe shaky signature) I tore open the packet, and as I drew out a lettera tiny box dropped on the table.

  The letter was all too short, and I devoured it over and over again withthe eagerness of a condemned man reading a reprieve:--

  "My Dear Paul,

  "Forgive me for leaving you so abruptly this afternoon, and leaving youso unhappy, too. I am more sane and reasonable now, and so send yougreeting and beg you not to grieve for that which can never be. It isquite impossible, dear friend, and I entreat you, as you care for me,never to speak of it again; never again to make me feel that I can giveso little when you have given so much. And do not try to see me for alittle while. I shall miss your visits, and so will my father, who isvery fond of you; but it is better that we should not meet, until we cantake up the old relations--if that can ever be.

  "I am sending you a little keepsake in case we should drift apart onthe eddies of life. It is the ring that I told you about--the one thatmy uncle gave me. Perhaps you may be able to wear it as you have a smallhand, but in any case keep it in remembrance of our friendship. Thedevice on it is the Eye of Osiris, a mystic symbol for which I have asentimentally superstitious affection, as also had my poor uncle, whoactually bore it tattooed in scarlet on his breast. It signifies thatthe great judge of the dead looks down on men to see that justice isdone and that truth prevails. So I commend you to the good Osiris; mayhis eye be upon you, ever watchful over your welfare in the absence of

  "Your affectionate friend

  "RUTH."

  It was a sweet letter, I thought, even if it carried little comfort;quiet and reticent like its writer, but with an undertone of sincereaffection. I laid it down at length, and, taking the ring from its box,examined it fondly. Though but a copy, it had all the quaintness andfeeling of the antique original, and, above all, it was fragrant withthe spirit of the giver. Dainty and delicate, wrought of silver andgold, with an inlay of copper, I would not have exchanged it for theKoh-i-noor; and when I had slipped it on my finger its tiny eye of blueenamel looked up at me so friendly and companionable that I felt theglamour of the old-world superstition stealing over me, too.

  Not a single patient came in this evening, which was well for me (andalso for the patient), as I was able forthwith to write in reply a longletter; but this I shall spare the long-suffering reader excepting itsconcluding paragraph:--

  "And now, dearest, I have said my say; once for all, I have said it, andI will not open my mouth on the subject again (I am not actually openingit now) 'until the times do alter.' And if the times do never alter--ifit shall come to pass, in due course, that we two shall sit side byside, white-haired, and crinkly-nosed, and lean our poor old chins uponour sticks and mumble and gibber amicably over the things that mighthave been if the good Osiris had come up to the scratch--I will still becontent, because your friendship, Ruth, is better than another woman'slove. So you see, I have taken my gruel and come up to time smiling--ifyou will pardon the pugilistic metaphor--and I promise you loyally to doyour bidding and never again to distress you.

  "Your faithful and loving friend,

  "PAUL."

  This letter I addressed and stamped, and then, with a wry grimace whichI palmed off on myself (but not on Adolphus) as a cheerful smile, I wentout and dropped it into the post-box; after which I further deludedmyself by murmuring _Nunc dimittis_ and assuring myself that theincident was now absolutely closed.

  But, despite this comfortable assurance, I was, in the days thatfollowed, an exceedingly miserable young man. It is all very well towrite down troubles of this kind as trivial and sentimental. They arenothing of the kind. When a man of an essentially serious nature hasfound the one woman of all the world who fulfils his highest ideals ofwomanhood, who is, in fact, a woman in ten thousand, to whom he hasgiven all that he has to give of love and worship, the sudden wreck ofall his hopes is no small calamity. And so I found it. Resign myself asI would to the bitter reality, the ghost of the might-have-been hauntedme night and day, so that I spent my leisure wandering abstractedlyabout the streets, always trying to banish thought and never for aninstant succeeding. A great unrest was upon me; and when I received aletter from Dick Barnard announcing his arrival at Madeira, homewardbound, I breathed a sigh of relief. I had no plans for the future, but Ilonged to be rid of the, now irksome, routine of the practice--to befree to come and go when and how I pleased.

  One evening, as I sat consuming with little appetite my solitary supper,there fell on me a sudden sense of loneliness. The desire that I hadhitherto felt to be alone with my own miserable reflections gave placeto a yearning for human companionship. That, indeed, which I craved formost was forbidden, and I must abide by my lady's wishes; but there weremy friends in the Temple. It was more than a week since I had seen them;in fact, we had not met since the morning of that unhappiest day of mylife. They would be wondering what had become of me. I rose from thetable, and, having filled my pouch from a tin of tobacco, set forth forKing's Bench Walk.

  As I approached the entry of No. 5A in the gathering darkness I metThorndyke himself emerging, encumbered with two deck-chairs, areading-lantern, and a book.

  "Why, Berkeley!" he exclaimed, "is it indeed thou? We have beenwondering what had become of you."

  "It _is_ a long time since I looked you up," I admitted.

  He scrutinised me attentively by the light of the entry lamp, and thenremarked: "Fetter Lane doesn't seem to be agreeing with you very well,my son. You are looking quite thin and peaky."

  "Well, I've nearly done with it. Barnard will be back in about ten days.His ship is putting in at Madeira to coal and take in some cargo, andthen he is coming home. Where are you going with those chairs?"

  "I am going to sit down at the end of the Walk by the garden railings.It's cooler there than indoors. If you will wait a moment I will fetchanother chair for Jervis, though he won't be back for a little while."He ran up the stairs, and presently returned with a third chair, and wecarried our impedimenta down to the quiet corner at the bottom of theWalk.

  "So your term of servitude is coming to an end," said he when we hadplaced the chairs and
hung the lantern on the railings. "Any othernews?"

  "No. Have you any?"

  "I am afraid I have not. All my inquiries have yielded negative results.There is, of course, a considerable body of evidence, and it all seemsto point one way. But I am unwilling to make a decisive move withoutsomething more definite. I am really waiting for confirmation orotherwise of my ideas on the subject; for some new item of evidence."

  "I didn't know there was any evidence."

  "Didn't you?" said Thorndyke. "But you know as much as I know. You haveall the essential facts; but apparently you haven't collated them andextracted their meaning. If you had, you would have found themcuriously significant."

  "I suppose I mustn't ask what their significance is?"

  "No, I think not. When I am conducting a case I mention my surmises tonobody--not even to Jervis. Then I can say confidently that there hasbeen no leakage. Don't think I distrust you. Remember that my thoughtsare my client's property, and that the essence of strategy is to keepthe enemy in the dark."

  "Yes, I see that. Of course, I ought not to have asked."

  "You ought not to need to ask," Thorndyke replied, with a smile; "youshould put the facts together and reason from them yourself."

  While we had been talking I had noticed Thorndyke glance at meinquisitively from time to time. Now, after an interval of silence, heasked suddenly:

  "Is anything amiss, Berkeley? Are you worrying about your friends'affairs?"

  "No, not particularly; though their prospects don't look very rosy."

  "Perhaps they are not quite so bad as they look," said he. "But I amafraid something is troubling you. All your gay spirits seem to haveevaporated." He paused for a few moments, and then added: "I don't wantto intrude on your private affairs, but if I can help you by advice orotherwise, remember that we are old friends and that you are my academicoffspring."

  Instinctively, with a man's natural reticence, I began to mumble ahalf-articulate disclaimer; and then I stopped. After all, why should Inot confide in him? He was a good man and a wise man, full of humansympathy, as I knew, though so cryptic and secretive in hisprofessional capacity. And I wanted a friend badly just now.

  "I am afraid," I began shyly, "it is not a matter that admits of muchhelp, and it's hardly the sort of thing that I ought to worry you bytalking about----"

  "If it is enough to make you unhappy, my dear fellow, it is enough tomerit serious consideration by your friend; so, if you don't mindtelling me----"

  "Of course I don't, sir!" I exclaimed.

  "Then fire away; and don't call me 'sir.' We are brother practitionersnow."

  Thus encouraged, I poured out the story of my little romance; bashfullyat first and with halting phrases, but, later, with more freedom andconfidence. He listened with grave attention, and once or twice put aquestion when my narrative became a little disconnected. When I hadfinished he laid his hand softly on my arm.

  "You have had rough luck, Berkeley. I don't wonder that you aremiserable. I am more sorry than I can tell you."

  "Thank you," I said. "It's exceedingly good of you to listen sopatiently, but it's a shame for me to pester you with my sentimentaltroubles."

  "Now, Berkeley, you don't think that, and I hope you don't think that Ido. We should be bad biologists and worse physicians if we shouldunder-estimate the importance of that which is Nature's chiefest care.The one salient biological truth is the paramount importance of sex; andwe are deaf and blind if we do not hear and see it in everything thatlives when we look abroad upon the world; when we listen to the springsong of the birds, or when we consider the lilies of the field. And asis man to the lower organisms, so is human love to their merely reflexmanifestations of sex. I will maintain, and you will agree with me, Iknow, that the love of a serious and honourable man for a woman who isworthy of him is the most momentous of all human affairs. It is thefoundation of social life, and its failure is a serious calamity, notonly to those whose lives may be thereby spoilt, but to society atlarge."

  "It's a serious enough matter for the parties concerned," I agreed; "butthat is no reason why they should bore their friends."

  "But they don't. Friends should help one another and think it aprivilege."

  "Oh, I shouldn't mind coming to you for help, knowing you as I do. Butno one can help a poor devil in a case like this--and certainly not amedical jurist."

  "Oh, come, Berkeley!" he protested, "don't rate us too low. The humblestof creatures has its uses--'even the little pismire,' you know, as IsaakWalton tells us. Why, I have got substantial help from astamp-collector. And then reflect upon the motor-scorcher and theearthworm and the blow-fly. All these lowly creatures play their partsin the scheme of Nature; and shall we cast out the medical jurist asnothing worth?"

  I laughed dejectedly at my teacher's genial irony.

  "What I meant," said I, "was that there is nothing to be done butwait--perhaps for ever. I don't know why she isn't able to marry me, andI mustn't ask her. She can't be married already."

  "Certainly not. She told you explicitly that there was no man in thecase."

  "Exactly. And I can think of no other valid reason, excepting that shedoesn't care enough for me. That would be a perfectly sound reason, butthen it would only be a temporary one, not the insuperable obstacle thatshe assumes to exist, especially as we really got on excellentlytogether. I hope it isn't some confounded perverse feminine scruple. Idon't see how it could be; but women are most frightfully tortuous andwrong-headed at times."

  "I don't see," said Thorndyke, "why we should cast about for perverselyabnormal motives when there is a perfectly reasonable explanationstaring us in the face."

  "Is there?" I exclaimed. "I see none."

  "You are, not unnaturally, overlooking some of the circumstances thataffect Miss Bellingham; but I don't suppose she has failed to grasptheir meaning. Do you realise what her position really is? I mean withregard to her uncle's disappearance?"

  "I don't think I quite understand you."

  "Well, there is no use in blinking the facts," said Thorndyke. "Theposition is this: If John Bellingham ever went to his brother's house atWoodford, it is nearly certain that he went there after his visit toHurst. Mind, I say '_if_ he went'; I don't say that I believe he did.But it is stated that he appears to have gone there; and if he did go,he was never seen alive afterwards. Now, he did not go in at the frontdoor. No one saw him enter the house. But there was a back gate, whichJohn Bellingham knew, and which had a bell which rang in the library.And you will remember that, when Hurst and Jellicoe called, Mr.Bellingham had only just come in. Previous to that time Miss Bellinghamhad been alone in the library; that is to say, she was alone in thelibrary at the very time when John Bellingham is said to have made hisvisit. That is the position, Berkeley. Nothing pointed has been said upto the present. But, sooner or later, if John Bellingham is not found,dead or alive, the question will be opened. Then it is certain thatHurst, in self-defence, will make the most of any facts that maytransfer suspicion from him to someone else. And that someone else willbe Miss Bellingham."

  I sat for some moments literally paralysed with horror. Then my dismaygave place to indignation. "But, damn it!" I exclaimed, starting up--"Ibeg your pardon--but could anyone have the infernal audacity toinsinuate that that gentle, refined lady murdered her uncle?"

  "That is what will be hinted, if not plainly asserted; and she knows it.And that being so, is it difficult to understand why she should refuseto allow you to be publicly associated with her? To run the risk ofdragging your honourable name into the sordid transactions of thepolice-court or the Old Bailey? To invest it, perhaps, with a dreadfulnotoriety?"

  "Oh, don't! for God's sake! It is too horrible! Not that I would carefor myself. I would be proud to share her martyrdom of ignominy, if ithad to be; but it is the sacrilege, the blasphemy of even thinking ofher in such terms, that enrages me."

  "Yes," said Thorndyke; "I understand and sympathise with you. Indeed, Ishare your righteous indignation
at this dastardly affair. So youmustn't think me brutal for putting the case so plainly."

  "I don't. You have only shown me the danger that I was fool enough notto see. But you seem to imply that this hideous position has beenbrought about deliberately."

  "Certainly I do! This is no chance affair. Either the appearancesindicate the real events--which I am sure they do not--or they have beencreated of a set purpose to lead to false conclusions. But thecircumstances convince me that there has been a deliberate plot; and Iam waiting--in no spirit of Christian patience, I can tell you--to laymy hand on the wretch who has done this."

  "What are you waiting for?" I asked.

  "I am waiting for the inevitable," he replied; "for the false move thatthe most artful criminal invariably makes. At present he is lying low;but presently he must make a move, and then I shall have him."

  "But he may go on lying low. What will you do then?"

  "Yes, that is the danger. We may have to deal with the perfect villainwho knows when to leave well alone. I have never met him, but he mayexist, nevertheless."

  "And then we should have to stand by and see our friends go under."

  "Perhaps," said Thorndyke; and we both subsided into gloomy and silentreflection.

  The place was peaceful and quiet, as only a backwater of London can be.Occasional hoots from far-away tugs and steamers told of the busy lifedown below in the crowded Pool. A faint hum of traffic was borne in fromthe streets outside the precincts, and the shrill voices of newspaperboys came in unceasing chorus from the direction of Carmelite Street.They were too far away to be physically disturbing, but the excitedyells, toned down as they were by distance, nevertheless stirred thevery marrow in my bones, so dreadfully suggestive were they of thosepossibilities of the future at which Thorndyke had hinted. They seemedlike the sinister shadows of coming misfortunes.

  Perhaps they called up the same association of ideas in Thorndyke'smind, for he remarked presently: "The newsvendor is abroad to-night likea bird of ill-omen. Something unusual has happened: some public orprivate calamity, most likely, and these yelling ghouls are out to feaston the remains. The newspaper men have a good deal in common with thecarrion-birds that hover over a battle-field."

  Again we subsided into silence and reflection. Then, after an interval,I asked:

  "Would it be possible for me to help in any way in this investigation ofyours?"

  "That is exactly what I have been asking myself," replied Thorndyke. "Itwould be right and proper that you should, and I think you might."

  "How?" I asked eagerly.

  "I can't say off-hand; but Jervis will be going away for his holidayalmost at once--in fact, he will go off actual duty to-night. There isvery little doing; the long vacation is close upon us, and I can dowithout him. But if you would care to come down here and take his place,you would be very useful to me; and if there should be anything to bedone in the Bellinghams' case, I am sure you would make up in enthusiasmfor any deficiency in experience."

  "I couldn't really take Jervis's place," said I, "but if you would letme help you in any way it would be a great kindness. I would ratherclean your boots than be out of it altogether."

  "Very well. Let us leave it that you come here as soon as Barnard hasdone with you. You can have Jervis's room, which he doesn't often usenowadays, and you will be more happy here than elsewhere, I know. I mayas well give you my latchkey now. I have a duplicate upstairs, and youunderstand that my chambers are yours too from this moment."

  He handed me the latchkey and I thanked him warmly from my heart, for Ifelt sure that the suggestion was made, not for any use that I should beto him, but for my own peace of mind. I had hardly finished speakingwhen a quick step on the paved walk caught my ear.

  "Here is Jervis," said Thorndyke. "We will let him know that there is alocum tenens ready to step into his shoes when he wants to be off." Heflashed the lantern across the path, and a few moments later his juniorstepped up briskly with a bundle of newspapers tucked under his arm.

  It struck me that Jervis looked at me a little queerly when herecognised me in the dim light; also that he was a trifle constrained inhis manner, as if my presence were an embarrassment. He listened toThorndyke's announcement of our newly made arrangement without muchenthusiasm and with none of his customary facetious comments. And againI noticed a quick glance at me, half curious, half uneasy, and whollypuzzling to me.

  "That's all right," he said when Thorndyke had explained the situation."I daresay you'll find Berkeley as useful as me, and, in any case, he'llbe better here than staying on with Barnard." He spoke with unwontedgravity, and there was in his tone a solicitude for me that attracted mynotice and that of Thorndyke as well, for the latter looked at himcuriously, though he made no comment. After a short silence, however, heasked: "And what news does my learned brother bring? There is a mightyshouting among the outer barbarians, and I see a bundle of newspapersunder my learned friend's arm. Has anything in particular happened?"

  Jervis looked more uncomfortable than ever. "Well--yes," he repliedhesitatingly, "something has happened--there! It's no use beating aboutthe bush; Berkeley may as well learn it from me as from those yellingdevils outside." He took a couple of papers from his bundle and silentlyhanded one to me and the other to Thorndyke.

  Jervis's ominous manner, naturally enough, alarmed me not a little. Iopened the paper with a nameless dread. But whatever my vague fears,they fell far short of the occasion; and when I saw those yells fromwithout crystallised into scare headlines and flaming capitals I turnedfor a moment sick and dizzy with fear.

  The paragraph was only a short one, and I read it through in less than aminute:

  "THE MISSING FINGER

  "DRAMATIC DISCOVERY AT WOODFORD.

  "The mystery that has surrounded the remains of a mutilated human body,portions of which have been found in various places in Kent and Essex,has received a partial and very sinister solution. The police have, allalong, suspected that these remains were those of a Mr. John Bellinghamwho disappeared under circumstances of some suspicion about two yearsago. There is now no doubt upon the subject, for the finger which wasmissing from the hand that was found at Sidcup has been discovered atthe bottom of a disused well _together with a ring_, which has beenidentified as one habitually worn by Mr. John Bellingham.

  "The house in the garden of which the well is situated was the propertyof the murdered man, and was occupied at the time of the disappearanceby his brother, Mr. Godfrey Bellingham. But the latter left it very soonafter, and it has been empty ever since. Just lately it has been put inrepair, and it was in this way that the well came to be emptied andcleaned out. It seems that Detective-Inspector Badger, who was searchingthe neighbourhood for further remains, heard of the emptying of the welland went down in the bucket to examine the bottom, where he found thethree bones and the ring.

  "Thus the identity of the body is established beyond all doubt, and thequestion that remains is, Who killed John Bellingham? It may beremembered that a trinket, apparently broken from his watch-chain, wasfound in the grounds of this house on the day that he disappeared, andthat he was never again seen alive. What may be the import of thesefacts time will show."

  That was all; but it was enough. I dropped the paper to the ground andglanced round furtively at Jervis, who sat gazing gloomily at the toesof his boots. It was horrible; It was incredible! The blow was socrushing that it left my faculties numb, and for a while I seemedunable even to think intelligibly.

  I was aroused by Thorndyke's voice--calm, business-like, composed:

  "Time will show, indeed! But meanwhile we must go warily. And don't beunduly alarmed, Berkeley. Go home, take a good dose of bromide with alittle stimulant, and turn in. I am afraid this has been rather a shockto you."

  I rose from my chair like one in a dream and held out my hand toThorndyke; and even in the dim light and in my dazed condition I noticedthat his face bore a look that I had never seen before: the look of agranite mask of Fate--grim, stern
, inexorable.

  My two friends walked with me as far as the gateway at the top of InnerTemple Lane, and as we reached the entry a stranger, coming quickly upthe Lane, overtook and passed us. In the glare of the lamp outside theporter's lodge he looked at us quickly over his shoulder, and though hepassed on without halt or greeting, I recognised him with a certain dullsurprise which I did not understand then and do not understand now. Itwas Mr. Jellicoe.

  I shook hands once more with my friends and strode out into FleetStreet, but as soon as I was outside the gate I made direct for Nevill'sCourt. What was in my mind I do not know; only that some instinct ofprotection led me there, where my lady lay unconscious of the hideousmenace that hung over her. At the entrance to the court a tall, powerfulman was lounging against the wall, and he seemed to look at me curiouslyas I passed; but I hardly noticed him and strode forward into the narrowpassage. By the shabby gateway of the house I halted and looked up atsuch of the windows as I could see over the wall. They were all dark.All the inmates, then, were in bed. Vaguely comforted by this, I walkedon to the New Street end of the court and looked out. Here, too, aman--a tall, thick-set man--was loitering; and, as he lookedinquisitively into my face, I turned and reentered the court, slowlyretracing my steps. As I again reached the gate of the house I stoppedto look up once more at the windows, and turning, I found the man whom Ihad last noticed close behind me. Then, in a flash of dreadfulcomprehension, I understood. These two men were plain-clothes policemen.

  For a moment a blind fury possessed me. An insane impulse urged me togive battle to this intruder; to avenge upon his person the insult ofhis presence. Fortunately the impulse was but momentary, and I recoveredmyself without making any demonstration. But the appearance of those twopolicemen brought the peril into the immediate present, imparted to it ahorrible actuality. A chilly sweat of terror stood on my forehead, andmy ears were ringing when I walked with faltering steps out into FetterLane.