I was about to turn away from the window when a tall, well-dressed man ran down the steps and immediately signalled to the cabstand with his stick. Thinking it probable that this was the plain-clothes policeman, I stopped to watch; and when I had seen him enter the cab and drive off in the same direction as the other two, I decided that the show was over and that it was time for me to take my departure; which I did, after stuffing a couple of envelopes into the lining of Thorndyke’s hat, to prevent it from slipping down towards my ears.
That my arrival at number 5A, King’s Bench Walk was not quite unexpected I gathered not only from the fact that the “oak” stood wide open, revealing the inner door, but from the instantaneous way in which this latter opened in response to my knock; and something gleeful and triumphant in Mr. Polton’s manner as he invited me to enter, stirred my suspicions and aroused vague forebodings.
He helped me out of my—or rather Thorndyke’s—overcoat, and; having taken the hat from me, peered inquiringly into its interior and fished out the two envelopes, which he politely offered to me. Then, having disposed of his employer’s property, he returned to confront me, and, wrinkling his countenance into a most singular and highly corrugated smile, he opened his mouth and spoke. “So you have come, sir, the Doctor tells me, to take sanctuary for a time with us from the malice of your enemies.”
“I don’t know about that,” I replied, “but there is a cockeyed transformationist who seems to be dodging about after me, and Dr. Thorndyke thinks I had better give him the go-by for the present.”
“And very proper, too, sir. Discretion is the better part of valour, as the proverb says—though I really could never see that it is any part at all. But no doubt our forefathers, who made the proverb, knew best. Did the Doctor mention that he had given me certain instructions about you?”
“He said that I was to talk over some question with you, but I didn’t quite follow him. What were his instructions?”
Polton rubbed his hands, and his face became more crinkly than ever. “The Doctor instructed me,” he replied, looking at me hungrily and obviously making a mental inventory of my features, “to effect certain slight alterations in your outward personality.”
“Oh, did he,” said I. “And what does he mean by that? Does he mean that you are to make me up as an old woman or a nigger minstrel?”
“Not at all, sir,” replied Polton. “Neither of those characters would be at all suitable. They would occasion remark, which it is our object to avoid; and as to a negro minstrel, his presence in chambers would undoubtedly be objected to by the benchers.”
“But,” I expostulated, “why any disguise at all, if I am to be boxed up in these chambers? The chappie isn’t likely to come and look through the keyhole.”
“He wouldn’t see anything if he did,” said Polton. “I fitted these locks. But, you see, sir, many strangers come to these chambers, and then, too, you might like to take a little exercise about the inn or the gardens. That would probably be quite safe if you were unrecognizable, but otherwise, I should think, inadmissible. And really, sir,” he continued persuasively, “if you do a thing at all you may as well do it thoroughly. The Doctor wishes you to disappear; then disappear completely. Don’t do it by halves.”
I could not but admit to myself that this was reasonable advice. Nevertheless, I grumbled a little sulkily. “It seems to me that Dr. Thorndyke is making a lot of unnecessary fuss. It is absurd for an able-bodied man to be sneaking into a hiding-place and disguising himself like a runaway thief.”
“I can offer no opinion on that, sir,” said Polton; “but you’re wrong about the Doctor. He is a cautious man but he is not nervous or fussy. You would be wise to act as he thinks best, I am sure.”
“Very well,” I said; “I won’t be obstinate. When do you want to begin on me?”
“I should like,” replied Polton, brightening up wonderfully at my sudden submission, “to have you ready for inspection by the time that the Doctor returns. If agreeable to you, sir, I would proceed immediately.”
“Then in that case,” said I, “we had better adjourn to the green-room forthwith.”
“If you please, sir,” replied Polton; and with this, having opened the door and cautiously inspected the landing, he conducted me up the stairs to the floor above, the rooms of which appeared to be fitted as workshops and laboratories. In one of the former, which appeared to be Polton’s own special den, I saw my watch hanging from a nail, with a rating table pinned above it, and proceeded to claim it. “I suppose, sir,” said Polton, reluctantly taking it from its nail and surrendering it to me, “as you are going to reside on the premises and I can keep it under observation, you may as well wear it. The present rate is plus one point three seconds daily. And now I will trouble you to sit down on this stool and take off your collar.”
I did as he bade me, and, meanwhile, he turned up his cuffs and stood a little way off, surveying me as a sculptor might survey a bust on which he was at work. Then he fetched a large cardboard box, the contents of which I could not see, and fell to work.
His first proceeding was to oil my hair thoroughly, part it in the middle and brush it smoothly down either side of my forehead. Next he shaved off the outer third of each eyebrow, and, having applied some sort of varnish or adhesive, he proceeded to build up, with a number of short hairs, a continuation of the eyebrows at a higher level. The result seemed to please him amazingly, for he stepped back and viewed me with an exceedingly self-satisfied smirk. “It is really surprising, sir,” said he, “how much expression there is in the corner of an eyebrow. You look a completely different gentleman already.”
“Then,” said I, “there’s no need to do any more. We can leave it at this.”
“Oh, no we can’t, sir,” Polton replied hastily, making a frantic dive into the cardboard box. “Begging your pardon, sir, it is necessary to attend to the lower part of the face, in case you should wish to wear a hat, which would cover the hair and throw the eyebrows into shadow.”
Here he produced from the box an undeniable false beard of the torpedo type and approached me, holding it out as if it were a poultice. “You are not going to stick that beastly thing on my face!” I exclaimed, gazing at it with profound disfavour.
“Now, sir,” protested Polton, “pray be patient. We will just try it on, and the Doctor shall decide if it is necessary.”
With this he proceeded to affix the abomination to my jowl with the aid of the same sticky varnish that he had used previously, and, having attached a moustache to my upper lip, worked carefully round the edges of both with a quantity of loose hair, which he stuck on the skin with the adhesive liquid and afterwards trimmed off with scissors. The process was just completed and he had stepped back once more to admire his work when an electric bell rang softly in the adjoining room. “There’s the Doctor,” he remarked. “I’m glad we are ready for him. Shall we go down and submit our work for his inspection?”
I assented readily, having some hopes that Thorndyke would veto the beard, and we descended together to the sitting-room, where we found that Jervis and his principal had arrived together. As to the former, he greeted my entrance by staggering back several paces with an expression of terror, and then seated himself on the edge of the table and laughed with an air of enjoyment that was almost offensive; particularly to Polton, who stood by my side, rubbing his hands and smiling with devilish satisfaction. “I assume,” Thorndyke said, gravely, “that this is our friend Jardine.”
“It isn’t,” said Jervis. “It’s the shopwalker from Wallis’s. I recognized him instantly.”
“Look here,” I said, with some heat, “it’s all very well for you to make me up like Charley’s Aunt and then jeer at me, but what’s the use of it? The fifth of November’s past.”
“My dear Jardine,” Thorndyke said, soothingly, “you are confusing your sensations with your appearance. I daresay that make-up is rather uncomfortable, but it is completely successful, and I must congratulate Polton
; for the highest aim of a disguise is the utterly common-place, and I assure you that you are now a most ordinary-looking person. Fetch the looking-glass from the office, Polton, and let him see for himself.”
I gazed into the mirror which Polton held up to me with profound surprise. There was nothing in the least grotesque or unusual in the face that looked out at me, only it was the face of an utter stranger; and, as Thorndyke had said, a perfectly common-place stranger, at whom no one would look twice in the street. Grudgingly, I acknowledged the fact, but still objected to the beard. “Do you think it is really necessary, sir, in addition to the other disfigurements?”
“Yes, I do,” replied Thorndyke. “It is only a temporary expedient, because, in a fortnight, your own beard will have grown enough to serve with a little artificial re-enforcement. And,” he continued, as Polton retired with a gratified smile, “I am anxious that your disappearance shall be complete. It is not only a question of your safety—although that is very urgent, and I feel myself responsible for you, as we are not appealing to the police. There are other issues. Assuming, as we do assume, that some crime has been committed, the lapse of time must inevitably cause some of the consequences of that crime to develop. If the man whose body you saw at Hampstead was really murdered, he must presently be missed and enquired for. Then we shall learn who he was and perhaps we may gather what was the motive of the crime. Then, your secret enemy will be left unemployed and may produce some fresh evidence—for he can’t wait indefinitely for your reappearance. And finally, certain enquiries which I am making may set us on the right track. And, if they do, you must remember, Jardine, that you are probably the sole witness to certain important items of evidence; so you must be preserved in safety as a matter of public policy, apart from your own prejudices in favour of remaining alive.”
“I didn’t know that you were actually working at the case,” I said. “Have you been following up that man Gill of the mineral water works?”
“I followed him up to the vanishing-point. He has gone and left no trace; and I have been unable to get any description of him.”
“Then,” said I, “if it is allowable to ask the question, in what direction have you been making enquiries?”
“I have been interesting myself,” Thorndyke replied, “in the other case; that of your patient Mr. Maddock, as the attacks on you seemed to be associated with his neighbourhood rather than with that of Hampstead. I have examined his will at Somerset House and am collecting information about the persons who benefited by its provisions. Especially, I am making some enquiries about a legatee who lives in New York, and concerning whom I am rather curious. I can’t go into further details just now, but you will see that I am keeping the case in hand, and you must remember that, at any moment, fresh information may reach me from other sources. My practice is a very peculiar one, and there are few really obscure cases that are not, sooner or later, brought to me for an opinion.”
“And, meanwhile, I am to eat the bread of idleness here and wait on events.”
“You won’t be entirely idle,” Thorndyke replied. “We shall find you some work to do, and you will extend your knowledge of medico-legal practice. You write shorthand fairly well, don’t you?”
“Yes; and I can draw a little, if that is of any use.”
“Both accomplishments are of use, and, even if they are not, we should have to exercise them for the sake of appearances. It will certainly become known that you are here, so we had better make no secret of it, but find you such occupation as will account for your presence. And, as you will have to meet strangers now and again, we must find you a name. What do you think of ‘William Morgan Howard’?”
“It will do as well as any other,” I replied.
“Very well, then William Morgan Howard let it be. And, in case you might forget your alias, as the crooks are constantly doing, we will drop the name of Jardine and call you Howard even when we are alone. It will save us all from an untimely slip.”
To this arrangement also I agreed with a sour smile, and so, with some physical discomfort in the neighbourhood of the lower jaw, and a certain relish of the novelty and absurdity of my position, I placed myself, under the name of Howard, on the roster of Thorndyke’s establishment.
* * *
XVI — ENTER FATHER HUMPERDINCK
ON the day following my—and Thorndyke’s—masterly retreat from Salter’s Club, the plain-clothes officer called to make his report; and even before he spoke, I judged from his rather sheepish expression that he had failed. And so it turned out. He had waited in the porter’s lodge, he told us, until midnight keeping a watch on the watcher, who, for his part, lurked in the street, always keeping in sight of the hospital, and whiling away the time by gazing into the shop windows. The spy had evidently failed to recognize Thorndyke, for when the latter left the hospital in company with one of the physicians, he had given only a passing glance at the open carriage in which the two men sat.
After the shops had shut, the persevering shadower had occupied himself with a sort of dismal sentry-go up and down the street, disappearing into the darkness and reappearing at regular intervals. Once or twice, the plain-clothes man went out and followed his quarry in his perambulations, but, not considering it prudent to expose himself too much to view, he remained mostly in the Lodge. It was after one of these sallies that the mischance occurred. Returning to the Lodge, he saw the spy pass the gates and disappear up the dark street; he looked, after the usual interval, for him to reappear. But the interval passed and there was no reappearance. Then the officer hurried out in search of his quarry, but found only an empty street. Even the apparently inexhaustible patience of the spy had given out at last. And so the quest had ended.
I cannot say that Thorndyke impressed me as being deeply disappointed; in fact, I thought that he seemed, if anything, rather relieved at his emissary’s failure. This was Jervis’s opinion also, and he had no false delicacy about expressing it. “Well,” Thorndyke replied, “as the fellow thrust himself right under my nose, I could hardly do less than make some sort of an attempt to find out who he is. But I don’t particularly want to know. My investigations are proceeding from quite another direction; and you see, Jervis, how awkward it might have been to have this person on our hands. We could only charge him with loitering with felonious intent, and we couldn’t prove the intent after all; for we can’t produce any evidence connecting this man with the three attempted murders. He may not be the same man at all. And I certainly don’t want to go into the witness box just now, and still less do I want my new clerk, Mr. Howard, put into that position. I don’t want to take any action until I have the case quite complete and am in a position to make a decisive move.”
“The truth is,” said Jervis, addressing me confidentially in a stage whisper, “Thorndyke hates the idea of spoiling a really juicy problem by merely arresting the criminal and pumping his friends. He looks on such a proceeding much as a Master of Foxhounds would look on the act of poisoning a fox.”
Thorndyke smiled indulgently at his junior. “There is such a thing,” said he, “as failing to poison a fox and only making him too unwell to leave his residence. A premature prosecution is apt to fail; and then the prisoner has seen all the cards of his adversaries. At present I am playing against an unseen adversary, but I am hoping that I, in my turn, am unseen by him, and I am pretty certain that he has no idea what cards I hold.”
“Gad!” exclaimed Jervis, “then he is much the same position as I am.” And with this the subject dropped.
The first week of my residence in Thorndyke’s chambers was quite uneventful, and was mainly occupied in settling down to the new conditions. My letters were sent on by Mrs. Blunt to the hospital whence they were brought by my principal—as I may now call my quondam teacher—with the exception of Sylvia’s; which we had agreed were to be sent to the chambers enclosed in an envelope addressed to Thorndyke.
At first, I had feared that the confinement would be unendurable; but
the reality proved to be much less wearisome than I had anticipated. A horizontal bar rigged up by Polton in the laboratory, gave me the means of abundant exercise of one kind; and in the early mornings, before the gates of the inn were opened, I made it my daily practice to trot round the precincts for an hour at a time, taking the circuit from our chambers through Crown Office Road to Fountain Court and back by way of Pump Court and the Cloisters, to the great benefit of my health and the mild surprise of the porters and laundresses.
Nor was I without occupation in the daytime. Besides an exhaustively detailed account of all the remarkable experiences that had befallen me of late which I wrote out at Thorndyke’s request, I had a good deal of clerical work of one kind and another, and was frequently employed, when clients called, in exhibiting my skill as a stenographer; taking down oral statements, or making copies of depositions or other documents which were read over to me by Thorndyke or Jervis.
It was the exercise of these latter activities that introduced me to a certain Mr. Marchmont, and through him to some new and rather startling experiences. Mr. Marchmont was a solicitor, and, as I gathered, an old client of Thorndyke’s; for, when he called one evening, about ten days after my arrival, with a bagful of documents, he made sundry references to former cases by which I understood that he and Thorndyke had been pretty frequently associated in their professional affairs. “I have got a lot of papers here,” he said, opening the bag, “of which I suppose I ought to have had copies made; but there hasn’t been time and I am afraid there won’t be, as I have to return them to-morrow. But perhaps, if you run your eye over them, you will see what it is necessary to remember and make a few notes.”
“I think,” said Thorndyke, “that my friend, Mr. Howard, will be able to help us by taking down the essentials in shorthand. Let me introduce you. Mr. Howard is very kindly assisting me for a time by relieving me of some of the extra clerical work.”
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