The First R. Austin Freeman Megapack: 27 Mystery Tales of Dr. Thorndyke & Others

by R. Austin Freeman

  Now these skeletons of Challoner’s were quite different. Walking down the long room and looking into the great wall-case, I was confronted with actual individuals. Number One was Jimmy Archer, who had tried to steal the “blimy teapot.” Number Three was the burglar Fred; I could tell him by the notch on his fifth rib that his comrade’s bullet had made. Number Two was the man who had fired that shot, and Number Four was Joe, who was “done in in the dark.” I knew them all. The weird “Museum Archives” had told me all about them; and as to the rest of that grisly company, strangers to me as yet, the neatly written, Russia-bound volume that Challoner had left would give me their histories too.

  It was some days before I was able to resume my reading of the uncanny little book, but an unoccupied evening at length gave me the opportunity. As ten o’clock struck, I put on my slippers, adjusted the light, drew an armchair up to my study fire and opened the volume at the place marked by the envelope that I had inserted at the end of the last reading. The page was headed “Circumstances attending the acquirement of Numbers Five and Six,” and the account ran as follows:

  “The most carefully conceived plans, when put into practice, are apt to discover unforeseen defects. My elaborate plan for the capture of burglars was no exception to the rule. The idea of employing palpably dishonest servants to act as decoy ducks to lure the burglars on to the premises was an excellent one and had fully answered my expectations. But it had a defect which I had overlooked. The burglars themselves, when reduced to a condition suitable for exhibition in a showcase, were entirely innocuous. There was no danger of their making any indiscreet statements. But with the servants—female servants, too—it was quite otherwise. From the shelter of my roof they had gone forth to sow distrust and suspicion in quarters where perfect confidence and trustfulness should prevail. It was a most unfortunate oversight. Now, when it was too late, I saw clearly that they ought never to have left me. I ought to have added them to the collection, too.

  “The evil results of the mistake soon became apparent. I had replaced the late cook and housemaid by two women of quite unimpeachable dishonesty, of whom I had, naturally, great hopes. But nothing happened. I let them handle the plate freely, I gave them the key of the safe from time to time, I brushed the sham diamond pendants and bracelets under their very noses, and still there was no result. It is true that the silver spoons dwindled in number and that a stray candlestick or salt-cellar would now and again ‘report absent’; that the tradesmen’s bills were preposterous and that the tea consumed in a week would have impaired the digestion of a Lodge of Good Templars. But that was all. No aspirant for museum honors made his appearance. The concussor became dusty with disuse; the safe in the dining-room remained neglected and untouched, and as for the burglar alarm, I had to stand on it myself at stated intervals to keep it in working order.

  “I had already resolved to get rid of those two women when they saved me the trouble. I directed them to accompany me to the laboratory to clean out the furnace, whereat they both turned pale and flatly refused; and I saw them half an hour later secretly handing their boxes up the area steps to a man with a barrow. Obviously someone had told them something of my methods.

  “The cook and housemaid who succeeded them were jailbirds pure and simple. They were dirty, dishonest, lazy and occasionally drunk. But for their actual function they were quite useless. They drank my whiskey, they devoured and distributed my provisions, they stole my portable property, and once, when I had incautiously left the door unfastened, I caught them browsing round the museum; but they brought no grist to my mill.

  “It is true that during their reign I had one visitor, a scurvy little wry-faced knave who sneaked in through the scullery window; but I think he had no connection with them or he would have entered by some more convenient route and have used a false key instead of a jimmy to open the safe. He was a wretched little creature and his capture quite uninteresting; for, when he had bitten me twice, he crumpled up like a rag doll and I carried him to the tank as if he had been a monkey.

  “Yet I ought not to disparage him unduly, for he was the one specimen in my collection, up to that time, who presented the orthodox ‘stigmata of degeneration.’ His hair was bushy, his face strikingly asymmetrical, and his ears were like a pair of Lombroso’s selected examples; outstanding, with enormous Darwinian tubercles and almost devoid of lobules.

  “Still, whatever his points of interest, he was but a stray catch. Chance had brought him as it might bring others of the same kind in the course of years. But this would not answer my purpose. Numbers were what I wanted and what I had arranged for; and it was with deep disappointment that I recognized that my plan had failed. The supply of anthropological material had come to an end. In a word, the criminal class had ‘smoked’ me.

  “This was not mere surmise on my part. I had direct and very quaint evidence of it soon after I had completed the preparation of Number Five. I was returning home one evening and was approaching the vicinity of my house when I became aware of a small man of seedy aspect who appeared to be following me. I slackened my pace somewhat to let him overtake or pass me, and when nearly opposite my side door (the museum entrance) he edged alongside and addressed me in a hoarse whisper.

  “‘Guv’nor.’

  “I halted and looked at him attentively; a proceeding that caused him evident discomfort. ‘Did you speak to me?’ I asked.

  “He edged up closer, but still did not meet my eye, and, looking first over one shoulder and then over the other, replied, ‘Yus, I did, guv’nor.’

  “‘What do you want?’ I demanded.

  “He edged up yet closer and said in a hoarse undertone, ‘I want to know what you’ve been and done with my cousin Bill.’

  “‘Your cousin Bill,’ I repeated. ‘Do I know him?’

  “‘I dunno whether you know ’im,’ was the reply, ‘but I see ’im go into your house and I never see ’im come out agin, and I want to know what you’ve been and done with ’im.’

  “Now here was an interesting circumstance. I had already noted something familiar in the man’s face. His question explained it. Cousin Bill was clearly Number Five in the Anthropological Series. In fact, the resemblance was quite remarkable. The present example, like the late Bill, was an undergrown creature, and had the same curiously twisted nose, the same asymmetrical face and similar ears—large, flat ears that stood out from his head like the handles of an amphora, that had strongly marked Darwinian tubercles, unformed helices and undeveloped lobules. Lombroso would have loved him. He would have made a delightful photograph for purposes of illustration, and—it suddenly occurred to me—he would make a most interesting companion preparation to Number Five.

  “‘Your Cousin Bill,’ I said, with this new idea in my mind. ‘Was he the son of your mother’s sister?’ (A few details as to heredity add materially to the value and instructiveness of a specimen.)

  “‘And supposin’ he was. What about it? I want to know what you’ve been and done with ’im.’

  “‘What makes you think I have done anything with him?’ I asked.

  “‘Why, I see ’im go into your ’ouse and I never see ’im come out.’

  “‘But, my good man,’ I protested, ‘that is exceedingly bad logic. If you saw him go in, there is a fair presumption that he went in—’

  “‘I see ’im with my own eyes,’ my friend interrupted, as though there were other alternative means of vision.

  “‘But,’ I continued, ‘the fact that you did not see him come out establishes no presumption that he did not come out. He may have come out unobserved.’

  “‘No, he didn’t. He never come out. I see ’im go in—’

  “‘So you have mentioned. May I ask what his business was?’

  “‘His business,’ my acquaintance replied with some hesitation, ‘was of a private nature.’

  “‘I see. Did he go in by the front door?’

  “‘No, ’e didn’t. ’E went in by the scullery window.�
�

  “‘In the evening, no doubt?’

  “‘Two hay hem,’ was the reply.

  “‘Ah!’ said I. ‘He went in by the scullery window at two A.M. on private business. Quite so! Well, you see, the common sense of the position is that if he went into the house and never came out, he must be in the house still.”

  “‘That’s just what I think,’ my friend agreed.

  “‘Very well. Then in that case perhaps you would like to step in and look round to see if you can find him.’ I took out my latchkey and motioned invitingly towards the museum door.

  “‘No yer don’t,’ exclaimed the man, backing away hastily down the street. ‘Yer don’t git me in there, so I tell yer straight.’

  “‘What do you want me to do, then?’

  “‘I want to know,’ he reiterated, ‘what you’ve been and done with my cousin Bill. I see ’im go into—’

  “‘I know,’ I interrupted impatiently. ‘You said that before.’

  “‘And look ’ere, guv’nor,’ he added. ‘Where did you git all them skillintons from?’ Evidently somebody had been talking to this little rascal.

  “‘I can’t go into questions of that kind, you know,’ I replied.

  “‘No, I don’t suppose yer can,’ he retorted; ‘but I’ll tell yer what I think you’ve been and done with Bill. You got ’im in there and you done ’im in. That’s what I think. And I tell yer it ain’t the cheese. When a cove goes into an ’ouse for to do an ’armless crack he stands for to be lagged if so be as he ’appens to git copped. But ’e don’t stand for to be done in. ’Tain’t playin’ the game, and I ain’t a-goin’ to ’ave it.’

  “‘Then what do you propose to do?’ I asked with some curiosity.

  “‘I perpose,’ the little wastrel replied haughtily, ‘for to ’ave the loar on yer. I’m a-goin’ to put the coppers on to this ’ere job.’

  “With this he turned somewhat hastily and shambled away up the street at the quick shuffle characteristic of his class. I let myself in at the side door and proceeded to the museum to examine Number Five with renewed interest. The resemblance was remarkable. It was plainly traceable even in the skull and in the proportions of the skeleton generally, while in the small, dry preparation of the head the likeness was ridiculous. It was most regrettable that he should have refused my invitation to come in. As a companion preparation, illustrating the physical resemblances in degenerate families, he would have been invaluable.

  “His conversation and his ludicrous threat of legal proceedings gave me much matter for reflection. To him burglary presented itself as a legitimate sporting pursuit governed by certain rules. The players were respectively the burglar and the householder, of whom the latter staked his property and the former a certain period of personal liberty; and the rules of the game were equally binding on both. It was a conception worthy of comic opera; and yet, incredible as it may seem, it is the very view of crime that is today accepted and acted upon by society.

  “The threat uttered by my diminutive acquaintance had the sound of broad farce, and so, I may confess, I regarded it. The idea of a burglar proceeding against a householder for hindering him in the execution of his private business might have emanated from the whimsical brain of the late W.S. Gilbert. The quaint topsy-turveydom of it caused me many a chuckle of amusement when I recalled the interview during the next few days; but, of course, I never dreamed of any actual attempt to carry out the threat.

  “Imagine, therefore, my astonishment when I realized that not only had the complaint been made, but the law had actually been set—at least tentatively—in motion.

  “The stunning discovery descended on me with the force of a concussor three days after the interview with Number Five’s cousin. I was sitting in my study reading Chevers’ ‘Crime against the Person’ when the housemaid entered with a visiting card. ‘A gentleman wished to see me to discuss certain scientific matters with me.’

  “I looked at the card. It bore the name of ‘Mr. James Ramchild,’ a name quite unknown to me. It was very odd. A scientific colleague would surely have written for an appointment and stated the object of his visit. I looked at the card again. It was printed from script type instead of the usual engraved plate and it bore an address in Kennington Park Road. These were weighty facts and a trifle suspicious. I seemed to scent a traveler from beyond the Atlantic; a traveler of commercial leanings.

  “‘Show Mr. Ramchild up here,’ I said, and the housemaid departed, to return anon accompanied by a tall, massive man of a somewhat military aspect.

  “I could have laughed aloud, but I did not. It would not have been politic and it would certainly not have been polite. But I chuckled inwardly as I offered my visitor a chair. ‘Experientia docet!’ I had seen quite a number of plain-clothes police officers in the last few months and the present specimen would have been typical even without his boots. I prepared to enjoy myself.

  “‘I have taken the liberty of calling on you, Mr. Challoner,’ my visitor began, ‘to make a few enquiries concerning—er—skeletons.’

  “‘I nodded gravely and smothered a giggle. He was a simple soul, this Ramchild. ‘Concerning skeletons!’ What an expression for a man of science to use! An artless creature indeed! A veritable Ramchild of nature, so to speak.

  “‘I understand,’ he continued, ‘that you have a famous collection of—er—skeletons.’ I nodded again. Of course I had not anything of the kind. Mine was only a little private collection. But it was of no consequence. ‘So,’ he concluded, ‘I have called to ask if you would be so kind as to let me see them.’

  “‘From whom did you hear of my collection?’ I asked.

  “‘It was mentioned to me by my friend Mr.—er—Mr. Winterbottom, of Cambridge.’

  “‘Ah,’ said I, ‘I remember Winterbottom very well. How is he?’

  “‘He’s very well, thank you,’ replied the detective, looking mightily surprised; and not without reason, seeing that he had undoubtedly invented the name Winterbottom on the spur of the moment.

  “‘Is there any branch of the subject that you are especially interested in?’ I asked, purposely avoiding giving him a lead.

  “‘No,’ he replied. ‘No, not particularly. The fact is that I thought of starting a collection myself if it wouldn’t be too expensive. But you have a regular museum, haven’t you?’

  “‘Yes. Come and have a look at it.’

  “He rose with alacrity and I led him through the dining-room to the museum wing, and I noticed that, if he did not know much about osteology, he was uncommonly observant of the details of house construction. He looked very hard at the safe, the mahogany casing of which failed to disguise its nature from the professional eye, and noted the massive door that gave entrance to the museum wing and the Yale lock that secured it. In the museum his eye riveted itself on the five human skeletons in the great wall-case, but I perversely led him to the case containing my curious collection of abnormal and deformed skeletons of the lower animals.

  “‘There,’ I said complacently, ‘that is my little hoard. Is there any specimen that you would like to take out and examine?’

  “He gazed vaguely into the case and murmured that ‘they were all very interesting,’ and again I caught his eye wandering to the great case opposite. I was in the act of reaching out a porcupine with an ankylosed knee-joint, when he plucked up courage to say frankly, ‘The fact is, I am principally interested in human skeletons.’

  “I replaced the porcupine and walked across to the great wall-case. ‘I am sorry I have not more to show you,’ I said apologetically. ‘This is only the beginning of a collection, you see; but still, the specimens are of considerable interest. Don’t you find them so?’

  “Apparently he did, for he scrutinized the dates on the dwarf-pedestals with the deepest attention and finally remarked, ‘I see you have written a date on each of these. What does that signify?’

  “‘The dates are those on which I acquired the respective specimens,’ I
answered.

  “‘Oh, indeed.’ He reflected, with a profoundly speculative eye on Number Five. I judged that he was trying to recall a date furnished by Number Five’s cousin and that he would have liked to consult his notebook.

  “‘The particulars,’ I said, ‘are too lengthy to put on the labels, but they are set out in detail in the catalogue.’

  “‘Can I see the catalogue?’ he asked eagerly.

  “‘Certainly.’ I produced a small manuscript volume—not the catalogue which is attached to the ‘Archives,’ but a dummy that I had prepared for such a contingency as had arisen—and handed it to him. He opened it with avidity, and, turning at once to Number Five, began, with manifest disappointment, to read the description aloud.

  “‘5. Male skeleton of Teutonic type exhibiting well-marked characters of degeneration. The skull is asymmetrical, subdolichocephalic.’ (He pronounced this word ‘subdolichocolophalic’ and paused abruptly, turning rather red. It is an awkward word.) ‘Yes,’ he said, closing the catalogue, ‘very interesting, very remarkable. Exceedingly so. I should very much like to possess a skeleton like that.’

  “‘You are much better off with the one you have got,’ I remarked.

  “‘Oh, I don’t mean that,’ he rejoined hastily. ‘I mean that I should like to acquire a specimen like this Number Five for my proposed collection. Now how could I get one?’

  “‘Well,’ I said reflectively, ‘there are several ways.’ I paused and he gazed at me expectantly. ‘You could, for instance,’ I continued slowly, ‘provide yourself with a lasso and take a walk down Whitechapel High Street.’

  “‘Good gracious!’ he exclaimed excitedly; ‘do you really mean to say that—’

  “‘Certainly,’ I interrupted. ‘You would find an abundance of material. For my own part, not being gifted with your exceptionally fine physique, I have to adopt the more prosaic and expensive plan of buying my specimens from the dealers.’

  “‘Quite so, quite so,’ he agreed. He was deeply disappointed and inclined to be huffy. ‘Of course you were joking about the lasso. But would you mind giving me the address of the dealer from whom you obtained this specimen?’ And once more he pointed to Cousin Bill.