The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack

by R. Austin Freeman

  He took the watchman’s lantern, and throwing its light on the floor, began to search among the rubbish. Very soon he disinterred from under a heap of plaster the headless trunk. Both legs were attached, though the right was charred below the knee and the foot blown off, and one complete arm. The other arm—the right—was intact only to the elbow. Here, again, the burning was very unequal. In some parts the clothing had been burnt off or blown away completely; in others, enough was left to enable the watchman to recognise it with certainty. One leg was much more burnt than the other; and whereas the complete arm was only scorched, the dismembered one was charred almost to the bone. When the trunk had been carried to the bench and laid there beside the head, the lights were turned on it for Thorndyke to make his inspection.

  “It almost seems,” said the police officer, as the hand was being examined, “as if one could guess how he was standing when the explosion occurred. I think I can make out finger-marks—pretty dirty ones, too—on the back of the hand, as if he had been standing with his hands clasped together behind him while he watched something that he was experimenting with.” The inspector glanced for confirmation at Thorndyke, who nodded approvingly.

  “Yes,” he said, “I think you are right. They are very indistinct, but the marks are grouped like fingers. The small mark near the wrist suggests a little finger and the separate one near the knuckle looks like a fore-finger, while the remaining two marks are close together.” He turned the band over and continued “And there, in the palm, just between the roots of the third and fourth fingers, seems to be the trace of a thumb. But they are all very faint. You have a quick eye, inspector.”

  The gratified officer, thus encouraged, resumed his explorations among the debris in company with the watchman—the fireman had retired after a professional look round—leaving Thorndyke to continue his examination of the mutilated corpse, at which I looked on unsympathetically. For we had had a long day and I was tired and longing to get home. At length I drew out my watch, and with a portentous yawn, entered a mild protest.

  “It is nearly two o’clock,” said I. “Don’t you think we had better be getting on? This really isn’t any concern of ours, and there doesn’t seem to be anything in it, from our point of view.”

  “Only that we are keeping our intellectual joints supple,” Thorndyke replied with a smile. “But it is getting late. Perhaps we had better adjourn the inquiry.”

  At this moment, however, the inspector discovered the missing forearm—comPletelY charred—with the fingerless remains of the hand, and almost immediately afterwards the watchman picked up a dental plate of some white metal, which seemed to be practically uninjured. But our brief inspection of these objects elicited nothing of interest, and having glanced at them, we took our departure, avoiding on the stairs an eager reporter, all agog for “copy.”

  A few days later we received a visit, by appointment, from a Mr. Herdman, a solicitor who was unknown to us and who was accompanied by the widow of Mr. James Manford, the victim of the explosion. In the interval the inquest had been opened but had been adjourned for further examination of the premises and the remains. No mention had been made of our visit to the building, and so far as I knew nothing had been said to anybody on the subject.

  Mr. Herdman came to the point with business directness.

  “I have called,” he said, “to secure your services, if possible, in regard to the matter of which I spoke in my letter. You have probably seen an account of the disaster in the papers?”

  “Yes,” replied Thorndyke. “I read the report of the inquest.”

  “Then you know the principal facts. The inquest, as you know, was adjourned for three weeks. When it is resumed; I should like to retain you to attend on behalf of Mrs. Manford.”

  “To watch the case on her behalf?” Thorndyke suggested.

  “Well, not exactly,” replied Herdman. “I should ask you to inspect the premises and the remains of poor Mr. Manford, so that, at the adjourned inquest, you could give evidence to the effect that the explosion and the death of Mr. Manford were entirely due to accident.”

  “Does anyone say that they were not?” Thorndyke asked.

  “No, certainly not,” Mr. Herdman replied hastily. “Not at all. But I happened, quite by chance, to see the manager of the ‘Pilot’ Insurance Society, on another matter, and I mentioned the case of Mr. Manford. He then let drop a remark which made me slightly uneasy. He observed that there was a suicide clause in the policy, and that the possibility of suicide would have to be ruled out before the claim could be settled. Which suggested a possible intention to contest the claim.”

  “But,” said Thorndyke, “I need not point out to you that if he sets up the theory of suicide, it is for him to prove it, not for you to disprove it. Has anything transpired which would lend colour to such a suggestion?”

  “Nothing material,” was the reply. “But we should feel more happy if you could be present and give positive evidence that the death was accidental.”

  “That,” said Thorndyke, “would be hardly possible. But my feeling is that the suicide question is negligible. There is nothing to suggest it, so far as I know. Is there anything known to you?”

  The solicitor glanced at his client and replied somewhat evasively: “We are anxious to secure ourselves. Mrs. Manford is left very badly off, unless there is some personal property that we don’t know about. If the insurance is not paid, she will be absolutely ruined. There isn’t enough to pay the debts. And I think the suicide question might be raised—even successfully—on several points. Manford had been rather queer lately: jumpy and rather worried. Then, he was under notice to terminate his engagement at the works. His finances were in a confused state; goodness knows why, for he had a liberal salary. And then there was some domestic trouble. Mrs. Manford had actually consulted me about getting a separation. Some other woman, you know.”

  “I should like to forget that,” said Mrs. Manford; “and it wasn’t that which worried him. Quite the contrary. Since it began he had been quite changed. So smart in his dress and so particular in his appearance. He even took to dyeing his hair. I remember that he opened a fresh bottle of dye the very morning before his death and took no end of trouble putting it on. It wasn’t that entanglement that made him jumpy. It was his money affairs. He had too many irons in the fire.”

  Thorndyke listened with patient attention to these rather irrelevant details and inquired: “What sort of irons?”

  “I will tell you,” said Herdman. “About three months ago he had need for two thousand pounds; for what purpose, I can’t say, but Mrs. Manford thinks it was to invest in certain valuables that he used to purchase from time to time from a Russian dealer named Bilsky. At any rate, he got this sum on short loan from a Mr. Clines, but meanwhile arranged for a longer loan with a Mr. Elliott on a note of hand and an agreement to insure his life for the amount.

  “As a matter of fact, the policy was made out in Elliott’s name, he having proved an insurable interest. So if the insurance is paid, Elliott is settled with. Otherwise the debt falls on the estate, which would be disastrous; and to make it worse, the day before his death, he drew out five hundred pounds—nearly the whole balance—as he was expecting to see Mr. Bilsky, who liked to be paid in bank-notes. He did see him, in fact, at the laboratory, but they couldn’t have done any business, as no jewels were found.”

  “And the bank-notes?”

  “Burned with the body, presumably. He must have had them with him.”

  “You mentioned,” said Thorndyke, “that he occasionally bought jewels from this Russian. What became of them?”

  “Ah!” replied Herdman, “there is a gleam of hope there. He had a safe deposit somewhere. We haven’t located it yet, but we shall. There may be quite a nice little nest-egg in it. But meanwhile there is the debt to Elliott. He wrote to Manford about it a day or two ago. Von have the letter, I think,” he added, addressing Mrs. Manford, who thereupon produced two envelopes from her handbag a
nd laid them on the table.

  “This is Mr. Elliott’s letter,” she said. “Merely a friendly reminder, you see, telling him that he is just off to the Continent and that he has given his wife a power of attorney to act in his absence.”

  Thorndyke glanced through the letter and made a few notes of its contents. Then he looked inquiringly at the other envelope.

  “That,” said Mrs. Manford, “is a photograph of my husband. I thought it might help you if you were going to examine the body.”

  As Thorndyke drew the portrait out and regarded it thoughtfully, I recalled the shapeless, blackened fragments of its subject; and when he passed it to me, I inspected it with a certain grim interest, and mentally compared it with those grisly remains. It was a commonplace face, rather unsymmetrical—the nose was deflected markedly to the left, and the left eye had a pronounced divergent squint. The bald head, with an abundant black fringe and an irregular scar on the the side of the forehead, sought compensation in a full beard and moustache, both apparently jet-black. It was not an attractive countenance, and it was not improved by a rather odd-shaped ear—long, lobeless, and pointed above, like the ear of a satyr.

  “I realise your position,” said Thorndyke, “but I don’t quite see what you want of me. If,” he continued, addressing the solicitor,” you had thought of my giving ex parte evidence, dismiss the idea. I am not a witness-advocate. All I can undertake to do is to investigate the case and try to discover what really happened. But in that case, whatever I may discover I shall disclose to the coroner. Would that suit you?”

  The lawyer looked doubtful and rather glum, but Mrs. Manford interposed, firmly: “Why not? We are not proposing any deception, but I am certain that he did not commit suicide. I agree unreservedly to what you propose.”

  With this understanding—which the lawyer was disposed to boggle at—our visitors took their leave. As soon as they were gone, I gave utterance to the surprise with which I had listened to Thorndyke’s proposal.

  “I am astonished at your undertaking this case. Of course, you have given them fair warning, but still, it will be unpleasant if you have to give evidence unfavourable to your client.”

  “Very,” he agreed. “But what makes you think I may have to?”

  “Well, you seem to reject the probability of suicide, but have you forgotten the evidence at the inquest?”

  “Perhaps I have,” he replied blandly. “Let us go over it again.”

  I fetched the report from the office, and spreading it out on the table began to read it aloud. Passing over the evidence of the inspector and the fireman, I came to that of the night-watchman.

  “Shortly after I came on duty at ten o’clock, a foreign, gentleman named Bilsky called to see Mr. Manford. I knew him by sight, because he had called once or twice before at about the same time. I took him up to the laboratory, where Mr. Manford was doing something with a big crucible on the gas furnace. He told me that he had some business to transact with Mr. Bilsky and when he had finished he would let him out. Then he was going to do some experiments in making alloys, and as they would probably take up most of the night he said I might as well turn in. He said he would call me when he was ready to go. So I told him to be careful with the furnace and not set the place on fire and burn me in my bed, and then I went downstairs. I had a look round to see that everything was in order, and then I took off my boots and laid down. About half-past twelve I heard Mr. Manford and Bilsky come down. I recognised Mr. Bilsky by a peculiar cough that he had and by the sound of his stick and his limping tread—he had something the matter with his right foot and walked quite lame.”

  “You say that the deceased came down with him,” said the coroner. “Are you quite sure of that?”

  “Well, I suppose Mr. Manford came down with him, but I can’t say I actually heard him.”

  “You did not hear him go up again?”

  “No, I didn’t. But I was rather sleepy and I wasn’t listening very particular. Well, then I went to sleep and slept till about half-past one, when some noise woke me. I was just getting up to see what it was when I heard a tremendous bang, right overhead. I ran down and turned the gas off at the main and then I got a fire extinguisher and ran up to the laboratory. The place seemed to be all in a blaze, but it wasn’t much of a fire after all, for by the time the fire engines arrived I had got it practically out.”

  The witness then described the state of the laboratory and the finding of the body, but as this was already known to us, I passed on to the evidence of the next witness, the superintendent of the fire brigade, who had made a preliminary inspection of the premises. It was a cautious statement and subject to the results of a further examination; but clearly the officer was not satisfied as to the cause of the outbreak. There seemed to have been two separate explosions, one near a cupboard and another—apparently the second—in the cupboard itself; and there seemed to be a burned track connecting the two spots. This might have been accidental or it might have been arranged. Witness did not think that the explosive was celluloid. It seemed to be a high explosive of some kind. But further investigations were being made.

  The superintendent was followed by Mrs. Manford, whose evidence was substantially similar to what she and Mr. Herdman had told us, and by the police surgeon, whose description of the remains conveyed nothing new to us. Finally, the inquest was adjourned for three weeks to allow of further examination of the premises and the remains.

  “Now,” I said, as I folded up the report, “I don’t see how you are able to exclude suicide. If the explosion was arranged to occur when Manford was in the laboratory, what object, other than suicide, can be imagined?”

  Thorndyke looked at me with an expression that I knew only too well. “Is it impossible,” he asked, “to imagine that the object might have been homicide?”

  “But,” I objected, “there was no one there but Manford—after Bilsky left.”

  “Exactly,” he agreed, dryly; “after Bilsky left. But up to that time there were two persons there.”

  I must confess that I was startled, but as I rapidly reviewed the circumstances I percieved the cogency of Thorndyke’s suggestion. Bilsky had been present when Manford dismissed the night-watchman. He knew that there would be no interruption. The inflammable and explosive materials were there, ready to his hand. Then Bilsky had gone down to the door alone instead of being conducted down and let out; a very striking circumstance, this. Again, no jewels had been found though the meeting had been ostensibly for the purpose of a deal; and the bank-notes had vanished utterly. This was very remarkable. In view of the large sum, it was nearly certain that the notes would be in a close bundle, and we all know how difficult it is to burn tightly-folded paper. Yet they had vanished without leaving a trace. Finally, there was Bilsky himself. Who was he? Apparently a dealer in stolen property—a hawker of the products of robbery and murder committed during the revolution.

  Yes,” I admitted, “the theory of homicide is certainly tenable. But unless some new facts can be produced, it must remain a matter of speculation.”

  “I think, Jervis,” he rejoined, “you must be overlooking the facts that are known to us. We were there. We saw the place within a few minutes of the explosion and we examined the body. What we saw established a clear presumption of homicide, and what we have heard this, morning confirms it. I may say that I communicated my suspicions the very next day to the coroner and to Superintendent Miller.”

  “Then you must have seen more than I did,” I began. But he shook his head and cut short my protestations.

  “You saw what I saw, Jervis, but you did not interpret its meaning. However, it is not too late. Try to recall the details of our adventure and what our visitors have told us. I don’t think you will then entertain the idea of suicide.”

  I was about to put one or two leading questions, but at this moment footsteps became audible ascending our stairs. The knock which followed informed me that our visitor was Superintendent Miller, and I rose to admi
t him.

  “Just looked in to report progress,” he announced as he subsided into an arm-chair. “Not much to report, but what there is supports your view of the case. Bilsky has made a clean bolt. Never went home to his hotel. Evidently meant to skedaddle, as he has left nothing of any value behind. But it was a stupid move, for it would have raised suspicion in any case. The notes were a consecutive batch. All the numbers are known, but, of course, none of them have turned up yet. We have made inquiries about Bilsky, and gather that he is a shady character; practically a fence who deals in the jewellery stolen from those unfortunate Russian aristocrats. But we shall have him all right. His description has been circulated at all the seaports and he is an easy man to spot with his lame foot and his stick and a finger missing from his right hand.”

  Thorndyke nodded, and seemed to reflect for a moment. Then he asked: “Have you made any other inquiries?”

  “No; there is nothing more to find out until we get hold of our man, and when we do, we shall look to you to secure the conviction. I suppose you are quite certain as to your facts?”

  Thorndyke shook his head with a smile.

  “I am never certain until after the event. We can only act on probabilities.”

  I understand,” said the superintendent, casting a sly look at me; “but your probabilities are good enough for me.”

  With this, he picked up his hat and departed, leaving us to return to the occupations that our visitors had interrupted.

  I heard no more of the Manford case for about a week, and assumed that Thorndyke’s interest in it had ceased. But I was mistaken, as I discovered when he remarked casually one evening: “No news of Bilsky, so far; and time is running on. I am proposing to make a tentative move in a new direction.” I looked at him inquiringly, and he continued: “It appears, ‘from information received,’ that Elliott had some dealings with him, so I propose to call at his house tomorrow and see if we can glean any news of the lost sheep.”