I am afraid that I did not treat these children of Polton’s imagination with the respect that they deserved. Thorndyke, on the other hand, made a point of always examining even the wildest flights of the inventor’s fancy with appreciative attention, realizing—and pointing out to me—that their apparent oddity was really due to the absence of appropriate circumstances, and that those circumstances might arise at any moment and give an unexpected value to what seemed to be a mere toy. And that was what happened on the present occasion. One of Polton’s most eccentric productions suddenly revealed itself as an invaluable instrument of research. But perhaps I am beginning the story at the wrong end. I had better turn back and take the incidents in their proper order.
It was rather late one afternoon when there arrived at our chambers a dapper, well-dressed gentleman of distinctly horsey appearance, who gave the name of Woodburn, and who, rather to my surprise, turned out to be a solicitor. He presented Mr. Brobribb’s card, on which were scribbled a few words of introduction.
“I have come to see you,” he explained, “on the advice of my friend Brodribb. I came up to Town expressly to confer with him on a rather queer case that has turned up in my practice. We talked over the legal issues without coming to any very definite conclusion, but Brodribb thought that there were certain points in the case that were more in your line than in either his or mine. And I am certainly inclined to agree with him to the extent that I am decidedly out of my depth.”
“And what about Mr. Brodribb?” Thorndyke asked. “He is a pretty acute lawyer.”
“He is,” Mr. Woodburn agreed, heartily. “But this is not altogether a question of law. There are some other points on which he thought you would be able to help us. I had better give you an outline of the case. But, first, I had better explain that I am a country practitioner with my principal office at Packington in Kent, and that my clients are chiefly the farmers and country gentlemen of the surrounding district.
“Now, one of these clients is a gentleman named Mr. Didbury Toke. He is a sort of superior dealer in works of art and antiquities. He has an office in Town, but he resides at an ancient house called Hartsden Manor in the village of Hartsden and usually spends a good deal of his time there. But from time to time he has been in the habit of taking more or less prolonged trips to the Continent for the purpose of rooting about for antiques and works of art. On these occasions it has been his custom to shut up that part of the house in which his collection is lodged, and seal all the doors and windows in any way giving access to it.
“Well, about two months ago, he set forth on one of these expeditions, and, according to his usual custom, he locked up and sealed all the approaches to the rooms containing the collection and gave the keys into my custody.”
“What happened to the seal?” asked Thorndyke.
“That I can’t tell you,” replied Mr. Woodburn. “He didn’t give it to me, but I have an impression that he deposited it at his bank in London. I know that he did on a previous occasion. Still, he may have carried it on his person. I happen to know that it is a large, clumsy, antique ring, which he was certainly not in the habit of wearing.
“Well, as I said, he handed the keys to me, but, at the same time, he gave me very definite instructions—in writing—that the rooms were not on any account to be entered or the seals tampered with in any way. You see that his instructions were quite explicit, and, in fact, decidedly emphatic.”
“Apparently,” said Thorndyke, “he allowed you no discretion and provided for no contingencies. Is that not so?”
“That is so,” replied Mr. Woodburn. “His instructions amounted to an absolute prohibition of any interference with the seals or any attempt to enter the enclosed rooms. That is the matter which I have be discussing with Mr. Brodribb, and which I want to discuss with you. Because this prohibition has become highly inconvenient. Circumstances have arisen which seem to make it very desirable to enter those enclosed rooms. But before I go into those circumstances, I had better tell you a little more about the arrangements of the house and those particular rooms.
“The main part of the closed premises consists of a very large room—about forty feet long—called the great gallery; but adjoining this are three or four smaller rooms, some of which are used to house part of the collection, and some are kept as workrooms, in which Mr. Toke does his mending and other odd jobs connected with the collection. The great gallery and the rooms attached to it occupy the whole of a wing which runs at right angles to the rest of the house; and, as there is only one door giving access to the gallery and its annexed rooms, the whole group of apartments is completely cut off and isolated.
“Now the circumstances to which I referred are these. Mr. Toke’s household ordinarily consists of his housekeeper and her niece, who acts as housemaid; but, when he is away from home, a nephew of the housekeeper usually comes to stay there, so that there may be a man on the premises. He is there now; so there are three persons living in the house; and those three persons are agreed that, from time to time, they have heard sounds at night apparently coming from the great gallery. It sounds incredible, and I must admit that when they first reported the matter to me, I was disposed to be sceptical. I am not entirely unsceptical now. But they are extremely positive, and, as I said, they are all agreed. So I thought it my duty to go over to the manor house and make an inspection; and the result of that inspection was only to make the whole affair still more incomprehensible. For the seals were all intact, and there was not a sign anywhere of anyone having broken into the place.”
“You examined the windows, of course?” said Thorndyke.
“Yes. There are five large windows, and I examined them all from outside by means of a ladder. They certainly had not been opened, for I could see that the catches were all in their places. But I may say that the windows are all secured from inside with screws, and those screws are sealed. Mr. Toke leaves nothing to chance.”
“Could you see into the room?” asked Thorndyke.
“No. The shutters were not closed, but the windows are covered by lace or net curtains, so that, although the gallery is quite light, it is impossible to see in from the outside.”
“You have spoken of the collection,” said Thorndyke. “Perhaps you had better tell us something about its nature and value.”
“As to its value,” said Mr. Woodburn, “I believe that is very considerable, but as it consists chiefly of pottery and porcelain, Bow and Chelsea figures, bronzes, and small statuary, it would be of no interest, to a burglar—at least, that is what I understood from Mr. Toke.”
“I am not sure that I agree with Mr. Toke,” said Thorndyke. “Of course, since you cannot melt down porcelain figures into unrecognizable ingots, they are not suitable for the common type of burglar. The ordinary ‘fence’ would not trade in them, and they could not be offered in the open market. But they are really valuable things and fairly portable, and they would not be so very difficult to dispose of. The ordinary collector is not always as scrupulous as he might be, but there is one kind of collector who is not scrupulous at all. One may take it that a millionaire who has made his millions by questionable transactions, may be prepared to spend them in a like manner. The point is of some importance; for, whereas the repeated occurrence of these sounds—assuming them to have occurred—is not consistent with the idea of an ordinary burglary, it does suggest the bare possibility of some enterprising persons quietly removing the more valuable parts of the collection piecemeal.”
“You do, then, really entertain the possibility that these sounds are not merely imaginary?”
“I have an entirely open mind,” replied Thorndyke. “But I understood you to say that you had gone into the question of fact on the spot, and that you were satisfied that the reports were sufficiently convincing to justify serious enquiry.”
“That is so,” said Mr. Woodburn. “But I may say that Brodribb scouted the idea. He was incredulous as to the sounds having been heard at all, seeing that the closed
rooms are so completely isolated and so distant from the rest of the house; and he suggested that if there had been any sounds, they were probably due to rats. I don’t agree with him as to the rats. Of course, I enquired whether that could be the explanation, but I think it can be excluded. The noises that rats make are pretty characteristic, and they don’t at all agree with the description of the sounds that these people gave. And they tell me that there are no rats in the house, which seems to settle the question; for, although rats will harbour in empty rooms, they don’t stay there. They must come out for food. But Brodribb’s other objection is more weighty. The great gallery is a good distance from the rest of the house. What do you really think of the probabilities?”
“Well,” replied Thorndyke, “the answer to your question involves the statement of a rather bald truism. If there is no access to the closed rooms other than the door of which you spoke, and that door is still locked and the seal is still unbroken, evidently no one can possibly have entered those rooms. On the other hand, if sounds have been heard of such a nature as to make it certain that someone had entered those rooms, then it follows that there must be some means of access to those rooms other than those which are known to you. I apologize for the obviousness of the statement.”
“You needn’t,” said Mr. Woodburn. “It puts the matter into a nutshell. I saw the dilemma myself. But what do you suggest?”
“In the first place,” said Thorndyke, “may I ask if it is impossible to get into touch with Mr. Toke?”
“Ah,” said Mr. Woodburn, “there you have raised another point, Apparently, it is impossible for me to get into touch with my client; and that is a matter that I am not entirely happy about. Mr. Toke is by no means a good correspondent. But, when he is travelling, as a rule, he sends me a short note now and again, just to give me the chance of communicating with him if the occasion should arise. And he has been in the habit of sending me parcels—purchases that he has made—to put in my strong room or to deposit at his bank. But this time, I have had not a single line from him since he went away. It is really rather strange, for Mr. Toke is a methodical, business-like man, and he must realize that it is most undesirable that his solicitor and man of business should have no means of communicating with him. It might be extremely awkward; even disastrous. It is extremely awkward now. If I could get into touch with him, he would pretty certainly authorize me to break the seals and see if his collection is all as it should be. As he can’t, the question arises as to what I ought to do. Should I, for instance, take it that these exceptional circumstances absolve me from the obligation to abide literally by his instructions? Brodribb thought not. What is your view of the case?”
“I am disposed to agree with Brodribb. The difficulty seems to be that you have not established the exceptional circumstances. There is only a suspicion; and Mr. Toke might think, as Brodribb does, that the suspicion was not a reasonable one. You have said that Mr. Toke’s instructions were very explicit and even emphatic. He was clearly most anxious that those rooms should not be entered or the seals broken. He has said so, and he has given quite definite instructions on the subject. This being so, we must assume that he had good and sufficient reasons for giving those instructions. We cannot judge what those reasons were, or how strong they were. But it is always safe to assume that a man means what he says, especially when he says it quite clearly and unmistakably.
“Suppose you ‘interpret’ his instructions and proceed to break the seals and enter the rooms. Suppose you find everything normal, and, at the same time, find something that shows you that the rooms ought not to have been entered by anyone except Mr. Toke himself. That might create a very awkward situation.”
Mr. Woodburn laughed. “You think it possible that Mr. Toke may have something hidden in those rooms that he wouldn’t like anyone else, to see? Well, of course, it may be so. But I may mention that Mr. Didbury Toke is a most respectable gentleman.”
“I am not suggesting the slightest reflection on Mr. Toke’s moral character,” said Thorndyke, laughing in his turn. “Probably, his motive was nothing more than extreme solicitude for his collection. Still, he may have things locked up in his gallery the existence of which, in that place, he might well wish to keep secret; things, for instance, of great intrinsic value which might invite the attentions of burglars.”
“Yes,” said Woodburn, “I suppose you are right. He always swore that there was nothing there that a burglar would look at. But that may have been a mere precaution. Which brings us back to the question, What is to be done?”
“I think the answer to that is fairly simple,” said Thorndyke. “These statements certainly call for investigation. Two points require to be cleared up. First, is it certain that there is really no possibility of access to these rooms other than the door that you mentioned? And, second, assuming the first to be true, is it certain that access has not been obtained by means of that door?”
“But how could it have been?” Mr. Woodburn exclaimed. “The door is sealed. I examined it most carefully, and I can assure you that the seals are undoubtedly intact.”
“That is not absolutely conclusive,” Thorndyke replied with a faint smile. “Seals are not difficult to counterfeit. For instance, if, for any legitimate purpose you asked me to enter those rooms and replace the seals when I came out, I should find no difficulty in doing so.”
“Really!” exclaimed Mr. Woodburn. Then, subsiding into a grin, he added: “You are a rather dangerous sort of person, but I am not surprised that Brodribb has so much confidence in you. Perhaps you can suggest some way in which I might set about testing the correctness of these statements; or, better still, perhaps you would be willing to undertake the investigation yourself? I do feel that something ought to be done.”
“So do I,” said Thorndyke. “Incredible as the statements sound, what is stated is by no means impossible. And, if we should find that some persons either could have effected an entrance or had actually done so, the position would be entirely changed. You would then certainly be justified in breaking the seals and entering the rooms.”
“And asking you to replace the seals after, eh?” suggested Woodburn, with a broad grin. Apparently, Thorndyke’s accomplishments had made a profound impression on him.
Thorndyke smilingly dismissed the suggestion and enquired: “Is there no way, so far as you know, of getting a glimpse into the room from the outside?”
“No way at all,” was the reply. “I tried peering in at the windows, but it was impossible to see any thing through the curtains. I even tried the keyhole. There is a monstrous great keyhole in the door. I myself should think the key must be quite a formidable weapon, though I have never seen it. The door is secured by a Chubb lock, of which I have the key. Well, I peered through that keyhole, but all I could see was a patch of wall on the side of the room opposite. Naturally; because the door opens into the room at the extreme end of one side.”
“Could you give me a description of the room, or, preferably, a sketch?” Thorndyke asked.
“I have an architect’s plan of the house in my bag,” Woodburn replied. “I brought it up to show Brodribb, but he was not interested, as he did not believe the story. However, you are not so sceptical. I’ll get it out.”
He rummaged in his bag and presently produced a small roll of tracing-cloth, on which was a clearly drawn plan of the house and its immediate surroundings.
“The scale of the particular room,” he remarked, “is not as large as we should like. But you can see the main features. This crooked corridor leads to the gallery wing, and you see that it ends in a turn at right angles. So, when the door is open, you look in across the end of the room. The door opens inwards, and there are three steps down to the floor level. You can see for yourself that a keyhole in that door is of no use for the purpose of inspection.”
“Can you tell us anything about the furniture, or how the floor space is occupied?” Thorndyke asked.
“With the exception of a few chairs an
d a large table across the farther end of the room, there is practically no furniture excepting the wall-cases. There is range of them along each side wall between the windows, and the two doors that open into the four small rooms at the side of the gallery.”
“There seems to be no access to those rooms excepting through the doors from the gallery.”
“No, there is not. Those rooms seem to have been originally a corridor, which has been divided up by partitions. They all open into one another—at least, each opens into the next. Two of them have cabinets full of pottery and porcelain, and the other two are work-rooms in which Mr. Toke does jobs such as mending and cleaning the pieces.”
“What is there above and below the gallery?” asked Thorndyke.
“Above, I suppose, are lofts. I don’t know how you get to them, but I don’t think they would help us. You couldn’t see through the floor, and you couldn’t bore holes in it, as the gallery has a fine seventeenth-century plaster ceiling. Under the gallery is a range of cellars, but they are not accessible, as they are all secured with good padlocks, and both the padlocks and the doors are sealed.”
“Mr. Toke was certainly pretty thorough in his methods,” Thorndyke remarked. “It would be a serious responsibility to break into his Bluebeard chambers.”
“Yes, confound him,” Woodburn agreed. “I wish to goodness it was possible to communicate with him and let him take the responsibility. I wonder why the deuce he has never sent me a line. I hope nothing has happened to him abroad. You can never be sure in these days of motors and sudden death.”
“When did you say he went away?” Thorndyke asked.
“On the ninth of August,” replied Woodburn, “at least that is the date he gave me. He came to my office on the eighth to give me the keys and his final instructions, and he then said that he intended to start for Paris on the following night.”
The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack Page 123