“How long do you think Mr. Toke has been in that coffin, Doctor?” he asked.
“I should say,” replied Thorndyke, “that he has been there ever since the day on which he was supposed to have gone abroad.”
“Yes,” said Woodburn, “I think you are right. I have had all along a lurking suspicion that he never really went abroad; that something happened to him on that last day. I didn’t at all like the garage man’s story of that ginger-haired fellow with the red nose.”
“Eh!” exclaimed Miller, all agog in a moment. “What story was that?”
Woodburn gave him a brief summary of the incident of the returned car and the “Ginger Lushington,” to which he listened with profound attention, and on which he cogitated for a while when Woodburn had finished. Suddenly he turned to Thorndyke, and regarded him eagerly and almost fiercely.
“Now, look here, Doctor,” said he, “you have got to tell us what all this means. It is no use for you to try to put us off. You hold all the clues and you know all about it. You have followed this case as if you were running along rails. You knew that someone had been here. I believe you knew about those sovereigns, and you went for that secret door as if you knew exactly where to look for it. And then you came down into this vault and you went straight for that coffin. I have no doubt that you knew Mr. Toke was there. Now, Doctor, I ask you to tell me who killed Mr. Toke, and who was that red-nosed man.”
“You are asking me,” replied Thorndyke, “to make a statement, whereas I can only offer an opinion. But you can have that opinion for what it is worth; and I may say that I think it is worth a good deal, as it is based on a mass of evidence. I should say that the red-nosed man at the garage and the murderer of Mr. Toke are one and the same person; and that person is named Walter Hornby.”
“What!” exclaimed Miller. “The villain who murdered Badger!”
“That is what I believe,” said Thorndyke. “But I hope that we shall have the opportunity to settle the question. At any rate, we may fairly take it that the person who has been frequenting these premises is the person who murdered Mr. Toke.”
“And you expect that person to come here tonight?”
“It is only a probability,” replied Thorndyke. “You know our reasons for expecting him. It may be tonight, or he may choose some other night. But there is very little doubt that he will come sooner or later to finish up the gold that is left, and take away those sovereigns. But it is quite possible that the next visit will be meant to be the last.”
“It will be the last,” Miller remarked, grimly. “If I stay here till Doomsday, I am going to have him.”
There was a brief pause. Then Woodburn asked:
“Where and how do you suppose the murder was committed?”
“I should say,” answered Thorndyke, “that the deed was done at the top of those steps. There is what looks very much like a blood-stain on the brick there. As to the circumstances, I should say that they were roughly these: I take it that Mr. Toke, when he took the car out of the garage, had for some reason to come down here, unexpectedly, to fetch something from, or deposit something in, the gallery; and he had reasons for not wishing to enter the house and break the seals. I think that the murderer must have come to know of this intended visit, and have come on in advance and waited for him in hiding somewhere; that he saw Toke arrive, followed him into the churchyard, and saw him enter the tomb by the secret opening. I suspect that he waited for him to come out, and then murdered him as he was emerging from the tomb. Then he explored the vault, hurriedly broke open a coffin, and, having disposed of the body, made an inspection of the premises, the valuable contents of which may have been known to him. At any rate, he would have found the gold, and known then that it would be worth while to come back to take it away. I should think that the sovereigns were probably an afterthought, suggested by the quantity of gold bullion, which would have been rather unsafe to dispose of in the regular way. Moreover, if I am right as to the identity of the man, we must remember that he was an assayist by profession, and would have an expert knowledge of the methods of dealing with gold. But, as to that, we shall know more when we have seen him. And now we may as well relieve Polton and get back to the house. I don’t think we have left any traces of our visit down here, and we must be careful to leave none in the churchyard as we go out.”
“No,” Miller agreed fervently, “for the Lord’s sake don’t let us spoil our chances by giving him any sort of warning. At present, we seem to have him in the hollow of our hand. It would take ten years off my life if we should let him slip.”
“I don’t think you need have any misgivings, Miller,” said Thorndyke. “He is bound to come back; and we are agreed that we are willing to wait for him to come in his own time. We can only hope that he will not keep us waiting too long.”
CHAPTER XVII
The Vigil
We made our way out of the vault, one by one, creeping cautiously up the narrow brick steps, and climbing over the side of the tomb into the green and sunny churchyard. Woodburn was the first to emerge, and, as he stepped down on to the grass, he drew a deep breath.
“Lord,” he exclaimed, “it is good to be back in the world of living men and to breathe the fresh air. That was a horrible experience!”
I sympathized with him, though, naturally, my professional training had made me less sensitive to merely physical unpleasantness. For I realized that, whatever misgivings he might have had respecting his client, it must have been a shocking experience to be brought suddenly, without warning, face to face with his murdered corpse. Even Miller was not unaffected by the tragedy that had been so abruptly sprung upon him.
Thorndyke was the last to come up, having lingered to take a final look round and make sure that no tell tale evidence of our visit had been left to arouse the suspicions of the hoped-for visitor. As soon as he had stepped out, he seized the displaced slab, and, with a vigorous pull, swung it round into its normal position.
“We may as well make sure, before we go,” said he, “that we all understand how this arrangement works from the outside. It seems to be quite a simple device. The slab rocks slightly on its pivot. To release the inside catch, the higher end of the slab has to be pressed down. This raises the other end and so frees the catch. You see that, at present, the slab is quite immovable; but when I throw my weight on this end, I am able to swing it round without difficulty.”
As he spoke, he demonstrated the mechanism; and when Miller had satisfied himself by actual trial that he had fully grasped the method, we took our way out of the churchyard and walked across to the house. There we were admitted by Mrs. Gibbins in person, who informed us that two officers had arrived, and, further, that lunch would be served in five minutes, and, furthermore, that separate arrangements had been made for Mr. Polton and the two officers.
At the latter announcement Miller smiled grimly. “Artful old puss,” was his comment, when she had gone. “Made her arrangements to have Mr. Polton all to herself, and get the latest news. But it doesn’t matter. She’s an interested party, and it will save me the trouble of giving my men the particulars.”
Nevertheless, he introduced us to the two officers, and gave them a few instructions, and then we retired to remove, as far as was possible, the traces of our subterranean activities, before sitting down to lunch.
It was a very leisurely meal; almost intentionally so; for there was little more to do in the way of preparation, and a long interval before the next phase of our adventure could be expected to begin. But there was plenty of material for discussion, especially as Woodburn had to be put in possession of the numerous and complicated antecedents of the case. Then the details of the procedure to be adopted in the actual capture had to be considered, and the course that would have to be taken in the event of the quarry failing to appear. As to the former, Miller showed a disposition to simplify the proceedings by making the arrest in the churchyard.
“You see,” he explained, “there’s a good deal t
o be said for catching your hare while you have the chance. If we collar him as soon as he has gone up to the tomb, we shall make sure of him; whereas, if we let him go down, he may disappear into some underground passage that we know nothing about.”
But Thorndyke shook his head very decidedly. “No, Miller,” said he. “That won’t do. It is a bad plan in two ways. In the first place, the churchyard is not secure enough. He would have quite a fair chance of escape in that open space, with its various obstructions to dodge among, and possibly a car waiting close by. In the second place, he ought to be arrested, for evidential reasons, in the gallery. Remember that we have got to identify him with the coiner who has used Mr. Toke’s gold, and we are going to charge him with the murder of Mr. Toke. Now, if you arrest him in the churchyard, you have got those charges to prove. You will infer, reasonably enough, that he has come into the churchyard for the purpose of entering the house by way of the secret passage. But in a criminal trial, on a capital charge, evidence is sifted very finely. The defence would deny the intention, and you would have to prove it. But if he is taken actually in the gallery, that fact is evidence in itself of his connection with the coining, and, by fair inference, with the murder of Mr. Toke.”
Miller admitted the force of this contention. “But, still,” he urged, “we are not dealing with an unknown man. You say you can prove his identity, which connects him with a previous crime, and you have got substantial evidence in regard to the murder of poor Badger.”
Thorndyke, however, was firm. “It won’t do, Miller,” said he. “We shall want every particle of evidence that we can get. At present, all that we have is circumstantial. But, with all respect to the dictum of a certain learned judge, circumstantial evidence is much less satisfactory to a jury than that which is more or less direct.”
“Very well,” said Miller; “you know more about court work than I do. But what do you suggest—I mean, about planting my men?”
“The best plan, I think,” replied Thorndyke, “would be to instruct them to hide behind the yew tree—it must be pitch-dark there at night—and to wait for the man to arrive. They should let him go down into the tomb, and, as soon as he has disappeared, they should take up their stations at the side of the tomb nearest the steps. There they would have absolute control of him if he should come up again, as he would be standing on the steps.”
“You speak of ‘him,’” Miller remarked. “Supposing there should be a gang?”
“That is very unlikely,” replied Thorndyke, “but, even so, there are four of us, without counting Polton. I think we can take our chance. Are you and your men armed?”
“No,” replied Miller; “we don’t much favour firearms in the force. We’ve brought two or three sets of handcuffs, and, for the rest, we’ve got a pretty serviceable outfit of fists.”
“Well, I took the precaution to bring four automatics,” said Thorndyke. “You had better have one. A man who has two murders to his account is not likely to boggle at one or two more.”
Eventually, the Superintendent accepted Thorndyke’s suggestions, and, when we had finished lunch, the final preparations were made. Thorndyke showed the two officers the secret door, and demonstrated the working of the catch from outside and from within, and then conducted them down the stair-way and through the vault to the opening, at which Polton had been sent to keep a lookout. When they had mastered the working of the movable slab, they were shown the spot behind the yew tree where they were to keep watch later on. Then the whole party returned to the house by way of the vault—to avoid exhibiting themselves to any chance observers in the village.
When the officers had been dismissed to repose and smoke their pipes in Mr. Toke’s study, Thorndyke produced a six-inch ordnance map of the district, and invited the attention of Woodbury and the Superintendent to a narrow lane that appeared to run close beside the churchyard, and, presently to open into a by-road at no great distance.
“It seems probable,” said he, “that our friend, or friends, make the journey here by car, unless they should be local persons; which is most unlikely. And if they do, this lane would be an ideal approach, as it would avoid the village street, and be a most convenient place in which to leave the car—quite close to the churchyard and well out of sight. It might be worth while to go and inspect that lane.”
“I don’t think that is necessary,” said Woodburn, “because the same idea had occurred to me, and I took the opportunity to walk along it this morning. And I have no doubt that you are right. At any rate, someone has been bringing a car up that lane, for there were clear traces of one—a smallish car it seemed to be—especially at a place near the middle, where it is wide enough to turn round. I could see quite plainly the marks on the grass verge where he had backed in to turn. It appeared that he entered the lane from the by-road and stopped short a couple of hundred yards from the village street. So he must have gone back on the reverse until he came to the wide part, and then have turned round and gone out by the by-road.”
“Were these the marks of a single journey,” asked Miller, “or were there more than one set?”
“At the wide part,” answered Woodburn, “on the soft grass verge, there were a number of tracks on top of one another. I couldn’t say how many.”
“Then,” said Miller, “we needn’t trouble to inspect it; which is as well. The less we show ourselves in this neighbourhood the better. I’ll tell my men to keep their ears pricked up for the sound of a motor, though if it is occupied by the parties that we are expecting, it isn’t likely to be a very noisy one.”
“No,” Thorndyke agreed; “but in the silence of the country at night it will certainly be audible, especially if the driver should take the precaution—as he probably would—to turn round as soon as he arrived, so as to be ready to drive straight off in the event of an alarm. So we will hope that he comes in style in his car. It would give a very useful warning to your watchers.”
“Yes,” said Miller, “and it would be rather useful if they could pass the warning on to us in some way. What do you think, Doctor?”
“Of course,” replied Thorndyke, “it would be a great help to us. But I think we shall have to do without it. Any kind of signalling would be extremely unsafe. It might easily give a warning in the wrong quarter.”
Miller acknowledged the truth of this, and the subject dropped. And then began a somewhat tedious period of waiting; for there were yet several hours of daylight to dispose of before our actual vigil would begin. The Superintendent, being an old hand at this sort of business, retired to the study to smoke and “take forty winks,” while Thorndyke, Woodburn, and I whiled away the afternoon by making a complete tour of Mr. Toke’s collection.
A very remarkable collection it was. The gallery was filled mainly with Bow, Chelsea, and other porcelain figures, while the three smaller rooms were occupied by bronze busts and statuettes and a small collection of choice pottery and enamels. The entire contents of the rooms must have been of very great value, for all the pieces seemed to have been selected with the most fastidious taste and obviously expert judgment, without regard to cost. As we walked round and admired them one after another, they suggested two rather curious questions.
First, was it credible that the man who had acquired and treasured all these things of beauty, with such obvious enthusiasm and love for them, could be a mere fence—a receiver of stolen property? Those ingots in the workshop had certainly looked suspicious. Yet how could one believe it? The man who had cherished all these beautiful things so lovingly was no common money-grabber. Every one of them seemed to cry out in vindication of Mr. Toke.
The second question was, How came it that Hornby—if he was indeed the mysterious visitor—should have left this treasure-house intact? Many of the pieces were quite portable, especially to a man with a car. And, as Miller had pointed out, they could have been disposed of quite safely, so long as they had not been missed. The first question could not be discussed in Woodburn’s presence, but the second
I ventured to put to Thorndyke.
“I think the explanation is fairly simple,” he replied. “There appears to have been here an accumulation of gold bullion. How much we cannot guess, nor how it came to be accumulated. But here it was, and its presence was probably known to, or suspected by, the murderer, though it may have been discovered after the murder. My impression—though it is nothing more—is that the murder was not committed ad hoc—as a means to the carrying out of the robbery, but for some reason that is not known to us, and that the gold robbery was, as it were, a by-product.
“Now, the existence of this gold bullion was, almost certainly, known to no one but Mr. Toke. It follows that if the murderer could have simply taken away the gold and then disappeared, he would have left no trace whatever of his having ever been here. The corpse, you remember, is in a coffin in the vault, to which the only access is by secret openings whose existence was unknown to anybody but Mr. Toke. You see the masterly simplicity of the plan. When Mr. Toke failed to return or give any sign of being alive, and leave had been granted by the court to presume death, these rooms would have been opened and everything found apparently intact. There would have been nothing whatever to suggest any crime. It might have been suspected that Mr. Toke had met with foul play. But not here. The scene of his disappearance would have been placed in some unknown locality abroad.
“But now suppose that this man, in addition to taking away the gold, had rifled the collection. Then, as soon as the rooms were entered, it would have been seen that there had been a robbery. But a robbery in conjunction with a disappearance at once suggests a murder. There would have been a search, with the possible, and even probable, discovery of the body. Obviously, it was worth the murderer’s while to abstain from tampering with the collection.”
The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack Page 133