The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack

by R. Austin Freeman

  “I have got plenty to do tomorrow,” Thorndyke answered, “but I haven’t any appointments, as I expected to be here. Why do you ask?”

  “Because,” replied Miller, “I have had a bit of luck of another sort. I told you that the suspected yacht was laid up in Benfleet Creek with her hatches sealed and a local boat-builder told off to keep an eye on her. Well, it seems that this man—his name is Jaff—spotted some Johnnie trying to break into her in the cool of the evening, about eleven P.M. So Mr. Jaff collared the said Johnnie after a bit of a tussle, and handed him over to the local police.

  “Then the police had a brain-wave—quite a good one too. They phoned down to Southend for the Customs officers who had rummaged the yacht when she arrived from her voyage. So the Preventive men—there were two of them—hopped into the train and came over to have a look at the chappie who had been nabbed; and they both recognized him, at once, as one of the three men they had seen on board the yacht when they rummaged her. And one of them remembered his name—Bunter; and when it was mentioned, he didn’t deny it, though he had given a false name, as the police had already assumed, when he said it was John Smith. Of course, there are people in the world named John Smith. Plenty of them. But the crook is apt to exaggerate the number.

  “Well, when we got notice of the capture, we thought at first of having him sent up to the Yard to see if we could get a statement from him. But then I thought it would be better for me to go down and have a talk with him on the spot and just have a look at the yacht at the same time. And that’s where you come in; at least I hope you do, as you seem to be like one of those blooming spiders that I’ve heard about that have got eyes all over them. What do you say? I think you would find it an interesting little jaunt.”

  Thorndyke appeared to think so, too, for he accepted the invitation at once and included me in the acceptance, as I also had the day at my disposal. Accordingly, we settled the program, much to the Superintendent’s satisfaction, and, having arranged to meet on the following morning at Fenchurch Street Station, we escorted Miller, with his precious burden, to his car and bade him au revoir.

  “I agree with Miller,” said I, as, having achieved the perilous crossing of the Strand, we strolled towards the Temple Gate. “This is a bit of luck. A nice little trip to the seaside instead of a day in that stuffy court. And it will probably be quite amusing.”

  “I hope it will be more than amusing,” said Thorndyke. “We ought to be able to pick up some useful facts. We want them badly enough, f or there are a lot of gaps that we have to fill up.”

  “What gaps are you referring to?” I asked.

  “Well,” he replied, “look at our case as it stands. It is a mere collection of disconnected facts. And yet we know that those facts must be connected, and that we have got to establish the connexion. Take this platinum, for instance. It disappears from the cloak room and is lost to view utterly. Then it reappears in the coffin; and the problem is, how did it get there, where has it been in the interval, and what is Gimbler’s connexion with it?”

  “Aren’t we rather guessing about that platinum?” I objected. “We all seem to be assuming that this platinum is the platinum that was stolen.”

  “And reasonably so, I think,” said Thorndyke. “Consider the probabilities, Jervis. If it had been a case of an ounce, or even a pound, there might have been room for doubt. But half a hundredweight, at a time when every grain of platinum is precious and worth many times its weight of gold, and at a time when that very weight of platinum has been stolen and is still missing—well, we may be mistaken, but we are justified in accepting the overwhelming probabilities. And, after all, it is only a working hypothesis.”

  “Yes,” I admitted, “I suppose you are right; and we shall soon know if you are on the wrong track. But you are also assuming that Gimbler has some connexion with it. You haven’t much to go on.”

  Thorndyke laughed. “You are a regular Devil’s advocate, Jervis,” said he. “But you are right, so far. We haven’t much to go on. Still, I suppose you will agree that we have fair grounds for assuming that Gimbler has some connexion with that bogus coffin.”

  “Yes,” I was forced to admit, “I will concede that much, as the coffin appears to have been planted there to furnish evidence in support of his case. But I am not so clear as to the connexion between Gimbler and that platinum. He seemed mighty surprised when you mentioned it.”

  “He did,” Thorndyke agreed; “and there is certainly something extremely odd about the whole affair. But you see the position. Gimbler arranges for a dummy coffin to be planted, and that dummy coffin is found to contain the proceeds of a robbery. There is thus established a connexion of some sort between Gimbler and this stolen property. We cannot guess the nature of the connexion. It may be of the most indirect kind. Apparently, Gimbler had no suspicion of the nature of the metal in the coffin. But some kind of connexion between that loot and Mr. Gimbler there must be. And it is not impossible that the platinum may eventually be the means of pointing the way to some unguarded spot in Gimbler’s defences; for I take it that there will be considerable difficulty in getting direct evidence of his part in the planting of the coffin.”

  His conclusion brought us to our doorstep, at which point the discussion lapsed. But I felt that it was only an adjournment; for something in the Superintendent’s manner had suggested to me that he, also, had certain questions to propound.

  And so it turned out. On our arrival on the platform at Fenchurch Street, I perceived the Superintendent doing “sentry-go” before the door of an empty first-class smoking compartment, and I suspected that he had made certain private arrangements with the guard. At any rate, we had the compartment to ourselves, and when we had passed the first few stations in safety, he proceeded to fire his first shot.

  “I’ve been puzzling my brains, Doctor, about those pot-leavings.”

  “Indeed?” said Thorndyke. “What is the difficulty?”

  “The difficulty is how the deuce they became pot-leavings. I have always understood that platinum was almost impossible to melt. Isn’t that so?”

  “Platinum is very difficult to melt,” Thorndyke agreed. “It has the highest melting-point of all metals, excepting one or two of the rare metals. The melting-point is 1710 Centigrade.”

  “And what is the melting-point of cast iron?”

  “1505 Centigrade,” Thorndyke answered.

  “Then,” exclaimed Miller, “if it takes about two hundred degrees more to melt platinum than it does to melt iron, how the devil was it possible to melt the platinum in a common plumber’s melting-pot which is made of cast iron? It would seem as if the pot should melt before the platinum.”

  “So it would, of course, if the metal had been pure,” Thorndyke replied with a smile that suggested to me that he had been expecting the question, and that something of importance turned on it. “But it was not pure. It was an alloy; and alloys exhibit all kinds of queer anomalies in respect to their melting-points. However, with your permission, we will postpone the discussion of this point, as we shall have to consider it in connexion with certain other matters that we have to discuss. You have not told us whether those clothes from the two dead men yielded any information.”

  “They gave us the means of identifying the two men, as you will have learned from the reports of the inquest; and the names were apparently their real names, or at least their usual aliases. The murderer, Bassett, the skipper of the yacht, was a local man, as you guessed. He lived at Swanscombe, and seems to have been a Swanscombe man, which accounts, as you suggested, for his knowledge of the dene hole. The man he killed, Wicks, was living at Woolwich at the time, but he seemed to be a bird of passage. That is all that I got out of the clothes excepting the name and address of a man called Samuels, who describes himself as a gold refiner and bullion dealer, but who may be a fence. We know him by name, but we haven’t anything against him, though we bear him in mind. These small bullion dealers have to be kept in view, as they have so
many facilities for getting rid of stolen jewellery and plate.”

  “Yes,” Thorndyke agreed; “and, in the special circumstances, any refiner and bullion dealer is of interest to us. It seems likely that Bassett intended to approach this man, Samuels, on the object of the disposal of the platinum, if he hadn’t already made some arrangements with him. You’ll have to continue to keep Mr. Samuels in view. But now tell us a little more about this present business.”

  “There isn’t much more to tell you,” said Miller. “It seems that Mr. Jaff, the boat-builder gent, was cruising about Benfleet Creek in his dinghy—he lives afloat, himself—when he saw our friend, Bunter, trying to prise open the yacht’s fore scuttle; whereupon, having a natural prejudice against people who break into yachts, he pulled alongside, stepped on board, and, creeping silently along the deck in his rubber mud-boots, grabbed Bunter and hauled him into his dinghy, where they seem to have had a mighty scrap until another mariner came along and lent a hand. Then they got him ashore and handed him over to the local police as I have told you.”

  “What do you suppose could have been his object in trying to break into the vessel?” I asked. “There wasn’t anything of value left on board, was there?”

  “There was not supposed to be,” said Miller, with a knowing look, “but I have an idea that there may have been. My notion is that there may have been more platinum than we thought, and that he had come to snap up what was left. What do you say, Doctor?”

  Thorndyke shook his head. “I don’t think so, Miller,” he replied. “You have recovered practically all the platinum that was said to have been stolen. My impression is that, as our friend Mr. Pippet might express it, you are barking up the wrong tree.”

  “Am I?” said Miller. “Then if you will point out the right tree, I’ll bark up that. What do you think was his object in trying to break in?”

  “My idea is,” Thorndyke replied, “that he supposed that the whole of the platinum was still on board.”

  “But,” protested Miller, “how could he? He knew that Bassett had carted the bulk of it away.”

  Thorndyke chuckled. “My impression is, Miller,” said he, “that it was at this point that the chapter of accidents began; and it is here that the answer to the question that you raised just now comes in.”

  “About the melting-pot?” demanded Miller.

  “Yes. I have a theory that the whole mystery of the murder and the appearance of the platinum in the coffin hinges on that question. Perhaps, as we have some time at our disposal, there would be no harm in my giving the reins to my fancy and sketching out my hypothetical scheme of the events as I believe they occurred.”

  “Do, by all means,” Miller exclaimed, eagerly, “for, if your imaginary scheme satisfies you, it is likely to satisfy me.”

  “Then,” said Thorndyke, “I will begin with what I believe to have been the hiding-place in which the platinum was concealed on the yacht.”

  “But, good Lord, Doctor” Miller exclaimed, “you’ve never seen the yacht!”

  “It wasn’t necessary,” Thorndyke replied. “I had your description of the yacht and of the search made by the Customs officer, and they seemed to me to indicate an excellent hiding-place. When you described how that officer crept down into the hold and found it all perfectly clear and empty with the exception of the lead ballast-weights, it occurred to me that it was quite possible that the platinum was staring him in the face all the time. Remember that he was not looking for platinum but for tobacco.”

  “Do you suggest that the platinum was hidden in the ballast-weights?” Miller demanded.

  “That is exactly what I do suggest,” replied Thorndyke; “and I will describe to you what I believe to have been the method used in concealing it. You will remember that these weights were proper yacht’s ballast; lead weights cast to a correct shape to fit the timbers and sits comfortably along the kelson. Each would probably weight about half a hundredweight, that being the usual and most convenient weight. Now, my theory is that our friends took with them a mould of the ballast-weights—an ordinary sand-flask would do, though a fireclay mould would be more convenient—so that they could cast new weights whenever they might want them. Possibly they also took some spare lead with them.

  “Now, as soon as they had got possession of the platinum—which, you will remember, was in thin sheets—they cut it up into suitably sized pieces, or rolled or folded it up to a size that would go easily into the mould. They put the pieces into the mould, probably propping them up a little with some pieces of lead to keep them off the bottom, so that the platinum should not be visible on the surface. Then they melted some spare lead, or one of the ballast-weights and poured the molten lead into the mould. When the lead set solid, there would be a quite ordinary-looking ballast-weight. Then they did the same with the rest of the platinum, producing a second ballast-weight; and the two could be laid down with the rest of the weights alongside the keel. If there was any lead left over, that would be thrown overboard together with the mould.”

  “Yes,” said Miller, “that sounds quite convincing. Deuced ingenious, too. Uncommonly neat. That’s how they were able to walk past the customs in the way they did. But where does the chapter of accidents come in?”

  “It came in at that point,” said Thorndyke. “Somebody had made a trifling miscalculation. I don’t say that Bassett made the mistake, though I suspect that he did. But someone did. You know, Miller, as well as I do that people who embark on a fake of any kind need to have a good deal of knowledge. And usually they haven’t. Our friend, Gimbler, didn’t know enough about dust; and the craftsman who made the bogus coffin didn’t know enough about screws. And I suspect that the downy bird who invented the ballast-weight dodge didn’t know enough about platinum.

  “The rock, I think, on which these gentry split was this: most people know, as you know, that platinum is one of the most infusible of metals. It cannot be melted in any ordinary furnace. Only a very special furnace, or the most powerful type of blowpipe will melt it. Now, to a person who knew that, and no more, it would naturally seem that platinum, put into a mould and then covered up with melted lead, would simply be imbedded in lead. And, since lead is very easily fusible—it melts at the comparatively low temperature of 325° Centigrade—it would naturally seem that, when it was required to recover the platinum, all that would be necessary would be to melt the lead weight and pick out the platinum.”

  “Yes,” agreed Miller; “that seems perfectly feasible. What’s the snag?”

  “The snag is,” replied Thorndyke, “that platinum has one most singular property. Everyone knows that you can melt lead in an iron ladle or pot; and it would be quite natural to infer that, since platinum is more difficult to melt than iron, it would be equally easy to melt lead in a platinum ladle or pot. But the inference would be quite wrong. If you were to try to melt lead in a platinum pot, the bottom of the pot would drop out. In spite of its enormously high melting-point, platinum dissolves freely in melted lead.”

  “The deuce it does!” exclaimed Miller. “That is most extraordinary.”

  “It is,” Thorndyke agreed; “and it is a property of the metal that would be totally unexpected by anyone who did not happen to know it. And now you will see how this curious fact affects our problem. Supposing the platinum to have been put into the mould as I have described, and the melted lead poured in on top of it; and supposing the thieves—or some of them—to be unacquainted with this property of the metal. They would expect, as I have said, that when they wanted to recover the platinum, all they would have to do would be to melt the lead weight and pick out the platinum with tongs.

  “Now our friend Wicks, who made the exchange at the cloak room was evidently ‘in the know.’ He knew what was in the case that he stole; and he had come to get that case. The relic that he left in exchange was, I feel sure, merely a by-product. It may even have furnished the means or the suggestion for the exchange. Obviously, he had the thing on his hands, and it was the
kind of thing that he would naturally wish to get rid of; and, if he was able to get a suitable case, as he evidently was, the exchange was a quite masterly tactical plan. But I think we may take it that it was the case—worth fifteen thousand pounds—that he had come for.

  “We will assume that he knew the platinum to be concealed in the lead weights. It is practically certain that he did. He was one of the yacht’s crew, or gang, and the thing must have been known to all of them. Probably he had seen the job carried out; but, at any rate, he knew what had been done. Accordingly, as soon as he had got his booty into a safe place, he proceeded to melt down the lead weights to get at the platinum.

  “And then it was, I suggest, that the fatal mistake occurred. As the weights melted, he looked for the platinum to appear. Apparently, he fished for it with a ladle and then transferred the molten metal by degrees to some empty pots. But when he had ladled the whole of it into the other pots, there was still no sign of the platinum. To his eye, the pots contained nothing but melted lead.

  “Now, what would he be likely to think, under the circumstances? He might have thought that Bassett had made a mistake and put the wrong weights into the case; but more probably (seeing that he had tried to rob the gang and snatch the whole of the booty for himself and the confederate who had helped him to carry off the case) he would think that he had been suspected and that ‘the boss’ had deliberately laid a booby-trap for him by planting a couple of the plain lead weights in the case. At any rate, he had, apparently, got nothing but a quantity of lead. What did he do with that lead? We have no means of judging. He may have thrown it away in disgust or he may have sold it to a plumber for a few pence. But, if we accept this hypothetical construction of the course of events, we can see how these lumps of lead-platinum alloy came into being.”

  “Yes,” Miller agreed, “it all fits the facts perfectly, even to the murder of Wicks. For, of course, each of these two rascals, Wicks and Bassett, thought the other had nobbled the whole of the swag. My eye! What a lark it is!” He laughed grimly and then added: “But I begin to have an inkling of the way you dropped on that dene hole so readily. You’d been keeping an account of the case all along. I wonder if you can make any suggestion as to how that stuff got into the coffin, and who put it there.”