“Yes,” Thorndyke agreed, “that is important, for all the circumstances suggest that it was not a mere casual falling out but the manifestation of a deep-seated enmity.”
“That was what I thought,” said I, “and so, evidently, did Mrs. Gannet; and it was on this point that Blandy’s questions were so particularly searching. First, he elicited the fact that the two men were formerly quite good friends and that the change had occurred quite recently. He inquired as to the cause of the change, but she was quite unable to account for it. Then he wanted to know when the change had occurred, but she was only able to say that it occurred some time in the latter part of last year. The next questions related to Boles’s movements about that time, and naturally, she couldn’t tell him very much. And then he asked a most remarkable question, which was, could she remember where Boles was on the l9th of last September? And it happened that she could. For at that time Gannet had gone to spend a weekend with Boles and she had taken the opportunity to spend a weekend at Eastbourne. And as she remembered clearly that she was at Eastbourne on the 19th of September, it followed that on that date Boles and Gannet were staying together at a place called Newingstead.”
At the mention of Newingstead, Thorndyke looked up quickly, but he made no remark, and I continued:
“This information seemed greatly to interest Inspector Blandy, especially the fact that the two men were at Newingstead together on that date; and he pressed Mrs. Gannet to try to remember whether the sudden change from friendship to enmity seemed to coincide with that date. The question naturally astonished her; but on reflection, she was able to recall that she first noticed the change when she returned from Eastbourne.”
“There is evidently something significant,” said Jervis, “about that date and that place, but I can’t imagine what it can be.”
“I think,” said I, “that I can enlighten you to some extent, for it happens that I also was at Newingstead on the 19th of last September.”
“The deuce you were!” exclaimed Jervis. “Then it seems that you did not begin your story at the beginning, after all.”
“I take it,” said Thorndyke, “that you are the Dr. Oldfield who gave evidence at the inquest on Constable Murray?”
“That is so. But how do you come to know about that inquest? I suppose you read about it in the papers? But it is odd that you should happen to remember it.”
“It isn’t, really,” said Thorndyke. “The fact is that Mr. Kempster—the man who was robbed, you remember—consulted me about the case. He wanted me to trace the thief, and if possible, to trace the diamonds, too. Of course, I told him that I had no means of doing anything of the kind. It was purely a police case. But he insisted on leaving the matter in my hands and he provided me with a verbatim report of the inquest from the local paper. Don’t you remember the case, Jervis? I know you read the report.”
“Yes,” replied Jervis. “I begin to have a hazy recollection of the case. I remember now that a constable was murdered in a wood; killed with his own truncheon, wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” I replied; “and some very distinct fingerprints were found on the truncheon—fingerprints from a left hand, with a particularly clear thumb-print.”
“Ha!” said Jervis. “Yes, of course, I remember; and I think I begin to ‘rumble’ Mr. Blandy, as Miller would say. Did you see those fingerprints on the gold plate?”
“I just had a look at them, though I was not particularly interested. But they were extremely clear—they would be, on polished gold plate. There was a thumb on one side and a forefinger on the reverse.”
“Do you know whether they were left or right?”
“I couldn’t tell; but Blandy said they were from a left hand.”
“I expect he was right,” said Jervis. “I am not fond of Blandy, but he certainly does know his job. It looks as if there were going to be some startling developments in this case. What do you think, Thorndyke?”
“It depends,” replied Thorndyke, “on what Blandy found at the studio. If the fingerprints on the gold plate were the same as those found on the truncheon, they can be assumed to be those of the man who murdered the constable; and as Blandy will have assumed—quite properly—that they were the fingerprints of Boles, we can understand his desire to ascertain where Boles was on the day of the murder, and his intense interest in learning from Mrs. Gannet that Boles was actually at Newingstead on that very day. Further, I think we can understand his disinclination to have any dealings with the arsenic.”
“I don’t quite see why,” said I.
“It is partly a matter of legal procedure,” he explained. “Boles cannot be charged with any crime until he is caught. But, if he is arrested, and his fingerprints are found to be the same as those on the truncheon, he will be charged with the murder of the constable. He may also be charged with the murder of Gannet. Thus when it comes to the trial, there will be two indictments. But, whereas—in the circumstances that we are assuming—the evidence against him in the matter of the murder at Newingstead appears to be conclusive and unanswerable, that relating to the murder of Gannet is much less convincing; in fact, there is hardly enough at present to support the charge.
“Hence it is practically certain that the first indictment would be the one to be proceeded with; and as this would almost certainly result in a conviction, the other would be of no interest. The police would not be willing to waste time and effort on preparing a difficult and inconclusive case which would never be brought to trial. That is how the matter presents itself to me.”
“Yes,” Jervis agreed, “that seems to be the position. But yet we can’t dismiss the Gannet murder altogether. Boles is the principal suspect, but he hasn’t the monopoly. He might have had an accomplice—an accessory, either before or after the fact. As I see the case, it seems to leave Mr. Boles fairly in the soup and Mrs. Gannet, so to speak, sitting on the edge of the tureen. But I may be wrong.”
“I think you are,” said I, with some warmth. “I don’t believe that Mrs. Gannet has any guilty knowledge of the crime at all.”
“I am inclined to agree with you, Oldfield,” said Thorndyke. “But I think Jervis was referring to the views of the police, which may be different from ours.”
At this moment the clock in the adjacent consulting room struck eight, and, before its reverberations had died away, the welcome sound of the gong was heard summoning us to dinner. I conducted my guests to the dining room, and a quick glance at the table as I entered assured me that Mrs. Gilbert had been equal to the occasion. And that conviction deepened as the meal proceeded and evidently communicated itself to my guests, for Jervis remarked, after an appreciative sniff at his claret glass:
“Oldfield seems to do himself pretty well for a struggling G.P.”
“Yes,” Thorndyke agreed. “I think we may congratulate him on his housekeeper.”
“And his wine merchant,” added Jervis. “I propose a vote of thanks to them both.”
I bowed my acknowledgments and promised to convey the sentiments of the company to the proper quarters (which I did, subsequently, to our mutual satisfaction), and we then reverted to the activities proper to the occasion. Presently Jervis looked up at me as if a sudden thought had struck him.
“When you were describing Gannet’s method of work, Oldfield, you didn’t give us a very definite idea of the result. I gather that he posed as a special kind of artist potter. Did you consider that his productions justified that claim?”
“To tell the truth,” I replied, “I didn’t know what to think. To my eye his pottery looked like the sort of rough, crude stuff that is made by primitive people—but not so good—or the pottery that children turn out at the kindergartens. But you see I am not an expert. It seemed possible that it might have some subtle qualities which I was too ignorant to detect.”
“A very natural state of mind for a modest man,” said Thorndyke, “and a perfectly proper one; but a dangerous one, nevertheless. For it is just that self-distrust, that modest
assumption that ‘there must be something in it, after all,’ that lets in the charlatan and the impostor. I saw some of Gannet’s pottery in his bedroom, including that outrageous effigy, and I am afraid that I was less modest than you were, for I decided definitely that the man who made it was no potter.”
“And you were absolutely right,” said I. “The question has been settled conclusively, so far as I am concerned, this very day. I have just visited an exhibition of Gannet’s works, and the bubble of his reputation was burst before my eyes. I will give you the particulars. It was quite a quaint experience.”
With this I produced the catalogue from my pocket and having read to them Bunderby’s introduction, I gave them a full description of the proceedings, including as much of Bunderby’s discourse as I could remember, and finishing up with the amazing incident of the “decorated jar.” They both listened with deep interest and with appreciative chuckles, and when I had concluded, Jervis remarked:
“Well, the jar incident fairly puts the lid on it. Obviously, the whole of the pottery business was what the financiers call a ramp. And I should say that Bunderby was in it up to the neck.”
“That is not so certain,” said Thorndyke. “He is either an ignoramus or a sheer impostor, and possibly both. It doesn’t matter much, as he is apparently not our pigeon. But the affair of the jar—a mere beginner’s experiment—is more interesting, for it concerns Gannet, who is our pigeon. As Jervis says, it explodes Gannet’s pretensions as a skilled artist, and thus convicts him of deliberate imposture, but it also proves him guilty of an act, not only mean but quite definitely dishonest. For the jar might conceivably be sold.”
“It is sold,” said I, “for fifteen guineas.”
“Which,” Jervis pronounced, oracularly, “illustrates the proverbial lack of cohesion between a fool and his money. I wonder who the mug is.”
“I didn’t discover that; in fact, I didn’t ask. But I picked up some other items of information. I had quite a long chat with Mr. Kempster, the proprietor of the gallery.”
“Mr. Kempster?” Thorndyke repeated, with a note of interrogation.
“Yes, but not your Mr. Kempster. This man is the brother of your client and a good deal like him. That is how I came to speak to him.”
“And what did you learn from Mr. Kempster?” Thorndyke asked.
“I learned, in the first place, that Boles is a Newingstead man; that he is acquainted with your Mr. Kempster, and that they have had certain business transactions.”
“Of what kind?” asked Thorndyke.
“Either the sale or exchange of stones. It seems that Boles buys up oddments of old or damaged jewelry to melt down for his own work. If they contain any diamonds, he picks them out and passes them on to Kempster, either in exchange for the kind of stones that he uses, or else, I suppose, for cash. Apparently the transactions are on quite a small scale.”
“Small or large,” said Jervis, “it sounds a bit fishy. Wouldn’t Blandy be interested?”
“I don’t quite see why,” said I. “Blandy is all out on the murder charge. It wouldn’t help him if he could prove Boles to be a receiver, or even a thief.”
“I think you are wrong there,” said Thorndyke. “If you recall the circumstances of the diamond robbery, which led to the murder of the constable, you will see that what you have told us has a distinct bearing. It was assumed that the thief was a chance stranger who had strayed into the premises. But a man who was suspected of being either a receiver or a thief, who had had dealings with Kempster—possibly in that very house—and knew something of his habits, and who happened to be in Newingstead at the time of the robbery, would fit into the picture much better than a chance stranger. However, that case really turns on the fingerprint. If the print on the truncheon is Boles’s print, Boles will hang if he is caught; and if it is not, he is innocent both of the murder and of the robbery.”
I did not pursue the topic any farther, and the conversation drifted into other channels. But suddenly it occurred to me that nothing had been said on the very subject that had occasioned the present meeting.
“By the way,” said I, “you haven’t told me what has been done about poor Mrs. Gannet. I hope you have been able to make some arrangements.”
“We have,” said Jervis. “You need have no further anxiety about her. I called on Linnell this afternoon and put the proposal to him, and he agreed, not only quite willingly but with enthusiasm, to undertake the case. He is keen on criminal practice, and for a solicitor he has an unusual knowledge of criminal law and procedure. So we can depend on him in both respects. He will see that Mrs. Gannet’s rights and interests are properly safeguarded, and on the other hand, he won’t obstruct and antagonize the police.”
“I am relieved to hear that,” said I, “for I was most distressed to think of the terrible position that this poor lady finds herself in. I feel the deepest sympathy for her.”
“Very properly,” said Thorndyke, “as her medical adviser, and I think I am disposed to agree with your view of the case. But we must be cautious. We must not take sides. In the words of a certain ecclesiastic, ‘we must keep a warm heart and a cool head.’ You will remember that when the arsenic poisoning occurred, both you and I, having regard to Mrs. Gannet’s relations with Boles, felt that she was a possible suspect, either as an accessory or a principal. That view was perfectly correct and I must remind you that nothing has changed since then. The general probabilities remain. I do not believe that she had any hand in this crime, but you and I may both be wrong. At any rate, the police will consider all the possibilities, and our business is to see that Mrs. Gannet gets absolutely fair treatment; and that we shall do.”
“Thank you, sir,” said I. “It is most kind of you to take so much interest, and so much trouble, in this case, seeing that you have no personal concern in it. Indeed, I don’t quite know why you have interested yourselves in it in the way that you have done.”
“That is easily explained,” replied Thorndyke. “Jervis and I are medico-legal practitioners, and here is a most unusual crime of the greatest medico-legal interest. Such cases we naturally study for the sake of the knowledge and experience that may be gleaned from them. But there is another reason. It has repeatedly happened that when we have studied some unusual case from the outside for its mere professional interest, we have suddenly acquired a personal interest in it by being called on to act for one of the parties. Then we have had the great advantage of being able to take it up with full and considered knowledge of most of the facts.”
“Then,” I asked somewhat eagerly, “if you were asked to take up this case on behalf of Mrs. Gannet, would you be willing—assuming, of course, that the costs would be met?”
“The costs would not be an essential factor,” he replied. “I think that if a charge should be brought against Mrs. Gannet, I would be willing to investigate the case—with an open mind and at her risk as to what I might discover—and if I were satisfied of her innocence, to undertake her defense.”
“Only if you were satisfied of her innocence?”
“Yes. Reasonably satisfied when I had all the facts. Remember, Oldfield, that I am an investigator. I am not an advocate.”
I found this slightly disappointing, but as no charge was probable, and as Thorndyke’s view of the case was substantially similar to my own, I pursued the subject no farther. Shortly afterwards, we adjourned to the study and spent the remainder of the evening discussing Gannet’s pottery and the various aspects of modernist art.
CHAPTER 13
The Inquiry
The results of Mr. Linnell’s activities on Mrs. Gannet’s behalf were slightly disappointing, though she undoubtedly derived great encouragement from the feeling that his advice and support were always available. But Inspector Blandy was quietly but doggedly persistent in his search for information. Characteristically, he welcomed Linnell with almost affectionate warmth. It was such a relief to him to know that this poor lady now had a really competent and
experienced legal adviser to watch over her interests. He had formerly been so distressed at her friendless and solitary condition. Now he was quite happy about her, though he deplored the necessity of troubling her occasionally with tiresome questions.
Nevertheless, he returned to the charge again and again in spite of Linnell’s protests that all available information had been given. There were two points on which he yearned for more exact knowledge. The first related to the movements of Mr. Boles; the second to her own movements during the time that she had been absent from home. As to the first, the last time she had seen Boles was about a week before she went away, and she then understood that he was proposing to take a short holiday to Burnham-on-Crouch. Whether, in fact, he did go to Burnham she could not say. She had never seen or heard from him since that day. As to his usual places of resort, he had an aunt at Newingstead with whom he used to stay from time to time as a paying guest. She knew of no other place which he was in the habit of visiting, and she had no idea whatever as to where he might be now.
As to her own movements, she had been staying at Westcliff-on-Sea with an old servant who had a house there and let lodgings to visitors. While there, she had usually walked along the sea front to Southend in the mornings and returned to tea or dinner. Sometimes she spent the whole day at Southend and went to a theatre or other entertainment, coming back at night by train. Naturally she could not give exact dates or say positively where she was at a certain time on a given day, though she tried to remember. And when the questions were repeated on subsequent occasions, the answers that she gave inevitably tended to vary.
From these repeated questionings, it was evident to Linnell (from whom, as well as from Mrs. Gannet, I had these particulars) that, in the intervals, Blandy had checked all these statements by exhaustive inquiries on the spot; and further, that he had been carefully studying the fast train service between Southend and London. Apparently he had discovered no discrepancy, but yet it seemed that he was not satisfied; that he still harboured a suspicion that Mrs. Gannet knew more about the affair than she had admitted and that she could, if she chose, give a useful hint as to where Boles was in hiding.
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