by David Pirie
The weather improved little yet we made the journey to Southwold without further event or hindrance. Most of it took place in silence, with Bell keeping both hands firmly on Jefford’s box, placed squarely on his knee. As we turned into the main street, I was startled to see lights and people. I had taken no thought to look at my watch but, after all that had happened, I had it in my head we must have reached the early hours of the morning. In fact, since this was of course the time of year when darkness came early, it was only shortly after eight o’clock.
This had one great advantage for Bell. The police were in time to obtain the good offices of the town’s bank who had agreed, no doubt with great alacrity considering the sum involved, to take formal custody of the money and secure it in their vault until Jefford’s posthumous affairs were in order. Bell never let go of that box until he was in the bowels of the bank itself, flanked by several officials, who counted it solemnly and at his demand wrote out a note taking full responsibility for the amount from this time.
The Doctor’s spirits lifted a little as we left the building, and it was agreed Cornelius would accompany us on the return journey. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘for I wish to get back as soon as possible, Dr Bell, if you have no further need of me. I am hopeful there will not be any repeat of yesterday’s unfortunate incident.’
The Doctor, who was on the point of moving towards the cab, stopped at this. ‘To what do you refer, Doctor?’
‘Oh, did you not hear? There was some break-in to an empty room at the asylum. Nothing seems to have been stolen.’
I have rarely seen the Doctor’s expression change so quickly. ‘What? But why was I not told?’
‘In fact, I did tell Bulweather to mention it to you or Doyle,’ said Cornelius, frowning somewhat prudishly.
Bell turned to me at once. ‘I am sorry,’ I said. ‘I was informed of it late last night and because of all today’s events I had forgotten.’
He nodded. ‘A great pity, Doyle, that you neglected to inform me of something of such significance.’ I was amazed, but he spoke without the slightest irony. ‘It explains almost everything that was puzzling us.’ And he strode off towards the waiting cab.
THE MESSAGE FROM THE CLIFF
I could not see what he meant and felt a mixture of emotions as we rode out of the town and back into the dark, windy countryside. It was true we had frustrated our man’s intentions and that, following the Doctor’s dazzling display, Inspector Langton accepted Bell was probably right about his various conjectures, including the identity of the criminal who had been named to him and Cornelius in private. But what use could that be to us when he continued to hide in the monstrous shadows of this place?
My thoughts were interrupted when the Doctor took a piece of paper from his pocket and, after looking at it a little, turned to Cornelius.
‘Dr Cornelius,’ he said, ‘I am grateful to you for accompanying us on such a foul night. And I am glad no extra man was, in the event, needed to protect our cargo. But I had another reason for asking you, which is all the more important in view of what I have just heard. Can you tell me what this is?’
I could see he had in his hand the drawing of a plant or a flower rather like a four-leaf clover with six leaves we had found amongst Jefford’s things. Its effect on Dr Cornelius was, however, unexpected. He went rather pale and shook his head. ‘No, I cannot say.’
Bell stared at him coldly. ‘I would urge you to look at it again. It is, after all, an extraordinary thing not to recognise something that you drew yourself.’
Cornelius’s head slumped. ‘It is the panopticon,’ Bell went on, ‘the all-seeing eye of Jeremy Bentham’s, is it not? A model for the design of an asylum where very few staff can keep a watching eye over a great many patients. I did not recognise it at first but then it came to me and I returned to your office to make sure. You had made several copies and you gave them to those like Oliver Jefford whom you thought might be rich enough to help you with such schemes.’
Cornelius raised his eyes, but he looked terrified. ‘I did nothing wrong,’ he said.
‘We will see,’ said Bell. ‘You have lied about this, you have lied about Jefford, whom you did know. What else did you lie about? Were you hoping to see some of that money we have just deposited for your precious asylum?’
Cornelius was shaking now, the fear in his eyes was intense. ‘No,’ his voice was raised almost hysterically. ‘I would never have dreamt of entertaining such schemes. But they told me nothing of their plans. They were just gentlemen.’
‘Who?’ said Bell. ‘You must tell us everything.’
‘Jefford came to see me with another man, Doctor. But his name was not Cream, I swear it. It was Dr Mere.’
The description that followed was close enough. ‘They both talked of their interest in such work and how they might wish to offer a generous endowment. Jefford asked about my plans and I gave him the sketch. But he did not seem as interested as Dr Mere, who returned later without Jefford.’
‘And what did he wish from you, this other man?’ said Bell.
‘He wanted a place to stay on occasions and in confidence while he made his visit and did some ornithology. It was something I was happy to accommodate. We had room, he paid me amply, asking for privacy. He came and went as he pleased, there was an exit he could use from the basement. I did not often see him. Nor did others.’
‘And he is still here?’ I said urgently.
Cornelius shook his head violently. ‘No. Some days ago I terminated the arrangement. I had already asked him to quit the place, for I was worried, in the light of the crimes, that his presence might be considered unorthodox.’
‘When did you last see him?’ Bell said coldly.
‘Some days ago,’ said Cornelius. ‘He came to my study and talked. He made some comments about our female inmates that I found deeply distasteful. By then I had decided he had no intention of making an endowment and I asked if we could terminate our arrangement. He said little and therefore—’
‘The day before yesterday you changed the locks,’ interrupted Bell. ‘He would have broken in to retrieve his things and probably have another night. Perhaps he was even there last night?’
‘No, no,’ said Cornelius, still shaking his head like a man in the grip of a nightmare. ‘He was not, we put on a bolt and chain. The room was checked.’
‘Did anyone else see him?’ said Bell.
‘No. It was a basement room. A little-used entrance, nobody needed to see him.’
Naturally, we pressed him for every word of Cream’s, but there was nothing I considered to be of much value. He had never, he said, seen Jefford again, so if Cornelius told the truth he could not be the third man seen in the woods.
I found myself accepting his story, though it was infuriating to me that this feeble man, for now I certainly regarded him as feeble, had harboured the creature we sought without once seeming to realise the consequences of his actions. And why? Because he hoped his institution would gain from the arrangement. Cupidity may not, I reflected, always be a matter of individual greed. It can also be a greed on behalf of your ideas or your ambition. That money Dr Cornelius wanted might indeed have benefited others but the wish for it was still an evil wish born of personal vanity and it had evil consequences.
‘You will listen to me now,’ Bell was saying to Cornelius, his voice menacingly soft. ‘You have given serious aid to a common criminal. If you had been more honest with us before when I asked you of strangers, lives might well have been saved. As it is, you have blood on your hands.’
Cornelius was almost sobbing now. ‘But I had no idea, I had no evidence against him.’
‘That is no excuse for telling lies when you are aware there is a serious investigation. However, I see no reason to waste Langton’s time with you. You can consider your own conscience. We will come back now and search the rooms, indeed I want to examine the whole basement. If anything else occurs to you, or you have any hint of this man again, you will
send urgent word to me at the inn, is that understood?’
Cornelius nodded, his breath coming in little gasps. I stared at him now without much pity, indeed the only emotions I felt were irritation and contempt. Instead of a monstrous collaborator for Cream we had found, of all things, a feeble, cowardly and personally ambitious philanthropist.
And there was worse to come. For, after reaching the asylum, we soon discovered that this place, even while it represented the most tangible proof yet of our enemy’s presence, offered nothing whatsoever in the way of clues. Of course we saw the room Cream had used. It was, as Cornelius had indicated, now bolted and quite empty. There was an easily used direct exit to the grounds. I was reminded at once of Cream’s rooms in Edinburgh, which Bell and I frantically invaded so many years ago just before he flew the country. There we had found nothing except traces in the dust. Here were the same vague indications that a man had been present but that was all. I could detect nothing and, though he made an exhaustive search, I felt sure the Doctor was equally frustrated.
We were glad to quit ourselves of Cornelius after the Doctor had again warned him to report any new information as a matter of urgency and, in the cab back to Dunwich, Bell looked pale and disappointed.
‘It is the way with him, is it not?’ he said fiercely to me as we bumped back over those roads into the woodland. ‘He engages several strands: the asylum, the howling man, the rune, the notion of witchcraft, the impossible drowning, the dead man returned and more. But it is only a web, Doyle, like those in that secret room, and you can easily lose yourself in its strands. What have I always said? That the final and most dangerous stage of a Greek labyrinth is a single straight line! I felt I was clever to expose his howling man, for example. In fact, I could have let it go entirely and would have been better served if I had. Desperate time was wasted, no doubt what he intended. It was a strand that circled back on itself.’
‘Has he gone then?’ I knew the question was in both our minds.
He frowned. ‘We should, no we must recall that we have detected his intention and frustrated it. I believe he was in that house many times trying to find its secret. Certainly the howling man was hired the second time to be sure nobody came near because a search was being made, yet still he could not find the secret of the place. He nearly had the cat before us, recall the face at the window, and was checked. To that extent, at least, we have beaten him.’
‘But he has killed several times, innocent people. And he is still free,’ I protested.
Bell did not answer. I am not even sure he heard. Returning to his thoughts, he turned to stare out the window at the dark swaying trees.
There was little news to greet us at the inn other than a telegram from Scotland Yard, left by Langton for our perusal, announcing that their man would be arriving by noon of the following day. This naturally aroused Bell’s scorn. ‘I am surprised they act with such speed. Surely it would be sufficient to have someone here by early next year.’
Langton also left word that Charlotte Jefford’s mother was so distraught at the news of her daughter’s death that her other sisters had gathered at the family home in Berkshire to comfort her. He had sent them news that Jefford’s body was found but there was no prospect of any of the family arriving imminently.
Upon reading this, Bell suggested that I should compose a letter to Charlotte Jefford’s mother. ‘I imagine the family would greatly benefit from a sympathetic account of developments here, Doyle,’ he observed as he finally put aside Langton’s message. ‘Jefford’s bravery at the end and the saving of the fortune might offer a grain of comfort where it will be sorely needed.’
I was, I will admit, a little surprised to find the Doctor’s thoughts turning to the plight of the bereaved, far away in another county. It was not that he was a cold or unkind man, and he would certainly have offered comfort to Mrs Jefford if she had been present. But in the midst of a case as fraught as this one he was usually far too single-minded to be distracted by such matters. In that sense, I took it to be a bad sign. Could it mean he was convinced that Cream had left the scene and that the matter was finished? This did not, as I looked at him, seem to be so. His senses were fully engaged, for he was staring around the inn with intense interest and I saw none of the lassitude that occasionally came upon him after an investigation.
In any case, I had already decided to write to Mrs Jefford, for I was the only one who had talked at length with her daughter, and it could not be put off. So, after a maid had brought me some beer and ham and bread, I sat for an hour or more in my room, deep in composition. As the wind and rain beat on the window, I poured out my thoughts. First, I introduced myself and explained briefly how we had been helping the police to solve the mystery. Then I talked of her daughter Charlotte’s intrepid character, how she had been so anxious to hear of her brother that she had stayed on. Assuming her family must have known something of her impending engagement, I also very much wished to communicate through Mrs Jefford my profound sympathies to her suitor who faced such terrible loss. I wanted him to know her sheer delight and excitement in the news of her engagement, which she had been gracious enough to confide in me, and I was aware I must now be the only person who had witnessed her unalloyed delight at the prospect. I even took it upon myself to describe Charlotte as I saw her that last evening when she was so happy, reasoning that any mother would prefer to think of her daughter’s last hours in this way. Of course, I also spent a lot of time describing how heroically Jefford had behaved at the end and how his fortune had essentially been rescued, largely through his own courageous effort.
By the time I finished it was well past eleven, though there was no sign of any change in the weather. I left the letter in my room and went down to procure an envelope and make sure there had been no developments. The landlord was still obligingly up but before I could broach any subject he handed me a folded message with my name neatly inscribed on the front.
I knew that careful hand at once, it was from the Doctor.
‘Has he gone to his room?’ I asked, feeling a tiny alarm.
‘Why no,’ said the sombre Brooks, ‘he went out some time ago. A message came from Inspector Langton, I believe. Apparently it said something had been found along the cliff, close to the ruined church.’
‘What? But why was I not told?’ I exclaimed and then remembered myself, for it was hardly Brooks’ place to hunt me out when the Doctor knew quite well where I was. ‘But of course,’ I added, ‘it is not your fault, Mr Brooks. I am grateful to you. How long ago did he leave?’
‘Oh some hours, sir. The strange thing is Constable Wallace came in here half an hour ago and he thought the inspector was back at his home. Well, I am sure Dr Bell will return soon.’
I nodded dumbly and left, tearing the letter open as I dashed upstairs for my coat. The Doctor’s fine flowing hand was unmistakable.
The Dear Doyle,
you must not be annoyed that I have decided to pursue the latest step, in what has been a very treacherous case, alone. I had anticipated there would be a development of this kind and indeed it was the reason I suggested that you undertake your letter to Mrs Jefford. This is one occasion on which I am quite sure there is no point in both of us enduring risks where one of us alone would be sufficient.
Miss Jefford’s death this morning did, as you saw, catch me unawares. I had hoped that severity would be my best tactic in persuading the young lady to leave, and only now fully understand the nature of my miscalculation. It is greatly to your credit, Doyle, that you preferred kindness but for your own peace of mind I have to convey to you that, while desirable in themselves, care and kindness would have made no difference to the outcome. If I had been more astute, I would have instructed Langton to order her to leave, for in retrospect I am satisfied that nothing else could have saved her, except perhaps a constant guard which she would never have accepted.
I would like to put on record that I am modestly pleased to have thwarted Cream’s plan to obtai
n a great fortune, for I believe by restricting his opportunities we can only save lives. I dare to hope there is even a chance my present endeavour will free us of him for good, though, given the topography, it could well be at a cost that I know will give some anguish to my nearest, Doyle, and to you.
In such circumstance, I would only ask you to reflect that I could think of no higher reward for my application to the study of this craft than the removal of Dr Cream, and his vile notion of the future, from our land and our time for ever.
Very sincerely yours
Joseph Bell
I stared down at this cryptic message with deep unease. Everything in it concerned me greatly, not least the reference to ‘topography’, which could only be a reference to those wild cliffs and surely the spot by the ruined church. But there was little pretence here of some message from Langton, which seemed to be a flimsy deception. Was it possible the Doctor had deliberately allowed himself to be lured into a trap of our enemy’s, a trap he had evidently anticipated? His aim, a desperate one, would surely be to get Cream over the cliff.
And what was his weapon? His cane certainly, for he could wield it very effectively, and perhaps his firearm? In my hurry, I nearly abandoned my coat but I was now beside my room and must get it and leave at once.
As I opened the door, the figure was leaning back, legs crossed, in the chair by the desk at the window, observing me. Cream held something in his hand. And he was crying.
THE BALLAD IN THE ROOM
I stood there, forcing myself to keep as calm as possible and weighing up the position.
He looked a little different, his hair was shorter and it made him look younger, still with that sheen of energy I remembered so well. He was good looking enough to have made a career on the stage or music hall, and I was reluctantly reminded of that as I watched those tears fall in the candlelight with the wind howling outside.