Dr. Thorndyke Omnibus Vol 3

by R. Austin Freeman

  This is a very unaccountable affair, Thorndyke. We didn't know a great deal about Arthur Blake, but it always appeared that he was quite a decent sort of man, whereas this robbery and minder that he actually did commit, and the murder that he was attempting when he met his death, are cases of sheer ruffianism. I don't understand it.'

  Thorndyke turned to the doctor. 'Would you mind telling us,' said he, 'if there is anything abnormal in the condition of this man's left knee-cap?'

  The doctor stared at Thorndyke in astonishment. 'Have you any reason to suppose that there is?' he asked.

  'I have an impression,' was the reply, 'that there is an old fracture with imperfect ligamentous union.'

  The doctor stooped, and drawing up the trouser on the left side, placed his hand on the knee.

  'You are quite right,' he said, looking up at Thorndyke with an expression of surprise. There is a transverse fracture with a gap of fully two inches between the fragments.'

  Suddenly Mr. Brodribb broke out eagerly with a look of intense curiosity at my colleague: 'It can't be! What is it that you are suggesting, Thorndyke?'

  'I am suggesting that this man was not Arthur Blake. I suggest that he was an Australian adventurer named Hugh Owen.'

  'But,' objected Brodribb, 'Owen was reported to have died some years ago. His body was found and identified.'

  'A mutilated skeleton was found,' retorted Thorndyke, 'and was identified as that of Hugh Owen by means of a ring which was known to have belonged to Owen. I suggest that the remains were those of Arthur Blake; that he had been murdered by Owen, and that the ring had been put on the body for the purpose of ensuring a false identification.'

  That is perfectly possible,' Brodribb admitted. Then who do you suggest that this other man is?'

  'I suggest that this other person is a woman named Laura Levinsky.'

  'Well,' said Brodribb, 'that need not be left a matter of guesswork. I don't think I mentioned it to you, but that Australian police official told me that Levinsky had a tattoo-mark on the right forearm—the letters H and L with a heart between. Let us see if this person has such a mark.'

  The police officer bent down over the dead valet, and unfastening the right wristband, drew the sleeve up above the elbow.

  'Ha!' exclaimed Brodribb as there were revealed, standing out on the greenish-white skin as if painted in blue ink, the letters H and L with a small, misshapen heart between them, 'you are right, Thorndyke, as you always are. And I suppose she was a party to the murder?'

  'I take it,' said Thorndyke, 'that these two wretches murdered Arthur Blake, removed all identifiable objects from the corpse, put Owen's ring on its finger, and tumbled it over the cliff, shooting down a mass of rocks and stones on top of it. Then they took possession of all Blake's papers and money and separated, coming to England on different ships. I assume that no measures were ever taken to verify Blake's identity?'

  'No,' replied Brodribb. There was no one who could identify him. He sent a letter, in answer to mine, saying when he would arrive. He arrived about the date mentioned, and presented all the necessary credentials. The question of identity was never raised.'

  For some moments we all stood looking down on the bodies of the two adventures in silence. Presently Drayton asked, holding out the pendant:

  'What is to be done with this? It was stolen from my brother, but it seems that, as it is an heirloom, it should be handed to Miss Blake.'

  'For the present,' said Thorndyke 'it must remain in the custody of the police, as it will have to be put in evidence at the inquest. We will take a receipt for it. But as to its being the missing heirloom, I doubt that very much. It does not agree with the description, and I should suppose that the original jewel will have been hidden with the title-deeds.'

  'That could hardly be,' said Winifred, 'though I agree with you that the inscription "Dulce domum" doesn't seem to be the right one. But you will remember that Percival's manuscript distinctly says that the jewel was taken away and given to Jenifer to keep for the child James.'

  'That is not my reading of the manuscript,' said Thorndyke. 'But we can discuss that on another occasion. If we give our respective names and addresses to the officer, we shall have concluded our business here.'

  At this hint, the officer produced a large, official notebook in which he entered the names and addresses of all the witnesses in the case, and when the doctor had once more covered the corpses with the sheet, we turned to retrace our steps to the library. As I walked along the corridor at Winifred's side, I glanced at her a little anxiously, for it had been a rather terrible experience. She met my glance, and resting her hand on my arm for a moment, she said in a low voice:

  'It was a gruesome sight, Robin, that poor little wretch lying there with that awful, fixed stare of horror on her face. But I couldn't feel sorry for her, nor even for the man, though there was something very dreadful—almost pitiful—in the way in which his dead hand clutched that little brass knob. It must have been a frightful moment when he found that the knob was useless and that he and his companion were caught in their own hideous trap. But I can't be sorry for them. I can only think of the relief to know that you are safe and that I am free.'

  'Yes,' said I, 'it is an unspeakable relief to feel that you can now go abroad in safety—that that continual menace is a thing of the past, thanks to Thorndyke's uncanny power of seeing through a stone wall.'

  'I am not sure 'said she 'that I am not disposed to quarrel with Dr. Thorndyke for calmly walking you into this murderer's den.'

  'I don't think there was ever any real danger,' I replied. 'They couldn't have murdered us by overt methods, and as to the other methods, I have no doubt that Thorndyke had got them all calculated out in advance and provided for. He seems to foresee everything.'

  When we reached the library, and Thorndyke and I had replaced our pistols and jemmies in the suitcase (a proceeding which the police officer watched with bulging eyes and open mouth), Drayton asked:

  'Have you two got any sort of conveyance? Because, if you haven't, and you don't mind a pretty tight squeeze, I can give you a lift to the station.'

  We accepted the offer gladly; and having made our adieux to the officer and the doctor, we went out and packed ourselves and our impedimenta into the car as soon as the lawful occupants had taken their seats. As we moved off, I observed the housekeeper and two other women watching us with concentrated interest; and at the gate, as we swept past the lodge, I had an instantaneous glimpse of the keeper's face at the window, with another countenance that seemed reminiscent of the 'Kings Head.'

  The swiftly-gliding car devoured the mile or two of road to the station in a few minutes. We drew up in the station yard, and while the chauffeur was handing out our luggage, Drayton stood up, and laying his hand on Thorndyke's shoulder, said earnestly:

  'I have spoken no word of thanks to you, Thorndyke, for what you have done, but I hope you understand that I am your debtor for life. Your management of this case is beyond my wildest expectations, and how you did it, I cannot imagine. Some day you must give me the intellectual satisfaction of hearing how the investigation was carried out. Now I can only congratulate you on your brilliant success.'

  'I should like to second that,' said Brodribb; 'and talking of success, I suppose you didn't find those deeds after all?'

  'No,' replied Thorndyke. 'They are not there.'

  'Oh, aren't they?' Brodribb. 'Then, if you are so certain where they are not, you probably know where they are?'

  'That seems a sound inference,' replied Thorndyke. 'But we can't discuss the matter here. If you care to come to my chambers tomorrow, at two o'clock, we might go into it further, and, in fact, conduct an exploration.'

  'Does that invitation include me?' Winifred asked.

  'Most undoubtedly,' he replied. 'You are the principal party to the transaction. And perhaps you might bring the Book of Hours with you.'

  'I believe he has got the deeds stowed away in his chambers,' said Brodribb
; and although my colleague shook his head, I felt no certainty that the old lawyer was not right.

  When the car had moved off, we carried our cases into the station and were relieved to find that we had but a few minutes to wait for a train. I postponed my attack on my secretive colleague until we were snugly established in a compartment by ourselves. Not that I had any expectations. Thorndyke's reticence had conveyed to me the impression that the time for explanations had not yet come; and so it turned out when I proceeded to put my questions.

  'Wait till we have finished the case, Anstey,' said he. 'Then, if you have not worked out the scheme of the investigation in the interval, we can review and discuss it.'

  'But surely,' said I, 'we have finished with the case of the murder of Andrew Drayton?'

  'Not entirely,' he replied. 'What you have never realised, I think, is the connection between the problem of the murder and the problem of the missing documents. This is a very curious and interesting case, and those two problems have a very strange connection. But for Owen's determination to possess the cat's eye pendant at all costs, those documents might have lain in their hiding-place, unsuspected, for centuries.'

  This statement, while it explained Thorndyke's hitherto unaccountable interest in Percy Blake's claim, only plunged the other problem into deeper obscurity. During the remainder of the journey I tried to reconstitute the train of events to see if I could trace the alleged connection between the two problems. But not a glimmer of light could I see in any direction; and in the end I gave it up, consoling myself with the reflection that the morrow would probably see the last act played out and that then I might hope for a final elucidation.

  19. A RELIC OF THE '45

  At two o'clock punctually, on the following afternoon, our visitors made their appearance; and at the very moment when the last of them—Mr. Brodribb—emerged from Crown Office Row, I observed from the window two taxi-cabs, which had entered successively by the Tudor Street gate, draw up before our door. I hailed their arrival with deep satisfaction, for the strange events of the previous day, together with Thorndyke's rather mysterious observations thereon, had made me impatient to see the end of this intricate case and intensely curious to hear how my inscrutable colleague had managed to fit together the apparently unrelated fragments of this extraordinarily complex puzzle. Throughout the morning—while Thorndyke was absent, and, as I suspected, arranging details of the afternoon's adventure—I had turned over the facts again and again, but always with the same result. There were the pieces of the puzzle, and no doubt a complete set; but separate pieces they remained, and obstinately refused to join up into anything resembling an intelligible whole.

  'I see, Thorndyke,' said Mr. Brodribb as he entered, smiling, rosy, and looking as if he had just come out of a bandbox, 'that I did you an injustice. You have not been sitting on the deeds. The chariots are at the door waiting, I suppose, for the band or the stavebearers. We shall be quite an imposing procession.'

  'We won't wait for the band.' said Thorndyke. 'As we are all here, we may as well start. Will you conduct Miss Blake down, Anstey?'

  'Do I give any directions to the driver?' I asked.

  'Yes. You can tell him to put you down at the north-east corner of the Minories.'

  Accordingly I led the way with Winifred, and having given the destination to the driver, bestowed my charge and myself in the cab. The driver started the engine, and as the cab made a sweep round to the Tudor Street gate, I heard the door of the other cab slam.

  'Have you any idea where we are going, Robin?' Winifred asked as the cab whirled round into New Bridge Street.

  'None beyond what I have communicated to the driver,' I replied. 'Apparently we are going to explore the Minories or Aldgate or Whitechapel. It is an ancient neighbourhood, and in the days of Percival Blake it was somewhat more aristocratic than it is now. There are good many old houses still standing about there. You may have seen that picturesque group of timber houses looking on Whitechapel High Street. They are nearly all butchers' shops, and have been, at least, since the days of Charles the Second; in fact, the group is known as Butcher Row, though I think there is an old tavern among them.'

  'Perhaps we are going to the tavern,' said Winifred. 'It is quite likely. Many of the old inns had secret hiding-places and must have been the favourite rendezvous of the conspirators of those times.'

  She continued to speculate on the possibilities of the ancient tavern, which had evidently captured her romantic fancy, and as I looked at her—pink-cheeked, bright-eyed, and full of pleasurable excitement over our adventurous quest—I once more breathed a sigh of thankfulness that the dark days of ever-impending peril were over.

  It seemed but a few minutes before the cab drew up at the corner of the Minories; and we had hardly alighted when the other vehicle arrived and disgorged its occupants at our side. The drivers having been paid (and having thereafter compared notes and settled themselves to watch our further proceedings), Thorndyke turned his face eastward and we started together along Whitechapel High Street. I noticed that, now, no one asked any questions. Probably each of us was busy with his own speculations; and in any case, Thorndyke maintained a sphinx-like reticence.

  'Are those delightful old houses the ones you were speaking of?' Winifred asked as the ancient, plaster-fronted buildings came in sight.

  'Yes,' I answered. 'That is Butcher Row.

  'Or,' said Thorndyke, 'to give it what is, I believe, its official title, "The Shambles", though the shambles proper are at the back.'

  'The Shambles!' exclaimed Winifred, looking at Thorndyke with a startled expression. She appeared to be about to ask him some question, but at this moment he turned sharply into a narrow alley, into which we followed him. I glanced up at the name as we entered and read it aloud—'Harrow Alley.'

  'Yes,' said Thorndyke, 'quite a historic little thoroughfare. Defoe gives a very vivid description of its appearance during the Plague, with the dead-cart waiting at the entrance and the procession of bearers carrying the corpses down the narrow court. Here is the old "Star and Still" tavern, and round the corner there are the shambles, very little changed since the seventeenth century.'

  He turned the corner towards the shambles, and then, crossing the narrow road, dived through an archway into a narrow paved court, along which we had to go in single file. This court presently opened into a squalid-looking little square, surrounded on three sides by tall, ancient, timber and plaster houses, the fourth side being occupied by a rather mean, but quaint little church with a low brick tower. Thorndyke made his way directly to the west door of the church, and taking from his pocket a key of portentous size, inserted it into the lock. As he did so I glanced at the board that was fixed beside the doorway, from which I learned that this was the church of St Peter by the Minories.

  As the door swung open Thorndyke motioned to us to enter. We filed in, and then he drew the door to after us and locked it from the inside. We stood for a few moments in the dim porch under the tower, looking in through the half-opened inner door; and as we stood there, Winifred grasped my arm nervously, and I could feel that her hand was trembling. But there was no time for speech, for as Thorndyke locked the door and withdrew the key, the inner door opened wide and two men—one tall and one short—appeared silhouetted against the east window.

  These are my friends, of whom I spoke to you,' said Thorndyke. 'Miss Blake, Sir Lawrence Drayton, Mr. Brodribb, Mr. Anstey—the Reverend James Yersbury. I think you have met this other gentleman.'

  We came out into the body of the church, and having made my bow to the clergyman, I turned to the smaller man.

  'Why, it's Mr. Polton!' exclaimed Winifred, shaking hands heartily with my colleague's familiar; who greeted us with a smile of such ecstatic crinkliness, that I instantly suspected him of preparing some necromantic surprise for us.

  'This is quite a remarkable building,' said Sir Lawrence, looking about him with lively interest, 'and it appears the more striking by contrast wi
th the shabby, commonplace exterior.'

  'Yes,' agreed the clergyman, 'that is rather characteristic of old London churches. But this is rather an ancient structure; it was only partially destroyed by the Great Fire and was almost immediately rebuilt, at the personal cost, it is said, of the Duke of York, afterwards James the Second. Perhaps that accounts for the strong Jacobite leanings of some of the later clergy, such as this good gentleman, for instance.'

  He led us to a space between two of the windows where a good-sized tablet of alabaster had been let into the wall.

  'That tablet,' said he, 'encloses a cavity which is filled with bones piously collected from the field of Culloden, and the inscription leaves one in no doubt as to the sentiments of the collector. But I believe it was covered with plaster soon after it was put up, to preserve it from destruction, by the authorities, and it was only discovered about fifty years ago.'

  I read the brief inscription with growing curiosity:

  PRO PATRIA—PRO REGE 1745

  'This Tablet was raised to the Memory of the Faithful by Stephen Rumbold, sometime Rector of this Church.'

  'But,' said Winifred, 'I thought Stephen Rumbold was rector of St Peter by the Shambles.'

  'This is St Peter by the Shambles,' replied Mr. Yersbury. 'The name has only been changed within the last forty years.'

  Winifred faced me and looked with eager delight into my eyes, and I knew that the same thought was in both our minds. Here, during all the slowly-passing years, the missing deeds had rested, securely hidden with the bones of those patriots at whose side Percival Blake had fought on the fatal field of Culloden. I looked round at Thorndyke, expecting to see some preparations to open this curious little burial-place. But he had already turned away and was moving towards the east end of the church. We followed him slowly until he halted before the pulpit, where he stood for a few moments looking at it reflectively. It was a very remarkable pulpit. I have never seen another at all resembling it. In shape it was an elongated octagon, the panels and mouldings of deep brown oak enriched with magnificent carving. But the most singular feature was the manner in which it was supported. The oblong super-structure rested on twin pillars of oak, each pillar being furnished with a handsome, floridly-ornamented bronze capital and a bronze base of somewhat similar character. But fine as the workmanship was, the design was more unusual than pleasing. The oblong body and the twin pillars had, in fact, a rather ungainly appearance.