Dr. Thorndyke Omnibus Vol 3

by R. Austin Freeman

  Rodney gave a grunt of impatience; but at this moment Philip, who had been wrestling with a slightly rusty lock, threw open the door of the workshop, and they all entered. Thorndyke looked curiously about the long, narrow interior with its prosaic contents, so little suggestive of the tragedy which his thoughts associated with them. Over head the yacht’s spars rested on the tie-beams, from which hung bunches of blocks; on the floor reposed a long row of neatly painted half-hundred weights, a pile of chain cable, two anchors, a stove, and other oddments such as water-breakers, buckets, mops, etc.; and on the long benches at the side folded sails, locker cushions, sidelight lanterns, the binnacle, the cabin lamp, and other more delicate fittings. After a long look round, in the course of which his eye travelled along the row of ballast-weights, Thorndyke deposited his case on a bench and asked:

  "Have you still got the broken jib-halyard that Philip was telling me about last night?"

  "Yes," answered Rodney; "it is here under the bench."

  He drew out a coil of rope, and, flinging it on the floor, began to uncoil it, when it separated into two lengths.

  "Which are the broken ends?" asked Thorndyke.

  "It broke near the middle," replied Rodney, "where it chafed on the cleat when the sail was hoisted. This is the one end, you see, frayed out, like a brush in breaking, and the other—" He picked up the second half, and passing it rapidly through his hands held up the end. He did not finish the sentence, but stood, with a frown of surprise, staring at the rope in his hand.

  "This is queer," he said, after a pause. "The broken end has been cut off. Did you cut it off, Phil?"

  "No," replied Philip; "it is just as I took it from the locker, where, I suppose, you or Varney stowed it."

  "I wonder," said Thorndyke, "how much has been cut off. Do you know what the original length of the rope was?"

  "Yes," replied Rodney; "forty-two feet. It is down in the inventory, but I remember working it out. Let us see how much there is here."

  He laid the two lengths of rope along the floor, and with Thorndyke’s spring tape care fully measured them. The combined length was exactly thirty-one feet.

  "So," said Thorndyke, "there are eleven feet missing without allowing for the lengthening of the rope by stretching."

  The two brothers glanced at one another, and both looked at Thorndyke with very evident surprise.

  "Well," said Philip, "you seem to be right about the cordage. But what made you go for the jib-halyard in particular?"

  "Because if any cordage had been cut off it would naturally be taken from a broken rope in preference to a whole one."

  "Yes, of course. But I can’t understand how you came to suspect that any rope was missing at all."

  "We will talk about that presently," said Thorndyke. "The next question is as to the iron fittings, chain, and so forth."

  "I don’t think any of those can be missing," said Rodney. "You can’t very well cut a length of chain off with your pocket-knife."

  "No," agreed Thorndyke, "but I thought you might have some odd piece of chain among the ballast."

  "We have no chain except the cable. Our only ballast is in the form of half-hundredweights. They are handier to stow than odd stuff."

  "How many half-hundredweights have you?"

  "Twenty-four," replied Rodney.

  "There are only twenty-three in that row," said Thorndyke. "I counted them as we came in and noted the odd number."

  The two brothers simultaneously checked Thorndyke’s statement and confirmed it. Then they glanced about the floor of the workshop, under the benches, and by the walls; but the missing weight was nowhere to be seen, nor was there any place in which an object of this size could have got hidden.

  "It is very extraordinary," said Philip. "There is certainly one weight missing. And no one has handled them but Jack and I. We hired a barrow and brought up all the gear ourselves."

  "There is just the chance," said Thorndyke, "that one of them may have been overlooked and left in the yacht’s hold."

  "It is very unlikely," replied Philip, "seeing that we took out the floor-boards, so that you can see the whole of the bilges from end to end. But I will run down and make sure."

  He ran out, literally, and crossing the wharf disappeared over the edge. In a couple of minutes he was back, breathing fast, and evidently not a little excited.

  "It isn’t there," he said. "Of course it couldn’t be. But the question is, what has become of it? It is a most mysterious affair."

  "It is," agreed Rodney. "And what is still more mysterious is that Thorndyke seemed to suspect that it was missing even before he came here. Now didn’t you, Thorndyke?"

  "I suspected that some heavy object was missing, as I mentioned," was the reply, "and a ballast-weight was a likely object. By the way, can you fix a date on which you know that all the ballast-weights were in place?"

  "Yes, I think I can," replied Philip. "A few days before Purcell went to Penzance we beached the yacht to give her a scrape. Of course we had to take out the ballast, and when we launched her again I helped to put it back. I am certain that all the weights were there then, because I counted them after they were stowed in their places."

  "Then," said Thorndyke, "it is virtually certain that they were all on board when Purcell and Varney started from Sennen."

  "I should say it is absolutely certain," said Philip.

  Thorndyke nodded gravely and appeared to reflect a while. But his reflections were broken in upon by John Rodney.

  "Look here, Thorndyke, we have answered your questions and given you facilities for verifying certain opinions that you held, and now it is time that you were a little less reserved with us. You evidently connected the disappearance of this rope and this weight in some way with Purcell. Now, we are all interested in Purcell. You have got something up your sleeve, and we should like to know what that something is. It is perfectly obvious that you don’t imagine that Purcell, when he went up the pier ladder at Penzance, had a couple of fathoms of rope and a half-hundred weight concealed about his person."

  "As a matter of fact," said Thorndyke, "I don’t imagine that Purcell ever went up the ladder at Penzance at all."

  "But Varney saw him go up," protested Philip.

  "Varney says he saw him go up," Thorndyke corrected. "I do not accept Mr. Varney’s statement."

  "Then what on earth do you suggest?" demanded Philip. "And why should Varney say what isn’t true?"

  "Let us sit down on this bench," said Thorndyke, "and thrash the matter out. I will put my case to you, and you can give me your criticisms on it. I will begin by stating that some months ago I came to the conclusion that Purcell was dead."

  Both the brothers started and gazed at Thorndyke in utter astonishment. Then Rodney said:

  "You say ‘some months ago.’ You must mean within the last three months."

  "No," replied Thorndyke. "I decided that he died on the 2nd of last June, before the yacht reached Penzance."

  An exclamation burst simultaneously from both of his hearers, and Rodney protested impatiently:

  "But this is sheer nonsense, if you will pardon me for saying so. Have you forgotten that two persons have received letters from him less than four months ago?"

  "I suggest that we waive those letters and consider the other evidence."

  "But we can’t waive them!" exclaimed Rodney. "They are material evidence of the most conclusive kind."

  "I may say that I have ascertained that both those letters were forgeries. The evidence can be produced, if necessary, as both the letters are in existence, but I don’t propose to produce it now. I ask you to accept my statement for the time being and to leave the letters out of the discussion."

  "It is leaving out a good deal," said Rodney. "I find it very difficult to believe that they were forgeries or to imagine who on earth could have forged them. However, we won’t contest the matter now. When did you come to this extra ordinary conclusion?"

  "A little over four m
onths ago," replied Thorndyke.

  "And you never said anything to any of us on the subject," said Rodney, "and, what is more astonishing, you actually put in an advertisement, addressed to a man whom you believed to be dead."

  "And got an answer from him," added Philip, with a derisive smile.

  "Exactly," said Thorndyke. "It was an experiment, and it was justified by the result. But let us get back to the matter that we have been investigating. I came to the conclusion, as I have said, that Purcell met his death during that voyage from Sennen to Penzance, and that Varney, for some reason, had thought it necessary to conceal the occurrence; but I decided that the evidence in my possession would not be convincing in a court of law."

  "I have no doubt that you were perfectly right in that," Rodney remarked dryly.

  "I further considered it very unlikely that any fresh evidence would ever be forthcoming, and that, since the death could not be proved, it was, for many reasons, undesirable that the question should ever be raised. Accordingly, I never communicated my belief to anybody."

  "Then," said Rodney, "are we to understand that some new evidence has come to light, after all?"

  "Yes. It came to light the other day at the College of Surgeons. I dare say Philip told you about it."

  "He told me that, by an extraordinary coincidence, that quaint button of Purcell’s had turned up, and that some sort of sea-worm had built a tube on it. But if that is what you mean, I don’t see the bearing of it as evidence."

  "Neither do I," said Philip.

  "You remember that Varney distinctly stated that when Purcell went up the ladder at Penzance he was wearing his oilskin coat, and that the button was then on it?"

  "Yes. But I don’t see anything in that. Purcell went ashore, it is true, and he went away from Cornwall. But he seems to have gone by sea, and, as I suggested the other day, he probably got a fresh button when he went on board the steamer and chucked this cork one overboard."

  "I remember your making that suggestion," said Thorndyke, "and very much astonished I was to hear you make it. I may say that I have ascertained that Purcell was never on board that steamer."

  "Well, he might have thrown it into the sea somewhere else. There is no particular mystery about its having got into the sea. But what was there about my suggestion that astonished you so much?"

  "It was," replied Thorndyke, "that you completely overlooked a most impressive fact which was staring you in the face and shouting aloud for recognition."

  "Indeed!" said Philip. "What fact was it that I overlooked?"

  "Just consider," replied Thorndyke, "what it was that Professor D’Arcy showed us. It was a cork button with a Terebella tube on it. Now an ordinary cork, if immersed long enough, will soak up water until it is waterlogged and then sink to the bottom. But this one was impregnated with paraffin wax. It could not get waterlogged and it could not sink. It would float for ever."

  "Well?" queried Philip.

  "But it had sunk. It had been lying at the bottom of the sea for months—long enough for a Terebella to build a tube on it. Then at last it had broken loose, risen to the surface and drifted ashore."

  "You are taking the worm-tube as evidence," said John Rodney, "that the button had sunk to bottom. Is it impossible—I am no naturalist—but is it impossible that the worm could have built its tube while the button was floating about in the sea?"

  "It is quite impossible," replied Thorndyke, "in the case of this particular worm, since the tube is built up of particles of rock gathered by the worm from the sea bottom. You will bear me out in that, Philip?"

  "Oh, certainly," replied Philip. "There is no doubt that the button has been at the bottom for a good many months. The question is how the deuce it can have got there, and what was holding it down."

  "You are not overlooking the fact that it is a button," said Thorndyke—"I mean that it was attached to a garment?"

  Both men looked at Thorndyke a little uncomfortably. Then Rodney replied:

  "Your suggestion obviously is that the button was attached to a garment and that the garment contained a body. I am disposed to concede the garment, since I can think of no other means by which the button could have been held down, but I see no reason for assuming the body. I admit that I do not quite understand how Purcell’s oilskin coat could have got to the bottom of the sea, but still less can I imagine how Purcell’s body could have got to the bottom of the sea. What do you say, Phil?"

  "I agree with you," answered Philip. "Something must have held the button down, and I can think of nothing but the coat to which it was attached. But as to the body, it seems a gratuitous assumption, to say nothing of the various reasons for believing that Purcell is still alive. There is nothing wildly improbable in the supposition that the coat might have blown overboard and been sunk by something heavy in the pocket. As a matter of fact, it would have sunk by itself as soon as it got thoroughly soaked. You must admit, Thorndyke, that that is so."

  But Thorndyke shook his head. "We are not dealing with general probabilities," said he. "We are dealing with a specific case. An empty oilskin coat, even if sunk by some object in the pocket, would have been comparatively light, and, like all moderately light bodies, would have drifted about the sea bottom, impelled by currents and tide-streams. But that is not the condition in the present case. There is evidence that this button was moored immovably to some very heavy object."

  "What evidence is there of that?" demanded Rodney.

  "There is the conclusive fact that it has been all these months lying continuously in one place."

  "Indeed!" said Rodney, with hardly concealed scepticism. "That seems a bold thing to say. But if you know that it has been lying all the time in one place, perhaps you can point out the spot where it has been lying."

  "As a matter of fact I can," said Thorndyke. "That button, Rodney, has been lying all these months on the sea bottom at the base of the Wolf Rock."

  The two brothers started very perceptibly. They stared at Thorndyke, then looked at one another, and then Rodney challenged the statement.

  "You make this assertion very confidently," he said. "Can you produce any evidence to support it?"

  "I can produce perfectly convincing and conclusive evidence," replied Thorndyke. "A very singular conjunction of circumstances enables us to fix with absolute certainty the place where that button has been lying. Do you happen to be acquainted with the peculiar resonant volcanic rock known as phonolite or clink-stone?"

  Rodney shook his head a little impatiently. "No," he answered; "I have never heard of it before."

  "It is not a very rare rock," said Thorndyke, "but in the neighbourhood of the British Isles it occurs in only two places. One is inland in the North, and may be disregarded. The other is the Wolf Rock."

  Neither of his hearers made any comment on this statement, though it was evident that both were deeply impressed, and he continued:

  "This Wolf Rock is a very remarkable structure. It is what is called a ‘volcanic neck‘—that is, it is a mass of altered lava that once filled the funnel of a volcano. The volcano has disappeared, but this cast of the funnel remains standing up from the bottom of the sea like a great column. It is a single mass of phonolite, and thus entirely different in composition from the sea bed around or anywhere near these islands. But, of course, immediately at its base the sea bottom must be covered with decomposed fragments which have fallen from its sides, and it is with these fragments that our Terebella has built its tube. You remember, Philip, my pointing out to you, as we walked home from the College, that the worm-tube appeared to be built of fragments that were all alike. Now, that was a very striking and significant fact. It furnished prima facie evidence that the button had been moored in one place, and that it had therefore been attached to some very heavy object. That night I made an exhaustive examination of the material of the tube, and then the further fact emerged that the material was phonolite. This, as I have said, fixed the locality with exactness and certainty. And I
may add that, in view of the importance of the matter in an evidential sense, I submitted the fragments yesterday to one of the greatest living authorities on petrology, who recognized them at once as phonolite."

  For some time after Thorndyke had finished speaking the two brothers sat wrapped in silent reflection. Both were deeply impressed, but each in a markedly different way. To John Rodney, the lawyer, accustomed to sworn testimony and documentary evidence, this scientific demonstration appeared amazingly ingenious but some what fantastic and unconvincing. In the case of Philip, the doctor, it was quite otherwise. Accustomed to acting on inferences from facts of his own observing, he gave full weight to each item of evidence, and his thoughts were already stretching out to the as yet unstated corollaries.

  John Rodney was the first to speak. "What inference," he asked, "do you wish us to draw from this very ingenious theory of yours?"

  "It is rather more than a theory," said Thorndyke, "but we will let that pass. The inference I leave to you; but perhaps it would help you if I were to recapitulate the facts."

  "Perhaps it would," said Rodney.

  Then," said Thorndyke, "I will take them in their order. This is the case of a man who was seen to start on a voyage for a given destination in company with one other man. His start out to sea was witnessed by a number of persons. From that moment he was never seen again by any person excepting his one companion. He is said to have reached his destination, but his arrival there rests upon the unsupported verbal testimony of one person, the said companion. Thereafter he vanished utterly, and since then has made no sign of being alive; he has drawn no cheques, though he has a considerable balance at his bank; he has communicated with no one, and he has never been seen by anybody who could recognize him."

  "Is that quite correct?" interposed Philip. "He is said to have been seen at Falmouth and Ipswich, and then there are those letters."

  "His alleged appearance, embarking at Falmouth and disembarking at Ipswich," replied Thorndyke, "rest, like his arrival at Penzance, upon the unsupported testimony of one person, his sole companion on the voyage. That statement I can prove to be untrue. He was never seen either at Falmouth or at Ipswich. As to the letters. I can prove them both to be forgeries and for the present I ask you to admit them as such pending the production of proof. But if we exclude the alleged appearances and the letters, what I have said is correct: from the time when this man put out to sea from Sennen he has never been seen by anyone but Varney, and there has never been any corroboration of Varney’s statement that he landed at Penzance.