"I believe, Inspector," the coroner began, "that the police are making certain investigations regarding the death of the man who is the subject of this inquiry. Having heard the evidence of the other witnesses, can you give us any additional facts?"
"Nothing very material," Blandy replied. "The inquiries which we are making are simply precautionary. A dead man has been found in the ruins of a burnt house, and we want to know who that man was and how he came to be in that house, since he was admittedly not the tenant of the premises. As far as our inquiries have gone, they have seemed to confirm the statement of Mr. Green that the man was the one referred to by Mr. Haire as Cecil Moxdale. But our inquiries are not yet complete."
"That," said the coroner, "is a general statement. Could you give us the actual facts on which your conclusions are based?"
"The only facts bearing on the identity of deceased have been obtained by an examination of various things found among the ashes of the burned house. The search was made with the greatest care, particularly that for the smaller objects which might have a more personal character. When the larger objects had been removed, the fine ash was all passed through sieves so that nothing should be overlooked. But everything that was found has been preserved for further examination if it should be necessary."
"You must have got a rather miscellaneous collection," the coroner remarked. "Have you examined the whole lot?"
"No. We have concentrated on the small personal articles, and these seem to have yielded all the information that we are likely to get, and have practically settled the question of identity. We found, for instance, a pair of cuff-links of steel, chromium plated, on which the initials C.M. were engraved. We also found a clay pipe-bowl in the form of a death's head which had once had glass eyes and still had the remains of the glass fused in the eye-sockets. This had the initials C.M. scratched deeply on the under-surface of the bowl."
"That was a very significant discovery," the coroner remarked, "having regard to what Mr. Green told us. Yes?"
"There was also a stainless-steel plate which seemed to have belonged to an attaché-case or a suit-case and which had the initials C.M. engraved on it, and a gold watch, of which the case was partly fused, but on which we could plainly make out the initials G.H."
"G.H.," the coroner repeated. "That, then, would be Mr. Haire's watch. Isn't that rather odd?"
"I think not, sir, " replied Blandy. "These were Mr. Haire's rooms, and they naturally contained articles belonging to him. Probably he locked up this valuable watch before going on his travels."
"Did you find any other things belonging to him?"
"Nothing at all significant. There was a vice and some tools and the remains of an eight-day clock which apparently belonged to him, and there were some other articles that might have been his, but they were mixed up with the remains of projectors and various things which had probably come from the shop or the stores above. But the small personal articles were the really important ones. I have brought those that I mentioned for your inspection."
Here he produced from his attaché-case a small glass-topped box in which the links, the steel name plate, the death's-head pipe-bowl, and the half-fused gold watch were displayed on a bed of cotton wool, and handed it to the coroner, who, when he had inspected it, passed it to the foreman of the jury.
While the latter and his colleagues were poring over the box, the coroner opened a fresh line of inquiry.
"Have you tried to get into touch with Mr. Haire?" he asked.
"Yes," was the reply, "and I am still trying, unsuccessfully up to the present. The address that Mr. Haire gave to Mr. Green was that of Brady & Co, a firm of retail dealers in photographic materials and appliances. As soon as I got it from Mr. Green, I communicated with the Dublin police, giving them the principal facts and asking them to find Mr. Haire, if they could, and pass on to him the information about the fire and also to find out from him who the man was whose body had been found in the burnt house.
"The information that I have received from them is to the effect that they called on Bradys about mid-day on the 19th, but Mr. Haire had already left. They learned that he had made a business call on Bradys on the morning of the 16th, having arrived in Dublin the previous night. He called again on the 18th, and then said that he was going on to Cork, and possibly from there to Belfast. In the interval, it seemed that he had made several calls on firms engaged in the photographic trade, but Bradys had the impression that he had left Dublin on the evening of the 18th.
"That is all that I have been able to discover so far, but there should be no great difficulty in tracing Mr. Haire; and even if it should not be possible, he will probably be returning from Ireland quite soon, and then he will be able to give us all the particulars that we want about this man, Cecil Moxdale—if that is his name."
"Yes," said the coroner, "but it will be too late for this inquiry. However, there doesn't seem to be any great mystery about the affair. The man's name was given to us by Mr. Green, and the identity seems to be confirmed by the initials on the articles which were recovered from the ruins; particularly the pipe, which had been described to us by Mr. Green as belonging to Cecil Moxdale. We know practically nothing about the man; but still we know enough for the purpose of this inquiry. It might be expedient to adjourn the proceedings until fuller particulars are available, but I hardly think it is necessary. I suppose, Inspector, you have nothing further to tell us?"
"No, sir," replied Blandy. "I have told you all that I know about the affair."
"Then," said the coroner, "that completes the evidence; and I think, members of the jury, that there is enough to enable you to decide on your verdict."
He paused for a moment, and then proceeded to read the depositions and secure the signature, and, when this had been done and Blandy had retired to his seat, he opened his brief summing up of the evidence.
"There is little that I need say to you, members of the jury," he began. "You have heard the evidence, all of which has been quite simple and all of which points plainly to the same conclusion. You have to answer four questions: Who was deceased? and where, when, and by what means did he come by his death?
"As to the first question, Who was he? The evidence that we have heard tells us no more than that his name was Cecil Moxdale and that he was a cousin of Mr. Gustavus Haire. That is not much, but, still, it identifies him as a particular individual. As to the conclusiveness of the evidence on this point, that is for you to judge. To me, the identity seems to be quite clearly established.
"As to the time and place of his death, it is certain that it occurred in the early morning on the 19th of April in the house known as 34, Billington Street, Soho. But the question as to how he came by his death is not quite so clear. There is some conflict of opinion on the part of the two medical witnesses respecting the immediate cause of death. But that need not trouble us; for they are agreed that, whatever might have been the immediate cause of death, the ultimate cause—with which we are concerned—was some accident arising out of the fire. There appears to be no doubt that deceased was alone in the house at the time when the fire broke out; and, that being so, his death could only have been due to some misadventure for which no one other than himself could have been responsible.
"There is, indeed, some evidence that he may, himself, have been responsible both for the outbreak of the fire and for his own death. There is a suggestion that he may, in spite of his promise to Mr. Haire, have indulged in the dangerous practice of smoking in bed. But there is no positive evidence that he did, and we must not form our conclusions on guesses or inferences.
"That is all that I need say; and with that I shall leave you to consider your verdict."
There was, as the coroner had justly remarked, very little to consider. The facts seemed quite plain and the conclusion perfectly obvious. And that was evidently the view of the jury, for they gave the matter but a few minutes' consideration, and then returned the verdict to the effect that the deceased, Cecil M
oxdale, had met his death by misadventure due to the burning of the house in which he was sleeping."
"Yes," the coroner agreed, "that is the obvious conclusion. I shall record a verdict of Death by Misadventure."
On this, the Court rose; and, after a few words with the coroner and Robertson, Thorndyke and I, accompanied by Polton (who had been specially invited to attend), took our departure and shaped a course for King's Bench Walk.
XIV. A VISIT FROM INSPECTOR BLANDY
With the close of the inquest, our connection with the case of the burnt house in Billington Street and Cecil Moxdale, deceased, seemed to have come to an end. No points of doubt or interest had arisen, or seemed likely to arise hereafter. We appeared to have heard the last of the case, and, when Thorndyke's notes and Polton's photographs had been filed, we wrote it off as finished with. At least, I did. But later events suggested that Thorndyke had kept it in mind as a case in which further developments were not entirely impossible.
My view of the case was apparently shared by Stalker; for when, being in the City on other business, we dropped in at his office, he expressed himself to that effect.
"An unsatisfactory affair from our point of view," he commented, "but there was nothing that we could really boggle at. Of course, when an entire insured stock is destroyed, you have to be wary. A trader who has a redundant or obsolete or damaged stock can make a big profit by burning the whole lot out and recovering the full value from the insurance society. But there doesn't seem to be anything of that kind. Green appears to be perfectly straight. He has given us every facility for checking the value of the stock, and we find it all correct."
"I suppose," said I, "you couldn't have raised the question of negligence in allowing a casual stranger to occupy a bedroom in his box of fireworks. He knew that Moxdale wasn't a very safe tenant."
"There is no evidence," Thorndyke reminded me, "that Moxdale set fire to the house. He probably did, but that is a mere guess on our part."
"Exactly," Stalker agreed, "and even if he did, he certainly did not do it consciously or intentionally. And, by the way, speaking of this man Moxdale, it happens, oddly enough, that his life was insured in this office. So he has let us in for two payments."
"Anything considerable?" Thorndyke asked.
"No. Only a thousand."
"Have you paid the claim?"
"Not yet; in fact, no claim has been made up to the present, and it isn't our business to hunt up the claimants. But we shall have to pay, for I suppose that even you could not make out a case of suicide."
"No," Thorndyke admitted, "I think we can exclude suicide. At any rate, there was nothing to suggest it. You accept the identity?"
"There doesn't seem to be much doubt," replied Stalker, "but the next of kin, or whoever makes the claim, will have to confirm the statements of Green and Haire. But I don't think there is anything in the question of identity. Do you?"
"So far as I know, the question was fairly well settled at the inquest, and I don't think it could be contested unless some positive evidence to the contrary should be produced. But we have to bear in mind that the identity was based on the statement of Walter Green and that his evidence was hearsay evidence."
"Yes," said Stalker, "I will bear that in mind when the claim is put in, if it ever is. If no claim is made, the question will not be of any interest to me."
So that was the position. Stalker was not interested and, consequently, we, as his agents, had no further interest in the case; and, so far as I was concerned, it had passed into complete oblivion when my recollection of it was revived by Thorndyke. It was at breakfast time a week or two after our conversation with Stalker that my colleague, who was, according to his habit, glancing over the legal notices in The Times, looked up at me and remarked: "Here is a coincidence in a small way. I don't remember having ever met with the name of Moxdale until we attended the late inquest. It certainly is not a common name."
"No," I agreed, "I don't think I ever heard it excepting in connection with Cecil Moxdale deceased. But what is the coincidence?"
"Here is another Moxdale, also deceased," he replied, handing me the paper and indicating the paragraph. It was an ordinary solicitor's notice beginning, "Re. Harold Moxdale deceased who died on the 3 of April 1936", and calling on creditors and others to make their claims by a certain specified date; of no interest to me apart from the mere coincidence of the name. Nor did Thorndyke make any further comment, though I observed that he cut out the notice, and, having fixed it with a dab of paste to a sheet of paper, added it to the collection of notes forming the Moxdale dossier. Then, once more, the "case" seemed to have sunk into oblivion.
But a few days later it was revived by no less a person than Inspector Blandy; and the manner of its revival was characteristic of that extremely politic gentleman. It was about half past eight one evening when, after an early dinner, Thorndyke, Polton and I were holding a sort of committee meeting to review and re-classify the great collection of microscope slides of hairs, fibres and other "comparison specimens" which had accumulated in the course of years. We had just finished the first of the new cabinets and were labelling the drawers when an unfamiliar knock, of an almost apologetic softness, was executed on the small brass knocker of the inner door.
"Confound it!" I exclaimed, impatiently. "We ought to have shut the oak. Who the deuce can it be?"
The question was answered by Polton, who, as he opened the door and peered out, stepped back and announced: "Inspector Blandy."
We both stood up, and Thorndyke, with his customary suavity, advanced to greet the visitor and offer him a chair.
"Pray, gentlemen," exclaimed Blandy, casting an inquisitive glance over the collection on the table, "do not let me disturb you, though, to be sure, I can see that I am disturbing you. But the disturbance need be only of the briefest. I have come—very improperly, without an appointment—merely to tender apologies and to make all too tardy amends. When I have done that, I can go, and leave you to pursue your investigations."
"They are not investigations," said Thorndyke. "We are just going over our stock of test specimens and re-arranging them. But what do you mean by apologies and reparations? We have no grievance against you."
"You are kind enough to say so," replied Blandy, "but I am, nevertheless, a defaulter. I made a promise and have not kept it. Mea culpa." He tapped his chest lightly with his knuckles and continued: "When I had the pleasure of meeting you in the ruins of the burned house I promised to let you have an opportunity of examining the various objects that were retrieved from the debris. This evening, it suddenly dawned on me that I never did so. I was horrified, and, in my impulsive way, I hurried, without reflection, to seek your forgiveness and to make such amends as were possible."
"I don't think, Blandy," said Thorndyke, "that the trifling omission mattered. We seemed to have all the information that we wanted."
"So we did, but perhaps we were wrong. At any rate, I have now brought the things for you to see, if they are still of any interest. It is rather late, I must admit."
"Yes, by Jove!" I agreed. "It is the day after the fair. But what things have you brought, and where are they?"
"The exhibits which you saw at the inquest, I have here in my attaché-case. If you would like me to leave them with you for examination at your leisure, I can do so, but we shall want them back. The other things are a box in my car, and, as we have finished with them, you can dispose of them as you please when you have examined them, if you think the examination worthwhile."
"I take it," said Thorndyke, "that you have been through them pretty thoroughly. Did you find any thing in any way significant?"
The inspector regarded Thorndyke with his queer, benevolent smile as he replied: "Not significant to me; but who knows what I may have overlooked? I could not bring to bear on them either your intellect, your encyclopaedic knowledge, or your unrivalled means of research." Here he waved his hand towards the table and seemed to bestow a silent benediction o
n the microscopes and the trays of slides. "Perhaps," he concluded, "these simple things might have for you some message which they have withheld from me."
As I listened to Blandy's discourse, I found myself speculating on the actual purpose of his visit. He could not have come to talk this balderdash or to deliver the box of trash that he had brought with him. What object, I wondered, lay behind his manoeuvres? Probably it would transpire presently; but, meanwhile, I thought it as well to give him a lead.
"It is very good of you, Blandy," said I, "to have brought us these things to look at, but I don't quite see why you did it. Our interest in the affair ended with the inquest, and I take it that yours did too. Or didn't it?"
"It did not," he replied. "We were then making certain inquiries through the Irish police, and we have not yet obtained the information that we were seeking. The case is still incomplete."
"Do you mean," Thorndyke asked, "that Mr. Haire has not been able to tell you all that you wanted to know?"
"We have not been able to get into touch with Mr. Haire; which is a rather remarkable fact, and becomes still more remarkable as the time passes and we get no news of him."
"In effect, then," said Thorndyke, "Mr. Haire has disappeared. Have you taken any special measures to trace him?"
"We have taken such measures as were possible," replied Blandy. "But we are in a difficult position. We have no reliable description of the man, and, if we had, we could hardly proceed as if we were trying to trace a 'wanted' man. It is curious that he should not have turned up in his usual places of resort, but there is nothing incriminating in the fact. We have no reason to suppose that he is keeping out of sight. There is nothing against him. No one could suspect him of having had any hand in starting the fire, as he was not there and another man was. But still, it is a little mysterious. It makes one wonder whether there could have been something that we overlooked."
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