THE MYSTERY OF 31 NEW INN

BY R. AUSTIN FREEMAN

Author of "The Red Thumb Mark, ""The Eye of Osiris, " etc. 

TO MY FRIEND

BERNARD E. BISHOP

Preface

Commenting upon one of my earlier novels, in respect of which I hadclaimed to have been careful to adhere to common probabilities and tohave made use only of really practicable methods of investigation, acritic remarked that this was of no consequence whatever, so long as thestory was amusing. 

Few people, I imagine, will agree with him. To most readers, andcertainly to the kind of reader for whom an author is willing to taketrouble, complete realism in respect of incidents and methods is anessential factor in maintaining the interest of a detective story. Henceit may be worth while to mention that Thorndyke's method of producingthe track chart, described in Chapters II and III, has been actuallyused in practice. It is a modification of one devised by me many yearsago when I was crossing Ashanti to the city of Bontuku, the whereaboutsof which in the far interior was then only vaguely known. Myinstructions were to fix the positions of all towns, villages, riversand mountains as accurately as possible; but finding ordinary methods ofsurveying impracticable in the dense forest which covers the wholeregion, I adopted this simple and apparently rude method, checking thedistances whenever possible by astronomical observation. 

The resulting route-map was surprisingly accurate, as shown by theagreement of the outward and homeward tracks, It was published by theRoyal Geographical Society, and incorporated in the map of this regioncompiled by the Intelligence Branch of the War Office, and it formed thebasis of the map which accompanied my volume of Travels in Ashanti andJaman. So that Thorndyke's plan must be taken as quite a practicableone. 

New Inn, the background of this story, and one of the last survivinginns of Chancery, has recently passed away after upwards of fourcenturies of newness. Even now, however, a few of the old, dismantledhouses (including perhaps, the mysterious 31) may be seen from theStrand peeping over the iron roof of the skating rink which hasdisplaced the picturesque hall, the pension-room and the garden. Thepostern gate, too, in Houghton Street still remains, though the arch isbricked up inside. Passing it lately, I made the rough sketch whichappears on next page, and which shows all that is left of this pleasantold London backwater. 

R. A. F. 

GRAVESEND

[Illustration: New Inn]

Contents

CHAPTER. 

 I THE MYSTERIOUS PATIENT II THORNDYKE DEVISES A SCHEME III "A CHIEL'S AMANG YE TAKIN' NOTES" IV THE OFFICIAL VIEW V JEFFREY BLACKMORE'S WILL VI JEFFREY BLACKMORE, DECEASED VII THE CUNEIFORM INSCRIPTIONVIII THE TRACK CHART IX THE HOUSE OF MYSTERY X THE HUNTER HUNTED XI THE BLACKMORE CASE REVIEWED XII THE PORTRAITXIII THE STATEMENT OF SAMUEL WILKINS XIV THORNDYKE LAYS THE MINE XV THORNDYKE EXPLODES THE MINE XVI AN EXPOSITION AND A TRAGEDY

Chapter I

The Mysterious Patient

As I look back through the years of my association with John Thorndyke, I am able to recall a wealth of adventures and strange experiences suchas falls to the lot of very few men who pass their lives within hearingof Big Ben. Many of these experiences I have already placed on record;but it now occurs to me that I have hitherto left unrecorded one thatis, perhaps, the most astonishing and incredible of the whole series; anadventure, too, that has for me the added interest that it inauguratedmy permanent association with my learned and talented friend, and markedthe close of a rather unhappy and unprosperous period of my life. 

Memory, retracing the journey through the passing years to thestarting-point of those strange events, lands me in a shabby littleground-floor room in a house near the Walworth end of Lower KenningtonLane. A couple of framed diplomas on the wall, a card of Snellen'stest-types and a stethoscope lying on the writing-table, proclaim it adoctor's consulting-room; and my own position in the round-backed chairat the said table, proclaims me the practitioner in charge. 

It was nearly nine o'clock. The noisy little clock on the mantelpieceannounced the fact, and, by its frantic ticking, seemed as anxious as Ito get the consultation hours over. I glanced wistfully at mymud-splashed boots and wondered if I might yet venture to assume theslippers that peeped coyly from under the shabby sofa. I even allowed mythoughts to wander to the pipe that reposed in my coat pocket. Anotherminute and I could turn down the surgery gas and shut the outer door. The fussy little clock gave a sort of preliminary cough or hiccup, as ifit should say: "Ahem! ladies and gentlemen, I am about to strike. " Andat that moment, the bottle-boy opened the door and, thrusting in hishead, uttered the one word: "Gentleman. "

Extreme economy of words is apt to result in ambiguity. But Iunderstood. In Kennington Lane, the race of mere men and women appearedto be extinct. They were all gentlemen--unless they were ladies orchildren--even as the Liberian army was said to consist entirely ofgenerals. Sweeps, labourers, milkmen, costermongers--all wereimpartially invested by the democratic bottle-boy with the rank andtitle of armigeri. The present nobleman appeared to favour thearistocratic recreation of driving a cab or job-master's carriage, and, as he entered the room, he touched his hat, closed the door somewhatcarefully, and then, without remark, handed me a note which bore thesuperscription "Dr. Stillbury. "

"You understand, " I said, as I prepared to open the envelope, "that Iam not Dr. Stillbury. He is away at present and I am looking after hispatients. "

"It doesn't signify, " the man replied. "You'll do as well. "

On this, I opened the envelope and read the note, which was quite brief, and, at first sight, in no way remarkable. 

"DEAR SIR, " it ran, "Would you kindly come and see a friend of mine whois staying with me? The bearer of this will give you further particularsand convey you to the house. Yours truly, H. WEISS. "

There was no address on the paper and no date, and the writer wasunknown to me. 

"This note, " I said, "refers to some further particulars. What arethey?"

The messenger passed his hand over his hair with a gesture ofembarrassment. "It's a ridicklus affair, " he said, with a contemptuouslaugh. "If I had been Mr. Weiss, I wouldn't have had nothing to do withit. The sick gentleman, Mr. Graves, is one of them people what can'tabear doctors. He's been ailing now for a week or two, but nothing wouldinduce him to see a doctor. Mr. Weiss did everything he could topersuade him, but it was no go. He wouldn't. However, it seems Mr. Weissthreatened to send for a medical man on his own account, because, yousee, he was getting a bit nervous; and then Mr. Graves gave way. Butonly on one condition. He said the doctor was to come from a distanceand was not to be told who he was or where he lived or anything abouthim; and he made Mr. Weiss promise to keep to that condition before he'dlet him send. So Mr. Weiss promised, and, of course, he's got to keephis word. "

"But, " I said, with a smile, "you've just told me his name--if his namereally is Graves. "

"You can form your own opinion on that, " said the coachman. 

"And, " I added, "as to not being told where he lives, I can see that formyself. I'm not blind, you know. "

"We'll take the risk of what you see, " the man replied. "The questionis, will you take the job on?"

Yes; that was the question, and I considered it for some time beforereplying. We medical men are pretty familiar with the kind of person who"can't abear doctors, " and we like to have as little to do with him aspossible. He is a thankless and unsatisfactory patient. Intercourse withhim is unpleasant, he gives a great deal of trouble and responds badlyto treatment. If this had been my own practice, I should have declinedthe case off-hand. But it was not my practice. I was only a deputy. Icould not lightly refuse work which would yield a profit to myprincipal, unpleasant though it might be. 

As I turned the matter over in my mind, I half unconsciously scrutinizedmy visitor--somewhat to his embarrassment--and I liked his appearanceas little as I liked his mission. He kept his station near the door, where the light was dim--for the illumination was concentrated on thetable and the patient's chair--but I could see that he had a somewhatsly, unprepossessing face and a greasy, red moustache that seemed out ofcharacter with his rather perfunctory livery; though this was mereprejudice. He wore a wig, too--not that there was anything discreditablein that--and the thumb-nail of the hand that held his hat boredisfiguring traces of some injury--which, again, though unsightly, in nowise reflected on his moral character. Lastly, he watched me keenly witha mixture of anxiety and sly complacency that I found distinctlyunpleasant. In a general way, he impressed me disagreeably. I did notlike the look of him at all; but nevertheless I decided to undertake thecase. 

"I suppose, " I answered, at length, "it is no affair of mine who thepatient is or where he lives. But how do you propose to manage thebusiness? Am I to be led to the house blindfolded, like the visitor tothe bandit's cave?"

The man grinned slightly and looked very decidedly relieved. 

"No, sir, " he answered; "we ain't going to blindfold you. I've got acarriage outside. I don't think you'll see much out of that. "

"Very well, " I rejoined, opening the door to let him out, "I'll be withyou in a minute. I suppose you can't give me any idea as to what is thematter with the patient?"

"No, sir, I can't, " he replied; and he went out to see to the carriage. 

I slipped into a bag an assortment of emergency drugs and a fewdiagnostic instruments, turned down the gas and passed out through thesurgery. The carriage was standing at the kerb, guarded by the coachmanand watched with deep interest by the bottle-boy. I viewed it withmingled curiosity and disfavour. It was a kind of large brougham, suchas is used by some commercial travellers, the usual glass windows beingreplaced by wooden shutters intended to conceal the piles ofsample-boxes, and the doors capable of being locked from outside with arailway key. 

As I emerged from the house, the coachman unlocked the door and held itopen. 

"How long will the journey take?" I asked, pausing with my foot on thestep. 

The coachman considered a moment or two and replied:

"It took me, I should say, nigh upon half an hour to get here. "

This was pleasant hearing. A half an hour each way and a half an hour atthe patient's house. At that rate it would be half-past ten before I washome again, and then it was quite probable that I should find some otheruntimely messenger waiting on the doorstep. With a muttered anathema onthe unknown Mr. Graves and the unrestful life of a locum tenens, Istepped into the uninviting vehicle. Instantly the coachman slammed thedoor and turned the key, leaving me in total darkness. 

One comfort was left to me; my pipe was in my pocket. I made shift toload it in the dark, and, having lit it with a wax match, took theopportunity to inspect the interior of my prison. It was a shabbyaffair. The moth-eaten state of the blue cloth cushions seemed tosuggest that it had been long out of regular use; the oil-clothfloor-covering was worn into holes; ordinary internal fittings therewere none. But the appearances suggested that the crazy vehicle had beenprepared with considerable forethought for its present use. The insidehandles of the doors had apparently been removed; the wooden shutterswere permanently fixed in their places; and a paper label, stuck on thetransom below each window, had a suspicious appearance of having beenput there to cover the painted name and address of the job-master orlivery-stable keeper who had originally owned the carriage. 

These observations gave me abundant food for reflection. This Mr. Weissmust be an excessively conscientious man if he had considered that hispromise to Mr. Graves committed him to such extraordinary precautions. Evidently no mere following of the letter of the law was enough tosatisfy his sensitive conscience. Unless he had reasons for sharing Mr. Graves's unreasonable desire for secrecy--for one could not suppose thatthese measures of concealment had been taken by the patient himself. 

The further suggestions that evolved themselves from this considerationwere a little disquieting. Whither was I being carried and for whatpurpose? The idea that I was bound for some den of thieves where Imight be robbed and possibly murdered, I dismissed with a smile. Thievesdo not make elaborately concerted plans to rob poor devils like me. Poverty has its compensations in that respect. But there were otherpossibilities. Imagination backed by experience had no difficulty inconjuring up a number of situations in which a medical man might becalled upon, with or without coercion, either to witness or actively toparticipate in the commission of some unlawful act. 

Reflections of this kind occupied me pretty actively if not veryagreeably during this strange journey. And the monotony was relieved, too, by other distractions. I was, for example, greatly interested tonotice how, when one sense is in abeyance, the other senses rouse into acompensating intensity of perception. I sat smoking my pipe in darknesswhich was absolute save for the dim glow from the smouldering tobacco inthe bowl, and seemed to be cut off from all knowledge of the worldwithout. But yet I was not. The vibrations of the carriage, with itshard springs and iron-tired wheels, registered accurately and plainlythe character of the roadway. The harsh rattle of granite setts, thesoft bumpiness of macadam, the smooth rumble of wood-pavement, thejarring and swerving of crossed tram-lines; all were easily recognizableand together sketched the general features of the neighbourhood throughwhich I was passing. And the sense of hearing filled in the details. Nowthe hoot of a tug's whistle told of proximity to the river. A suddenand brief hollow reverberation announced the passage under a railwayarch (which, by the way, happened several times during the journey);and, when I heard the familiar whistle of a railway-guard followed bythe quick snorts of a skidding locomotive, I had as clear a picture of aheavy passenger-train moving out of a station as if I had seen it inbroad daylight. 

I had just finished my pipe and knocked out the ashes on the heel of myboot, when the carriage slowed down and entered a covered way--as Icould tell by the hollow echoes. Then I distinguished the clang of heavywooden gates closed behind me, and a moment or two later the carriagedoor was unlocked and opened. I stepped out blinking into a coveredpassage paved with cobbles and apparently leading down to a mews; but itwas all in darkness, and I had no time to make any detailedobservations, as the carriage had drawn up opposite a side door whichwas open and in which stood a woman holding a lighted candle. 

"Is that the doctor?" she asked, speaking with a rather pronouncedGerman accent and shading the candle with her hand as she peered at me. 

I answered in the affirmative, and she then exclaimed:

"I am glad you have come. Mr. Weiss will be so relieved. Come in, please. "

I followed her across a dark passage into a dark room, where she set thecandle down on a chest of drawers and turned to depart. At the door, however, she paused and looked back. 

"It is not a very nice room to ask you into, " she said. "We are veryuntidy just now, but you must excuse us. We have had so much anxietyabout poor Mr. Graves. "

"He has been ill some time, then?"

"Yes. Some little time. At intervals, you know. Sometimes better, sometimes not so well. "

As she spoke, she gradually backed out into the passage but did not goaway at once. I accordingly pursued my inquiries. 

"He has not been seen by any doctor, has he?"

"No, " she answered, "he has always refused to see a doctor. That hasbeen a great trouble to us. Mr. Weiss has been very anxious about him. He will be so glad to hear that you have come. I had better go and tellhim. Perhaps you will kindly sit down until he is able to come to you, "and with this she departed on her mission. 

It struck me as a little odd that, considering his anxiety and theapparent urgency of the case, Mr. Weiss should not have been waiting toreceive me. And when several minutes elapsed without his appearing, theoddness of the circumstance impressed me still more. Having no desire, after the journey in the carriage, to sit down, I whiled away the timeby an inspection of the room. And a very curious room it was; bare, dirty, neglected and, apparently, unused. A faded carpet had been flunguntidily on the floor. A small, shabby table stood in the middle of theroom; and beyond this, three horsehair-covered chairs and a chest ofdrawers formed the entire set of furniture. No pictures hung on themouldy walls, no curtains covered the shuttered windows, and the darkdrapery of cobwebs that hung from the ceiling to commemorate a long andillustrious dynasty of spiders hinted at months of neglect and disuse. 

The chest of drawers--an incongruous article of furniture for whatseemed to be a dining-room--as being the nearest and best lighted objectreceived most of my attention. It was a fine old chest of nearly blackmahogany, very battered and in the last stage of decay, but originally apiece of some pretensions. Regretful of its fallen estate, I looked itover with some interest and had just observed on its lower corner alittle label bearing the printed inscription "Lot 201" when I heardfootsteps descending the stairs. A moment later the door opened and ashadowy figure appeared standing close by the threshold. 

"Good evening, doctor, " said the stranger, in a deep, quiet voice andwith a distinct, though not strong, German accent. "I must apologize forkeeping you waiting. "

I acknowledged the apology somewhat stiffly and asked: "You are Mr. Weiss, I presume?"

"Yes, I am Mr. Weiss. It is very good of you to come so far and so lateat night and to make no objection to the absurd conditions that my poorfriend has imposed. "

"Not at all, " I replied. "It is my business to go when and where I amwanted, and it is not my business to inquire into the private affairs ofmy patients. "

"That is very true, sir, " he agreed cordially, "and I am much obligedto you for taking that very proper view of the case. I pointed that outto my friend, but he is not a very reasonable man. He is very secretiveand rather suspicious by nature. "

"So I inferred. And as to his condition; is he seriously ill?"

"Ah, " said Mr. Weiss, "that is what I want you to tell me. I am verymuch puzzled about him. "

"But what is the nature of his illness? What does he complain of?"

"He makes very few complaints of any kind although he is obviously ill. But the fact is that he is hardly ever more than half awake. He lies ina kind of dreamy stupor from morning to night. "

This struck me as excessively strange and by no means in agreement withthe patient's energetic refusal to see a doctor. 

"But, " I asked, "does he never rouse completely?"

"Oh, yes, " Mr. Weiss answered quickly; "he rouses from time to time andis then quite rational, and, as you may have gathered, rather obstinate. That is the peculiar and puzzling feature in the case; this alternationbetween a state of stupor and an almost normal and healthy condition. But perhaps you had better see him and judge for yourself. He had arather severe attack just now. Follow me, please. The stairs are ratherdark. "

The stairs were very dark, and I noticed that they were without anycovering of carpet, or even oil-cloth, so that our footsteps resoundeddismally as if we were in an empty house. I stumbled up after my guide, feeling my way by the hand-rail, and on the first floor followed himinto a room similar in size to the one below and very barely furnished, though less squalid than the other. A single candle at the farther endthrew its feeble light on a figure in the bed, leaving the rest of theroom in a dim twilight. 

As Mr. Weiss tiptoed into the chamber, a woman--the one who had spokento me below--rose from a chair by the bedside and quietly left the roomby a second door. My conductor halted, and looking fixedly at the figurein the bed, called out:

"Philip! Philip! Here is the doctor come to see you. "

He paused for a moment or two, and, receiving no answer, said: "He seemsto be dozing as usual. Will you go and see what you can make of him?"

I stepped forward to the bedside, leaving Mr. Weiss at the end of theroom near the door by which we had entered, where he remained, slowlyand noiselessly pacing backwards and forwards in the semi-obscurity. Bythe light of the candle I saw an elderly man with good features and arefined, intelligent and even attractive face, but dreadfully emaciated, bloodless and sallow. He lay quite motionless except for the scarcelyperceptible rise and fall of his chest; his eyes were nearly closed, hisfeatures relaxed, and, though he was not actually asleep, he seemed tobe in a dreamy, somnolent, lethargic state, as if under the influence ofsome narcotic. 

I watched him for a minute or so, timing his slow breathing by mywatch, and then suddenly and sharply addressed him by name; but the onlyresponse was a slight lifting of the eyelids, which, after a brief, drowsy glance at me, slowly subsided to their former position. 

I now proceeded to make a physical examination. First, I felt his pulse, grasping his wrist with intentional brusqueness in the hope of rousinghim from his stupor. The beats were slow, feeble and slightly irregular, giving clear evidence, if any were needed, of his generally loweredvitality. I listened carefully to his heart, the sounds of which werevery distinct through the thin walls of his emaciated chest, but foundnothing abnormal beyond the feebleness and uncertainty of its action. Then I turned my attention to his eyes, which I examined closely withthe aid of the candle and my ophthalmoscope lens, raising the lidssomewhat roughly so as to expose the whole of the irides. He submittedwithout resistance to my rather ungentle handling of these sensitivestructures, and showed no signs of discomfort even when I brought thecandle-flame to within a couple of inches of his eyes. 

But this extraordinary tolerance of light was easily explained by closerexamination; for the pupils were contracted to such an extreme degreethat only the very minutest point of black was visible at the centre ofthe grey iris. Nor was this the only abnormal peculiarity of the sickman's eyes. As he lay on his back, the right iris sagged down slightlytowards its centre, showing a distinctly concave surface; and, when Icontrived to produce a slight but quick movement of the eyeball, aperceptible undulatory movement could be detected. The patient had, infact, what is known as a tremulous iris, a condition that is seen incases where the crystalline lens has been extracted for the cure ofcataract, or where it has become accidentally displaced, leaving theiris unsupported. In the present case, the complete condition of theiris made it clear that the ordinary extraction operation had not beenperformed, nor was I able, on the closest inspection with the aid of mylens, to find any trace of the less common "needle operation. " Theinference was that the patient had suffered from the accident known as"dislocation of the lens"; and this led to the further inference that hewas almost or completely blind in the right eye. 

This conclusion was, indeed, to some extent negatived by a deepindentation on the bridge of the nose, evidently produced by spectacles, and by marks which I looked for and found behind the ears, correspondingto the hooks or "curl sides" of the glasses. For those spectacles whichare fitted with curl sides to hook over the ears are usually intended tobe worn habitually, and this agreed with the indentation on the nose;which was deeper than would have been accounted for by the merelyoccasional use of spectacles for reading. But if only one eye wasuseful, a single eye-glass would have answered the purpose; not thatthere was any weight in this objection, for a single eye-glass wornconstantly would be much less convenient than a pair of hook-sidedspectacles. 

As to the nature of the patient's illness, only one opinion seemedpossible. It was a clear and typical case of opium or morphinepoisoning. To this conclusion all his symptoms seemed to point withabsolute certainty. The coated tongue, which he protruded slowly andtremulously in response to a command bawled in his ear; his yellow skinand ghastly expression; his contracted pupils and the stupor from whichhe could hardly be roused by the roughest handling and which yet did notamount to actual insensibility; all these formed a distinct and coherentgroup of symptoms, not only pointing plainly to the nature of the drug, but also suggesting a very formidable dose. 

But this conclusion in its turn raised a very awkward and difficultquestion. If a large--a poisonous--dose of the drug had been taken, how, and by whom had that dose been administered? The closest scrutiny ofthe patient's arms and legs failed to reveal a single mark such as wouldbe made by a hypodermic needle. This man was clearly no commonmorphinomaniac; and in the absence of the usual sprinkling ofneedlemarks, there was nothing to show or suggest whether the drug hadbeen taken voluntarily by the patient himself or administered by someoneelse. 

And then there remained the possibility that I might, after all, bemistaken in my diagnosis. I felt pretty confident. But the wise manalways holds a doubt in reserve. And, in the present case, having regardto the obviously serious condition of the patient, such a doubt waseminently disturbing. Indeed, as I pocketed my stethoscope and took alast look at the motionless, silent figure, I realized that my positionwas one of extraordinary difficulty and perplexity. On the one hand mysuspicions--aroused, naturally enough, by the very unusual circumstancesthat surrounded my visit--inclined me to extreme reticence; while, onthe other, it was evidently my duty to give any information that mightprove serviceable to the patient. 

As I turned away from the bed Mr. Weiss stopped his slow pacing to andfro and faced me. The feeble light of the candle now fell on him, and Isaw him distinctly for the first time. He did not impress me favourably. He was a thick-set, round-shouldered man, a typical fair German withtow-coloured hair, greased and brushed down smoothly, a large, ragged, sandy beard and coarse, sketchy features. His nose was large and thickwith a bulbous end, and inclined to a reddish purple, a tint whichextended to the adjacent parts of his face as if the colour had run. Hiseyebrows were large and beetling, overhanging deep-set eyes, and he worea pair of spectacles which gave him a somewhat owlish expression. Hisexterior was unprepossessing, and I was in a state of mind that renderedme easily receptive of an unfavourable impression. 

"Well, " he said, "what do you make of him?" I hesitated, still perplexedby the conflicting necessities of caution and frankness, but at lengthreplied:

"I think rather badly of him, Mr. Weiss. He is in a very low state. "

"Yes, I can see that. But have you come to any decision as to the natureof his illness?"

There was a tone of anxiety and suppressed eagerness in the questionwhich, while it was natural enough in the circumstances, by no meansallayed my suspicions, but rather influenced me on the side of caution. 

"I cannot give a very definite opinion at present, " I replied guardedly. "The symptoms are rather obscure and might very well indicate severaldifferent conditions. They might be due to congestion of the brain, and, if no other explanation were possible, I should incline to that view. The alternative is some narcotic poison, such as opium or morphia. "

"But that is quite impossible. There is no such drug in the house, andas he never leaves his room now, he could not get any from outside. "

"What about the servants?" I asked. 

"There are no servants excepting my housekeeper, and she is absolutelytrustworthy. "

"He might have some store of the drug that you are not aware of. Is heleft alone much?"

"Very seldom indeed. I spend as much time with him as I can, and when Iam not able to be in the room, Mrs Schallibaum, my housekeeper, sitswith him. "

"Is he often as drowsy as he is now?"

"Oh, very often; in fact, I should say that is his usual condition. Herouses up now and again, and then he is quite lucid and natural for, perhaps, an hour or so; but presently he becomes drowsy again and dosesoff, and remains asleep, or half asleep, for hours on end. Do you knowof any disease that takes people in that way?"

"No, " I answered. "The symptoms are not exactly like those of anydisease that is known to me. But they are much very like those of opiumpoisoning. "

"But, my dear sir, " Mr. Weiss retorted impatiently, "since it is clearlyimpossible that it can be opium poisoning, it must be something else. Now, what else can it be? You were speaking of congestion of the brain. "

"Yes. But the objection to that is the very complete recovery that seemsto take place in the intervals. "

"I would not say very complete, " said Mr. Weiss. "The recovery is rathercomparative. He is lucid and fairly natural in his manner, but he isstill dull and lethargic. He does not, for instance, show any desire togo out, or even to leave his room. "

I pondered uncomfortably on these rather contradictory statements. Clearly Mr. Weiss did not mean to entertain the theory of opiumpoisoning; which was natural enough if he had no knowledge of the drughaving been used. But still--

"I suppose, " said Mr. Weiss, "you have experience of sleeping sickness?"

The suggestion startled me. I had not. Very few people had. At that timepractically nothing was known about the disease. It was a merepathological curiosity, almost unheard of excepting by a fewpractitioners in remote parts of Africa, and hardly referred to in thetext-books. Its connection with the trypanosome-bearing insects was asyet unsuspected, and, to me, its symptoms were absolutely unknown. 

"No, I have not, " I replied. "The disease is nothing more than a name tome. But why do you ask? Has Mr. Graves been abroad?"

"Yes. He has been travelling for the last three or four years, and Iknow that he spent some time recently in West Africa, where this diseaseoccurs. In fact, it was from him that I first heard about it. "

This was a new fact. It shook my confidence in my diagnosis veryconsiderably, and inclined me to reconsider my suspicions. If Mr. Weisswas lying to me, he now had me at a decided disadvantage. 

"What do you think?" he asked. "Is it possible that this can be sleepingsickness?"

"I should not like to say that it is impossible, " I replied. "Thedisease is practically unknown to me. I have never practised out ofEngland and have had no occasion to study it. Until I have looked thesubject up, I should not be in a position to give an opinion. Of course, if I could see Mr. Graves in one of what we may call his 'lucidintervals' I should be able to form a better idea. Do you think thatcould be managed?"

"It might. I see the importance of it and will certainly do my best; buthe is a difficult man; a very difficult man. I sincerely hope it is notsleeping sickness. "

"Why?"

"Because--as I understood from him--that disease is invariably fatal, sooner or later. There seem to be no cure. Do you think you will be ableto decide when you see him again?"

"I hope so, " I replied. "I shall look up the authorities and see exactlywhat the symptoms are--that is, so far as they are known; but myimpression is that there is very little information available. "

"And in the meantime?"

"We will give him some medicine and attend to his general condition, andyou had better let me see him again as soon as possible. " I was about tosay that the effect of the medicine itself might throw some light on thepatient's condition, but, as I proposed to treat him for morphinepoisoning, I thought it wiser to keep this item of information tomyself. Accordingly, I confined myself to a few general directions as tothe care of the patient, to which Mr. Weiss listened attentively. "And, "I concluded, "we must not lose sight of the opium question. You hadbetter search the room carefully and keep a close watch on the patient, especially during his intervals of wakefulness. "

"Very well, doctor, " Mr. Weiss replied, "I will do all that you tell meand I will send for you again as soon as possible, if you do not objectto poor Graves's ridiculous conditions. And now, if you will allow me topay your fee, I will go and order the carriage while you are writing theprescription. "

"There is no need for a prescription, " I said. "I will make up somemedicine and give it to the coachman. "

Mr. Weiss seemed inclined to demur to this arrangement, but I had my ownreasons for insisting on it. Modern prescriptions are not difficult toread, and I did not wish Mr. Weiss to know what treatment the patientwas having. 

As soon as I was left alone, I returned to the bedside and once morelooked down at the impassive figure. And as I looked, my suspicionsrevived. It was very like morphine poisoning; and, if it was morphine, it was no common, medicinal dose that had been given. I opened my bagand took out my hypodermic case from which I extracted a little tube ofatropine tabloids. Shaking out into my hand a couple of the tiny discs, I drew down the patient's under-lip and slipped the little tablets underhis tongue. Then I quickly replaced the tube and dropped the case intomy bag; and I had hardly done so when the door opened softly and thehousekeeper entered the room. 

"How do you find Mr. Graves?" she asked in what I thought a veryunnecessarily low tone, considering the patient's lethargic state. 

"He seems to be very ill, " I answered. 

"So!" she rejoined, and added: "I am sorry to hear that. We have beenanxious about him. "

She seated herself on the chair by the bedside, and, shading the candlefrom the patient's face--and her own, too--produced from a bag that hungfrom her waist a half-finished stocking and began to knit silently andwith the skill characteristic of the German housewife. I looked at herattentively (though she was so much in the shadow that I could see herbut indistinctly) and somehow her appearance prepossessed me as littleas did that of the other members of the household. Yet she was not anill-looking woman. She had an excellent figure, and the air of a personof good social position; her features were good enough and hercolouring, although a little unusual, was not unpleasant. Like Mr. Weiss, she had very fair hair, greased, parted in the middle and brusheddown as smoothly as the painted hair of a Dutch doll. She appeared tohave no eyebrows at all--owing, no doubt, to the light colour of thehair--and the doll-like character was emphasized by her eyes, which wereeither brown or dark grey, I could not see which. A further peculiarityconsisted in a "habit spasm, " such as one often sees in nervouschildren; a periodical quick jerk of the head, as if a cap-string ordangling lock were being shaken off the cheek. Her age I judged to beabout thirty-five. 

The carriage, which one might have expected to be waiting, seemed totake some time in getting ready. I sat, with growing impatience, listening to the sick man's soft breathing and the click of thehousekeeper's knitting-needles. I wanted to get home, not only for myown sake; the patient's condition made it highly desirable that theremedies should be given as quickly as possible. But the minutes draggedon, and I was on the point of expostulating when a bell rang on thelanding. 

"The carriage is ready, " said Mrs. Schallibaum. "Let me light you downthe stairs. "

She rose, and, taking the candle, preceded me to the head of the stairs, where she stood holding the light over the baluster-rail as I descendedand crossed the passage to the open side door. The carriage was drawn upin the covered way as I could see by the faint glimmer of the distantcandle; which also enabled me dimly to discern the coachman standingclose by in the shadow. I looked round, rather expecting to see Mr. Weiss, but, as he made no appearance, I entered the carriage. The doorwas immediately banged to and locked, and I then heard the heavy boltsof the gates withdrawn and the loud creaking of hinges. The carriagemoved out slowly and stopped; the gates slammed to behind me; I felt thelurch as the coachman climbed to his seat and we started forward. 

My reflections during the return journey were the reverse of agreeable. I could not rid myself of the conviction that I was being involved insome very suspicious proceedings. It was possible, of course, that thisfeeling was due to the strange secrecy that surrounded my connectionwith this case; that, had I made my visit under ordinary conditions, Imight have found in the patient's symptoms nothing to excite suspicionor alarm. It might be so, but that consideration did not comfort me. 

Then, my diagnosis might be wrong. It might be that this was, inreality, a case of some brain affection accompanied by compression, suchas slow haemorrhage, abscess, tumour or simple congestion. These caseswere very difficult at times. But the appearances in this one did notconsistently agree with the symptoms accompanying any of theseconditions. As to sleeping sickness, it was, perhaps a more hopefulsuggestion, but I could not decide for or against it until I had moreknowledge; and against this view was the weighty fact that the symptomsdid exactly agree with the theory of morphine poisoning. 

But even so, there was no conclusive evidence of any criminal act. Thepatient might be a confirmed opium-eater, and the symptoms heightened bydeliberate deception. The cunning of these unfortunates is proverbialand is only equalled by their secretiveness and mendacity. It would bequite possible for this man to feign profound stupor so long as he waswatched, and then, when left alone for a few minutes, to nip out of bedand help himself from some secret store of the drug. This would be quitein character with his objection to seeing a doctor and his desire forsecrecy. But still, I did not believe it to be the true explanation. Inspite of all the various alternative possibilities, my suspicions cameback to Mr. Weiss and the strange, taciturn woman, and refused to budge. 

For all the circumstances of the case were suspicious. The elaboratepreparations implied by the state of the carriage in which I wastravelling; the make-shift appearance of the house; the absence ofordinary domestic servants, although a coachman was kept; the evidentdesire of Mr. Weiss and the woman to avoid thorough inspection of theirpersons; and, above all, the fact that the former had told me adeliberate lie. For he had lied, beyond all doubt. His statement as tothe almost continuous stupor was absolutely irreconcilable with hisother statement as to the patient's wilfulness and obstinacy and evenmore irreconcilable with the deep and comparatively fresh marks of thespectacles on the patient's nose. That man had certainly worn spectacleswithin twenty-four hours, which he would hardly have done if he had beenin a state bordering on coma. 

My reflections were interrupted by the stopping of the carriage. Thedoor was unlocked and thrown open, and I emerged from my dark and stuffyprison opposite my own house. 

"I will let you have the medicine in a minute or two, " I said to thecoachman; and, as I let myself in with my latch-key, my mind came backswiftly from the general circumstances of the case to the very criticalcondition of the patient. Already I was regretting that I had not takenmore energetic measures to rouse him and restore his flagging vitality;for it would be a terrible thing if he should take a turn for the worseand die before the coachman returned with the remedies. Spurred on bythis alarming thought, I made up the medicines quickly and carried thehastily wrapped bottles out to the man, whom I found standing by thehorse's head. 

"Get back as quickly as you can, " I said, "and tell Mr. Weiss to lose notime in giving the patient the draught in the small bottle. Thedirections are on the labels. "

The coachman took the packages from me without reply, climbed to hisseat, touched the horse with his whip and drove off at a rapid pacetowards Newington Butts. 

The little clock in the consulting-room showed that it was close oneleven; time for a tired G. P. To be thinking of bed. But I was notsleepy. Over my frugal supper I found myself taking up anew the threadof my meditations, and afterwards, as I smoked my last pipe by theexpiring surgery fire, the strange and sinister features of the casecontinued to obtrude themselves on my notice. I looked up Stillbury'slittle reference library for information on the subject of sleepingsickness, but learned no more than that it was "a rare and obscuredisease of which very little was known at present. " I read up morphinepoisoning and was only further confirmed in the belief that my diagnosiswas correct; which would have been more satisfactory if thecircumstances had been different. 

For the interest of the case was not merely academic. I was in aposition of great difficulty and responsibility and had to decide on acourse of action. What ought I to do? Should I maintain the professionalsecrecy to which I was tacitly committed, or ought I to convey a hint tothe police?

Suddenly, and with a singular feeling of relief, I bethought myself ofmy old friend and fellow-student, John Thorndyke, now an eminentauthority on Medical Jurisprudence. I had been associated with himtemporarily in one case as his assistant, and had then been deeplyimpressed by his versatile learning, his acuteness and his marvellousresourcefulness. Thorndyke was a barrister in extensive practice, and sowould be able to tell me at once what was my duty from a legal point ofview; and, as he was also a doctor of medicine, he would understand theexigencies of medical practice. If I could find time to call at theTemple and lay the case before him, all my doubts and difficulties wouldbe resolved. 

Anxiously, I opened my visiting-list to see what kind of day's work wasin store for me on the morrow. It was not a heavy day, even allowing forone or two extra calls in the morning, but yet I was doubtful whether itwould allow of my going so far from my district, until my eye caught, near the foot of the page, the name of Burton. Now Mr. Burton lived inone of the old houses on the east side of Bouverie Street, less thanfive minutes' walk from Thorndyke's chambers in King's Bench Walk; andhe was, moreover, a "chronic" who could safely be left for the last. When I had done with Mr. Burton I could look in on my friend with a verygood chance of catching him on his return from the hospital. I couldallow myself time for quite a long chat with him, and, by taking ahansom, still get back in good time for the evening's work. 

This was a great comfort. At the prospect of sharing my responsibilitieswith a friend on whose judgment I could so entirely rely, myembarrassments seemed to drop from me in a moment. Having entered theengagement in my visiting-list, I rose, in greatly improved spirits, andknocked out my pipe just as the little clock banged out impatiently thehour of midnight. 

Chapter II

Thorndyke Devises a Scheme

As I entered the Temple by the Tudor Street gate the aspect of the placesmote my senses with an air of agreeable familiarity. Here had I spentmany a delightful hour when working with Thorndyke at the remarkableHornby case, which the newspapers had called "The Case of the Red ThumbMark"; and here had I met the romance of my life, the story whereof istold elsewhere. The place was thus endeared to me by pleasantrecollections of a happy past, and its associations suggested hopes ofhappiness yet to come and in the not too far distant future. 

My brisk tattoo on the little brass knocker brought to the door no lessa person than Thorndyke himself; and the warmth of his greeting made meat once proud and ashamed. For I had not only been an absentee; I hadbeen a very poor correspondent. 

"The prodigal has returned, Polton, " he exclaimed, looking into theroom. "Here is Dr. Jervis. "

I followed him into the room and found Polton--his confidential servant, laboratory assistant, artificer and general "familiar"--setting out thetea-tray on a small table. The little man shook hands cordially with me, and his face crinkled up into the sort of smile that one might expect tosee on a benevolent walnut. 

"We've often talked about you, sir, " said he. "The doctor was wonderingonly yesterday when you were coming back to us. "

As I was not "coming back to them" quite in the sense intended I felt alittle guilty, but reserved my confidences for Thorndyke's ear andreplied in polite generalities. Then Polton fetched the tea-pot from thelaboratory, made up the fire and departed, and Thorndyke and I subsided, as of old, into our respective arm-chairs. 

"And whence do you spring from in this unexpected fashion?" my colleagueasked. "You look as if you had been making professional visits. "

"I have. The base of operations is in Lower Kennington Lane. "

"Ah! Then you are 'back once more on the old trail'?"

"Yes, " I answered, with a laugh, "'the old trail, the long trail, thetrail that is always new. '"

"And leads nowhere, " Thorndyke added grimly. 

I laughed again; not very heartily, for there was an uncomfortableelement of truth in my friend's remark, to which my own experience boreonly too complete testimony. The medical practitioner whose lack ofmeans forces him to subsist by taking temporary charge of other men'spractices is apt to find that the passing years bring him little butgrey hairs and a wealth of disagreeable experience. 

"You will have to drop it, Jervis; you will, indeed, " Thorndyke resumedafter a pause. "This casual employment is preposterous for a man of yourclass and professional attainments. Besides, are you not engaged to bemarried and to a most charming girl?"

"Yes, I know. I have been a fool. But I will really amend my ways. Ifnecessary, I will pocket my pride and let Juliet advance the money tobuy a practice. "

"That, " said Thorndyke, "is a very proper resolution. Pride and reservebetween people who are going to be husband and wife, is an absurdity. But why buy a practice? Have you forgotten my proposal?"

"I should be an ungrateful brute if I had. "

"Very well. I repeat it now. Come to me as my junior, read for the Barand work with me, and, with your abilities, you will have a chance ofsomething like a career. I want you, Jervis, " he added, earnestly. "Imust have a junior, with my increasing practice, and you are the juniorI want. We are old and tried friends; we have worked together; we likeand trust one another, and you are the best man for the job that I know. Come; I am not going to take a refusal. This is an ultimatum. "

"And what is the alternative?" I asked with a smile at his eagerness. 

"There isn't any. You are going to say yes. "

"I believe I am, " I answered, not without emotion; "and I am morerejoiced at your offer and more grateful than I can tell you. But wemust leave the final arrangements for our next meeting--in a week or so, I hope--for I have to be back in an hour, and I want to consult you ona matter of some importance. "

"Very well, " said Thorndyke; "we will leave the formal agreement forconsideration at our next meeting. What is it that you want my opinionon?"

"The fact is, " I said, "I am in a rather awkward dilemma, and I want youto tell me what you think I ought to do. "

Thorndyke paused in the act of refilling my cup and glanced at me withunmistakable anxiety. 

"Nothing of an unpleasant nature, I hope, " said he. 

"No, no; nothing of that kind, " I answered with a smile as I interpretedthe euphemism; for "something unpleasant, " in the case of a young andreasonably presentable medical man is ordinarily the equivalent oftrouble with the female of his species. "It is nothing that concerns mepersonally at all, " I continued; "it is a question of professionalresponsibility. But I had better give you an account of the affair in acomplete narrative, as I know that you like to have your data in aregular and consecutive order. "

Thereupon I proceeded to relate the history of my visit to themysterious Mr. Graves, not omitting any single circumstance or detailthat I could recollect. 

Thorndyke listened from the very beginning of my story with the closestattention. His face was the most impassive that I have ever seen;ordinarily as inscrutable as a bronze mask; but to me, who knew himintimately, there was a certain something--a change of colour, perhaps, or an additional sparkle of the eye--that told me when his curiouspassion for investigation was fully aroused. And now, as I told him ofthat weird journey and the strange, secret house to which it had broughtme, I could see that it offered a problem after his very heart. Duringthe whole of my narration he sat as motionless as a statue, evidentlycommitting the whole story to memory, detail by detail; and even when Ihad finished he remained for an appreciable time without moving orspeaking. 

At length he looked up at me. "This is a very extraordinary affair, Jervis, " he said. 

"Very, " I agreed; "and the question that is agitating me is, what is tobe done?"

"Yes, " he said, meditatively, "that is the question; and an uncommonlydifficult question it is. It really involves the settlement of theantecedent question: What is it that is happening at that house?"

"What do you think is happening at that house?" I asked. 

"We must go slow, Jervis, " he replied. "We must carefully separate thelegal tissues from the medical, and avoid confusing what we know withwhat we suspect. Now, with reference to the medical aspects of the case. The first question that confronts us is that of sleeping sickness, ornegro-lethargy as it is sometimes called; and here we are in adifficulty. We have not enough knowledge. Neither of us, I take it, hasever seen a case, and the extant descriptions are inadequate. From whatI know of the disease, its symptoms agree with those in your case inrespect of the alleged moroseness and in the gradually increasingperiods of lethargy alternating with periods of apparent recovery. Onthe other hand, the disease is said to be confined to negroes; but thatprobably means only that negroes alone have hitherto been exposed to theconditions that produce it. A more important fact is that, as far as Iknow, extreme contraction of the pupils is not a symptom of sleepingsickness. To sum up, the probabilities are against sleeping sickness, but with our insufficient knowledge, we cannot definitely exclude it. "

"You think that it may really be sleeping sickness?"

"No; personally I do not entertain that theory for a moment. But I amconsidering the evidence apart from our opinions on the subject. We haveto accept it as a conceivable hypothesis that it may be sleepingsickness because we cannot positively prove that it is not. That is all. But when we come to the hypothesis of morphine poisoning, the case isdifferent. The symptoms agree with those of morphine poisoning in everyrespect. There is no exception or disagreement whatever. The commonsense of the matter is therefore that we adopt morphine poisoning as ourworking diagnosis; which is what you seem to have done. "

"Yes. For purposes of treatment. "

"Exactly. For medical purposes you adopted the more probable view anddismissed the less probable. That was the reasonable thing to do. Butfor legal purposes you must entertain both possibilities; for thehypothesis of poisoning involves serious legal issues, whereas thehypothesis of disease involves no legal issues at all. "

"That doesn't sound very helpful, " I remarked. 

"It indicates the necessity for caution, " he retorted. 

"Yes, I see that. But what is your own opinion of the case?"

"Well, " he said, "let us consider the facts in order. Here is a man who, we assume, is under the influence of a poisonous dose of morphine. Thequestion is, did he take that dose himself or was it administered to himby some other person? If he took it himself, with what object did hetake it? The history that was given to you seems completely to excludethe idea of suicide. But the patient's condition seems equally toexclude the idea of morphinomania. Your opium-eater does not reducehimself to a state of coma. He usually keeps well within the limits ofthe tolerance that has been established. The conclusion that emerges is, I think, that the drug was administered by some other person; and themost likely person seems to be Mr. Weiss. "

"Isn't morphine a very unusual poison?"

"Very; and most inconvenient except in a single, fatal dose, by reasonof the rapidity with which tolerance of the drug is established. But wemust not forget that slow morphine poisoning might be eminentlysuitable in certain cases. The manner in which it enfeebles the will, confuses the judgment and debilitates the body might make it very usefulto a poisoner whose aim was to get some instrument or document executed, such as a will, deed or assignment. And death could be producedafterwards by other means. You see the important bearing of this?"

"You mean in respect of a death certificate?"

"Yes. Suppose Mr. Weiss to have given a large dose of morphine. He thensends for you and throws out a suggestion of sleeping sickness. If youaccept the suggestion he is pretty safe. He can repeat the process untilhe kills his victim and then get a certificate from you which will coverthe murder. It was quite an ingenious scheme--which, by the way, ischaracteristic of intricate crimes; your subtle criminal often plans hiscrime like a genius, but he generally executes it like a fool--as thisman seems to have done, if we are not doing him an injustice. "

"How has he acted like a fool?"

"In several respects. In the first place, he should have chosen hisdoctor. A good, brisk, confident man who 'knows his own mind' is thesort of person who would have suited him; a man who would have jumped ata diagnosis and stuck to it; or else an ignorant weakling of alcoholictendencies. It was shockingly bad luck to run against a cautiousscientific practitioner like my learned friend. Then, of course, allthis secrecy was sheer tomfoolery, exactly calculated to put a carefulman on his guard; as it has actually done. If Mr. Weiss is really acriminal, he has mismanaged his affairs badly. "

"And you apparently think that he is a criminal?"

"I suspect him deeply. But I should like to ask you one or two questionsabout him. You say he spoke with a German accent. What command ofEnglish had he? Was his vocabulary good? Did he use any German idioms?"

"No. I should say that his English was perfect, and I noticed that hisphrases were quite well chosen even for an Englishman. "

"Did he seem to you 'made up' in any way; disguised, I mean?"

"I couldn't say. The light was so very feeble. "

"You couldn't see the colour of his eyes, for instance?"

"No. I think they were grey, but I couldn't be sure. "

"And as to the coachman. He wore a wig, you said. Could you see thecolour of his eyes? Or any peculiarity by which you could recognizehim?"

"He had a malformed thumb-nail on his right hand. That is all I can sayabout him. "

"He didn't strike you as resembling Weiss in any way; in voice orfeatures?"

"Not at all; and he spoke, as I told you, with a distinct Scotchaccent. "

"The reason I ask is that if Weiss is attempting to poison this man, thecoachman is almost certain to be a confederate and might be a relative. You had better examine him closely if you get another chance. "

"I will. And that brings me back to the question, What am I to do? OughtI to report the case to the police?"

"I am inclined to think not. You have hardly enough facts. Of course, ifMr. Weiss has administered poison 'unlawfully and maliciously' he hascommitted a felony, and is liable under the Consolidation Acts of 1861to ten years' penal servitude. But I do not see how you could swear aninformation. You don't know that he administered the poison--if poisonhas really been administered--and you cannot give any reliable name orany address whatever. Then there is the question of sleeping sickness. You reject it for medical purposes, but you could not swear, in a courtof law, that this is not a case of sleeping sickness. "

"No, " I admitted, "I could not. "

"Then I think the police would decline to move in the matter, and youmight find that you had raised a scandal in Dr. Stillbury's practice tono purpose. "

"So you think I had better do nothing in the matter?"

"For the present. It is, of course, a medical man's duty to assistjustice in any way that is possible. But a doctor is not a detective; heshould not go out of his way to assume police functions. He should keephis eyes and ears open, and, though, in general, he should keep his owncounsel, it is his duty to note very carefully anything that seems tohim likely to bear on any important legal issues. It is not hisbusiness officiously to initiate criminal inquiries, but it isemphatically his business to be ready, if called upon, to assist justicewith information that his special knowledge and opportunities haverendered accessible to him. You see the bearing of this?"

"You mean that I should note down what I have seen and heard and saynothing about it until I am asked. "

"Yes; if nothing further happens. But if you should be sent for again, Ithink it is your duty to make further observations with a view, ifnecessary, to informing the police. It may be, for instance, of vitalimportance to identify the house, and it is your duty to secure themeans of doing so. "

"But, my dear Thorndyke, " I expostulated, "I have told you how I wasconveyed to the house. Now, will you kindly explain to me how a man, boxed up in a pitch-dark carriage, is going to identify any place towhich he may be carried?"

"The problem doesn't appear to me to present any serious difficulties, "he replied. 

"Doesn't it?" said I. "To me it looks like a pretty solid impossibility. But what do you suggest? Should I break out of the house and run away upthe street? Or should I bore a hole through the shutter of the carriageand peep out?"

Thorndyke smiled indulgently. "The methods proposed by my learned frienddisplay a certain crudity inappropriate to the character of a man ofscience; to say nothing of the disadvantage of letting the enemy intoour counsels. No, no, Jervis; we can do something better than that. Just excuse me for a minute while I run up to the laboratory. "

He hurried away to Polton's sanctum on the upper floor, leaving me tospeculate on the method by which he proposed that a man should beenabled, as Sam Weller would express it, "to see through a flight ofstairs and a deal door"; or, what was equally opaque, the woodenshutters of a closed carriage. 

"Now, " he said, when he returned a couple of minutes later with a small, paper-covered notebook in his hand, "I have set Polton to work on alittle appliance that will, I think, solve our difficulty, and I willshow you how I propose that you should make your observations. First ofall, we have to rule the pages of this book into columns. "

He sat down at the table and began methodically to rule the pages eachinto three columns, two quite narrow and one broad. The process occupiedsome time, during which I sat and watched with impatient curiosity theunhurried, precise movements of Thorndyke's pencil, all agog to hear thepromised explanation. He was just finishing the last page when therecame a gentle tap at the door, and Polton entered with a satisfied smileon his dry, shrewd-looking face and a small board in his hand. 

"Will this do, sir?" he asked. 

As he spoke he handed the little board to Thorndyke, who looked at itand passed it to me. 

"The very thing, Polton, " my friend replied. "Where did you find it?It's of no use for you to pretend that you've made it in about twominutes and a half. "

Polton smiled one of his queer crinkly smiles, and remarking that "itdidn't take much making, " departed much gratified by the compliment. 

"What a wonderful old fellow that is, Jervis, " Thorndyke observed as hisfactotum retired. "He took in the idea instantly and seems to haveproduced the finished article by magic, as the conjurers bring forthrabbits and bowls of goldfish at a moment's notice. I suppose you seewhat your modus operandi is to be?"

I had gathered a clue from the little appliance--a plate of whitefret-wood about seven inches by five, to one corner of which apocket-compass had been fixed with shellac--but was not quite clear asto the details of the method. 

"You can read a compass pretty quickly, I think?" Thorndyke said. 

"Of course I can. Used we not to sail a yacht together when we werestudents?"

"To be sure we did; and we will again before we die. And now as to yourmethod of locating this house. Here is a pocket reading-lamp which youcan hook on the carriage lining. This notebook can be fixed to the boardwith an india-rubber band--thus. You observe that the thoughtful Poltonhas stuck a piece of thread on the glass of the compass to serve as alubber's line. This is how you will proceed. As soon as you are lockedin the carriage, light your lamp--better have a book with you in casethe light is noticed--take out your watch and put the board on yourknee, keeping its long side exactly in a line with the axis of thecarriage. Then enter in one narrow column of your notebook the time, inthe other the direction shown by the compass, and in the broad columnany particulars, including the number of steps the horse makes in aminute. Like this. "

He took a loose sheet of paper and made one or two sample entries on itin pencil, thus--

 "9. 40. S. E. Start from home. 9. 41 S. W. Granite setts. 9. 43. S. W. Wood pavement. Hoofs 104. 9. 47. W. By S Granite crossing. Macadam--

and so on. Note every change of direction, with the time; and wheneveryou hear or feel anything from outside, note it, with the time anddirection; and don't forget to note any variations in the horse's pace. You follow the process?"

"Perfectly. But do you think the method is accurate enough to fix theposition of a house? Remember, this is only a pocket-compass with nodial, and it will jump frightfully. And the mode of estimating distanceis very rough. "

"That is all perfectly true, " Thorndyke answered. "But you areoverlooking certain important facts The track-chart that you willproduce can be checked by other data. The house, for instance, has acovered way by which you could identify it if you knew approximatelywhere to look for it. Then you must remember that your carriage is nottravelling over a featureless plain. It is passing through streets whichhave a determined position and direction and which are accuratelyrepresented on the ordnance map. I think, Jervis, that, in spite of theapparent roughness of the method, if you make your observationscarefully, we shall have no trouble in narrowing down the inquiry to aquite small area. If we get the chance, that is to say. "

"Yes, if we do. I am doubtful whether Mr. Weiss will require my servicesagain, but I sincerely hope he will. It would be rare sport to locatehis secret burrow, all unsuspected. But now I must really be off. "

"Good-bye, then, " said Thorndyke, slipping a well-sharpened pencilthrough the rubber band that fixed the notebook to the board. "Let meknow how the adventure progresses--if it progresses at all--andremember, I hold your promise to come and see me again quite soon in anycase. "

He handed me the board and the lamp, and, when I had slipped them intomy pocket, we shook hands and I hurried away, a little uneasy at havingleft my charge so long. 

Chapter III

"A Chiel's Amang Ye Takin' Notes"

The attitude of the suspicious man tends to generate in others the kindof conduct that seems to justify his suspicions. In most of us therelurks a certain strain of mischief which trustfulness disarms butdistrust encourages. The inexperienced kitten which approaches usconfidingly with arched back and upright tail, soliciting caresses, generally receives the gentle treatment that it expects; whereas theworldly-wise tom-cat, who, in response to friendly advances, scampersaway and grins at us suspiciously from the fancied security of anadjacent wall, impels us to accelerate his retreat with a well-directedclod. 

Now the proceedings of Mr. H. Weiss resembled those of the tom-cataforesaid and invited an analogous reply. To a responsible professionalman his extraordinary precautions were at once an affront and achallenge. Apart from graver considerations, I found myself dwellingwith unholy pleasure on the prospect of locating the secret hiding-placefrom which he seemed to grin at me with such complacent defiance; and Ilost no time and spared no trouble in preparing myself for theadventure. The very hansom which bore me from the Temple to KenningtonLane was utilized for a preliminary test of Thorndyke's littleapparatus. During the whole of that brief journey I watched the compassclosely, noted the feel and sound of the road-material and timed thetrotting of the horse. And the result was quite encouraging. It is truethat the compass-needle oscillated wildly to the vibration of the cab, but still its oscillations took place around a definite point which wasthe average direction, and it was evident to me that the data itfurnished were very fairly reliable. I felt very little doubt, after thepreliminary trial, as to my being able to produce a moderatelyintelligible track-chart if only I should get an opportunity to exercisemy skill. 

But it looked as if I should not. Mr. Weiss's promise to send for meagain soon was not fulfilled. Three days passed and still he made nosign. I began to fear that I had been too outspoken; that the shutteredcarriage had gone forth to seek some more confiding and easy-goingpractitioner, and that our elaborate preparations had been made in vain. When the fourth day drew towards a close and still no summons had come, I was disposed reluctantly to write the case off as a lost opportunity. 

And at that moment, in the midst of my regrets, the bottle-boy thrust anuncomely head in at the door. His voice was coarse, his accent washideous, and his grammatical construction beneath contempt; but Iforgave him all when I gathered the import of his message. 

"Mr. Weiss's carriage is waiting, and he says will you come as quicklyas you can because he's took very bad to-night. "

I sprang from my chair and hastily collected the necessaries for thejourney. The little board and the lamp I put in my overcoat pocket; Ioverhauled the emergency bag and added to its usual contents a bottle ofpermanganate of potassium which I thought I might require. Then I tuckedthe evening paper under my arm and went out. 

The coachman, who was standing at the horse's head as I emerged, touchedhis hat and came forward to open the door. 

"I have fortified myself for the long drive, you see, " I remarked, exhibiting the newspaper as I stepped into the carriage. 

"But you can't read in the dark, " said he. 

"No, but I have provided myself with a lamp, " I replied, producing itand striking a match. 

He watched me as I lit the lamp and hooked it on the back cushion, andobserved:

"I suppose you found it rather a dull ride last time. It's a longishway. They might have fitted the carriage with an inside lamp. But weshall have to make it a quicker passage to-night. Governor says Mr. Graves is uncommon bad. "

With this he slammed the door and locked it. I drew the board from mypocket, laid it on my knee, glanced at my watch, and, as the coachmanclimbed to his seat, I made the first entry in the little book. 

"8. 58. W. By S. Start from home. Horse 13 hands. "

The first move of the carriage on starting was to turn round as ifheading for Newington Butts, and the second entry accordingly read:

"8. 58. 30. E. By N. "

But this direction was not maintained long. Very soon we turned southand then west and then south again. I sat with my eyes riveted on thecompass, following with some difficulty its rapid changes. The needleswung to and fro incessantly but always within a definite arc, thecentre of which was the true direction. But this direction varied fromminute to minute in the most astonishing manner. West, south, east, north, the carriage turned, "boxing" the compass until I lost all countof direction. It was an amazing performance. Considering that the manwas driving against time on a mission of life and death urgency, hiscarelessness as to direction was astounding. The tortuousness of theroute must have made the journey twice as long as it need have beenwith a little more careful selection. At least so it appeared to me, though, naturally, I was not in a position to offer an authoritativecriticism. 

As far as I could judge, we followed the same route as before. Once Iheard a tug's whistle and knew that we were near the river, and wepassed the railway station, apparently at the same time as on theprevious occasion, for I heard a passenger train start and assumed thatit was the same train. We crossed quite a number of thoroughfares withtram-lines--I had no idea there were so many--and it was a revelation tome to find how numerous the railway arches were in this part of Londonand how continually the nature of the road-metal varied. 

It was by no means a dull journey this time. The incessant changes ofdirection and variations in the character of the road kept me mostuncommonly busy; for I had hardly time to scribble down one entry beforethe compass-needle would swing round sharply, showing that we had oncemore turned a corner; and I was quite taken by surprise when thecarriage slowed down and turned into the covered way. Very hastily Iscribbled down the final entry ("9. 24. S. E. In covered way"), and havingclosed the book and slipped it and the board into my pocket, had justopened out the newspaper when the carriage door was unlocked and opened, whereupon I unhooked and blew out the lamp and pocketed that too, reflecting that it might be useful later. 

As on the last occasion, Mrs. Schallibaum stood in the open doorway witha lighted candle. But she was a good deal less self-possessed this time. In fact she looked rather wild and terrified. Even by the candle-lightI could see that she was very pale and she seemed unable to keep still. As she gave me the few necessary words of explanation, she fidgetedincessantly and her hands and feet were in constant movement. 

"You had better come up with me at once, " she said. "Mr. Graves is muchworse to-night. We will wait not for Mr. Weiss. "

Without waiting for a reply she quickly ascended the stairs and Ifollowed. The room was in much the same condition as before. But thepatient was not. As soon as I entered the room, a soft, rhythmicalgurgle from the bed gave me a very clear warning of danger. I steppedforward quickly and looked down at the prostrate figure, and the warninggathered emphasis. The sick man's ghastly face was yet more ghastly; hiseyes were more sunken, his skin more livid; "his nose was as sharp as apen, " and if he did not "babble of green fields" it was because heseemed to be beyond even that. If it had been a case of disease, Ishould have said at once that he was dying. He had all the appearance ofa man in articulo mortis. Even as it was, feeling convinced that thecase was one of morphine poisoning, I was far from confident that Ishould be able to draw him back from the extreme edge of vitality onwhich he trembled so insecurely. 

"He is very ill? He is dying?"

It was Mrs. Schallibaum's voice; very low, but eager and intense. Iturned, with my finger on the patient's wrist, and looked into the faceof the most thoroughly scared woman I have ever seen. She made noattempt now to avoid the light, but looked me squarely in the face, andI noticed, half-unconsciously, that her eyes were brown and had acurious strained expression. 

"Yes, " I answered, "he is very ill. He is in great danger. "

She still stared at me fixedly for some seconds. And then a very oddthing occurred. Suddenly she squinted--squinted horribly; not with thefamiliar convergent squint which burlesque artists imitate, but withexternal or divergent squint of extreme near sight or unequal vision. The effect was quite startling. One moment both her eyes were lookingstraight into mine; the next, one of them rolled round until it lookedout of the uttermost corner, leaving the other gazing steadily forward. 

She was evidently conscious of the change, for she turned her head awayquickly and reddened somewhat. But it was no time for thoughts ofpersonal appearance. 

"You can save him, doctor! You will not let him die! He must not beallowed to die!"

She spoke with as much passion as if he had been the dearest friend thatshe had in the world, which I suspected was far from being the case. Buther manifest terror had its uses. 

"If anything is to be done to save him, " I said, "it must be donequickly. I will give him some medicine at once, and meanwhile you mustmake some strong coffee. "

"Coffee!" she exclaimed. "But we have none in the house. Will not teado, if I make it very strong?"

"No, it will not. I must have coffee; and I must have it quickly. "

"Then I suppose I must go and get some. But it is late. The shops willbe shut. And I don't like leaving Mr. Graves. "

"Can't you send the coachman?" I asked. 

She shook her head impatiently. "No, that is no use. I must wait untilMr. Weiss comes. "

"That won't do, " I said, sharply. "He will slip through our fingerswhile you are waiting. You must go and get that coffee at once and bringit to me as soon as it is ready. And I want a tumbler and some water. "

She brought me a water-bottle and glass from the wash-stand and then, with a groan of despair, hurried from the room. 

I lost no time in applying the remedies that I had to hand. Shaking outinto the tumbler a few crystals of potassium permanganate, I filled itup with water and approached the patient. His stupor was profound. Ishook him as roughly as was safe in his depressed condition, butelicited no resistance or responsive movement. As it seemed verydoubtful whether he was capable of swallowing, I dared not take the riskof pouring the liquid into his mouth for fear of suffocating him. Astomach-tube would have solved the difficulty, but, of course, I had notone with me. I had, however, a mouth-speculum which also acted as a gag, and, having propped the patient's mouth open with this, I hastilyslipped off one of the rubber tubes from my stethoscope and insertedinto one end of it a vulcanite ear-speculum to serve as a funnel. Then, introducing the other end of the tube into the gullet as far as itslength would permit, I cautiously poured a small quantity of thepermanganate solution into the extemporized funnel. To my great relief amovement of the throat showed that the swallowing reflex still existed, and, thus encouraged, I poured down the tube as much of the fluid as Ithought it wise to administer at one time. 

The dose of permanganate that I had given was enough to neutralize anyreasonable quantity of the poison that might yet remain in the stomach. I had next to deal with that portion of the drug which had already beenabsorbed and was exercising its poisonous effects. Taking my hypodermiccase from my bag, I prepared in the syringe a full dose of atropinesulphate, which I injected forthwith into the unconscious man's arm. Andthat was all that I could do, so far as remedies were concerned, untilthe coffee arrived. 

I cleaned and put away the syringe, washed the tube, and then, returningto the bedside, endeavoured to rouse the patient from his profoundlethargy. But great care was necessary. A little injudicious roughnessof handling, and that thready, flickering pulse might stop for ever; andyet it was almost certain that if he were not speedily aroused, hisstupor would gradually deepen until it shaded off imperceptibly intodeath. I went to work very cautiously, moving his limbs about, flickinghis face and chest with the corner of a wet towel, tickling the solesof his feet, and otherwise applying stimuli that were strong withoutbeing violent. 

So occupied was I with my efforts to resuscitate my mysterious patientthat I did not notice the opening of the door, and it was with somethingof a start that, happening to glance round, I perceived at the fartherend of the room the shadowy figure of a man relieved by two spots oflight reflected from his spectacles. How long he had been watching me Icannot say, but, when he saw that I had observed him, he cameforward--though not very far--and I saw that he was Mr. Weiss. 

"I am afraid, " he said, "that you do not find my friend so wellto-night?"

"So well!" I exclaimed. "I don't find him well at all. I am exceedinglyanxious about him. "

"You don't--er--anticipate anything of a--er--anything serious, I hope?"

"There is no need to anticipate, " said I. "It is already about asserious as it can be. I think he might die at any moment. "

"Good God!" he gasped. "You horrify me!"

He was not exaggerating. In his agitation, he stepped forward into thelighter part of the room, and I could see that his face was pale toghastliness--except his nose and the adjacent red patches on his cheeks, which stood out in grotesquely hideous contrast. Presently, however, herecovered a little and said:

"I really think--at least I hope--that you take an unnecessarily seriousview of his condition. He has been like this before, you know. "

I felt pretty certain that he had not, but there was no use indiscussing the question. I therefore replied, as I continued my effortsto rouse the patient:

"That may or may not be. But in any case there comes a last time; and itmay have come now. "

"I hope not, " he said; "although I understand that these cases alwaysend fatally sooner or later. "

"What cases?" I asked. 

"I was referring to sleeping sickness; but perhaps you have formed someother opinion as to the nature of this dreadful complaint. "

I hesitated for a moment, and he continued: "As to your suggestion thathis symptoms might be due to drugs, I think we may consider that asdisposed of. He has been watched, practically without cessation sinceyou came last, and, moreover, I have myself turned out the room andexamined the bed and have not found a trace of any drug. Have you goneinto the question of sleeping sickness?"

I looked at the man narrowly before answering, and distrusted him morethan ever. But this was no time for reticence. My concern was with thepatient and his present needs. After all, I was, as Thorndyke had said, a doctor, not a detective, and the circumstances called forstraightforward speech and action on my part. 

"I have considered that question, " I said, "and have come to a perfectlydefinite conclusion. His symptoms are not those of sleeping sickness. They are in my opinion undoubtedly due to morphine poisoning. "

"But my dear sir!" he exclaimed, "the thing is impossible! Haven't Ijust told you that he has been watched continuously?"

"I can only judge by the appearances that I find, " I answered; and, seeing that he was about to offer fresh objections, I continued: "Don'tlet us waste precious time in discussion, or Mr. Graves may be deadbefore we have reached a conclusion. If you will hurry them up about thecoffee that I asked for some time ago, I will take the other necessarymeasures, and perhaps we may manage to pull him round. "

The rather brutal decision of my manner evidently daunted him. It musthave been plain to him that I was not prepared to accept any explanationof the unconscious man's condition other than that of morphinepoisoning; whence the inference was pretty plain that the alternativeswere recovery or an inquest. Replying stiffly that I "must do as Ithought best, " he hurried from the room, leaving me to continue myefforts without further interruption. 

For some time these efforts seemed to make no impression. The man lay asstill and impassive as a corpse excepting for the slow, shallow andrather irregular breathing with its ominous accompanying rattle. Butpresently, by imperceptible degrees, signs of returning life began tomake their appearance. A sharp slap on the cheek with the wet towelproduced a sensible flicker of the eyelids; a similar slap on the chestwas followed by a slight gasp. A pencil, drawn over the sole of thefoot, occasioned a visible shrinking movement, and, on looking oncemore at the eyes, I detected a slight change that told me that theatropine was beginning to take effect. 

This was very encouraging, and, so far, quite satisfactory, though itwould have been premature to rejoice. I kept the patient carefullycovered and maintained the process of gentle irritation, moving hislimbs and shoulders, brushing his hair and generally bombarding hisdeadened senses with small but repeated stimuli. And under thistreatment, the improvement continued so far that on my bawling aquestion into his ear he actually opened his eyes for an instant, thoughin another moment, the lids had sunk back into their former position. 

Soon after this, Mr. Weiss re-entered the room, followed by Mrs. Schallibaum, who carried a small tray, on which were a jug of coffee, ajug of milk, a cup and saucer and a sugar basin. 

"How do you find him now?" Mr. Weiss asked anxiously. 

"I am glad to say that there is a distinct improvement, " I replied. "Butwe must persevere. He is by no means out of the wood yet. "

I examined the coffee, which looked black and strong and had a veryreassuring smell, and, pouring out half a cupful, approached the bed. 

"Now, Mr. Graves, " I shouted, "we want you to drink some of this. "

The flaccid eyelids lifted for an instant but there was no otherresponse. I gently opened the unresisting mouth and ladled in a coupleof spoonfuls of coffee, which were immediately swallowed; whereupon Irepeated the proceeding and continued at short intervals until the cupwas empty. The effect of the new remedy soon became apparent. He beganto mumble and mutter obscurely in response to the questions that Ibellowed at him, and once or twice he opened his eyes and lookeddreamily into my face. Then I sat him up and made him drink some coffeefrom the cup, and, all the time, kept up a running fire of questions, which made up in volume of sound for what they lacked of relevancy. 

Of these proceedings Mr. Weiss and his housekeeper were highlyinterested spectators, and the former, contrary to his usual practice, came quite close up to the bed, to get a better view. 

"It is really a most remarkable thing, " he said, "but it almost looks asif you were right, after all. He is certainly much better. But tell me, would this treatment produce a similar improvement if the symptoms weredue to disease?"

"No, " I answered, "it certainly would not. "

"Then that seems to settle it. But it is a most mysterious affair. Canyou suggest any way in which he can have concealed a store of the drug?"

I stood up and looked him straight in the face; it was the first chanceI had had of inspecting him by any but the feeblest light, and I lookedat him very attentively. Now, it is a curious fact--though one that mostpersons must have observed--that there sometimes occurs a considerableinterval between the reception of a visual impression and its completetransfer to the consciousness. A thing may be seen, as it were, unconsciously, and the impression consigned, apparently, to instantoblivion; and yet the picture may be subsequently revived by memory withsuch completeness that its details can be studied as though the objectwere still actually visible. 

Something of this kind must have happened to me now. Preoccupied as Iwas, by the condition of the patient, the professional habit of rapidand close observation caused me to direct a searching glance at the manbefore me. It was only a brief glance--for Mr. Weiss, perhapsembarrassed by my keen regard of him, almost immediately withdrew intothe shadow--and my attention seemed principally to be occupied by theodd contrast between the pallor of his face and the redness of his noseand by the peculiar stiff, bristly character of his eyebrows. But therewas another fact, and a very curious one, that was observed by mesubconsciously and instantly forgotten, to be revived later when Ireflected on the events of the night. It was this:

As Mr. Weiss stood, with his head slightly turned, I was able to lookthrough one glass of his spectacles at the wall beyond. On the wall wasa framed print; and the edge of the frame, seen through thespectacle-glass, appeared quite unaltered and free from distortion, magnification or reduction, as if seen through plain window-glass; andyet the reflections of the candle-flame in the spectacles showed theflame upside down, proving conclusively that the glasses were concave onone surface at least. The strange phenomenon was visible only for amoment or two, and as it passed out of my sight it passed also out of mymind. 

"No, " I said, replying to the last question; "I can think of no way inwhich he could have effectually hidden a store of morphine. Judging bythe symptoms, he has taken a large dose, and, if he has been in thehabit of consuming large quantities, his stock would be pretty bulky. Ican offer no suggestion whatever. "

"I suppose you consider him quite out of danger now?"

"Oh, not at all. I think we can pull him round if we persevere, but hemust not be allowed to sink back into a state of coma. We must keep himon the move until the effects of the drug have really passed off. If youwill put him into his dressing-gown we will walk him up and down theroom for a while. "

"But is that safe?" Mr. Weiss asked anxiously. 

"Quite safe, " I answered. "I will watch his pulse carefully. The dangeris in the possibility, or rather certainty, of a relapse if he is notkept moving. "

With obvious unwillingness and disapproval, Mr. Weiss produced adressing-gown and together we invested the patient in it. Then wedragged him, very limp, but not entirely unresisting, out of bed andstood him on his feet. He opened his eyes and blinked owlishly first atone and then at the other of us, and mumbled a few unintelligible wordsof protest; regardless of which, we thrust his feet into slippers andendeavoured to make him walk. At first he seemed unable to stand, and wehad to support him by his arms as we urged him forward; but presentlyhis trailing legs began to make definite walking movements, and, afterone or two turns up and down the room, he was not only able partly tosupport his weight, but showed evidence of reviving consciousness inmore energetic protests. 

At this point Mr. Weiss astonished me by transferring the arm that heheld to the housekeeper. 

"If you will excuse me, doctor, " said he, "I will go now and attend tosome rather important business that I have had to leave unfinished. Mrs. Schallibaum will be able to give you all the assistance that yourequire, and will order the carriage when you think it safe to leave thepatient. In case I should not see you again I will say 'good night. ' Ihope you won't think me very unceremonious. "

He shook hands with me and went out of the room, leaving me, as I havesaid, profoundly astonished that he should consider any business of moremoment than the condition of his friend, whose life, even now, was buthanging by a thread. However, it was really no concern of mine. I coulddo without him, and the resuscitation of this unfortunate half-dead mangave me occupation enough to engross my whole attention. 

The melancholy progress up and down the room re-commenced, and with itthe mumbled protests from the patient. As we walked, and especially aswe turned, I caught frequent glimpses of the housekeeper's face. But itwas nearly always in profile. She appeared to avoid looking me in theface, though she did so once or twice; and on each of these occasionsher eyes were directed at me in a normal manner without any sign of asquint. Nevertheless, I had the impression that when her face was turnedaway from me she squinted. The "swivel eye"--the left--was towards me asshe held the patient's right arm, and it was almost continuously turnedin my direction, whereas I felt convinced that she was really lookingstraight before her, though, of course, her right eye was invisible tome. It struck me, even at the time, as an odd affair, but I was too muchconcerned about my charge to give it much consideration. 

Meanwhile the patient continued to revive apace. And the more herevived, the more energetically did he protest against this wearisomeperambulation. But he was evidently a polite gentleman, for, muddled ashis faculties were, he managed to clothe his objections in courteous andeven gracious forms of speech singularly out of agreement with thecharacter that Mr. Weiss had given him. 

"I thangyou, " he mumbled thickly. "Ver' good take s'much trouble. ThinkI will lie down now. " He looked wistfully at the bed, but I wheeled himabout and marched him once more down the room. He submittedunresistingly, but as we again approached the bed he reopened thematter. 

"S'quite s'fficient, thang you. Gebback to bed now. Much 'bliged frallyour kindness"--here I turned him round--"no, really; m'feeling rathertired. Sh'like to lie down now, f'you'd be s'good. "

"You must walk about a little longer, Mr. Graves, " I said. "It would bevery bad for you to go to sleep again. "

He looked at me with a curious, dull surprise, and reflected awhile asif in some perplexity. Then he looked at me again and said:

"Thing, sir, you are mistake--mistaken me--mist--"

Here Mrs. Schallibaum interrupted sharply:

"The doctor thinks it's good for you to walk about. You've been sleepingtoo much. He doesn't want you to sleep any more just now. "

"Don't wanter sleep; wanter lie down, " said the patient. 

"But you mustn't lie down for a little while. You must walk about for afew minutes more. And you'd better not talk. Just walk up and down. "

"There's no harm in his talking, " said I; "in fact it's good for him. Itwill help to keep him awake. "

"I should think it would tire him, " said Mrs. Schallibaum; "and itworries me to hear him asking to lie down when we can't let him. "

She spoke sharply and in an unnecessarily high tone so that the patientcould not fail to hear. Apparently he took in the very broad hintcontained in the concluding sentence, for he trudged wearily andunsteadily up and down the room for some time without speaking, thoughhe continued to look at me from time to time as if something in myappearance puzzled him exceedingly. At length his intolerable longingfor repose overcame his politeness and he returned to the attack. 

"Surely v' walked enough now. Feeling very tired. Am really. Would yoube s'kind 's t'let me lie down few minutes?"

"Don't you think he might lie down for a little while?" Mrs. Schallibaumasked. 

I felt his pulse, and decided that he was really becoming fatigued, andthat it would be wiser not to overdo the exercise while he was so weak. Accordingly, I consented to his returning to bed, and turned him roundin that direction; whereupon he tottered gleefully towards hisresting-place like a tired horse heading for its stable. 

As soon as he was tucked in, I gave him a full cup of coffee, which hedrank with some avidity as if thirsty. Then I sat down by the bedside, and, with a view to keeping him awake, began once more to ply him withquestions. 

"Does your head ache, Mr. Graves?" I asked. 

"The doctor says 'does your head ache?'" Mrs. Schallibaum squalled, soloudly that the patient started perceptibly. 

"I heard him, m'dear girl, " he answered with a faint smile. "Not deafyou know. Yes. Head aches a good deal. But I thing this gennlemanmistakes--"

"He says you are to keep awake. You mustn't go to sleep again, and youare not to close your eyes. "

"All ri' Pol'n. Keep'm open, " and he proceeded forthwith to shut themwith an air of infinite peacefulness. I grasped his hand and shook itgently, on which he opened his eyes and looked at me sleepily. Thehousekeeper stroked his head, keeping her face half-turned from me--asshe had done almost constantly, to conceal the squinting eye, as Iassumed--and said:

"Need we keep you any longer, doctor? It is getting very late and youhave a long way to go. "

I looked doubtfully at the patient. I was loath to leave him, distrusting these people as I did. But I had my work to do on themorrow, with, perhaps, a night call or two in the interval, and theendurance even of a general practitioner has its linits. 

"I think I heard the carriage some time ago, " Mrs. Schallibaum added. 

I rose hesitatingly and looked at my watch. It had turned half-pasteleven. 

"You understand, " I said in a low voice, "that the danger is not over?If he is left now he will fall asleep, and in all human probability willnever wake. You clearly understand that?"

"Yes, quite clearly. I promise you he shall not be allowed to fallasleep again. "

As she spoke, she looked me full in the face for a few moments, and Inoted that her eyes had a perfectly normal appearance, without any tracewhatever of a squint. 

"Very well, " I said. "On that understanding I will go now; and I shallhope to find our friend quite recovered at my next visit. "

I turned to the patient, who was already dozing, and shook his handheartily. 

"Good-bye, Mr. Graves!" I said. "I am sorry to have to disturb yourrepose so much; but you must keep awake, you know. Won't do to go tosleep. "

"Ver' well, " he replied drowsily. "Sorry t' give you all this trouble. L' keep awake. But I think you're mistak'n--"

"He says it's very important that you shouldn't go to sleep, and that Iam to see that you don't. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I un'stan'. But why does this gennlem'n--?"

"Now it's of no use for you to ask a lot of questions, " Mrs. Schallibaumsaid playfully; "we'll talk to you to-morrow. Good night, doctor. I'lllight you down the stairs, but I won't come down with you, or thepatient will be falling asleep again. "

Taking this definite dismissal, I retired, followed by a dreamilysurprised glance from the sick man. The housekeeper held the candle overthe balusters until I reached the bottom of the stairs, when I perceivedthrough the open door along the passage a glimmer of light from thecarriage lamps. The coachman was standing just outside, faintlyilluminated by the very dim lamplight, and as I stepped into thecarriage he remarked in his Scotch dialect that I "seemed to have beenmakin' a nicht of it. " He did not wait for any reply--none being in factneeded--but shut the door and locked it. 

I lit my little pocket-lamp and hung it on the back cushion. I even drewthe board and notebook from my pocket. But it seemed rather unnecessaryto take a fresh set of notes, and, to tell the truth, I rather shirkedthe labour, tired as I was after my late exertions; besides, I wantedto think over the events of the evening, while they were fresh in mymemory. Accordingly I put away the notebook, filled and lighted my pipe, and settled myself to review the incidents attending my second visit tothis rather uncanny house. 

Considered in leisurely retrospect, that visit offered quite a number ofproblems that called for elucidation. There was the patient's condition, for instance. Any doubt as to the cause of his symptoms was set at restby the effect of the antidotes. Mr. Graves was certainly under theinfluence of morphine, and the only doubtful question was how he hadbecome so. That he had taken the poison himself was incredible. Nomorphinomaniac would take such a knock-down dose. It was practicallycertain that the poison had been administered by someone else, and, onMr. Weiss's own showing, there was no one but himself and thehousekeeper who could have administered it. And to this conclusion allthe other very queer circumstances pointed. 

What were these circumstances? They were, as I have said, numerous, though many of them seemed trivial. To begin with, Mr. Weiss's habit ofappearing some time after my arrival and disappearing some time beforemy departure was decidedly odd. But still more odd was his suddendeparture this evening on what looked like a mere pretext. Thatdeparture coincided in time with the sick man's recovery of the power ofspeech. Could it be that Mr. Weiss was afraid that the half-consciousman might say something compromising to him in my presence? It lookedrather like it. And yet he had gone away and left me with the patientand the housekeeper. 

But when I came to think about it I remembered that Mrs. Schallibaum hadshown some anxiety to prevent the patient from talking. She hadinterrupted him more than once, and had on two occasions broken in whenhe seemed to be about to ask me some question. I was "mistaken" aboutsomething. What was that something that he wanted to tell me?

It had struck me as singular that there should be no coffee in thehouse, but a sufficiency of tea. Germans are not usually tea-drinkersand they do take coffee. But perhaps there was nothing in this. Rathermore remarkable was the invisibility of the coachman. Why could he notbe sent to fetch the coffee, and why did not he, rather than thehousekeeper, come to take the place of Mr. Weiss when the latter had togo away. 

There were other points, too. I recalled the word that sounded like"Pol'n, " which Mr. Graves had used in speaking to the housekeeper. Apparently it was a Christian name of some kind; but why did Mr. Gravescall the woman by her Christian name when Mr. Weiss addressed herformally as Mrs. Schallibaum? And, as to the woman herself: what was themeaning of that curious disappearing squint? Physically it presented nomystery. The woman had an ordinary divergent squint, and, like manypeople, who suffer from this displacement, could, by a strong musculareffort, bring the eyes temporarily into their normal parallel position. I had detected the displacement when she had tried to maintain theeffort too long, and the muscular control had given way. But why had shedone it? Was it only feminine vanity--mere sensitiveness respecting aslight personal disfigurement? It might be so; or there might be somefurther motive. It was impossible to say. 

Turning this question over, I suddenly remembered the peculiarity of Mr. Weiss's spectacles. And here I met with a real poser. I had certainlyseen through those spectacles as clearly as if they had been plainwindow-glass; and they had certainly given an inverted reflection of thecandle-flame like that thrown from the surface of a concave lens. Nowthey obviously could not be both flat and concave; but yet they had theproperties peculiar to both flatness and concavity. And there was afurther difficulty. If I could see objects unaltered through them, socould Mr. Weiss. But the function of spectacles is to alter theappearances of objects, by magnification, reduction or compensatingdistortion. If they leave the appearances unchanged they are useless. Icould make nothing of it. After puzzling over it for quite a long time, I had to give it up; which I did the less unwillingly inasmuch as theconstruction of Mr. Weiss's spectacles had no apparent bearing on thecase. 

On arriving home, I looked anxiously at the message-book, and wasrelieved to find that there were no further visits to be made. Havingmade up a mixture for Mr. Graves and handed it to the coachman, I rakedthe ashes of the surgery fire together and sat down to smoke a finalpipe while I reflected once more on the singular and suspicious case inwhich I had become involved. But fatigue soon put an end to mymeditations; and having come to the conclusion that the circumstancesdemanded a further consultation with Thorndyke, I turned down the gas toa microscopic blue spark and betook myself to bed. 

Chapter IV

The Official View

I rose on the following morning still possessed by the determination tomake some oportunity during the day to call on Thorndyke and take hisadvice on the now urgent question as to what I was to do. I use the word"urgent" advisedly; for the incidents of the preceding evening had leftme with the firm conviction that poison was being administered for somepurpose to my mysterious patient, and that no time must be lost if hislife was to be saved. Last night he had escaped only by the narrowestmargin--assuming him to be still alive--and it was only my unexpectedlyfirm attitude that had compelled Mr. Weiss to agree to restorativemeasures. 

That I should be sent for again I had not the slightest expectation. Ifwhat I so strongly suspected was true, Weiss would call in some otherdoctor, in the hope of better luck, and it was imperative that heshould be stopped before it was too late. This was my view, but I meantto have Thorndyke's opinion, and act under his direction, but

 "The best laid plans of mice and men Gang aft agley. "

When I came downstairs and took a preliminary glance at the roughmemorandum-book, kept by the bottle-boy, or, in his absence, by thehousemaid, I stood aghast. The morning's entries looked already like asample page of the Post Office directory. The new calls alone were morethan equal to an ordinary day's work, and the routine visits remained tobe added. Gloomily wondering whether the Black Death had made a suddenreappearance in England, I hurried to the dining-room and made a hastybreakfast, interrupted at intervals by the apparition of the bottle-boyto announce new messages. 

The first two or three visits solved the mystery. An epidemic ofinfluenza had descended on the neighbourhood, and I was getting not onlyour own normal work but a certain amount of overflow from otherpractices. Further, it appeared that a strike in the building trade hadbeen followed immediately by a widespread failure of health among thebricklayers who were members of a certain benefit club; which accountedfor the remarkable suddenness of the outbreak. 

Of course, my contemplated visit to Thorndyke was out of the question. Ishould have to act on my own responsibility. But in the hurry and rushand anxiety of the work--for some of the cases were severe and evencritical--I had no opportunity to consider any course of action, nortime to carry it out. Even with the aid of a hansom which I chartered, as Stillbury kept no carriage, I had not finished my last visit untilnear on midnight, and was then so spent with fatigue that I fell asleepover my postponed supper. 

As the next day opened with a further increase of work, I sent atelegram to Dr. Stillbury at Hastings, whither he had gone, like a wiseman, to recruit after a slight illness. I asked for authority to engagean assistant, but the reply informed me that Stillbury himself was onhis way to town; and to my relief, when I dropped in at the surgery fora cup of tea, I found him rubbing his hands over the open day-book. 

"It's an ill wind that blows nobody good, " he remarked cheerfully as weshook hands. "This will pay the expenses of my holiday, including you. By the way, you are not anxious to be off, I suppose?"

As a matter of fact, I was; for I had decided to accept Thorndyke'soffer, and was now eager to take up my duties with him. But it wouldhave been shabby to leave Stillbury to battle alone with this rush ofwork or to seek the services of a strange assistant. 

"I should like to get off as soon as you can spare me, " I replied, "butI'm not going to leave you in the lurch. "

"That's a good fellow, " said Stillbury. "I knew you wouldn't. Let ushave some tea and divide up the work. Anything of interest going?"

There were one or two unusual cases on the list, and, as we marked offour respective patients, I gave him the histories in brief synopsis. Andthen I opened the subject of my mysterious experiences at the house ofMr. Weiss. 

"There's another affair that I want to tell you about; rather anunpleasant business. "

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Stillbury. He put down his cup and regarded mewith quite painful anxiety. 

"It looks to me like an undoubted case of criminal poisoning, " Icontinued. 

Stillbury's face cleared instantly. "Oh, I'm glad it's nothing more thanthat, " he said with an air of relief. "I was afraid, it was someconfounded woman. There's always that danger, you know, when a locum isyoung and happens--if I may say so, Jervis--to be a good-looking fellow. Let us hear about this case. "

I gave him a condensed narrative of my connection with the mysteriouspatient, omitting any reference to Thorndyke, and passing lightly overmy efforts to fix the position of the house, and wound up with theremark that the facts ought certainly to be communicated to the police. 

"Yes, " he admitted reluctantly, "I suppose you're right. Deucedunpleasant though. Police cases don't do a practice any good. They wastea lot of time, too; keep you hanging about to give evidence. Still, youare quite right. We can't stand by and see the poor devil poisonedwithout making some effort. But I don't believe the police will doanything in the matter. "

"Don't you really?"

"No, I don't. They like to have things pretty well cut and dried beforethey act. A prosecution is an expensive affair, so they don't care toprosecute unless they are fairly sure of a conviction. If they fail theyget hauled over the coals. "

"But don't you think they would get a conviction in this case?"

"Not on your evidence, Jervis. They might pick up something fresh, but, if they didn't they would fail. You haven't got enough hard-baked factsto upset a capable defence. Still, that isn't our affair. You want toput the responsibility on the police and I entirely agree with you. "

"There ought not to be any delay, " said I. 

"There needn't be. I shall look in on Mrs. Wackford and you have to seethe Rummel children; we shall pass the station on our way. Why shouldn'twe drop in and see the inspector or superintendent?"

The suggestion met my views exactly. As soon as we had finished tea, weset forth, and in about ten minutes found ourselves in the bare andforbidding office attached to the station. 

The presiding officer descended from a high stool, and, carefully layingdown his pen, shook hands cordially. 

"And what can I do for you gentlemen?" he asked, with an affable smile. 

Stillbury proceeded to open our business. 

"My friend here, Dr. Jervis, who has very kindly been looking after mywork for a week or two, has had a most remarkable experience, and hewants to tell you about it. "

"Something in my line of business?" the officer inquired. 

"That, " said I, "is for you to judge. I think it is, but you may thinkotherwise"; and hereupon, without further preamble, I plunged into thehistory of the case, giving him a condensed statement similar to thatwhich I had already made to Stillbury. 

He listened with close attention, jotting down from time to time a briefnote on a sheet of paper; and, when I had finished, he wrote out in ablack-covered notebook a short précis of my statement. 

"I have written down here, " he said, "the substance of what you havetold me. I will read the deposition over to you, and, if it is correct, I will ask you to sign it. "

He did so, and, when I had signed the document, I asked him what waslikely to be done in the matter. 

"I am afraid, " he replied, "that we can't take any active measures. Youhave put us on our guard and we shall keep our eyes open. But I thinkthat is all we can do, unless we hear something further. "

"But, " I exclaimed, "don't you think that it is a very suspiciousaffair?"

"I do, " he replied. "A very fishy business indeed, and you were quiteright to come and tell us about it. "

"It seems a pity not to take some measures, " I said. "While you arewaiting to hear something further, they may give the poor wretch a freshdose and kill him. "

"In which case we should hear something further, unless some fool of adoctor were to give a death certificate. "

"But that is very unsatisfactory. The man ought not to be allowed todie. "

"I quite agree with you, sir. But we've no evidence that he is going todie. His friends sent for you, and you treated him skilfully and lefthim in a fair way to recovery. That's all that we really know about it. Yes, I know, " the officer continued as I made signs of disagreement, "you think that a crime is possibly going to be committed and that weought to prevent it. But you overrate our powers. We can only act onevidence that a crime has actually been committed or is actually beingattempted. Now we have no such evidence. Look at your statement, andtell me what you can swear to. "

"I think I could swear that Mr. Graves had taken a poisonous dose ofmorphine. "

"And who gave him that poisonous dose?"

"I very strongly suspect--"

"That's no good, sir, " interrupted the officer. "Suspicion isn'tevidence. We should want you to swear an information and give us enoughfacts to make out a primâ facie case against some definite person. Andyou couldn't do it. Your information amounts to this: that a certainperson has taken a poisonous dose of morphine and apparently recovered. That's all. You can't swear that the names given to you are real names, and you can't give us any address or even any locality. "

"I took some compass bearings in the carriage, " I said. "You couldlocate the house, I think, without much difficulty. "

The officer smiled faintly and fixed an abstracted gaze on the clock. 

"You could, sir, " he replied. "I have no doubt whatever that youcould. I couldn't. But, in any case, we haven't enough to go upon. Ifyou learn anything fresh, I hope you will let me know; and I am verymuch obliged to you for taking so much trouble in the matter. Goodevening sir. Good evening, Dr. Stillbury. "

He shook hands with us both genially, and, accepting perforce this verypolite but unmistakable dismissal, we took our departure. 

Outside the station, Stillbury heaved a comfortable sigh. He wasevidently relieved to find that no upheavals were to take place in hisdomain. 

"I thought that would be their attitude, " he said, "and they are quiteright, you know. The function of law is to prevent crime, it is true;but prophylaxis in the sense in which we understand it is not possiblein legal practice. "

I assented without enthusiasm. It was disappointing to find that noprecautionary measures were to be taken. However, I had done all that Icould in the matter. No further responsibility lay upon me, and, as itwas practically certain that I had seen and heard the last of Mr. Gravesand his mysterious household, I dismissed the case from my mind. At thenext corner Stillbury and I parted to go our respective ways; and myattention was soon transferred from the romance of crime to therealities of epidemic influenza. 

The plethora of work in Dr. Stillbury's practice continued longer than Ihad bargained for. Day after day went by and still found me tramping thedingy streets of Kennington or scrambling up and down narrow stairways;turning in at night dead tired, or turning out half awake to the hideousjangle of the night bell. 

It was very provoking. For months I had resisted Thorndyke's persuasionto give up general practice and join him. Not from lack of inclination, but from a deep suspicion that he was thinking of my wants rather thanhis own; that his was a charitable rather than a business proposal. Nowthat I knew this not to be the case, I was impatient to join him; and, as I trudged through the dreary thoroughfares of this superannuatedsuburb, with its once rustic villas and its faded gardens, my thoughtswould turn enviously to the quiet dignity of the Temple and my friend'schambers in King's Bench Walk. 

The closed carriage appeared no more; nor did any whisper either of goodor evil reach me in connection with the mysterious house from which ithad come. Mr. Graves had apparently gone out of my life for ever. 

But if he had gone out of my life, he had not gone out of my memory. Often, as I walked my rounds, would the picture of that dimly-lit roomrise unbidden. Often would I find myself looking once more into thatghastly face, so worn, so wasted and haggard, and yet so far fromrepellent. All the incidents of that last night would reconstitutethemselves with a vividness that showed the intensity of the impressionthat they had made at the time. I would have gladly forgotten the wholeaffair, for every incident of it was fraught with discomfort. But itclung to my memory; it haunted me; and ever as it returned it bore withit the disquieting questions: Was Mr. Graves still alive? And, if he wasnot, was there really nothing which could have been done to save him?

Nearly a month passed before the practice began to show signs ofreturning to its normal condition. Then the daily lists became more andmore contracted and the day's work proportionately shorter. And thus theterm of my servitude came to an end. One evening, as we were writing upthe day-book, Stillbury remarked:

"I almost think, Jervis, I could manage by myself now. I know you areonly staying on for my sake. "

"I am staying on to finish my engagement, but I shan't be sorry to clearout if you can do without me. "

"I think I can. When would you like to be off?"

"As soon as possible. Say to-morrow morning, after I have made a fewvisits and transferred the patients to you. "

"Very well, " said Stillbury. "Then I will give you your cheque andsettle up everything to-night, so that you shall be free to go off whenyou like to-morrow morning. "

Thus ended my connection with Kennington Lane. On the following day atabout noon, I found myself strolling across Waterloo Bridge with thesensations of a newly liberated convict and a cheque for twenty-fiveguineas in my pocket. My luggage was to follow when I sent for it. Now, unhampered even by a hand-bag, I joyfully descended the steps at thenorth end of the bridge and headed for King's Bench Walk by way of theEmbankment and Middle Temple Lane. 

Chapter V

Jeffrey Blackmore's Will

My arrival at Thorndyke's chambers was not unexpected, having beenheralded by a premonitory post-card. The "oak" was open and anapplication of the little brass knocker of the inner door immediatelyproduced my colleague himself and a very hearty welcome. 

"At last, " said Thorndyke, "you have come forth from the house ofbondage. I began to think that you had taken up your abode in Kenningtonfor good. "

"I was beginning, myself, to wonder when I should escape. But here I am;and I may say at once that I am ready to shake the dust of generalpractice off my feet for ever--that is, if you are still willing to haveme as your assistant. "

"Willing!" exclaimed Thorndyke, "Barkis himself was not more willingthan I. You will be invaluable to me. Let us settle the terms of ourcomradeship forthwith, and to-morrow we will take measures to enter youas a student of the Inner Temple. Shall we have our talk in the open airand the spring sunshine?"

I agreed readily to this proposal, for it was a bright, sunny day andwarm for the time of year--the beginning of April. We descended to theWalk and thence slowly made our way to the quiet court behind thechurch, where poor old Oliver Goldsmith lies, as he would surely havewished to lie, in the midst of all that had been dear to him in hischequered life. I need not record the matter of our conversation. ToThorndyke's proposals I had no objections to offer but my ownunworthiness and his excessive liberality. A few minutes saw ourcovenants fully agreed upon, and when Thorndyke had noted the points ona slip of paper, signed and dated it and handed it to me, the businesswas at an end. 

"There, " my colleague said with a smile as he put away his pocket-book, "if people would only settle their affairs in that way, a good part ofthe occupation of lawyers would be gone. Brevity is the soul of wit; andthe fear of simplicity is the beginning of litigation. "

"And now, " I said, "I propose that we go and feed. I will invite you tolunch to celebrate our contract. "

"My learned junior is premature, " he replied. "I had already arranged alittle festivity--or rather had modified one that was already arranged. You remember Mr. Marchmont, the solicitor?"

"Yes. "

"He called this morning to ask me to lunch with him and a new client atthe 'Cheshire Cheese. ' I accepted and notified him that I should bringyou. "

"Why the 'Cheshire Cheese'?" I asked. 

"Why not? Marchmont's reasons for the selection were, first, that hisclient has never seen an old-fashioned London tavern, and second, thatthis is Wednesday and he, Marchmont, has a gluttonous affection for areally fine beef-steak pudding. You don't object, I hope?"

"Oh, not at all. In fact, now that you mention it, my own sensationsincline me to sympathize with Marchmont. I breakfasted rather early. "

"Then come, " said Thorndyke. "The assignation is for one o'clock, and, if we walk slowly, we shall just hit it off. "

We sauntered up Inner Temple Lane, and, crossing Fleet Street, headedsedately for the tavern. As we entered the quaint old-world dining-room, Thorndyke looked round and a gentleman, who was seated with a companionat a table in one of the little boxes or compartments, rose and salutedus. 

"Let me introduce you to my friend Mr. Stephen Blackmore, " he said as weapproached. Then, turning to his companion, he introduced us by ourrespective names. 

"I engaged this box, " he continued, "so that we might be private if wewished to have a little preliminary chat; not that beef-steak pudding isa great help to conversation. But when people have a certain businessin view, their talk is sure to drift towards it, sooner or later. "

Thorndyke and I sat down opposite the lawyer and his client, and wemutually inspected one another. Marchmont I already knew; an elderly, professional-looking man, a typical solicitor of the old school;fresh-faced, precise, rather irascible, and conveying a not unpleasantimpression of taking a reasonable interest in his diet. The other manwas quite young, not more than five-and-twenty, and was a fineathletic-looking fellow with a healthy, out-of-door complexion and anintelligent and highly prepossessing face. I took a liking to him at thefirst glance, and so, I saw, did Thorndyke. 

"You two gentlemen, " said Blackmore, addressing us, "seem to be quiteold acquaintances. I have heard so much about you from my friend, ReubenHornby. "

"Ah!" exclaimed Marchmont, "that was a queer case--'The Case of the RedThumb Mark, ' as the papers called it. It was an eye-opener toold-fashioned lawyers like myself. We've had scientific witnessesbefore--and bullied 'em properly, by Jove! when they wouldn't give theevidence that we wanted. But the scientific lawyer is something new. Hisappearance in court made us all sit up, I can assure you. "

"I hope we shall make you sit up again, " said Thorndyke. 

"You won't this time, " said Marchmont. "The issues in this case of myfriend Blackmore's are purely legal; or rather, there are no issues atall. There is nothing in dispute. I tried to prevent Blackmore fromconsulting you, but he wouldn't listen to reason. Here! Waiter! How muchlonger are we to be waiters? We shall die of old age before we get ourvictuals!"

The waiter smiled apologetically. "Yessir!" said he. "Coming now, sir. "And at this very moment there was borne into the room a Gargantuanpudding in a great bucket of a basin, which being placed on athree-legged stool was forthwith attacked ferociously by thewhite-clothed, white-capped carver. We watched the process--as did everyone present--with an interest not entirely gluttonous, for it added apleasant touch to the picturesque old room, with its sanded floor, itshomely, pew-like boxes, its high-backed settles and the friendlyportrait of the "great lexicographer" that beamed down on us from thewall. 

"This is a very different affair from your great, glittering modernrestaurant, " Mr. Marchmont remarked. 

"It is indeed, " said Blackmore, "and if this is the way in which ourancestors lived, it would seem that they had a better idea of comfortthan we have. "

There was a short pause, during which Mr. Marchmont glared hungrily atthe pudding; then Thorndyke said:

"So you refused to listen to reason, Mr. Blackmore?"

"Yes. You see, Mr. Marchmont and his partner had gone into the matterand decided that there was nothing to be done. Then I happened tomention the affair to Reuben Hornby, and he urged me to ask your adviceon the case. "

"Like his impudence, " growled Marchmont, "to meddle with my client. "

"On which, " continued Blackmore, "I spoke to Mr. Marchmont and he agreedthat it was worth while to take your opinion on the case, though hewarned me to cherish no hopes, as the affair was not really within yourspecialty. "

"So you understand, " said Marchmont, "that we expect nothing. This isquite a forlorn hope. We are taking your opinion as a mere formality, tobe able to say that we have left nothing untried. "

"That is an encouraging start, " Thorndyke remarked. "It leaves meunembarrassed by the possibility of failure. But meanwhile you arearousing in me a devouring curiosity as to the nature of the case. Is ithighly confidential? Because if not, I would mention that Jervis has nowjoined me as my permanent colleague. "

"It isn't confidential at all, " said Marchmont. "The public are in fullpossession of the facts, and we should be only too happy to put them instill fuller possession, through the medium of the Probate Court, if wecould find a reasonable pretext. But we can't. "

Here the waiter charged our table with the fussy rapidity of theoverdue. 

"Sorry to keep you waiting, sir. Rather early, sir. Wouldn't like itunderdone, sir. "

Marchmont inspected his plate critically and remarked:

"I sometimes suspect these oysters of being mussels; and I'll swear thelarks are sparrows. "

"Let us hope so, " said Thorndyke. "The lark is better employed 'atHeaven's gate singing' than garnishing a beef-steak pudding. But youwere telling us about your case. "

"So I was. Well it's just a matter of--ale or claret? Oh, claret, Iknow. You despise the good old British John Barleycorn. "

"He that drinks beer thinks beer, " retorted Thorndyke. "But you weresaying that it is just a matter of--?"

"A matter of a perverse testator and an ill-drawn will. A peculiarlyirritating case, too, because the defective will replaces a perfectlysound one, and the intentions of the testator were--er--were--excellentale, this. A little heady, perhaps, but sound. Better than your sourFrench wine, Thorndyke--were--er--were quite obvious. What he evidentlydesired was--mustard? Better have some mustard. No? Well, well! Even aFrenchman would take mustard. You can have no appreciation of flavour, Thorndyke, if you take your victuals in that crude, unseasoned state. And, talking of flavour, do you suppose that there is really anydifference between that of a lark and that of a sparrow?"

Thorndyke smiled grimly. "I should suppose, " said he, "that they wereindistinguishable; but the question could easily be put to the test ofexperiment. "

"That is true, " agreed Marchmont, "and it would really be worth trying, for, as you say, sparrows are more easily obtainable than larks. But, about this will. I was saying--er--now, what was I saying?"

"I understood you to say, " replied Thorndyke, "that the intentions ofthe testator were in some way connected with mustard. Isn't that so, Jervis?"

"That was what I gathered, " said I. 

Marchmont gazed at us for a moment with a surprised expression and then, laughing good-humouredly, fortified himself with a draught of ale. 

"The moral of which is, " Thorndyke added, "that testamentarydispositions should not be mixed up with beef-steak pudding. "

"I believe you're right, Thorndyke, " said the unabashed solicitor. "Business is business and eating is eating. We had better talk over ourcase in my office or your chambers after lunch. "

"Yes, " said Thorndyke, "come over to the Temple with me and I will giveyou a cup of coffee to clear your brain. Are there any documents?"

"I have all the papers here in my bag, " replied Marchmont; and theconversation--such conversation as is possible "when beards wag all"over the festive board--drifted into other channels. 

As soon as the meal was finished and the reckoning paid, we trooped outof Wine Office Court, and, insinuating ourselves through the line ofempty hansoms that, in those days, crawled in a continuous processionon either side of Fleet Street, betook ourselves by way of Mitre Courtto King's Bench Walk. There, when the coffee had been requisitioned andour chairs drawn up around the fire, Mr. Marchmont unloaded from his baga portentous bundle of papers, and we addressed ourselves to thebusiness in hand. 

"Now, " said Marchmont, "let me repeat what I said before. Legallyspeaking, we have no case--not the ghost of one. But my client wished totake your opinion, and I agreed on the bare chance that you might detectsome point that we had overlooked. I don't think you will, for we havegone into the case very thoroughly, but still, there is theinfinitesimal chance and we may as well take it. Would you like to readthe two wills, or shall I first explain the circumstances?"

"I think, " replied Thorndyke, "a narrative of the events in the order oftheir occurrence would be most helpful. I should like to know as much aspossible about the testator before I examine the documents. "

"Very well, " said Marchmont. "Then I will begin with a recital of thecircumstances, which, briefly stated, are these: My client, StephenBlackmore, is the son of Mr. Edward Blackmore, deceased. EdwardBlackmore had two brothers who survived him, John, the elder, andJeffrey, the younger. Jeffrey is the testator in this case. 

"Some two years ago, Jeffrey Blackmore executed a will by which he madehis nephew Stephen his executor and sole legatee; and a few months laterhe added a codicil giving two hundred and fifty pounds to his brotherJohn. "

"What was the value of the estate?" Thorndyke asked. 

"About three thousand five hundred pounds, all invested in Consols. Thetestator had a pension from the Foreign Office, on which he lived, leaving his capital untouched. Soon after having made his will, he leftthe rooms in Jermyn Street, where he had lived for some years, storedhis furniture and went to Florence. From thence he moved on to Rome andthen to Venice and other places in Italy, and so continued to travelabout until the end of last September, when it appears that he returnedto England, for at the beginning of October he took a set of chambers inNew Inn, which he furnished with some of the things from his old rooms. As far as we can make out, he never communicated with any of hisfriends, excepting his brother, and the fact of his being in residenceat New Inn or of his being in England at all became known to them onlywhen he died. "

"Was this quite in accordance with his ordinary habits?" Thorndykeasked. 

"I should say not quite, " Blackmore answered. "My uncle was a studious, solitary man, but he was not formerly a recluse. He was not much of acorrespondent but he kept up some sort of communication with hisfriends. He used, for instance, to write to me sometimes, and, when Icame down from Cambridge for the vacations, he had me to stay with himat his rooms. "

"Is there anything known that accounts for the change in his habits?"

"Yes, there is, " replied Marchmont. "We shall come to that presently. Toproceed with the narrative: On the fifteenth of last March he was founddead in his chambers, and a more recent will was then discovered, datedthe twelfth of November of last year. Now no change had taken place inthe circumstances of the testator to account for the new will, nor wasthere any appreciable alteration in the disposition of the property. Asfar as we can make out, the new will was drawn with the idea of statingthe intentions of the testator with greater exactness and for the sakeof doing away with the codicil. The entire property, with the exceptionof two hundred and fifty pounds, was, as before, bequeathed to Stephen, but the separate items were specified, and the testator's brother, JohnBlackmore, was named as the executor and residuary legatee. "

"I see, " said Thorndyke. "So that your client's interest in the willwould appear to be practically unaffected by the change. "

"Yes. There it is, " exclaimed the lawyer, slapping the table to addemphasis to his words. "That is the pity of it! If people who have noknowledge of law would only refrain from tinkering at their wills, whata world of trouble would be saved!"

"Oh, come!" said Thorndyke. "It is not for a lawyer to say that. "

"No, I suppose not, " Marchmont agreed. "Only, you see, we like themuddle to be made by the other side. But, in this case, the muddle is onour side. The change, as you say, seems to leave our friend Stephen'sinterests unaffected. That is, of course, what poor Jeffrey Blackmorethought. But he was mistaken. The effect of the change is absolutelydisastrous. "

"Indeed!"

"Yes. As I have said, no alteration in the testator's circumstances hadtaken place at the time the new will was executed. But only two daysbefore his death, his sister, Mrs. Edmund Wilson, died; and on her willbeing proved it appeared that she had bequeathed to him her entirepersonalty, estimated at about thirty thousand pounds. "

"Heigho!" exclaimed Thorndyke. "What an unfortunate affair!"

"You are right, " said Mr. Marchmont; "it was a disaster. By the originalwill this great sum would have accrued to our friend Mr. Stephen, whereas now, of course, it goes to the residuary legatee, Mr. JohnBlackmore. And what makes it even more exasperating is the fact thatthis is obviously not in accordance with the wishes and intentions ofMr. Jeffrey, who clearly desired his nephew to inherit his property. "

"Yes, " said Thorndyke; "I think you are justified in assuming that. Butdo you know whether Mr. Jeffrey was aware of his sister's intentions?"

"We think not. Her will was executed as recently as the third ofSeptember last, and it seems that there had been no communicationbetween her and Mr. Jeffrey since that date. Besides, if you considerMr. Jeffrey's actions, you will see that they suggest no knowledge orexpectation of this very important bequest. A man does not makeelaborate dispositions in regard to three thousand pounds and then leavea sum of thirty thousand to be disposed of casually as the residue ofthe estate. "

"No, " Thorndyke agreed. "And, as you have said, the manifest intentionof the testator was to leave the bulk of his property to Mr. Stephen. Sowe may take it as virtually certain that Mr. Jeffrey had no knowledge ofthe fact that he was a beneficiary under his sister's will. "

"Yes, " said Mr. Marchmont, "I think we may take that as nearly certain. "

"With reference to the second will, " said Thorndyke, "I suppose there isno need to ask whether the document itself has been examined; I mean asto its being a genuine document and perfectly regular?"

Mr. Marchmont shook his head sadly. 

"No, " he said, "I am sorry to say that there can be no possible doubt asto the authenticity and regularity of the document. The circumstancesunder which it was executed establish its genuineness beyond anyquestion. "

"What were those circumstances?" Thorndyke asked. 

"They were these: On the morning of the twelfth of November last, Mr. Jeffrey came to the porter's lodge with a document in his hand. 'This, 'he said, 'is my will. I want you to witness my signature. Would you minddoing so, and can you find another respectable person to act as thesecond witness?' Now it happened that a nephew of the porter's, apainter by trade, was at work in the Inn. The porter went out andfetched him into the lodge and the two men agreed to witness thesignature. 'You had better read the will, ' said Mr. Jeffrey. 'It is notactually necessary, but it is an additional safeguard and there isnothing of a private nature in the document. ' The two men accordinglyread the document, and, when Mr. Jeffrey had signed it in theirpresence, they affixed their signatures; and I may add that the painterleft the recognizable impressions of three greasy fingers. "

"And these witnesses have been examined?"

"Yes. They have both sworn to the document and to their own signatures, and the painter recognized his finger-marks. "

"That, " said Thorndyke, "seems to dispose pretty effectually of anyquestion as to the genuineness of the will; and if, as I gather, Mr. Jeffrey came to the lodge alone, the question of undue influence isdisposed of too. "

"Yes, " said Mr. Marchmont. "I think we must pass the will as absolutelyflawless. "

"It strikes me as rather odd, " said Thorndyke, "that Jeffrey should haveknown so little about his sister's intentions. Can you explain it, Mr. Blackmore?"

"I don't think that it is very remarkable, " Stephen replied. "I knewvery little of my aunt's affairs and I don't think my uncle Jeffrey knewmuch more, for he was under the impression that she had only a lifeinterest in her husband's property. And he may have been right. It isnot clear what money this was that she left to my uncle. She was a verytaciturn woman and made few confidences to anyone. "

"So that it is possible, " said Thorndyke, "that she, herself, may haveacquired this money recently by some bequest?"

"It is quite possible, " Stephen answered. 

"She died, I understand, " said Thorndyke, glancing at the notes that hehad jotted down, "two days before Mr. Jeffrey. What date would that be?"

"Jeffrey died on the fourteenth of March, " said Marchmont. 

"So that Mrs. Wilson died on the twelfth of March?"

"That is so, " Marchmont replied; and Thorndyke then asked:

"Did she die suddenly?"

"No, " replied Stephen; "she died of cancer. I understand that it wascancer of the stomach. "

"Do you happen to know, " Thorndyke asked, "what sort of relationsexisted between Jeffrey and his brother John?"

"At one time, " said Stephen, "I know they were not very cordial; but thebreach may have been made up later, though I don't know that it actuallywas. "

"I ask the question, " said Thorndyke, "because, as I dare say you havenoticed, there is, in the first will, some hint of improved relations. As it was originally drawn that will makes Mr. Stephen the sole legatee. Then, a little later, a codicil is added in favour of John, showing thatJeffrey had felt the necessity of making some recognition of hisbrother. This seems to point to some change in the relations, and thequestion arises: if such a change did actually occur, was it thebeginning of a new and further improving state of feeling between thetwo brothers? Have you any facts bearing on that question?"

Marchmont pursed up his lips with the air of a man considering anunwelcome suggestion, and, after a few moments of reflection, answered:

"I think we must say 'yes' to that. There is the undeniable fact that, of all Jeffrey's friends, John Blackmore was the only one who knew thathe was living in New Inn. "

"Oh, John knew that, did he?"

"Yes, he certainly did; for it came out in the evidence that he hadcalled on Jeffrey at his chambers more than once. There is no denyingthat. But, mark you!" Mr. Marchmont added emphatically, "that does notcover the inconsistency of the will. There is nothing in the second willto suggest that Jeffrey intended materially to increase the bequest tohis brother. "

"I quite agree with you, Marchmont. I think that is a perfectly soundposition. You have, I suppose, fully considered the question as towhether it would be possible to set aside the second will on the groundthat it fails to carry out the evident wishes and intentions of thetestator?"

"Yes. My partner, Winwood, and I went into that question very carefully, and we also took counsel's opinion--Sir Horace Barnaby--and he was ofthe same opinion as ourselves; that the court would certainly uphold thewill. "

"I think that would be my own view, " said Thorndyke, "especially afterwhat you have told me. Do I understand that John Blackmore was the onlyperson who knew that Jeffrey was in residence at New Inn?"

"The only one of his private friends. His bankers knew and so did theofficials from whom he drew his pension. "

"Of course he would have to notify his bankers of his change ofaddress. "

"Yes, of course. And ŕ propos of the bank, I may mention that themanager tells me that, of late, they had noticed a slight change in thecharacter of Jeffrey's signature--I think you will see the reason of thechange when you hear the rest of his story. It was very trifling; notmore than commonly occurs when a man begins to grow old, especially ifthere is some failure of eyesight. "

"Was Mr. Jeffrey's eyesight failing?" asked Thorndyke. 

"Yes, it was, undoubtedly, " said Stephen. "He was practically blind inone eye and, in the very last letter that I ever had from him, hementioned that there were signs of commencing cataract in the other. "

"You spoke of his pension. He continued to draw that regularly?"

"Yes; he drew his allowance every month, or rather, his bankers drew itfor him. They had been accustomed to do so when he was abroad, and theauthorities seem to have allowed the practice to continue. "

Thorndyke reflected a while, running his eye over the notes on the slipsof paper in his hand, and Marchmont surveyed him with a malicious smile. Presently the latter remarked:

"Methinks the learned counsel is floored. "

Thorndyke laughed. "It seems to me, " he retorted, "that your proceedingsare rather like those of the amiable individual who offered the bear aflint pebble, that he might crack it and extract the kernel. Yourconfounded will seems to offer no soft spot on which one could commencean attack. But we won't give up. We seem to have sucked the will dry. Let us now have a few facts respecting the parties concerned in it; and, as Jeffrey is the central figure, let us begin with him and the tragedyat New Inn that formed the starting-point of all this trouble. "

Chapter VI

Jeffrey Blackmore, Deceased

Having made the above proposition, Thorndyke placed a fresh slip ofpaper on the blotting pad on his knee and looked inquiringly at Mr. Marchmont; who, in his turn, sighed and looked at the bundle ofdocuments on the table. 

"What do you want to know?" he asked a little wearily. 

"Everything, " replied Thorndyke. "You have hinted at circumstances thatwould account for a change in Jeffrey's habits and that would explain analteration in the character of his signature. Let us have thosecircumstances. And, if I might venture on a suggestion, it would be thatwe take the events in the order in which they occurred or in which theybecame known. "

"That's the worst of you, Thorndyke, " Marchmont grumbled. "When a casehas been squeezed out to the last drop, in a legal sense, you want tobegin all over again with the family history of every one concerned anda list of his effects and household furniture. But I suppose you willhave to be humoured; and I imagine that the best way in which to giveyou the information you want will be to recite the circumstancessurrounding the death of Jeffrey Blackmore. Will that suit you?"

"Perfectly, " replied Thorndyke; and thereupon Marchmont began:

"The death of Jeffrey Blackmore was discovered at about eleven o'clockin the morning of the fifteenth of March. It seems that a builder's manwas ascending a ladder to examine a gutter on number 31, New Inn, when, on passing a second-floor window that was open at the top, he looked inand perceived a gentleman lying on a bed. The gentleman was fullyclothed and had apparently lain down on the bed to rest; at least so thebuilder thought at the time, for he was merely passing the window onhis way up, and, very properly, did not make a minute examination. Butwhen, some ten minutes later, he came down and saw that the gentlemanwas still in the same position, he looked at him more attentively; andthis is what he noticed--but perhaps we had better have it in his ownwords as he told the story at the inquest. 

"'When I came to look at the gentleman a bit more closely, it struck methat he looked rather queer. His face looked very white, or rather paleyellow, like parchment, and his mouth was open. He did not seem to bebreathing. On the bed by his side was a brass object of some kind--Icould not make out what it was--and he seemed to be holding some smallmetal object in his hand. I thought it rather a queer affair, so, when Icame down I went across to the lodge and told the porter about it. Theporter came out across the square with me and I showed him the window. Then he told me to go up the stairs to Mr. Blackmore's chambers on thesecond pair and knock and keep on knocking until I got an answer. I wentup and knocked and kept on knocking as loud as I could, but, though Ifetched everybody out of all the other chambers in the house, I couldn'tget any answer from Mr. Blackmore. So I went downstairs again and thenMr. Walker, the porter, sent me for a policeman. 

"'I went out and met a policeman just by Dane's Inn and told him aboutthe affair, and he came back with me. He and the porter consultedtogether, and then they told me to go up the ladder and get in at thewindow and open the door of the chambers from the inside. So I went up;and as soon as I got in at the window I saw that the gentleman was dead. I went through the other room and opened the outer door and let in theporter and the policeman. '

"That, " said Mr. Marchmont, laying down the paper containing thedepositions, "is the way in which poor Jeffrey Blackmore's death came tobe discovered. 

"The constable reported to his inspector and the inspector sent for thedivisional surgeon, whom he accompanied to New Inn. I need not go intothe evidence given by the police officers, as the surgeon saw all thatthey saw and his statement covers everything that is known aboutJeffrey's death. This is what he says, after describing how he was sentfor and arrived at the Inn:

"'In the bedroom I found the body of a man between fifty and sixty yearsof age, which has since been identified in my presence as that of Mr. Jeffrey Blackmore. It was fully dressed and wore boots on which was amoderate amount of dry mud. It was lying on its back on the bed, whichdid not appear to have been slept in, and showed no sign of any struggleor disturbance. The right hand loosely grasped a hypodermic syringecontaining a few drops of clear liquid which I have since analysed andfound to be a concentrated solution of strophanthin. 

"'On the bed, close to the left side of the body, was a brass opium-pipeof a pattern which I believe is made in China. The bowl of the pipecontained a small quantity of charcoal, and a fragment of opiumtogether with some ash, and there was on the bed a little ash whichappeared to have dropped from the bowl when the pipe fell or was laiddown. On the mantelshelf in the bedroom I found a small glass-stopperedjar containing about an ounce of solid opium, and another, larger jarcontaining wood charcoal broken up into small fragments. Also a bowlcontaining a quantity of ash with fragments of half-burned charcoal anda few minute particles of charred opium. By the side of the bowl were aknife, a kind of awl or pricker and a very small pair of tongs, which Ibelieve to have been used for carrying a piece of lighted charcoal tothe pipe. 

"'On the dressing-table were two glass tubes labelled "HypodermicTabloids: Strophanthin 1/500 grain, " and a minute glass mortar andpestle, of which the former contained a few crystals which have sincebeen analysed by me and found to be strophanthin. 

"'On examining the body, I found that it had been dead about twelvehours. There were no marks of violence or any abnormal conditionexcepting a single puncture in the right thigh, apparently made by theneedle of the hypodermic syringe. The puncture was deep and vertical indirection as if the needle had been driven in through the clothing. 

"'I made a post-mortem examination of the body and found that death wasdue to poisoning by strophanthin, which appeared to have been injectedinto the thigh. The two tubes which I found on the dressing-table wouldeach have contained, if full, twenty tabloids, each tabloidrepresenting one five-hundredth of a grain of strophanthin. Assumingthat the whole of this quantity was injected the amount taken would beforty five-hundredths, or about one twelfth of a grain. The ordinarymedicinal dose of strophanthin is one five-hundredth of a grain. 

"'I also found in the body appreciable traces of morphine--the principalalkaloid of opium--from which I infer that the deceased was a confirmedopium-smoker. This inference was supported by the general condition ofthe body, which was ill-nourished and emaciated and presented all theappearances usually met with in the bodies of persons addicted to thehabitual use of opium. '

"That is the evidence of the surgeon. He was recalled later, as we shallsee, but, meanwhile, I think you will agree with me that the factstestified to by him fully account, not only for the change in Jeffrey'shabits--his solitary and secretive mode of life--but also for thealteration in his handwriting. "

"Yes, " agreed Thorndyke, "that seems to be so. By the way, what did thechange in the handwriting amount to?"

"Very little, " replied Marchmont. "It was hardly perceptible. Just aslight loss of firmness and distinctness; such a trifling change as youwould expect to find in the handwriting of a man who had taken to drinkor drugs, or anything that might impair the steadiness of his hand. Ishould not have noticed it, myself, but, of course, the people at thebank are experts, constantly scrutinizing signatures and scrutinizingthem with a very critical eye. "

"Is there any other evidence that bears on the case?" Thorndyke asked. 

Marchmont turned over the bundle of papers and smiled grimly. 

"My dear Thorndyke, " he said, "none of this evidence has the slightestbearing on the case. It is all perfectly irrelevant as far as the willis concerned. But I know your little peculiarities and I am indulgingyou, as you see, to the top of your bent. The next evidence is that ofthe chief porter, a very worthy and intelligent man named Walker. Thisis what he says, after the usual preliminaries. 

"'I have viewed the body which forms the subject of this inquiry. It isthat of Mr. Jeffrey Blackmore, the tenant of a set of chambers on thesecond floor of number thirty-one, New Inn. I have known the deceasednearly six months, and during that time have seen and conversed with himfrequently. He took the chambers on the second of last October and cameinto residence at once. Tenants at New Inn have to furnish tworeferences. The references that the deceased gave were his bankers andhis brother, Mr. John Blackmore. I may say that the deceased was verywell known to me. He was a quiet, pleasant-mannered gentleman, and itwas his habit to drop in occasionally at the lodge and have a chat withme. I went into his chambers with him once or twice on some smallmatters of business and I noticed that there were always a number ofbooks and papers on the table. I understood from him that he spent mostof his time indoors engaged in study and writing. I know very littleabout his way of living. He had no laundress to look after his rooms, soI suppose he did his own house-work and cooking; but he told me that hetook most of his meals outside, at restaurants or his club. 

"'Deceased impressed me as a rather melancholy, low-spirited gentleman. He was very much troubled about his eyesight and mentioned the matter tome on several occasions. He told me that he was practically blind in oneeye and that the sight of the other was failing rapidly. He said thatthis afflicted him greatly, because his only pleasure in life was in thereading of books, and that if he could not read he should not wish tolive. On another occasion he said that "to a blind man life was notworth living. "

"'On the twelfth of last November he came to the lodge with a paper inhis hand which he said was his will'--But I needn't read that, " saidMarchmont, turning over the leaf, "I've told you how the will was signedand witnessed. We will pass on to the day of poor Jeffrey's death. 

"'On the fourteenth of March, ' the porter says, 'at about half-past sixin the evening, the deceased came to the Inn in a four-wheeled cab. Thatwas the day of the great fog. I do not know if there was anyone in thecab with the deceased, but I think not, because he came to the lodgejust before eight o'clock and had a little talk with me. He said thathe had been overtaken by the fog and could not see at all. He was quiteblind and had been obliged to ask a stranger to call a cab for him as hecould not find his way through the streets. He then gave me a cheque forthe rent. I reminded him that the rent was not due until thetwenty-fifth, but he said he wished to pay it now. He also gave me somemoney to pay one or two small bills that were owing to some of thetradespeople--a milk-man, a baker and a stationer. 

"'This struck me as very strange, because he had always managed hisbusiness and paid the tradespeople himself. He told me that the fog hadirritated his eye so that he could hardly read, and he was afraid heshould soon be quite blind. He was very depressed; so much so that Ifelt quite uneasy about him. When he left the lodge, he went back acrossthe square as if returning to his chambers. There was then no gate openexcepting the main gate where the lodge is situated. That was the lasttime that I saw the deceased alive. '"

Mr. Marchmont laid the paper on the table. "That is the porter'sevidence. The remaining depositions are those of Noble, the nightporter, John Blackmore and our friend here, Mr. Stephen. The nightporter had not much to tell. This is the substance of his evidence:

"'I have viewed the body of the deceased and identify it as that of Mr. Jeffrey Blackmore. I knew the deceased well by sight and occasionallyhad a few words with him. I know nothing of his habits excepting that heused to sit up rather late. It is one of my duties to go round the Innat night and call out the hours until one o'clock in the morning. Whencalling out "one o'clock" I often saw a light in the sitting-room of thedeceased's chambers. On the night of the fourteenth instant, the lightwas burning until past one o'clock, but it was in the bedroom. The lightin the sitting-room was out by ten o'clock. '

"We now come to John Blackmore's evidence. He says:

"'I have viewed the body of the deceased and recognize it as that of mybrother Jeffrey. I last saw him alive on the twenty-third of February, when I called at his chambers. He then seemed in a very despondent stateof mind and told me that his eyesight was fast failing. I was aware thathe occasionally smoked opium, but I did not know that it was a confirmedhabit. I urged him, on several occasions, to abandon the practice. Ihave no reason to believe that his affairs were in any way embarrassedor that he had any reason for making away with himself other than hisfailing eyesight; but, having regard to his state of mind when I lastsaw him, I am not surprised at what has happened. '

"That is the substance of John Blackmore's evidence, and, as to Mr. Stephen, his statement merely sets forth the fact that he had identifiedthe body as that of his uncle Jeffrey. And now I think you have all thefacts. Is there anything more that you want to ask me before I go, for Imust really run away now?"

"I should like, " said Thorndyke, "to know a little more about theparties concerned in this affair. But perhaps Mr. Stephen can give methe information. "

"I expect he can, " said Marchmont; "at any rate, he knows more aboutthem than I do; so I will be off. If you should happen to think of anyway, " he continued, with a sly smile, "of upsetting that will, just letme know, and I will lose no time in entering a caveat. Good-bye! Don'ttrouble to let me out. "

As soon as he was gone, Thorndyke turned to Stephen Blackmore. 

"I am going, " he said, "to ask you a few questions which may appearrather trifling, but you must remember that my methods of inquiryconcern themselves with persons and things rather than with documents. For instance, I have not gathered very completely what sort of personyour uncle Jeffrey was. Could you tell me a little more about him?"

"What shall I tell you?" Stephen asked with a slightly embarrassed air. 

"Well, begin with his personal appearance. "

"That is rather difficult to describe, " said Stephen. "He was amedium-sized man and about five feet seven--fair, slightly grey, clean-shaved, rather spare and slight, had grey eyes, wore spectaclesand stooped a little as he walked. He was quiet and gentle in manner, rather yielding and irresolute in character, and his health was not atall robust though he had no infirmity or disease excepting his badeyesight. His age was about fifty-five. "

"How came he to be a civil-service pensioner at fifty-five?" askedThorndyke. 

"Oh, that was through an accident. He had a nasty fall from a horse, and, being a rather nervous man, the shock was very severe. For sometime after he was a complete wreck. But the failure of his eyesight wasthe actual cause of his retirement. It seems that the fall damaged hiseyes in some way; in fact he practically lost the sight of one--theright--from that moment; and, as that had been his good eye, theaccident left his vision very much impaired. So that he was at firstgiven sick leave and then allowed to retire on a pension. "

Thorndyke noted these particulars and then said:

"Your uncle has been more than once referred to as a man of studioushabits. Does that mean that he pursued any particular branch oflearning?"

"Yes. He was an enthusiastic Oriental scholar. His official duties hadtaken him at one time to Yokohama and Tokio and at another to Bagdad, and while at those places he gave a good deal of attention to thelanguages, literature and arts of the countries. He was also greatlyinterested in Babylonian and Assyrian archaeology, and I believe heassisted for some time in the excavations at Birs Nimroud. "

"Indeed!" said Thorndyke. "This is very interesting. I had no idea thathe was a man of such considerable attainments. The facts mentioned byMr. Marchmont would hardly have led one to think of him as what he seemsto have been: a scholar of some distinction. "

"I don't know that Mr. Marchmont realized the fact himself, " saidStephen; "or that he would have considered it of any moment if he had. Nor, as far as that goes, do I. But, of course, I have no experience oflegal matters. "

"You can never tell beforehand, " said Thorndyke, "what facts may turnout to be of moment, so that it is best to collect all you can get. Bythe way, were you aware that your uncle was an opium-smoker?"

"No, I was not. I knew that he had an opium-pipe which he brought withhim when he came home from Japan; but I thought it was only a curio. Iremember him telling me that he once tried a few puffs at an opium-pipeand found it rather pleasant, though it gave him a headache. But I hadno idea he had contracted the habit; in fact, I may say that I wasutterly astonished when the fact came out at the inquest. "

Thorndyke made a note of this answer, too, and said:

"I think that is all I have to ask you about your uncle Jeffrey. And nowas to Mr. John Blackmore. What sort of man is he?"

"I am afraid I can't tell you very much about him. Until I saw him atthe inquest, I had not met him since I was a boy. But he is a verydifferent kind of man from Uncle Jeffrey; different in appearance anddifferent in character. "

"You would say that the two brothers were physically quite unlike, then?"

"Well, " said Stephen, "I don't know that I ought to say that. Perhaps Iam exaggerating the difference. I am thinking of Uncle Jeffrey as he waswhen I saw him last and of uncle John as he appeared at the inquest. They were very different then. Jeffrey was thin, pale, clean shaven, wore spectacles and walked with a stoop. John is a shade taller, a shadegreyer, has good eyesight, a healthy, florid complexion, a brisk, upright carriage, is distinctly stout and wears a beard and moustachewhich are black and only very slightly streaked with grey. To me theylooked as unlike as two men could, though their features were really ofthe same type; indeed, I have heard it said that, as young men, theywere rather alike, and they both resembled their mother. But there is nodoubt as to their difference in character. Jeffrey was quiet, seriousand studious, whereas John rather inclined to what is called a fastlife; he used to frequent race meetings, and, I think, gambled a gooddeal at times. "

"What is his profession?"

"That would be difficult to tell; he has so many; he is so veryversatile. I believe he began life as an articled pupil in thelaboratory of a large brewery, but he soon left that and went on thestage. He seems to have remained in 'the profession' for some years, touring about this country and making occasional visits to America. Thelife seemed to suit him and I believe he was decidedly successful as anactor. But suddenly he left the stage and blossomed out in connectionwith a bucket-shop in London. "

"And what is he doing now?"

"At the inquest he described himself as a stockbroker, so I presume heis still connected with the bucket-shop. "

Thorndyke rose, and taking down from the reference shelves a list ofmembers of the Stock Exchange, turned over the leaves. 

"Yes, " he said, replacing the volume, "he must be an outside broker. Hisname is not in the list of members of 'the House. ' From what you tellme, it is easy to understand that there should have been no greatintimacy between the two brothers, without assuming any kind ofill-feeling. They simply had very little in common. Do you know ofanything more?"

"No. I have never heard of any actual quarrel or disagreement. Myimpression that they did not get on very well may have been, I think, due to the terms of the will, especially the first will. And theycertainly did not seek one another's society. "

"That is not very conclusive, " said Thorndyke. "As to the will, athrifty man is not usually much inclined to bequeath his savings to agentleman who may probably employ them in a merry little flutter on theturf or the Stock Exchange. And then there was yourself; clearly a moresuitable subject for a legacy, as your life is all before you. But thisis mere speculation and the matter is not of much importance, as far aswe can see. And now, tell me what John Blackmore's relations were withMrs. Wilson. I gather that she left the bulk of her property to Jeffrey, her younger brother. Is that so?"

"Yes. She left nothing to John. The fact is that they were hardly onspeaking terms. I believe John had treated her rather badly, or, at anyrate, she thought he had. Mr. Wilson, her late husband, dropped somemoney over an investment in connection with the bucket-shop that I spokeof, and I think she suspected John of having let him in. She may havebeen mistaken, but you know what ladies are when they get an idea intotheir heads. "

"Did you know your aunt well?"

"No; very slightly. She lived down in Devonshire and saw very little ofany of us. She was a taciturn, strong-minded woman; quite unlike herbrothers. She seems to have resembled her father's family. "

"You might give me her full name. "

"Julia Elizabeth Wilson. Her husband's name was Edmund Wilson. "

"Thank you. There is just one more point. What has happened to youruncle's chambers in New Inn since his death?"

"They have remained shut up. As all his effects were left to me, I havetaken over the tenancy for the present to avoid having them disturbed. Ithought of keeping them for my own use, but I don't think I could livein them after what I have seen. "

"You have inspected them, then?"

"Yes; I have just looked through them. I went there on the day of theinquest. "

"Now tell me: as you looked through those rooms, what kind of impressiondid they convey to you as to your uncle's habits and mode of life?"

Stephen smiled apologetically. "I am afraid, " said he, "that they didnot convey any particular impression in that respect. I looked into thesitting-room and saw all his old familiar household gods, and then Iwent into the bedroom and saw the impression on the bed where his corpsehad lain; and that gave me such a sensation of horror that I came awayat once. "

"But the appearance of the rooms must have conveyed something to yourmind, " Thorndyke urged. 

"I am afraid it did not. You see, I have not your analytical eye. Butperhaps you would like to look through them yourself? If you would, praydo so. They are my chambers now. "

"I think I should like to glance round them, " Thorndyke replied. 

"Very well, " said Stephen. "I will give you my card now, and I will lookin at the lodge presently and tell the porter to hand you the keywhenever you like to look over the rooms. "

He took a card from his case, and, having written a few lines on it, handed it to Thorndyke. 

"It is very good of you, " he said, "to take so much trouble. Like Mr. Marchmont, I have no expectation of any result from your efforts, but Iam very grateful to you, all the same, for going into the case sothoroughly. I suppose you don't see any possibility of upsetting thatwill--if I may ask the question?"

"At present, " replied Thorndyke, "I do not. But until I have carefullyweighed every fact connected with the case--whether it seems to have anybearing or not--I shall refrain from expressing, or even entertaining, an opinion either way. "

Stephen Blackmore now took his leave; and Thorndyke, having collectedthe papers containing his notes, neatly punched a couple of holes intheir margins and inserted them into a small file, which he slipped intohis pocket. 

"That, " said he, "is the nucleus of the body of data on which ourinvestigations must be based; and I very much fear that it will notreceive any great additions. What do you think, Jervis?"

"The case looks about as hopeless as a case could look, " I replied. 

"That is what I think, " said he; "and for that reason I am more thanordinarily keen on making something of it. I have not much more hopethan Marchmont has; but I shall squeeze the case as dry as a bone beforeI let go. What are you going to do? I have to attend a meeting of theboard of directors of the Griffin Life Office. "

"Shall I walk down with you?"

"It is very good of you to offer, Jervis, but I think I will go alone. Iwant to run over these notes and get the facts of the case arranged inmy mind. When I have done that, I shall be ready to pick up new matter. Knowledge is of no use unless it is actually in your mind, so that itcan be produced at a moment's notice. So you had better get a book andyour pipe and spend a quiet hour by the fire while I assimilate themiscellaneous mental feast that we have just enjoyed. And you might do alittle rumination yourself. "

With this, Thorndyke took his departure; and I, adopting his advice, drew my chair closer to the fire and filled my pipe. But I did notdiscover any inclination to read. The curious history that I had justheard, and Thorndyke's evident determination to elucidate it further, disposed me to meditation. Moreover, as his subordinate, it was mybusiness to occupy myself with his affairs. Wherefore, having stirredthe fire and got my pipe well alight, I abandoned myself to the renewedconsideration of the facts relating to Jeffrey Blackmore's will. 

Chapter VII

The Cuneiform Inscription

The surprise which Thorndyke's proceedings usually occasioned, especially to lawyers, was principally due, I think, to my friend'shabit of viewing occurrences from an unusual standpoint. He did not lookat things quite as other men looked at them. He had no prejudices and heknew no conventions. When other men were cocksure, Thorndyke wasdoubtful. When other men despaired, he entertained hopes; and thus ithappened that he would often undertake cases that had been rejectedcontemptuously by experienced lawyers, and, what is more, would bringthem to a successful issue. 

Thus it had been in the only other case in which I had been personallyassociated with him--the so-called "Red Thumb Mark" case. There he waspresented with an apparent impossibility; but he had given it carefulconsideration. Then, from the category of the impossible he had broughtit to that of the possible; from the merely possible to the actuallyprobable; from the probable to the certain; and in the end had won thecase triumphantly. 

Was it conceivable that he could make anything of the present case? Hehad not declined it. He had certainly entertained it and was probablythinking it over at this moment. Yet could anything be more impossible?Here was the case of a man making his own will, probably writing it outhimself, bringing it voluntarily to a certain place and executing it inthe presence of competent witnesses. There was no suggestion of anycompulsion or even influence or persuasion. The testator was admittedlysane and responsible; and if the will did not give effect to hiswishes--which, however, could not be proved--that was due to his owncarelessness in drafting the will and not to any unusual circumstances. And the problem--which Thorndyke seemed to be considering--was how toset aside that will. 

I reviewed the statements that I had heard, but turn them about as Iwould, I could get nothing out of them but confirmation of Mr. Marchmont's estimate of the case. One fact that I had noted with somecuriosity I again considered; that was Thorndyke's evident desire toinspect Jeffrey Blackmore's chambers. He had, it is true, shown noeagerness, but I had seen at the time that the questions which he put toStephen were put, not with any expectation of eliciting information butfor the purpose of getting an opportunity to look over the roomshimself. 

I was still cogitating on the subject when my colleague returned, followed by the watchful Polton with the tea-tray, and I attacked himforthwith. 

"Well, Thorndyke, " I said, "I have been thinking about this Blackmorecase while you have been gadding about. "

"And may I take it that the problem is solved?"

"No, I'm hanged if you may. I can make nothing of it. "

"Then you are in much the same position as I am. "

"But, if you can make nothing of it, why did you undertake it?"

"I only undertook to think about it, " said Thorndyke. "I never reject acase off-hand unless it is obviously fishy. It is surprising howdifficulties, and even impossibilities, dwindle if you look at themattentively. My experience has taught me that the most unlikely case is, at least, worth thinking over. "

"By the way, why do you want to look over Jeffrey's chambers? What doyou expect to find there?"

"I have no expectations at all. I am simply looking for stray facts. "

"And all those questions that you asked Stephen Blackmore; had younothing in your mind--no definite purpose?"

"No purpose beyond getting to know as much about the case as I can. "

"But, " I exclaimed, "do you mean that you are going to examine thoserooms without any definite object at all?"

"I wouldn't say that, " replied Thorndyke. "This is a legal case. Let meput an analogous medical case as being more within your present sphere. Supposing that a man should consult you, say, about a progressive lossof weight. He can give no explanation. He has no pain, no discomfort, nosymptoms of any kind; in short, he feels perfectly well in everyrespect; but he is losing weight continuously. What would you do?"

"I should overhaul him thoroughly, " I answered. 

"Why? What would you expect to find?"

"I don't know that I should start by expecting to find anything inparticular. But I should overhaul him organ by organ and function byfunction, and if I could find nothing abnormal I should have to give itup. "

"Exactly, " said Thorndyke. "And that is just my position and my line ofaction. Here is a case which is perfectly regular and straightforwardexcepting in one respect. It has a single abnormal feature. And for thatabnormality there is nothing to account. 

"Jeffrey Blackmore made a will. It was a well-drawn will and itapparently gave full effect to his intentions. Then he revoked that willand made another. No change had occurred in his circumstances or in hisintentions. The provisions of the new will were believed by him to beidentical with those of the old one. The new will differed from the oldone only in having a defect in the drafting from which the first willwas free, and of which he must have been unaware. Now why did he revokethe first will and replace it with another which he believed to beidentical in its provisions? There is no answer to that question. It isan abnormal feature in the case. There must be some explanation of thatabnormality and it is my business to discover it. But the facts in mypossession yield no such explanation. Therefore it is my purpose tosearch for new facts which may give me a starting-point for aninvestigation. "

This exposition of Thorndyke's proposed conduct of the case, reasonableas it was, did not impress me as very convincing. I found myself comingback to Marchmont's position, that there was really nothing in dispute. But other matters claimed our attention at the moment, and it was notuntil after dinner that my colleague reverted to the subject. 

"How should you like to take a turn round to New Inn this evening?" heasked. 

"I should have thought, " said I, "that it would be better to go bydaylight. Those old chambers are not usually very well illuminated. "

"That is well thought of, " said Thorndyke. "We had better take a lampwith us. Let us go up to the laboratory and get one from Polton. "

"There is no need to do that, " said I. "The pocket-lamp that you lent meis in my overcoat pocket. I put it there to return it to you. "

"Did you have occasion to use it?" he asked. 

"Yes. I paid another visit to the mysterious house and carried out yourplan. I must tell you about it later. "

"Do. I shall be keenly interested to hear all about your adventures. Isthere plenty of candle left in the lamp?"

"Oh yes. I only used it for about an hour. "

"Then let us be off, " said Thorndyke; and we accordingly set forth onour quest; and, as we went, I reflected once more on the apparentvagueness of our proceedings. Presently I reopened the subject withThorndyke. 

"I can't imagine, " said I, "that you have absolutely nothing in view. That you are going to this place with no defined purpose whatever. "

"I did not say exactly that, " replied Thorndyke. "I said that I was notgoing to look for any particular thing or fact. I am going in the hopethat I may observe something that may start a new train of speculation. But that is not all. You know that an investigation follows a certainlogical course. It begins with the observation of the conspicuous facts. We have done that. The facts were supplied by Marchmont. The next stageis to propose to oneself one or more provisional explanations orhypotheses. We have done that, too--or, at least I have, and I supposeyou have. "

"I haven't, " said I. "There is Jeffrey's will, but why he should havemade the change I cannot form the foggiest idea. But I should like tohear your provisional theories on the subject. "

"You won't hear them at present. They are mere wild conjectures. But toresume: what do we do next?"

"Go to New Inn and rake over the deceased gentleman's apartments. "

Thorndyke smilingly ignored my answer and continued--

"We examine each explanation in turn and see what follows from it;whether it agrees with all the facts and leads to the discovery of newones, or, on the other hand, disagrees with some facts or leads us to anabsurdity. Let us take a simple example. 

"Suppose we find scattered over a field a number of largish masses ofstone, which are entirely different in character from the rocks found inthe neighbourhood. The question arises, how did those stones get intothat field? Three explanations are proposed. One: that they are theproducts of former volcanic action; two: that they were brought from adistance by human agency; three: that they were carried thither fromsome distant country by icebergs. Now each of those explanationsinvolves certain consequences. If the stones are volcanic, then theywere once in a state of fusion. But we find that they are unalteredlimestone and contain fossils. Then they are not volcanic. If they wereborne by icebergs, then they were once part of a glacier and some ofthem will probably show the flat surfaces with parallel scratches whichare found on glacier-borne stones. We examine them and find thecharacteristic scratched surfaces. Then they have probably been broughtto this place by icebergs. But this does not exclude human agency, forthey might have been brought by men to this place from some other wherethe icebergs had deposited them. A further comparison with other factswould be needed. 

"So we proceed in cases like this present one. Of the facts that areknown to us we invent certain explanations. From each of thoseexplanations we deduce consequences; and if those consequences agreewith new facts, they confirm the explanation, whereas if they disagreethey tend to disprove it. But here we are at our destination. "

We turned out of Wych Street into the arched passage leading into NewInn, and, halting at the half-door of the lodge, perceived a stout, purple-faced man crouching over the fire, coughing violently. He held uphis hand to intimate that he was fully occupied for the moment, and weaccordingly waited for his paroxysm to subside. At length he turnedtowards us, wiping his eyes, and inquired our business. 

"Mr. Stephen Blackmore, " said Thorndyke, "has given me permission tolook over his chambers. He said that he would mention the matter toyou. "

"So he has, sir, " said the porter; "but he has just taken the keyhimself to go to the chambers. If you walk across the Inn you'll findhim there; it's on the farther side; number thirty-one, second floor. "

We made our way across to the house indicated, the ground floor of whichwas occupied by a solicitor's offices and was distinguished by agood-sized brass plate. Although it had now been dark some time therewas no light on the lower stairs, but we encountered on the first-floorlanding a man who had just lit the lamp there. Thorndyke halted toaddress him. 

"Can you tell me who occupies the chambers on the third floor?"

"The third floor has been empty about three months, " was the reply. 

"We are going up to look at the chambers on the second floor, " saidThorndyke. "Are they pretty quiet?"

"Quiet!" exclaimed the man. "Lord bless you the place is like a cemeteryfor the deaf and dumb. There's the solicitors on the ground floor andthe architects on the first floor. They both clear out about six, andwhen they're gone the house is as empty as a blown hegg. I don't wonderpoor Mr. Blackmore made away with his-self. Livin' up there all alone, it must have been like Robinson Crusoe without no man Friday and noteven a blooming goat to talk to. Quiet! It's quiet enough, if that'swhat you want. Wouldn't be no good to me. "

With a contemptuous shake of the head, he turned and retired down thenext flight, and, as the echoes of his footsteps died away we resumedour ascent. 

"So it would appear, " Thorndyke commented, "that when Jeffrey Blackmorecame home that last evening, the house was empty. "

Arrived on the second-floor landing, we were confronted by asolid-looking door on the lintel of which the deceased man's name waspainted in white lettering which still looked new and fresh. Thorndykeknocked at the door, which was at once opened by Stephen Blackmore. 

"I haven't wasted any time before taking advantage of your permission, you see, " my colleague said as we entered. 

"No, indeed, " said Stephen; "you are very prompt. I have been ratherwondering what kind of information you expect to gather from aninspection of these rooms. "

Thorndyke smiled genially, amused, no doubt, by the similarity ofStephen's remarks to those of mine which he had so recently criticized. 

"A man of science, Mr. Blackmore, " he said, "expects nothing. Hecollects facts and keeps an open mind. As to me, I am a mere legalAutolycus, a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles of evidence. When I haveaccumulated a few facts, I arrange them, compare them and think aboutthem. Sometimes the comparison yields new matter and sometimes itdoesn't; but in any case, believe me, it is a capital error to decidebeforehand what data are to be sought for. "

"Yes, I suppose that is so, " said Stephen; "though, to me, it almostlooks as if Mr. Marchmont was right; that there is nothing toinvestigate. "

"You should have thought of that before you consulted me, " laughedThorndyke. "As it is, I am engaged to look into the case and I shall doso; and, as I have said, I shall keep an open mind until I have all thefacts in my possession. "

He glanced round the sitting-room, which we had now entered, andcontinued:

"These are fine, dignified old rooms. It seems a sin to have covered upall this oak panelling and that carved cornice and mantel with paint. Think what it must have been like when the beautiful figured wood wasexposed. "

"It would be very dark, " Stephen observed. 

"Yes, " Thorndyke agreed, "and I suppose we care more for light and lessfor beauty than our ancestors did. But now, tell me; looking round theserooms, do they convey to you a similar impression to that which the oldrooms did? Have they the same general character?"

"Not quite, I think. Of course the rooms in Jermyn Street were in adifferent kind of house, but beyond that, I seem to feel a certaindifference; which is rather odd, seeing that the furniture is the same. But the old rooms were more cosy, more homelike. I find something ratherbare and cheerless, I was almost going to say squalid, in the look ofthese chambers. "

"That is rather what I should have expected, " said Thorndyke. "The opiumhabit alters a man's character profoundly; and, somehow, apart from themere furnishing, a room reflects in some subtle way, but verydistinctly, the personality of its occupant, especially when thatoccupant lives a solitary life. Do you see any evidences of theactivities that used to occupy your uncle?"

"Not very much, " replied Stephen. "But the place may not be quite as heleft it. I found one or two of his books on the table and put them backin the shelves, but I found no manuscript or notes such as he used tomake. I noticed, too, that his ink-slab which he used to keep soscrupulously clean is covered with dry smears and that the stick of inkis all cracked at the end, as if he had not used it for months. It seemsto point to a great change in his habits. "

"What used he to do with Chinese ink?" Thorndyke asked. 

"He corresponded with some of his native friends in Japan, and he usedto write in the Japanese character even if they understood English. Thatwas what he chiefly used the Chinese ink for. But he also used to copythe inscriptions from these things. " Here Stephen lifted from themantelpiece what looked like a fossil Bath bun, but was actually a claytablet covered with minute indented writing. 

"Your uncle could read the cuneiform character, then?"

"Yes; he was something of an expert. These tablets are, I believe, leases and other legal documents from Eridu and other Babylonian cities. He used to copy the inscriptions in the cuneiform writing and thentranslate them into English. But I mustn't stay here any longer as Ihave an engagement for this evening. I just dropped in to get these twovolumes--Thornton's History of Babylonia, which he once advised me toread. Shall I give you the key? You'd better have it and leave it withthe porter as you go out. "

He shook hands with us and we walked out with him to the landing andstood watching him as he ran down the stairs. Glancing at Thorndyke bythe light of the gas lamp on the landing, I thought I detected in hisimpassive face that almost imperceptible change of expression to which Ihave already alluded as indicating pleasure or satisfaction. 

"You are looking quite pleased with yourself, " I remarked. 

"I am not displeased, " he replied calmly. "Autolycus has picked up a fewcrumbs; very small ones, but still crumbs. No doubt his learned juniorhas picked up a few likewise?"

I shook my head--and inwardly suspected it of being rather a thick head. 

"I did not perceive anything in the least degree significant in whatStephen was telling you, " said I. "It was all very interesting, but itdid not seem to have any bearing on his uncle's will. "

"I was not referring only to what Stephen has told us, although thatwas, as you say, very interesting. While he was talking I was lookingabout the room, and I have seen a very strange thing. Let me show it toyou. "

He linked his arm in mine and, walking me back into the room, haltedopposite the fire-place. 

"There, " said he, "look at that. It is a most remarkable object. "

[Illustration: THE INVERTED INSCRIPTION. ]

I followed the direction of his gaze and saw an oblong frame enclosing alarge photograph of an inscription in the weird and cabalisticarrow-head character. I looked at it in silence for some seconds andthen, somewhat disappointed, remarked:

"I don't see anything very remarkable in it, under the circumstances. Inany ordinary room it would be, I admit; but Stephen has just told usthat his uncle was something of an expert in cuneiform writing. "

"Exactly, " said Thorndyke. "That is my point. That is what makes it soremarkable. "

"I don't follow you at all, " said I. "That a man should hang upon hiswall an inscription that is legible to him does not seem to me at allout of the way. It would be much more singular if he should hang up aninscription that he could not read. "

"No doubt, " replied Thorndyke. "But you will agree with me that it wouldbe still more singular if a man should hang upon his wall an inscriptionthat he could read--and hang it upside down. "

I stared at Thorndyke in amazement. 

"Do you mean to tell me, " I exclaimed, "that that photograph is reallyupside down?"

"I do indeed, " he replied. 

"But how do you know? Have we here yet another Oriental scholar?"

Thorndyke chuckled. "Some fool, " he replied, "has said that 'a littleknowledge is a dangerous thing. ' Compared with much knowledge, it maybe; but it is a vast deal better than no knowledge. Here is a case inpoint. I have read with very keen interest the wonderful history of thedecipherment of the cuneiform writing, and I happen to recollect one ortwo of the main facts that seemed to me to be worth remembering. Thisparticular inscription is in the Persian cuneiform, a much more simpleand open form of the script than the Babylonian or Assyrian; in fact, Isuspect that this is the famous inscription from the gateway atPersepolis--the first to be deciphered; which would account for itspresence here in a frame. Now this script consists, as you see, of twokinds of characters; the small, solid, acutely pointed characters whichare known as wedges, and the larger, more obtuse characters, somewhatlike our government broad arrows, and called arrow-heads. The names arerather unfortunate, as both forms are wedge-like and both resemblearrow-heads. The script reads from left to right, like our own writing, and unlike that of the Semitic peoples and the primitive Greeks; and therule for the placing of the characters is that all the 'wedges' point tothe right or downwards and the arrow-head forms are open towards theright. But if you look at this photograph you will see that all thewedges point upwards to the left and that the arrow-head characters areopen towards the left. Obviously the photograph is upside down. "

"But, " I exclaimed, "this is really most mysterious. What do you supposecan be the explanation?"

"I think, " replied Thorndyke, "that we may perhaps get a suggestion fromthe back of the frame. Let us see. "

He disengaged the frame from the two nails on which it hung, and, turning it round, glanced at the back; which he then presented for myinspection. A label on the backing paper bore the words, "J. Budge, Frame-maker and Gilder, 16, Gt. Anne Street, W. C. "

"Well?" I said, when I had read the label without gathering from itanything fresh. 

"The label, you observe, is the right way up as it hangs on the wall. "

"So it is, " I rejoined hastily, a little annoyed that I had not beenquicker to observe so obvious a fact. "I see your point. You mean thatthe frame-maker hung the thing upside down and Jeffrey never noticed themistake?"

"That is a perfectly sound explanation, " said Thorndyke. "But I thinkthere is something more. You will notice that the label is an old one;it must have been on some years, to judge by its dingy appearance, whereas the two mirror-plates look to me comparatively new. But we cansoon put that matter to the test, for the label was evidently stuck onwhen the frame was new, and if the plates were screwed on at the sametime, the wood that they cover will be clean and new-looking. "

He drew from his pocket a "combination" knife containing, among otherimplements, a screw-driver, with which he carefully extracted the screwsfrom one of the little brass plates by which the frame had beensuspended from the nails. 

"You see, " he said, when he had removed the plate and carried thephotograph over to the gasjet, "the wood covered by the plate is asdirty and time-stained as the rest of the frame. The plates have beenput on recently. "

"And what are we to infer from that?"

"Well, since there are no other marks of plates or rings upon theframe, we may safely infer that the photograph was never hung up untilit came to these rooms. "

"Yes, I suppose we may. But what then? What inference does that leadto?"

Thorndyke reflected for a few moments and I continued:

"It is evident that this photograph suggests more to you than it does tome. I should like to hear your exposition of its bearing on the case, ifit has any. "

"Whether or no it has any real bearing on the case, " Thorndyke answered, "it is impossible for me to say at this stage. I told you that I hadproposed to myself one or two hypotheses to account for and explainJeffrey Blackmore's will, and I may say that the curious misplacement ofthis photograph fits more than one of them. I won't say more than that, because I think it would be profitable to you to work at this caseindependently. You have all the facts that I have and you shall have acopy of my notes of Marchmont's statement of the case. With thismaterial you ought to be able to reach some conclusion. Of courseneither of us may be able to make anything of the case--it doesn't lookvery hopeful at present--but whatever happens, we can compare notesafter the event and you will be the richer by so much experience ofactual investigation. But I will start you off with one hint, which isthis: that neither you nor Marchmont seem to appreciate in the least thevery extraordinary nature of the facts that he communicated to us. "

"I thought Marchmont seemed pretty much alive to the fact that it was avery queer will. "

"So he did, " agreed Thorndyke. "But that is not quite what I mean. Thewhole set of circumstances, taken together and in relation to oneanother, impressed me as most remarkable; and that is why I am giving somuch attention to what looks at first sight like such a very unpromisingcase. Copy out my notes, Jervis, and examine the facts critically. Ithink you will see what I mean. And now let us proceed. "

He replaced the brass plate and having reinserted the screws, hung upthe frame, and proceeded to browse slowly round the room, stopping nowand again to inspect the Japanese colour-prints and framed photographsof buildings and other objects of archaeological interest that formedthe only attempts at wall-decoration. To one of the former he drew myattention. 

"These things are of some value, " he remarked. "Here is one byUtamaro--that little circle with the mark over it is his signature--andyou notice that the paper is becoming spotted in places with mildew. Thefact is worth noting in more than one connection. "

I accordingly made a mental note and the perambulation continued. 

"You observe that Jeffrey used a gas-stove, instead of a coal fire, nodoubt to economize work, but perhaps for other reasons. Presumably hecooked by gas, too; let us see. "

We wandered into the little cupboard-like kitchen and glanced round. Aring-burner on a shelf, a kettle, a frying-pan and a few pieces ofcrockery were its sole appointments. Apparently the porter was correctin his statement as to Jeffrey's habits. 

Returning to the sitting-room, Thorndyke resumed his inspection, pullingout the table drawers, peering inquisitively into cupboards andbestowing a passing glance on each of the comparatively few objects thatthe comfortless room contained. 

"I have never seen a more characterless apartment, " was his finalcomment. "There is nothing that seems to suggest any kind of habitualactivity on the part of the occupant. Let us look at the bedroom. "

We passed through into the chamber of tragic memories, and, whenThorndyke had lit the gas, we stood awhile looking about us in silence. It was a bare, comfortless room, dirty, neglected and squalid. The bedappeared not to have been remade since the catastrophe, for anindentation still marked the place where the corpse had lain, and even aslight powdering of ash could still be seen on the shabby counterpane. It looked to me a typical opium-smoker's bedroom. 

"Well, " Thorndyke remarked at length, "there is character enoughhere--of a kind. Jeffrey Blackmore would seem to have been a man of fewneeds. One could hardly imagine a bedroom in which less attention seemedto have been given to the comfort of the occupant. "

He looked about him keenly and continued: "The syringe and the rest ofthe lethal appliances and material have been taken away, I see. Probably the analyst did not return them. But there are the opium-pipeand the jar and the ash-bowl, and I presume those are the clothes thatthe undertakers removed from the body. Shall we look them over?"

He took up the clothes which lay, roughly folded, on a chair and heldthem up, garment by garment. 

"These are evidently the trousers, " he remarked, spreading them out onthe bed. "Here is a little white spot on the middle of the thigh whichlooks like a patch of small crystals from a drop of the solution. Justlight the lamp, Jervis, and let us examine it with a lens. "

I lit the lamp, and when we had examined the spot minutely andidentified it as a mass of minute crystals, Thorndyke asked:

"What do you make of those creases? You see there is one on each leg. "

"It looks as if the trousers had been turned up. But if they have beenthey must have been turned up about seven inches. Poor Jeffrey couldn'thave had much regard for appearances, for they would have been rightabove his socks. But perhaps the creases were made in undressing thebody. "

"That is possible, " said Thorndyke: "though I don't quite see how itwould have happened. I notice that his pockets seem to have beenemptied--no, wait; here is something in the waistcoat pocket. "

He drew out a shabby, pigskin card-case and a stump of lead pencil, atwhich latter he looked with what seemed to me much more interest thanwas deserved by so commonplace an object. 

"The cards, you observe, " said he, "are printed from type, not from aplate. I would note that fact. And tell me what you make of that. "

He handed me the pencil, which I examined with concentrated attention, helping myself even with the lamp and my pocket lens. But even withthese aids I failed to discover anything unusual in its appearance. Thorndyke watched me with a mischievous smile, and, when I had finished, inquired:

"Well; what is it?"

"Confound you!" I exclaimed. "It's a pencil. Any fool can see that, andthis particular fool can't see any more. It's a wretched stump of apencil, villainously cut to an abominably bad point. It is coloured darkred on the outside and was stamped with some name that began withC--O--Co-operative Stores, perhaps. "

"Now, my dear Jervis, " Thorndyke protested, "don't begin by confusingspeculation with fact. The letters which remain are C--O. Note that factand find out what pencils there are which have inscriptions beginningwith those letters. I am not going to help you, because you can easilydo this for yourself. And it will be good discipline even if the factturns out to mean nothing. "

At this moment he stepped back suddenly, and, looking down at the floor, said:

"Give me the lamp, Jervis, I've trodden on something that felt likeglass. "

I brought the lamp to the place where he had been standing, close bythe bed, and we both knelt on the floor, throwing the light of the lampon the bare and dusty boards. Under the bed, just within reach of thefoot of a person standing close by, was a little patch of fragments ofglass. Thorndyke produced a piece of paper from his pocket anddelicately swept the little fragments on to it, remarking:

"By the look of things, I am not the first person who has trodden onthat object, whatever it is. Do you mind holding the lamp while Iinspect the remains?"

I took the lamp and held it over the paper while he examined the littleheap of glass through his lens. 

"Well, " I asked. "What have you found?"

"That is what I am asking myself, " he replied. "As far as I can judge bythe appearance of these fragments, they appear to be portions of a smallwatch-glass. I wish there were some larger pieces. "

"Perhaps there are, " said I. "Let us look about the floor under thebed. "

We resumed our groping about the dirty floor, throwing the light of thelamp on one spot after another. Presently, as we moved the lamp about, its light fell on a small glass bead, which I instantly picked up andexhibited to Thorndyke. 

"Is this of any interest to you?" I asked. 

Thorndyke took the bead and examined it curiously. 

"It is certainly, " he said, "a very odd thing to find in the bedroom ofan old bachelor like Jeffrey, especially as we know that he employed nowoman to look after his rooms. Of course, it may be a relic of the lasttenant. Let us see if there are any more. "

We renewed our search, crawling under the bed and throwing the light ofthe lamp in all directions over the floor. The result was the discoveryof three more beads, one entire bugle and the crushed remains ofanother, which had apparently been trodden on. All of these, includingthe fragments of the bugle that had been crushed, Thorndyke placedcarefully on the paper, which he laid on the dressing-table the moreconveniently to examine our find. 

"I am sorry, " said he, "that there are no more fragments of thewatch-glass, or whatever it was. The broken pieces were evidently pickedup, with the exception of the one that I trod on, which was an isolatedfragment that had been overlooked. As to the beads, judging by theirnumber and the position in which we found some of them--that crushedbugle, for instance--they must have been dropped during Jeffrey'stenancy and probably quite recently. "

"What sort of garment do you suppose they came from?" I asked. 

"They may have been part of a beaded veil or the trimming of a dress, but the grouping rather suggests to me a tag of bead fringe. The colouris rather unusual. "

"I thought they looked like black beads. "

"So they do by this light, but I think that by daylight we shall findthem to be a dark, reddish-brown. You can see the colour now if you lookat the smaller fragments of the one that is crushed. "

He handed me his lens, and, when I had verified his statement, heproduced from his pocket a small tin box with a closely-fitting lid inwhich he deposited the paper, having first folded it up into a smallparcel. 

"We will put the pencil in too, " said he; and, as he returned the box tohis pocket he added: "you had better get one of these little boxes fromPolton. If is often useful to have a safe receptacle for small andfragile articles. "

He folded up and replaced the dead man's clothes as we had found them. Then, observing a pair of shoes standing by the wall, he picked them upand looked them over thoughtfully, paying special attention to the backsof the soles and the fronts of the heels. 

"I suppose we may take it, " said he, "that these are the shoes that poorJeffrey wore on the night of his death. At any rate there seem to be noothers. He seems to have been a fairly clean walker. The streets wereshockingly dirty that day, as I remember most distinctly. Do you see anyslippers? I haven't noticed any. "

He opened and peeped into a cupboard in which an overcoat surmounted bya felt hat hung from a peg like an attenuated suicide; he looked in allthe corners and into the sitting-room, but no slippers were to be seen. 

"Our friend seems to have had surprisingly little regard for comfort, "Thorndyke remarked. "Think of spending the winter evenings in damp bootsby a gas fire!"

"Perhaps the opium-pipe compensated, " said I; "or he may have gone tobed early. "

"But he did not. The night porter used to see the light in his rooms atone o'clock in the morning. In the sitting-room, too, you remember. Buthe seems to have been in the habit of reading in bed--or perhapssmoking--for here is a candlestick with the remains of a whole dynastyof candles in it. As there is gas in the room, he couldn't have wantedthe candle to undress by. He used stearine candles, too; not the commonparaffin variety. I wonder why he went to that expense. "

"Perhaps the smell of the paraffin candle spoiled the aroma of theopium, " I suggested; to which Thorndyke made no reply but continued hisinspection of the room, pulling out the drawer of the washstand--whichcontained a single, worn-out nail-brush--and even picking up andexamining the dry and cracked cake of soap in the dish. 

"He seems to have had a fair amount of clothing, " said Thorndyke, whowas now going through the chest of drawers, "though, by the look of it, he didn't change very often, and the shirts have a rather yellow andfaded appearance. I wonder how he managed about his washing. Why, hereare a couple of pairs of boots in the drawer with his clothes! And hereis his stock of candles. Quite a large box--though nearly empty now--ofstearine candles, six to the pound. "

He closed the drawer and cast another inquiring look round the room. 

"I think we have seen all now, Jervis, " he said, "unless there isanything more that you would like to look into?"

"No, " I replied. "I have seen all that I wanted to see and more than Iam able to attach any meaning to. So we may as well go. "

I blew out the lamp and put it in my overcoat pocket, and, when we hadturned out the gas in both rooms, we took our departure. 

As we approached the lodge, we found our stout friend in the act ofretiring in favour of the night porter. Thorndyke handed him the key ofthe chambers, and, after a few sympathetic inquiries, about hishealth--which was obviously very indifferent--said:

"Let me see; you were one of the witnesses to Mr. Blackmore's will, Ithink?"

"I was, sir, " replied the porter. 

"And I believe you read the document through before you witnessed thesignature?"

"I did, sir. "

"Did you read it aloud?"

"Aloud, sir! Lor' bless you, no, sir! Why should I? The other witnessread it, and, of course, Mr. Blackmore knew what was in it, seeing thatit was in his own handwriting. What should I want to read it aloud for?"

"No, of course you wouldn't want to. By the way, I have been wonderinghow Mr. Blackmore managed about his washing. "

The porter evidently regarded this question with some disfavour, for hereplied only with an interrogative grunt. It was, in fact, rather an oddquestion. 

"Did you get it done for him, " Thorndyke pursued. 

"No, certainly not, sir. He got it done for himself. The laundry peopleused to deliver the basket here at the lodge, and Mr. Blackmore used totake it in with him when he happened to be passing. "

"It was not delivered at his chambers, then?"

"No, sir. Mr. Blackmore was a very studious gentleman and he didn't liketo be disturbed. A studious gentleman would naturally not like to bedisturbed. "

Thorndyke cordially agreed with these very proper sentiments and finallywished the porter "good night. " We passed out through the gateway intoWych Street, and, turning our faces eastward towards the Temple, setforth in silence, each thinking his own thoughts. What Thorndyke's wereI cannot tell, though I have no doubt that he was busily engaged inpiecing together all that he had seen and heard and considering itspossible application to the case in hand. 

As to me, my mind was in a whirl of confusion. All this searching andexamining seemed to be the mere flogging of a dead horse. The will wasobviously a perfectly valid and regular will and there was an end of thematter. At least, so it seemed to me. But clearly that was notThorndyke's view. His investigations were certainly not purposeless;and, as I walked by his side trying to conceive some purpose in hisactions, I only became more and more mystified as I recalled them oneby one, and perhaps most of all by the cryptic questions that I had justheard him address to the equally mystified porter. 

Chapter VIII

The Track Chart

As Thorndyke and I arrived at the main gateway of the Temple and heswung round into the narrow lane, it was suddenly borne in on me that Ihad made no arrangements for the night. Events had followed one anotherso continuously and each had been so engrossing that I had lost sight ofwhat I may call my domestic affairs. 

"We seem to be heading for your chambers, Thorndyke, " I ventured toremark. "It is a little late to think of it, but I have not yet settledwhere I am to put up to-night. "

"My dear fellow, " he replied, "you are going to put up in your ownbedroom which has been waiting in readiness for you ever since you leftit. Polton went up and inspected it as soon as you arrived. I take itthat you will consider my chambers yours until such time as you may jointhe benedictine majority and set up a home for yourself. "

"That is very handsome of you, " said I. "You didn't mention that thebillet you offered was a resident appointment. "

"Rooms and commons included, " said Thorndyke; and when I protested thatI should at least contribute to the costs of living he impatientlywaved the suggestion away. We were still arguing the question when wereached our chambers--as I will now call them--and a diversion wasoccasioned by my taking the lamp from my pocket and placing it on thetable. 

"Ah, " my colleague remarked, "that is a little reminder. We will put iton the mantelpiece for Polton to collect and you shall give me a fullaccount of your further adventures in the wilds of Kennington. That wasa very odd affair. I have often wondered how it ended. "

He drew our two arm-chairs up to the fire, put on some more coal, placedthe tobacco jar on the table exactly equidistant from the two chairs, and settled himself with the air of a man who is anticipating anagreeable entertainment. 

I filled my pipe, and, taking up the thread of the story where I hadbroken off on the last occasion, began to outline my later experiences. But he brought me up short. 

"Don't be sketchy, Jervis. To be sketchy is to be vague. Detail, mychild, detail is the soul of induction. Let us have all the facts. Wecan sort them out afterwards. "

I began afresh in a vein of the extremest circumstantiality. Withdeliberate malice I loaded a prolix narrative with every triviality thata fairly retentive memory could rake out of the half-forgotten past. Icudgelled my brains for irrelevant incidents. I described with theminutest accuracy things that had not the faintest significance. I drewa vivid picture of the carriage inside and out; I painted a lifelikeportrait of the horse, even going into particulars of the harness--whichI was surprised to find that I had noticed. I described the furniture ofthe dining-room and the cobwebs that had hung from the ceiling; theauction-ticket on the chest of drawers, the rickety table and themelancholy chairs. I gave the number per minute of the patient'srespirations and the exact quantity of coffee consumed on each occasion, with an exhaustive description of the cup from which it was taken; and Ileft no personal details unconsidered, from the patient's finger-nailsto the roseate pimples on Mr. Weiss's nose. 

But my tactics of studied prolixity were a complete failure. The attemptto fatigue Thorndyke's brain with superabundant detail was like tryingto surfeit a pelican with whitebait. He consumed it all with calmenjoyment and asked for more; and when, at last, I did really begin tothink that I had bored him a little, he staggered me by reading over hisnotes and starting a brisk cross-examination to elicit fresh facts! Andthe most surprising thing of all was that when I had finished I seemedto know a great deal more about the case than I had ever known before. 

"It was a very remarkable affair, " he observed, when thecross-examination was over--leaving me somewhat in the condition of acider-apple that has just been removed from a hydraulic press--"a verysuspicious affair with a highly unsatisfactory end. I am not sure that Ientirely agree with your police officer. Nor do I fancy that some of myacquaintances at Scotland Yard would have agreed with him. "

"Do you think I ought to have taken any further measures?" I askeduneasily. 

"No; I don't see how you could. You did all that was possible under thecircumstances. You gave information, which is all that a privateindividual can do, especially if he is an overworked generalpractitioner. But still, an actual crime is the affair of every goodcitizen. I think we ought to take some action. "

"You think there really was a crime, then?"

"What else can one think? What do you think about it yourself?"

"I don't like to think about it at all. The recollection of thatcorpse-like figure in that gloomy bedroom has haunted me ever since Ileft the house. What do you suppose has happened?"

Thorndyke did not answer for a few seconds. At length he said gravely:

"I am afraid, Jervis, that the answer to that question can be given inone word. "

"Murder?" I asked with a slight shudder. 

He nodded, and we were both silent for a while. 

"The probability, " he resumed after a pause, "that Mr. Graves is aliveat this moment seems to me infinitesimal. There was evidently aconspiracy to murder him, and the deliberate, persistent manner in whichthat object was being pursued points to a very strong and definitemotive. Then the tactics adopted point to considerable forethought andjudgment. They are not the tactics of a fool or an ignoramus. We maycriticize the closed carriage as a tactical mistake, calculated toarouse suspicion, but we have to weigh it against its alternative. "

"What is that?"

"Well, consider the circumstances. Suppose Weiss had called you in inthe ordinary way. You would still have detected the use of poison. Butnow you could have located your man and made inquiries about him in theneighbourhood. You would probably have given the police a hint and theywould almost certainly have taken action, as they would have had themeans of identifying the parties. The result would have been fatal toWeiss. The closed carriage invited suspicion, but it was a greatsafeguard. Weiss's method's were not so unsound after all. He is acautious man, but cunning and very persistent. And he could be bold onoccasion. The use of the blinded carriage was a decidedly audaciousproceeding. I should put him down as a gambler of a very discreet, courageous and resourceful type. "

"Which all leads to the probability that he has pursued his scheme andbrought it to a successful issue. "

"I am afraid it does. But--have you got your notes of thecompass-bearings?"

"The book is in my overcoat pocket with the board. I will fetch them. "

I went into the office, where our coats hung, and brought back thenotebook with the little board to which it was still attached by therubber band. Thorndyke took them from me, and, opening the book, ranhis eye quickly down one page after another. Suddenly he glanced at theclock. 

"It is a little late to begin, " said he, "but these notes look ratheralluring. I am inclined to plot them out at once. I fancy, from theirappearance, that they will enable us to locate the house without muchdifficulty. But don't let me keep you up if you are tired. I can workthem out by myself. "

"You won't do anything of the kind, " I exclaimed. "I am as keen onplotting them as you are, and, besides, I want to see how it is done. Itseems to be a rather useful accomplishment. "

"It is, " said Thorndyke. "In our work, the ability to make a rough butreliable sketch survey is often of great value. Have you ever lookedover these notes?"

"No. I put the book away when I came in and have never looked at itsince. "

"It is a quaint document. You seem to be rich in railway bridges inthose parts, and the route was certainly none of the most direct, as younoticed at the time. However, we will plot it out and then we shall seeexactly what it looks like and whither it leads us. "

He retired to the laboratory and presently returned with a T-square, amilitary protractor, a pair of dividers and a large drawing-board onwhich was pinned a sheet of cartridge paper. 

"Now, " said he, seating himself at the table with the board before him, "as to the method. You started from a known position and you arrived ata place the position of which is at present unknown. We shall fix theposition of that spot by applying two factors, the distance that youtravelled and the direction in which you were moving. The direction isgiven by the compass; and, as the horse seems to have kept up aremarkably even pace, we can take time as representing distance. Youseem to have been travelling at about eight miles an hour, that is, roughly, a seventh of a mile in one minute. So if, on our chart, we takeone inch as representing one minute, we shall be working with a scale ofabout seven inches to the mile. "

"That doesn't sound very exact as to distance, " I objected. 

"It isn't. But that doesn't matter much. We have certain landmarks, suchas these railway arches that you have noted, by which the actualdistance can be settled after the route is plotted. You had better readout the entries, and, opposite each, write a number for reference, sothat we need not confuse the chart by writing details on it. I shallstart near the middle of the board, as neither you nor I seem to havethe slightest notion what your general direction was. "

I laid the open notebook before me and read out the first entry:

"'Eight fifty-eight. West by South. Start from home. Horse thirteenhands. '"

"You turned round at once, I understand, " said Thorndyke, "so we draw noline in that direction. The next is--?"

"'Eight fifty-eight minutes, thirty seconds, East by North'; and thenext is 'Eight fifty-nine, North-east. '"

"Then you travelled east by north about a fifteenth of a mile and weshall put down half an inch on the chart. Then you turned north-east. How long did you go on?"

"Exactly a minute. The next entry is 'Nine. West north-west. '"

"Then you travelled about the seventh of a mile in a north-easterlydirection and we draw a line an inch long at an angle of forty-fivedegrees to the right of the north and south line. From the end of thatwe carry a line at an angle of fifty-six and a quarter degrees to theleft of the north and south line, and so on. The method is perfectlysimple, you see. "

"Perfectly; I quite understand it now. "

I went back to my chair and continued to read out the entries from thenotebook while Thorndyke laid off the lines of direction with theprotractor, taking out the distances with the dividers from a scale ofequal parts on the back of the instrument. As the work proceeded, Inoticed, from time to time, a smile of quiet amusement spread over mycolleague's keen, attentive face, and at each new reference to a railwaybridge he chuckled softly. 

"What, again!" he laughed, as I recorded the passage of the fifth orsixth bridge. "It's like a game of croquet. Go on. What is the next?"

I went on reading out the notes until I came to the final one:

"'Nine twenty-four. South-east. In covered way. Stop. Wooden gatesclosed. '"

Thorndyke ruled off the last line, remarking: "Then your covered way ison the south side of a street which bears north-east. So we complete ourchart. Just look at your route, Jervis. "

He held up the board with a quizzical smile and I stared in astonishmentat the chart. The single line, which represented the route of thecarriage, zigzagged in the most amazing manner, turning, re-turning andcrossing itself repeatedly, evidently passing more than once down thesame thoroughfares and terminating at a comparatively short distancefrom its commencement. 

"Why!" I exclaimed, the "rascal must have lived quite near toStillbury's house!"

Thorndyke measured with the dividers the distance between the startingand arriving points of the route and took it off from the scale. 

"Five-eighths of a mile, roughly, " he said. "You could have walked it inless than ten minutes. And now let us get out the ordnance map and seeif we can give to each of those marvellously erratic lines 'a localhabitation and a name. '"

He spread the map out on the table and placed our chart by its side. 

"I think, " said he, "you started from Lower Kennington Lane?"

"Yes, from this point, " I replied, indicating the spot with a pencil. 

"Then, " said Thorndyke, "if we swing the chart round twenty degrees tocorrect the deviation of the compass, we can compare it with theordnance map. "

He set off with the protractor an angle of twenty degrees from thenorth and south line and turned the chart round to that extent. Afterclosely scrutinizing the map and the chart and comparing the one withthe other, he said:

"By mere inspection it seems fairly easy to identify the thoroughfaresthat correspond to the lines of the chart. Take the part that is nearyour destination. At nine twenty-one you passed under a bridge, goingwestward. That would seem to be Glasshouse Street. Then you turnedsouth, apparently along the Albert Embankment, where you heard the tug'swhistle. Then you heard a passenger train start on your left; that wouldbe Vauxhall Station. Next you turned round due east and passed under alarge railway bridge, which suggests the bridge that carries the Stationover Upper Kennington Lane. If that is so, your house should be on thesouth side of Upper Kennington Lane, some three hundred yards from thebridge. But we may as well test our inferences by one or twomeasurements. "

"How can you do that if you don't know the exact scale of the chart?"

"I will show you, " said Thorndyke. "We shall establish the true scaleand that will form part of the proof. "

He rapidly constructed on the upper blank part of the paper, aproportional diagram consisting of two intersecting lines with a singlecross-line. 

"This long line, " he explained, "is the distance from Stillbury's houseto the Vauxhall railway bridge as it appears on the chart; the shortercross-line is the same distance taken from the ordnance map. If ourinference is correct and the chart is reasonably accurate, all the otherdistances will show a similar proportion. Let us try some of them. Takethe distance from Vauxhall bridge to the Glasshouse Street bridge. "

[Illustration: The Track Chart, showing the route followed by Weiss'scarriage. 

A. --Starting-point in Lower Kennington Lane. 

B. --Position of Mr. Weiss's house. The dotted lines connecting thebridges indicate probable railway lines. ]

He made the two measurements carefully, and, as the point of thedividers came down almost precisely in the correct place on the diagram, he looked up at me. 

"Considering the roughness of the method by which the chart was made, Ithink that is pretty conclusive, though, if you look at the variousarches that you passed under and see how nearly they appear to followthe position of the South-Western Railway line, you hardly need furtherproof. But I will take a few more proportional measurements for thesatisfaction of proving the case by scientific methods before we proceedto verify our conclusions by a visit to the spot. "

He took off one or two more distances, and on comparing them with theproportional distances on the ordnance map, found them in every case asnearly correct as could be expected. 

"Yes, " said Thorndyke, laying down the dividers, "I think we havenarrowed down the locality of Mr. Weiss's house to a few yards in aknown street. We shall get further help from your note of ninetwenty-three thirty, when records a patch of newly laid macadamextending up to the house. "

"That new macadam will be pretty well smoothed down by now, " I objected. 

"Not so very completely, " answered Thorndyke. "It is only a little overa month ago, and there has been very little wet weather since. It may besmooth, but it will be easily distinguishable from the old. "

"And do I understand that you propose to go and explore theneighbourhood?"

"Undoubtedly I do. That is to say, I intend to convert the locality ofthis house into a definite address; which, I think, will now beperfectly easy, unless we should have the bad luck to find more than onecovered way. Even then, the difficulty would be trifling. "

"And when you have ascertained where Mr. Weiss lives? What then?"

"That will depend on circumstances. I think we shall probably call atScotland Yard and have a little talk with our friend Mr. SuperintendentMiller; unless, for any reason, it seems better to look into the caseourselves. "

"When is this voyage of exploration to take place?"

Thorndyke considered this question, and, taking out his pocket-book, glanced through his engagements. 

"It seems to me, " he said, "that to-morrow is a fairly free day. Wecould take the morning without neglecting other business. I suggest thatwe start immediately after breakfast. How will that suit my learnedfriend?"

"My time is yours, " I replied; "and if you choose to waste it on mattersthat don't concern you, that's your affair. "

"Then we will consider the arrangement to stand for to-morrow morning, or rather, for this morning, as I see that it is past twelve. "

With this Thorndyke gathered up the chart and instruments and weseparated for the night. 

Chapter IX

The House of Mystery

Half-past nine on the following morning found us spinning along theAlbert Embankment in a hansom to the pleasant tinkle of the horse'sbell. Thorndyke appeared to be in high spirits, though the fullenjoyment of the matutinal pipe precluded fluent conversation. As aprecaution, he had put my notebook in his pocket before starting, andonce or twice he took it out and looked over its pages; but he made noreference to the object of our quest, and the few remarks that heuttered would have indicated that his thoughts were occupied with othermatters. 

Arrived at Vauxhall Station, we alighted and forthwith made our way tothe bridge that spans Upper Kennington Lane near its junction withHarleyford Road. 

"Here is our starting point, " said Thorndyke. "From this place to thehouse is about three hundred yards--say four hundred and twentypaces--and at about two hundred paces we ought to reach our patch of newroad-metal. Now, are you ready? If we keep step we shall average ourstride. "

We started together at a good pace, stepping out with militaryregularity and counting aloud as we went. As we told out the hundred andninety-fourth pace I observed Thorndyke nod towards the roadway a littleahead, and, looking at it attentively as we approached, it was easy tosee by the regularity of surface and lighter colour, that it hadrecently been re-metalled. 

Having counted out the four hundred and twenty paces, we halted, andThorndyke turned to me with a smile of triumph. 

"Not a bad estimate, Jervis, " said he. "That will be your house if I amnot much mistaken. There is no other mews or private roadway in sight. "

He pointed to a narrow turning some dozen yards ahead, apparently theentrance to a mews or yard and closed by a pair of massive wooden gates. 

"Yes, " I answered, "there can be no doubt that this is the place; but, by Jove!" I added, as we drew nearer, "the nest is empty! Do you see?"

I pointed to a bill that was stuck on the gate, bearing, as I could seeat this distance, the inscription "To Let. "

"Here is a new and startling, if not altogether unexpected, development, " said Thorndyke, as we stood gazing at the bill; which setforth that "these premises, including stabling and workshops, " were "tobe let on lease or otherwise, " and referred inquiries to Messrs. RyebodyBrothers, house-agents and valuers, Upper Kennington Lane. "The questionis, should we make a few inquiries of the agent, or should we get thekeys and have a look at the inside of the house? I am inclined to doboth, and the latter first, if Messrs. Ryebody Brothers will trust uswith the keys. "

We proceeded up the lane to the address given, and, entering theoffice, Thorndyke made his request--somewhat to the surprise of theclerk; for Thorndyke was not quite the kind of person whom one naturallyassociates with stabling and workshops. However, there was nodifficulty, but as the clerk sorted out the keys from a bunch hangingfrom a hook, he remarked:

"I expect you will find the place in a rather dirty and neglectedcondition. The house has not been cleaned yet; it is just as it was leftwhen the brokers took away the furniture. "

"Was the last tenant sold up, then?" Thorndyke asked. 

"Oh, no. He had to leave rather unexpectedly to take up some business inGermany. "

"I hope he paid his rent, " said Thorndyke. 

"Oh, yes. Trust us for that. But I should say that Mr. Weiss--that washis name--was a man of some means. He seemed to have plenty of money, though he always paid in notes. I don't fancy he had a banking accountin this country. He hadn't been here more than about six or seven monthsand I imagine he didn't know many people in England, as he paid us acash deposit in lieu of references when he first came. "

"I think you said his name was Weiss. It wouldn't be H. Weiss by anychance?"

"I believe it was. But I can soon tell you. " He opened a drawer andconsulted what looked like a book of receipt forms. "Yes; H Weiss. Doyou know him, sir?"

"I knew a Mr. H. Weiss some years ago. He came from Bremen, Iremember. "

"This Mr. Weiss has gone back to Hamburg, " the clerk observed. 

"Ah, " said Thorndyke, "then it would seem not to be the same. Myacquaintance was a fair man with a beard and a decidedly red nose and hewore spectacles. "

"That's the man. You've described him exactly, " said the clerk, who wasapparently rather easily satisfied in the matter of description. 

"Dear me, " said Thorndyke; "what a small world it is. Do you happen tohave a note of his address in Hamburg?"

"I haven't, " the clerk replied. "You see we've done with him, having gotthe rent, though the house is not actually surrendered yet. Mr Weiss'shousekeeper still has the front-door key. She doesn't start for Hamburgfor a week or so, and meanwhile she keeps the key so that she can callevery day and see if there are any letters. "

"Indeed, " said Thorndyke. "I wonder if he still has the samehousekeeper. "

"This lady is a German, " replied the clerk, "with a regular jaw-twistingname. Sounded like Shallybang. "

"Schallibaum. That is the lady. A fair woman with hardly any eyebrowsand a pronounced cast in the left eye. "

"Now that's very curious, sir, " said the clerk. "It's the same name, andthis is a fair woman with remarkably thin eyebrows, I remember, now thatyou mention it But it can't be the same person. I have only seen her afew times and then only just for a minute or so; but I'm quite certainshe had no cast in her eye. So, you see, sir, she can't be the sameperson. You can dye your hair or you can wear a wig or you can paintyour face; but a squint is a squint. There's no faking a swivel eye. "

Thorndyke laughed softly. "I suppose not; unless, perhaps, some onemight invent an adjustable glass eye. Are these the keys?"

"Yes, sir. The large one belongs to the wicket in the front gate. Theother is the latch-key belonging to the side door. Mrs. Shallybang hasthe key of the front door. "

"Thank you, " said Thorndyke. He took the keys, to which a wooden labelwas attached, and we made our way back towards the house of mystery, discussing the clerk's statements as we went. 

"A very communicable young gentleman, that, " Thorndyke remarked. "Heseemed quite pleased to relieve the monotony of office work with alittle conversation. And I am sure I was very delighted to indulge him. "

"He hadn't much to tell, all the same, " said I. 

Thorndyke looked at me in surprise. "I don't know what you would have, Jervis, unless you expect casual strangers to present you with aready-made body of evidence, fully classified, with all the inferencesand implications stated. It seemed to me that he was a highlyinstructive young man. "

"What did you learn from him?" I asked. 

"Oh, come, Jervis, " he protested; "is that a fair question, under ourpresent arrangement? However, I will mention a few points. We learn thatabout six or seven months ago, Mr. H. Weiss dropped from the clouds intoKennington Lane and that he has now ascended from Kennington Lane intothe clouds. That is a useful piece of information. Then we learn thatMrs. Schallibaum has remained in England; which might be of littleimportance if it were not for a very interesting corollary that itsuggests. "

"What is that?"

"I must leave you to consider the facts at your leisure; but you willhave noticed the ostensible reason for her remaining behind. She isengaged in puttying up the one gaping joint in their armour. One of themhas been indiscreet enough to give this address to somecorrespondent--probably a foreign correspondent. Now, as they obviouslywish to leave no tracks, they cannot give their new address to the PostOffice to have their letters forwarded, and, on the other hand, a letterleft in the box might establish such a connection as would enable themto be traced. Moreover, the letter might be of a kind that they wouldnot wish to fall into the wrong hands. They would not have given thisaddress excepting under some peculiar circumstances. "

"No, I should think not, if they took this house for the express purposeof committing a crime in it. "

"Exactly. And then there is one other fact that you may have gatheredfrom our young friend's remarks. "

"What is that?"

"That a controllable squint is a very valuable asset to a person whowishes to avoid identification. "

"Yes, I did note that. The fellow seemed to think that it was absolutelyconclusive. "

"And so would most people; especially in the case of a squint of thatkind. We can all squint towards our noses, but no normal person can turnhis eyes away from one another. My impression is that the presence orabsence, as the case might be, of a divergent squint would be acceptedas absolute disproof of identity. But here we are. "

He inserted the key into the wicket of the large gate, and, when we hadstepped through into the covered way, he locked it from the inside. 

"Why have you locked us in?" I asked, seeing that the wicket had alatch. 

"Because, " he replied, "if we now hear any one on the premises we shallknow who it is. Only one person besides ourselves has a key. "

His reply startled me somewhat. I stopped and looked at him. 

"That is a quaint situation, Thorndyke. I hadn't thought of it. Why shemay actually come to the house while we are here; in fact, she may be inthe house at this moment. "

"I hope not, " said he. "We don't particularly want Mr. Weiss to be puton his guard, for I take it, he is a pretty wide-awake gentleman underany circumstances. If she does come, we had better keep out of sight. Ithink we will look over the house first. That is of the most interest tous. If the lady does happen to come while we are here, she may stay toshow us over the place and keep an eye on us. So we will leave thestables to the last. "

We walked down the entry to the side door at which I had been admittedby Mrs. Schallibaum on the occasion of my previous visits. Thorndykeinserted the latch-key, and, as soon as we were inside, shut the doorand walked quickly through into the hall, whither I followed him. Hemade straight for the front door, where, having slipped up the catch ofthe lock, he began very attentively to examine the letter-box. It was asomewhat massive wooden box, fitted with a lock of good quality andfurnished with a wire grille through which one could inspect theinterior. 

"We are in luck, Jervis, " Thorndyke remarked. "Our visit has been mosthappily timed. There is a letter in the box. "

"Well, " I said, "we can't get it out; and if we could, it would behardly justifiable. "

"I don't know, " he replied, "that I am prepared to assent off-hand toeither of those propositions; but I would rather not tamper with anotherperson's letter, even if that person should happen to be a murderer. Perhaps we can get the information we want from the outside of theenvelope. "

He produced from his pocket a little electric lamp fitted with abull's-eye, and, pressing the button, threw a beam of light in throughthe grille. The letter was lying on the bottom of the box face upwards, so that the address could easily be read. 

"Herrn Dr. H. Weiss, " Thorndyke read aloud. "German stamp, postmarkapparently Darmstadt. You notice that the 'Herrn Dr. ' is printed and therest written. What do you make of that?"

"I don't quite know. Do you think he is really a medical man?"

"Perhaps we had better finish our investigation, in case we aredisturbed, and discuss the bearings of the facts afterwards. The name ofthe sender may be on the flap of the envelope. If it is not, I shallpick the lock and take out the letter. Have you got a probe about you?"

"Yes; by force of habit I am still carrying my pocket case. "

I took the little case from my pocket and extracting from it a jointedprobe of thickish silver wire, screwed the two halves together andhanded the completed instrument to Thorndyke; who passed the slender rodthrough the grille and adroitly turned the letter over. 

"Ha!" he exclaimed with deep satisfaction, as the light fell on thereverse of the envelope, "we are saved from the necessity of theft--orrather, unauthorized borrowing--'Johann Schnitzler, Darmstadt. ' That isall that we actually want. The German police can do the rest ifnecessary. "

He handed me back my probe, pocketed his lamp, released the catch of thelock on the door, and turned away along the dark, musty-smelling hall. 

"Do you happen to know the name of Johann Schnitzler?" he asked. 

I replied that I had no recollection of ever having heard the namebefore. 

"Neither have I, " said he; "but I think we may form a pretty shrewdguess as to his avocation. As you saw, the words 'Herrn Dr. ' wereprinted on the envelope, leaving the rest of the address to be writtenby hand. The plain inference is that he is a person who habituallyaddresses letters to medical men, and as the style of the envelope andthe lettering--which is printed, not embossed--is commercial, we mayassume that he is engaged in some sort of trade. Now, what is a likelytrade?"

"He might be an instrument maker or a drug manufacturer; more probablythe latter, as there is an extensive drug and chemical industry inGermany, and as Mr. Weiss seemed to have more use for drugs thaninstruments. "

"Yes, I think you are right; but we will look him up when we get home. And now we had better take a glance at the bedroom; that is, if you canremember which room it was. "

"It was on the first floor, " said I, "and the door by which I enteredwas just at the head of the stairs. "

We ascended the two flights, and, as we reached the landing, I halted. 

"This was the door, " I said, and was about to turn the handle whenThorndyke caught me by the arm. 

"One moment, Jervis, " said he. "What do you make of this?"

He pointed to a spot near the bottom of the door where, on closeinspection, four good-sized screw-holes were distinguishable. They hadbeen neatly stopped with putty and covered with knotting, and were sonearly the colour of the grained and varnished woodwork as to be hardlyvisible. 

"Evidently, " I answered, "there has been a bolt there, though it seems aqueer place to fix one. "

"Not at all, " replied Thorndyke. "If you look up you will see that therewas another at the top of the door, and, as the lock is in the middle, they must have been highly effective. But there are one or two otherpoints that strike one. First, you will notice that the bolts have beenfixed on quite recently, for the paint that they covered is of the samegrimy tint as that on the rest of the door. Next, they have been takenoff, which, seeing that they could hardly have been worth the trouble ofremoval, seems to suggest that the person who fixed them considered thattheir presence might appear remarkable, while the screw-holes, whichhave been so skilfully and carefully stopped, would be less conspicuous. 

"Then, they are on the outside of the door--an unusual situation forbedroom bolts--and were of considerable size. They were long and thick. "

"I can see, by the position of the screw-holes, that they were long; buthow do you arrive at their thickness?"

"By the size of the counter-holes in the jamb of the door. These holeshave been very carefully filled with wooden plugs covered with knotting;but you can make out their diameter, which is that of the bolts, andwhich is decidedly out of proportion for an ordinary bedroom door. Letme show you a light. "

He flashed his lamp into the dark corner, and I was able to seedistinctly the portentously large holes into which the bolts had fitted, and also to note the remarkable neatness with which they had beenplugged. 

"There was a second door, I remember, " said I. "Let us see if that wasguarded in a similar manner. "

We strode through the empty room, awakening dismal echoes as we trod thebare boards, and flung open the other door. At top and bottom, similargroups of screw-holes showed that this also had been made secure, andthat these bolts had been of the same very substantial character as theothers. 

Thorndyke turned away from the door with a slight frown. 

"If we had any doubts, " said he, "as to what has been going on in thishouse, these traces of massive fastenings would be almost enough tosettle them. "

"They might have been there before Weiss came, " I suggested. "He onlycame about seven months ago and there is no date on the screw-holes. "

"That is quite true. But when, with their recent fixture, you couple thefacts that they have been removed, that very careful measures have beentaken to obliterate the traces of their presence, and that they wouldhave been indispensable for the commission of the crime that we arealmost certain was being committed here, it looks like an excess ofcaution to seek other explanations. "

"But, " I objected, "if the man, Graves, was really imprisoned, could nothe have smashed the window and called for help?"

"The window looks out on the yard, as you see; but I expect it wassecured too. "

He drew the massive, old-fashioned shutters out of their recess andclosed them. 

"Yes, here we are. " He pointed to four groups of screw-holes at thecorners of the shutters, and, once more producing his lamp, narrowlyexamined the insides of the recesses into which the shutters folded. 

"The nature of the fastening is quite evident, " said he. "An iron barpassed right across at the top and bottom and was secured by a stapleand padlock. You can see the mark the bar made in the recess when theshutters were folded. When these bars were fixed and padlocked and thebolts were shot, this room was as secure, for a prisoner unprovided withtools, as a cell in Newgate. "

We looked at one another for awhile without speaking; and I fancy thatif Mr. H. Weiss could have seen our faces he might have thought itdesirable to seek some retreat even more remote than Hamburg. 

"It was a diabolical affair, Jervis, " Thorndyke said at length, in anominously quiet and even gentle tone. "A sordid, callous, cold-bloodedcrime of a type that is to me utterly unforgivable and incapable ofextenuation. Of course, it may have failed. Mr. Graves may even now bealive. I shall make it my very especial business to ascertain whether heis or not. And if he is not, I shall take it to myself as a sacred dutyto lay my hand on the man who has compassed his death. "

I looked at Thorndyke with something akin to awe. In the quietunemotional tone of his voice, in his unruffled manner and the stonycalm of his face, there was something much more impressive, morefateful, than there could have been in the fiercest threats or the mostpassionate denunciations. I felt that in those softly spoken words hehad pronounced the doom of the fugitive villain. 

He turned away from the window and glanced round the empty room. Itseemed that our discovery of the fastenings had exhausted theinformation that it had to offer. 

"It is a thousand pities, " I remarked, "that we were unable to lookround before they moved out the furniture. We might have found some clueto the scoundrel's identity. "

"Yes, " replied Thorndyke; "there isn't much information to be gatheredhere, I am afraid. I see they have swept up the small litter from thefloor and poked it under the grate. We will turn that over, as thereseems to be nothing else, and then look at the other rooms. "

He raked out the little heap of rubbish with his stick and spread it outon the hearth. It certainly looked unpromising enough, being just such arubbish heap as may be swept up in any untidy room during a move. ButThorndyke went through it systematically, examining each itemattentively, even to the local tradesmen's bills and empty paper bags, before laying them aside. Another rake of his stick scattered the bulkymasses of crumpled paper and brought into view an object which he pickedup with some eagerness. It was a portion of a pair of spectacles, whichhad apparently been trodden on, for the side-bar was twisted and bentand the glass was shattered into fragments. 

"This ought to give us a hint, " said he. "It will probably have belongedeither to Weiss or Graves, as Mrs. Schallibaum apparently did not wearglasses. Let us see if we can find the remainder. "

We both groped carefully with our sticks amongst the rubbish, spreadingit out on the hearth and removing the numerous pieces of crumpled paper. Our search was rewarded by the discovery of the second eye-picce of thespectacles, of which the glass was badly cracked but less shattered thanthe other. I also picked up two tiny sticks at which Thorndyke lookedwith deep interest before laying them on the mantelshelf. 

"We will consider them presently, " said he. "Let us finish with thespectacles first. You see that the left eye-glass is a concavecylindrical lens of some sort. We can make out that much from thefragments that remain, and we can measure the curvature when we get themhome, although that will be easier if we can collect some more fragmentsand stick them together. The right eye is plain glass; that is quiteevident. Then these will have belonged to your patient, Jervis. You saidthat the tremulous iris was in the right eye, I think?"

"Yes, " I replied. "These will be his spectacles, without doubt. "

"They are peculiar frames, " he continued. "If they were made in thiscountry, we might be able to discover the maker. But we must collect asmany fragments of glass as we can. "

Once more we searched amongst the rubbish and succeeded, eventually, inrecovering some seven or eight small fragments of the brokenspectacle-glasses, which Thorndyke laid on the mantelshelf beside thelittle sticks. 

"By the way, Thorndyke, " I said, taking up the latter to examine themafresh, "what are these things? Can you make anything of them?"

He looked at them thoughtfully for a few moments and then replied:

"I don't think I will tell you what they are. You should find that outfor yourself, and it will be well worth your while to do so. They arerather suggestive objects under the circumstances. But notice theirpeculiarities carefully. Both are portions of some smooth, stout reed. There is a long, thin stick--about six inches long--and a thicker pieceonly three inches in length. The longer piece has a little scrap of redpaper stuck on at the end; apparently a portion of a label of some kindwith an ornamental border. The other end of the stick has been brokenoff. The shorter, stouter stick has had its central cavity artificiallyenlarged so that it fits over the other to form a cap or sheath. Make acareful note of those facts and try to think what they probably mean;what would be the most likely use for an object of this kind. When youhave ascertained that, you will have learned something new about thiscase. And now, to resume our investigations. Here is a very suggestivething. " He picked up a small, wide-mouthed bottle and, holding it up formy inspection, continued: "Observe the fly sticking to the inside, andthe name on the label, 'Fox, Russell Street, Covent Garden. '"

"I don't know Mr. Fox. "

"Then I will inform you that he is a dealer in the materials for'make-up, ' theatrical or otherwise, and will leave you to consider thebearing of this bottle on our present investigation. There doesn't seemto be anything else of interest in this El Dorado excepting that screw, which you notice is about the size of those with which the bolts werefastened on the doors. I don't think it is worth while to unstop any ofthe holes to try it; we should learn nothing fresh. "

He rose, and, having kicked the discarded rubbish back under the grate, gathered up his gleanings from the mantelpiece, carefully bestowing thespectacles and the fragments of glass in the tin box that he appearedalways to carry in his pocket, and wrapping the larger objects in hishandkerchief. 

"A poor collection, " was his comment, as he returned the box andhandkerchief to his pocket, "and yet not so poor as I had feared. Perhaps, if we question them closely enough, these unconsidered triflesmay be made to tell us something worth learning after all. Shall we gointo the other room?"

We passed out on to the landing and into the front room, where, guidedby experience, we made straight for the fire-place. But the little heapof rubbish there contained nothing that even Thorndyke's inquisitive eyecould view with interest. We wandered disconsolately round the room, peering into the empty cupboards and scanning the floor and the cornersby the skirting, without discovering a single object or relic of thelate occupants. In the course of my perambulations I halted by thewindow and was looking down into the street when Thorndyke called to mesharply:

"Come away from the window, Jervis! Have you forgotten that Mrs. Schallibaum may be in the neighbourhood at this moment?"

As a matter of fact I had entirely forgotten the matter, nor did it nowstrike me as anything but the remotest of possibilities. I replied tothat effect. 

"I don't agree with you, " Thorndyke rejoined. "We have heard that shecomes here to look for letters. Probably she comes every day, or evenoftener. There is a good deal at stake, remember, and they cannot feelquite as secure as they would wish. Weiss must have seen what view youtook of the case and must have had some uneasy moments thinking of whatyou might do. In fact, we may take it that the fear of you drove themout of the neighbourhood, and that they are mighty anxious to get thatletter and cut the last link that binds them to this house. "

"I suppose that is so, " I agreed; "and if the lady should happen to passthis way and should see me at the window and recognize me, she wouldcertainly smell a rat. "

"A rat!" exclaimed Thorndyke. "She would smell a whole pack of foxes, and Mr. H. Weiss would be more on his guard than ever. Let us have alook at the other rooms; there is nothing here. "

We went up to the next floor and found traces of recent occupation inone room only. The garrets had evidently been unused, and the kitchenand ground-floor rooms offered nothing that appeared to Thorndyke worthnoting. Then we went out by the side door and down the covered way intothe yard at the back. The workshops were fastened with rusty padlocksthat looked as if they had not been disturbed for months. The stableswere empty and had been tentatively cleaned out, the coach-house wasvacant, and presented no traces of recent use excepting a half-baldspoke-brush. We returned up the covered way and I was about to close theside door, which Thorndyke had left ajar, when he stopped me. 

"We'll have another look at the hall before we go, " said he; and, walking softly before me, he made his way to the front door, where, producing his lamp, he threw a beam of light into the letter-box. 

"Any more letters?" I asked. 

"Any more!" he repeated. "Look for yourself. "

I stooped and peered through the grille into the lighted interior; andthen I uttered an exclamation. 

The box was empty. 

Thorndyke regarded me with a grim smile. "We have been caught on thehop, Jervis, I suspect, " said he. 

"It is queer, " I replied. "I didn't hear any sound of the opening orclosing of the door; did you?"

"No; I didn't hear any sound; which makes me suspect that she did. Shewould have heard our voices and she is probably keeping a sharp look-outat this very moment. I wonder if she saw you at the window. But whethershe did or not, we must go very warily. Neither of us must return to theTemple direct, and we had better separate when we have returned the keysand I will watch you out of sight and see if anyone is following you. What are you going to do?"

"If you don't want me, I shall run over to Kensington and drop in tolunch at the Hornbys'. I said I would call as soon as I had an hour orso free. "

"Very well. Do so; and keep a look-out in case you are followed. I haveto go down to Guildford this afternoon. Under the circumstances, I shallnot go back home, but send Polton a telegram and take a train atVauxhall and change at some small station where I can watch theplatform. Be as careful as you can. Remember that what you have toavoid is being followed to any place where you are known, and, aboveall, revealing your connection with number Five A, King's Bench Walk. "

Having thus considered our immediate movements, we emerged together fromthe wicket, and locking it behind us, walked quickly to thehouse-agents', where an opportune office-boy received the keys withoutremark. As we came out of the office, I halted irresolutely and we bothlooked up and down the lane. 

"There is no suspicious looking person in sight at present, " Thorndykesaid, and then asked: "Which way do you think of going?"

"It seems to me, " I replied, "that my best plan would be to take a cabor an omnibus so as to get out of the neighbourhood as quickly aspossible. If I go through Ravensden Street into Kennington Park Road, Ican pick up an omnibus that will take me to the Mansion House, where Ican change for Kensington. I shall go on the top so that I can keep alook-out for any other omnibus or cab that may be following. "

"Yes, " said Thorndyke, "that seems a good plan. I will walk with you andsee that you get a fair start. "

We walked briskly along the lane and through Ravensden Street to theKennington Park Road. An omnibus was approaching from the south at asteady jog-trot and we halted at the corner to wait for it. Severalpeople passed us in different directions, but none seemed to take anyparticular notice of us, though we observed them rather narrowly, especially the women. Then the omnibus crawled up. I sprang on thefoot-board and ascended to the roof, where I seated myself and surveyedthe prospect to the rear. No one else got on the omnibus--which had notstopped--and no cab or other passenger vehicle was in sight. I continuedto watch Thorndyke as he stood sentinel at the corner, and noted that noone appeared to be making any effort to overtake the omnibus. Presentlymy colleague waved his hand to me and turned back towards Vauxhall, andI, having satisfied myself once more that no pursuing cab or hurryingfoot-passenger was in sight, decided that our precautions had beenunnecessary and settled myself in a rather more comfortable position. 

Chapter X

The Hunter Hunted

The omnibus of those days was a leisurely vehicle. Its ordinary pace wasa rather sluggish trot, and in a thickly populated thoroughfare itsspeed was further reduced by frequent stoppages. Bearing these facts inmind, I gave an occasional backward glance as we jogged northward, though my attention soon began to wander from the rather remotepossibility of pursuit to the incidents of our late exploration. 

It had not been difficult to see that Thorndyke was very well pleasedwith the results of our search, but excepting the letter--whichundoubtedly opened up a channel for further inquiry and possibleidentification--I could not perceive that any of the traces that we hadfound justified his satisfaction. There were the spectacles, forinstance. They were almost certainly the pair worn by Mr. Graves. Butwhat then? It was exceedingly improbable that we should be able todiscover the maker of them, and if we were, it was still more improbablethat he would be able to give us any information that would help us. Spectacle-makers are not usually on confidential terms with theircustomers. 

As to the other objects, I could make nothing of them. The little sticksof reed evidently had some use that was known to Thorndyke andfurnished, by inference, some kind of information about Weiss, Graves, or Mrs. Schallibaum. But I had never seen anything like them before andthey conveyed nothing whatever to me. Then the bottle that had seemed sosignificant to Thorndyke was to me quite uninforming. It did, indeed, suggest that some member of the household might be connected with thestage, but it gave no hint as to which one. Certainly that person wasnot Mr. Weiss, whose appearance was as remote from that of an actor ascould well be imagined. At any rate, the bottle and its label gave me nomore useful hint than it might be worth while to call on Mr. Fox andmake inquiries; and something told me very emphatically that this wasnot what it had conveyed to Thorndyke. 

These reflections occupied me until the omnibus, having rumbled overLondon Bridge and up King William Street, joined the converging streamsof traffic at the Mansion House. Here I got down and changed to anomnibus bound for Kensington; on which I travelled westward pleasantlyenough, looking down into the teeming streets and whiling away the timeby meditating upon the very agreeable afternoon that I promised myself, and considering how far my new arrangement with Thorndyke would justifyme in entering into certain domestic engagements of a highly interestingkind. 

What might have happened under other circumstances it is impossible totell and useless to speculate; the fact is that my journey ended in adisappointment. I arrived, all agog, at the familiar house in EndsleyGardens only to be told by a sympathetic housemaid that the family wasout; that Mrs. Hornby had gone into the country and would not be homeuntil night, and--which mattered a good deal more to me--that her niece, Miss Juliet Gibson, had accompanied her. 

Now a man who drops into lunch without announcing his intention orpreviously ascertaining those of his friends has no right to quarrelwith fate if he finds an empty house. Thus philosophically I reflectedas I turned away from the house in profound discontent, demanding of theuniverse in general why Mrs. Hornby need have perversely chosen my firstfree day to go gadding into the country, and above all, why she mustneeds spirit away the fair Juliet. This was the crowning misfortune (forI could have endured the absence of the elder lady with commendablefortitude), and since I could not immediately return to the Temple itleft me a mere waif and stray for the time being. 

Instinct--of the kind that manifests itself especially about oneo'clock in the afternoon--impelled me in the direction of Brompton Road, and finally landed me at a table in a large restaurant apparentlyadjusted to the needs of ladies who had come from a distance to engagein the feminine sport of shopping. Here, while waiting for my lunch, Isat idly scanning the morning paper and wondering what I should do withthe rest of the day; and presently it chanced that my eye caught theannouncement of a matinée at the theatre in Sloane Square. It was quitea long time since I had been at a theatre, and, as the play--lightcomedy--seemed likely to satisfy my not very critical taste, I decidedto devote the afternoon to reviving my acquaintance with the drama. Accordingly as soon as my lunch was finished, I walked down the BromptonRoad, stepped on to an omnibus, and was duly deposited at the door ofthe theatre. A couple of minutes later I found myself occupying anexcellent seat in the second row of the pit, oblivious alike of myrecent disappointment and of Thorndyke's words of warning. 

I am not an enthusiastic play-goer. To dramatic performances I amdisposed to assign nothing further than the modest function offurnishing entertainment. I do not go to a theatre to be instructed orto have my moral outlook elevated. But, by way of compensation, I am notdifficult to please. To a simple play, adjusted to my primitive taste, Ican bring a certain bucolic appreciation that enables me to extract fromthe performance the maximum of enjoyment; and when, on this occasion, the final curtain fell and the audience rose, I rescued my hat from itsinsecure resting-place and turned to go with the feeling that I hadspent a highly agreeable afternoon. 

Emerging from the theatre, borne on the outgoing stream, I presentlyfound myself opposite the door of a tea-shop. Instinct--the five o'clockinstinct this time--guided me in; for we are creatures of habit, especially of the tea habit. The unoccupied table to which I drifted wasin a shady corner not very far from the pay-desk; and here I had beenseated less than a minute when a lady passed me on her way to thefarther table. The glimpse that I caught of her as she approached--itwas but a glimpse, since she passed behind me--showed that she wasdressed in black, that she wore a beaded veil and hat, and in additionto the glass of milk and the bun that she carried, she was encumbered byan umbrella and a small basket, apparently containing some kind ofneedlework. I must confess that I gave her very little attention at thetime, being occupied in anxious speculation as to how long it would bebefore the fact of my presence would impinge on the consciousness of thewaitress. 

The exact time by the clock on the wall was three minutes and a quarter, at the expiration of which an anaemic young woman sauntered up to thetable and bestowed on me a glance of sullen interrogation, as if mutelydemanding what the devil I wanted. I humbly requested that I might beprovided with a pot of tea; whereupon she turned on her heel (which wasa good deal worn down on the offside) and reported my conduct to a ladybehind a marble-topped counter. 

It seemed that the counter lady took a lenient view of the case, for inless than four minutes the waitress returned and gloomily deposited onthe table before me a tea-pot, a milk-jug, a cup and saucer, a jug ofhot water, and a small pool of milk. Then she once more departed indudgeon. 

I had just given the tea in the pot a preliminary stir and was about topour out the first cup when I felt some one bump lightly against mychair and heard something rattle on the floor. I turned quickly andperceived the lady, whom I had seen enter, stooping just behind mychair. It seemed that having finished her frugal meal she was on her wayout when she had dropped the little basket that I had noticed hangingfrom her wrist; which basket had promptly disgorged its entire contentson the floor. 

Now every one must have noticed the demon of agility that seems to enterinto an inanimate object when it is dropped, and the apparentlyintelligent malice with which it discovers, and rolls into, the mostinaccessible places. Here was a case in point. This particular baskethad contained materials for Oriental bead-work; and no sooner had itreached the floor than each item of its contents appeared to becomepossessed of a separate and particular devil impelling it to travel atheadlong speed to some remote and unapproachable corner as distant aspossible from its fellows. 

As the only man--and almost the only person--near, the duty ofsalvage-agent manifestly devolved upon me; and down I went, accordingly, on my hands and knees, regardless of a nearly new pair of trousers, togrope under tables, chairs and settles in reach of the scatteredtreasure. A ball of the thick thread or twine I recovered from a darkand dirty corner after a brief interview with the sharp corner of asettle, and a multitude of the large beads with which this infernalindustry is carried on I gathered from all parts of the compass, comingforth at length (quadrupedally) with a double handful of thetreasure-trove and a very lively appreciation of the resistant qualitiesof a cast-iron table-stand when applied to the human cranium. 

The owner of the lost and found property was greatly distressed by theaccident and the trouble it had caused me; in fact she was quiteneedlessly agitated about it. The hand which held the basket into whichI poured the rescued trash trembled visibly, and the brief glance that Ibestowed on her as she murmured her thanks and apologies--with a veryslight foreign accent--showed me that she was excessively pale. Thatmuch I could see plainly in spite of the rather dim light in this partof the shop and the beaded veil that covered her face; and I could alsosee that she was a rather remarkable looking woman, with a great mass ofharsh, black hair and very broad black eyebrows that nearly met aboveher nose and contrasted strikingly with the dead white of her skin. But, of course, I did not look at her intently. Having returned her propertyand received her acknowledgments, I resumed my seat and left her to goon her way. 

I had once more grasped the handle of the tea-pot when I made a rathercurious discovery. At the bottom of the tea-cup lay a single lump ofsugar. To the majority of persons it would have meant nothing. Theywould have assumed that they had dropped it in and forgotten it andwould have proceeded to pour out the tea. But it happened that, at thistime, I did not take sugar in my tea; whence it followed that the lumphad not been put in by me. Assuming, therefore, that it had beencarelessly dropped in by the waitress, I turned it out on the table, filled the cup, added the milk, and took a tentative draught to test thetemperature. 

The cup was yet at my lips when I chanced to look into the mirror thatfaced my table. Of course it reflected the part of the shop that wasbehind me, including the cashier's desk; at which the owner of thebasket now stood paying for her refreshment. Between her and me was agas chandelier which cast its light on my back but full on her face; andher veil notwithstanding, I could see that she was looking at mesteadily; was, in fact, watching me intently and with a very curiousexpression--an expression of expectancy mingled with alarm. But this wasnot all. As I returned her intent look--which I could do unobserved, since my face, reflected in the mirror, was in deep shadow--I suddenlyperceived that that steady gaze engaged her right eye only; the othereye was looking sharply towards her left shoulder. In short, she had adivergent squint of the left eye. 

I put down my cup with a thrill of amazement and a sudden surging up ofsuspicion and alarm. An instant's reflection reminded me that when shehad spoken to me a few moments before, both her eyes had looked intomine without the slightest trace of a squint. My thoughts flew back tothe lump of sugar, to the unguarded milk-jug and the draught of tea thatI had already swallowed; and, hardly knowing what I intended, I startedto my feet and turned to confront her. But as I rose, she snatched upher change and darted from the shop. Through the glass door, I saw herspring on to the foot-board of a passing hansom and give the driver somedirection. I saw the man whip up his horse, and, by the time I reachedthe door, the cab was moving off swiftly towards Sloane Street. 

I stood irresolute. I had not paid and could not run out of the shopwithout making a fuss, and my hat and stick were still on the railopposite my seat. The woman ought to be followed, but I had no fancy forthe task. If the tea that I had swallowed was innocuous, no harm wasdone and I was rid of my pursuer. So far as I was concerned, theincident was closed. I went back to my seat, and picking up the lump ofsugar which still lay on the table where I had dropped it, put itcarefully in my pocket. But my appetite for tea was satisfied for thepresent. Moreover it was hardly advisable to stay in the shop lest somefresh spy should come to see how I fared. Accordingly I obtained mycheck, handed it in at the cashier's desk and took my departure. 

All this time, it will be observed, I had been taking it for grantedthat the lady in black had followed me from Kensington to this shop;that, in fact, she was none other than Mrs. Schallibaum. And, indeed, the circumstances had rendered the conclusion inevitable. In the veryinstant when I had perceived the displacement of the left eye, completerecognition had come upon me. When I had stood facing the woman, thebrief glance at her face had conveyed to me something dimly reminiscentof which I had been but half conscious and had instantly forgotten. Butthe sight of that characteristic squint had at once revived andexplained it. That the woman was Mrs. Schallibaum I now felt no doubtwhatever. 

Nevertheless, the whole affair was profoundly mysterious. As to thechange in the woman's appearance, there was little in that. The coarse, black hair might be her own, dyed, or it might be a wig. The eyebrowswere made-up; it was a simple enough proceeding and made still moresimple by the beaded veil. But how did she come to be there at all? Howdid she happen to be made-up in this fashion at this particular time?And, above all, how came she to be provided with a lump of what I hadlittle doubt was poisoned sugar?

I turned over the events of the day, and the more I considered them theless comprehensible they appeared. No one had followed the omnibuseither on foot or in a vehicle, as far as I could see; and I had kept acareful look-out, not only at starting but for some considerable timeafter. Yet, all the time, Mrs. Schallibaum must have been following. But how? If she had known that I was intending to travel by the omnibusshe might have gone to meet it and entered before I did. But she couldnot have known: and moreover she did not meet the omnibus, for wewatched its approach from some considerable distance. I consideredwhether she might not have been concealed in the house and overheard memention my destination to Thorndyke. But this failed to explain themystery, since I had mentioned no address beyond "Kensington. " I had, indeed, mentioned the name of Mrs. Hornby, but the supposition that myfriends might be known by name to Mrs. Schallibaum, or even that shemight have looked the name up in the directory, presented a probabilitytoo remote to be worth entertaining. 

But, if I reached no satisfactory conclusion, my cogitations had oneuseful effect; they occupied my mind to the exclusion of thatunfortunate draught of tea. Not that I had been seriously uneasy afterthe first shock. The quantity that I had swallowed was not large--thetea being hotter than I cared for--and I remembered that, when I hadthrown out the lump of sugar, I had turned the cup upside down on thetable; so there could have been nothing solid left in it. And the lumpof sugar was in itself reassuring, for it certainly would not have beenused in conjunction with any less conspicuous but more incriminatingform of poison. That lump of sugar was now in my pocket, reserved forcareful examination at my leisure; and I reflected with a faint grinthat it would be a little disconcerting if it should turn out tocontain nothing but sugar after all. 

On leaving the tea-shop, I walked up Sloane Street with the intention ofdoing what I ought to have done earlier in the day. I was going to makeperfectly sure that no spy was dogging my footsteps. But for myridiculous confidence I could have done so quite easily before going toEndsley Gardens; and now, made wiser by a startling experience, Iproceeded with systematic care. It was still broad daylight--for thelamps in the tea-shop had been rendered necessary only by the faultyconstruction of the premises and the dullness of the afternoon--and inan open space I could see far enough for complete safety. Arriving atthe top of Sloane Street, I crossed Knightsbridge, and, entering HydePark, struck out towards the Serpentine. Passing along the easternshore, I entered one of the long paths that lead towards the Marble Archand strode along it at such a pace as would make it necessary for anypursuer to hurry in order to keep me in sight. Half-way across the greatstretch of turf, I halted for a few moments and noted the few people whowere coming in my direction. Then I turned sharply to the left andheaded straight for the Victoria Gate, but again, half-way, I turned offamong a clump of trees, and, standing behind the trunk of one of them, took a fresh survey of the people who were moving along the paths. Allwere at a considerable distance and none appeared to be coming my way. 

I now moved cautiously from one tree to another and passed through thewooded region to the south, crossed the Serpentine bridge at a rapidwalk and hurrying along the south shore left the Park by Apsley House. From hence I walked at the same rapid pace along Piccadilly, insinuatingmyself among the crowd with the skill born of long acquaintance with theLondon streets, crossed amidst the seething traffic at the Circus, darted up Windmill Street and began to zigzag amongst the narrow streetsand courts of Soho. Crossing the Seven Dials and Drury Lane I passedthrough the multitudinous back-streets and alleys that then filled thearea south of Lincoln's Inn, came out by Newcastle Street, HolywellStreet and Half-Moon Alley into the Strand, which I crossed immediately, ultimately entering the Temple by Devereux Court. 

Even then I did not relax my precautions. From one court to another Ipassed quickly, loitering in those dark entries and unexpected passagesthat are known to so few but the regular Templars, and coming out intothe open only at the last where the wide passage of King's Bench Walkadmits of no evasion. Half-way up the stairs, I stood for some time inthe shadow, watching the approaches from the staircase window; and when, at length, I felt satisfied that I had taken every precaution that waspossible, I inserted my key and let myself into our chambers. 

Thorndyke had already arrived, and, as I entered, he rose to greet mewith an expression of evident relief. 

"I am glad to see you, Jervis, " he said. "I have been rather anxiousabout you. "

"Why?" I asked. 

"For several reasons. One is that you are the sole danger that threatensthese people--as far as they know. Another is that we made a mostridiculous mistake. We overlooked a fact that ought to have struck usinstantly. But how have you fared?"

"Better than I deserved. That good lady stuck to me like a burr--atleast I believe she did. "

"I have no doubt she did. We have been caught napping finely, Jervis. "

"How?"

"We'll go into that presently. Let us hear about your adventures first. "

I gave him a full account of my movements from the time when we partedto that of my arrival home, omitting no incident that I was able toremember and, as far as I could, reconstituting my exceedingly devioushomeward route. 

"Your retreat was masterly, " he remarked with a broad smile. "I shouldthink that it would have utterly defeated any pursuer; and the only pityis that it was probably wasted on the desert air. Your pursuer had bythat time become a fugitive. But you were wise to take theseprecautions, for, of course, Weiss might have followed you. "

"But I thought he was in Hamburg?"

"Did you? You are a very confiding young gentleman, for a buddingmedical jurist. Of course we don't know that he is not; but the factthat he has given Hamburg as his present whereabouts establishes astrong presumption that he is somewhere else. I only hope that he hasnot located you, and, from what you tell me of your later methods, Ifancy that you would have shaken him off even if he had started tofollow you from the tea-shop. "

"I hope so too. But how did that woman manage to stick to me in thatway? What was the mistake we made?"

Thorndyke laughed grimly. "It was a perfectly asinine mistake, Jervis. You started up Kennington Park Road on a leisurely, jog-trottingomnibus, and neither you nor I remembered what there is underneathKennington Park Road. "

"Underneath!" I exclaimed, completely puzzled for the moment. Then, suddenly realizing what he meant, "Of course!" I exclaimed. "Idiot thatI am! You mean the electric railway?"

"Yes. That explains everything. Mrs. Schallibaum must have watched usfrom some shop and quietly followed us up the lane. There were a goodmany women about and several were walking in our direction. There wasnothing to distinguish her from the others unless you had recognizedher, which you would hardly have been able to do if she had worn a veiland kept at a fair distance. At least I think not. "

"No, " I agreed, "I certainly should not. I had only seen her in ahalf-dark room. In outdoor clothes and with a veil, I should never havebeen able to identify her without very close inspection. Besides therewas the disguise or make-up. "

"Not at that time. She would hardly come disguised to her own house, for it might have led to her being challenged and asked who she was. Ithink we may take it that there was no actual disguise, although shewould probably wear a shady hat and a veil; which would have preventedeither of us from picking her out from the other women in the street. "

"And what do you think happened next?"

"I think that she simply walked past us--probably on the other side ofthe road--as we stood waiting for the omnibus, and turned up KenningtonPark Road. She probably guessed that we were waiting for the omnibus andwalked up the road in the direction in which it was going. Presently theomnibus would pass her, and there were you in full view on top keeping avigilant look-out in the wrong direction. Then she would quicken herpace a little and in a minute or two would arrive at the KenningtonStation of the South London Railway. In a minute or two more she wouldbe in one of the electric trains whirling along under the street onwhich your omnibus was crawling. She would get out at the BoroughStation, or she might take a more risky chance and go on to theMonument; but in any case she would wait for your omnibus, hail it andget inside. I suppose you took up some passengers on the way?"

"Oh dear, yes. We were stopping every two or three minutes to take up orset down passengers; and most of them were women. "

"Very well; then we may take it that when you arrived at the MansionHouse, Mrs. Schallibaum was one of your inside passengers. It was arather quaint situation, I think. "

"Yes, confound her! What a couple of noodles she must have thought us!"

"No doubt. And that is the one consoling feature in the case. She willhave taken us for a pair of absolute greenhorns. But to continue. Ofcourse she travelled in your omnibus to Kensington--you ought to havegone inside on both occasions, so that you could see every one whoentered and examine the inside passengers; she will have followed you toEndsley Gardens and probably noted the house you went to. Thence shewill have followed you to the restaurant and may even have lunchedthere. "

"It is quite possible, " said I. "There were two rooms and they werefilled principally with women. "

"Then she will have followed you to Sloane Street, and, as you persistedin riding outside, she could easily take an inside place in youromnibus. As to the theatre, she must have taken it as a veritable giftof the gods; an arrangement made by you for her special convenience. "

"Why?"

"My dear fellow! consider. She had only to follow you in and see yousafely into your seat and there you were, left till called for. Shecould then go home, make up for her part; draw out a plan of action, with the help, perhaps, of Mr. Weiss, provide herself with the necessarymeans and appliances and, at the appointed time, call and collect you. "

"That is assuming a good deal, " I objected. "It is assuming, forinstance, that she lives within a moderate distance of Sloane Square. Otherwise it would have been impossible. "

"Exactly. That is why I assume it. You don't suppose that she goes abouthabitually with lumps of prepared sugar in her pocket. And if not, thenshe must have got that lump from somewhere. Then the beads suggest acarefully prepared plan, and, as I said just now, she can hardly havebeen made-up when she met us in Kennington Lane. From all of which itseems likely that her present abode is not very far from Sloane Square. "

"At any rate, " said I, "it was taking a considerable risk. I might haveleft the theatre before she came back. "

"Yes, " Thorndyke agreed. "But it is like a woman to take chances. A manwould probably have stuck to you when once he had got you off yourguard. But she was ready to take chances. She chanced the railway, andit came off; she chanced your remaining in the theatre, and that cameoff too. She calculated on the probability of your getting tea when youcame out, and she hit it off again. And then she took one chance toomany; she assumed that you probably took sugar in your tea, and she waswrong. "

"We are taking it for granted that the sugar was prepared, " I remarked. 

"Yes. Our explanation is entirely hypothetical and may be entirelywrong. But it all hangs together, and if we find any poisonous matter inthe sugar, it will be reasonable to assume that we are right. The sugaris the Experimentum Crucis. If you will hand it over to me, we will goup to the laboratory and make a preliminary test or two. "

I took the lump of sugar from my pocket and gave it to him, and hecarried it to the gas-burner, by the light of which he examined it witha lens. 

"I don't see any foreign crystals on the surface, " said he; "but we hadbetter make a solution and go to work systematically. If it contains anypoison we may assume that it will be some alkaloid, though I will testfor arsenic too. But a man of Weiss's type would almost certainly use analkaloid, on account of its smaller bulk and more ready solubility. Youought not to have carried this loose in your pocket. For legal purposesthat would seriously interfere with its value as evidence. Bodies thatare suspected of containing poison should be carefully isolated andpreserved from contact with anything that might lead to doubt in theanalysis. It doesn't matter much to us, as this analysis is only for ourown information and we can satisfy ourselves as to the state of yourpocket. But bear the rule in mind another time. "

We now ascended to the laboratory, where Thorndyke proceeded at once todissolve the lump of sugar in a measured quantity of distilled water bythe aid of gentle heat. 

"Before we add any acid, " said he, "or introduce any fresh matter, wewill adopt the simple preliminary measure of tasting the solution. Thesugar is a disturbing factor, but some of the alkaloids and mostmineral poisons excepting arsenic have a very characteristic taste. "

He dipped a glass rod in the warm solution and applied it gingerly tohis tongue. 

"Ha!" he exclaimed, as he carefully wiped his mouth with hishandkerchief, "simple methods are often very valuable. There isn't muchdoubt as to what is in that sugar. Let me recommend my learned brotherto try the flavour. But be careful. A little of this will go a longway. "

He took a fresh rod from the rack, and, dipping it in the solution, handed it to me. I cautiously applied it to the tip of my tongue and wasimmediately aware of a peculiar tingling sensation accompanied by afeeling of numbness. 

"Well, " said Thorndyke; "what is it?"

"Aconite, " I replied without hesitation. 

"Yes, " he agreed; "aconite it is, or more probably aconitine. And that, I think, gives us all the information we want. We need not trouble nowto make a complete analysis, though I shall have a quantitativeexamination made later. You note the intensity of the taste and you seewhat the strength of the solution is. Evidently that lump of sugarcontained a very large dose of the poison. If the sugar had beendissolved in your tea, the quantity that you drank would have containedenough aconitine to lay you out within a few minutes; which wouldaccount for Mrs. Schallibaum's anxiety to get clear of the premises. Shesaw you drink from the cup, but I imagine she had not seen you turn thesugar out. "

"No, I should say not, to judge by her expression. She lookedterrified. She is not as hardened as her rascally companion. "

"Which is fortunate for you, Jervis. If she had not been in such afluster, she would have waited until you had poured out your tea, whichwas what she probably meant to do, or have dropped the sugar into themilk-jug. In either case you would have got a poisonous dose before younoticed anything amiss. "

"They are a pretty pair, Thorndyke, " I exclaimed. "A human life seems tobe no more to them than the life of a fly or a beetle. "

"No; that is so. They are typical poisoners of the worst kind; of theintelligent, cautious, resourceful kind. They are a standing menace tosociety. As long as they are at large, human lives are in danger, and itis our business to see that they do not remain at large a moment longerthan is unavoidable. And that brings us to another point. You had betterkeep indoors for the next few days. "

"Oh, nonsense, " I protested. "I can take care of myself. "

"I won't dispute that, " said Thorndyke, "although I might. But thematter is of vital importance and we can't be too careful. Yours is theonly evidence that could convict these people. They know that and willstick at nothing to get rid of you--for by this time they will almostcertainly have ascertained that the tea-shop plan has failed. Now yourlife is of some value to you and to another person whom I could mention;but apart from that, you are the indispensable instrument for riddingsociety of these dangerous vermin. Moreover, if you were seen abroad andconnected with these chambers, they would get the information that theircase was really being investigated in a businesslike manner. If Weisshas not already left the country he would do so immediately, and if hehas, Mrs. Schallibaum would join him at once, and we might never be ableto lay hands on them. You must stay indoors, out of sight, and you hadbetter write to Miss Gibson and ask her to warn the servants to give noinformation about you to anyone. "

"And how long, " I asked, "am I to be held on parole?"

"Not long, I think. We have a very promising start. If I have any luck, I shall be able to collect all the evidence I want in about a week. Butthere is an element of chance in some of it which prevents me fromgiving a date. And it is just possible that I may have started on afalse track. But that I shall be able to tell you better in a day ortwo. "

"And I suppose, " I said gloomily, "I shall be out of the huntaltogether?"

"Not at all, " he replied. "You have got the Blackmore case to attend to. I shall hand you over all the documents and get you to make an orderlydigest of the evidence. You will then have all the facts and can workout the case for yourself. Also I shall ask you to help Polton in somelittle operations which are designed to throw light into dark places andwhich you will find both entertaining and instructive. "

"Supposing Mrs. Hornby should propose to call and take tea with us inthe gardens?" I suggested. 

"And bring Miss Gibson with her?" Thorndyke added dryly. "No, Jervis, itwould never do. You must make that quite clear to her. It is moreprobable than not that Mrs. Schallibaum made a careful note of the housein Endsley Gardens, and as that would be the one place actually known toher, she and Weiss--if he is in England--would almost certainly keep awatch on it. If they should succeed in connecting that house with thesechambers, a few inquiries would show them the exact state of the case. No; we must keep them in the dark if we possibly can. We have shown toomuch of our hand already. It is hard on you, but it cannot be helped. "

"Oh, don't think I am complaining, " I exclaimed. "If it is a matter ofbusiness, I am as keen as you are. I thought at first that you weremerely considering the safety of my vile body. When shall I start on myjob?"

"To-morrow morning. I shall give you my notes on the Blackmore case andthe copies of the will and the depositions, from which you had betterdraw up a digest of the evidence with remarks as to the conclusions thatit suggests. Then there are our gleanings from New Inn to be looked overand considered; and with regard to this case, we have the fragments of apair of spectacles which had better be put together into a rather moreintelligible form in case we have to produce them in evidence. That willkeep you occupied for a day or two, together with some workappertaining to other cases. And now let us dismiss professional topics. You have not dined and neither have I, but I dare say Polton has madearrangements for some sort of meal. We will go down and see. "

We descended to the lower floor, where Thorndyke's anticipations werejustified by a neatly laid table to which Polton was giving thefinishing touches. 

Chapter XI

The Blackmore Case Reviewed

One of the conditions of medical practice is the capability oftransferring one's attention at a moment's notice from one set ofcircumstances to another equally important but entirely unrelated. Ateach visit on his round, the practitioner finds himself concerned with aparticular, self-contained group of phenomena which he must consider atthe moment with the utmost concentration, but which he must instantlydismiss from his mind as he moves on to the next case. It is a difficulthabit to acquire; for an important, distressing or obscure case is aptto take possession of the consciousness and hinder the exercise ofattention that succeeding cases demand; but experience shows the facultyto be indispensable, and the practitioner learns in time to forgeteverything but the patient with whose condition he is occupied at themoment. 

My first morning's work on the Blackmore case showed me that the samefaculty is demanded in legal practice; and it also showed me that I hadyet to acquire it. For, as I looked over the depositions and the copy ofthe will, memories of the mysterious house in Kennington Lanecontinually intruded into my reflections, and the figure of Mrs. Schallibaum, white-faced, terrified, expectant, haunted me continually. 

In truth, my interest in the Blackmore case was little more thanacademic, whereas in the Kennington case I was one of the parties andwas personally concerned. To me, John Blackmore was but a name, Jeffreybut a shadowy figure to which I could assign no definite personality, and Stephen himself but a casual stranger. Mr. Graves, on the otherhand, was a real person. I had seen him amidst the tragic circumstancesthat had probably heralded his death, and had brought away with me, notonly a lively recollection of him, but a feeling of profound pity andconcern as to his fate. The villain Weiss, too, and the terrible womanwho aided, abetted and, perhaps, even directed him, lived in my memoryas vivid and dreadful realities. Although I had uttered no hint toThorndyke, I lamented inwardly that I had not been given some work--ifthere was any to do--connected with this case, in which I was so deeplyinterested, rather than with the dry, purely legal and utterlybewildering case of Jeffrey Blackmore's will. 

Nevertheless, I stuck loyally to my task. I read through the depositionsand the will--without getting a single glimmer of fresh light on thecase--and I made a careful digest of all the facts. I compared mydigest with Thorndyke's notes--of which I also made a copy--and foundthat, brief as they were, they contained several matters that I hadoverlooked. I also drew up a brief account of our visit to New Inn, witha list of the objects that we had observed or collected. And then Iaddressed myself to the second part of my task, the statement of myconclusions from the facts set forth. 

It was only when I came to make the attempt that I realized howcompletely I was at sea. In spite of Thorndyke's recommendation to studyMarchmont's statement as it was summarized in those notes which I hadcopied, and of his hint that I should find in that statement somethinghighly significant, I was borne irresistibly to one conclusion, and oneonly--and the wrong one at that, as I suspected: that JeffreyBlackmore's will was a perfectly regular, sound and valid document. 

I tried to attack the validity of the will from various directions, andfailed every time. As to its genuineness, that was obviously not inquestion. There seemed to me only two conceivable respects in which anyobjection could be raised, viz. The competency of Jeffrey to execute awill and the possibility of undue influence having been brought to bearon him. 

With reference to the first, there was the undoubted fact that Jeffreywas addicted to the opium habit, and this might, under somecircumstances, interfere with a testator's competency to make a will. But had any such circumstances existed in this case? Had the drug habitproduced such mental changes in the deceased as would destroy or weakenhis judgment? There was not a particle of evidence in favour of any suchbelief. Up to the very end he had managed his own affairs, and, if hishabits of life had undergone a change, they were still the habits of aperfectly sane and responsible man. 

The question of undue influence was more difficult. If it applied to anyperson in particular, that person could be none other than JohnBlackmore. Now it was an undoubted fact that, of all Jeffrey'sacquaintance, his brother John was the only one who knew that he was inresidence at New Inn. Moreover John had visited him there more thanonce. It was therefore possible that influence might have been broughtto bear on the deceased. But there was no evidence that it had. The factthat the deceased man's only brother should be the one person who knewwhere he was living was not a remarkable one, and it had beensatisfactorily explained by the necessity of Jeffrey's finding areference on applying for the chambers. And against the theory of undueinfluence was the fact that the testator had voluntarily brought hiswill to the lodge and executed it in the presence of entirelydisinterested witnesses. 

In the end I had to give up the problem in despair, and, abandoning thedocuments, turned my attention to the facts elicited by our visit to NewInn. 

What had we learned from our exploration? It was clear that Thorndykehad picked up some facts that had appeared to him important. Butimportant in what respect? The only possible issue that could be raisedwas the validity or otherwise of Jeffrey Blackmore's will; and since thevalidity of that will was supported by positive evidence of the mostincontestable kind, it seemed that nothing that we had observed couldhave any real bearing on the case at all. 

But this, of course, could not be. Thorndyke was no dreamer nor was headdicted to wild speculation. If the facts observed by us seemed to himto be relevant to the case, I was prepared to assume that they wererelevant, although I could not see their connection with it. And, onthis assumption, I proceeded to examine them afresh. 

Now, whatever Thorndyke might have observed on his own account, I hadbrought away from the dead man's chambers only a single fact; and a veryextraordinary fact it was. The cuneiform inscription was upside down. That was the sum of the evidence that I had collected; and the questionwas, What did it prove? To Thorndyke it conveyed some deep significance. What could that significance be?

The inverted position was not a mere temporary accident, as it mighthave been if the frame had been stood on a shelf or support. It was hungon the wall, and the plates screwed on the frame showed that itsposition was permanent and that it had never hung in any other. That itcould have been hung up by Jeffrey himself was clearly inconceivable. But allowing that it had been fixed in its present position by someworkman when the new tenant moved in, the fact remained that there ithad hung, presumably for months, and that Jeffrey Blackmore, with hisexpert knowledge of the cuneiform character, had never noticed that itwas upside down; or, if he had noticed it, that he had never taken thetrouble to have it altered. 

What could this mean? If he had noticed the error but had not troubledto correct it, that would point to a very singular state of mind, aninertness and indifference remarkable even in an opium-smoker. Butassuming such a state of mind, I could not see that it had any bearingon the will, excepting that it was rather inconsistent with the tendencyto make fussy and needless alterations which the testator had actuallyshown. On the other hand, if he had not noticed the inverted position ofthe photograph he must have been nearly blind or quite idiotic; for thephotograph was over two feet long and the characters large enough to beread easily by a person of ordinary eyesight at a distance of forty orfifty feet. Now he obviously was not in a state of dementia, whereas hiseyesight was admittedly bad; and it seemed to me that the onlyconclusion deducible from the photograph was that it furnished a measureof the badness of the deceased man's vision--that it proved him to havebeen verging on total blindness. 

But there was nothing startling new in this. He had, himself, declaredthat he was fast losing his sight. And again, what was the bearing ofhis partial blindness on the will? A totally blind man cannot draw uphis will at all. But if he has eyesight sufficient to enable him towrite out and sign a will, mere defective vision will not lead him tomuddle the provisions. Yet something of this kind seemed to be inThorndyke's mind, for now I recalled the question that he had put to theporter: "When you read the will over in Mr. Blackmore's presence, didyou read it aloud?" That question could have but one significance. Itimplied a doubt as to whether the testator was fully aware of the exactnature of the document that he was signing. Yet, if he was able to writeand sign it, surely he was able also to read it through, to say nothingof the fact that, unless he was demented, he must have remembered whathe had written. 

Thus, once more, my reasoning only led me into a blind alley at the endof which was the will, regular and valid and fulfilling all therequirements that the law imposed. Once again I had to confess myselfbeaten and in full agreement with Mr. Marchmont that "there was nocase"; that "there was nothing in dispute. " Nevertheless, I carefullyfixed in the pocket file that Thorndyke had given me the copy that I hadmade of his notes, together with the notes on our visit to New Inn, andthe few and unsatisfactory conclusions at which I had arrived; and thisbrought me to the end of my first morning in my new capacity. 

"And how, " Thorndyke asked as we sat at lunch, "has my learned friendprogressed? Does he propose that we advise Mr. Marchmont to enter acaveat?"

"I've read all the documents and boiled all the evidence down to a stiffjelly; and I am in a worse fog than ever. "

"There seems to be a slight mixture of metaphors in my learned friend'sremarks. But never mind the fog, Jervis. There is a certain virtue infog. It serves, like a picture frame, to surround the essential with aneutral zone that separates it from the irrelevant. "

"That is a very profound observation, Thorndyke, " I remarked ironically. 

"I was just thinking so myself, " he rejoined. 

"And if you could contrive to explain what it means--"

"Oh, but that is unreasonable. When one throws off a subtly philosophicobiter dictum one looks to the discerning critic to supply the meaning. By the way, I am going to introduce you to the gentle art of photographythis afternoon. I am getting the loan of all the cheques that were drawnby Jeffrey Blackmore during his residence at New Inn--there are onlytwenty-three of them, all told--and I am going to photograph them. "

"I shouldn't have thought the bank people would have let them go out oftheir possession. "

"They are not going to. One of the partners, a Mr. Britton, is bringingthem here himself and will be present while the photographs are beingtaken; so they will not go out of his custody. But, all the same, it isa great concession, and I should not have obtained it but for the factthat I have done a good deal of work for the bank and that Mr. Brittonis more or less a personal friend. "

"By the way, how comes it that the cheques are at the bank? Why werethey not returned to Jeffrey with the pass-book in the usual way?"

"I understand from Britton, " replied Thorndyke, "that all Jeffrey'scheques were retained by the bank at his request. When he was travellinghe used to leave his investment securities and other valuable documentsin his bankers' custody, and, as he has never applied to have themreturned, the bankers still have them and are retaining them until thewill is proved, when they will, of course, hand over everything to theexecutors. "

"What is the object of photographing these cheques?" I asked. 

"There are several objects. First, since a good photograph ispractically as good as the original, when we have the photographs wepractically have the cheques for reference. Then, since a photograph canbe duplicated indefinitely, it is possible to perform experiments on itwhich involve its destruction; which would, of course, be impossible inthe case of original cheques. "

"But the ultimate object, I mean. What are you going to prove?"

"You are incorrigible, Jervis, " he exclaimed. "How should I know what Iam going to prove? This is an investigation. If I knew the resultbeforehand, I shouldn't want to perform the experiment. "

He looked at his watch, and, as we rose from the table, he said:

"If we have finished, we had better go up to the laboratory and see thatthe apparatus is ready. Mr. Britton is a busy man, and, as he is doingus a great service, we mustn't keep him waiting when he comes. "

We ascended to the laboratory, where Polton was already busy inspectingthe massively built copying camera which--with the long, steel guides onwhich the easel or copy-holder travelled--took up the whole length ofthe room on the side opposite to that occupied by the chemical bench. AsI was to be inducted into the photographic art, I looked at it with moreattention than I had ever done before. 

"We've made some improvements since you were here last, sir, " saidPolton, who was delicately lubricating the steel guides. "We've fittedthese steel runners instead of the blackleaded wooden ones that we usedto have. And we've made two scales instead of one. Hallo! That's thedownstairs bell. Shall I go sir?"

"Perhaps you'd better, " said Thorndyke. "It may not be Mr. Britton, andI don't want to be caught and delayed just now. "

However, it was Mr. Britton; a breezy alert-looking middle-aged man, whocame in escorted by Polton and shook our hands cordially, having beenpreviously warned of my presence. He carried a small but solid hand-bag, to which he clung tenaciously up to the very moment when its contentswere required for use. 

"So that is the camera, " said he, running an inquisitive eye over theinstrument. "Very fine one, too; I am a bit of a photographer myself. What is that graduation on the side-bar?"

"Those are the scales, " replied Thorndyke, "that shows the degree ofmagnification or reduction. The pointer is fixed to the easel andtravels with it, of course, showing the exact size of the photograph. When the pointer is opposite o the photograph will be identical in sizewith the object photographed; when it points to, say, × 6, thephotograph will be six times as long as the object, or magnifiedthirty-six times superficially, whereas if the pointer is at ÷ 6, thephotograph will be a sixth of the length of the object, or onethirty-sixth superficial. "

"Why are there two scales?" Mr. Britton asked. 

"There is a separate scale for each of the two lenses that weprincipally use. For great magnification or reduction a lens ofcomparatively short focus must be used, but, as a long-focus lens givesa more perfect image, we use one of very long focus--thirty-sixinches--for copying the same size or for slight magnification orreduction. "

"Are you going to magnify these cheques?" Mr. Britton asked. 

"Not in the first place, " replied Thorndyke. "For convenience and speedI am going to photograph them half-size, so that six cheques will go onone whole plate. Afterwards we can enlarge from the negatives as much aswe like. But we should probably enlarge only the signatures in anycase. "

The precious bag was now opened and the twenty-three cheques brought outand laid on the bench in a consecutive series in the order of theirdates. They were then fixed by tapes--to avoid making pin-holes inthem--in batches of six to small drawing boards, each batch being soarranged that the signatures were towards the middle. The first boardwas clamped to the easel, the latter was slid along its guides untilthe pointer stood at ÷ 2 on the long-focus scale and Thorndyke proceededto focus the camera with the aid of a little microscope that Polton hadmade for the purpose. When Mr. Britton and I had inspected theexquisitely sharp image on the focusing-screen through the microscope, Polton introduced the plate and made the first exposure, carrying thedark-slide off to develop the plate while the next batch of cheques wasbeing fixed in position. 

In his photographic technique, as in everything else, Polton followed asclosely as he could the methods of his principal and instructor; methodscharacterized by that unhurried precision that leads to perfectaccomplishment. When the first negative was brought forth, dripping, from the dark-room, it was without spot or stain, scratch or pin-hole;uniform in colour and of exactly the required density. The six chequesshown on it--ridiculously small in appearance, though only reduced tohalf-length--looked as clear and sharp as fine etchings; though, to besure, my opportunity for examining them was rather limited, for Poltonwas uncommonly careful to keep the wet plate out of reach and so safefrom injury. 

"Well, " said Mr. Britton, when, at the end of the séance, he returnedhis treasures to the bag, "you have now got twenty-three of our cheques, to all intents and purposes. I hope you are not going to make anyunlawful use of them--must tell our cashiers to keep a bright look-out;and"--here he lowered his voice impressively and addressed himself tome and Polton--"you understand that this is a private matter between Dr. Thorndyke and me. Of course, as Mr. Blackmore is dead, there is noreason why his cheques should not be photographed for legal purposes;but we don't want it talked about; nor, I think, does Dr. Thorndyke. "

"Certainly not, " Thorndyke agreed emphatically; "but you need not beuneasy, Mr. Britton. We are very uncommunicative people in thisestablishment. "

As my colleague and I escorted our visitor down the stairs, he returnedto the subject of the cheques. 

"I don't understand what you want them for, " he remarked. "There is noquestion turning on signatures in the case of Blackmore deceased, isthere?"

"I should say not, " Thorndyke replied rather evasively. 

"I should say very decidedly not, " said Mr. Britton, "if I understoodMarchmont aright. And, even if there were, let me tell you, thesesignatures that you have got wouldn't help you. I have looked them oververy closely--and I have seen a few signatures in my time, you know. Marchmont asked me to glance over them as a matter of form, but I don'tbelieve in matters of form; I examined them very carefully. There is anappreciable amount of variation; a very appreciable amount. But underthe variation one can trace the personal character (which is whatmatters); the subtle, indescribable quality that makes it recognizableto the expert eye as Jeffrey Blackmore's writing. You understand me. There is such a quality, which remains when the coarser characteristicsvary; just as a man may grow old, or fat, or bald, or may take to drink, and become quite changed; and yet, through it all, he preserves acertain something which makes him recognizable as a member of aparticular family. Well, I find that quality in all those signatures, and so will you, if you have had enough experience of handwriting. Ithought it best to mention it in case you might be giving yourselfunnecessary trouble. "

"It is very good of you, " said Thorndyke, "and I need not say that theinformation is of great value, coming from such a highly expert source. As a matter of fact, your hint will be of great value to me. "

He shook hands with Mr. Britton, and, as the latter disappeared down thestairs, he turned into the sitting-room and remarked:

"There is a very weighty and significant observation, Jervis. I adviseyou to consider it attentively in all its bearings. "

"You mean the fact that these signatures are undoubtedly genuine?"

"I meant, rather, the very interesting general truth that is containedin Britton's statement; that physiognomy is not a mere matter of facialcharacter. A man carries his personal trademark, not in his face only, but in his nervous system and muscles--giving rise to characteristicmovements and gait; in his larynx--producing an individual voice; andeven in his mouth, as shown by individual peculiarities of speech andaccent. And the individual nervous system, by means of thesecharacteristic movements, transfers its peculiarities to inanimateobjects that are the products of such movements; as we see in pictures, in carving, in musical execution and in handwriting. No one has everpainted quite like Reynolds or Romney; no one has ever played exactlylike Liszt or Paganini; the pictures or the sounds produced by them, were, so to speak, an extension of the physiognomy of the artist. And sowith handwriting. A particular specimen is the product of a particularset of motor centres in an individual brain. "

"These are very interesting considerations, Thorndyke, " I remarked; "butI don't quite see their present application. Do you mean them to bear inany special way on the Blackmore case?"

"I think they do bear on it very directly. I thought so while Mr. Britton was making his very illuminating remarks. "

"I don't see how. In fact I cannot see why you are going into thequestion of the signatures at all. The signature on the will isadmittedly genuine, and that seems to me to dispose of the wholeaffair. "

"My dear Jervis, " said he, "you and Marchmont are allowing yourselves tobe obsessed by a particular fact--a very striking and weighty fact, Iwill admit, but still, only an isolated fact. Jeffrey Blackmore executedhis will in a regular manner, complying with all the necessaryformalities and conditions. In the face of that single circumstance youand Marchmont would 'chuck up the sponge, ' as the old pugilistsexpressed it. Now that is a great mistake. You should never allowyourself to be bullied and browbeaten by a single fact. "

"But, my dear Thorndyke!" I protested, "this fact seems to be final. Itcovers all possibilities---unless you can suggest any other that wouldcancel it. "

"I could suggest a dozen, " he replied. "Let us take an instance. Supposing Jeffrey executed this will for a wager; that he immediatelyrevoked it and made a fresh will, that he placed the latter in thecustody of some person and that that person has suppressed it. "

"Surely you do not make this suggestion seriously!" I exclaimed. 

"Certainly I do not, " he replied with a smile. "I merely give it as aninstance to show that your final and absolute fact is really onlyconditional on there being no other fact that cancels it. "

"Do you think he might have made a third will?"

"It is obviously possible. A man who makes two wills may make three ormore; but I may say that I see no present reason for assuming theexistence of another will. What I want to impress on you is thenecessity of considering all the facts instead of bumping heavilyagainst the most conspicuous one and forgetting all the rest. By theway, here is a little problem for you. What was the object of whichthese are the parts?"

He pushed across the table a little cardboard box, having first removedthe lid. In it were a number of very small pieces of broken glass, someof which had been cemented together by their edges. 

"These, I suppose, " said I, looking with considerable curiosity at thelittle collection, "are the pieces of glass that we picked up in poorBlackmore's bedroom?"

"Yes. You see that Polton has been endeavouring to reconstitute theobject, whatever it was; but he has not been very successful, for thefragments were too small and irregular and the collection tooincomplete. However, here is a specimen, built up of six small pieces, which exhibits the general character of the object fairly well. "

He picked out the little irregularly shaped object and handed it to me;and I could not but admire the neatness with which Polton had joined thetiny fragments together. 

I took the little "restoration, " and, holding it up before my eyes, moved it to and fro as I looked through it at the window. 

"It was not a lens, " I pronounced eventually. 

"No, " Thorndyke agreed, "it was not a lens. "

"And so cannot have been a spectacle-glass. But the surface wascurved--one side convex and the other concave--and the little piece thatremains of the original edge seems to have been ground to fit a bezel orframe. I should say that these are portions of a watch-glass. "

"That is Polton's opinion, " said Thorndyke, "and I think you are bothwrong. "

"What do you say to the glass of a miniature or locket?"

"That is rather more probable, but it is not my view. "

"What do you think it is?" I asked. But Thorndyke was not to be drawn. 

"I am submitting the problem for solution by my learned friend, " hereplied with an exasperating smile, and then added: "I don't say thatyou and Polton are wrong; only that I don't agree with you. Perhaps youhad better make a note of the properties of this object, and consider itat your leisure when you are ruminating on the other data referring tothe Blackmore case. "

"My ruminations, " I said, "always lead me back to the same point. "

"But you mustn't let them, " he replied. "Shuffle your data about. Inventhypotheses. Never mind if they seem rather wild. Don't put them aside onthat account. Take the first hypothesis that you can invent and test itthoroughly with your facts. You will probably have to reject it, but youwill be certain to have learned something new. Then try again with afresh one. You remember what I told you of my methods when I began thisbranch of practice and had plenty of time on my hands?"

"I am not sure that I do. "

"Well, I used to occupy my leisure in constructing imaginary cases, mostly criminal, for the purpose of study and for the acquirement ofexperience. For instance, I would devise an ingenious fraud and wouldplan it in detail, taking every precaution that I could think of againstfailure or detection, considering, and elaborately providing for, everyimaginable contingency. For the time being, my entire attention wasconcentrated on it, making it as perfect and secure and undetectable asI could with the knowledge and ingenuity at my command. I behavedexactly as if I were proposing actually to carry it out, and my life orliberty depended on its success--excepting that I made full notes ofevery detail of the scheme. Then when my plans were as complete as Icould make them, and I could think of no way in which to improve them, Ichanged sides and considered the case from the standpoint of detection. I analysed the case, I picked out its inherent and unavoidableweaknesses, and, especially, I noted the respects in which a fraudulentproceeding of a particular kind differed from the bona fide proceedingthat it simulated. The exercise was invaluable to me. I acquired as muchexperience from those imaginary cases as I should from real ones, and inaddition, I learned a method which is the one that I practise to thisday. "

"Do you mean that you still invent imaginary cases as mental exercises?"

"No; I mean that, when I have a problem of any intricacy, I invent acase which fits the facts and the assumed motives of one of the parties. Then I work at that case until I find whether it leads to elucidation orto some fundamental disagreement. In the latter case I reject it andbegin the process over again. "

"Doesn't that method sometimes involve a good deal of wasted time andenergy?" I asked. 

"No; because each time that you fail to establish a given case, youexclude a particular explanation of the facts and narrow down the fieldof inquiry. By repeating the process, you are bound, in the end, toarrive at an imaginary case which fits all the facts. Then yourimaginary case is the real case and the problem is solved. Let merecommend you to give the method a trial. "

I promised to do so, though with no very lively expectations as to theresult, and with this, the subject was allowed, for the present, todrop. 

Chapter XII

The Portrait

The state of mind which Thorndyke had advised me to cultivate was onethat did not come easily. However much I endeavoured to shuffle thefacts of the Blackmore case, there was one which inevitably turned up onthe top of the pack. The circumstances surrounding the execution ofJeffrey Blackmore's will intruded into all my cogitations on the subjectwith hopeless persistency. That scene in the porter's lodge was to mewhat King Charles's head was to poor Mr. Dick. In the midst of mypraiseworthy efforts to construct some intelligible scheme of the case, it would make its appearance and reduce my mind to instant chaos. 

For the next few days, Thorndyke was very much occupied with one or twocivil cases, which kept him in court during the whole of the sitting;and when he came home, he seemed indisposed to talk on professionaltopics. Meanwhile, Polton worked steadily at the photographs of thesignatures, and, with a view to gaining experience, I assisted him andwatched his methods. 

In the present case, the signatures were enlarged from their originaldimensions--rather less than an inch and a half in length--to a lengthof four and a half inches; which rendered all the little peculiaritiesof the handwriting surprisingly distinct and conspicuous. Each signaturewas eventually mounted on a slip of card bearing a number and the dateof the cheque from which it was taken, so that it was possible to placeany two signatures together for comparison. I looked over the wholeseries and very carefully compared those which showed any differences, but without discovering anything more than might have been expected inview of Mr. Britton's statement. There were some trifling variations, but they were all very much alike, and no one could doubt, on looking atthem, that they were all written by the same hand. 

As this, however, was apparently not in dispute, it furnished no newinformation. Thorndyke's object--for I felt certain that he hadsomething definite in his mind--must be to test something apart from thegenuineness of the signatures. But what could that something be? I darednot ask him, for questions of that kind were anathema, so there wasnothing for it but to lie low and see what he would do with thephotographs. 

The whole series was finished on the fourth morning after my adventureat Sloane Square, and the pack of cards was duly delivered by Poltonwhen he brought in the breakfast tray. Thorndyke took up the packsomewhat with the air of a whist player, and, as he ran through them, Inoticed that the number had increased from twenty-three to twenty-four. 

"The additional one, " Thorndyke explained, "is the signature to thefirst will, which was in Marchmont's possession. I have added it to thecollection as it carries us back to an earlier date. The signature ofthe second will presumably resembles those of the cheques drawn aboutthe same date. But that is not material, or, if it should become so, wecould claim to examine the second will. "

He laid the cards out on the table in the order of their dates andslowly ran his eye down the series. I watched him closely and venturedpresently to ask:

"Do you agree with Mr. Britton as to the general identity of characterin the whole set of signatures?"

"Yes, " he replied. "I should certainly have put them down as being allthe signatures of one person. The variations are very slight. The latersignatures are a little stiffer, a little more shaky and indistinct, andthe B's and k's are both appreciably different from those in the earlierones. But there is another fact which emerges when the whole series isseen together, and it is so striking and significant a fact, that I amastonished at its not having been remarked on by Mr. Britton. "

"Indeed!" said I, stooping to examine the photographs with freshinterest; "what is that?"

"It is a very simple fact and very obvious, but yet, as I have said, very significant. Look carefully at number one, which is the signatureof the first will, dated three years ago, and compare it with numberthree, dated the eighteenth of September last year. "

"They look to me identical, " said I, after a careful comparison. 

"So they do to me, " said Thorndyke. "Neither of them shows the changethat occurred later. But if you look at number two, dated the sixteenthof September, you will see that it is in the later style. So is numberfour, dated the twenty-third of September; but numbers five and six, both at the beginning of October, are in the earlier style, like thesignature of the will. Thereafter all the signatures are in the newstyle; but, if you compare number two, dated the sixteenth of Septemberwith number twenty-four, dated the fourteenth of March of this year--theday of Jeffrey's death--you see that they exhibit no difference. Bothare in the 'later style, ' but the last shows no greater change than thefirst. Don't you consider these facts very striking and significant?"

I reflected a few moments, trying to make out the deep significance towhich Thorndyke was directing my attention--and not succeeding verytriumphantly. 

"You mean, " I said, "that the occasional reversions to the earlier formconvey some material suggestion?"

"Yes; but more than that. What we learn from an inspection of thisseries is this: that there was a change in the character of thesignature; a very slight change, but quite recognizable. Now that changewas not gradual or insidious nor was it progressive. It occurred at acertain definite time. At first there were one or two reversions to theearlier form, but after number six the new style continued to the end;and you notice that it continued without any increase in the change andwithout any variation. There are no intermediate forms. Some of thesignatures are in the 'old style' and some in the 'new, ' but there arenone that are half and half. So that, to repeat: We have here two typesof signature, very much alike, but distinguishable. They alternate, butdo not merge into one another to produce intermediate forms. The changeoccurs abruptly, but shows no tendency to increase as time goes on; itis not a progressive change. What do you make of that, Jervis?"

"It is very remarkable, " I said, poring over the cards to verifyThorndyke's statements. "I don't quite know what to make of it. If thecircumstances admitted of the idea of forgery, one would suspect thegenuineness of some of the signatures. But they don't--at any rate, inthe case of the later will, to say nothing of Mr. Britton's opinion onthe signatures. "

"Still, " said Thorndyke, "there must be some explanation of the changein the character of the signatures, and that explanation cannot be thefailing eyesight of the writer; for that is a gradually progressive andcontinuous condition, whereas the change in the writing is abrupt andintermittent. "

I considered Thorndyke's remark for a few moments; and then alight--though not a very brilliant one--seemed to break on me. 

"I think I see what you are driving at, " said I. "You mean that thechange in the writing must be associated with some new conditionaffecting the writer, and that that condition existed intermittently?"

Thorndyke nodded approvingly, and I continued:

"The only intermittent condition that we know of is the effect of opium. So that we might consider the clearer signatures to have been made whenJeffrey was in his normal state, and the less distinct ones after a boutof opium-smoking. "

"That is perfectly sound reasoning, " said Thorndyke. "What furtherconclusion does it lead to?"

"It suggests that the opium habit had been only recently acquired, sincethe change was noticed only about the time he went to live at New Inn;and, since the change in the writing is at first intermittent and thencontinuous, we may infer that the opium-smoking was at first occasionaland later became a a confirmed habit. "

"Quite a reasonable conclusion and very clearly stated, " said Thorndyke. "I don't say that I entirely agree with you, or that you have exhaustedthe information that these signatures offer. But you have started in theright direction. "

"I may be on the right road, " I said gloomily; "but I am stuck fast inone place and I see no chance of getting any farther. "

"But you have a quantity of data, " said Thorndyke. "You have all thefacts that I had to start with, from which I constructed the hypothesisthat I am now busily engaged in verifying. I have a few more data now, for 'as money makes money' so knowledge begets knowledge, and I put myoriginal capital out to interest. Shall we tabulate the facts that arein our joint possession and see what they suggest?"

I grasped eagerly at the offer, though I had conned over my notes againand again. 

Thorndyke produced a slip of paper from a drawer, and, uncapping hisfountain-pen, proceeded to write down the leading facts, reading eachaloud as soon as it was written. 

"1. The second will was unnecessary since it contained no new matter, expressed no new intentions and met no new conditions, and the firstwill was quite clear and efficient. 

"2. The evident intention of the testator was to leave the bulk of hisproperty to Stephen Blackmore. 

"3. The second will did not, under existing circumstances, give effectto this intention, whereas the first will did. 

"4. The signature of the second will differs slightly from that of thefirst, and also from what had hitherto been the testator's ordinarysignature. 

"And now we come to a very curious group of dates, which I will adviseyou to consider with great attention. 

"5. Mrs. Wilson made her will at the beginning of September last year, without acquainting Jeffrey Blackmore, who seems to have been unaware ofthe existence of this will. 

"6. His own second will was dated the twelfth of November of last year. 

"7. Mrs. Wilson died of cancer on the twelfth of March this presentyear. 

"8. Jeffrey Blackmore was last seen alive on the fourteenth of March. 

"9. His body was discovered on the fifteenth of March. 

"10. The change in the character of his signature began about Septemberlast year and became permanent after the middle of October. 

"You will find that collection of facts repay careful study, Jervis, especially when considered in relation to the further data:

"11. That we found in Blackmore's chambers a framed inscription of largesize, hung upside down, together with what appeared to be the remains ofa watch-glass and a box of stearine candles and some other objects. "

He passed the paper to me and I pored over it intently, focusing myattention on the various items with all the power of my will. But, struggle as I would, no general conclusion could be made to emerge fromthe mass of apparently disconnected facts. 

"Well?" Thorndyke said presently, after watching with grave interest myunavailing efforts; "what do you make of it?"

"Nothing!" I exclaimed desperately, slapping the paper down on thetable. "Of course, I can see that there are some queer coincidences. Buthow do they bear on the case? I understand that you want to upset thiswill; which we know to have been signed without compulsion or evensuggestion in the presence of two respectable men, who have sworn to theidentity of the document. That is your object, I believe?"

"Certainly it is. "

"Then I am hanged if I see how you are going to do it. Not, I shouldsay, by offering a group of vague coincidences that would muddle anybrain but your own. "

Thorndyke chuckled softly but pursued the subject no farther. 

"Put that paper in your file with your other notes, " he said, "and thinkit over at your leisure. And now I want a little help from you. Have youa good memory for faces?"

"Fairly good, I think. Why?"

"Because I have a photograph of a man whom I think you may have met. Just look at it and tell me if you remember the face. "

He drew a cabinet size photograph from an envelope that had come by themorning's post and handed it to me. 

"I have certainly seen this face somewhere, " said I, taking the portraitover to the window to examine it more thoroughly, "but I can't, at themoment, remember where. "

"Try, " said Thorndyke. "If you have seen the face before, you should beable to recall the person. "

I looked intently at the photograph, and the more I looked, the morefamiliar did the face appear. Suddenly the identity of the man flashedinto my mind and I exclaimed in astonishment:

"It can't be that poor creature at Kennington, Mr. Graves?"

"I think it can, " replied Thorndyke, "and I think it is. But could youswear to the identity in a court of law?"

"It is my firm conviction that the photograph is that of Mr. Graves. Iwould swear to that. "

"No man ought to swear to more, " said Thorndyke. "Identification isalways a matter of opinion or belief. The man who will swearunconditionally to identity from memory only is a man whose evidenceshould be discredited. I think your sworn testimony would besufficient. "

It is needless to say that the production of this photograph filled mewith amazement and curiosity as to how Thorndyke had obtained it. But, as he replaced it impassively in its envelope without volunteering anyexplanation, I felt that I could not question him directly. Nevertheless, I ventured to approach the subject in an indirect manner. 

"Did you get any information from those Darmstadt people?" I asked. 

"Schnitzler? Yes. I learned, through the medium of an officialacquaintance, that Dr. H. Weiss was a stranger to them; that they knewnothing about him excepting that he had ordered from them, and beensupplied with, a hundred grammes of pure hydrochlorate of morphine. "

"All at once?"

"No. In separate parcels of twenty-five grammes each. "

"Is that all you know about Weiss?"

"It is all that I actually know; but it is not all that I suspect--onvery substantial grounds. By the way, what did you think of thecoachman?"

"I don't know that I thought very much about him. Why?"

"You never suspected that he and Weiss were one and the same person?"

"No. How could they be? They weren't in the least alike. And one was aScotchman and the other a German. But perhaps you know that they werethe same?"

"I only know what you have told me. But considering that you never sawthem together, that the coachman was never available for messages orassistance when Weiss was with you; that Weiss always made hisappearance some time after you arrived, and disappeared some time beforeyou left; it has seemed to me that they might have been the sameperson. "

"I should say it was impossible. They were so very different inappearance. But supposing that they were the same; would the fact be ofany importance?"

"It would mean that we could save ourselves the trouble of looking forthe coachman. And it would suggest some inferences, which will occur toyou if you think the matter over. But being only a speculative opinion, at present, it would not be safe to infer very much from it. "

"You have rather taken me by surprise, " I remarked. "It seems that youhave been working at this Kennington case, and working pretty actively Iimagine, whereas I supposed that your entire attention was taken up bythe Blackmore affair. "

"It doesn't do, " he replied, "to allow one's entire attention to betaken up by any one case. I have half a dozen others--minor cases, mostly--to which I am attending at this moment. Did you think I wasproposing to keep you under lock and key indefinitely?"

"Well, no. But I thought the Kennington case would have to wait itsturn. And I had no idea that you were in possession of enough facts toenable you to get any farther with it. "

"But you knew all the very striking facts of the case, and you saw thefurther evidence that we extracted from the empty house. "

"Do you mean those things that we picked out from the rubbish under thegrate?"

"Yes. You saw those curious little pieces of reed and the pair ofspectacles. They are lying in the top drawer of that cabinet at thismoment, and I should recommend you to have another look at them. To methey are most instructive. The pieces of reed offered an extremelyvaluable suggestion, and the spectacles enabled me to test thatsuggestion and turn it into actual information. "

"Unfortunately, " said I, "the pieces of reed convey nothing to me. Idon't know what they are or of what they have formed a part. "

"I think, " he replied, "that if you examine them with due consideration, you will find their use pretty obvious. Have a good look at them and thespectacles too. Think over all that you know of that mysterious group ofpeople who lived in that house, and see if you cannot form some coherenttheory of their actions. Think, also, if we have not some information inour possession by which we might be able to identify some of them, andinfer the identity of the others. You will have a quiet day, as I shallnot be home until the evening; set yourself this task. I assure you thatyou have the material for identifying--or rather for testing theidentity of--at least one of those persons. Go over your materialsystematically, and let me know in the evening what furtherinvestigations you would propose. "

"Very well, " said I. "It shall be done according to your word. I willaddle my brain afresh with the affair of Mr. Weiss and his patient, andlet the Blackmore case rip. "

"There is no need to do that. You have a whole day before you. An hour'sreally close consideration of the Kennington case ought to show you whatyour next move should be, and then you could devote yourself to theconsideration of Jeffrey Blackmore's will. "

With this final piece of advice, Thorndyke collected the papers for hisday's work, and, having deposited them in his brief bag, took hisdeparture, leaving me to my meditations. 

Chapter XIII

The Statement of Samuel Wilkins

As soon as I was alone, I commenced my investigations with a ratherdesperate hope of eliciting some startling and unsuspected facts. Iopened the drawer and taking from it the two pieces of reed and theshattered remains of the spectacles, laid them on the table. The repairsthat Thorndyke had contemplated in the case of the spectacles, had notbeen made. Apparently they had not been necessary. The battered wreckthat lay before me, just as we had found it, had evidently furnished thenecessary information; for, since Thorndyke was in possession of aportrait of Mr. Graves, it was clear that he had succeeded inidentifying him so far as to get into communication with some one whohad known him intimately. 

The circumstance should have been encouraging. But somehow it was not. What was possible to Thorndyke was, theoretically, possible to me--or toanyone else. But the possibility did not realize itself in practice. There was the personal equation. Thorndyke's brain was not an ordinarybrain. Facts of which his mind instantly perceived the relation remainedto other people unconnected and without meaning. His powers ofobservation and rapid inference were almost incredible, as I had noticedagain and again, and always with undiminished wonder. He seemed to takein everything at a single glance and in an instant to appreciate themeaning of everything that he had seen. 

Here was a case in point. I had myself seen all that he had seen, and, indeed, much more; for I had looked on the very people and witnessedtheir actions, whereas he had never set eyes on any of them. I hadexamined the little handful of rubbish that he had gathered up socarefully, and would have flung it back under the grate without a qualm. Not a glimmer of light had I perceived in the cloud of mystery, nor evena hint of the direction in which to seek enlightenment. And yetThorndyke had, in some incomprehensible manner, contrived to piecetogether facts that I had probably not even observed, and that socompletely that he had already, in these few days, narrowed down thefield of inquiry to quite a small area. 

From these reflections I returned to the objects on the table. Thespectacles, as things of which I had some expert knowledge, were not soprofound a mystery to me. A pair of spectacles might easily afford goodevidence for identification; that I perceived clearly enough. Not aready-made pair, picked up casually at a shop, but a pair constructed bya skilled optician to remedy a particular defect of vision and to fit aparticular face. And such were the spectacles before me. The build ofthe frames was peculiar; the existence of a cylindrical lens--which Icould easily make out from the remaining fragments--showed that oneglass had been cut to a prescribed shape and almost certainly ground toa particular formula, and also that the distance between centres musthave been carefully secured. Hence these spectacles had an individualcharacter. But it was manifestly impossible to inquire of all thespectacle-makers in Europe--for the glasses were not necessarily made inEngland. As confirmation the spectacles might be valuable; as astarting-point they were of no use at all. 

From the spectacles I turned to the pieces of reed. These were what hadgiven Thorndyke his start. Would they give me a leading hint too? Ilooked at them and wondered what it was that they had told Thorndyke. The little fragment of the red paper label had a dark-brown or thinblack border ornamented with a fret-pattern, and on it I detected acouple of tiny points of gold like the dust from leaf-gilding. But Ilearned nothing from that. Then the shorter piece of reed wasartificially hollowed to fit on the longer piece. Apparently it formed aprotective sheath or cap. But what did it protect? Presumably a point oredge of some kind. Could this be a pocket-knife of any sort, such as asmall stencil-knife? No; the material was too fragile for aknife-handle. It could not be an etching-needle for the same reason; andit was not a surgical appliance--at least it was not like any surgicalinstrument that was known to me. 

I turned it over and over and cudgelled my brains; and then I had abrilliant idea. Was it a reed pen of which the point had been brokenoff? I knew that reed pens were still in use by draughtsmen ofdecorative leanings with an affection for the "fat line. " Could any ofour friends be draughtsmen? This seemed the most probable solution ofthe difficulty, and the more I thought about it the more likely itseemed. Draughtsmen usually sign their work intelligibly, and even whenthey use a device instead of a signature their identity is easilytraceable. Could it be that Mr. Graves, for instance, was anillustrator, and that Thorndyke had established his identity by lookingthrough the works of all the well-known thick-line draughtsmen?

This problem occupied me for the rest of the day. My explanation did notseem quite to fit Thorndyke's description of his methods; but I couldthink of no other. I turned it over during my solitary lunch; Imeditated on it with the aid of several pipes in the afternoon; andhaving refreshed my brain with a cup of tea, I went forth to walk in theTemple gardens--which I was permitted to do without breaking myparole--to think it out afresh. 

The result was disappointing. I was basing my reasoning on theassumption that the pieces of reed were parts of a particular appliance, appertaining to a particular craft; whereas they might be the remains ofsomething quite different, appertaining to a totally different craft orto no craft at all. And in no case did they point to any knownindividual or indicate any but the vaguest kind of search. After pacingthe pleasant walks for upwards of two hours, I at length turned backtowards our chambers, where I arrived as the lamp-lighter was justfinishing his round. 

My fruitless speculations had left me somewhat irritable. The lightedwindows that I had noticed as I approached had given me the impressionthat Thorndyke had returned. I had intended to press him for a littlefurther information. When, therefore, I let myself into our chambers andfound, instead of my colleague, a total stranger--and only a back viewat that--I was disappointed and annoyed. 

The stranger was seated by the table, reading a large document thatlooked like a lease. He made no movement when I entered, but when Icrossed the room and wished him "Good evening, " he half rose and bowedsilently. It was then that I first saw his face, and a mighty start hegave me. For one moment I actually thought he was Mr. Weiss, so closewas the resemblance, but immediately I perceived that he was a muchsmaller man. 

I sat down nearly opposite and stole an occasional furtive glance athim. The resemblance to Weiss was really remarkable. The same flaxenhair, the same ragged beard and a similar red nose, with the patches ofacne rosacea spreading to the adjacent cheeks. He wore spectacles, too, through which he took a quick glance at me now and again, returningimmediately to his document. 

After some moments of rather embarrassing silence, I ventured to remarkthat it was a mild evening; to which he assented with a sort of Scotch"Hm--hm" and nodded slowly. Then came another interval of silence, during which I speculated on the possibility of his being a relative ofMr. Weiss and wondered what the deuce he was doing in our chambers. 

"Have you an appointment with Dr. Thorndyke?" I asked, at length. 

He bowed solemnly, and by way of reply--in the affirmative, as Iassumed--emitted another "hm--hm. "

I looked at him sharply, a little nettled by his lack of manners;whereupon he opened out the lease so that it screened his face, and as Iglanced at the back of the document, I was astonished to observe that itwas shaking rapidly. 

The fellow was actually laughing! What he found in my simple question tocause him so much amusement I was totally unable to imagine. But thereit was. The tremulous movements of the document left me in no possibledoubt that he was for some reason convulsed with laughter. 

It was extremely mysterious. Also, it was rather embarrassing. I tookout my pocket file and began to look over my notes. Then the documentwas lowered and I was able to get another look at the stranger's face. He was really extraordinarily like Weiss. The shaggy eyebrows, throwingthe eye-sockets into shadow, gave him, in conjunction with thespectacles, the same owlish, solemn expression that I had noticed in myKennington acquaintance; and which, by the way, was singularly out ofcharacter with the frivolous behaviour that I had just witnessed. 

From time to time as I looked at him, he caught my eye and instantlyaverted his own, turning rather red. Apparently he was a shy, nervousman, which might account for his giggling; for I have noticed that shyor nervous people have a habit of smiling inopportunely and evengiggling when embarrassed by meeting an over-steady eye. And it seemedmy own eye had this disconcerting quality, for even as I looked at him, the document suddenly went up again and began to shake violently. 

I stood it for a minute or two, but, finding the situation intolerablyembarrassing, I rose, and brusquely excusing myself, went up to thelaboratory to look for Polton and inquire at what time Thorndyke wasexpected home. To my surprise, however, on entering, I discoveredThorndyke himself just finishing the mounting of a microscopicalspecimen. 

"Did you know that there is some one below waiting to see you?" I asked. 

"Is it anyone you know?" he inquired. 

"No, " I answered. "It is a red-nosed, sniggering fool in spectacles. Hehas got a lease or a deed or some other sort of document which he hasbeen using to play a sort of idiotic game of Peep-Bo! I couldn't standhim, so I came up here. "

Thorndyke laughed heartily at my description of his client. 

"What are you laughing at?" I asked sourly; at which he laughed yet moreheartily and added to the aggravation by wiping his eyes. 

"Our friend seems to have put you out, " he remarked. 

"He put me out literally. If I had stayed much longer I should havepunched his head. "

"In that case, " said Thorndyke, "I am glad you didn't stay. But comedown and let me introduce you. "

"No, thank you. I've had enough of him for the present. "

"But I have a very special reason for wishing to introduce you. I thinkyou will get some information from him that will interest you very much;and you needn't quarrel with a man for being of a cheerful disposition. "

"Cheerful be hanged!" I exclaimed. "I don't call a man cheerful becausehe behaves like a gibbering idiot. "

To this Thorndyke made no reply but a broad and appreciative smile, andwe descended to the lower floor. As we entered the room, the strangerrose, and, glancing in an embarrassed way from one of us to the other, suddenly broke out into an undeniable snigger. I looked at him sternly, and Thorndyke, quite unmoved by his indecorous behaviour, said in agrave voice:

"Let me introduce you, Jervis; though I think you have met thisgentleman before. "

"I think not, " I said stiffly. 

"Oh yes, you have, sir, " interposed the stranger; and, as he spoke, Istarted; for the voice was uncommonly like the familiar voice of Polton. 

I looked at the speaker with sudden suspicion. And now I could see thatthe flaxen hair was a wig; that the beard had a decidedly artificiallook, and that the eyes that beamed through the spectacles wereremarkably like the eyes of our factotum. But the blotchy face, thebulbous nose and the shaggy, overhanging eyebrows were alien featuresthat I could not reconcile with the personality of our refined andaristocratic-looking little assistant. 

"Is this a practical joke?" I asked. 

"No, " replied Thorndyke; "it is a demonstration. When we were talkingthis morning it appeared to me that you did not realize the extent towhich it is possible to conceal identity under suitable conditions oflight. So I arranged, with Polton's rather reluctant assistance, to giveyou ocular evidence. The conditions are not favourable--which makes thedemonstration more convincing. This is a very well-lighted room andPolton is a very poor actor; in spite of which it has been possible foryou to sit opposite him for several minutes and look at him, I have nodoubt, very attentively, without discovering his identity. If the roomhad been lighted only with a candle, and Polton had been equal to thetask of supporting his make-up with an appropriate voice and manner, thedeception would have been perfect. "

"I can see that he has a wig on, quite plainly, " said I. 

"Yes; but you would not in a dimly lighted room. On the other hand, ifPolton were to walk down Fleet Street at mid-day in this condition, themake-up would be conspicuously evident to any moderately observantpasser-by. The secret of making up consists in a careful adjustment tothe conditions of light and distance in which the make-up is to be seen. That in use on the stage would look ridiculous in an ordinary room; thatwhich would serve in an artificially lighted room would look ridiculousout of doors by daylight. "

"Is any effective make-up possible out of doors in ordinary daylight?" Iasked. 

"Oh, yes, " replied Thorndyke. "But it must be on a totally differentscale from that of the stage. A wig, and especially a beard ormoustache, must be joined up at the edges with hair actually stuck onthe skin with transparent cement and carefully trimmed with scissors. The same applies to eyebrows; and alterations in the colour of the skinmust be carried out much more subtly. Polton's nose has been built upwith a small covering of toupée-paste, the pimples on the cheeksproduced with little particles of the same material; and the generaltinting has been done with grease-paint with a very light scumble ofpowder colour to take off some of the shine. This would be possible inoutdoor make-up, but it would have to be done with the greatest care anddelicacy; in fact, with what the art-critics call 'reticence. ' A verylittle make-up is sufficient and too much is fatal. You would besurprised to see how little paste is required to alter the shape of thenose and the entire character of the face. "

At this moment there came a loud knock at the door; a single, solid dabof the knocker which Polton seemed to recognize, for he ejaculated:

"Good lord, sir! That'll be Wilkins, the cabman! I'd forgotten allabout him. Whatever's to be done?"

He stared at us in ludicrous horror for a moment or two, and then, snatching off his wig, beard and spectacles, poked them into a cupboard. But his appearance was now too much even for Thorndyke--who hastily gotbehind him--for he had now resumed his ordinary personality--but with avery material difference. 

"Oh, it's nothing to laugh at, sir, " he exclaimed indignantly as Icrammed my handkerchief into my mouth. "Somebody's got to let him in, orhe'll go away. "

"Yes; and that won't do, " said Thorndyke. "But don't worry, Polton. Youcan step into the office. I'll open the door. "

Polton's presence of mind, however, seemed to have entirely forsakenhim, for he only hovered irresolutely in the wake of his principal. Asthe door opened, a thick and husky voice inquired:

"Gent of the name of Polton live here?"

"Yes, quite right, " said Thorndyke. "Come in. Your name is Wilkins, Ithink?"

"That's me, sir, " said the voice; and in response to Thorndyke'sinvitation, a typical "growler" cabman of the old school, complete evento imbricated cape and dangling badge, stalked into the room, andglancing round with a mixture of embarrassment and defiance, suddenlyfixed on Polton's nose a look of devouring curiosity. 

"Here you are, then, " Polton remarked nervously. 

"Yus, " replied the cabman in a slightly hostile tone. "Here I am. Whatam I wanted to do? And where's this here Mr. Polton?"

"I am Mr. Polton, " replied our abashed assistant. 

"Well, it's the other Mr. Polton what I want, " said the cabman, with hiseyes still riveted on the olfactory prominence. 

"There isn't any other Mr. Polton, " our subordinate replied irritably. "I am the--er--person who spoke to you in the shelter. "

"Are you though?" said the manifestly incredulous cabby. "I shouldn'thave thought it; but you ought to know. What do you want me to do?"

"We want you, " said Thorndyke, "to answer one or two questions. And thefirst one is, Are you a teetotaller?"

The question being illustrated by the production of a decanter, thecabman's dignity relaxed somewhat. 

"I ain't bigoted, " said he. 

"Then sit down and mix yourself a glass of grog. Soda or plain water?"

"May as well have all the extries, " replied the cabman, sitting down andgrasping the decanter with the air of a man who means business. "Per'apsyou wouldn't mind squirtin' out the soda, sir, bein' more used to it. "

While these preliminaries were being arranged, Polton silently slippedout of the room, and when our visitor had fortified himself with a gulpof the uncommonly stiff mixture, the examination began. 

"Your name, I think, is Wilkins?" said Thorndyke. 

"That's me, sir. Samuel Wilkins is my name. "

"And your occupation?"

"Is a very tryin' one and not paid for as it deserves. I drives a cab, sir; a four-wheeled cab is what I drives; and a very poor job it is. "

"Do you happen to remember a very foggy day about a month ago?"

"Do I not, sir! A regler sneezer that was! Wednesday, the fourteenth ofMarch. I remember the date because my benefit society came down on mefor arrears that morning. "

"Will you tell us what happened to you between six and seven in theevening of that day?"

"I will, sir, " replied the cabman, emptying his tumbler by way ofbracing himself up for the effort. "A little before six I was waiting onthe arrival side of the Great Northern Station, King's Cross, when I seea gentleman and a lady coming out. The gentleman he looks up and downand then he sees me and walks up to the cab and opens the door and helpsthe lady in. Then he says to me: 'Do you know New Inn?' he says. That'swhat he says to me what was born and brought up in White Horse Alley, Drury Lane. 

"'Get inside, ' says I. 

"'Well, ' says he, 'you drive in through the gate in Wych Street, ' hesays, as if he expected me to go in by Houghton Street and down thesteps, 'and then, ' he says, 'you drive nearly to the end and you'll seea house with a large brass plate at the corner of the doorway. That'swhere we want to be set down, ' he says, and with that he nips in andpulls up the windows and off we goes. 

"It took us a full half-hour to get to New Inn through the fog, for Ihad to get down and lead the horse part of the way. As I drove in underthe archway, I saw it was half-past six by the clock in the porter'slodge. I drove down nearly to the end of the inn and drew up opposite ahouse where there was a big brass plate by the doorway. It was numberthirty-one. Then the gent crawls out and hands me five bob--two'arf-crowns--and then he helps the lady out, and away they waddles tothe doorway and I see them start up the stairs very slow--reglerPilgrim's Progress. And that was the last I see of 'em. "

Thorndyke wrote down the cabman's statement verbatim together with hisown questions, and then asked:

"Can you give us any description of the gentleman?"

"The gent, " said Wilkins, was a very respectable-looking gent, though hedid look as if he'd had a drop of something short, and small blame tohim on a day like that. But he was all there, and he knew what was theproper fare for a foggy evening, which is more than some of 'em do. Hewas a elderly gent, about sixty, and he wore spectacles, but he didn'tseem to be able to see much through 'em. He was a funny 'un to look at;as round in the back as a turtle and he walked with his head stuckforward like a goose. "

"What made you think he had been drinking?"

"Well, he wasn't as steady as he might have been on his pins. But hewasn't drunk, you know. Only a bit wobbly on the plates. "

"And the lady; what was she like?"

"I couldn't see much of her because her head was wrapped up in a sort ofwoollen veil. But I should say she wasn't a chicken. Might have beenabout the same age as the gent, but I couldn't swear to that. She seemeda trifle rickety on the pins too; in fact they were a rum-lookingcouple. I watched 'em tottering across the pavement and up the stairs, hanging on to each other, him peering through his blinkers and shetrying to see through her veil, and I thought it was a jolly good jobthey'd got a nice sound cab and a steady driver to bring 'em safe home. "

"How was the lady dressed?"

"Can't rightly say, not being a hexpert. Her head was done up in thishere veil like a pudden in a cloth and she had a small hat on. She had adark brown mantle with a fringe of beads round it and a black dress; andI noticed when she got into the cab at the station that one of herstockings looked like the bellows of a concertina. That's all I can tellyou. "

Thorndyke wrote down the last answer, and, having read the entirestatement aloud, handed the pen to our visitor. 

"If that is all correct, " he said, "I will ask you to sign your name atthe bottom. "

"Do you want me to swear a affidavy that it's all true?" asked Wilkins. 

"No, thank you, " replied Thorndyke. "We may have to call you to giveevidence in court, and then you'll be sworn; and you'll also be paid foryour attendance. For the present I want you to keep your own counsel andsay nothing to anybody about having been here. We have to make someother inquiries and we don't want the affair talked about. "

"I see, sir, " said Wilkins, as he laboriously traced his signature atthe foot of the statement; "you don't want the other parties for to ogleyour lay. All right, sir; you can depend on me. I'm fly, I am. "

"Thank you, Wilkins, " said Thorndyke. "And now what are we to give youfor your trouble in coming here?"

"I'll leave the fare to you, sir. You know what the information's worth;but I should think 'arf a thick-un wouldn't hurt you. "

Thorndyke laid on the table a couple of sovereigns, at the sight ofwhich the cabman's eyes glistened. 

"We have your address, Wilkins, " said he. "If we want you as a witnesswe shall let you know, and if not, there will be another two pounds foryou at the end of a fortnight, provided you have not let this littleinterview leak out. "

Wilkins gathered up the spoils gleefully. "You can trust me, sir, " saidhe, "for to keep my mouth shut. I knows which side my bread's buttered. Good night, gentlemen all. "

With this comprehensive salute he moved towards the door and lethimself out. 

"Well, Jervis; what do you think of it?" Thorndyke asked, as thecabman's footsteps faded away in a creaky diminuendo. 

"I don't know what to think. This woman is a new factor in the case andI don't know how to place her. "

"Not entirely new, " said Thorndyke. "You have not forgotten those beadsthat we found in Jeffrey's bedroom, have you?"

"No, I had not forgotten them, but I did not see that they told us muchexcepting that some woman had apparently been in his bedroom at sometime. "

"That, I think, is all that they did tell us. But now they tell us thata particular woman was in his bedroom at a particular time, which is agood deal more significant. "

"Yes. It almost looks as if she must have been there when he made awaywith himself. "

"It does, very much. "

"By the way, you were right about the colours of those beads, and alsoabout the way they were used. "

"As to their use, that was a mere guess; but it has turned out to becorrect. It was well that we found the beads, for, small as is theamount of information they give, it is still enough to carry us a stagefurther. "

"How so?"

"I mean that the cabman's evidence tells us only that this woman enteredthe house. The beads tell us that she was in the bedroom; which, as yousay, seems to connect her to some extent with Jeffrey's death. Notnecessarily, of course. It is only a suggestion; but a rather strongsuggestion under the peculiar circumstances. "

"Even so, " said I, "this new fact seems to me so far from clearing upthe mystery, only to add to it a fresh element of still deeper mystery. The porter's evidence at the inquest could leave no doubt that Jeffreycontemplated suicide, and his preparations pointedly suggest thisparticular night as the time selected by him for doing away withhimself. Is not that so?"

"Certainly. The porter's evidence was very clear on that point. "

"Then I don't see where this woman comes in. It is obvious that herpresence at the inn, and especially in the bedroom, on this occasion andin these strange, secret circumstances, has a rather sinister look; butyet I do not see in what way she could have been connected with thetragedy. Perhaps, after all, she has nothing to do with it. You rememberthat Jeffrey went to the lodge about eight o'clock, to pay his rent, andchatted for some time with the porter. That looks as if the lady hadalready left. "

"Yes, " said Thorndyke. "But, on the other hand, Jeffrey's remarks to theporter with reference to the cab do not quite agree with the accountthat we have just heard from Wilkins. Which suggests--as does Wilkins'saccount generally--some secrecy as to the lady's visit to his chambers. "

"Do you know who the woman was?" I asked. 

"No, I don't know, " he replied. "I have a rather strong suspicion that Ican identify her, but I am waiting for some further facts. "

"Is your suspicion founded on some new matter that you have discovered, or is it deducible from facts that are known to me?"

"I think, " he replied, "that you know practically all that I know, although I have, in one instance, turned a very strong suspicion into acertainty by further inquiries. But I think you ought to be able to formsome idea as to who this lady probably was. "

"But no woman has been mentioned in the case at all. "

"No; but I think you should be able to give this lady a name, notwithstanding. "

"Should I? Then I begin to suspect that I am not cut out formedico-legal practice, for I don't see the faintest glimmer of asuggestion. "

Thorndyke smiled benevolently. "Don't be discouraged, Jervis, " said he. "I expect that when you first began to go round the wards, you doubtedwhether you were cut out for medical practice. I did. For special workone needs special knowledge and an acquired faculty for making use ofit. What does a second year's student make of a small thoracic aneurysm?He knows the anatomy of the chest; he begins to know the normal heartsounds and areas of dullness; but he cannot yet fit his various items ofknowledge together. Then comes the experienced physician and perhapsmakes a complete diagnosis without any examination at all, merely fromhearing the patient speak or cough. He has the same facts as thestudent, but he has acquired the faculty of instantly connecting anabnormality of function with its correleated anatomical change. It is amatter of experience. And, with your previous training, you will soonacquire the faculty. Try to observe everything. Let nothing escape you. And try constantly to find some connection between facts and events thatseem to be unconnected. That is my advice to you; and with that we willput away the Blackmore case for the present and consider our day's workat an end. "

Chapter XIV

Thorndyke Lays the Mine

The information supplied by Mr. Samuel Wilkins, so far from dispellingthe cloud of mystery that hung over the Blackmore case, only envelopedit in deeper obscurity, so far as I was concerned. The new problem thatThorndyke offered for solution was a tougher one than any of the others. He proposed that I should identify and give a name to this mysteriouswoman. But how could I? No woman, excepting Mrs. Wilson, had beenmentioned in connection with the case. This new dramatis persona hadappeared suddenly from nowhere and straightway vanished without leavinga trace, excepting the two or three beads that we had picked up inJeffrey's room. 

Nor was it in the least clear what part, if any, she had played in thetragedy. The facts still pointed as plainly to suicide as before herappearance. Jeffrey's repeated hints as to his intentions, and the verysignificant preparations that he had made, were enough to negative anyidea of foul play. And yet the woman's presence in the chambers at thattime, the secret manner of her arrival and her precautions againstrecognition, strongly suggested some kind of complicity in the dreadfulevent that followed. 

But what complicity is possible in the case of suicide? The woman mighthave furnished him with the syringe and the poison, but it would nothave been necessary for her to go to his chambers for that purpose. Vague ideas of persuasion and hypnotic suggestion floated through mybrain; but the explanations did not fit the case and the hypnoticsuggestion of crime is not very convincing to the medical mind. Then Ithought of blackmail in connection with some disgraceful secret; butthough this was a more hopeful suggestion, it was not very probable, considering Jeffrey's age and character. 

And all these speculations failed to throw the faintest light on themain question: "Who was this woman?"

A couple of days passed, during which Thorndyke made no furtherreference to the case. He was, most of the time, away from home, thoughhow he was engaged I had no idea. What was rather more unusual was thatPolton seemed to have deserted the laboratory and taken to outdoorpursuits. I assumed that he had seized the opportunity of leaving me incharge, and I dimly surmised that he was acting as Thorndyke's privateinquiry agent, as he seemed to have done in the case of Samuel Wilkins. 

On the evening of the second day Thorndyke came home in obviously goodspirits, and his first proceedings aroused my expectant curiosity. Hewent to a cupboard and brought forth a box of Trichinopoly cheroots. Nowthe Trichinopoly cheroot was Thorndyke's one dissipation, to be enjoyedonly on rare and specially festive occasions; which, in practice, meantthose occasions on which he had scored some important point or solvedsome unusually tough problem. Wherefore I watched him with livelyinterest. 

"It's a pity that the 'Trichy' is such a poisonous beast, " he remarked, taking up one of the cheroots and sniffing at it delicately. "There isno other cigar like it, to a really abandoned smoker. " He laid the cigarback in the box and continued: "I think I shall treat myself to oneafter dinner to celebrate the occasion. "

"What occasion?" I asked. 

"The completion of the Blackmore case. I am just going to write toMarchmont advising him to enter a caveat. "

"Do you mean to say that you have discovered a flaw in the will, afterall?"

"A flaw!" he exclaimed. "My dear Jervis, that second will is a forgery. "

I stared at him in amazement; for his assertion sounded like nothingmore or less than arrant nonsense. 

"But the thing is impossible, Thorndyke, " I said. "Not only did thewitnesses recognize their own signatures and the painter's greasyfinger-marks, but they had both read the will and remembered itscontents. "

"Yes; that is the interesting feature in the case. It is a very prettyproblem. I shall give you a last chance to solve it. To-morrow eveningwe shall have to give a full explanation, so you have anothertwenty-four hours in which to think it over. And, meanwhile, I am goingto take you to my club to dine. I think we shall be pretty safe therefrom Mrs. Schallibaum. "

He sat down and wrote a letter, which was apparently quite a short one, and having addressed and stamped it, prepared to go out. 

"Come, " said he, "let us away to 'the gay and festive scenes and hallsof dazzling light. ' We will lay the mine in the Fleet Street pillar box. I should like to be in Marchmont's office when it explodes. "

"I expect, for that matter, " said I, "that the explosion will be feltpretty distinctly in these chambers. "

"I expect so, too, " replied Thorndyke; "and that reminds me that I shallbe out all day to-morrow, so, if Marchmont calls, you must do all thatyou can to persuade him to come round after dinner and bring StephenBlackmore, if possible. I am anxious to have Stephen here, as he will beable to give us some further information and confirm certain matters offact. "

I promised to exercise my utmost powers of persuasion on Mr. Marchmontwhich I should certainly have done on my own account, being now on thevery tiptoe of curiosity to hear Thorndyke's explanation of theunthinkable conclusion at which he had arrived--and the subject droppedcompletely; nor could I, during the rest of the evening, induce mycolleague to reopen it even in the most indirect or allusive manner. 

Our explanations in respect of Mr. Marchmont were fully realized; for, on the following morning, within an hour of Thorndyke's departure fromour chambers, the knocker was plied with more than usual emphasis, and, on my opening the door, I discovered the solicitor in company with asomewhat older gentleman. Mr. Marchmont appeared somewhat out of humour, while his companion was obviously in a state of extreme irritation. 

"How d'you do, Dr. Jervis?" said Marchmont as he entered at myinvitation. "Your friend, I suppose, is not in just now?"

"No; and he will not be returning until the evening. "

"Hm; I'm sorry. We wished to see him rather particularly. This is mypartner, Mr. Winwood. "

The latter gentleman bowed stiffly and Marchmont continued:

"We have had a letter from Dr. Thorndyke, and it is, I may say, a rathercurious letter; in fact, a very singular letter indeed. "

"It is the letter of a madman!" growled Mr. Winwood. 

"No, no, Winwood; nothing of the kind. Control yourself, I beg you. Butreally, the letter is rather incomprehensible. It relates to the will ofthe late Jeffrey Blackmore--you know the main facts of the case; and wecannot reconcile it with those facts. "

"This is the letter, " exclaimed Mr. Winwood, dragging the document fromhis wallet and slapping it down on the table. "If you are acquaintedwith the case, sir, just read that, and let us hear what you think. "

I took up the letter and read aloud:

"JEFFREY BLACKMORE, DECD. 

"DEAR MR. MARCHMONT, --

"I have gone into this case with great care and have now no doubt thatthe second will is a forgery. Criminal proceedings will, I think, beinevitable, but meanwhile it would be wise to enter a caveat. 

"If you could look in at my chambers to-morrow evening we could talk thecase over; and I should be glad if you could bring Mr. StephenBlackmore; whose personal knowledge of the events and the partiesconcerned would be of great assistance in clearing up obscure details. 

"I am, "Yours sincerely, "JOHN EVELYN THORNDYKE

"C. F. MARCHMONT, ESQ. "

"Well!" exclaimed Mr. Winwood, glaring ferociously at me, "what do youthink of the learned counsel's opinion?"

"I knew that Thorndyke was writing to you to this effect, " I replied, "but I must frankly confess that I can make nothing of it. Have youacted on his advice?"

"Certainly not!" shouted the irascible lawyer. "Do you suppose that wewish to make ourselves the laughing-stock of the courts? The thing isimpossible--ridiculously impossible!"

"It can't be that, you know, " I said, a little stiffly, for I wassomewhat nettled by Mr. Winwood's manner, "or Thorndyke would not havewritten this letter. The conclusion looks as impossible to me as it doesto you; but I have complete confidence in Thorndyke. If he says that thewill is a forgery, I have no doubt that it is a forgery. "

"But how the deuce can it be?" roared Winwood. "You know thecircumstances under which the will was executed. "

"Yes; but so does Thorndyke. And he is not a man who overlooks importantfacts. It is useless to argue with me. I am in a complete fog about thecase myself. You had better come in this evening and talk it over withhim as he suggests. "

"It is very inconvenient, " grumbled Mr. Winwood. "We shall have to dinein town. "

"Yes, " said Marchmont, "but it is the only thing to be done. As Dr. Jervis says, we must take it that Thorndyke has something solid to basehis opinion on. He doesn't make elementary mistakes. And, of course, ifwhat he says is correct, Mr. Stephen's position is totally changed. "

"Bah!" exclaimed Winwood, "he has found a mare's nest, I tell you. Still, I agree that the explanation should be worth hearing. "

"You mustn't mind Winwood, " said Marchmont, in an apologetic undertone;"he's a peppery old fellow with a rough tongue, but he doesn't mean anyharm. " Which statement Winwood assented to--or dissented from; for itwas impossible to say which--by a prolonged growl. 

"We shall expect you then, " I said, "about eight to-night, and you willtry to bring Mr. Stephen with you?"

"Yes, " replied Marchmont; "I think we can promise that he shall comewith us. I have sent him a telegram asking him to attend. "

With this the two lawyers took their departure, leaving me to meditateupon my colleague's astonishing statement; which I did, considerably tothe prejudice of other employment. That Thorndyke would be able tojustify the opinion that he had given, I had no doubt whatever; but yetthere was no denying that his proposition was what Mr. Dick Swivellerwould call "a staggerer. "

When Thorndyke returned, I informed him of the visit of our two friends, and acquainted him with the sentiments that they had expressed; whereathe smiled with quiet amusement. 

"I thought, " he remarked, "that letter would bring Marchmont to our doorbefore long. As to Winwood, I have never met him, but I gather that heis one of those people whom you 'mustn't mind. ' In a general way, Iobject to people who tacitly claim exemption from the ordinary rules ofconduct that are held to be binding on their fellows. But, as hepromises to give us what the variety artists call 'an extra turn, ' wewill make the best of him and give him a run for his money. "

Here Thorndyke smiled mischievously--I understood the meaning of thatsmile later in the evening--and asked: "What do you think of the affairyourself?"

"I have given it up, " I answered. "To my paralysed brain, the Blackmorecase is like an endless algebraical problem propounded by an insanemathematician. "

Thorndyke laughed at my comparison, which I flatter myself was a ratherapt one. 

"Come and dine, " said he, "and let us crack a bottle, that our heartsmay not turn to water under the frown of the disdainful Winwood. I thinkthe old 'Bell' in Holborn will meet our present requirements better thanthe club. There is something jovial and roystering about an ancienttavern; but we must keep a sharp lookout for Mrs. Schallibaum. "

Thereupon we set forth; and, after a week's close imprisonment, I oncemore looked upon the friendly London streets, the cheerfully lightedshop windows and the multitudes of companionable strangers who movedunceasingly along the pavements. 

Chapter XV

Thorndyke Explodes the Mine

We had not been back in our chambers more than a few minutes when thelittle brass knocker on the inner door rattled out its summons. Thorndyke himself opened the door, and, finding our three expectedvisitors on the threshold, he admitted them and closed the "oak. "

"We have accepted your invitation, you see, " said Marchmont, whosemanner was now a little flurried and uneasy. "This is my partner, Mr. Winwood; you haven't met before, I think. Well, we thought we shouldlike to hear some further particulars from you, as we could not quiteunderstand your letter. "

"My conclusion, I suppose, " said Thorndyke, "was a little unexpected?"

"It was more than that, sir, " exclaimed Winwood. "It was absolutelyirreconcilable either with the facts of the case or with common physicalpossibilities. "

"At the first glance, " Thorndyke agreed, "it would probably have thatappearance. "

"It has that appearance still to me. " said Winwood, growing suddenly redand wrathful, "and I may say that I speak as a solicitor who waspractising in the law when you were an infant in arms. You tell us, sir, that this will is a forgery; this will, which was executed in broaddaylight in the presence of two unimpeachable witnesses who have sworn, not only to their signatures and the contents of the document, but totheir very finger-marks on the paper. Are those finger-marks forgeries, too? Have you examined and tested them?"

"I have not, " replied Thorndyke. "The fact is they are of no interest tome, as I am not disputing the witnesses' signatures. "

At this, Mr. Winwood fairly danced with irritation. 

"Marchmont!" he exclaimed fiercely, "you know this good gentleman, Ibelieve. Tell me, is he addicted to practical jokes?"

"Now, my dear Winwood, " groaned Marchmont, "I pray you--I beg you tocontrol yourself. No doubt--"

"But confound it!" roared Winwood, "you have, yourself, heard him saythat the will is a forgery, but that he doesn't dispute the signatures;which, " concluded Winwood, banging his fist down on the table, "isdamned nonsense. "

"May I suggest, " interposed Stephen Blackmore, "that we came here toreceive Dr. Thorndyke's explanation of his letter. Perhaps it would bebetter to postpone any comments until we have heard it. "

"Undoubtedly, undoubtedly, " said Marchmont. "Let me entreat you, Winwood, to listen patiently and refrain from interruption until we haveheard our learned friend's exposition of the case. "

"Oh, very well, " Winwood replied sulkily; "I'll say no more. "

He sank into a chair with the manner of a man who shuts himself up andturns the key; and so remained--excepting when the internal pressureapproached bursting-point--throughout the subsequent proceedings, silent, stony and impassive, like a seated statue of Obstinacy. 

"I take it, " said Marchmont, "that you have some new facts that are notin our possession?"

"Yes, " replied Thorndyke; "we have some new facts, and we have made somenew use of the old ones. But how shall I lay the case before you? ShallI state my theory of the sequence of events and furnish the verificationafterwards? Or shall I retrace the actual course of my investigationsand give you the facts in the order in which I obtained them myself, with the inferences from them?"

"I almost think, " said Mr. Marchmont, "that it would be better if youwould put us in possession of the new facts. Then, if the conclusionsthat follow from them are not sufficiently obvious, we could hear theargument. What do you say, Winwood?"

Mr. Winwood roused himself for an instant, barked out the one word"Facts, " and shut himself up again with a snap. 

"You would like to have the new facts by themselves?" said Thorndyke. 

"If you please. The facts only, in the first place, at any rate. "

"Very well, " said Thorndyke; and here I caught his eye with amischievous twinkle in it that I understood perfectly; for I had most ofthe facts myself and realized how much these two lawyers were likely toextract from them. Winwood was going to "have a run for his money, " asThorndyke had promised. 

My colleague, having placed on the table by his side a small cardboardbox and the sheets of notes from his file, glanced quickly at Mr. Winwood and began:

"The first important new facts came into my possession on the day onwhich you introduced the case to me. In the evening, after you left, Iavailed myself of Mr. Stephen's kind invitation to look over his uncle'schambers in New Inn. I wished to do so in order to ascertain, ifpossible, what had been the habits of the deceased during his residencethere. When I arrived with Dr. Jervis, Mr. Stephen was in the chambers, and I learned from him that his uncle was an Oriental scholar of someposition and that he had a very thorough acquaintance with the cuneiformwriting. Now, while I was talking with Mr. Stephen I made a very curiousdiscovery. On the wall over the fire-place hung a large framedphotograph of an ancient Persian inscription in the cuneiform character;and that photograph was upside down. "

"Upside down!" exclaimed Stephen. "But that is really very odd. "

"Very odd indeed, " agreed Thorndyke, "and very suggestive. The way inwhich it came to be inverted is pretty obvious and also rathersuggestive. The photograph had evidently been in the frame some yearsbut had apparently never been hung up before. "

"It had not, " said Stephen, "though I don't know how you arrived at thefact. It used to stand on the mantelpiece in his old rooms in JermynStreet. "

"Well, " continued Thorndyke, "the frame-maker had pasted his label onthe back of the frame, and as this label hung the right way up, itappeared as if the person who fixed the photograph on the wall hadadopted it as a guide. "

"It is very extraordinary, " said Stephen. "I should have thought theperson who hung it would have asked Uncle Jeffrey which was the rightway up; and I can't imagine how on earth it could have hung all thosemonths without his noticing it. He must have been practically blind. "

Here Marchmont, who had been thinking hard, with knitted brows, suddenlybrightened up. 

"I see your point, " said he. "You mean that if Jeffrey was as blind asthat, it would have been possible for some person to substitute a falsewill, which he might sign without noticing the substitution. "

"That wouldn't make the will a forgery, " growled Winwood. "If Jeffreysigned it, it was Jeffrey's will. You could contest it if you couldprove the fraud. But he said: 'This is my will, ' and the two witnessesread it and have identified it. "

"Did they read it aloud?" asked Stephen. 

"No, they did not, " replied Thorndyke. 

"Can you prove substitution?" asked Marchmont. 

"I haven't asserted it, " answered Thorndyke, "My position is that thewill is a forgery. "

"But it is not, " said Winwood. 

"We won't argue it now, " said Thorndyke. "I ask you to note the factthat the inscription was upside down. I also observed on the walls ofthe chambers some valuable Japanese colour-prints on which were recentdamp-spots. I noted that the sitting-room had a gas-stove and that thekitchen contained practically no stores or remains of food and hardlyany traces of even the simplest cooking. In the bedroom I found a largebox that had contained a considerable stock of hard stearine candles, six to the pound, and that was now nearly empty. I examined the clothingof the deceased. On the soles of the boots I observed dried mud, whichwas unlike that on my own and Jervis's boots, from the gravelly squareof the inn. I noted a crease on each leg of the deceased man's trousersas if they had been turned up half-way to the knee; and in the waistcoatpocket I found the stump of a 'Contango' pencil. On the floor of thebedroom, I found a portion of an oval glass somewhat like that of awatch or locket, but ground at the edge to a double bevel. Dr. Jervisand I also found one or two beads and a bugle, all of dark brown glass. "

Here Thorndyke paused, and Marchmont, who had been gazing at him withgrowing amazement, said nervously:

"Er--yes. Very interesting. These observations of yours--er--are--"

"Are all the observations that I made at New Inn. "

The two lawyers looked at one another and Stephen Blackmore staredfixedly at a spot on the hearth-rug. Then Mr. Winwood's face contorteditself into a sour, lopsided smile. 

"You might have observed a good many other things, sir, " said he, "ifyou had looked. If you had examined the doors, you would have noted thatthey had hinges and were covered with paint; and, if you had looked upthe chimney you might have noted that it was black inside. "

"Now, now, Winwood, " protested Marchmont in an agony of uneasiness as towhat his partner might say next, "I must really beg you--er--to refrainfrom--what Mr. Winwood means, Dr. Thorndyke, is that--er--we do notquite perceive the relevancy of these--ah--observations of yours. "

"Probably not, " said Thorndyke, "but you will perceive their relevancylater. For the present, I will ask you to note the facts and bear themin mind, so that you may be able to follow the argument when we come tothat. 

"The next set of data I acquired on the same evening, when Dr. Jervisgave me a detailed account of a very strange adventure that befell him. I need not burden you with all the details, but I will give you thesubstance of his story. "

He then proceeded to recount the incidents connected with my visits toMr. Graves, dwelling on the personal peculiarities of the partiesconcerned and especially of the patient, and not even forgetting thevery singular spectacles worn by Mr. Weiss. He also explained brieflythe construction of the chart, presenting the latter for the inspectionof his hearers. To this recital our three visitors listened in utterbewilderment, as, indeed did I also; for I could not conceive in whatway my adventures could possibly be related to the affairs of the lateMr. Blackmore. This was manifestly the view taken by Mr. Marchmont, for, during a pause in which the chart was handed to him, he remarkedsomewhat stiffly:

"I am assuming, Dr. Thorndyke, that the curious story you are telling ushas some relevance to the matter in which we are interested. "

"You are quite correct in your assumption, " replied Thorndyke. "Thestory is very relevant indeed, as you will presently be convinced. "

"Thank you, " said Marchmont, sinking back once more into his chair witha sigh of resignation. 

"A few days ago, " pursued Thorndyke, "Dr. Jervis and I located, with theaid of this chart, the house to which he had been called. We found thatthe late tenant had left somewhat hurriedly and that the house was tolet; and, as no other kind of investigation was possible, we obtainedthe keys and made an exploration of the premises. "

Here he gave a brief account of our visit and the conditions that weobserved, and was proceeding to furnish a list of the articles that wehad found under the grate, when Mr. Winwood started from his chair. 

"Really, sir!" he exclaimed, "this is too much! Have I come here, atgreat personal inconvenience, to hear you read the inventory of adust-heap?"

Thorndyke smiled benevolently and caught my eye, once more, with a gleamof amusement. 

"Sit down, Mr. Winwood, " he said quietly. "You came here to learn thefacts of the case, and I am giving them to you. Please don't interruptneedlessly and waste time. "

Winwood stared at him ferociously for several seconds; then, somewhatdisconcerted by the unruffled calm of his manner, he uttered a snort ofdefiance, sat down heavily and shut himself up again. 

"We will now, " Thorndyke continued, with unmoved serenity, "considerthese relics in more detail, and we will begin with this pair ofspectacles. They belonged to a person who was near-sighted andastigmatic in the left eye and almost certainly blind in the right. Sucha description agrees entirely with Dr. Jervis's account of the sickman. "

He paused for the moment, and then, as no one made any comment, proceeded:

"We next come to these little pieces of reed, which you, Mr. Stephen, will probably recognize as the remains of a Japanese brush, such as isused for writing in Chinese ink or for making small drawings. "

Again he paused, as though expecting some remark from his listeners; butno one spoke, and he continued:

"Then there is this bottle with the theatrical wig-maker's label on it, which once contained cement such as is used for fixing on false beards, moustaches or eyebrows. "

He paused once more and looked round expectantly at his audience, noneof whom, however, volunteered any remark. 

"Do none of these objects that I have described and shown you, seem tohave any significance for us?" he asked, in a tone of some surprise. 

"They convey nothing to me, " said Mr. Marchmont, glancing at hispartner, who shook his head like a restive horse. 

"Nor to you, Mr. Stephen?"

"No, " replied Stephen. "Under the existing circumstances they convey noreasonable suggestion to me. "

Thorndyke hesitated as if he were half inclined to say something more;then, with a slight shrug, he turned over his notes and resumed:

"The next group of new facts is concerned with the signatures of therecent cheques. We have photographed them and placed them together forthe purpose of comparison and analysis. "

"I am not prepared to question the signatures. " said Winwood. "We havehad a highly expert opinion, which would override ours in a court of laweven if we differed from it; which I think we do not. "

"Yes, " said Marchmont; "that is so. I think we must accept thesignatures, especially as that of the will has been proved, beyond anyquestion" to be authentic. "

"Very well, " agreed Thorndyke; "we will pass over the signatures. Thenwe have some further evidence in regard to the spectacles, which servesto verify our conclusions respecting them. "

"Perhaps, " said Marchmont, "we might pass over that, too, as we do notseem to have reached any conclusions. "

"As you please, " said Thorndyke. "It is important, but we can reserve itfor verification. The next item will interest you more, I think. It isthe signed and witnessed statement of Samuel Wilkins, the driver of thecab in which the deceased came home to the inn on the evening of hisdeath. "

My colleague was right. An actual document, signed by a tangiblewitness, who could be put in the box and sworn, brought both lawyers toa state of attention; and when Thorndyke read out the cabman's evidence, their attention soon quickened into undisguised astonishment. 

"But this is a most mysterious affair, " exclaimed Marchmont. "Who couldthis woman have been, and what could she have been doing in Jeffrey'schambers at this time? Can you throw any light on it, Mr. Stephen?"

"No, indeed I can't, " replied Stephen. "It is a complete mystery to me. My uncle Jeffrey was a confirmed old bachelor, and, although he did notdislike women, he was far from partial to their society, wrapped up ashe was in his favourite studies. To the best of my belief, he had not asingle female friend. He was not on intimate terms even with his sister, Mrs. Wilson. "

"Very remarkable, " mused Marchmont; "most remarkable. But, perhaps, youcan tell us, Dr. Thorndyke, who this woman was?"

"I think, " replied Thorndyke, "that the next item of evidence willenable you to form an opinion for yourselves. I only obtained ityesterday, and, as it made my case quite complete, I wrote off to youimmediately. It is the statement of Joseph Ridley, another cabman, andunfortunately, a rather dull, unobservant fellow, unlike Wilkins. He hasnot much to tell us, but what little he has is highly instructive. Hereis the statement, signed by the deponent and witnessed by me:

"'My name is Joseph Ridley. I am the driver of a four-wheeled cab. Onthe fourteenth of March, the day of the great fog, I was waiting atVauxhall Station, where I had just set down a fare. About five o'clock alady came and told me to drive over to Upper Kennington Lane to take upa passenger. She was a middle-sized woman. I could not tell what her agewas, or what she was like, because her head was wrapped up in a sort ofknitted, woollen veil to keep out the fog. I did not notice how she wasdressed. She got into the cab and I led the horse over to UpperKennington Lane and a little way up the lane, until the lady tapped atthe front, window for me to stop. 

"'She got out of the cab and told me to wait. Then she went away anddisappeared in the fog. Presently a lady and gentleman came from thedirection in which she had gone. The lady looked like the same lady, butI won't answer to that. Her head was wrapped up in the same kind of veilor shawl, and I noticed that she had on a dark coloured mantle withbead fringe on it. 

"'The gentleman was clean shaved and wore spectacles, and he stooped agood deal. I can't say whether his sight was good or bad. He helped thelady into the cab and told me to drive to the Great Northern Station, King's Cross. Then he got in himself and I drove off. I got to thestation about a quarter to six and the lady and gentleman got out. Thegentleman paid my fare and they both went into the station. I did notnotice anything unusual about either of them. Directly after they hadgone, I got a fresh fare and drove away. '

"That, " Thorndyke concluded, "is Joseph Ridley's statement; and I thinkit will enable you to give a meaning to the other facts that I haveoffered for your consideration. "

"I am not so sure about that, " said Marchmont. "It is all exceedinglymysterious. Your suggestion is, of course, that the woman who came toNew Inn in the cab was Mrs. Schallibaum!"

"Not at all, " replied Thorndyke. "My suggestion is that the woman wasJeffrey Blackmore. "

There was deathly silence for a few moments. We were all absolutelythunderstruck, and sat gaping at Thorndyke in speechless-astonishment. Then--Mr. Winwood fairly bounced out of his chair. 

"But--my--good--sir!" he screeched. "Jeffrey Blackmore was with her atthe time!"

"Naturally, " replied Thorndyke, "my suggestion implies that the personwho was with her was not Jeffrey Blackmore. "

"But he was!" bawled Winwood. "The porter saw him!"

"The porter saw a person whom he believed to be Jeffrey Blackmore. Isuggest that the porter's belief was erroneous. "

"Well, " snapped Winwood, "perhaps you can prove that it was. I don't seehow you are going to; but perhaps you can. "

He subsided once more into his chair and glared defiantly at Thorndyke. 

"You seemed, " said Stephen, "to suggest some connection between the sickman, Graves, and my uncle. I noted it at the time, but put it aside asimpossible. Was I right. Did you mean to suggest any connection?"

"I suggest something more than a connection. I suggest identity. Myposition is that the sick man, Graves, was your uncle. "

"From Dr. Jervis's description, " said Stephen, "this man must have beenvery like my uncle. Both were blind in the right eye and had very poorvision with the left; and my uncle certainly used brushes of the kindthat you have shown us, when writing in the Japanese character, for Ihave watched him and admired his skill; but--"

"But, " said Marchmont, "there is the insuperable objection that, at thevery time when this man was lying sick in Kennington Lane, Mr. Jeffreywas living at New Inn. "

"What evidence is there of that?" asked Thorndyke. 

"Evidence!" Marchmont exclaimed impatiently. "Why, my dear sir--"

He paused suddenly, and, leaning forward, regarded Thorndyke with a newand rather startled expression. 

"You mean to suggest--" he began. 

"I suggest that Jeffrey Blackmore never lived at New Inn at all. "

For the moment, Marchmont seemed absolutely paralysed by astonishment. 

"This is an amazing proposition!" he exclaimed, at length. "Yet thething is certainly not impossible, for, now that you recall the fact, Irealize that no one who had known him previously--excepting his brother, John--ever saw him at the inn. The question of identity was neverraised. "

"Excepting, " said Mr. Winwood, "in regard to the body; which wascertainly that of Jeffrey Blackmore. "

"Yes, yes. Of course, " said Marchmont. "I had forgotten that for themoment. The body was identified beyond doubt. You don't dispute theidentity of the body, do you?"

"Certainly not, " replied Thorndyke. 

Here Mr. Winwood grasped his hair with both hands and stuck his elbowson his knees, while Marchmont drew forth a large handkerchief and moppedhis forehead. Stephen Blackmore looked from one to the otherexpectantly, and finally said:

"If I might make a suggestion, it would be that, as Dr. Thorndyke hasshown us the pieces now of the puzzle, he should be so kind as to putthem together for our information. "

"Yes, " agreed Marchmont, "that will be the best plan. Let us have theargument, Doctor, and any additional evidence that you possess. "

"The argument, " said Thorndyke, "will be a rather long one, as the dataare so numerous, and there are some points in verification on which Ishall have to dwell in some detail. We will have some coffee to clearour brains, and then I will bespeak your patience for what may seem likea rather prolix demonstration. "

Chapter XVI

An Exposition and a Tragedy

"You may have wondered, " Thorndyke commenced, when he had poured out thecoffee and handed round the cups, "what induced me to undertake theminute investigation of so apparently simple and straightforward a case. Perhaps I had better explain that first and let you see what was thereal starting-point of the inquiry. 

"When you, Mr. Marchmont and Mr. Stephen, introduced the case to me, Imade a very brief précis of the facts as you presented them, and ofthese there were one or two which immediately attracted my attention. Inthe first place, there was the will. It was a very strange will. It wasperfectly unnecessary. It contained no new matter; it expressed nochanged intentions; it met no new circumstances, as known to thetestator. In short it was not really a new will at all, but merely arepetition of the first one, drafted in different and less suitablelanguage. It differed only in introducing a certain ambiguity from whichthe original was free. It created the possibility that, in certaincircumstances, not known to or anticipated by the testator, JohnBlackmore might become the principal beneficiary, contrary to theobvious wishes of the testator. 

"The next point that impressed me was the manner of Mrs. Wilson's death. She died of cancer. Now people do not die suddenly and unexpectedly ofcancer. This terrible disease stands almost alone in that it marks outits victim months in advance. A person who has an incurable cancer is aperson whose death may be predicted with certainty and its date fixedwithin comparatively narrow limits. 

"And now observe the remarkable series of coincidences that are broughtinto light when we consider this peculiarity of the disease. Mrs. Wilsondied on the twelfth of March of this present year. Mr. Jeffrey's secondwill was signed on the twelfth of November of last year; at a time, thatis to say, when the existence of cancer must have been known to Mrs. Wilson's doctor, and might have been known to any of her relatives whochose to inquire after her. 

"Then you will observe that the remarkable change in Mr. Jeffrey'shabits coincides in the most singular way with the same events. Thecancer must have been detectable as early as September of last year;about the time, in fact, at which Mrs. Wilson made her will. Mr. Jeffreywent to the inn at the beginning of October. From that time his habitswere totally changed, and I can demonstrate to you that a change--not agradual, but an abrupt change--took place in the character of hissignature. 

"In short, the whole of this peculiar set of curcumstances--the changein Jeffrey's habits, the change in his signature, and the execution ofhis strange will--came into existence about the time when Mrs. Wilsonwas first known to be suffering from cancer. 

"This struck me as a very suggestive fact. 

"Then there is the extraordinarily opportune date of Mr. Jeffrey'sdeath. Mrs. Wilson died on the twelfth of March. Mr. Jeffrey was founddead on the fifteenth of March, having apparently died on thefourteenth, on which day he was seen alive. If he had died only threedays sooner, he would have predeceased Mrs. Wilson, and her propertywould never have devolved on him at all; while, if he had lived only aday or two longer, he would have learned of her death and wouldcertainly have made a new will or codicil in his nephew's favour. 

"Circumstances, therefore, conspired in the most singular manner infavour of John Blackmore. 

"But there is yet another coincidence. Jeffrey's body was found, by themerest chance, the day after his death. But it might have remainedundiscovered for weeks, or even months; and if it had, it would havebeen impossible to fix the date of his death. Then Mrs. Wilson's nextof kin would certainly have contested John Blackmore's claim--andprobably with success--on the ground that Jeffrey died before Mrs. Wilson. But all this uncertainty is provided for by the circumstancethat Mr. Jeffrey paid his rent personally--and prematurely--to theporter on the fourteenth of March, thus establishing beyond question thefact that he was alive on that date; and yet further, in case theporter's memory should be untrustworthy or his statement doubted, Jeffrey furnished a signed and dated document--the cheque--which couldbe produced in a court to furnish incontestable proof of survival. 

"To sum up this part of the evidence. Here was a will which enabled JohnBlackmore to inherit the fortune of a man who, almost certainly, had nointention of bequeathing it to him. The wording of that will seemed tobe adjusted to the peculiarities of Mrs. Wilson's disease; and the deathof the testator occurred under a peculiar set of circumstances whichseemed to be exactly adjusted to the wording of the will. Or, to put itin another way: the wording of the will and the time, the manner and thecircumstances of the testator's death, all seemed to be preciselyadjusted to the fact that the approximate date of Mrs. Wilson's deathwas known some months before it occurred. 

"Now you must admit that this compound group of coincidences, allconspiring to a single end--the enrichment of John Blackmore--has a verysingular appearance. Coincidences are common enough in real life; butwe cannot accept too many at a time. My feeling was that there were toomany in this case and that I could not accept them without searchinginquiry. "

Thorndyke paused, and Mr. Marchmont, who had listened with closeattention, nodded, as he glanced at his silent partner. 

"You have stated the case with remarkable clearness, " he said; "and I amfree to confess that some of the points that you have raised had escapedmy notice. "

"My first idea, " Thorndyke resumed, "was that John Blackmore, takingadvantage of the mental enfeeblement produced by the opium habit, haddictated this will to Jeffrey, It was then that I sought permission toinspect Jeffrey's chambers; to learn what I could about him and to seefor myself whether they presented the dirty and disorderly appearancecharacteristic of the regular opium-smoker's den. But when, during awalk into the City, I thought over the case, it seemed to me that thisexplanation hardly met the facts. Then I endeavoured to think of someother explanation; and looking over my notes I observed two points thatseemed worth considering. One was that neither of the witnesses to thewill was really acquainted with Jeffrey Blackmore; both being strangerswho had accepted his identity on his own statement. The other was thatno one who had previously known him, with the single exception of hisbrother John, had ever seen Jeffrey at the inn. 

"What was the import of these two facts? Probably they had none. Butstill they suggested the desirability of considering the question: Wasthe person who signed the will really Jeffrey Blackmore? The contrarysupposition--that some one had personated Jeffrey and forged hissignature to a false will--seemed wildly improbable, especially in viewof the identification of the body; but it involved no actualimpossibility; and it offered a complete explanation of the, otherwiseinexplicable, coincidences that I have mentioned. 

"I did not, however, for a moment, think that this was the trueexplanation, but I resolved to bear it in mind, to test it when theopportunity arose, and consider it by the light of any fresh facts thatI might acquire. 

"The new facts came sooner than I had expected. That same evening I wentwith Dr. Jervis to New Inn and found Mr. Stephen in the chambers. By himI was informed that Jeffrey was a learned Orientalist, with a quiteexpert knowledge of the cuneiform writing; and even as he was telling methis, I looked over his shoulder and saw a cuneiform inscription hangingon the wall upside down. 

"Now, of this there could be only one reasonable explanation. Disregarding the fact that no one would screw the suspension plates on aframe without ascertaining which was the right way up, and assuming itto be hung up inverted, it was impossible that the misplacement couldhave been overlooked by Jeffrey. He was not blind, though his sight wasdefective. The frame was thirty inches long and the individualcharacters nearly an inch in length--about the size of the D 18 lettersof Snellen's test-types, which can be read by a person of ordinary sightat a distance of fifty-five feet. There was, I repeat, only onereasonable explanation; which was that the person who had inhabitedthose chambers was not Jeffrey Blackmore. 

"This conclusion received considerable support from a fact which Iobserved later, but mention in this place. On examining the soles of theshoes taken from the dead man's feet, I found only the ordinary mud ofthe streets. There was no trace of the peculiar gravelly mud thatadhered to my own boots and Jervis's, and which came from the square ofthe inn. Yet the porter distinctly stated that the deceased, afterpaying the rent, walked back towards his chambers across the square; themud of which should, therefore, have been conspicuous on his shoes. 

"Thus, in a moment, a wildly speculative hypothesis had assumed a highdegree of probability. 

"When Mr. Stephen was gone, Jervis and I looked over the chambersthoroughly; and then another curious fact came to light. On the wallwere a number of fine Japanese colour-prints, all of which showed recentdamp-spots. Now, apart from the consideration that Jeffrey, who had beenat the trouble and expense of collecting these valuable prints, wouldhardly have allowed them to rot on his walls, there arose the question:How came they to be damp? There was a gas stove in the room, and a gasstove has at least the virtue of preserving a dry atmosphere. It waswinter weather, when the stove would naturally be pretty constantlyalight. How came the walls to be so damp? The answer seemed to be thatthe stove had not been constantly alight, but had been lighted onlyoccasionally. This suggestion was borne out by a further examination ofthe rooms. In the kitchen there were practically no stores and hardlyany arrangements even for simple bachelor cooking; the bedroom offeredthe same suggestion; the soap in the wash-stand was shrivelled andcracked; there was no cast-off linen, and the shirts in the drawers, though clean, had the peculiar yellowish, faded appearance that linenacquires when long out of use. In short, the rooms had the appearance ofnot having been lived in at all, but only visited at intervals. 

"Against this view, however, was the statement of the night porter thathe had often seen a light in Jeffrey's sitting-room at one o'clock inthe morning, with the apparent implication that it was then turned out. Now a light may be left in an empty room, but its extinction implies thepresence of some person to extinguish it; unless some automatic devicebe adopted for putting it out at a given time. Such a device--the alarmmovement of a clock, for instance, with a suitable attachment--is asimple enough matter, but my search of the rooms failed to discoveranything of the kind. However, when looking over the drawers in thebedroom, I came upon a large box that had held a considerable quantityof hard stearine candles. There were only a few left, but a flatcandlestick with numerous wick-ends in its socket accounted for theremainder. 

"These candles seemed to dispose of the difficulty. They were notnecessary for ordinary lighting, since gas was laid on in all threerooms. For what purpose, then, were they used, and in such considerablequantities? I subsequently obtained some of the same brand--Price'sstearine candles, six to the pound--and experimented with them. Eachcandle was seven and a quarter inches in length, not counting the coneat the top, and I found that they burned in still air at the rate of afraction over one inch in an hour. We may say that one of these candleswould burn in still air a little over six hours. It would thus bepossible for the person who inhabited these rooms to go away at seveno'clock in the evening and leave a light which would burn until past onein the morning and then extinguish itself. This, of course, was onlysurmise, but it destroyed the significance of the night porter'sstatement. 

"But, if the person who inhabited these chambers was not Jeffrey, whowas he?

"The answer to that question seemed plain enough. There was only oneperson who had a strong motive for perpetrating a fraud of this kind, and there was only one person to whom it was possible. If this personwas not Jeffrey, he must have been very like Jeffrey; sufficiently likefor the body of the one to be mistaken for the body of the other. Forthe production of Jeffrey's body was an essential part of the plan andmust have been contemplated from the first. But the only person whofulfills the conditions is John Blackmore. 

"We have learned from Mr. Stephen that John and Jeffrey, though verydifferent in appearance in later years, were much alike as young men. But when two brothers who are much alike as young men, become unlike inlater life, we shall find that the unlikeness is produced by superficialdifferences and that the essential likeness remains. Thus, in thepresent case, Jeffrey was clean shaved, had bad eyesight, worespectacles and stooped as he walked; John wore a beard and moustache, had good eyesight, did not wear spectacles and had a brisk gait andupright carriage. But supposing John to shave off his beard andmoustache, to put on spectacles and to stoop in his walk, theseconspicuous but superficial differences would vanish and the originallikeness reappear. 

"There is another consideration. John had been an actor and was an actorof some experience. Now, any person can, with some care and practice, make up a disguise; the great difficulty is to support that disguise bya suitable manner and voice. But to an experienced actor this difficultydoes not exist. To him, personation is easy; and, moreover, an actor isprecisely the person to whom the idea of disguise and impersonationwould occur. 

"There is a small item bearing on this point, so small as to be hardlyworth calling evidence, but just worth noting. In the pocket of thewaistcoat taken from the body of Jeffrey I found the stump of a'Contango' pencil; a pencil that is sold for the use of stock dealersand brokers. Now John was an outside broker and might very probably haveused such a pencil, whereas Jeffrey had no connection with the stockmarkets and there is no reason why he should have possessed a pencil ofthis kind. But the fact is merely suggestive; it has no evidentialvalue. 

"A more important inference is to be drawn from the collectedsignatures. I have remarked that the change in the signature occurredabruptly, with one or two alterations of manner, last September, andthat there are two distinct forms with no intermediate varieties. Thisis, in itself, remarkable and suspicious. But a remark made by Mr. Britton furnishes a really valuable piece of evidence on the point weare now considering. He admitted that the character of the signature hadundergone a change, but observed that the change did not affect theindividual or personal character of the writing. This is very important;for handwriting is, as it were, an extension of the personality of thewriter. And just as a man to some extent snares his personality with hisnear blood-relations in the form of family resemblances, so hishandwriting often shows a subtle likeness to that of his near relatives. You must have noticed, as I have, how commonly the handwriting of onebrother resembles that of another, and in just this peculiar and subtleway. The inference, then, from Mr. Britton's statement is, that if thesignature of the will was forged, it was probably forged by a relativeof the deceased. But the only relative in question is his brother John. 

"All the facts, therefore, pointed to John Blackmore as the person whooccupied these chambers, and I accordingly adopted that view as aworking hypothesis. "

"But this was all pure speculation, " objected Mr. Winwood. 

"Not speculation, " said Thorndyke. "Hypothesis. It was ordinaryinductive reasoning such as we employ in scientific research. I startedwith the purely tentative hypothesis that the person who signed the willwas not Jeffrey Blackmore. I assumed this; and I may say that I did notbelieve it at the time, but merely adopted it as a proposition that wasworth testing. I accordingly tested it, 'Yes?' or 'No?' with each newfact; but as each new fact said 'Yes, ' and no fact said definitely 'No, 'its probability increased rapidly by a sort of geometrical progression. The probabilities multiplied into one another. It is a perfectly soundmethod, for one knows that if a hypothesis be true, it will lead one, sooner or later, to a crucial fact by which its truth can bedemonstrated. 

"To resume our argument. We have now set up the proposition that JohnBlackmore was the tenant of New Inn and that he was personating Jeffrey. Let us reason from this and see what it leads to. 

"If the tenant of New Inn was John, then Jeffrey must be elsewhere, since his concealment at the inn was clearly impossible. But he couldnot have been far away, for he had to be producible at short noticewhenever the death of Mrs. Wilson should make the production of hisbody necessary. But if he was producible, his person must have been inthe possession or control of John. He could not have been at large, forthat would have involved the danger of his being seen and recognized. Hecould not have been in any institution or place where he would be incontact with strangers. Then he must be in some sort of confinement. Butit is difficult to keep an adult in confinement in an ordinary house. Such a proceeding would involve great risk of discovery and the use ofviolence which would leave traces on the body, to be observed andcommented on at the inquest. What alternative method could be suggested?

"The most obvious method is that of keeping the prisoner in such a stateof debility as would confine him to his bed. But such debility could beproduced by only starvation, unsuitable food, or chronic poisoning. Ofthese alternatives, poisoning is much more exact, more calculable in itseffect and more under control. The probabilities, then, were in favourof chronic poisoning. 

"Having reached this stage, I recalled a singular case which Jervis hadmentioned to me and which seemed to illustrate this method. On ourreturn home I asked him for further particulars, and he then gave me avery detailed description of the patient and the circumstances. Theupshot was rather startling. I had looked on his case as merelyillustrative, and wished to study it for the sake of the suggestionsthat it might offer. But when I had heard his account, I began tosuspect that there was something more than mere parallelism of method. It began to look as if his patient, Mr. Graves, might actually beJeffrey Blackmore. 

"The coincidences were remarkable. The general appearance of the patienttallied completely with Mr. Stephen's description of his uncle Jeffrey. The patient had a tremulous iris in his right eye and had clearlysuffered from dislocation of the crystalline lens. But from Mr. Stephen's account of his uncle's sudden loss of sight in the right eyeafter a fall, I judged that Jeffrey had also suffered from dislocationof the lens and therefore had a tremulous iris in the right eye. Thepatient, Graves, evidently had defective vision in his left eye, asproved by the marks made behind his ears by the hooked side-bars of hisspectacles; for it is only on spectacles that are intended for constantuse that we find hooked side-bars. But Jeffrey had defective vision inhis left eye and wore spectacles constantly. Lastly, the patient Graveswas suffering from chronic morphine poisoning, and morphine was found inthe body of Jeffrey. 

"Once more, it appeared to me that there were too many coincidences. 

"The question as to whether Graves and Jeffrey were identical admittedof fairly easy disproof; for if Graves was still alive, he could not beJeffrey. It was an important question and I resolved to test it withoutdelay. That night, Jervis and I plotted out the chart, and on thefollowing morning we located the house. But it was empty and to let. The birds had flown, and we failed to discover whither they had gone. 

"However, we entered the house and explored. I have told you about themassive bolts and fastenings that we found on the bedroom doors andwindow, showing that the room had been used as a prison. I have told youof the objects that we picked out of the dust-heap under the grate. Ofthe obvious suggestion offered by the Japanese brush and the bottle of'spirit gum' or cement, I need not speak now; but I must trouble youwith some details concerning the broken spectacles. For here we had comeupon the crucial fact to which, as I have said, all sound inductivereasoning brings one sooner or later. 

"The spectacles were of a rather peculiar pattern. The frames were ofthe type invented by Mr. Stopford of Moorfields and known by his name. The right eye-piece was fitted with plain glass, as is usual in the caseof a blind, or useless, eye. It was very much shattered, but itscharacter was obvious. The glass of the left eye was much thicker andfortunately less damaged, so that I was able accurately to test itsrefraction. 

"When I reached home, I laid the pieces of the spectacles together, measured the frames very carefully, tested the left eye-glass, and wrotedown a full description such as would have been given by the surgeon tothe spectacle-maker. Here it is, and I will ask you to note itcarefully. 

"'Spectacles for constant use. Steel frame, Stopford's pattern, curlsides, broad bridge with gold lining. Distance between centres, 6. 2centimetres; extreme length of side-bars, 13. 3 centimetres. 

"'Right eye plain glass. 

"'Left eye -5. 75 D. Spherical ------------------- -3. 25 D. Cylindrical axis 35°. '

"The spectacles, you see, were of a very distinctive character andseemed to offer a good chance of identification. Stopford's frames are, I believe, made by only one firm of opticians in London, Parry & Cuxtonof Regent Street. I therefore wrote to Mr. Cuxton, who knows me, askinghim if he had supplied spectacles to the late Jeffrey Blackmore, Esq. --here is a copy of my letter--and if so, whether he would mindletting me have a full description of them, together with the name ofthe oculist who prescribed them. 

"He replied in this letter, which is pinned to the copy of mine, that, about four years ago, he supplied a pair of glasses to Mr. JeffreyBlackmore, and described them thus: 'The spectacles were for constantuse and had steel frames of Stopford's pattern with curl sides, thelength of the side-bars including the curled ends being 13. 3 cm. Thebridge was broad with a gold lining-plate, shaped as shown by theenclosed tracing from the diagram on the prescription. Distance betweencentres 6. 2 cm. 

"'Right eye plain glass. 

"'Left eye -5. 75 D. Spherical ------------------- -3. 25 D. Cylindrical, axis 35°. '

"'The spectacles were prescribed by Mr. Hindley of Wimpole Street. '

"You see that Mr. Cuxton's description is identical with mine. However, for further confirmation, I wrote to Mr. Hindley, asking certainquestions, to which he replied thus:

"'You are quite right. Mr. Jeffrey Blackmore had a tremulous iris in hisright eye (which was practically blind), due to dislocation of the lens. The pupils were rather large; certainly not contracted. '

"Here, then, we have three important facts. One is that the spectaclesfound by us at Kennington Lane were undoubtedly Jeffrey's; for it is asunlikely that there exists another pair of spectacles exactly identicalwith those as that there exists another face exactly like Jeffrey'sface. The second fact is that the description of Jeffrey talliescompletely with that of the sick man, Graves, as given by Dr. Jervis;and the third is that when Jeffrey was seen by Mr. Hindley, there was nosign of his being addicted to the taking of morphine. The first andsecond facts, you will agree, constitute complete identification. "

"Yes, " said Marchmont; "I think we must admit the identification asbeing quite conclusive, though the evidence is of a kind that is morestriking to the medical than to the legal mind. "

"You will not have that complaint to make against the next item ofevidence, " said Thorndyke. "It is after the lawyer's own heart, as youshall hear. A few days ago I wrote to Mr. Stephen asking him if hepossessed a recent photograph of his uncle Jeffrey. He had one, and hesent it to me by return. This portrait I showed to Dr. Jervis and askedhim if he had ever seen the person it represented. After examining itattentively, without any hint whatever from me, he identified it as theportrait of the sick man, Graves. "

"Indeed!" exclaimed Marchmont. "This is most important. Are you preparedto swear to the identity, Dr. Jervis?"

"I have not the slightest doubt, " I replied, "that the portrait is thatof Mr. Graves. "

"Excellent!" said Marchmont, rubbing his hands gleefully; "this will bemuch more convincing to a jury. Pray go on, Dr. Thorndyke. "

"That, " said Thorndyke, "completes the first part of my investigation. We had now reached a definite, demonstrable fact; and that fact, as yousee, disposed at once of the main question--the genuineness of the will. For if the man at Kennington Lane was Jeffrey Blackmore, then the man atNew Inn was not. But it was the latter who had signed the will. Therefore the will was not signed by Jeffrey Blackmore; that is to say, it was a forgery. The case was complete for the purposes of the civilproceedings; the rest of my investigations had reference to the criminalprosecution that was inevitable. Shall I proceed, or is your interestconfined to the will?"

"Hang the will!" exclaimed Stephen. "I want to hear how you propose tolay hands on the villain who murdered poor old uncle Jeffrey--for Isuppose he did murder him?"

"I think there is no doubt of it, " replied Thorndyke. 

"Then, " said Marchmont, "we will hear the rest of the argument, if youplease. "

"Very well, " said Thorndyke. "As the evidence stands, we have provedthat Jeffrey Blackmore was a prisoner in the house in Kennington Laneand that some one was personating him at New Inn. That some one, we haveseen, was, in all probability, John Blackmore. We now have to considerthe man Weiss. Who was he? and can we connect him in any way with NewInn?

"We may note in passing that Weiss and the coachman were apparently oneand the same person. They were never seen together. When Weiss waspresent, the coachman was not available even for so urgent a service asthe obtaining of an antidote to the poison. Weiss always appeared sometime after Jervis's arrival and disappeared some time before hisdeparture, in each case sufficiently long to allow of a change ofdisguise. But we need not labour the point, as it is not of primaryimportance. 

"To return to Weiss. He was clearly heavily disguised, as we see by hisunwillingness to show himself even by the light of a candle. But thereis an item of positive evidence on this point which is important fromhaving other bearings. It is furnished by the spectacles worn by Weiss, of which you have heard Jervis's description. These spectacles had verypeculiar optical properties. When you looked through them they had theproperties of plain glass; when you looked at them they had theappearance of lenses. But only one kind of glass possesses theseproperties; namely, that which, like an ordinary watch-glass, hascurved, parallel surfaces. But for what purpose could a person wear'watch-glass' spectacles? Clearly, not to assist his vision. The onlyalternative is disguise. 

"The properties of these spectacles introduce a very curious andinteresting feature into the case. To the majority of persons, thewearing of spectacles for the purpose of disguise or personation, seemsa perfectly simple and easy proceeding. But, to a person of normaleyesight, it is nothing of the kind. For, if he wears spectacles suitedfor long sight he cannot see distinctly through them at all; while, ifhe wears concave, or near sight, glasses, the effort to see through themproduces such strain and fatigue that his eyes become disabledaltogether. On the stage the difficulty is met by using spectacles ofplain window-glass, but in real life this would hardly do; the'property' spectacles would be detected at once and give rise tosuspicion. 

"The personator is therefore in this dilemma: if he wears actualspectacles, he cannot see through them; if he wears sham spectacles ofplain glass, his disguise will probably be detected. There is only oneway out of the difficulty, and that not a very satisfactory one; but Mr. Weiss seems to have adopted it in lieu of a better. It is that of usingwatch-glass spectacles such as I have described. 

"Now, what do we learn from these very peculiar glasses? In the firstplace they confirm our opinion that Weiss was wearing a disguise. But, for use in a room so very dimly lighted, the ordinary stage spectacleswould have answered quite well. The second inference is, then, thatthese spectacles were prepared to be worn under more trying conditionsof light--out of doors, for instance. The third inference is that Weisswas a man with normal eyesight; for otherwise he could have worn realspectacles suited to the state of his vision. 

"These are inferences by the way, to which we may return. But theseglasses furnish a much more important suggestion. On the floor of thebedroom at New Inn I found some fragments of glass which had beentrodden on. By joining one or two of them together, we have been able tomake out the general character of the object of which they formed parts. My assistant--who was formerly a watch-maker--judged that object to bethe thin crystal glass of a lady's watch, and this, I think, wasJervis's opinion. But the small part which remains of the original edgefurnishes proof in two respects that this was not a watch-glass. In thefirst place, on taking a careful tracing of this piece of the edge, Ifound that its curve was part of an ellipse; but watch-glasses, nowadays, are invariably circular. In the second place, watch-glassesare ground on the edge to a single bevel to snap into the bezel orframe; but the edge of this object was ground to a double bevel, likethe edge of a spectacle-glass, which fits into a groove in the frame andis held by the side-bar screw. The inevitable inference was that thiswas a spectacle-glass. But, if so, it was part of a pair of spectaclesidentical in properties with those worn by Mr. Weiss. 

"The importance of this conclusion emerges when we consider theexceptional character of Mr. Weiss's spectacles. They were not merelypeculiar or remarkable; they were probably unique. It is exceedinglylikely that there is not in the entire world another similar pair ofspectacles. Whence the finding of these fragments of glass in thebedroom establishes a considerable probability that Mr. Weiss was, atsome time, in the chambers at New Inn. 

"And now let us gather up the threads of this part of the argument. Weare inquiring into the identity of the man Weiss. Who was he?

"In the first place, we find him committing a secret crime from whichJohn Blackmore alone will benefit. This suggests the prima-facieprobability that he was John Blackmore. 

"Then we find that he was a man of normal eyesight who was wearingspectacles for the purpose of disguise. But the tenant of New Inn, whomwe have seen to be, almost certainly, John Blackmore--and whom we will, for the present, assume to have been John Blackmore--was a man withnormal eyesight who wore spectacles for disguise. 

"John Blackmore did not reside at New Inn, but at some place withineasy reach of it. But Weiss resided at a place within easy reach of NewInn. 

"John Blackmore must have had possession and control of the person ofJeffrey. But Weiss had possession and control of the person of Jeffrey. 

"Weiss wore spectacles of a certain peculiar and probably uniquecharacter. But portions of such spectacles were found in the chambers atNew Inn. 

"The overwhelming probability, therefore, is that Weiss and the tenantof New Inn were one and the same person; and that that person was JohnBlackmore. "

"That, " said Mr. Winwood, "is a very plausible argument. But, youobserve, sir, that it contains an undistributed middle term. "

Thorndyke smiled genially. I think he forgave Winwood everything forthat remark. 

"You are quite right, sir, " he said. "It does. And, for that reason, thedemonstration is not absolute. But we must not forget, what logiciansseem occasionally to overlook: that the 'undistributed middle, ' while itinterferes with absolute proof, may be quite consistent with a degree ofprobability that approaches very near to certainty. Both the Bertillonsystem and the English fingerprint system involve a process of reasoningin which the middle term is undistributed. But the great probabilitiesare accepted in practice as equivalent to certainties. "

Mr. Winwood grunted a grudging assent, and Thorndyke resumed:

"We have now furnished fairly conclusive evidence on three heads: wehave proved that the sick man, Graves, was Jeffrey Blackmore; that thetenant of New Inn was John Blackmore; and that the man Weiss was alsoJohn Blackmore. We now have to prove that John and Jeffrey were togetherin the chambers at New Inn on the night of Jeffrey's death. 

"We know that two persons, and two persons only, came from KenningtonLane to New Inn. But one of those persons was the tenant of NewInn--that is, John Blackmore. Who was the other? Jeffrey is known by usto have been at Kennington Lane. His body was found on the followingmorning in the room at New Inn. No third person is known to have comefrom Kennington Lane; no third person is known to have arrived at NewInn. The inference, by exclusion, is that the second person--thewoman--was Jeffrey. 

"Again; Jeffrey had to be brought from Kennington to the inn by John. But John was personating Jeffrey and was made up to resemble him veryclosely. If Jeffrey were undisguised the two men would be almost exactlyalike; which would be very noticeable in any case and suspicious afterthe death of one of them. Therefore Jeffrey would have to be disguisedin some way; and what disguise could be simpler and more effective thanthe one that I suggest was used?

"Again; it was unavoidable that some one--the cabman--should know thatJeffrey was not alone when he came to the inn that night. If the facthad leaked out and it had become known that a man had accompanied him tohis chambers, some suspicion might have arisen, and that suspicion wouldhave pointed to John, who was directly interested in his brother'sdeath. But if it had transpired that Jeffrey was accompanied by a woman, there would have been less suspicion, and that suspicion would not havepointed to John Blackmore. 

"Thus all the general probabilities are in favour of the hypothesis thatthis woman was Jeffrey Blackmore. There is, however, an item of positiveevidence that strongly supports this view. When I examined the clothingof the deceased, I found on the trousers a horizontal crease on each legas if the trousers had been turned up half-way to the knees. Thisappearance is quite understandable if we suppose that the trousers wereworn under a skirt and were turned up so that they should not beaccidentally seen. Otherwise it is quite incomprehensible. "

"Is it not rather strange, " said Marchmont, "that Jeffrey should haveallowed himself to be dressed up in this remarkable manner?"

"I think not, " replied Thorndyke. "There is no reason to suppose that heknew how he was dressed. You have heard Jervis's description of hiscondition; that of a mere automaton. You know that without hisspectacles he was practically blind, and that he could not have wornthem since we found them at the house in Kennington Lane. Probably hishead was wrapped up in the veil, and the skirt and mantle put onafterwards; but, in any case, his condition rendered him practicallydevoid of will power. That is all the evidence I have to prove that theunknown woman was Jeffrey. It is not conclusive but it is convincingenough for our purpose, seeing that the case against John Blackmore doesnot depend upon it. "

"Your case against him is on the charge of murder, I presume?" saidStephen. 

"Undoubtedly. And you will notice that the statements made by thesupposed Jeffrey to the porter, hinting at suicide, are now importantevidence. By the light of what we know, the announcement of intendedsuicide becomes the announcement of intended murder. It conclusivelydisproves what it was intended to prove; that Jeffrey died by his ownhand. "

"Yes, I see that, " said Stephen, and then after a pause he asked: "Didyou identify Mrs. Schallibaum? You have told us nothing about her. "

"I have considered her as being outside the case as far as I amconcerned, " replied Thorndyke. "She was an accessory; my business waswith the principal. But, of course, she will be swept up in the net. Theevidence that convicts John Blackmore will convict her. I have nottroubled about her identity. If John Blackmore is married, she isprobably his wife. Do you happen to know if he is married?"

"Yes; but Mrs. John Blackmore is not much like Mrs. Schallibaum, excepting that she has a cast in the left eye. She is a dark woman withvery heavy eyebrows. "

"That is to say that she differs from Mrs. Schallibaum in thosepeculiarities that can be artificially changed and resembles her in theone feature that is unchangeable. Do you know if her Christian namehappens to be Pauline?"

"Yes, it is. She was a Miss Pauline Hagenbeck, a member of an Americantheatrical company. What made you ask?"

"The name which Jervis heard poor Jeffrey struggling to pronounce seemedto me to resemble Pauline more than any other name. "

"There is one little point that strikes me, " said Marchmont. "Is it notrather remarkable that the porter should have noticed no differencebetween the body of Jeffrey and the living man whom he knew by sight, and who must, after all, have been distinctly different in appearance?"

"I am glad you raised that question, " Thorndyke replied, "for that verydifficulty presented itself to me at the beginning of the case. But onthinking it over, I decided that it was an imaginary difficulty, assuming, as we do, that there was a good deal of resemblance betweenthe two men. Put yourself in the porter's place and follow his mentalprocesses. He is informed that a dead man is lying on the bed in Mr. Blackmore's rooms. Naturally, he assumes that the dead man is Mr. Blackmore--who, by the way, had hinted at suicide only the night before. With this idea he enters the chambers and sees a man a good deal likeMr. Blackmore and wearing Mr. Blackmore's clothes, lying on Mr. Blackmore's bed. The idea that the body could be that of some otherperson has never entered his mind. If he notes any difference ofappearance he will put that down to the effects of death; for every oneknows that a man dead looks somewhat different from the same man alive. I take it as evidence of great acuteness on the part of John Blackmorethat he should have calculated so cleverly, not only the mental processof the porter, but the erroneous reasoning which every one would base onthe porter's conclusions. For, since the body was actually Jeffrey's, and was identified by the porter as that of his tenant, it has beenassumed by every one that no question was possible as to the identity ofJeffrey Blackmore and the tenant of New Inn. "

There was a brief silence, and then Marchmont asked:

"May we take it that we have now heard all the evidence?"

"Yes, " replied Thorndyke. "That is my case. "

"Have you given information to the police?" Stephen asked eagerly. 

"Yes. As soon as I had obtained the statement of the cabman, Ridley, andfelt that I had enough evidence to secure a conviction, I called atScotland Yard and had an interview with the Assistant Commissioner. Thecase is in the hands of Superintendent Miller of the CriminalInvestigation Department, a most acute and energetic officer. I havebeen expecting to hear that the warrant has been executed, for Mr. Miller is usually very punctilious in keeping me informed of theprogress of the cases to which I introduce him. We shall hear to-morrow, no doubt. "

"And, for the present, " said Marchmont, "the case seems to have passedout of our hands. "

"I shall enter a caveat, all the same, " said Mr. Winwood. 

"That doesn't seem very necessary, " Marchmont objected. "The evidencethat we have heard is amply sufficient to ensure a conviction and therewill be plenty more when the police go into the case. And a convictionon the charges of forgery and murder would, of course, invalidate thesecond will. "

"I shall enter a caveat, all the same, " repeated Mr. Winwood. 

As the two partners showed a disposition to become heated over thisquestion, Thorndyke suggested that they might discuss it at leisure bythe light of subsequent events. Acting on this hint--for it was nowclose upon midnight--our visitors prepared to depart; and were, in fact, just making their way towards the door when the bell rang. Thorndykeflung open the door, and, as he recognized his visitor, greeted him withevident satisfaction. 

"Ha! Mr. Miller; we were just speaking of you. These gentlemen are Mr. Stephen Blackmore and his solicitors, Mr. Marchmont and Mr. Winwood. Youknow Dr. Jervis, I think. "

The officer bowed to our friends and remarked:

"I am just in time, it seems. A few minutes more and I should havemissed these gentlemen. I don't know what you'll think of my news. "

"You haven't let that villain escape, I hope, " Stephen exclaimed. 

"Well, " said the Superintendent, "he is out of my hands and yours too;and so is the woman. Perhaps I had better tell you what has happened. "

"If you would be so kind, " said Thorndyke, motioning the officer to achair. 

The superintendent seated himself with the manner of a man who has had along and strenuous day, and forthwith began his story. 

"As soon as we had your information, we procured a warrant for thearrest of both parties, and then I went straight to their flat withInspector Badger and a sergeant. There we learned from the attendantthat they were away from home and were not expected back until to-dayabout noon. We kept a watch on the premises, and this morning, about thetime appointed, a man and a woman, answering to the description, arrivedat the flat. We followed them in and saw them enter the lift, and wewere going to get into the lift too, when the man pulled the rope, andaway they went. There was nothing for us to do but run up the stairs, which we did as fast as we could race; but they got to their landingfirst, and we were only just in time to see them nip in and shut thedoor. However, it seemed that we had them safe enough, for there was nodropping out of the windows at that height; so we sent the sergeant toget a locksmith to pick the lock or force the door, while we kept onringing the bell. 

"About three minutes after the sergeant left, I happened to look out ofthe landing window and saw a hansom pull up opposite the flats. I put myhead out of the window, and, hang me if I didn't see our two friendsgetting into the cab. It seems that there was a small lift inside theflat communicating with the kitchen, and they had slipped down it one ata time. 

"Well, of course, we raced down the stairs like acrobats, but by thetime we got to the bottom the cab was off with a fine start. We ran outinto Victoria Street, and there we could see it half-way down the streetand going like a chariot race. We managed to pick up another hansom andtold the cabby to keep the other one in sight, and away we went like thevery deuce; along Victoria Street and Broad Sanctuary, across ParliamentSquare, over Westminster Bridge and along York Road; we kept the otherbeggar in sight, but we couldn't gain an inch on him. Then we turnedinto Waterloo Station, and, as we were driving up the slope we metanother hansom coming down; and when the cabby kissed his hand andsmiled at us, we guessed that he was the sportsman we had beenfollowing. 

"But there was no time to ask questions. It is an awkward station with alot of different exits, and it looked a good deal as if our quarry hadgot away. However, I took a chance. I remembered that the Southamptonexpress was due to start about this time, and I took a short cut acrossthe lines and made for the platform that it starts from. Just as Badgerand I got to the end, about thirty yards from the rear of the train, wesaw a man and a woman running in front of us. Then the guard blew hiswhistle and the train began to move. The man and the woman managed toscramble into one of the rear compartments and Badger and I raced up theplatform like mad. A porter tried to head us off, but Badger capsizedhim and we both sprinted harder than ever, and just hopped on thefoot-board of the guard's van as the train began to get up speed. Theguard couldn't risk putting us off, so he had to let us into his van, which suited us exactly, as we could watch the train on both sides fromthe look-out. And we did watch, I can tell you; for our friend in fronthad seen us. His head was out of the window as we climbed on to thefoot-board. 

"However, nothing happened until we stopped at Southampton West. There, I need not say, we lost no time in hopping out, for we naturallyexpected our friends to make a rush for the exit. But they didn't. Badger watched the platform, and I kept a look-out to see that theydidn't slip away across the line from the off-side. But still there wasno sign of them. Then I walked up the train to the compartment which Ihad seen them enter. And there they were, apparently fast asleep in thecorner by the off-side window, the man leaning back with his mouth openand the woman resting against him with her head on his shoulder. Shegave me quite a turn when I went in to look at them, for she had hereyes half-closed and seemed to be looking round at me with a mosthorrible expression; but I found afterwards that the peculiar appearanceof looking round was due to the cast in her eye. "

"They were dead, I suppose?" said Thorndyke. 

"Yes, sir. Stone dead; and I found these on the floor of the carriage. "

He held up two tiny yellow glass tubes, each labelled "Hypodermictabloids. Aconitine Nitrate gr. 1/640. "

"Ha!" exclaimed Thorndyke, "this fellow was well up in alkaloidalpoisons, it seems; and they appear to have gone about prepared foremergencies. These tubes each contained twenty tabloids, a thirty-secondof a grain altogether, so we may assume that about twelve times themedicinal dose was swallowed. Death must have occurred in a few minutes, and a merciful death too. "

"A more merciful death than they deserved, " exclaimed Stephen, "when onethinks of the misery and suffering that they inflicted on poor old uncleJeffrey. I would sooner have had them hanged. "

"It's better as it is, sir, " said Miller. "There is no need, now, toraise any questions in detail at the inquest. The publicity of a trialfor murder would have been very unpleasant for you. I wish Dr. Jervishad given the tip to me instead of to that confounded, over-cautious--but there, I mustn't run down my brother officers: andit's easy to be wise after the event. 

"Good night, gentlemen. I suppose this accident disposes of yourbusiness as far as the will is concerned?"

"I suppose it does, " agreed Mr. Winwood. "But I shall enter a caveat, all the same. "

THE END