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Title: The Cat's Eye (1923)
Author: R. Austin Freeman
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Title: The Cat's Eye (1923)
Author: R. Austin Freeman





PREFACE

By one of those coincidences which are quite inadmissible in fiction, but
of frequent occurrence in real life, an incident in the story of The
Cat's Eye has found an almost exact duplicate in an actual case which has
been reported in the Press.

The real case was concerned with a most alarming misadventure which
befell a distinguished police official of high rank. The fictitious
incident occurs in Chapter Ten of this book; and the reading of that
chapter will inevitably convey the impression that I have appropriated
the real case and incorporated it in my story; a proceeding that the
reader might properly consider to be in questionable taste.

It seems, therefore, desirable to explain that Chapter Ten was written
some months before the real tragedy occurred. Indeed, by that time, the
book was so nearly completed that it was impracticable to eliminate the
incident, which was an integral part of the plot.

The coincidence is to be regretted; but worse things might easily have
happened. But for the circumstance that I had to lay this book aside to
complete some other work, The Cat's Eye would have been in print when the
crime was committed; and it might then have been difficult for any
one--even for the author--to believe that the fictitious crime had not
furnished the suggestion for the real one.

RAF

Gravesend,

19th June 1923.



CONTENTS

1 In the Midst of Life
2 Sir Lawrence declares a Vendetta
3 Thorndyke takes up the Inquiry
4 The Lady of Shalott
5 Mr Halliburton's Mascot
6 Introduces an Ant-eater and a Detective
7 The Vanished Heirloom
8 A Jacobite Romance
9 Exit Moakey
10 A Timely Warning
11 The Blue Hair
12 From the Jaws of Death
13 Thorndyke states his Position
14 Beauchamp Blake
15 The Squire and the Sleuth-hound
16 Mr Brodribb's Embassy
17 The Secret Chamber
18 The Cat's Eye
19 A Relic of the '45
20 QED



CHAPTER ONE IN THE MIDST OF LIFE

I am not a superstitious man. Indeed superstition, which is inseparably
bound up with ignorance or disregard of evidence, would ill accord with
the silken gown of a King's Counsel. And still less am I tainted with
that particular form of superstition in which the fetishism of barbarous
and primitive man is incongruously revived in a population of, at least
nominally, educated persons, by the use of charms, amulets, mascots and
the like.

Had it been otherwise; had I been the subject of this curious atavistic
tendency, I should surely have been led to believe that from the simple
gem whose name I have used to give a tide to this chronicle, some subtle
influence exhaled whereby the whole course of my life was directed into
new channels. But I do not believe anything of the kind; and therefore,
though it did actually happen that the appearance of the Cat's Eye was
coincident with a radical change in the course and manner of my life, and
even, as it seemed, with my very personality; and though with the Cat's
Eye the unfolding of the new life seemed constantly associated; still I
would have it understood that I use the name merely as a label to docket
together a succession of events that form a consistent and natural group.

The particular train of events with which this history deals began on a
certain evening near the end of the long vacation. It was a cloudy
evening, I remember, and very dark, for it was past eight o'clock and the
days were drawing in rapidly. I was returning across Hampstead Heath
towards my lodgings in the village, and was crossing the broken,
gorse-covered and wooded hollow to the west of the Spaniards Road, when I
heard the footsteps of some one running, and running swiftly, as I could
judge by the rapid rhythm of the footfalls and the sound of scattering
gravel. I halted to listen, noting that the rhythm of the footsteps was
slightly irregular, like the ticking of an ill-adjusted clock; and even
as I halted, I saw the runner. But only for a moment, and then but dimly.
The vague shape of a man came out of the gloom, passed swiftly across my
field of vision, and was gone. I could not see what he was like. The dim
shape appeared and vanished into the darkness, leaving me standing
motionless, listening with vague suspicion to the now faint footfalls and
wondering what I ought to do.

Suddenly the silence was rent by a piercing cry, the cry of a woman
calling for help. And, strangely enough, it came from the opposite
direction to that towards which the fugitive was running. In an instant I
turned and raced across the rugged hollow towards the spot from whence
the sound seemed to come, and as I scrambled up a gravelly hillock I saw,
faintly silhouetted on the murky skyline of some rising ground ahead, the
figures of a man and a woman struggling together; and I had just noted
that the man seemed to be trying to escape when I saw him deal the woman
a blow, on which she uttered a shriek and fell, while the man, having
wrenched himself free, darted down the farther slope and vanished into
the encompassing darkness.

When I reached the woman she was sitting up with her right hand pressed
to her side, and as I approached she called out sharply:

'Follow him! Follow that man! Never mind me!'

I stood for a moment irresolute, for on the hand that was pressed to her
side I had noticed a smear of blood. But as I hesitated, she repeated:
'Follow him! Don't let him escape! He has just committed a dreadful
murder!'

On this I ran down the slope in the direction that the man had taken and
stumbled on over the rugged, gravelly hillocks and hollows, among the
furze bushes and the birches and other small trees. But it was a hopeless
pursuit. The man had vanished utterly, and from the dark heath not a
sound came to give a hint as to the direction in which he had gone. There
was no definite path, nor was it likely that he would have followed one;
and as I ran forward, tripping over roots and sandy hummocks, the
futility of the pursuit became every moment more obvious, while I felt a
growing uneasiness as to the condition of the woman I had left sitting on
the ground and apparently bleeding from a wound. At length I gave up the
chase and began to retrace my steps, now full of anxiety lest I should be
unable to find the spot where I had left her, and speculating on the
possibility that the victim of the murder of which she had spoken might
yet be alive and in urgent need of help.

I returned as quickly as I could, watching the direction anxiously and
trying vainly to pick up landmarks. But the uneven, gorse-covered ground
was a mere formless expanse intersected in all directions by indistinct
tracks, confused by the numbers of birch-trees and stunted oaks, and shut
in on all sides by a wall of darkness. Presently I halted with a
despairing conviction that I had lost my way hopelessly, and at that
moment I discerned dimly through the gloom the shape of a piece of rising
ground lying away to the right. Instantly I hurried towards it, and as I
climbed the slope, I thought I recognised it as the place from which I
had started. A moment later, the identity of the place was confirmed
beyond all doubt, for I perceived lying on the ground a shawl or scarf
which I now remembered to have seen lying near the woman as she sat with
her hand pressed to her side, urging me to follow her assailant.

But the woman herself had disappeared. I picked up the shawl, and
throwing it over my arm, stood for a few moments, peering about me and
listening intently. Not a sound could I distinguish, however, nor could I
perceive any trace of the vanished woman. Then I noticed, a few yards
away, a defined path leading towards a patch of deeper darkness that
looked like a copse or plantation, and following this, I presently came
upon her, standing by a fence and clinging to it for support.

'The man has got away,' said I. 'There is no sign of him. But what about
you? Are you hurt much?'

'I don't think so,' she answered faintly. 'The wretch tried to stab me,
but I don't think--' Here her voice faded away, as she fell forward
against the fence and seemed about to collapse. I caught her, and lifting
her bodily, carried her along the path, which appeared to lead to a
house. Presently I came to an open gate, and entering the enclosed
grounds, saw before me an old-fashioned house, the door of which stood
ajar, showing a faint light from within. As I approached the door, a
telephone bell rang and a woman's voice, harsh and terrified, smote my
ear:

'Are you there? This is Rowan Lodge. Send to the police immediately! Mr
Drayton has been robbed and murdered! Yes, Mr Drayton. He is lying dead
in his room. I am his housekeeper. Send the police and a doctor!'

At this moment I pushed open the door and entered; and at my appearance,
with the insensible woman in my arms, the housekeeper shrieked aloud, and
dropping the receiver, started back with a gesture of wild terror.

'My God!' she exclaimed, 'What is this? Not another!'

'I hope not,' I replied, not, however, without misgivings. 'This lady
tried to hold the man as he was escaping and the villain stabbed her.
Where can I lay her down?'

The whimpering housekeeper flung open a door, and snatching a match-box
from the hall table, struck a match and preceded me into a room where, by
the light of the match that flickered in her shaking hand, I made out a
sofa and laid my burden on it, rolling up the shawl and placing it under
her head. Then the housekeeper lit the gas and came and stood by the
sofa, wringing her hands and gazing down with horrified pity at the
corpse-like figure.

'Poor dear!' she sobbed. 'Such a pretty creature, too, and quite a lady!
God help us! What can we do for her? She may be bleeding to death!'

The same thought was in my mind, and the same question, but as I answered
that we could do nothing until the doctor arrived, the woman--or rather
girl, for she was not more than twenty-six--opened her eyes and asked in
a faint voice: 'Is Mr Drayton dead?'

The housekeeper sobbed an indistinct affirmative and then added:

'But try not to think about it, my dear. Just keep yourself quite quiet
until the doctor comes.'

'Are you sure he is dead?' I asked in a low voice.

'I wish I were not,' she sobbed. Then, with an earnest look at the young
lady-who seemed now to be reviving somewhat-she added:

'Come with me and see; and do you lie quite still until I come back, my
dear.'

With this she led me out of the room, and turning from the hall into a
short corridor, passed quickly along it and stopped at a door. 'He is in
there,' she said in a shaky voice that was half a sob. She opened the
door softly, peered in, and then, with a shuddering cry, turned and ran
back to the room that we had just left.

When she had gone I entered the room half-reluctantly, for the atmosphere
of tragedy and horror was affecting me most profoundly. It was a smallish
room, almost unfurnished save for a range of cabinets such as insect
collectors use; and opposite one of these a man lay motionless on the
floor, looking, with his set, marble-white face and fixed, staring eyes,
like some horrible waxwork figure. I stooped over him to see if there
were any sign of life. But even to a layman's eye the fixity, the utter
immobility was unmistakable. The man was dead beyond all doubt. I
listened with my ear at his mouth and laid my finger on the chilly wrist.
But the first glance had told me all. The man was dead.

As I stood up, still with my eyes riveted on the face, set in that
ghastly stare, I became conscious of a certain dim sense of recognition.
It was a strong, resolute face, and even in death, the fixed expression
spoke rather of anger than of fear. Where had I seen that face? And then
in a flash I recalled the name that the housekeeper had called through
the telephone-Mr Drayton. Of course. This was the brother of my neighbour
in the Temple, Sir Lawrence Drayton, the famous Chancery lawyer. He had
spoken to me of a brother who lived at Hampstead, and there could be no
doubt that this was he. The likeness was unmistakable.

But, as I realised this, I realised also the certainty that this crime
would become my professional concern. Sir Lawrence would undoubtedly put
the case in the hands of my friend John Thorndyke--the highest
medico-legal authority and the greatest criminal lawyer of our time--and
my association with Thorndyke would make me a party to the investigation.
And that being so, it behoved me to gather what data I could before the
police arrived and took possession.

The mechanism of the crime was obvious enough, though there were one or
two mysterious features. Of the cabinet opposite which the body lay, one
drawer was pulled out, and its loose glass cover had been removed and lay
shattered on the floor beside the corpse. The contents of this drawer
explained the motive of the crime, for they consisted of specimens of
jewellery, all more or less antique, and many of them quite simple and
rustic in character, but still jewels. A number had evidently been taken,
to judge by the empty trays, but the greater part of the contents of the
drawer remained intact.

The rifled drawer was the second from the top. Having turned up the gas
and lit a second burner, I drew out the top drawer. The contents of this
were untouched, though the drawer appeared to have been opened, for the
cover-glass was marked by a number of rather conspicuous fingerprints. Of
course these were not necessarily the prints of the robber's fingers, but
they probably were, for their extreme distinctness suggested a dirty and
sweaty hand such as would naturally appertain to a professional thief in
a state of some bodily fear. Moreover the reason why this drawer should
have been passed over was quite obvious. Its contents were of no
intrinsic value, consisting chiefly of Buckinghamshire lace bobbins with
carved inscriptions and similar simple objects.

I next drew out the third drawer, which I found quite untouched, and the
absence of any fingerprints on the cover-glass confirmed the probable
identity of those on the glass of the top drawer. By way of further
settling this question, I picked up the fragments of the broken glass and
looked them over carefully; and when I found several of them marked with
similar distinct fingerprints, the probability that they were those of
the murderer became so great as nearly to amount to certainty.

I did not suppose that these fingerprints would be of much interest to
Thorndyke. They were rather the concern of the police and the Habitual
Criminals Registry. But still I knew that if he had been in my place he
would have secured specimens, on the chance of their being of use
hereafter, and I could do no less than take the opportunity that offered.
Looking over the broken fragments again, I selected two pieces, each
about four inches square, both of which bore several fingerprints. I
placed them carefully face to face in a large envelope from my pocket,
having first wrapped their corners in paper to prevent the surfaces from
touching.

I had just bestowed the envelope in my letter-case and slipped the latter
into my pocket when I heard a man's voice in the hall. I opened the door,
and walking along the corridor, found a police inspector and a sergeant
in earnest conversation with the housekeeper, while an elderly man, whom
I judged to be the doctor, stood behind, listening attentively.

'Well,' said the inspector 'we'd better see to the lady. Will you have a
look at her, doctor, and when you've attended to her, perhaps you will
let us know whether she is in a fit state to answer questions. But you
might just take a look at the body first.' Here he observed me and
inquired: 'Let me see, who is this gentleman?'

I explained briefly my connection with the case as we walked down the
corridor, and the inspector made no comment at the moment. We all entered
the room, and the doctor stooped over the body and made a rapid
inspection.

'Yes,' he said, rising and shaking his head, 'there's no doubt that he is
dead, poor fellow. A shocking affair. But I had better go and see to this
poor lady before I make any detailed examination.'

With this he bustled away, and the inspector and the sergeant knelt down
beside the corpse but refrained from touching it.

'Knife wound, apparently,' said the inspector, nodding gloomily at a
small pool of blood that appeared between the outstretched right arm and
the side. 'Seems to have been a left-handed man, too, unless he struck
from behind, which he pretty evidently did not.' He stood up, and once
more looking at me, somewhat inquisitively, said: 'I had better have your
name and address, sir.'

'My name is Anstey--Robert Anstey, KC, and my address is 8A Kings Bench
Walk, Inner Temple.'

'Oh, I know you, sir,' said the inspector with a sudden change of manner.
'You are Dr. Thorndyke's leading counsel. Well, well. What an odd thing
that you should happen to come upon this affair by mere chance. It's
quite in your own line.'

'I don't know about that,' said I. 'It looks to me rather more in yours.
If they have got these fingerprints in the files at Scotland Yard you
won't have much trouble in finding your man or getting a conviction.'

As I spoke, I drew his attention to the fingerprints on the broken glass,
saying nothing, however, about those on the upper drawer.

The two officers examined the incriminating marks with deep interest, and
the inspector proceeded carefully and skilfully to pack several of the
fragments for subsequent examination, remarking, as he laid them tenderly
on the top of a cabinet: 'This looks like a regular windfall, but it's
almost too good to be true. The professional crook, nowadays, knows too
much to go dabbing his trade-marks about in this fashion. These prints
and the knife rather suggest a casual or amateur of some kind. The fellow
not only didn't wear gloves, he didn't even trouble to wipe his hands.
And they wanted wiping pretty badly. Are all these cabinets full of
jewellery?'

'I really don't know what they contain, but they are pretty insecure if
their contents are valuable.'

'Yes,' he agreed. 'A single locked batten to each cabinet. One wrench of
a jemmy and the whole cabinet is open. Well, we'd better have a few words
with the housekeeper before we go over the room in detail. And she won't
want to talk to us in here.'

With this he led the way back to the hall, and I could not but admire the
diplomatic way in which he managed to get me away from the scene of his
intended investigation.

As we entered the hall, we met the doctor, who was repacking his
emergency bag at the door of the room.

'I think,' said he, 'my patient is well enough to give you a few
necessary particulars. But don't tire her with needless questions.'

'She is not seriously hurt, then?' said I, with considerable relief.

'No. But she has had a mighty narrow escape. The brute must have aimed
badly, for he struck viciously enough, but the point of the knife glanced
off a rib and came out farther back, just transfixing a fold of skin and
muscle. It is a nasty wound, but quite superficial and not at all
dangerous.'

'Well, I'm glad it's no worse than that,' said the inspector, and with
this he pushed open the door of the room and we all entered, though I
noticed that the sergeant regarded me with a somewhat dubious eye. And
now, for the first time, I observed the injured lady with some attention,
which I was able to do at my leisure while the examination was
proceeding. And a very remarkable-looking girl she was. Whether she would
have been considered beautiful by the majority of persons I cannot say;
she certainly appeared so to me. But I have always felt a great
admiration of the pictures of Burne-Jones and of the peculiar type of
womanhood that he loved to paint; and this girl, with her soft aureole of
reddish-gold hair, her earnest grey eyes, her clear, blonde skin--now
pale as marble--the characteristic mouth and cast of features, might have
been the model whose presentment gave those pictures, to me, their
peculiar charm. She seemed not of the common, everyday world, but like
some visitor from the regions of legend and romance. And the distinction
other appearance was supported by her speech--by a singularly sweet
voice, an accent of notable refinement, and a manner at once gentle,
grave, and dignified.

'Do you feel able to tell us what you know of this terrible affair,
Madam?' the inspector asked.

'Oh yes,' she replied. 'I am quite recovered now.'

'Was Mr Drayton a friend of yours?'

'No. I never met him until this evening. But perhaps I had better tell
you how I came to be here and exactly what happened.'

'Yes,' the inspector agreed, 'that will be the shortest way.'

'Mr Drayton,' she began, 'was, as you probably know, the owner of a
collection of what he called "inscribed objects"--jewels, ornaments, and
small personal effects bearing inscriptions connecting them with some
person or event or period. I saw a description of the collection in the
Connoisseur a short time ago, and as I am greatly interested in inscribed
jewels, I wrote to Mr Drayton asking if I could be allowed to see the
collection; and I asked, since I am occupied all day, if he could make it
convenient to show me the collection one evening. I also asked him some
questions about the specimens of jewellery In reply he wrote me a most
kind letter--I have it in my pocket if you would like to see
it--answering my questions and not only inviting me most cordially to
come and look at his treasures, but offering to meet me at the station
and show me the way to the house. Of course I accepted his very kind
offer and gave him a few particulars of my appearance so that he should
be able to identify me, and this evening he met me at the station and we
walked up here together. There was no one in the house when we
arrived--at least he thought there was not, for he mentioned to me that
his housekeeper had gone out for an hour or so. He let himself in with a
key and showed me into this room. Then he went away, leaving the door
ajar. I heard him walk down the corridor and I heard a door open. Almost
at the same moment, he called out loudly and angrily. Then I heard the
report of a pistol, followed immediately by a heavy fall.'

'A pistol!' exclaimed the inspector 'I thought it was a knife wound. But
I mustn't interrupt you.'

'When I heard the report I ran out into the hall and down the corridor.
As I went, I heard a sound as of a scuffle, and when I reached the door
of the museum, which was wide open, I saw Mr Drayton lying on the floor,
quite still, and a man climbing out of the window. I ran to the window to
try to stop him, but before I could get there he was gone. I waited an
instant to look at Mr Drayton, and noticed that he seemed to be already
dead and that the room was full of the reek from the pistol, then I ran
back to the hall and out through the garden and along the fence to where
I supposed the window to be. But for a few moments I could not see any
one. Then, suddenly, a man sprang over the fence and dropped quite near
me, and before he could recover his balance, I had run to him and seized
him by both wrists. He struggled violently, though lie did not seem very
strong, but he dragged me quite a long way before he got free.'

'Did he say anything to you?' the inspector asked.

'Yes. He used most horrible language, and more than once he said:

"Let go, you fool. The man who did it has got away."

'That might possibly be true,' I interposed, 'for, just before I heard
this lady call for help, a man passed me at a little distance, running so
hard that I was half inclined to follow him.'

'Did you see what he was like?' the inspector demanded eagerly.

'No. I hardly saw him at all. He passed me at a distance of about thirty
yards and was gone in an instant. Then I heard this lady call out and, of
course, ran towards her.'

'Yes,' said the inspector,' naturally. But it's a pity you didn't see
what the man was like. 'Then, once more addressing the lady, he asked:

'Did this man stab you without warning, Miss--'

'Blake is my name,' she replied. 'No. He threatened several times to
"knife" me if I didn't let go. At last he managed to get his left hand
free. I think he was holding something in it, but he must have dropped
it, whatever it was, for the next moment I saw him draw a knife from
under his coat. Then I got hold of his arm again, and that is probably
the reason that he wounded me so slightly. But when he stabbed me I
suddenly went quite faint and fell down, and then he escaped.'

'He held the knife in his left hand, then?' the inspector asked. 'You are
sure of that?'

'Quite sure. Of course it happened to be the free hand, but-'

'But if he had been a right-handed man he would probably have got his
right hand free. Did you see which side he carried his knife?'

'Yes. He drew it from under his coat on the left side.'

'Can you give us any description of the man?'

'I am afraid I can't. I am sure I should recognise him if I were to see
him again, but I can't describe him. It was all very confused, and, of
course, it was very dark. I should say that he was a smallish man, rather
slightly built. He wore a cloth cap and his hair seemed rather short but
bushy. He had a thin face, with a very peculiar expression--but, of
course, he was extremely excited and furious--and large, staring eyes,
and a rather pronounced, curved nose.'

'Oh, come,' said the inspector approvingly, 'that isn't such a bad
description. Can you say whether he was dark or fair, clean shaved or
bearded?'

'He was clean shaved, and I should say decidedly dark.'

'And how was he dressed?'

'He wore a cloth cap, and, I think, a tweed suit. Oh, and he wore
gloves-thin, smooth gloves-very thin kid, I should say-'

'Gloves!' exclaimed the inspector. 'Then the fingerprints must be the
other man's. Are you sure he had gloves on both hands?'

'Yes, perfectly sure. I saw them and felt them.'

'Well,' said the inspector,' this is a facer. It looks as if the other
man had really done the job while this fellow kept watch outside. It's a
mysterious affair altogether. There's the extraordinary time they chose
to break into the house. Eight o'clock in the evening. It would almost
seem as if they had known about Mr Drayton's movements.'

'They must have done,' said the housekeeper. 'Mr Drayton went out
regularly every evening a little after seven. He went down to the village
to play chess at the club, and he usually came back between half-past
nine and ten. And I generally sat and worked in the kitchen on the other
side of the house from the museum.'

'And did he take no sort of precautions against robbery?'

'He used to lock the museum when he went out. That was all. He was not at
all a nervous man, and he used to say that there was no danger of robbery
because the things in the museum were not the kind of things that
burglars go for. They wouldn't be of any value to melt or sell.'

'We must just look over the museum presently and see what the collection
consists of,' said the inspector. 'And we must see how they got in and
what they have taken. I suppose there is a catalogue?'

'No, there isn't,' replied the housekeeper. 'I did suggest to Mr Drayton
that he ought to draw up a list of the things, but he said it was not a
public collection, and as he knew all the specimens himself, there was no
need to number them or keep a catalogue.'

That is unfortunate,' said the inspector. 'We shan't be able to find out
what is missing or circulate any descriptions unless you can remember
what was in the cabinets. By the way, did Mr Drayton ever show his
collection to visitors other than his personal friends?'

'Occasionally. After the Connoisseur article that Miss Blake was speaking
of, two or three strangers wrote to Mr Drayton asking to be allowed to
see the jewellery, and he invited them to come and showed them
everything.'

'Did Mr Drayton keep a visitors' book, or record of any kind?'

'No. I don't remember any of the visitors, excepting a Mr Halliburton,
who wrote from the Baltic Hotel in the Marylebone Road. I remember him
because Mr Drayton was so annoyed about him. He put himself to great
inconvenience to meet Mr Halliburton and show him the jewellery that he
had asked to see, and then, he told me, when he came, it was quite
obvious that he didn't know anything at all about jewellery, either
ancient or modern. He must have come just from idle curiosity.'

'I'm not so sure of that,' said the inspector. 'Looks a bit suspicious.
We shall have to make some inquiries at the Baltic. And now we had better
go and have a look at the museum, and perhaps, doctor, you would like to
make a preliminary examination of the body before it is moved.'

On this we all rose, and the inspector was just moving towards the hall
when there came a sharp sound of knocking at the outer door, followed by
a loud peal of the bell.



CHAPTER TWO - SIR LAWRENCE DECLARES A VENDETTA


At the first stroke of the knocker we all stood stock still, and so
remained until the harsh jangling of the bell gradually died away. There
was nothing abnormal in either sound, but I suppose we were all somewhat
overstrung, for there seemed in the clamorous summons, which shattered
the silence so abruptly, something ominous and threatening. Especially
did this appear in the case of the housekeeper, who threw up her hands
and whimpered audibly.

'Dear Lord!' she ejaculated. 'It is Sir Lawrence--his brother! I know his
knock. Who is to tell him?'

As no one answered, she crept reluctantly across the room, murmuring and
shaking her head, and went out into the hall. I heard the door open and
caught the sound of voices, though not very distinctly. Then the
housekeeper re-entered the room quickly, and a man who was following her
said in a brisk, somewhat bantering tone:

'You are very mysterious, Mrs Benham.' The next moment the speaker came
into view; and instantly he stopped dead and stood staring into the room
with a frown of stern surprise.

'What the devil is this?' he demanded, glaring first at the two officers
and then at me. 'What is going on, Anstey?'

For a few moments I was tongue-tied. But an appealing glance from the
housekeeper seemed to put the duty on me.

'A dreadful thing has happened, Drayton,' I replied. 'The house has been
broken into and your brother has been killed.'

Sir Lawrence turned deathly pale and his face set hard and rigid, until
it seemed the very counterpart of that white, set face that I had looked
on but a few minutes age. For a while he stared at me frowningly, neither
moving nor uttering a word. Then he asked gruffly: 'Where is he?'

'He is lying where he fell, in the museum,' I replied.

On this he turned abruptly and walked out of the room. I heard him pass
quickly down the corridor and then I heard the museum door shut. We all
looked at one another uncomfortably, but no one spoke. The housekeeper
sobbed almost inaudibly and now and again uttered a low moan. Miss Blake
wept silently, and the two officers and the doctor stood looking gloomily
at the floor.

Presently Sir Lawrence came back. He was still very pale. But though his
eyes were red, and indeed were still humid, there was no softness of
grief in his face. With its clenched jaw and frowning brows, it was grim
and stern and inexorable as Fate.

'Tell me,' he said, in a quiet voice, looking from me to the inspector,
'exactly how this happened.'

'I don't think any one knows yet,' I replied. 'This lady, Miss Blake, is
the only person who saw the murderer. She tried to detain him and held on
to him until he stabbed her.'

'Stabbed her!' he exclaimed, casting a glance of intense apprehension at
the recumbent figure on the sofa and stepping softly across the room.

'I am not really hurt,' Miss Blake hastened to assure him. 'It is only
quite a trifling wound.'

He bent over her with a strange softening of the grim face, touching her
hand with his and tenderly adjusting the rug that the housekeeper had
spread over her.

'I pray to God that it is as you say,' he replied. Then, turning to me,
he asked: 'Has this brave young lady been properly attended to?'

'Yes,' I answered. 'The doctor here--Dr--'

'Nichols,' said the medicus. 'I have examined the wound thoroughly and
dressed it, and I think I can assure you that no danger is to be
apprehended from it. But, having regard to the shock she has sustained, I
think she ought to be got home as soon as possible.'

'Yes,' Sir Lawrence agreed, 'and if she is fit to be moved, I will convey
her to her home. My car is waiting in the road. And I will ask you.
Anstey, to come with me, if you can.'

Of course I assented, and he continued, addressing the inspector:

'When I have taken this lady home I shall go straight to Dr Thorndyke and
ask him to assist the police in investigating this crime. Probably he
will return here with me at once, and I will ask you to see that
nothing--not even the body--is disturbed until he has made his
inspection.'

At this the officer looked a little dubious, but he answered courteously
enough: 'So far as I am concerned. Sir Lawrence, your wishes shall
certainly be attended to. But I notified Scotland Yard before I came on
here, and this case will probably be dealt with by the Criminal
Investigation Department, and, of course, I can enter into no
undertakings on their behalf.'

'No,' Sir Lawrence rejoined, 'of course you can't. I will deal with the
Scotland Yard people myself. And now we had better start. Is Miss Blake
able to walk to the car, Doctor? It is only a few yards to the road.'

'I am quite able to walk,' said Miss Blake; and as Dr Nichols assented,
we assisted her to rise, and Sir Lawrence carefully wrapped her in the
rug that Mrs Benham had thrown over her. Then I picked up the shawl, and
tucking it under my arm, followed her as she walked slowly out supported
by Sir Lawrence.

At the garden gate we turned to the left, and passing along the path,
came very shortly to a road on which two cars were standing, a large
closed car, which I recognised as Sir Lawrence's, and a smaller one,
presumably Dr Nichols'. Into the former Miss Blake was assisted, and when
the carriage rug had been wrapped around her, I entered and took the
opposite seat.

'What address shall I tell the driver, Miss Blake?' Sir Lawrence asked.

'Sixty-three Jacob Street, Hampstead Road,' she replied; and then, as
neither the driver nor either of us could locate the street, she added:

'It is two or three turnings past Mornington Crescent on the same side of
the road.'

Having given this direction to the driver, Sir Lawrence entered and took
the vacant seat and the car moved off smoothly, silently, and with
unperceived swiftness.

During the journey hardly a word was spoken. The darkness of the heath
gave place to the passing lights of the streets, the rural quiet to the
clamour of traffic. In a few minutes, as it seemed, we were at the wide
crossing by the Mother Red-Cap, and in a few more were turning into a
narrow, dingy, and rather sordid by-street. Up this the car travelled
slowly as the driver threw the light of a powerful lamp on the shabby
doors, and at length drew up opposite a wide, wooden gate on which the
number sixty-three was exhibited in large brass figures. I got out of the
car and approached the gate in no little surprise, for its appearance and
the paved truckway that led through it suggested the entrance to a
factory or builders yard. However, there was no doubt that it was the
right house, for the evidence of the number was confirmed by a small
brass plate at the side, legibly inscribed 'Miss Blake' and surmounted by
a bell-pull. At the latter I gave a vigorous tug and was immediately
aware of the far-away jangling of a large bell, which sounded as if it
were ringing in an open yard.

In a few moments I detected quick footsteps which seemed to be
approaching along a paved passage; then a wicket in the gate opened and a
boy of about twelve looked out.

'Whom did you want, please?' he asked in a pleasant, refined voice and
with a courteous, self-possessed manner which 'placed' him instantly in a
social sense. Before I had time to reply, he had looked past me and
observed Miss Blake, who, having been helped out of the car, was now
approaching the gate; on which he sprang through the wicket and ran to
meet her.

'You needn't be alarmed, Percy,' she said in a cheerful voice. 'I have
had a little accident and these gentlemen have very kindly brought me
home. But it is nothing to worry about.'

'You look awfully white and tired, Winnie,' he replied; and then,
addressing me, he asked: 'Is my sister hurt much, sir?'

'No,' I answered. 'The doctor who attended to her thought that she would
soon be quite well again, and I hope she will. Is there anything that we
can do for you, Miss Blake?'

'Thank you, no,' she replied. 'My brother and a friend will look after me
now, but I can't thank you enough for all your kindness.'

'It is I,' said Sir Lawrence, 'who am in your debt--deeply in your debt.
And I do pray that you may suffer no ill consequences from your heroism.
But we mustn't keep you standing here. Goodbye, dear Miss Blake, and God
bless you.'

He shook her hand warmly and her brother's with old-fashioned courtesy. I
handed the boy the folded shawl, and having shaken hands with both,
followed my friend to the car.

'Do you think Thorndyke will be at home?' he asked as the car turned
round and returned to the Hampstead Road.

'I expect so,' I replied. 'But I don't suppose there will be very much
for him to do. There were plenty of fingerprints in evidence. I should
think the police will be able to trace the man without difficulty.'

'Police be damned!' he retorted gruffly. 'I want Thorndyke. And as to
fingerprints, weren't you the leading counsel in that Hornby case?'

'Yes, but that was exceptional. You can't assume--'

'That case,' he interrupted, 'knocked the bottom out of fingerprint
evidence. And these fingerprints may not be on the files at the registry,
and if they are not, the police have no clue to this man's identity, and
are not likely to get any.'

It seemed to me that he was hardly doing the police justice, but there
was no use in discussing the matter, as we were, in fact, going to put
the case in Thorndyke's hands. I accordingly gave a colourless assent,
and for the rest of the short journey we sat in silence, each busy with
his own reflections.

At length the car drew up at the Inner Temple gate. Drayton sprang out,
and signing to the driver to wait, passed through the wicket and strode
swiftly down the narrow lane. As we came out at the end of Crown Office
Row, he looked eagerly across at King's Bench Walk.

'There's a light in Thorndyke's chambers,' he said, and quickening his
pace almost to a run, he crossed the wide space, and plunging into the
entry of number 5A, ascended the stairs two at a time. I followed, not
without effort, and as I reached the landing the door opened in response
to his peremptory knock and Thorndyke appeared in the opening.

'My dear Drayton!' he exclaimed, 'you really ought not, at your age--' he
stopped short, and looking anxiously at our friend, asked: 'Is anything
amiss?'

'Yes,' Drayton replied quietly, though breathlessly. 'My brother
Andrew--you remember him, I expect--has been murdered by some accursed
housebreaker. He is lying on the floor of his room now. I told them to
leave him there until you had seen him. Can you come?'

'I will come with you immediately,' was the reply; and as with grave face
and quick but unhurried movements, he made the necessary preparations, I
noticed that--characteristically--he asked no questions, but concentrated
his attention on providing for all contingencies. He had laid a small,
green, canvas-covered case upon the table, and opening it, was making a
rapid inspection of the apparatus that it contained, when suddenly I
bethought me of the pieces of glass in my pocket.

'Before we start,' said I, 'I had better give you these. The fingerprints
on them are almost certainly those of the murderer. 'As I spoke, I
carefully unwrapped the two pieces of glass and handed them to Thorndyke,
who took them from me, holding them daintily by their edges, and
scrutinising them closely.

'I am glad you brought these, Anstey,' he said. 'They make us to some
extent independent of the police. Do they know you have them?'

'No,' I replied. 'I took possession of them before the police arrived.'

'Then, in that case,' said he 'it will be as well to say nothing about
them.' He held the pieces of glass up against the light, examining them
closely and comparing them, first with the naked eye and then with the
aid of a lens. Finally he lifted the microscope from its shelf, and
placing it on the table, laid one of the pieces of glass on the stage and
examined it through the instrument. His inspection occupied only a few
seconds, then he rose, and turning to Drayton, who had been watching him
eagerly, said: 'It may be highly important for us to have these
fingerprints with us. But we can't produce the originals before the
police, and besides, they are too valuable to carry about at the risk of
spoiling them. But I could make rough, temporary photographs of them in
five minutes if you will consent to the delay.'

'I am in your hands, Thorndyke,' replied Drayton. 'Do whatever you think
is necessary.'

'Then let us go to the laboratory at once,' said Thorndyke; and taking
the two pieces of glass, he led the way across the landing and up the
stairs to the upper floor on which the laboratory and workshop were
situated. And as we went, I could not but appreciate Thorndyke's tact and
sympathy in taking Drayton up with him, so that the tedium of delay might
be relieved by the sense of purposeful action.

The laboratory and its methods were characteristic of Thorndyke.
Everything was ready and all procedure was prearranged. As we entered,
the assistant, Polton, put down the work on which he was engaged, and at
a word, took up the present task without either hesitation or hurry.
While Thorndyke fixed the pieces of glass in the copying frame of the
great standing camera, Polton arranged the light and the condensers and
produced a dark-slide loaded with bromide paper. In less than a minute
the exposure was made; in another three minutes the print had been
developed, roughly fixed, rinsed, squeegeed, soaked in spirit, cut in
two, and trimmed with scissors, and the damp but rapidly drying halves
attached with drawing pins to a small hinged board specially designed for
carrying wet prints in the pocket.

'Now,' said Thorndyke, slipping the folded board into his pocket and
taking from a shelf a powerful electric inspection lamp, 'I think we are
ready to start. These few minutes have not been wasted.'

We returned to the lower room, where Thorndyke, having bestowed the lamp
in the canvas-covered 'research-case,' put on his hat and overcoat and
took up the case, and we all set forth, walking quickly and in silence up
Inner Temple Lane to the gate, and taking our seats in the waiting car
when Drayton had given a few laconic instructions to the driver.

Up to this point Thorndyke had asked not a single question about the
crime. Now, as the car started, he said to Drayton: 'We had better be
ready to begin the investigation as soon as we arrive. Could you give me
a short account of what has happened?'

'Anstey knows more about it than I do,' was the reply. 'He was there
within a few minutes of the murder.'

The question being thus referred to me, I gave an account of all that I
had seen and heard, to which Thorndyke listened with deep attention,
interrupting me only once or twice to elucidate some point that was not
quite clear.

'I understand,' said he when I had finished, 'that there is no catalogue
or record of the collection and no written description of the specimens?'

'No,' replied Drayton. 'But I have looked over the cabinets a good many
times, and taken the pieces out to examine them, so I think I shall be
able to tell roughly what is missing, and give a working description of
the pieces. And I could certainly identify most of them if they should be
produced.'

'They are not very likely to be traced,' said Thorndyke. 'It is highly
improbable that the murderer will attempt to dispose of things stolen in
such circumstances. Still, the possibility of identifying them may be of
the greatest importance, for the folly of criminals is often beyond
belief.'



CHAPTER THREE - THORNDYKE TAKES UP THE INQUIRY


The outer door of the house was shut, although the lower rooms were all
lighted up, but at the first sound of the bell it was opened by a
uniformed constable who regarded us stolidly and inquired as to our
business. Before there was time to answer, however, a man whom I at once
recognised as Inspector Badger of the Criminal Investigation Department
came out into the hall and asked sharply: 'Who is that, Martin?'

'It is Sir Lawrence Drayton, Dr Thorndyke, and Mr Anstey,' I replied; and
as the constable backed out of the way we all entered.

'This is a terrible catastrophe, Sir Lawrence,' said Badger 'Dreadful,
dreadful. If sincere sympathy would be any consolation--'

'It wouldn't,' interrupted Drayton, 'though I thank you all the same. The
only thing that would console me--and that little enough--would be the
sight of the ruffian who did it dangling at the end of a rope. The local
officer told you, I suppose, that I was asking Dr Thorndyke to lend his
valuable aid in investigating the crime?'

'Yes, Sir Lawrence,' replied Badger, 'but I don't know that I am in a
position to authorise any unofficial--'

'Tut, tut, man!' Drayton broke in impatiently, 'I am not asking you to
authorise anything. I am the murdered man's sole executor and his only
brother. In the one capacity his entire estate is vested in me until it
has been disposed of in accordance with the will; in the other capacity,
the duty devolves on me of seeing that his murderer is brought to
account. I give you every liberty and facility to examine these premises,
but I am not going to surrender possession of them. Has any discovery
been made?'

'No, sir.' Badger replied a little sulkily. 'We have only been here a
few minutes. I was taking some particulars from the housekeeper.'

'Possibly I can give you some information while Dr Thorndyke is making
his inspection of my poor brother's body,' said Drayton. 'When he has
finished and the body has been laid decently in his bedroom, I will come
with you to the museum and we will see if anything is missing.'

Badger assented, with evident unwillingness, to this arrangement. He and
Drayton entered the drawing-room, from which the inspector had just come,
while I conducted Thorndyke to the museum.

The room was just as I had seen it last, excepting that the open drawer
had been closed. The stark, rigid figure still lay on the floor, the set,
white face still stared with stern fixity at the ceiling. As I looked,
the events of the interval faded from my mind and all the horror of the
sudden tragedy came back.

Just inside the door Thorndyke halted and slowly ran his eye round the
room, taking in its arrangement, and no doubt fixing it in his memory.
Presently he stepped over to where the body lay, and stood a while
looking down on the dead man. Then he stopped and closely examined a spot
on the right breast.

'Isn't there more bleeding than is usual in the case of a bullet-wound?'
I asked.

'Yes,' he replied, 'but that blood hasn't come from the wound in front.
There must be another at the back, possibly a wound of exit. 'As he
spoke, he stood up and again looked searchingly round the room, more
especially at the side in which the door opened. Suddenly his glance
became fixed and he strode quickly across to a cabinet that stood beside
the door; and as I followed him, I perceived a ragged hole in the front
of one of the drawers.

'Do you mean, Thorndyke,' I exclaimed, 'that the bullet passed right
through him?'

That is what it looks like,' he replied 'But we shall be able to judge
better when we get the drawer open--which we can't do until Badger comes.
But there is one thing that we had better do at once.' Stepping over to
the table on which he had placed the research-case, he opened the latter,
and taking from it a stick of blackboard chalk, went back to the body.
'We must assume,' said he, 'that he fell where he was standing when he
was struck, and if that is so he would have been standing here.' He
marked on the carpet two-rough outlines to indicate the position of the
feet when the murdered man fell, and having put the chalk back in the
case, continued: 'The next thing is to verify the existence of the wound
at the back. Will you help me to turn him over?'

We turned the body gently on to its right side, and immediately there
came into view a large, blood-stained patch under the left shoulder, and
at the centre of it a ragged burst in the fabric of the coat.

'That will do,' said Thorndyke. 'It is an unmistakable exit wound. The
bullet probably missed the ribs both in entering and emerging, and passed
through the heart or the great vessels. The appearances suggest almost
instantaneous death. The face is set, the eyes wide open, and both the
hands tightly clenched in a cadaveric spasm. And the right hand seems to
be grasping something, but we had better leave that until Badger has seen
it.'

At this moment footsteps became audible coming along the corridor, and
Badger entered the room accompanied by the local inspector. The two
officers looked inquiringly at Thorndyke, who proceeded at once to give
them a brief statement of the facts that he had observed.

'There can't be much doubt,' said Badger when he had examined the hole in
the drawer front, 'that this was made by a spent bullet. But we may as
well settle the question now. We shall want the keys in any case.'

He passed his hand over the dead man's clothes, and having located the
pocket which contained the keys, drew out a good-sized bunch, with which
he went over to the cabinet. A few trials with likely-looking keys
resulted in the discovery of the right one, and when this had been turned
and the hinged batten swung back, all the drawers of the cabinet were
released. The inspector pulled out the one with the damaged front and
looked in inquisitively. Its contents consisted principally of latten and
pewter spoons, now evidently disarranged and mingled with a litter of
splinters of wood; and in the bowl of a spoon near the back of the drawer
lay a distorted bullet, which Badger picked up and examined critically.

'Browning automatic, I should say,' was his comment, 'and if so we ought
to find the cartridge case somewhere on the floor. We must look for it
presently, but we'd better get the body moved first, if you have finished
your inspection, Doctor.'

'There is something grasped in the right hand,' said Thorndyke. 'It looks
like a wisp of hair. Perhaps we had better look at that before the body
is moved, in case it should fall out.'

We returned to the body, and the two officers stooped and watched eagerly
as Thorndyke, with some difficulty, opened the rigid hand sufficiently to
draw from it a small tuft of hair.

'The spasm is very marked,' he observed as he scrutinised the hair and
felt in his pocket for a lens; and when, with the aid of the latter, he
had made a further examination, he continued: 'The state of the
root-bulbs shows that the hair was actually plucked out-which, of course,
is what we should expect.'

'Can you form any opinion as to what sort of man he was?' Badger asked.

'No,' replied Thorndyke, 'excepting that he was not a recently released
convict. But the appearance of the hair agrees with Miss Blake's
description of the man who stabbed her. I understand that she described
him as a having rather short but bushy hair. This hair is rather short,
though we can't say whether it was bushy or not. Perhaps more complete
examination of it may tell us something further.'

'Possibly,' Badger agreed. 'I will have it thoroughly examined, and get a
report on it. Shall I take charge of it?' he added, holding out his hand.

'Yes, you had better,' replied Thorndyke, 'but I will take a small sample
for further examination, if you don't mind.'

'There is no need for that,' protested Badger. 'You can always have
access to what we've got if you want to refer to it.'

'I know,' said Thorndyke, 'and it is very good of you to offer. Still
this will save time and trouble.' And without more ado he separated a
third of the tuft and handed the remainder to the inspector, who wrapped
it in a sheet of note-paper that he had taken from his pocket and sourly
watched Thorndyke bestow his portion in a seed-envelope from his
pocket-book, and after writing on it a brief description, return it to
the latter receptacle.

'You were saying,' said Badger, 'that this hair agrees with Miss Blake's
description. But it was suggested that it was the other man who really
committed the murder. Isn't that rather a contradiction?'

'I don't think so,' replied Thorndyke. 'The probabilities seem to me to
point to the other man as the murderer.'

'But how can that be?' objected Badger. 'You say that this hair agrees
with Miss Blake's description of the man. But this hair is obviously the
hair of the murderer. And that man was left-handed and the wound is on
the right breast, suggesting that the murderer held his pistol in his
left hand.'

'Not at all,' said Thorndyke. 'I submit that this hair is obviously not
the hair of the murderer. Look at those chalk marks that I have made on
the floor. They mark the spot on which the deceased was standing when the
bullet struck him. Now go back to the cabinet and look at the chalk marks
and see what is in a direct line with them.'

The inspector did so. 'I see,' said he. 'You mean the window.'

'Yes, it was open, since the robber evidently came in by it, and the sill
is barely five feet from the ground. I suggest--but merely as a
probability, since the bullet may have been deflected--that the other man
was keeping guard outside, and that when he heard a noise from this room
he looked in through the window and saw his confederate on the point of
being captured by the deceased, that he then fired, and when he saw
deceased fall, he made his escape. That would account for the man who was
seen by Miss Blake making his appearance after the other man had gone. He
may have had to extricate himself from the dead man's grasp, and then he
had to climb out of the window. But the position of the empty
cartridge-case-if we find it-will settle the question. If the pistol was
fired into the room through the window, the cartridge-case will be on the
ground outside.'

He opened his research-case, and taking from it the electric lamp, walked
slowly to the window, throwing the bright light on the floor as he went.
The two officers followed, and all scrutinised the floor closely, but in
vain. Then Thorndyke leaned out of the window and threw the light of his
lamp on the ground outside, moving the bright beam slowly to and fro
while the inspector craned forward eagerly. Suddenly Badger uttered an
exclamation,

'There it is, Doctor! Don't move the light. Keep it there while I go out
and pick the case up.'

'One moment, Badger,' said Thorndyke. 'We mustn't be impetuous. There are
some other things out there more important than the cartridge-case. I can
see two distinct sets of footprints, and it is above all things necessary
that they should not be confused by being trodden into. Let us get the
body moved first. Then we can take some mats out and examine the
footprints systematically and recover the cartridge-case at the same
time. If we are careful we can leave the ground in such a condition that
it will be possible to go over it again by daylight.'

The wisdom of this suggestion was obvious, and the inspector proceeded at
once to act on it. The sergeant and the constable were sent for, and by
them the body of the murdered man was carried, under the inspector's
supervision, to the bedroom above. Then a couple of large mats were
procured from Mrs Benham and we all issued from the front door into the
garden. Here, however, a halt was called, and at Thorndyke's suggestion,
the party was separated into two, he and Badger to explore the grounds
inside the fence, while the local inspector and the others endeavoured to
follow the tracks outside.

I did not join either party, nor did Sir Lawrence. We both realised the
futility of any attempt to trace the fugitives, and recognised that the
suggestion was made by Thorndyke merely to get rid of the unwanted
supernumeraries. Accordingly we took up a position outside the fence,
which we could just look over, and watched the proceedings of Thorndyke
and Inspector Badger, as they passed slowly along the side of the house,
each with the light of his lantern thrown full on the ground.

They had gone but a few paces when they picked up on the soft, loamy path
the fairly clear impressions of two pairs of feet going towards the back
of the house. Both the investigators paused and stooped to examine them,
and Badger remarked: 'So they came in at the front gate-naturally, as it
was the easiest way. But they must have been pretty sure that there was
no one in the house to see them. And that suggests that they knew the
ways of the household and that they had lurked about to watch Mr Drayton
and Mrs Benham off the premises.'

'Is it possible to distinguish one man from the other?' Drayton asked.

'Yes, quite easily,' Badger replied. 'One of them is a biggish man--close
on six feet, I should say--while the other is quite a small man. That
will be the one that Miss Blake saw.'

They followed the tracks to the back of the house, and as we followed on
our side of the fence Thorndyke called out: 'Be careful, Anstey, not to
tread in the tracks where they came over the fence. We ought to get
specially clear prints of their feet where they jumped down. Could you
get a light?'

'I'll go and get one of the acetylene lamps from the car,' said Drayton.
'You stay where you are until I come back.'

He was but a short time absent, and when he returned he was provided with
a powerful lamp and a couple of small mats. 'I have brought these,' he
explained 'to lay on any particularly clear footprints to protect them
from chance injury. We mustn't lose the faintest shadow of a clue.'

With the aid of the brilliant light Drayton and I explored the ground at
the foot of the fence. Suddenly Sir Lawrence exclaimed:

'Why, these look like a woman's footprints!' and he pointed to a set of
rather indistinct impressions running parallel to the fence.

They will be Miss Blake's,' said I. 'She ran round this way. Yes, here is
the place where the man came over. What extraordinarily clear impressions
this ground takes. It shows the very brads in the heels.'

'Yes,' he agreed; 'this is the Hampstead sand, you know; one of the
finest foundry-sands in the country.'

He laid one of the mats carefully on the pair of footprints, and we
continued our explorations towards the back of the house. Here we saw
Thorndyke and the inspector, each kneeling on a mat, examining a confused
mass of footprints on the ground between the museum window and the fence.

'Have you found the cartridge-case?' I asked.

'Yes,' replied Thorndyke. 'Badger has it. It is a "Baby Browning." And I
think we have seen all there is to see here by this light. Can you see
where the big man came down from the fence? He went over where I am
throwing the light.'

We approached the spot cautiously, and at the place indicated perceived
the very clear and deep impression of a large right foot with a much less
distinct print of a left foot, both having the heels towards the fence;
and a short distance in front of them the soft, loamy earth bore a clear
impression of a left hand with the fingers spread out, and a fainter
print of a right hand.

I reported these facts to Thorndyke, who at once decided to come over and
examine the prints. Handing his lamp over a few paces farther along the
fence, he climbed up and dropped lightly by my side, followed almost
immediately by Inspector Badger.

'This,' said the inspector, gazing down at the foot and hand-prints,
'bears out what we saw from the inside. He wasn't any too active, this
chappie. Probably fat-a big, heavy, awkward man. Had to pull the garden
seat up to the fence to enable him to get over, though it was an easy
fence to climb with those big cross-rails; and here, you see, he comes
down all of a heap on his hands and knees. However, that doesn't help us
a great deal. He isn't the only fat man in the world. We had better go
indoors now and have a look at the room and see if we can find out what
has been taken.'

We turned to retrace our steps towards the gate, pausing on our way to
lift the mats and inspect the footprints of the smaller man; and as we
went Drayton asked if anything of interest had been discovered.

'No,' replied Badger 'They got in without any difficulty by forcing back
the catch of the window--unless the window was open already. It isn't
quite clear whether they both got in. The big man walked part of the way
round the house and along the fence in both directions, and he pulled a
garden seat up to the fence to help himself up. The small man came out of
the window last, if they were both inside, and I expect it was he who
dropped this--must have had it in his hand when he climbed out'--and here
the inspector produced from his pocket a ring, set with a single round
stone, which he handed to Sir Lawrence.

'Ah,' said the latter, 'a posy-ring, one of the cat's eye series. There
were several of these and a set of moonstone rings in the same drawer.'

'You know the collection pretty well, then. Sir Lawrence?'

'Fairly well. I often used to look over the things with my poor brother.
But, of course, I can't remember all the specimens, though I think I can
show you the drawer that this came from.'

By this time we had entered the house and were making our way to the
museum. On entering the room, Drayton walked straight to the cabinet
which I remembered to have seen open, and pulled out the second drawer
from the top.

'This is the one,' said he. 'They have taken out the glass top--I suppose
those are the pieces of it on the floor.'

'Yes,' said Badger. 'We found it open, and it seems to be the only drawer
that has been tampered with.'

Drayton pulled out the top drawer, and having looked closely at the glass
cover, remarked: 'They have had this one open, too. There are distinct
fingerprints on the glass; and they have had the cover off for there are
finger-marks on the inside of the glass. I wonder why they did that.'

'I can't imagine.' said Badger. 'They don't seem to have taken
anything--there wasn't anything worth taking, for that matter. But they
could see that without lifting off the glass. However, it is all for the
best. We'll hand this glass cover to the Fingerprint Department and hope
they will be able to spot the man that the fingers belong to.'

As he spoke, he made as if he would lift off the cover, but he was
anticipated by Thorndyke, who carefully raised the glass by its leather
tab, and taking it up by the edges, held it against the light and
examined the fingerprints minutely both on the upper and under surfaces.

'The thumbs are on the upper surface,' he remarked, 'and the fingers
underneath; so the glass was lifted right out and held with both hands.'

He handed the glass to the inspector, who had been watching him uneasily,
and now took the cover from him with evident relief; and as Badger
proceeded to deposit it in a safe place, he pushed in the top drawer and
returned to the consideration of the second.

'There are evidently several pieces missing from this drawer,' said he,
'and it may be important to know what they are, though it is rather
unlikely that the thieves will try to dispose of them. Can you tell us
what they are, Drayton?'

'I can tell you roughly,' was the reply. 'This drawer contained the
collection of posy-rings, and most of them are there still, as you can
see. The front row were rings set with moonstone and cat's eye, and most
of those are gone. Then there was a group of moonstone and cat's eye
ornaments, mostly brooches and earrings, and one pendant. Those have all
disappeared. And there is another thing that was in this drawer that has
apparently been taken; a locket. It was shaped like a book and had a
Greek inscription on the front.'

'So far as you can see, Sir Lawrence,' said Badger, 'has anything of
value been taken-of real value, I mean?'

'Of negotiable value, you mean,' Drayton corrected. 'No. Most of the
things were of gold, though not all, but the stones were probably worth
no more than a few shillings each. The value was principally in the
associations and individual character of the pieces. All of them had
inscriptions, and several of them had recorded histories. But that would
be of no use to a thief.'

'Exactly,' said Badger. 'That was what was in my mind. There is something
rather amateurish about this robbery. It isn't quite like the work of a
regular hand. The time was foolish, and then all this shooting and
stabbing is more like the work of some stray foreign crooks than of a
regular tradesman; and as you say, the stuff wasn't worth the
risk--unless there's something else of more value. Perhaps we had better
go through the other cabinets.'

He produced the bunch of keys from his pocket and had just inserted one
into the lock of the next cabinet when Drayton interposed.

'There is no need for that, Inspector. If the cabinets are locked and
have not been broken open, their contents are intact; and I can tell you
that those contents are of no considerable intrinsic value.'

With this he drew the key from the lock and dropped the bunch in his
pocket, a proceeding whereat the inspector smiled sourly and remarked:
'Then in that case, I think I have finished for the present. I'll just
pack up this glass cover and see if those others were able to follow the
tracks of either of these men. And I'll wish you gentlemen goodnight.'

Sir Lawrence accompanied him to the drawing-room, and as I learned later,
provided the official party with refreshment, and when we were alone I
turned to Thorndyke.

'I suppose we have finished, too?'

'Not quite,' he replied. 'There are one or two little matters to be
attended to, but we will wait until the police are clear of the premises.
They will keep their own counsel and I propose to keep mine, unless I can
give them a straight lead.' He opened his research-case and was
thoughtfully looking over its contents when Drayton returned and
announced that the police had departed.

'Is there anything more that you want to do, Thorndyke?' he asked.

'Yes,' was the reply. 'For one thing, I should like to see if there are
any more fingerprints.' As he spoke, he pulled out the drawers of the
cabinet one after the other, and examined the glass covers. But
apparently they had not been touched. At any rate, there were no marks on
any of the glasses.

'They must have been disturbed soon after they got to work,' said Drayton
'as they opened only two drawers.'

'Probably,' Thorndyke agreed, taking from his case a little glass-jar
filled with a yellowish powder and fitted with two glass tubes and a
rubber bulb. With this apparatus he blew a cloud of the fine powder over
the woodwork of the rifled cabinet, and when a thin coating had settled
on the polished surface, he tapped the wood gently with the handle of his
pocket-knife. At each tap a portion of the coating of powder was jarred
on the surface, and then there appeared several oval spots to which it
still adhered. Then he gently blew away the rest of the powder, when the
oval spots were revealed as fingerprints, standing out white and distinct
against the dark wood. Thorndyke now produced from his pocket the hinged
board, and opening it, compared the photographs with these new
fingerprints, while Drayton and I looked over his shoulder.

'They are undoubtedly the same,' said I, a little surprised at the ease
with which I identified these curious markings. 'Absolutely the
same--which is rather odd, seeing that there are the marks of only two
digits of the left hand and four of the right. It almost looks as if
those particular fingers had got soiled with some greasy material and
that the other fingers were clean and had left no mark.'

'An admirable suggestion, Anstey,' said Thorndyke. 'The same idea had
occurred to me, for the prints of these particular fingers are certainly
abnormally distinct. Let us see if we can get any confirmation.' He blew
upon each of the fingerprints in turn until most of the powder was
dislodged and the markings had become almost invisible. Then, taking my
handkerchief, which was of soft silk, and rolling it into a ball, he
began to wipe the woodwork with a circular motion, at first very lightly
but gradually increasing the pressure until he was rubbing quite
vigorously. The result seemed to justify my suggestion, for as the
rubbing proceeded, I could see, by the light of Drayton's lamp, thrown on
at various angles, that the fingerprints seemed to have spread out into
oval, glistening patches, having a lustre somewhat different from that of
the polished wood.

Sir Lawrence looked on with keen interest, and as Thorndyke paused to
examine the woodwork, he asked: 'What is the exact purpose of this
experiment?'

'The point is,' replied Thorndyke, 'that whereas the fingerprint of the
mathematical theorists is a mere abstraction of form devoid of any other
properties, the actual or real fingerprint is a material thing which has
physical and chemical properties, and these properties may have
considerable evidential significance. These fingerprints, for instance,
contain some substance other than the natural secretions of the skin. The
questions then arise, What is that substance? How came it here? And is it
usually associated with any particular kind of person or activity? The
specimens that Anstey so judiciously captured may help us to answer the
first question, and our native wits may enable us to answer the others.
So we have some data for consideration. And that reminds me that there
are some other data that we must secure.'

'What are they?' Drayton asked eagerly.

'There are those impressions in the sand outside the fence. I must have
permanent records of them. Shall we go and do them now? I shall want a
jug of water and a light.'

While Drayton went to fetch the water Thorndyke and I took our way out
through the garden to the outside of the fence, he carrying his
research-case, and I bearing Drayton's lamp. At the spot where we had
laid down the mat we halted, and Thorndyke, having set down his case,
once more lifted the mat.

'They are small feet,' he remarked, glancing at the footprints before
stooping to open the case. 'A striking contrast to the other man's.'

He took from his case a tin of plaster of Paris, and dipping up a small
quantity in a spoon, proceeded very carefully to dust the footprints with
the fine, white powder until they were covered with a thin, even coating.
Then he produced a bottle of water fitted with a rubber ball-spray
diffuser, and with this blew a copious spray of water over the
footprints. As a result, the white powder gradually shrank until the
footprints looked as if they had received a thin coat of whitewash.

'Why not fill the footprints up with liquid plaster?' asked Drayton, who
came up at this moment carrying a large jug.

'It would probably disturb the sand,' was the reply, 'and moreover, the
water would soak in at once and leave the plaster a crumbling mass. But
when this thin layer has set it will be possible to fill up and get a
solid cast.'

He repeated the application of the spray once or twice, and then we went
on to the place where the other man had come over. Here the same process
was carried out, not only with the footprints but also with those of the
hands. Then we went back to the first place, and when Thorndyke had
gently touched the edge of the footprints and ascertained that the thin
coating of plaster had set into a solid shell, he produced a small rubber
basin, and having half filled it with water, added a quantity of plaster
and stirred it until it assumed the consistency of cream; when he
carefully poured it into the white-coated footprints until they were full
and slightly overflowing.

'You see the advantage of this?' said Thorndyke as he cleaned out the
basin and started to walk slowly back to the site of the second set of
prints.

'I do, indeed,' replied Drayton, 'and I am astonished that Badger did not
take a permanent record. These casts will enable you to put the actual
feet of the accused in evidence if need be.'

'Precisely; besides giving us the opportunity to study them at our
leisure, and refer to them if any fresh evidence should become
available.'

The second set of footprints and the impressions of the hands received
similar treatment, and when they had been filled, Thorndyke proceeded to
pack up his appliances.

'We ought to give the casts a good twenty minutes to set hard,' he said,
'though it is the best plaster and quite fresh and has a little powdered
alum mixed with it to accelerate setting and make the cast harder. But we
mustn't be impatient.'

'I am in no hurry,' said Drayton. 'I shall stay here tonight--one
couldn't leave Mrs Benham in the house all alone. The car can take you
back to your chambers and drop Anstey at his lodgings.

Tomorrow we must make some arrangements of a more permanent kind. But the
great thing is to get on the track of these two villains. Nothing else
seems to matter. There is my poor brother's corpse, crying aloud to
Heaven for justice, and I shall never rest until his murderers have paid
their debt.'

'I sympathise with you most cordially, Drayton,' said Thorndyke, 'and it
is no mere verbal sympathy. I promise you that every resource at my
disposal shall be called in to aid, that no stone shall be left unturned.
It is not only the office of friendship; it is a public duty to ensure
that an inexcusable crime of this kind shall be visited with the most
complete retribution.'

'Thank you. Thorndyke,' Sir Lawrence said with gruff earnestness. And
then after a short pause, he continued: 'I suppose it is premature to ask
you, but do you see any glimmer of hope? Is there anything to lay hold
of? I can see for myself that it is a very difficult and obscure case.'

'It is,' Thorndyke agreed. 'Of course the fingerprints may dispose of the
whole difficulty, if they happen to be on the files at the Habitual
Criminals Registry. Otherwise there is very little evidence. Still, there
is some, and we may build up more by inference. I have seen more
unpromising cases come to a successful issue.'

By this time the stipulated twenty minutes had expired, and we proceeded
to the first set of footprints. The plaster, on being tested, was found
to be quite firm and hard, and Thorndyke was able, with great care, to
lift the two chalky-looking plates from their bed in the ground. And even
in the rather unfavourable light of the lamp their appearance was
somewhat startling, for, as Thorndyke turned them over, each cast
presented the semblance of a white foot, surprisingly complete in detail
so far as the sole was concerned.

But if the appearance of these casts was striking, much more so was that
of the second set; for the latter included casts of the handprints, the
aspect of which was positively uncanny, especially in the case of the
deeper impression, the effect of which was that of a snowy hand with
outspread, crooked, clutching fingers. And here again the fine loam had
yielded an unexpected amount of detail. The creases and markings of the
palm were all perfectly clear and distinct, and I even thought that I
could perceive a trace of the ridges of the fingertips.

Before leaving the spot we carefully removed all traces of piaster, for
it was certain that the footprints would be examined by daylight, and
Thorndyke considered it better that the existence of these casts should
be known only to ourselves. The footprints were left practically intact,
and it was open to the police to make casts if they saw fit.

'I think,' said Thorndyke when we had re-entered the house and were
inspecting the casts afresh as they lay on the table, 'it would be a wise
precaution to attach our signatures to each of them, in case it should be
necessary at any time to put them in evidence. Their genuineness would
then be attested beyond any possibility of dispute.'

To this Drayton and I agreed most emphatically, and accordingly each of
us wrote his name, with the date, on the smooth back of each cast. Then
the 'records' were carefully packed and bestowed in the research-case,
and Thorndyke and I shook our host's hand and went forth to the car.



CHAPTER FOUR - THE LADY OF SHALOTT


The modern London suburb seems to have an inherent incapacity for
attaining a decent old age. City streets and those of country towns
contrive to gather from the passing years some quality of mellowness that
does but add to their charm. But with suburbs it is otherwise. Whatever
charm they have appertains to their garish youth and shares its ephemeral
character. Cities and towns grow venerable with age, the suburb merely
grows shabby.

The above profound reflections were occasioned by my approach to the
vicinity of Jacob Street, Hampstead Road, and by a growing sense of the
drab--not to say sordid--atmosphere that enveloped it, and its
incongruity with the appearance and manner of the lady whose residence I
was approaching. However, I consoled myself with the consideration that
if 'Honesty lives in a poor house, like your fair pearl in your foul
oyster,' perhaps Beauty might make shift with no better lodging; and
these cogitations having brought me to the factory-like gateway, I gave a
brisk tug at the bell above the brass plate.

After a short interval the wicket was opened by my young acquaintance of
the previous night, who greeted me with a sedate smile of recognition.

'Good afternoon,' I said, holding out my hand. 'I have just called to
learn how your sister is. I hope she is not much the worse for her rather
terrifying experiences last night.'

'Thank you,' he replied with quaint politeness, 'she seems to be all
right today. But the doctor won't let her do any work. He's fixed her arm
in a sling. But won't you come in and see her, sir?'

I hesitated, dubious as to whether she would care to receive a stranger
of her own class in these rather mean surroundings, but when he added:
'She would like to see you, I am sure, sir,' my scruples gave way to my
very definite inclination and I stepped through the wicket.

My young friend--who wore a blue linen smock--conducted me down a paved
passage, the walls of which bore each a long shelf on which was a row of
plaster busts and statuettes, into an open yard in which a small, elderly
man was working with chisel and mallet on a somewhat ornate marble
tombstone, amidst a sort of miniature Avebury of blocks and slabs of
stone and marble. Across the yard rose a great barn-like building with
one enormous window high up the wall, a great double door, and a small
side door. Into the latter my conductor entered and held it open for me,
and as I passed in, I found myself in total darkness. Only for a moment,
however, for my young host, having shut the door, drew aside a heavy
curtain and gave me a view of huge, bare hall with lofty, whitewashed
walls, an open timber roof, and a plank floor relieved from absolute
nakedness by one or two rugs. A couple of studio easels stood opposite
the window, and in a corner I observed a spectral lay-figure shrouded in
what looked like a sheet. At the farther end, by a large, open fireplace,
Miss Blake sat in an easy-chair with a book in her hand. She looked up as
I entered, and then rose and advanced to meet me, holding out her left
hand.

'How kind of you, Mr Anstey, to come and see me!' she exclaimed. 'And how
good it was of you to take such care of me last night!'

'Not at all,' I replied. 'But I hope you are not very much the worse for
your adventures. Are you suffering much pain?'

'I have no pain at all,' she replied with a smile, 'and I don't believe
this sling is in the least necessary. But one must obey the doctor's
orders.'

'Yes,' interposed her brother, 'and that is what the sling is for. To
prevent your from getting into mischief, Winnie.'

'It prevents me from doing any work, if that is what you mean, Percy,'
said she, 'and I suppose the doctor is right in that.'

'I am sure he is,' said I. 'Rest is most essential to enable the wound to
heal quickly. What sort of night did you have?'

'I didn't sleep much,' she replied. 'It kept coming back to me, you
know--that awful moment when I went into the museum and saw that poor man
lying on the floor. It was a dreadful experience. So horribly sudden,
too. One moment I saw him go away, full of life and energy, and the next
I was looking on his corpse. Do you think those wretches will really
escape?'

'It is difficult to say. The police have the fingerprints of one of them,
and if that person is a regular criminal, they will be able to identify
him.'

'Will they really?' she exclaimed. 'It sounds very wonderful. How are
they able to do it?'

'It is really quite simple. When a man is convicted of a crime, a
complete set of his fingerprints is taken at the prison by pressing his
fingers on an inked slab and putting them down on a sheet of paper--there
is a special form for the purpose with a space for each finger. This form
is deposited, with photographs of the prisoner, in one of the files of
the Habitual Criminals Registry at Scotland Yard. Then, when a strange
fingerprint turns up, it is compared with those in the files, and if one
is found that is an exact facsimile, the name attached to it is the name
of the man who is wanted.'

'But how are they ever able to find the facsimile in such a huge
collection, for the numbers in the files must be enormous?'

'That also is more simple than it looks. The lines on fingertips form
very definite patterns-spirals, or whorls, closed loops like the end
grain of wood, open curves, or arches, and so on. Now each fingerprint is
filed under its particular heading--whorl, loop, arch, etc.--and also in
accordance with the particular finger that bears the pattern, so the
inquiry is narrowed down to a comparatively small number from the start.
Let us take an instance. Suppose we have found some fingerprints of which
the left little finger has a spiral pattern and the ring finger adjoining
has a closed loop. Then we look in the file which contains the spiral
left little fingers and in the file of looped left ring fingers, and we
glance through the lists of names. There will be certain names that will
appear in both lists, and one of those will be the name of the man that
we want. All that remains is to compare our prints with each of them in
turn until we come to the one that is an exact facsimile. The name
attached to that one is the name of our man. Of course, in practice, the
process is more elaborate, but that is the principle.'

'It is wonderfully ingenious,' said Miss Blake, 'and really simple, as
you say, and it sounds as if it were perfectly infallible.'

'That is the claim that the police make. But, as you see, the utility of
the system for the detection of crime is limited to the cases of those
criminals whose fingerprints have been registered. That is what our
chance depends on now. The man who murdered Mr Drayton left prints of his
fingers on the glass of the cabinet, and the police have taken the glass
away to examine. If they find facsimiles of those fingerprints in the
register, then they will know who murdered Mr Drayton. But if those
fingerprints are not in the register, they won't help us at all. And as
far as I know, there is no other clue to the identity of the murderer.'

Miss Blake appeared to reflect earnestly on what I had said, and in the
ensuing silence I continued my somewhat furtive observation of the great
studio and its occupants. Particularly did I notice a number of
paintings, apparently executed in tempera on huge sheets of brown paper,
pinned on the walls somewhat above the level of the eye; figure subjects
of an allegorical character, strongly recalling the manner of
Burne-Jones, and painted with something considerably beyond ordinary
competence. And from the paintings my eye strayed to the painter-as I
assumed and hoped her to be-and a very striking and picturesque figure
she appeared, with her waxen complexion, delicately tinged with pink, her
earnest grey eyes, a short, slightly retrousse nose, the soft mass of
red-gold hair and the lissom form, actually full and plump though with
the deceptive appearance of slimness that one notes in the figures of the
artist whose style she followed. I noted with pleasure-not wholly
aesthetic, I suspect-the graceful pose into which she seemed naturally to
fall, and when my roving eye took in a 'planchette' hanging on the wall
and a crystal ball reposing on a black velvet cushion on a little
altar-like table in a corner, I forbore to scoff inwardly as I should
have done in other circumstances, for somehow the hint of occultism, even
of superstition, seemed not out of character. She reminded me of the Lady
of Shalott, and the whispered suggestion of Merlinesque magic gave a note
of harmony that sounded pleasantly.

While we had been talking, her brother had been pursuing his own affairs
with silent concentration, though I had noticed that he had paused to
listen to my exposition on the subject of fingerprints. In the middle of
the studio floor was a massive stone slab--a relic of some former
sculptor tenant--and on this the boy was erecting, very methodically, a
model of some sort of building with toy bricks of a kind that I had not
seen before. I was watching him and noting the marked difference between
him and his sister--for he was a somewhat dark lad with a strong,
aquiline face-when Miss Blake spoke again.

'Did you find out what had been stolen?'

'Yes,' I answered, 'approximately. There was nothing missing of any
considerable value. Only a few pieces had been taken, and those were
mostly simple jewels set with moonstones or cat's eyes.'

'Cat's eyes!' she exclaimed.

'Yes, a few posy-rings, some earrings, and. I think, one pendant.'

'Was the pendant stolen?'

'Yes, apparently. Sir Lawrence mentioned a cat's-eye pendant as one of
the things that he missed from the drawer. Does the pendant interest you
specially?'

'Yes.' she answered thoughtfully, 'it was this pendant that I went there
to see. It was illustrated in the Connoisseur article, and I wrote to
poor Mr Drayton because I wanted to examine it. And so,' she added in a
lower tone and with an expression of deep sadness, 'the pendant became,
through me, the cause of his death. But for it and me, he would not have
gone to the house at that time.'

'It is impossible to say whether he would or not,' said I, and then, to
change the subject, as this seemed to distress her, I continued: 'there
was another thing missing that was figured in the Connoisseur--a
locket--'

'Of course!' she exclaimed. 'How silly of me to forget it.' She rose
hastily, and stepping over to an old walnut bureau that stood under the
window, pulled out one of the little drawers and picked some small object
out of it.

'There,' she said, holding out her hand, in which lay a small gold
locket, 'this is the one. I recognised it instantly. And now see if you
can guess how it came into my possession.'

I was completely mystified, and said so, though I hazarded a guess that
it had in some way caught in her clothing.

'Yes,' said she, 'it was in my shawl. You remember I said that the man
whom I was trying to hold had something in his hand and that he must have
dropped it when he drew his knife. Now it happened that my shawl had just
then slipped off in the struggle and that he was standing on it. The
locket must have dropped on the shawl, and this little brass hook, which
some one has fastened to the ring of the locket, must have hooked itself
into the meshes of the shawl--which is of crocheted silk, you will
remember. Then you picked the shawl up and rolled it into a bundle, and
it was never unrolled until this morning. When I shook it out to hang it
up, the locket fell out, and most unfortunately, as it fell it opened and
the glass inside got broken. I am most vexed about it, for it is such an
extremely charming little thing. Don't you think so?'

I took the little bauble in my hand, and, to speak the literal truth, was
not deeply smitten with its appearance. But policy, and the desire to
make myself agreeable, bade me dissemble. 'It is a quaint and curious
little object,' I admitted.

'It is a perfectly fascinating little thing,' she exclaimed
enthusiastically. 'And so secret and mysterious, too. I am sure there is
some hidden meaning in those references inside, and then there is
something delightfully cabalistic and magical about that weird-looking
inscription on the front.'

'Yes,' I agreed, 'Greek capitals make picturesque inscriptions,
especially this uncial form of lettering, but there is nothing very
recondite in the matter; in fact it is rather hackneyed. "Life is short
but Art is long. "'

'So that is what it means. Percy couldn't quite make it out, and I don't
know any Greek at all. But it is a beautiful motto, though I am not sure
that I don't prefer the more usual form, "Art is long but Life is
short."'

'That is the Latin version, "Ars longa, Vita brevis". Yes, I think I
agree with you. The Latin form is rather more epigrammatic. But what
other inscription were you referring to?'

'There are some references to passages of Scripture inside. I have looked
them out, all but one. Shall I get my notes and let you see what the
references are?' She looked at me so expectantly and with such charming
animation that I assented eagerly. Not that I cared particularly what the
references were, but the occupation of looking them out promised to put
us on a delightfully companionable footing. And if I was not profoundly
interested in the locket, I found myself very deeply interested in the
Lady of Shalott.

While she was searching for her notes, I examined the little bauble more
closely. It was a simple trinket, well made and neatly finished. The
workmanship was plain, though very solid, and I judged it to be of some
considerable age, though not what one would call antique. It was
fashioned in the form of a tiny book with a hinge at the back and a
strong loop of gold on each half, the two loops forming a double
suspension ring. To one of the loops a small brass hook had been
attached, probably to hang it in a show-case. On the front was engraved
in bold Greek uncials 'O BIOC BPAXYO H AE TEXNH MAKPH' without any other
ornament, and on turning the locket over I found the back-or under-side
as a bookbinder would say-quite plain save for the hallmark near the top.
Then I opened the little volume. In the back half was a circular cell,
framed with a border of small pearls and containing a tiny plait of black
hair coiled into a close spiral. It had been enclosed by a glass cover,
but this was broken and only a few fragments remained. The interior of
the front half was covered with extremely minute engraved lettering
which, on close inspection, appeared to be references to certain passages
of Holy Scripture, the titles of the books being given in Latin.

I had just concluded these observations when Miss Blake returned with a
manuscript book, a Bible, and a small reading-glass.

'This,' she said, handing me the latter, 'will help you to make out the
tiny lettering. If you will read out the references one at a time, I will
read out the passages that they refer to. And if any of them suggest to
you any meaning beyond what is apparent, do, please, tell me, for I can
make nothing of them.'

I promised to do so, and focusing the glass on the microscopic writing,
read out the first reference: 'Leviticus 25. 41.'

'That verse,' she said, 'reads: "And then shall he depart from thee, both
he and his children with him, and shall return unto his own family, and
unto the possession of his fathers shall he return. "'

'The next reference,' said I, 'is "Psalms 121. 1"'

'The reading is: "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence
cometh my help." What do you make of that?'

'Nothing,' I replied, 'unless one can regard it as a pious exhortation,
and it is extraordinarily indefinite at that.'

'Yes, it does seem vague, but I feel convinced that it means more than it
seems to, if we could only fathom its significance.'

'It might easily do that,' said I, and as I spoke I caught the eye of her
brother, who had paused in his work and was watching us with an indulgent
smile, and I wondered egotistically if he was writing me down a
consummate ass.

'The next,' said I, 'is Acts 10. 5.'

'The reading is: "And now send men to Joppa, and call for one Simon,
whose surname is Peter."'

'I begin to think you must be right,' said I, 'for that passage is sheer
nonsense unless it covers something in the nature of a code. Taken by
itself, it has not the faintest bearing on either doctrine or morals. Let
us try the next one, Nehemiah 8. 4.'

'That one is just as cryptic as the others,' said she. 'It reads: "And
Ezra the scribe stood upon a pulpit of wood, which they had made for the
purpose; and beside him stood Mattithiah, and Shema, and Anaiah, and
Urijali, and Hilkiah, and Maaseiah, on his right hand; and on his left
hand, Pedaiah, and Mishad, and Malchiah, and Hashum, and Hashbadana,
Zechariah, and Meshullam. "'

At this point an audible snigger proceeding from the direction of the
builder revived my misgivings. There is something slightly alarming about
a schoolboy with an acute perception of the ridiculous.

'What is the joke, Percy?' his sister asked.

'Those fellows' names, Winnie. Do you suppose there really was a chap
called Hashed Banana?'

'Hashbadana, Percy,' she corrected.

'Very well. Hashed Badada then. But that only makes it worse. Sounds as
if you'd got a cold.'

'What an absurd boy you are, Percy,' exclaimed Miss Blake, regarding her
brother with a fond smile. Then, reverting to her notes, she said: 'The
next reference appears to be a mistake, at least I don't understand it.
It says "3 Kings 7. 41." Isn't that so?'

'Yes. "3 Lib. Regum 7. 41." But what is wrong with it?'

'Why, there are only two Books of Kings.'

'Oh, I see. But it isn't a mistake. In the Authorised Version the two
books of Samuel have the alternative title of the First and Second Books
of Kings, and the First Book of Kings has the subtitle "Commonly called
the Third Book of the Kings." But at the present day the books are
invariably referred to as the First and Second Books of Samuel and the
First and Second Books of Kings. Shall we look it up?'

She opened the Bible and turned over the leaves to the First Book of
Kings.

'Yes,' she said, 'it is as you say. How odd that I should never have
noticed it, or at any rate, not have remembered it. Then this reference
is really I Kings 7. 41. And yet it can't be. What sense can you possibly
make of this: "The two pillars, and the two bowls of the chapiters that
were on the top of the two pillars; and the two networks, to cover the
two bowls of the chapiters which were upon the top of the pillars." It
seems quite meaningless, separated from its context.'

'It certainly is rather enigmatical,' I agreed. 'This is an excerpt from
what was virtually an inventory of Solomon's Temple. If the purpose of
this collection of Scripture texts was to inculcate some religious or
moral truths, I don't see the bearing of this quotation at all. But we
may take it that these passages had some meaning to the original owner of
the locket.'

'They must have had,' she replied earnestly. 'Perhaps we may be able to
find the key to the riddle if we consider the whole series together.'

'Possibly,' I agreed, not very enthusiastically. 'The next reference is
Psalms 31. 7.'

'The verse is: "I will be glad and rejoice in thy mercy: for thou hast
considered my trouble; thou hast known my soul in adversities. "'

'That doesn't throw much light on the subject,' said I. 'The last
reference is 2 Timothy 4. 13.'

'It reads: "The cloak that I left at Troas with Carpus, when thou comest,
bring with thee, and the books, but especially the parchments. "' She
laid down her notes, and looking at me with the most intense gravity,
exclaimed: 'Isn't that extraordinary? It is the most astonishing of them
all. You see, it is perfectly trivial, just a message from St Paul to
Timothy on a purely personal matter of no importance to anybody but
himself. But the whole collection of texts is very odd. They seem utterly
unconnected with one another, and, as you say, without any significance
in respect of either faith or morals. What is your opinion of them?'

'I don't know what to think,' I replied. 'They may have had some
significance to the original owner of the locket only, something personal
and reminiscent. Or they may have been addressed to some other person in
terms previously agreed on. That is to say, they may have formed
something in the nature of a code.'

'Exactly,' she agreed eagerly. 'That is what I think. And I am just
devoured by curiosity as to what the message was that they were meant to
convey. I shan't rest until I have solved the mystery.'

I smiled, and again my glance wandered to the planchette on the wall and
the crystal ball on the table. Evidently my new and charming friend was
an inveterate mystic, an enthusiastic explorer of the dubious regions of
the occult and the supernormal. And though my own matter-of-fact
temperament engendered little sympathy with such matters, I found in this
very mysticism an additional charm. It seemed entirely congruous with her
eminently picturesque personality.

But at this moment I became suddenly aware that I had made a most
outrageously long visit and rose with profuse apologies for my disregard
of time.

'There is no need to apologise,' she assured me cordially. 'It is most
kind of you to have given so much time to a mere counterfeit invalid. But
won't you stay and have tea with us? Can't you really? Well, I hope you
will come and see us again when you can spare an hour. Oh, and hadn't I
better give you this locket to hand to Sir Lawrence Drayton?'

'Certainly not,' I replied. 'You had better keep it until you see him,
and perhaps in the interval you may be able to extract its secret. But I
will tell him that it is in safe hands.' I shook her hand warmly, and
when I had made a brief inspection of Master Percy's building, that
promising architect piloted me across the yard and finally launched me,
with a hearty farewell and a cordial invitation to 'come again soon,'
into the desert expanse of Jacob Street.



CHAPTER FIVE - MR HALLIBURTON'S MASCOT


Emerging into the grey and cheerless street I sauntered towards the
Hampstead Road, and having reached that thoroughfare, halted at the
corner and looked at my watch. It was barely four o'clock, and as I had
arranged to meet Thorndyke at the Euston Road corner at half-past four, I
had half an hour in which to cover something less than half a mile. I
began to be regretful that I had refused the proffered tea, and when my
leisurely progress brought me to the door of an establishment in which
that beverage was dispensed, I entered and called for refreshment.

And as I sat by the shabby little marble-topped table, my thoughts
strayed back to the great bare studio in Jacob Street and the strange,
enigmatical but decidedly alluring personality of its tenant. To say that
I had been favourably impressed by her would be to understate the case. I
found myself considering her with a degree of interest and admiration
that no other woman had ever aroused in me. She was--or, at least, she
appeared to me--a strikingly beautiful girl, but that was not the whole,
or even the main, attraction. Her courage and strength of character, as
shown in the tragic circumstances of the previous night; her refinement
of manner and easy, well-bred courtesy, her intelligence and evident
amiability, and her frank friendliness, without any sacrifice of dignity,
had all combined to make her personality gracious and pleasant. Then
there were the paintings. If they were her work, she was an artist of
some talent. I had meant cautiously to inquire into that, but the
investigation of the locket had excluded everything else. And the thought
of the locket and the almost childish eagerness that she had shown to
extract its (assumed) secret, led naturally to the planchette and the
crystal globe. In general I was disposed to scoff at such things, but on
her the mysticism and occultism--I would not call it superstition--seemed
to settle naturally and to add a certain piquancy to her mediaeval grace.
And so reflecting, I suddenly bethought me of the cat's eye pendant. What
was the nature of her interest in that? At first I had assumed that she
was a connoisseur in jewels, and possibly I was right. But her curious
interest in the locket suggested other possibilities, and into these I
determined to inquire on my next visit--for I had already decided that
the friendly invitations should not find me unresponsive. In short, the
Lady of Shalott had awakened in me a very lively curiosity.

My speculations and reflections very effectively filled out the spare
half-hour and brought me on the stroke of half-past four to the corner of
the Euston Road; and I had barely arrived when I perceived the tall,
upright figure of my colleague swinging easily up Tottenham Court Road.
In a few moments he joined me, and we both turned our faces westward.

'We needn't hurry,' said he. 'I said I would be there at five.'

'I don't quite understand what you are going for,' said I. 'This man,
Halliburton, seems to have been no more than a chance stranger. What do
you expect to get out of him?'

'I have nothing definite in my mind,' he replied. 'The whole case is in
the air at present. The position is this: a murder has been committed and
the murderers have got away almost without leaving a trace. If the
fingerprint people cannot identify the one man, we may say that we have
no clue to the identity of either. But that murder had certain
antecedents. Halliburton's visit was one of them, though there was
probably no causal relation.'

'You don't suspect Halliburton?'

'My dear fellow, I suspect nobody. We haven't got as far as that. But we
have to investigate every thing, person, or circumstance that makes the
smallest contact with the crime. But here is our destination, and I need
not remark, Anstey, that our purpose is to acquire information, not to
give it.'

The 'Baltic' Hotel was a large private house not far from the Great
Central Station, distinguished from other private houses only by an open
street door and by the name inconspicuously inscribed on the fanlight. As
we ascended the steps and entered the hall, a short, pleasant-faced man
emerged from an office and looked inquiringly from one of us to the
other. 'Dr Thorndyke?' he asked.

'Yes,' replied my colleague, 'and I assume that you are the manager, Mr
Simpson. I must thank you for making the appointment and hope I am not
inconveniencing you.'

'Not at all,' rejoined the other. 'I know your name very well, sir, and
shall be delighted to give you any assistance that I can. I understand
that you want Mr Halliburton's address.'

'If you have no objection, I should like to have it. I want to write to
him.'

'I can give it to you off-hand,' said the manager. 'It is "Oscar
Halliburton, Esquire, Wimbledon."'

'That doesn't seem a very sufficient address,' remarked Thorndyke.

'It is not,' said the manager. 'I had occasion to write to him myself and
my letter was returned, marked "insufficiently addressed."'

'Then, in effect, you have not got his address?'

'That is what it amounts to. Would you like to see the visitors' book? If
you will step into my private office I will bring it to you.'

He showed us into his office, and in a few moments entered with the book,
which he laid on the table and opened at the page on which the signature
appeared.

'This does not appear to have been written with the hotel pen,' Thorndyke
remarked when he had glanced at the adjoining signatures.

'No,' the manager agreed. 'Apparently he used his own fountain pen.'

'I see that this entry is dated the 13th of September. How long did he
stay?'

'He left on the 16th of September--five days ago.'

'And he received at least one letter while he was here?'

'Yes, one only, I believe. It came on the morning of the 16th, I
remember, and he left in the evening.'

'Do you know if he went out much while he was here?'

'No, he stayed indoors nearly all day, and he spent most of his time in
the billiard-room practising fancy strokes.'

'What sort of man was he--in appearance, for instance?'

'Well,' said Simpson rather hesitatingly, 'I didn't see much of him, and
I see a good many people. I should say he was a biggish man, medium
colour and rather sunburnt.'

'Any beard or moustache?'

'No, clean shaved and a good deal of hair--rather long, wanted a crop.'

'Any distinctive accent or peculiarity of voice?'

'I didn't have much talk with him--nor did anybody else, I think. He was
a gruffish, taciturn man. Nothing peculiar about his voice, and as to his
accent, well, it was just ordinary, very ordinary, with perhaps jut a
trace of the cockney, but only a trace. It wasn't exactly the accent of
an English gentleman.'

'And that is all that you remember about him?'

'That is all.'

'Would you have any objection to my taking a photograph of this
signature?'

The manager looked rather dubious. 'It would hardly do for it to be
known--' he began, when Thorndyke interrupted:

'I suggest, Mr Simpson, that whatever passes between us shall be regarded
as strictly confidential on both sides. The least said, the soonest
mended, you know.'

'There's a good deal of truth in that; said the manager with a smile,
'especially in the hotel business. Well, if that is understood, I don't
know that I have any objection to your taking a photograph. But how are
you going to manage it?'

'I have a camera; replied Thorndyke, 'and I see that your table lamp is a
sixty Watt. It won't take an unreasonably long exposure.'

He propped the book up in a suitable position, and having arranged the
lamp so as to illuminate the page obliquely, produced from his pocket a
small folding camera and a leather case of dark slides, at which Mr
Simpson gazed in astonishment. 'You'll never get a useful photograph with
a toy like that,' said he.

'Not such a toy as you think,' replied Thorndyke as he opened the little
instrument. 'This lens is specially constructed for close range work, and
will give me the signature the full size of the original.' He laid a
measuring tape on the table, and having adjusted the camera by its
engraved scale, inserted the dark slide, looked at his watch, and opened
the shutter.

'You were saying just now, Mr Simpson,' he resumed as we sat round the
table watching the camera, 'that you had occasion to write to Mr
Halliburton. Should I be indiscreet if I were to ask what the occasion
was?'

'Not at all,' replied the manager. 'It was a ridiculous affair. It seems
that Mr Halliburton had a sort of charm or mascot which he wore suspended
by a gold ring from a cord under his waistcoat; a silly little bone
thing, of no value whatever, though he appears to have set great store by
it. Well, after he had left the hotel he missed it. The ring had broken
and the thing had dropped off the cord--presumably, he supposed, when he
was undressing. So a couple of days later--on the eighteenth--back he
came in a rare twitter to know if it had been picked up. I asked the
chambermaids if any of them had found the mascot in his room or
elsewhere, but none of them had. Then he was frightfully upset and begged
me to ask them again and to say that he would give ten pounds to any one
who should have found it and would hand it to him. Ten pounds!' Mr
Simpson repeated with contemptuous emphasis. 'Just think of it! The price
of a gold watch for a thing that looked like a common rabbit bone! Why, a
man like that oughtn't to be at large.'

I could see that my colleague was deeply interested, though his impassive
face suggested nothing but close attention. He put away his watch, closed
the lens-shutter and the dark slide, and finally bestowed the little
apparatus in his pocket. Then he asked the manager: 'Can you give us
anything like a detailed description of this mascot?'

'I can show you the thing itself,' replied Simpson. 'That is the irony of
the affair. Mr Halliburton hadn't been out of the house half and hour
when the boy who looks after the billiard-room came bursting into my
office in the devil's own excitement. He had heard of the ten pounds
reward and had proceeded at once to take up all the rugs and mats in the
billiard-room, and there, under the edge of a strip of cocoa-nut matting,
he had found the precious thing. No doubt the ring had broken when
Halliburton was leaning over the table to make a long shot. So I took it
from the boy and put it in the safe, and I wrote forthwith to the address
given in the book to say that the mascot had come to light, but, as I
told you just now, the letter was returned marked "insufficiently
addressed." So there it is, and unless he calls again, or writes, he
won't get his mascot, and the boy won't get his ten pounds. Would you
like to see the treasure?'

'I should, very much,' replied Thorndyke; whereupon the manager stepped
over to a safe in the corner of the room, and having unlocked it, came
back to the table holding a small object in the palm of his hand.

'There it is,' said he, dropping it on the table before Thorndyke, 'and I
think you will agree with me that it is a mighty dear ten pounds' worth.'

I looked curiously at the little object as my colleague turned it about
in his hand. It was evidently a bone of some kind, roughly triangular in
shape and perforated by three holes, one large and two smaller. In
addition to these, a fourth hole had been drilled through near the apex
to take a gold suspension ring, and this was still in position, though it
was broken, having chafed quite thin with wear in one part and apparently
given way under some sudden strain. The surface of the bone was covered
with minute incised carving of a simple and rather barbaric type, and the
whole bone had been stained a deep, yellowish brown, which had worn
lighter in the parts most exposed to friction; and the entire surface had
that unmistakable polish and patina that comes with years of handling and
wear.

'What do you make of it, sir?' asked Mr Simpson.

'It is the neck bone of some small animal,' Thorndyke replied 'But not a
rabbit. And, of course, the markings on it give it an individual
character.'

'Would you give ten pounds for it?' the manager asked with a grin.

'I am not sure that I wouldn't,' Thorndyke replied 'though not for its
intrinsic value. But yours is not a "firm offer." You are not a vendor.
But I should like very much to borrow it for a few hours.'

'I don't quite see how I could agree to that,' said Simpson. 'You see,
the thing isn't mine. I'm just a trustee. And Mr Halliburton might call
and ask for it at any moment.'

'I would give you a receipt for it and undertake to let you have it back
by ten o'clock tomorrow morning,' said Thorndyke.

'M'yes,' said Simpson reflectively and with evident signs of weakening.
'Of course, I could say I had deposited it at my bank. But is it of any
importance? Would you mind telling me why you want to borrow the thing?'

'I want to compare it carefully with some similar objects, the existence
of which is known to me. I could do that tonight, and, if necessary, send
the specimen back forthwith. As to the importance of the comparison, who
can say? If Halliburton should turn up and give a practicable address
there would be nothing in it. But if he should never reappear and it
should become necessary to trace him, the information gathered from an
exhaustive examination of this object might be of great value.'

'I see,' said Simpson. 'In a sense it is a matter of public policy. Of
course that puts a different complexion on the affair. And having regard
to your position and character, I don't see why I shouldn't agree to your
having a short loan of the thing. But I should like to have it back by
nine o'clock tomorrow morning, if you could manage it.'

'I promise you that it shall be delivered into your hand by a responsible
person not later than nine o'clock,' said Thorndyke. 'I will now give you
a receipt, which I will ask you to hand to my messenger in exchange for
your property; and again, Mr Simpson, I would suggest that we make no
confidences to anyone concerning this transaction.'

To this the manager assented with decided emphasis, and our business
being now concluded, we thanked Mr Simpson warmly for his courtesy and
his very helpful attitude and Cook our departure.

'You seem extraordinarily keen about that precious bone, Thorndyke,' I
remarked as we walked back along the Marylebone Road, 'but I'm hanged if
I see why. It won't tell you much about Halliburton. And if it would, I
don't quite see what you want to know. He is obviously a fool. You don't
need much investigation to ascertain that, and like most fools, he seems
easily parted from his money. What more do you want to know?'

'My learned friend,' replied Thorndyke, 'is not profiting sufficiently by
his legal experience. One of the most vital principles that years of
practice have impressed on me is that in the early stages of an inquiry,
no fact, relevant or irrelevant, that is in any way connected with the
subject of the inquiry should be neglected or ignored. Indeed, no such
fact can be regarded as irrelevant, since, until all the data are
assembled and collated, it is impossible to judge the bearing or value of
any one of them.

'Take the present case. Who is Mr Halliburton? We don't know. Why did he
want to examine Mr Drayton's collection? We don't know. What passed
between him and Mr Drayton when he made his visit? Again we don't know.
Perhaps there is nothing of any significance to know. The probability is
that Halliburton has no connection with this case at all. But there is no
denying that he is in the picture.'

'Yes, as a background figure. His name has been mentioned as one of the
visitors who had come to sec the collection. There were other visitors,
you remember.'

'Yes, and if we knew who they were we should want to know something about
them, too. But Halliburton is the only one known to us. And your
presentation of his position in relation to what has happened docs not
state the case fairly at all. The position is really this: Halliburton--a
complete stranger to Drayton--took considerable trouble to obtain an
opportunity to examine the collection. Why did he do this? You have
quoted Mrs Benham as saying that he apparently knew nothing about
jewellery, either ancient or modern. He was not a connoisseur. Then, why
did he want to see the collection? Again, he wrote for the appointment,
not from his own residence but from an hotel; and when we come to that
hotel we find that he has left no verifiable address, and the vague
locality that he gave may quite possibly be a false address. And further,
that this apparent concealment of his place of abode coincides with a
very excellent reason for giving a correct address, the fact that he has
lost--and lost in the hotel, as he believes--certain property on which he
sets a high value. And if you add to this the facts that within four days
of his visit to Drayton the collection was robbed; that the robbers
clearly knew exactly where it was kept and had some knowledge of the
inmates of the house and their habits, you must admit that Halliburton is
something more than a background figure in the picture.'

I was secretly impressed by the way in which Thorndyke had 'placed' Mr
Halliburton in respect of the inquiry, but, of course, it wouldn't do to
say so. It was necessary to assert my position.

'That,' I replied, 'is the case for the prosecution, and very
persuasively stated. On the other hand it might be said for the defence:
"Here is a gentleman who lives in the country and who comes up to spend a
few days in town--"'

'For the apparent purpose,' Thorndyke interrupted, 'of practising the art
of billiards, a sport peculiar to London.'

'Exactly. And while he is in London he takes the opportunity of
inspecting a collection which has been described in the Press. A few days
after his visit the collection is robbed by some persons who have
probably also seen the published description. There is no positive fact
of any kind that connects him with those persons, and I assert that the
assumption that any such connection exists is entirely gratuitous.'

Thorndyke smiled indulgently. 'It seems a pity,' he remarked, 'that my
learned friend should waste the sweetness of his jury flourishes on the
desert air of Marylebone Road. But we needn't fash ourselves, as I
believe they say in the North. There was a lady named Mrs Glasse whose
advice to cooks seems to be applicable to the present case. We had better
catch our hare before we proceed to jug him--the word "jug" being used
without any malicious intent to perpetrate a pun.'

'And do I understand that the capture is to be accomplished by the agency
of the rabbit-bone that my learned senior carries in his reverend
pocket?'

'If you do,' replied Thorndyke, 'your understanding is a good deal in
advance of mine. I am taking this little object to examine merely on the
remote chance that it may yield some information as to this man's
antecedents, habits, and perhaps even his identity. The chance is not so
remote as it looks. There are very few things which have been habitually
carried on a man's person which will not tell you something about the
person who has carried them. And this object, as you probably noticed, is
in many respects highly characteristic.'

'I can't say that I found the thing itself particularly characteristic.
The fact that the man should have carried it and have set such a
ridiculous value on it is illuminating. That writes him down a
superstitious ass. But superstitious asses form a fairly large class. In
what respects do you find this thing so highly characteristic, and what
kind of information do you expect to extract from it?'

'As to the latter question,' he replied, 'an investigator doesn't form
expectations in advance; and as to the former, you will have an
opportunity of examining the object for yourself and of forming your own
conclusions.'

I determined to make a minute and exhaustive inspection of our treasure
trove as soon as we arrived home. For obviously I had missed something.
It was clear to me that Thorndyke attached more importance to this object
than would have been warranted by anything that I had observed. There was
some point that I had overlooked and I meant to find out what it was.

But the opportunity did not offer immediately, for, on our arrival at his
chambers, Thorndyke proceeded straight up to the laboratory, where we
found his assistant, Polton, seated at a jeweller's bench, making some
structural alterations in a somewhat elaborate form of pedometer.

'I've got a job for you, Polton,' said Thorndyke, laying the mascot on
the bench. 'Quite a nice, delicate little job, after your own heart. I
want a replica of this thing--as perfect as you can make it. And I have
to return the original before nine o'clock tomorrow morning. And. he
added, taking the camera and dark slides from his pocket, 'there is a
photograph to be developed, but there is no particular hurry for that.'

Polton picked the mascot up daintily, and laying it in the palm of his
hand, stuck a watchmaker's glass in his eye and inspected it minutely.

'It's a queer little thing, sir,' he remarked. 'Seems to have been made
out of a small cervical vertebra. I suppose you want the copy of the same
colour as this and as hard as possible?'

'I want as faithful a copy as you can make, similar in all respects,
excepting that the reproduction can scarcely be as hard as the original.
Will there be time to make a gelatine mould?'

'There'll have to be, sir. It couldn't be done any other way, with these
undercuttings. But I shan't lose any time on that. If I have to match the
colour I shall have to make some experiments, and I can do those while
the gelatine is setting.'

'Very well, Polton,' said Thorndyke. 'Then I'll leave the thing in your
hands and consider it as good as done. Of course the original must not be
damaged in any way.'

'Oh, certainly not, sir'; and forthwith the little man, having carefully
deposited the mascot in a small, glass-topped box on the bench, fell to
work on his preparations beaming with happiness. I have never seen a man
who enjoyed his work so thoroughly as Polton did.

'I am going round to the College of Surgeons now,' said Thorndyke. 'No
callers are expected, I think, but if any one should come and want to see
me, I shall be back in about an hour. Are you coming with me, Anstey?'

'Why not? I've nothing to do, and if I keep an eye on you I may pick up a
crumb or two of information.'

Here I caught Polton's eye, and a queer, crinkly smile overspread that
artificer's countenance. 'A good many people try to do that, sir,' he
remarked. 'I hope you will have better luck than most of them have.'

'It occurs to me' Thorndyke observed as we descended the stairs, 'that if
the scribe who wrote the Book of Genesis had happened to look in on
Polton he would have come to the conclusion that he had grossly
overestimated the curse of labour.'

'He was not much different from most other scribes,' said I. 'A bookish
man-like myself, for instance-constantly fails to appreciate the joy of
manual work. I find Polton an invaluable object lesson.'

'So do I,' said Thorndyke. 'He is a shining example of the social
virtues-industry, loyalty, integrity, and contentment-and as an artificer
he is a positive genius.' With this warm appreciation of his faithful
follower he swung round into Fleet Street and crossed towards the Law
Courts.



CHAPTER SIX - INTRODUCES AN ANT-EATER AND A DETECTIVE


As we entered the hall of the College of Surgeons Thorndyke glanced at
the board on which the names of the staff were painted and gave a little
grunt of satisfaction.

'I see,' he said, addressing the porter, 'that Mr Saltwood hasn't gone
yet.'

'No, sir,' was the reply. 'He is working up at the top tonight. Shall I
take you up to him?'

'If you please,' answered Thorndyke, and the porter accordingly took us
in charge and led the way to the lift. From the latter we emerged into a
region tenanted by great earthenware pans and jars and pervaded by a
curious aroma, half spirituous, half cadaveric, on which I commented
unfavourably.

'Yes; said Thorndyke, sniffing appreciatively, 'the good old museum
bouquet. You smell it in all curators' rooms, and though, I suppose, it
is not physically agreeable, I find it by no means unpleasant. The
effects of odours are largely a matter of association.'

'The present odour; said I, 'seems to suggest the association of a very
overripe Duke of Clarence and a butt of shockingly bad malmsey.'

Thorndyke smiled tolerantly as we ascended a flight of stairs that led to
a yet higher storey, and abandoned the discussion. At the top, we passed
through several long galleries, past ranges of tables piled up with
incredible numbers of bones, apparently awaiting disposal, until we were
finally led by our conductor to a room in which two men were working at a
long bench, on which were several partially articulated skeletons of
animals. They both looked up as we entered, and one of them, a
keen-faced, middle-aged man, exclaimed: 'Well, this is an unexpected
pleasure. I haven't seen you for donkey's years, Thorndyke. Thought you
had deserted the old shop. And I wonder what brings you here now.'

'The usual thing, Saltwood. Self-interest. I have come to negotiate a
loan. Have you got any loose bones of the Echidna?'

Saltwood stroked his chin and turned interrogatively to his assistant.
'Do you know if there are any, Robson?' he asked.

'There is a set waiting to be articulated, sir. Shall I fetch them?'

'If you would, please, Robson,' replied Saltwood. Then turning to my
colleague, he asked: 'What bones do you want, Thorndyke?'

'The middle cervical vertebrae--about the third or fourth,' was the
reply, at which I pricked up my ears.

In a few minutes Robson returned carrying a cardboard box on which was a
label inscribed 'Echidna hystrix.'

Saltwood lifted the lid, disclosing a collection of small bones,
including a queer little elongated skull.

'Here you are,' said he, picking out a sort of necklace formed of the
joints of the backbone; 'here is the whole vertebral column, minus the
tail, strung together. Will you take it as it is?'

'No,' replied Thorndyke, 'I will just take the three vertebrae that I
want--the third, fourth, and fifth cervical, and if I let you have them
back in the course of the week, will that do?'

'Perfectly. I wouldn't bother you to return them at all if it were not
for spoiling the set.' He separated the three little bones from the
string, and having wrapped them in tissue paper and handed them to
Thorndyke, asked; 'How is Jervis? I haven't seen him very lately,
either.'

'Jervis,' replied Thorndyke, 'is at present enjoying a sort of
professional holiday in New York. He is retained, in an advisory
capacity, in the Rosenbaum case, of which you may have read in the
papers. My friend Anstey here is very kindly filling his place during his
absence.'

'I'm glad to hear that I'm filling it,' said I, as Saltwood bowed and
shook hands. 'I was afraid I was only half filling it, being but a mere
lawyer destitute of medical knowledge.'

'Well,' said Saltwood, 'medical knowledge is important, of course, but
you've always got Thorndyke to help you out. Oh--and that reminds me,
Thorndyke, that I've got some new preparations that I should like you to
see, a series of tumours from wild animals. Will you come and have a look
at them? They are in the next r