"Admirably argued," Thorndyke commented. "But perhaps we had better postpone the consideration of that point until we have actually ascertained that the papers were really taken from the body. The point is of importance in more than one respect. As you very justly remark, the taking away of these papers converts what might have been accepted as a misadventure into an undeniable murder. And the man who took them—if he did take them—could not have failed to realize this. You are certainly right as to the strength of the motive. The question that remains to be solved is, What might have been the nature of that motive? But I think we shall have to adjourn this discussion."
As he spoke, I became aware of footsteps ascending the stairs, and growing rapidly more audible. Their cessation coincided with a knock at the door, which I instantly recognized as Miller’s. I sprang up and threw the door open, whereupon the Superintendent entered and fixed a mock-reproachful eye on the uncleared breakfast-table.
"Well, gentlemen," he said, by way of greeting, "I thought I would just drop in and give you the news in case you were starting early. You needn’t. The post-mortem is fixed for two-thirty, and there is nothing else for you to do."
"Thank you, Miller," said Thorndyke. "It was good of you to come round. But, as a matter of fact, we are not going—at least, I am not, and I don’t think Jervis is."
The Superintendent’s jaw dropped. "I am sorry to hear that," said he in a tone of very real disappointment. "I was rather banking on your getting us something definite to go on. We haven’t got much in the way of positive evidence."
"That," Thorndyke answered, "is why we are not going. We have got some positive evidence; and we think—and so will you—that we had better keep it to ourselves, at least for the present."
The Superintendent cast an astonished glance at my colleague.
"You have got some positive evidence!" he exclaimed. "Why; how the deuce—but there, that doesn’t matter. What have you discovered?"
Thorndyke opened a drawer and produced from it a pack of mounted photographs and the two cards bearing Badger’s finger-prints, which he laid on the table.
"You may remember, Miller," he said, "pointing out to me in the tunnel that someone had thrown away a half-smoked cigar."
"I remember," the Superintendent replied. "An uncommon good weed it looked, too. I had half a mind to pick it up and finish it—in a holder, of course."
"It’s just as well that you did not," Thorndyke chuckled. "However, I picked it up. I thought there might possibly be some finger-prints on it. And there were. Some of them were Badger’s. But there were some others as well."
"How were you able to spot Badger’s finger-prints?" Miller demanded in a tone of astonishment.
"I took the records from the body," Thorndyke replied, "on the chance that we might want them."
Miller stared at my colleague in silent amazement.
"You are a most extraordinary man, Doctor," he exclaimed, at length. "You seem to have the gift of second sight. What on earth could have made you—but there, it’s no use asking you. Are these poor Badger’s prints?"
"Yes," Thorndyke answered, "and these are the photographs of the cigar with the prints developed on it."
Miller pored eagerly over the photographs and compared them with the prints on the cards.
"Yes," said he, after a careful inspection, "they are clear enough. There is poor old Badger’s thumb as plain as a pikestaff. And here is one—looks like a thumb, too—that certainly is not Badger’s. Now we are going to see whose it is."
He spoke in a tone of triumph, and as he spoke, he whisked out of his pocket, with something of a flourish, a large leather wallet. From this he extracted a blue document and spread it out on the table. On it, among other matter, were four sets of finger-prints—the "tips" of the two hands, both sets complete, and the two sets of "rolled impressions," of which those of the right hand consisted only of two perfect impressions and a smear. Miller confined his attention principally to the tips, glancing backward and forward from them to the photographs, which were spread out on the table. And, watching him, I was sensible of a gradual change in his demeanour. The triumphant air slowly faded away, giving place, first to doubt and bewilderment, and finally to quite definite disappointment.
"Nothing doing," he reported, handing the paper to Thorndyke. "They are not Smith’s finger-prints. Pity. I’d hoped they would have been. If they had been, they would have fixed the murder on him beyond any doubt. Now we shall have to grub about for some other kind of evidence. At present, we’ve got nothing but the evidence of the station-master at Strood."
Thorndyke looked at him with slightly raised eyebrows.
"You seem," said he, "to be overlooking the importance of those other finger-prints. If they are not Smith’s, they are somebody’s; and the person who made them is the person who gave Badger that cigar."
"No doubt," Miller agreed. "But what about it? Does it matter who gave him the cigar?"
"As it happens," Thorndyke replied, "it matters a great deal. We have analysed that cigar and we found that it contained a very large dose of a deadly volatile poison."
Miller was thunderstruck. For some moments he stood, silently gazing at Thorndyke, literally open-mouthed. At length, he exclaimed in a low, almost awe-stricken tone:
"Good God, Doctor. This is new evidence with a vengeance! Now we can understand how poor old Badger was got out on to the line. But, how in the name of fortune came you to analyse the cigar?"
"There was just the bare possibility," Thorndyke replied. "We thought we might as well make the trial."
Miller shook his head. "It’s second sight, Doctor. There’s no other name for it. It looks as if you had spotted the poison in the cigar as it lay on the ground in the tunnel. You are a most astonishing man. But the question is, how the deuce he got hold of that cigar."
"Who?" demanded Thorndyke. "You don’t, surely, mean Smith?"
"Certainly I do," Miller replied, doggedly. "Who else?"
"But," Thorndyke protested with a shade of impatience, "you have just ascertained, beyond any reasonable doubt, that the cigar was given to Badger by some other person."
But the Superintendent was not to be moved from the conviction that apparently had possession of his mind. "Those other prints," he insisted, "must be the prints of the man from whom Smith got the cigar. We shall have to find out who he is, of course. But it is the murderer we want. And the murderer is Frederick Smith, or whatever his real name is."
Thorndyke’s sense of humour apparently got the better of his vexation, for he remarked with a low chuckle:
"It seems odd for me to pose as the champion of finger-print evidence. But, really, Miller, you are flying in the face of all the visible facts and probabilities. There is absolutely nothing to connect the man Smith with that cigar."
"He may have worn gloves," suggested Miller.
"He may have worn a cocked hat," retorted Thorndyke. "But there is no reason to believe that he did. Why do you cling to the unfortunate Smith in this tenacious fashion?"
"Why," rejoined Miller, "look at the description on his paper and then recall what the station-master at Strood said."
Thorndyke took up the paper and read aloud:
"‘Height, 67 inches; weight, 158 pounds; rather thick-set, muscular build. Hair, darkish red; eyes, reddish brown; complexion, fresh; nose, straight, medium size, rather thick and distinctly red.’ Yes, that seems to agree with the station-master’s description. I see that he gives no address, but describes himself as a plumber and gas-fitter."
"Probably that is right," said Miller. "A considerable proportion of the men who take to burglary started life as plumbers and gas-fitters. Their professional training gives them an advantage."
"It must," I remarked a little bitterly, recalling the ravages of a gas-fitter on my own premises. "There seems to be a natural connection between gas-fitting and house-breaking."
"At any rate," said Thorndyke, who was now inspecting the photographs
—one profile and one full face—"the description fits the man’s presumed avocation, without insisting on the gas-fitting. It is a coarse, common face. Not very characteristic. He might be a burglar or just simply a low-class working-man."
"Exactly," the Superintendent agreed. "It’s the sort of mug that you can see by the dozen in the yard at Brixton or in any local prison. Just a common, low-grade man. But that hasn’t much bearing on our little problem."
"I don’t think I quite agree with you there, Miller," said Thorndyke. "The man’s general type and make up seem to have a rather important bearing. We are dealing with a crime that is distinctly subtle and ingenious, and which seems to involve a good deal more knowledge than we should expect an ordinary working-man to possess. The face fits the assumed character of the man; but it does not fit the crime. Don’t you agree with me?"
"I’ll not deny," the Superintendent conceded, grudgingly, "that there is something in what you say. Probably, we shall find that there was some man of a different class behind Smith."
"But why insist upon Smith at all? The poisoned cigar is the one solid fact that we have and can prove. And, as you have admitted, we have not a particle of evidence that connects him with it. On the contrary, the evidence of the finger-prints clearly connects it with someone else. Why not drop Smith, at least provisionally?"
Miller shook his head with an air of resolution that I recognised as hopeless.
"Theory is all very well, Doctor," he replied, "and I realise the force of what you have pointed out. But you remember the old story of the dog and the shadow. The dog who let go the piece of meat that he had in order to grab the other piece that he saw reflected in the water was a foolish dog. I’m not going to follow his example. This man, Smith, was seen to get into the carriage with Badger. He must have been in the carriage when Badger was killed; and no one else was there. If he didn’t murder Badger, it’s for him to explain how the thing happened. And I fancy he’ll find the explanation a bit difficult."
Thorndyke seemed, for a moment, inclined to pursue the argument. But then he gave up the attempt to convince the Superintendent and changed the subject.
"What was the charge against Smith?" he asked.
"He was charged with uttering counterfeit paper money," Miller replied. "It was a silly affair, really. I can’t think how the magistrate came to commit him. It seems that he went into a pub in Maidstone for a drink and tendered a ten-shilling note. The publican spotted it at once as a bad one and he gave Smith in charge. At the police station he was searched and two more notes were found on him. But they were both genuine and so was the rest of the money that he had about him. His statement was that the note had been given to him in change, and that he did not know that it was bad; which was probably true. At any rate, I feel pretty sure that the Grand Jury would have thrown out the bill. He was a mug to complicate matters by bolting."
"So, as an actual fact, there is no evidence that he was a criminal at all. He may have been a perfectly respectable working-man."
"That is so," Miller agreed rather reluctantly, "excepting that Badger seemed to have been satisfied that he was the crook that he had been on the look-out for."
"As he never saw the man," said Thorndyke, "that is not very conclusive. Do you know how the escape was managed?"
"Only in a general way," replied Miller. "It doesn’t particularly concern me. I gather that it was one of those muddles that are apt to occur when prisoners are wearing their own clothes. Got himself mixed up with a gang of workmen. But he’d better have stayed where he was."
"Much better," Thorndyke agreed with some emphasis. "But, to return to the case of the unknown man who prepared the poisoned cigar, I think you will agree with me that we had better keep our own counsel about the whole affair."
"I suppose so," answered Miller. "At any rate, I think you are right to keep away from the inquest. The coroner might ask you to give evidence, and then you’d have to tell all you know, and the story would be in every blessed newspaper in the country. I take it you are prepared to swear to the poison in that cigar?
"Certainly; and to produce the poison in evidence."
"And you are going to let me have a photograph of those finger-prints?"
"Of course. There is a set ready for you now, including two of Badger’s. And, as to those from the cigar, it is just possible that you may find them to be those of some known person."
"It’s possible," Miller admitted, "but I don’t think it very likely."
"Nor do I," said Thorndyke, with a faint smile; by which I judged that he realized, as I did, that Miller’s suspicions, even in the matter of the cigar, were still riveted on the elusive Smith.
"With regard to this paper of Smith’s," said Thorndyke, as he handed Miller the set of photographs that had been reserved for him; "I should like to take a copy of it for reference. A photographic copy, I mean, of the portraits and the finger-prints."
Miller looked a little unhappy. "It wouldn’t be quite in order," he objected. "An official document, you know, and a secret one at that. Is it of any importance?"
"It is impossible to say, in advance," replied Thorndyke. "But I shall be working at the case on your behalf and in collaboration with you. It might be important, on some occasion, to be able to recognize a face or a finger-print. Still, if it is not in order, I won’t press the matter. The chances are that the copy will never be needed."
But Miller had reconsidered the question. He was not going to put any obstacles in Thorndyke’s way.
"If you think a copy would be helpful," said he, "I’ll take the responsibility of letting you have one. But I can’t let the document go out of my possession. Can you take it now?"
"Yes," Thorndyke replied. "It will be only a matter of a minute or two, to make one or two exposures."
Without more ado, he took the document and went off with it to the laboratory. As he disappeared, the Superintendent commented admiringly on the efficiency of our establishment.
"Yes," I replied, with some complacency (though the efficiency was none of my producing), "the copying camera is a great asset. There it is, always ready at a moment’s notice to give us a perfect facsimile of anything that is set before it—an infallible copy that will be accepted in any court of law, But you have quite as good an outfit at the Yard."
"Oh yes," Miller agreed, "our equipment and organization are good enough. But, in a public department, you can’t get the flexibility and adaptability of a private establishment like yours, where you make your own rules and use your own judgment as to obeying them. This can’t be the Doctor, already."
It was, however. Thorndyke had just made the exposures and left the development to be done later. He now returned the document to the Superintendent, who, having carefully bestowed it in his pocket with the photographs, rose to take his departure.
"I hope, Doctor," he said, as he shook hands s Thorndyke, "that I haven’t seemed unappreciative of all that you have done. That discovery of yours was a most remarkable exploit—a positive stroke of genius. And it has given us the only piece of real evidence that we have. Please don’t think that I’m not grateful."
"Tut, tut," said Thorndyke, "there is no question of gratitude. We all want to catch the villain who I murdered our old friend. Are you going to the inquest?"
"No," replied Miller. "I am not wanted there; and, now that you have given me this new information, I feel, like you, that I had better keep away, for fear of being compelled to let the cat out of the bag. You said you were sending a shorthand reporter down to take notes for you."
"Yes," said Thorndyke; "Polton has made all the arrangements, and has told our man to type the notes out in duplicate so that you can have a copy."
"Thanks, Doctor," said Miller. "I think they may be useful, after all, particularly the station-master’s evidence concerning the man he saw at Strood."
"Yes," agreed Thorndyke. "It will be a great point if he can recognize the prison photograph—and an almost equally great one
if he cannot."
I seemed to gather from the Superintendent’s expression that he did not view the latter contingency with any great enthusiasm. But he made no rejoinder beyond again wishing us "Good morning," and at length took his departure, escorted to the landing by Thorndyke.
VIII. A REVIEW OF THE EVIDENCE
When Thorndyke re-entered the room, closing the oak door behind him, he appeared to be in a thoughtful and slightly puzzled frame of mind. For a minute or more, he stood before the fireplace, filling his pipe in silence and apparently reflecting profoundly. Suddenly he looked up at me and asked:
"Well, Jervis; what do you think of it all?"
"As to Miller? I think that he has his nose glued to the trail of Mr. Frederick Smith."
"Yes," said he. "The Smith idea almost amounts to an obsession; and that is a very dangerous state of mind for a detective superintendent. It may easily lead to a bad miscarriage of justice."
"Still," I said, "there is something to be said for Miller’s point of view. The man who got into the train at Strood did certainly agree, at least superficially, with the official description of the man Smith."
"That is quite true," Thorndyke admitted. "The report of the evidence at the inquest will show what sort of description the station-master is prepared to swear to. But I don’t feel at all happy as to Miller’s attitude. We shall have to watch events closely. For we are deeply concerned in this investigation. And it will be just as well if we go over the facts that are known to us and consider what our own attitude must be."
He took up a pencil and a note-block, and, dropping into an easy chair, lit his pipe and opened the discussion.
"I think, Jervis," he began, "we are justified in assuming that the man who got into the carriage at Strood is the man who murdered Badger."
"I think so," I agreed. "That is, if we assume that it was really a case of murder. Personally, I have no doubt on the subject."
"I am assuming that the document was really in Badger’s pocket when he started, and that it was not there when his body was examined by the sergeant. The inquest notes will confirm or exclude those assumptions. At present, our information is to the effect that they are true. And if they are true, the document must have been taken from Badger’s pocket; and that fact furnishes prima facie evidence of murder. But if Badger was murdered, the Strood man must be presumed to be the murderer, since no other possibility presents itself. Hence, the question that we have to settle, or at least to form a definite opinion on, is, Who was the Strood man?
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