Dr. Thorndyke Omnibus Vol 6

by R. Austin Freeman

  “Of course that is what he ought to have done,” said Thorndyke; “but the discovery took him unawares, and, when he suddenly found himself involved in a murder mystery, he got in a panic and made things worse by trying to keep out of sight. He is in a mighty twitter now, I can assure you.”

  “I expect he is,” said Miller; “and the question is, what is to be done? It’s a queer case, in a legal sense. Have you any suggestion to make?”

  “Well,” said Thorndyke, “I think you should first consider what the legal position really is. You will admit that no crime has been committed.”

  “Apparently not,” Miller agreed; “at any rate, not in British jurisdiction.”

  “Furthermore,” pursued Thorndyke, “it is not clear to me that any offence against the law has been committed. Admittedly, Bernstein evaded the Customs; but, as a human head is not a customable commodity, there was no offence against the Revenue. And so with the rest of his proceedings; they were very improper, but they do not appear to amount to any definite legal offence.”

  “So I take it,” said Miller, “that you think we might as well let the matter drop. I don’t quite like that, after all the fuss and outcry there has been.”

  “I was hardly suggesting that,” said Thorndyke. “I certainly think that, for the credit of the Force, the mystery ought to be cleared up in a more or less public manner. But, since you invite me to make a suggestion, I will make one. Perhaps it may surprise you a little. But what I think would be the best way to bring the case to a satisfactory conclusion would be for you to disinter the specimen—which I believe was buried temporarily, in the case in which it was found, in the Tower Hamlets Cemetery—have it examined and reported on by some authorized persons, verify Bernstein’s statements so far as may be necessary, and, if you find everything correct, hand the specimen back to Bernstein.”

  “My eye!” exclaimed Miller, “that’s a pretty large order! But how could we? The head is not lawfully his property. No one is entitled to the possession of human remains.”

  “I am not sure that I can agree to that,” Thorndyke dissented; “not, at any rate, without certain reservations. The legal status of anatomical and pathological specimens in museums is rather obscure; and perhaps it has been wisely kept obscure. It is not covered by the Anatomy Act, which merely legalizes the temporary possession of a human body for the purpose of dissection. As you say, no one can establish a title to the possession of a human body, or part of one, as an ordinary chattel. But you know as well as I do, Miller, that sensible people turn a blind eye to this question on suitable occasions. Take the case of the Hunterian Museum of the Royal College of Surgeons. There, the anatomical and pathological collections are filled with human remains, all of which must have been acquired by methods which are not strictly legal. There are even the remains of entire individuals, some of whom are actually known by name. Now, if they were challenged, what title to the possession of those remains could the Council of the College establish? In practice, they are not challenged. Reasonable people tacitly assume a title.

  “And that is what you would do, yourself. Supposing that someone was to steal the skeleton of the late Corporal Byrne, or O’Brian, the Irish Giant, which is in that museum, and supposing you were able to recover it; what would you do? Why, of course, you would hand it back to the museum, title or no title.”

  “Yes,” Miller admitted, “that is so. But Bernstein’s case is not quite the same. His is a private museum, and he wants this head as a personal chattel.”

  “The principle is the same,” Thorndyke rejoined. “Bernstein is a proper person to possess this head; he wants it for a legitimate purpose—for the advancement of medical knowledge, which is for the benefit of all. I insist, Miller, that, as a matter of public policy, this specimen ought to be given back to Bernstein.”

  Miller looked at me with an undissembled grin. “The Doctor can be mighty persuasive on occasion,” he remarked.

  “Still,” I urged, “it is a perfectly reasonable proposition. You are concerned, primarily, with crime, but ultimately with the public welfare. Now, there hasn’t been any crime, or any criminal intent; and it is against the public welfare to put obstacles in the way of legitimate and useful medical research.”

  “Well,” Miller rejoined, “the decision doesn’t rest with me. I must see what the Commissioner has to say. I will give him the facts, and you can depend on me to tell him what you say and to put your case as strongly as I can. He is not out to make unnecessary trouble any more than I am. So we must leave it at that. I will let you know what he says. If he falls in with your view, he will probably want your assistance in fixing up the details of the examination and the inspection of the specimen. You may as well give me Bernstein’s address.”

  Thorndyke wrote the name and address down on one of his own cards and handed it to the Superintendent. And this brought the business to an end. The latter part of the conversation had been carried on in the stationary car, which had been drawn up in King’s Bench Walk opposite our chambers. We now shook hands with Miller and got out; and, as the car turned away towards Crown Office Row, we entered the wide doorway and ascended the stairs to our own domain.

  XXI. JERVIS COMPLETES THE STORY

  The time has come for us to gather up the threads of this somewhat discursive history. They are but ends, and short ones at that; for, in effect, my tale is told. But even as the weaver’s work is judged by the quality of the selvedge, so the historian’s is apt to be judged by its freedom from loose ends and uncompleted episodes.

  But since the mere bald narration of the few outstanding incidents would be but a dull affair, I shall venture (on the principle that the greater includes the less) to present an account of them all under cover of that which most definitely marked the completion of our labours; the establishment of the young Earl and his Countess in firm possession of the ancestral domain. For, however thrilling may have been the alarums and excursions that befell by the way, they were but by-products and side issues of the Winsborough Peerage Case. With the settlement of that case we could fairly say that our work was done; and, if disposed to tags or aphorisms, could take our choice between Nunc dimittis and Finis coronat opus.

  It was a brilliant morning in that most joyous season of the year when late spring is merging into early summer; and the place was the spot upon the earth’s surface where that season develops its most perfect loveliness—the south-east corner of Kent; or, to be more precise, the great lawn at the rear of the unpretentious mansion “known as and being” Winsborough Castle. Thither Thorndyke and my wife and I, together with Brodribb (who came also in his official capacity) had been invited to the house-warming on the return of the young Earl and Countess from their prolonged honeymoon. But we had not come as mere visitors, or even friends. The warm-hearted Jenifer had formally adopted us as members of the family, and as no one could ask for more delightful relatives, we had accepted the position gratefully.

  As we strolled together across the sun-lit lawn, I glanced from time to time at the young couple with that sober pleasure which a middle-aged man feels in contemplating the too-rare spectacle of a pair of entirely satisfactory human beings. They were both far beyond the average in good looks; of splendid physique, gay and sprightly in temperament and gifted with the faultless manners that spring from natural kindliness and generosity coupled with quick intelligence. Looking at them, one could not but reflect pensively on the might-have-been; and think what a pleasant place the world would be if it could be peopled with their like.

  “I wonder,” said Jenny, “what has become of Pap and Uncle John.” (“Uncle John” was Thorndyke)

  “I don’t,” said Giles, “because I know, I saw them sneaking off together towards the churchyard. My impression is that they are trying to make a complete and exhaustive collection of ancestral Pippets.”

  Jenny laughed delightedly. “Inquisitive old things!” she exclaimed. “But I don’t see why they need fuss themselves. There are no pa
rticular points about the ancestral Pippets. They never did anything worth speaking of excepting that they sold good beer—and, incidentally, they produced me.”

  “Not incidentally,” Giles objected. “It was their crowning achievement. And I don’t know what more you would have. I call it a deuced good effort.”

  The girl glanced at me with sparkling eyes. “Conceited young feller, isn’t he, Uncle Kit? He will persist in thinking that his goose is a swan.”

  “He knows that she is,” retorted Giles. “But, I say, Jenny. You’ll have to keep an eye on Dad. What do you think he has done?”

  She looked at him in mock alarm. “Break it gently,” she pleaded.

  “To my certain knowledge,” said Giles, “he has taken over the lease of the Earl of Beaconsfield and he is having the sign changed back to The Castle Arms. What do you make of that?”

  “My prophetic soul!” she exclaimed. “I see it all. He’s going to have ‘by C. Pippet’ written underneath the sign. If we don’t mind our eyes, we shall have him behind the bar before we can say ‘knife.’ ‘What’s bred in the bone,’ you know.”

  Giles laughed in his delightful school-boy fashion.

  “My word, yes!” he agreed. “We shall have to take a strong hand. We are not going to spend our lives under the Upas shadow of the Fox & Grapes. But I must hook off. Mr. Brodribb has got the bailiff chappie here—Mr. Solly—and they are going to rub my nose on all the things that they say a land-owner ought to understand. Brodribb insists that there is no eye like the master’s eye, and I expect he is right, though I fancy I know an eye that is better still; to wit, the eye that adorns the countenance of the master’s Pa-in-law. What are you going to do?”

  “I,” replied Jenny, “am going to extract a statement from Uncle Kit on the subject of the various happenings since we had Mr. Brodribb’s summary. I want to know how it all ended.”

  “Good!” said Giles; “and when you have wormed all the facts out of him, you can pass them on to me. Now I’m off.”

  With a flourish of his hat and a mock-ceremonial bow, he turned and strode away across the turf towards the old brick porch, the very type and embodiment of healthy, virile youth. Jenny followed him with her eyes until he disappeared into the porch; then she opened her cross-examination.

  “Now, Uncle K., you’ve got to tell me all you know about everything.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, “that seems to offer some scope for conversation. Would you like to begin anywhere in particular?”

  “I want, first of all, to know just exactly what has happened to poor Mr. Gimbler.”

  “Poor Mr. Gimbler!” I exclaimed. “You needn’t waste your sympathy on a rascal like that.”

  “I know,” said she. “Of course he is a rascal. But he did manage things so bee-yutifully.”

  Her tone jarred upon me slightly, and I think she must have observed something in my expression, for she continued:

  “You think I am taking a purely selfish view of the case, and I must admit that, as events have turned out, I am the greatest gainer by what Giles calls ‘Mr. Gimbler’s gimblings.’ But I assure you, Uncle Kit, that Mr. Gimbler did the very best for us all. Pap loves him. He says he is going to give him a pension when he comes out of chokee—if that is where he is, I suppose it is.”

  “Yes,” I replied. “Chokee is his present address.”

  “I was afraid it was,” said she. “The benefactor of humanity is languishing in a dungeon, and you don’t care a hoot. You seem even to feel a callous satisfaction in his misfortunes. But see here, now, Uncle K., I want you to understand the benefits that he has showered on us. And, first of all, you’ve got to understand my father’s position. You have got to realize that he never wanted the earldom at all. Pap is a thorough-bred American. He had no use for titles of nobility; and he was very clear that he didn’t want to stand in the way of anyone else who had.

  “But Auntie Arminella and I didn’t take that view at all. We were as keen as mustard on an English title and a beautiful English estate, and Auntie started to stir my father up. He didn’t take much stirring up. As soon as he realized that I wanted ‘this toy,’ as he called it, and had ascertained, as he thought, that the title and estates were lying derelict and unclaimed, he decided to go for them all out. And when Pap makes a decision, he usually gets a move on, right away.

  “Now, the first shock that he got was when he discovered that there was another claimant. Then he met Giles and his mother, and he fell in love with them both at first sight, as Auntie and I did. He didn’t know how poor Giles was—he was actually working in a stockbroker’s office, if you will believe me—but he realized that the decision of the court meant a lot more to Giles than it did to him, and he would have liked to back out of the claim.”

  “Why didn’t he?” I asked.

  “He couldn’t. When once the claim had been raised, it had got to be settled. Giles didn’t want the earldom as a gift, and Mr. Brodribb wouldn’t have let the case drop, with the chance of its being re-opened in the future. So it had to go on. And now see what Mr. Gimbler did for us. Supposing he hadn’t changed the coffins; and supposing the real one had been found to be stuffed with lead. It might have been. That would have gone a long way towards establishing my father’s claim. Supposing the decision had gone in his favour. Then he would have been the Earl of Winsborough. And he would have hated it. Supposing I had married Giles—and I guess I should have had to ask him, myself, as he was a poor man and as proud as Lucifer—what would Pap’s position have been? He would have defeated his own plans. He would have got the title for himself, and he would have kept his daughter and her husband out of it during his lifetime. But now, thanks to Mr. Gimbler, we have all got what we wanted. Pap has escaped the title, and he has the satisfaction of seeing his girl Countess of Winsborough.”

  I smiled at her quaint and somewhat wrong-headed way of looking at the case. But I refrained from pointing out that “Mr. Gimbler’s gimblings” might easily have produced the undesired results but for Thorndyke’s intervention. It was a dangerous topic, with my secret knowledge of what was in the real coffin, So I held my peace; or rather, led the conversation away from possible shoals and quicksands.

  “By the way,” I said, “if Giles had no money, who was going to pay his costs if he had lost the case?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “We suspect dear old Brodribb. He told Giles and his mother that ‘there were funds available,’ but he wouldn’t say what they were. Of course, it is all right now. But you haven’t told me what happened to Mr. Gimbler.”

  “You will be relieved to hear that he was let off quite lightly. Three years. It might easily have been seven, or even fourteen. Probably it would have been if we had included the forgery in the charges against him.”

  “I suppose it really was a forgery?”

  “Yes, it was undoubtedly. For your father’s satisfaction, we tested it chemically—but not until after the conviction. The ink was a modern synthetic drawing-ink. But it was a wonderfully skilful forgery.”

  “Pity,” Jenny commented. “He is a really clever and ingenious man. Why couldn’t he have run straight? But now tell me about the other people. There was an undertaker man, who made the coffin. What happened to him?”

  “Joseph Wallis was his name. He also had better luck than he deserved, for he got only three months. It was originally proposed to charge him and Gimbler together with conspiracy. But there is this awkward peculiarity about an indictment for conspiracy in which only two persons are involved; if one of them is acquitted, the other is acquitted automatically. For a conspiracy is like a quarrel; it can’t be a single-handed job. A man can’t conspire with himself. So if, of two alleged conspirators, one is found innocent, it follows that there was no conspiracy, and the other man must be innocent, too.

  “Now, Joseph pleaded that he had no knowledge of the purpose for which the coffin was required; thought it was a practical joke or a wager. And this plea was supported by Gimbler,
who, in a statement to the police, declared that he never told Joseph what the coffin was really wanted for. Which seems likely enough. So the conspiracy charge against Joseph was dropped; and, of course, it had also to be dropped in respect to Gimbler.”

  “I am glad,” said Jenny, “that The Slithy Tove, as Giles calls him, was man enough to clear his confederate.”

  “Yes, it is something in his favour; though we must bear in mind that the Tove was a criminal lawyer—in more senses than one—and knew all about the law of conspiracy. Is there anything else that you want to know?”

  “There was a man named Bunter; but I don’t think he was much concern of ours, was he?”

  “He was an invaluable link in the chain of evidence,” I replied, “though he seems rather outside the picture. However, I can report favourably on his case, for he got off altogether. Nobody wanted his blood. The police accepted his explanation of his attempt to break into the yacht, Cormorant, for, though it was probably untrue, it was quite plausible. There remained only his complicity in the platinum robbery. But that had been committed outside British jurisdiction; and, as the platinum had been recovered and restored to its lawful owners, and as the principal robbers were dead, no one was inclined to move in the matter. Accordingly, Mr. Frederick Bunter was released and went on his way rejoicing, with only one or two slight stains on his otherwise spotless character. And I think that completes the list, unless you can think of anything more.”

  “No,” she answered, “I think that finishes up the history of the Winsborough Peerage Case. A queer story it is, looking back on it, with its ups and downs, its hopes and anxieties, to say nothing of one or two ugly passages.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, “there have been some anxious moments. But all’s well that ends well.”