The Red Thumb Mark

by R. Austin Freeman

  CHAPTER XI

  THE AMBUSH

  "I am going to ask for your collaboration in another case," saidThorndyke, a day or two later. "It appears to be one of suicide, but thesolicitors to the 'Griffin' office have asked me to go down to theplace, which is in the neighbourhood of Barnet, and be present at the_post-mortem_ and the inquest. They have managed to arrange that theinquest shall take place directly after the _post-mortem_, so that weshall be able to do the whole business in a single visit."

  "Is the case one of any intricacy?" I asked.

  "I don't think so," he answered. "It looks like a common suicide; butyou can never tell. The importance of the case at present arisesentirely from the heavy insurance; a verdict of suicide will mean a gainof ten thousand pounds to the 'Griffin,' so, naturally, the directorsare anxious to get the case settled and not inclined to boggle over alittle expense."

  "Naturally. And when will the expedition take place?" I asked.

  "The inquest is fixed for to-morrow--what is the matter? Does that fallfoul of any arrangement of yours?"

  "Oh, nothing of any importance," I replied hastily, deeply ashamed ofthe momentary change of countenance that my friend had been so quick toobserve.

  "Well, what is it?" persisted Thorndyke. "You have got something on."

  "It is nothing, I tell you, but what can be quite easily arranged tosuit your plans."

  "_Cherchez la_--h'm?" queried Thorndyke, with an exasperating grin.

  "Yes," I answered, turning as red as a pickled cabbage; "since you areso beastly inquisitive. Miss Gibson wrote, on behalf of Mrs. Hornby,asking me to dine with them _en famille_ to-morrow evening, and I sentoff an acceptance an hour ago."

  "And you call that 'nothing of any importance'!" exclaimed Thorndyke."Alas! and likewise alackaday (which is an approximately synonymousexpression)! The age of chivalry is past, indeed. Of course you mustkeep your appointment; I can manage quite well alone."

  "We shouldn't be back early enough for me to go to Kensington from thestation, I suppose?"

  "No; certainly not. I find that the trains are very awkward; we shouldnot reach King's Cross until nearly one in the morning."

  "Then, in that case, I shall write to Miss Gibson and excuse myself."

  "Oh, I wouldn't do that," said Thorndyke; "it will disappoint them, andreally it is not necessary."

  "I shall write forthwith," I said firmly, "so please don't try todissuade me. I have been feeling quite uncomfortable at the thoughtthat, all the time I have been in your employ, I seem to have donenothing but idle about and amuse myself. The opportunity of doingsomething tangible for my wage is too precious to be allowed to slip."

  Thorndyke chuckled indulgently. "You shall do as you please, my dearboy," he said; "but don't imagine that you have been eating the bread ofidleness. When you see this Hornby case worked out in detail, you willbe surprised to find how large a part you have taken in unravelling it.Your worth to me has been far beyond your poor little salary, I canassure you."

  "It is very handsome of you to say that," I said, highly gratified tolearn that I was really of use, and not, as I had begun to suspect, amere object of charity.

  "It is perfectly true," he answered; "and now, since you are going tohelp me in this case, I will set you your task. The case, as I havesaid, appears to be quite simple, but it never does to take thesimplicity for granted. Here is the letter from the solicitors givingthe facts as far as they are known at present. On the shelves there youwill find Casper, Taylor, Guy and Ferrier, and the other authorities onmedical jurisprudence, and I will put out one or two other books thatyou may find useful. I want you to extract and make classified notes ofeverything that may bear on such a case as the present one may turn outto be. We must go prepared to meet any contingency that may arise. Thisis my invariable practice, and even if the case turns out to be quitesimple, the labour is never wasted, for it represents so much experiencegained."

  "Casper and Taylor are pretty old, aren't they?" I objected.

  "So is suicide," he retorted drily. "It is a capital mistake to neglectthe old authorities. 'There were strong men before Agamemnon,' and someof them were uncommonly strong, let me tell you. Give your bestattention to the venerable Casper and the obsolete Taylor and you willnot be without your reward."

  As a result of these injunctions, I devoted the remainder of the day tothe consideration of the various methods by which a man might contriveto effect his exit from the stage of human activities. And a veryengrossing study I found it, and the more interesting in view of theproblem that awaited solution on the morrow; but yet not so engrossingbut that I was able to find time to write a long, rather intimate andminutely explanatory letter to Miss Gibson, in which I even mentionedthe hour of our return as showing the impossibility of my keeping myengagement. Not that I had the smallest fear of her taking offence, forit is an evidence of my respect and regard for her that I cancelled theappointment without a momentary doubt that she would approve of myaction; but it was pleasant to write to her at length and to feel theintimacy of keeping her informed of the details of my life.

  The case, when we came to inquire into it on the spot, turned out to bea suicide of the most transparent type; whereat both Thorndyke and Iwere, I think, a little disappointed--he at having apparently done solittle for a very substantial fee, and I at having no opportunity forapplying my recently augmented knowledge.

  "Yes," said my colleague, as we rolled ourselves up in our rugs inadjacent corners of the railway carriage, "it has been a flat affair,and the whole thing could have been managed by the local solicitor. Butit is not a waste of time after all, for, you see, I have to do many aday's work for which I get not a farthing of payment, nor even anyrecognition, so that I do not complain if I occasionally find myselfreceiving more payment than my actual services merit. And as to you, Itake it that you have acquired a good deal of valuable knowledge on thesubject of suicide, and knowledge, as the late Lord Bacon remarked withmore truth than originality, is power."

  To this I made no reply, having just lit my pipe and feeling uncommonlydrowsy; and, my companion having followed my example, we smoked insilence, becoming more and more somnolent, until the train drew up inthe terminus and we turned out, yawning and shivering, on to theplatform.

  "Bah!" exclaimed Thorndyke, drawing his rug round his shoulders; "thisis a cheerless hour--a quarter past one. See how chilly and miserableall these poor devils of passengers look. Shall we cab it or walk?"

  "I think a sharp walk would rouse our circulation after sitting huddledup in the carriage for so long," I answered.

  "So do I," said Thorndyke, "so let us away; hark forward! and also TallyHo! In fact one might go so far as to say Yoicks! That gentleman appearsto favour the strenuous life, if one may judge by the size of hissprocket-wheel."

  He pointed to a bicycle that was drawn up by the kerb in the approach--amachine of the road-racer type, with an enormous sprocket-wheel,indicating a gear of, at least, ninety.

  "Some scorcher or amateur racer, probably," I said, "who takes theopportunity of getting a spin on the wood pavement when the streets areempty." I looked round to see if I could identify the owner, but themachine appeared to be, for the moment, taking care of itself. King'sCross is one of those districts of which the inhabitants are slow insettling down for the night, and even at a quarter past one in themorning its streets are not entirely deserted. Here and there theglimmer of a street lamp or the far-reaching ray from a tall electriclight reveals the form of some nocturnal prowler creeping along withcat-like stealthiness, or bursting, cat-like, into unmelodious song. Notgreatly desirous of the society of these roysterers, we crossed quicklyfrom the station into the Gray's Inn Road, now silent and excessivelydismal in aspect, and took our way along the western side. We had turnedthe curve and were crossing Manchester Street, when a series of yelpsfrom ahead announced the presence of a party of merry-makers, whom wewere not yet able to see, however, for the night was an exceptionallydark one; but the sounds of r
evelry continued to increase in volume aswe proceeded, until, as we passed Sidmouth Street, we came in sight ofthe revellers. They were some half-dozen in number, all of them roughsof the hooligan type, and they were evidently in boisterous spirits,for, as they passed the entrance to the Royal Free Hospital, they haltedand battered furiously at the gate. Shortly after this exploit theycrossed the road on to our side, whereupon Thorndyke caught my arm andslackened his pace.

  "Let them draw ahead," said he. "It is a wise precaution to give allhooligan gangs a very wide berth at this time of night. We had betterturn down Heathcote Street and cross Mecklenburgh Square."

  We continued to walk on at reduced speed until we reached HeathcoteStreet, into which we turned and so entered Mecklenburgh Square, wherewe mended our pace once more.

  "The hooligan," pursued Thorndyke, as we walked briskly across thesilent square, "covers a multitude of sins, ranging from highway robberywith violence and paid assassination (technically known as 'bashing')down to the criminal folly of the philanthropic magistrate, who seems tothink that his function in the economy of nature is to secure thesurvival of the unfittest. There goes a cyclist along Guildford Street.I wonder if that is our strenuous friend from the station. If so, he hasslipped past the hooligans."

  We were just entering Doughty Street, and, as Thorndyke spoke, a man ona bicycle was visible for an instant at the crossing of the two streets.When we reached Guildford Street we both looked down the long,lamp-lighted vista, but the cyclist had vanished.

  "We had better go straight on into Theobald's Road," said Thorndyke, andwe accordingly pursued our way up the fine old-world street, from whosetall houses our footfalls echoed, so that we seemed to be accompanied byan invisible multitude, until we reached that part where itunaccountably changes its name and becomes John Street.

  "There always seems to me something very pathetic about these oldBloomsbury streets," said Thorndyke, "with their faded grandeur anddignified seediness. They remind me of some prim and aged gentlewoman inreduced circumstances who--Hallo! What was that?"

  A faint, sharp thud from behind had been followed instantly by theshattering of a ground-floor window in front.

  We both stopped dead and remained, for a couple of seconds, staring intothe gloom, from whence the first sound had come; then Thorndyke darteddiagonally across the road at a swift run and I immediately followed.

  At the moment when the affair happened we had gone about forty yards upJohn Street, that is, from the place where it is crossed by HenryStreet, and we now raced across the road to the further corner of thelatter street. When we reached it, however, the little thoroughfare wasempty, and, as we paused for a moment, no sound of retreating footstepsbroke the silence.

  "The shot certainly came from here!" said Thorndyke; "come on," and heagain broke into a run. A few yards up the street a mews turns off tothe left, and into this my companion plunged, motioning me to gostraight on, which I accordingly did, and in a few paces reached the topof the street. Here a narrow thoroughfare, with a broad, smoothpavement, bears off to the left, parallel with the mews, and, as Iarrived at the corner and glanced up the little street, I saw a man on abicycle gliding swiftly and silently towards Little James' Street.

  With a mighty shout of "Stop thief!" I started in hot pursuit, but,though the man's feet were moving in an apparently leisurely manner, hedrew ahead at an astonishing pace, in spite of my efforts to overtakehim; and it then dawned upon me that the slow revolutions of his feetwere due, in reality, to the unusually high gear of the machine that hewas riding. As I realised this, and at the same moment recalled thebicycle that we had seen in the station, the fugitive swung round intoLittle James' Street and vanished.

  The speed at which the man was travelling made further pursuit utterlyfutile, so I turned and walked back, panting and perspiring from theunwonted exertion. As I re-entered Henry Street, Thorndyke emerged fromthe mews and halted on seeing me.

  "Cyclist?" he asked laconically, as I came up.

  "Yes," I answered; "riding a machine geared up to about ninety."

  "Ah! he must have followed us from the station," said Thorndyke. "Didyou notice if he was carrying anything?"

  "He had a walking-stick in his hand. I didn't see anything else."

  "What sort of walking-stick?"

  "I couldn't see very distinctly. It was a stoutish stick--I should say aMalacca, probably--and it had what looked like a horn handle. I couldsee that as he passed a street lamp."

  "What kind of lamp had he?"

  "I couldn't see; but, as he turned the corner, I noticed that it seemedto burn very dimly."

  "A little vaseline, or even oil, smeared on the outside of the glasswill reduce the glare of a lamp very appreciably," my companionremarked, "especially on a dusty road. Ha! here is the proprietor of thebroken window. He wants to know, you know."

  We had once more turned into John Street and now perceived a man,standing on the wide doorstep of the house with the shattered window,looking anxiously up and down the street.

  "Do either of you gents know anything about this here?" he asked,pointing to the broken pane.

  "Yes," said Thorndyke, "we happened to be passing when it was done; infact," he added, "I rather suspect that the missile, whatever it was,was intended for our benefit."

  "Oh!" said the man. "Who done it?"

  "That I can't say," replied Thorndyke. "Whoever he was, he made off on abicycle and we were unable to catch him."

  "Oh!" said the man once more, regarding us with growing suspicion. "On abicycle, hay! Dam funny, ain't it? What did he do it with?"

  "That is what I should like to find out," said Thorndyke. "I see thishouse is empty."

  "Yes, it's empty--leastways it's to let. I'm the caretaker. But what'sthat got to do with it?"

  "Merely this," answered Thorndyke, "that the object--stone, bullet orwhatever it may have been--was aimed, I believe, at me, and I shouldlike to ascertain its nature. Would you do me the favour of permittingme to look for it?"

  The caretaker was evidently inclined to refuse this request, for heglanced suspiciously from my companion to me once or twice beforereplying, but, at length, he turned towards the open door and grufflyinvited us to enter.

  A paraffin lamp was on the floor in a recess of the hall, and this ourconductor took up when he had closed the street door.

  "This is the room," he said, turning the key and thrusting the dooropen; "the library they call it, but it's the front parlour in plainEnglish." He entered and, holding the lamp above his head, staredbalefully at the broken window.

  Thorndyke glanced quickly along the floor in the direction that themissile would have taken, and then said--

  "Do you see any mark on the wall there?"

  As he spoke, he indicated the wall opposite the window, which obviouslycould not have been struck by a projectile entering with such extremeobliquity; and I was about to point out this fact when I fortunatelyremembered the great virtue of silence.

  Our friend approached the wall, still holding up the lamp, andscrutinised the surface with close attention; and while he was thusengaged, I observed Thorndyke stoop quickly and pick up something, whichhe deposited carefully, and without remark, in his waistcoat pocket.

  "I don't see no bruise anywhere," said the caretaker, sweeping his handover the wall.

  "Perhaps the thing struck this wall," suggested Thorndyke, pointing tothe one that was actually in the line of fire. "Yes, of course," headded, "it would be this one--the shot came from Henry Street."

  The caretaker crossed the room and threw the light of his lamp on thewall thus indicated.

  "Ah! here we are!" he exclaimed, with gloomy satisfaction, pointing to asmall dent in which the wall-paper was turned back and the plasterexposed; "looks almost like a bullet mark, but you say you didn't hearno report."

  "No," said Thorndyke, "there was no report; it must have been acatapult."

  The caretaker set the lamp down on the floor and proceeded to gropeabout for the p
rojectile, in which operation we both assisted; and Icould not suppress a faint smile as I noted the earnestness with whichThorndyke peered about the floor in search of the missile that wasquietly reposing in his waistcoat pocket.

  We were deep in our investigations when there was heard anuncompromising double knock at the street door, followed by the loudpealing of a bell in the basement.

  "Bobby, I suppose," growled the caretaker. "Here's a blooming fuss aboutnothing." He caught up the lamp and went out, leaving us in the dark.

  "I picked it up, you know," said Thorndyke, when we were alone.

  "I saw you," I answered.

  "Good; I applaud your discretion," he rejoined. The caretaker'ssupposition was correct. When he returned, he was accompanied by a burlyconstable, who saluted us with a cheerful smile and glanced facetiouslyround the empty room.

  "Our boys," said he, nodding towards the broken window; "they're playfullads, that they are. You were passing when it happened, sir, I hear.""Yes," answered Thorndyke; and he gave the constable a brief account ofthe occurrence, which the latter listened to, notebook in hand.

  "Well," said he when the narrative was concluded, "if those hooliganboys are going to take to catapults they'll make things lively allround."

  "You ought to run some of 'em in," said the caretaker.

  "Run 'em in!" exclaimed the constable in a tone of disgust; "yes! Andthen the magistrate will tell 'em to be good boys and give 'em fiveshillings out of the poor-box to buy illustrated Testaments. I'dTestament them, the worthless varmints!"

  He rammed his notebook fiercely into his pocket and stalked out of theroom into the street, whither we followed.

  "You'll find that bullet or stone when you sweep up the room," he said,as he turned on to his beat; "and you'd better let us have it. Goodnight, sir."

  He strolled off towards Henry Street, while Thorndyke and I resumed ourjourney southward.

  "Why were you so secret about that projectile?" I asked my friend as wewalked up the street.

  "Partly to avoid discussion with the caretaker," he replied; "butprincipally because I thought it likely that a constable would pass thehouse and, seeing the light, come in to make inquiries."

  "And then?"

  "Then I should have had to hand over the object to him."

  "And why not? Is the object a specially interesting one?"

  "It is highly interesting to me at the present moment," repliedThorndyke, with a chuckle, "because I have not examined it. I have atheory as to its nature, which theory I should like to test beforetaking the police into my confidence."

  "Are you going to take me into your confidence?" I asked.

  "When we get home, if you are not too sleepy," he replied.

  On our arrival at his chambers, Thorndyke desired me to light up andclear one end of the table while he went up to the workshop to fetchsome tools. I turned back the table cover, and, having adjusted the gasso as to light this part of the table, waited in some impatience for mycolleague's return. In a few minutes he re-entered bearing a small vice,a metal saw and a wide-mouthed bottle.

  "What have you got in that bottle?" I asked, perceiving a metal objectinside it.

  "That is the projectile, which I have thought fit to rinse in distilledwater, for reasons that will presently appear."

  He agitated the bottle gently for a minute or so, and then, with a pairof dissecting forceps, lifted out the object and held it above thesurface of the water to drain, after which he laid it carefully on apiece of blotting-paper.

  I stooped over the projectile and examined it with great curiosity,while Thorndyke stood by regarding me with almost equal interest.

  "Well," he said, after watching me in silence for some time, "what doyou see?"

  "I see a small brass cylinder," I answered, "about two inches long andrather thicker than an ordinary lead pencil. One end is conical, andthere is a small hole at the apex which seems to contain a steel point;the other end is flat, but has in the centre a small square projectionsuch as might fit a watch-key. I notice also a small hole in the side ofthe cylinder close to the flat end. The thing looks like a miniatureshell, and appears to be hollow."

  "It is hollow," said Thorndyke. "You must have observed that, when Iheld it up to drain, the water trickled out through the hole at thepointed end."

  "Yes, I noticed that."

  "Now take it up and shake it."

  I did so and felt some heavy object rattle inside it.

  "There is some loose body inside it," I said, "which fits it prettyclosely, as it moves only in the long diameter."

  "Quite so; your description is excellent. And now, what is the nature ofthis projectile?"

  "I should say it is a miniature shell or explosive bullet."

  "Wrong!" said Thorndyke. "A very natural inference, but a wrong one."

  "Then what is the thing?" I demanded, my curiosity still furtheraroused.

  "I will show you," he replied. "It is something much more subtle than anexplosive bullet--which would really be a rather crudeappliance--admirably thought out and thoroughly well executed. We haveto deal with a most ingenious and capable man."

  I was fain to laugh at his enthusiastic appreciation of the methods ofhis would-be assassin, and the humour of the situation then appeared todawn on him, for he said, with an apologetic smile--

  "I am not expressing approval, you must understand, but merelyprofessional admiration. It is this class of criminal that creates thenecessity for my services. He is my patron, so to speak; my ultimateemployer. For the common crook can be dealt with quite efficiently bythe common policeman!"

  While he was speaking he had been fitting the little cylinder betweentwo pads of tissue-paper in the vice, which he now screwed up tight.Then, with the fine metal saw, he began to cut the projectile,lengthwise, into two slightly unequal parts. This operation took sometime, especially since he was careful not to cut the loose body inside,but at length the section was completed and the interior of the cylinderexposed, when he released it from the vice and held it up before me withan expression of triumph.

  "Now, what do you make it?" he demanded.

  I took the object in my fingers and looked at it closely, but was atfirst more puzzled than before. The loose body I now saw to be acylinder of lead about half an inch long, accurately fitting the insideof the cylinder but capable of slipping freely backwards and forwards.The steel point which I had noticed in the hole at the apex of theconical end, was now seen to be the pointed termination of a slendersteel rod which projected fully an inch into the cavity of the cylinder,and the conical end itself was a solid mass of lead.

  "Well?" queried Thorndyke, seeing that I was still silent.

  "You tell me it is not an explosive bullet," I replied, "otherwise Ishould have been confirmed in that opinion. I should have said that thepercussion cap was carried by this lead plunger and struck on the end ofthat steel rod when the flight of the bullet was suddenly arrested."

  "Very good indeed," said Thorndyke. "You are right so far that this is,in fact, the mechanism of a percussion shell.

  "But look at this. You see this little rod was driven inside the bulletwhen the latter struck the wall. Let us replace it in its originalposition."

  He laid the end of a small flat file against the end of the rod andpressed it firmly, when the rod slid through the hole until it projectedan inch beyond the apex of the cone. Then he handed the projectile backto me.

  A single glance at the point of the steel rod made the whole thingclear, and I gave a whistle of consternation; for the "rod" was a finetube with a sharply pointed end.

  "The infernal scoundrel!" I exclaimed; "it is a hypodermic needle."

  "Yes. A veterinary hypodermic, of extra large bore. Now you see thesubtlety and ingenuity of the whole thing. If he had had a reasonablechance he would certainly have succeeded."

  "You speak quite regretfully," I said, laughing again at the oddity ofhis attitude towards the assassin.

  "Not at all," he replie
d. "I have the character of a single-handedplayer, but even the most self-reliant man can hardly make a_post-mortem_ on himself. I am merely appreciating an admirable piece ofmechanical design most efficiently carried out. Observe thecompleteness of the thing, and the way in which all the necessities ofthe case are foreseen and met. This projectile was discharged from apowerful air-gun--the walking-stick form--provided with a force-pump andkey. The barrel of that gun was rifled."

  "How do you know that?" I asked.

  "Well, to begin with, it would be useless to fit a needle to theprojectile unless the latter was made to travel with the point forwards;but there is direct evidence that the barrel was rifled. You notice thelittle square projection on the back surface of the cylinder. That wasevidently made to fit a washer or wad--probably a thin plate of softmetal which would be driven by the pressure from behind into the groovesof the rifling and thus give a spinning motion to the bullet. When thelatter left the barrel, the wad would drop off, leaving it free."

  "I see. I was wondering what the square projection was for. It is, asyou say, extremely ingenious."

  "Highly ingenious," said Thorndyke, enthusiastically, "and so is thewhole device. See how perfectly it would have worked but for a merefluke and for the complication of your presence. Supposing that I hadbeen alone, so that he could have approached to a shorter distance. Inthat case he would not have missed, and the thing would have been done.You see how it was intended to be done, I suppose?"

  "I think so," I answered; "but I should like to hear your account of theprocess."

  "Well, you see, he first finds out that I am returning by a latetrain--which he seems to have done--and he waits for me at the terminus.Meanwhile he fills the cylinder with a solution of a powerful alkaloidalpoison, which is easily done by dipping the needle into the liquid andsucking at the small hole near the back end, when the piston will bedrawn up and the liquid will follow it. You notice that the upper sideof the piston is covered with vaseline--introduced through the hole, nodoubt--which would prevent the poison from coming out into the mouth,and make the cylinder secure from leakage. On my arrival, he follows meon his bicycle until I pass through a sufficiently secludedneighbourhood. Then he approaches me, or passes me and waits round acorner, and shoots at pretty close range. It doesn't matter where hehits me; all parts are equally vital, so he can aim at the middle of myback. Then the bullet comes spinning through the air point foremost; theneedle passes through the clothing and enters the flesh, and, as thebullet is suddenly stopped, the heavy piston flies down by its own greatmomentum and squirts out a jet of the poison into the tissues. Thebullet then disengages itself and drops on to the ground.

  "Meanwhile, our friend has mounted his bicycle and is off, and when Ifeel the prick of the needle, I turn, and, without stopping to look forthe bullet, immediately give chase. I am, of course, not able toovertake a man on a racing machine, but still I follow him somedistance. Then the poison begins to take effect--the more rapidly fromthe violent exercise--and presently I drop insensible. Later on, my bodyis found. There are no marks of violence, and probably theneedle-puncture escapes observation at the _post-mortem_, in which casethe verdict will be death from heart-failure. Even if the poison and thepuncture are discovered, there is no clue. The bullet lies some streetsaway, and is probably picked up by some boy or passing stranger, whocannot conjecture its use, and who would never connect it with the manwho was found dead. You will admit that the whole plan has been workedout with surprising completeness and foresight." "Yes," I answered;"there is no doubt that the fellow is a most infernally cleverscoundrel. May I ask if you have any idea who he is?"

  "Well," Thorndyke replied, "seeing that, as Carlyle has unkindly pointedout, clever people are not in an overwhelming majority, and that, of theclever people whom I know, only a very few are interested in myimmediate demise, I am able to form a fairly probable conjecture."

  "And what do you mean to do?"

  "For the present I shall maintain an attitude of masterly inactivity andavoid the night air."

  "But, surely," I exclaimed, "you will take some measures to protectyourself against attempts of this kind. You can hardly doubt now thatyour accident in the fog was really an attempted murder."

  "I never did doubt it, as a matter of fact, although I prevaricated atthe time. But I have not enough evidence against this man at present,and, consequently, can do nothing but show that I suspect him, whichwould be foolish. Whereas, if I lie low, one of two things will happen;either the occasion for my removal (which is only a temporary one) willpass, or he will commit himself--will put a definite clue into my hands.Then we shall find the air-cane, the bicycle, perhaps a little stock ofpoison, and certain other trifles that I have in my mind, which will begood confirmatory evidence, though insufficient in themselves. And now,I think, I must really adjourn this meeting, or we shall be good fornothing to-morrow."