The Second R. Austin Freeman Megapack

by R. Austin Freeman

  Rodney listened to these objections with hardly veiled impatience. He had supposed that Thorndyke’s special practice involved the capacity to trace missing persons, yet as soon as a case calling for this special knowledge arose, he raised difficulties. That was always the way with these confounded experts. Now, to him—though, to be sure, it was out of his line—the thing presented no difficulties at all. To no man does a difficult thing look so easy as to one who is totally unable to do it.

  Meanwhile Thorndyke continued to observe Varney, who was evidently reflecting profoundly on the impasse that had arisen. He, of course, could see the futility of Rodney’s scheme. He, moreover, since he was in love with Margaret, would be at least as keen on the dissolution of this marriage as Rodney. Thorndyke, watching his eager face, began to hope that he might make some useful suggestion. Nor was he disappointed. Suddenly Varney looked up, and, addressing himself to Rodney, said:

  “I’ve got an idea. You may think it bosh, but it is really worth considering. It is this. There is no doubt that Dan has cleared out for good, and it is rather probable that he has made some domestic arrangements of a temporary kind. You know what I mean. And he might be willing to have the chance of making them permanent, because he is not free in that respect any more than his wife is. Now what I propose is that we put in an advertisement asking him to write to his wife, or to Penfield, stating what his intentions are. It is quite possible that he might, in his own interests, send a letter that would enable you to get a divorce without any other evidence. It is really worth trying.”

  Rodney laughed scornfully. “You’ve missed your vocation, Varney,” said he. “You oughtn’t to be tinkering about with etchings. You ought to be in the Law. But I’m afraid the mackerel wouldn’t rise to your sprat.”

  Thorndyke could have laughed aloud. But he did not. On the contrary, he made a show of giving earnest consideration to Varney’s suggestion, and finally said:

  “I am not sure that I agree with you, Rodney. It doesn’t seem such a bad plan.”

  In this he spoke quite sincerely. But then he knew, which Rodney did not, that if the advertisement were issued there would certainly be a reply from Purcell; and, moreover, that the reply would be of precisely the kind that would be most suitable for their purpose.

  “Well,” said Rodney, “it seems to me rather a wild-cat scheme. You are proposing to ask Purcell to give himself away completely. If you knew him as well as I do you would know that no man could be less likely to comply. Purcell is one of the most secretive men I have ever known, and you can see for yourself that he has been pretty secret over this business.”

  “Still,” Thorndyke persisted, “it is possible, as Varney suggests, that it might suit him to have the tow-rope cut, as you express it. What do you think, Mrs. Purcell?”

  “I am afraid I agree with Mr. Rodney. Dan is as secret as an oyster, and he hasn’t shown himself at all well disposed. He wouldn’t make a statement for my benefit. As to the question of another woman, I have no doubt that there is one, but my feeling is that Dan would prefer to have a pretext for not marrying her.”

  “That is exactly my view,” said Rodney. “Purcell is the sort of man who will get as much as he can and give as little in exchange.”

  “I don’t deny that,” said Varney, “but I still think that it would be worth trying. If nothing came of it we should be no worse off.”

  “Exactly,” agreed Thorndyke. “It is quite a simple proceeding. It commits us to nothing and it is very little trouble, and if by any chance it succeeded, see how it would simplify matters. In place of a crowd of witnesses collected at immense trouble and cost you would have a letter which could be put in evidence, and which would settle the whole case in a few minutes.”

  Rodney shrugged his shoulders and secretly marvelled how Thorndyke had got his great reputation.

  “There is no answering a determined optimist,” said he. “Of course, Purcell may rise to your bait. He may even volunteer to go into the witness-box and make a full confession and offer to pay our costs. But I don’t think he will.”

  “Neither do I,” said Thorndyke. “But it is bad practice to reject a plan because you think it probably will not succeed when it is possible and easy to give it a trial. Have you any objection to our carrying out Mr. Varney’s suggestion?”

  “I have no objection to your carrying it out,” replied Rodney, “and I don’t suppose Mrs. Purcell has, but I don’t feel inclined to act on it my self.”

  Thorndyke looked interrogatively at Margaret. “What do you say, Mrs. Purcell?” he asked.

  “I am entirely in your hands,” she replied. “It is very good of you to take so much trouble, but I fear you will have your trouble for nothing.”

  “We shan’t lose much on the transaction even then,” Thorndyke rejoined, “so we will leave it that I insert the advertisement in the most alluring terms that I can devise. If anything comes of it you will hear before I shall.”

  This brought the discussion to an end. If Rodney had any further ideas on the subject he reserved them for the benefit of Margaret or Mr. Penfield, having reached the conclusion that Thorndyke was a pure specialist—and probably overrated at that—whose opinions and judgment on general law were not worth having. The conversation thus drifted into other channels, but with no great vivacity, for each of the four persons was occupied inwardly with the subject that had been outwardly dismissed.

  Presently Varney, who had been showing signs of restlessness, began to collect his etchings in preparation for departure. Thereupon Thorndyke also rose to make his farewell.

  “I have had a most enjoyable evening, Mrs. Purcell,” he said, as he shook his hostess’s hand. And he spoke quite sincerely. He had had an extremely enjoyable evening, and he hoped that the entertainment was even now not quite at an end. “May we hope that our plottings and schemings will not be entirely unfruitful?”

  “You can hope as much as you like,” said Rodney, “if hopefulness is your speciality, but if anything comes of this plan of Varney’s, I shall be the most surprised man in London.”

  “And I hope you will give the author of the plan all the credit he deserves,” said Thorndyke.

  “He has got that now,” Rodney replied with a grin.

  “I doubt if he has,” retorted Thorndyke. “But we shall see. Are we walking the same way, Varney?”

  “I think so,” replied Varney, who had already decided, for his own special reasons, that they were; in which he was in complete, though unconscious, agreement with Thorndyke.

  “Rodney seems a bit cocksure,” the former remarked, as they made their way towards the Brompton Road, “but it is no use taking things for granted. I think it quite possible that Purcell may be willing to cut his cable. At any rate, it is reasonable to give him the chance.”

  “Undoubtedly,” agreed Thorndyke. “There is no greater folly than to take failure for granted and reject an opportunity. Now, if this plan of yours should by any chance succeed, Mrs. Purcell’s emancipation is as good as accomplished.”

  “Is it really?” Varney exclaimed eagerly.

  “Certainly,” replied Thorndyke. “That is, if Purcell should send a letter the contents of which should disclose a state of affairs which would entitle his wife to a divorce. But that is too much to hope for unless Purcell also would like to have the marriage dissolved.”

  “I think it quite possible that he would, you know,” said Varney. “He must have had strong reasons for going off in this way, and we know what those strong reasons usually amount to. But would a simple letter, without any witnesses, be sufficient to satisfy the court?”

  “Undoubtedly,” replied Thorndyke. “A properly attested letter is good evidence enough. It is just a question of what it contains. Let us suppose that we have a suitable letter. Then our procedure is perfectly simple. We produce it in court, and it is read and put in evidence. We say to the judge: ‘Here is a letter from the respondent to the petitioner, or her solicitor, as the case may be
. It is in answer to an advertisement, also read and put in evidence; the handwriting has been examined by the petitioner, by her solicitor, and by the respondent’s banker, and each of them swears that the writing and the signature are those of the respondent. In that letter the respondent clearly and definitely states that, he has left his wife for good; that under no circumstances will he ever return to her; that he refuses hereafter to contribute to her support; and that he has transferred his affections to another woman, who is now living with him as his wife.’ On that evidence I think we should have no difficulty in obtaining a decree.”

  Varney listened eagerly. He would have liked to make a few notes, but that would hardly do, though Thorndyke seemed to be a singularly simple-minded and confiding man. And he was amazingly easy to pump.

  “I don’t suppose Purcell would give himself away to that extent,” he remarked, “unless he was really keen on a divorce.”

  “It is extremely unlikely in any case,” Thorndyke agreed. “But we have to bear in mind that if he writes at all it will be with the object of stating his intentions as to the future and making his position clear. I shall draft the advertisement in such a way as to elicit this information, if possible. If he is not prepared to furnish the information he will not reply. If he replies it will be because, for his own purposes, he is willing to furnish the information.”

  “Yes, that is true. So that he may really give more information than one might expect. I wonder if he will write. What do you think?”

  “It is mere speculation,” replied Thorndyke. “But if I hadn’t some hopes of his writing I shouldn’t be at the trouble of putting in the advertisement. But perhaps Rodney is right: I may be unreasonably optimistic.”

  At Piccadilly Circus they parted and went their respective ways, each greatly pleased with the other and both highly amused. As soon as Thorndyke was out of sight, Varney whipped out his notebook, and by the light of a street lamp made a careful note of the necessary points of the required letter. That letter also occupied Thorndyke’s mind, and he only hoped that the corresponding agent of Daniel Purcell, deceased, would not allow his enthusiasm to carry him to the extent of producing a letter the contents of which would stamp the case as one of rank collusion. For in this letter Thorndyke saw a way, and the only way, out for Margaret Purcell. He knew, or at least was fully convinced, that her husband was dead. But he had no evidence that he could take into court, nor did he expect that he ever would have. It would be years before it would be possible to apply to presume Purcell’s death, and throughout those years Margaret’s life would be spoiled. This letter was a fiction. The erring husband was a fiction. But it would be better that Margaret should be liberated by a fiction than that she should drag out a ruined life shackled to a husband who was himself a fiction.

  CHAPTER XII

  In which Varney once more Pulls the Strings

  For the second time, in connection with the death of Daniel Purcell, Mr. Varney found it necessary to give an attentive eye to the movements of the postman. He had ascertained from the post office the times at which letters were delivered in the neighbourhood of Margaret’s flat; and now, in the gloom of a December evening, he lurked in the vicinity until he saw the postman approaching down the street and delivering letters at the other flats on his way. Then he entered the now familiar portals, and made his way quietly up the stairs until he reached Margaret’s outer door. Here he paused for a few moments, standing quite still and listening intently. If he had been discovered he would have simply come to pay a call. But he was not, and the silence from within suggested that there was nobody in the hall. With a furtive look round, he drew a letter from his pocket and silently slipped it into the letter-box, catching the flap on his finger as it fell to prevent it from making any sound. Then he turned and softly stole down the stairs; and as he reached the ground floor the postman walked into the entry.

  It was not without reluctance that he came away. For she was behind that door, almost certainly—she, his darling, for whose freedom from the imaginary shackles that she wore he was carrying out this particular deception. But his own guilty conscience made it seem to him that he had better not be present when the fabricated letter arrived. So he tore himself from the beloved precincts and went his way, thinking his thoughts and dreaming his dreams.

  Varney’s surmise was correct. Margaret was within. But it was perhaps as well that he had refrained from paying a call, for she was not alone, and his visit would not have been entirely welcome. About half an hour before his arrival Jack Rodney had ascended those stairs, and had been admitted in time to join Margaret at a somewhat belated tea.

  “My excuse for coming to see you,” said Rodney, “is in my pocket—the front page of The Times.”

  “I don’t know what you mean by an excuse,” Margaret replied. “You know perfectly well that I am always delighted to see you. But perhaps you mean an excuse to yourself for wasting your time in gossiping with me.”

  “Indeed, I don’t,” said he. “I count no time so profitably employed as that which I spend here.”

  “I don’t quite see what profit you get,” she rejoined, “unless it is the moral benefit of doing a kindness to a lonely woman.”

  “I should like to take that view if I honestly could. But the fact is that I come here for the very great pleasure of seeing you and talking to you, and the profit that I get is that very great pleasure. I only wish the proprieties allowed me to come oftener.”

  “So do I,” she said frankly. “But you know that, too. And now tell me what there is in the front page of The Times that gave you this sorely needed excuse.”

  Rodney laughed in a boisterous, schoolboy fashion as he drew from his pocket a folded leaf of the newspaper. “It’s the great advertisement,” said he. “The Thorndyke-Varney or Varney-Thorndyke advertisement. It came out yesterday morning. Compose yourself to listen, and I’ll read it out to you.”

  He opened the paper out, refolded it into a convenient size, and with a portentous preliminary “Ahem!” read aloud in a solemn sing-song:

  “PURCELL, D., is earnestly requested to communicate to M. or her solicitor his intentions with regard to the future. If his present arrangements are permanent, she would be grateful if he would notify her to that effect, in order that she may make the necessary modifications in her own.’

  As he finished, he looked up at her and laughed contemptuously.

  “Well, Maggie,” said he, “what do you think of it?”

  She laughed merrily, and looked at him with hardly disguised fondness and admiration. “What a schoolboy you are, John!” she exclaimed. “How annoyed Dr. Thorndyke would be if he could hear you! But it is rather funny. I can imagine Dan’s face when he reads it—if he ever does read it.”

  “So can I,” chuckled Rodney. “I can see him pulling down his lower lip and saying, ‘Gur!’ in that pleasant way that he has. But isn’t it a perfectly preposterous exhibition? Just imagine a man of Thorndyke’s position doing a thing like this! Why, it is beneath the dignity of a country attorney’s office-boy. I can’t conceive how he got his reputation. He seems to be an absolute greenhorn.”

  “Probably he is quite good at his own speciality,” suggested Margaret.

  “But this is his own speciality. The truth is that the ordinary lawyer’s prejudice against experts is to a great extent justified. They are really humbugs and pretenders. You saw what his attitude was when I suggested that he should get Dan under observation. Of course, it was the obvious thing to do, and one would suppose that it would be quite in his line. Yet as soon as I made the suggestion he raised all sorts of difficulties; whereas a common private inquiry agent would have made no difficulty about it at all.”

  “Do you think not?” Margaret asked, a little eagerly. “Perhaps it might be worth while to employ one. It would be such a blessed thing to get rid of Dan for good.”

  “It would, indeed,” Rodney agreed heartily. “But perhaps we had better see if, Thorndyke gets a bite. If
he fails we can try the other plan.”

  Margaret was slightly disappointed. She wanted to see some progress made, and was a little impatient of the law’s delays. But the truth is that Rodney had been speaking rather at random. When he came to consider what information he had to give to a private detective, the affair did not look quite such plain sailing.

  “Perhaps,” said Margaret, “Dr. Thorndyke was right in giving Mr. Varney’s plan a trial. We are no worse off if it fails; and if it were by any chance to succeed, oh, what a relief it would be! Not that there is the slightest chance that it will.”

  “Not a dog’s chance,” agreed Rodney, “and Thorndyke was an ass to have anything to do with the advertisement. He should have let Varney put it in. No one expects an artist to show any particular legal acumen.”

  “Poor Mr. Varney!” murmured Margaret with a faint smile; and at this moment the housemaid entered the room with a couple of letters on a salver. Margaret took the letters, and, having thanked the maid, laid them on the table by her side.

  “Won’t you read your letters?” said Rodney. “You are not going to make a stranger of me, I hope.”

  “Thank you,” she replied. “If you will excuse me I will just see whom they are from.”

  She took up the top letter, opened it, glanced through it, and laid it down. Then she picked up the second letter, and as her glance fell on the address she uttered a little cry of amazement.

  “What is it?” asked Rodney.

  She held the envelope out for him to see. “It’s from Dan!” she exclaimed; and forthwith she tore it open and eagerly took out the letter.

  As she read it, Rodney watched her with mingled amusement, vexation, and astonishment. The utterly inconceivable thing had happened. Thorndyke had taken odds of a million to one against and it had come off. That was just a piece of pure luck. It reflected no particular credit on Thorndyke’s judgment; but still, Rodney rather wished he had been less dogmatic.