The First R. Austin Freeman Megapack: 27 Mystery Tales of Dr. Thorndyke & Others

by R. Austin Freeman

  I laid the open notebook before me and read out the first entry:

  “‘Eight fifty-eight. West by South. Start from home. Horse thirteen hands.’”

  “You turned round at once, I understand,” said Thorndyke, “so we draw no line in that direction. The next is—?”

  “‘Eight fifty-eight minutes, thirty seconds, East by North’; and the next is ‘Eight fifty-nine, North-east.’”

  “Then you travelled east by north about a fifteenth of a mile and we shall put down half an inch on the chart. Then you turned north-east. How long did you go on?”

  “Exactly a minute. The next entry is ‘Nine. West north-west.’”

  “Then you travelled about the seventh of a mile in a north-easterly direction and we draw a line an inch long at an angle of forty-five degrees to the right of the north and south line. From the end of that we carry a line at an angle of fifty-six and a quarter degrees to the left of the north and south line, and so on. The method is perfectly simple, you see.”

  “Perfectly; I quite understand it now.”

  I went back to my chair and continued to read out the entries from the notebook while Thorndyke laid off the lines of direction with the protractor, taking out the distances with the dividers from a scale of equal parts on the back of the instrument. As the work proceeded, I noticed, from time to time, a smile of quiet amusement spread over my colleague’s keen, attentive face, and at each new reference to a railway bridge he chuckled softly.

  “What, again!” he laughed, as I recorded the passage of the fifth or sixth bridge. “It’s like a game of croquet. Go on. What is the next?”

  I went on reading out the notes until I came to the final one:

  “‘Nine twenty-four. South-east. In covered way. Stop. Wooden gates closed.’”

  Thorndyke ruled off the last line, remarking: “Then your covered way is on the south side of a street which bears north-east. So we complete our chart. Just look at your route, Jervis.”

  He held up the board with a quizzical smile and I stared in astonishment at the chart. The single line, which represented the route of the carriage, zigzagged in the most amazing manner, turning, re-turning and crossing itself repeatedly, evidently passing more than once down the same thoroughfares and terminating at a comparatively short distance from its commencement.

  “Why!” I exclaimed, the “rascal must have lived quite near to Stillbury’s house!”

  Thorndyke measured with the dividers the distance between the starting and arriving points of the route and took it off from the scale.

  “Five-eighths of a mile, roughly,” he said. “You could have walked it in less than ten minutes. And now let us get out the ordnance map and see if we can give to each of those marvellously erratic lines ‘a local habitation and a name.’”

  He spread the map out on the table and placed our chart by its side.

  “I think,” said he, “you started from Lower Kennington Lane?”

  “Yes, from this point,” I replied, indicating the spot with a pencil.

  “Then,” said Thorndyke, “if we swing the chart round twenty degrees to correct the deviation of the compass, we can compare it with the ordnance map.”

  He set off with the protractor an angle of twenty degrees from the north and south line and turned the chart round to that extent. After closely scrutinizing the map and the chart and comparing the one with the other, he said:

  “By mere inspection it seems fairly easy to identify the thoroughfares that correspond to the lines of the chart. Take the part that is near your destination. At nine twenty-one you passed under a bridge, going westward. That would seem to be Glasshouse Street. Then you turned south, apparently along the Albert Embankment, where you heard the tug’s whistle. Then you heard a passenger train start on your left; that would be Vauxhall Station. Next you turned round due east and passed under a large railway bridge, which suggests the bridge that carries the Station over Upper Kennington Lane. If that is so, your house should be on the south side of Upper Kennington Lane, some three hundred yards from the bridge. But we may as well test our inferences by one or two measurements.”

  “How can you do that if you don’t know the exact scale of the chart?”

  “I will show you,” said Thorndyke. “We shall establish the true scale and that will form part of the proof.”

  He rapidly constructed on the upper blank part of the paper, a proportional diagram consisting of two intersecting lines with a single cross-line.

  “This long line,” he explained, “is the distance from Stillbury’s house to the Vauxhall railway bridge as it appears on the chart; the shorter cross-line is the same distance taken from the ordnance map. If our inference is correct and the chart is reasonably accurate, all the other distances will show a similar proportion. Let us try some of them. Take the distance from Vauxhall bridge to the Glasshouse Street bridge.”

  He made the two measurements carefully, and, as the point of the dividers came down almost precisely in the correct place on the diagram, he looked up at me.

  “Considering the roughness of the method by which the chart was made, I think that is pretty conclusive, though, if you look at the various arches that you passed under and see how nearly they appear to follow the position of the South-Western Railway line, you hardly need further proof. But I will take a few more proportional measurements for the satisfaction of proving the case by scientific methods before we proceed to verify our conclusions by a visit to the spot.”

  He took off one or two more distances, and on comparing them with the proportional distances on the ordnance map, found them in every case as nearly correct as could be expected.

  “Yes,” said Thorndyke, laying down the dividers, “I think we have narrowed down the locality of Mr. Weiss’s house to a few yards in a known street. We shall get further help from your note of nine twenty-three thirty, when records a patch of newly laid macadam extending up to the house.”

  “That new macadam will be pretty well smoothed down by now,” I objected.

  “Not so very completely,” answered Thorndyke. “It is only a little over a month ago, and there has been very little wet weather since. It may be smooth, but it will be easily distinguishable from the old.”

  “And do I understand that you propose to go and explore the neighbourhood?”

  “Undoubtedly I do. That is to say, I intend to convert the locality of this house into a definite address; which, I think, will now be perfectly easy, unless we should have the bad luck to find more than one covered way. Even then, the difficulty would be trifling.”

  “And when you have ascertained where Mr. Weiss lives? What then?”

  “That will depend on circumstances. I think we shall probably call at Scotland Yard and have a little talk with our friend Mr. Superintendent Miller; unless, for any reason, it seems better to look into the case ourselves.”

  “When is this voyage of exploration to take place?”

  Thorndyke considered this question, and, taking out his pocket-book, glanced through his engagements.

  “It seems to me,” he said, “that tomorrow is a fairly free day. We could take the morning without neglecting other business. I suggest that we start immediately after breakfast. How will that suit my learned friend?”

  “My time is yours,” I replied; “and if you choose to waste it on matters that don’t concern you, that’s your affair.”

  “Then we will consider the arrangement to stand for tomorrow morning, or rather, for this morning, as I see that it is past twelve.”

  With this Thorndyke gathered up the chart and instruments and we separated for the night.

  Chapter IX

  The House of Mystery

  Half-past nine on the following morning found us spinning along the Albert Embankment in a hansom to the pleasant tinkle of the horse’s bell. Thorndyke appeared to be in high spirits, though the full enjoyment of the matutinal pipe precluded fluent conversation. As a precaution, he had put my notebook
in his pocket before starting, and once or twice he took it out and looked over its pages; but he made no reference to the object of our quest, and the few remarks that he uttered would have indicated that his thoughts were occupied with other matters.

  Arrived at Vauxhall Station, we alighted and forthwith made our way to the bridge that spans Upper Kennington Lane near its junction with Harleyford Road.

  “Here is our starting point,” said Thorndyke. “From this place to the house is about three hundred yards—say four hundred and twenty paces—and at about two hundred paces we ought to reach our patch of new road-metal. Now, are you ready? If we keep step we shall average our stride.”

  We started together at a good pace, stepping out with military regularity and counting aloud as we went. As we told out the hundred and ninety-fourth pace I observed Thorndyke nod towards the roadway a little ahead, and, looking at it attentively as we approached, it was easy to see by the regularity of surface and lighter colour, that it had recently been re-metalled.

  Having counted out the four hundred and twenty paces, we halted, and Thorndyke turned to me with a smile of triumph.

  “Not a bad estimate, Jervis,” said he. “That will be your house if I am not much mistaken. There is no other mews or private roadway in sight.”

  He pointed to a narrow turning some dozen yards ahead, apparently the entrance to a mews or yard and closed by a pair of massive wooden gates.

  “Yes,” I answered, “there can be no doubt that this is the place; but, by Jove!” I added, as we drew nearer, “the nest is empty! Do you see?”

  I pointed to a bill that was stuck on the gate, bearing, as I could see at this distance, the inscription “To Let.”

  “Here is a new and startling, if not altogether unexpected, development,” said Thorndyke, as we stood gazing at the bill; which set forth that “these premises, including stabling and workshops,” were “to be let on lease or otherwise,” and referred inquiries to Messrs. Ryebody Brothers, house-agents and valuers, Upper Kennington Lane. “The question is, should we make a few inquiries of the agent, or should we get the keys and have a look at the inside of the house? I am inclined to do both, and the latter first, if Messrs. Ryebody Brothers will trust us with the keys.”

  We proceeded up the lane to the address given, and, entering the office, Thorndyke made his request—somewhat to the surprise of the clerk; for Thorndyke was not quite the kind of person whom one naturally associates with stabling and workshops. However, there was no difficulty, but as the clerk sorted out the keys from a bunch hanging from a hook, he remarked:

  “I expect you will find the place in a rather dirty and neglected condition. The house has not been cleaned yet; it is just as it was left when the brokers took away the furniture.”

  “Was the last tenant sold up, then?” Thorndyke asked.

  “Oh, no. He had to leave rather unexpectedly to take up some business in Germany.”

  “I hope he paid his rent,” said Thorndyke.

  “Oh, yes. Trust us for that. But I should say that Mr. Weiss— that was his name—was a man of some means. He seemed to have plenty of money, though he always paid in notes. I don’t fancy he had a banking account in this country. He hadn’t been here more than about six or seven months and I imagine he didn’t know many people in England, as he paid us a cash deposit in lieu of references when he first came.”

  “I think you said his name was Weiss. It wouldn’t be H. Weiss by any chance?”

  “I believe it was. But I can soon tell you.” He opened a drawer and consulted what looked like a book of receipt forms. “Yes; H. Weiss. Do you know him, sir?”

  “I knew a Mr. H. Weiss some years ago. He came from Bremen, I remember.”

  “This Mr. Weiss has gone back to Hamburg,” the clerk observed.

  “Ah,” said Thorndyke, “then it would seem not to be the same. My acquaintance was a fair man with a beard and a decidedly red nose and he wore spectacles.”

  “That’s the man. You’ve described him exactly,” said the clerk, who was apparently rather easily satisfied in the matter of description.

  “Dear me,” said Thorndyke; “what a small world it is. Do you happen to have a note of his address in Hamburg?”

  “I haven’t,” the clerk replied. “You see we’ve done with him, having got the rent, though the house is not actually surrendered yet. Mr. Weiss’s housekeeper still has the front-door key. She doesn’t start for Hamburg for a week or so, and meanwhile she keeps the key so that she can call every day and see if there are any letters.”

  “Indeed,” said Thorndyke. “I wonder if he still has the same housekeeper.”

  “This lady is a German,” replied the clerk, “with a regular jaw-twisting name. Sounded like Shallybang.”

  “Schallibaum. That is the lady. A fair woman with hardly any eyebrows and a pronounced cast in the left eye.”

  “Now that’s very curious, sir,” said the clerk. “It’s the same name, and this is a fair woman with remarkably thin eyebrows, I remember, now that you mention it But it can’t be the same person. I have only seen her a few times and then only just for a minute or so; but I’m quite certain she had no cast in her eye. So, you see, sir, she can’t be the same person. You can dye your hair or you can wear a wig or you can paint your face; but a squint is a squint. There’s no faking a swivel eye.”

  Thorndyke laughed softly. “I suppose not; unless, perhaps, some one might invent an adjustable glass eye. Are these the keys?”

  “Yes, sir. The large one belongs to the wicket in the front gate. The other is the latch-key belonging to the side door. Mrs. Shallybang has the key of the front door.”

  “Thank you,” said Thorndyke. He took the keys, to which a wooden label was attached, and we made our way back towards the house of mystery, discussing the clerk’s statements as we went.

  “A very communicable young gentleman, that,” Thorndyke remarked. “He seemed quite pleased to relieve the monotony of office work with a little conversation. And I am sure I was very delighted to indulge him.”

  “He hadn’t much to tell, all the same,” said I.

  Thorndyke looked at me in surprise. “I don’t know what you would have, Jervis, unless you expect casual strangers to present you with a ready-made body of evidence, fully classified, with all the inferences and implications stated. It seemed to me that he was a highly instructive young man.”

  “What did you learn from him?” I asked.

  “Oh, come, Jervis,” he protested; “is that a fair question, under our present arrangement? However, I will mention a few points. We learn that about six or seven months ago, Mr. H. Weiss dropped from the clouds into Kennington Lane and that he has now ascended from Kennington Lane into the clouds. That is a useful piece of information. Then we learn that Mrs. Schallibaum has remained in England; which might be of little importance if it were not for a very interesting corollary that it suggests.”

  “What is that?”

  “I must leave you to consider the facts at your leisure; but you will have noticed the ostensible reason for her remaining behind. She is engaged in puttying up the one gaping joint in their armour. One of them has been indiscreet enough to give this address to some correspondent—probably a foreign correspondent. Now, as they obviously wish to leave no tracks, they cannot give their new address to the Post Office to have their letters forwarded, and, on the other hand, a letter left in the box might establish such a connection as would enable them to be traced. Moreover, the letter might be of a kind that they would not wish to fall into the wrong hands. They would not have given this address excepting under some peculiar circumstances.”

  “No, I should think not, if they took this house for the express purpose of committing a crime in it.”

  “Exactly. And then there is one other fact that you may have gathered from our young friend’s remarks.”

  “What is that?”

  “That a controllable squint is a very valuable asset to a person who wis
hes to avoid identification.”

  “Yes, I did note that. The fellow seemed to think that it was absolutely conclusive.”

  “And so would most people; especially in the case of a squint of that kind. We can all squint towards our noses, but no normal person can turn his eyes away from one another. My impression is that the presence or absence, as the case might be, of a divergent squint would be accepted as absolute disproof of identity. But here we are.”

  He inserted the key into the wicket of the large gate, and, when we had stepped through into the covered way, he locked it from the inside.

  “Why have you locked us in?” I asked, seeing that the wicket had a latch.

  “Because,” he replied, “if we now hear any one on the premises we shall know who it is. Only one person besides ourselves has a key.”

  His reply startled me somewhat. I stopped and looked at him.

  “That is a quaint situation, Thorndyke. I hadn’t thought of it. Why she may actually come to the house while we are here; in fact, she may be in the house at this moment.”

  “I hope not,” said he. “We don’t particularly want Mr. Weiss to be put on his guard, for I take it, he is a pretty wide-awake gentleman under any circumstances. If she does come, we had better keep out of sight. I think we will look over the house first. That is of the most interest to us. If the lady does happen to come while we are here, she may stay to show us over the place and keep an eye on us. So we will leave the stables to the last.”

  We walked down the entry to the side door at which I had been admitted by Mrs. Schallibaum on the occasion of my previous visits. Thorndyke inserted the latch-key, and, as soon as we were inside, shut the door and walked quickly through into the hall, whither I followed him. He made straight for the front door, where, having slipped up the catch of the lock, he began very attentively to examine the letter-box. It was a somewhat massive wooden box, fitted with a lock of good quality and furnished with a wire grille through which one could inspect the interior.