Presently a light rain began to fall. Foreseeing that I should have to curtail my walk, I stepped forward more briskly, and, passing between the posts, entered the narrowest and most secluded part of the lane. But now the rain suddenly increased, and a squall of wind drove it athwart the path. I drew up in the shelter of one of the tall oak fences by which the lane is here inclosed, and waited for the shower to pass. And as I stood with my back to the fence, pensively filling my pipe, I became for the first time sensible of the utter solitude of the place.
I looked about me and listened. The lane was darker here than elsewhere; a mere trench between the high fences. I could dimly see the posts at the entrance and a group of large elms over-shadowing them. In the other direction, where the lane doubled sharply upon itself, was absolute, inky blackness, save where a faint glimmer from the wet ground showed the corner of the fence and a projecting stump or tree-root jutting out from the corner and looking curiously like a human foot with the toes pointed upward.
The rain fell steadily with a soft, continuous murmur; the leaves of the elm-trees whispered together and answered the falling rain. The Scotch pines above my head stirred in the breeze with a sound like the surge of the distant sea. The voices of Nature, hushed and solemn, oblivious of man like the voices of the wilderness; and over all and through all, a profound, enveloping silence.
I drew up closer to the fence and shivered slightly, for the night was growing chill. It seemed a little lighter now in the narrow, trench-like lane; not that the sky was less murky but because the ground was now flooded with water. The posts stood out less vaguely against the background of wet road, and the odd-looking stump by the corner was almost distinct. And again it struck me as looking curiously like a foot—a booted foot with the toe pointing upwards.
The chime of a church clock sounded across the Heath, a human voice, this, penetrating the desolate silence. Then, after an interval, the solemn boom of Big Ben came up faintly from the sleeping city.
Midnight! Tme for me to go home. It was of no use to wait for the rain to cease. This was no passing shower, but a steady drizzle that might last till morning. I re-lit my pipe, turned up my collar, and prepared to plunge into the rain. And as I stepped out, the queer-looking stump caught my eye once more. It was singularly like a foot; and it was odd, too, that I had never noticed it before in my many rambles through the lane.
A sudden, childish curiosity impelled me to see what it really was before I went, and the next moment I was striding sharply up the sodden path. Of course, I expected the illusion to vanish as I approached. But it did not. The resemblance increased as I drew nearer, and I hurried forward with something more than curiosity.
It was a foot! I realized it with a shock while I was some paces away; and, as I reached the corner, I came upon the body of a man lying in the sharp turn of the path; and the limp, sprawling posture, with one leg doubled under, told its tale at a glance.
I laid my finger on his wrist. It was clammy and cold, and not a vestige of a pulse could I detect. I struck a wax match and held it to his face. The eyes were wide-open and filmy, staring straight up into the reeking sky. The dilated pupils were insensitive to the glare of the match, the eyeballs insensitive to the touch of my finger.
Beyond all doubt the man was dead.
But how had he died? Had he simply fallen dead from some natural cause, or had he been murdered? There was no obvious injury, and no sign of blood. All that the momentary glimmer of the match showed was that his clothes were shiny with the wet; a condition that might easily, in the weak light, mask a considerable amount of bleeding.
When the match went out, I stood for some moments looking down on the prostrate figure as it lay with the rain beating down on the upturned face, professional interest contending with natural awe of the tragic presence. The former prompted me to ascertain without delay the cause of death; and, indeed, I was about to make a more thorough search for some injury or wound when something whispered to me that it is not well to be alone at midnight in a solitary place with a dead man—perchance a murdered man. Had there been any sign of life, my duty would have been clear. As it was, I must act for the best with a due regard to my own safety. And, reaching this conclusion, I turned away, with a last glance at the motionless figure and set forth homeward at a rapid pace.
As I turned out of Millfield Lane into Highgate Rise I perceived a policeman on the opposite side of the road standing under a tree, where the light from a lamp fell on his shining tarpaulin cape. I crossed the road, and, as he civilly touched his helmet, I said: “I am afraid there is something wrong up the lane, Constable; I have just seen the body of a man lying on the pathway.”
The constable woke up very completely. “Do you mean a dead man, sir?” he asked.
“Yes, he is undoubtedly dead,” I replied.
“Whereabouts did you see the body?” enquired the constable.
“In the narrow part of the lane, just by the stables of Mansfield House.”
“That’s some distance from here,” said the constable. “You had better come with me and report at the station. You’re sure the man was dead, sir?”
“Yes, I have no doubt about it. I am a medical man,” I added, with some pride (I had been a medical man about three months, and the sensation was still a novel one).
“Oh, are you, sir?” said the officer, with a glance at my half-fledged countenance; “then, I suppose you examined the body?”
“Sufficiently to make sure that the man was dead, but I did not stay to ascertain the cause of death.”
“No, sir; quite so. We can find that out later.”
As we talked, the constable swung along down the hill, without hurry, but at a pace that gave me very ample exercise, and I caught his eye from time to time, travelling over my person with obvious professional interest. When we had nearly reached the bottom of the hill, there appeared suddenly on the wet road ahead, a couple of figures in waterproof capes. “Ha!” said the constable, “this is fortunate. Here is the inspector and the sergeant. That will save us the walk to the station.”
He accosted the officers as they approached and briefly related what I had told him. “You are sure the man was dead, sir?” said the inspector, scrutinizing me narrowly; “but, there, we needn’t stay here to discuss that. You run down, Sergeant, and get a stretcher and bring it along as quickly as you can. I must trouble you, sir, to come with me and show me where the body is. Lend the gentleman your cape, sergeant; you can get another at the station.”
I accepted the stout cape thankfully, for the rain still fell with steady persistency, and set forth with the inspector to retrace my steps. And as we splashed along through the deep gloom of the lane, the officer plied me with judicious questions. “How long did you think the man had been dead?” he asked.
“Not long, I should think. The body was still quite limp.”
“You didn’t see any marks of violence?”
“No. There were no obvious injuries.”
“Which way were you going when you came on the body?”
“The way we are going now, and, of course, I came straight back.”
“Did you meet or see anyone in the lane?”
“Not a soul,” I answered.
He considered my answers for some time, and then came the question that I had been expecting. “How came you to be in the lane at this time of night?”
“I was taking a walk,” I replied, “as I do nearly every night. I usually finish my evening’s reading about eleven, and then I have some supper and take a walk before going to bed, and I take my walk most commonly in Millfield Lane. Some of your men must remember having met me.”
This explanation seemed to satisfy him for he pursued the subject no farther, and we trudged on for awhile in silence. At length, as we passed through the posts into the narrow part of the lane, the inspector asked: “We’re nearly there, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” I replied: “the body is lying in the bend just ahead.”
The body had vanished! “What’s the matter?” asked the inspector. “I thought this was the place you meant.”
“So it is,” I answered. “This is the place where the body was lying; here, across the path, with one foot projecting round the corner. Someone must have carried it away.”
The inspector looked at me sharply for a moment. “Well, it isn’t here now,” said he, “and if it has been taken away, it must have been taken along towards Hampstead Lane. We’d better go and see.” Without waiting for a reply, he started off along the lane at a smart double and I followed.
We pursued the windings of the lane until we emerged into the road by the lodge gates, without discovering any traces of the missing corpse or meeting any person, and then we turned back and retraced our steps; and as we, once more, approached the crook in the lane where I had seen the body, we heard a quick, measured tramp. “Here comes the sergeant with the stretcher,” observed the inspector; “and he might have saved himself the trouble.” Once more the officer glanced at me sharply, and this time with unmistakable suspicion. “There’s no body here, Robson,” he said, as the sergeant came up, accompanied by two constables carrying a stretcher. “It seems to have disappeared.”
“Disappeared!” exclaimed the sergeant, bestowing on me a look of extreme disfavour; “that’s a rum go, sir. How could it have disappeared?”
“Ah! That’s the question!” said the inspector. “And another question is, was it ever here? Are you prepared to make a sworn statement on the subject, sir?”
“Certainly I am,” I replied.
“Then,” said the inspector, “we will take it that there was a body here. Put down that stretcher. There is a gap in the fence farther along. We will get through there and search the meadow.”
The bearers stood the stretcher up against a tree and we all proceeded up the lane to the place where the observant inspector had noticed the opening in the fence. The gravel, though sodden with the wet, took but the faintest impressions of the feet that trod it, and, though the sergeant and the two constables threw the combined light of their lanterns on the ground, we were only able to make out very faintly the occasional traces of our own footsteps.
We scrutinized the break in the fence and the earth around with the utmost minuteness, but could detect no sign of anyone having passed through. The short turf of the meadow, on which I had seen sheep grazing in the daytime, was not calculated to yield traces of anyone passing over it, and no traces of any kind were discoverable. When we had searched the meadow thoroughly and without result, we came back into the lane and followed its devious course to the “kissing-gate” at the Hampstead Lane entrance. And still there was no sign of anything unusual. True, there were obscure footprints in the soft gravel by the turnstile, but they told us nothing; we could not even be sure that they had not been made by ourselves on our previous visit. In short, the net result of our investigations was that the body had vanished and left no trace. “It’s a very extraordinary affair,” said the inspector, in a tone of deep discontent, as we walked back. “The body of a full-grown man isn’t the sort of thing you can put in your pocket and stroll off with without being noticed, even at midnight. Are you perfectly sure the man was really dead and not in a faint?”
“I feel no doubt whatever that he was dead,” I replied.
“With all respect to you, sir,” said the sergeant, “I think you must be mistaken. I think the man must have been in a dead faint, and after you came away, the rain must have revived him so that he was able to get up and walk away.”
“I don’t think so,” said I, though with less conviction; for, after all, it was not absolutely impossible that I should have been mistaken, since I had discovered no mortal injury, and the sergeant’s suggestion was an eminently reasonable one.
“What sized man was he?” the inspector asked. “That I couldn’t say,” I answered. “It is not easy to judge the height of a man when he is lying down and the light was excessively dim. But I should say he was not a tall man and rather slight in build.”
“Could you give us any description of him?”
“He was an elderly man, about sixty, I should think, and he appeared to be a clergyman or a priest, for he wore a Roman collar with a narrow, dark stripe up the front. He was clean shaven, and, I think, wore a clerical suit of black. A tall hat was lying on the ground close by and a walking-stick which looked like a malacca, but I couldn’t see it very well as he had fallen on it and most of it was hidden.”
“And you saw all this by the light of one wax match,” said the inspector. “You made pretty good use of your eyes, sir.”
“A man isn’t much use in my profession if he doesn’t,” I replied, rather stiffly.
“No, that’s true,” the inspector agreed. “Well, I must ask you to give us the full particulars at the station, and we shall see if anything fresh turns up. I’m sorry to keep you hanging about in the wet, but it can’t be helped.”
“Of course it can’t,” said I, and we trudged on in silence until we reached the station, which looked quite cheerful and homelike despite the grim blue lamp above the doorway. “Well, Doctor,” said the inspector, when he had read over my statement and I had affixed my signature, “if anything turns up, you’ll hear from us. But I doubt if we shall hear anything more of this. Dead or alive, the man seems to have vanished completely. Perhaps the sergeant’s right after all, and your dead man is at this moment comfortably tucked up in bed. Good-night, Doctor, and thank you for all the trouble you have taken.”
By the time that I reached my lodgings I was tired out and miserably cold; so cold that I was fain to brew myself a jorum of hot grog in my shaving pot. As a natural result, I fell fast asleep as soon as I got to bed and slept on until the autumn sunshine poured in through the slats of the Venetian blind.
CHAPTER II
THE FINDING OF THE RELIQUARY
I awoke on the following morning to a dim consciousness of something unusual, and, as my wits returned with the rapidity that is natural to the young and healthy, the surprising events of the previous night reconstituted themselves and once more set a-going the train of speculation. Vividly I saw with my mind’s eye the motionless figure lying limp and inert with the pitiless rain beating down on it; the fixed pupils, the insensitive eyeballs, the pulseless wrist and the sprawling posture. And again I saw the streaming path, void of its dreadful burden, the suspicious inspector, the incredulous sergeant; and the unanswerable questions formulated themselves anew.
Had I, after all, mistaken a living man for a dead body? It was in the highest degree improbable, and yet it was not impossible. Or had the body been spirited away without leaving a trace? That also was highly improbable and yet, not absolutely impossible. The two contending improbabilities cancelled one another. Each was as unlikely as the other.
I turned the problem over again and again as I shaved and took my bath. I pondered upon it over a late and leisurely breakfast. But no conclusion emerged from these reflections. The man, living or dead, had been lying motionless in the lane all the time that I was sheltering, and probably for some time before. In the interval of my absence he had vanished. These were actual facts despite the open incredulity of the police. How he had come there, what had occasioned his death or insensibility, how he had disappeared and whither he had gone; were questions to which no answer seemed possible.
The fatigues of the previous night had left me somewhat indolent. There was no occasion for me to go to the hospital today. It was vacation time; the school was closed; the teaching staff were mostly away, and there was little doing in the wards. I decided to take a holiday and spend a quiet day rambling about the Heath, and, having formed this resolution, I filled my pipe, slipped a sketch-book in
to my pocket, and set forth.
Automatically my feet turned towards Millfield Lane. It was, as I have said, my usual walk, and on this morning, with last night’s recollections fresh in my mind, it was natural that I should take my way thither.
Very different was the aspect of the lane this morning from that which I had last looked upon. The gloom and desolation of the night had given place to the golden sunshine of a lovely autumn day. The elms, clothed already in the sober livery of the waning year, sighed with pensive reminiscence of the summer that was gone; the ponds repeated the warm blue of the sky; and the lane itself was a vista of flickering sunlight and cool, reposeful shadow.
The narrow continuation beyond the posts was wrapped as always, in a sombre shade, save where a gleam of yellow light streamed through a chink between the boards of the fence. I made my way straight to the spot where the body had lain and stooped over it, examining each pebble with the closest scrutiny. But not a trace remained. The hard, gravelly soil retained no impress either of the body or even of our footsteps; and as for the stain of blood, if there had ever been any, it would have been immediately removed by the falling rain, for the ground here had a quite appreciable slope and must have been covered last night by a considerable flowing stream.
I went on to the break in the fence—it was on the right-hand side of the path—and was at once discouraged by the aspect of the ground; for even our rough tramplings had left hardly a trace behind. After an aimless walk across the meadow, now occupied by a flock of sheep, I returned to the lane and walked slowly back past the place where I had sheltered from the rain. And then it was that I discovered the first hint of any clue to the mystery. I had retraced my steps some little distance past the spot where I had seen the body, when my eye was attracted by a darkish streak on the upper part of the high fence. It was quite faint and not at all noticeable on the weather-stained oak, but it chanced to catch my eye and I stopped to examine it. The fence which bore it was the opposite one to that in which the break occurred, and, since I had sheltered under it, the side of it which looked towards the lane must have been the lee side and thus less exposed to the rain.
The First R. Austin Freeman Megapack: 27 Mystery Tales of Dr. Thorndyke & Others Page 137
