The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack

by R. Austin Freeman

  “Now, Jasper,” said Miss Vernet, when she had shown them out, “the question is how we are to get you away from here. You can’t wear the prison clothes and you can’t go home in your costume. What are we to do, Lucy?”

  Miss Brandon reflected awhile and then suggested: “There’s that widow’s costume, you know. That would fit him.”

  “Yes, of course,” agreed Miss Vernet, “it’s the very thing. He shall put it on and I will walk home with him, myself.”

  And so the tragedy ended. Less than an hour later, a tall and gawky-looking widow might have been seen—but fortunately was not—sneaking up the stairs to the third floor of the house in Great Ormond Street. Pontifex was out shopping and came in later with a bottle under his arm. But by that time, my widowhood had come to an end. The resources of my wardrobe were slender, but they included two suits which I had outgrown before they had degenerated into mere scarecrow’s costume, and into one of these I insinuated myself cautiously and with some misgivings as to its tensile strength. But, of course, it was impossible. Even Sturt and Wopsall’s packer revolted at the sight of four inches of visible sock above my boots, and besides, I didn’t dare to stoop. Miss Vernet had delicately hinted as we walked home at a desire to replace my lost garments, but, grateful as I was to her the thing was not to be thought of when I had five golden sovereigns hidden away. Accordingly, the very next day, I disinterred two of them and, making my way to a shop of which I knew in the vicinity of Convent Garden, procured in exchange for them a most admirable second-hand suit, in which I came forth proudly with my outgrown exuvium under my arm. Never before had I been so well dressed. When I returned to the warehouse, the packer raised his brown-paper cap and made me a deep bow; and even Pontifex, who was not ordinarily acutely observant, eyed that suit in silence and with an evidently unsuccessful effort of memory.

  But there was a fly in the ointment—or perhaps I should say that there was a fly—a butterfly—missing from the ointment. I hastened to sew in at the back of the waistcoat a commodious secret pocket. But alas! that pocket was empty. The miserable wretch who had absconded in my patched and threadbare clothes, had, all unconsciously, been the bearer of a priceless treasure. In the agitation of the moment, I had forgotten the emerald that reposed at the back of his—or rather my—waistcoat. Now, too late, the realisation of my loss was borne in on me and remained for weeks a deep and abiding sorrow.

  CHAPTER VI

  A VISIT TO STRATFORD ATTE BOW

  (Dr. Jervis’s Narrative)

  The mystery surrounding the disappearance of Sir Edward Hardcastle was solved in a very startling and tragic manner; if, indeed, that can be called a solution which was even more mysterious than the problem which it solved. The news was brought to us late one afternoon by Mr. Brodribb, who burst into our chambers in a state of such extreme agitation that we were at once prepared for some tidings of disaster.

  “Here is a terrible thing, Thorndyke!” he exclaimed, dropping into a chair and mopping his face with his handkerchief. “Sir Edward has made away with himself.”

  Thorndyke was evidently surprised at the news, as also was I, but he made no comment beyond a half-articulate “Ha,” and Brodribb continued: “I have just had the information from the police. Superintendent Miller was kind enough to call on me and give me the report himself. He had no details but—to put the horrible affair in a nutshell—Sir Edward’s body was found this morning hanging from a beam in an empty house at Stratford.”

  “At Stratford!” Thorndyke repeated, incredulously. For if the news of the suicide itself was surprising, the alleged circumstances were amazing.

  “Yes,” said Brodribb, “it is an astonishing affair. I can’t imagine what can have taken him to Stratford. But I suppose that people in the state of mind that is associated with self-destruction are apt to behave in a rather unaccountable way. Perhaps some kind of explanation will be forthcoming at the inquest, which I understand from the Superintendent is to take place tomorrow. It appears that there are some circumstances that make it desirable to hold the inquiry as soon as possible.”

  We had no difficulty in guessing what those circumstances were, but neither of us made any comment.

  “I shall have to go,” Brodribb continued; “in fact the Superintendent warned me, but I should like you to be present to watch the proceedings, if you can manage it. Not that there is any real necessity, since there is no insurance question to raise and there seems unfortunately to be no doubt of the facts. But inquests are quite out of my province and I should feel more satisfied if I had your views on the affair.”

  “Very well,” said Thorndyke. “I will attend the inquest on your instructions. But I think I had better be present at the post mortem, too. I should wish to have an opportunity of forming a direct judgement on the facts as well as hearing the evidence of the medical witness.”

  Brodribb nodded approvingly. “That is what I like about you, Thorndyke,” said he. “You are so thorough—even beyond the necessities of the case. You take nothing on trust. But there is another matter. The Superintendent urged me—in fact, I may say that he ordered me—to go down to Stratford this evening and identify the body. He said that it was most important that the question of identity should be settled at once, and I suppose he is right. But it is frightfully unpleasant.”

  I suspected that it would be more unpleasant than he was aware of, but I kept my suspicions to myself; and he continued: “I don’t see why the identification couldn’t have been done by Weeks, Sir Edward’s butler. They have summoned him by telegraph—I left his name and address with Miller, you remember—and I suppose he will have to see the body. However, the Superintendent insisted that I ought to go this evening, so there is no help for it. I suppose you couldn’t come down with me?” he added, wistfully.

  “Yes,” Thorndyke replied, promptly, “I will come with you, and perhaps Jervis will keep us company.”

  He looked enquiringly at me, and, when I had assented—which I did readily enough—he resumed: “But there is one thing that must be done, at once, since there may not be time tomorrow. I must get a letter from the Home Office asking the coroner to give me the necessary facilities. Otherwise I may be refused permission to be present at the post mortem.”

  “Would that matter?” asked Brodribb. “There can’t be much question as to the cause of death.”

  “That is impossible to say,” replied Thorndyke. “If I am to attend I may as well be in a position to check the medical evidence. That, in fact, is my proper function.”

  “But you won’t find anybody at the Home Office now,” Brodribb objected.

  “I think I shall,” said Thorndyke. “There is always some responsible person on late duty to attend to urgent business. I suggest that you two go on to Stratford and wait for me at the police station.”

  “No, we won’t do that,” said Brodribb. “We will wait for you at my office and then we can all go down together.”

  To this arrangement Thorndyke agreed and took his departure forth en route for Whitehall, while Brodribb and I, in more leisurely fashion, made our way out into Fleet Street and so, by way of Carey Street to New Square. We did not, however, go into Brodribb’s office; for our old friend was in a state of nervous unrest, and now that he was to have our company on his distasteful errand, was all impatience to start. Accordingly we walked together up and down the pavement of the quiet square, exchanging now and again a few words but mostly occupied with our own thoughts.

  What Brodribb’s thoughts were I cannot guess, but my own were fully occupied by the communication that he had made to us. For, brief and sketchy as it was, it contained matter that certainly invited reflection. Thorndyke, I could see, was, if not actually suspicious, at least very definitely on his guard. His determination to check the official medical evidence by independent observation showed clearly that in his view there might be more in the case than might meet the eye of a routine investigator. And I found myself in complete agreement with him. The all
eged facts carried a distinct suggestion of fishiness. As to the probability of Sir Edward’s committing suicide I could form no opinion; but the circumstances in which the suicide had occurred called aloud for inquiry. I was, indeed, somewhat surprised at the easy-going fashion in which the usually astute Brodribb had accepted them. But perhaps I was doing him an injustice. Possibly he was purposely withholding his own doubts the better to test Thorndyke’s attitude.

  I had reached this point in my reflections when, on making a quarter-deck turn, I perceived my colleague advancing swiftly up the pavement from the Carey Street gate. We stepped out to meet him and, as he joined us, Brodribb greeted him with the comprehensive question: “Well, what news?”

  “I have got a letter for the coroner asking for facilities, and a hansom waiting opposite the gate.”

  “Hm,” grunted Brodribb, “it will be a damned tight fit.”

  And I must admit that it was. Three large men, one of whom was distinctly of “a full habit” were more than the coach-builder had made allowance for. However, Thorndyke and I bore the brunt of the squeeze, and the journey was not a long one. In due course we unpacked ourselves at Liverpool Street Station and presently boarded a train bound for Bow and Stratford.

  We travelled for the most part in silence, and what conversation passed was not connected with our present quest. There was, in fact, no opportunity for interchange of talk on confidential matters as our carriage contained, besides ourselves, three passengers, apparently businessmen returning, at the end of the day’s work, not indeed to Stratford, but to some of the more savoury localities in the neighbourhood of Epping Forest. At length a strange and repulsive effluvium which began to filter in at the windows, suggestive of soap-boiling, glue-making and other odoriferous forms of industry, announced our approach to the classical neighbourhood of Stratford atte Bow, and a minute or two later we disembarked, Brodribb snorting disgustedly and holding a large silk handkerchief to his nose. From the railway station we made our way to that of the police, to which Mr. Brodribb had been directed by Superintendent Miller; and presenting ourselves to the sergeant on duty in the outer office and stating our business, were duly conducted into the inner office and the presence of the Station Superintendent.

  The latter turned out to be an eminently helpful officer. Possibly the Home Office letter (which, though it was addressed to the coroner, was shown to the Superintendent) requesting that Dr. Thorndyke should be given such facilities as he might reasonably require, might have influenced him, to say nothing of our virtual introduction by Superintendent Miller. But apart from this, he was a capable, businesslike man, quite free from any tendency to red tape officialism and naturally inclined rather to help than to obstruct. Accordingly, when we had presented our credentials and explained our connection with the case, he proceeded to give us, without reserve, all the information that he possessed.

  “The discovery,” he began, “was made this morning about nine o’clock by a man named Holker, a retired ship’s steward who owns a good deal of low-class weekly property about here—mostly small houses that he has picked up cheap and put in some sort of repair himself. He’s what you’d call a handy man, able to do a job of bricklaying or plastering or joinery, so it doesn’t cost him much to codge up these old derelicts that he buys. Now, some time ago he bought a row of half a dozen little houses that some fool had built on a bit of waste land down by Abbey Creek. He got them for next to nothing as they had never been inhabited and were in a ruinous condition and stood by an unmade road that was often half under water. He meant to do them up and let them at low rents to some of the labourers at the works. In fact he started work on one of them—Number Five—about a month ago, that is how we are able to fix the dates. The last time he was working there was Sunday, the twenty-first of June, and he is quite sure that nothing had happened then because he went all over the house. On Sunday night he was offered, and accepted, a temporary job on one of his old ships which traded to Marseilles; and on Monday morning he dropped in at the house to fetch away his tools. As he was in a hurry, he only went into the front room, where the tools had been left, but he could see that someone had been in the house by the fact that a glove was lying on the floor. He thought it queer, but, as I said, he was in a hurry and as it was an empty house with nothing in it to steal, he didn’t trouble to look into the matter but just got his tools and came away.

  “That was three weeks ago—this is the fourteenth. Now, Holker got back from his trip yesterday, and this morning he went round to get on with his work at the house. As soon as he got there he noticed the glove still lying on the floor. And then he noticed—well he noticed that there was something wrong about the house, so he went through to the kitchen and from there to the wash-house; and the first thing he saw when he opened the wash-house door was a man hanging from a tie-beam. There was no doubt that the man was dead and that he had been dead a pretty long time. Holker didn’t stop to cut the body down. He just bolted out and came up here to report what he had seen. I happened to be here at the time so I thought I had better go along and see into the affair, though the job didn’t sound much of a catch from what Holker said. And I can tell you it wasn’t. However, I needn’t go into that. You can imagine what it was like for yourselves.

  “Well, there was the body hanging from the beam and an old, broken-backed windsor chair capsized on the floor underneath. Evidently he had stood on the chair to tie the rope to the beam and when he had fixed the noose round his neck he had kicked the chair over and left himself dangling. It was all pretty obvious, fortunately, for one didn’t want to spend a lot of time in that wash-house making observations. I just cut the rope when the constables had got the stretcher underneath and they lowered the body on to it, covered it up and carried it away.”

  “Concerning the rope,” said Thorndyke, as the Superintendent paused; “I presume deceased found that on the premises?

  “No,” the officer replied, “he must have brought the rope with him for it wasn’t Hiker’s. It was a smallish, brown rope—looked like coir—and he’d brought more than he wanted, for there was a spare end about four feet long.”

  “And with regard to the glove that was mentioned—?”

  “Yes, I saw that in the front room. The fellow one was on the wash-house floor. I picked them both up and I’ve got them here.”

  “By the way,” said Thorndyke, “how do you suppose the deceased man got into the house?”

  “He must have got in by the window. He didn’t get in by the front door, for Holker is sure he shut it when he left on Sunday and he found it shut when he went there on Monday morning. Of course, the lock is only a cheap builder’s night-latch that anyone used to locks could open easily enough. But I don’t suppose the deceased gentleman was accustomed to picking locks; and he didn’t open it with a key because he hadn’t a key of any sort about him.”

  “I don’t suppose,” Thorndyke remarked, “that he was much accustomed to getting in at windows.”

  “Probably not,” the officer agreed. “But, you see, sir, he got in somehow; and Holker found the sitting-room window unfastened on the Monday morning. So it would have been easy enough for anyone to get in. The window-sill is only about two feet six above the ground. And you remember that the one glove was lying on the sitting-room floor. As a matter of fact, it was just under the window.”

  There was silence for a few moments. Then Brodribb remarked: “The officer from Scotland Yard mentioned that the body had been identified by some letters that were found in the pockets. I suppose there were some other things?”

  “Yes, but mighty few considering the man’s position; and yet enough to show that the body had not been robbed. I’ve got the things here if you would like to see them.”

  He stepped over to a nest of drawers which stood on a massive shelf, and, unlocking one of the drawers, drew it out bodily and brought it over to the table at which we were sitting. “There’s the collection,” said he. “It isn’t quite what you’d expect
to find on the person of a baronet. Look at that watch, for instance. Sort of thing that you could pick up at a cheap jeweller’s for seven and six. What is rather odd, too, is that there are no keys. Not even a latch-key.”

  “He left his keys and his gold watch and some other valuables at his club,” said Brodribb as he ran a gloomy eye over the contents of the drawer.

  “Ah! Did he? Yes, very natural and very proper, too, having regard to what he intended to do. I’ll make a note of that. It will be an important point for the coroner.”

  Brodribb was evidently sorry that he had spoken, but he did not lose his presence of mind. “Yes,” he agreed. “The secretary of the club, Mr. Northbrook, will be able to tell you about it. I suppose you will have to summon him as a witness as Sir Edward was staying at the club.”

  “Yes, we shall want his evidence, and in fact, a summons has been served on him,” the Superintendent replied, adding with a faint smile, “I take it that you’d rather not be called. But I’m afraid it can’t be helped. You know more about his private and financial affairs than anybody else. The butler has been summoned, but he can’t tell us what state the deceased’s affairs were in, whereas you can give any information that is wanted. My sergeant, here, is the coroner’s officer and he will hand you the summons when he takes you over to the mortuary.”

  “Do you really think it necessary for me to go there?” Mr. Brodribb protested with evident discomfort. “The butler will be able to testify to the identity.”

  “Yes,” the officer agreed, “that is so. But for our own information, now, we should like to know whether this is or is not Sir Edward’s body. You had better run over and just take a glance at it.”