I laughed with malicious glee. “Really, Thorndyke,” I chuckled, “I am surprised at you! Actually, you are going to set Miller on to ginger up Singleton and induce him to swear to a doubtful fingerprint. And this after all your professions of scepticism regarding fingerprint evidence!”
“My dear Jervis,” he replied with an indulgent smile, “let us be reasonable. If this fingerprint conforms in pattern to the one at the Record Office, it is Zichlinsky’s fingerprint. There is no question of forgery. It is obviously a real fingerprint. The only problem is its identity of pattern. And we are not proposing to ask for a conviction on it. We shall use it merely to enable us to secure the person of Zichlinsky and charge him with the crime. Nor need you be uneasy about Singleton. He won’t swear to the print unless he is prepared to prove its identity in court, factor by factor, on an enlarged photograph.”
“No, I suppose he won’t. But what plan of action is in your mind? Assuming that all our suspicions are confirmed, including the fingerprint; what do you propose to do?”
“I propose to make arrangements with Miller that the whereabouts of each of the parties shall be ascertained and an overwhelming force kept ready for action at a moment’s notice. Then, at the appointed time, we shall swoop down on the whole crowd simultaneously—Mrs. David, Zichlinsky, Gomorrah, Shemrofsky, Ebbstein, and, if it seems practicable, James Trout.”
“But,” I protested, “you could never charge all these people with the murder. The magistrate would insist on your making out a prima facie case; and you couldn’t do it.”
“No,” he replied. “But that is where Jasper Gray’s information is so invaluable. We don’t need a prima facie case for the charge of murder against any of these persons, excepting Zichlinsky. And in his case, the fingerprint, which we are assuming to be provable, will be enough. In all the other cases, we shall proceed on different charges, on which we can make out a prima facie case. Mrs. David, Gomorrah and Shemrofsky will be charged with the abduction. Ebbstein—against whom we have nothing but deep suspicion—will be roped in as an accessory of the felonous proceedings of his lodger, Mr. Jonas, the ingenious manufacturer of half-crowns. As to Trout, I am not sure whether we can get him on suspicion of having stolen the rope. I should like to. He would be extremely useful. I must see what Miller thinks about it.”
“But when you have got all these people by the heels? What then?”
“Ah, then we shall allow the subject of the murder to leak out; and it will be remarkable if, among this gang of rascals, there is not, at least, one who will be prepared to volunteer a statement. Take the case of Shemrofsky; he was probably a principal in the second degree as to the murder. It is unlikely that he took part in the actual killing; and if he did not, he will probably be very willing to clear himself of the major charge by giving evidence as to who actually committed the murder. Again there is Trout. He probably selected the house at Stratford. He probably stole the rope, and the fisherman’s bend and the running bowline look like his work. He is an associate of Gomorrah’s, but it is very unlikely that he had a hand in the murder. If he could be charged, he would almost certainly make for safety by putting the onus on the shoulders of the actual murderers.”
“It seems a rather unsatisfactory method,” I objected. “You are going to depend very largely on bluff.”
“It is unsatisfactory,” Thorndyke admitted, “but what else can we do? We know that these people conspired together to commit the murder. One or more of them did actually commit the murder; the rest are principals in the second degree. The only proceeding open to us is to charge them all and let them sort themselves out.”
“But supposing they don’t sort themselves out? What can you prove independently?”
“Let us see,” he answered, “what sort of case we could make out. I am assuming that Singleton can identify the fingerprint and that Stella and Gray can identify Mrs. David, because without that evidence we should not proceed at all. We should require further investigation. But, assuming those identifications, we shall proceed somewhat thus:
“First, we charge Mrs. David, Shemrofsky and Gomorrah with the abduction; and observe that we here bring into evidence the motive—the elimination of the principal beneficiary under Sir Edward’s will, with reversion to the husband of Mrs. David. That charge we can prove conclusively.
“We then charge the whole group with conspiracy to commit murder. Here, again, the motive comes into view. The murder of Sir Edward leaves—or is believed to leave—the succession to the property and title open to the husband of Mrs. David.”
“What about David, himself?”
“At present he doesn’t seem to come into the picture, though, naturally, he lies under suspicion of complicity. We have no direct evidence against him. But to continue. The abduction, with its apparent motive, connects itself with the murder, of which the motive is similar. Mrs. David stands to gain by the success of both crimes. But we have proved her to be guilty of one of the crimes. This is presumptive evidence of her guilt in respect of the other crime, since the two crimes appear to be parts of the same transaction. Then the evidence against Zichlinsky operates against her since he is her brother and has no motive excepting that of benefiting her.
“Gomorrah is implicated by the facts that the rope used to hang the deceased is known to have been in his possession; that Zichlinsky was his lodger; that he is proved to have been concerned in the abduction and was therefore a confederate of Mrs. David.
“Shemrofsky was concerned in the abduction and is thus implicated in the conspiracy. We can bring weighty evidence to prove that he was at Piper’s Row on the night of Sunday, the twenty-first of June, and that he assisted to convey the body of the victim to that house.
“Zichlinsky is proved, by his fingerprint, to have been in the Stratford house and to have handled the chair. He is Mrs. David’s brother and so stands to benefit, indirectly, by the deaths of Stella and Sir Edward. His statement, overheard by Jasper Gray, would be admitted as evidence of his being an interested party.
“As to Trout, all that is actually against him is his connection with the rope. But, if the police could definitely connect him with the neighbourhood at Stratford, that would be a material point. The importance of getting him charged is that, although he was almost certainly an accessory, it is most improbable that he had any hand in the murder; and from what Gray has told us as to his efforts to restrain Zichlinsky and Gomorrah, we may suspect that he disapproved of their violent proceedings and would not be prepared to take any risk in shielding them. He is really an outsider of the gang.”
“Well,” I said, “you have a better case than I thought, though it isn’t up to your usual standard.”
“No,” he admitted, “but it is the best that we can do. And probably we shall get some further detail. We have not yet ascertained how much Miss Stella will be able to enlarge our knowledge. But, in any event, we have a substantial case to start with. We can prove the fact of the murder and the conveyance of the body to the house at Stratford; and by means of the rope, we can definitely connect this group of persons with the crime. Moreover, we can prove that one, at least, of those persons had a very strong motive for committing the murder and was known to have committed another crime—the abduction—apparently with the same motive.”
“To say nothing,” said I, “of the fact that the circumstances of the abduction strongly suggest an intention to commit another murder.”
“Exactly,” he agreed. “Zichlinsky’s remark that he had been robbed of a fortune makes that fairly clear.”
“I suppose,” said I, after a pause, “that you now have a tolerably complete picture in your mind as to the actual course of events?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Of course, it is largely inferential; but I think I can reconstruct the whole crime in outline with considerable confidence that my reconstruction is broadly correct. Perhaps it would be helpful to go over it and see exactly what we shall have to prove.”
“It wou
ld be extremely helpful to me,” I said, “seeing that it is, in effect, the case for the prosecution.”
“Then,” said he, “we will begin quite at the beginning and adopt the narrative style to save words. First some communication was made to Sir Edward, probably verbally and probably by some confidential envoy of Mrs. David’s, begging him to grant an interview to some person who was unable to come to him. This person may have been her brother, who, being a fugitive from Russia, might naturally be in hiding and might be living in an otherwise unlikely neighbourhood. Sir Edward consented, with some misgivings, as we may judge from Weeks’s description of his preoccupied state when he left home. It was arranged that Mrs. David should meet him with a hansom at an appointed place near his club and convey him to the place where the person was living. The approximate whereabouts of this person’s place of abode was mentioned, as suggested by Sir Edward’s precautions in leaving his valuables at the club; which also suggests that he was not without suspicions as to the nature of the transaction.
“On his arrival at Pentecost Grove, in Shemrofsky’s cab, he was introduced to Zichlinsky; and, probably almost at once, the attack was made on him. I am disposed to think that the original intention was to hang him, but that, suddenly during the struggle, it became necessary to silence him. A knock on the head was not practicable as it would have produced a recognisable injury, and made the pretence of suicide untenable. The alternative, adopted on the spur of the moment, was to thrust his head into the brine tub; and this having been done, he was held there until he was dead.”
“They must have been savage brutes!” I exclaimed. “But their savagery was their undoing. If they had hanged him, it would have been difficult to prove the murder, if not impossible.”
“Hardly impossible, Jervis,” said he. “You will remember that we had virtually decided against suicide before we saw the body. And then there were the shoes and the wheel-tracks. Still, the drowning made the case much more conclusive.”
“By the way,” said I. “You mentioned that you had a hypothetical explanation of the salt and the herring scales. Was it a brine tub that was in your mind?”
“It occurred to me as a possibility, and the only one I could think of. I happened to know that it is the habit of low-class East European aliens to keep in their living or working rooms a tub of brine containing herrings and cut cabbage. The crime seemed to be associated with that part of London in which colonies of these people are settled, and it had a certain crude atrocity that was unlike English crime. Then the appearances agreed with this supposition and with no other. The man had been drowned, but only his head and neck had been wetted. He might have been held over the side of a boat or a landing-stage; but that theory would not account for the salt and the herring scales. But a receptacle containing salt water and herrings met the conditions exactly. And that little shred of cabbage gave strong confirmation. Still, it was only a hypothesis; and even now it is but an inference. It remains to be proved.”
“I don’t think there is much doubt of it,” said I, “though it had never occurred to me. Of course, when Jasper Gray mentioned the tub of herrings and cabbage floating in brine, the explanation came in a flash. But go on with your reconstruction.”
“There isn’t much more to say. The body was kept at Gomorrah’s house—or Ebbstein’s, whichever it was. Ebbstein’s house fits the conditions perfectly but Gomorrah’s is probably exactly similar—until Sunday night, perhaps because then there would be fewer people about down by the creeks. Then one man—probably Trout—was sent on ahead to get the house open and see that all was clear. The body was put into Shemrofsky’s cab—probably it was placed upright, sitting on the seat—and accompanied by one of the murderers, who was almost certainly Zichlinsky. Then, as it had been a wet evening, the glass front could be let down without appearing remarkable, and the two occupants, the living and the dead, would thus be practically invisible from the outside.
“On the arrival of the cab at the house, the advance man—call him Trout—would give the signal ‘all clear’ and the body and the rope would then be quickly carried in by him and Zichlinsky. Probably Trout made the rope fast to the beam and prepared the noose while Zichlinsky held up the body. As soon as it was suspended, they would turn the chair over and make the other arrangements. Then they would go into the front room, open the window and drop the glove under it. Finally, they would look out to see that there was no one about and then come away and make for the rendezvous where Shemrofsky would be waiting for them with his cab. Or he may have driven straight home, leaving them to follow on foot or in an omnibus.
“That is how I think the plan was carried out, and that is the account that I shall give to Miller as the basis of enquiries and of such questions as he may think fit to put to the prisoners.”
“And what do you propose to do at the moment?”
“My first proceeding,” he replied, “will be to see Miller and try to get the fingerprint question settled. Then I shall consult with Brodribb as to the best way of ascertaining whether the woman who captured Miss Stella was or was not Mrs. David Hardcastle. I have a plan in my mind, but as it involves Brodribb’s co-operation, I can’t decide on it until I have secured his agreement.”
“My impression is,” said I, “that Brodribb will agree gladly to anything that you may suggest.”
“That is my impression, too,” said Thorndyke. And subsequent events proved that we were both right.
CHAPTER XVI
MRS. DAVID HARDCASTLE
(Jasper Gray’s Narralive)
My premonitions of some impending change in the conditions of my life, dimly associated with Mr. Brodribb, were revived some days later when I saw that gentleman coming out of our office in earnest conversation with Mr. Wopsall. The apparition caused me some surprise, and when Mr. Wopsall beckoned to me, I came forward with alacrity, bubbling over with curiosity.
“You are going off duty for a day or two, Gray,” said Mr. Wopsall. “Mr. Brodribb wants you to attend at his office tomorrow and perhaps afterwards. He will give you your instructions, and you will understand that they have my full concurrence; and I need hardly suggest that you smarten yourself up a bit and try to do us credit.”
With this he shook hands with Mr. Brodribb and retired to his office, leaving us together; and we drifted out into the street to pursue our business. However, he had not much to say. In effect, he wished me to present myself at his abode in New Square, Lincoln’s Inn, punctually at ten o’clock on the following morning, when he would give me more detailed instructions; and having delivered himself of this request and satisfied himself of my ability to find my way to his office, he shook my hand warmly and went his way with an air of deep satisfaction.
As he had given me no hint as to the nature of the business on hand, it was natural that I should spend the remainder of the day in speculating with the most intense curiosity on the circumstances that called for my presence in a place so remote from the scene of my customary activities; and it was equally natural that I should make my appearance in the place of assignation with more than common punctuality. Indeed, the word ‘punctuality’ understates the case; for, although I had spent a full hour operating on my clothes with a sponge, a nail-brush and a flat iron, I strolled into the Square from Chancery Lane at the moment when the hands of the big clock showed a quarter past nine. (I say ‘the hands’ advisedly, for the joker who put up that clock had omitted the figures on the dial, substituting for them a dozen exactly similar marks.)
I stood for some time inspecting that eccentric clock-face with mildly surprised interest. Then I transferred my attention to a fine pear-tree that some rural-minded lawyer had trained up the side of his house; and I was still contemplating this phenomenon when I became aware of a somewhat chubby gentleman in a broad-brimmed straw hat and slippers who was sauntering up the pavement smoking a very large pipe. At the moment, his head was inclined forward so that the hat-brim concealed his face; but as we approached, he raised his h
ead, and, the hat ascending with it, disclosed the countenance of Mr. Brodribb.
“Ha!” he exclaimed as he caught sight of me, “You are a little before your time, which is a good fault, if that is not a contradiction of terms. The early bird catches the worm, as the rather ambiguous proverb has it—ambiguous, I mean, as to the moral to be conveyed. For while the early rising is obviously advantageous to the bird, it is obviously disadvantageous to the worm. He had better have stayed in bed a little longer. However, here you are, and it will be all to the good if we get our arrangements completed in advance.”
He pulled out a prosperous-looking gold watch (apparently, he didn’t trust the clock) and having looked at it thoughtfully, continued: “I shall want you to sit at a desk in my outer office, and you are to try to look as if you’d been there all your life. You are supposed to be one of my clerks. Do you understand?”
I assured him (but not in those words) that I ‘rumbled him,’ as our packer would say, and he went on: “I am expecting some visitors presently. They will come to the outer office and you will take down their names on a slip of paper and then come into my office and announce them. And while you are taking down their names, I should like you to have a good look at them so that you will be able to recognise them if you should see them again.”
This sounded agreeably mysterious, and once more, I assured him—in suitable terms—that I ‘ogled’ perfectly.
“If anyone asks you any questions,” he continued, “be as evasive as you can. Don’t give any information.”
I remarked that I hadn’t much to give, to which he replied that perhaps I had more than I realised. “But in any case,” said he, “keep your own counsel. If they should ask you who you are, say you are my clerk.”
“That won’t be quite correct, sir,” I ventured to remind him.
“Bless the boy!” he chuckled, “we aren’t as particular as that in the law. But, in fact, you are my clerk. I appoint you to the post this very instant. Will that satisfy your scruples?”
The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack Page 104
