The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack

by R. Austin Freeman

  “What does his case amount to?” Thorndyke asked.

  “Put in a nutshell,” replied Brodribb, “it amounts to this: The American gentleman, whose name is Christopher Pippet, is the grandson of a certain Josiah Pippet who was the keeper of a tavern somewhere in London. But there is a persistent tradition in the family that the said Josiah was living a double life under an assumed name, and that he was really the Earl of Winsborough. It is stated that he was in the habit of going away from his home and his usual places of resort and leaving no address. It is further stated that during these periodical absences—which often lasted for a month or two—he was actually in residence at Winsborough Castle; that, when Josiah was absent from home, the Earl was in residence at the Castle, and when Josiah was at the tavern, the Earl was absent from the Castle.”

  “And did Josiah and the Earl die simultaneously and in the same place?” I inquired.

  “No,” said Brodribb. “The double life was brought to an end by Josiah, who is said, after the death of his wife and the marriage of his sons and daughter, to have grown weary of it. He wound up the affair by a simulated death, a mock funeral and the burial of a dummy coffin weighted with lumps of lead, after which he went to the Castle and took up his residence there for good. That is the substance of the story.”

  The Superintendent snorted contemptuously. “And you tell us, sir,” said he, “that this man, Gimbler, is actually going to spin that yarn in a court of law. Why, the thing’s grotesque—childish. He’d be howled out of Court.”

  “I agree,” said Brodribb, “that it sounds wild enough. But it is not impossible. Few things are. It is just a question of what they can prove. According to the pleadings, there are certain passages in a diary of the late Josiah which prove incontestably that he and the Earl were one and the same person.”

  “That diary,” said Miller, “will be worth a pretty careful examination, having regard to the circumstances that I mentioned.”

  “Undoubtedly,” Brodribb agreed; “though it seems to me that it would be extremely difficult to interpolate passages in a diary. There is usually no space in which to put them.”

  “Does the claimant propose to produce the dummy coffin with the lumps of lead in it?” I asked.

  “Nothing has been said on that subject up to the present,” Brodribb answered. “It would certainly be highly relevant; but, of course, they couldn’t produce it without an exhumation order.”

  “I think you can take it,” said Miller, “that they will leave that coffin severely alone—if you let them.”

  “Probably you are right,” said Brodribb. “But the difficulty that confronts us at present is that it may be impossible to proceed with the case. When it comes on for hearing, the Court may refuse to consider the application until one of the applicants has established his locus standi as a person competent to make it; and it may refuse to hear evidence as to the claim of either party to be the heir on the grounds that, inasmuch as the Earl has been neither proved nor presumed to be dead, he must be presumed to be alive, and that, therefore, in accordance with the legal maxim, Nemo est heres viventis, neither of the applicants can be the heir.”

  “That,” said Thorndyke, “is undoubtedly a possible contingency. But judges are eminently reasonable men and it is not the modern practice to favour legal hair-splittings. We may assume that the Court will not raise any difficulties that are not unavoidable; and this is a case which calls for some elasticity of procedure. For the difficulty which exists today might conceivably still exist fifty years hence; and, meanwhile, the title and the estates would be left derelict. What are the proceedings that are actually in contemplation, and who is making the first move?”

  “The American claimant, Pippet, is making the first move. Gimbler has briefed Rufus McGonnell, K.C. as his leader with Montague Klein as junior. He is proposing to apply for permission to presume the death of the Earl. I am contesting his application and challenging his claim to be the heir presumptive. That, he thinks, will enable him to produce his evidence and argue his claim as an issue preliminary to and forming part of the main issue. But I doubt very much whether the Court will consent to hear any evidence or any arguments that are not directly relevant to the question of the probability of the Earl’s death. It is a very awkward situation. Pippet’s claim looks like a rather grotesque affair; and if he is depending on the entries in a diary, I shouldn’t think he has the ghost of a chance. Still, it ought to be settled one way or the other for the sake of young Giles Engleheart, the real heir presumptive, as I assume.”

  “Why shouldn’t Engleheart proceed with his application?” said I.

  “Because,” replied Brodribb, “the same difficulty would arise. The other claimant would challenge his competency to make the application. It is a ridiculous dilemma. There are two issues, and each of them requires the other to be settled before it can be decided. It is very difficult to know what to do.”

  “The only thing that you can do,” said Thorndyke, “is what you seem to be doing; let things take their own course and wait upon events. Pippet is making the first move. Well, let him make it; and, if the Court won’t hear him, it will be time for you to consider what you will do next. Meanwhile, it would be wise for you to assume that the Court will allow him to produce evidence of his competency to make the application. It is quite possible; and if you are supporting Mr. Engleheart’s claim, you ought to be ready to contest the other claim.”

  “Yes,” said Brodribb, “that is really what I came to talk to you about; and the first question is, do you know anything about these two counsel, McGonnell and Klein? I don’t seem to remember either of them.”

  “You wouldn’t,” ‘replied Thorndyke. “They are both almost exclusively criminal practitioners. But, in their own line, they are men of first class capabilities. You can take it that they will give you a run for your money if they get the chance, in spite of their being rather off their usual beat. Have you decided on your own counsel?”

  “I have decided to secure your services, in any event. Would you be prepared to take the brief?”

  “I will take it if you wish me to,” replied Thorndyke, “but I think you would be better advised to employ Anstey. For this reason. If the case comes into court, it is possible that certain questions may arise on which you might wish me to give expert evidence. I think you would do well to let me keep an eye on the technical aspects of the case and let Anstey do the actual court work.”

  Brodribb looked sharply at Thorndyke but made no immediate reply; and, in the ensuing silence, a low chuckle was heard to proceed from the Superintendent.

  “I like the delicate way the Doctor puts it,” said he, by way of explaining the chuckle. “The technical aspects of this case will call for a good deal of watching; and I need not tell you, Mr. Brodribb, that, if the Doctor’s eye is on them, there won’t be much that will pass unobserved. In fact, I shouldn’t be surprised to learn that the Doctor has got one or two of them in his eye already.”

  “Neither should I,” said Brodribb. “Nothing surprises me where Thorndyke is concerned. At any rate I shall act on your advice, Thorndyke. One couldn’t ask for a better counsel that Anstey; and it is not necessary for me to stipulate that you go over the pleadings with him and put him up to any possible dodges on the part of our friend Mr. Gimbler. Remember that I am retaining you, and that you do as you please about pleading in court.”

  “I understand,” said Thorndyke. “You will keep Anstey and me fully instructed, and I shall give the case the most careful consideration in regard to any contingencies that may arise. As Miller has hinted, there are a good many possibilities, especially if Mr. Gimbler should think it necessary to throw a little extra weight into the balance of probabilities.”

  “Very well,” said Brodribb, “then we will leave it at that. If you have the case in hand, I shall feel that I can go ahead in confidence; and I only hope that McGonnell will be able to persuade the Court to hear the evidence on his client’s claim. It w
ould be a blessed thing if we could get that question settled so that we could go straight ahead with the other question—the presumption of death. I am getting a little worried by the more or less derelict condition of the Winsborough estates and it would be a relief to see a young man fairly settled in possession.”

  “You are rather taking it for granted that the American’s claim will fall through,” I remarked.

  “So I am,” he admitted. “But you must allow that it does sound like a cock and bull story, and none too straightforward at that. However, we shall see. If I get nothing more out of it, I have had an extremely pleasant evening and a devilish good bottle of wine, and now it’s about time that I took myself off and let you get to bed.”

  With this he rose and shook hands; and the Superintendent, taking the rather broad hint conveyed in the concluding sentence, rose too, and the pair took their departure together.

  DR THORNDYKE INTERVENES [Part 2]

  CHAPTER VII

  The Final Preparations

  Most of us have wit enough to be wise after the event, and a few of us have enough to be wise before. Thorndyke was one of these few, and I, alas! was not. I am speaking in generalities, but I am thinking of a particular case—the Winsborough Peerage Claim. That case I could not bring myself to take seriously. The story appeared to me, as it had appeared to Miller, merely grotesque. Its improbabilities were so outrageous that I could not entertain it as a problem for serious consideration. And then, such as it was, it was a purely legal case, completely outside our ordinary line of practice. At least, that is how it appeared to me.

  Now, Thorndyke made no such mistake. Naturally, he could not foresee developments in detail. But subsequent events showed that he had foreseen, and very carefully considered, all the possible contingencies, so that when they arose they found him prepared. And he also saw clearly that the case might turn out to be very much in our line.

  As I was unaware of his views—Thorndyke being the most uncommunicative man whom I have ever known—I looked with some surprise on the obvious interest that he took in the case. So great was that interest that he actually adopted the extraordinary habit of spending weekends at Winsborough Castle. What he did there I was unable to make out. I heard rumours of his having gone over the butler’s accounts and some of the old household books and papers with Brodribb, which seemed a not unreasonable proceeding, though more in Brodribb’s line than ours. But most of his time he apparently spent rambling about the country with a note book, a small camera and a set of six inch ordnance maps. And he evidently covered a surprising amount of ground, as I could see by the numbers of photographs that he brought home, and which he either developed himself or handed to our invaluable laboratory assistant, Polton, for development. Over those photographs, when they were printed, I pored with a feeling of stupefaction. They included churches, both inside and out, windmills, inns, churchyards, and quaint village streets; all very interesting and many of them charming. But what had they to do with the peerage case? I was completely mystified.

  On one occasion I accompanied him, and a very pleasant jaunt it was. The Castle was rather a delusion, though there were some mediaeval ruins of a castellated building; but the mansion was a pleasant, homely brick house of the late seventeenth century in the style of Wren’s country houses. But our ramblings about the house and the adjoining gardens and park yielded no information—excepting as to the mental condition of a former proprietor, as suggested by the costly and idiotic additions that he had made to the mansion.

  These were, I must admit, perfectly astounding. On a low hill in the park near to the house was a stupendous brick tower—a regular Tower of Babel—from the summit of which we could look across the sea to the white cliffs of the coast of France. It stood quite alone and appeared to have no purpose beyond the view from the top, but the cost of its construction must have been enormous. But “George’s Folly,” to give the tower its appropriate local name, was not the most astonishing of these works. When we came down from the roof, Thorndyke produced a bunch of large keys, which he had borrowed from the butler, and with one of them opened a door in the basement. Then he switched on a portable electric lamp, by the light of which I perceived a flight of stone steps apparently descending into the bowels of the earth. Picking our way down these, we reached an archway opening into a roomy brick-walled passage, and making our way along this for fully a hundred yards, at length reached another door which, being unlocked, gave entrance to a large room, lighted by a brick shaft that opened on the surface. A moth-eaten carpet still covered the floor and the mouldering furniture remained as it had been left, presumably, by the eccentric builder.

  It was a strange and desolate-looking apartment, and the final touch of desolation was given by a multitude of bats which hung, head downwards, from the ceiling ornaments or fluttered silently in circles in the dark corners or in the dim light under the opening of the shaft.

  “This is a weird place, Thorndyke,” I exclaimed. “What do you think could have been the object of building it?”

  “So far as I know,” he replied, “there was no particular object. It was the noble lord’s hobby to build towers and underground apartments. This is not the only one. The door at the other end of the room opens into another passage which leads to several other large rooms. We may as well inspect them.”

  We did so. In all, there were five large rooms connected by several hundred yards of passages, and three or four small rooms, all lighted by shafts and all still containing their original furniture and fittings.

  “But,” I exclaimed, as we threaded our way along the interminable passages back to the tower, “this man must have been a stark lunatic.”

  “He was certainly highly eccentric,” said Thorndyke, “though we must make some allowance for an idle rich man. But you see the significance of this. Supposing that the peerage claim were to be tried by a jury, and supposing that jury were brought here and shown these rooms and passages. Do you think Mr. Pippet’s story would appear to them so particularly incredible? Don’t you think that they would say that a man who could busy himself in works of this kind would be capable of any folly or eccentricity?”

  “I think it very likely,” I admitted; “but for my own part, I must say that I cannot imagine his lordship as landlord of a London pub. Playing the fool in your own park is a slightly different occupation from drawing pints of beer for thirsty labourers. I wonder if the Kenningtonian Gimbler knows about these works of imagination.”

  “He does,” said Thorndyke. “A description of them was included in the ‘material facts’ set forth in the pleadings. And he has examined them personally. He applied to Brodribb for permission to view the mansion, and, naturally, Brodribb gave it.”

  “I don’t see why ‘naturally.’ He was not called on to assist the claim which he was opposing.”

  “He took the view—correctly, I think—that he ought not to hinder, in any way, the ascertainment of the material facts; facts, you must remember, that he does not dispute. And, really, he can afford to deal with the American claimant in a generous and sporting spirit. Mere evidence of eccentricity on the part of the late Earl will not do more than establish a bare possibility. A positive case has to be made out. The burden of proof is on Cousin Jonathan.”

  “That is, if the case ever comes into court. I doubt if, it will.”

  “Then you need doubt no longer,” said he. “The case is down for hearing next week.”

  “The deuce it is!” I exclaimed. “Do you know what form the proceedings will take?”

  “It is to be heard in the Probate Court. Ostensibly, it is an application by Christopher Pippet for permission to presume the death of Percy Engleheart, sixth Earl of Winsborough. Brodribb, acting in virtue of a power of attorney, opposes the application and challenges the locus standi of the applicant. Of course, we cannot say how far the case will be allowed to proceed; but I take it that it is proposed to allow Pippet to produce evidence establishing his locus standi as a per
son having such an interest in the estate as would entitle him to make the application. That is to say, he will be allowed to present the case on which he bases his claim to be the heir presumptive to the Earl. I certainly hope he will. There are all sorts of interesting possibilities in the case.”

  “Interesting, no doubt, in a legal sense; but I don’t see where we come in.”

  “Perhaps we shan’t come in at all,” he replied with a faint smile. “But I rather suspect that we shall. The special interest of the case to me lies in the fact that Mr. Pippet’s counsel will be instructed by Mr. Horatio Gimbler.”

  Something in Thorndyke’s manner, as he made this last statement, seemed to suggest some special significance. But what that significance might be I was unable to guess, beyond the fact that the said Gimbler, being neither an infant nor a man of irreproachable reputation, might adopt some slightly irregular tactics. But I suspected that there was something more definite than this in my colleague’s mind. However, the conversation went no farther on this occasion, and I was left to turn the problem over at my leisure.

  Thorndyke’s announcement had come to me as a complete surprise, for I had never believed that this fantastic case would actually find its way into the courts. But the case furnished a whole series of surprises, of which the first was administered on the day when the proceedings opened, and was connected with the personality and behaviour of the claimant. I had assumed that Mr. Christopher Pippet was an American adventurer who had come over to tell this cock and bull story in the hope of getting possession of a valuable English estate. Probably the idea arose—not quite unreasonably—from the fact that the claimant made his appearance under the guidance of a slightly shady police-court solicitor. In my mind I had written him down an impostor, and formed a picture of a hustling, brazen vulgarian, suitable to the part and appropriate to his company. The reality was surprisingly different.