The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack

by R. Austin Freeman

  “In that case,” said the judge, “if the fact of the Earl’s death is to be accepted as proved, the application for permission to presume death necessarily lapses, automatically. And the applicant’s claim to be the heir presumptive also lapses. He will now claim to be the heir; and that claim will have to be preferred in another place.”

  “I understand, my lord,” said McGonnell, “that it is not proposed to proceed with the claim. That is what I am informed by Mr. Pippet.”

  The judge glanced at the vacant solicitors’ table and then asked:

  “Was that decision reached on the advice of his solicitor?”

  “No, my lord. Mr. Gimbler is not in court, and, I believe, is absent from his residence. I understand that he has been unexpectedly called away from home.”

  The judge received this piece of information with an inscrutable face.

  “It is not for me to express an opinion,” he remarked, “as to whether Mr. Pippet is well or ill advised to abandon his claim; but I may point out that the crucial question is still in suspense. According to the evidence which we have heard, the coffin which was examined was not the coffin of Josiah Pippet, and, consequently, the question whether the funeral was a real or a sham funeral has not been settled. It is unfortunate that that important issue should have been confused by what look like highly irregular proceedings; concerning which I may say that they will call for further investigation and that I shall consider it my duty to hand the papers in this case to the Director of Public Prosecutions.”

  This rather ominous observation brought the proceedings to an end; and, as we were no longer litigants, the whole party trooped out of the court to gather in the great hail for more or less friendly, unofficial discussion. Mr. Pippet was the first to speak.

  “His lordship,” he remarked, “was extremely delicate in his language. I should call the proceedings in regard to that coffin something more than irregular.”

  “His lordship,” McGonnell remarked, “was probably bearing in mind that all the facts are not known. He, no doubt, has his suspicions as to what has happened and who is responsible; but, until the suspicions have been verified, it is as well not to be too explicit in assigning responsibility to individuals.”

  Mr. Pippet smiled grimly. “It is well for you to say that, Mr. McGonnell,” said he, “seeing that both you and I are involved in those suspicions. But I am not inclined to take this business lying down, if you are. Gimbler was acting as my agent and I suppose I am responsible for whatever he chose to do, ostensibly in my interests. But I presume I have some remedy. Is it possible for me to prosecute him? You are my legal adviser. I put the question to you. What remedy have I for being involved in this discreditable affair?”

  Mr. McGonnell looked uncomfortable, as well he might, for he was in an unpleasant position in more than one respect. After a few moments’ reflection, he replied:

  “I have as little reason as you have to be pleased with the turn of events. If a fraud has been committed in this case, that will not enhance my professional reputation. But I must again remind you that we have not got all the facts. It does certainly appear as if that coffin had been tampered with; and if it had, the responsibility lies between you and me and Mr. Gimbler. Evidently, the suspicion lies principally on Gimbler. But, having regard to the fact that a quantity of stolen property—which was certainly not his—was found in the coffin, there is a clear possibility that the coffin may have been tampered with by some persons for their own purposes and without his knowledge. We have to bear that in mind before we make any direct accusations.”

  “That is a very ingenious suggestion,” said Mr. Pippet, “but it doesn’t seem to commend itself to me. I should leave it to him to prove, if he can.”

  McGonnell shook his head. “That is not the position, at all, Mr. Pippet,” said he. “If you assert that Gimbler planted a sham coffin in the vault, it will be for you to prove that he did, not for him to prove that he did not. But I think that you had better take the advice of a solicitor on the subject, or, at any rate, of some lawyer other than me. You will understand that I shall naturally be reluctant to be the first to set up a hue and cry after a man who has been my colleague in this case. If he has committed a fraud, I hope that he will receive the punishment that he will have deserved; but I should rather that some hand other than mine delivered the blow.”

  “I understand and respect your point of view,” said Pippet, “but it leaves me high and dry without any legal guidance.”

  Here Thorndyke interposed. “If I might venture to offer you a word of advice, Mr. Pippet,” said he, “it would be that you do nothing at all. If any offence against the law has been committed, you may rely on the proper authorities to take the necessary measures.”

  “But suppose they regard me as the offender?”

  “When you are accused, it will be time to take measures of defence. At present, no one is accusing you—at least, I think I may say so. Am I right, Superintendent?” he asked, turning to Miller, who had been unostentatiously listening to the conversation.

  The Superintendent was guarded in his reply. “Speaking personally,” said he, “I am certainly not accusing Mr. Pippet of any complicity in this fraud, if there has really been a fraud. Later, I may have to apply to him for some information as to his relations with Mr. Gimbler; but that is in the future. For the present, your advice to him is the best. Just wait and see what happens.”

  “And meanwhile,” said Thorndyke, “if it appears that Mr. Gimbler has withdrawn himself from among us permanently, I am sure that Mr. Brodribb will consent to take charge of your affairs so far as recovery of documents and other winding up details are concerned.”

  To this, Brodribb agreed readily, to Mr. Pippet’s evident relief.

  “Then,” said the latter, “as we have disposed of business matters, I am going to propose that we make up a little luncheon party to celebrate the end of the Winsborough Peerage Case. I’d like to have the whole crowd, but I suspect that there are one or two who will cry off.”

  His suspicions were confirmed on particular inquiry. McGonnell had business at the Central Criminal Court; Mrs. Engleheart and Miss Pippet had some secret mission, the nature of which they refused to divulge, and Anstey had other legal fish to fry.

  “Am I to have the pleasure of your lordship’s company at lunch?” Pippet inquired, fixing a twinkling eye on Mr. Giles, and obviously convinced that he was not.

  Giles laughed, knowingly. “I should have been delighted,” said he, “to lunch with my noble cousin, or uncle, or whatever he is, but I have an engagement with another noble cousin. I am taking Jenny to the Zoo to show her the new chimpanzee, and we shall get our lunch on the way.”

  Mr. Pippet shook his head resignedly and turned to the faithful few, consisting of Thorndyke, Brodribb Miller and myself, and suggested an immediate adjournment. Thorndyke and I retired to the robing room to divest ourselves of our legal war-paint, and, on emerging, rejoined the party at the main gate, where two taxis were already waiting, and were forthwith conveyed to Mr. Pippet’s hotel.

  Throughout these proceedings and those of the subsequent luncheon, I was aware of a rather curious feeling of pleased surprise at our host’s attitude and apparent state of mind. Especially did I admire the sporting spirit in which he accepted his defeat. He was not in the least cast down; and, apart from the discreditable incidents in the conduct of the case, he appeared perfectly satisfied with the result. But the oddest thing to me was his friendly and even deferential attitude towards Thorndyke. A stranger, unacquainted with the circumstances, might have supposed my colleague to be the leading counsel who had achieved a notable victory for Mr. Pippet, instead of an expert witness who had, vulgarly speaking, “put the kybosh” on Mr. Pippet’s case. Any pique that he might, quite naturally, have felt seemed to be swallowed up by a keen sporting interest in the manner in which he had been defeated; and I was not surprised when, as the luncheon approached the coffee and cigar stage, he began to put
out feelers for more detailed information.

  “This trial,” said he, “has been to me an education and an entertainment. I’ve enjoyed every bit of it, and I’m only sorry that we missed the judge’s summing-up and reasoned decision. But the real tit-bit of the entertainment was Dr. Thorndyke’s evidence. What delighted me was the instantaneous way in which every move in the game was spotted and countered. Those screws, now; it was all obvious enough when it was explained. But the astonishing thing was that, not only was the character of those screws observed, but the significance of that character appreciated in a moment. I want you to tell me, Doctor, how you manage to keep your eyes perpetually skinned, and your brain skinned at the same time.”

  Thorndyke smiled appreciatively as he thoughtfully filled his pipe.

  “You are giving me more credit than is due, Mr. Pippet,” said he. “You are assuming that certain reactions were instantaneous which were, in fact, quite deliberate, and that certain deceptive appearances were exhibited to unprepared eyes whereas they had been carefully considered in advance. I have no doubt that the person who prepared the evidence made a similar mistake.”

  “But,” objected Mr. Pippet, “I don’t see how you could consider in advance things that you didn’t know were going to happen.”

  “It is possible to consider in advance,” Thorndyke replied, “those circumstances which may conceivably arise as well as those which will certainly arise. You seem to think that the little surprise packets which the manipulator of evidence devised for our undoing found us all unprepared. That was certainly the intention of the manipulator; but it was very far from what actually happened.”

  “Why call him ‘the manipulator’?” Mr. Pippet protested. “His name is Horatio Gimbler, and we all know it.”

  “Very well,” said Thorndyke, “then we will throw legal caution to the winds and call him Gimbler. Now, as I said, Gimbler made his little arrangements, expecting that they would come on us with all the charm of novelty and find us unprepared to give them that exhaustive consideration which would be necessary to ascertain their real nature, but which would be impossible in the course of proceedings in court. He would assume that, whatever vague suspicions we might have, there would be neither the time nor the opportunity to test the visible facts presented. What he had overlooked was the possibility that the other players might try the moves over in advance. But this is exactly what I did. Would it interest you to have some details of my procedure?”

  “It would interest me very much,” Brodribb interposed, “for, as you know, I sat on the bird-lime like a lamb—if you will pardon the mixed metaphor. Perhaps I might say ‘like a fool’ and be nearer the mark.”

  “I hope you won’t, Mr. Brodribb,” said Pippet, “because the description would include the lot of us, except the Doctor. But I am sure we should all like to hear how that rascal, Gimbler, was unmasked.”

  “Then,” said Thorndyke, “let us begin by noting what our position was. This was a claim advanced by an unknown person to a title and some extremely valuable property. The claimant was an American, but there was nothing significant in that. All Americans of English origin have, of course, English ancestors. What was significant was the fact that this stranger had elected to employ a police court solicitor to conduct his case. Taking all the circumstances together, there was quite a fair probability that the claim was a false claim; and if that were so, we should have to be on the lookout for false evidence.

  “That was my function in the case; to watch the evidence, particularly in regard to the physical characteristics of any objects produced as ‘exhibits’ or put in evidence. The purely legal business was in the hands of Mr. Brodribb and Mr. Anstey, whereas I was a sort of Devil’s Advocate, in an inverted sense, concerned, not with the legal issues, but with illegal attempts to tamper with the evidence. Now, in the criminal department of my practice, I have been in the habit, from the first, of using what I may call a synthetic method. In investigating a known or suspected crime, my custom has been to put myself in the criminal’s place and ask myself what are the possible methods of committing that crime, and, of the possible methods, which would be the best; how, in fact, I should go about committing that crime, myself. Having worked out in detail the most suitable procedure, I then change over from the synthetic to the analytic method and consider all the inherent weaknesses and defects of the method, and the means by which it would be possible to detect the crime.

  “That is what I did in the present case. I began by assuming that wherever the evidence was insufficient or adverse, that evidence would be falsified.”

  “Sounds a bit uncharitable,” Mr. Pippet remarked, with a smile.

  “Not at all,” retorted Thorndyke. “There was no accusation. It was merely a working hypothesis which I communicated to nobody. If there had been no falsification, nothing would ever have been said and nobody would ever have known that the possibility had been entertained. But supposing falsification to be attempted, what form would it take? Apart from mere oral tradition and rumour, the value of which the judge would be able to assess, there was very little evidence. Of real, demonstrable evidence there were only two items—the diary and the coffin. Let us take the diary first. In what respects was falsification of the diary possible?

  “There were two possibilities. The entire diary might be a fabrication. This was extremely unlikely. There were seven volumes, extending over a great number of years. The fabrication of such a diary would be a gigantic and very difficult task. Still, it was possible; but if the diary was in fact a fabrication from beginning to end, the falsification would almost certainly have been the work of the claimant, himself. But when one considers that the latest volume of this dairy was alleged to have been written eighty years ago, it is obvious that the difficulties surrounding the production of a new work which could possibly be passed off as genuine would be practically insurmountable. I need not consider those difficulties or the means by which the fraud could be detected, since the case did not arise. On inspection, it was obvious that the diary was a genuine document.

  “The second possibility was the insertion of a false entry; and this was not only quite practicable but, in the known circumstances, not very improbable. The question was, therefore, supposing a false entry to be inserted, would that entry have any special characteristics for which one could be on the lookout? And the answer was that it almost certainly would.

  “As to the forgery, itself; it would certainly be a good forgery. For, if it had been executed by the claimant, it would have to be good enough to satisfy Mr. Gimbler. That gentleman was too experienced a lawyer to attempt to pass off an indifferent forgery in a court of law. But if it were not the work of the claimant, it would have to be produced either by Gimbler, himself, or under his superintendence. In either case it would certainly be a first-class forgery; and, as the passage would probably be quite short—possibly only a few words—it would be almost impossible to detect by mere examination of the written characters. In a short passage, the forger’s attention need never flag, and no effects of fatigue would become apparent. The forger could try it over and over again until he could execute it perfectly. But in such a case, even the greatest experts—such as Osborn, in America, or Mitchell or Lucas in this country—could give no more than a guarded opinion. For, however eminent an expert may be, he cannot detect differences that do not exist.

  “But if the imitation of the hand-writing were too good for detection to be possible, were there any other, extrinsic, characters that we could be on the lookout for? Evidently, by the nature of the case, there must be three. First, if a passage were inserted, it would have to be inserted where insertion was possible; that is to say, in a blank space. Accordingly, we should have to keep a lookout for blank spaces. And, if those blank spaces were of any considerable size, we should look for the interpolated passage or passages either at the beginning or end of the blank space or spaces.

  “The second character of an interpolated passage would be the
matter contained in it. It would contain some matter of high evidential value which was not contained in any of the genuine entries; for, if it did not, there would be no object in inserting it. As to the nature of this matter; since the crucial issue in this case was whether the two persons, Josiah and the Earl, were one and the same person, an interpolated passage would almost certainly contain matter supporting the belief that they were.

  “The third character would be an unavoidable difference between the ink used for the forgery and that used by the writer of the genuine entries. They could not be the same unless the writer of the diary had elected to use carbon ink; which was infinitely improbable, and, in fact was not the case. If he used ordinary writing ink—the iron-gall ink of the period—that ink would have become changed in the course of over eighty years. The original black tannate or gallate of iron would have become converted into the faint reddish-brown of the oxide of iron. Now, the forged writing would have to imitate the colour of this old writing. But a new ink of the same colour as the old would necessarily be of a different chemical composition. Probably it would contain no iron, but would be one of the modern brown drawing inks, treated to match the colour exactly.

  “In this difference of chemical composition would lie the means of detecting and exposing the forgery. A chemical test would probably be objected to, though it could be insisted on if the forgery were definitely challenged. But, for the reasons that I gave in my evidence, a photograph would be nearly certain to demonstrate the difference in the chemical composition of the ink. And to a photograph there could be no objection.