CHAPTER III
SHOWS LIGHTS FROM THE MIST
"But Edward Craig is a young man--while Gregory must be nearly seventy!"I exclaimed, staring at Dr. Sladen in blank amazement.
"Exactly. I attended Mr. Gregory a month ago for influenza. But I tellyou the body lying yonder is that of young Craig!" declared my friend.Then he added: "There is something very extraordinary about the wholeaffair, for Craig was made up to exactly resemble his uncle."
"And because of it was apparently done to death, eh?"
"That is certainly my theory."
"Amazing," I exclaimed. "This increases the mystery very considerably."Then, gazing around, I saw that the two doctors, who had assisted Sladenin his examination, were talking aside eagerly with the detective, whileMr. Day, a short thick-set man, with his white-covered cap removed inthe presence of the dead, had joined the party.
Cromer is a "war-station," and Mr. Day was a well-known figure in theplace, a fine active type of the British sailor, who had seen many yearsafloat, and now, with his "sea-time" put in, was an expert signal-manashore. He noticed me and saluted.
"Look," exclaimed Dr. Sladen, taking me across to a bench against theside of the life-boat shed. "What do you think of these?" and he took upa white wig and a long white beard.
I examined them. Then slowly replied, "There is much, very much more, inthis affair than any of us can at present see."
"Certainly. Why should the young man go forth at night, under cover ofdarkness, made up to exactly resemble the old one?"
"To meet somebody in secret, no doubt; and that somebody killed him," Isaid.
"Did they--ah, that's just the point," said the doctor. "As far as wecan find there's no apparent cause of death, no wound whatever. Thesuperficial examination we have made only reveals a slight abrasion onthe left wrist, which might have been caused when he fell from the seatto the ground. The wrist is much swollen--from a recent sprain, I think.But beyond that we can find nothing."
"Won't you prosecute your examination further?" I asked.
"Certainly. This afternoon we shall make a post-mortem--after I get theorder from the coroner."
"Ah. Then we shall know something definite?"
"I hope so."
"Gentlemen," exclaimed Inspector Frayne, addressing us all, "this latestdiscovery, of the identity of the victim, is a very extraordinary andstartling one. I trust that you will all regard the matter as one of thegreatest secrecy--at least till after the inquest. Publicity now maydefeat the ends of justice. Do you all promise?"
With one accord we promised. Then, crossing to where the body lay, Ilifted the heavy brown sail that covered it, and in the dim light gazedupon the white, dead countenance.
Yes. It was the face of Edward Craig.
Frayne at that moment came up, and after two men had taken the coveringfrom the body, commenced to search the dead man's pockets. In the oldmackintosh cape was a pouch, from which the detective drew a smallwallet of crocodile leather, much worn, together with two letters. Thelatter were carried to the light and at once examined.
One proved to be a bill from a well-known hatter in Piccadilly. Thesuperscription on the other envelope, of pale blue-grey paper, wasundoubtedly in the hand of an educated woman.
Frayne drew from this envelope a sheet of notepaper, which bore neitheraddress nor date, merely the words--
"At Ealing, at 10 p.m., on the twenty-ninth of August, where the two C'smeet."
"Ah, an appointment," remarked Frayne. Then, looking at the post-mark,he added: "It was posted the day before yesterday at Bridlington. Iwonder what it means?"
"I see it is addressed to Mr. Gregory!" I pointed out, "not to the deadman."
"Then the old man had an appointment on the twenty-ninth of Augustsomewhere in Ealing--where the two C's meet. I wonder where that can be?Some agreed-on spot, I suppose, where two persons, whose initials are C,are in the habit of meeting."
"Probably," was my reply. But I was reflecting deeply.
In the wallet were four five-pound notes; a few of Gregory's cards; aletter from a local charity, thanking him for a contribution of twoguineas; and a piece of paper bearing a number of very elaboratecalculations, apparently of measured paces.
It seemed as though the writer had been working out some very difficultproblem of distances, for the half-sheet of quarto paper was absolutelycovered with minute pencilled figures; lengths in metres apparently.
I looked at them, and at a glance saw that old Gregory had eitherreceived his education abroad, or had lived for a long time upon thecontinent when a young man. Why? Because, when he made a figure seven,he drew a short cross-stroke half-way up the downward stroke, in order,as foreigners do, to distinguish it from the figure one.
"I wonder what all these sums can mean?" remarked the detective, asTreeton and I looked over his shoulder.
"Mr. Gregory was a business man," the local police officer said. "Theseare, no doubt, his things, not his nephew's."
"They seem to be measurements," I said, "not sums of money."
"Perhaps the old man himself will tell us what they are," Frayneremarked. Then again examining the wallet, he drew forth several slipsof thin foreign notepaper, which were carefully folded, and had theappearance of having been carried there for a long time. Upon each waswritten a separate word, together with a number, in carefully-formedhandwriting, thus--
"Lavelle 429; Kunzle 191; Geering 289; Souweine 17; Hodrickx 110."
The last one we opened contained the word, "Cromer 900," and I wonderedwhether they were code words.
"These are rather funny, Mr. Vidal," Frayne remarked, as he slowlyreplaced them in the wallet. "A little mysterious, eh?"
"No doubt, old Mr. Gregory will explain," I said. "The great puzzle tome is why the nephew should carry the uncle's belongings in hispockets. There was some deep motive in it, without a doubt."
Frayne returned to the body and made further search. There was nothingmore in the other pockets save a handkerchief, some loose silver and apocket-knife.
But, around the dead man's neck, suspended by a fine gold chain, andworn beneath his shirt, was a lady's tiny, round locket, not more thanan inch in diameter, and engine-turned like a watch, a thin,neatly-made, old-fashioned little thing.
Frayne carefully unclasped it, and taking it across to the light, openedit, expecting to find a photograph, or, perhaps, a miniature. But therewas nothing. It had evidently not been opened for years, for behind thelittle glass, where once had been a photograph, was only a little greypowder. Something had been preserved there--some relic or other--thathad, with age, crumbled into dust.
"This doesn't tell us much," he said. "Yet, men seldom wear such things.Some relic of his sweetheart, eh?" Then he searched once more, and drewfrom the dead man's hip-pocket a serviceable Browning revolver, themagazine of which was fully loaded.
"He evidently expected trouble, and was prepared for it," Treeton said,as the Norwich detective produced the weapon.
"Well, he certainly had no time to use it," responded Frayne. "Deathmust have been instantaneous."
"I think not," I ventured. "If so, why was he found several feet awayfrom the seat?"
Again Frayne showed impatience. He disliked any expression of outsideopinion.
"Well, Mr. Vidal, we've not yet established that it is a case of murder,have we?" he said. "The young man may have died suddenly--of naturalcauses."
I smiled.
"Curious," I exclaimed, a moment later, "that he should be made up to soexactly resemble his uncle! No, Inspector Frayne, if I'm not greatlymistaken, you'll find this a case of assassination--a murder by a verysubtle and ingenious assassin. It is a case of one master-criminalagainst another. That is my opinion."
The man from Norwich smiled sarcastically. My opinion was only theopinion of a mere amateur, and, to the professional thief-catcher, theamateur detective is a person upon whom to play practical jokes. Theamateur who dares to investigate a crime from a purely independentstan
dpoint is a man to jeer and laugh at--a target for ridicule.
I could follow Frayne's thoughts. I had met many provincial policeofficers of his type all over Europe, from Paris up to Petersburg. Thegreat detectives of Europe, are, on the contrary, always open to listento theories or suggestions.
The three doctors were standing aside, discussing the affair--theabsence of all outward signs of anything that might have caused death.Until the coroner issued his order they could not, however, put theirdoubts at rest by making the post-mortem examination. The case puzzledthem, and they were all three eager to have the opportunity of decidinghow the young man had died.
"The few symptoms offered superficially have some strange points aboutthem," I heard Dr. Sladen say. "Do you notice the clenched hands? andyet the mouth is open. The eyes are open too--and the lips are curiouslydiscoloured. Yes, there is decidedly something very mysterious attachingto the cause of death."
And he being the leading practitioner in Cromer, his two colleaguesentirely agreed with him.
After a long conversation, in which many theories--most of themsensational, ridiculous, and baseless--had been advanced, Mr. Day, theChief Officer of Coast-guard, who had been outside the life-boat house,chatting with some friends, entered and told us the results of some ofhis own observations regarding the movements of the eccentric Mr.Gregory. Day was a genial, pleasant man and very popular in Cromer. Ofcourse he was in ignorance that the body discovered was not that of theold gentleman.
"I've had a good many opportunities of watching the old man, Mr. Vidal,"said the short, keen-eyed naval man, turning to me with his hands in thepockets of his pea-jacket, "and he was a funny 'un. He often went outfrom Beacon House at one and two in the morning, and took long strollstowards Rimton and Overstrand. But Mrs. Dean never knew as he wasn'tindoors, for I gather he used to let himself out very quietly. We oftenused to meet him a-creepin' about of a night. I can't think what he wentout for, but I suppose he was a little bit eccentric, eh? Why," went onthe coast-guard officer, "he'd often come into the station early of amornin', and have a chat with me, and look through the big telescope. Heused, sometimes, to stand a-gazin' out at the sea, a-gazin' at nothing,for half an hour on end--lost in thought like. I wonder what he fanciedhe saw there?"
"Yes," I said. "He was eccentric, like many rich men."
"Well, one night, not long ago," Day went on, "there were somedestroyers a-passin' about midnight, and we'd been taking in theirsignals by flash-light, when, in the middle of it, who should come intothe enclosure but old Mr. Gregory. He stood a-watchin' us for tenminutes or so. Then, all at once he says, 'I see they're signalling tothe _Hermes_ at Harwich.' This remark gave me quite a start, for he'devidently been a-readin' all we had taken in--and it was a confidentialmessage, too."
"Then he could read the Morse code," I exclaimed.
"Read it? I should rather think he could!" was the coast-guard officer'sreply. "And mark you, the _Wolverene_ was a-flashin' very quick. It wasas much as I could do to pick it up through the haze. After that, Iconfess I didn't like him hanging about here so much as he did. Butafter all, I'm sorry--very sorry--that the poor old gent is dead."
"Did you ever see him meet anybody on his nightly rambles?" I asked.
"Yes, once. I saw him about six weeks ago, about three o'clock one dark,and terrible wet, mornin', out on the cliff near Rimton Gap. As I passedby he was a-talkin' to a tall young man in a drab mackintosh. Talkin'excited, he was, and a-wavin' his arms wild-like towards the sea. Theyoung man spotted me first, and said something, whereupon the old gentdropped his argument, and the two of 'em walked on quietly together. Ipassed them, believing that his companion was only one of themsimple-like fools we get about here sometimes in the summer. But I'dnever seen him in Cromer. He was a perfect stranger to me."
"That's the only time you've seen him with any companion on these secretnight outings?" I asked.
"Yes. I don't remember ever having seen him in the night with anybodyelse."
"Not even with his nephew?"
"No, not even with Mr. Craig."
"When he dropped in to chat with you at the coastguard station, did heshow any inquisitiveness?" I asked.
"Well, he wanted to know all about things, as most of 'em do," laughedDay. "Ours is a war-station, you know, and folk like to look at theinside, and the flash-lamp I invented."
"The old fellow struck you as a bit of a mystery, didn't he?" Frayneasked, in his pleasant Norfolk brogue.
"Well, yes, he did," replied the coast-guard officer. "I remember onenight last March--the eleventh, I think it was--when our people atWeybourne detected some mysterious search-lights far out at sea andraised an alarm on the 'phone all along the coast. It was a very dirtynight, but the whole lot of us, from Wells right away to Yarmouth, wereat once on the look-out. We could see search-lights but could makenothing of the signals. That's what puzzled us so. I went out along thecliff, and up Rimton way, but could see nothing. Yet, on my way back, asI got near the town, I suddenly saw a stream of light--about like asearch-light--coming from the sea-front here. It was a-flashin' somesignal. I was a couple of miles from the town, and naturally concludedit was one of my men with the flash-lamp. As I passed Beacon House,however, I saw old Mr. Gregory a-leanin' over the railings, looking outto sea. It was then about two o'clock. I supposed he had seen thedistant lights, and, passing a word with him, I went along to thestation. To my surprise, I found that we'd not been signalling at all.Then I recollected old Mr. Gregory's curious interest in the lights, andI wondered. In fact, I've wondered ever since, whether that answeringsignal I saw did not come from one of the front windows of Beacon House?Perhaps he was practisin' Morse!"
"Strange, very strange!" Frayne remarked. "Didn't you discover whatcraft it was making the signals?"
"No, sir. They are a mystery to this day. We reported by wire to theAdmiralty, of course, but we've never found out who it was a-signalling.It's a complete mystery--and it gave us a bit of an alarm at the time, Ican tell you," he laughed. "There was a big Italian yacht, called the_Carlo Alberta_, reported next day from Hunstanton, and it may, ofcourse, have been her. But I am not inclined to think so."
The Place of Dragons: A Mystery Page 3
