"But, my dear Stalker!" I exclaimed, grinning in his face. "This is foresight with a vengeance. This fire may have been an incendiary fire. There may have been a man sleeping in the house and he may have got burned to death; and that man may have insured his life in your Society. How does that work out by the ordinary laws of chance? Pretty long odds, I think."
"Not so long as you fancy," he replied. "Persons who lose their lives in incendiary fires have a tendency to be insured. The connection between the fire and the death may not be a chance connection. Still, I will admit that, beyond a mere suspicion that there may be something wrong about this fire, I have nothing to go on. I am asking you to watch the case 'ex abundantia cautelae' as you lawyers say. And the watching must be done now while the evidence is available. It's no use waiting until the ruins have been cleared away and the body—if there is one—buried."
"No," I agreed; "Thorndyke will be with you in that. I will give him your instructions when I see him at lunch-time, and you can take it that he won't lose any time in collecting the facts. But you had better give us something in writing, as we shall have to get authority to inspect the ruins and to examine the body if there is one to examine."
"Yes," said Stalker, "I'll do that now. I have some of our letter-paper in my case."
He fished out a sheet, and, having written a formal request to Thorndyke to make such investigations as might be necessary in the interests of the Griffin Assurance Company, handed it to me and took his departure. As his footsteps died away on the stairs, Polton emerged from the adjacent laboratory and came in to clear away the breakfast-things. As he put them together on the tray, he announced:
"I've read the account of the fire, sir, in the paper, but there isn't much more than you told me. Only the address—Billington Street, Soho."
"And now," said I, "you would like to go and have a look at it, I suppose?"
"Well," he admitted, "it would be interesting after having heard about it from you. But you see, sir, there's lunch to be got ready. The Doctor had his breakfast a bit earlier than you did, and not quite so much of it."
"Never mind about lunch," said I. "William can see to that." (William, I may explain, was a youth who had lately been introduced to assist Polton and relieve him of his domestic duties; and a very capable under-study he had proved. Nevertheless, Polton clung tenaciously to what he considered his privilege of attending personally to "The Doctor's" wants, which, in effect, included mine.) "You see, Polton," I added by way of overcoming his scruples, "one of us ought to go, and I don't want to. But The Doctor will want to make an inspection at the earliest possible moment and he will want to know how soon that will be. At present, the ruins can't have cooled down enough for a detailed inspection to be possible, but you could find out from the man in charge how things are and when we could make our visit. We shall want to see the place before it has been considerably disturbed, and, if there are any human remains, we shall want to know where the mortuary is."
On this Polton brightened up considerably. "Of course, sir," said he, "If could be of any use, I should like to go; and I think William will be able to manage, as it is only a cold lunch."
With this he retired, and a few minutes later I saw him from the window hurrying along Crown Office Row, carefully dressed and carrying a fine, silver-topped cane and looking more like a dignitary of the Church than a skilled artificer.
When Thorndyke came in, I gave him an account of Stalker's visit as well as of my own adventure.
"I don't quite see," I added, "what we can do for him or why he is in such a twitter about this fire."
"No," he replied. "But Stalker is enormously impressed by our one or two successes and is inclined to over-estimate our powers. Still, there seem to be some suspicious features in the case, and I notice, on the placards, a rumour that a man was burned to death in the fire. If that is so, the affair will need looking into more narrowly. But we shall hear more about that when Polton comes back."
We did. For when, just as we had finished lunch, our deputy returned, he was able to give us all the news up to the latest developments. He had been fortunate enough to meet Detective Sergeant Wills, who was watching the case for the police, and had learned from him that a body had been discovered among the debris, but that there was some mystery about its identity, as the tenant of the rooms was known to be away from home on a visit to Ireland. But it was not a mere matter of hearsay, for Polton had actually seen the body brought out on a stretcher and had followed it to the mortuary.
"You couldn't see what its condition was, I suppose?" said I.
"No, sir," he replied, regretfully. "Unfortunately, it was covered up with a waterproof sheet."
"And as to the state of the ruins; did you find out how soon an examination of them will be possible?"
"Yes, sir. I explained matters to the Fire Brigade officer and asked him when you would be able to make your inspection. Of course, everything is too hot to handle just now. They had the greatest difficulty in getting at the corpse; but the officer thought that by to-morrow morning they will be able to get to work, and he suggested that you might come along in the forenoon."
"Yes," said Thorndyke, "that will do. We needn't be there very early, as the heavier material—joists and beams and the debris of the roof—will have to be cleared away before we shall be able to see anything. We had better make our visit to the mortuary first. It is possible that we may learn more from the body than from the ruins. At any rate, it is within our province, which the ruins are not."
"Judging from what I saw," said I, "there will be mighty little for anyone to learn from the ruins. When the roof fell, it seemed to go right through to the basement."
"Will you want anything got ready, sir?" Polton asked, a little anxiously.
Thorndyke apparently noted the wistful tone, for he replied: "I shall want you to come along with us, Polton; and you had better bring a small camera with the adjustable stand. We shall probably want photographs of the body, and it may be in an awkward position."
"Yes, sir," said Polton. "I will bring the extension as well; and I will put out the things that you are likely to want for your research-case."
With this, he retired in undissembled glee, leaving us to discuss our arrangements.
"You will want authorities to examine the body and the ruins," said I. "Shall I see to them? I have nothing special to do this afternoon."
"If you would, Jervis, it would be a great help," he replied. "I have some work which I should like to finish up, so as to leave to-morrow fairly free. We don't know how much time our examinations may take."
"No," said I, "especially as you seem to be taking the case quite seriously."
"But, my dear fellow," said he, "we must. There may be nothing in it at all, but, in any case, we have got to satisfy Stalker and do our duty as medico-legal advisers to The Griffin."
With this he rose and went forth about his business, while I, having taken possession of Stalker's letter, set out in quest of the necessary authorities.
XI. THE RUINS
In the medico-legal mind the idea of horror, I suppose, hardly has a place. It is not only that sensibilities tend to become dulled by repeated impacts, but that the emotions are, as it were, insulated by the concentration of attention on technical matters. Speaking, however, dispassionately, I must admit that the body which had been disinterred from the ruins of the burned house was about as horrible an object as I had ever seen. Even the coroner's officer, whose emotional epidermis might well have grown fairly tough, looked at that corpse with an undisguised shudder, while as to Polton, he was positively appalled. As he stood by the table and stared with bulging eyes at the dreadful thing, I surmised that he was enjoying the thrill of his life. He was in a very ecstasy of horror.
To both these observers, I think, Thorndyke's proceedings imparted an added touch of gruesomeness; for my colleague—as I have hinted—saw in that hideous object nothing but a technical problem, and he proceeded in the most impas
sive and matter-of-fact way to examine it feature by feature and note down his observations as if he were drawing up an inventory. I need not enter into details as to its appearance. It will easily be imagined that a body which had been exposed to such intense heat that not only was most of its flesh reduced to mere animal charcoal, but the very bones, in places, were incinerated to chalky whiteness, was not a pleasant object to look on. But I think that what most appalled both Polton and the officer was the strange posture that it had assumed: a posture suggesting some sort of struggle or as if the man had been writhing in agony or shrinking from a threatened attack. The body and limbs were contorted in the strangest manner, the arms crooked, the hands thrust forward, and the skeleton fingers bent like hooks.
"Good Lord, sir!" Polton whispered, "how the poor creature must have suffered! And it almost looks as if someone had been holding him down."
"It really does," the coroner's officer agreed; "as if somebody was attacking him and wouldn't let him escape."
"It does look rather horrid," I admitted, "but I don't think you need worry too much about the position of the limbs. This contortion is almost certainly due to shrinkage of the muscles after death as the heat dried them. What do you think, Thorndyke?"
"Yes," he agreed. "It is not possible to draw any conclusions from the posture of a body that has been burned to the extent that this has, and burned so unequally. You notice that, whereas the feet are practically incinerated, there are actually traces of the clothing on the chest; apparently a suit of pyjamas, to judge by what is left of the buttons."
At this moment the door of the mortuary opened to admit a newcomer, in whom we recognized a Dr. Robertson, the divisional surgeon and an old acquaintance of us both.
"I see," he remarked, as Thorndyke laid down his tape-measure to shake hands, "that you are making your examination with your usual thoroughness."
"Well," Thorndyke replied, "the relevant facts must be ascertained now or never. They may be of no importance, but one can't tell that in advance."
"Yes," said Robertson, "that is a sound principle. In this case, I don't much think they are. I mean data in proof of identity, which are what you seem to be collecting. The identity of this man seems to be established by the known circumstances, though not so very clearly, I must admit."
"That seems a little obscure," Thorndyke remarked. "Either the man's identity is known, or it isn't."
The divisional surgeon smiled. "You are a devil for accuracy, Thorndyke," said he, "but you are quite right. We aren't here to make guesses. But the facts as to the identity appear to be pretty simple. From the statement of Mr. Green, the lessee of the house, it seems that the first-floor rooms were let to a man named Gustavus Haire, who lived in them, and he was the only person resident in the house; so that, when the business premises closed down for the day and the employees went home, he had the place to himself."
"Then," said Thorndyke, "do we take it that this is the body of Mr. Gustavus Haire?"
"No," replied Robertson, "that is where the obscurity comes in. Mr. Haire has—fortunately for him—gone on a business visit to Dublin, but, as Mr. Green informs us, during his absence he allowed a cousin of his, a Mr. Cecil Moxdale, to occupy the rooms, or at least to use them to sleep in to save the expense of an hotel. The difficulty is that Moxdale was not known personally to Mr. Green, or to anybody else, for that matter. At present, he is little more than a name. But, of course, Haire will be able to give all the necessary particulars when he comes back from Ireland."
"Yes," Thorndyke agreed, "but meanwhile there will be no harm in noting the facts relevant to the question of identity. The man may have made a will, or there may be other reasons for establishing proof of his identity independently of Haire's statements. I have made notes of the principal data, but I am not very happy about the measurements. The contorted state of the body makes them a little uncertain. I suggest that you and Jervis take a set of measurements each, independently, and that we compare them afterwards."
Robertson grinned at me, but he took the tape measure without demur and proceeded quite carefully to take the principal dimensions of the contorted body and the twisted limbs, and, when he had finished, I repeated the measurements, noting them down in my pocket-book. Then we compared our respective findings—which were in substantial agreement—and Thorndyke copied them all down in his note-book.
"When you came in, Robertson," said he, "we were discussing the posture of the body, and we had concluded that the contortion was due to shrinkage and had no significance. Do you agree?"
"I think so. It is not an unusual condition, and I don't see what significance it could have. The cause of death is practically established by the circumstances. But it certainly is a queer posture. The head especially. The man looks as if he had been hanged."
"He does," Thorndyke agreed, "and I want you to take a careful look at the neck. I noticed Jervis looking at it with a good deal of interest. Has my learned friend formed any opinion?"
"The neck is certainly dislocated," I replied, "and the odontoid process is broken. I noted that, but I put it down to the effects of shrinkage of the neck muscles, and possibly to some disturbance when the body was moved."
Robertson stooped over the body and examined the exposed neck-bones narrowly, testing the head for mobility and finding it quite stiff and rigid.
"Well," said he, "the neck is undoubtedly broken, but I am inclined to agree with Jervis, excepting that, as the neck is perfectly rigid, I don't think that the dislocation could have been produced by the moving of the body. I should say that it is the result of shrinkage; in fact, I don't see how else it could have been caused, having regard to the circumstances in which the body was found."
Thorndyke looked dissatisfied. "It always seems to me," said he, "that when one is examining a particular fact, it is best to forget the circumstances; to consider the fact without prejudice and without connection with anything else, and then, as a separate proceeding, to relate it to the circumstances."
The divisional surgeon chuckled. "This," said he, "is what the Master instils into his pupils. And quite right, too. It is sound doctrine. But still, you know, we must be reasonable. When we find the body of a man among the debris of a house which has been burned out, and the evidence shows that the man was the only occupant of that house, it seems a little pedantic to enquire elaborately whether he may not have died from the effects of manual strangulation or homicidal hanging."
"My point," Thorndyke rejoined, as a parting shot, "is that our function is to ascertain the objective facts, leaving their interpretation to the coroner and his jury. Looking at that odontoid process, I find that the appearance of the fragments where the break took place is more consistent with the fracture having occurred during life than after death and during the subsequent shrinkage. I admit that I do not see how the fracture can have happened in the known—or assumed—circumstances, and I further admit that the appearances are not at all decisive."
I took another careful look at the fractured bone and was disposed to agree with Thorndyke; but I had also to agree with Robertson when he closed the discussion with the remark: "Well, Thorndyke, you may be right, but in any case the point seems to be of only academic interest. The man was alone in the house, so he couldn't have died from homicide; and I have never heard of anyone committing suicide by dislocating his neck."
Nevertheless, he joined us in a very thorough examination of the body for any other traces of injury (of which I need hardly say there were none) and for any distinctive appearances which might help to determine the identity in case the question should arise. I noticed him closely examining the teeth, and as they had already attracted my attention, I asked: "What do you make of those teeth? Is that roughening and pitting of the enamel due to the heat, or to some peculiarity of the teeth, themselves? "
"Just what I was wondering," he replied. "I think it must be the result of the fire, for I don't recognize it as a condition that I have ever seen on living teeth.
What do you think, Thorndyke?"
"I am in the same position as yourself," was the reply. "I don't recognize the condition. It is not disease, for the teeth are quite sound and strong. On the other hand, I don't quite understand how that pitting could have been produced by the heat. So I have just noted the appearance in case it should have any significance later."
"Well," said Robertson, "if Thorndyke is reduced to an open verdict, I suppose we may follow suit," and with this we returned to the general examination. When we had finished, he helped us to lift the stretcher, on which the body had been left, from the table to the floor to enable Polton to expose the photographs that Thorndyke required as records, and, when these had been taken, our business at the mortuary was finished.
"I suppose," said Robertson, "you are going to have a look at the ruins, now. It seems a trifle off the medico-legal track, but you may possibly pick up some information there. I take it that you are acting for the insurance company?"
"Yes," replied Thorndyke, "on instructions. As you say, it seems rather outside our province, as the company appears to be interested only in the house. But they asked me to watch the case, and I am doing so."
"You are indeed," Robertson exclaimed. "All that elaborate examination of the body seems to be completely irrelevant, if the question is only, How did the house catch fire? You carry thoroughness to the verge of fanaticism."
Thorndyke smiled. "Not fanaticism," said he; "merely experience, which bids us gather the rosebuds while we may. The question of to-day is not necessarily the question of to-morrow. At present we are concerned with the house; but there was a dead body in it. A month hence that body may be the problem, but by then it will be underground."
Robertson grinned at me. "'Twas ever thus," he chuckled. "You can't get a rise out of Thorndyke—for the reason, I suppose, that he is always right. Well, I wish you luck in your explorations and hope to meet you both at the inquest."
Dr. Thorndyke Omnibus Vol 7 Page 65
