The Cat's Eye E-Book

R. Austin Freeman

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Seitenzahl: 436

Beschreibung

When Andrew Drayton, a collector of jewelry, is found stabbed to death and the young woman who tried to stop the murderer is wounded, Dr Thorndyke is called in to investigate. But although the scene of the crime seems awash with the fingerprints of the attacker, there may be good reason why the police can't trace the killer. But not only are the facts of the case proving to be vexing but the discovery of a secret chamber and its sinister contents help to reveal that this is no ordinary murder and no ordinary murderer is behind it.

Leseprobe

The Cat's Eye

Chapter 1 - IN THE MIDST OF LIFEChapter 2 - SIR LAWRENCE DECLARES A VENDETTAChapter 3 - THORNDYKE TAKES UP THE INQUIRYChapter 4 - THE LADY OF SHALOTTChapter 5 - MR HALLIBURTON'S MASCOTChapter 6 - INTRODUCES AN ANT-EATER AND A DETECTIVEChapter 7 - THE VANISHED HEIRLOOMChapter 8 - A JACOBITE ROMANCEChapter 9 - EXIT MOAKEYChapter 10 - A TIMELY WARNINGChapter 11 - THE BLUE HAIRChapter 12 - FROM THE JAWS OF DEATHChapter 13 - THORNDYKE STATES HIS POSITIONChapter 14 - BEAUCHAMP BLAKEChapter 15 - THE SQUIRE AND THE SLEUTH-HOUNDChapter 16 - MR BRODRIBB'S EMBASSYChapter 17 - THE SECRET CHAMBERChapter 18 - THE CAT'S EYEChapter 19 - A RELIC OF THE '45Chapter 20 - QEDCopyright

Chapter 1 - IN THE MIDST OF LIFE

I am not a superstitious man. Indeed superstition, which is inseparably bound up with ignorance or disregard of evidence, would ill accord with the silken gown of a King's Counsel. And still less am I tainted with that particular form of superstition in which the fetishism of barbarous and primitive man is incongruously revived in a population of, at least nominally, educated persons, by the use of charms, amulets, mascots and the like.

Had it been otherwise; had I been the subject of this curious atavistic tendency, I should surely have been led to believe that from the simple gem whose name I have used to give a tide to this chronicle, some subtle influence exhaled whereby the whole course of my life was directed into new channels. But I do not believe anything of the kind; and therefore, though it did actually happen that the appearance of the Cat's Eye was coincident with a radical change in the course and manner of my life, and even, as it seemed, with my very personality; and though with the Cat's Eye the unfolding of the new life seemed constantly associated; still I would have it understood that I use the name merely as a label to docket together a succession of events that form a consistent and natural group.

The particular train of events with which this history deals began on a certain evening near the end of the long vacation. It was a cloudy evening, I remember, and very dark, for it was past eight o'clock and the days were drawing in rapidly. I was returning across Hampstead Heath towards my lodgings in the village, and was crossing the broken, gorse-covered and wooded hollow to the west of the Spaniards Road, when I heard the footsteps of some one running, and running swiftly, as I could judge by the rapid rhythm of the footfalls and the sound of scattering gravel. I halted to listen, noting that the rhythm of the footsteps was slightly irregular, like the ticking of an ill-adjusted clock; and even as I halted, I saw the runner. But only for a moment, and then but dimly. The vague shape of a man came out of the gloom, passed swiftly across my field of vision, and was gone. I could not see what he was like. The dim shape appeared and vanished into the darkness, leaving me standing motionless, listening with vague suspicion to the now faint footfalls and wondering what I ought to do.

Suddenly the silence was rent by a piercing cry, the cry of a woman calling for help. And, strangely enough, it came from the opposite direction to that towards which the fugitive was running. In an instant I turned and raced across the rugged hollow towards the spot from whence the sound seemed to come, and as I scrambled up a gravelly hillock I saw, faintly silhouetted on the murky skyline of some rising ground ahead, the figures of a man and a woman struggling together; and I had just noted that the man seemed to be trying to escape when I saw him deal the woman a blow, on which she uttered a shriek and fell, while the man, having wrenched himself free, darted down the farther slope and vanished into the encompassing darkness.

When I reached the woman she was sitting up with her right hand pressed to her side, and as I approached she called out sharply:

'Follow him! Follow that man! Never mind me!'

I stood for a moment irresolute, for on the hand that was pressed to her side I had noticed a smear of blood. But as I hesitated, she repeated: 'Follow him! Don't let him escape! He has just committed a dreadful murder!'

On this I ran down the slope in the direction that the man had taken and stumbled on over the rugged, gravelly hillocks and hollows, among the furze bushes and the birches and other small trees. But it was a hopeless pursuit. The man had vanished utterly, and from the dark heath not a sound came to give a hint as to the direction in which he had gone. There was no definite path, nor was it likely that he would have followed one; and as I ran forward, tripping over roots and sandy hummocks, the futility of the pursuit became every moment more obvious, while I felt a growing uneasiness as to the condition of the woman I had left sitting on the ground and apparently bleeding from a wound. At length I gave up the chase and began to retrace my steps, now full of anxiety lest I should be unable to find the spot where I had left her, and speculating on the possibility that the victim of the murder of which she had spoken might yet be alive and in urgent need of help.

I returned as quickly as I could, watching the direction anxiously and trying vainly to pick up landmarks. But the uneven, gorse-covered ground was a mere formless expanse intersected in all directions by indistinct tracks, confused by the numbers of birch-trees and stunted oaks, and shut in on all sides by a wall of darkness. Presently I halted with a despairing conviction that I had lost my way hopelessly, and at that moment I discerned dimly through the gloom the shape of a piece of rising ground lying away to the right. Instantly I hurried towards it, and as I climbed the slope, I thought I recognised it as the place from which I had started. A moment later, the identity of the place was confirmed beyond all doubt, for I perceived lying on the ground a shawl or scarf which I now remembered to have seen lying near the woman as she sat with her hand pressed to her side, urging me to follow her assailant.

But the woman herself had disappeared. I picked up the shawl, and throwing it over my arm, stood for a few moments, peering about me and listening intently. Not a sound could I distinguish, however, nor could I perceive any trace of the vanished woman. Then I noticed, a few yards away, a defined path leading towards a patch of deeper darkness that looked like a copse or plantation, and following this, I presently came upon her, standing by a fence and clinging to it for support.

'The man has got away,' said I. 'There is no sign of him. But what about you? Are you hurt much?'

'I don't think so,' she answered faintly. 'The wretch tried to stab me, but I don't think—' Here her voice faded away, as she fell forward against the fence and seemed about to collapse. I caught her, and lifting her bodily, carried her along the path, which appeared to lead to a house. Presently I came to an open gate, and entering the enclosed grounds, saw before me an old-fashioned house, the door of which stood ajar, showing a faint light from within. As I approached the door, a telephone bell rang and a woman's voice, harsh and terrified, smote my ear:

'Are you there? This is Rowan Lodge. Send to the police immediately! Mr Drayton has been robbed and murdered! Yes, Mr Drayton. He is lying dead in his room. I am his housekeeper. Send the police and a doctor!'

At this moment I pushed open the door and entered; and at my appearance, with the insensible woman in my arms, the housekeeper shrieked aloud, and dropping the receiver, started back with a gesture of wild terror.

'My God!' she exclaimed, 'What is this? Not another!'

'I hope not,' I replied, not, however, without misgivings. 'This lady tried to hold the man as he was escaping and the villain stabbed her. Where can I lay her down?'

The whimpering housekeeper flung open a door, and snatching a match-box from the hall table, struck a match and preceded me into a room where, by the light of the match that flickered in her shaking hand, I made out a sofa and laid my burden on it, rolling up the shawl and placing it under her head. Then the housekeeper lit the gas and came and stood by the sofa, wringing her hands and gazing down with horrified pity at the corpse-like figure.

'Poor dear!' she sobbed. 'Such a pretty creature, too, and quite a lady! God help us! What can we do for her? She may be bleeding to death!'

The same thought was in my mind, and the same question, but as I answered that we could do nothing until the doctor arrived, the woman—or rather girl, for she was not more than twenty-six—opened her eyes and asked in a faint voice: 'Is Mr Drayton dead?'

The housekeeper sobbed an indistinct affirmative and then added:

'But try not to think about it, my dear. Just keep yourself quite quiet until the doctor comes.'

'Are you sure he is dead?' I asked in a low voice.

'I wish I were not,' she sobbed. Then, with an earnest look at the young lady-who seemed now to be reviving somewhat-she added:

'Come with me and see; and do you lie quite still until I come back, my dear.'

With this she led me out of the room, and turning from the hall into a short corridor, passed quickly along it and stopped at a door. 'He is in there,' she said in a shaky voice that was half a sob. She opened the door softly, peered in, and then, with a shuddering cry, turned and ran back to the room that we had just left.

When she had gone I entered the room half-reluctantly, for the atmosphere of tragedy and horror was affecting me most profoundly. It was a smallish room, almost unfurnished save for a range of cabinets such as insect collectors use; and opposite one of these a man lay motionless on the floor, looking, with his set, marble-white face and fixed, staring eyes, like some horrible waxwork figure. I stooped over him to see if there were any sign of life. But even to a layman's eye the fixity, the utter immobility was unmistakable. The man was dead beyond all doubt. I listened with my ear at his mouth and laid my finger on the chilly wrist. But the first glance had told me all. The man was dead.

As I stood up, still with my eyes riveted on the face, set in that ghastly stare, I became conscious of a certain dim sense of recognition. It was a strong, resolute face, and even in death, the fixed expression spoke rather of anger than of fear. Where had I seen that face? And then in a flash I recalled the name that the housekeeper had called through the telephone-Mr Drayton. Of course. This was the brother of my neighbour in the Temple, Sir Lawrence Drayton, the famous Chancery lawyer. He had spoken to me of a brother who lived at Hampstead, and there could be no doubt that this was he. The likeness was unmistakable.

But, as I realised this, I realised also the certainty that this crime would become my professional concern. Sir Lawrence would undoubtedly put the case in the hands of my friend John Thorndyke—the highest medico-legal authority and the greatest criminal lawyer of our time—and my association with Thorndyke would make me a party to the investigation. And that being so, it behoved me to gather what data I could before the police arrived and took possession.

The mechanism of the crime was obvious enough, though there were one or two mysterious features. Of the cabinet opposite which the body lay, one drawer was pulled out, and its loose glass cover had been removed and lay shattered on the floor beside the corpse. The contents of this drawer explained the motive of the crime, for they consisted of specimens of jewellery, all more or less antique, and many of them quite simple and rustic in character, but still jewels. A number had evidently been taken, to judge by the empty trays, but the greater part of the contents of the drawer remained intact.

The rifled drawer was the second from the top. Having turned up the gas and lit a second burner, I drew out the top drawer. The contents of this were untouched, though the drawer appeared to have been opened, for the cover-glass was marked by a number of rather conspicuous fingerprints. Of course these were not necessarily the prints of the robber's fingers, but they probably were, for their extreme distinctness suggested a dirty and sweaty hand such as would naturally appertain to a professional thief in a state of some bodily fear. Moreover the reason why this drawer should have been passed over was quite obvious. Its contents were of no intrinsic value, consisting chiefly of Buckinghamshire lace bobbins with carved inscriptions and similar simple objects.

I next drew out the third drawer, which I found quite untouched, and the absence of any fingerprints on the cover-glass confirmed the probable identity of those on the glass of the top drawer. By way of further settling this question, I picked up the fragments of the broken glass and looked them over carefully; and when I found several of them marked with similar distinct fingerprints, the probability that they were those of the murderer became so great as nearly to amount to certainty.

I did not suppose that these fingerprints would be of much interest to Thorndyke. They were rather the concern of the police and the Habitual Criminals Registry. But still I knew that if he had been in my place he would have secured specimens, on the chance of their being of use hereafter, and I could do no less than take the opportunity that offered. Looking over the broken fragments again, I selected two pieces, each about four inches square, both of which bore several fingerprints. I placed them carefully face to face in a large envelope from my pocket, having first wrapped their corners in paper to prevent the surfaces from touching.

I had just bestowed the envelope in my letter-case and slipped the latter into my pocket when I heard a man's voice in the hall. I opened the door, and walking along the corridor, found a police inspector and a sergeant in earnest conversation with the housekeeper, while an elderly man, whom I judged to be the doctor, stood behind, listening attentively.

'Well,' said the inspector 'we'd better see to the lady. Will you have a look at her, doctor, and when you've attended to her, perhaps you will let us know whether she is in a fit state to answer questions. But you might just take a look at the body first.' Here he observed me and inquired: 'Let me see, who is this gentleman?'

I explained briefly my connection with the case as we walked down the corridor, and the inspector made no comment at the moment. We all entered the room, and the doctor stooped over the body and made a rapid inspection.

'Yes,' he said, rising and shaking his head, 'there's no doubt that he is dead, poor fellow. A shocking affair. But I had better go and see to this poor lady before I make any detailed examination.'

With this he bustled away, and the inspector and the sergeant knelt down beside the corpse but refrained from touching it.

'Knife wound, apparently,' said the inspector, nodding gloomily at a small pool of blood that appeared between the outstretched right arm and the side. 'Seems to have been a left-handed man, too, unless he struck from behind, which he pretty evidently did not.' He stood up, and once more looking at me, somewhat inquisitively, said: 'I had better have your name and address, sir.'

'My name is Anstey—Robert Anstey, KC, and my address is 8A Kings Bench Walk, Inner Temple.'

'Oh, I know you, sir,' said the inspector with a sudden change of manner. 'You are Dr. Thorndyke's leading counsel. Well, well. What an odd thing that you should happen to come upon this affair by mere chance. It's quite in your own line.'

'I don't know about that,' said I. 'It looks to me rather more in yours. If they have got these fingerprints in the files at Scotland Yard you won't have much trouble in finding your man or getting a conviction.'

As I spoke, I drew his attention to the fingerprints on the broken glass, saying nothing, however, about those on the upper drawer.

The two officers examined the incriminating marks with deep interest, and the inspector proceeded carefully and skilfully to pack several of the fragments for subsequent examination, remarking, as he laid them tenderly on the top of a cabinet: 'This looks like a regular windfall, but it's almost too good to be true. The professional crook, nowadays, knows too much to go dabbing his trade-marks about in this fashion. These prints and the knife rather suggest a casual or amateur of some kind. The fellow not only didn't wear gloves, he didn't even trouble to wipe his hands. And they wanted wiping pretty badly. Are all these cabinets full of jewellery?'

'I really don't know what they contain, but they are pretty insecure if their contents are valuable.'

'Yes,' he agreed. 'A single locked batten to each cabinet. One wrench of a jemmy and the whole cabinet is open. Well, we'd better have a few words with the housekeeper before we go over the room in detail. And she won't want to talk to us in here.'

With this he led the way back to the hall, and I could not but admire the diplomatic way in which he managed to get me away from the scene of his intended investigation.

As we entered the hall, we met the doctor, who was repacking his emergency bag at the door of the room.

'I think,' said he, 'my patient is well enough to give you a few necessary particulars. But don't tire her with needless questions.'

'She is not seriously hurt, then?' said I, with considerable relief.

'No. But she has had a mighty narrow escape. The brute must have aimed badly, for he struck viciously enough, but the point of the knife glanced off a rib and came out farther back, just transfixing a fold of skin and muscle. It is a nasty wound, but quite superficial and not at all dangerous.'

'Well, I'm glad it's no worse than that,' said the inspector, and with this he pushed open the door of the room and we all entered, though I noticed that the sergeant regarded me with a somewhat dubious eye. And now, for the first time, I observed the injured lady with some attention, which I was able to do at my leisure while the examination was proceeding. And a very remarkable-looking girl she was. Whether she would have been considered beautiful by the majority of persons I cannot say; she certainly appeared so to me. But I have always felt a great admiration of the pictures of Burne-Jones and of the peculiar type of womanhood that he loved to paint; and this girl, with her soft aureole of reddish-gold hair, her earnest grey eyes, her clear, blonde skin—now pale as marble—the characteristic mouth and cast of features, might have been the model whose presentment gave those pictures, to me, their peculiar charm. She seemed not of the common, everyday world, but like some visitor from the regions of legend and romance. And the distinction other appearance was supported by her speech—by a singularly sweet voice, an accent of notable refinement, and a manner at once gentle, grave, and dignified.

'Do you feel able to tell us what you know of this terrible affair, Madam?' the inspector asked.

'Oh yes,' she replied. 'I am quite recovered now.'

'Was Mr Drayton a friend of yours?'

'No. I never met him until this evening. But perhaps I had better tell you how I came to be here and exactly what happened.'

'Yes,' the inspector agreed, 'that will be the shortest way.'

'Mr Drayton,' she began, 'was, as you probably know, the owner of a collection of what he called "inscribed objects"—jewels, ornaments, and small personal effects bearing inscriptions connecting them with some person or event or period. I saw a description of the collection in the Connoisseur a short time ago, and as I am greatly interested in inscribed jewels, I wrote to Mr Drayton asking if I could be allowed to see the collection; and I asked, since I am occupied all day, if he could make it convenient to show me the collection one evening. I also asked him some questions about the specimens of jewellery In reply he wrote me a most kind letter—I have it in my pocket if you would like to see it—answering my questions and not only inviting me most cordially to come and look at his treasures, but offering to meet me at the station and show me the way to the house. Of course I accepted his very kind offer and gave him a few particulars of my appearance so that he should be able to identify me, and this evening he met me at the station and we walked up here together. There was no one in the house when we arrived—at least he thought there was not, for he mentioned to me that his housekeeper had gone out for an hour or so. He let himself in with a key and showed me into this room. Then he went away, leaving the door ajar. I heard him walk down the corridor and I heard a door open. Almost at the same moment, he called out loudly and angrily. Then I heard the report of a pistol, followed immediately by a heavy fall.'

'A pistol!' exclaimed the inspector 'I thought it was a knife wound. But I mustn't interrupt you.'

'When I heard the report I ran out into the hall and down the corridor. As I went, I heard a sound as of a scuffle, and when I reached the door of the museum, which was wide open, I saw Mr Drayton lying on the floor, quite still, and a man climbing out of the window. I ran to the window to try to stop him, but before I could get there he was gone. I waited an instant to look at Mr Drayton, and noticed that he seemed to be already dead and that the room was full of the reek from the pistol, then I ran back to the hall and out through the garden and along the fence to where I supposed the window to be. But for a few moments I could not see any one. Then, suddenly, a man sprang over the fence and dropped quite near me, and before he could recover his balance, I had run to him and seized him by both wrists. He struggled violently, though lie did not seem very strong, but he dragged me quite a long way before he got free.'

'Did he say anything to you?' the inspector asked.

'Yes. He used most horrible language, and more than once he said:

"Let go, you fool. The man who did it has got away."

'That might possibly be true,' I interposed, 'for, just before I heard this lady call for help, a man passed me at a little distance, running so hard that I was half inclined to follow him.'

'Did you see what he was like?' the inspector demanded eagerly.

'No. I hardly saw him at all. He passed me at a distance of about thirty yards and was gone in an instant. Then I heard this lady call out and, of course, ran towards her.'

'Yes,' said the inspector,' naturally. But it's a pity you didn't see what the man was like. 'Then, once more addressing the lady, he asked:

'Did this man stab you without warning, Miss—'

'Blake is my name,' she replied. 'No. He threatened several times to "knife" me if I didn't let go. At last he managed to get his left hand free. I think he was holding something in it, but he must have dropped it, whatever it was, for the next moment I saw him draw a knife from under his coat. Then I got hold of his arm again, and that is probably the reason that he wounded me so slightly. But when he stabbed me I suddenly went quite faint and fell down, and then he escaped.'

'He held the knife in his left hand, then?' the inspector asked. 'You are sure of that?'

'Quite sure. Of course it happened to be the free hand, but-'

'But if he had been a right-handed man he would probably have got his right hand free. Did you see which side he carried his knife?'

'Yes. He drew it from under his coat on the left side.'

'Can you give us any description of the man?'

'I am afraid I can't. I am sure I should recognise him if I were to see him again, but I can't describe him. It was all very confused, and, of course, it was very dark. I should say that he was a smallish man, rather slightly built. He wore a cloth cap and his hair seemed rather short but bushy. He had a thin face, with a very peculiar expression—but, of course, he was extremely excited and furious—and large, staring eyes, and a rather pronounced, curved nose.'

'Oh, come,' said the inspector approvingly, 'that isn't such a bad description. Can you say whether he was dark or fair, clean shaved or bearded?'

'He was clean shaved, and I should say decidedly dark.'

'And how was he dressed?'

'He wore a cloth cap, and, I think, a tweed suit. Oh, and he wore gloves-thin, smooth gloves-very thin kid, I should say-'

'Gloves!' exclaimed the inspector. 'Then the fingerprints must be the other man's. Are you sure he had gloves on both hands?'

'Yes, perfectly sure. I saw them and felt them.'

'Well,' said the inspector,' this is a facer. It looks as if the other man had really done the job while this fellow kept watch outside. It's a mysterious affair altogether. There's the extraordinary time they chose to break into the house. Eight o'clock in the evening. It would almost seem as if they had known about Mr Drayton's movements.'

'They must have done,' said the housekeeper. 'Mr Drayton went out regularly every evening a little after seven. He went down to the village to play chess at the club, and he usually came back between half-past nine and ten. And I generally sat and worked in the kitchen on the other side of the house from the museum.'

'And did he take no sort of precautions against robbery?'

'He used to lock the museum when he went out. That was all. He was not at all a nervous man, and he used to say that there was no danger of robbery because the things in the museum were not the kind of things that burglars go for. They wouldn't be of any value to melt or sell.'

'We must just look over the museum presently and see what the collection consists of,' said the inspector. 'And we must see how they got in and what they have taken. I suppose there is a catalogue?'

'No, there isn't,' replied the housekeeper. 'I did suggest to Mr Drayton that he ought to draw up a list of the things, but he said it was not a public collection, and as he knew all the specimens himself, there was no need to number them or keep a catalogue.'

That is unfortunate,' said the inspector. 'We shan't be able to find out what is missing or circulate any descriptions unless you can remember what was in the cabinets. By the way, did Mr Drayton ever show his collection to visitors other than his personal friends?'

'Occasionally. After the Connoisseur article that Miss Blake was speaking of, two or three strangers wrote to Mr Drayton asking to be allowed to see the jewellery, and he invited them to come and showed them everything.'

'Did Mr Drayton keep a visitors' book, or record of any kind?'

'No. I don't remember any of the visitors, excepting a Mr Halliburton, who wrote from the Baltic Hotel in the Marylebone Road. I remember him because Mr Drayton was so annoyed about him. He put himself to great inconvenience to meet Mr Halliburton and show him the jewellery that he had asked to see, and then, he told me, when he came, it was quite obvious that he didn't know anything at all about jewellery, either ancient or modern. He must have come just from idle curiosity.'

'I'm not so sure of that,' said the inspector. 'Looks a bit suspicious. We shall have to make some inquiries at the Baltic. And now we had better go and have a look at the museum, and perhaps, doctor, you would like to make a preliminary examination of the body before it is moved.'

On this we all rose, and the inspector was just moving towards the hall when there came a sharp sound of knocking at the outer door, followed by a loud peal of the bell.

Chapter 2 - SIR LAWRENCE DECLARES A VENDETTA

At the first stroke of the knocker we all stood stock still, and so remained until the harsh jangling of the bell gradually died away. There was nothing abnormal in either sound, but I suppose we were all somewhat overstrung, for there seemed in the clamorous summons, which shattered the silence so abruptly, something ominous and threatening. Especially did this appear in the case of the housekeeper, who threw up her hands and whimpered audibly.

'Dear Lord!' she ejaculated. 'It is Sir Lawrence—his brother! I know his knock. Who is to tell him?'

As no one answered, she crept reluctantly across the room, murmuring and shaking her head, and went out into the hall. I heard the door open and caught the sound of voices, though not very distinctly. Then the housekeeper re-entered the room quickly, and a man who was following her said in a brisk, somewhat bantering tone:

'You are very mysterious, Mrs Benham.' The next moment the speaker came into view; and instantly he stopped dead and stood staring into the room with a frown of stern surprise.

'What the devil is this?' he demanded, glaring first at the two officers and then at me. 'What is going on, Anstey?'

For a few moments I was tongue-tied. But an appealing glance from the housekeeper seemed to put the duty on me.

'A dreadful thing has happened, Drayton,' I replied. 'The house has been broken into and your brother has been killed.'

Sir Lawrence turned deathly pale and his face set hard and rigid, until it seemed the very counterpart of that white, set face that I had looked on but a few minutes age. For a while he stared at me frowningly, neither moving nor uttering a word. Then he asked gruffly: 'Where is he?'

'He is lying where he fell, in the museum,' I replied.

On this he turned abruptly and walked out of the room. I heard him pass quickly down the corridor and then I heard the museum door shut. We all looked at one another uncomfortably, but no one spoke. The housekeeper sobbed almost inaudibly and now and again uttered a low moan. Miss Blake wept silently, and the two officers and the doctor stood looking gloomily at the floor.

Presently Sir Lawrence came back. He was still very pale. But though his eyes were red, and indeed were still humid, there was no softness of grief in his face. With its clenched jaw and frowning brows, it was grim and stern and inexorable as Fate.

'Tell me,' he said, in a quiet voice, looking from me to the inspector, 'exactly how this happened.'

'I don't think any one knows yet,' I replied. 'This lady, Miss Blake, is the only person who saw the murderer. She tried to detain him and held on to him until he stabbed her.'

'Stabbed her!' he exclaimed, casting a glance of intense apprehension at the recumbent figure on the sofa and stepping softly across the room.

'I am not really hurt,' Miss Blake hastened to assure him. 'It is only quite a trifling wound.'

He bent over her with a strange softening of the grim face, touching her hand with his and tenderly adjusting the rug that the housekeeper had spread over her.

'I pray to God that it is as you say,' he replied. Then, turning to me, he asked: 'Has this brave young lady been properly attended to?'

'Yes,' I answered. 'The doctor here—Dr—'

'Nichols,' said the medicus. 'I have examined the wound thoroughly and dressed it, and I think I can assure you that no danger is to be apprehended from it. But, having regard to the shock she has sustained, I think she ought to be got home as soon as possible.'

'Yes,' Sir Lawrence agreed, 'and if she is fit to be moved, I will convey her to her home. My car is waiting in the road. And I will ask you. Anstey, to come with me, if you can.'

Of course I assented, and he continued, addressing the inspector:

'When I have taken this lady home I shall go straight to Dr Thorndyke and ask him to assist the police in investigating this crime. Probably he will return here with me at once, and I will ask you to see that nothing—not even the body—is disturbed until he has made his inspection.'

At this the officer looked a little dubious, but he answered courteously enough: 'So far as I am concerned. Sir Lawrence, your wishes shall certainly be attended to. But I notified Scotland Yard before I came on here, and this case will probably be dealt with by the Criminal Investigation Department, and, of course, I can enter into no undertakings on their behalf.'

'No,' Sir Lawrence rejoined, 'of course you can't. I will deal with the Scotland Yard people myself. And now we had better start. Is Miss Blake able to walk to the car, Doctor? It is only a few yards to the road.'

'I am quite able to walk,' said Miss Blake; and as Dr Nichols assented, we assisted her to rise, and Sir Lawrence carefully wrapped her in the rug that Mrs Benham had thrown over her. Then I picked up the shawl, and tucking it under my arm, followed her as she walked slowly out supported by Sir Lawrence.

At the garden gate we turned to the left, and passing along the path, came very shortly to a road on which two cars were standing, a large closed car, which I recognised as Sir Lawrence's, and a smaller one, presumably Dr Nichols'. Into the former Miss Blake was assisted, and when the carriage rug had been wrapped around her, I entered and took the opposite seat.

'What address shall I tell the driver, Miss Blake?' Sir Lawrence asked.

'Sixty-three Jacob Street, Hampstead Road,' she replied; and then, as neither the driver nor either of us could locate the street, she added:

'It is two or three turnings past Mornington Crescent on the same side of the road.'

Having given this direction to the driver, Sir Lawrence entered and took the vacant seat and the car moved off smoothly, silently, and with unperceived swiftness.

During the journey hardly a word was spoken. The darkness of the heath gave place to the passing lights of the streets, the rural quiet to the clamour of traffic. In a few minutes, as it seemed, we were at the wide crossing by the Mother Red-Cap, and in a few more were turning into a narrow, dingy, and rather sordid by-street. Up this the car travelled slowly as the driver threw the light of a powerful lamp on the shabby doors, and at length drew up opposite a wide, wooden gate on which the number sixty-three was exhibited in large brass figures. I got out of the car and approached the gate in no little surprise, for its appearance and the paved truckway that led through it suggested the entrance to a factory or builders yard. However, there was no doubt that it was the right house, for the evidence of the number was confirmed by a small brass plate at the side, legibly inscribed 'Miss Blake' and surmounted by a bell-pull. At the latter I gave a vigorous tug and was immediately aware of the far-away jangling of a large bell, which sounded as if it were ringing in an open yard.

In a few moments I detected quick footsteps which seemed to be approaching along a paved passage; then a wicket in the gate opened and a boy of about twelve looked out.

'Whom did you want, please?' he asked in a pleasant, refined voice and with a courteous, self-possessed manner which 'placed' him instantly in a social sense. Before I had time to reply, he had looked past me and observed Miss Blake, who, having been helped out of the car, was now approaching the gate; on which he sprang through the wicket and ran to meet her.

'You needn't be alarmed, Percy,' she said in a cheerful voice. 'I have had a little accident and these gentlemen have very kindly brought me home. But it is nothing to worry about.'

'You look awfully white and tired, Winnie,' he replied; and then, addressing me, he asked: 'Is my sister hurt much, sir?'

'No,' I answered. 'The doctor who attended to her thought that she would soon be quite well again, and I hope she will. Is there anything that we can do for you, Miss Blake?'

'Thank you, no,' she replied. 'My brother and a friend will look after me now, but I can't thank you enough for all your kindness.'

'It is I,' said Sir Lawrence, 'who am in your debt—deeply in your debt. And I do pray that you may suffer no ill consequences from your heroism. But we mustn't keep you standing here. Goodbye, dear Miss Blake, and God bless you.'

He shook her hand warmly and her brother's with old-fashioned courtesy. I handed the boy the folded shawl, and having shaken hands with both, followed my friend to the car.

'Do you think Thorndyke will be at home?' he asked as the car turned round and returned to the Hampstead Road.

'I expect so,' I replied. 'But I don't suppose there will be very much for him to do. There were plenty of fingerprints in evidence. I should think the police will be able to trace the man without difficulty.'

'Police be damned!' he retorted gruffly. 'I want Thorndyke. And as to fingerprints, weren't you the leading counsel in that Hornby case?'

'Yes, but that was exceptional. You can't assume—'

'That case,' he interrupted, 'knocked the bottom out of fingerprint evidence. And these fingerprints may not be on the files at the registry, and if they are not, the police have no clue to this man's identity, and are not likely to get any.'

It seemed to me that he was hardly doing the police justice, but there was no use in discussing the matter, as we were, in fact, going to put the case in Thorndyke's hands. I accordingly gave a colourless assent, and for the rest of the short journey we sat in silence, each busy with his own reflections.

At length the car drew up at the Inner Temple gate. Drayton sprang out, and signing to the driver to wait, passed through the wicket and strode swiftly down the narrow lane. As we came out at the end of Crown Office Row, he looked eagerly across at King's Bench Walk.

'There's a light in Thorndyke's chambers,' he said, and quickening his pace almost to a run, he crossed the wide space, and plunging into the entry of number 5A, ascended the stairs two at a time. I followed, not without effort, and as I reached the landing the door opened in response to his peremptory knock and Thorndyke appeared in the opening.

'My dear Drayton!' he exclaimed, 'you really ought not, at your age—' he stopped short, and looking anxiously at our friend, asked: 'Is anything amiss?'

'Yes,' Drayton replied quietly, though breathlessly. 'My brother Andrew—you remember him, I expect—has been murdered by some accursed housebreaker. He is lying on the floor of his room now. I told them to leave him there until you had seen him. Can you come?'

'I will come with you immediately,' was the reply; and as with grave face and quick but unhurried movements, he made the necessary preparations, I noticed that—characteristically—he asked no questions, but concentrated his attention on providing for all contingencies. He had laid a small, green, canvas-covered case upon the table, and opening it, was making a rapid inspection of the apparatus that it contained, when suddenly I bethought me of the pieces of glass in my pocket.

'Before we start,' said I, 'I had better give you these. The fingerprints on them are almost certainly those of the murderer. 'As I spoke, I carefully unwrapped the two pieces of glass and handed them to Thorndyke, who took them from me, holding them daintily by their edges, and scrutinising them closely.

'I am glad you brought these, Anstey,' he said. 'They make us to some extent independent of the police. Do they know you have them?'

'No,' I replied. 'I took possession of them before the police arrived.'

'Then, in that case,' said he 'it will be as well to say nothing about them.' He held the pieces of glass up against the light, examining them closely and comparing them, first with the naked eye and then with the aid of a lens. Finally he lifted the microscope from its shelf, and placing it on the table, laid one of the pieces of glass on the stage and examined it through the instrument. His inspection occupied only a few seconds, then he rose, and turning to Drayton, who had been watching him eagerly, said: 'It may be highly important for us to have these fingerprints with us. But we can't produce the originals before the police, and besides, they are too valuable to carry about at the risk of spoiling them. But I could make rough, temporary photographs of them in five minutes if you will consent to the delay.'

'I am in your hands, Thorndyke,' replied Drayton. 'Do whatever you think is necessary.'

'Then let us go to the laboratory at once,' said Thorndyke; and taking the two pieces of glass, he led the way across the landing and up the stairs to the upper floor on which the laboratory and workshop were situated. And as we went, I could not but appreciate Thorndyke's tact and sympathy in taking Drayton up with him, so that the tedium of delay might be relieved by the sense of purposeful action.

The laboratory and its methods were characteristic of Thorndyke. Everything was ready and all procedure was prearranged. As we entered, the assistant, Polton, put down the work on which he was engaged, and at a word, took up the present task without either hesitation or hurry. While Thorndyke fixed the pieces of glass in the copying frame of the great standing camera, Polton arranged the light and the condensers and produced a dark-slide loaded with bromide paper. In less than a minute the exposure was made; in another three minutes the print had been developed, roughly fixed, rinsed, squeegeed, soaked in spirit, cut in two, and trimmed with scissors, and the damp but rapidly drying halves attached with drawing pins to a small hinged board specially designed for carrying wet prints in the pocket.

'Now,' said Thorndyke, slipping the folded board into his pocket and taking from a shelf a powerful electric inspection lamp, 'I think we are ready to start. These few minutes have not been wasted.'

We returned to the lower room, where Thorndyke, having bestowed the lamp in the canvas-covered 'research-case,' put on his hat and overcoat and took up the case, and we all set forth, walking quickly and in silence up Inner Temple Lane to the gate, and taking our seats in the waiting car when Drayton had given a few laconic instructions to the driver.

Up to this point Thorndyke had asked not a single question about the crime. Now, as the car started, he said to Drayton: 'We had better be ready to begin the investigation as soon as we arrive. Could you give me a short account of what has happened?'

'Anstey knows more about it than I do,' was the reply. 'He was there within a few minutes of the murder.'

The question being thus referred to me, I gave an account of all that I had seen and heard, to which Thorndyke listened with deep attention, interrupting me only once or twice to elucidate some point that was not quite clear.

'I understand,' said he when I had finished, 'that there is no catalogue or record of the collection and no written description of the specimens?'

'No,' replied Drayton. 'But I have looked over the cabinets a good many times, and taken the pieces out to examine them, so I think I shall be able to tell roughly what is missing, and give a working description of the pieces. And I could certainly identify most of them if they should be produced.'

'They are not very likely to be traced,' said Thorndyke. 'It is highly improbable that the murderer will attempt to dispose of things stolen in such circumstances. Still, the possibility of identifying them may be of the greatest importance, for the folly of criminals is often beyond belief.'

Chapter 3 - THORNDYKE TAKES UP THE INQUIRY

The outer door of the house was shut, although the lower rooms were all lighted up, but at the first sound of the bell it was opened by a uniformed constable who regarded us stolidly and inquired as to our business. Before there was time to answer, however, a man whom I at once recognised as Inspector Badger of the Criminal Investigation Department came out into the hall and asked sharply: 'Who is that, Martin?'

'It is Sir Lawrence Drayton, Dr Thorndyke, and Mr Anstey,' I replied; and as the constable backed out of the way we all entered.

'This is a terrible catastrophe, Sir Lawrence,' said Badger 'Dreadful, dreadful. If sincere sympathy would be any consolation—'

'It wouldn't,' interrupted Drayton, 'though I thank you all the same. The only thing that would console me—and that little enough—would be the sight of the ruffian who did it dangling at the end of a rope. The local officer told you, I suppose, that I was asking Dr Thorndyke to lend his valuable aid in investigating the crime?'

'Yes, Sir Lawrence,' replied Badger, 'but I don't know that I am in a position to authorise any unofficial—'

'Tut, tut, man!' Drayton broke in impatiently, 'I am not asking you to authorise anything. I am the murdered man's sole executor and his only brother. In the one capacity his entire estate is vested in me until it has been disposed of in accordance with the will; in the other capacity, the duty devolves on me of seeing that his murderer is brought to account. I give you every liberty and facility to examine these premises, but I am not going to surrender possession of them. Has any discovery been made?'

'No, sir.' Badger replied a little sulkily. 'We have only been here a few minutes. I was taking some particulars from the housekeeper.'

'Possibly I can give you some information while Dr Thorndyke is making his inspection of my poor brother's body,' said Drayton. 'When he has finished and the body has been laid decently in his bedroom, I will come with you to the museum and we will see if anything is missing.'

Badger assented, with evident unwillingness, to this arrangement. He and Drayton entered the drawing-room, from which the inspector had just come, while I conducted Thorndyke to the museum.

The room was just as I had seen it last, excepting that the open drawer had been closed. The stark, rigid figure still lay on the floor, the set, white face still stared with stern fixity at the ceiling. As I looked, the events of the interval faded from my mind and all the horror of the sudden tragedy came back.

Just inside the door Thorndyke halted and slowly ran his eye round the room, taking in its arrangement, and no doubt fixing it in his memory. Presently he stepped over to where the body lay, and stood a while looking down on the dead man. Then he stopped and closely examined a spot on the right breast.

'Isn't there more bleeding than is usual in the case of a bullet-wound?' I asked.

'Yes,' he replied, 'but that blood hasn't come from the wound in front. There must be another at the back, possibly a wound of exit. 'As he spoke, he stood up and again looked searchingly round the room, more especially at the side in which the door opened. Suddenly his glance became fixed and he strode quickly across to a cabinet that stood beside the door; and as I followed him, I perceived a ragged hole in the front of one of the drawers.

'Do you mean, Thorndyke,' I exclaimed, 'that the bullet passed right through him?'

That is what it looks like,' he replied 'But we shall be able to judge better when we get the drawer open—which we can't do until Badger comes. But there is one thing that we had better do at once.' Stepping over to the table on which he had placed the research-case, he opened the latter, and taking from it a stick of blackboard chalk, went back to the body. 'We must assume,' said he, 'that he fell where he was standing when he was struck, and if that is so he would have been standing here.' He marked on the carpet two-rough outlines to indicate the position of the feet when the murdered man fell, and having put the chalk back in the case, continued: 'The next thing is to verify the existence of the wound at the back. Will you help me to turn him over?'

We turned the body gently on to its right side, and immediately there came into view a large, blood-stained patch under the left shoulder, and at the centre of it a ragged burst in the fabric of the coat.

'That will do,' said Thorndyke. 'It is an unmistakable exit wound. The bullet probably missed the ribs both in entering and emerging, and passed through the heart or the great vessels. The appearances suggest almost instantaneous death. The face is set, the eyes wide open, and both the hands tightly clenched in a cadaveric spasm. And the right hand seems to be grasping something, but we had better leave that until Badger has seen it.'

At this moment footsteps became audible coming along the corridor, and Badger entered the room accompanied by the local inspector. The two officers looked inquiringly at Thorndyke, who proceeded at once to give them a brief statement of the facts that he had observed.

'There can't be much doubt,' said Badger when he had examined the hole in the drawer front, 'that this was made by a spent bullet. But we may as well settle the question now. We shall want the keys in any case.'

He passed his hand over the dead man's clothes, and having located the pocket which contained the keys, drew out a good-sized bunch, with which he went over to the cabinet. A few trials with likely-looking keys resulted in the discovery of the right one, and when this had been turned and the hinged batten swung back, all the drawers of the cabinet were released. The inspector pulled out the one with the damaged front and looked in inquisitively. Its contents consisted principally of latten and pewter spoons, now evidently disarranged and mingled with a litter of splinters of wood; and in the bowl of a spoon near the back of the drawer lay a distorted bullet, which Badger picked up and examined critically.

'Browning automatic, I should say,' was his comment, 'and if so we ought to find the cartridge case somewhere on the floor. We must look for it presently, but we'd better get the body moved first, if you have finished your inspection, Doctor.'

'There is something grasped in the right hand,' said Thorndyke. 'It looks like a wisp of hair. Perhaps we had better look at that before the body is moved, in case it should fall out.'

We returned to the body, and the two officers stooped and watched eagerly as Thorndyke, with some difficulty, opened the rigid hand sufficiently to draw from it a small tuft of hair.

'The spasm is very marked,' he observed as he scrutinised the hair and felt in his pocket for a lens; and when, with the aid of the latter, he had made a further examination, he continued: 'The state of the root-bulbs shows that the hair was actually plucked out-which, of course, is what we should expect.'

'Can you form any opinion as to what sort of man he was?' Badger asked.

'No,' replied Thorndyke, 'excepting that he was not a recently released convict. But the appearance of the hair agrees with Miss Blake's description of the man who stabbed her. I understand that she described him as a having rather short but bushy hair. This hair is rather short, though we can't say whether it was bushy or not. Perhaps more complete examination of it may tell us something further.'

'Possibly,' Badger agreed. 'I will have it thoroughly examined, and get a report on it. Shall I take charge of it?' he added, holding out his hand.

'Yes, you had better,' replied Thorndyke, 'but I will take a small sample for further examination, if you don't mind.'

'There is no need for that,' protested Badger. 'You can always have access to what we've got if you want to refer to it.'

'I know,' said Thorndyke, 'and it is very good of you to offer. Still this will save time and trouble.' And without more ado he separated a third of the tuft and handed the remainder to the inspector, who wrapped it in a sheet of note-paper that he had taken from his pocket and sourly watched Thorndyke bestow his portion in a seed-envelope from his pocket-book, and after writing on it a brief description, return it to the latter receptacle.

'You were saying,' said Badger, 'that this hair agrees with Miss Blake's description. But it was suggested that it was the other man who really committed the murder. Isn't that rather a contradiction?'

'I don't think so,' replied Thorndyke. 'The probabilities seem to me to point to the other man as the murderer.'