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diff --git a/75244-0.txt b/75244-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1d05baf --- /dev/null +++ b/75244-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8478 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75244 *** + + +The Shadow of the Wolf + +by R. Austin Freeman + +Copyright, 1925, by Dodd, Mead & Company, Inc. +Published by A. L. Burt Company (New York) + + + +Contents + + I. In Which Two Men Go Forth and One Arrives + II. In Which Margaret Purcell Receives a Letter + III. In Which Margaret Purcell Consults Mr. Penfield + IV. In Which Margaret Confers with Dr. Thorndyke + V. In Which Thorndyke Makes a Few Inquiries + VI. In Which Mr. Varney Prepares a Deception + VII. The Flash Note Factory + VIII. In Which Thorndyke Tries Over the Moves + IX. In Which Mr. Penfield Receives a Shock + X. In Which Thorndyke Sees a New Light + XI. In Which Varney Has an Inspiration + XII. In Which Mr. Varney Once More Pulls the Strings + XIII. In Which the Medico-legal Worm Arrives + XIV. In Which Mr. Varney Is Disillusioned + XV. In Which Thorndyke Opens the Attack + XVI. In Which John Rodney Is Convinced + XVII. In Which There Is a Meeting and a Farewell + + + +CHAPTER I + +In Which Two Men Go Forth and One Arrives + +About half-past eight on a fine, sunny June morning, a small yacht +crept out of Sennen Cove near the Land’s End and headed for the open +sea. On the shelving beach of the Cove two women and a man, evidently +visitors (or “foreigners” to use the local term), stood watching her +departure with valedictory waving of cap or handkerchief, and the +boatman who had put the crew on board, aided by two of his comrades, +was hauling his boat up above the tide-mark. + +A light northerly breeze filled the yacht’s sails and drew her +gradually seaward. The figures of her crew dwindled to the size of +dolls; shrank with the increasing distance to the magnitude of +insects; and at last, losing all individuality, became mere specks +merged in the form of the fabric that bore them. At this point the +visitors turned their faces inland and walked away up the beach, and +the boatmen, having opined that “she be fetchin’ a tidy offing” +dismissed the yacht from their minds and reverted to the consideration +of a heap of netting and some invalid lobster pots. + +On board the receding craft two men sat in the little cockpit. They +formed the entire crew, for the _Sandhopper_ was only a ship’s +lifeboat, timbered and decked, of light draught and, in the matter of +spars and canvas, what the art critics would call “reticent.” + +Both men, despite the fineness of the weather, wore yellow oilskins +and sou’westers, and that was about all they had in common. In other +respects they made a curious contrast, the one small, slender, +sharp-featured, dark almost to swarthiness, and restless and quick in +his movements: the other large, massive, red-faced, blue-eyed, with +the rounded outlines suggestive of ponderous strength: a great ox of a +man, heavy, stolid, but much less unwieldy than he looked. + +The conversation incidental to getting the yacht under way had ceased +and silence had fallen on the occupants of the cockpit. The big man +grasped the tiller and looked sulky, which was probably his usual +aspect; and the small man watched him furtively. The land was nearly +two miles distant when the latter broke the silence with a remark very +similar to that of the boatman on the beach. + +“You’re not going to take the shore on board, Purcell. Where are we +supposed to be going to?” + +“I am going outside the Longships,” was the stolid answer. + +“So I see,” rejoined the other. “It’s hardly the shortest course for +Penzance though.” + +“I like to keep an offing on this coast,” said Purcell; and once more +the conversation languished. + +Presently the smaller man spoke again; this time in a more cheerful +and friendly tone. “Joan Haygarth has come on wonderfully the last few +months; getting quite a fine-looking girl. Don’t you think so?” + +“Yes,” answered Purcell; “and so does Phil Rodney.” + +“You’re right,” agreed the other. “But she isn’t a patch on her sister +though; and never will be. I was looking at Maggie as we came down the +beach this morning and thinking what a handsome girl she is. Don’t you +agree with me?” + +Purcell stooped to look under the boom and answered without turning +his head: + +“Yes, she’s all right.” + +“All right!” exclaimed the other. “Is that the way—” + +“Look here, Varney,” interrupted Purcell; “I don’t want to discuss my +wife’s looks with you or any other man. She’ll do for me or I +shouldn’t have married her.” + +A deep, coppery flush stole into Varney’s cheeks. But he had brought +the rather brutal snub on himself and apparently had the fairness to +recognize the fact, for he mumbled an apology and relapsed into +silence. + +When he next spoke he did so with a manner diffident and uneasy as +though approaching a disagreeable or difficult subject. + +“There’s a little matter, Dan, that I’ve been wanting to speak to you +about when we got a chance of a private talk.” He glanced a little +anxiously at his stolid companion, who grunted, and then, without +removing his gaze from the horizon ahead, replied: “You’ve a pretty +fair chance now, seeing that we shall be bottled up together for +another five or six hours. And it’s private enough unless you bawl +loud enough to be heard at the Longships.” + +It was not a gracious invitation. But that Varney had hardly expected; +and if he resented the rebuff he showed no sign of annoyance, for +reasons which appeared when he opened his subject. + +“What I wanted to say,” he resumed, “was this. We’re both doing pretty +well now on the square. You must be positively piling up the shekels +and I can earn a decent living, which is all I want. Why shouldn’t we +drop this flash note business?” + +Purcell kept his blue eye fixed on the horizon and appeared to ignore +the question; but after an interval, and without moving a muscle he +said gruffly: “Go on,” and Varney continued: + +“The lay isn’t what it was, you know. At first it was all plain +sailing. The notes were first-class copies and not a soul suspected +anything until they were presented at the bank. Then the murder was +out; and the next little trip that I made was a very different affair. +Two or three of the notes were suspected quite soon after I had +changed them, and I had to be precious fly, I can tell you, to avoid +complications. And now that the second batch has come into the Bank, +the planting of fresh specimens is going to be no sinecure. There +isn’t a money-changer on the continent of Europe that isn’t keeping +his weather eyeball peeled, to say nothing of the detectives that the +Bank people have sent abroad.” + +He paused and looked appealingly at his companion. But Purcell, still +minding his helm, only growled, “Well?” + +“Well, I want to chuck it, Dan. When you’ve had a run of luck and +pocketed your winnings is the time to stop play.” + +“You’ve come into some money then, I take it,” said Purcell. + +“No, I haven’t. But I can make a living now by safe and respectable +means, and I’m sick of all this scheming and dodging with the gaol +everlastingly under my lee.” + +“The reason I asked,” said Purcell, “is that there is a trifle +outstanding. You hadn’t forgotten that, I suppose?” + +“No, I hadn’t forgotten it, but I thought that perhaps you might be +willing to let me down a bit easily.” + +The other man pursed up his thick lips, but continued to gaze stonily +over the bow. + +“Oh, that’s what you thought, hey?” he said; and then, after a pause, +he continued: “I fancy you must have lost sight of some of the facts +when you thought that. Let me just remind you how the case stands. To +begin with, you start your career with a little playful forgery and +embezzlement; you blew the proceeds and you are mug enough to be found +out. Then I come in. I compound the affair with old Marston for a +couple of thousand, and practically clean myself out of every penny I +possess, and he consents to regard your temporary absence in the light +of a holiday. + +“Now, why do I do this? Am I a philanthropist? Devil a bit. I’m a man +of business. Before I ladle out that two thousand, I make a business +contract with you. I happen to possess the means of making and the +skill to make a passable imitation of the Bank of England paper: you +are a skilled engraver and a plausible scamp. I am to supply you with +paper blanks: you are to engrave plates, print the notes and get them +changed. I am to take two-thirds of the proceeds; and, although I have +done the most difficult part of the work, I agree to regard my share +of the profits as constituting repayment of the loan. Our contract +amounts to this: I lend you two thousand without security—with an +infernal amount of insecurity in fact—you ‘promise, covenant and +agree,’ as the lawyers say, to hand me back ten thousand in +instalments, being the products of our joint industry. It is a verbal +contract which I have no means of enforcing; but I trust you to keep +your word and up to the present you have kept it. You have paid me a +little over four thousand. Now you want to cry off and leave the +balance unpaid. Isn’t that the position?” + +“Not exactly,” said Varney. “I’m not crying off the debt; I only want +time. Look here, Dan: I’m making about five-fifty a year now. That +isn’t much, but I’ll manage to let you have a hundred a year out of +it. What do you say to that?” + +Purcell laughed scornfully. “A hundred a year to pay off six thousand! +That’ll take just sixty years; and as I’m now forty-three, I shall be +exactly a hundred and three years of age when the last instalment is +paid. I think, Varney, you’ll admit that a man of a hundred and three +is getting a bit past his prime.” + +“Well, I’ll pay you something down to start. I’ve saved about eighteen +hundred pounds out of the note business. You can have that now, and +I’ll pay off as much as I can at a time until I’m clear. Remember that +if I should happen to get clapped in chokee for twenty years or so, +you won’t get anything. And, I tell you, it’s getting a risky +business.” + +“I’m willing to take the risk,” said Purcell. + +“I daresay you are!” Varney retorted passionately; “because it’s my +risk. If I am grabbed, it’s my racket, you sit out. It’s I who passed +the notes and I’m known to be a skilled engraver. That’ll be good +enough for them. They won’t trouble about who made the paper.” + +“I hope not,” said Purcell. + +“Of course they wouldn’t; and you know I shouldn’t give you away.” + +“Naturally. Why should you? Wouldn’t do you any good.” + +“Well, give me a chance, Dan,” Varney pleaded. “This business is +getting on my nerves. I want to be quit of it. You’ve had four +thousand; that’s a hundred per cent. You haven’t done so badly.” + +“I didn’t expect to do badly. I took a big risk. I gambled two +thousand for ten.” + +“Yes, and you got me out of the way while you put the screw on to poor +old Haygarth to make his daughter marry you.” It was an indiscreet +thing to say, but Purcell’s stolid indifference to his danger and +distress had ruffled Varney’s temper somewhat. + +Purcell however was unmoved. “I don’t know,” he said, “what you mean +by getting you out of the way. You were never in the way. You were +always hankering after Maggie, but I could never see that she wanted +you.” + +“Well, she certainly didn’t want you,” Varney retorted; “and, for that +matter, I don’t think she wants you now.” + +For the first time Purcell withdrew his eye from the horizon to turn +it on his companion. And an evil eye it was, set in the great, sensual +face, now purple with anger. + +“What the devil do you mean?” he exclaimed furiously; “you infernal, +sallow-faced little whipper-snapper! If you mention my wife’s name +again I’ll knock you on the head and pitch you overboard.” + +Varney’s face flushed darkly and for a moment he was inclined to try +the wager of battle. But the odds were impossible, and if Varney was +not a coward, neither was he a fool. But the discussion was at an end. +Nothing was to be hoped for now. Those indiscreet words of provocation +had rendered further pleading impossible; and as Varney relapsed into +sullen silence, it was with the knowledge that for weary years to +come, he was doomed, at best, to tread the perilous path of crime, or, +more probably to waste the brightest years of his life in a convict +prison. For it is a strange fact, and a curious commentary on our +current ethical notions, that neither of these rascals even +contemplated as a possibility the breach of a merely verbal covenant. +A promise had been given. That was enough. Without a specific release, +the terms of that promise must be fulfilled to the letter. How many +righteous men—prim lawyers or strait-laced, church-going men of +business—would have looked at the matter in the same way? + +The silence that settled down on the yacht and the aloofness that +encompassed the two men were conducive to reflection. Each of the men +ignored the presence of the other. When the course was altered +southerly Purcell slacked out the sheets with his own hand as he put +up the helm. He might have been sailing single-handed. And Varney +watched him askance but made no move, sitting hunched up on the +locker, nursing a slowly-matured hatred and thinking his thoughts. + +Very queer thoughts they were; rambling, but yet connected and very +vivid. He was following out the train of events that might have +happened, pursuing them to their possible consequences. Supposing +Purcell had carried out his threat? Well, there would have been a +pretty tough struggle, for Varney was no weakling. But a struggle with +that solid fifteen stone of flesh could end only in one way. He +glanced at the great, purple, shiny hand that grasped the knob of the +tiller. Not the sort of hand that you would want at your throat! No, +there was no doubt; he would have gone overboard. + +And what then? Would Purcell have gone back to Sennen Cove, or sailed +alone into Penzance? In either case he would have had to make up some +sort of story; and no one could have contradicted him whether the +story was believed or not. But it would have been awkward for Purcell. + +Then there was the body. That would have washed up sooner or later, as +much of it as the lobsters had left. Well, lobsters don’t eat clothes +or bones, and a dent in the skull might take some accounting for. Very +awkward, this, for Purcell. He would probably have had to clear out—to +make a bolt for it, in short. + +The mental picture of this great bully fleeing in terror from the +vengeance of the law gave Varney appreciable pleasure. Most of his +life he had been borne down by the moral and physical weight of this +domineering brute. At school Purcell had fagged him; he had even +bullied him up at Cambridge; and now he had fastened on for ever like +the Old Man of the Sea. And Purcell always got the best of it. When +he, Varney, had come back from Italy after that unfortunate little +affair, behold! the girl whom they had both wanted (and who had wanted +neither of them) had changed from Maggie Haygarth into Maggie Purcell. +And so it was even unto this day. Purcell, once a bookkeeper in a +paper-mill, now a prosperous “financier”—a money-lender, as Varney +more than suspected—spent a part of his secret leisure making, in +absolute safety, those accursed paper blanks; which he, Varney, must +risk his liberty to change into money. Yes, it was quite pleasant to +think of Purcell sneaking from town to town, from country to country +with the police at his heels. + +But in these days of telegraphs and extradition there isn’t much +chance for a fugitive. Purcell would have been caught to a certainty; +and he would have been hanged; no doubt of it. And passing lightly +over less attractive details, Varney considered luxuriously the +circumstances of the execution. What a figure he would have made, that +great human ox, turning round and round at the end of a taut rope, +like a baron of beef on a colossal roasting-jack. Varney looked +gloatingly at his companion; considered his large, sullen face, and +thought how it would swell and grow purple as the rope tightened round +the thick, crimson neck. + +A disagreeable picture, perhaps; but not to Varney, who saw it through +the distorting medium of years of accumulated dislike. Then, too, +there was the consideration that in the very moment that those brawny +limbs had ceased to twitch, Maggie would have been free—would have +been a widow. Not that that would have concerned him, Varney; he would +have been in some Cornish churchyard, with a dent in his skull. Still +it was a pleasant reflection. + +The imagined picture of the execution gave him quite a lengthy +entertainment. Then his errant thoughts began to spread out in search +of other possibilities. For, after all, it was not an absolute +certainty that Purcell could have got him overboard. There was just +the chance that he might have gone overboard himself. That would have +been a very different affair. + +Varney settled himself composedly to consider the new and interesting +train of consequences that would thus have been set going. They were +more agreeable to contemplate than the others because they did not +include his own demise. The execution scene made no appearance in this +version. The salient fact was that his oppressor would have vanished; +that the intolerable burden of his servitude would have been lifted +for ever; that he would have been free. + +The thought of his regained freedom set him dreaming of the future, +the future that might have been if he could have been rid of this +monstrous parasite; the future that might even have held a place for +Maggie—for she would have been free, too. It was all very pleasant to +think about, though rather tantalizing. He almost wished he had let +Purcell try to put him over. + +Of course, some explanation would have had to be given, some sort of +story told; and people might not have believed him. Well, they could +have pleased themselves about that. To be sure, there would have been +the body; but if there were no marks of violence what of it? Besides, +it really need never have washed ashore: that could easily have been +prevented and if the body had never been found, who was to say that +the man had gone overboard at all? + +This again was a new view of the case and it set his thoughts +revolving afresh. He found himself roughly sketching out the +conditions under which the body might have vanished for ever. It was +mere idle speculation to while away a dull hour with an uncongenial +companion, and he let his thoughts ramble at large. Now he was away in +the imagined future, a future of peace and prosperity and honourable +effort; and now his thoughts came back unbidden to fill in some +forgotten detail. One moment he was dreamily wondering whether Maggie +would ever have listened to him, ever have come to care for him; the +next, he was back in the yacht’s cabin where hung from a hook on the +bulkhead the revolver that the Rodneys used to practise at floating +bottles. It was usually loaded, he knew, but if not, there was a +canvas bag full of cartridges in the starboard locker. Again he found +himself dreaming of the home that he would have had, a home very +different from the cheerless lodgings in which he moped at present; +and then his thoughts had flitted back to the yacht’s hold and were +busying themselves with the row of half-hundredweights that rested on +the timbers on either side of the kelson. + +It was a curious mental state; rambling, seemingly incoherent, yet +quite purposeful: the attention oscillating between the great general +idea and its various component details. He was like a painter roughing +out the preliminary sketch of a picture; at first carelessly smearing +in the general effect, then pausing from time to time to sharpen an +edge, to touch in a crisp light, to define the shape of a shadow, but +never losing sight of the central motive. And as in the sketch +definable shapes begin to grow out of the formless expanse and a vague +suggestion crystallizes into an intelligible composition; so in +Varney’s mind a process of gradual integration turned a vague and +general idea into a clear picture, sharp, vivid, complete. + +When Varney had thus brought his mental picture, so to speak, to a +finish, its completeness surprised him. It was so simple, so secure. +He had actually planned out the scheme of a murder; and behold! there +was nothing in it. Any one could have done it and no one could have +been any the wiser. Here he found himself wondering whether many +murders passed undetected. They well might if murders were as easy and +as safe as this. A dangerous reflection for an injured and angry man. +And at this critical point his meditations were broken in on by +Purcell, continuing the conversation as if there had been no pause. + +“So you can take it from me, Varney, that I expect you to stick to +your bargain. I paid down my money and I’m going to have my pound of +flesh.” + +“You won’t agree to any sort of compromise?” + +“No. There are six thousand pounds owing. If you’ve got the money you +can hand it over. If you haven’t, you’ll have to go on the lay and get +it. That’s all I’ve got to say. So now you know.” + +It was a brutal thing to say and it was brutally said. But more than +that, it was inopportune—or opportune, as you will. For it came as a +sort of infernal doxology to the devil’s anthem that had been, all +unknown, ringing in Varney’s soul. + +Purcell had spoken without looking round. That was his unpleasant +habit. Had he looked at his companion, he might have been startled. A +change in Varney’s face might have given him pause: a warm flush, a +sparkle of the eye, a look of elation, of settled purpose, deadly, +inexorable—the look of a man who has made a fateful resolution. But he +never looked; and the warning of the uplifted axe passed him by. + +It was so simple, so secure! That was the burden of the song that +echoed in Varney’s brain. So safe! And there abroad were the watchful +money-changers waiting for the clever forger to come once too often. +There were the detectives lurking in ambush for him. No safety there! +Rather the certainty of swift disaster, with the sequel of judge and +jury, the clang of an iron door, and thereafter the dreary prison +eating up the years of his life. + +He glanced over the sea. They had opened the south coast now and he +could see, afar off, a fleet of black-sailed luggers heading east. +_They_ wouldn’t be in his way. Nor would the big four-master that was +creeping away to the west, for she was hull down already; and other +ships there were none. There was one hindrance though. Dead ahead, the +Wolf Rock lighthouse rose from the blue water, its +red-and-white-ringed tower looking like some gaudily painted toy. The +keepers of lonely lighthouses have a natural habit of watching the +passing shipping through their glasses; and it was possible that one +of their telescopes might be pointed at the yacht at this very moment. +That was a complication. + +Suddenly there came down the wind a sharp report like the firing of a +gun quickly followed by a second. Both men recognized the duplicate +report and both looked round. It was the explosive signal from the +Longships lighthouse, but when they looked there was no lighthouse to +be seen; and the dark blue heaving water faded away at the foot of an +advancing wall of vapour. + +Purcell cursed volubly. A pretty place, this, to be caught in a fog! +And then, as his eye lighted on his companion, he demanded angrily: +“What the devil are you grinning at?” For Varney, drunk with +suppressed excitement, snapped his fingers at rocks and shoals; he was +thinking only of the light keeper’s telescope and of the revolver that +hung on the bulkhead. He must make some excuse presently to go below +and secure that revolver. + +But no excuse was necessary. The opportunity came of itself. After a +hasty glance at the vanishing land and another at the compass, Purcell +put up the helm to jibe the yacht round on to an easterly course. As +she came round, the single headsail that she carried in place of jib +and foresail shivered for a few seconds and then filled suddenly on +the opposite tack. And at this moment, the halyard parted with a loud +snap; the end of the rope flew through the blocks and, in an instant, +the sail was down and its upper half trailing in the water alongside. + +Purcell swore furiously, but kept an eye to business. “Run below, +Varney,” said he, “and fetch up that coil of new rope out of the +starboard locker while I haul the sail on board. And look alive. We +don’t want to drift down on to the Wolf.” + +Varney obeyed with silent alacrity and a curious feeling of elation. +It was going to be even easier and safer than he had thought. He +slipped through the hatch into the cabin and, as he heard Purcell +scrambling along the side-deck overhead, he quietly took the revolver +from its hook and examined the chambers. Finding them all loaded, he +cocked the hammer and slipped the weapon carefully into the inside +breast pocket of his oilskin coat. Then he took the coil of rope from +the locker and went on deck. + +As he emerged from the hatch he perceived that the yacht was already +enveloped in fog, which drifted past in steamy clouds and swirling +streamers, and that she had come up head to wind. Purcell was kneeling +on the forecastle, tugging at the sail, which had caught under the +forefoot, and punctuating his efforts with deep-voiced curses. + +Varney stole silently along the deck, steadying himself by mast and +shroud; softly laid down the coil of rope and approached. Purcell was +quite engrossed with his task; his back was towards Varney, his face +over the side, intent on the entangled sail. It was a chance in a +thousand. + +With scarcely a moment’s hesitation, Varney stooped forward, steadying +himself with a hand on the little windlass, and softly drawing forth +the revolver, pointed it at the back of Purcell’s head at the spot +where the back seam of his sou’wester met the brim. The report rang +out, but weak and flat in that open space, and a cloud of smoke +mingled with the fog; but it blew away immediately and showed Purcell +almost unchanged in posture, crouching on the sail with his chin +resting on the little rim of bulwark, while behind him his murderer, +as if turned into bronze, still stood stooping forward, one hand +grasping the windlass, the other still pointing the revolver. + +Thus the two figures remained for some seconds motionless like some +horrible waxworks, until the little yacht, lifting to the swell, gave +a more than usually lively curvet, when Purcell rolled over onto his +back, and Varney relaxed the rigidity of his posture like a golf +player who has watched his ball drop. He bent over the prostrate +figure with no emotion but curiosity; looked into the wide-open, +clear, blue eyes; noted how the great red face had faded to a pallid +mauve against which the blood on lips and chin stood out like the +painted patches on a clown’s face; but he felt not a single twinge of +compunction. + +Purcell was dead. That was the salient fact. The head wagged to and +fro as the yacht pitched and rolled; the limp arms and legs seemed to +twitch, the limp body to writhe uneasily. But Varney was not +disturbed. Lifeless things will move on an unsteady deck. He was only +interested to notice how the passive movements produced the illusion +of life. But it was only illusion. Purcell was dead. There was no +doubt of that. + +The double report from the Longships came down the wind and then, as +if in answer, a prolonged deep bellow. That was the fog-horn of the +lighthouse on the Wolf Rock; and it sounded surprisingly near. But, of +course, these signals were meant to be heard at a distance. Then a +stream of hot sunshine pouring down on deck, startled him and made him +hurry. The body must be got overboard before the fog lifted. With an +uneasy glance at the clear sky overhead, he hastily cast off the +broken halyard from its cleat and cut off a couple of fathoms. Then he +hurried below and, lifting the trap in the cabin floor, hoisted out +one of the iron half-hundred weights with which the yacht was +ballasted. As he stepped on deck with the weight in his hand the sun +was shining overhead; but the fog was still thick below and the horn +sounded once more from the Wolf. And again it struck him as +surprisingly near. + +He passed the length of rope that he had cut off twice round Purcell’s +body, hauled it tight and secured it with a knot. Then he made the +ends fast to the handle of the iron weight. + +Not much fear of Purcell drifting ashore now! That weight would hold +him as long as there was anything to hold. But it had taken some time +to do, and the warning bellow from the Wolf seemed to draw nearer and +nearer. He was about to heave the body over when his eye fell on the +dead man’s sou’wester, which had fallen off when the body rolled over. +That hat must be got rid of, for Purcell’s name was worked in silk on +the lining and there was an unmistakable bullet-hole through the back. +It must be destroyed; or, which would be simpler and quicker, lashed +securely on the dead man’s head. + +Hurriedly, Varney ran aft and descended to the cabin. He had noticed a +new ball of spun yarn in the locker when he had fetched the rope. This +would be the very thing. + +He was back again in a few moments with the ball in his hand, +unwinding it as he came, and, without wasting time, he knelt down by +the body and fell to work. There was a curious absence of repugnance +in his manner, horrible as his task would have seemed. He had to raise +the dead man’s head to fit on the hat, and in so doing covered his +left hand with blood. But he appeared to mind no more than if he had +been handling a seal that he had shot or a large and dirty fish. Quite +composedly, and with that neatness in the handling of cordage that +marks the sailor-man, whether amateur or professional, he proceeded +with his task, intent only on making the lashing secure and getting it +done quickly. + +And every half-minute the deep-voiced growl of the Wolf came to him +out of the fog, and each time it sounded nearer and yet nearer. + +By the time he had made the sou’wester secure the dead man’s face and +chin were encaged in a web of spun-yard that made him look like some +old-time, grotesque-vizored Samurai warrior. But the hat was now +immoveable. Long after that burly corpse had dwindled to a mere +skeleton, it would hold; would still cling to the dead head when the +face that looked through the lacing of cords was the face of a bare +and grinning skull. + +Varney rose to his feet. But his task was not finished yet. There was +Purcell’s suit-case. That must be sunk, too; and there was something +in it that had figured in the detailed picture that his imagination +had drawn. He ran to the cockpit, where the suit-case lay, and having +tried its fastenings and found it unlocked, he opened it and took out +with his right hand—the clean one—a letter that lay on top of the +other contents. This he tossed through the hatch into the cabin. Then +his eye caught, Purcell’s fountain pen, slipped neatly through a loop +in the lid. It was filled, he knew, with the peculiar black ink that +Purcell always used. The thought passed swiftly through his mind that +perchance it might be of use to him. In a moment he had drawn it from +its loop and slipped it into his pocket. Then, having closed and +fastened the suit-case, he carried it forward and made it fast to the +iron weight with a half-dozen turns of spun yarn. + +That was really all; and indeed it was time. As he rose once more to +his feet the growl of the fog-horn burst out, as it seemed right over +the stern of the yacht; and she was drifting stern-foremost who could +say how fast. Now, too, he caught a more ominous sound, which he might +have heard sooner had he listened: the wash of water, the boom of +breakers bursting on a rock. + +A sudden revulsion came over him. He burst into a wild, sardonic +laugh. And had it come to this, after all? Had he schemed and laboured +only to leave himself alone on an unmanageable craft drifting down to +shipwreck and certain death? Had he taken all this thought and care to +secure Purcell’s body, when his own might be resting beside it on the +sea bottom within an hour? + +But his reverie was brief. Suddenly, from the white void over his very +head, as it seemed, there issued a stunning, thunderous roar that +shook the very deck under his feet. The water around him boiled into a +foamy chaos; the din of bursting waves was in his ears; the yacht +plunged and wallowed amidst clouds of spray; and, for an instant a +dim, gigantic shadow loomed through the fog and was gone. + +In that moment his nerve had come back. Holding on, with one hand, to +the windlass, he dragged the body to the edge of the forecastle, +hoisted the weight outboard, and then, taking advantage of a heavy +lurch, gave the corpse a vigorous shove. There was a rattle and a +hollow splash; and corpse and weight and suit-case had vanished into +the seething water. + +He clung to the swinging mast and waited. Breathlessly he told out the +allotted seconds until, once again, the invisible Titan belched forth +his thunderous warning. But this time the roar came over the yacht’s +bow. She had drifted past the rock then. The danger was over; and +Purcell would have to go down to Davy Jones’ Locker companionless +after all. + +Very soon, the water around ceased to boil and tumble, and, as the +yacht’s wild plunging settled down once more into the normal rise and +fall on the long swell, Varney turned his attention to the refitting +of the halyard. But what was this on the creamy, duck sail? A pool of +blood and a gory imprint of his own hand! That wouldn’t do at all. He +would have to clear that away before he could hoist the sail; which +was annoying, as the yacht was helpless without her headsail and was +evidently drifting out to sea. + +He fetched a bucket, a swab and a scrubbing-brush and set to work. The +bulk of the large blood stain cleared off pretty completely after he +had drenched the sail with a bucketful or two and given it a good +scrubbing. But the edge of the stain, where the heat of the deck had +dried it, remained like the painted boundary on a map, and the +hand-print—which had also dried—though it faded to a pale buff, +continued clearly visible. + +Varney began to grow uneasy. If those stains would not come +out—especially the hand-print—it would be very awkward; they would +take such a deal of explaining. He decided to try the effect of marine +soap, and fetched a cake from the cabin; but even this did not +obliterate the stains completely, though it turned them a faint, +greenish-brown, very unlike the colour of blood. Still he scrubbed on +until at last the hand-print faded away entirely and the large stain +was reduced to a faint, green wavy line; and that was the best he +could do—and quite good enough; for, if that faint line should ever be +noticed, no one would ever suspect its origin. + +He put away the bucket and proceeded with the refitting. The sea had +disengaged the sail from the forefoot and he hauled it on board +without difficulty. Then there was the reeving of the new halyard; a +troublesome business, involving the necessity of his going aloft, +where his weight—small man as he was—made the yacht roll most +infernally, and set him swinging to and fro like the bob of a +metronome. But he was a smart yachtsman and active, though not +powerful, and a few minutes’ strenuous exertion ended in his sliding +down the shrouds with the new halyard running fairly through the upper +block. A vigorous haul or two at the new, hairy rope sent the head of +the dripping sail aloft, and the yacht was once more under control. + +The rig of the _Sandhopper_ was not smart but it was handy. She +carried a short bowsprit to accommodate the single headsail and a +relatively large mizzen, of which the advantage was that, by judicious +management of the mizzen-sheet, the yacht would sail with very little +attention to the helm. Of this advantage Varney was keenly +appreciative just now, for he had several things to do before entering +port. The excitement of the last hour and the bodily exertion had left +him shaky and faint. He wanted refreshment, he wanted a wash and the +various traces of recent events had to be removed. Also, there was +that letter to be attended to. So that it was convenient to be able to +leave the helm in charge of a lashing for a minute now and again. + +When he had washed, he put the kettle on the spirit stove and, while +it was heating, busied himself in cleaning the revolver, flinging the +empty cartridge-case overboard and replacing it with a cartridge from +the bag in the locker. Then he picked up the letter that he had taken +from Purcell’s suit-case and examined it. It was addressed to “Joseph +Penfield, Esq., George Yard, Lombard Street,” and was unstamped, +though the envelope was fastened up. He affixed a stamp from his +pocketbook; and, when the kettle began to boil, he held the envelope +in the steam that issued from the spout. Very soon the flap of the +envelope loosened and curled back, when he laid it aside to mix +himself a mug of hot grog, which, together with the letter and a +biscuit-tin, he took out into the cockpit. The fog was still dense, +and the hoot of a steamer’s whistle from somewhere to the westward +caused him to reach the foghorn out of the locker and blow a long +blast on it. As if in answer to his treble squeak, came the deep bass +note from the Wolf, and, unconsciously, he looked round. He turned +automatically as one does towards a sudden noise, not expecting to see +anything but fog; and what he did see startled him not a little. + +For there was the lighthouse—or half of it, rather—standing up above +the fog-bank, clear, distinct and hardly a mile away. The gilded vane, +the sparkling lantern, the gallery and the upper half of the +red-and-white-ringed tower, stood sharp against the pallid sky; but +the lower half was invisible. It was a strange apparition—like half a +lighthouse suspended in mid-air—and uncommonly disturbing, too. It +raised a very awkward question. If he could see the lantern, the light +keepers could see him. But how long had the lantern been clear of the +fog? That was the question; and the answer to it might come in a +highly disagreeable form. + +Thus he meditated, as with one hand on the tiller, he munched his +biscuit and sipped his grog. Presently he picked up the stamped +envelope and drew from it a letter which he tore into fragments and +dropped overboard. Then, from his pocketbook, he took a similar but +unaddressed envelope from which he drew out its contents; and very +curious those contents were. There was a letter, brief and laconic, +which he read over thoughtfully. “These,” it ran, “are all I have by +me, but they will do for the present and when you have planted them I +will let you have a fresh supply.” There was no date and no signature, +but the rather peculiar handwriting in jet black ink was similar to +that on the envelope addressed to Joseph Penfield, Esq. + +The other contents consisted of a dozen sheets of blank paper, each of +the size of a Bank of England note. But they were not quite blank, for +each bore an elaborate watermark, identical with that of a +twenty-pound bank note. They were, in fact, the “paper blanks” of +which Purcell had spoken. The envelope with its contents had been +slipped into his hand by Purcell, without remark, only three days ago. + +Varney refolded the “blanks,” enclosed them within the letter and +slipped letter and “blanks” together into the stamped envelope, the +flap of which he licked and reclosed. + +“I should like to see old Penfield’s face when he opens that envelope” +was his reflection as, with a grim smile, he put it away in his +pocketbook. “And I wonder what he will do,” he added, mentally; +“however, I shall see before many days are over.” + +Varney looked at his watch. He was to meet Jack Rodney on Penzance +Pier at a quarter to three. He would never do it at this rate, for +when he opened Mount’s Bay, Penzance would be right in the wind’s eye. +That would mean a long beat to windward. Then Rodney would be there, +first, waiting for him. Deuced awkward this. He would have to account +for his being alone on board; would have to invent some lie about +having put Purcell ashore at Mousehole or Newlyn. But a lie is a very +pernicious thing. Its effects are cumulative. You never know when you +have done with it. Apart from moral considerations, lies should be +avoided at all cost of present inconvenience; that is unless they are +absolutely unavoidable; and then they should be as probable as can be +managed, and not calculated to provoke inquiry. Now, if he had reached +Penzance before Rodney, he need have said nothing about Purcell—for +the present, at any rate; and that would have been so much safer. + +When the yacht was about abreast of Lamorna Cove, though some seven +miles to the south, the breeze began to draw ahead and the fog cleared +off quite suddenly. The change of wind was unfavourable for the +moment, but when it veered round yet a little more until it blew from +east-north-east, Varney brightened up considerably. There was still a +chance of reaching Penzance before Rodney arrived; for now, as soon as +he had fairly opened Mount’s Bay, he could head straight for his +destination and make it on a single board. + +Between two and three hours later, the _Sandhopper_ entered Penzance +Harbour, and, threading her way among an assemblage of luggers and +small coasters, brought up alongside the Albert pier at the foot of a +vacant ladder. + +Having made the yacht fast to a couple of rings, Varney divested +himself of his oilskins, locked the cabin scuttle and climbed the +ladder. The change of wind had saved him after all and, as he strode +away along the pier he glanced complacently at his watch. He still had +nearly half an hour to the good. + +He seemed to know the place well and to have a definite objective, for +he struck out briskly from the foot of the pier into Market Jew Street +and from thence by a somewhat zig-zag route to a road which eventually +brought him out about the middle of the Esplanade. Continuing +westward, he entered the Newlyn Road along which he walked rapidly for +about a third of a mile, when he drew up opposite a small letter-box +which was let into a wall. Here he stopped to read the tablet on which +was printed the hours of collection and then, having glanced at his +watch, he walked on again but at a less rapid pace. + +When he reached the outskirts of Newlyn he turned and began slowly to +retrace his steps, looking at his watch from time to time with a +certain air of impatience. Presently a quick step behind him caused +him to look round. The newcomer was a postman, striding along, bag on +shoulder, with the noisy tread of a heavily-shod man and evidently +collecting letters. Varney let him pass; watched him halt at the +little letter-box, unlock the door, gather up the letters and stow +them in his bag; heard the clang of the iron door and finally saw the +man set forth again on his pilgrimage. Then he brought forth his +pocketbook and drawing from it the letter addressed to Joseph +Penfield, Esq., stepped up to the letter-box. The tablet now announced +that the next collection would be at 8.30 p.m. + +Varney read the announcement with a faint smile, glanced again at his +watch, which stood at two minutes past four, and dropped the letter +into the box. + +As he walked up the pier, with a large paper bag under his arm, he +became aware of a tall man who was doing sentry-go before a Gladstone +bag that stood on the coping opposite the ladder; and who, observing +his approach, came forward to meet him. + +“Here you are, then, Rodney,” was Varney’s rather unoriginal greeting. + +“Yes,” replied Rodney, “and here I’ve been for nearly half an hour. +Purcell gone?” + +“Bless you! yes; long ago,” answered Varney. + +“I didn’t see him at the station. What train was he going by?” + +“I don’t know. He said something about taking Falmouth on the way; had +some business or other there. But I expect he’s gone to have a feed at +one of the hotels. We got hung up in a fog—that’s why I’m so late; +I’ve been up to buy some prog.” + +“Well,” said Rodney, “bring it on board. It’s time we were under way. +As soon as we are outside, I’ll take charge and you can go below and +stoke up at your ease.” + +The two men descended the ladder and proceeded at once to hoist the +sails and cast off the shore-ropes. A few strokes of an oar sent them +clear of the lee of the pier, and in a few minutes the yacht +_Sandhopper_ was once more outside, heading south with a steady breeze +from east-north-east. + + + +CHAPTER II + +In Which Margaret Purcell Receives a Letter + +Daylight dies hard in the month of June and night comes but tardily +into her scanty reversion. The clock on the mantelpiece stood at +half-past nine, and candles twinkled on the supper table, but even now +the slaty-grey band of twilight was only just stealing up behind the +horizon to veil the fading glories of the western sky. + +Varney sat at the old-fashioned, oval gate-legged table with an air of +placid contentment, listening to and joining in the rather +disconnected talk (for hungry people are poor conversationalists) with +quiet geniality but with a certain remoteness and abstraction. From +where he sat he could see out through the open window the great ocean +stretching away to the south and west, the glittering horizon and the +gorgeous evening sky. With quiet pleasure he had watched the changing +scene; the crimson disc of the setting sun, the flaming gold softening +down into the sober tints of the afterglow, and now, as the grey +herald of the night spread upwards, his eye dwelt steadily on one spot +away in the south-west. At first faintly visible, then waxing as the +daylight waned, a momentary spark flashed in the heart of the twilight +grey; now white like the sparkle of a diamond, now crimson like the +flash of a ruby. It was the light on the Wolf Rock. + +He watched it thoughtfully as he talked: +white—red—white—red—diamond—ruby; so it would go on every fifteen +seconds through the short summer night; to mariners a warning and a +guide; to him, a message of release; for another, a memorial. + +As he looked at the changing lights, he thought of his enemy lying out +there in the chilly depths on the bed of the sea. It was strange how +often he thought of Purcell. For the man was dead; had gone out of his +life utterly. And yet, in the two days that had passed, every trivial +incident had seemed to connect itself and him with the man who was +gone. And so it was now. All roads seemed to lead to Purcell. If he +looked out seaward, there was the lighthouse flashing its secret +message, as if it should say, “We know, you and I; he is down here.” +If he looked around the table, still everything spoke of the dead man. +There was Phillip Rodney—Purcell and he had talked of him on the +yacht. There was Jack Rodney who had waited on the pier for the man +who had not come. There, at the hostess’s right hand, was the quiet, +keen-faced stranger whom Purcell, for some reason, had not wished to +meet; and there, at the head of the table, was Margaret herself, the +determining cause of it all. Even the very lobsters on the table +(lobsters are plentiful at the Land’s End) set him thinking of dark, +crawling shapes down in that dim underworld, groping around a larger +shape tethered to an iron weight. + +He turned his face resolutely away from the sea. He would think no +more of Purcell. The fellow had dogged him through life, but now he +was gone. Enough of Purcell. Let him think of something more pleasant. + +The most agreeable object of contemplation within his field of vision +was the woman who sat at the head of the table—his hostess. And, in +fact, Margaret Purcell was very pleasant to look upon, not only for +her comeliness, though she was undoubtedly a pretty, almost a +beautiful, woman, but because she was sweet-faced and gracious and +what men compliment the sex by calling “womanly.” She was evidently +under thirty, though she carried a certain matronly sedateness and an +air of being older than she either looked or was; which was +accentuated by the fashion in which she wore her hair, primly parted +in the middle—a rather big woman, quiet and reposeful, as big women +often are. + +Varney looked at her with a kind of wonder. He had always thought her +lovely and now she seemed lovelier than ever. And she was a widow, +little as she suspected it; little as any one but he suspected it. But +it was a fact. She was free to marry, if she only knew it. + +He hugged himself at the thought and listened dreamily to the mellow +tones of her voice. She was talking to her guest and the elder Rodney, +but he had only a dim idea of what she was saying; he was enjoying the +music of her speech rather than attending to the matter. Suddenly she +turned to him and asked: + +“Don’t you agree with me, Mr. Varney?” + +He pulled himself together, and, after a momentarily vacant look, +answered: + +“I always agree with you, Mrs. Purcell.” + +“And so,” said Rodney, “as the greater includes the less, he agrees +with you now. I am admiring your self-possession, Varney: you haven’t +the least idea what we were talking about.” + +Varney laughed and reddened, and Margaret looked at him with playful +reproach. + +“Haven’t you?” she asked. “But how deceitful of you to answer so +readily. I was remarking that lawyers have a way of making a solemn +parade and exactness and secrecy when there is no occasion. That was +my statement.” + +“And it is perfectly correct,” said Varney. “You know it is, Rodney. +You’re always doing it. I’ve noticed it constantly.” + +“Oh, this is mere vindictiveness because he unmasked your deceit. I +wasn’t alluding to Mr. Rodney, or any one in particular. I was just +speaking generally.” + +“But,” said Varney, “something must have suggested the reflection.” + +“Certainly. Something did: a letter that I have just received from Mr. +Penfield; a most portentous document, and all about nothing.” + +At the mention of the lawyer’s name Varney’s attention came to a sharp +focus. + +“It seems,” Margaret continued, “that Dan, when he wrote to Mr. +Penfield the other day, put the wrong letter in the envelope; a silly +thing to do, but we all do silly things sometimes.” + +“I don’t,” said Rodney. + +“Well, ordinary persons, I mean. Then Mr. Penfield, instead of simply +stating the fact and returning the letter, becomes mysterious and +alarming. He informs me that the envelope was addressed in Dan’s +handwriting, that the letter was posted at Penzance at eight-thirty +p.m., that it was opened by him in person, and that the contents, +which have been seen by no one but himself, are at present reposing in +his private safe, of which he alone has the key. What he does not tell +us is what the contents of the envelope were; which is the only thing +that matters. It is most extraordinary. From the tone of his letter +one would think that the envelope had contained something dreadful and +incriminating.” + +“Perhaps it did,” said Varney. “Dan’s political views are distinctly +revolutionary and he is as secret as a whole barrel of oysters. That +letter may have contained particulars of some sort of Guy Fawkes +conspiracy enclosing samples of suitable explosives. Who knows?” + +Margaret was about to reply, when her glance happened to light on Jack +Rodney, and something in that gentleman’s expressive and handsome face +gave her pause. Had she been chattering indiscreetly? And might Mr. +Penfield have meant something after all? There were some curious +points about his letter. She smilingly accepted the Guy Fawkes theory +and then adroitly changed the subject. + +“Speaking of Penzance, Mr. Varney, reminds me that you haven’t told us +what sort of voyage you had. There was quite a thick fog, wasn’t +there?” + +“Yes. It delayed us a lot. Purcell would steer right out to sea for +fear of going ashore. Then the breeze failed for a time and then it +veered round easterly and headed us, and, as a wind-up to the chapter +of accidents, the jib-halyard carried away and we had to reeve a new +one. Nice, crazy gear you keep on your craft, Rodney.” + +“I suspected that rope,” said Rodney; “in fact I had meant to fit a +new halyard before I went up to town. But I should have liked to see +Purcell shinning up aloft.” + +“So should I—from the shore,” said Varney. “He’d have carried away the +mast, or capsized the yacht. No, my friend, I left him below as a +counterpoise and went aloft myself.” + +“Did Dan go straight off to the station?” Margaret asked. + +“I should say not,” replied Varney. “He was in a mighty hurry to be +off; said he had some things to see to—I fancy one of them was a +grilled steak and a bottle of Bass. We were both pretty ravenous.” + +“But why didn’t you go with him, if you were ravenous, too?” + +“I had to snug up the yacht and he wouldn’t wait. He was up the ladder +like a lamplighter almost before we had made fast. I can see him now, +with that great suit-case in his hand, going up as light as a feather. +He is wonderfully active for his size.” + +“Isn’t he?” said Rodney. “But these big men often are. Look at the way +those great lumping pilots will drop down into a boat; as light as +cats.” + +“He is a big fellow, too,” said Varney. “I was looking at him as he +stopped at the top of the ladder to sing out, ‘So long.’ He looked +quite gigantic in his oilskins.” + +“He actually went up into the town in his oilskins, did he?” exclaimed +Margaret. “He must have been impatient for his meal! Oh, how silly of +me! I never sewed on that button that had come off the collar of his +oilskin coat! I hope you didn’t have a wet passage.” + +“You need not reproach yourself, Mrs. Purcell,” interposed Phillip +Rodney. “Your neglect was made good by my providence. _I_ sewed on +that button when I borrowed the coat on Friday evening to go to my +diggings in.” + +“You told me you hadn’t a spare oilskin button,” said Margaret. + +“I hadn’t, but I made one—out of a cork.” + +“A cork!” Margaret exclaimed, with an incredulous laugh. + +“Not a common cork, you know,” Phillip explained. “It was a flat, +circular cork from one of my collecting jars, waterproofed with +paraffin wax; a most superior affair, with a beautiful round +label—also waterproofed by the wax—on which was typed ‘marine worms.’ +The label was very decorative. It’s my own invention and I’m rather +proud of it.” + +“You may well be. And I suppose you sewed it on with ropeyarn and a +sail-needle?” Margaret suggested. + +“Not at all. It was secured with cat-gut; the fag end of an E string +that I happened to have in my pocket. You see, I had no needle or +thread, so I made two holes in the cork with the marline spike in my +pocket-knife, two similar holes in the coat, poked the ends of the +fiddle-string through, tied a reef knot inside and there it was, tight +as wax—paraffin wax.” + +“It was very ingenious and resourceful of you,” Varney commented, “but +the product wasn’t very happily disposed of on Dan’s coat—I mean as to +your decorative label. I take it that Dan’s interest in marine worms +is limited to their use as bait. Now if you could have fitted out Dr. +Thorndyke with a set there would have been some appropriateness in it, +since marine worms are the objects of his devotion; at least so I +understand,” and he looked interrogatively at Margaret’s guest. + +Dr. Thorndyke smiled. “You are draping me in the mantle of my friend, +Professor D’Arcy,” he said. “He is the real devotee. I have merely +come down for a few days to stay with him and be an interested +spectator of the chase. It is he who should have the buttons.” + +“Still,” said Varney, “you aid and abet him. I suppose you help him to +dig them up.” + +Phillip laughed scornfully. “Why, you are as bad as Dan, Varney. You +are thinking in terms of bait. Do you imagine Dr. Thorndyke and the +professor go a-worming with a bully-beef tin and a garden fork as you +do when you are getting ready for a fishing jaunt?” + +“Well, how was I to know?” retorted Varney. “I am not a naturalist. +What do they do? Set traps for ’em with bits of cheese inside?” + +“Of course they don’t,” laughed Margaret. “How absurd you are, Mr. +Varney. They go out with a boat and a dredge; and very interesting it +must be to bring up all those curious creatures from the bottom of the +sea.” + +She spoke rather absently, for her thoughts had gone back to Mr. +Penfield’s letter. There was certainly something a little cryptic in +its tone, which she had taken for mere professional pedantry, but +which she now recalled with vague uneasiness. Could the old lawyer +have stumbled on something discreditable and written this ambiguously +worded letter as a warning? Her husband was not a communicative man +and she could not pretend to herself that she had an exalted opinion +of his moral character. It was all very disquieting. + +The housekeeper, who had been retained with the furnished house, +brought in the coffee, and, as Margaret poured it out she continued +her reflections, watching Varney with unconscious curiosity as he +rolled a cigarette. The ring-finger of his left hand had a stiff +joint—the result of an old injury—and was permanently bent at a sharp +angle. It gave his hand an appearance of awkwardness, but she noted +that he rolled his cigarette as quickly and neatly as if all his +fingers were sound. The stiff finger had become normal to him. And she +also noted that Dr. Thorndyke appeared quite interested in the +contrast between the appearance of awkwardness and the actual +efficiency of the maimed finger. + +From Varney her attention—or inattention—wandered to her guest. +Absently she dwelt on his powerful, intellectual face, his bold, +clean-cut features, his shapely mouth, firm almost to severity; and +all the time she was thinking of Mr. Penfield’s letter. + +“Have we all finished?” she asked at length; “and if so, where are we +going to smoke our pipes and cigars?” + +“I propose that we go into the garden,” said Phillip. “It is a lovely +evening and we can look at the moonlight on the sea while we smoke.” + +“Yes,” Margaret agreed, “it will be more pleasant out there. Don’t +wait for me. I will join you in a few minutes, but I want first to +have a few words with Mr. Rodney.” + +Phillip, who, like the others, understood that this was a consultation +on the subject of Mr. Penfield’s letter, rose and playfully shepherded +Varney out of the door which his brother held invitingly open. + +“Now then, Varney, out you go. No lagging behind and eavesdropping. +The pronouncements of the oracle are not for the likes of you and me.” + +Varney took his dismissal with a smile and followed Dr. Thorndyke out, +though as he looked at the barrister’s commanding figure and handsome +face, he could not repress a twinge of jealousy. Why could not Maggie +have consulted him? He was an old friend, and he knew more about old +Penfield’s letter than Rodney did. But, of course, she had no idea of +that. + +As soon as they were alone, Margaret and Rodney resumed their seats +and the former opened the subject without preamble. + +“What do you really think of Mr. Penfield’s letter?” she asked. + +“Could you give me, in general terms, the substance of what he says?” +Rodney answered, cautiously. + +“I had better show you the letter itself,” said Margaret. She rose and +left the room, returning almost immediately with an official-looking +envelope which she handed to Rodney. The letter which he extracted +from it and spread out on the table, was not remarkably legible; an +elderly solicitor’s autograph letters seldom are. But barristers, like +old-fashioned druggists, are usually expert decipherers and Rodney +read the letter without difficulty. It ran thus:— + + “George Yard, + “Lombard Street, E. C. + “25th June, 1911. + + “Dear Mrs. Purcell, + + “I have just received from your husband a letter with certain + enclosures which have caused me some surprise. The envelope is + addressed to me in his handwriting and the letter, which is + unsigned, is also in his hand; but neither the letter nor the other + contents could possibly have been intended for me and it is manifest + that they have been placed in the wrong envelope. + + “The postmark shows that the letter was posted at Penzance at 8.30 + p.m. on the 23rd instant. It was opened by me, and the contents, + which have been seen by no one but me, have been deposited in my + private safe, of which I alone have the key. + + “Will you very kindly acquaint your husband with these facts and + request him to call on me at his early convenience? + + “I am, dear Mrs. Purcell, + + “Yours sincerely, + “Joseph Penfield. + + “Mrs. Daniel Purcell, + “Sennen, Cornwall.” + +Rodney read the solicitor’s letter through twice, refolded it, +replaced it in its envelope and returned it to Margaret. + +“Well, what do you think of it?” the latter asked. + +Rodney reflected for some moments. + +“It’s a very careful letter,” he replied at length. + +“Yes, I know, and that is a very careful answer, but not very helpful. +Now do drop the lawyer and tell me just what you think like a good +friend.” + +Rodney looked at her quickly with a faint smile and yet very +earnestly. He found it strangely pleasant to be called a good friend +by Margaret Purcell. + +“I gather,” he said slowly, “from the tone of Mr. Penfield’s letter +that he found something in that envelope that your husband would not +have wished him to see; something that he had reasons for wishing no +one to see but the person for whom it was meant.” + +“Do you mean something discreditable or compromising?” + +“We mustn’t jump at conclusions. Mr. Penfield is very reticent so, +presumably, he has some reasons for reticence; otherwise he would have +said plainly what the envelope contained. But why does he write to +you? Doesn’t he know your husband’s address?” + +“No, but he could have got it from Dan’s office. I have been +wondering, myself, why he wrote to me.” + +“Has your husband arrived at Oulton yet?” + +“Heavens! Yes. It doesn’t take two days and a half to get to Norfolk.” + +“Oh, then he wasn’t staying at Falmouth?” + +Margaret stared at him. “Falmouth!” she exclaimed. “What do you mean?” + +“I understood Varney to say that he was going to call at Falmouth.” + +“No, certainly not. He was going straight to London and so on to +Oulton the same night. I wonder what Mr. Varney can have meant.” + +“We must find out presently. Have you heard from your husband since he +left?” + +“No. Oddly enough, he hasn’t written, which is unlike him. He +generally sends me a line as soon as he arrives anywhere.” + +“You had better send him a telegram in the morning to make sure of his +whereabouts and then let him have a copy of Mr. Penfield’s letter at +once. And I think I wouldn’t refer to the subject before any of our +friends if I were you.” + +“No. I oughtn’t to have said what I did. But, of course, I didn’t +dream that Mr. Penfield really meant anything. Shall we go out into +the garden?” + +Rodney opened the door for her and they passed out to where their +three companions sat in deck chairs facing the sea. Two chairs had +been placed for them, and, as they seated themselves, Varney remarked: + +“I take it that the oracle has spoken; and I hope he was more explicit +than oracles are usually.” + +“He was explicit and discreet—especially discreet,” Margaret replied. + +“Oh, they are always that,” said Varney; “discretion is the oracular +specialty. The explicitness is exceptional.” + +“I believe it is,” replied Margaret, “and I am glad you set so much +value on it because I am coming to you, now, for information. Mr. +Rodney tells me that Dan said something to you about Falmouth. What +was it?” + +“He said he was going to call in there; at least, so I understood.” + +“But he wasn’t, you know. He was going direct to London and straight +on to Oulton the same night. You must have misunderstood him.” + +“I may have done, but I don’t think I did. Still, he only mentioned +the matter casually and I wasn’t paying particular attention.” + +Margaret made no rejoinder and the party became somewhat silent. +Phillip, realizing Margaret’s uneasy preoccupation, engaged Dr. +Thorndyke in an animated conversation respecting the natural history +of the Cornish coast and the pleasures of dredging. + +The other three became profoundly thoughtful. To each, the solicitor’s +letter had its special message, though to one only was that message +clearly intelligible. Rodney was puzzled and deeply suspicious. To him +the letter had read like that of a man washing his hands of a +disagreeable responsibility. The curious reticence as to the nature of +the enclosures and the reference to the private safe sounded ominous. +He knew little of Purcell—he had been a friend of the Haygarths—and +had no great opinion of him. Purcell was a financier, and financiers +sometimes did queer things. At any rate, Penfield’s excessive caution +suggested something fishy—possibly something illicit. In fact, to +speak colloquially, Rodney smelt a rat. + +Margaret also was puzzled and suspicious, but, woman-like, she allowed +her suspicions to take a more special form. She, too, smelt a rat, but +it was a feminine rat. The lawyer’s silence as to the contents of that +mysterious envelope seemed to admit of no other interpretation. It was +so pointed. Of course he could not tell her, though he was an old +friend and her trustee; so he had said nothing. + +She reflected on the matter with lukewarm displeasure. Her relations +with her husband were not such as to admit of jealousy in the ordinary +sense; but still she was married to him, and any affair on his part +with another woman would be very disagreeable and humiliating to her. +It might lead to a scandal, too, and from that her ingrained delicacy +revolted. + +Varney, meanwhile, sat with his head thrown back, wrapped in thought +of a more dreamy quality. He knew all about the letter and his mind +was occupying itself with speculation as to its effects. Rodney’s view +of it he gauged pretty accurately; but what did _she_ think of it? Was +she anxious, worried at the prospect of some unpleasant disclosure? He +hoped not. At any rate, it could not be helped. And she was free, if +she only knew it. + +He had smoked out his cigarette and now, as he abstractedly filled his +pipe, his eye insensibly sought the spot where the diamond and ruby +flashed out alternately from the bosom of the night. A cloud had crept +over the moon and the transitory golden and crimson gleam shone out +bright and clear amidst the encompassing darkness—white—red, +white—red, diamond—ruby; a message in a secret code from the tall, +unseen sentinel on that solitary, wave-washed rock, bidding him be of +good cheer, reminding him again and again of the freedom that was +his—and hers—made everlastingly secure by a friendly iron sinker. + +The cloud turned silvery at the edge and the moon sailed out into the +open. Margaret looked up at it thoughtfully. “I wonder where Dan is +to-night,” she said; and in the pause that followed a crimson spark +from the dim horizon seemed to Varney to signal, “Here” and instantly +fade into discreet darkness. + +“Perhaps,” suggested Phillip, “he is having a moonlight sail on the +Broad, or more probably, taking a whisky and soda with Bradford in the +inn-parlour where the stuffed pike is. You remember that stuffed pike, +Jack?” + +His brother nodded. “Can I ever forget it, or the landlord’s +interminable story of its capture? I wonder why people become so +intolerably boresome about their fishing exploits. The angler is +nearly as bad as the golfer.” + +“Still,” said Varney, “he has more excuse. It is more of an +achievement to catch a pike or a salmon than merely to whack a ball +with a stick.” + +“Isn’t that rather a crude description of the game?” asked Margaret. +“It is to be hoped that Dr. Thorndyke is not an enthusiast.” + +“I am not,” he assured her; “in fact I was admiring Mr. Varney’s +simplification. His definition of the game is worthy of Dr. Johnson. +But I must tear myself away. My host is an early bird and I expect you +are, too. Good night, Mrs. Purcell. It has been very delightful to +meet you again. I am only sorry that I should have missed your +husband.” + +“So am I,” said Margaret, shaking his hand warmly, “but I think it +most kind of you to have remembered me after all these years.” + +As Dr. Thorndyke rose, the other three men stood up. “It is time for +us to go, too,” said Rodney, “so we will see you to the end of the +road, Thorndyke. Good night, Mrs. Purcell.” + +“Good night, gentlemen all,” she replied. “Eight o’clock breakfast, +remember.” + +The four men went into the house to fetch their hats and took their +departure, walking together as far as the cross-roads; where Thorndyke +wished the other three good night and left them to pursue their way to +the village. + +The lodging accommodation in this neighbourhood was not sumptuous, but +our three friends were not soft or fastidious. Besides, they only +slept at their “diggings,” taking their meals and making their home at +the house which Purcell had hired, furnished, for the holiday. It was +a somewhat unconventional arrangement, now that Purcell had gone, and +spoke eloquently of his confidence in the discretion of his attractive +wife. + +The three men were not in the same lodgings. Varney was “putting up” +at the “First and Last” inn in the adjoining village—or “church-town,” +to give it its local title—of Sennen, while the Rodneys shared a room +at the “Ship” down in Sennen Cove, more than a mile away. They +proceeded together as far as Varney’s hostel, when, having wished him +“good night,” the two brothers strode away along the moonlit road +towards the Cove. + +For a while neither spoke, though the thoughts of both were occupied +by the same subject, the solicitor’s letter. Phillip had fully taken +in the situation, although he had made no remark on it, and the fact +that his brother had been consulted quasi-professionally on the +subject made him hesitate to refer to it. For, in spite of his gay, +almost frivolous, manner, Phillip Rodney was a responsible medical +practitioner and really a man of sound judgment and discretion. + +Presently his scruples yielded to the consideration that his brother +was not likely to divulge any confidence and he remarked: + +“I hope Purcell hasn’t been doing anything shady. It sounded to me as +if there was a touch of Pontius Pilate in the tone of Penfield’s +letter.” + +“Yes, a very guarded tone, with a certain note of preparation for +unpleasant possibilities. So it struck me. I do sincerely hope there +isn’t anything in it.” + +“So do I, by Jove! but I shouldn’t be so very astonished. Of course we +don’t know anything against Purcell—at least I don’t—but somehow he +doesn’t strike me as a very scrupulous man. His outlook on life jars a +bit; don’t you feel that sometimes?” + +“The commercial standard isn’t quite the same as the professional, you +know,” Jack Rodney answered evasively; “and financial circles are not +exactly hotbeds of the higher morality. But I know of nothing to +Purcell’s discredit.” + +“No, of course not. But he isn’t the same class as his wife; she’s a +lot too good for a coarse, bucolic fellow like that. I wonder why the +deuce she married him. I used to think she rather liked you.” + +“A woman can’t marry every man she rather likes, you know, Phil, +unless she happens to live in Ladak; and even there I believe there +are limits. But to come back to Purcell, we may be worrying ourselves +about nothing. To-morrow we shall get into touch with him by telegraph +and then we may hear something from him.” + +Here the consideration of Purcell and his affairs dropped so far as +conversation went; but in the elder man’s mind certain memories had +been revived by his brother’s remark and occupied it during the +remainder of the walk. For he, too, had once thought that Maggie +Haygarth rather liked him, and he now recalled the shock of +disagreeable surprise with which he had heard of her marriage. But +that was over and done with long ago, and the question now was, how +was the _Sandhopper_—at present moored in Whitesand Bay—to be got from +the Land’s End to her moorings above Westminster Bridge; a problem +that engaged the attention of the two brothers until they turned into +their respective beds, and the laggard, according to immemorial +custom, blew out the light. + +In spite of Mrs. Purcell’s admonition they were some minutes late on +the following morning. Their two friends were already seated at the +breakfast table and it needed no extraordinary powers of observation +to see that something had happened. Their hostess was pale and looked +worried and somewhat frightened and Varney was preternaturally grave. +A telegram lay open on the table by Margaret’s place, and, as Rodney +advanced to shake hands, she held it out to him without a word. He +took the paper and read the brief, but ominous, message that confirmed +but too plainly his misgivings of the previous night. + + “Where is Dan? Expected him here Tuesday night. Hope nothing wrong. + Bradford. Angler’s Hotel. Oulton.” + +Rodney laid down the telegram and looked at Margaret. “This is a queer +business,” said he. “Have you done anything?” + +“No,” she replied. “What can we do?” + +Rodney took a slip of paper and a pencil from his pocket. “If you will +write down the name of the partner or clerk who is attending at the +office and the address, and that of the caretaker of your flat, I will +go and send off reply-paid telegrams to them asking for information as +to your husband’s whereabouts and I will also reply to Mr. Bradford. +It is just possible that Purcell may have gone home after all.” + +“It’s very unlikely,” said Margaret. “The flat is shut up, and he +would surely have written. Still, we may as well make sure, if you +will be so kind. But won’t you have your breakfast first?” + +“We’d better waste no time,” he answered; and, pocketing the paper, +strode away on his errand. + +Little was said until he returned, and even then the breakfast +proceeded in a gloomy silence that contrasted strangely with the usual +vivacity of the gatherings around that hospitable table. A feeling of +tense expectation pervaded the party and a vivid sense of impending +disaster. Dreary efforts were made to keep some kind of conversation +going, but the talk was colourless and disjointed with long and +awkward pauses. + +Varney especially was wrapped in deep meditation. Outwardly he +preserved an appearance of sympathetic anxiety, but inwardly he was +conscious of a strange, rather agreeable excitement, almost of +elation. When he looked at Margaret’s troubled face he felt a pang of +regret, of contrition; but principally he was sensible of a feeling of +power, of knowledge. He sat apart, as it were, godlike, omniscient. He +knew all the facts that were hidden from the others. The past lay +clear before him to the smallest detail; the involved present was as +an open book which he read with ease; and he could even peer +confidently into the future. + +And these men and the woman before him, and those others afar off; the +men at the office, the caretaker, Penfield, the lawyer, and Bradford +at his inn in Norfolk; what were they but so many puppets, moving +feverishly hither and thither as he, the unseen master-spirit, +directed them by a pull at the strings? It was he who had wound them +up and set them going, and here he sat, motionless and quiet, watching +them do his bidding. He was reminded of an occasion when he had been +permitted for a short time to steer a five-thousand-ton steamer. What +a sense of power it had given him to watch the stupendous consequences +of his own trifling movements! A touch of the little wheel, the +movement of a spoke or two to right or left, and what a commotion +followed! How the steam gear had clanked with furious haste to obey +and the great ship had presently swerved round, responsive to the +pressure of his fingers. What a wonderful thing it had been! There was +that colossal structure with its enormous burden of merchandise, its +teeming population sweating in the stokehold or sleeping in the dark +forecastle; its unconscious passengers chatting on the decks, reading, +writing or playing cards in saloon or smoking-room; and he had it all +in the grasp of one hand, had moved it and turned it about with the +mere touch of a finger. + +And so it was now. The magical pressure of his finger on the trigger, +a few turns of a rope, the hoisting of an iron weight; and behold! the +whole course of a human life—probably of several human lives—was +changed utterly. + +It was a tremendous thought. + +In a little over an hour the replies to Rodney’s discreetly worded +inquiries had come in. Mr. Purcell had not been home nor had he been +heard of at the office. Mr. Penfield had been enquiring as to his +whereabouts and so had Mr. Bradford. That was all. And what it +amounted to was that Daniel Purcell had disappeared. + +“Can’t you remember exactly what Dan said about going to Falmouth, Mr. +Varney?” Margaret asked. + +“I am sorry to say I can’t,” replied Varney. “You see he just threw +the remark off casually and I didn’t ask any questions. He isn’t very +fond of being questioned, you know.” + +“I wonder what he could have been going to Falmouth for,” she mused. +In reality she did not wonder at all. She felt pretty certain that she +knew. But pride would not allow her publicly to adopt that explanation +until it was forced on her. + +“It seems to me that there is only one course,” she continued. “I must +go up to town and see Mr. Penfield. Don’t you think so, Mr. Rodney?” + +“Certainly. He is the only one who knows anything and is able to +advise.” He hesitated a moment and then added: “Hadn’t we better come +up with you?” + +“Yes,” said Varney eagerly; “let us all go up.” + +Margaret considered for a few moments. “It is excessively kind and +sympathetic of you all, and I am glad you offered, because it makes me +feel that I have good, loyal friends; which is a great deal to know +just now. But really there would be no use in breaking up your +holidays. What could you do? We can’t make a search in person. Why not +take over the house and stay on here?” + +“We don’t want the house if you’re not in it,” said Phillip. + +“No,” agreed Jack Rodney; “if we can’t be of use to you, we shall get +afloat and begin to crawl round the coast homewards.” + +“I think I shall run over to Falmouth and see if I can pick up any +news,” said Varney. + +“Thank you,” said Margaret. “I think that would be really useful,” and +Rodney agreed heartily, adding: “Why not come round on the yacht, +Varney? We shall probably get there to-morrow night.” + +Varney reflected. And suddenly it was borne in upon him that he felt +an unspeakable repugnance to the idea of going on board the yacht and +especially to making the voyage from Sennen to Penzance. The feeling +came to him as an utter surprise, but there was no doubt of its +reality. “I think I’ll go over by train,” he said. “It will save a +day, you know.” + +“Then we will meet you there,” said Rodney; “and, Mrs. Purcell, will +you send us a letter to the Green Banks Hotel, Falmouth, and let us +know what Mr. Penfield says and if you would like us to come up to +town to help you?” + +“Thank you, yes, I will,” Margaret replied heartily. “And I promise +that, if I want your help, I will ask for it.” + +“That is a solemn promise, mind,” said Rodney. + +“Yes, I mean it—a solemn promise.” + +So the matter was arranged. By twelve o’clock—the weather being +calm—the yacht was got under way for Penzance. And even as on that +other occasion, she headed seaward with her crew of two, watched from +the shore by a woman and a man. + + + +CHAPTER III + +In Which Margaret Purcell Consults Mr. Penfield + +Mr. Joseph Penfield was undeniably in a rather awkward dilemma. For he +had hooked the wrong fish. His letter to Maggie Purcell had been +designed to put him immediately in touch with Purcell himself; whereas +it had evoked an urgent telegram from Maggie announcing her intention +of calling on him “on important business” and entreating him to +arrange an interview. + +It was really most unfortunate. There was no one in the world that he +had less desire to see, at the present moment, than Margaret Purcell. +And yet there was no possible escape; for not only was he her +solicitor and her trustee, but he was an old family friend and not a +little attached to her in his dry way. But he didn’t want her just +now. He wanted Purcell; and he wanted him very badly. + +For a solicitor of irreproachable character and spotless reputation, +his position was highly unpleasant. As soon as he had opened the +letter from Penzance he had recognized the nature of the enclosures +and had instantly connected them with the forgeries of Bank of England +notes of which he had heard. The intricate watermarks on the “blanks” +were unmistakable. But so was the handwriting of the accompanying +letter. It was Daniel Purcell’s beyond a doubt; and the peculiar, +intensely black ink was equally characteristic. And, short as the note +was, it made perfectly clear its connection with the incriminating +enclosures. It wrote down Daniel Purcell a bank-note forger. + +Now Mr. Penfield was, as we have said, a man of irreproachable +character. But he was a very secretive and rather casuistical old +gentleman, and his regard for Margaret had led him to apply his +casuistry to the present case; pretending to himself that his +discovery of the illicit blanks came within the category of “clients’ +secrets” which he need not divulge. But in his heart he knew that he +was conniving at a felony; that he ought to give information to the +police or to the Bank, and that he wasn’t going to. His plan was to +get hold of Purcell, make him destroy the blanks in his presence, and +deliver such a warning as would put a stop to the forgeries. + +But if he did not propose to give Purcell away, neither did he intend +to give himself away. He would share his compromising secret with no +one—especially with a lady. And this consideration raised the +difficult question, What on earth was he to say to Margaret Purcell +when she arrived? A question which he was still debating with her +telegram spread out before him and his silver snuff-box in his hand +when a clerk entered his private office to announce the unwelcome +visitor. + +Fortifying himself with a pinch of snuff, he rose and advanced towards +the door to receive her, and as she entered he made a quick mental +note of her anxious and troubled expression. + +“How do you do, Mrs. Purcell?” said he, with a ceremonious bow. “You +have had a long journey and rather an early one. How very unfortunate +that this business, to which you refer in your telegram, should have +arisen while you were on holiday so far away.” + +“You have guessed what the business is, I suppose,” said Margaret. + +Mr. Penfield smiled deprecatingly. “We lawyers,” said he, “are not +much addicted to guessing, especially when definite information is +available. Pray be seated; and now,” he continued, as Margaret +subsided into the clients’ chair and he resumed his own, resting his +elbows on the arms and placing his finger-tips together, “let us hear +what this new and important business is.” + +“It is about that mysterious letter that you had from my husband,” +said Margaret. + +“Dear, dear,” said Mr. Penfield. “What a pity that you should have +taken this long journey for such a trifling affair; and I thought I +gave you all the particulars.” + +“You didn’t mention whom the letter was from.” + +“For several excellent reasons,” replied Mr. Penfield, checking them +off on his fingers. “First, I don’t know; second, it is not my +business; third, your husband, whose business it is, does know. My +object in writing to you was to get into touch with him so that I +could hand back to him this letter which should never have come into +my possession. Shall I take down his address now?” + +“I haven’t it myself,” Margaret replied with a faint flush. “I have no +idea where he is at present. He left Sennen on the 23rd to go to +Oulton via Penzance. But he never arrived at Oulton. He has not been +home, he has not been to the office and he has not written. It is +rather alarming, especially in connection with your mysterious +letter.” + +“Was my letter mysterious?” said Mr. Penfield, rapidly considering +this new, but not very surprising development. “I hardly think so. It +was not intended to be. What was there mysterious about it?” + +“Everything,” she replied, producing the letter from her bag and +glancing at it as she spoke. “You emphasize that Dan’s letter and the +other contents have been seen by no eye but yours and that they are in +a receptacle to which no one has access but yourself. There is a +strong hint of something secret and compromising in the nature of +Dan’s letter and the enclosures.” + +“I would rather say ‘confidential,’” murmured Mr. Penfield. + +“And,” Margaret continued, “you must see that there is an evident +connection between this misdirected letter and Dan’s disappearance.” + +Mr. Penfield saw the connection very plainly, but he was admitting +nothing. He did, indeed, allow that “it was a coincidence” but would +not agree to “a necessary connection.” “Probably you will hear from +your husband in a day or two, and then the letter can be returned.” + +“Is there any reason why you should not show me Dan’s letter?” +Margaret demanded. “Surely I am entitled, as his wife, to see it.” + +Mr. Penfield pursed up his lips and took a deliberate pinch of snuff. + +“We must not confuse,” said he “the theological relations of married +people with their legal relations. Theologically they are one; legally +they are separate persons subject to a mutual contract. As to this +letter, it is not mine and consequently I can show it to no one; and I +must assume that if your husband had desired you to see it he would +have shown it to you himself.” + +“But,” Margaret protested impatiently, “are not my husband’s secrets +my secrets?” + +“That,” replied the lawyer, “is a delicate question which we need not +consider. There is the question of the secrets of a third party. If I +had the felicity to be a married man, which unfortunately I have not, +you would hardly expect me to communicate your private, and perhaps +secret, affairs to my wife. Now would you?” + +Margaret had to admit that she would not. But she instantly countered +the lawyer by inquiring: “Then I was apparently right in inferring +that this letter and the enclosures contained matter of a secret and +compromising character.” + +“I have said nothing to that effect,” replied Mr. Penfield, +uncomfortably; and then, seeing that he had no choice between a +downright lie and a flat refusal to answer any questions, he +continued: “The fact is that it is not admissible for me to make any +statement. This letter came to me by an error and my position must be +as if I had not seen it.” + +“But it can’t be,” Margaret persisted, “because you have seen it. I +want to know if Dan’s letter was addressed to any one whom I know. You +could tell me that, surely?” + +“Unfortunately I cannot,” replied the lawyer, glad to be able to tell +the literal truth for once. “The letter was without any formal +opening. There was nothing to indicate the identity or even the sex of +the person to whom it was addressed.” + +Margaret noted this curious fact and then asked: “With regard to the +enclosures. Did they consist of money?” + +“They did not,” was the reply, “nor cheques.” + +A brief silence followed during which Margaret reflected rapidly on +what she had learned, and what she had not learned. At length she +looked up with a somewhat wry smile and said: “Well, Mr. Penfield, I +suppose that is all I shall get out of you?” + +“I am afraid it is,” he replied. “The necessity of so much reservation +is most distasteful, I assure you; but it is the plain duty of a +lawyer to keep not only his own counsel but other people’s.” + +“Yes, of course, I quite understand that. And now, as we have finished +with the letter, there is the writer to consider. What had I better do +about Dan?” + +“Why do anything? It is only four days since he left Sennen.” + +“Yes, but something has evidently happened. He may have met with an +accident and be in some hospital. Do you think I ought to notify the +police that he is missing?” + +“No; certainly not,” Mr. Penfield replied emphatically; for, to his +mind, Purcell’s disappearance was quite simply explained. He had +discovered the mistake of the transposed letter, and knew that +Penfield held the means of convicting him of a felony, and he had gone +into hiding until he should discover what the lawyer meant to do. To +put the police on his track would be to convince him of his danger and +drive him hopelessly out of reach. But Mr. Penfield could not explain +this to Margaret; and to cover his emphatic rejection of police +assistance he continued: “You see, he can hardly be said to be +missing; he may merely have altered his plans and neglected to write. +Have patience for a day or two, and if you still hear no tidings of +him, send me a line and I will take what measures seem advisable for +trying to get into touch with him.” + +“Thank you,” said Margaret, not very enthusiastically, rising to take +her departure. She was in the act of shaking Mr. Penfield’s hand when, +with a sudden afterthought she asked: + +“By the way, was there anything in Dan’s letter that might account for +his disappearance in this fashion?” + +This was rather a facer for Mr. Penfield, who, like many casuists, +hated telling a direct lie. For the answer was clearly “yes,” whereas +the sense that he was compelled to convey was “no.” + +“You are forgetting that the letter was not addressed to me,” he said. +“And that reminds me that there must have been another letter—the one +that _was_ addressed to me and that must have been put into the other +person’s envelope. May I ask if that letter has been returned?” + +“No, it has not,” replied Margaret. + +“Ha!” said Mr. Penfield. “But it probably will be in the course of a +day or two. Then we shall know what he was writing to me about and who +is the other correspondent. Good day, good day, Mrs. Purcell.” + +He shook her hand warmly and hastened to open the door for her in the +hope—justified by the result—that she would not realize until she had +left that her very significant question had not been answered. + +Indeed she did not realize how adroitly the old solicitor had evaded +that question until she was too far away to return and put it afresh, +even if that had seemed worth while; for her attention was occupied by +the other issue that he had so artfully raised. She had overlooked the +presumable existence of the second transposed letter, the one that +should have been in Mr. Penfield’s envelope. It ought to have been +returned at once. Possibly it was even now waiting at Sennen to be +forwarded. If it arrived, it would probably disclose the identity of +the mysterious correspondent. On the other hand it might not; and if +it were not returned at all, that would confirm the suspicion that +there was something gravely wrong. And it was at this point that +Margaret became conscious of Mr. Penfield’s last evasion. + +Its effect was to confirm the generally disagreeable impression that +she had received from the interview. She was a little resentful of the +lawyer’s elaborate reticence, which, coupled with the strange +precautionary terms of his letter to her, convinced her that her +husband had embarked on some questionable transaction and that Mr. +Penfield knew it and knew the nature of that transaction. His instant +rejection of the suggestion that an accident might have occurred and +that the police might be notified seemed to imply that he had some +inkling of Purcell’s proceedings, and his final evasion of her +question strongly suggested that the letter, or the enclosures, or +both, contained some clue to the disappearance. + +Thus, as she took her way home, Margaret turned over again and again +the puzzling elements of the mystery; and at each reshuffling of the +scanty facts the same conclusion emerged; her husband had absconded +and he had not absconded alone. The secret that Mr. Penfield was +guarding was such a secret as might, if divulged, have pointed the way +to the Divorce Court. And with this conclusion and a frown of disgust, +she turned into the entry of her flat and ascended the stairs. + +As she let herself in, the maid met her in the hall. + +“Mr. Varney is in the drawing-room, ma’am,” she said. “He came about +ten minutes ago. I am getting tea for him.” + +“Thank you, Nellie,” said Margaret, “and you might get me some, too.” +She passed on to her bedroom for a hasty wash and change and then +joined her visitor in time to pour out the tea. + +“How good of you, Mr. Varney,” she said warmly as they shook hands, +“to come to me so quickly. You must have only just arrived.” + +“Yes,” he replied, “I came straight on from the station. I thought you +would be anxious to know if I had heard anything.” + +“And have you?” + +“Well,” Varney replied, hesitatingly, “I’m rather afraid not. I seem +to have drawn a blank.” + +Margaret looked at him critically. There was something in his manner +suggestive of doubt and reservation. + +“Do you mean an absolute blank? Did you find out nothing at all?” + +Again Varney seemed to hesitate and Margaret’s attention sharpened. + +“There isn’t much use in making guesses,” said he. “I found no +definite traces of Dan. He hadn’t been at the ‘Ship,’ where I put up +and where he used to stay when he went to Falmouth, and of course I +couldn’t go round the other hotels making inquiries. But I went down +the quay-side and asked a few discreet questions about the craft that +had left the port since Monday, especially the odd craft, bound for +small ports. I felt that if Dan had any reason for slipping off +quietly, he wouldn’t go by a passenger boat to a regular passenger +port. He would go on a cargo boat bound to some out-of-the-way place. +So I found out what I could about the cargo boats that had put out of +Falmouth; but I didn’t have much luck.” + +Again he paused irresolutely, and Margaret asked, with a shade of +impatience: “Did you find out anything at all?” + +“Well, no; I can’t say that I did,” Varney replied in the same slow, +inconclusive manner. “It’s disappointing in a way, especially as I +really thought at one time that I had got on his track. But that +turned out a mistake after all.” + +“You are sure it was a mistake,” said Margaret, eagerly. “Tell me +about it.” + +“I picked up the clue when I was asking about a Swedish steamer that +had put out on Tuesday morning. She had a lading of China clay and was +bound for Malmo, but she was calling at Ipswich to pick up some other +cargo. I learned that she took one or two passengers on board, and one +of them was described to me as a big, red-faced man of about forty who +looked like a pilot or a ship’s officer. That sounded rather like Dan; +and when I heard that he was carrying a biggish suit-case and had a +yellow oilskin coat on his arm, I made pretty sure that it was.” + +“And how do you know that it was not Dan?” + +“Why,” replied Varney, “it turned out that this man had a woman with +him.” + +“I see,” said Margaret, hastily, flushing scarlet and turning her head +away. For a while she could think of nothing further to say. To her, +of course, the alleged disproof of the passenger’s identity was +“confirmation strong as Holy Writ.” But her pride would not allow her +to confess this, at any rate to Varney; and she was in difficulties as +to how to pursue the inquiry without making the admission. At length +she ventured: “Do you think that is quite conclusive? I mean, is it +certain that the woman belonged to the man? There is the possibility +that she may have been merely a fellow passenger whom he had casually +accompanied to the ship. Or did you ascertain that they were +actually—er—companions?” + +“No, by Jove!” exclaimed Varney. “I never thought of any other +possibilities. I heard that the man went on board with a woman and at +once decided that he couldn’t be Dan. But you are quite right. They +may have just met at the hotel or elsewhere and walked down to the +ship together. I wonder if it’s worth while to make any further +inquiries about the ship; I mean at Ipswich, or, if necessary, at +Malmo.” + +“Do you remember the ship’s name?” + +“Yes; the _Hedwig_ of Hernosand. She left Falmouth early on the +Tuesday morning so she will probably have gone to Ipswich some time +yesterday. She may be there now; or, of course, she may have picked up +her stuff and gone to sea the same day. Would you like me to run down +to Ipswich and see if I can find out anything?” + +Margaret turned on him with a look that set his heart thumping and his +pulses throbbing. + +“Mr. Varney,” she said, in a low, unsteady voice, “you make me ashamed +and proud: proud to have such a loyal, devoted friend, and ashamed to +be such a tax on him.” + +“Not at all,” he replied. “After all”—here his voice, too, became a +little unsteady—“Dan was my pal; is my pal still,” he added huskily. +He paused for a moment and then concluded: “I’ll go down to-night and +try to pick up the scent while it is fresh.” + +“It _is_ good of you,” she exclaimed; and as she spoke her eyes +filled, but she still looked at him frankly as she continued: “Your +faithful friendship is no little compensation for”—she was going to +say “his unfaithfulness,” but altered the words to “the worry and +anxiety of this horrid mystery. But I am ashamed to let you take so +much trouble, though I must confess that it would be an immense relief +to me to get _some_ news of Dan. I don’t hope for good news, but it is +terrible to be so completely in the dark.” + +“Yes, that is the worst part of it,” Varney agreed; and then, setting +his cup on the table, he rose. “I had better be getting along now,” he +said, “so that I can catch the earliest possible train. Good-bye, Mrs. +Purcell, and good luck to us both.” + +The leave-taking almost shattered Varney’s self-possession, for +Margaret, in the excess of her gratitude, impulsively grasped both his +hands and pressed them warmly as she poured out her thanks. Her touch +made him tingle to the finger-ends. Heavens! How beautiful she looked, +this lovely, unconscious young widow. And to think that she might in +time be his own! A wild impulse surged through him to clasp her in his +arms; to tell her that she was free and that he worshipped her. Of +course that was a mere impulse that interfered not at all with his +decorous, deferential manner. And yet a sudden, almost insensible +change in hers made him suspect that his eyes had told her more than +he had meant to disclose. Nevertheless, she followed him to the lobby +to speed him on his errand, and when he looked back from the foot of +the stairs, she was standing at the open door smiling down on him. + +The thoughts of these two persons, when each was alone, were strangely +different. In Margaret’s mind there was no doubt that the man on the +steamer was her unworthy husband. But what did Varney think? That a +man of the world should have failed to perceive that an unexplained +disappearance was most probably an elopement seemed to her incredible. +Varney could not be such an innocent as that. The only alternative was +that he, like Mr. Penfield, was trying to shield Dan; to hush up the +disreputable elements of the escapade. But whereas the lawyer’s +obstinate reticence had aroused some slight resentment, she felt no +resentment towards Varney. For he was Dan’s friend first of all and it +was proper that he should try to shield his “pal.” And he was really +serving husband and wife equally. To hush things up would be the best +for both. She wanted no scandal. Loyal and faithful wife as she had +been, her feelings towards her husband were of that somewhat tepid +quality that would have allowed her to receive him back without +reproaches and to accept the lamest explanations without question or +comment. Varney’s assumed policy was as much to her interest as to +Dan’s; and he was certainly playing the part of a devoted friend to +them both. + +One thing did, indeed, rather puzzle her. Her marriage had been—on her +husband’s side—undoubtedly a love-match. It was for no mercenary +reasons that he had forced the marriage on her and her father; and up +to the last he had seemed to be, in his rather brutal way, genuinely +in love with her. Why, then, had he suddenly gone off with another +woman? To her constant, faithful nature the thing was inexplicable. + +Varney’s reflections were more complex. A vague consciousness of the +cumulative effects of actions was beginning to steal into his mind; a +faint perception that he was being borne along on the current of +circumstance. He had gone to Falmouth with the express purpose of +losing Purcell. But it seemed necessary to pick up some trace of the +imaginary fugitive; for the one essential to Varney’s safety was that +Purcell’s disappearance must appear to date from the landing at +Penzance. That landing must be taken as an established fact. There +must be no inquiry into or discussion of the incidents of that tragic +voyage. But to that end it was necessary that Purcell should make some +reappearance on shore; must leave some traces for possible pursuers to +follow. So Varney had gone to Falmouth to find such traces—and to lose +them. That was to have been the end of the business so far as he was +concerned. + +But it was not the end; and as he noted this, he noted too, with a +curious interest unmixed with any uneasiness, how one event generates +others. He had invented Purcell’s proposed visit to Falmouth to give a +plausible colour to the disappearance and to carry the field of +inquiry beyond the landing at Penzance. Then the Falmouth story had +seemed to commit him to a visit to Falmouth to confirm it. That visit +had committed him to the fabrication of the required confirmatory +traces, which were to be found and then lost. But he had not quite +succeeded in losing them. Margaret’s question had seemed to commit him +to tracing them further; and now he had got to find and lose Purcell +at Ipswich. That, however, would be the end. From Ipswich Purcell +would have to disappear for good. + +The account that he had given Margaret was founded on facts. The ship +that he had described was a real ship which had sailed when he had +said that she sailed and for the ports that he had named. Moreover, +she had carried one or two passengers. But the red-faced man with the +suit case and his female companion were creatures of Varney’s +imagination. + +Thus we see Varney already treading the well-worn trail left by +multitudes of wrongdoers; weaving around himself a defensive web of +illusory appearances, laying down false tracks that lead always away +from himself; never suspecting that the web may at last become as the +fowler’s snare, that the false tracks may point the way to the hounds +of destiny. It is true that, as he fared on his way to Ipswich, he was +conscious that the tide of circumstance was bearing him farther than +he had meant to travel; but not yet did he recognize in this +hardly-perceived compulsion the abiding menace of accumulating +consequences that encompasses the murderer. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +In Which Margaret Confers with Dr. Thorndyke + +The sun was shining pleasantly on the trees of King’s Bench Walk, +Inner Temple, when Margaret approached the handsome brick portico of +number 5A and read upon the jamb of the doorway the name of Dr. John +Thorndyke under the explanatory heading “First pair.” She was a little +nervous of the coming interview, partly because she had met the famous +criminal lawyer only twice before, but more especially by reason of a +vague fear that her uneasy suspicions of her husband might presently +be turned into something more definite and disagreeable. + +Her nervousness on the first score was soon dispelled, for her gentle +summons on the little brass knocker of the inner door—the “oak” was +open—was answered by Dr. Thorndyke himself, who greeted her as an old +friend and led her into the sitting-room, where tea-things were set +out on a small table between two armchairs. The homely informality of +the reception, so different from the official stiffness of Mr. +Penfield, instantly put her at her ease; and when the tea-pot arrived +in the custody of a small gentleman of archdiaconal aspect and +surprisingly crinklyness of feature, she felt as if she were merely +paying some rather unusual kind of afternoon call. + +Dr. Thorndyke had what would, in his medical capacity, have been +called a fine bedside manner; pleasant, genial, sympathetic, but never +losing touch with the business on hand. Insensibly a conversation of +pleasing generality slipped into a consultation, and Margaret found +herself stating her case, apparently of her own initiative. Having +described her interview with Mr. Penfield and commented on the old +lawyer’s very unhelpful attitude, she continued: + +“It was Mr. Rodney who advised me to consult you. As a civil lawyer +with no experience of criminal practice, he felt hardly competent to +deal with the case. That was what he said. It sounds rather ominous; +as if he thought there might be some criminal element in the affair.” + +“Not necessarily,” said Thorndyke. “But your husband is missing; and a +missing man is certainly more in my province than in Rodney’s. What +did he suggest that you should ask me to do?” + +“I should wish, of course,” replied Margaret, “to get into +communication with my husband. But if that is not possible, I should +at least like to know what has become of him. Matters can’t be left in +their present uncertain state. There is the future to think of.” + +“Precisely,” agreed Thorndyke, “and as the future must be based upon +the present and the past, we had better begin by setting out what we +actually know and can prove. First, I understand that on the 23rd of +June, your husband left Sennen, and was seen by several persons to +leave, on a yacht in company with Mr. Varney and that there was no one +else on board. The yacht reached Penzance at about half-past two in +the afternoon and your husband went ashore at once. He was seen by Mr. +Varney to land on the pier and go towards the town. Did any one +besides Mr. Varney see him go ashore?” + +“No—at least I have not heard of any one. Of course, he may have been +seen by some fisherman or strangers on the pier. But does it matter? +Mr. Varney saw him land and he certainly was not on the yacht when Mr. +Rodney arrived half an hour later. There can’t be any possible doubt +that he did land at Penzance.” + +“No,” Thorndyke agreed; “but as that is the last time that he was +certainly seen alive and as the fact that he landed may have to be +proved in a court of law, additional evidence would be worth +securing.” + +“But that was not the last time that he was seen alive,” said +Margaret; and here she gave him an account of Varney’s expedition to +Falmouth, explaining why he went and giving full particulars +respecting the steamer; all of which Thorndyke noted down on the +note-book which lay by his side on the table. + +“This is very important,” said he, when she had finished. “But you see +that it is on a different plane of certainty. It is hearsay at the +best and there is no real identification. What luck did Mr. Varney +have at Ipswich?” + +“He went down there on the evening of the 27th—the day after his visit +to Falmouth. He went straight to the quay-side and made inquiries +about the steamer _Hedwig_, which he learned had left about noon, +having come in about nine o’clock on the previous night. He talked to +various quay loafers and from one of them ascertained that a single +passenger had landed; a big man, carrying a large bag or portmanteau +in his hand and a coat of some kind on his arm. The passenger landed +alone. Nothing was seen of any woman.” + +“Did Mr. Varney take the name and address of his informant at Ipswich +or the one at Falmouth?” + +“I am afraid not. He said nothing about it.” + +“That is unfortunate,” said Thorndyke, “because these witnesses may be +wanted as they might be able to identify a photograph of your husband. +We must find out from Mr. Varney what he did in the matter.” + +Margaret looked at Dr. Thorndyke with a slightly puzzled expression. +“You speak of witnesses and evidence,” said she, “as if you had +something definite in your mind. Some legal proceedings, I mean.” + +“I have,” he replied. “If your husband makes no sign and if he does +not presently appear, certain legal proceedings will become +inevitable.” He paused for a few moments and then continued: “You must +understand, Mrs. Purcell, that when a man of any position—and +especially a married man—disappears from ‘his usual places of resort,’ +as the phrase goes, he upsets all the social adjustments that connect +him with his surroundings, and, sooner or later, those adjustments +have to be made good. If he disappears completely, it becomes +uncertain whether he is alive or dead; and this uncertainty +communicates itself to his property and to his dependents and +relatives. If he is alive, his property is vested in himself; if he is +dead it is vested in his executors or in his heirs or next of kin. +Should he be named as a beneficiary in a will and should the person +who has made that will die after his disappearance, the question +immediately arises whether he was dead or alive at the time of the +testator’s death; a vitally important question, since it affects not +only himself and his heirs but also the other persons who benefit +under the will. And then there is the status of the wife, if the +missing man is married; the question whether she is a married woman or +a widow has, in justice to her, to be settled if and when possible. + +“So you see that the disappearance of a man like your husband sets +going a process that generates all sorts of legal problems. You cannot +simply write him off and treat him as non-existent. His life must be +properly wound up so that his estate may be disposed of, and this will +involve the necessity of presuming his death; and presumption of death +may raise difficult questions of survivorship, although these may +arise at any moment.” + +“What is meant by a question of survivorship?” Margaret asked. + +“It is a question which arises in respect of two persons, both of whom +are dead and concerning one or both of whom the exact date of death is +unknown. One of them must have died before the other—unless they both +died at the same instant. The question is, which survived the other? +Which of them died first? It is a question on which may turn the +succession to an estate, a title, or even a kingdom.” + +“Well,” said Margaret, “it is not likely to arise in respect of Dan.” + +“On the contrary,” Thorndyke dissented, “it may arise to-morrow. If +some person who has left him a legacy should die to-day, that person’s +will could not be administered until it had been decided whether your +husband was or was not alive at the time the testator died; that is, +whether or not he survived the testator. But, as matters stand, we can +give no answer to that question. We can prove that he was alive at +half-past two on the 23rd of June. Thenceforward we have no knowledge +of him.” + +“Excepting what Mr. Varney has told us.” + +“Mr. Varney’s information is legally worthless unless he can produce +the witnesses and unless they can identify a photograph or otherwise +prove that the man whom they saw was actually Mr. Purcell. You must +ask Mr. Varney about it. However, at the moment you are more concerned +to find out what has become of your husband. I suppose I may ask a few +necessary questions?” + +“Oh, certainly,” she replied. “Pray don’t have any scruples of +delicacy. Ask anything you want to know.” + +“Thank you, Mrs. Purcell,” said Thorndyke; “and to begin with the +inevitable question: Do you know of, or suspect, any kind of +entanglement with any woman?” + +The direct, straightforward question came rather as a relief to +Margaret, and she answered without embarrassment: “Naturally, I +suspect, because I can think of no other reason for his leaving me in +this way. But to be honest, I have never had the slightest grounds of +complaint in regard to his behaviour with other women. He married me +because he fell in love with me, and he has never seemed to change. +Whatever he has been to other people, to me he has always appeared, in +his rough, taciturn way, as devoted as his nature allowed him to be. +This affair is an utter surprise to me.” + +Thorndyke made no comment on this, but following the hint that +Margaret had dropped, asked: “As to his character in general, what +sort of man is he? Is he popular, for instance?” + +“No,” replied Margaret, “he is not very much liked; in fact, with the +exception of Mr. Varney, he has no really intimate friends, and I have +often wondered how poor Mr. Varney put up with the way he treated him. +The truth is that Dan is rather a bully; he is strong, big and +pugnacious and used to having his own way and somewhat brutal, at +times, in his manner of getting it. He is a very self-contained, +taciturn, rather secretive man and—well, perhaps he is not very +scrupulous. I am not painting a very flattering picture, I am afraid.” + +“It sounds like a good portrait, though,” said Thorndyke. “When you +say that he is not very scrupulous, are you referring to his business +transactions?” + +“Well, yes; and to his dealings with people generally.” + +“By the way,” asked Thorndyke, “what is his occupation?” + +Margaret uttered a little apologetic laugh. “It sounds absurd, but I +really don’t quite know what his business is. He is so very +uncommunicative. I have always understood that he is a financier, +whatever that may be. I believe he negotiates loans and buys and sells +stocks and shares but he is not on the Stock Exchange. He has an +office in Coleman Street in the premises of a firm of outside brokers +and he keeps a clerk, a man named Levy. It seems to be quite a small +establishment, though it appears to yield a fair income. That is all I +can tell you, but I daresay Mr. Levy could give you other particulars +if you wanted them.” + +“I will make a note of the address, at any rate,” said Thorndyke, and, +having done so, he asked: “As to your husband’s banking account; do +you happen to know if any considerable sum has been drawn out quite +lately, or if any cheques have been presented since he disappeared?” + +“His current account is intact,” she replied. “I have an account at +the same bank and I saw the manager a couple of days ago. Of course, +he was not very expansive, but he did tell me that no unusual amounts +had been withdrawn and that no cheque has been presented since the +21st of June, when Dan drew a cheque for me. It is really rather odd, +especially as the balance is somewhat above the average. Don’t you +think so?” + +“I do,” he answered. “It suggests that your husband’s disappearance +was unpremeditated and that extreme precautions are being taken to +conceal his present whereabouts. But the mystery is what he is living +on if he took no considerable sum with him and has drawn no cheques +since. However, we had better finish with the general questions. You +don’t appear to know much about your husband’s present affairs; what +do you know of his past?” + +“Not a great deal; and I can think of nothing that throws any light on +his extraordinary conduct in taking himself off as he has done. I met +him at Maidstone about six years ago. He was then employed in the +office of a large paper mill—Whichboy’s mill, I think it was—as a +clerk or accountant. He had then recently come down from Cambridge and +seemed in rather low water. After a time, he left Whichboy’s and went +to London, and very shortly his circumstances began to improve in a +remarkable way. It was then that he began his present business, which +I know included the making of loans because he lent my father money; +in fact it was through these transactions and his visits on business +to my father that the intimacy grew which resulted finally in our +marriage. He then seemed, as he always has, to be a keen business man, +very attentive to the main chance, not at all sentimental in his +dealings, and, as I have said, not overscrupulous as to his methods.” + +Thorndyke nodded gravely but made no comment. The association of loans +to the father with marriage with an evidently not infatuated daughter +seemed to throw a sufficiently suggestive light on Daniel Purcell’s +methods. + +“And as to his personal habits and tastes?” he asked. + +“He has always been reasonably temperate, though he likes good living +and has a robust appetite; and he really has no vices beyond a rather +unpleasant temper and excessive keenness on money. His principal +interest is in boating, yachting and fishing; he does not bet or +gamble, and his relations with women have always seemed to be +perfectly correct.” + +“You spoke of his exceptional intimacy with Mr. Varney. Is the +friendship of long standing?” + +“Yes, quite. They were school-fellows, they were at Cambridge together +and they both came down about the same time and for a similar reason. +Both their fathers got suddenly into financial difficulties. Dan’s +father was a stockbroker, and he failed suddenly, either through some +unlucky speculations or through the default of a client. Mr. Varney’s +father was a clergyman, and he, too, lost all his money, and at about +the same time. I have always suspected that there was some connexion +between the two failures, but I have never heard that there actually +was. Dan is as close as an oyster, and, of course, Mr. Varney has +never referred to the affair.” + +“Mr. Varney is not associated with your husband in business?” + +“No. He is an artist—principally an etcher, and a very clever one too. +I think he is doing quite well now, but he had a hard struggle when he +first came down from Cambridge. For a couple of years he worked for an +engraver, doing ordinary copperplate work for the trade, and I +understand that he is remarkably skilful at engraving. But now he does +nothing but etchings and mezzotints.” + +“Then his activities are entirely concerned with art?” + +“I believe so, now, at any rate. After he left the engraver he went to +a merchant in the City as a clerk. But he was only there quite a short +time, and I fancy he left on account of some sort of unpleasantness, +but I know nothing about it. After that he went abroad and travelled +about for a time making sketches and drawings of the towns to do his +etchings from; in fact he only came back from Belgium a couple of +months ago. But I am afraid I am wasting your time with a lot of +irrelevant gossip.” + +“It is my fault if you are,” said Thorndyke, “since I put the +questions. But the fact is that nothing is irrelevant. Your husband +has vanished into space in a perfectly unaccountable manner, and we +have to find, if we can, something in his known circumstances which +may give us a clue to the motive and the manner of his disappearance +and his probable whereabouts at present. Has he any favourite haunts +abroad or at home?” + +“He is very partial to the Eastern counties, especially the broads and +rivers of Norfolk. You remember he was on his way to Oulton Broad when +he disappeared.” + +“Yes; and one must admit that the waterways of Norfolk and Suffolk, +with all their endless communications, would form an admirable +hiding-place. In a small yacht or covered boat a man might lose +himself in that network of rivers and lakes and lie hidden for months; +creeping from end to end of the county without leaving a trace. We +must bear that possibility in mind. By the way, have you brought me a +copy of that very cautious letter of Mr. Penfield’s?” + +“I have brought the letter itself,” she replied, producing it and +laying it on the table. + +“Thank you,” said Thorndyke. “I will make a copy of it and let you +have the original back. And there is another question: has the letter +which Mr. Penfield ought to have received been returned to you?” + +“No,” replied Margaret. + +“Ha!” said Thorndyke. “That is important because it is undoubtedly a +remarkable circumstance and rather significant. A letter in the wrong +envelope practically always implies another letter in another wrong +envelope. Now a letter was almost certainly written to Mr. Penfield +and almost certainly sent. It was presumably a business letter and of +some importance. It ought certainly to have been returned to the +sender, and under ordinary circumstances would have been. Why has it +not been returned? The person to whom it was sent was the person to +whom the mysterious communication that Mr. Penfield received was +addressed. That communication, we judge from Mr. Penfield’s letter, +contained some highly confidential matter. But that implies some +person who was in highly confidential relations with your husband. The +suggestion seems to be that your husband discovered his mistake after +he had posted the letter or letters and that he went at once to this +other person and informed him of what had happened.” + +“Informed her,” Margaret corrected. + +“I must admit,” said Thorndyke, “that the circumstances give colour to +your inference; but we must remember that they would apply equally to +a man. They certainly point to an associate of some kind. The +character of that associate and the nature of the association are +questions that turn on the contents of that letter that Mr. Penfield +received.” + +“Do you think,” asked Margaret, “that Mr. Penfield would be more +confidential with you than he was with me?” + +“I doubt it,” was the reply. “If the contents of that letter were of a +secret nature, he will keep them to himself; and quite right, too. But +I shall give him a trial all the same, and you had better let him know +that you have consulted me.” + +This brought the conference to an end, and shortly afterwards Margaret +went on her way, now more than ever convinced that the inevitable +woman was at the bottom of the mystery. For some time after she had +gone Thorndyke sat with his notes before him, wrapped in profound +thought and deeply interested in the problem that he was called upon +to solve. He did not share Margaret’s suspicions, though he had not +strongly contested them. To his experienced eye, the whole group of +circumstances, with certain points which he had not thought fit to +enlarge on, suggested something more sinister than a mere elopement. + +There was Purcell’s behaviour, for instance. It had all the +appearances of an unpremeditated flight. No preparations seemed to +have been made; no attempt to wind up his affairs. His banking account +was left intact, though no one but he could touch it during his +lifetime. He had left or sent no letter of farewell, explanation or +apology to his wife; and now that he was gone, he was maintaining a +secrecy as to his whereabouts so profound that apparently he did not +even dare to draw a cheque. + +But even more significant was the conduct of Mr. Penfield. Taking from +its envelope the mysterious letter that had come to Sennen and +exploded the mine, Thorndyke spread it out and slowly read it through; +and his interpretation of it now was the same as on the occasion when +he heard Margaret’s epitome of it at Sennen. It was a message to +Purcell through his wife, telling him that something which had been +discovered was not going to be divulged. What could that something be? +The answer, in general terms, seemed to be given by Penfield’s +subsequent conduct. He had been absolutely uncommunicative to +Margaret. Yet Margaret, as the missing man’s wife, was a proper person +to receive any information that could be given. Apparently, then, the +information that Penfield possessed was of a kind that could not be +imparted to any one. Even its very nature could not be hinted at. + +Now what kind of information could that be? The obvious inference was +that the letter which had come to Penfield contained incriminating +matter. That would explain everything. For if Penfield had thus +stumbled on evidence of a crime, either committed or contemplated, he +would have to choose between denouncing the criminal or keeping the +matter to himself. But he was not entitled to keep it to himself; for, +other considerations apart, this was not properly a client’s secret. +It had not been communicated to him; he had discovered it by accident. +He was therefore not bound to secrecy and he could not, consequently, +claim a lawyer’s privilege. In short, if he had discovered a crime and +chose to suppress his discovery, he was, in effect, an accessory, +before or after the fact, as the case might be; and he would +necessarily keep the secret because he would not dare to divulge it. + +This view was strongly supported by Purcell’s conduct. The +disappearance of the latter coincided exactly with the delivery of the +mysterious letter to Penfield. The inference was that Purcell, having +discovered his fatal mistake, and assuming that Penfield would +immediately denounce him to the police, had fled instantly and was now +in hiding. Purcell’s and Penfield’s conduct were both in complete +agreement with this theory. + +But there was a further consideration. If the contents of that letter +were incriminating, they incriminated some one besides Purcell. The +person for whom the letter was intended must have been a party to any +unlawful proceedings referred to in it. He—or she—must, in fact, have +been a confederate. Now, who could that confederate be? Some one, +apparently who was unknown to Margaret, unless it might be the +somewhat shadowy Mr. Levy. And that raised yet a further question: +What was Purcell? How did he get his living? His wife evidently did +not know, which was a striking and rather suspicious fact. He had been +described as a financier. But that meant nothing. The word financier +covered a multitude of sins; the question was, what sins did it cover +in the present instance? And the answer to that question seemed to +involve a visit of exploration to Coleman Street. + +As Thorndyke collected his notes to form the nucleus of a dossier of +the Purcell Case he foresaw that his investigations might well unearth +some very unlovely skeletons. But that was no fault of his, nor need +the disclosures be unnecessarily paraded. But Margaret Purcell’s +position must be secured and made regular. Her missing husband must +either be found and brought back or he must be written off and +disposed of in a proper and legal fashion. + + + +CHAPTER V + +In Which Thorndyke Makes a Few Inquiries + +If Mr. Penfield had been reluctant to arrange an interview with +Margaret Purcell he was yet more unwilling to accept one with Dr. John +Thorndyke. It is true that, as a lawyer of the old school, he regarded +Thorndyke with a certain indulgent contempt, as a dabbler in law, an +amateur, a mere doctor masquerading as a lawyer. But coupled with this +contempt was an acknowledged fear. For it was not unknown to him that +this medico-legal hermaphrodite had strange and disconcerting methods; +that he had a habit of driving his chariot through well-established +legal conventions and of using his eyes and ears in a fashion not +recognized by orthodox legal precedent. + +Accordingly, when he received a note from Thorndyke announcing the +intention of the writer to call on him, he would have liked to decline +the encounter. A less courageous man would have absented himself. But +Mr. Penfield was a sportsman to the backbone, and, having got himself +into difficulties by that very quality, elected to “face the music” +like a man; and so it happened that when Thorndyke arrived in the +clerk’s office, he was informed that Mr. Penfield was at liberty and +was duly announced and ushered into the sanctum. + +The old solicitor received him with a sort of stiff cordiality, helped +himself to a pinch of snuff and awaited the opening of the offensive. +“You have heard from Mrs. Purcell, I presume?” said Thorndyke. + +“Yes. I understand that you are commissioned by her to ascertain the +whereabouts of her husband; a very desirable thing to do, and I wish +you every success.” + +“I am sure you do,” said Thorndyke, “and it is with that conviction +that I have called on you to enable you to give effect to your good +wishes.” + +Mr. Penfield paused, with his snuff-box open and an infinitesimal +particle between his finger and thumb, to steal a quick glance at +Thorndyke. + +“In what way?” he asked. + +“You received a certain communication concerning which you wrote to +Mrs. Purcell at—” + +“I beg your pardon,” interrupted Penfield, “but I received no +communication. A communication was no doubt dispatched by Mr. Purcell, +but it never reached me.” + +“I am referring to a letter which did reach you; a letter with certain +enclosures, apparently put into the wrong envelope.” + +“And which,” said Penfield, “is consequently no concern of mine, or, +if you will pardon my saying so, of yours.” + +“Of that,” said Thorndyke, “you are doubtless a better judge than I +am, since you have read the letter and I have not. But I am instructed +to investigate the disappearance of Mr. Purcell, and as this letter +appears to be connected with this disappearance, it naturally becomes +an object of interest to me.” + +“Why do you assume that it is connected with the disappearance?” +Penfield demanded. + +“Because of the striking coincidence of the time of its arrival and +the time of the disappearance,” replied Thorndyke. + +“That seems a very insufficient reason,” said Penfield. + +“Not, I think,” rejoined Thorndyke, “if taken in conjunction with the +terms of your own letter to Mrs. Purcell. But, do I understand you to +say that there was no connection?” + +“I did not say that. What I say is that I have inadvertently seen a +letter which was not addressed to me and which I was not intended to +see. You will agree with me that it would be entirely inadmissible for +me to divulge or discuss its contents.” + +“I am not sure that I do agree with you, seeing that the writer of the +letter is the husband of our client and the consignee is a person +unknown to us both. But you will naturally act on your own +convictions. Would it be admissible for you to indicate the nature of +the enclosures?” + +“It would be entirely inadmissible,” replied Mr. Penfield. + +There was a short silence, during which Mr. Penfield refreshed himself +with a pinch of snuff and Thorndyke rapidly turned over the situation. +Obviously the old solicitor did not intend to give any information +whatever—possibly for very good reasons. At any rate his decision had +to be accepted, and this Thorndyke proceeded to acknowledge. + +“Well, Mr. Penfield,” he said, “I mustn’t urge you to act against your +professional conscience. I am sure you would help me if you could. By +the way, I assume that there would be no objection to my inspecting +the envelope in which that letter was contained?” + +“The envelope!” exclaimed Penfield, considerably startled. “Why, what +information could you possibly gather from the envelope?” + +“That is impossible to say until I have seen it,” was the reply. + +“However,” said Penfield, “I am afraid that the same objection +applies, sorry as I am to refuse.” + +“But,” persisted Thorndyke, “why should you refuse? The letter, as you +say, was not addressed to you; but the envelope was. It is your own +envelope and is entirely at your disposal.” + +Mr. Penfield was cornered and he had the wisdom to recognize the fact. +Reluctant as he was to let Thorndyke examine even the envelope in +which those incriminating blanks were enclosed, he saw that a refusal +might arouse suspicion; and suspicion was what he must avoid at all +costs. Nevertheless, he made a last effort to temporize. + +“Was there any point on which I could enlighten you—in respect of the +envelope? Can I give you any information?” he asked. + +“I am afraid not,” replied Thorndyke. “My experience has taught me +always to examine the exteriors of letters closely. By doing so one +often picks up unexpected crumbs of evidence; but, naturally, one +cannot tell in advance what there may be to observe.” + +“No,” agreed Penfield. “Quite so. It is like cross-examination. Well, +I am afraid you won’t pick up much this time, but if you really wish +to inspect the envelope, I suppose, as you say, I need not scruple to +place it in your hands.” + +With this he rose and walked over to the safe, and opened it, opened +an inner drawer, and, keeping his back towards Thorndyke, took out the +envelope, which he carefully emptied of its contents. Thorndyke sat +motionless, not looking at the lawyer’s back but listening intently. +Not a sound, however, reached his ears until the iron drawer slid back +into its case, when Penfield turned and, without a word, laid the +empty envelope on the table before him. + +For a few moments Thorndyke looked at the envelope as it lay, noting +that, although empty, it retained the bulge caused by its late +contents, and that those contents must have been somewhat bulky. Then +he picked it up and inspected it methodically, committing his +observations to memory, since written notes seemed unadvisable under +the circumstances. It was an oblong, “commercial” envelope about six +inches long by three and three quarters wide. The address was written +with a pen of medium width and unusually black ink in a rather small, +fluent, legible hand with elegant capitals of a distinctly uncial +type. The postmark was that of Penzance, dated the 23rd of June, 8.30 +p.m. But of more interest to Thorndyke than the date, which he already +knew, was an impression which the postmark stamp had made by striking +the corner of the enclosure and thus defining its position in the +envelope. From this he was able to judge that the object enclosed was +oblong in shape, about five inches long or a little more and somewhat +less than three inches wide, and that it consisted of some soft +material—presumably folded paper—since the blow of the metal stamp had +left but a blunt impression of the corner. He next examined the edge +of the flap, first with the naked eye and then with his pocket lens, +and finally, turning back the flap from the place where the envelope +had been neatly cut open, he closely scrutinized its inner surface. + +“Have you examined this envelope, Mr. Penfield?” he asked. + +“Not in that exhaustive and minute manner,” replied the solicitor, who +had been watching the process with profound disfavour. “Why do you +ask?” + +“Because there appears to me a suggestion of its having been opened by +moistening the flap and then reclosed, Just look at it through the +glass, especially at the inside, where the gum seems to have spread +more than one would expect from a single closing and where there is a +slight cockling of the paper.” He handed the envelope and the lens to +Penfield, who seemed to find some difficulty in managing the latter +and after a brief inspection returned both the articles to Thorndyke. + +“I have not your experience and skill,” he said. “You may be right, +but all the probabilities are against your suggestion. If Purcell had +reopened the letter, it would surely have been to correct an error +rather than to make one. And the letter certainly belonged to the +enclosures.” + +“On the other hand,” said Thorndyke, “when an envelope has been +steamed or damped open, it will be laid down flap uppermost, with the +addressed side hidden and a mistake might occur in that way. However, +there is probably nothing in it. That, I gather, is your opinion?” + +Unfortunately it was. Very glad would Penfield have been to believe +that the envelope had been opened and the blanks put in by another +hand. But he had read Purcell’s letter and knew its connection with +the enclosures. + +“May I ask if you were expecting a letter from Purcell?” Thorndyke +asked. + +“Yes. I had written to him and was expecting a reply.” + +“And would that letter have contained enclosures of about the same +size as those which were sent?” + +“I have no reason to suppose that it would have contained any +enclosures.” Penfield replied. “None were asked for.” + +Thorndyke made a mental note of this reply and of the fact that +Penfield did not seem to perceive its bearing, and rose to depart. + +“I am sorry to have had to be so reticent,” said Penfield as they +shook hands, “but I hope your visit has not been entirely unfruitful, +and I speed you on your quest with hearty good wishes.” + +Thorndyke replied in similarly polite terms and went on his way, +leaving Mr. Penfield in a state of profound relief at having got rid +of him, not entirely unmingled with twinges of apprehension lest some +incriminating fact should have leaked out unnoticed by him. Meanwhile +Thorndyke, as soon as he emerged into Lombard Street, halted and made +a detailed memorandum in his pocketbook of the few facts that he had +gleaned. + +Having thus disposed of Mr. Penfield, he turned his steps in the +direction of Coleman Street with the purpose of calling on Mr. Levy; +not, indeed, with the expectation of extracting much information from +him, but rather to ascertain, if possible, how Purcell got his living. +Arrived at the number that Margaret had given him, he read through the +list of occupants in the hall but without finding among them the name +of Purcell. There was, however, on the second floor a firm entitled +Honeyball Brothers, who were described as “financial agents,” and as +this description was the only one that seemed to meet the case he +ascended the stairs and entered a small, well-furnished office bearing +on its door the Honeyball superscription. The only occupant was a +spectacled youth who was busily directing envelopes. + +“Is Mr. Levy in?” Thorndyke enquired. + +“I’ll see,” was the cautious reply. “What name?” + +Thorndyke gave his name and the youth crossed to a door marked +“Private” which he opened and, having passed through, closed it behind +him. His investigations in the sanctum resulted in the discovery that +Mr. Levy was there, a fact which he announced when he reappeared, +holding the door open and inviting Thorndyke to enter. The latter +accordingly walked through into the private office, when the door +immediately closed behind him and a smartly-dressed, middle-aged man +rose from a writing-chair and received him with an outstretched hand. + +“You are Mr. Levy?” enquired Thorndyke. + +“I am Mr. Levy,” was the answer, accompanied by an almost affectionate +handshake and a smile of the most intense benevolence; “at your entire +service, Dr. Thorndyke. Won’t you sit down? This is the more +comfortable chair and is nearer to my desk and so more convenient for +conversation. Ahem. We are always delighted to meet members of your +profession, Doctor. We do business with quite a number of them and I +may say that we find them peculiarly appreciative of the delicacy with +which our transactions are conducted. Ahem. Now, in what way can I +have the pleasure of being of service to you?” + +“The fact is,” replied Thorndyke, “I have just called to make one or +two inquiries—” + +“Quite so,” interrupted Mr. Levy. “You are perfectly right. The wisdom +of our ancestors, Dr. Thorndyke, expresses itself admirably in the old +adage, ‘Look before you leap.’ Don’t be diffident, sir. The more +inquiries you make the better we shall be pleased. Now, what is the +first point?” + +“Well,” Thorndyke replied, “I suppose the first point to dispose of is +whether I have or have not come to the right office. My business is +concerned with Mr. Daniel Purcell.” + +“Then,” said Mr. Levy, “I should say that you have come to the right +office. Mr. Purcell is not here at the moment, but that is of no +consequence. I am his authorized deputy. What is the nature of your +business, Doctor?” + +“I am acting for Mrs. Purcell, who has asked me to ascertain her +husband’s whereabouts, if possible.” + +“I see,” said Levy. “Family doctor, hey? Well, I hope you’ll find out +where he is, because then you can tell me. But isn’t Mr. Penfield +looking into the matter?” + +“Possibly. But Mr. Penfield is not very communicative and it is not +clear that he is taking any steps to locate Purcell. May I take it +that you are willing to help us, so far as you can?” + +“Certainly,” replied Levy; “I’m willing enough. But if you want +information you are in the same position as myself. All I know is that +I haven’t got his present address, but I have no doubt I shall hear +from him in due course. He is away on holiday, you must remember.” + +“You know of no reason for supposing that he has gone away for good?” + +“Lord bless you, no,” replied Levy. “The first I heard of anything +unusual was when old Penfield came round to ask if he had been to the +office. Of course he hadn’t, but I gave Penfield his address at Oulton +and I wrote to Oulton myself. Then it turned out that he hadn’t gone +to Oulton after all. I admit that it is queer he hasn’t written, +seeing how methodical he usually is; but there is nothing to make a +fuss about. Purcell isn’t the sort of man to go off on a jaunt that +would involve his dropping money; I can tell you that.” + +“And meanwhile his absence is not causing any embarrassment in a +business sense?” + +Mr. Levy rose with a somewhat foxy smile. “Do I look embarrassed?” he +asked. “Try me. I should like to do a bit of business with you. No? +Well, then, I will wish you good morning and good luck; and don’t +worry too much about the lost sheep. He is very well able to take care +of himself.” He shook hands once more with undiminished cordiality and +personally escorted Thorndyke out on to the landing. + +There was one other matter that had to be looked into. Mr. Varney’s +rather vague report of the voyage from Falmouth to Ipswich required to +be brought into the region of ascertained fact. Accordingly, from +Purcell’s office Thorndyke took his way to Lloyd’s, where a brief +investigation put him in possession of the name and address of the +owner of the steamship _Hedwig_ of Hernosand. With this in his +note-book he turned homeward to the Temple with the immediate purpose +of writing to the owner and the captain of the ship asking for a list +of the passengers from Falmouth and of those who disembarked at +Ipswich and further giving a description of Purcell in case he should +have travelled, as was highly probable, under an assumed name. + +With these particulars it would be possible at least to attempt to +trace the missing man, while, if it should turn out that Varney had +been misinformed, the trouble and expense of a search in the wrong +place would be avoided. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +In Which Mr. Varney Prepares a Deception + +Varney’s domestic arrangements were of the simplest. Unlike the +majority of those who engage in dishonest transactions, he was frugal, +thrifty and content with little. Of what he earned, honestly or +otherwise, he saved as much as he could; and now that he was free of +the parasite who had clung to him for so long and had a future to look +forward to, he was more than ever encouraged to live providently well +within his modest means. For residence he occupied a couple of +furnished rooms in Ampthill Square, Camden Town, but he spent little +of his time in them, for he had a little studio in a quiet turning off +the High Street, which he held on lease and which contained his few +household goods and formed his actual home. Thither he usually +repaired as soon as he had breakfasted, buying a newspaper on the way +and sitting in the Windsor armchair by the gas fire—alight or not, +according to the season—to smoke his morning pipe and glance over the +news before beginning work. Following his usual custom, on a bright, +sunny morning near the end of October, he arrived at the studio with a +copy of the _Times_ under his arm, and, letting himself in with his +latch-key, laid the paper on the work-bench, hung up his hat and put a +match to the gas fire. Then, having drawn the chair up to the fire, he +drew forth his pipe and pouch and sauntered over to the bench, where +he stood, filling his pipe and gazing absently at the bench whereon +the paper lay while his thoughts travelled along a well-worn, if +somewhat vague track into a pleasant and tranquil future. Not for him +alone was that future pleasant and tranquil. It held another figure—a +sweet and gracious figure that lived in all his countless day-dreams. +She should be happy, too, freed, like himself, from that bloated +parasite who had fastened upon her. Indeed, she was free now, if only +she could be made to know it. + +Again, for the thousandth time, he wondered, did she care for him? It +was impossible to guess. She seemed always pleased to see him; she was +warmly appreciative of his attentiveness and his efforts to help her, +and her manner towards him was cordial and friendly. There was no +doubt that she liked him; and what more could he ask until such time +as the veil should be lifted and her freedom revealed to her? For +Maggie Purcell was not only a pure-minded and innocent woman; she was +the very soul of loyalty, even to the surly brute who had intruded +unbidden into her life. And for this Varney loved her the more. But it +left his question unanswered and unanswerable. For while her husband +lived—in her belief—no thought of love for any other could be +consciously admitted to that loyal heart. + +He had filled his pipe, had taken a match-box from his pocket and was +in the act of striking a match when, in an instant, his movement was +arrested and he stood rigid and still with the match poised in his +hand and his eyes fixed on the newspaper. But no longer absently; for +his wandering glance, travelling unheedingly over the printed page, +had lighted by chance upon the name Purcell, printed in small +capitals. For a few moments he stood with his eyes riveted on the +familiar name; then he picked up the paper and read eagerly. + +It was an advertisement in the “Personal” column and read thus: +“_Purcell, (D)_ is requested to communicate at once with Mr. J. +Penfield, who has important information to impart to him _in re_ +Catford, deceased. The matter is urgent as the will has been proved +and must now be administered.” + +Varney read the advertisement through twice, and as he read it he +smiled grimly, not, however, without a certain vague discomfort. There +was nothing in the paragraph which affected him, but yet he found it, +in some indefinable way, disquieting. And the more he reflected on the +matter the more disturbing did it appear. Confound Purcell! The fellow +was dead, and there was an end of it; at least that was what he had +intended and what he wished. But it seemed that it was not the end of +it. Ever since that tragic voyage when he had boldly cut the Gordian +knot of his entanglements, Purcell had continued to reappear in one +way or another, still, as ever, seeming to dominate his life. From his +unknown and unsuspected grave, fathoms deep in the ocean, mysterious +and disturbing influences seemed to issue as though, even in death, +his malice was still active. When would it be possible to shake him +off for good? + +Varney laid down the paper, and, flinging himself into the chair, set +himself to consider the bearings of this new incident. How did it +affect him? At the first glance it appeared not to affect him at all. +Penfield would get no reply and after one or two more trials he would +have to give it up. That was all. The affair was no concern of his. + +But was that all? And was it no concern of his? Reflection did not by +any means confirm these assumptions. Varney knew little about the law +but he realized that a will which had been proved was a thing that had +to be dealt with in some conclusive manner. When Penfield failed to +get into touch with Purcell, what would he do? The matter, as he had +said, was urgent. Something would have to be done. Quite probably +Penfield would set some inquiries on foot. He would learn from Maggie, +if he did not already know, of Purcell’s supposed visit to Falmouth +and the mythical voyage to Ipswich. Supposing he followed up those +false tracks systematically? That might lead to complications. Those +inventions had been improvised rather hastily, principally for +Maggie’s benefit. They might not bear such investigation as a lawyer +might bring to bear on them. There was the ship, for instance. It +would be possible to ascertain definitely what passengers she carried +from Falmouth. And when it became certain that Purcell was not one of +them, at the best, the inquiry would draw a blank; at the worst there +might be some suspicion of a fabrication of evidence on his part. In +any case the inquiry would be brought back to Penzance. + +That would not do at all. Inquiries must be kept away from Penzance. +He was the only witness of that mythical landing on the pier and +hitherto no one had thought of questioning his testimony. He believed +that his own arrival on the pier had been unnoticed. But who could +say? A vessel entering a harbour is always an object of interest to +every nautical eye that beholds her. Who could say that some unseen +watcher had not observed the yacht’s arrival and noted that she was +worked single-handed and that one man only had gone ashore? It was +quite possible, though he had seen no such watcher; and the risk was +too great to be thought of. At all costs, the inquiry must be kept +away from Penzance. + +How was that to be managed? The obvious way was to fabricate some sort +of reply to the advertisement purporting to come from Purcell; a +telegram, for instance, from France or Belgium, or even from some +place in the Eastern Counties. The former was hardly possible, +however. He could not afford the time or expense of a journey abroad, +and, moreover, his absence from England would be known and its +coincidence with the arrival of the telegram might easily be noticed. +Coincidences of that kind were much better avoided. + +On reflection, the telegram did not commend itself. Penfield would +naturally ask himself “Why a telegram when a letter would have been +equally safe and so much more efficient?” For both would reveal, +approximately, the whereabouts of the sender. No, a telegram would not +answer the purpose. It would not be quite safe; for telegrams, like +typewritten letters, are always open to suspicion as to their +genuineness. Such suspicions may lead to inquiries at the telegraph +office. On the other hand, a letter, if it could be properly managed, +would have quite the contrary effect. It would be accepted as +convincing evidence, not only of the existence of the writer but of +his whereabouts at the time of writing—if only it could be properly +managed. But could it be? + +He struck a match and lit his pipe—to little purpose, for it went out +and was forgotten in the course of a minute. Could he produce a letter +from Purcell? A practicable letter which would pass without suspicion +the scrutiny, not only of Penfield himself, who was familiar with +Purcell’s handwriting, but also of Maggie, to whom it would almost +certainly be shown. It was a serious question, and he gave it very +serious consideration, balancing the chances of detection against the +chances of success and especially dwelling upon the improbability of +any question arising as to its authenticity. + +Now Varney was endowed in a remarkable degree with the dangerous gift +of imitating handwriting; indeed it was this gift, and its untimely +exercise, that had been the cause of all his troubles. And the natural +facility in this respect had been reinforced by the steadiness of hand +and perfect control of line that had come from his years of practice +as a copperplate engraver. In that craft his work had largely +consisted of minute and accurate imitation of writing and other linear +forms and he was now capable of reproducing his “copy” with +microscopic precision and fidelity. Reflecting on this, and further, +that he was in possession of Purcell’s own fountain pen with its +distinctive ink, he decided confidently that he could produce a letter +which would not merely pass muster but would even defy critical +examination—to which it was not likely to be subjected. + +Having decided that the letter could be produced, the next question +was that of ways and means. It would have been best for it to be sent +from some place abroad, but that could not very well be managed. +However, it would answer quite well if it could be sent from one of +the towns or villages of East Anglia; in fact that would perhaps be +the best plan as it would tend to confirm the Falmouth and Ipswich +stories and be, in its turn, supported by them. But there was the +problem of getting the letter posted. That would involve a journey +down to Suffolk or Norfolk, and to this there were several objections. +In the first place he could ill spare the time, for he had a good deal +of work on hand; he had an engagement with a dealer on the present +evening, he had to arrange about an exhibition on the following day +and in the evening he was to dine with Maggie and Phillip Rodney. None +of these engagements, but especially the last, was he willing to +cancel; and yet, if the letter was to be sent, there ought not to be +much delay. But the most serious objection was the one that had +occurred to him in relation to the telegram. His absence from town +would probably be known and he might even be seen, either at his East +Anglian destination or on his way thither or returning and the +coincidence of those movements with the arrival of the letter could +hardly fail to be noticed. Indeed, if he were seen in the locality +from whence the letter came, or going or returning, that would be a +perilously striking coincidence. + +What, then, was the alternative? He reflected awhile; and presently he +had an idea. How would it answer if he should not post the letter at +all, but simply drop it into Penfield’s letter-box? There was +something to be said for that. It would go to prove that Purcell must +be lurking somewhere in London; not an unlikely thing in itself, for +London is so large that it is hardly a locality at all, and it is +admittedly one of the safest of hiding-places. But, for that matter, +why not post the letter, say in Limehouse or Ratcliff and thus suggest +a lurking-place in the squalid and nautical east? That did not seem a +bad idea. But still his preference leaned towards the Eastern +Counties; somewhere in the neighbourhood of Ipswich, which would give +consistency to the account of the voyage from Falmouth. It was +something of a dilemma and he turned over the alternative plans for +some time without coming to any conclusion. + +As he sat thus meditating, his eye roamed idly about the bare but +homely studio; and presently it encountered an object that started a +new and interesting train of thought. Pushed away in a corner was a +small lithographic press, now mostly disused; for the little +“auto-lithographs” that he used to produce had ceased to be profitable +now that there was a fair demand for his etchings and mezzotints. But +the press was in going order and he was a moderately expert +lithographer; quite expert enough to produce a perfectly convincing +post-mark on a forged letter, especially if that post-mark were +carefully indented after printing, to disguise the process by which it +had been produced. + +It was a brilliant idea. In his pleased excitement he started up from +his chair and began rapidly to pace up and down the studio. A most +admirable plan! For it not only disposed of all the difficulties but +actually turned them into advantages. He would get the letter +prepared; he would keep his engagement with Maggie; then, after +leaving her, he would make his way to George Yard and there drop the +letter into Penfield’s letter-box. It would be found on the following +morning and would appear to have been posted the previous evening and +delivered by the first post. He would actually be present in Maggie’s +flat at the very moment when the letter was (apparently) being posted +in Suffolk. A most excellent scheme! + +Chuckling with satisfaction, he set himself forthwith to carry it out. +The means and appliances were in a cupboard that filled a recess; just +a plain wall-cupboard, but fitted with a chub lock of the highest +class. Unlocking this he cast his eye over the orderly shelves. Here, +standing upright in an empty ink-bottle, was the thick-barrelled +fountain pen that had once been Purcell’s. Varney took out the pen in +its container and stood it on the table. Next from the back of the +cupboard he reached out an expanding letter file, and, opening it, +took from the compartment marked “P” a small bundle of letters +docketed “Purcell” which he also laid on the table. They were all +harmless, unimportant letters (saved for that very reason), and if one +should have asked why Varney had kept them, the answer—applicable to +most of the other contents of the file—would have been that they had +been preserved in obedience to the forger’s instinct to keep a few +originals in stock on the chance that they might come in handy one +day. + +He drew a chair up to the table and began methodically to look through +the letters, underlining with a lead pencil the words that he would +probably want to copy. In the third letter that he read he had an +unexpected stroke of luck, for it contained a reference to Mr. +Penfield, to whom some enclosed document was to be sent, and it +actually gave his full name and address. This was a windfall indeed! +As he encircled the address with a pencil mark, Varney smiled +complacently and felt that Fortune was backing him up handsomely. + +Having secured the “copy” for the handwriting, the next thing was to +get the post-mark drawn and printed. The letters in the file had no +envelopes, but he had in his pocket a letter that he had received that +morning from an inn-keeper at Tenterden, to whom he had written for +particulars as to accommodation. It was probably a typical country +letter and its post-mark would serve as well as any other. He took it +from his pocket and laying it on a small drawing-board, pinned a piece +of tracing-paper over it and made a very careful tracing of the +postmark. Then he drew away the letter and slipped in its place a +small piece of lithographic transfer paper with a piece of black lead +transfer paper over it and went over the tracing carefully with a hard +pencil. He now had a complete tracing of the post-mark on the +lithographic paper including the name “Tenterden” and the date and +time, which he had included to give the dimensions and style of the +lettering. But he now patiently erased them, excepting the year date, +and replaced them, in the same style and size, with the inscription, +“Woodbridge, Oct. 28, 4:30 P.M.,” drawn firmly with a rather soft +pencil. + +He now fetched his lithographic ink and pens from the cupboard, and, +with the original before him, inked in the tracing, being careful to +imitate all the accidental characters of the actual post-mark such as +the unequal thickness of the lines due to the uneven pressure of the +marking-stamp. When he had finished, he turned the envelope over and +repeated the procedure with the London post-mark; only here he made an +exact facsimile excepting as to the date and time, which he altered to +Oct. 29, 11:20 P.M. + +The next proceeding was to transfer the inked tracings to a +lithographic stone. He used a smallish stone, placing the two +post-marks a convenient distance apart, so that they could be printed +separately. When the transfer and the subsequent “etching” processes +were completed and the stone was ready for printing, he inked up and +took a trial proof of the two post-marks on a sheet of paper. The +result was perfectly convincing. Ridiculously so. As he held the paper +in his hand and looked at those absurd post-marks, he chuckled aloud. +With a little ingenuity, how easy it was to sprinkle salt on the +forensic tail of the inscrutable Penfield! He was disposed to linger +and picture to himself the probable proceedings of that astute +gentleman when he received the letter. But there was a good deal to do +yet and he must not waste time. There was the problem of printing the +Woodbridge post-mark fairly on the stamp; and then there was the +addressing and writing of the letter. + +The first problem he solved by tracing the outline of an envelope on +the sheet that he had printed, with the post-mark in the correct place +for the stamp; cutting this piece out and using it to make register +marks on the stone. Then he affixed a stamp exactly to the correct +spot on the envelope, inked up the stone, laid the envelope against +the register marks and passed the stone under the roller. When he +picked up the envelope, the stamp bore the Woodbridge post-mark with +just that slight inaccuracy of imposition that made it perfectly +convincing. The London post-mark presented no difficulty as it did not +matter to half an inch where it was placed. Another inking-up and +another turn of the crank-handle and the envelope was ready for the +penmanship. + +Although Varney was so expert a copyist he decided to take no +unnecessary risks. Accordingly he made a careful tracing of Penfield’s +name and address from the original letter and transferred this in +black lead to the envelope. Then, with Purcell’s pen, charged with its +special black ink, and with the original before him, he inked in the +tracing with a free and steady hand and quickly enough to avoid any +tell-tale wavering or tremor of the line. It was certainly a masterly +performance, and when it was done, it would have puzzled a much +greater expert than Penfield to distinguish between the copy and the +original. + +Varney regarded it with deep satisfaction. He was about to put it +aside to dry, before he should rub out the tracing-marks, when it +occurred to him that Purcell would almost certainly have marked it +“confidential” or “personal.” It was, in fact, rather desirable that +this missive should be opened by Penfield himself. The fewer hands it +passed through the better; and then, of course, it was not worth while +to let any of the clerks into the secret of Purcell’s disappearance. +Accordingly, with the original letter still before him, he wrote at +the top of the envelope, in bold and rather large characters, the word +“Personal.” That ought to make it safe. + +He put the envelope aside and began to think out the text of the +letter that he was going to write. As he did so, his eye rested +gloatingly on the work that he had done, and done to such a perfect +finish. It was really a masterpiece of deception. Even a Post Office +sorter would have been taken in by it. He took it up and again +regarded it admiringly. Then he began to consider whether +“Confidential” would not have been better than “Personal.” It was +certainly most desirable that this letter should not be opened even by +the chief clerk; for it would let the cat out of the bag rather +completely. He held the envelope irresolutely for a full minute, +turning the question over. Finally he picked up the pen, and, laying +the envelope before him, turned the full stop into an “and” and +followed this with the word “Confidential.” There was not as much +space as he would have liked, and in his anxiety to preserve the +character of the handwriting while compressing the letters the tail of +the final l strayed on to the edge of the stamp, which to his critical +eye looked, a little untidy; but that was of no consequence, in fact +it was rather an additional realistic touch. + +He now set to work upon the letter itself. It was to be but a short +letter and it took him only a few minutes to draft out the matter in +pencil. Then, spreading Purcell’s letter before him, he studied it +word by word and letter by letter. When he had got the character of +the writing well into his mind, he took a sheet of note-paper, and, +with a well-sharpened H pencil, made a very careful copy of his draft, +constantly referring to Purcell’s original and even making tracings of +important words and of the signature. Having compared the lightly +pencilled copy with Purcell’s letter and made one or two corrections, +he picked up the pen and traced over the pencil writing with the +sureness and steadiness that his training as an engraver made +possible. + +The letter being finished with a perfect facsimile of the signature, +he made a final comparison of the handwriting with Purcell’s, and, +finding it beyond criticism, read through the letter again, +speculating on Mr. Penfield’s probable proceedings when he received +it. The text of the letter ran thus: + + “Dear Mr. Penfield: + + “I have just seen your advertisement in _The Times_ and am writing + to let you know that circumstances render it impossible for me to + call on you, and for the same reason I am unable to give you my + present address. If there is anything connected with the Catford + business that you wish me to know, perhaps you could put it briefly + in another advertisement to which I could reply if necessary. Sorry + to give you this trouble. + + “Yours sincerely, + “Daniel Purcell.” + +Laying down the letter Varney once more turned to the envelope. First, +with a piece of artist’s soft rubber he removed the pencil marks of +the tracing. Then, placing the envelope on a sheet of blotting paper, +he carefully traced over the post-marks with an agate tracing-style, +following the two concentric circles of each with their enclosed +letters and figures with minute accuracy and pressing somewhat firmly. +The result was that each of the two post-marks was visibly indented, +as if made by a sharply-struck marking-stamp. It only remained to +erase the pencil marks from the letter, to place it in the envelope +and close the latter; and, when this was done, Varney rose and having +once more lit his pipe, began to replace the materials in the +cupboard, where also he bestowed the letter for the present. + +He was in the act of closing the cupboard door when his glance fell on +a small deed-box on the top shelf. He looked at it thoughtfully for a +few moments, then lifted it down, placed it on the table and unlocked +it. The contents were three paper packets, each sealed with his +ring-seal, He broke the seals of all three and opened the packets. Two +of them contained engraved copper plates, of a twenty-pound and a +five-pound note respectively. The third packet contained a sheaf of +paper blanks. Varney took out the latter and counted them, holding +each one up to the light to examine the water-mark. There were twelve +of them, all five-pound notes. He laid them down and cogitated +profoundly; and unconsciously his eyes turned to the etching press at +the end of the bench. A few minutes’ work, a smear of ink and a turn +of the press, would convert those blanks into actual notes, so good +that they could be passed with perfect safety. Twelve fives; sixty +pounds—it was handsome pay for half an hour’s work; and five-pound +notes were so easy to get rid of. + +It was a severe temptation to a comparatively poor man whose ethical +standards were none of the highest. Prosperous as he now thought +himself, with the growing demand for his etchings, sixty pounds +represented the product of nearly two months’ legitimate work. It was +a great temptation. There were the blanks, all ready for the magic +change. It seemed a pity to waste them. There were only a dozen, and, +there would be no more. This would really be the end of the lay. After +this he could go straight and live a perfectly reputable life. + +The gambler’s lure, the attraction of easily-won wealth, was beginning +to take effect. He had actually picked up the five-pound plate and was +moving towards the bench when something in his mind brought him +suddenly to a stop. In that moment there had risen before his mental +vision the sweet and gracious figure of Margaret Purcell. Instantly +his feelings underwent a revulsion. That which, but a minute ago, had +seemed natural and reasonable now looked unspeakably sordid and base. +No compulsion now urged him on unwillingly to crime. It would be his +own choice—the choice of mere greed. Was it for this that he had set +her and himself free? Could he stand in her presence and cherish +thoughts of honourable love with this mean crime—committed of his own +free will—on his conscience? Assuredly not. The very corpse of Purcell +cried out from its dark tomb beneath the Wolf on this voluntary +resumption of the chains which he had broken at the cost of murder. + +Once more he turned towards the bench, but now with a different +purpose. Hurriedly, as if fearful of another backsliding, he caught up +a large graver and drove its point across the plate from corner to +corner, ploughing up the copper in a deep score. That finished the +matter. Never again could that plate be printed from. But he did not +leave it at that. With a shaving scraper he pared off the surface of +the plate until the engraving on it was totally obliterated. He +fetched the other plate and treated it in a similar manner. Then he +flung both plates into a porcelain dish and filled it with strong +nitric acid mordant. Finally, as the malodorous, red fumes began to +rise from the dish, he took up the sheaf of blanks and held them in +the flame of the gas stove. When the last blackened fragments had +fallen to the earth, he drew a deep breath. Now at last he was free. +Really free. Free even from the peril of his own weakness. + +His labours had consumed the best part of the morning, but in any case +he was in no mood for his ordinary work. Opening the window a little +wider to let the fumes escape, he took his hat from the peg and went +forth, turning his steps in the direction of Regent’s Park. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +The Flash Note Factory + +To the lover of quiet and the admirer of urban comeliness, the +ever-increasing noise and turmoil of London and its ever-decreasing +architectural interest and charm give daily an added value to the Inns +of Court, in whose peaceful precincts quiet and comeliness yet +survive. And of the Inns of Court, if we except Old Buildings, +Lincoln’s Inn, The Temple with its cloisters, its fountain and its +ancient church, makes the strongest appeal to the affections of that +almost extinct creature, the Londoner; of which class the last +surviving genuine specimens are to be found in its obsolete chambers, +living on amidst the amenities of a bygone age. + +But it was neither the quiet nor the architectural charm of the old +domestic buildings that had caused Mr. Superintendent Miller of the +Criminal Investigation Department to take the Temple on his way from +Scotland Yard to Fleet Street (though it was as short a way as any), +nor was it a desire to contemplate the houses attributed to Wren that +made him slow down when he reached King’s Bench Walk and glance +hesitatingly up and down that pleasant thoroughfare—if a thoroughfare +it can be called. The fact is that Mr. Miller was engaged in certain +investigations, which had led him, as investigations sometimes do, +into a blind alley; and it was in his mind to see if the keen vision +of Dr. John Thorndyke could detect a way out. But he did not want a +formal consultation. Rather, he desired to let the matter arise, as it +were, by chance, and he did not quite see how to manage it. + +Here, as he stood hesitating opposite Thorndyke’s chambers, Providence +came to his aid; for, at this moment, a tall figure emerged from the +shadow of the covered passage from Mitre Court and came with an easy, +long-legged swing down to tree-shaded foot-way. Instantly, the +Superintendent strode forward to intercept the newcomer and the two +met halfway up the Walk. + +“You were not coming to see me, by any chance?” Thorndyke asked when +the preliminary greetings had been exchanged. + +“No,” replied Miller, “though I had half a mind to look in on you, +just to pass the time of day. I am on my way to Clifford’s Inn to look +into a rather queer discovery that has been made there.” + +Here the Superintendent paused with an attentive eye on Thorndyke’s +face, though experience should have told him that he might as well +study the expression of a wig-maker’s block. As Thorndyke showed no +sign of rising to the bait, he continued: “A remarkably queer affair. +Mysterious, in fact. Our people are rather stuck, so I am going to +have a look round the chambers to see if I can pick up any traces.” + +“That is always a useful thing to do,” said Thorndyke. “Rooms, like +clothes, tend to take certain impressions from those who live in them. +Careful inspection, eked out by some imagination, will usually yield +something of interest.” + +“Precisely,” agreed Miller. “I realized that long ago from watching +your own methods. You were always rather fond of poking about in empty +houses and abandoned premises. By the way,” he added, forced into the +open by Thorndyke’s impassiveness, “I wonder if you would care to +stroll up with me and have a look at these chambers?” + +“Are the facts of the case available?” asked Thorndyke. + +“Certainly,” replied Miller, “to you—so far as they are known. If you +care to walk up with me, I’ll tell you about the case as we go along.” + +Thereupon Thorndyke (to whom the insoluble mystery and especially the +untenanted chambers were as a hot scent to an eager fox-hound) turned +and retraced his steps in company with the Superintendent. + +“The history of the affair,” the latter began, “is this: At No. 92 +Clifford’s Inn, a man named Bromeswell had chambers on the second +floor. He had been there several years and was an excellent tenant, +paying his rent and other liabilities with clockwork regularity on, or +immediately after quarter day. He had never been known to be even a +week in arrear with rent, gas or anything else. But at Midsummer he +failed to pay up in his usual prompt manner, and after a fortnight had +passed a polite reminder was dropped into his letter-box. But still he +made no sign. However, as he was an old tenant and his character was +so excellent, nothing was done beyond dropping in another reminder. +Once or twice the porter went to the door of the chambers, but he +always found the ‘oak’ shut and when he hammered on it with a stick, +he got no answer. + +“Well, the time ran on and the porter began to think that things +looked a bit queer, but still nothing was done. Then, one day the +postman brought a batch of letters—or rather circulars—to the Lodge, +addressed to Bromeswell. He had tried to drop them into Bromeswell’s +letter-box but couldn’t get them in as the box was choke-full. Now +this made it pretty clear that Bromeswell had not been in his chambers +for some considerable time, unless he was dead and his body shut up in +them, so the porter acquainted the Treasurer with the state of affairs +and consulted with him as to what was to be done. There were no means +of getting into the chambers without breaking in, for the tenant had +at some time fixed a new patent lock on the outer door and the porter +had no duplicate key. But the chambers couldn’t be left indefinitely, +especially as there was possibly a dead man inside, so the Treasurer +decided to send a man up a ladder to break a window and let himself +in. As a matter of fact, the porter went up, himself; and as soon as +he got into the chambers and had a look round, he began to smell a +rat. + +“The appearance of the place, and especially the even coating of dust +that covered everything, showed that no one had been in those rooms +for two or three months at least; but what particularly attracted the +attention of the porter—who is a retired police sergeant—was a rather +queer-looking set of apparatus that suggested to him the outfit of a +maker of flash notes. On this he began to make some inquiries; and +then it transpired that nobody knew anything about Bromeswell. Mr. +Duskin, the late porter, must have known him, since he must have let +him the chambers; but Duskin left the Inn some years ago, and the +present porter has never met this tenant. It seems an incredible thing +but it appears to be a fact that no one even knows Bromeswell by +sight.” + +“That does really seem incredible,” said Thorndyke, “in the case of a +man living in a place like Clifford’s Inn.” + +“Ah, but he wasn’t living there. That was known, because no milk or +bread was ever left there and no laundress ever called for washing. +There are no resident chambers in Number 92. The porter had an idea +that Bromeswell was a press artist or something of that kind and used +the premises to work in. But of course it wasn’t any concern of his.” + +“How was the rent paid?” + +“By post, in treasury notes. And the gas was paid in the same way; +never by cheque. But, to go on with the history: the porter’s +suspicions were aroused, and he communicated them to the Treasurer, +who agreed with him that the police ought to be informed. Accordingly +they sent us a note and we instructed Inspector Monk, who is a +first-class expert on flash notes, to go to Clifford’s Inn and +investigate, but to leave things undisturbed as far as possible. So +Monk went to the chambers and had a look at the apparatus; and what he +saw made him pretty certain that the porter was right. The apparatus +was a complete paper-maker’s plant in miniature, all except the +moulds. There were no moulds to be seen, and until they were found it +was impossible to say that the paper was not being made for some +lawful purpose, though the size of the pressing plates—eighteen inches +by seven—gave a pretty broad hint. However, there was an iron safe in +the room—one of Wilkins’ make—and Monk decided that the moulds were +probably locked up in it. He also guessed what the moulds were like. +You may have heard of a long series of most excellent forgeries of +Bank of England notes.” + +“I have,” said Thorndyke. “They were five-pound and twenty-pound +notes, mostly passed in France, Belgium, Switzerland and Holland.” + +“That’s the lot,” said Miller, “and first-class forgeries they were; +and for a very good reason. They were made with the genuine moulds. +Some six years ago, two moulds were lost or stolen from the works at +Maidstone where the Bank of England makes its paper. They were the +moulds for five- and twenty-pound notes, respectively, and each mould +would make a sheet that would cut into two notes—a long, narrow sheet +sixteen and three-quarter inches by five and five thirty-seconds in +the case of a five-pound note. Well, we have been on the lookout for +those forgers for years, but, naturally, they were difficult to trace, +for the forgeries were so good that no one could tell them from the +real thing but the experts at the Bank. You see, it is the paper that +the forger usually comes a cropper over. The engraving is much easier +to imitate. But this paper was not only made in the proper moulds with +all the proper water-marks, but it seemed to be made by a man who knew +his job. So you can reckon that Monk was as keen as mustard on getting +those moulds. + +“And get them he did. On our authority, Wilkins made him a duplicate +key—we didn’t want to blow the safe open—and sure enough, as soon as +he opened the door, there were the two moulds. So that’s that. There +is an end of those forgeries. But the question is, Who and where the +devil is this fellow Bromeswell? And there is another question. This +only accounts for the paper. The engraving and printing were done +somewhere else and by some other artist. We should like to find out +who he is. But, for the present, he is a bird in the bush. Bromeswell +is our immediate quarry.” + +“He seems to be pretty much in the bush, too,” remarked Thorndyke. “Is +there no trace of him at all? What about his agreement and his +references?” + +“Gone,” replied Miller. “When the Inn was sold most of the old papers +were destroyed. They were of no use.” + +“It is astonishing,” said Thorndyke, “that a man should have been in +occupation of those chambers for years and remain completely unknown. +And yet one sees how it can have happened with the change of porters. +Duskin was the only link that we have with Bromeswell and Duskin is +gone. As to his not being known by sight, he probably came to the +chambers only occasionally, to make a batch of paper; and if there +were no residents in his block no one would be likely to notice him.” + +“No,” Miller agreed; “Londoners are not inquisitive about their +neighbours, especially in a business quarter. This is the place, and +those are his rooms on the second floor.” + +As he paused by an ancient lamp-post near the postern gate that opens +on Fetter Lane, the Superintendent indicated a small, dark entry and +then nodded at a range of dull windows at the top of the old house. +Then he crossed a tiny courtyard, plunged into the dark entry and led +the way up the narrow stair, groping with his hand along the unseen +hand-rail, and closely followed by Thorndyke. + +At the first floor they emerged for a moment into modified daylight +and then ascended another flight of dark and narrow stairs, which +opened on a grimy landing whose only ornaments were an iron dust-bin +and a gas meter, and which displayed a single iron-bound door above +which appeared in faded white lettering the inscription “Mr. +Bromeswell.” + +The Superintendent unlocked the massive outer door, which opened with +a rusty creak, revealing an inner door fitted with a knocker. This +Miller pushed open and the two men entered the outer room of the “set” +of chambers, halting just inside the door to make a general survey of +the room, of which the most striking feature was its bareness. And +this was really a remarkable feature when the duration of the tenancy +was considered. In the course of some years of occupation the +mysterious tenant had accumulated no more furniture than a small +kitchen table, a Windsor chair, a canvas-seated camp armchair, a +military camp bedstead with a sleeping-bag and a couple of rugs and a +small iron safe. + +“It is obvious,” said Thorndyke, “that Bromeswell never lived here. +Apparently he visited the place only at intervals, but when he came, +he stayed until he had finished what he had come to do. Probably, he +brought a supply of food and never went out between his arrival and +departure.” + +He strolled into the tiny kitchen, where a gas-ring, a teapot, a cup +and saucer, one or two plates, a tin of milk-powder, one of sugar, +another of tea and a biscuit tin containing an unrecognizable mildewy +mass, bore out his suggestion. With a glance at the loaded letter-box, +he crossed the room and, opening a door, entered what was intended to +be the bedroom but had been made into a workshop. And very complete it +was, being fitted with a roomy sink and tap, a small boiler—apparently +a dentist’s vulcanizer—and a mixer or beater worked by a little +electric motor, driven by a bichromate battery, there being no +electric light in the premises. By the window was a strong bench on +which was a powerful office press, a stack of long, narrow copper +plates and a pile of pieces of felt of a similar shape but somewhat +larger. Close to the bench was a trough made from a stout wooden box, +lined with zinc and mounted on four legs, in which was folded +newspaper containing a number of neat coils of cow-hair cord, each +coil having an eye-splice at either end, evidently to fit on the hooks +which had been fixed in the walls. + +“Those cords,” Miller explained, as Thorndyke took them from the paper +to examine them, “were used as drying lines to hang the damp sheets of +paper on. They are always made of cow-hair because that is the only +material that doesn’t mark the paper. But I expect you know all about +that. Is there anything that catches your eye in particular? You seem +interested in those cords.” + +“I was looking at these two,” said Thorndyke, holding out two cords +which he had uncoiled. “This one, you see, was too long, it had been +cut the wrong length, or more probably was the remainder of a long +piece. But, instead of cutting off the excess, our friend has +thriftily shortened this rather expensive cord by working a sheepshank +on it. Now it isn’t every one who knows how to make a sheepshank and +the persons who do are not usually paper-makers.” + +“That’s perfectly true, Doctor,” assented Miller. “I’m one of the +people who don’t know how to make that particular kind of knot. What +is the other point?” + +“This other cord,” replied Thorndyke, “which looks new, has an +eye-splice at one end only, but it is, as you see, about five inches +longer than the other; just about the amount that would be taken up by +working the eye-splice. That looks as if Bromeswell had worked the +splices himself and if you consider the matter you will see that is +probably the case. The length of these cords is roughly the width of +this room. They have been cut to a particular measure; but the cord +was most probably bought in a single length, as this extra long piece +suggests.” + +“Yes,” agreed Miller. “They wouldn’t have been sold with the +eye-splices worked on them, and in fact, I don’t see what he wanted +with the eye-splices at all. A simple knotted loop would have answered +the purpose quite as well.” + +“Exactly,” said Thorndyke. “They were not necessary. They were a +luxury, a refinement; and that emphasizes the point that they suggest, +which is that Bromeswell is a man who has some technical knowledge of +cordage, is probably a sailor, or in some way connected with the sea. +As you say, a common knotted loop, such as a bowline knot, would have +answered the purpose perfectly. But that is true of most of the cases +in which a sailor uses an eye-splice. Then why does he take the +trouble to work the splice? Principally for the sake of neatness of +appearance, because, to an expert eye, a tied loop with its projecting +end looks slovenly. + +“Now this man will have had quite a lot of time on his hands. He will +have had to wait about for hours while the pulp was boiling and while +it was being beaten up. A sailor would very naturally spend a part of +his idle time in tidying up the cordage.” + +The Superintendent nodded reflectively. “Yes,” he said, “I think you +are right, Doctor; and it is an important point. This fellow was a +fairly expert paper-maker. He wasn’t a mere amateur like most of the +note-forgers. If he was some kind of sailor man as well, that would +make him a lot easier to identify if we should get on his track. But +that’s just what we can’t do. There is nothing to start from. He is a +mere name, and pretty certainly a false name at that.” + +As he spoke, Miller looked about him discontentedly, running his eye +over the bench and its contents. Suddenly he stepped over to the press +and diving into the shadowed space between it and the wall, brought up +his hand grasping a silver-mounted briar pipe. + +“Now, Doctor,” he said with a grin, handing it to Thorndyke when he +had inspected it, “here is something in your line. Just run your eye +over that pipe and tell me what the man is like.” + +Thorndyke laughed as he took the pipe in his hand. “You are thinking +of the mythical anatomist and the fossil bone,” said he. “I am afraid +this relic will not tell us much. It is a good pipe; it must have cost +half a guinea, which would have meant more if its owner had been +honest. The maker’s name tells us that it was bought in Cheapside near +the Bank, its weight and the marks on the mouthpiece tell us that the +owner has a strong jaw and a good set of teeth, its good condition +suggests a careful, orderly man and its presence here makes it likely +that the owner was Mr. Bromeswell. That isn’t much but it confirms the +other appearances.” + +“What other appearances?” demanded Miller. + +“Those of the bed, the chair, the bench, the hooks and the trough. +They all point to a big, heavy man. The bedstead is about six feet, +six inches long but the heel-marks are near the foot and the pillow is +right at the head, This bench and the trough have been put up for this +man’s use—they were apparently knocked up by himself; and they are +both of a suitable height for you or me. A short man couldn’t work at +either. The hooks are over seven feet from the floor. The canvas seat +of the chair is deeply sagged although the woodwork looks in nearly +new condition, and the canvas of the bed is in the same condition. Add +this massive, hard-bitten pipe to those indications and you have the +picture of a tall, burly, powerful man. We must have a look at his +pillow and rugs to see if we can pick up a stray hair or two, and get +an idea of his complexion. What did he make the pulp from? I don’t see +any traces of rags.” + +“He didn’t use rags. He used Whatman’s water-colour paper, which is a +pure linen paper. Apparently he tore it up into tiny fragments and +boiled it in soda lye until it was ready to go into the beater. Monk +found a supply of the paper in a cupboard and some half-cooked stuff +in the boiler.” As he spoke, Miller unscrewed and raised the lid of +the boiler, which was then seen to be half-filled with a clear liquid +at the bottom of which was a mass of sodden fragments of shredded +paper. From the boiler he turned to a small cupboard and opened the +door. “That seems to be his stock of material,” he said, indicating a +large roll of thick white paper. He took out a sheet and handed it to +Thorndyke, who held it up to the light and read the name “Whatman” +which formed the water-mark. + +“Yes,” said Thorndyke, as he returned the sheet. “His method of work +seems clear enough, but that is not of much interest as you have the +moulds. What we want is the man himself. You have no description of +him, I suppose?” + +“Not if your description of him is correct,” replied Miller. “The +suspected person, according to the Belgian police, is a smallish, +slight, dark man. They may be on the wrong track, or their man may be +a confederate. There must have been a confederate, perhaps more than +one. But Bromeswell only made the paper. Some one else must have done +the engraving and the printing. As to planting the notes, that may +have been done by some other parties, or by either or both of these +two artists. I should think they probably kept the game to themselves, +judging by what we have seen here. This seems to be a one man show, +and it looks as if even the engraver didn’t know where the paper was +made, or the moulds wouldn’t have been left in this way. Shall we go +and look for those hairs that you spoke of?” + +They returned to the outer room, where they both subjected the little +pillow of the camp bed to a searching scrutiny. But though they +examined both sides and even took off the dusty pillow-case, not a +single hair was to be found. Then they turned their attention to the +rugs, which had been folded neatly and placed on the canvas—there was +no mattress—unfolding them carefully and going over them inch by inch. +Here, too, they seemed to have drawn a blank, for they had almost +completed their examination when the Superintendent uttered an +exclamation and delicately picked a small object from near the edge of +the rug. + +“This seems to be a hair, Doctor,” said he, holding it up between his +finger and thumb. “Looks like a moustache hair, but it’s a mighty +short one.” + +Thorndyke produced his pocket lens and a sheet of note-paper; and +holding the latter while Miller cautiously dropped the hair on it, he +inspected the find through his lens. + +“Yes,” he said, “it is a moustache hair, about half an inch long, +decidedly thick, cleanly cut and of a lightish red-brown colour. +Somehow it seems to fit the other characters. A close-cropped, +bristly, sandy moustache appears to go appropriately with the stature +and weight of the man and that massive pipe. There is a tendency for +racial characters to go together, and the blond races run to height +and weight. Well, we have a fairly complete picture of the man, unless +we have made some erroneous inferences, and we seem to have finished +our inspection. Have you been through the stuff in the letter-box?” + +“Monk went through it, but we may as well have a look at it to make +sure that he hasn’t missed anything. I’ll hand the things out if you +will put them on the table and check them.” + +As Miller took out the letters in handfuls Thorndyke received them +from him and laid them out on the table. Then he and Miller examined +the collection systematically. + +“You see, Doctor,” said the latter, “they are all circulars; not a +private letter among them excepting the two notes from the Treasurer +about the rent. And they are quite a miscellaneous lot. None of these +people knew anything about Bromeswell, apparently, they just copied +the address out of the directory. Here’s one from a money-lender. +Bromeswell could have given him a tip or two. The earliest post-mark +is the eleventh of June, so we may take it that he wasn’t here after +the tenth, or the morning of the eleventh.” + +“There is a slight suggestion that he left at night,” said Thorndyke, +as he made a note of the date. “The place where you found the pipe +would be in deep shadow by gaslight, but not by daylight. Certainly +the blind was up, but he would probably have drawn it up after he +turned the gas out, as its being down during the day might attract +attention.” + +“Yes,” said Miller, “you are probably right about the time; and that +reminds me that Monk found a small piece of paper under the bench—I’ve +got it in my pocket—which seems to bear out your suggestion.” He took +from his pocket a bulky letter-case, from an inner recess of which he +extracted a little scrap of Whatman paper. + +“Here it is,” he said, handing it to Thorndyke. “He seems to have just +jotted down the times of two trains; and, as you say, they were +probably night trains.” + +Thorndyke looked with deep attention at the fragment, on which was +written, hastily but legibly in very black ink, “8:15 and 11:1. P,” +and remarked: + +“Quite a valuable find in its way. The writing is very characteristic, +and so is the ink. Probably it would be more so when seen through the +microscope. Magnification brings out shades of colour that are +invisible to the naked eye.” + +“Well, Doctor,” said Miller, “if you can spare the time to have a look +at it through the microscope, I wish you would, and let us know if you +discover anything worth noting. And perhaps you wouldn’t mind taking a +glance at the hair, too, to settle the colour more exactly.” + +He transferred the latter, which he had carefully folded in paper and +put in his pocketbook, to Thorndyke, who deposited it, with the scrap +of paper, in his letter-case, after pencilling on the wrapper a note +of the nature and source of the object. + +“And that,” said the Superintendent, “seems to be the lot. We haven’t +done so badly, after all. If you are right—as I expect you are—we have +got quite a serviceable description of the man Bromeswell. But it is a +most mysterious affair. I can’t imagine what the deuce can have +happened. It is pretty clear that he came here about the tenth of June +and probably made a batch of paper which we shall hear of later. But +what can have happened to the man? Something out of the common, +evidently. He would never have stayed away voluntarily with the +certainty that the premises would be entered, his precious moulds +found and the whole thing blown upon. If he had intended to clear out +he would certainly have taken the moulds with him, or at least +destroyed them if he thought that the game was up. What do you think, +Doctor?” + +“It seems to me,” replied Thorndyke, “that there are three +possibilities. He may be dead, and if so he probably died suddenly, +before he was able to make any arrangements; he may be in prison on +some other charge; or he may have got a scare that we know nothing of +and had to keep out of sight. You said that the Belgian police were +taking some action.” + +“Yes, they have got an officer over here, by agreement with us, who is +making inquiries about the man who planted the notes in Belgium. But +he isn’t after Bromeswell. He is looking for quite a different man, as +I told you. But he doesn’t pretend that he could recognize him.” + +“It doesn’t follow that Bromeswell knows that. If the confederate has +discovered that inquiries are being made, he may have given his friend +a hint, and the pair of them may have absconded. But that is mere +speculation. As you say, something extraordinary must have happened, +and it must have been something sudden and unforeseen. And that is all +that we can say at present.” + +By the time that this conclusion was reached, they had emerged from +Clifford’s Inn Passage into Fleet Street; and here they parted, the +Superintendent setting a course westward and Thorndyke crossing the +road to the gateway of Middle Temple Lane. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +In Which Thorndyke Tries Over the Moves + +It was in a deeply meditative frame of mind that Thorndyke pursued his +way towards his chambers after parting with the Superintendent. For +the inspection which he had just made had developed points of interest +other than those which he had discussed with the detective officer. + +To his acute mind, habituated to rapid inference, the case of the +mysterious Mr. Bromeswell had inevitably presented a parallelism with +that of Daniel Purcell. Bromeswell had disappeared without leaving a +trace. If he had absconded, he had done so without premeditation or +preparation, apparently under the compulsion of some unforeseen but +imperative necessity. But that was precisely Purcell’s case, and the +instant the mere comparison was made, other points of agreement began +to appear and multiply in the most startling manner. + +The physical resemblance between Purcell and the hypothetical +Bromeswell was striking but not conclusive. Both were big, heavy men; +but such men are not uncommon and the resemblance in the matter of the +moustache had to be verified—or disproved. But the other points of +agreement were very impressive—impressive alike by their completeness +and by their number. Both men were connected with the making of paper, +and of the same kind—hand-made paper. The banknote moulds had been +stolen or lost at Maidstone about six years ago. But at that very time +Purcell was at Maidstone and was then engaged in the paper industry. +Bromeswell appeared to have a sailor’s knowledge and skill in respect +of cordage. But Purcell was a yachtsman and had such knowledge and +skill. Then the dates of the two disappearances coincided very +strikingly. Bromeswell disappeared from London about the tenth of +June; Purcell disappeared from Penzance on the twenty-third of June. +Even in trivial circumstances there was curious agreement. For +instance, it was a noticeable coincidence that Bromeswell’s pipe +should have been bought at a shop within a minute’s walk of Purcell’s +office. + +But there was another coincidence that Thorndyke had noted, even while +he was examining the premises at Clifford’s Inn. Those premises were +concerned exclusively with the making of the paper blanks on which the +notes would later be printed. Of the engraving and printing activities +there was no trace. Bromeswell was a paper-maker, pure and simple; but +somewhere in the background there must have been a confederate who was +an engraver and a printer, to whom Bromeswell supplied the paper +blanks, and who engraved the plates and printed the notes. But Purcell +had one intimate friend; and that friend was a skilful engraver who +was able to print from engraved plates. Moreover the rather vague +description given by the Belgian police of the man who uttered the +forged notes, while it obviously could not apply to Purcell, agreed +very completely with Purcell’s intimate friend. + +And there was yet another agreement, perhaps more striking than any. +If it were assumed that Bromeswell and Purcell were one and the same +person, the whole of the mystery connected with Mr. Penfield’s letter +was resolved. Everything became consistent and intelligible—up to a +certain point. If the mysterious “enclosures” were a batch of paper +blanks with the Bank of England water-mark on them, it was easy to +understand Mr. Penfield’s reticence; for he had made himself an +accessory to a felony, to say nothing of the offence that he was +committing by having these things in his possession. It would also +account completely for Purcell’s sudden flight and his silence as to +his whereabouts; for he would, naturally, assume that no lawyer would +be such an imbecile as to accept the position of an accessory to a +crime that he had no connection with. He would take it for granted +that Penfield would forthwith hand the letter and enclosures to the +police. + +But there were one or two difficulties. In the first place the theory +implied an incredible lack of caution on the part of Penfield, who was +a lawyer of experience and would fully appreciate the risk he was +running. Then it assumed an equally amazing lack of care and caution +in the case of Purcell; a carelessness quite at variance with the +scrupulous caution and well-maintained secrecy of the establishment at +Clifford’s Inn. But the most serious discrepancy was the presence of +the paper blanks in a letter. The letter into which they ought to have +been put would be addressed to the confederate; and that confederate +was assumed to be Varney. But why should they have been sent in a +letter to Varney? On the very day on which the letter was posted, +Varney and Purcell had been alone together for some hours on the +yacht. The blanks could have been handed to Varney then, and naturally +would have been. The discrepancy seemed to render the hypothesis +untenable, or at any rate to rule out Varney as the possible +confederate. + +But it was impossible to dismiss the hypothesis as untenable. The +agreements with the observed facts were too numerous; and as soon as +the inquiry was transferred to a new field, a fresh set of agreements +came into view. Very methodically Thorndyke considered the theory of +the identity of Purcell with Bromeswell in connection with his +interviews with Mr. Penfield and Mr. Levy. + +Taking the latter first, what had it disclosed? It had shown that +Purcell was a common money-lender; not an incriminating fact, for the +business of a money-lender is not in itself unlawful. But it is a +vocation to which little credit attaches, and its practice is +frequently associated with very unethical conduct. It is rather on the +outside edge of lawful industry. + +But what of Levy? Apparently he was not a mere employé. He appeared to +be able to get on quite well without Purcell and seemed to have the +status of a partner. Was it possible that he was a partner in the +other concern, too? It was not impossible. A money-lender has +excellent opportunities for getting rid of good flash notes. His +customers usually want notes in preference to cheques; and he could +even get batches of notes from the Bank and number his forgeries to +correspond, thus protecting himself in case of discovery. But even if +Levy were a confederate, he would not exclude Varney, for there was no +reason to suppose that he was an engraver, whereas Varney was both an +engraver and an old and constant associate of Purcell’s. In short, +Levy was not very obviously in the picture at all, and, for the time +being, Thorndyke dismissed him and passed on to the other case. Taking +now the interview with Penfield, there were the facts elicited by the +examination of the envelope. That envelope had contained a rather +bulky mass, apparently of folded paper, about five inches long, or a +little more, and somewhat less than three inches wide. Thorndyke rose, +and taking from the bookshelves a manuscript book labelled +“Dimensions,” found in the index the entry “Bank-notes” and turned to +the page indicated. Here the dimensions of a five-pound note were +given as eight inches and three-eighths long by five inches and five +thirty-seconds wide. Folded lengthwise into three it would thus be +five inches and five thirty-seconds—or say five and an eighth long by +two and three-quarters wide, if folded quite accurately, or a fraction +more if folded less exactly. The enclosure in Penfield’s envelope was +therefore exactly the size of a small batch of notes folded into +three. It did not follow that the enclosures actually were banknotes. +They might have been papers of some other kind but of similar size. +But the observed facts were in complete agreement with the supposition +that they were banknotes; and taken in conjunction with Penfield’s +extraordinary secrecy and the wording of his letter to Margaret +Purcell, they strongly supported that supposition. + +Then there was the suggestion that the envelope had been steamed open +and reclosed. It was only a suggestion; not a certainty. The +appearances might be misleading. But to Thorndyke’s expert eye the +suggestion had been very strong. The gum had smeared upwards on the +inside, which seemed impossible if the envelope had been closed once +for all; and the paper showed traces of cockling, as if it had been +damped. Mr. Penfield had rejected the suggestion; partly for the +excellent reasons that he had given, but also, perhaps, because +Purcell’s flight implied that he had discovered the mistake and that +therefore the mistake was presumably his own. + +But there was one important point that Penfield seemed to have +overlooked. The letter that he expected to receive would (presumably) +have contained no enclosures. The letter that he did receive contained +a bulky enclosure which bulged the envelope. The two letters must +therefore have been very different in appearance. Now, ordinarily, +when two letters are put each into the envelope of the other, when +once the envelopes are closed the mistake is covered up. There is +nothing in their exterior to suggest that any mistake has occurred. +But in the present case the error was blatantly advertised by the +appearance of the closed letters. Penfield’s envelope, which should +have been flat, bulged with its contents. The other envelope—if there +was one, as there almost certainly must have been—which should have +bulged, was conspicuously flat. Of course, Penfield may have been +wrong in assuming that no enclosures were to be sent to him. Both +letters may have held enclosures. But taking the evidence as it was +presented, it was to the effect that there were enclosures in only one +of the letters. And if that were the case, the mistake appeared +incredible. It became impossible to understand how Purcell could have +handled the two letters and finally put them into the post without +seeing that the enclosures were in the wrong envelope. + +What was the significance of the point? Well, it raised the question +whether Purcell could possibly have posted this letter himself, and +this question involved the further question whether the envelope had +been opened and reclosed. For if it had, the transposition of the +contents must have taken place after the letters left Purcell’s hands. +Against this was the fact of Purcell’s flight, which made it +practically certain that he had become aware of the transposition. But +it was not conclusive, and having noted the objection, Thorndyke +proceeded to follow out the alternative theory. Accepting for the +moment, the hypothesis that the letter had been opened and the +transposition made intentionally, certain other questions arose. +First, Who had the opportunity? Second, What could have been the +purpose of the act? and, third, Who could have had such a purpose? +Thorndyke considered these questions in the same methodical fashion, +taking them one by one, in the order stated. + +Who had the opportunity? That depended, among other things, on the +time at which the letter was posted. Penfield had stated that the +letter had been posted at 8:30 p.m. If that were true, it put Varney +out of the problem, for he had left Penzance some hours before that +time. But it was not true. The time shown by the post-mark was not the +time at which the letter was posted but that at which it was sorted at +the post office. It might have been posted at a pillar-box some hours +previously. It was therefore not impossible that it might have been +posted by Varney. And if it was physically possible, it at once became +the most probable assumption, since there was no reasonable +alternative. It was inconceivable that Purcell should have handed the +letters to a stranger to post, and if he had, it was inconceivable +that that stranger should have opened the letters and transposed their +contents. There was, indeed, the possibility that Purcell had met a +confederate at Penzance and had handed him the letters—one of which +would be addressed to himself—to post; and that this confederate might +have made the transposition. But this was pure speculation without a +particle of evidence to support it; whereas Varney, as an intimate +friend, even if not a confederate, might conceivably have had the +letters handed to him to post, though this was profoundly improbable, +seeing that Purcell was going ashore and Varney was in charge of the +yacht. In effect, there was no positive evidence that anybody had had +the opportunity to make the transposition; but if it had not been done +by Purcell, himself, then Varney appeared to be the only possible +agent. + +From this vague and unsatisfactory conclusion Thorndyke proceeded to +the second question; assuming the transposition to have been made +intentionally, what could have been the purpose of the act? To this +question, so far as the immediate purpose was concerned, the answer +was obvious enough, since only one was possible. The blanks must have +been put into Mr. Penfield’s envelope for the express purpose of +notifying the solicitor that Purcell was a bank-note forger; in short, +for the purpose of exposing Purcell. This led at once to the third +question: Who could have had such a purpose? But to this also the +answer was obvious. The only person who could have had such a purpose +would be a confederate; for no one else would have been in possession +of the knowledge that would make such a purpose possible. The +transposition could have been made only by some one who knew what the +contents of the envelopes were. + +But why should any confederate have done this? The exposure of Purcell +involved at least a risk of the exposure of his confederate; and it +could be assumed that if Purcell suspected that he had been betrayed, +he would certainly denounce his betrayer. The object, therefore, could +not have been to secure the arrest of Purcell, a conclusion that was +confirmed by the fact that Purcell had become aware of the +transposition, and if he had not done it himself, must apparently have +been informed in time to allow of his escaping. + +But what other object could there be? Was it possible that the +confederate wished to get rid of Purcell and made this exposure with +the express purpose of compelling him to disappear? That raised the +question: When did Purcell become aware that the transposition had +been made? And the answer was somewhat perplexing. He could not have +become aware of it immediately, or he would have telegraphed to +Penfield and stopped the letter; and yet he seemed to have absconded +at once, before the letter could have been delivered to Penfield. He +was due at Oulton the following day and he never arrived there. He was +stated to have gone from Penzance to Falmouth. That might or might not +be true; but the voyage to Ipswich was evidently a myth. The answer +that he had received from the owners of the _Hedwig_, enclosing a +report from the captain of the ship, showed that the only passengers +who embarked at Falmouth were three distressed Swedish sailors, who +travelled with the ship to Malmo, and that no one went ashore at +Ipswich. It followed that Varney had either been misinformed or had +invented the incidents; but when it was considered that he must, if he +was telling the truth, have been misinformed in the same manner on two +separate occasions, it seemed much more probable that the story of the +voyage was a fabrication. In that case the journey to Falmouth—of +which no one but Varney had heard—was probably a fabrication, too. +This left Penzance as the apparent starting-point of the flight. +Purcell had certainly landed at Penzance and had forthwith disappeared +from view. What became of him thereafter it was impossible to guess. +He seemed to have vanished into thin air. + +Arrived at this point, Thorndyke’s quietly reflective attitude +suddenly gave place to one of more intense attention. For a new and +somewhat startling question had presented itself. With an expression +of deep concentration, he set himself to consider it. + +Hitherto he had accepted Purcell’s landing at Penzance as an +undeniable fact from which a secure departure could be taken. But was +it an undeniable fact? The only witness of that landing was Varney; +and Varney had shown himself a very unreliable witness. Apparently he +had lied about the Ipswich voyage; probably, too, about the visit to +Falmouth. What if the landing at Penzance were a fabrication, too? It +seemed a wild suggestion; but it was a possibility; and Thorndyke +proceeded carefully to develop the consequences that would follow if +it were true. + +Suppose that Purcell had never landed at Penzance at all. Then several +circumstances hitherto incomprehensible became understandable. The +fables of Purcell’s appearance at Falmouth and Ipswich, which had +seemed to be motiveless falsehoods, now showed a clear purpose; which +was to create a certainty that Purcell had landed from the yacht as +stated and to shift the search for the missing man from Penzance to +Ipswich. Again, if Purcell had never landed at Penzance, the letter +could not have been posted by him and it became practically certain +that it must have been posted there by Varney and the transposition +made by him. And this made the transposition understandable by +developing a very evident purpose. When Penfield opened the letter and +when, later, he heard of Purcell’s disappearance, he would at once +assume that Purcell had absconded to avoid being arrested. The purpose +of the transposition, then, was to furnish a reasonable explanation of +a disappearance that had already occurred. + +But what had become of Purcell? If he had not landed at Penzance, he +certainly had not landed anywhere else, for there had not been time +for the yacht to touch at any other port. Nor could it be supposed +that he had transhipped on to another vessel during the voyage. There +was no reason why he should. The letter had not been posted; and until +it had been posted, there was no reason for flight. The only +reasonable inference from the facts, including Varney’s false +statements, was that something had happened during the voyage from +Sennen; that Purcell had disappeared—presumably overboard—and that +Varney had reasons for concealing the circumstances of his +disappearance. In short, that Purcell was dead and that Varney was +responsible for his death. + +It was an appalling theory. Thorndyke hardly dared even to propound it +to himself. But there was no denying that it fitted the facts with the +most surprising completeness. Once assume it to be true and all the +perplexing features of the case became consistent and understandable. +Not only did it explain Varney’s otherwise inexplicable anxiety to +prove that Purcell had been seen alive at a date subsequent to that of +the alleged landing at Penzance; it accounted for the facts that +Purcell had taken no measures to provide himself with a stock of cash +before disappearing and that he had made no communication of any sort +to his wife since his departure, though he could have done so with +perfect safety. It was in perfect agreement with all the known facts +and in disagreement with none. It was a complete solution of the +mystery; and there was no other. + +When Thorndyke reached this conclusion, he roused himself from his +reverie, and, filling his pipe, took an impartial survey of the scheme +of circumstantial evidence that he had been engaged in constructing. +It was all very complete and consistent. There were, so far, no +discrepancies or contradictions. All the evidence pointed in the one +direction. The assumed actions of Varney were in complete agreement +with the circumstances that were known and the others that were +inferred as well as with the assumed motives. But it was largely +hypothetical and might turn out to be entirely illusory. If only one +of the assumed facts should prove to be untrue, the whole structure of +inference would come tumbling down. He took out of his pocketbook the +folded paper containing the single moustache hair that the +Superintendent had found in the Clifford’s Inn rooms. Laying it on a +sheet of white paper, he once more examined it, first through his +lens, then under the microscope, noting the length, thickness and +colour and mentally visualizing the kind of moustache from which it +had come. Here was an indispensable link in the chain of evidence. If +Purcell had had such a moustache, that would not prove that he and +Bromeswell were one and the same person, but it would be consistent +with their identity. But if Purcell had no such moustache, then it was +probable—indeed, nearly certain—that he and Bromeswell were different +persons. And if they were, the whole hypothetical scheme that he had +been working out collapsed. Both Purcell and Varney ceased to have any +connection with the forged notes; the mysterious “enclosures” could +not be of the nature that he had assumed; and all the deductions from +those assumed facts ceased to be valid. It was necessary without delay +to test this essential link; to ascertain whether this derelict hair +could have been derived from Daniel Purcell. + +Enclosed with it was the slip of paper with the notes of the trains, +which he had, for the moment, forgotten. He now examined it minutely +and was once more struck by the intense blackness of the ink; and he +recalled that a similar intensity of blackness had been noticeable in +the address on Mr. Penfield’s envelope. It had appeared almost like +the black of a carbon ink, but he had decided that it was not. So it +was with the present specimen; but now he had the means of deciding +definitely. Fetching the microscope, he laid the paper on the stage +and examined it, first by reflected, then by transmitted light. The +examination made it clear that this was an iron-tannin ink of unusual +concentration with a “provisional” blue pigment—probably methyl blue. +There was only one letter—P—and this he tried to compare with the P on +Penfield’s envelope, so far as he could remember it, but he could not +get beyond a belief that there was a resemblance; a belief that would +have to be tested by a specimen of Purcell’s handwriting. + +Having finished with the paper he returned to the hair. He decided to +write to Margaret, asking for a description of her missing husband, +and had just reached out to the stationery case when an elaborate and +formal tattoo on the small brass knocker of the inner door arrested +him. Rising, he crossed the room and threw the door open, thereby +disclosing the dorsal aspect of a small, elderly gentleman. As the +door opened the visitor turned about and Thorndyke immediately, not +without surprise, recognized him. It was Mr. Penfield. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +In Which Mr. Penfield Receives a Shock + +Mr. Penfield greeted Thorndyke with a little stiff bow and bestowed +upon the extended hand a formal and somewhat rheumatic shake. + +“I must apologize,” he said, as his host ushered him into the room, +“for disturbing you by this visit, but I had a little matter to +communicate to you and thought it better to make that communication +personally rather than by correspondence.” + +“You are not disturbing me at all,” Thorndyke replied. “On the +contrary, I expect that your visit will save me the necessity of +writing a letter.” + +“To me?” asked Penfield. + +“No; to Mrs. Purcell. I was on the point of writing to her to ask for +a description of her husband. As I have never met him I thought it as +well that I should get from her such details of his appearance as +might be necessary for purposes of identification.” + +“Quite so,” said Mr. Penfield. “Very desirable indeed. Well, I think I +can tell you all you want to know, unless you want very minute +details. And it happens that your inquiry comes rather opportunely in +respect of the matter that I have to communicate. Shall we dispose of +your question first?” + +“If you please,” replied Thorndyke. He took from a drawer a pad of +ruled paper, and, uncapping his fountain pen, looked at Mr. Penfield, +whom he had inducted into an easy chair. + +“May I offer you a cigar, Mr. Penfield?” he asked. + +“I thank you,” was the reply, “but I am not a smoker. Perhaps—” Here +he held out his snuff-box tentatively. “No? Well, it is an obsolete +vice, but I am a survivor from an obsolete age.” He refreshed himself +with a substantial pinch and continued: “With regard to Purcell: his +person is easy to describe and should be easy to identify. He is a big +lump of a man; about six feet or a fraction over. Massive, heavy, but +not fat; just elephantine. Rather slow in his movements but strong, +active and not at all clumsy. As to his face, I would call it beefy; a +full, red face with thick, bright red, crinkly ears and full lips. +Eyes, pale blue; hair, yellowish or light brown, cropped short. No +beard or whiskers but a little, bristly, pale-reddish moustache cut +short like a sandy toothbrush. Expression surly; manner, short, +brusque, taciturn and rather morose. Big, thick, purple hands that +look, in spite of their size, capable, neat and useful hands. In fact +the hands are an epitome of Purcell; a combination of massive strength +and weight with remarkable bodily efficiency. How will that do for +you?” + +“Admirably,” replied Thorndyke, inwardly somewhat surprised at the old +solicitor’s powers of observation. “It is a very distinctive picture +and quite enough for what we may call _prima facie_ identification. I +take it that you know him pretty well?” + +“I have seen a good deal of him since his marriage, when his wife +introduced him to me, and I have managed his legal business for some +years. But I know very little of his private affairs. Very few people +do, I imagine. I never met a less communicative man. And now, if we +have done with his appearance, let us come to the question of his +present whereabouts. Have you any information on the subject?” + +“There is a vague report that he was seen some months ago at Ipswich. +It is quite unconfirmed and I attach no importance to it.” + +“It is probably correct, though,” said Penfield. “I have just had a +letter from him and the post-mark shows that it came from that very +locality.” + +“There is no address on the letter, then?” + +“No; and I am invited to reply by advertisement. The occasion of the +letter was this: a client of mine, a Mrs. Catford, who is a relative +of Mrs. Purcell’s, had recently died, leaving a will of which I am the +executor and residuary legatee. By the terms of that will, Mrs. +Purcell and her husband each benefits to the extent of a thousand +pounds. Now as Mrs. Catford’s death occurred subsequently to Purcell’s +disappearance it became necessary to establish his survival of the +testatrix—or the contrary—in order that the will might be +administered. As his whereabouts were unknown, the only method that I +could think of was to put an advertisement in the ‘personal’ column of +_The Times_ on the bare chance that he might see it, asking him to +communicate with me. By a lucky chance, he did see it and did +communicate with me. But he gave no address; and any further +communication from me will have to be by advertisement, as he +suggests. That, however, is of no importance to me. His letter tells +me all I want to know; that he is alive at a date subsequent to the +death of the testatrix and that the bequest in his favour can +consequently take effect. I am not concerned with his exact +whereabouts. That matter is in your province.” + +As he concluded, punctuating his conclusion with a pinch of snuff, the +old lawyer looked at Thorndyke with a sly and slightly ironical smile. + +Thorndyke reflected rapidly on Mr. Penfield’s statement. The +appearance of this letter was very remarkable, and the more so coming +as it did on top of the confirmatory evidence respecting the moustache +hair. It was now highly probable—almost certain—that Bromeswell and +Purcell were one and the same person. But if that were so, all the +probabilities went to show that Purcell must be dead. And yet here was +a letter from him, not to a stranger but to one who knew his +handwriting well. It was very remarkable. + +Again, the report of Purcell’s voyage from Falmouth to Ipswich was +certainly untrue. But if it was untrue, there was no reason for +supposing that Purcell had ever been at Ipswich at all. Yet here was a +letter sent by Purcell from that very locality. That was very +remarkable, too. Clearly, the matter called for further investigation; +and that involved, in the first place, an examination of this letter +that had come so mysteriously to confirm a report that was certainly +untrue. He returned Mr. Penfield’s smile and then asked: + +“You accept this letter, then, as evidence of survival?” + +Mr. Penfield looked astonished. “But, my dear sir, what else could I +do? I may be insufficiently critical, and I have not your great +special knowledge of this subject, but to my untrained intelligence it +would appear that the circumstance of a man’s having written a letter +affords good presumptive evidence that he was alive at the date when +it was written. That is my own view and I propose to administer the +will in accordance with it. Do I understand that you dissent from it?” + +Thorndyke smiled blandly. He was beginning rather to like Mr. +Penfield. + +“As you state the problem,” said he, “you are probably right. At any +rate the administration of the will is your concern and not mine. As +you were good enough to remark, my concern is with the person and the +whereabouts of Mr. Purcell and not with his affairs. Were you +proposing to allow me to inspect the envelope of this letter?” + +“It was for that very purpose that I came,” replied Penfield with a +smile and a twinkle of mischief in his eyes; “but I will not restrict +you to the envelope this time. You shall inspect the letter as well, +if a mere letter will not be superfluous when the envelope has given +up its secrets.” + +He produced a wallet from his pocket and, opening it, took out a +letter which he gravely handed to Thorndyke. The latter took it from +him, and as he glanced at the jet-black writing of the address, said: +“I take it that you are satisfied that the handwriting is Purcell’s?” + +“Certainly,” was the reply. “But whose else should it be? The question +does not seem to arise. However, I may assure you that it is +undoubtedly Purcell’s writing, and also Purcell’s ink, though that is +less conclusive. Still, it is a peculiar ink. I have never seen any +quite like it. My impression is that he prepares it himself.” + +As Penfield was speaking, Thorndyke examined the envelope narrowly. +Presently he rose and, taking a reading-glass from the mantel-shelf, +went over to the window, where, with the aid of the glass, he +scrutinized the envelope inch by inch on both sides. Then, laying down +the reading-glass, he took from his pocket a powerful doublet lens +through which he examined certain parts of the envelope, particularly +the stamp and the London post-mark. Finally he took out the letter, +opened the envelope and carefully examined its interior, and then +inspected the letter itself before unfolding it, holding it so that +the light fell on it obliquely and scrutinizing each of the four +corners in succession. At length he opened the letter, read it +through, again examined the corners, and compared some portions of the +writing with that on the envelope. + +These proceedings were closely observed by Mr. Penfield, who watched +them with an indulgent smile. He was better able than on the last +occasion to appreciate the humour of Thorndyke’s methods. There was +nothing about this letter that he had need to conceal. He could afford +to let the expert find out what he could this time; and Mr. Penfield, +from a large and unfavourable experience of expert witnesses, +suspected that the discovery would probably take the form of a mare’s +nest. + +“Well,” he said, as Thorndyke returned to his chair with the letter in +his hand, “has the oracle spoken? Have we made any startling +discoveries?” + +“I wouldn’t use the word ‘discoveries,’” replied Thorndyke, “which +seems to imply facts definitely ascertained; but there are certain +appearances which suggest a rather startling inference.” + +“Indeed!” said Mr. Penfield, taking snuff with great enjoyment. “I +somehow expected that they would when I decided to show you the +letter. What is the inference that is suggested?” + +“The inference is,” replied Thorndyke, “that this letter has never +been through the post.” + +Mr. Penfield paused with his hand uplifted, holding a minute pinch of +snuff, and regarded Thorndyke in silent astonishment. + +“That,” he said, at length, “is certainly a startling inference; and +it would be still more startling if there were any possibility that it +could be true. Unfortunately the letter bears a post-mark showing that +it was posted at Woodbridge, and another showing that it was sorted at +the London office. But no doubt you have observed and allowed for +those facts.” + +“The appearances,” said Thorndyke, “suggest that when the post-marks +were made, the envelope was empty and probably unaddressed.” + +“But, my dear sir,” protested Penfield, “that is a manifest +impossibility. You must see that for yourself. How could such a thing +possibly have happened?” + +“That is a separate question,” replied Thorndyke. “I am now dealing +only with the appearances. Let me point them out to you. First, you +will notice that the words ‘Personal and Confidential’ have been +written at the top of the envelope. Apparently the word ‘Personal’ was +first written alone and the words ‘and Confidential’ added as an +afterthought. That is suggested by the change in the writing and the +increasingly condensed form of the letters towards the end due to the +want of space. But in spite of the squeezing up of the letters, the +tail of the final l has been forced onto the stamp and actually +touches the circle of the post-mark; and if you examine it through +this lens, you can see plainly that the written line is on top of the +post-mark. Therefore the post-mark was already there when that word +was written.” + +He handed the envelope and the lens to Mr. Penfield, who, after some +ineffectual struggles, rejected the lens and had recourse to his +spectacles. + +“It has somewhat the appearance that you suggest,” he said at length; +“but I have not your expert eye and therefore not your confidence. I +should suppose it to be impossible to say with certainty whether one +written mark was on top of or underneath another.” + +“Very well,” said Thorndyke; “then we will proceed to the next point. +You will notice that both of the post-marks are deeply indented; +unusually so. As a matter of fact, post-marks are usually not visibly +indented at all; and it is a noticeable coincidence that this envelope +should bear two different post-marks, each unusually indented.” + +“Still,” said Penfield, “that might easily have happened. The laws of +chance are not applicable to individual cases.” + +“Quite so,” Thorndyke agreed. “But now observe another point. These +post-marks are so deeply indented that, in both cases, the impression +is clearly visible on the opposite side of the envelope, especially +inside. That is rather remarkable, seeing that, if the letter was +inside, the impression must have penetrated four thicknesses of +paper.” + +“Still,” said Penfield, “it is not impossible.” + +“Perhaps not,” Thorndyke admitted. “But what does seem impossible is +that it should have done so without leaving any trace on the letter +itself. But that is what has happened. If you will examine the letter +you will see that there is not a vestige of an indentation on any part +of it. From which, you must agree with me that the only reasonable +inference is that when the indentations were made, the letter was not +in the envelope.” + +Mr. Penfield took the letter and the envelope and compared them +carefully. There was no denying the obvious facts. There was the +envelope with the deeply indented post-marks showing plainly on the +reverse sides, and there was the letter with never a sign of any mark +at all. It was certainly very odd. Mr. Penfield was a good deal +puzzled and slightly annoyed. To his orthodox legal mind this prying +into concrete facts and physical properties was rather distasteful. He +was accustomed to sworn testimony, which might be true or might be +untrue (but that was the witnesses’ lookout) but which could be +accepted as admitted evidence. He could not deny that the facts were +apparently as Thorndyke had stated. But that unwilling admission +produced no conviction. He was a lawyer, not a scientific observer. + +“Yes,” he agreed, reluctantly, “the appearances are as you say. But +they must be in some way illusory. Perhaps some difference in the +properties of the paper may be the explanation. At any rate, I cannot +accept your inference, for the simple reason that it predicates an +impossibility. It assumes that this man, or some other, posted a +blank, empty envelope, got it back, put a letter in it, addressed it, +and then delivered it by hand, having travelled up from Woodbridge to +do so. That would be an impossibility, unless the person were a +post-office official; and then, what on earth could be the object of +such an insane proceeding? Have you asked yourself that question?” + +As a matter of fact, Thorndyke had; and he had deduced a completely +sufficient answer. But he did not feel called upon to explain this. It +was not his concern to convince Mr. Penfield. That gentleman’s beliefs +were a matter of perfect indifference to him. He had considered it +fair to draw Mr. Penfield’s attention to the observed facts and even +to point out the inferences that they suggested. But if Mr. Penfield +chose to shut his eyes to the facts, or to reject the obvious +inferences, that was his affair. + +“At the moment,” he replied, “I am concerned with the appearances and +the immediate inferences from them. When I am sure of my facts I shall +go on to consider their bearing; those questions of motive, for +instance, to which you have referred. That would be premature until I +have verified the facts by a more searching examination. Would it be +convenient for you to leave this letter with me for a few hours, that +I might examine it more completely?” + +Mr. Penfield would have liked to refuse. But there was no pretext for +such refusal. He therefore made a virtue of necessity and replied +graciously: + +“Certainly, certainly. By all means. I will just take a copy and then +you can do as you please with the original, short of destroying it. +But don’t, pray don’t let it lead you astray.” + +“In what respect?” + +“Well,” said Penfield, taking a deprecating pinch of snuff, “it has +sometimes seemed to me that the specialist has a tendency—just a +tendency, mark you—to mislead himself. He looks for a certain thing, +which might be there, and—well, he finds it. I cannot but remark your +own unexpected successes in your search for the—ha—the unusual, shall +we say. On two occasions I have shown you an envelope. On both +occasions you have made most surprising discoveries, involving the +strangest aberrations of conduct on the part of Purcell and others. +To-day you have found unheard-of anomalies in the post-marks, from +which you infer that Purcell or another has exerted immense ingenuity +and overcome insuperable obstacles in order to behave like a fool. On +the previous occasion you discovered that Purcell had been at the +trouble of ungumming the envelope which he had undoubtedly addressed +with his own hand, for the express purpose of taking out the right +contents which were already in it, and putting in the wrong ones. +Perhaps you have made some other discoveries which you did not +mention,” Mr. Penfield added after a slight pause, and as Thorndyke +only bowed slightly—which was not very explicit—he further added: +“Would it be indiscreet or impertinent to enquire whether you did, in +fact, make any further discoveries? Whether, for instance, you arrived +at any opinion as to the nature of the enclosures, which were, I +think, the objects of your investigations?” + +Thorndyke hesitated. For a moment he was disposed to take the old +solicitor into his confidence. But experience had taught him, as it +teaches most of us, that when the making or withholding of confidences +are alternatives, he chooses the better part who keeps his own +counsel. Nevertheless he gave Penfield a cautionary hint. + +“Those enclosures,” said he, “have ceased to interest me. Any opinions +that I formed as to their nature had be better left unstated. I seek +no verification of them. Opinions held but not disclosed commit the +holder to nothing; whereas actual knowledge has its responsibilities. +I do not know what those enclosures were and I do not want to know.” + +For some moments after Thorndyke finished speaking there was a +slightly uncomfortable silence. Mr. Penfield’s dry facetiousness +evaporated rather suddenly, and he found himself reading a somewhat +alarming significance into Thorndyke’s ambiguous and even cryptic +reply. ‘He did not know and he did not want to know.’ Now Mr. Penfield +did know and would have given a good deal to be without that +knowledge; for to possess the knowledge was to be an accessory. Was +that what Thorndyke meant? Mr. Penfield had a dark suspicion that it +was. + +“Probably you are right,” he said presently. “You know what opinions +you formed and I do not. But there is one point that I should like to +have made clear. We are both acting in Mrs. Purcell’s interest, but +her husband is also my client. Is there any conflict in our purposes +with regard to him?” + +“I think not,” replied Thorndyke. “At any rate, I will say this much: +that I should under no circumstances take any action that might be +prejudicial to him without your concurrence, or at least, without +placing you in possession of all the facts. But I feel confident that +no such necessity will arise. We are dealing with separate aspects of +the case, but it would be foolish for us to get at cross purposes.” + +“Exactly,” said Mr. Penfield. “That is my own feeling. And with regard +to this letter; if it should yield any further suggestions and you +should consider them as being of any interest to me, perhaps you would +be so good as to inform me of them.” + +“I will, certainly,” Thorndyke replied; “and, by the way, what are you +going to do? Shall you issue any further advertisement?” + +“I had not intended to,” said Penfield; “but perhaps it would be well +to try to elicit a further reply. I might ask Purcell to send a +receipt for the legacy, which I shall pay into his bank. He knows the +amount, so that I need not state it.” + +“I think that would be advisable,” said Thorndyke; “but my impression +is that there will be no reply.” + +“Well, we shall see,” said Penfield, rising and drawing on his gloves. +“If an answer comes, you shall see it, and if there is no answer, I +will advise you to that effect. You will agree with me that we keep +our own counsel about the matters that we have discussed;” and as +Thorndyke assented, he added: “of course the actual receipt of the +letter is no secret.” + +With this and a stiff handshake Mr. Penfield took his departure, +cogitating profoundly as he wended his way eastward, wondering how +much Thorndyke really knew about those unfortunate enclosures and how +he came by his knowledge. + +Meanwhile Thorndyke, as soon as he was alone, resumed his examination +of the letter, calling in now the aid of more exact methods. Placing +on the table a microscope specially constructed for examining +documents, he laid the envelope on the stage and inspected the +post-mark at the point where the tail of the l touched it. The higher +magnification at once resolved any possible uncertainty. The written +line was on top of the post-mark beyond all doubt. But it also brought +another anomaly into view. It was now evident that the indentation of +the post-mark did not coincide with the whole width of the printed +line. The indented line was somewhat narrower. It consisted of a +furrow, deepest in the middle, which followed the printed line but did +not completely occupy it, and in one or two places strayed slightly +outside it. On turning the envelope over and testing the other +post-mark, the same peculiarity was observable. The indentation was a +thing separate from the printed mark and had been produced by a +separate operation; apparently with a bluntly-pointed tool; which +would account for its excessive depth. + +It was an important discovery in two respects. First it confirmed the +other evidence that the letter had never been posted; and, secondly, +it threw some light on the means by which the post-mark had been +produced. What was the object of the indentation? Evidently to imitate +the impression of metal types and disguise the method that had +actually been used. + +What was that method? It was not photography, for the marks were in +printers’ ink. It was not copperplate, for the engraved plate throws +up a line in relief, whereas these lines were flat like the lines of a +lithograph. In fact lithography appeared to be the only alternative; +and with this view the appearances agreed completely, particularly the +thick, black ink, quite different from the rather fluid ink used by +the Post Office. + +From the post-marks Thorndyke now transferred his attention to the +writing. He had been struck by the exact resemblance of the name +“Penfield” on the envelope to the same name in the letter. Each was a +perfect facsimile of the other. Placing them together, he could not +see a single point of difference or variation between them. With a +delicate caliper-gauge he measured the two words, taking the total +length, the height of each letter and the distance between various +points. In all cases the measurements were practically identical. Now +such perfect repetition as this does not happen in natural writing. It +is virtually diagnostic of forgery; of a forgery by means of a careful +tracing from an original. And Thorndyke had no doubt that this was +such a forgery. + +Confirmation was soon forthcoming. An exploration with the microscope +of the surfaces of the envelope and the letter showed in both a number +of minute spindle-shaped fragments of rubber. Something had been +rubbed out. Then, on examining the words by transmitted light powerful +enough to turn the jet-black writing into a deep purple, there could +be seen through the ink a broken grey line—the remains of a pencil +line which the ink had partly protected from the rubber. Similar +remains of a pencil tracing were to be seen in other parts of the +letter, especially in the signature. In short there was no possible +doubt that the whole production, letter and post-marks alike, was a +forgery. + +The next question was: Who was the forger? But the answer to that +seemed to be contained in the further question: What was the purpose +of the forgery? For the evident purpose of this letter was to furnish +evidence that Purcell was still alive; and as such it had been +accepted by Mr. Penfield. That distinctly pointed to Varney, who had +already made two false—or at least incorrect—statements, apparently +with the same object. The skill with which the forgery had been +executed also pointed to him, for an engraver must needs be a skilful +copyist. There was only one doubtful point. Whoever had prepared this +letter was a lithographer; not a mere draughtsman but a printer as +well. Now was Varney a lithographer? It was extremely probable. Many +etchers and mezzotinters work also on the stone. But until it had been +ascertained that he was, the authorship of the letter must be left in +suspense. But assuming the letter to be Varney’s work, it was evident +that Mr. Penfield’s visit had added materially to the body of +circumstantial evidence. It had established that Purcell had worn a +moustache apparently identical in character with that of the elusive +Bromeswell; which, taken in conjunction with all the other known +facts, made it nearly a certainty that Bromeswell and Purcell were one +and the same person. But that assumption had been seen to lead to the +inference that Purcell was dead and that Varney was responsible for, +or implicated in, the circumstances of his death. Then there was this +letter. It was a forged letter, and its purpose was to prove that +Purcell was alive. But the fact that it was necessary to forge a +letter to prove that he was alive, was in itself presumptive evidence +that he was not alive. Subject to proof that Varney was a lithographer +and therefore capable of producing this forgery, the evidence that Mr. +Penfield had brought furnished striking confirmation of the hypothesis +that Thorndyke had formed as to what had become of Daniel Purcell. + + + +CHAPTER X + +In Which Thorndyke Sees a New Light + +“We shall only be three at dinner, after all,” said Margaret. “Mr. +Rodney will be detained somewhere, but he is coming in for a chat +later in the evening.” + +Varney received the news without emotion. He could do without Rodney. +He would not have been desolated if the other guest had been a +defaulter, too. At any rate, he hoped that he would not be needlessly +punctual and thus shorten unduly the tête-à-tête with Margaret which +he—Varney—had secured by exercising the privilege of an old friend to +arrive considerably before his time. + +“You have only met Dr. Thorndyke once before, I think?” said Margaret. + +“Yes; at Sennen, you know; the day that queer letter came from Mr. +Penfield, and I didn’t see much of him then. I remember that I was a +little mystified about him; couldn’t quite make out whether he was a +lawyer, a doctor or a man of science.” + +“As a matter of fact, he is all three. He is what is called a medical +jurist; a sort of lawyer who deals with legal cases that involve +medical questions. I understand that he is a great authority on +medical evidence.” + +“What legal cases do involve medical questions?” + +“I don’t know much about it,” replied Margaret, “but I believe they +include questions of survivorship and cases of presumption of death.” + +“Presumption of death!” repeated Varney. “What on earth does that +mean?” + +“I am not very clear about it myself,” she replied, “but from what I +am told, I gather that it is a sort of legal proceeding that takes +place when a person disappears permanently and there is uncertainty as +to whether he or she is dead or alive. An application is made to the +court for permission to presume that the person is dead; and if the +court gives the permission, the person is then legally presumed to be +dead and his will can be administered and his affairs wound up. That +is an instance of the kind of case that Dr. Thorndyke undertakes. He +must have had quite a lot of experience of persons who have +disappeared, and for that reason Mr. Rodney advised me to consult him +about Dan.” + +“Do you mean with a view to presuming his death?” asked Varney, +inwardly anathematizing Dan for thus making his inevitable appearance +in the conversation, but keenly interested nevertheless. + +“No,” replied Margaret. “I consulted him quite soon after Dan went +away. What I asked him to do was to find out, if possible, what had +become of him, and if he could discover his whereabouts, to get into +touch with him.” + +“Well,” said Varney, “he doesn’t seem to have had much luck up to the +present. He hasn’t been able to trace Dan, has he?” + +“No,” she replied; “at least, I suppose not. But we know where the +lost sheep is now. Had you heard about the letter?” + +“The letter?” + +“Yes. From Dan. He wrote to Mr. Penfield a few days ago.” + +“Did he though?” said Varney with well-simulated surprise. “From +somewhere abroad, I suppose?” + +“No. The post-mark was Woodbridge—there was no address;” and here +Margaret briefly explained the circumstances. + +“It sounds rather as if he were afloat,” said Varney. “That is an +ideal coast for lurking about in a smallish yacht. There is endless +cover in the rivers and the creeks off the Colne, the Roach, the +Crouch and the Blackwater. But it looks as if he had made more +preparations for the flitting than we thought at the time. He hasn’t +written to you?” + +Margaret shook her head. The affront was too gross for comment. + +“It was beastly of him,” said Varney. “He might have sent you just a +line. However, Dr. Thorndyke will have something to go on now. He will +know whereabouts to look for him.” + +“As far as I am concerned,” Margaret said coldly, “the affair is +finished. This insult was the last straw. I have no further interest +in him and I hope I may never see him again. But,” she added earnestly +after a brief pause, “I should like to be rid of him completely. I +want my freedom.” As she spoke—with unusual emphasis and energy—she +looked, for a moment, straight into Varney’s eyes. Then suddenly she +flushed scarlet and turned her head away. + +Varney was literally overwhelmed. He felt the blood rush to his head +and tingle in the tips of his fingers. After one swift glance, he too +turned away his head. He did not dare to look at her. Nor, for some +seconds did he dare to trust his voice. At last it had come! In the +twinkling of an eye, his dim hopes, more than half distrusted, had +changed into realities. For there could be no doubt. That look into +his eyes, that sudden blush, what could they be but an unpremeditated, +unintended confession? She wanted her freedom. That unguarded glance +told him why; and then her mantling cheeks while they rebuked the +glance, but served to interpret its significance. + +With an effort, he regained his normal manner. His natural delicacy +told him that he must not be too discerning. He must take no +cognizance of this confidence that was never intended. She must still +think that her secret was locked up in her own breast secure from +every eye—even from his. + +And yet what a pitiful game of cross-purposes they were playing! She +wanted her freedom! And behold! she was free; and he knew it and could +not tell her. What a tangle it was! And how was it ever going to be +straightened out? In life, Purcell had stood between him and liberty; +and now the ghost—nay! less than the ghost. The mere unsubstantial +name of Purcell stood between him and a lifelong happiness that +Fortune was actually holding out to him. + +It was clear that, sooner or later, the ghost of Purcell would have to +be laid. But how? And here it began to dawn upon him that the +ingenious letter, on which he had been congratulating himself, had +been a tactical mistake. He had not known about Dr. Thorndyke, and he +had never heard before of the possibility of presuming a person’s +death. He had been busying himself to produce convincing evidence that +Purcell was alive, whereas it was possible that Thorndyke had been +considering the chances of being able to presume his death. It was +rather a pity; for Purcell had got to be disposed of before he could +openly declare himself to Maggie; and this method of legal presumption +of death appeared to be the very one that suited the conditions. He +wished he had known about it before. + +These reflections flashed through his mind in the silence that had +followed Margaret’s unguarded utterance. For the moment Varney had +been too overcome to reply. And Margaret suddenly fell silent with an +air of some confusion. Recovering himself, Varney now replied in a +tone of conventional sympathy. + +“Of course you do. The bargain is off on the one side, and it is not +reasonable that it should hold on the other. You don’t want to be +shackled forever to a man who has gone out of your life. But I don’t +quite see what is to be done.” + +“Neither do I,” said Margaret. “Perhaps the lawyers will be able to +make some suggestion—and I think I hear one of them arriving.” + +A moment or two later the door opened and the housemaid announced “Dr. +Thorndyke.” Varney stood up, and as the guest was ushered in, he +looked with deep curiosity, not entirely unmingled with awe, at this +tall, imposing man who held in his mind so much recondite knowledge +and doubtless so many strange secrets. + +“I think you know Mr. Varney,” said Margaret as she shook hands, +“though you hadn’t much opportunity to improve his acquaintance at +Sennen.” + +“No,” Thorndyke agreed. “Mr. Penfield’s bombshell rather distracted +our attention from the social aspects of that gathering. However, we +are free from his malign influence this evening.” + +“I am not sure that we are,” said Varney. “Mrs. Purcell tells me that +he has just produced another mysterious letter.” + +“I shouldn’t call it mysterious,” said Thorndyke. “On the contrary, it +resolves the mystery. We now know, approximately, where Mr. Purcell +is.” + +“Yes, it ought to be easy to get on his track now. That, I understand, +is what you have been trying to do. Do you propose to locate him more +exactly?” + +“I see no reason for doing so,” replied Thorndyke. “His letter answers +Mr. Penfield’s purpose, which was to produce evidence that he is +alive. But his letter does raise certain questions that will have to +be considered. We shall hear what Mr. Rodney has to say on the +subject. He is coming to-night, isn’t he?” + +“He is not coming to dinner,” said Margaret, “but he is going to drop +in later. There goes the gong. Shall we go into the dining room?” + +Thorndyke held the door open and they crossed the corridor to the +pleasant little room beyond. As soon as they had taken their places at +the table, Margaret led off the conversation with a rather definite +change of subject. “Have you brought any of your work to show us, Mr. +Varney?” she asked. + +“Yes,” he replied; “I have brought one or two etchings that I don’t +think you have seen, and a couple of aquatints.” + +“Aquatints,” said Margaret. “Isn’t that a new departure?” + +“No. It is only a revival. I used to do a good deal of aquatint work, +but I have not done any for quite a long time until I attacked these +two. I like a change of method now and again. But I always come back +to etchings.” + +“Do you work much with the dry point?” asked Thorndyke. + +“Not the pure dry point,” was the reply. “Of course, I use it to do +finishing work on my etchings, but that is a different thing. I have +done very few dry points proper. I like the bitten line.” + +“I suppose,” said Thorndyke, “an etcher rather looks down on +lithography.” + +“I don’t think so,” replied Varney. “I don’t certainly. It is a fine +process and an autograph process, like etching and mezzotint. The +finished print is the artist’s own work, every bit of it, as much as +an oil painting.” + +“Doesn’t the printer take some of the credit?” Thorndyke asked. + +“I am assuming that the artist does his own printing. If he doesn’t, I +should not call him a lithographer. He is only a lithographic +draughtsman. When I used to work at lithography, I always did my own +printing. It is more than half the fun. I have the little press +still.” + +“Then perhaps you will revive that process, too, one day?” + +“I don’t think so,” Varney replied. “The flat surface of a lithograph +is rather unsatisfying after the rich raised lines of an etching. I +shall never go back to lithography, except, perhaps, for some odd +jobs;” and here a spirit of mischievous defiance impelled him to add, +“I did a little lithograph only the other day, but I didn’t keep it. +It was a crude little thing.” + +Thorndyke noted the statement with a certain grim appreciation. In +spite of himself, he could not but like Varney; and this playful, +sporting attitude in respect of a capital crime appeared to him as a +new experience. It established him and Varney as opposing players in a +sort of grim and tragic game, and it confirmed him in certain opinions +that he had formed as to the antecedents and motives of the crime. +For, as to the reality of the crime he now had no doubt. The statement +that Varney had just made in all the insolence of his fancied security +had set the keystone on the edifice that Thorndyke had built up. +Circumstantial evidence has a cumulative quality. It advances by a +sort of geometrical progression in which each new fact multiplies the +weight of all the others. The theory that Varney had made away with +Purcell involved the assumption that Varney was a lithographer who was +able to print. It was now established that Varney was a lithographer +and that he owned a press. Thus the train of circumstantial evidence +was complete. + +It was a most singular situation. In the long pauses which tend to +occur when good appetites coincide with a good dinner, the two men, +confronting one another across the table, sat, each busy with his +thoughts behind the closed shutters of his mind, each covertly +observant of the other and each the object of the other’s meditations. +To Varney had come once more that queer feeling of power that he had +experienced at Sennen when Mr. Penfield’s letter had arrived; the +sense of an almost godlike superiority and omniscience. Here were +these simple mortals, full of wonder, perplexity and speculation as to +the vanished Purcell. And they were all wrong. But he knew everything. +And he was the motive power behind all their ineffectual movements. It +was he who, by the pressure of a finger, had set this puppet-show in +motion; and he had but to tweak a string in his quiet studio and they +were all set dancing again. Every one of them was obedient to his +touch; Maggie, Penfield, Rodney, even this strong-faced, inscrutable +man whose eye he had just met; all of them were the puppets whose +movements, joint or separate, were directed by his guiding hand. + +Thorndyke’s reflections were more complex. From time to time he +glanced at Varney—he was too good an observer to need to +stare—profoundly interested in his appearance. No man could look less +like a murderer than this typical artist with his refined face, dreamy +yet vivacious, and his suave, gentle manners. Yet that, apparently, +was what he was. Moreover, he was a forger of banknotes—perhaps of +other things, too, as suggested by the very expert production of this +letter—and had almost certainly uttered the forged notes. That was, so +to speak, the debit side of his moral account; and there was no +denying that it was a pretty heavy one. + +On the other hand, he was evidently making a serious effort to earn an +honest living. His steady industry was clear proof of that. It was +totally unlike a genuine criminal to work hard and with enthusiasm for +a modest income. Yet that was what he was evidently doing. It was a +very singular contradiction. His present mode of life, which was +evidently adapted to his temperament, seemed totally irreconcilable +with his lurid past. There seemed to be two Varneys; the criminal +Varney, practising felonies and not stopping short of murder, and the +industrious, artistic Varney, absorbed in his art and content with the +modest returns that it yielded. + +Which of them was the real Varney? As he debated this question, +Thorndyke turned to the consideration of the other partner in the +criminal firm. And this seemed to throw an appreciable light on the +question. Purcell had clearly been the senior partner. The initiative +must have been his. The starting-point of the banknote adventure must +have been the theft of the note-moulds at Maidstone. That had been +Purcell’s exploit; probably a lucky chance of which he had taken +instant advantage. But the moulds were of no use to him without an +engraver, so he had enlisted Varney’s help. Now, to what extent had +that help been willingly given? + +It was, of course, impossible to say. But it was possible to form a +reasonable opinion by considering the characters of the two men. On +the one hand, Varney, a gentle, amiable, probably pliable man. On the +other, Purcell, a strong, masterful bully; brutal, selfish, +unscrupulous; ready to trample ruthlessly on any rights or interests +that conflicted with his own desires. That was, in effect, the picture +of him that his wife had painted—the wife whom he had married, +apparently against her inclination, by putting pressure on her father +who was his debtor. Purcell was a money-lender, a usurer; and even at +that, a hard case, as Mr. Levy’s observations seemed to hint. Now a +usurer has certain affinities with a blackmailer. Their methods are +somewhat similar. Both tend to fasten on their victim and bleed him +continuously. Both act by getting a hold on the victim and putting on +the screw when necessary; and both are characterized by a remorseless +egoism. + +Now Purcell was clearly of the stuff of which blackmailers are made. +Was it possible that there was an element of blackmail in his +relations with Varney? The appearances strongly suggested it. Here +were two men jointly engaged in habitual crime. Suddenly one of them +is eliminated by the act of the other; and forthwith the survivor rids +himself of the means of repeating the crime and settles down to a life +of lawful industry. That was what had happened. The instant Varney had +got rid of Purcell, he had proceeded to get rid of the paper blanks by +sending them to Mr. Penfield, instead of printing them and turning +them into money; and by thus denouncing the firm, had made it +impossible, in any case, to continue the frauds. Then he had settled +down to regular work in his studio. That seemed to be the course of +events. + +It was extremely suggestive. Purcell’s disappearance coincided with +the end of the criminal adventure and the beginning of a reputable +mode of life. That seemed to supply the motive for the murder—if it +had been a murder. It suggested that no escape from the life of crime +had been possible so long as Purcell was alive; that Purcell had +obtained some kind of hold on Varney which enabled him to compel the +latter to continue in the criminal partnership; and that Varney had +taken the only means that were possible to rid himself of his +parasite. That was what it looked like. + +Of course this was mere guess-work. No proof was possible. But it +agreed with all the facts and it made Varney’s apparent dual +personality understandable. The real and essential Varney appeared to +be the artist, not the criminal. He appeared to be a normal man who +had committed a murder under exceptional circumstances. With the +bank-note business Thorndyke was not concerned and he had no knowledge +of its circumstances. But the murder was his concern and he set +himself to consider it. + +The hypothesis was that Purcell had been, in effect, a blackmailer and +that Varney had been his victim. Now, it must be admitted that +Thorndyke held somewhat unconventional views on the subject of +blackmail. He considered that a blackmailer acts entirely at his own +risk and that the victim (since the law can afford him but a very +imperfect protection) is entitled to take any available measures for +his own protection, including the elimination of the blackmailer. But +if the blackmailer acts at his own risk, so does the victim who elects +to make away with him. Morally, the killing of a blackmailer may be +justifiable homicide, but it has no such legal status. In law, +self-defence means defence against bodily injury, it does not include +defence against moral injury. Whoever elects to rid himself of a +blackmailer by killing him accepts the risk of a conviction on a +charge of murder. But that appeared to be Varney’s position. He had +accepted the risk. It was for him to avoid the consequences if he +could. As to Thorndyke, himself, though he might, like the Clerk of +Arraigns at the Old Bailey, wish the offender “a good deliverance,” +his part was to lay bare the hidden facts. He and Varney were players +on opposite sides. He would play impersonally, without malice and with +a certain good will to his opponent. But he must play his own hand and +leave his opponent to do the same. + +These reflections passed swiftly through his mind in the intervals of +a very desultory conversation. As he reached his conclusion, he once +more looked up at Varney. And then he received something like a shock. +At the moment no one was speaking, and Varney was sitting with his +eyes somewhat furtively fixed on Margaret’s downcast face. Now, to an +experienced observer, there is something perfectly unmistakable in the +expression with which a man looks at a woman with whom he is deeply in +love. And such was the expression that Thorndyke surprised on Varney’s +face. It was one of concentrated passion, of adoration. + +Thorndyke was completely taken aback. This was an entirely new +situation, calling for a considerable revision of his conclusions and +also of his sympathies. An eliminated blackmailer is one thing; +Uriah’s wife is another and a very different one. Thorndyke was rather +puzzled, for though the previous hypothesis hung fairly together, it +was now weakened by the possibility that the murder had been committed +merely to remove a superfluous husband. Not that it made any practical +difference. He was concerned with the fact of Purcell’s murder. The +motives were no affair of his. + +His reflections were interrupted by a question from Margaret. + +“You haven’t been down to Cornwall, I suppose, since you came to see +us at Sennen in the summer?” + +“No; I have not, but Professor D’Arcy has; and he is starting for +another trip at the end of next month.” + +“Is he still in search of worms? It was worms that you were going to +look for, wasn’t it?” + +“Yes, marine worms. But he is not fanatical on the subject. All marine +animals are fish that come to his net.” + +“You are using the word net in a metaphorical sense, I presume,” said +Varney. “Or does he actually use a net?” + +“Sometimes,” replied Thorndyke. “A good many specimens can be picked +up by searching the shore at low tide, but the most productive work is +done with the dredge. Many species are found only below low-water +mark.” + +“Is there anything particularly interesting about marine worms?” +Margaret asked. “There always seems something rather disgusting about +a worm, but I suppose that is only vulgar prejudice.” + +“It is principally unacquaintance with worms,” replied Thorndyke. +“They are a highly interesting group of animals, both in regard to +structure and habits. You ought to read Darwin’s fascinating book on +earth-worms and learn what an important part they play in the +fashioning of the earth’s surface. But the marine worms are not only +interesting; some of them are extraordinarily beautiful creatures.” + +“That was what Phillip Rodney used to say,” said Margaret, “but we +didn’t believe him, and he never showed us any specimens.” + +“I don’t know that he ever got any,” said Varney. “He made great +preparations in the way of bottles and jars, and then he spent most of +his time sailing his yacht or line-fishing from a lugger. The only +tangible result of his preparations was that remarkable jury button +that he fixed on Dan’s oilskin coat. You remember that button, Mrs. +Purcell?” + +“I remember something about a button, but I have forgotten the +details. What was it?” + +“Why, Dan lost the top button from his oiler and never got it +replaced. One day he lent the coat to Phillip to go home in the wet, +and as Phil was going out line-fishing the next day and his own oilers +were on the yacht, he thought he would take Dan’s. So he proceeded to +fix on a temporary button and a most remarkable job he made of it. It +seems that he hadn’t got either a button or a needle and thread, so he +extemporized. He took the cork out of one of his little collecting +bottles—it was a flat cork, waterproofed with paraffin wax, and it had +a round label inscribed ‘marine worms.’ Well, as he hadn’t a needle or +thread, he bored two holes through the cork with the little +marlinspike in his pocket-knife, passed through them the remains of a +fiddle-string that he had in his pocket, made two holes in the +oilskin, threaded the cat-gut through them and tied a reef-knot on the +inside.” + +“And did it answer?” asked Margaret. “It sounds rather clumsy.” + +“It answered perfectly. So well that it never got changed. It was on +the coat when Dan went up the ladder at Penzance, and it is probably +on it still. Dan seemed quite satisfied with it.” + +There was a brief silence, during which Thorndyke looked down +thoughtfully at his plate. Presently he asked. + +“Was the label over the wax or under it?” + +Varney looked at him in surprise, as also did Margaret. What on earth +could it matter whether the label were over or under the wax? + +“The label was under the wax,” the former replied. “I remember Phillip +mentioning the fact that the label was waterproof as well as the cork. +He made quite a point of it, though I didn’t see why. Do you?” + +“If he regarded the label as a decorative adjunct,” replied Thorndyke, +“he would naturally make a point of the impossibility of its getting +washed off, which was the object of the waxing.” + +“I suppose he would,” Varney agreed in an absent tone and still +looking curiously at Thorndyke. He had a feeling that the latter’s +mildly facetious reply was not quite “in key” with the very definite +question. Why had that question been asked? Had Thorndyke anything in +his mind? Probably not. What could he have? At any rate it was of no +consequence to him, Varney. + +In which he was, perhaps, mistaken. Thorndyke had been deeply +interested in the history of the button. Here was one of those queer, +incalculable trivialities which so often crop up in the course of a +criminal trial. By this time, no doubt, that quaint button was +detached and drifting about in the sea, or lying unnoticed on some +lonely beach among the high-water jetsam. The mere cork would be +hardly recognizable, but if the label had been protected by the wax, +it would be identifiable with absolute certainty. And, if ever it +should be identified, its testimony would go to prove the +improbability that Daniel Purcell ever went ashore at Penzance. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +In Which Varney Has an Inspiration + +The adjournment to the drawing-room was the signal for Varney to fetch +his portfolio and exhibit his little collection, which he did with a +frank interest and pleasure in his works that was yet entirely free +from any appearance of vanity. Thorndyke examined the proofs with a +curiosity that was not wholly artistic. Varney interested him +profoundly. There was about him a certain reminiscence of Benvenuto +Cellini, a combination of the thoroughgoing rascal with the sincere +and enthusiastic artist. But Thorndyke could not make up his mind how +close the parallel was. From Cellini’s grossness Varney appeared to be +free; but how about the other vices. Had Varney been forced into +wrongdoing by the pressure of circumstances on a weak will? Or was he +a criminal by choice and temperament? That was what Thorndyke could +not decide. + +An artist’s work may show only one side of his character, but it shows +that truthfully and unmistakably. A glance through Varney’s works made +it clear that he was an artist of no mean talent. There was not only +skill, which Thorndyke had looked for, but a vein of poetry which he +noted with appreciation and almost with regret. + +“You don’t seem to value your aquatints,” he said, “but I find them +very charming. This sea-scape with the fleet of luggers half hidden in +the mist and the lighthouse peeping over the top of the fog-bank, is +really wonderful. You couldn’t have done that with the point.” + +“No,” Varney agreed; “every process has its powers and its +limitations.” + +“The lighthouse, I suppose, is no lighthouse in particular?” + +“Well, no; but I had the Wolf in my mind when I planned this plate. As +a matter of fact, I saw a scene very like this when I was sailing +round with Purcell to Penzance the day he vanished. The lighthouse +looked awfully ghostly with its head out of the fog and its body +invisible.” + +“Wasn’t that the time you had to climb up the mast?” asked Margaret. + +“Yes; when the jib halyard parted and the jib went overboard. It was +rather a thrilling experience, for the yacht was out of control for +the moment and the Wolf rock was close under our lee. Dan angled for +sail while I went aloft.” + +Thorndyke looked thoughtfully at the little picture and Varney watched +him with outward unconcern but with secret amusement and a sort of +elfish mischief. + +And again he was conscious of a sense of power, of omniscience. Here +was this learned, acute lawyer and scientist looking in all innocence +at the very scene on which he, Varney, had looked as he was washing +the stain of Purcell’s blood from the sail. Little did he dream of the +event which this aquatint commemorated! For all his learning and his +acuteness, he, Varney, held him in the hollow of his hand. + +To Thorndyke, the state of mind revealed by this picture was as +surprising as it was illuminating. This was, in effect, a souvenir of +that mysterious and tragic voyage. Whatever had happened on that +voyage was clearly the occasion of no remorse. There was no shrinking +from the memory of that day, but rather evidence that it was recalled +with a certain satisfaction. In that there seemed a most singular +callousness. But what did that callous indifference, or even +satisfaction, suggest? A man who had made away with a friend with the +express purpose of getting possession of that friend’s wife would +surely look back on the transaction with some discomfort; indeed would +avoid looking back on it at all. Whereas one who had secured his +liberty by eliminating his oppressor could hardly be expected to feel +either remorse or regrets. It looked as if the blackmail theory were +the true one, after all. + +“That will be Mr. Rodney,” Margaret said, looking expectantly at the +door. + +“I didn’t hear the bell,” said Varney. Neither had Thorndyke heard it; +but he had not been listening, whereas Margaret apparently had, which +perhaps accounted for the slightly preoccupied yet attentive air that +he had noticed once or twice when he had looked at her. A few moments +later John Rodney entered the room unannounced and Margaret went +forward quickly to welcome him. And for the second time that evening, +Thorndyke found himself looking, all unsuspected, into the secret +chamber of a human heart. + +As Margaret had advanced towards the door, he and Varney stood up. +They were thus both behind her when Rodney entered the room. But on +the wall by the door was a small mirror; and in this Thorndyke had +caught an instantaneous glimpse of her face as she met Rodney. That +glimpse had told him what, perhaps, she had hardly guessed herself; +but the face which appeared for a moment in the mirror and was gone +was a face transfigured. Not, indeed, with the expression of +passionate adoration that he had seen on Varney’s face. That meant +passion consciously recognized and accepted. What Thorndyke saw on +Margaret’s face was a softening, a tender, joyful welcome such as a +mother might bestow on a beloved child. It spoke of affection rather +than passion. But it was unmistakable. Margaret Purcell loved John +Rodney. Nor, so far as Thorndyke could judge, was the affection only +on one side. Rodney, facing the room, naturally made no demonstration; +but still, his greeting had in it something beyond mere cordiality. + +It was an extraordinarily complex situation; and there was in it a +bitter irony such as De Maupassant would have loved. Thorndyke glanced +at Varney—from whom Margaret’s face had been hidden—with a new +interest. Here was a man who had made away with an unwanted husband, +perhaps with the sole purpose of securing the reversion of the wife! +and behold! he had only created a vacancy for another man. + +“This is a great pleasure, Thorndyke,” said Rodney, shaking hands +heartily. “Quite an interesting experience, too, to see you in evening +clothes, looking almost human. I am sorry I couldn’t get here to +dinner. I should like to have seen you taking food like an ordinary +mortal.” + +“You shall see him take some coffee presently,” said Margaret. “But +doesn’t Dr. Thorndyke usually look human?” + +“Well,” replied Rodney, “I won’t say that there isn’t a certain +specious resemblance of a human being. But it is illusory. He is +really a sort of legal abstraction like John Doe or Richard Roe. Apart +from the practice of the law there is no such person.” + +“That sounds to me like a libel,” said Margaret. + +“Yes,” agreed Varney. “You’ve done it now, Rodney. It must be +actionable to brand a man as a mere hallucination. There will be wigs +on the green—barrister’s wigs—when Dr. Thorndyke begins to deal out +writs.” + +“Then I shall plead justification,” said Rodney, “and I shall cite the +present instance. For what do these pretences of customary raiment and +food consumption amount to? They are mere camouflage, designed to +cover a legal inquiry into the disappearances from his usual places of +resort of one Daniel Purcell.” + +“Now you are only making it worse,” said Margaret, “for you are +implicating me. You are implying that my little dinner party is +nothing more than a camouflaged legal inquisition.” + +“And you are implicating me, too,” interposed Varney, “as an accessory +before, during and after the fact. You had better be careful, Rodney. +It will be a joint action, and Dr. Thorndyke will produce scientific +witnesses who will prove anything he tells them to.” + +“I call this intimidation,” said Rodney. “The circumstances seem to +call for the aid of tobacco—I see that permission has been given to +smoke.” + +“And perhaps a cup of coffee might help,” said Margaret, as the maid +entered with the tray. + +“Yes, that will clear my brain for the consideration of my defence. +But still, I must maintain that this is essentially a legal +inquisition. We have assembled primarily to consider the position +which is created by this letter that Penfield has received.” + +“Nothing of the kind,” said Margaret. “I asked you primarily that I +might enjoy the pleasure of your society and secondly that you might +enjoy the pleasure of one another’s—” + +“And yours.” + +“Thank you. But as to the letter, I don’t see that there is anything +to discuss. We now know where Dan is, but that doesn’t seem to alter +the situation.” + +“I don’t agree with you in either respect,” said Rodney. “There seems +to me a good deal to discuss; and our knowledge as to Dan’s +whereabouts alters the situation to this extent: that we can get into +touch with him if we want to—or, at least, Dr. Thorndyke can, I +presume.” + +“I am not so sure of that,” said Thorndyke. “But we could consider the +possibility if the necessity should arise. Had you anything in your +mind that would suggest such a necessity?” + +“What I have in my mind,” replied Rodney, “is this; Purcell has left +his wife for reasons known only to himself. He has never sent a word +of excuse, apology or regret. Until this letter arrived, it was +possible to suppose that he might be dead, or have lost his memory, or +in some other way be incapable of communicating with his friends. Now +we know that he is alive, that he has all his faculties—except the +faculty of behaving like a decent and responsible man—and that he has +gone away and is staying away of his own free will and choice. If +there was ever any question as to his coming back, there is none now; +and if there could ever have been any excuse or extenuation of his +conduct there is now none. We see that, although he has never sent a +message of any kind to his wife, yet, when the question of a sum of +money arises, he writes to his solicitor with the greatest +promptitude. That letter is a gross and callous insult to his wife.” + +Thorndyke nodded. “That seems to be a fair statement of the position,” +said he. “And I gather that you consider it possible to take some +action?” + +“My position is this,” said Rodney. “Purcell has deserted his wife. He +has shaken off all his responsibilities as a husband. But he has left +her with all the responsibilities and disabilities of a wife. He has +taken to himself the privileges of a bachelor; but she remains a +married woman. That is an intolerable position. My contention is that, +since he has gone for good, the tow-rope ought to be cut. He should be +set adrift finally and completely and she should be liberated.” + +“I agree with you entirely and emphatically,” said Thorndyke. “A woman +whose husband has left her, should, if she wishes it, revert to the +status of a spinster.” + +“And she does wish it,” interposed Margaret. + +“Naturally,” said Thorndyke. “The difficulty is in respect of ways and +means. Have you considered the question of procedure, Rodney?” + +“It seems to me,” was the reply, “that the ways and means are provided +by the letter itself. I suggest that the terms of that letter and the +circumstances in which it was written, afford evidence of desertion, +or at least good grounds for action.” + +“You may be right,” said Thorndyke, “but I doubt if it would be +accepted as evidence of an intention not to return. It seems to me +that a court would require something more definite. I suppose an +action for restitution, as a preliminary, would not be practicable?” + +Rodney shook his head emphatically, and Margaret pronounced a most +decided refusal. “I don’t want restitution,” she exclaimed, “and I +would not agree to it. I would not receive him back on any terms.” + +“He wouldn’t be likely to come back,” said Thorndyke; “and if he did +not, his failure to comply with the order of the court would furnish +definite grounds for further action.” + +“But he might come back, at least temporarily,” objected Margaret, “if +only by way of retaliation.” + +“Yes,” agreed Rodney, “it is perfectly possible; in, fact, it is +rather the sort of thing that Purcell would do—come back, make himself +unpleasant and then go off again. No; I am afraid that cat won’t +jump.” + +“Then,” said Thorndyke, “we are in difficulties. We want the marriage +dissolved, but we haven’t as much evidence as the court would +require.” + +“Probably more evidence could be obtained,” suggested Rodney, “and of +a different kind. Didn’t Penfield say something about an associate or +companion? Well, that is where our knowledge of Purcell’s whereabouts +should help us. If it were possible to locate him exactly and keep him +under observation, evidence of the existence of that companion might +be forthcoming, and then the case would be all plain sailing.” + +Thorndyke had been expecting this suggestion and considering how he +should deal with it. He could not undertake to search the Eastern +Counties for a man who was not there; nor could he give his reasons +for not undertaking that search. Until his case against Varney was +complete he would make no confidences to anybody. And as he reflected, +he watched Varney (who had been a keenly interested listener to the +discussion), wondering what he was thinking about it all, and noting +idly how neatly and quickly he rolled his cigarettes and how little he +was inconvenienced by his contracted finger—the third finger of his +left hand. + +“I think, Rodney,” he said, “that you overestimate the ease with which +we could locate Purcell. The Eastern Counties offer a large area in +which to search for a man—who may not be there, after all. The +post-mark on the letter tells us nothing of his permanent +abiding-place, if he has one. Varney suggests that he may be afloat, +and if he is, he will be very mobile and difficult to trace. And it +would be possible for him to change his appearance—by growing a beard, +for instance—sufficiently to make a circulated description useless.” + +Rodney listened to these objections with hardly veiled impatience. He +had supposed that Thorndyke’s special practice involved the capacity +to trace missing persons; yet, as soon as a case calling for this +special knowledge arose, he raised difficulties. That was always the +way with these confounded experts. Now, to him—though, to be sure, it +was out of his line—the thing presented no difficulties at all. To no +man does a difficult thing look so easy as to one who is totally +unable to do it. + +Meanwhile Thorndyke continued to observe Varney, who was evidently +reflecting profoundly on the impasse that had arisen. He of course +could see the futility of Rodney’s scheme. He, moreover, since he was +in love with Margaret, would be at least as keen on the dissolution of +this marriage as Rodney. Thorndyke, watching his eager face, began to +hope that he might make some useful suggestion. Nor was he +disappointed. Suddenly Varney looked up, and, addressing himself to +Rodney, said: + +“I’ve got an idea. You may think it bosh, but it is really worth +considering. It is this. There is no doubt that Dan has cleared out +for good and it is rather probable that he has made some domestic +arrangements of a temporary kind. You know what I mean. And he might +be willing to have the chance of making them permanent; because he is +not free in that respect any more than his wife is. Now what I propose +is that we put in an advertisement asking him to write to his wife, or +to Penfield, stating what his intentions are. It is quite possible +that he might, in his own interests, send a letter that would enable +you to get a divorce without any other evidence. It is really worth +trying.” + +Rodney laughed scornfully. “You’ve missed your vocation, Varney,” said +he. “You oughtn’t to be tinkering about with etchings. You ought to be +in the law. But I’m afraid the mackerel wouldn’t rise to your sprat.” + +Thorndyke could have laughed aloud. But he did not. On the contrary, +he made a show of giving earnest consideration to Varney’s suggestion +and finally said: “I am not sure that I agree with you, Rodney. It +doesn’t seem such a bad plan.” + +In this he spoke quite sincerely. But then he knew, which Rodney did +not, that if the advertisement were issued there would certainly be a +reply from Purcell; and, moreover, that the reply would be of +precisely the kind that would be most suitable for their purpose. + +“Well,” said Rodney, “it seems to me rather a wild-cat scheme. You are +proposing to ask Purcell to give himself away completely. If you knew +him as well as I do, you would know that no man could be less likely +to comply. Purcell is one of the most secretive men I have ever known, +and you can see for yourself that he has been pretty secret over this +business.” + +“Still,” Thorndyke persisted, “it is possible, as Varney suggests, +that it might suit him to have the tow-rope cut, as you express it. +What do you think, Mrs. Purcell?” + +“I am afraid I agree with Mr. Rodney. Dan is as secret as an oyster, +and he hasn’t shown himself at all well-disposed. He wouldn’t make a +statement for my benefit. As to the question of another woman, I have +no doubt that there is one, but my feeling is that Dan would prefer to +have a pretext for not marrying her.” + +“That is exactly my view,” said Rodney. “Purcell is the sort of man +who will get as much as he can and give as little in exchange.” + +“I don’t deny that,” said Varney, “but I still think that it would be +worth trying. If nothing came of it we should be no worse off.” + +“Exactly,” agreed Thorndyke. “It is quite a simple proceeding. It +commits us to nothing and it is very little trouble; and if, by any +chance it succeeded, see how it would simplify matters. In place of a +crowd of witnesses collected at immense trouble and cost, you would +have a letter which could be put in evidence and which would settle +the whole case in a few minutes.” + +Rodney shrugged his shoulders and secretly marvelled how Thorndyke had +got his great reputation. + +“There is no answering a determined optimist,” said he. “Of course +Purcell may rise to your bait. He may even volunteer to go into the +witness-box and make a full confession and offer to pay our costs. But +I don’t think he will.” + +“Neither do I,” said Thorndyke. “But it is bad practice to reject a +plan because you think it probably will not succeed, when it is +possible and easy to give it a trial. Have you any objection to our +carrying out Mr. Varney’s suggestion?” + +“I have no objection to _your_ carrying it out,” replied Rodney, “and +I don’t suppose Mrs. Purcell has; but I don’t feel inclined to act on +it myself.” + +Thorndyke looked interrogatively at Margaret. “What do you say, Mrs. +Purcell?” he asked. + +“I am entirely in your hands,” she replied. “It is very good of you to +take so much trouble, but I fear you will have your trouble for +nothing.” + +“We shan’t lose much on the transaction even then,” Thorndyke +rejoined, “so we will leave it that I insert the advertisement in the +most alluring terms that I can devise. If anything comes of it, you +will hear before I shall.” + +This brought the discussion to an end. If Rodney had any further ideas +on the subject, he reserved them for the benefit of Margaret or Mr. +Penfield, having reached the conclusion that Thorndyke was a pure +specialist—and probably overrated at that—whose opinions and judgment +on general law were not worth having. The conversation thus drifted +into other channels, but with no great vivacity, for each of the four +persons was occupied inwardly with the subject that had been outwardly +dismissed. + +Presently Varney, who had been showing signs of restlessness, began to +collect his etchings in preparation for departure. Thereupon, +Thorndyke also rose to make his farewell. + +“I have had a most enjoyable evening, Mrs. Purcell,” he said as he +shook his hostess’s hand. And he spoke quite sincerely. He had had an +extremely enjoyable evening, and he hoped that the entertainment was +even now not quite at an end. “May we hope that our plottings and +schemings may not be entirely unfruitful?” + +“You can hope as much as you like,” said Rodney, “if hopefulness is +your specialty, but if anything comes of this plan of Varney’s, I +shall be the most surprised man in London.” + +“And I hope you will give the author of the plan all the credit he +deserves,” said Thorndyke. + +“He has got that now,” Rodney replied, with a grin. + +“I doubt if he has,” retorted Thorndyke. “But we shall see. Are we +walking the same way, Varney?” + +“I think so,” replied Varney, who had already decided, for his own +special reasons, that they were; in which he was in complete, though +unconscious, agreement with Thorndyke. + +“Rodney seems a bit cocksure,” the former remarked as they made their +way towards the Brompton Road, “but it is no use taking things for +granted. I think it quite possible that Purcell may be willing to cut +his cable. At any rate it is reasonable to give him the chance.” + +“Undoubtedly,” agreed Thorndyke. “There is no greater folly than to +take failure for granted and reject an opportunity. Now, if this plan +of yours should by any chance succeed, Mrs. Purcell’s emancipation is +as good as accomplished.” + +“Is it really?” Varney exclaimed, eagerly. + +“Certainly,” replied Thorndyke. “That is, if Purcell should send a +letter the contents of which should disclose a state of affairs which +would entitle his wife to a divorce. But that is too much to hope for +unless Purcell also would like to have the marriage dissolved.” + +“I think it quite possible that he would, you know,” said Varney. “He +must have had strong reasons for going off in this way, and we know +what those strong reasons usually amount to. But would a simple +letter, without any witnesses, be sufficient to satisfy the court?” + +“Undoubtedly,” replied Thorndyke. “A properly attested letter is good +evidence enough. It is just a question of what it contains. Let us +suppose that we have a suitable letter. Then our procedure is +perfectly simple. We produce it in court and it is read and put in +evidence. We say to the judge: Here is a letter from the respondent to +the petitioner—or her solicitor, as the case may be. It is in answer +to an advertisement also read and put in evidence; the handwriting has +been examined by the petitioner, by her solicitor and by the +respondent’s banker and each of them swears that the writing and the +signature are those of the respondent. In that letter the respondent +clearly and definitely states that he has left his wife for good; that +under no circumstances will he ever return to her; that he refuses +hereafter to contribute to her support, and that he has transferred +his affections to another woman who is now living with him as his +wife. On that evidence I think we should have no difficulty in +obtaining a decree.” + +Varney listened eagerly. He would have liked to make a few notes, but +that would hardly do, though Thorndyke seemed to be a singularly +simple-minded and confiding man. And he was amazingly easy to pump. + +“I don’t suppose Purcell would give himself away to that extent,” he +remarked, “unless he was really keen on a divorce.” + +“It is extremely unlikely in any case,” Thorndyke agreed. “But we have +to bear in mind that if he writes at all, it will be with the object +of stating his intentions as to the future and making his position +clear. I shall draft the advertisement in such a way as to elicit this +information, if possible. If he is not prepared to furnish the +information, he will not reply. If he replies it will be because, for +his own purposes, he is willing to furnish the information.” + +“Yes, that is true. So that he may really give more information than +one might expect. I wonder if he will write. What do you think?” + +“It is mere speculation,” replied Thorndyke. “But if I hadn’t some +hopes of his writing, I shouldn’t be at the trouble of putting in the +advertisement. But perhaps Rodney is right; I may be unreasonably +optimistic.” + +At Piccadilly Circus they parted and went their respective ways, each +greatly pleased with the other and both highly amused. As soon as +Thorndyke was out of sight, Varney whipped out his note-book, and, by +the light of a street lamp made a careful _précis_ of the necessary +points of the required letter. That letter also occupied Thorndyke’s +mind, and he only hoped that the corresponding agent of Daniel +Purcell, deceased, would not allow his enthusiasm to carry him to the +extent of producing a letter the contents of which would stamp the +case as one of rank collusion. For in this letter Thorndyke saw a way, +and the only way, out for Margaret Purcell. He knew—or at least was +fully convinced—that her husband was dead. But he had no evidence that +he could take into court, nor did he expect that he ever would have. +It would be years before it would be possible to apply to presume +Purcell’s death; and throughout those years Margaret’s life would be +spoiled. This letter was a fiction. The erring husband was a fiction. +But it would be better that Margaret should be liberated by a fiction +than that she should drag out a ruined life shackled to a husband who +was himself a fiction. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +In Which Mr. Varney Once More Pulls the Strings + +For the second time, in connection with the death of Daniel Purcell, +Mr. Varney found it necessary to give an attentive eye to the +movements of the postman. He had ascertained from the post office the +times at which letters were delivered in the neighbourhood of +Margaret’s flat; and now, in the gloom of a December evening, he +lurked in the vicinity until he saw the postman approaching down the +street and delivering letters at the other flats on his way. Then he +entered the now familiar portals and made his way quietly up the +stairs until he reached Margaret’s outer door. Here he paused for a +few moments, standing quite still and listening intently. If he had +been discovered he would have simply come to pay a call. But he was +not; and the silence from within suggested that there was nobody in +the hall. With a furtive look round, he drew a letter from his pocket +and silently slipped it into the letter-box, catching the flap on his +finger as it fell to prevent it from making any sound. Then he turned +and softly stole down the stairs; and as he reached the ground floor +the postman walked into the entry. + +It was not without reluctance that he came away. For she was behind +that door, almost certainly; she, his darling, for whose freedom from +the imaginary shackles that she wore, he was carrying out this +particular deception. But his own guilty conscience made it seem to +him that he had better not be present when the fabricated letter +arrived. So he tore himself from the beloved precincts and went his +way, thinking his thoughts and dreaming his dreams. + +Varney’s surmise was correct. Margaret was within. But it was perhaps +as well that he had refrained from paying a call, for she was not +alone, and his visit would not have been entirely welcome. About half +an hour before his arrival, Jack Rodney had ascended those stairs and +had been admitted in time to join Margaret at a somewhat belated tea. + +“My excuse for coming to see you,” said Rodney, “is in my pocket—the +front page of _The Times_.” + +“I don’t know what you mean by an excuse,” Margaret replied. “You know +perfectly well that I am always delighted to see you. But perhaps you +mean an excuse to yourself for wasting your time in gossiping with +me.” + +“Indeed I don’t,” said he, “I count no time so profitably employed as +that which I spend here.” + +“I don’t quite see what profit you get,” she rejoined, “unless it is +the moral benefit of doing a kindness to a lonely woman.” + +“I should like to take that view if I honestly could. But the fact is +that I come here for the very great pleasure of seeing you and talking +to you; and the profit that I get is that very great pleasure. I only +wish the proprieties allowed me to come oftener.” + +“So do I,” she said, frankly. “But you know that, too. And now tell +what there is in the front page of _The Times_ that gave you this +sorely needed excuse.” + +Rodney laughed in a boisterous, schoolboy fashion as he drew from his +pocket a folded leaf of the newspaper. “It’s the great advertisement,” +said he. “The Thorndyke-Varney or Varney-Thorndyke advertisement. It +came out yesterday morning. Compose yourself to listen and I’ll read +it out to you.” + +He opened the paper out, refolded it into a convenient size, and with +a portentous preliminary “Ahem!” read aloud in a solemn sing-song: + +“_Purcell, D._ is earnestly requested to communicate to M. or her +solicitor his intentions with regard to the future. If his present +arrangements are permanent she would be grateful if he would notify +her to that effect in order that she may make the necessary +modifications in her own.” + +As he finished, he looked up at her and laughed contemptuously. + +“Well, Maggie,” said he, “what do you think of it?” + +She laughed merrily and looked at him with hardly-disguised fondness +and admiration. “What a schoolboy you are, John!” she exclaimed. “How +annoyed Dr. Thorndyke would be if he could hear you! But it is rather +funny. I can imagine Dan’s face when he reads it—if he ever does read +it.” + +“So can I,” chuckled Rodney. “I can see him pulling down his lower lip +and saying ‘Gur’ in that pleasant way that he has. But isn’t it a +perfectly preposterous exhibition? Just imagine a man of Thorndyke’s +position doing a thing like this! Why, it is beneath the dignity of a +country attorney’s office-boy. I can’t conceive how he got his +reputation. He seems to be an absolute greenhorn.” + +“Probably he is quite good at his own specialty,” suggested Margaret. + +“But this _is_ his own specialty. The truth is that the ordinary +lawyer’s prejudice against experts is to a great extent justified. +They are really humbugs and pretenders. You saw what his attitude was +when I suggested that he should get Dan under observation. Of course +it was the obvious thing to do, and one would suppose that it would be +quite in his line. Yet as soon as I made the suggestion, he raised all +sorts of difficulties; whereas a common private inquiry agent would +have made no difficulty about it at all.” + +“Do you think not?” Margaret asked, a little eagerly. “Perhaps it +might be worth while to employ one. It would be such a blessed thing +to get rid of Dan for good.” + +“It would, indeed,” Rodney agreed heartily. “But perhaps we had better +see if Thorndyke gets a bite. If he fails, we can try the other plan.” + +Margaret was slightly disappointed. She wanted to see some progress +made and was a little impatient of the law’s delays. But the truth is +that Rodney had been speaking rather at random. When he came to +consider what information he had to give to a private detective, the +affair did not look quite such plain sailing. + +“Perhaps,” said Margaret, “Dr. Thorndyke was right in giving Mr. +Varney’s plan a trial. We are no worse off if it fails; and if it were +by any chance to succeed, oh, what a relief it would be! Not that +there is the slightest chance that it will.” + +“Not a dog’s chance,” agreed Rodney, “and Thorndyke was an ass to have +anything to do with the advertisement. He should have let Varney put +it in. No one expects an artist to show any particular legal acumen.” + +“Poor Mr. Varney!” murmured Margaret, with a faint smile; and at this +moment the housemaid entered the room with a couple of letters on a +salver. Margaret took the letters and, having thanked the maid, laid +them on the table by her side. + +“Won’t you read your letters?” said Rodney. “You are not going to make +a stranger of me, I hope.” + +“Thank you,” she replied. “If you will excuse me, I will just see whom +they are from.” + +She took up the top letter, opened it, glanced through it and laid it +down. Then she picked up the second letter; and as her glance fell on +the address she uttered a little cry of amazement. + +“What is it?” asked Rodney. + +She held the envelope out for him to see. “It’s from Dan,” she +exclaimed; and forthwith she tore it open and eagerly took out the +letter. As she read it, Rodney watched her with mingled amusement, +vexation and astonishment. The utterly inconceivable thing had +happened. Thorndyke had taken odds of a million to one against and it +had come off. That was just a piece of pure luck. It reflected no +particular credit on Thorndyke’s judgment; but still Rodney rather +wished he had been less dogmatic. + +When she had quickly read through the letter, Margaret handed it to +him without comment. He took it from her and rapidly ran through the +contents. + + “Dear Maggie [it ran]: + + “I have just seen your quaint advertisement and send you a few lines + as requested. I don’t know what you mean by ‘modifying your + arrangements’ but I can guess. However, that is no concern of mine + and whatever your plans may be, I don’t want to stand in your way. + So I will give you a plain statement and you can do what you like. + + “My present arrangements are quite permanent. You have seen the last + of yours truly. I have no intention of ever coming back—and I don’t + suppose you particularly want me. It may interest you to know that I + have made fresh domestic arrangements—necessarily a little + unorthodox, but also quite permanent. + + “With regard to financial questions: I am afraid I can’t contribute + to your ‘arrangements,’ whatever they may be. You have enough to + live on, and I have new responsibilities; but if you can get + anything out of Levy you are welcome to it. You will be the first + person who ever has. You can also try Penfield and I wish you the + best of luck. And that is all I have got to say on the subject. With + best wishes, + + “Yours sincerely, + “Daniel Purcell.” + +Rodney returned the letter with an expression of disgust. “It is a +brutal, hoggish letter,” said he; “typical of the writer. Where does +he write from?” + +“The post-mark is Wivenhoe. It was posted last night at 7:30.” + +“That looks as if Varney were right and he were afloat; but it is a +queer time of year for yachting on the East Coast. Well, I suppose you +are not much afflicted by the tone of that letter?” + +“Not at all. The more brutal the better. I shall have no qualms now. +But the question is, will the letter do? What do you think?” + +“It ought to do well enough—if it isn’t a little too good to be true.” + +“I don’t quite understand. You don’t doubt the truth of what he says, +do you?” + +“Not at all. What I mean is this: Divorce judges are pretty wary +customers. They have to be. The law doesn’t allow married people who +are tired of one another and would like to try a fresh throw of the +dice to make nice little mutual arrangements to get their marriage +dissolved. That is called collusion. And then there is a mischievous +devil called The King’s Proctor whose function is to ‘prevent us, O +Lord, in all our doings’ and to trip up poor wretches who have got a +decree and think they have escaped, and to send them back to +cat-and-dog matrimony until death do them part. + +“Now the only pitfall about this letter of Dan’s is that it is so very +complete. He makes things so remarkably easy for us. He leaves us +nothing to prove. He admits everything in advance and covers the whole +of our case in our favour. That letter might have been dictated by a +lawyer in our interest.” + +Margaret looked deeply disappointed. “You don’t mean to say that we +shan’t be able to act on it!” she exclaimed in dismay. + +“I don’t say that,” he replied, “and I certainly think it will be +worth trying. But I do wish that we could produce evidence that he is +living with some woman, as he appears to state. That would be so much +more convincing. However, I will get an opinion from a counsel who has +had extensive experience of divorce practice; a man like Barnby, for +instance. I could show him a copy of the letter and hear what he +thinks.” + +“Why not Dr. Thorndyke?” said Margaret. “He was really right, after +all, and we shall have to show him the letter.” + +“Yes; and he must see the original. But as to taking his opinion, well +we shall have to do that as a matter of courtesy; but I don’t set much +value on his judgment. You see, he chose to go double Nap on this +letter and he happened to win. Events prove that he was right to take +the chance, but it was primitive strategy. It doesn’t impress me.” + +Margaret made no immediate rejoinder. She was not a lawyer, and to her +the fact that the plan had succeeded was evidence that it was a good +plan. Accordingly, her waning faith in Thorndyke was strongly revived. + +“I can’t help hoping,” she said, presently, “that this letter will +secure a decision in our favour. It really ought to. You see, there is +no question of arrangement or collusion on my side. Our relations were +perfectly normal and pleasant up to the moment of Dan’s disappearance. +There were no quarrels, no differences, nothing to hint at any desire +for a change in our relations; and I have waited six months for him to +come back, and have taken no action until he made it clear that he had +gone for good. Don’t you think that I have a fair chance of getting my +freedom?” + +“Perhaps you are right, Maggie,” he replied. “I may be looking out for +snags that aren’t there. Of course, you could call me and Phillip and +Varney to prove that all was normal up to the last, and Penfield and +Thorndyke to give evidence of your efforts to trace Dan. Yes; perhaps +it is a better case than I thought. But all the same, I will show the +letter to Barnby when Thorndyke has seen it and get his opinion +without prejudice.” + +He paused and reflected profoundly for a while. Suddenly he looked up +at Margaret; and in his eyes there was a new light. + +“Supposing, Maggie,” he said in a low, earnest voice, “you were to get +this marriage dissolved. Then you would be free—free to marry. You +know that, years ago, when you were free, I loved you. You know that, +because I told you; and I thought, and I still think that you cared +for me then. The fates were against us at that time, but in the years +that have passed, there has been no change in me. You are the only +woman I have ever wanted. Of course I have kept my feelings to myself. +That had to be. But if we can win back your freedom, I shall ask you +to be my wife, unless you forbid me. What shall you say to me, +Maggie?” + +Margaret sat with downcast eyes as Rodney was speaking. For a few +moments she had appeared pale and agitated, but she was now quite +composed and nothing but a heightened colour hinted at any confusion. +At the final question she raised her head and looked Rodney frankly in +the face. + +“At present, John,” she said quietly, “I am the wife of Daniel Purcell +and as such have no right to contemplate any other marriage. But I +will be honest with you. There is no reason why I should not be. You +are quite right, John. I loved you in those days that you speak of, +and if I never told you, you know why. You know how I came to marry +Dan. It seemed to me then that I had no choice. Perhaps I was wrong; +but I did what I thought was my duty to my father. + +“In the years that have passed since then—the long, grey years—I have +kept my covenant with Dan loyally in every respect. If I have ever +looked back with regret, it has been in secret. But through those +years you have been a faithful friend to me, and of all my friends the +best beloved. And so you are now. That is all I can say, John.” + +“It is enough, Maggie,” he said; “and I thank you from my heart for +saying so much. Whatever your answer might have been, I would have +done everything in my power to set you free. But now I shall venture +to have a hope that I hold a stake in your freedom.” + +She made no answer to this, and for some time both sat silently +engrossed with their own thoughts and each thinking much the same +thoughts as the other. The silence was at length broken by Rodney. + +“It was an awful blow to me when I came home from my travels and found +you married. Of course I guessed what had happened, though I never +actually knew. I assumed that Dan had put the screw on your father in +some way.” + +“Yes. He had lent my father money and the bills could not be met.” + +“What a Juggernaut the fellow is!” exclaimed Rodney. “An absolutely +ruthless egoist. By the way, was he in the habit of lending money? I +notice that he refers in this letter to a person named Levy. Who is +Levy? And what does Dan do for a livelihood? He is out of the paper +trade, isn’t he?” + +“I think so. The truth is, I have never known what his occupation is. +I have suspected that he is principally a money-lender. As to Mr. +Levy, I have always thought he was a clerk or manager; but it rather +looks as if he were a partner.” + +“We must find out,” said Rodney. “And there is another thing that we +must look into: that mysterious letter that Penfield received from +Dan. Did you ever learn what was in it?” + +“Never. Mr. Penfield refused to divulge the slightest hint of its +contents. But I feel convinced that it was in some way connected with +Dan’s disappearance. You remember it arrived on the day after Dan went +away. I think Dr. Thorndyke called on Mr. Penfield to see if he could +glean any information, but I assume that he didn’t succeed.” + +“We can take that for granted,” said Rodney. “I don’t think Thorndyke +would get much out of a wary old bird like Penfield. But we must find +out what was in that letter. Penfield will have to produce it if we +put him in the witness-box, though he will be a mighty slippery +witness. However, I will see Thorndyke and ask him about it when I +have consulted Barnby. Perhaps I had better take charge of the +letter.” + +Margaret handed him the letter, which he put securely in his wallet, +and, the plan of action being now settled, he stayed only for a little +further gossip and then took his leave. + +On the following afternoon he called by appointment on Thorndyke, who, +having admitted him, closed the “oak” and connected the bell with the +laboratory upstairs where his assistant, Polton, was at work. + +“So,” he said, “our fish has risen to the tin minnow, as I gather from +your note.” + +“Yes. You have had better luck than I expected.” + +“Or than I deserved, you might have added if you had been less polite. +Well, I don’t know that I should agree. I consider it bad practice to +treat an improbability as an impossibility. But what does he say?” + +“All that we could wish—and perhaps a little more. That is the only +difficulty. He makes things a little too easy for us; at least that is +my feeling. But you had better see the letter.” + +He took it from his wallet and passed it to Thorndyke, who glanced at +the post-mark, and, when he had taken out the letter, looked quickly +into the interior of the envelope. + +“Wivenhoe,” he remarked. “Some distance from Woodbridge, but in the +same district.” He read carefully through the text, noting at the same +time the peculiarities that he had observed in the former letter. In +this case, too, the post-marks had been made when the envelope was +empty; a curious oversight on the part of Varney, in view of the care +and ingenuity otherwise displayed. Indeed, as he read through the +letter, Thorndyke’s opinion of that cunning artificer rose +considerably. It was a most skilful and tactful production. It did, +certainly, make things almost suspiciously easy, but then that was its +function. The whole case for the petition rested on it. But the brutal +attitude of the imaginary truant was admirably rendered, and, so far +as he could judge, the personality of the missing man convincingly +represented. + +“It is not a courteous epistle,” he remarked, tentatively. + +“No,” agreed Rodney, “but it is exactly the sort of letter that one +would expect from Purcell. It gives you his character in a nutshell.” + +This was highly satisfactory and very creditable to Varney. “You +mentioned in your note that you were going to take Barnby’s opinion on +it. Have you seen him?” + +“Yes, and he thinks the same as I do: that it would be a little risky +to base a petition on this letter alone. The judge might smell a rat. +He considers that if we could produce evidence that Purcell is +actually living with another woman, this letter would be good evidence +of desertion. He suggested putting a private inquiry agent on +Purcell’s tracks. What do you say to that?” + +“In the abstract, it is an excellent suggestion. But how are you going +to carry it out? You speak of putting the agent on Purcell’s tracks. +But there are no tracks. There is no place in which he is known to +have been staying; there is no person known to us who has seen him +since he landed at Penzance. You would start your sleuth without a +scent to wander about Essex and Suffolk looking for a man whom he had +never seen and would probably not recognize if he met him, and who is +possibly not in either of those counties at all. It really is not a +practicable scheme.” + +Rodney emitted a discontented grunt. “Doesn’t sound very encouraging +certainly,” he admitted. “But how do the police manage in a case of +the kind?” + +“By having, not one agent, but a thousand, and all in communication +through a central office. And even the police fail if they haven’t +enough data. But with regard to Barnby; of course his opinion has +great weight. He knows the difficulties of these cases, and his +outlook will probably be the judge’s outlook. But did you make clear +to him the peculiarities of this case? The character of the +petitioner, her excellent relations with her husband, the sudden, +unforeseen manner of the disappearance and the total absence of any +grounds of a suspicion of collusion? Did you present these points to +him?” + +“No, I didn’t. We merely discussed the letter.” + +“Well, see him again and put the whole case to him. My feeling is that +a petition would probably succeed.” + +“I hope you are right,” said Rodney, more encouraged than he would +have liked to admit. “I’ll see Barnby again. Oh, and there is another +point. That letter that Purcell sent to Penfield by mistake in June. +It probably throws some light on the disappearance and might be +important as evidence on our side. I suppose Penfield did not tell you +what was in it, or show it to you?” + +“No, he would say nothing about it; but he allowed me, at my request, +to examine the envelope.” + +Rodney grinned. “He might also have shown you the postman who +delivered the letter. But if he won’t tell us anything, we might put +him in the witness-box and make him disgorge his secret.” + +“Yes, and you may have to if the Court demands to have the letter +produced. But I strongly advise you to avoid doing so, if you can. I +have the impression that the production of that letter would be very +much the reverse of helpful—might, in fact, be fatal to the success of +the case—and would in addition be very disagreeable to Mrs. Purcell.” + +Rodney looked at him in astonishment. “Then you know what was in the +letter?” said he. + +“No; but I have formed certain opinions which I have no doubt are +correct, but which I do not feel at liberty to communicate. I advise +you to leave Mr. Penfield alone. Remember that he is a lawyer, that he +is Mrs. Purcell’s friend, that he does know what is in the letter and +that he thinks it best to keep his knowledge to himself. But he will +have to be approached on the question as to whether he is willing to +act for Mrs. Purcell against her husband. If you undertake that office +you can raise the question of the letter with him; but I would urge +you most strongly not to force his hand.” + +Rodney listened to this advice with a slightly puzzled expression. +Like Mr. Penfield, he viewed Thorndyke with mixed feelings, now +thinking of him as an amateur, a doctor who dabbled ineffectively in +law, and now considering the possibility that he might command some +means of acquiring knowledge that were not available to the orthodox +legal practitioner. Here was a case in point. He had examined the +envelope of that mysterious letter “at his own request” and evidently +for a specific purpose; and from that inspection he had in some +unaccountable way formed a very definite opinion as to what the +envelope had contained. That was very curious. Of course, he might be +wrong; but he seemed to be pretty confident. Then there was the +present transaction. Rodney, himself, had rejected Varney’s suggestion +with scorn. But Thorndyke had adopted it quite hopefully, and the plan +had succeeded in the face of all probabilities. Could it be that +Thorndyke had some unknown means of gauging those probabilities? It +looked rather like it. + +“You are only guessing at the nature of that letter,” he said +tentatively, “and you may have guessed wrong.” + +“That is quite possible,” Thorndyke agreed. “But Penfield isn’t +guessing. Put the case to him, hear what he says and follow his +advice. And if you see Varney again, it would be better to say nothing +about that letter. Penfield will advise you to keep it out of the case +if you can, and that is my advice, too.” + +When Rodney took his departure, which he did a few minutes later, he +carried with him a growing suspicion that he had underestimated +Thorndyke; that the latter, perhaps, played a deeper game than at +first sight appeared and that he played with pieces unknown to +traditional legal practice. + +For some time after his visitor had left Thorndyke remained wrapped in +profound thought. In his heart he was sensible of a deep distaste for +this case that he was promoting. If it were to succeed, it could only +be by misleading the Court. It is true that the parties were acting in +good faith, that the falsities which they would present were falsities +that they believed to be true. But the whole case was based on a +fiction, and Thorndyke detested fictions. Nor was he satisfied with +his own position, in an ethical sense. He knew that the case was +fictitious; that the respondent was a dead man and that the documents +to be produced in evidence were forgeries. He was, in fact, an +accessory to those forgeries. He did not like it at all. And he was +not so optimistic as to the success of the petition as he had led +Rodney to believe, though he was not very uneasy on that score. What +troubled him was that this was, in effect, a bogus case and that he +was lending it his support. + +But what was the alternative? His thoughts turned to +Margaret—sweet-faced, sweet-natured, gracious-mannered, the perfect +type of an English gentlewoman—and he thought of the fine, handsome, +high-minded gentleman who had just gone away. These two loved one +another; loved as only persons of character can love. Their marriage, +if it could be achieved, would secure to them a lifelong happiness, in +so far as such happiness is attainable by mortals. But between them +and their happiness stood the fiction of Daniel Purcell. In order that +they might marry, Purcell must either be proved to be dead or assumed +to be alive. + +Could he be proved to be dead? If he could, that were the better way, +because it would demonstrate the truth. But was it possible? In a +scientific sense it probably was. Science can accept a conclusion with +reservations. But the law has to say “yes” or “no” without any +reservations at all. This was not a case of death merely presumed. It +was a death alleged to have occurred at a specific time and place and +in a specific manner; and inseparably bound up with it was a charge of +murder. If Purcell was dead, Varney had murdered him, and the murder +was the issue that would be tried. But no jury would entertain for a +moment the guilt of the accused on such evidence as Thorndyke could +offer. And an acquittal would amount to a legal decision that Purcell +was not dead. On that decision Margaret’s marriage to Rodney would be +impossible. + +Thus Thorndyke’s reflections led him back, as they always did, to the +conclusion that Purcell’s death was incapable of legal proof, and must +ever remain so, unless by some miracle, new and conclusive evidence +should come to light. But to wait for a miracle to happen was an +unsatisfactory policy. If Purcell could not be proved to be dead, and +if such failure of proof must wreck the happiness of two estimable +persons, then it would appear that it might be allowable to accept +what was the actual legal position and assume that he was alive. + +So, once again, Thorndyke decided that he had no choice but to +continue to share with Varney the secret of Purcell’s death and to +hold his peace. And if this must be the petition must take its course, +aided and abetted, if necessary, by him. After all, nobody would be +injured and nothing done which was contrary either to public policy or +private morals. There were only two alternatives, as matters stood. +The fiction of Purcell as a living man would either keep Margaret and +Rodney apart, as it was now doing; or it would be employed (with other +fictions) to enable them to be united. And it was better that they +should be united. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +In Which the Medico-legal Worm Arrives + +Romance lurks in unsuspected places. As we go our daily round, we are +apt to look distastefully upon the scenes made dull by familiarity, +and to seek distraction by letting our thoughts ramble far away into +time and space, to ages and regions in which life seems more full of +colour. In fancy, perchance, we thread the ghostly aisles of some +tropical forest, or linger on the white beach of some lonely coral +island, where the cocoanut palms, shivering in the sea-breeze, patter +a refrain to the song of the surf; or we wander by moonlight through +the narrow streets of some southern city and hear the thrum of the +guitar rise to the shrouded balcony; and behold! all the time Romance +is at our very doors. + +It was on a bright afternoon early in March that Thorndyke sat with +Phillip Rodney by his side on one of the lower benches of the lecture +theatre of the Royal College of Surgeons. Not a likely place, this, to +encounter Romance. Yet there it was—and Tragedy, too—lying unnoticed +at present on the green baize cover of the lecturer’s table, its very +existence unsuspected. + +Meanwhile Thorndyke and Phillip conversed in quiet undertones, for it +still wanted some minutes to the hour at which the lecture would +commence. + +“I suppose,” said Phillip, “you have had no report from that private +detective fellow—I forget his name?” + +“Bagwell. No, excepting the usual weekly note stating that he is still +unable to pick up any trace of Purcell.” + +“Ah,” commented Phillip; “that doesn’t sound encouraging. Must be +costing a lot of money, too. I fancy my brother and Maggie Purcell are +both beginning to wish they had taken your advice and relied on the +letter by itself. But Jack was overborne by Barnby’s insistence on +corroborative evidence, and Maggie let him decide. And now they are +sorry they listened to Barnby. They hadn’t bargained for all this +delay.” + +“Barnby was quite right as to the value of the additional evidence,” +said Thorndyke. “What he didn’t grasp was the very great difficulty of +getting it. But I think I hear the big-wigs approaching.” + +As he spoke, the usher threw open the lecturer’s door. The audience +stood up, the president entered, preceded by the mace-bearer and +followed by the officers and the lecturer, and took his seat; the +audience sat down and the lecture began without further formalities. + +The theatre was nearly full. It usually was when Professor D’Arcy +lectured; for that genial savant had the magnetic gift of infusing his +own enthusiasm into the lecture, and so into his audience, even when, +as on this occasion, his subject lay on the outside edge of medical +science. To-day he was lecturing on the epidermic appendages of the +marine worms, and from the opening sentence he held his audience as by +a spell, standing before the great blackboard with a bunch of coloured +chalks in either hand, talking with easy eloquence—mostly over his +shoulder—while he covered the black surface with those delightful +drawings that added so much to the charm of his lectures. Phillip +watched his flying fingers with fascination and struggled frantically +to copy the diagrams into a large note-book with the aid of a handful +of coloured pencils, while Thorndyke, not much addicted to +note-taking, listened and watched with concentrated attention, +mentally docketing and pigeon-holing any new or significant fact in +what was to him a fairly familiar subject. + +The latter part of the lecture dealt with those beautiful sea-worms +that build themselves tubes to live in—worms like the Serpula that +make their shelly or stony tubes by secretion from their own bodies, +or like the Sabella or Terebella, build them up with sand-grains, +little stones or fragments of shell. Each, in turn, appeared in lively +portraiture on the blackboard and the trays on the table were full of +specimens which were exhibited by the lecturer and which the audience +were invited to inspect more closely after the lecture. + +Accordingly, when the last words of the peroration had been +pronounced, the occupants of the benches trouped down into the arena +to look at the exhibits and seek further details from the genial +professor. Thorndyke and Phillip held back for a while on the +outskirts of the crowd, but the professor had seen them on their bench +and now approached, greeting them with a hearty handshake and a +facetious question. + +“What are you doing here, Thorndyke? Is it possible that there are +medico-legal possibilities even in a marine worm?” + +“Oh, come, D’Arcy!” protested Thorndyke, “don’t make me such a +hidebound specialist. May I have no rational interests in life? Must I +live forever in the witness-box like a marine worm in its tube?” + +“I suspect you don’t get very far out of your tube,” said the +professor with a chuckle and a sly glance at Phillip. + +“I got far enough out last summer,” retorted Thorndyke, “to come and +aid and abet you in your worm-hunting. Have you forgotten Cornwall?” + +“No, to be sure,” was the reply. “But that was only a momentary lapse, +and I expect you had ulterior motives. However, the association of +Cornwall, worm-hunting and medical jurisprudence reminds me that I +have something in your line. A friend of mine, who was wintering in +Cornwall, picked it up on the beach at Morte Hoe and sent it to me. +Now, where is it? It is on this table somewhere. It is a ridiculous +thing; a small, flat cork, evidently from a zoologist’s +collecting-bottle, for it has a label stuck on it with the inscription +‘marine worms.’ It seems that our zoologist was a sort of Robinson +Crusoe, for he had bored a couple of holes through it and evidently +used it as a button. But the most ludicrous thing about it is that a +Terebella has built its tube on it; as if the worm had been prowling +about, looking for lodgings and had read the label and forthwith +engaged the apartments. Ah! here it is.” He pounced on a little +cardboard box, and opening it, took out the cork button and laid it in +Thorndyke’s palm. + +As the professor was describing the object Phillip looked at him with +a distinctly startled expression, and uttered a smothered exclamation. +He was about to speak, but suddenly checked himself and looked at +Thorndyke, who flashed at him a quick glance of understanding. + +“Isn’t that a quaint coincidence?” chuckled the professor. “I mean +that the worm should have taken up his abode and actually built his +tube on the label.” + +“Very quaint,” replied Thorndyke, still looking with deep interest at +the object that lay in his hand. + +“You realize,” Phillip said in a low voice as the professor turned +away to answer a question, “that this button came from Purcell’s +oilskin coat?” + +“Yes, I remember the incident. I realized what it was as soon as +D’Arcy described the button.” He glanced curiously at Phillip, +wondering whether he, too, realized exactly what this queer piece of +jetsam was. For to Thorndyke its message had been conveyed even before +the professor had finished speaking. In that moment it had been borne +to him that the unlooked-for miracle had happened and that Margaret +Purcell’s petition need never be filed. + +“Well, Thorndyke,” said the Professor, “my friend’s treasure trove +seems to interest you. I thought it would as an instance of the +possibilities of coincidence. Quite a useful lesson to a lawyer, by +the way.” + +“Exactly,” said Thorndyke. “In fact, I was going to ask you to allow +me to borrow it to examine at my leisure.” + +The professor was delighted. “There now,” he chuckled with a +mischievous twinkle at Phillip, “what did I tell you? He hasn’t come +here for the comparative anatomy at all. He has just come to grub for +legal data. And now, you see, the medico-legal worm has arrived and is +instantly collared by the medical jurist. Take him, by all means, +Thorndyke. You needn’t borrow him. I present him as a gift to your +black museum. You needn’t return him.” + +Thorndyke thanked the professor, and having packed the specimen with +infinite tenderness in its cotton wool, bestowed the box in his +waistcoat pocket. A few minutes later he and Phillip took their leave +of the professor and departed, making their way through Lincoln’s Inn +to Chancery Lane. + +“That button gave me quite a shock for a moment,” said Phillip, +“appearing out of the sea on the Cornish Coast; for, of course, it was +on Purcell’s coat when he went ashore—at least I suppose it was. I +understood Varney to say so.” + +“He did,” said Thorndyke. “He mentioned the incident at dinner one +evening and he then said definitely that the cork button was on the +coat when Purcell went up the ladder.” + +“Yes, and it seemed rather mysterious at first, as Purcell went right +away from Cornwall. But there is probably quite a simple explanation. +Purcell went to the East Coast by sea; and it is most likely that, +when he got on board the steamer, he obtained a proper button from the +steward, cut off the jury button and chucked it overboard. But it is a +queer chance that it should have come back to us in this way.” + +Thorndyke nodded. “A very queer chance,” he agreed. As he spoke, he +looked at Phillip with a somewhat puzzled expression. He was, in fact, +rather surprised. Phillip Rodney was a doctor, a man of science and an +unquestionably intelligent person. He knew all the circumstances that +were known and he had seen and examined the button; and yet he had +failed to observe the one vitally important fact that stared him in +the face. + +“What made you want to borrow the button?” Phillip asked presently. +“Was it that you wanted to keep it as a relic of the Purcell case?” + +“I want to examine the worm-tube,” replied Thorndyke. “It is a rather +unusual one; very uniform in composition. Mostly, Terebella tubes are +very miscellaneous as to their materials—sand, shell, little pebbles +and so forth. The material of this one seems to be all alike.” + +“Probably the stuff that the worm was able to pick up in the +neighbourhood of Morte Hoe.” + +“That is possible,” said Thorndyke, and the conversation dropped for a +moment, each man occupying himself with reflections on the other. To +Phillip it seemed rather surprising that a man like Thorndyke, full of +important business, should find time, or even inclination, to occupy +himself with trivialities like this. For, after all, what did it +matter whether this worm-tube was composed of miscellaneous gatherings +or of a number of similar particles? No scientific interest attached +to the question. It seemed rather a silly quest. And yet Thorndyke had +thought it worth while to borrow the specimen for this very purpose. + +Thorndyke, for his part, was more than ever astonished at the mental +obtuseness of this usually acute and intelligent man. Not only had he +failed in the first place to observe a most striking and significant +fact; he could not see that fact even when his nose was rubbed hard on +it. + +As they passed through Old Buildings and approached the main gateway, +Phillip slowed down. “I am going in to my brother’s chambers, here, to +have tea with him. Do you care to join us? He will be glad to see +you.” + +Thorndyke, however, was in no mood for tea and gossip. He had got a +first-class clue—a piece of really conclusive evidence. How conclusive +it was and how far its conclusiveness went, he could not tell at +present; and he was eager to get to work on the assay of this specimen +in an evidential sense—to see exactly what was the amount and kind of +evidence that the sea had cast up on the shore of Morte Hoe. He +therefore excused himself, and having bidden Phillip adieu, he strode +out into Chancery Lane and bore south towards the Temple. + +On entering his chambers he discovered his assistant, Polton, in the +act of transferring boiling water from a copper kettle to a small +silver teapot; whereby he was able to infer that his approach had been +observed by the said Polton from his lookout in the laboratory above. +The two men, master and man, exchanged friendly greetings and +Thorndyke then observed: + +“I have got a job to do later on, Polton, when I have finished up the +evening’s work. I shall want to grind some small sections of a mineral +that I wish to identify. Would you put out one or two small hones and +the other things that I shall need?” + +“Yes, sir,” replied Polton. “I will put the mineral section outfit on +a tray and bring it down after tea. But can’t I grind the sections? It +seems a pity for you to be wasting your time on a mechanical job like +that.” + +“Thank you, Polton,” replied Thorndyke. “Of course you could cut the +sections as well as, or better than, I can. But it is possible that I +may have to produce the sections in evidence, and in that case it will +be better if I can say that I cut them myself and that they were never +out of my own hands. The Courts don’t know you as I do, you see, +Polton.” + +Polton acknowledged the compliment with a gratified smile and departed +to the laboratory. As soon as he was gone Thorndyke brought forth the +little cardboard box and having taken out the button, carried it over +to the window, where, with the aid of his pocket lens, he made a long +and careful examination of the worm-tube; the result of which was to +confirm his original observation. The mineral particles of which the +tube was built up were of various shapes and sizes, from mere +sand-grains up to quite respectable little pebbles. But, so far as he +could see, they were all of a similar material. What that material +was, an expert mineralogist would have been able, no doubt, to say +offhand; and an expert opinion would probably have to be obtained. But +in the meantime his own knowledge was enough to enable him to form a +fairly reliable opinion when he had made the necessary investigations. + +As he drank his tea he reflected on this extraordinary windfall. +Circumstances had conspired in the most singular manner against +Varney. How much they had conspired remained to be seen. That depended +on how much the worm-tube had to tell. But even if no further light +were thrown on the matter by the nature of the mineral, there was +evidence enough to prove that Purcell had never landed at Penzance. +The Terebella had already given that much testimony. And the +cross-examination was yet to come. + +Having finished tea, he fell to work on the reports and written +opinions which had to be completed and sent off by the last post; and +it was characteristic of the man that, though the button and its as +yet half-read message lurked in the subconscious part of his mind as +the engrossing object of interest, he was yet able to concentrate the +whole of his conscious attention on the matters with which he was +outwardly occupied. Twice during the evening Polton stole silently +into the room, once to deposit on a side table the little tray +containing the mineral section appliances and the second time to place +on a small table near the fire a larger tray bearing the kind of +frugal, informal supper that Thorndyke usually consumed when alone and +at work. + +“If you wait a few moments, Polton, I shall have these letters ready +for the post. Then we shall both be free. I don’t want to see anybody +to-night unless it is something urgent.” + +“Very well, sir,” replied Polton. “I will switch the bell on to the +laboratory and I’ll see that you are not disturbed unnecessarily.” + +With this he took up the letters which Thorndyke had sealed and +stamped and reluctantly withdrew, not without a last, wistful glance +at the apparatus on the tray. + +As the door closed behind him, Thorndyke rose, and, bringing forth the +button from the drawer in which he had bestowed it, began operations +at once. First, with a pair of fine forceps he carefully picked off +the worm-tube half-a-dozen of the largest fragments and laid them on a +glass slide. This he placed on the stage of the microscope and, having +fitted on a two-inch objective, made a preliminary inspection under +various conditions of light, both transmitted and reflected. When he +had got clearly into his mind the general character of the unknown +rock, he fetched from a store cabinet in the office a number of +shallow drawers filled with labelled specimens of rocks and minerals; +and he also placed on the table in readiness for reference one or two +standard works on geology and petrology. But before examining either +the books or the specimens in the drawers, he opened out a geological +chart of the British Isles and closely scrutinized the comparatively +small area with which the button was concerned—the Land’s End and the +North and South Coasts of Cornwall. A very brief scrutiny of the map +showed him that the enquiry could now be narrowed down to a quite +small group of rocks, the majority of which he could exclude at once +by his own knowledge of the more familiar types; which was highly +satisfactory. But there was evidently something more than this. Any +one who should have been observing him as he pored over the chart, +would have seen, by a suddenly increased attention, with a certain +repressed eagerness, that some really illuminating fact had come into +view; and his next proceedings would make clear to such an observer +that the problem had already changed from one search to a definite and +particular identification. From the chart he turned to the drawers of +specimens, running his eye quickly over their contents as if looking +for some specific object; and this object he presently found in a +little cardboard tray—a single fragment of a grey, compact rock, which +he pounced upon at once, and picking it out of its tray, laid it on +the slide with the fragments from the worm-tube. Careful comparison +gave the impression that they were identical in character, but the +great difference in the size of the fragments compared was a source of +possible error. Accordingly he wrapped the specimen lightly in paper, +and with a hammer from the tool-drawer struck it a sharp blow, which +broke it into a number of smaller fragments, some of them quite +minute. Picking out one or two of the smallest from the paper, and +carefully noting the “conchoidal” character of the fracture, he placed +them on a separate slide which he at once labelled “stock specimen,” +labelling the other slide “worm-tube.” Having taken this precaution +against possible confusion, he laid the two slides on the stage of the +microscope and once more made a minute comparison. And again the +conclusion emerged that the fragments from the worm-tube were +identical in all their characters with the fragments of the stock +specimen. + +It now remained to test this conclusion by more exact methods. Two +more labelled slides having been prepared, Thorndyke laid them, label +downwards, on the table and dropped on each a large drop of melted +Canada balsam. In one drop, while it was still soft, he immersed two +or three fragments from the worm-tube; in the other a like number of +fragments of the stock specimen. Then he heated both slides over a +spirit lamp to liquefy the balsam and completely immerse the +fragments, and laid them aside to cool while he prepared the +appliances for grinding the sections. + +This process was, as Polton had hinted, a rather tedious one. It +consisted in rubbing the two slides backwards and forwards upon a +wetted Turkey stone until the fragments of rock were ground to a flat +surface. The flattened surfaces had then to be polished upon a +smoother stone and when this had been done, the slides were once more +heated over the spirit lamp, the balsam liquefied, and each of the +fragments neatly turned over with a needle on its flat side. When the +balsam was cool and set hard, the grinding process was repeated until +each of the fragments was worn down to a thin plate or film with +parallel sides. Then the slides were again heated, a fresh drop of +balsam applied and a cover-glass laid on top. The specimens were now +finished and ready for examination. + +On this, the final stage of the investigation, he bestowed the utmost +care and attention. The two specimens were examined exhaustively and +compared again and again by every possible method, including the use +of the polariscope and the spectroscope; and the results of each +observation were at once written down. Finally, Thorndyke turned to +the books of reference, and selecting a highly technical work on +petrology, checked his written notes by the very detailed descriptions +that it furnished of rocks of volcanic origin. And once again the +results were entirely confirmatory of the opinion that he had at first +formed. No doubt whatever was left in his mind as to the nature of the +particles of rock of which the worm had built its tube. But if his +opinion was correct, he held evidence producible in a court of law +that Daniel Purcell had never landed at Penzance; that, in fact, his +dead body was even now lying at the bottom of the sea. + +As he consumed his frugal supper Thorndyke turned over the situation +in his mind. He had no doubts at all. But it would be necessary to get +his identification of the rock confirmed by a recognized authority who +could be called as a witness and whose statement would be accepted by +the court as establishing the facts. There was no difficulty about +that. He had a friend who was connected with the Geological Museum and +who was recognized throughout the world as a first-class authority on +everything relating to the physical and chemical proprieties of rocks +and minerals. He would take the specimens to-morrow to this expert and +ask him to examine them; and when the authoritative opinion had been +pronounced, he would consider what procedure he should adopt. Already +there was growing up in his mind a doubt as to the expediency of +taking action on purely scientific evidence; and in answer to that +doubt a new scheme began to suggest itself. + +But for the moment he put it aside. The important thing was to get the +expert identification of the rock and so put his evidence on the basis +of established fact. The conversion of scientific into legal evidence +was a separate matter that could be dealt with later. And having +reached this conclusion, he took a sheet of note paper from the rack +and wrote a short letter to his friend at the museum making an +appointment for the following afternoon. A few minutes later he +dropped it into the box of the Fleet Street Post Office and for the +time being dismissed the case from his mind. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +In Which Mr. Varney Is Disillusioned + +Thorndyke’s visit to the Geological Museum was not a protracted +affair, for his friend, Mr. Burston, made short work of the +investigation. + +“You say you have examined the specimens yourself,” said he. “Well, I +expect you know what they are; just come to me for an official +confirmation, hm? However, don’t tell me what your conclusion was. I +may as well start with an open mind. Write it down on this slip of +paper and lay it on the table face downwards. And now let us have the +specimens.” + +Thorndyke produced from his pocket a cigar case from which he +extracted a pill-box and the labelled microscope-slide. + +“There are two little water-worn fragments in the pill-box,” he +explained, “and three similar ones which I have ground into sections. +I am sorry the specimens are so small, but they are the largest I +had.” + +Mr. Burston took the pill-box, and, tipping the two tiny pebbles into +the palm of his hand, inspected them through a Coddington lens. + +“M’ yes,” said he, “I don’t think it will be very difficult to decide +what this is. I think I could tell you offhand. But I won’t. I’ll put +it through the regular tests and make quite sure of it; and meanwhile +you had better have a browse around the museum.” + +He bustled off to some inner sanctum of the Curator’s domain and +Thorndyke adopted his advice by straying out into the galleries. But +he had little opportunity to study the contents of the cases, for in a +few minutes Mr. Burston returned with a slip of paper in his hand. + +“Now,” he said facetiously as they re-entered the room, “you see +there’s no deception.” He laid his slip of paper on the table beside +Thorndyke’s and invited the latter to “turn up the cards.” Thorndyke +accordingly turned over the two slips of paper. Each bore the single +word “Phonolite.” + +“I knew you had spotted it,” said Burston. “However, you have now got +corroborative evidence and I suppose you are happy. I only hope I +haven’t helped to send some poor devil to chokee or worse. Good-bye! +Glad you brought the things to me.” He restored the pill-box and slide +and, having shaken hands heartily, returned to his lair, while +Thorndyke went forth into Jermyn Street and took his way thoughtfully +eastward. + +In a scientific sense the Purcell case was now complete. But the more +he thought about it the more did he feel the necessity for bringing +the scheme of evidence into closer conformity with traditional legal +practice. Even to a judge, a purely theoretical train of evidence +might seem inconclusive; to a jury who had been well pounded by a +persuasive counsel it would probably appear quite unconvincing. It +would be necessary to obtain corroboration along different lines and +in a new direction; and the direction in which it would be well to +explore in the first place was the ancient precinct of Lincoln’s Inn +where, at 62 Old Buildings, Mr. John Rodney had his professional +chambers. + +Now, at the very moment when Thorndyke was proceeding with swift +strides from the neighbourhood of Jermyn Street towards Lincoln’s Inn +on business of the most critical importance to Mr. Varney, it was +decreed by the irony of fate that the latter gentleman should be +engaged in bringing his affairs to a crisis of another kind. For some +time past he had been watching with growing impatience the dilatory +proceedings of the lawyers in regard to Margaret’s petition. +Especially had he chafed at the farce of the private detective, +searching, as he knew, for a man whose body was lying on the bed of +the sea hundreds of miles away from the area of the search. He was +deeply disappointed, too. For when his advertisement scheme had been +adopted by Thorndyke, he had supposed that all was plain sailing; he +had but to send the necessary letter and the dissolution of the +marriage could be proceeded with at once. That was how it had appeared +to him. And as soon as the marriage was dissolved he would make his +declaration and in due course his heart’s desire would be +accomplished. + +Very differently had things turned out. Months had passed and not a +sign of progress had been made. The ridiculous search for the missing +man—ridiculous to him only, however—dragged on interminably and made +him gnash his teeth in secret. His omniscience was now a sheer +aggravation; for it condemned him to look on at the futile activities +that Barnby had suggested and Rodney initiated, recognizing all their +futility but unable to utter a protest. To a man of his temperament it +was maddening. + +But there was another source of trouble. His confidence in Margaret’s +feelings towards him had been somewhat shaken of late. It had seemed +to him there had been a change in her bearing towards him; a slight +change, subtle and indefinable, but a change. She seemed as friendly, +as cordial as ever; she welcomed his visits and appeared always glad +to see him; and yet there was a something guarded—so he felt—as if she +were consciously restraining any further increase of intimacy. + +The thought of it troubled him profoundly. Of course it might be +nothing more than a little extra carefulness, due to her equivocal +position. She had need to keep clear of anything in the slightest +degree compromising; that he realized clearly. But still the feeling +lurked in his mind that she had changed, at least in manner; and +sometimes he was aware of a horrible suspicion that he might have been +overconfident. More than once he had been on the point of saying +something indiscreet; and as time went on he felt ever growing a +yearning to have his doubts set at rest. + +On this present occasion he was taking tea with Margaret by invitation +with the ostensible object of showing her a set of etchings of some of +the picturesque corners of Maidstone. He always enjoyed showing her +his works because he could see that she enjoyed looking at them; and +these etchings of her native town would, he knew, have a double +appeal. + +“What a lovely old place it is!” she exclaimed as she sipped her tea +with her eyes fixed on the etchings that Varney had placed before her +on a music stand. “Why is it, Mr. Varney, that an etching or a drawing +of any kind is so much more like the place than a photograph? It can’t +be a question of accuracy, for the photograph is at least as accurate +as a drawing and contains a great deal more detail.” + +“Yes,” agreed Varney, “and that is probably the explanation. An artist +puts down what he sees and what any one else would see and recognize. +A photograph puts down what is there, regardless of how the scene +would look to a spectator. Consequently it is full of irrelevant +detail which gets in the way of the real effect as the eye would see +it; and it may show appearances that the eye never sees at all, as in +the case of Muybridge’s instantaneous photographs of galloping horses. +A photograph of a Dutch clock might catch the pendulum in the middle +of its swing, and then the clock would appear to have stopped. But an +artist would always draw it at the end of its swing where it pauses +for an instant; and that is where the eye sees it when the clock is +going.” + +“Yes, of course,” said Margaret; “and now I understand why your +etchings of the old streets and lanes show just the streets and lanes +that I remember, whereas the photographs that I have all look more or +less strange and unfamiliar. I suppose they are full of details that I +never noticed; but your etchings pick out and emphasize the things +that I used to look at with pleasure and which live in my memory. It +is a long time since I have been to Maidstone. I should like to see it +again; indeed I am not sure that, if I were free to choose, I +shouldn’t like to live there again. It is a dear old town.” + +“Yes; isn’t it? But you say ‘if you were free to choose.’ Aren’t you +free to choose where you will live?” + +“In a sense, I am, I suppose,” she replied; “but I don’t feel that I +can make any definite arrangements for the future until—well, until I +know what my own future is to be.” + +“But surely you know that now. You have got that letter of Dan’s. That +practically releases you. The rest is only a matter of time and legal +formalities. If Jack Rodney had only got Penfield or some other +solicitor to get the case started as soon as you had that letter, you +would have had your decree by now and have been your own mistress. At +least, that is my feeling on the subject. Of course I am not a lawyer +and I may be wrong.” + +“I don’t think you are,” said Margaret. “I have thought the same all +along, and I fancy Mr. Rodney is beginning to regret that he did not +follow Dr. Thorndyke’s advice and rely on the letter only. But he felt +that he could hardly go against Mr. Barnby, who has had so much +experience in this kind of practice. And Mr. Barnby was very positive +that the letter was not enough.” + +“Yes, Barnby has crabbed the whole business; and now after all these +months you are just where you were, excepting that you have dropped a +lot of money on this ridiculous private detective. Can’t you get +Rodney to send the fellow packing and get the case started in +earnest?” + +“I am inclined to think that he is seriously considering that line of +action and I hope he is. Of course I have tried to influence him in +the matter. It is silly for a lay person to embarrass a lawyer by +urging him to do this or that against his judgment. But I must say +that I have grown rather despondent as the time has dragged on and +nothing has been done, and I shall be very relieved when a definite +move is made. I have an impression that it will be, quite soon.” + +“That is good hearing,” exclaimed Varney, “because when a move is +made, it can’t fail to be successful. How can it? On that letter Dan +could offer no defence; and it is pretty obvious that he has no +intention of offering any. And if there is no defence, the case must +go in your favour.” + +“Unless the judge suspects collusion, as Mr. Barnby seems to think he +may.” + +“But,” protested Varney, “judges don’t give their decisions on what +they suspect, do they? I thought they decided on the evidence. Surely +collusion would have to be proved like anything else; and it couldn’t +be, because there has been no collusion. And I don’t see why any one +should suspect that there has been.” + +“I agree with you entirely, Mr. Varney,” said Margaret, “and I do hope +you are right. You are making me feel quite encouraged.” + +“I am glad of that,” said he, “and I am encouraging myself at the same +time. This delay has been frightfully disappointing. I had hoped that +by this time the affair would have been over and you would have been +free. However, we may hope that it won’t be so very long now.” + +“It will take some months in any case,” said Margaret. + +“Yes, of course,” he admitted; “but that is a mere matter of waiting. +We can wait patiently when we see the end definitely in view. And what +a relief it will be when it is over! Just think of it. When the words +are spoken and the shackles are struck off! Won’t that be a joyful +day?” As Varney was speaking, Margaret watched him furtively and a +little uneasily. For there had come into his face an expression that +she had seen more than once of late; an expression that filled her +gentle soul with forebodings of trouble for this impulsive +warm-hearted friend. And now the note of danger was heightened by +something significant in the words that he had used, something that +expressed more than mere friendly solicitude. + +“It will certainly be a relief when the whole business is over,” she +said quietly; “and it is most kind and sympathetic of you to take such +a warm interest in my future.” + +“It isn’t kind at all,” he replied, “nor particularly sympathetic. I +feel that I am an interested party. In a sense, your future is my +future.” + +He paused a few moments, and she looked at him in something like +dismay. Vainly she cast about for some means of changing the current +of the conversation, of escaping to some less perilous topic. Before +she had time to recover from her confusion he looked up at her and +burst out passionately: + +“Maggie, I want to ask you a question. I know I oughtn’t to ask it, +but you must try to forgive me. I can’t bear the suspense any longer. +I think about it day and night and it is eating my heart out. What I +want to ask you is this: When it is all over—when that blessed day +comes and you are free, will you—can I hope that you may be willing to +listen to me if I ask you to let me be your devoted servant, your +humble worshipper and to try to make up to you by love and faithful +service all that has been missing from your life in the past? For +years—for many years, Maggie, I have been your friend, a friend far +more loving and devoted than you have ever guessed, for in those days +I hardly dared to dream even of intimate friendship. But now the +barrier between us is no longer immoveable. Soon it will be cast down +for ever. And then—can it be, Maggie, that my dreams will come true? +That you will grant me a lifelong joy by letting me be the guardian of +your happiness and peace?” + +For a moment there had risen to Margaret’s face a flush of resentment, +but it faded almost instantly and was gone, extinguished by a deep +sense of the tragedy of this unfortunate but real and great passion. +She had always liked Varney and she had recognized and valued his +quiet, unobtrusive friendship and the chivalrous deference with which +he had been used to treat her. And now she was going to make him +miserable, to destroy his cherished hopes of a future made happy in +the realization of his great love for her. The sadness of it left no +room for resentment, and her eyes filled as she answered unsteadily: + +“You know, Mr. Varney, that, as a married woman, I have no right to +speak or think of the making of a new marriage. But I feel that your +question must be answered and I wish, dear Mr. Varney, I wish from my +heart that it could be answered differently. I have always valued your +friendship—with very good reason; and I value your love and am proud +to have been thought worthy of it. But I cannot accept it. I can never +accept it. It is dreadful to me, dear friend, to make you unhappy—you +whom I like and admire so much. But it must be so. I have nothing but +friendship to offer you, and I shall never have.” + +“Why do you say you will never have, Maggie?” he urged. “May it not be +that you will change? That the other will come if I wait long enough? +And I will wait patiently—wait until I am an old man if need be, so +that only the door is not shut. I will never weary you with +importunities, but just wait your pleasure. Will you not let me wait +and hope, Maggie?” + +She shook her head sadly. “No, Mr. Varney,” she answered. “Believe me +it can never be. There is nothing to wait for. There will be no +change. The future is certain so far as that. I am so sorry, dear, +generous friend! It grieves me to the heart to make you unhappy. But +what I have said is final. I can never say anything different.” + +Varney looked at her in incredulous despair. He could not believe in +this sudden collapse of all his hopes; for his doubts of her had been +but vague misgivings born of impatience and unrest. But suddenly a new +thought flashed into his mind. + +“How do you know that?” he asked. “Why are you so certain? Is there +anything now that you know of that—that must keep us apart for ever? +You know what I mean, Maggie. Is there anything?” + +She was silent for a few moments. Naturally she was reluctant to +disclose to another the secret that she had held so long locked in her +own heart and that even now she dared but to whisper to herself. But +she felt that to this man, whose love she must reject and whose +happiness she must shatter, she owed a sacred duty. He must not be +allowed to wreck his life if a knowledge of the truth would save him. + +“I will tell you, Mr. Varney,” she said. “You know how I came to marry +Dan?” + +“I think so,” he replied. “He never told me, but I guessed.” + +“Well, if I had not married Dan, I should have married John Rodney. +There was no engagement and nothing was said; but we were deeply +attached to one another and we both understood. Then circumstances +compelled me to marry Dan. Mr. Rodney knew what those circumstances +were. He cherished no resentment against me. He did not even blame me. +He has remained my friend ever since and he has formed no other +attachment. I know that he has never forgotten what might have been, +and neither have I. Need I say any more?” + +Varney shook his head. “No,” he replied gruffly. “I understand.” + +For some moments there was a deep silence in the room. Margaret +glanced timidly at her companion, shocked at the sudden change in his +appearance. In a moment all the enthusiasm, the eager vivacity had +died out of his face, leaving it aged, drawn and haggard. He had +understood; and his heart was filled with black despair. At a word all +his glorious dream-castles had come crashing down, leaving the world +that had been so sunny a waste of dust and ashes. So he sat for a +while silent, motionless, stunned by the suddenness of the calamity. +At length he rose and began, in a dull, automatic way to collect his +etchings and bestow them in his portfolio. When he had secured them +and tied the ribbons of the portfolio, he turned to Margaret and +standing before her looked earnestly in her face. + +“Good-bye, Maggie,” he said in a strange, muffled voice; “I expect I +shan’t see you again for some time.” + +She stood up, and with a little smothered sob, held out her hand. He +took it in both of his and, stooping, kissed it reverently. “Good-bye +again,” he said, still holding her hand. “Don’t be unhappy about me. +It couldn’t be helped. I shall often think of you and of how sweet you +have been to me to-day; and I shall hope to hear soon that you have +got your freedom. And I do hope to God that Rodney will make you +happy. I think he will. He is a good fellow, an honest man and a +gentleman. He is worthy of you and I wish you both long years of +happiness.” + +He kissed her hand once more and then, releasing it, made his way +gropingly out into the hall and to the door. She followed him with the +tears streaming down her face and watched him, as she had watched him +once before, descending the stairs. At the landing he turned and waved +his hand; and even as she returned his greeting he was gone. She went +back to the drawing-room still weeping silently, very sad at heart at +this half-foreseen tragedy. For the time being, she could see, Varney +was a broken man. He had come full of hope and he had gone away in +despair; and something seemed to hint—it may have been the valedictory +tone of his last words—that she had looked on him for the last time; +that the final wave of his hand was a last farewell. + +Meanwhile Varney, possessed by a wild unrest, hurried through the +streets, yearning, like a wounded animal, for the solitude of his +lair. He wanted to shut himself in his studio and be alone with his +misery. Presently he hailed a taxicab and from its window gazed out +impatiently to measure its progress. Soon it drew up at the familiar +entry, and when he had paid the driver he darted in and shut the door; +but hardly had he attained the sanctuary that he had longed for than +the same unrest began to engender a longing to escape. Up and down the +studio he paced, letting the unbidden thoughts surge chaotically +through his mind, mingling the troubled past with the future of his +dreams—the sunny future that might have been—and this with the empty +reality that lay before him. + +On the wall he had pinned an early proof of the aquatint that +Thorndyke had liked and that he himself rather liked. He had done it +partly from bravado and partly as a memorial of the event that had set +both him and Maggie free. Presently he halted before it and let it set +the tune to his meditations. There was the lighthouse looking over the +fog-bank just as it had looked on him when he was washing the +blood-stain from the deck. By that time Purcell was overboard, at the +bottom of the sea. His oppressor was gone. His life was now his own; +and her life was her own. + +He looked at the memorial picture and in a moment it seemed to him to +have become futile. The murder itself was futile—so far as he was +concerned, though it had set Maggie free. To what purpose had he +killed Purcell? It had been to ensure a future for himself; and behold +there was to be no future for him after all. Thus in the bitterness of +his disappointment he saw everything out of proportion and in false +perspective. He forgot that it was not to win Margaret but to escape +from the clutches of his parasite that he had pulled the trigger on +that sunny day in June. He forgot that he had achieved the very object +that was in his mind when he fired the shot; freedom to live a +reputable life safe from the menace of the law. His passion for +Margaret had become so absorbing that it had obscured all the other +purposes of his life; and now that it was gone, it seemed to him that +nothing was left. + +As he stood thus gloomily reflecting with his eyes fixed on the little +picture he began to be aware of a new impulse. The lighthouse, the +black-sailed luggers, the open sea, seemed to take on an unwonted +friendliness. They were the setting of something besides tragedy. +There, in Cornwall, he had been happy in a way despite the abiding +menace of Purcell’s domination. There, at Sennen, he had lived under +the same roof with her, had sat at her table, had been her guest and +her accepted friend. It had not really been a happy period, but +memory, like the sun-dial, numbers only the sunny hours, and Varney +looked back on it with wistful eyes. At least his dream had not been +shattered then. So, as he looked at the picture he felt stirring +within him a desire to go back and look upon those scenes again. +Falmouth and Penzance and Sennen—especially Sennen—seemed to draw him. +He wanted to look out across the sea to the Longships and in the +gathering gloom of the horizon to see the diamond and the ruby sparkle +as they did that evening when he and the distant lighthouse seemed to +hold secret converse. + +It was, perhaps, a strange impulse. Whence it came he neither knew nor +asked. It may have been the effect of memory and association. It may +have been mere unrest. Or it may have been that a dead hand beckoned +to him to come. Who shall say? He only knew that he was sensible of +the impulse and that it grew from moment to moment. + +To a man in his condition, to feel an impulse is to act on it. No +sooner was he conscious of the urge to go back and look upon the +well-remembered scenes than he began to make his simple preparations +for the journey. Like most experienced travellers he travelled light. +Most of his kit, including his little case of sketching materials, was +in the studio. The rest could be picked up at his lodgings en route +for Paddington. Within ten minutes of his having formed the resolve to +go, he stood on the threshold locking the studio door from without +with the extra key that he used when he was absent for more than a +day. At the outer gate he paused to pocket the key and stood for a few +moments with his portmanteau in his hand, looking back at the studio +with a curiously reflective air. Then, at last, he turned and went on +his way. But if he could have looked, as the clairvoyant claims to +look, through the bricks and mortar of London, he might at this very +time have seen Dr. John Thorndyke striding up Chancery Lane from Fleet +Street; might have followed him to the great gateway of Lincoln’s Inn +(on the masonry whereof tradition has it that Ben Jonson worked as a +bricklayer) and seen him pass through into the little square beyond +and finally plunge into the dark and narrow entry of one of the +ancient red-brick houses that have looked down upon the square for +some three or four centuries, an entry on the jamb of which was +painted the name of Mr. John Rodney. + +But Varney was not a clairvoyant, and neither was Thorndyke. And so it +befell that each of them went his way unconscious of the movements of +the other. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +In Which Thorndyke Opens the Attack + +As Thorndyke turned the corner at the head of the stairs, he +encountered Phillip Rodney with a kettle in his hand, which he had +apparently been filling at some hidden source of water. + +“This is a bit of luck,” said Phillip, holding out his disengaged +hand, “—for me, at least; not, perhaps, for you. I have only just +arrived, and Jack hasn’t come over from the Courts yet. I hope this +isn’t a business call.” + +“In a sense it is,” replied Thorndyke, “as I am seeking information. +But I think you can probably tell me all I want to know.” + +“That’s all right,” said Phillip. “I’ll just plant Polly on the gas +stove and while she is boiling we can smoke a preparatory pipe and you +can get on with the examination in chief. Go in and take the +presidential chair.” + +Thorndyke entered the pleasant, homely room, half office, half +sitting-room and seating himself in the big armchair began to fill his +pipe. In a few moments Phillip entered and sat down on a chair which +commanded a view of the tiny kitchen and of “Polly,” seated on a gas +ring. + +“Now,” said he, “fire away. What do you want to know?” + +“I want,” replied Thorndyke, “to ask you one or two questions about +your yacht.” + +“The deuce you do!” exclaimed Phillip. “Are you thinking of going in +for a yacht yourself?” + +“Not at present,” was the reply. “My questions have reference to that +last trip that Purcell made in her and the first one is: When you took +over the yacht after that trip, did you find her in every respect as +she was before? Was there anything missing that you could not account +for, or any change in her condition, or anything about her that was +not quite as you expected it to be?” + +Phillip looked at his visitor with undissembled surprise. “Now I +wonder what makes you ask that. Have you any reason to expect that I +should have found any change in her condition?” + +“If you don’t mind,” said Thorndyke, “we will leave that question +unanswered for the moment. I would rather not say, just now, what my +object is in seeking this information. We can go into that later. +Meanwhile, do you mind just answering my questions as if you were in +the witness-box?” + +A shade of annoyance crossed Phillip’s face. He could not imagine what +possible concern Thorndyke could have with his yacht and he was +inclined to resent the rather cryptic attitude of his questioner. +Nevertheless he answered readily: “Of course I don’t mind. But, in +fact, there is nothing to tell. I don’t remember noticing anything +unusual about the yacht, and there was nothing missing, so far as I +know.” + +“No rope, or cordage of any kind, for instance?” + +“No—at least nothing to speak of. A new ball of spunyarn had been +broached. I noticed that, and I meant to ask Varney what he used it +for. But there wasn’t a great deal of it gone; and I know of nothing +else. Oh, wait! If I am in the witness-box I must tell the whole +truth, be it never so trivial. There was a mark or stain or dirty +smear of some kind on the jib. Is that any good to you?” + +“Are you sure it wasn’t there before that day?” + +“Quite. I sailed the yacht myself the day before, and I will swear +that the jib was spotlessly clean then. So the mark must have been +made by Purcell or Varney, because I noticed it the very next day.” + +“What was the mark like?” + +“It was just a faint wavy line, as if some dirty water had been spilt +on the sail and allowed to dry partly before it was washed off.” + +“Did you form any opinion as to how the mark might have been caused?” + +Phillip struggled—not quite successfully—to suppress a smile. To him +there seemed something extremely ludicrous in this solemn +interrogation concerning these meaningless trifles. But he answered as +gravely as he could: “I could only make a vague guess. I assumed that +it was caused in some way by the accident that occurred. You may +remember that the jib halyard broke and the sail went overboard and +got caught under the yacht’s forefoot. That is when it must have +happened. Perhaps the sail may have picked some dirt off the keel. +Usually a dirty mark on the jib means mud on the fluke of the anchor, +but it wasn’t that. The anchor hadn’t been down since it was scrubbed. +The yacht rode at moorings in Sennen Cove. However, there was the +mark; how it came there you are as well able to judge as I am.” + +“And that is all you know—this mark on the sail and the spunyarn. +There was no other cordage missing?” + +“No, not so far as I know.” + +“And there is nothing else missing? No iron fittings or heavy objects +of any kind?” + +“Good Lord, no! How should there be? You don’t suspect Purcell of +having hooked off with one of the anchors in his pocket, do you?” + +Thorndyke smiled indulgently, but persisted in his questions. + +“Do you mean that you know there was nothing missing or only that you +are not aware of anything being missing?” + +The persistence of the questions impressed Phillip with a sudden +suspicion that Thorndyke had something definite in his mind; that he +had some reason for believing that something had been removed from the +yacht. He ventured to suggest this to Thorndyke, who answered frankly +enough: “You are so far right, Phillip, that I am not asking these +questions at random. I would rather not say more than that just now.” + +“Very well,” said Phillip; “I won’t press you for an explanation. But +I may say that we dismantled the yacht in rather a hurry and hadn’t +time to check the inventory, so I can’t really say whether there was +anything missing or not. But you have come at a most opportune time, +for it happens that we had arranged to go over to the place where she +is laid up, at Battersea, to-morrow afternoon for the very purpose of +checking the inventory and generally overhauling the boat and the +gear. If you care to come over with us, or meet us there, we can +settle your questions quite definitely. How will that suit you?” + +“It will suit me perfectly,” replied Thorndyke. “If you will give me +the address and fix a time, I will meet you there.” + +“It is a disused wharf with some empty workshops,” said Phillip. “I +will write down the directions and if you will be at the gate at three +o’clock to-morrow, we can go through the gear and fittings together.” + +Thorndyke made a note of the whereabouts of the wharf, and having thus +dispatched the business on which he had come, he took an early +opportunity to depart, not having any great desire to meet John Rodney +and be subjected to the inevitable cross-examination. He could see +that Phillip was, naturally enough, extremely curious as to the object +of his inquiries, and he preferred to leave the two brothers to +discuss the matter. On the morrow his actions would be guided by the +results, if any, of the survey of the yacht. + +Three o’clock on the following afternoon found him waiting at a large +wooden gate in a narrow thoroughfare close to the river. On the +pavement by his side stood the green canvas-covered “research-case” +which was his constant companion whenever he went abroad on +professional business. It contained a very complete outfit of such +reagents and apparatus as he might require in a preliminary +investigation; but on the present occasion its usual contents had been +reinforced by two large bottles, to obtain which Polton had that +morning made a special visit to a wholesale chemist’s in the Borough. + +A church clock somewhere across the river struck the hour; and almost +at the same moment John and Phillip Rodney emerged from a tributary +alley and advanced towards the gate. + +“You are here first, then,” said Phillip, “but we are not late. I +heard a clock strike a moment ago.” + +He produced a key from his pocket with which he unlocked a wicket in +the gate, and, having pushed it open, invited Thorndyke to enter. The +latter passed through and the two brothers followed, locking the +wicket after them, and conducted Thorndyke across a large yard to a +desolate-looking wharf beyond which was a stretch of unreclaimed +shore. Here, drawn up well above high-water mark, a small, +sharp-sterned yacht stood on chocks under a tarpaulin cover. + +“This is the yacht,” said Phillip, “but there is nothing on board of +her. All the stores and gear and loose fittings are in the workshop +behind us. Which will you see first?” + +“Let us look at the gear,” replied Thorndyke; and they accordingly +turned towards a large disused workshop at the rear of the wharf. + +“Phil was telling me about your visit last night,” said Rodney, with +an inquisitive eye on the research-case, “and we are both fairly +flummoxed. He gathered that these inquiries of yours are in some way +connected with Purcell.” + +“Yes, that is so. I want to ascertain whether, when you resumed +possession of the yacht after Purcell left her, you found her in the +same condition as before and whether her stores, gear and fittings +were intact.” + +“Did you suppose that Purcell might have taken some of them away with +him?” + +“I thought it not impossible,” Thorndyke replied. + +“Now I wonder why on earth you should think that,” said Rodney, “and +what concern it should be of yours if he had.” + +Thorndyke smiled evasively. “Everything is my concern,” he replied. “I +am an Autolycus of the Law, a collector of miscellaneous trifles of +evidence and unclassifiable scraps of information.” + +“Well,” said Rodney with a somewhat sour smile, “I have no experience +of legal curiosity shops and oddment repositories. But I don’t know +what you mean by ‘evidence.’ Evidence of what?” + +“Of whatever it may chance to prove,” Thorndyke replied, blandly. + +“What did you suppose Purcell might have taken with him?” Rodney asked +with a trace of irritability in his tone. + +“I had thought it possible that there might be some cordage missing +and perhaps some iron fittings or other heavy objects. But of course +that is mere surmise. My object is, as I have said, to ascertain +whether the yacht was in all respects in the same condition when +Purcell left her as when he came on board.” + +Rodney gave a grunt of impatience; but at this moment Phillip, who had +been wrestling with a slightly rusty lock, threw open the door of the +workshop and they all entered. Thorndyke looked curiously about the +long, narrow interior with its prosaic contents, so little suggestive +of the tragedy which his thoughts associated with them. Overhead the +yacht’s spars rested on the tie-beams, from which hung bunches of +blocks; on the floor reposed a long row of neatly-painted half-hundred +weights, a pile of chain cable, two anchors, a stove and other +oddments such as water-breakers, buckets, mops, etc.; and on the long +benches at the side, folded sails, locker-cushions, side-light +lanterns, the binnacle, the cabin lamp and other more delicate +fittings. After a long look round, in the course of which his eye +travelled along the row of ballast-weights, Thorndyke deposited his +case on a bench and asked: “Have you still got the broken jib-halyard +that Phillip was telling me about last night?” + +“Yes,” answered Rodney, “it is here under the bench.” + +He drew out a coil of rope, and, flinging it on the floor began to +uncoil it, when it separated into two lengths. + +“Which are the broken ends?” asked Thorndyke. + +“It broke near the middle,” replied Rodney, “where it chafed on the +cleat when the sail was hoisted. This is the one end, you see, frayed +out like a brush in breaking, and the other—” He picked up the second +half, and passing it rapidly through his hands, held up the end. He +did not finish the sentence, but stood, with a frown of surprise, +staring at the rope in his hand. + +“This is queer,” he said, after a pause. “The broken end has been cut +off. Did you cut it off, Phil?” + +“No,” replied Phillip; “it is just as I took it from the locker, +where, I suppose you or Varney stowed it.” + +“I wonder,” said Thorndyke, “how much has been cut off. Do you know +what the original length of the rope was?” + +“Yes,” replied Rodney. “Forty-two feet. It is down in the inventory, +but I remember working it out. Let us see how much there is here.” + +He laid the two lengths of rope along the floor, and with Thorndyke’s +spring tape carefully measured them. The combined length was exactly +thirty-one feet. + +“So,” said Thorndyke, “there are eleven feet missing, without allowing +for the lengthening of the rope by stretching.” + +The two brothers glanced at one another and both looked at Thorndyke +with very evident surprise. “Well,” said Phillip, “you seem to be +right about the cordage. But what made you go for the jib-halyard in +particular?” + +“Because, if any cordage had been cut off it would naturally be taken +from a broken rope in preference to a whole one.” + +“Yes, of course. But I can’t understand how you came to suspect that +any rope was missing at all.” + +“We will talk about that presently,” said Thorndyke. “The next +question is as to the iron fittings, chain and so forth.” + +“It don’t think any of those can be missing,” said Rodney. “You can’t +very well cut a length of chain off with your pocketknife.” + +“No,” agreed Thorndyke, “but I thought you might have some odd pieces +of chain among the ballast.” + +“We have no chain except the cable. Our only ballast is in the form of +half-hundred weights. They are handier to stow than odd stuff.” + +“How many half-hundred weights have you?” + +“Twenty-four,” replied Rodney. + +“There are only twenty-three in that row,” said Thorndyke. “I counted +them as we came in and noted the odd number.” + +The two brothers simultaneously checked Thorndyke’s statement and +confirmed it. Then they glanced about the floor of the workshop under +the benches and by the walls; but the missing weight was nowhere to be +seen, nor was there any place in which an object of this size could +have got hidden. + +“It is very extraordinary,” said Phillip. “There is certainly one +weight missing. And no one has handled them but Jack and I. We hired a +barrow and brought up all the gear ourselves.” + +“There is just the chance,” said Thorndyke, “that one of them may have +been overlooked and left in the yacht’s hold.” + +“It is very unlikely,” replied Phillip, “seeing that we took out the +floor-boards so that you can see the whole of the bilges from end to +end. But I will run down and make sure.” + +He ran out, literally, and, crossing the wharf, disappeared over the +edge. In a couple of minutes he was back, breathing fast and evidently +not a little excited. “It isn’t there,” he said. “Of course it +couldn’t be. But the question is, what has become of it? It is a most +mysterious affair.” + +“It is,” agreed Rodney. “And what is still more mysterious is that +Thorndyke seemed to suspect that it was missing, even before he came +here. Now, didn’t you, Thorndyke?” + +“I suspected that some heavy object was missing, as I mentioned,” was +the reply; “and a ballast-weight was a likely object. By the way, can +you fix a date on which you know that all the ballast-weights were in +place?” + +“Yes, I think I can,” replied Phillip. “A few days before Purcell went +to Penzance we beached the yacht to give her a scrape. Of course we +had to take out the ballast, and when we launched her again I helped +to put it back. I am certain that all the weights were there then +because I counted them after they were stowed in their places.” + +“Then,” said Thorndyke, “it is virtually certain that they were all on +board when Purcell and Varney started from Sennen.” + +“I should say it is absolutely certain,” said Phillip. + +Thorndyke nodded gravely and appeared to reflect a while. But his +reflections were broken in upon by John Rodney. + +“Look here, Thorndyke, we have answered your questions and given you +facilities for verifying certain opinions that you held and now it is +time that you were a little less reserved with us. You evidently +connected the disappearance of this rope and this weight in some way +with Purcell. Now we are all interested in Purcell. You have got +something up your sleeve and we should like to know what that +something is. It is perfectly obvious that you don’t imagine that +Purcell, when he went up the pier ladder at Penzance, had a couple of +fathoms of rope and a half-hundred weight concealed about his person.” + +“As a matter of fact,” said Thorndyke, “I don’t imagine that Purcell +ever went up the ladder at Penzance at all.” + +“But Varney saw him go up,” protested Phillip. + +“Varney says he saw him go up,” Thorndyke corrected. “I do not accept +Mr. Varney’s statement.” + +“Then what on earth do you suggest?” demanded Phillip. “And why should +Varney say what isn’t true?” + +“Let us sit down on this bench,” said Thorndyke, “and thrash the +matter out. I will put my case to you and you can give me your +criticisms on it. I will begin by stating that some months ago I came +to the conclusion that Purcell was dead.” + +Both the brothers started and gazed at Thorndyke in utter +astonishment. Then Rodney said: “You say ‘some months ago.’ You must +mean within the last three months.” + +“No,” replied Thorndyke. “I decided that he died on the 23rd of last +June, before the yacht reached Penzance.” + +An exclamation burst simultaneously from both of his hearers and +Rodney protested impatiently: “But this is sheer nonsense, if you will +pardon me for saying so. Have you forgotten that two persons have +received letters from him less than four months ago?” + +“I suggest that we waive those letters and consider the other +evidence.” + +“But you can’t waive them,” exclaimed Rodney. “They are material +evidence of the most conclusive kind.” + +“I may say that I have ascertained that both those letters were +forgeries. The evidence can be produced, if necessary, as both the +letters are in existence, but I don’t propose to produce it now. I ask +you to accept my statement for the time being and to leave the letters +out of the discussion.” + +“It is leaving out a good deal,” said Rodney. “I find it very +difficult to believe that they were forgeries or to imagine who on +earth could have forged them. However, we won’t contest the matter +now. When did you come to this extraordinary conclusion?” + +“A little over four months ago,” replied Thorndyke. + +“And you never said anything to any of us on the subject,” said +Rodney, “and what is more astonishing, you actually put in an +advertisement, addressed to a man whom you believed to be dead.” + +“And got an answer from him,” added Phillip, with a derisive smile. + +“Exactly,” said Thorndyke. “It was an experiment and it was justified +by the result. But let us get back to the matter that we have been +investigating. I came to the conclusion, as I have said, that Purcell +met his death during that voyage from Sennen to Penzance and that +Varney, for some reason, had thought it necessary to conceal the +occurrence, but I decided that the evidence in my possession would not +be convincing in a Court of Law.” + +“I have no doubt that you were perfectly right in that,” Rodney +remarked drily. + +“I further considered it very unlikely that any fresh evidence would +ever be forthcoming and that, since the death could not be proved, it +was, for many reasons, undesirable that the question should ever be +raised. Accordingly I never communicated my belief to anybody.” + +“Then,” said Rodney, “are we to understand that some new evidence has +come to light, after all?” + +“Yes. It came to light the other day at the College of Surgeons. I +dare say Phillip told you about it.” + +“He told me that, by an extraordinary coincidence, that quaint button +of Purcell’s had turned up and that some sort of sea-worm had built a +tube on it. But if that is what you mean, I don’t see the bearing of +it as evidence.” + +“Neither do I,” said Phillip. + +“You remember that Varney distinctly stated that when Purcell went up +the ladder at Penzance he was wearing his oilskin coat and that the +button was then on it?” + +“Yes. But I don’t see anything in that. Purcell went ashore, it is +true, and he went away from Cornwall. But he seems to have gone by +sea; and as I suggested the other day, he probably got a fresh button +when he went on board the steamer and chucked this cork one +overboard.” + +“I remember your making that suggestion,” said Thorndyke; “and very +much astonished I was to hear you make it. I may say that I have +ascertained that Purcell was never on board that steamer—” + +“Well, he might have thrown it into the sea somewhere else. There is +no particular mystery about its having got into the sea. But what was +there about my suggestion that astonished you so much?” + +“It was,” replied Thorndyke, “that you completely overlooked a most +impressive fact which was staring you in the face and shouting aloud +for recognition.” + +“Indeed,” said Phillip. “What fact was it that I overlooked?” + +“Just consider,” replied Thorndyke, “what it was that Professor D’Arcy +showed us. It was a cork button with a Terebella tube on it. Now an +ordinary cork, if immersed long enough, will soak up water until it is +waterlogged and then sink to the bottom. But this one was impregnated +with paraffin wax. It could not get waterlogged and it could not sink. +It would float forever.” + +“Well?” queried Phillip. + +“But it _had_ sunk. It had been lying at the bottom of the sea for +months; long enough for a Terebella to build a tube on it. Then, at +last, it had broken loose, risen to the surface and drifted ashore.” + +“You are taking the worm-tube as evidence,” said John Rodney, “that +the button had sunk to the bottom. Is it impossible—I am no +naturalist—but is it impossible that the worm could have built its +tube while the button was floating about in the sea?” + +“It is quite impossible,” replied Thorndyke, “in the case of this +particular worm, since the tube is built up of particles of rock +gathered by the worm from the sea-bottom. You will bear me out in +that, Phillip?” + +“Oh, certainly,” replied Phillip. “There is no doubt that the button +has been at the bottom for a good many months. The question is how the +deuce it can have got there, and what was holding it down.” + +“You are not overlooking the fact that it _is_ a button,” said +Thorndyke. “I mean that it was attached to a garment.” + +Both men looked at Thorndyke a little uncomfortably. Then Rodney +replied: + +“Your suggestion obviously is that the button was attached to a +garment and that the garment contained a body. I am disposed to +concede the garment, since I can think of no other means by which the +button could have been held down; but I see no reason for assuming the +body. I admit that I do not quite understand how Purcell’s oilskin +coat could have got to the bottom of the sea, but still less can I +imagine how Purcell’s body could have got to the bottom of the sea. +What do you say, Phil?” + +“I agree with you,” answered Phillip. “Something must have held the +button down, and I can think of nothing but the coat, to which it was +attached. But as to the body, it seems a gratuitous assumption—to say +nothing of the various reasons for believing that Purcell is still +alive. There is nothing wildly improbable in the supposition that the +coat might have blown overboard and been sunk by something heavy in +the pocket. As a matter of fact, it would have sunk by itself as soon +as it got thoroughly soaked. You must admit, Thorndyke, that that is +so.” + +But Thorndyke shook his head. “We are not dealing with general +probabilities,” said he. “We are dealing with a specific case. An +empty oilskin coat, even if sunk by some object in the pocket, would +have been comparatively light, and, like all moderately light bodies, +would have drifted about the sea-bottom, impelled by currents and +tide-streams. But that is not the condition in the present case. There +is evidence that this button was moored immovably to some very heavy +object.” + +“What evidence is there of that?” demanded Rodney. + +“There is the conclusive fact that it has been all these months lying +continuously in one place.” + +“Indeed!” said Rodney with hardly concealed scepticism. “That seems a +bold thing to say. But if you know that it has been lying all the time +in one place, perhaps you can point out the spot where it has been +lying.” + +“As a matter of fact, I can,” said Thorndyke. “That button, Rodney, +has been lying all these months on the sea-bottom at the base of the +Wolf Rock.” + +The two brothers started very perceptibly. They stared at Thorndyke, +then looked at one another and then Rodney challenged the statement. + +“You make this assertion very confidently,” he said. “Can you produce +any evidence to support it?” + +“I can produce perfectly convincing and conclusive evidence,” replied +Thorndyke. “A very singular conjunction of circumstances enables us to +fix with absolute certainty the place where that button has been +lying. Do you happen to be acquainted with the peculiar resonant +volcanic rock known as phonolite or clink-stone?” + +Rodney shook his head a little impatiently. “No,” he answered, “I have +never heard of it before.” + +“It is not a very rare rock,” said Thorndyke, “but in the +neighbourhood of the British Isles it occurs in only two places. One +is inland in the north and may be disregarded. The other is the Wolf +Rock.” + +Neither of his hearers made any comment on this statement, though it +was evident that both were deeply impressed, and he continued: + +“This Wolf Rock is a very remarkable structure. It is what is called a +‘volcanic neck’; that is, it is a mass of altered lava that once +filled the funnel of a volcano. The volcano has disappeared, but this +cast of the funnel remains standing up from the bottom of the sea like +a great column. It is a single mass of phonolite, and thus entirely +different in composition from the sea bed around or anywhere near +these islands. But, of course, immediately at its base, the sea-bottom +must be covered with decomposed fragments which have fallen from its +sides; and it is with these fragments that our Terebella has built its +tube. You remember, Phillip, my pointing out to you as we walked home +from the College, that the worm-tube appeared to be built of fragments +that were all alike. Now that was a very striking and significant +fact. It furnished _prima facie_ evidence that the button had been +moored in one place and that it had therefore been attached to some +very heavy object. That night I made an exhaustive examination of the +material of the tube, and then the further fact emerged that the +material was phonolite. This, as I have said, fixed the locality with +exactness and certainty. And I may add that, in view of the importance +of the matter in an evidential sense, I submitted the fragments +yesterday to one of the greatest living authorities on petrology, who +recognized them at once as phonolite.” + +For some time after Thorndyke had finished speaking, the two brothers +sat wrapped in silent reflection. Both were deeply impressed, but each +in a markedly different way. To John Rodney, the lawyer, accustomed to +sworn testimony and documentary evidence, this scientific +demonstration appeared amazingly ingenious, but somewhat fantastic and +unconvincing. In the case of Phillip, the doctor, it was quite +otherwise. Accustomed to acting on inferences from facts of his own +observing, he gave full weight to each item of evidence and his +thoughts were already stretching out to the, as yet unstated, +corollaries. + +John Rodney was the first to speak. “What inference,” he asked, “do +you wish us to draw from this very ingenious theory of yours?” + +“It is rather more than a theory,” said Thorndyke, “but we will let +that pass. The inference I leave to you; but perhaps it would help you +if I were to recapitulate the facts.” + +“Perhaps it would,” said Rodney. + +“Then,” said Thorndyke, “I will take them in their order. This is the +case of a man who was seen to start on a voyage for a given +destination in company with one other man. His start out to sea was +witnessed by a number of persons. From that moment he was never seen +again by any person excepting his one companion. He is said to have +reached his destination, but his arrival there rests upon the +unsupported verbal testimony of one person, the said companion. +Thereafter he vanished utterly, and since then has made no sign of +being alive; he has drawn no cheques, though he has a considerable +balance at his bank, he has communicated with no one and he has never +been seen by anybody who could recognize him.” + +“Is that quite correct?” interposed Phillip. “He is said to have been +seen at Falmouth and Ipswich, and then there are those letters.” + +“His alleged appearance, embarking at Falmouth and disembarking at +Ipswich,” replied Thorndyke, “rest, like his arrival at Penzance, upon +the unsupported testimony of one person, his sole companion on the +voyage. That statement I can prove to be untrue. He was never seen +either at Falmouth or at Ipswich. As to the letters, I can prove them +both to be forgeries and for the present I ask you to admit them as +such, pending the production of proof. But if we exclude the alleged +appearances and the letters, what I have said is correct; from the +time when this man put out to sea from Sennen, he has never been seen +by any one but Varney and there has never been any corroboration of +Varney’s statement that he landed at Penzance. + +“Some eight months later a portion of this man’s clothing is found. It +bears evidence of having been lying at the bottom of the sea for many +months, so that it must have sunk to its resting-place within a very +short time of the man’s disappearance. The place where it has been +lying is one over, or near, which the man must have sailed in the +yacht. It has been moored to the bottom by some very heavy object; and +a very heavy object has disappeared from the yacht. That heavy object +had apparently not disappeared when the yacht started, and it is not +known to have been on the yacht afterwards. The evidence goes to show +that the disappearance of that object coincided in time with the +disappearance of the man; and a quantity of cordage disappeared, +certainly, on that day. + +“Those are the facts at present in our possession with regard to the +disappearance of Daniel Purcell; to which we may add that the +disappearance was totally unexpected, that it has never been explained +or accounted for excepting in a letter which is a manifest forgery, +and that even in the latter, apart from the fictitious nature of the +letter, the explanation is utterly inconsistent with all that is known +of the missing man in respect of his character, his habits, his +intentions and his circumstances.” + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +In Which John Rodney Is Convinced + +Once more, as Thorndyke concluded, there was a long, uncomfortable +silence, during which the two brothers cogitated profoundly and with a +very disturbed expression. At length Rodney spoke. + +“There is no denying, Thorndyke, that the body of circumstantial +evidence that you have produced, and expounded so skilfully and +lucidly, is extraordinarily complete. Of course it is subject to your +being able to prove that Varney’s reports as to Purcell’s appearance +at Falmouth and Ipswich were false reports and that the letters which +purported to be written and sent by Purcell were in fact not written +or sent by him. If you can prove those assertions there will +undoubtedly be a very formidable case against Varney, because those +reports and those letters would then be evidence that some one was +endeavouring to prove—falsely—that Purcell is alive. But this would +amount to presumptive evidence that he is not alive and that some one +has reasons for concealing the fact of his death. But we must look to +you to prove what you have asserted. You could hardly suggest that we +should charge a highly respectable gentleman of our acquaintance with +having murdered his friend and made away with the body—for that is +obviously your meaning—on a mass of circumstantial evidence which is, +you must admit, rather highly theoretical.” + +“I agree with you completely,” replied Thorndyke. “The evidence +respecting the reports and the letters is obviously essential. But in +the meantime it is of the first importance that we carry this +investigation to an absolute finish. It is not merely a question of +justice or our duty on grounds of public policy to uncover a crime and +secure the punishment of the criminal. There are individual rights and +interests to be guarded; those, I mean, of the missing man’s wife. If +her husband is dead, common justice to her demands that his death +should be proved and placed on public record.” + +“Yes, indeed!” Rodney agreed, heartily. “If Purcell is dead, then she +is a widow and the petition becomes unnecessary. By the way, I +understand now why you were always so set against the private +detective; but what I don’t understand is why you put in that +advertisement.” + +“It is quite simple,” was the reply. “I wanted another forged letter, +written in terms dictated by myself—and I got it.” + +“Ha!” exclaimed Rodney. And now, for the first time, he began to +understand how Thorndyke had got his great reputation. + +“You spoke just now,” Rodney continued, “of carrying this +investigation to a finish. Haven’t you done so? Is there anything more +to investigate?” + +“We have not yet completed our examination of the yacht,” replied +Thorndyke. “The facts that we have elicited enable us to make certain +inferences concerning the circumstances of Purcell’s death—assuming +his death to have occurred. We infer, for instance, that he did not +fall overboard, nor was he pushed overboard. He met his death on the +yacht and it was his dead body which was cast into the sea with the +sinker attached to it. That we may fairly infer. But we have, at +present, no evidence as to the way in which he came by his death. +Possibly a further examination of the yacht may show some traces from +which we may form an opinion. By the way, I have been looking at that +revolver that is hanging from the beam. Was that on board at the +time?” + +“Yes,” answered Rodney. “It was hanging on the cabin bulkhead. Be +careful,” he added, as Thorndyke lifted it from its hook. “I don’t +think it has been unloaded.” + +Thorndyke opened the breech of the revolver, and, turning out the +cartridges into his hand, peered down the barrel and into each chamber +separately. Then he looked at the cartridges in his hand. + +“This seems a little odd,” he remarked. “The barrel is quite clean and +so is one chamber, but the other five chambers are extremely foul. And +I notice that the cartridges are not all alike. There are five Eleys +and one Curtis and Harvey. That is quite a suggestive coincidence.” + +Phillip looked with a distinctly startled expression at the little +heap of cartridges in Thorndyke’s hand, and, picking out the odd one, +examined it with knitted brows. + +“When did you fire the revolver last, Jack?” he asked, looking up at +his brother. + +“On the day when we potted at those champagne bottles,” was the reply. + +Phillip raised his eyebrows. “Then,” said he, “this is a very +remarkable affair. I distinctly remember on that occasion, when we had +sunk all the bottles, reloading the revolver with Eleys, and that +there were then three cartridges left over in the bag. When I had +loaded, I opened the new box of Curtis and Harveys, tipped them into +the bag and threw the box overboard.” + +“Did you clean the revolver?” asked Thorndyke. + +“No, I didn’t. I meant to clean it later, but forgot to.” + +“But,” said Thorndyke, “it has undoubtedly been cleaned, and very +thoroughly as to the barrel and one chamber. Shall we check the +cartridges in the bag? There ought to be forty-nine Curtis and Harveys +and three Eleys if what you have told us is correct.” + +Phillip searched among the raffle on the bench and presently unearthed +a small linen bag. Untying the string, he shot out on the bench a heap +of cartridges which he counted one by one. There were fifty-two in +all, and three of them were Eleys. + +“Then,” said Thorndyke, “it comes to this: since you used that +revolver it has been used by some one else. That some one fired only a +single shot, after which he carefully cleaned the barrel and the empty +chamber and reloaded. Incidentally, he seems to have known where the +cartridge bag was kept, but he did not know about the change in the +make of cartridges or that the revolver had not been cleaned. You +notice, Rodney,” he added, “that the circumstantial evidence +accumulates.” + +“I do, indeed,” Rodney replied, gloomily. “Is there anything else that +you wish to examine?” + +“Yes. There is the sail. Phillip mentioned a stain on the jib. Shall +we see if we can make anything of that?” + +“I don’t think you will make much of it,” said Phillip. “It is very +faint. However, you shall see it and judge for yourself.” He picked +out one of the bundles of white duck, and, while he was unfolding it, +Thorndyke dragged an empty bench into the middle of the floor under +the skylight. Over this the sail was spread so that the mysterious +mark was in the middle of the bench. It was very inconspicuous; just a +faint grey-green, wavy line like the representation of an island on a +map. The three men looked at it curiously for a few moments; then +Thorndyke asked: “Would you mind if I made a further stain on the +sail? I should like to apply some reagents.” + +“Of course you must do what is necessary,” said Rodney. “The evidence +is more important than the sail.” + +On this Thorndyke opened his research case and brought forth the two +bottles that Polton had procured from the Borough; of which one was +labelled “Tinct. Guiaci Dil.” and the other “Æther Ozon.” As they +emerged from the case Phillip read the labels with evident surprise, +remarking: + +“I shouldn’t have thought that the guiacum test would be of any use +after all these months, especially as the sail seems to have been +scrubbed.” + +“It will act, I think, if the pigment or its derivatives are there,” +said Thorndyke; and, as he spoke, he poured a quantity of the tincture +on the middle of the stained area. The pool of liquid rapidly spread +considerably beyond the limits of the stain, growing paler as it +extended. Then Thorndyke cautiously dropped small quantities of the +ozonic ether at various points around the stained area and watched +closely as the two liquids mingled in the fabric of the sail. +Gradually the ether spread towards the stain, and, first at one point +and then at another, approached and finally crossed the wavy grey +line; and at each point the same change occurred: first the faint grey +line turned into a strong blue line and then the colour extended to +the enclosed space until the entire area of the stain stood out a +conspicuous blue patch. Phillip and Thorndyke looked at one another +significantly and the latter said: “You understand the meaning of this +reaction, Rodney; this is a blood stain; and a very carefully washed +blood stain.” + +“So I supposed,” Rodney replied; and for a while no one spoke. + +There was something very dramatic and solemn, they all felt, in the +sudden appearance of this staring blue patch on the sail with the +sinister message that it brought. But what followed was more dramatic +still. As they stood silently regarding the blue stain, the mingled +liquids continued to spread; and suddenly, at the extreme edge of the +wet area, they became aware of a new spot of blue. At first a mere +speck, it grew slowly, as the liquid spread over the canvas, into a +small oval, and then a second spot appeared by its side. At this point +Thorndyke poured out a fresh charge of the tincture, and when it had +soaked into the cloth, cautiously applied a sprinkling of ether. +Instantly the blue spots began to elongate; fresh spots and patches +appeared, and as they ran together there sprang out of the blank +surface the clear impression of a hand—a left hand, complete in all +its details excepting the third finger, which was represented by a +round spot at some two thirds of its length. + +The dreadful significance of this apparition and the uncanny and +mysterious manner of its emergence from the white surface produced a +most profound impression on all the observers, but especially on +Rodney, who stared at it with an expression of the utmost horror, but +spoke not a word. His brother was hardly less appalled, and when he at +length spoke it was in a hushed voice that was little above a whisper. + +“It is horrible!” he murmured. “It seems almost supernatural, that +accusing hand springing into existence out of the blank surface after +all this time. I wonder,” he added after a pause, “why the third +finger made no mark, seeing that the others are so distinct.” + +“I think,” said Thorndyke, “that the impression is there. That small +round spot looks like the mark of a finger-tip, and its position +rather suggests a finger with a stiff joint.” + +As he made this statement, both brothers simultaneously uttered a +smothered exclamation. + +“It is Varney’s hand!” gasped Phillip. “You recognize it, Jack, don’t +you? That is just where the tip of his stiff finger would come. Have +you ever noticed Varney’s left hand, Thorndyke?” + +“You mean the ankylosed third finger? Yes; and I agree with you that +this is undoubtedly the print of Varney’s hand.” + +“Then,” said Rodney, “the case is complete. There is no need for any +further investigation. On the evidence that is before us, to say +nothing of the additional evidence that you can produce, there cannot +be the shadow of a doubt that Purcell was murdered by Varney and his +body sunk in the sea. You agree with me, I am sure, Thorndyke?” + +“Certainly,” was the reply. “I consider the evidence so far conclusive +that I have not the slightest doubt on the subject.” + +“Very well,” said Rodney. “Then the next question is, what is to be +done? Shall I lay a sworn information, or will you? Or had we better +go to the police together and make a joint statement?” + +“Whatever we do,” replied Thorndyke, “don’t let us be premature. The +evidence, as you say, is perfectly convincing. It leaves us with no +doubt as to what happened on that day last June. It would probably be, +in an intellectual sense, quite convincing to a judge. It might even +be to a jury. But would it be sufficient to secure a conviction? I +think it extremely doubtful.” + +“Do you really?” exclaimed Phillip. “I should have thought it +impossible that any one who had heard the evidence could fail to come +to the inevitable conclusion.” + +“You are probably right,” said Thorndyke. “But a jury who are trying +an accused person on a capital charge have got to arrive at something +more than a belief that the accused is guilty. They have got to be +convinced that there is, humanly speaking, no possible doubt as to the +prisoner’s guilt. No jury would give an adverse verdict on a balance +of probabilities, nor would any judge encourage them to do so.” + +“But surely,” said Phillip, “this is something more than a mere +balance of probabilities. The evidence all points in the same +direction and there is nothing to suggest a contrary conclusion.” + +Thorndyke smiled drily. “You might think differently after you have +heard a capable counsel for the defence. But the position is this: we +are dealing with a charge of murder. Now in order to prove that a +particular person is guilty of murder it is necessary first to +establish the _corpus delicti_, as the phrase goes; that is, to prove +that a murder has been committed by some one. But the proof that a +person has been murdered involves the antecedent proof that he is +dead. If there is any doubt that the alleged deceased is dead, no +murder charge can be sustained. But proof of death usually involves +the production of the body or of some identifiable part of it, or, at +least, the evidence of some person who has seen it and can swear to +its identity. There are exceptional cases, of course, and this might +be accepted as one. But you can take it that the inability of the +prosecution to produce the body or any part of it, or any witness who +can testify to having seen it, or any direct evidence that the person +alleged to have been murdered is actually dead, would make it +extremely difficult to secure the conviction of the accused.” + +“Yes, I see that,” said Phillip. “But, after all, that is not our +concern. If we give the authorities all the information that we +possess, we shall have done our duty as citizens. As to the rest, we +must leave the Court to convict or acquit according to its judgment.” + +“Not at all,” Thorndyke dissented. “You are losing sight of our +position in the case. There are two different issues, which are, +however, inseparably connected. One is the fact of Purcell’s death; +the other is Varney’s part in compassing it. Now it is the first issue +that concerns us; or, at least, concerns me. If we could prove that +Purcell is dead without bringing Varney into it at all, I should be +willing to do so; for I strongly suspect that there were extenuating +circumstances.” + +“So do I,” said Rodney. “Purcell was a brute, whereas Varney has +always seemed to be a perfectly decent, gentlemanly fellow.” + +“That is the impression that I have received,” said Thorndyke, “and I +feel no satisfaction in proceeding against Varney. My purpose, all +along, has been, not to convict Varney but to prove that Purcell is +dead. And that is what we have to do now, for Margaret Purcell’s sake. +But we cannot leave Varney out of the case. For if Purcell is dead, he +is dead because Varney killed him; and our only means of proving his +death is to charge Varney with having murdered him. But if we charge +Varney, we must secure a conviction. We cannot afford to fail. If the +Court is convinced that Purcell is dead, it will convict Varney; for +the evidence of his death is evidence of his murder; but if the Court +acquits Varney, it can do so only on the ground that there is no +conclusive evidence that Purcell is dead. Varney’s acquittal would +therefore leave Margaret Purcell still bound by law to a hypothetical +husband, with the insecure chance of obtaining her release at some +future time either by divorce or presumption of death. That would not +be fair to her. She is a widow and she is entitled to have her status +acknowledged.” + +Rodney nodded gloomily. A consciousness of what he stood to gain by +Varney’s conviction lent an uncomfortable significance to Thorndyke’s +words. + +“Yes,” he agreed, half reluctantly, “there is no denying the truth of +what you say, but I wish it might have been the other way about. If +Purcell had murdered Varney I could have raised the hue and cry with a +good deal more enthusiasm. I knew both the men well, and I liked +Varney but detested Purcell. Still, one has to accept the facts.” + +“Exactly,” said Thorndyke, who had realized and sympathized with +Rodney’s qualms. “The position is not of our creating; and whatever +our private sentiments may be, the fact remains that a man who elects +to take the life of another must accept the consequences. That is +Varney’s position so far as we can see; and if he is innocent it is +for him to clear himself.” + +“Yes, of course,” Rodney agreed; “but I wish the accusation had come +through different channels.” + +“So do I,” said Phillip. “It is horrible to have to denounce a man +with whom one has been on terms of intimate friendship. But apparently +Thorndyke considers that we should not denounce him at present. That +is what I don’t quite understand. You seemed to imply, Thorndyke, that +the case was not complete enough to warrant our taking action, and +that some further evidence ought to be obtained in order to make sure +of a conviction. But what further evidence is it possible to obtain?” + +“My feeling,” replied Thorndyke, “is that the case is at present, as +your brother expressed it just now, somewhat theoretical—or rather +hypothetical. The evidence is circumstantial from beginning to end. +There is not a single item of direct evidence to furnish a +starting-point. It would be insisted by the defence that Purcell’s +death is a matter of mere inference and that you cannot convict a man +of the murder of another who may conceivably be still alive. We ought, +if possible, to put Purcell’s death on the basis of demonstrable +fact.” + +“But how is that possible?” demanded Phillip. + +“The conclusive method of proving the death of a person is, as I have +said, to produce that person’s body, or some recognizable part of it.” + +“But Purcell’s body is at the bottom of the sea!” + +“True. But we know its whereabouts. It is a small area, with the +lighthouse as a landmark. If that area were systematically worked over +with a trawl or dredge, or, better still, with a set of creepers +attached to a good-sized spar, there should be a very fair chance of +recovering the body, or, at least, the clothing and the weight.” + +Phillip reflected for a few moments. “I think you are right,” he said, +at length. “The body appears, from what you say, to be quite close to +the Wolf Rock, and almost certainly on the east side. With a good +compass and the lighthouse as a sailing mark, it would be possible to +ply up and down and search every inch of the bottom in the +neighbourhood of the rock.” + +“There is only one difficulty,” said Rodney. “Your worm-tube was +composed entirely of fragments of the rock. But how large an area of +the sea-bottom is covered with those fragments? We should have to +ascertain that if we are to work over the whole of it.” + +“It would not be difficult to ascertain,” replied Thorndyke. “If we +take soundings with a hand-lead as we approach the rock, the samples +that come up on the arming of the lead will tell us when we are over a +bottom covered with phonolite debris.” + +“Yes,” Rodney agreed, “that will answer if the depth is within the +range of a hand-lead. If it isn’t we shall have to rig the tackle for +a deep-sea lead. It will be rather a gruesome quest. Do I gather that +you are prepared to come down with us and lend a hand? I hope you +are.” + +“So do I!” exclaimed Phillip. “We shall be quite at home with the +navigation, but if—er—if anything comes up on the creepers, it will be +a good deal more in your line than ours.” + +“I should certainly wish to come,” said Thorndyke, “and, in fact, I +think it rather desirable that I should, as Phillip suggests. But I +can’t get away from town just at present, nor, I imagine, can you. We +had better postpone the expedition for a week or so until the +commencement of the spring vacation. That will give us time to make +the necessary arrangements, to charter a suitable boat and so forth. +And in any case we shall have to pick our weather, having regard to +the sort of sea that one may encounter in the neighbourhood of the +Wolf.” + +“Yes,” agreed Phillip, “it will have to be a reasonably calm day when +we make the attempt; so I suggest that we put it off until you and +Jack are free; and meanwhile I will get on with the preliminary +arrangements, the hiring of the boat and getting together the +necessary gear.” + +While they had been talking, the evening had closed in and the +workshop was now almost in darkness. It being too late for the +brothers to carry out the business that had brought them to the wharf, +even if they had been in a state of mind suitable to the checking of +inventories, they postponed the survey to a later date, locked up the +workshop, and, in company with Thorndyke, made their way homeward. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +In Which There Is a Meeting and a Farewell + +It was quite early on a bright morning at the beginning of April when +Thorndyke and the two Rodneys took their way from their hotel towards +the harbour of Penzance. Phillip had been in the town for a day or +two, completing the arrangements for the voyage of exploration; the +other two had come down from London only on the preceding evening. + +“I hope the skipper will be punctual,” said Phillip. “I told him to +meet us on the pier at eight o’clock, sharp. We want to get off as +early as possible, for it is a longish run out to the rock and we may +have to make a long day of it.” + +“We probably shall,” said Rodney. “The Wolf Rock is a good departure +for purposes of navigation, but when it comes to finding a spot of +sea-bottom only a foot or two in extent, our landmark isn’t very +exact. It will take us a good many hours to search the whole area.” + +“I wonder,” said Thorndyke, “what took them out there. According to +Varney’s description, and the evidence of the button, they must have +had the rock close aboard. But it was a good deal out of their way +from Sennen to Penzance.” + +“It was,” agreed Phillip. “But you can’t make a bee-line in a sailing +craft. That’s why I chartered a motor boat for this job. Under canvas, +you can only keep as near to your course as the wind will let you. But +Purcell was a deuce of a fellow for sea-room. He always liked to keep +a good offing. I remember that on that occasion he headed straight out +to sea and got well outside the Longships before he turned south. I +watched the yacht from the shore and wondered how much longer he was +going to hold on. It looked as if he were heading for America. Then, +you remember, the fog came down and they may have lost their bearings +a bit; and the tides are pretty strong about here.” + +“Yes,” said Thorndyke, “and as we may take it that the +trouble—whatever it was—came to a head while they were enveloped in +fog, it is likely that the yacht was left to take care of herself for +a time and may have drifted a good deal off her course. At any rate it +is clear that at one time she had the rock right under her lee and +must have drifted past within a few feet.” + +“It would have been a quaint position,” said Phillip, “if she had +bumped onto it and gone to the bottom. Then they would have kept one +another company in Davy Jones’s locker.” + +“It would have saved a lot of trouble if they had gone down together,” +his brother remarked. “But, from what you have just said, Thorndyke, +it seems that you have a more definite idea as to the position of the +body than I thought. Where do you suppose it to be?” + +“Judging from all the facts taken together,” replied Thorndyke, “I +should say that it is lying close to the base of the rock on the east +side. We have it from Varney that the yacht drifted down towards the +rock during the fog, and I gathered that she drifted past close to the +east side. Then we also learned from him that the jib had then come +down, which was, in fact, the cause of her being adrift. But the +blood-stains on the sail prove that the tragedy occurred either before +the halyard broke or while the sail was down—almost certainly the +latter. And we may take it that it occurred during the fog; that the +fog created the opportunity, for we must remember that they were close +to the lighthouse, and therefore—apart from the fog—easily within +sight of it. For the same reason we may assume that the body was put +overboard before the fog lifted. All these circumstances point to the +body being quite close to the rock; and the worm-tube emphatically +confirms that inference.” + +“Then,” said Phillip, “in that case there is no great point in taking +soundings.” + +“Not in the first instance,” Thorndyke agreed. “But if we get no +result close to the rock, we may have to sample the bottom to see how +far from the base the conditions indicated by the worm-tube extend.” + +They walked on in silence for some time. Presently Rodney remarked: +“This reminds me of the last time I came down to a rendezvous on +Penzance pier, when I expected to find Varney waiting for me and he +wasn’t there. I wonder where he was, by the way.” + +“He had probably gone to post a letter to Mr. Penfield at some remote +pillar-box where collections were not too frequent,” said Thorndyke. + +Rodney looked at him quickly, once more astonished at his intimate +knowledge of the details of the case. He was about to remark on it +when Thorndyke asked: + +“Have you seen much of Varney lately?” + +“I haven’t seen him at all,” replied Rodney. “Have you, Phil?” + +“No,” replied Phillip; “not for quite a long time. Which is rather +odd, for he used to look in at Maggie’s flat pretty often to have tea +and show her his latest work. But he hasn’t been there for weeks, I +know, because I was speaking to her about him only a day or two ago. +She seemed to have an idea that he might have gone away on a sketching +tour, though I don’t think she had anything to go on.” + +“He can’t have smelt a rat and cleared out,” mused Rodney. “I don’t +see how he could, though I shouldn’t be altogether sorry if he had. It +will be a horrid business when we have to charge him and give evidence +against him. But it isn’t possible that he can have seen or heard +anything.” + +This was also Thorndyke’s opinion, but he was deeply interested in the +report of Varney’s disappearance. Nor was he entirely without a clue +to it. His observations of Margaret and Varney suggested a possible +explanation which he did not think it necessary to refer to. And, in +fact, the conversation was here interrupted by their arrival at the +pier, where an elderly fisherman who had been watching their approach +came forward and saluted them. + +“Here you are then, Skipper,” said Phillip, “punctual to the minute. +We’ve got a fine day for our trip, haven’t we?” + +“Ay, sir,” replied the skipper. “’Tis a wonderful calm day for the +time of year. And glad I am to see it, if we are to work close in to +the Wolf, for it’s a lumpy bit of water at the best of times around +the rock.” + +“Is everything ready?” asked Phillip. + +“Ay, sir. We are all ready to cast off this moment,” and in +confirmation he preceded the party to the head of the ladder and +indicated the craft lying alongside the pier beneath it—a small +converted Penzance lugger with a large open cockpit in the fore part +of which was the engine. The four men descended the ladder, and while +the skipper and the second fisherman, who constituted the crew, were +preparing to cast off the shore-ropes, Phillip took a last look round +to see that all was in order. Then the crew—who was named Joe +Tregenna—pushed off and started the engine, the skipper took the +tiller and the boat got under way. + +“You see,” said Phillip, as the boat headed out to sea, “we have got +good strong tackle for the creeping operations.” He pointed over the +boat’s side to a long, stout spar which was slung outside the +bulwarks. It was secured by a chain bridle to a trawl-rope and to it +were attached a number of creepers—lengths of chain fitted with rows +of hooks—which hung down into the water and trailed alongside. The +equipment also included a spirit-compass fitted with sight-vanes, a +sextant, a hand-lead, which lay on the cockpit floor with its line +neatly coiled round it, and a deep-sea lead stowed away forward with +its long line and the block for lowering and hoisting it. + +The occupants of the cockpit were strangely silent. It was a beautiful +spring day, bright and sunny, with a warm blue sky overhead and a +tranquil sea, heaving quietly to the long swell from the Atlantic, +showing a sunlit sparkle on the surface and clear sapphire in the +depths. “Nature painted all things gay,” excepting the three men who +sat on the side-benches of the cockpit, whose countenances were +expressive of the deepest gravity and even, in the case of the two +Rodneys, of profound gloom. + +“I shall be glad when this business is over,” said Phillip. “I feel as +nervous as a cat.” + +“So do I,” his brother agreed. “It is a gruesome affair. I find myself +almost hoping that nothing will come of it. And yet that would only +leave us worse off than ever.” + +“We mustn’t be prepared to accept failure,” said Thorndyke. “The thing +is there and we have got to find it—if not to-day, then to-morrow or +some other day.” + +The two brothers looked at Thorndyke, a little daunted by his resolute +attitude. “Yes, of course, you are right,” the elder admitted, “and it +is only cowardice that makes me shrink from what we have to do. But +when I think of what may come up, hanging from those creepers, I—bah! +It is too horrible to think of! But I suppose it doesn’t make that +sort of impression on you? You don’t find anything repulsive in the +quest that we are engaged in?” + +“No,” Thorndyke admitted. “My attention is occupied by the scientific +and legal interest of the search. But I can fully sympathize with your +feelings on the matter. To you Purcell is a real person whom you have +known and talked with; to me he is a mere abstraction connected with a +very curious and interesting case. The really unpleasant part of that +case—to me—will come when we have completed our evidence, if we are so +fortunate; I mean when we have to set the criminal law in motion.” + +“Yes,” said Phillip, “that will be perfectly beastly.” + +Once more silence fell upon the boat, broken only by the throb of the +engine and the murmur of the water as it was cloven by the boat’s +stem. And meanwhile the distant coast slipped past until they were +abreast of the Land’s End and far away to the southwest the solitary +lighthouse rose on the verge of the horizon. Soon afterwards they +began to overtake the scattered members of a fleet of luggers, some +with lowered mainsails and hand-lines down, others with their black +sails set, heading for a more distant fishing-ground. Through the +midst of them the boat was threading her way when her occupants +suddenly became aware that one of the smaller luggers was steering so +as to close in. Observing this, the skipper was putting over the helm +to avoid her when a seafaring voice from the little craft was heard to +hail. + +“Motor boat ahoy! Gentleman aboard wants to speak to you.” + +The two Rodneys looked at one another in surprise and then at the +approaching lugger. + +“Who the deuce can it be?” exclaimed Rodney. “But perhaps it is a +stranger who wants a passage. If it is, we shall have to refuse. We +can’t take any one on board.” + +The boat slowed down, for, at a word from the skipper, Joe Tregenna +had reversed the propeller. The lugger closed in rapidly, watched +anxiously by the two Rodneys and Thorndyke. Suddenly a man appeared +standing on the bulwark rail and holding on by the mast stay while +with his free hand he held a binocular to his eyes. Nearer and nearer +the lugger approached and still the two Rodneys gazed with growing +anxiety at the figure on the bulwark. At length the man removed the +glasses from his eyes and waved them above his head; and as his face +became visible both brothers uttered a cry of amazement. + +“God!” exclaimed Phillip. “It’s Varney! Sheer off, skipper! Don’t let +him come alongside.” + +But it was too late. The boat had lost way and failed to answer her +helm. The lugger sheered in, sweeping abreast within a foot; and as +she crept past, Varney sprang lightly from her gunwale and dropped on +the side bench beside Jack Rodney. + +“Well,” he exclaimed, “this is a queer meeting. I couldn’t believe my +eyes when I first spotted you through the glasses. Motor-boat, too! +Rather a come down, isn’t it, for seasoned yachtsmen?” + +He looked curiously at his hosts, evidently a little perplexed by +their silence and their unresponsive bearing. The Rodneys were, in +fact, stricken dumb with dismay, and even Thorndyke was for the moment +disconcerted. The lugger which had brought Varney had already gone +about and was standing out to sea, leaving to them the alternative of +accepting this most unwelcome passenger or of pursuing the lugger and +insisting on his returning on board of her. But the Rodneys were too +paralyzed to do anything but gaze at Varney in silent consternation, +and Thorndyke did not feel that his position on the boat entitled him +to take any action. Indeed, no action seemed to be practicable. + +“This is an odd show,” said Varney, looking inquisitively about the +boat. “What is the lay? You can’t be going out to fish in this craft. +And you seem to be setting a course for the Scillies. What is it? +Dredging? I see you’ve got a trawl-rope.” + +As the Rodneys were still almost stupefied by the horror of the +situation, Thorndyke took upon himself to reply. + +“The occasion of this little voyage was a rather remarkable +marine-worm that was sent to Professor D’Arcy and which came from the +locality to which we are bound. We are going to explore the bottom +there.” + +Varney nodded. “You seem mighty keen on marine-worms. I remember, when +I met you down here before, you were in search of them; and so was +Phil, though I don’t fancy he got many. He had the bottles labelled +ready for them and that was about as far as he went. Do you remember +that button you made, Phil, from the cork of one?” + +“Yes,” Phillip replied huskily, “I remember.” + +During this conversation Thorndyke had been observing Varney with +close attention, and he noted a very appreciable change in his +appearance. He looked aged and worn, and there was in his expression a +weariness and dejection that seemed to confirm certain opinions that +Thorndyke had formed as to the reasons for his sudden disappearance +from surroundings which had certainly not been without their +attractions to him. And, not for the first time, a feeling of +compunction and of some distaste for this quest contended with the +professional interest and the sense of duty that had been the +impelling force behind the long, patient investigation. + +Phillip’s curt reply was followed by a rather long, uncomfortable +silence. Varney, quick and sensitive by nature, perceived that there +was something amiss, that in some way his presence was a source of +embarrassment. He sat on the side-bench by Jack Rodney, gazing with a +far-away look over the sea towards the Longships, wishing that he had +stayed on board the lugger or that there were some means of escape +from this glum and silent company. And as he meditated he brought +forth from his pocket his tobacco-pouch and cigarette-book and half +unconsciously, with a dexterity born of long practice, rolled a +cigarette, all unaware that three pairs of eyes were riveted on his +strangely efficient maimed finger, that three minds were conjuring up +the vivid picture of a blue hand-print on a white sail. + +When he had lit the cigarette Varney once more looked about the boat +and again his eye lighted on the big coil of trawl-rope with its end +passed out through a fair-lead. He rose, and, crossing the cockpit, +looked over the side. + +“Why,” he exclaimed, “you’ve got a set of creepers! I thought you were +going dredging. You won’t pick up much with creepers, will you?” + +“They will pick up anything with weed attached to it,” said Thorndyke. + +Varney went back to his seat with a thoughtful, somewhat puzzled +expression. He smoked in silence for a minute or two and then suddenly +asked: + +“Where is the place that you are going to explore for these worms?” + +“Professor D’Arcy’s specimen,” replied Thorndyke, “came from the +neighbourhood of the Wolf Rock. That is where we are going to work.” + +Varney made no comment on this answer. He looked long and steadily at +Thorndyke; then he turned away his head and once more gazed out to +sea. Evidently he was thinking hard, and his companions, who watched +him furtively, could have little doubt as to the trend of his +thoughts. Gradually, as the nature of the exploration dawned on him, +his manner changed more and more. A horrible pallor overspread his +face and a terrible restlessness took possession of him. He smoked +furiously cigarette after cigarette. He brought various articles out +of his pockets, fidgeted with them awhile and put them back. He picked +up the hand-lead, looked at its arming, ran the line through his +fingers and made fancy knots on the bight. And ever and anon his +glance strayed to the tall lighthouse, standing out of the sea with +its red-and-white ringed tower and drawing inexorably nearer and +nearer. + +So the voyage went on until the boat was within half a mile of the +rock, when Phillip, having caught a glance and a nod from Thorndyke, +gave the order to stop the engine and lower the creepers. The spar was +cast loose and dropped into the water with a heavy splash, the +trawl-rope ran out through the fair-lead, and meanwhile Jack Rodney +took a pair of cross-bearings on the lighthouse and a point of the +distant land. Then the engine was restarted, the boat moved forward at +half speed and the search began. + +It was an intensely disagreeable experience for all excepting the +puzzled but discreet skipper and the unconscious Joe. Varney, pale, +haggard and wild in aspect, fidgeted about the boat, now silent and +moody, now making miserable efforts to appear interested or +unconcerned; picking up and handling loose objects or portions of the +gear, but constantly returning to the hand-lead, counting up the +“marks” on the line or making and pulling out various knots with his +restless but curiously skilful fingers. And as his moods changed, +Thorndyke watched him furtively as if to judge by his manner how near +they were to the object of the search. + +It was a long and wearisome quest. Slowly the boat plied up and down +on the eastern side of the rock, gradually approaching it nearer and +nearer at each return. From time to time the creepers caught on the +rocky bottom and had to be eased off; from time to time the dripping +trawl-rope was hauled in and the creepers brought to the surface; +offering to the anxious eyes that peered over the side nothing on the +hooks but, perchance, a wisp of Zostera or a clinging spider crab. + +Calm as the day was and quiet as was the ocean, stirred only by the +slumberous echoes of the great Atlantic swell, the sea was breaking +heavily over the rock; and as the boat closed in nearer and nearer, +the water around boiled and eddied in an unpleasant and even dangerous +manner. The lighthouse keepers, who had for some time past been +watching from the gallery the movements of the boat, now began to make +warning signs and one of them bellowed through a megaphone to the +searchers to keep farther away. + +“What do you say?” Rodney asked in a low voice. “We can’t go any +nearer. We shall be swamped or stove in. Shall we try another side?” + +“Better try one more cast this side,” said Thorndyke; and he spoke so +definitely that all the others, including Varney, looked at him +curiously. But no one answered, and as the skipper made no demur, the +creepers were dropped for a fresh cast still nearer the rock. The boat +was then to the north of the lighthouse and the course set was to the +south so as to pass the rock again on the east side. As they +approached, the man with the megaphone bawled out fresh warnings and +continued to roar at them and flourish his arm until they were abreast +of the rock in a wild tumble of confused waves. At this moment, +Phillip, who had his hand on the trawl-rope between the bollard and +the fair-lead, reported that he had felt a pull, but that it seemed as +if the creepers had broken away. As soon, therefore, as the boat was +clear of the backwash and in comparatively smooth water, the order was +passed to haul in the trawl-rope and examine the creepers. + +The two Rodneys looked over the side eagerly, but fearfully, for both +had noticed something new—a definite expectancy—in Thorndyke’s manner. +Varney too, who had hitherto taken but little notice of the creepers, +now knelt on the side-bench, gazing earnestly into the clear water +whence the trawl-rope was rising. And still he toyed with the +hand-lead and absently made clove-hitches on the line and slipped them +over his arm. + +At length the spar came into view, and below it, on one of the +creepers, a yellowish object, dimly visible through the wavering +water. + +“There’s somethin’ on this time,” said the skipper, craning over the +side and steadying himself by the tiller, which he still held. All +eyes were riveted on the half-seen yellowish shape, moving up and down +to the rise and fall of the boat. Apart from the others, Varney knelt +on the bench, not fidgeting now, but still, rigid, pale as wax, +staring with dreadful fascination, at the slowly-rising object. +Suddenly the skipper uttered an exclamation. + +“Why, ’tis a sou’wester! And all laced about wi’ spuny’n! Surely ’tis— +Steady, sir! You’ll be overboard! My God!” + +The others looked round quickly, and even as they looked, Varney fell, +with a heavy splash, into the water alongside. There was a tumultuous +rush to the place whence he had fallen and arms were thrust into the +water in vain efforts to grasp the sinking figure. Rodney darted +forward for the boat-hook, but by the time he was back with it the +doomed man was far out of reach; but for a long time—as it seemed—the +horror-stricken onlookers could see him through the clear, blue-green +water, sinking, sinking, growing paler, more shadowy, more shapeless, +but always steadily following the lead sinker until at last he faded +from their sight into the darkness of the ocean. + +Not until some time after he had vanished did they haul on board the +creeper with its dreadful burden. Indeed, that burden, in its +entirety, was never hauled on board. As it reached the surface, +Tregenna stopped hauling and held the rope steady; and for a sensible +time all eyes were fixed upon a skull—with a great, jagged hole above +the brows—that looked up at them beneath the peak of the sou’wester, +through the web of spunyarn, like the face of some phantom warrior +looking out through the bars of his helmet. Then, as Phillip, reaching +out an unsteady hand, unhooked the sou’wester from the creeper, the +encircling coils of spunyarn slipped and the skull dropped into the +water. Still the fascinated eyes watched it as it sank, turning slowly +over and over and seeming to cast back glances of horrid valediction; +watched it grow green and pallid and small until it vanished into the +darkness even as Varney had vanished. + +When it was quite invisible, Phillip turned, and, flinging the hat +down on the floor of the cockpit, sank on the bench with a groan. +Thorndyke picked up the hat and unwound the spunyarn. + +“Do you identify it?” he asked; and then, as he turned it over, he +added: “But I see it identifies itself.” + +He held it towards Rodney, who was able to read in embroidered +lettering on the silk lining: “Dan. Purcell.” + +Rodney nodded. “Yes,” he said, “but of course there was no doubt. Is +it necessary for us to do anything more?” He indicated the creepers +with a gesture of weariness and disgust. + +“No,” replied Thorndyke. “We have seen the body and can swear to its +identity and I can certify as to the cause of death. We can produce +this hat, with a bullet hole, as I perceive, in the back, +corresponding to the injury that we observed in the skull. I can also +certify as to the death of Varney and can furnish a sworn declaration +of the facts that are within my knowledge. That may possibly be +accepted, by the authorities, having regard to the circumstances, as +rendering any further inquiry unnecessary. But that is no concern of +ours. We have established the fact that Daniel Purcell is dead, and +our task is accomplished.” + +“Yes,” said Rodney, “our quest has been successful beyond my +expectations. But it has been an awful experience. I can’t get the +thought of poor Varney out of my mind.” + +“Nor I,” said Phillip. “And yet it was the best that could have +happened. And there is a certain congruity in it, too. They are down +there together. They had been companions, in a way friends, the best +part of their lives and in death they are not divided.” + + + The End + + + +Transcriber’s Notes + +This transcription follows the text of the edition published by A. L. +Burt Company in 1925. However, the following alterations have been +made to correct what are believed to be unambiguous errors in the +text: + + * “the windless” has been changed to “the windlass” (Chapter I). + * Three occurrences of unmatched quotation marks have been repaired. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75244 *** |