Dr. Thorndyke Omnibus Vol 3 Page 13

  'I entirely agree with you,' said I. 'We can't stand on ceremony; and after all, it is barely eight o'clock. A taxi will cake us there in quarter of an hour.'

  'Then let us start at once,' said he, stepping into the lobby for his hat and stick. Leaving a slip of paper on the table for Polton's information, we set forth together and walked rapidly up Inner Temple Lane to the gate. As we emerged, a taxi-cab drew up to deposit a passenger and we hurried forward to secure the reversion when the present tenant should give up possession. A few moments later we had taken our seats and were bowling up Chancery Lane to the soft hum of the taxi's engine.

  10. A TIMELY WARNING

  As the cab rolled swiftly through the quietening streets I turned over once more the two statements that had been made by Superintendent Miller and compared them. Together they had yielded to the amazingly quick intelligence of my friend Thorndyke something that the speaker had not intended to convey. What was the something? The first statement had set forth that the fingerprints were those of Joseph Hedges—or Moakey, as his associates had nicknamed him; the second had set forth that the fingerprints were not his but those of some person who had yet to be identified. The two statements contradicted one another, of course, but the first was admittedly based upon a mistake. What was the fact that emerged from the contradiction?

  I revolved the question again and again without seeing any glimmer of light. And then, suddenly, the simple explanation burst upon me. Of course! The prints were those of fingers smeared with Japanese wax. But Japanese wax is used for making furniture polish. There was the solution of this profound mystery. They were Mrs. Benham's fingerprints—or perhaps those of the murdered man—made in the process of applying furniture polish to the cabinet. This, the only clue, evaporated into a myth and left Miss Blake's identification the only link with the vanished murderer.

  'I think I have found the solution to the fingerprint problem, Thorndyke,' said I.

  'Ah!' said he, 'I thought you would if you reflected on it. What is it?'

  'They are Mrs. Benham's fingerprints, or else Drayton's. They were made in the course of polishing the furniture.'

  'An excellent suggestion, Anstey,' he replied, 'which doesn't seem to have occurred to the police. I suspected it as soon as I saw the waxy material of the fingerprints. It doesn't happen to be the correct explanation, I am glad to say, for it would be a singularly unilluminating one. I took the fingerprints both of Mrs. Benham and the deceased this morning before the inquest, but I didn't think it necessary to mention the matter to the police. It is quite clear to me that they are not laying their cards on the table. In point of fact, they have only one card, and my impression is that they are mistaking the back of that for the face. But here we are at our destination.'

  We sprang out of the cab, and having dismissed it, gave a pull at the studio bell. The wicket was opened by Miss Blake herself, and I hastened to make the necessary apologies.

  'I have come back again, you see, Miss Blake, and with reinforcements. It is an unholy time for making a call, but we have come on a matter of business. Dr. Thorndyke thought it advisable that you should be told something and given certain advice without delay.'

  'Well,' she said graciously, 'you are both very welcome, business or no business. Won't you come in?'

  'Is Percy in the studio?'

  'Yes. He has finished his home lessons and is doing a little building before going to bed.'

  'Then we had better say what we have to say here, or perhaps in the passage'

  We stepped through the wicket and closed it, and as we stood in the dark entry, Miss Blake remarked: This is very secret and portentous. You are filling me with curiosity.'

  'Then we will proceed to satisfy it. To begin with, do you remember a woman who jostled us rather rudely at the door when we were going in to the inquest?'

  'Yes, I remember the incident, but I didn't notice the woman particularly, except that she gave me a rather impertinent stare and that she was a horrid-looking woman.'

  'Well, she either lives about here or she followed us deliberately from Hampstead. She must have come on the same car as we did; for when I turned into Jacob Street I saw her prowling up the opposite side of the road, and when she came opposite this house, she crossed and looked at the number on the door—and the name on your plate.'

  'That was very inquisitive of her,' said Miss Blake. 'But does it matter?'

  'It may be of no significance at all,' said Thorndyke. 'But under the special circumstances it would be unwise to ignore the warning that it may convey.'

  'What are the special circumstances?' she asked.

  'They are these,' he replied. 'You heard Inspector Badger say in his evidence this morning that the police have a very promising clue? Well, that clue has broken off short. I believe the police have now no clue at all, and the murderers pretty certainly know it. But you stated publicly that you are confident that you could identify the man whom you saw. That statement is certain to be known, or to become known, to these men; and they will consequently know that you are a serious menace to their safety, and the only one; that your ability to recognise one of them is the only circumstance that stands between them and absolute, perfect security. But for this one fact they could walk abroad, safe from any possible recognition. They could stand outside Scotland Yard and snap their fingers at the police. Now, I don't want to be an alarmist. But it is necessary to recognise a danger and take the necessary means to guard against it. You see what I mean?'

  'I think so. You mean that if I were out of the way these men would be safe from any possibility of discovery, and that it is consequently to their interest to put me out of the way.'

  'Yes, stated bluntly, that is the position. And you know what the characters of these men are.'

  'They are certainly not persons who would stick at trifles. Yes, I must admit that your view of the position seems a reasonable one, though I hope things are not as bad as you fear. But what precautions could I take?'

  'I suggest that, for the present, you don't go out after dark—at any rate, not alone; that you avoid going about alone as far as is possible, that you especially shun all unfrequented places where you might be suddenly attacked, and that, on all occasions, you bear this danger in mind in considering any unusual circumstances.'

  'All this sounds rather alarming,' she said uneasily.

  'It is alarming,' Thorndyke agreed, 'and I am extremely sorry to have to impress it on you. But I would further impress on you that you have friends—two of them are now present—who are deeply concerned as to your safety and who would consider it a privilege to be called upon at any time for help or advice. I am always at your service, and I am sure Mr. Anstey is too, as well as Sir Lawrence Drayton.'

  'Then,' said Miss Blake, 'the compensations are greater than the evil for which they compensate. I welcome the danger if it brings me such kind friends. And now you really must come in for a little while, or Percy will accuse me of gossiping with "followers" at the gate.'

  She led the way down the paved passage and I steered Thorndyke with an expert hand past the scattered monoliths and the unfinished tombstone until we reached the door, where Miss Blake stopped to hold aside the curtain. As we entered Percy looked up from his work and then, in his quaint, self-possessed way came forward to welcome us.

  'How do you like my tower now it's finished, Mr. Anstey?' he asked, regarding his work complacently, with his head on one side.

  We stood by him looking at the building—a model of a church tower some three feet in height—and I observed with a sort of proprietary pride that Thorndyke was deeply impressed.

  'This is really a remarkable piece of work,' said he. 'Where do you get your bricks?'

  'I make them of clay,' replied Percy, 'and let them dry hard. I make one as a model and make a plaster mould of it. Then all the rest are just squeezes from the mould. So I can get any shaped bricks that I like, and as many of them as I want. It's much cheaper than buying them, and besides, t
he bought bricks are no use for serious work.'

  'No,' Thorndyke agreed, 'you couldn't build a tower like that with ready-made bricks, at least with none that I have ever seen. Are you going to be an architect?'

  'Yes,' the boy replied gravely, 'if we can afford it. If not I shall be a mason. Mr. Wingrave—out in the yard, you know—lets me do a bit of stone-cutting sometimes. I shouldn't mind being a mason, but I should like to work on buildings, not on tombstones. I love buildings.'

  Thorndyke looked at the boy with keen and sympathetic interest. 'It is a good thing,' said he, 'to know what you want and to have a definite bent and purpose in life. I should think you ought to be a happy man and a useful one if you keep up your enthusiasm. Don't you think so, Miss Blake?'

  'I do indeed,' she replied. 'Percy has a real passion for buildings and he knows quite a lot about them. His copy of Parker is nearly worn out. And I don't see why he shouldn't be an architect and make his hobby his living.'

  As she was speaking, I looked at her and noticed that she was wearing the locket suspended from a bead necklace.

  'I see you have taken your new acquisition into wear,' I remarked.

  'Yes,' she replied. 'I have just hooked it to this necklace, but I must get some more secure attachment. Have you seen this locket, Dr. Thorndyke?'

  'No,' he answered, and as she unhooked it and gave it to him to inspect, he continued: 'This is what poor Mr. Drayton used to call his "little Sphinx," isn't it?'

  'Yes, because it seemed always to be propounding riddles. But the riddles are inside.'

  'One of them is outside,' said Thorndyke, 'though it is not a very difficult one. I mean the peculiar construction and workmanship.'

  'What is there unusual about that?' she asked eagerly.

  'Well,' he replied, 'it is not ordinary jeweller's construction. The normal way to make a locket is to build it up of sheet metal. The sides would be made first by bending a stout strip into a hoop of the proper shape—nearly square, in this case—and joining the ends with solder. Then the back and front would be soldered on to the hoop and the latter cut through vertically with a fine saw, dividing the locket into two exactly similar halves. Then the hinge and the suspension ring would be soldered on, and the flange fastened in with solder. But in this case the method has been quite different. Each half of the locket was a single casting, which included half a hinge and one suspension ring. Probably both halves were cast from a single half-model and the superfluous part of the hinge filed off. Then each half was worked on the stake and pitch-block to harden the metal and the final finishing and fitting done with the file and stone. The engraving must have been done after everything but the hinge was finished.'

  'It must have been very awkward to engrave that small writing inside, with the edges projecting,' said Miss Blake.

  Thorndyke opened the locket, and taking his Coddington lens from his pocket, examined the writing closely. 'If you look at it through the lens,' said he, 'you will see that it is not engraved. It is etched, which would have disposed of the difficulty to a great extent.'

  Miss Blake and I examined the minute writing, and through the lens it was easy to see that the delicate lines were bitten, not engraved.

  'You were saying,' said Miss Blake, as the locket and lens were passed to Percy (who, having examined the inscription, extended his investigations to his fingertips and various other objects before reluctantly surrendering the lens) 'that the riddle of the construction is not a difficult one. What is the answer to it?'

  'I think,' he replied, 'the inscription inside supplies the answer. That inscription was clearly put there for some purpose to which the original owner attached some importance. It apparently conveyed some kind of admonition or instruction which was hardly likely to be addressed to himself. But if the message was of importance it was worth while to take measures to ensure its permanence. And that is what has been done. There are no loose or separable parts, no soldered joints to break away. Each half of the locket is a single piece of solid metal, including the hinge and suspension ring. And you notice that the hinge is unusually massive, and that each half of the locket has its own suspension ring, so that if the hinge should break, both halves would still be securely suspended. And there was no loose ring to chafe through and break.'

  'Don't you think,' she asked, 'that there was originally a loose ring passing through both of the eyes?'

  'No,' he answered. 'If you look carefully at the two eyes you will see that the holes through them have been most carefully smoothed and rounded. Evidently the locket was meant to be suspended by a cord or thong, and the position of the eyes with a hole through from back to front shows that the cord was intended to be tied in a single knot where it passed through—a much more secure arrangement than a chain, any one link of which may, unnoticed, wear thin and break at any unusual strain.'

  'And you think that the message or whatever it was that the inscription conveyed was really something of importance?' As she asked the question, Miss Blake looked at Thorndyke with a suppressed eagerness at which I inwardly smiled. The Lady of Shallot evidently had hopes of Merlin.

  'That is what the precautions suggest,' was his reply. 'It appeared important to the person who took the precautions,'

  'And do you suppose that it would be possible to guess what the nature of the message was?'

  'One could judge better,' he replied 'if one knew what passages the reader is referred to.'

  'I can show you the passages,' she said. 'I have looked them up, and Mr. Anstey and I went over them together and could make nothing of them.'

  'That doesn't sound very encouraging,' said Thorndyke as she ran to the cabinet and brought out her book of notes. 'However, we shall see if a further opinion is of any help.' He took the note-book from her and read through the entries slowly and with close attention. Then he handed the book back to her.

  'One thing is fairly evident,' said he. 'The purpose of the writer was not pious instruction. Whatever was intended to be conveyed did not lie on the surface, for the individual passages are singularly barren of meaning, while the collection as a whole is a mere jumble of quotations without any apparent sequence or connection. The passages must have had some meaning previously agreed on, or, more probably, they formed the key of a code or cipher used for secret correspondence.'

  'If they form the key of a cipher,' said Miss Blake, 'do you think it would be possible to work out the cipher by studying them?'

  'I suppose it would be possible,' he replied, 'since a cipher must work by some sort of rule. But people who make ciphers do not take great pains to make them easily decipherable to the uninitiated. And then we are only guessing that they are the key to a cipher. They may be something quite different; some form of cryptogram that would be utterly unintelligible without some key or counterpart that we haven't got. Do you think of trying to decipher them or extract the hidden meaning?'

  'I am rather curious about them,' she admitted, 'and rather interested in ciphers and cryptograms.'

  'Well,' said Thorndyke, 'you may succeed. More probably you will draw a blank—but in any case I think you will get a run for your money.'

  Once more with his lens he examined the locket inside and out, not omitting the hallmark on the back, on which he dwelt for some time. Then, still holding the locket in his hand, he said: 'You ought to have this cover-glass replaced. The hair is part of the relic and ought not to be exposed to loss or injury.'

  'Yes,' said she, 'I ought to get it done, but I don't much like trusting it to an unknown jeweller.'

  'Would you like Polton to do it for you?' Thorndyke asked. 'He is not a stranger, and you know he is a first-class workman.'

  'Oh, if Mr. Polton would do it I should be delighted and most grateful. Do you think he would?'

  'I think he would be highly flattered at being asked,' said Thorndyke. 'I will take it back with me if you like, and get him to put in the fresh glass at once.'

  Miss Blake accepted this offer joyfully, and taking
the locket from Thorndyke, she proceeded, with great care and a quantity of tissue paper, to make it into a little packet. While she was thus engaged, the bell in the yard rang loudly and Percy ran out to open the gate. In less than a minute he re-entered the studio carrying a brown-paper parcel.

  'Miss Winifred Blake,' he announced. 'Shall I see what's in it, Winnie?'

  'I suppose you won't be happy till you do,' she replied, whereupon he gleefully cut the string and removed the paper, exposing a cardboard box, of which he lifted the lid.

  'My eye, Winnie!' he exclaimed. 'It's tuck. I wonder who it's from. And it's for us both. "To Winifred and Percival Blake, with love." Whose love, I wonder. Can you spot the handwriting?' He passed a slip of paper to his sister and exhibited a shallow box filled with large chocolate sweets on which he gazed gloatingly.

  Thorndyke, who had just received the little packet from Miss Blake and was putting it into his pocket, watched the boy attentively, interested, as I supposed, by the sudden descent from the heights of architectural design to frank, boyish gluttony.

  'I don't recognise the writing at all,' said Miss Blake, 'and I can't imagine who can have sent this.'

  'Well, it doesn't matter,' said Percy. 'Let's sample them.' He passed the box to his sister—still closely watched by Thorndyke, I noticed—and as she put out her hand to pick up one of the sweets, my colleague asked in a significant tone: 'Are you sure that you don't know the handwriting?'