John Thorndyke's Cases Page 2

  II

  THE STRANGER'S LATCHKEY

  The contrariety of human nature is a subject that has given a surprisingamount of occupation to makers of proverbs and to those moralphilosophers who make it their province to discover and expound theglaringly obvious; and especially have they been concerned to enlargeupon that form of perverseness which engenders dislike of things offeredunder compulsion, and arouses desire of them as soon as their attainmentbecomes difficult or impossible. They assure us that a man who has had agiven thing within his reach and put it by, will, as soon as it isbeyond his reach, find it the one thing necessary and desirable; even asthe domestic cat which has turned disdainfully from the preferredsaucer, may presently be seen with her head jammed hard in the milk-jug,or, secretly and with horrible relish, slaking her thirst at thescullery sink.

  To this peculiarity of the human mind was due, no doubt, the fact thatno sooner had I abandoned the clinical side of my profession in favourof the legal, and taken up my abode in the chambers of my friendThorndyke, the famous medico-legal expert, to act as his assistant orjunior, than my former mode of life--that of a locum tenens, or minderof other men's practices--which had, when I was following it, seemedintolerably irksome, now appeared to possess many desirable features;and I found myself occasionally hankering to sit once more by thebedside, to puzzle out the perplexing train of symptoms, and to wieldthat power--the greatest, after all, possessed by man--the power tobanish suffering and ward off the approach of death itself.

  Hence it was that on a certain morning of the long vacation I foundmyself installed at The Larches, Burling, in full charge of the practiceof my old friend Dr. Hanshaw, who was taking a fishing holiday inNorway. I was not left desolate, however, for Mrs. Hanshaw remained ather post, and the roomy, old-fashioned house accommodated three visitorsin addition. One of these was Dr. Hanshaw's sister, a Mrs. Haldean, thewidow of a wealthy Manchester cotton factor; the second was her niece bymarriage, Miss Lucy Haldean, a very handsome and charming girl oftwenty-three; while the third was no less a person than Master Fred, theonly child of Mrs. Haldean, and a strapping boy of six.

  "It is quite like old times--and very pleasant old times, too--to seeyou sitting at our breakfast-table, Dr. Jervis." With these graciouswords and a friendly smile, Mrs. Hanshaw handed me my tea-cup.

  I bowed. "The highest pleasure of the altruist," I replied, "is incontemplating the good fortune of others."

  Mrs. Haldean laughed. "Thank you," she said. "You are quite unchanged, Iperceive. Still as suave and as--shall I say oleaginous?"

  "No, please don't!" I exclaimed in a tone of alarm.

  "Then I won't. But what does Dr. Thorndyke say to this backsliding onyour part? How does he regard this relapse from medical jurisprudence tocommon general practice?"

  "Thorndyke," said I, "is unmoved by any catastrophe; and he not onlyregards the 'Decline and Fall-off of the Medical Jurist' withphilosophic calm, but he even favours the relapse, as you call it. Hethinks it may be useful to me to study the application of medico-legalmethods to general practice."

  "That sounds rather unpleasant--for the patients, I mean," remarked MissHaldean.

  "Very," agreed her aunt. "Most cold-blooded. What sort of man is Dr.Thorndyke? I feel quite curious about him. Is he at all human, forinstance?"

  "He is entirely human," I replied; "the accepted tests of humanitybeing, as I understand, the habitual adoption of the erect posture inlocomotion, and the relative position of the end of the thumb--"

  "I don't mean that," interrupted Mrs. Haldean. "I mean human in thingsthat matter."

  "I think those things matter," I rejoined. "Consider, Mrs. Haldean, whatwould happen if my learned colleague were to be seen in wig and gown,walking towards the Law Courts in any posture other than the erect. Itwould be a public scandal."

  "Don't talk to him, Mabel," said Mrs. Hanshaw; "he is incorrigible. Whatare you doing with yourself this morning, Lucy?"

  Miss Haldean (who had hastily set down her cup to laugh at my imaginarypicture of Dr. Thorndyke in the character of a quadruped) considered amoment.

  "I think I shall sketch that group of birches at the edge of BradhamWood," she said.

  "Then, in that case," said I, "I can carry your traps for you, for Ihave to see a patient in Bradham."

  "He is making the most of his time," remarked Mrs. Haldean maliciouslyto my hostess. "He knows that when Mr. Winter arrives he will retireinto the extreme background."

  Douglas Winter, whose arrival was expected in the course of the week,was Miss Haldean's fiance. Their engagement had been somewhatprotracted, and was likely to be more so, unless one of them receivedsome unexpected accession of means; for Douglas was a subaltern in theRoyal Engineers, living, with great difficulty, on his pay, while LucyHaldean subsisted on an almost invisible allowance left her by an uncle.

  I was about to reply to Mrs. Haldean when a patient was announced, and,as I had finished my breakfast, I made my excuses and left the table.

  Half an hour later, when I started along the road to the village ofBradham, I had two companions. Master Freddy had joined the party, andhe disputed with me the privilege of carrying the "traps," with theresult that a compromise was effected, by which he carried thecamp-stool, leaving me in possession of the easel, the bag, and a largebound sketching-block.

  "Where are you going to work this morning?" I asked, when we had trudgedon some distance.

  "Just off the road to the left there, at the edge of the wood. Not veryfar from the house of the mysterious stranger." She glanced at memischievously as she made this reply, and chuckled with delight when Irose at the bait.

  "What house do you mean?" I inquired.

  "Ha!" she exclaimed, "the investigator of mysteries is aroused. Hesaith, 'Ha! ha!' amidst the trumpets; he smelleth the battle afar off."

  "Explain instantly," I commanded, "or I drop your sketch-block into thevery next puddle."

  "You terrify me," said she. "But I will explain, only there isn't anymystery except to the bucolic mind. The house is called LavenderCottage, and it stands alone in the fields behind the wood. A fortnightago it was let furnished to a stranger named Whitelock, who has taken itfor the purpose of studying the botany of the district; and the onlyreally mysterious thing about him is that no one has seen him. Allarrangements with the house-agent were made by letter, and, as far as Ican make out, none of the local tradespeople supply him, so he must gethis things from a distance--even his bread, which really is rather odd.Now say I am an inquisitive, gossiping country bumpkin."

  "I was going to," I answered, "but it is no use now."

  She relieved me of her sketching appliances with pretended indignation,and crossed into the meadow, leaving me to pursue my way alone; and whenI presently looked back, she was setting up her easel and stool, gravelyassisted by Freddy.

  My "round," though not a long one, took up more time than I hadanticipated, and it was already past the luncheon hour when I passed theplace where I had left Miss Haldean. She was gone, as I had expected,and I hurried homewards, anxious to be as nearly punctual as possible.When I entered the dining-room, I found Mrs. Haldean and our hostessseated at the table, and both looked up at me expectantly.

  "Have you seen Lucy?" the former inquired.

  "No," I answered. "Hasn't she come back? I expected to find her here.She had left the wood when I passed just now."

  Mrs. Haldean knitted her brows anxiously. "It is very strange," shesaid, "and very thoughtless of her. Freddy will be famished."

  I hurried over my lunch, for two fresh messages had come in fromoutlying hamlets, effectually dispelling my visions of a quietafternoon; and as the minutes passed without bringing any signs of theabsentees, Mrs. Haldean became more and more restless and anxious. Atlength her suspense became unbearable; she rose suddenly, announcing herintention of cycling up the road to look for the defaulters, but as shewas moving towards the door, it burst open, and Lucy Haldean staggeredinto the room.

  Her appearanc
e filled us with alarm. She was deadly pale, breathless,and wild-eyed; her dress was draggled and torn, and she trembled fromhead to foot.

  "Good God, Lucy!" gasped Mrs. Haldean. "What has happened? And where isFreddy?" she added in a sterner tone.

  "He is lost!" replied Miss Haldean in a faint voice, and with a catch inher breath. "He strayed away while I was painting. I have searched thewood through, and called to him, and looked in all the meadows. Oh!where can he have gone?" Her sketching "kit," with which she was loaded,slipped from her grasp and rattled on to the floor, and she buried herface in her hands and sobbed hysterically.

  "And you have dared to come back without him?" exclaimed Mrs. Haldean.

  "I was getting exhausted. I came back for help," was the faint reply.

  "Of course she was exhausted," said Mrs. Hanshaw. "Come, Lucy: come,Mabel; don't make mountains out of molehills. The little man is safeenough. We shall find him presently, or he will come home by himself.Come and have some food, Lucy."

  Miss Haldean shook her head. "I can't, Mrs. Hanshaw--really I can't,"she said; and, seeing that she was in a state of utter exhaustion, Ipoured out a glass of wine and made her drink it.

  Mrs. Haldean darted from the room, and returned immediately, putting onher hat. "You have got to come with me and show me whore you lost him,"she said.

  "She can't do that, you know," I said rather brusquely. "She will haveto lie down for the present. But I know the place, and will cycle upwith you."

  "Very well," replied Mrs. Haldean, "that will do. What time was it," sheasked, turning to her niece, "when you lost the child? and which way--"

  She paused abruptly, and I looked at her in surprise. She had suddenlyturned ashen and ghastly; her face had set like a mask of stone, withparted lips and staring eyes that were fixed in horror on her niece.

  There was a deathly silence for a few seconds. Then, in a terriblevoice, she demanded: "What is that on your dress, Lucy?" And, after apause, her voice rose into a shriek. "What have you done to my boy?"

  I glanced in astonishment at the dazed and terrified girl, and then Isaw what her aunt had seen--a good-sized blood-stain halfway down thefront of her skirt, and another smaller one on her right sleeve. Thegirl herself looked down at the sinister patch of red and then up at heraunt. "It looks like--like blood," she stammered. "Yes, it is--Ithink--of course it is. He struck his nose--and it bled--"

  "Come," interrupted Mrs. Haldean, "let us go," and she rushed from theroom, leaving me to follow.

  I lifted Miss Haldean, who was half fainting with fatigue and agitation,on to the sofa, and, whispering a few words of encouragement into herear, turned to Mrs. Hanshaw.

  "I can't stay with Mrs. Haldean," I said. "There are two visits to bemade at Rebworth. Will you send the dogcart up the road with somebody totake my place?"

  "Yes," she answered. "I will send Giles, or come myself if Lucy is fitto be left."

  I ran to the stables for my bicycle, and as I pedalled out into the roadI could see Mrs. Haldean already far ahead, driving her machine atfrantic speed. I followed at a rapid pace, but it was not until weapproached the commencement of the wood, when she slowed down somewhat,that I overtook her.

  "This is the place," I said, as we reached the spot where I had partedfrom Miss Haldean. We dismounted and wheeled our bicycles through thegate, and laying them down beside the hedge, crossed the meadow andentered the wood.

  It was a terrible experience, and one that I shall never forget--thewhite-faced, distracted woman, tramping in her flimsy house-shoes overthe rough ground, bursting through the bushes, regardless of the thornybranches that dragged at skin and hair and dainty clothing, and sendingforth from time to time a tremulous cry, so dreadfully pathetic in itsmingling of terror and coaxing softness, that a lump rose in my throat,and I could barely keep my self-control.

  "Freddy! Freddy-boy! Mummy's here, darling!" The wailing cry soundedthrough the leafy solitude; but no answer came save the whirr of wingsor the chatter of startled birds. But even more shocking than thatterrible cry--more disturbing and eloquent with dreadful suggestion--wasthe way in which she peered, furtively, but with fearful expectation,among the roots of the bushes, or halted to gaze upon every molehill andhummock, every depression or disturbance of the ground.

  So we stumbled on for a while, with never a word spoken, until we cameto a beaten track or footpath leading across the wood. Here I paused toexamine the footprints, of which several were visible in the soft earth,though none seemed very recent; but, proceeding a little way down thetrack, I perceived, crossing it, a set of fresh imprints, which Irecognized at once as Miss Haldean's. She was wearing, as I knew, a pairof brown golf-boots, with rubber pads in the leather soles, and theprints made by them were unmistakable.

  "Miss Haldean crossed the path here," I said, pointing to thefootprints.

  "Don't speak of her before me!" exclaimed Mrs. Haldean; but she gazedeagerly at the footprints, nevertheless, and immediately plunged intothe wood to follow the tracks.

  "You are very unjust to your niece, Mrs. Haldean," I ventured toprotest.

  She halted, and faced me with an angry frown.

  "You don't understand!" she exclaimed. "You don't know, perhaps, thatif my poor child is really dead, Lucy Haldean will be a rich woman, andmay marry to-morrow if she chooses?"

  "I did not know that," I answered, "but if I had, I should have said thesame."

  "Of course you would," she retorted bitterly. "A pretty face can muddleany man's judgment."

  She turned away abruptly to resume her pursuit, and I followed insilence. The trail which we were following zigzagged through thethickest part of the wood, but its devious windings eventually broughtus out on to an open space on the farther side. Here we at onceperceived traces of another kind. A litter of dirty rags, pieces ofpaper, scraps of stale bread, bones and feathers, with hoof-marks, wheelruts, and the ashes of a large wood fire, pointed clearly to a gipsyencampment recently broken up. I laid my hand on the heap of ashes, andfound it still warm, and on scattering it with my foot a layer ofglowing cinders appeared at the bottom.

  "These people have only been gone an hour or two," I said. "It would bewell to have them followed without delay."

  A gleam of hope shone on the drawn, white face as the bereaved mothercaught eagerly at my suggestion.

  "Yes," she exclaimed breathlessly; "she may have bribed them to take himaway. Let us see which way they went."

  We followed the wheel tracks down to the road, and found that theyturned towards London. At the same time I perceived the dogcart in thedistance, with Mrs. Hanshaw standing beside it; and, as the coachmanobserved me, he whipped up his horse and approached.

  "I shall have to go," I said, "but Mrs. Hanshaw will help you tocontinue the search."

  "And you will make inquiries about the gipsies, won't you?" she said.

  I promised to do so, and as the dogcart now came up, I climbed to theseat, and drove off briskly up the London Road.

  The extent of a country doctor's round is always an unknown quantity. Onthe present occasion I picked up three additional patients, and as oneof them was a case of incipient pleurisy, which required to have thechest strapped, and another was a neglected dislocation of the shoulder,a great deal of time was taken up. Moreover, the gipsies, whom I ran toearth on Rebworth Common, delayed me considerably, though I had to leavethe rural constable to carry out the actual search, and, as a result,the clock of Burling Church was striking six as I drove through thevillage on my way home.

  I got down at the front gate, leaving the coachman to take the dogcartround, and walked up the drive; and my astonishment may be imaginedwhen, on turning the corner, I came suddenly upon the inspector of thelocal police in earnest conversation with no less a person than JohnThorndyke.

  "What on earth has brought you here?" I exclaimed, my surprise gettingthe better of my manners.

  "The ultimate motive-force," he replied, "was an impulsive lady namedMrs. Haldean. She telegraphed for me--in
your name."

  "She oughtn't to have done that," I said.

  "Perhaps not. But the ethics of an agitated woman are not worthdiscussing, and she has done something much worse--she has applied tothe local J.P. (a retired Major-General), and our gallant and unlearnedfriend has issued a warrant for the arrest of Lucy Haldean on the chargeof murder."

  "But there has been no murder!" I exclaimed.

  "That," said Thorndyke, "is a legal subtlety that he does notappreciate. He has learned his law in the orderly-room, where thequalifications to practise are an irritable temper and a loud voice.However, the practical point is, inspector, that the warrant isirregular. You can't arrest people for hypothetical crimes."

  The officer drew a deep breath of relief. He knew all about theirregularity, and now joyfully took refuge behind Thorndyke's greatreputation.

  When he had departed--with a brief note from my colleague to theGeneral--Thorndyke slipped his arm through mine, and we strolled towardsthe house.

  "This is a grim business, Jervis," said he. "That boy has got to befound for everybody's sake. Can you come with me when you have had somefood?"

  "Of course I can. I have been saving myself all the afternoon with aview to continuing the search."

  "Good," said Thorndyke. "Then come in and feed."

  A nondescript meal, half tea and half dinner, was already prepared, andMrs. Hanshaw, grave but self-possessed, presided at the table.

  "Mabel is still out with Giles, searching for the boy," she said. "Youhave heard what she has done!"

  I nodded.

  "It was dreadful of her," continued Mrs. Hanshaw, "but she is half mad,poor thing. You might run up and say a few kind words to poor Lucy whileI make the tea."

  I went up at once and knocked at Miss Haldean's door, and, being biddento enter, found her lying on the sofa, red-eyed and pale, the very ghostof the merry, laughing girl who had gone out with me in the morning. Idrew up a chair, and sat down by her side, and as I took the hand sheheld out to me, she said:

  "It is good of you to come and see a miserable wretch like me. And Janehas been so sweet to me, Dr. Jervis; but Aunt Mabel thinks I have killedFreddy--you know she does--and it was really my fault that he was lost.I shall never forgive myself!"

  She burst into a passion of sobbing, and I proceeded to chide hergently.

  "You are a silly little woman," I said, "to take this nonsense to heartas you are doing. Your aunt is not responsible just now, as you mustknow; but when we bring the boy home she shall make you a handsomeapology. I will see to that."

  She pressed my hand gratefully, and as the bell now rang for tea, I badeher have courage and went downstairs.

  "You need not trouble about the practice," said Mrs. Hanshaw, as Iconcluded my lightning repast, and Thorndyke went off to get ourbicycles. "Dr. Symons has heard of our trouble, and has called to saythat he will take anything that turns up; so we shall expect you when wesee you."

  "How do you like Thorndyke?" I asked.

  "He is quite charming," she replied enthusiastically; "so tactful andkind, and so handsome, too. You didn't tell us that. But here he is.Good-bye, and good luck."

  She pressed my hand, and I went out into the drive, where Thorndyke andthe coachman were standing with three bicycles.

  "I see you have brought your outfit," I said as we turned into the road;for Thorndyke's machine bore a large canvas-covered case strapped on toa strong bracket.

  "Yes; there are many things that we may want on a quest of this kind.How did you find Miss Haldean?"

  "Very miserable, poor girl. By the way, have you heard anything abouther pecuniary interest in the child's death?"

  "Yes," said Thorndyke. "It appears that the late Mr. Haldean used up allhis brains on his business, and had none left for the making of hiswill--as often happens. He left almost the whole of his property--abouteighty thousand pounds--to his son, the widow to have a life-interest init. He also left to his late brother's daughter, Lucy, fifty pounds ayear, and to his surviving brother Percy, who seems to have been agood-for-nothing, a hundred a year for life. But--and here is the utterfolly of the thing--if the son should die, the property was to beequally divided between the brother and the niece, with the exception offive hundred a year for life to the widow. It was an insanearrangement."

  "Quite," I agreed, "and a very dangerous one for Lucy Haldean, as thingsare at present."

  "Very; especially if anything should have happened to the child."

  "What are you going to do now?" I inquired, seeing that Thorndyke rodeon as if with a definite purpose.

  "There is a footpath through the wood," he replied. "I want to examinethat. And there is a house behind the wood which I should like to see."

  "The house of the mysterious stranger," I suggested.

  "Precisely. Mysterious and solitary strangers invite inquiry."

  We drew up at the entrance to the footpath, leaving Willett the coachmanin charge of the three machines, and proceeded up the narrow track. Aswe went, Thorndyke looked back at the prints of our feet, and noddedapprovingly.

  "This soft loam," he remarked, "yields beautifully clear impressions,and yesterday's rain has made it perfect."

  We had not gone far when we perceived a set of footprints which Irecognized, as did Thorndyke also, for he remarked: "MissHaldean--running, and alone." Presently we met them again, crossing inthe opposite direction, together with the prints of small shoes withvery high heels. "Mrs. Haldean on the track of her niece," wasThorndyke's comment; and a minute later we encountered them both again,accompanied by my own footprints.

  "The boy does not seem to have crossed the path at all," I remarked aswe walked on, keeping off the track itself to avoid confusing thefootprints.

  "We shall know when we have examined the whole length," repliedThorndyke, plodding on with his eyes on the ground. "Ha! here issomething new," he added, stopping short and stooping down eagerly--"aman with a thick stick--a smallish man, rather lame. Notice thedifference between the two feet, and the peculiar way in which he useshis stick. Yes, Jervis, there is a great deal to interest us in thesefootprints. Do you notice anything very suggestive about them?"

  "Nothing but what you have mentioned," I replied. "What do you mean?"

  "Well, first there is the very singular character of the printsthemselves, which we will consider presently. You observe that this mancame down the path, and at this point turned off into the wood; then hereturned from the wood and went up the path again. The imposition of theprints makes that clear. But now look at the two sets of prints, andcompare them. Do you notice any difference?"

  "The returning footprints seem more distinct--better impressions."

  "Yes; they are noticeably deeper. But there is something else." Heproduced a spring tape from his pocket, and took half a dozenmeasurements. "You see," he said, "the first set of footprints have astride of twenty-one inches from heel to heel--a short stride; but he isa smallish man, and lame; the returning ones have a stride of onlynineteen and a half inches; hence the returning footprints are deeperthan the others, and the steps are shorter. What do you make of that?"

  "It would suggest that he was carrying a burden when he returned," Ireplied.

  "Yes; and a heavy one, to make that difference in the depth. I think Iwill get you to go and fetch Willett and the bicycles."

  I strode off down the path to the entrance, and, taking possession ofThorndyke's machine, with its precious case of instruments, bade Willettfollow with the other two.

  When I returned, my colleague was standing with his hands behind him,gazing with intense preoccupation at the footprints. He looked upsharply as we approached, and called out to us to keep off the path ifpossible.

  "Stay here with the machines, Willett," said he. "You and I, Jervis,must go and see where our friend went to when he left the path, and whatwas the burden that he picked up."

  We struck off into the wood, where last year's dead leaves made thefootprints almost indistinguishable, and followed
the faint double trackfor a long distance between the dense clumps of bushes. Suddenly my eyecaught, beside the double trail, a third row of tracks, smaller in sizeand closer together. Thorndyke had seen them, too, and already hismeasuring-tape was in his hand.

  "Eleven and a half inches to the stride," said he. "That will be theboy, Jervis. But the light is getting weak. We must press on quickly, orwe shall lose it."

  Some fifty yards farther on, the man's tracks ceased abruptly, but thesmall ones continued alone; and we followed them as rapidly as we couldin the fading light.

  "There can be no reasonable doubt that these are the child's tracks,"said Thorndyke; "but I should like to find a definite footprint to makethe identification absolutely certain."

  A few seconds later he halted with an exclamation, and stooped on oneknee. A little heap of fresh earth from the surface-burrow of a mole hadbeen thrown up over the dead leaves; and fairly planted on it was theclean and sharp impression of a diminutive foot, with a rubber heelshowing a central star. Thorndyke drew from his pocket a tiny shoe, andpressed it on the soft earth beside the footprint; and when he raised itthe second impression was identical with the first.

  "The boy had two pairs of shoes exactly alike," he said, "so I borrowedone of the duplicate pair."

  He turned, and began to retrace his steps rapidly, following our ownfresh tracks, and stopping only once to point out the place where theunknown man had picked the child up. When we regained the path weproceeded without delay until we emerged from the wood within a hundredyards of the cottage.

  "I see Mrs. Haldean has been here with Giles," remarked Thorndyke, as hepushed open the garden-gate. "I wonder if they saw anybody."

  He advanced to the door, and having first rapped with his knuckles andthen kicked at it vigorously, tried the handle.

  "Locked," he observed, "but I see the key is in the lock, so we can getin if we want to. Let us try the back."

  The back door was locked, too, but the key had been removed.

  "He came out this way, evidently," said Thorndyke, "though he went in atthe front, as I suppose you noticed. Let us see where he went."

  The back garden was a small, fenced patch of ground, with an earth pathleading down to the back gate. A little way beyond the gate was a smallbarn or outhouse.

  "We are in luck," Thorndyke remarked, with a glance at the path."Yesterday's rain has cleared away all old footprints, and prepared thesurface for new ones. You see there are three sets of excellentimpressions--two leading away from the house, and one set towards it.Now, you notice that both of the sets leading _from_ the house arecharacterized by deep impressions and short steps, while the set leading_to_ the house has lighter impressions and longer steps. The obviousinference is that he went down the path with a heavy burden, came backempty-handed, and went down again--and finally--with another heavyburden. You observe, too, that he walked with his stick on eachoccasion."

  By this time we had reached the bottom of the garden. Opening the gate,we followed the tracks towards the outhouse, which stood beside acart-track; but as we came round the corner we both stopped short andlooked at one another. On the soft earth were the very distinctimpressions of the tyres of a motor-car leading from the wide door ofthe outhouse. Finding that the door was unfastened, Thorndyke opened it,and looked in, to satisfy himself that the place was empty. Then he fellto studying the tracks.

  "The course of events is pretty plain," he observed. "First the fellowbrought down his luggage, started the engine, and got the car out--youcan see where it stood, both by the little pool of oil, and by thewidening and blurring of the wheel-tracks from the vibration of the freeengine; then he went back and fetched the boy--carried him pick-a-back,I should say, judging by the depth of the toe-marks in the last set offootprints. That was a tactical mistake. He should have taken the boystraight into the shed."

  He pointed as he spoke to one of the footprints beside the wheel-tracks,from the toe of which projected a small segment of the print of a littlerubber heel.

  We now made our way back to the house, where we found Willett pensivelyrapping at the front door with a cycle-spanner. Thorndyke took a lastglance, with his hand in his pocket, at an open window above, and then,to the coachman's intense delight, brought forth what looked uncommonlylike a small bunch of skeleton keys. One of these he inserted into thekeyhole, and as he gave it a turn, the lock clicked, and the door stoodopen.

  The little sitting-room, which we now entered, was furnished with thebarest necessaries. Its centre was occupied by an oilcloth-coveredtable, on which I observed with surprise a dismembered "Bee" clock (theworks of which had been taken apart with a tin-opener that lay besidethem) and a box-wood bird-call. At these objects Thorndyke glanced andnodded, as though they fitted into some theory that he had formed;examined carefully the oilcloth around the litter of wheels and pinions,and then proceeded on a tour of inspection round the room, peeringinquisitively into the kitchen and store-cupboard.

  "Nothing very distinctive or personal here," he remarked. "Let us goupstairs."

  There were three bedrooms on the upper floor, of which two wereevidently disused, though the windows were wide open. The third bedroomshowed manifest traces of occupation, though it was as bare as theothers, for the water still stood in the wash-hand basin, and the bedwas unmade. To the latter Thorndyke advanced, and, having turned backthe bedclothes, examined the interior attentively, especially at thefoot and the pillow. The latter was soiled--not to say grimy--though therest of the bed-linen was quite clean.

  "Hair-dye," remarked Thorndyke, noting my glance at it; then he turnedand looked out of the open window. "Can you see the place where MissHaldean was sitting to sketch?" he asked.

  "Yes," I replied; "there is the place well in view, and you can seeright up the road. I had no idea this house stood so high. From thethree upper windows you can see all over the country excepting throughthe wood."

  "Yes," Thorndyke rejoined, "and he has probably been in the habit ofkeeping watch up here with a telescope or a pair of field-glasses. Well,there is not much of interest in this room. He kept his effects in acabin trunk which stood there under the window. He shaved this morning.He has a white beard, to judge by the stubble on the shaving-paper, andthat is all. Wait, though. There is a key hanging on that nail. He musthave overlooked that, for it evidently does not belong to this house. Itis an ordinary town latchkey."

  He took the key down, and having laid a sheet of notepaper, from hispocket, on the dressing-table, produced a pin, with which he begancarefully to probe the interior of the key-barrel. Presently there cameforth, with much coaxing, a large ball of grey fluff, which Thorndykefolded up in the paper with infinite care.

  "I suppose we mustn't take away the key," he said, "but I think we willtake a wax mould of it."

  He hurried downstairs, and, unstrapping the case from his bicycle,brought it in and placed it on the table. As it was now getting dark, hedetached the powerful acetylene lamp from his machine, and, havinglighted it, proceeded to open the mysterious case. First he took from ita small insufflator, or powder-blower, with which he blew a cloud oflight yellow powder over the table around the remains of the clock. Thepowder settled on the table in an even coating, but when he blew at itsmartly with his breath, it cleared off, leaving, however, a number ofsmeary impressions which stood out in strong yellow against the blackoilcloth. To one of these impressions he pointed significantly. It wasthe print of a child's hand.

  He next produced a small, portable microscope and some glass slides andcover-slips, and having opened the paper and tipped the ball of flufffrom the key-barrel on to a slide, set to work with a pair of mountedneedles to tease it out into its component parts. Then he turned thelight of the lamp on to the microscope mirror and proceeded to examinethe specimen.

  "A curious and instructive assortment this, Jervis," he remarked, withhis eye at the microscope: "woollen fibres--no cotton or linen; he iscareful of his health to have woollen pockets--and two hairs; verycurious ones, to
o. Just look at them, and observe the root bulbs."

  I applied my eye to the microscope, and saw, among other things, twohairs--originally white, but encrusted with a black, opaque, glisteningstain. The root bulbs, I noticed, were shrivelled and atrophied.

  "But how on earth," I exclaimed, "did the hairs get into his pocket?"

  "I think the hairs themselves answer that question," he replied, "whenconsidered with the other curios. The stain is obviously lead sulphide;but what else do you see?"

  "I see some particles of metal--a white metal apparently--and a numberof fragments of woody fibre and starch granules, but I don't recognizethe starch. It is not wheat-starch, nor rice, nor potato. Do you makeout what it is?"

  FLUFF FROM KEY-BARREL, MAGNIFIED 77 DIAMETERS.]

  Thorndyke chuckled. "Experientia does it," said he. "You will have,Jervis, to study the minute properties of dust and dirt. Theirevidential value is immense. Let us have another look at that starch; itis all alike, I suppose."

  It was; and Thorndyke had just ascertained the fact when the door burstopen and Mrs. Haldean entered the room, followed by Mrs. Hanshaw and thepolice inspector. The former lady regarded my colleague with a glance ofextreme disfavour.

  "We heard that you had come here, sir," said she, "and we supposed youwere engaged in searching for my poor child. But it seems we weremistaken, since we find you here amusing yourselves fiddling with thesenonsensical instruments."

  "Perhaps, Mabel," said Mrs. Hanshaw stiffly, "it would be wiser, andinfinitely more polite, to ask if Dr. Thorndyke has any news for us."

  "That is undoubtedly so, madam," agreed the inspector, who hadapparently suffered also from Mrs. Haldean's impulsiveness.

  "Then perhaps," the latter lady suggested, "you will inform us if youhave discovered anything."

  "I will tell you." replied Thorndyke, "all that we know. The child wasabducted by the man who occupied this house, and who appears to havewatched him from an upper window, probably through a glass. This manlured the child into the wood by blowing this bird-call; he met him inthe wood, and induced him--by some promises, no doubt--to come with him.He picked the child up and carried him--on his back, I think--up to thehouse, and brought him in through the front door, which he locked afterhim. He gave the boy this clock and the bird-call to amuse him while hewent upstairs and packed his trunk. He took the trunk out through theback door and down the garden to the shed there, in which he had amotor-car. He got the car out and came back for the boy, whom he carrieddown to the car, locking the back door after him. Then he drove away."

  "You know he has gone," cried Mrs. Haldean, "and yet you stay hereplaying with these ridiculous toys. Why are you not following him?"

  "We have just finished ascertaining the facts," Thorndyke repliedcalmly, "and should by now be on the road if you had not come."

  Here the inspector interposed anxiously. "Of course, sir, you can't giveany description of the man. You have no clue to his identity, Isuppose?"

  "We have only his footprints," Thorndyke answered, "and this fluff whichI raked out of the barrel of his latchkey, and have just been examining.From these data I conclude that he is a rather short and thin man, andsomewhat lame. He walks with the aid of a thick stick, which has a knob,not a crook, at the top, and which he carries in his left hand. I thinkthat his left leg has been amputated above the knee, and that he wearsan artificial limb. He is elderly, he shaves his beard, has white hairdyed a greyish black, is partly bald, and probably combs a wisp of hairover the bald place; he takes snuff, and carries a leaden comb in hispocket."

  As Thorndyke's description proceeded, the inspector's mouth graduallyopened wider and wider, until he appeared the very type and symbol ofastonishment. But its effect on Mrs. Haldean was much more remarkable.Rising from her chair, she leaned on the table and stared at Thorndykewith an expression of awe--even of terror; and as he finished she sankback into her chair, with her hands clasped, and turned to Mrs. Hanshaw.

  "Jane!" she gasped, "it is Percy--my brother-in-law! He has describedhim exactly, even to his stick and his pocket-comb. But I thought he wasin Chicago."

  "If that is so," said Thorndyke, hastily repacking his case, "we hadbetter start at once."

  "We have the dogcart in the road," said Mrs. Hanshaw.

  "Thank you," replied Thorndyke. "We will ride on our bicycles, and theinspector can borrow Willett's. We go out at the back by the cart-track,which joins the road farther on."

  "Then we will follow in the dogcart," said Mrs. Haldean. "Come, Jane."

  The two ladies departed down the path, while we made ready our bicyclesand lit our lamps.

  "With your permission, inspector," said Thorndyke, "we will take the keywith us."

  "It's hardly legal, sir," objected the officer. "We have no authority."

  "It is quite illegal," answered Thorndyke; "but it is necessary; andnecessity--like your military J.P.--knows no law."

  The inspector grinned and went out, regarding me with a quivering eyelidas Thorndyke locked the door with his skeleton key. As we turned intothe road, I saw the light of the dogcart behind us, and we pushedforward at a swift pace, picking up the trail easily on the soft, moistroad.

  "What beats me," said the inspector confidentially, as we rode along,"is how he knew the man was bald. Was it the footprints or thelatchkey? And that comb, too, that was a regular knock-out."

  These points were, by now, pretty clear to me. I had seen the hairs withtheir atrophied bulbs--such as one finds at the margin of a bald patch;and the comb was used, evidently, for the double purpose of keeping thebald patch covered and blackening the sulphur-charged hair. But theknobbed stick and the artificial limb puzzled me so completely that Ipresently overtook Thorndyke to demand an explanation.

  "The stick," said he, "is perfectly simple. The ferrule of a knobbedstick wears evenly all round; that of a crooked stick wears on oneside--the side opposite the crook. The impressions showed that theferrule of this one was evenly convex; therefore it had no crook. Theother matter is more complicated. To begin with, an artificial footmakes a very characteristic impression, owing to its purely passiveelasticity, as I will show you to-morrow. But an artificial leg fittedbelow the knee is quite secure, whereas one fitted above the knee--thatis, with an artificial knee-joint worked by a spring--is much lessreliable. Now, this man had an artificial foot, and he evidentlydistrusted his knee-joint, as is shown by his steadying it with hisstick on the same side. If he had merely had a weak leg, he would haveused the stick with his right hand--with the natural swing of the arm,in fact--unless he had been very lame, which he evidently was not.Still, it was only a question of probability, though the probability wasvery great. Of course, you understand that those particles of woodyfibre and starch granules were disintegrated snuff-grains."

  This explanation, like the others, was quite simple when one had heardit, though it gave me material for much thought as we pedalled on alongthe dark road, with Thorndyke's light flickering in front, and thedogcart pattering in our wake. But there was ample time for reflection;for our pace rather precluded conversation, and we rode on, mile aftermile, until my legs ached with fatigue. On and on we went throughvillage after village, now losing the trail in some frequented street,but picking it up again unfailingly as we emerged on to the countryroad, until at last, in the paved High Street of the little town ofHorsefield, we lost it for good. We rode on through the town out on tothe country road; but although there were several tracks of motors,Thorndyke shook his head at them all. "I have been studying those tyresuntil I know them by heart," he said. "No; either he is in the town, orhe has left it by a side road."

  There was nothing for it but to put up the horse and the machines at thehotel, while we walked round to reconnoitre; and this we did, trampingup one street and down another, with eyes bent on the ground,fruitlessly searching for a trace of the missing car.

  Suddenly, at the door of a blacksmith's shop, Thorndyke halted. The shophad been kept open late for the shoeing of a carri
age horse, which wasjust being led away, and the smith had come to the door for a breath ofair. Thorndyke accosted him genially.

  "Good-evening. You are just the man I wanted to see. I have mislaid theaddress of a friend of mine, who, I think, called on you thisafternoon--a lame gentleman who walks with a stick. I expect he wantedyou to pick a lock or make him a key."

  "Oh, I remember him!" said the man. "Yes, he had lost his latchkey, andwanted the lock picked before he could get into his house. Had to leavehis motor-car outside while he came here. But I took some keys roundwith me, and fitted one to his latch."

  He then directed us to a house at the end of a street close by, and,having thanked him, we went off in high spirits.

  "How did you know he had been there?" I asked.

  "I didn't; but there was the mark of a stick and part of a left foot onthe soft earth inside the doorway, and the thing was inherentlyprobable, so I risked a false shot."

  The house stood alone at the far end of a straggling street, and wasenclosed by a high wall, in which, on the side facing the street, was adoor and a wide carriage-gate. Advancing to the former, Thorndyke tookfrom his pocket the purloined key, and tried it in the lock. It fittedperfectly, and when he had turned it and pushed open the door, weentered a small courtyard. Crossing this, we came to the front door ofthe house, the latch of which fortunately fitted the same key; and thishaving been opened by Thorndyke, we trooped into the hall. Immediatelywe heard the sound of an opening door above, and a reedy, nasal voicesang out:

  "Hello, there! Who's that below?"

  The voice was followed by the appearance of a head projecting over thebaluster rail.

  "You are Mr. Percy Haldean, I think," said the inspector.

  At the mention of this name, the head was withdrawn, and a quick treadwas heard, accompanied by the tapping of a stick on the floor. Westarted to ascend the stairs, the inspector leading, as the authorizedofficial; but we had only gone up a few steps, when a fierce, wirylittle man danced out on to the landing, with a thick stick in onehand and a very large revolver in the other.

  "Move another step, either of you," he shouted, pointing the weapon atthe inspector, "and I let fly; and mind you, when I shoot I hit."

  THE STRANGER IS RUN TO EARTH.]

  He looked as if he meant it, and we accordingly halted with remarkablesuddenness, while the inspector proceeded to parley.

  "Now, what's the good of this, Mr. Haldean?" said he. "The game's up,and you know it."

  "You clear out of my house, and clear out sharp," was the inhospitablerejoinder, "or you'll give me the trouble of burying you in the garden."

  I looked round to consult with Thorndyke, when, to my amazement, I foundthat he had vanished--apparently through the open hall-door. I wasadmiring his discretion when the inspector endeavoured to reopennegotiations, but was cut short abruptly.

  "I am going to count fifty," said Mr. Haldean, "and if you aren't gonethen, I shall shoot."

  He began to count deliberately, and the inspector looked round at me incomplete bewilderment. The flight of stairs was a long one, and welllighted by gas, so that to rush it was an impossibility. Suddenly myheart gave a bound and I held my breath, for out of an open door behindour quarry, a figure emerged slowly and noiselessly on to the landing.It was Thorndyke, shoeless, and in his shirt-sleeves.

  Slowly and with cat-like stealthiness, he crept across the landing untilhe was within a yard of the unconscious fugitive, and still the nasalvoice droned on, monotonously counting out the allotted seconds.

  "Forty-one, forty-two, forty-three--"

  There was a lightning-like movement--a shout--a flash--a bang--a showerof falling plaster, and then the revolver came clattering down thestairs. The inspector and I rushed up, and in a moment the sharp clickof the handcuffs told Mr. Percy Haldean that the game was really up.

  * * * * *

  Five minutes later Freddy-boy, half asleep, but wholly cheerful, wasborne on Thorndyke's shoulders into the private sitting-room of theBlack Horse Hotel. A shriek of joy saluted his entrance, and a shower ofmaternal kisses brought him to the verge of suffocation. Finally, theimpulsive Mrs. Haldean, turning suddenly to Thorndyke, seized both hishands, and for a moment I hoped that she was going to kiss him, too. Buthe was spared, and I have not yet recovered from the disappointment.