THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD W. STANLEY SYKES A 520205 | DODD MEAD Red Badge Books MYSTERY DETECTIVE 828 1983 m DODD,MEAN 440-2A0 | Red Badge Books MYSTERY DETECTIVE THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD BY W. STANLEY SYKES When the ordinary business man is ten minutes late to his office the fact is unnoticed. When Mr. Levinsky, the money-lender, did not appear on the dot of nine, his tardi- ness was a matter for police investigation. With scarcely a clue to lead them, Inspectors Ridley and Drury set to work and although they lacked the divine intuition that solves fictional murders so easily, before long they had linked this mysterious disappearance to the prosaic funeral of another man and were on the track of a truly formidable murderer. Here is a mystery story with a plot which for real ingenuity and originality has few equals. So plausible is the whole crime that if you are contemplating a murder here is a fool-proof method-providing you do not slip on the one minute detail that clinched Inspector Drury's case. “The Dodd, Mead imprint has long been a pretty good hallmark in detective and mystery stories. When you see one with that publisher's name on the back, you can usually depend on it. Somewhere in the editorial offices of that firm is some hard-faced Legree who understands the rather exacting re- quirements.”-Saturday Review of Literature. Each year thousands of detective-story manu- scripts are submitted to American publishers. Only by the most careful selection can a standard such as Dodd, Mead has set be maintained. Now in order to aid the reader in choosing a mystery of whose merit he may be certain in advance, the “hard- faced” editors are placing a red badge on those de- tective stories which they are willing to recommend unreservedly to the most discriminating reader. | DODO: MEAD Red Badge Books MYSTERY DETECTIVE THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD BY Carme W. STANLEY SYKES M 1931 NEW YORK DODD · MEAD AND COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1931, BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC. All rights reserved-no part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher. Published, August, 1931 Second printing, September, 1931 PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. BY Quinn & Boden Company, Inc. BOOK MANUFACTURERS RAHWAY, NEW JERSEY O. F.BUTLER BEQUENT rol-40 CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE 20 T IN DOR 2- 2- 4o CHART I THE DEATH OF DR. LAIDLAW . . . II WHERE IS MR. LEVINSKY?. . . . ITT MR. TOMLIN Puts His Foot in IT . 62 IV THE STOLEN Address Book . . . V A DISCREPANCY IN THE TIME-TABLE . VI The Man Who Was DEAD . . . VII “THE POLICE HAVE MADE AN ARREST”. 132 VIII THE EXHUMATION . . . . . 149 IX A QUESTION OF IDENTITY . . . . 159 X THE INQUEST . . . . . . 173 XI THE OPINION OF THE FOURTH ESTATE . 193 XII The Prisoner Makes A STATEMENT . 199 XIII Holm Lea AGAIN . . . . . 216 XIV The Poison That Is Not A POISON XV The RE-EXAMINATION . . . . . 249 XVI AN ANALYTICAL LOOPHOLE . . . . 266 XVII The OFFICE Boy's REVENGE XVIII The Third Analysis . . . . . XIX The BEGINNING OF THE END . . . 295 IN 232 277 THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD CHAPTER I THE DEATH OF DR. LAIDLAW “The other day one of my patients told me that he had applied for the job of public executioner," remarked Dr. James Osborne, settling himself more comfortably in his chair and lighting a much charred pipe with a demand note from the local rating au- thority. “Good heavens !” exclaimed the occupant of the other arm-chair. "What a brute the man must be!" “Not at all. He is a model husband, a good patient and quite a respectable citizen in a humble way. He has three children and is very fond of them, and he wouldn't sell his dog for all the money in your bank.” “What on earth did he do it for, then ?". “Probably he wants a spare-time job-like your insurance work or my gardening. Or perhaps he just wants a change. Most people get fed up with their own work now and then. I think you ought to have a job like that, Woods, instead of your in- surance agency. It probably wouldn't be as profit- able, but that doesn't matter much when it's a hobby -Art for Art's sake, you know. And just imagine [1] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD how soothing it would be, after counting other peo- ple's money all day, to go and hang somebody be- fore starting again next morning! Besides, you'd get about a bit more. Instead of sticking in this forsaken hole for forty-nine weeks every year and spending the other three at Scarborough you'd get to Pentonville and all sorts of thrilling places." George Woods, bank manager and Borough Treasurer, was shocked to the depths of his con- ventional soul, for he was a staid and prosaic in- dividual, as befitted his occupation. His habits were clock-like in their precision, and his ideas had crystallized into their final and unchangeable form many years before, which often caused him to be scandalized at the outrageous opinions of his irre- sponsible and eccentric friend-for friends they were in spite of, or perhaps because of, their dif- ferences. Osborne was a born talker and debater, as casual and unbusiness-like as most doctors and less con- ventional than the majority. He wore plus fours and a soft collar even when visiting his best pa- tients, regardless of the fact that Southbourne was rather a fashionable holiday resort. He always insisted that he wore them simply because the other doctors in the town did not, and vowed that he had no use for patients who selected their doctor be- cause of his "gents' superfine suitings.” In actual Chces. cause [2] THE DEATH OF DR. LAIDLAW fact he wore them because they were comfortable and because they released him from the thraldom of the trouser-press. He was of the opinion that the inventor of these garments was one of the great intellects of all time, and that the hallmark of true genius lay in the magnificent simplicity of the dis- covery that it was possible to abolish baggy knees for ever by making them baggy to begin with. So ran his argument. He had a moderate private in- come and, in the happy position of not being wholly dependent upon his profession, could afford to in- dulge his little eccentricities. Owing to the natural perversity of things in general he had a very good practice, although he made no attempt whatever to conciliate public opinion or the whims of his pa- tients. Brusque, frank and almost brutally out- spoken as he was, his patients loved him and came back for more. Many neurotics whom other med- ical men dared not offend for financial reasons had been reduced to tears and later restored to health by his plain-speaking. Woods afforded a complete contrast to his loqua- cious friend. He was a natural listener and re- garded any new or unusual idea with grave suspicion. He had never even contemplated the possibility of going to his office in anything but a black coat and striped trousers, and waged constant warfare against the sartorial exuberance of the younger members of [3] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD his staff. He was business-like in all things and al- ways answered letters by return of post, whereas Os- borne rarely answered them at all. Osborne put his long legs up at an angle of forty- five degrees and added a few more scratches to the criss-cross pattern already engraved by his golf shoes on the painted marble of the mantelpiece. "Did you know,” he continued, "that one of the retired executioners has been publishing his reminis- cences in the Sunday papers ?" “No, I did not. I never read them. I do not approve of Sunday work.” "Hear, hear! No more do I," replied Osborne, who had to work every Sunday himself. “Do you read the Monday morning papers, then?” "Yes, of course." “They're printed on Sunday, you know." Mr. Woods abandoned this point and returned to the original one. "They ought not to be allowed to publish hor- rible things like that,” he said indignantly. "Why not?" asked Osborne innocently. Mr. Woods failed to perceive that he was being lured into one of their frequent arguments, in which he always had the worst of it. “Why not?” he repeated in surprise. "Goodness knows I'm not a highbrow, but there ought to be a limit to the callousness of sensation-mongers." [4] THE DEATH OF DR. LAIDLAW Probably, in his heart of hearts, Osborne agreed with this very proper remark, but he was quite un- able to resist the temptation to do a little argumen- tative leg-pulling. "And why should a hangman's autobiography be less respectable than an admiral's ?”. The bank manager, as he knew very well, was rather partial to this form of literature, which sup- plied him vicariously with the spice of adventure which was so conspicuously lacking in his own life. "You are surely not trying to make out that dis- tinguished soldiers and sailors are on the same foot- ing as a hangman?” “Well, is there any essential difference? Wash out sentiment, prejudice, social and financial differ- ences and everything else that has raised the prestige of the profession of arms and degraded the trade of hangman and come down to facts. They are both employed by the State, aren't they?” “Yes, O Socrates !” replied Woods with elephan- tine humour. "They both kill at the bidding of the State, don't they?" “Y-es," admitted Woods reluctantly, seeing his argument beginning to rock upon its foundations. “And they are both under contract to kill any person whom they are ordered to kill without being allowed to use their own judgment as to whether [5] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD he is worthy of death. That is decided for them in advance—in one case by the law courts, and in the other by the Cabinet. So they are all square so far. The only difference to my mind," continued Osborne, allowing his feet to fall off the mantelpiece as he warmed to his task, “is that the hangman only meets in his official capacity those who have been con- demned to death after a careful and very expensive trial-in other words, those who can well be spared -whereas the soldier may have to kill men who are worthy and useful citizens. One up for the hang- man!" Woods was silent for a moment. The logical ar- guments of his companion, even when they were only half serious and directed to the defence of the most indefensible propositions, were always difficult to meet. "But the man must be a mere brute without a spark of feeling or imagination-offering himself to kill in cold blood,” was the best retort he could raise on the spur of the moment. "He need not be worse than other people,” came the ready reply. “Suppose you were one of those Italian chappies in the Middle Ages and hired an assassin cash down to knife your hated rival, wouldn't you be guilty of murder just as much as your employé? You would. Very well, then. The hangman carries out the actual act, but he is morally [6] THE DEATH OF DR. LAIDLAW no more responsible for the death of the criminal than the judge who pronounces the sentence, or the jury which returns the verdict. You take just as much part in every execution as he does because you, as a citizen, authorize him to do it. He is merely the instrument of the law, and the law is merely the will of the people. Uncomfortable thought, isn't it?" "Confound you, you are so beastly plausible! I believe you could take over my job to-morrow and make people think you knew something about it!" "I should like to try," said Osborne meditatively. "All I know about banking is that I would rather sign a cheque on the back than on the front. But there is one thing I could do rather well: I could stand behind the counter and throw the paid-in cheques over the partition beautifully! Seriously, though, I should like to change places with you for a time.” “I'd do the same cheerfully. I often think your job must be more exciting than mine." "Exciting! It's about as dull as any professional work can be, besides being confoundedly inconven- ient. You chaps do know what time you are going to finish your work. I don't. You have your week- ends free. I haven't. It must be perfectly topping to down tools at five o'clock and know there is noth- ing more to do till morning.” nven- [7] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD “What about the other side of it—the horrible monotony of having to be in your office at nine every day? You can, at any rate, start your work when you like and do it when you like. And then think of all the thrilling things that happen-accidents and cases of that sort.” “Accidents aren't thrilling. They are a damned nuisance. They come at the most inconvenient times, when you are very busy doing other work or having a meal or trying to snatch a game of golf. And then what good are you when you get there? About as much use as a sick headache. The only thing that can be done by the roadside or in the neighbouring pub is first-aid-and that has always been done already by a policeman or somebody. Then you bung them off to hospital and miss all the interesting part of it. Now in your job there is always a sporting chance of somebody coming in and shooting at the place with a revolver and going off with the cash " "Pull yourself together, my dear man. We aren't living in Chicago. You talk as if bank rob- bers queued up every morning waiting for the doors to open.” “There is always the chance of somebody trying to pass a forged cheque or a dud banknote, any- how." [8] THE DEATH OF DR. LAIDLAW "Well, don't you ever get people trying to do you ?" "Not in that way. I suppose a bit of malingering goes on in panel practice. Some people might spin out an illness in order to draw a few bob extra Lloyd George money, as they call it-after all, there are fifteen million insured persons, and they can't all be honest—but I do hardly any panel work and private patients have no inducement to try it on. Their spe- cialty is trying to avoid paying their doctor's bills.” Osborne got up and rummaged about among the litter on the mantelpiece. After a few minutes he found the letter he was looking for and sat down again. He looked at it almost affectionately and read it through, though he knew its contents by heart. "Talking of paying bills, or rather of not paying them, you have heard of the famous Aberdonian, I suppose?” he resumed. "Heard of what?” said Woods abstractedly from behind the evening paper, which he had picked up when his host started reading. “Whom, not what,” corrected Osborne. "No, don't throw things about. I mean the man who took his wooden tee to the professional to be reshafted.” "Oh, yes, I know him.” "Here's a letter from one of his relations." [9] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD The bank manager caught the envelope thrown across to him and read the enclosure. "Seems to have a grouse about something. What's it all about?" "He is a patient of mine who is a confounded nui- sance—not a Scotchman, by the way." “Not really ?” said Woods, turning the letter over and contemplating the neat signature, “Israel Levin- sky," at the bottom of the page. "He's owed me forty pounds for four years and hasn't paid a penny yet. He must be fairly rich–I never heard of a money-lender who wasn't. At any rate, he lives in a very nice house and keeps an ex- pensive car and a chauffeur. He'll nurse some potty little ailment for weeks and then send for me as urgently as if he'd broken his neck. I wish he would. I should make three guineas out of his inquest if he did, and that's more than I shall ever get out of him while he's alive! Unpleasant sort of chap to visit too. He's always grumbling and complaining and invariably seems to think it is my fault he is ill. I hate the very sight of him as a patient, though I be- lieve he is rather a decent chap in other ways. I will say this for him he doesn't call himself Griffith Jones or Angus Macalister, like most of them do. He doesn't even hide himself behind the name of a company. A Jew as a Jew is all right, but a Jew [10] THE DEATH OF DR. LAIDLAW who pretends he is a Gentile is a nasty bit of work.” “Why do you attend him if you are so fed up with him ?” "Oh, I don't know. I suppose I have been too slack with him. I hate dunning people for money, but something will have to be done about this. He encloses my last two bills and deduces from the dif. ference between them that he was charged ten and sixpence for the one visit he had last quarter. Quite right too, and dirt cheap at the price. He called me out of bed at two o'clock in the morning in mid. winter and it would have done just as well next day, or next week for that matter. Well, you can tell how serious it was when he told me at the end of the visit that I needn't call again unless he sent for me. Can you imagine any one having the cheek to write and complain about a bill that ought to have been paid long since? The fellow must have a hide like a rhinoceros. I'm going to settle him once and for all. I bet he doesn't give his creditors four years' grace." Dr. Osborne took his fountain-pen from his pocket and a writing-pad from the top of the coal- box and relapsed into silence. “How will this do?” he asked at length, signing his name with an emphasis that nearly drove the pen through the paper. [11] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD "SIR: “You complain that you were charged half a guinea for a visit, and request details. Said details herewith. This very moderate fee was charged for services of at least three or four times that value. In the first place, the night call was quite unneces- sary. Secondly, although the actual time spent at your house was short, a much-needed night's rest was completely spoilt. Thirdly, in addition to my expen- diture of time and loss of sleep there are my motor- ing expenses for nearly three miles. For this alone a taxi-driver would charge you as much at 2 a.m. Fourthly, you had the benefit of a professional man's ten years' experience and twenty years' expensive ed- ucation, which you cannot expect to have for the price of unskilled labour. Finally, my books show that you have already had four years' medical atten- tion for nothing. It therefore seems to me to be immaterial to you whether you are charged ten shil- lings or ten guineas a visit. If there are any details I have inadvertently omitted in this explanation they will be gladly furnished on request.” "Jove, that's a bit strong, isn't it?" ejaculated Woods. “Won't it do your practice a lot of harm?" “Not it. I shall lose him as a patient of course, and a good job too, but he's not likely to tell any- body else about it. He won't broadcast the news that he's been turned down because he doesn't pay. [12] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD On the way to Castle Road the lady, Mrs. Laid- law by name, told him that her husband had had an attack of influenza a few weeks previously, from which he had not recovered very well. “He tried to start working again,” she explained, “but he could not manage it. You see, we live in a manufacturing town and the practice is a very hard one. If it had been summer I think he could have managed, but the influenza epidemic was more than he could cope with, so I persuaded him to keep on the locum and come here for a rest. We took a fur- nished house for a month, and the first week seemed to do him a lot of good.” "When did he start being ill ?" asked Osborne, whose irritation had now somewhat subsided. “Yesterday morning. He began with a bad head- ache, but neither of us thought much about it at first. He thought his glasses might want altering-he wears glasses for reading—so he gave up reading and took some aspirins. They relieved the pain a bit; but he got worse and worse in himself and I got really frightened just before I came for you. He seemed very feverish and I couldn't get a sen- sible answer out of him at all. He didn't seem to know me.” Mrs. Laidlaw talked very rapidly and excitedly in a high-pitched rather metallic voice. Osborne was surprised to find that she was so emotional, because [14] THE DEATH OF DR. LAIDLAW his first impression of her had been that of a very self-controlled woman. She had a strong-featured face which would have been strikingly handsome if it had not been for her lips, which were too thin for beauty and which gave her an expression of latent cruelty and hardness. This was belied, how- ever, by her evident concern for her husband. When they arrived at the house, which was within five minutes' walk, she took Osborne upstairs at once, only waiting for him to remove his coat in the hall. As they entered the bedroom a girl in house- maid's uniform got up from a chair by the fire. "You can go now, Elsie,” said Mrs. Laidlaw. “Don't go to bed though until we know whether there is any medicine to fetch." The girl left the room and Osborne went up to the bedside. A single glance showed that the pa- tient's wife had ample cause for anxiety. The man looked ill-very ill. He was lying on his side with his head thrown back to an unnatural angle, and his wide-open eyes roamed restlessly to and fro with an unseeing stare. His florid, bloated face proclaimed him to be a drinker, but a moment's examination showed that something more than mere drunkenness was present. As Osborne switched on the shaded bedlight he noticed that the pupils of the eyes were unequal. One of them was normal in size, the other was widely dilated like that of a cat at night. He The girl IcA single glans for anxiety [15] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD gave vent to a little noiseless whistle of professional interest and sat on the bed the better to examine the ominous inequality. "I've brought the doctor to see you, dear,” said Mrs. Laidlaw, leaning over and touching her hus- band lightly on the shoulder. There was no answer. "Speak to me, Harry," she whispered. Her voice had lost all its harshness and become softly and attractively tender. "He has been unconscious like that for two hours,” she continued, turning to Osborne, who was unhooking his stethoscope from his braces. The examination of the unconscious patient was interrupted by a violent attack of sickness, which drained all the colour from the unfortunate man's face and left it pale and damp. After this had passed off Osborne took a thermometer out of his pocket and was about to insert it under the tongue when Mrs. Laidlaw, who was watching anxiously, intervened. "He has been grinding his teeth a good deal this evening, doctor. I tried to take his temperature and he nearly bit the thermometer in two." “Thanks very much. In that case it must go un- der his arm.” On removal it registered 104.4º. "Your husband is very ill, I'm afraid," said Os- borne seriously. “The temperature, the eyes, the [16] THE DEATH OF DR. LAIDLAW position of the head and the sickness all point to meningitis.” “That's very dangerous, isn't it?". “Yes. Of course he has a chance of recovery" (a better one if he didn't booze so much, thought Os- borne to himself). "Things are by no means hope- less, but it is undoubtedly dangerous. I think we ought to get a nurse in to-night and get a consultant to see him as soon as possible in the morning. I should like a second opinion on the case, not because there is any doubt about the diagnosis, but on ac- count of the danger.” "I was a nurse before we were married, doctor, so I can manage for a day or two if you give me in- structions." Osborne discussed the treatment fully, promised to call again early in the morning and then returned to his fireside. "Anything exciting ?” queried Woods sleepily. "Not a bit. Interesting from a medical point of view, because there were signs of meningitis with normal knee-jerks and abdominal reflexes, if you know what they are. But thrilling, no.” "I do not know what abdominal reflexes are, and I do not want to know,” replied the Borough Treas- urer with fictitious austerity. "They sound disgust- ing and it is time to go to bed.” [17] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD Twelve hours later Dr. Laidlaw was slightly bet. ter and the idea of obtaining a further opinion was abandoned. A second visit in the evening found the improve- ment maintained, and Osborne began to be a little more hopeful, though he still thought there was great danger, and said as much to the patient's wife. “You really must get a nurse to-morrow," was his parting injunction. "Nobody can work twenty-four hours a day, even for their husbands." Mrs. Laidlaw looked exhausted with worry and want of sleep. She said that she had been up for two days and two nights, and she certainly looked like it. Her beautiful grey eyes had dark shadows beneath them and her face was drawn and white. She gave a definite promise to get the nurse. But, as it happened, its fulfilment was not neces- sary. Early next morning she was the first arrival at the doctor's. "What's the matter? Is he worse?" asked Os- borne, somewhat startled by her appearance. “He died at eight o'clock this morning," she sobbed, sinking down into the consulting-room chair and burying her face in her handkerchief. “I am very sorry indeed to hear it,” he replied awkwardly. Like most medical men he could never overcome a feeling of embarrassment and profes- sional disappointment on these occasions in spite of [18] THE DEATH OF DR. LAIDLAW their frequency. “I don't think it would have made any difference if we had had further advice,” he con- tinued. “It was a severe attack and the risk was very considerable right from the beginning." "I know. Please don't think that I am dissatisfied in any way, doctor. I am sure you did everything that could be done for him, and I am very grateful to you. He had rather a quieter night and then got worse suddenly about half-past six. That awful sick. ness came on again, and this time it seemed to be too much for his heart and his pulse got weaker and stopped. I hadn't time to send for you until it was too late, it all happened so quickly; and then, when he was dead, I knew it was no good bothering you during breakfast-time." Osborne mentally blessed the good sense of the woman, which stood out in sharp contrast to the occasional idiots who woke him up in the middle of the night to inform him that an expected death had taken place. He murmured a few words of sympathy as he took the death certificate book out of its drawer and began to fill in the details. This formality completed, the newly made widow departed with her copy and he turned his attention to the demands of the living, who were beginning to accumulate in the waiting-room. [19] CHAPTER II WHERE IS MR. LEVINSKY? MR. ROSENBAUM, clerk to the firm of Levinsky & Co., Financiers, halted at the top of the second flight of steps in Union Bank Chambers, pinched off the lighted end of his cigarette and stowed the remain- der carefully away for future use. From another pocket he took his latch-key and opened the door of the office where for thirty years he had spent most of his waking hours. As he entered he looked through the window at the Town Hall clock, which stood at five minutes to nine, and then he took off his somewhat seedy coat and replaced it by a still seedier one, polished to extreme shininess by years of friction. He next fetched the letters and ar- ranged them in a neat pile on the table. This was his invariable routine-the after-break- fast cigarette was always half-finished when he ar- rived, he inevitably looked at the Town Hall clock directly he entered, although he knew perfectly well it was five minutes to nine, and he never took out the letters before changing his coat. In all things he was a creature of habit; consequently he was still a clerk after thirty years' service. [ 20 ] WHERE IS MR. LEVINSKY? He uncovered the typewriter and began his day's work with the slow and dignified touch of one whose employer has not yet arrived. When he had typed about half a page he heard footsteps coming up the stairs and the rattling of the keys increased in speed and then stopped suddenly as the bell rang. He got up and opened the door. “Is Mr. Levinsky in ?” asked the man standing outside. "Not yet," said Mr. Rosenbaum. “But he will be here in a minute or two. Will you come in and wait?” The visitor came in and sat down and the clerk went on with his work. The clicking of the type- writer was very intermittent, because its operator kept stopping to turn round and consult the clock. Really it was very extraordinary, and Mr. Rosen- baum could not understand it at all. When he told the man at the door that his employer would be only a few minutes he believed it with the same un- questioning faith that he believed the sun would rise in the morning. Mr. Levinsky was a man who made a fetish of punctuality, priding himself on never missing a meal or an appointment, and he had never been known to be late or away from the office without due notice. A quarter past nine chimed and the waiting client became restive. He had a hard and uncomfortable [21] WHERE IS MR. LEVINSKY? and was also persuaded to wait. Rosenbaum fussed about in a paroxysm of indecision, made worse by the fact that he had nothing to do. He had finished his typing—arrears of work from the previous day and could do nothing for the borrowers. His usual routine was to begin with the replies to the morning's letters, but even this was denied him in the absence of his employer. He went backwards and forwards from the door to the window, but there was no sign of Mr. Levin- sky in either direction. The Town Hall clock chimed a quarter to ten, and Mr. Rosenbaum made up his mind to telephone for information or in- structions. It was with some hesitation that he made even this decision, because he knew that the head of the firm made it a rule never to transact business of any kind at home. “Hallo. Can I speak to Mr. Levinsky ?” he said to the answering voice. "I don't think he will be in, but if you wait a minute I'll go and see." He waited several minutes, and then the same voice spoke again: "He isn't in, Mr. Rosenbaum." "Not in? Then, where is he?". “At the office, I should think.” - "Of course he isn't. What do you think I'm ring. ing up for?” [ 23 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD "It's very funny. I'll go and have another look. He wasn't downstairs and there was no answer when I knocked at his door, but I'll look in the bedroom this time. He may be ill.” Another wait, and the housemaid again replied: “There's nobody there and the bed hasn't been slept in. And the breakfast tray is still just where I put it, and it hasn't been touched. Whatever's happened, Mr. Rosenbaum ?” "I know nothing about it, except that he hasn't turned up, nor sent any message. I'll wait for him a bit longer and telephone again if he doesn't come." The clerk rang off, astounded at this unexpected news. It was so completely at variance with the habits of a lifetime that he was seriously alarmed and resolved to wait no longer. He took up the freceiver again and asked for the police station, re- gardless of the fact that one of the waiting clients melted silently away as he did so. This in itself showed his extreme agitation, for in addition to his salary he received a microscopic commission on busi- ness done, and a prospective borrower never escaped empty-handed without being buttonholed by Mr. Rosenbaum. The policeman at the other end of the wire was also startled out of his official calm by the story, but for different reasons. That the station should be informed merely because a business man was late at [ 24 ] WHERE IS MR. LEVINSKY? his office seemed to him to savour of a practical joke, but the earnest entreaties of the money-lender's clerk finally induced him to switch the call through to his superior. Inspector Ridley was not at all impressed by what he heard until the untouched bed and breakfast were mentioned. These, combined with the emphasis laid on the missing man's clock-work habits, ap- peared to rouse his interest, and he consented to come round to the office in person. Ten minutes later he arrived, half expecting that his time was being wasted. He found, however, that the office was still occupied only by the clerk and the one remaining client, whose business was apparently as urgent as his conscience was clear. "No more news yet?” asked the inspector. “No, inspector." "You don't know of any reason why Mr. Levin- sky hasn't come ?” “None at all. I've never known it happen before, and I've been with him for thirty years. If he had known he was going to be late he would have let me know. He always did." "Perhaps he has been called away suddenly on business,” said Ridley, half to himself, thinking at the same time that he ought to have made this in- quiry before leaving the station. "He wasn't the sort of man to do that without . [ 25 ] WHERE IS MR. LEVINSKY? and also to be firm, if the o inquire into accounts. But business has been quite good, and he hasn't seemed at all worried." The inspector made a mental note to inquire into the financial state of the firm, if the case came to anything, and also to go through the letter files for evidence of threats. These two reasons appeared to him to be the most likely causes of a sudden dis- appearance. “Did the office look quite normal this morning ?” was his next question. “Just as usual,” replied the clerk. “There was nothing disarranged or out of place at all. Stop a minute, though. There was one thing which I no- ticed, but I don't suppose it is anything important." “Doesn't matter whether you thought it was im- portant or not,” interrupted Ridley. “What was it?" "That door was unfastened.” He pointed to the private office which led out of the room in which they stood. “The boss is always very careful to lock it before he goes home, but he must have forgotten it last night." "He was here yesterday, then?" “Yes. He left at his usual time-half-past four." "Did you notice that he had left the door un- locked?" "Not at the time. I heard him and the char- woman come out, but I didn't take any particular [ 27 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD notice. You see, he insists on keeping his private room locked when he is not in, and he never gives the key to anybody else, so it has to be dusted when he is there. The charwoman generally comes late in the afternoon when he has finished the more im- portant work." “You haven't a key, then?” “No, not for this door. Only for the outer one." The inspector went to the door and examined the lock. It did not appear to have been damaged or tampered with in any way, so he opened it and went in, followed by Mr. Rosenbaum. The money-lender's private office was a pleasant room, comfortably furnished, and it seemed luxuri- ous in comparison with the ante-chamber occupied by the clerk. There was a flat-topped desk facing the fire-place with a revolving arm-chair in front of it, another arm-chair by its side, a filing cabinet oppo- site the door and a very large safe let into the wall. By the side of the safe was a tin of metal polish and some cleaning rags. The floor was carpeted and the electric light subdued by a large and expensive ala- . baster bowl. Evidently Mr. Levinsky liked to work among comfortable surroundings. Ridley turned to his companion as soon as he saw the cleaning rags. “Is the charwoman available?”. “I should think so. She seems to spend most of [ 28 ] WHERE IS MR. LEVINSKY? her time in the building. She will probably be in one of the other offices. I'll go and get her if you like.” He went out on his errand and the inspector made a general survey of the room. First he went to the safe, and noticed that the door was shut and ap- parently locked. The handles and fittings were of bright brass, the body of the safe painted dull green, and it formed a handsome and imposing piece of furniture. He was about to try the knob when a sud- den thought struck him and he refrained. Bending forward he looked at the glittering metal intently. There on its surface was a distinct finger-print, show- ing quitely plainly without the aid of dusting powder. “Good job I didn't touch it,” he said to himself. "I don't suppose it is anything important, but you never know. It can't be of any value, surely," he continued. “This is not a case of burglary, and anyhow it was probably left by the charwoman when she was cleaning." In spite of these arguments, however, he did not touch the knob. He had long since learnt not to condemn anything as worthless on theoretical grounds. At this moment the clerk came back with the charwoman, a corpulent lady with a figure like an imperfectly filled sack of flour and a habit of wiping her hands on the piece of G.P.O. sacking which served her for an apron. [ 29 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD “This is Mrs. Kenrick, inspector. She cleans all these offices." Ridley devoted a few minutes to explaining to the flustered woman that he only wanted to ask her a few questions, and succeeded in convincing her that she was not going to be arrested. Experience had taught him that it saved time and temper in dealing with people of this type. "Now, Mrs. Kenrick,” he said, "you cleaned this office yesterday, I think ?". “Yes, I did," she replied in a bellicose tone. "And I don't see why you want to find fault with it.” "I'm not finding fault,” he soothed. “I only want to know a few details. Did you clean this knob as well ?” "Yes, sir, and I'd like to know who's been putting their dirty fingers on it." “So would I," commented Ridley. "You don't think you left that mark there by any chance?”. “What, just after I'd cleaned it? No fear!" Mrs. Kenrick stepped forward and picked up her polishing rags with the evident intention of making a further onslaught on the offending knob there and then, but the inspector stopped her just in time. "Not now, please. We may want it. What hap- pened yesterday, Mrs. Kenrick, when you were in this room?" [ 30 ] WHERE IS MR. LEVINSKY? "I came in here about three o'clock, sir, and washed the windows first of all. Inside, of course. The outsides is done by the window-cleaners, and they come once a fortnight, and what with taking all the hot water they are more bother than they are worth. And that boy of theirs is that cheeky—". “What was Mr. Levinsky doing while you were doing this ?” "He was writing at the desk. He did a lot of writing. He always seemed to be doing it when- ever I came in. It beats me what he found to write about, but then I'm no scholar, nor never was. I left school when I was nine, I did." Further reminiscences of Mrs. Kenrick's infancy were cut short. "What did you do next?” “Lor', inspector, you do take me up sharp. I was telling you what I was doing. I washed the oilcloth next and dusted round the room, and then I gives them brasses a rub with Shino and was just polishing them when he got up to go, all in a hurry like, and I had to go too. He never lets me stop to finish anything. If it isn't done when he wants to go it has to wait till next day. Dirty 'abit, I calls it.” “You actually saw him leave, then?”. "I did that. I went out of the door with me bucket and floor-cloth and didn't have no time to go back for them polishing rags, and he came straight [31] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD out after me so quick that he nearly shut the floor- cloth in the door.” "Did he lock it?" “Yes. Catch him forgetting a thing like that!" "Are you sure of that?" “Certain.” Ridley was by now thoroughly interested. This latest discovery meant one of two things. Either the owner of the office had come back again, re- opened the door and forgotten to lock it, which was improbable in a person of his orderly and methodical habits, or some other person had paid an unauthor- ized visit to the room since he left. If so, the finger- print on the knob of the safe might be valuable. “Phone to the police station," he said to Rosen- baum, "and ask them to get hold of a photographer and bring him along here straight away. Tell them it is for finger-prints.” He realized that he was drawing a bow at a ven- ture. The marks might have been made by Mrs. Kenrick when she was cleaning the brasswork, in spite of her denials, which could easily be ascertained by taking prints of her hands and comparing them They might also have been made by the owner of the safe on his lawful occasions, but in his absence Ridley did not see how this could be proved or dis- proved, unless by chance the prints could be iden- tified by Scotland Yard as belonging to some one he said hem to get i iti ofing him [ 32 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD upon the three crossed the outer office and went out. “Now, tell me exactly what you did when you got here." Mrs. Kenrick opened Hetherington's door with a flourish. “All I did was to scrub the floor in this passage. It has to be done twice a week because there's always such a lot of folks going in and out.” . "Did you have the door open all the time?” "Yes, sir; there isn't enough light if you don't. They keep all these office doors shut and expect me to get the passage clean whether I can see or not. I'd like some of them there young hussies who work them trypewriter things to scrub it for a bit. With their silk stockings and their bobbed 'air.” Mrs. Kenrick sniffed loudly and then, as an additional precaution, wiped her nose on her apron. "How long were you there?” "Till it was time to stop work.” “Yes, yes; but what time was that?" The charwoman looked at the inspector with a pitying smile. “Five o'clock," she condescended to reply. "We know, then, that you saw Mr. Levinsky leave his private office. Did you see him leave his offices altogether?" “Yes. I saw him speak to Mr. Rosenbaum here and then go straight downstairs." S a [34] WHERE IS MR. LEVINSKY? ea “Quite right," agreed that gentleman. “And I left about five minutes afterwards.” “Now, listen, Mrs. Kenrick—this is important, when you were across in these offices with the door open you could see or hear anybody who got into or tried to get into Levinsky's, couldn't you?" "Ay, I could have done if anybody had done, but I didn't see nobody nor nothing." The inspector ploughed his way through this sea of negatives and arrived at its true meaning. This proved that the missing man had not returned to his office up to 5 p.m., at any rate. At that moment steps were heard coming up the stairs and a plain clothes sergeant, accompanied by a photographer, arrived. Ridley instructed them to photograph the finger-prints he had found, and also to persuade Mrs. Kenrick to have her prints taken. He then made a note of her address, ejected the dis- appointed borrower and left the men in charge of the office. "Come round with me to his house,” he said to the clerk. "How long has he been in Southbourne, by the way?" "He came to live here about five years ago, and opened this office then. He brought me with him when he sold his Bradford business." “Why did he do that?" “What? Bring me with him? I suppose he [ 35 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD re didn't want to get another clerk who knew nothing about the business." "No. I mean why did he sell it?". “Well, I think-though, mind you, he would never admit it—that he had made as much money as he wanted, and he simply started this new concern in order to have something to do.” On arrival at Croft Villa there was no need to ring the bell. The front door opened as they were approaching it and an apprehensive housemaid ad- mitted them. It was obvious from her expression that her master had not yet turned up, and Ridley plunged straight away into the task of following up the information received from the charwoman. “What time did Mr. Levinsky get home last night?” he asked. "Just before five o'clock, sir." "How do you know that?" “Because he always gets in at that time and I should have noticed it if he hadn't. He has tea at five, and it has to be punctual or there is an awful fuss about it.” "Rather late, isn't it?”. "Well, it isn't afternoon tea, sir. He calls it high tea, and he doesn't have dinner in the eve. ning.” The maid, who was South Country born and bred, was slightly supercilious. “He lived in Yorkshire most of his life," she added in extenua. [ 36 ] WHERE IS MR. LEVINSKY? tion, "and he often used to say that he liked York. shire ways best.” "What did he do after tea ?” "He stayed in all the evening, sir. I took his supper into the dining-room at nine, and he was there till ten to my certain knowledge." “What happened then?” “I went to bed at ten, so I don't know. I was asleep in a few minutes." "I see. Thanks very much. Now, what about the cook? I should like to ask her a few questions if she is anywhere about." The cook appeared round the door corner with suspicious suddenness and then tried to look as if her presence was purely coincidental. “Do you know what your master did last night?" said Ridley, concealing his amusement. "Well, sir, I'm not such a good sleeper as Edith," she began. It was evident that she had not missed much of Edith's interview. "I heard the front door bell ring soon after ten, and then a bit later the car went out of the garage." "Did you hear it come back again ?” "No, sir." : “Do you happen to know who rang the bell?". "No, sir. My bedroom is a long way from the door and I can only just hear it.” The money-lender's bedroom was next visited, but [37] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD yielded nothing of interest. The bed had not been disturbed in any way. The pyjamas were laid out, and a pair of slippers placed by the bedside. Ridley turned back the clothes and found a stone-cold rub- ber bottle still there. He crossed over to the side window and looked out. The room overlooked the garage and the tennis lawn, and almost directly be- low the window the chauffeur was cleaning the car under a glass-roofed washing shed. The swish of water from the hosepipe and the clumping of his heavy washing clogs could be heard distinctly even through the glass. Ridley looked down at the two- seater with some interest. As far as his informa- tion went it had been taken out, presumably by its owner, shortly after he was last seen, so it promised to be a suitable field for investigation. He left the house and went across to the shed. "Good morning, sir. Needs cleaning, doesn't she?” said the chauffeur, touching his cap. Ridley nodded. The bodywork was muddy and the tyres and mudguards badly splashed with tar, which the man was endeavouring to remove with a patent cleaner. “Was it messed up like this yesterday?" "No, sir. I left it clean when I went home. It must have been out during the evening." "Have you any idea where it went?” "Not the slightest. Mr. Levinsky often drives Se [ 38 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD hold the wire. ... What's that? Four different places. Yes, I can hear you. I want the names of the streets. Burley Road, Marlton Avenue, top end of Castle Road and ... what was the last one? Oh, Parkside Place. Thanks very much. Quite certain that were no others ? Right. No, it's noth- ing to do with any of your men.” "That's lucky," he thought as he rang off. “We can wash out three of these places at once. They are all at the other end of the town and more than two miles away. Castle Road is about the right dis- tance, though, so we might be able to find out where he went after all. Anyhow we know he did not go back to the office between half-past four and ten. The charwoman and the maids are quite definite about that. It isn't likely that he went after ten. The office is nearly three miles away, so he didn't go in the car, unless he reset the speedom- eter, and there is no reason why he should walk when he had the car handy. And if he didn't go some- body else did. I hope that finger-print turns up trumps." Ridley went back to the chauffeur, who was still trying to remove the tar-stains. "I want you to take me out in this car," he said. "I will take full responsibility for borrowing it." “Right you are, sir," replied the man cheerfully, kicking off his washing clogs. [ 40 ] WHERE IS MR. LEVINSKY? "Put that speedometer back to zero, then, and drive to Castle Road.” The man obeyed in mystified silence and drove off. It added to his bewilderment to see that his passenger was taking no interest in his surround- ings, but was leaning forward with his eyes fixed on the dashboard. The car turned into Castle Road, and about a quarter of a mile further on Ridley heard what he was waiting for the spattering of granite chips on the mudguards. “Slow down,” he directed, without raising his eyes. The chauffeur changed into second and the car crawled along another hundred yards. “Stop," was the next order, as the speedometer figures clicked from one mile and five-tenths to one mile and six-tenths. “Now," thought the inspector, "this ought to be the place. It is the right distance, allowing for the return journey, and the tar-spraying makes it nearly a certainty.” Castle Road was a newly developed residential district on the outskirts of Southbourne. It still con- tained a goodly number of vacant plots filled with nettles and notice boards, but at the point where the car stopped there was a row of houses called Wingrave Terrace on one side of the road, and two or three "desirable semi-detached residences" on the other. The whole area had an air of raw newness. [ 41 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD Blatant red tiles and glaring white stucco proclaimed its infancy as plainly as the sharp unweathered edges of the bricks and the intact state of the shoddy mor- tar. Heaps of builders' materials and rubbish still cumbered the ground and formed pitfalls for the unwary, and the general impression left upon the be- holder's mind was that Castle Road would be a good place to live in fifty years hence, when it had ma- tured. Ridley got out of the car and walked slowly round it, looking at each of the tyres in turn. He noted that three of them were Dunlops, and the fourth a Michelin, of the older high-pressure type. He then told the driver to go to the nearest post office and borrow the voters' list. While the man was away he filled in the time by searching the gaps between the houses, but could find no traces of the tyre marks he was looking for. This disproved nothing; if the car had been here the night before it might very well have been parked in the road. The chauffeur returned with the list and took him back to the house, where Rosenbaum was waiting anxiously. There was still no news. Ridley tele- phoned to the station while the cook was preparing a hurried lunch and ordered a plain clothes officer to make inquiries at Wingrave Terrace and at the houses opposite. Also the constable on duty in the [ 42 ] WHERE IS MR. LEVINSKY? charge room was to ring up all the hospitals in the district and the local station-master in addition. After the meal Ridley and the clerk returned to the office. The former picked out from the voters' list the names of the inhabitants of the houses in Castle Road, while the latter looked up each of them in his ledgers. None of them had ever dealt with the firm, as far as he could ascertain, but he admitted that this was not absolutely conclusive because the names of the borrowers did not all pass through his hands. This done, the inspector walked back to the Town Hall. He found that the man in the charge room had nearly finished his task. None of the local hos- pitals had admitted any unidentified accident or loss of memory cases during the last twenty-four hours, and a few minutes after Ridley entered the station- master rang up and reported that Mr. Levinsky had not been seen by any of the ticket collectors, booking clerks or porters, many of whom knew him by sight. An hour later the plain clothes man returned from Castle Road and went to the inspector's office im- mediately, according to his orders. "All quite straightforward, Roberts ?” queried Ridley. “Were they speaking the truth, or was there anything fishy about any of them?" Ten out of the eleven visits, it appeared, were ab- solutely straightforward, a simple question meeting [ 43 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD with an equally simple negative answer. The elev- enth house was the only one which aroused any in- terest whatever. "All the blinds were down at this place, sir," ex- plained Roberts. “And the door was opened by a lady who seemed to be very upset. She had dark rings round her eyes and her hair was all untidy, and she looked as if she had been crying. I told her that I was making inquiries about Mr. Levinsky, who was thought to have been somewhere in the neighbourhood about 10 p.m. yesterday " “Go on, man. I know all that. You're not in the witness-box now. What happened?” "She stared at me, sir, as if she'd seen a ghost, and fainted without saying a word. Just collapsed all in a heap on the front door mat. Well, I picked her up and carried her into the first room I came to and put her down on the couch. I then rang the bell hard and knocked, but nobody came, so I went into the kitchen. There wasn't anybody there, so I got a glass of water and took it back to the room. She was still unconscious, so I ran upstairs and looked round to try and find somebody, but she was alone in the house except for a corpse in the front bedroom.” "Wasn't old Levinsky, by any chance?" said the inspector with a smile. “Not a bit like him, sir. I know him well and e. [ 44 ] WHERE IS MR. LEVINSKY? this was a younger man. He had black hair instead of grey and was clean-shaven. Mr. Levinsky had a short beard. Besides, it wasn't lying in a pool of blood or anything dramatic like that. It was a very respectable corpse, laid out in a very respectable bed, with blinds down and everything" Ridley cut his literal-minded subordinate short and requested him to confine himself to details that mattered. “When I went downstairs again I found that the lady had recovered, and she told me that her hus- band had died from meningitis early this morning. She apologized for making an exhibition of herself, but she said she was feeling worn out with the strain and worry of it all, and a policeman coming to the door was the last straw." "That's all very well,” admitted the inspector. "But I don't see why she should faint. Now, if her husband had been in hospital when you came to the door it would have been reasonable enough, be- cause you might have been bringing bad news, but if he was already dead— I don't like it, Roberts. It sounds all wrong. Did you notice anything else about her or the house?”. “Nothing unusual, sir." “What name was it?". “Laidlaw. She told me that the dead man was a doctor and that they had come here for his health." [ 45 ) THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD "Well, it may be all right, but it takes a deuce of a lot to make a twentieth-century woman faint. Of course it's not much to go upon, but still, taken together with the speedometer business, it wants looking into. After all, Levinsky probably was there or thereabouts last night. Go back and keep an eye on her. No, send Jones instead. She knows you by sight. Tell him to see what she does and report to me direct.” Ridley turned his attention to his routine work and was still dealing with his neglected morning mail when, twenty minutes later, the telephone bell rang and the watcher informed him that Mrs. Laid. law had just posted a letter in the pillar-box outside her gate. "Find out what time the next collection is," was the reply. "I'll hold the line. What's that? Not for three and a half hours yet? That's a pity. Oh, all right. Good-bye. Stop a minute, though. How far away were you when she posted it? Thirty yards ? H'm; too far off to see the envelope, then.” Ridley rang off and returned to his desk, where he sat for several minutes staring into the fire-place with a frown of perplexity. Suddenly he got up and gave a quick, decided ring at the bell. "Send Purley in here," he ordered the answering constable. “Come in and shut the door," he said when De- [ 46 ] WHERE IS MR. LEVINSKY? tective Officer Purley arrived. "You've got to keep your mouth shut about this,” he went on, “or you'll get me hanged. I'm going to do something illegal. I want to know more about that Mrs. Laidlaw and I'm going to listen-in to a letter she's written. I shall have to bamboozle the postmaster a bit, and that's where you can help.” Purley registered surprise. "Can't you get a war- rant, sir," he asked, "and do it in a regular way?" “No. I really haven't anything to go upon, and it seems to be a dashed sight harder to get permis- sion to open a letter than to get a warrant for the arrest of the person who wrote it. 'Tisn't wartime now, you know." “The postmaster won't give it to you, sir. It'd be as much as his place is worth." "No, he won't give it to me, and I can't make him, but he might let me have a look at the envelope -as a favour. I know him pretty well, you know.” "Oh, he'll do that all right, sir. I suppose you want to find out who she's been writing to ?” “Yes, and what she has to say as well.” "He won't let you open it, sir." “I know." “Then what's the good—?”. “Ever been to a spiritualistic séance?" inter- rupted the inspector. [ 47 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD "No, sir.” Purley looked more mystified than ever. “I have, and I saw the medium do something very useful. You could write any sentence you liked on a piece of paper, seal it up in an envelope and give it to him. He held it under the table—the lights were on all the time—and then gave it back to you with the seals unbroken and told you what you had written.” “Special kind of ink,” suggested the sceptical Purley. "Not at all. I had two goes at it. The first time I used my own fountain pen, and the second time my own pencil. It didn't make any difference. He was right each time every word correct." "Some hanky-panky with the sealing-wax?”. "No, it wasn't that. I sealed it with my own latch-key and wrote my initials across all the joints of the envelope. He only had it for two minutes at the most and hadn't time to open it and reseal it. Besides, he hadn't the chance. He held it under the table with one hand and kept the other one in sight most of the time. The initials were un- touched and the envelope had certainly never been opened. It was given back to me in the same con- dition as it was when I handed it to him." Purley was by this time rather anxious. He had never heard Ridley talk like this before and began [ 48 ] WHERE IS MR. LEVINSKY? to wonder if he was ill. What on earth was all this talk about spiritualistic séances from the lips of a staunch Nonconformist? Unobtrusively he sniffed, but even his experienced nose could not detect the smell of alcohol. Anyhow, he knew the inspector to be a strictly sober man. "No more ideas how it was done?” asked Ridley, and the smile which accompanied the words was somewhat reassuring. “Confederate saw what you wrote and signalled it,” suggested Purley. "No-impossible. You could go where you liked to write it. You could examine the paper and en- velopes both before and afterwards. You could even bring your own-all he stipulated was that they should be plain white paper. You could seal it your- self, hand it to the medium yourself and receive it back from him yourself. No confederate came into it at all.” “Then how was it done? I give it up." "Spirits." “Spirits be " Purley remembered just in time that he was speaking to his superior officer. "He said it was, anyway. I found out how to summon the spirits afterwards from a book written by a medium. I'll tell you about it later. What I want you to do is to come with me to the postmaster in about half an hour and distract his attention from [ 49 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD me when I've got the letter. I'll go and arrange with him now, and in the meantime you've got to get me a specimen of Mrs. Laidlaw's writing-without letting her know that you're getting it, of course. I'll leave that to you." With this Ridley left the room and went across to the post office, which was only about twenty yards down the street. Save for a retreating old age pen- sioner it was apparently empty, but as the inspector approached the counter he perceived the seat of a pair of trousers behind the parcel end of it. "Afternoon, Mr. Murdock,” he said. The gentleman addressed extricated his face, pur- ple with exertion, from the depths of a large parcel basket and slowly resumed a vertical position. "Hullo, inspector," he wheezed cordially. "What is it? Licences ?" "Not this time. I want you to do me a favour, unofficially." “Of course I will. What is it?" A small boy and an old woman entered at this moment. "Can I come through ?" "Yes.” Mr. Murdock lifted the counter flap, led the way into his office and despatched its solitary occupant to attend to the wants of the waiting cus- tomers. “There's a letter in one of your boxes that I very [50] WHERE IS MR. LEVINSKY? much want to have a look at, Mr. Murdock. Can it be done?” The postmaster looked dubious. The sanctity of His Majesty's mail is graven on the hearts of all good postmasters, but respect for the police is also inherent in them as citizens and rate-payers. Civil war at once broke out within Mr. Murdock. Ridley had wisely put forward his request as a favour and not as a right, knowing full well that he had no power to enforce his demand, and this went far to gain the victory for him. There was no wounded official dignity to stiffen the opposition, and the civilian half of the postmaster was disposed to be obliging. Ridley's garden and Mr. Murdock's allotment had a common boundary fence and a free interchange of garden tools and cuttings took place between the two. "I haven't a warrant," went on the inspector. “I don't want to delay the mail, to open any letters or even to take them out of your sight. I only want to look at the outside of one envelope, and I'll guar- antee to give it back to you as I found it.” This modest demand finally clinched the victory. “Oh, if that's all, I can let you do that easily enough. Better not say anything about it, though." “No, I shan't.” "Those cuttings is doing well—that last lot you gave me.” [51] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD "Are they? Glad to hear it. If you want any more of them I've got plenty to spare. By the way, can you have the Castle Road box cleared straight away? I'm rather in a hurry about the job." “Yes, I can get that done inside twenty minutes." "Thanks. I'll come back again.” Ridley's next move was to go to a chemist's shop farther down the street. “Got any alcohol?” he inquired. “Yes, sir." “How much is it?” “Do you mean methylated spirit, sir? Tenpence a pint.” "No, that's not the sort I want. It isn't pure, is it?" "No, sir, but it's quite all right for burning in lamps and that sort of thing." "I know that, but I want something better.” "Absolute alcohol is what you want, then. That's ninety-nine per cent pure and costs one and six an ounce. Expensive stuff because there is such a big duty on it." "Right. Give me an ounce of it and a small packet of cotton-wool, please." Ridley pocketed his purchases and went back to the station. “What have you done about that specimen of writing, Purley?” he inquired. [52] WHERE IS MR. LEVINSKY? “I went to Jackson's, the grocers, sir, and bought three small pots of jam—the very small sample size they sell for children, sir. There was—let me see- one of strawberry, one of marmalade and one of apricot.” He slowly and carefully checked them over on his fingers. Ridley, though a good disciplinarian, did not re- sent a mild joke at his own expense, especially from a man who could be trusted not to take advantage of it. Purley was evidently having his revenge for the mystification inflicted upon him in the matter of the séances. “Go on," he said. "It doesn't matter about the maker's name.” "No, sir," replied Purley, with a face completely devoid of expression. “I got Jackson to do them up and enclose a note on a printed letter head re- questing 'Dear Madam' to accept the enclosed sam- ples and soliciting the favour of her esteemed patron- age. Jackson was pop-eyed with curiosity by this time, so I addressed it myself after I had got away from the shop and tipped a railway parcel man to deliver it. The receipt should be here in a few min- utes. He promised to bring it straight back." "Good. As soon as it comes we'll go to the post office, and, remember, when I've got the letter I'll give you the tip and your job is to keep Murdock [53] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD occupied. Now what about those summonses for to-morrow? Are there many of them ?” "Seven, sir. Four motor cases, one drunk, one from the relieving officer " “What's that about?" “Man who left his wife chargeable to the Guard. ians, sir. And one chimney on fire." There was a rattle of iron-tyred wheels outside. Ridley looked at his companion. “That it?" "I should think so, sir. I'll go and see." Purley came back jubilantly with a buff receipt form bearing the signature J. E. Laidlaw. "It worked all right, sir,” he exclaimed. “The only trouble would have been if the servant had signed it. Then we should have had to have tried something else." Ridley folded up the paper and put it in his pocket, together with a magnifying-glass, a small ruler and a pair of dividers, which he took from the desk. The pair then crossed the road to the post office. A satchel full of letters was lying on the table in the inner room, with Mr. Murdock in excited attendance. Ridley produced the railway receipt form and began to go through them. Mrs. Laidlaw's writing was fairly distinctive and the wanted envelope was identified easily enough. [54] WHERE IS MR. LEVINSKY? “Here we are,” said Ridley. "You stop and see fair play, Mr. Murdock." The invitation was superfluous, as the postmaster showed no signs of going. The inspector solemnly produced his magnifying- glass, dividers and ruler and laid them in a neat row on the table. By the side of them he put his notebook and a pencil. He began operations by carefully measuring the length and breadth of the envelope and entering the figures in his notebook. Then he measured the distance of the stamp from the edges, using the dividers. This also was care- fully recorded. The audience, both of it, was in- tensely interested. It was the first time Mr. Mur- dock had seen any detective work in progress and he racked his brains in vain for an explanation of what was happening. Detective Officer Purley was even more intrigued. He had no idea either what the inspector was doing, and he had an uneasy feel- ing that he ought to know. Ridley laid down his dividers, took up his mag- nifying-glass and began to examine the envelope carefully. From time to time he paused and made entries in his notebook. Mr. Murdock, leaning over the chair back, could read them: “Good quality white paper, black ink, no watermark, no maker's name. Halfpenny stamp slightly overlapping penny [ 55 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD stamp at lower corner. Last line of address slightly smeared.” After a prolonged examination of the front Rid- ley turned the envelope over. As he did so he looked up with as near a wink as his dignity permitted. Purley interpreted this and an almost imperceptible jerk of the head to be his signal and strolled away as if bored with the whole proceeding. A couple of Morse telegraph keys lay side by side on a table at the back of the office, and he stood looking at these intently. "I say, Mr. Murdock," he exclaimed, “isn't there something wrong here? Surely that wire oughtn't to be loose?” The postmaster reluctantly tore himself away from his criminological studies and waddled across to the keys. “Ay, you're quite right,” he said, looking at the dangling wire and the frayed fragment attached to one of the terminals. “Got a knife on you ?" After prolonged searching of pockets Purley pro- duced one and handed it over. "Thanks,” said the postmaster, as he began to peel the insulation off the end of the wire in readi- ness for reconnecting it. "Must have been one of those darned telegraph boys larking about again. It was right enough last time I used it. If I've told them to keep out of here once, I've told them a thou- [ 56 ] WHERE IS MR. LEVINSKY? sand times. If I catch them messing about with it again I'll—" Mr. Murdock's threats died away into a mumble as his stubby fingers endeavoured to coax the delicate strands of wire through the hole in the terminal. Before he had completed the repair to his satisfac- tion Ridley shut up his notebook with a snap and pocketed his apparatus. "Finished now," he remarked. “I've left the let- ter on the desk. Thanks very much, Murdock. It isn't damaged or interfered with in any way, so no- body'll know anything about it if you don't tell them." Purley sauntered casually over and took up the unopened envelope. What was the inspector getting at with all this rigmarole of measurements and mag- nifying-glasses? The detective officer could under- stand him wanting to know the contents of the letter, but to come along without a warrant and measure the envelope like a twopenny-halfpenny de- tective of fiction appeared to be the height of futility. And then all this silly talk of spirits and séances— He pensively followed his superior back to the sta- tion. “Worked very well,” commented Ridley, open- ing his notebook and laying it on the table. “Was that wire really loose or did you—?”. “I did," admitted Purley with a grin. [ 57 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD “Wilful damage to His Majesty's property," re- plied the inspector. "I forget the penalty. Any- how, it served its purpose. I got a copy of the ad- dress and nearly the whole of the letter.” “What?" "The contents of the letter.” Ridley would have been more than human if he had not enjoyed his moment of triumph. "Here it is. I couldn't get quite all of it, but I got enough to see that we have drawn a blank. This is what it said: "DEAR KATE: "Thanks ever so much for your very kind note of sympathy for my bereavement. It makes even a great sorrow just a little bit easier to bear if one knows that friends are sharing it. I can hardly realize my loss at present. When we came to South - hoping that Harry would - get well and strong again. It seems to be a place of tragedy; only this morning a police called here about a man who had disappear I can't think why they should ask me about it. I shall - here until the funeral is then I shall be only too pleased to accept your invit- - will let you know later when to expect me. It will be nice to — - somewhere to stay now that I am all alone.' that friends uttle bit easier nakes even a “Yours "JANET." [ 58 ] WHERE IS MR. LEVINSKY? "We've had all our trouble for nothing," went on Ridley. "It's only a very ordinary reply to a letter of condolence. Still, it's an interesting little experi- ment." Purley scratched his head. “Do you mean to say—?” he began. "I mean to say that that is a true copy of what was in that envelope as far as I could read it. I haven't invented it." “But you couldn't-you didn't open it?” "No, I didn't.” “Then how ?" "Don't you remember me telling you about the medium answering sealed questions at the séance ?" “Yes, sir; but I thought that was only a conjuring trick." "He said that spirits read the messages for him.” "No; but really, sir, how is it done?”. "Spirits, but not the sort of spirits he meant. Look here, I'll show you." Ridley took a piece of paper and wrote on it his name and address both in pencil and in ink. He then slipped it into an envelope and sealed it. “Are you sure you can't read that without open- ing it?" he queried, tossing it across to Purley. “Quite sure, sir," was the prompt reply. One glance at the stout white paper was enough to satisfy all doubts on the question. cs, sir; but ng sealed and telling yo nar [59] WHERE IS MR. LEVINSKY? being uncomfortably near the bull's eye. "I couldn't make out what you were getting at. I suppose the measurements—" “Merely camouflage. Not the least good, as far as I know, except to mystify old Murdock and give me an excuse for looking at the envelope. Anyhow, the whole thing is a wash-out and we shall have to go back to the beginning again." [61] MR. TOMLIN PUTS HIS FOOT IN IT that he had called at the office on his way and found it locked as they had left it. Ridley began operations for the day by taking the clerk back to the office and going through the money-lender's letter files with him. They worked through several boxes of correspondence in silence. Letter after letter was hurriedly read and put aside as useless. Bills, invoices and receipts were all scru- tinized regardless of their uninteresting and un- promising nature. The clerk reached down the last and most recent file with a grimace. “Not much chance of finding anything here," he said as he opened it. "If there has been anything unusual in the letters during the last week or two I should have remembered it.” “Doesn't matter," said Ridley. “We'll go through the lot. It's no good half doing the job. After all, we don't know what we are looking for, so we mustn't take anything for granted.” The clerk uttered a sudden exclamation of sur- prise. "Well, I've never seen this before," he said. “And I always thought all the incoming letters went through me. It must have been sent to his house and filed by himself.” He detached a sheet of cheap pink notepaper from the clip and handed it to the inspector. It was the kind of shoddy stuff sold with envelopes and [ 63 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD blotting-paper in penny packets and was covered with an uneducated scrawl containing a luridly worded threat to "put away' the recipient where no one would ever see him again. It was undated but filed with other letters received on the 25th of April, and Ridley was not surprised to see that it was unsigned. He was surprised, however, to see that the writer's cause for complaint was very different from what he had anticipated. Mr. Levinsky had not overcharged or pressed for repayment of money lent, but had flatly refused to lend any money at all. The writer appeared to be in urgent need of it and waxed in- dignant upon the iniquities of “advertisers what say they lend without inquiries and ask as many ques- tions as a — 'tec.” "The writing looks familiar to me," remarked Rosenbaum. "I've seen it before, and not so very long ago. It won't take long to look through the applications for loans during the last week or two and see if I can trace it." He reopened one of the files and dug among its contents with the eagerness of a terrier at a rabbit hole. The rustling of papers suddenly ceased and he pulled one out with an air of triumph. "This is it, inspector. I'm sure it is the same writing.” Ridley examined the document laid before him. James Tomlin, age thirty-four, cobbler, of 29 East [ 64 ] MR. TOMLIN PUTS HIS FOOT IN IT Parade, Southbourne, had applied, it appeared, for a loan of two hundred and fifty pounds, and there was certainly some justification for his remarks about inquiries. The form was a double sheet of foolscap containing a long list of questions. At first sight it looked something like an income tax paper, but dif- fered from it in that, in spite of its complexity, it was possible to make out what the questions meant. It needed careful comparison with the anonymous letter, because the writing of all uneducated adults, like that of young children, lacks the individuality and character which differentiates the writing of more literate persons. In spite of this Ridley was able to convince himself that the two papers were written by the same hand, so he put them both in his pocket and betook himself to East Parade. Mr. James Tomlin was not one of Southbourne's ornaments. His past was decidedly shady and the inspector had frequently come into professional con- tact with him before. Nominally a cobbler, he occa- sionally mended a few boots, but made no effort to attract custom. The little wooden shanty which he used as a workshop was more often closed than open, and his working hours would have satisfied the extremest upholder of ca' canny methods. No serious crime had ever been brought home to him, although the local police had their suspicions. For- tunately for him there had always been a lack of [65] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD evidence, and his only appearances in court had been for a bewildering variety of small offences. The liquor laws and the betting acts were Mr. Tomlin's most frequent stumbling-blocks, but with fine im- partiality he had also infringed the hackney carriage regulations, the firearms restrictions, the Shop Hours Act and many other threads of the legislative web with which he, in common with the rest of us, was surrounded. He always declared that he never broke any laws which carried a severe punishment. The police theory was that he was more careful when engaged on a bigger job. He was standing at his door when the inspector arrived. He was a little, thin man with humorous eyes which partly redeemed the villainous aspect of his unshaven chin. His neck was innocent of collar and his feet were clad in green carpet slippers, which proclaimed to the world at large that his la- bours for the day were either over or not yet begun —which, in a person of his habits, was not easy to say. "Good afternoon, James,” said Ridley. Mr. Tomlin, unaware of his approach, jumped and dropped his paper. “Good afternoon,” he replied, picking it up again and tucking in an unruly sheet. “I wor just reading that there speech of the Prime Minister's." "Were you?” asked Ridley dryly. “When did [66] MR. TOMLIN PUTS HIS FOOT IN IT they start printing politics on the back page? But I haven't come to talk about betting.” "Haven't you ?" said the unabashed Mr. Tomlin with a smile of childlike innocence. “I'm reight sorry to hear that, because I could give you a fair grand un for the 3.30 to-morrow.” "Never mind about the 3:30. What did you want to borrow money from Levinsky for? That interests me more than anything just at present." "I don't see what that's got to do with thee, in- spector. Can't I borrow money just like onybody else? Onyway, I didn't borrow ony. T' mean old brute said I hadn't enough security." “I know you didn't; but what about that letter you wrote to him on Monday?" Mr. Tomlin's unshaven jaw dropped and he re- moyed his pipe from the insecure grip of his broken and discoloured teeth. "Has he put tha on to me for that?” he asked despondently. "Well, he's worse nor I thought he wor, and that's saying summat. If I told thee what I really thought of him I should get five bob and costs for obscene language. Tha knows me well enough, inspector, and tha knows I don't go in for owt risky. I nobbut meant it for a joke, just to get even like for not lending me owt. I didn't know he'd take the trouble to find out who wrote it. I'll prom- ise thee I won't write to him again." wrote to him onihaven jaw aon of his broke [67] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD Ridley watched the cobbler while he was speaking. He had the half-resigned, half-amused expression of a man found out in some small transgression. He had replaced his pipe and the smoke rose from it in calm and unhurried puffs. The folded newspaper in his hand hung by his side uncrumpled and serene. If, as he implied, he knew nothing more of the busi- ness, his bearing was quite natural. If, on the other hand, he had a guilty conscience, he was an incredibly good actor. "You may have meant it for a joke, Tomlin, and any other time I should have believed you, knowing you as I do, but-" “What's tha getting at, inspector? Out with it. What am I supposed to have done this time? Have I put old Levinsky off his grub or summat?” "It's no laughing matter, Tomlin. Levinsky has disappeared." "What!" There was no doubting the genuineness of the man's surprise. "How does tha mean-dis- appeared ?" “I mean exactly what I say," repeated Ridley pa- tiently. “He simply vanished without leaving any trace. The point is, can you tell us anything about it?” “Nowt at all.” Every trace of flippancy had left the cobbler and he spoke with deadly seriousness. His pipe had gone out unheeded and his newspaper [68] MR. TOMLIN PUTS HIS FOOT IN IT lay on the floor again. This time he did not pick it up. “I've told tha all I know," he went on, “and if I knew any more I'd tell tha that an all. It's a bit awkward for me, owd lad. I wrote that letter and I'm not trying to get out of it, but I swear it wasn't meant serious like. The old blighter, to go and hop it a day or two after. I wonder if he did it a-pur- pose to get me into trouble?”. "I'm afraid not." Ridley could hardly refrain from laughing at this ingenuous suggestion. “He could have done that simply by handing over the let. ter to us, but he didn't. He kept it for some reason or other, and we found it in his office after he had gone." "Well, by gosh, I hope he turns up again reight sharp. Tha's found me out in one or two things~" “One or two!" interjected Ridley. "Well, a dozen or two, then. I don't mind that, because I did them. Happen there's one or two things an' all tha hasn't found out. I don't mind that nawther. But to be found out for summat tha doesn't know owt about - Nay, dammit. What if he's murdered? How about me then?" "We don't know that he is murdered," replied the inspector soothingly, for the man before him was rapidly growing hysterical at the thought of his peril. “But he might be! Are you going to arrest me?" [69] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD “No. No evidence. Merely a slight suspicion due to that letter of yours. We shall have to keep an eye on you, though. It's as much as my job is worth not to." “Ay, but don't spend too much time doing it. Find him or find the chap 'at killed him. I shall noan run away. Things look bad enough without making 'em 'worse. I'm frightened, Ridley, reight scared, not because I've done owt, but because I've been a fool over that there letter. I haven't much of a reputation to start with, and things might hap- pen go bad with me.” "Don't worry," reassured Ridley, the armour of officialdom pierced by the genuine distress of the genial old ne'er-do-weel. “Nobody is going to charge you with murder because you've been pinched for street betting or for having a pint of beer after hours. When you see a policeman outside your house remember that it's only a routine precaution." At this point a passing policeman came in sight and was ordered to watch Tomlin until a relief was sent. As Ridley turned to go he heard the shrewd old cobbler welcoming his shadower: "By gum, lad,” he said, “I'm noan going to lose sight of thee. There's nowt 'at will shift me out of this house till this job's cleared up!" [ 70 ] CHAPTER IV THE STOLEN ADDRESS BOOK Two more days went by—forty-eight hours of stren- uous activity for the Southbourne police and forty- eight hours of breathless gossip and speculation for the remainder of the inhabitants—but there was still no news of the missing man. The hospitals and workhouse infirmaries were revisited and one or two anonymous and unconscious individuals fruitlesly compared with Mr. Levinsky's description and pho- tograph. All the local relieving officers (who are commanded by statute to apprehend and take before a justice any wandering lunatic) were interviewed, and the County Asylum itself was not neglected. A description was circulated to all police stations and front-page advertisements appeared in the "South- bourne Gazette" and the “Southbourne Recorder," accompanied by smudgy photographs and offers of reward, but no claimants came forward. While these inquiries were being made, Ridley, with the assistance of the invaluable Rosenbaum, compiled a list of the money-lender's former busi- ness acquaintances and sent Sergeant Collins to Bradford armed with it. He began to work stead- [71] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD ily and conscientiously through his pageful of names and addresses, and his visits were of such short dura. tion owing to their lack of success that he inter- viewed no less than seventeen firms in the course of a hard morning's work, during which he acquired a mild but growing wonder at the salient features of the town. Bradford, to the casual observer, is en- tirely populated by makers of noils and tops, which mysterious occupation appears to be productive of great wealth. People from other districts who are rash enough to visit the place in cars of less value than two thousand pounds creep about in a shame- faced manner and are submerged in endless streams of Rolls-Royces and Double Six Daimlers. At half-past twelve Collins put away his list and adjourned to the nearest restaurant. He sat down at the marble-topped table and pushed back the coffee-cups in front of him. Two pennies were lying under the saucer, so he furtively replaced it and studied the gravy-splashed menu until the waitress arrived and began to remove the congealed rem- nants of the last customer's meal. “Veal and ham pie, please," he ordered. “Veal and ham pie's off," snapped the waitress, pocketing the pennies. “Cold ham, then. And can you tell me what noils and tops are? I've been to seventeen places in this blessed town and nearly every one of them [ 72 ] THE STOLEN ADDRESS BOOK either made or sold the things, and I still don't know what they are." “Something to do with waste wool in the worsted trade, I think,” replied the waitress vaguely, mirac- ulously balancing her loaded tray on one hand while she swabbed the coffee stains off the table top with the other. "I don't know much about them. Never been in a mill myself." She made this confession almost apologetically. In a district where the majority of able-bodied fe- males enter the mills from school as a matter of course there is no snobbery on this particular ques. tion, and Sergeant Collins escaped the scathing blast of indignation that would have withered him at the hands of a South Country waitress in similar cir- cumstances. At this point the wandering eye of the manageress came to rest upon her and further conversation languished. Collins finished his meal and stepped cautiously out into the street. He was wearing crêpe rubber soles and the pavement was wet; those who have climbed the gradient of Dar- ley Street will understand the reason for his caution. He visited four more business offices and then turned his steps in the direction of the Great Eastern Hotel. "Know anybody called Levinsky ?” he asked the hall porter. “Yes, sir." “Have you seen anything of him lately?" [73] THE STOLEN ADDRESS BOOK feeling in his message. Not only did it express sur- prise, sorrow and inability to reply to the question asked, but it also added, with lavish disregard for economy of words, that he was coming to South- bourne at once and would call upon the inspector as soon as possible. Mr. Isaac Levinsky arrived by the first available train. He was a dapper little man of unmistakably Jewish appearance, neatly and quietly dressed. In all things he avoided the ostentatious flashiness which is a failing of some of his race: heavy gold watch- chains and pointed, patent-leather boots were con- spicuous by their absence. In their stead were an inconspicuous and severely unornamental silver wrist watch and plain black shoes; but it was typical of their owner that the watch, owing to the quality of its works, had cost more than most gold ones, and the shoes were made to order by a high-class Gentile pirate whose exorbitant charges were only excused by his supreme reputation as a craftsman. The emotional side of his nature prevailed so strongly that the initial part of the interview was quite useless, but just as the inspector's patience was reaching its limit the curious duality of the visitor's race became evident and the lamenting Oriental changed into the cool-headed Western business man. “You can suggest no reason for your brother's [75] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD disappearance, Mr. Levinsky?" inquired Ridley. "None at all. He was not married, so there is no question of family troubles, and he was quite free from worry about money matters. He had a private income from, savings of about three thousand a year as well as his share in the business, which brings him in at least another two thousand. Five thousand a year is not wealth in some people's estimation.” "It is in mine,” said Ridley, thoughtfully draw- ing little figures on his blotting-paper. "But if you only spend half your income, whatever it is—and I am sure he never spent more than that, you are always rich, is it not so?” Mr. Levinsky's hands fluttered to the level of his shoulders with the palms upwards. "Are you sure the business is still sound?" "Gott of Israel, have I not just told you so ?” “Yes, but I understood from the clerk that you had resigned from it some years ago, and so I thought your information was-well, perhaps not quite up to date." "No," was the reply. “I am still a partner. I have taken no active part in it since we removed from Bradford, and I suppose that is why the clerk thought I had retired altogether, but I still have a half share and I know it has been doing very well lately. Of course we work on a much smaller scale than we used to, but we can afford to do it. In fact, [76] THE STOLEN ADDRESS BOOK the business was only carried on as a kind of hobby for my brother. He was a man who had no interests outside his work and hated the thought of retiring, so I let some of my capital remain in his hands. It is partly to prevent damage to our business connec- tion that I have come over here, but not altogether that, inspector. My brother and I are very fond of each other, and I want him found. Don't worry about expense—we can afford to pay anything in reason." "I am not a private detective, Mr. Levinsky," said Ridley with a smile. "The question of fees does not arise.” “Well, is there any other way I can help?” “Yes, there is.” Ridley went on to explain how he had been ham- pered in his investigations at the office. In the ab- sence of the owner—which might, in theory, be a perfectly legitimate or voluntary one-and in the absence of theft, it had not been possible to ascer. tain whether the contents of the safe had been dis- turbed. “Why didn't you break it open and make sure ?" exclaimed Mr. Isaac excitedly. “Can't make free with other people's property like that, sir," replied Ridley, aghast at such a law- less suggestion. “But if you can open it for us—" "I have not got a key on me now," admitted the [77] THE STOLEN ADDRESS BOOK funny. I can't feel it, either. Ah, that's better ! Thanks. I can see now.” Mr. Levinsky opened the massive door wide and put his head inside the safe. He felt behind the promissory notes, opened the cash drawers, which were empty, and finally, not content with this, re- moved the bundles of papers until he could see the whole of every shelf. “There is something missing,” he announced ex- citedly, backing out of the safe and shutting the heavy door with a muffled clank and swish of com- pressed air. “At least, Just a minute until I make sure." He went to the door of the private office and called the clerk. "Has the office routine been altered in any way since I left?” he asked. “No, sir. Things are just the same as they used to be.” “Mr. Israel kept the address book in the ordinary way?" “Yes, sir." "He hasn't started keeping it at the bank or let- ting you have it?” "No. I never handled it in my life, and I know he hasn't taken it to the bank, because I saw him using it the last time he was here." "Well, then, it has been stolen," said the partner [ 79 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD with an air of finality. “Probably some money has gone as well, as the cash drawers are empty, but I couldn't swear to that." "I don't understand," interposed Ridley. "Do you mind explaining why anybody should want to steal an address book ?” Mr. Levinsky put back all the papers, locked the safe and sat down at the desk. “You saw for yourself that there wasn't a leather- bound book with a lock on it in the safe, I suppose ?" he began. “Yes.” “That book was always kept there-always. It never went out of our possession, and it was abso- lutely confidential. Rosenbaum says that it was still kept there in the usual way up to the time when my brother vanished, but I should have known that without asking him. You see, it is constantly in use, so it cannot be kept at the bank, and I know my brother never took it away with him. For one thing he will not do any business at home, and also he wouldn't feel happy unless it was locked up here. This safe is one of the best makes and as nearly thief-proof as possible.” “Yes, but~" "I suppose you don't see the importance of an address book? Our business is rather a confidential one, you know,.and there are some people who bor- [ 80 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD have been told that only one copy was kept, to avoid 'any chance of leakage, and, once he has opened the safe, all he has to do is to steal the book and his promissory note. Then no evidence of his debt is left at all. The clerk's books would enable us to trace the loss of a promissory note, but it would be in a false name and there would be no means of find. ing out the real one.” “Rather a weak point in your bookkeeping sys- tem?” suggested Ridley. "Quite. As things have turned out it is, but it was unavoidable under the circumstances, except by a breach of faith with our customers, who were prom- ised that no other copy existed. And you must re- member that the book was so carefully guarded that is has only passed out of our possession this once in thirty-six years. I can't help thinking that some- thing awful has happened to my brother.” At this point the East again showed signs of com- ing to the surface. "It certainly sounds suggestive," put in Ridley hastily, in order to check this time-wasting meta- morphosis. “But you can be quite sure that every- thing possible will be done to find him. We are not giving up hope yet by any means. The Chief Con- stable is determined to get to the bottom of it, and he has applied to Scotland Yard for assistance al- ready. They are sending one of their men down, [ 82 ] THE STOLEN ADDRESS BOOK ne and I hope we shall be able to give you some better news soon. In the meantime, if you are stopping here, will you find out if any of the papers are miss- ing and let me know ?" Mr. Levinsky was so eager to help that he was calling for the clerk before Ridley left the office. He refused to leave until his task was finished and remained at work until the early hours of the morn- ing, patiently checking the ledgers against the bun- dles of promissory notes in the safe. He felt repaid for his trouble, for he was able to leave a message with the constable on night duty at the station stat- ing that a promissory note for five thousand pounds was missing, made out in the name of Edward Der- rington, of 17 Chapel Street, Aintree, Liverpool. On further investigation he had found, as he ex- pected, that the name was an assumed one and could not be identified in the absence of the address book. He was also able, as a result of his labours, to state definitely that the firm was sound and even pros- perous from a financial point of view. The con- stable informed him, in return, that Scotland Yard had wired to say that they were unable to trace the finger-print which had been found on the safe handle. [83] CHAPTER V A DISCREPANCY IN THE TIME-TABLE INSPECTOR DENNIS DRURY of Scotland Yard was a big man, even measured by constabulary standards. He stood six feet two and a half inches in his boots, and his broad chest and powerful shoulders carried nearly fifteen stones without an ounce of fat. En- dowed by Nature with a good physique, it was one of his ambitions to keep it, and for a man of middle age he had succeeded remarkably well. Nearly thirty years previously, before he joined the force, he had been a keen footballer, which gave him the strenuous exercise for which his soul craved. Like many other young men he married (and like many other big men he married a small wife) and found that his income did not expand as rapidly as his re- sponsibilities. At that time he was living in the North of England, and so he was fortunate enough to be able to make his recreation add to his earnings. On the strength of an international cap he left the Rugby Union, forfeited his amateur status for ever and joined the Rugby League. It is a curious fact that professional Rugby is practically confined to Yorkshire and Lancashire, [ 84 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD the science and art of the detective, though they may begin, do not as a rule end in an arm-chair. Many professional men may be mere thinking ma- chines; a consulting physician can be a physical wreck, a successful barrister may be obese and flabby and an accountant may be asthmatical without much loss of efficiency. But when the detective is fortu- nate enough to solve his problem and arrest his man the criminal has no appreciation for the academical excellence of the work which his pursuer has done, and in a roughhouse the velvet glove of a powerful intellect is of little service unless it is backed up by the iron hand of an efficient body. One wet Sunday afternoon in May Inspector Drury had been putting his principles into practice by giving a lesson in ju-jutsu to his fourteen-year-old son. The combatants had ceased their tramping and bumping and come downstairs for a rest, much to Mrs. Drury's relief—for the plaster of the kitchen ceiling was badly cracked and the landlord could not be persuaded to repair it. Tea was not yet ready, and Drury was instantly seized by two small girls, one of them his own and the other her friend from next door. They clambered up on to his knees and waved before his eyes two grubby pieces of paper and a much-bitten pencil stump. [86] A DISCREPANCY IN THE TIME-TABLE "Draw something, daddy,” demanded Ellie short for Eleanor—his daughter. “What shall I draw?" “Draw a pig." “What sort of a pig?” . “A fat one!" shrieked both of them in chorus. He took the proffered pencil and two small heads bent over and breathed heavily upon the paper in anticipation. “There. Will that do ?” “No. He hasn't got a tail." Squeals of delight attested the popularity of an old and familiar joke. “There, now he has a squiggly one." "Now draw a cat, daddy.” The newly created pig was pushed ruthlessly aside. Drury solemnly copied his previous drawing, but substituted a vertical line for the squiggle, and a cat it was within the meaning of the act. "Now I'm tired,” he said. "You draw some- thing." "I bags first. I'll draw a golliwog.” Ellie grasped the pencil dagger-fashion, put out her tongue and drew an irregular lemon. “What's that?" asked her father tactlessly. “That's his head," she replied reproachfully. A wobbly square followed. “That's his tummy,” she explained. “All golli- wogs have square tummies." [ 87] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD This anatomical fact was new to Drury, but he accepted it with due gravity. He was immensely popular with children because he never laughed at them at the wrong time. The little girl from next door then had her turn and drew a cottage loaf with two handles on it, which she declared to be an au- thentic portrait of Benjamin Bunny Rabbit. At this moment the telephone bell rang and the two artists were gently decanted on to the floor. "Hallo. Drury speaking. What do you say? Southend-oh, Southbourne. Yes, I thought they would be calling us in. No, I don't know anything about it except the newspaper reports. You say the Chief wants me to go to-night? What about trains ? The 6.30 express. Thanks.” And so it happened that Inspector Dennis Drury found himself at Southbourne, his week-end at home abandoned sine die. As soon as he arrived he deposited his bag at the left luggage office and inquired the way to the police station, having decided not to engage rooms before consulting the local men. He had a pleasant surprise when he was shown into the inspector's office and found that Ridley was the man with whom he was to co-operate. The two officers had been stationed in the same town many years before as newly joined constables, so they met as old friends and greeted each other cordially. [ 88 ] A DISCREPANCY IN THE TIME-TABLE “This is like old times again," commented Drury, settling himself as comfortably as possible in a hard- wood arm-chair. “I'd no idea you were at South- bourne, Ridley. It's so long since we saw each other that I'd lost track of your movements altogether." "It must be fifteen years since we left Sheffield.” "More than that, I should think. Nearer twenty." "Perhaps so. It's too long to talk over here, anyhow. Come across with me and have some sup- per and tell me what you have been doing with your- self." ; There was an interval of an hour and a half, de. voted to intermittent eating and reminiscences, at the end of which Ridley produced a large bundle of papers and pushed it across the table to his guest. "Do you want to know anything about it to-night, or shall we start fair in the morning ?” "I think I'll give these notes a miss until to-mor- row. I don't feel much like studying details after a Sunday evening train journey, but I should like you to tell me about it, if you don't mind. Then I can get a general idea of things without having to think too much. I know nothing more than the newspaper reports at present." "Right. Shall we go out or stay here?" “Let's go out. It seems a shame to stay inside on a beautiful evening like this." They left the house and walked along the South- [89] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD bourne Esplanade to the extreme end. It was com- paratively deserted, being too early in the season for visitors. "Let's go on a bit,” said Drury. "I hate these concrete cliffs." “Better not let the Corporation hear you say that,” replied Ridley. “They are very proud of their sea front." They tramped another half-mile or so until the harsh smoothness of the artificial promenade and the pretty ugliness of the Esplanade Gardens dis- appeared from sight round a bend, and the un- touched beauty of the rugged coastline stretched be- fore them as far as the setting sun. Drury heaved a sigh of relief and drew deep breaths of salt and seaweed into his lungs. "It's good to be away from London for a bit," he said. "Let's go down towards the beach and find somewhere to sit.” They clambered down a sheep track that de- scended the steep slope of the cliffs, to the manifest disgust of a pair of lovers who had staked out their claim close by, and ensconced themselves comfort- ably in a little grassy hollow just above the point where the joyous green of the land gave place to the sullen brown of the seaweed. “Now then,” exclaimed Drury, wedging one foot a [90] A DISCREPANCY IN THE TIME-TABLE into a rabbit hole and dislodging an inconvenient thistle with the other, "fire away. I'm ready." For the next hour he lay with his eyes shut and listened to the tale that Ridley told, a tale at first sight as commonplace and monotonous as the noise of the surf which formed a background to the voice of the teller, but which was to prove as deep and mysterious as the sea itself. “That's the whole story," concluded Ridley. “And I must say that I'm completely and absolutely stuck. We've made all the inquiries I can think of, and I don't know what to do next. What do you suggest?" "Nothing, off-hand,” was the discouraging reply, and Ridley's face fell. The speaker laughed. “Don't look so blue about it," he went on. “That's rather a compliment to you. It means that you have done all the preliminaries so thoroughly that you haven't left any loose ends sticking out for the first passer-by to get hold of. We shall have to think this out. Question number one, Why does a person disappear? There are three reasons that I know of. The first one is that he disappears because he wants to, either because he has done something illegal or because he is in money difficulties, or is frightened of something. There is no evidence in favour of any of these, with the possible exception of Tomlin's letter, and I don't think we need take that seriously.” [91] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD “Glad you think that. What makes you say so ?” “Why, don't you agree?" “Yes, I do; but I'm judging by my personal knowl- edge of the man. You don't know him, so I won- dered why you thought his threats were of no im- portance." "I'm simply going by their effect on Levinsky. If he had been frightened by that letter he would either have put the matter into your hands or else disap- peared at once, if he thought that was the best thing to do. He did neither. He put it in a letter file and let two clear days go by before he attempted to go. That doesn't sound as if he was in terror of his life.” “No, it certainly doesn't," agreed Ridley. “The second reason to account for a disappear- ance is an accident or loss of memory, both of which generally land you in hospital sooner or later. You've pretty well excluded these explanations. That only leaves one other, and that is force ma- jeure." "Eh?” said Ridley. “Kidnapping or murder. Abduction being rare in this country, murder seems to be the likeliest thing. Mind you, we're not certain of this." "How does it help us, anyhow?" "It shifts our ground a bit. We are no longer looking for Levinsky, who may have disappeared [ 92 ] A DISCREPANCY IN THE TIME-TABLE for any of these reasons, but we are looking for the man who removed him. Pure assumption, of course, but it gives us a lead.” “Does it? I'm glad you think so." "Yes.” Drury got up and assumed a pontifical attitude. “There are two sorts of criminals, and only two,” he continued after a pause. “The first and lowest type are the unskilled labour of the underworld and have not enough intelligence to plan or foresee the future. They commit petty crimes to satisfy a want, or worse ones to satisfy an impulse, or else they are a bit mentally deficient." "Lombroso's born criminals, eh?” suggested Ridley. “No, not quite that. I know nobody believes his theories nowadays about the physical stigmata of crime. After all, it's a bit far-fetched to argue that a man is predestined to a life of crime just because he has a peculiar-shaped ear or a receding forehead. All I say is that some crooks are of low intelligence just as some honest people are. Their procedure is faulty in design and clumsy in execution. They don't take many precautions against detection be- cause it is beyond their intellectual level.” "I know the sort you mean. They specialize very rigidly, don't they?” "Yes, because they haven't got the originality to do anything else. They aren't much trouble as a се [ 93 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD SO rule, and their capture is more or less routine work. Well, it isn't one of this sort who murdered Levin- sky, if he was murdered. If it had been, he would have done it with a poker or a meat chopper or something equally crude, and either left the body lying about or made some perfectly futile attempt to hide it. The other class of criminal is entirely different. He is an intelligent chap who plans his work carefully and also arranges his escape or alibi beforehand.” “I see all that, but I don't see what you are get- ting at.” “Coming to that in a minute. If Levinsky has been murdered, it has been done by an intelligent person who has removed the body and hidden it so well that we don't even know for certain that there is a body at all. The trouble is that it is a darned difficult matter for anybody, even if he is intelligent, to foresee the future, unless he is Old Moore or Zadkiel, and this is the weak spot of all the precau- tions that criminals take. Everything has to be ar- ranged beforehand, and I think that it is almost impossible to plan things so perfectly as to leave no trace of having done so. In other words a pre-ar- ranged sequence of events, if you investigate it closely enough, nearly always shows some feature of difference from the same sequence proceeding nat- urally. That's my pet theory. They say that no [94] A DISCREPANCY IN THE TIME-TABLE cipher or cryptogram is absolutely undecipherable: that what the human brain can conceal it can reveal. It's just the same with criminals' precautions. The great thing is to go through the details carefully- all the details—and try and find out if there is any evidence of pre-arrangement." in In the morning Drury started work in earnest and spent several hours in the office with a writing pad and the notes of the case before him. He had an invariable habit of arranging facts in chronological order, a peculiarity which was so marked that certain of his irreverent subordinates always referred to him as Bradshaw, except when he was present. This careful study of times was one of his ways of putting into practice the theory which he had expounded to Ridley on the previous evening, and, true to his nickname, he began this case, as he had begun many others, by arranging all the ascertainable facts in the order of their occurrence and asking endless questions about the exact time of each event. The size of the pile of papers which Ridley had laid be- fore him disturbed him not at all, and the latter was duly complimented on the fulness and clearness of his reports. "There may be a deuce of a lot of it,” he said in response to Ridley's apologies for the volume of [95] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD documents, “but it isn't your fault if it happens to be a long case.” “But it seems so silly,” protested Ridley, “to bother you with all that stuff about delaying the mails and reading a perfectly harmless letter. The whole thing was a wash-out from start to finish, and it was all my fault for suspecting somebody when there really wasn't any evidence at all." “Never mind that. The mere fact that you found a line of inquiry, even if it was a dud, is more than some people would have done. After all, you must start somewhere. Besides, you couldn't ignore the evidence of the speedometer. It would have been daft not to have followed that up. And, anyhow, if you've excluded even one person from suspicion it narrows the field a bit. However, I'm not going to think about your theories yet, whether they are right or wrong; we can talk those over later on. I'm going to take the case as it stands and go through your facts with an open mind. I shall fill in the gaps in this time-table first and then see if everything fits in as it should, or if there is any sign of things being cooked to fit." Ridley left him to it and went over to the police- court on other business. While he was there a con- stable came across with a note from Drury, apolo- gizing for disturbing him and asking if it was pos- sible to get to know the time of posting of Mrs. [96] A DISCREPANCY IN THE TIME-TABLE Laidlaw's letter. He had, he explained, no special reason for asking this, except that his time-table was incomplete. Ridley, immersed in a sheaf of charge- sheets, silently condemned Drury and his time-table as an unmitigated nuisance, but fortunately it hap- pened that the bearer of the note was the man who had seen the incident, so a reference to his notebook answered the question with very little trouble. As soon as the usual Monday morning's harvest of drunk and disorderlies was disposed of and the Great Unpaid had retired to the Mayor's Room, Ridley went back to his office. “I've found something that wants explaining very badly,” remarked Drury as he entered. “Already?” "Yes; and I think your first shot probably wasn't so wide of the mark after all. I started off with the idea of making this list absolutely comprehensive, and including every fact we know, whether it seemed to have any bearing on the case or not. You see, the whole thing is so indefinite that we simply don't know what is important and what isn't. You can't hang your hat up on a single point anywhere. As far as I can see the whole blessed case consists of questions and no answers. Here are some of them.” He took up a sheet of paper covered with his neat writing. “Why was Levinsky near Laidlaw's house? What does Mrs. Laidlaw know about him to make SO [97] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD her faint? Osborne attended Levinsky and fell out with him. Osborne attended Laidlaw. Does he know anything about it? Has Levinsky levanted with the address book and, if so, why? Or has it been stolen? If it has, who stole it? If Derring- ton did, is he a murderer as well? What was Tom- lin doing that night? If he is a murderer, what has he done with the body? Thank goodness Laidlaw himself is out of it, anyway, but the others are all mixed up together without rhyme or reason. I've had a talk with Osborne on the phone and got the details of his part in it. You have a look at this and see what you make of it. Here's the first sheet." 5 years ago Levinsky came to Southbourne. 4 years ago Levinsky began to owe money to Dr. Osborne. (Query, does Osborne owe him any ?) April 18th Dr. Laidlaw came to Southbourne. April 24th Tomlin threatened Levinsky. April 25th Dr. Laidlaw taken ill. April 26th, 9 p.m. Dr. Osborne wrote to Levinsky. 10 p.m. Dr. Osborne saw Dr. Laidlaw as a patient. April 28th, 8 a.m. Dr. Laidlaw died. 9 a.m. Levinsky absent from his office. 9.50 Rosenbaum rang up the police. 10-11 Investigation at the office. II-12 66 house. [98] A DISCREPANCY IN THE TIME-TABLE 12-1 p.m. Investigation at Castle Road. 1-2.30 Inquiries in Castle Road by P.C. Roberts. Hospitals questioned. 2.45 P.C. Jones arrives at Castle Road to watch the house. 2.50 approx. Mrs. Laidlaw posts her letter. 3-5 Examination of the mail. Ridley studied the list carefully, but was forced to admit defeat. "All the facts are too familiar to me now," he said ruefully. "I can't look at them from a fresh angle.” “It's too quick," said the man from Scotland Yard. “Laidlaw died at eight o'clock in the morn- ing and his wife—or widow—posted that letter be- fore three in the afternoon." "Well, why shouldn't she?" asked Ridley, aston- ished. “People generally tell their friends pretty soon when there is a death in the family." “Quite so. But have another look at the copy of her letter. Jolly good thing you did copy it, by the way. She was not informing the unknown Kate of the death, but replying to a letter of condolence from the said Kate, who already knew about it. That's obvious from the wording of it. In other words this friend, who lives eighty miles away, had [99] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD not only heard of the 8 a.m. death-which she might have done by telephone—but she is supposed to have written to the widow, who received her letter and posted a reply to it in less than seven hours. With all due respect to the P.M.G., it can't be done. There's something wrong somewhere, Ridley. Kate and Janet are altogether too quick on the job. I don't see what in Hades it's got to do with Levin- sky or anybody else, but it seems to me to want in- vestigating.” "It certainly does." Ridley pushed his cap to the back of his head and stared at his colleague. "You are quite right. It's a smart bit of work, but as far as I can see it's made things a good deal more com- plicated than before." “Can't help that, and as regards smartness it's as much yours as mine. You gave me such a complete account of things that all I had to do was to pick your brains. You can't even do that with some people, because they haven't got any. What about interviewing Osborne for a start?" “Why him in particular?” "I don't know. The whole thing is so damned illogical that we can't be logical. He might at least be able to tell us something about this widow, and I'm thinking that the more we know about her the better. I suppose you've wired to Liverpool about Derrington?” [100] A DISCREPANCY IN THE TIME-TABLE “Yes, as a matter of form. Nobody of that name or address is known.” The two detectives had got a few hundred yards from the police station on their errand when Ridley stopped and smote his thigh a mighty blow. "I believe I've got it!” he exclaimed trium- phantly. "If that letter isn't in cipher it has only two meanings.” “Well, what are they?" "One is that it means what it says and what I thought it meant, but you've just proved that to be impossible. The other is that it is conveying some information in an apparently innocent way in case the letter goes astray. The only information in it, barring the bogus stuff about the note of sympathy, is that we have got wind of Levinsky's disappearance and have traced him to Castle Road.” "That's a sound theory. If it is true it means that Kate had something to do with the disappear. ance, and Mrs. Laidlaw knows it and is warning her. Ridley, I'm longing to meet Kate more than ever." “Mrs. Laidlaw must be a cool hand, in spite of her fainting, if she uses her husband's death as a sort of code to carry a message." "She must; and, I say, do you remember what she said at the end of the letter?” [101] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD “Er—yes, something about going to stay with Kate after the funeral.” “That's right. That's her second bit of news, and she means it. She will never think of an inno- cent letter like that being deciphered even if it was read by somebody else, and if we have her shad- owed by a good man, so that she doesn't suspect anything, she'll lead us to Kate all right.” "I'll put somebody on to her as soon as we get back to the office. There's no great hurry. She'll stop till after the funeral. And I'll make Tomlin's shadowing more conspicuous so as to put her off the scent." At this moment Dr. Osborne and his friend the bank manager were again in the arm-chairs by the fire, conversing inevitably about the disappearance, which was now common property. "I shouldn't be surprised,” remarked Woods cas- ually, “if they arrested you for doing away with old Levinsky!" "Me? What the devil do you mean?" "Remember that letter you wrote to the late la- mented? The police are sure to see it sooner or later." "Oh, that? They are quite welcome to see it. The man should pay his debts before he goes if he must go like this !" “Seriously, though, there's another man who [102] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD who was born with a gun under his arm, doing such a damn silly trick. Besides, a shotgun, fired at a range of six inches, doesn't distribute ten or twelve pellets under the skin. It blows a hole as big as a quarry." “I wonder what his defence will be?”. “Defence? There isn't any need for one yet. They can't accuse him of anything. The police may be morally certain that something has happened, but they can't prove it. Where's the body, for one thing? Ridley asked me the other day if I could help him at all, as I was Levinsky's doctor, but all I could say was that he was in pretty good health as far as I knew and not likely to have died suddenly. Another inspector called Drury rang me up this morning and asked me a whole lot of questions about that man I went to see last time you were here. All my patients seem to be getting mixed up with the police nowadays. I don't know what Laidlaw had been doing, and I don't suppose it matters much now in any case. He's out of their jurisdiction." "Has he bolted as well? Where's he gone to ?” "I don't know," replied Osborne dryly. "I only sign death certificates. I don't put the destination on them.” Just as the bank manager's hopes of a second mys- tery were thus rudely shattered the housemaid, a lady who never wasted words, opened the door. [104] A DISCREPANCY IN THE TIME-TABLE "Two p'leecemen to see you, sir,” she announced abruptly. "Ask them to come in,” replied Osborne. “There you are," said Woods, with the air of a prophet who has prophesied truly, or a tipster who has tipped a winner. “What did I tell you? I should take my wrist watch off if I were you." “What for?" “So that they don't break the glass when they put the handcuffs on.” Osborne laughed and got up to meet the visitors. Ridley entered, followed by his colleague, whom he introduced. Their host apologized for his house- maid's estimate of their rank and pulled the couch forward. "Sorry to bother you again, sir,” began the local inspector, accepting a cigarette and lighting it. “But we want a bit more information, if you can supply it. When you attended the late Dr. Laidlaw, did he or his wife talk about any of their friends or relations ?” "No; I never heard him speak at all. He was unconscious every time I saw him, and his wife and I talked about him and nothing else. They were new patients of mine and I only saw her a few times, remember. Besides, there isn't often much small talk when patients are seriously ill. That comes later, when they are getting better.” "I wasn't implying that you were in the habit of [105] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD gossiping, doctor, but I thought it was possible that friends might have been mentioned. You have no idea who Kate is, then ?” “Not the slightest. May I ask why you want to know?” "We think Mrs. Laidlaw had something to do with the Levinsky case, but the whole thing is rather obscure as yet.” "I see.” "We are very anxious," put in Drury, "that she should not know that we are interested in her. This is all in strict confidence. If it leaks out it may ruin our chances of finding out what happened to Le- vinsky." “Quite. I won't mention it to anybody." There were vague confirmatory noises from Woods, who was included in the warning glance from the inspec- tor's eye. "Another thing, doctor, if you will pardon a per- sonal question. Were you a client of Levinsky's?'' "Me? Good heavens, no! I'm not a rich man, but I don't owe anything, and if I did I shouldn't go to a money-lender to help me out. I get lots of circulars from them-or I used to before they were stopped sending thembut they were all much too good to be true.” “You don't know anything about the address TOT s eye. [106] A DISCREPANCY IN THE TIME-TABLE book, then?" asked Ridley suddenly, watching Os- borne keenly. “What address book ?" asked Osborne blankly. An almost imperceptible nod of reassurance passed from the local inspector to the stranger. “It's of no consequence, doctor. Only a book be- longing to Levinsky that we are looking for, and we think he might have given it to one of his clients." "Well,” said Osborne, smilingly, "I hope I have convinced you that I haven't murdered him. If you ask me many more questions that I can't answer I shall seriously think of bribing Woods here to prove an alibi for me.” "No need for that, sir. When a murder is com- mitted there is usually a motive, and I can't think of any particular reason why you should want to kill a money-lender to whom you don't owe anything." “My dear inspector, if you were the police officer of the detective stories you would have arrested me long since. They always arrest the wrong man, and I should have had to go to a private detective to prove my innocence. If you really tried you could cook up quite a good case against me. He owed me forty pounds and I had just written him a letter in which I told him pretty plainly what I thought of him. Have you seen it?". "Yes." “Then you'll know my fluent style and classical [107] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD English. I worked in the true commercial touch- details herewith and so on. No business letter is complete without 'herewith.' Oh, dash it all, I for- got to put 'one enclosure' at the bottom of it, and there was an enclosure in it, because I sent him an account rendered. Well, if this chap is still alive, I lose him as a patient and I lose my forty pounds as well, because I shan't bother to sue him for it. If he is dead his executors will pay my bill, because executors are like companies and have no soul and therefore cannot be insulted, so I stand to gain by his death. Now, then, bring out the handcuffs. It's a fair cop." “We might have arrested you for that in fiction, doctor, but I'm afraid we should have a bit of trou- ble in real life to persuade a jury to believe that a man of your position is going to throw it away for forty pounds. No, if you really want arresting you'll have to think of something better than that! It is a funny thing, though, that in our profession the amateur is always supposed to do better than the professional." "It's just the same with us. The quacks always claim to be able to do far more than we can.” "I suppose they do." Ridley looked at his watch and got up. “We must be going now, doctor. Thanks very much for allowing us to waste your time." [108] CHAPTER VI THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD The late Dr. Laidlaw's funeral was a very modest one. Modest in size, that is to say, for even the acutest of the imperfectly concealed critics who watched its progress from behind the curtains of Castle Road admitted freely and handsomely that Messrs. Johnson and Johnson had carried out their work with their usual elegance and refinement. The dead man, being a visitor and apparently a man of few relations, had only one mourner, his widow, but the top-hats of Mr. Johnson sen. (who drove the hearse) and Mr. Johnson jun. (who drove the soli- tary carriage) were just as shiny and the horses' long tails as carefully trimmed as if it had been the funeral of a councillor or alderman. By such tact- ful attention to details had Messrs. Johnson and Johnson attained the position of leading undertakers of Southbourne. The pretty widow's neat but ex- pensive costume was the subject of many envious glances, and her becoming attitude of grief met with general approval from the self-appointed connois- seurs. The usual small group of ghoulish idlers collected [ 109 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD which a distinct view of the interior could be gained. The newly made widow was sitting at a table writ- ing. Her attitude was by no means one of depres- sion, and Purley gathered from it that she was not unduly sorrowing over the death of her husband. On the contrary, she had a contented smile on her face and the bearing of one from whose shoulders a load has been lifted. As Purley watched she finished her letter and turned her attention to a printed form lying by her side. This she filled up slowly and carefully, as though it was a document of great importance, finally signing it and enclosing it in a foolscap enve- lope. Try as he would, Purley could not see what it was or to whom it was addressed. Picking up the two letters she switched off the light and left the room. The man outside listened to her brisk and jaunty step down the passage and the sound of her subdued but cheerful whistling. "H'm. Hope my missus doesn't look like that when she comes back from my funeral,” he muttered as he crossed the path and stepped into the shadow of the hedge. The front door opened and Mrs. Laidlaw came out. She left the garden by the front gate and crossed the road to the pillar-box. As soon as she came back again and the dining-room light appeared once more Purley went back to the public-house and spent twopence on a telephone call. [111] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD At ten o'clock his relief arrived and informed him that the long envelope contained a claim on the Dia- mond Insurance Company for payment of a four- thousand-pound policy, while the other letter noti- fied Miss K. Barrett, of 47 Queen Anne Street, Bir- mingham, that the writer was about to pay her prom- ised visit. "Accommodation address, I suppose?” said Pur- ley. “Yes. Tobacconist's shop. They found that out from the Birmingham police directly Drury smelt a rat in the first letter. This one is just the same sort as the other. Quite innocent to look at, but it tells Kate that we are not bothering any more about the Laidlaws. It even mentions the extra man who's been put on to shadow Tomlin. No flies on Drury, eh? She's going to Birmingham to-morrow for two days, she says. I left the inspectors making their arrangements for following her, and they are as pleased as Punch about it.” "And she's pleased about drawing the insurance money, so they're all happy. And I'm going to bed, so I'm happy. You're the one who's got the dog to hold. This beastly mist's going to get thicker, too. If you want to get close up to the house, by the way, use the front gate—the back one creaks too much. You're in for a dull night, anyway. She won't do anything until she pays her visit to Kate." [112] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD “No, I don't suppose she will." "Well, I'll get along now and see what my missus has got for supper. Good night." “Good night.” "If she goes, and she will go,” said Drury, look- ing up from the L.M.S. time-table, "I'll follow her and take Purley with me.” “I'd like to come too," replied Ridley. “But it's not necessary and, anyway, my other work has got so behindhand that I simply must let this blessed case slide for a bit unless anything special turns up.” The two were discussing their plan of campaign after reading Mrs. Laidlaw's second letter, extracted from the pillar-box within half an hour of Purley's telephone call. The identity of the mysterious Kate was about to be revealed, of that they were con- vinced, but whether it would prove to be a fact of importance or not they frankly could not decide. However, one step at a time is enough when it is a step in the dark. A familiar voice was heard outside and Levinsky's chauffeur-gardener was ushered into the office. "I found something this afternoon, gentlemen," he began, "and I thought you'd like to see it as soon as possible. I'd have brought it along before, only my wife is ill and I couldn't get away until now." [113] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD “Sorry to hear that,” said Ridley sympatheti- cally. “Hope she'll soon be better. What is it you found ?" "This,” replied the man, producing a crumpled scrap of paper and laying it on the table. It was covered with dust and dirty engine oil, but the writ- ing on it was still legible. "I found it jammed down behind the front seat of the car," explained the chauffeur. “I was dusting all the inside of the body- work, as it hasn't been used for a few days, and I found it when I took the seat cushion out." "Thanks very much. Leave it with us, will you ?" “Right you are, sir. Good night, gentlemen.” Ridley escorted him to the door and came back to the table to find Drury smoothing out the paper. HOLM LEA SOUTHBOURNE Apr. 27th DEAR SIR: As you know, I owe you £5000. I am in urgent need of a further loan, this time of twice that amount, for which I have ample security. It is ab- solutely essential that I should have a definite answer to-night, so I should be very glad if you would come round and see me. I am sorry to trouble you after business hours, but the matter will not wait and the size of the loan will probably compensate you for [114] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD any inconvenience caused. I cannot come and see you owing to indisposition. Yours faithfully, EDWARD DERRINGTON P.S. Please burn this note when read, as it con- tains my fictitious name combined with my proper (temporary) address and might thus lead to my identification if it fell into other hands. "Holm Lea again,” exclaimed Drury. "No doubt about your first shot being a bull's-eye, Ridley. No- tice the date? The day before Rosenbaum rang you up. It pretty well proves that Levinsky went there that night. The point is, who the devil is Derrington ?" "He's the man whose I.O.U. was missing from Levinsky's safe." "Yes, yes, I know that. Therefore he's probably the man who burgled the aforesaid safe. But I don't mean that. I mean how is he mixed up in this ? Der- rington lived at Holm Lea. So did Laidlaw. Der- rington was ill, according to this letter, so was Laid- law—very ill. There must have been two invalids in the house, but Osborne didn't say anything about a second man, and he certainly wasn't there the next day when your man called to make inquiries. Who did call, by the way?”. “Roberts." [115] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD "Well, Roberts went all over the house when Mrs. Laidlaw fainted, and if there had been a second man there he would have seen him. So either Derring- ton was well enough to leave the house next morn- ing or ” "Or what?" asked Ridley. "Derrington and Laidlaw are one and the same individual." “Are ?" “Were, I should say. Of course, if Derrington was Laidlaw, he's dead and out of it altogether as far as we are concerned. We shall have to leave that point unsettled for the present. We don't know enough about it.” “This letter is not much good, then?”. "Oh, yes, it is. It tells us where Levinsky was on the night he disappeared. It brings Holm Lea into the limelight again.” "Of course it does. I was almost forgetting that we were looking for Levinsky. It's time I went to bed.” "My fault. I put you off with a complicated argu- ment about Derrington and Laidlaw." "It was a bit difficult to follow," admitted Ridley with a yawn. “Yes; all the more so because it went round and round in a circle and came to nothing at the end of it. Anyhow, it's quite clear that our next job is to find [116] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD out whether Levinsky left any traces of his visit to the house. You'll have to let your work go for an- other day, Ridley. I'm going to Birmingham, re- member.” "I'll arrange for a search-warrant and have a good look round while she is away. We ought to get hold of something definite between us.". “We need it.” "We do, indeed. I wonder whether— It looks very much as if Derrington was Laidlow, doesn't it? If he is, then that can't be his finger-print on the safe, because he was dying at the time it was made. We know it wasn't Tomlin's, so it must be Le- vinsky's." “My dear man, who's arguing in a circle now? Why should Levinsky steal his own address book and do a bunk with it?" “Why should anybody do anything?" Inspector Ridley's temper was becoming a little frayed. It was all very well for the man from Scot- land Yard. The more complicated the case the bet- ter for him when it was solved. It was his job and he could spend his whole time and energy on it as long as his superiors would let him. Ridley had also been enthusiastic at first, building dreams of promo- tion on the hope of a rapid solution. But as the days went by the end seemed further away than ever. His routine work was getting into a chaotic condi- [117] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD tion; six men of the not overmanned Southbourne Constabulary had been taken off their ordinary duties on account of it and, to crown all, the Chief Con- stable was dropping hints that progress was disap- pointing. Ridley would not have minded this if there had been anything to go upon. But he was thoroughly tired of the mass of contradictions and uncertainties which their work had brought to light. He got up to go and as he did so heard Drury say, half to himself: “Derrington can't be Laidlaw, because Derring- ton arranged a business interview for that night, and Osborne definitely said that Laidlaw was unconscious every time he saw him. That settles it; there must be another man in it, Ridley.” “Oh, hell!” said Ridley. "He'll have to wait till morning, then. I'm going to bed now.” Next morning he felt better. The combined ef- fects of a good night's sleep, an excellent breakfast and the prospect of definite progress banished the clouds of the night before and restored his energy and good temper. Mrs. Laidlaw's departure was the signal for strenuous activity. Drury and Purley were waiting in a taxi about half-way down Castle Road, and as soon as she came under their observa- tion Roberts, who was following her, turned back and joined Ridley at the public-house corner. To- [118] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD emptied. He returned with his hands filthy and his face jubilant. "Found these, sir," he said, producing several pieces of broken glass, some of which were evidently fragments of a spectacle lens or lenses, and some of which had formed part of a tube with engraved markings on it. "Good. Take the kitchen next,” replied Ridley. “Give me that cigarette box out of the waste-paper- basket to put them in." The remainder of the search was disappointing, the only other unexplained item being a broken block of transparent material, not unlike candle grease, which was discovered under the kitchen sink behind the usual collection of floor-cloths and cleaning pow- ders. There were only two opticians in the town, and to the nearest one Ridley took the broken fragments when they left the house. He spread them out on the counter in front of him. "Is it possible to identify them?” he inquired. “It may be," replied the optician. "But it will be a troublesome job. Is it anything important?” “Yes." The man began to arrange the broken pieces on the counter, and in a few minutes fitted them to- gether to make two nearly complete lenses. He next [ 120 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD produced a small watch-like instrument from his waistcoat pocket. "I can measure the curvature of the lenses with this," he said, “and get at the formula from which they were made. If it happens to be a very ordinary one I shall not be able to tell you any more, but if it is an uncommon one it would be possible to find out from my books if any of my customers use that par- ticular sight. It would mean looking through sev- eral thousand prescriptions, though." The optician looked at Ridley over the top of his glasses, hopefully expecting him to say that it wasn't worth troubling about. There was no response, so he applied the lens measurer to the broken fragments and wrote cabalistic signs on a piece of paper. "Minus four point five dioptres spherical, minus two point five cylinder axis vertical,” he concluded. "Very nice," remarked Ridley. "What the devil does it mean?" "It means that the lenses are fairly distinctive and belong to somebody with pretty severe short-sight- edness and some astigmatism. I've worked out the full formula for both of them and, if they have been bought here, it ought to be possible to find out who they belong to.” He sighed at the gloomy prospect before him. "I don't think I need trouble you to search your books," said Ridley. “Not yet, at any rate. I can [121] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD a pharmaceutical chemist as well as an optician and he looked at it with an air of familiarity. “Yes," he said. “It is part of a serum syringe barrel. Like this, only bigger," and he fetched a small glass syringe from a drawer. “You can get them at any wholesale houses or surgical instrument makers. We don't keep them. We only stock a few of the small hypodermics." "Is it a usual thing to find in a doctor's house ?" "Oh, yes. They all have them. They use them for injecting diphtheria antitoxin.” "What's that stuff inside it?” “I couldn't say for certain. It looks like paraffin wax that has been melted.” “Same sort of stuff as this ?” queried Ridley, tak- ing out the cake of transparent material found under the sink. “Yes, I think so." “What is it doing in the syringe? Doctors don't treat any diseases by injecting wax, do they?" "Not that I know of. Paraffin wax is used for applying to burns sometimes, but not in a syringe. Oh, I've got it. They use it in blood transfusion. The syringe is washed out in melted wax, which sets and forms a solid lining and prevents the blood co- agulating while it is being transferred from the donor to the recipient.” The chemist, after the manner of his kind, en- [123] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD joyed impressing the laity by the use of technical terms, but his erudition fell upon inattentive ears this time, for his listener was thinking of something else. This explanation connected the cake of wax and the syringe in an intelligible manner, but the explanation itself was inexplicable, and Ridley racked his brains in vain to make sense of it. If this was a Father Brown story it would here be described how the inspector gazed over a bleak hill- top, rounded like a grinning and sightless skull and covered with purple heather, which encroached upon its stark nudity like a fungus growth of decay and death. A dark storm-cloud would be approaching, with bank upon bank of gloomy caverns of inky blackness lit by the lurid glare of lightning flashes. In this atmosphere of evil his thoughts would turn to vampires and werwolves, those monstrous Un- dead rejected of heaven and hell alike, until a casual remark by Father Brown would reveal the key to the whole mystery. But the unromantic and unches- tertonian truth must be told-in real life and in actual fact Ridley looked out of the shop door, past the serried ranks of quack medicines and baby foods, on to a cobbled street lighted by electricity and sludgy with drizzling rain. And instead of the illu- minating remark of the Deus ex machina of the nov- elist there was merely the sound of a man spitting noisily on the pavement. [ 124 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD "I haven't Ridley! At saand she met what happened to him. No signs of a struggle, I suppose?” “None at all. The whole house was very tidy and well-kept. The only thing upset in the whole place was a box of gramophone needles in the bedroom.” "I haven't been wasting my time to-day, either. Kate is a man, Ridley! At least our widow said she was going to meet Kate, and she met a man. Went off to an hotel with him too. What do you think of that?” "I don't think she is a very nice woman to know," was the reply. “She might at least have waited till the dear departed's grave was filled in! What else did you find out?" "I interviewed the manager, and he told me that the man had been staying there since the 28th—" "The 28th,” interrupted Ridley. "That was the morning of the disappearance. Remember what you said about Derrington last night?” "I said several things about him. Which par- ticular one are you referring to ?”. “You came to the conclusion that he must be a separate individual and that he must have left Holm Lea on the morning of the 28th. It's quite likely, then, that he did leave and that he is the Birming- ham man.” “Yes, it is. In that case he is probably the tertium quid." [126] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD In “The what?" “The co-respondent.” “You think that Mrs. Laidlaw murdered her hus- band so that she could go away with Derrington ?” “No, I'm not suggesting that. Heaven preserve us from any more complications! Laidlaw's death was straightforward enough, but I do think it fitted in rather well with Mrs. Laidlaw's plans to go off with another man indecently quickly." "What has it all got to do with Levinsky? How does he come into it?” "Search me. I don't know. Every time you start theorizing on this case it either leads you right away from Levinsky or else brings you back to where you started. What we want is more facts, and the next fact we must find out is who this man really is. He seems to be pretty thick with the widow, so he may be a neighbour of hers. Where did the Laidlaws come from? Their permanent ad- dress, I mean." "I got it to-day from the house. He was in practice in Barhaven.” "Ring up the police there and ask them to send somebody over to Birmingham who knows every- body in Barhaven. It's only a small town. Tell them I shall be coming by the 8.50 train. It's a shot in the dark, but it may come off.” [127] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD as The next morning Sergeant Jackson of the York- shire (South Riding) Police met Drury at the ap- pointed time at the Birmingham Station. They went to the hotel together and chose a shaded seat in the lounge. "Very sad about Dr. Laidlaw, sir," observed the sergeant. “Very,” replied Drury conventionally. Never having seen the dead man he made no effort to sim- ulate an emotion which he did not feel. "I knew him well,” continued Jackson. "He was a big, strong chap and I was very surprised to hear that he was dead.” "Do you know his friends as well ?" "He hadn't many, sir. He and his wife kept pretty well to themselves. So I don't know whether I shall be able to help you or not.” "Keep well back out of sight, anyway,” advised Drury, “or you certainly won't be able to help. It doesn't matter about me because neither of them have ever seen me. I'm going to find out if they are in." He went across to the letter-rack near the office and scanned the letters stuck in the tapes. While he was thus occupied a man standing near went up to him and borrowed a match. Drury nodded as his box was returned, continued his scrutiny of the rack and presently rejoined his companion. 1 [128] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD ness of her mouth. They crossed the lounge laugh- ing and talking, passed the seat in the alcove and selected arm-chairs a few yards away. Drury had his back to them and contented himself with watch- ing the sergeant, great as the temptation was to turn round. He saw him peer cautiously under the edge of the outstretched paper, at first for a moment only, then, as he realized that he was in the shade and almost invisible, more boldly. His expression grad- ually changed from a mere stare of intense curiosity to an amusing mixture of surprise and bewilderment, and lastly to blank incredulity. The paper dropped suddenly, and Drury guessed that one of the pair had turned round. Presently it lifted again and the sergeant, after looking helplessly at his companion, resumed his scrutiny. The inspector was at a loss to interpret the vary- ing expressions which succeeded each other so quickly on Jackson's rubicund face. At first he thought that his plan had failed, but the second reconnaissance was so prolonged that his spirits began to rise again. Surely if it had been an abso- lute stranger one glance would have sufficed. The doubt in the Barhaven man's mind was hopeful. Mrs. Laidlaw and her escort finished their cig- arettes and rose to go. The illustrated paper again hid the face of the watcher in the alcove, and De- tective Officer Purley put his pipe in his pocket and [130] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD consulted the barometer, which was conveniently near the door. Drury leaned forward to strike a match on his boot and whispered as he did so: “Keep that paper up. They are coming this way.” He struck the match and lit his pipe. “All clear now.” As the swing-doors ceased revolving, Sergeant Jackson shot out from cover like an apoplectic marionette. "Mr. Drury, you'll think I've gone dotty when I tell you who it is. I couldn't be sure of him at first because of his dyed hair and because it seemed so utterly impossible". “Who is it?" interrupted his fermenting superior. "But when I heard him speak I nearly fell out of the chair," continued the sergeant, stolidly refusing to be hurried. “I had another good look at him and I'm absolutely certain. I know him far too well to be mistaken. It can't be him—but it is !". “Damn it, man! Who?" exploded Drury. "Dr. Laidlaw himself !” was the astounding reply. [131] CHAPTER VII “THE POLICE HAVE MADE AN ARREST" DRURY stared at the sergeant, who was crimson with excitement, and then at the empty glasses on the table between them. One bottle of light lager ought not to have any appreciable effect on a fourteen- stone man, and yet, An explanation entered his mind. “Had Dr. Laidlaw a brother?” he asked. "No, sir, and even if he had this wasn't him. It was the doctor himself. We've lived in the same town together for eight years and I've seen him nearly every day. I see more of him than the other doctors because he is the police surgeon. I know it isn't possible, but I know I'm right!". "But you said yourself that you were not sure at first and that you think he is disguised.” "He hasn't altered his appearance much, and I should never have hesitated for a second if I hadn't heard that he was dead. I'd swear to him in the witness-box, sir,” concluded Jackson earnestly.. "Well, sergeant, if you are right everybody else is very, very wrong. Still" Drury stopped ab- ruptly as a sudden thought struck him, dazzling in [ 132 ] "THE POLICE HAVE MADE AN ARREST" the intensity of the light it threw upon the obscurity of the case. "If you are right,” he continued slowly, "you've helped to unravel a horrible, cold-blooded crime, and I'll apologize for doubting you. Laidlaw is dead and you say that he is alive-I thought it was ridiculous at first, but I see now that it ex- plains a whole lot of things. In fact, it is the easiest and most likely solution of the whole problem. I must get through to Ridley at once. He'd like to hear this." He waited ten minutes for his trunk call, and each minute seemed a century. "Hello!” said the instrument at last. “Oh, is that you, Drury? Any news ?” "Lots," replied Drury happily, bolting the door of the telephone cabinet. “I want you to apply for an order to exhume Laidlaw's body. How's that, umpire, for a start?" He heard a whistle of amazement from the other end of the wire. “Good Lord! Laidlaw? What for ?". “I thought that would shake you up a bit ! Things are moving now with a vengeance. You admit that Laidlaw is dead and buried, don't you?” “Yes, of course." “And that Levinsky has disappeared ?" “My dear man, considering that we've been look- ing for him all this time" Things thought tha aidlaw? Wh [133 ] "THE POLICE HAVE MADE AN ARREST" “Which one? The quick or the dead?” "Your Laidlaw. The Birmingham one. Don't let him be too quick for you." “We've got him well covered, but the sooner he's inside the better. We shall have to wait a bit, though. The Barhaven man seems very certain, but under the circumstances we must be absolutely posi- tive. Think what a blazing fool I should look if I arrested this chap and found that Laidlaw really was dead! No, we can't rely on one man's evidence. I shall go for his finger-prints next. If we are on the right track at last they ought to be the same as those on the safe. At any rate Derrington is the only man likely to pinch the address book, and it seems pretty certain now that Derrington and Laidlaw are one and the same.” "They seem to be. I remember we thought that once before and came to the conclusion that they couldn't be, because Laidlaw was dying when Der- rington had his interview with Levinsky. But if Laidlaw wasn't dying it simplifies things. I wonder what happened to the real invalid—the one Dr. Osborne saw ?” "I've no idea, but it doesn't matter much at this stage. If the prints are the same we can arrest him for burglary and hold him on that charge till the ex- perts weigh in with their post-mortem evidence and the analysis. It would be interesting to know what [135] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD “What if they bolt in the meantime?" “They won't try to unless they suspect something, and they won't suspect anything if you do what I tell you. If they do leave they will be followed. A man has been watching the front door and another the back ever since Mrs. Laidlaw came here." "Dear me! Have they really? And I never no- ticed them!" “You were not meant to,” smiled Drury. “They would have been very annoyed if you had. Does this man have drinks in the lounge, by the way?" Mr. Moore looked inquiringly at the waiter. “He has coffee after dinner, sir," said the latter doubtfully. • Drury laughed. “Coffee is a drink for our pur- poses. Have you a polished metal sugar basin and milk jug ?” "Yes," replied Moore, "all ours are metal. They cut down the breakage bill. Do you want some?” "Please. Find the newest ones you've got and let me have a look at them. Without scratches if possible. And a clean duster, please.” The waiter was about to hurry off on his errand when his employer stopped him and produced a bunch of keys from his pocket. “Go to the store-room, Wilson, and get some new ones. All those in use are scratched.” Wilson returned with a Britannia metal basin and [138] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD whole baited trap taken to the pantry by Wilson. Drury stayed with it during dinner and frustrated the efforts of several waiters to remove it. To his delight he found that a small service window opened out of the pantry, through which a good view of the lounge could be obtained. To make his presence more natural he took off his coat and put on a green baize apron borrowed from the boots. Sergeant Jackson was stowed away in Mr. Moore's private room, in order to be near at hand yet invisible. He was in- tensely anxious to watch the little play that had been so carefully staged, but Drury was inflexible. "I'm sorry," he said, “but one glimpse of you would spoil everything. You must keep right out of it at present. After all you are not missing much. Any fool can get finger-prints from a person who isn't on the look out. The really important part of the job was your spotting the man.” Thus he consoled the sergeant, who, in spite of his disappointment at being banished from the lounge, was enjoying every minute of this heaven- sent break in his routine work. Crime, apart from the militant forms of alcoholism, did not often visit the dingy but respectable neighbourhood of Bar- haven. Drury occupied his time by pretending to clean silver until Mrs. Laidlaw and her companion emerged from the dining-room. After strolling aim- [140] “THE POLICE HAVE MADE AN ARREST" lessly about for a few minutes they sat down and ordered coffee. His ally, the waiter, brought his tray into the pantry and collected the prepared basin and jug. He even remembered to put on his gloves without being reminded. The remainder of the scheme worked without a hitch, as might have been expected from its simplicity. Mrs. Laidlaw's escort half rose in his chair to reach the sugar from the other side of the table, and shortly afterwards the waiter, who was discreetly emptying ash-trays and arranging papers at the other end of the lounge, re- turned to the table with the peculiar half-running walk of his profession and removed the basin. Being an intelligent man he had observed that the guest had gripped the basin firmly when lifting it, and also that the lady had not touched it at all. He therefore had sufficient initiative to ignore the milk. jug, rightly judging that the inspector had got what he wanted on the basin. He pushed it through the pantry window into the waiting hands of the inspec- tor, who received it as tenderly as if it was porce- lain of the Ming period. The latter then joined the sergeant in the man- ager's room, and together they ate their deferred dinner. It was rather a hurried meal, and at half- past eight Drury caught the London train. A telegram had preceded him, and when he ar- rived at Scotland Yard with his precious parcel his [ 141 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD Chief was still there, despite the lateness of the hour. While the photographers were dealing with the sugar-basin and the finger-print experts comparing the results, he recounted the whole story to his su- perior, who agreed that, at present, nothing should be said about Laidlaw. The report came in at last, and Drury reconciled himself to spending the rest of the night in the train. He got what sleep he could and arrived at the hotel at eight o'clock in the morning. Purley was again on duty, having relieved the night man a few minutes before. He was not in the lounge at this hour, but in conversation with a newspaper man in the street. Drury went inside and was occupied for the next ten minutes in conferring with the man- ager. In order to fulfil his promise that the arrest should be carried out as quietly as possible, Drury proposed to interview the wanted man in the office, and to this end he gave certain instructions. At last the man for whom they were waiting came downstairs and strolled to the front door, feeling in his pocket for a coin to buy a paper. The office door opened and Mr. Moore emerged, somewhat damp about the forehead. Crossing the lounge, he ap- proached the man whom the finger-prints had pro- claimed to be Derrington. “Could I have a word with you, sir ?” he said. [ 142 ] "THE POLICE HAVE MADE AN ARREST" “I find I shall have to change your bedroom after to-night owing to the painters starting work there to-morrow, and I should like you to choose one that suits you. If you care to come into the office for a moment—" Carefully as Mr. Moore had been coached in his part, and anxious as he was to carry it off success- fully for the sake of his hotel's reputation—the most precious possession of the licensed victualler-his acting was not a success. Whether his manner was too nervous, or whether he looked with too curious an eye upon the suspected man, Drury never knew, but something went wrong. Derrington's easy as- surance dropped from him like a discarded garment and a look of horrified apprehension took its place. The colour faded from his congested cheeks and was replaced by a sickly pallor. Pushing past Moore with such unexpected violence as to make him stag- ger backwards, he reached the door with a bound and was gone. Even the watchful Purley, who was now standing close by, reading his morning paper, was taken by surprise, so certain was he that his part in the proceedings was nearly over. For a fraction of a second there was an astonished silence, only broken by the noise of rapidly receding footsteps on the pavement outside, and then came a loud crash from the office as a swivel chair went over back- wards. Drury, who had been sitting in it and watch- of a Proceedino a SC, so certa [143] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD ing the whole scene, charged through the lounge at full speed and out into the street, leaving the revolv- ing doors swinging furiously behind him. Purley, who was handicapped by having to stop their rotation before he could get through, toiled gallantly in the rear. The flying figure of the fugitive was about fifty yards ahead and he was running at an astonishing speed. The streets were unusually deserted, owing to the heavy rain that was falling, and Drury real- ized that he would have to rely on his own efforts. He ran until his breath came in short gasps and an intolerable pain in his side proclaimed the liberties he was taking with his age. The veins in his neck felt as though they were about to burst, and his heart was drumming and pounding in his ears like a hammer, but he still kept on. Nothing short of com- plete collapse could have made him give up the chase when success was so near. Sub-consciously he wondered how the plump and plethoric Derrington, whose advantage in years was more than neutralized by his vast inferiority in phys- ical condition, could set such a pace. To a person not engaged in violent exertion and therefore able to think clearly, the problem presents no difficulties; Drury was running for his professional reputation, it is true, but the other man was running for his lib- erty and knew it. It was impossible, however, for [ 144 ] "THE POLICE HAVE MADE AN ARREST" the remarks of the incensed ticket collector who slammed his open door to with quite unnecessary violence. In a short time, however, he revived suf- ficiently to think, if not to be comfortable, and rose to his feet unsteadily. Lowering the window with trembling hands, he leaned out in order to get some air into his aching lungs, and as he did so he looked back at the station. The train was moving slowly, the engine labouring as though on an uphill gradient, and the platform was still only a couple of hundred yards away. He saw Purley emerge from the book- ing-office, cross the platform and jump down on to the rails. Drury ran across to the other window to get a better view, and as the tail of the train swung round a gentle curve he saw Purley cross the track to something on the other side. He was just able to see, before the guard's van swung back into the line of vision, that it was the body of a man lying in a crumpled heap. He jumped for the com- munication cord and pulled it violently. For a few seconds nothing happened, and then with a grinding of brakes the train began to slow down. By the time it stopped he had regained enough breath to ex- plain to the guard what had happened, and at his request the train backed slowly towards the plat- form. Purley looked up and saw his superior lean- ing out of the window. "All right, sir. This is him." [147] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD Drury thanked the guard and got out, while the train went on its way with heads protruding from every window. The only regret of the guard and engine-driver was that they could not stop to see the rest of the drama. It was obvious what had happened. The hunted man had seen his pursuer board the train a few seconds behind him and, spurred by the most power- ful of all inducements, the instinct of self-preserva- tion, had been able to rouse himself to one more effort at the time of greatest exhaustion when the inspector was lying helpless in his compartment. He had opened the door at the opposite side and stepped out on to the line, hoping thus to get clear while his follower was rapidly being carried away from him. He was not in a condition, however, to alight from even a slowly moving train, and he had collapsed in a heap almost under the eyes of his second pursuer, of whose existence he was ignorant. Drury approached the sweating, mud-splashed men somewhat unsteadily. "Edward Derrington,” he said, still gasping for breath, “I arrest you on a charge of burglary at Levinsky and Co.'s offices on the night of the 27th or 28th of April, and I have to warn you"-here the inspector was compelled to sit down on a pile of sleepers—"that any statement you may make may be used in evidence at your trial.” [ 148 ] CHAPTER VIII THE EXHUMATION Half an hour after midnight a group of men as- sembled at the gates of the Southbourne Burial Ground, which were opened for them by the Cem- etery superintendent. Two of their number, uni- formed constables, were detailed to remain outside and patrol the boundary railings in order to move on any inquisitive spectators. The others entered and the superintendent, after closing and locking the gates, led the little procession to his office. It consisted of the Chief Constable, the two inspectors, a sergeant and a constable and three civilians, two of whom were grave-diggers. The third was Alder- man Arthur Singleton, described on his bill-heads as grocer and Italian warehouseman, a short, tubby little man who disguised his absence of chin quite efficiently with a straggling beard. His incongru- ous presence was due to the fact that he was Chair- man of the Cemetery Sub-committee of the South- bourne Town Council. The Chief Constable produced a long envelope from his pocket and extracted an official-looking document, which he laid on the table. [149] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD “That is the Home Office order, Mr. Singleton, if you would care to see it." The little grocer adjusted his spectacles and read it, too interested or too awed by his surroundings to notice that the Cemetery superintendent was also reading it over his shoulder and breathing an aroma of fish and chips on to the back of his neck. "Have you got everything ready?” asked the Chief Constable. "I think so, sir," replied the superintendent, straightening up with a jerk. "I rigged up the screen this evening before dark and the other things are in a hand-cart outside.” He handed a hurricane petrol lamp to the Chief and took another himself. The little company filed out of the office, led by the lamp-bearers, and halted for a moment at the tool-shed to allow the grave- diggers to get the cart. They then went on their way down the main central path of the Cemetery. It was a strange scene. The overlapping circles of brilliant light thrown out by the petrol lamps in- tensified the surrounding blackness of the moonless night. The tramp of heavy boots and the rattling of the iron-tyred cast wheels on the asphalt sounded thunderously loud in the stillness, and Mr. Single- ton kept as near the lamps as possible. Two years ago the alderman had consulted his doctor and overwhelmed that long-suffering indi- [150] THE EXHUMATION vidual with a torrent of weird and wonderful symp- toms, none of which bore any relation to any known disease. Consequently, at the close of the consulta- tion, when the little grocer asked in an anxious tone, “Is it nerves, doctor?” he was met with an absent- minded “Yes” in reply. The doctor was at the time endeavouring to grope his way out of the men- tal fog induced by his verbose patient's flow of com- plaints and wondering how to tell him without of. fence that there was nothing the matter. Unlike Dr. Osborne, he was wholly dependent on his prac- tice for his living, and therefore had to be much more careful to use the soft answer that turneth away wrath. Mr. Singleton naturally did not notice his preoccupation and accepted the reply as an au- thoritative diagnosis. And very useful this diagno- sis proved—to Mr. Singleton. He had ever since regarded himself as a privileged person and had contrived to persuade his wife to think the same. Domestic troubles and family disputes of every kind had to be concealed from him lest his nerves should be affected. Maladies of this sort are generally permanent, unless the relatives have the wisdom to be unusually brutal and strong-minded. Mr. Singleton was naturally polite, and so he began to explain his nerves to Inspector Drury as being the most interesting topic of conversation available. He met with very little encouragement- [151] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD L in fact, none at all—so he edged a little nearer to the Chief Constable and his lamp and began all over again, when he was interrupted by a wild and despairing shriek that ripped through the night like the wailing of a banshee. "W-w-what's that?" he quavered, looking fear- fully round at the stately procession of white mar- ble headstones that moved incessantly into the circle of light and passed on into the darkness. “Only a cat," replied the Cemetery superintend- ent. "Lots of them come here at night. We turn to the right here." The procession turned off into a side path, no longer asphalted, and squelched through sticky mud and wet grass for about thirty yards until they came to a canvas screen built round the mound of a newly filled-in grave. Mr. Singleton and his unappreciated nerves relapsed into neglected silence. The grave- diggers unloaded their tools and some coils of rope from the cart and followed the others inside the screen. They removed their coats, spat on their hands in an unemotional and business-like manner and began to earn their overtime without delay. “You are quite certain that this is the right one?" queried the Chief Constable doubtfully, thinking of the apparently endless rows of tombstones that they had passed, all of them very much alike. “Quite sure, sir. I put the screen up before it [152] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD about his feet, which were growing colder and wet- ter every minute. To warm himself he took out his pipe and began to fill it. “Consecrated ground, sir," whispered the super- intendent. "Ah, so it is. I had quite forgotten.” Mr. Sin- gleton put away his pipe, and his cheeks grew hot as he remembered how he had once ejected a small boy—who subsequently proved to be the superin- tendent's son-for reading a comic paper in that very cemetery. Meanwhile the diggers went on with their work. The superintendent estimated the depth with his eye and stifled a yawn. "About another foot should do it,” he observed. “Steady on with that there pickaxe, George." The Chief Constable turned to Ridley. “Got the bottle ready?” he asked. “Yes, sir. Here it is”—and the local inspector produced a wide-mouthed stoppered bottle. Mean- while the grave-diggers went on with their work. After another ten minutes one of the spades struck an unmistakably wooden object. "Stop digging for a minute," directed Ridley, and lowered himself into the grave. The men stood aside and wiped their foreheads. He shovelled up a trowelful of loose earth from the top of the coffin and deposited it in the bottle, which he corked and handed up to the Chief Con- [154] THE EXHUMATION stable. He then scrambled out and allowed the men to continue clearing the bottom of the excavation. “What's that for?” whispered Mr. Singleton, who was feeling the strain of keeping quiet so long. "If they find poison in the body,” replied Rid- ley, "the defence might be that the poison had got into it from the surrounding earth, so this specimen will be analyzed to exclude it." "I see. I never thought of that.” “Are you ready down there?”. "All ready for lifting now, sir, if you'll pass the ropes down.” The two ropes were lowered to the men, who each passed one round an end of the coffin and worked it underneath. They then climbed out and helped the others to haul at the ropes. The load came up slowly, with frequent stops for the lifting party to shift their grip. When it was clear of the ground it was slid forward with an effort over the end of the grave until it rested on the grass. A few pieces of earth fell back into the grave and made dull splashes in the muddy water at the bottom. The Chief Constable held his lamp to the name-plate on the lid and turned away satisfied. “Get it on to the hand-cart and take it to the mortuary straight-away," he ordered. “Leave a man in charge of it until the morning. Sir James Martin is going to do the post-mortem at eleven [155] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD o'clock. You'd better get it identified before then, Ridley." “Very good, sir." After a few minutes' wait to allow the water to drain off the bottom of the coffin it was lifted on to the cart and covered with the canvas which had formed the screen round the grave. This was big enough and loose enough to hide its shape com- pletely, and the sergeant and the constable set off with their burden. It is a doubtful point whether it is compatible with the dignity of an alderman and ex-mayor to escort a hand-cart containing a corpse through the streets of his own town at two o'clock in the morning, but Mr. Singleton did it. There was no alternative. The other members of the party were all going in the opposite direction, away from the aldermanic abode, and nothing on earth would have induced him to walk home alone. As he explained to the ser- geant, his nerves ... The sergeant, being a local man, was compelled to listen to the recital which had been unceremoni- ously cut short by strangers of higher rank. The fact that he did not even yawn speaks volumes for the discipline of the Southbourne police force. The constable kept his lonely watch at the mor- tuary, which was a brick shed at the back of the Public Baths, until the morning, and it was the long- [156] THE EXHUMATION est night he had ever spent. The loneliness passed away at half-past seven, however, when another con- stable and an undertaker's man came to make the necessary preparations. At half-past eight Ridley arrived, accompanied by Mr. Isaac Levinsky and Rosenbaum. "Go inside and see if they are ready," whispered Ridley to the constable. "If you wouldn't mind waiting a few minutes," he continued in a louder tone for the benefit of the other two, “I will explain why I wanted you here this morning. We traced Mr. Levinsky to a certain house where a funeral had just taken place. The funeral purported to be that of a man whom we afterwards found to be alive. Mr. Levinsky was at this man's house on the night before he disappeared, and owing to this and to information received”-Ridley automatically re- lapsed into the jargon of the witness-box-"we feel certain that it is his body in that coffin. Pardon me for breaking it so abruptly, Mr. Levinsky, but I am: not at liberty to tell you the whole story now.” "Are you sure it is my brother?" quavered Mr. Isaac Levinsky, pale as death. "Practically, yes; I am afraid we are. All our work points to that conclusion, and all we want you to do is to identify the body as a matter of form for the inquest. After that you can rely on us to do everything possible to clear things up." [157] CHAPTER IX A QUESTION OF IDENTITY RIDLEY and the constable picked up the unconscious man and carried him out into the fresh air. The latter fended off the well-meant but incompetent at- tentions of Rosenbaum, who was fussing round in agitated circles with his eyes popping out of his head, sat his burden on the ground and pushed the head well down between the knees, according to first- aid instructions. He then stood by and waited philo- sophically for his patient to recover. Ridley shoved his cap to the back of his head and thrust his hands deep into his pockets. "Well, I'm damned !” he said. “Another snag!" The colour slowly came back into Mr. Levinsky's face and he opened his eyes and smiled. nay still be alive, then,” he said. “I believe I fainted for sheer joy." “Are you quite sure it isn't your brother?" asked the inspector. “Remember that the face will look very different now from what it did during life.” "I'll go and have another look," said Mr. Levin- sky, scrambling to his feet quite briskly. "I don't C [159] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD mind a bit so long as it isn't my brother. You come too, Rosenbaum." The three went into the building again and stood by the table in silence. “There certainly is a resemblance," admitted Mr. Isaac at last, “even allowing for the changes that have taken place; but it is not his face. The nose is broader and fuller than my brother's. Besides, he wore a moustache and this man is clean-shaven." “The hair is darker too," put in Rosenbaum. “But they are very much alike in many ways." "Look here,” said Ridley, replacing the sheet, “there seems to be a bit of doubt about it after all. It is most unfortunate, because it is so essential that the body should be recognized. Can you think of any distinguishing marks which might help us? Scars, birth-marks, tattoo-marks or anything of that sort. Did he have any accidents or operations ?" “Now you mention it, he did," said Mr. Levinsky after a moment's thought. "He was always rather particular about his health, because he thought there might be consumption in the family. As a matter of fact there is not, but he got the idea into his head because he had a tuberculous gland in his neck when he was a child. It was removed, and we were as- sured that it was not likely to give any further trou- ble. It never did, but of course the operation left a scar on his neck just below the ear-the right ear." [ 160 ] A QUESTION OF IDENTITY CITY “I am very sorry to have to ask you to go through this again,” said Ridley in a less official tone than any of his subordinates would have thought possible, "but you must have another look to make sure that the scar is not there in order to confirm your opinion. You will have to do it for the inquest, anyway, and I need hardly say that it will help us enormously in trying to find out what has happened to your brother if you can swear to this body, whether it is his or not." He turned back the sheet again as he concluded, and Mr. Isaac bent down and examined the right side of the neck. He stood up suddenly. "The scar!” he cried hoarsely, with outstretched hands. “The scar! It is there! I believe it is my brother after all. Israel! Israel! What have they done to you? Let me go. Let me go. I can't stand it any longer." The inspector made no attempt to stop him as he walked unsteadily to the door. "First it is and then it isn't,” he said caustically. "You pays your money and you takes your choice. He's not much good as a witness. You have a look, Rosenbaum. You've seen the scar, I suppose ?”. “Every day for thirty years, sir. I ought to know it well enough.” The clerk in his turn bent over the still form un- der the sheet. [161] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD "Sir,” he said solemnly as he stood up again, "I believe it is my employer. There is a scar there just like his—the same size and the same place. But yet I can't swear to him. The face is so different. I don't know what to say, and that's a fact." “Do you know whether he had any other distin- guishing marks?” “There were none as far as I know." “This is beyond me,” said Ridley. "Come on, that's all just now.” He closed the mortuary, dismissed his thoroughly distraught witness and walked back to the police- station deep in thought. His own opinion was not of much value, as he had hardly known the money- lender by sight; his two most promising witnesses had failed him utterly, and he once more felt de- pressed and discouraged. He kicked open his office door, fung himself down in a chair and related the story of his failure to Drury, who was contentedly writing his report in front of the fire. “What on earth can we do now?” he asked de- spondently. “We can't turn up in court with an ex- traordinary yarn about dead men returned to life and wrong bodies in coffins unless we can prove every scrap of it and prove it up to the hilt. If his own brother and his own clerk are not dead certain about him no jury would believe our tale for a minute. They would put the scar down to coincidence, and [ 162 ] A QUESTION OF IDENTITY our case would get no further than the coroner's court. I'm beginning to think that the whole thing is a mare's nest myself. It will drive me dotty if it goes on." “I don't think it needs a drive,” replied Drury; "a short putt would do it nicely." Ridley was too far in the depths to take any no- tice. "The Home Office will be down on us like a ton of bricks for exhuming the body unnecessarily," he groaned, as his imagination visualized the stormy future. “Even if there were any other distinguish- ing marks that anybody could swear to, what's the use? If the face isn't his a jury would allow the coincidence theory to account for any number of re- semblances. And they'd be right too. But, if it isn't Levinsky, who the devil is it?”! "It must be Levinsky," replied Drury, quite un- moved by this outburst. "And I don't agree with you about the coincidences. Are you a mathema- tician?" "Not so as you'd notice it." "Neither am I. I don't know much about the pure mathematics of the theory of probabilities, but I know a little about the application of it." “What do you mean?” "Well, you know the professors of applied mathe- matics who disguise themselves as bookies? They [163] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD will give you odds of twenty to one on an outsider, won't they?" “Yes, sometimes." "That means that in return for the pleasure of holding your modest five bob for ten minutes or so they will give you five pounds out of the goodness of their hearts and the fulness of their pockets in the unlikely event of your horse winning. In actual fact it loses and your five bob helps them to pay their super-tax; but that doesn't affect our argument. On the next race they will give you ten to one on another horse that doesn't stand much chance. But suppose you back these two horses for a double; that is, you only win if both your selections come in first. Do they add the odds together and give you thirty to one ? No; such is their benevolence that they multiply them, and your five bob will win you fifty pounds instead of seven pounds ten. In our case the same applies. Each additional point doesn't just add to the certainty of identification. It multiplies it. One mark may be coincidence, and probably is; two may be coincidences but probably aren't, and three makes a virtual certainty. If we can find even three or four small points we can prove identity easily enough and definitely enough to satisfy any- body, in spite of the altered features. Are there many dentists in Southbourne?" . “Dentists ?" repeated Ridley, surprised at the they add such is the five bob will [164] A QUESTION OF IDENTITY suddenness of the question. “Only three or four. Why?" "Find out who Levinsky's dentist was and get him to look at the teeth. That should help. I'll see to it if you like. You are nearly due to meet the Home Office chappie.” Telephone messages to the money-lender's office and house both drew blank, as no one knew which dentist Mr. Levinsky had been in the habit of consulting. Mr. Isaac obligingly offered to look through his brother's private receipts, but Drury, remembering the missing man's attitude to his doc- tor's bills, thought that it would be quicker to get the information direct. The first dentist knew nothing of him profession- ally, but the second proved to be the right one. Drury was unwilling to telephone details, so he asked for an appointment and was told to come round at once. He did so, and was shown into the waiting-room. Free from the apprehension usually felt in such a situation he read one of the humorous weeklies provided with a proper appreciation of its jokes until the consulting-room door opened and a patient was ushered out by a nurse. “Mr. Priestly can see you now, sir,” she said. “Will you come in ?" As he entered, the dentist put down the spanner [ 165 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD with which he was trying to open a refractory gas cylinder and shook hands. "Good morning,” he said affably. "I didn't quite understand from your message what you wanted to see me about. Nothing personal, I hope? Has my son been driving to the danger of the public again ?” "If he has, the local police will no doubt deal with him, Mr. Priestly,” smiled Drury. "No, it is about the missing man that I wanted to see you. I sup- pose you can give me a pretty accurate description of Mr. Levinsky's teeth ?” “Yes, I can. Not from memory, of course, but I always keep records of work done, and keep them for reference. They are useful in case of dispute." Mr. Priestly went to the door. “Get Mr. Levin- sky's record card, nurse, please. But I don't see how that will help you if the owner of the teeth has van- ished into thin air.” "It might not help us if he really had vanished, but if he hasn't your evidence will be useful." "But why? I'm afraid I must be very dense, but surely, if he has turned up again, the whole busi- ness is finished.” “On the contrary it has only just begun," cor- rected Drury. "I'll explain later," he added, as the nurse came in with an envelope. Mr. Priestly opened it and took out a card bear. [166] A QUESTION OF IDENTITY ing a printed diagram of numbered teeth marked with various ink spots, letters and signs. "These are the sort of records I keep for all my patients,” he said, laying the card on the table. “All work done is entered on them by conventional signs -a stroke through a tooth means that it has been extracted and so on. Mr. Levinsky had pretty well preserved teeth for a man of his age. Only two of them were missing, both molars, and he did not wear a plate. The left upper canine was crowned, with a gold back to it; both lower incisors on the left side were stopped with porcelain and the second right upper molar with copper amalgam. This pre-molar had a small gold filling. And, you see, these charts show the exact position of the stoppings in each tooth as well.” "That's good,” replied Drury. "Now I want you to come along to the mortuary with me and see if you can identify your work. I am sorry to trou- ble you, but it is a serious matter." "The mortuary!" gasped Mr. Priestly foolishly. “Why, is he dead?”. “Very,” said Drury concisely, forbearing to make the obvious remark. He explained shortly the circumstances which made the visit necessary, and Mr. Priestly readily consented to come. He pocketed the record card, took a mouth mirror and an electric torch from a SC [167] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD drawer, collected his hat and coat and declared himself ready. "If I may make a suggestion, sir," said the in- spector, “it would be advisable to take a pair of rubber gloves along with you. There are none at the mortuary.” The gloves were procured and a fresh start made. The nurse was left to detain one or two expected patients, and Mr. Priestly dodged one who was already in the waiting-room by leaving the surgery by another door. On arrival at the mortuary the dentist's examination was short but thorough. Drury held the record card in a convenient position while Mr. Priestly checked off each tooth against it. As he came to the thirtieth one he straightened himself up and looked across at the inspector. "Every tooth in his head corresponds exactly to that record,” he declared. “It is his mouth all right, but it is not his face as I remember it. I can swear to the one but not to the other. Make what you can of that. It's beyond me." “Thanks very much. That is just what I expected —and hoped-to hear. How many distinctive points are there that you can recognize?' "A dozen at least.” "Do you mind running over it again and making a note of them while you are here? There is noth- ing like having things down in writing. We shall U can r [168] A QUESTION OF IDENTITY have to disregard the face altogether. Nobody rec- ognizes it, but perhaps he has been buried long enough to account for that.” "He has," said Mr. Priestly with emphasis, strip- ping off his gloves and dropping them into the sink. “I'll present these to the corporation, inspector. They are no further use to me now." Mr. Priestly went back to his work and Drury remained at the mortuary. Ten minutes later Sir James Martin arrived, escorted by Ridley and the police surgeon and followed by an assistant with two large suit-cases. Drury went in after them and locked the door. Three hours later Sir James came out again, white-aproned and rubber-gloved, and the two in- spectors waited eagerly for his words of wisdom. "You might put a cigarette in my mouth and light it for me," was his first remark. "I can't touch it with these gloves on.” He drew in the much needed smoke in great gulps and beamed genially at the lit- tle group of men. “It is a most extraordinary case, gentlemen,” he continued. "Didn't you recognize him, Bateson ?" This to the police surgeon. "No. I only knew him slightly, and of course he looked very different then from what he does— now," and he jerked his head towards the mortuary with a grimace. [ 169 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD “Naturally. They always do,” replied the ex- perienced Sir James, blowing a beautiful smoke ring. "The average doctor doesn't see much of this sort of work and doesn't realize how great the difference is. Of course he sees hundreds of dead bodies, but they are all either fresh ones, such as the post- mortems he does for inquests, or else they are pre- served like the ones he dissects in the anatomy rooms.” "It is the first one I've ever seen,” admitted the police surgeon, “so I really have no knowledge of how the features are altered. What makes him look so different to me is his enormous nose. Old Levin- sky's was fairly conspicuous—" “You'd expect that from his name." "But it wasn't so broad as this one. I didn't even know till I got here that there was any doubt about the identity. I heard that a body called Laidlaw was to be exhumed and naturally concluded that the police were on with a new case.” “May I ask what you have found, sir?" put in Drury, who was tired of listening to profitless spec- ulations. "You may," replied the Home Office expert, gracefully spitting out the cigarette end, which threatened to burn his scrubby moustache. “And the answer is 'Nothing'! There are no marks of violence anywhere, as you could see for yourself. [ 170 ] A QUESTION OF IDENTITY There is no sign of any disease, and all the organs are perfectly healthy. No naked eye signs of poison. Mind you, only a few poisons, generally corrosive ones, leave traces which you can see with the eye, and so I think that must be the explanation. I have kept various specimens for analysis, and we shall prob- ably find some alkaloid present. That is all I can tell you at present. What time is the inquest ?" "Five o'clock, sir. It won't take long, because there will have to be an adjournment for the analy- sis. What train do you want to catch, Sir James ?” "The 6.30 dining-car back to London if possible.” “In that case I will try and get the coroner to take your evidence early." “Thanks. I will go and see if my assistant has finished packing the instruments yet,” said Sir James, cautiously stripping off his thick rubber gauntlets. The inquest started at five o'clock precisely, and at twenty past was adjourned for a week at the re- quest of the police, so Sir James Martin caught his train comfortably. The coroner, who had had a heavy day conducting five inquests in four different towns, was visibly relieved at the postponement, and Drury, feeling that at last some definite progress had been made, took an evening off and went to the Empire. Certain in his own mind that the mystery was practically solved, and knowing that nothing [171] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD more of importance could be done until the patholo- gist's report was ready, he dismissed the case from his mind and gave himself over whole-heartedly to the contemplation of the Cornaby Trio in their Amazing Acrobatic Antics. [172] CHAPTER X THE INQUEST CHARLES DOMVILLE, Esq., of the Inner Temple, Barrister-at-law, was His Majesty's coroner for the County Borough of Southbourne. He was a man of very average ability who had failed to make a living in the exercise of his profession, and who had drifted precariously through various forms of em- ployment. In turn journalist, war-time press cen- sor, election agent and unsuccessful candidate for Parliament, he had eventually come to rest in the safe harbour of the coronership (which is a life ap- pointment) by virtue of party influence. For some reason or other, possibly because of his natural fus- siness, or perhaps because in his inmost heart he rec- ognized his own mediocrity, he had a too exalted idea of the dignity of his office. Like a certain ad. miral during the war he ranked himself, in Navy parlance, “with but after" the Almighty. It is quite true that the King's coroner is an ex- ceedingly useful person. His function is to preserve inviolate the deep-rooted tradition of the sanctity of human life, which is perhaps stronger in this coun- try than anywhere in the world, and he is and has [ 173 ] THE INQUEST importance, and the number of reporters present overflowed the limited accommodation provided for them. Mr. Shaw, the representative of the “Gazette,” and Mr. Blake, reporter-editor-proprietor of the “Recorder," who had been for many years the soli- tary inhabitants of the Press Gallery (two chairs) in the Southbourne police court, were deprived of their normal isolation and submerged in the crowd of efficient young men armed with pencils and note- books who filled the first two rows of seats in the public portion of the court. The benches behind were crowded with spectators half an hour before the inquiry was due to begin. Charles Domville, Esq., a thin little man with sandy eyebrows and a bald head indifferently camou- flaged by a few carefully trained wisps of hair al- lowed to grow long for the purpose, was closeted with Inspector Drury in the Magistrates' room and was not in the best of tempers. He chewed the end of his pen and frowned up at the impassive figure standing before him. Always mindful of his dig- nity, he remained seated during the interview, but did not ask his visitor to sit down. It is nearly always the more ineffective personality who lays most stress upon outward forms and ceremonies, in contrast to the man who is really master of the sit- uation. Napoleon in the midst of his marshals [175] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD looked like a grey sparrow among peacocks-but only on the surface. In this instance, while emphasizing Mr. Dom- ville's opinion of the gulf which lay between himself and a mere police official, their relative positions were a positive disadvantage to him. A schoolmas- ter may wisely remain seated what time an erring boy stands in front of him for judgment, shifting from one foot to the other in agonies of embarrass- ment. A business man interviewing his cashier may do the same without loss of prestige, but it is be- yond the power of a man, small both physically and mentally, to dominate from an arm-chair a stronger character who stands before him easily and natu- rally, unembarrassed by the guilty conscience of the schoolboy and unhampered by the dependent posi- tion of the cashier. Mr. Domville attempted to stare the inspector out of countenance and failed. He looked down at the floor and renewed his attack on the pen, the frown on his face deepening as he did so. Here were all the ingredients for a really sensational inquest, an investigation which would do honour to the vener- able institution of the coroner's court and justify its existence as a safe-guard of life and liberty, and the inspector was demanding that he should limit the scope of the inquiry. The request was couched in courteous and respectful terms to which no exception [176] THE INQUEST could be taken, and which implied that the coroner would be conferring a favour if he chose to accede to it, but it was made by a man who had obviously not contemplated the possibility of a refusal, and Mr. Domville instinctively recognized this and re- sented it. The ill-used fountain pen at length re- belled and leaked ink as a protest. Mr. Domville made a grimace and wiped his mouth with his hand- kerchief. "You say you do not want Derrington or Laidlaw mentioned more than necessary. Why not?” he queried pettishly. "Because our case is by no means complete yet, sir. His name can't be kept out of it altogether, but we want to keep quiet about his arrest at any rate." "His name? Which one? Is he one man or two?" "Only one as far as we know, sir. Laidlaw is the real name, and Derrington is an alias. We are hold- ing him at present for the burglary at Levinsky's, which we think we can prove. He left his finger- prints on the knob of the safe.' "Dear me. Did he really? I thought criminals always wore gloves." “So they do—the professionals, that is. But it was this man's first attempt, and he didn't know much about the technique. Besides, he had a bigger [177] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD job to occupy his mind and this burglary was only a sideline. We have also charged him and his wife with the fraud on the insurance company, and we know we can prove that, even if the other falls through. But we think he had something to do with Levinsky's death and we are not certain how many others were in with him. His wife certainly is, because she helped him with the faked funeral and tried to draw the insurance money, but we don't know whether he had any other accomplices. If he had we don't want them to know too much. The trouble is that we have no proof of all this yet, and we cannot bring forward any evidence to justify you issuing a coroner's warrant for murder." "When I need information about coroner's war- rants I will ask for it, inspector," replied Mr. Dom- ville in an acid tone. “I propose to inquire into the death of this man in the usual way, and if the police confine themselves strictly to facts connected with the death in their evidence, as they are bound by the oath to do, Derrington's arrest need not be men- tioned at all. Burglary and false pretences do not concern me or my court in any way.” “That is all we want, sir. I was not suggesting for a moment that the proceedings of the court should be tampered with. Only sometimes jurymen are apt to ask irrelevant questions—". “I have had ten years' experience of jurymen,” in- len [178] THE INQUEST terrupted Mr. Domville, "and I shall certainly not permit irrelevancy. I quite agree that you have a prima facie case against Derrington.” The clock in the tower overhead chimed the half- hour and the coroner, who was a punctual man, stopped abruptly and opened the door leading to the justices' bench. "Pompous ass !" thought Drury disrespectfully as he left the Magistrates' room by a humbler door and made his way to the court by the side corridor which led past the witnesses' waiting-room. The entrance of Mr. Domville was announced by the coroner's officer in stentorian tones, and the oc- cupants of the court stood up. Mr. Domville, despite his weak points, was in many ways good at his work. His journalistic and political training had made him a fluent and lucid speaker, and he had the gift of disentangling evi- dence and presenting it to the jury in a clear and pre- cise manner. Much may be forgiven to a coroner who can do this. He always began his inquests by a little speech to the jury, when there was one, in which he outlined the scope and method of their procedure. "Gentlemen,” he began, when he had taken his seat and the court had followed his example, "you are empanelled to inquire into the death of a man buried under the name of Laidlaw. As you know, [179] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD a the body which you have had the opportunity of viewing was removed from Dr. Laidlaw's grave as a result of investigations made by the local police, assisted by an officer from Scotland Yard. Why these inquiries were made will transpire from the police evidence. Why the man died will be revealed by the Home Office pathologist who made the post- mortem examination and who promised that his tests would be finished by to-day. Who the man was- and I may say now that he is thought not to be the man under whose name he was buried—and whose was the responsibility for his death, if it was not from natural causes, is for you to decide after hear- ing the evidence. Call the first witness, please." Mr. Rosenbaum was ushered into the box and sworn, Jewish fashion, upon the Old Testament. He related how the non-appearance of his employer at the office had caused him to set the machinery of the law in motion. "Any questions ?” asked the coroner, turning to the jury. “Yes, sir," replied the foreman. “I should like to ask the witness why he suspected anything serious so soon." Mr. Rosenbaum gave details of his employer's methodical habits until the foreman expressed him- self satisfied, and was then dismissed for the time being. Ridley, who was about to take his place, [180] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD "I first made out a list of events from Inspector Ridley's notes, sir, and arranged them in the order of their occurrence. A.discrepancy in this list turned my attention to Holm Lea, the house which had pre- viously been under suspicion. The premises were searched and evidence was found which confirmed Inspector Ridley's view that the missing man had been there on the night of his disappearance." Drury took from his pocket a cardboard box, opened it and removed a layer of cotton-wool. He then gave it to the coroner's officer with instructions to hand it up to the bench for inspection. "Mr. Dawson, the optician, is in court and is prepared to swear that these broken lenses, which were found at Holm Lea, are ground to the same formula-a rather unusual one-as a pair which he supplied recently to Mr. Levinsky." Mr. Domville examined the fragments with in- terest and then passed them down to the jury. He looked at Drury with less antagonism than before. This taciturn official was, after all, not quite so se- cretive as he had imagined. Meanwhile the strate- gist in the witness-box waited in satisfied silence with an almost imperceptible glint of amusement in his half-shut eyes. The production of the lenses at the psychological moment had effectively occupied the attention of the court and side-tracked the time-table incident, about which he did not want to be ques- [182] THE INQUEST no wish to prolong what must be a painful ordeal for you, and if you are unable to give us any more definite information there is no point in my asking you any more questions." Mr. Levinsky bowed gratefully and left the court. “Recall Rosenbaum,” said the coroner. The clerk stepped into the box for the third time. “Now, Mr. Rosenbaum, you are not the only one who is doubt- ful, it appears. Did you also see the scar?” “Yes, sir." “Was it familiar to you ?”. “Yes. It was the same shape and in the same position as the one which I have seen for years on my employer." "But in spite of this the face was unrecogniza- ble?” "It was, sir. But there was a slight resemblance." "Oh, indeed. This uncertainty is very unfor- tunate. Have you any further evidence of identity, inspector ?" “Yes, sir. And it is much more satisfactory. If you will call Mr. Priestly—". The dentist was duly called and swore positively that the dead man's teeth were identical with Mr. Levinsky's in fifteen separate and distinct points of resemblance. The foreman of the jury cheered up again and nodded his head sagely with an air of having known it all the time. A whispering hum of [187] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD excitement ran through the court as the dentist con- cluded. "Silence, please," said the coroner sternly. "Any more noise and the court will be cleared. Gentle- men,” he went on, addressing the jury, "we may now take it that the identity of the deceased is proved. The teeth and the scar between them fur- nish us with no less than sixteen features of simi- larity–far too great a number to be due to mere chance. The doubt felt by the witnesses who tried to recognize facial details is clearly attributable to the natural changes of death and decay. I feel con- fident you will agree that the missing man is found and that the body you have viewed is that of the late Mr. Israel Levinsky." Dr. Osborne was the next witness, and his long, thin form drooped gracefully over the brass rail as he waited for Mr. Domville to write down his name and qualifications. "Did you attend Dr. Laidlaw in his illness ?" in- quired the coroner at last. "I did.” “Without going into Dr. Laidlaw's affairs, which do not concern us," continued the coroner, with a pointed glance in the direction of the foreman, “can you, from your knowledge of the case, suggest any reason for the extraordinary substitution of bodies which apparently took place at his house?" [188 ] THE INQUEST "No, sir. When I last saw Dr. Laidlaw the day before he died he was very seriously ill, and I had no hesitation in giving a death certificate. The cir- cumstances were not in any way out of the ordi- nary." "Any questions?" asked Mr. Domville in a per- functory manner. A grey-haired, hatchet-faced man stood up at the table in front of the bench. "I represent the Diamond Insurance Company, sir, in which company Dr. Laidlaw held a policy for four thousand pounds. You saw nothing suspicious during the whole time of your attendance, doctor?” "Nothing at all. It was undoubtedly a straight- forward case of meningitis." "Did you see the body after death ?” "No." "Indeed.” The grey-haired man looked at the jury over his spectacles. “Do you often give cer- tificates without seeing the body?” “Oh, yes. About eighty or ninety per cent of them. Everybody does. The wording of the certifi- cate permits it." "I see. You understand, doctor, that this man died and his widow applied for his insurance money. By some conjuring trick or other the wrong body is found in his grave. Therefore Dr. Laidlaw's body-insured with us—is missing," [189] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD "And as such does not concern us at present, Mr. Lawson," interrupted the coroner. “When it is found an inquest will be held and you may ask what you like about it, but not now, I am afraid.” The solicitor apologized and sat down, somewhat crest-fallen. Drury again smiled across at Ridley. Mr. Domville, in spite of his waspish reception of the police requirements, was doing his very best to carry them out. Sir James Martin, who was sitting next to Mr. Lawson, was then called into the box and sworn. He arranged his notes on the ledge be- fore him; the reporters turned over fresh leaves of their notebooks; the coroner hastily finished his writ- ing, and everybody leaned forward expectantly. After a few preliminary formal questions as to name and qualifications, he asked: "You have made an examination of the body of the deceased, Sir James?" “I have, sir.” “With what result?" “Completely negative." “Ah, yes, of course. So I gather from your re- port here, which you handed in before the adjourn- ment. At the post-mortem you found no marks of violence and no signs of any disease. All the organs were perfectly healthy. In view of this I adjourned the inquest for you to make an analysis. It was more particularly with reference to this that I asked [ 190 ] THE INQUEST the question. Will you kindly tell the jury what results you obtained ?”. “As the naked eye appearances gave me no clue whatever to the probable nature of the poison, if any, a very exhaustive examination, both micro- scopical and chemical, was necessary. Dragen- dorff's process for the separation of alkaloids and other vegetable poisons yielded no results. Other tests confirmed this. Poisonous metals such as ar- senic and lead were entirely absent. Spectroscopic examination of the blood showed no traces of car- bon monoxide or coal-gas poisoning—”. "What is the significance of carbon monoxide, Sir James?" interposed the coroner, seeing that some of the jurymen looked puzzled. "It is a deadly gas formed during imperfect com- bustion, sir. It is not often met with as a cause of death, but it is much more common now than it used to be. People who run the engines of their cars in a closed garage run a grave risk of being overcome ne by it." "Thank you. Go on please.” "Lastly," continued the pathologist, "I took cul- tures to test for the presence of food-poisoning bac- teria, but none were present. In short no trace of poison of any kind was found.” Sir James's voice, as he recounted the story of his many failures, preserved the even, dispassionate [191] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD tones of the scientist whose goal is truth and who is not ashamed to confess to a difficulty in finding it. There was absolute silence in the crowded court as he ceased speaking. "What then, in your opinion, was the cause of death?" inquired the coroner, dipping his pen in the ink-pot in readiness to write down the solution of the mystery. "Frankly, sir, I have no idea." [ 192 ] CHAPTER XI THE OPINION OF THE FOURTH ESTATE The day after the open verdict was returned the following leader appeared in the “Southbourne Gazette": In the Middle Ages there was a universal tendency to interpret phenomena in a supernatural way, so much so that almost anything which could not be ex- plained by the defective science of the time was deemed to be a miracle. Scientists themselves were in grave danger of being burnt as magicians, espe- cially if their work led them to deviate in the small- est degree from the rigid orthodoxy of the all-pow- erful Church. When such a state of things existed it is not surprising that deaths from obscure disease were invariably attributed to poison. But as the bounds of knowledge grew wider mysteries of all kinds became fewer, and it is often assumed that poisoning, as a fine art, is extinct, mainly because the modern poisoner rarely escapes detection, whereas the infamous Borgias poisoned whom they would with impunity. The reasons for their success were as simple as the poisons they used, and it is quite unnecessary to credit the Borgias or their imitators with any [ 193 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD profound knowledge. The odds, which are now heavily against the criminal, were weighted in their favour. Owing to the prevailing cheapness of human life investigations into the cause of death were uncommon and, in the rare cases when they were made, of such a cursory nature as to be quite valueless. The primitive state of toxicology or the science of poisons, and the absence of exact analyti- cal methods rendered detection almost impossible. Even if this had not been so the administration of the law was so defective and so subject to class lim- itations that justice, in the impartial modern sense of the word, did not exist. A poisoner of high birth was not only immune from penalties, provided he avoided the delicate and ferociously punished subject of treason, but he could even gain experience at his horrible hobby by actual practice upon human beings. This was done more than once by the Lords of the High Justice, the Mid- dle and the Low in the days when equality was un- known and the rights of man were in all things sub- ject to the will of the seigneur. The Cantarella, jealously guarded and deadly secret of the Borgias, was in all probability merely white arsenic, now de- graded to the rank of a weed-killer and sheep-dip. The famous Aqua Toffana, which was responsible for the deaths of over six hundred persons, includ- ing two popes, and which was sold unblushingly from the sanctuary of a convent, was also an arseni- cal preparation. [ 194] THE OPINION OF THE FOURTH ESTATE All this has changed. To use arsenic, the famous mystery poison of the past, is virtually to meet the hangman half-way. Its symptoms are so well known that suspicion is often aroused even before the death of the victim, its detection in the body after death is so easy and the tracing of the purchaser so simple that conviction and expiation of the crime follow al- most as a mathematical certainty. It has the fur- ther disadvantage, from the poisoner's point of view, that it preserves the victim so efficiently that it may be recovered from the body and used in evidence against him many years after death. It is, in fact, one of the sheet-anchors of the taxidermist as a preservative, and this alone should warn the pros- pective murderer of its unsuitability. One after an- other nearly all known poisons have followed the same course and become dangerous to their users, and the process has been going on with increasing rapidity during modern times. Dr. Christison, a famous toxicologist of the nine- teenth century, once stated while giving evidence that there was only one poison which could not be satis- factorily identified after death, namely— Here the judge hastily stopped him and remarked that it was better not to enlighten the public on that point. Dr. Christison afterwards explained to his class of medi- cal students that this particular alkaloid was aconi- tine, and years later one of them-Lamson by name —made practical use of this fragment of knowledge. Unfortunately for him science had progressed suffi- [ 195 ] THTHE DEAD ! TO MAN WHO WAS DEAD ciently by that time (1881) to identify aconitine in the body of his victim, and Lamson paid the supreme penalty for his mistaken reliance on out-of-date knowledge. It is quite usual in modern forensic medicine for the scientific witness to be able not only to swear to the cause of death with certainty, but also to esti- mate to a fraction of a milligramme the amount of poison present, and this is one of the reasons why the way of the murderer is hard. The recent in- quest in the Town Hall has aroused much comment because it is a complete departure from the usual precise and definite verdict expected of the twentieth- century “Crowner's quest.” Open verdicts are not uncommon it is true, but an open verdict combined with the suspicious circumstances of the case in ques- tion is most disquieting. The body of a fellow townsman, whose hitherto inexplicable disappearance has been occupying the attention of the police for some weeks, has been found in a grave purporting to belong to another man. Dramatic as this discovery was, the mystery was deepened and the drama was heightened by the complete inability of the Home Office pathologist to find any cause for death. We can only remember, during recent years, one other instance where no cause for death was found on examination, but, as there were no suspicious circumstances of any kind, the case was merely a medical curiosity of no practical importance. In our own case, however, the police have very natural sus- [196] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD their solution of the enigma thus far. Their task was more difficult than that of looking for the pro- verbial needle in the haystack; they had to look for a piece of hay in the haystack—for so we may de- scribe a body in a cemetery—and they found it. Presumably their next step is to trace the invalid by whose aid the death certificate was obtained from the doctor. Was he the murderer? That seems impossible from the medical evidence: the man was so ill that the certificate was given without the slight- est hesitation. Was he a mere tool used by the mur- derer? If so, what did the latter do with him? It is not feasible to fly from justice in these days of rapid transport and telephones encumbered with a moribund companion. Was he murdered after he had served his purpose as a decoy for procuring the certificate? In that case the criminal would defeat his own ends and again have a surplus body on his hands. Whatever the solution of the mystery, the moral to be drawn is that the present system of death cer- tification is faulty. A medical man can, and gener- ally does, give a certificate without being able to certify to the fact of death. Twice during the last few years has the wording of the official form been altered, but merely in detail, leaving the essential weakness untouched. [198] CHAPTER XII THE PRISONER MAKES A STATEMENT HAVING been warned by Inspector Drury that it may be used in evidence at my trial, I desire to make the following statement after my arrest on a charge of burglary and of obtaining money by false pretences. I qualified as a medical practitioner twelve years ago, and immediately after passing my final examina- tion secured an appointment as house surgeon under my old Chief, who was good enough to advise me to stay on at the hospital and work for the higher sur- gical degrees with the idea of ultimately being ap- pointed to the staff. Surgery made a strong appeal to me, as to most other young doctors, and the idea of becoming a surgical specialist was very attractive. But there were difficulties in the way. My parents were never rich, and only by great self-denial were they able to pay for my medical course. At the be- ginning of my hospital work therefore it had been definitely settled that as soon as I was qualified I was to keep myself and no longer look to them for assistance. As a house surgeon this was easy. Board and lodging are provided, in addition to a minute salary, dignified by the title of an honora- rium. But after that the way of the embryo spe- cialist is hard. On earning promotion to the rank of [ 199 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD Surgical Registrar a small salary is given, but the board and lodging are no longer provided, and on further promotion to Assistant Surgeon even the salary ceases. As a rule many years of hospital work elapse before a living wage is earned in con- sultant practice, which means that private means are necessary to bridge the gap. Even so, with all these anomalies, by which each step in rank carries with it less pay (a condition which prevails in all teaching hospitals), I might have managed to keep myself until private work materialized. Others, equally penniless, have done it successfully by dint of rigid economy and with the aid of money earned by coaching students, assisting senior surgeons in their private work and similar odd jobs. But a bachelor can do what a married man cannot, and during the period of my house sur- geoncy I had married one of the nurses. This was done in secrecy and youthful haste and meant the abandonment of my chosen career. It became neces- sary for me to take up some branch of medicine which would enable me to earn a living wage at once, unless my wife and I were to continue to live in the same institution as strangers kept apart by the rigid discipline of the place—an intolerable position. I searched the advertisement columns of the medi. cal papers and finally, after several fruitless inter- views with medical agents, decided to settle in Bar- haven. This was eleven years ago. At that time the practice was a good one, bringing in about two [ 200 ] THE PRISONER MAKES A STATEMENT thousand pounds a year, and I agreed to pay three thousand for it (a year and a half's income being the customary purchase price of a medical practice) and a rent of eighty pounds a year for the house. Considering the size of the place Barhaven is overstocked with doctors and the competition is in- tense. This, of course, makes the lot of the new- comer difficult. In my own case the receipts dropped to fourteen hundred after I bought the practice, many people, when their old doctor retired, prefer- ring to call in one of the many older-established prac- titioners rather than a stranger. Having no private income or available capital I had arranged to pay for the practice by instalments out of my earnings. The instalments, with interest on the unpaid portion, and the heavy expenses of the work, which was scattered over a wide area in the surrounding district, kept me constantly poor. I found also that my wife had no idea of the value of money and was very extravagant. I am not blaming her, but the simple fact is that she can- not understand how it is possible to be hard-up with such a—to her-colossal income. I earn more every week than she earned in a year as a probationer and to her an average gross income of twenty-eight pounds a week seemed enormous. She cannot or will not realize what a large proportion of this goes in motoring expenses, drug bills, rates and taxes, in- stalments of debt, insurances and other expenses. Financial troubles in their turn caused me to take [ 201] THE PRISONER MAKES A STATEMENT tion. If I died my wife would draw four thousand pounds. If I appeared to die she would also get her four thousand, provided that the fraud was suf- ficiently skilfully staged to avoid detection, with the added advantage that I should be able to share it. So together we thought out this plan (I am not in- criminating my wife any further by confessing this, because it is quite obvious that she was a party to the scheme. For one thing she was to fetch the doc- tor and later the certificate). We were to go to a place where I was not well known, take a furnished house so as to avoid inquisitive landladies, and after an interval my wife was to fetch a doctor to me. I was to fake a serious illness so thoroughly as to defy detection by him, which of course is a thing that no layman could do with safety, and after a day or two she was to obtain a death certificate. I knew per- fectly well that a doctor will always give the certifi- cate without seeing the body if he has seen the pa- tient shortly before death, and if the illness is of such a nature that the death is not unexpected. The wording of the official form permits this and even en- courages it, because it provides that the certificate must be given without charge. Also most doctors feel reluctant to visit a house where a death has just taken place unless specially asked to do so. They subconsciously feel that they are the last per- sons unwarrantably to intrude on the private griefs following their own failure to keep the patient alive. I always felt like this, however unavoidable the fa- [ 203 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD tality. Anyhow, I was certain that there would be no difficulty about the certificate. We were then to fake a funeral. Well, on the night on which I was to “die," I got out of bed to make some final arrangements and hap- pened to look out of the window. I saw a man walk- ing past our gate suddenly stagger and fall. He lay there in a heap on the pavement quite still, so I called down to my wife and asked her to have a look at him, because any unforeseen incident of that kind, with its possible consequences of police and ambu- lances visiting the neighbourhood, would almost cer- tainly mean a postponement of the final stages of our plan. I did not want to risk going out myself, as I was supposed to be dangerously ill. She came run- ning back with the news that she thought he was dead. It suddenly struck me that, if it was true- and it was unlikely that an experienced nurse like my wife would be mistaken-it was just what we wanted. So I put on my overcoat, turned up the collar, pulled down my hat brim and went out with her, after looking carefully up and down the road to make cer- tain that Dr. Osborne was not on his way to pay me an evening visit. It was nearly dark and there was nobody about, so we carried him into the house and shut the door. Judge of my amazement when I rec- ognized Levinsky, the money-lender! And he was certainly dead. I knew, of course, that he lived in Southbourne, and it would have been nothing out of the ordinary for me to have met him in the street. [ 204 ] THE PRISONER MAKES A STATEMENT One does that sort of thing every day. But it was an amazing coincidence that he should die at my very door. Still, after all people have to die somewhere, and a certain number of them do die in the street. Stranger coincidences than this have happened. However, it was a Deus ex machina with a venge- ance, doubly so. A corpse was just what I wanted to make the fake funeral easy. But Levinsky of all people! The possibilities of the situation struck me almost at once, and I hurriedly bent down and went through his pockets. With his keys and his body in my possession I could not only carry through the funeral much more easily and with less fear of detec- tion, and so draw the four thousand pounds insur- ance money in my wife's name, but I could also go to his office and destroy the evidence of my debt to him (£5000) in addition perhaps to collecting what- ever ready cash he had in the safe. I thus stood to gain at least nine thousand pounds for a new start in a foreign country as well as what my wife, as my temporary executor, could realize from the sale of the practice-probably two thousand pounds. When one has already planned one robbery, even if it is a first attempt, an additional one does not cause one any qualms of conscience. After half an hour's hard thinking I finally per- fected my supplementary scheme, which fitted into the original one admirably. I realized, of course, that Levinsky would be missed and that a search would be made for him, but this did not worry me. [ 205 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD PS He would be in the safest of all hiding-places- another man's grave—and nothing would remain to connect him with me. So I thought at the time, but I was evidently mistaken. The corpse was stowed in an empty bedroom until Dr. Osborne had been, and as soon as he had gone I proceeded to practical details. First, having undressed the body and put it in my bed, I altered it so that it would not be recognized. I shaved it and darkened the hair with some dye which I had bought for my own use later on, and then, not satisfied with this, injected melted paraffin wax under the skin of the nose through a hollow needle and moulded it so that the whole face looked different. It is surprising how little is needed to do this. I then took Levinsky's keys and a pocket torch and went along to his office. I had been there be- fore when I borrowed the money, so I knew my way about. There was no difficulty and very little risk of being caught in the act, because I had the proper keys and walked straight in instead of hav- ing to waste time at the door. (If the keys had not fitted I should have abandoned the idea at once. I know nothing of the art of Burglary.) I unlocked his private office and opened the safe, and with my torch carefully shaded found the address book after a little search. When I borrowed the money I had signed it and he had explained its use to me, so I had a good look at it and recognized it easily. It took me about another twenty minutes to find my I.O.U. [ 206] THE PRISONER MAKES A STATEMENT I then went home and burnt them both and left for Birmingham by an early train while it was still dark. The next morning my wife went to the doctor for the certificate and then called in the undertakers in the usual way. It required much thought to choose the faked ill- ness. Disease after disease was considered and re- jected for various reasons. It was necessary that the selected one should be of such a kind that the doctor could easily make a definite diagnosis and so be prepared to give a certificate without suspicion or doubt of any kind. For the same reason it had to be a serious condition in which death would cause no surprise. Lastly it was essential that the counterfeit should be a good one, because it had to deceive a skilled observer. Naturally the more outward and visible signs the better would these conditions be ful- filled. Symptoms alone, felt by the patient and not apparent to any one else, were not good enough. I finally selected meningitis, and did it well enough for it to be recognized as such. I put atropine drops into one eye to get the dilated and unequal pupil and gave myself a tenth of a grain of apomorphine hypodermically when I heard Dr. Osborne come into the house on his first visit. This made me vio- lently sick five minutes later. I held my neck muscles stiff to imitate the head retraction of meningitis, and the pulse very soon became rapid and feeble from the horrible nausea which followed the dose of apomorphine. As regards the high temperature, [207] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD much can be done by holding a hot water bottle under the arm for a few minutes while the doctor is taking off his hat and coat in the hall. I desire to make this full statement of my guilt in order to assist the police as much as possible. It seemed to me, especially when the unexpected body arrived so very opportunely, that there was no pos- sible flaw anywhere in our plan, but, as it has mis- carried, my chief concern now is not to deny the offences with which I am charged and about which the police seem to know a great deal, but to avoid being charged with a murder which I did not com- mit. To me, speaking as a medical man, Levinsky appeared to die a natural, if sudden, death, as far as one can judge without the evidence of a post. mortem. I certainly had no hand in it and I await the result of the inevitable analysis with perfect con- fidence. (Signed) HAROLD SAMUEL LAIDLAW, M.B. alias EDWARD DERRINGTON Holly Grove, Barhaven. "Well,” remarked Drury to Ridley, after they had both read through the prisoner's statement care- fully. “Long-winded devil, isn't he? What are we to make of it?" “We've got him for burglary and false pretences all right. He admits them.” “Yes, but the point is, how much of the rest of [ 208 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD of investigation, and he always pursued it with ex- treme thoroughness. He never lost a chance to practise it and had trained himself to an uncanny degree of efficiency. Even when reading fiction he found more enjoyment in detecting contradictions and authors' errors than in the story itself. Finally Ridley pushed back his chair, lit his pipe and walked over to the fire-place. Here he warmed the seat of his trousers after the manner of the pen- sive Briton and scribbled notes on the back of an envelope. A few minutes later Drury reached for the red ink-pot and heavily underlined several scat- tered sentences in his large sheet of notes. “Finished ?” asked Ridley. "Yes, I have, and a very interesting statement it is when you've analyzed it. What do you think of it?" "Well," responded Ridley somewhat diffidently, looking at his envelope, “I don't know much about this method of yours, but using one's common sense ” “And that's all you've got to do,” interrupted Drury. “There's nothing cryptic about it.” "It doesn't seem quite such a good explanation now. The first thing that struck me was the incred- ibly lucky coincidence of a corpse turning up just when he wanted one. He tries to explain that away by saying that impossible coincidences do happen. They do, but” [210] THE PRISONER MAKES A STATEMENT “Right. Point number one. Point number two is an extension of it." “I don't quite see what you mean. My second point is something quite different.” "Well, granted that by a million to one chance this really happened, why should it be the one corpse in all the world that was specially valuable to him- that doubled his winnings, in fact? It's our old friend the theory of probabilities again-only this time it is the other way round. Each coincidence multiplies the improbability of the preceding one. That is my second red-ink note. What's yours? We'll call it number three." "He says that Levinsky was walking past the house, and we are jolly nearly certain that he went there by car." "Quite so. We can't actually prove it, but your speedometer and tar-splashing brain-waves are nearly conclusive and they are backed up by the fact that Derrington's note was found in the car itself. Now it's my turn. Point number four is even more important. His original scheme sounds very weak in one respect if we accept his story. Did you notice the way he describes at great length how he planned every detail of the illness and the wangling of the death certificate? It was very well planned too. Good staff work. Everything was foreseen and no detail, however insignificant, neglected or left to OV [211] THE PRISONER MAKES A STATEMENT "Oh, you've been reading the 'Gazette.' Cæsar Borgia reincarnated and that sort of thing." Ridley looked rather sheepish. "Isn't it possible ?” he demanded. “After all, the chap is a doctor." “All things are possible," admitted Drury. “My name might be Pumblechook, but it isn't. Laidlaw is a general practitioner, and always has been one, as far as we know, and he probably knows as much about poisons as other general practitioners, but he's not likely to be an expert on the subject. Still, we don't know. It would be as well to run down to Barhaven and search well for the hidden laboratory where he distils his untraceable Aqua Toffana !”. "Don't be an ass," said the goaded Ridley. “And I'll have a look round at Holm Lea as well and see if I can find anything you've missed." [215] HOLM LEA AGAIN IS Soon “Could you spare me a few minutes of it? I wanted to ask you a few more questions.” “Yes, by all means. I have nothing special to do for the next hour and a half. Will you come along to my house?” "Well, I am going to Laidlaw's to have a look round, and it will probably be rather a long job, so I wanted to get there as soon as possible. Some other time, perhaps.” "I'll walk along with you, then, and you can go on with your catechism on the way. What was it you wanted to ask me about?” "About Laidlaw's illness. You heard the evi- dence at the inquest, of course?" "Yes. But I should like to know what happened to the chap. I was very disappointed when the cor- oner stopped the foreman asking questions about him, because the whole thing has been an absolute mystery to me. All I know is that the man I at- tended apparently disappeared into thin air after he died and another body was found in his coffin. Very refreshingly unconventional, no doubt, but I can't help puzzling about it." "Well, doctor, I can relieve your curiosity to some . extent, only don't tell anybody else about it. The man you attended was Laidlaw right enough, but he did not die at all." "Didn't die ?" [217] HOLM LEA AGAIN "My dear sir, why should you? You don't go round suspecting your patients of wholesale malin- gering. You would soon lose them if you did. This chap had the knowledge to do it well, and you didn't know anything about his financial motives, so there was nothing fishy about it at all from your point of view." "I am glad you think that, inspector. How the devil did he do it? I should like to know.” "He says he put some stuff into one eye to dilate the pupil—I've forgotten the name of it.” "Atropine?" “Yes, that was it. Would that do it?" "It would. It is the stuff ophthalmic surgeons use when they want to dilate the pupil so that they can see right to the back of the eye.” "He injected a dose of apomorphine into himself just before you came, and says that made him sick.” "It did. Lord! what a cute chap he is. Ever seen apomorphine used, inspector ?". "No." "One-tenth of a grain injected under the skin anywhere makes you throw up your very soul in about four minutes. Very reliable stuff.” "Then he says he faked a high temperature with a hot water bottle." "By Jove, I remember Mrs. Laidlaw stopping me when I wanted to put the thermometer under his can see right a dose of apomo made him sick. [219] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD picture from the walls and inverting every orna- ment on the mantelpiece. Even the clock was opened and investigated. The dressing-table and wardrobe were thoroughly ransacked, but yielded nothing of interest, and the searcher next turned his attention to the bed. Each layer of bed-clothes was removed separately until only the bare frame was left. Every- thing was quite normal. In no way discouraged, the inspector proceeded to fill his pipe, when his attention was arrested by a remark from Osborne. “They were rather careless with their gramo- phone needles. Look here," and he pointed to a small cushioned arm-chair which stood between the bed and the door. Under it and around it were scores of small steel points. “'M. Not very—puff—nice things—puff-for a bedroom floor-puff. Let's have a look at the chair next." The inspector got up from the bed, brushed some ash off his coat and crossed over to his companion. He bent down and removed the cushion. "Hallo, what's this?” he exclaimed. “Who has been boring holes in perfectly good furniture?". The wooden chair seat had a hole in it somewhat to the left of the middle. It was about an inch in diameter, and had been bored fairly recently with a carpenter's brace and bit. On tilting the chair back- wards another unusual feature was revealed. Two [ 222 ] HOLM LEA AGAIN wooden brackets were screwed to the under side of the seat, one on each side, and a strong strip of wood joined them, passing under the hole about four inches below it. All this was invisible with the chair and cushion in their ordinary positions. "What is it for?" asked Osborne. "Don't know, I'm sure. But I want to know. If Levinsky was murdered in this house anything out of the ordinary needs explaining. What about the cushion ?” Osborne picked it up and handed it to him. There was a small tear in the cover, and, fitting the cushion in position, Drury found that the tear was immedi- ately over the hole in the seat. He verified this by putting his finger through the hole, and as he did so a small metal object fell out of the cushion into his hand. He held it out and looked at it blankly. "Wish I knew what that was,” he murmured, half to himself. "I can tell you that," replied Osborne at once. "It is something in my line. It is the butt end of a hypodermic needle with the needle itself broken off. Wait a minute and I will show you one like it." He dived into his coat pocket and produced a nickel- plated case, which he opened, revealing a metal- mounted glass syringe and a row of little tubes. From the end of the syringe he detached the needle and held it out. [223] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD "You see, the needle itself is a piece of very fine steel tubing, cut off at an angle to form the point, with the other end soldered into one of these little metal mounts which pushes on to the end of the syringe.” "I see. Thanks very much.” Drury compared the two and there was no doubt that Osborne was correct. His accidental presence had saved a con- siderable amount of trouble in getting the thing iden- tified. “But why was it there? Laidlaw used a syringe to inject apomorphine into himself, and he used one—perhaps the same one—to inject paraffin into Levinsky; but why should part of the needle be in the cushion? It looks as if it had some connec- tion with this hole in the seat.” "Where is the rest of the needle ?" asked Osborne. "Is it in the cushion as well? Mind you don't prick yourself.” Drury felt cautiously and thoroughly, but could find.no trace of it. He only noticed a slight stiffen- ing of the fabric on the upper surface of the cushion, again over the hole, which he pointed out to Os- borne. "Look here, inspector, I've got an idea. You think Levinsky was murdered in this house ?" “Yes." "Pre-arranged?" “Probably. Laidlaw wrote him a note asking him to come round and see him." [ 224 ] HOLM LEA AGAIN "Well, suppose this is a sort of trap for him ?” “That is just what I am supposing, but I don't see how it works." "I believe I do. I hope you don't think I am but- ting in.” “Not a bit. These syringes are the tools of your trade, and you can probably tell me something about them, just as I could tell you something you don't know about finger-prints." "It would work like this.” Osborne took out the hypodermic syringe from its case, fitted the needle on to it and pulled out the piston to its fullest ex- tent. "If we lower the syringe through the hole in the seat like this, with the needle upwards, the end of the piston rod rests on the shelf underneath. A big twenty cubic centimetre syringe would fit better. The edges of the hole would support it, and it would stay in position by itself without wobbling about like this little one. By Jove! I've got one down- stairs in my bag. I had been giving a dose of serum to a case of diphtheria when I met you. I'll fetch it." He dashed off and clattered down the stairs, greatly excited, and returned with a glass of water in one hand and an enlarged edition of the pocket syringe in the other. He fitted a needle to the nozzle and drew up a little water into the barrel of the syringe. "Imagine that is some sort of poison,” he went [225] HOLM LEA AGAIN can you think of any poisons that act almost im- mediately?” “N-o. Prussic acid is about the only one." "And they would have spotted prussic acid at once, so it can't be that. Now, suppose a slower poi- son was used. Put yourself in Levinsky's place. You sit down on a chair and get a needle stuck into your stern. What happens ? Do you sit there with a sweet smile on your face? You do not. You get up and see what's bitten you, and you don't lose much time about it. And it wouldn't take you long to find out that contraption. Then you would pretty soon send for a doctor or the police, or both. We know he was not forcibly detained, or there would surely have been some signs of it on the body. As it is, the only sign of violence was a pair of broken glasses, which are pretty fragile things at the best of times. If you can answer these objections I'm with you.” Osborne was amazed at the way in which the in- spector was able to bring forward a formidable array of criticisms on a subject which was, to him, foreign, and his opinion of him went up several de- grees. He thought for a few moments and then smiled. "I think I can answer all your conundrums this time," he said. “This is familiar ground to me and I really think I'm right." "I hope you are." SIC [227] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD "In the first place you said 'put ourselves in Le- vinsky's place,' but you were doing the opposite and putting Levinsky in our place.” “What do you mean?” "I mean that we are suspicious. He wasn't. We know of the existence of this death-trap. He didn't. He was merely a visitor in the house, a business man coming to see a respectable client with whom he had already done business, and he was not expecting to be murdered any more than I was expecting a re- spectable patient to be a fraud. If he had had any suspicions he would not have come. Suppose you go into an invalid's bedroom on a business interview. You sit down in a chair and get a needle prick in the thigh. Of course you would jump up—but remem- ber that it was night and probably the shaded bed- light was the only light in the room. Mrs. Laidlaw rushes forward with apologies, calls attention to the gramophone needles "accidentally" upset on the floor and picks one, which she had ready in her hand, off his trousers. Then she brings up another chair, and there you are. She is quite capable of it. I've had some experience of her as an actress. Levinsky sits down again and Laidlaw keeps him talking until your slow poison, whatever it is, begins to take ef- fect. It would be quite safe and simple really. A hypodermic needle looks rather a fearsome weapon, but have you ever had one used on you?” [ 228 ] HOLM LEA AGAIN “Never." "Well, take my word for it—and I would be pre- pared to say this in the witness-box-a new needle in good condition causes very little pain if it is put in quickly—sometimes none at all—and it would be in- serted quickly if he sat on it. It would not hurt any- thing like as much as sitting on a gramophone needle. Of course if it is blunt or rusty it hurts like sin, but Laidlaw wasn't a fool and he would use a good one. If you like I can prove what I say. I have a new needle here in this case and I can try it on you." "All right. I don't doubt your word, but, speak- ing as a layman, those needles look as though they could hurt a good deal.” "Roll your sleeve up,” replied Osborne, flourish- ing his glittering syringe. Drury did so, rather apprehensively. Osborne swabbed a little iodine on the skin, took a firm grip of the arm and poised the syringe. The inspector, who had once or twice tackled armed men without a tremor, shut his eyes and clenched his teeth. He heard a gentle chuckle. "Get on with it,” he said. “Don't keep me wait. ing.” “I've done it already." "Go on! I don't believe you." “Open your eyes, then, and look.” [ 229 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD He opened them and saw the needle three-quar- ters of an inch deep in his arm. “But I never felt anything at all !” he gasped. "Didn't I say that it was sometimes quite pain- less? It isn't always. It all depends whether you hit on a sensitive patch of skin or not, and I was lucky enough not to do so this time. Perhaps you will admit now that Levinsky needn't necessarily have been frightened out of the house by it even if it hurt him a bit more than it hurts you?” “In future,” said Drury, still taken up by the novelty of a painless puncture, “I'll believe a medi- cal witness whatever sort of a damned lie he tells me! You can wash out my objections to your the- ory, doctor. As you say, he would not be suspect- ing anything. That is a very strong point.” “Yes, and a point that particularly appeals to me, because it let me down in my dealing with the Laid- laws, and I'm still rather sore about it," replied Os- borne ruefully. “At any rate you had the satisfaction of being diddled by one of your own profession. The thing we have to find out now is what brand of poison he used.” "I can't help you there. If the experts missed it I'm bunkered. Good heavens! It's ten o'clock and I have to give an anæsthetic at the other end of the town at half-past. I must go now. Thanks very [ 230 ] HOLM LEA AGAIN much for letting me come with you. It has been awfully interesting.". "Don't thank me, doctor. Very much obliged to you for your help. If you are calling at home do you mind ringing up the police-station and asking them to send a car round to take this chair away? It is much too valuable to be left here." "Right. I have to call for my car, anyway. I wonder if you will be able to find the rest of the needle?” "I don't expect so. Quite probably it is still in Levinsky's leg. If it is it weaves another strand round Laidlaw's neck. Stop a minute, though. Wouldn't it have been found at the post-mortem if it had been there?" "Not necessarily by any means. After all a needle prick is practically invisible on ordinary skin unless you know exactly where to look for it, and still more so when a person has been buried some time.” Drury continued his search patiently after Os- borne had gone, and spent the whole of the rest of the day in the house, but found nothing more of interest. The chair was removed by men sent from the station before he left and stored in safety along with Edward Derrington's indiscreet note, his fin- ger-prints and the copy of Mrs. Laidlaw's letter. [ 231] THE POISON THAT IS NOT A POISON w to rectify faults of fifty years' standing, and the twentieth-century pendulum had swung to the other extreme with a vengeance. The sins of the fathers were being paid for a thousand-fold by their unfor- tunate descendants. Narrow streets which were death-traps to modern traffic were being widened at a fantastic cost. Men of moderate means, whose grandfathers could have built their stables half-way across the main road without exciting comment, were fleeced by garage proprietors because the local au- thority would not allow them to build garages in their own gardens unless they were masonry struc- tures of such cathedral-like solidity as to be abso- lutely prohibitive in cost. Thousands of tons of coal were wasted every year in badly designed boilers and grates which poured forth incessantly the smoke clouds which overhung the town and shut out the sun. The Town Council, appalled by the resultant rickets and high death rate, took energetic steps to deal with the smoke question. Municipal sun-baths were installed at enormous expense and the elec- tricity works, old and inefficient, produced still more smoke in their effort to supply artificial sunlight in place of the real article which they were obscuring. The sun-baths did not pay. The ratepayers did. They had to. Everything was done to ensure the survival of the unfittest. It has been said that the world is full of willing people; some are willing to [ 233 ] THE POISON THAT IS NOT A POISON "Do you really, sir ? That doesn't often hap- pen, does it?" "No, it does not. The poison experts take a lot of beating, and I have sufficient faith in them to be- lieve that they will be able to help us if we can only give them a lead. I think we can do it because we have found an apparatus suitable for injecting poison.” The sergeant nodded his head with great solem- nity. "It would be easy for him, being a doctor," he began.” “Confound it, man!” interrupted Drury, remem- bering that Ridley had expressed the same opinion. “Why does everybody think that the ordinary G.P. knows enough about poisons to defeat the experts ? It isn't reasonable. It isn't possible. And yet,” he admitted reluctantly, “it looks as if he'd done it. Anyhow, what I shall do is to try and find out if Laidlaw was particularly interested in any poison or bought specially large amounts of any. I think I will go over his poison register and his drug bills to start with.” Holly Grove was, like the majority of doctors' houses, a corner house. It was hideously ugly, built of smoke-grimed red brick by an architect who would have made a name for himself as a designer of con- vict prisons. The front door opened direct on to [ 235 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD of one particular test. He was not disappointed, for he knew enough about matters medical to realize that the average general practitioner has neither the time nor the inclination to dabble in chemistry, any tests, other than the simplest routine examina- 'tions, being almost invariably referred by him to a hospital or laboratory. In one corner of the surgery proper was a sec- tional book-case filled with medical works, most of them being the usual students' textbooks. Drury, pursuing his policy of searching for subjects of in- terest to the suspected man, turned his attention to these and made a careful list of the titles. They were arranged in no special order; Gray's Anatomy was placed next to Osler's textbook of Medicine, and a zoology notebook was nestling between a treatise on diseases of the skin and a pamphlet on Infant Feeding. Volume I of Warren's Surgery was in the top row, and Volume II on the shelf be- low. Evidently Dr. Laidlaw had not bought many new books since he qualified; the majority of them were twelve to fifteen years old, well thumbed and rather out of date. The bottom shelf, however, had a patch of colour among the faded bindings, and on removing the four end books, two of them still in their paper wrappers, Drury found that all of them had been recently published, and all of them were on the same subject-diabetes. [ 238 ] THE POISON THAT IS NOT A POISON At this moment the door opened and a girl came in. Short skirted, silk stockinged and fur gloved, she entered with an air of proprietorship, but the tune which she was humming came to a sudden stop as she saw a uniformed police officer and a strange man apparently spring-cleaning the bookshelves. Sergeant Jackson, though deprived of half his imposing official presence by being helmetless and very dusty as to the hands, was equal to the occa- sion. “You are Dr. Laidlaw's locum, miss, aren't you ?" “Yes, I am. May I ask ?" “This is Inspector Drury of Scotland Yard, and we have a warrant to search here." "Oh, and what have I been doing now?" she asked, her face relaxing into a pleasant smile. "Nothing, as far as we know, Dr.-er-" replied Drury, also smiling. “Freeman. Doris Freeman." “We are merely investigating Dr. Laidlaw's af- fairs." "I see. You don't mind if I use the dispensary, I suppose? I have this morning's medicines to make up." "Not at all. Don't let us interfere with your work." Dr. Freeman opened her handbag, took out her visiting list, fountain pen, shingle comb and powder [ 239 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD box and, thus equipped for dispensing, disappeared behind the partition, followed by an admiring glance from the sergeant, who was unmarried and impres- sionable. She emerged again as Drury was wiping the dust off his hands after completing his inven- tory. "Do you know Dr. Laidlaw well, Miss Free- man?” he asked. “No, hardly at all," she replied. “There's a towel and some soap in the dispensary if you want a wash. He went away to Southbourne the day I came here, and I only saw him for about an hour. He just showed me where things were kept and how he kept his books and a few things of that sort." “Did he specialize in anything?" "No. Purely general practice. Why?” "I thought he seemed to be very interested in dia- betes, judging by these books." "Perhaps so. I suppose most doctors have their likes and dislikes. Personally I hate heart cases and I like infectious diseases. Oh, now you remind me of it, he has a blood-sugar outfit as well as those books, but I am sure I don't know why. I have been here six weeks and I have not come across a single case of diabetes yet.” Drury was interested. He realized quite clearly that he had found what he was looking for some- thing unusual, though it was not yet clear whether [ 240 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD understand his getting a new one. But I don't see why he should want four. Two of them are quite big ones too. Still, it isn't a crime for a doctor to buy medical books, is it?”. "No," admitted Drury absently, picking up one of the books. “They look as if he hadn't read them much.” He opened it at random and saw the heading “Chapter VII. Insulin Treatment," which recalled to his mind various articles in the daily press. “I suppose that is what you meant when you said that the treatment has altered. Insulin is new stuff, isn't it?” "Yes," replied Miss Freeman, looking over his shoulder. “Blood sugar testing and insulin were new when I was doing my hospital work. My chief was very keen on diabetes and was always talking about them. We used to get fed up with them and with his favourite story. It was really not bad the first time you heard it, but it got very threadbare. It was about an inattentive student in the wards, and his chief, seeing that he wasn't listening, suddenly asked him for the cause of diabetes. He jumped and, pretending he had heard the question, replied that he did know but he'd forgotten. The physician looked round the rest of the class and said solemnly, 'What a pity, gentlemen. Here is the only man who ever knew the cause of diabetes and he's forgotten [ 242 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD "I think so," replied that lady, consulting her wrist-watch. “Lunch is at one o'clock and it is only twenty minutes to. I daren't be late, though. The housekeeper is a terror.” "She looks it," agreed Drury sympathetically, pro- ducing his cigarette-case. “Will you have one?" "Thanks.” "I won't get you into trouble with the powers that be. I want you to tell me about insulin, that's all.” “Why, have you got diabetes ?” "I hope not. But I have a very good reason for asking. I want to know all about it. Is it a poison or a drug or a food or what?” “Really, inspector,” replied Dr. Freeman, smil- ing through a cloud of cigarette smoke, "you don't give me credit for knowing much if you expect me to tell you all about it in ten minutes." "All the more important details, then." "All right. It's a long story and it will have to be very condensed. Have you ever heard of hor- mones?" "No. You can assume that I know nothing and start right at the beginning.” "Well, the body has a nervous system which is like a telegraph office. Messages can be flashed along the nerves from one part to another practi- cally instantaneously. It also has another and slower method of communication, which corresponds [ 244 ) THE POISON THAT IS NOT A POISON to sending messages by post. A gland in one part of the body can form a substance and empty it into the blood, which acts as postman and carries it round to act on another part. Got that?”. “Yes. That's quite clear." "These substances are called hormones and are really drugs made by the body itself for its own use. One of them is insulin. Its presence has been sus- pected by physiologists for a long time, but it was only identified recently—three or four years after the war. It is made in a gland and sent into the blood, and its function is to enable the body to make use of sugar. It is constantly being produced and constantly being used up. If you like you can com- pare the body to a furnace which burns sugar as fuel and the insulin is the forced draught. Now suppose something goes wrong with the gland where it is made. The supply of insulin is too small and the body cannot burn its sugar properly—that's dia- betes. In other words, a diabetic is a person who is short of insulin, and because of the shortage the un- burnt sugar that he can't use circulates in the blood. Insulin can now be made commercially, and so there you are. Instead of starving your patient to keep down his blood sugar you give him insulin and put him in exactly the same position as a normal per- son.” : "It cures diabetes, then ?" put in Drury, who [ 245 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD had been listening so intently that his cigarette had gone out. "No. I should have said normal for the time being. You see, there ought to be a continuous sup- ply, as it is being used all the time, but when you give it artificially the supply is intermittent. You inject a dose and it restores things to normal until that dose is used up, but that is all.” "Is it dangerous stuff ?” "It can be, but not if it is carefully used. The normal amount of sugar in the blood ought to be ten parts in ten thousand, and the adjustment is very delicate. If the amount rises to twelve in ten thou- sand, due to too little insulin, the person has dia- betes; if it drops to seven or eight in ten thousand, due to too much, alarming symptoms come on and the patient collapses. So the dose has to be very exact and varies for each patient. That box of ap- paratus over there is to measure the blood sugar so that you can form some idea of what dose to give, and also judge what the effect of it is. If you give an overdose and bring the percentage too low you can give sugar to eat as an antidote. Here endeth the lesson. There will be no collection,” concluded the young and Aippant doctor. "It would be possible to kill a person with in- sulin, then?" “Yes, if you gave sufficient.” [ 246] THE POISON THAT IS NOT A POISON “So that it may be described as a poison ?” "In that sense, yes; in another sense, no. It is a normal and essential secretion of the body, and you can't live without it. Legally, I don't think it comes under the Poisons Act.” Drury, though naturally unemotional, had great difficulty in restraining his excitement. The last re- mark he never heard at all. The legal aspect of in- sulin failed to interest him, for his acute and critical brain had seen in the previous sentence the final link in the chain of evidence. A poison that was not a poison. A normal constituent of the human body, yet capable of causing death. No wonder the ana- lyst had missed it! It was a Heaven-sent solution to an apparently insoluble problem, a solution which reconciled the two irreconcilables—the police evi- dence that poison had been used and the medical evi- dence that it had not. He gasped at the ingenuity of it. To use one of the body's own drugs to cause death was a device that entitled its originator to a high place in the annals of crime. Compared with him administrators of arsenic were mere bunglers, and even the users of the modern alkaloids were the veriest amateurs. "One more question, doctor. How is the stuff given ?" "It must be injected under the skin. It has no effect if it is given by the mouth, because it is di- [ 247 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD gested and destroyed. That is its great disadvan- tage. It will only work if it is put direct into the blood in imitation of the natural supply.” Drury thought of the arm-chair and the tell-tale cushion. Now he knew why this rather cumbersome device was necessary. With a sigh of content he rose. "I shan't trouble you much more now, doctor," he said. “I want to take the poison register with me, although I don't think we shall need it now, and I want the names of the wholesale houses from which Dr. Laidlaw got his drugs." "You'll find their names and addresses in the poison book, I think,” replied Dr. Freeman. "Let me have a look at it.” She leaned over so that her beautifully waved hair brushed the inspector's face and he smelt the faint scent of Fleurs d'Eté. "Yes, there they are. Any- thing else ?" "These four books on diabetes. That's the lot, I think.” He gathered them up and shook hands heartily with the young doctor. "Thanks very much for your information. It may interest you to know that you have helped me to finish one of the trickiest cases I've ever had in thirty years' experience." The housekeeper put her head in at the door. ;. "Lunch's been on the table five minutes,” she said in an icy voice. Dr. Freeman fled hurriedly. [ 248 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD airy room opening out of the main laboratory, where a crowd of medical students were working at the benches, busily engaged with stains and culture tubes of Staphylococcus aureus and other more or less innocuous microbes suitable for inexpert handling. Incubators and water-baths were ranged along one side of it, and the wall under the windows was oc- cupied by a long bench fitted with sinks and water taps, and littered with racks of Petri dishes and tubes of culture media. At one end was a power- driven centrifuge rotating in its shield at five thou- sand revolutions a minute, and at the other an elab- orate rocking microtome for cutting sections. Sir James himself was seated at a large and very beautiful microscope, which had been sent to him for testing purposes by a German firm of interna- tional repute as makers of lenses. It so happened that it incorporated a new device which was just what he required in order to complete a piece of re- search work which had come to a standstill, and so he was in a very good temper. “Good morning, inspector," he said, switching off the centrifuge. "Got another case for me?" "Not exactly, sir. You remember the South- bourne man?” "I do. Not likely to forget him in a hurry. It isn't often one comes across such a complete patho- logical mystery. What's the latest?”. in a very inspector case foi [ 250] THE RE-EXAMINATION By this time the high-pitched whine of the cen- trifuge had slowed down into an expiring hum, and conversation was easier. “We have found some evidence which makes us think that something was administered hypodermi- cally,' replied Drury, lowering his voice to suit the altered conditions. “And we can make a good guess what it was.” "Can you really? What poison have I missed?" "Insulin." There was a dead silence in the room, broken only by a little squeal from the laboratory outside as a woman student upset a bottle of carbolfuchsin -the most indelible of all stains-on to a new pair of silk stockings. Sir James glanced at his new mi- croscope with its fifty pounds' worth of polished brass and shiny enamel glittering under the shaded electric light, and then looked comically at the in- spector and burst out laughing. "I take off my hat to the modern criminal," he said at length. "What a beautiful idea! Are you sure of it?” "Well, sir, not absolutely. We want you to re- examine and prove it for us. Personally I don't think there is much doubt about it, though,” and Drury recounted his researches at Dr. Laidlaw's homes, temporary and permanent. Sir James listened with great interest and was [ 251] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD immensely pleased with the description of the chair. "The Borgias' ring brought up to date," he com- mented appreciatively. “Well, inspector, if you are right it should mean promotion for you, and it will give me the material for a very interesting paper. I have to read one before the Royal Society of Medi- cine next month, and I was just wanting a good sub- ject. Actually a really original crime! I didn't think there was such a thing. It wouldn't have been possible ten years ago, because there was no such stuff as insulin in existence then. It is certainly the first time it has ever been used for criminal purposes, and it will be the last time it ever takes me in. As to your part in it, do you know the first thing I am going to do when I get home to-night?” "No." "Burn all my books! It isn't safe to have a li- brary with people like you about. Dash it all, what could be more natural than for a doctor to buy new books on diabetes in his eagerness to keep up with modern improvements ?” “That's what Dr. Laidlaw seemed to think, sir, since he didn't trouble to destroy them. By the way, there is another thing we want you to examine for as well as the insulin.” Drury outlined the nature of his second line of in- quiry, and Sir James listened with renewed interest. The inspector was relieved to find that his news had [ 252 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD bring that with me; it is much too cumbersome.” “The local hospital have a portable outfit which they use in the wards for patients who can't be moved, and the secretary promised to lend it to us." “Good.” Nothing more remained except to fix the time for the examination, after which Drury left the hospital and went home for the rest of the day. Ellie and her inseparable friend were playing in the garden and ran to the gate to meet him. Young as they were, they had learnt to accept his irregular appearances and departures as perfectly normal. “Come and look at our snowman, daddy!" screamed the former excitedly. "Right you are. Where did you get the snow? I haven't seen any lately." “We got some water and a lot of dirt and made him out of mud, and pretended he was snow." "I see. Was there much mud left when you'd finished mixing it?" “No, only a teeny little bit, and we had to make some more. How did you know that, uncle?” The honorary acting-uncle looked at their boots and laughed. “You'll catch it when you get in." “O-oh, and I've got my second best boots on too. Will you clean them, daddy?”. [ 254] THE RE-EXAMINATION “Yes; but I want some tea first. Take them off outside, and I'll carry you in." He went into the house with one on each shoulder and made them happy by promising (subject to their respective mothers' approval) that they should stay up an extra half-hour because they had seen so little of him lately. His stay was all too short, for he had to catch an early train in the morning, and ten o'clock found him back at the Southbourne Mortuary. "Have they sent over from the hospital yet?” he asked the attendant. "No, sir, but they promised it would be here by ten. They said they would send their small port- able apparatus and a man who knows how to work it. Oh, perhaps this is it.” A small motor-van shot into the yard and drew up with a jerk close to the mortuary. The driver stopped his engine, jumped down and opened the doors at the back of the vehicle, revealing a white- coated man wearing a celluloid collar and an anxious expression. "I told you to go slow and mind the bumps," said this individual in an aggrieved tone. “It took me all my time to keep it from getting broken. Fair chucked us about, you did. If chaps like you had a load of bricks to deliver you'd smash 'em. Even [ 255 ] THE RE-EXAMINATION "It is a good thing for humanity in general,” he said, rubbing French chalk into his hands so that the rubber gauntlets would slip on easily, "that Laid- law was not as successful in deceiving you as he was with me." "It was easier for us than it was with you,” re- plied Drury. "He did the medical part of his plan beautifully because he had the knowledge to do it, but he is only a beginner in crime and he left clues all over the place, though I must say that if it had not been for Ridley here he would have got away with it. None of these clues would have even been looked for if Ridley had not traced Levinsky to the house. I suppose Laidlaw did not clear up after him as carefully as he might have done because he thought his scheme was so original that there was no possibility of failure.” "And he was not far wrong," said Sir James. "Is this the chair you found in the house?” "Yes, sir. We brought it over here so that you could see it.” Drury lifted the cushion and exhibited the con- trivance. It now had a syringe fitted in place and the method of its working was visible at a glance. "The hole is on the left side of the chair as you look at it, so the needle should be in the right thigh if it is there at all. Everything ready now?”. "Yes, sir," replied the white-coated man, who On- [ 257 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD had been hovering about in the background, fiddling with his switches and wires. He wheeled up his cabinet to the side of the slate-topped table and swung the glass tube, suspended in an adjustable bracket, to the side of the sheet-covered body. "Here is the screen, sir.” He handed to the pathologist an object resembling a picture frame. The latter took it and turned back the sheet. “Put the lights out,” he ordered. Ridley pulled down the blinds and turned off the switch by the door. "On,” said Sir James in the darkness. A switch clicked and the apparatus started to hum. A greenish glow came from the glass tube and the peculiar acrid smell of ozone made its presence agreeably felt above the other odours. For some minutes Sir James waited, to allow his eyes to be- come accustomed to the darkness. Drury, who was an imaginative man, felt the dramatic quality of the scene to the full. He saw, outlined in the dim glow from the X-ray tube, not the prosaic figure of the Home Office pathologist, spectacled and slightly bald, but the avenging figure of Justice tearing from the grave secrets which were to place the rope round the neck of a murderer. It did not occur to him at the moment that his own part in the affair was at least as important, if not more so, and that without his aid the expert would have failed—had in fact [ 258 ] THE RE-EXAMINATION suit-case, the pathologist working with deliberate and unhurried calm. "Sorry to be so long about it,” he remarked, no- ticing Drury's imperfectly concealed impatience, “but I must collect these specimens carefully or they would be no use. You look like a dog waiting to go for a walk, Drury.” "I feel like it, sir. This is the final stage of sev- eral weeks' hard work with endless complications and disappointments, and it feels good to be getting to the end of it.” “I can quite understand your feelings. Don't say hard work, though; it sounds too much like unskilled labour. An artist should never call his work hard." Drury flushed with pleasure. This was praise in- deed from Sir James, who was notoriously a hard taskmaster. "Can we adjourn somewhere else to do the test?" the latter went on. “No good stopping here longer than necessary." He spoke truly. The hand of death lay even more heavily on the body than at the previous exam- ination, and the removal to the Bath Manager's office was a welcome change. Sir James produced from his suit-case an outfit very similar to the one Drury had seen in Dr. Laid- law's surgery and began to spread out on the table an imposing array of apparatus. He began opera- [ 261 ] THE MAN WHO WAS DEAD tions by disconnecting the gas-ring on which the Bath Manager brewed his tea and affixing to the pipe a Bunsen burner. The one remaining sample was put into a flask, other liquids were added to it in carefully measured amounts and it was boiled, filtered, reboiled and transferred from one vessel to another in a mystifying manner. "I take it that your case is complete if this analysis turns out as we expect?" asked Sir James. "Absolutely. We know the motive and the method and there is plenty of proof to connect Laid- law with Levinsky. The only thing I don't under- stand—but it is quite a minor point is why Laidlaw wanted a blood sugar outfit." "It is almost essential if you are treating a per- son with insulin, so that you don't overdose him," explained Sir James abstractedly, his eyes fixed upon the watch which was timing the boiling of one of his solutions. "But he wasn't treating a patient and he wanted to overdose him." Drury could not refrain from speaking irritably to the man who had apparently completely forgotten that he was engaged in investi- gating a case of suspected murder. "Of course. How silly of me!" “I suppose he must have used it in a legitimate way in his practice, after all. Still, I should have liked to be able to connect it with the crime, be- [ 262 ] AN ANALYTICAL LOOPHOLE A "On thinking it over like this I am quite converted to your theory. It is plain enough that my analysis, which appears at first to contradict your work, need not necessarily do so, if we assume that your crim- inal has done what I have just described. I only wish there was a satisfactory test for insulin.” "The only chance, then, is for me to try and find other evidence?" "Yes; and it will be a pretty difficult business to get hold of anything definite." "It will. Of course I shall start by finding out whether he has bought any glucose recently. By the way, would he be likely to buy it secretly, sir ?" "I don't think so. It is absolutely innocuous stuff, as harmless as ordinary sugar. No, if he took no precautions about his books he certainly wouldn't about the glucose.” “In that case I shall go to his usual wholesale druggists first. Even if he has bought any I don't see that it takes us much further. The whole thing is so circumstantial that a smart counsel would knock it to pieces in a few minutes." "It is your only chance," replied Sir James seri- ously as he disconnected his Bunsen burner and put it away in his bag, "and I hope to God you can do it. If this method gets known, Heaven help society. Medical evidence won't be the slightest use in mur- [ 275 ] THE THIRD ANALYSIS over, the amount of rotation enables us to calculate the percentage of sugar in the solution. The custom- house people use polarimeters—only they call them saccharimeters—for working out the duty on sugars of different strengths.” Sir James Martin re-entered the laboratory car- rying a flask containing a colourless liquid. "This is one of our samples," he said. "Don't look so worried, Drury. I haven't spoiled it. It has been boiled and filtered and chemically treated to remove all the colouring matter and other things which might interfere with the test, but the sugar in it is untouched." He handed it over to Mr. Sheldon, who removed the glass tube from its place in the apparatus, rinsed it out with a little of the liquid in the flask and then filled it with the remainder. "The tube has been carefully cleaned,” he ob- served, “but in case any water is left in it, which would mix with and alter the strength of our speci- men, we always rinse it out with some of the liquid to be tested.” He replaced it in its supports, adjusted the gas jet and went round to the eyepiece. "Show Drury how to work it,” suggested Sir James. "He's done most of the work in this case, so he ought to be in at the finish.” Mr. Sheldon stepped aside and motioned the in- [ 291 ] THE THIRD ANALYSIS have already crashed once or twice at least I have —by making assumptions which would ordinarily be justifiable, and it is only the labours of the inspector here—who I see is qualifying for a splitting head- ache by making observations with one eye shut- which put us back on to the straight and narrow path again. Keep both eyes open, man, keep both eyes open." It is just as difficult for a beginner to use an opti- cal instrument without screwing up his face and shut- ting the unused eye tightly as it is to place a monocle in position without opening the mouth, and Drury tried in vain to comply with Sir James's instructions. "But you don't get lævulose in the human body," protested the single-minded Mr. Sheldon, not to be diverted from his point. “Not in any appreciable amount, at any rate." "I know you don't. But you just watch that dial.” Slowly Drury's fumbling and inexperienced fingers turned the milled edge of the wheel. First to the right-but only a little way—then back again with- out hesitation past the zero point and to the left of it. Further and further it revolved, more and more slowly, until it finally stopped. "I think the two halves are equally bright now.” “What did I tell you ?" chuckled Sir James. "I see you don't believe it. He's only a novice, so do it [ 293 ) To renew the charge, book must be brought to the desk. TWO WEEK BOOK DO NOT RETURN BOOKS ON SUNDAY DATE DUE JUL 22 1950 IS 2 M0Q0M-50 20M S 5071 2 S TODOJI 2