A silent witness
view of the married state as one might expect from a gay Lothario who
breaks out of his cage to go a-philandering. But we’ll overlook that,
in consideration of the very interesting information that he has
brought back with him. Not that it conveys very much to me. It is
obviously a new piece to fit into our puzzle, but I’m hanged if I see,
at the moment, any suitable space to drop it into.”
“I think,” said Thorndyke, “that if you consider the picture as a
whole, you will soon find a vacant space. And while you are
considering it, I will just send off a letter, and then we had better
adjourn this discussion. We have to catch the early train to Maidstone
to-morrow, and that, I hope, will be the last time. Our case ought to
be disposed of by the afternoon.”
He seated himself at the writing-table and wrote his letter, while
Jervis stared into the fire with a cogitative frown. When the letter
was sealed and addressed, Thorndyke laid it on the table while he went
to the lobby to put on his hat and coat, and, glancing at it almost
unconsciously, I noted that the envelope was of foolscap size and was
addressed to the Home Office, Whitehall. The name of the addressee
escaped me, for, suddenly realizing the impropriety of thus inspecting
another man’s letter, I looked away hastily; but even then, when
Thorndyke had taken it away to the post, I found myself speculating
vaguely on the nature of the communication and wondering if it had any
relation to the mysterious and intricate case of Septimus Maddock.
CHAPTER XIX.
TENEBRAE
The resigned composure with which I accepted Thorndyke’s sentence of
confinement within doors was not entirely attributable to discretion
or native virtue. My resolution to follow scrupulously my principal’s
very pointed advice was somewhat like the ascetic resolutions formed
by the gourmet as he rises replete from the banquet table; for, just
as the latter is in a peculiarly favourable condition for the unmoved
contemplation of a--temporary--abstinence from food, so I, having
enjoyed my little dissipation, could now contemplate with fortitude a
brief period of retirement. Moreover, the weather was in my favour,
being--as Polton reported, when he returned, blue-nosed and powdered
with snow, with a fresh supply of tobacco for me--bitterly cold, with
a threatening of smoky fog from the east.
Under these circumstances it was no great hardship to sit in a roomy
armchair with my slippered feet on the kerb and read and meditate as I
basked in the warmth of a glowing fire; though, to be sure, my reading
was perfunctory enough, for the treatise of “The Surface Markings of
the Human Body,” admirable as it was, competed on very unfavourable
terms with other claimants to my attention. In truth, I had plenty to
think about even if I went no farther for matter than to the events of
the previous day. There was my visit to Sylvia, for instance. I had
not said much to her, but what I had said had pledged me to a
life-long companionship; which was a solemn thing to reflect upon even
though I looked forward to the fulfilment of that pledge with nothing
but hopeful pleasure. The dice were thrown. Of course they would turn
up sixes, every one; but still--the dice were thrown.
From my own strictly personal affairs my thoughts rambled by an easy
transition to the singular episode of the buried portrait, and thence
to the subject of that strange palimpsest. Viewed by the light of Mr.
O’Donnell’s revelations, Mrs. Samway’s position was not all that could
have been desired. She and her husband had unquestionably been closely
associated with Maddock; but Maddock was, it seemed, a habitual
criminal. Could this fact have been known to the Samways? Or was it
that the cunning forger and swindler had sheltered himself behind
their respectability. It was impossible for me to say.
Then there was the strange and perplexing case of the man Maddock,
himself. I could make nothing of that, had not, indeed, been aware
that there had been a “case,” until Thorndyke’s investigations had put
me in possession of the fact. And even now I could see nothing on
which to base any suspicion, apart from the attempts on my life, which
we were assuming to be in some way connected with events that had
occurred in Maddock’s house. The cause of death was apparently not
“Morbus Cordis”; which might easily enough be, seeing that the
diagnosis of heart disease was a mere guess on Batson’s part. But if
not Morbus Cordis, what was it? Thorndyke apparently knew, and seemed
to hint that it was something other than ordinary disease.
Could there have been foul play? And, if so, were the Samways involved
in it in any way? It seemed incredible, for had not Maddock himself
suspected that he was in a dangerous state of health. There was
certainly one possibility which I considered with a good deal of
distaste; namely, that Maddock had been in a hypochondriacal state and
that the Samways had taken advantage of his gloomy views as to his
health to administer poison. The thing was actually possible; but I
did not entertain it; for, even if one assumed that poison had been
administered, at any rate, the cremation of the body was not designed
to hide the traces of the crime. The Samways had nothing to do with
that; the cremation had been adopted in preference to burial by
Maddock’s own wish.
So my thoughts flitted from topic to topic, with occasional interludes
of “Surface Markings,” through the lazy forenoon until Polton came to
lay my solitary luncheon. And after this little break in the
comfortable monotony, another spell of meditative idleness set in.
Polton was busy upstairs in the laboratory with some photographic
copying operations and I was disposed to wander up and look on; but my
small friend politely but very firmly vetoed any such proceeding. On
some other occasion he would be delighted to show me the working of
the great copying camera, but, just now, he had a big job in hand,
and, as he was working against time, he would prefer to be alone. He
even suggested that I might attend to any stray callers and make my
own tea on the gas-ring so as to avoid interrupting his work; and when
I had agreed to relieve him to this extent, he thanked me profusely
and retired and I saw no more of him.
For some time after his departure, I stood at the window looking out
across the wide space at Paper Buildings and the end of Crown Office
Row. It was a wretched afternoon. The yellow, turbid sky brooded close
upon the houseroofs and grew darker and more brown moment by moment,
as if the invisible sun had given the day up in despair and gone home
early. A comfortless powdering of snow filtered down at intervals and
melted on the pavements, along which depressed wayfarers hurried with
their coat collars turned up and their hands thrust deep into their
pockets. I watched them commiseratingly, reflecting on the superior
advantages of being within doors and forbidden to go out; and then,
having flung another scoopful of coal on the fire, I betook myself
once more to the armchair, the “Surface Markings” and idle meditation.
It was some time past four when my reflective browsings had begun to
proceed in the direction of the tea-kettle, that I heard a light
footstep on the landing as of someone wearing goloshes. Then a letter
dropped softly into the box, and, as I instantly pushed back my chair
to rise, the footsteps retreated. I crossed the room quickly and
opened the door; but the messenger had already disappeared down the
dark staircase, and had gone so silently on his rubber soles that,
though I listened attentively, I could hear no sound from below.
Having closed the door, I extracted the letter from the box and took
it over to the window to examine it, when I was not a little surprised
to find that it was addressed to W.M. Howard, Esq. This was the first
communication that I had received in my borrowed name, and my surprise
at its arrival was not unreasonable, for, of the few persons who knew
me by that name, none--with the exception, perhaps, of Mr.
Marchmont--was in the least likely to write to me.
But, if the address on the envelope had surprised me, the letter
itself surprised me a good deal more; for though the writer was quite
unknown to me, even by name, he seemed to be in possession of certain
information concerning me which I had supposed to be the exclusive
property of Thorndyke, Jervis, Polton and myself. It bore the address,
29, Fig-tree Court, Inner Temple, and ran thus:
“Dear Sir,
“I am taking the liberty of writing to you to ask for your assistance
as I happen to know that my friends, Drs. Thorndyke and Jervis, are
away at Maidstone and not available at the moment, and I understand
that you have some acquaintance with medical technicalities.
“The circumstances are these. At half-past five to-day I shall be
meeting a solicitor to advise as to action in respect of a case in
which I am retained; and the decision as to our action will be vitally
affected by a certain issue on which I am not competent to form an
opinion for lack of medical knowledge. If Dr. Thorndyke had been
within reach I should have taken his opinion; as he is not, it
occurred to me to ask if you would fill his place on this occasion, it
being, of course, understood that the usual fee of five guineas will
be paid by the solicitor.
“If you should be unable to come to the consultation, do not trouble
to reply, as I am now going out and shall not be returning until
five-thirty, the time of the appointment. I am,
“Yours faithfully,
“Arthur Courtland.”
The contents of this letter, as I have said, surprised me more than a
little. How, in the name of all that was wonderful, had this stranger,
whose very name was unknown to me, come to be aware that I had any
knowledge of medicine? Not from Thorndyke, I felt perfectly sure; nor
from Jervis, who, notwithstanding a certain flippant facetiousness of
manner, was really an extremely cautious and judicious man. Could it
be that my principal was overseen in his trusted laboratory assistant?
Was it conceivable that the suave and discreet Polton had moments of
leakiness, when, in unofficial talk outside, he let drop the secrets
of which his employer’s unbounded confidence had made him the
repository? I could not believe it. Not only did Polton appear to be
the very soul of discretion; there was Thorndyke himself; he was not
the man to give his confidence to anyone until after the most
exhaustive proof of the safety of so giving it. Nor was he a man who
was likely to be deceived; for nothing escaped his observation, and
nothing that he observed was passed over without careful
consideration.
My lethargy having been shaken off, I addressed myself to the task of
preparing tea; and, as I listened to the homely crescendo of the
kettle’s song, I turned the matter over in all its bearings. By some
means this Mr. Courtland had become aware that I was either a doctor
or a medical student. But by what means? Was it possible that he had
merely inferred from the circumstance of my being associated with
Thorndyke that I was of the same profession? That was just barely
conceivable; but, if he had, then, as Jervis had said of Father
Humperdinck, he must be “a devil at guessing.”
As I made the tea and subsequently consumed it, I continued to
ruminate on the contents of that singular letter. No answer to it was
required. Then what was Mr. Courtland going to do if I did not turn
up? He admitted that the issue, which seemed to be an important one,
was beyond him, and yet he had to give an answer to the solicitor. And
he was prepared to pay five guineas for the advice of a man of whom