A silent witness
The Superintendent pocketed the parcel with a thoughtful air, and,
after a few moments’ cogitation, turned once more to Thorndyke.
“You’ve supplied me with the means of arresting the man, Doctor,” said
he, “but that’s all. Supposing I find him and detain him in custody?
What then?
“I don’t know that he murdered this poor woman. Do you? Dr. Jardine
can’t identify him, and apparently no one else saw him. I have no
doubt that you have substantial grounds for suspecting him, but I
should like to know what they are.”
Thorndyke reflected for a moment or two before replying.
“You are quite right, Miller,” he said, at length, “you ought to have
enough information to establish a _prima facie_ case. But I think,
that on this occasion, I can say no more than that, if you produce the
man, you can rely upon me to furnish enough evidence to secure a
conviction. Will that do?”
“It will do from you, sir,” replied Miller, rising and buttoning his
overcoat. “I will get this description circulated at once. Oh--there
was one more matter: the name of the deceased lady was Samway--the
same as that of the suspected murderer. What was the relationship?”
“She passed as--and presumably was--his wife.”
“Ah!” said Miller. “I see. That was how she knew. Well, well. She was
a brave woman, to take the risk that she did, and she deserved
something very different from what she got. But we are taught that
there is a place where people who suffer injustice and misfortune in
this world get it made up to them. I hope it’s true, for her sake--and
for his,” he added abruptly with a sudden change of tone.
“Naturally you do,” said Thorndyke, “but, meanwhile, our business is
with this world. Spread your net close and wide, Miller. I shall never
forgive you if you let this villain slip. It is our sacred duty to
purge the world of his presence. You do your part, Miller, and be
confident that I will do mine.”
“You can depend on me to do my best, sir,” said Miller, “though I _am_
working rather in the dark. I suppose you couldn’t give me any sort of
hint as to what you’ve got up your sleeve. You’ve no doubt, for
instance, that it was really the man Samway who committed this
murder?”
Thorndyke, according to his usual habit, considered the
Superintendent’s question for awhile before answering. At length he
replied:
“I don’t know why I shouldn’t take you into my confidence to some
extent, Miller, knowing you as I do. But you will remember that this
_is_ a confidence. The fact is that I am proposing to proceed against
this man on an entirely different charge. But I am not quite ready to
lay an information; and I want you to secure his person on the charge
of murdering his wife while I complete the other case.”
“Is that another case of murder?” asked Miller.
“Yes. The facts are briefly these. A certain Septimus Maddock, who was
living with the Samways, died some time ago under what seem to me very
suspicious circumstances. He was nursed by Samway and his wife and by
no one else. The cause of death given on the certificate was, in my
opinion, not the true one, and I am proceeding to verify my theory as
to what was the real cause of death.”
“I see,” said Miller. “You are applying for an exhumation of the
body?”
“Well, hardly an exhumation. The man Maddock was cremated.”
“Cremated!” exclaimed Miller. “Then we’ve done. There isn’t any body
to exhume.”
“No,” agreed Thorndyke, “there is no body, but there are the ashes.”
“But, surely,” said Miller, “you can’t get any information out of a
few handfuls of bone ash?”
“That remains to be proved,” replied Thorndyke. “I have applied for an
authority to make an exhaustive examination of those ashes, and, if my
opinion as to the cause of death is correct, I shall be able to
demonstrate its correctness; and that will involve a charge of murder
against this man Samway. It will also support a charge against him of
attempts to murder Dr. Jardine, and furnish strong evidence connecting
him with the horrible crime that has just been committed. So you see,
Miller, that the important thing is to get possession of him before he
has time to escape from this country, and hold him in custody, if
necessary, while the evidence against him is being examined and
completed. And I must impress on you that no time ought to be lost in
getting the description circulated.”
“No, that’s true,” said Miller. “I’ll go and telegraph it off at once,
and I’ll send one or two of our best men to watch the likely
seaports.”
He shook hands with us all round, and, when we had all most fervently
wished him success, he took his departure.
As soon as he was gone, Jervis turned to his senior, and, looking at
him with a sort of puzzled curiosity, exclaimed:
“You are a most astounding person, Thorndyke! You really are! I
thought I had begun to see daylight in that Maddock case, and now I
find that I was all abroad. And I can’t, for the life of me, conceive
what in the world you expect to discover by examining a few pounds of
calcined phosphates. Suppose Maddock was poisoned, what evidence will
be obtainable from the ashes? Of the poisons which could possibly have
been used under the known circumstances, not one would leave a trace
after cremation. But, of course, you’ve thought of all that.”
“Certainly, I have,” replied Thorndyke, “and I agree with you that the
ashes of a body that has been cremated are highly unpromising material
for a primary investigation. But, does it not occur to you that, in a
case where certain circumstantial evidence is available, excellent
corroborative data might be obtained by the examination of the ashes?”
“No,” replied Jervis, “I can’t say that it does.”
“It is not too late to consider the question,” said Thorndyke. “I
shall probably not get the authority for a day or two, so you will
have time to turn the problem over in the interval. It is quite worth
your while, I assure you, apart from this particular case, as a mere
exercise in constructive theory. You can acquire experience from
imaginary cases as well as from real ones, as I have often pointed
out; in fact, much of my own experience has been gained in this way. I
think I have mentioned to you that, in my early days, when I had more
leisure than practice, it was my custom to construct imaginary crimes
of an elaborately skilful type, and then--having, of course, all the
facts--to consider the appropriate procedure for their detection. It
was a most valuable exercise, for I was thus able to furnish myself
with an abundance of problems of a kind that, in actual practice, are
met with only at long intervals of years. And since then a quite
considerable number of my imaginary cases have presented themselves,
in a more or less modified form, for solution in the course of
practice, and have come to me with the familiarity of problems that
have already been considered and solved. That is what you should do,
Jervis. Try the synthetic method and then consider what analytical
procedure would be appropriate to your result.”
“I have,” Jervis replied, gloomily. “I have worked at this confounded
case until I feel like a rat that has been trying to gnaw through a
plate-glass window. Still, I’ll have another try. By the way, where
are you going to make this examination?”
“I think I shall do it here. I had thought of handing the ashes over
to one of the more eminent analysts, but it will be only a small
operation, well within the capacity of our own laboratory. I think of
asking Professor Woodfield to come here and carry out the actual
analysis. Polton will give him any help that he may want and, of
course, we shall be here to give any further assistance if he should
need it.”
“Why not have made the analysis yourself?” asked Jervis. “Is there
anything specially difficult or intricate about it?”
“Not at all,” replied Thorndyke. “But, as the case will have to go
into Court on a capital charge--that is, assuming that my hypothesis
turns out to be correct--I thought it best to have the analysis made
by a man whose name as an authority on chemistry will carry special
weight. Neither the judge nor the jury are likely to have much special
knowledge of chemistry, but they will be able to appreciate the fact
that Woodfield is a man with a world-wide reputation, and they will
respect his opinion accordingly.”
“Yes,” agreed Jervis, “I think you are quite right. A well-known name
goes a long way with a jury. I hope your experiment will turn out as
you expect, and I hope, too, that some of Miller’s men will manage to
lay that murderous devil by the heels. But I’m afraid they’ll have
their work cut out. He is a clever scoundrel; one must admit that. How
do you suppose he contrived to track Jardine here?”
“I think,” replied Thorndyke, “that he must have seen us on one of the
two occasions when we went to the mineral water works and followed us
here. Then, when Jardine disappeared from his lodgings, he would
naturally look for him here, this being, in fact, the only place known
to him in connection with Jardine, excepting Batson’s house, on which
he also probably kept a watch.”
“But how would he have discovered that Jardine actually was here?”
“There are a number of ways in which he might have ascertained the
fact. A good many persons knew that we had a new resident. We could
not conceal his presence here. Many of our visitors have seen him, and
the porter and hangers-on of the inn will have noticed him taking his
exercise in the morning. Samway, himself, even, may have seen him, and
he would easily have penetrated the disguise if he saw him out of
doors, for there is no disguising a man’s stature. He might have made
enquiries of one of the porters or lamp-lighters, or he might have
employed someone else to make enquiries. The fact that someone was
staying here and that his name was Howard could not have been very
difficult to discover, while, as for ourselves, we are as well known
in the inn as the griffin at Temple Bar. From the circumstance that he
knew of our attendance at the Maidstone Assizes, it seems likely that
he had subsidized some solicitor’s clerk who would know our
movements.”
“And I suppose,” said I, “as he is gone now, I may as well go back to
my lodgings.”
“Not at all,” replied Thorndyke. “In the first place, we don’t know
that he is gone, and we do know that he is now absolutely desperate
and reckless. And you must not forget, Jardine, that whether we charge
him with murder in the case of Maddock, with the murder of poor Mrs.
Samway, or the attempted murder of yourself, in either case you are
the chief witness for the prosecution. You are the appointed
instrument of retribution in this man’s case, and you must take the
utmost care of yourself until your mission is accomplished. He knows
the value of your evidence better than you do, and it is still worth
his while to get rid of you if he can. But you, I am sure, are at
least as anxious as we are to see him hanged.”
“I’d sooner twist his neck with my own hands,” said I.
“I daresay you would,” said Thorndyke, “and it is perfectly natural
that you should. But it is not desirable. This is a case for a few
fathoms of good, stout, hempen rope, and the common hangman. The
private vengeance of a decent man would be an undeserved honour for a
wretch like this. So you must stay here quietly for a few days more
and give us a little help when we need it.”
Thorndyke’s decision was not altogether unwelcome. Shaken as I was by
the shock of this horrible tragedy, I was in no state to return to the
solitude of my lodgings. The quiet and tactful sympathy of my two
friends--or I should rather say three, for Polton was as kind and
gentle as a woman--was infinitely comforting, and their sober
cheerfulness and the interest of their talk prevented me from brooding