A silent witness
I could see that to the unchemical mind of Father Humperdinck, this
was far from satisfactory, and I observed him poring, with obvious
disapproval, over the dark-coloured, glassy masses of slag on the iron
plate. “Ashes to Ashes” was an intelligible formula, but “ashes to
slag” was quite another matter, for which no provision had been made
in any known ritual.
After a rather hurried luncheon, the wax moulds were carefully opened
and the fragments of bone picked out, when it was seen that each
fragment had left a perfect impression on the wax surface into which
it had been pressed. These hollow impressions were now filled with
liquid plaster, and, when the latter had thickened sufficiently, the
two halves of each mould were quickly fitted together and kept in
close contact by a weight.
During the interval which was necessary to allow of the plaster
setting quite firmly, I had leisure to note that Professor Woodfield
had filled two more of the cavities in the iron mould. Now that the
furnace was thoroughly hot, he was able to work rather more quickly,
and he had economized time by leaving a crucible to heat while we were
at lunch. He was preparing to take the fourth charge from the furnace
when I observed Polton removing the weight from one of the moulds and
hurriedly transferred my patronage to his part of the entertainment.
The mould on which he was operating was the one bearing the
impressions of the stained fragment of the innominate bone, and when
he separated the two halves and exposed the newly-made cast inside one
might have thought that the actual bone had been left in, so perfectly
did the snowy plaster cast reproduce the dazzlingly-white calcined
bone. But, naturally, the stain did not appear in the cast, a defect
which Thorndyke proceeded at once to remedy by making a tracing of the
exact position and extent of the coloured patch and transferring it to
the cast. Then, and not till then, Thorndyke regretfully handed the
original fragment to Professor Woodfield, who impassively dropped it
into the mortar and pounded it into a mere characterless powder.
After the opening of the second mould and the removal of the casts,
the interest of the investigation lapsed for a time. Woodfield’s
operations were, doubtless, the most important part of the procedure,
but they were not thrilling to look on at. In fact, they became by
unvarying repetition, decidedly tedious, and when the last
charge--containing the uttermost crumb of ash--had been placed in the
furnace and there was nothing to do but stare at the great fireclay
drum, Marchmont and Humperdinck began to yawn in the most portentous
manner. I rather wondered that they did not go, for the investigation
was no business of theirs, and there was little entertainment in
gazing at the outside of the furnace or watching Polton and the
Superintendent gather up the masses of slag from the plate and drop
them into the casket. But I supposed that they, like myself, were
consoling themselves for the tedium of the chemist’s manipulations by
the prospect of satisfying their curiosity as to the final result of
the experiment.
When, at length, the last charge was ready, Woodfield withdrew the
white-hot crucible from the furnace and stood it on the iron plate.
But this time he did not pour out the contents. Instead, he tilted the
iron mould, and, picking out the conical masses of slag that it
contained, one by one, lowered them with his tongs into the hot
crucible. Then, having thrown in a little fresh flux, he returned the
crucible to the furnace.
“Why didn’t he pour out the melted stuff this time?” Marchmont asked.
“Because,” Thorndyke replied, “I want, for certain reasons, to have
the total result of the analysis in a single mass. Each of those
little cones of slag contains the result from a sixth part of the ash;
the crucible now contains the matter extracted from the whole of the
ashes. For my purposes this is more suitable, as you will see in a few
minutes--for we shall not have to leave the crucible in the furnace so
long this time.”
“I’m glad of that,” said Marchmont, “though this has been a most
interesting, and I may say, fascinating experience. I am delighted to
have had an opportunity of witnessing these most instructive
and--er--aw--”
The rest of the sentence was rendered somewhat obscure by a colossal
yawn; but very soon the interest of the proceedings was revived by
Woodfield, who approached the furnace with a determined air and
removed its cover with somewhat of a flourish.
“Now we shall see, Thorndyke,” said he, turning off the gas and
reaching down into the glowing cavity with his tongs. He lifted out
the crucible and, standing it on the iron plate, took out the nails,
tapping each on the side of the pot as he withdrew it.
“Do you want me to pour it out, or shall I break the pot?” asked
Woodfield.
“That rests with you,” replied Thorndyke.
“Better break the pot, then,” said Woodfield.
This entailed a further spell of expectant waiting, and we all stood
round, gazing impatiently at the crucible as it slowly faded from
bright red to dull red and from this to its natural dull drab. It was
quite a long time before Woodfield considered it cool enough to be
broken, indeed I half suspected him of prolonging our suspense with
deliberate malice. At length he took up a peculiarly-shaped hammer
which Polton had handed to him, and, laying the crucible on its side,
struck it sharply near the bottom with the pointed beak; then he
turned the pot over and struck a similar blow on the opposite side;
upon which the bottom of the crucible broke off cleanly, exposing the
mass of dark, glassy slag, and, embedded in it, a bright button of
metal.
“What metal is that?” Jervis demanded eagerly.
The professor struck the button smartly with the hammer, whereupon it
detached itself from the slag and rolled on to the plate.
“Lead,” said he. “I don’t vouch for its purity, but it is undoubtedly
lead.”
Jervis turned to Thorndyke with a puzzled look.
“You can’t be suggesting,” said he, “that this was a case of acute
lead poisoning. The circumstances didn’t admit of it, and besides, the
quantity of lead is impossibly large.”
“I should suppose,” interposed Miller, “that the doctor was suggesting
a most particularly acute form of lead poisoning, only that it is
impossible to imagine that a cremation certificate would be granted in
a case where a man had been killed by a pistol shot.”
“I am not so sure of that,” said Thorndyke; “though it is not likely
that a cremation certificate would be applied for under those
circumstances. But I am certainly not suggesting lead poisoning.”
“What do you say is the weight of this button, Thorndyke?” the
professor asked.
“That,” replied Thorndyke, “depends on its relation to the total
content of lead in the ashes. What percentage do you suppose has been
lost in the process of reduction?”
“Not more than ten per cent. I hope. You may take this button as
representing ninety per cent. of the total lead; perhaps a little
more.”
Thorndyke made a rapid calculation on a scrap of paper.
“I suggest,” said he, “that the total lead in the ashes was three
hundred and eighty-six grains. Deducting a tenth, say thirty-eight and
a half grains, we have three hundred and forty-seven and a half
grains, which should be the weight of this button.”
Woodfield picked up the button and striding over to the glass case
which contained the chemical balance, slid up the front, and, placing
the button in one pan, put the weight corresponding to Thorndyke’s
estimate, in the other. On turning the handle that released the
balance, it was seen that the button was appreciably heavier than
Thorndyke had stated, and Woodfield adjusted the weights with a small
pair of forceps until the index stood in the middle of the graduated
arc.
“The weight is three hundred and forty-nine and a half grains,” said
Woodfield. “That means that my assay was rather better than I thought.
You were quite right, Thorndyke, as you generally are. I wonder what
the object was that weighed three hundred and eighty-six grains. Are
you going to tell us?”
Thorndyke felt in his waistcoat pocket. “It was an object,” said he,
“very similar to this.”
As he spoke, he produced a rather large, dark-coloured bullet, which
he handed to Woodfield, who immediately placed it in the pan of the
balance and tested its weight.
“Just a fraction short of three hundred and eighty-seven grains,” said
he.
The Superintendent peered curiously into the balance-case, and, taking
the bullet out of the pan, turned it over in his fingers.
“That’s not a modern bullet,” said he. “They don’t make ’em that size
now, and they don’t generally make ’em of pure lead.”
“No,” Thorndyke agreed. “They don’t. This is an old French bullet; a
chassepôt of about 1870.”
“A chassepôt!” exclaimed Humperdinck, with suddenly-awakened
interest.
“Yes,” said Thorndyke; “and this button”--he picked it up from the
floor of the balance-case as he spoke,--“was once a chassepôt bullet,
too. This, Father Humperdinck,” he added, holding out the little mass
of metal towards the Jesuit, “was the bullet which struck your friend,
Vitalis Reinhardt, near Saarbrück more than thirty years ago.”
The priest was thunderstruck. For some seconds he gazed from
Thorndyke’s face to the button of lead, with his mouth agape and an
expression of utter stupefaction.
“But,” he exclaimed, at length, “it is impossible! How can it be, in
the ashes of a stranger?”
“I take it,” said Marchmont, “that Dr. Thorndyke is suggesting that
this was the body of Vitalis Reinhardt.”
“Undoubtedly I am,” said Thorndyke.
“It sounds a rather bold supposition,” Marchmont observed, a little
dubiously. “Isn’t it basing a somewhat startling conclusion upon
rather slender data? The presence of the lead is a striking fact, but
still, taken alone--”
“But it isn’t taken alone,” Thorndyke interrupted. “It is the final
link in a long chain of evidence. You will hear that evidence later,
but, as it happens, I can prove the identity of these remains from
facts elicited by the examination that we have just made. Let me put
the argument briefly.
“First, I will draw your attention to these plaster casts, which you
have seen me make from the original bones. Take, to begin with, these
small fragments. Dr. Jervis will tell you what bones they are.”
He handed the small casts to Jervis, who looked them over--not for the
first time--and passed them to me.
“I say that they represent two complete fingers and the first, or
proximal, joint of a right thumb. What do you say, Jardine?”
“That is what I had already made them out to be,” I replied.
“Very well,” said Thorndyke. “That gives us an important initial fact.
These remains contained two complete fingers and the first joint of a
thumb. But these remains profess to be those of a man named Septimus
Maddock. Now this man is known to have had deformed hands, of the kind
described as brachydactylous. In such hands all the fingers are
incomplete--they have only two joints instead of the normal three--and
the first, or proximal joint of the thumb is absent. Obviously, then,
these remains cannot be those of Septimus Maddock, as alleged.
“But, if not Maddock’s remains, whose are they? From certain facts
known to me, I had assumed them to be those of Vitalis Reinhardt. Let
us see what support that assumption has received. Reinhardt is known
to have been wounded in the right hip by a chassepôt bullet, and the
bullet was never extracted. Now I find, among these remains, a
considerable portion of the right hip-bone. In that bone is a mark
which plainly shows that it has been perforated and the perforation
repaired, and there is a cavity in which a foreign body of about the