The blue scarab
I grinned with vexation. Evidently I had missed the point of a subtle
demonstration, and I knew that it was useless to ask further
questions; and for the remainder of our journey in the cab I struggled
vainly to recover the “illuminating hint” that the detectives--and
I--had failed to note. Indeed, so preoccupied was I with this problem
that I rather overlooked the fact that the jettisoned bag was really
no concern of ours, and that we were actually engaged in the
investigation of a crime of which, at present, I knew practically
nothing. It was not until we had secured an empty compartment and the
train had begun to move that this suddenly dawned on me; whereupon I
dismissed the bag problem and applied to Thorndyke for details of the
“Brentford Train Mystery.”
“To call it a mystery,” said he, “is a misuse of words. It appears to
be a simple train robbery. The identity of the robber is unknown, but
there is nothing very mysterious in that; and the crime otherwise is
quite commonplace. The circumstances are these: Some time ago, Mr.
Lionel Montague, of the firm, Lyons, Montague & Salaman, art dealers,
bought from a Russian nobleman a very valuable diamond necklace and
pendant. The peculiarity of this necklace was that the stones were all
of a pale blue colour and pretty accurately matched, so that in
addition to the aggregate value of the stones--which were all of large
size and some very large--there was the value of the piece as a whole
due to this uniformity of colour. Mr. Montague gave £70,000 for it,
and considered that he had made an excellent bargain. I should mention
that Montague was the chief buyer for the firm, and that he spent most
of his time travelling about the Continent in search of works of art
and other objects suitable for the purposes of his firm, and that,
naturally, he was an excellent judge of such things. Now, it seems
that he was not satisfied with the settings of this necklace, and as
soon as he had purchased it he handed it over to Messrs. Binks, of Old
Bond Street, to have the settings replaced by others of better design.
Yesterday morning he was notified by Binks that the resetting was
completed, and in the afternoon he called to inspect the work and take
the necklace away if it was satisfactory. The interview between Binks
and Montague took place in a room behind the shop, but it appears that
Montague came out into the shop to get a better light for his
inspection; and Mr. Binks states that as his customer stood facing the
door, examining the new settings, he, Binks, noticed a man standing by
the doorway furtively watching Mr. Montague.”
“There is nothing very remarkable in that,” said I. “If a man stands
at a shop door with a necklace of blue diamonds in his hand, he is
rather likely to attract attention.”
“Yes,” Thorndyke agreed. “But the significance of an antecedent is apt
to be more appreciated after the consequences have developed. Binks is
now very emphatic about the furtive watcher. However, to continue: Mr.
Montague, being satisfied with the new settings, replaced the necklace
in its case, put the latter into his bag--which he had brought with
him from the inner room--and a minute or so later left the shop. That
was about 5 p.m.; and he seems to have gone direct to the flat of his
partner, Mr. Salaman, with whom he had been staying for a fortnight,
at Queen’s Gate. There he remained until about half-past eight, when
he came out accompanied by Mr. Salaman. The latter carried a small
suit-case, while Montague carried a handbag in which was the necklace.
It is not known whether it contained anything else.
“From Queen’s Gate the two men proceeded to Waterloo, walking part of
the way and covering the remainder by omnibus.”
“By omnibus!” I exclaimed, “with seventy thousand pounds worth of
diamonds about them!”
“Yes, it sounds odd. But people who habitually handle portable
property of great value seem to resemble those who habitually handle
explosives. They gradually become unconscious of the risks. At any
rate, that is how they went, and they arrived safely at Waterloo in
time to catch the 9.15 train for Isleworth. Mr. Salaman saw his
partner established in an empty first-class compartment and stayed
with him, chatting, until the train started.
“Mr. Montague’s destination was Isleworth, in which rather unlikely
neighbourhood Mr. Jacob Lowenstein, late of Chicago, and now Berkeley
Square, has a sort of river-side villa with a motor boat-house
attached. Lowenstein had secured the option of purchasing the blue
diamond necklace, and Montague was taking it down to exhibit it and
carry out the deal. He was proposing to stay a few days with
Lowenstein, and then he was proceeding to Brussels on one of his
periodic tours. But he never reached Isleworth. When the train stopped
at Brentford, a porter noticed a suit-case on the luggage-rack of an
apparently empty first-class compartment. He immediately entered to
take possession of it, and was in the act of reaching up to the rack
when his foot came in contact with something soft under the seat.
Considerably startled, he stooped and peered under, when, to his
horror, he perceived the body of a man, quite motionless and
apparently dead. Instantly he darted out and rushed up the platform in
a state of wild panic until he, fortunately, ran against the station
master, with whom and another porter he returned to the compartment.
When they drew the body out from under the seat it was found to be
still breathing, and they proceeded at once to apply such restoratives
as cold water and fresh air, pending the arrival of the police and the
doctor, who had been sent for.
“In a few minutes the police arrived accompanied by the police
surgeon, and the latter, after a brief examination, decided that the
unconscious man was suffering from the effects of a large dose of
chloroform, violently and unskilfully administered, and ordered him to
be carefully removed to a local nursing home. Meanwhile, the police
had been able, by inspecting the contents of his pockets, to identify
him as Mr. Lionel Montague.”
“The diamonds had vanished, of course?” said I.
“Yes. The handbag was not in the compartment, and later an empty
handbag was picked up on the permanent way between Barnes and
Chiswick, which seems to indicate the locality where the robbery took
place.”
“And what is our present objective?”
“We are going, on instructions from Mr. Salaman, to the nursing home
to see what information we can pick up. If Montague has recovered
sufficiently to give an account of the robbery, the police will have
a description of the robber, and there may not be much for us to do.
But you will have noticed that they do not seem to have any
information at Scotland Yard at present, beyond what I have given you.
So there is a chance yet that we may earn our fees.”
Thorndyke’s narrative of this somewhat commonplace crime, with the
discussion which followed it, occupied us until the train stopped at
Brentford Station. A few minutes later we halted in one of the quiet
by-streets of this old-world town, at a soberly painted door on which
was a brass plate inscribed “St. Agnes Nursing Home.” Our arrival had
apparently been observed, for the door was opened by a middle-aged
lady in a nurse’s uniform.
“Dr. Thorndyke?” she inquired; and as my colleague bowed assent she
continued: “Mr. Salaman told me you would probably call. I am afraid I
haven’t very good news for you. The patient is still quite
unconscious.”
“That is rather remarkable,” said Thorndyke.
“It is. Dr. Kingston, who is in charge of the case, is somewhat
puzzled by this prolonged stupor. He is inclined to suspect a
narcotic--possibly a large dose of morphine--in addition to the
effects of the chloroform and the shock.”
“He is probably right,” said I; “and the marvel is that the man is
alive at all after such outrageous treatment.”
“Yes,” Thorndyke agreed. “He must be pretty tough. Shall we be able to
see him?”
“Oh, yes,” the matron replied. “I am instructed to give you every
assistance. Dr. Kingston would like to have your opinion on the case.”
With this she conducted us to a pleasant room on the first floor
where, in a bed placed opposite a large window--purposely left
uncurtained--with the strong light falling full on his face, a man lay
with closed eyes, breathing quietly and showing no sign of
consciousness when we somewhat noisily entered the room. For some time
Thorndyke stood by the bedside, looking down at the unconscious man,
listening to the breathing and noting its frequency by his watch. Then
he felt the pulse, and raising both eyelids, compared the two pupils.
“His condition doesn’t appear alarming,” was his conclusion. “The
breathing is rather shallow, but it is quite regular, and the pulse is
not bad though slow. The contracted pupils strongly suggest opium, or
more probably morphine. But that could easily be settled by a chemical
test. Do you notice the state of the face, Jervis?”
“You mean the chloroform burns? Yes, the handkerchief or pad must have
been saturated. But I was also noticing that he corresponds quite
remarkably with the description you were giving Badger of the owner of
the dressing wallet. He is about the age you mentioned--roughly about
fifty--and he has the same old-fashioned treatment of the beard, the
shaven upper lip and the monkey-fringe under the chin. It is rather an
odd coincidence.”
Thorndyke looked at me keenly. “The coincidence is closer than that,
Jervis. Look at the beard itself.”
He handed me his lens, and, stooping down, I brought it to bear on the
patient’s beard. And then I started back in astonishment; for by the
bright light I could see plainly that a considerable proportion of the
hairs were distinctly moniliform. This man’s beard, too, was affected
by an early stage of _trichorrexis nodosa!_
“Well!” I exclaimed, “this is really an amazing coincidence. I wonder
if it is anything more.”
“I wonder,” said Thorndyke. “Are those Mr. Montague’s things, Matron?”
“Yes,” she replied, turning to the side table on which the patient’s
effects were neatly arranged. “Those are his clothes and the things
which were taken from his pockets, and that is his bag. It was found
on the line and sent on here a couple of hours ago. There is nothing
in it.”
Thorndyke looked over the various objects--keys, card-case,
pocket-book, etc.--that had been turned out of the patient’s pockets,
and then picked up the bag, which he turned over curiously and then
opened to inspect the interior. There was nothing distinctive about
it. It was just a plain, imitation leather bag, fairly new, though
rather the worse for its late vicissitudes, lined with coarse linen to
which two large, wash-leather pockets had been roughly stitched. As he
laid the bag down and picked up his own canvas case, he asked: “What
time did Mr. Salaman come to see the patient?”
“He came here about ten o’clock this morning, and he was not able to
stay more than half an hour as he had an appointment. But he said he
would look in again this evening. You can’t stay to see him, I
suppose?”
“I’m afraid not,” Thorndyke replied; “in fact, we must be off now for
both Dr. Jervis and I have some other matters to attend to.”
“Are you going straight back to the chambers, Jervis?” Thorndyke
asked, as we walked down the main street towards the station.
“Yes,” I replied in some surprise. “Aren’t you?”
“No. I have a little expedition in view.”
“Oh, have you?” I exclaimed, and as I spoke it began to dawn on me
that I had overestimated the importance of my other business.
“Yes,” said Thorndyke; “the fact is that--ha! excuse me one moment,
Jervis.” He had halted abruptly outside a fishing tackle shop and now,