The blue scarab
“First, X came along here alone to some destination which we have yet
to discover. Later--how much later we cannot judge--came Reed, alone.
The two men seem to have met, and later returned together, apparently
the worse for drink. That is the last we see of Reed. Next comes X,
walking back--quite steadily, you notice--towards the river. Later, he
returns; but this time, for some reason--perhaps to avoid the
neighbourhood of the rick--he crosses the ditch at that gate,
apparently to get on the road, though you see by the map that the road
is much the longer route to the town. And now we had better get on and
see if we can discover the rendezvous to and from which these two men
went and came.”
As the plaster had now set quite hard I picked up the casts, and when
I had carefully packed them in the case we resumed our progress
riverwards. I had already noticed, some distance ahead, the mast of
what looked like a small cutter yacht standing up above the marshes,
and I now drew Thorndyke’s attention to it. But he had already
observed it and, like me, had marked it as the probable rendezvous of
the two men. In a few minutes the probability became a certainty, for
a bend in the creek showed us the little vessel--with the name
_Moonbeam_ newly painted on the bow--made fast alongside a small
wooden staging; and when we reached this the bare earth opposite the
gangway was seen to be covered with the footprints of both men.
“I wonder,” said I, “which of them was the owner of the yacht.”
“It is pretty obvious, I think,” said Thorndyke, “that X was the owner
if either of them was. He came to the yacht alone, and he wore
rubber-soled shoes such as yachtsmen favour; whereas Reed came when
the other man was there, and he wore iron boot-protectors, which no
yacht owner would do if he had any respect for his deck-planks. But
they may have had a joint interest; appearances suggest that they were
painting the woodwork when they were here together, as some of the
paint is fresh and some of it old and shabby.” He gazed at the yacht
reflectively for some time and then remarked: “It would be
interesting--and perhaps instructive--to have a look at the inside.”
“It would be a flagrant trespass, to put it mildly,” said I.
“It would be more than trespass if that padlock is locked,” he
rejoined. “But we need not take a pedantic view of the legal position.
My learned friend has a serviceable pair of glasses and commands an
unobstructed view of a mile or so; and if he maintains an observant
attitude while I make an inspection of the premises any trifling
irregularity will be of no consequence.” As he spoke he felt in his
pocket and produced an instrument which our laboratory assistant,
Polton, had made from a few pieces of stiff steel wire, and which was
euphemistically known as a smoker’s companion. With this appliance in
his hand he dropped down on to the yacht’s deck, and after a quick
look round, tried the padlock. Finding it locked he proceeded to
operate on it with the smoker’s companion, and in a few moments it
fell open, when he pushed back the sliding hatch and stepped down into
the little cabin.
His exploration did not take long. In a few minutes he reappeared and
climbed the short ladder to the staging. “There isn’t much to see,” he
reported, “but what there is is highly suggestive. If you slip down
and have a look round, I think you will have no difficulty in forming
a plausible reconstruction of the recent events. You had better take
the camera. There is light enough for a time exposure.”
I handed him the glasses, and dropping on to the deck, stepped down
through the open hatch into the cabin. It was an absurd little cave,
barely four feet high from the floor to the coach-roof, open to the
forepeak and lighted by a little skylight and two port-holes. Of the
two sleeping berths, one had evidently been used as a seat, while the
other appeared to have been slept in, to judge by the indented pillow
and the tumbled blankets, left just as the occupant had crawled out of
them. But the whole interior was in a state of squalid disorder.
Paint-pots and unwashed brushes lay about the floor, in company with a
couple of whisky-bottles--one empty and one half-full--two tumblers, a
pair of empty siphons and a litter of playing cards scattered
broadcast and evidently derived from two packs. It was, as Thorndyke
had said, easy to reconstruct the scene of sordid debauchery that the
light of the two candles--each in its congealed pool of grease--must
have displayed on that night of horror whose dreadful secret had been
disclosed by the ashes of the rick. But I could see nothing that would
enable me to give a name to the dead man’s mysterious companion.
When I had completed my inspection and taken a photograph of the
interior, I rejoined Thorndyke, who then descended and replaced the
padlock on the closed hatch, relocking it with the invaluable smoker’s
companion.
“Well, Jervis,” said he, as we turned our faces towards the town, “it
seems as if we had accomplished our task, so far as Stalker is
concerned. It is still possible that this was a case of suicide, but
it is no longer probable. All the appearances point to homicide. I
think my learned friend will agree with me in that.”
“Undoubtedly,” I replied. “And to me there is a strong suggestion of
premeditation. I take it that X, the owner of the yacht, enticed Reed
out here, possibly to prepare for a cruise; that the two men worked at
the repainting while the daylight lasted and then spent the evening
drinking and gambling. The fact that they used two packs of cards
suggests that they played for pretty heavy stakes. Then, I think, Reed
became drunk and X offered to see him safely off the marshes. It is
evident that X was not drunk, because, although both tracks appear
unsteady when the men were walking together, the tracks of X,
returning to the yacht are quite steady and straight. I should say
that the actual murder took place just after they had got over the
gate; that Reed’s false teeth fell out while his body was being
dragged to the rick, and that this was unnoticed by X owing to the
darkness. Then X dragged the body up the ladder and laid it in the
middle of the rick at the top, set fire to the rick--probably on the
lee side--and at once made off back to the yacht. There he passed the
night, and in the morning he returned to the town along the road,
giving the neighbourhood of the rick a wide berth. That is my reading
of the evidence.”
“Yes,” said Thorndyke, “that seems to be the interpretation of the
facts. And now all that remains is to give a name to the mysterious X,
and I should think that will present no difficulties.”
“Are you proposing to inspect the remains at the mortuary?” I asked.
“No,” he replied. “It would be interesting, but it is not necessary.
We have all the available data for identification, and our concern is
now not with Reed but with X. We had better get back to London.”
On our arrival at the station, we found the book-stall keeper in the
act of sticking up a placard of the evening paper on which was the
legend:
“_Rick tragedy; Sensational development._”
We immediately provided ourselves each with a copy of the paper, and
sitting down on a seat, proceeded to read the heavily-leaded report.
“A new and startling aspect has been given to the rick tragedy by some
further inquiries that the police have made. It seems that the dead
man, Reed, was a member of the firm of Reed and Jarman, outside
brokers, and it now transpires that his partner, Walter Jarman, is
also missing. There has been no one at the office this week, but the
caretaker states that on Monday evening at about eight o’clock, he saw
Mr. Jarman let himself into the office with his key (the rick was
first seen to be on fire at two o’clock on Monday morning). It appears
that three cheques, payable to the firm and endorsed by Jarman, were
paid into the bank--Patmore’s--by the first post on Tuesday morning,
and that, also on Tuesday morning, Jarman purchased a parcel of
diamonds of just over a thousand pounds in value from a diamond
merchant in Hatton Garden, who accepted a cheque in payment after
telephoning to the bank. It further appears that on the previous
Saturday morning, Reed and Jarman visited the bank together and drew
out in cash practically their whole balance, leaving only thirty-two
pounds. The diamond merchant’s cheque was met by the cheques that had
just been paid in. It is premature to make any comments, but we may
expect some strange disclosures at the inquest, which will be held at
Dartford the day after to-morrow.”
“I assume,” said I, “that the identity of X is no longer a mystery. It
looks as if these two men had agreed to realize their assets and
abscond, and had then spent the night gambling for the swag, and oddly
enough, Reed appears to have been the winner, for otherwise there
would have been no need to murder him.”
“That is so,” Thorndyke agreed, “assuming that X is Jarman, which is
probable, though not certain. But we mustn’t go beyond our facts, and
we mustn’t construct theories from newspaper reports. I think we had
better call at Scotland Yard on our way home and verify those
particulars.”
The report and our own observations occupied us during the journey to
London, though our discussion produced no further conclusions. As soon
as we arrived at Charing Cross, Thorndyke sprang out of the train, and
emerging from the station, walked swiftly towards Whitehall.
Our visit was fortunately timed, for as we approached the entrance to
the headquarters, our old friend, Superintendent Miller, came out. He
smiled as he saw us and halted to utter the laconic query: “Rick
Case?”
“Yes,” replied Thorndyke. “We have come to verify the particulars
given in the evening paper. Have you seen the report?”
“Yes; and you may take it as correct. Anything else?”
“I should have liked to look over a series of the cheques drawn by the
firm. The last two, I suppose, are inaccessible?”
“Yes. They will be at the bank, and we couldn’t inspect them without
an order of the Court. But, as to the others, if they are at the
office, I think you could see them. I’ll come along with you now if
you like, and have a look round myself. Our people are in possession.”
We at once closed with the superintendent’s offer and proceeded with
him by the Underground Railway to the Mansion House, from whence we
made our way to Queen Victoria Street, where Reed and Jarman had their
offices. A sergeant was in charge at the moment, and to him the
superintendent addressed himself.
“Have you found any returned cheques?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the sergeant; “lots of ’em. We’ve been through
them all.”
As he spoke he produced several bundles of cheques and laid them on a
desk, the drawers of which all stood open.
“Well,” said Miller, “there they are, Doctor. I don’t know what you
want to find out, but I expect you do.” He placed a chair by the desk,
and as Thorndyke sat down and proceeded to turn the cheques over, he
watched him with politely-suppressed curiosity.
“It appears,” said Thorndyke, “as if these two men had mixed up their
private affairs with the business account. Here, for instance, is a
cheque drawn by Reed for the Picardy Wine Company. But that company
could hardly have been a client. And this one of Jarman’s for the
Secretary of the St. John’s Nursing Home must be a private cheque, and
so I should say are these two for F. Waller, Esq., F.R.C.S., and for
Andrew Darton, Esq., L.D.S. They are drawn for professional men and
both are--like the Nursing Home cheque--stated in even amounts of
guineas, whereas the business cheques are in uneven amounts of pounds,
shillings and pence.”
“I think you are right, sir,” said Miller. “The business seems to have