The magic casket
in Court, so I may as well have an opportunity of examining it
beforehand.”
For some minutes after our client had gone Thorndyke remained silent
and reflective, copying his rough notes into his pocket-book and
apparently amplifying and arranging them. Presently he looked up at me
with an unspoken question in his eyes.
“It is a queer case,” said I. “The circumstantial evidence seems to be
strongly against Miss Dalby, but it is manifestly improbable that she
murdered the man.”
“It seems so,” he agreed. “But the case will be decided on the
evidence; and the evidence will be considered by a judge, not by a
Home Secretary. You notice the importance of Burnham’s destination?”
“Yes. He was evidently dead when the train arrived at Holmwood. But it
isn’t clear how long he had been dead.”
“The evidence,” said Thorndyke, “points strongly to the tunnel between
Cawden and Holmwood as the place where the murder was committed. You
will remember that the up-express passed our train in the tunnel. If
the adjoining compartments were empty, the sound of a pistol shot
would be completely drowned by the noise of the express thundering
past. Then you will remember the fragments of the electric bulb that
we picked up, and that there was no light on in the carriage. That is
rather significant. It not only suggests that the crime was committed
in the dark, but there is a distinct suggestion of
preparation--arrangement and premeditation. It suggests that the
murderer knew what the circumstances would be and provided for them.”
“Yes; and that is rather a point against our client. But I don’t quite
see what you expect to get out of that sheet of the letter. It is the
presence of the letter, rather than its matter, that constitutes the
evidence against Miss Dalby.”
“I don’t expect to learn anything from it,” replied Thorndyke; “but
the letter will be the prosecution’s trump card, and it is always well
to know in advance exactly what cards your opponent holds. It is a
mere matter of routine to examine everything, relevant or irrelevant.”
The inquest was to be held at Densford on the third day after the
discovery of the body. But in the interval certain new facts had come
to light. One was that the deceased was conveying to the Holmwood
branch of the bank a sum of three thousand pounds, of which one
thousand was in gold and the remainder in Bank of England notes, the
whole being contained in a leather handbag. This bag had been found,
empty, in a ditch by the side of the road which led from the station
to the house of Miss Carleigh, the Vice-President of the Women’s
Emancipation League. It was further stated that the ticket-collector
at Holmwood had noticed that Miss Dalby--whom he knew by sight--was
carrying a bag of the kind described when she passed the barrier, and
that when she returned, about an hour later, she had no bag with her.
On the other hand, Miss Carleigh had stated that the bag which Miss
Dalby brought to her house was her (Miss Carleigh’s) property, and she
had produced it for the inspection of the police. So that already
there was some conflict of evidence, with a balance distinctly against
Miss Dalby.
“There is no denying,” said Thorndyke, as we discussed the case at the
breakfast table on the morning of the inquest, “that the
circumstantial evidence is formidably complete and consistent, while
the rebutting evidence is of the feeblest. Miss Dalby’s statement that
the letter had been put into her pocket by some unknown person will
hardly be taken seriously, and even Miss Carleigh’s statement with
reference to the bag will not carry much weight unless she can furnish
corroboration.”
“Nevertheless,” said I, “the general probabilities are entirely in
favour of the accused. It is grossly improbable that a lady like Miss
Dalby would commit a robbery with murder of this cold-blooded,
deliberate type.”
“That may be,” Thorndyke retorted, “but a jury has to find in
accordance with the evidence.”
“By the way,” said I, “did Bawley ever send you that sheet of the
letter that you asked for?”
“No, confound him! But I have sent Polton round to get it from him, so
that I can look it over carefully in the train. Which reminds me that
I can’t get down in time for the opening of the inquest. You had
better travel with the solicitors and see the shorthand writers
started. I shall have to come down by a later train.”
Half an hour later, just as I was about to start, a familiar step was
heard on the stair, and then our laboratory assistant, Polton, let
himself in with his key.
“Just caught him, sir, as he was starting for the station,” he said,
with a satisfied, crinkly smile, laying an envelope on the table, and
added, “Lord! how he did swear!”
Thorndyke chuckled, and having thanked his assistant, opened the
envelope and handed it to me. It contained a single sheet of
letter-paper, exactly similar to the one that we had found in the
railway carriage, excepting that the writing filled one side and a
quarter only, and, since it concluded with the signature “Letitia
Humboe, President,” it was evidently the last sheet. There was no
water-mark nor anything, so far as I could see, to distinguish it from
the dozens of other impressions that had been run off the duplicator
with it, excepting the roughly-pencilled plan on the blank side of the
sheet.
“Well,” I said as I put on my hat and walked towards the door, “I
suspect that Bawley was right. You won’t get much help from this to
support Miss Dalby’s rather improbable statement.” And Thorndyke
agreed that appearances were not very promising.
The scene in the coffee-room of “The Plough” Inn at Densford was one
with which I was familiar enough. The quiet, business-like coroner,
the half-embarrassed jurors, the local police and witnesses and the
spectators, penned up at one end of the room, were all well-known
characters. The unusual feature was the handsome,
distinguished-looking young lady who sat on a plain Windsor chair
between two inscrutable policemen, watched intently by Mr. Cadmus
Bawley. Miss Dalby was pale and obviously agitated, but quiet,
resolute, and somewhat defiant in manner. She greeted me with a
pleasant smile when I introduced myself, and hoped that I and my
colleague would have no difficulty in disposing of “this grotesque and
horrible accusation.”
I need not describe the proceedings in detail. Evidence of the
identity of the deceased having been taken, Dr. Pooke deposed that
death was due to a wound of the heart produced by a spherical bullet,
apparently fired from a small, smooth-bore pistol at very short range.
The wound was in his opinion not self-inflicted. The coroner then
produced the sheet of the circular letter found in the carriage, and I
was called to testify to the finding of it. The next witness was
Superintendent Miller of the Criminal Investigation Department, who
produced the two sheets of the letter which were taken from Miss
Dalby’s pocket when she was arrested. These he handed to the coroner
for comparison with the one found in the carriage with the body of
deceased.
“There appears,” said the coroner, after placing the three sheets
together, “to be one or more sheets missing. The two you have handed
me are sheets one and three, and the one found in the railway carriage
is sheet two.”
“Yes,” the witness agreed, “sheet four is missing, but I have a
photograph of it. Here is a set of the complete letter,” and he laid
four unmounted prints on the table.
The coroner examined them with a puzzled frown. “May I ask,” he said,
“how you obtained these photographs?”
“They are not photographs of the copy that you have,” the witness
explained, “but of another copy of the same letter which we
intercepted in the post. That letter was addressed to a stationer’s
shop to be called for. We have considered it necessary to keep
ourselves informed of the contents of these circulars, so that we can
take the necessary precautions; and as the envelopes are marked with
the badge and are invariably addressed in blue ink, it is not
difficult to identify them.”
“I see,” said the coroner, glaring stonily at Mr. Bawley, who had
accompanied the Superintendent’s statement with audible and
unfavourable comments. “Is that the whole of your evidence? Thank you.
Then, if there is no cross-examination, I will call the next witness.
Mr. Bernard Parsons.”
Mr. Parsons was the general manager of the London and Suburban Bank,
and he deposed that deceased was, on the day when he met his death,
travelling to Holmwood to visit and inspect the new local branch of
the bank, and that he was taking thither the sum of three thousand
pounds, of which one thousand was in gold and the remainder in Bank of
England notes--mostly five-pound notes. He carried the notes and
specie in a strong leather handbag.
“Can you say if either of these is the bag that he carried?” the
coroner asked, indicating two largish, black leather bags that his
officer had placed on the table.
Mr. Parsons promptly pointed to the larger of the two, which was
smeared externally with mud. The coroner noted the answer and then
asked:
“Did anyone besides yourself know that deceased was making this
visit?”
“Many persons must have known,” was the reply. “Deceased visited the
various branches in a fixed order. He came to Holmwood on the second
Tuesday in the month.”
“And would it be known that he had this great sum of money with him?”
“The actual amount would not be generally known, but he usually took
with him supplies of specie and notes--sometimes very large sums--and
this would be known to many of the bank staff, and probably to a good
many persons outside. The Holmwood Branch consumes a good deal of
specie, as most of the customers pay in cheques and draw out cash for
local use.”
This was the substance of Mr. Parsons’ evidence, and when he sat down
the ticket-collector was called. That official identified Miss Dalby
as one of the passengers by the train in which the body of deceased
was found. She was carrying a bag when she passed the barrier. He
could not identify either of the bags, but both were similar to the
one that she was carrying. She returned about an hour later and caught
an up-train, and he noticed that she was then not carrying a bag. He
could not say whether any of the other passengers was carrying a bag.
There were very few first-class passengers by that train, but a large
number of third-class--mostly fruit-pickers--and they made a dense
crowd at the barrier, so that he did not notice individual passengers
particularly. He noticed Miss Dalby because he knew her by sight, as
she often came to Holmwood with other suffragist ladies. He did not
see which carriage Miss Dalby came from, and he did not see any
first-class compartment with an open door.
The coroner noted down this evidence with thoughtful deliberation, and
I was considering whether there were any questions that it would be
advisable to ask the witness when I felt a light touch on my shoulder,
and looking up perceived a constable holding out a telegram. Observing
that it was addressed to “Dr. Jervis, Plough Inn, Densford,” I nodded
to the constable, and taking the envelope from him, opened it and
unfolded the paper. The telegram was from Thorndyke, in the simple
code that he had devised for our private use. I was able to decode it
without referring to the key--which each of us always carried in his
pocket--and it then read:
“I am starting for Folkestone _in re_ Burnham deceased. Follow
immediately and bring Miller if you can for possible arrest. Meet me
on pier near Ostend boat. Thorndyke.”
Accustomed as I was to my colleague’s inveterate habit of acting in
the least expected manner, I must confess that I gazed at the decoded