The magic casket
message in absolute stupefaction. I had been totally unaware of the
faintest clue beyond the obvious evidence to which I had been
listening, and behold! here was Thorndyke with an entirely fresh case,
apparently cut-and-dried, and the unsuspected criminal in the hollow
of his hand. It was astounding.
Unconsciously I raised my eyes--and met those of Superintendent
Miller, fixed on me with devouring curiosity. I held up the telegram
and beckoned, and immediately he tip-toed across and took a seat by my
side. I laid the decoded telegram before him, and when he had glanced
through it, I asked in a whisper: “Well, what do you say?”
By way of reply, he whisked out a time-table, conned it eagerly for a
few minutes, and then held it towards me with his thumb-nail on the
words “Densford Junction.”
“There’s a fast train up in seven minutes,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Get the coroner to excuse us and let your solicitors carry on for
you.”
A brief, and rather vague, explanation secured the assent of the
coroner--since we had both given our evidence--and the less willing
agreement of my clients. In another minute the superintendent and I
were heading for the station, which we reached just as the train swept
up alongside the platform.
“This is a queer start,” said Miller, as the train moved out of the
station; “but, Lord! there is never any calculating Dr. Thorndyke’s
moves. Did you know that he had anything up his sleeve?”
“No; but then one never does know. He is as close as an oyster. He
never shows his hand until he can play a trump card. But it is
possible that he has struck a fresh clue since I left.”
“Well,” rejoined Miller, “we shall know when we get to the other end.
And I don’t mind telling you that it will be a great relief to me if
we can drop this charge against Miss Dalby.”
From time to time during the journey to London, and from thence to
Folkestone, the superintendent reverted to Thorndyke’s mysterious
proceedings. But it was useless to speculate. We had not a single fact
to guide us; and when, at last, the train ran into Folkestone Central
Station, we were as much in the dark as when we started.
Assuming that Thorndyke would have made any necessary arrangements for
assistance from the local police, we chartered a cab and proceeded
direct to the end of Rendez-vous Street--a curiously appropriate
destination, by the way. Here we alighted in order that we might make
our appearance at the meeting place as inconspicuously as possible,
and, walking towards the harbour, perceived Thorndyke waiting on the
quay, ostensibly watching the loading of a barge, and putting in their
case a pair of prismatic binoculars with which he had apparently
observed our arrival.
“I am glad you have come, Miller,” he said, shaking the
superintendent’s hand. “I can’t make any promises, but I have no doubt
that it is a case for you even if it doesn’t turn out all that I hope
and expect. The _Cornflower_ is our ship, and we had better go on
board separately in case our friends are keeping a look-out. I have
arranged matters with the captain, and the local superintendent has
got some plain-clothes men on the pier.”
With this we separated. Thorndyke went on in advance, and Miller and I
followed at a discreet interval.
As I descended the gangway a minute or so after Miller, a steward
approached me, and having asked my name, requested me to follow him,
when he conducted me to the purser’s office, in which I found
Thorndyke and Miller in conversation with the purser.
“The gentlemen you are inquiring for,” said the latter, “are in the
smoking-room playing cards with another passenger. I have put a
tarpaulin over one of the ports, in case you want to have a look at
them without being seen.”
“Perhaps you had better make a preliminary inspection, Miller,” said
Thorndyke. “You may know some of them.”
To this suggestion the superintendent agreed, and forthwith went off
with the purser, leaving me and Thorndyke alone. I at once took the
opportunity to demand an explanation.
“I take it that you struck some new evidence after I left you?”
“Yes,” Thorndyke replied. “And none too soon, as you see. I don’t
quite know what it will amount to, but I think we have secured the
defence, at any rate; and that is really all that we are concerned
with. The positive aspects of the case are the business of the police.
But here comes Miller, looking very pleased with himself, and with the
purser.”
The superintendent, however, was not only pleased; he was also not a
little puzzled.
“Well!” he exclaimed, “this is a quaint affair. We have got two of the
leading lights of the suffrage movement in there. One is Jameson, the
secretary of the Women’s Emancipation League, the other is Pinder,
their chief bobbery-monger. Then there are two men named Dorman and
Spiller, both of them swell crooks, I am certain, though we have never
been able to fix anything on them. The fifth man I don’t know.”
“Neither do I,” said Thorndyke. “My repertoire includes only four. And
now we will proceed to sort them out. Could we have a few words with
Mr. Thorpe--in here, if you don’t mind.”
“Certainly,” replied the purser. “I’ll go and fetch him.” He bustled
away in the direction of the smoking-room, whence he presently
reappeared, accompanied by a tall, lean man who wore large bi-focal
spectacles of the old-fashioned, split-lens type, and was smoking a
cigar. As the new-comer approached down the alley-way, it was evident
that he was nervous and uneasy, though he maintained a certain jaunty
swagger that accorded ill with a pronounced, habitual stoop. As he
entered the cabin, however, and became aware of the portentous group
of strangers, the swagger broke down completely; suddenly his face
became ashen and haggard, and he peered through his great spectacles
from one to the others with an expression of undisguisable terror.
“Mr. Thorpe?” queried Thorndyke; and the superintendent murmured:
“Alias Pinder.”
“Yes,” was the reply, in a husky undertone. “What can I do for you?”
Thorndyke turned to the superintendent.
“I charge this man,” said he, “with having murdered Francis Burnham in
the train between London and Holmwood.”
The superintendent was visibly astonished, but not more so than the
accused, on whom Thorndyke’s statement produced the most singular
effect. In a moment, his terror seemed to drop from him; the colour
returned to his face, the haggard expression of which gave place to
one of obvious relief.
Miller stood up, and addressing the accused, began:
“It is my duty to caution you--” but the other interrupted:
“Caution your grandmother! You are talking a parcel of dam’ nonsense.
I was in Birmingham when the murder was committed. I can prove it,
easily.”
The superintendent was somewhat taken aback, for the accused spoke
with a confidence that carried conviction.
“In that case,” said Thorndyke, “you can probably explain how a letter
belonging to you came to be found in the carriage with the murdered
man.”
“Belonging to me!” exclaimed Thorpe. “What the deuce do you mean? That
letter belonged to Miss Dalby. The rest of it was found in her
pocket.”
“Precisely,” said Thorndyke. “One sheet had been placed in the railway
carriage and the remainder in Miss Dalby’s pocket to fix suspicion on
her. But it was your letter, and the inference is that you disposed of
it in that manner for the purpose that I have stated.”
“But,” persisted Thorpe, with visibly-growing uneasiness, “this was a
duplicated circular. You couldn’t tell one copy from another.”
“Mr. Pinder,” said Thorndyke, in an impressively quiet tone, “if I
tell you that I ascertained from that letter that you had taken a
passage on this ship in the name of Thorpe, you will probably
understand what I mean.”
Apparently he did understand, for, once more, the colour faded from
his face and he sat down heavily on a locker, fixing on Thorndyke a
look of undisguised dismay. Thus he sat for some moments, motionless
and silent, apparently thinking hard.
Suddenly he started up. “My God!” he exclaimed, “I see now what has
happened. The infernal scoundrel! First he put it on to Miss Dalby,
and now he has put it on to me. Now I understand why he looked so
startled when I ran against him.”
“What do you mean?” asked Thorndyke.
“I’ll tell you,” replied Pinder. “As I move about a good deal--and for
other reasons--I used to have my suffrage letters sent to a
stationer’s shop in Barlow Street----”
“I know,” interrupted the superintendent; “Bedall’s. I used to look
them over and take photographs of them.” He grinned craftily as he
made this statement, and, rather to my surprise, the accused grinned
too. A little later I understood that grin.
“Well,” continued Pinder, “I used to collect these letters pretty
regularly. But this last letter was delivered while I was away at
Birmingham. Before I came back I met a man who gave me
certain--er--instructions--you know what they were,” he added,
addressing Thorndyke--“so I did not need the letter. But, of course, I
couldn’t leave it there uncollected, so when I got back to London, I
called for it. That was two days ago. To my astonishment Miss Bedall
declared that I had collected it three days previously. I assured her
that I was not in London on that day, but she was positive that I had
called. ‘I remember clearly,’ she said, ‘giving you the letter
myself.’ Well, there was no arguing. Evidently she had given the
letter to the wrong person--she is very nearsighted, I should say,
judging by the way she holds things against her nose--but how it
happened I couldn’t understand. But I think I understand now. There is
one person only in the world who knew that I had my letters addressed
there: a sort of pal of mine named Payne. He happened to be with me
one evening when I called to collect my letters. Now, Payne chanced to
be a good deal like me--at least, he is tall and thin and stoops a
bit; but he does not wear spectacles. He tried on my spectacles once
for a joke, and then he really looked extremely like me. He looked in
a mirror and remarked on the resemblance himself. Now, Payne did not
belong to the Women’s League, and I suggest that he took advantage of
this resemblance to get possession of this letter. He got a pair of
spectacles like mine and personated me at the shop.”
“Why should he want to get possession of that letter?” Miller
demanded.
“To plant it as he has planted it,” replied Pinder, “and set the
police on a false trail.”
“This sounds pretty thin,” said Miller. “You are accusing this man of
having murdered Mr. Burnham. What grounds have you for this
accusation?”
“My grounds,” replied Pinder, “are, first, that he stole this letter
which has been found, obviously planted; and, second, that he had a
grudge against Burnham and knew all about his movements.”
“Indeed!” said Miller, with suddenly increased interest. “Then who and
what is this man Payne?”
“Why,” replied Pinder, “until a month ago, he was assistant cashier at
the Streatham branch of the bank. Then Burnham came down and hoofed
him out without an hour’s notice. I don’t know what for, but I can
guess.”
“Do you happen to know where Payne is at this moment?”
“Yes, I do. He is on this ship, in the smoking-room--only he is Mr.
Shenstone now. And mighty sick he was when he found me on board.”
The superintendent looked at Thorndyke.
“What do you think about it, doctor?” he asked.
“I think,” said Thorndyke, “that we had better have Mr. Shenstone in
here and ask him a few questions. Would you see if you can get him to
come here?” he added, addressing the purser, who had been listening
with ecstatic enjoyment.
“I’ll get him to come along all right,” replied the purser, evidently