The magic casket
scenting a new act in this enthralling drama; and away he bustled, all
agog. In less than a minute we saw him returning down the alley-way,
with a tall, thin man, who, at a distance, was certainly a good deal
like Pinder, though the resemblance diminished as he approached. He,
too, was obviously agitated, and seemed to be plying the purser with
questions. But when he came opposite the door of the cabin he stopped
dead and seemed disposed to shrink back.
“Is that the man?” Thorndyke demanded sharply and rather loudly,
springing to his feet as he spoke.
The effect of the question was electrical. As Thorndyke rose, the
new-comer turned, and, violently thrusting the purser aside, raced
madly down the alley-way and out on to the deck.
“Stop that man!” roared Miller, darting out in pursuit; and at the
shout a couple of loitering deck-hands headed the fugitive off from
the gangway. Following, I saw the terrified man swerving this way and
that across the littered deck to avoid the seamen, who joined in the
pursuit; I saw him make a sudden frantic burst for a baggage-slide
springing from a bollard up to the bulwark-rail. Then his foot must
have tripped on a lashing, for he staggered for a moment, flung out
his arms with a wild shriek, and plunged headlong into the space
between the ship’s side and the quay wall.
In an instant the whole ship was in an uproar. An officer and two
hands sprang to the rail with ropes and a boathook, while others
manned the cargo derrick and lowered a rope with a running bowline
between the ship and the quay.
“He’s gone under,” a hoarse voice proclaimed from below; “but I can
see him jammed against the side.”
There were a couple of minutes of sickening suspense. Then the voice
from below was heard again.
“Heave up!”
The derrick-engine rattled, the taut rope came up slowly, and at
length out of that horrid gulf arose a limp and dripping shape that,
as it cleared the bulwark, was swung inboard and let down gently on
the deck. Thorndyke and I stooped over him. But it was a dead man’s
face that we looked into; and a tinge of blood on the lips told the
rest of the tale.
“Cover him up,” said the superintendent. “He’s out of our jurisdiction
now. But what’s going on there?”
Following his look, I perceived a small, scattered crowd of men all
running furiously along the quay towards the town. Some of them I
judged to be the late inmates of the smoking-room and some
plain-clothes men. The only figure that I recognized was that of Mr.
Pinder, and he was already growing small in the distance.
“The local police will have to deal with them,” said Miller. Then
turning to the purser, he asked: “What baggage had this man?”
“Only two cabin trunks,” was the reply. “They are both in his
state-room.”
To the state-room we followed the purser, when Miller had possessed
himself of the dead man’s keys, and the two trunks were hoisted on to
the bunk and opened. Each trunk contained a large cash-box, and each
cash-box contained five hundred pounds in gold and a big bundle of
notes. The latter Miller examined closely, checking their numbers by a
column of entries in his pocket-book.
“Yes,” he reported at length; “it’s a true bill. These are the notes
that were stolen from Mr. Burnham. And now I will have a look at the
baggage of those other four sportsmen.”
This being no affair of ours, Thorndyke and I went ashore and slowly
made our way towards the town. But presently the superintendent
overtook us in high glee, with the news that he had discovered what
appeared to be the accumulated “swag” of a gang of swell burglars for
whom he had been for some months vainly on the look-out.
“How was it done?” repeated Thorndyke in reply to Miller’s question,
as we sat at a retired table in the “Lord Warden” Hotel. “Well, it was
really very simple. I am afraid I shall disappoint you if you expect
anything ingenious and recondite. Of course, it was obvious that Miss
Dalby had not committed this atrocious murder and robbery; and it was
profoundly improbable that this extremely incriminating letter had
been dropped accidentally. That being so, it was almost certain that
the letter had been ‘planted,’ as Pinder expressed it. But that was a
mere opinion that helped us not at all. The actual solution turned
upon a simple chemical fact with which I happened to be acquainted;
which is this: that all the basic coal-tar dyes, and especially
methylene blue, dye oxycellulose without requiring a mordant, but do
not react in this way on cellulose. Now, good paper is practically
pure cellulose; and if you dip a sheet of such paper into certain
oxidizing liquids, such as a solution of potassium chlorate with a
slight excess of hydrochloric acid, the paper is converted into
oxycellulose. But if instead of immersing the paper, you write on it
with a quill or glass pen dipped in the solution, only the part which
has been touched by the pen is changed into oxycellulose. No change is
visible to the eye: but if a sheet of paper written on with this
colourless fluid is dipped in a solution of, say, methylene blue, the
invisible writing immediately becomes visible. The oxycellulose takes
up the blue dye.
“Now, when I picked up that sheet of the letter in the railway
carriage and noted that the ink used appeared to be methylene blue,
this fact was recalled to my mind. Then, on looking at it closely, I
seemed to detect a certain slight spottiness in the writing. There
were points on some of the letters that were a little deeper in colour
than the rest; and it occurred to me that it was possible that these
circulars might be used to transmit secret messages of a less innocent
kind than those that met the unaided eye, just as these political
societies might form an excellent cover for the operations of criminal
associations. But if the circulars had been so used, it is evident
that the secret writing would not be on all the circulars. The
prepared sheets would be used only for the circulars that were to be
sent to particular persons, and in those cases the secret writing
would probably be in the nature of a personal communication, either to
a particular individual or to a small group. The possible presence of
a secret message thus became of vital evidential importance; for if it
could be shown that this letter was addressed to some person other
than Miss Dalby, that would dispose of the only evidence connecting
her with the crime.
“It happened, most fortunately, that I was able to get possession of
the final sheet of this letter----”
“Of course it did,” growled Miller, with a sour smile.
“It reached me,” continued Thorndyke, “only after Dr. Jervis had
started for Densford. The greater part of one side was blank,
excepting for a rough plan drawn in pencil, and this blank side I laid
down on a sheet of glass and wetted the written side with a small wad
of cotton-wool dipped in distilled water. Of course, the blue writing
began to run and dissolve out; and then, very faintly, some other
writing began to show through in reverse. I turned the paper over, and
now the new writing, though faint, was quite legible, and became more
so when I wiped the blue-stained cotton-wool over it a few times. A
solution of methylene blue would have made it still plainer, but I
used water only, as I judged that the blue writing was intended to
furnish the dye for development. Here is the final result.”
He drew from his pocket a letter-case, from which he extracted a
folded paper which he opened and laid on the table. It was stained a
faint blue, through which the original writing could be seen, dim and
blurred, while the secret message, though very pale, was quite sharp
and clear. And this was the message:
“… so although we are not actually blown on, the position is getting
risky and it’s time for us to hop. I have booked passages for the four
of us to Ostend by the _Cornflower_, which sails on Friday evening
next (20th). The names of the four illustrious passengers are, Walsh
(that’s me), Grubb (Dorman), Jenkins (Spiller), and Thorpe (that’s
you). Get those names well into your canister--better make a note of
them--and turn up in good time on Friday.”
“Well,” said Miller, as he handed back the letter, “we can’t know
everything--unless we are Dr. Thorndyke. But there’s one thing I do
know.”
“What is that?” I asked.
“I know why that fellow, Pinder, grinned when I told him that I had
photographed his confounded letters.”
IV.
THE NATURALIST AT LAW
A hush had fallen on the court as the coroner concluded his brief
introductory statement and the first witness took up his position by
the long table. The usual preliminary questions elicited that Simon
Moffet, the witness aforesaid, was fifty-eight years of age, that he
followed the calling of a shepherd and that he was engaged in
supervising the flocks that fed upon the low-lying meadows adjoining
the little town of Bantree in Buckinghamshire.
“Tell us how you came to discover the body,” said the coroner.
“’Twas on Wednesday morning, about half-past five,” Moffet began. “I
was getting the sheep through the gate into the big meadow by Reed’s
farm, when I happened to look down the dyke, and then I noticed a boot
sticking up out of the water. Seemed to me as if there was a foot in
it by the way it stuck up, so as soon as all the sheep was in, I shut
the gate and walked down the dyke to have a look at un. When I got
close I see the toe of another boot just alongside. Looks a bit queer,
I thinks, but I couldn’t see anything more, ’cause the duck-weed is
that thick as it looks as if you could walk on it. Howsever, I clears
away the weed with my stick, and then I see ’twas a dead man. Give me
a rare turn, it did. He was a-layin’ at the bottom of the ditch with
his head near the middle and his feet up close to the bank. Just then
young Harry Walker comes along the cart-track on his way to work, so I
shows him the body and sends him back to the town for to give notice
at the police station.”
“And is that all you know about the affair?”
“Ay. Later on I see the sergeant come along with a man wheelin’ the
stretcher, and I showed him where the body was and helped to pull it
out and load it on the stretcher. And that’s all I know about it.”
On this the witness was dismissed and his place taken by a
shrewd-looking, business-like police sergeant, who deposed as follows:
“Last Wednesday, the 8th of May, at 6.15 a.m., I received information
from Henry Walker that a dead body was lying in the ditch by the
cart-track leading from Ponder’s Road to Reed’s farm. I proceeded
there forthwith, accompanied by Police-Constable Ketchum, and taking
with us a wheeled stretcher. On the track I was met by the last
witness, who conducted me to the place where the body was lying and
where I found it in the position that he has described; but we had to
clear away the duck-weed before we could see it distinctly. I examined
the bank carefully, but could see no trace of footprints, as the grass
grows thickly right down to the water’s edge. There were no signs of a
struggle or any disturbance on the bank. With the aid of Moffet and
Ketchum, I drew the body out and placed it on the stretcher. I could
not see any injuries or marks of violence on the body or anything
unusual about it. I conveyed it to the mortuary, and with Constable
Ketchum’s assistance removed the clothing and emptied the pockets,
putting the contents of each pocket in a separate envelope and writing
the description on each. In a letter-case from the coat pocket were
some visiting cards bearing the name and address of Mr. Cyrus Pedley,
of 21 Hawtrey Mansions, Kensington, and a letter signed Wilfred
Pedley, apparently from deceased’s brother. Acting on instructions, I