The magic casket
Yet again in the silence the shrill barking of the Pekinese dog broke
out, and somehow that sound connected itself in my mind with the
Persian cat that dozed on the knees of the immovable man by the fire.
I looked at the cat and at the man, and even as I looked, I was
startled by a most extraordinary apparition. Above the man’s shoulder,
slowly rose a little round head like the head of a diminutive,
greenish-brown man. Higher and higher the tiny monkey raised itself,
resting on its little hands to peer at the strangers. Then, with
sudden coyness, like a shy baby, it popped down out of sight.
I was thunderstruck. The cat and the dog I had noted merely as a
curious coincidence. But the monkey--and such an unusual monkey,
too--put coincidences out of the question. I stared at the man in
positive stupefaction. Somehow that man was connected with that
unforgettable figure lying upon the couch miles away. But how? When
that deed of horror was doing, he had been here in this very room.
Yet, in some way, he had been concerned in it. And suddenly a
suspicion dawned upon me that Thorndyke was waiting for the actual
perpetrator to arrive.
“It is a most ghastly affair,” Barnett repeated presently in a husky
voice. Then, after a pause, he asked: “Is there any sort of evidence
as to whether she killed herself or was killed by somebody else?”
“I think that my friend, here, Detective-Superintendent Miller, has
decided that she was murdered.” He looked at the bewildered
superintendent, who replied with an inarticulate grunt.
“And is there any clue as to who the--the murderer may be? You spoke
of suspected persons just now.”
“Yes,” replied Thorndyke, “there is an excellent clue, if it can only
be followed up. We found a most unmistakable footprint; and what is
more, we took a plaster cast of it. Would you like to see the cast?”
Without waiting for a reply, he opened the research-case and took out
the cast, which he placed in my hands.
“Just take it round and show it to them,” he said.
The superintendent had witnessed Thorndyke’s amazing proceedings with
an astonishment that left him speechless. But now he sprang to his
feet, and, as I walked round the table, he pressed beside me to guard
the precious cast from possible injury. I laid it carefully down on
the table, and as the light fell on it obliquely, it presented a most
striking appearance--that of a snow-white boot-sole on which the
unshapely patch, the circular heel, and the marks of wear were clearly
visible.
The three spectators gathered round, as near as the superintendent
would let them approach, and I observed them closely, assuming that
this incomprehensible move of Thorndyke’s was a device to catch one or
more of them off their guard. Fred Barnett looked at the cast stolidly
enough, though his face had gone several shades paler, but Mrs.
Barnett stared at it with starting eye-balls and dropped jaw--the very
picture of horror and dismay. As to James Barnett, whom I now saw
clearly for the first time, he stood behind the woman with a
singularly scared and haggard face, and his eyes riveted on the white
boot-sole. And now I could see that he wore a suit of blue serge and
that the front both of his coat and waistcoat were thickly covered
with the shed hairs of his pets.
There was something very uncanny about this group of persons gathered
around that accusing footprint, all as still and rigid as statues and
none uttering a sound. But something still more uncanny followed.
Suddenly the deep silence of the room was shattered by the shrill
notes of a clarinet, and a brassy voice burst forth:
“_When the pigs their wings have folded_
_And the cows are in their nest----_”
We all spun round in amazement, and at the first glance the mystery of
the crime was solved. There stood Thorndyke with the red table-cover
at his feet, and at his side, on the small table, a
massively-constructed phonograph of the kind used in offices for
dictating letters, but fitted with a convoluted metal horn in place of
the rubber ear-tubes.
A moment of astonished silence was succeeded by a wild confusion. Mrs.
Barnett uttered a piercing shriek and fell back on to a chair, her
husband broke away and rushed at Thorndyke, who instantly gripped his
wrist and pinioned him, while the superintendent, taking in the
situation at a glance, fastened on the unresisting James and forced
him down into a chair. I ran round, and having stopped the
machine--for the preposterous song was hideously incongruous with the
tragedy that was enacting--went to Thorndyke’s assistance and helped
him to remove his prisoner from the neighbourhood of the instrument.
“Superintendent Miller,” said Thorndyke, still maintaining a hold on
his squirming captive, “I believe you are a justice of the peace?”
“Yes,” was the reply, “ex officio.”
“Then,” said Thorndyke, “I accuse these three persons of being
concerned in the murder of Miss Millicent Fawcett; Frederick Barnett
as the principal who actually committed the murder, James Barnett as
having aided him by holding the arms of the deceased, and Mrs. Barnett
as an accessory before the fact in that she worked this phonograph for
the purpose of establishing a false alibi.”
“I knew nothing about it!” Mrs. Barnett shrieked hysterically. “They
never told me why they wanted me to work the thing.”
“We can’t go into that now,” said Miller. “You will be able to make
your defence at the proper time and place. Can one of you go for
assistance or must I blow my whistle?”
“You had better go, Jervis,” said Thorndyke. “I can hold this man
until reinforcements arrive. Send a constable up and then go on to the
station. And leave the outer door ajar.”
I followed these directions, and having found the police station,
presently returned to the flat with four constables and a sergeant in
two taxis.
When the prisoners had been removed, together with the three
animals--the latter in charge of a zoophilist constable--we searched
the bedrooms. Frederick Barnett had changed his clothing completely,
but in a locked drawer--the lock of which Thorndyke picked neatly, to
the superintendent’s undisguised admiration--we found the discarded
garments, including a pair of torn shepherd’s plaid trousers, covered
with blood-stains, and a new, empty razor-case. These things, together
with the wax cylinder of the phonograph, Miller made up into a neat
parcel and took away with him.
“Of course,” said I, as we walked homewards, “the general drift of
this case is quite obvious. But it seemed to me that you went to the
Barnetts’ flat with a definite purpose already formed, and with a
definite suspicion in your mind. Now, I don’t see how you came to
suspect the Barnetts.”
“I think you will,” he replied, “if you will recall the incidents in
their order from the beginning, including poor Meade’s preliminary
statement. To begin with the appearances of the body: the suggestion
of suicide was transparently false. To say nothing of its incongruity
with the character and circumstances of the deceased and the very
unlikely weapon used, there were the gashed collar and the cut
cap-string. As you know, it is a well-established rule that suicides
do not damage their clothing. A man who cuts his own throat doesn’t
cut his collar. He takes it off. He removes all obstructions.
Naturally, for he wishes to complete the act as easily and quickly as
possible, and he has time for preparation. But the murderer must take
things as he finds them and execute his purpose as best he can.
“But further; the wounds were inflicted near the door, but the body
was on the couch at the other end of the room. We saw, from the
absence of bleeding, that she was dying--in fact, apparently
dead--when she lay down. She must therefore have been carried to the
couch after the wounds were inflicted.
“Then there were the blood-stains. They were all in front, and the
blood had run down vertically. Then she must have been standing
upright while the blood was flowing. Now there were four wounds, and
the first one was mortal. It divided the common carotid artery and the
great veins. On receiving that wound she would ordinarily have fallen
down. But she did not fall, or there would have been a blood-stain
across the neck. Why did she not fall? The obvious suggestion was that
someone was holding her up. This suggestion was confirmed by the
absence of cuts on her hands--which would certainly have been cut if
someone had not been holding them. It was further confirmed by the
rough crumpling of the collar at the back: so rough that the button
was torn off. And we found that button near the door.
“Further, there were the animal hairs. They were on the back only.
There were none on the front--where they would have been if derived
from the animals--or anywhere else. And we learned that she kept no
animals. All these appearances pointed to the presence of two persons,
one of whom stood behind her and held her arms while the other stood
in front and committed the murder. The cloth on the fence supported
this view, being probably derived from two different pairs of
trousers. The character of the wounds made it nearly certain that the
murderer was left-handed.
“While we were returning in the cab, I reflected on these facts and
considered the case generally. First, what was the motive? There was
nothing to suggest robbery, nor was it in the least like a robber’s
crime. What other motive could there be? Well, here was a
comparatively rich woman who had made a will in favour of certain
persons, and she was going to be married. On her marriage the will
would automatically become void, and she was not likely to make
another will so favourable to those persons. Here, then, was a
possible motive, and that motive applied to Ponting, who had actually
uttered threats and was obviously suspect.
“But, apart from those threats, Ponting was not the principal suspect,
for he benefited only slightly under the will. The chief beneficiaries
were the Barnetts, and Miss Fawcett’s death would benefit them, not
only by securing the validity of the will, but by setting the will
into immediate operation. And there were two of them. They therefore
fitted the circumstances better than Ponting did. And when we came to
interview Ponting, he went straight out of the picture. His manuscript
would probably have cleared him--with his editor’s confirmation. But
the other alibi was conclusive.
“What instantly struck me, however, was that Ponting’s alibi was also
an alibi for the Barnetts. But there was this difference: Ponting had
been seen; the Barnetts had only been heard. Now, it has often
occurred to me that a very effective false alibi could be worked with
a gramophone or a phonograph--especially with one on which one can
make one’s own records. This idea now recurred to me; and at once it
was supported by the appearance of an arranged effect. Ponting was
known to be at work. It was practically certain that a blast of
‘music’ would bring him out. Then he would be available, if necessary,
as a witness to prove an alibi. It seemed to be worth while to
investigate.
“When we came to the flat we encountered a man with an injured
hand--the right. It would have been more striking if it had been his
left. But it presently turns out that he is left-handed; which is
still more striking as a coincidence. This man is extraordinarily
ready to answer questions which most persons would have refused to
answer at all. Those answers contain the alibi.
“Then there was the incident of the table-cover--I think you noticed
it. That cover was on the large table when we arrived, but it was
taken off and thrown over something, evidently to conceal it. But I
need not pursue the details. When I had seen the cat, heard the dog,