The magic casket
and then seen the monkey, I determined to see what was under the
table-cover; and finding that it was a phonograph with the cylinder
record still on the drum, I decided to ‘go Nap’ and chance making a
mistake. For until we had tried the record, the alibi remained. If it
had failed, I should have advised Miller to hold a boot parade.
Fortunately we struck the right record and completed the case.”
Mrs. Barnett’s defence was accepted by the magistrate and the charge
against her was dismissed. The other two were committed for trial, and
in due course paid the extreme penalty. “Yet another illustration,”
was Thorndyke’s comment, “of the folly of that kind of criminal who
won’t let well alone, and who will create false clues. If the Barnetts
had not laid down those false tracks, they would probably never have
been suspected. It was their clever alibi that led us straight to
their door.”
VI.
PANDORA’S BOX
“I see our friend, S. Chapman, is still a defaulter,” said I, as I
ran my eye over the “personal” column of _The Times_.
Thorndyke looked up interrogatively.
“Chapman?” he repeated; “let me see, who is he?”
“The man with the box. I read you the advertisement the other day.
Here it is again. ‘If the box left in the luggage-room by S. Chapman
is not claimed within a week from this date, it will be sold to defray
expenses.--Alexander Butt, “Red Lion” Hotel, Stoke Varley, Kent.’ That
sounds like an ultimatum; but it has been appearing at intervals for
the last month. As the first notice expired about three weeks ago, the
question is, why doesn’t Mr. Butt sell the box and have done with it?”
“He may have some qualms as to the legality of the proceeding,” said
Thorndyke. “It would be interesting to know what expenses he refers to
and what is the value of the box.”
The latter question was resolved a day or two later by the appearance
in our chambers of an agitated gentleman, who gave his name as George
Chapman. After apologizing for his unannounced visit he explained:
“I have come to you on the advice of my solicitor and on behalf of my
brother, Samuel, who has become involved in a most extraordinary and
horrible set of complications. At present he is in custody of the
police charged with an atrocious murder.”
“That is certainly a rather serious complication,” Thorndyke observed
dryly. “Perhaps you had better give us an account of the
circumstances--the whole set of circumstances, from the beginning.”
“I will,” said Mr. Chapman, “without any reservations. The only
question is, which is the beginning? There are the business and the
domestic affairs. Perhaps I had better begin with the business
concerns. My brother was a sort of travelling agent for a firm of
manufacturing jewellers. He held a stock of the goods, which he used
as samples for large orders, but in the case of small retailers he
actually supplied the goods himself. When travelling, he usually
carried his stock in a small Gladstone bag, but he kept the bulk of it
in a safe in his house, and he used to go home at week-ends, or
oftener, to replenish his travelling stock. Now, about two months ago
he left home on a trip, but instead of taking a selection of his
goods, he took the entire stock in a largish wooden box, leaving the
safe empty. What he meant to do I don’t know, and that’s the fact. I
offer no opinion. The circumstances were peculiar, as you will hear
presently, and his proceedings were peculiar; for he went down to
Stoke Varley--a village not far from Folkestone--put up at the ‘Red
Lion,’ and deposited his box in the luggage-room that is kept for the
use of commercial travellers; and then, after staying there for a few
days, came up to London to make some arrangements for selling or
letting his house--which, it seems, he had decided to leave. He came
up in the evening, and the very next morning the first of his
adventures befell, and a very alarming one it was.
“It appears that, as he was walking down a quiet street, he saw a
lady’s purse lying on the pavement. Naturally he picked it up, and as
it contained nothing to show the name or address of the owner, he put
it in his pocket, intending to hand it in at a police station. Shortly
after this, he got into an omnibus, and a well-dressed woman entered
at the same time and sat down next to him. Just as the conductor was
coming in to collect the fares, the woman began to search her pocket
excitedly, and then, turning to my brother, called on him loudly to
return her purse. Of course, he said that he knew nothing about her
purse, whereupon she roundly accused him of having picked her pocket,
declaring to the conductor that she had felt him take out her purse,
and demanding that the omnibus should be stopped and a policeman
fetched. At this moment a policeman was seen on the pavement. The
conductor stopped the omnibus and hailed the constable, who came, and
having examined the floor of the vehicle without finding the missing
purse, and taken the conductor’s name and number, took my brother into
custody and conducted him and the woman to the police station. Here
the inspector took down from the woman a description of the stolen
purse and its contents, which my brother, to his utter dismay,
recognized as that of the purse which he had picked up and which was
still in his pocket. Immediately, he gave the inspector an account of
the incident and produced the purse; but it is hardly necessary to say
that the inspector refused to take his explanation seriously.
“Then my brother did a thing which was natural enough, but which did
not help him. Seeing that he was practically certain to be
convicted--for there was really no answer to the charge--he gave a
false name and refused his address. He was then locked up in a cell
for the night, and the next morning was brought before the magistrate,
who, having heard the evidence of the woman and the inspector and
having listened without comment to my brother’s story, committed him
for trial at the Central Criminal Court, and refused bail. He was then
removed to Brixton, where he was detained for nearly a month, pending
the opening of the sessions.
“At length the day of his trial drew near. But it was then found that
the woman who had accused him had left her lodgings and could not be
traced. As there was no one to prosecute, and as the disappearance of
the woman put a rather new light upon my brother’s story, the case
against him was allowed to drop, and he was released.
“He went home by train, and at the station he bought a copy of _The
Times_ to read on the way. Before opening it he chanced to run his eye
over the ‘personal’ column, and there his attention was arrested by
his own name in an advertisement----”
“Relating to a box?” said I.
“Precisely. Then you have seen it. Well, considering the value of the
contents of that box, he was naturally rather anxious. At once he sent
off a telegram saying that he would call on the following day before
noon to claim the box and pay what was owing. And he did so. Yesterday
morning he took an early train down to Stoke Varley and went straight
to the ‘Red Lion.’ On his arrival he was asked to step into the
coffee-room, which he did; and there he found three police officers,
who forthwith arrested him on a charge of murder. But before going
into the particulars of that charge, I had better give you an account
of his domestic affairs, on which this incredible and horrible
accusation turns.
“My brother, I am sorry to say, was living with a woman who was not
his wife. He had originally intended to marry her, but his association
with her--which lasted over several years--did not encourage that
intention. She was a terrible woman, and she led him a terrible life.
Her temper was ungovernable; and when she had taken too much to
drink--which was a pretty frequent occurrence--she was not only noisy
and quarrelsome, but physically violent as well. Her antecedents were
disreputable--she had been connected with the seamy side of the
music-hall stage; her associations were disreputable; she brought
questionable women to my brother’s house; she consorted with men of
doubtful character, and her relations with them were equally doubtful.
Indeed, with one of them, a man named Gamble, I should say that her
relations were not doubtful at all, though I understand he was a
married man.
“Well, my brother put up with her for years, living a life that cut
him off from all decent society. But at last his patience gave way
(and I may add that he made the acquaintance of a very desirable lady,
who was willing to condone his past and marry him if he could secure a
possible future). After a particularly outrageous scene, he ordered
the woman--Rebecca Mings was her name--out of the house and declared
their relationship at an end.
“But she refused to be shaken off. She kept possession of the
street-door key, and she returned again and again, and made a public
scandal. The last time she created such an uproar when the door was
bolted against her that a crowd collected in the street and my brother
was forced to let her in. She stayed with him some hours, alone in the
house--for the only servant he had was a ‘daily girl’ who left at
three o’clock--and went away quite quietly about ten at night. But,
although a good many people saw her go into the house, no one but my
brother seems to have seen her leave it; a most disastrous
circumstance, for, from the moment when she left the house, no one
ever saw her again. She did not go to her lodgings that night. She
disappeared utterly--until--but I must go back now to the ‘Red Lion’
at Stoke Varley.
“When my brother was arrested on the charge of having murdered Rebecca
Mings, certain particulars were given to him; and when I went down
there in response to a telegram, I gathered some more. The
circumstances are these: About a fortnight after my brother had left
to come to London, some of the ‘commercials’ who used the luggage-room
complained of an unpleasant odour in it, which was presently traced to
my brother’s box. As that box appeared to have been abandoned, the
landlord became suspicious, and communicated with the police. They
telephoned to the London police, who found my brother’s house shut up
and his whereabouts unknown. Thereupon the local police broke open the
box and found in it a woman’s left arm and a quantity of blood-stained
clothing. On which they caused the advertisement to be put in _The
Times_, and meanwhile they made certain inquiries. It appeared that my
brother had spent part of his time at Stoke Varley fishing in the
little river. On learning this, the police proceeded to dredge the
river, and presently they brought up a right arm--apparently the
fellow of the one found in the box--and a leg divided into three
parts, evidently a woman’s. Now, as to the arm found in the box, there
could be no question about its identity, for it bore a very distinct
tattooed inscription consisting of the initials R.M. above a heart
transfixed by an arrow, with the initials J.B. underneath. A few
inquiries elicited the fact that the woman, Rebecca Mings, who had
disappeared, bore such a tattooed mark on her left arm; and certain
persons who had known her, having been sworn to secrecy, were shown
the arm, and recognized the mark without hesitation. Further inquiries
showed that Rebecca Mings was last seen alive entering my brother’s
house, as I have described; and on this information, the police broke
into the house and searched it.”
“Do you know if they found anything?” Thorndyke asked.
“I don’t,” replied Chapman, “but I infer that they did. The police at
Stoke Varley were very courteous and kind, but they declined to give
any particulars about the visit to the house. However, we shall hear
at the inquest if they made any discoveries.”