The magic casket
on the table, got my hat and set forth with Mr. Bidwell.
“It has only just been discovered,” said he, as we crossed King’s
Bench Walk. “The laundress who does his chambers and mine was
battering at my door when I arrived--I don’t live in the Temple, you
know. She was as pale as a ghost and in an awful state of alarm and
agitation. It seems that she had gone up to Herrington’s chambers to
get his breakfast ready as usual; but when she went into the
sitting-room she found him lying dead on the floor. Thereupon she
rushed down to my chambers--I am usually an early bird--and there I
found her, as I said, battering at my door, although she has a key.
“Well, I went up with her to my friend’s chambers--they are on the
first floor, just over mine--and there, sure enough, was poor old
Giles lying on the floor, cold and stiff. Evidently he had been lying
there all night.”
“Were there any marks of violence on the body?” I asked.
“I didn’t notice any,” he replied, “but I didn’t look very closely.
What I did notice was that the place was all in disorder--a chair
overturned and things knocked off the table. It was pretty evident
that there had been a struggle and that he had not met his death by
fair means.”
“And what do you want us to do?” I asked.
“Well,” he replied, “I was Herrington’s friend; about the only friend
he had, for he was not an amiable or a sociable man; and I am the
executor of his will.
“Appearances suggest very strongly that he has been murdered, and I
take it upon myself to see that his murderer is brought to account.
Our friendship seems to demand that. Of course, the police will go
into the affair, and if it turns out to be all plain sailing, there
will be nothing for you to do. But the murderer, if there is one, has
got to be secured and convicted, and if the police can’t manage it, I
want you and Thorndyke to see the case through. This is the place.”
He hurried in through the entry and up the stairs to the first-floor
landing, where he rapped loudly at the closed “oak” of a set of
chambers above which was painted the name of “Mr. Giles Herrington.”
After an interval, during which Mr. Bidwell repeated the summons, the
massive door opened and a familiar face looked out: the face of
Inspector Badger of the Criminal Investigation Department. The
expression that it bore was not one of welcome, and my experience of
the inspector caused me to brace myself up for the inevitable contest.
“What is your business?” he inquired forbiddingly.
Mr. Bidwell took the question to himself and replied:
“I am Mr. Herrington’s executor, and in that capacity I have
instructed Dr. Jervis and his colleague, Dr. Thorndyke, to watch the
case on my behalf. I take it that you are a police officer?”
“I am,” replied Badger, “and I can’t admit any unauthorized persons to
these chambers.”
“We are not unauthorized persons,” said Mr. Bidwell. “We are here on
legitimate business. Do I understand that you refuse admission to the
legal representatives of the deceased man?”
In the face of Mr. Bidwell’s firm and masterful attitude, Badger
began, as usual, to weaken. Eventually, having warned us to convey no
information to anybody, he grudgingly opened the door and admitted us.
“I have only just arrived, myself,” he said. “I happened to be in the
porter’s lodge on other business when the laundress came and gave the
alarm.”
As I stepped into the room and looked round, I saw at a glance the
clear indications of a crime. The place was in the utmost disorder.
The cloth had been dragged from the table, littering the floor with
broken glass, books, a tobacco jar, and various other objects. A chair
sprawled on its back, the fender was dislodged from its position, the
hearth-rug was all awry; and in the midst of the wreckage, on the
space of floor between the table and the fireplace, the body of a man
was stretched in a not uneasy posture.
I stooped over him and looked him over searchingly; an elderly man,
clean-shaved and slightly bald, with a grim, rather forbidding
countenance, which was not, however, distorted or apparently unusual
in expression. There were no obvious injuries, but the crumpled state
of the collar caused me to look more closely at the throat and neck,
and I then saw pretty plainly a number of slightly discoloured marks,
such as would be made by fingers tightly grasping the throat.
Evidently Badger had already observed them, for he remarked:
“There’s no need to ask you what he died of, doctor; I can see that
for myself.”
“The actual cause of death,” said I, “is not quite evident. He doesn’t
appear to have died from suffocation, but those are very unmistakable
marks on the throat.”
“Uncommonly,” agreed Badger; “and they are enough for my purpose
without any medical hair-splittings. How long do you think he has been
dead?”
“From nine to twelve hours,” I replied, “but nearer nine, I should
think.”
The inspector looked at his watch.
“That makes it between nine o’clock and midnight, but nearer
midnight,” said he. “Well, we shall hear if the night porter has
anything to tell us. I’ve sent word for him to come over, and the
laundress, too. And here is one of ’em.”
It was, in fact, both of them, for when the inspector opened the door,
they were discovered conversing eagerly in whispers.
“One at a time,” said Badger. “I’ll have the porter in first;” and
having admitted the man, he unceremoniously shut the door on the
woman. The night porter saluted me as he came in--we were old
acquaintances--and then halted near the door, where he stood stiffly,
with his eyes riveted on the corpse.
“Now,” said Badger, “I want you to try to remember if you let in any
strangers last night, and if so, what their business was.”
“I remember quite well,” the porter replied. “I let in three strangers
while I was on duty. One was going to Mr. Bolter in Fig Tree Court,
one was going to Sir Alfred Blain’s chambers, and the third said he
had an appointment with Mr. Herrington.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Badger, rubbing his hands. “Now, what time did you let
him in?”
“It was just after ten-fifteen.”
“Can you tell us what he was like and how he was dressed?”
“Yes,” was the reply. “He didn’t know where Tanfield Court was, and I
had to walk down and show him, so I was able to have a good look at
him. He was a middle-sized man, rather thin, dark hair, small
moustache, no beard, and he had a long, sharp nose with a bump on the
bridge. He wore a soft felt hat, a loose light overcoat, and he
carried a thickish rough stick.”
“What class of man was he? Seem to be a gentleman?”
“He was quite a gentlemanly kind of man, so far as I could judge, but
he looked a bit shabby as to his clothes.”
“Did you let him out?”
“Yes. He came to the gate a few minutes before eleven.”
“And did you notice anything unusual about him then?”
“I did,” the porter replied impressively. “I noticed that his collar
was all crumpled and his hat was dusty and dented. His face was a bit
red, and he looked rather upset, as if he had been having a tussle
with somebody. I looked at him particularly and wondered what had been
happening, seeing that Mr. Herrington was a quiet, elderly gentleman,
though he was certainly a bit peppery at times.”
The inspector took down these particulars gleefully in a large
note-book and asked:
“Is that all you know of the affair?” And when the porter replied that
it was, he said: “Then I will ask you to read this statement and sign
your name below it.”
The porter read through his statement and carefully signed his name at
the foot. He was about to depart when Badger said:
“Before you go, perhaps you had better help us to move the body into
the bedroom. It isn’t decent to leave it lying there.”
Accordingly the four of us lifted the dead man and carried him into
the bedroom, where we laid him on the undisturbed bed and covered him
with a rug. Then the porter was dismissed, with instructions to send
in Mrs. Runt.
The laundress’s statement was substantially a repetition of what Mr.
Bidwell had told me. She had let herself into the chambers in the
usual way, had come suddenly on the dead body of the tenant, and had
forthwith rushed downstairs to give the alarm. When she had concluded,
the inspector stood for a few moments looking thoughtfully at his
notes.
“I suppose,” he said presently, “you haven’t looked round these
chambers this morning? Can’t say if there is anything unusual about
them, or anything missing?”
The laundress shook her head.
“I was too upset,” she said, with another furtive glance at the place
where the corpse had lain; “but,” she added, letting her eyes roam
vaguely round the room, “there doesn’t seem to be anything missing, so
far as I can see--wait! Yes, there is. There’s something gone from
that nail on the wall; and it was there yesterday morning, because I
remember dusting it.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Badger. “Now what was it that was hanging on that
nail?”
“Well,” Mrs. Runt replied hesitatingly, “I really don’t know what it
was. Seemed like a sort of sword or dagger, but I never looked at it
particularly, and I never took it off its nail. I used to dust it as
it hung.”
“Still,” said Badger, “you can give us some sort of description of it,
I suppose?”
“I don’t know that I can,” she replied. “It had a leather case, and
the handle was covered with leather, I think, and it had a sort of
loop, and it used to hang on that nail.”
“Yes, you said that before,” Badger commented sourly. “When you say it
had a case, do you mean a sheath?”
“You can call it a sheath if you like,” she retorted, evidently
ruffled by the inspector’s manner, “I call it a case.”
“And how big was it? How long, for instance?”
Mrs. Runt held out her hands about a yard apart, looked at them
critically, shortened the interval to a foot, extended it to two, and
still varying the distance, looked vaguely at the inspector.
“I should say it was about that,” she said.
“About what?” snorted Badger. “Do you mean a foot or two feet or a
yard? Can’t you give us some idea?”
“I can’t say no clearer than what I have,” she snapped. “I don’t go
round gentlemen’s chambers measuring the things.”
It seemed to me that Badger’s questions were rather unnecessary, for
the wall-paper below the nail gave the required information. A
coloured patch on the faded ground furnished a pretty clear silhouette
of a broad-bladed sword or large dagger, about two feet six inches
long, which had apparently hung from the nail by a loop or ring at the
end of the handle. But it was not my business to point this out. I
turned to Bidwell and asked:
“Can you tell us what the thing was?”
“I am afraid I can’t,” he replied. “I have very seldom been in these
chambers. Herrington and I usually met in mine and went to the club.
I have a dim recollection of something hanging on that nail, but I
have not the least idea what it was or what it was like. But do you
think it really matters? The thing was almost certainly a curio of
some kind. It couldn’t have been of any appreciable value. It is
absurd, on the face of it, to suppose that this man came to
Herrington’s chambers, apparently by appointment, and murdered him for
the sake of getting possession of an antique sword or dagger. Don’t
you think so?”
I did, and so, apparently, did the inspector, with the qualification
that “the thing seemed to have disappeared, and its disappearance
ought to be accounted for”; which was perfectly true, though I did not
quite see how the “accounting for” was to be effected. However, as the
laundress had told all that she knew, Badger gave her her dismissal
and she retired to the landing, where I noticed that the night porter
was still lurking. Mr. Bidwell also took his departure, and happening,