The magic casket
“No doubt, you see what I am leading up to. But I will take the
investigation of the casket as it actually occurred. It was obvious,
at once, that the value of the thing was extrinsic. It had no
intrinsic value, either in material or workmanship. What could that
value be? The clear suggestion was that the casket was the vehicle of
some secret message or information. It had been made by Uyenishi, who
had almost certainly had possession of the missing pearls, and who had
been so closely pursued that he never had an opportunity to
communicate with his confederates. It was to be given to a man who was
almost certainly one of those confederates; and, since the pearls had
never been traced, there was a distinct probability that the
(presumed) message referred to some hiding-place in which Uyenishi had
concealed them during his flight, and where they were probably still
hidden.
“With these considerations in my mind, I examined the casket, and this
was what I found. The thing, itself, was a common white-metal casting,
made presentable by means of lacquer. But the white metal bottom had
been cut out and replaced by a plate of fine bronze--Shakudo. The
inside of this was covered with an etched design, which immediately
aroused my suspicions. Turning it over, I saw that the outside of the
bottom was not only smooth and polished; it was a true mirror. It gave
a perfectly undistorted reflection of my face. At once, I suspected
that the mirror held the secret; that the message, whatever it was,
had been chased on the back, had then been scraped away and an etched
design worked on it to hide the traces of the scraper.
“As soon as you were gone, I took the casket up to the laboratory and
threw a strong beam of parallel light from a condenser on the bottom,
catching the reflection on a sheet of white paper. The result was just
what I had expected. On the bright oval patch on the paper could be
seen the shadowy, but quite distinct, forms of five words in the
Japanese character.
“I was in somewhat of a dilemma, for I have no knowledge of Japanese,
whereas the circumstances were such as to make it rather unsafe to
employ a translator. However, as I do just know the Japanese
characters and possess a Japanese dictionary, I determined to make an
attempt to fudge out the words myself. If I failed, I could then look
for a discreet translator.
“However, it proved to be easier than I had expected, for the words
were detached; they did not form a sentence, and so involved no
questions of grammar. I spelt out the first word and then looked it up
in the dictionary. The translation was ‘pearls.’ This looked hopeful,
and I went on to the next, of which the translation was ‘pump.’ The
third word floored me. It seemed to be ‘jokkis,’ or ‘jokkish,’ but
there was no such word in the dictionary; so I turned to the next
word, hoping that it would explain its predecessor. And it did. The
fourth word was ‘fields,’ and the last word was evidently ‘London.’ So
the entire group read: ‘Pearls, Pump, Jokkis, Fields, London.’
“Now, there is no pump, so far as I know, in Jockey’s Fields, but
there is one in Bedford Row close to the corner of the Fields, and
exactly opposite the end of Brownlow Street. And by Mr. Brodribb’s
account, Uyenishi, in his flight, ran down Hand Court and returned up
Brownlow Street, as if he were making for the pump. As the latter is
disused and the handle-hole is high up, well out of the way of
children, it offers quite a good temporary hiding-place, and I had no
doubt that the bag of pearls had been poked into it and was probably
there still. I was tempted to go at once and explore; but I was
anxious that the discovery should be made by Miss Bonney, herself, and
I did not dare to make a preliminary exploration for fear of being
shadowed. If I had found the treasure I should have had to take it and
give it to her; which would have been a flat ending to the adventure.
So I had to dissemble and be the occasion of much smothered
objurgation on the part of my friend, Brodribb. And that is the whole
story of my interview with the oracle.”
Our mantelpiece is becoming a veritable museum of trophies of victory,
the gifts of grateful clients. Among them is a squat, shapeless figure
of a Japanese gentleman of the old school, with a silly, grinning
little face--The Magic Casket. But its possession is no longer a
menace. Its sting has been drawn; its magic is exploded; its secret is
exposed, and its glory departed.
II.
THE CONTENTS OF A MARE’S NEST
“It is very unsatisfactory,” said Mr. Stalker, of the ‘Griffin’ Life
Assurance Company, at the close of a consultation on a doubtful claim.
“I suppose we shall have to pay up.”
“I am sure you will,” said Thorndyke. “The death was properly
certified, the deceased is buried, and you have not a single fact with
which to support an application for further inquiry.”
“No,” Stalker agreed. “But I am not satisfied. I don’t believe that
doctor really knew what she died from. I wish cremation were more
usual.”
“So, I have no doubt, has many a poisoner,” Thorndyke remarked dryly.
Stalker laughed, but stuck to his point. “I know you don’t agree,”
said he, “but from our point of view it is much more satisfactory to
know that the extra precautions have been taken. In a cremation case,
you have not to depend on the mere death certificate; you have the
cause of death verified by an independent authority, and it is
difficult to see how any miscarriage can occur.”
Thorndyke shook his head. “It is a delusion, Stalker. You can’t
provide in advance for unknown contingencies. In practice, your
special precautions degenerate into mere formalities. If the
circumstances of a death appear normal, the independent authority will
certify; if they appear abnormal, you won’t get a certificate at all.
And if suspicion arises only after the cremation has taken place, it
can neither be confirmed nor rebutted.”
“My point is,” said Stalker, “that the searching examination would
lead to discovery of a crime before cremation.”
“That is the intention,” Thorndyke admitted. “But no examination,
short of an exhaustive post-mortem, would make it safe to destroy a
body so that no reconsideration of the cause of death would be
possible.”
Stalker smiled as he picked up his hat. “Well,” he said, “to a cobbler
there is nothing like leather, and I suppose that to a toxicologist
there is nothing like an exhumation,” and with this parting shot he
took his leave.
We had not seen the last of him, however. In the course of the same
week he looked in to consult us on a fresh matter.
“A rather queer case has turned up,” said he. “I don’t know that we
are deeply concerned in it, but we should like to have your opinion as
to how we stand. The position is this: Eighteen months ago, a man
named Ingle insured with us for fifteen hundred pounds, and he was
then accepted as a first-class life. He has recently died--apparently
from heart failure, the heart being described as fatty and
dilated--and his wife, Sibyl, who is the sole legatee and executrix,
has claimed payment. But just as we were making arrangements to pay, a
caveat has been entered by a certain Margaret Ingle, who declares that
she is the wife of the deceased and claims the estate as next-of-kin.
She states that the alleged wife, Sibyl, is a widow named Huggard who
contracted a bigamous marriage with the deceased, knowing that he had
a wife living.”
“An interesting situation,” commented Thorndyke, “but, as you say, it
doesn’t particularly concern you. It is a matter for the Probate
Court.”
“Yes,” agreed Stalker. “But that is not all. Margaret Ingle not only
charges the other woman with bigamy; she accuses her of having made
away with the deceased.”
“On what grounds?”
“Well, the reasons she gives are rather shadowy. She states that
Sibyl’s husband, James Huggard, died under suspicious
circumstances--there seems to have been some suspicion that he had
been poisoned--and she asserts that Ingle was a healthy, sound man and
could not have died from the causes alleged.”
“There is some reason in that,” said Thorndyke, “if he was really a
first-class life only eighteen months ago. As to the first husband,
Huggard, we should want some particulars: as to whether there was an
inquest, what was the alleged cause of death, and what grounds there
were for suspecting that he had been poisoned. If there really were
any suspicious circumstances, it would be advisable to apply to the
Home Office for an order to exhume the body of Ingle and verify the
cause of death.”
Stalker smiled somewhat sheepishly. “Unfortunately,” said he, “that is
not possible. Ingle was cremated.”
“Ah!” said Thorndyke, “that is, as you say, unfortunate. It clearly
increases the suspicion of poisoning, but destroys the means of
verifying that suspicion.”
“I should tell you,” said Stalker, “that the cremation was in
accordance with the provisions of the will.”
“That is not very material,” replied Thorndyke. “In fact, it rather
accentuates the suspicious aspect of the case; for the knowledge that
the death of the deceased would be followed by cremation might act as
a further inducement to get rid of him by poison. There were two death
certificates, of course?”
“Yes. The confirmatory certificate was given by Dr. Halbury, of
Wimpole Street. The medical attendant was a Dr. Barber, of Howland
Street. The deceased lived in Stock-Orchard Crescent, Holloway.”
“A good distance from Howland Street,” Thorndyke remarked. “Do you
know if Halbury made a post-mortem? I don’t suppose he did.”
“No, he didn’t,” replied Stalker.
“Then,” said Thorndyke, “his certificate is worthless. You can’t tell
whether a man has died from heart failure by looking at his dead body.
He must have just accepted the opinion of the medical attendant. Do I
understand that you want me to look into this case?”
“If you will. It is not really our concern whether or not the man was
poisoned, though I suppose we should have a claim on the estate of the
murderer. But we should like you to investigate the case; though how
the deuce you are going to do it I don’t quite see.”
“Neither do I,” said Thorndyke. “However, we must get into touch with
the doctors who signed the certificates, and possibly they may be able
to clear the whole matter up.”
“Of course,” said I, “there is the other body--that of Huggard--which
might be exhumed--unless he was cremated, too.”
“Yes,” agreed Thorndyke; “and for the purposes of the criminal law,
evidence of poisoning in that case would be sufficient. But it would
hardly help the Griffin Company, which is concerned exclusively with
Ingle deceased. Can you let us have a précis of the facts relating to
this case, Stalker?”
“I have brought one with me,” was the reply; “a short statement,
giving names, addresses, dates, and other particulars. Here it is”;
and he handed Thorndyke a sheet of paper bearing a tabulated
statement.
When Stalker had gone Thorndyke glanced rapidly through the précis
and then looked at his watch. “If we make our way to Wimpole Street at
once,” said he, “we ought to catch Halbury. That is obviously the
first thing to do. He signed the ‘C’ certificate, and we shall be able
to judge from what he tells us whether there is any possibility of
foul play. Shall we start now?”
As I assented, he slipped the précis in his pocket and we set forth.
At the top of Middle Temple Lane we chartered a taxi by which we were
shortly deposited at Dr. Halbury’s door, and a few minutes later were
ushered into his consulting room, and found him shovelling a pile of
letters into the waste-paper basket.
“How d’ye do?” he said briskly, holding out his hand. “I’m up to my
eyes in arrears, you see. Just back from my holiday. What can I do for
you?”