The mystery of Angelina Frood
Japp, I was the only friend she had in the place. Consequently I take
it as my duty to ascertain what has happened to her, and, if she has
come to any harm, to see that the wrongdoers are brought to account.
Of course, I am not competent to investigate the case myself, but I am
in the position to bear any costs that the investigation would
entail.”
“Lucky man,” said Jervis. “And what is the proposal?”
“I was wondering,” I replied, a little nervously, “whether I could
prevail on you to undertake the case.”
Jervis glanced at his senior, and the latter replied: “It is just a
little premature to speak of a ‘case.’ The missing lady may return or
communicate with her friends. If she does not, the inquiry will fall
into the hands of the police; and there is no reason to suppose that
they will not be fully competent to deal with it. They have more means
and facilities than we have. But if the inquiry should become
necessary, and the police should be unsuccessful, Jervis and I would
be prepared to render you any assistance that we could.”
“On professional terms,” I stipulated.
Thorndyke smiled. “The financial aspects of the case,” said he, “can
be considered when they arise. Now, I think, it is time for us to
start.”
As we walked down to the building where the inquest was to be held, we
pursued the topic, and Thorndyke pointed out my position in the case.
“You notice, Strangeways,” said he, “that you are the principal
witness. You are the last person who saw Mrs. Frood before her
disappearance, you heard her state her intended movements, you knew
her circumstances, you saw and examined her husband, and you alone can
give an exact description of her as she was at the time when she
disappeared. I would suggest that, during the inquest, which will not
interest you, you might usefully try to reconstitute that last
interview and make full notes in writing of all that occurred with a
very careful and detailed description of the person, clothing, and
belongings of the missing lady. The police will want this information,
and so shall I, if I am to give any consideration to the case.”
On this suggestion I proceeded to act as soon as we had taken our
places at the foot of the long table occupied by the coroner and the
jury, detaching myself as well as I could from the matter of the
inquest; and by the time that the deliberations were at an end and the
verdict agreed upon, I had drafted out a complete set of notes and
made two copies, one for the police and one for Thorndyke.
As soon as we were outside the court I presented the latter copy,
which Thorndyke read through.
“This is admirable, Strangeways,” said he, as he placed it in his
note-case. “I must compliment you upon your powers of observation. The
description of the missing lady is remarkably clear and exhaustive.
And now I would suggest that you call in at Mr. Japp’s office on our
way back, and ascertain whether any letter has been received. If there
has been no communication we shall have to regard the appearances as
suspicious, and calling for investigation.”
Secretly gratified at the interest which Thorndyke seemed to be
developing in the mystery, I conducted my friends up the High-street
until we reached the office, which I entered, leaving my colleagues
outside. Mr. Japp looked up from a letter which he was writing, and
Bundy, who had been peeping over the curtain, revolved on his stool
and faced me.
“Any news?” I asked.
Japp shook his head gloomily. “Not a sign,” said he. “I shall wait
until the first post is in to-morrow morning, and then, if there are
no tidings of her, I shall go across to the police station. Perhaps
you had better come with me, as you are able to give the particulars
that they will want.”
“Very well,” I said, “I will look in at half-past nine”; and with this
I was turning away when Bundy inquired: “Are those two toffs outside
friends of yours?” and, on my replying in the affirmative, he
continued: “They seem to be taking a deuce of an interest in Japp’s
proclamation. You might tell them that if they happen to have found
that key, the money is quite safe. I will see that Japp pays up.”
I promised to deliver the message, and, as Bundy craned up to make a
further inspection of my colleagues, I departed to join the latter.
“There is no news up to the present,” I said, “but Japp proposes to
wait until to-morrow morning for a last chance before applying to the
police.”
“Was that Japp who was inspecting us through that preposterous pair of
barnacles?” Jervis asked.
“No,” I answered. “That was Bundy. He suspects you of having found
that key and of holding on to it until you are sure of the reward.”
“What key is it?” asked Jervis. “The key of the strong-room? They seem
to be in a rare twitter about it.”
“No; it is just a gate-key belonging to a piece of waste land where
they are doing some repairs to the old city wall. And, by the way,
thereby hangs a tale; a horrible and tragic tale of a convivial
bargee, which ought to have a special interest for a pair of medical
jurists”--and here I related to them the gruesome story that was told
to Bundy and me by the old mortar-mixer.
They both chuckled appreciatively at the dénouement, and Jervis
remarked:
“It would seem that the late Bill was a rather inflammable gentleman.
The yarn recalls the tragic end of Mr. Krook in ‘Bleak House,’ only
that Krook went one better than Bill, for he managed to combust
himself in an hour or two without any lime at all.”
The story and the comment brought us to my house, which we had no
sooner entered than Mrs. Dunk, who seemed to have been lying in wait
for us, made her appearance with the tea; and while we were disposing
of this refreshment Thorndyke reverted to the case of my missing
patient.
“As I am to keep an eye on this case,” said he, “I shall want to be
kept in touch with it. Of course, the actual investigation--if there
has to be one--will need to be conducted on the spot, which is not
possible to me. What I suggest is that you write out a detailed
account of everything that is known to you in connexion with it. Don’t
select your facts. Put down everything in any way connected with the
case and say all you know about the person concerned--Mrs. Frood
herself and everybody who was acquainted with her. Send this statement
to me and keep a copy. Then, if any new fact becomes known, let me
have it and make a note of it for your own information. You are on the
spot and I shall look to you for the data; and if I want any of them
amplified or confirmed I shall communicate with you.
“There is one other matter. Do not confide to anyone that you have
consulted me or that I am interested in the case; neither to Mr. Japp,
to the police, nor to anybody else whatsoever; and I advise you to
keep your own interest in the mystery to yourself as far as possible.”
“What is the need of this secrecy?” I asked, in some surprise.
“The point is,” replied Thorndyke, “that when you are investigating a
crime you are playing against the criminal. But if the criminal is
unknown to you you are playing against an unseen adversary. If you are
visible to him he can watch your moves and reply to them. Obviously
your policy is to keep out of sight and make your moves unseen. And
remember that as long as you do not know who the criminal is you don’t
know who he is not. Anyone may be the criminal, or may be his
unconscious agent or coadjutor. If you make confidences they may be
innocently passed on to the guilty parties. So keep your own counsel
rigorously. If there has been a crime, that crime has local connexions
and probably a local origin. The solution of the mystery will probably
be discovered here. And if you intend to take a hand in the solution
let it be a lone hand; and keep me informed of everything that you do
or observe; and for my part, I will give you all the help I can.”
By the time we had finished our tea and our discussion the hour of my
friends’ departure was drawing nigh. I walked with them to the
station, and when I bade them farewell I received a warm invitation to
visit them at their chambers in the Temple; an invitation of which I
determined to avail myself on the first favourable opportunity.
CHAPTER VIII.
SERGEANT COBBLEDICK TAKES A HAND
Punctually at half-past nine on the following morning I presented
myself at the office, and, if I had indulged in any hopes of
favourable news--which I had not--they would have been dispelled by a
glance at Mr. Japp’s troubled face.
“I suppose you have heard nothing?” I said, when we had exchanged
brief greetings.
He shook his head gloomily as he opened the cupboard and took out his
hat.
“No,” he answered, “and I am afraid we never shall.” He sighed
heavily, and, putting on his hat, walked slowly to the door. “It is a
dreadful affair,” he continued, as we went out together. “How she
would have hated the idea of it, poor girl! All the horrid publicity,
the posters, the sensational newspaper paragraphs, the descriptions of
her person and belongings. And then, at the end of it all, God knows
what horror may come to light. It won’t bear thinking of.”
He trudged along at my side with bent head and eyes cast down, and for
the remainder of the short journey neither of us spoke. On reaching
the police-station we made our way into a small, quiet office, the
only tenant of which was a benevolent-looking, bald-headed sergeant,
who was seated at a high desk, and, who presented that peculiar,
decapitated aspect that appertains to a police officer minus his
helmet. As we entered the sergeant laid down his pen and turned to us
with a benign smile.
“Good morning, Mr. Japp,” said he. “What can I have the pleasure of
doing for you?”
“I am sorry to say, Sergeant,” replied Japp, “that I have come here on
very unpleasant business,” and he proceeded to give the officer a
concise summary of the facts, to which our friend listened with close
attention. When it was finished, the sergeant produced a sheet of blue
foolscap, and, having folded a wide margin on it, dipped his pen in
the ink and began his examination.
“I’d better take the doctor’s statement first,” said he. “The lady’s
name is Angelina Frood, married, living apart from husband--I shall
want his address presently--last seen alive by----”
“John Strangeways, M.D.,” said I, “of Maidstone-road, Rochester.”
The sergeant wrote this down, and continued: “Last seen at about 8.30
P.M. on Saturday, 26th April, proceeding towards Chatham, on unknown
business. Can you give me a description of her?”
I described her person, assisted by Japp, and the sergeant, having
committed the particulars to writing, read them out:
“‘Age 28, height 5 ft. 7 in., complexion medium, hazel eyes, abundant
dark brown hair, strongly marked black eyebrows, nearly meeting over
nose.’
“No special marks that you know of?”
“No.”
“Now, Doctor, can you tell us how she was dressed?”
“She was wearing a snuff-brown coat and skirt,” I replied, “and a
straw hat of the same colour with a broad, dull green band. The hat
was fixed on by two hat-pins with silver heads shaped like
poppy-capsules. The coat had six buttons, smallish, bronze
buttons--about half an inch in diameter--with a Tudor rose embossed on
each. Brown suède gloves with fasteners--no buttons--brown silk
stockings, and brown suède shoes with small, oval bronze buckles. She
had a narrow silk scarf, dull green, with three purple bands at each
end--one broad band and two narrow--and knotted fringe at the ends.
She wore a small circular brooch with a largish opal in the centre and
a border of small pearls, of which one was missing. The missing pearl
was in the position of the figure three on a clock dial. She carried a