CHAPTER II
WHAT WAS FOUND ON THE BODY
"Couldn't we put the body in a cab and send it home?"
"Could--but it would probably mean putting ourselves in the bankruptcy,if not the police court. The thing would be traced home to us. True, thebankruptcy would come only a little before the appointed time, justhasten things along, as it were."
"Could not we put----?"
"Let's put the body in this cupboard. That's the wisest thing to do forthe present.... That's it. Turn the key. Now I'll get round to my roomsand send Sawyer back. That little imp must have no inkling of what hashappened."
"He leaves at five o'clock."
"And it is close on that hour. Let him come in, and suppose the placeempty. Let him leave at the usual time, in the usual way, and then Iwill come back."
Things happened that way, and soon after Sawyer had left for the day,the surgeon closed his offices and went into the dentist's.
He locked the outer door, and walking into the inner chamber, said:
"Charley, I have been thinking it over, and it does seem an awful thingto do that over the railings business. Mind you, I still believe it allsentiment, but, if possible, we will find out where the man lived, anddevise a means of driving him home."
"Won't it be dangerous?"
"Yes. Still we will risk it. It seems a brutal thing to do as Isuggested. We will put him on his own doorstep late to-night."
"You think we can manage it without----"
"Great point is, where he lived. If in a quiet suburb we can manage itall right. Get a cab here at my door, send the cabby round the cornerfor some cigars, we mind the horse, and, while he is away, slip the bodyin. When he comes back he will notice nothing in the darkness."
"But the man said he was going to America to-morrow!"
"Great Scott! So he did. I had forgotten that. Anyway, let us see if hehas any address, pocketbook, letters--or anything on him to show wherehe would have slept if living to-night."
The key was turned in the lock of the cupboard, the body brought out andsearched.
In the pockets were a passage ticket for America, letters addressed to"Mr. George Depew (of New York), Armfield's Hotel, Finsbury."
It was evident from the wording of the letters, which the brothers read,that Mr. Depew had stayed at Armfield's since his arrival from America.
The letters were from a city solicitor named Loide--Richard Loide, ofLiverpool Street.
A perusal of those letters showed the whole reason of Mr. Depew's beingthat side of the Atlantic.
Loide had acted for Depew's aunt in the collection of the rents ofcertain properties. That aunt died, and Depew was sole legatee.
When the lawyer's letter reached him to that effect, Depew cabled Loideto sell all the property immediately. Another cable, a few hours later,announced that Depew was aboard a liner, and on his way to England. Hewas coming to look after his own.
The last letter from the solicitor was dated only one day before, andappointed two o'clock that very day--the day of the death--for Depew toattend at the lawyer's office, and receive nineteen thousand pounds, theamount the deceased woman's estate had realized.
The brothers were silent for a few moments after the perusal of thatlast letter. The consideration of a sum like nineteen thousand pounds,by two poor men, needs a few moments' silence.
Then they turned over again the contents of the dead man's pockets. Thepurse contained a few sovereigns and dollars, the steamer passageticket, two Broad Street station cloak room tickets, and nothing more.
"Nineteen thousand pounds!"
It was the surgeon speaking. He looked at his brother; his brotherlooked at him. Each look was full of eloquence.
Then they picked up the dead man's coat, felt every inch of the liningthereof, thinking to find a secret pocket, or notes sewn in it. Nothing.
The two cloak room tickets for portmanteaus inspired the dentist toremark:
"Must be in one of the portmanteaus."
The surgeon shook his head.
"No man," he said, "would be fool enough to intrust such a sum to acloak room's tender mercies."
"Then at the hotel?"
The surgeon did not think so--said as much as he bent over the body andunbuttoned the waistcoat, to make a closer search.
He felt something hard round the waist, investigated further, unbuckledwhat he found, and brought a money belt to the table and loosed thecatch.
Notes! He pulled them out, and, as he fingered them, the rustle was assweet music.
There were nineteen of them! Each for a thousand pounds.
They might have dreamed of such things, but they had never expected toactually handle such a sum.
For some while silence reigned. In incidents of this kind silence playsa big part.
There was no need of conversation--the brothers seemed to read eachother's thoughts.
"It is a small fortune," presently whispered the dentist.
"And must be ours."
"Will the notes be traced?"
"We must guard against that."
"How?"
"I have been thinking----"
"Well?"
"This ticket--passage--has been booked in London; he will not be knownon the ship."
"No."
"He intended going from Broad Street to Euston, thence to Liverpool, intime for the boat to-morrow."
"Well?"
"He will have to go."
"What, in heaven's name, do you mean?"
"Heaven," said the surgeon grimly, "I am afraid, has little to do withthis job. But, see here, Charley, there's time yet. We can be poor andhonest, and give up this fortune, or a few hours' nasty work, andwealth--nineteen thousand pounds."
He picked up the notes again, and the rustle made both men's eyessparkle.
A piano organ in the distance was jigging out a "Belle of New York"tune, but no sound of it was heard by the brothers. Their ears were fullof that crisp, crackling sound.
"But how do you mean that he will have to go?"
"One of us in his name, to America."
"Surely there is no need for that."
"Every need."
"Why?"
"For two reasons. He--this--has to be disposed of."
He indicated the corpse at their feet, and went on:
"Then, again, some one in his name must land in America, and disappearthere, so that, when ultimately a hue and cry is raised, no suspicionmay arise this side of the water."
"I see."
"While one of us is on the way to America, the other must gradually cashthese notes at home. The numbers cannot be stopped for a week or two."
"Yes. But--but the body?"
"Must be taken aboard the boat."
"Good God!"
"No help for it, Charley. I had better be the passenger; you look afterthe money. I have more nerve for the work. I shall take the body in twoportmanteaus, and manage to drop them overboard _en route_."
"In two portmanteaus?"
"Yes. My old days at the hospital operating table will come back to me.Yes. Don't look so scared; there's no help for it--just lock the doorafter me while I go in for my case of instruments."
The dentist did so, and stood there waiting his brother's return. Waitedwith bulging eyes and open mouth.
His training had not been that of the hospital. He had not the coolnessin handling the limbs of his fellow-men which practice had given thesurgeon.
The piano organ had struck into a religious tune now, and wasdischarging "Abide With Me." The dentist heard that. Heard it andshivered. The eventide was falling fast.