Chapter II
Thorndyke Devises a Scheme
As I entered the Temple by the Tudor Street gate the aspect of the placesmote my senses with an air of agreeable familiarity. Here had I spentmany a delightful hour when working with Thorndyke at the remarkableHornby case, which the newspapers had called "The Case of the Red ThumbMark"; and here had I met the romance of my life, the story whereof istold elsewhere. The place was thus endeared to me by pleasantrecollections of a happy past, and its associations suggested hopes ofhappiness yet to come and in the not too far distant future.
My brisk tattoo on the little brass knocker brought to the door no lessa person than Thorndyke himself; and the warmth of his greeting made meat once proud and ashamed. For I had not only been an absentee; I hadbeen a very poor correspondent.
"The prodigal has returned, Polton," he exclaimed, looking into theroom. "Here is Dr. Jervis."
I followed him into the room and found Polton--his confidential servant,laboratory assistant, artificer and general "familiar"--setting out thetea-tray on a small table. The little man shook hands cordially with me,and his face crinkled up into the sort of smile that one might expect tosee on a benevolent walnut.
"We've often talked about you, sir," said he. "The doctor was wonderingonly yesterday when you were coming back to us."
As I was not "coming back to them" quite in the sense intended I felt alittle guilty, but reserved my confidences for Thorndyke's ear andreplied in polite generalities. Then Polton fetched the tea-pot from thelaboratory, made up the fire and departed, and Thorndyke and I subsided,as of old, into our respective arm-chairs.
"And whence do you spring from in this unexpected fashion?" my colleagueasked. "You look as if you had been making professional visits."
"I have. The base of operations is in Lower Kennington Lane."
"Ah! Then you are 'back once more on the old trail'?"
"Yes," I answered, with a laugh, "'the old trail, the long trail, thetrail that is always new.'"
"And leads nowhere," Thorndyke added grimly.
I laughed again; not very heartily, for there was an uncomfortableelement of truth in my friend's remark, to which my own experience boreonly too complete testimony. The medical practitioner whose lack ofmeans forces him to subsist by taking temporary charge of other men'spractices is apt to find that the passing years bring him little butgrey hairs and a wealth of disagreeable experience.
"You will have to drop it, Jervis; you will, indeed," Thorndyke resumedafter a pause. "This casual employment is preposterous for a man of yourclass and professional attainments. Besides, are you not engaged to bemarried and to a most charming girl?"
"Yes, I know. I have been a fool. But I will really amend my ways. Ifnecessary, I will pocket my pride and let Juliet advance the money tobuy a practice."
"That," said Thorndyke, "is a very proper resolution. Pride and reservebetween people who are going to be husband and wife, is an absurdity.But why buy a practice? Have you forgotten my proposal?"
"I should be an ungrateful brute if I had."
"Very well. I repeat it now. Come to me as my junior, read for the Barand work with me, and, with your abilities, you will have a chance ofsomething like a career. I want you, Jervis," he added, earnestly. "Imust have a junior, with my increasing practice, and you are the juniorI want. We are old and tried friends; we have worked together; we likeand trust one another, and you are the best man for the job that I know.Come; I am not going to take a refusal. This is an ultimatum."
"And what is the alternative?" I asked with a smile at his eagerness.
"There isn't any. You are going to say yes."
"I believe I am," I answered, not without emotion; "and I am morerejoiced at your offer and more grateful than I can tell you. But wemust leave the final arrangements for our next meeting--in a week or so,I hope--for I have to be back in an hour, and I want to consult you ona matter of some importance."
"Very well," said Thorndyke; "we will leave the formal agreement forconsideration at our next meeting. What is it that you want my opinionon?"
"The fact is," I said, "I am in a rather awkward dilemma, and I want youto tell me what you think I ought to do."
Thorndyke paused in the act of refilling my cup and glanced at me withunmistakable anxiety.
"Nothing of an unpleasant nature, I hope," said he.
"No, no; nothing of that kind," I answered with a smile as I interpretedthe euphemism; for "something unpleasant," in the case of a young andreasonably presentable medical man is ordinarily the equivalent oftrouble with the female of his species. "It is nothing that concerns mepersonally at all," I continued; "it is a question of professionalresponsibility. But I had better give you an account of the affair in acomplete narrative, as I know that you like to have your data in aregular and consecutive order."
Thereupon I proceeded to relate the history of my visit to themysterious Mr. Graves, not omitting any single circumstance or detailthat I could recollect.
Thorndyke listened from the very beginning of my story with the closestattention. His face was the most impassive that I have ever seen;ordinarily as inscrutable as a bronze mask; but to me, who knew himintimately, there was a certain something--a change of colour, perhaps,or an additional sparkle of the eye--that told me when his curiouspassion for investigation was fully aroused. And now, as I told him ofthat weird journey and the strange, secret house to which it had broughtme, I could see that it offered a problem after his very heart. Duringthe whole of my narration he sat as motionless as a statue, evidentlycommitting the whole story to memory, detail by detail; and even when Ihad finished he remained for an appreciable time without moving orspeaking.
At length he looked up at me. "This is a very extraordinary affair,Jervis," he said.
"Very," I agreed; "and the question that is agitating me is, what is tobe done?"
"Yes," he said, meditatively, "that is the question; and an uncommonlydifficult question it is. It really involves the settlement of theantecedent question: What is it that is happening at that house?"
"What do you think is happening at that house?" I asked.
"We must go slow, Jervis," he replied. "We must carefully separate thelegal tissues from the medical, and avoid confusing what we know withwhat we suspect. Now, with reference to the medical aspects of the case.The first question that confronts us is that of sleeping sickness, ornegro-lethargy as it is sometimes called; and here we are in adifficulty. We have not enough knowledge. Neither of us, I take it, hasever seen a case, and the extant descriptions are inadequate. From whatI know of the disease, its symptoms agree with those in your case inrespect of the alleged moroseness and in the gradually increasingperiods of lethargy alternating with periods of apparent recovery. Onthe other hand, the disease is said to be confined to negroes; but thatprobably means only that negroes alone have hitherto been exposed to theconditions that produce it. A more important fact is that, as far as Iknow, extreme contraction of the pupils is not a symptom of sleepingsickness. To sum up, the probabilities are against sleeping sickness,but with our insufficient knowledge, we cannot definitely exclude it."
"You think that it may really be sleeping sickness?"
"No; personally I do not entertain that theory for a moment. But I amconsidering the evidence apart from our opinions on the subject. We haveto accept it as a conceivable hypothesis that it may be sleepingsickness because we cannot positively prove that it is not. That is all.But when we come to the hypothesis of morphine poisoning, the case isdifferent. The symptoms agree with those of morphine poisoning in everyrespect. There is no exception or disagreement whatever. The commonsense of the matter is therefore that we adopt morphine poisoning as ourworking diagnosis; which is what you seem to have done."
"Yes. For purposes of treatment."
"Exactly. For medical purposes you adopted the more probable view anddismissed the less probable. That was the reasonable thing to do. Butfor legal purposes you must entertain both possibilit
ies; for thehypothesis of poisoning involves serious legal issues, whereas thehypothesis of disease involves no legal issues at all."
"That doesn't sound very helpful," I remarked.
"It indicates the necessity for caution," he retorted.
"Yes, I see that. But what is your own opinion of the case?"
"Well," he said, "let us consider the facts in order. Here is a man who,we assume, is under the influence of a poisonous dose of morphine. Thequestion is, did he take that dose himself or was it administered to himby some other person? If he took it himself, with what object did hetake it? The history that was given to you seems completely to excludethe idea of suicide. But the patient's condition seems equally toexclude the idea of morphinomania. Your opium-eater does not reducehimself to a state of coma. He usually keeps well within the limits ofthe tolerance that has been established. The conclusion that emerges is,I think, that the drug was administered by some other person; and themost likely person seems to be Mr. Weiss."
"Isn't morphine a very unusual poison?"
"Very; and most inconvenient except in a single, fatal dose, by reasonof the rapidity with which tolerance of the drug is established. But wemust not forget that slow morphine poisoning might be eminentlysuitable in certain cases. The manner in which it enfeebles the will,confuses the judgment and debilitates the body might make it very usefulto a poisoner whose aim was to get some instrument or document executed,such as a will, deed or assignment. And death could be producedafterwards by other means. You see the important bearing of this?"
"You mean in respect of a death certificate?"
"Yes. Suppose Mr. Weiss to have given a large dose of morphine. He thensends for you and throws out a suggestion of sleeping sickness. If youaccept the suggestion he is pretty safe. He can repeat the process untilhe kills his victim and then get a certificate from you which will coverthe murder. It was quite an ingenious scheme--which, by the way, ischaracteristic of intricate crimes; your subtle criminal often plans hiscrime like a genius, but he generally executes it like a fool--as thisman seems to have done, if we are not doing him an injustice."
"How has he acted like a fool?"
"In several respects. In the first place, he should have chosen hisdoctor. A good, brisk, confident man who 'knows his own mind' is thesort of person who would have suited him; a man who would have jumped ata diagnosis and stuck to it; or else an ignorant weakling of alcoholictendencies. It was shockingly bad luck to run against a cautiousscientific practitioner like my learned friend. Then, of course, allthis secrecy was sheer tomfoolery, exactly calculated to put a carefulman on his guard; as it has actually done. If Mr. Weiss is really acriminal, he has mismanaged his affairs badly."
"And you apparently think that he is a criminal?"
"I suspect him deeply. But I should like to ask you one or two questionsabout him. You say he spoke with a German accent. What command ofEnglish had he? Was his vocabulary good? Did he use any German idioms?"
"No. I should say that his English was perfect, and I noticed that hisphrases were quite well chosen even for an Englishman."
"Did he seem to you 'made up' in any way; disguised, I mean?"
"I couldn't say. The light was so very feeble."
"You couldn't see the colour of his eyes, for instance?"
"No. I think they were grey, but I couldn't be sure."
"And as to the coachman. He wore a wig, you said. Could you see thecolour of his eyes? Or any peculiarity by which you could recognizehim?"
"He had a malformed thumb-nail on his right hand. That is all I can sayabout him."
"He didn't strike you as resembling Weiss in any way; in voice orfeatures?"
"Not at all; and he spoke, as I told you, with a distinct Scotchaccent."
"The reason I ask is that if Weiss is attempting to poison this man, thecoachman is almost certain to be a confederate and might be a relative.You had better examine him closely if you get another chance."
"I will. And that brings me back to the question, What am I to do? OughtI to report the case to the police?"
"I am inclined to think not. You have hardly enough facts. Of course, ifMr. Weiss has administered poison 'unlawfully and maliciously' he hascommitted a felony, and is liable under the Consolidation Acts of 1861to ten years' penal servitude. But I do not see how you could swear aninformation. You don't know that he administered the poison--if poisonhas really been administered--and you cannot give any reliable name orany address whatever. Then there is the question of sleeping sickness.You reject it for medical purposes, but you could not swear, in a courtof law, that this is not a case of sleeping sickness."
"No," I admitted, "I could not."
"Then I think the police would decline to move in the matter, and youmight find that you had raised a scandal in Dr. Stillbury's practice tono purpose."
"So you think I had better do nothing in the matter?"
"For the present. It is, of course, a medical man's duty to assistjustice in any way that is possible. But a doctor is not a detective; heshould not go out of his way to assume police functions. He should keephis eyes and ears open, and, though, in general, he should keep his owncounsel, it is his duty to note very carefully anything that seems tohim likely to bear on any important legal issues. It is not hisbusiness officiously to initiate criminal inquiries, but it isemphatically his business to be ready, if called upon, to assist justicewith information that his special knowledge and opportunities haverendered accessible to him. You see the bearing of this?"
"You mean that I should note down what I have seen and heard and saynothing about it until I am asked."
"Yes; if nothing further happens. But if you should be sent for again, Ithink it is your duty to make further observations with a view, ifnecessary, to informing the police. It may be, for instance, of vitalimportance to identify the house, and it is your duty to secure themeans of doing so."
"But, my dear Thorndyke," I expostulated, "I have told you how I wasconveyed to the house. Now, will you kindly explain to me how a man,boxed up in a pitch-dark carriage, is going to identify any place towhich he may be carried?"
"The problem doesn't appear to me to present any serious difficulties,"he replied.
"Doesn't it?" said I. "To me it looks like a pretty solid impossibility.But what do you suggest? Should I break out of the house and run away upthe street? Or should I bore a hole through the shutter of the carriageand peep out?"
Thorndyke smiled indulgently. "The methods proposed by my learned frienddisplay a certain crudity inappropriate to the character of a man ofscience; to say nothing of the disadvantage of letting the enemy intoour counsels. No, no, Jervis; we can do something better than that.Just excuse me for a minute while I run up to the laboratory."
He hurried away to Polton's sanctum on the upper floor, leaving me tospeculate on the method by which he proposed that a man should beenabled, as Sam Weller would express it, "to see through a flight ofstairs and a deal door"; or, what was equally opaque, the woodenshutters of a closed carriage.
"Now," he said, when he returned a couple of minutes later with a small,paper-covered notebook in his hand, "I have set Polton to work on alittle appliance that will, I think, solve our difficulty, and I willshow you how I propose that you should make your observations. First ofall, we have to rule the pages of this book into columns."
He sat down at the table and began methodically to rule the pages eachinto three columns, two quite narrow and one broad. The process occupiedsome time, during which I sat and watched with impatient curiosity theunhurried, precise movements of Thorndyke's pencil, all agog to hear thepromised explanation. He was just finishing the last page when therecame a gentle tap at the door, and Polton entered with a satisfied smileon his dry, shrewd-looking face and a small board in his hand.
"Will this do, sir?" he asked.
As he spoke he handed the little board to Thorndyke, who looked at itand passed it to me.
"The very thing, Polton," my friend replied. "
Where did you find it?It's of no use for you to pretend that you've made it in about twominutes and a half."
Polton smiled one of his queer crinkly smiles, and remarking that "itdidn't take much making," departed much gratified by the compliment.
"What a wonderful old fellow that is, Jervis," Thorndyke observed as hisfactotum retired. "He took in the idea instantly and seems to haveproduced the finished article by magic, as the conjurers bring forthrabbits and bowls of goldfish at a moment's notice. I suppose you seewhat your modus operandi is to be?"
I had gathered a clue from the little appliance--a plate of whitefret-wood about seven inches by five, to one corner of which apocket-compass had been fixed with shellac--but was not quite clear asto the details of the method.
"You can read a compass pretty quickly, I think?" Thorndyke said.
"Of course I can. Used we not to sail a yacht together when we werestudents?"
"To be sure we did; and we will again before we die. And now as to yourmethod of locating this house. Here is a pocket reading-lamp which youcan hook on the carriage lining. This notebook can be fixed to the boardwith an india-rubber band--thus. You observe that the thoughtful Poltonhas stuck a piece of thread on the glass of the compass to serve as alubber's line. This is how you will proceed. As soon as you are lockedin the carriage, light your lamp--better have a book with you in casethe light is noticed--take out your watch and put the board on yourknee, keeping its long side exactly in a line with the axis of thecarriage. Then enter in one narrow column of your notebook the time, inthe other the direction shown by the compass, and in the broad columnany particulars, including the number of steps the horse makes in aminute. Like this."
He took a loose sheet of paper and made one or two sample entries on itin pencil, thus--
"9.40. S.E. Start from home. 9.41 S.W. Granite setts. 9.43. S.W. Wood pavement. Hoofs 104. 9.47. W. by S Granite crossing. Macadam--
and so on. Note every change of direction, with the time; and wheneveryou hear or feel anything from outside, note it, with the time anddirection; and don't forget to note any variations in the horse's pace.You follow the process?"
"Perfectly. But do you think the method is accurate enough to fix theposition of a house? Remember, this is only a pocket-compass with nodial, and it will jump frightfully. And the mode of estimating distanceis very rough."
"That is all perfectly true," Thorndyke answered. "But you areoverlooking certain important facts The track-chart that you willproduce can be checked by other data. The house, for instance, has acovered way by which you could identify it if you knew approximatelywhere to look for it. Then you must remember that your carriage is nottravelling over a featureless plain. It is passing through streets whichhave a determined position and direction and which are accuratelyrepresented on the ordnance map. I think, Jervis, that, in spite of theapparent roughness of the method, if you make your observationscarefully, we shall have no trouble in narrowing down the inquiry to aquite small area. If we get the chance, that is to say."
"Yes, if we do. I am doubtful whether Mr. Weiss will require my servicesagain, but I sincerely hope he will. It would be rare sport to locatehis secret burrow, all unsuspected. But now I must really be off."
"Good-bye, then," said Thorndyke, slipping a well-sharpened pencilthrough the rubber band that fixed the notebook to the board. "Let meknow how the adventure progresses--if it progresses at all--andremember, I hold your promise to come and see me again quite soon in anycase."
He handed me the board and the lamp, and, when I had slipped them intomy pocket, we shook hands and I hurried away, a little uneasy at havingleft my charge so long.