IV. The Cambered Foot
I shall not pretend that I knew the man in America or that he was afriend of my family or that some one had written to me about him. Theplain truth is that I never laid eyes on him until Sir Henry Marquispointed him out to me the day after I went down from here to London. Itwas in Piccadilly Circus.
"There's your American," said Sir Henry.
The girl paused for a few moments. There was profound silence.
"And that isn't all of it. Nobody presented him to me. I deliberatelypicked him up!"
Three persons were in the drawing-room. An old woman with highcheekbones, a bowed nose and a firm, thin-lipped mouth was the centralfigure. She sat very straight in her chair, her head up and her hands inher lap. An aged man, in the khaki uniform of a major of yeomanry, stoodat a window looking out, his hands behind his back, his chin lifted asthough he were endeavoring to see something far away over the Englishcountry--something beyond the little groups of Highland cattle and thegreat oak trees.
Beside the old woman, on a dark wood frame, there was a fire screen madeof the pennant of a Highland regiment. Beyond her was a table witha glass top. Under this cover, in a sort of drawer lined with purplevelvet, there were medals, trophies and decorations visible belowthe sheet of glass. And on the table, in a heavy metal frame, wasthe portrait of a young man in the uniform of a captain of Highlandinfantry.
The girl who had been speaking sat in a big armchair by this table.One knew instantly that she was an American. The liberty of manner,the independence of expression, could not be mistaken in a country ofestablished forms. She had abundant brown hair skillfully arranged undera smart French hat. Her eyes were blue; not the blue of any paintedcolor; it was the blue of remote spaces in the tropic sky.
The old woman spoke without looking at the girl.
"Then," she said, "it's all quite as"--she hesitated for aword--"extraordinary as we have been led to believe."
There was the slow accent of Southern blood in the girl's voice as shewent on.
"Lady Mary," she said, "it's all far more extraordinary than you havebeen led to believe--than any one could ever have led you to believe. Ideliberately picked the man up. I waited for him outside the Savoy, andpretended to be uncertain about an address. He volunteered to take me inhis motor and I went with him. I told him I was alone in London, at theRitz. It was Blackwell's bank I pretended to be looking for. Then we hadtea."
The girl paused.
Presently she continued: "That's how it began: You're mistaken toimagine that Sir Henry Marquis presented me to this American. It was theother way about; I presented Sir Henry. I had the run of the Ritz," shewent on. "We all do if we scatter money. Sir Henry came in to tea thenext afternoon. That's how he met Mr. Meadows. And that's the only placehe ever did meet him. Mr. Meadows came every day, and Sir Henry formedthe habit of dropping in. We got to be a very friendly party."
The motionless old woman, a figure in plaster until now, kneaded herfingers as under some moving pressure. "At this time," she said, "youwere engaged to Tony and expected to be his wife!"
The girl's voice did not change. It was slow and even. "Yes," she said.
"Tony, of course, knew nothing about this?"
"He knows nothing whatever about it unless you have written him."
Again the old woman moved slightly. "I have waited," she said, "for thebenefit of your explanation. It seems as--as bad as I feared."
"Lady Mary," said the girl in her slow voice, "it's worse than youfeared. I don't undertake to smooth it over. Everything that you haveheard is quite true. I did go out with the man in his motor, in theevening. Sometimes it was quite dark before we returned. Mr. Meadowspreferred to drive at night because he was not accustomed to the Englishrule of taking the left on the road, when one always takes the right inAmerica. He was afraid he couldn't remember the rule, so it was safer atnight and there was less traffic.
"I shall not try to make the thing appear better than it was. Wesometimes took long runs. Mr. Meadows liked the high roads along theeast coast, where one got a view of the sea and the cold salt air. Weran prodigious distances. He had the finest motor in England, the verylatest American model. I didn't think so much about night coming on, thelights on the car were so wonderful. Mr. Meadows was an amazing driver.We made express-train time. The roads were usually clear at night andthe motor was a perfect wonder. The only trouble we ever had was withthe lights. Sometimes one, of them would go out. I think it was badwiring. But there was always the sweep of the sea under the stars tolook at while Mr. Meadows got the thing adjusted."
This long, detailed, shameless speech affected the aged soldier at thewindow. It seemed to him immodest bravado. And he suffered in his heart,as a man old and full of memories can suffer for the damaged honor of ason he loves.
Continuing, the girl said: "Of course it isn't true that we spentthe nights touring the east coast of England in a racer. It wasdark sometimes when we got in--occasionally after trouble with thelights--quite dark. We did go thundering distances."
"With this person, alone?" The old woman spoke slowly, like onedelicately probing at a wound.
"Yes," the girl admitted. "You see, the car was a roadster; only twocould go; and, besides, there was no one else. Mr. Meadows said he wasalone in London, and of course I was alone. When Sir Henry asked me togo down from here I went straight off to the Ritz."
The old woman made a slight, shivering gesture. "You should have gone tomy sister in Grosvenor Square. Monte would have put you up--and lookedafter you."
"The Ritz put me up very well," the girl continued. "And I am accustomedto looking after myself. Sir Henry thought it was quite all right."
The old woman spoke suddenly with energy and directness. "I don'tunderstand Henry in the least," she said. "I was quite willing for youto go to London when he asked me for permission. But I thought he wouldtake you to Monte's, and certainly I had the right to believe that hewould not have lent himself to--to this escapade."
"He seemed to be very nice about it," the girl went on. "He came in totea with us--Mr. Meadows and me--almost every evening. And he alwayshad something amusing to relate, some blunder of Scotland Yard or someripping mystery. I think he found it immense fun to be Chief of theCriminal Investigation Department. I loved the talk: Mr. Meadows wasalways interested and Sir Henry likes people to be interested."
The old woman continued to regard the girl as one hesitatingly touchesan exquisite creature frightfully mangled.
"This person--was he a gentleman?" she inquired. The girl answeredimmediately. "I thought about that a good deal," she said. "He hadperfect manners, quite Continental manners; but, as you say over here,Americans are so imitative one never can tell. He was not young--nearfifty, I would say; very well dressed. He was from St. Paul; a Londonagent for some flouring mills in the Northwest. I don't know precisely.He explained it all to Sir Henry. I think he would have been glad ofa little influence--some way to meet the purchasing agents for thegovernment. He seemed to have the American notion that he could come toLondon and go ahead without knowing anybody. Anyway, he was immenselyinteresting--and he had a ripping motor."
The old man at the window did not move. He remained looking out over theEnglish country with his big, veined hands clasped behind his back. Hehad left this interview to Lady Mary, as he had left most of the crucialaffairs of life to her dominant nature. But the thing touched him fardeeper than it touched the aged dowager. He had a man's faith in thefidelity of a loved woman.
He knew how his son, somewhere in France, trusted this girl, believedin her, as long ago in a like youth he had believed in another. He knewalso how the charm of the girl was in the young soldier's blood, andhow potent were these inscrutable mysteries. Every man who loved awoman wished to believe that she came to him out of the garden of aconvent--out of a roc's egg, like the princess in the Arabian story.
All these things he had experienced in himself, in a shattered romance,in a disillusioned youth, when he was y
oung like the lad somewhere inFrance. Lady Mary would see only broken conventions; but he saw immortalthings, infinitely beyond conventions, awfully broken. He did not move.He remained like a painted picture.
The girl went on in her soft, slow voice. "You would have disliked Mr.Meadows, Lady Mary," she said. "You would dislike any American who camewithout letters and could not be precisely placed." The girl's voicegrew suddenly firmer. "I don't mean to make it appear better," she said."The worst would be nearer the truth. He was just an unknown Americanbagman, with a motor car, and a lot of time on his hands--and I pickedhim up. But Sir Henry Marquis took a fancy to him."
"I cannot understand Henry," the old woman repeated. "It'sextraordinary."
"It doesn't seem extraordinary to me," said the girl. "Mr. Meadows wasimmensely clever, and Sir Henry was like a man with a new toy. The HomeSecretary had just put him in as Chief of the Criminal InvestigationDepartment. He was full of a lot of new ideas--dactyloscopic bureaus,photographie mitrique, and scientific methods of crime detection. Hetalked about it all the time. I didn't understand half the talk. ButMr. Meadows was very clever. Sir Henry said he was a charming person.Anybody who could discuss the whorls of the Galton finger-print testswas just then a charming person to Sir Henry."
The girl paused a moment, then she went on
"I suppose things had gone so for about a fortnight when your sister,Lady Monteith, wrote that she had seen Sir Henry with us--Mr. Meadowsand me--in the motor. I have to shatter a pleasant fancy about thatchaperonage! That was the only time Sir Henry was ever with us.
"It came about like this: It was Thursday morning about nine o'clock,I think, when Sir Henry, popped in at the Ritz. He was full of someamazing mystery that had turned up at Benton Court, a country housebelonging to the Duke of Dorset, up the Thames beyond Richmond. Hewanted to go there at once. He was fuming because an under secretary hadhis motor, and he couldn't catch up with him.
"I told him he could have 'our' motor. He laughed. And I telephoned Mr.Meadows to come over and take him up. Sir Henry asked me to go along.So that's how Lady Monteith happened to see the three of us crowded intothe seat of the big roadster."
The girl went on in her deliberate, even voice
"Sir Henry was boiling full of the mystery. He got us all excited by thetime we arrived at Benton Court. I think Mr. Meadows was as keen aboutthe thing as Sir Henry. They were both immensely worked up. It was anamazing thing!"
"You see, Benton Court is a little house of the Georgian period. Ithas been closed up for ages, and now, all at once, the most mysteriousthings began to happen in it.
"A local inspector, a very reliable man named Millson, passing that wayon his bicycle, saw a man lying on the doorstep. He also saw some onerunning away. It was early in the morning, just before daybreak.
"Millson saw only the man's back, but he could distinguish the colorof his clothes. He was wearing a blue coat and reddish-brown trousers.Millson said he could hardly make out the blue coat in the darkness, buthe could distinctly see the reddish brown color of the man's trousers.He was very positive about this. Mr. Meadows and Sir Henry pressed himpretty hard, but he was firm about it. He could make out that thecoat was blue, and he could see very distinctly that the trousers werereddish-brown.
"But the extraordinary thing came a little later. Millson hurried to atelephone to get Scotland Yard, then he returned to Benton Court; butwhen he got back the dead man had disappeared.
"He insists that he was not away beyond five minutes, but within thattime the dead man had vanished. Millson could find no trace of him.That's the mystery that sent us tearing up there with Mr. Meadows andSir Henry transformed into eager sleuths.
"We found the approaches to the house under a patrol from Scotland Yard.But nobody had gone in. The inspector was waiting for Sir Henry."
The old man stood like an image, and the aged woman sat in her chairlike a figure in basalt.
But the girl ran on with a sort of eager unconcern: "Sir Henry and Mr.Meadows took the whole thing in charge. The door had been broken open.They examined the marks about the fractures very carefully; then theywent inside. There were some naked footprints. They were small, as of alittle, cramped foot, and they seemed to be tracked in blood on the hardoak floor. There was a wax candle partly burned on the table. And that'sall there was.
"There were some tracks in the dust of the floor, but they were not veryclearly outlined, and Sir Henry thought nothing could be made of them.
"It was awfully exciting. I went about behind the two men. Sir Henrytalked all the time. Mr. Meadows was quite as much interested, but hedidn't say anything. He seemed to say less as the thing went on.
"They went over everything--the ground outside and every inch of thehouse. Then they put everybody out and sat down by a table in the roomwhere the footprints were.
"Sir Henry had been awfully careful. He had a big lens with which toexamine the marks of the bloody footprints. He was like a man on thetrail of a buried treasure. He shouted over everything, thrust his glassinto Mr. Meadows' hand and bade him verify what he had seen. His ardorwas infectious. I caught it myself.
"Mr. Meadows, in his quiet manner, was just as much concerned inunraveling the thing as Sir Henry. I never had so wild a time in allmy life. Finally, when Sir Henry put everybody else out and closed thedoor, and the three of us sat down at the table to try to untangle thething, I very nearly screamed with excitement. Mr. Meadows sat withhis arms folded, not saying a word; but Sir Henry went ahead with hisexplanation."
The girl looked like a vivid portrait, the soft colors of her gown andall the cool, vivid extravagancies of youth distinguished in her. Herwords indicated fervor and excited energy; but they were not evidencedin her face or manner. She was cool and lovely. One would have thoughtthat she recounted the inanities of a curate's tea party.
The aged man, in the khaki uniform of a major of yeomanry, remained inhis position at the window. The old woman sat with her implacable face,unchanging like a thing insensible and inorganic.
This unsympathetic aspect about the girl did not seem to disturb her.She went on:
"The thing was thrilling. It was better than any theater--the three ofus at the old mahogany table in the room, and the Scotland Yard patroloutside.
"Sir Henry was bubbling over with his theory. 'I read this riddle like aprinted page,' he said. 'It will be the work of a little band of expertcracksmen that the Continent has kindly sent us. We have had somesamples of their work in Brompton Road. They are professional crooksof a high order--very clever at breaking in a door, and, like all thecriminal groups that we get without an invitation from over the Channel,these crooks have absolutely no regard for human life.'
"That's the way Sir Henry led off with his explanation. Of course he hadall that Scotland Yard knew about criminal groups to start him right.It was a good deal to have the identity of the criminal agents selectedout; but I didn't see how he was going to manage to explain the mysteryfrom the evidence. I was wild to hear him. Mr. Meadows was quite asinterested, I thought, although he didn't say a word.
"Sir Henry nodded, as though he took the American's confirmation as athing that followed. 'We are at the scene,' he said, 'of one of the mosttreacherous acts of all criminal drama. I mean the "doing in," as ourcriminals call it, of the unprofessional accomplice. It's a regulationpiece of business with the hard-and-fast criminal organizations of theContinent, like the Nervi of Marseilles, or the Lecca of Paris.
"'They take in a house servant, a shopkeeper's watchman, or a bank guardto help them in some big haul. Then they lure him into some abandonedhouse, under a pretense of dividing up the booty, and there put him outof the way. That's what's happened here. It's a common plan with thesecriminal groups, and clever of them. The picked-up accomplice would besure to let the thing out. For safety the professionals must "do himin" at once, straight away after the big job, as a part of what thebarrister chaps call the res gestae.'
"Sir Henry went on nodding at us and drumming
the palm of his hand onthe edge of the table.
"'This thing happens all the time,' he said, 'all about, whereprofessional criminals are at work. It accounts for a lot of mysteriesthat the police cannot make head or tail of, like this one, for example.Without our knowledge of this sinister custom, one could not begin orend with an affair like this.
"'But it's simple when one has the cue--it's immensely simple. Weknow exactly what happened and the sort of crooks that were about thebusiness. The barefoot prints show the Continental group. That's thetrick of Southern Europe to go in barefoot behind a man to kill him.'
"Sir Henry jarred the whole table with his big hand. The surface of thetable was covered with powdered chalk that the baronet had dusted overit in the hope of developing criminal finger prints. Now underthe drumming of his palm the particles of white dust whirled likemicroscopic elfin dancers.
"'The thing's clear as daylight,' he went on: 'One of the professionalgroup brought the accomplice down here to divide the booty. He broke thedoor in. They sat down here at this table with the lighted candle as yousee it. And while the stuff was being sorted out, another of the bandslipped in behind the man and killed him.
"'They started to carry the body out. Millson chanced by. They got in afunk and rushed the thing. Of course they had a motor down the road,and equally of course it was no trick to whisk the body out of theneighborhood.'
"Sir Henry got half up on his feet with his energy in the solution ofthe thing. He thrust his spread-out fingers down on the table like aman, by that gesture, pressing in an inevitable, conclusive summing up."
The girl paused. "It was splendid, I thought. I applauded like anentranced pit!
"But Mr. Meadows didn't say a word. He took up the big glass we had usedabout the inspection of the place, and passed it over the prints SirHenry was unconsciously making in the dust on the polished surface ofthe table. Then he put the glass down and looked the excited baronetcalmly in the face.
"'There,' cried Sir Henry, 'the thing's no mystery.'
"For the first time Mr. Meadows opened his mouth. 'It's the profoundestmystery I ever heard of,' he said.
"Sir Henry was astonished. He sat down and looked across the table atthe man. He wasn't able to speak for a moment, then he got it out: 'Whyexactly do you say that?'
"Mr. Meadows put his elbows on the table. He twiddled the big readingglass in his fingers. His face got firm and decided.
"'To begin with,' he said, 'the door to this house was never broken bya professional cracksman. It's the work of a bungling amateur. Aprofessional never undertakes to break a door at the lock. Naturallythat's the firmest place about a door. The implement he intends to useas a lever on the door he puts in at the top or bottom. By that meanshe has half of the door as a lever against the resistance of the lock.Besides, a professional of any criminal group is a skilled workman. Hedoesn't waste effort. He doesn't fracture a door around the lock. Thisdoor's all mangled, splintered and broken around the lock.'"
"He stopped and looked about the room, and out through the window at theScotland Yard patrol. The features of his face were contracted withthe problem. One could imagine one saw the man's mind laboring at themystery. 'And that's not all,' he said. 'Your man Millson is not tellingthe truth. He didn't see a dead body lying on the steps of this house;and he didn't see a man running away.'
"Sir Henry broke in at that. 'Impossible,' he said; 'Millson's afirst-class inspector, absolutely reliable. Why do you say that hedidn't see the dead man on the steps or the assassin running away?'
"Mr. Meadows answered in the same even voice. 'Because there was neverany dead man here,' he said, 'for anybody to see. And because Millson's'description of the man he saw is scientifically an impossible feat ofvision.'
"Impossible?' cried Sir Henry.
"'Quite impossible,' Mr. Meadows insisted. 'Millson tells us that theman he saw running away in the night wore a blue coat and reddish-browntrousers. He says he was barely able to distinguish the blue coat, butthat he could see the reddish-brown trousers very clearly. Now, as amatter of fact, it has been very accurately determined that red is thehardest color to distinguish at night, and blue the very easiest. Ablue coat would be clearly visible long after reddish-brown trousers hadbecome indistinguishable in the darkness.'
"Sir Henry's under jaw sagged a little. 'Why, yes,' he said, 'that'strue; that's precisely true. Gross, at the University of Gratz,determined that by experiment in 1912. I never thought about it!'
"'There are some other things here that you have not, perhaps, preciselythought about,' Mr. Meadows went on.
"'For example, the things that happened in this room did not happen inthe night. They happened in the day.'
"He pointed to the half-burned wax candle on the table. 'There's aheadless joiner's nail driven into the table,' he said, 'and this candleis set down over the nail. That means that the person who placed itthere wished it to remain there--to remain there firmly. He didn't putit down there for the brief requirements of a passing tragedy, he put itthere to remain; that's one thing.
"'Another thing is that this candle thus firmly fastened on the tablewas never alight there. If it had ever been burning in its position onthe table, some of the drops of melted wax would have fallen about it.
"'You will observe that, while the candle is firmly fixed, it does notset straight; it is inclined at least ten degrees out of perpendicular.In that position it couldn't have burned for a moment without drippingmelted wax on the table. And there's none on the table; there has neverbeen any on it. Your glass shows not the slightest evidence of a waxstain.' He added: 'Therefore the candle is a blind; false evidence togive us the impression of a night affair.'
"Sir Henry's jaw sagged; now his mouth gaped. 'True,' he said. 'True,true.' He seemed to get some relief to his damaged deductions out of therepeated word.
"The irony in Mr. Meadows' voice increased a little. 'Nor is that all,'he said. 'The smear on the floor, and the stains in which the nakedfoot tracked, are not human blood. They're not any sort of blood. Itwas clearly evident when you had your lens over them. They show nocoagulated fiber. They show only the evidences of dye--weak dye--wateredred ink, I'd say.'
"I thought Sir Henry was going to crumple up in his chair. He seemed toget loose and baggy in some extraordinary fashion, and his gaping jawworked. 'But the footprints,' he said, 'the naked footprints?' His voicewas a sort of stutter-the sort of shaken stutter of a man who has comea' tumbling cropper.
"The American actually laughed: he laughed as we sometimes laugh at amental defective.
"'They're not footprints!' he said. 'Nobody ever had a foot camberedlike that, or with a heel like it, or with toes like it. Somebody madethose prints with his hand--the edge of his palm for the heel and theballs of his fingers for the toes. The wide, unstained distancesbetween these heelprints and the prints of the ball of the toes show theimpossible arch.'
"Sir Henry was like a man gone to pieces. 'But who--who made them?' hefaltered.
"The American leaned forward and put the big glass over the prints thatSir Henry had made with his fingers in the white dust on the mahoganytable. 'I think you know the answer to your question,' he said. 'Thewhorls of these prints are identical with those of the toe tracks.'
"Then he laid the glass carefully down, sat back in his chair, foldedhis arms and looked at Sir Henry.
"'Now,' he said, 'will you kindly tell me why you have gone to thetrouble of manufacturing all these false evidences of a crime?"'
The girl paused. There was intense silence in the drawing-room. The agedman at the window had turned and was looking at her. The face of the oldwoman seemed vague and uncertain.
The girl smiled.
"Then," she said, "the real, amazing miracle happened. Sir Henry got onhis feet, his big body tense, his face like iron, his voice ringing.
"'I went to that trouble,' he said, 'because I wished to demonstrate--Iwished to demonstrate beyond the possibility of any error--that Mr.Arthur Meadows, the
pretended American from St. Paul, was in fact thecelebrated criminologist, Karl Holweg Leibnich, of Bonn, giving us thefavor of his learned presence while he signaled the German submarinesoff the east coast roads with his high-powered motor lights.'"
Now there was utter silence in the drawing-room but for the low of theHighland cattle and the singing of the birds outside.
For the first time there came a little tremor in the girl's voice.
"When Sir Henry doubted this American and asked me to go down and makesure before he set a trap for him, I thought--I thought, if Tony couldrisk his life for England, I could do that much."
At this moment a maid appeared in the doorway, the trim, immaculate,typical English maid. "Tea is served, my lady," she said.
The tall, fine old man crossed the room and offered his arm to the girlwith the exquisite, gracious manner with which once upon a time he hadoffered it to a girlish queen at Windsor.
The ancient woman rose as if she would go out before them. Thensuddenly, at the door, she stepped aside for the girl to pass, makingthe long, stooping, backward curtsy of the passed Victorian era.
"After you, my dear," she said, "always!"