IV
THE GIFTS OF CHANCE
The testamentary arrangements of eccentric people must, from time totime, have put their legatees in possession of some very queer property.I call to mind an old gentleman who bequeathed to a distant relative theproducts of a lifetime of indiscrimate collecting; which productsincluded an obsolete field gun, a stuffed camel, a collection of bottledtapeworms, a fire engine, a church pulpit and the internal fittings of apublic-house bar. And other instances could be quoted. But surely nolegatee ever found himself in possession of a queerer legacy than thatwhich my poor friend Challoner had bequeathed to me when he made over tome the mortal remains of some two dozen deceased criminals.
The bequest would have been an odd one under any circumstances, but whatmade it much more so was the strange intimacy that became establishedbetween me and the deceased. To the ordinary observer a skeleton in amuseum case or in an art school conveys no vivid sense of humanity. Thatthis bony shape was once an actual person, a Me, that walked abroad andwore clothes, that loved and hated, sorrowed and rejoiced, that hadfriends and lovers, parents and perhaps children; that was, in short, aliving man or woman, occurs to him but vaguely. The thing is anosteological specimen; a mere anatomical abstraction.
Now these skeletons of Challoner's were quite different. Walking downthe long room and looking into the great wall-case, I was confrontedwith actual individuals. Number One was Jimmy Archer, who had tried tosteal the "blimy teapot." Number Three was the burglar Fred; I couldtell him by the notch on his fifth rib that his comrade's bullet hadmade. Number Two was the man who had fired that shot, and Number Fourwas Joe, who was "done in in the dark." I knew them all. The weird"Museum Archives" had told me all about them; and as to the rest of thatgrisly company, strangers to me as yet, the neatly written,Russia-bound volume that Challoner had left would give me theirhistories too.
It was some days before I was able to resume my reading of the uncannylittle book, but an unoccupied evening at length gave me theopportunity. As ten o'clock struck, I put on my slippers, adjusted thelight, drew an armchair up to my study fire and opened the volume at theplace marked by the envelope that I had inserted at the end of the lastreading. The page was headed "Circumstances attending the acquirement ofNumbers Five and Six," and the account ran as follows:
"The most carefully conceived plans, when put into practice, are apt todiscover unforeseen defects. My elaborate plan for the capture ofburglars was no exception to the rule. The idea of employing palpablydishonest servants to act as decoy ducks to lure the burglars on to thepremises was an excellent one and had fully answered my expectations.But it had a defect which I had overlooked. The burglars themselves,when reduced to a condition suitable for exhibition in a show-case,were entirely innocuous. There was no danger of their making anyindiscreet statements. But with the servants--female servants, too--itwas quite otherwise. From the shelter of my roof they had gone forth tosow distrust and suspicion in quarters where perfect confidence andtrustfulness should prevail. It was a most unfortunate oversight. Now,when it was too late, I saw clearly that they ought never to have leftme. I ought to have added them to the collection, too.
"The evil results of the mistake soon became apparent. I had replacedthe late cook and housemaid by two women of quite unimpeachabledishonesty, of whom I had, naturally, great hopes. But nothing happened.I let them handle the plate freely, I gave them the key of the safe fromtime to time, I brushed the sham diamond pendants and bracelets undertheir very noses, and still there was no result. It is true that thesilver spoons dwindled in number and that a stray candlestick orsalt-cellar would now and again 'report absent'; that the tradesmen'sbills were preposterous and that the tea consumed in a week would haveimpaired the digestion of a Lodge of Good Templars. But that was all. Noaspirant for museum honors made his appearance. The concussor becamedusty with disuse; the safe in the dining-room remained neglected anduntouched, and as for the burglar alarm, I had to stand on it myself atstated intervals to keep it in working order.
"I had already resolved to get rid of those two women when they saved methe trouble. I directed them to accompany me to the laboratory to cleanout the furnace, whereat they both turned pale and flatly refused; and Isaw them half an hour later secretly handing their boxes up the areasteps to a man with a barrow. Obviously someone had told them somethingof my methods.
"The cook and housemaid who succeeded them were jail-birds pure andsimple. They were dirty, dishonest, lazy and occasionally drunk. But fortheir actual function they were quite useless. They drank my whiskey,they devoured and distributed my provisions, they stole my portableproperty, and once, when I had incautiously left the door unfastened, Icaught them browsing round the museum; but they brought no grist to mymill.
"It is true that during their reign I had one visitor, a scurvy littlewry-faced knave who sneaked in through the scullery window; but I thinkhe had no connection with them or he would have entered by some moreconvenient route and have used a false key instead of a jimmy to openthe safe. He was a wretched little creature and his capture quiteuninteresting; for, when he had bitten me twice, he crumpled up like arag doll and I carried him to the tank as if he had been a monkey.
"Yet I ought not to disparage him unduly, for he was the one specimen inmy collection, up to that time, who presented the orthodox 'stigmata ofdegeneration.' His hair was bushy, his face strikingly asymmetrical, andhis ears were like a pair of Lombroso's selected examples; outstanding,with enormous Darwinian tubercles and almost devoid of lobules.
"Still, whatever his points of interest, he was but a stray catch.Chance had brought him as it might bring others of the same kind in thecourse of years. But this would not answer my purpose. Numbers were whatI wanted and what I had arranged for; and it was with deepdisappointment that I recognized that my plan had failed. The supply ofanthropological material had come to an end. In a word, the criminalclass had 'smoked' me.
"This was not mere surmise on my part. I had direct and very quaintevidence of it soon after I had completed the preparation of NumberFive. I was returning home one evening and was approaching the vicinityof my house when I became aware of a small man of seedy aspect whoappeared to be following me. I slackened my pace somewhat to let himovertake or pass me, and when nearly opposite my side door (the museumentrance) he edged alongside and addressed me in a hoarse whisper.
"'Guv'nor.'
"I halted and looked at him attentively; a proceeding that caused himevident discomfort. 'Did you speak to me?' I asked.
"He edged up closer, but still did not meet my eye, and, looking firstover one shoulder and then over the other, replied, 'Yus, I did,guv'nor.'
"'What do you want?' I demanded.
"He edged up yet closer and said in a hoarse undertone, 'I want to knowwhat you've been and done with my cousin Bill.'
"'Your cousin Bill,' I repeated. 'Do I know him?'
"'I dunno whether you know 'im,' was the reply, 'but I see 'im go intoyour house and I never see 'im come out agin, and I want to know whatyou've been and done with 'im.'
"Now here was an interesting circumstance. I had already noted somethingfamiliar in the man's face. His question explained it. Cousin Bill wasclearly Number Five in the Anthropological Series. In fact, theresemblance was quite remarkable. The present example, like the lateBill, was an undergrown creature, and had the same curiously-twistednose, the same asymmetrical face and similar ears--large, flat ears thatstood out from his head like the handles of an amphora, that hadstrongly marked Darwinian tubercles, unformed helices and undevelopedlobules. Lombroso would have loved him. He would have made a delightfulphotograph for purposes of illustration, and--it suddenly occurred tome--he would make a most interesting companion preparation to NumberFive.
"'Your Cousin Bill,' I said, with this new idea in my mind. 'Was he theson of your mother's sister?' (A few details as to heredity addmaterially to the value and instructiveness of a specimen.)
"'And supposin' he was. What about it? I want
to know what you've beenand done with 'im.'
"'What makes you think I have done anything with him?' I asked.
"'Why, I see 'im go into your 'ouse and I never see 'im come out.'
"'But, my good man,' I protested, 'that is exceedingly bad logic. If yousaw him go in, there is a fair presumption that he went in--'
"'I see 'im with my own eyes,' my friend interrupted, as though therewere other alternative means of vision.
"'But,' I continued, 'the fact that you did not see him come outestablishes no presumption that he did not come out. He may have comeout unobserved.'
"'No, he didn't. He never come out. I see 'im go in--'
"'So you have mentioned. May I ask what his business was?'
"'His business,' my acquaintance replied with some hesitation, 'was of aprivate nature.'
"'I see. Did he go in by the front door?'
"'No, 'e didn't. 'E went in by the scullery window.'
"'In the evening, no doubt?'
"'Two hay hem,' was the reply.
"'Ah!' said I. 'He went in by the scullery window at two A.M. on privatebusiness. Quite so! Well, you see, the common sense of the position isthat if he went into the house and never came out, he must be in thehouse still."
"'That's just what I think,' my friend agreed.
"'Very well. Then in that case perhaps you would like to step in andlook round to see if you can find him.' I took out my latch-key andmotioned invitingly towards the museum door.
"'No yer don't,' exclaimed the man, backing away hastily down thestreet. 'Yer don't git me in there, so I tell yer straight.'
"'What do you want me to do, then?'
"'I want to know,' he reiterated, 'what you've been and done with mycousin Bill. I see 'im go into--'
"'I know,' I interrupted impatiently. 'You said that before.'
"'And look 'ere, guv'nor,' he added. 'Where did you git all themskillintons from?' Evidently somebody had been talking to this littlerascal.
"'I can't go into questions of that kind, you know,' I replied.
"'No, I don't suppose yer can,' he retorted; 'but I'll tell yer what Ithink you've been and done with Bill. You got 'im in there and you done'im in. That's what I think. And I tell yer it ain't the cheese. When acove goes into an 'ouse for to do an 'armless crack he stands for to belagged if so be as he 'appens to git copped. But 'e don't stand for tobe done in. 'Tain't playin' the game, and I ain't a-goin' to 'ave it.'
"'Then what do you propose to do?' I asked with some curiosity.
"'I perpose,' the little wastrel replied haughtily, 'for to 'ave theloar on yer. I'm a-goin' to put the coppers on to this 'ere job.'
"With this he turned somewhat hastily and shambled away up the street atthe quick shuffle characteristic of his class. I let myself in at theside door and proceeded to the museum to examine Number Five withrenewed interest. The resemblance was remarkable. It was plainlytraceable even in the skull and in the proportions of the skeletongenerally, while in the small, dry preparation of the head the likenesswas ridiculous. It was most regrettable that he should have refused myinvitation to come in. As a companion preparation, illustrating thephysical resemblances in degenerate families, he would have beeninvaluable.
"His conversation and his ludicrous threat of legal proceedings gave memuch matter for reflection. To him burglary presented itself as alegitimate sporting pursuit governed by certain rules. The players wererespectively the burglar and the householder, of whom the latter stakedhis property and the former a certain period of personal liberty; andthe rules of the game were equally binding on both. It was a conceptionworthy of comic opera; and yet, incredible as it may seem, it is thevery view of crime that is today accepted and acted upon by society.
"The threat uttered by my diminutive acquaintance had the sound of broadfarce, and so, I may confess, I regarded it. The idea of a burglarproceeding against a householder for hindering him in the execution ofhis private business might have emanated from the whimsical brain of thelate W.S. Gilbert. The quaint topsy-turveydom of it caused me many achuckle of amusement when I recalled the interview during the next fewdays; but, of course, I never dreamed of any actual attempt to carry outthe threat.
"Imagine, therefore, my astonishment when I realized that not only hadthe complaint been made, but the law had actually been set--at leasttentatively--in motion.
"The stunning discovery descended on me with the force of a concussorthree days after the interview with Number Five's cousin. I was sittingin my study reading Chevers' 'Crime against the Person' when thehousemaid entered with a visiting card. 'A gentleman wished to see me todiscuss certain scientific matters with me.'
"I looked at the card. It bore the name of 'Mr. James Ramchild,' a namequite unknown to me. It was very odd. A scientific colleague wouldsurely have written for an appointment and stated the object of hisvisit. I looked at the card again. It was printed from script typeinstead of the usual engraved plate and it bore an address in KenningtonPark Road. These were weighty facts and a trifle suspicious. I seemed toscent a traveler from beyond the Atlantic; a traveler of commercialleanings.
"'Show Mr. Ramchild up here,' I said, and the housemaid departed, toreturn anon accompanied by a tall, massive man of a somewhat militaryaspect.
"I could have laughed aloud, but I did not. It would not have beenpolitic and it would certainly not have been polite. But I chuckledinwardly as I offered my visitor a chair. '_Experientia docet!_' I hadseen quite a number of plain-clothes police officers in the last fewmonths and the present specimen would have been typical even without hisboots. I prepared to enjoy myself.
"'I have taken the liberty of calling on you, Mr. Challoner,' my visitorbegan, 'to make a few enquiries concerning--er--skeletons.'
"'I nodded gravely and smothered a giggle. He was a simple soul, thisRamchild. 'Concerning skeletons!' What an expression for a man ofscience to use! An artless creature indeed! A veritable Ramchild ofnature, so to speak.
"'I understand,' he continued, 'that you have a famous collectionof--er--skeletons.' I nodded again. Of course I had not anything of thekind. Mine was only a little private collection. But it was of noconsequence. 'So,' he concluded, 'I have called to ask if you would beso kind as to let me see them.'
"'From whom did you hear of my collection?' I asked.
"'It was mentioned to me by my friend Mr.--er--Mr. Winterbottom, ofCambridge.'
"'Ah,' said I, 'I remember Winterbottom very well. How is he?'
"'He's very well, thank you,' replied the detective, looking mightilysurprised; and not without reason, seeing that he had undoubtedlyinvented the name Winterbottom on the spur of the moment.
"'Is there any branch of the subject that you are especially interestedin?' I asked, purposely avoiding giving him a lead.
"'No,' he replied. 'No, not particularly. The fact is that I thought ofstarting a collection myself if it wouldn't be too expensive. But youhave a regular museum, haven't you?'
"'Yes. Come and have a look at it.'
"He rose with alacrity and I led him through the dining-room to themuseum wing, and I noticed that, if he did not know much aboutosteology, he was uncommonly observant of the details ofhouse-construction. He looked very hard at the safe, the mahoganycasing of which failed to disguise its nature from the professional eye,and noted the massive door that gave entrance to the museum wing and theYale lock that secured it. In the museum his eye riveted itself on thefive human skeletons in the great wall-case, but I perversely led him tothe case containing my curious collection of abnormal and deformedskeletons of the lower animals.
"'There,' I said complacently, 'that is my little hoard. Is there anyspecimen that you would like to take out and examine?'
"He gazed vaguely into the case and murmured that 'they were all veryinteresting,' and again I caught his eye wandering to the great caseopposite. I was in the act of reaching out a porcupine with an ankylosedknee-joint, when he plucked up courage to say frankly, 'The fact is, Iam principally interest
ed in human skeletons.'
"I replaced the porcupine and walked across to the great wall-case. 'Iam sorry I have not more to show you,' I said apologetically. 'This isonly the beginning of a collection, you see; but still, the specimensare of considerable interest. Don't you find them so?'
"Apparently he did, for he scrutinized the dates on the dwarf-pedestalswith the deepest attention and finally remarked, 'I see you have writtena date on each of these. What does that signify?'
"'The dates are those on which I acquired the respective specimens,' Ianswered.
"'Oh, indeed.' He reflected, with a profoundly speculative eye on NumberFive. I judged that he was trying to recall a date furnished by NumberFive's cousin and that he would have liked to consult his note-book.
"'The particulars,' I said, 'are too lengthy to put on the labels, butthey are set out in detail in the catalogue.'
"'Can I see the catalogue?' he asked eagerly.
"'Certainly.' I produced a small manuscript volume--not the cataloguewhich is attached to the 'Archives,' but a dummy that I had prepared forsuch a contingency as had arisen--and handed it to him. He opened itwith avidity, and, turning at once to Number Five, began, with manifestdisappointment, to read the description aloud.
"'5. Male skeleton of Teutonic type exhibiting well-marked characters ofdegeneration. The skull is asymmetrical, subdolichocephalic.' (Hepronounced this word subdolichocolophalic' and paused abruptly, turningrather red. It _is_ an awkward word.) 'Yes,' he said, closing thecatalogue, 'very interesting, very remarkable. Exceedingly so. I shouldvery much like to possess a skeleton like that.'
"'You are much better off with the one you have got,' I remarked.
"'Oh, I don't mean that,' he rejoined hastily. 'I mean that I shouldlike to acquire a specimen like this Number Five for my proposedcollection. Now how could I get one?'
"'Well,' I said reflectively, 'there are several ways.' I paused and hegazed at me expectantly. 'You could, for instance,' I continued slowly,'provide yourself with a lasso and take a walk down Whitechapel HighStreet.'
"'Good gracious!' he exclaimed excitedly; 'do you really mean to saythat--'
"'Certainly,' I interrupted. 'You would find an abundance of material.For my own part, not being gifted with your exceptionally fine physique,I have to adopt the more prosaic and expensive plan of buying myspecimens from the dealers.'
"'Quite so, quite so,' he agreed. He was deeply disappointed andinclined to be huffy. 'Of course you were joking about the lasso. Butwould you mind giving me the address of the dealer from whom youobtained this specimen?' And once more he pointed to Cousin Bill.
"He thought he had cornered me; and so he would have done if I had beenless cautious. I congratulated myself on the wisdom and foresight thathad led me to provide myself with those dummy skeletons. For now I heldhim in the hollow of my hand.
"'That specimen?' I said, scanning the date on the pedestal; 'I fancy Igot it from Hammerstein. You know his place in the Seven Dials, nodoubt. A very useful man. I get most of my human osteology from him.' Ifetched my receipt file and turned over the papers in leisurely fashionwhile he gnawed his lips with impatience. At last I found the receiptedinvoice and he read it aloud with a ludicrous expression ofdisappointment.
"'Complete set superfine human osteology strongly articulated with bestbrass wire and screw-bolts, with springs to mandible and stout ironsupporting rod. All bones guaranteed to be derived from the samesubject. L5.3.4.'
"The invoice was headed, 'Oscar Hammerstein, Dealer in Osteology, GreatSt. Andrew Street, London, W.C.,' and was dated 4th February, 1891.
"The detective entered the name and address in a black-bound note-bookof official aspect, compared the date with that on Cousin Bill'spedestal and prepared to depart.
"'There is one thing I must point out to you,' I said, anticipating anearly visit on my friend's part to Mr. Hammerstein; 'the skeletons asyou get them from the dealers are not always up to museum style in pointof finish. They are often of a bad color and may be stained with grease.If they are, you will have to disarticulate them, clean them withbenzol and, if necessary, remacerate and bleach; but whatever you do,' Iconcluded solemnly, 'be careful with the chlorinated soda or you willspoil the appearance of the bones and make them brittle. Good bye!' Ishook his hand effusively and he took his departure very glum andcrestfallen.
"As long as he had been with me, something of the old buoyant spirit ofplayfulness--that was my ordinary mood until my great troublebefell--had been revived by the absurdity of the situation. But hisdeparture left me rather depressed, for his visit marked the finalcollapse of my scheme. Even if the criminal classes had been willing tocontinue the supply of anthropological material, my methods could nothave been carried out under the watchful and disapproving eyes of thepolice.
"What then was to be done? This was the question that I asked myselfagain and again. As to abandoning my activities, of course, such an ideanever occurred to me. I remained alive for a definite purpose: to searchfor the man who had murdered my wife and to exact from him payment ofhis debt. Of this purpose, the collection had been, at first, a mereby-product; and though it was gradually taking such hold of me as tobecome a purpose in itself, it was but a minor purpose. The discovery ofthat unknown wretch was the Mecca of my earthly pilgrimage, from whichno difficulties or obstacles should divert me.
"The hint that ultimately guided me into new fields of research came tome by the merest chance. A few days after the visit of the detective Ireceived a letter from one of my few remaining friends, a Dr. Grayson,who had formerly practiced in London as a physician, but who, owing toage and infirmity, had retired to his native place, the village ofShome, near Rochester. Grayson asked me to spend a day with him, that wemight talk over some matters in which we were both interested; and,being now rather at a loose end, I accepted the invitation, but declinedto sleep away from home and my collection.
"It is significant of my state of mind at this time that, beforestarting, I considered what weapon I should take with me. Formerly Ishould no more have thought of arming myself for a simple railwayjourney than of putting on a coat of mail; but now a train suggested atrain robber--a Lefroy, with a very unsubmissive Mr. Gold--and the longtunnel near Strood was but the setting of a railway tragedy. My ultimatechoice of weapon, too, is interesting. The familiar revolver I rejectedutterly. There must be no noise. My quarrel with the criminal was apersonal one in which no outsiders must be allowed to meddle. I shouldhave preferred the concussor, which I now handled with skill, but it washardly a portable tool, and my choice ultimately fell on a very fineswordstick, supplemented by a knuckle-duster which had been bequeathedto me by one of my clients after trial on my own countenance.
"And after all, nothing happened. I got into an empty first-classcompartment and when, just as the train was starting, a burly fellowdashed in and slammed the door, I eyed him suspiciously and waited fordevelopments. But there were none. The fellow sat huddled in a corner,watching me and keeping an eye on the handle of the alarm over hishead; but he made no sign. When we emerged from the long tunnel he wasas white as a ghost and he hopped out on to Strood platform almostbefore the train had begun to slow down.
"I reached my bag down from the rack and got out after him, smiling atmy own folly. The criminal was becoming an obsession of which I mustbeware if I would not end my days in an asylum; a fact which was furtherimpressed on me when I saw my late fellow-passenger, who had just caughtsight of me, 'legging it' down the station approach like a professionalpedestrian and looking back nervously over his shoulder. Resolvingfirmly to put the subject out of my mind, I walked slowly into the townand betook myself to the London Road; and though, as I passed theFalstaff Inn and crossed Gad's Hill, fleeting reminiscences of PrinceHenry and the men in buckram came unsought, with later suggestions of astagecoach struggling up the hill in the dark and masked figurescreeping down the banks into the sunken road, I kept to my goodresolution. The bag was a little cumbersome--it contained a largeparcel of bu
lbs from Covent Garden that Grayson had asked me tobring--and yet it was pleasant to break off from the high road and strayby well-remembered tracks and footpaths across the fields. It was allfamiliar ground; for in years gone by, when Grayson was in practice, wewould come down together for weekends to his little demesne, and often Iwould stay on alone for a week or so and ramble about the country bymyself. So I knew every inch of the country side and was so muchinterested in renewing my acquaintance with it that I was twenty minuteslate for lunch.
"I had a most agreeable day with Grayson (who was working at thehistorical aspects of disease), and would have stayed later than I did.But at about half-past eight--we had dined at seven--Grayson began to berestless and fidgetty and at last said apologetically:
"'Don't think me inhospitable, Challoner, but if you aren't going tostay the night you had better be going. And don't go by Gad's Hill.Take the road down to Higham and catch the train there.'
"'Why, what is the matter with Gad's Hill?' I asked.
"'Nothing much by daylight, but a great deal at night. It has alwaysbeen an unsafe spot and is especially just now. There has been quite anepidemic of highway robberies lately. They began when the hoppers werehere last autumn, but some of those East-end ruffians seem to havesettled in the neighborhood. I have seen some very queer-lookingcharacters even in this village; aliens, apparently, of the kind thatyou see about Stepney and Whitechapel.
"'Now, you get down to Higham, like a good fellow, before the countrysettles down for the night.'
"Needless to say, the prowling alien had no terrors for me, but asGrayson was really uneasy, I made no demur and took my leave almostimmediately. But I did not make directly for Higham. The moon was up andthe village looked very inviting. Tree and chimney-stack, thatched roofand gable-end cut pleasant shapes of black against the clear sky, andpatches of silvery light fell athwart the road on wooden palings andweather-boarded fronts. I strolled along the little street, carrying thenow light and empty bag and exchanging greetings with scatteredvillagers, until I came to the lane that turns down towards the LondonRoad. Here, by a triangular patch of green, I halted and mechanicallylooked at my watch, holding it up in the moonlight. I was about toreplace it when a voice asked:
"'What's the right time, mister?'
"I looked up sharply. The man who had spoken was sitting on the bankunder the hedge and in such deep shadow that I had not noticed him. Norcould I see much of him now, though I observed that he seemed to betaking some kind of refreshment; but the voice was not a Kentish voice,nor even an English one; it seemed to engraft an unfamiliar, gutturalaccent on the dialect of East London.
"I told the man the time and asked him if the road--pointing to theridgway--would take me to Higham. Of course I knew it would not and Ihave no very distinct idea why I asked. But he answered promptlyenough, 'Yus. Straight down the road. Was you wantin' to get to thestation?'
"I replied that I was, and he added, 'You go straight down the road amile and a half and you'll see the station right in front of you.'
"Now, here was a palpable misdirection. Obviously intentional, too, forthe circumstantiality excluded the idea of a mistake. He wasdeliberately sending me--an ostensible stranger--along a solitaryside-road that led into the heart of the country. With what object? Ihad very little doubt, and that doubt should soon be set at rest.
"I thanked him for his information and set out along the road at an easypace; but when I had gone a little way, I lengthened my stride so as toincrease my speed without altering the rhythm of my footfalls. As Iwent, I speculated on the intentions of my friend and noted withinterest and a little surprise that I was quite without fear of him. Isuspected him of being a footpad, one of the gang of which Grayson hadspoken, and I had set forth along this unfrequented road in a spirit ofmere curiosity to see if it were really so.
"Presently I came to a gate at the entrance of a cart-track and here Ihalted to listen. From the road behind me came the sound of footsteps;quick steps but not sharp and crisp; rather of a shuffling, stealthyquality. I climbed quietly over the gate and took up a position behindthe trunk of an elm that grew in the hedgerow. The footsteps came onapace. Soon round a bend of the moon-lighted road a figure appearedmoving forward rapidly and keeping in what shadow there was. I watchedit through the thick hedge as it approached and resolved itself into aseedy-looking man carrying a thick knobbed stick.
"Opposite the gate the man halted and, as I could see by his shadow,looked across the silvery fields that stretched away down to the valleyand listened, but only for a few moments. Then he started forward againat something between a quick walk and a slow trot.
"As soon as he had gone I came out and began to walk down thecart-track. My figure must have stood out conspicuously on the barefield and must have been plainly visible from the ridge-way. I did nothurry. Pursuing my way quietly down the gentle slope, I went on for somethree hundred yards until the ground fell away more steeply; and here,before descending, I looked over my shoulder.
"A man was getting over the gate.
"I walked on more quickly now until I topped a second rise and then Iagain looked back. The figure of the man stood out on the brow of thehill, black against the moonlit sky. And now he was hurrying forward inundisguised pursuit.
"I quickened my pace and looked about me. The night was calm and lovely,the fields bathed in silvery light and the wooded uplands shrouded in asoft, gray shadow, from the heart of which a single lighted windowgleamed forth, a spot of rosy warmth. The bark of a watch-dog camesoftened by distance from some solitary farmstead, and far away below,the hoot of a steamer, creeping up the river to the twinkling anchorage.
"Presently I came to a spot where the rough road divided. One well-worntrack led down towards the footpath that ultimately enters the LondonRoad; a fainter track led, as I knew, to an old chalk-pit where, inmysterious caverns, the farm carts rested through the winter months.Here I halted for a moment as if in doubt. The man was now less than ahundred yards behind me and walking as fast as he could. I turned roundand looked at him, he appeared once more to hesitate, and then startedat a run along the track to the chalk-pit.
"There was no disguise about the man's intentions. As I started off, hebroke into a run and followed, but he did not hail me to stop. I supposehe knew whither the path led. But if his purpose was definite, so wasmine. And again I noted with faint surprise that I had no feeling ofnervousness. My contact with the criminal class had left me with nothingbut a sentiment of hostile contempt. That a criminal might kill me neverpresented itself as a practical possibility. I was only concerned ininducing him to give me a fair pretext for killing him. So I ran on,wondering if my pursuer had ringed hair; if it were possible that, inthis remote place and by this chance meeting, I might find the object ofmy quest; and conscious of that fierce, playful delight that always cameover me when I was hunting the enemies of my race. For, of course, I wasnow hunting the fellow behind me, although the poor devil supposed hewas hunting me.
"When the track approached the chalk-pit, it descended rather suddenly. Iran down between two clumps of bushes, into the weed-grown area at thebottom, past the row of caverns wherein the wagons were even now lurkingunseen, and on until the track ended among a range of mole-hills in asort of bay encompassed by the time-stained cliff. Here I wheeled about,putting down my bag, and faced my pursuer.
"'Stand off!' I said sharply. 'What are you following me for?'
"The man stopped and then approached more slowly. 'Look 'ere, mister,'said he, 'I don't want to hurt yer. You needn't be afeared of me.'
"'Well,' said I, 'What do you want?'
"'I'll tell yer,' he said confidentially. 'I'm a pore man, I am; Iain't got no watch, I ain't got no money and I can't get no work. Nowyou're a rich man. You've got a very 'andsome watch--I see it--and lotsmore at 'ome, I dessay. Well, you makes me a present o' that watch,that's what you do; and any small change that you've got about yer. Youdo that and I'll let yer go peaceable.'
"'And supposi
ng I don't?'
"'Then some o' them farm blokes 'ill find a dead man in a chalk-pit. Andit ain't no good for you to holler. There ain't no one within a mile ofthis place. So you pass over that watch and turn out yer bloomin'pockets.'
"'Do I understand--' I began; but he interrupted me savagely:
"'Oh, shut yer face and hand over! D'yer hear?' He advancedthreateningly, grasping his bludgeon by the smaller end, but when he hadapproached within a couple of paces I made a sudden lunge with my stick,introducing its ferrule to his abdomen about the region of the solarplexus. He sprang back with an astonished yelp--which sounded like'Ow--er!'--and stood gasping and rubbing his abdomen. As he recovered,he broke out into absurd and disgusting speech and began cautiously tocircle round me, balancing his club in readiness for a smashing blow.
"'You wait till I done with yer,' said he, watching for a chance. 'I'llmake yer pay for that. I'm a-goin' to do yer in, I am. You'll look uglywhen I've finished--Ow--er!' The concluding exclamation was occasionedby the ferrule of my stick impinging on the fleshy part of his chest,and as he uttered it he sprang back out of range.
"After this he kept a greater distance, but continued to circle roundand pour out an unceasing torrent of foul words. But he had not thefaintest idea how to use a stick, whereas my practice with the foils atthe gymnasium had made me quite skilful. From time to time he raised hisbludgeon and ran in at me, but a sharp prod under the upraised armalways sent him leaping back out of reach with the inevitable 'Ow--er!'
"His lack of skill deprived the encounter of much of its interest. Ithink he felt this himself, for I saw him looking about furtively as ifin search of something. Then he espied a large and knobbly flint andwould have picked it up; but as he was stooping I plied the point of mystick so vigorously that he staggered back with yelps of pain.
"And now it was suddenly borne in upon me that he had had enough. Irealized it just in time to plant myself on the track between him andthe entrance to the chalk-pit. He was still as savage and murderous asever, but his nerve was gone. He shrank away from me and as I followedclosely he tried again and again to dodge past towards the opening.
"'Look 'ere, mister,' he said at length, 'you chuck it and I'll let yergo peaceable.'
"Let me go! I laughed scornfully, but stood my ground. And yet it wasunpleasant. One cannot go on hammering a beaten man and it is difficultto refuse a surrender. On the other hand, it was out of the question tolet this fellow go. He had come here prepared to murder me for a paltrywatch and a handful of loose change. Common justice and my duty to myfellow men demanded his elimination. Besides, if I let him escape intothe open, what would happen? The fields were sprinkled with big flints.It was practically certain that I should never leave the neighborhoodalive.
"Even as I stood hesitating, he furnished an illustrative commentary onmy thoughts. Springing back from me, he suddenly stooped and caught up agreat flint nodule; and though I ducked quickly as he flung it and soavoided its full force, I caught such a buffet as it glanced off theside of my head as convinced me that a settlement must be speedilyarrived at. Rushing in on him, I bore him backwards until he was pennedup in the entrance of one of the caverns against the shafts of a wagon.Then suddenly he changed his tactics. Realizing at last that aclumsily-wielded bludgeon is powerless against a stick expertly handledrapier-wise, he dropped his club, and the next moment the moonbeamsflashed from the broad blade of a knife. This was quite a differentaffair. He now stood on guard with the knife poised and his left handoutspread ready to snatch at my stick. It was a much more effectiveplan; only he did not know that inside my stout malacca reposed a keenToledo sword-blade.
"I slipped my thumb on the press-button of the sword-stick and watchedhim. From time to time he made a dash at me with his knife, and when Iprodded him back, he snatched at the stick. Again and again he nearlycaught it, but I was just a little too quick for him, and he fell back,gasping and cursing, on the wagon-shafts. And then the end came withinevitable suddenness. He rushed out on me with upraised knife. Istopped him with a vigorous poke in the chest; but before I could whiskaway the stick he had clutched it with a howl of joy. I gave a finaldrive, pressed the button and sprang back, leaving the scabbard-end inhis hand. Before he had realized what had happened, he darted out,brandishing the knife, and came fairly on the point of the sword-blade.At the same moment I must have lunged, though I was not aware of it,for when he staggered back the handle was against his breast.
"It was over, and I had hardly realized that the final stage had begun.In an instant, as it seemed, that yelping, murderous wretch had subsidedinto a huddled, inert heap. It was a quick and merciful dispatch. By thetime I had cleaned the blade and replaced it in its scabbard, the lasttwitchings had ceased. As I stood and looked down at him, I feltsomething of the chill of an anticlimax. It had all gone off so easily.
"Now that it was finished, my thoughts went back to the final purpose ofmy quest. Was this man, by any chance, the wretch whom I was seeking? Itdid not seem likely, and yet the possibility must be considered. Thefirst question was as to his hair. Stooping down, with my pocketscissors I cut off a good-sized lock and secured it in an envelope forfuture examination. Then, taking out my pocket-book, I pressed hisfingers on some of the blank leaves. The natural surface of his handsoffered a passable substitute for ink and the finger-prints could befurther developed at home.
"Then arose a more difficult question. I naturally wished to add him tomy collection; but the thing seemed impossible. I certainly could nottake him away with me. But if I left him exposed, he would undoubtedlybe found and buried and thus an excellent specimen would be lost toscience. There was only one thing to be done. The middle of thechalk-pit was occupied by a large area covered with nettles and otherlarge weeds. Probably no human being trod on that space from one year'send to another, for the stinging-nettles, four or five feet high, wereenough to keep off stray children. Even now the spring vegetation wascoming up apace. If I placed the body inconspicuously in the middle ofthe weedy area it would soon be overgrown and hidden. Then the naturalagencies would do the rougher part of my work. Necrophagous insects andother vermin would come to the aid of air, moisture and bacteria, and Icould return in the autumn and gather up the bones all ready for themuseum.
"This rather makeshift plan I proceeded to execute. Transporting thematerial to the middle of the weed-grown space, I covered it lightlywith twigs and various articles of loose rubbish. It was now quiteinvisible, and I was turning away to go when suddenly I bethought me ofthe dry preparation of the head that ought to accompany the skeleton.Without that, the specimen would be incomplete; and an incompletespecimen would spoil the series. I reflected awhile. It seemed a pity tospoil the completeness of the series for the sake of a little trouble. Ihad a good-sized bag with me and a quantity of stout brown paper in itin which the bulbs had been wrapped. Why not?
"In the end, I decided that the series should not be spoilt. I need notdescribe the obvious details of the simple procedure. When I came up outof the chalk-pit a quarter of an hour later, my bag contained thematerial for the required preparation of a mummified head.
"I soon struck the familiar footpath and set forth at a brisk pace tocatch the late train from Gravesend. It was a long walk and a pleasantone, though the bag was uncomfortably heavy. I thought, with grimamusement, of Grayson's gang of footpads. It would be a quaintsituation if I encountered some of them and was robbed of my bag. Thepossibilities that the idea opened out were highly diverting and kept meentertained until I at last reached Gravesend Station and was bundled bythe guard into a first-class compartment just as the train was starting.I should have preferred an empty compartment, but there was no choice;and as three of the corners were occupied, I took possession of thefourth. The rack over my seat was occupied by a bag about the size of myown, apparently the property of a clergyman who sat in the oppositecorner, so I had to place my bag in the rack over _his_ head.
"I watched him during the journey as he sat opposite me reading
the_Church Times_ and wondered how he would feel if he knew what was in thebag above him. Probably he would have been quite disturbed; for many ofthese clerics entertain the quaintest of old-world ideas. And he wasmighty near to knowing, too; for when the train had stopped at HitherGreen and was just about to move off, he suddenly sprang up,exclaiming, 'God bless my soul!' and snatching my bag from the rack,darted out on the platform. I immediately grabbed his bag from my rackand rushed out after him as the train started, hailing him to stop. 'Hi!My good sir! You've taken my bag.'
"'Not at all,' he replied indignantly. 'You're quite mistaken.' Andthen, as I held out his own bag, he looked from one to the other, and,to my horror, pressed the clasp of my bag and pulled it wide open.
"On what small chances do great events turn! But for the brown paper inmy bag, there would have been a catastrophe. As it was, when his eyelighted on that rough, globular paper parcel he handed me my bag with anapologetic smirk and received his own in exchange. But after that, Ikept my property in my hand until I was safe within the precincts of mylaboratory.
"The usual disappointment awaited me when I came to examine the hair andfinger-prints. He was not the man whom I sought. But he made anacceptable addition to the Series of Criminal Anthropology in mymuseum, for I duly collected the bones from the great nettle-bed in thechalk-pit early in the following September, and set them, properlybleached and riveted together, in the large wall-case. But this specimenhad a further, though indirect, value. From him I gathered a useful hintby which I was subsequently guided into a new and fruitful field ofresearch.
"(See Catalogue, Numbers 6A and 6B.)"