CHAPTER III
JOHN THORNDYKE
That the character of an individual tends to be reflected in his dressis a fact familiar to the least observant. That the observation isequally applicable to aggregates of men is less familiar, but equallytrue. Do not the members of the fighting professions, even to this day,deck themselves in feathers, in gaudy colours and gilded ornaments,after the manner of the African war-chief or the "Redskin brave," andthereby indicate the place of war in modern civilisation? Does not theChurch of Rome send her priests to the altar in habiliments that werefashionable before the fall of the Roman Empire, in token of herimmovable conservatism? And, lastly, does not the Law, lumbering on inthe wake of progress, symbolise its subjection to precedent by head-gearreminiscent of the days of good Queen Anne?
I should apologise for obtruding upon the reader these somewhat tritereflections; which were set going by the quaint stock-in-trade of thewig-maker's shop in the cloisters of the Inner Temple, whither I hadstrayed on a sultry afternoon in quest of shade and quiet. I had haltedopposite the little shop window, and, with my eyes bent dreamily on therow of wigs, was pursuing the above train of thought when I was startledby a deep voice saying softly in my ear: "I'd have the full-bottomed oneif I were you."
I turned swiftly and rather fiercely, and looked into the face of myold friend and fellow-student, Jervis, behind whom, regarding us with asedate smile, stood my former teacher, Dr. John Thorndyke. Both mengreeted me with a warmth that I felt to be very flattering, forThorndyke was quite a great personage, and even Jervis was several yearsmy academic senior.
"You are coming in to have a cup of tea with us, I hope," saidThorndyke; and as I assented gladly, he took my arm and led me acrossthe court in the direction of the Treasury.
"But why that hungry gaze at those forensic vanities, Berkeley?" heasked. "Are you thinking of following my example and Jervis's--desertingthe bedside for the Bar?"
"What! Has Jervis gone into the law?" I exclaimed.
"Bless you, yes!" replied Jervis. "I have become parasitical onThorndyke! 'The big fleas have little fleas,' you know. I am theadditional fraction trailing after the whole number in the rear of adecimal point."
"Don't you believe him, Berkeley," interposed Thorndyke. "He is thebrains of the firm. I supply the respectability and moral worth. But youhaven't answered my question. What are you doing here on a summerafternoon staring into a wigmaker's window?"
"I am Barnard's locum; he is in practice in Fetter Lane."
"I know," said Thorndyke; "we meet him occasionally, and very pale andpeaky he has been looking of late. Is he taking a holiday?"
"Yes. He has gone for a trip to the Isles of Greece in a currant ship."
"Then," said Jervis, "you are actually a local G.P. I thought you werelooking beastly respectable."
"And, judging from your leisured manner when we encountered you," addedThorndyke, "the practice is not a strenuous one. I suppose it isentirely local?"
"Yes," I replied. "The patients mostly live in the small streets andcourts within a half-mile radius of the surgery, and the abodes of someof them are pretty squalid. Oh! and that reminds me of a very strangecoincidence. It will interest you, I think."
"Life is made up of strange coincidences," said Thorndyke. "Nobody but areviewer of novels is ever really surprised at a coincidence. But whatis yours?"
"It is connected with a case that you mentioned to us at the hospitalabout two years ago, the case of a man who disappeared under rathermysterious circumstances. Do you remember it? The man's name wasBellingham."
"The Egyptologist? Yes, I remember the case quite well. What about it?"
"The brother is a patient of mine. He is living in Nevill's Court withhis daughter, and they seem to be as poor as church mice."
"Really," said Thorndyke, "this is quite interesting. They must havecome down in the world rather suddenly. If I remember rightly, thebrother was living in a house of some pretensions standing in its owngrounds."
"Yes, that is so. I see you recollect all about the case."
"My dear fellow," said Jervis, "Thorndyke never forgets a likely case.He is a sort of medico-legal camel. He gulps down the raw facts from thenewspapers or elsewhere, and then, in his leisure moments, he calmlyregurgitates them and has a quiet chew at them. It is a quaint habit. Acase crops up in the papers or in one of the courts, and Thorndykeswallows it whole. Then it lapses and everyone forgets it. A year or twolater it crops up in a new form, and, to your astonishment, you findthat Thorndyke has got it all cut and dried. He has been ruminating onit periodically in the interval."
"You notice," said Thorndyke, "that my learned friend is pleased toindulge in mixed metaphors. But his statement is substantially true,though obscurely worded. You must tell us more about the Bellinghamswhen we have fortified you with a cup of tea."
Our talk had brought us to Thorndyke's chambers, which were on the firstfloor of No. 5A King's Bench Walk, and as we entered the fine, spacious,panelled room we found a small, elderly man, neatly dressed in black,setting out the tea-service on the table. I glanced at him with somecuriosity. He hardly looked like a servant, in spite of his neat, blackclothes; in fact, his appearance was rather puzzling, for while hisquiet dignity and his serious, intelligent face suggested some kind ofprofessional man, his neat, capable hands were those of a skilledmechanic.
Thorndyke surveyed the tea-tray thoughtfully and then looked at hisretainer. "I see you have put three tea-cups, Polton," he said. "Now,how did you know I was bringing someone in to tea?"
The little man smiled a quaint, crinkly smile of gratification as heexplained:
"I happened to look out of the laboratory window as you turned thecorner, sir."
"How disappointingly simple," said Jervis. "We were hoping for somethingabstruse and telepathic."
"Simplicity is the soul of efficiency, sir," replied Polton as hechecked the tea-service to make sure that nothing was forgotten, andwith this remarkable aphorism he silently evaporated.
"To return to the Bellingham case," said Thorndyke, when he had pouredout the tea. "Have you picked up any facts relating to the parties--anyfacts, I mean, of course, that it would be proper for you to mention?"
"I have learned one or two things that there is no harm in repeating.For instance, I gather that Godfrey Bellingham--my patient--lost all hisproperty quite suddenly about the time of the disappearance."
"That is really odd," said Thorndyke. "The opposite condition would bequite understandable, but one doesn't see exactly how this can havehappened, unless there was an allowance of some sort."
"No, that was what struck me. But there seem to be some queer featuresin the case, and the legal position is evidently getting complicated.There is a will, for example, which is giving trouble."
"They will hardly be able to administer the will without either proof orpresumption of death," Thorndyke remarked.
"Exactly. That's one of the difficulties. Another is that there seems tobe some fatal defect in the drafting of the will itself. I don't knowwhat it is, but I expect I shall hear sooner or later. By the way, Imentioned the interest that you had taken in the case, and I thinkBellingham would have liked to consult you, but, of course, the poordevil has no money."
"That is awkward for him if the other interested parties have. Therewill probably be legal proceedings of some kind, and as the law takes noaccount of poverty, he is likely to go to the wall. He ought to haveadvice of some sort."
"I don't see how he is to get it," said I.
"Neither do I," Thorndyke admitted. "There are no hospitals forimpecunious litigants; it is assumed that only persons of means have aright to go to law. Of course, if we knew the man and the circumstanceswe might be able to help him; but, for all we know to the contrary, hemay be an arrant scoundrel."
I recalled the strange conversation that I had overheard, and wonderedwhat Thorndyke would have thought of it if it had been allowable for meto repeat it. Obviously it was not, however, and I c
ould only give myown impressions.
"He doesn't strike me as that," I said; "but, of course, one neverknows. Personally, he impressed me rather favourably, which is more thanthe other man did."
"What other man?" asked Thorndyke.
"There was another man in the case, wasn't there? I forget his name. Isaw him at the house and didn't much like the look of him. I suspecthe's putting some sort of pressure on Bellingham."
"Berkeley knows more about this than he is telling us," said Jervis."Let us look up the report and see who this stranger is." He took downfrom a shelf a large volume of newspaper-cuttings and laid it on thetable.
"You see," said he, as he ran his finger down the index, "Thorndykefiles all the cases that are likely to come to something, and I know hehad expectations respecting this one. I fancy he had some ghoulish hopethat the missing gentleman's head might turn up in somebody's dust-bin.Here we are; the other man's name is Hurst. He is apparently a cousin,and it was at his house that the missing man was last seen alive."
"So you think Mr. Hurst is moving in the matter?" said Thorndyke, whenhe had glanced over the report.
"That is my impression," I replied, "though I really know nothing aboutit."
"Well," said Thorndyke, "if you should learn what is being done andshould have permission to speak of it, I shall be very interested tohear how the case progresses; and if an unofficial opinion on any pointwould be of service, I think there would be no harm in my giving it."
"It would certainly be of great value if the other parties are takingprofessional advice," I said; and then, after a pause, I asked: "Haveyou given this case much consideration?"
Thorndyke reflected. "No," he said, "I can't say that I have. I turnedit over rather carefully when the report first appeared, and I havespeculated on it occasionally since. It is my habit, as Jervis wastelling you, to utilise odd moments of leisure (such as a railwayjourney, for instance) by constructing theories to account for the factsof such obscure cases as have come to my notice. It is a useful habit, Ithink, for, apart from the mental exercise and experience that one gainsfrom it, an appreciable proportion of these cases ultimately come intomy hands, and then the previous consideration of them is so much timegained."
"Have you formed any theory to account for the facts in this case?" Iasked.
"Yes; I have several theories, one of which I especially favour, and Iam waiting with great interest such new facts as may indicate to mewhich of these theories is probably the correct one."
"It's no use your trying to pump him, Berkeley," said Jervis. "He isfitted with an information-valve that opens inwards. You can pour in asmuch as you like, but you can't get any out."
Thorndyke chuckled. "My learned friend is, in the main, correct," hesaid. "You see, I may be called upon any day to advise on this case, inwhich event I should feel remarkably foolish if I had already expoundedmy views in detail. But I should like to hear what you and Jervis makeof the case as reported in the newspapers."
"There now," exclaimed Jervis, "what did I tell you? He wants to suckour brains."
"As far as my brain is concerned," I said, "the process of suction isn'tlikely to yield much except a vacuum, so I will resign in favour of you.You are a full-blown lawyer, whereas I am only a simple G.P."
Jervis filled his pipe with deliberate care and lighted it. Then,blowing a slender stream of smoke into the air, he said:
"If you want to know what I make of the case from that report, I cantell you in one word--nothing. Every road seems to end in a cul-de-sac."
"Oh, come!" said Thorndyke, "this is mere laziness. Berkeley wants towitness a display of your forensic wisdom. A learned counsel may be ina fog--he very often is--but he doesn't state the fact baldly; he wrapsit up in a decent verbal disguise. Tell us how you arrive at yourconclusion. Show us that you have really weighed the facts."
"Very well," said Jervis, "I will give you a masterly analysis of thecase--leading to nothing." He continued to puff at his pipe for a timewith slight embarrassment, as I thought--and I fully sympathised withhim. Finally he blew a little cloud and commenced:
"The position appears to be this: Here is a man who is seen to enter acertain house, who is shown into a certain room and shut in. He is notseen to come out, and yet, when the room is next entered, it is found tobe empty; and that man is never seen again, alive or dead. That is apretty tough beginning.
"Now, it is evident that one of three things must have happened. Eitherhe must have remained in that room, or at least in that house, alive; orhe must have died, naturally or otherwise, and his body have beenconcealed; or he must have left the house unobserved. Let us take thefirst case. This affair happened nearly two years ago. Now, he couldn'thave remained alive in the house for two years. He would have beennoticed. The servants, for instance, when cleaning out the rooms, wouldhave observed him."
Here Thorndyke interposed with an indulgent smile at his junior: "Mylearned friend is treating the inquiry with unbecoming levity. We acceptthe conclusion that the man did not remain in the house alive."
"Very well. Then did he remain in it dead? Apparently not. The reportsays that as soon as the man was missed, Hurst and the servantstogether searched the house thoroughly. But there had been no time oropportunity to dispose of the body, whence the only possible conclusionis that the body was not there. Moreover, if we admit the possibility ofhis having been murdered--for that is what concealment of the body wouldimply--there is the question: Who could have murdered him? Not theservants, obviously, and as to Hurst--well, of course, we don't knowwhat his relations with the missing man have been--at least, I don't."
"Neither do I," said Thorndyke. "I know nothing beyond what is in thenewspaper report and what Berkeley has told us."
"Then we know nothing. He may have had a motive for murdering the man orhe may not. The point is that he doesn't seem to have had theopportunity. Even if we suppose that he managed to conceal the bodytemporarily, still there was the final disposal of it. He couldn't haveburied it in the garden with the servants about; neither could he haveburned it. The only conceivable method by which he could have got rid ofit would have been that of cutting it up into fragments and burying thedismembered parts in some secluded spots or dropping them into ponds orrivers. But no remains of the kind have been found, as some of themprobably would have been by now, so that there is nothing to supportthis suggestion; indeed, the idea of murder, in this house at least,seems to be excluded by the search that was made the instant the man wasmissed.
"Then to take the third alternative: Did he leave the house unobserved?Well, it is not impossible, but it would be a queer thing to do. He mayhave been an impulsive or eccentric man. We can't say. We know nothingabout him. But two years have elapsed and he has never turned up, sothat if he left the house secretly he must have gone into hiding and behiding still. Of course, he may have been the sort of lunatic who wouldbehave in that manner or he may not. We have no information as to hispersonal character.
"Then there is the complication of the scarab that was picked up in thegrounds of his brother's house at Woodford. That seems to show that hevisited that house at some time. But no one admits having seen himthere; and it is uncertain, therefore, whether he went first to hisbrother's house or to Hurst's. If he was wearing the scarab when hearrived at the Eltham house, he must have left that house unobserved andgone to Woodford; but if he was not wearing it he probably went fromWoodford to Eltham and there finally disappeared. As to whether he wasor was not wearing the scarab when he was last seen alive by Hurst'shousemaid, there is at present no evidence.
"If he went to his brother's house after his visit to Hurst, thedisappearance is more understandable if we don't mind flingingaccusations of murder about rather casually; for the disposal of thebody would be much less difficult in that case. Apparently no one sawhim enter the house, and, if he did enter, it was by a back gate whichcommunicated with the library--a separate building some distance fromthe house. In that case it would have been physica
lly possible for theBellinghams to have made away with him. There was plenty of time todispose of the body unobserved--temporarily, at any rate. Nobody hadseen him come to the house, and nobody knew that he was there--if he_was_ there; and apparently no search was made either at the time orafterwards. In fact, if it could be shown that the missing man ever leftHurst's house alive, or that he was wearing the scarab when he arrivedthere, things would look rather fishy for the Bellinghams--for, ofcourse, the girl must have been in it if the father was. But there's thecrux: there is no proof that the man ever did leave Hurst's house alive.And if he didn't--but there! as I said at first, whichever turning youtake, you find that it ends in a blind alley."
"A lame ending to a masterly exposition," was Thorndyke's comment.
"I know," said Jervis. "But what would you have? There are quite anumber of possible solutions, and one of them must be the true one. Buthow are we to judge which it is? I maintain that until we know somethingof the parties and the financial and other interests involved we have nodata."
"There," said Thorndyke, "I disagree with you entirely. I maintain thatwe have ample data. You say that we have no means of judging which ofthe various possible solutions is the true one; but I think that if youwill read the report carefully and thoughtfully you will find that thefacts now known to us point clearly to one explanation, and one only. Itmay not be the true explanation, and I don't suppose it is. But we arenow dealing with the matter speculatively, academically, and I contendthat our data yield a definite conclusion. What do you say, Berkeley?"
"I say that it is time for me to be off; the evening consultations beginat half-past six."
"Well," said Thorndyke, "don't let us keep you from your duties, withpoor Barnard currant-picking in the Grecian Isles. But come in and seeus again. Drop in when you like, after your work is done. You won't bein our way even if we are busy, which we very seldom are after eighto'clock."
I thanked Dr. Thorndyke most heartily for making me free of his chambersin this hospitable fashion and took my leave, setting forth homewards byway of Middle Temple Lane and the Embankment; not a very direct routefor Fetter Lane, it must be confessed; but our talk had revived myinterest in the Bellingham household and put me in a reflective vein.
From the remarkable conversation that I had overheard it was evidentthat the plot was thickening. Not that I supposed that these tworespectable gentlemen really suspected one another of having made awaywith the missing man; but still, their unguarded words, spoken in anger,made it clear that each had allowed the thought of sinisterpossibilities to enter his mind--a dangerous condition that might easilygrow into actual suspicion. And then the circumstances really werehighly mysterious, as I realised with especial vividness now afterlistening to my friend's analysis of the evidence.
From the problem itself my mind travelled, not for the first time duringthe last few days, to the handsome girl who had seemed in my eyes thehigh-priestess of this temple of mystery in the quaint little court.What a strange figure she made against this strange background, with herquiet, chilly, self-contained manner, her pale face, so sad and worn,her black, straight brows and solemn grey eyes, so inscrutable,mysterious, Sibylline. A striking, even impressive, personality this, Ireflected, with something in it sombre and enigmatic that attracted andyet repelled.
And here I recalled Jervis's words: "The girl must have been in it ifthe father was." It was a dreadful thought, even though onlyspeculatively uttered, and my heart rejected it; rejected it with anindignation that rather surprised me. And this notwithstanding that thesombre black-robed figure that my memory conjured up was one thatassociated itself appropriately enough with the idea of mystery andtragedy.