CHAPTER V
THE WATERCRESS-BED
Barnard's practice, like most others, was subject to those fluctuationsthat fill the struggling practitioner alternately with hope and despair.The work came in paroxysms with intervals of almost complete stagnation.One of these intermissions occurred on the day after my visit toNevill's Court, with the result that by half-past eleven I found myselfwondering what I should do with the remainder of the day. The better toconsider this weighty problem, I strolled down to the Embankment, and,leaning on the parapet, contemplated the view across the river; the greystone bridge with its perspective of arches, the picturesque pile of theshot-towers, and beyond, the shadowy shapes of the Abbey and St.Stephen's.
It was a pleasant scene, restful and quiet, with a touch of life and ahint of sober romance, when a barge swept down through the middle archof the bridge with a lugsail hoisted to a jury mast and a white-apronedwoman at the tiller. Dreamily I watched the craft creep by upon themoving tide, noted the low freeboard, almost awash, the carefulhelmswoman, and the dog on the forecastle yapping at the distantshore--and thought of Ruth Bellingham.
What was there about this strange girl that had made so deep animpression on me? That was the question that I propounded to myself, andnot for the first time. Of the fact itself there was no doubt. But whatwas the explanation? Was it her unusual surroundings? Her occupation andrather recondite learning? Her striking personality and exceptional goodlooks? Or her connection with the dramatic mystery of her lost uncle?
I concluded that it was all of these. Everything connected with her wasunusual and arresting; but over and above these circumstances there wasa certain sympathy and personal affinity of which I was stronglyconscious and of which I dimly hoped that she, perhaps, was a littleconscious, too. At any rate, I was deeply interested in her; of thatthere was no doubt whatever. Short as our acquaintance had been, sheheld a place in my thoughts that had never been held by any other woman.
From Ruth Bellingham my reflections passed by a natural transition tothe curious story that her father had told me. It was a queer affair,that ill-drawn will, with the baffled lawyer protesting in thebackground. It almost seemed as if there must be something behind itall, especially when I remembered Mr. Hurst's very singular proposal.But it was out of _my_ depth; it was a case for a lawyer, and to alawyer it should go. This very night, I resolved, I would go toThorndyke and give him the whole story as it had been told to me.
And then there happened one of those coincidences at which we all wonderwhen they occur, but which are so frequent as to have become enshrinedin a proverb. For, even as I formed the resolution, I observed two menapproaching from the direction of Blackfriars, and recognised in them myquondam teacher and his junior.
"I was just thinking about you," I said as they came up.
"Very flattering," replied Jervis; "but I thought you had to talk of thedevil."
"Perhaps," suggested Thorndyke, "he was talking to himself. But why wereyou thinking of us, and what was the nature of your thoughts?"
"My thoughts had reference to the Bellingham case. I spent the whole oflast evening at Nevill's Court."
"Ha! And are there any fresh developments?"
"Yes, by Jove! there are. Bellingham gave me a full and detaileddescription of the will; and a pretty document it seems to be."
"Did he give you permission to repeat the details to me?"
"Yes. I asked specifically if I might and he had no objection whatever."
"Good. We are lunching at Soho to-day as Polton has his hands full. Comewith us and share our table and tell us your story as we go. Will thatsuit you?"
It suited me admirably in the present state of the practice, and Iaccepted the invitation with undissembled glee.
"Very well," said Thorndyke; "then let us walk slowly and finish withmatters confidential before we plunge into the madding crowd."
We set forth at a leisurely pace along the broad pavement and Icommenced my narration. As well as I could remember, I related thecircumstances that had led up to the present disposition of the propertyand then proceeded to the actual provisions of the will; to all of whichmy two friends listened with rapt interest, Thorndyke occasionallystopping me to jot down a memorandum in his pocket-book.
"Why, the fellow must have been a stark lunatic!" Jervis exclaimed, whenI had finished. "He seems to have laid himself out with the mostdevilish ingenuity to defeat his own ends."
"That is not an uncommon peculiarity with testators," Thorndykeremarked. "A direct and perfectly intelligible will is rather theexception. But we can hardly judge until we have seen the actualdocument. I suppose Bellingham hasn't a copy?"
"I don't know," said I; "but I will ask him."
"If he has one, I should like to look through it," said Thorndyke. "Theprovisions are very peculiar, and, as Jervis says, admirably calculatedto defeat the testator's wishes if they have been correctly reported.And, apart from that, they have a remarkable bearing on thecircumstances of the disappearance. I daresay you noticed that."
"I noticed that it is very much to Hurst's advantage that the body hasnot been found."
"Yes, of course. But there are some other points that are verysignificant. However, it would be premature to discuss the terms of thewill until we have seen the actual document or a certified copy."
"If there is a copy extant," I said, "I will try to get hold of it.Bellingham is terribly afraid of being suspected of a desire to getprofessional advice gratis."
"That," said Thorndyke, "is natural enough, and not discreditable. Butyou must overcome his scruples somehow. I expect you will be able to.You are a plausible young gentleman, as I remember of old, and you seemto have established yourself as quite the friend of the family."
"They are rather interesting people," I explained; "very cultivated andwith a strong leaning towards archaeology. It seems to be in the blood."
"Yes," said Thorndyke; "a family tendency, probably due to contact andcommon surroundings rather than heredity. So you like GodfreyBellingham?"
"Yes. He is a trifle peppery and impulsive, but quite an agreeable,genial old buffer."
"And the daughter," said Jervis, "what is she like?"
"Oh, she is a learned lady; works up bibliographies and references atthe Museum."
"Ah!" Jervis exclaimed, with deep disfavour, "I know the breed. Inkyfingers; no chest to speak of; all side and spectacles."
I rose artlessly at the gross and palpable bait.
"You're quite wrong," I exclaimed indignantly, contrasting Jervis'shideous presentment with the comely original. "She is an exceedinglygood-looking girl, and her manners all that a lady's should be. A littlestiff, perhaps, but then I am only an acquaintance--almost a stranger."
"But," Jervis persisted, "what is she like, in appearance I mean. Short?fat? sandy? Give us intelligible details."
I made a rapid mental inventory, assisted by my recent cogitations.
"She is about five feet seven, slim but rather plump, very erect incarriage and graceful in movements; black hair, loosely parted in themiddle and falling very prettily away from the forehead; pale, clearcomplexion, dark grey eyes, straight eyebrows, straight, well-shapednose, short mouth, rather full; round chin--what the deuce are yougrinning at, Jervis?" For my friend had suddenly unmasked his batteriesand now threatened, like the Cheshire Cat, to dissolve into a mereabstraction of amusement.
"If there is a copy of that will, Thorndyke," he said, "we shall get it.I think you agree with me, reverend senior?"
"I have already said," was the reply, "that I put my trust in Berkeley.And now let us dismiss professional topics. This is our hostelry."
He pushed open an unpretentious glazed door and we followed him into therestaurant, whereof the atmosphere was pervaded by an appetisingmeatiness mingled with less agreeable suggestions of the destructivedistillation of fat.
It was some two hours later when I wished my friends adieu under thegolden-leaved plane trees of King's Bench Walk.
r /> "I won't ask you to come in now," said Thorndyke, "as we have someconsultations this afternoon. But come in and see us soon; don't waitfor that copy of the will."
"No," said Jervis. "Drop in in the evening when your work is done;unless, of course, there is more attractive society elsewhere--Oh, youneedn't turn that colour, my dear child; we have all been young once;there is even a tradition that Thorndyke was young some time back in thepre-dynastic period."
"Don't take any notice of him, Berkeley," said Thorndyke. "The egg-shellis sticking to his head still. He'll know better when he is my age."
"Methuselah!" exclaimed Jervis; "I hope I shan't have to wait as longas that!"
Thorndyke smiled benevolently at his irrepressible junior, and, shakingmy hand cordially, turned into the entry.
From the Temple I wended northward to the adjacent College of Surgeons,where I spent a couple of profitable hours examining the "pickles," andrefreshing my memory on the subjects of pathology and anatomy;marvelling afresh (as every practical anatomist must marvel) at theincredibly perfect technique of the dissections, and inwardly paying arespectful tribute to the founder of the collection. At length, thewarning of the clock, combined with an increasing craving for tea, droveme forth and bore me towards the scene of my, not very strenuous,labours. My mind was still occupied with the contents of the cases andthe great glass jars, so that I found myself at the corner of FetterLane without a very clear idea of how I had got there. But at that pointI was aroused from my reflections rather abruptly by a raucous voice inmy ear.
"'Orrible discovery at Sidcup!"
I turned wrathfully--for a London street-boy's yell, let off atpoint-blank range, is, in effect, like the smack of an open hand--butthe inscription on the staring yellow poster that was held up for myinspection changed my anger into curiosity.
"Horrible discovery in a watercress-bed!"
Now, let, prigs deny it if they will, but there is something veryattractive in a "horrible discovery." It hints at tragedy, at mystery,at romance. It promises to bring into our grey and commonplace life thatelement of the dramatic which is the salt that our existence issavoured withal. "In a watercress-bed," too! The rusticity of thebackground seemed to emphasise the horror of the discovery, whatever itmight be.
I bought a copy of the paper, and, tucking it under my arm, hurried onto the surgery, promising myself a mental feast of watercress; but as Iopened the door I found myself confronted by a corpulent woman ofpiebald and pimply aspect who saluted me with a deep groan. It was thelady from the coal shop in Fleur-de-Lys Court.
"Good evening, Mrs. Jablett," I said briskly; "not come about yourself,I hope."
"Yes, I have," she answered, rising and following me gloomily into theconsulting-room; and then, when I had seated her in the patient's chairand myself at the writing-table, she continued: "It's my inside, youknow, Doctor."
The statement lacked anatomical precision and merely excluded the domainof the skin specialist. I accordingly waited for enlightenment andspeculated on the watercress-beds, while Mrs. Jablett regarded meexpectantly with a dim and watery eye.
"Ah!" I said, at length; "it's your--your inside, is it, Mrs. Jablett?"
"Yus. _And_ my 'ead," she added, with a voluminous sigh that filled theapartment with odorous reminiscences of "unsweetened."
"Your head aches, does it?"
"Somethink chronic!" said Mrs. Jablett. "Feels as if it was a-openingand a-shutting, a-opening and a-shutting, and when I sit down I feel asif I should _bust_."
This picturesque description of her sensations--not wholly inconsistentwith her figure--gave the clue to Mrs. Jablett's sufferings. Resisting afrivolous impulse to reassure her as to the elasticity of the humanintegument, I considered her case in exhaustive detail, coastingdelicately round the subject of "unsweetened," and finally sent heraway, revived in spirits and grasping a bottle of Mist. Sodae cumBismutho from Barnard's big stock-jar. Then I went back to investigatethe Horrible Discovery; but before I could open the paper, anotherpatient arrived (_Impetigo contagiosa_, this time, affecting the "wideand arched-front sublime" of a juvenile Fetter Laner), and then yetanother, and so on through the evening until, at last, I forgot thewatercress-beds altogether. It was only when I had purified myself fromthe evening consultations with hot water and a nail-brush and was aboutto sit down to a frugal supper, that I remembered the newspaper andfetched it from the drawer of the consulting-room table, where it hadbeen hastily thrust out of sight. I folded it into a convenient form,and, standing it upright against the water-jug, read the report at myease as I supped.
There was plenty of it. Evidently the reporter had regarded it as a"scoop," and the editor had backed him up with ample space andhair-raising head-lines.
"HORRIBLE DISCOVERY IN A WATERCRESS-BED AT SIDCUP!
"A startling discovery was made yesterday afternoon in the course ofclearing out a watercress-bed near the erstwhile rural village of Sidcupin Kent; a discovery that will occasion many a disagreeable qualm tothose persons who have been in the habit of regaling themselves withthis refreshing esculent. But before proceeding to a description of thecircumstances of the actual discovery or of the objects found--which,however, it may be stated at once, are nothing more or less than thefragments of a dismembered human body--it will be interesting to tracethe remarkable chain of coincidences by virtue of which the discoverywas made.
"The beds in question have been laid out in a small artificial lake fedby a tiny streamlet which forms one of the numerous tributaries of theRiver Cray. Its depth is greater than is usual in watercress-beds,otherwise the gruesome relics could never have been concealed beneathits surface, and the flow of water through it, though continuous, isslow. The tributary streamlet meanders through a succession of pasturemeadows, in one of which the beds themselves are situated, and herethroughout most of the year the fleecy victims of the human carnivorecarry on the industry of converting grass into mutton. Now it happenedsome years ago that the sheep frequenting these pastures became affectedwith the disease known as 'liver-rot'; and here we must make a shortdigression into the domain of pathology.
"'Liver-rot' is a disease of quite romantic antecedents. Its cause is asmall, flat worm--the liver-fluke--which infests the liver andbile-ducts of the affected sheep.
"Now how does the worm get into the sheep's liver? That is where theromance comes in. Let us see.
"The cycle of transformations begins with the deposit of the eggs of thefluke in some shallow stream or ditch running through pasture lands. Noweach egg has a sort of lid, which presently opens and lets out aminute, hairy creature who swims away in search of a particular kind ofwater-snail--the kind called by naturalists _Limnaea truncatula_. If hefinds a snail, he bores his way into its flesh and soon begins to growand wax fat. Then he brings forth a family--of tiny worms quite unlikehimself, little creatures called _rediae_, which soon give birth tofamilies of young _rediae_. So they may go on for several generations,but at last there comes a generation of _rediae_ which, instead ofgiving birth to fresh _rediae_, produce families of totally differentoffspring; big-headed, long-tailed creatures like miniature tadpoles,called by the learned _cercariae_. The _cercariae_ soon wriggle theirway out of the body of the snail, and then complications arise: for itis the habit of this particular snail to leave the water occasionallyand take a stroll in the fields. Thus the _cercariae_, escaping from thesnail, find themselves on the grass, whereupon they promptly drop theirtails and stick themselves to the grass-blades. Then comes theunsuspecting sheep to take his frugal meal, and, cropping the grass,swallows it, _cercariae_ and all. But the latter, when they findthemselves in the sheep's stomach, make their way straight to thebile-ducts, up which they travel to the liver. Here, in a few weeks,they grow up into full-blown flukes and begin the important business ofproducing eggs.
"Such is the pathological romance of 'liver-rot'; and now what is itsconnection with this mysterious discovery? It is this. After theoutbreak of 'liver-rot,' above referred to, the ground landlor
d, a Mr.John Bellingham, instructed his solicitor to insert a clause in thelease of the beds directing that the latter should be periodicallycleared and examined by an expert to make sure that they were free fromthe noxious water-snails. The last lease expired about two years ago,and since then the beds have been out of cultivation; but, for thesafety of the adjacent pastures, it was considered necessary to make thecustomary periodical inspection, and it was in the course of cleaningthe beds for this purpose that the present discovery was made.
"The operation began two days ago. A gang of three men proceededsystematically to grub up the plants and collect the multitudes ofwater-snails that they might be examined by the expert to see if any ofthe obnoxious species were present. They had cleared nearly half thebeds when, yesterday afternoon, one of the men working in the deepestpart came upon some bones, the appearance of which excited hissuspicion. Thereupon he called his mates, and they carefully picked awaythe plants piecemeal, a process that soon laid bare an unmistakablehuman hand lying on the mud amongst the roots. Fortunately they had thewisdom not to disturb the remains, but at once sent off a message to thepolice. Very soon, an inspector and a sergeant, accompanied by thedivisional surgeon, arrived on the scene, and were able to view theremains lying as they had been found. And now another very strange factcame to light; for it was seen that the hand--a left one--lying on themud was minus its third finger. This is regarded by the police as a veryimportant fact as bearing on the question of identification, seeing thatthe number of persons having the third finger of the left hand missingmust be quite small. After a thorough examination on the spot, the boneswere carefully collected and conveyed to the mortuary, where they nowlie awaiting further inquiries.
"The divisional surgeon, Dr. Brandon, in an interview with ourrepresentative, made the following statements:
"'The bones found are those of the left arm of a middle-aged or elderlyman about five feet eight inches in height. All the bones of the arm arepresent, including the scapula, or shoulder-blade, and the clavicle, orcollar-bone, but the three bones of the third finger are missing.'
"'Is this a deformity or has the finger been cut off?' our correspondentasked.
"'The finger has been amputated,' was the reply. 'If it had been absentfrom birth, the corresponding hand bone, or metacarpal, would have beenwanting or deformed, whereas it is present and quite normal.'
"'How long have the bones been in the water?' was the next question.
"'More than a year, I should say. They are quite clean; there is not avestige of the soft structures left.'
"'Have you any theory as to how the arm came to be deposited where itwas found?'
"'I should rather not answer that question,' was the guarded response.
"'One more question,' our correspondent urged. 'The ground landlord, Mr.John Bellingham; is not he the gentleman who disappeared so mysteriouslysome time ago?'
"'So I understand,' Dr. Brandon replied.
"'Can you tell me if Mr. Bellingham had lost the third finger of hisleft hand?'
"'I cannot say,' said Dr. Brandon; and he added with a smile, 'you hadbetter ask the police.'
"That is how the matter stands at present. But we understand that thepolice are making active inquiries for any missing man who has lost thethird finger of his left hand, and if any of our readers know of such aperson, they are earnestly requested to communicate at once, either withus or with the authorities.
"Also we believe that a systematic search is to be made for furtherremains."
I laid the newspaper down and fell into a train of reflection. It wascertainly a most mysterious affair. The thought that had evidently cometo the reporter's mind stole naturally into mine. Could these remains bethose of John Bellingham? It was obviously possible, though I could notbut see that the fact of the bones having been found on his land, whileit undoubtedly furnished the suggestion, did not in any way add to itsprobability. The connection was accidental and in no wise relevant.
Then, too, there was the missing finger. No reference to any such injuryor deformity had been made in the original report of the disappearance,though it could hardly have been overlooked. But it was useless tospeculate without facts. I should be seeing Thorndyke in the course ofthe next few days, and, undoubtedly, if the discovery had any bearingupon the disappearance of John Bellingham, I should hear of it. Withwhich reflection I rose from the table, and, adopting the advicecontained in the spurious Johnsonian quotation proceeded to "take a walkin Fleet Street" before settling down for the evening.