 CHAPTER VIII. A MESSAGE FROM THE DEEP SEA. The Whitechapel Road, though redeemed by scattered relics of a more picturesque past from the utter desolation of its neighbour the commercial road, is hardly a gay thoroughfare. Especially at its eastern end, where its sordid modernity seems to reflect the colourless lives of its inhabitants, does its grey and dreary length depress the spirits of the wayfarer. But the longest and dullest road can be made delightful by sprightly discourse seasoned with wit and wisdom, and so it was that, as I walked westward by the side of my friend John Thorndyke, the long monotonous road seemed all too short. We have been to the London Hospital to see a remarkable case of acromegaly, and as we returned we discussed this curious affection and the allied condition of gigantism in all their bearings from the origin of the Gibson Chin to the physique of Og, King of Basham. It would have been interesting, Thorndyke remarked as we passed up Old Gate High Street, to have put one's finger into his majesty's pituitary fossa after his decease, of course. By the way, here is Harrow Alley. You remembered Defoe's description of the dead cart waiting out here, and the ghastly procession coming down the alley. He took my arm and led me up the narrow thoroughfare as far as the sharp turn by the star and still public house, where we turned to look back. I never passed this place, he said musingly, but I seemed to hear the clang of the bell and the dismal cry of the carter. He broke off abruptly, two figures had suddenly appeared framed in the archway, and now advanced at headlong speed. One, who led, was a stout middle-aged duess, very breathless and dishevelled. The other was a well-dressed young man, hardly less agitated than his companion. As they approached, the young man suddenly recognized my colleague and accosted him in agitated tones. I've just been sent for to a case of murder or suicide. Would you mind looking at it for me, sir? It's my first case, and I feel rather nervous. Here the woman darted back and plucked the young doctor by the arm. Hurry, hurry, she exclaimed. Don't stop to talk. Her face was as white as lard and shiny with sweat. Her lips twitched, her hands shook, and she stared with the eyes of a frightened child. Of course I will come heart, said Thorndike, and turning back we followed the woman as she elbowed her way frantically among the foot passengers. Have you started in practice here? Thorndike asked as we hurried along. No, sir, replied Dr. Hart. I am an assistant. My principal is the police surgeon, but he is out just now. It's very good of you to come with me, sir. Tuck, tuck, rejoined Thorndike. I am just coming to see that you do credit to my teaching. That looks like the house. We had followed our guide into a side street, half way down which we could see a knot of people clustered round at all way. They watched us as we approached and drew aside to let us enter. The woman whom we were following rushed into the passage with the same headlong haste with which she had traversed the streets and so up the stairs. But as she neared the top of the flight she slowed down suddenly and began to creep up on tiptoe with noiseless and hesitating steps. On the landing she turned to face us and pointing a shaking forefinger at the door of the back room whispered almost inaudibly, she's in there, and then sank half fainting on the bottom stair of the next flight. I laid my hand on the knob of the door and looked back at Thorndike. He was coming slowly up the stairs, closely scrutinising floor, walls and handrail as he came. When he reached the first landing I turned the handle and we entered the room together, closing the door after us. The blind was still down and in the dim uncertain light nothing out of the common was at first to be seen. The shabby little room looked trim and orderly enough, safe for a heap of cast off feminine clothing piled upon a chair. The bed appeared undisturbed except by the half seen shape of its occupant and the quiet face dimly visible in its shadowy corner might have been that of a sleeper but for its utter stillness and for a dark stain on the pillow by its side. Dr. Hart stole on tiptoe to the bedside while Thorndike drew up the blind and as the garish daylight poured into the room the young surgeon fell back with a gasp of horror. Good God he exclaimed, poor creature but this is a frightful thing sir. The light streamed down upon the white face of a handsome girl of twenty-five, a face peaceful, placid and beautiful with the austere and almost unearthly beauty of the youthful dead. The lips were slightly potted, the eyes half closed and drowsy, shaded with sweeping lashes and a wealth of dark hair in massive plaques served as a foil to the translucent skin. Our friend had drawn back the bed clothes a few inches and now there was revealed beneath the comely face. So serene and inscrutable and yet so dreadful in its fixity and wax and pallor, a horrible yawning wound that almost divided the shapely neck. Thorndike looked down with stern pity at the plump white face. It was savagely done, said he, and yet mercifully, by reason of its very savagery. She must have died without waking. The brute exclaimed Hart, clenching his fists and turning crimson with wrath. The infernal cowardly beast, he shall hang by God, he shall hang. In his fury the young fellow shook his fists in the air, even as the moisture welled up into his eyes. Thorndike touched him on the shoulder. That is what we are here for, Hart, said he. Get out your notebook, and with this he bent down over the dead girl. At the friendly reproof the young surgeon pulled himself together, and with open notebook commenced his investigation, while I, at Thorndike's request, occupied myself in making a plan of the room, with a description of its contents and their arrangements. But this occupation did not prevent me from keeping an eye on Thorndike's movements, and presently I suspended my labours to watch him, as, with his pocketknife, he scraped together some objects that he had found on the pillow. What do you make of this? he asked, as I stepped over to his side. He pointed with the blade to a tiny heap of what looked like silver sand, and as I looked more closely, I saw that similar particles were sprinkled on other parts of the pillow. Silver sand, I exclaimed. I don't understand at all how it can have got there, do you? Thorndike shook his head. We will consider the explanation later, was his reply. He had produced from his pocket a small metal box, which he always carried, and which contained such requisites as cover slips, capillary tubes, moulding wax, and other diagnostic materials. He now took from it a seed envelope, into which he neatly shoveled a little pinch of sand with his knife. He had closed the envelope, and was writing a penciled description on the outside, when we were startled by a cry from heart. Good God, sir, look at this! It was done by a woman! He had drawn back the bedclothes, and was staring at a ghast at the dead girl's left hand. It held a thin tress of long red hair. Thorndike hastily pocketed his specimen, and, stepping round the little bedside table, bent over the hand with knitted brows. It was closed, though not tightly clenched, and when an attempt was made gently to separate the fingers, they were found to be as rigid as the fingers of a wooden hand. Thorndike stooped yet more closely, and taking out his lens scrutinized the wisp of hair throughout its entire length. There is more here than meets the eye at the first glance, he remarked. What say you heart? He held out his lens to his quantum pupil, who was about to take it from him when the door opened, and three men entered. One was a police inspector, the second appeared to be a plainclothes officer, while the third was evidently the divisional surgeon. Friends of yours heart? inquired the latter, regarding us with some disfavour. Thorndike gave a brief explanation of our presence to which the newcomer rejoined. Well, sir, your locus stand-eye, here is a matter for the inspector. My assistant was not authorised to call in outsiders. You needn't wait heart. With this he proceeded to his inspection while Thorndike withdrew the pocket thermometer that he had slipped under the body and took the reading. The inspector, however, was not disposed to exercise the prerogative at which the surgeon had hinted, for an expert has his uses. How long should you say she's been dead, sir? he asked affably. About ten hours replied Thorndike. The inspector and the detective simultaneously looked at their watches. That fixes it at two o'clock this morning, said the former. What's that, sir? The surgeon was pointing to the wisp of hair in the dead girl's hand. My word exclaimed the inspector. A woman, eh? She must be a tough customer. This looks like a soft job for you, Sergeant. Yes, said the detective. That accounts for that box with the hassack on it at the head of the bed. She had to stand on them to reach over. But she couldn't have been very tall. She must have been mighty strong, though, said the inspector, why she has nearly cut the paw when she's head off. He moved round to the head of the bed and, stooping over, peered down into the gaping wound. Suddenly he began to draw his hand over the pillow and then rub his fingers together. Why, he exclaimed, there's sand on the pillow. Silver sand! Now how can that have come there? The surgeon and the detective both came round to verify this discovery, and an earnest consultation took place as to its meaning. Did you notice it, sir? The inspector asked Thorndike. Yes, replied the latter. It's an unaccountable thing, isn't it? I don't know that it is either, said the detective. He ran over to the wash stand and then uttered a grunt of satisfaction. It's quite a simple matter after all you see, he said, glancing complacently at my colleague. There's a ball of sand soap on the wash stand and the basin is full of blood-stained water. You see, she must have washed the blood off her hands and off the knife, too. A pretty cool customer she must be, and she used the sand soap. Then, while she was drying her hands, she must have stood over the head of the bed and let the sand fall onto the pillow. I think that's clear enough. Admirably clear, said Thorndike, and what do you suppose was the sequence of events? The gratified detective glanced round the room. I take it, said he, that the deceased read herself to sleep. There is a book on the table by the bed, and a candlestick with nothing in it but a bit of burnt wick at the bottom of the socket. I imagine that the woman came in quietly, lit the gas, put the box and the hassock at the bedhead, stood on them, and cut her victim's throat. Deceased must have waked up and clutched the murderer's hair, though there doesn't seem to have been much of a struggle. But no doubt she died almost at once. Then the murderer's washed her hands, cleaned the knife, tidied up the bed a bit and went away. That's about how things happened, I think. But how she got in without anyone hearing and how she got out and where she went to are the things that we've got to find out. Perhaps, said the surgeon, drawing the bed clothes over the corpse, we had better have the landlady in and make a few inquiries. He glanced significantly at Thorndike and the inspector coughed behind his hand. My colleague, however, chose to be obtuse to these hints. Opening the door he turned the key backwards and forwards several times, drew it out, examined it narrowly and replaced it. The landlady is outside on the landing, he remarked, holding the door open. Thereupon the inspector went out and we all followed to hear the result of his inquiries. Now Mrs. Goldstein said the officer opening his notebook, I want you to tell us all that you know about this affair and about the girl herself. What was her name? The landlady who had been joined by a white-faced tremulous man, wiped her eyes and replied in a shaky voice. Her name, poor child, was Minna Adler. She was a German. She came from Bremen about two years ago. She had no friends in England, no relatives, I mean. She was a waitress at a restaurant in Fenchurch Street and a good, quiet, hard-working girl. When did you discover what had happened? About eleven o'clock. I thought she had gone to work as usual, but my husband noticed from the backyard that her blind was still down, so I went up and knocked, and when I got no answer I opened the door and went in, and then I saw, here the poor soul, overcome by the dreadful recollection, burst into hysterical sobs. Her door was unlocked then, did she usually lock it? I think so, sobbed Mrs Goldstein. The key was always inside. And the street door was that secure when you came down this morning? It was shut. We don't bolt it because some of the lodgers come home rather late. And now tell us, had she any enemies? Was there anyone who had a grudge against her? No, no, poor child. Why should anyone have a grudge against her? No, she had no quarrel, no real quarrel with anyone, not even with Miriam. Miriam inquired the inspector. Who is she? That was nothing, interposed the man hastily. That was not a quarrel. Just a little unpleasantness, I suppose, Mr Goldstein, suggested the inspector. Just a little foolishness about a young man, said Mr Goldstein. That was all. Miriam was a little jealous, but it was nothing. No, no, of course. We all know that young women are apt to. A soft footstep had been, for some time, audible, slowly descending the stair above. And at this moment a turn of the staircase brought the newcomer into view. And at that vision the inspector stopped short as if petrified, and a tense, startled silence fell upon us all. Down the remaining stairs, there advanced towards us a young woman, powerful though short, wild-eyed, dishevelled, horror-stricken, and of a ghastly pallor, and her hair was a fiery red. Stock still and speechless, we all stood as this apparition came slowly towards us. But suddenly the detective slipped back into the room, closing the door after him, to reappear a few moments later, holding a small paper packet, which, after a quick glance at the inspector, he placed in his breast pocket. This is my daughter Miriam that we spoke about, gentlemen, said Mr. Goldstein. Miriam, those are the doctors and the police. The girl looked at us from one to the other. You have seen her then, she said, in a strange muffled voice, and added, She is dead, is she? Not really dead. The question was asked in a tone at once coaxing and despairing, such as a distracted mother might use over the corpse of her child. It filled me with vague discomfort, and unconsciously I looked round towards Thorndike. To my surprise he had vanished. Noiselessly backing towards the head of the stairs, where I could command a view of the hall or passage, I looked down and saw him in the act reaching up to a shelf behind the street door. He caught my eye and beckoned, whereupon I crept away unnoticed by the party on the landing. When I reached the hall he was wrapping up three small objects, each in a separate cigarette paper, and I noticed that he handled them with more than ordinary tenderness. We didn't want to see that poor devil of a girl arrested, said he, as he deposited the three little packets gingerly in his pocket box. Let us be off. He opened the door noiselessly and stood for a moment, turning the latch backwards and forwards, then closely examining its bolt. I glanced up at the shelf behind the door. On it were two flat china candlesticks, in one of which I happened to notice as we came in, a short end of a candle lying in the tray, and I now looked to see if that was what Thorndike had annexed, but it was still there. I followed my colleague out into the street, and for some time we walked on without speaking. You guessed what the sergeant had in that paper, of course, said Thorndike at length. Yes, it was the hair from the dead woman's hand, and I thought that he had much better have left it there. And doubtedly, but that is the way in which well-meaning policemen destroy valuable evidence. Not that it matters much in this particular instance, but it might have been a fatal mistake. Do you intend to take an active part in this case, I asked? That depends on circumstances. I have collected some evidence, but what it is worth I don't yet know. Neither do I know whether the police have observed the same set of facts, but I need not say that I shall do anything that seems necessary to assist the authorities. That is a matter of common citizenship. The inroads made upon our time by the morning's adventures made it necessary that we should go each about his respective business without delay. So after a perfunctory lunch at a tea shop, we separated, and I did not see my colleague again until the day's work was finished, and I turned into our chambers just before dinner time. Here I found Thorndike seated at the table and evidently full of business. A microscope stood close by with a condenser throwing a spot of light onto a pinch of powder that had been sprinkled onto the slide. His collecting box lay open before him, and he was engaged, rather mysteriously, in squeezing a thick white cement from a tube onto three little pieces of moulding wax. Useful stuff, this, for to fix, he remarked, it makes excellent cuss and saves the trouble and mess of mixing plaster, which is a consideration for small work like this. By the way, if you want to know what was on that poor girl's pillow, just take a peek through the microscope. It is rather a pretty specimen. I stepped across and applied my eye to the instrument. The specimen was, indeed, pretty in more than a technical sense. Mingled with crystalline grains of quartz, glassy spicules, and water-worn fragments of coral were a number of lovely little shells, some of the texture of fine porcelain, others like blown Venetian glass. These are for a minifera, I exclaimed. Yes, then it is not silver sand, after all. Certainly not. Then what is it, then? Thorndike smiled. It is a message to us from the deep sea, Jervis, from the floor of the eastern Mediterranean. And can you read the message? I think I can, he replied, but I shall know soon, I hope. I looked down the microscope again and wondered what message these tiny shells had conveyed to my friend. Deep sea sand on a dead woman's pillow. What could be more in Congress? What possible connection could there be between this sordid crime in the east of London and the deep bed of the tideless sea? Meanwhile, Thorndike squeezed out more cement onto the three little pieces of moulding wax, which I suspected to be the objects that I had seen him wrapping up with such care in the hall of the Goldstein's house. Then, laying one of them down on a glass slide with its cemented side uppermost, he stood the other two upright on either side of it. Finally, he squeezed out a fresh load of the thick cement, apparently to bind the three objects together, and carried the slide very carefully to a cupboard where he deposited it, together with the envelope containing the sand and the slide from the stage of the microscope. He was just locking the cupboard when a sharp rat-tat on our knocker sent him hurriedly to the door. A messenger boy standing on the threshold held out a dirty envelope. Mr. Goldstein kept me an awful long time, sir, said he. I haven't been a loitering. Thorndike took the envelope over to the gas light and, opening it, drew forth a sheet of paper which he scanned quickly and almost eagerly, and though his face remained as inscrutable as a mask of stone, I felt a conviction that the paper had told him something that he wished to know. The boy, having been sent on his way rejoicing, Thorndike turned to the bookshelves, along which he ran his eye thoughtfully until it alighted on a shabbily-bound volume near one end. This he reached down and, as he laid it open on the table, I glanced at it and was surprised to observe that it was a bilingual work, the opposite pages being apparently in Russian and Hebrew. The Old Testament in Russian and Yiddish, he remarked, noting my surprise, I am going to get Poulton to photograph a couple of specimen pages. Is that the postman or a visitor? It turned out to be the postman, and as Thorndike extracted from the letterbox a blue official envelope, he glanced significantly at me. This answers your question, I think Jervis said he. Yes, Coroner Sapina and a very civil letter. Sorry to trouble you, but I had no choice under the circumstances. Of course he hadn't. Dr. Davidson has arranged to make the autopsy tomorrow at 4 p.m. and I should be glad if you could be present. The mortuary is in Baker Street next to the school. Well, we must go, I suppose, though Davidson will probably resent it. He took up the testament and went off with it to the laboratory. We lunched at our chambers on the following day and after the meal drew up our chairs to the fire and lit our pipes. Thorndike was evidently preoccupied for he laid his open notebook on his knee and gazing meditatively into the fire made occasional entries with his pencil as though he were arranging the points of an argument. Assuming that the Old Gate murder was the subject of his cogitations I ventured to ask. Have you any material evidence to offer the Coroner? He closed his notebook and put it away. The evidence that I have, he said, is material and important, but it is disjointed and rather inconclusive. If I can join it up into a coherent whole, as I hope to do before I reach the court, it will be very important indeed, but here is my invaluable familiar with the instruments of research. He turned with a smile towards Poulton, who had just entered the room and master and man exchanged a friendly glance of mutual appreciation. The relations of Thorndike and his assistant were a constant delight to me. On the one side, service, loyal and wholehearted, on the other, frank and full recognition. I should think those will do, sir, said Poulton, handing his principal a small cardboard box such as playing cards are carried in. Thorndike pulled off the lid and I then saw that the box was fitted internally with grooves for plates and contained two mounted photographs. The latter were very singular productions indeed. They were copies each of a page of the testament, one Russian and the other Yiddish, but the lettering appeared white on a black background, of which it occupied only quite a small space in the middle, leaving a broad black margin. Each photograph was mounted on a stiff card and each card had a duplicate photograph pasted on the back. Thorndike exhibited them to me with a provoking smile, holding them daintily by their edges before he slid them back into the grooves of their box. We are making a little digression into philology, you see, he remarked, as he pocketed the box, but we must be off now or we shall keep Davidson waiting. Thank you, Poulton. The district railway carried us swiftly eastward and we emerged from Aldgate Station a full half-hour before we were due. Nevertheless, Thorndike stepped out briskly but instead of making directly for the mortuary he strayed off unaccountably into Mansel Street, scanning the numbers of the houses as he went. A row of old houses, picturesque but grimy, on our right, seems specially to attract him and he slowed down as we approached them. There is a quaint survival, Jervis, he remarked, pointing to a crudely painted wooden effigy of an Indian, standing on a bracket at the door of a small, old-fashioned tobacconist shop. We halted to look at the little image and at that moment the side door opened and a woman came out onto the doorstep where she stood gazing up and down the street. Thorndike immediately crossed the pavement and addressed her, apparently with some question, for I heard her answer presently, a quarter past six is his time, sir, but he is generally punctual to the minute. Thank you, said Thorndike, I'll bear that in mind and lifting his hat he walked on briskly, turning presently up a side street which brought us out into Old Gate. It was now but five minutes to four so we strode off quickly to keep our trist at the mortuary but although we arrived at the gate as the hour was striking, when we entered the building we found Dr. Davidson hanging up his apron and preparing to depart. Sorry I couldn't wait for you, he said, with no great show of sincerity but a post-mortem is a mere farce in a case like this. You have seen all that there is to see, however there is the body, heart hasn't closed it up yet. With this and a curt good afternoon, he departed. I must apologise for Dr. Davidson, said Hart, looking up with a vexed face from the desk at which he was writing out his notes. You needn't, said Thorndike, you didn't supply him with manners and don't let me disturb you. I only want to verify one or two points. Accepting the hint, Hart and I remained at the desk while Thorndike, removing his hat, advanced to the long-slate table and bent over its burden of pitiful tragedy. For some time he remained motionless, running his eye gravely over the corpse in search, no doubt, of bruises and indications of a struggle. Then he stooped and narrowly examined the wound, especially at its commencement and end. Suddenly he drew nearer, peering intently as if something had attracted his attention and having taken out his lens, fetched a small sponge with which he dried an exposed process of the spine. Holding his lens before the dried spot, he again scrutinised it closely and then with a scalpel and forceps detached some object which he carefully washed and then once more examined through his lens as it lay in the palm of his hand. Finally, as I expected, he brought forth his collecting box, took from it a seed envelope into which he dropped the object, evidently something quite small, closed up the envelope, wrote on the outside of it and replaced it in the box. I think I have seen all that I wanted to see, he said, as he pocketed the box and took up his hat. We shall meet tomorrow morning at the inquest. He shook hands with heart and went out into the relatively pure air. On one pretext or another, Thorndike lingered about the neighbourhood of Oldgate until a church bell struck six when he bent his steps towards Harrow Alley. Through the narrow winding passage he walked slowly and with a thoughtful mienne along Little Somerset Street and out into Mansel Street until just on the stroke of a quarter past we found ourselves opposite the little tobaccanist shop. Thorndike glanced at his watch and halted, looking keenly up the street. A moment later he hastily took from his pocket the cardboard box from which he extracted the two mounted photographs which had puzzled me so much. They now seemed to puzzle Thorndike equally to judge by his expression for he held them close to his eyes scrutinising them with an anxious frown and backing by degrees into the doorway at the side of the tobaccanist. At this moment I became aware of a man who, as he approached, seemed to eye my friend with some curiosity and more disfavour. A very short, burly young man, apparently a foreign Jew whose face, naturally sinister and unprepossessing was further disfigured by the marks of smallpox. "'Excuse me,' he said brusquely, pushing past Thorndike, "'I live here.' "'I am sorry,' responded Thorndike. He moved aside and then suddenly asked, "'By the way, I suppose you do not by any chance understand Yiddish?' "'Why do you ask?' the newcomer demanded gruffly. "'Because I have just had these two photographs of lettering given to me. One is in Greek, I think, and one in Yiddish, but I have forgotten which is which.' He held out the two cards to the stranger who took them from him and looked at them with scowling curiosity. "'This one is Yiddish,' said he, raising his right hand, and this other is Russian, not Greek. He held out the two cards to Thorndike who took them from him, leaving them carefully by the edges as before. "'I am greatly obliged to you for your kind assistance,' said Thorndike, but before he had time to finish his thanks, the man had entered by means of his latch-key and slammed the door. Thorndike carefully slid the photographs back into their grooves, replaced the box in his pocket, and made an entry in his notebook. "'That,' said he, finishes my labours with the exception of a small experiment which I can perform at home. By the way, I picked up a morsel of evidence that Davidson had overlooked. He will be annoyed and I am not very fond of scoring off a colleague, but he is too uncivil for me to communicate with.' The coroner's subpoena had named ten o'clock as the hour of which Thorndike was to attend to give evidence, but a consultation with a well-known solicitor so far interfered with his plans that we were a quarter of an hour late in starting from the temple. My friend was evidently in excellent spirits, though silent and preoccupied, from which I inferred that he was satisfied with the results of his labours. But as I sat by his side in the handsome, I forbore to question him, not from mere unsuffishness, but rather from the desire to hear his evidence for the first time in conjunction with that of the other witness. The room in which the inquest was held formed part of a school adjoining the mortuary. Its vacant bareness was on this occasion and livened by a long bias-covered table, at the head of which sat the coroner while one side was occupied by the jury, and I was glad to observe that the latter consisted, for the most part, of genuine working men instead of the stolid-faced, truculent, professional jury men who so often graced these tribunals. A row of chairs accommodated the witnesses. A corner of the table was allotted to the accused woman's solicitor, a smart dapper gentleman in gold-pint snares, a portion of one side to the reporters, and several ranks of benches were occupied by the miscellaneous assembly representing the public. There were one or two persons present whom I was somewhat surprised to see. There was, for instance, our pock-marked acquaintance of Mansel Street, who greeted us with a stare of hostile surprise, and there was Superintendent Miller of Scotland Yard, in whose manner I seemed to detect some kind of private understanding with thorn-dike. But I had little time to look about me, for when we arrived the proceedings had already commenced. Mrs. Goldstein, the first witness, was finishing her recital of the circumstances under which the crime was discovered, and, as she retired, weeping hysterically, she was followed by looks of commiseration from the sympathetic juryman. The next witness was a young woman named Kate Silver. As she stepped forward to be sworn, she flung a glance of hatred and defiance at Miriam Goldstein, who, white-faced and wild of aspect, with her red hair streaming in dishevelled masses onto her shoulders, stood apart in custody of two policemen, staring about her as if in a dream. You were intimately acquainted with the deceased, I believe, said the coroner. I was. We worked at the same place for a long time. The Empire Restaurant in Fenchurch Street, and we lived in the same house. She was my most intimate friend. Had she, as far as you know, any friends or relations in England? No. She came to England from Bremen about three years ago. It was then that I made her acquaintance. All her relations were in Germany, but she had many friends here because she was a very lively, amiable girl. Had she, as far as you know, any enemies, any persons I mean, who bore any grudge against her and were likely to do her an injury? Yes. Miriam Goldstein was her enemy. She aided her. You say Miriam Goldstein hated the deceased. How do you know that? She made no secret of it. They had had a violent quarrel about a young man named Moses Cohen. He was formerly Miriam's sweetheart and I think they were very fond of one another until Mina Adler came to lodge at the Goldstein's house about three months ago. Then Moses took a fancy to Mina and she encouraged him, although she had a sweetheart of her own, a young man named Paul Petrovsky, who also lodged in the Goldstein's house. At last Moses broke off with Miriam and engaged himself to Mina. Then Miriam was furious and complained to Mina about what she called her perfidious conduct, but Mina only laughed and told her she could have Petrovsky instead. What did Mina say to that? asked the coroner. She was still more angry because Moses Cohen is a smart, good-looking young man while Petrovsky is not much to look at. Besides, Miriam did not like Petrovsky. He had been rude to her and she had made her father send him away from the house so they were not friends and it was just after that that the trouble came. The trouble? I mean about Moses Cohen. Miriam is a very passionate girl and she was furiously jealous of Mina so when Petrovsky annoyed her by taunting her about Moses Cohen and Mina she lost her temper and said dreadful things about both of them. As for instance she said that she would kill them both and that she would like to cut Mina's throat. When was this? It was the day before the murder. Who heard her say these things besides you? Another lodger named Edith Bryan and Petrovsky we were all standing in the hall at the time. But I thought you said Petrovsky had been turned away from the house. So he had a week before but he had left a box in his room and on this day he had come to fetch it. That was what started the trouble. Miriam had taken his room for her bedroom and turned her old one into a work room. She said he should not go to her room to fetch his box. And did he? I think so. Miriam and Edith and I went out leaving him in the hall. When we came back the box was gone and as Mrs Goldstein was in the kitchen and there was nobody else in the house he must have taken it. You spoke of Miriam's work room. What work did she do? She cut stencils for a firm of decorators. Here the coroner took a peculiarly shaped knife from the table before him and handed it to the witness. Have you ever seen that knife before? He asked. Yes, it belongs to Miriam Goldstein. It is a stencil knife that she used in her work. This concluded the evidence of Kate Silver and when the name of the next witness Paul Petrovsky was called our Mansel Street friend came forward to be sworn. His evidence was quite brief and merely corroborative of that of Kate Silver as was that of the next witness Edith Bryant when these have been disposed of the coroner announced. Before taking the medical evidence gentlemen I propose to hear that of the police officers and first we will call detective sergeant Alfred Bates. The sergeant stepped forward briskly and proceeded to give his evidence with official readiness and precision. I was called by Constable Simmons at 1149 and reached the house at two minutes to twelve in company with Inspector Harris and divisional surgeon Davidson. When I arrived Dr Hart, Dr Thorndike and Dr Jervis were already in the room. I found the deceased woman, Mina Adler, lying in bed with her throat cut. She was dead and cold. There were no signs of a struggle and the bed did not appear to have been disturbed. There was a table by the bedside on which was a book and an empty candlestick. The candle had apparently burnt out for there was only a piece of charred wick at the bottom of the socket. A box had been placed on the floor at the head of the bed and a hassock stood on it. Apparently the murderer had stood on the hassock and leaned over the head of the bed to commit the murder. This was rendered necessary by the position of the table which could not have been moved without making some noise and perhaps disturbing the deceased. I infer from the presence of the box and hassock that the murderer is a short person. Was there anything else that seemed to fix the identity of the murderer? Yes, a tress of woman's red hair was grasped in the left hand of the deceased. As the detective uttered this statement, a simultaneous shriek of horror burst from the accused woman and her mother, Mrs Goldstein, sank half-fainting onto a bench while Miriam, pale as death, stood as one petrified fixing the detective with a stare of horror as he drew from his pocket two small paper packets which he opened and handed to the coroner. The hair in the packet marked A said he is that which was found in the hand of the deceased, that in the packet marked B is the hair of Miriam Goldstein. Here the accused woman's solicitor rose. Where did you obtain the hair in the packet marked B, he demanded. I took it from a bag of comings that hung on the wall of Miriam Goldstein's bedroom, answered the detective. I object to this, said the solicitor. There is no evidence that the hair from that bag was the hair of Miriam Goldstein at all. Thaundike chuckled softly. The lawyer is as dense as the policeman, he remarked to me in an undertone. Neither of them seems to see the significance of that bag in the least. Did you know about the bag then? I asked in surprise. No, I thought it was the hairbrush. I gazed at my colleague in amazement and was about to ask for some elucidation of this cryptic reply when he held up his finger and turned again to listen. Very well, Mrs Horowitz, the coroner was saying, I will make a note of your objection but I shall allow the sergeant to continue his evidence. The solicitor sat down and the detective resumed his statement. I have examined and compared the two samples of hair and it is my opinion that they are from the head of the same person. The only other observation that I made in the room was that there was a small quantity of silver sand sprinkled on the pillow around the deceased woman's head. Silver sand? exclaimed the coroner. Surely that is a very singular material to find on a woman's pillow. I think it is easily explained, replied the sergeant. The washed hand basin was full of bloodstained water showing that the murderer had washed his or her hands and probably the knife too after the crime. On the wash stand was a ball of sand soap and I imagine that the murderer used this to cleanse his or her hands and while drying them must have stood over the head of the bed and let the sand sprinkle down onto the pillow. A simple but highly ingenious explanation commented the coroner approvingly and the jury men exchanged admiring nods and nudges. I searched the rooms occupied by the accused woman Miriam Goldstein and found there a knife of the kind used by stencil-cutters but larger than usual. There were stains of blood on it which the accused explained by saying that she cut her finger some days ago. She admitted that the knife was hers. This concluded the sergeant's evidence and he was about to sit down when the solicitor rose. I should like to ask this witness one or two questions said he and the coroner having nodded assent, he proceeded. Has the finger of the accused been examined since her arrest? I believe not, replied the sergeant, not to my knowledge at any rate. The solicitor noted the reply and then asked, reference to the silver sand, did you find any at the bottom of the wash-hand basin? The sergeant's face reddened. I did not examine the wash-hand basin, he answered. Did anyone examine it? I think not. Thank you. Mr. Horowitz sat down and the triumphant squeak of his quill pen was heard above the muttered disapproval of the jury. We shall now take the evidence of the doctor's gentlemen, said the coroner, and we will begin with that of the divisional surgeon. You saw the deceased, I believe, doctor, he continued, when Dr. Davidson had been sworn, soon after the discovery of the murder, and you have since then made an examination of the body? Yes, I found the body of the deceased lying in her bed, which had apparently not been disturbed. She had been dead about ten hours and rigidity was complete in the limbs but not in the trunk. The cause of death was a deep wound extending right across the throat and dividing all the structures down to the spine. It had been inflicted with a single sweep of a knife while the deceased was lying down and was evidently homicidal. It was not possible for the deceased to have inflicted the wound herself. It was made with a single edged knife drawn from left to right. The assailant stood on a hassack placed on a box at the head of the bed and leaned over to strike the blow. The murderer is probably quite a short person, very muscular and right-handed. There was no sign of a struggle and, judging by the nature of the injuries, I should say that death was almost instantaneous. In the left hand of the deceased was a small tress of a woman's red hair. I have compared that hair with that of the accused and of the opinion that it is her hair. You were shown a knife belonging to the accused? Yes, a stencil knife. There were stains of dried blood on it which I have examined and find to be mammalian blood. It is probably human blood but I cannot say with certainty that it is. Could the wound have been inflicted with this knife? Yes, though it is a small knife to produce so deep a wound, still it is quite possible. The coroner glanced at Mr. Horowitz. Do you wish to ask this witness any questions, he inquired? If you please, sir, was the reply. The solicitor rose and having glanced through his notes commenced. You have described certain blood stains on this knife but we have heard that there was blood stained water in the wash hand basin and it is suggested, most reasonably, that the murderer washed his hands and the knife. But if the knife was washed how do you account for the blood stains on it? Apparently the knife was not washed, only the hands. But is not that highly improbable? No, I think not. You say that there was no struggle and that death was practically instantaneous but yet the deceased had torn out a lock of the murderer's hair. Are not those two statements inconsistent with one another? No, the hair was probably grasped convulsively at the moment of death. At any rate, the hair was undoubtedly in the dead woman's hand. Is it possible to identify positively the hair of any individual? No, not with certainty, but this is very peculiar hair. The solicitor sat down and Dr Hart, having been called and having briefly confirmed the evidence of his principle, the coroner announced. The next witness, gentlemen, is Dr Thorndike who was present almost accidentally but was actually the first on the scene of the murder. He has since made an examination of the body and will no doubt be able to throw some further light on this horrible crime. Thorndike stood up and having been sworn laid on the table a small box with a leather handle. Then in answer to the coroner's questions he described himself as the lecturer on medical jurisprudence at St Margaret's Hospital and briefly explained his connection with the case. At this point the foreman of the jury interrupted to ask that his opinion might be taken on the hair and the knife as these were matters of contention and the objects in question were accordingly handed to him. Is the hair in the packet marked A in your opinion from the same person as that in the packet marked B, the coroner asked? I have no doubt that they are from the same person was the reply. Will you examine this knife the wound on the deceased might have been inflicted with it? Thorndike examined the blade attentively and then handed the knife back to the coroner. The wound might have been inflicted with this knife said he but I am quite sure it was not. Can you give us your reasons for that very definite opinion? I think said Thorndike that it will save time if I give you the facts in a connected order. The coroner bowed assent and he proceeded I will not waste your time by reiterating facts already stated Sergeant Bates has fully described the state of the room and I have nothing to add on that subject. Dr. Davidson's description of the body covers all the facts the woman had been dead about ten hours the wound was unquestionably homicidal and was afflicted in the manner that he had described death was apparently instantaneous and I should say that the deceased never awakened from her sleep but objected the coroner the deceased held a lock of hair in her hand that hair replied Thorndike was not the hair of the murderer it was placed in the hand of the corpse for an obvious purpose and the fact that the murderer had brought it with him shows that the crime was premeditated and that it was committed by someone who had had access to the house and was acquainted with its inmates as Thorndike made this statement coroner, jury men and spectators alike gazed at him in open mouthed amazement there was an interval of intense silence broken by a wild hysteric laugh from Mrs. Goldstein and then the coroner asked how did you know that the hair in the hand of the corpse was not that of the murderer the inference was very obvious at the first glance the peculiar and conspicuous colour of the hair struck me as suspicious but there were three facts each of which was in itself sufficient to prove that the hair was probably not that of the murderer in the first place there was the condition of the hand when a person at the moment of death grasps any object firmly there is set up a condition known as cadaveric spasm the muscular contraction passes immediately into rigomortis or death stiffening and the object remains grasped by the dead hand until the rigidity passes off in this case the hand was perfectly rigid but it did not grasp the hair at all the little tress lay in the palm quite loosely and the hand was only partially closed obviously the hair had been placed in it after death the other two facts had reference to the condition of the hair itself now when a lock of hair is torn from the head it is evident that all the roots will be found at the same end of the lock but in the present instance this was not the case the lock of hair which lay in the dead woman's hand had roots at both ends and so could not have been torn from the head of the murderer but the third fact that I observed was still more conclusive the hairs of which that little tress was composed had not been pulled out at all they had fallen out spontaneously in fact shed hairs probably comings let me explain the difference when a hair is shed naturally it drops out of the little tube in the skin called the root sheath having been pushed out by the young hair growing up underneath the root end of such a shed hair shows nothing but a small bulbous enlargement the root bulb but when a hair is forcibly pulled out the root drags out the root sheath with it and this can be plainly seen as a glistening mass on the end of the hair if Miriam Goldstein will pull out a hair and pass it to me I will show you the great difference between hair which is pulled out and hair which is shed the unfortunate Miriam needed no pressing in a twinkling she had tweaked out a dozen hairs which a constable handed across to Thorndike by whom they were at once fixed in a paper clip a second clip being produced from the box half a dozen hairs taken from the tress which had been found in the dead woman's hand were fixed in it then Thorndike handed the two clips together with a lens to the coroner remarkable exclaimed the latter a most conclusive he passed the objects onto the foreman and there was an interval of silence while the jury examined them with breathless interest and much facial contortion the next question resumed Thorndike was when did the murderer obtain these hairs I assumed that they had been taken from Miriam Goldstein's hairbrush but the sergeant's evidence makes it pretty clear that they were obtained from the very bag of comings from which he took a sample for comparison I think doctor remarked the coroner you have disposed of the hair clue pretty completely may I ask if you found anything that might throw any light on the identity of the murderer yes replied Thorndike I observed certain things which determined the identity of the murderer quite conclusively he turned a significant glance on superintendent Miller who immediately rose stepped quietly to the door and then returned putting something into his pocket when I entered the hall Thorndike continued I noted the following facts behind the door was a shelf on which were two china candlesticks each was fitted with a candle and in one was a short candle end about an inch long lying in the tray on the floor close to the mat was a spot of candle wax and some faint marks of muddy feet the oil cloth on the stairs also bore faint foot marks made by wet galoshes they were ascending the stairs and grew fainter towards the top there were two more spots of candle wax on the stairs and one on the handrail a burnt end of a wax match halfway up the stairs and another on the landing there were no descending foot marks but one of the spots of wax close to the balusters had been trodden on while warm and soft and bore the mark of the front of the heel of a galosh descending the stairs the lock of the street door had been recently oiled as had also that of the bedroom door and the latter had been unlocked from outside with a bent wire which had made a mark on the key inside the room I made two further observations one was that the dead woman's pillow was lightly sprinkled with sand somewhat like silver sand but grayer and less gritty I shall return to this presently the other was that the candlestick on the bedside table was empty it was a peculiar candlestick having a skeleton socket formed of eight flat strips of metal the charred wick of a burnt-out candle was at the bottom of the socket but a little fragment of wax on the top edge showed that another candle had been stuck in it and had been taken out for otherwise that fragment would have been melted I at once thought of the candle end in the hall and when I went down again I took that end from the tray and examined it on it I found eight distinct marks corresponding to the eight bars of the candlestick in the bedroom it had been carried in the right hand of some person although warm soft wax had taken beautifully clear impressions of a right thumb and forefinger I took three moulds of the candle end in moulding wax and from these moulds have made the cement cast which shows both the fingerprints and the marks of the candlestick he took from his box a small white object which he handed to the coroner and what do you gather from these facts I gather that about a quarter to two in the morning of the crime a man who had on the previous day visited the house to obtain the tress of hair and oil the locks entered the house by means of a latch-key we can fix the time by the fact that it rained on that morning from half past one to a quarter to two this being the only rain that has fallen for a fortnight and the murder was committed at about two o'clock the man lit a wax match in the hall and another half way up the stairs he found the bedroom door locked and turned the key from outside with a bent wire he entered, lit the candle placed the box and hassuck murdered his victim washed his hands and knife took the candle end from the socket and went downstairs where he blew out the candle and dropped it into the tray the next clue is furnished by the sand on the pillow I took a little of it and examined it under the microscope when it turned out to be deep sea sand from the eastern Mediterranean it was full of the minute shells called foraminifera and as one of these happened to belong to a species which is found only in the Levant I was able to fix the locality but this is very remarkable said the coroner how on earth could deep sea sand have got onto this woman's pillow the explanation, replied Thorndike is really quite simple sand of this kind is contained in considerable quantities in turkey sponges the warehouse in which the sponges are unpacked are often strewn with it ankle deep the men who unpack the cases become dusted over with it their clothes saturated and their pockets filled with it if such a person with his clothes and pockets full of sand had committed this murder it is pretty certain that in leaning over the head of the bed in a partly inverted position he would have let fall a certain quantity of the sand from his pockets and the interest disease of his clothing now as soon as I had examined the sand and ascertained its nature I sent a message to Mr. Goldstein asking him for a list of the persons who were acquainted with the deceased with their addresses and occupations he sent me the list by return and among the persons mentioned was a man who was engaged as a packer in a wholesale sponge warehouse in the minories I further ascertained that the new season's crop of turkey sponges had arrived a few days before the murder the question that now arose was whether this sponge packer was the person whose fingerprints I had found on the candle end to settle this point I prepared two mounted photographs and having contrived to meet the man at his door on his return from work I induced him to look at them and compare them he took them from me holding each one between a forefinger and thumb when he returned them to me I took them home and carefully dusted each on both sides with a certain surgical dusting powder the powder adhered to the places where his fingers and thumbs had pressed against the photographs showing the fingerprints very distinctly those of the right hand were identical with the prints on the candle as you will see if you compare them with the cast he produced from the box the photograph of the Yiddish lettering on the black margin of which there now stood out with startling distinctness a yellowish white print of a thumb Thorndike had just handed the card to the coroner when a very singular disturbance arose while my friend had been giving the latter part of his evidence I had observed the man Petrovsky rise from his seat and walk stealthily across to the door he turned the handle softly and pulled at first gently and then with more force but the door was locked as he realised this Petrovsky seized the handle with both hands and tore at it furiously shaking it to and fro with the violence of a madman and his shaking limbs his starting eyes glaring insanely at the astonished spectators his ugly face red-white running with sweat and hideous with terror made a picture that was truly shocking suddenly he let go the handle and with a horrible cry thrust his hand under the skirt of his coat and rushed at Thorndike but the superintendent was ready for this there was a shout and a scuffle and then Petrovsky was born down kicking and biting like a maniac while Miller hung on to his right hand the formidable knife that it grasped I will ask that you hand that knife to the coroner said Thorndike when Petrovsky had been secured and handcuffed and the superintendent had readjusted his collar will you kindly examine it sir he continued and tell me if there is a notch in the edge near to the point a triangular notch about an eighth of an inch long coroner looked at the knife and then said in a tone of surprise yes there is you have seen this knife before then no I have not replied Thorndike but perhaps I had better continue my statement there is no need for me to tell you that the fingerprints on the card and on the candle are those of Paul Petrovsky I will proceed to the evidence furnished by the body in accordance with your order I went to the mortuary and examined the corpse of the deceased the wound has been fully and accurately described by Dr Davidson but I observed one fact which I presume he had overlooked embedded in the bone of the spine in the left transverse process of the fourth vertebra I discovered a small particle of steel which I carefully extracted he drew his collecting box from his pocket and taking from it a seed envelope handed the latter to the coroner that fragment of steel is in this envelope he said and it is possible that it may correspond to the notch in the knife blade amidst an intense silence the coroner opened the little envelope and let the fragment of steel drop onto a sheet of paper laying the knife on the paper he gently pushed the fragment towards the notch then he looked up at Thorndike it fits exactly said he heavy thud at the other end of the room and we all looked around Petrovsky had fallen onto the floor insensible an instructive case Gervis remarked Thorndike as we walked homewards a case that reiterates the lesson that the authorities still refused to learn what is that? I asked it is this when it is discovered that a murder has been committed the scene of that murder should instantly become as the palace of the sleeping beauty not a grain of dust should be moved not a soul should be allowed to approach it until the scientific observer has seen everything in situ and absolutely undisturbed no tramplings of excited constables no rummaging by detectives no scrambling to and fro of bloodhounds I wonder what would have happened in this case if we had arrived a few hours later the corpse would have been in the mortuary the hair in the sergeant's pocket the bed rummaged and the sand scattered abroad the candle probably removed and the stairs covered with fresh tracks there would not have been a vestige of a clue and I added the deep sea would have uttered its message in vain End of Chapter 8 Recording by Sandra Cullum End of John Thorndyke's Cases by R. Austin Freeman