 Chapter 20 The End of the Case A profound silence had fallen on the room and its occupants. Mr. Jellico sat with his eyes fixed on the table as if deep in thought, the unlighted cigarette in one hand, the other grasping the tumbler of water. Presently Inspector Badger coughed impatiently, and he looked up. I beg your pardon, gentlemen, he said. I am keeping you waiting. He took a sip from the tumbler, opened a matchbox, and took out a match, but apparently altering his mind, laid it down, and commenced. The unfortunate affair which has brought you here tonight, had its origin ten years ago. At that time, my friend Hearst became suddenly involved in financial difficulties. Am I speaking too fast for you, Mr. Badger? No, not at all, replied Badger. I am taking it down in shorthand. Thank you, said Mr. Jellico. He became involved in serious difficulties and came to me for assistance. He wished to borrow five thousand pounds to enable him to meet his engagements. I had a certain amount of money at my disposal, but I did not consider Hearst's security satisfactory. Accordingly, I felt compelled to refuse. But on the very next day, John Bellingham called on me with a draft of his will, which he wished me to look over before it was executed. It was an absurd will, and I nearly told him so. But then an idea occurred to me in connection with Hearst. It was obvious to me, as soon as I glanced through the will, that, if the burial-clause was left as the testitor had drafted it, Hearst had a very good chance of inheriting the property, and, as I was named as executor, I should be able to give full effect to that clause. Accordingly, I asked for a few days to consider the will. And then I called upon Hearst and made a proposal to him, which was this, that I should advance him five thousand pounds without security, that I should ask for no repayment, but that he should assign to me any interest that he might have or acquire in the estate of John Bellingham, up to ten thousand pounds, or two-thirds of any sum that he might inherit if over that amount. He asked if John had yet made any will, and I replied, quite correctly, that he had not. He inquired if I knew what testamentary arrangements John intended to make, and again I answered, quite correctly, that I believed John proposed to devise the bulk of his property to his brother Godfrey. Thereupon Hearst accepted my proposal. I made him the advance, and he executed the assignment. After a few days' delay, I passed the will as satisfactory. The actual document was written from the draft by the testitor himself, and a fortnight after Hearst had executed the assignment, John signed the will in my office. By the provisions of that will, I stood an excellent chance of becoming virtually the principal beneficiary, unless Godfrey should contest Hearst's claim, and the court should override the conditions of clause two. You will now understand the motives which governed my subsequent actions. You will also see, Dr. Thorndike, how very near to the truth your reasoning carry you, and you will understand, as I wish you to do, that Mr. Hearst was no party to any of these proceedings which I am about to describe. Coming now to the interview in Queens Square in October 1902, you are aware of the general circumstances from my evidence in court, which was literally correct, up to a certain point. The interview took place in a room on the third floor, in which were stored the cases which John had brought with him from Egypt. The mummy was unpacked, as were some other objects, that he was not offering to the museum, but several cases were still unopened. At the conclusion of the interview, I accompanied Dr. Norbury down to the street door and we stood on the doorstep conversing for perhaps a quarter of an hour. Then Dr. Norbury went away and I returned upstairs. Now the house in Queens Square is virtually a museum. The upper part is separated from the lower by a massive door which opens from the hall and gives access to the staircase and which is fitted with a chub night latch. There are two latch keys, of which John used to keep one and I the other. You will find them both in the safe behind me. The caretaker had no key and no access to the upper part of the house unless admitted by one of us. At the time when I came in, after Dr. Norbury had left, the caretaker was in the cellar, where I could hear him breaking coke for the hot water furnace. I had left John on the third floor opening some of the packing cases by the light of a lamp with a tool somewhat like a plasterer's hammer. That is, a hammer with a small axe blade at the reverse of the head. As I stood talking to Dr. Norbury, I could hear him knocking out the nails and wrenching up the lids and when I entered the doorway leading to the stairs, I could still hear him. Just as I closed the staircase door behind me, I heard a rumbling noise from above, then all was still. I went up the stairs to the second floor, where, as the staircase was all in darkness, I stopped to light the gas. As I turned to ascend the next flight, I saw a hand projecting over the edge of the halfway landing. I ran up the stairs and there, on the landing, I saw John lying huddled in a heap at the foot of the top flight. There was a wound at the side of his forehead from which a little blood was trickling. The case opener lay on the floor close by him and there was blood on the axe blade. When I looked up the stairs, I saw a rag of torn matting over the top stair. It was quite easy to see what had happened. He had walked, quickly out on the landing, with the case opener in his hand. His foot had caught in the torn matting and he had pitched head foremost down the stairs, still holding the case opener. He had fallen so that his head had come down on the upturned edge of the axe blade. He had then rolled over and the case opener had dropped from his hand. I lit a wax match and stooped down to look at him. His head was in a very peculiar position, which made me suspect that his neck was broken. There was extremely little bleeding from the wound. He was perfectly motionless. I could detect no sign of breathing and I felt no doubt that he was dead. It was an exceedingly regrettable affair and it placed me, as I perceived at once, in an extremely awkward position. My first impulse was to send the caretaker for a doctor and a policeman, but a moment's reflection convinced me that there were serious objections to this course. There was nothing to show that I had not myself knocked him down with the case opener. Of course, there was nothing to show that I had, but we were alone in the house, with the exception of the caretaker, who was down in the basement out of earshot. There would be an inquest. At the inquest inquiries would be made as to the will, which was known to exist, but as soon as the will was produced, Hearst would become suspicious. He would probably make a statement to the coroner, and I should be charged with the murder. Or, even if I were not charged, Hearst would suspect me and would probably repudiate the assignment, and under the circumstances, it would be practically impossible for me to enforce it. He would refuse to pay and I could not make any claim into court. I sat down on the stairs just above poor John's body and considered the matter in detail. At the worst, I stood a fair chance of hanging. At the best, I stood to lose close upon fifty thousand pounds. These were not pleasant alternatives. Supposing, on the other hand, I concealed the body and gave out that John had gone to Paris. There was, of course, the risk of discovery, in which case I should certainly be convicted of the murder. But if no discovery occurred, I was not only safe from suspicion, but I secured the fifty thousand pounds. In either case there was considerable risk, but in the one there was the certainty of loss, whereas in the other there was a material advantage to justify the risk. The question was whether it would be possible to conceal the body. If it were, then the contingent prophet was worth the slight additional risk. But a human body is a very difficult thing to dispose of, especially by a person of so little scientific culture as myself. It is curious that I considered this question for quite considerable time before the obvious solution presented itself. I turned over at least a dozen methods of disposing of the body and rejected them all as impracticable. Then suddenly I remembered the mummy upstairs. At first it only occurred to me as a fantastic possibility that I could conceal the body in the mummy case. But as I turned over the idea, I began to see that it was really practicable, and not only practicable, but easy, and not only easy, but eminently safe. If once the mummy case was in the museum, I was rid of it forever. The circumstances were, as you, sir, have justly observed, singularly favourable. There would be no hue and cry, no hurry, no anxiety, but ample time for all the necessary preparations. Then the mummy case itself was curiously suitable. Its length was ample, as I knew from having measured it. It was a cartonage of rather flexible material, and had an opening behind, secured with a lacing, so that it could be opened without injury. Nothing need be cut but the lacing, which could be replaced. A little damage might be done in extracting the mummy, and in introducing the deceased. But such cracks as might occur would be of no importance, for here again fortune favoured me. The whole of the back of the mummy case was coated with bitumen, and it would be easy when once the deceased was safely inside to apply a fresh coat, which would cover up not only the cracks, but also the new lacing. After careful consideration, I decided to adopt the plan. I went downstairs, and sent the caretaker on an errand to the law courts. Then I returned, and carried the deceased up to one of the third floor rooms, where I removed his clothes and laid him out on a long packing case in the position in which he would lie in the mummy case. I folded his clothes neatly and packed them, with the exception of his boots, in a suitcase, that he had been taking to Paris, and which contained nothing but his night clothes, toilet articles, and a change of linen. By the time I had done this, and thoroughly washed the oil cloth on the stairs and landing, the caretaker had returned. I informed him that Mr. Bellingham had started for Paris, and then I went home. The upper part of the house was, of course, secured by the chub-lock, but I had also, ex-abundantia cattelée, locked the door of the room in which I had deposited the deceased. I had, of course, some knowledge of the methods of embalming, but principally of those employed by the ancients. Hence, on the following day, I went to the British Museum library and consulted the most recent works on the subject, and exceedingly interesting they were, as showing the remarkable improvements that modern knowledge has affected in this ancient art. I need not trouble you with details that are familiar to you. The process that I selected as the simplest for a beginner was that of formalin injection, and I went straight from the museum to purchase the necessary materials. I did not, however, buy an embalming syringe. The book stated that an ordinary anatomical injecting syringe would answer the same purpose, and I thought it a more discreet purchase. I fear that I bungled the injection terribly, although I had carefully studied the plates in a treatise on anatomy, graze, I think. However, if my methods were clumsy, they were quite effectual. I carried out the process on the evening of the third day, and when I locked up the house that night, I had the satisfaction of knowing that poor John's remains were secure from corruption and decay. But this was not enough. The great weight of a fresh body as compared with that of a mummy would be immediately noticed by those who had the handling of the mummy case. Moreover, the damp from the body would quickly ruin the cartonage and would cause a steamy film on the inside of the glass case in which it would be exhibited, and this would probably lead to an examination. Clearly then, it was necessary that the remains of the deceased should be thoroughly dried before they were enclosed in the cartonage. Here my unfortunate deficiency in scientific knowledge was a great drawback. I had no idea how this result should be achieved, and in the end was compelled to consult a taxidermist, to whom I represented that I wished to collect some small animals and reptiles and rapidly dry them for convenience of transport. By this person I was advised to immerse the dead animals in a jar of methylated spirit for a week and then expose them in a current of warm, dry air. But the plan of immersing the remains of the deceased in a jar of methylated spirit was obviously impracticable. However, I bethought me that we had in our collection a porphyry sarcophagus, the cavity of which had been shaped to receive a small mummy in its case. I tried the deceased in the sarcophagus and found that he just fitted the cavity loosely. I obtained a few gallons of methylated spirit, which I poured into the cavity, just covering the body, and then I put on the lid and looted it down airtight with putty. I trust I do not wear you with these particulars. I'll ask you to cut it as short as you can, Mr. Jellicoe, said Badger. It has been a long yarn, and time is running on. For my part, said Thorndike, I find these details deeply interesting and instructive. They fill in the outline that I had drawn by inference. Precisely, said Mr. Jellicoe, then I will proceed. I left the deceased soaking in the spirit for a fortnight, and then took him out, wiped him dry, and laid him on four cane-bottom chairs, just over the hot water pipes, and I let a free current of air pass through the room. The result interested me exceedingly. By the end of the third day the hands and feet had become quite dry and shriveled and horny, so that the ring actually dropped off the shrunken finger, the nose looked like a fold of parchment, and the skin of the body was so dry and smooth that you could have engrossed a lease on it. For the first day or two I turned the deceased at intervals, so that he should dry evenly, and then I proceeded to get the case ready. I divided the lacing and extracted the mummy with great care, with great care as to the case, I mean, for the mummy suffered some injury in the extraction. It was very badly embalmed, and so brittle that it broke in several places while I was getting it out, and when I unrolled it the head separated and both the arms came off. On the sixth day after the removal from the sarcophagus I took the bandages that I had removed from sepico-tep, and very carefully wrapped the deceased in them, sprinkling powdered myrrh and gum benzoin freely on the body, and between the folds of the wrappings to disguise the faint odor of the spirit and the formalin that still lingered about the body. When the wrappings had been applied the deceased really had a most workman-like appearance. He would have looked quite well in a glass case even without the cartonage, and I felt almost regretful at having to put him out of sight forever. It was a difficult business getting him back into the case without assistance, and I cracked the cartonage badly in several places before he was safely enclosed. But I got him in at last, and then when I had closed up the case with a new lacing I applied a fresh layer of bitumen which effectually covered up the cracks and the new cord. A dusty cloth dabbed over the bitumen when it was dry disguised its newness, and the cartonage with its tenet was ready for delivery. I notified Dr. Norrbury of the fact, and five days later he came and removed it to the museum. Now that the main difficulty was disposed of I began to consider the further difficulty to which you, sir, have alluded with such admirable perspicuity. It was necessary that John Bellingham should make one more appearance in public before sinking into final oblivion. Accordingly I devised the visit to Hearst House, which was calculated to serve two purposes. It created a satisfactory date for the disappearance, eliminating me from any connection with it, and by throwing some suspicion on Hearst it would make him more amenable, less likely to dispute my claim when he learned the provisions of the will. The affair was quite simple. I knew that Hearst had changed his servants since I was last at his house, and I knew his habits. On that day I took the suitcase to Charing Cross and deposited it in the cloakroom, called at Hearst's office to make sure that he was there, and went from thence direct to Cannon Street and caught the train to Eltham. On arriving at the house I took the precaution to remove my spectacles, the only distinctive feature of my exterior, and was duly shown into the study at my request. As soon as the housemate had left the room I quietly let myself out by the French window, which I closed behind me but could not fasten, went out at the side gate and closed that also behind me, holding the bolt of the latch back with my pocket knife, so that I need not slam the gate to shut it. The other events of that day, including the dropping of the scarab, I need not describe as they are known to you, but I may fitly make a few remarks on the unfortunate tactical error into which I fell in respect of the Bones. That error arose, as you have doubtless perceived, from the lawyer's incurable habit of underestimating the scientific expert. I had no idea mere Bones were capable of furnishing so much information to a man of science. The way in which the affair came about was this, the damaged mummy of SEPICOTEP, perishing gradually by exposure to the air, was not only an eyesore to me, it was a definite danger. It was the only remaining link between me and the disappearance. I resolved to be rid of it, and cast about for some means of destroying it. And then, in an evil moment, the idea of utilizing it occurred to me. There was an undoubted danger that the court might refuse to presume death after so short an interval, and if the permission should be postponed, the will might never be administered during my lifetime. Hence, if these Bones of SEPICOTEP could be made to simulate the remains of the deceased testitor, a definite good would be achieved. But I knew that the entire skeleton could never be mistaken for his. The deceased had broken his kneecaps and damaged his ankle. Injuries which I assumed would leave some permanent trace, but if a judicious selection of the Bones were deposited in a suitable place, together with some object clearly identifiable as appertaining to the deceased, it seemed to me that the difficulty would be met. I need not trouble you with details. The course which I adopted is known to you with the attendant circumstances, even the accidental detachment of the right hand, which broke off as I was packing the arm in my handbag. Erroneous as that course was, it would have been successful, but for the unforeseen contingency of your being retained in the case. Thus, for nearly two years I remained in complete security, from time to time I dropped in at the museum to see if the deceased was keeping in good condition, and on those occasions I used to reflect with satisfaction on the gratifying circumstance, accidental though it was, that his wishes, as expressed very imperfectly in clause two, had been fully complied with, and that without prejudice to my interests. The awakening came on that evening when I saw you at the temple gate, talking with Dr. Berkeley. I suspected immediately that something was gone amiss, and that it was too late to take any useful action. Since then I have waited here an hourly expectation of this visit, and now the time has come. You have made the winning move, and it remains only for me to pay my debts like an honest gambler. He paused and quietly lit his cigarette. Inspector Badger yawned and put away his notebook. Have you done, Mr. Jellicoe? the inspector asked. I want to carry out my contract to the letter, you know, and it's getting devilish late. Mr. Jellicoe took his cigarette from his mouth and drank a glass of water. I forgot to ask, he said, whether you unrolled the mummy. If I may apply the term to the imperfectly treated remains of my deceased client. I did not open the mummy case, replied Thorndike. You did not, exclaimed Mr. Jellicoe. Then how did you verify your suspicions? I took an x-ray photograph. Ah, indeed! Mr. Jellicoe pondered for some moments. Astonishing, he murmured, and most ingenious. The resources of science at the present day are truly wonderful. Is there anything more that you want to say? asked Badger. Because if you don't, time's up. Anything more? Mr. Jellicoe repeated slowly. Anything more? No, I think… think the time is up. Yes, the… the time… He broke off and sat with a strange look fixed on Thorndike. His face had suddenly undergone a curious change. It looked shrunken and cadaverous, and his lips had assumed a peculiar cherry red color. Is anything the matter, Mr. Jellicoe? Badger asked uneasily. Are you not feeling well, sir? Mr. Jellicoe did not appear to have heard the question, for he returned no answer, but sat motionless, leaning back in his chair, with his hands spread out on the table, and his strangely intent gaze bent on Thorndike. Suddenly his head dropped on his breast, and his body seemed to collapse. And as with one accord we sprang to our feet, he slid forward off his chair and disappeared under the table. Good Lord! The man's fainted! exclaimed Badger. In a moment he was down on his hands and knees, trembling with excitement, groping under the table. He dragged the unconscious lawyer out into the light and knelt over him, staring into his face. What's the matter with him, doctor? He asked, looking up at Thorndike. Is it apoplexy, or is it a heart attack? Thank you. Thorndike shook his head, though he stopped and put his fingers on the unconscious man's wrist. Prussek acid or potassium cyanide is what the appearances suggest, he replied. But can't you do anything? demanded the inspector. Thorndike dropped the arm, which fell limply on the floor. You can't do much for a dead man, he said. Dead? Then he has slipped through our fingers after all. He has anticipated the sentence, that is all. Thorndike spoke in an even, impassive tone, which struck me as rather strange, considering the suddenness of the tragedy, as did also the complete absence of surprise in his manner. He seemed to treat the occurrence as a perfectly natural one. Not so, Inspector Badger, who rose to his feet and stood with his hands thrust into his pockets, scowling sullenly down at the dead lawyer. I was an infernal fool to agree to his blasted conditions, he growled savagely. Nonsense, said Thorndike, if you had broken in you would have found a dead man. As it was, you found a live man and obtained an important statement. You acted quite properly. How do you suppose he managed it? asked Badger. Thorndike held at his hand. Let us look at his cigarette case, said he. Badger extracted the little silver case from the dead man's pocket and opened it. There were five cigarettes in it, two of which were plain, while the other three were gold-tipped. Thorndike took out one of each kind and gently pinched their ends. The gold-tipped one he returned. The plain one he tore through, about a quarter of an inch from the end, when two little black tabloids dropped out onto the table. Badger eagerly picked one up and was about to smell it when Thorndike grasped his wrist. Be careful, said he. And when he had cautiously sniffed at the tabloid, held at a safe distance from his nose, he added. Yes, potassium cyanide. I thought so when his lips turned that queer color. It was in that last cigarette. You can see that he has bitten the end off. For some time we stood silently, looking down at the still form stretched on the floor. Presently Badger looked up. As you pass the porter's lodge on your way out, said he, you might just drop in and tell him to send a constable to me. Very well, said Thorndike. And by the way, Badger, you had better tip that cherry back into the canter and put it under lock and key, or else pour it out of the window. Gadd, yes, exclaimed the inspector. I'm glad you mentioned it. We might have had an inquest on a constable as well as a lawyer. Good night, gentlemen, if you are off. We went out and left him with his prisoner, passive enough, indeed, according to his ambiguously worded promise. As we passed through the gateway, Thorndike gave the inspector's message, curtly and without comment, to the gaping porter, and then we issued forth into chancery lane. We were all silent and very grave, and I thought that Thorndike seemed somewhat moved. Perhaps Mr. Jellicoe's last intent look, which I suspect he knew to be the look of a dying man, lingered in his memory as it did in mine. Halfway down chancery lane, he spoke for the first time, and then it was only to ejaculate, poor devil. Jervis took him up. He was a consummate villain, Thorndike. Hardly that was the reply. I should rather say that he was non-moral. He acted without malice and without scruple or remorse. His conduct exhibited a passionate-less expediency, which was dreadful because utterly unhuman. But he was a strong man, a courageous, self-contained man, and I had been better pleased if it could have been ordained that some other hand than mine should let the axe fall. Thorndike's compunction may appear strange and inconsistent, but yet his feeling was also my own. Great as was the misery and suffering that this inscrutable man had brought into the lives of those I loved, I forgave him, and in his downfall forgot the callous relentlessness with which he had pursued his evil purpose, for it was he who had brought Ruth into my life, who had opened for me the paradise of love into which I had just entered. And so my thoughts turned away from the still shape that lay on the floor of the stately old room in Lincoln's Inn. Away to the sunny vista of the future, where I should walk hand in hand with Ruth until my time, too, should come, until I, too, like the grim lawyer, should hear the solemn evening bell bidding me put out into the darkness of the silent sea.