 CHAPTER X THE NEW ALLIANCE The great lexicographer, tutelary deity of my adopted habitat, has handed down to shuddering posterity a definition of the act of eating which might have been framed by a dyspeptic ghoul. Eat to devour with the mouth. It is a shocking view to take of so genial a function, cynical, indelicate, and finally unforgivable by reason of its very accuracy. For, after all, that is what eating amounts to. If one must needs express it with such crude brutality. But if the ingestion of elementary substances to ring a modern change upon the older formula is in itself a process material even unto carnality, it is undeniable that it forms a highly agreeable accompaniment to more psychic manifestations. And so, as the lamplight, reinforced by accessory candles, falls on the little table in the first floor room, looking unfettered lane, only now the curtains are drawn. The conversation is not the less friendly and bright for a running accompaniment executed with knives and forks for clink of goblet and jovial gurgle of wine flask. On the contrary, to one of us at least, to Witt Gottfried Bellingham, the occasion is one of uncommon festivity, and his boyish enjoyment of the simple feast makes pathetic suggestions of hard times, faced uncomplainingly, but keenly felt nevertheless. The talk slitted from topic to topic, mainly concerning itself with matters artistic, and never for one moment approaching the critical subject of John Bellingham's will. From the stepped pyramid of Sakara, with its encaustic tiles, to medieval church floors, from Elizabethan woodwork, to Mycenaean pottery, and thence to the industrial arts of the Stone Age, and the civilization of the Aztecs. I began to suspect that my two legal friends were so carried away by the interest of the conversation that they had forgotten the secret purpose of the meeting, for the dessert had been placed on the table by Mrs. Gummer with the manner of a bereaved dependent dispensing funeral bake-meats, and still no reference had been made to the case. But it seemed that Thorndike was still playing a waiting game, was only allowing the intimacy to ripen while he watched for the opportunity, and that opportunity came, even as Mrs. Gummer vanished spectrally with a tray of plates and glasses. So you had a visitor last night, doctor, said Mr. Bellingham. I mean my friend Jellico. He told us he had seen you, and mighty curious he was about you. I have never known Jellico to be so inquisitive before. What did you think of him? I quaint old cock. I found him highly amusing. We entertained one another for quite a long time, with cross-questions and crooked answers, eye-affecting eager curiosity, he replying with a defensive attitude of universal ignorance. It was a most diverting encounter. He needn't have been so close, Ms. Bellingham remarked, seeing that all the world will be regaled with our affairs before long. They are proposing to take the case into court then, said Thorndike. Yes, said Mr. Bellingham, Jellico came to tell me that my cousin, Hearst, has instructed his solicitors to make the application, and to invite me to join him. Actually, he came to deliver an ultimatum from Hearst, but I mustn't disturb the harmony of this festive gathering with litigious discords. Now why mustn't you? asked Thorndike. Why is a subject in which we are all keenly interested to be taboo? You don't mind telling us about it, do you? No, of course not. But what do you think of a man who buttonholes a doctor at a dinner party to retail a list of ailments? It depends on what his ailments are, replied Thorndike. If he is a chronic dyspeptic and wishes to expound the virtues of Dr. Snafler's purple pills for pimply people, he is merely a bore. But if he chances to suffer from some rare and choice disease, such as tropanosomiasis or agromegaly, the doctor will be delighted to listen. Then we are to understand, Ms. Bellingham asked, that we are rare and choice products in a legal sense? Undoubtedly, replied Thorndike. The case of John Bellingham is, in many respects, unique. It will be followed with the deepest interest by the profession at large, and especially by medical jurists. How gratifying that should be to us, said Ms. Bellingham. We may even attain undying fame in textbooks and treatises, and yet we are not so very much puffed up by our importance. No, said her father. We could do without the fame quite well. And so, I think, could hurst. Did Berkeley tell you of the proposal that he made? Yes, said Thorndike, and I gather from what you say that he has repeated it. Yes, he sent to Jellico to give me another chance, and I was tempted to take it. But my daughter was strongly against any compromise, and probably she is right. At any rate, she is more concerned than I am. What view did Mr. Jellico take? Thorndike asked. Oh, he was very cautious and reserved, but he didn't disguise his feeling that I should be wise to take a certainty in lieu of a very problematical fortune. He would certainly like me to agree, for he naturally wishes to get the affair settled and pocket his legacy. And you have definitely refused? Yes, quite definitely. So Hurst will apply for permission to presume death and prove the will, and Jellico will support him. He says he has no choice. And you? I suppose I shall oppose the application, though I don't quite know on what grounds. Before you take definite steps, said Thorndike, you ought to give the matter very careful consideration. I take it you have very little doubt that your brother is dead, and if he is dead, any benefit that you may receive under the will must be conditional on the previous presumption or proof of death. But perhaps you have taken advice? No, I have not. As our friend the doctor has probably told you, my means, or rather the lack of them, do not admit of my getting professional advice, hence my delicacy, about discussing the case with you. Then you propose to conduct your case in person? Yes, if it is necessary for me to appear in court, as I suppose it will be, if I oppose the application, Thorndike reflected for a few moments and then said gravely, you had better not appear in person to conduct your case, Mr. Bellingham, for several reasons. To begin with, Mr. Hurst is sure to be represented by a capable counsel, and you will find yourself quite unable to meet the sudden exigencies of a contest in court. You will be outmaneuvered, then there is the judge to be considered. But surely one can rely on the judge dealing fairly with a man who is unable to afford a solicitor and counsel? Undoubtedly as a rule, a judge will give an unrepresented litigant every assistance and consideration. English judges in general are high-minded men, with a deep sense of their great responsibilities. But you cannot afford to take any chances, you must consider the exceptions. A judge has been a counsel, and he may carry to the bench some of the professional prejudices of the bar. Indeed, if you consider the absurd license permitted to counsel in their treatment of witnesses, and the hostile attitude adopted by some judges toward medical and other scientific men who have to give their evidence, you will see that the judicial mind is not always quite as judicial as one would wish, especially when the privileges and immunities of the profession are concerned. Now your appearance in person to conduct your case must unavoidably cause some inconvenience to the court. Your ignorance of procedure and legal details must occasion some delay, and if the judge should happen to be an irritable man, he might resent the inconvenience and delay. I don't say that would affect his decision, I don't think it would, but I am sure it would be wise to avoid giving offense to the judge. And above all, it is most desirable to be able to detect and reply to any maneuvers on the part of the opposing counsel, which you certainly would not be able to do. This is excellent advice, Dr. Thorndike, said Bellingham, with a grim smile, but I'm afraid I shall have to take my chance. Not necessarily, said Thorndike. I am going to make a little proposal, which I will ask you to consider without prejudice as a mutual accommodation. You see, your case is one of exceptional interest. It will become a textbook case, as Miss Bellingham prophesied, and since it lies within my specialty, it will be necessary for me to follow it in the closest detail. Now it would be much more satisfactory to me to study it from within than from without, to say nothing of the credit which would accrue to me if I should be able to conduct it to a successful issue. I am therefore going to ask you to put your case in my hands and let me see what can be done with it. I know this is an unusual course for a professional man to take, but I think it is not improper under the circumstances. Mr. Bellingham pondered in silence for a few moments, and then, after a glance at his daughter, began rather hesitatingly. It's very generous of you, Dr. Thorndike. Pardon me, interrupted Thorndike, it is not. My motives, as I have explained, are purely egotistic. Mr. Bellingham laughed uneasily, and again glanced at his daughter, who, however, pursued her occupation of peeling a pear with calm deliberation and without lifting her eyes. Getting no help from her, he asked, Do you think that there is any possibility whatever of a successful issue? Yes, a remote possibility, very remote, I fear, as things look at present, but if I thought the case absolutely hopeless, I should advise you to stand aside and let events take their course. Supposing the case should come to a favorable termination, would you allow me to settle your fees in the ordinary way? If the choice lay with me, replied Thorndike, I should say yes, with pleasure, but it does not. The attitude of the profession is very definitely unfavorable to speculative practice. You may remember the well-known firm of Dodson and Fogg, who gained thereby much profit, but little credit. But why discuss continuancies of this kind? If I bring your case to a successful issue, I shall have done very well for myself. We shall have benefited one another mutually. Come now, Miss Bellingham, I appeal to you. We have eaten salt together, to say nothing of pigeon pie and other cakes. Won't you back me up and, at the same time, do a kindness to Dr. Berkeley? Why is Dr. Berkeley interested in our decision? Certainly he is, as you will appreciate when I tell you that he actually tried to bribe me secretly out of his own pocket. Did you? she asked, looking at me with an expression that rather alarmed me. Well, not exactly, I replied, mighty hot and uncomfortable, and wishing Thorndike at the devil with his confidences. I merely mentioned that the solicitor's cost, you know, and that sort of thing, but you needn't jump on me, Miss Bellingham. Dr. Thorndike did all that was necessary in that way. She continued to look at me thoughtfully, as I stammered out my excuses, and then said, I wasn't going to. I was only thinking that poverty has its compensations. You are all so very good to us, and, for my part, I should accept Dr. Thorndike's generous offer, most gratefully, and thank him for making it so easy for us. Very well, my dear, said Mr. Bellingham. We will enjoy the sweets of poverty, as you say. We have sampled the other kind of thing pretty freely, and do ourselves the pleasure of accepting a great kindness, most delicately offered. Thank you, said Thorndike. You have justified my faith in you, Miss Bellingham, and in the power of Dr. Berkeley's salt. I understand that you place your affairs in my hands. Entirely and thankfully, replied Mr. Bellingham, Whatever you think best to be done, we agree to beforehand. Then, said I, let us drink success to the cause. Port, if you please, Miss Bellingham. The vintage is not recorded, but it is quite wholesome, and a suitable medium for the sodium chloride of friendship. I filled her glass, and when the bottle had made its circuit, we stood up and solemnly pledged the new alliance. There is just one thing I would say before we dismiss the subject for the present, said Thorndike. It is a good thing to keep one's own counsel. When you get formal notice from Mr. Hearst's solicitors, that proceedings are being commenced, you may refer them to Mr. Marchmont of Grey's Inn, who will nominally act for you. He will actually have nothing to do, but we must preserve the fiction that I am instructed by a solicitor. Meanwhile, and until the case goes into court, I think it very necessary that neither Mr. Jellico, nor anyone else, should know that I am connected with it. We must keep the other side in the dark, if we can. We will be as secret as the grave, said Mr. Bellingham, and, as a matter of fact, it will be quite easy, since it happens, by a curious coincidence, that I am already acquainted with Mr. Marchmont. He acted for Stephen Blackmore, you remember, in that case that you unraveled so wonderfully. I knew the Blackmores. Did you, said Thorndike, what a small world it is, and what a remarkable affair that was. The intricacies and cross-issues made it quite absorbingly interesting, and it is noteworthy for me in another respect, for it was one of the first cases in which I was associated with Dr. Jervis. Yes, and a mighty useful associate I was, remarked Jervis, though I did pick up one or two facts by accident, and, by the way, the Blackmore case had certain points in common with your case, Mr. Bellingham. There was a disappearance and a disputed will, and the man who vanished was a scholar and an antiquarian. Cases in our specialty are apt to have certain general resemblances, Thorndike said, and, as he spoke, he directed a keen glance at his junior, the significance of which I partly understood, when he abruptly changed the subject. The newspaper reports of your brother's disappearance, Mr. Bellingham, were remarkably full of detail. There were even plans of your house, and that of Mr. Hearst. Do you know who supplied the information? No, I don't, replied Mr. Bellingham. I know that I didn't. Some newspaper man came to me for information, but I sent them packing. So I understand did Hearst. As for Jellico, you might as well cross-examine an oyster. Well, said Thorndike, the pressmen have queer methods of getting copy, but still, someone must have given them that description of your brother and those plans. It would be interesting to know who it was. However, we don't know, and now let us dismiss these legal topics with suitable apologies for having introduced them. And perhaps, said I, we may as well adjourn to what we call the drawing-room. It is really Barnard's den, and leave the housekeeper to wrestle with the debris. We migrated to the cheerfully shabby little apartment, and when Mrs. Gummer had served coffee with gloomy resignation, as who should say, if you should drink this sort of stuff, I suppose you must, but don't blame me for the consequences. I settled Mr. Bellingham in Barnard's favorite lopsided easy chair, the depressed seat of which suggested its customary use by an elephant of sedentary habits, and opened the diminutive piano. I wonder if Miss Bellingham would give us a little music. I said, I wonder if she could, was the smiling response. Do you know, she continued, I have not touched a piano for nearly two years. It will be quite an interesting experiment to me, but if it fails, you will be the sufferers. So you must choose. My verdict, said Mr. Bellingham, is fiat experimentum, though I won't complete the quotation, as that would seem to disparage Dr. Barnard's piano. But before you begin, Ruth, there is one rather disagreeable matter that I want to dispose of, so that I may not disturb the harmony with it later. He paused, and we all looked at him expectantly. I suppose, Dr. Thorndike, he said, you read the newspapers? I don't, replied Dr. Thorndike, but I ascertain for purely business purposes what they contain. Then, said Mr. Bellingham, you have probably met with some accounts of the finding of certain human remains, apparently portions of a mutilated body. Yes, I have seen those reports, and filed them for future reference. Exactly. Well, now it can hardly be necessary for me to tell you that those remains, the mutilated remains of some poor murdered creature, as there can be no doubt they are, have seemed to have a very dreadful significance for me. You will understand what I mean, and I want to ask you if, if they have made a similar suggestion to you. Thorndike paused before replying, with his eyes bent thoughtfully on the floor, and we all looked at him anxiously. It's very natural, he said at length, that you should associate these remains with the mystery of your brother's disappearance. I should like to say that you are wrong in doing so, but if I did I should be uncanded. There are certain facts that do, undoubtedly, seem to suggest a connection, and up to the present, there are no definite facts of a contrary significance. Mr. Bellingham sighed deeply and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. It is a horrible affair. He said huskily, horrible. Would you mind, Dr. Thorndike, telling us just how the matter stands in your opinion, what the probabilities are for and against? Again Thorndike reflected a while, and it seemed to me that he was not very willing to discuss the subject. However, the question had been asked pointedly, and eventually he answered. At the present stage of the investigation it is not very easy to state the balance of probabilities. The matter is still quite speculative. The bones which have been found hitherto, for we are dealing with a skeleton, not with a body, have been exclusively those which are useless for personal identification, which is, in itself, a rather curious and striking fact. The general character and dimensions of the bones seem to suggest a middle-aged man of about your brother's height, and the date of deposition appears to be in agreement with the date of his disappearance. It is known, then, when they were deposited, asked Mr. Bellingham. In the case of those found at Sidcup, it seems possible to deduce an approximate date. The watercress bed was cleaned out about two years ago, so they could not have been lying there longer than that, and their condition suggests that they could not have been there much less than two years, as there is apparently no vestige of the soft structures left. Of course, I am speaking from the newspaper reports only. I have no direct knowledge of the matter. Have they found any considerable part of the body yet? I haven't been reading the papers myself. My little friend, Miss Omen, brought a great bundle of them for me to read, but I couldn't stand it. I pitched the hole, boiling of them out of the window. I thought I detected a slight twinkle in Thorndike's eye, but he answered quite gravely. I think I can give you the particulars from memory, though I won't guarantee the dates. The original discovery was made, apparently quite accidentally, at Sidcup on the fifteenth of July. It consisted of a complete left arm, minus the third finger, and including the bones of the shoulder, the shoulder blade, and collarbone. This discovery seems to have set the local population, especially the juvenile part of it, searching all the ponds and streams in the neighborhood. Cannibals! interjected Mr. Bellingham. With the result that, there was dredged up out of a pond near St. Mary Cray in Kent, a right thighbone. There is a slight clue to identity in respect of this bone, since the head of it has a small patch of ebronation. That is a sort of porcelain-like polish that occurs on the parts of bone that form a joint when the natural covering of cartilage is destroyed by disease. It is produced by the unprotected surface of the bone, grinding against the similarly unprotected surface of another. And how, Mr. Bellingham asked, would that help in the identification? It would indicate, Thorndike replied, that the deceased had probably suffered for rheumatoid arthritis, what is commonly known as rheumatic gout, and he would probably have limp slightly and complained of some pain in the right hip. I'm afraid that doesn't help us very much, said Mr. Bellingham. For, you see, John had a pretty pronounced limp from another cause, an old injury to his left ankle, and asked to complaining of pain, well, he was a hearty old fellow and not much given to making complaints of any kind. But don't let me interrupt you. The next discovery, continued Thorndike, was made near Lee, by the police this time. They seemed to have developed sudden activity in the matter, and in searching the neighborhood of West Kent, they dragged out of a pond near Lee, the bones of a right foot. Now, if it had been the left instead of the right, we might have a clue, as I understand your brother had fractured his left ankle, and there might have been some traces of the injury on the foot itself. Yes, said Mr. Bellingham, I suppose there might. The injury was described as a pot's fracture. Exactly. Well, now after this discovery at Lee, it seems the police set on foot a systematic search of all the ponds and small pieces of water around London, and on the twenty-third, they found in the cuckoo pits in Epping Forest, not far from Woodford, the bones of a right arm, including those of the shoulder, as before, which seemed to be part of the same body. Yes, said Mr. Bellingham, I heard of that. Quite close to my old house. Horrible! Horrible! It gave me the shutters to think of it. To think that poor old John may have been waylaid and murdered when he was actually coming to see me. He may even have got into the grounds by the back gate, if it was left unfastened, and been followed in there and murdered. You remember that a scar from his watch chain was found there? But is it clear that this arm was the fellow of the arm that was found at Sidcup? It seems to agree in character and dimensions, said Thorndike, and the agreement is strongly supported by a discovery made two days later. What is that, Mr. Bellingham demanded? It is the lower half of a trunk, which the police dragged out of a rather deep pond on the skirts of a forest at Louton. Staples pond, it is called. The bones found were the pelvis, that is, the two hip bones, and six vertebrae, or joints of the backbone. Having discovered these, the police damned the stream and pumped the pond dry. But no other bones were found, which is rather odd, as there should have been a pair of ribs belonging to the upper vertebrae. The twelfth dorsal vertebra. It suggests some curious questions as to the method of dismemberment. But I mustn't go into unpleasant details. The point is, the cavity of the right hip joint showed a patch of ebrenation, corresponding to that on the head of the right thigh bone that was found at St. Mary's Cray. So there can be very little doubt that these bones are all part of the same body. I see, grunted Mr. Bellingham, and he added after a moment's thought, now the question is, are these bones the remains of my brother John? What do you say, Dr. Thorndike? I say the question cannot be answered on the facts at present known to us. It can only be said that they may be, and that some of the circumstances suggest that they are. But we can only wait for further discoveries. At any moment the police may light upon some portion of the skeleton, which will settle the question definitely, one way or the other. I suppose, said Mr. Bellingham, I can't be of any service to you in the matter of identification. Indeed, you can, said Thorndike, and I was going to ask you to assist me. What I want you to do is this, write down a full description of your brother, including every detail known to you, together with an account of every illness or injury from which you know him to have suffered, also the names and, if possible, the addresses of any doctors, surgeons, or dentists who may have attended him at any time. The dentists are particularly important, as their information would be invaluable if the skull belonging to these bones should be discovered. Mr. Bellingham shuddered. It's a shocking idea, he said, but of course you are right. You must have the facts if you are to form an opinion. I will write out what you want and send it to you without delay. And now, for God's sake, let us throw off this nightmare, for a little while at least. What is there, Ruth, among Dr. Barnard's music that you can manage? Barnard's collection in general inclined to the severely classical, but we disinterred from the heap a few lighter works of an old-fashioned kind, including a volume of Mendelssohn's Leader on Wirt, and with one of these, Ms. Bellingham made trial of her skill, playing it with excellent taste and quite adequate execution. That, at least, was her father's verdict, for as to me, I found it the perfection of happiness, merely to sit and look at her, a state of mind that would have been in no wise disturbed, even by silvery waves or the maiden's prayer. Thus, with simple, homely music, and conversation always cheerful and sometimes brilliant, slipped away one of the pleasantest evenings of my life, and slipped away all too soon. St. Dunstan's clock was the fly in the ointment, for it boomed out intrusively the hour of eleven, just as my guests were beginning thoroughly to appreciate one another, and thereby carried the sun, with a minor paternal satellite, out of the firmament of my heaven. For I had, in my professional capacity, given strict injunctions that Mr. Bellingham should on no account sit up late, and now in my social capacity I had smilingly to hear the doctor's orders quoted. It was a scurvy return for all my care. When Mr. and Miss Bellingham departed, Thorndike and Jervis would have gone too, but noting my bereaved condition, and being with all compassionate and tender of heart, they were persuaded to stay a while and bear me company in a consolatory pipe. END OF CHAPTER X So the game has opened. Observed Thorndike as he struck a match. The play has begun with a cautious lead-off by the other side. Very cautious, and not very confident. Why do you say not very confident? I asked. Well, it is evident that Hearst, and I fancy Jellico too, is anxious to buy off Bellingham's opposition, and at a pretty long price, under the circumstances, and when we consider how very little Bellingham has to offer against the presumption of his brother's death, it looks as if Hearst hadn't much to say on his side. No, said Jervis. He can't hold many trumps, or he wouldn't be willing to pay four hundred a year for his opponent's chance. And that is just as well, for it seems to me that our own hand is a pretty poor one. We must look through our hand and see what we do hold, said Thorndike. Our trump card at present, a rather small one, I'm afraid, is the obvious intention of the testitor that the bulk of the property should go to his brother. I suppose you will begin your inquiries now? I said. We began them some time ago, the day after you brought us the will, in fact. Jervis has been through the registers and has ascertained that no internment under the name of John Bellingham has taken place since the disappearance, which was just what we expected. He has also discovered that some other person has been making similar inquiries, which, again, is what we expected. And your own investigations? Have given negative results for the most part? I found Dr. Norbury at the British Museum very friendly and helpful, so friendly, in fact, that I am thinking whether I may not be able to enlist his help in certain private researches of my own, with reference to the change affected by time in the physical properties of certain substances. Oh, you haven't told me about that, said Jervis. No, I haven't really commenced to plan my experiments yet, and they will probably lead to nothing when I do. It occurred to me that, possibly, in the course of time, certain molecular changes might take place in substances such as wood, bone, pottery, stucco, and other common materials, and that these changes might alter their power of conducting or transmitting molecular vibrations. Now, if this should turn out to be the case, it would be a fact of considerable importance, medical, legally, and otherwise, for it would be possible to determine approximately the age of any object of known composition by testing its reactions to electricity, heat, light, and other molecular vibrations. I thought of seeking Dr. Norbury's assistance, because he can furnish me with materials for experiment of such great age that their reactions, if any, should be extremely easy to demonstrate. But to return to our case, I learned from him that John Bellingham had certain friends in Paris, collectors and museum officials, whom he was in the habit of visiting for the purpose of study in exchange of specimens. I have made inquiries of all of these, and none of them had seen him during his last visit. In fact, I have not yet discovered anyone who had seen Bellingham in Paris on this occasion, so his visit there remains a mystery for the present. It doesn't seem to be of much importance, since he undoubtedly came back, I remarked. But to this Thorndike demurred. It is impossible to estimate the importance of the unknown, said he. Well, how does the matter stand, asked Juris, on the evidence that we have? John Bellingham disappeared on a certain date. Is there anything to show what was the manner of his disappearance? The facts in our possession, said Thorndike, which are mainly those set forth in the newspaper report, suggest several alternative possibilities, and in view of the coming inquiry, for they will, no doubt, have to be gone into in court, to some extent, it may be worthwhile to consider them. There are five conceivable hypotheses. Here Thorndike checked them on his fingers as he proceeded. First, he may still be alive. Second, he may have died and been buried without identification. Third, he may have been murdered by some unknown person. Fourth, he may have been murdered by Hearst and his body concealed. Fifth, he may have been murdered by his brother. Let us examine these possibilities, seriatim. First, he may still be alive. If he is, he must either have disappeared voluntarily, have lost his memory suddenly, and not been identified, or have been imprisoned, on a false charge or otherwise. Let us take the first case, that of voluntary disappearance. Obviously, its improbability is extreme. Jellico doesn't think so, said I. He thinks it quite on the cards that John Bellingham is alive. He says that it is not a very unusual thing for a man to disappear for a time. Then why is he presuming for a presumption of death? Just what I asked him, he says that it is the correct thing to do, that the entire responsibility rests on the court. That is all nonsense, said Thorndike. Jellico is the trustee for his absent client, and if he thinks that client is alive, it is his duty to keep the estate intact, and he knows that perfectly well. We may take it that Jellico is of the same opinion as I am, that John Bellingham is dead. Still, I urged, men do disappear from time to time and turn up again after years of absence. Yes, for a definite reason. Either they are irresponsible vagabonds who take this way of shuffling off their responsibilities, or they are men who have been caught in a net of distasteful circumstances. For instance, a civil servant or a solicitor or a tradesman finds himself bound for life to a locality and an occupation of intolerable monotony. Perhaps he has an ill-tempered wife, who after the amiable fashion of a certain type of woman, thinking that her husband is pinned down without a chance of escape, gives a free reign to her temper. The man puts up with it for years, but at last it becomes unbearable. Then he suddenly disappears and small blame to him. But this was not Bellingham's case. He was a wealthy bachelor with an engrossing interest in life, free to go whether he would and to do what so ever he wished. Why should he disappear? The thing is incredible. As to his having lost his memory and remained unidentified, that also is incredible. In the case of a man who had visiting cards and letters in his pocket, whose linen was marked, and who was being inquired for everywhere by the police. As to his being in prison, we may dismiss that possibility in as much as a prisoner, both before and after conviction, would have full opportunity of communicating with his friends. The second possibility that he may have died suddenly and been buried without identification is highly improbable, but as it is conceivable that the body might have been robbed and the means of identification thus lost, it remains a possibility that has to be considered, remote as it is. The third hypothesis that he may have been murdered by some unknown person is under the circumstances not wildly improbable, but as the police were on the lookout and a detailed description of the missing man's person was published in the papers, it would involve the complete concealment of the body, but this would exclude the most probable form of crime, the casual robbery with violence. It is therefore possible, but highly improbable. The fourth hypothesis is that Bellingham was murdered by Hearst. Now, the one fact which militates against this view is that Hearst apparently had no motive for committing the murder. We are assured by Jellico that no one but himself knew the contents of the will, and if this is so, but mind we have no evidence that it is so, Hearst would have no reason to suppose that he had anything material to gain by his cousin's death. Otherwise, the hypothesis presents no inherent improbabilities. The man was last seen alive at Hearst's house. He was seen to enter it, and he was never seen to leave it. We are still taking the facts, as stated in the newspapers, remember, and it now appears that he stands to benefit enormously by that man's death. But, I objected, you are forgetting that, directly the man was missed, Hearst and the servants together searched the entire house. Yes, what did they search for? Why for Mr. Bellingham, of course. Exactly, for Mr. Bellingham. That is, for a living man. Now, how do you search a house for a living man? You look in all the rooms. When you look in a room, if he is there, you see him. If you do not see him, you assume that he is not there. You don't look under the sofa or behind the piano. You don't pull out large drawers or open cupboards. You just look into the rooms. That is what these people seem to have done. And they did not see Mr. Bellingham. Mr. Bellingham's corpse might have been stowed away out of sight in any one of the rooms that they looked into. That is a grim thought, said Jervis, but it is perfectly true. There is no evidence that the man was not lying dead in the house at the very time of the search. But even so, said I, there was the body to be disposed of somehow. Now, how could he possibly have got rid of the body without being observed? Ah, said Thorndyke. Now we are touching on a point of crucial importance. If anyone should ever write a treatise on the art of murder, not an exhibition of literary fireworks like to Quincy's, but a genuine working treatise, he might leave all other technical details to take care of themselves if he could describe some really practicable plan for disposing of the body. That is, and always has been, the great stumbling block to the murderer to get rid of the body. The human body, he continued, thoughtfully regarding his pipe, just as in the days of my pupillage, he was wont to regard the blackboard chalk, is a very remarkable object. It presents a combination of properties that make it singularly difficult to conceal permanently. It is bulky and of an awkward shape. It is heavy. It is completely incompressible. It is chemically unstable. And its decomposition yields great volumes of highly odorous gases. And it nevertheless contains identifiable structures of the highest degree of permanence. It is extremely difficult to preserve unchanged, and it is still more difficult completely to destroy. The essential permanence of the human body is well known in the classical case of Eugene Aram. But a still more striking instance is that of Sikinin Ra, the third. One of the last kings of the 17th Egyptian dynasty. Here, after a lapse of 4,000 years, it has been possible to determine not only the cause of death and the manner of its occurrence, but the way in which the king fell, the nature of the weapon with which the fatal wound was inflicted, and even the position of the assailant. And the permanence of the body under other conditions is admirably shown in the case of Dr. Parkman of Boston, USA, in which identification was actually affected by means of remains collected from the ashes of a furnace. Then we may take it, said Jervis, that the world has not yet seen the last of John Bellingham. I think we may regard that as almost a certainty, replied Thorndike. The only question and a very important one is as to when the reappearance may take place. It may be tomorrow, or it may be centuries hence, when all the issues involved have been forgotten. Assuming, said I, for the sake of argument, that Hearst did murder him, and that the body was concealed in the study at the time the search was made, how could it have been disposed of? If you had been in Hearst's place, how would you have gone to work? Thorndike smiled at the bluntness of my question. You are asking me for an incriminating statement, said he, delivered in the presence of a witness too. But as a matter of fact, there is no use in speculating a priori. We should have to reconstruct a purely imaginary situation, the circumstances of which are unknown to us, and we should almost certainly reconstruct it wrong. What we may fairly assume is that no reasonable person, no matter how immoral, would find himself in the position that you suggest. Murder is usually a crime of impulse, and the murderer a person of feeble self-control. Such persons are most unlikely to make elaborate and ingenious arrangements for the disposal of the bodies of their victims. Even the cold-blooded perpetrators of the most carefully planned murders appear, as I have said, to break down at this point. The most insuperable difficulty of getting rid of the human body is not appreciated until the murderer suddenly finds himself face-to-face with it. In the case you are suggesting, the choice would seem to lie between burial on the premises or dismemberment and dispersal of the fragments. And either method would be pretty certain to lead to discovery, as illustrated by the remains of which you were speaking to Mr. Bellingham, Jervis remarked. Exactly, Thorndike answered, though we could hardly imagine a reasonably intelligent criminal adopting a water-crest bed as a hiding place. No, that was certainly an error of judgment. By the way, I thought it best to say nothing while you were talking to Bellingham. But I noticed that in discussing the possibility of those being the bones of his brother you made no comment on the absence of the third finger of the left hand. I am sure you didn't overlook it, but isn't it a point of some importance? As to identification, under the present circumstances, I think not. If there were a man missing, who had lost that finger, it would, of course, be an important fact, but I have not heard of any such man. Or again, if there were any evidence that the finger had been removed before death, it would be highly important. But there is no such evidence. It may have been cut off after death, and that is where the real significance of its absence lies. I don't see quite what you mean, said Jervis. I mean that, if there is no report of any missing man who had lost that particular finger, the probability is that the finger was removed after death, and then arises the interesting question of motive. Why should it have been removed? It could hardly have been detached accidentally. What do you suggest? Well, said Jervis, it might have been a peculiar finger, a finger, for instance, with some characteristic deformity, such as an ankylose joint, which would have been easy to identify. Yes, but that explanation introduces the same difficulty. No person with a deformed or ankylosed finger has been reported as missing. Jervis puckered up his brows and looked at me. I'm hanged if I see any other explanation, he said. Do you, Berkeley? I shook my head. Don't forget which finger it is that is missing, said Thorn Dyke. The third finger of the left hand. Oh, I see, said Jervis, the ring finger. You mean that it may have been removed for the sake of a ring that wouldn't come off? Yes, it would not be the first instance of the kind. Fingers have been severed from dead hands and even from living ones, for the sake of rings that were too tight to be drawn off. And the fact that it is the left hand supports the suggestion. For a ring that was inconveniently tight would be worn by preference on the left hand as that is usually slightly smaller than the right. What is the matter, Berkeley? A sudden light had burst upon me and I suppose my countenance betrayed the fact. I am a confounded fool, I exclaimed. Oh, don't say that, said Jervis, give your friends a chance. I ought to have seen this long ago and told you about it. John Bellingham did wear a ring and it was so tight that when once he had got it on he could never get it off again. Do you happen to know on which hand he wore it? Thorndike asked. Yes, it was on the left hand because Miss Bellingham, who told me about it, said that he would never have been able to get the ring on at all, but for the fact that his left hand was slightly smaller than his right. There it is then, said Thorndike, with this new fact in our possession, the absence of the finger furnaces the starting point of some very curious speculations. As for instance, said Jervis, ah, under the circumstances I must leave you to pursue those speculations independently. I am now acting for Mr. Bellingham. Jervis grinned and was silent for a while, refilling his pipes thoughtfully, but when he had got it alight he resumed. To return to the question of the disappearance, you don't consider it highly improbable that Bellingham might have been murdered by Hearst. Oh, don't imagine I am making an accusation. I am considering the various probabilities merely in the abstract, the same reasoning applies to the Bellinghams. As to whether any of them did commit the murder, that is a question of personal character. I certainly do not suspect the Bellinghams after having seen them, and with regard to Hearst I know nothing, or at least very little, to his disadvantage. Do you know anything, asked Jervis? Well, said Thorndike, with some hesitation, it seems a thought unkind to rake up the little details of a man's past, and yet it has to be done. I have, of course, made the usual routine inquiries concerning the parties to this affair, and this is what they have brought to light. Hearst, as you know, is a stockbroker, a man of good position and reputation. But about ten years ago he seems to have committed an indiscretion, to put it mildly, which nearly got him into rather serious difficulties. He appears to have speculated rather heavily and considerably beyond his means, for when a sudden spasm of the markets upset his calculations it turned out that he had been employing his client's capital and securities. For a time it looked as if there was going to be serious trouble. Then, quite unexpectedly, he managed to raise the necessary amount in some way and settle all claims. Whence he got the money has never been discovered to this day, which is a curious circumstance, seeing that the deficiency was rather over five thousand pounds. But the important fact is that he did get it, and that he paid up all that he owed, so that he was only a potential defaulter, so to speak, and discreditable as the affair undoubtedly was, it does not seem to have any direct bearing on this present case. No, Jervis agreed, though it makes one consider his position, with more attention than one would otherwise. Undoubtedly, said Thorndike, a reckless gambler is a man whose conduct cannot be relied on. He is subject to vicissitudes of fortune, which may force him into other kinds of wrongdoing. Many an embezzlement has been preceded by an unlucky plunge on the turf. Assuming the responsibility for this disappearance to lie between Hearst and the Bellinghams, said I, was an uncomfortable gulp as I mentioned the names of my friends, to which side does the balance of probability incline? To the side of Hearst, I should say, without doubt, replied Thorndike, the case stands thus. On the facts presented to us, Hearst appears to have had no motive for killing the deceased, as we will call him, but the man was seen to enter the house, was never seen to leave it, and was never again seen alive. Bellingham, on the other hand, had a motive, as he had believed himself to be the principal beneficiary under the will, but the deceased was not seen at his house, and there is no evidence that he went to the house or to the neighborhood, excepting the scarab that was found there. But the evidence of the scarab is officiated by the fact that Hearst was present when it was picked up, and that it was found on a spot over which Hearst had passed only a few minutes previously. Until Hearst is cleared, it seems to me that the presence of the scarab proves nothing against the Bellinghams. Then your opinions on the case, said I, are based entirely on the facts that have been made public, yes, mainly. I do not necessarily accept those facts just as they are presented, and I may have certain views of my own on the case. But if I have, I do not feel in a position to discuss them. For the present, discussion has to be limited to the facts and inferences offered by the parties concerned. There, exclaimed Jervis, rising to knock his pipe out. That is where Thorndike has you. He lets you think you're in the thick of the know, until one fine morning you wake up and discover that you have only been a gaping outsider, and then you are mightily astonished, and so are the other side, too, for that matter. But we must really be off now, mustn't we, Reverend Senior? I suppose we must, replied Thorndike, and as he drew on his gloves, he asked, have you heard from Barnard lately? Oh yes, I answered. I wrote to him at Smyrna to say that the practice was flourishing and that I was quite happy and contented, and that he might stay away as long as he liked. He writes by return that he will prolong his holiday if an opportunity offers, but will let me know later. God! said Dervis, it was a stroke of luck for Barnard that Bellingham happened to have such a magnificent daughter. There! Don't mind me, old man. You go in and win. She's worth it, isn't she, Thorndike? Miss Bellingham's a very charming young lady, replied Thorndike. I am most favourably impressed by both the father and the daughter, and I only trust that we may be able to be of some service to them. With this sedate little speech, Thorndike shook my hand, and I watched my two friends go on their way until their fading shapes were swallowed up in the darkness of Fetter Lane. And of Chapter 11. Chapter 12 of The Eye of Osiris This Librivox recording is in the public domain. The Eye of Osiris by R. Austin Freeman Chapter 12 A Voyage of Discovery It was two or three mornings after my little supper-party that, as I stood in the consulting room brushing my hat, preparatory to starting on my morning round, Adolphus appeared at the door to announce two gentlemen waiting in the surgery. I told him to bring them in, and a moment later Thorndike entered, accompanied by Jervis. I noted that they looked uncommonly large in that little apartment, especially Thorndike, but I had no time to consider this phenomenon. For the latter, when he had shaken my hand, proceeded at once to explain the object of their visit. We have come to ask a favor, Berkeley, he said, to ask you to do a very great service in the interest of your friends, the Bellinghams. You know I shall be delighted, I said warmly, what is it? I will explain, you know, or perhaps you don't, that the police have collected all the bones that have been discovered and deposited them in the mortuary at Woodford, where they are to be viewed by the coroner's jury. Now it has become imperative that I should have more definite and reliable information than I can get from the newspapers. The natural thing for me would be to go down and examine them myself, but there are circumstances that make it very desirable that my connection with the case should not leak out. Consequently, I can't go myself, and for the same reason, I can't send Jervis. On the other hand, as it is now stated pretty openly that the police consider the bones to be almost certainly those of John Bellingham, it would seem perfectly natural that you, as Godfrey Bellingham's doctor, should go down to view them on his behalf. I should like to, I said, I would give anything to go, but how is it to be managed? It would mean a whole day off and leaving the practice to look after itself. I think it could be managed, said Thorndike, and the matter is really important for two reasons. One is that the inquest opens tomorrow, and someone certainly ought to be there to watch the proceedings on Godfrey's behalf. And the other is that our client has received notice from her solicitors that the application will be heard in the probate court in a few days. Isn't that rather sudden, I asked? It certainly suggests that there has been a good deal more activity than we were given to understand. But you see the importance of the affair, the inquest will be a sort of dress rehearsal, for the probate court, and it is quite essential that we should have a chance of estimating the management. Yes, I see that. But how are we going to manage about the practice? We shall find you a substitute. Through a medical agent? Yes, said Jervis. Tercival will find us a man. In fact, he has done it. I saw him this morning. He has a man who is waiting up in town to negotiate for the purchase of a practice, and who would do the job for a couple of guineas. Quite a reliable man. Only say the word, and I will run off to Adam Street and engage him definitely. Very well. You engage the locum tenants, and I will be prepared to start for Woodford as soon as he turns up. Excellent, said Thorndike. That is a great weight off my mind. And if you could manage to drop in this evening and smoke a pipe with us, we could talk over the plan of campaign and let you know what items of information we are particularly in want of. I promise to turn up at King's Bench Walk as soon after half-past eight as possible, and my two friends then took their departure, leaving me to set out in high spirits on my scanty round of visits. It is surprising what different aspects things present from different points of view. How relative are our estimates of the conditions and circumstances of life? To the urban workmen, the journeyman baker or tailor, for instance, laboring year in and year out in a single building, a holiday ramble on Hampstead Heath is a veritable voyage of discovery. Whereas to the sailor, the shifting panorama of the whole wide world is but the common place of the day's work. So I reflected as I took my place in the train at Liverpool Street on the following day. There had been a time when the trip by rail to the borders of Epping Forest would have been far from a thrilling experience. Now, after vegetating in the little world of Fetter Lane, it was quite an adventure. The enforced inactivity of a railway journey is favorable to thought and I had much to think about. The last few weeks had witnessed momentous changes in my outlook. New interests had arisen. New friendships had grown up. And above all, there had stolen into my life that supreme influence that, for good or for evil, according to my fortune, was to colour and pervade it even to its close. Those few days of companionable labour in the reading room with the homely hospitalities of the milk shop and the pleasant walks homeward through the friendly London streets had called into existence a new world, a world in which the gracious personality of Ruth Bellingham was the one dominating reality. And thus, as I leaned back in the corner of the railway carriage with an unlighted pipe in my hand, the events of the immediate past, together with those more problematical ones of the impending future, occupied me rather to the exclusion of the business of the moment, which was to review the remains collected in the Woodford Mortuary until, as the train approached Stratford, the odours of the soap and bone manure factories poured in at the open window and, by a natural association of ideas, brought me back to the object of my quest. As to the exact purpose of this expedition, I was not very clear, but I knew that I was acting as Thorndyke's proxy and thrilled with pride at the thought. But what particular light my investigations were to throw upon the intricate Bellingham case I had no very definite idea. With a view to fixing the procedure in my mind, I took Thorndyke's written instructions from my pocket and read them over carefully. They were very full and explicit, making ample allowance for my lack of experience in medical-legal matters. One, do not appear to make minute investigations or in any way excite remark. Two, ascertain if all the bones belonging to each region are present, and if not, which are missing. Three, measure the extreme length of the principal bones and compare those of opposite sides. Four, examine the bones with reference to age, sex and muscular development of the deceased. Five, note the presence or absence of signs of constitutional disease, local disease of bone or adjacent structures, old or recent injuries, and any other departures from the normal or usual. Six, observe the presence or absence of adipocere and its position, if present. Seven, note any remains of tendons, ligaments, or other soft structures. Eight, examine the sit-cup hand with reference to the question as to whether the finger was separated before or after death. Nine, estimate the probable period of submersion and note any changes, as, for example, mineral or organic staining due to the character of the water or mud. Ten, ascertain the circumstances, immediate and remote, that led to the discovery of the bones and the names of the persons concerned in those circumstances. Eleven, commit all information to writing as soon as possible and make plans and diagrams on the spot if circumstances permit. Twelve, preserve an impassive exterior, listen attentively but without eagerness, ask as few questions as possible, pursue any inquiry that your observations on the spot may suggest. These were my instructions and considering that I was going merely to inspect a few dry bones they appeared rather formidable. In fact, the more I read them over the greater became my misgivings as to my qualifications for the task. As I approached the mortuary it became evident that some, at least, of Thorndike's admonitions were by no means unnecessary. The place was in charge of a police sergeant who watched my approach suspiciously and some half-dozen men, obviously newspaper reporters, hovered about the entrance like a pack of jackals. I presented the coroner's order which Mr. Marchmont had obtained and which the sergeant read with his back against the wall to prevent the newspaper men from looking over his shoulder. My credentials being found satisfactory the door was unlocked and I entered, accompanied by three enterprising reporters whom, however, the sergeant summarily ejected and locked out, returning to usher me into the presence and to observe my proceedings with intelligent but highly embarrassing interest. The bones were laid out on a large table covered with a sheet which the sergeant slowly turned back, watching my face intently as he did so to note the impression that the spectacle made upon me. I imagined that he must have been somewhat disappointed by my impassive demeanor, for the remains suggested to me nothing more than a rather shabby set of students' osteology. The whole collection had been set out by the police surgeon, as the sergeant informed me, in their proper anatomical order, notwithstanding which I counted them over carefully to make sure that none were missing, checking them by the list with which Thorndike had furnished me. I see you have found the left thigh bone, I remarked, observing that this did not appear in the list. Yes, said the sergeant. That turned up yesterday evening in a big pond called Baldwin's Pond in the Sandpit Plain, near Little Monkwood. Is that near here, I asked? In the forest of Loutenway was the reply. I made a note of the fact, on which the sergeant looked as if he was sorry he had mentioned it, and then turned my attention to a general consideration of the bones before examining them in detail. Their appearance would have been improved in examination facilitated by a thorough scrubbing. For they were just as they had been taken from their respective resting places, and it was difficult to decide whether their reddish-yellow color was an actual stain or due to a deposit on the surface. In any case, as it affected them all alike, I thought it an interesting feature and made a note of it. They bore numerous traces of their sojourn in the various ponds from which they had been recovered, but these gave me little help in determining the length of time during which they had been submerged. They were, of course, encrusted with mud and little wists of pond-weed stuck to them in places, but these facts furnished only the vaguest measure of time. Some of the traces were, indeed, more informing. To several of the bones, for instance, they adhered the dried egg clusters of the common pond snail, and in one of the hollows of the right shoulder blade, the infraspinus fossa, was a group of the mud-built tubes of the Red River Worm. These remains gave proof of a considerable period of submersion, and since they could not have been deposited on the bones until all the flesh had disappeared, they furnished evidence that some time, a month or two at any rate, had elapsed since this had happened. Incidentally, too, their distribution showed the position in which the bones had lain, and though this appeared to be of no importance in the existing circumstances, I made careful notes of the situation of each adherent body, illustrating their position by rough sketches. The sergeant watched my proceedings with an indulgent smile. «Germain can a regular inventariser», he remarked, as if you were going to put him up for auction. I shouldn't think those snail eggs would be much help in identification, and all that has been done already, he added, as I produced my measuring tape. No doubt, I replied, but my business is to make independent observations, to check the others if necessary. And I proceeded to measure each of the principal bones separately and to compare those of opposite sides. The agreement in dimensions and general characteristics of the pairs of bones left little doubt that all were parts of one skeleton, a conclusion that was confirmed by the ebernated patch on the head of the right thigh bone and the corresponding patch in the socket of the right hip bone. When I had finished my measurements, I went over the entire series of bones in detail, examining each with the closest attention for any of those signs which Thorndike had indicated, and eliciting nothing but a monotonously reiterated negative. They were distressingly and disappointingly normal. Well, sir, what do you make of them? The sergeant asked cheerfully, as I shut up my notebook and straightened my back. Whose bones are they? Are they Mr. Bellingham's, think ye? I should be very sorry to say whose bones they are, I replied. One bone is very much like another, you know. I suppose it is, he agreed, but I thought that, with all that to measure in and all those notes, ye might have arrived as something definite. Evidently he was disappointed in me, and I was somewhat disappointed in myself when I contrasted Thorndike's elaborate instructions with the meager result of my investigations. For what did my discoveries amount to, and how much was the inquiry advanced by the few entries in my notebook? The bones were apparently those of a man of fare though not remarkable muscular development, over thirty years of age, but how much older I was unable to say. His height I judged roughly to be five feet eight inches, but my measurements would furnish data for a more exact estimate by Thorndike. Beyond this the bones were quite uncharacteristic. There were no signs of disease, either local or general, no indication of injuries, either old or recent, no departures of any kind from the normal or usual, and the dismemberment had been effected with such care that there was not a single scratch on any of the separate surfaces. Of a dipyceur, the peculiar waxy or soapy substance that is commonly found in bodies that have slowly decayed in damp situations, there was not a trace, and the only remnant of the soft structures was a faint indication, like a spot of dried glue, of the tendon on the tip of the right elbow. The sergeant was in the act of replacing the sheet with the air of a showman who has just given an exhibition when there came a sharp wrapping on the mortuary door. The officer finished spreading the sheet with official precision, and having ushered me out into the lobby, turned the key, and admitted three persons, holding the door open after they had entered, for me to go out. But the appearance of the newcomers inclined me to linger. One of them was a local constable, evidently in official charge. A second was a laboring man, very wet and muddy, who carried a small sack, while in the third I thought I sent it a professional brother. The sergeant continued to hold the door open. Nothing more I can do for you, sir, he asked genially. Is that the divisional surgeon? I inquired. Yes, I am the divisional surgeon, the newcomer answered. Did you want anything of me? This, said the sergeant, is a medical gentleman who has just got permission from the coroner to inspect the remains. He is acting for the family of the deceased. I mean for the family of Mr. Bellingham, he added, an answer to an inquiring glance from the surgeon. I see, said the latter. Well, they have found the rest of the trunk, including, I understand, the ribs that were missing from the other part. Isn't that so, Davis? Yes, sir, replied the constable. Inspector Badger says all the ribs is here, and all the bones of the neck as well. The inspector seems to be an anatomist, I remarked. The sergeant grinned. He's a very knowing gentleman as Mr. Badger. He came down here this morning quite early, and spent a long time looking over the bones, and checking them by some notes in his pocket-book. I fancy he's got something on. But he was precious close about it. Here the sergeant shut up rather suddenly, perhaps contrasting his own conduct without a fist superior. Let us have these new bones out on the table, said the police surgeon. Take the sheet off, and don't shoot them out as if they were coals. Hand them out carefully. The labourer fished out the wet and muddy bones one by one from the sack, and as he laid them on the table, the surgeon arranged them in their proper relative positions. This has been a neatly executed job, he remarked. None of your clumsy hacking with a chopper or a saw the bones have been cleanly separated at the joints. The fellow who did this must have had some anatomical knowledge, unless he was a butcher, which by the way is not impossible. He has used his knife uncommonly skillfully, and you notice that each arm was taken off with the scapula attached, just as a butcher takes off a shoulder of mutton. Are there any more bones in that bag?" No, sir," replied the labourer, wiping his hands off with an air of finality on the posterior aspect of his trousers. That's the lot. The surgeon looked thoughtfully at the bones as he gave a final touch to their arrangement and remarked. The inspector is right. All the bones of the neck are there. Very odd, don't you think so? You mean? I mean this very eccentric murderer seems to have given himself such an extraordinary amount of trouble, for no reason that one can see. There are these neck vertebrae, for instance. He must have carefully separated the skull from the atlas, instead of just cutting through the neck. Then there is the way he divided the trunk. The twelfth ribs have just come in with this lot, but the twelfth dorsal vertebra, to which they belong, was attached to the lower half. Imagine the trouble he must have taken to do that. And, without cutting, are hacking the bones about, either. It is extraordinary. This is rather interesting, by the way. Handle it carefully. He picked up the breastbone daintily. For it was covered with wet mud, and handed it to me with the remark, that is the most definite piece of evidence we have. You mean, I said, that the union of the two parts into a single mass fixes this as the skeleton of an elderly man? Yes, that is the obvious suggestion, which is confirmed by the deposit of bone in the rib cartilages. You can tell the inspector, Davis, that I have checked this lot of bones and that they are all here. Would you mind writing that down, sir? Said the constable. Inspector Badger said I was to have everything in writing. The surgeon took out his pocketbook, and while he was selecting a suitable piece of paper, he asked, Did you form any opinion as to the height of the deceased? Yes, I thought he would be about five feet eight. Here I caught the sergeant's eye, fixed on me with a knowing lear. I made it five feet eight and a half, said the police surgeon. But we shall know better when we have seen the lower leg bones. Where was this lot found, Davis? In the pond, just off the road, in Lord's bushes, sir. And the inspector has gone off now, too. Never mind where he's gone, interrupted the sergeant. You just answer questions and attend to your business. The sergeant's reproof conveyed a hint to me, on which I was not slow to act, friendly as my professional colleague was. It was clear that the police were disposed to treat me as an interloper, who was to be kept out of the know as far as possible. Accordingly, I thanked my colleague and the sergeant for their courtesy, and bidding them adieu until we should meet at the inquest, took my departure, and walked away quickly, until I found an inconspicuous position, from which I could keep the door of the mortuary in view. A few moments later I saw Constable Davis emerge, and stride away up the road. I watched his rapidly diminishing figure until he had gone as far as I considered desirable, and then I set forth in his wake. The road led straight away from the village, and in less than half a mile entered the outskirts of the forest. Here I quickened my pace to close up somewhat, and it was well that I did so, for suddenly he diverged from the road into a green lane, where for a while I lost sight of him. Still hurrying forward, I again caught sight of him, just as he turned off into a narrow path that entered a beech wood with a thickish undergrowth of holly, along which I followed him for several minutes, gradually decreasing the distance between us, until suddenly there fell on my ear a rhythmical sound like the clank of a pump. Soon after I caught the sound of men's voices, and then the Constable struck off the path into the wood. I now advanced more cautiously, endeavouring to locate the search-party by the sound of the pump, and when I had done this I made a little detour, so that I might approach from the opposite direction to that from which the Constable had appeared, still guided by the noise of the pump, I at length came out into a small opening among the trees, and halted to survey the scene. The centre of the opening was occupied by a small pond, not more than a dozen yards across, by the side of which stood a builder's handcart. The little two-wheeled vehicle had evidently been used to convey the appliances, which were deposited on the ground near it, and which consisted of a large tub, now filled with water, a shovel, a rake, a sieve, and a portable pump. The latter being fitted with a long delivery-hose. There were three men besides the Constable, one of whom was working the handle of the pump, while the other was glancing at a paper that the Constable had just delivered to him. He looked up sharply as I appeared, and viewed me with unconcealed disfavour. Hello, sir, he said to me. You can't come here. Now seeing that I was actually here, this was clearly a mistake, and I ventured to point out the fallacy. Well, I can't allow you to stay here. Our business is of a private nature. I know exactly what your business is, Inspector Badger. Oh, do you? said he, surveying me with a foxy smile, and I expect I know what yours is, too, but we can't have any of you newspaper gentries spying on us just at present, so you just be off. I thought it best to undeceive him at once, and accordingly, having explained who I was, I showed him the coroner's permit, which he read with manifest annoyance. This is all very well, sir, said he as he handed me back the paper, but it doesn't authorize you to come spying on the proceedings of the police. Any remains that we discover will be deposited in the mortuary, where you can inspect them to your heart's content, but you can't stay here and watch us. I had no defined object in keeping a watch on the inspector's proceedings, but the sergeant's indiscreet hint had aroused my curiosity, which was further excited by Mr. Badger's evident desire to get rid of me. Moreover, while we had been talking, the pump had stopped, the muddy floor of the pond being now pretty fully exposed, and the inspector's assistant was handling the shovel impatiently. Now I put it to you, inspector. I said persuasively, is it politic of you to allow it to be said that you refused an authorized representative of the family facilities for verifying any statements that you may make hereafter? What do you mean? he asked. I mean that if you should happen to find some bone, which could be identified as part of the body of Mr. Bellingham, that fact would be of more importance to his family than to anyone else. You know that there is a very valuable estate, and a rather difficult will. I didn't know it, and I don't see the bearing of it now. Neither did I, for that matter. But if you make such a point of being present at the search, I can't very well refuse. Only you mustn't get in our way, that's all. On hearing this conclusion, his assistant, who looked like a plain clothes officer, took up his shovel and stepped into the mud that formed the bottom of the pond, stooping as he went and peering among the masses of weed that had been left stranded by the withdrawal of the water. The inspector watched him anxiously, cautioning him from time to time, to look out where he was treading. The laborer left the pump and craned forward from the margin of the mud, and the constable in eye looked on from our respective points of vantage. For some time the search was fruitless. Once the searcher stopped and picked up what turned out to be a fragment of decayed wood, then the remains of a long deceased jay were discovered, examined, and rejected. Suddenly, the man bent down by the side of a small pool that had been left in one of the deeper hollows, stared intently into the mud, and stood up. There's something here that looks like a bone, sir," he sang out. Don't grub about, then," said the inspector, drive your shovel right into the mud where you saw it, and bring it to the sieve. The man followed out these instructions, and as he came shoreward, with a great pile of the slimy mud on his shovel, we all converged on the sieve, which the inspector took up and held over the tub, directing the constable and laborer to lend a hand, meaning thereby that they were to crowd round the tub and exclude me as completely as possible. This, in fact, they did very effectively with his assistance. For, when the shovelful of mud had been deposited on the sieve, the four men leaned over it and so nearly hid it from view, that it was only by craning over, first on one side and then on the other, that I was able to catch an occasional glimpse of it, and to observe it gradually melting away as the sieve, immersed in the water, was shaken to and fro. Presently, the inspector raised the sieve from the water, and stooped over it more closely to examine its contents. Apparently the examination yielded no very conclusive results, for it was accompanied by a series of rather dubious grunts. At length the officer stood up, and turning to me with a genial but foxy smile, he held up the sieve for my inspection. Like to see what we have found, doctor? said he. I thanked him and stood over the sieve. It contained the sort of litter of twigs, skeleton leaves, weed, pond snails, dead shells, and freshwater mussels that one would expect to strain out from the mud of an ancient pond. But in addition to these, there were three small bones, which at first glance gave me quite a start, until I saw what they were. The inspector looked at me inquiringly. Said he. Yes, I replied, very interesting. Those will be human bones, I fancy, hmm? I should say so undoubtedly, I answered. Now, said the inspector, could you say offhand which finger those bones belong to? I smothered a grin, for I had been expecting this question, and answered, I can say offhand that they don't belong to any finger. They are the bones of the left great toe. The inspector's jaw dropped. The deuce they are! he muttered. I thought they looked a bit stout. I expect, said I, that if you go through the mud close to where this came from, you'll find the rest of the foot. The plain clothesman proceeded at once to act upon my suggestion, taking the sieve with him to save time. And sure enough, after filling it twice with the mud from the bottom of the pool, the entire skeleton of the foot was brought to light. Now you're happy, I suppose, said the inspector, when I had checked the bones and found them all present. I should be more happy, I replied. If I knew what you were searching for in this pond, you weren't looking for the foot, were you? I was looking for anything that I might find, he answered. I shall go on searching until we have the whole body. I shall go through all the streams and ponds around here, excepting canot water. That I shall leave to the last, as it will be a case of dredging from a boat, and it isn't so likely as the smaller ponds. Perhaps the head will be there. It's deeper than any of the others. It now occurred to me that as I had learned all that I was likely to learn, which was little enough, I might as well leave the inspector to pursue his researches, unembarassed by my presence. Accordingly, I thanked him for his assistance, and departed by the way I had come. But as I retraced my steps along the shady path, I speculated profoundly on the officer's proceedings. My examinations of the mutilated hand had yielded the conclusion that the finger had been removed after death or shortly before, but more probably after. Someone else had evidently arrived at the same conclusion, and had communicated his opinion to Inspector Badger, for it was clear that the gentleman was in full cry after the missing finger. But why was he searching for it here, when the hand had been found at Sidcup, and what did he expect to learn from it when he found it? There is nothing particularly characteristic about a finger, or at least the bones of one, and the object of the present researches was to determine the identity of the person of whom these bones were the remains. There was something mysterious about the affair, something suggesting that Inspector Badger was in possession of private information of some kind. But what information could he have, and whence could he have obtained it? These were questions on which I could find no answer, and I was still fruitlessly revolving them when I arrived at the modest inn where the inquest was to be held, and where I proposed to fortify myself with a correspondingly modest lunch as a preparation for my attendance at the inquiry. End of Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Of the Eye of Osiris This Libervox recording is in the public domain. The Eye of Osiris by R. Austin Freeman Chapter 13 The Coroner's Quest The proceedings of that fine old institution, the Coroner's Court, are apt to have their dignity impaired by the somewhat unjudicial surroundings amidst which they are conducted. The present inquiry was to be held in a long room attached to the inn, ordinarily devoted, as its various appurtenances testified, to gatherings of a more convivial character. Hither I betook myself after a protracted lunch and a meditative pipe, and being the first to arrive, the jury having already been sworn and conducted to the mortuary to view the remains, wild away the time by considering the habits of the customary occupants of the room by the light of the objects contained in it. A wooden target, with one or two darts sticking in it, hung on the end wall, and invited the Robin Hoods of the village to try their skill. A system of incised marks on the oaken table made sinister suggestions of shove haypenny, and a large open box filled with white wigs, godly colored robes and wooden spears, swords, and regalia, crudely coated with gilded paper, obviously appertained to the purile ceremonials of the order of druids. I had exhausted the interest of these relics and had transferred my attention to the picture gallery when the other spectators and the witnesses began to arrive. Hastily I seated myself in the only comfortable chair, beside the one placed at the head of the table, presumably for the coroner, and I had hardly done so when the latter entered accompanied by the jury. Immediately after them came the sergeant and specter badger, one or two plain clothesmen, and finally the divisional surgeon. The coroner took his seat at the head of the table and opened his book, and the jury seated themselves on a couple of benches on one side of the long table. I looked with some interest at the twelve good men and true. They were a representative group of British tradesmen, quiet, attentive, and rather solemn, but my attention was particularly attracted by a small man with a very large head and a shock of upstanding hair whom I had diagnosed after a glance at his intelligent but truculent countenance and the shiny knees of his trousers as the village cobbler. He sat between the broad-shouldered foreman who looked like a blacksmith and a dogged, red-faced man whose general aspect of prosperous greasiness suggested the calling of a butcher. The inquiry gentleman, the coroner commenced, upon which we are now entering, concerns itself with two questions. The first is out of identity. Who was this person whose body we have just viewed? The second is, how, when, and by what means did he come by his death? We will take the identity first and begin with the circumstances under which the body was discovered. Here the cobbler stood up and raised an excessively dirty hand. I rise, Mr. Chairman, said he, to a point of order. The other jurymen looked at him curiously, and some of them I regret to say, grinned. You have referred, sir, he continued, to the body which we have just viewed. I wish to point out that we have not viewed a body, we have viewed a collection of bones. We will refer to them as the remains, if you prefer it, said the coroner. I do prefer it, was the reply, and the objector sat down. Very well, rejoined the coroner, and he proceeded to call the witnesses, of whom the first was a laborer who had discovered the bones in the watercress bed. Do you happen to know how long it was, since the watercress beds had been cleaned out previously? The coroner asked, when the witness had told the story of the discovery. They always cleaned out by Mr. Tapper's orders, just before he gave them up. That will be a little better than two years ago. In May it were. I helped to clean him. I worked this very same place, and there wasn't no bones there then. The coroner glanced at the jury. Any questions, gentlemen, he asked. The cobbler directed an intimidating scowl at the witness, and demanded, were you searching for bones when you came on these remains? Me, exclaimed the witness, what should I be searching for bones for? Don't pervericate, said the cobbler sternly. Answer the question, yes or no? No, of course I wasn't. The juryman shook his enormous head dubiously, as though implying that he would let it pass this time, but it mustn't happen again. And the examination of the witnesses continued, without eliciting anything that was new to me or giving rise to any incident, until the sergeant had described the finding of the right arm in the cuckoo pits. Was this an accidental discovery? The coroner asked. No, we had instructions from Scotton Yard to search any likely pawns in this neighborhood. The coroner discreetly forbore to press this matter any further, but my friend the cobbler was evidently on the cuvive, and I anticipated a brisk cross examination for Mr. Badger when his turn came. The inspector was apparently of the same opinion, for I saw him cast a glance of the deepest malevolence at the two inquiring disciple of St. Crispin. In fact, his turn came next, and the cobbler's hair stood up with unholy joy. The finding of the lower half of the trunk in Staple's pond at Loutin was the inspector's own achievement, but he was not boastful about it. The discovery he remarked followed naturally on the previous one in the cuckoo pits. Had you any private information that led you to search this particular neighborhood? The cobbler asked. We had no private information, whatever, replied Badger. Now I put it to you, pursued the jurymen, shaking a forensic and very dirty forefinger at the inspector. Here are certain remains found at Sidcup, here are certain other remains found at St. Mary Cray, and certain others at Lee. All those places are in Kent. Now isn't it very remarkable that you should come straight down to Epping Forest, which is in Essex, and search for those bones and find them? We were making a systematic search of all likely places, replied Badger. Exactly, said the cobbler with a ferocious grin. That's just my point. I say, isn't it very funny that, after finding the remains in Kent some twenty miles from here, with the river Thames between, you should come here to look for the bones and go straight to Staple's pond, where they happened to be, and find them? It would have been more funny, Badger replied sourly, if we'd gone straight to a place where they happened not to be and found them. A gratified snigger arose from the other eleven good men and true, and the cobbler grinned savagely, but before he could think of a suitable rejointer, the coroner interposed. The question is not very material, he said, and we mustn't embarrass the police by unnecessary inquiries. It's my belief, said the cobbler, that he knew they were there all the time. The witness has stated that he had no private information, said the coroner, and he proceeded to take the rest of the inspector's evidence, watched closely by the critical juror. The account of the finding of the remains having been given in full, the police surgeon was called and sworn, the jurymen straightened their backs with an air of expectancy, and I turned over a page of my notebook. You have examined the bones at present lying in the mortuary and forming the subject of this inquiry? The coroner asked. I have. Will you kindly tell us what you have observed? I find that the bones are human bones and are, in my opinion, all parts of the same person. They form a skeleton which is complete, with the exception of the skull, the third finger of the left hand, the kneecaps, and the leg bones. I mean the bones between the knees and the ankles. Is there anything to account for the absence of the missing finger? No, there is no deformity and no sign of its having been amputated during life. In my opinion, it was removed after death. Can you give us any description of the deceased? I should say that these are the bones of an elderly man, probably over sixty years of age, about five feet eight and a half inches in height, of rather stout build, fairly muscular, and well preserved. There are no signs of disease, accepting some old standing rheumatic gout of the right hip joint. Can you form any opinion as to the cause of death? No, there are no marks of violence or signs of injury, but it will be impossible to form any opinion as to the cause of death until we have seen the skull. Did you note anything else of importance? Yes, I was struck by the appearance of anatomical knowledge and skill on the part of the person who dismembered the body. The knowledge of anatomy is proved by the fact that the corpse has been divided into definite anatomical regions. For instance, the bones of the neck are complete and include the top joint of the backbone known as the atlas, whereas a person without anatomical knowledge would probably take off the head by cutting through the neck. Then the arms have been separated with the scapula or shoulder blade and clavicle or collarbone attached, just as an arm would be removed for dissection. The skill is shown by the neat way in which the dismemberment has been carried out. The parts have not been rudely hacked asunder, but have been separated at the joints so skillfully that I have not discovered a single scratch or mark of the knife on any of the bones. Can you suggest any class of person who would be likely to possess the knowledge and skill to which you refer? It would, of course, be possessed by a surgeon or medical student and possibly by a butcher. You think that the person who dismembered this body may have been a surgeon or a medical student? Yes, or a butcher, someone accustomed to the dismemberment of bodies and skillful with the knife. Here the cobbler suddenly rose to his feet. I rise, Mr. Chairman, said he, to protest against the statement that has just been made. What statement? demanded the coroner. Against the aspersion, continued the cobbler, with an oratorical flourish, that has been cast upon an honourable calling. I don't understand you, said the coroner. Dr. Summers has insinuated that this murder was committed by a butcher. Now a member of that honourable calling is sitting on this jury. You let me alone, growled the butcher. I will not let you alone, persisted the cobbler. I desire. Ah, shut up, Pope. This was from the foreman, who at the same moment reached out an enormous hairy hand, with which he grabbed the cobbler's coattails and brought him into a sitting posture with a thump that shook the room. But Mr. Pope, though seated, was not silenced. I desire, he said, to have my protest put on record. I can't do that, said the coroner, and I can't allow you to interrupt the witnesses. I am acting, said Mr. Pope, in the interest of my friend here, and the members of an honourable, but here the butcher turned on him savagely and in a horse stage whisper exclaimed, Look here, Pope, you've got too much of what the cat licks. Gentlemen, gentlemen! The coroner protested sternly. I cannot permit this unseemly conduct. You are forgetting the solemnity of the occasion, and your own responsible positions. I must insist on more decent and decarious behaviour. There was profound silence, in the midst of which the butcher concluded in the same horse whisper, Let her pause with. The coroner cast a withering glance at him, and turning to the witness resumed the examination. Can you tell us, doctor, how long a time has elapsed since the death of the deceased? I should say, not less than eighteen months, but probably more. How much more it is impossible, from inspection alone to say. The bones are perfectly clean, that is, clean of all soft structures, and will remain substantially in their present condition for many years. The evidence of the man who found the remains in the water-crust bed suggests that they could not have been there for more than two years. Do the appearances, in your opinion, agree with that view? Yes, perfectly. There is one more point, doctor, a very important one. Do you find anything in any of the bones, or all of them together, which would enable you to identify them as the bones of any particular individual? No, replied doctor Summers. I find no peculiarity which could furnish the means of personal identification. The description of a missing individual has been given to us, said the coroner. A man, fifty-nine years of age, five feet eight inches in height, healthy, well-preserved, rather broad in build, and having an old pot's fracture of the left ankle. Do the remains that you have examined agree with that description? Yes, so far as agreement is possible, there is no disagreement. The remains might be those of that individual. They might. But there is no positive evidence that they are. The description would apply to a large proportion of elderly men, except as to the fracture. You have found no signs of such a fracture? No. Pot's fracture affects the bone called the fibula. That is one of the bones that has not yet been found. So there is no evidence on that point. The left foot was quite normal, but then it would be in any case, unless the fracture had resulted in great deformity. You estimated the height of the deceased as half an inch greater than that of the missing person. Does that constitute a disagreement? No. My estimate is only approximate. As the arms are complete and the legs are not, I have based my calculations on the width across the two arms. But measurement of the thigh bones gives the same result. The length of the thigh bones is one foot seven inches and five eighths. So the deceased might not have been taller than five feet eight. That is so, from five feet eight to five feet nine. Thank you. I think that is all we want to ask you, doctor, unless the jury wish to put any questions. He glanced uneasily at that august body, and instantly the irrepressible pope rose to the occasion. About the finger that is missing, said the cobbler. You say that it was cut off after death. That is my opinion. Now can you tell us why it was cut off? No, I cannot. Oh, come now, Dr. Summers. You must have formed some opinion on the subject. Here the coroner interposed. The doctor is only concerned with the evidence arising out of the actual examination of the remains. Any personal opinions or conjectures that he may have formed are not evidence, and he must not be asked about them. But, sir, objected pope. We want to know why that finger was cut off. It couldn't have been took off for no reason. May I ask, sir, if the person who is missing had anything peculiar about that finger? Nothing is stated to that effect in the written description, replied the coroner. Perhaps, suggested pope, Inspector Badger can tell us. I think, said the coroner, we had better not ask the police too many questions. They will tell us anything that they wish to be made public. Oh, very well, snapped the cobbler. If it's a matter of hushing it up, I've got no more to say, only I don't see how we are to arrive at a verdict if we don't have the facts put before us. All the witnesses, having now been examined, the coroner proceeded to sum up and address the jury. You have heard the evidence, gentlemen, of the various witnesses, and you will have perceived that it does not enable us to answer either of the questions that form the subject of this inquiry. We now know that the deceased was an elderly man, about sixty years of age, and about five feet eight to nine in height, and that his death took place from eighteen months to two years ago. That is all we know. From the treatment to which the body has been subjected, we may form conjectures, as to the circumstances of his death. But we have no actual knowledge. We do not know who the deceased was, or how he came by his death. Consequently, it will be necessary to adjourn this inquiry until fresh facts are available, and as soon as that is the case, you will receive due notice that your attendance is required. The silence of the court gave place to the confused noise of moving chairs, and a general outbreak of eager talk amidst which I rose and made my way out into the street. At the door I encountered Dr. Summers, whose dog cart was waiting close by. Are you going back to town now? he asked. Yes, I answered, as soon as I can catch a train. If you jump into my cart, I'll run you down in time for the five one. You'll miss it, if you walk. I accepted his offer thankfully, and a minute later was spinning briskly down the road to the station. Queer little devil that man-pope! Dr. Summers remarked. Quite a character, a socialist, laborite, agitator, general crank, anything for a row. Yes, I answered. That was what his appearance suggested. It must be trying for the coroner to get a truculent rascal like that on a jury. Summers laughed. I don't know. He supplies the comic relief, and then, you know, those fellows have their uses. Some of his questions were pretty pertinent. So Badger seemed to think. Yes, by Jove, chuckled Summers. Badger didn't like him a bit, and I suspect the worthy inspector was sailing pretty close to the wind in his answers. You think he really has some private information? Depends on what you mean by information. The police are not a speculative body. They wouldn't be taking all this trouble, unless they had a pretty straight tip from somebody. How are Mr. and Miss Bellingham? I used to know them when they lived here. I was considering a discreet answer to this question when we swept into the station yard. At the same moment the train drew up at the platform, and with a hurried handshake and hastily spoken thanks, I sprang from the dog cart and darted into the station. During the rather slow journey homeward, I read over my notes an endeavor to extract from the facts they set forth some significance other than that which lay on the surface, but without much success. Then I fell to speculating on what Thordnike would think of the evidence at the inquest, and whether he would be satisfied with the information that I had collected. These speculations lasted me with occasional digressions, until I arrived at the temple and ran up the stairs rather eagerly to my friend's chambers. But here a disappointment awaited me. The nest was empty, with the exception of Poulton, who appeared at the laboratory door in his white apron, with a pair of flat-nose pliers in his hands. The doctor had to go down to Bristol and consult over an urgent case, he explained, and Dr. Dervis has gone with him. They'll be away a day or two, I expect, but the doctor left this note for you. He took a letter from the shelf, where it had been stood conspicuously on edge, and handed it to me. It was a short note from Thordnike, apologizing for his sudden departure, and asking me to give Poulton my notes, with any comments which I had to make. You will be interested to learn, he added, that the application will be heard in the probate court the day after tomorrow. I shall not be present, of course, nor will Dervis. So I should like you to attend, and keep your eyes open for anything that may happen during the hearing, and that may not appear in the notes that Marchmont's clerk will be instructed to take. I have retained Dr. Payne to stand by, and help you with the practice, so that you can attend the court with a clear conscience. This was highly flattering, and quite atone for the small disappointment. With deep gratification at the trust that Thordnike had reposed in me, I pocketed the letter, handed my notes to Poulton, wished him good evening, and betook myself to Fetter Lane. End of Chapter 13