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Title: Gleanings from the Wreckage
   [Story #21 of "The Famous Cases of Dr. Thorndyke"]
Author: Freeman, R. Austin [Richard Austin] (1862-1943)
Date of first publication in this form: July 1929
   ["The Famous Cases of Dr. Thorndyke"]
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1952
   [reprint of the 1929 omnibus]
Date first posted: 24 June 2018
Date last updated: 24 June 2018
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #1541

This ebook was produced by
Delphine Lettau, Mark Akrigg, Cindy Beyer
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team
at http://www.pgdpcanada.net


PUBLISHER'S NOTE

Italics in the original printed edition are indicated _thus_.

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected.

As part of the conversion of the book to its new digital
format, we have made certain minor adjustments in its layout.





GLEANINGS FROM THE WRECKAGE

by R. Austin Freeman





There was a time, and not so very long ago, when even the main streets
of London, after midnight, were as silent as--not the grave; that is an
unpleasant simile. Besides, who has any experience of conditions in the
grave? But they were nearly as silent as the streets of a village. Then
the nocturnal pedestrian could go his way encompassed and soothed by
quiet, which was hardly disturbed by the rumble of a country wagon
wending to market or the musical tinkle of the little bells on the
collar of the hansom-cab horse sedately drawing some late reveller
homeward.

Very different is the state of those streets nowadays. Long after the
hour when the electric trams have ceased from troubling and the motor
omnibuses are at rest, the heavy road transport from the country
thunders through the streets; the air is rent by the howls of the
electric hooter, and belated motor-cyclists fly past, stuttering
explosively like perambulant Lewis guns with an inexhaustible charge.

"Let us get into the by-streets," said Thorndyke, as a car sped past us
uttering sounds suggestive of a dyspeptic dinosaur. "We don't want our
conversation seasoned with mechanical objurgations. In the back-streets
it is still possible to hear oneself speak and forget the march of
progress."

We turned into a narrow by-way with the confidence of the born and bred
Londoner in the impossibility of losing our direction, and began to
thread the intricate web of streets in the neighbourhood of a canal.

"It is a remarkable thing," Thorndyke resumed anon, "that every new
application of science seems to be designed to render the environment of
civilised man more and more disagreeable. If the process goes much
farther, as it undoubtedly will, we shall presently find ourselves
looking back wistfully at the Stone-age as the golden age of human
comfort."

At this point his moralising was cut short by a loud, sharp explosion.
We both stopped and looked about from the parapet of the bridge that we
were crossing.

"Quite like old times," Thorndyke remarked. "Carries one back to 1915,
when friend Fritz used to call on us. Ah! There is the place; the top
story of that tall building across the canal." He pointed as he spoke to
a factory-like structure, from the upper windows of which a lurid light
shone and rapidly grew brighter.

"It must be down the next turning," said I, quickening my pace. But he
restrained me, remarking: "There is no hurry. That was the sound of high
explosive, and those flames suggest nitro compounds burning. _Festina
lente._ There may be some other packets of high explosives."

He had hardly finished speaking when a flash of dazzling violet light
burst from the burning building. The windows flew out bodily, the roof
opened in places, and almost at the same moment the clang of a violent
explosion shook the ground under our feet, a puff of wind stirred our
hair, and then came a clatter of falling glass and slates.

We made our way at a leisurely pace towards the scene of the explosion,
through streets lighted up by the ruddy glare from the burning factory.
But others were less cautious. In a few minutes the street was filled by
one of those crowds which, in London, seem mysteriously to spring up in
an instant where but a moment before not a person was to be seen. Before
we had reached the building, a fire-engine had rumbled past us, and
already a sprinkling of policemen had appeared as if, like the
traditional frogs, they had dropped from the clouds.

In spite of the ferocity of its outbreak, the fire seemed to be no great
matter, for even as we looked and before the fire-hose was fully run
out, the flames began to die down. Evidently, they had been dealt with
by means of extinguishers within the building, and the services of the
engine would not be required after all. Noting this flat ending to what
had seemed so promising a start, we were about to move off and resume
our homeward journey when I observed a uniformed inspector who was known
to us, and who, observing us at the same instant, made his way towards
us through the crowd.

"You remind me, sir," said he, when he had wished us good-evening, "of
the stories of the vultures that make their appearance in the sky from
nowhere when a camel drops dead in the desert. I don't mean anything
uncomplimentary," he hastened to add. "I was only thinking of the
wonderful instinct that has brought you to this very spot at this
identical moment, as if you had smelt a case afar off."

"Then your imagination has misled you," said Thorndyke, "for I haven't
smelt a case, and I don't smell one now. Fires are not in my province."

"No, sir," replied the inspector, "but bodies are, and the fireman tells
me that there is a dead man up there--or at least the remains of one. I
am going up to inspect. Do you care to come up with me?"

Thorndyke considered for a moment, but I knew what his answer would be,
and I was not mistaken.

"As a matter of professional interest, I should," he replied, "but I
don't want to be summoned as a witness at the inquest."

"Of course you don't, sir," the inspector agreed, "and I will see that
you are not summoned, unless an expert witness is wanted. I need not
mention that you have been here; but I should be glad of your opinion
for my own guidance in investigating the case."

He led us through the crowd to the door of the building, where we were
joined by a fireman--whose helmet I should have liked to borrow--by whom
we were piloted up the stairs. Half-way up we met the night-watchman,
carrying an exhausted extinguisher and a big electric lantern, and he
joined our procession, giving us the news as we ascended.

"It's all safe up above," said he, "excepting the roof; and that isn't
so very much damaged. The big windows saved it. They blew out and let
off the force of the explosion. The floor isn't damaged at all. It's
girder and concrete. But poor Mr. Manford caught it properly. He was
fairly blown to bits."

"Do you know how it happened?" the inspector asked.

"I don't," was the reply. "When I came on duty Mr. Manford was up there
in his private laboratory. Soon afterwards a friend of his--a foreign
gentleman of the name of Bilsky--came to see him. I took him up, and
then Mr. Manford said he had some business to do, and after that he had
got a longish job to do and would be working late. So he said I might
turn in and he would let me know when he had finished. And he did let me
know with a vengeance, poor chap! I lay down in my clothes, and I hadn't
been asleep above a couple of hours when some noise woke me up. Then
there came a most almighty bang. I rushed for an extinguisher and ran
upstairs, and there I found the big laboratory all ablaze, the windows
blown out and the ceiling down. But it wasn't so bad as it looked. There
wasn't very much stuff up there; only the experimental stuff, and that
burned out almost at once. I got the rest of the fire out in a few
minutes."

"What stuff is it that you are speaking of?" the inspector asked.

"Celluloid, mostly, I think," replied the watchman. "They make films and
other celluloid goods in the works. But Mr. Manford used to do
experiments in the material up in his laboratory. This time he was
working with alloys, melting them on the gas furnace. Dangerous thing to
do with all that inflammable stuff about. I don't know what there was up
there, exactly. Some of it was celluloid, I could see by the way it
burned, but the Lord knows what it was that exploded. Some of the raw
stuff, perhaps."

At this point we reached the top floor, where a door blown off its
hinges and a litter of charred wood fragments filled the landing.
Passing through the yawning doorway, we entered the laboratory and
looked on a hideous scene of devastation. The windows were mere holes,
the ceiling a gaping space fringed with black and ragged lathing,
through which the damaged roof was visible by the light of the
watchman's powerful lantern. The floor was covered with the fallen
plaster and fragments of blackened woodwork, but its own boards were
only slightly burnt in places, owing, no doubt, to their being fastened
directly to the concrete which formed the actual floor.

"You spoke of some human remains," said the inspector.

"Ah!" said the watchman, "you may well say 'remains.' Just come here."
He led the way over the rubbish to a corner of the laboratory, where he
halted and threw the light of his lantern down on a brownish, dusty,
globular object that lay on the floor half buried in plaster. "That's
all that's left of poor Mr. Manford; that and a few other odd pieces. I
saw a hand over the other side."

Thorndyke picked up the head and placed it on the blackened remnant of a
bench, where, with the aid of the watchman's lantern and the inspection
lamp which I produced from our research-case, he examined it curiously.
It was extremely, but unequally, scorched. One ear was completely
shrivelled, and most of the face was charred to the bone. But the other
ear was almost intact; and though most of the hair was burned away to
the scalp, a tuft above the less-damaged ear was only singed, so that it
was possible to see that the hair had been black, with here and there a
stray white hair.

Thorndyke made no comments, but I noticed that he examined the gruesome
object minutely, taking nothing for granted. The inspector noticed this,
too; and when the examination was finished, looked at him inquiringly.

"Anything abnormal, sir?" he asked.

"No," replied Thorndyke; "nothing that is not accounted for by fire and
the explosion. I see he had no natural teeth, so he must have worn a
complete set of false teeth. That should help in the formal
identification, if the plates are not completely destroyed."

"There isn't much need for identification," said the watchman, "seeing
that there was nobody in the building but him and me. His friend went
away about half-past twelve. I heard Mr. Manford let him out."

"The doctor means at the inquest," the inspector explained. "Somebody
has got to recognise the body if possible."

He took the watchman's lantern, and throwing its light on the floor,
began to search among the rubbish. Very soon he disinterred from under a
heap of plaster the headless trunk. Both legs were attached, though the
right was charred below the knee and the foot blown off, and one
complete arm. The other arm--the right--was intact only to the elbow.
Here, again, the burning was very unequal. In some parts the clothing
had been burnt off or blown away completely; in others, enough was left
to enable the watchman to recognise it with certainty. One leg was much
more burnt than the other; and whereas the complete arm was only
scorched, the dismembered one was charred almost to the bone. When the
trunk had been carried to the bench and laid there beside the head, the
lights were turned on it for Thorndyke to make his inspection.

"It almost seems," said the police officer, as the hand was being
examined, "as if one could guess how he was standing when the explosion
occurred. I think I can make out finger-marks--pretty dirty ones,
too--on the back of the hand, as if he had been standing with his hands
clasped together behind him while he watched something that he was
experimenting with." The inspector glanced for confirmation at
Thorndyke, who nodded approvingly.

"Yes," he said, "I think you are right. They are very indistinct, but
the marks are grouped like fingers. The small mark near the wrist
suggests a little finger and the separate one near the knuckle looks
like a fore-finger, while the remaining two marks are close together."
He turned the hand over and continued: "And there, in the palm, just
between the roots of the third and fourth fingers, seems to be the trace
of a thumb. But they are all very faint. You have a quick eye,
inspector."

The gratified officer, thus encouraged, resumed his explorations among
the debris in company with the watchman--the fireman had retired after a
professional look round--leaving Thorndyke to continue his examination
of the mutilated corpse, at which I looked on unsympathetically. For we
had had a long day and I was tired and longing to get home. At length I
drew out my watch, and with a portentous yawn, entered a mild protest.

"It is nearly two o'clock," said I. "Don't you think we had better be
getting on? This really isn't any concern of ours, and there doesn't
seem to be anything in it, from our point of view."

"Only that we are keeping our intellectual joints supple," Thorndyke
replied with a smile. "But it is getting late. Perhaps we had better
adjourn the inquiry."

At this moment, however, the inspector discovered the missing
forearm--completely charred--with the fingerless remains of the hand,
and almost immediately afterwards the watchman picked up a dental plate
of some white metal, which seemed to be practically uninjured. But our
brief inspection of these objects elicited nothing of interest, and
having glanced at them, we took our departure, avoiding on the stairs an
eager reporter, all agog for "copy."

A few days later we received a visit, by appointment, from a Mr.
Herdman, a solicitor who was unknown to us and who was accompanied by
the widow of Mr. James Manford, the victim of the explosion. In the
interval the inquest had been opened but had been adjourned for further
examination of the premises and the remains. No mention had been made of
our visit to the building, and so far as I knew nothing had been said to
anybody on the subject.

Mr. Herdman came to the point with business-like directness.

"I have called," he said, "to secure your services, if possible, in
regard to the matter of which I spoke in my letter. You have probably
seen an account of the disaster in the papers?"

"Yes," replied Thorndyke. "I read the report of the inquest."

"Then you know the principal facts. The inquest, as you know, was
adjourned for three weeks. When it is resumed, I should like to retain
you to attend on behalf of Mrs. Manford."

"To watch the case on her behalf?" Thorndyke suggested.

"Well, not exactly," replied Herdman. "I should ask you to inspect the
premises and the remains of poor Mr. Manford, so that, at the adjourned
inquest, you could give evidence to the effect that the explosion and
the death of Mr. Manford were entirely due to accident."

"Does anyone say that they were not?" Thorndyke asked.

"No, certainly not," Mr. Herdman replied hastily. "Not at all. But I
happened, quite by chance, to see the manager of the 'Pilot' Insurance
Society, on another matter, and I mentioned the case of Mr. Manford. He
then let drop a remark which made me slightly uneasy. He observed that
there was a suicide clause in the policy, and that the possibility of
suicide would have to be ruled out before the claim could be settled.
Which suggested a possible intention to contest the claim."

"But," said Thorndyke, "I need not point out to you that if he sets up
the theory of suicide, it is for him to prove it, not for you to
disprove it. Has anything transpired that would lend colour to such a
suggestion?"

"Nothing material," was the reply. "But we should feel more happy if you
could be present and give positive evidence that the death was
accidental."

"That," said Thorndyke, "would be hardly possible. But my feeling is
that the suicide question is negligible. There is nothing to suggest it,
so far as I know. Is there anything known to you?"

The solicitor glanced at his client and replied somewhat evasively:

"We are anxious to secure ourselves. Mrs. Manford is left very badly
off, unless there is some personal property that we don't know about. If
the insurance is not paid, she will be absolutely ruined. There isn't
enough to pay the debts. And I think the suicide question might be
raised--even successfully--on several points. Manford had been rather
queer lately: jumpy and rather worried. Then, he was under notice to
terminate his engagement at the works. His finances were in a confused
state; goodness knows why, for he had a liberal salary. And then there
was some domestic trouble. Mrs. Manford had actually consulted me about
getting a separation. Some other woman, you know."

"I should like to forget that," said Mrs. Manford; "and it wasn't that
which worried him. Quite the contrary. Since it began he had been quite
changed. So smart in his dress and so particular in his appearance. He
even took to dyeing his hair. I remember that he opened a fresh bottle
of dye the very morning before his death and took no end of trouble
putting it on. It wasn't that entanglement that made him jumpy. It was
his money affairs. He had too many irons in the fire."

Thorndyke listened with patient attention to these rather irrelevant
details and inquired: "What sort of irons?"

"I will tell you," said Herdman. "About three months ago he had need for
two thousand pounds; for what purpose, I can't say, but Mrs. Manford
thinks it was to invest in certain valuables that he used to purchase
from time to time from a Russian dealer named Bilsky. At any rate, he
got this sum on short loan from a Mr. Clines, but meanwhile arranged for
a longer loan with a Mr. Elliott on a note of hand and an agreement to
insure his life for the amount.

"As a matter of fact, the policy was made out in Elliott's name, he
having proved an insurable interest. So if the insurance is paid,
Elliott is settled with. Otherwise the debt falls on the estate, which
would be disastrous; and to make it worse, the day before his death, he
drew out five hundred pounds--nearly the whole balance--as he was
expecting to see Mr. Bilsky, who liked to be paid in bank-notes. He did
see him, in fact, at the laboratory, but they couldn't have done any
business, as no jewels were found."

"And the bank-notes?"

"Burned with the body, presumably. He must have had them with him."

"You mentioned," said Thorndyke, "that he occasionally bought jewels
from this Russian. What became of them?"

"Ah!" replied Herdman, "there is a gleam of hope there. He had a safe
deposit somewhere. We haven't located it yet, but we shall. There may be
quite a nice little nest-egg in it. But meanwhile there is the debt to
Elliott. He wrote to Manford about it a day or two ago. You have the
letter, I think," he added, addressing Mrs. Manford, who thereupon
produced two envelopes from her handbag and laid them on the table.

"This is Mr. Elliott's letter," she said. "Merely a friendly reminder,
you see, telling him that he is just off to the Continent and that he
has given his wife a power of attorney to act in his absence."

Thorndyke glanced through the letter and made a few notes of its
contents. Then he looked inquiringly at the other envelope.

"That," said Mrs. Manford, "is a photograph of my husband. I thought it
might help you if you were going to examine the body."

As Thorndyke drew the portrait out and regarded it thoughtfully, I
recalled the shapeless, blackened fragments of its subject; and when he
passed it to me I inspected it with a certain grim interest, and
mentally compared it with those grisly remains. It was a commonplace
face, rather unsymmetrical--the nose was deflected markedly to the left,
and the left eye had a pronounced divergent squint. The bald head, with
an abundant black fringe and an irregular scar on the right side of the
forehead, sought compensation in a full beard and moustache, both
apparently jet-black. It was not an attractive countenance, and it was
not improved by a rather odd-shaped ear--long, lobeless, and pointed
above, like the ear of a satyr.

"I realise your position," said Thorndyke, "but I don't quite see what
you want of me. If," he continued, addressing the solicitor, "you had
thought of my giving _ex parte_ evidence, dismiss the idea. I am not a
witness-advocate. All I can undertake to do is to investigate the case
and try to discover what really happened. But in that case, whatever I
may discover I shall disclose to the coroner. Would that suit you?"

The lawyer looked doubtful and rather glum, but Mrs. Manford interposed,
firmly:

"Why not? We are not proposing any deception, but I am certain that he
did not commit suicide. Yes, I agree unreservedly to what you propose."

With this understanding--which the lawyer was disposed to boggle at--our
visitors took their leave. As soon as they were gone, I gave utterance
to the surprise with which I had listened to Thorndyke's proposal.

"I am astonished at your undertaking this case. Of course, you have
given them fair warning, but still, it will be unpleasant if you have to
give evidence unfavourable to your client."

"Very," he agreed. "But what makes you think I may have to?"

"Well, you seem to reject the probability of suicide, but have you
forgotten the evidence at the inquest?"

"Perhaps I have," he replied blandly. "Let us go over it again."

I fetched the report from the office, and spreading it out on the table
began to read it aloud. Passing over the evidence of the inspector and
the fireman, I came to that of the night-watchman.

"Shortly after I came on duty at ten o'clock, a foreign gentleman named
Bilsky called to see Mr. Manford. I knew him by sight, because he had
called once or twice before at about the same time. I took him up to the
laboratory, where Mr. Manford was doing something with a big crucible on
the gas furnace. He told me that he had some business to transact with
Mr. Bilsky and when he had finished he would let him out. Then he was
going to do some experiments in making alloys, and as they would
probably take up most of the night he said I might as well turn in. He
said he would call me when he was ready to go. So I told him to be
careful with the furnace and not set the place on fire and burn me in my
bed, and then I went downstairs. I had a look round to see that
everything was in order, and then I took off my boots and laid down.
About half-past twelve I heard Mr. Manford and Bilsky come down. I
recognised Mr. Bilsky by a peculiar cough that he had and by the sound
of his stick and his limping tread--he had something the matter with his
right foot and walked quite lame."

"You say that the deceased came down with him," said the coroner. "Are
you quite sure of that?"

"Well, I suppose Mr. Manford came down with him, but I can't say I
actually heard him."

"You did not hear him go up again?"

"No, I didn't. But I was rather sleepy and I wasn't listening very
particular. Well, then I went to sleep and slept till about half-past
one, when some noise woke me. I was just getting up to see what it was
when I heard a tremendous bang, right overhead. I ran down and turned
the gas off at the main and then I got a fire extinguisher and ran up to
the laboratory. The place seemed to be all in a blaze, but it wasn't
much of a fire after all, for by the time the fire engines arrived I had
got it practically out."

The witness then described the state of the laboratory and the finding
of the body, but as this was already known to us, I passed on to the
evidence of the next witness, the superintendent of the fire brigade,
who had made a preliminary inspection of the premises. It was a cautious
statement and subject to the results of a further examination; but
clearly the officer was not satisfied as to the cause of the outbreak.
There seemed to have been two separate explosions, one near a cupboard
and another--apparently the second--in the cupboard itself; and there
seemed to be a burned track connecting the two spots. This might have
been accidental or it might have been arranged. Witness did not think
that the explosive was celluloid. It seemed to be a high explosive of
some kind. But further investigations were being made.

The superintendent was followed by Mrs. Manford, whose evidence was
substantially similar to what she and Mr. Herdman had told us, and by
the police surgeon, whose description of the remains conveyed nothing
new to us. Finally, the inquest was adjourned for three weeks to allow
of further examination of the premises and the remains.

"Now," I said, as I folded up the report, "I don't see how you are able
to exclude suicide. If the explosion was arranged to occur when Manford
was in the laboratory, what object, other than suicide, can be
imagined?"

Thorndyke looked at me with an expression that I knew only too well.

"Is it impossible," he asked, "to imagine that the object might have
been homicide?"

"But," I objected, "there was no one there but Manford--after Bilsky
left."

"Exactly," he agreed, dryly; "after Bilsky left. But up to that time
there were two persons there."

I must confess that I was startled, but as I rapidly reviewed the
circumstances I perceived the cogency of Thorndyke's suggestion. Bilsky
had been present when Manford dismissed the night-watchman. He knew that
there would be no interruption. The inflammable and explosive materials
were there, ready to his hand. Then Bilsky had gone down to the door
alone instead of being conducted down and let out; a very striking
circumstance, this. Again, no jewels had been found, though the meeting
had been ostensibly for the purpose of a deal; and the bank-notes had
vanished utterly. This was very remarkable. In view of the large sum, it
was nearly certain that the notes would be in a close bundle, and we all
know how difficult it is to burn tightly-folded paper. Yet they had
vanished without leaving a trace. Finally, there was Bilsky himself. Who
was he? Apparently a dealer in stolen property--a hawker of the products
of robbery and murder committed during the revolution.

"Yes," I admitted, "the theory of homicide is certainly tenable. But
unless some new facts can be produced, it must remain a matter of
speculation."

"I think, Jervis," he rejoined, "you must be overlooking the facts that
are known to us. We were there. We saw the place within a few minutes of
the explosion and we examined the body. What we saw established a clear
presumption of homicide, and what we have heard this morning confirms
it. I may say that I communicated my suspicions the very next day to the
coroner and to Superintendent Miller."

"Then you must have seen more than I did," I began. But he shook his
head and cut short my protestations.

"You saw what I saw, Jervis, but you did not interpret its meaning.
However, it is not too late. Try to recall the details of our adventure
and what our visitors have told us. I don't think you will then
entertain the idea of suicide."

I was about to put one or two leading questions, but at this moment
footsteps became audible ascending our stairs. The knock which followed
informed me that our visitor was Superintendent Miller, and I rose to
admit him.

"Just looked in to report progress," he announced as he subsided into an
arm-chair. "Not much to report, but what there is supports your view of
the case. Bilsky has made a clean bolt. Never went home to his hotel.
Evidently meant to skedaddle, as he has left nothing of any value
behind. But it was a stupid move, for it would have raised suspicion in
any case. The notes were a consecutive batch. All the numbers are known,
but, of course, none of them have turned up yet. We have made inquiries
about Bilsky, and gather that he is a shady character; practically a
fence who deals in the jewellery stolen from those unfortunate Russian
aristocrats. But we shall have him all right. His description has been
circulated at all the seaports, and he is an easy man to spot with his
lame foot and his stick and a finger missing from his right hand."

Thorndyke nodded, and seemed to reflect for a moment. Then he asked:

"Have you made any other inquiries?"

"No; there is nothing more to find out until we get hold of our man, and
when we do, we shall look to you to secure the conviction. I suppose you
are quite certain as to your facts?"

Thorndyke shook his head with a smile.

"I am never certain until after the event. We can only act on
probabilities."

"I understand," said the superintendent, casting a sly look at me; "but
your probabilities are good enough for me."

With this, he picked up his hat and departed, leaving us to return to
the occupations that our visitors had interrupted.

I heard no more of the Manford case for about a week, and assumed that
Thorndyke's interest in it had ceased. But I was mistaken, as I
discovered when he remarked casually one evening:

"No news of Bilsky, so far; and time is running on. I am proposing to
make a tentative move in a new direction." I looked at him inquiringly,
and he continued: "It appears, 'from information received,' that Elliott
had some dealings with him, so I propose to call at his house to-morrow
and see if we can glean any news of the lost sheep."

"But Elliott is abroad," I objected.

"True; but his wife isn't; and she evidently knows all about his
affairs. I have invited Miller to come with me in case he would like to
put any questions; and you may as well come, too, if you are free."

It did not sound like a very thrilling adventure, but one never knew
with Thorndyke. I decided to go with him, and at that the matter
dropped, though I speculated a little curiously on the source of the
information. So, apparently, had the superintendent, for when he arrived
on the following morning he proceeded to throw out a few cautious
feelers, but got nothing for his pains beyond vague generalities.

"It is a purely tentative proceeding," said Thorndyke, "and you mustn't
be disappointed if nothing comes of it."

"I shall be, all the same," replied Miller, with a sly glance at my
senior, and with this we set forth on our quest.

The Elliotts' house was, as I knew, in some part of Wimbledon, and
thither we made our way by train. From the station we started along a
wide, straight main street from which numbers of smaller streets
branched off. At the corner of one of these I noticed a man standing,
apparently watching our approach; and something in his appearance seemed
to me familiar. Suddenly he took off his hat, looked curiously into its
interior, and put it on again. Then he turned about and walked quickly
down the side street. I looked at his retreating figure as we crossed
the street, wondering who he could be. And then it flashed upon me that
the resemblance was to a certain ex-sergeant Barber whom Thorndyke
occasionally employed for observation duties. Just as I reached this
conclusion, Thorndyke halted and looked about him doubtfully.

"I am afraid we have come too far," said he. "I fancy we ought to have
gone down that last turning."

We accordingly faced about and walked back to the corner, where
Thorndyke read out the name, Mendoza Avenue.

"Yes," he said, "this is the way," and we thereupon turned down the
Avenue, following it to the bottom, where it ended in a cross-road, the
name of which, Berners Park, I recognised as that which I had seen on
Elliott's letter.

"Sixty-four is the number," said Thorndyke, "so as this corner house is
forty-six and the next is forty-eight, it will be a little way along on
this side, just about where you can see that smoke--which, by the way,
seems to be coming out of a window."

"Yes, by Jove!" I exclaimed. "The staircase window, apparently. Not our
house, I hope!"

But it was. We read the number and the name, "Green Bushes," on the gate
as we came up to it, and we hurried up the short path to the door. There
was no knocker, but when Miller fixed his thumb on the bell-push, we
heard a loud ringing within. But there was no response; and meanwhile
the smoke poured more and more densely out of the open window above.

"Rum!" exclaimed Miller, sticking to the bell-push like a limpet. "House
seems to be empty."

"I don't think it is," Thorndyke replied calmly.

The superintendent looked at him with quick suspicion, and then glanced
at the ground-floor window.

"That window is unfastened," said he, "and here comes a constable."

Sure enough, a policeman was approaching quickly, looking up at the
houses. Suddenly he perceived the smoke and quickened his pace, arriving
just as Thorndyke had pulled down the upper window-sash and was
preparing to climb over into the room. The constable hailed him sternly,
but a brief explanation from Miller reduced the officer to a state of
respectful subservience, and we all followed Thorndyke through the open
window, from which smoke now began to filter.

"Send the constable upstairs to give the alarm," Thorndyke instructed
Miller in a low tone. The order was given without question, and the next
moment the officer was bounding up the stairs, roaring like a whole fire
brigade. Meanwhile, the superintendent browsed along the hall through
the dense smoke, sniffing inquisitively, and at length approached the
street door. Suddenly, from the heart of the reek, his voice issued in
tones of amazement.

"Well, I'm hanged! It's a plumber's smoke-rocket. Some fool has stuck it
through into the letter-cage!"

In the silence which followed this announcement I heard an angry voice
from above demand:

"What is all this infernal row about? And what are you doing here?"

"Can't you see that the house is on fire?" was the constable's stern
rejoinder. "You'd better come down and help to put it out."

The command was followed by the sound of descending footsteps, on which
Thorndyke ran quickly up the stairs, followed by the superintendent and
me. We met the descending party on the landing, opposite a window, and
here we all stopped, gazing at one another with mutual curiosity. The
man who accompanied the constable looked distinctly alarmed--as well he
might--and somewhat hostile.

"Who put that smoke-rocket in the hall?" Miller demanded fiercely. "And
why didn't you come down when you heard us ringing the bell?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," the man replied sulkily, "or
what business this is of yours. Who are you? And what are you doing in
my house?"

"In your house?" repeated Thorndyke. "Then you will be Mr. Elliott?"

The man turned a startled glance on him and replied angrily:

"Never you mind who I am. Get out of this house."

"But I do mind who you are," Thorndyke rejoined mildly. "I came here to
see Mr. Elliott. Are you Mr. Elliott?"

"No, I'm not. Mr. Elliott is abroad. If you like to send a letter here
for him, I will forward it when I get his address."

While this conversation had been going on, I had been examining the
stranger, not without curiosity. For his appearance was somewhat
unusual. In the first place, he wore an unmistakable wig, and his shaven
face bore an abundance of cuts and scratches, suggesting a recently and
unskilfully mown beard. His spectacles did not disguise a pronounced
divergent squint of the left eye; but what specially caught my attention
was the ear--a large ear, lobeless and pointed at the tip like the ear
of a satyr. As I looked at this, and at the scraped face, the squint and
the wig, a strange suspicion flashed into my mind; and then, as I noted
that the nose was markedly deflected to the left, I turned to glance at
Thorndyke.

"Would you mind telling us your name?" the latter asked blandly.

"My name is--is--Johnson; Frederick Johnson."

"Ah," said Thorndyke. "I thought it was Manford--James Manford, and I
think so still. I suggest that you have a scar on the right side of your
forehead, just under the wig. May we see?"

As Thorndyke spoke the name, the man turned a horrible livid grey and
started back as if to retreat up the stairs. But the constable blocked
the way; and as the man was struggling to push past, Miller adroitly
snatched off the wig; and there, on the forehead, was the tell-tale
scar.

For an appreciable time we all stood stock-still like the figures of a
tableau. Then Thorndyke turned to the superintendent.

"I charge this man, James Manford, with the murder of Stephan Bilsky."

Again there was a brief interval of intolerable silence. In the midst of
it, we heard the street door open and shut, and a woman's voice called
up the stairs: "Whatever is all this smoke? Are you up there, Jim?"

****

I pass over the harrowing details of the double arrest. I am not a
policeman, and to me such scenes are intensely repugnant. But we must
needs stay until two taxis and four constables had conveyed the
prisoners away from the still reeking house to the caravanserai of the
law. Then, at last, we went forth with relief into the fresh air and
bent our steps towards the station.

"I take it," Miller said reflectively, "that you never suspected
Bilsky?"

"I did at first. But when Mrs. Manford and the solicitor told their tale
I realised that he was the victim and that Manford must be the
murderer."

"Let us have the argument," said I. "It is obvious that I have been a
blockhead, but I don't mind our old friend here knowing it."

"Not a blockhead, Jervis," he corrected. "You were half asleep that
night and wholly uninterested. If you had been attending to the matter,
you would have observed several curious and anomalous appearances. For
instance, you would have noticed that the body was, in parts, completely
charred and brittle. Now we saw the outbreak of the fire and we found it
extinguished when we reached the building. Its duration was a matter of
minutes; quite insufficient to reduce a body to that state. For, as you
know, a human body is an extremely incombustible thing. The appearance
suggested the destruction of a body which had been already burnt; and
this suggestion was emphasised by the curiously unequal distribution of
the charring. The right hand was burnt to a cinder and blown to pieces.
The left hand was only scorched. The right foot was utterly destroyed,
but the left foot was nearly intact. The face was burned away
completely, and yet there were parts of the head where the hair was only
singed.

"Naturally, with these facts in mind, I scrutinised those remains
narrowly. And presently something much more definite and sinister came
to light. On the left hand, there was a faint impression of another
hand--very indistinct and blurred, but still unmistakably a hand."

"I remember," said I, "the inspector pointed it out as evidence that the
deceased had been standing with his hands clasped before or behind him;
and I must admit that it seemed a reasonable inference."

"So it did--because you were both assuming that the man had been alone
and that it must therefore have been the impression of his own hand. For
that reason, neither of you looked at it critically. If you had, you
would have seen at once that it was the impression of a left hand."

"You are quite right," I confessed ruefully. "As the man was stated to
have been alone, the hand impression did not interest me. And it was a
mere group of smudges, after all. You are sure that it was a left hand?"

"Quite," he replied. "Blurred as the smudges were, one could make out
the relative lengths of the fingers. And there was the thumb mark at the
distal end of the palm, but pointing to the outer side of the hand. Try
how you may, you can't get a right hand into that position.

"Well, then, here was a crucial fact. The mark of a left hand on a left
hand proved the presence of a second person, and at once raised a strong
presumption of homicide, especially when considered in conjunction with
the unaccountable state of the body. During the evening, a visitor had
come and gone, and on him--Bilsky--the suspicion naturally fell. But
Mrs. Manford unwittingly threw an entirely new light on the case. You
remember she told us that her husband had opened a new bottle of hair
dye on the very morning before the explosion and had applied it with
unusual care. Then his hair was dyed. But the hair of the corpse was not
dyed. Therefore the corpse was not the corpse of Manford. Further, the
presumption of murder applied now to Manford, and the body almost
certainly was that of Bilsky."

"How did you deduce that the hair of the corpse was not dyed?" I asked.

"I didn't deduce it at all. I observed it. You remember a little patch
of hair above the right ear, very much singed but still recognisable as
hair? Well, in that patch I made out distinctly two or three white
hairs. Naturally, when Mrs. Manford spoke of the dye, I recalled those
white hairs, for though you may find silver hairs among the gold, you
don't find them among the dyed. So the corpse could not be Manford's and
was presumably that of Bilsky.

"But the instant that this presumption was made, a quantity of fresh
evidence arose to support it. The destruction of the body was now
understandable. Its purpose was to prevent identification. The parts
destroyed were the parts that had to be destroyed for that purpose: the
face was totally unrecognisable, and the right hand and right foot were
burnt and shattered to fragments. But these were Bilsky's personal
marks. His right hand was mutilated and his right foot deformed. And the
fact that the false teeth found were undoubtedly Manford's was
conclusive evidence of the intended deception.

"Then there were those very queer financial transactions, of which my
interpretation was this: Manford borrowed two thousand pounds from
Clines. With this he opened an account in the name of Elliott. As
Elliott, he lent himself two thousand pounds--with which he repaid
Clines--subject to an insurance of his life for that amount, taken out
in Elliott's name."

"Then he would have gained nothing," I objected.

"On the contrary, he would have stood to gain two thousand pounds on
proof of his own death. That, I assumed, was his scheme: to murder
Bilsky, to arrange for Bilsky's corpse to personate his own, and then,
when the insurance was paid, to abscond--in the company of some
woman--with this sum, with the valuables that he had taken from Bilsky,
and the five hundred pounds that he had withdrawn from the bank.

"But this was only theory. It had to be tested; and as we had Elliott's
address, I did the only thing that was possible. I employed our friend,
ex-sergeant Barber, to watch the house. He took lodgings in a house
nearly opposite and kept up continuous observation, which soon convinced
him that there was someone on the premises besides Mrs. Elliott. Then,
late one night, he saw a man come out and walk away quickly. He followed
the man for some distance, until the stranger turned back and began to
retrace his steps. Then Barber accosted him, asking for a direction, and
carefully inspecting him. The man's appearance tallied exactly with the
description that I had given--I had assumed that he would probably shave
off his beard--and with the photograph; so Barber, having seen him home,
reported to me. And that is the whole story."

"Not quite the whole," said Miller, with a sly grin. "There is that
smoke-rocket. If it hadn't been for the practical joker who slipped that
through the letter-slit, we could never have got into that house. I call
it a most remarkable coincidence."

"So do I," Thorndyke agreed, without moving a muscle; "but there is a
special providence that watches over medical jurists."

We were silent for a few moments. Then I remarked:

"This will come as a terrible shock to Mrs. Manford."

"I am afraid it will," Thorndyke agreed. "But it will be better for her
than if Manford had absconded with this woman, taking practically every
penny that he possessed with him. She stood to lose a worthless husband
in either event. At least we have saved her from poverty. And, knowing
the facts, we were morally and legally bound to further the execution of
justice."

"A very proper sentiment," said the superintendent, "though I am not
quite clear as to the legal aspects of that smoke-rocket."






[End of Gleanings from the Wreckage, by R. Austin Freeman]
