The Master Detective by Percy James Brebner
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Percy James Brebner >> The Master Detective
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A teaspoon clattered in a saucer as the woman sprang to her feet, and I
saw she was the woman who had pointed me out to the constable when I
had entered Gray's Inn on the morning after the murder. Cockran's face
was a study.
"You made a mistake," Quarles went on quietly. "I have worked it all out
in my own mind and I daresay there are some details missing. I will tell
you how I explain the mystery. Parrish, when in Italy, wronged some one
dear to you. You only heard of it afterwards. Personally you did not know
Parrish, but you found out what you could about him: that he was
connected with the law, that he lived in London, in one of the places
where lawyers do live. You determined to come to England for revenge. I
do not say you were not justified. I do not know the circumstances. That
was three years ago. An accident--was it the one at Basle, which occurred
about that time?--detained you, laid you aside for some months, perhaps.
You had not much money, you had to live, so your arrival in England was
delayed. When you got here, you took a post as waitress in Soho. Only in
your leisure time could you look for Mr. Parrish. At first, probably, you
knew nothing about the London Directory, and when you did, looked for the
name in the wrong part of it, and, of course, you would not ask questions
of any one. That might implicate you later on. At last you found him; saw
the name on the door. Possibly you have been waiting your opportunity for
some little time, but the other night it came. Of course, you could not
know there was a mistake. You heard Parrish speak of Italy, and when the
other man had departed you crept from your hiding place and struck your
blow; but you did not kill Parrish. Three years ago he was warned of his
danger, and got out of your way. He was warned that you had started for
England by Emanuele. Do you know him?"
The woman had stood tense and rigid, listening to this story of the
crime; now she collapsed.
"Emanuele!" she cried.
"I see you do know him," Quarles said. "You have my sympathy. It is
possible that the man Parrish deserved his fate, only it happens that
another has suffered in his place."
"It was my sister he wronged," said the woman.
"Was it fear that some evidence might be found against you which made you
point out a man whom you knew was innocent?" said Quarles.
She nodded, still sobbing.
"The rest is for you to manage," said Quarles, turning to the
inspector. "I suppose you are not likely to make any further mistakes.
This would all have been cleared up days ago if Wigan had not been
taken off the job."
I suppose Cockran felt a fool, as the professor intended he should.
There was little to be explained when I went to Chelsea later. Quarles's
reconstruction of the crime had showed me the lines along which he had
worked. The unopened letter from Rome had set him speculating with a view
to proving that the dead man was not Parrish; and whilst I had only
considered the change in character, he had had before him the possibility
of a separate identity.
"Still, I do not understand how you came to suspect the woman," I said.
"Her recognition of you was too prompt to carry conviction under the
circumstances," he answered. "The boy, who is in an office in Gray's Inn,
might have met you together. I have no doubt he did; but since the woman
had no business there, and if my theory were right, was concealed in
Parrish's chambers at the time, she could not have seen you, except in
the way I explained to her. Poor soul! I feel rather a cur for trapping
her, but you were in a tight hole, Wigan, and I had to get you out."
Evidence showing that Parrish was a heartless scoundrel, the jury found
extenuating circumstances for the woman, in spite of the fact that she
had murdered an innocent man, so she escaped the extreme penalty. I was
glad, although the strict justice of the verdict may be questioned. From
Italy, from Emanuele, who was the woman's cousin, we learnt that when
Parrish was in Italy he had a friend with him, an eccentric artist named
Langford. We found that an insurance company had an annuity in this name
which was not afterwards claimed. This fact, and the officials'
description of the man, left no doubt that the murdered man was Langford.
Emanuele had written two letters, as Quarles had surmised, and the first
had caused Parrish to get out of harm's way. Wishing to keep up his
chambers, he allowed Langford to occupy them; had perhaps left him the
money to pay the rent, the idea of danger to his friend probably never
occurring to him.
Naturally, Langford had not opened his letters, and, being an eccentric
and a recluse, had allowed people to call him Parrish without denying the
name when it happened that any one had to call him anything.
Since Parrish has never returned, even though the danger is past, it is
probable, I think, that he died abroad.
CHAPTER XI
THE STRANGE CASE OF DANIEL HARDIMAN
Not infrequently I am put in charge of cases which are of small
importance and might well be left to a less experienced man. I thought
the mystery of Daniel Hardiman was such a case. I even went further and
imagined that it was given to me because I was a bit under a cloud over
the Parrish affair. Quarles jeered at my imagination and was interested
from the outset, perhaps because he had had rather more of the
Psychological Society than was good for him. Anyway, he traveled north
with me to meet the liner _Slavonic_.
On the passenger list was the name Daniel Hardiman. He had come on board
at Montevideo in company with his man, John Bennett, who appeared to be
half servant, half companion. They had only a small amount of personal
luggage, one trunk each, but several stout packing-cases of various sizes
had been stored away in the hold. Hardiman had a first-class cabin to
himself; his man traveled second-class, but spent much of his time in his
master's cabin; indeed, for the first few days of the voyage Hardiman was
not seen except at meal times.
It was said amongst the crew--probably the servant had mentioned the
fact--that they were returning to England after an absence of many years,
during which time they had lived much alone; and amongst the passengers
it was agreed that there was something curious about the pair. There was
speculation upon the promenade deck and in the smoking-room; the gossip
was a pleasant interlude in the monotony of a long voyage. At the end of
a week, however, Mr. Hardiman no longer stayed in his cabin. At first he
paced the deck, thoughtfully, only in the early morning or late in the
evening, but later was to be found in a deck-chair, either gazing fixedly
at the horizon or interested in the games of the children on board. One
sturdy youngster, when recovering a ball which had rolled to Hardiman's
feet, spoke to him. All the answer he got was a nod of the head, but the
boy had broken the ice, and two men afterwards scraped acquaintance with
the curious traveler. One was a Mr. Majendie, who was going to England on
business; the other Sir Robert Gibbs, a Harley Street specialist, who had
broken down with hard work, and was making the round trip for the benefit
of his health.
By wireless, when the ship was two days from Liverpool, came the news
that Hardiman had been murdered by his man-servant, and it was in
consequence of this message that Christopher Quarles and I had gone north
to meet the boat on its arrival.
When we went on board the captain gave us the outline of Hardiman's
behavior during the voyage as I have here set it down. Quarles asked him
at once whether he thought that all the passengers, after landing, could
be traced if necessary. The captain seemed to consider this rather a tall
order, but thought all those who could possibly have had access to Mr.
Hardiman might be traced.
"It is a pity we cannot forbid any one to land until we like," said the
professor.
"There is not so much mystery about it as all that," said the captain,
"although it isn't quite plain sailing. One of our passengers, a swell
doctor, who examined the body with our ship's doctor directly after the
discovery, will give you the benefit of his opinion, and I am detaining
another passenger, a Mr. Majendie."
"Then there is some doubt as to the servant's guilt?" I said.
"I don't think so, but you shall hear the whole story."
"First, we should like to see the body," said Quarles. "We might be
influenced unconsciously by your tale. It is well to come to the heart of
the matter with an open mind."
The captain sent for the ship's doctor and a stewardess, and with them we
went to the cabin, which had been kept locked.
The body, which lay in the berth where it had been found, an upper berth
with a porthole, had been washed and attended to by the stewardess. The
lower berth had been used by the traveler for some of his clothes--they
were still there, neatly folded. The dead man's trunk was on a sofa on
the opposite side of the cabin, a sofa which could be made into a third
berth if necessary. Except that the body had been attended to, the cabin
was just as it had been found.
"I took the stained sheets away," said the stewardess, "but I thought it
would be wiser not to move him from the upper berth."
"It is a pity he couldn't have been left just as he was," Quarles
answered; "you have no doubt washed away all the evidence."
He was a long time examining the wound, a particularly jagged one in the
neck, a stab rather than a cut, but with something of both in it.
"Has the--the knife been found?" Quarles asked.
"No," answered the captain. "You hesitate in your question a little. You
are certain it was a knife, I suppose?"
"Yes, why do you ask?"
"His man says it was a bullet."
"A bullet!" and Quarles looked back at the wound.
"The servant Bennett does not deny that he killed his master," said the
doctor; "but he persists in saying that he had no knife."
"Has a revolver been found?" I asked.
"No, and no one heard any report," said the captain. "I cannot make this
fellow Bennett out. He seems to me rather mad. Besides, there are one or
two curious points. Would you like to hear them now?"
"Please," said Quarles.
With sailor-like directness the story was told in a straightforward
narrative, destitute of trimmings of any kind. A steward had gone to Mr.
Hardiman's cabin to take him a weak brandy-and-water; he had done the
same first thing every morning during the voyage. He saw Hardiman lying
with his face toward the cabin, one arm hanging over the side of the
berth. There was no sign of a struggle. The clothes were not thrown back,
but there was a considerable quantity of blood. Curiously enough, the
porthole had been unscrewed and was open. The steward fetched Dr.
Williams, the ship's doctor, who said death had probably occurred five or
six hours previously, a statement Sir Robert Gibbs corroborated. There
was no knife anywhere.
"The time of death is important," the captain went on. "Bennett has
occupied a second-class cabin with a man named Dowler, and on the night
of the murder Dowler, having taken something which disagreed with him,
was awake all night, and he declares that Bennett never stirred out of
his bunk. If the doctors are right, then Dowler's evidence provides
Bennett with an alibi, of which, however, he shows no anxiety to take
advantage. This cabin trunk, Mr. Quarles"--and the captain lifted up the
lid as he spoke--"this trunk is all Mr. Hardiman's cabin luggage. There
are some papers, chiefly in a kind of shorthand, which you will no doubt
examine presently, and these stones, merely small chunks of rock, as far
as I can see, although Sir Robert Gibbs suggests they may have value.
There are similar stones in Bennett's trunk. There is a curious incident
in connection with these bits of stone. On the night after the murder one
of the middle watch saw a man come on deck and hastily fling something
overboard. At least, that was the intention, apparently, but as a fact,
either through agitation or a bad aim, the packet did not go overboard,
but landed on a coil of rope on the lower deck forward. It proved to be a
small canvas bag containing seven of these bits of rock, or, at any rate,
pieces like them. Now, the man on the watch is not inclined to swear to
it, but he believes the thrower was Majendie. Majendie denies it."
"You are an excellent witness, Captain," said Quarles as he took up two
or three of the bits of rock and looked at them. "Is Mr. Majendie annoyed
at not being allowed to land at once?"
"On the contrary, he is keen to give us all the help in his power. He is
a fairly well-known man on the other side, has means and position, and,
personally, I have little doubt that the watch was mistaken. You see, the
servant does not deny his guilt."
"Would Bennett be likely to be in the place where the watch saw this
man?" I asked.
"Not under ordinary circumstances, but if he had been trying to get into
the locked cabin he would be."
"I think if we could have a few words with Sir Robert Gibbs it would be
useful," said Quarles. "Have you the canvas bag of stones?"
"Yes, locked up in my cabin. I will send and ask Sir Robert to join
us there."
"And could you get a knife?" asked the professor. "Any old knife will do,
a rusty one for preference."
A few minutes later we were in the captain's cabin, and on the table was
the bag of stones and a rusty and much-worn table-knife. Dr. Williams
had just explained to us his reasons for fixing the time of death when
Sir Robert entered. He was a man with a pronounced manner, inclined to
take the lead in any company in which he found himself, and was very
certain of his own opinion. On the way to the cabin Quarles had
whispered to me to take the lead in asking questions, and to leave him
in the background as much as possible, so after the captain's short
introductions I began at once:
"I may take it, Sir Robert, that you agree with Dr. Williams as to the
time Hardiman had been dead when you saw the body?"
"Certainly."
"And in your opinion the wound could not, under any circumstances, have
been caused by a bullet?"
"Certainly not," and he smiled at the futility of the question.
"The bullet might have been a peculiar one," I suggested, "different from
any with which we are familiar. The servant, who does not deny his guilt,
says it was a bullet."
"And I say it was not," Sir Robert answered. "No kind of bullet could
make such a wound. A knife with a point to it was used. The action would
be a stab and a pull sideways. I am of the opinion that the blow was
struck while the victim was in a deep sleep. I think Dr. Williams
agrees with me."
Williams nodded.
"You would otherwise have expected to find some signs of a
struggle?" I said.
"I should. It is quite possible, I think, that at times Mr. Hardiman had
recourse to a draught or a tablet to induce sleep."
"I understand that you had some conversation with Mr. Hardiman during the
voyage, Sir Robert. Were you struck by any peculiarity in him?"
"He was an eccentric man, but a man of parts undoubtedly. He told me very
little about himself, but I gathered that he had traveled extensively,
and out of the beaten track. I put down his difficulty in sustaining a
conversation to this fact. He seemed in good health--one of those wiry
men who can stand almost anything."
"Sir Robert, could it possibly have been a case of suicide?" Quarles
asked, suddenly leaning forward.
"Have you examined the wound carefully?" asked the doctor.
"I have."
"If you will try to stab yourself like that you will see how impossible
it is. Besides, you forget that no knife has been found, and in a case of
suicide it would have been. I may add that the knife used was not in the
least like the one I see on the table there."
"It must have had a point, you think?" said Quarles.
"I do not think--I am certain."
"Did Mr. Hardiman ever say anything about these bits of rock to you?"
"Never," answered the doctor. "I think I suggested to the captain
that they might be valuable. I have no knowledge on the point, but I
cannot conceive a man like Hardiman carrying them about unless they
were of value."
"I take it he is a geologist," Quarles said carelessly.
Sir Robert would like to have been present throughout our inquiry, but
the professor firmly but courteously objected. He said it would not be
fair to those chiefly concerned, and he appealed to me to endorse his
opinion. The doctor had raised a spirit of antagonism in him. They were
both too dogmatic to agree easily.
The sailor of the watch was next interviewed, a good, honest seaman who
evidently had a wholesome dread of the law in any form. He thought it
was Mr. Majendie he had seen on the deck that night, but he would, not
swear to it.
"Are you sure it wasn't Bennett?" I asked.
"Ay, sir, I'm pretty sure of that."
"What is it that particularly makes you think it was Mr. Majendie?"
"I just think it, sir; I can't rightly say why."
"What did he do, exactly?" said Quarles. "Just show me--show me his
action. Here are the bits of rock in the bag; take the bag up and pretend
to pitch it into the sea, as he did."
The sailor took up the bag and did so. His pantomime was quite realistic.
"I note that you turn your back to us," said Quarles.
"Ay, sir, because his back was turned to me. It wasn't until he made the
action of throwing--just like that, it was--that I knew he had anything
in his hand."
"Did you call out to him?"
"No; he was there and gone directly."
"It was a bad throw, too?"
"Ay, sir, it was; he did it awkward, something like women throws when
they ain't used to throwing."
"That good fellow would feel far more uncomfortable in the witness-box
than most criminals do in the dock," said Quarles when the sailor had
gone. "He is as certain that it was Mr. Majendie as he is certain of
anything, but he is not going to commit himself. Shall we have a talk
with Mr. Majendie next? Let me question him, Wigan."
Majendie's appearance was in his favor. He might be a villain, but he
didn't look it. There was Southern warmth in his countenance and temper
in his dark eyes, but his smile was prepossessing.
"A sailor's absurd mistake has put you to great inconvenience, I fear,"
said Quarles.
"The inconvenience is nothing," was the answer. "I court enquiry."
"Of course you were not on the deck that night?"
"No."
"It is Mr. Hardiman's past I want to get at," said the professor. "You
had some talk with him during the voyage; what did you think was his
business in life?"
"He was a traveler. I think he had been where no other civilized man has
been. He did not directly tell me so, but I fancy he had wandered in the
interior of Patagonia."
"Should you say he was a geologist?"
"No," said Majendie with a smile. "He showed me some pieces of rock he
had with him; indeed, I am suspected of flinging some of these bits of
rock away in that canvas bag I see there. Is it likely I should do
anything so foolish? It is part of my business to know something of bits
of rock and blue clay and the like, and unless I am much mistaken those
bits of rock are uncut diamonds."
"Diamonds!" I exclaimed.
"Yellow diamonds of a kind that are very rarely found," Majendie
answered. "I may be mistaken, but that is my opinion. If I am right, the
actual gem, when cut, would be comparatively small. It is enclosed, as it
were, in a thick casing of rock."
"Did Hardiman know this?" Quarles asked.
"I am not sure. In the course of conversation I told him that I knew
something about diamonds, and he asked me into his cabin to show me some
bits of rock he had in his trunk. He spoke of them as bits of rock, but
he may have known what they really were."
"Did he give you this invitation quite openly?" asked Quarles.
"Oh, yes. There were others sitting near us who must have overheard it. I
went with him, and gave him my opinion as I have given it to you. Of
course, there may not be a jewel at the heart of every bit of rock; no
doubt there are a great many quite useless bits in Hardiman's
collection."
"This is very interesting," said Quarles. "Would you look at the pieces
in that bag and tell us if any of them are useless."
Majendie spent some minutes in examining them, and then gave it as his
opinion that they all contained a jewel.
"Now that knife--"
"I thought no knife had been found," said Majendie.
"That has just been found on the ship," said Quarles. "It is an absurd
question, but as a matter of form I must ask it. Have you ever seen that
knife before?"
Majendie took it up and looked at it.
"Hardiman was apparently stabbed with a rusty knife," Quarles remarked.
"Stabbed! You could not stab any one with this, and certainly I have
never seen it before."
I did not understand why Quarles was passing this off as the real
weapon. He took it up, grasped it firmly, and stabbed the air with it.
"I don't know, it might--"
He shook his head and put the knife on the table again. Majendie took it
up and in his turn stabbed the air with it.
"Utterly impossible," he said. "This could not have been the knife used;
besides, there would surely be stains on it."
"I am inclined to think you are right," said Quarles. "You must forgive
the captain for detaining you, Mr. Majendie, and of course you can land
this afternoon. The captain wishes us to lunch on board; perhaps you
will join us?"
"With pleasure. So long as I am in London to-night no harm is done."
When he had gone Quarles turned to the captain.
"Pardon my impudence, but we must not lose sight of Majendie. You must
follow him this afternoon, Wigan, and locate him in London. You must
have him watched until we get to the bottom of this affair. Now let us
see Bennett."
The man-servant proved to be a bundle of nerves, and it was hardly to be
wondered at if the story he told was true. A question or two set him
talking without any reticence apparently.
Time seemed to have lost half its meaning for him. He could not fix how
long he and his master had been away from England; many years was all he
could say. They had traveled much in South America, latterly in the wilds
of Patagonia. There they had fallen into the hands of savages, and for a
long time were not sure of their lives from hour to hour. Always Mr.
Hardiman seemed able to impress their captors that he was a dangerous
man to kill; fooled them, in fact, until they came to consider him a god.
Master and man were presently lodged in a temple, and were witnesses of
some horrible rites which they dared not interfere with. Finally, at a
great feast, Hardiman succeeded in convincing them that he was their
national and all-powerful deity, and that he had come to give them
victory over all their enemies. By his command the wooden figure of one
of their gods was taken from the temple, and, together with two curious
drums used for religious purposes, and other sacred things, was carried
through the forest to a certain spot which Hardiman indicated. The whole
company was then to go back three days' march, spend seven days in
religious feasting, and return. In the meanwhile he and his servant must
be left quite alone with these sacred things.
"I suppose they returned," Bennett went on, "but they did not find us.
They did not find anything. The spot my master had fixed upon was within
a day's march of help. We set out as soon as those devils had left us,
and, having got assistance, my master would go back and fetch the wooden
figure and the other things. They are in the cases in this ship."
"What was the main object of your master's travels?" I asked.
"He was writing a book about tribes and their customs."
"And he took a great interest in stones and bits of rock?"
"That was only recently, and I never understood it, sir. He put some in
my trunk and some in his own, but what they were for I do not know. I
don't suppose he did himself. He was always peculiar."
"Always or recently, do you mean?" Quarles asked.
"Always, but more so lately. Can you wonder after all we went through?
You can't imagine the horrors that were done in that heathen temple."
He told us some of them, but I shall not set them down here. It is enough
to say that human sacrifices were offered. The mere remembrance of
Bennett's narrative makes me shudder.
"It is a wonder it did not drive you both mad," said Quarles.
"That is what the master was afraid of," was the answer, "and it is the
cause of all this trouble. He did not seem to think it would affect me,
but he was very much afraid for himself."
"He told you so?"
"He did more than that. He said that if I saw he was going mad I was to
shoot him, and so--"
"Wait a minute," said Quarles, "when did he say this to you?"
"The first time was when we got those things from the place in the forest
where they had been left. Then he said it two or three times during the
voyage. The last time was when I was cutting his nails."
"Cutting his nails?" I said.
"Yes, sir. Mr. Hardiman could never cut the nails on his right hand. He
was very helpless with his left hand in things like that, always was. On
this particular day he said his hand was growing stronger, and declared
it all was because of will-power. He was quite serious about it, and then
he was suddenly afraid he was growing mad. 'Shoot me if I am going mad,
Bennett.' That is what he said."
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