The Master Detective by Percy James Brebner

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Had I? It couldn't have been a dream, and yet faith in myself was shaken.
It was possible I had only walked across the room a second time in my
dreams. One thing is certain, I did not fall asleep again that night.

I had arranged with the constable in Manleigh Road that he should keep a
careful watch at dawn. We should leave then by the same way as we had
entered, and he was to signal to us if the coast was clear.

It was an essential part of my plan that no one should know the house had
been occupied that night. I had kept watch, thinking that if harm were
intended to Quarles the trap would be made ready previously. How and by
whom I had not fully considered. Now I determined not to leave the house
during the day.

I would be there when Quarles came that night.

I scribbled a note to him, explaining what I was doing, and I said that
if the agent should accompany him to the house I would remain hidden
until the agent had gone. This note I gave to Burroughs, and instructed
him to explain matters to the constable.

I had provided myself with a flask and some dry biscuits in case of
contingencies, and prepared to pass the day as comfortably as I could. It
is needless to say that in daylight I examined that haunted room again,
especially the looking-glass.

It was in an ornamental wooden frame fixed on the wall, formed, in fact,
a finish to a wooden dado. It was like the fixed overmantel one finds
sometimes in small modern villas, only it wasn't over the mantelpiece.

I think there was nothing in the room which I did not examine carefully,
but I did not sit there; I preferred the front room.

It was an immense relief when I saw Quarles and another man, the agent,
come through the gate.

It was between eight and nine, and I retired to the basement to be out of
the way. The agent stayed about half an hour, and they were chiefly in
the haunted room together.

"I sincerely hope your report will set at rest this silly idea that the
house is haunted," I heard the agent say as they came down to the hall.
"When my client returns he will be pretty mad about it."

"When does he return?" asked Quarles.

"I don't know. I haven't had a line from him since he went away, but
the sum I have received for him in rent doesn't amount to much, I can
tell you."

I expected to find the professor rather ill-tempered at my interference,
but I found him inclined to raillery.

"Are you hunting a murderer or a ghost, Wigan?" he asked.

"I am not quite sure, but I think at the back of my mind there is an idea
to keep you out of the clutches of the subtle personality of whom you are
afraid. Come up to the haunted room; we will talk there, but it must be
in whispers. If I have had any success it is believed that you are in
this house alone to-night."

"A foolish old man alone, eh?"

"In this instance I am inclined to answer yes."

"You are quite right to say exactly what you think," he returned.

"Have you considered the possibility that some one is trading on your
known enthusiasm for psychological research?" I asked.

"Surely you do not mean Randall?"

"No, but he may have been used as a tool. Frankly now, would you have
undertaken this business just at the present time had it not been for
Dr. Randall?"

"Probably not."

"So if you are being deceived it is being managed very subtly."

"You are full of supposition. Let us get to work. You speak in your
letter of an experience you had last night. What was it?"

"You will say no doubt that my fear of the supernatural got the
better of me."

I told him the story of the looking-glass as we stood in front of it, our
two faces looking out at us dimly.

"Come away from it now, Wigan," he said when I had finished. "Burroughs
thought you had fallen asleep, did he? You are convinced you were not
dreaming, I presume?"

"At the time I confess Burroughs rather shook my faith in myself, but
during the day I have become certain that I did not sleep."

Sitting on the other side of the bed--Quarles was very particular where
he sat in the room--he questioned me closely about the actions of the
shadows, and I answered him as well as I could. Only a very vague picture
was in my mind.

"It may astonish you to know, Wigan, that it was only your note this
morning which brought me to this house at all to-night, I 'phoned to you
at least a dozen times yesterday."

"Why?"

"I was afraid of to-night. Perhaps for the time being I have lost my grip
a little on account of my nervous condition. I have had a long talk with
Dr. Bates, and he tried to persuade me to give up the idea of spending a
night here alone. He was rather doubtful about a supernatural solution to
the mystery. Then I didn't like the agent when I went to him to arrange
about the key. I shouldn't have entered the house with him to-night had I
not known you were here."

"Anything else?" I asked.

"Always that strong presentiment of danger," he answered. "Were these
hangings on the bed last night?"

"It was exactly as you see it now."

"The agent said the mattress and blankets had been put here for my
convenience."

"Did he say when they were put here?"

"I thought he meant to-day," said Quarles.

"No one has entered the house to-day," I answered.

"Yet, if Greaves was murdered, some one must have gained access to this
room somehow, in spite of the locked door and fastened window."

"You have dropped the idea of the supernatural, then?"

"I am keeping an open mind."

"Shall we give it up and go, Professor?"

"Certainly not. I am supposed to be alone in the house, so we will
await events. On the other side of that wall where the glass hangs is
No. 5, I suppose?"

"Yes."

"That is the boarding-house. Keep still a minute while I get an idea of
the furniture against this opposite wall. Randall said a man and his four
daughters lived at No. 9, didn't he?"

I whispered an affirmative, and could dimly see the professor going
slowly along the wall. He began tapping things, apparently with a
pocket knife.

I warned him not to make a noise.

"I am known to be here," he answered, coming back to me. "A man who
undertakes to investigate the supernatural would be expected to take
precautions that no tricks were likely to be played upon him. It would be
suspicious if I didn't make a little noise. Now we will settle ourselves.
I shall lie on the bed. You move a chair under that glass and sit there.
I have an electric torch with me. Don't fall asleep to-night, Wigan."

"I didn't last night," I answered.

After that we were silent, and the vigil began. In one way it was a
repetition of the previous night. I lost count of time, and had sudden
desires to move, but managed to control them.

Certainly I did not sleep, and I fought successfully against the hypnotic
influence which silence and darkness exert. Not a sound of movement came
from Quarles, not a murmur from the world outside.

More than once I wanted to ask the professor whether he was all right,
but did not do so.

It seemed that this utter silence had lasted for hours, when it was
broken, not suddenly, but gradually. It was not a sound so much as a
movement which broke it. Some one or something was near us. At first it
did not seem to be in the room, but as if it were trying to get in. I
could not tell where it was, but for a time it was outside, and then just
as certainly I knew that it was in.

I cannot say positively that I heard a footfall on the carpet, but I
think I did, and then came an unmistakable sound; the swish of the bed
hangings suddenly drawn back.

"Quarles!"

Whether I shouted his name or whispered it, I do not know, but the next
moment a ray from the electric torch cut the darkness like a long sword.

There was a low, almost inarticulate cry, then a light thud upon the
floor--so light it might have been some clothes falling from the bed.

"Don't move, Wigan!" Quarles said, and a second afterwards he
fired--downwards it must have been, although he had warned me to keep
still, in case he should hit me.

There was an unearthly yell, and something rushed past my feet--a man on
all fours, a little man, a--

"The glass, Wigan! Quick!"

I sprang up. For just an instant I saw my own reflection, then it was
gone; instead, I was looking into a luminous mist out of which there
suddenly flashed a face looking into mine.

I saw it quite clearly, and then it went as quickly as it had come. It
appeared to have been jerked away.

"Look!"

Quarles was behind me, and in the glass, almost as I had seen them last
night, were the shadows, only now they struggled and twisted first; it
was afterwards that one lay still across the bed.

"An ape, Wigan!" Quarles said excitedly. "An ape, trained to imitate, and
now--did some one look through the glass?"

"Yes."

"Was it Dr. Randall?"

Directly he asked the question I knew that it was the doctor's face which
had been there.

"The subtle personality, Wigan."

"When did you guess?"

"I didn't guess--I didn't think it possible. Bates' disbelief in the
supernatural made me a little suspicious, but I didn't think it possible.
To-night--that ape--the whole plot--I could only think of Randall. There
was no one else."

We left the house at once, both of us in an excited state.

The constable I had on special duty soon had several others with him, and
before dawn No. 5 Manleigh Road was raided.

It was only a garbled statement which got into the papers, and
probably the whole truth will never be known; but I gradually gathered
the main facts, partly from the doctor's confederates, partly from
some of his victims.

Dr. Randall, posing as a nerve specialist, and fully qualified to do so,
had lived a double life. As a doctor he was respected and was fairly
successful; as the head and organizer of a small army of miscreants he
had been eminent for years.

Under the guise of a respectable boarding-house, No. 5 had been used
as the headquarters of the gang, and the operations had been so
widespread, so all-embracing in the field of crime, that after the
raid many mysteries which the police had failed to unravel were
credited to Randall. Many of these he could have had nothing to do
with, but he had quite enough to answer for. He seems to have
exercised a kind of terrorism over his subordinates, or he would
surely have been betrayed before.

Exactly at what point my investigations had jeopardized his secret I
could not find out, but he evidently thought it was in danger, and
believing Quarles was responsible, he determined to get rid of him.

I was told that he had made two attempts upon his life before the night
he was introduced to him in the Temple. That night Quarles was followed
when he left the Temple, and, as we know, was shot at in Savoy Street.

This attempt failing, the doctor, who had already asked Quarles to dinner
on the following night as an extra precaution, determined to use a method
which had already proved successful.

Quarles's enthusiasm for psychological research could hardly fail to
tempt him into the trap.

No. 7 Manleigh Road belonged to a man in the doctor's employment. It had
been prepared for eventualities some time before--probably tragedies had
occurred in the house which had never been heard of. The house agent was
one of the gang, and when, either by mistake or because he could not help
himself without causing undesirable comment, he let the house to the
young married couple, they were frightened away. The house was then let
to Greaves, a man who had become a danger to the doctor, and in due
course he was found dead in his bed.

Between the fireplace of the haunted room and that of the corresponding
room in No. 5 part of the chimney wall had been removed, so that there
was sufficient space for the ape to get from one room to the other.

This ape, some four feet in height, was exceedingly powerful and more
than usually imitative, but was not naturally vicious. Any action done in
its presence the animal would be certain to repeat at the first
opportunity; but having done so, it did not repeat it again unless the
action was performed again. The action of strangling a man in his sleep
by means of a cord was performed before the ape, and afterwards the
animal was allowed to steal through the hole in the chimney. The result
was that Greaves was found dead.

It was intended that Quarles should die in a like manner, and special
pains were taken with the ape to insure success. The action was performed
before the animal in every detail more than once, and it was kept in
strict confinement until the right moment came.

The ape was out of my sight, but I chanced to see the imitation in
progress on the Thursday night through the glass, which had unaccountably
been left open for some minutes after it had been tried to see that it
was in working order. I saw only dimly because the imitation was being
done by the light of a single candle, and that shaded as much as
possible, to suggest to the ape the gloomy conditions of the room in
which it was to repeat its lesson. Let into the wall of the room in the
boarding-house there was a glass backing on to the one in the haunted
room. A small handle swung aside the back, which was common to both, and
the looking-glass became a window from one room to the other.

When he fired Quarles evidently hit the ape. Mad with pain, the animal
dashed back through the hole in the chimney and attacked the doctor, who
was probably taken entirely unawares, as he was looking through the glass
to see what the revolver shot might mean.

The ape went through its part of the performance, and the doctor fell a
victim to his own diabolical ingenuity. The wounded animal had to be
shot before any one could get near the body.

Some people have declared that Dr. Randall was a madman, but I think
Quarles' answer hit the truth.

"Of course, in a sense, all criminals are mad," he said, "but Randall was
the sanest criminal I ever came in contact with."

CHAPTER V

THE DIFFICULTY OF BROTHER PYTHAGORAS

Whether it was my statement that criminals had grown cleverer than they
used to be which aroused Quarles's interest so effectually, or whether it
was that success made him thirst for further fields to conquer, I do not
know. I do know, however, that he grew restless if any considerable time
elapsed without my having a clue worthy of his powers.

As it happened we had two or three cases close together which stretched
his powers to the utmost, and the extremely subtle manner in which he
solved them shows him at his best.

When I sent him a telegram from Fairtown, merely requesting him to join
me there, I felt certain he would come by the first available train, and
was at the station to meet him.

"Fine, invigorating air this, Wigan," he remarked. "Is there really a
case for us to deal with, or did you merely telegraph for the purpose of
giving me a holiday?"

"The case is for you rather than for me. I am still--"

"Still waiting for something to turn up in the Beverley affair?" he
asked.

"Were I answering a layman, or even a rival detective, I should look very
wise and talk indefinitely of clues; to you I will admit a blank ten
days, not a forward step in any direction whatever."

"So you send for me."

"Upon a different matter altogether," I returned.

I had come to Fairtown ten days ago on the lookout for a man named
Beverley. His friends were anxious about him, and said they believed he
was suffering from a loss of memory; the police had reason to suspect
that he was implicated in some company-promoting frauds, and thought the
family only wanted to find him to get him out of the country. His people
were certainly not aware that I was looking for him in Fairtown, and I
need not go into the reasons which made me expect to run my quarry to
earth in this particular spot; they were sound ones, or I should not have
spent ten days on the job.

To describe Fairtown would be superfluous. Every one knows this popular
seaside resort. This year, I believe for the first time, a large tent had
been erected behind the sea-baths building, which was occupied each week
by a different company of entertainers. In my second week a troupe of
pierrots was there, the "Classical P's," they were called, and hearing
from some one in the hotel that they were quite out of the ordinary, I
went on the Thursday evening. At the opening of the performance the
leader of the troupe announced that Brother Pythagoras, after the
performance on the previous evening, had been obliged to go to town, and
unfortunately had not yet returned, so they would be without his services
that night. There was some disappointment; he had a charming tenor voice,
my neighbor told me. The full troupe numbered six, described on the
program as Brothers Pluto, Pompey, and Pythagoras, and Sisters Psyche,
Pomona, and Penelope; that night, of course, they were only five, but the
entertainment was excellent.

Sister Pomona was altogether an exceptional pianist, her interpretation
of items by Schumann and Mendelssohn being little short of a revelation.
She was pretty, too, and her scarlet dress with its white pompons, and
her pierrot's hat to match, suited her to perfection.

I was amongst the last left in the tent after the performance, partly
owing to the position of my seat, partly, at least so Zena would have it
later, and I did not contradict her, because I was lingering in the hope
of getting another glimpse of Pomona. As I moved toward the exit there
came a short scream, a terrified scream it seemed to me, from behind the
stage. I turned back and waited, and in a minute or two Brother Pluto
came from behind the curtains.

"Are you a doctor?" he asked.

"No, but--"

"I am a doctor," said a voice behind me.

I was not invited, but I followed the doctor. The space available for
the artistes was very small. There was little more than passageway
between the tent wall and the stage built up some three feet from the
ground, and we had to step over the various paraphernalia which was
necessary for the performance. What had happened was this. A projecting
piece of woodwork had caught Pomona's dress as she passed, tearing off
one of the white pompons, which had rolled underneath the platform. She
saw it, as she supposed, lying in a dark corner, and stooped to reach
it. What she had caught sight of, and what she caught hold of, was a
man's hand, a cold hand. Brothers Pluto and Pompey were beside her a
moment afterwards, and had dragged a body from under the stage. It was
Brother Pythagoras, the performer who was supposed to have gone to
London on the previous night. He was dressed in his pierrot costume,
but had been dead some hours, the doctor said, death being due to a blow
on the head, from a stick, probably.

I told the story to Quarles as we walked to the hotel.

"Does the doctor suggest an accident?" he asked.

"No."

"How long, in his opinion, had the man been dead?"

"Some hours."

"Twenty-four?"

"I particularly asked that question," I answered. "He thought death had
taken place that day."

"It may be an interesting case," said Quarles doubtfully. "I suppose I
can see the body."

"I have arranged that."

"Who are these brothers and sisters?"

"Pluto and Psyche are husband and wife, a Mr. and Mrs. Watson. She is a
Colonial, and he has been in the Colonies for a year or two. It is their
second season of entertaining in this country. Pompey, whose name is
Smith, and Penelope, otherwise Miss Travers, have been with them from the
first. Pomona, otherwise Miss Day, only joined them this season, and is
evidently a lady. The dead man, Henley by name, joined them after the
season had commenced, taking the place of a man who fell ill. He has been
very reticent about himself."

"According to Watson, I suppose?" said Quarles.

"They were all agreed upon that point," I answered.

"On what points were they not agreed?" Quarles asked quickly.

"Well, although they all spoke in the warmest terms of their comrade, it
struck me they were not all so fond of him as they made out."

"What makes you think that?"

"The way they looked at the dead man. Naturally, I was watching them
rather keenly as the doctor made his examination."

"That is rather an interesting idea, Wigan, and has possibilities in it;
still, a murdered man is not a pleasant sight, and the artistic
temperament must be taken into consideration."

We went to the mortuary that afternoon. The dead man was still in the
pierrot's dress--I had arranged this should be so, wishing to afford the
professor every facility in his investigation. He was more interested in
the dress than in the man, examining it very carefully with his lens. The
stockings and shoes came in for close inspection, also the comical
pierrot's hat, which he fitted to the dead man's head for a moment.

"Had he his hat on when he was pulled from under the platform?" he asked.

"No. It was found after the doctor's examination, close to where the body
had been."

"Who found it?"

"Watson--Brother Pluto."

"Who first thought of looking for it?" Quarles asked.

"I think Watson just stooped down and saw it. He would naturally think of
it, since it was part of the dress."

The professor nodded, as if the explanation satisfied him. Then he looked
at the head, neck, and hands.

"He was a singer, you say?"

"Yes--a tenor."

"What instrument did he play?"

"I don't know."

"Ah, a sad end. Henley, you say his name was--I see there is 'H' marked
in pencil in his hat."

"He called himself Henley," I answered; "it may not have been his real
name. As I said, his companions know very little about him."

"So his friends, if he has any, cannot be advised of the tragedy. This
company of mummers is alone in its mourning for him. I should like to
examine this hat more closely, Wigan. Can I take it away with me?"

I arranged for him to do so, and we went back to the hotel.

"Do you find it an interesting case, Professor?" I asked.

"It certainly presents some difficulties which are interesting. The clue
may lie in Henley's unknown past, and that might be a difficulty not to
be overcome; or we may find the clue in jealousy."

"You surely are not thinking that--"

"Oh, I have not got so far as suspecting Watson or any of his
companions," said Quarles, "but certain facts force us to keep an open
mind, Wigan. To begin with, there was apparently no struggle before
death. The blow was not so severe that a comparatively weak arm might not
have delivered it, a woman's, for the sake of argument. We may,
therefore, deduct two theories at once. He probably had no suspicion or
fear of the person in whose company he was, and I think the doctor will
endorse our statement if we affirm that he was not in a healthy
condition. Personally, I should credit Henley with a fairly rapid past,
which may account for his companions not looking upon the body with any
particular kindness, as you noticed."

"You seem to have built more on that idea of mine than I
intended," I said.

"I have built nothing at all on it," he answered. "I argue entirely from
the appearance of the dead man. Another point. I looked for some sign
that the dress had been put on after the man was dead. The signs all
point to an opposite conclusion."

"The dress puzzles me," I said.

"Of course, if the doctor were not so certain that death had occurred
during the day, we might place the murder at some time on the previous
night, after the performance, when Henley would naturally be in his
pierrot's dress, but why should he put it on during the day. There was no
rehearsal, I suppose?"

"Nothing was said about it; besides, Henley was supposed to be in town."

"Yes, I know. That is one of our difficulties. I take it that
neither Watson nor any of his company have offered any explanation
of the tragedy?"

"I believe not. I saw the local inspector this morning, and he said
nothing further had transpired, nor had any clue been found amongst the
dead man's effects. Of course, if his companions had any guilty knowledge
they would have made some explanation."

"Why?"

"To mislead us."

"My dear Wigan, there are times when you jump as far to a conclusion
as a woman."

"I am arguing from a somewhat ripe experience," I retorted
somewhat hotly.

"Strengthened by an interest in Sister Pomona, eh? Something of the
old-fashioned school lingers about you, which is picturesque but always a
handicap in these days. The methods of crime have changed just as the
methods of other enterprises have changed. Your bungling villain has no
chance nowadays; to succeed a criminal must be an artist, a scientist
even, and he does not fall into the error of accusing himself by
excusing himself. And since increased knowledge tends to simplify those
explanations with which we have sought to explain away difficulties in
the past, I think we shall be wise to apply modern methods to any
difficulty with which we are confronted."

Naturally, I argued the point, endeavoring to justify myself, and in the
process we nearly quarreled.

That night we went to the entertainment. It was an exceedingly full
house, showing the commercial wisdom of the proprietors of the sea-baths
in not canceling the engagement. The verve and go in the performance
astonished me. One would not have supposed that a tragedy had happened in
this little company of players. I felt that they ought to be horribly
conscious of the ghastly thing which had been found under that platform
only a few hours since. I said something of the kind to Quarles.

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