The Old Man in the Corner

  CHAPTER III

  HIS DEDUCTION

  The man in the corner cocked his funny thin head on one side and lookedat Polly; then he took up his beloved bit of string and deliberatelyuntied every knot he had made in it. When it was quite smooth he laid itout upon the table.

  "I will take you, if you like, point by point along the line ofreasoning which I followed myself, and which will inevitably lead you,as it led me, to the only possible solution of the mystery.

  "First take this point," he said with nervous restlessness, once moretaking up his bit of string, and forming with each point raised a seriesof knots which would have shamed a navigating instructor, "obviously itwas _impossible_ for Kershaw not to have been acquainted with Smethurst,since he was fully apprised of the latter's arrival in England by twoletters. Now it was clear to me from the first that _no one_ could havewritten those two letters except Smethurst. You will argue that thoseletters were proved not to have been written by the man in the dock.Exactly. Remember, Kershaw was a careless man--he had lost bothenvelopes. To him they were insignificant. Now it was never _disproved_that those letters were written by Smethurst."

  "But--" suggested Polly.

  "Wait a minute," he interrupted, while knot number two appeared upon thescene, "it was proved that six days after the murder, William Kershawwas alive, and visited the Torriani Hotel, where already he was known,and where he conveniently left a pocket-book behind, so that thereshould be no mistake as to his identity; but it was never questionedwhere Mr. Francis Smethurst, the millionaire, happened to spend thatvery same afternoon."

  "Surely, you don't mean?" gasped the girl.

  "One moment, please," he added triumphantly. "How did it come about thatthe landlord of the Torriani Hotel was brought into court at all? Howdid Sir Arthur Inglewood, or rather his client, know that WilliamKershaw had on those two memorable occasions visited the hotel, and thatits landlord could bring such convincing evidence forward that would forever exonerate the millionaire from the imputation of murder?"

  "Surely," I argued, "the usual means, the police--"

  "The police had kept the whole affair very dark until the arrest at theHotel Cecil. They did not put into the papers the usual: 'If anyonehappens to know of the whereabouts, etc. etc'. Had the landlord of thathotel heard of the disappearance of Kershaw through the usual channels,he would have put himself in communication with the police. Sir ArthurInglewood produced him. How did Sir Arthur Inglewood come on his track?"

  "Surely, you don't mean?"

  "Point number four," he resumed imperturbably, "Mrs. Kershaw was neverrequested to produce a specimen of her husband's handwriting. Why?Because the police, clever as you say they are, never started on theright tack. They believed William Kershaw to have been murdered; theylooked for William Kershaw.

  "On December the 31st, what was presumed to be the body of WilliamKershaw was found by two lightermen: I have shown you a photograph ofthe place where it was found. Dark and deserted it is in all conscience,is it not? Just the place where a bully and a coward would decoy anunsuspecting stranger, murder him first, then rob him of his valuables,his papers, his very identity, and leave him there to rot. The body wasfound in a disused barge which had been moored some time against thewall, at the foot of these steps. It was in the last stages ofdecomposition, and, of course, could not be identified; but the policewould have it that it was the body of William Kershaw.

  "It never entered their heads that it was the body of _FrancisSmethurst, and that William Kershaw was his murderer_.

  "Ah! it was cleverly, artistically conceived! Kershaw is a genius. Thinkof it all! His disguise! Kershaw had a shaggy beard, hair, andmoustache. He shaved up to his very eyebrows! No wonder that even hiswife did not recognize him across the court; and remember she never sawmuch of his face while he stood in the dock. Kershaw was shabby,slouchy, he stooped. Smethurst, the millionaire, might have served inthe Prussian army.

  "Then that lovely trait about going to revisit the Torriani Hotel. Justa few days' grace, in order to purchase moustache and beard and wig,exactly similar to what he had himself shaved off. Making up to looklike himself! Splendid! Then leaving the pocket-book behind! He! he! he!Kershaw was not murdered! Of course not. He called at the Torriani Hotelsix days after the murder, whilst Mr. Smethurst, the millionaire,hobnobbed in the park with duchesses! Hang such a man! Fie!"

  He fumbled for his hat. With nervous, trembling fingers he held itdeferentially in his hand whilst he rose from the table. Polly watchedhim as he strode up to the desk, and paid twopence for his glass of milkand his bun. Soon he disappeared through the shop, whilst she stillfound herself hopelessly bewildered, with a number of snap-shotphotographs before her, still staring at a long piece of string,smothered from end to end in a series of knots, as bewildering, asirritating, as puzzling as the man who had lately sat in the corner.