The Mystery of 31 New Inn

  Chapter VII

  The Cuneiform Inscription

  The surprise which Thorndyke's proceedings usually occasioned,especially to lawyers, was principally due, I think, to my friend'shabit of viewing occurrences from an unusual standpoint. He did not lookat things quite as other men looked at them. He had no prejudices and heknew no conventions. When other men were cocksure, Thorndyke wasdoubtful. When other men despaired, he entertained hopes; and thus ithappened that he would often undertake cases that had been rejectedcontemptuously by experienced lawyers, and, what is more, would bringthem to a successful issue.

  Thus it had been in the only other case in which I had been personallyassociated with him--the so-called "Red Thumb Mark" case. There he waspresented with an apparent impossibility; but he had given it carefulconsideration. Then, from the category of the impossible he had broughtit to that of the possible; from the merely possible to the actuallyprobable; from the probable to the certain; and in the end had won thecase triumphantly.

  Was it conceivable that he could make anything of the present case? Hehad not declined it. He had certainly entertained it and was probablythinking it over at this moment. Yet could anything be more impossible?Here was the case of a man making his own will, probably writing it outhimself, bringing it voluntarily to a certain place and executing it inthe presence of competent witnesses. There was no suggestion of anycompulsion or even influence or persuasion. The testator was admittedlysane and responsible; and if the will did not give effect to hiswishes--which, however, could not be proved--that was due to his owncarelessness in drafting the will and not to any unusual circumstances.And the problem--which Thorndyke seemed to be considering--was how toset aside that will.

  I reviewed the statements that I had heard, but turn them about as Iwould, I could get nothing out of them but confirmation of Mr.Marchmont's estimate of the case. One fact that I had noted with somecuriosity I again considered; that was Thorndyke's evident desire toinspect Jeffrey Blackmore's chambers. He had, it is true, shown noeagerness, but I had seen at the time that the questions which he put toStephen were put, not with any expectation of eliciting information butfor the purpose of getting an opportunity to look over the roomshimself.

  I was still cogitating on the subject when my colleague returned,followed by the watchful Polton with the tea-tray, and I attacked himforthwith.

  "Well, Thorndyke," I said, "I have been thinking about this Blackmorecase while you have been gadding about."

  "And may I take it that the problem is solved?"

  "No, I'm hanged if you may. I can make nothing of it."

  "Then you are in much the same position as I am."

  "But, if you can make nothing of it, why did you undertake it?"

  "I only undertook to think about it," said Thorndyke. "I never reject acase off-hand unless it is obviously fishy. It is surprising howdifficulties, and even impossibilities, dwindle if you look at themattentively. My experience has taught me that the most unlikely case is,at least, worth thinking over."

  "By the way, why do you want to look over Jeffrey's chambers? What doyou expect to find there?"

  "I have no expectations at all. I am simply looking for stray facts."

  "And all those questions that you asked Stephen Blackmore; had younothing in your mind--no definite purpose?"

  "No purpose beyond getting to know as much about the case as I can."

  "But," I exclaimed, "do you mean that you are going to examine thoserooms without any definite object at all?"

  "I wouldn't say that," replied Thorndyke. "This is a legal case. Let meput an analogous medical case as being more within your present sphere.Supposing that a man should consult you, say, about a progressive lossof weight. He can give no explanation. He has no pain, no discomfort, nosymptoms of any kind; in short, he feels perfectly well in everyrespect; but he is losing weight continuously. What would you do?"

  "I should overhaul him thoroughly," I answered.

  "Why? What would you expect to find?"

  "I don't know that I should start by expecting to find anything inparticular. But I should overhaul him organ by organ and function byfunction, and if I could find nothing abnormal I should have to give itup."

  "Exactly," said Thorndyke. "And that is just my position and my line ofaction. Here is a case which is perfectly regular and straightforwardexcepting in one respect. It has a single abnormal feature. And for thatabnormality there is nothing to account.

  "Jeffrey Blackmore made a will. It was a well-drawn will and itapparently gave full effect to his intentions. Then he revoked that willand made another. No change had occurred in his circumstances or in hisintentions. The provisions of the new will were believed by him to beidentical with those of the old one. The new will differed from the oldone only in having a defect in the drafting from which the first willwas free, and of which he must have been unaware. Now why did he revokethe first will and replace it with another which he believed to beidentical in its provisions? There is no answer to that question. It isan abnormal feature in the case. There must be some explanation of thatabnormality and it is my business to discover it. But the facts in mypossession yield no such explanation. Therefore it is my purpose tosearch for new facts which may give me a starting-point for aninvestigation."

  This exposition of Thorndyke's proposed conduct of the case, reasonableas it was, did not impress me as very convincing. I found myself comingback to Marchmont's position, that there was really nothing in dispute.But other matters claimed our attention at the moment, and it was notuntil after dinner that my colleague reverted to the subject.

  "How should you like to take a turn round to New Inn this evening?" heasked.

  "I should have thought," said I, "that it would be better to go bydaylight. Those old chambers are not usually very well illuminated."

  "That is well thought of," said Thorndyke. "We had better take a lampwith us. Let us go up to the laboratory and get one from Polton."

  "There is no need to do that," said I. "The pocket-lamp that you lent meis in my overcoat pocket. I put it there to return it to you."

  "Did you have occasion to use it?" he asked.

  "Yes. I paid another visit to the mysterious house and carried out yourplan. I must tell you about it later."

  "Do. I shall be keenly interested to hear all about your adventures. Isthere plenty of candle left in the lamp?"

  "Oh yes. I only used it for about an hour."

  "Then let us be off," said Thorndyke; and we accordingly set forth onour quest; and, as we went, I reflected once more on the apparentvagueness of our proceedings. Presently I reopened the subject withThorndyke.

  "I can't imagine," said I, "that you have absolutely nothing in view.That you are going to this place with no defined purpose whatever."

  "I did not say exactly that," replied Thorndyke. "I said that I was notgoing to look for any particular thing or fact. I am going in the hopethat I may observe something that may start a new train of speculation.But that is not all. You know that an investigation follows a certainlogical course. It begins with the observation of the conspicuous facts.We have done that. The facts were supplied by Marchmont. The next stageis to propose to oneself one or more provisional explanations orhypotheses. We have done that, too--or, at least I have, and I supposeyou have."

  "I haven't," said I. "There is Jeffrey's will, but why he should havemade the change I cannot form the foggiest idea. But I should like tohear your provisional theories on the subject."

  "You won't hear them at present. They are mere wild conjectures. But toresume: what do we do next?"

  "Go to New Inn and rake over the deceased gentleman's apartments."

  Thorndyke smilingly ignored my answer and continued--

  "We examine each explanation in turn and see what follows from it;whether it agrees with all the facts and leads to the discovery of newones, or, on the other hand, disagrees with some facts or leads us to anabsurdity. Let us take a simple example.

  "Suppo
se we find scattered over a field a number of largish masses ofstone, which are entirely different in character from the rocks found inthe neighbourhood. The question arises, how did those stones get intothat field? Three explanations are proposed. One: that they are theproducts of former volcanic action; two: that they were brought from adistance by human agency; three: that they were carried thither fromsome distant country by icebergs. Now each of those explanationsinvolves certain consequences. If the stones are volcanic, then theywere once in a state of fusion. But we find that they are unalteredlimestone and contain fossils. Then they are not volcanic. If they wereborne by icebergs, then they were once part of a glacier and some ofthem will probably show the flat surfaces with parallel scratches whichare found on glacier-borne stones. We examine them and find thecharacteristic scratched surfaces. Then they have probably been broughtto this place by icebergs. But this does not exclude human agency, forthey might have been brought by men to this place from some other wherethe icebergs had deposited them. A further comparison with other factswould be needed.

  "So we proceed in cases like this present one. Of the facts that areknown to us we invent certain explanations. From each of thoseexplanations we deduce consequences; and if those consequences agreewith new facts, they confirm the explanation, whereas if they disagreethey tend to disprove it. But here we are at our destination."

  We turned out of Wych Street into the arched passage leading into NewInn, and, halting at the half-door of the lodge, perceived a stout,purple-faced man crouching over the fire, coughing violently. He held uphis hand to intimate that he was fully occupied for the moment, and weaccordingly waited for his paroxysm to subside. At length he turnedtowards us, wiping his eyes, and inquired our business.

  "Mr. Stephen Blackmore," said Thorndyke, "has given me permission tolook over his chambers. He said that he would mention the matter toyou."

  "So he has, sir," said the porter; "but he has just taken the keyhimself to go to the chambers. If you walk across the Inn you'll findhim there; it's on the farther side; number thirty-one, second floor."

  We made our way across to the house indicated, the ground floor of whichwas occupied by a solicitor's offices and was distinguished by agood-sized brass plate. Although it had now been dark some time therewas no light on the lower stairs, but we encountered on the first-floorlanding a man who had just lit the lamp there. Thorndyke halted toaddress him.

  "Can you tell me who occupies the chambers on the third floor?"

  "The third floor has been empty about three months," was the reply.

  "We are going up to look at the chambers on the second floor," saidThorndyke. "Are they pretty quiet?"

  "Quiet!" exclaimed the man. "Lord bless you the place is like a cemeteryfor the deaf and dumb. There's the solicitors on the ground floor andthe architects on the first floor. They both clear out about six, andwhen they're gone the house is as empty as a blown hegg. I don't wonderpoor Mr. Blackmore made away with his-self. Livin' up there all alone,it must have been like Robinson Crusoe without no man Friday and noteven a blooming goat to talk to. Quiet! It's quiet enough, if that'swhat you want. Wouldn't be no good to me."

  With a contemptuous shake of the head, he turned and retired down thenext flight, and, as the echoes of his footsteps died away we resumedour ascent.

  "So it would appear," Thorndyke commented, "that when Jeffrey Blackmorecame home that last evening, the house was empty."

  Arrived on the second-floor landing, we were confronted by asolid-looking door on the lintel of which the deceased man's name waspainted in white lettering which still looked new and fresh. Thorndykeknocked at the door, which was at once opened by Stephen Blackmore.

  "I haven't wasted any time before taking advantage of your permission,you see," my colleague said as we entered.

  "No, indeed," said Stephen; "you are very prompt. I have been ratherwondering what kind of information you expect to gather from aninspection of these rooms."

  Thorndyke smiled genially, amused, no doubt, by the similarity ofStephen's remarks to those of mine which he had so recently criticized.

  "A man of science, Mr. Blackmore," he said, "expects nothing. Hecollects facts and keeps an open mind. As to me, I am a mere legalAutolycus, a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles of evidence. When I haveaccumulated a few facts, I arrange them, compare them and think aboutthem. Sometimes the comparison yields new matter and sometimes itdoesn't; but in any case, believe me, it is a capital error to decidebeforehand what data are to be sought for."

  "Yes, I suppose that is so," said Stephen; "though, to me, it almostlooks as if Mr. Marchmont was right; that there is nothing toinvestigate."

  "You should have thought of that before you consulted me," laughedThorndyke. "As it is, I am engaged to look into the case and I shall doso; and, as I have said, I shall keep an open mind until I have all thefacts in my possession."

  He glanced round the sitting-room, which we had now entered, andcontinued:

  "These are fine, dignified old rooms. It seems a sin to have covered upall this oak panelling and that carved cornice and mantel with paint.Think what it must have been like when the beautiful figured wood wasexposed."

  "It would be very dark," Stephen observed.

  "Yes," Thorndyke agreed, "and I suppose we care more for light and lessfor beauty than our ancestors did. But now, tell me; looking round theserooms, do they convey to you a similar impression to that which the oldrooms did? Have they the same general character?"

  "Not quite, I think. Of course the rooms in Jermyn Street were in adifferent kind of house, but beyond that, I seem to feel a certaindifference; which is rather odd, seeing that the furniture is the same.But the old rooms were more cosy, more homelike. I find something ratherbare and cheerless, I was almost going to say squalid, in the look ofthese chambers."

  "That is rather what I should have expected," said Thorndyke. "The opiumhabit alters a man's character profoundly; and, somehow, apart from themere furnishing, a room reflects in some subtle way, but verydistinctly, the personality of its occupant, especially when thatoccupant lives a solitary life. Do you see any evidences of theactivities that used to occupy your uncle?"

  "Not very much," replied Stephen. "But the place may not be quite as heleft it. I found one or two of his books on the table and put them backin the shelves, but I found no manuscript or notes such as he used tomake. I noticed, too, that his ink-slab which he used to keep soscrupulously clean is covered with dry smears and that the stick of inkis all cracked at the end, as if he had not used it for months. It seemsto point to a great change in his habits."

  "What used he to do with Chinese ink?" Thorndyke asked.

  "He corresponded with some of his native friends in Japan, and he usedto write in the Japanese character even if they understood English. Thatwas what he chiefly used the Chinese ink for. But he also used to copythe inscriptions from these things." Here Stephen lifted from themantelpiece what looked like a fossil Bath bun, but was actually a claytablet covered with minute indented writing.

  "Your uncle could read the cuneiform character, then?"

  "Yes; he was something of an expert. These tablets are, I believe,leases and other legal documents from Eridu and other Babylonian cities.He used to copy the inscriptions in the cuneiform writing and thentranslate them into English. But I mustn't stay here any longer as Ihave an engagement for this evening. I just dropped in to get these twovolumes--Thornton's History of Babylonia, which he once advised me toread. Shall I give you the key? You'd better have it and leave it withthe porter as you go out."

  He shook hands with us and we walked out with him to the landing andstood watching him as he ran down the stairs. Glancing at Thorndyke bythe light of the gas lamp on the landing, I thought I detected in hisimpassive face that almost imperceptible change of expression to which Ihave already alluded as indicating pleasure or satisfaction.

  "You are looking quite pleased with yourself," I remarked.

  "I am not displeased," he rep
lied calmly. "Autolycus has picked up a fewcrumbs; very small ones, but still crumbs. No doubt his learned juniorhas picked up a few likewise?"

  I shook my head--and inwardly suspected it of being rather a thick head.

  "I did not perceive anything in the least degree significant in whatStephen was telling you," said I. "It was all very interesting, but itdid not seem to have any bearing on his uncle's will."

  "I was not referring only to what Stephen has told us, although thatwas, as you say, very interesting. While he was talking I was lookingabout the room, and I have seen a very strange thing. Let me show it toyou."

  He linked his arm in mine and, walking me back into the room, haltedopposite the fire-place.

  "There," said he, "look at that. It is a most remarkable object."

  THE INVERTED INSCRIPTION.]

  I followed the direction of his gaze and saw an oblong frame enclosing alarge photograph of an inscription in the weird and cabalisticarrow-head character. I looked at it in silence for some seconds andthen, somewhat disappointed, remarked:

  "I don't see anything very remarkable in it, under the circumstances. Inany ordinary room it would be, I admit; but Stephen has just told usthat his uncle was something of an expert in cuneiform writing."

  "Exactly," said Thorndyke. "That is my point. That is what makes it soremarkable."

  "I don't follow you at all," said I. "That a man should hang upon hiswall an inscription that is legible to him does not seem to me at allout of the way. It would be much more singular if he should hang up aninscription that he could not read."

  "No doubt," replied Thorndyke. "But you will agree with me that it wouldbe still more singular if a man should hang upon his wall an inscriptionthat he could read--and hang it upside down."

  I stared at Thorndyke in amazement.

  "Do you mean to tell me," I exclaimed, "that that photograph is reallyupside down?"

  "I do indeed," he replied.

  "But how do you know? Have we here yet another Oriental scholar?"

  Thorndyke chuckled. "Some fool," he replied, "has said that 'a littleknowledge is a dangerous thing.' Compared with much knowledge, it maybe; but it is a vast deal better than no knowledge. Here is a case inpoint. I have read with very keen interest the wonderful history of thedecipherment of the cuneiform writing, and I happen to recollect one ortwo of the main facts that seemed to me to be worth remembering. Thisparticular inscription is in the Persian cuneiform, a much more simpleand open form of the script than the Babylonian or Assyrian; in fact, Isuspect that this is the famous inscription from the gateway atPersepolis--the first to be deciphered; which would account for itspresence here in a frame. Now this script consists, as you see, of twokinds of characters; the small, solid, acutely pointed characters whichare known as wedges, and the larger, more obtuse characters, somewhatlike our government broad arrows, and called arrow-heads. The names arerather unfortunate, as both forms are wedge-like and both resemblearrow-heads. The script reads from left to right, like our own writing,and unlike that of the Semitic peoples and the primitive Greeks; and therule for the placing of the characters is that all the 'wedges' point tothe right or downwards and the arrow-head forms are open towards theright. But if you look at this photograph you will see that all thewedges point upwards to the left and that the arrow-head characters areopen towards the left. Obviously the photograph is upside down."

  "But," I exclaimed, "this is really most mysterious. What do you supposecan be the explanation?"

  "I think," replied Thorndyke, "that we may perhaps get a suggestion fromthe back of the frame. Let us see."

  He disengaged the frame from the two nails on which it hung, and,turning it round, glanced at the back; which he then presented for myinspection. A label on the backing paper bore the words, "J. Budge,Frame-maker and Gilder, 16, Gt. Anne Street, W.C."

  "Well?" I said, when I had read the label without gathering from itanything fresh.

  "The label, you observe, is the right way up as it hangs on the wall."

  "So it is," I rejoined hastily, a little annoyed that I had not beenquicker to observe so obvious a fact. "I see your point. You mean thatthe frame-maker hung the thing upside down and Jeffrey never noticed themistake?"

  "That is a perfectly sound explanation," said Thorndyke. "But I thinkthere is something more. You will notice that the label is an old one;it must have been on some years, to judge by its dingy appearance,whereas the two mirror-plates look to me comparatively new. But we cansoon put that matter to the test, for the label was evidently stuck onwhen the frame was new, and if the plates were screwed on at the sametime, the wood that they cover will be clean and new-looking."

  He drew from his pocket a "combination" knife containing, among otherimplements, a screw-driver, with which he carefully extracted the screwsfrom one of the little brass plates by which the frame had beensuspended from the nails.

  "You see," he said, when he had removed the plate and carried thephotograph over to the gasjet, "the wood covered by the plate is asdirty and time-stained as the rest of the frame. The plates have beenput on recently."

  "And what are we to infer from that?"

  "Well, since there are no other marks of plates or rings upon theframe, we may safely infer that the photograph was never hung up untilit came to these rooms."

  "Yes, I suppose we may. But what then? What inference does that leadto?"

  Thorndyke reflected for a few moments and I continued:

  "It is evident that this photograph suggests more to you than it does tome. I should like to hear your exposition of its bearing on the case, ifit has any."

  "Whether or no it has any real bearing on the case," Thorndyke answered,"it is impossible for me to say at this stage. I told you that I hadproposed to myself one or two hypotheses to account for and explainJeffrey Blackmore's will, and I may say that the curious misplacement ofthis photograph fits more than one of them. I won't say more than that,because I think it would be profitable to you to work at this caseindependently. You have all the facts that I have and you shall have acopy of my notes of Marchmont's statement of the case. With thismaterial you ought to be able to reach some conclusion. Of courseneither of us may be able to make anything of the case--it doesn't lookvery hopeful at present--but whatever happens, we can compare notesafter the event and you will be the richer by so much experience ofactual investigation. But I will start you off with one hint, which isthis: that neither you nor Marchmont seem to appreciate in the least thevery extraordinary nature of the facts that he communicated to us."

  "I thought Marchmont seemed pretty much alive to the fact that it was avery queer will."

  "So he did," agreed Thorndyke. "But that is not quite what I mean. Thewhole set of circumstances, taken together and in relation to oneanother, impressed me as most remarkable; and that is why I am giving somuch attention to what looks at first sight like such a very unpromisingcase. Copy out my notes, Jervis, and examine the facts critically. Ithink you will see what I mean. And now let us proceed."

  He replaced the brass plate and having reinserted the screws, hung upthe frame, and proceeded to browse slowly round the room, stopping nowand again to inspect the Japanese colour-prints and framed photographsof buildings and other objects of archaeological interest that formedthe only attempts at wall-decoration. To one of the former he drew myattention.

  "These things are of some value," he remarked. "Here is one byUtamaro--that little circle with the mark over it is his signature--andyou notice that the paper is becoming spotted in places with mildew. Thefact is worth noting in more than one connection."

  I accordingly made a mental note and the perambulation continued.

  "You observe that Jeffrey used a gas-stove, instead of a coal fire, nodoubt to economize work, but perhaps for other reasons. Presumably hecooked by gas, too; let us see."

  We wandered into the little cupboard-like kitchen and glanced round. Aring-burner on a shelf, a kettle, a frying-pan and a few pieces ofcrockery were its
sole appointments. Apparently the porter was correctin his statement as to Jeffrey's habits.

  Returning to the sitting-room, Thorndyke resumed his inspection, pullingout the table drawers, peering inquisitively into cupboards andbestowing a passing glance on each of the comparatively few objects thatthe comfortless room contained.

  "I have never seen a more characterless apartment," was his finalcomment. "There is nothing that seems to suggest any kind of habitualactivity on the part of the occupant. Let us look at the bedroom."

  We passed through into the chamber of tragic memories, and, whenThorndyke had lit the gas, we stood awhile looking about us in silence.It was a bare, comfortless room, dirty, neglected and squalid. The bedappeared not to have been remade since the catastrophe, for anindentation still marked the place where the corpse had lain, and even aslight powdering of ash could still be seen on the shabby counterpane.It looked to me a typical opium-smoker's bedroom.

  "Well," Thorndyke remarked at length, "there is character enoughhere--of a kind. Jeffrey Blackmore would seem to have been a man of fewneeds. One could hardly imagine a bedroom in which less attention seemedto have been given to the comfort of the occupant."

  He looked about him keenly and continued: "The syringe and the rest ofthe lethal appliances and material have been taken away, I see.Probably the analyst did not return them. But there are the opium-pipeand the jar and the ash-bowl, and I presume those are the clothes thatthe undertakers removed from the body. Shall we look them over?"

  He took up the clothes which lay, roughly folded, on a chair and heldthem up, garment by garment.

  "These are evidently the trousers," he remarked, spreading them out onthe bed. "Here is a little white spot on the middle of the thigh whichlooks like a patch of small crystals from a drop of the solution. Justlight the lamp, Jervis, and let us examine it with a lens."

  I lit the lamp, and when we had examined the spot minutely andidentified it as a mass of minute crystals, Thorndyke asked:

  "What do you make of those creases? You see there is one on each leg."

  "It looks as if the trousers had been turned up. But if they have beenthey must have been turned up about seven inches. Poor Jeffrey couldn'thave had much regard for appearances, for they would have been rightabove his socks. But perhaps the creases were made in undressing thebody."

  "That is possible," said Thorndyke: "though I don't quite see how itwould have happened. I notice that his pockets seem to have beenemptied--no, wait; here is something in the waistcoat pocket."

  He drew out a shabby, pigskin card-case and a stump of lead pencil, atwhich latter he looked with what seemed to me much more interest thanwas deserved by so commonplace an object.

  "The cards, you observe," said he, "are printed from type, not from aplate. I would note that fact. And tell me what you make of that."

  He handed me the pencil, which I examined with concentrated attention,helping myself even with the lamp and my pocket lens. But even withthese aids I failed to discover anything unusual in its appearance.Thorndyke watched me with a mischievous smile, and, when I had finished,inquired:

  "Well; what is it?"

  "Confound you!" I exclaimed. "It's a pencil. Any fool can see that, andthis particular fool can't see any more. It's a wretched stump of apencil, villainously cut to an abominably bad point. It is coloured darkred on the outside and was stamped with some name that began withC--O--Co-operative Stores, perhaps."

  "Now, my dear Jervis," Thorndyke protested, "don't begin by confusingspeculation with fact. The letters which remain are C--O. Note that factand find out what pencils there are which have inscriptions beginningwith those letters. I am not going to help you, because you can easilydo this for yourself. And it will be good discipline even if the factturns out to mean nothing."

  At this moment he stepped back suddenly, and, looking down at the floor,said:

  "Give me the lamp, Jervis, I've trodden on something that felt likeglass."

  I brought the lamp to the place where he had been standing, close bythe bed, and we both knelt on the floor, throwing the light of the lampon the bare and dusty boards. Under the bed, just within reach of thefoot of a person standing close by, was a little patch of fragments ofglass. Thorndyke produced a piece of paper from his pocket anddelicately swept the little fragments on to it, remarking:

  "By the look of things, I am not the first person who has trodden onthat object, whatever it is. Do you mind holding the lamp while Iinspect the remains?"

  I took the lamp and held it over the paper while he examined the littleheap of glass through his lens.

  "Well," I asked. "What have you found?"

  "That is what I am asking myself," he replied. "As far as I can judge bythe appearance of these fragments, they appear to be portions of a smallwatch-glass. I wish there were some larger pieces."

  "Perhaps there are," said I. "Let us look about the floor under thebed."

  We resumed our groping about the dirty floor, throwing the light of thelamp on one spot after another. Presently, as we moved the lamp about,its light fell on a small glass bead, which I instantly picked up andexhibited to Thorndyke.

  "Is this of any interest to you?" I asked.

  Thorndyke took the bead and examined it curiously.

  "It is certainly," he said, "a very odd thing to find in the bedroom ofan old bachelor like Jeffrey, especially as we know that he employed nowoman to look after his rooms. Of course, it may be a relic of the lasttenant. Let us see if there are any more."

  We renewed our search, crawling under the bed and throwing the light ofthe lamp in all directions over the floor. The result was the discoveryof three more beads, one entire bugle and the crushed remains ofanother, which had apparently been trodden on. All of these, includingthe fragments of the bugle that had been crushed, Thorndyke placedcarefully on the paper, which he laid on the dressing-table the moreconveniently to examine our find.

  "I am sorry," said he, "that there are no more fragments of thewatch-glass, or whatever it was. The broken pieces were evidently pickedup, with the exception of the one that I trod on, which was an isolatedfragment that had been overlooked. As to the beads, judging by theirnumber and the position in which we found some of them--that crushedbugle, for instance--they must have been dropped during Jeffrey'stenancy and probably quite recently."

  "What sort of garment do you suppose they came from?" I asked.

  "They may have been part of a beaded veil or the trimming of a dress,but the grouping rather suggests to me a tag of bead fringe. The colouris rather unusual."

  "I thought they looked like black beads."

  "So they do by this light, but I think that by daylight we shall findthem to be a dark, reddish-brown. You can see the colour now if you lookat the smaller fragments of the one that is crushed."

  He handed me his lens, and, when I had verified his statement, heproduced from his pocket a small tin box with a closely-fitting lid inwhich he deposited the paper, having first folded it up into a smallparcel.

  "We will put the pencil in too," said he; and, as he returned the box tohis pocket he added: "you had better get one of these little boxes fromPolton. It is often useful to have a safe receptacle for small andfragile articles."

  He folded up and replaced the dead man's clothes as we had found them.Then, observing a pair of shoes standing by the wall, he picked them upand looked them over thoughtfully, paying special attention to the backsof the soles and the fronts of the heels.

  "I suppose we may take it," said he, "that these are the shoes that poorJeffrey wore on the night of his death. At any rate there seem to be noothers. He seems to have been a fairly clean walker. The streets wereshockingly dirty that day, as I remember most distinctly. Do you see anyslippers? I haven't noticed any."

  He opened and peeped into a cupboard in which an overcoat surmounted bya felt hat hung from a peg like an attenuated suicide; he looked in allthe corners and into the sitting-room, but no slippers were to be seen.

 
"Our friend seems to have had surprisingly little regard for comfort,"Thorndyke remarked. "Think of spending the winter evenings in damp bootsby a gas fire!"

  "Perhaps the opium-pipe compensated," said I; "or he may have gone tobed early."

  "But he did not. The night porter used to see the light in his rooms atone o'clock in the morning. In the sitting-room, too, you remember. Buthe seems to have been in the habit of reading in bed--or perhapssmoking--for here is a candlestick with the remains of a whole dynastyof candles in it. As there is gas in the room, he couldn't have wantedthe candle to undress by. He used stearine candles, too; not the commonparaffin variety. I wonder why he went to that expense."

  "Perhaps the smell of the paraffin candle spoiled the aroma of theopium," I suggested; to which Thorndyke made no reply but continued hisinspection of the room, pulling out the drawer of the washstand--whichcontained a single, worn-out nail-brush--and even picking up andexamining the dry and cracked cake of soap in the dish.

  "He seems to have had a fair amount of clothing," said Thorndyke, whowas now going through the chest of drawers, "though, by the look of it,he didn't change very often, and the shirts have a rather yellow andfaded appearance. I wonder how he managed about his washing. Why, hereare a couple of pairs of boots in the drawer with his clothes! And hereis his stock of candles. Quite a large box--though nearly empty now--ofstearine candles, six to the pound."

  He closed the drawer and cast another inquiring look round the room.

  "I think we have seen all now, Jervis," he said, "unless there isanything more that you would like to look into?"

  "No," I replied. "I have seen all that I wanted to see and more than Iam able to attach any meaning to. So we may as well go."

  I blew out the lamp and put it in my overcoat pocket, and, when we hadturned out the gas in both rooms, we took our departure.

  As we approached the lodge, we found our stout friend in the act ofretiring in favour of the night porter. Thorndyke handed him the key ofthe chambers, and, after a few sympathetic inquiries, about hishealth--which was obviously very indifferent--said:

  "Let me see; you were one of the witnesses to Mr. Blackmore's will, Ithink?"

  "I was, sir," replied the porter.

  "And I believe you read the document through before you witnessed thesignature?"

  "I did, sir."

  "Did you read it aloud?"

  "Aloud, sir! Lor' bless you, no, sir! Why should I? The other witnessread it, and, of course, Mr. Blackmore knew what was in it, seeing thatit was in his own handwriting. What should I want to read it aloud for?"

  "No, of course you wouldn't want to. By the way, I have been wonderinghow Mr. Blackmore managed about his washing."

  The porter evidently regarded this question with some disfavour, for hereplied only with an interrogative grunt. It was, in fact, rather an oddquestion.

  "Did you get it done for him," Thorndyke pursued.

  "No, certainly not, sir. He got it done for himself. The laundry peopleused to deliver the basket here at the lodge, and Mr. Blackmore used totake it in with him when he happened to be passing."

  "It was not delivered at his chambers, then?"

  "No, sir. Mr. Blackmore was a very studious gentleman and he didn't liketo be disturbed. A studious gentleman would naturally not like to bedisturbed."

  Thorndyke cordially agreed with these very proper sentiments and finallywished the porter "good night." We passed out through the gateway intoWych Street, and, turning our faces eastward towards the Temple, setforth in silence, each thinking his own thoughts. What Thorndyke's wereI cannot tell, though I have no doubt that he was busily engaged inpiecing together all that he had seen and heard and considering itspossible application to the case in hand.

  As to me, my mind was in a whirl of confusion. All this searching andexamining seemed to be the mere flogging of a dead horse. The will wasobviously a perfectly valid and regular will and there was an end of thematter. At least, so it seemed to me. But clearly that was notThorndyke's view. His investigations were certainly not purposeless;and, as I walked by his side trying to conceive some purpose in hisactions, I only became more and more mystified as I recalled them oneby one, and perhaps most of all by the cryptic questions that I had justheard him address to the equally mystified porter.