III.
THE CASE OF MR. FOGGATT.
Almost the only dogmatism that Martin Hewitt permitted himself in regardto his professional methods was one on the matter of accumulativeprobabilities. Often when I have remarked upon the apparently trivialnature of the clews by which he allowed himself to be guided--sometimes,to all seeming, in the very face of all likelihood--he has replied thattwo trivialities, pointing in the same direction, became at once, by theirmere agreement, no trivialities at all, but enormously importantconsiderations. "If I were in search of a man," he would say, "of whom Iknew nothing but that he squinted, bore a birthmark on his right hand, andlimped, and I observed a man who answered to the first peculiarity, so farthe clue would be trivial, because thousands of men squint. Now, if thatman presently moved and exhibited a birthmark on his right hand, thevalue of that squint and that mark would increase at once a hundred ora thousand fold. Apart they are little; together much. The weight ofevidence is not doubled merely; it would be only doubled if half the menwho squinted had right-hand birthmarks; whereas the proportion, if itcould be ascertained, would be, perhaps, more like one in ten thousand.The two trivialities, pointing in the same direction, become very strongevidence. And, when the man is seen to walk with a limp, that limp(another triviality), re-enforcing the others, brings the matter to therank of a practical certainty. The Bertillon system of identification--whatis it but a summary of trivialities? Thousands of men are of the sameheight, thousands of the same length of foot, thousands of the same girthof head--thousands correspond in any separate measurement you may name. Itis when the measurements are taken _together_ that you have your manidentified forever. Just consider how few, if any, of your friendscorrespond exactly in any two personal peculiarities." Hewitt's dogmareceived its illustration unexpectedly close at home.
The old house wherein my chambers and Hewitt's office were situatedcontained, besides my own, two or three more bachelors' dens, in additionto the offices on the ground and first and second floors. At the very topof all, at the back, a fat, middle-aged man, named Foggatt, occupied a setof four rooms. It was only after a long residence, by an accidental remarkof the housekeeper's, that I learned the man's name, which was not paintedon his door or displayed, with all the others, on the wall of theground-floor porch.
Mr. Foggatt appeared to have few friends, but lived in something as nearlyapproaching luxury as an old bachelor living in chambers can live. Anascending case of champagne was a common phenomenon of the staircase, andI have more than once seen a picture, destined for the top floor, of asort that went far to awaken green covetousness in the heart of a poorjournalist.
The man himself was not altogether prepossessing. Fat as he was, he had away of carrying his head forward on his extended neck and gazing widelyabout with a pair of the roundest and most prominent eyes I remember tohave ever seen, except in a fish. On the whole, his appearance was rathervulgar, rather arrogant, and rather suspicious, without any verypronounced quality of any sort. But certainly he was not pretty. In theend, however, he was found shot dead in his sitting-room.
It was in this way: Hewitt and I had dined together at my club, and latein the evening had returned to my rooms to smoke and discuss whatever cameuppermost. I had made a bargain that day with two speculative odd lots ata book sale, each of which contained a hidden prize. We sat talking andturning over these books while time went unperceived, when suddenly wewere startled by a loud report. Clearly it was in the building. Welistened for a moment, but heard nothing else, and then Hewitt expressedhis opinion that the report was that of a gunshot. Gunshots in residentialchambers are not common things, wherefore I got up and went to thelanding, looking up the stairs and down.
At the top of the next flight I saw Mrs. Clayton, the housekeeper. Sheappeared to be frightened, and told me that the report came from Mr.Foggatt's room. She thought he might have had an accident with the pistolthat usually lay on his mantel-piece. We went upstairs with her, and sheknocked at Mr. Foggatt's door.
There was no reply. Through the ventilating fanlight over the door itcould be seen that there were lights within, a sign, Mrs. Claytonmaintained, that Mr. Foggatt was not out. We knocked again, much moreloudly, and called, but still ineffectually. The door was locked, and anapplication of the housekeeper's key proved that the tenant's key had beenleft in the lock inside. Mrs. Clayton's conviction that "something hadhappened" became distressing, and in the end Hewitt pried open the doorwith a small poker.
Something _had_ happened. In the sitting-room Mr. Foggatt sat with hishead bowed over the table, quiet and still. The head was ill to look at,and by it lay a large revolver, of the full-sized army pattern. Mrs.Clayton ran back toward the landing with faint screams.
"Run, Brett!" said Hewitt; "a doctor and a policeman!"
I bounced down the stairs half a flight at a time. "First," I thought, "adoctor. He may not be dead." I could think of no doctor in the immediateneighborhood, but ran up the street away from the Strand, as being themore likely direction for the doctor, although less so for the policeman.It took me a good five minutes to find the medico, after being led astrayby a red lamp at a private hotel, and another five to get back, with apoliceman.
Foggatt was dead, without a doubt. Probably had shot himself, the doctorthought, from the powder-blackening and other circumstances. Certainlynobody could have left the room by the door, or he must have passed mylanding, while the fact of the door being found locked from the insidemade the thing impossible. There were two windows to the room, both ofwhich were shut, one being fastened by the catch, while the catch of theother was broken--an old fracture. Below these windows was a sheer drop offifty feet or more, without a foot or hand-hold near. The windows in theother rooms were shut and fastened. Certainly it seemed suicide--unless itwere one of those accidents that will occur to people who fiddleignorantly with firearms. Soon the rooms were in possession of the police,and we were turned out.
We looked in at the housekeeper's kitchen, where her daughter was revivingand calming Mrs. Clayton with gin and water.
"You mustn't upset yourself, Mrs. Clayton," Hewitt said, "or what willbecome of us all? The doctor thinks it was an accident."
He took a small bottle of sewing-machine oil from his pocket and handed itto the daughter, thanking her for the loan.
* * * * *
There was little evidence at the inquest. The shot had been heard, thebody had been found--that was the practical sum of the matter. No friendsor relatives of the dead man came forward. The doctor gave his opinion asto the probability of suicide or an accident, and the police evidencetended in the same direction. Nothing had been found to indicate that anyother person had been near the dead man's rooms on the night of thefatality. On the other hand, his papers, bankbook, etc., proved him to bea man of considerable substance, with no apparent motive for suicide. Thepolice had been unable to trace any relatives, or, indeed, any nearerconnections than casual acquaintances, fellow-clubmen, and so on. The juryfound that Mr. Foggatt had died by accident.
"Well, Brett," Hewitt asked me afterward, "what do you think of theverdict?"
I said that it seemed to be the most reasonable one possible, and tosquare with the common-sense view of the case.
"Yes," he replied, "perhaps it does. From the point of view of the jury,and on their information, their verdict was quite reasonable.Nevertheless, Mr. Foggatt did not shoot himself. He was shot by a rathertall, active young man, perhaps a sailor, but certainly a gymnast--a youngman whom I think I could identify if I saw him."
"But how do you know this?"
"By the simplest possible inferences, which you may easily guess, if youwill but think."
"But, then, why didn't you say this at the inquest?"
"My dear fellow, they don't want any inferences and conjectures at aninquest; they only want evidence. If I had traced the murderer, of coursethen I should have communicated with the police. As a matter of fact, itis quite possible that the poli
ce have observed and know as much as Ido--or more. They don't give everything away at an inquest, you know. Itwouldn't do."
"But, if you are right, how did the man get away?"
"Come, we are near home now. Let us take a look at the back of the house.He _couldn't_ have left by Foggatt's landing door, as we know; and as he_was_ there (I am certain of that), and as the chimney is out of thequestion--for there was a good fire in the grate--he must have gone out bythe window. Only one window is possible--that with the broken catch--forall the others were fastened inside. Out of that window, then, he went."
"But how? The window is fifty feet up."
"Of course it is. But why _will_ you persist in assuming that the only wayof escape by a window is downward? See, now, look up there. The window isat the top floor, and it has a very broad sill. Over the window is nothingbut the flat face of the gable-end; but to the right, and a foot or twoabove the level of the top of the window, an iron gutter ends. Observe, itis not of lead composition, but a strong iron gutter, supported, just atits end, by an iron bracket. If a tall man stood on the end of thewindow-sill, steadying himself by the left hand and leaning to the right,he could just touch the end of this gutter with his right hand. The fullstretch, toe to finger, is seven feet three inches. I have measured it. Anactive gymnast, or a sailor, could catch the gutter with a slight spring,and by it draw himself upon the roof. You will say he would have to be_very_ active, dexterous, and cool. So he would. And that very fact helpsus, because it narrows the field of inquiry. We know the sort of man tolook for. Because, being certain (as I am) that the man was in the room, I_know_ that he left in the way I am telling you. He must have left in someway, and, all the other ways being impossible, this alone remains,difficult as the feat may seem. The fact of his shutting the window behindhim further proves his coolness and address at so great a height from theground."
All this was very plain, but the main point was still dark.
"You say you _know_ that another man was in the room," I said; "how do youknow that?"
"As I said, by an obvious inference. Come, now, you shall guess how Iarrived at that inference. You often speak of your interest in my work,and the attention with which you follow it. This shall be a simpleexercise for you. You saw everything in the room as plainly as I myself.Bring the scene back to your memory, and think over the various smallobjects littering about, and how they would affect the case. Quickobservation is the first essential for my work. Did you see a newspaper,for instance?"
"Yes. There was an evening paper on the floor, but I didn't examine it."
"Anything else?"
"On the table there was a whisky decanter, taken from the tantalus-standon the sideboard, and one glass. That, by the by," I added, "looked asthough only one person were present."
"So it did, perhaps, although the inference wouldn't be very strong. Goon!"
"There was a fruit-stand on the sideboard, with a plate beside itcontaining a few nutshells, a piece of apple, a pair of nut-crackers, and,I think, some orange peel. There was, of course, all the ordinaryfurniture, but no chair pulled up to the table, except that used byFoggatt himself. That's all I noticed, I think. Stay--there was anash-tray on the table, and a partly burned cigar near it--only one cigar,though."
"Excellent--excellent, indeed, as far as memory and simple observation go.You saw everything plainly, and you remember everything. Surely _now_ youknow how I found out that another man had just left?"
"No, I don't; unless there were different kinds of ash in the ash-tray."
"That is a fairly good suggestion, but there were not--there was only asingle ash, corresponding in every way to that on the cigar. Don't youremember everything that I did as we went down-stairs?"
"You returned a bottle of oil to the housekeeper's daughter, I think."
"I did. Doesn't that give you a hint? Come, you surely have it now?"
"I haven't."
"Then I sha'n't tell you; you don't deserve it. Think, and don't mentionthe subject again till you have at least one guess to make. The thingstares you in the face; you see it, you remember it, and yet you _won't_see it. I won't encourage your slovenliness of thought, my boy, by tellingyou what you can know for yourself if you like. Good-by--I'm off now.There's a case in hand I can't neglect."
"Don't you propose to go further into this, then?"
Hewitt shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not a policeman," he said. "The caseis in very good hands. Of course, if anybody comes to me to do it as amatter of business, I'll take it up. It's very interesting, but I can'tneglect my regular work for it. Naturally, I shall keep my eyes open andmy memory in order. Sometimes these things come into the hands bythemselves, as it were; in that case, of course, I am a loyal citizen, andready to help the law. _Au revoir_!"
* * * * *
I am a busy man myself, and thought little more of Hewitt's conundrum forsome time; indeed, when I did think, I saw no way to the answer. A weekafter the inquest I took a holiday (I had written my nightly leadersregularly every day for the past five years), and saw no more of Hewittfor six weeks. After my return, with still a few days of leave to run, oneevening we together turned into Luzatti's, off Coventry Street, fordinner.
"I have been here several times lately," Hewitt said; "they feed you verywell. No, not that table"--he seized my arm as I turned to an unoccupiedcorner--"I fancy it's draughty." He led the way to a longer table where adark, lithe, and (as well as could be seen) tall young man already sat,and took chairs opposite him.
We had scarcely seated ourselves before Hewitt broke into a torrent ofconversation on the subject of bicycling. As our previous conversation hadbeen of a literary sort, and as I had never known Hewitt at any other timeto show the slightest interest in bicycling, this rather surprised me. Ihad, however, such a general outsider's grasp of the subject as is usualin a journalist-of-all-work, and managed to keep the talk going from myside. As we went on I could see the face of the young man oppositebrighten with interest. He was a rather fine-looking fellow, with a dark,though very clear skin, but had a hard, angry look of eye, a prominence ofcheek-bone, and a squareness of jaw that gave him a rather uninvitingaspect. As Hewitt rattled on, however, our neighbor's expression becameone of pleasant interest merely.
"Of course," Hewitt said, "we've a number of very capital men just now,but I believe a deal in the forgotten riders of five, ten, and fifteenyears back. Osmond, I believe, was better than any man riding now, and Ithink it would puzzle some of them to beat Furnivall as he was, at hisbest. But poor old Cortis--really, I believe he was as good as anybody.Nobody ever beat Cortis--except--let me see--I think somebody beat Cortisonce--who was it now? I can't remember."
"Liles," said the young man opposite, looking up quickly.
"Ah, yes--Liles it was; Charley Liles. Wasn't it a championship?"
"Mile championship, 1880; Cortis won the other three, though."
"Yes, so he did. I saw Cortis when he first broke the old 2.46 milerecord." And straightway Hewitt plunged into a whirl of talk of bicycles,tricycles, records, racing cyclists, Hillier, and Synyer and Noel Whiting,Taylerson and Appleyard--talk wherein the young man opposite bore ananimated share, while I was left in the cold.
Our new friend, it seems, had himself been a prominent racing bicyclist afew years back, and was presently, at Hewitt's request, exhibiting a neatgold medal that hung at his watch-guard. That was won, he explained, inthe old tall bicycle days, the days of bad tracks, when every racingcyclist carried cinder scars on his face from numerous accidents. Hepointed to a blue mark on his forehead, which, he told us, was a trackscar, and described a bad fall that had cost him two teeth, and brokenothers. The gaps among his teeth were plain to see as he smiled.
Presently the waiter brought dessert, and the young man opposite took anapple. Nut-crackers and a fruit-knife lay on our side of the stand, andHewitt turned the stand to offer him the knife.
"No, thanks," he said; "I only polish a good apple, never p
eel it. It's amistake, except with thick-skinned foreign ones."
And he began to munch the apple as only a boy or a healthy athlete can.Presently he turned his head to order coffee. The waiter's back wasturned, and he had to be called twice. To my unutterable amazement Hewittreached swiftly across the table, snatched the half-eaten apple from theyoung man's plate and pocketed it, gazing immediately, with an abstractedair, at a painted Cupid on the ceiling.
Our neighbor turned again, looked doubtfully at his plate and thetable-cloth about it, and then shot a keen glance in the direction ofHewitt. He said nothing, however, but took his coffee and his bill,deliberately drank the former, gazing quietly at Hewitt as he did it, paidthe latter, and left.
Immediately Hewitt was on his feet and, taking an umbrella, which stoodnear, followed. Just as he reached the door he met our late neighbor, whohad turned suddenly back.
"Your umbrella, I think?" Hewitt asked, offering it.
"Yes, thanks." But the man's eye had more than its former hardness, andhis jaw muscles tightened as I looked. He turned and went. Hewitt cameback to me. "Pay the bill," he said, "and go back to your rooms; I willcome on later. I must follow this man--it's the Foggatt case." As he wentout I heard a cab rattle away, and immediately after it another.
I paid the bill and went home. It was ten o'clock before Hewitt turned up,calling in at his office below on his way up to me.
"Mr. Sidney Mason," he said, "is the gentleman the police will be wantingto-morrow, I expect, for the Foggatt murder. He is as smart a man as Iremember ever meeting, and has done me rather neatly twice this evening."
"You mean the man we sat opposite at Luzatti's, of course?"
"Yes, I got his name, of course, from the reverse of that gold medal hewas good enough to show me. But I fear he has bilked me over the address.He suspected me, that was plain, and left his umbrella by way ofexperiment to see if I were watching him sharply enough to notice thecircumstance, and to avail myself of it to follow him. I was hasty andfell into the trap. He cabbed it away from Luzatti's, and I cabbed itafter him. He has led me a pretty dance up and down London to-night, andtwo cabbies have made quite a stroke of business out of us. In the end heentered a house of which, of course, I have taken the address, but Iexpect he doesn't live there. He is too smart a man to lead me to his den;but the police can certainly find something of him at the house he went inat--and, I expect, left by the back way. By the way, you never guessedthat simple little puzzle as to how I found that this _was_ a murder, didyou? You see it now, of course?"
"Something to do with that apple you stole, I suppose?"
"Something to do with it? I should think so, you worthy innocent. Justring your bell; we'll borrow Mrs. Clayton's sewing-machine oil again. Onthe night we broke into Foggatt's room you saw the nutshells and thebitten remains of an apple on the sideboard, and you remembered it; andyet you couldn't see that in that piece of apple possibly lay an importantpiece of evidence. Of course I never expected you to have arrived at anyconclusion, as I had, because I had ten minutes in which to examine thatapple, and to do what I did with it. But, at least, you should have seenthe possibility of evidence in it.
"First, now, the apple was white. A bitten apple, as you must haveobserved, turns of a reddish brown color if left to stand long. Differentkinds of apples brown with different rapidities, and the browning alwaysbegins at the core. This is one of the twenty thousand tiny things thatfew people take the trouble to notice, but which it is useful for a man inmy position to know. A russet will brown quite quickly. The apple on thesideboard was, as near as I could tell, a Newtown pippin or other apple ofthat kind, which will brown at the core in from twenty minutes to half anhour, and in other parts in a quarter of an hour more. When we saw it, itwas white, with barely a tinge of brown about the exposed core. Inference,somebody had been eating it fifteen or twenty minutes before, perhaps alittle longer--an inference supported by the fact that it was only partlyeaten.
"I examined that apple, and found it bore marks of very irregular teeth.While you were gone, I oiled it over, and, rushing down to my rooms, whereI always have a little plaster of Paris handy for such work, took a moldof the part where the teeth had left the clearest marks. I then returnedthe apple to its place for the police to use if they thought fit. Lookingat my mold, it was plain that the person who had bitten that apple hadlost two teeth, one at top and one below, not exactly opposite, but nearlyso. The other teeth, although they would appear to have been fairly sound,were irregular in size and line. Now, the dead man had, as I saw, a veryexcellent set of false teeth, regular and sharp, with none missing.Therefore it was plain that somebody _else_ had been eating that apple. DoI make myself clear?"
"Quite! Go on!"
"There were other inferences to be made--slighter, but all pointing thesame way. For instance, a man of Foggatt's age does not, as a rule, munchan unpeeled apple like a school-boy. Inference, a young man, and healthy.Why I came to the conclusion that he was tall, active, a gymnast, andperhaps a sailor, I have already told you, when we examined the outside ofFoggatt's window. It was also pretty clear that robbery was not themotive, since nothing was disturbed, and that a friendly conversation hadpreceded the murder--witness the drinking and the eating of the apple.Whether or not the police noticed these things I can't say. If they hadhad their best men on, they certainly would, I think; but the case, to arough observer, looked so clearly one of accident or suicide that possiblythey didn't.
"As I said, after the inquest I was unable to devote any immediate time tothe case, but I resolved to keep my eyes open. The man to look for wastall, young, strong and active, with a very irregular set of teeth, atooth missing from the lower jaw just to the left of the center, andanother from the upper jaw a little farther still toward the left. Hemight possibly be a person I had seen about the premises (I have a goodmemory for faces), or, of course, he possibly might not.
"Just before you returned from your holiday I noticed a young man atLuzatti's whom I remembered to have seen somewhere about the offices inthis building. He was tall, young, and so on, but I had a client with me,and was unable to examine him more narrowly; indeed, as I was not exactlyengaged on the case, and as there are several tall young men about, I tooklittle trouble. But to-day, finding the same young man with a vacant seatopposite him, I took the opportunity of making a closer acquaintance."
"You certainly managed to draw him out."
"Oh, yes; the easiest person in the world to draw out is a cyclist. Theeasiest cyclist to draw out is, of course, the novice, but the nexteasiest is the veteran. When you see a healthy, well-trained-looking man,who, nevertheless, has a slight stoop in the shoulders, and, maybe, amedal on his watch-guard, it is always a safe card to try him first with alittle cycle-racing talk. I soon brought Mr. Mason out of his shell, readhis name on his medal, and had a chance of observing his teeth--indeed, hespoke of them himself. Now, as I observed just now, there are severaltall, athletic young men about, and also there are several men who havelost teeth. But now I saw that this tall and athletic young man had lostexactly _two_ teeth--one from the lower jaw, just to the left of thecenter, and another from the upper jaw, farther still toward the left!Trivialities, pointing in the same direction, became importantconsiderations. More, his teeth were irregular throughout, and, as nearlyas I could remember it, looked remarkably like this little plaster mold ofmine."
He produced from his pocket an irregular lump of plaster, about threeinches long. On one side of this appeared in relief the likeness of twoirregular rows of six or eight teeth, minus one in each row, where a deepgap was seen, in the position spoken of by my friend. He proceeded:
"This was enough at least to set me after this young man. But he gave methe greatest chance of all when he turned and left his apple (eatenunpeeled, remember!--another important triviality) on his plate. I'mafraid I wasn't at all polite, and I ran the risk of arousing hissuspicions, but I couldn't resist the temptation to steal it. I did, asyou saw, and here it is."
/> He brought the apple from his coat-pocket. One bitten side, placed againstthe upper half of the mold, fitted precisely, a projection of applefilling exactly the deep gap. The other side similarly fitted the lowerhalf.
"There's no getting behind that, you see," Hewitt remarked. "Merelyobserving the man's teeth was a guide, to some extent, but this is asplain as his signature or his thumb impression. You'll never find two men_bite_ exactly alike, no matter whether they leave distinct teeth-marks ornot. Here, by the by, is Mrs. Clayton's oil. We'll take another mold fromthis apple, and compare _them_."
He oiled the apple, heaped a little plaster in a newspaper, took mywater-jug, and rapidly pulled off a hard mold. The parts corresponding tothe merely broken places in the apple were, of course, dissimilar; but asto the teeth-marks, the impressions were identical.
"That will do, I think," Hewitt said. "Tomorrow morning, Brett, I shallput up these things in a small parcel, and take them round to Bow Street."
"But are they sufficient evidence?"
"Quite sufficient for the police purpose. There is the man, and all therest--his movements on the day and so forth--are simple matters ofinquiry; at any rate, that is police business."
* * * * *
I had scarcely sat down to my breakfast on the following morning whenHewitt came into the room and put a long letter before me.
"From our friend of last night," he said; "read it."
This letter began abruptly, and undated, and was as follows:
"TO MARTIN HEWITT, ESQ.
"SIR: I must compliment you on the adroitness you exhibited this eveningin extracting from me my name. The address I was able to balk you of forthe time being, although by the time you read this you will probably havefound it through the _Law List_, as I am an admitted solicitor. That,however, will be of little use to you, for I am removing myself, I think,beyond the reach even of your abilities of search. I knew you well bysight, and was, perhaps, foolish to allow myself to be drawn as I did.Still, I had no idea that it would be dangerous, especially after seeingyou, as a witness with very little to say, at the inquest upon thescoundrel I shot. Your somewhat discourteous seizure of my apple at firstamazed me--indeed, I was a little doubtful as to whether you had reallytaken it--but it was my first warning that you might be playing a deepgame against me, incomprehensible as the action was to my mind. Isubsequently reflected that I had been eating an apple, instead of takingthe drink he first offered me, in the dead wretch's rooms on the night hecame to his merited end. From this I assume that your design was in someway to compare what remained of the two apples--although I do not presumeto fathom the depths of your detective system. Still, I have heard of manyof your cases, and profoundly admire the keenness you exhibit. I amthought to be a keen man myself, but, although I was able, to some extent,to hold my own to-night, I admit that your acumen in this case alone issomething beyond me.
"I do not know by whom you are commissioned to hunt me, nor to what extentyou may be acquainted with my connection with the creature I killed. Ihave sufficient respect for you, however, to wish that you should notregard me as a vicious criminal, and a couple of hours to spare in whichto offer you an explanation that will convince you that such is notaltogether the case. A hasty and violent temper I admit possessing; buteven now I can not forget the one crime it has led me into--for it is, Isuppose, strictly speaking, a crime. For it was the man Foggatt who made afelon of my father before the eyes of the world, and killed him withshame. It was he who murdered my mother, and none the less murdered herbecause she died of a broken heart. That he was also a thief and ahypocrite might have concerned me little but for that.
"Of my father I remember very little. He must, I fear, have been a weakand incapable man in many respects. He had no business abilities--in fact,was quite unable to understand the complicated business matters in whichhe largely dealt. Foggatt was a consummate master of all those arts offinancial jugglery that make so many fortunes, and ruin so many others, inmatters of company promoting, stocks, and shares. He was unable toexercise them, however, because of a great financial disaster in which hehad been mixed up a few years before, and which made his name one to beavoided in future. In these circumstances he made a sort of secret andinformal partnership with my father, who, ostensibly alone in thebusiness, acted throughout on the directions of Foggatt, understanding aslittle what he did, poor, simple man, as a schoolboy would have done. Thetransactions carried on went from small to large, and, unhappily fromhonorable to dishonorable. My father relied on the superior abilities ofFoggatt with an absolute trust, carrying out each day the directions givenhim privately the previous evening, buying, selling, printingprospectuses, signing whatever had to be signed, all with soleresponsibility and as sole partner, while Foggatt, behind the scenesabsorbed the larger share of the profits. In brief, my unhappy and foolishfather was a mere tool in the hands of the cunning scoundrel who pulledall the wires of the business, himself unseen and irresponsible. At lastthree companies, for the promotion of which my father was responsible,came to grief in a heap. Fraud was written large over all their history,and, while Foggatt retired with his plunder, my father was left to meetruin, disgrace, and imprisonment. From beginning to end he, and he only,was responsible. There was no shred of evidence to connect Foggatt withthe matter, and no means of escape from the net drawn about my father. Helived through three years of imprisonment, and then, entirely abandoned bythe man who had made use of his simplicity, he died--of nothing but shameand a broken heart.
"Of this I knew nothing at the time. Again and again, as a small boy, Iremember asking of my mother why I had no father at home, as other boyshad--unconscious of the stab I thus inflicted on her gentle heart. Of hermy earliest, as well as my latest, memory is that of a pale, weepingwoman, who grudged to let me out of her sight.
"Little by little I learned the whole cause of my mother's grief, for shehad no other confidant, and I fear my character developed early, for myfirst coherent remembrance of the matter is that of a childish design totake a table-knife and kill the bad man who had made my father die inprison and caused my mother to cry.
"One thing, however, I never knew--the name of that bad man. Again andagain, as I grew older, I demanded to know, but my mother always withheldit from me, with a gentle reminder that vengeance was for a greater handthan mine.
"I was seventeen years of age when my mother died. I believe that nothingbut her strong attachment to myself and her desire to see me safelystarted in life kept her alive so long. Then I found that through allthose years of narrowed means she had contrived to scrape and save alittle money--sufficient, as it afterward proved, to see me through theexaminations for entrance to my profession, with the generous assistanceof my father's old legal advisers, who gave me my articles, and who haveall along treated me with extreme kindness.
"For most of the succeeding years my life does not concern the matter inhand. I was a lawyer's clerk in my benefactors' service, and afterward aqualified man among their assistants. All through the firm were careful,in pursuance of my poor mother's wishes, that I should not learn the nameor whereabouts of the man who had wrecked her life and my father's. Ifirst met the man himself at the Clifton Club, where I had gone with anacquaintance who was a member. It was not till afterward that I understoodhis curious awkwardness on that occasion. A week later I called (as I hadfrequently done) at the building in which your office is situated, onbusiness with a solicitor who has an office on the floor above your own.On the stairs I almost ran against Mr. Foggatt. He started and turnedpale, exhibiting signs of alarm that I could not understand, and asked meif I wished to see him.
"'No,' I replied, 'I didn't know you lived here. I am after somebody elsejust now. Aren't you well?'
"He looked at me rather doubtfully, and said he was _not_ very well.
"I met him twice or thrice after that, and on each occasion his mannergrew more friendly, in a servile, flattering, and mean sort of way--athing unpleasant enough in
anybody, but doubly so in the intercourse of aman with another young enough to be his own son. Still, of course, Itreated the man civilly enough. On one occasion he asked me into his roomsto look at a rather fine picture he had lately bought, and observedcasually, lifting a large revolver from the mantel-piece:
"'You see, I am prepared for any unwelcome visitors to my little den! He!He!' Conceiving him, of course, to refer to burglars, I could not helpwondering at the forced and hollow character of his laugh. As we went downthe stairs he said: 'I think we know one another pretty well now, Mr.Mason, eh? And if I could do anything to advance your professionalprospects, I should be glad of the chance, of course. I understand thestruggles of a young professional man--he! he!' It was the forced laughagain, and the man spoke nervously. 'I think,' he added, 'that if you willdrop in to-morrow evening, perhaps I may have a little proposal to make.Will you?'
"I assented, wondering what this proposal could be. Perhaps this eccentricold gentleman was a good fellow, after all, anxious to do me a good turn,and his awkwardness was nothing but a natural delicacy in breaking theice. I was not so flush of good friends as to be willing to lose one. Hemight be desirous of putting business in my way.
"I went, and was received with cordiality that even then seemed a littleover-effusive. We sat and talked of one thing and another for a longwhile, and I began to wonder when Mr. Foggatt was coming to the point thatmost interested me. Several times he invited me to drink and smoke, butlong usage to athletic training has given me a distaste for bothpractices, and I declined. At last he began to talk about myself. He wasafraid that my professional prospects in this country were not great, buthe had heard that in some of the colonies--South Africa, forexample--young lawyers had brilliant opportunities.
"'If you'd like to go there,' he said, 'I've no doubt, with a littlecapital, a clever man like you could get a grand practice together verysoon. Or you might buy a share in some good established practice. I shouldbe glad to let you have L500, or even a little more, if that wouldn'tsatisfy you, and----'
"I stood aghast. Why should this man, almost a stranger, offer me L500, oreven more, 'if that wouldn't satisfy' me? What claim had I on him? It wasvery generous of him, of course, but out of the question. I was, at least,a gentleman, and had a gentleman's self-respect. Meanwhile, he had gonemaundering on, in a halting sort of way, and presently let slip a sentencethat struck me like a blow between the eyes.
"'I shouldn't like you to bear ill-will because of what has happened inthe past,' he said. 'Your late--your late lamented mother--I'm afraid--shehad unworthy suspicions--I'm sure--it was best for all parties--yourfather always appreciated----'
"I set back my chair and stood erect before him. This groveling wretch,forcing the words through his dry lips, was the thief who had made anotherof my father and had brought to miserable ends the lives of both myparents! Everything was clear. The creature went in fear of me, neverimagining that I did not know him, and sought to buy me off--to buy mefrom the remembrance of my dead mother's broken heart for L500--L500 thathe had made my father steal for him! I said not a word. But the memory ofall my mother's bitter years, and a savage sense of this crowning insultto myself, took a hold upon me, and I was a tiger. Even then I verilybelieve that one word of repentance, one tone of honest remorse, wouldhave saved him. But he drooped his eyes, snuffled excuses, and stammeredof 'unworthy suspicions' and 'no ill-will.' I let him stammer. Presentlyhe looked up and saw my face; and fell back in his chair, sick withterror. I snatched the pistol from the mantel-piece, and, thrusting it inhis face, shot him where he sat.
"My subsequent coolness and quietness surprise me now. I took my hat andstepped toward the door. But there were voices on the stairs. The door waslocked on the inside, and I left it so. I went back and quietly opened awindow. Below was a clear drop into darkness, and above was plain wall;but away to one side, where the slope of the gable sprang from the roof,an iron gutter ended, supported by a strong bracket. It was the only way.I got upon the sill and carefully shut the window behind me, for peoplewere already knocking at the lobby door. From the end of the sill, holdingon by the reveal of the window with one hand, leaning and stretching myutmost, I caught the gutter, swung myself clear, and scrambled on theroof. I climbed over many roofs before I found, in an adjoining street, aladder lashed perpendicularly against the front of a house in course ofrepair. This, to me, was an easy opportunity of descent, notwithstandingthe boards fastened over the face of the ladder, and I availed myself ofit.
"I have taken some time and trouble in order that you (so far as I amaware the only human being beside myself who knows me to be the author ofFoggatt's death) shall have at least the means of appraising my crime atits just value of culpability. How much you already know of what I havetold you I can not guess. I am wrong, hardened, and flagitious, I make nodoubt, but I speak of the facts as they are. You see the thing, of course,from your own point of view--I from mine. And I remember my mother!
"Trusting that you will forgive the odd freak of a man--a criminal, let ussay--who makes a confidant of the man set to hunt him down, I beg leave tobe, sir, your obedient servant,
"SIDNEY MASON."
I read the singular document through and handed it back to Hewitt.
"How does it strike you?" Hewitt asked.
"Mason would seem to be a man of very marked character," I said."Certainly no fool. And, if his tale is true, Foggatt is no great loss tothe world."
"Just so--if the tale is true. Personally I am disposed to believe it is."
"Where was the letter posted?"
"It wasn't posted. It was handed in with the others from the front-doorletter-box this morning in an unstamped envelope. He must have dropped itin himself during the night. Paper," Hewitt proceeded, holding it up tothe light, "Turkey mill, ruled foolscap. Envelope, blue, official shape,Pirie's watermark. Both quite ordinary and no special marks."
"Where do you suppose he's gone?"
"Impossible to guess. Some might think he meant suicide by the expression'beyond the reach even of your abilities of search,' but I scarcely thinkhe is the sort of man to do that. No, there is no telling. Something maybe got by inquiring at his late address, of course; but, when such a mantells you he doesn't think you will find him, you may count upon its beinga difficult job. His opinion is not to be despised."
"What shall you do?"
"Put the letter in the box with the casts for the police. _Fiat justitia_,you know, without any question of sentiment. As to the apple, I reallythink, if the police will let me, I'll make you a present of it. Keep itsomewhere as a souvenir of your absolute deficiency in reflectiveobservation in this case, and look at it whenever you feel yourselfgrowing dangerously conceited. It should cure you."
* * * * *
This is the history of the withered and almost petrified half apple thatstands in my cabinet among a number of flint implements and one or tworather fine old Roman vessels. Of Mr. Sidney Mason we never heard anotherword. The police did their best, but he had left not a track behind him.His rooms were left almost undisturbed, and he had gone without anythingin the way of elaborate preparation for his journey, and without leaving atrace of his intentions.