“We came up by car,” said the Duchess—“so tiresome—such bad roads between Denver and Gunbury St. Walters—and there were people coming to lunch—I had to put them off—I couldn’t let the old lady go alone, could I? By the way, such an odd thing’s happened about the Church Restoration Fund—the Vicar—oh, dear, here are these people coming back again; well, I’ll tell you afterwards—do look at that woman looking shocked, and the girl in tweeds trying to look as if she sat on undraped gentlemen every day of her life—I don’t mean that—corpses of course—but one finds oneself being so Elizabethan nowadays—what an awful little man the coroner is, isn’t he? He’s looking daggers27 at me—do you think he’ll dare to clear me out of the court or commit me for what-you-may-call-it?”
The first part of the evidence was not of great interest to Mr. Parker. The wretched Mr. Thipps, who had caught cold in gaol28, deposed29 in an unhappy croak30 to having discovered the body when he went in to take his bath at eight o’clock. He had had such a 116 shock, he had to sit down and send the girl for brandy. He had never seen the deceased before. He had no idea how he came there.
Yes, he had been in Manchester the day before. He had arrived at St. Pancras at ten o’clock. He had cloak-roomed his bag. At this point Mr. Thipps became very red, unhappy and confused, and glanced nervously31 about the court.
“Now, Mr. Thipps,” said the Coroner, briskly, “we must have your movements quite clear. You must appreciate the importance of the matter. You have chosen to give evidence, which you need not have done, but having done so, you will find it best to be perfectly32 explicit33.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Thipps faintly.
“Have you cautioned this witness, officer?” inquired the Coroner, turning sharply to Inspector Sugg.
The Inspector replied that he had told Mr. Thipps that anything he said might be used agin’ him at his trial. Mr. Thipps became ashy, and said in a bleating34 voice that he ’adn’t—hadn’t meant to do anything that wasn’t right.
This remark produced a mild sensation, and the Coroner became even more acidulated in manner than before.
“Is anybody representing Mr. Thipps?” he asked, irritably. “No? Did you not explain to him that he could—that he ought to be represented? You did not? Really, Inspector! Did you not know, Mr. Thipps, that you had a right to be legally represented?” 117
Mr. Thipps clung to a chair-back for support, and said, “No,” in a voice barely audible.
“It is incredible,” said the Coroner, “that so-called educated people should be so ignorant of the legal procedure of their own country. This places us in a very awkward position. I doubt, Inspector, whether I should permit the prisoner—Mr. Thipps—to give evidence at all. It is a delicate position.”
The perspiration35 stood on Mrs. Thipps’s forehead.
“Save us from our friends,” whispered the Duchess to Parker. “If that cough-drop-devouring creature had openly instructed those fourteen people—and what unfinished-looking faces they have—so characteristic, I always think, of the lower middle-class, rather like sheep, or calves’ head (boiled, I mean), to bring in wilful36 murder against the poor little man, he couldn’t have made himself plainer.”
“He can’t let him incriminate himself, you know,” said Parker.
“Stuff!” said the Duchess. “How could the man incriminate himself when he never did anything in his life? You men never think of anything but your red tape.”
Meanwhile Mr. Thipps, wiping his brow with a handkerchief, had summoned up courage. He stood up with a kind of weak dignity, like a small white rabbit brought to bay.
“I would rather tell you,” he said, “though it’s reelly very unpleasant for a man in my position. But I reelly couldn’t have it thought for a moment that I’d committed this dreadful crime. I assure you, 118 gentlemen, I couldn’t bear that. No. I’d rather tell you the truth, though I’m afraid it places me in rather a—well, I’ll tell you.”
“Quite,” said Mr. Thipps. “It’s all right—I—might I have a drink of water?”
“Take your time,” said the Coroner, at the same time robbing his remark of all conviction by an impatient glance at his watch.
“Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Thipps. “Well, then, it’s true I got to St. Pancras at ten. But there was a man in the carriage with me. He’d got in at Leicester. I didn’t recognise him at first, but he turned out to be an old school-fellow of mine.”
Mr. Thipps shrank together visibly.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,” he said. “You see—that is, you will see—it would get him into trouble, and I couldn’t do that—no, I reelly couldn’t do that, not if my life depended on it. No!” he added, as the ominous39 pertinence40 of the last phrase smote41 upon him, “I’m sure I couldn’t do that.”
“Well, well,” said the Coroner.
The Duchess leaned over to Parker again. “I’m beginning quite to admire the little man,” she said.
Mr. Thipps resumed.
“When we got to St. Pancras I was going home, but my friend said no. We hadn’t met for a long time and we ought to—to make a night of it, was his 119 expression. I fear I was weak, and let him overpersuade me to accompany him to one of his haunts. I use the word advisedly,” said Mr. Thipps, “and I assure you, sir, that if I had known beforehand where we were going I never would have set foot in the place.
“I cloak-roomed my bag, for he did not like the notion of our being encumbered42 with it, and we got into a taxicab and drove to the corner of Tottenham Court Road and Oxford43 Street. We then walked a little way, and turned into a side street (I do not recollect44 which) where there was an open door, with the light shining out. There was a man at a counter, and my friend bought some tickets, and I heard the man at the counter say something to him about ‘Your friend,’ meaning me, and my friend said, ‘Oh, yes, he’s been here before, haven’t you, Alf?’ (which was what they called me at school), though I assure you, sir”—here Mr. Thipps grew very earnest—“I never had, and nothing in the world should induce me to go to such a place again.
“Well, we went down into a room underneath45, where there were drinks, and my friend had several, and made me take one or two—though I am an abstemious46 man as a rule—and he talked to some other men and girls who were there—a very vulgar set of people, I thought them, though I wouldn’t say but what some of the young ladies were nice-looking enough. One of them sat on my friend’s knee and called him a slow old thing, and told him to come on—so we went into another room, where there were a 120 lot of people dancing all these up-to-date dances. My friend went and danced, and I sat on a sofa. One of the young ladies came up to me and said, didn’t I dance, and I said ‘No,’ so she said wouldn’t I stand her a drink then. ‘You’ll stand us a drink then, darling,’ that was what she said, and I said, ‘Wasn’t it after hours?’ and she said that didn’t matter. So I ordered the drink—a gin and bitters it was—for I didn’t like not to, the young lady seemed to expect it of me and I felt it wouldn’t be gentlemanly to refuse when she asked. But it went against my conscience—such a young girl as she was—and she put her arm round my neck afterwards and kissed me just like as if she was paying for the drink—and it reelly went to my ’eart,” said Mr. Thipps, a little ambiguously, but with uncommon47 emphasis.
Here somebody at the back said, “Cheer-oh!” and a sound was heard as of the noisy smacking48 of lips.
“Remove the person who made that improper49 noise,” said the Coroner, with great indignation. “Go on, please, Mr. Thipps.”
“Well,” said Mr. Thipps, “about half-past twelve, as I should reckon, things began to get a bit lively, and I was looking for my friend to say good-night, not wishing to stay longer, as you will understand, when I saw him with one of the young ladies, and they seemed to be getting on altogether too well, if you follow me, my friend pulling the ribbons off her shoulder and the young lady laughing—and so on,” said Mr. Thipps, hurriedly, “so I thought I’d just slip quietly out, when I heard a scuffle and a shout—and 121 before I knew what was happening there were half-a-dozen policemen in, and the lights went out, and everybody stampeding and shouting—quite horrid50, it was. I was knocked down in the rush, and hit my head a nasty knock on a chair—that was where I got that bruise51 they asked me about—and I was dreadfully afraid I’d never get away and it would all come out, and perhaps my photograph in the papers, when someone caught hold of me—I think it was the young lady I’d given the gin and bitters to—and she said, ‘This way,’ and pushed me along a passage and out at the back somewhere. So I ran through some streets, and found myself in Goodge Street, and there I got a taxi and came home. I saw the account of the raid afterwards in the papers, and saw my friend had escaped, and so, as it wasn’t the sort of thing I wanted made public, and I didn’t want to get him into difficulties, I just said nothing. But that’s the truth.”
“Well, Mr. Thipps,” said the Coroner, “we shall be able to substantiate52 a certain amount of this story. Your friend’s name—”
“Very good,” said the Coroner. “Now, can you tell us what time you did get in?”
“About half-past one, I should think. Though reelly, I was so upset—”
“Quite so. Did you go straight to bed?”
“Yes, I took my sandwich and glass of milk first. I thought it might settle my inside, so to speak,” added the witness, apologetically, “not being accustomed 122 to alcohol so late at night and on an empty stomach, as you may say.”
“Quite so. Nobody sat up for you?”
“Nobody.”
“How long did you take getting to bed first and last?”
Mr. Thipps thought it might have been half-an-hour.
“Did you visit the bathroom before turning in?”
“No.”
“And you heard nothing in the night?”
“No. I fell fast asleep. I was rather agitated54, so I took a little dose to make me sleep, and what with being so tired and the milk and the dose, I just tumbled right off and didn’t wake till Gladys called me.”
Further questioning elicited55 little from Mr. Thipps. Yes, the bathroom window had been open when he went in in the morning, he was sure of that, and he had spoken very sharply to the girl about it. He was ready to answer any questions; he would be only too ’appy—happy to have this dreadful affair sifted56 to the bottom.
Gladys Horrocks stated that she had been in Mr. Thipps’s employment about three months. Her previous employers would speak to her character. It was her duty to make the round of the flat at night, when she had seen Mrs. Thipps to bed at ten. Yes, she remembered doing so on Monday evening. She had looked into all the rooms. Did she recollect shutting the bathroom window that night? Well, no, she couldn’t swear to it, not in particular, but when Mr. 123 Thipps called her into the bathroom in the morning it certainly was open. She had not been into the bathroom before Mr. Thipps went in. Well, yes, it had happened that she had left that window open before, when anyone had been ’aving a bath in the evening and ’ad left the blind down. Mrs. Thipps ’ad ’ad a bath on Monday evening, Mondays was one of her regular bath nights. She was very much afraid she ’adn’t shut the window on Monday night, though she wished her ’ead ’ad been cut off afore she’d been so forgetful.
Here the witness burst into tears and was given some water, while the Coroner refreshed himself with a third lozenge.
Recovering, witness stated that she had certainly looked into all the rooms before going to bed. No, it was quite impossible for a body to be ’idden in the flat without her seeing of it. She ’ad been in the kitchen all evening, and there wasn’t ’ardly room to keep the best dinner service there, let alone a body. Old Mrs. Thipps sat in the drawing-room. Yes, she was sure she’d been into the dining-room. How? Because she put Mr. Thipps’s milk and sandwiches there ready for him. There had been nothing in there—that she could swear to. Nor yet in her own bedroom, nor in the ’all. Had she searched the bedroom cupboard and the box-room? Well, no, not to say searched; she wasn’t use to searchin’ people’s ’ouses for skelintons every night. So that a man might have concealed57 himself in the box-room or a wardrobe? She supposed he might. 124
In reply to a woman juror—well, yes, she was walking out with a young man. Williams was his name, Bill Williams,—well, yes, William Williams, if they insisted. He was a glazier by profession. Well, yes, he ’ad been in the flat sometimes. Well, she supposed you might say he was acquainted with the flat. Had she ever—no, she ’adn’t, and if she’d thought such a question was going to be put to a respectable girl she wouldn’t ’ave offered to give evidence. The vicar of St. Mary’s would speak to her character and to Mr. Williams’s. Last time Mr. Williams was at the flat was a fortnight ago.
Well, no, it wasn’t exactly the last time she ’ad seen Mr. Williams. Well, yes, the last time was Monday—well, yes, Monday night. Well, if she must tell the truth, she must. Yes, the officer had cautioned her, but there wasn’t any ’arm in it, and it was better to lose her place than to be ’ung, though it was a cruel shame a girl couldn’t ’ave a bit of fun without a nasty corpse26 comin’ in through the window to get ’er into difficulties. After she ’ad put Mrs. Thipps to bed, she ’ad slipped out to go to the Plumbers’ and Glaziers’ Ball at the “Black Faced Ram58.” Mr. Williams ’ad met ’er and brought ’er back. ’E could testify to where she’d been and that there wasn’t no ’arm in it. She’d left before the end of the ball. It might ’ave been two o’clock when she got back. She’d got the keys of the flat from Mrs. Thipps’s drawer when Mrs. Thipps wasn’t looking. She ’ad asked leave to go, but couldn’t get it, along of Mr. Thipps bein’ away that night. She was bitterly sorry she ’ad be’aved so, and she was 125 sure she’d been punished for it. She had ’eard nothing suspicious when she came in. She had gone straight to bed without looking round the flat. She wished she were dead.
No, Mr. and Mrs. Thipps didn’t ’ardly ever ’ave any visitors; they kep’ themselves very retired59. She had found the outside door bolted that morning as usual. She wouldn’t never believe any ’arm of Mr. Thipps. Thank you, Miss Horrocks. Call Georgiana Thipps, and the Coroner thought we had better light the gas.
The examination of Mrs. Thipps provided more entertainment than enlightenment, affording as it did an excellent example of the game called “cross questions and crooked60 answers.” After fifteen minutes’ suffering, both in voice and temper, the Coroner abandoned the struggle, leaving the lady with the last word.
“You needn’t try to bully me, young man,” said that octogenarian with spirit, “settin’ there spoilin’ your stomach with them nasty jujubes.”
At this point a young man arose in court and demanded to give evidence. Having explained that he was William Williams, glazier, he was sworn, and corroborated61 the evidence of Gladys Horrocks in the matter of her presence at the “Black Faced Ram” on the Monday night. They had returned to the flat rather before two, he thought, but certainly later than 1.30. He was sorry that he had persuaded Miss Horrocks to come out with him when she didn’t 126 ought. He had observed nothing of a suspicious nature in Prince of Wales Road at either visit.
Inspector Sugg gave evidence of having been called in at about half-past eight on Monday morning. He had considered the girl’s manner to be suspicious and had arrested her. On later information, leading him to suspect that the deceased might have been murdered that night, he had arrested Mr. Thipps. He had found no trace of breaking into the flat. There were marks on the bathroom window-sill which pointed62 to somebody having got in that way. There were no ladder marks or footmarks in the yard; the yard was paved with asphalt. He had examined the roof, but found nothing on the roof. In his opinion the body had been brought into the flat previously63 and concealed till the evening by someone who had then gone out during the night by the bathroom window, with the connivance64 of the girl. In that case, why should not the girl have let the person out by the door? Well, it might have been so. Had he found traces of a body or a man or both having been hidden in the flat? He found nothing to show that they might not have been so concealed. What was the evidence that led him to suppose that the death had occurred that night?
At this point Inspector Sugg appeared uneasy, and endeavoured to retire upon his professional dignity. On being pressed, however, he admitted that the evidence in question had come to nothing.
One of the jurors: Was it the case that any finger-marks had been left by the criminal? 127
Some marks had been found on the bath, but the criminal had worn gloves.
The Coroner: Do you draw any conclusion from this fact as to the experience of the criminal?
Inspector Sugg: Looks as if he was an old hand, sir.
The Juror: Is that very consistent with the charge against Alfred Thipps, Inspector?
The Inspector was silent.
The Coroner: In the light of the evidence which you have just heard, do you still press the charge against Alfred Thipps and Gladys Horrocks?
Inspector Sugg: I consider the whole set-out highly suspicious. Thipps’s story isn’t corroborated, and as for the girl Horrocks, how do we know this Williams ain’t in it as well?
William Williams: Now, you drop that. I can bring a ’undred witnesses—
The Coroner: Silence, if you please. I am surprised, Inspector, that you should make this suggestion in that manner. It is highly improper. By the way, can you tell us whether a police raid was actually carried out on the Monday night on any Night Club in the neighbourhood of St. Giles’s Circus?
Inspector Sugg (sulkily): I believe there was something of the sort.
The Coroner: You will, no doubt, inquire into the matter. I seem to recollect having seen some mention of it in the newspapers. Thank you, Inspector, that will do.
Several witnesses having appeared and testified to the characters of Mr. Thipps and Gladys Horrocks, 128 the Coroner stated his intention of proceeding65 to the medical evidence.
“Sir Julian Freke.”
There was considerable stir in the court as the great specialist walked up to give evidence. He was not only a distinguished66 man, but a striking figure, with his wide shoulders, upright carriage and leonine head. His manner as he kissed the Book presented to him with the usual deprecatory mumble67 by the Coroner’s officer, was that of a St. Paul condescending68 to humour the timid mumbo-jumbo of superstitious69 Corinthians.
“So handsome, I always think,” whispered the Duchess to Mr. Parker; “just exactly like William Morris, with that bush of hair and beard and those exciting eyes looking out of it—so splendid, these dear men always devoted70 to something or other—not but what I think socialism is a mistake—of course it works with all those nice people, so good and happy in art linen71 and the weather always perfect—Morris, I mean, you know—but so difficult in real life. Science is different—I’m sure if I had nerves I should go to Sir Julian just to look at him—eyes like that give one something to think about, and that’s what most of these people want, only I never had any—nerves, I mean. Don’t you think so?”
“You are Sir Julian Freke,” said the Coroner, “and live at St. Luke’s House, Prince of Wales Road, Battersea, where you exercise a general direction over the surgical72 side of St. Luke’s Hospital?” 129
“You were the first medical man to see the deceased?”
“I was.”
“And you have since conducted an examination in collaboration75 with Dr. Grimbold of Scotland Yard?”
“I have.”
“You are in agreement as to the cause of death?”
“Generally speaking, yes.”
“Will you communicate your impressions to the Jury?”
“I was engaged in research work in the dissecting76 room at St. Luke’s Hospital at about nine o’clock on Monday morning, when I was informed that Inspector Sugg wished to see me. He told me that the dead body of a man had been discovered under mysterious circumstances at 59 Queen Caroline Mansions77. He asked me whether it could be supposed to be a joke perpetrated by any of the medical students at the hospital. I was able to assure him, by an examination of the hospital’s books, that there was no subject missing from the dissecting room.”
“Who would be in charge of such bodies?”
“Is William Watts present?” inquired the Coroner of the officer.
William Watts was present, and could be called if the Coroner thought it necessary.
“I suppose no dead body would be delivered to the hospital without your knowledge, Sir Julian?” 130
“Certainly not.”
“Thank you. Will you proceed with your statement?”
“Inspector Sugg then asked me whether I would send a medical man round to view the body. I said that I would go myself.”
“Why did you do that?”
“I confess to my share of ordinary human curiosity, Mr. Coroner.”
Laughter from a medical student at the back of the room.
“On arriving at the flat I found the deceased lying on his back in the bath. I examined him, and came to the conclusion that death had been caused by a blow on the back of the neck, dislocating the fourth and fifth cervical vertebrae, bruising79 the spinal80 cord and producing internal haemorrhage and partial paralysis81 of the brain. I judged the deceased to have been dead at least twelve hours, possibly more. I observed no other sign of violence of any kind upon the body. Deceased was a strong, well-nourished man of about fifty to fifty-five years of age.”
“Certainly not. It had been made with a heavy, blunt instrument from behind, with great force and considerable judgment83. It is quite impossible that it was self-inflicted.”
“Could it have been the result of an accident?”
“That is possible, of course.”
“If, for example, the deceased had been looking out 131 of the window, and the sash had shut violently down upon him?”
“No; in that case there would have been signs of strangulation and a bruise upon the throat as well.”
“But deceased might have been killed through a heavy weight accidentally falling upon him?”
“He might.”
“Was death instantaneous, in your opinion?”
“It is difficult to say. Such a blow might very well cause death instantaneously, or the patient might linger in a partially84 paralyzed condition for some time. In the present case I should be disposed to think that deceased might have lingered for some hours. I base my decision upon the condition of the brain revealed at the autopsy85. I may say, however, that Dr. Grimbold and I are not in complete agreement on the point.”
“I understand that a suggestion has been made as to the identification of the deceased. You are not in a position to identify him?”
“Certainly not. I never saw him before. The suggestion to which you refer is a preposterous86 one, and ought never to have been made. I was not aware until this morning that it had been made; had it been made to me earlier, I should have known how to deal with it, and I should like to express my strong disapproval of the unnecessary shock and distress87 inflicted upon a lady with whom I have the honour to be acquainted.”
The Coroner: It was not my fault, Sir Julian; I had nothing to do with it; I agree with you that it was unfortunate you were not consulted. 132
The reporters scribbled88 busily, and the court asked each other what was meant, while the jury tried to look as if they knew already.
“In the matter of the eyeglasses found upon the body, Sir Julian. Do these give any indication to a medical man?”
“They are somewhat unusual lenses; an oculist89 would be able to speak more definitely, but I will say for myself that I should have expected them to belong to an older man than the deceased.”
“Speaking as a physician, who has had many opportunities of observing the human body, did you gather anything from the appearance of the deceased as to his personal habits?”
“I should say that he was a man in easy circumstances, but who had only recently come into money. His teeth are in a bad state, and his hands shows signs of recent manual labour.”
“Something of that sort; of course, I could not say positively91.”
“Of course not. Thank you, Sir Julian.”
Dr. Grimbold, called, corroborated his distinguished colleague in every particular, except that, in his opinion, death had not occurred for several days after the blow. It was with the greatest hesitancy that he ventured to differ from Sir Julian Freke, and he might be wrong. It was difficult to tell in any case, and when he saw the body, deceased had been dead at least twenty-four hours, in his opinion. 133
Inspector Sugg, recalled. Would he tell the jury what steps had been taken to identify the deceased?
A description had been sent to every police station and had been inserted in all the newspapers. In view of the suggestion made by Sir Julian Freke, had inquiries been made at all the seaports92? They had. And with no results? With no results at all. No one had come forward to identify the body? Plenty of people had come forward; but nobody had succeeded in identifying it. Had any effort been made to follow up the clue afforded by the eyeglasses? Inspector Sugg submitted that, having regard to the interests of justice, he would beg to be excused from answering that question. Might the jury see the eyeglasses? The eyeglasses were handed to the jury.
William Watts, called, confirmed the evidence of Sir Julian Freke with regard to dissecting-room subjects. He explained the system by which they were entered. They usually were supplied by the workhouses and free hospitals. They were under his sole charge. The young gentlemen could not possibly get the keys. Had Sir Julian Freke, or any of the house surgeons, the keys? No, not even Sir Julian Freke. The keys had remained in his possession on Monday night? They had. And, in any case, the inquiry93 was irrelevant94, as there was no body missing, nor ever had been? That was the case.
The Coroner then addressed the jury, reminding them with some asperity95 that they were not there to gossip about who the deceased could or could not have been, but to give their opinion as to the cause 134 of death. He reminded them that they should consider whether, according to the medical evidence, death could have been accidental or self-inflicted, or whether it was deliberate murder, or homicide. If they considered the evidence on this point insufficient96, they could return an open verdict. In any case, their verdict could not prejudice any person; if they brought it in “murder,” all the whole evidence would have to be gone through again before the magistrate97. He then dismissed them, with the unspoken adjuration98 to be quick about it.
Sir Julian Freke, after giving his evidence, had caught the eye of the Duchess, and now came over and greeted her.
“I haven’t seen you for an age,” said that lady. “How are you?”
“Hard at work,” said the specialist. “Just got my new book out. This kind of thing wastes time. Have you seen Lady Levy yet?”
“No, poor dear,” said the Duchess. “I only came up this morning, for this. Mrs. Thipps is staying with me—one of Peter’s eccentricities99, you know. Poor Christine! I must run round and see her. This is Mr. Parker,” she added, “who is investigating that case.”
“Oh,” said Sir Julian, and paused. “Do you know,” he said in a low voice to Parker, “I am very glad to meet you. Have you seen Lady Levy yet?”
“I saw her this morning.”
“Did she ask you to go on with the inquiry?”
“Yes,” said Parker; “she thinks,” he added, “that Sir Reuben may be detained in the hands of some 135 financial rival or that perhaps some scoundrels are holding him to ransom100.”
“And is that your opinion?” asked Sir Julian.
Sir Julian hesitated again.
“I wish you would walk back with me when this is over,” he said.
“I should be delighted,” said Parker.
At this moment the jury returned and took their places, and there was a little rustle102 and hush103. The Coroner addressed the foreman and inquired if they were agreed upon their verdict.
“We are agreed, Mr. Coroner, that deceased died of the effects of a blow upon the spine104, but how that injury was inflicted we consider that there is not sufficient evidence to show.”
Mr. Parker and Sir Julian Freke walked up the road together.
“I had absolutely no idea until I saw Lady Levy this morning,” said the doctor, “that there was any idea of connecting this matter with the disappearance105 of Sir Reuben. The suggestion was perfectly monstrous106, and could only have grown up in the mind of that ridiculous police officer. If I had had any idea what was in his mind I could have disabused107 him and avoided all this.”
“I did my best to do so,” said Parker, “as soon as I was called in to the Levy case—”
“Who called you in, if I may ask?” inquired Sir Julian. 136
“Well, the household first of all, and then Sir Reuben’s uncle, Mr. Levy of Portman Square, wrote to me to go on with the investigation109.”
“And now Lady Levy has confirmed those instructions?”
“Certainly,” said Parker in some surprise.
Sir Julian was silent for a little time.
“I’m afraid I was the first person to put the idea into Sugg’s head,” said Parker, rather penitently110. “When Sir Reuben disappeared, my first step, almost, was to hunt up all the street accidents and suicides and so on that had turned up during the day, and I went down to see this Battersea Park body as a matter of routine. Of course, I saw that the thing was ridiculous as soon as I got there, but Sugg froze on to the idea—and it’s true there was a good deal of resemblance between the dead man and the portraits I’ve seen of Sir Reuben.”
“A strong superficial likeness,” said Sir Julian. “The upper part of the face is a not uncommon type, and as Sir Reuben wore a heavy beard and there was no opportunity of comparing the mouths and chins, I can understand the idea occurring to anybody. But only to be dismissed at once. I am sorry,” he added, “as the whole matter has been painful to Lady Levy. You may know, Mr. Parker, that I am an old, though I should not call myself an intimate, friend of the Levys.”
“I understood something of the sort.”
“Yes. When I was a young man I—in short, Mr. Parker, I hoped once to marry Lady Levy.” (Mr. 137 Parker gave the usual sympathetic groan111.) “I have never married, as you know,” pursued Sir Julian. “We have remained good friends. I have always done what I could to spare her pain.”
“Believe me, Sir Julian,” said Parker, “that I sympathize very much with you and with Lady Levy, and that I did all I could to disabuse108 Inspector Sugg of this notion. Unhappily, the coincidence of Sir Reuben’s being seen that evening in the Battersea Park Road—”
“Ah, yes,” said Sir Julian. “Dear me, here we are at home. Perhaps you would come in for a moment, Mr. Parker, and have tea or a whisky-and-soda or something.”
The two men stepped into a square, finely furnished hall with a fireplace on the same side as the door, and a staircase opposite. The dining-room door stood open on their right, and as Sir Julian rang the bell a man-servant appeared at the far end of the hall.
“What will you take?” asked the doctor.
“After that dreadfully cold place,” said Parker, “what I really want is gallons of hot tea, if you, as a nerve specialist, can bear the thought of it.”
“Provided you allow of a judicious113 blend of China in it,” replied Sir Julian in the same tone, “I have no objection to make. Tea in the library at once,” he added to the servant, and led the way upstairs.
“I don’t use the downstairs rooms much, except 138 the dining-room,” he explained as he ushered114 his guest into a small but cheerful library on the first floor. “This room leads out of my bedroom and is more convenient. I only live part of my time here, but it’s very handy for my research work at the hospital. That’s what I do there, mostly. It’s a fatal thing for a theorist, Mr. Parker, to let the practical work get behindhand. Dissection115 is the basis of all good theory and all correct diagnosis116. One must keep one’s hand and eye in training. This place is far more important to me than Harley Street, and some day I shall abandon my consulting practice altogether and settle down here to cut up my subjects and write my books in peace. So many things in this life are a waste of time, Mr. Parker.”
Mr. Parker assented to this.
“Very often,” said Sir Julian, “the only time I get for any research work—necessitating as it does the keenest observation and the faculties117 at their acutest—has to be at night, after a long day’s work and by artificial light, which, magnificent as the lighting118 of the dissecting room here is, is always more trying to the eyes than daylight. Doubtless your own work has to be carried on under even more trying conditions.”
“Yes, sometimes,” said Parker; “but then you see,” he added, “the conditions are, so to speak, part of the work.”
“Quite so, quite so,” said Sir Julian; “you mean that the burglar, for example, does not demonstrate his methods in the light of day, or plant the perfect 139 footmark in the middle of a damp patch of sand for you to analyze119.”
“Not as a rule,” said the detective, “but I have no doubt many of your diseases work quite as insidiously120 as any burglar.”
“They do, they do,” said Sir Julian, laughing, “and it is my pride, as it is yours, to track them down for the good of society. The neuroses, you know, are particularly clever criminals—they break out into as many disguises as—”
“As Leon Kestrel, the Master-Mummer,” suggested Parker, who read railway-stall detective stories on the principle of the ’busman’s holiday.
“No doubt,” said Sir Julian, who did not, “and they cover up their tracks wonderfully. But when you can really investigate, Mr. Parker, and break up the dead, or for preference the living body with the scalpel, you always find the footmarks—the little trail of ruin or disorder121 left by madness or disease or drink or any other similar pest. But the difficulty is to trace them back, merely by observing the surface symptoms—the hysteria, crime, religion, fear, shyness, conscience, or whatever it may be; just as you observe a theft or a murder and look for the footsteps of the criminal, so I observe a fit of hysterics or an outburst of piety122 and hunt for the little mechanical irritation123 which has produced it.”
“You regard all these things as physical?”
“Undoubtedly. I am not ignorant of the rise of another school of thought, Mr. Parker, but its exponents124 are mostly charlatans125 or self-deceivers. ‘Sie 140 haben sich so weit darin eingeheimnisst’ that, like Sludge the Medium, they are beginning to believe their own nonsense. I should like to have the exploring of some of their brains, Mr. Parker; I would show you the little faults and landslips in the cells—the misfiring and short-circuiting of the nerves, which produce these notions and these books. At least,” he added, gazing sombrely at his guest, “at least, if I could not quite show you today, I shall be able to do so tomorrow—or in a year’s time—or before I die.”
He sat for some minutes gazing into the fire, while the red light played upon his tawny126 beard and struck out answering gleams from his compelling eyes.
Parker drank tea in silence, watching him. On the whole, however, he remained but little interested in the causes of nervous phenomena127 and his mind strayed to Lord Peter, coping with the redoubtable128 Crimplesham down in Salisbury. Lord Peter had wanted him to come: that meant, either that Crimplesham was proving recalcitrant129 or that a clue wanted following. But Bunter had said that tomorrow would do, and it was just as well. After all, the Battersea affair was not Parker’s case; he had already wasted valuable time attending an inconclusive inquest, and he really ought to get on with his legitimate130 work. There was still Levy’s secretary to see and the little matter of the Peruvian Oil to be looked into. He looked at his watch.
“I am very much afraid—if you will excuse me—” he murmured. 141
Sir Julian came back with a start to the consideration of actuality.
“Your work calls you?” he said, smiling. “Well, I can understand that. I won’t keep you. But I wanted to say something to you in connection with your present inquiry—only I hardly know—I hardly like—”
“I shall be very grateful for any help you can give me,” he said.
“I’m afraid it’s more in the nature of hindrance,” said Sir Julian, with a short laugh. “It’s a case of destroying a clue for you, and a breach132 of professional confidence on my side. But since—accidentally—a certain amount has come out, perhaps the whole had better do so.”
Mr. Parker made the encouraging noise which, among laymen133, supplies the place of the priest’s insinuating134, “Yes, my son?”
“Sir Reuben Levy’s visit on Monday night was to me,” said Sir Julian.
“Yes?” said Mr. Parker, without expression.
“He found cause for certain grave suspicions concerning his health,” said Sir Julian, slowly, as though weighing how much he could in honour disclose to a stranger. “He came to me, in preference to his own medical man, as he was particularly anxious that the matter should be kept from his wife. As I told you, he knew me fairly well, and Lady Levy had consulted me about a nervous disorder in the summer.” 142
“Did he make an appointment with you?” asked Parker.
“I beg your pardon,” said the other, absently.
“Did he make an appointment?”
“An appointment? Oh, no! He turned up suddenly in the evening after dinner when I wasn’t expecting him. I took him up here and examined him, and he left me somewhere about ten o’clock, I should think.”
“May I ask what was the result of your examination?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“It might illuminate—well, conjecture135 as to his subsequent conduct,” said Parker, cautiously. This story seemed to have little coherence136 with the rest of the business, and he wondered whether coincidence was alone responsible for Sir Reuben’s disappearance on the same night that he visited the doctor.
“I see,” said Sir Julian. “Yes. Well, I will tell you in confidence that I saw grave grounds of suspicion, but as yet, no absolute certainty of mischief137.”
“Thank you. Sir Reuben left you at ten o’clock?”
“Then or thereabouts. I did not at first mention the matter as it was so very much Sir Reuben’s wish to keep his visit to me secret, and there was no question of accident in the street or anything of that kind, since he reached home safely at midnight.”
“Quite so,” said Parker.
“It would have been, and is, a breach of confidence,” said Sir Julian, “and I only tell you now because Sir Reuben was accidentally seen, and because I would rather tell you in private than have you ferretting 143 round here and questioning my servants, Mr. Parker. You will excuse my frankness.”
“Certainly,” said Parker. “I hold no brief for the pleasantness of my profession, Sir Julian. I am very much obliged to you for telling me this. I might otherwise have wasted valuable time following up a false trail.”
“I am sure I need not ask you, in your turn, to respect this confidence,” said the doctor. “To publish the matter abroad could only harm Sir Reuben and pain his wife, besides placing me in no favourable138 light with my patients.”
“I promise to keep the thing to myself,” said Parker, “except of course,” he added hastily, “that I must inform my colleague.”
“You have a colleague in the case?”
“I have.”
“What sort of person is he?”
“Is he a police officer?”
“You need not be afraid of your confidence getting into the records at Scotland Yard.”
“I see that you know how to be discreet, Mr. Parker.”
On returning to Great Ormond Street, Mr. Parker found a wire awaiting him, which said: “Do not trouble to come. All well. Returning tomorrow. Wimsey.”
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1
inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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levy
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| n.征收税或其他款项，征收额 | |
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adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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convened
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| 召开( convene的过去式 )； 召集； （为正式会议而）聚集； 集合 | |
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7
interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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8
insinuate
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| vt.含沙射影地说，暗示 | |
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9
bribe
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| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
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10
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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peevishly
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| adv．暴躁地 | |
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drizzling
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| 下蒙蒙细雨，下毛毛雨( drizzle的现在分词 ) | |
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13
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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15
influenza
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| n.流行性感冒，流感 | |
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disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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18
diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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19
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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20
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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22
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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23
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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24
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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25
irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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26
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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27
daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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28
gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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29
deposed
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| v.罢免( depose的过去式和过去分词 )；（在法庭上）宣誓作证 | |
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30
croak
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| vi.嘎嘎叫，发牢骚 | |
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31
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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32
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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33
explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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34
bleating
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| v.（羊，小牛）叫( bleat的现在分词 )；哭诉；发出羊叫似的声音；轻声诉说 | |
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35
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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38
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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39
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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40
pertinence
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| n.中肯 | |
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41
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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42
encumbered
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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44
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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45
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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46
abstemious
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| adj.有节制的，节俭的 | |
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47
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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48
smacking
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| 活泼的，发出响声的，精力充沛的 | |
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49
improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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50
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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51
bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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52
substantiate
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| v.证实；证明...有根据 | |
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53
stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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54
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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55
elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
sifted
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| v.筛( sift的过去式和过去分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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57
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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58
ram
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| (random access memory)随机存取存储器 | |
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59
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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60
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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61
corroborated
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| v.证实，支持（某种说法、信仰、理论等）( corroborate的过去式 ) | |
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62
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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63
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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64
connivance
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| n.纵容；默许 | |
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65
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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66
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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67
mumble
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| n./v.喃喃而语，咕哝 | |
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68
condescending
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| adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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69
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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70
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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71
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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72
surgical
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| adj.外科的，外科医生的，手术上的 | |
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73
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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75
collaboration
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| n.合作，协作；勾结 | |
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76
dissecting
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| v.解剖（动物等）( dissect的现在分词 )；仔细分析或研究 | |
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77
mansions
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| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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78
watts
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| （电力计量单位）瓦，瓦特( watt的名词复数 ) | |
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79
bruising
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| adj.殊死的；十分激烈的v.擦伤(bruise的现在分词形式) | |
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80
spinal
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| adj.针的，尖刺的，尖刺状突起的；adj.脊骨的，脊髓的 | |
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81
paralysis
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| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
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82
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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84
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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85
autopsy
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| n.尸体解剖；尸检 | |
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86
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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87
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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88
scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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89
oculist
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| n.眼科医生 | |
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90
colonist
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| n.殖民者，移民 | |
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91
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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92
seaports
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| n.海港( seaport的名词复数 ) | |
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93
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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94
irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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95
asperity
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| n.粗鲁，艰苦 | |
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96
insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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97
magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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98
adjuration
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| n.祈求，命令 | |
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99
eccentricities
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| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
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100
ransom
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| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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102
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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103
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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104
spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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107
disabused
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| v.去除…的错误想法( disabuse的过去式和过去分词 )；使醒悟 | |
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108
disabuse
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| v.解惑；矫正 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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penitently
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111
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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113
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dissection
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| n.分析；解剖 | |
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diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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117
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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118
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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119
analyze
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| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
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insidiously
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| 潜在地，隐伏地，阴险地 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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122
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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123
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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exponents
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| n.倡导者( exponent的名词复数 )；说明者；指数；能手 | |
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125
charlatans
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| n.冒充内行者，骗子( charlatan的名词复数 ) | |
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tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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redoubtable
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| adj.可敬的；可怕的 | |
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recalcitrant
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| adj.倔强的 | |
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legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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laymen
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| 门外汉，外行人( layman的名词复数 )； 普通教徒（有别于神职人员） | |
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insinuating
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| adj.曲意巴结的，暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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135
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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136
coherence
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| n.紧凑；连贯；一致性 | |
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137
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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138
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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