“She sure is a-goin’ some,” remarked Captain Hank, reflectively. “By Ginger5! If she keeps it up into Boston Harbour she won’t stop this side o’ the Public Gardens.”
Captain Hank watched the boat curiously6 until she was swallowed up, lost in the mist, then turned to his own affairs. He was a couple of miles out of Boston Harbour, going in; it was six o’clock of a gray morning. A few minutes after the disappearance7 of the motor boat Captain Hank’s attention was attracted by the hoarse8 shriek9 of a whistle two hundred yards away. He dimly traced through the mist the gigantic lines of a great vessel10 — it seemed to be a ship of war.
It was only a few minutes after Captain Hank lost sight of the motor boat that she was again sighted, this time as she flashed into Boston Harbour at full speed. She fled past, almost under the prow12 of a pilot boat, going out, and was hailed. At the mess table later the pilot’s man on watch made a remark about her.
“Goin’! Well, wasn’t she though! Never saw one thing pass so close to another in my life without scrubbin’ the paint offen it. She was so close up I could spit in her, and when I spoke13 the feller didn’t even look up — just kept a-goin’. I told him a few things that was good for his soul.”
Inside Boston Harbour the motor boat performed a miracle. Pursuing a course which was singularly erratic14 and at a speed more than dangerous she reeled on through the surge of the sea regardless alike of fog, the proximity15 of other vessels16 and the heavy wash from larger craft. Here she narrowly missed a tug17; there she skimmed by a slow moving tramp and a warning shout was raised; a fisherman swore at her as only a fisherman can. And finally when she passed into a clear space, seemingly headed for a dock at top speed, she was the most unanimously damned craft that ever came into Boston Harbour.
“Guess that’s a through boat,” remarked an aged18 salt, facetiously19 as he gazed at her from a dock. “If that durned fool don’t take some o’ the speed offen her she’ll go through all right — wharf20 an’ all.”
Still the man in the boat made no motion; the whiz of her motor, plainly heard in a sudden silence, was undiminished. Suddenly the tumult21 of warning was renewed. Only a chance would prevent a smash. Then Big John Dawson appeared on the string piece of the dock. Big John had a voice that was noted22 from Newfoundland to Norfolk for its depth and width, and possessed23 objurgatory powers which were at once the awe24 and admiration25 of the fishing fleet.
“You ijit!” he bellowed26 at the impassive helmsman. “Shut off that power an’ throw yer hellum.”
There was no response; the boat came on directly toward the dock where Big John and his fellows were gathered. The fishermen and loungers saw that a crash was coming and scattered27 from the string piece.
“The durned fool,” said Big John, resignedly.
Then came the crash, the rending28 of timbers, and silence save for the grinding whir of the motor. Big John ran to the end of the wharf and peered down. The speed of the motor had driven the boat half way upon a float which careened perilously29. The man had been thrown forward and lay huddled30 up face downward and motionless on the float. The dirty water lapped at him greedily.
Big John was the first man on the float. He crept cautiously to the huddled figure and turned it face upward. He gazed for an instant into wide staring eyes then turned to the curious ones peering down from the dock.
“No wonder he didn’t stop,” he said in an awed31 tone. “The durned fool is dead.”
Willing hands gave aid and after a minute the lifeless figure lay on the dock. It was that of a man in uniform — the uniform of a foreign navy. He was apparently32 forty-five years old, large and powerful of frame with the sun-browned face of a seaman33. The jet black of moustache and goatee was startling against the dead colour of the face. The hair was tinged34 with gray; and on the back of the left hand was a single letter —“D”— tattooed35 in blue.
“He’s French,” said Big John authoritatively36, “an’ that’s the uniform of a Cap’n in the French Navy.” He looked puzzled a moment as he stared at the figure. “An’ they ain’t been a French man-o’-war in Boston Harbour for six months.”
After awhile the police came and with them Detective Mallory, the big man of the Bureau of Criminal Investigation37; and finally Dr. Clough, Medical Examiner. While the detective questioned the fishermen and those who had witnessed the crash Dr. Clough examined the body.
“An autopsy38 will be necessary,” he announced as he arose.
“How long has he been dead?” asked the detective.
“Eight or ten hours, I should say. The cause of death doesn’t appear. There is no shot or knife wound so far as I can see.”
Detective Mallory closely examined the dead man’s clothing. There was no name or tailor mark; the linen39 was new; the name of the maker40 of the shoes had been ripped out with a knife. There was nothing in the pockets, not a piece of paper or even a vagrant41 coin.
Then Detective Mallory turned his attention to the boat. Both hull42 and motor were of French manufacture. Long, deep scratches on each side showed how the name had been removed. Inside the boat the detective saw something white and picked it up. It was a handkerchief — a woman’s handkerchief, with the initials “E. M. B.” in a corner.
“Ah, a woman’s in it!” he soliloquised.
Then the body was removed and carefully secluded43 from the prying44 eyes of the press. Thus no picture of the dead man appeared. Hutchinson Hatch, reporter, and others asked many questions.
Detective Mallory hinted vaguely45 at international questions — the dead man was a French officer, he said, and there might be something back of it.
“I can’t tell you all of it,” he said wisely, “but my theory is complete. It is murder. The victim was captain of a French man-of-war. His body was placed in a motor boat, possibly a part of the fittings of the war ship and the boat set adrift. I can say no more.”
“Your theory is complete then,” Hatch remarked casually46, “except the name of the man, the manner of death, the motive47, the name of his ship, the presence of the handkerchief and the precise reason why the body should be disposed of in this fashion instead of being cast into the sea?”
The detective snorted. Hatch went away to make some inquiries48 on his own account. Within half a dozen hours he had satisfied himself by telegraph that no French war craft had been within five hundred miles of Boston for six months. Thus the mystery grew deeper; a thousand questions to which there seemed no answer arose.
At this point, the day following the events related, the problem of the motor boat came to the attention of Professor Augustus S. F. X. Van Dusen, The Thinking Machine. The scientist listened closely but petulantly49 to the story Hatch told.
“Has there been an autopsy yet?” he asked at last.
“It is set for eleven o’clock today,” replied the reporter. “It is now after ten.”
“I shall attend it,” said the scientist.
Medical Examiner Clough welcomed the eminent50 Professor Van Dusen’s proffer51 of assistance in his capacity of M. D., while Hatch and other reporters impatiently cooled their toes on the curb52. In two hours the autopsy had been completed. The Thinking Machine amused himself by studying the insignia on the dead man’s uniform, leaving it to Dr. Clough to make a startling statement to the press. The man had not been murdered; he had died of heart failure. There was no poison in the stomach, nor was there a knife or pistol wound.
Then the inquisitive53 press poured in a flood of questions. Who had scratched off the name of the boat? Dr. Clough didn’t know. Why had it been scratched off? Still he didn’t know. How did it happen that the name of the maker of the shoes had been ripped out? He shrugged54 his shoulders. What did the handkerchief have to do with it? Really he couldn’t conjecture55. Was there any inkling of the dead man’s identity? Not so far as he knew. Any scar on the body which might lead to identification? No.
Hatch made a few mental comments on officials in general and skilfully56 steered57 The Thinking Machine away from the other reporters.
“Did that man die of heart failure?” he asked, flatly.
“He did not,” was the curt58 reply. “It was poison.”
“But the Medical Examiner specifically stated that there was no poison in the stomach,” persisted the reporter.
The scientist did not reply. Hatch struggled with and suppressed a desire to ask more questions. On reaching home the scientist’s first act was to consult an encyclopaedia59. After several minutes he turned to the reporter with an inscrutable face.
“Of course the idea of a natural death in this case is absurd,” he said, shortly. “Every fact is against it. Now, Mr. Hatch, please get for me all the local and New York newspapers of the day the body was found — not the day after. Send or bring them to me, then come again at five this afternoon.”
“But — but —” Hatch blurted60.
“I can say nothing until I know all the facts,” interrupted The Thinking Machine.
Hatch personally delivered the specified61 newspapers into the hands of The Thinking Machine — this man who never read newspapers — and went away. It was an afternoon of agony; an agony of impatience62. Promptly63 at five o’clock he was ushered64 into Professor Van Dusen’s laboratory. He sat half smothered65 in newspapers, and popped up out of the heap aggressively.
“It was murder, Mr. Hatch,” he exclaimed, suddenly. “Murder by an extraordinary method.”
“Who — who is the man? How was he killed?” asked Hatch.
“His name is —” the scientist began, then paused. “I presume your office has the book ‘Who’s Who In America?’ Please ‘phone and ask them to give you the record of Langham Dudley.”
“Is he the dead man?” Hatch demanded quickly.
“I don’t know,” was the reply.
Hatch went to the telephone. Ten minutes later he returned to find The Thinking Machine dressed to go out.
“Langham Dudley is a ship owner, fifty-one years old,” the reporter read from notes he had taken. “He was once a sailor before the mast and later became a ship owner in a small way. He was successful in his small undertakings66 and for fifteen years has been a millionaire. He has a certain social position, partly through his wife whom he married a year and a half ago. She was Edith Marston Belding, a daughter of the famous Belding family. He has an estate on the North Shore.”
“Very good,” commented the scientist. “Now we will find out something about how this man was killed.”
At North Station they took train for a small place on the North Shore, thirty five miles from Boston. There The Thinking Machine made some inquiries and finally they entered a lumbersome carry-all. After a drive of half an hour through the dark they saw the lights of what seemed to be a pretentious67 country place. Somewhere off to the right Hatch heard the roar of the restless ocean.
“Wait for us,” commanded The Thinking Machine as the carry-all stopped.
The Thinking Machine ascended68 the steps, followed by Hatch, and rang. After a minute or so the door was opened and a light flooded out. Standing69 before them was a Japanese — a man of indeterminate age with the graven face of his race.
“Is Mr. Dudley in?” asked The Thinking Machine.
“He has not that pleasure,” replied the Japanese, and Hatch smiled at the queerly turned phrase.
“Mrs. Dudley?” asked the scientist.
“Mrs. Dudley is attiring70 herself in clothing,” replied the Japanese. “If you will be pleased to enter.”
The Thinking Machine handed him a card and was shown into a reception room. The Japanese placed chairs for them with courteous71 precision and disappeared. After a short pause there was a rustle72 of silken skirts on the stairs, and a woman — Mrs. Dudley — entered. She was not pretty; she was stunning73 rather, tall, of superb figure and crowned with a glory of black hair.
“Mr. Van Dusen?” she asked as she glanced at the card.
The Thinking Machine bowed low, albeit74 awkwardly. Mrs. Dudley sank down on a couch and the two men resumed their seats. There was a little pause; Mrs. Dudley broke the silence at last.
“Well, Mr. Van Dusen, if you —” she began.
“You have not seen a newspaper for several days?” asked The Thinking Machine, abruptly75.
“No,” she replied, wonderingly, almost smiling. “Why?”
“Can you tell me just where your husband is?”
The Thinking Machine squinted76 at her in that aggressive way which was habitual77. A quick flush crept into her face; and grew deeper at the sharp scrutiny78. Inquiry79 lay in her eyes.
“I don’t know,” she replied at last. “In Boston, I presume.”
“You haven’t seen him since the night of the ball?”
“No. I think it was half past one o’clock that night.”
“Is his motor boat here?”
“Really, I don’t know. I presume it is. May I ask the purpose of this questioning?”
The Thinking Machine squinted hard at her for half a minute. Hatch was uncomfortable, half resentful even, at the agitation80 of the woman and the sharp, cold tone of his companion.
“On the night of the ball,” the scientist went on, passing the question, “Mr. Dudley cut his left arm just above the wrist. It was only a slight wound. A piece of court plaster was put on it. Do you know if he put it on himself? If not, who did?”
“I put it on,” replied Mrs. Dudley, unhesitatingly, wonderingly.
“And whose court plaster was it?”
“Mine — some I had in my dressing81 room. Why?”
The scientist arose and paced across the floor, glancing once out the hall door. Mrs. Dudley looked at Hatch inquiringly and was about to speak when The Thinking Machine stopped beside her and placed his slim fingers on her wrist. She did not resent the action; was only curious if one might judge from her eyes.
“Are you prepared for a shock?” the scientist asked.
“What is it?” she demanded in sudden terror. “This suspense82 —”
“Your husband is dead — murdered — poisoned!” said the scientist with sudden brutality83. His fingers still lay on her pulse. “The court plaster which you put on his arm and which came from your room was covered with a virulent85 poison which was instantly transfused86 into his blood.”
Mrs. Dudley did not start or scream. Instead she stared up at The Thinking Machine a moment, her face became pallid87, a little shiver passed over her. Then she fell back on the couch in a dead faint.
“Good!” remarked The Thinking Machine complacently88. And then as Hatch started up suddenly: “Shut that door,” he commanded.
The reporter did so. When he turned back his companion was leaning over the unconscious woman. After a moment he left her and went to a window where he stood looking out. As Hatch watched he saw the colour coming back into Mrs. Dudley’s face. At last she opened her eyes.
“Don’t get hysterical,” The Thinking Machine directed calmly. “I know you had nothing whatever to do with your husband’s death. I want only a little assistance to find out who killed him.”
“Oh, my God!” exclaimed Mrs. Dudley. “Dead! Dead!”
Suddenly tears leapt from her eyes and for several minutes the two men respected her grief. When at last she raised her face her eyes were red, but there was a rigid89 expression about the mouth.
“If I can be of any service —” she began.
“Is this the boat house I see from this window?” asked The Thinking Machine. “That long, low building with the light over the door?”
“Yes,” replied Mrs. Dudley.
“You say you don’t know if the motor boat is there now?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Will you ask your Japanese servant, and if he doesn’t know, let him go see, please?”
Mrs. Dudley arose and touched an electric button. After a moment the Japanese appeared at the door.
“Osaka, do you know if Mr. Dudley’s motor boat is in the boat house?” she asked.
“No, honourable90 lady.”
“Will you go yourself and see?”
Osaka bowed low and left the room, closing the door gently behind him. The Thinking Machine again crossed to the window and sat down staring out into the night. Mrs. Dudley asked questions, scores of them, and he answered them in order until she knew the details of the finding of her husband’s body — that is, the details the public knew. She was interrupted by the reappearance of Osaka.
“I do not find the motor boat in the house, honourable lady.”
“That is all,” said the scientist.
Again Osaka bowed and retired91.
“Now, Mrs. Dudley,” resumed The Thinking Machine almost gently, “we know your husband wore a French naval92 costume at the masked ball. May I ask what you wore?”
“It was a Queen Elizabeth costume,” replied Mrs. Dudley, “very heavy with a long train.”
“And if you could give me a photograph of Mr. Dudley?”
Mrs. Dudley left the room an instant and returned with a cabinet photograph. Hatch and the scientist looked at it together; it was unmistakably the man in the motor boat.
“You can do nothing yourself,” said The Thinking Machine at last, and he moved as if to go. “Within a few hours we will have the guilty person. You may rest assured that your name will be in no way brought into the matter unpleasantly.”
Hatch glanced at his companion; he thought he detected a sinister93 note in the soothing94 voice, but the face expressed nothing. Mrs. Dudley ushered them into the hall; Osaka stood at the front door. They passed out and the door closed behind them.
Hatch started down the steps but The Thinking Machine stopped at the door and tramped up and down. The reporter turned back in astonishment95. In the dim reflected light he saw the scientist’s finger raised, enjoining96 silence, then saw him lean forward suddenly with his ear pressed to the door. After a little he rapped gently. The door was opened by Osaka who obeyed a beckoning97 motion of the scientist’s hand and came out. Silently he was led off the veranda98 into the yard; he appeared in no way surprised.
“Your master, Mr. Dudley, has been murdered,” declared The Thinking Machine quietly, to Osaka. “We know that Mrs. Dudley killed him,” he went on as Hatch stared, “but I have told her she is not suspected. We are not officers and cannot arrest her. Can you go with us to Boston, without the knowledge of anyone here and tell what you know of the quarrel between husband and wife to the police?”
Osaka looked placidly99 into the eager face.
“I had the honour to believe that the circumstances would not be recognized,” he said finally. “Since you know, I will go.”
“We will drive down a little way and wait for you.”
The Japanese disappeared into the house again. Hatch was too astounded100 to speak, but followed The Thinking Machine into the carry-all. It drove away a hundred yards and stopped. After a few minutes an impalpable shadow came toward them through the night. The scientist peered out as it came up.
“Osaka?” he asked softly.
“Yes.”
An hour later the three men were on a train, Boston bound. Once comfortably settled the scientist turned to the Japanese.
“Now if you will please tell me just what happened the night of the ball?” he asked, “and the incidents leading up to the disagreement between Mr. and Mrs. Dudley?”
“He drank elaborately,” Osaka explained reluctantly, in his quaint101 English, “and when drinking he was brutal84 to the honourable lady. Twice with my own eyes I saw him strike her — once in Japan where I entered his service while they were on a wedding journey, and once here. On the night of the ball he was immeasurably intoxicated102, and when he danced he fell down to the floor. The honourable lady was chagrined103 and angry — she had been angry before. There was some quarrel which I am not comprehensive of. They had been widely divergent for several months. It was, of course, not prominent in the presence of others.”
“And the cut on his arm where the court plaster was applied104?” asked the scientist. “Just how did he get that?”
“It was when he fell down,” continued the Japanese. “He reached to embrace a carved chair and the carved wood cut his arm. I assisted him to his feet and the honourable lady sent me to her room to get court plaster. I acquired it from her dressing table and she placed it on the cut.”
“That makes the evidence against her absolutely conclusive,” remarked The Thinking Machine, as if finally. There was a little pause, and then: “Do you happen to know just how Mrs. Dudley placed the body in the boat?”
“I have not that honour,” said Osaka. “Indeed I am not comprehensive of anything that happened after the court plaster was put on except that Mr. Dudley was affected105 some way and went out of the house. Mrs. Dudley, too, was not in the ball room for ten minutes or so afterwards.”
Hutchinson Hatch stared frankly106 into the face of The Thinking Machine; there was nothing to be read there. Still deeply thoughtful Hatch heard the brakeman bawl107 “Boston” and mechanically followed the scientist and Osaka out of the station into a cab. They were driven immediately to Police Headquarters. Detective Mallory was just about to go home when they entered his office.
“It may enlighten you, Mr. Mallory,” announced the scientist coldly, “to know that the man in the motor boat was not a French naval officer who died of natural causes — he was Langham Dudley, a millionaire ship owner. He was murdered. It just happens that I know the person who did it.”
The detective arose in astonishment and stared at the slight figure before him inquiringly; he knew the man too well to dispute any assertion he might make.
“Who is the murderer?” he asked.
The Thinking Machine closed the door and the spring lock clicked.
“That man there,” he remarked calmly, turning on Osaka.
For one brief instant there was a pause and silence; then the detective advanced upon the Japanese with hand outstretched. The agile109 Osaka leapt suddenly, as a snake strikes; there was a quick, fierce struggle and Detective Mallory sprawled110 on the floor. There had been just a twist of the wrist — a trick of jiu jitsu — and Osaka had flung himself at the locked door. As he fumbled111 there Hatch, deliberately112 and without compunction, raised a chair and brought it down on his head. Osaka sank down without a sound.
It was an hour before they brought him around again. Meanwhile the detective had patted and petted half a dozen suddenly acquired bruises113, and had then searched Osaka. He found nothing to interest him save a small bottle. He uncorked it and started to smell it when The Thinking Machine snatched it away.
“You fool, that’ll kill you!” he exclaimed.
Osaka sat, lashed11 hand and foot to a chair, in Detective Mallory’s office — so placed by the detective for safe keeping. His face was no longer expressionless; there were fear and treachery and cunning there. So he listened, perforce, to the statement of the case by The Thinking Machine who leaned back in his chair, squinting114 steadily115 upward and with his long, slender fingers pressed together.
“Two and two make four, not some times but all the time,” he began at last as if disputing some previous assertion. “As the figure two, wholly disconnected from any other, gives small indication of a result, so is an isolated116 fact of little consequence. Yet that fact added to another, and the resulting fact added to a third, and so on, will give a final result. That result, if every fact is considered, must be correct. Thus any problem may be solved by logic117; logic is inevitable118.
“In this case the facts, considered singly, might have been compatible with either a natural death, suicide, or murder — considered together they proved murder. The climax119 of this proof was the removal of the maker’s name from the dead man’s shoes, and a fact strongly contributory was the attempt to destroy the identity of the boat. A subtle mind lay back of it all.”
“I so regarded it,” said Detective Mallory. “I was confident of murder until the Medical Examiner —”
“We prove a murder,” The Thinking Machine went on serenely120. “The method? I was with Dr. Clough at the autopsy. There was no shot, or knife wound, no poison in the stomach. Knowing there was murder I sought further. Then I found the method in a slight, jagged wound on the left arm. It had been covered with court plaster. The heart showed constriction121 without apparent cause, and while Dr. Clough examined it I took off this court plaster. Its odour, an unusual one, told me that poison had been transfused into the blood through the wound. So two and two had made four.
“Then — what poison? A knowledge of botany aided me. I recognized faintly the trace of an odour of an herb which is not only indigenous122 to, but grows exclusively in Japan. Thus a Japanese poison. Analysis later in my laboratory proved it was a Japanese poison, virulent, and necessarily slow to act unless it is placed directly in an artery123. The poison on the court plaster and that you took from Osaka are identical.”
The scientist uncorked the bottle and permitted a single drop of a green liquid to fall on his handkerchief. He allowed a minute or more for evaporation124 then handed it to Detective Mallory who sniffed125 at it from a respectful distance. Then The Thinking Machine produced the bit of court plaster he had taken from the dead man’s arm, and again the detective sniffed.
“The same,” the scientist resumed as he touched a lighted match to the handkerchief and watched it crumble126 to ashes, “and so powerful that in its pure state mere127 inhalation is fatal. I permitted Dr. Clough to make public his opinion — heart failure — after the autopsy for obvious reasons. It would reassure128 the murderer for instance if he saw it printed, and besides Dudley did die from heart failure; the poison caused it.
“Next came identification. Mr. Hatch learned that no French war ship had been within hundreds of miles of Boston for months. The one seen by Captain Barber might have been one of our own. This man was supposed to be a French naval officer, and had been dead less than eight hours. Obviously he did not come from a ship of his own country. Then from where?
“I know nothing of uniforms, yet I examined the insignia on the arms and shoulders closely after which I consulted my encyclopaedia. I learned that while the uniform was more French than anything else it was really the uniform of no country, because it was not correct. The insignia were mixed.
“Then what? There were several possibilities, among them a fancy dress ball was probable. Absolute accuracy would not be essential there. Where had there been a fancy dress ball? I trusted to the newspapers to tell me that. They did. A short dispatch from a place on the North Shore stated that on the night before the man was found dead there had been a fancy dress ball at the Langham Dudley estate.
“Now it is as necessary to remember every fact in solving a problem as it is to consider every figure in arithmetic. Dudley! Here was the ‘D’ tattooed on the dead man’s hand. ‘Who’s Who’ showed that Langham Dudley married Edith Marston Belding. Here was the ‘E. M. B.’ on the handkerchief in the boat. Langham Dudley was a ship owner, had been a sailor, was a millionaire. Possibly this was his own boat built in France.”
Detective Mallory was staring into the eyes of The Thinking Machine in frank admiration; Osaka to whom the narrative129 had thus far been impersonal130, gazed, gazed as if fascinated. Hutchinson Hatch, reporter, was drinking in every word greedily.
“We went to the Dudley place,” the scientist resumed after a moment. “This Japanese opened the door. Japanese poison! Two and two were still making four. But I was first interested in Mrs. Dudley. She showed no agitation and told me frankly that she placed the court plaster on her husband’s arm, and that it came from her room. There was instantly a doubt as to her connection with the murder; her immediate108 frankness aroused it.
“Finally, with my hand on her pulse — which was normal — I told her as brutally131 as I could that her husband had been murdered. Her pulse jumped frightfully and as I told her the cause of death it wavered, weakened and she fainted. Now if she had known her husband were dead — even if she had killed him — a mere statement of his death would not have caused that pulse. Further I doubt if she could have disposed of her husband’s body in the motor boat. He was a large man and the manner of her dress even, was against this. Therefore she was innocent.
“And then? The Japanese, Osaka, here. I could see the door of the boat house from the room where we were. Mrs. Dudley asked Osaka if Mr. Dudley’s boat wase in the house. He said he didn’t know. Then she sent him to see. He returned and said the boat was not there, yet he had not gone to the boat house at all. Ergo, he knew the boat was not there. He may have learned it from another servant, still it was a point against him.”
Again the scientist paused and squinted at the Japanese. For a moment Osaka withstood the gaze, then his beady eyes shifted and he moved uncomfortably.
“I tricked Osaka into coming here by a ludicrously simple expedient,” The Thinking Machine went on steadily. “On the train I asked if he knew just how Mrs. Dudley got the body of her husband into the boat. Remember at this point he was not supposed to know that the body had been in a boat at all. He said he didn’t know and by that very answer admitted that he knew the body had been placed in the boat. He knew because he put it there himself. He didn’t merely throw it in the water because he had sense enough to know if the tide didn’t take it out it would rise, and possibly be found.
“After the slight injury Mr. Dudley evidently wandered out toward the boat house. The poison was working, and perhaps he fell. Then this man removed all identifying marks, even to the name in the shoes, put the body in the boat and turned on full power. He had a right to assume that the boat would be lost, or that the dead man would be thrown out. Wind and tide and a loose rudder brought it into Boston Harbour. I do not attempt to account for the presence of Mrs. Dudley’s handkerchief in the boat. It might have gotten there in one of a hundred ways.”
“How did you know husband and wife had quarrelled?” asked Hatch.
“Surmise to account for her not knowing where he was,” replied The Thinking Machine. “If they had had a violent disagreement it was possible that he would have gone away without telling her, and she would not have been particularly worried, at least up to the time we saw her. As it was she presumed he was in Boston; perhaps Osaka here gave her that impression?”
The Thinking Machine turned and stared at the Japanese curiously.
“Is that correct?” he asked.
Osaka did not answer.
“And the motive?” asked Detective Mallory, at last.
“Will you tell us just why you killed Mr. Dudley?” asked The Thinking Machine of the Japanese.
“I will not,” exclaimed Osaka, suddenly. It was the first time he had spoken.
“It probably had to do with a girl in Japan,” explained The Thinking Machine, easily. “The murder had been a long cherished project, such a one as revenge through love would have inspired.”
It was a day or so later that Hutchinson Hatch called to inform The Thinking Machine that Osaka had confessed and had given the motive for the murder. It was not a nice story.
“One of the most astonishing things to me,” Hatch added, “is the complete case of circumstantial evidence against Mrs. Dudley, beginning with the quarrel and leading to the application of the poison with her own hands. I believe she would have been convicted on the actual circumstantial evidence had you not shown conclusively132 that Osaka did it.”
“Circumstantial fiddlesticks!” snapped The Thinking Machine. “I wouldn’t convict a yellow dog of stealing jam on circumstantial evidence alone, even if he had jam all over his nose.” He squinted truculently133 at Hatch for a moment. “In the first place well behaved dogs don’t eat jam,” he added more mildly.
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mariner
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| n.水手号不载人航天探测器，海员，航海者 | |
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2
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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3
slashing
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| adj.尖锐的；苛刻的；鲜明的；乱砍的v.挥砍( slash的现在分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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4
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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5
ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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7
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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8
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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9
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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10
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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12
prow
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| n.(飞机)机头，船头 | |
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13
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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14
erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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15
proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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16
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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17
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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18
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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19
facetiously
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| adv.爱开玩笑地；滑稽地，爱开玩笑地 | |
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20
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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21
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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22
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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23
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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24
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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25
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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26
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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27
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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28
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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29
perilously
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| adv.充满危险地，危机四伏地 | |
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30
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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31
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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33
seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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34
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35
tattooed
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| v.刺青，文身( tattoo的过去式和过去分词 )；连续有节奏地敲击；作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
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36
authoritatively
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| 命令式地，有权威地，可信地 | |
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37
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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38
autopsy
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| n.尸体解剖；尸检 | |
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39
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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40
maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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41
vagrant
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| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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42
hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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43
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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44
prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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45
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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46
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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47
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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48
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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49
petulantly
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50
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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51
proffer
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| v.献出，赠送；n.提议，建议 | |
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52
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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53
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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54
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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55
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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56
skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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57
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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58
curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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59
encyclopaedia
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| n.百科全书 | |
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60
blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
specified
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| adj.特定的 | |
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62
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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63
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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64
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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66
undertakings
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| 企业( undertaking的名词复数 )； 保证； 殡仪业； 任务 | |
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67
pretentious
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| adj.自命不凡的，自负的，炫耀的 | |
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68
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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70
attiring
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| v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的现在分词 ) | |
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71
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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72
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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73
stunning
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| adj.极好的；使人晕倒的 | |
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74
albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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75
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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76
squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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77
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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78
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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79
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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80
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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81
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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82
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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83
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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84
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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85
virulent
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| adj.有毒的，有恶意的，充满敌意的 | |
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86
transfused
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| v.输（血或别的液体）( transfuse的过去式和过去分词 )；渗透；使…被灌输或传达 | |
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87
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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88
complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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89
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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90
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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91
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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92
naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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93
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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94
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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95
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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96
enjoining
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| v.命令( enjoin的现在分词 ) | |
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97
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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98
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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99
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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100
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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101
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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102
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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103
chagrined
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| adj.懊恼的，苦恼的v.使懊恼，使懊丧，使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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105
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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106
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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107
bawl
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| v.大喊大叫，大声地喊，咆哮 | |
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108
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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109
agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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110
sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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111
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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112
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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113
bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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114
squinting
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| 斜视( squint的现在分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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115
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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116
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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117
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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118
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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119
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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120
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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121
constriction
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| 压缩； 紧压的感觉； 束紧； 压缩物 | |
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122
indigenous
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| adj.土产的，土生土长的，本地的 | |
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123
artery
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| n.干线，要道；动脉 | |
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124
evaporation
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| n.蒸发，消失 | |
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125
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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126
crumble
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| vi.碎裂，崩溃；vt.弄碎，摧毁 | |
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127
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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128
reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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129
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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130
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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131
brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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132
conclusively
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| adv.令人信服地，确凿地 | |
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133
truculently
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