"If there is anything wrong about the notes," Capper began, "I can only----"
"From your point of view there is nothing wrong," said Prout. "A mere3 coincidence, sir. If I could only, have a few minutes' private conversation with you, doctor?"
Bruce led the way outside. He was utterly4 bewildered. Those notes had passed into his possession quite honestly, they were for value received, and they never left his possession until he parted with them to Capper. Why, they were in his possession hours before he was called into the corner house.
The strangely assorted5 trio turned into a tea room close by. They had a table to themselves where they could talk freely.
"Now say it all over again," Bruce asked. "I am perfectly6 dazed. Let me know what I am accused of doing."
Prout replied that for the present there was no accusation.
"It's like this," he said, laying the fateful notes on the table. "A man who has got to be identified is found dead--murdered, beyond a doubt, in an unoccupied house in Raven7 Street. All the circumstances of the case point to robbery. On searching the body we find a letter written by the deceased to a friend saying that he is forwarding some banknotes. He gives the number of those banknotes amongst others--numbers 190753 to 190793. All this is set out clearly in the letter. Now, will you please to examine those notes, doctor, and tell me the numbers?"
Bruce turned them over one by one. There was no mistake about the matter at all. They were the same numbers as those given in the handwriting of the dead man. The whole thing seemed impossible, but there it was.
"One moment," Hetty asked eagerly. "How do you know that the letter in your possession really was written by the murdered man?"
Prout glanced admiringly into the pretty flushed face.
"That's a clever question, miss," he said, "but I have a reply to it. We have found a woman near the docks where the unknown stayed for a day or two. As she cannot read or write she got him to write her a line or two to her landlord's agent, sending some arrears8 of rent and promising9 the balance shortly. That scrap10 of paper has come into my possession."
"And of course it tallies," Bruce said moodily11. "Those things always do."
"It does, sir," Prout went on. "The question of handwriting is established. How those notes came into your possession we have yet to find out."
"They never came into my possession," Bruce cried. "There is some mistake----"
Prout tapped the pile of papers significantly.
"Here they are, with your signature on the back of every one of them," he said. "There is nothing singular about that, seeing that so many tradesmen insist upon having banknotes endorsed12. Question is, What's the explanation?"
For the life of him Bruce could not say. It was absurd to suppose that by some mistake the Bank of England had issued two sets of notes of the same series of numbers. There was no mistake about the murdered man's letter either.
"Perhaps you'd like to tell your story, sir," Prout suggested.
"My story is quite simple," Bruce replied. "Some little time ago I bought a picture by J. Halbin. I gave a few pounds for it. Early in the evening of the day preceding the corner house murder I had a visitor. He was an elderly Dutchman, who gave his name as Max Kronin. He had heard of my purchase, and wanted the picture for family reasons. He offered me ￡200 for it, and paid me in notes--the notes that are on the table there."
"Which identical notes must have been in the possession of the murdered man for many hours after you say they passed into your possession."
"Take it or leave it," Bruce said desperately13. "It's like some horrid14 nightmare. From the time I received the notes from the elderly Dutchman till I parted with them to Capper they were never out of my possession."
"Of course, you know where the Dutchman is to be found?"
Bruce shrugged15 his shoulders indifferently.
"He took the picture away," he said, "and I thought no more of the matter, he said something about going to Antwerp. In the face of the damning evidence you have piled up against me, my story sounds hysterical16 and foolish."
Prout was not so sure of that. He had seen too many startling developments in his time to be surprised at anything.
"Of course, it wants a bit of explaining away," he said. "Still, supposing for argument sake you were the thief, how could we possibly connect you with the corner house and the poor fellow who was murdered there?"
It had come at last. Bruce braced17 himself for the ordeal18. Just for the moment there was a terrible temptation to hold his tongue. The story of his visit to the corner house was known to those only who would not dare to speak. Once he told the truth he realized that he was putting a noose19 around his neck.
And yet as an honourable20 man he was bound to speak, indeed he had already spoken, for Gilbert Lawrence had been made privy21 to part of the story.
"You couldn't prove it," he said, moodily, "but I can, I must. Prout, I am the sport of either a most amazing piece of misfortune or else the victim of the most cunning and diabolical22 scheme that man ever dreamed of. I was actually in the corner house within an hour or so of the murder."
A queer little cry broke from Hetty. Her face was deadly pale, her eyes dilated23 with horror. It was only for a moment, then she slipped her hand into that of her lover and pressed it warmly. Even Prout seemed uneasy.
"You are not bound to say anything further, sir," he muttered meaningly.
"Ah, I know what you mean," Bruce went on recklessly. "Don't you see that as an honest man I am bound to speak out? Just as I reached my rooms that night a motor drove up to my house with a note for me----"
"Ah! I should like to have a look at that note," said Front.
"I destroyed it. There was no object in keeping it. I tore it up then and there and pitched it on the pavement. The motor was driven by a dumb man, who conveyed me to the corner house. It struck me as strange, but then the owner might have returned. When I got there I found the man subsequently murdered suffering from a combination of alcoholic24 poisoning and laudanum. It was hard work, but I managed to save him. A Spanish woman--the only creature besides my patient I saw--paid me a fee of three guineas, and there ends the matter."
Prout's expression was that of a man who by no means shared this opinion, but he said nothing on that head.
"Did you speak to the Spanish woman?" he asked.
"I couldn't, for the simple reason that she knew no English," said Bruce. "I know I am putting a terrible weapon in your hands but I have no alternative. If there is anything else that I can tell you----"
Prout rose and bowed to Hetty.
"It's not fair, sir," he said. "It's giving me too great an advantage. If you take my advice, you'll go at once and explain the position to some smart solicitor--Ely Place for choice."
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1
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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2
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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assorted
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| adj.各种各样的，各色俱备的 | |
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6
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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7
raven
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| n.渡鸟，乌鸦；adj.乌亮的 | |
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arrears
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| n.到期未付之债，拖欠的款项；待做的工作 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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moodily
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| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
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12
endorsed
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| vt.& vi.endorse的过去式或过去分词形式v.赞同( endorse的过去式和过去分词 )；在（尤指支票的）背面签字；在（文件的）背面写评论；在广告上说本人使用并赞同某产品 | |
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13
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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14
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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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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noose
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| n.绳套，绞索（刑）；v.用套索捉；使落入圈套；处以绞刑 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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alcoholic
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| adj.（含）酒精的，由酒精引起的；n.酗酒者 | |
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