Thus it had been in the only other case in which I had been personally associated with him—the so-called "Red Thumb Mark" case. There he was presented with an apparent impossibility; but he had given it careful consideration. Then, from the category of the impossible he had brought it to that of the possible; from the merely possible to the actually probable; from the probable to the certain; and in the end had won the case triumphantly3.
Was it conceivable that he could make anything of the present case? He had not declined it. He had certainly entertained it and was probably thinking it over at this moment. Yet could anything be more impossible? Here was the case of a man making his own will, probably writing it out himself, bringing it voluntarily to a certain place and executing it in the presence of competent witnesses. There was no suggestion of any compulsion or even influence or persuasion4. The testator was admittedly sane5 and responsible; and if the will did not give effect to his wishes—which, however, could not be proved—that was due to his own carelessness in drafting the will and not to any unusual circumstances. And the problem—which Thorndyke seemed to be considering—was how to set aside that will.
I reviewed the statements that I had heard, but turn them about as I would, I could get nothing out of them but confirmation6 of Mr. Marchmont's estimate of the case. One fact that I had noted7 with some curiosity I again considered; that was Thorndyke's evident desire to inspect Jeffrey Blackmore's chambers9. He had, it is true, shown no eagerness, but I had seen at the time that the questions which he put to Stephen were put, not with any expectation of eliciting10 information but for the purpose of getting an opportunity to look over the rooms himself.
I was still cogitating11 on the subject when my colleague returned, followed by the watchful12 Polton with the tea-tray, and I attacked him forthwith.
"Well, Thorndyke," I said, "I have been thinking about this Blackmore case while you have been gadding14 about."
"And may I take it that the problem is solved?"
"No, I'm hanged if you may. I can make nothing of it."
"Then you are in much the same position as I am."
"But, if you can make nothing of it, why did you undertake it?"
"I only undertook to think about it," said Thorndyke. "I never reject a case off-hand unless it is obviously fishy15. It is surprising how difficulties, and even impossibilities, dwindle16 if you look at them attentively17. My experience has taught me that the most unlikely case is, at least, worth thinking over."
"By the way, why do you want to look over Jeffrey's chambers? What do you expect to find there?"
"I have no expectations at all. I am simply looking for stray facts."
"And all those questions that you asked Stephen Blackmore; had you nothing in your mind—no definite purpose?"
"No purpose beyond getting to know as much about the case as I can."
"But," I exclaimed, "do you mean that you are going to examine those rooms without any definite object at all?"
"I wouldn't say that," replied Thorndyke. "This is a legal case. Let me put an analogous18 medical case as being more within your present sphere. Supposing that a man should consult you, say, about a progressive loss of weight. He can give no explanation. He has no pain, no discomfort19, no symptoms of any kind; in short, he feels perfectly20 well in every respect; but he is losing weight continuously. What would you do?"
"Why? What would you expect to find?"
"I don't know that I should start by expecting to find anything in particular. But I should overhaul him organ by organ and function by function, and if I could find nothing abnormal I should have to give it up."
"Exactly," said Thorndyke. "And that is just my position and my line of action. Here is a case which is perfectly regular and straightforward22 excepting in one respect. It has a single abnormal feature. And for that abnormality there is nothing to account.
"Jeffrey Blackmore made a will. It was a well-drawn will and it apparently23 gave full effect to his intentions. Then he revoked24 that will and made another. No change had occurred in his circumstances or in his intentions. The provisions of the new will were believed by him to be identical with those of the old one. The new will differed from the old one only in having a defect in the drafting from which the first will was free, and of which he must have been unaware26. Now why did he revoke25 the first will and replace it with another which he believed to be identical in its provisions? There is no answer to that question. It is an abnormal feature in the case. There must be some explanation of that abnormality and it is my business to discover it. But the facts in my possession yield no such explanation. Therefore it is my purpose to search for new facts which may give me a starting-point for an investigation27."
This exposition of Thorndyke's proposed conduct of the case, reasonable as it was, did not impress me as very convincing. I found myself coming back to Marchmont's position, that there was really nothing in dispute. But other matters claimed our attention at the moment, and it was not until after dinner that my colleague reverted28 to the subject.
"How should you like to take a turn round to New Inn this evening?" he asked.
"I should have thought," said I, "that it would be better to go by daylight. Those old chambers are not usually very well illuminated29."
"That is well thought of," said Thorndyke. "We had better take a lamp with us. Let us go up to the laboratory and get one from Polton."
"There is no need to do that," said I. "The pocket-lamp that you lent me is in my overcoat pocket. I put it there to return it to you."
"Did you have occasion to use it?" he asked.
"Yes. I paid another visit to the mysterious house and carried out your plan. I must tell you about it later."
"Do. I shall be keenly interested to hear all about your adventures. Is there plenty of candle left in the lamp?"
"Oh yes. I only used it for about an hour."
"Then let us be off," said Thorndyke; and we accordingly set forth13 on our quest; and, as we went, I reflected once more on the apparent vagueness of our proceedings. Presently I reopened the subject with Thorndyke.
"I can't imagine," said I, "that you have absolutely nothing in view. That you are going to this place with no defined purpose whatever."
"I did not say exactly that," replied Thorndyke. "I said that I was not going to look for any particular thing or fact. I am going in the hope that I may observe something that may start a new train of speculation30. But that is not all. You know that an investigation follows a certain logical course. It begins with the observation of the conspicuous31 facts. We have done that. The facts were supplied by Marchmont. The next stage is to propose to oneself one or more provisional explanations or hypotheses. We have done that, too—or, at least I have, and I suppose you have."
"I haven't," said I. "There is Jeffrey's will, but why he should have made the change I cannot form the foggiest idea. But I should like to hear your provisional theories on the subject."
"You won't hear them at present. They are mere2 wild conjectures32. But to resume: what do we do next?"
"Go to New Inn and rake over the deceased gentleman's apartments."
Thorndyke smilingly ignored my answer and continued—
"We examine each explanation in turn and see what follows from it; whether it agrees with all the facts and leads to the discovery of new ones, or, on the other hand, disagrees with some facts or leads us to an absurdity33. Let us take a simple example.
"Suppose we find scattered34 over a field a number of largish masses of stone, which are entirely35 different in character from the rocks found in the neighbourhood. The question arises, how did those stones get into that field? Three explanations are proposed. One: that they are the products of former volcanic36 action; two: that they were brought from a distance by human agency; three: that they were carried thither37 from some distant country by icebergs38. Now each of those explanations involves certain consequences. If the stones are volcanic, then they were once in a state of fusion39. But we find that they are unaltered limestone40 and contain fossils. Then they are not volcanic. If they were borne by icebergs, then they were once part of a glacier41 and some of them will probably show the flat surfaces with parallel scratches which are found on glacier-borne stones. We examine them and find the characteristic scratched surfaces. Then they have probably been brought to this place by icebergs. But this does not exclude human agency, for they might have been brought by men to this place from some other where the icebergs had deposited them. A further comparison with other facts would be needed.
"So we proceed in cases like this present one. Of the facts that are known to us we invent certain explanations. From each of those explanations we deduce consequences; and if those consequences agree with new facts, they confirm the explanation, whereas if they disagree they tend to disprove it. But here we are at our destination."
We turned out of Wych Street into the arched passage leading into New Inn, and, halting at the half-door of the lodge42, perceived a stout43, purple-faced man crouching44 over the fire, coughing violently. He held up his hand to intimate that he was fully45 occupied for the moment, and we accordingly waited for his paroxysm to subside46. At length he turned towards us, wiping his eyes, and inquired our business.
"Mr. Stephen Blackmore," said Thorndyke, "has given me permission to look over his chambers. He said that he would mention the matter to you."
"So he has, sir," said the porter; "but he has just taken the key himself to go to the chambers. If you walk across the Inn you'll find him there; it's on the farther side; number thirty-one, second floor."
We made our way across to the house indicated, the ground floor of which was occupied by a solicitor's offices and was distinguished47 by a good-sized brass48 plate. Although it had now been dark some time there was no light on the lower stairs, but we encountered on the first-floor landing a man who had just lit the lamp there. Thorndyke halted to address him.
"Can you tell me who occupies the chambers on the third floor?"
"The third floor has been empty about three months," was the reply.
"We are going up to look at the chambers on the second floor," said Thorndyke. "Are they pretty quiet?"
"Quiet!" exclaimed the man. "Lord bless you the place is like a cemetery49 for the deaf and dumb. There's the solicitors50 on the ground floor and the architects on the first floor. They both clear out about six, and when they're gone the house is as empty as a blown hegg. I don't wonder poor Mr. Blackmore made away with his-self. Livin' up there all alone, it must have been like Robinson Crusoe without no man Friday and not even a blooming goat to talk to. Quiet! It's quiet enough, if that's what you want. Wouldn't be no good to me."
With a contemptuous shake of the head, he turned and retired51 down the next flight, and, as the echoes of his footsteps died away we resumed our ascent52.
"So it would appear," Thorndyke commented, "that when Jeffrey Blackmore came home that last evening, the house was empty."
Arrived on the second-floor landing, we were confronted by a solid-looking door on the lintel of which the deceased man's name was painted in white lettering which still looked new and fresh. Thorndyke knocked at the door, which was at once opened by Stephen Blackmore.
"I haven't wasted any time before taking advantage of your permission, you see," my colleague said as we entered.
"No, indeed," said Stephen; "you are very prompt. I have been rather wondering what kind of information you expect to gather from an inspection53 of these rooms."
Thorndyke smiled genially54, amused, no doubt, by the similarity of Stephen's remarks to those of mine which he had so recently criticized.
"A man of science, Mr. Blackmore," he said, "expects nothing. He collects facts and keeps an open mind. As to me, I am a mere legal Autolycus, a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles of evidence. When I have accumulated a few facts, I arrange them, compare them and think about them. Sometimes the comparison yields new matter and sometimes it doesn't; but in any case, believe me, it is a capital error to decide beforehand what data are to be sought for."
"Yes, I suppose that is so," said Stephen; "though, to me, it almost looks as if Mr. Marchmont was right; that there is nothing to investigate."
"You should have thought of that before you consulted me," laughed Thorndyke. "As it is, I am engaged to look into the case and I shall do so; and, as I have said, I shall keep an open mind until I have all the facts in my possession."
He glanced round the sitting-room55, which we had now entered, and continued:
"These are fine, dignified56 old rooms. It seems a sin to have covered up all this oak panelling and that carved cornice and mantel with paint. Think what it must have been like when the beautiful figured wood was exposed."
"It would be very dark," Stephen observed.
"Yes," Thorndyke agreed, "and I suppose we care more for light and less for beauty than our ancestors did. But now, tell me; looking round these rooms, do they convey to you a similar impression to that which the old rooms did? Have they the same general character?"
"Not quite, I think. Of course the rooms in Jermyn Street were in a different kind of house, but beyond that, I seem to feel a certain difference; which is rather odd, seeing that the furniture is the same. But the old rooms were more cosy57, more homelike. I find something rather bare and cheerless, I was almost going to say squalid, in the look of these chambers."
"That is rather what I should have expected," said Thorndyke. "The opium58 habit alters a man's character profoundly; and, somehow, apart from the mere furnishing, a room reflects in some subtle way, but very distinctly, the personality of its occupant, especially when that occupant lives a solitary59 life. Do you see any evidences of the activities that used to occupy your uncle?"
"Not very much," replied Stephen. "But the place may not be quite as he left it. I found one or two of his books on the table and put them back in the shelves, but I found no manuscript or notes such as he used to make. I noticed, too, that his ink-slab which he used to keep so scrupulously60 clean is covered with dry smears61 and that the stick of ink is all cracked at the end, as if he had not used it for months. It seems to point to a great change in his habits."
"What used he to do with Chinese ink?" Thorndyke asked.
"He corresponded with some of his native friends in Japan, and he used to write in the Japanese character even if they understood English. That was what he chiefly used the Chinese ink for. But he also used to copy the inscriptions62 from these things." Here Stephen lifted from the mantelpiece what looked like a fossil Bath bun, but was actually a clay tablet covered with minute indented64 writing.
"Your uncle could read the cuneiform character, then?"
"Yes; he was something of an expert. These tablets are, I believe, leases and other legal documents from Eridu and other Babylonian cities. He used to copy the inscriptions in the cuneiform writing and then translate them into English. But I mustn't stay here any longer as I have an engagement for this evening. I just dropped in to get these two volumes—Thornton's History of Babylonia, which he once advised me to read. Shall I give you the key? You'd better have it and leave it with the porter as you go out."
He shook hands with us and we walked out with him to the landing and stood watching him as he ran down the stairs. Glancing at Thorndyke by the light of the gas lamp on the landing, I thought I detected in his impassive face that almost imperceptible change of expression to which I have already alluded65 as indicating pleasure or satisfaction.
"You are looking quite pleased with yourself," I remarked.
"I am not displeased," he replied calmly. "Autolycus has picked up a few crumbs66; very small ones, but still crumbs. No doubt his learned junior has picked up a few likewise?"
I shook my head—and inwardly suspected it of being rather a thick head.
"I did not perceive anything in the least degree significant in what Stephen was telling you," said I. "It was all very interesting, but it did not seem to have any bearing on his uncle's will."
"I was not referring only to what Stephen has told us, although that was, as you say, very interesting. While he was talking I was looking about the room, and I have seen a very strange thing. Let me show it to you."
He linked his arm in mine and, walking me back into the room, halted opposite the fire-place.
"There," said he, "look at that. It is a most remarkable67 object."
I followed the direction of his gaze and saw an oblong frame enclosing a large photograph of an inscription63 in the weird68 and cabalistic arrow-head character. I looked at it in silence for some seconds and then, somewhat disappointed, remarked:
"I don't see anything very remarkable in it, under the circumstances. In any ordinary room it would be, I admit; but Stephen has just told us that his uncle was something of an expert in cuneiform writing."
"Exactly," said Thorndyke. "That is my point. That is what makes it so remarkable."
"I don't follow you at all," said I. "That a man should hang upon his wall an inscription that is legible to him does not seem to me at all out of the way. It would be much more singular if he should hang up an inscription that he could not read."
"No doubt," replied Thorndyke. "But you will agree with me that it would be still more singular if a man should hang upon his wall an inscription that he could read—and hang it upside down."
"Do you mean to tell me," I exclaimed, "that that photograph is really upside down?"
"I do indeed," he replied.
"But how do you know? Have we here yet another Oriental scholar?"
Thorndyke chuckled71. "Some fool," he replied, "has said that 'a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.' Compared with much knowledge, it may be; but it is a vast deal better than no knowledge. Here is a case in point. I have read with very keen interest the wonderful history of the decipherment of the cuneiform writing, and I happen to recollect72 one or two of the main facts that seemed to me to be worth remembering. This particular inscription is in the Persian cuneiform, a much more simple and open form of the script than the Babylonian or Assyrian; in fact, I suspect that this is the famous inscription from the gateway73 at Persepolis—the first to be deciphered; which would account for its presence here in a frame. Now this script consists, as you see, of two kinds of characters; the small, solid, acutely pointed69 characters which are known as wedges, and the larger, more obtuse74 characters, somewhat like our government broad arrows, and called arrow-heads. The names are rather unfortunate, as both forms are wedge-like and both resemble arrow-heads. The script reads from left to right, like our own writing, and unlike that of the Semitic peoples and the primitive75 Greeks; and the rule for the placing of the characters is that all the 'wedges' point to the right or downwards76 and the arrow-head forms are open towards the right. But if you look at this photograph you will see that all the wedges point upwards77 to the left and that the arrow-head characters are open towards the left. Obviously the photograph is upside down."
"But," I exclaimed, "this is really most mysterious. What do you suppose can be the explanation?"
"I think," replied Thorndyke, "that we may perhaps get a suggestion from the back of the frame. Let us see."
He disengaged the frame from the two nails on which it hung, and, turning it round, glanced at the back; which he then presented for my inspection. A label on the backing paper bore the words, "J. Budge78, Frame-maker and Gilder79, 16, Gt. Anne Street, W.C."
"The label, you observe, is the right way up as it hangs on the wall."
"So it is," I rejoined hastily, a little annoyed that I had not been quicker to observe so obvious a fact. "I see your point. You mean that the frame-maker hung the thing upside down and Jeffrey never noticed the mistake?"
"That is a perfectly sound explanation," said Thorndyke. "But I think there is something more. You will notice that the label is an old one; it must have been on some years, to judge by its dingy81 appearance, whereas the two mirror-plates look to me comparatively new. But we can soon put that matter to the test, for the label was evidently stuck on when the frame was new, and if the plates were screwed on at the same time, the wood that they cover will be clean and new-looking."
He drew from his pocket a "combination" knife containing, among other implements82, a screw-driver, with which he carefully extracted the screws from one of the little brass plates by which the frame had been suspended from the nails.
"You see," he said, when he had removed the plate and carried the photograph over to the gasjet, "the wood covered by the plate is as dirty and time-stained as the rest of the frame. The plates have been put on recently."
"And what are we to infer from that?"
"Well, since there are no other marks of plates or rings upon the frame, we may safely infer that the photograph was never hung up until it came to these rooms."
"Yes, I suppose we may. But what then? What inference does that lead to?"
Thorndyke reflected for a few moments and I continued:
"It is evident that this photograph suggests more to you than it does to me. I should like to hear your exposition of its bearing on the case, if it has any."
"Whether or no it has any real bearing on the case," Thorndyke answered, "it is impossible for me to say at this stage. I told you that I had proposed to myself one or two hypotheses to account for and explain Jeffrey Blackmore's will, and I may say that the curious misplacement of this photograph fits more than one of them. I won't say more than that, because I think it would be profitable to you to work at this case independently. You have all the facts that I have and you shall have a copy of my notes of Marchmont's statement of the case. With this material you ought to be able to reach some conclusion. Of course neither of us may be able to make anything of the case—it doesn't look very hopeful at present—but whatever happens, we can compare notes after the event and you will be the richer by so much experience of actual investigation. But I will start you off with one hint, which is this: that neither you nor Marchmont seem to appreciate in the least the very extraordinary nature of the facts that he communicated to us."
"I thought Marchmont seemed pretty much alive to the fact that it was a very queer will."
"So he did," agreed Thorndyke. "But that is not quite what I mean. The whole set of circumstances, taken together and in relation to one another, impressed me as most remarkable; and that is why I am giving so much attention to what looks at first sight like such a very unpromising case. Copy out my notes, Jervis, and examine the facts critically. I think you will see what I mean. And now let us proceed."
He replaced the brass plate and having reinserted the screws, hung up the frame, and proceeded to browse83 slowly round the room, stopping now and again to inspect the Japanese colour-prints and framed photographs of buildings and other objects of archaeological interest that formed the only attempts at wall-decoration. To one of the former he drew my attention.
"These things are of some value," he remarked. "Here is one by Utamaro—that little circle with the mark over it is his signature—and you notice that the paper is becoming spotted84 in places with mildew85. The fact is worth noting in more than one connection."
I accordingly made a mental note and the perambulation continued.
"You observe that Jeffrey used a gas-stove, instead of a coal fire, no doubt to economize86 work, but perhaps for other reasons. Presumably he cooked by gas, too; let us see."
We wandered into the little cupboard-like kitchen and glanced round. A ring-burner on a shelf, a kettle, a frying-pan and a few pieces of crockery were its sole appointments. Apparently the porter was correct in his statement as to Jeffrey's habits.
Returning to the sitting-room, Thorndyke resumed his inspection, pulling out the table drawers, peering inquisitively87 into cupboards and bestowing88 a passing glance on each of the comparatively few objects that the comfortless room contained.
"I have never seen a more characterless apartment," was his final comment. "There is nothing that seems to suggest any kind of habitual89 activity on the part of the occupant. Let us look at the bedroom."
We passed through into the chamber8 of tragic90 memories, and, when Thorndyke had lit the gas, we stood awhile looking about us in silence. It was a bare, comfortless room, dirty, neglected and squalid. The bed appeared not to have been remade since the catastrophe91, for an indentation still marked the place where the corpse92 had lain, and even a slight powdering of ash could still be seen on the shabby counterpane. It looked to me a typical opium-smoker's bedroom.
"Well," Thorndyke remarked at length, "there is character enough here—of a kind. Jeffrey Blackmore would seem to have been a man of few needs. One could hardly imagine a bedroom in which less attention seemed to have been given to the comfort of the occupant."
He looked about him keenly and continued: "The syringe and the rest of the lethal93 appliances and material have been taken away, I see. Probably the analyst94 did not return them. But there are the opium-pipe and the jar and the ash-bowl, and I presume those are the clothes that the undertakers removed from the body. Shall we look them over?"
He took up the clothes which lay, roughly folded, on a chair and held them up, garment by garment.
"These are evidently the trousers," he remarked, spreading them out on the bed. "Here is a little white spot on the middle of the thigh95 which looks like a patch of small crystals from a drop of the solution. Just light the lamp, Jervis, and let us examine it with a lens."
I lit the lamp, and when we had examined the spot minutely and identified it as a mass of minute crystals, Thorndyke asked:
"It looks as if the trousers had been turned up. But if they have been they must have been turned up about seven inches. Poor Jeffrey couldn't have had much regard for appearances, for they would have been right above his socks. But perhaps the creases were made in undressing the body."
"That is possible," said Thorndyke: "though I don't quite see how it would have happened. I notice that his pockets seem to have been emptied—no, wait; here is something in the waistcoat pocket."
He drew out a shabby, pigskin card-case and a stump97 of lead pencil, at which latter he looked with what seemed to me much more interest than was deserved by so commonplace an object.
"The cards, you observe," said he, "are printed from type, not from a plate. I would note that fact. And tell me what you make of that."
He handed me the pencil, which I examined with concentrated attention, helping98 myself even with the lamp and my pocket lens. But even with these aids I failed to discover anything unusual in its appearance. Thorndyke watched me with a mischievous99 smile, and, when I had finished, inquired:
"Well; what is it?"
"Confound you!" I exclaimed. "It's a pencil. Any fool can see that, and this particular fool can't see any more. It's a wretched stump of a pencil, villainously cut to an abominably100 bad point. It is coloured dark red on the outside and was stamped with some name that began with C—O—Co-operative Stores, perhaps."
"Now, my dear Jervis," Thorndyke protested, "don't begin by confusing speculation with fact. The letters which remain are C—O. Note that fact and find out what pencils there are which have inscriptions beginning with those letters. I am not going to help you, because you can easily do this for yourself. And it will be good discipline even if the fact turns out to mean nothing."
At this moment he stepped back suddenly, and, looking down at the floor, said:
"Give me the lamp, Jervis, I've trodden on something that felt like glass."
I brought the lamp to the place where he had been standing101, close by the bed, and we both knelt on the floor, throwing the light of the lamp on the bare and dusty boards. Under the bed, just within reach of the foot of a person standing close by, was a little patch of fragments of glass. Thorndyke produced a piece of paper from his pocket and delicately swept the little fragments on to it, remarking:
"By the look of things, I am not the first person who has trodden on that object, whatever it is. Do you mind holding the lamp while I inspect the remains102?"
I took the lamp and held it over the paper while he examined the little heap of glass through his lens.
"Well," I asked. "What have you found?"
"That is what I am asking myself," he replied. "As far as I can judge by the appearance of these fragments, they appear to be portions of a small watch-glass. I wish there were some larger pieces."
"Perhaps there are," said I. "Let us look about the floor under the bed."
We resumed our groping about the dirty floor, throwing the light of the lamp on one spot after another. Presently, as we moved the lamp about, its light fell on a small glass bead103, which I instantly picked up and exhibited to Thorndyke.
"Is this of any interest to you?" I asked.
"It is certainly," he said, "a very odd thing to find in the bedroom of an old bachelor like Jeffrey, especially as we know that he employed no woman to look after his rooms. Of course, it may be a relic105 of the last tenant106. Let us see if there are any more."
We renewed our search, crawling under the bed and throwing the light of the lamp in all directions over the floor. The result was the discovery of three more beads107, one entire bugle108 and the crushed remains of another, which had apparently been trodden on. All of these, including the fragments of the bugle that had been crushed, Thorndyke placed carefully on the paper, which he laid on the dressing-table the more conveniently to examine our find.
"I am sorry," said he, "that there are no more fragments of the watch-glass, or whatever it was. The broken pieces were evidently picked up, with the exception of the one that I trod on, which was an isolated109 fragment that had been overlooked. As to the beads, judging by their number and the position in which we found some of them—that crushed bugle, for instance—they must have been dropped during Jeffrey's tenancy and probably quite recently."
"What sort of garment do you suppose they came from?" I asked.
"They may have been part of a beaded veil or the trimming of a dress, but the grouping rather suggests to me a tag of bead fringe. The colour is rather unusual."
"I thought they looked like black beads."
"So they do by this light, but I think that by daylight we shall find them to be a dark, reddish-brown. You can see the colour now if you look at the smaller fragments of the one that is crushed."
He handed me his lens, and, when I had verified his statement, he produced from his pocket a small tin box with a closely-fitting lid in which he deposited the paper, having first folded it up into a small parcel.
"We will put the pencil in too," said he; and, as he returned the box to his pocket he added: "you had better get one of these little boxes from Polton. It is often useful to have a safe receptacle for small and fragile articles."
He folded up and replaced the dead man's clothes as we had found them. Then, observing a pair of shoes standing by the wall, he picked them up and looked them over thoughtfully, paying special attention to the backs of the soles and the fronts of the heels.
"I suppose we may take it," said he, "that these are the shoes that poor Jeffrey wore on the night of his death. At any rate there seem to be no others. He seems to have been a fairly clean walker. The streets were shockingly dirty that day, as I remember most distinctly. Do you see any slippers110? I haven't noticed any."
He opened and peeped into a cupboard in which an overcoat surmounted111 by a felt hat hung from a peg112 like an attenuated113 suicide; he looked in all the corners and into the sitting-room, but no slippers were to be seen.
"Our friend seems to have had surprisingly little regard for comfort," Thorndyke remarked. "Think of spending the winter evenings in damp boots by a gas fire!"
"Perhaps the opium-pipe compensated," said I; "or he may have gone to bed early."
"But he did not. The night porter used to see the light in his rooms at one o'clock in the morning. In the sitting-room, too, you remember. But he seems to have been in the habit of reading in bed—or perhaps smoking—for here is a candlestick with the remains of a whole dynasty of candles in it. As there is gas in the room, he couldn't have wanted the candle to undress by. He used stearine candles, too; not the common paraffin variety. I wonder why he went to that expense."
"Perhaps the smell of the paraffin candle spoiled the aroma114 of the opium," I suggested; to which Thorndyke made no reply but continued his inspection of the room, pulling out the drawer of the washstand—which contained a single, worn-out nail-brush—and even picking up and examining the dry and cracked cake of soap in the dish.
"He seems to have had a fair amount of clothing," said Thorndyke, who was now going through the chest of drawers, "though, by the look of it, he didn't change very often, and the shirts have a rather yellow and faded appearance. I wonder how he managed about his washing. Why, here are a couple of pairs of boots in the drawer with his clothes! And here is his stock of candles. Quite a large box—though nearly empty now—of stearine candles, six to the pound."
He closed the drawer and cast another inquiring look round the room.
"I think we have seen all now, Jervis," he said, "unless there is anything more that you would like to look into?"
"No," I replied. "I have seen all that I wanted to see and more than I am able to attach any meaning to. So we may as well go."
I blew out the lamp and put it in my overcoat pocket, and, when we had turned out the gas in both rooms, we took our departure.
As we approached the lodge, we found our stout friend in the act of retiring in favour of the night porter. Thorndyke handed him the key of the chambers, and, after a few sympathetic inquiries115, about his health—which was obviously very indifferent—said:
"Let me see; you were one of the witnesses to Mr. Blackmore's will, I think?"
"I was, sir," replied the porter.
"And I believe you read the document through before you witnessed the signature?"
"I did, sir."
"Did you read it aloud?"
"Aloud, sir! Lor' bless you, no, sir! Why should I? The other witness read it, and, of course, Mr. Blackmore knew what was in it, seeing that it was in his own handwriting. What should I want to read it aloud for?"
"No, of course you wouldn't want to. By the way, I have been wondering how Mr. Blackmore managed about his washing."
The porter evidently regarded this question with some disfavour, for he replied only with an interrogative grunt116. It was, in fact, rather an odd question.
"Did you get it done for him," Thorndyke pursued.
"No, certainly not, sir. He got it done for himself. The laundry people used to deliver the basket here at the lodge, and Mr. Blackmore used to take it in with him when he happened to be passing."
"It was not delivered at his chambers, then?"
"No, sir. Mr. Blackmore was a very studious gentleman and he didn't like to be disturbed. A studious gentleman would naturally not like to be disturbed."
Thorndyke cordially agreed with these very proper sentiments and finally wished the porter "good night." We passed out through the gateway into Wych Street, and, turning our faces eastward117 towards the Temple, set forth in silence, each thinking his own thoughts. What Thorndyke's were I cannot tell, though I have no doubt that he was busily engaged in piecing together all that he had seen and heard and considering its possible application to the case in hand.
As to me, my mind was in a whirl of confusion. All this searching and examining seemed to be the mere flogging of a dead horse. The will was obviously a perfectly valid118 and regular will and there was an end of the matter. At least, so it seemed to me. But clearly that was not Thorndyke's view. His investigations119 were certainly not purposeless; and, as I walked by his side trying to conceive some purpose in his actions, I only became more and more mystified as I recalled them one by one, and perhaps most of all by the cryptic120 questions that I had just heard him address to the equally mystified porter.
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1
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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3
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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6
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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10
eliciting
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| n. 诱发, 引出 动词elicit的现在分词形式 | |
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cogitating
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| v.认真思考，深思熟虑( cogitate的现在分词 ) | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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gadding
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| n.叮搔症adj.蔓生的v.闲逛( gad的现在分词 )；游荡；找乐子；用铁棒刺 | |
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fishy
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| adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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16
dwindle
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| v.逐渐变小（或减少） | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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18
analogous
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| adj.相似的；类似的 | |
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19
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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20
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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21
overhaul
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| v./n.大修，仔细检查 | |
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22
straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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23
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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revoked
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| adj.[法]取消的v.撤销，取消，废除( revoke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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revoke
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| v.废除，取消，撤回 | |
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26
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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28
reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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29
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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31
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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conjectures
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| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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33
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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34
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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35
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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36
volcanic
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| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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37
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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38
icebergs
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| n.冰山，流冰( iceberg的名词复数 ) | |
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39
fusion
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| n.溶化；熔解；熔化状态，熔和；熔接 | |
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40
limestone
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| n.石灰石 | |
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41
glacier
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| n.冰川，冰河 | |
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42
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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44
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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45
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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46
subside
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| vi.平静，平息；下沉，塌陷，沉降 | |
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47
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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48
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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49
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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50
solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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51
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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52
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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53
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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54
genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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55
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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56
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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57
cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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58
opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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59
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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60
scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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61
smears
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| 污迹( smear的名词复数 )； 污斑； （显微镜的）涂片； 诽谤 | |
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62
inscriptions
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| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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63
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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64
indented
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| adj.锯齿状的，高低不平的；缩进排版 | |
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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66
crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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67
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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68
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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69
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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70
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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71
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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73
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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74
obtuse
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| adj.钝的；愚钝的 | |
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75
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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76
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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77
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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78
budge
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| v.移动一点儿；改变立场 | |
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79
gilder
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| 镀金工人 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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81
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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82
implements
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| n.工具( implement的名词复数 )；家具；手段；[法律]履行（契约等）v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
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83
browse
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| vi.随意翻阅，浏览；(牛、羊等)吃草 | |
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84
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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85
mildew
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| n.发霉；v.（使）发霉 | |
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86
economize
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| v.节约，节省 | |
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87
inquisitively
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| 过分好奇地； 好问地 | |
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88
bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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89
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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91
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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92
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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93
lethal
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| adj.致死的；毁灭性的 | |
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94
analyst
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| n.分析家，化验员；心理分析学家 | |
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95
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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96
creases
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的第三人称单数 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹 | |
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97
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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98
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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99
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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100
abominably
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| adv. 可恶地，可恨地，恶劣地 | |
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101
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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102
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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103
bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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104
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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105
relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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106
tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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107
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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108
bugle
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| n.军号，号角，喇叭；v.吹号，吹号召集 | |
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109
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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110
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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111
surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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112
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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113
attenuated
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| v.（使）变细( attenuate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）变薄；（使）变小；减弱 | |
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114
aroma
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| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
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115
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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116
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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117
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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118
valid
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| adj.有确实根据的；有效的；正当的，合法的 | |
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119
investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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cryptic
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| adj.秘密的，神秘的，含义模糊的 | |
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