The First R. Austin Freeman MEGAPACK ®. R. Austin Freeman
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you need not smile, Dr. Jervis, at my wise saws; it is perfectly true, and you know it. The fact is, I sometimes have an uneasy feeling that Walter’s desire to be rich inclines him to try what looks like a quick and easy method of making money. He had a friend—a Mr. Horton—who is a dealer on the Stock Exchange and who ‘operates’ rather largely—‘operate’ I believe is the expression used, although it seems to be nothing more than common gambling—and I have more than once suspected Walter of being concerned in what Mr. Horton calls ‘a little flutter.’”
“That doesn’t strike me as a very long-headed proceeding,” I remarked, with the impartial wisdom of the impecunious, and therefore untempted.
“No,” she agreed, “it isn’t. But your gambler always thinks he is going to win—though you mustn’t let me give you the impression that Walter is a gambler. But here is my destination. Thank you for escorting me so far, and I hope you are beginning to feel less like a stranger to the Hornby family. We shall make our appearance tonight at eight punctually.”
She gave me her hand with a frank smile and tripped up the steps leading to the street door; and when I glanced back, after crossing the road, she gave me a little friendly nod as she turned to enter the house.
CHAPTER V
THE ‘THUMBOGRAPH’
“So your net has been sweeping the quiet and pleasant waters of feminine conversation,” remarked Thorndyke when we met at the dinner table and I gave him an outline of my afternoon’s adventures.
“Yes,” I answered, “and here is the catch cleaned and ready for the consumer.”
I laid on the table two of my notebooks in which I had entered such facts as I had been able to extract from my talk with Miss Gibson.
“You made your entries as soon as possible after your return, I suppose?” said Thorndyke—“while the matter was still fresh?”
“I wrote down my notes as I sat on a seat in Kensington Gardens within five minutes after leaving Miss Gibson.”
“Good!” said Thorndyke. “And now let us see what you have collected.”
He glanced quickly through the entries in the two books, referring back once or twice, and stood for a few moments silent and abstracted. Then he laid the little books down on the table with a satisfied nod.
“Our information, then,” he said, “amounts to this: Reuben is an industrious worker at his business and, in his leisure, a student of ancient and medieval art; possibly a babbling fool and a cad or, on the other hand, a maligned and much-abused man.
“Walter Hornby is obviously a sneak and possibly a liar; a keen man of business, perhaps a flutterer round the financial candle that burns in Throgmorton Street; an expert photographer and a competent worker of the collotype process. You have done a very excellent day’s work, Jervis. I wonder if you see the bearing of the facts that you have collected.”
“I think I see the bearing of some of them,” I answered; “at least, I have formed certain opinions.”
“Then keep them to yourself, mon ami, so that I need not feel as if I ought to unbosom myself of my own views.”
“I should be very much surprised if you did, Thorndyke,” I replied, “and should have none the better opinion of you. I realise fully that your opinions and theories are the property of your client and not to be used for the entertainment of your friends.”
Thorndyke patted me on the back playfully, but he looked uncommonly pleased, and said, with evident sincerity, “I am really grateful to you for saying that, for I have felt a little awkward in being so reticent with you who know so much of this case. But you are quite right, and I am delighted to find you so discerning and sympathetic. The least I can do under the circumstances is to uncork a bottle of Pommard, and drink the health of so loyal and helpful a colleague. Ah! Praise the gods! Here is Polton, like a sacrificial priest accompanied by a sweet savour of roasted flesh. Rump steak I ween,” he added, sniffing, “food meet for the mighty Shamash (that pun was fortuitous, I need not say) or a ravenous medical jurist. Can you explain to me, Polton, how it is that your rump steak is better than any other steak? Is it that you have command of a special brand of ox?”
The little man’s dry countenance wrinkled with pleasure until it was as full of lines as a ground-plan of Clapham Junction.
“Perhaps it is the special treatment it gets, sir,” he replied. “I usually bruise it in the mortar before cooking, without breaking up the fibre too much, and then I heat up the little cupel furnace to about 600 C, and put the steak in on a tripod.”
Thorndyke laughed outright. “The cupel furnace, too,” he exclaimed. “Well, well, ‘to what base uses’—but I don’t know that it is a base use after all. Anyhow, Polton, open a bottle of Pommard and put a couple of ten by eight ‘process’ plates in your dark slides. I am expecting two ladies here this evening with a document.”
“Shall you bring them upstairs, sir?” inquired Polton, with an alarmed expression.
“I expect I shall have to,” answered Thorndyke.
“Then I shall just smarten the laboratory up a bit,” said Polton, who evidently appreciated the difference between the masculine and feminine view as to the proper appearance of working premises.
“And so Miss Gibson wanted to know our private views on the case?” said Thorndyke, when his voracity had become somewhat appeased.
“Yes,” I answered; and then I repeated our conversation as nearly as I could remember it.
“Your answer was very discreet and diplomatic,” Thorndyke remarked, “and it was very necessary that it should be, for it is essential that we show the backs of our cards to Scotland Yard; and if to Scotland Yard, then to the whole world. We know what their trump card is and can arrange our play accordingly, so long as we do not show our hand.”
“You speak of the police as your antagonists; I noticed that at the ‘Yard’ this morning, and was surprised to find that they accepted the position. But surely their business is to discover the actual offender, not to fix the crime on some particular person.”
“That would seem to be so,” replied Thorndyke, “but in practice it is otherwise. When the police have made an arrest they work for a conviction. If the man is innocent, that is his business, not theirs; it is for him to prove it. The system is a pernicious one—especially since the efficiency of a police officer is, in consequence, apt to be estimated by the number of convictions he has secured, and an inducement is thus held out to him to obtain a conviction, if possible; but it is of a piece with legislative procedure in general. Lawyers are not engaged in academic discussions or in the pursuit of truth, but each is trying, by hook or by crook, to make out a particular case without regard to its actual truth or even to the lawyer’s own belief on the subject. That is what produces so much friction between lawyers and scientific witnesses; neither can understand the point of view of the other. But we must not sit over the table chattering like this; it has gone half-past seven, and Polton will be wanting to make this room presentable.”
“I notice you don’t use your office much,” I remarked.
“Hardly at all, excepting as a repository for documents and stationery. It is very cheerless to talk in an office, and nearly all my business is transacted with solicitors and counsel who are known to me, so there is no need for such formalities. All right, Polton; we shall be ready for you in five minutes.”
The Temple bell was striking eight as, at Thorndyke’s request, I threw open the iron-bound “oak”; and even as I did so the sound of footsteps came up from the stairs below. I waited on the landing for our two visitors, and led them into the room.
“I am so glad to make your acquaintance,” said Mrs. Hornby, when I had done the honours of introduction; “I have heard so much about you from Juliet—”
“Really, my dear aunt,” protested Miss Gibson, as she caught my eye with a look of comical