The First R. Austin Freeman MEGAPACK ®. R. Austin Freeman
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objects that were visible from the windows.
“I notice,” he remarked presently, “a number of chips scattered about between the rails, and some of the chair-wedges look new. Have there been any platelayers at work lately?”
“Yes,” answered Stopford, “they are on the line now, I believe—at least, I saw a gang working near Woldhurst yesterday, and they are said to have set a rick on fire; I saw it smoking when I came down.”
“Indeed; and this middle line of rails is, I suppose, a sort of siding?”
“Yes; they shunt the goods trains and empty trucks on to it. There are the remains of the rick—still smouldering, you see.”
Thorndyke gazed absently at the blackened heap until an empty cattle-truck on the middle track hid it from view. This was succeeded by a line of goods-waggons, and these by a passenger coach, one compartment of which—a first-class—was closed up and sealed. The train now began to slow down rather suddenly, and a couple of minutes later we brought up in Woldhurst station.
It was evident that rumours of Thorndyke’s advent had preceded us, for the entire staff—two porters, an inspector, and the station-master—were waiting expectantly on the platform, and the latter came forward, regardless of his dignity, to help us with our luggage.
“Do you think I could see the carriage?” Thorndyke asked the solicitor.
“Not the inside, sir,” said the station-master, on being appealed to. “The police have sealed it up. You would have to ask the inspector.”
“Well, I can have a look at the outside, I suppose?” said Thorndyke, and to this the station-master readily agreed, and offered to accompany us.
“What other first-class passengers were there?” Thorndyke asked.
“None, sir. There was only one first-class coach, and the deceased was the only person in it. It has given us all a dreadful turn, this affair has,” he continued, as we set off up the line. “I was on the platform when the train came in. We were watching a rick that was burning up the line, and a rare blaze it made, too; and I was just saying that we should have to move the cattle-truck that was on the mid-track, because, you see, sir, the smoke and sparks were blowing across, and I thought it would frighten the poor beasts. And Mr. Felton he don’t like his beasts handled roughly. He says it spoils the meat.”
“No doubt he is right,” said Thorndyke. “But now, tell me, do you think it is possible for any person to board or leave the train on the off-side unobserved? Could a man, for instance, enter a compartment on the off-side at one station and drop off as the train was slowing down at the next, without being seen?”
“I doubt it,” replied the station-master. “Still, I wouldn’t say it is impossible.”
“Thank you. Oh, and there’s another question. You have a gang of men at work on the line, I see. Now, do those men belong to the district?”
“No, sir; they are strangers, every one, and pretty rough diamonds some of ’em are. But I shouldn’t say there was any real harm in ’em. If you was suspecting any of ’em of being mixed up in this—”
“I am not,” interrupted Thorndyke rather shortly. “I suspect nobody; but I wish to get all the facts of the case at the outset.”
“Naturally, sir,” replied the abashed official; and we pursued our way in silence.
“Do you remember, by the way,” said Thorndyke, as we approached the empty coach, “whether the off-side door of the compartment was closed and locked when the body was discovered?”
“It was closed, sir, but not locked. Why, sir, did you think—?”
“Nothing, nothing. The sealed compartment is the one, of course?”
Without waiting for a reply, he commenced his survey of the coach, while I gently restrained our two companions from shadowing him, as they were disposed to do. The off-side footboard occupied his attention specially, and when he had scrutinized minutely the part opposite the fatal compartment, he walked slowly from end to end with his eyes but a few inches from its surface, as though he was searching for something.
Near what had been the rear end he stopped, and drew from his pocket a piece of paper; then, with a moistened fingertip he picked up from the footboard some evidently minute object, which he carefully transferred to the paper, folding the latter and placing it in his pocket-book.
He next mounted the footboard, and, having peered in through the window of the sealed compartment, produced from his pocket a small insufflator or powder-blower, with which he blew a stream of impalpable smoke-like powder on to the edges of the middle window, bestowing the closest attention on the irregular dusty patches in which it settled, and even measuring one on the jamb of the window with a pocket-rule. At length he stepped down, and, having carefully looked over the near-side footboard, announced that he had finished for the present.
As we were returning down the line, we passed a working man, who seemed to be viewing the chairs and sleepers with more than casual interest.
“That, I suppose, is one of the plate-layers?” Thorndyke suggested to the station-master.
“Yes, the foreman of the gang,” was the reply.
“I’ll just step back and have a word with him, if you will walk on slowly.” And my colleague turned back briskly and overtook the man, with whom he remained in conversation for some minutes.
“I think I see the police inspector on the platform,” remarked Thorndyke, as we approached the station.
“Yes, there he is,” said our guide. “Come down to see what you are after, sir, I expect.” Which was doubtless the case, although the officer professed to be there by the merest chance.
“You would like to see the weapon, sir, I suppose?” he remarked, when he had introduced himself.
“The umbrella-spike,” Thorndyke corrected. “Yes, if I may. We are going to the mortuary now.”
“Then you’ll pass the station on the way; so, if you care to look in, I will walk up with you.”
This proposition being agreed to, we all proceeded to the police-station, including the station-master, who was on the very tiptoe of curiosity.
“There you are, sir,” said the inspector, unlocking his office, and ushering us in. “Don’t say we haven’t given every facility to the defence. There are all the effects of the accused, including the very weapon the deed was done with.”
“Come, come,” protested Thorndyke; “we mustn’t be premature.” He took the stout ash staff from the officer, and, having examined the formidable spike through a lens, drew from his pocket a steel calliper-gauge, with which he carefully measured the diameter of the spike, and the staff to which it was fixed. “And now,” he said, when he had made a note of the measurements in his book, “we will look at the colour-box and the sketch. Ha! A very orderly man, your brother. Mr. Stopford. Tubes all in their places, palette-knives wiped clean, palette cleaned off and rubbed bright, brushes wiped—they ought to be washed before they stiffen—all this is very significant.” He unstrapped the sketch from the blank canvas to which it was pinned, and, standing it on a chair in a good light, stepped back to look at it.
“And you tell me that that is only three hours’ work!” he exclaimed, looking at the lawyer. “It is really a marvellous achievement.”
“My brother is a very rapid worker,” replied Stopford dejectedly.
“Yes, but this is not only amazingly rapid; it is in his very happiest vein—full of spirit and feeling. But we mustn’t stay to look at it longer.” He replaced the canvas on its pins, and having glanced at the locket and some other articles that lay in a drawer, thanked the inspector for his courtesy and withdrew.
“That sketch and the colour-box appear very suggestive to me,” he remarked, as we walked up the street.
“To