The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack. R. Austin Freeman
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which formed the actual floor.
“You spoke of some human remains,” said the inspector.
“Ah!” said the watchman, “you may well say ‘remains.’ Just come here.” He led the way over the rubbish to a corner of the laboratory, where he halted and threw the light of his lantern down on a brownish, dusty, globular object that lay on the floor half buried in plaster. “That’s all that’s left of poor Mr. Manford; that and a few other odd pieces. I saw a hand over the other side.”
Thorndyke picked up the head and placed it on the blackened remnant of a bench, where, with the aid of the watchman’s lantern and the inspection lamp which I produced from our research-case, he examined it curiously. It was extremely, but unequally, scorched. One ear was completely shrivelled, and most of the face was charred to the bone. But the other ear was almost intact; and though most of the hair was burned away to the scalp, a tuft above the less damaged ear was only singed, so that it was possible to see that the hair had been black, with here and there a stray white hair.
Thorndyke made no comments, but I noticed that he examined the gruesome object minutely, taking nothing for granted. The inspector noticed this, too; and when the examination was finished, looked at him inquiringly.
“Anything abnormal, sir?” he asked.
“No,” replied Thorndyke; “nothing that is not accounted for by fire and the explosion. I see he had no natural teeth, so he must have worn a complete set of false teeth. That should help in the formal identification, if the plates are not completely destroyed.”
“There isn’t much need for identification,” said the watchman, “seeing that there was nobody in the building but him and me. His friend went away about half-past twelve. I heard Mr. Manford let him out.”
“The doctor means at the inquest,” the inspector explained. “Somebody has got to recognise the body if possible.”
He took the watchman’s lantern, and throwing its light on the floor, began to search among the rubbish. Very soon he disinterred from under a heap of plaster the headless trunk. Both legs were attached, though the right was charred below the knee and the foot blown off, and one complete arm. The other arm—the right—was intact only to the elbow. Here, again, the burning was very unequal. In some parts the clothing had been burnt off or blown away completely; in others, enough was left to enable the watchman to recognise it with certainty. One leg was much more burnt than the other; and whereas the complete arm was only scorched, the dismembered one was charred almost to the bone. When the trunk had been carried to the bench and laid there beside the head, the lights were turned on it for Thorndyke to make his inspection.
“It almost seems,” said the police officer, as the hand was being examined, “as if one could guess how he was standing when the explosion occurred. I think I can make out finger-marks—pretty dirty ones, too—on the back of the hand, as if he had been standing with his hands clasped together behind him while he watched something that he was experimenting with.” The inspector glanced for confirmation at Thorndyke, who nodded approvingly.
“Yes,” he said, “I think you are right. They are very indistinct, but the marks are grouped like fingers. The small mark near the wrist suggests a little finger and the separate one near the knuckle looks like a fore-finger, while the remaining two marks are close together.” He turned the band over and continued “And there, in the palm, just between the roots of the third and fourth fingers, seems to be the trace of a thumb. But they are all very faint. You have a quick eye, inspector.”
The gratified officer, thus encouraged, resumed his explorations among the debris in company with the watchman—the fireman had retired after a professional look round—leaving Thorndyke to continue his examination of the mutilated corpse, at which I looked on unsympathetically. For we had had a long day and I was tired and longing to get home. At length I drew out my watch, and with a portentous yawn, entered a mild protest.
“It is nearly two o’clock,” said I. “Don’t you think we had better be getting on? This really isn’t any concern of ours, and there doesn’t seem to be anything in it, from our point of view.”
“Only that we are keeping our intellectual joints supple,” Thorndyke replied with a smile. “But it is getting late. Perhaps we had better adjourn the inquiry.”
At this moment, however, the inspector discovered the missing forearm—comPletelY charred—with the fingerless remains of the hand, and almost immediately afterwards the watchman picked up a dental plate of some white metal, which seemed to be practically uninjured. But our brief inspection of these objects elicited nothing of interest, and having glanced at them, we took our departure, avoiding on the stairs an eager reporter, all agog for “copy.”
A few days later we received a visit, by appointment, from a Mr. Herdman, a solicitor who was unknown to us and who was accompanied by the widow of Mr. James Manford, the victim of the explosion. In the interval the inquest had been opened but had been adjourned for further examination of the premises and the remains. No mention had been made of our visit to the building, and so far as I knew nothing had been said to anybody on the subject.
Mr. Herdman came to the point with business directness.
“I have called,” he said, “to secure your services, if possible, in regard to the matter of which I spoke in my letter. You have probably seen an account of the disaster in the papers?”
“Yes,” replied Thorndyke. “I read the report of the inquest.”
“Then you know the principal facts. The inquest, as you know, was adjourned for three weeks. When it is resumed; I should like to retain you to attend on behalf of Mrs. Manford.”
“To watch the case on her behalf?” Thorndyke suggested.
“Well, not exactly,” replied Herdman. “I should ask you to inspect the premises and the remains of poor Mr. Manford, so that, at the adjourned inquest, you could give evidence to the effect that the explosion and the death of Mr. Manford were entirely due to accident.”
“Does anyone say that they were not?” Thorndyke asked.
“No, certainly not,” Mr. Herdman replied hastily. “Not at all. But I happened, quite by chance, to see the manager of the ‘Pilot’ Insurance Society, on another matter, and I mentioned the case of Mr. Manford. He then let drop a remark which made me slightly uneasy. He observed that there was a suicide clause in the policy, and that the possibility of suicide would have to be ruled out before the claim could be settled. Which suggested a possible intention to contest the claim.”
“But,” said Thorndyke, “I need not point out to you that if he sets up the theory of suicide, it is for him to prove it, not for you to disprove it. Has anything transpired which would lend colour to such a suggestion?”
“Nothing material,” was the reply. “But we should feel more happy if you could be present and give positive evidence that the death was accidental.”
“That,” said Thorndyke, “would be hardly possible. But my feeling is that the suicide question is negligible. There is nothing to suggest it, so far as I know. Is there anything known to you?”
The solicitor glanced at his client and replied somewhat evasively: “We are anxious to secure ourselves. Mrs. Manford is left very badly off, unless there is some personal property that we don’t know about. If the insurance is not paid, she will be absolutely ruined. There isn’t enough to pay the debts. And I think the suicide question might be raised—even successfully—on several points. Manford had been rather queer lately: jumpy and rather worried. Then, he was under notice to terminate his engagement at the works. His finances were in a confused state; goodness knows why, for he had a liberal salary. And then there was some domestic trouble. Mrs. Manford had actually consulted me about getting a separation. Some other woman, you know.”
“I should like to forget that,” said Mrs. Manford; “and it wasn’t that which worried him. Quite the contrary. Since it began he had been quite changed. So smart in his dress and so particular in his appearance. He