The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack. R. Austin Freeman
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absconded. But his disappearance, by itself, furnishes no evidence of his guilt. It merely offers a suggestion. He may have gone away for some entirely different reason.
“Then we find in these boxes certain moustache hairs. If it should turn out that Osmond has a moustache composed of similar hairs, that fact alone would not implicate him, since there are thousands of other men with similar moustaches. But taken in conjunction with the disappearance, the similarity of the hairs would constitute an item of positive evidence.
“Then we find some dust derived from worm-eaten wood. Its presence in these boxes, its character, and its abundance offer certain suggestions as to the kind of wood, the nature of the wooden object, and the circumstances attending its deposition in the boxes. Now, if it should be possible to ascertain the existence of a wooden object of the kind suggested and associated with the suggested circumstances, and if that object were the property of, or definitely associated with, the man Osmond, that fact, together with the hairs and the disappearance, would form a really weighty mass of evidence against him.”
“Yes, I see that,” said Jervis; “but what I don’t see is how you arrive at your inferences as to the object from which the dust was derived.”
“It is a question of probabilities,” replied Thorndyke. “First, as to the kind of wood. It is a red wood. It is pretty certainly not mahogany, as it is too light in colour and mahogany is very little liable to ‘the worm.’ But the abundance of dust suggests one of those woods which are specially liable to be worm eaten. Of these the fruit woods—walnut, cherry, apple, and pear—are the most extreme cases, cherry being, perhaps, the worst of all and therefore usually avoided by the cabinet-maker. But this dust is obviously not walnut. It is the wrong colour. But it might be either cherry, apple, or pear, and the probabilities are rather in favour of cherry; though, of course, it might be some other relatively soft and sappy red wood.”
“But how do you infer the nature of the object?”
“Again, by the presence of the dust in these boxes, by the properties of that dust and the large quantity of it. Consider the case of ordinary room dust. You find it on all sorts of surfaces, even high up on the walls or on the ceiling. There is no mystery as to how it gets there. It consists of minute particles, mostly of fibres from textiles, so small and light that they float freely in the air. But this wood consists of relatively large and heavy bodies—over a hundredth of an inch long. From the worm-holes it will fall to the floor; and there it will remain even when the floor is being swept. It cannot rise in the air and become deposited like ordinary dust, and it must therefore have made its way into these boxes in some other manner.”
“Yes, I realize that; but still I don’t see how that fact throws any light on the nature of the wooden object.”
“It is merely a suggestion,” replied Thorndyke; “and the inference may be quite wrong. But it is a perfectly obvious one. Come now, Jervis, don’t let your intellectual joints get stiff. Keep them lissom by exercise. Consider the problem of this dust. How did it get into these boxes and why is there so much of it? If you reason out the probabilities, you must inevitably reach a conclusion as to the nature of the wooden object. That conclusion may turn out to be wrong; but it will be logically justifiable.”
“Well, that is all that matters,” Jervis retorted with a sour smile, as he rose and glanced at his watch. “The mere fact of its being wrong we should ignore as an irrelevant triviality; just as the French surgeon, undisturbed by the death of the patient, proceeded with his operation and finally brought it to a brilliantly successful conclusion. I will practise your logical dumbbell exercise, and if I reach no conclusion after all I shall still be comforted by the mental vision of my learned senior scouring the country in search of a hypothetical worm-eaten chest of drawers.”
Thorndyke chuckled softly. “My learned friend is pleased to be ironical. But nevertheless his unerring judgement leads him to a perfectly correct forecast of my proceedings. The next stage of the inquiry will consist in tracing this dust to its sources, and the goal of my endeavours will be the discovery and identification of this wooden object. If I succeed in that, there will be, I imagine, very little more left to discover.”
“No,” Jervis agreed, “especially if the owner of the antique should happen to be the elusive Mr. Osmond. So I wish you success in your quest, and only hope it may not resemble too closely that of the legendary blind man, searching in a dark room for a black hat—that isn’t there.”
With this parting shot and a defiant grin, Jervis took his departure, leaving Thorndyke to complete the examination of the remaining material.
CHAPTER XV
MR. WAMPOLE IS HIGHLY AMUSED
On a certain Saturday afternoon at a few minutes to three the door of Mr. Woodstock’s office in High Street, Burchester, opened somewhat abruptly and disclosed the figures of the solicitor himself and his chief clerk.
“Confounded nuisance all this fuss and foolery,” growled the former, pulling out his watch and casting an impatient glance up the street. “I hope he is not going to keep us waiting.”
“He is not due till three,” Hepburn remarked, soothingly; and then, stepping out and peering up the nearly empty street, he added: “Perhaps that may be he—that tall man with the little clerical-looking person.”
“If it is, he seems to be bringing his luggage with him,” said Mr. Woodstock, regarding the pair, and especially the suitcases that they carried, with evident disfavour; “but you are right. They are coming here.”
He put away his watch, and as the two men crossed the road, he assumed an expression of polite hostility.
“Dr. Thorndyke?” he inquired as the newcomers halted opposite the doorway; and having received confirmation of his surmise, he continued: “I am Mr. Woodstock, and this is my colleague, Mr. Hepburn. May I take it that this gentleman is concerned in our present business?” As he spoke he fixed a truculent blue eye on Thorndyke’s companion, who crinkled apologetically.
“This is Mr. Polton, my laboratory assistant,” Thorndyke explained, “who has come with me to give me any help that I may need.”
“Indeed,” said Woodstock, glaring inquisitively at the large suitcase which Polton carried. “Help? I gathered from Mr. Penfield’s letter that you wished to inspect the office, and I must confess that I found myself utterly unable to imagine why. May I ask what you expect to learn from an inspection of the premises?”
“That,” replied Thorndyke, “is a rather difficult question to answer. But as all my information as to what has occurred here is second-or third-hand, I thought it best to see the place myself and make a few inquiries on the spot. That is my routine practice.”
“Ah, I see,” said Woodstock. “Your visit is just a matter of form, a demonstration of activity. Well, I am sorry I can’t be present at the ceremony. My colleague and I have an engagement elsewhere; but my office-keeper, Mr. Wampole, will be able to tell you anything that you may wish to know and show you all there is to see excepting the strong-room. If you want to see that, as I suppose you do, I had better show it to you now, as I must take the key away with me.”
He led the way along the narrow hall, half-way down which he opened a door inscribed ‘Clerks’ Office,’ and entered a large room, now unoccupied save by an elderly man who sat at a table with the parts of a dismembered electric bell spread out before him. Through this Mr. Woodstock passed into a somewhat smaller room furnished with a large writing-table, one or two nests of deed-boxes, and a set of book-shelves. Nearly opposite the table was the massive door of the strong-room, standing wide open with the key in the lock.
“This is my private office,” said Mr. Woodstock, “and here is the strong-room. Perhaps you would like to step inside. I am rather proud of this room. You don’t often see one of this size. And it is absolutely fire-proof; thick steel lining, concrete outside that, and then brick. It is practically indestructible. Those confounded boxes occupied that long upper shelf.”
Thorndyke did not appear to be specially interested in the strong-room. He walked in, looked