The Adventures of Dr. Thorndyke (The Singing Bone). R. Austin Freeman

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СКАЧАТЬ that—there is nothing more than appears, and let you have a report. Will that do?”

      “Thank you. It’s excessively good of you, doctor. Ah! here comes the train. I hope it won’t inconvenience you to stay and see to this matter.”

      “Not in the least,” replied the doctor. “We are not due at Warmington until tomorrow afternoon, and I expect we can find out all that is necessary to know before that.”

      Silas looked long and curiously at the tall, imposing man who was, as it were, taking his seat at the chess board, to play against him for his life. A formidable antagonist he looked, with his keen, thoughtful face, so resolute and calm. As Silas stepped into his carriage he thought with deep discomfort of Brodski’s hat, and hoped that he had made no other oversight.

PART II

       Table of Contents

      THE MECHANISM OF DETECTION

      (Related by Christopher Jervis, M.D.)

      The singular circumstances that attended the death of Mr. Oscar Brodski, the well-known diamond merchant of Hatton Garden, illustrated very forcibly the importance of one or two points in medico-legal practice which Thorndyke was accustomed to insist were not sufficiently appreciated. What those points were, I shall leave my friend and teacher to state at the proper place; and meanwhile, as the case is in the highest degree instructive, I shall record the incidents in the order of their occurrence.

      The dusk of an October evening was closing in as Thorndyke and I, the sole occupants of a smoking compartment, found ourselves approaching the little station of Ludham; and, as the train slowed down, we peered out at the knot of country people who were waiting on the platform. Suddenly Thorndyke exclaimed in a tone of surprise: “Why, that is surely Boscovitch!” and almost at the same moment a brisk, excitable little man darted at the door of our compartment and literally tumbled in.

      “I hope I don’t intrude on this learned conclave,” he said, shaking hands genially and banging his Gladstone with impulsive violence into the rack; “but I saw your faces at the window, and naturally jumped at the chance of such pleasant companionship.”

      “You are very flattering,” said Thorndyke; “so flattering that you leave us nothing to say. But what in the name of fortune are you doing at—what’s the name of the place—Ludham?”

      “My brother has a little place a mile or so from here, and I have been spending a couple of days with him,” Mr. Boscovitch explained. “I shall change at Badsham Junction and catch the boat train for Amsterdam. But whither are you two bound? I see you have your mysterious little green box up on the hat-rack, so I infer that you are on some romantic quest, eh? Going to unravel some dark and intricate crime?”

      “No,” replied Thorndyke. “We are bound for Warmington on a quite prosaic errand. I am instructed to watch the proceedings at an inquest there to-morrow on behalf of the Griffin Life Insurance Office, and we are travelling down to-night as it is rather a cross-country journey.”

      “But why the box of magic?” asked Boscovitch, glancing up at the hat-rack.

      “I never go away from home without it,” answered Thorndyke. “One never knows what may turn up; the trouble of carrying it is small when set off against the comfort of having appliances at hand in an emergency.”

      Boscovitch continued to stare up at the little square case covered with Willesden canvas. Presently he remarked: “I often used to wonder what you had in it when you were down at Chelmsford in connection with that bank murder—what an amazing case that was, by the way, and didn’t your methods of research astonish the police!” As he still looked up wistfully at the case, Thorndyke good-naturedly lifted it down and unlocked it. As a matter of fact he was rather proud of his “portable laboratory,” and certainly it was a triumph of condensation, for, small as it was—only a foot square by four inches deep—it contained a fairly complete outfit for a preliminary investigation.

      “Wonderful!” exclaimed Boscovitch, when the case lay open before him, displaying its rows of little reagent bottles, tiny test-tubes, diminutive spirit-lamp, dwarf microscope and assorted instruments on the same Lilliputian scale; “it’s like a doll’s house—everything looks as if it was seen through the wrong end of a telescope. But are these tiny things really efficient? That microscope now——”

      “Perfectly efficient at low and moderate magnifications,” said Thorndyke. “It looks like a toy, but it isn’t one; the lenses are the best that can be had. Of course a full-sized instrument would be infinitely more convenient—but I shouldn’t have it with me, and should have to make shift with a pocket-lens. And so with the rest of the under-sized appliances; they are the alternative to no appliances.”

      Boscovitch pored over the case and its contents, fingering the instruments delicately and asking questions innumerable about their uses; indeed, his curiosity was but half appeased when, half-an-hour later, the train began to slow down.

      “By Jove!” he exclaimed, starting up and seizing his bag, “here we are at the junction already. You change here too, don’t you?”

      “Yes,” replied Thorndyke. “We take the branch train on to Warmington.”

      As we stepped out onto the platform, we became aware that something unusual was happening or had happened. All the passengers and most of the porters and supernumeraries were gathered at one end of the station, and all were looking intently into the darkness down the line.

      “Anything wrong?” asked Mr. Boscovitch, addressing the station-inspector.

      “Yes, sir,” the official replied; “a man has been run over by the goods train about a mile down the line. The station master has gone down with a stretcher to bring him in, and I expect that is his lantern that you see coming this way.”

      As we stood watching the dancing light grow momentarily brighter, flashing fitful reflections from the burnished rails, a man came out of the booking-office and joined the group of onlookers. He attracted my attention, as I afterwards remembered, for two reasons: in the first place his round, jolly face was excessively pale and bore a strained and wild expression, and, in the second, though he stared into the darkness with eager curiosity he asked no questions.

      The swinging lantern continued to approach, and then suddenly two men came into sight bearing a stretcher covered with a tarpaulin, through which the shape of a human figure was dimly discernible. They ascended the slope to the platform, and proceeded with their burden to the lamp-room, when the inquisitive gaze of the passengers was transferred to a porter who followed carrying a handbag and umbrella and to the station-master who brought up the rear with his lantern.

      As the porter passed, Mr. Boscovitch started forward with sudden excitement.

      “Is that his umbrella?” he asked.

      “Yes, sir,” answered the porter, stopping and holding it out for the speaker’s inspection.

      “My God!” ejaculated Boscovitch; then, turning sharply to Thorndyke, he exclaimed: “That’s Brodski’s umbrella. I could swear to it. You remember Brodski?”

      Thorndyke nodded, and Boscovitch, turning once more to the porter, said: “I identify that umbrella. It belongs to a gentleman named Brodski. If you look in his hat, СКАЧАТЬ