“3. We learned further that he must have had some extraordinarily strong reason for making away with D’Arblay. He made most elaborate plans, he took endless trouble—for instance, it must have been no easy matter to get possession of that quantity of aconitine (unless he were a doctor, which God forbid!). That strong reason—the motive, in fact—is the key of the problem. It is the murderer’s one vulnerable point, for it can hardly be beyond discovery; and its discovery must be our principal objective.”
I nodded, not without some self-congratulation as I recalled how I had made this very point in my talk with Miss D’Arblay.
“Those,” Thorndyke continued, “are the data that the inquest furnished. Now we come to those added by Inspector Follett.”
“I don’t see that they help us at all,” said I. “The ancient coin was a curious find, but it doesn’t appear to tell us anything new excepting that this man may have been a collector or a dealer. On the other hand, he may not. It doesn’t seem to me that the coin has any significance.”
“Doesn’t it really?” said Thorndyke, as he refilled my glass. “You are surely overlooking the very curious coincidence that it presents.”
“What coincidence is that?” I asked, in some surprise.
“The coincidence,” he replied, “that both the murderer and the victim should be, to a certain extent, connected with a particular form of activity. Here is a man who commits a murder and who, at the time of committing it appears to have been in possession of a coin, which is not a current coin, but a collector’s piece; and behold! the murdered man is a sculptor—a man who, presumably, was capable of making a coin, or at least the working model.”
“There is no evidence,” I objected, “that D’Arblay was capable of cutting a die. He was not a die sinker.”
“There was no need for him to be,” Thorndyke rejoined. “Formerly, the medallist who designed the coin cut the die himself. But that is not the modern practice. Nowadays, the designer makes the model, first in wax and then in plaster, on a comparatively large scale. The model of a shilling may be three inches or more in diameter. The actual die-sinking is done by a copying machine which produces a die of the required size by mechanical reduction. I think there could be no doubt that D’Arblay could have modelled the design for a coin on the usual scale, say three or four inches in diameter.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “he certainly could, for I have seen some of his small relief work; some little plaquettes, not more than two inches long and most delicately and beautifully modelled. But still, I don’t see the connection, otherwise than as a rather odd coincidence.”
“There may be nothing more,” said he. “There may be nothing in it at all. But odd coincidences should always be noted with very special attention.”
“Yes, I realize that. But I can’t imagine what significance there could be in the coincidence.”
“Well,” said Thorndyke, “let us take an imaginary case, just as an illustration. Suppose this man to have been a fraudulent dealer in antiquities; and suppose him to have obtained enlarged photographs of a medal or coin of extreme rarity and of great value, which was in some museum or private collection. Suppose him to have taken the photographs to D’Arblay and commissioned him to model from them a pair of exact replicas in hardened plaster. From those plaster models he could, with a copying machine, produce a pair of dies with which he could strike replicas in the proper metal and of the exact size; and these could be sold for large sums to judiciously chosen collectors.”
“I don’t believe D’Arblay would have accepted such a commission,” I exclaimed indignantly.
“We may assume that he would not, if the fraudulent intent had been known to him. But it would not have been; and there is no reason why he should have refused a commission merely to make a copy. Still, I am not suggesting that anything of the kind really happened. I am simply giving you an illustration of one of the innumerable ways in which a perfectly honest sculptor might be made use of by a fraudulent dealer. In that case his honesty would be a source of danger to him; for if a really great fraud were perpetrated by means of his work, it would clearly be to the interest of the perpetrator to get rid of him. An honest and unconscious collaborator in a crime is apt to be a dangerous witness if questions arise.”
I was a good deal impressed by this demonstration. Here, it seemed to me, was something very like a tangible clue. But at this point Thorndyke again applied a cold douche.
“Still,” he said, “we are only dealing with generalities, and rather speculative ones. Our assumptions are subject to all sorts of qualifications. It is possible, for instance, though very improbable, that D’Arblay may have been murdered in error by a perfect stranger; that he may have walked into an ambush prepared for someone else. Again, the coin may not have belonged to the murderer at all, though that is also most improbable. But there are numerous possibilities of error; and we can eliminate them only by following up each suggested clue and seeking verification or disproof. Every new fact that we learn is a multiple gain. For as money makes money, so knowledge begets knowledge.”
“That is very true,” I answered dejectedly—for it sounded rather like a platitude; “but I don’t see any means of following up any of these clues.”
“We are going to follow up one of them after lunch, if you have time,” said he. As he spoke, he took from the table drawer
