“I won’t say that,” Thorndyke replied. “But I put it to you, Miller, that the alleged facts that are offered are too abnormal to be entertained. We cannot accept that string of coincidences. It must be obvious to you that there is a fallacy somewhere and that the actual facts are not what they seem.”
“Yes, I feel that, myself,” rejoined Miller. “But what are we to do? How are we to find the flaw in the evidence, if there is one? Can you see where to look for it? I believe you can.”
“I think there is one point which ought to be verified,” said Thorndyke. “The identification of Crile doesn’t strike me as perfectly convincing.”
“How does his case differ from Bendelow’s?” Miller demanded.
“In two respects,” was the reply. “First, Bendelow was identified by two persons who had known him well for some time and who gave a most circumstantial account of his illness, his death, and the disposal of his body; and second, Bendelow’s remains have been cremated and are therefore, presumably, beyond our reach for purposes of identification.”
“Well,” Miller objected, “Crile isn’t so very accessible, being some few feet under ground.”
“Still, he is there; and he has been buried only a few weeks. It would be possible to exhume the body and settle the question of his identity once for all.”
“Then you are not satisfied with Dr. Usher’s identification?”
“No. Usher saw him only after a long, wasting illness, which must have altered his appearance very greatly; whereas the photograph was taken when Crile was in his normal health. It couldn’t have been so very like Usher’s patient.”
“That’s true,” said Miller; “and I remember that Usher wasn’t so very positive, according to Wilson. But he agreed that it seemed to be the same man; and all the other facts seemed to point to the certainty that it was really Crile. Still, you are not satisfied? It’s a pity Wilson took the photograph back with him.”
“The photograph is of no consequence,” said Thorndyke. “You have the fingerprints; properly authenticated fingerprints, actually taken from the man in the presence of witnesses. After this short time it will be possible to get perfectly recognizable fingerprints from the body, and those fingerprints will settle the identity of Usher’s patient beyond any possible doubt.”
The Superintendent scratched his chin thoughtfully. “It’s a bit of a job to get an exhumation order,” said he. “Before I raise the question with the Commissioner, I should like to have a rather more definite opinion from you. Do you seriously doubt that the man in that coffin is Jonathan Crile?”
“It is my opinion,” replied Thorndyke—“of course, I may be wrong—but it is my considered opinion that the Crile who is in that coffin is not the Crile whose fingerprints are in your possession.”
“Very well, Doctor,” said Miller, rising and picking up his hat, “that is good enough for me. I won’t ask you for your reasons because I know you won’t give them. But I have known you long enough to feel sure that you wouldn’t give a definite opinion like that unless you had got something pretty solid to go on. And I don’t think we shall have any difficulty about the exhumation order after what you have said.”
With this the Superintendent took his leave, and very shortly afterwards Thorndyke carried me off to lunch at his club before dismissing me to take up my duties at the studio.
XVI
A Surprise for the Superintendent
It appeared that Thorndyke was correct in his estimate of the Superintendent’s state of mind, for that officer managed to dispose in a very short space of time of the formalities necessary for the obtaining of an exhumation license from the Home Office. It was less than a week after the interview that I have recorded when I received a note from Thorndyke asking me to join him and Miller at King’s Bench Walk on the following morning at the unholy hour of half-past six. He offered to put me up for the night at his chambers, but I declined this hospitality, not wishing to trouble him unnecessarily; and after a perfunctory breakfast by gaslight, a ride on an early tram, and a walk through the dim, lamp-lit streets, I entered the Temple just as the subdued notes of an invisible clock bell announced a quarter past six. On my arrival at Thorndyke’s chambers I observed a roomy hired carriage drawn up at the entry, and, ascending the stairs, found “the Doctor” and Miller ready to start, each provided with a good-sized handbag.
“This is a queer sort of function,” I remarked as we took our way down the stairs; “a sort of funeral the wrong way about.”
“Yes,” Thorndyke agreed; “it is what Lewis Carroll would have called an unfuneral—and very appropriately, too. I didn’t give you any particulars in my note, but you understand the object of this expedition?”
“I assume that we are going to resurrect the late Jonathan Crile,” I replied. “It isn’t very clear to me what I have to do with the business, as I never knew Mr. Crile, though I am delighted to have this rather uncommon experience. But I should have thought that Usher would be the proper person to accompany you.”
“So the Superintendent thought,” said Thorndyke, “and quite rightly; so I have arranged to pick up Usher and take him with us. He will be able to identify the body as that of his late patient, and you and I will help the Superintendent to take the fingerprints.”
“I am taking your word for it, Doctor,” said Miller, “that the fingerprints will be recognizable, and that they will be the wrong ones.”
“I don’t guarantee that,” Thorndyke replied, “but still, I shall be surprised if you get the right ones.”
Miller nodded with an air of satisfaction, and nothing more was said on the subject until we drew up before Dr. Usher’s surgery. That discreet practitioner was
