XIX
A Strange Symposium
It came upon me with something of a shock of surprise to find the scrap of paper still tacked to the oak of Thorndyke’s chambers. So much had happened since I had last looked on it that it seemed to belong to another epoch of my life. I removed it thoughtfully and picked out the tack before entering, and then, closing the inner door, but leaving the oak open, I lit the gas and fell to pacing the room.
What a wonderful episode it had been! How the whole aspect of the world had been changed in a moment by Thorndyke’s revelation! At another time, curiosity would have led me to endeavor to trace back the train of reasoning by which the subtle brain of my teacher had attained this astonishing conclusion. But now my own happiness held exclusive possession of my thoughts. The image of Ruth filled the field of my mental vision. I saw her again as I had seen her in the cab with her sweet, pensive face and downcast eyes; I felt again the touch of her soft cheek and the parting kiss by the gate, so frank and simple, so intimate and final.
I must have waited quite a long time, though the golden minutes sped unreckoned, for when my two colleagues arrived they tendered needless apologies.
“And I suppose,” said Thorndyke, “you have been wondering what I wanted you for.”
I had not, as a matter of fact, given the matter a moment’s consideration.
“We are going to call on Mr. Jellicoe,” Thorndyke explained. “There is something behind this affair, and until I have ascertained what it is, the case is not complete from my point of view.”
“Wouldn’t it have done as well tomorrow?” I asked.
“It might; and then it might not. There is an old saying as to catching a weasel asleep. Mr. Jellicoe is a somewhat wide-awake person, and I think it best to introduce him to Inspector Badger at the earliest possible moment.”
“The meeting of a weasel and a badger suggests a sporting interview,” remarked Jervis. “But you don’t expect Jellicoe to give himself away, do you?”
“He can hardly do that, seeing that there is nothing to give away. But I think he may make a statement. There were some exceptional circumstances, I feel sure.”
“How long have you known that the body was in the Museum?” I asked.
“About thirty or forty seconds longer than you have, I should say.”
“Do you mean,” I exclaimed, “that you did not know until the negative was developed?”
“My dear fellow,” he replied, “do you suppose that, if I had had certain knowledge where the body was, I should have allowed that noble girl to go on dragging out a lingering agony of suspense that I could have cut short in a moment? Or that I should have made these humbugging pretenses of scientific experiments if a more dignified course had been open to me?”
“As to the experiments,” said Jervis, “Norbury could hardly have refused if you had taken him into your confidence.”
“Indeed he could, and probably would. My ‘confidence’ would have involved a charge of murder against a highly respectable gentleman who was well known to him. He would probably have referred me to the police, and then what could I have done? I had plenty of suspicions, but not a single solid fact.”
Our discussion was here interrupted by hurried footsteps on the stairs and a thundering rat-tat on our knocker.
As Jervis opened the door, Inspector Badger burst into the room in a highly excited state.
“What is all this, Doctor Thorndyke?” he asked. “I see you’ve sworn an information against Mr. Jellicoe, and I have a warrant to arrest him; but before anything else is done I think it right to tell you that we have more evidence than is generally known pointing to quite a different quarter.”
“Derived from Mr. Jellicoe’s information,” said Thorndyke. “But the fact is that I have just examined and identified the body at the British Museum, where it was deposited by Mr. Jellicoe. I don’t say that he murdered John Bellingham—though that is what appearances suggest—but I do say that he will have to account for his secret disposal of the body.”
Inspector Badger was thunderstruck. Also he was visibly annoyed. The salt which Mr. Jellicoe had so adroitly sprinkled on the constabulary tail appeared to develop irritating properties, for when Thorndyke had given him a brief outline of the facts he stuck his hands in his pockets and exclaimed gloomily:
“Well, I’m hanged! And to think of all the time and trouble I’ve spent on those damned bones! I suppose they were just a plant?”
“Don’t let us disparage them,” said Thorndyke. “They have played a useful part. They represent the inevitable mistake that every criminal makes sooner or later. The murderer will always do a little too much. If he would only lie low and let well alone, the detectives might whistle for a clue. But it is time we are starting.”
“Are we all going?” asked the inspector, looking at me in particular with no very gracious recognition.
“We will all come with you,” said Thorndyke; “but you will, naturally, make the arrest in the way that seems best to you.”
“It’s a regular procession,” grumbled the inspector; but he made no more definite objection, and we started forth on our quest.
The distance from the Temple to Lincoln’s Inn is not great. In five minutes we were at the gateway in Chancery Lane, and a couple of minutes later saw us gathered round the threshold of the stately old house in New Square.
“Seems to be a light in the first-floor front,” said Badger. “You’d better move away before I ring the
