“I see, sir,” said Wilkins, as he laboriously traced his signature at the foot of the statement; “you don’t want the other parties for to ogle your lay. All right, sir; you can depend on me. I’m fly, I am.”
“Thank you, Wilkins,” said Thorndyke. “And now what are we to give you for your trouble in coming here?”
“I’ll leave the fare to you, sir. You know what the information’s worth; but I should think ’arf a thick-un wouldn’t hurt you.”
Thorndyke laid on the table a couple of sovereigns, at the sight of which the cabman’s eyes glistened.
“We have your address, Wilkins,” said he. “If we want you as a witness we shall let you know, and if not, there will be another two pounds for you at the end of a fortnight, provided you have not let this little interview leak out.”
Wilkins gathered up the spoils gleefully. “You can trust me, sir,” said he, “for to keep my mouth shut. I knows which side my bread’s buttered. Good night, gentlemen all.”
With this comprehensive salute he moved towards the door and let himself out.
“Well, Jervis; what do you think of it?” Thorndyke asked, as the cabman’s footsteps faded away in a creaky diminuendo.
“I don’t know what to think. This woman is a new factor in the case and I don’t know how to place her.”
“Not entirely new,” said Thorndyke. “You have not forgotten those beads that we found in Jeffrey’s bedroom, have you?”
“No, I had not forgotten them, but I did not see that they told us much excepting that some woman had apparently been in his bedroom at some time.”
“That, I think, is all that they did tell us. But now they tell us that a particular woman was in his bedroom at a particular time, which is a good deal more significant.”
“Yes. It almost looks as if she must have been there when he made away with himself.”
“It does, very much.”
“By the way, you were right about the colours of those beads, and also about the way they were used.”
“As to their use, that was a mere guess; but it has turned out to be correct. It was well that we found the beads, for, small as is the amount of information they give, it is still enough to carry us a stage further.”
“How so?”
“I mean that the cabman’s evidence tells us only that this woman entered the house. The beads tell us that she was in the bedroom; which, as you say, seems to connect her to some extent with Jeffrey’s death. Not necessarily, of course. It is only a suggestion; but a rather strong suggestion under the peculiar circumstances.”
“Even so,” said I, “this new fact seems to me so far from clearing up the mystery, only to add to it a fresh element of still deeper mystery. The porter’s evidence at the inquest could leave no doubt that Jeffrey contemplated suicide, and his preparations pointedly suggest this particular night as the time selected by him for doing away with himself. Is not that so?”
“Certainly. The porter’s evidence was very clear on that point.”
“Then I don’t see where this woman comes in. It is obvious that her presence at the inn, and especially in the bedroom, on this occasion and in these strange, secret circumstances, has a rather sinister look; but yet I do not see in what way she could have been connected with the tragedy. Perhaps, after all, she has nothing to do with it. You remember that Jeffrey went to the lodge about eight o’clock, to pay his rent, and chatted for some time with the porter. That looks as if the lady had already left.”
“Yes,” said Thorndyke. “But, on the other hand, Jeffrey’s remarks to the porter with reference to the cab do not quite agree with the account that we have just heard from Wilkins. Which suggests—as does Wilkins’s account generally—some secrecy as to the lady’s visit to his chambers.”
“Do you know who the woman was?” I asked.
“No, I don’t know,” he replied. “I have a rather strong suspicion that I can identify her, but I am waiting for some further facts.”
“Is your suspicion founded on some new matter that you have discovered, or is it deducible from facts that are known to me?”
“I think,” he replied, “that you know practically all that I know, although I have, in one instance, turned a very strong suspicion into a certainty by further inquiries. But I think you ought to be able to form some idea as to who this lady probably was.”
“But no woman has been mentioned in the case at all.”
“No; but I think you should be able to give this lady a name, notwithstanding.”
“Should I? Then I begin to suspect that I am not cut out for medico-legal practice, for I don’t see the faintest glimmer of a suggestion.”
Thorndyke smiled benevolently. “Don’t be discouraged, Jervis,” said he. “I expect that when you first began to go round the wards, you doubted whether you were cut out for medical practice. I did. For special work one needs special knowledge and an acquired faculty for making use of it. What does a second year’s student make of a small thoracic aneurysm? He knows the anatomy of the chest; he begins to know the normal heart sounds and areas of dullness; but he cannot yet fit his various items of knowledge together. Then comes the experienced physician and perhaps makes a complete diagnosis without any examination at all, merely from hearing the patient speak or cough. He has the same facts as the student, but he has acquired the faculty of instantly connecting an abnormality of function with its correleated anatomical change. It is a matter of experience. And, with your previous
