Speaker 1: The Riddle of the five twenty eight by Thomas W. Henshewe.
It was exactly thirty two minutes past five o'clock on
the evening of Friday, December ninth, with the station master
at Annerley received the following communication by wire from the
signal box at forest Hill, five twenty eight down from
London Bridge, just passed one first class compartment in total darkness.
Investigate as two stations Sydenham and Pinge, lie between forest
Hill and Annerley. In the ordinary course of events, this
signal box message would have been dispatched to one or
the other of these, but it so happens that the
five twenty eight from London Bridge to Croydon is a
special train which makes no stop short of Annerley station
on the way down. Consequently, the signalman had no chance
but to act as he did. Wire fused, I reckon
or filament burned out. That's the worst of electric light.
Come into the station master when he received the communication.
Get a light of some sort from the lamp room. Webb.
They'll have to put up with that. As far as
Croydon moose sharp, she'll be along presently. Then he took
up a lantern, for in addition to fog, a slight
sifting snow had come on about an hour previously, rendering
the evening one of darkness and extreme discomfort, and crossed
by way of the tunnel over to the down platform
to be ready for the train's arrival, having some little
difficulty in progressing easily, for it happened that a local
celebrity had been entertaining the newly elected Lord Mayor that day,
and in consequence both the up and down platforms were
unusually crowded for the season, and the hour promptly at
five forty two, the scheduled time for its arrival, the
train came pelting up the snow covered metals from Pinge
and made its first stops. In starting it was packed
to the point of suffocation, as it always is, and
in an instant the station was in a state of congestion.
Far down, the uncovered portion of the platform webbed. The porter,
who had now joined the station master, spied a gap
in the long line of brightly lighted windows, and the
pair bore down upon it forthwith each with a glowing
lantern in his hand. Here she is now, then, let's
see what's the difficulty said the station master as they
came abreast of the lighted compartment, where, much to his surprise,
he found nobody leaning out and making it to do over.
The matter looks as if the blessed thing was empty,
though that's by no means likely in a packed train
like the five twenty eight. Hello, door's locked, and here's
an engaged label on the window. What the dickens did
I do with my key? Oh? Here it is now, then,
let's see what's amiss. A great deal was a miss
as he saw the instant he unlocked the door and
pulled it open for the first lifting of the lantern
made the cause of the darkness startlingly. The shallow glass globe,
which should have been in the center of the ceiling
had been smashed, ragged fragments of it still clinging to
their fastenings, and the three electric bulbs had been removed bodily.
A downward glance showed him that both these and the
fragments of the broken globe lay on one seat, partly
wrapped in a wet cloth, and on the other. He
gave a jump and a howl, and retreated a step
or two in a state of absolute panic, for there
in a corner, with his face toward the engine, half sat,
half leaned the figure of a dead man, with a
bullet hole between his eyes and a small nickel plated
revolver loosely clasped in the bent fingers of one limp
and lifeless hand. The body was that of a man
whose age could not, at the most have exceeded eight
and thirty, a man who must, in life have been
more than ordinarily handsome. His hair and mustache were fare,
his clothing was of extreme elegance in both material and fashioning.
He wore no jewelry of any description, unless one accepts
a plain gold ring on the fourth finger of his
left hand. His feet were shod in patent leather boots,
and the rack overhead rested a shining silk hat of
the newest fashion, an orange wood walking stick, and a
pair of gray suede gloves. An evening paper lay between
his feet, open as though it had been read, and
in his buttonhole there was a single mauve orchid of
exquisite beauty and delicacy. The body was quite alone in
the compartment, and there was not a scrap of luggage
of any description. Suicide gulped the startled station master as
soon as he could find strength to say anything. Then
he hastily slammed and re locked the door, set web
on guard before it, and flew to notify the engine
driver and to send word to the local police. The
news of the tragedy spread like wildfire, but the station master,
who had his wits about him, would allow nobody to
leave the station until the authorities had arrived, and suffered
no man or woman to come within a yard of
the compartment where the dead man lay. Someone has said
that nothing comes by chance. But whether that is true
or not, it happened that mister Maverick Narkom was among
those who had attended the lunch in honor of the
Lord Mayor that day, and that at the very moment
when this ghastly discovery was made on the down platform
at Annerley station, he was standing with the crowd on
the up one, waiting for the train to Victoria. This
train was to convey Cleek, whom he had promised to
join an Annerley, returning from a day spent with Captain
Morrison and his daughter in the beautiful home they had bought.
When the law decided that the Captain was the legitimate
heir of George Carboys and lawful successor to Abdul bin
Meerza's money. As soon as the news of the tragedy
reached him, mister Narkom crossed to the scene of action
and made known his identity, and by the time the
local police reached the theater of events, he was in
full possession of the case and had already taken certain
steps with regard to the matter. It was he who
first thought of looking to see if any name was attached,
as is often the case, to the engaged label secured
to the window of the compartment occupied by the dead man.
There was written in pencil under the blue printed engaged
were the three words for Lord Stavernel by George. He
exclaimed as he read the name, which was one that
half England had heard of at one time or another,
and knew to belong to a man whose wild, dissipated
life and violent temper had passed into proverb. Come to
the end at last? Has he give me your lantern,
porter and open the door. Let's have a look and
see if there is any mistake. Or The whistle of
the arriving train for Victoria cut in upon his words,
and putting a local police in charge, He ran for
the tunnel made of the up platform and caught Cleik.
He remained in conversation with him for two or three
minutes after the Victoria train had gone on its way,
and was still talking with him in undertones, when a
brief time later they appeared from the tunnel and bore
down on the spot where the local police were on
guard over the dark compartment. Mister George Headland one of
my best men, he explained to the local inspector, who
had just arrived. Let us have all the light you can, please.
Mister Headland wishes to view the body. Crowd round the
rest of you and keep the passengers back. Pull down
the blinds of the compartment before you turn on your
bull's eyes. All right, Porter, tell the engine drivers he'll
get his orders in a minute now. Then click Headland,
decide it rests with you. Clik opened the door of
the compartment, stepped in, gave one glance at the dead man,
and then spoke murder. He said, look how the pistol
lies in his hand. Wait a moment, however, and let
me make sure. Then he took the revolver from the
yielding fingers, smelt it, smiled, then broke it and looked
at the cylinder. Just as I supposed, he added, turning
to Narkom, one chamber has been fouled by a shot,
and one cartridge has been exploded. But not today, not
even yesterday. That sour smell tells its own story, mister Narkom.
This revolver was discharged two or three days ago. The
assassin had everything prepared for this little event. But he
was a fool for all his cleverness. For you will
observe that in his haste when he put the revolver
in the dead hand, to make it appear a case
of suicide, he laid it down just as he himself
took it from his pocket, with the butt towards the
victim's body, and the muzzle pointed outward between the thumb
and forefinger, and with the bottom of the cylinder instead
of the top of the trigger touching the ball of
the thumb. It is a clear case of murder, mister Narkham.
But Sir interposed a station master over he hearing this assertion,
and looking at Clik with eyes of blank bewilderment. If
somebody killed him, where has that somebody gone. This train
has made no stop until now since it started from
London Bridge, So even if the party was in it
at the start, how in the world could he get out?
Maybe he chucked hisself out the window, Governor, suggested Webb.
Or maybe he slipped out and hung onto the footboard
until the train slowed down and then dropped off just
before it come into the station. Here. Don't talk rubbish, web.
Both doors were locked and both windows closed when we
discovered the body. You saw that as plainly as eye, lummy,
sir so I did. Then where could he went to?
And how station master struck in clik. Turning from examining
the body, get your men to examine all tickets, both
in the train and out of it, and if there's
one that's not clipped as it passed the barrier at
London Bridge, look out for it and detained holder. I'll
take the gate here and examine all local tickets. Meantime,
wire all up the road to every station from here
to London Bridge and find out if any other signalman
than the one at Forest Hill noticed this dark compartment
when the train went past. Both suggestions were acted upon immediately,
but every ticket, save of course the season ones, and
the holders of these were in every case identified was
found to be properly clipped, and in the end every
signal box from New Cross on wired back, all compartments
lighted when train passed here. That narrows the search. Mister
Narkham said, cleek when he heard this. The lights are
put out somewhere between Honor Oak Park and Forest Hill,
and it was between Honor Oak Park and Annerley the
murderer made his escape. Inspector, he turned to the officer
in commanded the local police, do me a favor, Put
your men in charge of this carriage and let the
train proceed. Norwood Junction is the next station, I believe,
and there's a sidetrack there. Have the carriage shunted and
keep close guard over it until mister Narkham and I arrive.
Right you are, sir, anything else, yes, have the station
master at the junction equip a hand car with a
searchlight and send it here as expeditiously as possible. If
anybody or anything has left this train between this point
and Honor Oak Park, Mister Narkham, this thin coating of
snow will betray the fact beyond the question of a doubt.
Twenty minutes later, the hand car put in an appearance,
manned by a couple of linesmen from the junction, and
word having been wired up the line to hold back
all trains for a period of half an hour in
the interest of Scotland. Yard Cleek and Narkham boarded the
vehicle and went whizzing up the metals in the direction
of Honeroak Park, the shifting searchlight sweeping the path from
left to right and glaring brilliantly on the surface of
the fallen snow. Four lines of tracks gleamed steel bright
against its spotless level, the two outer ones being those
employed by the local trains going to and fro between
London and the suburbs, the two inner ones belonging to
the main line. But not one footstep indented the thin
surface of that broad expanse of snow from one end
of the journey to the other. The murderer, whoever he is,
or wherever he went, never set foot upon so much
as one inch of this ground. That's certain, said Narkham,
as he gave the order to reverse the car. In return,
you feel satisfied of that, do you not, my dear
fellow thoroughly, mister Narkham. There can't be two opinions upon
that point. But at the same time he did leave
the train, otherwise we should have found him in it, granted,
But the question is when did he get in and
how did he get out? We know from the evidence
of the passengers that the train never stopped for one
inch between London Bridge Station and Annerley, that all compartments
were alight up to the time it passed Honor Oak Park,
that nobody abroad of it heard a sound of a
pistol shot. That the assassin could not have crept along
the footboard and got into some other compartment, for all
were so densely crowded that half a dozen people were
standing in each So he could not have entered without
somebody making room for him to open the door and
get in. No such thing happened. No such thing could
happen without a dozen or more people being aware of it.
So the idea of a confederate may be dismissed without
a thought. The unmarked surface of the snow shows that
nobody alighted was thrown out or fell out between the
two points where the tragedy must have occurred. Both windows
were shut and both doors of the compartment locked when
the train made its first stop, Yet the fellow was gone.
My dear Chap, are you sure, are you really sure
that it isn't a case of suicie? After all? Cleek
gave his shoulders a lurch and smiled indulgently. My dear
mister Markham, he said, the position of the revolver in
the dead man's hand ought, as I pointed out to you,
to settle that question, even if there were no other
discrepancies in the natural order of things, a man who
has just put a bullet into his own brain would
if he were sitting erect, as Lord Stavnault was, dropped
the revolver in the spasmodic opening and shutting of the
hands in the final convulsion. But if he retained any
sort of hold upon it, be sure his forefinger would
be in the loop of the trigger. He wouldn't be
holding the weapon backward, so to speak, with the cylinder
against the ball of his thumb and the hammer against
the base of the middle finger. If he had held
it that way, he simply couldn't have shot himself if
he had tried. Then, if you didn't remark it. There
was no scorch of powder upon the face, for another thing,
and for a third the bullet hole was between the eyes,
a most unlikely target for a man bent upon blowing
out his own brains. The temple or the roof of
the mouth are the points to which natural impulse. He
stopped and laid a sharp, quick shutting hand on the
shoulder of one of the two men who were operating
the car. Turn back, he exclaimed, Reverse the action and
go back a dozen yards or so. The impetus of
the car would not permit this at once, but after
running on for a little time longer, it answered to
the brake, slowed down, stopped, and then began to back
scudding along the rail until Cleek again called it to
a halt. They were within gunshot of the station at
Sydenham when this occurred. The glaring searchlight was still playing
on the metals, and the thin layer of snow between
and Cleik's face seemed all eyes as he bent over
and studied the ground over which they were gliding. Of
a sudden, however, he gave a little satisfied drunt, jumped
down and picked up a shining metal object about two
and a half inches long, which lay in the space
between the tracks of the main and the local lines.
It was a guard's key for the locking and unlocking
of compartment doors, one of the small T shaped kind
that you can buy of almost any ironmonger for sixpence
or a shilling any day. It was wet from contact
with the snow, but quite unrusted, showing that it had
not been lying there long, and it needed but a
glance to reveal the fact that it was brand new
and of recent purchase. Cleek held it out on his
palm as he climbed back upon the car and rejoined Narkham.
Wherever he got on, mister Narkham, this is where the
murderer got off, you see, and either dropped or flung
away this key when he had relocked the compartment after him,
he said, And yet, as you see, there is not
a footstep beyond those I have myself just made to
be discovered anywhere from the position in which this key
was lying. One thing is certain. However, our man got
out on the opposite side from the platform towards which
the train was hastening, and in the middle of the
right of way. What a mad idea. If there had
been a main line express passing at the time, the
fellow ran the risk of being cut to pieces. None
of them slowed down before they prepared to make their
first stop aties Croydon, and about this spot they would
be going like the wind, yes, said Cleek, looking fixedly
at the shiny bit of metal on his palm, going
like the wind, and the suction would be enormous between
two trains. A step outside and he'd have been under
the wheels in a wink. Yes, it would have been
certain death, instant death, if there had been a main
line train passing at the time, and that he was
not sucked down and ground under the wheels proved that
there wasn't. Then he puckered up his brows in that
manner which Narkam had come to understand meant a thoughtfulness,
it was impolitic to disturb, and stood silent for a
long long time. Narkham he said, suddenly, I think we
have discovered all that there is to be discovered in
this direction. Let us get on to Norwood Junction as
speedily as possible. I want to examine that compartment and
that dead body a little more closely. Besides Our half
hour is up, and the trains will be running again shortly,
so we'd better get out of the way. Any ideas,
old chap, Yes, bushels of them, but they all may
be exploded in another half hour. Still, these are the
days of scientific marvels. Water does run uphill and men
do fly, and both are in defiance of the laws
of gravitation, which means that I shall leave the hand
car at Sydenham, mister Narkham, and phone up to London
Bridge station. There are one or two points I wish
to ask some questions about. Afterward, I'll hire a motor
from some local garage and join you at Norwood Junction
in an hour's time. Let no one see the body
or enter the compartment where it lies until I come.
One question, however, is my memory at fault or was
it not Lord Stavarnail, who was mixed up in that
little affair with the French dancer Mademoiselle Fifi de Lesparre,
who has such a rage in town about a year ago. Yes,
that's the chap, said Narkom in reply. And a rare
bad lot he has been all his life, I can
tell you. I dare say that Fifi herself was no
better than she ought to have been, chucking over her
county bred husband as soon as she came into popularity
and having men of the Stavnail class tagging after her.
But whether she was or was not, Stavnail broke up
that home. And if that French husband had done the
right thing, he would have thrashed him within an inch
of his life. Instead of acting like a fool in
a play and challenging him, Stavarnil laughed at the challenge,
of course, And if all that is said of him
is true, he was at the bottom of the shabby
trick which finally forced the poor devil to get out
of the country. When his wife Fifi left him, the
poor wretch nearly went off his head, and as he
hadn't fifty shillings in the world, he was in a
dickens of a pickle when somebody induced a lot of
Milliner's dressmakers and the like, to whom it was said
that Fifi owed bills, to put their accounts into the
hands of a collecting agency and to proceed against him
for settlement of his wife's accounts. That was why he
got out of the country. Posthaste. The case made a
great stir at the time, and the scandal of it
was so great that, although the fact never got into
the papers, Stavardell's wife left him, refusing to live another
hour with such a man. Oh he had a wife then, yes,
one of the most beautiful women in the kingdom. They
had been married only a year when the scandal of
the Fifi affair arose. That was another of his dirty tricks,
forcing that poor creature to marry him. She did so
against her will. Yes, she was engaged to another fellow
at the time, an army chap who was out in India.
Her father, too was an army man, a Colonel something
or other. Poor as the proverbial church mouse, addicted to
hard drinking, card playing, horse racing, and about as selfish
an old brute as they make him. The girl took
a deep dislike to Lord Stavarnail the minute she saw him,
knew his reputation, and refused to receive him. That's the
very reason he determined to marry her, humble her pride
as it were, and repay her for her scorn of him.
He got her father into his clutches deliberately, of course,
lent him money, took his io us for card debts,
and all that sort of thing, until the old brute
was up to his ears in debt and with no
prospect of paying it off. Of course, when he'd got
him to that point, Stavarnail demanded the money, but finally
agreed to wipe the debt out entirely if a daughter
married him. They went at her, poor creature, those two
with all the mercilessness of a couple of wolves. Her
father would be disgraced, kicked out of the army, barred
from all the clubs, reduced to beggary and all that
if she did not yield. And in the end they
so played upon her feelings that to save him she
gave in. Stavarnil took out a special license and they
were married. Of course, the man never cared for her.
He only wanted his revenge on her, and they say
he led her a dog's life from the hour they
came back to England from their honeymoon. Poor creature, said
Cleek sympathetically. And what became of the other chap, the
lover she wanted to marry, and who was out in
India at the time. All this happened. Oh they say
he went on like a madman when he heard it,
swore he'd kill Stavarnail and all that, but quieted down
after a time and accepted the inevitable with the best
grace possible. Crawford is his name. He was a lieutenant
at the time, but he's got his captaincy since, and
I believe he is on leave and in England at present,
as madly and as hopelessly in love with the girl
of his heart as ever. Why hopelessly, mister Mark, such
a man as Stavnil must have given his wife grounds
for divorce a dozen times over, not a doubt of it.
There isn't a judge in England who wouldn't have set
her free from the scoundrel long ago if she had
cared to bring the case into the courts. But Lady
Stavnail is a strong churchwoman, my dear fellow. She doesn't
believe in divorce, and nothing on earth could persuade her
to marry Captain Crawford so long as her first husband
still remained alive. Oh ho, said Cleek. Then Fefe's husband
isn't the only man with a grievance and a cause
there's another, eh, another. I expect there must be a dozen,
if truth were known. There's only one creature in the
world I ever heard of as having a good word
to say for the man. And who might that be?
The honorable missus Brinkworth, widow of his younger brother. You'd
think the man was an angel to hear her sing
his praises. Her husband, too, was a wild sort, left
her up to her ears in debt, without a penny
to bless herself, with a boy of five to rear
and educate. Stavnell seems always to have liked her at
any rate. He came to the rescue, paid off the debts,
settled an annuity upon her, and arranged to have the
boy sent to Eton as soon as he was old enough.
I expect the boy is at the bottom of his
good streak in him, if all is told, for having
no children of his own, I say, by George old Chap,
why that nipper, being the heir in the direct line,
is Lord Stavnil Now if the uncle is dead, a
lucky stroke for him by Jupiter, Yes, agreed, Cleik. Lucky
for him, lucky for Lady Stavnail, lucky for Captain Crawford
and unlucky for the honorable Missus Brinkworth and Mademoiselle Fifi
de L's farre, so, of course ah sitting him at last.
Good Bye for a little time, mister Narkham, join you
at Norwood Junction as soon as possible, and I say, yes,
old chap wire through to the low level station at
Crystal Palace, would you and inquire if anybody has mislaid
an ironing board or lost an Indian canoe. See you later.
So long? Then he stepped up onto the station platform
and went in quest of a telephone booth. Part two.
It was after nine o'clock when he turned up at
Norwood Junction, as calm, serene and imperturbable as ever, and
found Narkham awaiting him in a small private room which
the station clerk had placed at his disposal. My dear fellow,
I never was so glad, exclaimed the Superintendent, jumping up
excitedly as Cleik entered, what kept you so long? I've
been on thorns god bushels to tell you. First off,
as Stavarnail's identity is established beyond doubt, and no time
has been lost in wiring the news of his murder
to his relatives. Both Lady Stavarnil and Missus Brinkworth have
wired back that they are coming on. I expect them
at any minute now. And here's a piece of news
for you. Fefe's husband is in England. The honorable Missus
Brinkworth has wired me to that effect. Says she has
means of knowing that he came over from France the
other day, and that she herself saw him in London
this morning when she was up there shopping. Oh, commented
Cleik got her wits about her. That lady evidently find
anything at the Crystal Palace low level, mister Narkham, Yes,
my dear Cleik. I don't know whether you are a
wizard or what. And I can't conceive what reason you
can have for making such an inquiry. But which was it?
Canoe or ironing board? Neither as it happens, But they've
got a lady's folding cutting table, you know, the sort,
one of those that women use for dressmaking operations, and
possible to be folded up flat so they can be
tucked away. Nobody knows who left it, but it's there
awaiting an owner, and it was found. Oh, I can
guess that interposed cleek nonchalantly. It was in a first
class compartment of the five eighteen from London Bridge, which
reached a low level at five forty three. No, never
mind questions for a few minutes. Please let's go and
have a look at the body. I want to satisfy
myself regarding the point of what in the world Stavnel
was doing on a suburban train and a time when
he ought properly to be on his way home to
his rooms at the Ritz, preparing to dress for dinner.
And I want to find out, if possible, what means
that chap with a little dark mustache used to get
him to go out of town in his ordinary afternoon
dress and buy that particular train. Chap with a small
dark mustache, Who do you mean by that party that
killed him? My phone to London Bridge station has cleared
the way a bit. It seems that Lord Stavarnel engaged
that compartment in that particular train by telephone at three
o'clock this afternoon. He arrived all alone and was in
no end of a temper because the carriage was dirty,
had it swept out, and stood waiting while it was
being done. After that the porter says he found him
laughing and talking with a dark mustache little man apparently
of continental origin, dressed in a Norfolk suit and carrying
a brown leather portmanteau. Of course, as the platform was crowded,
nobody seems to have taken any notice of the dark
mustache little man. And the porter doesn't know where he
went nor when, only that he never saw him again.
But I know where he went, mister Narkham. And I
know too what was in that portmanteau. An air pistol
for one thing, also a mallet or hammer, and that
wet cloth we found, both of which were for the
purpose of smashing the electric light globe without sound. And
he went into that compartment with his victim, yes, but
man alive. How did he get out? Where did he
go after that? And what became of the brown leather portmanteau.
I hope to be able to answer both questions before
this night is over, mister Narkham. Meantime, let us go
and have a look at the body and settle one
of the little points to bother me. The superintendent led
the way to the siding, where the shunted carriage stood
closely guarded by the police in lanterns having been produced
from the lamp room, Cleek was soon deep in the
business of examining the compartment and its silent occupant. Aided
by the better light, he now perceived something which in
the first hurried examination had escaped him, or if it
had not, which is perhaps open to question, he had
made no comment upon. It was a spot about the
size of an ordinary dinner plate on the crimson carpet
which covered the floor of the compartment. It was slightly
darker than the rest of the surface, and was at
the foot of the corner seat, directly facing the dead man.
I think we can fairly decide, mister Narkham, on the
evidence of that, said Cleek, pointing to it, that Lord
Stavnil did have a companion in this compartment, and that
it was the little dark man with a small mustache.
Put your hand on that spot damp. You see the
effect of someone who had walked through the snows sitting
down with his feet on this particular seat. Now look here.
He passed his handkerchief over the stain and held it
out for Narkham's inspection. It was slightly browned by the operation.
Just the amount of dirt the soles of one's boots
would be likely to collect if one came with wet
feet along the muddy platform of the station. Yes, but
my dear Chap, that might easily have happened, particularly on
such a day as this has been before Lord Stavnel's arrival.
He can't have been the only person to enter this
compartment since morning, granted, but he is supposed to have
been the only person who entered it after it was
swept mister Narkham, And that, as I told you, was
done by his orders immediately before the train started. We've
got past the point of guesswork. Now we've established a
presence of the second party beyond all question. We also
know that he was a person with whom Stavarnil felt
at ease and was intimate enough with to feel no
necessity for putting himself out by entertaining with those little
courtesies one is naturally obliged to show a guest. How
do you make that out? This newspaper he was reading
at the time he was shot. You can see for
yourself where the bullet went through this hole here close
to the top of the paper. When a man invites
another man to occupy with him a compartment which he
has engaged for his own exclusive use. And this Stavnil
must have done. Otherwise the man couldn't have been traveling
with him and then proceeds to read the news instead
of troubling himself to treat his companion as a guest.
It is pretty safe to say that they are acquaintances
of long standing and upon such terms of intimacy that
the social amenities may be disposed with inoffensively. Now look
at the position of this newspaper, lying between the dead
man's feet, curved round the ankle and the lower part
of the calf of the left leg. If we hadn't
found the key, we should still have known that the
murderer got out of that side of the carriage. How
should we have known, because a paper which has simply
been dropped could not have assumed that position without the
aid of a strong current of air. The opening of
that door on the right hand side of the body
supplied that current, and supplied it with such strength and
violence that the paper was, as one might say, absolutely
sucked around the man's leg. That is a positive proof
that the train was moving at the time it happened.
For the day, as you know, has been windless. Now look,
no powder on the face, no smell of it in
the compartment, and yet the pistol found in his hand
is an ordinary American made thirty eight caliber revolver. We
have an amateur assassin to deal with, mister Ti Kham,
not a hardened criminal. And the witlessness of the fellow
is enough to bring the case to an end before
this night is over. Why didn't he discharge that revolver
today and have enough sense to bring a thimbleful of
powder to burn in this compartment? After the work was done,
one knows in an instant that the weapon used was
an air pistol, and that the fellow's only thought was
how to do the thing without sound, not how to
do it with since And I don't suppose there are
three places in all London that stock air pistols, and
I don't suppose that they sell so many as too,
in a whole year's time. But if one has been
sold or repaired at any of the shops in the
past six months, well Dobbs will know that. In less
than no time I phoned him to make inquiries. His
task's an easy one, and I've no doubt he will
bring back the word I want in short order. And now,
mister Narkham, as our friendly assassin, is such a blundering,
short sighted individual, it's just possible that for getting so
many other important things he he may have neglected to
search the body of his victim. Let us do that
for him. As he spoke, he bent over the dead
man and commenced to search the clothing. He slid his
hand into the inner pocket of the creaseless morning coat
and drew out a notebook and two or three letters.
All were addressed in the handwriting of women, but only
one seemed to possess any interest for Cleek. It was
written on pink note paper, enclosed in a pink envelope,
and was postmarked Croydon, December ninth, two thirty p m.
And bore those outward marks which we tookened his delivery
not in course of post, but by an express messenger.
One instant after Cleik had looked at it, he knew
he need seek no further for the information he desired.
It read, Piggy, stupid boy. The ball of the dress
fancy is not for tomorrow, but tonight. I have made
sudden discoverment. Come quick by the train that shall leave
London Bridge at the time of twenty eight minute after
the hour. You shall not fail of this, or it
shall make much difficulties for me as I come to
meet it on arrival. Do not bother of the costume.
I will have one ready for you. I have one
large joke of the somebody else that is coming, which
will make you scream of the laughter. Burn this Fifi
at the bottom of the sheet. Do burn this. I
have hurt the hand and must use the writing of
my maid, and I do not want you to treasure that.
There's the explanation, mister Narkham, said Cleek, as he held
the letter out. That's why he came by this particular train.
There's the snare. That's how he was lured by Fifi,
said Narkham by jove. I rather fancied from the first
that we should find that she or her husband had
something to do with it, did you, said Cleek with
a smile. I didn't then, and I don't even yet.
Narkom opened his lips to make some comment upon this,
but closed him suddenly said nothing, For at that moment
one of the constables put in an appearance with news
that two ladies and one gentleman of arrived, Sir, and
are asking permission to view the body for purposes of identification.
Here are the names, Sir, on this slip of paper,
Lady Stavnel, Colonel Murchison, Honorable Missus Brinkworth, Captain James Crawford.
Narkham read aloud, then looked up inquiringly at Cleek. Yes,
he said, let them come, And mister Narkham, yes, do
you happen to know where they come from? Yes? I
learned that when I sent word of Stavarnell's death to
them this evening. Lady Stavnel and her father have for
the last week been stopping at Cleethorpe Hydro, to which
they went for the purpose of remaining over the Christmas holidays.
And oddly enough, both Missus Brinkworth and Captain Crawford turned
up at the same place for the same purpose the
day before yesterday. It can't be very pleasant for them,
I should imagine, for I believe the two ladies are
not very friendly, naturally, not, said Cleek half abstractedly, the
one loathing the man, the other loving him. I want
to see those two ladies, and I particularly want to
see those two men after that. Here his voice dropped off.
Then he stood, looking up at the shattered globe and
rubbing his chin between his thumb and forefinger, and wrinkling
up his brows, after the manner of a man who
was trying to solve a problem in mental arithmetic, and
Narkham unwise in that direction, for once chose to interrupt
his thoughts for no greater reason than he had thrice
heard him mutter suction, displacement resistance working out a problem,
old chap, He ventured, can I help you? I used
to be rather good at that sort of thing, were you?
Said cleek a trifle testily. Then tell me something. Combating
a suction power of about two pounds into a square inch,
how much wind does it take to make a cutting
table fly with an unknown weight upon it from the
Sydenham switch to the low level station. When you've worked
that out, you've got the murderer. And when you do
get him, he won't be any man you ever saw
or ever heard of in all the days of your life.
But he would be light enough to hop like a bird,
heavy enough to pull up a wire rope with about
three hundred pounds on the end of it, and there'll
be two holes of about an inch in diameter and
a foot apart in one end of the table. That
flew My dear chap began narkham in tones of blank bewilderment.
Then stop suddenly and screwed round on his heel, for
a familiar voice had sung out suddenly a yard or
two distant. I'll keep your air on. Don't get to
think in your niagara falls just because you got water
on the brain. And there, struggling in the grip of
a constable who had laid strong hands upon him, stood
Dollops with a kit bag in one hand and a
half devoured bath bun in the other. All right, there, Constable,
let the boy pass. He's one of us. Wrapped out, cleek,
and in an instant the detaining hand fell, and Dolup's
chest went out like a powder pigeon's catch On to
that suburb, said he, giving the constable a look of
blighting scorn, and swaggering by like a mighty conqueror. Joined
cleek at the compartment door. Nailed it at the second rap. Guv'nor,
he said, in an undertone, fell down on gamages picked
myself up on loader Tottenham Court Road A fourteen one
twenty seven, a manufactured Stockholm valve tightened old customer day
before yesterday in the afternoon. Good boy, good boy, said Cleek,
patting him approvingly. Keep your tongue between your teeth. Scuttle
off and find out where there's a garage, and then
wait outside the station till I come right you are, sir,
responded Dollops, bolting the remainder of the bun. Then he
ducked down and slipped away, and Cleek, stepping back into
the shadow where his features might not be too clearly
seen until he was ready that they should be, stood
and narrowly watched the small procession which was being piloted
to the scene of the tragedy. A moment later, the
four persons, already announced, passed under Cleek's watchful eye, and
stood in the dead man's presence. Lady Stavnel, tall, graceful,
beautiful looking as one might look, whose lifelong martyrred him,
has come at last to a glorious end. Captain Crawford
bronzed agitated, a trifle nervous, short of stature, slight of build,
with a rather cynical mouth and a small dark mustache.
The honorable Missus Brinkworth, a timid, dove eyed little wisp
of a woman with a clinging, pathetic, almost childish manner,
her soft eyes red with grief, her mobile mouth of
quiver with pain, the marks of tears on her lovely
little face. And last of Colonel Murchison, heavy bull necked,
ponderous of body and purple of visage, a living, breathing
monument of self. Huhum muttered clik to himself, as this
unattractive person passed by. Not he not by his hand.
He never struck the blow, too cowardly, too careful, And
yet poor little woman, poor little woman, and his sympathetic
eyes went past the others, past Missus Brinkworth, sobbing and
wringing her hands and calling piteously on the dead to speak,
and dwelt long and tenderly upon Lady Stavernel. A moment
he stood there, silent, watching, listening, making neither movement nor sound.
Then of a sudden he put forth his hand and
tapped Narkom's arm. Detain this party, every member of it,
by any means, on any pretext, for another forty five
minutes he whispered. I said the assassin was a I said,
the blunders made it possible for the case to be
concluded tonight. Did I not wait for me? In three
quarters of an hour, the murderer will be here on
this spot with me. Then he screwed round on his heel,
and before Narkham could speak, he was gone, soundlessly and
completely gone, just as he used to go in his
vanishing cracksman's days, leaving just that promise behind him. Part three.
It wanted but thirteen minutes of being midnight, when the
gathering about the sighting where the shunted carriage containing the
body of the murdered man still stood, received something in
the nature of a shock. On glancing round as a
sharp whistle showed a warning note, they saw an engine
attached to one solitary carriage, backing along the metals and
bearing down upon them. I say, mister Knockham or Narchim,
or whatever your name is, blurted out Colonel Murchison, as
he hastily caught the Honorable Missus Brinkworth by the arm
and whisked her back from the metals, leaving his daughter
to be looked after by Captain Crawford, look out for
your blessed bobbies. Somebody shunning another coach in on top
of us. And if the ass doesn't look where he's
gone there, I've told you so. As the coach in
question settled with a slight jar against that containing the
body of Lord Stavnail of all the blundering, pig headed
fools might have killed some of us, What next? I wonder?
What next? As a matter of fact, gave him cause
for even greater wonder, For as the two carriages met,
the door of the last compartment in the one which
had just arrived opened briskly, and out of its stepped
first a couple of uniformed policemen, next a ginger haired
youth with a kit bag in one hand and a
savooy in the other, Then the trim figure of the
lady who had so long and popularly been known in
the musical world as Mademoiselle Fifi de l'asparre. And last
of all, Cleek blurted out. Narkham, overcome with amazement as
he saw the serenely alighting figure, and Cleek went in
a little rippling murmur throughout the entire gathering civilians and
local police alike. All right, mister Narkham, said Cleek himself,
with a slight shrug of the shoulders. Even the best
of us slip up sometimes, and since everybody knows now,
will have to make the best of it. Gentlemen, ladies,
you too, my colleagues. My best respects now to business.
Then he stepped out of the shadow in which he
had alighted, into the full glow of the lanterns and
the flare which had been lit close to the door
of the dead man's carriage, conscious that every eye was
fixed upon his face, and that the members of the
local force were silently and breathlessly spotting him. But in
that moment the weird birth gift had been put into practice,
and Narkham fetched a sort of sigh of relief as
he saw that a sagging eyelid, a twisted, a queer
blurred something about all the features had set upon that face,
a living mask that hid effectually the face he knew
so well. To business, he repeated, Ah, yes, quite so,
my dear cleik. Shall I tell the ladies and gentlemen
of your promise? Well, listen, mister Cleek, is more than
a quarter of an hour beyond the time he set.
But he gave me his word that this riddle would
be solved tonight, tonight, ladies and gentlemen, and that when
I saw him here, the murderer would be with him. Oh,
bless him, bless him. Burst forth, Missus Brinkworth impulsively, and
he brings her that wicked woman. Oh I knew she
had something to do with it. Your pardon, Missus Brinkworth.
But for once, your woman's intuition is at fault, said
Cleek quietly. Mademoiselle Fifi is not here as a prisoner,
but as a witness for the Crown. She has had nothing,
even in the remotest to do with the crime. Her
name was used to trap Lord Stavnel to his death.
But the lady is here to prove that she never
heard of the note which was found on Lord Stavarnel's body.
To prove also that although it is true she did
expect to go to a fancy dress ball with his lordship,
that fancy dress ball does not occur until next Friday,
the sixteenth instant, not the ninth, and that she never
even heard of any alteration in the date. Ah, no, no, no,
nevere I do swear chimed in Fifi, herself, almost hysterical
with fright. I know nothing, nothing that is true, said
Cleek quietly. There is not any question of Mademoiselle Fify's
complete innocence of any connection with this murder. Then her
husband ventured Captain Crawford agitatedly. Surely you have heard what
missus Brinkworth has said about seeing him in town to day. Yes,
I have heard, Captain. But it so happens that I
know for a certainty Monsieur Philippe de L'sparre had no
more to do with it than had his wife. But
my dear Sir imposed the colonel, the foreign person at
the station, the little slim man in the Norfolk suit,
the fellow with a little dark mustache, What of him?
A great deal of him. But there are other men
who are slight, other men who have little dark mustache,
as colonel. That description would answer for Captain Crawford here,
and if he too were in town today, I was
in town, blurted out the Captain. A sudden trimmer in
his voice, a sudden pallor showing through his tnd. But
good god man, you can't possibly insinuate, No I do
not interposed, Cleek, set your mind at rest upon that point, Captain,
for the simple reason that the little dark Man is
a little dark fiction. In other words, he does not
and never did exist. What's that, fairly, gas Narkham never existed?
But my dear Cleek, you told me that the porter
at Lundonbridge saw him. And I told you what the
porter told me, what the porter thought he saw, and
what we shall no doubt find out in time at
least fifty other people thought they saw, and what was
doubtless the good joke alluded to in the forged note.
The only man against whom we need direct our attention,
the only man who had any hand in this murder
is a big, burly, strong armed one like Colonel Murchison. Here.
What's that? Roared out the colonel furiously by the Lord Harry.
Do you dare to assert that I, I, Sir, killed
the man? No? I do not, And for the best
of reasons. The assassin was shut up in that compartment
with Lord Stavnel from the moment he left London Bridge.
And I happen to know, Colonel that although you were
in town today, you never put foot of board The
five twenty eight from the moment it started to the
one in which it stopped. And at the final moment,
Colonel he reached around, took something from his and then
held it out on the palm of his hand. At
that final moment, Colonel, you were passing the barrier at
the Crystal Palace, Low Level with a lady whose ticket
from London Bridge has never been clipped, and with this
air pistol, which she restored to you in your coat pocket.
What crazy nonsense is this, sir? I never saw the
blessed thing in all my life. Oh yes, Colonel Loader
of Tottenham Court Road prepared the vow for you the
day before yesterday, and I found it in your room.
Just quick nab him. Petrie well played after the King,
the trump, after the Confederate, the assassin, and so he
sprang suddenly like a jumping cat, And there was a
click of steel, a shrill, despairing cry, and the rustle
of something fallen. When Captain Crawford and Lady Stavnel turned
and looked, he was standing with both hands on his hips,
looking frowningly down on the spot where the Honorable Missus
Brinkworth lay curled up in limp, unconscious. Heap with a
pair of handcuffs locked on her folded wrists. I said
that when the murder was found, mister Narkham, he said,
as the Superintendent moved toward him, that it would be
no man you ever saw or ever heard of in
all your life. I knew it was a woman from
the bungling, unmanlike way the pistol was laid in the
dead hand. The only question I had to ask was
which woman Fifi, Lady Stavarnail, or this wretched little hypocrite.
Here's your little dark man, here's the assassin. The Norfolk
suit and the false mustache are in her room at
the Hydro. She made Stavarnail think that she too was
going to the fancy ball, and that the surprised Fifi
had planned was for her to meet him as she
did and travel with him. When the train was under way,
she shot him. Why, easily, explained, my dear chap. Her
death made her little son heir to the Estates during
his minority, she would we have the handling of the
funds with them. She and her precious husband would have
a gay life of it in their own selfish little way. Her,
what Lord man, do you mean to say that she
and the Colonel were privately married seven weeks ago, mister Narkham.
The certificate of their union was tucked away in Colonel
Murchison's private effects, where it was found this evening. How
was the escape from the compartment managed after the murder
was accomplished? Said Cleek, answering Narkom's query, as they whizzed
home through the darkness together by the last up train
that night. Simplest thing in the world, as you know.
The five twenty eight from London Bridge runs without stop
to Annerley Well. The five eighteen from the same starting
point runs through the Crystal Palace low level, taking the mainline,
tracks as far as Syddam, where it branches off at
the switch and curves away in an opposite direction. That
is to say, for a considerable distance. They run parallel,
but eventually diverge. Now as the five eighteen as a
train with several stops, the five twenty eight being a
through one overtakes her, and several times between Broccoli and
Sydenham they run side by side at so steady a
pace and on such narrow gauge that the footboard running
along the side of one train is not more than
two and a half feet separated from the other. Their
pace is so regular, their progress so even that one
could with ease step from the footboard of the one
to the footboard of the other. But for the horrible suction,
which would inevitably draw the person attempting it down under
the wheels, well, something had to be devised to overcome
the danger of that suction. But what I asked myself
for I guess from the first how the escape had occurred,
and I knew that such a thing absolutely required the
assistance of a confederate. That meant the confederate would have
to do on the five eighteen exactly what they had
trapped Stabernel into doing on the other train. That is,
secure private compartment, so that when the time came for
the escape to be accomplished, he could remove the electric
bulbs and the roof of his compartment, opened the door,
and when the two came abreast, the assassin could do
the same on the other train, and presto, the dead
man would be alone. But what to use to overcome
the danger of that horrible suction? Ah, Now I see
what you were driving at when you inquired about the
ironing board or the Indian canoe. The necessary sections to
construct a sort of bridge could be packed in either yes,
but they chose a simple plan. The cutting table a
good move that its breadth minimized the peril of the suction. Only,
of course, it would have to be pulled up afterward
to leave no clue, and the added space would call
for enormous strength to overcome the power of that suction.
And enormous strength meant a powerful man you can put
together without being told, mister Narkham. When that little vixen
finished her man, she put out the lights, opened the door,
deliberately locking it after her to make the thing more baffling.
Crossed over on that table, was helped into the other
compartment by Murchison, and then as expeditiously as possible, slipped
on the loose feminine outer garment she carried with her
In the brown portmanteau, the table was hauled up and
taken in nothing but wire rope for that, sir, and
the thing was done. Murchison, of course purchased two tickets
so they might pass the barrier at the lower level,
and questioned what they left, but he wasn't able to
get the extra ticket clipped at London Bridge because there
was no passenger for it. That's how I got onto
the little game. For the rest they planned well, those
two trains being always packed. Nobody could see the escape
from the one to the other because people would be
standing up at every compartment and the windows completely blocked.
But if hullou Victoria at last, thank goodness, and so
to bed, as Peppa said, the riddle saw mister Narkham
good night. End of the Riddle of the Five twenty
eight