Speaker 1: The Stranger's latch Key by R. Austin Freeman. The contrarity
of human nature is a subject that has given a
surprising amount of occupation to makers of proverbs and to
those moral philosophers who make it their province to discover
and expound the glaringly obvious. And especially have they been
concerned to enlarge upon that form of perverseness which engenders
dislike of things offered under compulsion, and arouses desire of
them as soon as their attainment becomes difficult or impossible.
They assure us that a man who has had a
given thing within his reach and put it by will,
as soon as it is beyond his reach, find it
the one thing necessary and desirable, Even as the domestic cat,
which has turned disdainfully from the preferred saucer, may presently
be seen with her head jammed hard in the milk jug,
or secretly and with horrible relish, slaking her thirst at
the scullery sink. To this peculiarity of the human mind
was due, no doubt the fact that no sooner had
I abandoned the clinical side of my profession in favor
of the legal, and taken up my abode in the
chambers of my friend Thorndike, the famous medico legal expert,
to act as his assistant or junior than my former
mode of life, that of the locum tenens, or minder
of other men's practices, which had, when I was following
it seemed intolerably irksome, now appeared to possess many desirable features,
and I found myself occasionally hankering to sit once more
by the bedside, to puzzle out the perplexing train of symptoms,
and to wield that power, the greatest after all possessed
by man, the power to banish suffering and ward off
the approach of death itself. Hence it was that, on
a certain morning of the long vacation, I found myself
installed at the larches Burling, in full charge of the
practice of my old friend, doctor Hanshaw, who was taking
a fishing holiday in Norway. I was not left desolate, however,
for Missus Hanshaw remained at her post, and the roomy,
old fashioned house accommodated three visitors. In addition. One of
these was doctor Hanshaw's sister, a Missus Haldean, the widow
of a wealthy Manchester cotton factor, the second was her
niece by marriage, Miss Lucy Haldean, a very handsome and
charming girl of twenty three, while the third was no
less a person than Master Fred, the only child of
missus Haldean and a strapping boy of six. It is
quite like old times, and very pleasant old times too,
to see you sitting at our breakfast table, doctor Jervis,
with these gracious words and a friendly smile. Missus Hanshaw
handed me my tea cup. I bowed. The highest pleasure
of the altruist, I replied, is in contemplating the good
fortune of others. Missus Haldean laughed, thank you, She said,
you are quite unchanged. I perceive still as suave as
shall I say oleaginous? No? Please don't, I exclaimed, in
a tone of alarm. Then I won't. But what does
doctor Thorndike say to this backsliding on your part? How
does he regard this relapse from medical jurisprudence to common
general practice? Thorndike said, I is unmoved by any catastrophe,
and he not only regards the decline and fall off
of the medical jurist with philosophic charm, but he even
favors the relapse, as you call it. He thinks it
may be useful to me to study the application of
medico legal methods to general practice. That sounds rather unpleasant
for the patience, I mean, remarked Miss Haldein very agreed
her aunt most cold blooded. What sort of man is
doctor Thorndike? I feel quite curious about him? Is he
all human? For instance? He is entirely human, I replied,
the accepted tests of humanity being as I understand the
habitual adoption of the erect posture in locomotion and the
relative position of the end of the thumb. I don't
mean that, interrupted missus Haldean. I mean human in things
that matter. I think those things matter. I rejoined. Consider
Missus Haldean, what would happen if my learned colleague were
to be seen in wig and gown walking towards the
law courts in any posture other than the erect. It
would be a public scandal. Don't talk to him, Mabel,
said missus Henshaw. He is incorrigible. What are you doing
with yourself this morning? Lucy, miss Haldean, who had hastily
set down her cup to laugh at my imaginary picture
of doctor Thorndyke, in the character of a quadruped considered
a moment. I think I shall sketch that group of
birches at the edge of Bradham Wood, she said. Then
in that case, said I, I can carry your traps
for you, for I have to see a patient in Bradham.
He is making the most of his time, remarked missus
Haldean maliciously to my hostess. He knows that when mister
Winter arrives, he will retire into the extreme background. Douglas Winter,
whose arrival was expected in the course of the week,
was miss Haldean's fiancee. Their engagement had been somewhat protracted,
and was likely to be more so unless one of
them received some unexpected accession of means. For Douglas was
a subaltern in the Royal Engineers, living with great difficulty
on his pay, while Lucy Haldein subsisted on an almost
invisible allowance left her by an uncle. I was about
to reply to missus Haldean when a patient was announced,
and as I had finished my breakfast, I made my
excuses and left the table. Half an hour later, when
I started along the road to the village of Bradham.
I had two companions. Master Freddy had joined the party,
and he disputed with me the privilege of carrying the traps,
with the result that a compromise was effected by which
he carried the camp stool, leaving me in possession of
the easel, the bag, and a large bound sketching block.
Where are you going to work this morning? I asked,
when we had trudged on some distance, just off the
road to the left, there at the edge of the wood,
not very far from the house of the mysterious stranger.
She glanced at me mischievously as she made this reply,
and chuckled with delight. When I rose at the bait,
What house do you mean, I inquired, Ha, she exclaimed,
The investigator of mysteries is aroused. He saith ha ha
amidst the trumpets, he smelleth the battle afar off. Explain instantly,
I commanded, or I drop your sketch block into the
very next puddle. You terrify me, she said, But I
will explain only there isn't any mystery except to the
bucolic mind. The house is called Lavender Cottage, and it
stands alone in the fields behind the wood. A fortnight
ago it was let furnish to a stranger named Whitelocke,
who has taken it for the purpose of studying the
botany of the district. And the only really mysterious thing
about him is that no one has seen him. All
arrangements with the house agent were made by letter, and
as far as I can make out, none of the
local trades people supply him, so he must get his
things from a distance, even it is bread, which really
is rather odd. Now, say I am an inquisitive, gossiping
country bumpkin I was going to, I answered, but it
is no use now. She relieved me of her sketching appliance,
as with pretended indignation, and crossed into the meadow, leaving
me to pursue my way alone. And when I presently
looked back, she was setting up her easel and stool,
gravely assisted by Freddy. My round, though not a long one,
took up more time than I had anticipated, and it
was already past the luncheon hour when I passed the
place where I had left Miss Haldean. She was gone,
as I had expected, and I hurried homewards, anxious to
be as nearly punctual as possible. When I entered the
dining room, I found missus Haldean and our hostess seated
at the table, and both looked up at me expectantly.
Have you seen Lucy, the form inquired, No, I answered,
hasn't she come back? I expected to find her here?
She had left the wood when I passed just now.
Missus Haldean knitted her brows anxiously. It is very strange,
she said, and very thoughtless of her. Freddy will be famished.
I hurried over my lunch, for two fresh messages had
come in from outlying hamlets, effectually dispelling my visions of
a quiet afternoon. And as the minutes passed without bringing
any signs of the absentees, Missus Haldean became more and
more restless and anxious. At length, her suspense became unbearable.
She rose suddenly, announcing her intention of cycling up the
road to look for the defaulters. But as she was
moving towards the door, it burst open, and Lucy Haldean
staggered into the room. Her appearance filled us with alarm.
She was deadly, pale, breathless, and wild eyed. Her dress
was and torn, and she trembled from head to foot.
Good God, Lucy gasped missus Haldean. What has happened? And
where is Freddy? She added in a sterner tone. He
is lost, replied Miss Haldeen in a faint voice, and
with a catch in her breath. He strayed away while
I was painting. I have searched the wood through and
called to him, and looked in all the meadows. Oh
where could he have gone? Her sketching kit with which
she was loaded slipped from her grasp and rattled on
to the floor. And she buried her face in her
hands and sobbed hysterically. And you have dared to come
back without him, exclaimed missus Haldean. I was getting exhausted.
I came back for help, was the faint reply. Of
course she was exhausted, said missus Henshaw. Come, Lucy, Come, Mabel,
don't make mountains out of mole hills. The little man
is safe enough. We shall find him presently, or he
will come home by himself. Come and have some food, Lucy.
Miss Haldean shook her head. I can't, missus Fanshaw, really
I can't, she said, and, seeing that she was in
a state of utter exhaustion. I poured out a glass
of wine and made her drink it. Missus Haldean darted
from the room and returned immediately, putting on her hat.
You have got to come with me and show me
where you lost him, she said. She can't do that,
you know, I said, rather brusquely. She will have to
lie down for the present. But I know the place
and will cycle up with you very well, replied missus Haldeen.
That will do. What time was it, she asked, turning
to her niece, when you lost the child? And which way?
She paused abruptly, and I looked at her in surprise.
She had suddenly turned ashen and ghastly. Her face had
set like a mask of stone, with parted lips and
staring eyes that were fixed in horror on her knees.
There was a deathly silence for a few seconds, then
in a terrible voice, she demanded, what is that on
your dress? Lucy? And after a pause, her voice rose
into a shriek. What have you done to my boy?
I glanced in astonishment at the dazed and terrified girl,
and then I saw what her aunt had seen, A
good sized blood stain half way down the front of
her skirt, and another smaller one on her right sleeve.
The girl herself looked down at the sinister patch of red,
and then up at her aunt. It looks like like blood,
she stammered, Yes, it is, I I think, of course
it is. He struck his nose and it bled. Come interrupted.
Missus Haldean let us go, and she rushed from the room,
leaving me to follow. I lifted miss Haldean, who was
half fainting with fatigue and agitation, on to the sofa,
and whispering a few words of encouragement in her ear,
turned to missus Hanshaw. I can't stay with missus Haldean,
I said, there are two visits to me made at Rebworth.
Will you send the dog cart up the road with
somebody to take my place? Yes, she answered, I will
send Giles or come myself if Lucy is fit to
be left. I ran to the stables for my bicycle,
and as I pedaled out into the road, I could
see missus Haldean already far ahead, driving her machine at
frantic speed. I followed at a rapid pace, but it
was not until we approached the commencement of the wood
when she slowed down somewhat that I overtook her. This
is the place, I said. As we reached the spot
where I had parted from Miss Haldean, we dismounted and
wheeled our bicycles through the gate, and laying them down
beside the hedge, crossed the meadow, and entered the wood.
It was a terrible experience, and one that I shall
never forget. The white faced, distracted woman tramping in her
flimsy house shoes over the rough ground, bursting through the bushes,
regardless of the thorny branches that dragged its skin and
hair and dainty clothing, and sending forth from time to
time a tremulous cry, so dreadfully pathetic in its mingling
of terror and coaxing softness, that a lump rose in
my throat, and I could barely keep my self control.
Freddy FREDI, boy, Mommy's here, darling. The wailing cry sounded
through the leafy solitude, but no answer came, save the
whir of wings or the chatter of startled birds. But
even more shocking than that terrible cry, more disturbing and
eloquent with dreadful suggestion, was the way in which she
peered furtively, but with fearful expectation, among the roots of
the bushes, or halted to gaze upon every mole, hill
and hummock, every depression or disturbance of the ground. So
we stumbled on for a while, with never a word spoken,
until we came to a beaten track or footpath leading
across the wood. Here I paused to examine the footprints,
of which several were visible in the soft earth, though
none seemed very recent. But proceeding a little way down
the track, I perceived crossing it a set of fresh imprints,
which I recognized at once as miss Haldean's. She was wearing,
as I knew, a pair of brown golf boots with
rubber pads in the leather soles, and the prince made
by them were unmistakable. Miss Holdean crossed the path here,
I said, pointing to the footprints. Don't speak of her
before me, exclaimed Missus Haldean. But she gazed eagerly at
the footprints nevertheless, and immediately plunged into the wood to
follow the tracks. You are very unjust to your niece,
Missus Haldean, I ventured to protest. She halted and faced
me with an angry frown. You don't understand, she exclaimed.
You don't know, perhaps that if my poor child is
really dead, Lucy Haldean will be a rich woman and
may marry tomorrow if she chooses. I did not know that,
i answered, But if I had, I should have said
the same. Of course you would, she retorted bitterly. A
pretty face can muddle any man's judgment. She turned away
abruptly to resume her pursuit, and I followed in silence.
The trail which we were following zigzag through the thickest
part of the wood, but its devious windings eventually brought
us out on to an open space on the farther side.
Here we at once perceived traces of another kind. A
litter of dirty rags, pieces of paper, scraps of stale bread,
bones and feathers with hoof marks, wheel ruts, and the
ashes of a large wood fire pointed clearly to a
gipsy encampment recently broken up. I laid my hand on
the heap of ashes and found it still warm, and
on scattering it with my foot, a layer of glowing
cinders appeared at the bottom. These people have only been
gone an hour or two, I said it would be
well to have them followed without delay. A gleam of
hope shone on the drawn white face as the bereaved
mother caught eagerly at my suggestion. Yes, she exclaimed breathlessly,
she may have bribed them to take him away. Let
us see which way they went. We followed the wheel
tracks down to the road and found that they turned
towards London. At the same time I perceived the dog
cart and the distance, with Missus Hanshaw standing beside it.
And as the coachman observed me, he whipped up his
horse and approached. I shall have to go, I said,
but Missus Hanshaw will help you to continue the search,
and you will make inquiries about the gypsies, won't you,
she said? I promised to do so, and as the
dog cart came up, I climbed to the seat and
drove off briskly up the London road. The extent of
a country doctor's round is always an unknown quantity. On
the present occasion I picked up three additional patients, and
as one of them was a case of incipient pleuracy
which required to have the chest strapped, and another was
the neglected dislocation of the shoulder. A great deal of
time was taken up. Moreover, the gypsies, whom I ran
to earth on red Worth Common, delayed me considerably, though
I had to leave the rural constable to carry out
the actual search, and as a result, the clock of
Burling Church was striking six as I drove through the
village on my way home. I got down at the
front gate, leaving the coachman to take the dog cart round,
and walked up the drive, and my astonishment may be imagined,
when on turning the corner I came suddenly upon the
inspector of the local police in earnest conversation with no
less a person than John Thorndyke. What on earth has
brought you here? I exclaimed, my surprise, getting the better
of my manners. The ultimate motive force, he replied, was
an impulsive lady named missus Haldean. She telegraphed for me
in your name. She oughtn't to have done that, I said,
perhaps not, but the ethics of an agitated woman are
not worth discussing, and she has done something much worse.
She has applied to the local j P, a retired
major general, and our gallant and unlearned friend has issued
a warrant for the arrest of Lucy Holdeen on the
charge of murder. But there has been no murder. I exclaimed, that,
said Thorndyke, is a legal subtlety that he does not appreciate.
He has learned his law in the orderly room, where
the qualifications to practice are an irritable temper and a
loud voice. However, the practical point is inspector that the
warrant is irregular. You can't arrest people for hypothetical crimes.
The officer drew a deep breath of relief. He knew
all about the irregularity, and now joyfully took refuge behind
Thorndyke's great reputation. When he had departed with a brief
note from my colleague to the General, Thorndyke slipped his
arm through mine and we strolled toward the house. This
is a grim business, Jervis said. He that boy has
got to be found for everybody's sake. Can you come
with me when you have had some food? Of course
I can. I have been saving myself all afternoon with
a view to continuing the search. Good, said Thorke. Then
come in and feed a nondescript meal. Half tea and
half dinner was already prepared, and missus Hanshaw, grave but
self possessed, presided at the table. Mabel is still out
with Giles searching for the boy. She said, you have
heard what she has done. I nodded. It was dreadful
of her, continued Missus Henshaw, But she is half mad,
poor thing. You might run up and say a few
kind words to poor Lucy while I make the tea.
I went up at once and knocked at miss Haldane's door, and,
being bidden to enter, found her lying on the sofa,
red eyed and pale, the very ghost of the merry,
laughing girl who had gone out with me in the morning.
I drew up a chair and sat down by her side,
and as I took the hand she held out to me,
she said, it is good of you to come and
see a miserable wretch like me, and Jane has been
so sweet to me, Doctor Jervis. But at Mabel thinks
I have killed Freddy. You know she does, and it
was really my fault that he was long. I shall
never forgive myself. She burst into a passion of sobbing,
and I proceeded to chide her gently. You are a
silly little woman, I said. To take this nonsense to heart.
As you are doing. Your aunt is not responsible just now,
as you must know. But when we bring the boy home,
she shall make you a handsome apology. I will see
to that. She pressed my hand gratefully, and as the
bell now rang for Tea, I bade her have courage
and went downstairs. You need not trouble about the practice,
said missus Hanshaw. As I concluded my lightning repast and
Thorndyke went off to get our bicycles. Doctor Simons has
heard of our trouble and has called to say that
he will take anything that turns up, so we shall
expect you when we see you. How do you like Thorndyke,
I asked, He's quite charming, she replied, enthusiastically, so tactful
and kind, and so handsome too. You didn't tell us that,
but here he is. Good Bye and good luck. She
pressed my hand, and I went out into the drive
where Thorndyke and the coachman were standing with three bicycles.
I see you have brought your outfit, I said, as
we turned into the road for Thorndyke's machine bore a
large canvas covered case strapped on to a strong bracket. Yes,
there are many things that we may want on a
quest of this kind. How did you find miss Haldean
very miserable? Poor girl? By the way, have you heard
anything about her pecuniary interest in the child's death? Yes,
said Thorndyke. It appears that the late mister Haldean used
up all his brains on his business and had none
left for the making of his will. As often happens,
he left almost the whole of his property, about eighty
thousand pounds, to his son, the widow, to have a
life interest in it. He also left to his late
brother's daughter Lucy fifty pounds a year, and to his
surviving brother, Percy, who seems to have been a good
for nothing, a hundred a year for life. But and
here is the utter folly of the thing. If the
sun should die, the property was to be equally divided
between the brother and the niece, with the exception of
five hundred a year for life to the widow. It
was an insane arrangement, quite I agreed, and a very
dangerous one for Lucy Holdeen, as things are at present
very especially if anything should have happened to the child.
What are you going to do now? I inquired, seeing
that Thorndyke rode on as if with a definite purpose.
There is a footpath through the wood, he replied, I
want to examine that, And there is a house behind
the wood which I should like to see, the house
of the mysterious stranger, I suggested, precisely, mysterious and solitary
strangers invite inquiry. We drew up at the entrance of
the footpath, leaving Willett, the coachman in charge of the
three machines, and proceeded up the narrow track. As we went,
Thorndyke looked back at the prints of our feet and
nodded approvingly. This soft loam, he remarked, yields beautifully clear impressions,
and yesterday's reign has made it perfect. We had not
gone far when we perceived a set of footprints, which
I recognized, as did Thorndyke also, for he remarked, Miss
Haldean running and alone. Presently we met them again, crossing
in the opposite direction, together with the prince of small
shoes with very high heels. Missus Haldean on the track
of her niece, was Thorndyke's comment, and a minute later
we encountered them both again, accompanied by my own footprints.
The boy does not seem to have crossed the path
at all, I remarked, as we walked on, keeping off
the track itself to avoid confusing the footprints. We shall
know when we have examined the whole length, replied Thorndyke,
plodding on with his eyes on the ground. Hah, here
is something new, he added, stopping short and stooping down eagerly.
A man with a thick stick, A smallish man, rather lame.
Notice the difference between the two feet and the peculiar
way in which he uses his stick. Yes, Jervis, there
is a great deal to interest us in these footprints.
Do you notice anything very suggestive about them? Nothing but
what you have mentioned, I replied, What do you mean? Well, first,
there is the very singular character of the prince themselves,
which we will consider presently. You observe that this man
came down the path and at this point turned off
into the wood. Then he returned from the wood and
went up the path again. The imposition of the prince
makes that clear. But now look at the two sets
of prints and compare them. Do you see any difference?
The returning footprints seem more distinct, better impressions. Yes, they
are noticeably deeper. But there is something else. He produced
a spring tape from his pocket and took half a
dozen measurements. You see, he said, the first set of
footprints have a stride of twenty one inches from heel
to heel, a short stride. But he is a smallish
man and lame. The returning ones have a stride of
only nineteen and a half inches. Hence, the returning footprints
are deeper than the others, and the steps are shorter.
What do you make of that? I would suggest that
he was carrying a burden when he returned, I replied, yes,
and a heavy one. To make that difference in the depth,
I think I will get you to go fetch Wille
and the bicycles. I strode off down the path to
the entrance, and taking possession of Thorndyke's machine with its
precious case of instruments, bade Wille follow with the other two.
When I returned my colleague was standing with his hands
behind him, gazing with intense preoccupation at the footprints. He
looked up sharply as we approached and called out to
us to keep off the path, if possible, stay here
with the machines, will it? He said? You and I, Jervis,
must go and see where our friend went to when
he left the path, and what was the burden that
he picked up. We struck off into the wood, where
last year's dead leaves made the footprints almost indistinguishable, and
followed the faint double track for a long distance between
the dense clumps of bushes. Suddenly my eye caught beside
the double trail a third row of tracks, smaller in
size and closer together. Thorndyke had seen them too, and
already his measuring tape was in his hand, eleven and
a half inches to the stride, said he. That will
be the boy Jervis. But the light is getting weak.
We must press on quickly or we shall lose it.
Some fifty yards farther on, the man's tracks ceased abruptly,
but the small ones continued alone, and we followed them
as rapidly as we could in the fading light. There
can be no reasonable doubt that these are the child's tracks,
said Thorndyke, But I should like to find a definite
footprint to make the identification absolutely certain. A few seconds
later he halted with an exclamation and stooped on one knee.
A little heap of fresh earth from the surface barrew
of a mole had been thrown up over the dead leaves,
and fairly planted on it with the clean and sharp
impression of a diminutive foot with a rubber heel showing
a central star. Thorndyke drew from his pocket a tiny
shoe and pressed it on the soft earth beside the footprint,
and when he raised it, the second impression was identical
to the first. The boy had two pairs of shoes
exactly alike, he said, so I borrowed one of the
duplicate pair. He turned and began to retrace his steps,
rapidly following our own fresh tracks, and stopping only once
to point out the place where the unknown man had
picked the child up. When we regained the path, we
proceeded without delay until we emerged from the wood within
a hundred yards of the cottage. I see missus Haldean
has been here with Giles, remarked Thorndyke, as he pushed
open the garden gate. I wonder if they saw anybody.
He advanced to the door and head first wrapped with
his knuckles, and then kicked at it vigorously. Tried the
handle locked, he observed, But I see the key is
in the lock, so we can get in if we
want to. Let us try the back. The back door
was locked too, but the key had been removed. He
came out this way, evidently, said Thorndyke, though he went
in at the front, as I suppose you noticed. Let
us see where he went. The back garden was a
small fenced patch of ground with an earth path leading
down to the back gate. A little way beyond the
gate was a small barn or outhouse. We are in lock,
Thorndyke remarked, with a glance at the path. Yesterday's rain
has cleared away all old footprints and prepared the surface
for new ones. You see there are three sets of
excellent impressions, two leading away from the house and one
towards it. Now you notice that both of the sets
leading from the house our character by deep impressions and
short steps, while the set leading to the house has
lighter impressions and longer steps. The obvious inference is that
he went down the path with a heavy burden, came
back empty handed, and went down again and finally with
another heavy burden. You observe too that he walked with
his stick on each occasion. By this time we had
reached the bottom of the garden, opening the gate. We
followed the tracks toward the outhouse, which stood beside a
cart track. But as we came round the corner, we
both stopped short and looked at one another on the
soft earth with the very distinct impressions of the tires
of a motor car leading from the wide door of
the outhouse. Finding that the door was unfastened, Thorndyke opened
it and looked in to satisfy himself that the place
was empty. Then he fell to studying the tracks. The
course of events is pretty plain. He observed first the
fellow brought down his luggage, started the engine and got
the car out. You can see where it stood both
by the little pool of oil and by the widening
and blurring of the wheel tracks from the vibration of
the free engine. Then he went back and fetched the
boy carried him pickaback, I should say, judging by the
depth of the toe marks in the last set of footprints,
that was a tactical mistake. He should have taken the
boy straight into the shed. He pointed as he spoke
to one of the footprints beside the wheel tracks, from
the toe of which projected a small segment of the
print of a little rubber heel. We now made our
way back to the house, where we found Willet pensively
rapping at the front door with a cycle spanner. Thorndyke
took a last glance with his hand in his pocket
at an open window above, and then to the coachman's
intense delight brought forth what looked uncommonly like a small
bunch of skeleton keys. One of these he inserted into
the keyhole, and as he gave it a turn, the
lock clicked and the door stood open. The little sitting
room which we now entered was furnished with the barest necessaries.
Its center was occupied by an oil cloth covered table,
on which I observed with surprise a dismembered b clock,
the works of which had been taken apart with a
tin opener that lay beside them at a boxwood bird call.
At these objects, Thorndyke glanced and nodded, as though they
fitted into some theory that he had formed, examined carefully
the oil cloth around the litter of wheels and pinions,
and then proceeded on a tour of inspection round the room,
peering inquisitively into the kitchen and store cupboard. Nothing very
distinctive or personal here, he remarked, Let us go upstairs.
There were three bedrooms on the upper floor, of which
two were evidently disused, though the windows were wide open.
The third bedroom showed manifest traces of occupation, though it
was as bare as the others, for the water still
stood in the wash hand basin and the bed was unmade.
To the latter, Thorndyke advanced, and, having turned back the bedclothes,
examined the interior attentively, especially at the foot and the pillow.
The latter was soiled, not to say grimy, though the
rest of the bed linen was quite clean. Hair dye,
remarked Thorndyke, noting my glance at it. Then he turned
and looked out of the open window. Can you see
the place where miss Haldeen was sitting to sketch. He asked, yes,
I replied, there is the place well in view, and
you can see right up the road. I had no
idea this house stood so high. From the three upper
windows you can see all over the country excepting through
the wood. Yes, Thorndyke rejoined, and he has probably been
in the habit of keeping watch up here with a
telescope or a pair of field glasses. Well, there is
not much of interest in this room. He kept his
effects in a cabin trunk which stood there under the window.
He shaved this morning. He has a white beard, to
judge by the stubble on the shaving paper. And that
is all. Wait, though there is a key hanging on
that nail, he must have overlooked that, for it evidently
does not belong to this house. It is an ordinary
town latch key. He took the key down, and, having
laid a sheet of notepaper from his pocket on the
dressing table, produced a pin with which he began carefully
to probe the interior of the key barrel. Presently, there
came forth, with much coaxing, a large ball of gray fluff,
which Thorndyke folded up in the paper with infinite care.
I suppose we mustn't take away the key, he said,
but I think we will take a wax mold of it.
He hurried downstairs, and, unstrapping the case from his bicycle,
brought it in and placed it on the table. As
it was now getting dark, he detached the powerful acetylene
lamp his machine, and, having lighted it, proceeded to open
the mysterious case. First he took from it a small
insufflator or powder blower, with which he blew a cloud
of light yellow powder over the table around the remains
of the clock. The powder settled on the table in
an even coating, but when he blew at it smartly
with his breath, it cleared off, leaving, however, a number
of smeary impressions which stood out in strong yellow against
the black oil cloth. To one of these impressions, he
pointed significantly it was the print of a child's hand.
He next produced a small portable microscope and some glass
slides and cover slips, and, having opened the paper and
tipped the ball of fluff from the key barrel on
to a slide, set to work with a pair of
mounted needles to tease it out into its component parts.
Then he turned the light of the lamp onto the
microscope and proceeded to examine the specimen. A curious and
instructive assortment this jervis, he remarked, with his eye at
the microscope, woolen fibers, no cotton or linen. He is
careful of his health to have woolen pockets and two hares.
Very curious ones too. Just look at them and observe
the root bulbs. I applied my eye to the microscope
and saw, among other things, two hares, originally white, but
encrusted with a black, opaque glistening stain. The root bulbs
I noticed were shriveled and atrophied. But how on Earth,
I exclaimed, did the hares get into his pocket? I
think the hairs themselves answer that question, he replied, when
considered with the other curios. The stain is obviously lead sulfide.
But what else do you see? I see some particles
of metal, a white metal, apparently, and a number of
fragments of woody fiber and starch granules. But I don't
recognize the starch. It is not wheat starch, nor rice
nor potato. Do you make out what it is? Thorndyke chuckled,
experientia does it? Said he. You will have Jervis to
study the minute properties of dust and dirt. Their evidential
value is immense. Let us have another look at that starch.
It is all alike. I suppose it was, and Thorndyke
had just ascertained the fact when the door burst open
and missus Haldean entered the room, followed by Missus Hanshaw
and the police inspector. The former lady regarded my colleague
with a glance of extreme disfavor. We heard that you
had come here, sir, said she, And we suppose that
you were engaged in searching for my poor child. But
it seems we were mistaken, since we find you here
amusing yourselves fiddling with these nonsensical instruments. Perhaps, Mabel, said
Missus Henshaw stiffly, it would be wiser and infinitely more
polite to ask if doctor Thorndyke has any news for us.
That is undoubtedly so, Madam, agreed the inspector, who had
apparently suffered also from Missus Haldean's impulsiveness. Then perhaps the
latter lady suggested, you will inform us if you have
discovered anything. I will tell you, replied Thorndyke, all that
we know. The child was abducted by the man who
occupied this house, and who appears to have watched him
from an upper window, probably through a glass. This man
lured the child into the wood by blowing this bird call.
He met him in the wood and induced him, by
some promises, no doubt, to come with him. He picked
the child up and carried him on his back I think,
up to the house and brought him in through the
front door, which he locked after him. He gave the
boy this clock and the bird call to amuse him
while he went upstairs and packed his trunk. He took
the trunk out through the back door and down the
garden to the shed there in which he had a
motor car. He got the car out and came back
for the boy, whom he carried down to the car,
locking the back door after him. Then he drove away.
You know he has gone, cried missus. Holdean, and yet
you stay here playing with these ridiculous toys. Why are
you not following him? We have just finished ascertaining the
facts Thorndyke replied calmly, and should by now be on
the road if you had not come here, The inspector
interposed anxiously. Of course, sir, you can't give any description
of the man. You have no clue to his identity.
I suppose we have only his footprints, Thorndyke answered, and
this fluff, which I raked out of the barrel of
his latch key, and have just been examining. From these data,
I conclude that he is a rather short and thin man,
and somewhat lame. He walks with the aid of a
thick stick, which has a knob, not a crook, at
the top, and which he carries in his left hand.
I think that his left leg has been amputated above
the knee, and that he wears an artificial limb. He
is elderly. He shaves his beard, has white hair dyed
a grayish black, is partly bald, and probably combs a
wisp of hair over the bald place. He takes snuff
and carries a leaden comb in his pocket. As Thorndyke's
description proceeded, the Inspector's mouth gradually opened whiter and whiter,
until he appeared the very type and symbol of astonishment,
but its effect on Missus Haldeen was much more remarkable.
Rising from her chair, she leaned on the table and
stared at Thorndyke with an expression of awe even of terror.
And as he finished, she sank back into her chair
with her hands clasped, and turned to Missus Henshaw Jane.
She gasped, it is Percy, my brother in law. He
has described him exactly, even to his stick and his
pocket comb. But I thought he was in Chicago. If
that is so, said Thorndyke, hastily repacking his case. We
had better start at once. We have the dog cart
in the road, said Missus Henshaw. Thank you, replied Thorndyke.
We will ride on our bicycles, and the Inspector can
borrow willets. We go out at the back by the
cart track which joins the road farther on. Then we
will follow in the dog cart, said Missus holdein Come Jane.
The two ladies departed down the path while we made
ready our bicycles and lit our lamps. With your permission, Inspector,
said Thorndyke. We will take the key with us. It's
hardly legal, sir, objected the officer. We have no authority.
It is quite illegal, answered Thorndyke. But it is necessary
and necessity like your military j P. No no law.
The inspector grinned and went out, regarding me with a
quivering eyelid, as Thorndyke locked the door with his skeleton key.
As we turned into the road, I saw the light
of the dog cart behind us, and we pushed forward
at a swift pace, picking up the trail easily on
the soft moist road. What beats me, said the inspector confidentially,
as we rode along. Is how he knew the man
was bald? Was it the footprints or the latch key?
And that comb too, that was a regular knockout. These
points were by now pretty clear to me. I had
seen the hares with their atrofied bulbs, such as one
finds at the margin of a bald patch, and the
comb was used, evidently for the double purpose of keeping
the bald patch covered and blackening the sulfur charged hair.
But the knobbed stick in the artificial limb puzzled me
so completely that I presently overtook Thorndyke to demand an
explanation the stick, said, he is per simple. The ferrule
of a knobbed stick wears evenly all round. That of
a crooked stick wears on one side, the side opposite
the crook. The impressions showed that the ferrule of this
one was evenly convex. Therefore it had no crook. The
other matter is more complicated. To begin with, an artificial
foot makes a very characteristic impression owing to its purely
passive elasticity, as I will show you tomorrow. But an
artificial leg fitted below the knee is quite secure, whereas
one fitted above the knee, that is, with an artificial
knee joint worked by a spring, is much less reliable. Now,
this man had an artificial foot, and he evidently distrusted
his knee joint, as is shown by his steadying it
with his stick on the same side. If he had
merely had a weak leg, he would have used the
stick with his right hand with the natural swing of
the arm. In fact, unless he had been very lame,
which he evidently was not. Still, it was only a
question of probability, though the probability was very great. Of course,
you understand that those particles of woody fiber and starch
granules were disintegrated snuff grains. This explanation, like the others,
was quite simple when one had heard it, though it
gave me material for much thought as we peddled on
along the dark road, with Thorndyke's light flickering in front
and the dog cart pattering in our wake. But there
was ample time for reflection, for our pace rather precluded conversation,
and we rode on mile after mile until my legs
ached with fatigue. On and on we went through village
after village, now losing the trail in some frequented street,
but picking it up again unfailingly as we emerged onto
the country road, until at last, in the paved high
street of the little town of Horsefield, we lost it
for good. We rode on through the town out onto
the country road, but although there were several tracks of motors,
Thorndyke shook his head at the mall. I have been
studying those tires until I know them by heart, he said, no.
Either he is in the town or he has left
it by a side road. There was nothing for it
but to put up the horse and the machines at
the hotel while we walked round to reconnoiter. And this
we did, tramping up one street and down the other,
with eyes bent on the ground, fruitlessly searching for a
trace of the missing car. Suddenly, at the door of
the blacksmith's shop, Thorndyke halted. The shop had been kept
open late for the shoeing of a carriage horse which
was just being led away, and the smith came to
the door for a breath of air. Thorndyke accosted him genially,
good evening, you are just the man I wanted to see.
I have mislaid the address of a friend of mine
who I think called on you this afternoon, a lame
gentleman who walks with a stick. I expect he wanted
you to pick a lock or make him a key.
Oh I remember him, said the man. Yes, he had
lost his latch key and one had the lock picked
before he could get into his house. Had to leave
his motor car outside while he came here. But I
took some keys round with me and fitted one to
his latch. Then he directed us to a house at
the end of a street close by, and having thanked him,
we went off in high spirits. How did you know
he had been there, I asked, I didn't, But there
was a mark of a stick and part of a
left foot on the soft earth inside the doorway, and
the thing was inherently probable, so I risked a false shot.
The house stood alone at the far end of a
straggling street, and was enclosed by a high wall, in
which on the side facing the street was a door
and a wide carriage gate. Advancing to the former, Thorndyke
took from his pocket the purloined key and tried it
in the lock. It fitted perfectly, and when he had
turned it and pushed open the door, we entered a
small courtyard. Crossing this we came to the front door
of the house, the latch of which fortunately fitted the
same key, and this having been opened by Thorndyke, we
trooped into the hall. Immediately we heard the sound of
an opening door above, and a reedy nasal voice sang out,
Hello there, who's that below? The voice was followed by
the appearance of a head projecting over the baluster rail.
You are, mister Percy, holdeen, I think, said the inspector.
At the mention of this name. The head was withdrawn,
and a quick tread was heard, accompanied by the tapping
of a stick on the floor. We started to ascend
the stairs, the inspector leading as the authorized official, but
we had only gone up a few steps when a fierce,
wiry little man danced out on to the landing with
a thick stick in one hand and a very large
revolver in the other. Move another step, either of you,
he shouted, pointing the weapon at the inspector, and I
let fly, and mind you when I shoot, I hit.
He looked as if he meant it, and we accordingly
halted with remarkable suddenness, while the inspector proceeded to parley.
Now what's the good of this, mister Holdean, said he
The game's up, and you know it. You clear out
of my house and clear out sharp was the inhospitable rejoinder,
or you'll give me the trouble of burying you in
the garden. I looked round to consult with Thorndyke, when,
to my amazement I found that he had vanished, apparently
through the open hall door. I was admiring his discretion
when the inspector endeavored to reopen negotiations, but was cut
short abruptly. I am going to count fifty, said mister Holdean,
and if you aren't gone, then I shall shoot. He
began to count deliberately, and the Inspector looked round at
me in complete bewilderment. The flight of stairs was a
long one and well lighted by gas, so that to
rush it was an impossibility. Suddenly my heart gave a bound,
and I held my breath for out of an open
door behind our querry, a figure emerged slowly and noiselessly
on to the landing. It was Thorndyke, shoeless and in
his shirt sleeves. Slowly and with cat like stealthiness, he
crept across the landing until he was within a yard
of the unconscious fugitive. And still the nasal voice droned
on monotonously, counting out the allotted seconds fort a one,
forty two, forty three. There was a lightning like movement,
a shout, a flash, a bang, a shower of falling plaster,
and then the revolver came clattering down the stairs. The
Inspector and I rushed up, and in a moment, the
sharp click of the handcuffs told mister Percy Holdeen that
the game was really up. Five minutes later, Freddie Boy,
half asleep but wholly cheerful, was born on Thorndyke's shoulders
into the private sitting room of the Black Horse Hotel.
A shriek of joy saluted his entrance, and a shower
of maternal kisses brought him to the verge of suffocation. Finally,
the impulse of missus Holdean, turning suddenly to Thorndyke, seized
both his hands, and for a moment I hoped that
she was going to kiss him too, but he was spared,
and I have not yet recovered from the disappointment. And
of the Stranger's latch Key by R. Austin Freeman