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The Master Detective

P >> Percy James Brebner >> The Master Detective




"And how were you to know?" asked Quarles.

"He said I should know for certain when it happened, and I did. The next
evening he began telling me that we were bringing a lot of diamonds back
to England. He promised me more money than I had ever heard of. I should
have shot him then, only I wasn't carrying a revolver."

"So you did it later in the evening?"

"I cannot tell you exactly when I did it," the man answered. "I knew the
time had come, but I do not remember the actual doing of it. Only one
thing I am certain of--I didn't use a knife. He was always particular to
tell me to shoot him."

"You are sure you did kill him?" I said.

"Shot him--yes. I did not stab him. That is a mistake."

"Do you know that your cabin companion says you did not leave your bunk
at all that night?" said Quarles.

"That must be another mistake," was the answer.

When he had gone the professor remarked that John Bennett was far nearer
an asylum than a prison.

"If Hardiman had been shot I should think the servant had shot him, but
he was not shot. You see, Captain, the case is not so easy. These bits of
rock complicate it, and we must keep an eye on Majendie."

There was a man I knew well attached to the Liverpool police, and I was
fortunate enough to get hold of him to follow Majendie to London that
afternoon. Bennett, having virtually confessed to the crime, was kept in
custody, and I was free to remain with Quarles and examine the cases
which Hardiman had brought to England. After certain formalities had been
complied with, we carried out this examination in one of the shipping
company's sheds. There were many things of extreme interest of which I
could write a lengthy account, but they had no bearing on our business.
The things which concerned us were the Patagonian relics.

The two drums did not interest the professor much, but the figure of the
god did. It was about three-quarters life size, roughly carved into a
man's shape. The wood was light in weight and in color, but had been
smeared to a darker hue over the breast and loins. One arm hung by the
figure's side, was, indeed, only roughly indicated; but the other,
slightly bent, was stretched out in front of the figure. There was
nothing actually horrible about the image, but, remembering Bennett's
description of some of the rites performed in that temple, it became
sinister enough. Quarles's inspection took a long time, and during it I
do not think he uttered a word.

"I think we may go back to Chelsea, Wigan," he said at last.

Late on the following night we were in the empty room. At the professor's
suggestion I repeated the whole story for Zena's benefit, although I
fancy Quarles wanted to have a definite picture before his mind, as it
were, and to find out whether any particular points had struck me. Zena's
comment when I had finished was rather surprising.

"This Mr. Majendie must be a clumsy thrower," she said.

Quarles sat up in his chair as if his interest in the conversation had
only become keen at that moment.

"She hits the very heart of the mystery, Wigan."

"There is no certainty that it was Majendie," I replied.

"Whether it was or not is immaterial for the moment. The fact remains
that some one who was anxious to get rid of incriminating evidence was so
clumsy that he threw it where any one could pick it up. Not one man in a
thousand would have done that, no matter what state of agitation he was
in. The packet was deliberately thrown away, remember; it was not done in
a moment of sudden fear."

"I am all attention to hear what theory you base upon it," I returned.

"We will begin with the wound," said Quarles. "Sir Robert Gibbs and Dr.
Williams agree that it could not have been self-inflicted. Sir Robert
suggested that I should try to stab myself in the same way and see how
impossible it was. Remember it was a stab and a pull of the blade to one
side. It was impossible for a right-handed man, difficult even for a
left-handed one, but not impossible. That was the first point I made a
mental note of."

"Why did you not speak of the possibility?"

"Chiefly, I think, because I was convinced that Sir Robert expected me to
do so, was waiting for me to do so, in fact. He is far too cute a man not
to have considered the possibility, and was prepared to prove that
Hardiman was a right-handed man, as we know he was from his servant. In
all probability Sir Robert knew that Bennett had to cut his master's
nails. I was not disposed to give the doctor such an opening as that,
although no doubt he thought me a fool for not thinking of it."

"Then we do away with the theory of suicide?" I said.

"Well, the absence of any weapon appears to do that," said Quarles. "What
was the weapon? A knife of some kind, a rusty knife and rather jagged, I
fancy. The wound suggested that it was jagged, and in spite of the
washing my lens revealed traces of rust. Rather a curious knife to commit
murder with. That was my second mental note. We had to be prepared for a
curious personality somewhere in the business."

"Mr. Majendie," I said.

"He is hardly such an abnormal individual as the servant Bennett. We will
consider Bennett first. His story is a straightforward one, nervously
told, dramatically told. We might easily assume that imagination had much
to do with that story were it not for the contents of those
packing-cases. They are corroborative evidence. We may grant that the
man's recent experiences have had their effect upon him, have laid bare
his nerves, as it were, but since the most unlikely part of his story is
true we may assume that the rest of it is. We need not go over it again
in detail. The man was evidently attached to his master, and was prepared
to shoot him if he exhibited signs of madness. Considering the state of
his own nerves, I can believe that Bennett watched for these signs, and
felt convinced of his master's madness when he spoke of a wealth of
diamonds. Bennett knew they had no diamonds in their possession. He only
knew of those bits of rock. So he determined to shoot Hardiman. However,
I am convinced that he did not leave his cabin that night. Sleep
prevented his carrying out the intention, but when in the morning he
found that his master was dead--murdered--he immediately translated his
intention into action, and concluded that he had done it. There was no
one else who would be likely to murder him. That he should do it was
natural under the circumstances. He would not look upon it as a crime. He
had only carried out his instructions to the letter, as I have little
doubt he has been accustomed to do for years."

"It is a theory, of course, but--"

"Oh, it is more than a theory now," said Quarles, interrupting me. "He
admits his guilt, yet we know that Hardiman was stabbed, not shot. We
conclude, therefore, that Bennett, although he fully intended to kill
his master, did not do so."

"So we come to Majendie," I said.

"Yes, and to the yellow diamonds which Bennett knew nothing about. I
admit that Majendie was a distinct surprise to me. He had to prove that
the sailor of the watch was mistaken, that he was not the person who
threw the stones away. How does he do it? By asking whether he, an expert
in diamonds, would be likely to throw away what he knew to be valuable.
This was a very ingenious argument. He did not deny that he knew Hardiman
had these stones in his possession, because he believed that people must
have seen him go into Hardiman's cabin. We have his statement that
Hardiman invited him to do so, and that the invitation was given in the
hearing of others. So he asked a perfectly simple question to show that
the sailor was mistaken."

"Evidently you do not believe that the sailor was mistaken."

"We will go on considering Majendie," said Quarles. "Now, when he took up
the knife and imitated my action of stabbing the air with it I made a
discovery. He did so with his left hand. Since my first mental note
concerned a left-handed man the coincidence is surprising. The sailor in
his pantomime had used the right hand. Majendie's action was unexpected,
and for a time I did not see its significance. But let us suppose for a
moment that Majendie did throw the bag of stones away. He might argue
that some one might possibly see the action, and would note that it was
done by a left-handed man, so used his right hand to deceive any one who
might be there. Hence his bad aim."

I shook my head.

"Wait," said Quarles. "Some one had stolen those bits of rock, else how
came they in that canvas bag, and why were they thrown away? Majendie
told us that only certain of those stones had at the heart of them a
diamond, yet he also said that all those in the bag had. That looks as if
they had been picked out and stolen by an expert, and when we remember
that Hardiman had shown him the contents of the trunk suspicion points
very strongly to Majendie as the thief. Of course, when Hardiman was
found dead, he would get rid of evidence which must incriminate him. We
must see Majendie, Wigan, and ask him a few questions."

"Then he did not kill Hardiman?" said Zena.

"I do not think so."

"Who did?"

"Nobody. Hardiman was mad and committed suicide, and in a particular way.
Think of Bennett's description of that Patagonian temple, Wigan. Those
savages were persuaded that Hardiman was a god; possibly human sacrifices
were offered to him, and he dared not interfere. That was sufficient to
start a man on the road to madness. That wooden god he brought home tells
us something. It was the left arm which was stretched out, and in the
closed fist was a hole into which a knife had been fixed, a symbol of
vengeance and sacrifice, a symbol, mind you, not a weapon which was
actually used. I imagine that time had caused it to become rusty and
jagged. Now, I think Hardiman removed that knife before packing the
figure, kept it near him, because obsessed with it; went mad, in short.
We know from Bennett that he believed his left hand was becoming
stronger, and I believe his madness compelled him to practise his left
hand until it became strong enough to grasp the knife firmly and strike
the blow. Since the god was left-handed, his priests were probably so
too, and the victims would be slain with the left hand. There was some
religious significance attached to the fact, no doubt, and Hardiman's
madness would compel him to be exact."

"But what became of the knife?" I asked.

"The porthole was found open," said Quarles. "I think he deliberately put
it out of the porthole, his madness suggesting to him that no one should
know how he died. He would have strength enough to do this, for he died
quietly, bled to death, in fact, and gradually fell into a comatose
condition, hence no sign of a struggle. It is impossible to conceive what
devilish power may lurk about those things which have been used for
devilish purposes. I am very strong on this point, as you know, Wigan."

Of course it was quite impossible to prove whether Quarles was right
about the knife, but he was correct as regards Majendie, who had hoped to
get possession of a few of these stones without Hardiman missing them,
and then, when the unexpected tragedy happened, had tried to get rid of
them, using his right hand to throw them away. Amongst the dead man's
papers there was a will providing amply for his servant Bennett--who, I
may add, recovered his normal health after a time--and leaving his relics
to different museums, and any other property he was possessed of to
charities. I believe the yellow diamonds proved less valuable than
Majendie imagined, but at any rate the various charities benefited
considerably.




CHAPTER XII

THE CRIME IN THE YELLOW TAXI


One's last adventure is apt to assume the place of first importance, the
absorption in the details is so recent and the gratification at solving
the problems still fresh. Used to his methods as I had become, Quarles's
handling of the Daniel Hardiman case was constantly in my mind until I
had become acquainted with the yellow taxi. I will not say his
deductions in the taxi affair were more clever--you must judge that--but
I am sure they were more of a mental strain to him, for he lost his
temper with Zena.

We had been arguing various points, and seemed to have exhausted all
our ideas.

"Give a dog a bad name and hang him," said Zena, breaking the silence
which had seemed to indicate that our discussion was at an end.

"I repeat that had he been in a different position he would have been
arrested at once," said Quarles testily; "but because he happens to be a
prominent Member of Parliament, goes everywhere which is anywhere, and
knows everybody who is anybody, it suits people to forget he is a
blackguard and it suits Scotland Yard to neglect its duty."

An inquest in connection with a very extraordinary case had taken place
that day, and had been adjourned.

On the previous Monday, between seven and eight in the evening, the
traffic had become congested at Hyde Park Corner, chiefly owing to the
fog, and the attention of a gentleman standing on the pavement--a Mr.
Lester Williams--had been drawn suddenly to the occupant of a taxi.
Possibly a street lamp, or the light on an adjacent motor, picked out the
lady's face particularly, and he had opened the door before he called to
the driver.

The lady was leaning back in the corner, but he saw at once that
something was wrong, and when he touched her the horrible truth
became apparent.

She was dead.

He called to the driver to draw up to the curb and then called a
policeman. Williams jumped at once to the conclusion that a crime had
been committed, and the police took the same view.

There was no difficulty as regards identification. She was Lady Tavener,
wife of Sir John Tavener, M.P. The driver, Thomas Wood, had come from the
other side of Twickenham and had taken up Sir John and his wife at their
own front door. He had constantly driven them up to town and elsewhere,
sometimes separately, sometimes together. On this occasion he had driven
to a house on Richmond Green, where Sir John had got out. Lady Tavener
was going on to the Piccadilly Hotel. Wood had got as far as Hyde Park
Corner when a gentleman called to him. He had not seen the gentleman open
the door of the taxi, knew nothing in fact until he was told to drive up
to the curb and Lady Tavener was taken out dead.

At the inquest the evidence took rather a curious turn. It was common
knowledge that Sir John had married Lady Tavener after her divorce from a
Mr. Curtis, since dead, and Sir John's reputation was none of the best.

Veiled accusations were constantly made against him in those would-be
smart journals catering for that public interested in this kind of
scandal, and several questions founded on this knowledge were put to him
at the inquest.

He came out of the ordeal very well, and gave his evidence in a
straightforward manner. He did not pretend that he and his wife did not
quarrel at times, sometimes rather severely he admitted, but he
maintained there was no reason why his wife should commit suicide. He
ignored altogether the idea that he was in any way responsible for her
death. She seemed in perfect health when he had left her that evening.
She was dining with some people called Folliott, and was going on to the
theater with them afterwards. He also believed that a crime had been
committed.

The medical evidence threw some doubt on this opinion, however. True,
there were slight marks on Lady Tavener's throat, but it was possible she
had caused them herself by catching hold of her own throat in some spasm.
She was addicted to drugs, a fact which she had concealed from her
husband apparently, and her general condition was such that a shock or
some sudden excitement might very easily prove fatal. Two doctors were
agreed upon this point, and said that she was in a condition known as
status lymphaticus.

After the inquest I had gone to see Quarles, and his one idea was that
Sir John should have been arrested. Zena's sarcastic suggestion that her
grandfather would hang him merely because of his reputation, had made the
old man lose his temper altogether.


As I was the representative of Scotland Yard in that empty room at
Chelsea, I felt compelled to say something in its defense.

"Have you read the evidence given to-day carefully?" I asked.

"I was there," he snapped.

I had not seen him and was astonished.

"Arrest Tavener," he went on, "and then you may be able to solve the
problem. There may be extenuating circumstances, but they can be dealt
with afterwards. Let us go into another room."

He got up and brought the discussion to a close. He was in one of those
moods in which there was no doing anything with him.

Although I was at the inquest, I had had little to do with the case up to
this point; now it came entirely into my hands, and it may be that
Quarles's advice was at the back of my mind during my inquiries.

I made one or two rather interesting and significant discoveries. The
Folliotts, with whom it was said Lady Tavener was dining that night, did
not know Sir John, and moreover, they had no appointment with Lady
Tavener that evening, nor were they dining at the Piccadilly Hotel. The
people on Richmond Green, with whom Sir John had dined, admitted that he
was in an excited condition. He made an expected division in the House of
Commons an excuse for leaving early, directly after dinner in fact, but
he had not gone to the House and did not arrive home until after
midnight, when he found a constable waiting for him with the news of his
wife's death.

These facts were given in evidence at the next hearing, but it was less
due to them than to public feeling, I fancy, that a verdict of murder
against Sir John Tavener was returned.

That night I went again to Chelsea.

"I see that you have arrested him, Wigan," was the professor's greeting.

"I don't believe he is guilty," I answered.

"Why not? Let us have the reasons. But tell me first, what was his
demeanor when he heard the verdict? Was he astonished?"

"He seemed to be pitying a body of men who could make such a mistake."

"Ah, he will play to the gallery even when death knocks at his door. Why
do you think he is not guilty, Wigan?"

"Intuition for one reason."

"Come, that is a woman's prerogative."

"That sixth sense, which is usually denied to men," corrected Zena.

"Then for tangible reasons," I said; "if he killed his wife he committed
the crime between Twickenham and Richmond Green, knowing perfectly well
that her death must be discovered at the end of her journey. He would
know that suspicion would inevitably fall upon him."

"That seems a good argument, Wigan, but, as a fact, suspicion did not
immediately fall upon him. He has only been arrested to-day, and even now
you think he has been wrongly arrested. The very daring of the crime was
in his favor."

"My second reason is this," I went on. "If he were guilty, would he
deliberately have closed the door of escape open for him by the doctors
and declare that he did not believe his wife committed suicide? Would he
not have jumped at the idea?"

"That also sounds a good argument," said Quarles, "but is it? He could
not deny that he and his wife quarreled rather badly at times, but he
wanted to justify his position, and he felt confident the opinion of the
doctors would stand, no matter what he might say. If no other facts come
to light, suicide will be the line of defense, Wigan, and it will be
exceedingly hard to get any judge and jury to convict him. Nothing
carries greater weight than medical evidence, and you will find the
doctors sticking to their opinion no matter what happens. No, Wigan, your
reasons do not prove that he is not an exceedingly clever and calculating
rascal. On the present evidence I think he would escape the hangman, but
the public will continue to think him guilty unless some one else stands
in the dock in his place."

"I wonder whether the Folliotts have told the truth," said Zena.

"Intuition, Wigan," laughed Quarles, "jumps to the end of the journey and
wants to argue backwards."

"Do you not often do the same, dear?"

"Perhaps, but not this time. I think you said the taxi had been in charge
of the police?"

"Yes," I answered.

"I should like to see it."

"We can go to-morrow."

I had already spent a couple of hours with that taxi, and I was rather
anxious to see how Quarles would go to work with it.

He began with the metal work and the lamps, nodded his admiration at the
way they were kept, and remarked that but for the vehicle number and the
registering machine it might be a private car. He examined the engine and
the tires, using his lens; seemed to be particularly interested in the
texture of the rubber, and picked out some grains of soil which had stuck
in the tire. All four tires came in for this close inspection.

Inside the taxi his lens went slowly over every inch of the
upholstering, and with the blade of a penknife he scraped up some soil
from the carpet. This he put on a piece of white paper and spent a long
time investigating it. He opened and shut the door half a dozen times,
and shook his head. Then he seated himself in the driver's seat, and in
pantomime drove the car for a few moments. Afterwards, he stood back and
regarded the car as a whole.

"Well, Wigan, it is a very good taxi; let us go and have a ride in
another one."

He did not hail the first we encountered, and when he did call one it was
for the sake of the driver, I fancy. He explained that he wanted to drive
to Richmond Green by Hammersmith and Kew Bridge.

"And we don't want to go too fast," said Quarles.

"Don't you be afraid, guv'nor, I shan't run you into anything; you won't
come to no harm with me."

"It isn't that," said Quarles, "but I'm out to enjoy myself. I'll add a
good bit to what that clock thing says at the end of the run."

"Thank you, guv'nor."

"Now just get down and open this thing to let me have a look at
the works."

The driver looked at me, and I nodded. No doubt he thought I was the old
man's keeper.

Quarles looked at the engine.

"It isn't new," he remarked.

"No, guv'nor."

"How long has it been running?"

"I couldn't say. I'm not buying this on the hire system."

"You fellows do that sometimes, eh?"

"Yes, guv'nor, there are several of us chaps own their own taxi."

"That's good. Now for Richmond, and go slowly from Hyde Park Corner."

I never remember a more tedious journey. Quarles hardly spoke a word the
whole way, but sat leaning forward, looking keenly from one side of the
road to the other, as if he were bent on obtaining a mental picture of
every yard of the way. Arriving at Richmond Green he did no more than
just glance at the house where Sir John had dined that night, and then
told the man to drive to Twickenham as fast as he liked to go.

"Stop him when we reach Tavener's house, Wigan. You know it, I suppose?"

I did, and stopped the driver when we got there. Quarles had the car
turned round, then he got out and examined the tires with his lenses. The
driver winked at me, and I nodded to assure him that I knew the eccentric
gentleman I had to deal with, and that he was quite harmless.

We then drove back to Richmond rapidly, and from there went toward town,
but more slowly. By Kew Gardens along to Kew Bridge Quarles did not seem
particularly interested in the journey, but as we drew near Hammersmith
he became alert again.

We were going slowly past St. Paul's school when he told the driver to
take the second turning to the left. It was a narrow street, a big
warehouse, which was being enlarged, on one side, and a coal yard on
the other. About fifty yards down this street, the driver was
instructed to stop.

"We will get out for a minute and look at the view," said Quarles
facetiously.

I confess I found nothing whatever to interest me, but Quarles seemed to
find the blank walls of the warehouse and coal yard attractive.

"Now, driver, you can turn round and get us back to Hyde Park Corner as
quickly as you like," said the professor as we got into the taxi again.

Arriving at our destination he told the driver to go into the park, and
there stopped him. Again he examined the tires and the texture of them,
picking some soil from the rubber, and he scraped up some dust from the
floor of the taxi with a penknife and put it in an envelope.

"Thank you, my man," he said, paying a substantial fare.

"You're welcome, guv'nor," said the driver with a grin.

"He is fully persuaded that he has been driving a lunatic and his
keeper," Quarles said as he walked away. "I suppose you can find the
driver of the other taxi, Wigan."

"We might have found him this morning. He lives at Twickenham."

"I want you to see him and ask him two questions. First, was the fog in
Hammersmith, or elsewhere on the journey, thick enough to bring him to a
standstill before he reached Hyde Park Corner? Secondly, is he quite sure
that the man who opened the door and called to him had not just got out
of the taxi?"

"But--"

"You ask him these two questions and get him to answer definitely," said
Quarles in that aggravating and dictatorial manner he sometimes has.
"To-morrow night come to Chelsea. I am not prepared to talk any more
about the Tavener case until then."

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