LITMIR.BIZ

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      “Come, for God’s sake! F. C. is dead. You will understand.—BRODRIBB.”

      I handed him back the telegram, too much shocked for a moment to speak. The whole dreadful tragedy summed up in that curt message rose before me in an instant, and a wave of deep pity swept over me at this miserable end to the sad, empty life.

      “What an awful thing, Thorndyke!” I exclaimed at length. “To be killed by a mere grotesque delusion.”

      “Do you think so?” he asked dryly. “Well, we shall see; but you will come?”

      “Yes,” I replied; and as he retired, I proceeded hurriedly to finish dressing.

      Half an hour later, as we rose from a rapid breakfast, Polton came into the room, carrying a small roll-up case of tools and a bunch of skeleton keys.

      “Will you have them in a bag, sir?” he asked.

      “No,” replied Thorndyke; “in my overcoat pocket. Oh, and here is a note, Polton, which I want you to take round to Scotland Yard. It is to the Assistant Commissioner, and you are to make sure that it is in the right hands before you leave. And here is a telegram to Mr. Brodribb.”

      He dropped the keys and the tool-case into his pocket, and we went down together to the waiting hansom.

      At Weybridge Station we found Mr. Brodribb pacing the platform in a state of extreme dejection. He brightened up somewhat when he saw us, and wrung our hands with emotional heartiness.

      “It was very good of you both to come at a moment’s notice,” he said warmly, “and I feel your kindness very much. You understood, of course, Thorndyke?”

      “Yes,” Thorndyke replied. “I suppose the mandarin beckoned to him.”

      Mr. Brodribb turned with a look of surprise. “How did you guess that?” he asked; and then, without waiting for a reply, he took from his pocket a note, which he handed to my colleague. “The poor old fellow left this for me,” he said. “The servant found it on his dressing-table.”

      Thorndyke glanced through the note and passed it to me. It consisted of but a few words, hurriedly written in a tremulous hand.

      “He has beckoned to me, and I must go. Good-bye, dear old friend.”

      “How does his cousin take the matter?” asked Thorndyke.

      “He doesn’t know of it yet,” replied the lawyer. “Alfred and Raggerton went out after an early breakfast, to cycle over to Guildford on some business or other, and they have not returned yet. The catastrophe was discovered soon after they left. The maid went to his room with a cup of tea, and was astonished to find that his bed had not been slept in. She ran down in alarm and reported to the butler, who went up at once and searched the room; but he could find no trace of the missing one, except my note, until it occurred to him to look in the cupboard. As he opened the door he got rather a start from his own reflection in the mirror; and then he saw poor Fred hanging from one of the pegs near the end of the closet, close to the glass. It’s a melancholy affair—but here is the house, and here is the butler waiting for us. Mr. Alfred is not back yet, then, Stevens?”

      “No, sir.” The white-faced, frightened-looking man had evidently been waiting at the gate from distaste of the house, and he now walked back with manifest relief at our arrival. When we entered the house, he ushered us without remark up on to the first-floor, and, preceding us along a corridor, halted near the end. “That’s the room, sir,” said he; and without another word he turned and went down the stairs.

      We entered the room, and Mr. Brodribb followed on tiptoe, looking about him fearfully, and casting awe-struck glances at the shrouded form on the bed. To the latter Thorndyke advanced, and gently drew back the sheet.

      “You’d better not look, Brodribb,” said he, as he bent over the corpse. He felt the limbs and examined the cord, which still remained round the neck, its raggedly-severed end testifying to the terror of the servants who had cut down the body. Then he replaced the sheet and looked at his watch. “It happened at about three o’clock in the morning,” said he. “He must have struggled with the impulse for some time, poor fellow! Now let us look at the cupboard.”

      We went together to a door in the corner of the room, and, as we opened it, we were confronted by three figures, apparently looking in at us through an open door at the other end.

      “It is really rather startling,” said the lawyer, in a subdued voice, looking almost apprehensively at the three figures that advanced to meet us. “The poor lad ought never to have been here.”

      It was certainly an eerie place, and I could not but feel, as we walked down the dark, narrow passage, with those other three dimly-seen figures silently coming towards us, and mimicking our every gesture, that it was no place for a nervous, superstitious man like poor Fred Calverley. Close to the end of the long row of pegs was one from which hung an end of stout box-cord, and to this Mr. Brodribb pointed with an awe-struck gesture. But Thorndyke gave it only a brief glance, and then walked up to the mirror, which he proceeded to examine minutely. It was a very large glass, nearly seven feet high, extending the full width of the closet, and reaching to within a foot of the floor; and it seemed to have been let into the partition from behind, for, both above and below, the woodwork was in front of it. While I was making these observations, I watched Thorndyke with no little curiosity. First he rapped his knuckles on the glass; then he lighted a wax match, and, holding it close to the mirror, carefully watched the reflection of the flame. Finally, laying his cheek on the glass, he held the match at arm’s length, still close to the mirror, and looked at the reflection along the surface. Then he blew out the match and walked back into the room, shutting the cupboard door as we emerged.

      “I think,” said he, “that as we shall all undoubtedly be subpoenaed by the coroner, it would be well to put together a few notes of the facts. I see there is a writing-table by the window, and I would propose that you, Brodribb, just jot down a précis of the statement that you heard last night, while Jervis notes down the exact condition of the body. While you are doing this, I will take a look round.”

      “We might find a more cheerful place to write in,” grumbled Mr. Brodribb; “however—”

      Without finishing the sentence, he sat down at the table, and, having found some sermon paper, dipped a pen in the ink by way of encouraging his thoughts. At this moment Thorndyke quietly slipped out of the room, and I proceeded to make a detailed examination of the body: in which occupation I was interrupted at intervals by requests from the lawyer that I should refresh his memory.

      We had been occupied thus for about a quarter of an hour, when a quick step was heard outside, the door was opened abruptly, and a man burst into the room. Brodribb rose and held out his hand.

      “This is a sad home-coming for you, Alfred,” said he.

      “Yes, my God!” the newcomer exclaimed. “It’s awful.”

      He looked askance at the corpse on the bed, and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. Alfred Calverley was not extremely prepossessing. Like his cousin, he was obviously neurotic, but there were signs of dissipation in his face, which, just now, was pale and ghastly, and wore an expression of abject fear. Moreover, his entrance was accompanied by that of a perceptible odour of brandy.

      He had walked over, without noticing me, to the writing-table, and as he stood there, talking in subdued tones with the lawyer, I suddenly found Thorndyke at my side. He had stolen in noiselessly through the door that Calverley had left open.

      “Show him Brodribb’s note,” he whispered, “and then make him go in and look at the peg.”

      With this mysterious request, he slipped out of the room as silently as he had come, unperceived either by Calverley or the lawyer.

      “Has Captain Raggerton returned with you?” Brodribb was inquiring.

      “No, he has gone into the town,” was the reply; “but he won’t be long. This will be a frightful shock to him.”

      At

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