Chapter 1

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_Title:_ The Blue Sequin
_Date of first publication:_ 1929
_Author:_ Richard Austin Freeman (1862-1943)
_Date first posted:_ July 11, 2018
_Date last updated:_ July 11, 2018
Faded Page eBook #20180734

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[Cover Illustration]

10 THE BLUE SEQUIN

Thorndyke stood looking up and down the platform with anxiety that
increased as the time drew near for the departure of the train.

“This is very unfortunate,” he said, reluctantly stepping into an empty
smoking compartment as the guard executed a flourish with his green
flag. “I am afraid we have missed our friend.” He closed the door, and,
as the train began to move, thrust his head out of the window.

“Now I wonder if that will be he,” he continued. “If so, he has caught
the train by the skin of his teeth, and is now in one of the rear
compartments.”

The subject of Thorndyke’s speculations was Mr. Edward Stopford, of the
firm of Stopford and Myers, of Portugal Street, solicitors, and his
connection with us at present arose out of a telegram that had reached
our chambers on the preceding evening. It was reply-paid, and ran thus:

“Can you come here to-morrow to direct defence? Important case.
All costs undertaken by us.—Stopford and Myers.”

Thorndyke’s reply had been in the affirmative, and early on this present
morning a further telegram—evidently posted overnight—had been
delivered:

“Shall leave for Woldhurst by 8.25 from Charing Cross. Will call
for you if possible.—Edward Stopford.”

He had not called, however, and, since he was unknown personally to us
both, we could not judge whether or not he had been among the passengers
on the platform.

“It is most unfortunate,” Thorndyke repeated, “for it deprives us of
that preliminary consideration of the case which is so invaluable.” He
filled his pipe thoughtfully, and, having made a fruitless inspection of
the platform at London Bridge, took up the paper that he had bought at
the bookstall, and began to turn over the leaves, running his eye
quickly down the columns, unmindful of the journalistic baits in
paragraph or article.

“It is a great disadvantage,” he observed, while still glancing through
the paper, “to come plump into an inquiry without preparation—to be
confronted with the details before one has a chance of considering the
case in general terms. For instance——”

He paused, leaving the sentence unfinished, and as I looked up
inquiringly I saw that he had turned over another page, and was now
reading attentively.

“This looks like our case, Jervis,” he said presently, handing me the
paper and indicating a paragraph at the top of the page. It was quite
brief, and was headed “Terrible Murder in Kent,” the account being as
follows:

“A shocking crime was discovered yesterday morning at the little town of
Woldhurst, which lies on the branch line from Halbury Junction. The
discovery was made by a porter who was inspecting the carriages of the
train which had just come in. On opening the door of a first-class
compartment, he was horrified to find the body of a fashionably-dressed
woman stretched upon the floor. Medical aid was immediately summoned,
and on the arrival of the divisional surgeon, Dr. Morton, it was
ascertained that the woman had not been dead more than a few minutes.

“The state of the corpse leaves no doubt that a murder of a most brutal
kind has been perpetrated, the cause of death being a penetrating wound
of the head, inflicted with some pointed implement, which must have been
used with terrible violence, since it has perforated the skull and
entered the brain. That robbery was not the motive of the crime is made
clear by the fact that an expensively fitted dressing-bag was found on
the rack, and that the dead woman’s jewellery, including several
valuable diamond rings, was untouched. It is rumoured that an arrest has
been made by the local police.”

“A gruesome affair,” I remarked, as I handed back the paper, “but the
report does not give us much information.”

“It does not,” Thorndyke agreed, “and yet it gives us something to
consider. Here is a perforating wound of the skull, inflicted with some
pointed implement—that is, assuming that it is not a bullet wound. Now,
what kind of implement would be capable of inflicting such an injury?
How would such an implement be used in the confined space of a
railway-carriage, and what sort of person would be in possession of such
an implement? These are preliminary questions that are worth
considering, and I commend them to you, together with the further
problems of the possible motive—excluding robbery—and any
circumstances other than murder which might account for the injury.”

“The choice of suitable implements is not very great,” I observed.

“It is very limited, and most of them, such as a plasterer’s pick or a
geological hammer, are associated with certain definite occupations. You
have a notebook?”

I had, and, accepting the hint, I produced it and pursued my further
reflections in silence, while my companion, with his notebook also on
his knee, gazed steadily out of the window. And thus he remained,
wrapped in thought, jotting down an entry now and again in his book,
until the train slowed down at Halbury Junction, where we had to change
on to a branch line.

As we stepped out, I noticed a well-dressed man hurrying up the platform
from the rear and eagerly scanning the faces of the few passengers who
had alighted. Soon he espied us, and, approaching quickly, asked, as he
looked from one of us to the other:

“Dr. Thorndyke?”

“Yes,” replied my colleague, adding: “And you, I presume, are Mr. Edward
Stopford?”

The solicitor bowed. “This is a dreadful affair,” he said, in an
agitated manner. “I see you have the paper. A most shocking affair. I am
immensely relieved to find you here. Nearly missed the train, and feared
I should miss you.”

“There appears to have been an arrest,” Thorndyke began.

“Yes—my brother. Terrible business. Let us walk up the platform; our
train won’t start for a quarter of an hour yet.”