“Only that we are keeping our intellectual joints supple,” Thorndyke
replied with a smile. “But it is getting late. Perhaps we had better
adjourn the inquiry.”
At this moment, however, the inspector discovered the missing
forearm—completely charred—with the fingerless remains of the hand,
and almost immediately afterwards the watchman picked up a dental plate
of some white metal, which seemed to be practically uninjured. But our
brief inspection of these objects elicited nothing of interest, and
having glanced at them, we took our departure, avoiding on the stairs an
eager reporter, all agog for “copy.”
A few days later we received a visit, by appointment, from a Mr.
Herdman, a solicitor who was unknown to us and who was accompanied by
the widow of Mr. James Manford, the victim of the explosion. In the
interval the inquest had been opened but had been adjourned for further
examination of the premises and the remains. No mention had been made of
our visit to the building, and so far as I knew nothing had been said to
anybody on the subject.
Mr. Herdman came to the point with business-like directness.
“I have called,” he said, “to secure your services, if possible, in
regard to the matter of which I spoke in my letter. You have probably
seen an account of the disaster in the papers?”
“Yes,” replied Thorndyke. “I read the report of the inquest.”
“Then you know the principal facts. The inquest, as you know, was
adjourned for three weeks. When it is resumed, I should like to retain
you to attend on behalf of Mrs. Manford.”
“To watch the case on her behalf?” Thorndyke suggested.
“Well, not exactly,” replied Herdman. “I should ask you to inspect the
premises and the remains of poor Mr. Manford, so that, at the adjourned
inquest, you could give evidence to the effect that the explosion and
the death of Mr. Manford were entirely due to accident.”
“Does anyone say that they were not?” Thorndyke asked.
“No, certainly not,” Mr. Herdman replied hastily. “Not at all. But I
happened, quite by chance, to see the manager of the ‘Pilot’ Insurance
Society, on another matter, and I mentioned the case of Mr. Manford. He
then let drop a remark which made me slightly uneasy. He observed that
there was a suicide clause in the policy, and that the possibility of
suicide would have to be ruled out before the claim could be settled.
Which suggested a possible intention to contest the claim.”
“But,” said Thorndyke, “I need not point out to you that if he sets up
the theory of suicide, it is for him to prove it, not for you to
disprove it. Has anything transpired that would lend colour to such a
suggestion?”
“Nothing material,” was the reply. “But we should feel more happy if you
could be present and give positive evidence that the death was
accidental.”
“That,” said Thorndyke, “would be hardly possible. But my feeling is
that the suicide question is negligible. There is nothing to suggest it,
so far as I know. Is there anything known to you?”
The solicitor glanced at his client and replied somewhat evasively:
“We are anxious to secure ourselves. Mrs. Manford is left very badly
off, unless there is some personal property that we don’t know about. If
the insurance is not paid, she will be absolutely ruined. There isn’t
enough to pay the debts. And I think the suicide question might be
raised—even successfully—on several points. Manford had been rather
queer lately: jumpy and rather worried. Then, he was under notice to
terminate his engagement at the works. His finances were in a confused
state; goodness knows why, for he had a liberal salary. And then there
was some domestic trouble. Mrs. Manford had actually consulted me about
getting a separation. Some other woman, you know.”
“I should like to forget that,” said Mrs. Manford; “and it wasn’t that
which worried him. Quite the contrary. Since it began he had been quite
changed. So smart in his dress and so particular in his appearance. He
even took to dyeing his hair. I remember that he opened a fresh bottle
of dye the very morning before his death and took no end of trouble
putting it on. It wasn’t that entanglement that made him jumpy. It was
his money affairs. He had too many irons in the fire.”
Thorndyke listened with patient attention to these rather irrelevant
details and inquired: “What sort of irons?”
“I will tell you,” said Herdman. “About three months ago he had need for
two thousand pounds; for what purpose, I can’t say, but Mrs. Manford
thinks it was to invest in certain valuables that he used to purchase
from time to time from a Russian dealer named Bilsky. At any rate, he
got this sum on short loan from a Mr. Clines, but meanwhile arranged for
a longer loan with a Mr. Elliott on a note of hand and an agreement to
insure his life for the amount.
“As a matter of fact, the policy was made out in Elliott’s name, he
having proved an insurable interest. So if the insurance is paid,
Elliott is settled with. Otherwise the debt falls on the estate, which
would be disastrous; and to make it worse, the day before his death, he
drew out five hundred pounds—nearly the whole balance—as he was
expecting to see Mr. Bilsky, who liked to be paid in bank-notes. He did
see him, in fact, at the laboratory, but they couldn’t have done any
business, as no jewels were found.”
“And the bank-notes?”
“Burned with the body, presumably. He must have had them with him.”
“You mentioned,” said Thorndyke, “that he occasionally bought jewels
from this Russian. What became of them?”
“Ah!” replied Herdman, “there is a gleam of hope there. He had a safe
deposit somewhere. We haven’t located it yet, but we shall. There may be
quite a nice little nest-egg in it. But meanwhile there is the debt to
Elliott. He wrote to Manford about it a day or two ago. You have the
letter, I think,” he added, addressing Mrs. Manford, who thereupon
produced two envelopes from her handbag and laid them on the table.
“This is Mr. Elliott’s letter,” she said. “Merely a friendly reminder,
you see, telling him that he is just off to the Continent and that he
has given his wife a power of attorney to act in his absence.”
Thorndyke glanced through the letter and made a few notes of its
contents. Then he looked inquiringly at the other envelope.
“That,” said Mrs. Manford, “is a photograph of my husband. I thought it
might help you if you were going to examine the body.”
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