Chapter 3

“None, sir. There was only one first-class coach, and the deceased was
the only person in it. It has given us all a dreadful turn, this affair
has,” he continued, as we set off up the line. “I was on the platform
when the train came in. We were watching a rick that was burning up the
line, and a rare blaze it made, too; and I was just saying that we
should have to move the cattle-truck that was on the mid-track, because,
you see, sir, the smoke and sparks were blowing across, and I thought it
would frighten the poor beasts. And Mr. Felton he don’t like his beasts
handled roughly. He says it spoils the meat.”

“No doubt he is right,” said Thorndyke. “But now, tell me, do you think
it is possible for any person to board or leave the train on the
off-side unobserved? Could a man, for instance, enter a compartment on
the off-side at one station and drop off as the train was slowing down
at the next, without being seen?”

“I doubt it,” replied the station-master. “Still, I wouldn’t say it is
impossible.”

“Thank you. Oh, and there’s another question. You have a gang of men at
work on the line, I see. Now, do those men belong to the district?”

“No, sir; they are strangers, every one, and pretty rough diamonds some
of ’em are. But I shouldn’t say there was any real harm in ’em. If you
was suspecting any of ’em of being mixed up in this——”

“I am not,” interrupted Thorndyke rather shortly. “I suspect nobody; but
I wish to get all the facts of the case at the outset.”

“Naturally, sir,” replied the abashed official; and we pursued our way
in silence.

“Do you remember, by the way,” said Thorndyke, as we approached the
empty coach, “whether the off-side door of the compartment was closed
and locked when the body was discovered?”

“It was closed, sir, but not locked. Why, sir, did you think——?”

“Nothing, nothing. The sealed compartment is the one, of course?”

Without waiting for a reply, he commenced his survey of the coach, while
I gently restrained our two companions from shadowing him, as they were
disposed to do. The off-side footboard occupied his attention specially,
and when he had scrutinised minutely the part opposite the fatal
compartment, he walked slowly from end to end with his eyes but a few
inches from its surface, as though he was searching for something.

Near what had been the rear end he stopped, and drew from his pocket a
piece of paper; then, with a moistened finger-tip he picked up from the
footboard some evidently minute object, which he carefully transferred
to the paper, folding the latter and placing it in his pocket-book.

He next mounted the footboard, and, having peered in through the window
of the sealed compartment, produced from his pocket a small insufflator
or powder-blower, with which he blew a stream of impalpable smoke-like
powder on to the edges of the middle window, bestowing the closest
attention on the irregular dusty patches in which it settled, and even
measuring one on the jamb of the window with a pocket-rule. At length he
stepped down, and, having carefully looked over the near-side footboard,
announced that he had finished for the present.

As we were returning down the line, we passed a working man, who seemed
to be viewing the chairs and sleepers with more than casual interest.

“That, I suppose, is one of the plate-layers?” Thorndyke suggested to
the station-master.

“Yes, the foreman of the gang,” was the reply.

“I’ll just step back and have a word with him, if you will walk on
slowly.” And my colleague turned back briskly and overtook the man, with
whom he remained in conversation for some minutes.

“I think I see the police inspector on the platform,” remarked
Thorndyke, as we approached the station.

“Yes, there he is,” said our guide. “Come down to see what you are
after, sir, I expect.” Which was doubtless the case, although the
officer professed to be there by the merest chance.

“You would like to see the weapon, sir, I suppose?” he remarked, when he
had introduced himself.

“The umbrella-spike,” Thorndyke corrected. “Yes, if I may. We are going
to the mortuary now.”

“Then you’ll pass the station on the way; so, if you care to look in, I
will walk up with you.”

This proposition being agreed to, we all proceeded to the police
station, including the station-master, who was on the very tiptoe of
curiosity.

“There you are, sir,” said the inspector, unlocking his office, and
ushering us in. “Don’t say we haven’t given every facility to the
defence. There are all the effects of the accused, including the very
weapon the deed was done with.”

“Come, come,” protested Thorndyke; “we mustn’t be premature.” He took
the stout ash staff from the officer, and, having examined the
formidable spike through a lens, drew from his pocket a steel
calliper-gauge, with which he carefully measured the diameter of the
spike, and the staff to which it was fixed. “And now,” he said, when he
had made a note of the measurements in his book, “we will look at the
colour-box and the sketch. Ha! a very orderly man, your brother, Mr.
Stopford. Tubes all in their places, palette-knives wiped clean, palette
cleaned off and rubbed bright, brushes wiped—they ought to be washed
before they stiffen—all this is very significant.” He unstrapped the
sketch from the blank canvas to which it was pinned, and, standing it on
a chair in a good light, stepped back to look at it.

“And you tell me that that is only three hours’ work!” he exclaimed,
looking at the lawyer. “It is really a marvellous achievement.”

“My brother is a very rapid worker,” replied Stopford dejectedly.

“Yes, but this is not only amazingly rapid; it is in his very happiest
vein—full of spirit and feeling. But we mustn’t stay to look at it
longer.” He replaced the canvas on its pins, and having glanced at the
locket and some other articles that lay in a drawer, thanked the
inspector for his courtesy and withdrew.

“That sketch and the colour-box appear very suggestive to me,” he
remarked, as we walked up the street.

“To me also,” said Stopford gloomily, “for they are under lock and key,
like their owner, poor old fellow.”

He sighed heavily, and we walked on in silence.

The mortuary-keeper had evidently heard of our arrival, for he was
waiting at the door with the key in his hand, and, on being shown the
coroner’s order, unlocked the door, and we entered together; but, after
a momentary glance at the ghostly, shrouded figure lying upon the slate
table, Stopford turned pale and retreated, saying that he would wait for
us outside with the mortuary-keeper.