ARTHUR MORRISON Ultimate Collection: 80+ Mysteries, Detective Stories & Dark Fantasy Tales (Illustrated). Arthur Morrison
and handed it to the daughter, thanking her for the loan.
There was little evidence at the inquest. The shot had been heard, the body had been found—that was the practical sum of the matter. No friends or relatives of the dead man came forward. The doctor gave his opinion as to the probability of suicide or an accident, and the police evidence tended in the same direction. Nothing had been found to indicate that any other person had been near the dead man’s rooms on the night of the fatality. On the other hand, his papers, bankbook, etc., proved him to be a man of considerable substance, with no apparent motive for suicide. The police had been unable to trace any relatives, or, indeed, any nearer connections than casual acquaintances, fellow-clubmen, and so on. The jury found that Mr. Foggatt had died by accident.
“Well, Brett,” Hewitt asked me afterward, “what do you think of the verdict?”
I said that it seemed to be the most reasonable one possible, and to square with the common-sense view of the case.
“Yes,” he replied, “perhaps it does. From the point of view of the jury, and on their information, their verdict was quite reasonable. Nevertheless, Mr. Foggatt did not shoot himself. He was shot by a rather tall, active young man, perhaps a sailor, but certainly a gymnast—a young man whom I think I could identify if I saw him.”
“But how do you know this?”
“By the simplest possible inferences, which you may easily guess, if you will but think.”
“But, then, why didn’t you say this at the inquest?”
“My dear fellow, they don’t want any inferences and conjectures at an inquest; they only want evidence. If I had traced the murderer, of course then I should have communicated with the police. As a matter of fact, it is quite possible that the police have observed and know as much as I do—or more. They don’t give everything away at an inquest, you know. It wouldn’t do.”
“But, if you are right, how did the man get away?”
“Come, we are near home now. Let us take a look at the back of the house. He couldn’t have left by Foggatt’s landing door, as we know; and as he was there (I am certain of that), and as the chimney is out of the question—for there was a good fire in the grate—he must have gone out by the window. Only one window is possible—that with the broken catch—for all the others were fastened inside. Out of that window, then, he went.”
“But how? The window is fifty feet up.”
“Of course it is. But why will you persist in assuming that the only way of escape by a window is downward? See, now, look up there. The window is at the top floor, and it has a very broad sill. Over the window is nothing but the flat face of the gable-end; but to the right, and a foot or two above the level of the top of the window, an iron gutter ends. Observe, it is not of lead composition, but a strong iron gutter, supported, just at its end, by an iron bracket. If a tall man stood on the end of the window-sill, steadying himself by the left hand and leaning to the right, he could just touch the end of this gutter with his right hand. The full stretch, toe to finger, is seven feet three inches. I have measured it. An active gymnast, or a sailor, could catch the gutter with a slight spring, and by it draw himself upon the roof. You will say he would have to be very active, dexterous, and cool. So he would. And that very fact helps us, because it narrows the field of inquiry. We know the sort of man to look for. Because, being certain (as I am) that the man was in the room, I know that he left in the way I am telling you. He must have left in some way, and, all the other ways being impossible, this alone remains, difficult as the feat may seem. The fact of his shutting the window behind him further proves his coolness and address at so great a height from the ground.”
All this was very plain, but the main point was still dark.
“You say you know that another man was in the room,” I said; “how do you know that?”
“As I said, by an obvious inference. Come, now, you shall guess how I arrived at that inference. You often speak of your interest in my work, and the attention with which you follow it. This shall be a simple exercise for you. You saw everything in the room as plainly as I myself. Bring the scene back to your memory, and think over the various small objects littering about, and how they would affect the case. Quick observation is the first essential for my work. Did you see a newspaper, for instance?”
“Yes. There was an evening paper on the floor, but I didn’t examine it.”
“Anything else?”
“On the table there was a whisky decanter, taken from the tantalus-stand on the sideboard, and one glass. That, by the by,” I added, “looked as though only one person were present.”
“So it did, perhaps, although the inference wouldn’t be very strong. Go on!”
“There was a fruit-stand on the sideboard, with a plate beside it containing a few nutshells, a piece of apple, a pair of nut-crackers, and, I think, some orange peel. There was, of course, all the ordinary furniture, but no chair pulled up to the table, except that used by Foggatt himself. That’s all I noticed, I think. Stay—there was an ash-tray on the table, and a partly burned cigar near it—only one cigar, though.”
“Excellent—excellent, indeed, as far as memory and simple observation go. You saw everything plainly, and you remember everything. Surely now you know how I found out that another man had just left?”
“No, I don’t; unless there were different kinds of ash in the ash-tray.”
“That is a fairly good suggestion, but there were not—there was only a single ash, corresponding in every way to that on the cigar. Don’t you remember everything that I did as we went down-stairs?”
“You returned a bottle of oil to the housekeeper’s daughter, I think.”
“I did. Doesn’t that give you a hint? Come, you surely have it now?”
“I haven’t.”
“Then I sha’n’t tell you; you don’t deserve it. Think, and don’t mention the subject again till you have at least one guess to make. The thing stares you in the face; you see it, you remember it, and yet you won’t see it. I won’t encourage your slovenliness of thought, my boy, by telling you what you can know for yourself if you like. Good-by—I’m off now. There’s a case in hand I can’t neglect.”
“Don’t you propose to go further into this, then?”
Hewitt shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not a policeman,” he said. “The case is in very good hands. Of course, if anybody comes to me to do it as a matter of business, I’ll take it up. It’s very interesting, but I can’t neglect my regular work for it. Naturally, I shall keep my eyes open and my memory in order. Sometimes these things come into the hands by themselves, as it were; in that case, of course, I am a loyal citizen, and ready to help the law. Au revoir.”
I am a busy man myself, and thought little more of Hewitt’s conundrum for some time; indeed, when I did think, I saw no way to the answer. A week after the inquest I took a holiday (I had written my nightly leaders regularly every day for the past five years), and saw no more of Hewitt for six weeks. After my return, with still a few days of leave to run, one evening we together turned into Luzatti’s, off Coventry Street, for dinner.
“I have been here several times lately,” Hewitt said; “they feed you very well. No, not that table”—he seized my arm as I turned to an unoccupied corner—“I fancy it’s draughty.” He led the way to a longer table where a dark, lithe, and (as well as could be seen) tall young man already sat, and took chairs opposite him.
We had scarcely seated ourselves before Hewitt broke into a torrent of conversation on the subject of bicycling. As our previous conversation had been of a literary sort, and as I had never known Hewitt at any other time to show the slightest interest in bicycling, this rather surprised me. I had, however,