The manner in which he examined the unfortunate young man who had so suddenly fallen a victim of an assassin showed that he was intensely interested. He grunted once or twice and sniffed suspiciously, and with some gusto took a pinch of snuff from his heavy silver box. Then, having carefully examined the mans right hand, he turned to me again, saying, as he pointed to it
Thats strange, Woodhouse, isnt it?
What? I inquired, detecting nothing.
Cant you see. His hand is clenched. He grasped something just at the moment when he was struck.
Well?
He held the lantern closer to the cold stiff hand, and pointing to the thumb that was closely clenched upon the fingers, said
Cant you see anything there?
I looked, and then for the first time detected that beneath the thumb was something white a tiny piece of white fur!
Thats out of a womans jacket, or boa, or something, he declared, gradually disengaging it, and placing it in the hollow of his hand for closer inspection. There are one or two black hairs with it, showing it, I believe, to be ermine fur a woman who wore some garment of ermine.
Are you certain? I gasped.
Almost but not quite until I put it beneath the microscope. Then Ill be able to tell for certain. But surely it couldnt have been a woman who killed him?
It looks very much like it, sir, remarked Knight, who had been gazing eagerly over the doctors shoulder.
Then what woman? asked Warr, glancing across at me.
I held my breath. A silence fell between us. The mystery was of such a character that neither of us dare advance any further theory.
For my own part, however, the discovery of this tiny piece of fur was directly suspicious, and went much to confirm my belief that Lolita had been at the spot where the tragedy had been enacted, for I now recollected that sometimes when she went out after dinner she put on a wide ermine boa with long ends to cover her shoulders, a very handsome piece of fur that had been brought for her from Petersburg when the young Countess of Stanchester went to visit the Grand-Duchess Paul in the previous winter.
Was it possible that the poor young fellow had clutched at it in his dying grasp? Or had he seized the fur garment of some other woman?
Yet, I recollected, furs are not usually worn in mid-August save just to throw over a dinner-gown as protection from chills when the damp is rising after the heat of the day.
On the other hand, I tried to convince myself that the cry was not that of the sweet-eyed woman I loved; nevertheless, such thought was in vain. I knew that voice far too well to have been mistaken.
For quite an hour Pink continued his investigations as keenly and methodically as any practised detective, for he rather prided himself upon the manner in which he made discoveries about persons, and frequently astounded his patients by his knowledge of their actions and movements, which they believed only known to themselves. At last, however, he exhausted all the points possible to investigate without a post-mortem, and just as the church clock struck three we came forth, Warr locking the door of the outhouse, while Knight left us to ride on his bicycle into Northampton to report to the headquarters of the constabulary.
Pinks way lay past my house, for he lived in a big, square, comfortable house about a quarter of a mile out of the village, on the London road, and as we walked together up the silent street, he suddenly said
Do you know, Woodhouse, I have a firm belief that the young fellow has been murdered by some woman! We must search the spot early in the morning and see if we cant find some footprints, or other traces. Fortunately, its damp in that hollow, and a womans heel would leave a well-defined mark. Will you be ready at seven to go back there with me?
The suggestion had never occurred to me, and my heart stood still when I reflected what tell-tale traces might there be left. But I strove to show no dismay, merely answering
Certainly. Ill be ready. We may discover something to give the police a clue.
Police! he cried. Theyre useless. We shall have a swarm of thick-headed bunglers over here to-morrow. If they sent one smart man down from Scotland Yard they might do some good. But the plain-clothes men of the local constabulary havent sufficient practice in serious crime to pursue any clever methods of investigation.
Well, then, at seven, I exclaimed, for we had just reached my gate, and I was anxious to get to my own room and ascertain the nature of the paper I had managed to secure from the lining of the dead mans waistcoat.
Thats an appointment, he said, and as I turned and entered my old-fashioned, ivy-covered house with my latch-key, he pursued his way up the short steep hill towards his home.
Within my own cosy sitting-room the green-shaded reading-lamp was still burning, and Mrs Dawson, my attentive housekeeper, had placed my slippers ready in their accustomed corner. But throwing off my light overcoat I cast myself instantly into my favourite grandfather chair, and drew from my pocket the clue I had surreptitiously stolen.
The piece of paper was pale blue, and as I opened it a cry of dismay involuntarily escaped me.
What was inscribed upon it was so strange!
Chapter Five
Reveals Three Curious Facts
There was no writing on the carefully-concealed scrap of paper. Only five rows of numerals, written in a fine feminine hand and arranged in the following manner:
63 26 59 69 65 56 65 33 59 35 65 44
49 55 22 59 57 46 78 63 23 98 59 39
46 67 82 45 58 35 54 45 46 26 78 75
68 75 49 64 22 86 48 73 78 45 62 45
76 47 64 66 85 44 78 48 73 78 58 62
I turned the paper over, utterly puzzled. It was certainly some cipher, but of a kind of which I knew nothing. Ciphers may of course be very easily constructed and yet defy solution. This appeared to be one of those. What hidden message it contained, I had no idea, save that it was certain to be something of importance and that some other person was in possession of the secret of the decipher, or its recipient would not have concealed it where he did.
If I could only read it, a clue to the dead mans identity would no doubt be revealed. But as I glanced at those puzzling rows of numerals I felt that to endeavour to learn their secret was but a vain hope. I had expected to find upon that scrap of paper some intelligible letter, and was sorely disappointed at what I had discovered.
The further I pushed my inquiries, the more mysterious the affair seemed to become. A dozen times I tried by ordinary methods to turn the numbers into writing, but my calculations only resulted in an unmeaning array of letters of the alphabet, a chaos quite unintelligible, therefore I was at length compelled to abandon my efforts, and after examining the ring and deciding that it was a copy of one of those old Etruscan rings that I had seen in the British Museum, I reluctantly went upstairs to snatch an hours sleep before the dawn.
My brain was awhirl. Following so quickly the strange declarations of Lolita had come this startling tragedy with all its mysterious and suspicious features. As I lay awake, listening to the solemn striking of the hour from the old church tower which told me that daylight was not far off, I recollected that Lolita had probably recognised the shabby stranger in the tap-room of the Stanchester Arms as she drove past. I remembered how he had held back, as though fearing recognition, and also that, as the carriage went by, her head had been half-turned in our direction. If she had detected his presence she had certainly made no sign, yet it must have been that discovery that had caused her to speak so strangely and to seek my aid in the manner she had done.