furnished than one would have expected in such a house, for although in a first-class and rather expensive neighbourhood the row of houses had declined in popularity of late years, and was now inhabited mostly by the lodging-house fraternity.
In moving about the room, however, my coat caught the plate laid for the person who was to occupy the head of the table, and it was nearly swept off. I saved it, however, but beneath was revealed a plain white card which, until that moment, had been concealed. Patterson caught sight of it at the same moment, and taking it in my hand I examined it, finding that it was a plain visiting card of lady’s size, one side being blank, and other bearing a roughly-drawn circle in ink.
There was nothing else.
“That’s certainly curious,” my companion remarked, looking over my shoulder.
“Yes,” I said, lifting a second plate to see what was there concealed, and finding another card, in all appearances similar, plain, but bearing across its reverse a single straight line drawn with a pen.
“By Jove!” observed Patterson, lifting the other plate, and finding a third card, “this is certainly very strange.”
He turned the card over, but it was blank on both sides.
“I wonder what game is this, or whether these have any connexion with the crime?” I exclaimed, holding all three of the cards in my hand, turning them over and examining them carefully beneath the light. “By the ink they have the appearance of having been prepared long ago. See!” I added, holding one of them towards him, “the corners of this one are slightly turned up and soiled. It has been carried in some one’s pocket, and is not a fresh card.”
Again Patterson took it and examined it. It was the one with the line drawn across it. The others were quite clean, as if just taken fresh from a packet.
“There’s some mystery about these,” he said reflectively, as though speaking to himself. “If we could but solve it we should likewise solve the problem of the crime, depend upon it.”
“No doubt,” I assented. “Each of them have some meaning, occult but extraordinary. They were turned face downwards so that the accidental removal of the plate would not reveal the device upon them.”
“The devices are simple enough, but undoubtedly they have some hidden meaning,” my friend said.
“They were evidently concealed there, and the three persons, unsuspecting, were to discover them when the first plates were removed,” I suggested.
He placed them together on the table, saying —
“Better let Boyd see them when he comes down. The affair grows more queer and complicated as we proceed.”
“Don’t you recollect,” I said suddenly, “in the dead man’s pocket was a card exactly similar, but quite blank. You threw it into the fireplace.”
“Ah! of course,” he answered quickly. “That fact shows that he had something to do with these mysterious symbols. I wonder what is their real meaning.”
“I wonder,” I said. “As you say, the mystery grows each moment more and more inexplicable. Curious, too, that the snake in the garden path should have directed your attention to it.”
“No,” he said quickly, his face in an instant pale and serious, “don’t mention that, there’s a good fellow. I’m trying not to think of it; for when I recollect all that it means to me I’m unnerved.”
“Bah!” I laughed. “Surely there’s nothing to fear. It only shows that however careful the assassin is to cover his crime it must be unearthed sooner or later. The finger of Fate always points to the crime of murder, however well it may be concealed.”
“True,” he sighed, his brows knit in serious thought. “But the finger of Fate has in this case shown me an omen of evil.”
“You’re a fool, Patterson,” I said bluntly. “You have here every chance to distinguish yourself as a shrewd officer, yet you calmly stand by talking of omens and all that rot.”
“Yes,” he answered. “I know I’m an idiot, Mr Urwin, but I can’t help it. That’s the worst of it.”
“Well,” I suggested, “while Boyd is upstairs, why not make inquiries of the next-door neighbours regarding those who occupied this place?”
He at once acted on my suggestion, and together we went out and rang the bell of the house adjoining on the right. My friend’s curious apathy in this matter surprised me, for usually he was a quick, active fellow, who prosecuted his inquiries methodically, and worked up evidence in a manner that had more than once called forth the commendation of the judge at the Old Bailey. That night, however, he was plainly upset — nervous, trembling and agitated, in a manner quite unusual to him.
Boyd, the keen-eyed, quick-witted detective inspector, had noticed this when at the police-station, but Patterson had only replied —
“I’m a bit unwell, that’s all.”
Our summons at the house next door was answered by the occupier’s wife, a rather stout, white-haired, gaily-capped old lady named Luff.
The appearance of Patterson in uniform surprised her, but when she had asked us in, and we were seated, he said —
“There is no occasion to be alarmed, madam. I have merely called to make an inquiry of you. It is in your power to render us assistance in a rather confidential matter regarding the occupiers of the house next door — your neighbours on the left. What do you know of them?”
“Nothing,” she answered. “They came about six months ago, a young lady and a very old gentleman, with a single maid-servant. They speak to no one, and, as far as I have observed, have very few friends. I have often remarked to my son, who is a civil engineer, and now away making the railway in China, that they are a mysterious couple. What is wrong with them?”
“Oh, it’s simply a private matter,” my companion answered carelessly, not wishing to alarm the neighbourhood by news of our discovery.
“What is the old gentleman like? Can you describe him?” I inquired. No doubt she took me for a detective, but at that moment this thought did not occur to me.
“He is sixty, I should think, old and decrepit, with white hair, and always walks with a stick.”
“And the lady was his daughter?” suggested the inspector.
“I suppose her to be his daughter,” she answered. “The old man’s name is Dawson, I believe — at least one day a messenger-boy brought a note here by mistake, addressed to Professor Dawson. The daughter is a very good pianist, and plays every morning regularly.”
“They are well off, as far as you can judge?” Patterson inquired with his assumed careless air.
“No, I don’t think they are, because my maid heard at Boucher’s — the grocer’s across the way — that they owed a large bill which they couldn’t settle. Again, people who have a house of that sort do not have coal by the hundredweight taken down into the kitchen as they do.”
Patterson nodded. No more sure sign of a light purse is there than the purchase of coal by the half-sack. Yet the interior of that house, with its well-laid dinner-table, certainly did not betray any sign of poverty. Indeed, I had noticed in the cellar a dusty stock of choice wines, hocks, ports, and champagnes of expensive brands.
“You don’t know the young lady’s name, then?” asked my friend, after a slight pause.
“If she’s really his daughter it would, I suppose, be Dawson,” she replied with a smile. “But I’m not certain, remember, as to either of their names.”
“Perhaps your servants may know something about them. Servants generally gossip and pick up information about one’s neighbours, you know.”
“You are right,” answered the affable old lady, “they gossip far too much. Unfortunately, however,