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. Von 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.”
As Thorndyke drew the portrait out and regarded it thoughtfully, I recalled the shapeless, blackened fragments of its subject; and when he passed it to me, I inspected it with a certain grim interest, and mentally compared it with those grisly remains. It was a commonplace face, rather unsymmetrical—the nose was deflected markedly to the left, and the left eye had a pronounced divergent squint. The bald head, with an abundant black fringe and an irregular scar on the the side of the forehead, sought compensation in a full beard and moustache, both apparently jet-black. It was not an attractive countenance, and it was not improved by a rather odd-shaped ear—long, lobeless, and pointed above, like the ear of a satyr.
“I realise your position,” said Thorndyke, “but I don’t quite see what you want of me. If,” he continued, addressing the solicitor,” you had thought of my giving ex parte evidence, dismiss the idea. I am not a witness-advocate. All I can undertake to do is to investigate the case and try to discover what really happened. But in that case, whatever I may discover I shall disclose to the coroner. Would that suit you?”
The lawyer looked doubtful and rather glum, but Mrs. Manford interposed, firmly: “Why not? We are not proposing any deception, but I am certain that he did not commit suicide. I agree unreservedly to what you propose.”
With this understanding—which the lawyer was disposed to boggle at—our visitors took their leave. As soon as they were gone, I gave utterance to the surprise with which I had listened to Thorndyke’s proposal.
“I am astonished at your undertaking this case. Of course, you have given them fair warning, but still, it will be unpleasant if you have to give evidence unfavourable to your client.”
“Very,” he agreed. “But what makes you think I may have to?”
“Well, you seem to reject the probability of suicide, but have you forgotten the evidence at the inquest?”
“Perhaps I have,” he replied blandly. “Let us go over it again.”
I fetched the report from the office, and spreading it out on the table began to read it aloud. Passing over the evidence of the inspector and the fireman, I came to that of the night-watchman.
“Shortly after I came on duty at ten o’clock, a foreign, gentleman named Bilsky called to see Mr. Manford. I knew him by sight, because he had called once or twice before at about the same time. I took him up to the laboratory, where Mr. Manford was doing something with a big crucible on the gas furnace. He told me that he had some business to transact with Mr. Bilsky and when he had finished he would let him out. Then he was going to do some experiments in making alloys, and as they would probably take up most of the night he said I might as well turn in. He said he would call me when he was ready to go. So I told him to be careful with the furnace and not set the place on fire and burn me in my bed, and then I went downstairs. I had a look round to see that everything was in order, and then I took off my boots and laid down. About half-past twelve I heard Mr. Manford and Bilsky come down. I recognised Mr. Bilsky by a peculiar cough that he had and by the sound of his stick and his limping tread—he had something the matter with his right foot and walked quite lame.”
“You say that the deceased came down with him,” said the coroner. “Are you quite sure of that?”
“Well, I suppose Mr. Manford came down with him, but I can’t say I actually heard him.”
“You did not hear him go up again?”
“No, I didn’t. But I was rather sleepy and I wasn’t listening very particular. Well, then I went to sleep and slept till about half-past one, when some noise woke me. I was just getting up to see what it was when I heard a tremendous bang, right overhead. I ran down and turned the gas off at the main and then I got a fire extinguisher and ran up to the laboratory. The place seemed to be all in a blaze, but it wasn’t much of a fire after all, for by the time the fire engines arrived I had got it practically out.”
The witness then described the state of the laboratory and the finding of the body, but as this was already known to us, I passed on to the evidence of the next witness, the superintendent of the fire brigade, who had made a preliminary inspection of the premises. It was a cautious statement and subject to the results of a further examination; but clearly the officer was not satisfied as to the cause of the outbreak. There seemed to have been two separate explosions, one near a cupboard and another—apparently the second—in the cupboard itself; and there seemed to be a burned track connecting the two spots. This might have been accidental or it might have been arranged. Witness did not think that the explosive was celluloid. It seemed to be a high explosive of some kind. But further investigations were being made.
The superintendent was followed by Mrs. Manford, whose evidence was substantially similar to what she and Mr. Herdman had told us, and by the police surgeon, whose description of the remains conveyed nothing new to us. Finally, the inquest was adjourned for three weeks to allow of further examination of the premises and the remains.
“Now,” I said, as I folded up the report, “I don’t see how you are able to exclude suicide. If the explosion was arranged to occur when Manford was in the laboratory, what object, other than suicide, can be imagined?”
Thorndyke looked at me with an expression that I knew only too well. “Is it impossible,” he asked, “to imagine that the object might have been homicide?”
“But,” I objected, “there was no one there but Manford—after Bilsky left.”
“Exactly,” he agreed, dryly; “after Bilsky left. But up to that time there were two persons there.”
I must confess that I was startled, but as I rapidly reviewed the circumstances I percieved the cogency of Thorndyke’s suggestion. Bilsky had been present when Manford dismissed the night-watchman. He