Chapter V.
In Which Thorndyke Makes a Few Inquiries
If Mr. Penfield had been reluctant to arrange an interview with Margaret Purcell he was yet more unwilling to accept one with Dr. John Thorndyke. It is true that, as a lawyer of the old school, he regarded Thorndyke with a certain indulgent contempt, as a dabbler in law, an amateur, a mere doctor masquerading as a lawyer. But coupled with this contempt was an acknowledged fear. For it was not unknown to him that this medico-legal hermaphrodite had strange and disconcerting methods; that he had a habit of driving his chariot through well-established legal conventions and of using his eyes and ears in a fashion not recognized by orthodox legal precedent.
Accordingly, when he received a note from Thorndyke announcing the intention of the writer to call on him, he would have liked to decline the encounter. A less courageous man would have absented himself. But Mr. Penfield was a sportsman to the backbone, and, having got himself into difficulties by that very quality, elected to “face the music” like a man; and so it happened that when Thorndyke arrived in the clerk’s office, he was informed that Mr. Penfield was at liberty and was duly announced and ushered into the sanctum.
The old solicitor received him with a sort of stiff cordiality, helped himself to a pinch of snuff and awaited the opening of the offensive. “You have heard from Mrs. Purcell, I presume?” said Thorndyke.
“Yes. I understand that you are commissioned by her to ascertain the whereabouts of her husband; a very desirable thing to do, and I wish you every success.”
“I am sure you do,” said Thorndyke, “and it is with that conviction that I have called on you to enable you to give effect to your good wishes.”
Mr. Penfield paused, with his snuff-box open and an infinitesimal particle between his finger and thumb, to steal a quick glance at Thorndyke.
“In what way?” he asked.
“You received a certain communication concerning which you wrote to Mrs. Purcell at—”
“I beg your pardon,” interrupted Penfield, “but I received no communication. A communication was no doubt dispatched by Mr. Purcell, but it never reached me.”
“I am referring to a letter which did reach you; a letter with certain enclosures, apparently put into the wrong envelope.”
“And which,” said Penfield, “is consequently no concern of mine, or, if you will pardon my saying so, of yours.”
“Of that,” said Thorndyke, “you are doubtless a better judge than I am, since you have read the letter and I have not. But I am instructed to investigate the disappearance of Mr. Purcell, and as this letter appears to be connected with this disappearance, it naturally becomes an object of interest to me.”
“Why do you assume that it is connected with the disappearance?” Penfield demanded.
“Because of the striking coincidence of the time of its arrival and the time of the disappearance,” replied Thorndyke.
“That seems a very insufficient reason,” said Penfield.
“Not, I think,” rejoined Thorndyke, “if taken in conjunction with the terms of your own letter to Mrs. Purcell. But, do I understand you to say that there was no connection?”
“I did not say that. What I say is that I have inadvertently seen a letter which was not addressed to me and which I was not intended to see. You will agree with me that it would be entirely inadmissible for me to divulge or discuss its contents.”
“I am not sure that I do agree with you, seeing that the writer of the letter is the husband of our client and the consignee is a person unknown to us both. But you will naturally act on your own convictions. Would it be admissible for you to indicate the nature of the enclosures?”
“It would be entirely inadmissible,” replied Mr. Penfield.
There was a short silence, during which Mr. Penfield refreshed himself with a pinch of snuff and Thorndyke rapidly turned over the situation. Obviously the old solicitor did not intend to give any information whatever—possibly for very good reasons. At any rate his decision had to be accepted, and this Thorndyke proceeded to acknowledge.
“Well, Mr. Penfield,” he said, “I mustn’t urge you to act against your professional conscience. I am sure you would help me if you could. By the way, I assume that there would be no objection to my inspecting the envelope in which that letter was contained?”
“The envelope!” exclaimed Penfield, considerably startled. “Why, what information could you possibly gather from the envelope?”
“That is impossible to say until I have seen it,” was the reply.
“However,” said Penfield, “I am afraid that the same objection applies, sorry as I am to refuse.”
“But,” persisted Thorndyke, “why should you refuse? The letter, as you say, was not addressed to you; but the envelope was. It is your own envelope and is entirely at your disposal.”
Mr. Penfield was cornered and he had the wisdom to recognize the fact. Reluctant as he was to let Thorndyke examine even the envelope in which those incriminating blanks were enclosed, he saw that a refusal might arouse suspicion; and suspicion was what he must avoid at all costs. Nevertheless, he made a last effort to temporize.
“Was there any point on which I could enlighten you—in respect of the envelope? Can I give you any information?” he asked.
“I am afraid not,” replied Thorndyke. “My experience has taught me always to examine the exteriors of letters closely. By doing so one often picks up unexpected crumbs of evidence; but, naturally, one cannot tell in advance what there may be to observe.”
“No,” agreed Penfield. “Quite so. It is like cross-examination. Well, I am afraid you won’t pick up much this time, but if you really wish to inspect the envelope, I suppose, as you say, I need not scruple to place it in your hands.”
With this he rose and walked over to the safe, and opened it, opened an inner drawer, and, keeping his back towards Thorndyke, took out the envelope, which he carefully emptied of its contents. Thorndyke sat motionless, not looking at the lawyer’s back but listening intently. Not a sound, however, reached his ears until the iron drawer slid back into its case, when Penfield turned and, without a word, laid the empty envelope on the table before him.
For a few moments Thorndyke looked at the envelope as it lay, noting that, although empty, it retained the bulge caused by its late contents, and that those contents must have been somewhat bulky. Then he picked it up and inspected it methodically, committing his observations to memory, since written notes seemed unadvisable under the circumstances. It was an oblong, “commercial” envelope about six inches long by three and three quarters wide. The address was written with a pen of medium width and unusually black ink in a rather small, fluent, legible hand with elegant capitals of a distinctly uncial type. The postmark was that of Penzance, dated the 23rd of June, 8.30 p.m. But of more interest to Thorndyke than the date, which he already knew, was an impression which the postmark stamp had made by striking the corner of the enclosure and thus defining its position in the envelope. From this he was able to judge that the object enclosed was oblong in shape, about five inches long or a little more and somewhat less than three inches wide, and that it consisted of some soft material—presumably folded paper—since the blow of the metal stamp had left but a blunt impression of the corner. He next examined the edge of the flap, first with the naked eye and then with his pocket lens, and finally, turning back the flap from the place where the envelope had been neatly cut open, he closely scrutinized its inner surface.
“Have you examined this envelope, Mr. Penfield?” he asked.
“Not in that exhaustive and minute manner,” replied the solicitor, who had been watching the process with profound disfavour. “Why do you ask?”
“Because there appears to me a suggestion of its having been opened by moistening the flap and then reclosed, Just look at it through the glass, especially at the inside, where the gum seems to have spread more than one would expect from a single closing and where there is a slight cockling of the paper.” He handed the envelope and the lens to Penfield, who seemed to find some difficulty in managing the latter and after a brief inspection returned both the articles to Thorndyke.
“I have not your experience and skill,” he said. “You may be right, but all the probabilities are against your suggestion. If Purcell had reopened the letter, it would surely have been to correct an error rather than to make one. And the letter certainly belonged to the enclosures.”
“On the other hand,” said Thorndyke, “when an envelope has been steamed or damped open, it will be laid down flap uppermost, with the addressed side hidden and a mistake might occur in that way. However, there is probably nothing in it. That, I gather, is your opinion?”
Unfortunately it was. Very glad would Penfield have been to believe that the envelope had been opened and the blanks put in by another hand. But he had read Purcell’s letter and knew its connection with the enclosures.
“May I ask if you were expecting a letter from Purcell?” Thorndyke asked.
“Yes. I had written to him and was expecting a reply.”
“And would that letter have contained enclosures of about the same size as those which were sent?”
“I have no reason to suppose that it would have contained any enclosures.” Penfield replied. “None were asked for.”
Thorndyke made a mental note of this reply and of the fact that Penfield did not seem to perceive its bearing, and rose to depart.
“I am sorry to have had to be so reticent,” said Penfield as they shook hands, “but I hope your visit has not been entirely unfruitful, and I speed you on your quest with hearty good wishes.”
Thorndyke replied in similarly polite terms and went on his way, leaving Mr. Penfield in a state of profound relief at having got rid of him, not entirely unmingled with twinges of apprehension lest some incriminating fact should have leaked out unnoticed by him. Meanwhile Thorndyke, as soon as he emerged into Lombard Street, halted and made a detailed memorandum in his pocketbook of the few facts that he had gleaned.
Having thus disposed of Mr. Penfield, he turned his steps in the direction of Coleman Street with the purpose of calling on Mr. Levy; not, indeed, with the expectation of extracting much information from him, but rather to ascertain, if possible, how Purcell got his living. Arrived at the number that Margaret had given him, he read through the list of occupants in the hall but without finding among them the name of Purcell. There was, however, on the second floor a firm entitled Honeyball Brothers, who were described as “financial agents,” and as this description was the only one that seemed to meet the case he ascended the stairs and entered a small, well-furnished office bearing on its door the Honeyball superscription. The only occupant was a spectacled youth who was busily directing envelopes.
“Is Mr. Levy in?” Thorndyke enquired.
“I’ll see,” was the cautious reply. “What name?”
Thorndyke gave his name and the youth crossed to a door marked “Private” which he opened and, having passed through, closed it behind him. His investigations in the sanctum resulted in the discovery that Mr. Levy was there, a fact which he announced when he reappeared, holding the door open and inviting Thorndyke to enter. The latter accordingly walked through into the private office, when the door immediately closed behind him and a smartly-dressed, middle-aged man rose from a writing-chair and received him with an outstretched hand.
“You are Mr. Levy?” enquired Thorndyke.
“I am Mr. Levy,” was the answer, accompanied by an almost affectionate handshake and a smile of the most intense benevolence; “at your entire service, Dr. Thorndyke. Won’t you sit down? This is the more comfortable chair and is nearer to my desk and so more convenient for conversation. Ahem. We are always delighted to meet members of your profession, Doctor. We do business with quite a number of them and I may say that we find them peculiarly appreciative of the delicacy with which our transactions are conducted. Ahem. Now, in what way can I have the pleasure of being of service to you?”
“The fact is,” replied Thorndyke, “I have just called to make one or two inquiries—”
“Quite so,” interrupted Mr. Levy. “You are perfectly right. The wisdom of our ancestors, Dr. Thorndyke, expresses itself admirably in the old adage, ‘Look before you leap.’ Don’t be diffident, sir. The more inquiries you make the better we shall be pleased. Now, what is the first point?”
“Well,” Thorndyke replied, “I suppose the first point to dispose of is whether I have or have not come to the right office. My business is concerned with Mr. Daniel Purcell.”
“Then,” said Mr. Levy, “I should say that you have come to the right office. Mr. Purcell is not here at the moment, but that is of no consequence. I am his authorized deputy. What is the nature of your business, Doctor?”
“I am acting for Mrs. Purcell, who has asked me to ascertain her husband’s whereabouts, if possible.”
“I see,” said Levy. “Family doctor, hey? Well, I hope you’ll find out where he is, because then you can tell me. But isn’t Mr. Penfield looking into the matter?”
“Possibly. But Mr. Penfield is not very communicative and it is not clear that he is taking any steps to locate Purcell. May I take it that you are willing to help us, so far as you can?”
“Certainly,” replied Levy; “I’m willing enough. But if you want information you are in the same position as myself. All I know is that I haven’t got his present address, but I have no doubt I shall hear from him in due course. He is away on holiday, you must remember.”
“You know of no reason for supposing that he has gone away for good?”
“Lord bless you, no,” replied Levy. “The first I heard of anything unusual was when old Penfield came round to ask if he had been to the office. Of course he hadn’t, but I gave Penfield his address at Oulton and I wrote to Oulton myself. Then it turned out that he hadn’t gone to Oulton after all. I admit that it is queer he hasn’t written, seeing how methodical he usually is; but there is nothing to make a fuss about. Purcell isn’t the sort of man to go off on a jaunt that would involve his dropping money; I can tell you that.”
“And meanwhile his absence is not causing any embarrassment in a business sense?”
Mr. Levy rose with a somewhat foxy smile. “Do I look embarrassed?” he asked. “Try me. I should like to do a bit of business with you. No? Well, then, I will wish you good morning and good luck; and don’t worry too much about the lost sheep. He is very well able to take care of himself.” He shook hands once more with undiminished cordiality and personally escorted Thorndyke out on to the landing.
There was one other matter that had to be looked into. Mr. Varney’s rather vague report of the voyage from Falmouth to Ipswich required to be brought into the region of ascertained fact. Accordingly, from Purcell’s office Thorndyke took his way to Lloyd’s, where a brief investigation put him in possession of the name and address of the owner of the steamship Hedwig of Hernosand. With this in his note-book he turned homeward to the Temple with the immediate purpose of writing to the owner and the captain of the ship asking for a list of the passengers from Falmouth and of those who disembarked at Ipswich and further giving a description of Purcell in case he should have travelled, as was highly probable, under an assumed name.
With these particulars it would be possible at least to attempt to trace the missing man, while, if it should turn out that Varney had been misinformed, the trouble and expense of a search in the wrong place would be avoided.