Dunbar took it up eagerly. A small hole had been burned in one end of the envelope and much of the surrounding paper was charred. The wax with which Stuart had sealed it had lain uppermost, and although it had been partly melted, the mark of his signet-ring was still discernible upon it. Dunbar stood staring at it.
"In the circumstances, Inspector, I think you would be justified in opening both envelopes," said Stuart.
"I am inclined to agree. But let me just be clear on one or two points." He took out the bulging note-book and also a fountain-pen with which he prepared to make entries. "About this cabman, now. You didn't by any chance note the number of his cab?"
"I did not."
"What build of man was he?"
"Over medium height and muscular. Somewhat inclined to flesh and past his youth, but active all the same."
"Dark or fair?"
"Dark and streaked with grey. I noted this particularly in dressing his skull. He wore his hair cropped close to the scalp. He had a short beard and moustache and heavily marked eyebrows. He seemed to be very short-sighted and kept his eyes so screwed up that it was impossible to detect their colour, by night at any rate."
"What sort of wound had he on his skull?"
"A short ugly gash. He had caught his head on the footboard in falling. I may add that on the occasion of his professional visit his breath smelled strongly of spirits, and I rather suspected that his accident might have been traceable to his condition."
"But he wasn't actually drunk?"
"By no means. He was perfectly sober, but he had recently been drinking—possibly because his fall had shaken him, of course."
"His hands?"
"Small and very muscular. Quite steady. Also very dirty."
"What part of the country should you say he hailed from?"
"London. He had a marked cockney accent."
"What make of cab was it?"
"I couldn't say."
"An old cab?"
"Yes. The fittings were dilapidated, I remember, and the cab had a very musty smell."
"Ah," said Dunbar, making several notes. "And now—the lady: about what would be her age?"
"Difficult to say, Inspector. She had Eastern blood and may have been much younger than she appeared to be. Judged from a European standpoint and from her appearance and manner of dress, she might be about twenty-three or twenty-four."
"Complexion?"
"Wonderful. Fresh as a flower."
"Eyes?"
"Dark. They looked black at night."
"Hair?"
"Brown and 'fuzzy' with copper tints."
"Tall?"
"No; slight but beautifully shaped."
"Now—from her accent what should you judge her nationality to be?"
Stuart paced up and down the room, his head lowered in reflection, then:
"She pronounced both English and French words with an intonation which suggested familiarity with Arabic."
"Arabic? That still leaves a fairly wide field."
"It does, Inspector, but I had no means of learning more. She had certainly lived for a long time somewhere in the Near East."
"Her jewellery?"
"Some of it was European and some of it Oriental, but not characteristic of any particular country of the Orient."
"Did she use perfume?"
"Yes, but it was scarcely discernible. Jasmine—probably the Eastern preparation."
"Her ailment was imaginary?"
"I fear so."
"H'm—and now you say that Mrs. M'Gregor saw the car?"
"Yes, but she has retired."
"Her evidence will do to-morrow. We come to the man in the hood. Can you give me any kind of a description of him?"
"He appeared to be tall, but a shadow is deceptive, and his extraordinary costume would produce that effect, too. I can tell you absolutely nothing further about him. Remember, I thought I was dreaming. I could not credit my senses."
Inspector Dunbar glanced over the notes which he had made, then returning the note-book and pen to his pocket, he took up the long smoke-discoloured envelope and with a paper-knife which lay upon the table slit one end open. Inserting two fingers, he drew out the second envelope which the first enclosed. It was an ordinary commercial envelope only notable by reason of the number, 30, appearing in large red figures upon it and because it was sealed with black wax bearing a weird-looking device:
Stuart bent over him intently as he slit this envelope in turn. Again, he inserted two fingers—and brought forth the sole contents… a plain piece of cardboard, roughly rectangular and obviously cut in haste from the lid of a common cardboard box!
Chapter 8 The Assistant Commissioner's Theory
On the following morning Inspector Dunbar, having questioned Mrs. M'Gregor respecting the car in which Mlle. Dorian had visited the house and having elicited no other evidence than that it was "a fine luxurious concern," the Inspector and Dr. Stuart prepared to set out upon gruesome business. Mrs. M'Gregor was very favourably impressed with the Inspector. "A grand, pairsonable body," she confided to Stuart. "He'd look bonny in the kilt."
To an East-End mortuary the cab bore them, and they were led by a constable in attendance to a stone-paved, ill-lighted apartment in which a swathed form lay upon a long deal table. The spectacle presented, when the covering was removed, was one to have shocked less hardened nerves than those of Stuart and Dunbar; but the duties of a police officer, like those of a medical man, not infrequently necessitate such inspections. The two bent over the tragic flotsam of the Thames unmoved and critical.
"H'm," said Stuart—"he's about the build, certainly. Hair iron-grey and close cropped and he seems to have worn a beard. Now, let us see."
He bent, making a close inspection of the skull; then turned and shook his head.
"No, Inspector," he said definitely. "This is not the cabman. There is no wound corresponding to the one which I dressed."
"Right," answered Dunbar, covering up the ghastly face. "That's settled."
"You were wrong, Inspector. It was not Gaston Max who left the envelope with me."
"No," mused Dunbar, "so it seems."
"Your theory that Max, jealously working alone, had left particulars of his inquiries, and clues, in my hands, knowing that they would reach Scotland Yard in the event of his death, surely collapsed when the envelope proved to contain nothing but a bit of cardboard?"
"Yes—I suppose it did. But it sounded so much like Max's round-about methods. Anyway I wanted to make sure that the dead man from Hanover Hole and your mysterious cabman were not one and the same."
Stuart entertained a lively suspicion that Inspector Dunbar was keeping something up his sleeve, but with this very proper reticence he had no quarrel, and followed by the constable, who relocked the mortuary behind them, they came out into the yard where the cab waited which was to take them to Scotland Yard. Dunbar, standing with one foot upon the step of the cab, turned to the constable.
"Has anyone else viewed the body?" he asked.
"No sir."
"No one is to be allowed to do so—you understand?—no one, unless he has written permission from the Commissioner."
"Very good, sir."
Half an hour later they arrived at New Scotland Yard and went up to Dunbar's room. A thick-set, florid man of genial appearance, having a dark moustache, a breezy manner and a head of hair resembling a very hard-worked blacking-brush, awaited them. This was Detective-Sargeant Sowerby with whom Stuart was already acquainted.
"Good-morning, Sergeant Sowerby," he said.
"Good-morning, sir. I hear that someone was pulling your leg last night."
"What do you mean exactly, Sowerby?" inquired Dunbar, fixing his fierce eyes upon his subordinate.
Sergeant Sowerby exhibited confusion.
"I mean nothing offensive, Inspector. I was referring to the joker who gave so good an imitation of my voice that even you were deceived."