the case which i am now about to describe has always appeared to me a singularly instructive one, as illustrating the value and importance of that fundamental rule in the carrying out of investigations which thorndyke had laid down so emphatically—the rule that all facts, in any way relating to a case, should be collected impartially and without reference to any theory, and each fact, no matter how trivial or apparently irrelevant, carefully studied. but i must not anticipate the remarks of my learned and talented friend on this subject which i have to chronicle anon; rather let me proceed to the case itself.
i had slept at our chambers in king’s bench walk—as i commonly did two or three nights a week—and on coming down to the sitting-room, found thorndyke’s man, polton, putting the last touches to the breakfast-table, while thorndyke himself was poring over two photographs of finger-prints, of which he seemed to be taking elaborate measurements with a pair of hair-dividers. he greeted me with his quiet, genial smile and, laying down the dividers, took his seat at the breakfast-table.
“you are coming with me this morning, i suppose,” said he; “the camberwell murder case, you know.”
“of course i am if you will have me, but i know practically nothing of the case. could you give me an outline of the facts that are known?”
thorndyke looked at me solemnly, but with a mischievous twinkle. “this,” he said, “is the old story of the fox and the crow; you ‘bid me discourse,’ and while i ‘enchant thine ear,’ you claw to windward with the broiled ham. a deep-laid plot, my learned brother.”
“and such,” i exclaimed, “is the result of contact with the criminal classes!”
“i am sorry that you regard yourself in that light,” he retorted, with a malicious smile. “however, with regard to this case. the facts are briefly these: the murdered man, caldwell, who seems to have been formerly a receiver of stolen goods and probably a police spy as well, lived a solitary life in a small house with only an elderly woman to attend him.
“a week ago this woman went to visit a married daughter and stayed the night with her, leaving caldwell alone in the house. when she returned on the following morning she found her master lying dead on the floor of his office, or study, in a small pool of blood.
“the police surgeon found that he had been dead about twelve hours. he had been killed by a single blow, struck from behind, with some heavy implement, and a jemmy which lay on the floor beside him fitted the wound exactly. the deceased wore a dressing-gown and no collar, and a bedroom candlestick lay upside down on the floor, although gas was laid on in the room; and as the window of the office appears to have been forced with the jemmy that was found, and there were distinct footprints on the flower-bed outside the window, the police think that the deceased was undressing to go to bed when he was disturbed by the noise of the opening window; that he went down to the office and, as he entered, was struck down by the burglar who was lurking behind the door. on the window-glass the police found the greasy impression of an open right hand, and, as you know, the finger-prints were identified by the experts as those of an old convict named belfield. as you also know, i proved that those finger-prints were, in reality, forgeries, executed with rubber or gelatine stamps. that is an outline of the case.”
the close of this recital brought our meal to an end, and we prepared for our visit to the scene of the crime. thorndyke slipped into his pocket his queer outfit—somewhat like that of a field geologist—locked up the photographs, and we set forth by way of the embankment.
“the police have no clue, i suppose, to the identity of the murderer, now that the finger-prints have failed?” i asked, as we strode along together.
“i expect not,” he replied, “though they might have if they examined their material. i made out a rather interesting point this morning, which is this: the man who made those sham finger-prints used two stamps, one for the thumb and the other for the four fingers; and the original from which those stamps were made was the official finger-print form.”
“how did you discover that?” i inquired.
“it was very simple. you remember that mr. singleton of the finger-print department sent me, by superintendent miller, two photographs, one of the prints on the window and one of the official form with belfield’s finger-prints on it. well, i have compared them and made the most minute measurements of each, and they are obviously duplicates. not only are all the little imperfections on the form—due to defective inking—reproduced faithfully on the window-pane, but the relative positions of the four fingers on both cases agree to the hundredth of an inch. of course the thumb stamp was made by taking an oval out of the rolled impression on the form.”
“then do you suggest that this murder was committed by some one connected with the finger-print department at scotland yard?”
“hardly. but some one has had access to the forms. there has been leakage somewhere.”
when we arrived at the little detached house in which the murdered man had lived, the door was opened by an elderly woman, and our friend, superintendent miller, greeted us in the hall.
“we are all ready for you, doctor,” said he. “of course, the things have all been gone over once, but we are turning them out more thoroughly now.” he led the way into the small, barely-furnished office in which the tragedy had occurred. a dark-stain on the carpet and a square hole in one of the window-panes furnished memorials of the crime, which were supplemented by an odd assortment of objects laid out on the newspaper-covered table. these included silver teaspoons, watches, various articles of jewellery, from which the stones had been removed—none of them of any considerable value—and a roughly-made jemmy.
“i don’t know why caldwell should have kept all these odds and ends,” said the detective superintendent. “there is stuff here, that i can identify, from six different burglaries—and not a conviction among the six.”
thorndyke looked over the collection with languid interest; he was evidently disappointed at finding the room so completely turned out.
“have you any idea what has been taken?” he asked.
“not the least. we don’t even know if the safe was opened. the keys were on the writing-table, so i suppose he went through everything, though i don’t see why he left these things if he did. we found them all in the safe.”
“have you powdered the jemmy?”
the superintendent turned very red. “yes,” he growled, “but some half-dozen blithering idiots had handled the thing before i saw it—been trying it on the window, the blighters—so, of course, it showed nothing but the marks of their beastly paws.”
“the window had not really been forced, i suppose?” said thorndyke.
“no,” replied miller, with a glance of surprise at my colleague, “that was a plant; so were the footprints. he must have put on a pair of caldwell’s boots and gone out and made them—unless caldwell made them himself, which isn’t likely.”
“have you found any letter or telegram?”
“a letter making an appointment for nine o’clock on the night of the murder. no signature or address, and the handwriting evidently disguised.”
“is there anything that furnishes any sort of clue?”
“yes, sir, there is. there’s this, which we found in the safe.” he produced a small parcel which he proceeded to unfasten, looking somewhat queerly at thorndyke the while. it contained various odds and ends of jewellery, and a smaller parcel formed of a pocket-handkerchief tied with tape. this the detective also unfastened, revealing half-a-dozen silver teaspoons, all engraved with the same crest, two salt-cellars and a gold locket bearing a monogram. there was also a half sheet of notepaper on which was written, in a manifestly disguised hand: “there are the goods i told you about.—f. b.” but what riveted thorndyke’s attention and mine was the handkerchief itself (which was not a very clean one and was sullied by one or two small bloodstains), for it was marked in one corner with the name “f. belfield,” legibly printed in marking-ink with a rubber stamp.
thorndyke and the superintendent looked at one another and both smiled.
“i know what you are thinking, sir,” said the latter.
“i am sure you do,” was the reply, “and it is useless to pretend that you don’t agree with me.”
“well, sir,” said miller doggedly, “if that handkerchief has been put there as a plant, it’s belfield’s business to prove it. you see, doctor,” he added persuasively, “it isn’t this job only that’s affected. those spoons, those salt-cellars and that locket are part of the proceeds of the winchmore hill burglary, and we want the gentleman who did that crack—we want him very badly.”
“no doubt you do,” replied thorndyke, “but this handkerchief won’t help you. a sharp counsel—mr. anstey, for instance—would demolish it in five minutes. i assure you, miller, that handkerchief has no evidential value whatever, whereas it might prove an invaluable instrument of research. the best thing you can do is to hand it over to me and let me see what i can learn from it.”
the superintendent was obviously dissatisfied, but he eventually agreed, with manifest reluctance, to thorndyke’s suggestion.
“very well, doctor,” he said; “you shall have it for a day or two. do you want the spoons and things as well?”
“no. only the handkerchief and the paper that was in it.”
the two articles were accordingly handed to him and deposited in a tin box which he usually carried in his pocket, and, after a few more words with the disconsolate detective, we took our departure.
“a very disappointing morning,” was thorndyke’s comment as we walked away. “of course the room ought to have been examined by an expert before anything was moved.”
“have you picked up anything in the way of information?” i asked.
“very little excepting confirmation of my original theory. you see, this man caldwell was a receiver and evidently a police spy. he gave useful information to the police, and they, in return, refrained from inconvenient inquiries. but a spy, or ‘nark,’ is nearly always a blackmailer too, and the probabilities in this case are that some crook, on whom caldwell was putting the screw rather too tightly, made an appointment for a meeting when the house was empty, and just knocked caldwell on the head. the crime was evidently planned beforehand, and the murderer came prepared to kill several birds with one stone. thus he brought with him the stamps to make the sham finger-prints on the window, and i have no doubt that he also brought this handkerchief and the various oddments of plate and jewellery from those burglaries that miller is so keen about, and planted them in the safe. you noticed, i suppose, that none of the things were of any value, but all were capable of easy identification?”
“yes, i noticed that. his object, evidently, was to put those burglaries as well as the murder onto poor belfield.”
“exactly. and you see what miller’s attitude is; belfield is the bird in the hand, whereas the other man—if there is another—is still in the bush; so belfield is to be followed up and a conviction obtained if possible. if he is innocent, that is his affair, and it is for him to prove it.”
“and what shall you do next?” i asked.
“i shall telegraph to belfield to come and see us this evening. he may be able to tell us something about this handkerchief that, with the clue we already have, may put us on the right track. what time is your consultation?”
“twelve-thirty—and here comes my ’bus. i shall be in to lunch.” i sprang onto the footboard, and as i took my seat on the roof and looked back at my friend striding along with an easy swing, i knew that he was deep in thought, though automatically attentive to all that was happening.
my consultation—it was a lunacy case of some importance—was over in time to allow of my return to our chambers punctually at the luncheon hour; and as i entered, i was at once struck by something new in thorndyke’s manner—a certain elation and gaiety which i had learned to associate with a point scored successfully in some intricate and puzzling case. he made no confidences, however, and seemed, in fact, inclined to put away, for a time, all his professional cares and business.
“shall we have an afternoon off, jervis?” he said gaily. “it is a fine day and work is slack just now. what say you to the zoo? they have a splendid chimpanzee and several specimens of that remarkable fish periophthalmos kölreuteri. shall we go?”
“by all means,” i replied; “and we will mount the elephant, if you like, and throw buns to the grizzly bear and generally renew our youth like the eagle.”
but when, an hour later, we found ourselves in the gardens, i began to suspect my friend of some ulterior purpose in this holiday jaunt; for it was not the chimpanzee or even the wonderful fish that attracted his attention. on the contrary, he hung about the vicinity of the lamas and camels in a way that i could not fail to notice; and even there it appeared to be the sheds and houses rather than the animals themselves that interested him.
“behold, jervis,” he said presently, as a saddled camel of seedy aspect was led towards its house, “behold the ship of the desert, with raised saloon-deck amidships, fitted internally with watertight compartments and displaying the effects of rheumatoid arthritis in his starboard hip-joint. let us go and examine him before he hauls into dock.” we took a cross-path to intercept the camel on its way to its residence, and thorndyke moralized as we went.
“it is interesting,” he remarked, “to note the way in which these specialized animals, such as the horse, the reindeer and the camel, have been appropriated by man, and their special character made to subserve human needs. think, for instance, of the part the camel has played in history, in ancient commerce—and modern too, for that matter—and in the diffusion of culture; and of the rôle he has enacted in war and conquest from the egyptian campaign of cambyses down to that of kitchener. yes, the camel is a very remarkable animal, though it must be admitted that this particular specimen is a scurvy-looking beast.”
the camel seemed to be sensible of these disparaging remarks, for as it approached it saluted thorndyke with a supercilious grin and then turned away its head.
“your charge is not as young as he used to be,” thorndyke observed to the man who was leading the animal.
“no, sir, he isn’t; he’s getting old, and that’s the fact. he shows it too.”
“i suppose,” said thorndyke, strolling towards the house by the man’s side, “these beasts require a deal of attention?”
“you’re right, sir; and nasty-tempered brutes they are.”
“so i have heard; but they are interesting creatures, the camels and lamas. do you happen to know if complete sets of photographs of them are to be had here?”
“you can get a good many at the lodge, sir,” the man replied, “but not all, i think. if you want a complete set, there’s one of our men in the camel-house that could let you have them; he takes the photos himself, and very clever he is at it, too. but he isn’t here just now.”
“perhaps you could give me his name so that i could write to him,” said thorndyke.
“yes, sir. his name is woodthorpe—joseph woodthorpe. he’ll do anything for you to order. thank you, sir; good afternoon, sir;” and pocketing an unexpected tip, the man led his charge towards its lair.
thorndyke’s absorbing interest in the camelidæ seemed now suddenly to become extinct, and he suffered me to lead him to any part of the gardens that attracted me, showing an imperial interest in all the inmates from the insects to the elephants, and enjoying his holiday—if it was one—with the gaiety and high spirits of a schoolboy. yet he never let slip a chance of picking up a stray hair or feather, but gathered up each with care, wrapped it in its separate paper, on which was written its description, and deposited it in his tin collecting-box.
“you never know,” he remarked, as we turned away from the ostrich enclosure, “when a specimen for comparison may be of vital importance. here, for instance, is a small feather of a cassowary, and here the hair of a wapiti deer; now the recognition of either of those might, in certain circumstances, lead to the detection of a criminal or save the life of an innocent man. the thing has happened repeatedly, and may happen again tomorrow.”
“you must have an enormous collection of hairs in your cabinet,” i remarked, as we walked home.
“i have,” he replied, “probably the largest in the world. and as to other microscopical objects of medico-legal interest, such as dust and mud from different localities and from special industries and manufactures, fibres, food-products and drugs, my collection is certainly unique.”
“and you have found your collection useful in your work?” i asked.
“constantly. over and over again i have obtained, by reference to my specimens, the most unexpected evidence, and the longer i practise, the more i become convinced that the microscope is the sheet-anchor of the medical jurist.”
“by the way,” i said, “you spoke of sending a telegram to belfield. did you send it?”
“yes. i asked him to come to see me to-night at half-past eight, and, if possible, bring his wife with him. i want to get to the bottom of that handkerchief mystery.”
“but do you think he will tell you the truth about it?”
“that is impossible to judge; he will be a fool if he does not. but i think he will; he has a godly fear of me and my methods.”
as soon as our dinner was finished and cleared away, thorndyke produced the “collecting-box” from his pocket and began to sort out the day’s “catch,” giving explicit directions to polton for the disposal of each specimen. the hairs and small feathers were to be mounted as microscopic objects, while the larger feathers were to be placed, each in its separate labelled envelope, in its appropriate box. while these directions were being given, i stood by the window absently gazing out as i listened, gathering many a useful hint in the technique of preparation and preservation, and filled with admiration alike at my colleague’s exhaustive knowledge of practical detail and the perfect manner in which he had trained his assistant. suddenly i started, for a well-known figure was crossing from crown office row and evidently bearing down on our chambers.
“my word, thorndyke,” i exclaimed, “here’s a pretty mess!”
“what is the matter?” he asked, looking up anxiously.
“superintendent miller heading straight for our doorway. and it is now twenty minutes past eight.”
thorndyke laughed. “it will be a quaint position,” he remarked, “and somewhat of a shock for belfield. but it really doesn’t matter; in fact, i think, on the whole, i am rather pleased that he should have come.”
the superintendent’s brisk knock was heard a few moments later, and when he was admitted by polton, he entered and looked round the room a little sheepishly.
“i am ashamed to come worrying you like this, sir,” he began apologetically.
“not at all,” replied thorndyke, serenely slipping the cassowary’s feather into an envelope, and writing the name, date and locality on the outside. “i am your servant in this case, you know. polton, whisky and soda for the superintendent.”
“you see, sir,” continued miller, “our people are beginning to fuss about this case, and they don’t approve of my having handed that handkerchief and the paper over to you as they will have to be put in evidence.”
“i thought they might object,” remarked thorndyke.
“so did i, sir; and they do. and, in short, they say that i have got to get them back at once. i hope it won’t put you out, sir.”
“not in the least,” said thorndyke. “i have asked belfield to come here to-night—i expect him in a few minutes—and when i have heard what he has to say i shall have no further use for the handkerchief.”
“you’re not going to show it to him!” exclaimed the detective, aghast.
“certainly i am.”
“you mustn’t do that, sir. i can’t sanction it; i can’t indeed.”
“now, look you here, miller,” said thorndyke, shaking his forefinger at the officer; “i am working for you in this case, as i have told you. leave the matter in my hands. don’t raise silly objections; and when you leave here to night you will take with you not only the handkerchief and the paper, but probably also the name and address of the man who committed this murder and those various burglaries that you are so keen about.”
“is that really so, sir?” exclaimed the astonished detective. “well, you haven’t let the grass grow under your feet. ah!” as a gentle rap at the door was heard, “here’s belfield, i suppose.”
it was belfield—accompanied by his wife—and mightily disturbed they were when their eyes lighted on our visitor.
“you needn’t be afraid of me, belfield,” said miller, with ferocious geniality; “i am not here after you.” which was not literally true, though it served to reassure the affrighted ex-convict.
“the superintendent dropped in by chance,” said thorndyke; “but it is just as well that he should hear what passes. i want you to look at this handkerchief and tell me if it is yours. don’t be afraid, but just tell us the simple truth.”
he took the handkerchief out of a drawer and spread it on the table; and i now observed that a small square had been cut out of one of the bloodstains.
belfield took the handkerchief in his trembling hands, and as his eye fell on the stamped name in the corner he turned deadly pale.
“it looks like mine,” he said huskily. “what do you say, liz?” he added, passing it to his wife.
mrs. belfield examined first the name and then the hem. “it’s yours, right enough, frank,” said she. “it’s the one that got changed in the wash. you see, sir,” she continued, addressing thorndyke, “i bought him half-a-dozen new ones about six months ago, and i got a rubber stamp made and marked them all. well, one day when i was looking over his things i noticed that one of his handkerchiefs had got no mark on it. i spoke to the laundress about it, but she couldn’t explain it, so as the right one never came back, i marked the one that we got in exchange.”
“how long ago was that?” asked thorndyke.
“about two months ago i noticed it.”
“and you know nothing more about it.”
“nothing whatever, sir. nor you, frank, do you?”
her husband shook his head gloomily, and thorndyke replaced the handkerchief in the drawer.
“and now,” said he, “i am going to ask you a question on another subject. when you were at holloway there was a warder—or assistant warder—there, named woodthorpe. do you remember him?”
“yes, sir, very well indeed; in fact, it was him that——”
“i know,” interrupted thorndyke. “have you seen him since you left holloway?”
“yes, sir, once. it was last easter monday. i met him at the zoo; he is a keeper there now in the camel-house” (here a sudden light dawned upon me and i chuckled aloud, to belfield’s great astonishment). “he gave my little boy a ride on one of the camels and made himself very pleasant.”
“do you remember anything else happening?” thorndyke inquired.
“yes, sir. the camel had a little accident; he kicked out—he was an ill-tempered beast—and his leg hit a post; there happened to be a nail sticking out from that post, and it tore up a little flap of skin. then woodthorpe got out his hand kerchief to tie up the wound, but as it was none of the cleanest, i said to him: ‘don’t use that, woodthorpe; have mine,’ which was quite a clean one. so he took it and bound up the camel’s leg, and he said to me: ‘i’ll have it washed and send it to you if you give me your address.’ but i told him there was no need for that; i should be passing the camel-house on my way out and i would look in for the handkerchief. and i did: i looked in about an hour later, and woodthorpe gave me my handkerchief, folded up but not washed.”
“did you examine it to see if it was yours?” asked thorndyke.
“no, sir. i just slipped it in my pocket as it was.”
“and what became of it afterwards?”
“when i got home i dropped it into the dirty-linen basket.”
“is that all you know about it?”
“yes, sir; that is all i know.”
“very well, belfield, that will do. now you have no reason to be uneasy. you will soon know all about the camberwell murder—that is, if you read the papers.”
the ex-convict and his wife were obviously relieved by this assurance and departed in quite good spirits. when they were gone, thorndyke produced the handkerchief and the half-sheet of paper and handed them to the superintendent, remarking—
“this is highly satisfactory, miller; the whole case seems to join up very neatly indeed. two months ago the wife first noticed the substituted handkerchief, and last easter monday—a little over two months ago—this very significant incident took place in the zoological gardens.”
“that is all very well, sir,” objected the superintendent, “but we’ve only their word for it, you know.”
“not so,” replied thorndyke. “we have excellent corroborative evidence. you noticed that i had cut a small piece out of the bloodstained portion of the handkerchief?”
“yes; and i was sorry you had done it. our people won’t like that.”
“well, here it is, and we will ask dr. jervis to give us his opinion of it.”
from the drawer in which the handkerchief had been hidden he brought forth a microscope slide, and setting the microscope on the table, laid the slide on the stage.
“now, jervis,” he said, “tell us what you see there.”
i examined the edge of the little square of fabric (which had been mounted in a fluid reagent) with a high-power objective, and was, for a time, a little puzzled by the appearance of the blood that adhered to it.
“it looks like bird’s blood,” i said presently, with some hesitation, “but yet i can make out no nuclei.” i looked again, and then, suddenly, “by jove!” i exclaimed, “i have it; of course! it’s the blood of a camel!”
“is that so, doctor?” demanded the detective, leaning forward in his excitement.
“that is so,” replied thorndyke. “i discovered it after i came home this morning. you see,” he explained, “it is quite unmistakable. the rule is that the blood corpuscles of mammals are circular; the one exception is the camel family, in which the corpuscles are elliptical.”
“why,” exclaimed miller, “that seems to connect woodthorpe with this camberwell job.”
“it connects him with it very conclusively,” said thorndyke. “you are forgetting the finger-prints.”
the detective looked puzzled. “what about them?” he asked.
“they were made with stamps—two stamps, as a matter of fact—and those stamps were made by photographic process from the official finger-print form. i can prove that beyond all doubt.”
“well, suppose they were. what then?”
thorndyke opened a drawer and took out a photograph, which he handed to miller. “here,” he said, “is the photograph of the official finger-print form which you were kind enough to bring me. what does it say at the bottom there?” and he pointed with his finger.
the superintendent read aloud: “impressions taken by joseph woodthorpe. rank, warder; prison, holloway.” he stared at the photograph for a moment, and then exclaimed—
“well, i’m hanged! you have worked this out neatly, doctor! and so quick too. we’ll have mr. woodthorpe under lock and key the first thing to-morrow morning. but how did he do it, do you think?”
“he might have taken duplicate finger-prints and kept one form; the prisoners would not know there was anything wrong; but he did not in this case. he must have contrived to take a photograph of the form before sending it in—it would take a skilful photographer only a minute or two with a suitable hand-camera placed on a table at the proper distance from the wall; and i have ascertained that he is a skilful photographer. you will probably find the apparatus, and the stamps too, when you search his rooms.”
“well, well. you do give us some surprises, doctor. but i must be off now to see about this warrant. good-night, sir, and many thanks for your help.”
when the superintendent had gone we sat for a while looking at one another in silence. at length thorndyke spoke. “here is a case, jervis,” he said, “which, simple as it is, teaches a most invaluable lesson—a lesson which you should take well to heart. it is this: the evidential value of any fact is an unknown quantity until the fact has been examined. that seems a self-evident truth, but like many other self-evident truths, it is constantly overlooked in practice. take this present case. when i left caldwell’s house this morning the facts in my possession were these: (1) the man who murdered caldwell was directly or indirectly connected with the finger-print department. (2) he was almost certainly a skilled photographer. (3) he probably committed the winchmore hill and the other burglaries. (4) he was known to caldwell, had had professional dealings with him and was probably being blackmailed. this was all; a very vague clue, as you see.
“there was the handkerchief, planted, as i had no doubt, but could not prove; the name stamped on it was belfield’s, but any one can get a rubber stamp made. then it was stained with blood, as handkerchiefs often are; that blood might or might not be human blood; it did not seem to matter a straw whether it was or not. nevertheless, i said to myself: if it is human, or at least mammalian blood, that is a fact; and if it is not human blood, that is also a fact. i will have that fact, and then i shall know what its value is. i examined the stain when i reached home, and behold! it was camel’s blood; and immediately this insignificant fact swelled up into evidence of primary importance. the rest was obvious. i had seen woodthorpe’s name on the form, and i knew several other officials. my business was to visit all places in london where there were camels, to get the names of all persons connected with them and to ascertain if any among them was a photographer. naturally i went first to the zoo, and at the very first cast hooked joseph woodthorpe. wherefore i say again: never call any fact irrelevant until you have examined it.”
the remarkable evidence given above was not heard at the trial, nor did thorndyke’s name appear among the witnesses; for when the police searched woodthorpe’s rooms, so many incriminating articles were found (including a pair of finger-print stamps which exactly answered to thorndyke’s description of them, and a number of photographs of finger-print forms) that his guilt was put beyond all doubt; and society was shortly after relieved of a very undesirable member.
the end
