Malcolm Sage, Detective/Chapter 12

S Malcolm Sage and Inspector Carfon crossed the lawn from the laboratory, Sir Jasper Chambers was seen coming down the drive towards them.

"There's Sir Jasper," cried the inspector.

When they reached the point where the lawn joined the drive they paused, waiting for Sir Jasper to approach. He walked with long, loose strides, his head thrust forward, his mind evidently absorbed and far away from where he was. His coat flapped behind him, and at each step his trousers jerked upwards, displaying several inches of grey worsted sock.

"Good afternoon, Sir Jasper," said Inspector Carfon, stepping forward and lifting his hat.

Sir Jasper stopped dead, with the air of one who has suddenly been brought to a realisation of his whereabouts. For a moment he stared blankly, then apparently recognition came to his aid.

"Good afternoon, inspector," he responded, lifting his black felt hat with a graceful motion that seemed strangely out-of-keeping with his grotesque appearance. In the salutation he managed to include Malcolm Sage, who acknowledged it with his customary jerky nod.

"We have just been looking at the laboratory," said the inspector.

"Ah!" Sir Jasper nodded his head several times. "The laboratory!"

"Will you oblige me with your pouch, Carfon," said Malcolm Sage, drawing his pipe from his pocket. "I've lost mine."

Inspector Carfon thrust his hand into his left-hand pocket, then began to go hurriedly through his other pockets with the air of a man who has lost something.

"I had it a quarter of an hour ago," he said. "I must have dropped it in the"

"Allow me, sir," said Sir Jasper, extending to Malcolm Sage his own pouch, which he had extracted from his tail-pocket, whilst the inspector was still engaged in his search. Malcolm Sage took it and with a nod proceeded to fill his pipe.

"Looks like Craven Mixture," he remarked without looking up from the pipe which he was cramming from Sir Jasper's pouch.

Malcolm Sage was an epicure in tobacco.

"No; it's Ormonde Mixture," was the reply. "I always smoke it. It is singularly mellow," he added, "singularly mellow." He continued to look straight in front of him, whilst the inspector appeared anxious to get on to the house.

Having completed his task, Malcolm Sage folded the tobacco-pouch and handed it back to Sir Jasper.

"Thank you," he said, and proceeded to light his pipe.

Apparently seeing nothing to detain him further, Sir Jasper lifted his hat, bowed and passed on.

"Regular old cure, isn't he?" remarked the inspector as they watched the ungainly figure disappear round the bend of the drive.

"A great man, Carfon," murmured Malcolm Sage, "a very great man," and he turned and walked towards the house.

The front door of "The Hollows" was opened by the butler, a gentle-faced old man, in appearance rather like a mid-Victorian lawyer. At the sight of the inspector, a troubled look came into his eyes.

"I want to have a few words with you," said Malcolm Sage quietly.

The old man led the way to the library. Throwing open the door for them to pass in, he followed and closed it behind him. Malcolm Sage seated himself at the table and Inspector Carfon also dropped into a chair. The butler stood, his hands half-closed before him, the palm of one resting upon the knuckles of the other. His whole attitude was half-nervous, half-fearful, and wholly deprecating.

"I'm afraid this has been a great shock to you," said Malcolm Sage.

Inspector Carfon glanced across at him. There was an unaccustomed note of gentleness in his tone.

"It has indeed, sir," said the butler, and two tears gathered upon his lower lids, hung pendulous for a second, then raced one another down either side of his nose. It was the first sympathetic word the old man had heard since the police had arrived, insatiable for facts.

"Sit down," said Malcolm Sage, without looking up, "I shall not keep you many minutes." His tone was that one might adopt to a child.

The old man obeyed, seating himself upon the edge of the chair, one hand still placed upon the other.

"You mustn't think because the police ask a lot of questions that they mean to be unkind," said Malcolm Sage.

"I—I believe they think I did it," the old man quavered, "and—and I'd have done anything"

His voice broke, the tears coursing down his colourless cheeks.

"I want you to try to help me find out who did kill your master," continued Malcolm Sage, in the same tone, "and you can do that by answering my questions."

There was no restless movement of fingers now. The hard, keen look had left his eyes, and his whole attention seemed to be concentrated upon soothing the old man before him.

With an obvious effort the butler strove to control himself.

"Did the professor ever have visitors at his laboratory?"

"Only Sir Jasper, sir. He was"

"Just answer my questions," said Malcolm Sage gently. "He told you, I think, never on any account to disturb him?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you ever do so?"

"Only once, sir."

"That was?"

"When Mrs. Graham, that's the housekeeper, sir, set fire to the curtains of her room. I was afraid for the house, sir, and I ran down and knocked at the laboratory door."

"Did the professor open it?"

"No, sir."

"Perhaps he did not hear you?"

"Yes, he did, sir. I knocked and kicked for a long time, then I ran back to the house and found the fire had been put out."

"Did Professor McMurray ever refer to the matter?"

"He was very angry when I next saw him, sir, three days later."

"What did he say?"

"That neither fire nor murder was an excuse for interrupting him, and if I did it again I would have to"

"Quite so," interrupted Malcolm Sage, desirous of saving the old servitor the humiliation of explaining that he had been threatened with dismissal.

"So you are confident in your own mind that no amount of knocking at the door would have caused your master to open it?"

"Quite certain, sir," the butler said with deep conviction. "If he had heard me murdering Mrs. Graham he wouldn't have come out," he added gravely. "He used to say that man is for the moment; but research is for all time. He was a very wonderful man, sir," he added earnestly.

"So that to get into the laboratory someone must have had a duplicate key?"

"No, sir, the professor always bolted the door on the inside."

"Then he must have opened it himself?"

"He wouldn't, sir. I'm sure he wouldn't."

"But how did Sir Jasper get in?"

"He was expected, sir, and when he went to the laboratory, the master always ordered extra food. He was very absent-minded, sir; but he always remembered that. He was very considerate, sir, too. He never forgot my birthday," and he broke down completely, his frail body shaken by sobs.

Rising, Malcolm Sage placed his hand upon the old man's shoulder. As if conscious of the unspoken message of sympathy inspired by the touch, the butler clasped the hand in both his own.

Inspector Carfon looked surprised.

"He was so kind, sir, so kind and thoughtful," he quavered. "I don't know what I shall do without him." There was in his voice something of the querulous appeal of a little child.

"Were letters ever taken to the laboratory?" enquired Malcolm Sage, walking over to the window and gazing out.

"Never, sir," was the reply. "Everything was kept until the professor returned to the house, even telegrams."

"Then he was absolutely cut off?" said Malcolm Sage, returning to his seat.

"That was what he used to say, sir, that he wanted to feel cut off from everybody and everything."

"You have seen the body?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you notice anything remarkable about it?"

"He was more like he was some thirty years ago, sir."

"Rejuvenated in fact."

"I beg pardon, sir?"

"He seemed to have become suddenly a much younger man?" explained Malcolm Sage.

"Yes, sir. I've been with him over thirty years, and he looked very much as he did then, except, of course, that his hair remained grey."

"Apart from the food not being taken in, you noticed nothing else that struck you as strange?" queried Malcolm Sage.

The old man puckered up his eyebrows, as if genuinely anxious to remember something that would please the man who had shown him so much sympathy.

"I can't think of anything, sir," he said at length, apologetically, "only the marmalade, and that, of course, wouldn't"

"The marmalade?" Malcolm Sage turned quickly.

"It was nothing, sir," said the old man. "Perhaps I oughtn't to have mentioned it; but the morning before we found him, the master had not eaten any marmalade, and him so fond of it. I was rather worried, and I asked Mrs. Graham if it was a new brand, thinking perhaps he didn't like it; but I found it was the same he always had."

For fully a minute Malcolm Sage was silent, gazing straight before him.

"He never smoked?" he asked at length.

"Never, sir, not during the whole thirty years I've been with him."

"Who cleaned the laboratory? It did not look as if it had been unswept for a week."

"No, indeed, sir," was the reply, "the professor was very particular. He always swept it up himself each morning. It was cleaned by one of the servants once a month."

"You're sure about the sweeping-up?" Malcolm Sage enquired with a keen glance that with him always meant an important point.

"Quite certain, sir."

"That, I think, will be all."

"Thank you, sir," said the butler, rising. "Thank you for being so kind, and—and understanding, sir," and he walked a little unsteadily from the room.

"I was afraid you wouldn't get anything out of him, Mr. Sage," said Inspector Carfon, with just a suspicion of relief in his voice.

"No," remarked Malcolm Sage quietly, "nothing new; but an important corroboration of the doctor's evidence."

"What was that?"

"That it was the murderer and not Professor McMurray who ate Wednesday's breakfast, luncheon and dinner."

"Good Lord!" The inspector's jaw dropped in his astonishment.

"I suspect that for some reason or other he returned to the laboratory; that accounts for the rough marks upon the door-fastenings as if someone had first torn them off and then sought to replace them. After his second visit the murderer evidently stayed too long, and was afraid of being seen leaving the laboratory. He therefore remained until the following night, eating the professor's meals. Incidentally he knew all about his habits."

"Well, I'm blowed if he isn't a cool un!" gasped the inspector.

Malcolm Sage rose with the air of one who has concluded the business on hand.

"Can I run you back to town, Carfon?" he asked, as he walked towards the door.

"No, thank you," said the inspector. "I must go over to Strinton and see Brewitt. He's following up a clue he's got. Some tramp who was seen hanging about here for a couple of days just before the murder," he added.

"Unless he is tall and powerful, left-handed, with something more than a layman's knowledge of surgery, you had better not trouble about him," said Malcolm Sage quietly. "You might also note that the murderer belongs to the upper, or middle class, has an iron nerve, and is strongly humanitarian."

For a moment Inspector Carfon stared at Malcolm Sage with lengthened jaw. Then suddenly he laughed, a laugh of obvious relief.

"At first I thought you were serious, Mr. Sage," he said, "till I saw what you were up to. It's just like the story-book detectives," and he laughed again, this time more convincingly.

Malcolm Sage shrugged his shoulders. "Let me have a description of the man when you get him," he said, "and some of the tobacco he smokes. Try him with marmalade, Carfon, and plenty of it. By the way, you make a great mistake in not reading The Present Century," he added. "It can be curiously instructive," and without another word he crossed the hall and, a moment later, entered his car.

"Swank!" murmured Inspector Carfon angrily, as he watched Tims swing the car down the drive at a dangerous rate of speed, "pure, unadulterated, brain-rotting swank," and he in turn passed down the drive, determined to let Malcolm Sage see what he could do "on his own."

Three weeks passed and there was no development in the McMurray Mystery. Malcolm Sage had heard nothing from Inspector Carfon, who was busily engaged in an endeavour to trace the tramp seen in the neighbourhood of "The Hollows" on the day previous to the murder.

Sir John Dene had called several times upon Malcolm Sage, whom he had come to regard as infallible, only to be told that there was no news. He made no comment; but it was obvious that he was greatly disappointed.

Interest began to wane, the newspapers devoted themselves to other "stunts," and the McMurray Mystery seemed fated to swell the list of unfathomed crimes with which, from time to time, the Press likes to twit Scotland Yard.

Suddenly the whole affair flared up anew, and Fleet Street once more devoted itself and its columns to the death of Professor James McMurray.

A brief announcement that a man of the vagrant class had been arrested in London whilst endeavouring to sell a gold watch believed to be that of Professor McMurray, was the first spark. Later the watch was identified and the man charged with the murder. He protested his innocence, saying that he had picked up the watch by the roadside, just outside Gorling, nearly a month before. There were bloodstains upon his clothes, which he explained by saying he had been fighting with another man who had made his nose bleed.

Inspector Carfon, unable to keep a note of triumph out of his voice, had telephoned the news to Malcolm Sage, who had asked for particulars of the man, his pipe, and a specimen of his tobacco; but day after day had passed without these being forthcoming. Finally the man, against whom the police had built up a damaging case, had been committed for trial.

Two weeks later he was found guilty at the assizes and sentenced to death.

Then it was that Malcolm Sage had written to Inspector Carfon curtly asking him to call at eleven on the following day, bringing with him the information for which he had asked. At the same time he wrote to Sir John Dene and Sir Jasper Chambers.

Punctually at eleven on the following morning the inspector called at the Malcolm Sage Bureau.

"Sorry, Mr. Sage," he said, as he entered Malcolm Sage's room, "I've been so rushed that I haven't been able to get round," and he dropped into the chair on the opposite side of the table.

Malcolm Sage pushed across the cigar box.

"That's his tobacco-box," said Inspector Carfon, placing on the table a small tin-box.

Opening it, and after a swift glance at the contents, Malcolm Sage raised it to his nose: "Cigarette-ends," he remarked without looking up.

"And that's his pipe." The inspector laid on the table a black clap pipe, with some two inches of stem attached to the bowl.

Malcolm Sage scarcely glanced at it. Pulling out a drawer he produced a small cardboard box, which he opened and pushed towards the inspector.

"That is the tobacco smoked by the murderer. The makers are prepared to swear to it."

"Where the deuce did you get it?" gasped the inspector.

"Grain by grain from the linoleum in the laboratory," replied Malcolm Sage. "That is why it was necessary to be sure it was swept each day. It also helped me to establish the man as middle or upper class. This tobacco is expensive. What is the man like who has been condemned?"

"A regular wandering willie," replied the inspector. "Oldish chap, gives his age as sixty-one. Five foot three and a half, thin as a rake, twenty-nine inch chest. Miserable sort of devil. Says he picked up the watch about a quarter of a mile from 'The Hollows' early one morning."

"Does he eat marmalade?"

"Eat it!" the inspector laughed. "He wolfs it. I remembered what you said and took a pound along with me to Strinton, just for fun." He looked across at Malcolm Sage a little shamefacedly. "I afterwards heard that there was only the jar and the label left; but I don't see what all this has to do with it. The fellow's got to swing for it and"

"Carfon, you've made a fool of yourself."

The inspector started back in his chair as if someone had struck him.

"I gave you a description of the man who had killed Professor McMurray; yet you proceed to build up a fantastical case against this poor devil."

"But" began the inspector. He was interrupted by the door being burst violently open and Sir John Dene shot into the room.

For a moment he stood staring at the two men, Gladys Norman and William Johnson framed in the doorway behind him.

"Sir Jasper's killed himself," he cried.

"Moses' aunt!" cried the inspector, starting to his feet.

Malcolm Sage sat immovable at his table, his eyes upon his outstretched hands. Slowly looking up he motioned to Miss Norman to close the door, then nodded towards a chair into which Sir John Dene sank. The inspector resumed his own seat. It was obvious that the news had considerably shaken him.

"You knew?" Sir John Dene interrogated, his voice a little unsteady.

"I expected it," said Malcolm Sage quietly.

"But how, Mr. Sage?" enquired Inspector Carfon in a whisper, his throat dry with excitement.

"Because I wrote to him yesterday saying that I could not allow the condemned man to be sacrificed. It was Sir Jasper Chambers who killed Professor McMurray."

For a moment Inspector Carfon's eyes looked as if they would start out of his head. He turned and looked at Sir John Dene, who with unsteady hand was taking a cheroot from his case.

Malcolm Sage drew his pipe from his pocket and proceeded to fill it.

"On the Tuesday night," he began, "it is obvious that Professor McMurray admitted someone to the laboratory. That man was Sir Jasper Chambers.

"When the two had dined together a week before," proceeded Malcolm Sage, "an appointment was obviously made for a week later. The professor's last words were significant: 'Anyway, Chambers, you will be the first to know.' If the experiments had proved fatal, how could Sir Jasper be the first to know unless an appointment had been made for him to call at the laboratory and discover for himself the result?"

The inspector coughed noisily.

"When Sir Jasper learned of the unqualified success of the experiments, and saw by the professor's changed appearance proof of his triumph, he remembered the article in The Present Century. He realised that in the lengthening of human life a terrible catastrophe threatened the world. Humanitarianism triumphed over his affection for his friend, and he killed him."

Sir John Dene nodded his head in agreement. The inspector was leaning forward, his arms on the table, staring at Malcolm Sage with glassy eyes.

"The assailant was clearly a tall, powerful man and left-handed. That was shown by the nature of the blow. That he had some knowledge of physiology is obvious from the fact that he made no attempt at a second blow to insure death, as a layman most likely would have done. He knew that he had smashed the occipital bone right into the brain. In his early years Sir Jasper studied medicine.

"The crime committed, Sir Jasper proceeded to cover his tracks. With the poker he loosened the sockets of the bolts and that of the lock in order to give an impression that the door had been burst open from without. He then left the place and, to suggest robbery as a motive for the crime, he took with him the professor's gold watch, which he threw away. This was found a few hours later by the tramp whom you, Carfon, want to hang for a crime of which he knows nothing." There was a note of sternness in Malcolm Sage's voice.

"But" began the inspector.

"I suspect," continued Malcolm Sage, "that after he had left the laboratory, Sir Jasper suddenly realised that the professor had probably recorded in his book all his processes. He returned, discovered the manuscript, and was for hours absorbed in it, at first smoking continuously, later too interested in his task to think of his pipe. It must be remembered that he had studied medicine."

The inspector glanced across at Sir John Dene, who sat rigidly in his chair, his eyes fixed upon Malcolm Sage.

"I rather think that he was aroused from his preoccupation by the ringing of the bell announcing the arrival of the professor's breakfast. He then realised that he could not leave the place until nightfall. He therefore ate that meal, carefully avoiding the marmalade, which he disliked, and subsequently he consumed the luncheon, and dinner, passed through the wicket."

Malcolm Sage paused to press down the tobacco in his pipe.

"He burned the manuscript, tearing up letters and throwing them into the waste-paper basket to give the appearance of Professor McMurray having had a clearing-up. He then destroyed all the test-tubes he could find. Finally he left the laboratory late on the Wednesday night, or early Thursday morning."

"But how did you find out all this?" It was Sir John Dene who spoke.

"First of all, Sir Jasper and the murderer smoke the same tobacco, 'Ormonde Mixture.' I verified that by picking Inspector Carfon's pocket." Taking a tobacco-pouch from a drawer Malcolm Sage handed it across the table. "You will remember Sir Jasper lent me his pouch. I had picked up some tobacco on the floor and on the hearth.

"Secondly, the murderer was left-handed, and so is Sir Jasper.

"Thirdly, the murderer does not eat marmalade and Sir Jasper had the same distaste."

"But how?" began the inspector.

"I telephoned to his housekeeper in the name of a local grocer and asked if it would be Sir Jasper who had ordered some marmalade, as an assistant could not remember the gentleman's name. That grocer, I suspect, got into trouble, as the housekeeper seemed to expect him to know that Sir Jasper disliked marmalade."

"Well, you seem to have got the thing pretty well figured out," remarked Sir John Dene grimly.

"Another man's life and liberty were at stake," was the calm reply, "otherwise" he shrugged his shoulders.

"As Sir Jasper did not come forward I wrote to him yesterday giving him until noon to-day to make a statement," continued Malcolm Sage, "otherwise I should have to take steps to save the man condemned."

Then after a short pause he continued: "In Sir Jasper Chambers you have an illustration of the smallness of a great mind. He has devoted his vast wealth to philanthropy; yet he was willing to allow another man to be hanged for his crime."

"And this, I take it," said Sir John Dene, "is his reply," and he handed a letter across to Malcolm Sage.

"Read it out," he said.

Malcolm Sage glanced swiftly through the pages and then read:—

,—

By the time you receive this letter I shall be dead. I have just received a letter from Mr. Malcolm Sage, which shows him to be a man of remarkable perception, and possessed of powers of analysis and deduction that I venture to think must be unique. All he says is correct, but for one detail. I left the laboratory in the first instance with the deliberate intention of returning, although I did not realise the significance of the manuscript until after I had tampered with the fastenings of the doors. Had my servants found that my bed had not been slept in, suspicion might have attached itself to me. I therefore returned to remedy this, and I left a note to say that I had gone out early for a long walk, a thing I frequently do.

In his experiments McMurray had succeeded beyond his wildest imaginings, and I foresaw the horrors that must inevitably follow such a discovery as his. I had to choose between myself and the welfare of the race, and I chose the race.

I did not come forward to save the man condemned for the crime, as I regarded my life of more value to the community than his.

Will you thank Mr. Sage for the very gentle and humane way in which he has written calling upon me to see that justice be not outraged.

I am sending this letter by hand. My body will be found in my study. I have used morphia as a means of satisfying justice.

Very sincerely yours, .

"It was strange I should have made that mistake about the reason for his leaving the laboratory," said Malcolm Sage meditatively. "I made two mistakes, one I corrected; but the other was unpardonable."

And he knocked the ashes from his pipe on to the copper tray before him with the air of a man who is far from satisfied.

"And I might have arrested an O.M.," murmured Inspector Carfon, as he walked down Whitehall. "Damn."