The Paddington Mystery. John Rhode

seems that these experts were able to rule out violence or poison as the cause of death. Now, I am no doctor, so I am compelled to rely upon the statements of others in this case. Until any fact appears to controvert this conclusion, we may accept it as probable.

      ‘Examination of the body, however, revealed two salient facts. The first was that the left forearm bore minute marks—the number I have not been able to ascertain—such as might have been caused by a hypodermic syringe. From the position on the arm these marks might have been self-inflicted. The experts stated that the fact that no analytical or pathological traces of drugs could be discovered made it impossible that death could have been caused by some toxic injection. The second fact was that the deceased suffered from an affection of the heart of long standing, and of a nature which frequently terminates fatally. The existence of this heart affection caused one of the experts to put forward the suggestion that the marks on the forearm were the result of self-injection of some drug prescribed to relieve the heart, and that these injections had been made sufficiently long before death for all traces of the drug used to have vanished. I think that is a fair summary of the medical evidence?’

      Harold nodded. He had learnt by now that interruptions of the Professor’s train of thought were not welcome.

      ‘Very well, then,’ continued the Professor, ‘you will agree, I think, that this evidence is mostly negative. Pressed to account for the fact that the man was dead and not alive when found, the medical witnesses—I say witnesses, for the police surgeon had sought the assistance of a Home Office expert—suggested that the deceased died of heart failure, brought on by sudden immersion on a cold night affecting an already-weakened organ. That the man died of heart failure was patent; I suppose most people die because the heart ceases to function for some cause or other. Whether this man’s heart failed for the causes alleged, I cannot say. There may have been facts supporting the experts’ view which are hidden from the mere lay mind. Were I to give an opinion, I should say it was a mere guess, although an extremely plausible one. In any case, the coroner and his jury seized upon it, and their verdict was the result.

      ‘The next point of enquiry is obviously the time when the man died. The police surgeon, who saw the corpse at about five o’clock in the morning, expressed an opinion that the man had been dead not less than about nine or ten hours. Again, I have no knowledge or experience in such a matter, and we may provisionally accept this estimate as correct. In which case, the man may be assumed as having been dead by eight or nine o’clock the previous evening. According to your evidence you left your rooms at about four o’clock that evening, at which time, to your knowledge, the rooms contained no man, alive or dead.’

      ‘That is so, sir,’ replied Harold, seeing that the Professor paused, as though for confirmation. ‘I fancy that the police had a vague suspicion that the body had been there all the time, since the doctors could only say that the man had been dead not less than eight or nine hours and not more than about twenty-four.’

      ‘Possibly, possibly,’ agreed the Professor. ‘But certain other evidence, which, I confess, interests me far more than the question of the identity of the deceased, seemed to point in quite another direction. I mean the evidence concerning the means by which the corpse obtained access to your rooms. As you know, I have never visited Number 16, Riverside Gardens myself, but I received a description, an inadequate one, I admit, from a friend who has been there.’

      ‘Inspector Hanslet again, sir?’ suggested Harold.

      ‘No,’ replied the Professor. ‘His mind was already made up. I wanted the description from someone who was unaware of the details which had been discovered. Evan Denbigh was able to supply me with the outline of what I required.’

      ‘Denbigh!’ exclaimed Harold, with some embarrassment. ‘Oh yes, of course, he was there once, about six months ago. He came—’

      Professor Priestley waited for the end of the sentence, but Harold had relapsed into silence.

      ‘He told me why he went,’ he said quietly. ‘He was one of your friends who thought that you were making a fool of yourself. I fancy he went to see if you could not see reason.’

      ‘Well, as a matter of fact, that’s what he did come for,’ agreed Harold. ‘Jolly decent he was about it, too, really. He can’t have seen much of the place, though. I was dressing for dinner, I had half my clothes flung about the sitting-room, and after he’d been there about ten minutes I went into the bedroom to wash and left him spouting to me through the door. He never saw the bedroom, where I found the body, at all.’

      ‘So he told me,’ replied the Professor. ‘That is exactly why I want to see it for myself. Will you take me there, my boy?’

      ‘Rather, sir!’ exclaimed Harold. ‘When would you like to go?’

      Professor Priestley considered for a moment. ‘I shall be disengaged at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon,’ he replied. ‘Now, my boy, I do not wish to raise your hopes unduly, but this case does not appear to me to be so hopeless as it seems. Good-bye until tomorrow.’

       CHAPTER III

      HAROLD returned to Riverside Gardens rather despondently. What he had expected as a result of his visit to Professor Priestley he hardly knew. It had been a sub-conscious impulse that had driven him to seek his father’s old friend, an instinct to seek protection under the mantle of unquestioned respectability. His reception, contrary to what he had expected, had been warm, had somehow led him to expect an immediate dissipation of the clouds that had surrounded him. Whereas the result of their prolonged interview seemed to leave the matter exactly where it had stood before.

      Remember, Harold’s desire to solve the mystery was very keen. He had been through a remarkably unpleasant ordeal, had been an object of strong suspicion, and had been put through a very fine mill of inquisition. He had come out of it with hardly a shred of decency left to him; the papers had published full reports of the inquest, at which he had figured in none too favourable a light. And, worst of all, although the verdict had exonerated him from the accusation of having caused the man’s death, he was conscious that there was a pretty strong notion abroad that he knew more about the business than he had divulged.

      He felt like an outlaw, shunned by the whole world. Return to his former life was impossible; the Naxos Club had been raided and dispersed, notoriously as the result of his enforced account of his doings on that fatal evening, and he could scarcely expect his old friends to welcome him with open arms. A return to the world of respectability was impossible while the stigma of intangible wrong-doing still attached to him. The only way out that he could see was to discover the truth of the mysterious circumstances that had involved him in their toils. Professor Priestley had led him to believe that this was possible, and had left him with nothing more cheering than that the business was not so hopeless as it looked!

      The first thing Harold noticed as he opened the gate of Number 16, Riverside Gardens, was that the door of Mr Boost’s shop was open. As he came up the path the proprietor himself came out and barred his further passage, silent, accusing.

      ‘Good evening, Mr Boost,’ said Harold politely. ‘So you’re back again?’

      The man made no reply, but stood looking at him malevolently. He was tall and thin, with a pronounced stoop, sharply-cut features and a curiously intense look in his eyes. He wore an untidy-looking tweed suit but the most striking thing about him was an enormous red scarf, which did duty both as a collar and tie, and an equally pretentious red handkerchief, a good half of which protruded from the side pocket of his coat. He was obviously not the sort of person to disguise his political convictions.

      This individual regarded Harold for some moments in silence. Then he suddenly turned and led the way into the shop, beckoning to Harold to follow him. He closed the door behind them, then, for the first time, spoke.

      ‘What did you do it for, comrade?’ he asked, in a surprisingly deep voice, that seemed to come from some strange vocal organs concealed within his narrow chest.

      Harold