The Middle of Things Read online

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE JAPANESE CABINET

  Remembering that Barleyfield had said that the man who now entered hadbeen in Ashton's company in that very room on the evening of the murder,Viner looked at him with keen interest and speculation. He was a tall,well-built, clean-shaven man, of professional appearance and of a large,heavy, solemn face the evidently usual pallor of which was deepened byhis black overcoat and cravat. An eminently respectable, slow-going,unimaginative man, in Viner's opinion, and of a type which one may see bythe dozen in the precincts of the Temple; a man who would be content todo a day's work in a placid fashion, and who cherished no ambition to setthe Thames on fire; certainly, so Viner thought from appearances, not theman to commit a peculiarly daring murder. Nevertheless, knowing what hedid, he watched him closely.

  The newcomer, on entering, glanced at once at a quiet corner of the room,and seeing it unoccupied, turned to the bar, where the landlord, who wasas old-fashioned as his surroundings, was glancing over the eveningpaper. He asked for whisky and soda, and when he took up the glass, drankslowly and thoughtfully. Suddenly he turned to the landlord.

  "Have you seen that gentleman lately that I've sometimes talked to inthe corner there?" he asked.

  The landlord glanced across the room and shook his head.

  "Can't say that I have, sir," he answered. "The tallish gentleman with agrey beard? No, he hasn't been in this last night or two."

  The other man sat down his glass and drew something from his pocket.

  "I promised to bring him a specimen of some cigars I bought lately," hesaid, laying an envelope on the counter. "I can't stop tonight. If heshould come in, will you give him that--he'll know what it is."

  "Good heavens!" muttered Viner, as he turned in surprise to Barleyfield."These men evidently don't know that the man they're talking about is--"

  "Murdered!" whispered Barleyfield, with a grim smile. "Nothing wonderfulin that, Mr. Viner. They haven't connected Mr. Ashton with the manthey're mentioning--that's all."

  "And yet Ashton's portrait has been in the papers!" exclaimed Viner. "Itamazes me!"

  "Aye, just so, sir," said Barleyfield. "But--a hundred yards in Londontakes you into another world, Mr. Viner. For all practical purposes,Lonsdale Passage, though it's only a mile away, is as much separatedfrom this spot as New York is from London. Well--that's the man I toldyou of, sir."

  The man in question drank off the remaining contents of his glass, noddedto the landlord, and walked out. And Viner was suddenly minded to dosomething towards getting information.

  "Look here!" he said. "I'm going to ask that landlord a question or two.Come with me."

  He went up to the bar, Barleyfield following in close attendance, andgave the landlord a significant glance.

  "Can I have a word with you, in private?" he asked.

  The landlord looked his questioner over and promptly opened a flap inthe counter.

  "Step inside, sir," he said, indicating a door in the rear. "Private roomthere, sir."

  Viner and Barleyfield walked into a little snugly furnished sitting-room;the landlord followed and closed the door.

  "Do you happen to know the name of the gentleman who was speaking to youjust now?" asked Viner, going straight to his point. "I've a veryparticular reason for wishing to know it."

  "No more idea than I have of yours, sir," replied the landlord with ashrewd glance.

  Viner pulled out a card and laid it on the table.

  "That is my name," he said. "You and the gentleman who has just gone outwere speaking just now of another gentleman whom he used to meethere--who used to sit with him in that far corner. Just so--you don'tknow the name of that gentleman, either?"

  "No more than I know the others', sir," replied the landlord, shakinghis head. "Lord bless you, folks may come in here for a year or two, andunless they happen to be neighbours of mine, I don't know who they are.Now, there's your friend there," he went on, indicating Barleyfield witha smile, "I know his face as that of a customer, but I don't know who heis! That gentleman who's just gone out, he's been in the habit ofdropping in here for a twelvemonth, maybe, but I never remember hearinghis name. As for the gentleman he referred to, why, I know him as onethat's come in here pretty regular for the last few weeks, but I don'tknow his name, either."

  "Have you heard of the murder in Lonsdale Passage?" asked Viner.

  "Markendale Square way? Yes," answered the landlord, with awakeninginterest. "Why, is it anything to do--"

  Viner saw an illustrated paper lying on a side-table and caught itup. There was a portrait of Ashton in it, and he held it up beforethe landlord.

  "Don't you recognize that?" he asked.

  The landlord started and stared.

  "Bless my life and soul!" he exclaimed. "Why, surely that's very like thegentleman I just referred to--I should say it was the very man!"

  "It is the very man!" said Viner with emphasis, "the man for whom yourcustomer who's just gone out left the envelope. Now, this man who wasmurdered in Lonsdale Passage was here in your parlour for some time onthe evening of the night on which he was murdered, and he was then inconversation with the man who has just gone out. Naturally, therefore, Ishould like to know that man's name."

  "You're not a detective?" suggested the landlord.

  "Not at all!" replied Viner. "I was a neighbour of Mr. Ashton's, and I aminterested--deeply interested--in an attempt to clear up the mystery ofhis death. Things keep coming out. I didn't know until this evening thatAshton spent some time here, at your house, the night he was killed. Butwhen I got to know, I came along to make one or two inquiries."

  "Bless me!" said the landlord, who was still staring at the portrait."Yes, that's the gentleman, sure enough! I've often wondered who hewas--pleasant, sociable sort, he was, poor fellow. Now I come to think ofit I remember him being in here that night--last time, of course, he wasever in. He was talking to that gentleman who's just gone; in fact, theyleft together."

  "They left together, did they!" exclaimed Viner with a sharp glance atBarleyfield. "Ah! What time was that, now?"

  "As near as I can recollect, about ten-fifteen to ten-thirty," answeredthe landlord. "They'd been talking together for a good hour in thatcorner where they usually sat. But dear me," he went on, looking from oneto the other of his two visitors, "I'm quite sure that gentleman who'sjust left doesn't know of this murder! Why, you heard him ask for theother gentleman, and leave him some cigars that he'd promised!"

  "Just so--which makes it all the stranger," said Viner. "Well, I'm muchobliged to you, landlord--and for the time being, just keep the matterof this talk strictly to yourself. You understand?"

  "As you wish, sir," assented the landlord. "I shan't say anything. Youwouldn't like me to find out this gentleman's name? Somebody'll know him.My own idea is that he lives in this part--he began coming in here of anevening about a year since."

  "No--do nothing at present," said Viner. "The inquiries are onlybeginning."

  He impressed the same obligation of silence on Barleyfield as they wentaway, and the florist readily understood.

  "No hard work for me to hold my tongue, Mr. Viner," he said. "Wetradespeople are pretty well trained to that, sir! There's things andsecrets I could tell! But upon my word, I don't ever remember quite sucha case as this. And I expect it'll be like most cases of the sort!"

  "What do you mean?" asked Viner.

  "Oh, there'll be a sudden flash of light on it, sir, all of a sudden,"replied Barleyfield. "And then--it'll be as clear as noonday."

  "I don't know where it's coming from!" muttered Viner. "I don't even seea rift in the clouds yet."

  He had been at work for an hour or two with Miss Wickham and Mr. Pawlenext morning, searching for whatever might be discovered among Ashton'seffects, before he saw any reason to alter this opinion. The bunch ofkeys discovered in the murdered man's pocket had been duly delivered toMiss Wickham by the police, and she handed them over to the old solicitorwith full license to ope
n whatever they secured. But both Mr. Pawle andViner saw at once that Ashton had been one of those men who have no habitof locking up things. In all that roomy house he had but one room whichhe kept to himself--a small, twelve-foot-square apartment on the groundfloor, in which, they said, he used to spend an hour or two of amorning. It contained little in the way of ornament or comfort--a solidwriting-desk with a hard chair, an easy-chair by the fireplace, a sofaagainst the wall, a map of London and a picture or two, a shelf of oldbooks, a collection of walking-sticks, and umbrellas: these made up allthere was to see.

  And upon examination the desk yielded next to nothing. One drawercontained a cash-box, a checkbook, a pass-book. Some sixty or seventypounds in notes, gold and silver lay in the cash-box; the stubs ofthe checks revealed nothing but the payment of tradesmen's bills; thepass-book showed that an enormous balance lay at the bank. In anotherdrawer rested a collection of tradesmen's books--Mr. Ashton, saidMrs. Killenhall, used to pay his tradesmen every week; these bookshad been handed to him on the very evening of his death forsettlement next morning.

  "Evidently a most methodical man!" remarked Mr. Pawle. "Which makes itall the more remarkable that so few papers are discoverable. You'd havethought that in his longish life he'd have accumulated a good manydocuments that he wanted to keep."

  But documents there were next to none. Several of the drawers of the deskwere empty, save for stationery. One contained a bunch of letters, tiedup with blue ribbon--these, on examination, proved to be letters writtenby Miss Wickham, at school in England, to her guardian in Australia. MissWickham, present while Mr. Pawle and Viner searched, showed some emotionat the sight of them.

  "I used to write to him once a month," she said. "I had no idea that hehad kept the letters, though!"

  The two men went silently on with their search. But there was no furtherresult. Ashton did not appear to have kept any letters or papers relativeto his life or doings prior to his coming to England. Private documentsof any sort he seemed to have none. And whatever business had taken himto Marketstoke, they could find no written reference to it; nor couldthey discover anything about the diamond of which Mr. Van Hoeren hadspoken. They went upstairs to his bedroom and examined the drawers,cabinets and dressing-case--they found nothing.

  "This is distinctly disappointing," remarked Mr. Pawle when he and Vinerreturned to the little room. "I never knew a man who left such smallevidence behind him. It's quite evident to me that there's nothingwhatever in this house that's going to be of any use to us. I wonder ifhe rented a box at any of the safe-deposit places? He must have haddocuments of some sort."

  "In that case, we should surely have found a key, and perhaps a receiptfor the rent of the box," suggested Viner. "I should have thought he'dhave had a safe in his own house," he added, "but we don't hear of one."

  Mr. Pawle looked round the room, as if suspicious that Ashton might havehidden papers in the stuffing of the sofa or the easy-chair.

  "I wonder if there's anything in that," he said suddenly. "It looks likea receptacle of some sort."

  Viner turned and saw the old lawyer pointing to a curious Japanesecabinet which stood in the middle of the marble mantelpiece--the onlyreally notable ornament in the room. Mr. Pawle laid hold of it anduttered a surprised exclamation. "That's a tremendous weight for so smalla thing!" he said. "Feel it!"

  Viner took hold of the cabinet--an affair of some eighteen inches inheight and twelve in depth--and came to the conclusion that it washeavily weighted with lead. He lifted it down to the desk, giving it aslight shake.

  "I took it for a cigar cabinet," he remarked. "How does it open? Have youa key that will fit it?"

  But upon examination there was no keyhole, and nothing to show how thedoor was opened.

  "I see what this is," said Viner, after looking closely over the cabinet,back, front and sides. "It opens by a trick--a secret. Probably you presssomething somewhere and the door flies open. But--where?"

  "Try," counselled Mr. Pawle. "There's something inside--I heard it whenyou shook the thing."

  It took Viner ten minutes to find out the secret. He would not have foundit at all but for accident. But pressing here and pulling there, hesuddenly touched what appeared to be no more than a cleverly insertedrivet in the ebony surface; there was a sharp click, and the panelledfront flew open.

  "There is something!" exclaimed Mr. Pawle. "Papers!"

  He drew out a bundle of papers, folded in a strong sheet ofcartridge-paper and sealed back and front. The enveloping coverwas old and faded; the ribbon which had been tied round thebundle was discoloured by age; the wax of the seals was crackedall over the surface.

  "No inscription, no writing," said Mr. Pawle. "Now, I wonderwhat's in here?"

  "Shall I fetch Miss Wickham?" suggested Viner. Mr. Pawle hesitated.

  "No!" he said at last. "I think not. Let us first find out what thispacket contains. I'll take the responsibility."

  He cut the ribbons beneath the seals, and presently revealed a number ofletters, old and yellow, in a woman's handwriting. And after a hastyglance at one or two of the uppermost, he turned to Viner with anexclamation that signified much.

  "Viner!" he said, "here is indeed a find! These are letters written bythe Countess of Ellingham to her son, Lord Marketstoke, when he was aschoolboy at Eton!"