The Seven Secrets Part 37

"Dead! Yes, we know that. But we must find out who killed him."

"Well," I said, "I think at present, Ambler, we've quite sufficient on our hands without attempting to solve any further problems. The poor man may have been in despair and have taken poison wilfully."

"In despair!" echoed the old man. "No fear. Lanky was happy enough. 'E wasn't the sort of fellow to hurry hisself out o' the world. He liked life too jolly well. Besides, he 'ad a tidy bit o' money in the Savin's Bank. 'E was well orf once, wer' Lanky. Excuse me for interruptin'."

"Well, if he didn't commit suicide," I remarked, "then, according to all appearances, poison was administered to him wilfully."

"That appears to be the most feasible theory," Ambler said. "Here we have still a further mystery."

Of course, the post-mortem appearances of poisoning, except in a few instances, are not very characteristic. As every medical man is aware, poison, if administered with a criminal intent, is generally in such a dose as to take immediate effect--although this is by no means necessary, as there are numerous substances which acc.u.mulate in the system, and when given in small and repeated quant.i.ties ultimately prove fatal--notably, antimony. The diagnosis of the effects of irritant poisons is not so difficult as it is in the case of narcotics or other neurotics, where the symptoms are very similar to those produced by apoplexy, epilepsy, teta.n.u.s, convulsions, or other forms of disease of the brain. Besides, one of the most difficult facts we have to contend with in such cases is that poison may be found in the body, and yet a question may arise as to its having been the cause of death.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

"POOR MRS. COURTENAY."

Ambler appeared to be much concerned regarding the poor man's death.

When we had first met beside his vegetable barrow in the London Road he certainly seemed a hard-working, respectable fellow, with a voice rendered hoa.r.s.e and rough by constantly shouting his wares. But by the whispered words that had pa.s.sed I knew that Ambler was in his confidence. The nature of this I had several times tried to fathom.

His unexpected death appeared to have upset all Ambler's plans. He grunted and took a tour round the poorly-furnished chamber.

"Look here!" he said, halting in front of me. "There's been foul play here. We must lose no time in calling the police--not that they are likely to discover the truth."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because the poor fellow has been the victim of a secret a.s.sa.s.sin."

"Then you suspect a motive?"

"I believe that there is a motive why his lips should be closed--a strange and remote one." Then, turning to the old fellow who had been the dead man's friend, he asked: "Do you know anyone by the name of Slade?"

"Slade?" repeated the croaking old fellow. "Slade? No, sir. I don't recollect anyone of that name. Is it a man or a woman?"

"Either."

"No, sir."

"Do you know if Lanky Lane ever had visitors here--I mean visitors not of his own cla.s.s?"

"I never 'eard of none. Lanky wasn't the sort o' chap to trouble about callers. He used to spend 'is nights in the Three Nuns wiv us; but he'd sit 'ours over two o' gin. 'E saved 'is money, 'e did."

"But look here," exclaimed Ambler, seriously. "Are you quite certain that you've never seen him with any stranger at nights?"

"Never to my knowledge."

"Well," my companion said, "you'd better go and call the police."

When the old fellow had shuffled away down the rickety stairs, Ambler, turning to me, said abruptly:

"That fellow is lying; he knows something about this affair."

I had taken up the empty dram bottle and smelt it. The spirit it had contained was rum--which had evidently been drunk from the bottle, as there was no gla.s.s near. A slight quant.i.ty remained, and this I placed aside for a.n.a.lysis if necessary.

"I can't see what this poor fellow has to do with the inquiry upon which we are engaged, Ambler," I remarked. "I do wish you'd be more explicit. Mystery seems to heap upon mystery."

"Yes. You're right," he said reflectively. "Slowly--very slowly, I am working out the problem, Ralph. It has been a long and difficult matter; but by degrees I seem to be drawing towards a conclusion.

This," and he pointed to the man lying dead, "is another of London's many mysteries, but it carries us one step further."

"I can't, for the life of me, see what connection the death of this poor street hawker has with the strange events of the immediate past."

"Remain patient. Let us watch the bl.u.s.tering inquiries of the police,"

he laughed. "They'll make a great fuss, but will find out nothing. The author of this crime is far too wary."

"But this man Slade?" I said. "Of late your inquiries have always been of him. What is his connection with the affair?"

"Ah, that we have yet to discover. He may have no connection, for aught I know. It is mere supposition, based upon a logical conclusion."

"What motive had you in meeting this man here to-night?" I inquired, hoping to gather some tangible clue to the reason of his erratic movements.

"Ah! that's just the point," he responded. "If this poor fellow had lived he would have revealed to me a secret--we should have known the truth!"

"The truth!" I gasped. "Then at the very moment when he intended to confess to you he has been struck down."

"Yes. His lips have been sealed by his enemy--and yours. Both are identical," he replied, and his lips snapped together in that peculiar manner that was his habit. I knew it was useless to question him further.

Indeed, at that moment heavy footsteps sounded upon the stairs, and two constables, conducted by the shuffling old man, appeared upon the scene.

"We have sent for you," Ambler explained. "This man is dead--died suddenly, we believe."

"Who is he, sir?" inquired the elder of the pair, bending over the prostrate man, and taking up the smoky lamp in order to examine his features more carefully.

"His name is Lane--a costermonger, known as Lanky Lane. The man with you is one of his friends, and can tell you more about him than I can."

"Is he dead?" queried the second constable, touching the thin, pallid face.

"Certainly," I answered. "I'm a doctor, and have already made an examination. He's been dead some time."

My name and address was taken, together with that of my companion.

When, however, Ambler told the officers his name, both were visibly impressed. The name of Jevons was well known to the police, who held him in something like awe as a smart criminal investigator.

"I know Inspector Barton at Leman Street--your station, I suppose?" he added.

"Yes, sir," responded the first constable. "And begging your pardon, sir, I'm honoured to meet you. We all heard how you beat the C. I.

Department in the Bowyer Square Mystery, and how you gave the whole information to Sergeant Payling without taking any of the credit to yourself. He got all the honour, sir, and your name didn't appear at the Old Bailey."

Jevons laughed. He was never fond of seeing his name in print. He made a study of the ways and methods of the criminal, but only for his own gratification. The police knew him well, but he hid his light under the proverbial bushel always.