Max Carrados Read online

  THE KNIGHT'S CROSS SIGNAL PROBLEM

  "Louis," exclaimed Mr Carrados, with the air of genial gaiety thatCarlyle had found so incongruous to his conception of a blind man, "youhave a mystery somewhere about you! I know it by your step."

  Nearly a month had passed since the incident of the false Dionysius hadled to the two men meeting. It was now December. Whatever Mr Carlyle'sstep might indicate to the inner eye it betokened to the casual observerthe manner of a crisp, alert, self-possessed man of business. Carlyle,in truth, betrayed nothing of the pessimism and despondency that hadmarked him on the earlier occasion.

  "You have only yourself to thank that it is a very poor one," heretorted. "If you hadn't held me to a hasty promise----"

  "To give me an option on the next case that baffled you, no matter whatit was----"

  "Just so. The consequence is that you get a very unsatisfactory affairthat has no special interest to an amateur and is only baffling becauseit is--well----"

  "Well, baffling?"

  "Exactly, Max. Your would-be jest has discovered the proverbial truth. Ineed hardly tell you that it is only the insoluble that is finallybaffling and this is very probably insoluble. You remember the awfulsmash on the Central and Suburban at Knight's Cross Station a few weeksago?"

  "Yes," replied Carrados, with interest. "I read the whole ghastlydetails at the time."

  "You read?" exclaimed his friend suspiciously.

  "I still use the familiar phrases," explained Carrados, with a smile."As a matter of fact, my secretary reads to me. I mark what I want tohear and when he comes at ten o'clock we clear off the morning papers inno time."

  "And how do you know what to mark?" demanded Mr Carlyle cunningly.

  Carrados's right hand, lying idly on the table, moved to a newspapernear. He ran his finger along a column heading, his eyes still turnedtowards his visitor.

  "'The Money Market. Continued from page 2. British Railways,'" heannounced.

  "Extraordinary," murmured Carlyle.

  "Not very," said Carrados. "If someone dipped a stick in treacle andwrote 'Rats' across a marble slab you would probably be able todistinguish what was there, blindfold."

  "Probably," admitted Mr Carlyle. "At all events we will not test theexperiment."

  "The difference to you of treacle on a marble background is scarcelygreater than that of printers' ink on newspaper to me. But anythingsmaller than pica I do not read with comfort, and below long primer Icannot read at all. Hence the secretary. Now the accident, Louis."

  "The accident: well, you remember all about that. An ordinary Centraland Suburban passenger train, non-stop at Knight's Cross, ran past thesignal and crashed into a crowded electric train that was just beginningto move out. It was like sending a garden roller down a row ofhandlights. Two carriages of the electric train were flattened out ofexistence; the next two were broken up. For the first time on an Englishrailway there was a good stand-up smash between a heavy steam-engine anda train of light cars, and it was 'bad for the coo.'"

  "Twenty-seven killed, forty something injured, eight died since,"commented Carrados.

  "That was bad for the Co.," said Carlyle. "Well, the main fact was plainenough. The heavy train was in the wrong. But was the engine-driverresponsible? He claimed, and he claimed vehemently from the first and henever varied one iota, that he had a 'clear' signal--that is to say, thegreen light, it being dark. The signalman concerned was equally doggedthat he never pulled off the signal--that it was at 'danger' when theaccident happened and that it had been for five minutes before.Obviously, they could not both be right."

  "Why, Louis?" asked Mr Carrados smoothly.

  "The signal must either have been up or down--red or green."

  "Did you ever notice the signals on the Great Northern Railway, Louis?"

  "Not particularly. Why?"

  "One winterly day, about the year when you and I were concerned in beingborn, the engine-driver of a Scotch express received the 'clear' from asignal near a little Huntingdon station called Abbots Ripton. He went onand crashed into a goods train and into the thick of the smash a downexpress mowed its way. Thirteen killed and the usual tale of injured. Hewas positive that the signal gave him a 'clear'; the signalman wasequally confident that he had never pulled it off the 'danger.' Bothwere right, and yet the signal was in working order. As I said, it was awinterly day; it had been snowing hard and the snow froze andaccumulated on the upper edge of the signal arm until its weight bore itdown. That is a fact that no fiction writer dare have invented, but tothis day every signal on the Great Northern pivots from the centre ofthe arm instead of from the end, in memory of that snowstorm."

  "That came out at the inquest, I presume?" said Mr Carlyle. "We have hadthe Board of Trade inquiry and the inquest here and no explanation isforthcoming. Everything was in perfect order. It rests between the wordof the signalman and the word of the engine-driver--not a jot of directevidence either way. Which is right?"

  "That is what you are going to find out, Louis?" suggested Carrados.

  "It is what I am being paid for finding out," admitted Mr Carlylefrankly. "But so far we are just where the inquest left it, and, betweenourselves, I candidly can't see an inch in front of my face in thematter."

  "Nor can I," said the blind man, with a rather wry smile. "Never mind.The engine-driver is your client, of course?"

  "Yes," admitted Carlyle. "But how the deuce did you know?"

  "Let us say that your sympathies are enlisted on his behalf. The jurywere inclined to exonerate the signalman, weren't they? What has thecompany done with your man?"

  "Both are suspended. Hutchins, the driver, hears that he may probably begiven charge of a lavatory at one of the stations. He is a decent,bluff, short-spoken old chap, with his heart in his work. Just nowyou'll find him at his worst--bitter and suspicious. The thought ofswabbing down a lavatory and taking pennies all day is poisoning him."

  "Naturally. Well, there we have honest Hutchins: taciturn, a littletouchy perhaps, grown grey in the service of the company, andmanifesting quite a bulldog-like devotion to his favourite 538."

  "Why, that actually was the number of his engine--how do you know it?"demanded Carlyle sharply.

  "It was mentioned two or three times at the inquest, Louis," repliedCarrados mildly.

  "And you remembered--with no reason to?"

  "You can generally trust a blind man's memory, especially if he hastaken the trouble to develop it."

  "Then you will remember that Hutchins did not make a very goodimpression at the time. He was surly and irritable under the ordeal. Iwant you to see the case from all sides."

  "He called the signalman--Mead--a 'lying young dog,' across the room, Ibelieve. Now, Mead, what is he like? You have seen him, of course?"

  "Yes. He does not impress me favourably. He is glib, ingratiating, anddistinctly 'greasy.' He has a ready answer for everything almost beforethe question is out of your mouth. He has thought of everything."

  "And now you are going to tell me something, Louis," said Carradosencouragingly.

  Mr Carlyle laughed a little to cover an involuntary movement ofsurprise.

  "There is a suggestive line that was not touched at the inquiries," headmitted. "Hutchins has been a saving man all his life, and he hasreceived good wages. Among his class he is regarded as wealthy. Idaresay that he has five hundred pounds in the bank. He is a widowerwith one daughter, a very nice-mannered girl of about twenty. Mead is ayoung man, and he and the girl are sweethearts--have been informallyengaged for some time. But old Hutchins would not hear of it; he seemsto have taken a dislike to the signalman from the first and latterly hehad forbidden him to come to his house or his daughter to speak to him."

  "Excellent, Louis," cried Carrados in great delight. "We shall clearyour man in a blaze of red and green lights yet and hang the glib,'greasy' signalman from his own signal-post."

  "It is a significant fact, seriously?"

  "It is absolutely convincing."

&nb
sp; "It may have been a slip, a mental lapse on Mead's part which hediscovered the moment it was too late, and then, being too cowardly toadmit his fault, and having so much at stake, he took care to makedetection impossible. It may have been that, but my idea is rather thatprobably it was neither quite pure accident nor pure design. I canimagine Mead meanly pluming himself over the fact that the life of thisman who stands in his way, and whom he must cordially dislike, lies inhis power. I can imagine the idea becoming an obsession as he dwells onit. A dozen times with his hand on the lever he lets his mind explorethe possibilities of a moment's defection. Then one day he pulls thesignal off in sheer bravado--and hastily puts it at danger again. He mayhave done it once or he may have done it oftener before he was caught ina fatal moment of irresolution. The chances are about even that theengine-driver would be killed. In any case he would be disgraced, for itis easier on the face of it to believe that a man might run past adanger signal in absentmindedness, without noticing it, than that a manshould pull off a signal and replace it without being conscious of hisactions."

  "The fireman was killed. Does your theory involve the certainty of thefireman being killed, Louis?"

  "No," said Carlyle. "The fireman is a difficulty, but looking at it fromMead's point of view--whether he has been guilty of an error or acrime--it resolves itself into this: First, the fireman may be killed.Second, he may not notice the signal at all. Third, in any case he willloyally corroborate his driver and the good old jury will discountthat."

  Carrados smoked thoughtfully, his open, sightless eyes merely appearingto be set in a tranquil gaze across the room.

  "It would not be an improbable explanation," he said presently."Ninety-nine men out of a hundred would say: 'People do not do thesethings.' But you and I, who have in our different ways studiedcriminology, know that they sometimes do, or else there would be nocurious crimes. What have you done on that line?"

  To anyone who could see, Mr Carlyle's expression conveyed an answer.

  "You are behind the scenes, Max. What was there for me to do? Still Imust do something for my money. Well, I have had a very close inquirymade confidentially among the men. There might be a whisper of one ofthem knowing more than had come out--a man restrained by friendship, orenmity, or even grade jealousy. Nothing came of that. Then there was theremote chance that some private person had noticed the signal withoutattaching any importance to it then, one who would be able to identifyit still by something associated with the time. I went over the linemyself. Opposite the signal the line on one side is shut in by a highblank wall; on the other side are houses, but coming below the butt-endof a scullery the signal does not happen to be visible from any road orfrom any window."

  "My poor Louis!" said Carrados, in friendly ridicule. "You were at theend of your tether?"

  "I was," admitted Carlyle. "And now that you know the sort of job it isI don't suppose that you are keen on wasting your time over it."

  "That would hardly be fair, would it?" said Carrados reasonably. "No,Louis, I will take over your honest old driver and your greasy youngsignalman and your fatal signal that cannot be seen from anywhere."

  "But it is an important point for you to remember, Max, that althoughthe signal cannot be seen from the box, if the mechanism had gone wrong,or anyone tampered with the arm, the automatic indicator would at oncehave told Mead that the green light was showing. Oh, I have gone verythoroughly into the technical points, I assure you."

  "I must do so too," commented Mr Carrados gravely.

  "For that matter, if there is anything you want to know, I dare saythat I can tell you," suggested his visitor. "It might save your time."

  "True," acquiesced Carrados. "I should like to know whether anyonebelonging to the houses that bound the line there came of age or gotmarried on the twenty-sixth of November."

  Mr Carlyle looked across curiously at his host.

  "I really do not know, Max," he replied, in his crisp, precise way."What on earth has that got to do with it, may I inquire?"

  "The only explanation of the Pont St Lin swing-bridge disaster of '75was the reflection of a green bengal light on a cottage window."

  Mr Carlyle smiled his indulgence privately.

  "My dear chap, you mustn't let your retentive memory of obscurehappenings run away with you," he remarked wisely. "In nine cases out often the obvious explanation is the true one. The difficulty, as here,lies in proving it. Now, you would like to see these men?"

  "I expect so; in any case, I will see Hutchins first."

  "Both live in Holloway. Shall I ask Hutchins to come here to seeyou--say to-morrow? He is doing nothing."

  "No," replied Carrados. "To-morrow I must call on my brokers and my timemay be filled up."

  "Quite right; you mustn't neglect your own affairs forthis--experiment," assented Carlyle.

  "Besides, I should prefer to drop in on Hutchins at his own home. Now,Louis, enough of the honest old man for one night. I have a lovely thingby Eumenes that I want to show you. To-day is--Tuesday. Come to dinneron Sunday and pour the vials of your ridicule on my want of success."

  "That's an amiable way of putting it," replied Carlyle. "All right, Iwill."

  Two hours later Carrados was again in his study, apparently, for awonder, sitting idle. Sometimes he smiled to himself, and once or twicehe laughed a little, but for the most part his pleasant, impassive facereflected no emotion and he sat with his useless eyes tranquilly fixedon an unseen distance. It was a fantastic caprice of the man to mock hissightlessness by a parade of light, and under the soft brilliance of adozen electric brackets the room was as bright as day. At length hestood up and rang the bell.

  "I suppose Mr Greatorex isn't still here by any chance, Parkinson?" heasked, referring to his secretary.

  "I think not, sir, but I will ascertain," replied the man.

  "Never mind. Go to his room and bring me the last two files of _TheTimes_. Now"--when he returned--"turn to the earliest you have there.The date?"

  "November the second."

  "That will do. Find the Money Market; it will be in the Supplement. Nowlook down the columns until you come to British Railways."

  "I have it, sir."

  "Central and Suburban. Read the closing price and the change."

  "Central and Suburban Ordinary, 66-1/2 - 67-1/2, fall 1/8. PreferredOrdinary, 81 - 81-1/2, no change. Deferred Ordinary, 27-1/2 - 27-3/4, fall1/4. That is all, sir."

  "Now take a paper about a week on. Read the Deferred only."

  "27 - 27-1/4, no change."

  "Another week."

  "29-1/2 - 30, rise 5/8."

  "Another."

  "31-1/2 - 32-1/2, rise 1."

  "Very good. Now on Tuesday the twenty-seventh November."

  "31-7/8 - 32-3/4, rise 1/2."

  "Yes. The next day."

  "24-1/2 - 23-1/2, fall 9."

  "Quite so, Parkinson. There had been an accident, you see."

  "Yes, sir. Very unpleasant accident. Jane knows a person whose sister'syoung man has a cousin who had his arm torn off in it--torn off at thesocket, she says, sir. It seems to bring it home to one, sir."

  "That is all. Stay--in the paper you have, look down the first moneycolumn and see if there is any reference to the Central and Suburban."

  "Yes, sir. 'City and Suburbans, which after their late depression on theprojected extension of the motor bus service, had been steadilycreeping up on the abandonment of the scheme, and as a result of theirown excellent traffic returns, suffered a heavy slump through thelamentable accident of Thursday night. The Deferred in particular at onetime fell eleven points as it was felt that the possible dividend, withwhich rumour has of late been busy, was now out of the question.'"

  "Yes; that is all. Now you can take the papers back. And let it be awarning to you, Parkinson, not to invest your savings in speculativerailway deferreds."

  "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir, I will endeavour to remember." He lingeredfor a moment as he shook the file of papers level. "I may say, sir
, thatI have my eye on a small block of cottage property at Acton. But evencottage property scarcely seems safe from legislative depredation now,sir."

  The next day Mr Carrados called on his brokers in the city. It is to bepresumed that he got through his private business quicker than heexpected, for after leaving Austin Friars he continued his journey toHolloway, where he found Hutchins at home and sitting morosely beforehis kitchen fire. Rightly assuming that his luxuriant car would involvehim in a certain amount of public attention in Klondyke Street, theblind man dismissed it some distance from the house, and walked the restof the way, guided by the almost imperceptible touch of Parkinson's arm.

  "Here is a gentleman to see you, father," explained Miss Hutchins, whohad come to the door. She divined the relative positions of the twovisitors at a glance.

  "Then why don't you take him into the parlour?" grumbled the ex-driver.His face was a testimonial of hard work and general sobriety but at themoment one might hazard from his voice and manner that he had beendrinking earlier in the day.

  "I don't think that the gentleman would be impressed by the differencebetween our parlour and our kitchen," replied the girl quaintly, "and itis warmer here."

  "What's the matter with the parlour now?" demanded her father sourly."It was good enough for your mother and me. It used to be good enoughfor you."

  "There is nothing the matter with it, nor with the kitchen either." Sheturned impassively to the two who had followed her along the narrowpassage. "Will you go in, sir?"

  "I don't want to see no gentleman," cried Hutchins noisily."Unless"--his manner suddenly changed to one of pitiableanxiety--"unless you're from the Company, sir, to--to----"

  "No; I have come on Mr Carlyle's behalf," replied Carrados, walking to achair as though he moved by a kind of instinct.

  Hutchins laughed his wry contempt.

  "Mr Carlyle!" he reiterated; "Mr Carlyle! Fat lot of good he's been.Why don't he _do_ something for his money?"

  "He has," replied Carrados, with imperturbable good-humour; "he has sentme. Now, I want to ask you a few questions."

  "A few questions!" roared the irate man. "Why, blast it, I have donenothing else but answer questions for a month. I didn't pay Mr Carlyleto ask me questions; I can get enough of that for nixes. Why don't yougo and ask Mr Herbert Ananias Mead your few questions--then you mightfind out something."

  There was a slight movement by the door and Carrados knew that the girlhad quietly left the room.

  "You saw that, sir?" demanded the father, diverted to a new line ofbitterness. "You saw that girl--my own daughter, that I've worked forall her life?"

  "No," replied Carrados.

  "The girl that's just gone out--she's my daughter," explained Hutchins.

  "I know, but I did not see her. I see nothing. I am blind."

  "Blind!" exclaimed the old fellow, sitting up in startled wonderment."You mean it, sir? You walk all right and you look at me as if you sawme. You're kidding surely."

  "No," smiled Carrados. "It's quite right."

  "Then it's a funny business, sir--you what are blind expecting to findsomething that those with their eyes couldn't," ruminated Hutchinssagely.

  "There are things that you can't see with your eyes, Hutchins."

  "Perhaps you are right, sir. Well, what is it you want to know?"

  "Light a cigar first," said the blind man, holding out his case andwaiting until the various sounds told him that his host was smokingcontentedly. "The train you were driving at the time of the accident wasthe six-twenty-seven from Notcliff. It stopped everywhere until itreached Lambeth Bridge, the chief London station of your line. There itbecame something of an express, and leaving Lambeth Bridge atseven-eleven, should not stop again until it fetched Swanstead onThames, eleven miles out, at seven-thirty-four. Then it stopped on andoff from Swanstead to Ingerfield, the terminus of that branch, which itreached at eight-five."

  Hutchins nodded, and then, remembering, said: "That's right, sir."

  "That was your business all day--running between Notcliff andIngerfield?"

  "Yes, sir. Three journeys up and three down mostly."

  "With the same stops on all the down journeys?"

  "No. The seven-eleven is the only one that does a run from the Bridge toSwanstead. You see, it is just on the close of the evening rush, as theycall it. A good many late business gentlemen living at Swanstead usethe seven-eleven regular. The other journeys we stop at every station toLambeth Bridge, and then here and there beyond."

  "There are, of course, other trains doing exactly the same journey--aservice, in fact?"

  "Yes, sir. About six."

  "And do any of those--say, during the rush--do any of those run non-stopfrom Lambeth to Swanstead?"

  Hutchins reflected a moment. All the choler and restlessness had meltedout of the man's face. He was again the excellent artisan, slow butcapable and self-reliant.

  "That I couldn't definitely say, sir. Very few short-distance trainspass the junction, but some of those may. A guide would show us in aminute but I haven't got one."

  "Never mind. You said at the inquest that it was no uncommon thing foryou to be pulled up at the 'stop' signal east of Knight's Cross Station.How often would that happen--only with the seven-eleven, mind."

  "Perhaps three times a week; perhaps twice."

  "The accident was on a Thursday. Have you noticed that you were pulledup oftener on a Thursday than on any other day?"

  A smile crossed the driver's face at the question.

  "You don't happen to live at Swanstead yourself, sir?" he asked inreply.

  "No," admitted Carrados. "Why?"

  "Well, sir, we were _always_ pulled up on Thursday; practically always,you may say. It got to be quite a saying among those who used the trainregular; they used to look out for it."

  Carrados's sightless eyes had the one quality of concealing emotionsupremely. "Oh," he commented softly, "always; and it was quite asaying, was it? And _why_ was it always so on Thursday?"

  "It had to do with the early closing, I'm told. The suburban traffic wasa bit different. By rights we ought to have been set back two minutesfor that day, but I suppose it wasn't thought worth while to alter us inthe time-table, so we most always had to wait outside Three Deep tunnelfor a west-bound electric to make good."

  "You were prepared for it then?"

  "Yes, sir, I was," said Hutchins, reddening at some recollection, "andvery down about it was one of the jury over that. But, mayhap once inthree months, I did get through even on a Thursday, and it's not for meto question whether things are right or wrong just because they are notwhat I may expect. The signals are my orders, sir--stop! go on! and it'sfor me to obey, as you would a general on the field of battle. Whatwould happen otherwise! It was nonsense what they said about goingcautious; and the man who started it was a barber who didn't know thedifference between a 'distance' and a 'stop' signal down to the minutethey gave their verdict. My orders, sir, given me by that signal, was'Go right ahead and keep to your running time!'"

  Carrados nodded a soothing assent. "That is all, I think," he remarked.

  "All!" exclaimed Hutchins in surprise. "Why, sir, you can't have gotmuch idea of it yet."

  "Quite enough. And I know it isn't pleasant for you to be taken alongthe same ground over and over again."

  The man moved awkwardly in his chair and pulled nervously at hisgrizzled beard.

  "You mustn't take any notice of what I said just now, sir," heapologized. "You somehow make me feel that something may come of it; butI've been badgered about and accused and cross-examined from one toanother of them these weeks till it's fairly made me bitter againsteverything. And now they talk of putting me in a lavatory--me that hasbeen with the company for five and forty years and on the foot-platethirty-two--a man suspected of running past a danger signal."

  "You have had a rough time, Hutchins; you will have to exercise yourpatience a little longer yet," said Carrados sympathetically.

  "You think
something may come of it, sir? You think you will be able toclear me? Believe me, sir, if you could give me something to lookforward to it might save me from----" He pulled himself up and shook hishead sorrowfully. "I've been near it," he added simply.

  Carrados reflected and took his resolution.

  "To-day is Wednesday. I think you may hope to hear something from yourgeneral manager towards the middle of next week."

  "Good God, sir! You really mean that?"

  "In the interval show your good sense by behaving reasonably. Keepcivilly to yourself and don't talk. Above all"--he nodded towards aquart jug that stood on the table between them, an incident that filledthe simple-minded engineer with boundless wonder when he recalled itafterwards--"above all, leave that alone."

  Hutchins snatched up the vessel and brought it crashing down on thehearthstone, his face shining with a set resolution.

  "I've done with it, sir. It was the bitterness and despair that drove meto that. Now I can do without it."

  The door was hastily opened and Miss Hutchins looked anxiously from herfather to the visitors and back again.

  "Oh, whatever is the matter?" she exclaimed. "I heard a great crash."

  "This gentleman is going to clear me, Meg, my dear," blurted out the oldman irrepressibly. "And I've done with the drink for ever."

  "Hutchins! Hutchins!" said Carrados warningly.

  "My daughter, sir; you wouldn't have her not know?" pleaded Hutchins,rather crest-fallen. "It won't go any further."

  Carrados laughed quietly to himself as he felt Margaret Hutchins'sstartled and questioning eyes attempting to read his mind. He shookhands with the engine-driver without further comment, however, andwalked out into the commonplace little street under Parkinson'sunobtrusive guidance.

  "Very nice of Miss Hutchins to go into half-mourning, Parkinson," heremarked as they went along. "Thoughtful, and yet not ostentatious."

  "Yes, sir," agreed Parkinson, who had long ceased to wonder at hismaster's perceptions.

  "The Romans, Parkinson, had a saying to the effect that gold carries nosmell. That is a pity sometimes. What jewellery did Miss Hutchins wear?"

  "Very little, sir. A plain gold brooch representing a merry-thought--themerry-thought of a sparrow, I should say, sir. The only other articlewas a smooth-backed gun-metal watch, suspended from a gun-metal bow."

  "Nothing showy or expensive, eh?"

  "Oh dear no, sir. Quite appropriate for a young person of her position."

  "Just what I should have expected." He slackened his pace. "We arepassing a hoarding, are we not?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "We will stand here a moment. Read me the letterpress of the posterbefore us."

  "This 'Oxo' one, sir?"

  "Yes."

  "'Oxo,' sir."

  Carrados was convulsed with silent laughter. Parkinson had infinitelymore dignity and conceded merely a tolerant recognition of theludicrous.

  "That was a bad shot, Parkinson," remarked his master when he couldspeak. "We will try another."

  For three minutes, with scrupulous conscientiousness on the part of thereader and every appearance of keen interest on the part of the hearer,there were set forth the particulars of a sale by auction of superfluoustimber and builders' material.

  "That will do," said Carrados, when the last detail had been reached."We can be seen from the door of No. 107 still?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "No indication of anyone coming to us from there?"

  "No, sir."

  Carrados walked thoughtfully on again. In the Holloway Road theyrejoined the waiting motor car. "Lambeth Bridge Station," was the orderthe driver received.

  From the station the car was sent on home and Parkinson was instructedto take two first-class singles for Richmond, which could be reached bychanging at Stafford Road. The "evening rush" had not yet commenced andthey had no difficulty in finding an empty carriage when the train camein.

  Parkinson was kept busy that journey describing what he saw at variouspoints between Lambeth Bridge and Knight's Cross. For a quarter of amile Carrados's demands on the eyes and the memory of his remarkableservant were wide and incessant. Then his questions ceased. They hadpassed the "stop" signal, east of Knight's Cross Station.

  The following afternoon they made the return journey as far as Knight'sCross. This time, however, the surroundings failed to interest Carrados."We are going to look at some rooms," was the information he offered onthe subject, and an imperturbable "Yes, sir" had been the extent ofParkinson's comment on the unusual proceeding. After leaving the stationthey turned sharply along a road that ran parallel with the line, a dullthoroughfare of substantial, elderly houses that were beginning to sinkinto decrepitude. Here and there a corner residence displayed the brassplate of a professional occupant, but for the most part they were givenup to the various branches of second-rate apartment letting.

  "The third house after the one with the flagstaff," said Carrados.

  Parkinson rang the bell, which was answered by a young servant, who tookan early opportunity of assuring them that she was not tidy as it wasrather early in the afternoon. She informed Carrados, in reply to hisinquiry, that Miss Chubb was at home, and showed them into a melancholylittle sitting-room to await her appearance.

  "I shall be 'almost' blind here, Parkinson," remarked Carrados, walkingabout the room. "It saves explanation."

  "Very good, sir," replied Parkinson.

  Five minutes later, an interval suggesting that Miss Chubb also found itrather early in the afternoon, Carrados was arranging to take rooms forhis attendant and himself for the short time that he would be in London,seeing an oculist.

  "One bedroom, mine, must face north," he stipulated. "It has to do withthe light."

  Miss Chubb replied that she quite understood. Some gentlemen, she added,had their requirements, others their fancies. She endeavoured to suitall. The bedroom she had in view from the first _did_ face north. Shewould not have known, only the last gentleman, curiously enough, hadmade the same request.

  "A sufferer like myself?" inquired Carrados affably.

  Miss Chubb did not think so. In his case she regarded it merely as afancy. He had said that he could not sleep on any other side. She hadhad to turn out of her own room to accommodate him, but if one kept anapartment-house one had to be adaptable; and Mr Ghoosh was certainlyvery liberal in his ideas.

  "Ghoosh? An Indian gentleman, I presume?" hazarded Carrados.

  It appeared that Mr Ghoosh was an Indian. Miss Chubb confided that atfirst she had been rather perturbed at the idea of taking in "a blackman," as she confessed to regarding him. She reiterated, however, thatMr Ghoosh proved to be "quite the gentleman." Five minutes of affabilityput Carrados in full possession of Mr Ghoosh's manner of life andmovements--the dates of his arrival and departure, his solitariness andhis daily habits.

  "This would be the best bedroom," said Miss Chubb.

  It was a fair-sized room on the first floor. The window looked out on tothe roof of an outbuilding; beyond, the deep cutting of the railwayline. Opposite stood the dead wall that Mr Carlyle had spoken of.

  Carrados "looked" round the room with the discriminating glance thatsometimes proved so embarrassing to those who knew him.

  "I have to take a little daily exercise," he remarked, walking to thewindow and running his hand up the woodwork. "You will not mind myfixing a 'developer' here, Miss Chubb--a few small screws?"

  Miss Chubb thought not. Then she was sure not. Finally she ridiculed theidea of minding with scorn.

  "If there is width enough," mused Carrados, spanning the uprightcritically. "Do you happen to have a wooden foot-rule convenient?"

  "Well, to be sure!" exclaimed Miss Chubb, opening a rapid succession ofdrawers until she produced the required article. "When we did out thisroom after Mr Ghoosh, there was this very ruler among the things that hehadn't thought worth taking. This is what you require, sir?"

  "Yes," replied Carrados, accepting it, "I think this is
exactly what Irequire." It was a common new white-wood rule, such as one might buy atany small stationer's for a penny. He carelessly took off the width ofthe upright, reading the figures with a touch; and then continued to runa finger-tip delicately up and down the edges of the instrument.

  "Four and seven-eighths," was his unspoken conclusion.

  "I hope it will do, sir."

  "Admirably," replied Carrados. "But I haven't reached the end of myrequirements yet, Miss Chubb."

  "No, sir?" said the landlady, feeling that it would be a pleasure tooblige so agreeable a gentleman, "what else might there be?"

  "Although I can see very little I like to have a light, but not any kindof light. Gas I cannot do with. Do you think that you would be able tofind me an oil lamp?"

  "Certainly, sir. I got out a very nice brass lamp that I have speciallyfor Mr Ghoosh. He read a good deal of an evening and he preferred alamp."

  "That is very convenient. I suppose it is large enough to burn for awhole evening?"

  "Yes, indeed. And very particular he was always to have it filled everyday."

  "A lamp without oil is not very useful," smiled Carrados, following hertowards another room, and absentmindedly slipping the foot-rule into hispocket.

  Whatever Parkinson thought of the arrangement of going into second-rateapartments in an obscure street it is to be inferred that his devotionto his master was sufficient to overcome his private emotions as aself-respecting "man." At all events, as they were approaching thestation he asked, and without a trace of feeling, whether there were anyorders for him with reference to the proposed migration.

  "None, Parkinson," replied his master. "We must be satisfied with ourpresent quarters."

  "I beg your pardon, sir," said Parkinson, with some constraint. "Iunderstood that you had taken the rooms for a week certain."

  "I am afraid that Miss Chubb will be under the same impression.Unforeseen circumstances will prevent our going, however. Mr Greatorexmust write to-morrow, enclosing a cheque, with my regrets, and adding apenny for this ruler which I seem to have brought away with me. It, atleast, is something for the money."

  Parkinson may be excused for not attempting to understand the course ofevents.

  "Here is your train coming in, sir," he merely said.

  "We will let it go and wait for another. Is there a signal at either endof the platform?"

  "Yes, sir; at the further end."

  "Let us walk towards it. Are there any of the porters or officials abouthere?"

  "No, sir; none."

  "Take this ruler. I want you to go up the steps--there are steps up thesignal, by the way?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "I want you to measure the glass of the lamp. Do not go up any higherthan is necessary, but if you have to stretch be careful not to mark onthe measurement with your nail, although the impulse is a natural one.That has been done already."

  Parkinson looked apprehensively around and about. Fortunately the partwas a dark and unfrequented spot and everyone else was moving towardsthe exit at the other end of the platform. Fortunately, also, the signalwas not a high one.

  "As near as I can judge on the rounded surface, the glass is four andseven-eighths across," reported Parkinson.

  "Thank you," replied Carrados, returning the measure to his pocket,"four and seven-eighths is quite near enough. Now we will take the nexttrain back."

  Sunday evening came, and with it Mr Carlyle to The Turrets at theappointed hour. He brought to the situation a mind poised for anyeventuality and a trenchant eye. As the time went on and theimpenetrable Carrados made no allusion to the case, Carlyle's mannerinclined to a waggish commiseration of his host's position. Actually, hesaid little, but the crisp precision of his voice when the path lay opento a remark of any significance left little to be said.

  It was not until they had finished dinner and returned to the librarythat Carrados gave the slightest hint of anything unusual being in theair. His first indication of coming events was to remove the key fromthe outside to the inside of the door.

  "What are you doing, Max?" demanded Mr Carlyle, his curiosity overcomingthe indirect attitude.

  "You have been very entertaining, Louis," replied his friend, "butParkinson should be back very soon now and it is as well to be prepared.Do you happen to carry a revolver?"

  "Not when I come to dine with you, Max," replied Carlyle, with all theaplomb he could muster. "Is it usual?"

  Carrados smiled affectionately at his guest's agile recovery and touchedthe secret spring of a drawer in an antique bureau by his side. Thelittle hidden receptacle shot smoothly out, disclosing a pair ofdull-blued pistols.

  "To-night, at all events, it might be prudent," he replied, handing oneto Carlyle and putting the other into his own pocket. "Our man may behere at any minute, and we do not know in what temper he will come."

  "Our man!" exclaimed Carlyle, craning forward in excitement. "Max! youdon't mean to say that you have got Mead to admit it?"

  "No one has admitted it," said Carrados. "And it is not Mead."

  "Not Mead.... Do you mean that Hutchins----?"

  "Neither Mead nor Hutchins. The man who tampered with the signal--forHutchins was right and a green light _was_ exhibited--is a young Indianfrom Bengal. His name is Drishna and he lives at Swanstead."

  Mr Carlyle stared at his friend between sheer surprise and blankincredulity.

  "You really mean this, Carrados?" he said.

  "My fatal reputation for humour!" smiled Carrados. "If I am wrong,Louis, the next hour will expose it."

  "But why--why--why? The colossal villainy, the unparalleled audacity!"Mr Carlyle lost himself among incredulous superlatives and could onlystare.

  "Chiefly to get himself out of a disastrous speculation," repliedCarrados, answering the question. "If there was another motive--or atleast an incentive--which I suspect, doubtless we shall hear of it."

  "All the same, Max, I don't think that you have treated me quitefairly," protested Carlyle, getting over his first surprise and passingto a sense of injury. "Here we are and I know nothing, absolutelynothing, of the whole affair."

  "We both have our ideas of pleasantry, Louis," replied Carradosgenially. "But I dare say you are right and perhaps there is still timeto atone." In the fewest possible words he outlined the course of hisinvestigations. "And now you know all that is to be known until Drishnaarrives."

  "But will he come?" questioned Carlyle doubtfully. "He may besuspicious."

  "Yes, he will be suspicious."

  "Then he will not come."

  "On the contrary, Louis, he will come because my letter will make himsuspicious. He _is_ coming; otherwise Parkinson would have telephonedme at once and we should have had to take other measures."

  "What did you say, Max?" asked Carlyle curiously.

  "I wrote that I was anxious to discuss an Indo-Scythian inscription withhim, and sent my car in the hope that he would be able to oblige me."

  "But is he interested in Indo-Scythian inscriptions?"

  "I haven't the faintest idea," admitted Carrados, and Mr Carlyle wasthrowing up his hands in despair when the sound of a motor car wheelssoftly kissing the gravel surface of the drive outside brought him tohis feet.

  "By gad, you are right, Max!" he exclaimed, peeping through thecurtains. "There is a man inside."

  "Mr Drishna," announced Parkinson, a minute later.

  The visitor came into the room with leisurely self-possession that mighthave been real or a desperate assumption. He was a slightly built youngman of about twenty-five, with black hair and eyes, a small, carefullytrained moustache, and a dark olive skin. His physiognomy was notdispleasing, but his expression had a harsh and supercilious tinge. Inattire he erred towards the immaculately spruce.

  "Mr Carrados?" he said inquiringly.

  Carrados, who had risen, bowed slightly without offering his hand.

  "This gentleman," he said, indicating his friend, "is Mr Carlyle, thecelebrated private detective."
<
br />   The Indian shot a very sharp glance at the object of this description.Then he sat down.

  "You wrote me a letter, Mr Carrados," he remarked, in English thatscarcely betrayed any foreign origin, "a rather curious letter, I maysay. You asked me about an ancient inscription. I know nothing ofantiquities; but I thought, as you had sent, that it would be morecourteous if I came and explained this to you."

  "That was the object of my letter," replied Carrados.

  "You wished to see me?" said Drishna, unable to stand the ordeal of thesilence that Carrados imposed after his remark.

  "When you left Miss Chubb's house you left a ruler behind." One lay onthe desk by Carrados and he took it up as he spoke.

  "I don't understand what you are talking about," said Drishna guardedly."You are making some mistake."

  "The ruler was marked at four and seven-eighths inches--the measure ofthe glass of the signal lamp outside."

  The unfortunate young man was unable to repress a start. His face lostits healthy tone. Then, with a sudden impulse, he made a step forwardand snatched the object from Carrados's hand.

  "If it is mine I have a right to it," he exclaimed, snapping the rulerin two and throwing it on to the back of the blazing fire. "It isnothing."

  "Pardon me, I did not say that the one you have so impetuously disposedof was yours. As a matter of fact, it was mine. Yours is--elsewhere."

  "Wherever it is you have no right to it if it is mine," panted Drishna,with rising excitement. "You are a thief, Mr Carrados. I will not stayany longer here."

  He jumped up and turned towards the door. Carlyle made a step forward,but the precaution was unnecessary.

  "One moment, Mr Drishna," interposed Carrados, in his smoothest tones."It is a pity, after you have come so far, to leave without hearing ofmy investigations in the neighbourhood of Shaftesbury Avenue."

  Drishna sat down again.

  "As you like," he muttered. "It does not interest me."

  "I wanted to obtain a lamp of a certain pattern," continued Carrados."It seemed to me that the simplest explanation would be to say that Iwanted it for a motor car. Naturally I went to Long Acre. At the firstshop I said: 'Wasn't it here that a friend of mine, an Indian gentleman,recently had a lamp made with a green glass that was nearly five inchesacross?' No, it was not there but they could make me one. At the nextshop the same; at the third, and fourth, and so on. Finally mypersistence was rewarded. I found the place where the lamp had beenmade, and at the cost of ordering another I obtained all the details Iwanted. It was news to them, the shopman informed me, that in some partsof India green was the danger colour and therefore tail lamps had toshow a green light. The incident made some impression on him and hewould be able to identify their customer--who paid in advance and gaveno address--among a thousand of his countrymen. Do I succeed ininteresting you, Mr Drishna?"

  "Do you?" replied Drishna, with a languid yawn. "Do I look interested?"

  "You must make allowance for my unfortunate blindness," apologizedCarrados, with grim irony.

  "Blindness!" exclaimed Drishna, dropping his affectation of unconcern asthough electrified by the word, "do you mean--really blind--that you donot see me?"

  "Alas, no," admitted Carrados.

  The Indian withdrew his right hand from his coat pocket and with atragic gesture flung a heavy revolver down on the table between them.

  "I have had you covered all the time, Mr Carrados, and if I had wishedto go and you or your friend had raised a hand to stop me, it would havebeen at the peril of your lives," he said, in a voice of melancholytriumph. "But what is the use of defying fate, and who successfullyevades his destiny? A month ago I went to see one of our people whoreads the future and sought to know the course of certain events. 'Youneed fear no human eye,' was the message given to me. Then she added:'But when the sightless sees the unseen, make your peace with Yama.' AndI thought she spoke of the Great Hereafter!"

  "This amounts to an admission of your guilt," exclaimed Mr Carlylepractically.

  "I bow to the decree of fate," replied Drishna. "And it is fitting tothe universal irony of existence that a blind man should be theinstrument. I don't imagine, Mr Carlyle," he added maliciously, "thatyou, with your eyes, would ever have brought that result about."

  "You are a very cold-blooded young scoundrel, sir!" retorted Mr Carlyle."Good heavens! do you realize that you are responsible for the death ofscores of innocent men and women?"

  "Do _you_ realise, Mr Carlyle, that you and your Government and yoursoldiers are responsible for the death of thousands of innocent men andwomen in my country every day? If England was occupied by the Germanswho quartered an army and an administration with their wives and theirfamilies and all their expensive paraphernalia on the unfortunatecountry until the whole nation was reduced to the verge of famine, andthe appointment of every new official meant the callous death sentenceon a thousand men and women to pay his salary, then if you went toBerlin and wrecked a train you would be hailed a patriot. What Boadiceadid and--and Samson, so have I. If they were heroes, so am I."

  "Well, upon my word!" cried the highly scandalized Carlyle, "what next!Boadicea was a--er--semi-legendary person, whom we may possibly admireat a distance. Personally, I do not profess to express an opinion. ButSamson, I would remind you, is a Biblical character. Samson was mockedas an enemy. You, I do not doubt, have been entertained as a friend."

  "And haven't I been mocked and despised and sneered at every day of mylife here by your supercilious, superior, empty-headed men?" flashedback Drishna, his eyes leaping into malignity and his voice tremblingwith sudden passion. "Oh! how I hated them as I passed them in thestreet and recognized by a thousand petty insults their lordly Englishcontempt for me as an inferior being--a nigger. How I longed withCaligula that a nation had a single neck that I might destroy it at oneblow. I loathe you in your complacent hypocrisy, Mr Carlyle, despise andutterly abominate you from an eminence of superiority that you can nevereven understand."

  "I think we are getting rather away from the point, Mr Drishna,"interposed Carrados, with the impartiality of a judge. "Unless I ammisinformed, you are not so ungallant as to include everyone you havemet here in your execration?"

  "Ah, no," admitted Drishna, descending into a quite ingenuous frankness."Much as I hate your men I love your women. How is it possible that anation should be so divided--its men so dull-witted and offensive, itswomen so quick, sympathetic and capable of appreciating?"

  "But a little expensive, too, at times?" suggested Carrados.

  Drishna sighed heavily.

  "Yes; it is incredible. It is the generosity of their large nature. Myallowance, though what most of you would call noble, has proved quiteinadequate. I was compelled to borrow money and the interest becameoverwhelming. Bankruptcy was impracticable because I should have thenbeen recalled by my people, and much as I detest England a certainreason made the thought of leaving it unbearable."

  "Connected with the Arcady Theatre?"

  "You know? Well, do not let us introduce the lady's name. In order torestore myself I speculated on the Stock Exchange. My credit was goodthrough my father's position and the standing of the firm to which I amattached. I heard on reliable authority, and very early, that theCentral and Suburban, and the Deferred especially, was safe to fallheavily, through a motor bus amalgamation that was then a secret. Iopened a bear account and sold largely. The shares fell, but onlyfractionally, and I waited. Then, unfortunately, they began to go up.Adverse forces were at work and rumours were put about. I could notstand the settlement, and in order to carry over an account I wasliterally compelled to deal temporarily with some securities that werenot technically my own property."

  "Embezzlement, sir," commented Mr Carlyle icily. "But what isembezzlement on the top of wholesale murder!"

  "That is what it is called. In my case, however, it was only to betemporary. Unfortunately, the rise continued. Then, at the height of mydespair, I chanced to be returning to Swanstead rather earlier than
usual one evening, and the train was stopped at a certain signal to letanother pass. There was conversation in the carriage and I learnedcertain details. One said that there would be an accident some day, andso forth. In a flash--as by an inspiration--I saw how the circumstancemight be turned to account. A bad accident and the shares wouldcertainly fall and my position would be retrieved. I think Mr Carradoshas somehow learned the rest."

  "Max," said Mr Carlyle, with emotion, "is there any reason why youshould not send your man for a police officer and have this monsterarrested on his own confession without further delay?"

  "Pray do so, Mr Carrados," acquiesced Drishna. "I shall certainly behanged, but the speech I shall prepare will ring from one end of Indiato the other; my memory will be venerated as that of a martyr; and theemancipation of my motherland will be hastened by my sacrifice."

  "In other words," commented Carrados, "there will be disturbances athalf-a-dozen disaffected places, a few unfortunate police will beclubbed to death, and possibly worse things may happen. That does notsuit us, Mr Drishna."

  "And how do you propose to prevent it?" asked Drishna, with coolassurance.

  "It is very unpleasant being hanged on a dark winter morning; very cold,very friendless, very inhuman. The long trial, the solitude and theconfinement, the thoughts of the long sleepless night before, thehangman and the pinioning and the noosing of the rope, are apt to preyon the imagination. Only a very stupid man can take hanging easily."

  "What do you want me to do instead, Mr Carrados?" asked Drishnashrewdly.

  Carrados's hand closed on the weapon that still lay on the table betweenthem. Without a word he pushed it across.

  "I see," commented Drishna, with a short laugh and a gleaming eye."Shoot myself and hush it up to suit your purpose. Withhold my messageto save the exposures of a trial, and keep the flame from the torch ofinsurrectionary freedom."

  "Also," interposed Carrados mildly, "to save your worthy people a gooddeal of shame, and to save the lady who is nameless the unpleasantnecessity of relinquishing the house and the income which you have justsettled on her. She certainly would not then venerate your memory."

  "What is that?"

  "The transaction which you carried through was based on a felony andcould not be upheld. The firm you dealt with will go to the courts, andthe money, being directly traceable, will be held forfeit as no goodconsideration passed."

  "Max!" cried Mr Carlyle hotly, "you are not going to let this scoundrelcheat the gallows after all?"

  "The best use you can make of the gallows is to cheat it, Louis,"replied Carrados. "Have you ever reflected what human beings will thinkof us a hundred years hence?"

  "Oh, of course I'm not really in favour of hanging," admitted MrCarlyle.

  "Nobody really is. But we go on hanging. Mr Drishna is a dangerousanimal who for the sake of pacific animals must cease to exist. Let hisbarbarous exploit pass into oblivion with him. The disadvantages ofspreading it broadcast immeasurably outweigh the benefits."

  "I have considered," announced Drishna. "I will do as you wish."

  "Very well," said Carrados. "Here is some plain notepaper. You hadbetter write a letter to someone saying that the financial difficultiesin which you are involved make life unbearable."

  "But there are no financial difficulties--now."

  "That does not matter in the least. It will be put down to anhallucination and taken as showing the state of your mind."

  "But what guarantee have we that he will not escape?" whispered MrCarlyle.

  "He cannot escape," replied Carrados tranquilly. "His identity is tooclear."

  "I have no intention of trying to escape," put in Drishna, as he wrote."You hardly imagine that I have not considered this eventuality, doyou?"

  "All the same," murmured the ex-lawyer, "I should like to have a jurybehind me. It is one thing to execute a man morally; it is another to doit almost literally."

  "Is that all right?" asked Drishna, passing across the letter he hadwritten.

  Carrados smiled at this tribute to his perception.

  "Quite excellent," he replied courteously. "There is a train atnine-forty. Will that suit you?"

  Drishna nodded and stood up. Mr Carlyle had a very uneasy feeling thathe ought to do something but could not suggest to himself what.

  The next moment he heard his friend heartily thanking the visitor forthe assistance he had been in the matter of the Indo-Scythianinscription, as they walked across the hall together. Then a doorclosed.

  "I believe that there is something positively uncanny about Max attimes," murmured the perturbed gentleman to himself.