The Middle of Things | Page 9

rings, in there. Well, I didn't
see any diamond rings on his hands when I looked at his body, and I
particularly noticed his hands, to see if there were signs of any struggle.
No sir--it's just a plain case of what used to be called highway robbery
and murder. But come round with me to the police-station, Mr.
Viner--they'll have taken him to the mortuary by now, and I should like
to hear what our divisional surgeon has to say, and what our people
actually found on the body."
As Viner and the Inspector walked into the police-station, Dr.
Cortelyon came out. Drillford stopped him.
"Found out anything more, Doctor?" he asked.
"Nothing beyond what I said at first," replied Cortelyon. "The man has
been stabbed through the heart, from behind, in one particularly
well-delivered blow. I should say the murderer had waited for him in
that passage, probably knowing his habits. That passage, now--you

know it really will have to be seen to! That wretched old lamp in the
middle gives no light at all. The wonder is that something of this sort
hasn't occurred before."
Drillford muttered something about local authorities and
property-owners and went forward into an office, motioning Viner to
follow. The divisional surgeon was there in conversation with the
sergeant whom Drillford had left in charge of the body. "That is
something on which I'd stake my professional reputation," he said. "I'm
sure of it."
"What's that, Doctor?" asked Drillford. "Something to do with this
affair?"
"I was saying that whoever stabbed this unfortunate man had some
knowledge of anatomy," remarked the doctor. "He was killed by one
swift blow from a particularly keen-edged, thin-bladed weapon which
was driven through his back at the exact spot. You ought to make a
minute search behind the walls on either side of that passage--the
probability is that the murderer threw his weapon away."
"We'll do all that, Doctor," said Drillford. "As to your suggestion--don't
you forget that there are a good many criminals here in London who are
regular experts in the use of the knife--I've seen plenty of instances of
that myself. Now," he went on, turning to the sergeant, "about that
search? What did you find on him?"
The sergeant lifted the lid of a desk and pointed to a sheet of foolscap
paper whereon lay certain small articles at which Viner gazed with a
sense of strange fascination. A penknife, a small gold matchbox, a
gold-mounted pencil-case, some silver coins, a handkerchief, and
conspicuous among the rest, a farthing.
"That's the lot," said the sergeant, "except another handkerchief, and a
pair of gloves in the overcoat, where I've left them. Nothing else--no
watch, chain, purse or pocketbook. And no rings--but it's very plain
from his fingers that he wore two rings one on each hand, third finger
in each case."

"There you are!" said Drillford with a glance at Viner. "Murdered and
robbed--clear case! Now, Mr. Viner, give us as accurate a description
as possible of the fellow who ran out of that passage."
Viner did his best. His recollections were of a young man of about his
own age, about his own height and build, somewhat above the medium;
it was his impression, he said, that the man was dressed, if not shabbily,
at least poorly; he had an impression, too, that the clean-shaven face
which he had seen for a brief moment was thin and worn.
"Got any recollection of his exact look?" inquired the Inspector. "That's
a lot to go by."
"I'm trying to think," said Viner. "Yes--I should say he looked to be
pretty hard-up. There was a sort of desperate gleam in his eye. And--"
"Take your time," remarked Drillford. "Anything you can suggest, you
know--"
"Well," replied Viner. "I'd an idea at the moment, and I've had it since,
that I'd seen this man before. Something in his face was familiar. The
only thing I can think of is this: I potter round old bookshops and
curiosity-shops a good deal--I may have seen this young fellow on
some occasion of that sort."
"Anyway," suggested Drillford, glancing over the particulars which he
had written down, "you'd know him again if you saw him?"
"Oh, certainly!" asserted Viner. "I should know him anywhere."
"Then that's all we need trouble you with now, sir," said Drillford. "The
next business will be--tomorrow."
Viner walked slowly out of the police-station and still more slowly
homeward. When he reached the first lamp, he drew out his watch.
Half-past twelve! Just two hours ago he had been in his own
comfortable library, smiling at Miss Penkridge's ideas about the very
matters into one of which he was now plunged. He would not have

been surprised if he had suddenly awoke, to find that all this was a