H. C. Bailey

“ My God, Lomas, I’m afraid.”
“My dear fellow!” Lomas was startled. “This isn’t like you.”
“Oh, many thanks. I don’t like men dying, that’s all. Professional prejudice. I’m a doctor, you see. What the devil are we talking for? Who lives at Millfield double three something?”
“We might get at it,” Lomas said doubtfully, and rang for Superintendent Bell. “But it’s a needle in a bundle of hay. And if Tetherdown was to be murdered, it’s done by now.” ”

“ Lomas stared at him, apparently trying to believe that he was real. “My dear fellow!” he protested. “Oh, my dear fellow! This is fantastic. Why should any one suddenly decoy little Tetherdown? He never made an enemy. He would have nothing on him to steal. It’s an old joke that he doesn’t carry the worth of a shilling. He has lived in that hovel with his two old fogies of servants for years and some times he goes off mysteriously and the fellows in his club only notice he has been away when he blows in again.”
“You’re a born policeman, Lomas,” Reggie sighed. “You’re so commonplace.” ”

“ Or will you prefer to believe with Superintendent Bell that he has some singular faculty for feeling other men’s minds at work, a sort of sixth sense? This is mystical and no one is less mystical than Reggie Fortune.
To the extreme discomfort of Lomas he filled the time which their car took in reaching London with a lecture on the case. He found that three explanations were possible. The stone might have been stolen by some one who believed in its magical power, or by some one who coveted it for a collection, or by some one who meant to sell it to a collector. ”

“ Compare the mysterious Indians who are always hunting down their temple jewels in novels.”
“Lomas, you have a futile mind. Of course some fellow might want it for an amulet. It’s not only savages who believe in charms. How many men carried a mascot through the war? But your epileptic friend with the New York address doesn’t suggest this simple faith. I suspect a collector.”
“Well, I’ll believe anything of collectors,” Lomas admitted. “They collect heads in Borneo, don’t they? I know a fellow who collects shoes. Scalps or stamps or press-cuttings, it’s all very sad.” ”

“ The British Museum is still without a garrison.”
“Well, you know, this gentleman with the fit may be a collector.”
“Oh, Lord, no. It was a real fit. No deception. They had a doctor to him.”
Reggie Fortune was much affected. “There speaks the great heart of the people. The doctor always knows! I love your simple faith, Lomas. It cheers me. But I’m a doctor myself. My dear chap, has no one ever murmured into the ear of Scotland Yard that a fit can be faked?” ”

“ When I rattled him and he rang up Jerdan, Jerdan came there and she followed him back to the Ferns and asked for Tetherdown. Jolly awkward for Jerdan with me knocking at the door. He was crude with her, but I don’t know that I blame him. An able fellow. Pity, pity. Yes. What happened to brother George?”
“Bolted. We haven’t a trace of him. Which is just as well, for there’s no evidence. Jerdan left no papers. He could have laughed at us if he had had the nerve.”
Reggie Fortune chuckled. “I never liked George. I called him up that night: ‘Mr. George Coppett? The Ferns speaking. ”

“ It is believed that there is no class or trade, from beggars to bishops, in which Reggie Fortune has not friends. The first he sought was a dealer in exotic curiosities. From him, not without diplomatic suppression of the truth, Mr. Fortune made sure that magic stones from Borneo were nothing accounted of in the trade, seldom seen and never sought. It was obvious that the subject did not interest his dealer who could not tell where Mr. Fortune would find such a thing. Old Demetrius Jacob was as likely a man as any. ”

“ Some poor devil had an epileptic fit in the British Museum.”
“Well, well,” Reggie Fortune sipped his purple liqueur, “the British Museum had made me feel queer. But not epileptic. On the contrary. Sprightly fellow. This is a nice story. Go on, Lomas.”
“That’s all,” Lomas snapped. “Interesting, isn’t it?”
“Then why Scotland Yard? You’re not a hospital for nervous diseases. Or are you, Lomas?”
“I wonder,” said Lomas bitterly. “Why Scotland Yard? Just so. Why? Because they’ve lost an infernal pebble in the fray. ”

“ He went to Scotland Yard. Lomas was pleased to see him.
“And how do you like marbles, Fortune?” he said genially. “An intellectual game, I’m told. The glass ones are the trumps now, Bell says. I’m afraid you’re old-fashioned. Stone isn’t used by the best people.” ”

“ If you ask me to believe that a fellow shammed epilepsy, cut himself and spent a fiver to pick up a pebble, I draw it there.”
“That’s the worst of credulity. It’s always sceptical in the wrong place. What was this pebble like?”
Lomas reached for a writing pad and drew the likeness of a fat cigar, upon which, parallel to each other, were two zigzag lines. ”

“ Lomas protested. “This is a bow at a venture. We can’t act, you know. Bell can’t appear.”
“Bell’s coming to be a policeman and appear when it’s all over. I’m going in to Doctor Jerdan who isn’t on the register. And I don’t like it, Lomas. Bell shall stay outside. And if I don’t come out again—well, you’ll have evidence, Lomas.”
Neither Reggie Fortune nor his chauffeur knew the way about in Millfield. They sat together and Mr. Fortune with a map of London exhorted Sam at the wheel and behind them Superintendent Bell held tight and Reggie thought of his sins. ”

“ Let me know when you find the pebble,” and announcing that he had a day’s work to do on the morrow he went with an air of inquiry to bed.
It was an enemy who said that Mr. Fortune had a larger mass of useless knowledge than any man in England. Mr. Fortune has been heard to explain his eminence in the application of science to crime by explaining that he knows nothing thoroughly, but a little of everything, thus preserving an open mind. ”

“ The workin’ hypothesis is that there’s dirty work doin’ when a magic stone gets stolen and the man who wants the magic stone vanishes on the same day; which is confirmed when a female connected with a chap who knows all about magic stones is found colloguing with the vanished man’s heir; and further supported when that heir, being rattled, runs to telephone to the chaste shades of Millfield—the last place for a sporting blood like him to keep his pals. ”