<h2 class="newchapter"><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></SPAN>CHAPTER XV<br/> <span class="smalltext">THE STRANGE AFFAIR OF THE FLORENTINE CHEST</span></h2>
<p>Only the other day, in a turning off Finsbury Pavement, there was
demolished one of those anachronisms which used to be met with more
frequently in London, an old house sandwiched in between immense
blocks of buildings, a relic of the past holding its own against the
commercial necessities and rush of modern civilization. It was
connected with a very strange case Quarles and I had to deal with not
long after the Seligmann affair.</p>
<p>The house looked absurdly small in the midst of its surroundings, but
had once been a desirable residence, probably standing in its own
gardens. Now it was almost flush with the street, dingy to look at,
yet substantial. The door, set back in a porch, had two windows on
either side of it, and there were four windows in the story above it.
A brass plate on the door had engraved upon it "Mr. Portman," and it
would appear that the bare fact of such a gentleman's existence was
considered sufficient information to give to the world, since there
was nothing to show what was his calling in life, nor what hours he
was prepared to transact business.</p>
<p>As a matter of fact, he not only did his business in the old house,
but lived there.</p>
<p>The room on the right of the hall was the living room. On the left was
a small apartment, with win<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_259" id="Page_259"></SPAN></span>dows of frosted glass, which was occupied
during certain hours of the day by his only clerk, a cadaverous and
unintellectual looking youth, whose chief work in life seemed to be
the cutting of his initials into various parts of the cheap furniture
which the room contained. Behind this office, but not connected with
it, was Mr. Portman's business room, to which no one penetrated unless
conducted thither by the cadaverous youth. Behind the living room,
down a passage, was the kitchen, where Mrs. Eccles, the housekeeper,
passed her days. A girl occasionally came in to help her, otherwise
she was solely responsible for her master's comfort.</p>
<p>One November afternoon Mr. Portman returned to his house shortly after
four o'clock. He stood in the doorway of the small room for a few
moments, giving instructions to his clerk, and then went to his own
room, closing the door after him. A little later Mrs. Eccles took him
some tea on a tray, which she did every afternoon when he was at home.
He talked to her for some minutes about a friend who was coming to
dinner with him on the following evening, giving her such particular
orders that he evidently wished to entertain this friend particularly
well. Soon after five Mrs. Eccles returned to fetch the tray. The door
was locked then, and Mr. Portman called out to her that he was busy,
but was going out shortly, when she could have the tray.</p>
<p>It was nearly six when she went to the room again. Mr. Portman had
gone out, but evidently did not expect to be long, as he had left the
gas burning, only turning it low. She had not heard him go, but the
clerk said Mr. Portman had come out of his room at a quarter to six,
had paused in the passage outside to say, "I shall not be long, but
you needn't wait, good<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_260" id="Page_260"></SPAN></span> night," and had then gone out, closing the
front door quietly behind him.</p>
<p>He did not return that night. For five days Mrs. Eccles waited, and
then, growing alarmed, gave information to the police.</p>
<p>These were the bare facts of the case when it came into my hands, but
I was told that my investigations might possibly throw some light on
two or three cases which had puzzled the authorities in recent years.</p>
<p>Mr. Portman was a money-lender, and had so long called himself Portman
for business purposes that possibly he had almost forgotten his real
name himself. Since for years he had transacted his business
unmolested, it was probable that the evil reports which had been
circulated concerning him from time to time were grossly exaggerated;
but the fact remained that the police authorities had taken
considerable trouble to collect items concerning Portman's career, and
had kept an eye upon him. Complaints about him had reached them, but
those who borrow money are easily critical of those who lend, and
there had never been sufficient warrant for taking any action. If, as
happened at intervals, Portman had to appear in the witness-box, he
came through the ordeal fairly well. He might show that he was bent on
getting his pound of flesh, but he was always careful to have the law
on his side. He was legally honest—that was his attitude; he could
not afford to be generous when a large percentage of his clients would
certainly cheat him if they had the chance.</p>
<p>Portman's business room at the back of the house was large, but dark
and depressing, its two windows, which were heavily barred, looking on
to the blank wall of a warehouse. A large desk and a safe gave<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_261" id="Page_261"></SPAN></span> it a
business aspect, but the room was crowded with costly furniture which
fancy might suppose had once belonged to some unfortunate debtor who
had been unable to satisfy Mr. Portman's demands. Some good pictures
hung upon the walls, and in a recess opposite the door stood an old
chest heavily clamped with iron. The key, which might have hung at the
waist of a medieval jailer, so huge was it, was in the lock, which was
evidently out of order. When I turned the key the lid would not open.
Looking through the drawers in the desk, I found several letters which
showed that Mr. Portman's business was often with well-known
people—men one would not expect to find associated with him in any
way—and the sums involved were often so large that only a rich man
could deal with them.</p>
<p>Mrs. Eccles answered my questions without any hesitation. Whatever the
world might think of Mr. Portman, she appeared to have a genuine
affection for him. She had noticed no change in him recently; he had
appeared to her to be in his usual health and spirits.</p>
<p>"When you went for the tray and found the door locked, did you think
he had anyone with him?" I asked.</p>
<p>"I didn't hear anyone, but I can't say I listened. It was not the
first time I had found the door locked and been told to go back
presently for the tray."</p>
<p>"A friend was to dine with him on the following night. Did the friend
come?"</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"What was his name?"</p>
<p>"Mr. Portman did not mention it."</p>
<p>"Did you prepare the dinner?"</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"Why not?" I asked. "You did not communicate<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_262" id="Page_262"></SPAN></span> with the police until
five days later, so you must have been expecting your master to
return."</p>
<p>"It's difficult to say exactly what I expected," Mrs. Eccles answered,
"but I never thought about preparing the dinner. When he didn't return
I began to think something was wrong, because I've never known him to
be away even for a night without letting me know."</p>
<p>"Why didn't you give information sooner?"</p>
<p>"Sooner? Why, I keep on asking myself whether I've done right in
giving it at all. The master might walk in at any moment, and I don't
know what he'd say if he did."</p>
<p>The clerk seemed to think that Mr. Portman had been worried recently.
He had had several pieces of business which the youth said had not
progressed too smoothly. He knew practically nothing about these
various items of business, but he gave me the names of half a dozen
people who had called upon Mr. Portman during the past week or two.</p>
<p>"He was close, you know," the youth went on; "didn't give much away
about his doings."</p>
<p>"Then why do you think he has been worried recently?" I asked.</p>
<p>"He's been snappy with me," was the answer; "but by the way he spoke
the other night when he went out I thought everything must have come
right."</p>
<p>A further investigation of Mr. Portman's room resulted in a curious
find. Under a bookcase, which was raised a few inches from the floor,
I discovered a key—the key of the safe. How it had come there,
whether it was a duplicate or the one Mr. Portman carried, it was
impossible to decide.</p>
<p>Apparently the safe had not been opened, for a drawer therein
contained a large sum in gold and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_263" id="Page_263"></SPAN></span> notes, and there was not the
slightest indication that any of the papers had been touched. It was
quite evident, however, that a number of people would profit by
Portman's death, especially if he should die suddenly and leave no one
to carry on his business; and this was precisely what had happened.
Not a relative or friend had come forward to lay claim to anything,
and many of his debtors were likely to go free. Among these was Lord
Stanford, one of the names the clerk had given me as recent visitors,
and I went to see him, only to find that he had left England the day
after Portman's disappearance. He had gone to Africa, and that was all
I could discover.</p>
<p>Another man who had called upon Portman recently, and whom I went to
see, was a Mr. Isaacson. From him I obtained an interesting piece of
information. He had seen Portman in Finsbury Pavement on the evening
of his disappearance. He must have met him some ten minutes after he
had left his house.</p>
<p>"I stopped to speak to him, but he was in a hurry, and did not stop,"
said Isaacson.</p>
<p>"I suppose you were not due to dine with him on the following
evening?" I said.</p>
<p>"Dine with him? No, I have never had that honor. I do not think you
quite appreciate Mr. Portman's position. I lend money in a small way,
there are many like me, and if, as occasionally happens, business
comes to us which is too large for us to deal with, we go to Mr.
Portman. The business is carried through in our names, but Mr. Portman
is the real creditor."</p>
<p>In his own way Mr. Portman was a man of importance, and a man of
mystery. There was nothing to suggest he was dead, and it was quite
possible that<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_264" id="Page_264"></SPAN></span> some crooked business had kept him from home
unexpectedly.</p>
<p>I chanced to go and see Christopher Quarles one evening when I got to
this point in my investigations, and he at once began to ask questions
about the Finsbury affair. I had not intended to enlist his help. I
was quite satisfied with the progress I had made, but he was so keen
about the mystery that I told the whole story to him and Zena.</p>
<p>"You seem very interested," I said, when I had finished.</p>
<p>"I am. Mr. Portman has been talked about before now, and I remember I
once had a theory about him."</p>
<p>"Does the present affair help to confirm that theory?" I asked.</p>
<p>He shrugged his shoulders.</p>
<p>"It might be interesting to know why Lord Stanford has gone abroad,"
he said.</p>
<p>"That is exactly the line I am following," I returned.</p>
<p>"I should like to know something about the man who was coming to
dinner and did not come," said Zena. "It is curious that he should
have heard so quickly of Mr. Portman's death, and more curious still
that he should make no inquiries."</p>
<p>"Lord Stanford may be able to tell us something about him," I said.</p>
<p>"Zena makes a point, Wigan," said Quarles. "It is rather a complicated
puzzle. Of course, Portman may not be dead, but if he is alive why
should he run the risk of a police search among his papers? He would
know that such an investigation would be likely to do him harm. He
would hardly run such a risk. Since Mr. Isaacson saw him in Finsbury
Pavement he has vanished completely. He left the gas<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_265" id="Page_265"></SPAN></span> burning in his
room, therefore he did not expect to be out long. He was hurrying,
according to Mr. Isaacson, presumably to keep an appointment. Now, if
he is dead, it looks like a premeditated thing, because there is no
body. It is easy enough to murder; it is the most difficult thing in
the world to hide the victim successfully. If a sudden crime is
committed, and the murderer has his wits about him, the body will
probably be found under circumstances likely to throw suspicion on
anyone but the right man; but a premeditated crime usually means the
disappearance of the body if in any way it can be managed. So we get a
kind of theory which may carry us a long way, and the further we go we
shall be the more convinced, I fancy, that many other theories are
just as likely to be right."</p>
<p>"Portman may not be dead," I said.</p>
<p>"For the reasons I have given I think we may presume that he is,"
Quarles answered. "The difficulty of the case arises from the fact
that so many people stand to profit by his death."</p>
<p>"Stanford, for instance," said I.</p>
<p>"And Isaacson, perhaps," he returned, "and a score of others. As far
as Stanford is concerned, he is a young man with expectations, but
with little money at present. He is probably in the hands of other
money-lenders besides Portman; he is a fool no doubt, but one would
not expect him to be a murderer."</p>
<p>"Given certain conditions, you cannot tell what a man will do."</p>
<p>"True, Wigan, but I do not find the required conditions. Don't let me
influence you. Something may be learned from Stanford, but that would
not be my line of attack."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_266" id="Page_266"></SPAN></span>"What would yours be?"</p>
<p>"I should like to talk to Mrs. Eccles and the clerk."</p>
<p>When Quarles solved a case his explanation was usually so clear that
one could only marvel that the salient points had not been apparent to
everybody from the first; when he was considering the difficulties it
seemed impossible that the mystery could ever be solved. As I listened
to him I felt that his help was necessary in this affair.</p>
<p>"Why not come with me to Finsbury?" I said.</p>
<p>"I will to-morrow," he answered. "By the way, Wigan, wasn't it foggy
on the night of Portman's disappearance?"</p>
<p>"It was, dear," said Zena. "Don't you remember, I went to see some
people at Highgate that day and was late for dinner?"</p>
<p>Quarles nodded and changed the conversation; he had done with the
affair until to-morrow.</p>
<p>When I met him next morning, wrapped in a heavy cloak, for it was
cold, I could not help thinking that he looked the very last man in
the world to solve an intricate mystery. He was the kind of old
gentleman who would annoy everybody by asking foolish questions and
telling stories which had grown hoary with age.</p>
<p>"I'm a simple old fool, Wigan, that's my character," he said, guessing
my thoughts; "and, if you can look annoyed with me and show
irritability, so much the better. Where does Isaacson live? I should
like to see him first."</p>
<p>I found it quite easy to be irritable. When we called on Isaacson,
Quarles asked him the most ridiculous questions which certainly had
nothing whatever to do with Portman, but in a vague way concerned the
theory and honesty of money-lending.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_267" id="Page_267"></SPAN></span>"Was Mr. Portman a Jew?" he asked suddenly.</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"I seem to remember seeing him without glasses," said Quarles. "I
thought Jews always wore glasses."</p>
<p>"We are usually short-sighted," said Isaacson, touching his
spectacles, "I am myself. Mr. Portman worked in glasses always, but if
you met him in the street you would probably see him without them."</p>
<p>"Ah, you are remembering that he did not wear them the night you met
him in Finsbury Pavement," said Quarles, "that is probably why he did
not see you."</p>
<p>"He happened to be wearing them that night," Isaacson returned. "I
believe he did see me, but was in too much of a hurry to stop."</p>
<p>"Rude, very rude," remarked Quarles.</p>
<p>"Small men have to put up with many things from big ones," said
Isaacson humbly.</p>
<p>The professor treated him to a short dissertation on the equality of
man, and then we left.</p>
<p>"Honest, I think, so far as he goes," said Quarles, "but he is
desperately afraid of being drawn too deeply into this affair. He
couldn't afford to be questioned too closely about his business,
Wigan."</p>
<p>It had been thought advisable to keep the clerk at his post for the
present, and he was quite ignorant of the fact that he was watched
both during his business and leisure hours. His own importance rather
impressed him at this time, and Quarles soon succeeded in making him
talkative, but, as far as I could see, very little of what he said was
worth particular note.</p>
<p>"I think Mr. Portman would have been wise if he had confided more in
you," said Quarles, after talking to him for some time.</p>
<p>"I think so, too," the youth answered.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_268" id="Page_268"></SPAN></span>"He never did, I suppose?"</p>
<p>"No—no, I cannot say he ever did."</p>
<p>"When he came in that afternoon he stood in the doorway there and
talked to you?"</p>
<p>"He was telling me about some papers he would want in the morning.
Very snappy he was, I can tell you."</p>
<p>"The weather, possibly. It was foggy and unpleasant."</p>
<p>"He was usually unpleasant, no matter what the weather was. He paid me
fairly well, or I shouldn't have stayed with him as I have done."</p>
<p>"Yet, when he went out later that evening, he stopped in the doorway
to say good night."</p>
<p>"He did, and you might have knocked me down with a feather," said the
youth. "I don't remember his ever doing such a thing before. I'd put
some letters which had come during the afternoon on his table, and the
news in them must have been good. He'd had some worrying business on
hand, I know."</p>
<p>"That would certainly account for his cordiality," said Quarles.
"Really, I sympathize with you. Practically, I suppose, you have
little to do but answer the door when the bell rings."</p>
<p>"If the office bell rings I pull this catch," the youth said, "and the
client walks in. The front door has a spring on it and closes itself.
Sometimes a fool will ring the office bell when it's Mrs. Eccles he
wants, and that's annoying."</p>
<p>"Very," laughed the professor. "Did any clients call that day?"</p>
<p>"No. A chap wanting to sell some patent office files came and wasted
my time for a quarter of an hour; swore that the governor had seen him
two or three<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_269" id="Page_269"></SPAN></span> months ago and told him to call. A rotten patent it was,
too."</p>
<p>"He showed them to you?"</p>
<p>"Had a bag full of them. Wanted me to buy the beastly things. I had to
be rude to him to get rid of him."</p>
<p>"Did you go to the door with him?"</p>
<p>"Not much!" the youth answered. "I just pulled this catch and told him
he would find the door open, and the sooner he got out of it the
better. He would have liked to borrow a bob or two, I fancy, but I
wasn't parting."</p>
<p>"Did you tell Mr. Portman he had called?"</p>
<p>"I never worried him with callers of that sort."</p>
<p>Then Quarles became impressive.</p>
<p>"I suppose you have no idea where Mr. Portman is? To your knowledge
nothing has happened which would account for his absence?"</p>
<p>"Nothing. If you want my opinion—I should say he's dead, had an
accident, most likely, and no papers on him to say who he was."</p>
<p>"One more question," said Quarles, "in strict confidence, mind. Is
Mrs. Eccles honest?"</p>
<p>"As daylight," was the prompt reply. "Would she have put the police on
this business if she hadn't been?"</p>
<p>"I never thought of that," said Quarles humbly. "Your brain is young
and mine is old."</p>
<p>"Makes a difference, no doubt," said the youth.</p>
<p>"And my memory is like a sieve," the professor went on. "I've already
forgotten whether this file seller was a clean-shaven chap or wore a
beard."</p>
<p>"Don't worry about that," said the youth, "because I didn't describe
him. He was an old chap with a gray<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_270" id="Page_270"></SPAN></span> beard, and had lost most of his
teeth, I should think, by the way he talked."</p>
<p>"Poor fellow. Poor fellow! I expect I should have been fool enough to
give him a bob."</p>
<p>"I expect you would," laughed the youth, in his superior wisdom.</p>
<p>With Mrs. Eccles Quarles's method was still foolish. For some time he
did not mention Mr. Portman, and so silly was he that I should not
have been surprised had the woman been less respectful in her manner.
But he set her talking as he had set the clerk talking, and she was
presently explaining that the guest her master was expecting to dine
with him must have been of considerable importance, because the
preparations were elaborate.</p>
<p>"He's never given such a dinner before," said Mrs. Eccles, "and I
suggested that with such preparation he might have asked other
guests."</p>
<p>"And the wine?" asked Quarles.</p>
<p>"He said he would look after that himself."</p>
<p>"Very natural," answered the professor. "You've been with Mr. Portman
many years, haven't you?"</p>
<p>"Fourteen or more."</p>
<p>"So long! I wonder if you remember a young friend of mine who used to
come here, I think. Ten or eleven years ago it must be. He squinted
and had red hair."</p>
<p>"I do remember him," said Mrs. Eccles. "He came here to dine once, I
recollect. I believe Mr. Portman said he was going abroad. I know he
dined here, and I do not think I saw him again."</p>
<p>Quarles nodded.</p>
<p>"I believe he did leave the country; some said in disgrace. I wonder
who it was that was going to dine with Mr. Portman that night."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_271" id="Page_271"></SPAN></span>"The master didn't say. All he said was an old friend."</p>
<p>"A young man might be called an old friend," said Quarles.</p>
<p>"Oh, he couldn't be young," said Mrs. Eccles, "because the master said
he had known him when he was a young man."</p>
<p>"That is interesting," said Quarles. "Shall we go and look at Mr.
Portman's room, Wigan?"</p>
<p>When we closed the door Quarles stood in the center of the room and
looked slowly round it.</p>
<p>"Was that screen standing there when you first entered the room,
Wigan?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"Where did you find the safe key?"</p>
<p>"Under that bookshelf."</p>
<p>He went to the safe and walked slowly from it to the door, flicking
his hand as he went. Then he looked out of the windows.</p>
<p>"No exit or entrance that way," he said. "There is only the door. Is
that the chest that won't open?"</p>
<p>He turned the key and tried the lid. He could not lift it. He locked
the chest, then unlocked it again, and hammered upon the lid with his
fist.</p>
<p>"The bolts sound as if they worked properly," he said. "I think it's
only that the lid has caught somehow."</p>
<p>We tackled it together, and, after several efforts, we succeeded in
raising the lid. The chest was empty. Quarles examined it very closely
without and within. We could not move it, it was too heavy, but the
professor produced a magnifying glass and studied the marks on the
wood. He measured the length and depth of the chest, and shut it and
opened it several times.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_272" id="Page_272"></SPAN></span>"Opens quite easily now, Wigan," he remarked.</p>
<p>Very carefully he had put two newspapers into it, and some odd bits of
paper, which he took from his pocket.</p>
<p>"You see how I have placed them, Wigan, which way up the newspapers
are, and the scraps of writing on this piece of paper? We'll set a
trap," and he closed the chest and locked it. "This is an old house,
and there may be a way into this room which we know nothing about. We
shall see."</p>
<p>We left the room, but Quarles told me not to lock the door. He
beckoned me to follow him to the kitchen.</p>
<p>"Mrs. Eccles, how long has your master had that oaken chest in his
room?" he asked the housekeeper.</p>
<p>"It's been there all my time, sir."</p>
<p>"Well, I shouldn't be surprised if it is connected with your master's
disappearance."</p>
<p>Mrs. Eccles's mouth slowly opened in astonishment.</p>
<p>"We shall be back in two hours, and then—then we shall know."</p>
<p>We left her and went to the office. The youth was cutting an initial
on the corner of the table.</p>
<p>"Busy, I see," said Quarles. "I fancy Mr. Portman's disappearance has
something to do with that old chest in his room."</p>
<p>"How can that be?"</p>
<p>"I don't know yet. We are going to make an important inquiry and shall
be back in a couple of hours. We'll be careful to ring the office
bell, not the house one."</p>
<p>As we turned to the front door Quarles caught my arm. He opened the
door, letting it go so that it would close itself. For a few moments
we remained motionless, then, creeping toward the office door,
watched<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_273" id="Page_273"></SPAN></span> until the clerk's back was turned, and went quickly to
Portman's room.</p>
<p>"It is very easy, Wigan," whispered the professor; "if for us, then
also for others. You see why I did not want you to lock the door of
this room? Now we are in, we will lock it on the inside, and that
screen will hide us."</p>
<p>"There is no question that Mr. Portman left the house," I said.</p>
<p>"Oh, no. Isaacson was quite definite, but I am trying to fit facts to
my theory. I said we should be back in two hours, so we have about two
hours to wait."</p>
<p>There was plenty of room behind the screen, but those two hours went
slowly. I could not decide what theory the professor had got in his
mind, but concluded that he was not so satisfied with the honesty of
Mrs. Eccles and the cadaverous youth as I was. He had looked at his
watch when we went behind the screen, and he allowed a full two hours
to elapse before he would leave our hiding-place.</p>
<p>He walked straight to the chest and opened it. It was empty. All the
papers had gone.</p>
<p>"Well, Wigan?"</p>
<p>I stared into the chest and did not answer.</p>
<p>"It looks like another way into this room, doesn't it"—and then he
started—"or out of it. I hadn't thought of that. Wait."</p>
<p>He took an old envelope from his pocket, dropped it into the chest,
and locked it. He waited a moment, then opened the chest again. The
envelope had gone.</p>
<p>"I confess, Wigan, that this is a surprise," said Quarles. "I must go
home and think. I believe—yes, I believe we have the clew. You must
search Portman's papers for some reference to a business
acquaint<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_274" id="Page_274"></SPAN></span>ance, probably a foreigner. Perhaps Portman knows
Italy—Florence. It might very likely be Florence. I fancy this chest
had its home there. If you find any reference to a friend who is a
Florentine, and can lay hands on him, you might question him closely
about his movements on the day of Portman's disappearance."</p>
<p>"The first thing is to get this chest moved," I said.</p>
<p>"Let that wait for forty-eight hours," said Quarles. "We may have a
more complete story by then. Give me until to-morrow night, then come
and see me."</p>
<p>When I went to Chelsea the following night I was taken at once to the
empty room. Zena was there. Quarles was standing by his table, on
which was a rough plan, evidently a production of his own, and quite
unintelligible without an explanation.</p>
<p>"Of course you have not discovered anything yet, Wigan?"</p>
<p>"There has not been time," I answered.</p>
<p>"No, quite so," he said, motioning me to a seat. "But we have a fairly
clear story, I think. Zena said, you remember, that she would like to
know something about the man who was coming to dine with Portman that
night. It was an important point, particularly so since the guest did
not put in an appearance. You saw the importance of it, Wigan, because
you asked Isaacson whether he was the expected guest. Now, Isaacson
had seen Portman after he had left his house that night, but had not
spoken to him. This fact suggested a question to my mind: was Isaacson
telling the truth? There were two possibilities. Isaacson might have
seen him, gone with him, and be responsible for his disappearance; or
he might have been mistaken. The man he saw might not have been
Portman. The second possibility was the one which appealed to me.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_275" id="Page_275"></SPAN></span> The
fact remained, however, that Isaacson knew him well, therefore the man
he took to be Portman must have wished to be taken for Portman, I
argued. This would account for his hurrying on without speaking, since
a closer investigation might have betrayed him. I looked for some fact
to support this theory. I found it in Isaacson's statement that
Portman wore glasses in the street on this occasion, which was
unusual, so unusual, mark you, that Isaacson noticed it. Now, if my
theory were right, it seemed possible that after Mr. Portman entered
his room that afternoon he never left it. That he was there when Mrs.
Eccles took in the tea-tray there could be no doubt; but that it was
Mr. Portman who answered through the locked door was another matter.</p>
<p>"Such a fantastic theory required strong support," the professor went
on. "The clerk helped me. When he came into the house that afternoon
and gave his clerk instructions about certain papers Mr. Portman was
snappy, his usual self, in fact, and, incidentally, he proved that he
had no intention of being away from the office on the following day;
when he left the house he was quite different, genially wishing the
clerk good night. Wigan, a man slightly overplaying his part would be
likely to do that, especially as he wanted the clerk to be in a
position to say that his master had gone out at a certain hour. He was
bound to draw the clerk's attention to himself, so he did it with a
cordial good night. Knowing that Mr. Portman wore glasses, he would
also wear them, even in the street."</p>
<p>"But the clerk would have seen it was not Mr. Portman," I objected.</p>
<p>"That was a difficulty," said Quarles. "It was a foggy afternoon, we
know, and would be dark in the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_276" id="Page_276"></SPAN></span> passage, but hardly dark enough to
deceive the clerk. Another difficulty was how a stranger could get
into the house without being seen. Both difficulties vanished when the
clerk told us of the man who called selling patent files. He had a
bag, Wigan, containing more than samples of files, I warrant—means of
disguise as well. We know how easy it is to let the front door slam
and remain in the house. I think the file seller practiced the same
trick we did. Even to going to Portman's room and hiding behind the
screen. You see, the office windows are frosted, so the clerk cannot
see whether anyone leaving the office passes into the street or not.
If there is something fantastic in this theory, let me pursue it to
the end. If I am right, one thing is certain: this file seller knew
Portman well. He must have come prepared to make himself up like him.
He was able to answer Mrs. Eccles when she knocked at the door and
deceive her. Granted that he knew Mr. Portman well, we may assume that
he was in some way associated with him in business. Only one man left
that room, therefore, as things stand, we may assume that these two
men were enemies who had once been friends. Here let me be imaginative
for a moment. Mr. Portman was expecting a friend to dine with him on
the following night, an important person, since the feast to be
prepared was, according to Mrs. Eccles, somewhat elaborate. The
sumptuousness of a feast may mean great friendship, but it may be used
to hide intense enmity. You read such things in the history of the
Medici of Florence. I believe, Wigan, that the feast was prepared for
this same file seller, that the wine, which Mr. Portman was looking
after himself, remember, would have proved unwholesome for the guest,
who,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_277" id="Page_277"></SPAN></span> distrusting Portman, came a day earlier and removed his enemy."</p>
<p>"A little imaginative," I said.</p>
<p>"Imagination bridges the intervals between facts," Quarles answered.
"We get again to a fact—the iron-bound chest. It links the two men
together. I have no doubt the file seller knew of its peculiar
mechanism as well as Portman did. You could not open it, and, since
the key was in the lock, no mystery about it, you naturally did not
think it of much importance. When together we succeeded in opening it
I found on the floor of it a tiny stain. I thought it was a blood
stain, but I was not sure. At any rate, the measurements of the chest
were such that a body might be pressed in it. Frankly, I admit I
expected to see Portman's body when we raised the lid. For the sake of
some documents—it is impossible to say what they were—I believed
this file seller had murdered Portman, taken his key, opened the safe,
taken the papers he wanted, thrust the body into the chest, and had
then departed in the character of his victim, flinging the safe key
under the bookcase as he went. As there was no body I wondered whether
Mrs. Eccles or the clerk, or both, were accomplices of the murderer;
whether that chest might not conceal a secret entrance to the room.
The idea did not fit my theory very well, but I laid a trap, and you
know the result, Wigan. The action of shutting that chest opens the
bottom of it, so that whatever is placed in it falls out as soon as
the lid is closed and locked. I believe the body of Portman was in it
and had got caught somehow—that was why you could not open it, why we
could not open it until we had hammered it about, and by constant
working upon the lid had released the body. I feel certain that chest
had its home<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_278" id="Page_278"></SPAN></span> in Florence; that is why I suggest an Italian may be the
criminal. He may have been long resident in England, of course;
certainly he is a man who speaks English perfectly, or the clerk would
have described him as a foreigner."</p>
<p>"But the body—where is it?" I asked.</p>
<p>"I've been to the British Museum to-day," said Quarles, taking up the
rough sketch from his desk. "This is a copy of an old map of the
Finsbury district, and here I find was one of the old plague pits. I
believe Portman's house stands on this plot."</p>
<p>It was a very rough sketch, but, as I compared the place the professor
had indicated with the old landmarks and their modern equivalents
which he had marked, there could be little doubt that Quarles was
right.</p>
<p>"I do not suppose that Portman's is the first body that has passed
through that chest and slid down into some hole which was once a part
of this pit," he went on. "I asked Mrs. Eccles about a squinting
youth. He was a young fool with expectations, just such another as
Lord Stanford. He was robbed right and left, and it is quite certain
Portman, among others, made money out of him. He disappeared suddenly.
It is possible Lord Stanford might have disappeared in a similar way
had not his friends got him out of the country. Portman didn't have
that chest fixed to the floor of his room for nothing. You may find
the solution to more than one mystery, Wigan, when you move that
chest."</p>
<p>Portman's body and the remains of at least three other bodies were
found in the deep hole under the old house in Finsbury. How the hole
had come there, or how Portman had discovered it, it was impossible
to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_279" id="Page_279"></SPAN></span> guess, but there could be little doubt that he had only been
treated as he had treated others. And some six months afterward a man
named Postini was knifed in Milan, and the inquiry into his murder
brought to light the fact that he had been closely connected with
Portman. They had worked together in London, in Paris, and in Rome. At
the time of Portman's death they had quarreled, and at that time
Postini was in London. Among Portman's papers I found none relating to
Postini; no doubt the Italian had taken them, for Portman's letter,
asking him to dine and to become true friends again, was found among
the Italian's papers.</p>
<p>There can be little doubt, I think, that Quarles was right. Portman
intended to rid himself of the Italian after giving him a sumptuous
feast, but Postini, wholly distrusting his former comrade, had come a
day before his time, and been the murderer instead of the victim.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_280" id="Page_280"></SPAN></span></p>
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