The Master Detective: Being Some Further Investigations of Christopher Quarles

by Percy James Brebner

CHAPTER XI

THE STRANGE CASE OF DANIEL HARDIMAN

Not infrequently I am put in charge of cases which are of small importance and might well be left to a less experienced man. I thought the mystery of Daniel Hardiman was such a case. I even went further and imagined that it was given to me because I was a bit under a cloud over the Parrish affair. Quarles jeered at my imagination and was interested from the outset, perhaps because he had had rather more of the Psychological Society than was good for him. Anyway, he traveled north with me to meet the liner Slavonic.

On the passenger list was the name Daniel Hardiman. He had come on board at Montevideo in company with his man, John Bennett, who appeared to be half servant, half companion. They had only a small amount of personal luggage, one trunk each, but several stout packing-cases of various sizes had been stored away in the hold. Hardiman had a first-class cabin to himself; his man traveled second-class, but spent much of his time in his master's cabin; indeed, for the first few days of the voyage Hardiman was not seen except at meal times.

It was said amongst the crew—probably the servant had mentioned the fact—that they were returning to England after an absence of many years, during which time they had lived much alone; and amongst the passengers it was agreed that there was something curious about the pair. There was speculation upon the promenade deck and in the smoking-room; the gossip was a pleasant interlude in the monotony of a long voyage. At the end of a week, however, Mr. Hardiman no longer stayed in his cabin. At first he paced the deck, thoughtfully, only in the early morning or late in the evening, but later was to be found in a deck-chair, either gazing fixedly at the horizon or interested in the games of the children on board. One sturdy youngster, when recovering a ball which had rolled to Hardiman's feet, spoke to him. All the answer he got was a nod of the head, but the boy had broken the ice, and two men afterwards scraped acquaintance with the curious traveler. One was a Mr. Majendie, who was going to England on business; the other Sir Robert Gibbs, a Harley Street specialist, who had broken down with hard work, and was making the round trip for the benefit of his health.

By wireless, when the ship was two days from Liverpool, came the news that Hardiman had been murdered by his man-servant, and it was in consequence of this message that Christopher Quarles and I had gone north to meet the boat on its arrival.

When we went on board the captain gave us the outline of Hardiman's behavior during the voyage as I have here set it down. Quarles asked him at once whether he thought that all the passengers, after landing, could be traced if necessary. The captain seemed to consider this rather a tall order, but thought all those who could possibly have had access to Mr. Hardiman might be traced.

"It is a pity we cannot forbid any one to land until we like," said the professor.

"There is not so much mystery about it as all that," said the captain, "although it isn't quite plain sailing. One of our passengers, a swell doctor, who examined the body with our ship's doctor directly after the discovery, will give you the benefit of his opinion, and I am detaining another passenger, a Mr. Majendie."

"Then there is some doubt as to the servant's guilt?" I said.

"I don't think so, but you shall hear the whole story."

"First, we should like to see the body," said Quarles. "We might be influenced unconsciously by your tale. It is well to come to the heart of the matter with an open mind."

The captain sent for the ship's doctor and a stewardess, and with them we went to the cabin, which had been kept locked.

The body, which lay in the berth where it had been found, an upper berth with a porthole, had been washed and attended to by the stewardess. The lower berth had been used by the traveler for some of his clothes—they were still there, neatly folded. The dead man's trunk was on a sofa on the opposite side of the cabin, a sofa which could be made into a third berth if necessary. Except that the body had been attended to, the cabin was just as it had been found.

"I took the stained sheets away," said the stewardess, "but I thought it would be wiser not to move him from the upper berth."

"It is a pity he couldn't have been left just as he was," Quarles answered; "you have no doubt washed away all the evidence."

He was a long time examining the wound, a particularly jagged one in the neck, a stab rather than a cut, but with something of both in it.

"Has the—the knife been found?" Quarles asked.

"No," answered the captain. "You hesitate in your question a little. You are certain it was a knife, I suppose?"

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"His man says it was a bullet."

"A bullet!" and Quarles looked back at the wound.

"The servant Bennett does not deny that he killed his master," said the doctor; "but he persists in saying that he had no knife."

"Has a revolver been found?" I asked.

"No, and no one heard any report," said the captain. "I cannot make this fellow Bennett out. He seems to me rather mad. Besides, there are one or two curious points. Would you like to hear them now?"

"Please," said Quarles.

With sailor-like directness the story was told in a straightforward narrative, destitute of trimmings of any kind. A steward had gone to Mr. Hardiman's cabin to take him a weak brandy-and-water; he had done the same first thing every morning during the voyage. He saw Hardiman lying with his face toward the cabin, one arm hanging over the side of the berth. There was no sign of a struggle. The clothes were not thrown back, but there was a considerable quantity of blood. Curiously enough, the porthole had been unscrewed and was open. The steward fetched Dr. Williams, the ship's doctor, who said death had probably occurred five or six hours previously, a statement Sir Robert Gibbs corroborated. There was no knife anywhere.

"The time of death is important," the captain went on. "Bennett has occupied a second-class cabin with a man named Dowler, and on the night of the murder Dowler, having taken something which disagreed with him, was awake all night, and he declares that Bennett never stirred out of his bunk. If the doctors are right, then Dowler's evidence provides Bennett with an alibi, of which, however, he shows no anxiety to take advantage. This cabin trunk, Mr. Quarles"—and the captain lifted up the lid as he spoke—"this trunk is all Mr. Hardiman's cabin luggage. There are some papers, chiefly in a kind of shorthand, which you will no doubt examine presently, and these stones, merely small chunks of rock, as far as I can see, although Sir Robert Gibbs suggests they may have value. There are similar stones in Bennett's trunk. There is a curious incident in connection with these bits of stone. On the night after the murder one of the middle watch saw a man come on deck and hastily fling something overboard. At least, that was the intention, apparently, but as a fact, either through agitation or a bad aim, the packet did not go overboard, but landed on a coil of rope on the lower deck forward. It proved to be a small canvas bag containing seven of these bits of rock, or, at any rate, pieces like them. Now, the man on the watch is not inclined to swear to it, but he believes the thrower was Majendie. Majendie denies it."

"You are an excellent witness, Captain," said Quarles as he took up two or three of the bits of rock and looked at them. "Is Mr. Majendie annoyed at not being allowed to land at once?"

"On the contrary, he is keen to give us all the help in his power. He is a fairly well-known man on the other side, has means and position, and, personally, I have little doubt that the watch was mistaken. You see, the servant does not deny his guilt."

"Would Bennett be likely to be in the place where the watch saw this man?" I asked.

"Not under ordinary circumstances, but if he had been trying to get into the locked cabin he would be."

"I think if we could have a few words with Sir Robert Gibbs it would be useful," said Quarles. "Have you the canvas bag of stones?"

"Yes, locked up in my cabin. I will send and ask Sir Robert to join us there."

"And could you get a knife?" asked the professor. "Any old knife will do, a rusty one for preference."

A few minutes later we were in the captain's cabin, and on the table was the bag of stones and a rusty and much-worn table-knife. Dr. Williams had just explained to us his reasons for fixing the time of death when Sir Robert entered. He was a man with a pronounced manner, inclined to take the lead in any company in which he found himself, and was very certain of his own opinion. On the way to the cabin Quarles had whispered to me to take the lead in asking questions, and to leave him in the background as much as possible, so after the captain's short introductions I began at once:

"I may take it, Sir Robert, that you agree with Dr. Williams as to the time Hardiman had been dead when you saw the body?"

"Certainly."

"And in your opinion the wound could not, under any circumstances, have been caused by a bullet?"

"Certainly not," and he smiled at the futility of the question.

"The bullet might have been a peculiar one," I suggested, "different from any with which we are familiar. The servant, who does not deny his guilt, says it was a bullet."

"And I say it was not," Sir Robert answered. "No kind of bullet could make such a wound. A knife with a point to it was used. The action would be a stab and a pull sideways. I am of the opinion that the blow was struck while the victim was in a deep sleep. I think Dr. Williams agrees with me."

Williams nodded.

"You would otherwise have expected to find some signs of a struggle?" I said.

"I should. It is quite possible, I think, that at times Mr. Hardiman had recourse to a draught or a tablet to induce sleep."

"I understand that you had some conversation with Mr. Hardiman during the voyage, Sir Robert. Were you struck by any peculiarity in him?"

"He was an eccentric man, but a man of parts undoubtedly. He told me very little about himself, but I gathered that he had traveled extensively, and out of the beaten track. I put down his difficulty in sustaining a conversation to this fact. He seemed in good health—one of those wiry men who can stand almost anything."

"Sir Robert, could it possibly have been a case of suicide?" Quarles asked, suddenly leaning forward.

"Have you examined the wound carefully?" asked the doctor.

"I have."

"If you will try to stab yourself like that you will see how impossible it is. Besides, you forget that no knife has been found, and in a case of suicide it would have been. I may add that the knife used was not in the least like the one I see on the table there."

"It must have had a point, you think?" said Quarles.

"I do not think—I am certain."

"Did Mr. Hardiman ever say anything about these bits of rock to you?"

"Never," answered the doctor. "I think I suggested to the captain that they might be valuable. I have no knowledge on the point, but I cannot conceive a man like Hardiman carrying them about unless they were of value."

"I take it he is a geologist," Quarles said carelessly.

Sir Robert would like to have been present throughout our inquiry, but the professor firmly but courteously objected. He said it would not be fair to those chiefly concerned, and he appealed to me to endorse his opinion. The doctor had raised a spirit of antagonism in him. They were both too dogmatic to agree easily.

The sailor of the watch was next interviewed, a good, honest seaman who evidently had a wholesome dread of the law in any form. He thought it was Mr. Majendie he had seen on the deck that night, but he would, not swear to it.

"Are you sure it wasn't Bennett?" I asked.

"Ay, sir, I'm pretty sure of that."

"What is it that particularly makes you think it was Mr. Majendie?"

"I just think it, sir; I can't rightly say why."

"What did he do, exactly?" said Quarles. "Just show me—show me his action. Here are the bits of rock in the bag; take the bag up and pretend to pitch it into the sea, as he did."

The sailor took up the bag and did so. His pantomime was quite realistic.

"I note that you turn your back to us," said Quarles.

"Ay, sir, because his back was turned to me. It wasn't until he made the action of throwing—just like that, it was—that I knew he had anything in his hand."

"Did you call out to him?"

"No; he was there and gone directly."

"It was a bad throw, too?"

"Ay, sir, it was; he did it awkward, something like women throws when they ain't used to throwing."

"That good fellow would feel far more uncomfortable in the witness-box than most criminals do in the dock," said Quarles when the sailor had gone. "He is as certain that it was Mr. Majendie as he is certain of anything, but he is not going to commit himself. Shall we have a talk with Mr. Majendie next? Let me question him, Wigan."

Majendie's appearance was in his favor. He might be a villain, but he didn't look it. There was Southern warmth in his countenance and temper in his dark eyes, but his smile was prepossessing.

"A sailor's absurd mistake has put you to great inconvenience, I fear," said Quarles.

"The inconvenience is nothing," was the answer. "I court enquiry."

"Of course you were not on the deck that night?"

"No."

"It is Mr. Hardiman's past I want to get at," said the professor. "You had some talk with him during the voyage; what did you think was his business in life?"

"He was a traveler. I think he had been where no other civilized man has been. He did not directly tell me so, but I fancy he had wandered in the interior of Patagonia."

"Should you say he was a geologist?"

"No," said Majendie with a smile. "He showed me some pieces of rock he had with him; indeed, I am suspected of flinging some of these bits of rock away in that canvas bag I see there. Is it likely I should do anything so foolish? It is part of my business to know something of bits of rock and blue clay and the like, and unless I am much mistaken those bits of rock are uncut diamonds."

"Diamonds!" I exclaimed.

"Yellow diamonds of a kind that are very rarely found," Majendie answered. "I may be mistaken, but that is my opinion. If I am right, the actual gem, when cut, would be comparatively small. It is enclosed, as it were, in a thick casing of rock."

"Did Hardiman know this?" Quarles asked.

"I am not sure. In the course of conversation I told him that I knew something about diamonds, and he asked me into his cabin to show me some bits of rock he had in his trunk. He spoke of them as bits of rock, but he may have known what they really were."

"Did he give you this invitation quite openly?" asked Quarles.

"Oh, yes. There were others sitting near us who must have overheard it. I went with him, and gave him my opinion as I have given it to you. Of course, there may not be a jewel at the heart of every bit of rock; no doubt there are a great many quite useless bits in Hardiman's collection."

"This is very interesting," said Quarles. "Would you look at the pieces in that bag and tell us if any of them are useless."

Majendie spent some minutes in examining them, and then gave it as his opinion that they all contained a jewel.

"Now that knife—"

"I thought no knife had been found," said Majendie.

"That has just been found on the ship," said Quarles. "It is an absurd question, but as a matter of form I must ask it. Have you ever seen that knife before?"

Majendie took it up and looked at it.

"Hardiman was apparently stabbed with a rusty knife," Quarles remarked.

"Stabbed! You could not stab any one with this, and certainly I have never seen it before."

I did not understand why Quarles was passing this off as the real weapon. He took it up, grasped it firmly, and stabbed the air with it.

"I don't know, it might—"

He shook his head and put the knife on the table again. Majendie took it up and in his turn stabbed the air with it.

"Utterly impossible," he said. "This could not have been the knife used; besides, there would surely be stains on it."

"I am inclined to think you are right," said Quarles. "You must forgive the captain for detaining you, Mr. Majendie, and of course you can land this afternoon. The captain wishes us to lunch on board; perhaps you will join us?"

"With pleasure. So long as I am in London to-night no harm is done."

When he had gone Quarles turned to the captain.

"Pardon my impudence, but we must not lose sight of Majendie. You must follow him this afternoon, Wigan, and locate him in London. You must have him watched until we get to the bottom of this affair. Now let us see Bennett."

The man-servant proved to be a bundle of nerves, and it was hardly to be wondered at if the story he told was true. A question or two set him talking without any reticence apparently.

Time seemed to have lost half its meaning for him. He could not fix how long he and his master had been away from England; many years was all he could say. They had traveled much in South America, latterly in the wilds of Patagonia. There they had fallen into the hands of savages, and for a long time were not sure of their lives from hour to hour. Always Mr. Hardiman seemed able to impress their captors that he was a dangerous man to kill; fooled them, in fact, until they came to consider him a god. Master and man were presently lodged in a temple, and were witnesses of some horrible rites which they dared not interfere with. Finally, at a great feast, Hardiman succeeded in convincing them that he was their national and all-powerful deity, and that he had come to give them victory over all their enemies. By his command the wooden figure of one of their gods was taken from the temple, and, together with two curious drums used for religious purposes, and other sacred things, was carried through the forest to a certain spot which Hardiman indicated. The whole company was then to go back three days' march, spend seven days in religious feasting, and return. In the meanwhile he and his servant must be left quite alone with these sacred things.

"I suppose they returned," Bennett went on, "but they did not find us. They did not find anything. The spot my master had fixed upon was within a day's march of help. We set out as soon as those devils had left us, and, having got assistance, my master would go back and fetch the wooden figure and the other things. They are in the cases in this ship."

"What was the main object of your master's travels?" I asked.

"He was writing a book about tribes and their customs."

"And he took a great interest in stones and bits of rock?"

"That was only recently, and I never understood it, sir. He put some in my trunk and some in his own, but what they were for I do not know. I don't suppose he did himself. He was always peculiar."

"Always or recently, do you mean?" Quarles asked.

"Always, but more so lately. Can you wonder after all we went through?
You can't imagine the horrors that were done in that heathen temple."

He told us some of them, but I shall not set them down here. It is enough to say that human sacrifices were offered. The mere remembrance of Bennett's narrative makes me shudder.

"It is a wonder it did not drive you both mad," said Quarles.

"That is what the master was afraid of," was the answer, "and it is the cause of all this trouble. He did not seem to think it would affect me, but he was very much afraid for himself."

"He told you so?"

"He did more than that. He said that if I saw he was going mad I was to shoot him, and so—"

"Wait a minute," said Quarles, "when did he say this to you?"

"The first time was when we got those things from the place in the forest where they had been left. Then he said it two or three times during the voyage. The last time was when I was cutting his nails."

"Cutting his nails?" I said.

"Yes, sir. Mr. Hardiman could never cut the nails on his right hand. He was very helpless with his left hand in things like that, always was. On this particular day he said his hand was growing stronger, and declared it all was because of will-power. He was quite serious about it, and then he was suddenly afraid he was growing mad. 'Shoot me if I am going mad, Bennett.' That is what he said."

"And how were you to know?" asked Quarles.

"He said I should know for certain when it happened, and I did. The next evening he began telling me that we were bringing a lot of diamonds back to England. He promised me more money than I had ever heard of. I should have shot him then, only I wasn't carrying a revolver."

"So you did it later in the evening?"

"I cannot tell you exactly when I did it," the man answered. "I knew the time had come, but I do not remember the actual doing of it. Only one thing I am certain of—I didn't use a knife. He was always particular to tell me to shoot him."

"You are sure you did kill him?" I said.

"Shot him—yes. I did not stab him. That is a mistake."

"Do you know that your cabin companion says you did not leave your bunk at all that night?" said Quarles.

"That must be another mistake," was the answer.

When he had gone the professor remarked that John Bennett was far nearer an asylum than a prison.

"If Hardiman had been shot I should think the servant had shot him, but he was not shot. You see, Captain, the case is not so easy. These bits of rock complicate it, and we must keep an eye on Majendie."

There was a man I knew well attached to the Liverpool police, and I was fortunate enough to get hold of him to follow Majendie to London that afternoon. Bennett, having virtually confessed to the crime, was kept in custody, and I was free to remain with Quarles and examine the cases which Hardiman had brought to England. After certain formalities had been complied with, we carried out this examination in one of the shipping company's sheds. There were many things of extreme interest of which I could write a lengthy account, but they had no bearing on our business. The things which concerned us were the Patagonian relics.

The two drums did not interest the professor much, but the figure of the god did. It was about three-quarters life size, roughly carved into a man's shape. The wood was light in weight and in color, but had been smeared to a darker hue over the breast and loins. One arm hung by the figure's side, was, indeed, only roughly indicated; but the other, slightly bent, was stretched out in front of the figure. There was nothing actually horrible about the image, but, remembering Bennett's description of some of the rites performed in that temple, it became sinister enough. Quarles's inspection took a long time, and during it I do not think he uttered a word.

"I think we may go back to Chelsea, Wigan," he said at last.

Late on the following night we were in the empty room. At the professor's suggestion I repeated the whole story for Zena's benefit, although I fancy Quarles wanted to have a definite picture before his mind, as it were, and to find out whether any particular points had struck me. Zena's comment when I had finished was rather surprising.

"This Mr. Majendie must be a clumsy thrower," she said.

Quarles sat up in his chair as if his interest in the conversation had only become keen at that moment.

"She hits the very heart of the mystery, Wigan."

"There is no certainty that it was Majendie," I replied.

"Whether it was or not is immaterial for the moment. The fact remains that some one who was anxious to get rid of incriminating evidence was so clumsy that he threw it where any one could pick it up. Not one man in a thousand would have done that, no matter what state of agitation he was in. The packet was deliberately thrown away, remember; it was not done in a moment of sudden fear."

"I am all attention to hear what theory you base upon it," I returned.

"We will begin with the wound," said Quarles. "Sir Robert Gibbs and Dr. Williams agree that it could not have been self-inflicted. Sir Robert suggested that I should try to stab myself in the same way and see how impossible it was. Remember it was a stab and a pull of the blade to one side. It was impossible for a right-handed man, difficult even for a left-handed one, but not impossible. That was the first point I made a mental note of."

"Why did you not speak of the possibility?"

"Chiefly, I think, because I was convinced that Sir Robert expected me to do so, was waiting for me to do so, in fact. He is far too cute a man not to have considered the possibility, and was prepared to prove that Hardiman was a right-handed man, as we know he was from his servant. In all probability Sir Robert knew that Bennett had to cut his master's nails. I was not disposed to give the doctor such an opening as that, although no doubt he thought me a fool for not thinking of it."

"Then we do away with the theory of suicide?" I said.

"Well, the absence of any weapon appears to do that," said Quarles. "What was the weapon? A knife of some kind, a rusty knife and rather jagged, I fancy. The wound suggested that it was jagged, and in spite of the washing my lens revealed traces of rust. Rather a curious knife to commit murder with. That was my second mental note. We had to be prepared for a curious personality somewhere in the business."

"Mr. Majendie," I said.

"He is hardly such an abnormal individual as the servant Bennett. We will consider Bennett first. His story is a straightforward one, nervously told, dramatically told. We might easily assume that imagination had much to do with that story were it not for the contents of those packing-cases. They are corroborative evidence. We may grant that the man's recent experiences have had their effect upon him, have laid bare his nerves, as it were, but since the most unlikely part of his story is true we may assume that the rest of it is. We need not go over it again in detail. The man was evidently attached to his master, and was prepared to shoot him if he exhibited signs of madness. Considering the state of his own nerves, I can believe that Bennett watched for these signs, and felt convinced of his master's madness when he spoke of a wealth of diamonds. Bennett knew they had no diamonds in their possession. He only knew of those bits of rock. So he determined to shoot Hardiman. However, I am convinced that he did not leave his cabin that night. Sleep prevented his carrying out the intention, but when in the morning he found that his master was dead—murdered—he immediately translated his intention into action, and concluded that he had done it. There was no one else who would be likely to murder him. That he should do it was natural under the circumstances. He would not look upon it as a crime. He had only carried out his instructions to the letter, as I have little doubt he has been accustomed to do for years."

"It is a theory, of course, but—"

"Oh, it is more than a theory now," said Quarles, interrupting me. "He admits his guilt, yet we know that Hardiman was stabbed, not shot. We conclude, therefore, that Bennett, although he fully intended to kill his master, did not do so."

"So we come to Majendie," I said.

"Yes, and to the yellow diamonds which Bennett knew nothing about. I admit that Majendie was a distinct surprise to me. He had to prove that the sailor of the watch was mistaken, that he was not the person who threw the stones away. How does he do it? By asking whether he, an expert in diamonds, would be likely to throw away what he knew to be valuable. This was a very ingenious argument. He did not deny that he knew Hardiman had these stones in his possession, because he believed that people must have seen him go into Hardiman's cabin. We have his statement that Hardiman invited him to do so, and that the invitation was given in the hearing of others. So he asked a perfectly simple question to show that the sailor was mistaken."

"Evidently you do not believe that the sailor was mistaken."

"We will go on considering Majendie," said Quarles. "Now, when he took up the knife and imitated my action of stabbing the air with it I made a discovery. He did so with his left hand. Since my first mental note concerned a left-handed man the coincidence is surprising. The sailor in his pantomime had used the right hand. Majendie's action was unexpected, and for a time I did not see its significance. But let us suppose for a moment that Majendie did throw the bag of stones away. He might argue that some one might possibly see the action, and would note that it was done by a left-handed man, so used his right hand to deceive any one who might be there. Hence his bad aim."

I shook my head.

"Wait," said Quarles. "Some one had stolen those bits of rock, else how came they in that canvas bag, and why were they thrown away? Majendie told us that only certain of those stones had at the heart of them a diamond, yet he also said that all those in the bag had. That looks as if they had been picked out and stolen by an expert, and when we remember that Hardiman had shown him the contents of the trunk suspicion points very strongly to Majendie as the thief. Of course, when Hardiman was found dead, he would get rid of evidence which must incriminate him. We must see Majendie, Wigan, and ask him a few questions."

"Then he did not kill Hardiman?" said Zena.

"I do not think so."

"Who did?"

"Nobody. Hardiman was mad and committed suicide, and in a particular way. Think of Bennett's description of that Patagonian temple, Wigan. Those savages were persuaded that Hardiman was a god; possibly human sacrifices were offered to him, and he dared not interfere. That was sufficient to start a man on the road to madness. That wooden god he brought home tells us something. It was the left arm which was stretched out, and in the closed fist was a hole into which a knife had been fixed, a symbol of vengeance and sacrifice, a symbol, mind you, not a weapon which was actually used. I imagine that time had caused it to become rusty and jagged. Now, I think Hardiman removed that knife before packing the figure, kept it near him, because obsessed with it; went mad, in short. We know from Bennett that he believed his left hand was becoming stronger, and I believe his madness compelled him to practise his left hand until it became strong enough to grasp the knife firmly and strike the blow. Since the god was left-handed, his priests were probably so too, and the victims would be slain with the left hand. There was some religious significance attached to the fact, no doubt, and Hardiman's madness would compel him to be exact."

"But what became of the knife?" I asked.

"The porthole was found open," said Quarles. "I think he deliberately put it out of the porthole, his madness suggesting to him that no one should know how he died. He would have strength enough to do this, for he died quietly, bled to death, in fact, and gradually fell into a comatose condition, hence no sign of a struggle. It is impossible to conceive what devilish power may lurk about those things which have been used for devilish purposes. I am very strong on this point, as you know, Wigan."

Of course it was quite impossible to prove whether Quarles was right about the knife, but he was correct as regards Majendie, who had hoped to get possession of a few of these stones without Hardiman missing them, and then, when the unexpected tragedy happened, had tried to get rid of them, using his right hand to throw them away. Amongst the dead man's papers there was a will providing amply for his servant Bennett—who, I may add, recovered his normal health after a time—and leaving his relics to different museums, and any other property he was possessed of to charities. I believe the yellow diamonds proved less valuable than Majendie imagined, but at any rate the various charities benefited considerably.