No sooner had the train left the station than Thorndyke sought out the station-master and informed him of the instructions that he had received from Boscovitch. “Of course,” he added, in conclusion, “we must not move in the matter until the police arrive. I suppose they have been informed?”
“Yes,” replied the station-master; “I sent a message at once to the Chief Constable, and I expect him or an inspector at any moment. In fact, I think I will slip out to the approach and see if he is coming.” He evidently wished to have a word in private with the police officer before committing himself to any statement.
As the official departed, Thorndyke and I began to pace the now empty platform, and my friend, as was his wont, when entering on a new inquiry, meditatively reviewed the features of the problem.
“In a case of this kind,” he remarked, “we have to decide on one of three possible explanations: accident, suicide or homicide; and our decision will be determined by inferences from three sets of facts: first, the general facts of the case; second, the special data obtained by examination of the body, and, third, the special data obtained by examining the spot on which the body was found. Now the only general facts at present in our possession are that the deceased was a diamond merchant making a journey for a specific purpose and probably having on his person property of small bulk and great value. These facts are somewhat against the hypothesis of suicide and somewhat favourable to that of homicide. Facts relevant to the question of accident would be the existence or otherwise of a level crossing, a road or path leading to the line, an enclosing fence with or without a gate, and any other facts rendering probable or otherwise the accidental presence of the deceased at the spot where the body was found. As we do not possess these facts, it is desirable that we extend our knowledge.”
“Why not put a few discreet questions to the porter who brought in the bag and umbrella?” I suggested. “He is at this moment in earnest conversation with the ticket collector and would, no doubt, be glad of a new listener.”
“An excellent suggestion, Jervis,” answered Thorndyke. “Let us see what he has to tell us.” We approached the porter and found him, as I had anticipated, bursting to unburden himself of the tragic story.
“The way the thing happened, sir, was this,” he said, in answer to Thorndyke’s question: “There’s a sharpish bend in the road just at that place, and the goods train was just rounding the curve when the driver suddenly caught sight of something lying across the rails. As the engine turned, the headlights shone on it and then he saw it was a man. He shut off steam at once, blew his whistle, and put the brakes down hard, but, as you know, sir, a goods train takes some stopping; before they could bring her up, the engine and half-a-dozen trucks had gone over the poor beggar.”
“Could the driver see how the man was lying?” Thorndyke asked.
“Yes, he could see him quite plain, because the head lights were full on him. He was lying on his face with his neck over the near rail on the down side. His head was in the four-foot and his body by the side of the track. It looked as if he had laid himself out a-purpose.”
“Is there a level crossing thereabouts?” asked Thorndyke.