“Not at all,” I assured him; and even as I spoke I thought of Solomon Usher. He wouldn’t have said that. He would have anxiously consulted his engagement-book to see how many minutes he could spare. However, Inspector Follett was not a patient, and I wanted to hear his story. So having established him in the easy-chair, I sat down to listen.
“The morning after the inquest,” he began, “an officer of the C.I.D. came up to get particulars of the case and see what was to be done. Well, as soon as I had told him all I knew and shown him our copy of the depositions, it was pretty clear to me that he didn’t think there was anything to be done but wait for some fresh evidence. Mind you, Doctor, this is in strict confidence.”
“I understand that. But if the Criminal Investigation Department doesn’t investigate crime, what the deuce is the good of it?”
“That is hardly a fair way of putting it,” he protested. “The people at Scotland Yard have got their hands pretty full, and they can’t spend their time in speculating about cases in which there is no evidence. They can’t create evidence; and you can see for yourself that there isn’t the ghost of a clue to the identity of the man who committed this murder. But they are keeping the case in mind, and meanwhile we have got to report any new facts that may turn up. Those were our instructions, and when I heard them I decided to do a bit of investigating on my own, with the Superintendent’s permission, of course.
“Well, I began by searching the wood thoroughly, but I got nothing out of that excepting Mr. D’Arblay’s hat, which I found in the undergrowth not far from the main path.
“Then I thought of dragging the pond; but I decided that, as it was only a small pond and shallow, it would be best to empty it and expose the bottom completely. So I dammed up the little stream that feeds it, and deepened the outflow, and very soon I had it quite empty excepting a few small puddles. And I think it was well worth the trouble. These things don’t tell us much, but they may be useful one day for identification. And they do tell us something. They suggest that this man was a collector of coins; and they make it fairly clear that there was a struggle in the pond before Mr. D’Arblay fell down.”
“That is, assuming that the things belonged to the murderer,” I interposed. “There is no evidence that they did.”
“No, there isn’t,” he admitted; “but if you consider the three things together they suggest a very strong probability. Here is a waistcoat button violently pulled off, and here are two things such as would be carried in a waistcoat pocket and might fall out if the waistcoat were dragged at violently when the wearer was stooping over a fallen man and struggling to avoid being pulled down with him. And then there is this coin. Its face value is a guinea, but it must be worth a good deal more than that. Do you suppose anybody would leave a thing of that kind in a shallow pond, from which it could be easily recovered with a common landing-net? Why, it would have paid to have had the pond dragged or even emptied. But, as I say, that wouldn’t have been necessary.”
“I am inclined to think you are right, Inspector,” said I, rather impressed by the way in which he had reasoned the matter out; “but even so, it doesn’t seem to me that we are much more forward. The things don’t point to any particular person.”
“Not at present,” he rejoined. “But a fact is a fact, and you can never tell in advance what you may get out of it. If we should get a hint of any other kind pointing to some particular person, these things might furnish invaluable evidence connecting that person with the crime. They may even give a clue now to the people at the C.I.D., though that isn’t very likely.”