The shadow of the Wolf

by R. Austin Freeman

Again, the report of Purcell’s voyage from Falmouth to Ipswich was certainly untrue. But if it was untrue, there was no reason for supposing that Purcell had ever been at Ipswich at all. Yet here was a letter sent by Purcell from that very locality. That was very remarkable, too. Clearly, the matter called for further investigation; and that involved, in the first place, an examination of this letter that had come so mysteriously to confirm a report that was certainly untrue. He returned Mr. Penfield’s smile and then asked:

“You accept this letter, then, as evidence of survival?”

Mr. Penfield looked astonished. “But, my dear sir, what else could I do? I may be insufficiently critical, and I have not your great special knowledge of this subject, but to my untrained intelligence it would appear that the circumstance of a man’s having written a letter affords good presumptive evidence that he was alive at the date when it was written. That is my own view and I propose to administer the will in accordance with it. Do I understand that you dissent from it?”

Thorndyke smiled blandly. He was beginning rather to like Mr. Penfield.

“As you state the problem,” said he, “you are probably right. At any rate the administration of the will is your concern and not mine. As you were good enough to remark, my concern is with the person and the whereabouts of Mr. Purcell and not with his affairs. Were you proposing to allow me to inspect the envelope of this letter?”

“It was for that very purpose that I came,” replied Penfield with a smile and a twinkle of mischief in his eyes; “but I will not restrict you to the envelope this time. You shall inspect the letter as well, if a mere letter will not be superfluous when the envelope has given up its secrets.”

He produced a wallet from his pocket and, opening it, took out a letter which he gravely handed to Thorndyke. The latter took it from him, and as he glanced at the jet-black writing of the address, said: “I take it that you are satisfied that the handwriting is Purcell’s?”

“Certainly,” was the reply. “But whose else should it be? The question does not seem to arise. However, I may assure you that it is undoubtedly Purcell’s writing, and also Purcell’s ink, though that is less conclusive. Still, it is a peculiar ink. I have never seen any quite like it. My impression is that he prepares it himself.”

As Penfield was speaking, Thorndyke examined the envelope narrowly. Presently he rose and, taking a reading-glass from the mantel-shelf, went over to the window, where, with the aid of the glass, he scrutinized the envelope inch by inch on both sides. Then, laying down the reading-glass, he took from his pocket a powerful doublet lens through which he examined certain parts of the envelope, particularly the stamp and the London post-mark. Finally he took out the letter, opened the envelope and carefully examined its interior, and then inspected the letter itself before unfolding it, holding it so that the light fell on it obliquely and scrutinizing each of the four corners in succession. At length he opened the letter, read it through, again examined the corners, and compared some portions of the writing with that on the envelope.

These proceedings were closely observed by Mr. Penfield, who watched them with an indulgent smile. He was better able than on the last occasion to appreciate the humour of Thorndyke’s methods. There was nothing about this letter that he had need to conceal. He could afford to let the expert find out what he could this time; and Mr. Penfield, from a large and unfavourable experience of expert witnesses, suspected that the discovery would probably take the form of a mare’s nest.