The next question was: Who was the forger? But the answer to that seemed to be contained in the further question: What was the purpose of the forgery? For the evident purpose of this letter was to furnish evidence that Purcell was still alive; and as such it had been accepted by Mr. Penfield. That distinctly pointed to Varney, who had already made two false—or at least incorrect—statements, apparently with the same object. The skill with which the forgery had been executed also pointed to him, for an engraver must needs be a skilful copyist. There was only one doubtful point. Whoever had prepared this letter was a lithographer; not a mere draughtsman but a printer as well. Now was Varney a lithographer? It was extremely probable. Many etchers and mezzotinters work also on the stone. But until it had been ascertained that he was, the authorship of the letter must be left in suspense. But assuming the letter to be Varney’s work, it was evident that Mr. Penfield’s visit had added materially to the body of circumstantial evidence. It had established that Purcell had worn a moustache apparently identical in character with that of the elusive Bromeswell; which, taken in conjunction with all the other known facts, made it nearly a certainty that Bromeswell and Purcell were one and the same person. But that assumption had been seen to lead to the inference that Purcell was dead and that Varney was responsible for, or implicated in, the circumstances of his death. Then there was this letter. It was a forged letter, and its purpose was to prove that Purcell was alive. But the fact that it was necessary to forge a letter to prove that he was alive, was in itself presumptive evidence that he was not alive. Subject to proof that Varney was a lithographer and therefore capable of producing this forgery, the evidence that Mr. Penfield had brought furnished striking confirmation of the hypothesis that Thorndyke had formed as to what had become of Daniel Purcell.
Chapter X.
In Which Thorndyke Sees a New Light
“We shall only be three at dinner, after all,” said Margaret. “Mr. Rodney will be detained somewhere, but he is coming in for a chat later in the evening.”
Varney received the news without emotion. He could do without Rodney. He would not have been desolated if the other guest had been a defaulter, too. At any rate, he hoped that he would not be needlessly punctual and thus shorten unduly the tête-à-tête with Margaret which he—Varney—had secured by exercising the privilege of an old friend to arrive considerably before his time.
“You have only met Dr. Thorndyke once before, I think?” said Margaret.
“Yes; at Sennen, you know; the day that queer letter came from Mr. Penfield, and I didn’t see much of him then. I remember that I was a little mystified about him; couldn’t quite make out whether he was a lawyer, a doctor or a man of science.”
“As a matter of fact, he is all three. He is what is called a medical jurist; a sort of lawyer who deals with legal cases that involve medical questions. I understand that he is a great authority on medical evidence.”
“What legal cases do involve medical questions?”
“I don’t know much about it,” replied Margaret, “but I believe they include questions of survivorship and cases of presumption of death.”
“Presumption of death!” repeated Varney. “What on earth does that mean?”