Somewhere about the end of the year 1910, Noah Quick, hailing, evidently, from nowhere in particular, but, equally evidently, being in possession of plenty of cash, became licensee of a small tavern called the Admiral Parker, in a back street in Devonport. It was a fully-licensed house, and much frequented by seamen. Noah Quick was a thick-set, sturdy, middle-aged man, reserved, taciturn, very strict in his attention to business; a steady, sober man, keen on money matters. He was a bachelor, keeping an elderly woman as housekeeper, a couple of stout women servants, a barmaid, and a potman. His house was particularly well-conducted; it was mentioned at the inquest on him that the police had never once had any complaint in reference to it, and that Noah, who had to deal with a rather rough class of customers, was peculiarly adept in keeping order one witness, indeed, said that having had opportunities of watching him, he had formed the opinion that Noah, before going into the public-house business, had held some position of authority and was accustomed to obedience. Everything seemed to be going very well with him and the Admiral Parker, when, in February, 1912, his brother, Salter Quick, made his appearance in Devonport.
Nobody knew anything about Salter Quick, except that he was believed to have come to Devonport from Wapping or Rotherhithe, or somewhere about those Thames-side quarters. He was very like his brother in appearance, and in character, except that he was more sociable, and more talkative. He took up his residence at the Admiral Parker, and he and Noah evidently got on together very well: they were even affectionate in manner toward each other. They were often seen in Devonport and in Plymouth in company, but those who knew them best at this time noted that they never paid visits to, nor received visits from, any one coming within the category of friends or relations. And one man, giving evidence at the inquest on Noah Quick, said that he had some recollection that Salter, in a moment of confidence, had once told him that he and Noah were orphans, and hadn't a blood-relation in the world.
According to all that was brought out, matters went quite smoothly and pleasantly at the Admiral Parker until the 5th of March, 1912 three days, it will be observed, before I myself left London for Ravensdene Court. On that date, Salter Quick, who had a banking account at a Plymouth bank (to which he had been introduced by Noah, who also banked there), cashed a check for sixty pounds. That was in the morning in the early afternoon, he went away, remarking to the barmaid at his brother's inn that he was first going to London and then north. Noah accompanied him to the railway station. As far as any one knew, Salter was not burdened by any luggage, even by a handbag.
After he had gone, things went on just as usual at the Admiral Parker. Neither the housekeeper, nor the barmaid, nor the potman, could remember that the place was visited by any suspicious characters, nor that its landlord showed any signs of having any trouble or any extraordinary business matters. Everything was as it should be, when, on the evening of the 9th of March (the very day on which I met Salter Quick on the Northumbrian coast), Noah told his housekeeper and barmaid that he had to go over to Saltash, to see a man on business, and should be back about closing-time. He went away about seven o'clock, but he was not back at closing-time. The potman sat up for him until midnight: he was not back then. And none of his people at the Admiral Parker heard any more of him until just after breakfast next morning, when the police came and told them that their employer's body had been found at a lonely spot on the bank of the river a little above Saltash, and that he had certainly been murdered.
There were some points of similarity between the murders of Salter Quick and Noah Quick. The movements and doings of each man were traceable up to a certain point, after which nothing whatever could be discovered respecting them. As regards Noah Quick he had crossed the river between Keyham and Saltash by the ferry-boat, landing just beneath the great bridge which links Devon with Cornwall. It was then nearly dark, but he was seen and spoken to by several men who knew him well. He was seen, too, to go up the steep street towards the head of the queer old village: there he went into one of the inns, had a glass of whisky at the bar, exchanged a word or two with some men sitting in the parlour, and after awhile, glancing at his watch, went out and was never seen again alive. His dead body was found next morning at a lonely spot on an adjacent creek, by a fisherman like Salter, he had been stabbed, and in similar fashion. And as in Salter's case, robbery of money and valuables had not been the murderer's object. Noah Quick, when found, had money on him, gold, silver; he was also wearing a gold watch and chain and a diamond ring; all these things were untouched, as if the murderer had felt contemptuous of them. But here again was a point of similarity in the two crimes Noah Quick's pocket's had been turned out; the lining of his waistcoat had been slashed and slit; his thick reefer jacket had been torn off him and subjected to a similar search its lining was cut to pieces, and it and his overcoat were found flung carelessly over the body. Close by lay his hard felt hat the lining had been torn out.
This, according to the evidence given at the inquests and to the facts collected by the police at the places concerned, was all that came out. There was not the slightest clue in either case. No one could say what became of Salter Quick after he left me outside the Mariner's Joy; no one knew where Noah Quick went when he walked out of the Saltash inn into the darkness. At each inquest a verdict of wilful murder against some person or persons unknown was returned, and the respective coroners uttered some platitudes about coincidence and mystery and all the rest of it. But from all that had transpired it seemed to me that there were certain things to be deduced, and I find that I tabulated them at the time, writing them down at the end of the newspaper clippings, as follows:
1. Salter and Noah Quick were in possession of some secret.
2. They were murdered by men who wished to get possession of it for themselves.
3. The actual murderers were probably two members of a gang.
4. Gang if a gang and murderers were at large, and, if they had secured possession of the secret would be sure to make use of it.
Out of this arose the question what was the secret? Something, I had no doubt whatever, that related to money. But what, and how? I exercised my speculative faculties a good deal at the time over this matter, and I could not avoid wondering about Mr. Cazalette and the yew-hedge affair. He never mentioned it; I was afraid and nervous about telling him what I had seen. Nor for some time did he mention his tobacco-box labours indeed, I don't remember that he mentioned them directly at all. But, about the time that the inquests on the two murdered men came to an end, I observed that Mr. Cazalette, most of whose time was devoted to his numismatic work, was spending his leisure in turning over whatever books he could come across at Ravensdene Court which related to local history and topography; he was also studying old maps, charts and the like. Also, he got from London the latest Ordnance Map. I saw him studying that with deep attention. Yet he said nothing until one day, coming across me in the library, alone, he suddenly plumped me with a question.
"Middlebrook!" said he, "the name which that poor man mentioned to you as you talked with him on the cliff was Netherfield?"
"Netherfield," said I. "That was it Netherfield."
"He said there were Netherfields buried hereabouts?" he asked.
"Middlebrook!" said he, "the name which that poor man mentioned to you as you talked with him on the cliff was Netherfield?"
"Netherfield," said I. "That was it Netherfield."
"He said there were Netherfields buried hereabouts?" he asked.
"Just so in some churchyard or other," I answered. "What of it, Mr. Cazalette?"
He helped himself to a pinch of snuff, as if to assist his thoughts.
"Well," said he presently, "and it's a queer thing that at the time of the inquest nobody ever thought of inquiring if there is such a churchyard and such graves."
"Why didn't you suggest it?" I asked.
"I'd rather find it out for myself," said he, with a knowing look. "And if you want to know, I've been trying to do so. But I've looked through every local history there is and I think the late John Christopher Raven collected every scrap of printed stuff relating to this corner of the country that's ever left a press and I can't find any reference to such a name."
"Parish registers?" I suggested.
"Aye, I thought of that," he said. "Some of 'em have been printed, and I've consulted those that have, without result. And, Middlebrook, I'm more than ever convinced that yon dead man knew what he was talking about, and that there's dead and gone Netherfields lying somewhere in this quarter, and that the secret of his murder is, somehow, to be found in their ancient tombs! Aye!"
He took another big pinch of snuff, and looked at me as if to find out whether or no I agreed with him. Then I let out a question.
"Mr. Cazalette, have you found out anything from your photographic work on that tobacco-box lid?" I asked. "You thought you might."
Much to my astonishment, he turned and shuffled away.
"I'm not through with that matter, yet," he answered. "It's progressing."
I told Miss Raven of this little conversation. She and I were often together in the library; we often discussed the mystery of the murders.
"What was there, really, on the lid of the tobacco-box?" she asked. "Anything that could actually arouse curiosity?"
"I think Mr. Cazalette exaggerated their importance," I replied, "but there were certainly some marks, scratches, which seemed to have been made by design."
"And what," she asked again, "did Mr. Cazalette think they might mean?"
"Heaven knows!" I answered. "Some deep and dark clue to Quick's murder, I suppose."
"I wish I had seen the tobacco-box," she remarked. "Interesting, anyway."
"That's easy enough," said I. "The police have it and all the rest of Quick's belongings. If we walked over to the police-station, the inspector would willingly show it to you."
I saw that this proposition attracted her she was not beyond feeling something of the fascination which is exercised upon some people by the inspection of the relics of strange crimes.
"Let us go, then," she said. "This afternoon?"
I had a mind, myself, to have another look at that tobacco-box; Mr. Cazalette's hints about it, and his mysterious secrecy regarding his photographic experiments, made me inquisitive. So after lunch that day Miss Raven and I walked across country to the police-station, where we were shown into the presence of the inspector, who, in the midst of his politeness, frankly showed his wonder at our pilgrimage.
"We have come with an object," said I, giving him an informing glance. "Miss Raven, like most ladies, is not devoid of curiosity. She wishes to see that metal tobacco-box which was found on Salter Quick."
The inspector laughed.
"Oh!" he exclaimed. "The thing that the old gentleman what's his name? Mr. Cazalette? was so keen about photographing. Why, I don't know I saw nothing but two or three surface scratches inside the lid. Has he discovered anything?"
"That," I answered, "is only known to Mr. Cazalette himself. He preserves a strict silence on that point. He is very mysterious about the matter. It is his secrecy, and his mystery, that makes Miss Raven inquisitive."
"Well," remarked the inspector, indulgently, "it's a curiosity that can very easily be satisfied. I've got all Quick's belongings here just as they were put together after being exhibited before the coroner." He unlocked a cupboard and pointed to two bundles one, a large one, was done up in linen; the other, a small one, in a wrapping of canvas. "That," he continued, pointing to the linen-covered package, "contains his clothing; this, his effects: his money, watch and chain, and so on. It's sealed, as you see, but we can put fresh seals on after breaking these."
"Very kind of you to take so much trouble," said Miss Raven. "All to satisfy a mere whim."
The inspector assured her that it was no trouble, and broke the seals of the small, carefully-wrapped package. There, neatly done up, were the dead man's effects, even down to his pipe and pouch. His money was there, notes, gold, silver, copper; there was a stump of lead-pencil and a bit of string; every single thing found upon him had been kept. But the tobacco-box was not there.
"I I don't see it!" exclaimed the inspector. "How's this?"
He turned the things over again, and yet again there was no tobacco-box. And at that, evidently vexed and perplexed, he rang a bell and asked for a particular constable, who presently entered. The inspector indicated the various properties.
"Didn't you put these things together when the inquest was over?" he demanded. "They were all lying on the table at the inquest we showed them there. I told you to put them up and bring them here and seal them."
"I did, sir," answered the man. "I put together everything that was on the table, at once. The package was never out of my hands till I got it here, and sealed it. Sergeant Brown and myself counted the money, sir."
"The money is all right," observed the inspector. "But there's a metal box a tobacco-box missing. Do you remember it?"
"Can't say that I do, sir," replied the constable. "I packed up everything that was there."
The inspector nodded a dismissal; when we were alone again, he turned to Miss Raven and me with a queer expression.
"That box has been abstracted at the inquest!" he said, "Now then! by whom? and why?"
CHAPTER VII
YELLOWFACE
It was very evident that the inspector was considerably puzzled, not to say upset, by the disappearance of the tobacco-box, and I fancied that I saw the real reason of his discomfiture. He had poohpoohed Mr. Cazalette's almost senile eagerness about the thing, treating his request as of no importance; now he suddenly discovered that somebody had conceived a remarkable interest in the tobacco-box and had cleverly annexed it under his very eyes and he was angry with himself for his lack of care and perception. I was not indisposed to banter him a little.
"The second of your questions might be easily answered," I said. "The thing has been appropriated because somebody believes, as Mr. Cazalette evidently does, or did, that there may be a clue in those scratches, or marks, on the inside of the lid. But as to who it was that believed this, and managed to secrete the box that's a far different matter!"
He was thinking, and presently he nodded his head.
"I can call to mind everybody who sat round that table, where these things were laid out," he remarked, confidently. "There were two or three officials, like myself. There was our surgeon and Dr. Lorrimore. Two or three of the country gentlemen all magistrates; all well known to me. And at the foot of the table there were a couple of reporters: I know them, too, well enough. Now, who, out of that lot, would be likely to steal for that's what it comes to this tobacco-box? A thing that had scarcely been mentioned if at all during the proceedings!"