Part 13

After lunch I went up to my room, locked the door and took the little camera from my pocket. Having fully wound up the film, I extracted it, wrapped it up carefully and bestowed it in my inside breast-pocket. Then I inserted a fresh film, and going to the open window, took four successive snapshots of the sky. This done, I closed the camera, slipped it into my pocket, and went downstairs. Foxton was in the hall, brushing his hat, as I descended, and at once renewed his demand.

“About those photographs, Jervis,” said he, “I shall be looking in at the police station presently, so if you wouldn’t mind----”

“To be sure,” said I. “I will give you the film now, if you like.”

Taking the camera from my pocket, I solemnly wound up the remainder of the film, extracted it, stuck down the loose end with ostentatious care, and handed it to him.

“Better not expose it to the light,” I said, going the whole hog of deception, “or you may fog the exposures.”

Foxton took the spool from me as if it were hot--he was not a photographer--and thrust it into his hand-bag. He was still thanking me quite profusely when the front-door bell rang.

The visitor who stood revealed when Foxton opened the door was a small, spare gentleman with a complexion of the peculiar brown-papery quality that suggests long residence in the Tropics. He stepped in briskly and introduced himself and his business without preamble.

“My name is Wardale--boarder at Beddingfield’s. I’ve called with reference to the tragic event which----”

Here Foxton interposed in his frostiest official tone. “I am afraid, Mr. Wardale, I can’t give you any information about the case at present.”

“I saw you two gentlemen at the house this morning,” Mr. Wardale continued, but Foxton again cut him short.

“You did. We were there--or at least, I was--as the representative of the Law, and while the case is sub judice----”

“It isn’t yet,” interrupted Wardale.

“Well, I can’t enter into any discussion of it----”

“I am not asking you to,” said Wardale, a little impatiently. “But I understand that one of you is Dr. Jervis.”

“I am,” said I.

“I must really warn you,” Foxton began again; but Mr. Wardale interrupted testily:

“My dear sir, I am a lawyer and a magistrate and understand perfectly well what is and what is not permissible. I have come simply to make a professional engagement with Dr. Jervis.”

“In what way can I be of service to you?” I asked.

“I will tell you,” said Mr. Wardale. “This poor lady, whose death has occurred in so mysterious a manner, was the wife of a man who was, like myself, a servant of the Government of Sierra Leone. I was the friend of both of them; and in the absence of the husband, I should like to have the inquiry into the circumstances of this lady’s death watched by a competent lawyer with the necessary special knowledge of medical evidence. Will you or your colleague, Dr. Thorndyke, undertake to watch the case for me?”

Of course I was willing to undertake the case and said so.

“Then,” said Mr. Wardale, “I will instruct my solicitor to write to you and formally retain you in the case. Here is my card. You will find my name in the Colonial Office List, and you know my address here.”

He handed me his card, wished us both good afternoon, and then, with a stiff little bow, turned and took his departure.

“I think I had better run up to town and confer with Thorndyke,” said I. “How do the trains run?”

“There is a good train in about three-quarters of an hour,” replied Foxton.

“Then I will go by it, but I shall come down again to-morrow or the next day, and probably Thorndyke will come down with me.”

“Very well,” said Foxton. “Bring him in to lunch or dinner, but I can’t put him up, I am afraid.”

“It would be better not,” said I. “Your friend, Platt, wouldn’t like it. He won’t want Thorndyke--or me either for that matter. And what about those photographs? Thorndyke will want them, you know.”

“He can’t have them,” said Foxton doggedly, “unless Platt is willing to hand them back; which I don’t suppose he will be.”