Death and the Professor: A Golden Age Mystery Read online

  ‘Oh!’ The exclamation came from all five listeners.

  ‘Quite so!’ Sir Edward looked gratified at the reception accorded his dramatic vertex. ‘The necklace had been interfered with — there is no doubt about that and our own jewel expert confirmed it — and there is no doubt the interference would have been spotted immediately by the Garden firm — and the fraud exposed.’

  ‘No blessed wonder he committed suicide,’ Purcell said. ‘He was booked for gaol.’

  ‘Why on earth did Benton go through with it when he knew the certain outcome?’

  ‘What could he do?’ the A.C. protested. ‘Had he not gone, Derja would on his own. And perhaps he hoped for some miracle: a casual examination, formally, from the Garden firm’s knowledge of his own reputation.’

  ‘Did he say anything about the letter?

  ‘Oh, yes, indeed. According to Derja he was very upset and angry. Said there was no reason for another valuation; it was unheard of, and a reflection on his reputation and on the valuers who had already certified it.’

  ‘Very significant,’ Purcell said. ‘What it comes to is that secure in the knowledge that a valuation had been made, and that Bonheimer had bought the necklace, Benton sets to work, extracts the more valuable stones and replaces them. Bonheimer would never have known the difference. Then when the letter arrives, he starts out with a forlorn hope of by-passing the new valuation, sees in the train the impossibility — and commits suicide?’

  ‘That is the suggestion,’ the A.C. agreed.

  ‘Why did Bonheimer want the second valuation, if he was satisfied with the first one — and agreed on the price?’

  The A.C. chuckled: it was more grim than humorous. ‘Because of two words — just two words which brought, unwittingly, death.’ He looked at Charles. ‘Come, Norman, you’re a psychiatrist. What is the answer?’ Charles ruffled his brows, eyeing the police chief. ‘No,’ he said at last. ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘No? The original valuation said £5,000 or more. The instincts of Mr. Bonheimer rose to the ‘or more’. He wanted to insure the necklace for more than the £5,000 he was paying for it. He hoped the second valuation would give a figure to the ‘more!’ We asked him — and got that reply.’

  A ripple of laughter greeted the explanation: to be broken by the pathologist. ‘What does Derja have to say about it?’

  ‘A great deal. The sale, of course, is off, and he is left with a necklace worth far less than was paid for it. He says that since Benton did the fiddling, he will insist that reparation of the amount is made to the firm from Benton’s personal finances. But that is not the extent of his worries — by long chalks.’

  The professor had not spoken throughout the whole telling. Now he suddenly looked up at the A.C.

  ‘Q-quite so. T-there h-had been, of course, o-other sales,’ he said gravely. ‘And if in o-one, w-why not in others?

  The A.C. inclined his head in affirmation. ‘So far we have inspected three articles,’ he said. ‘All have been ravished. In two cases diamonds of similar size but of inferior quality, had been substituted in almost an entire bracelet. It seems likely that many thousands of pounds will have to be paid back to the purchasers, and in addition the articles, themselves, are now of minor value.’

  ‘What did he do with the stones he extracted?’

  The A.C. spread his hands. ‘We do not know. The shop and his home have been combed through — Derja insisted on that. We even went through the shop’s stock with a jewellery expert, in case he might have turned them into rings, brooches, or such-like. You know that diamonds can be easily identified by their carat weight and cutting. He had not, so far as we can discover, sold any stones, or sent any away.’

  ‘Cyanide, I see,’ James, the pathologist said with interest in his voice. ‘How did he take it — in the coffee I suppose?’

  ‘Not in the coffee. There was no trace of cyanide in his cup, nor in Derja’s. According to the post-mortem it was mixed with the food.’

  ‘With food? That’s an odd circumstance. In the sandwich? Do you think it might have been an accident?’

  The A.C. shook his head. ‘Quite impossible. Remember Derja’s description of events: ‘I cut a sandwich in half. I took one piece, Mr. Benton the other.’ Benton’s was half-eaten, Derja’s part was also half-eaten: we have both the remains, with the cups and saucers and knife that were on the table.’

  The professor tapped on the table for silence and made his second contribution of the evening: ‘At w-what h-hour do the s-shops open in Bath, Sir Edward?’ he asked.

  ‘Time? — Let me see. Ah! we had to wait until 9 o’clock.’

  9

  ‘Well, there you are. That is the whole of the tragic story,’ the A.C. concluded. ‘Criminologically, it is closed so far as we at the Yard are concerned. The only interest it has for me is in the man himself. What psychological act of sabotage came over him that could lead him to destroy his life and ruin the business he had built up over twenty years?’

  ‘Money — and more money, Edward,’ the chairman said.

  ‘I don’t think so, Noël.’ The A.C. shook his head emphatically. ‘Remember he was 68 and had quite a tidy fortune. He was a man of simple tastes and the money he possessed would have lasted him all his life; and he had no children to whom to leave it. Actually, he was living well below his income over the past two or three years and his capital was mounting. I don’t think money was the reason. Does a man destroy wantonly for a pittance the monument to his ability and integrity?’

  ‘Quite a number of thousands is hardly a pittance, Edward,’ the chairman interposed. ‘And ‘each man kills the thing he loves’ — Oscar Wilde, isn’t it?’

  ‘Poetic fancy. The reason I have told the story at such length is that I thought it might provide a topic for us to-night.’ He looked across at Norman Charles. ‘Come, Norman, you are a psychiatrist, and the professor has philosophy and reason. What do you suggest overtook him?’

  Charles rubbed a hand over his chin. ‘A psychiatrist works from the reactions of a living person, not a dead one, Edward. It is more in the line of psychology’ — he nodded across at the professor — ‘but I’ll have a shot.’ He thought for a moment or two. ‘Freud posited an ‘unconscious’ inaccessible by ordinary methods of observation, but with a strong life of its own which continually affects the conduct of the individual. His teaching was on a theory that continual mental conflicts are going on in all minds below the threshold of consciousness, their object being to keep away from observation the ideas and wishes which are abhorrent to conscience. Well, something occurs, most frequently perhaps in late life, when that mental conflict is lost, and it comes out in physical conduct. It was there all the time below the level of consciousness, but held in check. A circumstance, quite trivial or simple, can bring it out — a shock, a disagreement, a sudden aversion to someone or something. What did it to Benton we are not likely now to know. Repression is one likely cause, and with repressions sexual reasons are general. That may have been the case with Benton. He was a married man, but had never had any family. Perhaps he had wanted children, and the thought that he had no one to follow him in his business worked on him, hidden, until it suddenly exploded. Since jewels were his love his mental surrender to conscience turned in their direction.’

  James broke in: ‘Pathologically, it is possible to link sexual influences with such a case in another way,’ he said. ‘Those mental changes which so often affect women at the climacteric also occur in men between the ages of 55 and 65. It can be delayed until even later and then the results are frequently much more serious. Usually, such a change leads to melancholia. It could however affect a man’s code of morality. But — well, the professor is more versed in the subject and in reasoning; and he has been very quiet tonight. Well, Professor?’

  Dr. Stubbs took a copious pinch of snuff from his silver box. Slowly and deliberately he brushed away the dust left from it from his waistcoat before he raised his goblin-like head, and turned his thick lenses on the A.C. and spoke:

  ‘W-why d-did Mr. Benton h-have cyanide w-with him on t-the train?’ he asked, mildly.

  They stared at him. The A.C. replied:

  ‘I can’t say why he had cyanide. But if he intended suicide, then some poison was necessary. And cyanide is easily obtained.’

  ‘Q-quite!’ A shadow which might have been a smile crossed the professor’s face. He waved a hand. ‘Freud!’ he said. ‘He has been discarded for years. He based his theories on inherited instincts, tendencies and environment. W-what h-have h-his t-theories to do with Mr. Benton and w-with t-the age of 68? Phooey! T-there are one or t-two t-things I w-would like to know. T-the shop of Mr. Benton, it is a lock-up?’

  The A.C. nodded.

  ‘And t-there are t-two partners — t-they have k-keys: and who else?’

  ‘The chief assistant.’

  ‘And t-the setting of jewels, and repairs and t-the fashioning of jewellery, it w-was done b-by Mr. Benton himself?’

  ‘Always. Derja was, in plain terms, a salesman.’

  ‘But a trained jeweller.’

  ‘Yes. He had spent seven years’ apprenticeship.’

  ‘So. It is g-good.’ The professor settled himself in his chair, thought for a moment and looked round the table. ‘W-we t-talked earlier this evening about philosophy,’ he said. ‘Philosophy and p-psychology are allied sciences; indeed for a generation they w-were r-regarded as one until t-the nineteenth century, in fact. But w-without one other science, they are useless — without the science of reasoning. Yes?’ His spectacles, like gig-lamps, roved round the table, and noted the agreeing inclination of five heads. ‘And reasoning is the Science of Logic. I, Marcus Stubbs, t-tell y-you t-this. Also, I t-tell you t-that I have listened t-to the story so admirably t-told by Sir Edward’ — he bowed in the direction of the A.C. — ‘listened most earnestly, and I h-have h-heard only t-that which my reasoning will not accept. Gentlemen, t-the w-whole of this s-story is so abhorrent a lie as t-to m-make me t-tremble in anger.’

  A sharp intake of breath sounded round the table. The chairman found his voice.

  ‘Come, come, Professor!’ he chided.

  ‘Logic is i-irrefutable. I t-tell y-you s-so.’ The man in the passion of his denunciation was spluttering in a hesitating stammer at almost every word. ‘T-there is n-no l-logic or r-reason here. B-but I must b-be c-calm. Reason h-has no p-passion. It is suggested t-that sexual re-repression sent Mr. Benton to crime. Nonsense! He is a m-man m-married more than forty years. D-do you t-think with seriousness that a desire to have had a child and an heir to his possessions would break out after forty years? Or before it? W-what h-have we here? A man, upright and courageous, who b-built up a b-business over twenty years and then destroys it for something — money and diamonds — of which he had no need. W-what reasoning is that?

  ‘L-let us apply t-the principles of correct and logical thought. Sir Edward, I asked you w-why Mr. Benton h-had cyanide on t-the t-train. You replied that if he intended t-to commit suicide t-then some poison was necessary. There, indeed, is pragmatism — a reasoning only to serve our purposes, to convince us what we want to believe. Let us s-study t-the facts. On Monday night the necklace is a safely s-sold article, valued, approved, and ready for delivery to the customer. On T-Tuesday morning at 8.25 Mr. Benton enters his shop. A minute later Mr. Derja joins him. They were never apart from that moment. The letter f-from Mr. Bonheimer asking for the second valuation was in the shop letter-box, and it was o-opened and r-read. Mr. Benton is annoyed, indeed angry. There was no reason for another valuation, he s-said. B-but, he did n-not p-panic. He d-did n-not say: ‘To hell with the man. I will not be so treated. Telephone him that the deal is off. We will sell elsewhere.’ Thus, gentlemen, the necklace could go back into the safe, and be restored in safety. After all, Mr. Benton is the senior partner, t-the boss. But w-what does he do? He g-goes to London — to certain exposure; and in t-the t-train it is s-said he commits suicide.

  ‘Gentlemen, I ask Sir Edward and you: Why h-had Mr. Benton cyanide w-with him on the t-train. And where did he g-get it? He d-did not w-want it on Monday night; there was no likelihood then of discovery of the fraud. He did not want it until 8.25 on Tuesday morning — until he opened the Bonheimer letter and learned of the new valuation, and what it would mean to h-him. The shops in Bath do not open until 9 o’clock. At 8.30 o’clock he was in a taxi with Mr. Derja, at 9 o’clock he was on the station. And he and Derja w-were together all the t-time. And yet he h-had cyanide? Is t-that sound r-reasoning, g-gentlemen?’

  ‘Is it?’ he demanded again; and leaned back in his chair. His eyes, seen big through the thick lenses, turned on the A.C., searching the face of the police chief. Slowly, he took another pinch of snuff, and straightened the ‘dicky’ inside his vest. The Dilettantes were listening in strained attitudes, and waiting impatiently. The professor started again.

  ‘B-but s-suppose Mr. Benton had k-known n-nothing of the re-replacements in the necklace, he w-would have been angry at the d-demand for another valuation — as, indeed, he was. B-but t-that is all. It w-would n-not really matter to h-him. The necklace, he knows, is genuine. T-then, gentlemen, t-there is nothing inconsistent with his journey to London.’

  ‘Except that he committed suicide, Professor,’ the chairman pointed out.

  ‘Except t-that he d-died, Sir Noël.’

  Sir Edward Allen spoke for the first time since the professor had started. ‘Go on, Professor,’ he said: and his voice was very low.

  ‘Then, let us proceed w-with further s-supposition,’ the logician went on. ‘Let us s-suppose there is someone who does know the necklace is false and who, when the discovery is made by the new valuation is in that same p-peril of p-prison, unless he c-can s-shift the b-blame — for t-that and the other falsifications. And s-suppose in t-the t-train, in perfect security as it appeared, he, is ready for such emergency which was always p-possible, he — shifts the blame.’

  ‘We would require very strong presumptive evidence, Professor,’ the A.C. warned.

  ‘T-the n-necklace, Sir Edward. It s-shall provide it. Mr. Benton is dead in t-the c-car. Mr. Archer mentions poison. And Derja wails: ‘My God, the diamonds’ and w-when the c-case is re-recovered from Mr. Benton’s pocket said: ‘I was afraid —’’ The professor looked round. ‘Afraid of w-what? He h-had b-been with Mr. Benton all t-the t-time. W-what did he t-think could have h-happened to the diamonds. W-where should t-they b-be but in his p-partner’s pocket? The mind should reason. Sir Edward, not as it wants, or is induced by set clues to believe, but dispassionately.’

  The professor sniffed from the inevitable snuff box. The company waited. ‘Then, Mr. Archer opens t-the c-case and holds it up. The n-necklace catches the light. ‘Those are not the diamonds,’ Derja says. ‘I knew it when the prisms flashed’.’ The professor laughed aloud, and the laugh had a mocking sarcasm in it. ‘From a single glint of light on a row of flashing diamonds he s-sees only t-the primary colours from t-two or t-three prisms! Eyesight the most remarkable. But — if he k-knew t-that there must be prism colours —’ The professor spread out his hands, short and stubby with the cuticles of the index fingers stained with his snuff.

  Sir Edward Allen leant forward. ‘It is a clever and ingenious hypothesis, Professor,’ he admitted. ‘And a circumstantial one. I would think it well worth probing, except that it is negatived by one solid and undeniable fact: Benton is dead, and Derja is alive. And they ate from the same sandwich, with the undigested remains of which in Benton the poison that killed him was mixed.’

  The Dilettantes sat silent. Their eyes turned to the figure of the little professor. He was tapping on his knees, and his gaze was centred on the A.C. They did not shift when he spoke:

  ‘Who purchased t-the sandwiches, Sir Edward? Mr. Benton was peckish. Derja could h-have ordered from t-the s-steward of the car — as he did the c-coffee. Roll and cheese, even s-sandwiches. But then, they would have come on plates — one for each customer, and Mr. Benton would have taken his, and Derja his. But no, Derja buys a packet from a station trolley. He opens it. He borrows Mr. Benton’s k-knife and presently, after they have drunk s-some c-coffee, he cuts a sandwich in two and gives one half to Mr. Benton, and starts on t-the other h-half himself.’

  ‘Quite so,’ the A.C. said: and he spoke pointedly. The professor ignored the remark — and the tone. ‘Derja,’ he said. ‘It is an odd name. Malayan, yes?’

  The A.C. nodded.

  ‘P-perhaps from Kelentan, in the north?’

  ‘Yes. He is a Kelentan. He has been in England for ten years.’

  ‘You do not k-know Malaya, Sir Edward?’

  ‘I have never been there.’

  ‘A curious race, the Malayans.’ The professor lapsed into reminiscence. ‘I s-spent a y-year among them, s-studying t-the philosophy of the people. It d-differs so g-greatly from the philosophical outlook of the West. T-they are a fatalistic people, and —’

  The A.C. shifted in his chair impatiently, and a quiet cough came from one or two of the other listeners. The professor went on, unmoved:

  ‘In Kelentan t-they h-have an unpleasant w-way of d-dining a guest. The h-host, sharing a meal divides a water-melon in half w-with a k-knife. But the under-side of the k-knife has been smeared with honey w-with w-which has been mixed poison. He himself eats only t-that p-part of the melon on the c-clean side of the k-knife. The guest bites the edge of t-the other h-half which h-has taken from the blade the smeared poison. The poison is, of c-course, only on t-the edge of t-the melon, and t-the k-knife by the cutting is w-wiped clean of the p-poison. The remainder of the bitten piece of melon is without trace of poison. And the poison thus used in Malaya is always cyanide.’

  The little man ignored the startled gasp that came from the men round the table.

  ‘It w-would w-work equally w-well with a sandwich in the hands of a Malayan,’ he said. ‘T-the poison, p-prepared and ready say in a t-tube, squeezed under t-the screen of a t-table along one side of the k-knife-blade, and the sandwich then c-cut and the half with the poisoned edge, pushed across to t-the victim.’