X. Jones—Of Scotland Yard Read online

  Subsequent efforts on my own part, that of my daughter, and that of the accountancy helper whom I have mentioned, have not revealed the answer—any answer, in fact.

  But no doubt, my dear Mr. Jones, to you, with your vast experience in solving puzzles, the answer will assert itself after but a few moments’ consideration.

  I trust that you will pardon my having typewritten this communication—which I have done myself, and at my offices—but purely for the sake of clarity, and exactitude; and if, as soon as the solution of the puzzle asserts itself to your specialized perceptions, you will deign to allow me to share in that solution by apprising me of it at my home, 3001 West Jackson Boulevard, Chicago, I will be more than humbly grateful, and more than repaid, I assure you, for having sent the puzzle to you. Indeed, I am sure that I shall be hearing from you by return boat.

  I am,

  Very truly,

  Christopher L. Thorne

  DOCUMENT LXXI

  A letter, of date December 3, 1936, from X. Jones, 136 Grey’s Inn Road, London, England, to Christopher L. Thorne, 3001 W. Jackson Boulevard, Chicago, Illinois, U.S.A.

  Dear Sir:

  Your puzzle, submitted to you by one of your unfortunately now dead clients, did, exactly as you surmised it would, intrigue me greatly. I did not, I will concede, apply chess-problem technique as you describe yourself to have done; nor did I use pure mathematics, as I understand your assistant did; nor, in fact, did I attempt to utilize intuition as did your no doubt lovely daughter. I merely “wangled around” (as we say over here!) as is my wont, with a pencil—and found the answer in that way!

  Unfortunately, because of certain considerations into which I do not feel at liberty to go here, I do not deem it advisable, just at this time, to render—either in the form of private “releases,” nor public “releases”—the “solutions” of any sorts of problems, whether they be criminological ones, or whether they be merely those devolving about gentlemen requiring oil, gas and water—with pipes that do not cross over—nor under—each other. Etc., etc. I do promise, however, that around the latter part of February, when certain self-imposed restrictions have been removed from me in the above respects, you shall receive from me—by mail—a rough solution-drawing of the puzzle which you, an utter stranger, so graciously tendered me a week ago—and which puzzle, though costing me more than a little pondering, and several false starts up blind trails to boot!—has given me, believe me, much pleasure.

  Most sincerely,

  Xenius Jones 2

  DOCUMENT LXXII

  Copy of 56 7-8 inches of news ticker-tape issued at 4:31 1-2 p.m. May 23, 1935, from Postal Union Ticker Instrument No. 43,421, office of Wall and Wall, Stockbrokers, Wall Street, New York City.

  OOSEVELT SAYS NO *** PART OF WING OF ILL-FATED PLANE “MR. WONG OF NEW ORLEANS” JUST PICKED UP AT SEA 150 MILES NORTH OF ST. JOHN NEWFOUNDLAND BY CANADIAN ICE-FIELD PATROL BOAT “DOLPHIN,” CONCLUSIVELY CONFIRMING DEATH OF BRITISH FLIER WHO ATTEMPTED 3 DAYS AGO TO CAPTURE THE $25,000 LONDON TO HUDSON BAY PRIZE MONEY OFFERED BY HUDSON BAY FUR KING *** HONGKONG DOLLARS DROP 1.4 CENTS AND SHANGHAI DOLLARS OFF ½ CENT BECAUSE OF WORLD DROP IN SILVER PRICES *** POUND STERLING GAINS 1½ CENT OVER NIGHT *** ATTORNEYS FOR CONVICTED LINDBERGH BABY KIDNAPPER PLAN SURPRISE APPEAL TO SUPREME COURT *** GRETA GARBO DENIES STOR

  DOCUMENT LXXIII

  A photograph of Gavin Horridge, London East Side music-hall performer, in a burlesque imitation of Rose Sydell, famous actress of the ’90’s and star of the American traveling theatrical company known as “Rose Sydell and Her London Burlesquers,” presented at the Bucket of Blood Music Hall in Stepney, Saturday evening, February 24, 1933.

  DOCUMENT LXXIV

  A letter, of date June 14, 1935, from Theodore Frankel, Publisher of “World Humor,” 271 Broadway, New York City, to Henry Kelkland, Postal Inspector, U. S. Post Office, New York City.

  Dear Mr. Kelkand:

  I have your letter of June in, and regret very much that the department “Chinaboy Chuckles,” in World Humor, should have endangered our second-class entry rights.

  Particularly since this department has ceased with the issue now on press, and will not appear again—at least from the pen of the contributor hitherto providing the material in it.

  This material, which began as a strictly free-lance offering submitted to us some ten months ago, has been sent us regularly from London. Its submittor has been one, G. Horridge, of 91 Goodge Street, purporting to be the literary agent for the translator in question, Thomas Tai Yong. We engaged, through the said Horridge, to pay $15 for 6 of these unique items each month; enough to make up, with proper embellishments, one page.

  For we were, when we began World Humor a year and a half ago, confronted with the unpleasant fact that it is virtually impossible to obtain Chinese humor. There appeared to be—and this is virtually the case even yet today!—none available. The absence of such department, in some copy of our publication reaching London, evidently called attention to itself on the part of this submittor, for he shortly thereafter forwarded us 12 items with a proposition, on behalf of his client of course, of $10 per 6. This rate we voluntarily raised to $15 for 6, so badly did we need Chinese humor. We were ourselves convinced absolutely at first that the items were genuine translations of genuine Chinese jokes; then, later, we were almost equally convinced that they were a clever fake, particularly since we had little or no success in locating the original Chinese publications from which the jokes were allegedly translated. It is true that, as one of your complainants aver, we recognized some of the jokes as transmogrifications of jokes we were clipping elsewhere, but that indicates quite nothing, Mr. Kelkand, since a joke, once printed, travels around the entire world in less than 60 days. Indeed, we often encounter, within as short a time as 60 days, certain of our own original jokes, written practically in front of our eyes for our department: “Laughs by the Home-Town Talent,” in as many as a half dozen foreign-printed magazines lying in our own receiving racks waiting our own translating and clipping editors.

  We did not consider that we were more than technically violating advertising and mailing provisions in thus labeling these Chinaboy Chuckle items as culled “from the comic weeklies of China,” since they seemed, indeed, to be more Chinese than one or two actual translations of occasional Chinese jokes which we succeeded in encountering.

  However, Mr. Kelkand, the envelope containing our last check for submitted material, sent to this Horridge, was returned last week marked “Deceased May 27. No connections known. Return to sender.”

  A careful check of handwritten interlineations and revisions in his original typewritten copy, all on file here with the signatures on his checks and several letters—also a comparison of the typing in his copy and the typing of his letters, indicates quite plainly now that he both type-wrote and revised this material; and, coupled with the fact that the revisions, suggesting in every case, as they do, afterthoughts as to phraseology, indicates that beyond doubt he himself created this material—and that there is, obviously, no “Thomas Tai Yong.”

  There will be no further installments of this department in the immediate future; though, if subsequently a resumption of it is undertaken by us, through obtaining a special consignment of original humor material from China, and translation on the part of some local Chinese, we will keep on file all the original pages from which the said translations are effected.

  And now, Mr. Kelkand, concerning the subscriber in England, i.e., André Marceau—who requested the magazine without this department, let me assure you that he did not specifically complain that this department was, in his estimation, spurious. He did not offer any reason for desiring the department cut out of his copies. We presumed then—and do yet today—that it was either a mere idiosyncrasy of his, or that the purely fictitious name of “Thomas Tai Yong” antagonized him in some manner.

  But the deleted copies which we subsequently sent to him, we sent sealed under first-class mail—actually, it cost more
to fulfill his subscription order than we received from his subscription—but it was our understanding, Mr. Kelkand, that, on an overseas shipment, carrying first-class postage, we did not have to strike out the second-class entry line. We would most certainly not casually violate mailing rules, and endanger our second-class entry by withholding a simple operation like that, after we had already gone to all the trouble we did go to in neatly abstracting these pages by careful trimming, near the binding, with a safety-razor blade.

  We trust that, having explained the whole matter, you will overlook our apparent past infraction of postal rules and we assure you that we will use the most extreme care in all future departments of World Humor.

  Very sincerely,

  Theodore Frankel, Publisher.

  DOCUMENT LXXV

  Pages 5 and 6, transcript of proceedings of various motions made before Mr. Justice Kendry Bevan, in Chancery Division, London, morning term of court June 17, 1936, covering specific motion made by Sir Patrick O’Neill, K.C., representing the plaintiff, Robert Sheriff, Ashton-on-Mersey, Cheshire, the Public Administrator of Estates, Mr. Burleigh Hastings, being represented by Counsel Mr. Chapman Buckminster.

  it be thoroughly understood that in representing the public administrator’s office, I am in reality representing the rightful heir of this man Horridge.”

  Sir Patrick O’Neill: “Rightful heir? If your Lordship will permit me to comment upon the statement just now given the court by the Public Administrator, I should like to say that his office is in no wise interested in finding the rightful heir to Horridge, and closing up the Horridge estate. For every time it comes into court to defend action by claimants—putative heirs, that is!—it receives a fee for defending this estate. At the present rate of procedure, the estate will soon be eaten up thus, and the dead man may as well have died a pauper.”

  Mr. Justice Bevan: “The court objects most emphatically, Sir Patrick, to imputations made against a public office.”

  Sir Patrick O’Neill: “I apologize then, your Lordship.”

  (Mr. Justice Bevan turned, here, to the public administrator’s solicitor.)

  Mr. Justice Bevan: “However, Mr. Buckminster, exactly what was the extent of the estate of the deceased Horridge when he died?”

  Mr. Buckminster: “Nothing, Your Lordship, but a few female wardrobes he used in his act, here and there about the cheaper music halls of the East Side. And a second-handed closed Gilrick car, which was subsequently sold for 9 pounds. And, of course, an ancient typewriter which fetched 19 shillings. Those items, plus, of course, the 200-pound Irish sweepstakes winning ticket found in his pocket when he died.”

  Mr. Justice Bevan: “Well, that makes it, then, with the sale of his car, a 210 pound estate, more or less. And what, Mr. Buckminster, is the extent of that estate today, a year—let’s see—more than a year, isn’t it?—after Horridge’s suicide?”

  (Mr. Buckminster did not make reply to His Lordship.)

  Mr. Justice Bevan: “Speak up, Mr. Buckminster. What is the amount of the estate today?”

  Mr. Buckminster: “But 77 pounds sterling, Your Lordship. But we had, under the law, to insert notices of the death in various papers about the world, which notices, under the unusual circumstances, had to be rather elaborate—and cost a great deal per agate line. Again—and as result of some of those very notices, and newspaper stories resulting therefrom—we have had to defend against various illegitimate plaintiffs to Horridge’s estate—of which there have been a number.”

  Sir Patrick O’Neill: “Yes, your Lordship—and to employ investigators at 2 pounds per diem to spy upon each claimant!”

  Mr. Justice Bevan: “Has your client been thus spied upon?”

  Sir Patrick O’Neill: “He has, indeed, your Lordship.”

  Mr. Justice Bevan (He again turned to the public administrator’s solicitor here): “However, Mr. Buckminster, at this rapid rate of diminishment of the deceased Horridge’s estate, I take it that you will eventually have a complete cessation of all plaintiffs claiming relationship?”

  Mr. Buckminster: “Inasmuch, your Lordship, as, when or if the estate reaches zero, any plaintiff might have to reimburse the county for such excess of costs as might remain unpaid from the last preceding action, we anticipate—yes—a complete cessation of plaintiffs!”

  (Laughter)

  Clerk Thomas: “Kindly let us have less noise in the courtroom.”

  Mr. Justice Bevan: “Well, let us, for the sake of all further claimants to this rapidly melting monetary snowball, dispose of this matter quickly today. If I am to grant this motion so that it may enter into an action before a jury in King’s Bench Division—and all for a mere 77 pounds sterling—we should not waste many hours on it—and more assets of this paltry estate in typewriting costs, solicitors’ fees, and so forth. Sir Patrick, will you state your case?”

  Sir Patrick O’Neill: “Yes, your Lordship. And I will state it in detail, so that the records of this motion will be complete. On the 27th day of May, last year—rather should I state it 1935—yes—a lodger living in miserable quarters at 91 Goodge Street, died. Goodge Street, London, that is, let me amend that. He died a suicide—by revolver shot—after, obviously, an alcoholic debauch. He had lived there on Goodge Street for several years under the name of Gavin Horridge, but since no response to any advertisements inserted by the administrator’s office, after his death, for relatives of a Gavin Horridge—at least as Gavin Horridge—has ever been received, obviously the name Gavin Horridge was an assumed name. No information concerning the alleged Horridge could be vouchsafed by his landlady, nor about any of his visitors—if he ever had any—since his quarters opened privately on a tiny passageway entering off Goodge Street into the interior court, and he kept his car in a mews opening off Goodge Street. He was a female impersonator, not operating through any booking agents, but catching an independent engagement here and there, in the cheaper of the music halls, when regular acts failed to show up in time. Addiction to drink, it was evident, prevented more regular work. He was also addicted, plainly, to some kind of an alkaloid which he made himself from herbs, evidently purchased in Chinatown, judging from some wrapping paper found in his quarters. Though the drug in question was not opium. A few loose granules of it found, suggested that it belonged to the cocaine group, though it was not cocaine. It might presumably have been used to sober him up quickly and instantaneously when he got a call to work. As to the evidences of the herbs having been purchased in Limehouse, no Chinese, of course, was ever found who could identify him, or even admit ever having seen him. Which was expected, in advance, by the coroner’s workers who, in conjunction with the police, investigated Horridge’s identity. His age was, I understand, about 40 years—as near as could be guessed. And he—”

  Mr. Justice Bevan: “May I interrupt, Sir Patrick? This is the man, of course, whose fingertips were all burned off with acid? Of whose case I read—though but fragmentarily, at the time—while I was in Italy?”

  Sir Patrick O’Neill: “Yes, your Lordship. That is correct. Obviously he had at some time in his life been in prison somewhere in the world—and had escaped. And had attained contact somewhere with some criminal able to remove the one feature which presumably could return him to gaol. Though, your Lordship, it is presumed that some unusual process, administered by an expert physician or even biologist, had been used on his fingertips, for the cellulation which makes for ridge markings had plainly been destroyed completely. Which is not the case, so I understand it, in acid-burned fingertips. The ridge markings of which eventually return. However, regardless of the process used, the administrators, in burying Horridge in the potter’s field, were not able to take regulation fingerprint records of the deceased. Records of his handprints and feet were of course taken, but since these are not customarily taken in penal institutions anywhere in the world, they would be of little use in identification.”

  Mr. Justice Bevan (Looking at his watch): “Well, let the coroner’s record itsel
f just go in as part of this record. And so the dead Horridge’s car was sold for 9 pounds, and the sweepstakes ticket found in his things was cashed for 200 pounds, by the administrator’s office, and all credited to ‘Estate of Gavin Horridge’?”

  (Mr. Justice Bevan here turned to Mr. Buckminster)

  “—and how many actions, Mr. Buckminster, has the administrator’s office defended, endeavoring to stand off claimants to this two hundred and nine pounds?”

  Mr. Buckminster: “Seven actions, your Lordship—that is, five of which were disposed of in motion, and two of which went to action in Higher Divisions. All the claims, in all the actions, proved to have no legal basis.”

  Sir Patrick O’Neill: “I have read the briefs on all seven of those claims, Mr. Buckminster. And my client has, I think, evidences of a more valid claim than any of them. In fact, than all seven of them put together! Otherwise I would not have gratuitously given him my services—which I have done because he did much for me at Vimy Ridge—and since he is a poor man.”

  Mr. Justice Bevan: “Well, since this is but a motion by which further action may be instigated, I will myself ask the plaintiff informally a question or so.” (Mr. Justice Bevan turned to the plaintiff in the motion): “Why, Mr. Sheriff, have you thus far never brought any action against this Horridge estate?”

  Mr. Sheriff: “Because, your Lordship, I but returned to my farm in Cheshire, from Saskatchewan, Canada, a few weeks ago—I had been there in Saskatchewan for over a year—and here in England, for the first time, ran across a newspaper story concerning Gavin Horridge.”

  Mr. Justice Bevan: “And what, Mr. Sheriff, is your basis for believing that Horridge is your cousin Ray Oliver? Whom, as I understand it, your father adopted?”