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  “Oh, we didn’t dress him. You see, he was to be burned, so we just shrouded him. Nothin’ but plain white cloth. No buttons or nothin’ that wouldn’t burn up. The body at the Morgue was found without no clothes of any kind. I’d recognize that shroud, though, if it turns up. So there’s another point for you.”

  “One thing more. You are evidently sure that Mr. Quadrant’s body was taken out of the coffin. Do you think, then, that the coffin was empty when they took it to the crematory?”

  “Why, sure! What could there be in it?”

  “Suppose I were to tell you that another detective has examined the ashes and declares that he can prove that a human body was burned with that coffin. What would you say?”

  “I’d say he was a liar. I’d say he was riggin’ you to get you off the scent. No, sir! Don’t you follow no such blind trail as that.”

  VII

  As Mr. Barnes left the undertaker’s shop he observed Mr. Burrows coming towards him. It will be recalled that this young detective, now connected with the regular police force of the metropolis, had earlier in life been a protégé of Mr. Barnes. It was not difficult to guess from his being in this neighborhood that to him had been entrusted an investigation of the Quadrant mystery.

  “Why, hello, Mr. Barnes,” Mr. Burrows exclaimed, as he recognized his old friend. “What are you doing about here? Nosing into this Quadrant matter, I’ll be bound.”

  “It is an attractive case,” replied Mr. Barnes, in non-committal language. “Are you taking care of it for the office?”

  “Yes; and the more I look into it the more complicated I find it. If you are doing any work on it, I wouldn’t mind comparing notes.”

  “Very well, my boy,” said Mr. Barnes, after a moment’s thought, “I will confess that I have gone a little way into this. What have you done?”

  “Well, in the first place, there was another examination by the doctors this morning. There isn’t a shadow of doubt that the man at the Morgue was dead when thrown into the water. What’s more, he died in his bed.”

  “Of what disease?”

  “Cancer of the stomach. Put that down as fact number one. Fact number two is that the mark on his face is exactly the same, and from the same skin disease that old Quadrant had. Seems he also had a cancer, so I take it the identification is complete; especially as the family say it is their relative.”

  “Do they all agree to that?”

  “Why, yes—that is, all except the youngest brother. He says he guesses it’s his brother. Something about that man struck me as peculiar.”

  “Ah! Then you have seen him?”

  “Yes. Don’t care to talk to detectives. Wants the case hushed up; says there’s nothing in it. Now I know there is something in it, and I am not sure he tells all he knows.”

  “Have you formed any definite conclusion as to the motive in this case?”

  “The motive for what?”

  “Why, for removing the body from the coffin.”

  “Well, I think the motive of the man who did it was money. What the motive of the man who hired him was, I can’t prove yet.”

  “Oh! Then you think there are two in it?”

  “Yes; I’m pretty sure of that. And I think I can put my finger on the man that made the actual transfer.”

  The two men were walking as they talked, Mr. Burrows having turned and joined the older detective. Mr. Barnes was surprised to find his friend advancing much the same theory as that held by Randal. He was more astonished, however, at the next reply elicited. He asked:

  “Do you mind naming this man?”

  “Not to you, if you keep it quiet till I’m ready to strike. I’m pretty sure that the party who carried the body away and put it in the river was the undertaker’s assistant, a fellow who calls himself Randal.”

  Mr. Barnes started, but quickly regained his self-control. Then he said:

  “Randal? Why, how could he have managed it?”

  “Easily enough. It seems that the coffin was closed at five on the afternoon before the funeral, and the undertaker was told, in the presence of this fellow Randal, that it would not be opened again. Then the family went in to dine, and Berial and the other man, a fellow with an alias, but whose true name is Morgan, left the house, the other one, Randal, remaining behind to clear up. The undertaker’s wagon was also there, and Randal drove it to the stables half an hour or so later.”

  Mr. Barnes noted here that there was a discrepancy between the facts as related by Mr. Burrows and as he himself had heard them. He had been told by Berial himself that it was “Jack” who had left the house with him, while Burrows evidently believed that it was Jack Randal who had been left behind. It was important, therefore, to learn whether there existed any other reason for suspecting Randal rather than Morgan.

  “But though he may have had this opportunity,” said Mr. Barnes, “you would hardly connect him with this matter without corroborative evidence.”

  “Oh, the case is not complete yet,” said Mr. Burrows; “but I have had this fellow Randal watched for three days. We at the office knew about this identification before the newspapers got hold of it, be sure of that. Now one curious thing that he has done was to attempt to destroy some pawn-tickets.”

  “Pawn-tickets?”

  “Yes. I was shadowing him myself last night, when I saw him tear up some paper and drop the pieces in the gutter at the side of the pavement. I let my man go on, for the sake of recovering those bits of paper. It took some perseverance and no little time, but I found them, and when put together, as I have said, they proved to be pawn-tickets.”

  “Have you looked at the property represented yet?”

  “No. Would you like to go with me? We’ll go together. I was about to make my first open appearance at the undertaker’s shop to face this fellow, when you met me. But there’s time enough for that. We’ll go and look at the rings if you say the word.”

  “Rings, are they?” said Mr. Barnes. “Why, I would like nothing better. They might have been taken from the corpse.”

  “Haven’t a doubt of it,” said Mr. Burrows.

  “Here are the pawn-tickets. There are two of them. Both for rings.” He handed the two pawn-tickets to Mr. Barnes. The pieces had been pasted on another bit of paper and the two were consequently now on a single sheet. Mr. Barnes looked at them closely and then said:

  “Why, Burrows, these are made out in the name of Jerry Morgan. Are you sure you have made no mistake in this affair?”

  “Mistake? Not a bit of it. That fellow thinks he is smart, but I don’t agree with him. He imagines that we might guess that one of those who had the handling of the body did this job, and when he pawned the rings he just used the other fellow’s name. It’s an old trick, and not very good, either.”

  Mr. Barnes was not entirely convinced, though the theory was possible, nay, plausible. In which case, the tip which Randal had given to Mr. Barnes was merely a part of his rather commonplace scheme of self-protection at the expense of a fellow-workman. He was glad now that he had met Burrows, for his possession of the pawn-tickets made it easy to visit the pawnbroker and see the rings; while his connection with the regular force would enable him to seize them should they prove to have been stolen from the body of Mr. Quadrant. It was noteworthy that the pawn-tickets had been issued by the man to whose place Randal had directed him. Arrived there, Mr. Burrows demanded to see the rings, to which the pawnbroker at first demurred, arguing that the tickets had been torn, that they had not been issued to the one presenting them, and that unless they were to be redeemed he must charge a fee of twenty-five cents for showing the goods. To all of this Mr. Burrows listened patiently and then showing his shield said meaningly:

  “Now, friend Isaac, you get those rings out, and it will be better for you. The Chief has had an eye on this little shop of yours for some time.”

 
“So help me Moses!” said the man, “he can keep both eyes on if he likes.”

  But his demeanor changed, and with considerable alacrity he brought out the rings. There were three, just as Randal had described to Mr. Barnes, including the one with the initial “Q” set in diamonds.

  “Who left these with you?” asked Mr. Burrows.

  “The name is on the ticket,” answered the pawnbroker.

  “You are inaccurate, my friend. A name is on the ticket, yes, but not the name. Now tell me the truth.”

  “It’s all straight. I ain’t hiding anything. Morgan brought the things here.”

  “Morgan, eh? You are sure his name is Morgan? Quite sure?”

  “Why, that’s the name I know him by. Sometimes he goes by the name of Morton, I’ve heard. But with me it’s always been Morgan, Jerry Morgan, just as it reads on the ticket.”

  “Oh, then you know this man Morgan?”

  “No; only that he borrows money on security once in a while.”

  “Well, now, if his name is Morgan, did you think this ring with a ‘Q’ on it was his? Does ‘Q’ stand for Morgan?”

  “That’s none of my affair. Heavens, I can’t ask everybody where they get things. They’d be insulted.”

  “Insulted! That’s a good one. Well, when I get my hands on this chap he’ll be badly insulted, for I’ll ask him a lot of questions. Now, Isaac, let me tell you what this ‘Q’ stands for. It stands for Quadrant, and that’s the name of the man found in the river lately, and these three rings came off his fingers. After death, Isaac; after death! What do you think of that?”

  “You don’t say! I’m astonished!”

  “Are you, now? Never thought your friend Morgan or Morton, who works out by the day,9 and brought valuable diamonds to pawn, would do such a thing, did you? Thought he bought these things out of his wages, eh?”

  “I never knew he wasn’t honest, so help me Moses! or I wouldn’t have had a thing to do with him.”

  “Perhaps not. You’re too honest yourself to take ‘swag’ from a ‘crook,’ even though you loan about one quarter of the value.”

  “I gave him all he asked for. He promised to take them out again.”

  “Well, he won’t, Isaac. I’ll take them out myself.”

  “You don’t mean you’re going to keep the rings? Where do I come in?”

  “You’re lucky you don’t come into jail.”

  “May I ask this man a few questions, Burrows?” said Mr. Barnes.

  “As many as you like, and see that you answer straight, Isaac. Don’t forget what I hinted about the Chief having an eye on you.”

  “Why, of course, I’ll answer anything.”

  “You say you have known this man Morgan for some time?” asked Mr. Barnes. “Can you give me an idea of how he looks?”

  “Why, I ain’t much on descriptions. Morgan is a short fellow, rather stocky, and he’s got dark hair and a mustache that looks like a paintbrush.”

  Mr. Barnes recalled the description which the butler had given of the man who had remained at the house when the others went away, and this tallied very well with it. As Berial had declared that it was Morgan who had been left at the house, and as this description did not fit Randal at all, he being above medium height, with a beardless face which made him seem younger than he probably was, it began to look as though in some way Mr. Burrows had made a mistake, and that Randal was not criminally implicated, though perhaps he had stolen the pawn-tickets, and subsequently destroyed them when he found that a police investigation was inevitable.

  There was no object in further questioning the pawnbroker, who pleaded that as the owners of the property were rich, and as he had “honestly” made the loan, they might be persuaded to return to him the amount of his advance, adding that he would willingly throw off his “interest.”

  Leaving the place, and walking together across town, Mr. Barnes said to Mr. Burrows:

  “Tom, I am afraid you are on a wrong scent. That man Randal stole those pawn-tickets. He did not himself pawn the rings.”

  “Maybe,” said the younger man, only half convinced. “But you mark my word. Randal is in this. Don’t believe all that ‘fence’ says. He may be in with Randal. I fancy that Randal pawned the things, but made the Jew put Morgan’s name on them. Now that we ask him questions, he declares that Morgan brought them to him, either to protect Randal, or most likely to protect himself. Since there is a real Morgan, and he knew the man, he had no right to write his name on those tickets for things brought to him by some one else.”

  “But why are you so sure that Morgan is innocent? How do you know that he was the one that went off with old Berial when they left the house?”

  “Simply because the other man, Randal, took the wagon back to the stables.”

  “Are you certain of that?”

  “Absolutely. I have been to the stables, and they all tell the same story. Randal took the wagon out, harnessing the horse himself, as he often did. And Randal brought it back again, after six o’clock; of that they are certain, because the place is merely a livery for express wagons, trucks, and the like. The regular stable-boys go off between six and seven, and there is no one in charge at night except the watchman. The drivers usually take care of their own horses. Now the watchman was already there when Randal came in with the wagon, and two of the stable-boys also saw him.”

  “Now, Tom, you said that in your belief there was another man in this case,—one who really was the principal. Have you any suspicion as to that man’s identity?”

  “Here’s my idea,” said Mr. Burrows. “This fellow Randal was sounded by the man who finally engaged him for the job, and, proving to be the right sort, was engaged. He was to take the body out of the coffin and carry it away. The man who hired Randal must have been one of the brothers.”

  “Why?”

  “It must have been, else the opportunity could not have been made, for, mark me, it was made. See! The widow was taken to the room to see the corpse, and then it was arranged that the coffin should be closed and not opened again before the funeral. That was to make all sure. Then came the closing of the coffin and the departure of two of the undertakers. The third, Randal, remained behind, and while the family lingered at dinner the job was done. The body was carried out to the wagon and driven off. Now we come to the question, which of the brothers did this?”

  “Which have you decided upon?”

  “Why, the object of this devilish act was to please the widow by preventing this cremation to which she objected. The man who concocted that scheme thought that when the body should be found it would then be buried, which would gratify the widow. Now why did he wish to gratify her? Because he’s in love with her. She’s not old, you know, and she’s still pretty.”

  “Then you think that Mark Quadrant concocted this scheme?”

  “No! I think that Amos Quadrant is our man.”

  It seemed destined that Mr. Burrows should surprise Mr. Barnes. If the older detective was astonished when he had heard Burrows suggest that Randal had been the accomplice in this affair, he was more astounded now to hear him accuse the elder brother of being the principal. For, had not Mark Quadrant told him that it was Amos who had insisted upon the cremation? And that Amos, being the elder, had assumed the control of the funeral?

  “Burrows,” said Mr. Barnes, “I hope that you are not merely following your impulsive imagination?”

  Mr. Burrows colored as he replied with some heat:

  “You need not forever twit me with my stupidity in my first case. Of course I may be mistaken, but I am doing routine work on this affair. I have not any real proof yet to support my theories. If I had I should make an arrest. But I have evidence enough to make it my duty to go ahead on definite lines. When the mystery clears a little, I may see things differently.”

  “I should like to know why you thi
nk that Amos is in love with his sister-in-law.”

  “Perhaps it would be safer to claim that he was once in love with her. The past is a certainty, the present mere conjecture. I got the tip from a slip of the tongue made by Dr. Mortimer, and I have corroborated the facts since. I was speaking with Dr. Mortimer of the possibility of there being any ill-feeling between the members of this family, when he said: ‘I believe there was some hard feeling between the deceased and his brother Amos arising from jealousy.’ When he had let the word ‘jealousy’ pass his lips, he closed up like a clam, and when I pressed him, tried to pass it off by saying that Amos was jealous of his brother’s business and social successes. But that did not go down with me, so I have had some guarded inquiries made, with the result that it is certain that Amos loved this woman before she accepted Rufus.”

  “What if I tell you that I have heard that the younger brother, Mark, is in love with the widow, and that it was he who opposed cremation, while it was Amos who insisted upon carrying out the wishes of his brother?”

  “What should I say to that? Well, I should say that you probably got that yarn from Randal, and that he had been ‘stuffing you,’ as the vernacular has it, hoping you’ll excuse the vulgar expression.”

  It nettled Mr. Barnes to have his younger confrère10 guess so accurately the source of his information, and to hear him discredit it so satirically. He recognized, however, that upon the evidence offered Mr. Burrows had not yet made out his case, and that therefore the mystery was yet far from solved.

  “Look here, Burrows,” said Mr. Barnes. “Take an older man’s advice. Don’t go too fast in this case. Before you come to any conclusion, find this man Jerry Morgan.”

  “Why, there won’t be any trouble about that.”

  “Oh, then you know where he is?”

  “Why, he is still with Berial. At least he was up to last night.”

  “Ah, now we come to it!” Mr. Barnes was gratified to find that Burrows had not kept full control of his case. “Last night was many hours ago. Morgan threw up his job this morning, and left.”