The Matilda Hunter Murder, page 57
“Yes,” put in Callahan. “I too can see now, Trotter, in the light of your eye-muscle discovery, how those Montreal box records might narrow down the time of Loucheur’s supposed murder, or else, if negative, indicate two possible operations on the part of Loucheur after he reached London.”
“Exactly,” said Trotter. “And so, Chief, now that for the first time a motive came for getting an entry-record on that box, I had Miss Carwarn of the Nurse Cavell Memorial Hospital put in a long-distance call for me to the Voutes de Sûreté St. James of Montreal, in the expectation that the spectacles would optically fit the dead man. It was just after I did find they fitted his vision perfectly that she called me upstairs to take my party. And this was what I found.”
Trotter paused a moment. An intense silence marked his pause.
“The box had never been entered, since Loucheur left America about last May 1st. Indeed, it had not been entered since April 20th, the very day on which Loucheur arrived from London and deposited the plans that were about his neck. Therefore, after all, the plans themselves had never been withdrawn or used for a new Z-ray machine. But on the entry card for this box was a notation that anybody calling for entry—the owner, most naturally—should be referred upstairs to a Mr. Monquot, for a letter filed in their correspondence under ‘C’, dated October 11th, and stamped with their serial number 99,862. Indeed, I was shifted by a house wire immediately to their Mr. Monquot, who, when he learned I was a Chicago detective, read off to me the following interesting communication.”
Trotter fumbled in his vest pocket and withdrew a piece of coarse wrapping paper over which were scrawled on both sides a great number of quite unstenographic looking pothooks and numerals. He uncrumpled it, and adjusting his perverse spectacles, read off slowly his translation of his own notes.
CHAPTER XLIII
A Letter from Chancery Lane, London
The letter which Trotter read proved to be from a Mr. T. Basil Cotheringham, a doubtlessly well-meaning official of a London safe-deposit company. It ran:
THE GREATER LONDON DAY AND
NIGHT SAFE DEPOSIT AND
VAULTS CO., LTD.
67 Chancery Lane, W. C. 2
London, England.
Phone: Holborn 0024.
To the Manager of, or to
THE VOUTES DE SÛRETÉ, ST. JAMES,
159 St. James Street,
Montreal, Canada.
My Dear Sir, and Gentlemen:
We are in receipt of a request from Dr. Andrew Billington, Managing Director of the Bethlem Insane Hospital of this city, asking us to lend our endeavors toward eliciting through the aid of one of our clients certain information which may throw light upon the present connections in England or Ireland, and their whereabouts, of a certain Mr. Patrick V. Conroy, who is presumably a friend of our client.
The client in question, a Mr. Hugh Leighton of Salisbury Row, London, we are unable at the present time to get in touch with, and we have therefore had to report negatively to Dr. Billington. Because of the fact, however, that our client, the said Mr. Leighton, has given as a reference one of your clients, a Mr. J. Loucheur, who must apparently be a Canadian friend of his, the undersigned has taken it upon himself personally to fully work out this matter in the hopes that ultimately he may be able to forward to Dr. Billington a more satisfactory answer than has thus far been rendered.
Here, however, are the exact facts as rendered to us:
The said Patrick V. Conroy about whom information is desired by Bethlem Hospital, is a blue-eyed Irishman, about 38 years of age, smoothfaced, quiet in demeanor, and a scholar since he reads with ease and fluency the most difficult Chaucerian poems. He has no knowledge of any continental languages.
He is entered as a patient in Bethlem, but is not insane, being a victim only of amnesia.
Obviously suffering from this disorder he was picked up by a policeman in Drummond Crescent, London, at 7:50 P.M. in the evening of October 3rd, this month. He remembers fairly clearly of having recently had a friend wearing a brown beard, of about 45 years of age he judges; and he remembers clearly, he says, this friend handing him a certain Yale key which was found in his possession. Being amnesiacal, he cannot locate the place or time nor the circumstances under which the brown-bearded friend handed it to him, nor what instructions accompanied it.
Upon being picked up he was immediately removed to the nearest police headquarters, where his identification was partially made by his name being found engraved on his cigarette case. He is unequivocally certain that the case belongs to him and no one else. From the police headquarters he was removed to a detention station for the mentally ill, and from there was committed two days later by a judge to Bethlem Hospital. After being duly booked and registered and his case surveyed, the Yale key which he remembers having been given him by his brown-bearded friend was viewed in turn in the superintendent’s offices by an official of the Yale and Towne Company of 14 St. Andrew Street, with no enlightenment whatsoever; thence by a Mr. Harden Stury, an expert lockmaker of 76 Cheapside, E. C. 4, who discovered within less than a minute that it was a six-tumbler instead of a five-tumbler key, known to be made specially for safe deposit vault use only. A few calls about London on the phone by Dr. Billington elicited that we were the vaults in question who use this special type of key, and which we had specially made for us in Manchester, England. Dr. Billington therefore transmitted to us the code number on this key. The number was 66523, showing that it belongs to Lock Vault 3449, and was leased by one Mr. Hugh Leighton of 32 Salisbury Row, Walworth.
But unfortunately Mr. Hugh Leighton, in taking out the application for this lock vault, evidently made a mistake on his own address, as there is no number “32” on Salisbury Row, nor any man of that name living on it at present.
We therefore reported to Dr. Billington that, because of our great number of clients, we could not substantiate that our Mr. Leighton himself was the brown-bearded man who gave his Irish patient the Yale key; and that because of the error in Mr. Leighton’s address, neither could we locate Mr. Leighton for him. We assured him by letter, however, that we would make a notation on Mr. Leighton’s vault entry card so that the very next time he came to our vaults he would be referred upstairs to me and introduced in turn over the telephone to Dr. Billington.
The undersigned, as remarked above, has been interested in this problem, and has taken it upon himself personally to work it out further on behalf of this company in the hopes that we may expedite matters for Dr. Billington.
Now, according to our custom of requiring references from clients taking out lock-boxes and lock-vaults, Mr. Hugh Leighton, in renting that vault last April 9th, gave as reference a Mr. J. Loucheur, a client of, and in care of, your banking establishment in Montreal. Indeed, we have on file your kind reply of last spring stating that Mr. J. Loucheur was a valued and satisfactory client of yours; and also a recommendation of Mr. Leighton by Mr. Loucheur, stating he had known Mr. Leighton almost a lifetime, and written on the bottom of our very letter of inquiry sent to Mr. Loucheur in care of your banking establishment.
It was, therefore, that, in my own investigation of this present problem, I cabled you some two days ago for your Mr. Loucheur’s actual present Montreal address, and received your kind immediate cable in reply that he was entered on your records as last residing at 628 Dorchester Street, West, Montreal. Immediately on receipt of your reply, I cabled your Mr. Loucheur at Dorchester Street, requesting him to forward to us charges collect a description of Mr. Hugh Leighton whom he had recommended to us, also any known addresses of the latter, relatives, etc., so that we could get into immediate touch with Mr. Leighton; but my cable was returned yesterday, marked with the code designation proclaiming that the addressee had left that address many, many months ago, and that present address was unknown.
This now brings me to an impasse with respect to forwarding any further enlightenment to Bethlem Hospital than was originally given by me. If our Mr. Hugh Leighton is the bearded friend of their patient Patrick V. Conroy, we are not able to supply his latest address. We have, as I have said, made notations on his vault card to the effect that he is to be referred to me by the guard when next he enters his vault; this so that I may ascertain for Dr. Billington the conditions under which he gave his key to Patrick V. Conroy and who Conroy’s relatives are in Ireland or England. As you yourself realize, however, clients frequently do not go to their boxes or vaults for six months—or even a year—at a time; so it could easily be that length of time before Mr. Leighton might come in to our establishment. To cut this hazard down a bit, will you therefore be so kind as to make a similar notation on your Mr. Loucheur’s entry card so that, if he likewise comes in in the immediate future, information may be obtained at once on how best to get in immediate touch with his London friend, Mr. Leighton, or perhaps the latter’s connections. Will you, indeed, be so kind as to obtain this information yourselves and see that it is forwarded to our company, attention of the undersigned.
Thank you so much.
Very Sincerely,
T. Basil Cotheringham,
General Manager.
Wrapping paper transcription in hand, Trotter looked up. He smiled paternally towards the bald-headed day assistant who sat almost at the end of the row of mahogany chairs.
“Well, Baldy, you look as though you’ve been following this thing rather closely. What observations have you got anyway?”
Baldy passed a hand over his shiny pate, and then scratched his chin cautiously. Finally he spoke. “Well, Mr. Trotter,” he said slowly, “there ain’t no doubt that Hugh Leighton of London is Loucheur himself. When Loucheur rented his London lock vault last spring, he handed ’em that Leighton name and give himself, care of them Montreal bankers where he still had a lock-box, as references for his phony name. That’s an old trick. He knew he was goin’ back to Montreal in a few days to see that financier on the deef-an’-dumb theatre; an’ he did go back and when he got there and the Voots De Suroot people hand him the London Day-and-Night Company inquiry, he fills it out himself and mails it back to London. But now about these here later events of the last month or so. I’d sort of wager that Loucheur, when he got to London from Liverpool, where he’d been livin’ in the nut house for nearly six months, passed his lock-vault key for some strange reason to some ex-nut named Conroy that he’d met in the asylum, and who’d been discharged, and who he planned to meet outside when he got his own freedom. Still dodging mysterious enemies, I’d venture.”
“A fair hypothesis, Baldy,” commented the old man reflectively. “That, somewhat modified, is Bethlem Hospital’s own vague idea as to how Conroy got the key. That is to say, they know nothing, of course, concerning any Loucheur being mixed up in this case, as the London vault official is trying vainly to work this all out by himself. If they did, they might—or again might not—tie it up partially to that cause célèbre of the Liverpool asylum of which they have doubtlessly heard, and might—or might not—suspect precisely as you, Baldy, have suspected. As things stand with them now, they feel vaguely that—but I’ll read it. It’s a postscript on this letter from T. Basil Cotheringham of the Chancery Lane safety deposit vault people. They—or he—writes:
“P. S.: Dr. Billington suggested that their patient Conroy may have become acquainted with our client Leighton in some mental clinic, asylum, or private nursing home where both at some time in past years had been patients; or our client Leighton may even have been an attendant, or even a visitor. This because Conroy appears to have a single delusion—perhaps only a phobia—that renders amnesia not perhaps a clear-cut and complete diagnosis of his case. He possesses a pair of magic spectacles, as he terms them, which can make him a dwarf the moment he puts them on. He will use them only to view the hands of the little clock in the administration offices across from the ward in Bethlem where he is confined, but is very chary of doing so frequently because of the tremendous debilitation it must entail to his physical self when his bones and tissues shrink sufficiently to make him only a few feet high. Rational in every other respect, he is absolutely convinced of his power, gained from his magic spectacles, to shrink physically, and cannot be argued out of it.”
Trotter was evidently now at the end of his notes, for he tossed them over on Callahan’s desk, and fastened his gaze on the latter. “What do you make of that Irish delusion, Chief?”
Callahan was perplexed indeed. “Looks to me as though the Irishman is a nut all right, which means that he and Loucheur met in the Liverpool bughouse and fixed up their later meeting in London after both should get their freedom.”
“Ah,” said Trotter reflectively. “But again, Chief, a knowledge of ophthalmic myology which very few people in the entire world possess comes in of great assistance in detective work, as does from time to time every other line of knowledge in the world. For, Chief, the Irish ‘nut’ to whom Loucheur presumably passed his key was subject, when he put on his ‘magic’ spectacles, to what is known as ‘metamorphopsia’. This is a genuine sensory hallucination, super-powerful as a hallucination because it is based on the changed visual appearance of things and re-enforced in addition by altered muscle pull in the eyes. Dr. Giles Christopher Savage, a geometrically minded investigator in our own Nashville, Tennessee, has fully worked out the theory of changed appearance of visual images due to lenses by means of showing the resultant parallelograms when the distorted parallelograms of sight are fused. Claude Worth, an English writer on eye-muscles, has explained metamorphopsia very adequately on altered muscle pull alone. He says—but suppose we ourselves, not having a blackboard nor time to render extensive diagrams, just analyse this Irish ‘nut’s’ hallucination on the basis of altered muscle pull.” Trotter paused. “Spectacles on face, our Irishman imagines he is a dwarf. That can only mean that when he looks down the floor looks nearer—and when he looks up the ceiling looks further. That means it must be taking less energy or effort than customary to look down, more to look up. That means in turn that his superior oblique eye-muscles must be independently overacting, pulling the eyes downward—as well as at the same time horizontally outward and cyclically inward, quite naturally. But if they are overacting independently of his lifting and lowering muscles, they must be overcoming inwardly rotated images on the retinae. Inwardly rotated images could only be made by obliquely placed cylindrical lenses.”
“Cylindrical lenses tallying with those of Loucheur’s?” put in Hump, interestedly.
“We don’t know, Hump. Tallying with them only as to the quadrants in which they lie.”
“Then that doesn’t conclusively prove him to be Loucheur.”
“No. Not conclusively,” agreed Trotter. “The real proof,” he added, “lies further ahead. If it did not, I would not have cabled so definitely this morning to Scotland Yard the following cable at cheap week-end rates, which I reasoned the cable company at London would consider highly inadvisable to hold undelivered and would immediately deliver same—” Trotter smiled waggishly. And continued: “—to Scotland Yard! My cable ran: ‘Please inform Bethlem Hospital St. George’s Road S.E. 1, but not the little Bethlem Hospital situated ten years ago in Lower Chapman Street their amnesiac patient Patrick Conroy is Jules Loucheur formerly Liverpool asylum stop can be immediately identified for them by Sir William Chisholm of Harley Street. Signed Chicago Detective Bureau per Tuddleton Trotter, operative.’” Trotter looked about him with a faraway reminiscent gaze. “I—I lived in London for nearly a year, some ten years ago, and made it my business to learn that great metropolis thoroughly. Indeed, I remember it so well that I thought it best to specify in my cable which Bethlem Hospital was involved in case one more absurd error should creep in on our very important case. That, Chief, is why Scotland Yard’s reply to your department mentions St. George’s Road, and why Baldy thought I was a bit occult in my methods.”
He paused but a moment. “But I was saying that the proof of Conroy being Loucheur lies further. It is this: Both Savage and Worth adequately explaining metamorphopsia on different bases, agree that it disappears in a patient only with continuous wearing of his correcting cylinders, the former investigator proving that it is but the real appearance of things—the correction, in other words, of a false appearance of things which the patient has been erroneously viewing for years as reality. The second investigator proves that unless the patient wears his cylinders continuously, the new eye-muscles brought into play will not take on the tonicity required to hold his eyes in their new positions.”
Trotter now raised one finger and the palm of his other hand.
“The fact that this Conroy was a victim of metamorphopsia shows that, despite his obvious ownership of the spectacles, as indicated by his ability to tell time by them across a courtway, he could not wear them continuously, ever; that he could never go long enough to absorb the metamorphopsia as reality. There could be only one cause for that—with cylinders creating the particular kind of metamorphopsia that he had—i.e., the ‘dwarf hallucination’ form rather than the ‘giant hallucination’ form. That reason would be a pair of weak superior oblique eye muscles which gets us right back to Sir William Chisholm’s diagnosis of Loucheur’s peculiar case. Our blue-eyed Patrick V. Conroy, apparently 38 years of age, is our blue-eyed friend Jules Loucheur, who looks to be about 43 in his beard. They check cylindrically and ophthalmyologically, and in a moment as I shall prove, in several other ways!”
