MESSAGE FROM THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA
Whitechapel Street is hardly the most pleasant place to walk, although a few traces of a more picturesque past save this street from the desolation that reigns on the nearby Commercial Road. Nevertheless, its current wretchedness, especially in the eastern part, seems to reflect the colorless existence of the inhabitants of these places, and the gray gloomy landscape depresses the spirit of the walking traveler. But even the longest, most boring road can be brightened up with witty and learned conversation; and so it was, as my friend John Thorndike and I walked west down Whitechapel Street, and the long, dreary journey seemed short to us.
We have just visited the London Hospital where we have seen an unusual case of acromegaly. Acromegaly is an abnormal growth of the arms and legs in a middle-aged person, accompanied by changes in the facial muscles and disruption of the heart. The disease is associated with hormonal disorders in the pituitary gland., and on the way back discussed this rare disease, as well as related gigantism, in all their manifestations, from the chin of Gibson girls Charles Dana Gibson (1867–1944) – American painter and printmaker He created the ideal of the so-called "Gibson Girl", which became a notable phenomenon at the end of the Victorian era. "Gibson Girls" often had heavy features (see Glossary, 12). to the physique of Og king of Bashan Og, the king of Bashan is a biblical character. In the Book of Numbers, he is described as the last of the giants, whose height was more than twice that of a man..
It would be interesting,” said Thorndike, as we passed Aldgate High Street, “to put one's fingers into His Majesty's pituitary fossa—after his death, of course.
And here, by the way, is Harrow Alley; remember the description by Defoe - he placed a cart with the dead there - and this terrible procession descending down the street ... This refers to the scene from Defoe's Diary of a Plague Year, where a cart carrying the bodies of those killed by the plague rides along this alley. Thorndike took me by the arm and led me down a narrow alley; at the sharp bend at the Star and Serpentine Pub, we looked back.
I never go here, - he said thoughtfully, - but it seems that you can hear the bell tolling and the driver weeping bitterly ...
He stopped. Suddenly two men appeared under the archway; they were running towards us. The first to run was a portly, middle-aged Jewess, out of breath and disheveled; behind her followed a well-dressed young man, as alarmed as his companion. Coming up with us, he recognized my colleague and turned to him with excitement in his voice:
I have a call for examination: there was a murder or suicide. Could you help, sir? This is my first call, I'm very excited...
Then the woman rushed to my colleague and grabbed his arm.
Faster! - she exclaimed. - No time to talk.
Her face was pale as chalk and glistened with sweat, her lips trembled and her hands shook; she looked at us with the eyes of a frightened child.
Of course, Garth, I'll go," said Thorndike.
We followed the woman who was madly pushing passers-by in her path.
Have you started your practice here? asked Thorndike as they walked.
No, sir, said Dr. Garth. - I'm an assistant to the forensic doctor, but he's on call right now. So good of you to agree to help, sir.
Well, well, said Thorndike. - I just want to make sure that my science has gone to your benefit ... But we seem to have come.
We followed our lady into an alley, where, a little ahead of one of the houses, there were crowds of people. When we approached, they parted. The woman who was showing us the way dived through the door and rushed up the stairs with the desperate speed with which she ran through the streets, but, not having reached the end of the flight, she suddenly stopped hesitantly, tiptoed over the last steps. On the landing, a woman turned around in a barely audible whisper:
She is there, - and, almost losing consciousness, she sank onto the step.
I took the handle of the door and looked at Thorndike. He rose slowly, staring intently at the floor, walls, and railings. When he reached the landing, I opened the door and entered the room. The blinds were drawn, and at first, in the uncertain dim light, we saw nothing out of the ordinary. The small, poorly furnished room looked quite neat and clean, only a thief was lying on an armchair. women's clothing. The bed seemed untouched, and the figure of the lying girl was barely visible on it; in the semi-darkness it might have seemed that the girl was sleeping peacefully, if not for her petrified face and the dark spot on the pillow.
Dr. Garth walked cautiously towards the bed, while Thorndike pulled up the blinds; a bright light flooded the room, and the young doctor recoiled, his face contorted with fear.
God! he exclaimed. - Poor child! What a horror, sir!
The rays of the sun illuminated the pale face of a lovely girl of about twenty-five, peaceful and serene, beautiful with the pure, unearthly beauty of a creature who died early. Her mouth was slightly parted, her eyelids slightly raised, and curved eyelashes cast a shadow over her eyes; lush dark braids set off the transparent skin.
My friend pushed the blanket a few inches away from her sweet face, so calm, but at the same time terrible in its immobility and waxy pallor, and we saw a terrible gaping wound: the girl’s neck was cut almost in two.
Thorndike looked at the murdered woman with restrained pity.
A cruel murder, he said, yet merciful in its cruelty, for she must not even have woken up.
Monster! shouted Garth, clenching his fists and turning purple with rage. - Vicious cowardly animal! He will not escape execution! They'll hang him, I swear! - The angry young man shook his fists, and tears shone in his eyes.
Thorndike touched him on the shoulder.
That's what we're here for, Garth. Get out the notebook, - he said, leaning over the body of the murdered.
After this friendly remark, young Garth pulled himself together, opened a notebook and began to examine, while I, at the request of Thorndike, began to draw up a plan of the room, including a description of all objects and their relative position. But I did not cease to follow Thorndike's movements and soon abandoned the drawing, watching my friend collect some powder that he found on a pillow with a pocket knife.
What do you think? he asked as I approached, and pointed with the blade of his knife at something that looked like white sand; looking closer, I noticed that similar grains of sand were scattered all over the pillow.
White sand! I replied. “I have no idea how he got here. What do you think?
Thorndike shook his head.
We'll deal with the explanations later, - he answered and took out a metal box from his pocket, in which he always carried with him the necessary items such as coverslips, capillary tubes, wax for castings and other "diagnostic materials". From it he took out an envelope for seeds and carefully scraped a pinch of this sand into it with a knife. Then he sealed the envelope and was already beginning to write it when we were shocked by the cry of young Garth:
My God! Look sir! The killer is a woman!
He threw the blanket aside and now stared in horror at the girl's left hand. The dead woman held in her hand a thin strand of long red hair.
Thorndike hurriedly slipped the sand sample into his pocket, walked around the bedside table, and leaned over it, brow furrowed. The victim's fingers were clenched, but not very tightly; when they tried to unclench them, it turned out that they were hard, like a wooden mannequin. Thorndike stooped still lower and, taking out a magnifying glass, examined the strand of hair along its entire length.
It's not as simple as it seems at first glance, he said. What do you say, Garth?
Thorndike handed the magnifying glass to his former student, but then the door opened and three people entered. The first was a police officer with the rank of inspector, the second, apparently, was an officer of the criminal police. Criminal police officers (plain-clothes officers, literally "plainclothes police officers") in the UK are subordinate to a separate police department. The prefix "detective-" is added to their titles; for example, a detective sergeant is a detective sergeant. They don't wear uniforms, hence their English name. and the third is undoubtedly a forensic doctor.
Are these your friends, Garth? asked the latter, looking at us with obvious disapproval.
My friend briefly explained the reasons for our presence, to which the forensic doctor replied:
In that case, sir, let the inspector determine your locus standi. Letters, location (lat.). In this case, it refers to the right to be present during the inspection. In a broader sense, this expression denoted a justified right to something. here. I did not allow my assistant to involve outsiders. Garth, you can go.
The forensic doctor proceeded to the examination, while Thorndike took out a pocket thermometer, which he had previously placed under the body of the murdered woman, took a reading.
The inspector, however, was in no hurry to use the powers that the forensic doctor hinted to him, because it is always useful to have a specialist at hand.
What do you think, sir, how long has it been since death? he asked politely.
About ten o'clock, said Thorndike.
Both policemen glanced at their watches at the same time.
So she was killed at two in the morning, said the Inspector. - What is it, sir?
At that moment, the forensic doctor, who examined the body, pointed out to him a strand of hair in the hand of the murdered woman.
That's it! exclaimed the inspector. - Woman! The lady must not be pleasant. It won't be hard to find her, will it, sergeant?
Of course, - said the second policeman. “Now it’s clear why the murderer needs a chest at the head, and there is also a pillow on it. She stood on top of him to reach out. She's definitely not tall.
But she definitely does not take strength, - the inspector remarked, - after all, she almost cut off the head of this ill-fated girl.
He walked over to the headboard and leaned over the gaping wound. Passing his hand over the pillow, he made a movement as if rubbing something in his fingers.
Oh yes, there is sand! White sand! And how did he get here?
The forensic doctor and the detective sergeant rushed over to see him with their own eyes, and the three of them began to seriously discuss the significance of this discovery.
Did you notice the sand, sir? asked the Inspector of Thorndike.
Oh yes, he replied. - Inexplicable, isn't it?
I can't quite agree with you," said the sergeant. Having said this, he walked over to the washbasin, chuckled with satisfaction, and then continued, looking benevolently at my colleague: - Look: here is a very simple explanation. There is a piece of coarse soap on the washbasin - white sand is added to this - and the sink is filled with water half and half with blood. This means that the criminal washed the blood off her hands and washed the knife - she does not take composure, mind you - with this very soap. Then, wiping her hands, she went to the head of the bed, and the sand fell on the pillow. I think everything is clear here.
Couldn't be clearer," said Thorndike. - How do you imagine the sequence of events?
The Detective Sergeant looked around the room with a smug air.
I think,” he began, “the girl fell asleep while reading. There is a book on the table by the bed, and next to it is a candlestick, in which only a piece of a burned-out wick remains. I think the perpetrator quietly entered the room, turned on the light, moved the chest with the pillow to the bed, stood on it and slit the throat of her victim. She woke up and grabbed the killer by the hair - although no more signs of a struggle were found, so, no doubt, the unfortunate girl died almost instantly. Then the criminal washed her hands and laundered the knife, straightened the linen on the bed and left. That's how I see it; it remains to be seen how she entered the house undetected, how she left it, and where she went.
Perhaps, - said the forensic doctor, covering the corpse with a blanket, - you should invite the hostess of the house and ask her a few questions.
He cast a significant glance at Thorndike, and the inspector coughed, covering his mouth with his hand. But my colleague remained deaf to these allusions. He opened the door, then turned the key back and forth several times in the lock, pulled it out, examined it closely, and put it back in.
The hostess is here, on the landing, - he said.
Hearing this, the inspector left the room, and we all followed him to hear what the witness had to say.
So, Mrs. Goldstein, - said the policeman, opening a notebook, - I want you to tell everything you know about this event and about the girl herself. What was her name?
The mistress of the house, joined by a pale and trembling man, wiped away her tears and answered in a broken voice:
The poor girl's name was Minna Adler. She was a German, she came from Bremen about two years ago. In England, she had no friends ... that is, no relatives. She worked as a waitress in a restaurant on Fenchurch Street, such a kind, quiet, hard-working girl...
When did you find out that the misfortune happened?
About eleven. I thought she had gone to work as usual, but my husband saw from the backyard that her blinds were down. I went up to her, knocked, but no one answered, and then I opened the door, went in and saw ... - Here the poor woman burst into frenzied sobs, unable to bear the memories of the tragedy.
So the door wasn't locked. Did Minna usually lock her up?
Yes, I think,” sobbed Mrs. Goldstein. - The key was always in the lock.
Was the front door locked in the morning?
Just covered. We don't lock it up because some tenants come back late.
Now tell me, did she have any enemies? Someone who would like to settle scores with her?
No you! Poor Minna had no enemies. She did not quarrel, that is, she did not really quarrel, with anyone, not even with Miriam.
Who is Miriam? asked the inspector.
Nothing happened to her,” Mrs. Goldstein's companion hastily put in. - They didn't fight.
We just had a little fight, didn't we, Mr. Goldstein? suggested the inspector.
They just didn’t share one gentleman, that’s all, ”Mr. Goldstein answered. Miriam was a little jealous. But there was nothing special.
Of course, of course, we all know that young girls...
From above came the sound of footsteps: someone was slowly descending towards us, and at that very moment appeared on the landing. Seeing who was standing there, the inspector froze as if petrified; There was an oppressive, tense silence. A stoutly built, short girl was coming down the stairs towards us, disheveled, deathly pale with horror, with an insane look; her hair was fiery red.
Unable to move, we silently watched as this vision slowly descended towards us. The Detective Sergeant slipped unexpectedly back into the room and returned a few moments later with a paper bag in his hand; exchanging glances with the inspector, he put the packet in his breast pocket.
Gentlemen, this is my daughter Miriam, whom we have just been talking about,” said Mr. Goldstein. - Miriam, these gentlemen are policemen and forensic doctors.
The girl looked at us one by one.
So you saw her,” she said in a strangely choked voice. She didn't really die, did she?
Miriam asked the question in a tone that was equal parts ingratiating and desperate, the way a lost mother would say over the corpse of a child. This made me feel vaguely uneasy, and involuntarily turned round, looking for Thorndike.
To my surprise, he disappeared.
Quietly stepping back to the steps, from where I could see the whole corridor, I looked down and saw my friend trying to reach the shelf at front door. He met my eyes and beckoned me with his hand; unnoticed by anyone, I went down to him. When I approached, Thorndike was wrapping three small objects, each separately, in tissue paper, and I noticed that he handled them with unusual care.
I don't want this girl to be arrested,” he said, carefully placing three small packages in his box. - Let's go.
He silently opened the door, moved the bolt back and forth, and examined the bolt carefully.
I looked at the shelf behind the door. There were two flat china candlesticks, in one of which, as we entered, I happened to notice the stub of a candle, and I wanted to see if Thorndike had just taken it. But no, the cinder was in place.
I followed my colleague out into the street, and for some time we walked without talking to each other.
Of course, you guessed what the sergeant wrapped in paper, ”Thorndyke said at last.
Yes. The hair that was in the hand of the slain; I thought it would be better to leave them in place.
Undoubtedly. But well-meaning cops destroy evidence like this. In this case it does not matter much, but in any other it would be a fatal mistake.
Are you going to participate in the investigation? I asked.
Depends on the circumstances. I've collected some evidence, but I don't know how valuable it is yet. Also, I don't know if the police noted the same facts as I did; but, of course, I will do whatever is required to assist the authorities. This is my civic duty.
Since the adventures of this morning took us a long time, we were required to immediately go about our business; after a quick lunch in a cafe, we parted, and I did not see my colleague until the evening when I returned home for dinner after work.
I found Thorndike at the table. My friend was busy: in front of him was a microscope, on the glass slide of which lay some kind of powder, illuminated through a condenser lens; an open sample box lay there, and Thorndike was busy squeezing thick white putty out of a tube into three tiny wax castings.
This “Fortafix” is the most useful thing,” he remarked. - It gives great casts without the hassle of plaster, which is especially useful if the object is small, like these. By the way, if you want to know what was on the pillow of the deceased girl, just look through the microscope. An excellent example.
I looked into the microscope. Indeed, the sample was excellent, and not only in terms of the quality of the drug. It was mixed with transparent quartz crystals, glassy needles, pieces of coral eroded by water, and many lovely tiny shells; some resembled fine porcelain, others Venetian glass.
These are foraminifera! Foraminifera (Foraminifera) - a type of organisms of the kingdom of protozoa, which are distinguished by the presence of an external skeleton in the form of a kind of shell. Their size is usually less than 1 mm. I exclaimed.
So it's still not white sand?
Certainly not.
But what? Thorndike smiled.
Jervis, this message has been brought to us from the bottom of the sea - from the bottom of the eastern Mediterranean.
And can you read it?
I think so, said Thorndike, and soon, I hope, I will be sure of it.
I looked through the microscope again and wondered: what kind of message did these tiny shells convey to my friend? Deep sea sand on the pillow of a murdered woman! What could be more inappropriate? What connection can there be between this heinous crime committed in east London and the bottom of the "sea without tides"? The sea without tides is the name that has been fixed in the literature for the Mediterranean Sea due to the fact that it really has practically no ebbs and flows.
In the meantime, Thorndike squeezed more putty onto his bits of wax (which I assumed were the ones he was wrapping so carefully in paper before my eyes); then he laid one of them on the glass plate with putty up, and placed the other two vertically on the sides of the first. After that, he squeezed out a new portion of his mixture - apparently to connect all three objects - and carefully placed it all in a cabinet, putting an envelope with sand and a microscope slide with the preparation there.
He was just locking the closet when suddenly there was a sharp knock on the door knocker, and my friend hurried to the door. On the threshold stood a messenger boy with a dirty envelope in his hands.
It's not my fault it's taken so long, sir," he said. “Mr. Goldstein has been messing around so much.
Thorndike went under the lamp with the envelope, opened it, and pulled out a sheet of paper, which he glanced through quickly, as if in a state of excitement; and though his face remained as impassive as a stone mask, I was quite sure that this paper contained the answer to some question of his.
The messenger went away, satisfied with his reward, and Thorndike turned to bookshelves, thoughtfully ran his eyes over them and stopped at a volume in a tattered cover in the very corner. He took off the book, opened it and laid it on the table; I looked into it and was surprised to find that it was printed in two languages: on the one hand in Russian, and on the other, as I thought, in Hebrew.
The Old Testament in Russian and Yiddish, Thorndike explained, seeing my amazement. - I'll let Paulton take a photo of a couple of pages as a type sample ... Who is it, the postman or the visitor?
It turned out that the postman had come, and Thorndike, looking at me significantly, took a blue official envelope from the letter-box.
I think that's the answer to your question, Jervis, he said. - Yes, this is a subpoena from the coroner and a very polite letter: “I apologize for disturbing, but under the circumstances there was no other choice ...” - of course there was no choice. “... Dr. Davidson scheduled an autopsy for tomorrow, at four in the afternoon, and I would be glad if you could attend. The mortuary is on Barker Street, next to the school." Well, I suppose we should go, although Davidson will surely resent. - And Thorndike retired to the laboratory, taking the Old Testament with him.
The next day we dined at our place, and after eating we moved chairs to the fire and lit our pipes. Thorndike was deep in thought, sitting with a notepad on his lap and staring intently at the fire, making notes in pencil as if he were preparing abstracts for a discussion. Believing that his mind was on the murder at Aldgate, I ventured to ask the question:
Do you have physical evidence to present to the coroner?
He put down his notebook.
I have at my disposal, - he said, - there are important physical evidences, but they are not connected with each other and are not quite sufficient. If, as I would like to hope, I can bind them together before the trial, then they will have considerable power ... And here is my invaluable companion with tools for research. - He turned with a smile to meet Paulton, who had just entered the room; master and servant exchanged friendly glances that spoke of mutual affection. The relationship between Thorndike and his assistant never ceased to touch me: on the one hand, faithful, selfless service, on the other, sincere affection.
I think these will do, sir,” said Polton, handing the owner a cardboard box like a case for playing cards.
Thorndike removed the lid, and I saw that grooves were attached to the bottom of the box, and two photographic plates were inserted into them. These turned out to be highly unusual photographs: the first is a copy of an Old Testament page in Russian, the second is a copy of a page in Yiddish. At the same time, the letters were white on a black background; they covered only the center of the pictures, leaving wide black margins. Both cards were glued on thick cardboard in two copies - on the front and back sides.
Thorndike showed them to me with a conspiratorial smile, delicately holding the edges of the records, and then put them back in the box.
As you can see, we are making a small digression into philology,” he remarked, putting the box in his pocket. - But we have to go, so as not to keep Davidson waiting. Thanks Paulton.
District Railway quickly carried us east, and we got off at Aldgate station a full half hour ahead of schedule. Despite this, Thorndike hurried on, not heading towards the mortuary, but for some reason turned onto Mansell Street, checking house numbers along the way. He seemed to be particularly interested in the row of houses on the right, picturesque but sooty; coming closer to them, he slowed his pace.
Here's a lovely piece of antiquity, Jervis," he remarked, pointing to a crudely painted wooden figurine of an Indian next to the door of an old-fashioned tobacconist's. We stopped to look, but then a side door opened. A woman stepped out and looked around.
Thorndike immediately crossed the pavement and addressed her, apparently with a question, for I heard her immediate answer:
He usually arrives exactly at a quarter past seven, sir.
Thank you, I'll remember, - said Thorndike, and, raising his hat, quickly walked away, turning immediately into the lane, along which we reached Old Gate. It was already five minutes to four, and so we quickened our pace so as not to be late for the morgue at the appointed time; but, although we entered the gate under the striking of the clock, we met Dr. Davidson when he took off his apron, about to leave.
Sorry, I couldn't wait for you,” he said, not even trying to pretend that he was telling the truth, “but postmortem Autopsy (Latin, letters, after death). in such a case - it's just a farce; you have seen everything there is to see. However, the body is still there, Garth hasn't removed it yet.
He briefly said goodbye and left.
I must apologize for Dr. Davidson, sir,” said Garth annoyed; he sat at the table and wrote down something.
Not worth it, my friend replied. - You didn't teach him manners. And here I can handle it myself, I just need to check a couple of details.
Garth and I took his hint and remained at the table, while Thorndike took off his hat, walked to the long sectional table, and leaned over the body of this victim. terrible tragedy. For some time he did not move, intently examining the body - no doubt looking for bruises and other signs of a struggle. Then he bent even lower and carefully examined the wound, especially at the edges of the incision. Then he moved sharply closer, peering as if something had caught his attention, took out a magnifying glass and took a small sponge with which he wiped the exposed protrusion of the vertebrae. Then he again meticulously examined this place through a magnifying glass and, using a scalpel and a clamp, pulled out something, carefully rinsed this object and examined it again through a magnifying glass, holding it in the palm of his hand. Then, as I expected, he took out his "evidence box", took out the envelope, dropped this tiny object into it, wrote the envelope and put it back.
I think I saw everything I wanted to see,” he said, putting the box in his pocket and putting on his hat. - Meet me tomorrow morning at the coroner's inquest.
He shook hands with Garth and we stepped out into relatively fresh air.
Under various pretexts, Thorndike remained in the vicinity of Old Gate until the church bell struck six, at which time he made his way to Harrow Alley. He walked slowly and thoughtfully down this narrow winding street parallel to Little Somerset Street and came out onto Mansell Street, so that exactly at a quarter to seven we were in front of the same tobacco shop.
Thorndike glanced at his watch and stopped, looking warily ahead. After a moment, he took out his cardboard box from his pocket and pulled out the very two pictures that had already plunged me into complete amazement. They now seemed to astonish Thorndike himself, judging by the expression of his face; he raised them to his eyes and examined them, frowning and gradually approaching the entrance next to the shop. Then I noticed a man walking in our direction, looking at Thorndike with some curiosity, but also with obvious dislike. He was a young man of very small stature, strongly built, in appearance a Jewish immigrant; his face, naturally gloomy and uninviting, was pitted with pockmarks, which made it seem even uglier.
Excuse me," he said rudely, pushing Thorndike aside. - I live here.
I beg your pardon, said Thorndike. He took a step back and suddenly asked: - By the way, do you happen to know Yiddish?
Why would you? he asked grimly.
Yes, they just gave me these two pictures with texts. One seems to be in Greek and the other in Yiddish, but I forget which one is where. He handed the cards to the stranger, who took them and looked at them grimly.
This is Yiddish,” he said, raising his right hand, “and this is not Greek, but Russian.
He gave the cards to Thorndike, who accepted them, holding them, as before, carefully by the edges.
Thank you very much for your invaluable help! said Thorndike, but before he could finish speaking, the stranger entered the house, slamming the door behind him.
Thorndike put the pictures back carefully, slipped the box into his pocket, and scribbled something on a notepad.
Now,” he said, “my work is done, except for one little experiment that can be done at home. By the way, I pulled out a tiny piece of evidence that Davidson missed. This will piss him off. While I don't take much pleasure in flicking my colleagues' noses, this one is painfully discourteous.
A subpoena from the coroner called for Thorndyke to come to testify at ten o'clock, but his plans were thwarted by a consultation with a well-known lawyer, so on leaving the Temple Temple - here: the building of the London Bar Society. we were already a quarter of an hour late. It was noticeable that my friend was in excellent spirits, although he was silent and seemed lost in thought; I concluded, therefore, that he was pleased with the results of his labors. Although we rode together, I nevertheless refrained from questioning, but not so much out of courtesy, but out of a desire to hear his evidence for the first time, along with the testimony of other witnesses.
The room in which the interrogation took place was in a school not far from the morgue. A long table covered with cloth was placed in the empty hall; at the head of it was the coroner, and one of the sides was occupied by the jury, and I was pleased to note that most of them were people who live by their work, and not the arrogant, stony-faced "professional jurors" so avid for such inquiries.
The witnesses were seated in a row of chairs, and a seat on the corner of the table was given to the defendant's lawyer, a dapper, immaculately dressed gentleman in a gold pince-nez; a few more seats were given to reporters, and the public of all sorts occupied rows of benches.
Among those gathered were those whom I did not expect to see at all. For example, an acquaintance of ours from Mansell Street was present, who greeted us with a surprised and unfriendly look; the superintendent was also in the hall Superintendent - a police rank one rank above the inspector; the superintendent supervised the work of the police division, that is, all the policemen of a certain part of the city. Miller of Scotland Yard, whose behavior betrayed some kind of collusion with Thorndike. But there was no time to look around, since the meeting began before our arrival. Mrs. Goldstein, the first of the witnesses, was finishing her account of the circumstances under which the body was discovered; as she returned to her seat, trembling with sobs, the jury followed her with sympathetic looks.
The next witness was a girl named Kate Silver. Before taking the oath, she looked at Miriam Goldstein with undisguised hatred. Miriam stood aside, guarded by two policemen, pale and wild-faced; her red hair fell in disarray over her shoulders, her eyes wandered like those of a sleepwalker.
You were intimately acquainted with the deceased, weren't you? asked the coroner.
Yes. We worked together for quite some time - at the Empire Restaurant in Fenchurch Street - and lived in the same house. She was my closest friend.
Did she have friends or relatives in England?
No. She came to England from Bremen three years ago. Then I met her. All her relatives remained in Germany, but she made friends with many here, because she was very cheerful and courteous.
Did she not have enemies, that is, could not someone plot evil against her and harm her?
Yes, Miriam Goldstein was her enemy. She hated her.
You claim that Miriam Goldstein hated the deceased. Why do you think so?
She didn't hide it. They fell out over a young man named Moshe Cohen. He used to be Miriam's beau, and I think they loved each other very much until Minna Adler moved in with the Goldsteins. Then Moshe began to look at Minna, and she liked it, although she already had a boyfriend, Paul Petrovski, who also lodged with the Goldsteins. Eventually Moshe broke with Miriam and became engaged to Minna. Miriam got angry and accused Minna of treachery - she said so directly; and Minna only laughed and replied that she could take Petrovski instead.
And what did Miriam say to that?
Angry even more because Moshe Cohen is not stupid and very good-looking, and Petrovsky is nothing of himself. Besides, Miriam didn't like Petrovsky; he was rude to her and so she asked her father to let him live. In general, there was no friendship between them; and then this problem happened...
What trouble?
Well, with Moshe Cohen. Miriam is very hot-tempered, and she was terribly jealous of Moshe of Minna, so when Petrovsky began to tease her and talk about Moshe and Minna, she lost her temper and said terrible things about them.
For example?
Said she wanted to slit Minna's throat or even kill them both.
When did it happen?
The day before the murder.
Who else besides you heard her say that?
Another lodger, Edig Bryant, and Petrovski. We were all standing in the hall then.
But I think you said that Petrovsky was evicted?
Yes, a week earlier. But he left a box in the room and that day came to pick it up. And so this trouble began. Miriam forbade him to enter the room because it was now her bedroom, and in her former room she set up a workshop.
But did he still go for the box?
Seems to be yes. Miriam, Edith, and I left, but he remained in the hall. When we returned, the box was gone. Mrs. Goldstein was cooking in the kitchen, and there was no one else in the house, so it was Paul who took the box.
You mentioned Miriam's workshop. What was her job?
She cut stencils for a decor firm.
Then the coroner took an unusually shaped knife from the table and handed it to the witness:
Have you ever seen this knife?
Yes. This is a Miriam Goldstein knife. This is the knife she used to cut the stencils.
This ended the testimony of Kate Silver, and the next witness was called - Paul Petrovsky. It turned out to be our acquaintance from Mansell Street. His testimony did not take long and only confirmed what Kate Silver had said; the next witness, Edith Bryant, testified the same. When they were finished, the coroner announced:
Gentlemen! Before hearing the testimony of the doctor, I suggest that you read the testimony of the police. Let's start with Detective Sergeant Alfred Bates.
The sergeant readily took the witness stand and began to present his testimony with professional clarity and thoroughness:
At eleven forty-nine I was summoned by PC Simmonds and arrived at the crime scene at two minutes to twelve, accompanied by Inspector Harris and forensic doctor Davidson. When we got there, Dr. Garth, Dr. Thorndike, and Dr. Jervis were already in the room. I found the victim, Minna Adler, in bed; her throat was cut. The body has already cooled down. There were no signs of a struggle, the bed looked untouched. There was a table at the head of the table, and on it lay a book and an empty candlestick. The candle must have burned out, for only a charred piece of the wick remained in the candlestick. A chest was moved closer to the headboard, a pillow lay on it. Apparently, the killer stood on the pillow and leaned over the headboard to deliver the killing blow. The killer had to do this because the bedside table was in the way, and it was impossible to move it without disturbing the sleeping woman. Based on the need for a chest and pillow, I'm guessing the killer is short.
Have you found anything else that could identify the killer?
Yes. In the left hand of the deceased, a strand of red female hair was clamped.
As the detective sergeant said this, a scream of horror erupted simultaneously from the chest of the accused and her mother. Mrs. Goldstein sank down on the bench, close to fainting, and Miriam, pale as death, seemed rooted to the spot; with eyes filled with genuine fear, she watched as the detective took two paper bags from his pocket, opened them and handed them to the coroner.
In a bag with the letter A, he said, hair found in the hand of the deceased. In the bag with the letter B - Miriam Goldstein's hair.
The defendant's lawyer got up.
Where did you get the hair in package B? - he asked.
I took them from the sack of streaks that hung on the wall in Miriam Goldstein's room,” replied the Detective Sergeant.
I object, said the lawyer. - There is no evidence that the hair in this pouch belongs to Miriam Goldstein.
Thorndike laughed softly and turned to me without raising his voice:
The lawyer is as dense as the detective sergeant. Neither one nor the other probably understands the true meaning of this bag at all.
Did you know about it? I asked, amazed.
No. I thought he took the comb. I looked at my colleague in amazement and just wanted to ask him what such a mysterious answer means, when he raised his finger and again began to listen carefully.
All right, Mr. Gorwitz," said the coroner, "I'll put your remark on the record, but the sergeant can go on.
The defendant's lawyer sat down, and the policeman continued to testify:
I examined and compared two hair samples and came to the conclusion that they belong to the same person. The only thing I found besides the hair was white sand scattered over the pillow around the victim's head.
White sand! exclaimed the coroner. - And where did he come from on the pillow of the murdered woman?
I think it's easy to explain," replied the Detective Sergeant. - The washbasin was full of water mixed with blood; it means that the murderer, having committed the crime, washed his hands, and probably also the knife. There was soap on the washbasin containing white sand, and I think that the criminal - or the criminal - washed his hands with this soap, and then stood at the head of the bed, and the sand fell from his hands onto the pillow.
A simple but extremely witty explanation,” the coroner remarked approvingly, and the jury nodded in agreement.
I explored the rooms of the accused Miriam Goldstein and found a knife there, such as is used in cutting stencils, but bigger size, than usual. There were bloodstains on it, which the defendant explained by the fact that she had cut herself the other day; she confirmed that the knife was hers.
With this, the detective sergeant ended his speech, and before he could sit down, the lawyer rose from his seat.
I would like to ask the witness a couple of questions,” he said, waiting for an affirmative nod to the coroner, the giver stood on a chest at the head, putting a pillow on it, and bent down to strike. He is probably short, very strong, right-handed. There were no signs of a struggle, and judging by the nature of the wound, I can conclude that death occurred almost instantly. In the left hand of the deceased was a small strand of red female hair. I compared it to the defendant's hair and came to the conclusion that this hair is hers.
Apparently, he only washed his hands and continued: - Was the finger of the accused examined after the arrest?
I don't think so," the policeman replied. Anyway, I haven't heard of it.
The lawyer wrote down his answer and asked the following question:
As for the white sand, did you find it in the washbasin itself?
The sergeant blushed.
I didn't check the washbasin.
Has anyone even looked at it?
I think no.
Thank you,” said Mr. Horwitz, sat down and began to write something, cheerfully scratching his pen and drowning out the displeased murmur of the jurors.
Let's move on to the testimony of the medical experts, gentlemen," said the coroner. - Let's start with the testimony of the county forensic doctor.
Dr. Davidson took the oath, and the coroner continued:
You examined the victim's body shortly after it was found, didn't you?
Yes. I found a corpse on the bed; the bed does not appear to have been disturbed. About ten hours had passed since death, as the limbs were completely numb, but the torso was not. The cause of death was undoubtedly a deep gash across the throat all the way to the spine. It was inflicted with a single stab of the knife while the victim was lying in bed. It is impossible to inflict such a wound on oneself. The murder weapon was a one-sided knife, the direction of the blow was from left to right; the assailant stood on a chest by the head of the bed, with a pillow on it, and bent down to strike. He is probably short, very strong, right-handed. There were no signs of a struggle, and judging by the nature of the wound, I can conclude that death occurred almost instantly. In the left hand of the deceased was a small strand of red female hair. I compared it to the defendant's hair and came to the conclusion that this hair is hers.
Have you been shown the knife that belongs to the defendant?
Yes, it's a stencil cutter. There were bloodstains on it, which I examined and can definitely say that this is the blood of a mammal. It's probably human blood, but I'm not sure about that.
Could this knife be the murder weapon?
Yes, although it is small for such a deep wound. And yet it is quite possible.
The coroner looked at Mr. Gorwitz and asked:
Do you have questions for the witness?
With your permission, sir, - he answered, got up and continued, looking at his notes: - You mentioned some blood stains on this knife. But we heard that water mixed with blood was found in the washbasin, and it's not unreasonable to assume that the killer washed his hands and laundered the knife. But if he washed the blood off the knife, why would there be stains on the blade?
Apparently, he only washed his hands.
Isn't that strange?
No I do not think so.
You said that there was no struggle and that death came almost instantly, but at the same time, the victim still pulled out a strand of hair from the killer. Is there a contradiction here?
No. The victim apparently grabbed the killer by the hair at the moment of death convulsions. In any case, the hair was in the hand of the murdered woman, and there is no doubt about it.
Is it possible to establish with absolute certainty who owns this or that human hair?
With absolute accuracy - it is impossible. But this hair is very unusual.
The lawyer sat down, and Dr. Garth was called, who only briefly corroborated his superior's testimony; then the coroner announced:
Gentlemen! The next witness is Dr. Thorndike, who happened to be at the scene of the crime, but nevertheless examined it first. In addition, he performed an examination of the body and will no doubt be able to shed more light on this terrible crime.
Thorndike took the oath and then placed a leather-handled box on the table. After that, in response to a question from the coroner, he stated that he taught forensic medicine at St. Margaret's Hospital and briefly explained how he was involved in the case. Here the chairman of the jury interrupted him and asked him to comment on the hair and the knife, since these were key pieces of evidence in the case - and Thorndike was promptly given both.
Do you think the hair in package A and package B belong to the same person?
Undoubtedly.
Could you inspect the knife and tell us if they can inflict such a wound?
Thorndike studied the blade closely and returned the knife to the coroner.
You can, - he answered, - but I am more than sure that the wound was not inflicted on them.
Can you explain how you came to such decisive conclusions?
I think,” said Thorndike, “that if I put all the facts in strict order, we will only save time.
The coroner nodded in the affirmative, and my friend continued:
I will not abuse your attention and repeat what is already known. Sergeant Bates has fully described the scene of the crime, and I have nothing to add to his testimony. The description of the body given by Dr. Davidson is also quite exhaustive: the woman had been dead for about ten hours, the wound was no doubt fatal, and it was inflicted exactly as the doctor described. Death apparently occurred instantly, and I am ready to argue that the victim did not even have time to wake up from sleep.
But, - objected the coroner, - in her hand the deceased held a lock of hair.
This hair, said Thorndike, is not the hair of a murderer. They were put into the victim's hand for an obvious purpose, and the fact that the killer brought them with him suggests the following: the crime was pre-planned, and the offender enters the house and knows its inhabitants.
Upon hearing this statement by Thorndike, everyone—the coroner, the jury, and the audience—opened their mouths in amazement and stared at him. There was an extraordinary silence, interrupted by the wild, hysterical laughter of Mrs. Goldstein, and after that the coroner asked:
Why do you think that the hair in the hand of the murdered woman did not belong to the murderer?
This is the obvious conclusion. The color of this hair is too noticeable. This immediately alerted me. Moreover, there are three facts, each of which conclusively proves that this hair certainly does not belong to the killer.
First of all, the condition of the hand. If a person at the time of death firmly grasps any object, then the mechanism of the so-called cadaveric spasm is triggered. Muscle contraction immediately passes into rigor mortis, that is, rigor mortis, and the object remains compressed in the hand until it passes. In our case, the hand was completely numb, but there was no firm grip. The strand lay freely on the palm, and the fingers were not clenched into a fist. From this it is clear that the hair was placed in the hand after death. Two other facts are related to the condition of the hair itself. If you pull out a few hairs, then it is self-evident that all the roots will be on one side of the torn strand. In this case, the strand did not look like this: the hair lay with its roots in different directions, which means that they could not be pulled out from the killer. But the third discrepancy I found was even more significant. The hair in this lock was not pulled out at all - it fell out on its own. It's probably eyeglasses. With your permission, I'll explain the difference. If the hair falls out naturally, it separates from the follicle - a tiny tube in the thickness of the skin - because it is pushed out new hair growing under it; at the end of such hair there is only a small thickening - the hair follicle. But if the hair is pulled out by force, the root pulls along the follicle, which is noticeable at the end of the hair in the form of a shiny lump. If Miriam Goldstein pulls out her hair and hands it over to me, then I will show you this significant dissimilarity of the torn and fallen hair.
Poor Miriam did not have to be persuaded. In the twinkling of an eye, she tore out a dozen hairs, which one of the constables handed to Thorndike, who immediately clamped them with a paperclip. From his drawer he took out another paper clip, which held half a dozen hairs from a strand found in the murdered woman's hand. Both paper clips, along with a magnifying glass, he handed to the coroner.
Marvelous! he exclaimed. - And absolutely irrefutable.
He handed it all over to the president of the jury, and the jurors looked at the hair in silence for a while, holding their breath with curiosity and squinting desperately.
If your hair falls out naturally...
I collected some of this sand, and examining it under
The next question is: where did the killer get these hairs? continued Thorndike. “I assumed it was from Miriam Goldstein's comb, but the sergeant's testimony clearly points to the fact that it came from the same sack of combs from which the sergeant took the sample for comparison.
Well, doctor," said the coroner, "I see you've blown the hair proof completely. But let me ask you: has anything been found that sheds light on the identity of the killer?
Yes, said Thorndike. “I found several clues that point almost incontrovertibly to the culprit.
Then he gave Superintendent Miller a significant look. He got up and walked to the door and back; Sitting down in his seat, Miller slipped something into his pocket. And my colleague continued:
As I entered the hall, I noted the following facts. Behind the door was a shelf, and on it stood two porcelain candlesticks. Both had candles, one of which, however, turned out to be a very short stub - not longer than an inch - and just lay in the cup of the candlestick. On the floor, by the rug under the door, I found a speck of candle wax and barely visible traces of dirty soles. Wet boots were also visible on the stairs. The footprints led up the stairs, becoming less visible on the linoleum with each step. There were also two wax stains on the steps, and another on the railing; in the middle of the flight there was a burnt match, and another one of the same kind was found on the landing. There were no footprints that led down, but one of the drops of wax near the railing was stepped on before it hardened, and left a mark on the front of the heel; judging by its position, this is the footprint of a man descending. The lock on the front door was freshly oiled, as was the door to the bedroom, the latter being opened from the outside with a wire that scratched the key.
Inside the room, I made two more important observations. First, a little sand was scattered on the pillow of the murdered woman; it is similar to white sand, but darker and finer. I will return to this detail. The second detail is that the candlestick on the bedside table was empty. This is an unusual candlestick: its cup consists of eight strips of metal. There was a charred wick at the bottom of it, but a piece of wax on the edge indicated that another candle had been inserted into the candlestick and then taken out, because otherwise this wax would have been melted. I immediately remembered the cinder on the shelf in the hall, and going down the hall I took it out and examined it. It had eight distinct marks, matching the eight strips of metal in the candlestick by the bed. Someone carried this candle in his right hand, because the soft, heated wax left amazingly clear fingerprints of his right hand: thumb and forefinger. I made three wax castings of this cinder, and from them I made this cast, showing both fingerprints and traces of a candlestick. He took out a small object from the drawer. white color and handed it to the coroner.
And what conclusions do you draw from these facts? he asked.
I come to the following conclusion: at about a quarter to two on the night of the murder, a certain man (who had visited the house the day before to steal a lock of hair and oil the locks) entered the house, unlocking the door with a key. I specify this time based on the fact that that night it rained from half past two to a quarter to two (and before that it had not rained for two weeks), while the murder was committed about two. The man lit a match in the hallway and another halfway down the aisle. Seeing that the bedroom door was locked, he opened it with a piece of wire. Entering, he lit a candle, moved the chest, killed his victim, washed the blood from his hands and from the knife, took the stub of the candle from the candlestick and went down the hall, where he blew out the candle and placed it in the candlestick on the shelf.
The next clue was provided by the sand on the pillow. I collected some of this sand and examined it under a microscope and determined that it was deep sea sand from the eastern Mediterranean. There were tiny shells called foraminifera in abundance, and since one of them belonged to a species that is found only in the Levant, I was able to determine the exact origin of the sand.
It's just incredible," said the coroner. - How could deep-sea sand be on the pillow of this woman?
In fact, replied Thorndike, the explanation is quite simple. Significant amounts of such sand are found in Turkish sponges. Warehouses where these sponges are unpacked are often ankle-deep; it rains down on workers who open bags of sponges, gets on their clothes and stuffs themselves in their pockets. If such a worker, in clothes powdered with this sand, committed this murder, then it is very likely that while he was bending over his victim, the sand from the folds of clothes and pockets managed to wake up on the pillow.
So, as soon as I examined the sand and established its nature, I sent a note to Mr. Goldstein asking him to list all the acquaintances of the deceased, indicating their addresses and occupation. He sent me the list by the same messenger, and among the list was a man who works as a packer in a sponge wholesaler in Minoriz. Minoriz - an area of East London near the scene of the crime described in the story.. I then learned that a shipment of new season Turkish sponges had arrived a few days before the murder.
The next question was: did this man leave his fingerprints on the stub of the candle? To find out, I stuck two photographic plates on cardboard and, supposedly meeting him by chance in the evening at the door of his house, asked this man to compare them. He took pictures, holding each one large and index fingers. After receiving the pictures back, I took them home and carefully processed both sides with a special powder used in surgical practice. The powder adhered to the places where my suspect's fingers left prints and made those prints visible. Thorndike took out a picture with Hebrew letters, in the black borders of which the yellowish thumbprint was strikingly clearly depicted.
As soon as Thorndike handed the picture to the coroner, there was a very unusual excitement in the hall. While my friend was testifying, I had time to pay attention to our friend Petrovsky, who got up and carefully walked to the door. He gently turned the knob and pulled the door toward him, lightly at first, then harder. But the door was locked. Realizing this, Petrovsky grabbed the handle with both hands and yanked it violently, shaking the door like he was crazy. His trembling hands, shifty eyes, the wild look he gave to the shocked spectators, and his ugly face, deathly pale, wet with sweat and distorted by fear - his whole appearance was a terrifying sight.
Suddenly he sprang away from the door, and with a wild cry rushed at Thorndike, thrusting his hand under the hem of his cloak. But the Superintendent was waiting for this. There was a scream, they grabbed, and now Petrovski was already lying on the floor, trying to bite the enemy and jerking his legs like a madman, and Superintendent Miller held his hand tightly, in which he was clutching a terrifying knife.
Please hand this knife over to the coroner,” Thorndike said as Petrovsky was handcuffed and placed under guard, and the superintendent adjusted his collar.
Would you take the trouble to examine it, sir," continued my colleague, "and tell me, is there not on the blade, nearer to the point, a triangular serration, about one-eighth of an inch long?"
The coroner looked at the knife and said in surprise:
Yes there is. So you've already seen this knife?
No, I didn't, said Thorndike. But let me continue my story. That the prints on the photograph and on the candle belong to Paul Petrovski is indisputable; so let's move on to the evidence found during the examination of the body.
In accordance with your instructions, I went to the morgue and examined the body. The wound has already been described in detail and accurately by Dr. Davidson, but I have noted one detail which I believe he missed. In the thickness of the vertebra - more precisely, in the left transverse protrusion of the fourth vertebra - I found a small piece of steel, which I carefully removed.
He pulled a sample box from his pocket, pulled out a paper envelope, and handed it to the coroner.
This piece is here, he said, and it will probably fit in the notch.
In tense silence, the coroner opened the envelope and shook out a piece of metal onto a piece of paper. Putting the knife down on the same sheet, he carefully inserted the tiny piece of blade into the notch and looked up at Thorndike.
Fits exactly.
From the opposite end of the hall came a loud falling sound. We turned around.
Petrovsky collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
A very instructive case, Jervis, - my friend remarked on the way home, - because it repeats a lesson that the authorities still do not want to heed.
What is it? I asked.
Here's what. When it is discovered that a murder has taken place, the crime scene must immediately turn into Sleeping Beauty's palace. Not a single speck of dust can be brushed off, not a single living soul can enter until a scientist-expert has examined everything there, in situ In (its) place (lat.). and completely untouched. It is impossible to have energetic patrolmen stomping around there, to have investigators interrupt everything, to have bloodhounds rushing back and forth. Imagine what would have happened this time if we had arrived a few hours later. The corpse would be in the morgue, the hair in the sergeant's pocket, the bed would be shaken up and all the sand scattered, the candle would be taken away, and the stairs would be full of fresh footprints. There would be no real evidence left.
English writer Richard Austin Freeman, known as the inventor of the inverted detective, named after the creator Freeman's method, as well as one of the best authors of the first half of the 20th century.
Richard Austin Freeman (Richard Austin Freeman listen)) was born April 11, 1862 in London. He was the youngest of five children in the family of tailor Richard Freeman and Anna Maria Dunn ( Ann Maria Dunn). When Austin grew up, he was given a job as an assistant to a pharmacist, gaining elementary knowledge, he was able to study medicine at the Middlesex Hospital, where he received a post as a doctor in 1887. In the same year he married Annie Elisabeth, who bore him two sons.
After the wedding, he went to serve in the colony. Three years later he returned to London due to the fact that he suffered from a fever, but since he could not find a permanent job, he was forced to engage in private medical practice. At the same time, he began to write his first stories. In the first experiments he was assisted by John James Pitcairn ( John James Pitcairn), a prison doctor. They published joint work under the pseudonym Clifford Ashdown ( Clifford Ashdown).
First standalone story Red Finger Stamp (The Red Thumb Mark) Freeman published in 1907, in which he uses his trademark technique - an inverted detective (the identity of the criminal is announced at the very beginning). Stories based on a similar technique were collected in a collection singing bones published in 1912.
During World War I, Freeman served in the Royal Army Medical Corps.
After his return, he actively wrote, and until his death in 1943, published a novel a year. The best critically acclaimed novel, Freeman wrote in 1939, holed up in a bomb shelter, when he was already 77 years old. But even before that, Freeman's novels were considered the best works for almost 30 years. This conclusion is confirmed by , who, in his letter to Hamish Hamilton, notes that Richard Freeman the best in its genre.
Richard Austin Freeman entered the history of the detective as the creator scientific detective, when the basis for the investigation is not the deductive method or the intuitive abilities of the detective, but only evidence, for the search for which, in most cases, scientific methods are used.
The protagonist of most Freeman detectives was Dr. Thorndike. Initially a doctor, and later a forensic medical examiner, helps the police solve crimes with the evidence they gather, although sometimes it's just dust or plants from a pond. The author dedicated about 20 novels and more than 30 short stories to his hero. The stories about Dr. Thorndike are now collected in a 10-volume collected works.
Dr. Thorndike was noted in the early 60s and on the television screen, and in early 1971 in the series Rivals of Sherlock Holmes two episodes were released, created according to the plots of Freeman.
Selected bibliography
Dr. Thorndike Series
Red Thumb Mark (1907)
Cases of John Thorndyke (John Thorndyke's Cases, 1909)
Eye of Osiris (The Eye of Osiris, 1911), published in the USA as The Vanishing Man
Mystery 31 ( The Mystery of 31, New Inn, 1912)
The Singing Bone (1912), published in the US as The Adventures of Dr. Thorndyke
Silent Witness (1914)
The Great Portrait Mystery (1918)
Confessions of Helen Vardon (Helen Vardon's Confession, 1922)
Dr. Thorndyke's Case Book (1923), also published as The Blue Scarab
The Cat's Eye (1923)
The Mystery of Angelina Frood (1924)
The Shadow of the Wolf (1925)
The Puzzle Lock (1925) - a collection of short stories
The D'Arblay Mystery (1926)
The Fact of Dr. Thorndyke (A Certain Dr. Thorndyke, 1927)
The Magic Casket (1927), short stories
As A Thief in the Night (1928)
The Famous Cases of Dr. Thorndyke (1928)
Mr. Pottermack's Oversight (1930)
Pontifex, Son and Thorndyke (1931)
When Rogues Fall Out (1932)
Dr. Thorndyke Intervenes (1933)
For the Defense: Dr. Thorndyke (For the Defense: Dr. Thorndyke, 1934)
The Penrose Mystery (1936)
Felo de Se (1937)
The Stoneware Monkey (1938)
Mr. Polton Explains (1940)
Dr. Thorndyke's Crime File, 1941
The Jacob Street Mystery (1942)
Detective novels
The Uttermost Farthing: A Savant's Vendetta, 1914, also published as A Savant's Vendetta)
The Exploits of Danby Croker: Being Extracts from a Somewhat Disreputable Autobiography, 1916
The Great Platinum Robbery, 1933
Storybooks
From a Surgeon's Diary, 1975 (as Ashdown; with John James Pitcairn)
The Queen's Treasure, 1975 (as Ashdown; with Pitcairn)
The Dr. Thorndyke Omnibus: Thirty-eight of His Criminal Investigations, 1993
The Uncollected Mysteries of R. Austin Freeman, 1998 (Tony Medaver and Douglas G. Greene, editors)
Freeman's Selected Short Stories, 2000
Fiction novels
The Golden Pool: A Story of a Forgotten Mine, 1905
The Unwilling Adventurer, 1913
The Surprising Adventures of Mr. Shuttlebury Cobb, 1927
Flighty Phyllis, 1928
Richard Austin Freeman (1862–1942), British novelist and short story writer, surgeon by trade. He made an outstanding medical career in Africa, which was interrupted as a result of a fever he suffered. Freeman's first published novel was The Red Fingerprint (1907). The hero of many of his works was the forensic expert John Thorndike. The writer's novels were created within the framework of the "scientific detective story", the investigation in which was no longer based so much on the deductive abilities of the detective, but on the scientific methods of detecting evidence. Freeman is considered the founder of a new storytelling technique for the detective genre of that time - the “inverted”, or “reverse”, detective story. The essence of this method lies in the fact that the reader first gets acquainted with the details of the crime, and then observes the work of the detective, busy searching for motives and evidence.
This volume presents Freeman's action-packed detective story "The Eye of Osiris", which begins with the mysterious disappearance of an Egyptologist. And the investigation of this case leads to completely unexpected results ... The story “The Magic Box”, written in a classical manner, is also published here.
The work was published in 1911 by the publishing house Algorithm. This book is part of the Doctor Thorndike Mysteries series. On our site you can download the book "The Eye of Osiris. The Magic Box" in fb2, rtf, epub, pdf, txt format or read online. Here, before reading, you can also refer to the reviews of readers who are already familiar with the book, and find out their opinion. In the online store of our partner you can buy and read the book in paper form.
