the footman, accompanied by a detective, returned, and Falmouth took from the plainclothed officer a small bunch of keys.
The butler led the way to the first floor.
He indicated the study, a massive oaken door, fitted with a microscopic lock.
Very carefully Falmouth made his selection of keys. Twice he tried unsuccessfully, but at the third attempt the lock turned with a click, and the door opened noiselessly.
He stood for a moment at the entrance, for the room was in darkness.
“I forgot,” said Perks, “the shutters are closed — shall I open them?”
“If you please,” said the detective.
In a few minutes the room was flooded with light.
It was a plainly furnished apartment, rather similar in appearance to that in which the Foreign Secretary met his end. It smelt mustily of old leather, and the walls of the room were covered with bookshelves. In the centre stood a big mahogany writing-table, with bundles of papers neatly arranged.
Falmouth took a rapid and careful survey of this desk. It was thick with accumulated dust. At one end, within reach of the vacant chair stood an ordinary table telephone.
“No bells,” said Falmouth.
“No,” replied the butler. “Sir Philip disliked bells-there is a ‘buzzer’.”
Falmouth remembered.
“Of course,” he said quickly. “I remember — hullo!”
He bent forward eagerly.
“Why, what has happened to the telephone?”
He might well ask, for its steel was warped and twisted. Beneath where the vulcanite receiver stood was a tiny heap of black ash, and of the flexible cord that connected it with the outside world nothing remained but a twisted piece of discoloured wire.
The table on which it stood was blistered as with some great heat.
The detective drew a long breath.
He turned to his subordinate.
“Run across to Miller’s in Regent Street — the electrician — and ask Mr Miller to come here at once.”
He was still standing gazing at the telephone when the electrician arrived.
“Mr Miller,” said Falmouth slowly, “what has happened to this telephone?”
The electrician adjusted his pince-nez and inspected the ruin.
“H’m,” he said, “it rather looks as though some linesman had been criminally careless.”
“Linesman? What do you mean?” demanded Falmouth.
“I mean the workmen engaged to fix telephone wires.” He made another inspection.
“Cannot you see?”
He pointed to the battered instrument.
“I see that the machine is entirely ruined — but why?”
The electrician stooped and picked up the scorched wire from the ground.
“What I mean is this,” he said. “Somebody has attached a wire carrying a high voltage — probably an electric-lighting wire — to this telephone line: and if anybody had happened to have been at — —” He stopped suddenly, and his face went white.
“Good God!” he whispered, “Sir Philip Ramon was electrocuted!”
For a while not one of the party spoke. Then Falmouth’s hand darted into his pocket and he drew out the little notebook which Billy Marks had stolen.
“That is the solution,” he cried; “here is the direction the wires took — but how is it that the telephone at Downing Street was not destroyed in a similar manner?”
The electrician, white and shaking, shook his head impatiently.
“I have given up trying to account for the vagaries of electricity,” he said; “besides, the current, the full force of the current, might have been diverted — a short circuit might have been effected — anything might have happened.”
“Wait!” said Falmouth eagerly. “Suppose the man making the connection had bungled — had taken the full force of the current himself — would that have brought about this result?”
“It might — —”
“‘Thery bungled — and paid the penalty,’” quoted Falmouth slowly. “Ramon got a slight shock — sufficient to frighten him — he had a weak heart — the burn on his hand, the dead sparrows! By Heaven! it’s as clear as daylight!”
Later, a strong force of police raided the house in Carnaby Street, but they found nothing — except a half-smoked cigarette bearing the name of a London tobacconist, and the counterfoil of a passage ticket to New York.
It was marked per RMS ‘Lucania’, and was for three first-class passengers.
When the Lucania arrived at New York she was searched from stem to stern, but the Four Just Men were not discovered.
It was Gonsalez who had placed the ‘clue’ for the police to find.
The End
The Council of Justice (1908)
