Chapter 5

Dr. Japix Speaks

Octavius Fanks had no difficulty in finding the residence of Dr. Jacob Japix, for that kind-hearted gentleman was well known in Ironfields, not alone in the village suburb, but throughout the great city itself, where his beaming face, his cheery words, and his open hand were much appreciated, especially in the quarters of the poor. Not a professional philanthropist, this large man with the large heart, for he laboured among poverty and vice from an innate desire to do good, and not from any hope that his works would be blazoned forth in the papers. He had no wife, no family, no relations, so he devoted his money, his time, and his talents to the service of paupers who could not afford to give anything in return except gratitude, and did not always give even that.

Of course, he had rich patients also. Oh, yes! many rich people came to Jacob Japix to be cured, and generally went away satisfied, for he was a clever physician, having the eye of a hawk and the intuition of a Galen for all kinds of mysterious diseases. But the money which the rich took from the poor in the way of scant payment for labour done went back to the pockets of the poor via Dr. Japix, so he illustrated in his own small way the law of compensation.

Mr. Fanks knew this doctor very well, having met him in connection with a celebrated poisoning case at Manchester, where he had attended as a witness in the character of an expert. Octavius, therefore, was very much delighted at chance having thrown Japix in his way for this special affair, as he was beginning to be troubled with vague fears the existence of which he persistently refused to acknowledge to himself.

Dr. Japix, being a big man, inhabited a big house just on the outskirts of the town, and on ringing a noisy bell, Octavius was admitted by a big footman, who said, in a big voice, that the Doctor was engaged at present, but would be at liberty soon. And soon it was, for just as the big footman was about to show Fanks into the waiting-room--on the right--a party of three (two ladies and one gentleman), accompanied by Japix, emerged from a door on the left.

One lady was tall, dark, and stately, with a serious cast of countenance; the other, small, fair, and vivacious, a veritable fairy, all sparkle and sunshine; and the gentleman was a long, lean man with a saturnine expression, not by any means prepossessing. Burly Dr. Japix with his big frame, his big voice, and his big laugh, accompanied the trio to the door, talking in a subdued roar the whole time.

"We'll set him up--set him up, Miss Florry, never fear--nerves--pooh! ha! ha! ha! nerves in a bridegroom. Who ever heard of such a thing?"

"Ah, but you see you're a bachelor," said the golden-haired fairy, gaily; "a horrid old bachelor, who doesn't know anything except how to give people nasty medicine."

"Hey! now, ha! ha! that's too bad. I always make your medicine nice. Wait till you're a matron, I'll make it nasty."

"When I'm a matron," said Miss Florry, demurely, "I'll take no medicine except Spolger's Soother," at which speech the Doctor laughed, the lean man scowled, and the two ladies attended by the scowl, departed, while the Doctor turned to greet his new visitor.

"Well, sir--well, sir--ha! may I be condemned to live on my own physic if it isn't M. Vidocq."

"Eh, my dear Doctor, me voici. Dumas, my dear physician; you've read 'The Three Musqueteers,' of course."

"Ha! ha! if you start quoting already," roared Japix, rolling ponderously into his study, followed by Fanks, "I give in at once; your memory, Mr. Thief-catcher, is cast-iron, and mine isn't. So I surrender at discretion. Now I'll be bound," continued the Doctor, waggishly, sitting in his huge chair, "you don't know where the quotation comes from."

"I don't," replied Fanks, after a moment's thought, sitting down; "you score one, my dear Doctor. By the way, don't call me Thief-catcher."

"Certainly not, Jonathan Wild."

"Nor that either."

"Why not, M. Fouche?"

"The third is the worst of all. At present I'm nothing but Mr. Rixton--my own name, Dr. Japix, as I told you."

"And Octavius Fanks?"

"Is in the Seventh Circle of Hell--at the back of the North Wind--in Nubibus--anywhere except where Mr. Rixton is."

"Ha! ha! hey! You're down here on business!"

"Private business."

"Ho! ho! and her name?"

"Mary Anne. She's a housemaid, and I love her, oh, I love her, and her heart I would discover! Pish! pshaw! 'Hence, vain deluding joys.' Milton, my dear Doctor! his best poem. But really, I want to be serious."

"Be serious, by all means," said Japix, complacently; "business first, pleasure afterwards. Dine with me to-night!"

"No, I've got an engagement. Say seven to-morrow, and I accept."

"'When found make a note of,'" remarked the Doctor, and scribbled a few lines in his memoranda-book. "Eh! Author?"

"Dickens' Captain Cuttle."

"Very good--go up top."

"Are you going to be serious?" said Fanks, in despair.

"My dear Rixton, I am serious," replied Dr. Japix, composing his features; "proceed!"

"First, who were the people who left as I came in?"

"Now what the deuce do you want to know that for?" said Japix, looking puzzled.

"Because I think one lady is Miss Judith Varlins, and the other Miss Florry Marson."

"Correct so far; but how the--"

"And the gentleman's name, Japix? The lean, lank man that looks like the Ancient Mariner in his shore clothes."

"Jackson Spolger, a patent medicine millionaire. Inherited it from Papa Spolger. Large fortune, disagreeable man, engaged to marry Miss Marson."

"Biography in a nutshell," said Fanks, calmly; "but surely not engaged."

"Why not? Are you in love with her yourself?"

"No; but I thought Sebastian Melstane--"

Dr. Japix uttered an ejaculation not complimentary to Mr. Melstane, and turned fiercely on Fanks.

"Sebastian Melstane be--"

"Don't," interrupted Octavius, holding up a warning hand; "perhaps he is already."

"What do you mean?"

"He is dead."

"Dead!"

"Yes; haven't you read the Jarlchester Mystery?"

"That suicide business. Of course; but I did not think--"

"The dead man was Melstane. Neither did I until an hour ago."

"How did you find out?" asked Japix, gravely.

"By means of this," answered Fanks, placing the pill-box on the table.

"Tonic pills," read Dr. Japix, wonderingly, "eh! Oh, yes, of course; I prescribed tonic pills for Melstane's nerves. But I don't see how you found out his name by this, nor how you connect the name of that scamp Melstane with the man who died at Jarlchester."

"Was Melstane a scamp?"

"Out and out," said Japix, emphatically.

"He must have been bad if you speak ill of him," observed Fanks, reflectively; "kind of man to have enemies, I suppose?"

"I should say plenty."

"Humph! I dare say."

"Dare say what? Talk about the Jarlchester Mystery, what are you?"

"A mystery also, eh, Doctor?" said Fanks, with a smile. "Well, I won't give you the trouble of guessing me. I'll explain myself."

The Doctor settled himself in his large chair, placed his large hands on each of his large knees, and observed in his large voice:

"Now then!"

Whereupon Octavius told him his experience during the Jarlchester inquest, suppressed the conversation and the name of Roger Axton, and finished up by describing how he had discovered the dead man's name from Wosk & Co.

"So you see, Japix," said the detective, decisively, "I saw your name on the prescription, and came at once to see you, as I want you to analyse these eight pills. According to your prescription, according to Mr. Wosk, according to the assistant, twelve pills were made up and delivered to Melstane. I can account for half of the twelve, so that ought to leave six; but in that box you will find eight. Now that is not right!"

"Certainly not!" remarked the Doctor, gravely regarding the pills; "six from twelve do not leave eight--at least, not by the rules of any arithmetic I'm acquainted with."

"So there are two extra pills."

"So I see! Two extra pills not made up by Wosk & Co."

"Now the question is," said Fanks, seriously, laying his hand on one of the Doctor's large knees, "the question is: What do those two extra pills mean?"

The Doctor said nothing, but looked inquiringly at the pill-box, as if he expected it to answer.

"I own," resumed Fanks, leaning back in his chair, "I own that I was half inclined to agree with the verdict of the jurors; it looked like suicide, but I had a kind of uneasy feeling that looks in this case were deceptive, so I thought I would like to know the name of the dead man, in order to find out if there was anything in his past life likely to lead him to self-destruction. I found the name, as I have told you, and I also discovered that there are two extra pills in that box, which have been added after it left the hands of Wosk & Co.--you understand."

"Perfectly."

"Now, those pills cannot have been added by Melstane, as he had no reason to do so. Twelve pills are enough for a man even with nerves, so why should he make those twelve into fourteen?"

"Ah, why, indeed?" said Japix, ponderously. "And your theory?"

"Is simply this. You say Melstane was a scamp; naturally he must have had enemies. Now I firmly believe that the two extra pills contain poison--say morphia, of which Melstane died--and they were placed in the box surreptitiously by one of his enemies."

"Natural enough."

"Melstane," continued Fanks, impressively, leaning forward, "took one of those extra pills, according to his usual custom, before going to bed, quite innocent of doing himself any harm. In the morning Melstane is found dead, and there is no evidence to show how he came by his death."

"Horrible! Horrible!"

"But observe," said Fanks, emphasizing his remarks with his forefinger, "observe how 'vaulting ambition o'er-leaps itself.' Again our divine William, Doctor. In other words, observe how the anxiety of the murderer to ensure the death of his victim has led to a danger of his own discovery. If he--I allude to the murderer--had put in one pill, making thirteen--which would have been a lucky number for our undiscovered criminal--the victim would have taken it, and absolutely no trace could have been discovered. Unluckily, however, for the criminal, he, afraid one morphia pill may not effectively do the work, puts in two morphia pills. Result, Sebastian Melstane, in perfect innocence, takes one and dies. The other pill--damning evidence, my dear Doctor--is one of the eight in that box, and I want you to analyse the whole eight pills in order to find that special one."

"And suppose I don't find it?" said Japix, putting the box on the table.

"In that case my theory falls to the ground, and Sebastian Melstane's death will remain a mystery to all men. But as sure as I sit here, Dr. Japix, you will find a deadly morphia pill among those seven harmless tonic pills."

"Your theory," remarked Japix, heavily, "is remarkably ingenious, and may--mind you, I don't say it is--but may be correct. I will analyse these pills, and let you know the result to-morrow. If I find here," said the Doctor, laying one massive hand on the pill-box, "if I find here a morphia pill, it will establish your theory in a certain sense."

"I think it will establish my theory in every sense," retorted Fanks, impetuously.

Dr. Japix shook his large head slowly, and delivered himself oracularly:

"Let us not," he said, looking at Fanks from under his shaggy eyebrows, "let us not jump to conclusions. I may find a morphia pill, but harmless."

"Deadly."

"Possibly harmless," said Japix, firmly.

"Probably deadly," rejoined Octavius, stubbornly.

"If deadly," continued the Doctor, quietly, "I grant your theory is a correct one, and that Sebastian Melstane met his death at the hands of the person who put those two extra pills in the box. If harmless, however," said Japix, raising his voice, "it establishes nothing. Melstane may have suffered from sleeplessness. Seeing his nerves were all wrong, I should say it was very probable he did, and taken morphia pills--purchased from, perhaps, a London chemist--in order to get a good night's rest."

"But why two morphia pills?" objected Octavius, earnestly. "Chemists don't sell morphia pills in twos."

"Your objection, sir, is not without some merit," said Japix, approvingly. "Still these two pills may have been the balance of another box, and placed in this one so as to obviate the trouble of carrying two boxes."

"Possible, certainly, but not probable. No, no, my dear Doctor, you need not try to upset my theory. Wait till you analyse those pills."

"I shall do so to-night, and to-morrow you will have my answer."

"I suppose you didn't give Melstane any morphia pills?" said Fanks, as he arose to take his leave.

"No; I don't believe in morphia pills for sleepless people, except in extreme cases. I generally give chloral, as I did to Mr. Jackson Spolger to-day."

"Oh, the Ancient Mariner," said Octavius, carelessly. "Does he suffer from sleeplessness?"

"Yes; on account of his approaching marriage, I presume."

"With Miss Marson?"

"Exactly."

"By the way," observed Fanks, suddenly, "was she not engaged to Melstane?"

"No, not engaged exactly," replied Japix, thoughtfully; "but she was in love with him. Strange how women adore scamps. But it's a long story, my dear Rixton. To-morrow night, when we both dine, across the walnuts and the wine, I'll tell to thee the tale divine. Ha, ha! you see I'm a poet, eh?"

"Yes, and a plagiarist also. The second line is Tennyson."

"Really, Mr. Bucket--Dickens, you observe--you're as sharp after a rhyme, as after a thief. With your active brain, I wonder you don't suffer from insomnia."

"When I do I'll come to you for morphia pills," said Octavius, laughing: "not the sort in that box, though. I don't want to die yet."

"I don't believe in morphia pills," remarked Japix, rising to accompany his guest to the door. "I never prescribe them. Oh, yes, by the way, I did prescribe some for a Mr. Axton."

Octavius, who was going out of the door, turned suddenly round with a cry of horror.

"Roger Axton!"

"Yes; do you know him? Why, good gracious, what's the matter?"

For Octavius Fanks, trembling in every limb, had sunk into a chair near the door.

"Are you ill? Are you ill?" roared the Doctor, anxiously. "Here, let me get you some brandy."

"No, no!" said Fanks, recovering himself with a great effort, though his face was as pale as death. "I'm all right. I--I used to know Roger Axton, and the name startled me."

"Unpleasant associations," growled Japix, rubbing his large head in a vexed manner. "I hope not--dear, dear--I trust not. I liked the young fellow. A good lad--a very good lad."

Fanks at once hastened to dispel the Doctor's distrust.

"No! nothing unpleasant," he said, hurriedly: "he was my schoolfellow, and I haven't seen him for ten years."

Not a word about the meeting at Jarlchester, even to genial Dr. Japix, for the vague fears which had haunted the detective's mind were now taking a terrible shape--terrible to himself, more terrible to Roger Axton.

"I did not know Axton had been at Ironfields," he said at length, in a hesitating manner.

"Oh, yes, bless you! he was here for some time," cried Japix, cheerily; "I saw a good deal of him."

"What was his reason for staying down here?"

"Aha, aha!" thundered Japix, roguishly, "eh! you saw the reason leave my house to-day. A dark, queenly reason, and as good as gold."

"You allude to Miss Varlins."

"Of course. Ho! ho! 'Love's young dream.' Tommy Moore's remark, eh! 'Nothing half so sweet in life.' No doubt. I have no practical experience of it myself, being a bachelor; but Axton! ah! he thought Moore was right, I'll swear, when he was beside Judith Varlins."

Every word that dropped from the good Doctor's lips seemed to add to that hideous terror in the detective's mind, and he could hardly frame his next question, so paralysed he was by the fearful possibility of "what might be."

"I suppose she loves him?"

"Dear, dear! Now that's exactly what I don't know," said Japix, in a vexed tone; "she does and she doesn't. I was afraid she loved Mr. Scamp Melstane, you know. Women are riddles, eh--yes, worse than the Sphinx. She was with him a good deal, she wrote him letters and all that sort of thing, but it might have been friendship. I don't understand women, you see, I'm a bachelor."

This last speech of the Doctor's seemed too much for Octavius, and he felt anxious to get outside even into the fog and rain in order to breathe. He was so confused by what he had heard that he was afraid to open his lips, lest some word detrimental to his old schoolfellow should escape them. Hastily shaking the Doctor by the hand, he made a hurried promise to see him on the morrow.

"Fog and rain," roared the physician, as Octavius stepped outside; "must expect that now. Eh! ha! ho! ha! November smiles and November tears--principally tears. Yes. Don't forget to-morrow night--the pills--certainly. I will remember. Good-bye. Keep your feet dry. Warm feet and good repose, slam the door on the doctor's nose."

And Japix illustrated his little rhyme by slamming his own door, behind which his big voice could still be heard like distant thunder.

In the fog, in the rain, in the darkness, Octavius Fanks, stopping by a lighted shop-window, pulled out his pocket-book and looked at the memorandum--in shorthand--he had made of his conversation with Roger Axton.

In another moment he had restored the book to its former place, and from his lips there came a low cry of anguish:

"Oh, my old schoolfellow, has it come to this?"

Extracts From A Detectives Note-Book

"It is too terrible . . . I can't believe it . . . He did lie to me, as I thought . . . He has been to Ironfields. He knew the name of Melstane . . . What was he doing at Jarlchester? . . . Why was he there at the same time, in the same house as Melstane? . . . He must have known that the man who died was Melstane . . . He slept in the next room on the night of the murder . . . The door of Melstane's room was ajar in the morning . . . Could Roger have gone into the room and . . . No, no; I can't believe it . . . He would not commit a crime . . . And yet he had morphia pills in his possession . . . What prevented him from getting two pills made extra strong . . . going into Melstane's room at night, and placing them in the box? . . . His motive for doing such a thing? . . . Dr. Japix supplies even that . . . He saw in Melstane a possible rival and wanted him out of the way . . . But what am I writing? . . . He cannot be guilty of this terrible crime . . . Yet everything points to it . . . his presence at Jarlchester . . . his possession of morphia . . . his evasive answers . . . I must find out the truth . . . I can't believe he would act thus, and yet . . .

"_Mem_.--To write to Axton's London address at once."