The Psychological Solution (4 page)

Following close on this, came the report from the great man who had devoted much of his valuable time to a most searching examination of blood specimens. But the report on these was just as negative as that of the hair specialist. The blood, he stated, showed that the subject was a male, between thirty and forty-five years of age, a strong man physically, in perfect health at the time of his death, although he had suffered from pernicious malaria in the past. There were, he continued, certain features of the specimens which he should say indicated a strain of Indian, and there were somewhat doubtful signs of both negro and Mongolian blood; but the most prominent characteristics were unquestionably Caucasian.

This was encouraging, despite the fact that most of the facts obtained were already known to Dr. Thane. If the deceased was, as the scientist had expected and had assumed, a Latin-American, then the blood specialist had been right; there would be traces of negro and Indian blood in the specimens submitted. And if, argued the scientist, the report on the pigmentation of the skin confirmed this, then he would have been proved correct, for the puzzling hair neither confirmed nor contradicted the other report. But when at last the report on the skin reached Dr. Thane, he was as far from making headway as ever. The skin, so the report stated, showed no traces of either African or Indian pigmentation, but was distinctly Caucasian, with some doubtful characteristics pointing toward a slight Mongolian strain.

"Hmm," mused Dr. Thane, "All this time wasted on these investigations and no definite results. I wonder what the fellow actually was. Let me see. To sum up: Assuming all the reports correct, we have—Caucasian, predominant; Mongolian, fairly certain, as reported both in skin and blood; possibility of African and Indian. Hump! By Jove!" suddenly alert. "That would be possible, yes, highly probable, for a Latin-American. But the hair! Freak, abnormal, an aberrant form of growth probably. Yes, I—"

Dr. Thane's thoughts were rudely interrupted by the jingle of his telephone bell.

"That you, Doctor?" came in familiar tones. "Yes, this is Haley speaking. Can you meet me at the morgue in twenty minutes? Have a man here who feels positive he can identify the body of the ash-can murder. What's that? Oh, yes. Just arrived in the city. Thought you'd be interested."

Positive Identification

Dr. Thane reached the morgue a few minutes before Captain Haley, who was accompanied by a rather good-looking man dressed in neat but inexpensive clothes. His face was deeply sunburned, and something in the expression of his gray eyes and his manner told the scientist that he was a member of the seafaring profession.

The detective introduced him as Captain Scarsdale, adding the information that he had arrived on his ship the preceding evening. Having seen the pictures of the murdered man in some old papers, and being sure that he had recognized the victim of the tragedy, he had lost no time in coming to identify the body.

"If you have no objections, Captain Scarsdale," said Dr. Thane, "I would like to ask you a few questions before you view the body. As, no doubt, Mr. Haley has told you, we have had many identifications, all of which have so far proved incorrect. Very often, I have found, a man's or a woman's mental processes play them false. Having once come to the conclusion that they know the deceased, they always see a resemblance in the cadaver's altered countenance and features which, in their rather excited psychological state, appears most striking and unmistakable. As a result, they feel positive that the body is that of the individual whom they have already, quite unconsciously, decided it to be!"

The mariner laughed. "Guess you won't find me much excited or making any mistake," he declared confidently. "But I see your point. Sort of autosuggestion, as the books call it. Folks make up their minds it's Tom, Dick or Harry, and jolly 'emselves into believing it is, eh?"

"Precisely," agreed Dr. Thane. "But if you will answer a few queries before viewing the murdered man, it may make identity more certain. Would you mind giving us a detailed description of the man whose body you surmise was found?"

"Not a bit," declared the captain. "Chap about five foot six; stocky build, black hair a bit gray on the sides; eyes grayish-brown—guess you'd call 'em hazel. Small black mustache; good teeth, and about forty-six years old. How does that fit?"

"Excellently, excellently," cried the scientist. "But not exactly. You say this man wore a small mustache. The body has a clean-shaven face and there are no signs of his having recently shaved off a mustache."

"I haven't seen him for six years." replied the seaman. "Very likely he'd given up his mustache long before he was killed."

"And can you—do you know anything about his teeth, whether any were crowned, filled or extracted?" asked Dr. Thane.

Captain Scarsdale hesitated for a moment, a puzzled frown on his forehead, as though he were trying to concentrate his memory. "Yes," he announced at last. He had two teeth missing. One double tooth on the lower jaw—starboard side, I think, and 'tother missing from port on upper jaw."

Dr. Thane beamed. "That exactly agrees with the teeth of the corpse," he declared. "Now, Captain Scarsdale, we'll view the body."

"That's him," announced the sea captain decisively, as he gazed, quite unmoved, at the gruesome exhibit. "Couldn't make a mistake after being shipmate with him nearly five years. Yes, sir, that's Peter Underdunk, and a right proper sailorman he was, too. Mighty sorry I am to see him come to this. But he always did have the devil of a temper and was forever getting into trouble."

"Underdunk, you say?" repeated the scientist "A Dutch name. Odd, I should not have thought the dead man a Dutchman."

"He wasn't," declared the captain, as the three turned away. "At least," he continued, "he wasn't a Hollander. He came from the Surinam Country, Dutch Guiana, you know. Reckon he had a lick of the tarbrush—most of the Surinam Dutch do."

Dr. Thane was mentally patting himself on the back. To be sure, the sea captain's identification had proved his theory of the Latin-American origin of the murdered man wrong, but, in a way, it had sustained his conclusions. He was South American, about as close to a Latin-American as was possible, and though the Caucasian blood was Dutch instead of Spanish, still, undoubtedly negro and Indian blood had flowed in the dead sailor's veins. And it was not unlikely that there had been a dash of Mongolian in addition. Moreover, and as this thought crossed his mind. Dr. Thane saw many puzzling matters made clear, Dutch Guiana's population included a very large number of East Indians, thousands of Javanese, and not a few individuals of Polynesian, Melanasian and Dyak blood.

For all anyone could say, all of these racial strains might have been mingled in the later Peter Underdunk's make-up. Hence, it was not surprising that the hair, skin and blood had mystified the experts who had examined them.

The detective's voice was now interrupting the train of mental reasoning flashing through Dr. Thane's brain.

"Mighty glad you've settled that, Captain." he was saying. "Now we may be able to get somewhere." Do you know anything about Underdunk's habits? Anything about his life? Where he's been, what he's been doing since he left you? Know anything of his family; who his friends were, or if he had any enemies, or if there was anything that might furnish a motive for his having been murdered?"

"I'm afraid I can't help you much," replied Captain Scarsdale. "Here's all I know. Peter shipped with me as second officer—I was chief—on the Wanderer, bark, when we were at Barbados. That was about eleven years ago; can't give the exact date, but it doesn't matter much. He stuck with me until I got my billet as master. Then he served as my first on the Eulalia, freighter, until he got a better berth on a fruit boat, where he had a chance of getting a master's papers. Last time I saw him alive was at Colon, six years ago. He'd been in a fracas there— some sort of mixup with the Spigs. Later, I heard he'd lost or given up his job and was doing shore duty at the Atlantic Company's docks over in Brooklyn. Don't think he had any folks; never married: but maybe he had relatives down in Poramaribo. Good chap, but hot-headed. Didn't drink over much, and I can't say who his friends were. You see, I went overseas during the war and lost track of him. I expect he had a bunch of enemies—most of us have— but I don't know who they'd be. Any Wop or Dago that he'd fired from a stevedore gang might have knifed him."

"If they had, they'd likely have taken his roll," commented the detective.

"You bet they would,” assented the other. "Guess that let's them out of it.”

"Might have had a row over a girl. Peter was nuts on the ladies."

"Would you object to stating how you happened to be so familiar with the exact condition of his teeth?" asked Dr. Thane, who had been mentally reviewing the details of the interview and identification.

"That's simple," laughed Captain Scarsdale. "Peter had a bit of an argument with a hand from St. Thomas—big square-head chap—and in the mixup, Peter's teeth got knocked out. One was broke off and ached him like the devil, and he asked me to plug it for him until he could get the root hauled free by a dentist."

"I see," murmured the scientist. "But you say that Underdunk was a sailor. The palms of his hands and his fingers are free from callous spots. They do not look as if the deceased had performed manual labor recently."

"Probably hadn't," declared the captain. "Dock masters don't have to. But, look here. See any callouses on my paw?" As he spoke he spread his huge hands for the others to inspect.

"I guess that's all, Captain," said the detective, "unless there is something else that Dr. Thane would like to ask."

"No, I think Captain Scarsdale has identified the body beyond question. "But," added the scientist, as the mariner rose to go, "of course it would be preferable to secure a confirmatory identification. Do you know of anyone else who could swear the body is that of the man Underdunk?'

"Sure," replied the seaman. "Anyone in the Atlantic Company ought to. There's Captain Atwood. He's superintendent. Why not call him?"

Dr. Thane, highly elated because he found he had come so near hitting the mark in his surmises, and quite convinced that Captain Atwood would confirm the identification, hurried to his office. With scientific fervor, he began building up the details of the crime and criminal as he believed they should be according to psychological reasoning.

To him, now that he was aware of the race, occupation and character of the dead man, the whole matter was clear, and that very day he handed a copy of his findings to his friend, the detective.

"The crime," he wrote, "was not premeditated. The fatal blow was as unexpected and unforeseen to the deceased's companion as to himself. There was no real motive for the crime, at least not enough to warrant homicide. Fright at what had occurred, drove the responsible person to seek refuge in flight, probably to South America.

"In all probability he was at sea before the body was discovered. But in my opinion, he will have an irresistible impulse to return and learn all details of the mystery as known to the authorities. Impulsively as he acted at the time, he will, if I am not greatly mistaken, run true to psychological form and, of his own free will, will tell the entire story regardless of consequences. The dead man's assassin was undoubtedly a Latin-American, or at least, a Latin, with the chances in favor of his having a slight strain of primitive blood—probably Indian. He had been on friendly terms with the deceased up to the moment of the tragedy, the exact cause of which I do not feel qualified, from the meager means of deduction at my disposal, to state definitely. But I feel quite confident that it was due to some discussion over property, and by this term I mean wages, money due, or any object, the ownership of which was in dispute. The murderer, however, was not one who would kill for personal gain, and he did not possess himself of the dead man's funds. The wound which produced death was, as has been already determined, made by a blunt, dull instrument not at all adapted to homicidal purposes. It was used without thought, the psychology of the user unconsciously urging him to strike with whatever happened to be in his grasp, exactly, I might say, as a snake might strike, even though it possessed no fangs. As a crime, it is somewhat unusual and presented mysteries not readily solved by ordinary means. As a study in psychology it has proved most interesting. Also, it has afforded me most desirable opportunities for proving my theories, and also for recording the racial peculiarities of the much-mixed natives of Surinam."

Rather pleased with himself, Dr. Thane was preparing to dismiss the case as closed, although still looking forward with anticipation to the day when the murderer would return as he had prophesied.

But he was destined to receive another surprise. Captain Atwood viewed the body and at once declared that it was not that of Peter Underdunk.

"No more like Underdunk than I am," he stated. "Underdunk was as gray as a badger and had a heavy mustache."

"But my dear Captain Atwood," protested Dr. Thane, "Captain Scarsdale was equally certain it is the body of Underdunk, and his description of the latter was quite at variance with yours."

"Naturally," explained the Atlantic Company's superintendent. "He hadn't seen Underdunk for six years. A man changes a lot in that time, especially at Underdunk's time of life. But if you doubt me, look on the dead man's shoulder. Underdunk had a peculiar double mole, a sort of dumb-bell-shaped mark."

"Which shoulder?" asked the scientist, as he approached the body.

"Left," replied Captain Atwood. "Close to the collar bone."

Dr. Thane bared the neck and shoulders of the corpse.

"By Judas!" exclaimed the other. ''That stab's right where the mole should be."

"Then we are no better off than before," declared Detective Haley. "It's the same old story—one fellow swears it's Underdunk, and the next swears it's not."

''But if Captain Atwood is correct, where is Underdunk!" demanded the scientist, who was loath to admit that the body might be that of someone else, and that his hypothesis had been built on false premises.