Doctor In The House
by Margery Allingham

If Detective-Constable Macfall had been a man with charm about him this story would have been too tragic to relate and as it is, with him, the thickest dunderhead God ever put breath into, it has an element of great sadness.

On what was surely the most unfortunate day in his whole existence he was walking down the narrow city street, pleased and proud of himself as he usually was, for his remarkable gift gave him always a feeling of delighted astonishment that he was so much more powerful than anyone else. He was not exactly thinking about his accomplishments as he strode along for he had possessed it so long that the thing was a common place with him but he was reflecting how splendid it was that he had it and how the police could hardly fail to promote him fairly soon. His gift was indeed a remarkable one and the police doctor, who was of an inquiring mind and did not like wonders, had made him display it again and again without satisfying himself about it. Something must be double-jointed but he said he was darned if he saw what.

The fact was that the slender Detective-Constable Macfall was able by some trick of muscle, leverage, or mysterious power as yet unknown to science, to put any other man, up to twice his own weight, neatly upon his back upon the floor. He did not know how he did it and nor did anybody else. Experts, and the Metropolitan Police of London is a body which is no shorter of those than is any other authority, rose irritably from the C.I.D. room floor and said "Oh, Judo, of course. An interesting throw!" and went off sulkily, talking of something else. Macfall would swell a little and grin and mention that he never drank or smoked either. It had gone through his mind once or twice, in the vague way that one speculates about the outcome of nuclear fission, or the eternal mysteries of life and death, that it was astounding that he was not more popular. But the question did not bother him. Why should it? Who cares if a man likes you or not if you can put him on his back and keep him there?

On the whole Macfall got along very well without popularity and on that fateful day when he was walking along Old Soot Lane, which is one of the few remaining shopping centres in that corner of business London, he was as happy as it is reasonable to suppose a human bulldozer can be.

It was at this point that Mr. Mevagissy, the manager and proprietor of one of those minute jeweller's shops whose size of premises has nothing to do with the size of their prices, popped out of his dusty but elegant doorway and beckoned to Macfall whom he knew slightly.

Innocent and proud as the day he was born the Detective-Constable went across.

Mr. Mevagissy, who was an elderly gnome of a man, neat and prim looking with the mouth of a worrier or a string bag, was in something of a tizzy.

He had nothing to complain of, he said, but it was odd. . . . Didn't the constable think it was odd? The man wasn't in the book, not a sign of him in the medical register. But that was not the affair of Mevagissy and Company, was it? Or was it? A firm couldn't be too careful could it? What did the Detective-Constable think?

Macfall, who never thought at all according to the best authorities, appeared completely befogged and Mr. Mevagissy hastened to make himself clear.

A customer had come into his shop that morning, he explained, and had left a large old-fashioned silver salver to have an error corrected in the engraved inscription upon it. It was not a very valuable piece in the jeweller's opinion and he mentioned that it was the kind of item which could be picked up fairly cheaply in any of the silver auctions in the city any day of the week. The inscription upon it was to the effect that it was presented to Dr. Phinias P. Roup M.D., etc, etc, on the occasion of his marriage by his grateful pupils and the nurses of St. Jude's Hospital, Trinidad. The customer had explained that he was the Dr. Roup in question and that he had just noticed that his second initial was given as P. and not B. He asked Mr. Mevagissy to have the trifling matter put right and arranged to call for it at noon that day week.

Mr. Mevagissy had accepted the small commission without any surprise at all. As he told Macfall the frequency with which the donors of presentation plate make errors in their instructions to the engravers had long ceased to astonish him. There was probably some deep psychological reason for it in his opinion, he said, but he wouldn't bother Macfall with that. However, later, when he was wrapping the salver to send it round to the back-street engraver who did that sort of work for him, he noticed that the design of the piece of lettering was not quite symmetrical and that did astonish him for that is not the sort of mistake engravers ever make.

He examined the blank space very carefully and discovered that something had already been erased by some other craftsman. When at last, by some jewellerish method best known to himself, he found out what it was, it proved to be a date, 1888. Far too early to have anything to do with his customer or even his father before him.

The little mystery nagged him all the morning and, because he was that sort of fussy little man, he put on his hat and stepped down to the library on the corner and looked up Roup in the medical register. The name was not there and indeed, the only trace of it which he could find anywhere was as the author of a long out-dated treatise on tropical medicine published at the end of the last century. He came back puzzled but, of course, not alarmed for, as he pointed out, the customer had done nothing but entrust him with a piece of plate. All the same it was a peculiar little incident and he felt bound to report it to somebody. Seeing Detective-Constable Macfall walking down the road it had come to him that the easiest thing to do would be to mention it. What did Macfall think?

It may have been the unfortunate insistence by Mr. Mevagissy on this fatal word, or it may have been merely Macfall's unlucky day but, at any rate, his narrow, deep-set eyes appeared to move a fraction closer together. His expression became wooden and he flushed as at some secret effort.

"This day week at noon, eh?" he said. "He's coming back is he?" Mr. Mevagissy intimated that indeed was so.

"Then don't worry," said Macfall. "And don't mention it to anybody else, either. I'll be along myself."

He went off even more pleased with himself than usual and when he returned to the station he did not report the matter.

To those unacquainted with the machinery of the Metropolitan Police this omission may seem, perhaps, to be of a trifling nature but that remarkable body has a rule, which is as hard and fast as those governing say, mathematics, or the laws of supply and demand, which decrees that when an officer receives an intimation from a responsible member of the public that something suspicious may have occurred he shall, forthwith, write it all down and pass it on to the man above him.

It is important to make it clear here that Macfall knew perfectly well what he was doing. Moreover, the omission was the outcome of what was, for him, deep thought. He arrived at Mevagissy's shop on the appointed day soon after the shutters were down. He had worked out a plan and his mind was fully occupied with the difficulty which he foresaw in persuading the jeweller to fall in with it. He wanted to spend the morning behind the silver counter as a temporary assistant so that he could serve the doctor when he arrived. A little to his regret he discovered Mr. Mevagissy not only perfectly willing to let him do anything he liked but also not particularly interested in the matter any more. A new interest was absorbing him. He told Macfall about it hurriedly between frenzied orders to his two regular assistants.

He was expecting a highly important customer, he told the Detective-Constable, "somebody, quite somebody, indeed."

Macfall gathered that the distinguished visitor was a foreigner, a senior member of the suite of a celebrated Indian Prince, who had arrived at the Lorraine Hotel in a blaze of publicity, earlier in the week. Along with other jewellers of repute, Mevagissy had sent in his trade card and had been delighted to get a telephone message the night before telling him that a royal representative would call to see his choicer stones on the stroke of ten in the morning.

There was such an air of excitement in the place that in spite of himself Macfall was entertained. The minute premises which consisted of two showrooms, one leading out of the other, were positively seething. Macfall was in the outer room which was reserved for silver but he could just see through the small doorway into the inner chamber, which was so protected it was virtually a large safe, and where, as Mr. Mevagissy had just told him, there was one of the most interesting small collections of gems in London.

Punctually at ten the representative arrived and was ushered into the fastness by Mr. Mevagissy and his two bona fide assistants. All Macfall saw of him was a shock of white hair above a very dark neck.

For the rest of the morning a deep and reverent hush spread over the little shop. The visitor was both knowledgeable and thorough and the whole of the more valuable part of Mr. Mevagissy's stock was considered.

No one else who mattered came into the shop. The few customers were met at the doorway and all but hustled out by the junior assistant before he rushed back to rejoin the seance round the table under the bright lights, where the little glasses were busy and the talk was conducted in reverent murmurs.

Macfall himself was almost carried away by the sense of drama which is always present when great deals are in progress but when, on the stroke of twelve, a car pulled up on the kerb and a man sprang out and strode into the shop, he was prepared for him.

The newcomer was a large and powerful person with the sloping shoulders of a prize-fighter but there was nothing hostile in his manner when he walked up to Macfall and made his request. His name was Dr. Roup, he said, and was his salver waiting for him? The Detective-Constable produced it and his eyes were sharp and his muscles ready, but there was no sudden movement, no stealthy dive for a weapon. Dr. Roup took the silver dish in both hands, read the inscription with apparent satisfaction and inquired what he owed. While the police officer wrapped the parcel he stood with both fists on the counter fidgeting with his feet like any man in a hurry. Macfall had parted with the parcel and given the man his change with a growing sense of anticlimax before a sudden horrified cry came from the inner room.

"A doctor! Get a doctor!"

As Mr. Mevagissy came scuttling out with what hair he possessed standing on end, the man with the salver under his arm turned in the doorway.

"What's the matter?" he demanded without any great enthusiasm.

"I don't know!" Mevagissy was ringing his hands. "He's foaming. It's horrible." And then, as he recognized the customer, but forgot, in his anguish, all he knew about him, "Oh, Doctor, it's you! Thank God for that. In here, sir. Quickly."

Reluctantly it seemed, the customer came back into the shop, set down his parcel and went into the smaller room. Macfall followed promptly.

The distinguished visitor lay on the floor, his face congested and his eyes tightly closed.

One of Mevagissy's assistants had undone his collar and the other, with commendable presence of mind was shovelling the jewels back into the safe.

The doctor's examination had a professional touch which shook Macfall's confidence but only for an instant. When the pronouncement came he was ready for it.

"This man is seriously ill. There is one chance in a thousand of saving his life. Help me to get him into my car and ring up St. Bede's Hospital, Extension 3, and warn them we'll be there in ten minutes."

Poor Mevagissy was so appalled by the disaster which had overtaken not only his client but his deal, that he might have fallen for the trick completely but the second assistant, who was the one with the brains, pointed out in a startled whisper that the Burma ruby, which was the star of the collection, was still clutched in the sick man's hand. Nothing would open the clenched fingers and the doctor became angry.

"Good heavens, we can't help that," he said. "Don't you understand the man is dying? Look at him. If he's holding something valuable of yours, come with us. Hurry. That's the vital thing now!"

Mr. Mevagissy, an old man with the physique of a weakly hen, looked about him wildly and Macfall stepped forward only just able to keep the grin off his face.

"Let me go, sir," he murmured.

The powerful man who called himself Dr. Roup measured the young man with his eye and found the answer satisfactory. "Very well," he said. "You'll do. Now then, raise the patient very carefully by the shoulders, please. Oh, and somebody bring my salver."

Macfall sighed with deep satisfaction. His moment had come. He picked up the parcel and followed the little procession out of the shop.

At first he had all the luck in the world. He put his remarkable gift to the test and it stood up to it well. He waited until it became clear that wherever the self-styled 'doctor' was driving it was not to the hospital, and then he went through the prescribed police drill for such an emergency with perfect confidence and, indeed, success.

He chose a moment when the road was clear, revealed himself as a police officer, challenged the driver to stop, and then, on receiving unsatisfactory if commendably terse replies, went smartly into action.

He overpowered the two men, relieved them of their guns and their loot, saved the car from destruction and drove his prisoners back to his own station in it with all the speed and efficiency of a good gun dog retrieving a couple of birds.

Only his ineffable smugness prevented several startled officers there from telling him that it was a very creditable performance.

The blow fell on the following morning when he was summoned to the Divisional Detective Chief Inspector's private office. He could hardly walk there he was so pleased with himself and he went stumbling in, lowered his eyes modestly and waited for the bouquet.

A silence which had something of the chill of the grave about it went on so long that it became embarrassing. Macfall looked up and, for the first time, the wraith of a doubt crept unwillingly into his mind.

The D.D.C.I. possessed many of the attributes of an elderly schoolmaster; he never blustered but there was acid in the man. At the moment he was not looking at Macfall but was sitting with his head down, his lazy, heavy-lidded glance fixed on the blotter on which he was making idle drawings.

After a little he began to speak in the dry, precise voice his subordinates knew so well and imitated so accurately.

"Ah, Macfall," said he with the hint of the Dublin accent which only appeared when he was deeply moved. "I don't suppose you've ever heard of a gentleman by the name of Elroy Muspratt? Don't tell me. I can see by the expression on your face - which I'm not even looking at - that the name is Greek to you. Let me tell you about the man. In the first place, he's most intelligent, the most impudent and the most dangerous jewel thief in the continent of Europe; and in the second, he's the man for whom the whole of the Criminal Investigation Department has had its eyes skinned ever since they learned that there was a chance he was coming to this country." Macfall stood looking at his chief blankly and the dry voice continued without pause.

"Unfortunately, the agents abroad lost sight of the fellow and, although all the usual precautions were taken, and the man was known to be audacious, somehow nobody guessed he'd have the calm effrontery to impersonate a famous Indian nobleman and come over with a retinue."

For the first time he raised his eyes which were as bleak as wet paving stones to survey the Detective-Constable.

"The Superintendent in charge at the central office did all he could," he went on. "He arranged that every suspicious item however trivial which was reported by a jeweller should be passed to his desk. He got a great many and his men got a lot of useless work but the one item which would have paid for his attention didn't come in, and so - what do you think happened?"

He leaned forward and pulled a package of blue slips towards him. "Eighteen of them," he continued calmly. "Eighteen jeweller's shops in Greater London robbed of the finest stones in their safes. Each crime happened precisely at noon and each was worked in exactly the same way. Muspratt was still masquerading as the prince when he left the country by private plane at five minutes before one yesterday afternoon. Most of his 'suite' accompanied him. The Flying Squad is looking for the rest now."

He settled back in his chair and regarded the man in front of him steadily.

"A week," he said distinctly. "The police might have had a full week in which to circularize the jewellers - using the normal 'missing articles list', which is sent to them regularly - asking for details of any medical man who had left a piece of plate to be engraved or altered. It really would not have taken anybody long to notice that there was an unusual number of them who were going to collect the same day at the same hour."

"But why?" The startled question escaped Macfall involuntarily. "Why all at the same time?"

The D.D.C.I.'s expression was pained. "Because it was a good simple idea," he said sadly, "and once it had been done in any place in the world which is served by a newspaper everybody who owned a jeweller's shop would be on the lookout for it."

There was a long pause and when the D.D.C.I. spoke again he sounded depressed.

"Macfall," he said. "You'd go further in the uniformed branch, my lad. We don't really need your gifts in this department. It's that parlour trick of yours, you know - I should be very careful of it if I were you. It takes the blood from your head I shouldn't wonder."

End of Doctor In The House by Margery Allingham